Fiction: The babysitter made me do it.

Fiction: The babysitter made me do it, but I also wanted to. So there’s that.

Elle was our babysitter, and I had been looking at her for the last six months. I am a horrible person, probably.

She was 21 and in college, and I was just 31, so it’s not like the age was that super creepy. But I was married, technically — my wife and I were trying what our therapist called a “trial separation with cohabitation,” which basically meant I’d been sleeping on the couch for a month. We needed Elle once a week so we could go to counseling, which was an excuse for me to get into a room with my wife and have her tell me why I was horrible.

I took it, mainly, because I don’t like fighting with a referee in the room. It had been a decade of ups and downs and downs and downs, and most days I couldn’t remember how we got here or if we ever were anywhere else.

There was also the hitting-30 thing. And the being-a-father thing. And the-not-wanting-to-turn-into-my-dad thing. And the-wait-you’re-sure-my-hair-is-still-thick-in-the-back thing. I had all of those cliched midlife insecurities that most boring, sad, middle-class white men have. I know I am not painting a great portrait, but like I said in the beginning, I might be a horrible person. What can you do?

But Elle. Jesus Christ. I’d look at her and want to beat someone up — caveman shit. She was tall and soft, in a good way. With her red hair, she always seemed to be backlit, like a glow. I never saw Elle in anything but jeans and a tight tshirt, and every time she left the house, I’d lock myself in the bathroom and masturbate furiously. Furiously.

And I was OK with that relationship. I never said or did or looked at anything inappropriate when she was around — I tried to stay out of the way, mainly. So when Elle asked if I could give her a ride home one day, I said OK.

She normally rode her bike home, but it was fall and my wife and I had been running late. It was just 6 p.m. but already dark outside. My wife had come home — after a particularly exhausting session where she had basically said she didn’t really like me that much anymore — and took our daughter and went straight to the bedroom, locking herself in.

I grabbed my keys and put her bike in the back of my Jeep. I opened the door for Elle. I tried not to stare at her ass as she slid into my Jeep, but I couldn’t help it. It was just so … stare-able.

“You seem sad Paul.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a tough, um, day. Month? Year? I don’t know.”

“Can I tell you something and you not get mad at me?”

“Ha, sure. I hear that a lot lately.”

“Susan isn’t nice to you. You deserve better.”

Silence.

“You know, I, uh, that’s tough to respond to.”

“It’s just my opinion. But I would think if you have someone in your life, you’d want to make them happy, not sad. And everytime I see you two together, you look like you are in pain.”

More silence. This was the longest drive ever. I could see out of the corner of my eye she was staring at me, waiting for me to respond.

“Well, you know, we are going through this thing. Kind of a separation. But kind of also not. It’s …weird.”

“I understand …”

“So … um … I can’t say I disagree with your premise.”

We passed the library and a few shops that were closed on Main Street. The downtown was dark and dead. Elle’s house was a mile away.

“Can you pull into the parking lot over here to the right?”

“Beside the record store?”

She nodded. I turned. And, honestly, I wasn’t even suspicious. I had been living a life of taking orders the last three years, so I did as obeyed, without really wondering why.

“Can we park and talk for a second,” she asked. And, OK, that was a little weird, I thought, but we’re both adults and sometimes two adults stop to chat in dark parking lots.

I navigated the Jeep into a spot facing a brick wall. Even though it was fall and dark out, it was a warm day. The top was off. I could smell a fire burning. It was nice.

We sat there. Saying … normal stuff, where you kind of talk but say nothing. And then there’s an awkward silence. Finally, courage, she turned toward me. Her arms were sort of crossed in front of her, putting her ample cleavage in the forefront. I could smell her perfume.

“Can I give you something?”

You know when someone says something and your heart sort of feels like it stops and you immediately get butterflies in your stomach. I had that.

“I guess … that depends.”

“I want to give you a blow job. For you,” she said, emphasizing the “you” in a way that made it seem like a tremendous favor.

Now, I had lived a life that I considered pretty great before I was married. High school — great. College — great. That year I was single after college — great. I had never had someone tell me this, ever. Ever. It was the single greatest thing I had ever heard, outloud. And it was coming at the moment I needed to hear it the most.

“What? I. Huh? I can’t let you. I don’t think … I mean, you are great, but …”

“Is this where I force myself on you?” she said, joking.

But then she wasn’t, because she kind of lunged at me, clearing the central divider between the bucket seats. Her soft lips were on mine, and my arms were around here. I felt her tongue teasing my mouth, and I kissed her back, in a way I thought I wouldn’t. For a second. Then I sort of moved back … although it was the minimum distance I could move her as I didn’t try too super hard.

“I shouldn’t do this.”
“Sure you should.”
“But … I shouldn’t.”
“Sure you should.”
“Why?”
“Because you want to.”
“I plead the fifth.”
“Don’t you want to feel like a man again?”

She flashed me a look that was a mix of a smile and a sexy pout. Her finger traced her cleavage and she pulled the front of her shirt down, showing me the red lace bra.

“I wouldn’t mind that, no.”
“Well, take this gift from me to you. One time offer.”
“But … why?”
“Do we need a reason? You’re cute, and I feel a little sorry for you, which is definitely a trigger for me. Also, I like to give head and do favors for cool people, because it’s 2021 and that’s OK.”

The girl made sense. My cock was not letting me think of a counter argument.

“I’m definitely supportive of … all of that.”
“Then give me your consent, sir.”

I looked at her, locked eyes for the first time. Her red hair was thick and bouncy and her eyes were crystal blue. There was absolutely no chance I would say no. Now it was like riding a bull. How long could I hold off?

She leaned back into me, so I could smell her. Her arms reached around my neck. She pulled herself close. I was nervous, not about cheating — I honestly didn’t even feel that guilty — but because I hadn’t been with another woman in a decade. I felt … out of place.

Her lips touched mine again. Soft. She kissed my neck and ear lobe. Her hand was on my thigh and inching its way up. Slowly.

I felt her hands on me over my pants and she let out a little sigh.

“Say yes,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

She stroked me over my pants as she kissed me. I was no longer resisting, meeting her mouth with my own.

Her hand fumbled with my belt buckle and unfastened my pants. She unzipped me and pushed my slacks down. She was still kissing me, but when she reached under my shorts she stopped. “Wow. Paul. I had no idea. Nice.”

I didn’t know if she meant it or just knew it was a good thing to say, but I also did not care, either way, at all.

She pulled my cock out. It was throbbing, and it felt cartoonishly big in that way that they do when someone is turning you on beyond the maximum amount. The feel of her warm hands sent a shudder down my back. I felt like my whole body was one big nerve, all leading directly to the head of my cock. She held my life in her hands.

She stroked it, kind of forcefully, two hands, squeezing it as she worked her way back up the shaft. Precum was dripping out, coating her palms. She jerked me for a good minute, slowly, whenever I felt like I was getting into it, she’d stop, just squeeze me. She was good.

“You want my mouth,” she said, her face an inch from mine.
“Yes.”
“You don’t care I’m not your wife?”
“Who?”
“The woman you’re married to.”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Does she suck your cock?” She squeezed.
“Not in the slightest.”
“Aww, poor baby.”

She lowered her head, taking all of me down her throat in one move. It was a great move. A quality move.

She gagged a bit, covering my balls with spit. Her right hand cupped them while her left worked my shaft. She moved her mouth up, twisting her left hand as she did.

In and out, in and out. She pumped me, letting out a little moan when I’d make noise or touch her hair.

I looked around the parking lot, suddenly reminded we were outside with the top down. Luckily there was no one around. It was a fairly silent night, minus some crickets in the distance and the sound of the highway a mile away. I was managing to not make a sound. She, however, was making a loud slobbering noise because she was really getting into the festivities. It might sound gross as I describe it, but trust me, it was the sexiest sound I had ever heard in my life.

“Fuck. I can’t last long.”
“Good.”

She stopped, with her mouth, jerking me off with her hand.

“You want to cum in my mouth?”
“Wherever.”
“If you want it, say it,” she teased.
“Yes. … I want to cum in your mouth.”
“You want to cum in your babysitter’s mouth?”
“Yes, fuck. YES. Don’t stop.”

She stopped. I groaned.

“Now? Do you want to cum in your dirty babysitter’s mouth now?”
“Yes.”
“Please?” she started jerking me again, her mouth so close I could feel her exhale.
“Yes, please. Jesus. All the pleases!”

She jerked me with her right hand, opening her mouth slightly and sticking her tongue out, touching the edge of my cock. I tried to hold out, but the sight of her was too much. She stared up into my eyes with a mixture of lust and obedience. I felt like a king.

“Oh God, fuck. I’m going to cum …”

I shot a thick rope, hitting her open mouth. She let out a little moan, lowering her mouth back on my cock, pumping me down her throat, staring at me the whole time. My hands were on her head, and my hips lifted up off the seat. She took all of me, swallowing every drop, moaning encouragement.

I felt like I might pass out.

When I stopped cumming and my body relaxed, she took me out of her mouth and jerk her hand up my cock, taking the last bit of cum out and into her mouth, swallowing and smiling.

My head went back, staring out. She sat up, kissed me. I could taste my cum on her lips and she laughed. “Hope that helped.”

“Yes. Um, thanks?”

“For what?” she said, smiling.

“For … being so generous as to share your favorite hobby,” I joked. She laughed.

“Maybe next time I’ll let you fuck me,” she said.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/r5nyke/fiction_the_babysitter_made_me_do_it