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.