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Being a babysitter wasn’t particularly hard work, not when the little boy you’re babysitting is a sweetheart with a cute face, and easy to please to boot. But Arthur had had to be up early that morning, had to be at school an hour before it started for a band meeting. It was after eleven now, and her little ward had mercifully fallen asleep, but the father wasn’t back yet. Arthur decided it wouldn’t be too troublesome to sleep on the couch. Eames would be back within the next couple of hours and release her from her duties.
She awoke some time later, the living room dark and the house quiet. Her face was flushed and she felt wet between her legs, where a hand rested on her inner thigh, a thick finger up her skirt and teasing at her white cotton panties. She looked up, and in the darkness could make out the silhouette of Eames. Arthur’s heartbeat sped up.
“Sorry darling, you looked so lovely lying here by yourself,” Eames whispered, on his knees and face close to Arthur’s. He smelled of wine and cologne, his tie was undone and his dress shirt open, his suit jacket still on but rumpled.
Arthur shifted onto her back, giving the hand between her thighs more room to work. Tomorrow wasn’t a school day, her parents were already asleep, and so was Eames’ son. She spread her legs and reached for him, and he came, gladly, lying atop her with a possessive growl. He pulled her panties aside to slip his finger between her dripping wet labia.
Eames been playing with her for a good five minutes, her panties plenty damp, and as he slid his finger farther into her, Arthur let out a surprised gasp. He was big and broad, filling up the space between her legs easily as he entered another finger into her and began to kiss at her long, arched neck.
They’d been playing this game for months. Arthur babysits Eames’ son, and if time permits, Eames fucks Arthur with his fingers, his mouth, his cock. Arthur wasn’t dating anybody at school, wasn’t interested in boys her age, not even the beautiful Fischer who was rich and had the bluest eyes Arthur had ever seen. Arthur didn’t want boys her age. She wanted a man. And the man she found was divorced for five years, raising a child on his own, and needed a reliable babysitter. Apparently he’d needed a young girl to release his stress out on as well, because it had taken them a week before Eames had realized the looks Arthur was giving him were permission to do with her as he wished.
Eames’ hands were so big, two fingers filled her up full and one hand could easily cup one of her breasts with room to spare. She loved how big Eames was, how he was two of her, how his mouth was so much bigger than hers that his tongue between her lips easily muffled a would-be protest.
“Take me to your room, the couch is- it’s not-“ she breathed against his ear as two of his fingers worked into her, and he understood what she meant, didn’t need her to finish, he just stood and picked her up bridal style, carrying her through the house to his room where they’d made love more times than he and his ex-wife ever had.
Their mouths met as her back hit the sheets and her legs spread wide, encircling Eames’ hips. One of his hands went to cup her cheek, the other slid behind her back, holding Arthur close as their tongues clashed and lips smacked.
“Oh, Arthur,” purred Eames, “Arthur, Arthur, fuck I hated today. So glad you’re here to make it all better.”
She flushed as her name rolled off those plush pink lips. Eames was lifting her skirt, kissing his way down her collar, between her breasts, to her stomach. Arthur’s fingers tangled in the sheets, her painted-pink toes curling as adroit fingers slipped under the band of her panties and began to slide them down her slim legs.
Eames didn’t waste any more time. He pulled off his jacket and tie, laid down on the bed, and pulled Arthur’s legs over his shoulder before ducking his head and sliding his wide, wet tongue over her glistening pussy.
Arthur had never met a boy her age who liked to perform oral sex on girls, all too busy wanting blowjobs, selfish in their own acquisition of sex and unable to see past their own orgasm to offer fingers or tongue in return. Eames was more than proficient in sex, but much to Arthur’s pleasant surprise, the man loved nothing more than to go down on her. And God was he good at it. She wailed and whined, her tousled brown hair beginning to dampen with sweat, and when one of his fingers entered her to join his tongue laving at her clit, she gasped and came, Eames grinning against her sex like the cat that finally caught his canary.
As Arthur laid there and caught her breath, Eames sat back up on his knees and began to divest himself of his shirt, his belt, his slacks. In the dim light of the bedroom, Eames was haloed in light from the lamp on the desk, his clean-shaven face damp at the mouth from her juices. He was so incredibly handsome, Arthur wondered again how she’d gotten so lucky. Eames held out his hand and she took it, lifting her arms into the air as he pulled her blouse over her head. He pulled her in for a chaste kiss as his fingers fiddled with the clasp at her back, removing her bra. Nude from the waist up, Arthur blushed and draped her hands around his neck, their bodies juxtaposed in a picture of perfect femininity and masculinity, her thin arms and his muscled, thick ones, her tiny body and his large, barrel-chested breadth.
As they kissed again, one of his big hands came up between them to play with her breasts, gently pinching and tugging at her nipples and making her gasp. She pulled away and scowled wryly—he knew she didn’t quite like having her breasts played with. It didn't do anythingfor her (he still liked to tease anyway).
“Sorry, they’re just so perfect, I can’t resist,” he whispered and leaned in to kiss the corner of her mouth, his hand pulling away to slide down her ribs and settle at her waist. He laid her back down then, kissing her brow and the curve of her nose, her cupid’s bow lips and pointed chin. And when she smiled and one dimple showed itself, he kissed that too, for good measure.
Her skirt came easily down her slim hips and then she was naked. Eames rolled onto his back and she followed, draping over his chest and running her hands through his hair, kissing the scar just under his chin as he pushed his underwear down. They were both naked, Arthur’s hair falling over her shoulders and brushing Eames’ chest as she mounted him. His cock lay thickly against his stomach and pressed against her hip in this position, wet at the tip in anticipation. Poor thing, she mused to herself.
Sitting back, Arthur lifted herself onto her knees and grabbed Eames’ prick gently, guiding it between her still-wet lips and enjoying the gasp it garnered from Eames when she finally began to seat herself on him. Arthur was a petite girl, three of Eames’ fingers almost a painful stretch, and it always took a while to adjust to the man’s girth. She sank down a couple inches, rose back up, sank down again, and slowly took all of him in a series of lazy thrusts.
Eames stared up at her with utter reverence. “How are you so bloody tight after all this time? I don’t think I’m doing my job well enough.”
Arthur’s cheeks heated substantially. She didn’t answer him, instead braced her hands on his abdomen and began a steady pace of gyrations to get herself comfortable. Her hair fell in a curtain over her face as she gasped and bit at her lips, Eames’ hands settled on her thighs as she began to ride him in earnest.
Always impatient and never one to make Arthur do any sort of work at all during sex, Eames let her have a few moments on top before growling possessively and flipping them over. He pulled her close and buried his face in her collar as he began to fuck into her wet, tight heat. She scratched as his back and moaned, mouth wide open and eyes half-lidded. He was so big, so god damned big, and she was too embarrassed to say something so lewd out loud, but damn if he wasn’t so big it almost hurt, even with how wet she was.
Hooking his arms under Arthur’s legs, Eames plowed into the small girl in long strokes, growling and gasping against her neck the entire time. The sounds she was making were obscene beyond belief. “Where can I cum?” he panted, keeping his pace even and trying to stave off his orgasm as long as possible. It wasn’t easy, not with Arthur writhing under him, so tight and positively dripping as she was.
Arthur didn’t fuck anybody else, and she was on the pill specifically for her affair with the older man. It was a messy task cleaning up afterwards, but she loved it when he came deep inside her, filled her up like she was really his, like she belonged to him. She licked her lips and reached a hand between them to rub her clit in slow circles.
“In me,” Arthur replied. “Cum in me, Eames.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Eames pushed Arthur’s legs further against her chest and sat back on his knees, watching her play with herself as he pumped in and out of her. Arthur’s toes curled inward and her shoulders hunched, her jaw clenching as she neared another orgasm.
“Cum for me darling, cum all over me, let me see you fall apart.”
Arthur shuddered and gasped and yes, she was cumming again, whimpering as Eames continued to fuck her through the waves of orgasm that had her pussy twitching, clenching tighter around him.
“Fuck yes, fuck that's beautiful, Arthur you’re so perfect, bloody fuck,” Eames gasped, and then his own orgasm hit him, and his hips stuttered as his thrusts became jagged and uneven. He collapsed on top of her, his big muscled arms sliding under her shoulders as he kissed her jaw, her temple, her nose.
It was romantic just lying there in the afterglow, with Eames heaving on top of her and smelling so wonderful, but Arthur was small and it was getting hard to breath. “Alright, alright, get off,” she chided, and he groaned, rolling over onto his back. As he slipped out of her, her lips parted in a silent gasp—thick cum leaked out of her and onto the sheets, making her thighs sticky and the bed messy. She blushed and slid off the bed. “You need to change the sheets, you made a mess.”
Eames sighed and sat up. “Tomorrow.”
Arthur grabbed her panties and bra and headed for the bathroom to clean up.
Before she could wash herself off, Eames slipped in behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissed her shoulder and the back of her ear. “Take a shower with me. You can’t go home looking like that, your parents will know I just shagged you.”
“My parents are asleep, Eames.”
He was not deterred. “Take a shower with me. I’ll drive you home.”
She couldn’t say no to that—could never say no to Eames.
They fucked in the shower, with Arthur’s back against the tile and her legs tight around Eames’ waist. And after they were clean and dressed, Eames drove her home. They kissed in the front seat, emboldened by the lack of a street lamp, the two of them eungulfed in darkness. Arthur melted in Eames’ arms, his tongue working into her mouth as expertly as it had into her sex not an hour ago, and when his hand travelled down her thigh and up her skirt, teasing between her thighs once more, she blushed and pushed him away.
“I’m going to stay the night tonight with Ari, but… if you need me, feel free to call.”
Eames grinned as she smoothed her skirt and opened the door. “I’ll be sure to call you if your services are needed, darling.”
Arthur gave him a sultry smirk and grabbed her purse. “Good night, Mr. Eames.”