tagMatureWho Loves Ya', Baby(sitter)

Who Loves Ya', Baby(sitter)



The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further!

This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.

* * * * * * * * * *

A Harvey Marcus Retrospective: Who Loves Ya', Baby(sitter)

In a sudden delusion caused by two simultaneous synapses crossing each other, I thought, "Gee, wouldn't it be keen to tell the early stories of how I, Harvey Marcus, started screwing around with younger women?" Younger but legal.

This is my second Official Retrospective. Having broken through the moral boundary, succumbing to a seduction by Annie's sitter Daphne [Ditz], I was vulnerable to additional opportunities. An unexpected upchuck and an assertive mother led me to my second indiscretion. All her daughter wanted to know was that she was desirable. With her mother's coaching, she got more than she expected.

* * * * * * * * * *

Babysitter Redux

Ditz's (really Daphne's) resignation phone call shocked Harriett, but I was expecting it. Smith and Jones, my two bowling (and now balling) buddies both said that they lost Ditz as a sitter for their kids immediately after they'd had sex with her. Too bad, really, because it was the only real sex I'd had with a living, breathing woman in a long time. And finding a competent babysitter would be tough, too.

I left the selection of a replacement to Harriett. I was afraid I'd be swayed by the candidates' demeanor, especially her sensuality. After succumbing to Ditz's seduction, I had little grip on what my limitations were. If presented with another opportunity to fuck Annie's babysitter, would I? Was the barrier completely down? And what was with Ditz's parents, anyway, condoning their daughter's sexual activity, and endorsing our sexual liaison? Was that the standard for parents? For Annie's sake, I hoped not.

Leave it to Harriett, the news sitter named Alyssa Bollard was bookish in looks, lifeless shoulder-length brown hair, dark rimmed circular plastic eyeglass frames that always seemed to be sliding down her nose, and not much in the way of hips or ass. However, beneath her loose-fitting blouses and sweaters lived a pair of bounteous breasts. Oh, she kept them well hidden. Bound to her torso, perhaps, with no sway to them at all. But they were unmistakable in profile.

Harriett introduced us, as if we'd never met. Perhaps Harriett's memory wasn't bulletproof after all. She seemed to be unaware that we'd met Alyssa before, or that Alyssa and I had a previous encounter. The last New Year's Eve, we attended a party. Alyssa and her parents attended as well. If I'm not mistaken, that's how Harriett got Alyssa's name as a possible sitter. Anyway, it was a minute before midnight, and Harriett excused herself to the washroom. I expected it was because she wanted to avoid a scene, me asking for the traditional midnight kiss, and Harriett's aversion to public displays of affection. Private ones too, to be honest. So there I was, standing alone. I noticed Alyssa, holding her drink, also alone. We shared smiles. Somehow, accidental choreography put us side by side as the host counted down from ten. At "Zero. Happy New Year" we faced each other. It seemed the correct thing to do, but we were both awkward in our head movements. Our faces bobbed and weaved. I was trying to kiss her cheek. With her head turned, I puckered and moved forward. Her head turned, and my lips brushed against hers. No harm, no foul. Except Alyssa put her hand on my shoulder. It was wrong, but my lips returned to hers. The second kiss was a real one, needy, demanding, succulent. We backed away after what seemed to be minutes but had probably been mere seconds. Her face was flushed, and I was hardening in my slacks, which were somewhat baggy from unintentional weight loss. She danced away, and that was the last time I'd seen her, until she showed up at our front door for babysitting duties.

I did my best to maintain a safe distance. Brief comments in passing. "Hello." "How are you today?" No accidental sightings in underwear, hers or mine. No sitting on laps or touching. A strict distance made for a good relationship. And, no mention of our New Years Eve kissing.

Then one fateful incident. Harriett and I were scheduled to attend a fancy dinner dance. Due to the late hour of our return, Alyssa was going to stay overnight. I was on my best behavior, locking the bedroom door when I changed into my suit, and giving Alyssa complete privacy. After dinner, Harriett refused to dance with me. Perhaps she thought that me holding her was too intimate an act. So we left earlier than expected. There was laughing and splashing upstairs when we got home. I went up to check on the hubbub. Alyssa was on her knees next to the tub bathing Annie. Annie was splashing up a storm, soaking everything in sight. Alyssa's print cotton nightgown was soaked, clinging to her breasts. There was no way to avoid seeing the gentle contour and size of her tits. She looked at me, then down at her chest. Her face got red as she pulled the material away from her body. No use. The nightgown slapped back as soon as she let go, revealing everything. They were hangers, with a steep slope. I swiveled and exited the room, trying to drive the image from my mind. They were just breasts, I told myself, and I had no rights. Not to touch or caress or nibble or -. Shit. The profile of her chest was burned into my brain.

By staying away and virtually locking myself in one room or another when Alyssa was over, I avoided any possible incidents. My sudden departures from a room she'd entered often left Alyssa standing there, mouth open, attempting to engage me in conversation. What did we have to talk about, anyway? Time alone with this young woman would have been just the kind of slippery slope that led me to sex with Ditz, a situation I was desperate to avoid. On some occasions, Harriett had me pay Alyssa and let her out. During those brief encounters, Alyssa would blur out questions, principally about boys and dating. "When you were dating-", "A boy asked me out and-" I feigned ignorance, mumbling something about how times had changed since I dated. Given Ditz's parents' enthusiastic support of me fucking their daughter, they sure had! Dating as a movie and a soda seemed like a century ago.

Everything went well until one evening, when I walked around the garage to the back door instead of coming straight into the house. As I walked past the kitchen window, I saw Alyssa washing something in the sink wearing only her bra. Deep cleavage between huge breasts, at least for a teen. I couldn't help getting stiff. After all, Ditz had been my last sex, over a month ago.

I intentionally fumbled with the lock, to give Alyssa time to cover up. When I entered, she'd draped a dishrag over her chest, not nearly big enough to cover. "You startled me."

"Where's Annie?"

"Annie threw up a couple of times, so Mrs. Marcus called the doctor. They went to hospital."

"I'm going to call and check in. Are you okay?"

"Just vomit on my blouse. No biggie."

She was wrong. She had two biggies, and I had a biggie growing in my pants. "There's some on your skirt." I pointed to a splatter near the hemline.

Alyssa bent and lifted the skirt to get a better look. The washrag slid down, exposing cleavage. She threw a hand to stop it from falling off. By lifting the hem to examine the other stain, she exposed more of her legs. Shit, exactly the kind of thing I had been trying to avoid. "Maybe I should wash this out, too?"

That meant taking off her skirt. I couldn't tolerate seeing her in bra and panties, in my kitchen or any other room. "Why don't you go upstairs and get out of those things? You can use one of our bathrobes."

Alyssa nodded. "I know where."

Had she been sneaking around our closets? I hoped she hadn't found my stash of porn. Maybe I need to find a better place than a box at the back of my closet.

Alyssa came downstairs a few minutes later in my white bathrobe, tied tightly around her waist. Thank God she was covered up. I stood to exit the kitchen, but she put her hand on my arm. "Don't go. I have something to ask you. Something serious."

"Not boys or dating again. I already told you-"

"It's not about dating. Well, not directly." She took a deep breath and exhaled.

The lapels separated a fraction of an inch. Knowing her full figure was within reach increased my blood pressure. "Okay. What's up?" Besides my dick?

"Mom said I should talk to you, but you keep avoiding me. Is there something wrong with me?"

"No, not at all." Not a good time to tell her how sexy I thought she was. There would never be a good time to share that.

"See, Mom says you'll have a male perspective. She trusts you. And you won't lie, right?"

"Un huh." Why would I, except about wanting to see her naked?

She hugged the robe to her chest, pressing her legs together. "You know my dad is gone?"

I didn't. "I'm so sorry. When did he pass away?"

"Oh he 's still alive. He ran off with his assistant six years ago. She wasn't much older than I am now. Mom can't explain why Dad would do something like that. I mean, he married mom. He loved her, didn't he?"

How can I explain how a man thinks? "Relationships are fragile things. Maybe your folks were having issues, or maybe there was something about his assistant-"

"Her tits! She had big ones. Mom isn't very endowed. Have you met her?"

"No, I haven't had the pleasure." I must have seen her at New Year's, but the memory wasn't strong.

She got up and grabbed a photo from her purse. "See."

Only then I remembered her from the New Year's Eve party. She'd worn a blue sequins dress with a halter-top. "Very pretty. It's obvious where you get your looks." Oh shit. Was that a come on? I didn't intend on flirting, just the opposite.

"Thanks. You two should get together some time. Anyway, I'm sure that's what Dad wanted. Big tits. Is that something that gets a man's attention?"

Hers had mine. "For some men."

She crossed her legs. The robe slid open, just above her knee. That's okay, not much worse than what a skirt would show. "Have you noticed my breasts?"

I forced my eyes to stay on her face. Perhaps they dipped down briefly, to the topic of our discussion. I nodded and swallowed hard.

"That's the part I don't understand." She parted the robe. Her bra was opaque, only the round edges of her tits visible. "There, see? You don't want to run away with me, do you?"

No, but I did want to caress them, suck them. God, what am I thinking? "Of course not. I'm married, and you're very young-"

"I'm not that young. Lots of my friends have done it already. They told me."

Done it? As in, had sex? So Ditz wasn't the only sexually active young woman in town? I'd have to avoid packs of young women on the prowl for prick.

"I'll be right back." She stood, her cleavage almost in my face. My dick throbbed. How could I advise her on this topic without getting all worked up? I figured she was visiting the bathroom.

When she returned, she'd rewrapped the bathrobe, thank God. She had something rolled up in her hand. "Where were we? Oh yeah, if you find breasts distracting."

"Why do you ask?" Was my erection obvious?

She unrolled the magazine in her hand and held it in front of her.

Damn, one of my illustrated porn magazine. "Where did you find that?"

"I changed your sheets and it was under your mattress."

Shit! I'd stuck it there when Harriett came home unexpectedly. I guess I'd forgotten. Better Alyssa than Harriett.

"I was reading this story -" The illustration showed a babysitter on her back on a kitchen table, short skirt around her waist, her blouse open, large tits pointing to the ceiling. A man, presumably the father, standing between her legs, pants around his ankles. Penetration wasn't explicit, but strongly implied by their positions.

"Give me that!" I grabbed the magazine from her hands. We tussled, the robe opening with every yank. With a sharp tug, I ripped it from her hand.

The robe was open up the middle. No bra! Deep cleavage and the inside contours of her tits exposed. She raised her hands, spread the lapels to the sides, but kept her hands up to cover. Although her nipples were hidden, flesh hung out on both sides. "Do you want to see them?"

I shook my head. Of course, but I couldn't admit it. The rumple in the sack with Ditz was a mistake, not a pattern of behavior.

Her arms dropped. Had I nodded? "Here, take a good look, and tell me."

They were magnificent, bulbous, hanging from her chest. "Tell you what?" Slight movements swung them invitingly. The nipples stood out, proud and demanding.

"Do you like them? My breasts, I mean?"

Did I ever! But this was wrong. I licked my lips. "They're very nice. Why don't you cover up? The wash cycle is probably finished-"

"You can touch them if you want." She held them out, as if to serve them. The nipples were puffy and red. She was excited. So was I.

I repeated "don't touch" to myself several times, all the while raising my hands, closing the distance. She made the decision for me, pulling my hands the final twelve inches. "They're too soft, aren't they?"

My hands and fingers were immobile.

"You'll have to squeeze them to know," she added.

I palpated her tit flesh. "No, not too soft." Once I'd started, I couldn't stop. "Very nice indeed."

She leaned her head back, mouth open. "Oh God!" My palms rubbed her nipples. "Keep it up," she begged.

I was already up, an erection between my legs. An ill gotten hard on. I let go, forcing my hands to my sides in an awkward soldier stance.

She sat up straight, breasts beckoning me for a second sampling. This time with my lips? Damn, get those thoughts out of your mind.

"You don't want to leave Mrs. Marcus and run away with me, do you?"

I shook my head, never taking my eyes off her tits.

"But you are fixated! Shit! All it takes is a big set of these," she hefted them again, "and men go brain-dead."

I strained to look her in the eyes. "It's physiological," I explained. "A man's pulse races, and he, well-" Do I explain erections?

"He gets stiff. Like you are." She pointed to my groin. The lump in my pants was unmistakable. "I've never seen one. Your turn." She crisscrossed her arms, making a rack for her rack. "Let me see what that damn secretary got."

I wasn't the one who'd run off. And I wasn't her father, thank goodness. I imagined a dozen arguments, all the while unbuckling my belt, and unzipping my fly.

"Wow, you've got something big in there."

My jockeys were barely up to the task of containing my erection. As I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, the head of my dick popped over the elastic waistband.

"You're huge."

"And how would you know?" I asked. For such a comment, she'd need a basis of comparison.

She hung her head and her complexion reddened. "I've peeked at my brother, after he'd shower. And, before he ran out on us, I saw my dad naked once. Compared to you, his secretary got the short end of the stick."

I looked at my poking penis, and then her face, and we bust out laughing. Thank God, it was the perfect tension reliever. I'd have to remember to use humor in awkward sexual situations. Better yet, avoid awkward sexual situations altogether.

"Drop 'em, partner," she drawled. She made a downward gesture, pointing her fingers like gun barrels. I slid the sides of my jockeys down, skimming the length of my prick as it went. "There, we're even," I said.

"Oh no we're not. You got to touch me." Her arm extended, fingers wiggling in anticipation.

I couldn't let her put her hand on me. I'd lose all control. And we'd be too close. I put my hands on my hips, a nude Superman with a Rod of Steel. "Sorry, that's as far as we go."

Alyssa reached out but I brushed her hand away. Her expression drooped. She pulled her robe closed and skulked out as I pulled up my underwear and pants. Major indiscretion avoided, I exhaled deeply. Everywhere I looked, I was being tempted by succulent young female flesh. How long before I slipped and took advantage? I had to rid myself of such thoughts. Ditz and her folks were an isolated incident. Just that once and then never again.

Alyssa was unavailable for sitting the following weekend, which was fine by me. We'd come too close to getting physically intimate. Then, on Sunday night, Alyssa and her abandoned mother showed up. They looked more like sisters than mother and daughter. But Alyssa was right about chest endowment. She had her mom beat, hands down. Or hands up, but especially shoulders back.

Alyssa had mentioned her mother and I should get together, but their unannounced arrival was a surprise. "Hi. You must be Alyssa's mother. I'm Harvey-"

"I know who you are." The pair pushed their way past me. "I'm Emily Bollard. Alyssa, tell Mr. Marcus what happened last night."

Alyssa's voice quivered. "I went to my semiformal with Jake. He's one of the popular jocks. He told me he and his girlfriend had split up and he wanted to take me. I was flattered. The dance was nice and all, and we went out to dinner."

"Go on, get to the important part," Emily coached.

"Afterwards, Jake drove to the lakefront. He said we were going to watch the submarine races. I told him I didn't know there were submarines in Lake Michigan."

Even I'd used that ruse with dates, to park out near the lake. It was a make-out spot. I'd gotten lucky pretty often, maybe because the idea of the lakefront is somewhat romantic. I must have smiled, because Emily scowled.

"Before I knew it, Jake unzipped my dress and pulled down the front. He told me to unhook my bra. So I did. Then he nuzzled my breasts and played with my nipples."

"He didn't!" I feigned outrage. Lucky guy. My memory of Alyssa's body was fresh.

"He did. Then he unzipped his pants and told me he was going to tit fuck me. He knelt on the bench seat but that position didn't work. That's when he pushed me back. My head slammed on the passenger door."

"Not a very loving gesture," I said.

"That punk had no loving intentions whatsoever," said Emily. "Go on, dear."

"I was laying back, looking up. Through the window, I saw a bunch of his teammates, looking in. Some had cameras. I covered my chest just before flashes went off. Zeke got out and came around. He and his buddies pulled me out of the car. His steady girl was there, too. She got in the passenger side and waved one finger at me. Then he and his buddies drove off." Alyssa sobbed.

No wonder. The absolute humiliation of getting conned, the butt of a bad sexual joke. My heart went out to her.

"Wait in the living room," Emily ordered Alyssa.

When we were alone, Emily spoke in low tones. "So you see, Alyssa has been traumatized."

"I agree. What can I do to help?"

"Emily told me she tried to talk to you before the incident, and you refused. Is that correct?"

We'd talked about her father, she showed me her tits, and I showed her my cock. "I don't remember talking about going out on dates, specifically."

"I urged her to speak with you before she went out. She said you put her off, so you shoulder at least part of the blame. We're here to make it right."

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