BabySitter's Bikini

It was a hot Saturday afternoon in Spring, the first decently hot day we'd had for months. I had intended going to the beach but I received a last minute request to do some baby-sitting. Now that I've turned eighteen I don't normally do any baby-sitting. I have a regular job, after all. However, all Saturday afternoon and well into the night means the best part of twelve hours, and I get paid by the hour. A promised bonus for filling in at the last moment sealed the deal.

Getting ready to trot around to the Jackson's place I remembered that they had a swimming pool. With weather like this they'd probably already prepared it, especially as their kids loved the water. If the kids were going in the pool I'd have no choice but to join them. I grabbed my old bikini to take along.

It turned out I was right about the swimming pool. Mrs Jackson mentioned it in her last minute instructions. Basically, yes, the kids could use the pool as long as I was with them. If I didn't have a swim-suit with me I could borrow one of Mrs Jackson's. I thanked her politely and assured her that I had brought a suit with me as I knew they had a pool and thought the kids might want to go in. Catch me wearing one of her suits? Give me a break. She was twice my size.

She also added a last minute rider about her brother, Peter. He would be dropping past sometime as he wanted to bring a few things over. Did I know Peter?

I didn't actually know him, but I had met him a couple of years back. A walking mass of facial hair. I acknowledged that I'd met him previously and that I thought that I'd recognise him when he turned up.

Mr and Mrs Jackson departed and the kids and I went outside to play. It wasn't all that long and they were saying it's hot and can we go in the pool. I assured them that would be fine and we all went inside to change, me laying down the law first that if they got so much as one finger wet before I was changed and with them, that would be all that got wet.

I had the use of the spare room and I quickly stripped and put on my bikini. Make that tried to put on my bikini. It was six months or more since I last wore it and it seemed that I'd grown slightly. More than slightly in the bust area. My bust-line seemed to have increased by one full size.

The bottoms were reasonable. A trifle tighter than I liked but they still fitted me. The top, however, was a little too snug. I was putting a bit of a strain on the straps, but I still managed to stuff everything into the cups. Well, most of it. Maybe there was just a little bit overflowing.

Looking at myself in the mirror I was just as happy that I wouldn't have anyone observing me. Moving right to the top of things I must do were the words, buy a new bikini. I went out to join the kids.

For the next couple of hours we mucked about in the pool, getting thoroughly wet and having fun. The first I knew of company arriving was a little voice yelling, "It's Uncle Peter."

I turned around, expecting to find Sasquatch, or a reasonable facial imitation. Instead I find myself looking at Mr Tall, Dark, and Handsome.

"You're Peter?" I asked, making a vague gesture at my face as if to indicate I expected a beard.

"I am," he said, laughing. "I have been known to shave occasionally. If I remember you're little Cynthia, the baby-sitter."

"I am," I assented, "but not quite so little anymore."

"I know," he said softly, in a voice that sounded as though it was purring. "I most definitely noticed that."

Just like that I was acutely aware of my bikini and how tight it was. Giving him an irritated look I straightened up, throwing my shoulders back a little. Big mistake. Not because it threw my breasts into greater prominence, but because my prominent breasts over-loaded my old bikini top. I hadn't noticed that one of the straps had frayed stitching but it must have done. The strap pulled loose from the breast cup, flicking up and over my shoulder, while the release of tension on the breast cup sent if flying the other way, leaving me with one breast on display.

I squeaked, there's no other word for the noise I made, and grabbed for the cup to hold it over my breast. That was mistake number two. I should have covered my breast with my hand. By the time I was pressing the cup to my breast I was too late; there was already a hand there covering my breast, and it wasn't my hand.

"Really," said Peter, sounding shocked, "have you no shame? There are children present."

"The children are standing behind me and can't see a damn thing," I said through gritted teeth. "Not that there's anything to see with someone's hand mauling my breast."

"Not mauling," he protested. "Treasuring, worshipping, loving, admiring, massaging, stroking; any or all of these, but not mauling. You have a very lovely breast. May I see the other one?"

"No. Please take your hand away. As you pointed out, there are children present."

Peter laughed and moved his hand away, slowly, taking the time to rub my nipple and give it a little pinch.

"If you go into the kitchen you'll find that the third drawer down is a junk draw. I know my sister keeps safety pins in there. I'll watch the kids while you do some repairs."

Holding my head high I stalked off into the kitchen and went fossicking through the junk drawer, finding several safety pins. After a quick repair to the broken strap I added an extra safety pin to the other strap, just in case. Then I marched outside.

"Your sister said you'd be dropping in," I mentioned, not deigning to comment on his indecent assault upon my person.

"Mm. I was just dropping off some stuff my mother asked me to give her. It's in the front room. I'll probably be back later with the rest of the things but, there again, I may not be able to get here until tomorrow. I'll just see how things go."

Peter stayed and played with the kids for a while, much to their delight. I kept out of his way as much as possible. No way was I going to do anything that would put a strain on my bikini. Pins have been known to come undone, after all.

Eventually Peter left, the kids insisting on escorting him out to his car. I trailed along behind, quite happy to wave him goodbye. Just before he got in his car he looked at me and winked, looked at my breasts and winked again, and got in his car, laughing. I was, I suddenly realised, holding my breast, the same one he'd touched. I hastily snatched my hand away from it, blushing like an idiot.

Oddly enough the day seemed somewhat flat now that Peter wasn't there. I chased the kids inside. It was time for dinner, after which they could have a bath and go to bed.

Everything went smoothly. Well, as smoothly as they ever do when you're dealing with children, but the kids finished up fed, washed, and in bed. And they even fell asleep after a while. I was now able to sit back and relax, watch a video, or do whatever took my fancy.

It was just after eight, and I was watching a video, when there was a knock on the door. I was slightly surprised by this as the Jacksons had a perfectly good doorbell, which was what I would expect a visitor to use. I opened the door to find Peter standing there, a box in his arms.

"Evening, Cynthia," he said. "I knocked instead of ringing because I didn't want to wake the kids. I had some spare time so I thought I'd bring the rest of my sister's stuff over."

At least he was showing some consideration. The loud doorbell was quite likely to wake the children and it would be a real pain trying to get them to bed a second time. Even an hour's nap is enough to recharge their batteries. I opened the door to let him in.

Peter carried his box into the front room and put it to one side. Then he stretched. It was dawning on me that Peter was really a very large man. You'd expect him to seem large when playing with the children and when he was playing with me I'd been too disconcerted to notice his size. Well, I noticed the size of his hand, but hadn't been considering his stature generally. Standing in the front room he seemed to tower over me and I felt quite petite next to him.

"Six foot three," he suddenly said.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"My height. Six foot three. I could see you were wondering."

What, he's a mind reader now?

"No, I wasn't," I quickly told him, ignoring the look of disbelief on his face. So what if I had been wondering?

"Ah, can I offer you a cup of coffee before you go?"

"No, thanks anyway," he said. "What you can do is let me make that comparison I wanted to make earlier."

"Ah, sorry, but I don't get your meaning," I told him.

"I was wondering if the breast you had covered looked as lovely as the one you flashed at me and if it would feel as good?"

I was telling myself, "He did not just say that," standing there and probably looking a little gobsmacked.

That rotten man took advantage of my confusion to start undoing my blouse. I tried to push his hands away, protesting that he had no right to do that.

"Hey, keep it down," he said, speaking softly. "You don't want to wake the kids."

"I don't want you taking my blouse off, either," I pointed out, still trying to push his hands way.

"I'm not taking it off. I'm not that crass that I expect you to start shedding clothes. I just want to undo your bra and take another look at your lovely breasts. For some reason I can't get that picture of you standing there with one breast showing out of my mind. Now stop wriggling for a moment. I'll just take a peek and then you can restore yourself to your normal state of decorum."

Somehow or other, what he said seemed to make sense and, like an idiot, I relaxed a little. Peter took immediate advantage of my momentary relaxation to slip his hand around me and unhook my bra. I just wish I could unhook it as smoothly as he managed. With that done he brushed my blouse off my shoulders and flicked the straps of my bra so they slid down my arms.

I still had my blouse and bra on but effectively I was naked down to the waist. I couldn't even try to shrug my blouse back into place as my arms were tangled up in it. Whether it was his intention or not (and it probably was), I was going to have to shed both blouse and bra before I could put them on properly.

I gave Peter a very nasty look, the nastiest I could come up with. A total waste of a nasty look because he wasn't looking at my face. There's a reason women say, my eyes are up here. Peter's eyes were glued to my breasts.

For a moment I thought he'd stopped breathing, he was so still. He reached out a hand and very lightly touched one breast and then the other.

"Your breasts are beyond beautiful," he said. "Venus De Milo doesn't have breasts as exquisite as these. Pale as the purest marble but suffused with a delicate warm life. They are made to be worshipped."

His words were like music to my ears. Who doesn't like to be complimented and told they're lovely? I was so enthralled with what he was saying that at first I didn't really notice that his gentle touch of hand to breast was still there.

Peter's hand was running over a breast, rubbing my nipple, migrating to my other breast and repeating the performance. Before my entranced gaze his hand went wandering, caressing and stroking, bringing my breasts to life.

"Uh, Peter, you're touching," I managed to say. "You're not supposed to be touching."

"Mmm?" he hummed, turning his head to look up at me and turning back to continue his perusal of my breasts. "You're right. Don't touch, taste."

His head bent forward and his lips closed over a nipple while his teeth started to worry it. My breasts had already started to swell, my nipples pouting slightly from his touch. Now my breasts seemed to tighten, my nipples pressing outwards, both at once, not just the one in his mouth.

I was left saying, "Ah, Peter, Peter," trying to get him to listen to me while his mouth travelled back and forth, crossing from one breast to the other and back, his tongue leaving a moist trail on my skin as he moved.

I finally put my hands on his shoulders and pushed hard, breaking the contact. Peter was breathing hard and so was I. Now that contact had been broken I expected him to stand upright again, giving me a chance to step back and put my blouse on properly. I'd actually had to slip one arm right out of the blouse to give myself some freedom of movement.

So Peter would stand up and I'd be able to step back and put on my bra and blouse, while giving him a piece of my mind? (Only a small piece because I was still feeling warm and flattered from his comments about my breasts.) Fat chance.

Instead of standing up he sank down onto one knee and was kissing me through my panties. Where the hell, I wondered, had my skirt gone? I vaguely recalled the feeling of material rubbing against my legs but had put it down to my blouse swinging against them after I'd managed to extract an arm. It may well have been, but it seemed part of that material brushing against me had been my skirt falling down since someone had apparently unhooked and unzipped it while my attention was distracted.

"What the hell, Peter?" I demanded, remembering at the last moment not to scream or I'd wake the kids. "What do you think you're doing? How dare you undo my skirt? Leave my panties alone."

My hands clawed at his hair, trying to drag him away, but for some reason all I could seem to do was clutch two handfuls of hair and hold him. He did desist, though, moving his head about an inch away from my panties.

"If I'd asked you to take off your skirt it would have been all, oh no, how could you suggest such a thing, what do you think I am, etc. etc. This way you're saved all the angst of having to decide if you'd allow me to take off your skirt and panties."

"Skirt you mean," knowing even as I said it I should have kept my mouth shut and hung onto my panties. They were heading south before I even finished speaking, leaving me to wail, "Peter!" in protest.

"You can't do this," I started, meaning to tell him off good and proper, instead of which I found myself gasping in shock as his mouth closed over me again, with no panties to protect me.

Once again I was reduced to clutching at Peter's hair crying, "Peter, stop," and being totally ignored. Oh lord, his tongue was doing terrible things to me, touching and probing, dipping into places where it had no right to go. The most peculiar sensations were flooding through me and I didn't know how to control them.

Some places, I found, are far more sensitive than others and Peter, damn him, seemed to just which ones. I knew, in theory, that my clitoris was very sensitive, but just what that meant in practice I had no idea. No idea until I found myself stuffing my hand in my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

Alright, I didn't climax, but it was a pretty close thing. I wasn't sure if that failure left me feeling depressed or relieved. It certainly left me feeling most peculiar. I stood there, breathing hard, while Peter rose to his feet, smiling.

He crossed to the box he'd brought in earlier and withdrew a large rug which he spread on the floor.

"What's that for?" I asked, confused.

"In my humble opinion, you're still a virgin," Peter told me, my blushing face probably bolstering his opinion. "That means that when I take you there may be some blood as well as your vaginal juices dripping onto the rug. I thought it would be bad manners to leave stains on my sister's carpet."

How can anyone say something like that in such a matter of fact way?

"You are not going to take me," I very quickly pointed out.

The rotten swine just gave me a sympathetic look as he undid his trousers. He dropped them and presented me with the evidence of his intentions. Quite a bit of evidence, too.

"Come along," he told me. "Let's lie down and I'll start your first lesson."

"No way. I don't do this sort of thing. You just said you knew I was a virgin so you know I don't."

"Not yet, you don't, but everyone has to start sometime. You're fortunate that you'll be starting with someone who's been careful enough to get you nicely aroused."

I stood there, shaking my head, finding it hard to believe that this was happening. He moved closer, taking my hand. I was expecting him to use it to draw me down onto the rug but do you know what he did? He took my hand and placed it on his erection, wrapping my hand around it.

"You know you want to," he whispered persuasively. "There comes a time and your time is now. You're burning up with curiosity. I can feel the fever within you."

With a hand clamped over my pussy I suppose he could feel the heat inside me, but that didn't mean I was going to succumb to his blandishments.

"I don't want to. What makes you think I do? I've said I don't. What more do you need?"

"If you didn't want to you'd have stopped me before things got this far," Peter said, rather unfairly in my opinion.

"Stop you how? You've ignored everything I said."

"Well, yes, because you didn't mean it. If you'd meant it you'd have been trying to fight me. You'd have screamed and woken the kids. Even I am not going to continue seducing you with two little kids watching."

The rotten swine. He was using my sense of duty against me. I opened my mouth to blast him but found he was sinking down onto the rug. What was strange was I found myself sinking with him for some reason, and he wasn't holding my hands or anything.

Next moment I was blushing a very fiery red. I hadn't let go his cock, for some reason beyond my understanding, and when he knelt I'd naturally moved with him, hand still firmly gripping him. What was wrong with me?

He pushed me down onto my back and I was lying there, staring up at him. He was looking down at me and I could see the laughter in his eyes. It was slowly starting to dawn on me that he was serious. He was really going to have sex with me and there was nothing I could do to stop him. (OK, I could scream and wake the kids but that wouldn't be fair to the kids and I couldn't be sure that would stop him anyway, so why disturb the kids unnecessarily?)

He started touching me again, first on my breasts and then down below, reviving all those earlier feeling from when I'd nearly had an orgasm. He wasn't going to stop this time, I just knew it. He was going to take and keep on going until I climaxed. Unbidden, excitement surged through me. (To be honest, I was also shit-scared, terrified almost, biting my lip to hide my fear.)

He kept up the touching, subtle little pleasures re-igniting fires deep inside me. Any concerns or fears I might have had were being burned away by the heat. Still there, in the background, but they couldn't compete with the immediacy of the feelings of lust and passion that were starting to urge me along.

Somehow I managed to refrain from yelling, "Damn it! Do it!" but it was a close thing. I never dreamt that when a man started positioning himself to take my virginity the first emotion I would feel would be relief.

Once girls enter puberty and start thinking of matters sexual they tend to scare each other with the terrors of that first time. The older you get the more fun it is to tease the younger ones about it, even if you'd had no experience. I'd heard my share of horror tales but I was old enough to take them with a pinch of salt.

With my lips being parted and a cock starting to press between them those old memories surfaced, to be firmly put in their place as exaggerated nonsense. He was edging in and I could feel him pressing against my hymen. There would be a touch of pain, I knew, and then the pleasure would start.

FUCKING HELL! All those tales were true. He'd pushed that little bit harder and something gave and it seemed as though a giant claw had ripped through me inside. All those lovely feeling I had had vanished, blown away in the pain. The only reason I didn't scream my fool head off was because I couldn't catch my breath to scream.