BabySitter and the Gay Couple

There were a couple of new guys in our building. They'd leased one of the top floor units. I'd seen them around from a distance and they looked like a couple of honeys to me. I had been idly wondering how I could go about meeting them.

Then along came Clare. My good friend, Clare, who knew all the gossip. Quite often before the victims of the gossip knew they'd done something to be gossiped about. Naturally I asked her what she knew about the two new tenants.

"You must mean Peter and Andrew," she said with a giggle. "Well, you know how they say that all the best men are either engaged, married or gay? Well, those two aren't engaged or married."

I blinked at that. Gay?

"You're saying that those two guys are gay?" I asked. "I don't believe it."

"Believe it, my child," said Clare. "They say they're brothers, which explains why they have the same surname, but I have never seen two brothers with such different appearances. I mean, just look at them. Peter is dark and almost twice the size of Andrew, and Andrew is as blond as they come. I know some girls who'd kill to have hair as blonde as his. And you should see that apartment. Someone has a real flair for decorating and housework."

"When did you see their apartment?" I demanded.

"Oh, I happened to have to deliver some groceries they'd ordered," Clare said airily.

"You bribed the delivery boy to let you do the delivery?"

"Something like that. I got most of the bribe back in the tip they gave me. Neither of them even blinked at me, and I was showing some decent cleavage. It was almost humiliating the way they could totally ignore me."

Seeing Clare was a 38D cup, when she showed cleavage she showed CLEAVAGE. Any male that failed to look was almost certainly fruitier than an orchard. What a waste of two fine men. Still, there were plenty of other fish in the see, and I possessed some very nice bait, if I do say so myself. I may not be a 38D, but I'm still pretty respectable in that area.

I put Peter and Andrew out of my mind and just got in with my life. Then they came back into my life rather unexpectedly. I got a phone call from them. From Peter, actually.

"Good afternoon, this is Peter Archer. Is this Sophia? I understand that if someone needs a baby-sitter, you're the person to talk to."

I acknowledged that I was Sophia and that, yes, I did do baby-sitting. I was frantically trying to remember who Peter Archer was when he enlightened me.

"You won't know me. My brother and I have recently moved into apartment 16D. I can give you a couple of references, if required."

That's when it twigged. The gay couple upstairs. What the hell were they doing with a child?

"Ah, I know who you are," I said. "I've seen you around and a couple of friends have mentioned you. I hadn't heard anything about you having a child, though?"

I let the question stand there. Just how come a gay couple had a kid?

"Not mine," Peter said. "She's my niece. We're looking after her for a couple of days while my sister is in hospital having her next one. But Andrew and I have appointments tomorrow that we'd rather not miss so we were hoping we could get a sitter for a few hours. You were recommended."

I didn't actually have any definite plans for the next day so after a discussion on terms and hours I agreed to watch Lucy while the boys went out.

I fronted up the next day about five and was introduced to Lucy. She was a cute little mite, about three years old. Peter stayed for about quarter of an hour to make sure Lucy and I got on alright and then he shot through. Andrew had gone ahead to confirm reservations or something.

So I looked after Lucy, and when dinner time rolled around I fossicked through the cupboards to find something fit for a child to eat. I knew it was a mistake but I finished up making her spaghetti. As anticipated she loved it, ate most of it and wore the rest.

Lucy was starting to wind down by then. I ran her a bath and dumped her in it, letting her play a little more. Why do kids like slipping back and forth along the tub? I know it's fun creating those sloshing waves but they can be a pain if they take you by surprise. I caught one full on the chest while I was bending over, soaking my blouse and bra.

I was just relieved that the men were still out. My blouse and bra turned transparent and I was showing everything. With Peter and Andrew not due back for a while I could have stripped off and hung my things up to dry but it was a warm day. I figured what the hell and decided to just let the blouse and bra dry off while wearing them.

I patted myself down to remove the excess water and then dried Lucy off and tossed her into bed. She snuggled down and listened while I read one of her story books to her and her eyes were closed before I was halfway through. All I had to do now was wait until Peter returned and I could go home.

Peter returned about an hour later. I was quite surprised as I thought he'd be out a lot longer. I was also surprised that Andrew didn't return with him, but what the hell, none of my business.

"How's she been?" Peter asked as soon as he walked in.

"No problems. Good as gold. She's asleep now."

"I see you gave her a bath," Peter said.

I looked puzzled for a moment and he nodded towards my blouse. I'd forgotten that it had got soaked. Glancing down I was appalled to find that it was still damp and still transparent. I started blushing and blushed even harder as my nipples reacted to the knowledge that a man was looking at them. Even if he was gay.

"You can't really go home like that," said Peter. "Why don't we just toss those in the drier for a short while?"

I was so busy kicking myself for not thinking of the drier earlier I didn't really notice that Peter was undoing the buttons on my blouse. He was actually peeling it off me by the time I started reacting and grabbed at it with a squawk. Peter just dismissed my maidenly modesty with a laugh.

"Don't be silly, sweetheart," he said. "I've seen women's breasts before. You really need to get these things dried. I can give you a t-shirt if you insist."

Somehow or other he spun me around and unhooked my bra and then just sauntered out to toss them in the drier, leaving me standing there red-faced and topless. He came back in a few moments with a t-shirt draped over his arm. He looked at me, standing there with my hands on my breasts and laughed at me again.

"Hand-bras just tend to draw attention to what they're trying to cover," he told me. He tossed the t-shirt onto the couch and then took my hands and pushed them down to my sides, tilting his head slightly as he looked at my breasts.

"Very nice," he told me. "Very nice indeed."

He lifted one hand and cupped one of my breasts. He wasn't mauling it or anything, just holding it as though weighing it. I was starting to get irritated.

"What is it with men and breasts?" I demanded, pushing his hand away. "I mean, even though you're gay, you still seem to get pleasure of looking at them and trying to touch them."

Peter looked startled. He had his hands at my waist which I didn't mind so much as at least he wasn't groping me.

"Gay?" he said. "What on earth makes you think I'm gay?"

"It's common knowledge," I said with a shrug. "Everyone has known since you and your boyfriend moved in."

"Ah, Andrew is my brother," Peter said quietly.

"Well, we know that's what you've been saying but it's obvious that he's not," I said with a superior little smirk. "He doesn't look anything like you. Yin and yang you might say."

"That'll be news to our mother," Peter said with his own little smirk. "Not only did she give birth to him but she did it on the same day she gave birth to me. You tend to remember things like that, I believe."

"You're trying to tell me he's your twin," I scoffed. I mean, really.

"Indeed he is. Fraternal, not identical. I look like our father while Peter looks like our mother. Twins for all that."

I said, "oh," in a very little voice. Then another thought struck me.

If Andrew was his brother then he probably wasn't gay. And I was standing there in front of him topless. Before I could say or do anything the situation changed. Instead of standing in front of him topless I was standing there naked. That's right. Stark, staring, naked.

Those hands that I'd thought were resting harmlessly on my waist had actually been undoing the catch on my skirt and sliding the zip down. Peter just slipped his thumbs into the waist band and pulled the skirt straight down, collecting my panties along the way.

Peter's hands latched onto my bottom and pulled me against him. One hand held me against him while the other one was pushing his own trousers down. All of a sudden I could feel his erection pressing against my tummy.

"Hold on," I protested. "What do you think you're doing? You can't just go grabbing me like this."

"I'm just showing you that I'm not gay," explained Peter, his hand cupping my breast again. He wasn't just holding it this time. He was deliberately playing with it and teasing it. And his hand was rubbing my bottom in a most suggestive way.

"Alright, I believe you," I gabbled quickly. "Now let me go."

I was pushing at him and trying to back away and was pleasantly surprised when I appeared to be succeeding. My mistake. Peter let me back up right up to the edge of the armrest of the couch. One leg went along the side of the couch while the other pressed up against it and I was half lying back against the couch, legs nicely parted.

"I wasn't going to, but since you're offering. . ." Peter said in a soft murmur, and moved his cock so that it was pressing between my lips.

"I'm not, you can't, I didn't mean, no, wait, you can't, you wouldn't," I was saying, and saying it as fast as I could, trying to get the message through, but it turned out that yes, he could, and would, and did.

I didn't think he would go in that smoothly, but I must have been a bit more worked up than I'd realised. His cock just seemed to glide into me, sliding all the way in while I was futilely pushing against Peter's chest.

Peter's hands came up and captured both my breasts. I was still squealing and protesting and pushing against him but he just grandly ignored it all. Well, not actually ignored it.

"Stop your silly squawking," he told me, and leaning forward he started kissing me to shut me up. Now I had his cock inside me, his hands making love to my breasts and his mouth ravishing mine.

Then he really started taking me, slowly. And I mean slowly. He wasn't in any hurry. He just started a gentle rocking, sliding in and out of me and I found myself reciprocating, moving gently in time with him, rocking slowly back and forth while his erection did wickedly wonderful things to me.

That was the situation when Andrew arrived home. The first we knew of him being there was when he spoke.

"Whoops. Maybe I should go away and come back later," he said.

"Make him stop," I gasped. "He's raping me."

"Hush up, you," said Peter. "This is Sophia, our baby-sitter. She was under the impression that we were gay. I'm just showing her that I'm not."

"Right. Well, I'll go and have some coffee in the kitchen. Give me a yell when you're through."

Then the swine waltzed off to have his coffee, leaving me at the mercy of this brute who was ravishing me. He hadn't even missed a stroke. OK, so neither did I, but his was by choice. My movements were purely in self defence. And those movements just went on and on.

Peter was enjoying himself and had no need to hurry. It wasn't as though I was going anywhere, now was it? He just kept rocking away, keeping my nerves in a state of suspense. I don't want you to think that he was just doing small movements. His cock would withdraw until it was about due to pop out of me, then he would pause and slowly drive all the way back in. Long, slow, sensuous strokes that were slowly driving me mad.

The worst part was knowing that I couldn't even ask him to hurry it up and damn well take me properly. If I did that I would be consenting rather than being ravished and I wasn't giving him that satisfaction.

So things continued their long slow way. I was gasping and squeaking, twisting and turning under Peter, and he rode me and rode me and rode me.

Finally he started moving faster. "Ready, love?" he asked and then drove in hard and fast for his final run.

Ready? I'd been ready for what seemed like the past hour. I'd thought he'd never get to the point. Now that he had I was ever so ready. He came slamming in, and in half a dozen quick strokes he started firing. His first shot hit the target where I was concerned and it must have been an incendiary round because I just went up in flames.

I could hear myself shrieking as Peter climaxed inside me and then my own climax just swept everything away.

I was vaguely aware of being moved and I could hear Peter and Andrew discussing something. When I managed to pull myself together I found that I had been moved. Instead of leaning back against the couch I was now bending over the armrest for some reason. I went to try and stand up, but a hand pressed against my back and held me in place.

"Hi, Sophia," said a voice. "I'm Andrew. I thought it only fair that I show you that I'm not gay either."

What? Then realisation dawned as I felt a cock pressing firmly against me once more.

"Wait!" I shrieked. "You can't do this."

Wrong again. He could. His cock came charging up my well lubricated passage without the slightest hesitation. I squealed in protest and denial, not that it did any good. Andrew was completely different in style to Peter. He just had at me, banging away at a great rate. I had to go along with it. What else could I do? So moments after being slowly ravished I found myself with my bottom bouncing up and down, frantically trying to keep up with this new cock that had decided to entertain me.

Peter had been a considerate rapist when you took everything into account. Andrew, on the other hand, was only thinking of himself. He just went at me, hell for leather, and if I hadn't already been so worked up from Peter's passion I would have had a rough time. As it was I could handle him with ease, working my hips to match his frantic thrusting.

The one good thing about Andrew's fucking was that it was over quite quickly. I could hear him gasping and panting and he was putting everything he had into his action. Mind you, I was starting to think that everything he had wasn't all that much. If Peter hadn't warmed me up, so to speak, Andrew would have been a dead loss.

As it was I was feeling extra sensitive by that stage, so I wasn't really surprised to find myself having another climax when Andrew finally blew his load. It wasn't as high as the first one, but at least it was a climax. Even while my climax was hitting me I can remember thinking that at least this would be the end of it.

It turned out that I was batting one thousand percent with my predictions. At least I would be if I reversed every one of them. This time when I gather my wits together again, and I'm sure it didn't take long after a little climax like that one, I found that Peter had had time to move me around again. What was I? A pleasure doll for his convenience?

I found myself straddling Peter's lap. He was naked and sitting on the couch and I was naked and astride his lap, facing him, and his erection was back and the length of it was pressing along my slit. Looking down I could see the head of it, its single eye watching me.

Peter's hands were resting comfortably on my bottom, holding me in place. Before I could say anything, he started.

"The first time was for me and the second time was for Andrew. This time it's your turn."

With that he just hoisted me up and then lowered me slightly. His cock vanished from between my legs and now I could feel that evil looking thing pressing lightly against my lips, not trying to enter me but just resting there.

"What are you talking about?" I demanded. "Are you going to rape me again?"

"Of course not," he replied, shaking his head. "I said this time's for you. When you're ready just let yourself down and do what you like."

What I'd like would be to run from the room screaming, but a lack of clothes tended to preclude that. It was slowly dawning on me what Peter expected me to do. I was to lower myself onto his cock and take him at my own speed? Did he really expect me to ravish myself?

From the way his erection was pressing lightly against me, the answer appeared to be yes, he expected me to push down onto him and start having sex. He had to be kidding. He couldn't really expect that.

I just sort of stayed there, poised above him, feeling that cock lightly brushing against my lips. Why the hell was I so conscious of it? It wasn't as though it was actually inside me. Then I should damned well be conscious of it. Not now, when it was barely touching me.

I could feel it there, brushing my lips, poking softly against my slit. I could remember the length of it inside me, the slow movement as Peter took his time ravishing me. I could remember how big it felt and how it made me feel. Small and helpless, defenceless against its rearing might. And the pleasure it had brought. No. I wasn't thinking about that.

What was Peter waiting for? If I didn't slide down his cock, would he thrust it up into me anyway? Of course he would. Wouldn't he? I didn't have any real choice in the matter, did I? It was going to go into me. Maybe I should just lower myself onto it. Pick the time, rather than just be subject to someone else's whims.

Then I felt my lips parting and Peter was sliding into me. I knew it. He couldn't wait.

"Stop it," I said.

"I'm not doing anything," Peter answered, smiling, damn him.

What was even worse, he wasn't doing anything. It was me pushing down, not him pushing up. I was letting myself sink down onto him. Apparently I was going to ravish me. I gave a heartfelt groan and pushed forcefully down, taking Peter all the way into me. Then I just sat there, full of cock, and waited for Peter to start taking me again.

And waited.

And waited some more.

After a while Peter spoke up.

"Are you just going to sit there or are you going to start getting into it? Just curious. I don't mind you just sitting. It feels good."

It did feel good, too, I have to admit. Then the rest of what he'd said registered. He expected me to do the fucking? He was just going to sit there and wait until I started the action? Son-of-a-bitch. How could he do this?

I waited a little longer and Peter still didn't move. And I was getting restless. Yes it felt good just sitting there, but I was wanting more. Why the hell couldn't he just ravish me properly?

Apparently having no choice I started bouncing slowly up and down, getting a feel for Peter and how he was moving in me. This was fun. For the time being I was in control. I was doing the running and Peter had to answer to my wants rather than me answering to his. I started moving faster, seeking the rhythm that I liked best.

Then I was happily bouncing up and down, enjoying the friction of flesh against flesh, the rubbing of Peter against my passage, the little thrills of excitement spreading out from my groin. Without really being aware of it I grabbed Peter's hands and dragged them up to my breasts.

My breasts were rubbing against Peter's hands and I was bouncing quite happily on Peter's cock. I was gasping as I bounced, enjoying the upthrust as Peter pushed harder into me, enjoying the rhythm that I'd set up and relishing the feelings that were starting to rage their way through me. This whole time was mine. I controlled it and I was finally in charge of what was happening to me.

When that control passed from me back to Peter I didn't even notice. I was too high and elated to notice the difference until it was a feat accompli, and by then I was also too high and elated to care. It just seemed that one moment I was sitting astride Peter, bouncing away, then I was flat on my back with Peter on top of me, thrusting down into me, hot and hard.