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I had an easy sitting job for Mr Peters. He was the last of the people that I still sat for. Mainly because no-one else wanted the job. Even though he paid regular rates most people just didn’t seem to get on too well with his girls. Maybe because of their crappy habits.
A bit about me. The name’s Beth, I’m eighteen, nearly nineteen, average height, decent bosom and tush, and a reasonable waist. Not an hour-glass figure but who want to look like a reject from the cartoon factory? I have a figure that’s suitable to a girl my age, better than most but not super-star material.
Mr Peters is a nice guy, early thirties, is my guess. I wouldn’t call him classically handsome but he’s not bad looking. He’s quite fit, too, but I suppose he has to be to keep up with his girls. Character wise I’d put him a bit on the stodgy side.
His girls are all three years of age. Full grown monsters, is what they are. Pure bred Alaskan Malamutes, they need a lot of exercise and eat like three young horses, carnivorous horses. I get on extremely well with them. They love me and know they have to obey me. The one time Mr Peters arranged for another sitter they ran riot. When she took them down to the dog park they took off in three different directions, totally ignoring her. She rang me in tears and I had to go around and bring them to heel.
Every few months Mr Peters would go on a business trip for a week or so. He could take the dogs to a boarding kennel but it’s rather expensive. (I think they ate the last kennel he used.) That’s where I come in. I’d drop past in the morning to feed them and again in the evening to take them for a run at the dog park for an hour and put them through their tricks and then feed them again. The idea is to keep their training fresh and to run them ragged. Good for them and also good for keeping me fit. The only irritating part of the job is cleaning up their crap after them. They don’t only eat like horses.
I’d just returned from the dog park and let the beasts into their dog run. (Don’t go thinking small run. Their run was twice the size of the full block I lived on. Fortunately they have been trained to consider one corner their toilet which make cleaning up after them a lot easier.) I decided I’d better check the food supply. Mr Peters normally leaves ample but it doesn’t hurt to keep an eye on it. The food supply was kept in the house, naturally. Keep it outside and the dogs would figure out how to get at it.
The back door was unlocked which surprised me. I could have sworn I locked it when I got the food earlier. I made a note to be more careful and went waltzing into the kitchen.
“Oh. Mr Peters. I thought you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Beth,” he said with a nod. “I made better time than I thought. How’re the girls. Want a cool drink?” He indicated a jug of something cold. I could see the dew on the jug.
“Wouldn’t mind one,” I admitted. “It was a warm day and chasing three monsters around was hot work. The girls are fine, obedient and sedate.”
I heard his derisive snort at that. Obedient if you watched them. Sedate only if unconscious. I’d turned and reached up to the glasses cupboard for a glass for my drink. When I turned back Mr Peters seemed to turn his head quickly. Had he been checking out my tush?
Despite the warmth I was wearing yoga-pants. I like them and they stop the dogs scratching me. I was suddenly aware that they also showed off my gluteus maximus to some advantage.
I blame that sudden awareness for the accident. I put my glass down on the table and it promptly started to fall over. I’d accidentally put it on the edge of something. Teach me for not looking. I caught the impression of it toppling and made a lightning grab for it, missing by yea much. I effectively ended up punching the glass and sending it sailing across the room to land on the floor and smash.
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “I’ll just clean that up.”
Mr Peters demurred but I had broken it and I knew where the dustpan and brush poker oyna were so I grabbed them and quickly swept up the glass. It wasn’t until I was tipping the glass into the rubbish bin that it occurred to me that if Mr Peters had been eyeing my bottom when I reached for the glass, what had he been doing when I bent over to sweep it up? I could almost feel a blush sweeping across my face.
“Sorry,” I said again, getting a fresh glass and not breaking it.
He just waved it off.
“I call them breakables. They’re cheap and I buy them a dozen at a time so who cares if one breaks. Forget it.”
I nodded as I drank my drink, looking ostentatiously around the room.
“Ah, looking for something?” he asked.
“Just checking to make sure there isn’t a rolled up newspaper in easy reach,” I said innocently, referring to the paper he would rap against the dog’s noses if he had to.
He laughed. “Your nose may be a little on the large size,” he said amiably, “but the girls have you beat there.”
I gave him an indignant look as I rose to put my glass on the sink. On the large size indeed.
“Of course,” he happily continued, “I could always apply a swift boot to the bum which is something the girls might cop, but perhaps not appropriate in your case.”
He was back to my bottom again. I glowered at him to show I was not amused. He was.
“Perhaps a simple smack on the bottom. Trouble is I’m too lazy to deliver one right now. Why don’t you do it for me?”
The devil made me do it. That’s the only explanation for what I did. I was standing a little too far off for him to reach me and I just turned and bent slightly so that my bottom stuck out and I gave it a casual slap.
“Do you mean like this,” I said innocently, “or like this?” With that I pushed my yoga-pants down far enough to expose my buttocks and dropped another quick slap, and then I was hauling my yoga-pants back into place tout suite.
I ran into an immediate problem. They didn’t want to come back up. Probably because Mr Peters moved faster and with a longer reach than I expected, and his fingers had hooked over my yoga-pants and were holding them down. Not just my yoga-pants, as my panties had gone down with them, even though I hadn’t intended that. And if that wasn’t bad enough guess what his knuckles were pressed against.
He quite effortlessly pulled me closer while turning me to face him. I was giggling and trying to pull my things up but he has a firm grip.
“Don’t you go pulling my pants down,” I protested and he laughed.
“I didn’t. You did,” he pointed out, smiling widely.
His eyes dropped down and then back up to look me in the face, his smile wider than ever. That’s when it registered that it wasn’t just the back of my yoga-pants that had dropped down. I was now officially flashing him, and from quite close range.
“Well, let them go,” I demanded. The urgency of my demand was lost as I was still giggling. In a weird way this was exciting.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why? So that I can pull them up.”
“But I don’t particularly want you to pull them up. Why do you want to pull them up? It can’t be to stop me seeing you as I’ve already seen what you have.”
To demonstrate he ran his hand over my mons and across the front of my cleft.
Oh lord. I felt a flash of heat inside me that seemed to follow the path of his hand.
“That’s part of the reason I want them up.”
“What? Me doing this?”
“Yes,” I squeaked, feeling that flash of heat again as his hand touched me there again.
“But that’s why I want them down. Let me explain something to you.”
He grabbed one of my hands and pulled it towards him. I had to bend forward slightly as I did so and I could swear my things dropped slightly lower. He pressed my hand against his groin and it was another case of ‘oh lord’. He felt positively enormous.
He released his grip on the back of my clothes but he also brushed my hand away from them. Then he fastened canlı poker oyna onto my yoga-pants from either side.
“The big question is do I pull them up or down? Down and you’ll probably finish up riding my cock. Up and you’ll probably go home wishing you’d said down, wondering what it would have been like. Oh, the tragedy of a missed opportunity.”
Missed opportunity indeed. Did he seriously expect me to agree? I might have felt a touch of excitement at the possibility of what could take place, but only the merest smidgeon. Talk about stupid questions.
“Down,” I snapped, and even as I felt them going down I realised that I’d misspoke. “Wait, I meant up,” I said hurriedly, even if a little late as my things were now below my knees.
“Oh, you rotten man,” I gasped. “You knew what I meant.”
“How could I know when you don’t even seem to know yourself,” he protested. “Still, it doesn’t really matter. You might as well let them come right off now so it will be easier to put them back on.”
In hindsight that didn’t make a bit of sense. All I had to do was pull them up. As it was he sounded so rational and matter-of-fact about it that I found myself automatically lifting each foot as he calmly removed my shoes, yoga-pants, and panties, leaving me half naked, and the wrong half, at that.
He was now holding my clothes but not me. This meant I was finally in a position to take a step back, which I promptly did. The smile on his face indicated that he now had a much better view and he was enjoying it. I hastily crossed my hands in front of my groin and he had the audacity to laugh.
“Possibly a little late,” he told me. “I hate to say it but you look ridiculous like that. He reached over and took hold of my top.
“Lift your hands and we’ll take this off as well. You’ll probably feel a lot better then.”
“But I’ll be naked,” I pointed out.
“Well, yes, that is the idea,” he pointed out. “That way you’ll be in a better position to decide if you want to remain naked.”
I shuddered internally. I wanted to be naked. Whether I wanted to go further than that or not I didn’t know but I had this funny feeling I did. I was getting excited, wanting things to go further.
I lifted my arms and he lifted my top. Collecting my bra along the way. Now I didn’t know what to cover so I didn’t cover anything. He stood up and I backed up a little.
“Your turn,” he said, gesturing to himself.
“My turn for what?” I asked.
He started undoing his belt and then stopped.
“You’re naked,” he said, “and I’m not. Don’t you believe in an even playing field?”
I was supposed to undress him? That made me even more nervous than him taking my clothes off. Nervous or not there was no way I was going to back down.
I finished undoing his belt, unzipped, and dropped his trousers. Even as he was lifting his feet out of them I was deciding I’d take off his shirt next. There was a little too much bulge in his shorts for me to want to expose that before I had to. If I exposed it at all.
Shirt and singlet, no problems. Looking at his shorts and that bulge, that was something else again. Ah. A brainwave. I stepped behind him and pulled his shorts down from behind. That was the theory. The practice was that wouldn’t come down.
“What’s wrong with them?” I demanded.
“Perhaps you’d better take a look. They seem to be caught on something.”
I reluctantly took a look and I could see the problem. I was going to have to lift the waistband out first, letting that bulge break free. I took my courage in both hands, considered strangling it and running away screaming, then lifted his shorts clear and let them drop, jumping back to avoid being hit by his erection. (If I’d been dressed, running away screaming might have won.)
Now I might have seen a cock or two prior to this. I’m not saying I have, but I might have, and that might have given me an expectation of what I was about to see. Ever found yourself in a situation where your internet casino expectations have been exceeded? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
Did I want to get dressed, saying thank you, but no thank you?
Yes, I did.
Did I want to touch that thing and see what it felt like?
Again, yes, I did.
Did I want to feel that inside me?
I had no fucking idea but I suspected I was about to because I wasn’t backing off. I was feeling hot and flushed and ready.
He reached for me, pulling me flush up against him, and I could feel him pressed against my tummy. Well, alright, I could feel all of him pressed against me, from his hairy legs to his even hairier chest rubbing against my own, ah, chest, but what I could feel most was the hard heat of his erection pressing against me.
He bent his head and kissed me, his hands stating to move across my body. Seeing there was now a little room between us I returned the favour, my hands starting to move across his body, both of them closing over him, stroking him, evaluating the size of him. (My assessment was still ‘too big’ but I was sure I could manage.)
He kissed me and I kissed him back. His hands moved over my breasts and mine moved over his erection. He kissed my breasts, one hand between my legs, rubbing me firmly. My nails scraped lightly over the head of his cock and he groaned.
This touching and kissing went on for a while with me getting more and more aroused. He was fully aroused before his shorts even went down. What I had in my hands was proof of that.
He finally pushed me firmly back against the table, his hands either side of me, looking at me expectantly. I looked back at him and he smiled and waited. It slowly seeped through my rather bemused mind just what he was waiting for. I was holding his cock so I should put it where it was supposed to go.
I lifted one leg up and to the side, giving me easier access. Then it was simply a case of steering him into position and hoping that thing didn’t kill me. As soon as contact was made he was pushing in, and he was stretching me. Oh, boy, was I ever feeling stretched.
He kept coming and I kept accepting him. At any moment I was going to burst, I was sure of it, but then he was in and I wasn’t uncomfortably full. Full, yes, but not uncomfortably so. It made me wonder for an idle moment just how much I could take, not that I had any desire to find out. What I had now was ample.
Instead of leaving my leg waving in the air I curled it around him, helping to hold him. His hands settled on my hips and he started to thrust into me. (I’d have preferred his hands on my breasts but maybe his idea was better seeing we were standing. Another time, another position, and who knows.)
I was having a ball. I don’t know why I’d been a little nervous of doing this. Actually, if I’d known the man’s talents I’d have found a way to initiate this sort of thing earlier. Did I perhaps mention a certain stodginess about Mr Peters? I can tell you right now that when you’ve got his cock moving vigorously in and out of you that stodginess is somehow overlooked.
This was one of these occasions when the man was both in a hurry, and not. The way he was thrusting so merrily into me suggested he wanted to get the job over and done with. The fact that he kept on going made a lie of that first impression, because he showed no sign of stopping anytime soon.
I was squeaking and squealing and urging him on. Not urging him on to a finish but more of a yes, yes, yes, give me more, sort of thing, and he was doing his best to oblige. His best was pretty fantastic.
Just like that I was passionately in love with this man, or at least with what he was doing to me. My vocals slowly degenerate into meaningless babble while I was continuing to push to meet him almost mindlessly.
He actually climaxed first but that was enough to send me over the edge, almost fainting in a flood of delight.
We finally separated and I just remained propped up against the table, him leaning on the table next to me.
“Well, that’s not a bad start,” the man said, just as calm as you please. “How about we have a nice shower and then we can settle down to some serious loving.”
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