The Ex-Babysitter Version 02

It wasn't long before she noticed. 'Honestly, Tim, don't you think about anything else?'

'Obviously not.'

'Well, this time you can either lose it or go to your room.'

'I don't see why I should. You're the guest in this house.'

She closed her book. 'Fine. I'll go to mine then.'

'Don't bother.' I took my hand away. 'Faced with you it'll probably go down anyway.'

'Thanks for the compliment,' she replied with a smile. Honestly, insults were lost on her.

She went back to her book. I tried to concentrate on mine, but those same thoughts kept coming back to me. My bulge didn't go away.

'Anyway, you think about it too,' I said eventually.

She looked up. 'Yes, but not all the time.'

'Well, nor do I.'

'No, only about every other minute of the day.'

'Well, it's natural at my age. You said so yourself.'

She didn't have an answer for that.

'So what do you think about when you do think about it?' I asked.

'God, Tim, I don't know. What a question.'

'Well, I'm interested.'

'I've never thought about it. What do you think about?'

I wasn't expecting that. 'Nothing in particular. I think about what I'm feeling, I suppose. You know, what's going on...down there.'

'That doesn't sound very imaginative.'

'Well, I'm sorry, but I haven't had as many experiences as you've probably had. No wonder I'm a bit low on fantasies.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disparage your sex life. It's just that to my mind what you're thinking is often the best part. If all you concentrate on is what you're doing it's nowhere near as good.'

'OK, so what do you think of, then?'

'I can't tell you that. It's private.'

'Oh, come on, Jenny. After what we've done together, you can't go all shy on me now.'

'Yes, and don't think I'm naïve enough not to realise where all this is heading.'

I was all innocence. 'Where?'

'I've told you, Tim, it's not going to happen again. Understood?'

I waved a hand as if to say that was a given. 'Sure, understood. But there's no harm in talking about it, is there?'

She didn't say anything, so I took that as agreement.

'So tell me. I'm curious. What do women think about when they're playing with themselves?'

She laughed. 'You have such a delicate way with words.'

'Yeah, I blame comprehensives. Don't change the subject.'

'Well, I don't know, I suppose mostly I think about being pampered...and admired...and being made love to.'

'Who by?'

'By men, of course.' She hid behind her hair again. 'Well...sometimes women.'

I could feel the bulge in my pants give a little leap. 'Yeah?'

'Of course. Don't you ever think about men?'

'No way!'

She laughed. 'You will. One day.'

'Yeah? Well, pardon me if I don't take your word for it. So how many men do you think about?'

'Sometimes just one, sometimes a whole group.'

'Yeah? How do you manage them all?'

'Well, it's a fantasy, isn't it? The practical details don't come into it. Mostly I imagine one or two actually making love to me, the others standing watching...stroking themselves because they're so turned on by what I'm doing.' She shifted herself in the sofa. 'Right, that's enough. You're making me embarrassed.'

'Don't stop now. This is getting interesting. What about the women?'

'There's usually just one when it's a woman. I imagine us all entwined and kissing and loving and being really breathless and touching everywhere. Sometimes there are men as well and they're watching and getting incredibly turned on.'

'Like me,' I said, putting my hand on my bulging erection.

It was the wrong thing to say.

'I knew it. Right, that's enough.' She stood up. 'I'm going to bed. I don't know what possessed me to tell you all that.'

'There's no need to be ashamed.'

'Isn't there? I suppose now you'll jerk yourself off fantasising about my fantasies.'

'I might,' I smiled. 'Do you want to watch?'

'No,' she said firmly.

'Well, can I watch you, then?'

'Definitely not.' But then she laughed. 'You're incorrigible. What am I going to do with you?'

But before I could give her any suggestions she was gone.

I started stroking myself almost the moment she was out of the door. I was so hot from what she'd been saying, within a minute or so I'd come inside my pants.

I woke up the next morning feeling like shit. I had a headache fit to split my skull and my skin felt all creepy. Thinking a shower was what I needed, I got myself on my feet. Almost immediately the room started to move around and I thought I was going to throw up. I crawled back into bed and shivered.

About 10 o'clock Jenny knocked on my door.

'Are you OK, Tim?'

I tried to say no I'm not, but it came out more as a helpless croak. Jenny opened the door and put her head round. At the sight of me the colour drained from her face. That got me really worried.

'You look terrible. What's the matter?'

'I don't know. I think I'm dying.'

She put her hand on my forehead, asked me what my symptoms were, took my temperature and pronounced I had the flu. How do women know these things?

She got some stuff from the chemists and I spent the next three days in bed, still feeling like shit, but at least knowing I wasn't going to die. She put a thicker duvet on me, plumped my pillows, washed my face and generally acted the nurse. She even tried to get me to eat, but the thought of food just turned my stomach. I lay in bed and felt sorry for myself.

On the fourth day the fever started to die and I began to feel a bit less like one of the living dead. I even felt the stirrings of the good old morning hard-on underneath my boxers. I thought I might even get up later.

But then I thought a bit more. The trouble with being sick is you feel so lousy, you can't really enjoy the experience of lying in bed all day and having all your needs catered for. What I needed was to prolong the experience so's I could get my money's worth. So when Jenny knocked softly on my door I pretended still to be suffering.

She took my temperature. 'The fever's going. How do you feel?'

'Still pretty rough.'

'Do you want anything to eat.'

'Maybe I could try a little scrambled egg.'

After she came up to collect the dirty plate I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I heard was the sound of kids coming home from school along the street outside. And I was hot. The duvet was too thick. I kicked it off and lay in my boxers. Pretty soon I had a hard-on. I stroked it idly through the cotton. I was obviously getting better.

Unfortunately, before I could really get into it I heard Jenny's gentle knock. 'Are you asleep?'

I didn't answer. I decided to pretend I was. Maybe she'd go and leave me to get on with it. I closed my eyes, threw my arm over them and assumed what I hoped looked like the attitude of a person deep in the land of nod. After a moment I heard the door open and Jenny tiptoe into the room. I peeped out through the narrowest of slits in my eyelid, hoping it was hidden by my arm. I could see Jenny quietly tidying the things on my bedside table. Then she tried to smooth the sheet I was lying on without disturbing me. I moaned as if in the middle of a dream and shifted a little, hoping it looked natural. She froze and looked at me anxiously. But when I didn't 'wake' she relaxed. She went to put the duvet back over me, but stopped herself. She was looking at my boxers, or more specifically the outline of the hard-on beneath them.

She must have stared at it for a good three or four minutes. She seemed fascinated. I could see that same parting of her lips I'd seen before, the same pink tip of her tongue. My cock twitched as if it knew it was the centre of attention. I knew erections were common during sleep; I only hoped it was also common for them to move. I didn't want her suspecting anything.

But far from becoming suspicious, she seemed to become bolder. She leaned forward, as if to inspect it more closely. I closed my eyes. This was getting too much.

Then I felt it. A gentle touch, as light as a feather.

Under my arm, my eyes snapped open. I almost gave the game away. But Jenny was far too engrossed to notice. She was touching my boxers where the cotton was stretched over my cock, stroking her finger gently along the shaft. Now it was my turn to freeze. Her finger reached the crown and moved in a small circle over it. My cock flicked up involuntarily to meet it, straining against the cotton. A pleased little smile appeared on her face.

She ran her finger down my length again, then back up to the crown. On cue my cock rose to meet it. She was fascinated by it. She did it three or four more times, tracing the same little circles on my crown at the end of each stroke. It was like being tortured. Inside I was screaming to be allowed to grab my cock and make myself come.

Then I felt a second finger on me, and her thumb. She was holding me between the tips of two fingers and her thumb, stroking gently along the cotton from the base of my cock to the crown, pausing each time just under the crown and playing with it. She was hardly touching me, but the sensation of the cotton being rubbed against my cock was exquisite. Another few strokes and I would come. Maybe my throbbing cock passed some message to her, because she seemed to sense it, speeding up her stroking just that little bit and squeezing my cock more firmly. I could feel the come building. My cock started to twitch involuntarily, almost leaping out of her grasp, but she kept up her rhythm, all the time watching it intently, her tongue licking her lips. With the first pulse of come she moved her fingers to the crown and circled there, as if to feel every sensation of the come shooting from my cock into the cotton of the boxers. The sensation was so incredible I had to bite my lip to stop from crying out. Then the second shot came, and the third, and the fourth, my cock throbbing and jerking against her fingertips with every one.

My cock started to soften. Her fingers stroked up and down my shaft, but slower now, as if soothing me, coaxing me to go back deep into my sleep. I could feel my pulse slow beneath her touch.

After a few moments she seemed satisfied with her secret bit of 'nursing' and withdrew her hand. Was it my imagination or did she do it reluctantly? Then she did something incredible. She lifted her fingers to her lips and licked them. For all the world as if they were the most delicious ice lolly she'd ever tasted.

Then she reached down the bed, pulled the duvet gently over me and left the room, pulling the door quietly to after her. Within a few minutes I was asleep.

The next morning she came in as if nothing had happened.

'Feeling better today?' she asked brightly.

'A bit,' I conceded.

'Think you can make it to the shower on your own?'

'I'll give it a try.'

'Good. Give me a shout if you need anything.' And she was gone.

OK, I thought. Let's pretend. I can play that game.

I took my time in the bathroom. I half-expected her to come in and 'surprise' me, but she didn't. She didn't know what she was missing. I kept up a good soapy erection the whole time I was there.

Eventually I realised she wasn't going to join me and wandered back along the landing. She called from downstairs.

'How do you feel now?'

'Still a bit wobbly,' I lied. 'I'm going back to bed.'

'Do you want anything to eat?'

'I'll try.'

'OK, I'll bring it up in a few minutes.'

I took off my dressing gown and climbed back into bed, naked this time. I couldn't be bothered to put on my boxers and I was too warm to have the duvet over me. Besides, I had a plan.

With a bit of careful stroking I kept my erection nicely hard without taking it too close to the edge. It was torture but I felt it'd be worth it. When I heard Jenny on the stairs with my breakfast, I lay back in a position similar to the one I'd adopted the day before and pretended to be asleep. Plainly it surprised her.

'Oh, are you asleep?'

I didn't answer.

'Tim?'

This time I kept my eyes closed. I knew she was probably looking at me closely to see if I was faking.

'Tim?'

I forced myself to keep my breathing low and slow. It seemed to satisfy her. Unfortunately her next action wasn't what I'd expected. I heard her leave the room and go downstairs. I opened my eyes. She'd taken my breakfast back down to the kitchen. Fuck.

I lay there wondering what to do. Maybe I should just make the best of a bad job and have a wank anyway. So I was well into ministering to my cock when I heard her feet again mounting the stairs.

Maybe she'd changed her mind. I quickly adopted my sleeping pose and waited for her to come in. But instead of coming to my room, her footsteps disappeared towards the bathroom. Now what? Was she just going to have a shower? I put my hand on my cock. This was pissing me off.

But a few moments later her footsteps sounded again, from the bathroom towards my room. By this time I didn't really expect her to come in, so when my door started to open I had to switch into 'deep sleep' mode pretty quick.

She entered on tiptoe.

'Are you asleep, Tim?'

After a few moments of silence I risked peeping out from under my arm. As on the previous day, she was standing by my bed gazing intently at my cock, now naked and completely visible to her. That pink tongue was snaking wetly round her lips. It was a risk, I knew, but this time I kept watching. I wanted to see everything she did.

Tentatively, with a quick glance at my shielded eyes, she reached out and traced her forefinger along the length of my shaft, from the crown all the way down below my balls almost to my ass. My left leg was bent outwards at the knee so she could go pretty well as far down as she wanted. But she seemed more interested in my cock.

As before, she ran her forefinger under the rim of my crown, then traced little circles over the tip. She brought her thumb into play and pulled the foreskin backwards and forwards a few times, apparently fascinated by how it almost covered my crown, then slowly revealed it. She was really getting into that -- so was I -- when she suddenly stopped and took her hand away. Had her conscience got the better of her? I was almost on the point of 'waking' and grabbing myself to finish it off, when I felt a cool, liquid sensation running down the length of my shaft. It was so unexpected I almost gave the game away.

From beneath my arm I looked down at my cock. It was covered in a thick line of oil, which she'd squeezed onto it from a bottle. So that's what she'd been doing in the bathroom. As I watched, she put the bottle down, then using both hands, started to smear the oil all over my swollen shaft and balls, slowly, gently, almost lovingly. Then, when she was satisfied she'd got me well and truly lubricated, she started to stroke me rhythmically, starting each hand at the crown, then letting it slide slowly down all the way to the base, followed in an unbroken motion by her other hand doing the same. The sensation was unbelievable, made more so by my having to keep absolutely still and silent.

Occasionally she paused at the top of a stroke and twisted her hand round the crown or let her fingertips play with the slit. But then, as if she couldn't get enough of feeling my hard shaft, she'd resume her stroking. Her tongue licked her lips until they were wet and shiny. Her breathing got shorter. She was so intent on what she was doing I felt sure I could have lain there with my eyes wide open and watched her and she wouldn't have noticed. As it was, I could barely stop myself from moaning out loud. I could feel my balls beginning to tighten, my cock stiffening, getting ready to spurt. It began to jerk in Jenny's hands.

'Yes,' I heard her whisper urgently, 'come for me, you beautiful cock. Let me see you come.'

It was all I needed. The first spasm hit me and a jet of pale milky white come shot from the end of my cock.

'Oh, that's lovely,' breathed Jenny, still stroking me, but slower, more deliberately. 'Do it again.'

Another jet of come shot out and landed on my chest and stomach. Another. And another. Jenny held my cock vertically and gently squeezed it so that come oozed out and dribbled down over her fingers. Still she moved her hands slowly up and down, gradually milking the last drop of come from me. I lay there in an agony of ecstasy, not daring to move a muscle.

After a few moments, Jenny seemed to realise my cock might be feeling a little sensitive and released it. But she wasn't done. She dipped her fingers in the come on my chest and stomach and smeared it round, gently rubbing it in. Then, as before, she put her fingers to her mouth and sucked them dry, avidly, as if they were coated in honey.

Then she gave my cock a friendly little pat, picked up her bottle of oil and walked out.

Over the next couple of days I tried to get her to do a repeat performance, but she wouldn't play. Every time I heard her come up the stairs I lay back and pretended to be asleep. On the first couple of occasions she tiptoed straight out again, but then she got suspicious and made so much noise clattering round the room I was forced to 'wake up'.

Eventually she declared I must be well enough to get up. 'You can look after yourself from now on. I've got a book to finish.'

Things went back to normal.

Try as hard as I could, I couldn't get her to loosen up, not even in front of the TV like the other times. Every time I let her see I had a hard-on she either stuck her nose further into whatever she was reading or got up and walked out. I even tried surprising her in the bathroom again, but she always locked the door after that one-and-only time.

Eventually I was forced to go back to my old masturbation routine: one in the morning, one at night and maybe a third during the day if I could be bothered.

The summer passed. Soon it was almost time for dad and my stepmum to come back, and time for me to think seriously about getting a job.

One evening Jenny broke out a bottle of champagne over supper. She looked pretty pleased with herself.

'What's this?' I asked.

'Celebration. I'll have finished the book tomorrow.'

'Great. Does that mean I finally get the house to myself again?'

She looked genuinely hurt. 'Sorry. I haven't been very good company, have I?'

'You're OK,' I conceded. 'It's not your fault you used to be my babysitter.'

When we'd polished off the bubbly I went to bed. Funny, but the thought of her going depressed me. You'd have thought I'd have been glad to get her out of my hair, but I suppose a part of me kind of liked having her around.

The next morning I had a lie-in, conjured up the usual picture of her sliding her oily hands up and down my cock and had a really nice orgasm. Then I put on my dressing-gown, went downstairs and made myself some breakfast.

Jenny was nowhere to be seen. I guessed she was in dad's study as usual, putting the final master touches to her great opus. Feeling in a conciliatory mood I decided I'd make her a cup of coffee, something I'd never done the entire summer.

I knocked on the study door and walked straight in.

It sounds a stupid thing to say, but the really amazing thing about surprises is that they are really so damn surprising. You just never expect them. Like the sight that greeted me in dad's study. I just never expected it, not in a million years.

I'd expected to see Jenny sitting at dad's desk, busily tapping away on his computer. Instead I was presented with the sight of her laid back in dad's big swivel chair, her legs wide apart -- in fact, one bent over an arm of the chair -- her sweat pants hanging off an ankle along with her knickers. Her head was bent down to look at what was going on between her legs.

Whatever words I was about to utter froze on my lips. Her head snapped up, she grabbed something from between her legs and hid it behind the chair, her legs closed, the Robbie Williams came down over her thighs. But not before I'd got a good view of what had been between them. Just below the place where her pubic hair would have been if she hadn't shaved it all off, the unmistakable red plastic end of some sort of vibrator had been protruding from her pussy lips.