My Busty Babysitter

Rachel had been the Greene family’s babysitter for three years, ever since she turned fifteen and the neighbors recommended her. Now she was eighteen, a high school senior with a body that had bloomed into something criminal. John Greene still remembered the day she walked into his kitchen wearing a tight pink tank top that barely contained the heavy, swaying mounds of her tits. He had nearly dropped his coffee mug. Kathy had been standing right there, complaining about the opera tickets she had just bought, and all John could see was the deep valley of cleavage and the way Rachel’s nipples pressed against the thin cotton like she wasn’t wearing a bra.

He was forty-two. Married. Father of two. And he was obsessed.

Every Saturday night when Kathy dragged him to some cultural event he hated, Rachel showed up at six sharp. She always wore something that made his cock twitch the second the door opened. Tight jeans that hugged the perfect curve of her ass. Crop tops that flashed the soft skin of her stomach. Low-cut blouses that threatened to spill those massive tits out every time she bent over to pick up a toy. John told himself it was harmless. He was just looking. He would never touch. He loved his kids. He respected the institution of marriage even if the institution itself had stopped respecting him years ago.

Kathy hadn’t touched him in eight months. The last time they had sex she had lain there like a corpse, staring at the ceiling, waiting for him to finish. Afterward she wiped herself with a tissue and said, “You should get that checked. It took longer than usual.” John had rolled over and stared at the wall until she fell asleep. Then he got up, went into the bathroom, and jerked off thinking about Rachel’s tits.

Saturday arrived the way it always did. Kathy was already dressed in a black gown that made her look severe. John answered the door in his shirt sleeves, heart hammering. Rachel stood on the porch in a white tank top two sizes too small and a pair of denim shorts that barely covered the lower curves of her ass. Her blonde hair was in a high ponytail. Her blue eyes sparkled. And those tits—Jesus Christ those tits—sat high and heavy on her chest, the soft inner slopes pressed together into a canyon of pale flesh that disappeared into the neckline.

“Hi, Mr. Greene,” she said, smiling that soft, knowing smile that always made him feel like she could read every filthy thought in his head.

“Rachel. Come in.” His voice came out rougher than he intended.

She brushed past him, the side of one massive breast grazing his forearm. Heat shot straight to his cock. He closed the door and followed her into the living room where the kids were already climbing all over her, squealing. She laughed and hugged them, bending forward so that the tank top gaped open. John got a clear view of the soft undersides of her tits and the faint pink of one nipple. He turned away, adjusting himself in his pants, and went upstairs to finish getting ready.

Kathy was in the bedroom applying lipstick. “Don’t forget to pay her,” she said without looking at him. “And don’t be late picking her up. I don’t want her mother thinking we’re unreliable.”

“I’ll handle it.”

They left at six-thirty. The opera was three hours of pure torture. John spent the entire time with a semi-hard cock, replaying the image of Rachel’s tits in that tank top. When they finally got home Kathy went straight upstairs without even thanking Rachel. John found the girl in the living room, the kids already in bed, the television playing some cartoon on mute. She had taken off her sandals. Her bare feet were tucked under her on the couch. The tank top had ridden up, showing a strip of soft belly.

“Kids were perfect,” she said. “As always.”

John pulled cash from his wallet and held it out. She stood to take it. The movement made her tits bounce heavily. He couldn’t look away. She noticed. Of course she noticed. A little smile curved her mouth.

“My car’s still in the shop,” she said. “Mom dropped me off. Can you give me a ride?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

They walked out to his car in silence. The night was warm. Rachel’s bare thighs looked smooth and inviting against the dark leather of the passenger seat. John started the engine and pulled out of the driveway. The country road to her house was winding and dark. He kept both hands on the wheel and his eyes on the asphalt, but every few seconds his gaze drifted to the side. The tank top was so tight the outline of her nipples was clear. Thick. Puffy. The kind of nipples a man could suck on for hours.

“You’re quiet tonight, Mr. Greene.”

“Long week.”

“Kathy seems… tense.”

He gave a short, bitter laugh. “That’s one word for it.”

Rachel turned in her seat, angling her body toward him. The movement made her tits shift and settle. “You know you can talk to me, right? I’ve been coming here for years. I see things.”

John’s knuckles whitened on the wheel. “What kind of things?”

“That she doesn’t touch you. That she doesn’t look at you the way a wife should look at her husband. That you look at me like you’re starving.”

The words hung in the air between them. John’s cock was fully hard now, straining against his zipper. He opened his mouth to deny it, to say something responsible, but a deer bolted across the road. He slammed the brakes. The car skidded onto the shoulder, tires crunching gravel. Rachel’s hand flew out and landed on his thigh, high up, inches from his erection.

They sat there breathing hard. The only sound was the idle of the engine and the soft rustle of leaves outside.

“You okay?” he asked.

She didn’t take her hand away. “Yeah.” Her fingers flexed against his leg. “Your heart’s racing.”

“Adrenaline.”

“Is it?” She looked down at the thick ridge in his pants. “Or is it this?”

John’s breath left him in a rush. Rachel’s small hand slid higher, palm pressing firmly over the bulge of his cock. She squeezed once, experimentally, and then again with more confidence. He groaned. The sound seemed to encourage her. She worked the zipper down carefully, reached inside, and wrapped her fingers around his bare shaft. His cock was thick and hot and already leaking. She stroked him slowly from base to tip, smearing the precum around the swollen head.

“Rachel—”

“Shh.” She leaned across the center console. Her heavy tits pressed against his arm as she lowered her head into his lap. The first wet drag of her tongue over the head of his cock made his hips jerk. She took him into her mouth slowly, stretching her lips wide around the girth, sinking down until her nose pressed against his stomach. She held him there, throat working, saliva dripping down his balls. Then she started to suck.

John’s head fell back against the seat. His hand found the back of her head, fingers threading into her ponytail. She bobbed up and down with wet, filthy sounds—slurps and gags and soft moans that vibrated straight through his shaft. Spit ran down her chin and soaked the front of her tank top. Her free hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently while she deep-throated him over and over. He could feel the soft weight of her tits against his thigh every time she came up for air.

“Fuck… Rachel… I’m gonna—”

She pulled off just long enough to say, “Cum in my mouth,” and then took him all the way again. John came hard, hips lifting off the seat, flooding her throat with thick ropes of semen. She swallowed every drop, milking him with her tongue until he was twitching and oversensitive. When she finally sat up her lips were shiny and swollen. A little trail of cum had escaped the corner of her mouth. She wiped it with her thumb and licked it clean while looking him dead in the eye.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a year,” she said quietly.

John stared at her. His cock was still half-hard, glistening with her spit. “You’re eighteen.”

“And you’re married. And miserable. And hard again already.” She reached down and stroked him lazily. “Take me home, Mr. Greene. But not all the way home. There’s a dirt road about a mile from my house. Pull off there.”

He should have said no. He should have zipped up and driven her straight to her door and never looked at her again. Instead he put the car in gear and drove.

The dirt road was secluded, bordered by thick trees. John killed the engine. The only light came from the dashboard. Rachel climbed over the console and into his lap without a word. She straddled him, knees bracketing his hips, and peeled the tank top up and over her head. Her tits spilled free—huge, heavy, pale, with thick pink nipples already stiff. John made a broken sound and buried his face between them. He sucked one nipple into his mouth while his hands filled with soft, warm flesh. She was so big his fingers couldn’t meet around each breast. He licked and bit and sucked until she was whimpering and grinding her denim-covered pussy against his cock.

“Get these off,” he growled, yanking at her shorts.

She rose up enough for him to shove the denim and her little white panties down her thighs. Her pussy was bare, puffy, and dripping. The scent of her hit him like a drug—sweet and musky and young. She guided the head of his cock to her entrance and sank down in one slow, deliberate slide. She was tight. Impossibly tight. Hot, slick walls clamped around him as she took every inch. When she bottomed out she stayed there, breathing hard, eyes locked on his.

“You’re so big,” she whispered. “I can feel you stretching me.”

John gripped her ass and started to move her. Up and down. Slow at first, then harder. Her tits bounced heavily with every thrust, slapping against her chest. He leaned forward and caught a nipple in his mouth again, sucking hard while she rode him. The car filled with the wet sounds of her cunt taking his cock and the soft, rhythmic slap of skin. Rachel’s head fell back. She moaned openly, no longer trying to be quiet.

“Harder—please—fuck me harder—”

He planted his feet and drove up into her, meeting every downward slam of her hips. The wet heat of her pussy was perfect. She came first, thighs shaking, cunt spasming around him in tight waves. The contractions milking his cock pulled his own orgasm out of him. He buried himself deep and flooded her, pulse after pulse of thick cum painting her insides. She kept rocking through it, working every drop out of him, until they were both trembling and sweaty and spent.

They stayed like that for a long time, his softening cock still inside her, her forehead resting against his. Cum leaked out around his shaft and soaked both of them.

“I should take you home,” he said eventually.

“I don’t want to go home.” She lifted her head. Her eyes were dark and serious. “Kathy’s going out of town Monday for a conference. Three days. Let me stay. Tell her I can watch the kids overnight so you don’t have to scramble.”

John’s brain was still fogged with afterglow, but the logistics clicked into place with terrifying ease. Kathy would jump at the chance to avoid any inconvenience. And he would have Rachel under his roof for three full nights.

“Okay,” he said.

She smiled, kissed him soft and deep, and climbed off his lap. Cum ran down the inside of her thighs as she pulled her shorts back on. She didn’t bother with the panties. She stuffed them into his glove compartment with a wicked little grin.

The next two days were a blur of anticipation and guilt. Kathy packed for her conference without a second thought. When John casually mentioned that Rachel could stay over to make mornings easier, Kathy actually looked relieved. “Perfect. I won’t have to worry about you forgetting to feed them.”

Rachel arrived Monday afternoon with a small duffel bag and a smile that promised pure sin. The kids were thrilled. Kathy left for the airport at four. By five-thirty the house was quiet. The kids were in the backyard. Rachel stood in the kitchen in another tiny tank top—black this time—and a pair of soft gray shorts that clung to her ass. John came up behind her while she was pouring juice and pressed his still-hard cock against the soft curve of her backside.