Plowing the Goth Babysitter [MF] [Oral] [Kissing] [Creampie] [Older man, younger woman]

Brady pressed his forehead against the steering wheels, eyes shut and desperately trying not to think. The rain pattering against his windows helped. It was like white noise. He was parked in his driveway, back from work. His lights and wipers were off. There was a dim glow coming from his house. Don’t think. Try not to think.

It had never been his strong suit, turning his brain off. Brady was an overthinker, had been since grade school when he would always worry about tests. Turned him into a great student, which got him into a great University, which landed him feet first in a fantastic career. Overthinking and stress was the reason he pulled six figures a year.

It also ruined relationships, overthinking. Too much of whether he was doing the right thing or the wrong thing. Flowers or no flowers? Why hadn’t she responded to his texts? Was going out with him an elaborate prank? On and on, even in University. The only time it didn’t hurt him was when he was drunk. Alcohol was the only thing that eased him.

Brady didn’t touch the stuff, not anymore. Turns out alcohol is great for getting laid, terrible for keeping a marriage together. He’d been divorced five years at this point and was uncomfortably close to forty. God, had it really been that long? It felt like he was a hundred years old sometimes, and no amount of gym time or running could reverse that.

He glanced at his phone. Ten at night. The babysitter would stay until he came back, and he paid her by the hour, so it didn’t really matter. He had time to sit in his car and worry about his job. There was no reason to worry, even as an alcoholic, he never *ever* let his job slip. It was always the things around him that went. People, home care, pets, his health, sleep. Never work. Still, he worried.

Brady sighed and finally lifted his head off the wheel. Maybe he needed anxiety medication. That thought made him more anxious. He was successful because of his irrational fear of failing and falling behind. If he wasn’t anxious anymore, would he fail? Would his job suffer? Brady lived a comfortable life, alone in a three-story house in a nice gated neighborhood. Only downside of it was the fucking Homeowner’s Association, but he could smile and move his trashcan when they harassed him about it.

Grabbing his phone and jacket, he bolted out of his car and rushed to the front door. He was soaked by the time he got to there anyway, his nice dress shirt hugging his frame. He’d been trying really hard to put on more muscle and lose the booze fat from his binges. So far it had been working. He locked his car doors from the porch and went inside.

It was quiet, which meant that Annabelle had been put to bed. Good. Even with his income, being a single father was hard. God, it was hard sometimes. Especially for a girl. Why did he ever have kids so late? He loved his daughter, how could he not, but handling a ten-year-old without knowing the first thing about little girls felt impossible sometimes.

He tried not to think about it. Don’t think. Where was the babysitter? He left his nice dress shoes at the door and hung his jacket up in a closet too big for one man. He tiptoed across the hardwood floors. Annabelle’s room was upstairs, and it was almost impossible to hear anything up there, but Brady wasn’t about to risk the consequences of waking a ten-year-old.

He entered the kitchen and saw an open pizza box and a single slice of pepperoni. There was also a couple of plates with leftover lasagna. Thank god they ate that. Brady had to swear off food like that for his diet. Annabelle and the babysitter had free reign over the kitchen, as long as they didn’t touch his meal prep.

She was on the back-porch smoking, watching the rain and listening to the distant rumble of thunder. Margo was eighteen, a freshman in college and only back for the summer. She went somewhere out of state, Brady felt bad for not remembering. He had known Margo’s family for years, German immigrants who lived in their neighborhood. Her father was a mechanical engineer, her mother a psychiatrist. English was actually her second language, but Margo didn’t have an accent. It also seemed she hadn’t grown out of her old style, which consisted of knee high studded leather boots, tight black pants with rips in the thighs that let her tattoos peek through, hair dyed black and green like something out of a underground techno rave, piercings down her ears, a nose ring and a tongue stud, and lashes drawn to wingtips and dark green eyeshadow. Her lipstick was the color of deep pine trees. She hadn’t heard him approach, and he watched her for a moment through the window.

In this neighborhood, a goth like her drew plenty of unwanted stares and harsh whispers. She was obscene to the neighbors, all dressed prim and proper. Brady appreciated her style, envied it. How freeing it must have been, to look however you wanted, no expectations out you. She looked grim, sitting and smoke, brows furrowed, and plump lips drawn to a tight line as there was a silent lashing of thunder.

Brady knocked on the porch door before entering. Margo jerked in her seat and quickly ground her cigarette out against the heel of her boot.

“Mister Jameson! I thought you wouldn’t be back until eleven!” She snapped to attention like an army private. Brady shrugged.

“Got off early.”

“Annabelle is already asleep, and we had the leftover lasagna if you don’t mind. Sorry about the cigarette, I picked up a bad habit you know how it is I promise I won’t smoke on your back porch again.” Margo started blabbering. Brady smiled to himself. She put on a tough appearance with all the black, piercings, and leather, but she was surprisingly gentle. Margo smiled sheepishly, cheeks burning as her eyes flickered over him. He thought nothing of it.

“Margo, it’s fine, you don’t have to apologize.”

“I’ll, uh, get out of your hair. Super sorry.”

“Actually, I was wondering if you could spare one of those for me. After all, you just snubbed out half a perfectly good cigarette.” Brady said. Margo was halfway to getting up when she looked at him funny.

“You smoke?”

“Not really, but it’s been a day. Do you have to be home?”

Margo shook her head. “Mom and dad are gone for the week. It’s their fifteen-year anniversary. Went to Cuba, I think.” She sat back down and fished a crumpled box out of her back pocket. After tapping it in her palm a couple times, Brady knew the habit, she popped one out and offered him one. He sniffed it.

“You have a preferred brand?”

“Not really. Nicotine is nicotine, and jules are fucking lame,” grumbled Margo before she realized what she’d said. “Oh, sorry.” She blushed again.

“You’re eighteen now, right? You can swear, it’s fine.”

“It’s just…Well, I guess you’re right,” Margo grinned at him, cigarette lopsided between her teeth. “Fuck it.”

“Fuck it,” agreed Brady, leaning forward to accept her lighter. She wore an old, sun bleached Korn shirt that seemed one size too big, tucked into her waistband. As he puffed his cigarette to life, he couldn’t help but have his eyes wander, the curve of her breasts barely visible through the fabric, how her thighs bunched up as she pulled a leg onto the chair and placed her chin on her knee. Brady snapped himself out of it.

What the hell was he doing, looking at her like that? Her family were good friends. She was his daughter’s babysitter! He anxiously drew in a breath, letting the smoke fill his head and nicotine rush to his head. In the distance, thunder rumbled. White lightning whipped across the sky.

“Woah, calm down there Mister Jameson, you’re not going to have any ciggy left after that,” teased Margo. Brady stopped himself and blew the smoke out his nose.

“Right, well, it’s been a long day.”

“Maybe a drink would do you better then. I could get us some beers,” she said. He looked at her sideways and she shrugged. “Or you could get the beers. You’re the one over twenty-one, not me.”

Brady chuckled. “As much as I’d love to, I’m afraid I can’t have just one.”

“Why not?”

“Five years sober.” He said, watching the dark clouds. Margo blinked and had to think about that for a second before following his gaze.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. You could have the beers and I could drink water if you really want some.”

“Nah, it’s weird being the only person drinking. Besides, what would people think, your eighteen-year-old babysitter getting fed beers by the stud on the block?” Margo grinned, her face flashing mercury-silver as the lightning got closer. Brady blinked, turning toward her and staring again. Even with that dark lipstick, those plump lips…

“Stud on the block?” He asked, stopping his train of thought.

“Yeah! You! Everyone knows it. You’re like…The hot older guy, or whatever.” Margo shrugged.

“I’m thirty-eight.” Brady frowned.

“Yeah,” Margo said condescendingly. “AKA, the hot older guy on the street…Which is what I hear people say, is all.” She quickly added that last part.

Brady shook his head. His weight loss was going to plan, and he’d gained some bulk about his shoulders and chest, but hot older guy on the street? Her friends were probably just saying that. Hoping she’d tell him. Get him excited and then trap him, call him a pervert and laugh at him. He sucked in more smoke, trying to remain casual.

“Funny, because I hear people talking about the hot goth girl in the neighborhood quite a bit too.” He said. It was kind of a lie. They didn’t talk *favorably* about her, but they did talk about her.

Margo cackled. “Yeah? Where? I think I could clear out an old-folks home just by walking in and giving them all heart attacks.”

“You’d probably be doing them and the home a favor.” Brady snickered. Margo snorted, and he found himself staring at her from the corner of his eye while they smoke in silence. She was pretty, no, she was very attractive. Something about her grungy exterior made him feel something. And she was only eighteen. It’d be so wrong…But it could be fun too…

Lightning flashed in front of them, thunder booming right after and causing them both to jump. He had to stop thinking like that. Brady was nearly done with his cigarette and was about to ask her for a second when she ground hers out and turned to him.

“So, whose calling me the ‘hot goth girl,’ though?” She asked.

“Eh?”

“You called me the hot goth girl. Was that you or…Someone else?” Margo leaned toward him. Rain pattered against the porch. The way she moved closer, her arms mushed her breasts together and he could see them clearly through the jagged letters of Korn. Her green lips purse, eyeshadow ignited by more of the aggressive lightning. The heart of the storm was getting closer. Brady felt the ozone in the air, stale like metal.

“Just…Something I heard.” He quickly mumbled, though it wasn’t very convincing. She still had that wide, Cheshire grin plastered on her face.

“Oh yeah, from who?”

“I may have uh…Let that slip.” Brady nervously laughed, bringing the cigarette to his lips. No smoke, only burning. Damn. He flicked it off into the rain before turning to Margo, who had learned very close. He could smell her. Was that…Green apple? She really stuck to an aesthetic.

“You think I’m hot, Mister Jameson?” She asked. Thunder boomed, lightning chasing after it.

“I mean, you’re very attractive and…” He trailed off, staring at her. The way she pursed her lips, electric eyes glittering in the light of the storm. Green streaked hair falling over her face. Nose ring, piercings, everything about her framed her face perfectly.

“Yeah?” She asked, and before Brady knew what he was doing, he grabbed her shoulders and kissed her. Margo probably wasn’t *actually* expecting him to make a move on her, and he felt her tense up for a moment and feared she’d pull away. Feared she would run off, tell her parents, turn the neighborhood against him, tell Annabelle and all her friends and –

She pushed back against him, and his mind turned off as he tasted her, tongues pressing against each other. Margo grabbed his collared shirt, and the only thing keeping them apart were the army chairs. Well, not for long. He half stood up, pulling her out of her chair and yanking her down onto his lap. Her legs spread, she ground against him while kissing him. His erection threatened to burst through his pants. These were his good pants.

He grabbed her breasts through her shirt, causing her to gasp. Alcohol wasn’t the only reason for his divorce. It certainly helped, but alcohol fed into his deeper problem. He was absolutely insatiable if he was with someone or saw anyone he wanted. And that happened a lot with Brady. He was a serial cheater and couldn’t keep his dick out of things whenever the chance arose. The anxious part of his brain *screamed* not to do this with Margo, but he was too far gone. When she pulled back, biting his lip and dragging her teeth on them, she saw his wide pupils, wide smile looking up at her.

He clawed at her shirt and she lifted her arms to help him out. He threw it to the side. Her breasts were larger than he would have guessed, probably a C cup looking at them. Wrapping his arms around her, he yanked at the clip of her bra. This time she threw it to the side before kissing him again, tits pressed against his chest, jeans grinding against his erection. He gripped her hip and then slapped her ass a couple times.

“You’re so fucking dirty,” moaned Margo.

“You’re the slutty one here.” Brady said.

“Don’t you like me being slutty?”

“I love it,” growled Brady before he latched on to one of her nipples. She gasped then groaned as he bit down, first playfully and then hard. Harder. Harder. Margo’s squeals were drowned out by a rolling pass of thunder. Brady sat back up straight and slapped her tit a couple times. She yelped and rolled her eyes in pleasure.

“Let me suck your cock.” She begged.

“Only if you take off your jeans.” He said. Margo practically jumped off him, unzipping her boots and pulling them off as fast as she could without falling over. As she wiggled her ripped jeans over her hips, Brady leaned back and undid his belt. She was on her knees and crawling over to him, hands snaking up his thighs before grabbing his zipper.

“Let me finish it.” Margo said, and Brady obliged. She slowly undid his buttons and zipper. He wiggled his hips a bit so she could tug his pants down slightly and his cock popped out. At nine inches, he’d always been well endowed, and Margo gawked. She licked her lips and grabbed his thick shaft, pumping him and then running her tongue along it.

“Suck it.” Brady ordered.

“Yes, daddy.” Margo breathed and then swallowed his cock. He dipped his head back and groaned as she began to bob her head up and down, both hands working the bottom of his shaft while she tried to swallow more of him. The shaft of his cock was smeared green from her lipstick and she gagged a bit trying to fit more into her mouth. Twisting her hands, her cheeks caved in as she sucked, lips right around his head.

“Fuck yes,” groaned Brady as she continued. He hadn’t had a good blowjob in a long time. He didn’t like this part of himself, the part that saw women as meat. It took a lot of effort to stop himself from doing these things, and his anxiety only served as a shield. There was nothing to do when he snapped though, nothing anyone could do.

Margo slid her lips to the head of his cock, suckled it for a moment, and then pulled off with a *pop*. She grinned and continued jerking off his cock, slapping her cheeks with it a couple of times and getting spit and makeup on her.

Brady grabbed her by the armpits, and she yelped again as he manhandled her. She was surprisingly light. “You wanna fuck your teen goth babysitter?” She moaned in his ear as he moved her panties out of the way of her perfect pale pussy.

“Mhm. And I’m going to.” Brady said, running his slick shaft against her. She ground back, biting her lip and practically trembling.

“Yeah, daddy? You want to fuck me raw?”

“Mm,” grunted Brady, less and less himself.

“Fuck yeah,” Margo groaned as he pulled her down. She sat down on him, hands on his shoulders and trembling as she was filled with his cock. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Brady bucked, causing her to squeak in pain. He clamped a hand over his mouth, having a rare moment of clarity and remembering his daughter inside. Still, they were in the middle of the storm now. Each thrust he felt her whimper into his hand, every time it seemed as if thunder was booming along with him. What had been whips of lightning were now razor nets of light slicing through the sky and it illuminated Margo in mercury bits. The whole thing was surreal. She clamped down on him, and he felt her cumming around him. Her hands curled and bunched up his shirt. Margo tried grinding against him but he’d wrapped his arms around her lower back and stood up. He held her in the air, watching her tits jump as he clapped against her.

“O-oh my G-god, fuck, f-fuck, daddy. Daddy fuck me, fuck your goth slut harder,” Margo gripped his shirt to stop herself from falling, her face tight and lipstick smeared. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” She squealed and he felt her clamp again. Brady barely saw her as his daughter’s babysitter, or a girl whose family he knew well. She was meat. Meat to fuck and nut in, just like all the others.

“You want my cum?” He grunted between thrusts. The ozone in the air felt like a drug. She nodded dumbly.

“Yes, yes, cum in me, daddy. I want you to cum in me. I-I’m on birth control.” Margo yelped, though honestly Brady didn’t care if she was or not. He fell back into his chair, she on top of him, breasts mashed against his chest and screams drowned out by the storm as he grabbed her hips and saw her ass bouncing as he thrust into her. Harder. Faster. Harder. *Harder*.

Thunder roared in his ear, and veins of lightning ripped through the clouds threatening to shred them and blinding him as he came. Both of their screams were covered by the storm as he blew his load inside, pumping cum deep into Margo.

The thunder died. Lightning faded. The center of the storm was past them, a small grumble of noise announcing its departure. Margo sat on him, head on his shoulder and breathing heavily.

“So,” said Brady after a moment.

“So,” breathed Margo.

“You free to babysit again this Friday?” He asked. Margo wiggled her hips.

“Is this how I’m getting paid from now on?”

“You want this instead of money?”

“How about this *and* money. I can’t buy cigarettes with your cum,” Margo giggled. She sat up, and he saw her flushed face and breasts. Cum was slowly leaking out of her and onto his pants. That’d stain. Shit. “But yeah, I’m free on Friday.”

“So…See you then?”

Margo leaned forward and kissed him again. He could taste himself on her lips, deep in her mouth.

“Can’t wait, daddy.”

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/cu21zk/plowing_the_goth_babysitter_mf_oral_kissing