BabySitter Taken

There was something about sitting for Mr Ashley that puzzled me slightly. He had a couple of nice kids, and they were no trouble at all. His wife had died in an accident when the kids were just babies and he's done a marvellous job with them. I like sitting for them.

What puzzles me is the looks he gives me occasionally. Don't get me wrong; they're not lecherous looks. He doesn't seem to be ogling me or imagining me naked like some men I could mention. He'd just give me a thoughtful look, as though he's contemplating something. To quote Yul Brynner from 'The King and I', "It's a Puzzlement".

It really came as a total shock to me when I found out what Mr Ashley was contemplating. He's only twenty four, not that much older than me, but I'd never considered him as a potential boyfriend or anything like that. He was just Mr Ashley, a nice man that I sit for sometimes.

I'd been sitting for him one Saturday evening. He'd given me one of those contemplative looks as he left, nodding his head as though he'd made up his mind about something. Anyway, with him gone the kids and I had some fun and I eventually tucked them into bed and they both just zonked right off, leaving me free for the evening. Just me and the TV.

Just before midnight Mr Ashley returned and he seemed in a very cheerful mood.

"Ah, Melody, it's nice to see you sitting there," he said. "You know, ever since you turned eighteen I've been contemplating trying to seduce you."

Ye gods and little fishes. Was he about to make a pass at me? I frantically tried to think of a polite way to say thanks, but no thanks. I was quite relieved to hear his next words.

"I decided it wouldn't do. You'd probably say no and then there's all the awkwardness afterwards."

Well, thank god he had more sense, I was thinking, when he added the zapper.

"I decided that as I really do want you I'd better just say the hell with it and take you, and now seems like as good a time as any."

Say what? He was just going to take me? Did he mean sexually? Like rape? He wouldn't.

It quickly became bloody obvious that he would. He just strolled over to where I was sitting, took my hands and hauled me to my feet. Before I could say anything, mainly because I didn't have the faintest idea of what to say, he had imprisoned my wrists behind me, holding them in one of his hands, and was unbuttoning my blouse.

I promptly registered my objections, verbally and physically. It was really, really irritating to watch him totally ignore my verbal objections and apparently not even register my physical struggles. There again, how much struggling can you do when your hands are pinned behind your back. I'd never really noticed just how big a man Mr Ashley was. Oh, I knew he was large, that was obvious, but until he was right there, holding me and undoing items of clothing, it hadn't registered that he was huge compared to my dainty little form.

He unbuttoned my blouse and peeled it back off me and down my arms. Then he unclipped my bra. He was surprisingly deft at it, too. He just reached around and flicked and it was undone. I just wish I could undo it that easily.

At that point he let go my wrists. Not to set me free, but to permit him to tug my blouse and bra right off. He just tossed them aside and before I could react he had my wrists again. He could move fast, I noted.

Now he demonstrated that he was serious about what he was doing. He had the gall to touch my bare breasts. Touch them? Ha! His hand was all over them. You'd think he was examining them with an option to buy. He stroked me, squeezed, massaged and stroked again, every so often playing with a nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger.

Now I'm not saying that it was awful or anything like that. Truth be known, it was actually quite nice, but he shouldn't have been doing it, and I told him so in no uncertain terms. So what did he do?

He took his hand away and replaced it with his mouth. For god's sake, he was kissing my breasts. Licking them, and I could feel his teeth rasping lightly over my skin. What was worst was that he sucked on my nipples, each in turn, rolling them around with his tongue. Then he blew on them, quite softly, but wow. My nipples were wet from his mouth, and slightly puckered, I have to admit, but when he blew on them there was an instant chill effect and my nipples just puckered right up. I'd never been so conscious of my breasts since they first appeared. They felt swollen and heavy. Felt, nothing. They were swollen and heavy.

After taking his own sweet time getting to know my breasts he decided to work on the rest of my clothing. He reached down and unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. Initially he just left it at that, his hand sliding into the opening provided and rubbing my lower tummy, bordering on the edge of my mons. He couldn't go any further because my jeans were too tight.

That's when I had a bit of a victory. He tried to push my jeans down and they wouldn't go. This didn't surprise me at all. I was the one who had to put them on in the first place and I knew how tight they were. No way were they coming off just because a man tried to push them down.

He pushed even harder at the jeans, but they weren't budging. I've found it take time and patience to get them off. Mr Ashley straightened up and looked at me. I couldn't help it. I had a big smirk on my face. He just grinned back at me.

"Ever come across this trick?" he asked, letting go my wrists.

He cupped my chin with one hand and put the other one quite firmly on the back of my head. Then he simply put my head on the carpet.

The rest of me went down with my head, naturally, but it wasn't as though I fell down. It was more like a graceful swivel with him smoothly controlling me as I went down. It was a case of one moment I was standing and the next I was lying down. I was quite shocked at the ease with which he did it.

"It's an old trick," he said. "If you control the head, the rest of the body has to follow."

With that he attacked my jeans again. This time he grabbed them by the waist on either side of me, pulling them firmly down and my bottom upwards at the same time. Would you believe the damn things popped over my bottom just like that and Mr Ashley was just calmly peeling then down my legs? I've never been able to get them off that easily, and he did it as though he was just peeling a banana. So much for extra tight jeans.

I was naked now. He'd sort of hooked hold of my panties when he pulled the jeans off and my sandals were just slip-ons. They had obediently slipped off and were now tucked inside the legs of my jeans.

Of course, he'd had to let go my wrists while he put me on the floor and stripped my jeans off. This naturally gave me a chance to fight him off, right? Yeah, right. When he hoicked my jeans and bottoms up into the air all I could do was wave my arms around, and they weren't waving anywhere near him. Once my jeans were off he just let me slip back down to the floor and caught my arms with no trouble whatsoever. Martial Arts is not one of my skills.

With my wrists pinned, above my head this time, and a leg lying across one of mine, pinning me down and keeping my legs nicely separated, I was totally defenceless, and he took full advantage of it. He rested his hand on my right breast, squeezed lightly, flicked my nipple, and then ran his hand down along my body until it was running through my little furry tuft. I'd always shaved most of it away, not wanting any pubes showing around my bikini. Now I was wishing I'd shaved it all away. The rotten swine was tugging at the fur that was there, just little tugs, teasing me.

He started massaging, rubbing my mons firmly and continuing down along the inside of my thigh. I could feel the hairs on the back of his hand brushing against my mound. Then it was back up along my mons and down the inside of my other thigh, again, only the hairs on the back of his hand touching my mound. Back up, all the way up to my left breast, his fingertips leaving a curling sensation under my skin as he trailed them over my tummy, heading up.

Then he did the same thing all over again, starting at my left breast, teasing it and then heading down, around, and back to my right breast. I was squirming and telling him why this whole thing was a bad idea. Um, OK, I was swearing blue murder at him, but it had no effect. He just continued that damn stroking, breast to breast, down and back again.

And I found the most annoying thing about it was that he wasn't greedily snatching at my pussy. Apart from rubbing my mons he wasn't even touching it, and it was so goddamned frustrating you wouldn't believe it.

It wasn't that I wanted him to touch me there, god knows, but I was expecting it. I had a right to expect it, blast it. He was sexually assaulting me, after all, so he should get on with the sex bit, now shouldn't he?

When he suddenly cupped my mound I was so taken by surprise that I shrieked, hurriedly shutting up again, not wanting him to know he was getting to me. Stupid really. He knew damn well what he was doing. I was the one who didn't.

Now that he had decided to play with my pussy he didn't muck about. He massaged me, squeezed, rubbed, lightly drew his fingernails along my lips. That last, by the way, almost had me bucking up off the floor, it felt so strange.

After that he started dipping into me, spreading my lips and trespassing inside, getting acquainted with even more sensitive areas. Did I say sensitive? Having a man lightly probing around near your clitoris gives whole new meanings to the word sensitive. I was twisting and turning, trying to get away from that dreadful touch, at the same time I was wishing it would continue.

Even while he was tormenting me down there he wasn't neglecting to tease my breasts. His mouth had settled upon them for a second time and he was tasting my nipples just a bit too freely. That would have been bad enough by itself but, with the ongoing stimulus from my pussy, I was practically blubbering.

He let me go and stood up. I was in too much of a mess to react. I just lay there, quivering, eyes wide as I watched him stripping. My eyes went even wider when his short came off. His cock was the first I'd actually seen up close and personal. Internet and books don't really give you the full impact. Mind you, lying there naked and looking at what was to come probably contributed to how I was feeling.

When he settled back down he was kneeling between my thighs. He didn't bother trying to capture my wrists or anything. He seemed to assume that I was just going to lie there while he did what he wanted. Which, I found, was just what I was doing. I sort of rationalised it by telling myself that resistance would be useless but, truth to tell, I couldn't really bring myself to mount any resistance. I just felt small and helpless before a greater power and I had to do what he wanted.

I watched as he eased my lips apart and pressed his cock gently between them. He eased in a bit more, until he was pressing against my hymen. He just lightly butted against it a couple of times, as though getting a feel for it and I can tell you this, it felt most peculiar.

What happened next surprised me. He put his hand over my mouth as though gagging me. I thought it would be to stop me screaming as he took me and I had this horrible fearful feeling in my tummy. Then he winked at me.

"Just bite down if it hurts," he told me, and I could feel him pulling back a bit.

I knew what was coming and I bit down in anticipation of the pain. There was pain alright, and a yelp when the pain hit, but it was his, not mine. I gave a minor squeak when I felt my hymen give but it didn't really hurt. Unfortunately I'd bitten rather hard in anticipation of a lot more pain.

So there I was, newly deflowered and about to be seriously fucked, with Mr Ashley shaking his hand and giving me a baleful look. Well, it was his own fault. He said bite down, so he can't complain because I did.

He didn't actually say anything. He just dropped his hands to my breast, and I could feel his cock starting to move. He was leaning onto me and his cock was slowly pushing along my passage. All that mucking around he had been doing had apparently served its purpose. My whole passage was wet and his cock was gliding along quite easily. It seemed to be a tight fit, but it was going in.

(With his hand on my breast I could see the teeth marks. I hadn't actually punctured the skin but, with a bit of luck, he'd have a nice little bruise. Hey, he said to bite down. You take your wins where you find them.)

He kept pressing in and I could feel him coming deeper and deeper inside me. It felt weird; something that wasn't part of me was inside me and boy, did I know it. When I say it felt weird I don't mean it felt bad, just different. I wasn't sure how I felt about it at that stage.

How was I feeling apart from noticing the weirdness? I guess you could say I felt helplessly excited. I mean, I was being raped and there was nothing I could do about it, but I was going to have sex for the first time and my body was aroused and expecting it. Maybe it wasn't by choice, but aroused I certainly was.

You're probably wondering about how big his cock was. When I first saw it my opinion was, oh god, that's too big. Now that it was being stuck inside me I was still of the same opinion, but it was fast registering on me that there are too basic sizes for cocks. The right size and the wrong size, and this one was proving to be the right size, filling me nicely.

Then there was one last push and I was neatly nailed, full of cock and finding I was adjusting to it quite easily. It no longer felt weird, but natural, even, dare I say it, nice. I know you're not supposed to enjoy being violated, but Mr Ashley was going out of his way to make sure it was a pleasurable experience. He'd taken his time, both in getting me aroused and in entering me. A groom couldn't do any more for his bride, and I doubt that many do.

He just leaned on me for a few moments, watching me, and I was staring straight back at him. He seemed to be waiting to make sure I was OK with what had happened so far, while I was waiting for I didn't know what, but I was anticipating it. After those few moments he seemed satisfied, and I could feel his cock drawing back out.

The rest of what was going to happen I knew in theory. He'd push back and forth a few times while I was supposed to move with him and that would be that. I hate theories. They sound simple but when you put them into practice it's a whole new ballgame.

He pulled back, leaving a funny feeling behind, and I was all ready for him to push back in. All I had to do was lift my hips slightly as he came in, helping him drive home. Do it often enough and it would all be over.

So he came driving briskly back in and I lifted and pushed to meet him and, oh my fucking god, what was happening!? That initial entry had felt nothing like this. He came charging in and the strangest feeling ripped through me, starting where his cock was saying hullo and rippling out into me.

I suddenly realised that I had a pool of heat burning deep inside me. I don't know how long it had been there, but this ripple of excitement brought it sharply to my attention. His cock driving in was acting as a fan to the flame. I gave a startled cry, wondering just what the hell I was in for.

There was a slap as his groin bounced off mine, and I mean bounced, as he kept on retreating, his cock pulling back again. Then he was returning and I was lifting and the excitement was burning and there was a slap and he was bouncing back.

As far as I was concerned it was a case of, oh, my god, do it again. My legs, I noticed, had come up and were wrapped around him, apparently in obedience to my thought that I couldn't let him get away. Not yet, anyway.

Mr Ashley had no intention of getting away. He settled into a nice little rhythm, one that I could match with ease. He'd come driving down while I pushed up to meet him, only to bottom out with a slap and a bounce, setting up the next thrust. You could almost say he was conducting the exercise, his hands rapping out the beat with my breasts as the drums. Not that he was hitting them, more squeezing and stroking them, with the occasional roll of the nipple. All of which was adding its little bit to that fire burning deep inside.

My ravishment just rolled on and on. I was gasping and making funny little noises, but I was also right there with him, pushing firmly against him every time he took me. He'd thrust in and I'd push up, and the excitement would roll along.

I've no idea how long this went on. It seemed like ages, but I wasn't complaining. My internal fires were burning bright and getting hotter all the time. I'm not sure what men feel, but if they feel the heat I felt, I wouldn't be surprised if their testicles caught fire, which would have been an awful waste.

Then Mr Ashley gave a sort of groan and his lovely rhythm went all to pieces. He just seemed to be thrusting wildly into me but, whatever the cause, the result was to scatter my fires throughout me, and they just flared up and burnt me to a crisp.

I slowly came down to earth, reforming from the ashes, I suppose. I just lay there, unable to lift a finger, totally drained and feeling too spent to even want to move.

After I'd been lying there for a few minutes Mr Ashley scrambled to his feet, pulling me to mine.

"Shower," was all he said, dragging me along to the bathroom.

I know what a shower is. You hop in, turn on the water, wash yourself and hop out. It's the sort of thing you do one at a time. Normally. Tonight wasn't normal. I was dragged into the shower along with Mr Ashley and he took charge of washing me down. He soaped me and ran his hands all over me, making sure I was nice and clean.

I thought it was a bit much when he went down onto one knee, his hands running down one of my legs and then back up the other. It was way too much when he didn't stop at the top of my legs, with his fingers disappearing inside me.

He was touching me there, rubbing me, and his hands were all too close to my clitoris and seemed to be getting closer. Just like that the heat was back, burning rightly. I tried to push him away but I couldn't budge him. I suspect that my hands were just too weak to do more than paw lightly at his shoulders. And all the time his busy little fingers were hard at work, performing some sort of black magic upon me.

I climaxed again. Standing there in the shower he gave me another orgasm, and that was all I remembered of the shower. This time when I came together I was standing in the middle of the bathroom, being patted dry by this big fluffy towel. I just stood there and let it happen.

When I was dry he took me back to the front room. He sat on an easy chair and pulled me onto his lap. I was wrapped in the big fluffy towel. He was still naked and seemed supremely indifferent to this fact.

"Over there are your clothes," he told me, nodding to where they lay in a heap. "Over there," indicating the coffee table, "is your purse and mobile phone. Do you want your clothes or your phone?"

"Ah, why would I want my phone?" I asked. Clothes I could understand. Of course I wanted my clothes.

"So you can ring home or send your parents a message saying you're spending the night here," he said calmly. "You only need your clothes if you want to go home."

Was he kidding me? Why would I want to stay the night?

"Are you mad," I asked. "If I stay the night you'll probably rape me again first thing in the morning."

"Oh, long before that, love," he assured me. "You'll be lucky to get two hours sleep before I take you again. I think you'll find that waking up in the morning will be the fourth or fifth time you get ravished."