BabySitter Emergency

We had a colder than normal Autumn followed by a Winter that loudly complained that global warming was a lie. This was followed by Spring, a balmy, lying spring, that was simply a continuation of that blasted Winter. At the very end of Spring the weather worked out what season it was and the sun came out and shone happily down on all and sundry. I don't know about the all and sundry but I was delighted to greet a warm sun after months of a half-hearted sun running with a low thermostat.

We had several warm days, indicating that a hot summer was on the way, something I very much approved of. I can't stand the cold but heat? That's another matter entirely. Too hot? No such thing. Hullo swimming pool.

I was currently working part-time, earning some spending money over the holidays. If I could arrange it I might even be able to keep the job once I was back at school, as I was considered to be a good employee. I'd just have to be able to arrange my shifts to match my time at school.

On the current day, a Wednesday, I'd had an early shift and was now free for the rest of the day. I headed home, deciding to change into clothes more suited to the current weather and go for a run.

Once I got home and started digging out my running clothes I found that the past six months or so had brought about a number of changes. For a start, I'd turned eighteen and my bust had grown about two sizes. I'd never had all that much in the way of superstructure but now I had a real bust, one that required a bra at all times. Changes, plural. My old bras were too small, even the running bra I owned being reluctant to stretch enough to keep me contained. Not a real problem as a tight top would help. That's when I found the effects of the other changes. Either my summer type clothes had all shrunk or I'd grown in more places than just my bust.

Nothing I tried on fit me properly, if I could get the stupid things on at all. I could see where my part-time money would be going, and rather urgently. I managed to pull up some running shorts and, oh my god. They looked as though they'd been painted on, and whoever did the painting didn't use very thick paint. No way was I wearing those out of the house. I mean, looking at my crotch and you could tell if I shaved or not, the answer plainly being not.

A quick trip to the bathroom changed the answer to a yes and the shorts didn't look quite so bad. Still pretty bad though. I managed to pull on a stretch top that contained the girls and then a t-shirt over that to make me look a little more respectable. Fishing through my things I found a wrap-around tie-on skirt which I proceeded to wrap around myself and tie on. The skirt was shorter than I remembered but it hid those shorts and made me look a lot more respectable. A pair of sneakers and I was ready to go.

I didn't get far. As far as the kitchen, to be exact. My mother was just disconnecting as I walked in.

"Angela, just the girl I wanted."

"It's nice to be needed," I admitted, "but your tone is suspicious."

"I have no idea what you mean. You know Mrs Briggs, well she had a minor accident. Tripped going down some stairs and hit her head. She required three stitches and the doctors are keeping her in hospital overnight as they think she's concussed."

"That's unfortunate," I admitted. "Anything I can do to help, let me know."

"I knew you'd say that so I volunteered you to go around and babysit for a couple of hours. Mr Briggs wants to go and sit with his wife for an hour or so but he can't take the baby with him to the hospital. I assured him that you'd be only too willing to help out in this situation."

Stupid me. I should always make sure no help is required before offering any. As it was I was now stuck. I couldn't back out without making my mother look bad and making myself look mean.

"Not a problem," I said, managing not to sigh. "Um, when does Mr Briggs want me there?"

"Right now. The baby is about due to go down for a nap so if you nip over now the baby will be asleep and Mr Briggs will be ready to leave. He might even be back before the baby wakes up."

And pigs might fly, but I'd manage.

I grabbed my bike and rode around to the Briggs' house. (I gotta get me a car.) I knocked on the door and Mr Briggs dragged me inside, looking relieved.

"Mikey has just nodded off," he said happily. "He should sleep for a good two hours. If he wakes up there's a bottle in the fridge. Nappies are on the change table. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

He took a step back and was about to turn and go when his eyes ran over me. He looked slightly startled and his eyes went over me again, slightly slower this time. Was he checking me out? Yes, he was. He was definitely checking me out. A little thrill of excitement ran down my spine. I don't care what anyone says. Knowing a man is checking you out gives you a naughty thrill each time. You might not be going to do anything about it but knowing someone finds you attractive is always a plus.

Anyway, he nodded to me and shot through. I quietly went to the nursery and checked Mikey from the doorway. Zonked out and peaceful. Turning to go back to the front room I spotted myself in the mirror and it was my turn to take a second look. While riding my bike my skirt had ridden up, and not returned to where it belonged after I dismounted. My skirt was high enough that those tight shorts could be seen, and damned if they didn't seem to be highlighting my crotch. Face blushing I pushed them down to a more demure position.

I settled down to do some online window shopping, making a note of a few things I might like to get. I certainly wasn't going to buy anything online. I wanted to try things on first to see how they really looked. Having a model pose with a dress was nothing like me posing with the same dress. I made a list of the items I wanted, wincing when I considered the total cost. I'd be leaning on my father to buy his daughter some summer outfits, offering my hard-earned to help with the cost. My father tended to be more generous if I was willing to spend my own hard-earned.

An hour or so later Mr Briggs returned. He was whistling softly as he entered, seeming pleased.

"How's Mrs Briggs?" I asked.

"Resting comfortably," he said happily. "They tossed me out so she could get an early night. They say she should be right to come home tomorrow."

As he spoke his eyes had wandered over me again. He was checking me out, I just knew it, and that little flicker of excitement flared again. Stopping to consider Mr Briggs as a man I guess you could say he was a tasty specimen. He was big and solid, attributes that benefited a construction worker. He was also fit, not having a paunch yet, but packed solid with muscle. Having him look at me and admire my figure was definitely thrill-worthy.

Seeing his eyes were wandering over me yet again I hastily checked my skirt, blushing slightly when I found it had ridden up somewhat. I promptly pushed it back down where it belonged.

"Don't do that," said Mr Briggs and while I was wondering what he meant he reached over and gave the bow on my tie-on skirt a tug. It promptly came undone and fell to the floor, leaving my shorts on indecent display.

"Why'd you do that?" I demanded, reaching for the skirt.

Before I could tie it back in place Mr Briggs twitched it out of my grasp and tossed it onto the nearby coffee table.

"Because I prefer looking at you like this," he said. "Much more interesting scenery."

"Well you can't," I snapped blushing, reaching for the skirt again.

"I already am," he pointed out, stopping me from reaching. "I've seen bathing costumes that showed less. Actually, you're covered, in theory, but I think those shorts are just a little tight."

I was blushing by then, embarrassed and very much aware of just what he was looking at.

"I know they're tight," I said, still speaking snappily. "That's why I was wearing the skirt. I've outgrown most of my summer supply of clothes. I intend to go shopping very soon. Now stop looking at me."

"Don't want to. What I want is for you to take those shorts off. They set your figure off very nicely and I want to see if the real thing matches the silhouette."

Was he kidding? Take off my shorts? No way.

"No way am I taking my shorts off," I said quickly, speaking very firmly.

"Well, one of us is, so it might as well be you. I won't mind if you insist that I do it."

"Not happening. What do you think I am?"

"An innocent who made a mistake and is about to be taken advantage of," he said with a grin.

I was now what you might call nervously excited. Nervous because he might try to take my shorts down and excited for the same reason. What would it be like to have a man looking at me while I was half-naked? I gave a helpless little shudder, hoping he didn't notice. Then I was slapping at his hands.

"Hey, I said no," I protested, feeling my shorts making the journey south. My slapping at his hands made no difference. Perhaps I should have made a fist and dotted him on the nose. I was also irritated to see that my shorts came down a lot easier than they pulled up.

He knelt down and jerked on my ankle. It was either grab him to balance myself or find myself suddenly sitting. I grabbed him and he took my shorts right off, taking them over my feet one at a time. He then tossed them onto the coffee table next to my skirt. I glanced at them and got a shock. My panties were tangled with the shorts, meaning I was totally naked from the waist down.

"You rotten..." I yelled. "Get out of the way while I get dressed again."

"Not yet," he said, urging me to stand up straight, taking a step back so he could see me properly. "Every bit as fine as I thought you'd be."

"Oh, wow, lucky me," I hissed. "I want to get dressed.

"In a minute," he said. "First things first, and all that."

With that he calmly dropped his own trousers, showing that he had an erection and quite a big one too. Now I had seen erections before, boys having a tendency to want to show them off, apparently of the belief that any girl who sees it will want to play with it. It hasn't happened in the past where I was concerned and it wasn't happening now. From the size of that thing I was more likely to run away screaming.

"Put that thing away," I told him, looking determinedly elsewhere.

"Oh, I intend to," he said, and I could hear the laugh in his voice.

I could also feel his hand close over my vulva, what with him moving closer and reaching for me while I was looking determinedly elsewhere.

I squealed and jumped back away from him, getting exactly nowhere. His free hand had gone around me and was resting on my back, holding me close to him. He started massaging me, and I could feel my pussy responding. I'd started to get excited from the moment I realised that he was checking me out and everything since then had simply added to that excitement.

I was reduced to telling him to get his hands off me while his hand was busy familiarising itself with my vulva, both external and internal. I could hear a squeal in my voice when his fingers trespassed inside me. He kept on poking around, his erection pressing lightly against my lower tummy, but at least he wasn't trying to use it on me.

"Should we take your top off or not?" he asked me, sounding as though I had a genuine choice.

"Not," I said quickly, by breasts giving a slight throb of anticipation.

"Okay," he said, to my surprised disappointment. Well, not disappointment, because I didn't want him to take my top off, not really, but I was surprised. "In that case you might as well hold this."

'This' turned out to be him wrapping one of my hands around his cock. I hastily jerked my hand away and he laughed.

"I gave you a choice," he said. "Either your top comes off or you hold me."

"What sort of choice is that?" I demanded.

"A good one from where I'm standing," he said, pushing my hand against his cock again. This time I let my hand close over him.

I had to admit to feeling rather peculiar but it was a peculiar situation. I mean, here I was petting Mr Briggs while he was doing the same to me, and rather heavy petting at that. At least on his part, all I was doing was holding his cock. I wasn't even stroking it, or at least, not much. Still, I thought that it was time to call a halt to the whole thing.

"I think I should be going now," I told him, releasing his cock and taking a step back.

Did you know you can't take a step back from a man when his hand is covering your vulva and he has two fingers inside you? It's so. I just found out. And his reaction to me saying it was time to call a halt? He laughed.

"First let me show you a new trick," he said. "Put your hands on my shoulders."

That seemed harmless so I did so. He rewarded me by taking his hand off my vulva, letting it drift around until it was cupping my bottom. His other hand was already doing the same. Then he casually lifted me, picking me up while I clutched onto his shoulders to make sure I didn't fall.

"Now use your legs to hold onto my waist," he said. "It will help you keep your balance."

Seeing I felt as though I was in a rather precarious position I did as he suggested, finding I was clinging to him like a koala in a gum tree, even if his hands were taking most of my weight.

"Well done," he said. "Now just stay like that."

"But, it's time I went home," I reminded him, and he nodded.

"No worries. This bit won't take too long."

With that he relaxed the hold he had on my bottom and I felt myself starting to sink down slightly. It didn't particularly worry me until I felt his erection brushing against my inner thighs. I was about to sink right down onto his cock.

It was odd but throughout all the touching and teasing I hadn't even considered that he'd try and have sex with me. I mean, he was married. Why would he mess about with me? The sudden realisation that if I wasn't careful I was going to find myself screwed came as a bit of a shock.

"Hey, put me down," I demanded. "I have no intention of having sex with you."

"Don't you think you should wait until you're asked?" the rotten man said.

Asked? Really? When my vulva was hovering just above his erection? Above, hell. I could feel the head of his cock brushing against my pudenda.

"Come on. I'm serious," I told him. "Put me down."

He sighed. "You know how I said that you were an innocent? I should have added hopelessly naïve at the same time. Why don't you take one guess as to what is about to happen?"

I just stared at him blankly, trying to work out what he meant. Then I felt my face turning red as I guessed his intentions.

"You're going to rape me, aren't you," I said in a small voice.

"Well done. Now that you've caught on to what's happening why don't you relax a little."

I had no idea how I felt. Excited as all get out, for a start. I mean, I was going to be raped but that automatically meant that it wasn't my fault. Scared? Not really. Curious, maybe, but not scared. Eager to have him get started? Not really, but ready for it when it happened. Was it my imagination or was his cock pressing harder against me?

Not my imagination but neither was he pressing harder against me. Rather, I was pressing down on him a bit more. I mean, a koala in a gumtree I'm not, and my muscles were just not holding me up high enough.

I felt myself shift a bit and the only direction I could move was down. This meant that the shift pressed me even more firmly against his cock and I could feel I was settling down upon it. Had he practised this sort of thing before, I found myself wondering, as he'd certainly positioned me nicely, from his point of view.

For the next few minutes I found myself slowly sinking onto his cock, vaguely horrified as to how much of it there seemed to be. Mind you, I felt him pressing against my cherry early on and, knowing it was going to hurt when he popped it I got in first. With the hurting, that is. I bit him just as he pushed through. Served him right.

I was finally pressed close against him with his cock fully inside me, and boy, did that feel strange. In a good way, mind you, but certainly strange. His hands closed over my bottom again, holding me tight against him. Then one hand moved away and came back with a sudden spank.

"Don't damned well bite," he said. "That hurt."

"Good," was all I said.

He went down onto his knees and then leaned forward, lowering me onto the rug, making sure that he stayed firmly inside me while he did so. Then he started pushing up my t-shirt and the stretch top I had on, peeling them up and off, tossing them to join the rest of my clothes. His hands then settled on my breasts.

He started rubbing my breasts and I had to admit that it felt nice. More than nice. I really liked the way he was playing with them. Did having a cock up me make my breasts more sensitive? Maybe something I could experiment with. (Not with Mr Briggs, of course, as he was married and a rapist. Not boyfriend material at all.)

After playing with my breasts for a short while he started moving his cock, pulling it back and returning. The sensations that doing that invoked were crazy, leaving me making funny sounds as we proceeded. I say we proceeded as I couldn't help but move with him, relishing the rasping of his cock against my heated flesh.

He took his time, slowly building up the pace, playing with my breasts the whole time. After several minutes he was going at a nice pace with me doing my best to keep up with him. My legs had seemed to wrap themselves around him of their own accord as he banged me against the rug, not so slowly driving me crazy.

I gave a small scream when I climaxed, guessing from the grunting he was doing that he was also climaxing. My small scream seemed to echo around the room and I suddenly twigged.

"Mikey's awake," I said. "Probably wants a bottle and a change. I'll leave that to you. Baby sitting money please."

Mr Briggs was quietly cursing as he fished in his pants for his wallet.

"Here," he said, handing me my pay and what was obviously a bribe. "Use the extra to buy some clothes that fit you better."

With that he was departing for Mikey's room, yanking on his trousers as he went. I simply got dressed and counted my loot. A reasonable return, I decided. On one hand it was rape, but on the other hand it was a very well executed rape. Not something that would turn me off of sex in the future. Indeed, it could be considered a mark that others would have to measure up to. I headed off home.