Babysitting my Toy Boy 2
If you want to catch up on my adventures to date, you’ll find the list of all 121 blogs here: https://medium.com/@TracyTrouble
If you want to catch up on my adventures to date, you’ll find the list of all 121 blogs here: https://medium.com/@TracyTrouble
We took a break after that. It had been a whirlwind hour or so and we both needed to recover, John especially. He couldn’t stop grinning. Having managed a proper fuck clearly made him feel good. Hopefully next time he’d be able to do a bit of thrusting of his own!
I have to say I was happy too. I’d been in charge, which had helped, but I had not had an inkling of any phobia symptoms and had relished fucking him.
Given his happy state, I decided to see how kinky he was prepared to get.
He was lying on his back on the bed and I’d eventually climbed off him and was sitting at its foot. I could have lain down too, but it was only a single bed and we would have been touching. Weird considering what we’d done, but I felt that too intimate. I needed to keep our meetings as raw sex. Nothing else.
I looked at him. He was staring at the ceiling, a hand gently wanking his flaccid cock, reliving the last few minutes, I assumed.
I was thinking about which deviant element of my repertoire to introduce him to when he made the decision obvious.
He got up and walked towards the door. “I need a pee,” he announced.
“I’ll come and give you a hand,” I responded. That stopped him.
“Er?”
“Couple of options,” I said, “I’ll come and hold it for you while you pee, or you can pee over me. Would you like to do that?”
“Fuck. That’s fucking kinky stuff.”
“Yes, I suppose it is. Is that a problem?”
I stood up, walked over to him, and grabbed his still flaccid cock. “This has more than one use, you know.”
I kissed him hard on the mouth, still holding his cock. I thought it might incentivise him, and it did. I broke the kiss. “Well, what do you think?”
“Yeah, all right.”
“Which? Me holding you or pee on me?”
I wanked his cock, which I still held and which was again showing signs of life.
“Dunno if I could pee if you were holding me. Can I pee on you?”
I didn’t answer him. No time to waste in case he changed his mind. I grabbed his hand and led him to the bathroom. I’d have loved to have done it in his bedroom with the piss going everywhere, but that wouldn’t have been fair on Lizzie and Chris.
I climbed into the bath and re-buttoned my blouse, which I’d left open from our previous session. A soaking was what I wanted. I wasn’t going to drink it, I’d leave that for another day, so wanted to experience the feeling of wet garments. At the last minute, I had a slight change of mind. I took my skirt off. The knickers would get wetter and I hoped him seeing that would raise the kink-ometer a few degrees.
I knelt down in the tub and he stood outside it. “Okay, whenever you like. Wherever you like. From my head down to your mother's knickers.”
“You keeping your blouse on?” he asked.
“For now,” I replied.
It was such a horny feeling wearing Lizzie’s pants, and John clearly loved it.
I thought he might have trouble starting, but he didn’t. He took aim at my blouse. From the first splash, I knew this was something I’d be repeating. The steamy liquid soon had the blouse saturated. I kneaded my breasts with both hands, hoping to encourage him to aim elsewhere. It did. I’d have loved to have felt it on my face, but can hardly say it was a disappointing sensation to have Lizzie’s knickers quickly soaked too. I moved a hand from my tit into my pants. My fingers finding my clit. Rubbing vigorously. Mixing my juice with his pee into her knickers. If only she were there. She and Chris. Watching me corrupt their son. Destroy his innocence along with her intimate garment.
I was on the verge of coming when his flow dried up. Bad timing. I bent forward, grabbing his cock before he had a chance to shake it, and took it in my mouth. There was the aroma of piss and the salty taste of the few drops remaining.
I must have looked a wreck. I felt so sluttish but wanted more. One last idea for this session. I let his cock go, stood up, and got out of the bath. “Rip my blouse off,” I ordered. He hesitated. “Go on. Or no more pussy.” He put his hands on either side of the opening and gave a halfhearted tug. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened.
“Harder. I mean it,” I mustered the sternest voice I could, which wasn’t easy. I desperately wanted him to do this, but equally wanted something, anything, invading my cunt to finish the orgasm that was so close. “You need me by the look of you (his cock was fast returning to erection). You won’t get me unless you rip it off.” That was a lie. One way or another, I felt if he didn’t fuck me or finger me in the next minute or so I’d self-combust.
It’s amazing what an incentive that was. (The threat of no more nooky, not me self-combusting). He took a firm hold of the shirt and gave an almighty heave, and the buttons gave up holding my blouse together and flew across the bathroom. “Pull it off me.” He reached up to my shoulders and pulled it down my arms and off. He was quite rough with it. A supercharged turn-on. I was venturing into territory I thought would be a no-go area for life, but I was still sure I could throw a switch with this young man and stop him in an instant if I needed to. That gave me the confidence to let him carry on.
“Now your mother's knickers. Rip them. Destroy them.” It’s difficult to convey the atmosphere this created. I was loving the invasion, the violation. He was clearly loving the macho aspect. But making him rip up his mother's underwear was something else. As it was, they were dirty. Stained with cum, my juice, and her son’s pee, but that was simply corrected in the washing machine. Ripping them would mean they’d disappear. Another mystery disappearance. Would he think the turn-on worth the possible questions put into his parent's minds? He did. And I’m sure he’d fantasised about doing it because of how he did it. Tearing the elasticated waistband would have been difficult, but was the obvious thing to do. He didn’t try. He put a hand in both legs and with his nails pierced the nylon and then ripped. So satisfying. For both of us. I was leaking. He was solid. The material hung down one leg. Wanton.
“Now my bra. Pull the fastening apart.” I had my doubts he’d be able to do that, but I felt and heard his grunt (whether from exertion or passion, I wasn’t sure) as hooks snapped. He didn’t wait for me to tell him, but pushed the straps off my shoulders and the bra fell to the floor. Before it reached there, his hands had come round and clasped my tits. His nails dug into me. I’d awoken something inside him. Quite apart from his cock, which was solid against my bum. His head was behind mine. He kissed my neck. He was panting. Desperate. given how many erections he’d already had and the mood he was in, I suspected I was about to get a proper fucking from this nineteen years old.
