Babysitter Auditions Pt. 07: Megan

After several moments, Megan stiffened up and came with a soft cry. She grabbed my head with both hands as I continued to enjoy her body. When I felt her shook herself, I looked up into her eyes, which were surprised and slightly dazed. "Wow," she said, "I didn't expect that. It's been a while, but . . ." She shook herself again. "I need to get going, Mr. Andrews," she said softly. "Thank you for the orgasm . . . I'm going to return the favor soon, with interest."

I was going to let Megan up, but then I remembered her saying, "I love having a man completely control me during sex." Why not take a chance? As I stood up, I grabbed her and put her on her back on the table, then yanked her skirt off; I was lucky enough to get her panties, too, so they came along with it. "Mr. Andrews, what—I need to—" she gasped.

"Good little fucktoys don't try to get away," I growled. I pierced Megan's sex hard with two fingers, finding the ridges of her G-spot prominent and rough, then bent down and sucked her clit as deep into my mouth as I could. I recaptured a tit with the other hand and played with its pierced nipple, rubbing it with my thumb and lightly pinching it. Her girl-honey was spicy and a little sweet, and unusually viscous. I left her clit to take a couple long swipes with my tongue, filling my mouth with her nectar, then recaptured her pearl to suckle it like a nipple.

"Fuck, Mr. Andrews," Megan mewled. "Fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck—" I sucked hard on her clit and pulled, letting my tongue play with the piercing, and she squealed. "Fuck me crazy," she gasped, "so—fucking—cumming—again—cumming—" I stopped thrusting my fingers and curled them up to stimulate her G-spot as her inner walls roiled and clenched around them.

I had been thinking to make Megan cum once, then let her go, but as her climax eased, I had one more thought. I'd never done this before, but it seemed like a good time to try. I pulled out my fingers and replaced them with my thumb to get it well-coated with her girl-cum, then pulled it out. I raised my head from her snatch to watch what I was doing. When I thrust my fingers back into her hot, wet cunt, I pressed my thumb against her backdoor. Good thing I always keep my fingernails trimmed close, I thought. I pushed through the elastic resistance of her tight little ring of muscle, and I was in; she let out a strangled squeak. I didn't really know what exactly I was supposed to do, so I started thrusting in both holes. I spread my hand as much as I could to press my fingernails against the ridges in her pussy; as tight and hot as it was, the hole that was gripping my thumb was more so, though much dryer.

Once I had a rhythm going, I returned to sucking on Megan's clit. "Fuck me sideways," she moaned. "So fucking good . . . surprised me . . . fuck my little cunt . . . my tight asshole . . . eat my pussy . . . gonna cum again . . . again . . . so—fucking—quick—" I sucked harder, like I was trying to suck the coating off an M&M, and tongued her piercing, and she gave a strangled squeak as another climax hit her like a freight train. She grabbed the edge of the table with both hands so hard, I could hear and feel it, and hung on tight as I kept giving her the business.

This time, though, I let Megan up. I went to the kitchen sink to wash my hands; by the time I came back, she had raised herself up and gotten back on her feet. She dressed herself quickly and checked her watch. "I'll still make it," she reassured herself (and me). "Not much time to spare, but I'll still make it." Once she was all assembled, she wrapped her arms tight around me and gave me a long kiss, full of promise; when her tongue came out to play I discovered that it, too, was pierced. I wonder what that will do for the blowjob? I might have commented, but she forestalled me by saying, "Call me, baby, soon. I need a whole day with you to do this right. I'll send you some days I can make work—let me know soon. Please?"

I kissed her in return and said, "Of course. I don't want to wait too long either." Megan beamed at me and whirled out the door.

*****

I took a quick shower and got out to find a reminder from my calendar that Melody was coming by in 27 minutes. I shivered. Good thing Megan had to leave—that could have been really awkward. —For that matter, good thing I didn't remember the present I bought for Melody while Megan was here . . . I might not have been able to resist temptation.

I had been continuing to work with Melody to help her stretch herself out. I had her working herself with dildos, ramping up over time in size of dildo and number of times per day. She had come over a few times for me to be eaten and fingered, giving me opportunities to gauge her progress. At this point, I figured she was ready enough for the real thing. As a final test, I had bought a vibrating dildo the size of my own cock; I intended to give that to her (in every sense) today. If she could take it, she could handle me.

When Melody arrived, I led her up to the bedroom, where I had pulled the sheets down. I sat on the side of the bed, drew her into my arms, and slowly undressed her; she moaned softly at my touch. I kissed her tenderly, then spent a while enjoying her nipples with my hands and mouth, caressing and tweaking, licking and sucking. I bit down gently on one and lashed it with my tongue while I slipped two fingers into her sweet little cleft; she was so wet, her pussy dew was nearly dripping from her fur. I pulled them out and sucked them clean, savoring her spicy-sweet girl-honey. I stood, picked her up, and laid her across the bed. All trace of her previous uncertainty was gone, and she watched me undress with avid eyes. "Are you ready for this, sweet Melody?" I asked.

"Are you going to make me a woman now?" she asked hopefully.

"I plan to, you sexy little thing," I growled. She blushed happily. "But for one final test, I bought you a present." From the look on her face, Melody was having some difficulty working that out. I reached down and pulled out the large, curved dildo, and her eyes widened.

"That's big," she breathed.

"It's the size of my cock," I told her, and her eyes widened a little more. "I figured I should make sure you were ready before I was actually inside you, when I could be certain I was fully in control of myself." Melody nodded. "Besides, there's an additional benefit to this." I touched the head to her clit and turned it on. Her response was immediate. She grabbed the sheets frantically with both hands; her back arched, her eyes rolled up, and she yowled. She didn't cum, but she was definitely shaking. I drew the tip down the center of her slit, and she relaxed . . . until I pushed it just inside her virgin hole, and she tensed up again with a loud moan. I turned the vibrator off at that point—overstimulating her wouldn't help—which eased her tension. "Now I'm going to fuck you with this," I informed her. "Let me know if you need me to stop."

Melody wasn't very coherent through all the noises she was making, but as I slowly drove the dildo deeper in her little box, she did make me stop twice—neither time for very long. It took less time than I expected to get it all the way in. I lowered her head to her pearl and drew it between my lips, licking and sucking it gently as I slowly fucked her pussy with the dildo. She writhed a little and feverishly plucked at her nipples; her eyes were closed, and she made occasional broken noises to compete with the lewd squelching sounds coming from her honeypot.

When I judged her ready, I raised up, pulled the dildo out, and set it on its base on the nightstand; it gleamed in the light. I looked at it a moment, then took it again and touched it to Melody's lips. Her mouth opened to receive it; I pushed it in, and she eagerly sucked on it. Her eyes opened, looking uncertain. I set it back on the nightstand, got on top of her, and filled her cunt to the brim with a real live dick for the first time in her life. She let out a long, low moan and made fists in the sheets, then whispered, "Fuck . . ."

I lowered myself down to wrap my arms tight around her, then murmured, "So how do you feel, Miss Melody?"

She embraced me fiercely in return. "It's alive . . ." she murmured back, sounding awed. "It feels so different—I can feel it pulsing, throbbing, inside me . . . it's so alive . . . this is the best moment of my life . . ."

"It won't be by the time I'm done with you," I promise. "You have the tightest little pussy I've ever felt, and we're both going to enjoy it to the fullest. And when I'm done, you've been on the pill long enough, I'm going to cum so deep inside you, you'll feel it in every inch of your pussy."

"Fuck me, Mr. Andrews," Melody breathed. "Make me feel it. Make me feel—everything . . ."

I captured her lips with mine and started moving inside her. She kissed me back hungrily and started moving her hips, bucking them to meet me as I thrust into her. My tongue plundered her mouth as my cock pillaged her most secret treasure; her tongue quickly lost its shyness to fence hungrily with mine. At first, I fucked her insanely tight hole slowly, but before long she grabbed my ass with both hands and started pulling me in with each thrust. I broke off the kiss and asked, somewhat disbelievingly, "You want it harder, sweet Melody?"

"Yes!" she gasped. "Fuck me harder! Fuck me faster! Give me more . . ."

I gave her a hard, dominating kiss and did as she asked me. She was so tight that the resistance was remarkable—I would have thought it would hurt her—but from the enthusiastic noises she was making into my mouth, it was clear Melody was loving it. The longer I fucked her, the harder and faster I could go, and the louder she got. Finally, her head started rolling from side to side, breaking our kiss, and she sobbed as a powerful orgasm lit her up like a Christmas tree.

I kept fucking Melody through her climax, then pulled out and away from her. I was going to put her knees to her chest, but she bent so easily I went further, putting her knees to the bed. She laid her arms down, resting them on the backs of her knees, and looked at me in wonder and complete trust. "Can you cross your ankles behind your head?" I asked. She couldn't, but she tried.

"No matter," I said, and got back on top of her. I slammed my prick to the hilt in her reddening hole and fucked her hard. I looked down at Melody's face, enjoying the look of pure rapture as I jackhammered her into the bed. "Such a tight little virgin pussy, and you want to get plowed like a wanton slut," I growled. "I would never have believed it."

"It feels so gooooood . . ." Melody breathed. "I didn't know . . . my—my pussy wants it . . ."

"Well, if you want to get fucked right into the mattress, I'm happy to oblige," I told her. The bed was bouncing, the frame was complaining, and the headboard was banging the wall from the banging I was giving Melody. She was just as noisy by that point, moaning and crying out and urging me on. It wasn't long before I could tell her toes were starting to curl; mine were as well, and I was ready for it. "I want you to cum for me, sexy girl," I told her. "Cum all over my big dick and I'll give you your reward."

That did it for both of us. Melody came in a mighty thunder with a soft little wail, and the roiling spasm of her climax set fire to mine. "Warm—warm—warm," she cried out as she felt my seed flooding her little creampot. We ground our hips together and let ourselves go.

*****

I flopped down on a sofa once Melody had departed. I had a few minutes yet before I needed to leave to get the girls. I checked my phone to discover that the first day that would work for Megan was Monday, which was completely unscheduled for me; normally it would be a writing day, but a fucking day would be even better. I blocked it out in my schedule and told her I would be available by 9:30 at the latest. Almost immediately I got a response: Beautiful! Can't wait!

*****

Lori arrived home earlier than usual on Friday—in fact, she walked in just after I had sat down to dinner with Hope and Joy. They exploded in paroxysms of—well, joy—to see her; I only just managed to make sure their hands and face were clean before they wrapped themselves around her. I, meanwhile, hurriedly laid my wife's place at the table.

"You look a lot better this week," I told her once we were all seated. "Your color's normal, more or less, and you look like you can stay upright without assistance."

"You were really worried last week, weren't you?" Lori responded.

"Of course I was worried," I told her, trying not to be irritated. "It's my job to take care of you—you're my wife, that's what I'm here for."

Lori gazed at me for a long moment, eyes wet with unshed tears, then blinked them away and looked down. "I know," she replied softly, though I wasn't sure what exactly she was conceding. "But," she continued more briskly, "I am doing a lot better. I did have one headache this week, but it was nowhere near as bad, and I slept fine. Dick backed off on me a little"—fortunately, she wasn't looking at me as she said that, because I couldn't keep my face from betraying my thoughts and feelings at that line—"and I told you the headaches were just stress, after all."

I know you told me that, and I'm sure you believe it, but I don't believe for a minute that you have a clue what you're talking about, I thought—but I was smart enough not to say it. All I said was, "Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Thank you."

After dinner, I told Lori, "Tomorrow will be a girls' day for you. I'm talking to a group on campus in the morning, then I'm thinking to walk over to the U library to do some research. I'll hit one of the food courts for lunch; I already have dinner prepped, and I'll be sure to be home in time to make it. You can play with them here, go to the zoo again, the science museum, shopping, whatever you like—just be back by 6 or so, because I'd hate to have to eat everything all by myself."

"That sounds good," Lori replied, looking happier than I had seen her for a long time. "Rob, I—" Something seemed to catch in her expression; her face fell.

"What, Lori?" I asked. For a wonder, I managed to keep it gentle.

"Rob . . ." After a long moment, Lori finally said, "Never mind." Unsure what else to do, I let it go.

*****

Fortunately for me, I knew McCabe Hall quite well from my student days, and had had a couple classes in room 421, because it's an oddly-placed room. It isn't actually on the fourth floor—it's one floor up; it has a fourth-floor number because it's the only classroom on that floor. As far as I've ever been able to tell, it's the only room on that floor, and I have no idea why that is. The access to it is a direct stairwell from the fourth floor which is at the end of the floor and around a corner. As such, though it's a nice room, spacious and well-lit, it might be the least-used room on campus. I had a couple profs who liked to get loud during their lectures, so they often taught up there, but most of the campus probably didn't even know it existed.

As such, I wondered why Nia's writing group was meeting in such a remote location. I quickly realized it was because they wanted the privacy, for good reason. To my amazed embarrassment, her writers' group turned out to be a group of eight girls dedicated to writing erotica. I didn't feel I could just excuse myself, but I also didn't think I had anything to contribute: at that point I hadn't written any erotica, so I had no thoughts on how to do so. They made it clear they didn't care about that in the slightest. I knew a lot about writing in general, for one thing, and for the other, I was a man. They wanted me there as much to tell them what men like as to give them writing advice.

As well, though Nia was the soul of decorum—you'd never have imagined she'd cum twice on my dick not that many days before—there were two girls in the group who spent the whole meeting blatantly undressing me with their eyes. They seemed confident that one (or both?) of them would be fucking me soon after the meeting was over, but I didn't find that attitude appealing. Besides, sure, they were hot—one was a tall, athletic blonde with a pretty face and long, wavy hair; the other was a short, pale-skinned, raven-haired beauty who could have been Bess, the landlord's daughter—but I wouldn't have chosen either one over Nia even if I hadn't already fucked her brains out.

I told them a lot of the same things I'd told Melody, but of course all the questions about sex were new. The two girls who were after me were particularly insistent with "what do men want?" questions, and it was pretty clear that their interests were more immediate than just writing. "From what I can tell, some men like a lot of dirty talk in bed and others find it distracting or even a major turnoff," I told them. "Which is good, because some women are talkers, and some aren't." When black-haired girl asked me if men want rough sex, I said, "That depends what you mean by rough sex. I know some men are into slapping and choking, but what percentage, I have no idea. I would guess every man likes a good hard raw fuck, at least some of the time, but men like it slow and sensual, too, and how often we prefer one over the other differs from guy to guy—and from month to month, for that matter."

After the fourth or fifth such question, I spelled it out for them: I couldn't speak for all men, just me, and a frank discussion of my personal sexual interests wouldn't do either them or me any good. Then I asked the group, "Don't you usually bring some of your own work and read it to each other for feedback? That's what I'm used to in writers' groups?"

"We do, Mr. Andrews," Nia said impassively, "but since we were inviting a guest who's a published author, our plan for this meeting was different. That said, I know at least some of us have work along with us, so if you would like to take the last half-hour as a masterclass, we can do that."

"Thank you, Nia," I responded. "I think that would probably be the most productive way to address the various questions that have been asked."

Blondie eagerly volunteered, and in no time at all I knew why: the story she pulled out was about a seventeen-year-old girl who seduces her forty-something mentor, on whom she's been crushing for as long as she's known him. I must have missed the girl's age the first time, because I didn't hear it until her lust interest said, "No, Christina, I cannot do this. You're only seventeen."

I called timeout. "Sorry, you can't do that," I told her. "Do you really not know the rule is eighteen and up?"

"No," she insisted, "it stops being statutory rape at sixteen."

"That's not the point," I informed her. "This is a matter of federal law, as I understand it—any sort of erotic content, even written material with no images, involving underage participants is considered to be child pornography, and under that law, the legal threshold is 18."

"You mean I should have waited to—" Blondie caught herself and literally slapped her hand over her mouth; her eyes went wide and she blushed furiously.

I kept my face completely grave. "I didn't say that," I replied. "The legal threshold for sexual consent is sixteen as far as I know—though you shouldn't take my word for it as I've never researched the matter in any way, shape, or form. But whether you could sleep with him at seventeen or not, if you want to write about it, you have to say you were eighteen for it to be legal. And honestly, I can't imagine why you didn't know that. It's not like adult websites don't make a big point of it."