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Baby Sitting 2: My Babysitting Secret Gets Deeper
Quick recap:
Yesterday, after the kids were asleep, Mr Thompson caught me rubbing myself on his sofa. One thing led to another, and he ended up on his knees in the kitchen — tongue deep between my thighs until I came so hard I had to bite my wrist to stay quiet. No kissing, no promises … just raw need and a whispered “See you tomorrow.”
Saturday: A New Shift, A New High
I showed up at six-thirty wearing a ribbed crop-top (no bra) and soft lounge shorts that barely covered my ass. The kids were eating pizza; his wife was still out of town. Mark skated around me all evening — helping with homework, stealing looks at the swell of my breasts under that thin top. Every glance made my nipples peep harder through the fabric.
By nine, cartoons were off and beds were tucked. The house fell silent except for the dishwasher. I wiped the counter on purpose, bending low so my top sagged forward. Mark’s hand landed on my lower back — feather-light — then slid up my spine. Heat rushed between my legs.
“I owe you,” he murmured.
I straightened, heart banging. “Close the blinds,” I said. My voice sounded braver than I felt.
He did, then pressed me against the fridge, hands finding my hips. I reached for the hem of my crop-top and yanked it off. My breasts bounced free, small but high, nipples already stiff. He groaned — deep, almost pained — then lowered his mouth to…
