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BabySitter Rape

By: Ashson



I'm an eighteen year old virgin and a babysitter and I was going to be raped. What do you do in a situation like this? The answer is quite simple. Just review everything that has led up to this situation and see if there's anything you should have done differently.

Let me give you some background. I live in a relatively small town. Everyone knows everyone else's business. You just try to keep a secret. A secret only stays a secret when there's a maximum of two people who know it and they both have a vested interest in not letting the secret get out.

So I'm a virgin in a small town and I want to be an ex-virgin living in a small town. What I do not want is for it to be generally known that I'm now an ex-virgin. Give a girl a rep like that and the old women of both sexes would have me tarred and feathered for ever. 

So how does one get rid of their virginity discreetly? Visit the nearest city and get picked up by a stranger and seduced? Too dangerous and for a single girl to visit the city unchaperoned? The gossips would have a field day wondering did she or didn't she, and they'd probably opt for she did, and there goes my reputation, sliced to bits by vicious tongues.

Pick one of the local boys and let him seduce you? Appealing with a couple of the boys, but boys talk. Don't tell me they don't. Any time a boy fucks a new girl the news generally beats the girl home. So scratch the local boys. That's boys my age I'm referring to.

Next option, what single men are available? Too few, too unappealing and too many drawbacks. There's generally a reason they're unmarried, and they'd try to pressure a girl into marrying them. Or boast about how they scored.

This leaves me with the married men. There were several of the right age who wouldn't mind a little on the side. The trouble there, of course, is the bragging or the confession. They tell their mates and word gets around or, worse, they tell their wife and all hell breaks loose.

You can see where this is heading, can't you. I had to be deflowered by a husband in the sort of situation where he wouldn't dare boast or confess. I had to be raped. 

I know what you're thinking. Why not get myself raped by one of the boys my age? Because they'd probably brag about it anyway, claiming I was willing. 

Mr Anders was my rapist of choice. His wife was currently away looking after her sick mother and he'd been stuck home looking after two small children for the last fortnight. His mother watched them while he was at work but he was stuck at home every night. Except Friday night, when he was going for a drink with the boys and I was going to babysit.

Now Mr Anders did not have the name for being a hard drinker. He tended to stop after a couple, just relaxing. He was in his mid-twenties, which isn't too old for my tastes, he's fit and, as far as I can tell, healthy. 

I prepared for the sitting appointment carefully. A dark coloured button-up blouse. The dark colour would tend to hide the fact that I wasn't wearing a bra and buttons are so easy to undo. There'd be no need for Mr Anders to have to try to rip it off over my head.

A short flirty skirt that would show off my bikini panties when I turned around fast or whenever I bent over. Dark coloured tights, of course, to present the properly modest appearance. My dad always tends to check what I'm wearing when I leave the house and he seemed happy that I was presenting a nice modest appearance.

Then I was out of the house and off to my job. The weather was a bit hot I decided. It would only be reasonable to undo the top button or two of my blouse. It showed a little cleavage but that couldn't be helped. As a matter of fact I innocently overlooked just how much cleavage it did show. Actually, it was hot enough to make the tights redundant. I slipped them off and put them in my purse.

I fronted up at Mr Anders' place, all fresh and demure. He smiled when he saw me and if his eyes tended to linger a little on my cleavage I didn't notice. The kids were playing in the kitchen and I bent over to say hi. I glanced up at Mr Anders and he was looking down at the kids as well, staring rather fixedly. It would just be vanity on my part to think that he was looking down the front of my blouse.

He gave me several instruction regarding the kids and then left to get ready to go out. I've sat for the Anders before, and normally it's a case of here're the kids and they wander off to get ready. Mr Anders was very conscientious. He came back several times to check on how we were doing.

His timing was a bit odd. I happened to be bending down with my back to the door the first time, and I'm embarrassed to say my skirt probably rode up and showed off my bottom and panties. And, dare I say it, probably my pussy, because I was standing with my legs slightly apart to get a better balance while I lifted the baby.

The next time I was just standing there holding the baby and talking to the toddler. Mr Anders stared at me rather fixedly for a short while, much to my surprise. It wasn't until after he'd gone that I noticed that the baby had pulled another button loose on my blouse and that one of my breasts was actually exposed. How embarrassing.

It seemed to me that every time I bent over I'd find Mr Anders standing in a position that enable him to either see down my blouse or up my skirt. It was fortunate that I was too innocent to notice.

Eventually Mr Anders left. I suspected that he was going to be a little late getting to where-ever he was going. He seemed to be having some sort of trouble with the front of his trousers. He had to adjust them before he actually left. I settled down to play with the kids for a while before tucking them into bed.

My problem now was that with the kids in bed my excuses for bending over were greatly diminished. It wouldn't be seemly for me to just lean forward to give Mr Anders a free peek. It had to be natural and innocent so that he felt he was doing something illicit. That feeling, plus his general horniness and alcohol lowered inhibitions, was what I was counting on.

So the question was - how to show off the goodies to Mr Anders without seeming to show off the goodies. The answer was obvious. Fall asleep on the couch.

When Mr Anders arrived home he found me innocently asleep on the couch. One leg had dropped off the side of the couch, and somehow or other my skirt had ridden up, showing off my panties. Because of the angle I was on my blouse was dragged to the side. No extra buttons had come undone but one full white breast was on display, the pink nipple shocking in its contrast. 

Being dead to the world, I didn't notice when Mr Anders arrived and stood at the door watching me for five minutes. Neither did I notice him carefully sit on the couch next to me. 

If I'd been awake I'd have known straight away when a finger gently rubbed my nipple, teasing it into life. I would have felt gentle hands stroking my breasts, making them feel full and heavy.

I would certainly have protested when a hand started gently squeezing my pussy, rubbing it through my panties, slowly stirring it up. As it was I just dreamed, and strange dreams they were. I muttered and turned over onto my back, inadvertently giving Mr Anders greater access to my more private parts and he, unprincipled brute that he was, took advantage of that fact.

I hadn't known it was possible for ladies panties to be taken down so carefully. Mr Anders had slipped them right off without disturbing me too much, but I was a little more restless now. When a finger slipped between my lips and probed inside me it was too much. I snapped awake.

I was confused, of course. Innocent little me had no idea of the depravity to which men would sink. Mr Anders had noticed that I was awake but did this make any difference to what he was doing? Well, yes, actually. He smiled and a hand that I hadn't even realised was on my breast tightened and squeezed me.

"Mr Anders," I squealed indignantly, "what do you think you're doing?"

"It's nothing, Cheryl, really," he assured me. "I'm just learning a little about you."

A little? His fingers were very busy inside me, stroking and teasing me. I'd already been hot and a little wet before he woke me, but I was so wet now you'd think it would quench the fire. Not so. It seemed to fuel it.

I was squirming around under his touch, feebly trying to protest.

"Really, Mr Anders, you have to stop this. You know you shouldn't be touching me like that. What do you think my father would say?" 

"Mmm, let's not tell him. This'll be out little secret. Do you like this?"

"No," I said, lying my head off. It was bloody marvellous. "It feels wrong. Please stop."

"No, I don't think so. Don't worry about it. You'll see, it'll all feel good soon enough. This is something that happens to every woman sooner or later. I just think you're old enough now to appreciate it."

That wicked degenerate just kept on, teasing my breasts and pussy, stoking the fires that burned within me. Any protests I made were ignored, as were my claims not to like it.

"Little liar," he told me quite cheerfully. "I can feel your body moving with me. Whether you're willing to admit it or not, you're loving this."

He had that right. I was almost jumping out of my skin. I felt like telling him to stop playing around and get the main show on the road. Fortunately, at that stage he stood up and dropped his trousers. I could now see what had been bothering him when he left earlier. It was a wonder that he'd been able to keep it caged.

I gave a shocked scream. How dare he expose himself like that? Had he no decency? Then to my horror, I realised that he was going to put his cock in me.

I'm an eighteen year old virgin and a babysitter and I was going to be raped. What do you do in a situation like this?

You protest of course, and you struggle, but in an innocently genteel manner.

"Mr Anders, this will be rape. You mustn't do it. How could I face my friends if they find out? How could I look your wife in the eye if she knew that you'd ravished me?"

"Don't worry about it," he told me. "I have no intention of telling anyone. You'll just have to suffer in silence. It will be our little secret."

"But it's rape," I wailed, and then I shrieked in earnest.

Mr Anders had parted my lips and driven in, popping my cherry with a loud bang. It felt like a loud bang to me, anyway. That bloody hurt. All those banked fires died right down real fast. 

"Damn you, that hurt," I wailed, justifiably upset. Why the hell couldn't he have been gentler?

"Sorry," he said, but he sure didn't sound it. He sounded triumphant.

"Don't worry. You'll find it starts to feel good again very quickly."

He was right about that. The friction from that initial drive into me was rekindling the fire and by the time his groin bumped against mine I was aroused and burning. So I wailed in protest.

"Oh my god, you're doing it. You're really doing it. This is rape," I wailed.

"Oh, hush up and relax, damn it. I told you it'll feel better shortly. Just move with me."

"I don't know what you mean," I wailed, while I humped my hips to meet his second drive. "I'm a virgin. I don't know what to do." 

"Oh god! Just do what you're doing now. You're doing fine."

He sounded almost desperate as he tried to soothe my fears, but his cock was doing just fine. It was banging in and out while I was busy pushing up against it, trying to keep up with Mr Ashers' energy which seemed to be growing with every thrust he gave me. 

The whole thing was fantastic. I couldn't stand it. The strangest sensations were exploding up out of my pussy, sending me berserk. I was bucking fiercely under him, tossing my head from side to side, making these funny little, "uh, uh," sounds. The whole thing was way out of my control and I was loving it.

The best part was that it just kept going and going, and I was feeling better and better the longer he went on ravishing me.

At the end of it I could hear myself screaming, "Please, oh please," over and over, wanting it to finish because I just knew that the end of it would be the best part.

Mr Ashers suddenly gave this loud groan, and his cock started banging against me as if there was no tomorrow and he had to do everything right then and there. I could feel when he ejaculated inside me. There was this hot splash deep inside me, and I just lost it. I could feel myself tightening my passage, clamping down on his cock as it shuddered and throbbed inside me, but then I was screaming and shaking and dying and I honestly think I did die for a while.

When I finally revived and took an intelligent interest in the world around me Mr Anders was standing nearby, looking real worried. He very gently eased me into the bathroom, telling me I might like to clean up a little.

Damn right I would. I had three different liquids oozing down my legs. My own fluid from where I'd been so wet, a bit of red which I assumed was blood from my destroyed cherry, and white slime which was bound to be Mr Anders sperm.

I had a shower and tidied myself up. I had my purse with me so I put on my tights, as well as buttoning my blouse all the way to the top. When I left the bathroom I was looking innocent and respectable. Mr Anders was still looking worried and guilty.

"Look, Cheryl, I'd had a bit too much to drink and I got a little carried away. I think it would be best if neither of us mentioned this to anyone."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to go around talking about it. I assume that you will have the decency not to tell anyone what you did."

He went slight red. Redder, I should say. He was already embarrassed. 

"No, no. I won't say a word, I swear. Ah, as a bit of an apology I've added a little something to your wages."

He indicated an envelope on the coffee table. I just picked it up and stuffed it in my purse without looking inside, obviously uninterested in any bribes.

"If you'll excuse me," I said, "I'll be on my way."

I stalked out of the house and headed home. As soon as I was out of sight of his house I was fishing for the envelope. A hundred bucks bonus. Nice. That must have hurt him. Well, he shouldn't go attacking innocent young ladies. 

I wondered what other husbands might try to get me alone. There were a couple I could think of. This could prove interesting.

BabySitter Rape Ch. 02



My wife had this little accident which put her in hospital with a broken leg. No-one to blame. Lightning hit a tree near her and it just seemed to explode. A branch came hurtling across the path and knocked her legs out from under her, breaking one. So to hospital she had to go.

"OK," I thought. "No real problem. They'll bung a cast on it and send her home. Maybe keep her overnight, but that will be all."

Smirking doctor tells me, no worries, but an interesting case. They would have to keep my wife in for a while. How long is a while? No more than a month, he tells me.

A month! Seems some types of breaks need special care and my wife had one. The idiot doctor was quite enthused about it. He figured he'd write up a paper on the case. 

So arrangements had to be made. I thought I'd be more use at home when Marg was finally sent home rather than right now, so I had a chat with my mother and she came to our aid like a trooper. I'd drop the kids at her place before I went to work and pick them up afterwards.

The first time I visited Marg in hospital I brought the kids with me. Big mistake. Marg and I both felt like throttling the little monsters by the time the visit was over. Still, lesson learned. I had a very firm discussion with them afterwards about hospital etiquette and how would they like to be chained to the stroller all the time we were there?

Subsequent visits were reasonably peaceful.

After a couple of weeks I was feeling sort of housebound and I just had to get out for the night, so I arranged for Cheryl, the sitter Marg normally uses, to come and take over for a few hours.

Cheryl rolled up and I was somewhat taken aback when I answered the door. I've always had this image in my head of Cheryl as a sweet young teenager and hadn't realised just how much she'd grown. She was a pretty, full-busted blonde. Previously when sitting for us she was as like to wear a tracksuit as not, or she'd have on baggy jeans and a sloppy top, both outfits being quite capable of hiding a burgeoning figure. 

Tonight she was dressed in a flirty skirt, a very short flirty skirt in my opinion, and a blouse that was either bought too small or had shrunk in the wash. Or both. The buttons that were actually done up seemed to be under considerable strain, and there seemed to be too many buttons at the top of the blouse that weren't done up at all. I couldn't help wondering if they'd popped open under the strain and Cheryl not noticed, but there was no way I was game enough to comment.

For a young lass she had quite an impressive cleavage, and from what I could see, and I could see a lot, what there was of her bra was purely for decoration. It wasn't doing much to hide her bounty, which bobbed enticingly when she moved. And I'll swear I could see the edge of her areola. Not that I was looking, mind you.

Cheryl came bouncing in, giving me a casual, "Hi," and a wave and headed over to where the brats were playing on the floor. Then she bent over to chat with them.

She should have crouched down. I'd thought that skirt was too short and my assessment was reinforced when she bent over. The skirt rose high up her backside and for a heart-stopping moment I thought she was without any panties. Then it registered that she was wearing some sort of thong which effectively left her bottom bare. Her bottom? The damn things barely covered her pudenda. Not that I was looking.

I got the hell out of there and finished getting ready, but it seemed to me that every time I turned around Cheryl and the kids were there, with Cheryl leaning forward so that I could see her bra had simply shrugged and given up the struggle to hide her breasts. Or Cheryl would have her back to me and be leaning over the kids, effectively mooning me. If I'd been a were-wolf she'd have been in real trouble. 

By the time I got out of the house I had to adjust my clothing, or a certain part of me would have been heading out the door long before the rest of me.

Before I headed off to the pub I dropped past the hospital to visit Marg. We chatted for a while and then I mentioned Cheryl. 

"I don't get it," I lamented, after describing what had been going on. "She always struck me as a demure young girl and now this."

Marg was giggling.

"You poor stud, you," she giggled. "Cheryl has reached a point where she wants to get laid and she's seen this time alone with you as the perfect opportunity. I'll bet you find that when you get home the tits and ass display will recommence, showing what she's got and waiting to see what you do about it."

"You have got to be kidding," I groaned. "What does she think I am? A paedophile?"

"I doubt you need to worry about that," Marg told me. "If memory serves me correctly she's now eighteen. So what are you going to do?"

"What can I do? Continue to not notice what she's up to, I guess."

"Why not just take what she's offering?"

I blinked and gave Marg a startled look.

"You've got to be kidding."

"Not at all. You like sex and you've missed out for the last couple of weeks and it'll be another couple of weeks before I can come home. It's probably not healthy for you to go without for that length of time. If Cheryl is so eager to offer it would be an insult not to accept. You wouldn't want to insult the girl, would you?"

"But she's just a kid. She hasn't got the faintest idea of what to do."

"So teach her. You'll probably find it fun and she'll get some useful experience. Just make sure she is eighteen before you whip her panties off."

I continued to deny that there was any possibility of my trying to seduce Cheryl. Marg just laughed at me. Then went I kissed her goodbye she calmly grabbed a handful and nodded.

"Yes," she said, mockingly. "I can see you're too limp to help anyone further their sex education. Have fun."

I flushed and got the hell out. Now I really needed a drink.

I had my drink and socialised with my mates and didn't give another thought to Cheryl, waiting at home for me to return. I didn't waste any time thinking about her breasts and remembering how white they looked - just as white as her bottom I'd noticed. I didn't spend any time considering the fact that when I saw that skimpy bit of material nearly covering her mound, I hadn't noticed any fur, so she was probably completely smooth down there.

I put all that from my mind, not even remembering that I'd noticed the nubs of her nipples poking firmly against her blouse. I didn't bother wondering if her nipples were the same cherry red as her lips. Lips and nipples are supposed to be the same colour, but maybe she had lipstick on. I did idly wonder if girls used cosmetics to touch up the colour on their nipples, but decided probably not, as a man might object to the taste.

I just relaxed with my mates, stretching my drink out as I had to drive, and noting that the kids would now be in bed and probably asleep, leaving Cheryl curled up watching TV. 

I eventually got home and sure enough, Cheryl was curled up on the couch watching TV. That was as expected. What wasn't as expected was the number of toys scattered around the front room. Including those infernal Lego pieces. I must have been mad to have bought those. 

"Ah, Cheryl, you do know it's a house rule that the kids are supposed to clean up their toys before they go to bed?" I asked, feeling a little irritated.

Cheryl squeaked.

"Oh! You gave me a shock. I didn't hear you come in. Um, yes, I know the rule about the toys but they'd been so good I told them that I'd clear up for them. I just haven't got around to it. I'll do it now."

With that she turned around and started to pick up the toys. Bending over, I noticed. Not crouching down. Giving me a full view of a lovely white bottom. Why the hell she'd even bother to wear panties? It was a puzzlement.

I watched for a few moments, her bottom bouncing and flashing as she moved around. She didn't forget to turn to face me so that I got a decent view of her cleavage. All the way down to her belly button. I was prepared to swear that one more button had given up the struggle. 

"Cheryl, how old are you?"

She stood up and looked at me, blushing slightly.

"Ah, eighteen," she said, biting her lip for a moment, before rushing on. "I know. Old enough to know better. I should have made the kids put their stuff away, or at least have tidied it up before you got home. Are you mad at me? Are you going to punish me?"

"No, I'm not mad at you," I said, a little startled. "Just a little surprised. As a matter of curiosity, just how would you suggest I punish you?"

She was back to chewing her lip and seemed to be considering. I wondered just what was going on in her devious little mind.

"Um, gee, I'm not sure. I've never really considered how a man would punish me if he was mad at me. Um, I guess you could always spank me."

I had to bite my tongue before I said something I'd regret. Spank her, she says. Well, I'm always open to a good suggestion.

I sat on the couch and indicated that she should bend over my knee. She did so, moving cautiously, suddenly a lot less sure of herself and what she'd suggested. With her across my knee I flicked her skirt up out the road, and now had that bottom she'd been flashing at close quarters.

Cheryl squeaked when her skirt was flicked up and hastily pushed it down to cover her bottom. I promptly swung her back onto her feet.

"If I'm going to spank you," I told her sternly, "then I'm going to do it properly. Now take your skirt off."

"Off?"

"Yes, off. Seeing you weren't willing to just have it pushed to the side you can now take it off."

With a lot of blushing the skirt came off and Cheryl found herself back across my knee. Now I took hold of the bits of string that presumably were meant to be panties and started pulling them down. There was a prompt protest of course. 

"Wait," she squealed. "Why are you taking off my panties?"

"I prefer to spank your bare bottom," I said, quite reasonably.

"But they're just a thong. They leave my bottom bare. You don't need to take them off."

"Yes, I do," I contradicted. "If my finger got caught on one of these skinny little straps I might break a finger or tear the material. I'm sure you wouldn't want that to happen."

I also continued pushing the thong down as I explained, letting them drop to her ankles. She gave an irritated kick and they slid right off. I was just about to commence the spanking when I noticed an item on the floor that still hadn't been picked up. A bottle of baby oil. What the hell?

"Before I commence, fetch me that bottle of baby oil," I ordered. "I'll rub some of that on afterwards. It'll help ease the stinging."

Cheryl scuttled across to get the oil, hands low in front of her, covering her nudity. Then she forgot herself and bent over to pick up the oil. Quite a view. As she came back I shook my head sadly.

"Cheryl, you look a little silly with just that blouse on. You'd better take it off. You won't be nearly as self-conscious when you're nude. It's the half-nudity that makes you so aware of it."

Damned if she didn't look at me, blush, and proceed to take off her blouse and bra, and I am quite willing to admit that, nude, she had nothing to worry about. She saw my eyes run over her and the appreciation on my face and I could see when she switched from being nude to feeling naked and vulnerable.

I didn't give her a chance to panic. I reached up and cupped her elbow, using it to gently bend over my knee again.

I rested my hand on her bottom prior to spanking, looking at the bottle of baby oil. I reached for it and poured a little onto her bottom and started rubbing it in.

"Wh-what are doing?" stammered Cheryl. 

"Oh, I just thought I'd rub some oil on your bottom first," I said, carefully massaging the oil into her cheeks. I poured on a little more oil and continued rubbing. 

"Ah, that's not my bottom," came a muttered comment.

"True, but I don't mind," I murmured, while my hands slid down between her legs, rubbing the oil into her mound.

"Spanking," came the gasped comment. "You're supposed to be spanking me."

"Don't rush me. I'll get around to it."

I continued to massage her bottom and her mound, making sure that the oil was well rubbed in. Just to make sure I continued to massage her. She was squirming and I could hear her breathing getting harsher. 

"That's not spanking," she gasped.

I ignored her petty little comment and continued to work on her mound. I eased her lips apart and ran my fingers inside her, testing her. She squealed at that.

"Spanking," she wailed. "I said you could spank me."

"OK," I sighed.

I raised my hand and brought it down firmly on her bottom, drawing a yelp. A satisfied yelp, because my hand had moved away from delicate areas. The yelp was followed by another protest as I put a little more oil on her bottom and started rubbing again.

"You're not spanking me. You're feeling me."

"Just a little," I admitted. "Don't let it worry you. Consider it a bit of preparation before I get around to really attending to you. Sit up for a moment."

I put her on her feet and then pulled her down until she was sitting on my knee. I spilled a little oil into my hand, rubbed them lightly together and then started smoothing the oil over her breasts. The look on her face was priceless as she watched my hands moving over her breasts.

"Um, what are you doing?"

"Oiling your breasts."

"Ah, why?"

"Because I want to. Isn't this more fun than being spanked?"

I dropped one hand down, easing her legs apart and rubbing her mound again.

"I think that that's enough," she muttered in a nervous voice. "I want to put my clothes back on."

"Why? You worked hard enough to bring me to the stage where I'd get them off you. Why would you want to put them back on now?"

"What do you mean, I worked hard to get them off? I did no such thing."

"Dear me. Telling fibs. Maybe I should spank you a little."

I spun Cheryl around until she was back over my knee. This time I did apply a few good spanks, enjoying the sound of her squealing and protesting.

"What's wrong? Things not going according to plan?"

"I don't know what you mean. Stop spanking. Please!"

"I mean you came in, blouse unbuttoned as much as you dared, short skirt and effectively no pants and started flashing me every chance you could. Get the message?"

"All right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it. Please let me up."

I set her back on her feet, taking hold of her hands and holding them away from her body while I looked her over.

"You have a very lovely figure, you know," I observed.

She blushed and looked away.

"Can I get dressed now?"

"Changed your mind about seducing me?" I asked.

She nodded, still not looking at me.

"That's unfortunate, because I've also changed my mind."

Now she looked at me, puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

"I wasn't going to let myself be seduced, but now I think I will, so I'm afraid it's too late to change your mind."

"But you can't. I'm saying no."

"Ah, I'm afraid that you're about to find out that I can. You'll find that men have very selective hearing at times. Once they hear that initial 'yes' it's almost impossible for them to hear a no."

"But I didn't give an initial yes," she half wailed.

I gave her a look, letting her see my opinion of that statement.

"OK. Maybe my behaviour could be interpreted as giving permission, but I'm saying no."

I pulled slightly, bringing her back onto my knee. She sat there with her legs together, one hand across her breasts.

"Sitting there, looking like a naked pixie, is not doing anything to change my mind," I said. 

I slid my hand between her knees and eased it up towards her pussy, gratified to see her legs relax and let my hand slip past until it reached its goal. I started rubbing her mound again. I could feel the heat arising from it. My earlier exploration had already determined that she was wet and ready, no matter what she might say.

With my free hand I undid my belt and unzipped. The next bit was a little tricky. I had to let her stand while I stood myself, so that my trousers could drop away, together with my shorts, which I helped with a quick push. Then I was sitting again, pulling her back down, where she sat and stared at my erection.

"You might as well touch it," I said quietly. "After all, you will be getting closely acquainted with it."

"You can't if I don't want you to," she protested, flushing when I just smiled and continued playing with her breast.

Adjusting my position slightly, my erection started brushing against her. She squirmed slightly, still casting surreptitious looks at it. I waited, hands making free of her body. Eventually there was a timid touch and then my cock was taken in a firm grip.

From the way she handled me I was laying odds on my cock not being the first she'd ever touched. She was far too familiar with it, seeming to know just what to do to pleasure me. She was also still a little nervous. To be expected, I suppose, as it was the first time she's played with one that she knows is about to be used on her.

"Just relax and let your virginal fears drift away. You'll find that it won't be too bad. All you have to do is relax and let me handle things."

"How the hell would you know if I'm a virgin?" came the irate retort. "I may have had a dozen boyfriends."

"I'd be surprised if you hadn't, as lovely as you are, but one or one dozen, none of them have laid you flat on your back, legs in the air, while they took their pleasure."

"That's just your opinion. And why would I need my legs in the air, anyway?"

My hand happened to be conveniently placed, stroking along her slit. I eased a finger in, pushing softly until I was pressing lightly against her hymen.

"Do you really think I'm dumb enough not to notice an un-popped cherry?" I asked cheerfully, while she squeaked and squirmed. "As for your legs, let me demonstrate."

I lifted her off my lap and had her stretched out on the floor in nothing flat. At the same time I took hold of her ankles and lifted them high and wide, with me kneeling between her thighs.

"See what I mean," I said. "Flat on your back and legs in the air."

Cheryl was looking down the length of her body to where she could see her mound with my cock hovering perilously close to it. 

"For a virgin, this is the easiest way to start. Your legs up like this gives me plenty of room and a nice easy access. As you can see, my cock is positioned just right to initiate you. You don't have to keep your legs up in the air the whole time. After I've entered you, you will probably want to wrap them around me. 

After this you may like to experiment with other positions. I'd be happy to assist you in this."

"Oh, god, you're not really going to do it are you?"

Damn right I was. She'd been begging for it and now it was coming. I didn't say this out loud. I just eased my cock forward until it was pressing lightly against her lips.

Horrified anticipation is the best way to describe the look on Cheryl's face. She finally knew she'd gone too far and the consequences were now upon her. She could actually see my cock pressing against her and all she could do was wait.

I didn't keep her waiting long. I pressed a little harder and her lips yielded, letting the head of my cock pass and closing firmly around it. Cheryl gave a little squeak, keeping her eyes glued to where I was entering her. Another little push and I was pressing against her hymen. We both knew that the next little push would add her to the list of ex-virgins. 

"Ready?" I asked. "This may sting a little."

She was so worked up by this stage I don't think she'd have minded how much it might hurt. All her earlier itching had come flooding back as soon as my cock started pushing in and she was desperate to start scratching. I gave her that next little push.




BabySitter Rape Ch. 02



She squealed as something gave and I slid deeper inside.

"See, that wasn't too bad, now was it? That's why flat on your back, legs in the air for the first time."

With that I started forcing my way into her passage. She was hot and tight, but her natural lubrication was easing my way, letting me slide smoothly against her, her soft flesh yielding to my hardness as I came.

When my hairy balls were rubbing against her nice smooth mons I looked at her and smiled. 

"Do you have any idea at all of what to do from this point on?"

She lifted her slightly stunned gaze from where we were joined to finally look directly at me. 

"Of course I do," she said. "I'd be an idiot not to know."

I reached for her breasts and cupped them, idly rubbing her nipples.

"Then why don't you tell me," I said.

The look on her face was priceless. She probably had some idea of what would happen but to have to describe it to a man who had his cock inside her at that moment? She didn't know what to say.

"OK," I told her. "I'll behave. Let's just say that you press against me when I press against you."

With that I pressed my groin firmly against her and relaxed - not withdrawing at all, just pressing and relaxing. I did this again, softly encouraging her to move against me. Soon that mutual pressure grew into movement, with my cock starting to slide in and out. Only a little, at this point, but definitely raising some friction.

From little things, big things grow. That gentle friction as I started to slide back and forth in her passage seemed to raise Cheryl's passion considerable. Good old fashioned lust came nosing out and looking around. 

I don't think she even realized when her legs folded around me, holding me firmly. The little bit of movement progressed to a definite sliding back and forth and from there it wasn't all that long before I was really driving my cock home.

Cheryl was squirming and babbling under me, her legs flexing and her hips trying to bounce off the floor as she eagerly met my thrusts, almost growling in her haste to build on the excitement she was feeling.

Virgins are selfish lovers. It's all new to them and all they're thinking of is me, me, me. They have no thought for the poor man who's doing all the hard work, just demanding more, please, harder, faster, I want more.

Being a true gentleman I tried my best to give her more, banging in hard and fast and often. Being a slightly selfish lover, I also tried my best to stretch things out as much as possible. I soon spotted those little signals that indicate a woman is coming close to a climax. That's the point I chose to slow things down a little.

Cheryl was effectively left swinging in the breeze. She would feel her climax approaching, be humping against me with great enthusiasm, knowing something marvellous was about to happen, only to find that excitement dying down again, leaving her frustrated and wanting.

I continued like this for a while, enjoying myself greatly, not only from the sex, which was marvellous, but from watching Cheryl's reactions as she found herself repeatedly just missing out on something. She didn't know what, exactly, she was missing, but she knew something wasn't the way it should be.

I couldn't keep the playing, the yo-yo effect on her passion, indefinitely. It was having too much of an effect on me as well. My nerves were jangling and screaming for release, and it was with a sense of relief that I found Cheryl had finally caught on to the fact that I was playing games with her.

She announced this conclusion by punching me in the ear.

"It's you, damn you," she yelled. "You're deliberately holding back, you bastard."

I didn't try to defend myself. I just started going in harder. Cheryl was so near the edge it didn't take much to drive her over, and as for me? I was way past ready, and I climaxed messily inside her, groaning with the relief.

Not that I think Cheryl noticed me groaning. She got a startled look on her face and then shrieked loud enough to wake the dead, shaking like crazy. If I hadn't clapped my hand over her mouth she'd have woken the kids and the neighbours would have been calling the police, thinking someone was being murdered.

I fetched some moisturised tissues and cleaned myself up and dressed and then did a little maintenance on Cheryl, wiping away excess fluids. Losing her virginity had resulted in some bleeding and I didn't want her to become alarmed when she noticed.

Eventually Cheryl shook her head, sat up, and looked at me.

"I changed my mind. I said no," she grumbled.

"Are you sure? I don't remember hearing that," I lied cheerfully. "I do remember you taking off your clothes and crawling onto my lap."

"You said you were going to spank me."

"And I did. Most thoroughly. You might find your pussy just a tad tender from the beating it got."

She tried to glare at me, but her heart wasn't in it. I could see a satisfied smirk quirking her lips.

"Anyway, now you know why a virgin should lie on her back with her legs in the air. You don't have to do it like that all the time, though. I'll be quite happy to show you a variety of other ways. Not right now, you're probably a bit tender, but soon. Especially if you come around dressed the same as you were tonight."

She gave me a 'dream on' look and sank back down on the carpet, eyes closed. She looked completely spent and vastly pleased with herself. 

"I suppose I should be getting home now," she grumbled.

"Mmm," I agreed. 

When she opened her eyes to give me another glare I smiled and held out my hand to help her up. She was still a little dazed and I took advantage of that fact. I picked up her purse and stuffed the envelope with her pay into it while shepherding her towards the front door.

"There's just one tiny point before you go," I murmured once she reached the door.

"And that is?"

I lightly touched a pretty pink nipple.

"Don't you think you should get dressed again before you go outside?"



BabySitter Rape Ch. 03



I had a baby-sitting job with the Winslows, George and Beth. Well, with Beth, really. George never worried about things like sitters. I'd long ago decided that he wasn't the most practical person in the world. He always seemed to be off in a daydream. I've been told he's very smart. Apparently he's a scientist of some sort and when he's working on something his mind just goes AWOL from general living. 

This particular job came up all of a sudden. Beth rang and told me she needed me right away and could I please come straight over. Having nothing else planned I headed on over.

On arrival I found Beth all flustered. Her mother had had an accident and she was rushing off to the hospital to see her. She didn't know when she'd be back so could I please just stay until George got home. She'd already rung him and told him and he'd said he'd get home as soon as possible.

"You know George," sighed Beth. "He's as likely to forget as not and may not get home to midnight. Is that OK?"

"Don't you worry about a thing," I told Beth. "I'll look after things until George gets home. You just go and see to your mother. I do hope she'll be all right."

So Beth shot through, leaving me with the kids. She also left me with my pay, paid in advance. Beth explained that not knowing when George would be home she was paying me for a full night's sitting. The unspoken reason for paying me in advance was that we both knew that George would probably forget to and that I, being a little shy, wouldn't remind him. 

I watched the kids, fed them, made sure they had a bath and brushed their teeth, and tucked them into bed. I also made sure that there was a meal there for George, one that he only had to heat and eat. Then I watched TV. I'd decided that I'd give George until midnight and if he wasn't home by then I'd bunk down in the spare room for the night.

At ten, George showed up, which was a surprise. He hadn't forgotten and had made the effort to get home early. Wrong. He had forgotten and had just happened to come home at this time. 

"Ah, hi," he said on seeing me. "Where's Beth?"

"Visiting her mother in hospital," I said sweetly. "She was in an accident."

"Oh. Yes. That's right. And you're the babysitter. What was your name?"

"Trudi," I told him, a little irritated. He could at least have remembered my name.

I wronged the man. He had an excellent memory.

"No," he said flatly. "That wasn't it."

He seemed to think for a moment and I was thinking, "What, I don't know my own name?" 

"Ermintrude," he said. "That was it. You're Ermintrude."

Parents should consult with their children before giving them names. Fancy naming your child after a cow. My mother had been reading The Magic Roundabout, saw the name and loved it. I wore the name and hated it.

"Trudi, not Ermintrude," I said flatly, daring him to contradict me.

"Don't blame you," he said, which made me think better of him.

"I've prepared dinner for you if you need it," I told him. "All you have to do is heat it."

I should have known. He promptly looked confused. Did he know how to use a microwave, I wondered. I volunteered to heat his dinner for him. So I heated his dinner and he ate it, insisting that I sit and chat with him while he did so. (No thought of the babysitter's wages seemed to cross his mind. Good thing that Beth paid me in advance.)

After George had finished eating I made going home noises. 

"Oh, not just yet," George protested. "A couple of questions first. You've been sitting for us for several years now, haven't you?" At my nod he continued. "So how old are you now? I make it to be about nineteen."

Again I nodded. He acts scatty, so you tend to down play his smarts, but his mind is like a steel trap. Anything that went in stayed there.

"That's fine," George said, sounding pleased. "Quite old enough to sleep with me."

He didn't say that, I told myself, knowing full well that he had.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"I said you're quite old enough to sleep with me," he repeated, still sounding odiously pleased.

"Ah, thank you, but no thank you," I said carefully.

"No, no. Don't say no. I insist," he said cheerfully.

Insist away, mate, but in my considered opinion it's not going to happen.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I just don't sleep with clients," I said firmly.

Or anyone else, for that matter. I don't have a current boyfriend and previous boyfriends had never got that far. My fault, or credit, depending on how you look at it. I've always been too shy to make friends easily and none of the boys I'd dated had attracted me all that much.

"Or with anyone else," said George, making me wonder if he'd read my mind. "Beth said that you're far too shy for your own good. You watch. You'll find that a good fuck will make a world of difference to your attitude."

He had to be joking. I was so getting out of here.

"Well, maybe another time, George," I said, speaking quickly. "Goodness me, look at the time. I really must be going."

"Now is a far better time," George said, and he was suddenly holding my arm. "Come along," he told me, turning me towards the bedrooms and starting to walk, towing me along.

"Um, George, I said no," I protested.

"I know. I heard you. Don't worry about it. I fully understand your reluctance and will overlook it. Here, hold this."

Reluctance nothing. It was a flat refusal. And hold what?

I found out when he closed my hand around his erection. The rotten swine had unzipped had exposed himself. Now he wanted me to hold it? I snatched my hand away.

"Oh, don't be so childish," he said, pulling my hand back to his erection. "You're an adult and it's time you acted like one. Now hold it so you can get accustomed to what a cock feels like."

Not having any choice I walked beside him, holding his erection, protesting the whole way. He just walked straight down to the master bedroom, ushering me inside.

"You can remove your hand now," he told me, and I sighed. At least, this bit I knew. A couple of boyfriends had managed to persuade me to touch them. I started stoking his erection. You never know. Jack him off and he might forget about anything else. 

"Ah, Trudi," he said. "I said remove, not move. I meant you can let me go. Too hard to undress you while you're holding me. Not that what you're doing doesn't feel good."

I could feel myself turning red. Take your hand off, he says, and I start trying to milk him. What the hell must he think of me? Then the rest of what he said caught up with me. Undress me? Did that mean he was really going to try and have sex with me?

"Ah, George, I said no. You have to back off. I'm not going to have sex with you."

"Maybe not, but I'm going to have sex with you. I think you'll find you have no choice but to join in once my cock is inside you," observed George. "Now lift your arms."

With that he jerked my top out of my slacks and started lifting it. I found myself doing as I was told, lifting my arms obediently, my top being lifted up and off. Then he was turning me around and unclipping my bra.

I caught the bra and held it against myself, face burning. George turned me back to face him and then took my wrists and firmly moved my hands away from my breasts, and my bra dropped along with my arms, showing off my assets.

"Very nice," murmured George, his hands taking hold of my breasts, treasuring them. There isn't any other word to describe the way he was holding them. His hands cupped my breasts, stroking them, his thumbs curling up to rub against my nipples, which promptly responded to his touch, damn them. 

I explained to George how he was going too far and that I wanted to go home. He ignored me, probably unable to speak because he was sucking on my breasts, moving from one to the other and back again. I found myself breathing hard, putting it down to temper. The whole situation was infuriating.

When George finally took his hands away from my breasts they were feeling sensitive, tender and swollen. I could still feel where his hands and mouth had touched them. Showing great sensitivity George pushed me so that I sat back on the bed, at the same time saying, "Sit".

I glared at him, wanting to point out that I wasn't a dog, but not quite game to.

"Foot," he said, snapping his fingers and I smiled and tried to kick him. 

It didn't work. He just caught my foot, undid the laces and pulled my sneaker off. "Foot," he snapped again, wanting the other one.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" I asked, exasperated.

"I'm taking your shoes off before I take your pants off," he explained calmly. "If I don't, your shoes would get jammed in your trouser legs."

He had a point, but still, I didn't have to appreciate it.

"You are not taking my slacks off," I told him, speaking very firmly. He may have taken my top off but that was as far as this little charade was going.

"Ah. You want to do that yourself, do you?" he said, sounding approving. "Good girl. It shows you're getting into the spirit of things."

The man had a one track mind.

"No," I said with some exasperation. "They are not coming off. They are staying right where they are. And as soon as you step back I'm getting my top back on."

A fine little speech. Not very effective, but still a nice little speech. George pulled me to my feet and started undoing my slacks. This was too much, and I tried to push his hands away. 

"Do you mind?" he grumbled at me, catching my hands and pushing them behind my back, holding them there with one of his hands while he continued undoing my slacks. As soon as the button was undone and the zip run down he released my hands. This was so that he had two hands available to pull my slacks down. I tried to hang onto them but it seems it's easier to take things down than it is to hold them up.

As soon as my slacks had cleared my bottom George gave me a nudge, sitting me back on the bed, which made the taking off of my slacks a lot easier. As I'm sure you can guess it didn't take much longer for my panties to join the rest of my clothes and I was sitting on George's bed, naked.

George stepped back and looked at me, his eyes running over me. 

"Stand up," he told me.

"Why?"

"Because I can't see you properly while you're sitting like that. Now stand up, please."

Face burning, I stood, cupping my hands in front of me. I didn't see that I had much choice. George promptly laughed and my face got even redder. What was so funny? I thought I had an excellent figure.

"I didn't say stand so you could cover up the interesting places. Move your hands to your sides." 

I glared at him, not moving. If I did that he'd see everything. I suddenly remembered that I'd shaved just that morning. Oh, man, he'd really get an eyeful. Oddly enough, I could decide if I was happy that I'd shaved or irritated. 

"Traci," George said softly, "I'm going to be doing more than just look at what you've got, so you might as well move your hands."

I looked at him nervously, very much aware that his erection was still out, swaying slightly as he moved. Its movement gave me the odd feeling that it knew I was there, naked, and was looking for me. I reluctantly, very reluctantly, moved my hands to my sides.

Frigging hell. George was looking at me with obvious approval and my heart gave a little flip of satisfaction. Why the hell was I feeling pleased that he liked what he saw? I should have wanted him to decide thanks, but no thanks. Not feel smug because he gave me a great big smile that absolutely shouted yes, please.

"You really are quite lovely," he said gently, and my heart gave another little flip. Unfortunately, that wasn't the only place to pay attention. I could feel a slow heat starting to gather down in my secret places. 

Not taking his eyes off me, George stripped. I will swear that as he undressed his erection seemed to be getting bigger and bigger. Or maybe it was just that my attention was on it more and more. I knew what he intended to do with that thing and I had no idea of how to prevent it.

Once George was undressed I was quite surprised. I mean, you think of scientist and you think weedy nerd. That was not George. The man was trim and he had muscles. He was quite handsome now that I thought about it. Which was all irrelevant when weighed against one other little detail. He was apparently going to have sex with me no matter what I said. 

"George, you can't do this," I protested, hoping to get through to him. 

He calmly gave his erection a gentle slap, making it sway, and winked at me. The implication was obvious. Yes, he could do this.

"On the bed," he said. "Hop to it."

I found myself scrambling onto the bed, lying down when he indicated that I should. I couldn't understand it. Boys had tried to talk me into sex before this and hadn't got anywhere. George wasn't trying to sweet-talk me. He was just telling me, ignoring my protests, and I found myself doing as I was told. Still protesting, but obedient. 

A dreadful thought occurred to me. If one of my boyfriends had ordered me to go to bed with him, would I have obeyed? I hoped not, considering some of them. There again, possibly with a couple of them. . . I decided I'd better think about something else, like persuading George that he'd gone far enough.

So how do you argue your point with a person when instead of listening to you he starts chewing on your breast? OK, so he wasn't exactly chewing, but he was kissing them and sucking on my nipples. And if he thinks I don't know his sucking on my breasts like that will cause hickies he's got another think coming. I was going to have to watch my cleavage for the next few days.

I was squirming about and pushing at George, but rather ineffectually. Why beat about the bush? Very ineffectually. I could have saved the effort because George didn't even seem to notice. The way he was acting you'd think my hands were bunched in his hair to hold his head in place, while I was sure I was trying to pull him away. Maybe I got a little distracted by his next little effort.

I was so busy trying to resist George's attacks on my breast that I didn't even notice where his hand was going. Not until it closed over my mound. You can be damned sure I noticed it then. I bucked, giving a squawk of outrage, and George finally took his mouth away from my breasts.

"What?" he asked.

"Your hand!" I wailed.

"What about it?"

"Look where it is."

"I know where it is. Right here," he said, squeezing me.

"But it shouldn't be. You have no right to touch me there."

"Will you listen to yourself?" George said, sounding amazed. "My cock will be going there soon enough. Why worry about my hand. Come to think of it, if my hand touching you there upsets you, is this any better?"

Oh, my, god, no, it was not. He bent down and put his mouth on me. He kissed my mons (my nice smooth, freshly shaved, mons, damn it), and then his mouth went even lower. His tongue was touching me down there, poking at me, even going inside me. I was squirming and writhing and clutching at his head and he was having fun, tormenting me.

So would someone explain to me how a wet tongue can set fire to something? I was trapped, unable to move away from him, and the heat inside me seemed to be running riot. I should have been protesting and telling him to stop but it's pretty hard to do when you're going, "Ah, ah, ah, oh my god." 

After a while he lifted his head, smiling at me. I didn't let out a peep of protest when his hand covered my mound again. I was tempted to, because he might have put his mouth down there again. Damned if I did and damned if I didn't. His fingers were raising their own brand of heat and nervous energy.

Still playing with me, he looked me in the eye.

"Did you do sex ed. at school?" he asked.

I nodded. Big deal. What had that got to do with this?

"Then you know what the clitoris is?"

I blushed a little and nodded again.

"Then you'll know what to expect when I do this?"

Holy crap, no. He did something and if he hadn't been holding me down I'd have skyrocketed off the bed. As it was all I could do was squeal with shock. 

"Ah, no, don't do that," I told him, almost in tears.

"What, you don't like this?" he asked, laughing as I convulsed under his touch again.

"You know, I think you're about ready," he told me. "Let's find out."

With that he moved my legs even further apart and knelt between them. Then he started brushing his cock against me, just stroking along my lips with it. I shifted uneasily, watching him. I knew what was coming, but I didn't really know if you get my meaning. All I could do was wait and find out.

"Are you going to say yes?" George asked, giving me a really lovely smile, but I shook my head.

"Good girl," he said. "You stand fast to your principles."

Not that my principles were going to help me much. He was pushing against me, and his cock felt hot and hard against my soft lips. Then he was pushing past them and I was watching him sink into me. 

Not that he sank in very far. My natural protection stopped him. I was a virgin and my hymen was strong. I actually felt a little smug over that. Stupid of me, I know. It turns out my hymen wasn't that strong. He was just taking it easy as he busted it. I felt a slight increase of pressure, a twinge of pain as it gave, and his cock had scored and was heading home.

I now know why people don't describe what's it's like to have a cock slide into you. How on earth do you describe something like that? Unless you're a woman and you know, forget it. You might get all dreamy-eyed later when talking about it to a girlfriend, but at the time? As far as I was concerned it was a case of what the hell is happening to me?

This thing was pushing into me, forcing my vaginal passage to stretch all out of shape, leaving me wondering if it would ever be the same again. It's all very well to know what that thing is, in this case, George's cock, but what you experience ignores little details like that. Something was entering me and it was the strangest sensation. 

And it kept on coming. I could see George pressing home and I could feel him inside me. Oh, boy, could I ever feel him inside me. I knew how much he'd pushed in already, but it felt much larger inside than it had seemed outside, and there was still more to come. I was making these frightened little whimpers, not because I was scared, but because I felt that I should be scared. George was talking softly to me as he pushed, telling me I was a brave girl and I was doing a good job and just hold on a little bit more and I was basically ignoring everything he said, making squeaky little sounds and watching him take me.

When he finally pushed home that last little bit I was feeling, strange, I guess. Slight smug and pleased because I had George's cock all the way in me. Scared and nervous for exactly the same reason. Angry, well annoyed, anyway, that he was taking me against my will. Flattered that he wanted me enough to take me against my will. (I had a lot to learn about men and sex.) And to top it all off, I felt excited. I had a cock inside me and it felt good. Not as wonderful as I've been told it would feel, but it was still pretty good. 

Unfortunately, my emotional turmoil had to wait because of one gigantic question. What happens now? I only had a rough idea. He bounced on me until he spilt his seed or something like that.

George pulled slowly back and then pushed smartly into me. I found that I was automatically lifting my hips to take him. Memory kicked in, telling me that I was supposed to move with him. Now I knew what that meant.

He came driving in again and I was pushing up to meet him. George's initial entry had been slow and scary and had felt weird. Now that he was pushing in quite smartly it wasn't feeling weird, but normal (for a given degree of normal) and, dare I say it, exciting. After a few strokes I was willing to forgive George for his crass behaviour as long as he kept these feeling going. 




BabySitter Rape Ch. 03



Those first few strokes were relatively slow and steady compared with what developed. While I was pushing up to meet George when he thrust into me, I found I had to do it with an increasing frequency. It wasn't long before George was banging away at a fair rate, with me bouncing eagerly beneath him, lapping up this new and exciting experience.

We settled down for what seemed to be the long haul, with George driving in with a gratifying regularity. Every time he struck home seemed to add just that little bit more to the excitement I was feeling. I was gasping and making enthusiastic little noises, enjoying the building feelings.

It kept on going and I was starting to feel very odd. I seemed to be tensing up inside, every nerve I possessed being screwed tighter and tighter. Whatever George was doing to me, it wasn't enough. Well, I knew what he was doing to me. I mean I was right there, watching him bounce on me. I was part of it, so I knew damn well what was happening. I was getting well and truly fucked. It was just that it wasn't enough.

I was babbling, trying to tell George that he wasn't doing this properly. There was something missing. What wasn't he doing that he should be? I'll swear that he was laughing at me, even if he didn't show it. It was in his eyes.

"You want more?" he asked and all I could do was nod.

"OK. More it is," he said softly.

With that he started going faster, then he was driving in really fast, and I couldn't keep up with him and he was going even faster and oh my god the world was coming apart around me.

I just went up in flames, wailing softly as my climax just slammed into me, shaking and clutching hold of George and just hanging on while everything just washed through me.

Afterwards I was just lying on the bed, trying to get my head around what had happened.

"Why did you do that?" I finally asked George.

"Several reasons," he told me. "I think the one that concerns you most is because I wanted you, and you were there. The opportunity might not come again, so I seized it."

"I was a virgin," I pointed out.

"And now you're not. It had to happen sometime. Why not now? I tried to make sure you enjoyed it. Next time you'll know what to expect."

"There's not going to be a next time," I said quickly.

"One never knows," George said. "These things happen. Maybe not with me but I'm sure there will be other gentlemen in your future. Now you know what they will want and you'll be able to decide if you want to let them have it."

"Gee. A choice," I muttered. "That'll be a different experience."

George laughed. Then he pushed me out of bed and into the bathroom, telling me to take a shower and get dressed, which I did.

"We'll probably need you again tomorrow," George told me. "Beth's mother is going to be in hospital for a few days and she'll want to spend some evenings with her. Are you free tomorrow night?"

I nodded before I realised what I was agreeing to, then I faltered.

"Ah, if I sit tomorrow night, you're not going to go and jump me again like tonight, are you?" 

"No, Trudi. I never repeat myself," George said, greatly relieving my mind.

I agreed to sit the next night. It wasn't until later that I started to wonder. Just what did he mean by not repeating himself? Oh, dear. Did he have something different in mind? If so, what? He didn't actually say no sex, just that he wouldn't repeat himself. This left him a lot of leeway. Oh, dear. I was going to fret now, expecting him to jump me while I was there. What if he didn't? Would I be disappointed or relieved? Oh, hell, I didn't know.