Sally was our baby-sitter and she was quite a nice young lass of about nineteen. She was reasonably intelligent, appeared to be popular, generally had a boyfriend, and was very pretty. Dark hair, hazel eyes, and creamy olive skin that was absolutely flawless.
Her taste in clothes was a bit iffy but that was just my opinion. Kate, my wife, found nothing unreasonable about the way she dressed. It was a hot summer day when she last came around to sit for us and, quite frankly, I thought she was a trifle underdressed.
"You know she's not wearing a bra," I pointed out to Kate, and got laughed at.
"Well, look at her," Kate said, gently deriding me. "If I had a figure like hers I wouldn't wear one in this weather, either. It's not as though she need the support at her age."
Which was true enough. Her breasts were firm and stood proud, as plainly showed when she passed between me and the sun. They might have been covered but they were still on display. Still, she was not my daughter, so I wasn't going to have a heart attack over the way she dressed.
If Sally had one major fault it was gullibility. She would believe what you told her, mainly because she was a lazy thinker. Stories that wouldn't stand up to even a second of analytical thinking were swallowed whole, as thinking for herself was too much bother.
Oddly enough, this trait wasn't obvious when she was dealing with children. She seemed to see them from a different viewpoint, not trusting the little devils one solitary inch. If they told her something then they'd better be able to prove it with factual references and witnesses. Affidavits signed in blood wouldn't hurt. I've never seen a child put one over on her. It was a strange dichotomy.
We left her that night and went out to our party. I was the designated driver for the night (damn it) and had to stay sober, but Kate was able to let her hair down a little. She quite enjoyed the night.
When we returned home Kate was feeling no pain. Not that she was drunk, just slightly tipsy. She gets mischievous when she's at this stage. We rolled up at our place and entered quite quietly. Kate called out softly to Sally to let her know we were home but got no reply. The TV was on in the front room and so we wandered in there.
There was Sally, dead to the world on the couch. Nothing wrong with that but I was amused to see that at some stage her dress had ridden up. The dress wasn't all that long to start with and it didn't take much movement for it to have risen a bit more than Sally would have liked if she'd known. As a matter of fact it had ridden high enough that it was bunched around her waist, leaving her panties on display.
This, of course, is when Kate's mischievous streak got the better of her.
"I bet you that you can't remove those without waking her," she said.
"You're kidding?" I said.
"Um, no, not really. She's got a nice figure and it would be fun to see her naked. Is it a bet?"
"Depends," I said. "Exactly what are we betting?"
"Oh. Can't have a bet without stakes, can we. Um, if she wakes up you'll have to apologise and pay her double her fee. If she doesn't wake up you can screw her after we wake her up."
"You're kidding?" I said. I know I was repeating myself, but what the hell? "You don't suppose she might object to having me fuck her?"
"Um, she might, but she'll do it if I tell her she should."
Now I knew she had to be kidding. I could just see Sally saying, "Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full," when advised that she had to spread her legs for me. Still, it would be fun to peel her panties off.
I slid my hands inside her panties, spreading my fingers and lifting the panties away from her skin. Then I gently drew them downwards. The only places where the panties actually touched her were across her bottom as I slid them down and between her legs. Her skin I noticed was smooth as silk, which helped, with the panties just gliding over her. Sally slept on, blissfully unaware that she was now showing her all.
