The Babysitter

The kiss between my husband and Angelina was a revelation. I watched, transfixed, as his lips moved against hers with a slowness that bordered on worship—sensual, deliberate, every brush of his mouth a question she answered with eager submission. Her hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and she melted into him like she'd been waiting her whole life for this exact moment. The way her body softened, the way her breath hitched when he slid his tongue past her lips—it was the hottest thing I'd ever seen.

I couldn't resist.

I moved closer, pressing myself against her side, and when she turned her head to gasp for air, I captured her mouth with my own. The three of us became a tangle of lips and tongues, a messy, beautiful collision of heat and hunger. I tasted Harry on her—familiar and strange all at once—and she tasted like sweetness and surrender. Her body buckled between us, a whimper escaping her throat, and I felt the vibration of it travel through my lips, down my spine, settling in the wet heat between my thighs.

I was so lost in it, so utterly consumed, that when Angelina pulled away, I barely registered the movement. Then I felt her hands on my shoulders, pushing me down onto the leather couch, and my back hit the cushions with a soft thud.

"What are you—"

"Don't worry." Her voice was different—lower, steadier, laced with a confidence I hadn't heard before. She reached for a silk scarf draped over the armchair—one I'd forgotten was there—and wrapped it around my wrists, tying them together with practiced ease. "I just want to tease you a little bit."

I stared up at her, my breath catching in my throat. Her eyes were dark, her lips swollen from our kisses, and she looked at me like I was something to be devoured.

Holy shit.

She leaned down, her hair brushing against my neck, and I felt the first touch of her tongue—a hot, wet trail that started just below my ear and traced a slow path down to my collarbone. I arched into her, a moan escaping my lips before I could stop it. She undid the buttons of my blouse one by one, taking her time, her fingers brushing against my skin with every movement. When she reached the spot where my neck met my shoulder, she paused, then bit down gently, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

"Fuck," I breathed.

She chuckled against my skin, the vibration sending a shiver through me. Her fingers found the front clasp of my bra, and with a single, practiced motion, she freed my breasts. The cool air hit my nipples a second before her hands did, and I gasped as she pinched them, rolling the hardened buds between her fingers.

"You have such cute tits," she murmured, her hips grinding against mine in a slow, teasing rhythm. The friction alone was enough to make me moan. "No wonder our husband likes you so much."

Our husband. The words sent a thrill through me, possessive and primal.

I turned my head, searching for Harry, and found him standing by the desk, his pants undone, his cock in his hand. He was stroking himself slowly, his eyes fixed on us, his breath coming in ragged pulls.

"You can touch yourself, you know," Angelina said, not even looking at him. Her voice was casual, commanding, and I saw Harry's hand tighten around his shaft in response.

She turned back to me, a smirk playing on her lips, and lowered her mouth to my breast. She suckled gently at first, her tongue circling my nipple in lazy patterns, but I wanted more. I needed more.

"Please," I gasped. "Be rougher."

She pulled back, her eyebrows rising. "Rough, you say? You like it rough?"

She slapped my breast—a light, stinging blow that made me gasp. The pain bloomed across my skin, sharp and electric, and I felt a fresh wave of wetness flood between my thighs.

"Yes," I whispered. "God, yes."

She slapped me again, harder this time, and I moaned, my hips bucking against the air. She took my breasts in her hands, squeezing them, then pinched my nipples with sudden, brutal pressure.

"Fuck!" I cried out, the sensation shooting straight to my core.

"There you go." She pinched again, twisting slightly, and I arched off the couch, my bound hands straining against the silk. "Good girl. You're into this, aren't you?"

"Yes," I sobbed. "Yes, I am."

She continued her assault, alternating between slaps and pinches, each one driving me higher until I was a trembling mess, lost in the haze of pleasure and pain. Then, just as suddenly as it began, she stopped.

I groaned in frustration, my body aching for more, but she ignored me. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of my pants and pulled them down, along with my panties, baring me to the cool air of the study. She spread my legs wide, settling between them, and I felt her breath against my soaked folds.

She licked her lips.

Then she plunged into me.

Her tongue was relentless—firm and skilled, working my clit in tight, focused circles while her fingers found my entrance and pushed inside. But she didn't stop there. Her other hand came up to my breasts, pinching my nipples with that same cruel, perfect pressure, and I shattered.

I came with a scream, my body convulsing against her mouth, my vision going white at the edges. She didn't let up, riding me through my climax, her tongue flicking faster until I was sobbing, begging, completely undone.

And then, just as I was coming down, she pulled away.

I groaned, the sound raw and desperate. My hips chased her mouth, but she was already sitting up, licking her lips, a satisfied smile on her face.

"Not so fast," she said, her voice husky. "We're just getting started."

"I think it's time I take care of your husband," Angelina said, her voice dropping to a purr that sent a shiver through me. "He looks a little bit desperate for stimulation there."

I turned my head, following her gaze, and damn—she was right. Harry stood by the desk, his cock rigid and glistening, a bead of precum trembling at the tip like a tear waiting to fall. His hand was frozen mid-stroke, his knuckles white, his eyes dark and hungry. He looked utterly wrecked, and we'd barely even started.

Angelina rose from between my thighs with the grace of a predator, leaving me bound and aching on the leather couch. She crossed to him slowly, savoring every step, and when she reached him, she pressed her palm flat against his chest and pushed him back into the desk chair. He went without resistance, his legs spreading automatically as she knelt between them.

She didn't rush. She took the tip of his cock into her mouth with deliberate slowness, her tongue swirling around the head in lazy circles, tasting him. Harry's eyes flew wide, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as his head fell back.

I watched, transfixed, as she worked him. Her lips moved against the shaft, sliding down inch by inch, her tongue tracing the thick vein on the underside. She pulled back, then repeated the motion, faster this time, her hand wrapping around the base to meet her mouth. The wet, slurping sounds filled the study, obscene and beautiful, and I felt my own arousal spike as I watched my husband come undone beneath her.

She deep-throated him with a suddenness that made me gasp—taking nearly his entire length into her throat, her nose brushing against his pelvis. Harry cried out, his hands flying to her hair, tangling in those dark waves as she held there, her throat contracting around him. For a girl who claimed inexperience, she was a natural.

She pulled back with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his cock. She smiled, licking the corner of her mouth, then stood and shimmied out of her pants. Her panties were soaked through, the dark fabric clinging to the curve of her ass, and when she discarded them, I saw the evidence of her arousal glistening on her thighs.

God, she was beautiful. Her dark skin seemed to glow in the lamplight, her nipples hard and proud, her curves soft and inviting. I wanted to bury my face between her thighs, to taste the wetness I could see shining there. But I was still bound, still at her mercy, and the helplessness only made me want her more.

She reached into the bag and pulled out the strap-on, holding it up for us to see. The silicone caught the light, thick and curved, and she fastened the harness around her hips with practiced efficiency. She squeezed a generous amount of lubricant into her palm, coating the shaft, and I watched her stroke it, my mouth watering.

"Let me go first," she said, her voice soft but firm. "I don't want to make it uncomfortable for anyone."

I nodded, unable to speak, as she climbed onto the couch and positioned herself between my legs. The tip of the strap-on pressed against my entrance, and I felt my breath catch in anticipation. She looked into my eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation, and when she found none, she pushed inside.

The sensation was unlike anything I'd ever felt. The silicone was smooth and cool, but it filled me in a way that felt both foreign and familiar. She pushed deeper, her hips meeting mine, and I gasped as she bottomed out, the base of the harness pressing against my clit.

"Fuck," I breathed.

She smiled, leaning down to kiss me, and I tasted myself on her lips. Then I felt Harry move behind her, his hands finding her hips, and I saw her eyes widen as she realized what was about to happen.

He pushed into her in one smooth motion, and she cried out against my mouth.

I don't think she was ready for the size of him. Her body tensed, her fingers digging into my shoulders, and I saw tears prick at the corners of her eyes. I wanted to reach up, to touch her face, to ask if she was okay, but my hands were still bound, and all I could do was lie there and feel.

She began to move, rocking her hips against mine, and Harry matched her rhythm, thrusting into her from behind. The sensation was strange and exquisite—feeling the pressure of her inside me, the weight of him driving into her, the way their movements synced and separated and synced again. Every time he pushed forward, she pushed deeper into me, and I was caught in a feedback loop of pleasure that built and built until I couldn't tell where I ended and they began.

They moved faster, the wet slap of skin against skin filling the room. Angelina's hand found my clit, rubbing in tight circles, and I moaned, my hips bucking against her.

"I'm getting close," she gasped, her breath hot against my ear. "Let's cum together."

I nodded, unable to form words, and she increased her pace—her hips slamming into mine, her fingers working my clit with desperate precision. I felt the pressure building, coiling in my belly, and when I finally shattered, I screamed.

She followed a moment later, her body convulsing against me, her mouth finding mine in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and shared breath. Behind her, I felt Harry tense, and then he pulled out, his release spattering across her ass in hot, thick ropes.

We collapsed into a heap, sweaty and trembling, the strap-on still buried inside me. After a long moment, Angelina pulled out gently, unfastened the harness, and curled up beside me on the narrow couch. Harry grabbed a throw blanket from the armchair and draped it over us, then settled on the floor, his head resting against my thigh.

"That was... wow," I finally managed.

Angelina looked up at me, her eyes soft and uncertain. "You liked it? Did I do well?"

I laughed, the sound breathless and genuine. "Yes. Very well. I want to continue doing this. If that's okay."

They exchanged a glance, and then Angelina smiled, her cheeks flushing. "I'd like that."

"Same here, babe." Harry reached up, his fingers brushing my cheek. "You both feel incredible. I'm in full support of this."

I looked at them—my husband, my babysitter, the two people who had turned my world upside down in the best possible way—and I felt a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the afterglow.

"Good." I leaned down, pressing a kiss to Harry's forehead, then turned to capture Angelina's lips. "Because I don't think I can get enough of either of you. And you're a great babysitter, Angelina. I can't let this go."

She blushed, that beautiful dark flush spreading across her cheeks, and I pulled her closer, savoring the weight of her body against mine.

We stayed like that for a long time, tangled together on the leather couch, the study bathed in the soft glow of the desk lamp. Eventually, we gathered ourselves and made our way upstairs, our steps slow and languid, our hands never quite leaving each other.

As I lay in bed that night, with Harry on one side and Angelina on the other, I thought about our daughter sleeping down the hall, oblivious to the arrangement we'd stumbled into. We'd have to keep it a secret, of course—at least for now. But as I felt Angelina's fingers lace through mine, and Harry's arm drape across both of us, I couldn't help but wonder how long we could keep this hidden.

And more importantly, how long we'd want to.

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