Professor Breeds the Babysitter

The porch light was already on when Professor Terrence turned into the driveway, the October dark pressed up against the windows of the quiet faculty house. At forty-two he still had the tall, slightly rumpled look of a man who lived in lecture halls: charcoal jacket, open collar, a streak of silver at the temples that his students noticed and that his wife liked to touch when she was feeling fond. He cut the engine and sat a moment with his hands on the wheel, because Paulina’s bike was leaned against the railing again, and he knew what that meant.

She was nineteen. A college sophomore, curvy in a way that had undone him by degrees, hired in September as their regular babysitter for the infant. Delphine, his wife — twenty-one, bright, always rushing between her own evening classes — had found her through a neighbor and called it solved. Terrence had agreed without looking up from a stack of essays. He had not expected the girl who arrived to hold his eyes the way Paulina held them, or to start dressing for the late nights he came home to relieve her.

It had been weeks of it. Tighter sweaters. Skirts that climbed when she perched on the arm of the couch to give him the evening’s report. She lingered. She asked about his lectures and laughed a little too long, and he lingered too, keys still in his hand, knowing he was a married man and knowing it was not stopping the way his gaze kept catching on her mouth. She had begun to leave the top button undone. She had begun to stand close enough that he could smell her skin. Both of them felt it, that low, dangerous pull, and both of them knew exactly where it could go if either of them stopped pretending. He could put a baby in her. She could let him. The thought had shocked him the first night. By the third week he was hard in the car before he even reached the driveway.

Tonight Delphine had gone to her mother’s across town and taken the evening with her, the house handed back to quiet, the work of babysitting already done. Paulina had stayed anyway. She always found a reason — a question, a slow gathering of her things, a ride she did not need. Terrence let himself in and found her barefoot on the living-room rug in a little black dress that clung to her full breasts and the soft flare of her hips and ended high on her thighs. No tights. The lamp by the couch poured warm light over her, and when she turned, the neckline dipped.

“You’re late, Professor,” she said, and smiled like she had been waiting all night to use that tone.

“Terrence,” he said, the correction he always made, the one that never stuck. He set his bag down. His pulse was already in his throat. “You didn’t have to wait.”

“I wanted to.” She tipped her head. Her dark hair was down, heavy over one shoulder. “House has been mine for hours. I wasn’t ready to bike off into the cold when I could stand here and watch you walk in looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying not to.” Her smile went slower. “You’ve been trying not to for weeks. I’ve been making it harder on purpose.”

He should have told her to get her coat. He stood there instead and let himself look: the curve of her waist, the soft swell of her stomach, the press of her thighs. She was lush, not delicate, nineteen and warm and watching him with open hunger. His cock thickened against his pants. He thought of bending her over the couch behind her. He thought of fucking her bare and staying there until she couldn’t hold any of it. He was married. She was the babysitter. The filth of the want did not make it smaller.

“You’ve been dressing like that for me,” he said.

“You noticed.” She stepped closer, close enough that he caught the sweet heat of her skin. “I wore this for you. I’ve been wearing them tighter every time you come home late. You look at my mouth when I talk. You look at my hips when I walk to the door. I go back to my dorm and I can’t sleep. I touch myself and I say your name and it isn’t enough anymore.”

“Paulina.” His voice came out rough. “I’m married.”

“I know who you are.” She didn’t look away. “I’m still saying it. I’ve chickened out at that door too many times. Not tonight.”

The room felt very small. “Say it, then.”

Her cheeks were flushed, but her voice held. “I fantasize about you filling me. Not just fucking me — breeding me. I think about your cum in my pussy. I think about you putting it right up against my womb and leaving it there. I’m fertile, Terrence. I track it. I’m not on anything, and I don’t want to be, not if it’s you. I want you to knock up your babysitter. I want to feel you come in me and know you meant it.” She drew a breath, eyes bright and sure. “If you don’t want that, tell me to leave and I will. I’ll go, and I won’t make it weird, and I’ll still show up when Delphine needs me. But if you do want it, I need to hear you say it. I need you to want it as much as I do. Clear. Out loud.”

He felt the last of his restraint go, clean as a thread snapping. His cock ached. The honesty of her — asking, certain, giving him the door and the choice — burned hotter than any of the nights he had spent staring at the ceiling beside his sleeping wife, hard and ashamed and wanting this exact girl.

“I think about it every time you stay late,” he said. “I think about bending you over that couch and fucking you raw. I think about flooding that pretty young womb until you’re dripping with me. I am obsessed with breeding you, Paulina. I want to come in you over and over. I want to watch it take. That’s what I want. Do you want me to do it? Right now. Here. No condom. You say yes, and I won’t stop until you’re full.”

“Yes.” She nodded, fast, certain, a smile breaking over the want. “Yes. I want it. I want you. Please, Terrence. Breed me.”

He kissed her.

It was not careful. His mouth hit hers and she opened with a sound that went straight to his cock, hands fisting in his jacket, pulling him in. He tasted her, sweet and eager, and walked her backward until her calves met the couch, and still he kissed her, tongue deep, swallowing the little moans she couldn’t keep. Her body was soft and hot under the thin dress. He palmed her breast and she arched into it, nipple already tight against his hand.

“Off,” she gasped against his mouth. “Get it off me. I want your hands on skin. I want you to see what you did to me, waiting.”

He dragged the dress up over her head. She lifted her arms and helped him, laughing once, breathless, when the fabric caught her hair, and then she was in nothing but pale panties gone dark at the center, soaked through. Her breasts were heavy and real, tipped with flushed nipples that tightened further in the lamp light. Her belly was soft. Her hips flared into thick thighs he wanted shoved back and held open. She stood there nineteen and offering, chest rising, and when he looked at her face she nodded again, hard.

“Still yes,” she said, before he could ask. “Don’t you dare get noble now. Touch me. Fuck me. Bare. I want every drop.”

He hooked the panties and tore them down her legs. She kicked them aside and went for his belt with shaking, hungry fingers, shoving his pants and boxers down, freeing his cock. It jutted thick and flushed, already wet at the tip, and she made a low sound and wrapped her hand around him, feeling the weight, stroking once from root to head.

“God, you’re big,” she whispered, pleased, not scared. “You’re going to stretch me. Good. I want to feel it tomorrow. No condom. Say it again.”

“No condom,” he said, and spun her. “Bare. I’m going to breed you on this couch.”

He bent Paulina over the back of the living-room couch, her breasts pressing into the cushions, her ass tipped up, her feet barely holding on the rug. The lamp lit the slick shine of her pussy, pink and swollen, glistening, her thighs already trembling. He ran the head of his cock through her folds, coating himself in her, and she pushed back with a broken plea.

“Put it in. Please. Don’t tease me, I’ve been wet since you pulled into the driveway — fuck me, fill me, I need your cock—”

He sank into her in one long, thick push.

She was tight. Hot. Wet enough that he went deep anyway, stretching her open around him until his hips met the soft curve of her ass and she cried out, fingers clawing the upholstery. He held there, buried to the root, feeling her flutter and grip, nothing between his cock and the ripe clutch of her cunt. Bare. The knowledge hit him like a fist.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growled, and drew back, and drove in again.

He set a hard rhythm, breeding strokes, deep and deliberate, the kind that punched the air out of her and seated him against her cervix on every thrust. The couch creaked under them. Her ass rippled with each impact, soft flesh giving under his hands. She was loud, shameless, pushing back to meet him, her pussy sucking at him every time he withdrew, dripping down his cock, down her thighs.

“Yes — yes — deeper — knock me up,” she begged, voice cracking on it. “Breed me, Terrence, I want your baby, I want you to pump that fertile pussy full, don’t you dare pull out, don’t you waste a drop—”

“I’m not pulling out.” He gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks and pounded her, long strokes that stayed deep, grinding in at the end so she felt all of him. “This cunt is getting bred. You hear me? I’m going to come in you until you’re overflowing. You’re going to take it. You’re going to hold my seed where it belongs.”

“I’ll hold it — I’ll hold every drop — harder, please, fuck your babysitter harder—”

He gave it to her. The wet slap of their bodies filled the quiet house. Sweat gathered along his spine. Her thighs shook. She came the first time with a shocked wail, clenching so hard around him he had to grit his teeth not to follow, her cunt pulsing, milking, greedy for exactly what she had asked him for. He didn’t stop. He fucked her through it, deep breeding thrusts, watching his bare cock disappear into her over and over, shiny with her, the lips of her pussy clinging on every withdrawal.

“Again,” he said against her shoulder. “I want you coming on my cock when I fill you. I want this young womb pulling it out of me.”

“Then don’t stop — God, you’re so deep — I can feel you right there, right where I need you, right against me—”

He pulled out only long enough to turn her. She whimpered at the loss, pussy flushed and open, a string of her wetness connecting them before it broke. He took her down to the rug in front of the couch, onto her back, and she went willingly, pulling him with her, legs already spreading, eyes locked on his.

“Like this,” she panted. “I want to see you. I want to watch your face when you come in me. I want you to watch mine.”

He pinned her legs back, folding her soft thighs toward her shoulders, opening her completely. Her pussy was slick and swollen and ready, and he pushed back in to the hilt. They both groaned. Missionary on the floor, her hair fanned on the rug, the couch looming behind them, their eyes holding. He braced himself and thrust, hard, deep, the angle letting him grind against the mouth of her womb with every stroke, his balls slapping her ass, the glide obscene.

Paulina clawed his back. Her nails dragged fire down his shoulders and she didn’t apologize, didn’t gentle it. “Give it to me. Seed me. I want your cum, I want you to knock me up, look at me — look at me while you do it, Terrence, don’t close your eyes—”

He looked. He couldn’t have looked away. Her face was wrecked and beautiful, mouth open, eyes wet and fierce and sure. She was nineteen and begging to be bred and she meant every word, her hips rolling up to take him, her cunt gripping like she meant to pull the cum out of him herself. He pinned her legs wider and drove in, the wet sounds filling the room, his cock thickening as the orgasm gathered low and heavy and inevitable.

“You want my seed?” he rasped. “You want this married cock to put a baby in the babysitter? Say it while I give it to you.”

“Yes — breed me — flood me — I want to feel you come, I want it, I want it, look at me—”

He stayed buried as deep as her body would allow and came with a rough groan against her mouth. The first pulse was huge. He flooded her womb in thick, hot spurts, cock jerking inside her, and she gasped and came again, eyes wide on his, taking it, whispering yes, yes, yes while he emptied himself into her, pulse after pulse, grinding through every one so none of it went shallow.

He didn’t pull out. He stayed buried, panting, sweat cooling on his back where her nails had marked him, and she clenched around him, working him, refusing to let a drop escape. His cock stayed hard — the sight of her, the slick heat of his own cum easing the way, the way she looked at him like she was already proud of what they’d done — and after a minute of shaky breathing he started to move again, slow at first, then harder, fucking his seed deeper.

“More,” she demanded, nails biting his shoulders. “You’re still hard. Give me another. Fill me again. I can take it. I want to be so full of you it leaks for hours. Breed me right, Professor. Don’t get polite now.”

“Greedy girl.” He kissed her, slow and filthy, and fucked her through the mess he’d made, the glide louder, wetter, obscene. Her legs stayed pinned back. Their eyes stayed locked, inches apart, her breath hitching every time he bottomed out. She clawed his back and begged in a broken stream — knock me up, breed your babysitter, come in me, don’t waste it, put it where it belongs, I want your baby, I want your cum — and he gave her the second one with a shudder that wracked his whole body, another heavy creampie pumped straight into her already flooded pussy, spurt after thick spurt, until he was shaking and she was sobbing with how good it felt, her cunt fluttering around him, milking him dry and still asking.

He thought he was finished. She rolled her hips, slick and swollen around him, and whispered, “One more. Please. I want three. I want you to breed me so well there’s no chance it doesn’t take. Stay in me. Look at me. I can feel how full I am and I still want more of you.”

He looked at her. He moved, slower now, deep and grinding, the oversensitive drag of his cock through his own cum and her slick almost too much, and she held his face in her hands so he couldn’t drop his eyes. When the third orgasm hit him it was almost painful, a wrenching spill, and he groaned her name and flooded her again, a last heavy creampie, his cock twitching deep inside her while she stared into him and came with a soft, ruined cry, her pussy fluttering around every spurt, taking it, keeping it, smiling through the overwhelm like she had been made for exactly this.

They stayed like that. The sex was finished. The room was loud with their breathing and nothing else.

Terrence stayed buried inside Paulina while they caught their breath, his forehead against hers, his cock still plugging her full. One hand slid down between them and gently stroked the soft curve of her belly, right above where he was seated, keeping his cum deep. She was warm and wrecked and smiling, thighs trembling where he still held them, the rug rough under her back, his wedding band — he had not taken it off — a faint cool press against her skin when his hand moved.

“Next time you babysit,” he said, voice hoarse, “I’m breeding you again. I’m going to bend you over this couch and fill you until you can’t walk to that bike. You hear me? This isn’t once. I’m going to keep putting it in you.”

She smiled, content, flushed, eyes half-lidded and bright. “I’ll be here. I’ll wear something worse. I’ll beg prettier.” Her pussy gave a lazy clench around him, and his cum began to leak, slow and thick, around the base of his cock, sliding warm down to the rug beneath her ass. She didn’t try to stop it. She liked the proof. “Feel that? You bred me so full it’s already spilling. You did it. You actually did it.”

He stroked her belly again, possessive, tender in the aftermath, still inside her. “Good. Hold what you can. There’ll be more. Every time you stay late and look at me like that, I’m going to take you bare and leave you dripping. You wanted to be knocked up. I’m not finished with that.”

“Promise,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.

“I promise.”

Paulina smiled up at him, already excited for their next secret fertile night, already imagining his hands on this same belly, his cum in her again, the couch and the rug and the way he had looked at her while he flooded her. She didn’t tell him what she knew.

She had written it that morning in the notes on her phone, before she ever put the dress on, before she ever waited in his living room: that she had come here decided, that she had rehearsed the confession in her dorm mirror until the words stopped shaking, that she had known, walking in, she would not leave until he bred her. He thought the want had spilled out of her in the moment, brave and sudden. He didn’t know she had chosen him weeks ago and simply waited for a night the house was empty enough to ask. She kept that behind her smile, his cock still buried in her well-used pussy, his cum leaking slow and hot around him, and kissed him like a girl who had gotten exactly what she came for — and who already knew she would ask again.