Babysitter Cheerleader

It was a Saturday, the day after my eighteenth birthday and it started really well. Then it was the pits. After that, I just don't know how to describe what when on.

I've wanted to be a cheerleader ever since I was at school. I'm good at it, but it was always a case of too many girls trying for two few spots. I'm currently on my last semester and will graduate in a few months and I thought my chances of making the team were dead and buried.

I nearly made it. I was first reserve last semester, and am still second reserve for the current semester, but nearly doesn't quite make the team.

Anyway, I got a call first thing that morning telling me that Amanda had broken her leg and was off the team and I was in. My immediate thought was "Yay, I'm in" but then I remembered Clarissa, and my hopes just dropped again.

"Um, sorry, Michelle, but I'm only second reserve right now. Clarissa is first."

"Was first," came the laughing reply. "She's got Mono and is out of action for at least this semester. You're it."

This time it was definitely a case of, "Yes!" I even had my outfit all ready in case the call came. The first thing I did on hanging up was to pounce on it and try it on to make sure it still fitted.

The second thing I did I'm a little embarrassed to admit to. But I am eighteen, after all and I can do what I want as long as it's not illegal. I'd sort of had this agreement with my boyfriend that once I was both eighteen and a cheerleader we'd, well, um, you know what I'm getting at.

Anyway, I went around to his place, taking my cheerleaders costume with me. I was going to show it to him and model it for him. Now there was no way I was going to knock on the front door and tell his parents why I was there, so I snuck around the side of the house to his room. I knew he would still be in bed as he loves to sleep late on weekends.

I peeped in his window and was about to knock when I realised just what I was looking at. Brian, my boyfriend, the love of my life on whom I was prepared to bestow my all, was in his bed all right. And so was Anabel, and it was plain to see what they were doing. I could have chucked a rock through the window and they probably wouldn't have noticed.

With Anabel, is what got me. Brian is slender and fit and a really nice guy. Anabel is a fat pig. She must have been twice Brian's size. He looked like he was trying to hump a giant serve of pink jello the way he was wobbling around on top of her. It was disgusting and humiliating.

I went home, leaving the costume in the car. I really didn't feel like looking at it again today. I mean, Anabel? How could he?

Would you believe that he had the audacity to call me later? He'd heard that I'd made the squad and called me to invite me around. His parents would be out he said, hint, hint. Remember my promise?

"Gee, I don't know," I said, temporising. "You know what they say. Two's company, but three's a crowd.

AND FROM WHAT I SAW ANABEL IS A CROWD ALL BY HER FAT SELF!

I think that, knowing how busy you've been today, I should really let you rest and recuperate for a few centuries."

I hung up while he was still spluttering and trying to explain. Bastard.

I just grumped around for the rest of the day. Even going shopping didn't cheer me up. And I couldn't even look forward to going to the pub and having a few drinks with friends that weren't two timing bastards. I'd arranged to babysit for Mr P.

Mr P. is a single father with a couple of cute little daughters. His wife died a couple of years ago from an embolism, I think he said. There one moment and then just dropped down dead. Brian should emulate this feat.

In case you're wondering why I call him Mr P. it's because his real name is almost unpronounceable. I started calling him Mr P. to save myself the embarrassment of mangling his name. He didn't seem to mind and he's been Mr P. ever since.

Anyway, I fronted up, and I could tell that he noticed that I wasn't my usual bright smiling self. He didn't say anything, though; just looked thoughtful. He kissed the girls goodnight and went on his merry way, leaving me to watch them and mope.

The girls went to sleep and I watched TV, sticking to stupid game shows. No way was I watching any soppy romances tonight. Eventually Mr. P returned and I was ready to go home. He offered me a cup of coffee before I left and I accepted, trying to show good manners.

"You turned eighteen yesterday, didn't you?" Mr P. asked.

I nodded, not really looking at him.

"That's what I thought. Happy birthday," he said and pushed a little gift wrapped box over to me.

It was a case of, "Oh, you shouldn't have," and I tore of the wrapping and there was this really cute pair of ear-rings. I thanked him, and meant it. The ear-rings really were very nice and just to my taste.

"So are you going to tell me what's wrong? I'm happy to listen if you want to. Maybe talking about it will help."

"Wrong? There's nothing wrong," I told him, smiling brightly. "I even became an official cheerleader today. My costume is in the car. Would you like to see it?"

"Certainly. Go and fetch it."

So I went and got my costume, holding it up against me so that Mr P. could get an idea of how it looked and trying not to think of Brian and how we had planned to celebrate.

Mr P. considered the costume and shook his head.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure it looks terrific but I seem to lack the proper imagination to picture you in it. Would you like to try it on and model it for me? You can get changed in the girl's room."

So I went and changed, and I have to admit that I looked sensational in it. The costume might have been designed with me in mind. Mr P. was properly admiring, and so he should have been.

"See," I said, "I've turned eighteen, I've made the squad and all's right in my world, if you ignore a cheating bastard who prefers a fat frump to me." And to my dismay I just burst into tears.

The next thing I became fully aware of was the fact that I was sitting on Mr P.'s lap and he was rubbing my back and talking soft nonsense to me. I just sniffled a bit and let him go on. It was comforting, somehow. He was big and strong and was just holding me firmly.

After a while I found that his hand wasn't rubbing my back. It was rubbing my thighs, and easing closer to places where his hand had no right going. I went to protest and push his hand away, but found I couldn't really be bothered. I was still upset and he wasn't going to hurt me, after all.

When his hand started lightly massaging me through my panties I stiffened a little, but then relaxed. I mean, he was just pressing against my mons, and it was through my panties, when all was said and done.

Somehow, little by little, it continued. I was rather shocked to find that somehow Mr P. had progressed to the stage that he was massaging my pussy properly. I'm not kidding. He was. He seemed to have coaxed my legs to part a little and his hand was rubbing right down between them. I was feeling all hot and bothered.

When a finger slid under my panties and probed delicately at my naked flesh it seemed to me that it would be rather petty to protest. And again when he slipped his hand down my panties and his hand sort of closed over my bare vulva, cupping it. And rubbing it gently. And squeezing.

My panties coming down actually seemed anti-climactic. After all, he was already feeling me there. His hands kept on touching me, and hot and bothered was a totally inadequate description for what I was feeling. I wanted him to stop, because he shouldn't be touching me like that. I also wanted him to continue, because it felt so good.

The trouble was, getting him to stop required me to actually do something. Having him continue, all I had to do was relax and let it happen. I'm ashamed to say that I took the easy path. I relaxed and let it happen.

His fingers were easing in past my lips, exploring inside me, still stroking me. I was aroused. I knew it and I'm quite certain so did Mr P.

My arousal was growing, little flutters of excitement rippling through me. When he started probing the area around my clitoris I nearly screamed. Those little flutters of excitement were now quite large waves, thundering through me and driving me slightly batty. I couldn't concentrate enough to say stop, although I knew that I should.

When a climax suddenly hit me it took me completely by surprise. I hadn't been expecting it and was totally shocked when it tore into me. I just gave a startled shriek and then I was swept away.

I came to feeling a little dazed and incredibly peaceful and relaxed. I just lay where I was letting everything slowly filter back into focus. The first jarring note came when I realised that I was no longer on Mr P.'s lap but lying down on the couch. The second jarring note came when I realised that I was lying down on the couch, naked. My cheerleader costume was no longer on me.

Mr P. was sitting on the couch next to me, one hand cupped around one of my breasts, playing with it. I stared at his hand cupping me, his thumb gently rolling my nipple around. My eyes flicked over to Mr P. and I could see that he was naked. And, oh my god, he was aroused. Very aroused, from the look of it. Enormously aroused, you might say. I'd never seen an arousal so complete before.

"Ah, um, where are my clothes?" I asked, rather inanely, I knew.

"Over there," I was told. "Don't worry. You won't need them for a while."

"I really think I'd rather get dressed right away," I ventured.

"And I'd rather you didn't. It's time for me to initiate you. Don't worry. I'll go slowly."

"I, ah, don't really want to be initiated," I mumbled, having a pretty good idea of what he meant.

"Maybe not, but you're going to be," said Mr P., sounding completely indifferent to what I wanted. "Just relax and let it happen."

Mr P. then just seemed to spring onto the couch, finishing up between my thighs, his cock menacing my poor little pussy. It didn't menace for long. It attacked. He pushed his cock against my lips and they were so relaxed from what had gone before that they just yielded without a fight and he was pushing into me.

I mean, just like that he's leaning over me and his cock is pushing down and in, without so much as a by your leave. I think I may have mentioned that I was a virgin. All at once I find I'm not one. I think I gave a little scream when he broke through my hymen. That's because it hurt. I don't care what other girls might say. When Mr P.'s cock came charging in and my cherry popped, it damn well hurt and I screamed.

Mr P., the callous swine, didn't seem to care. He just told me to forget it. The pain would fade and the pleasure would continue. And his cock continued on its merry way, pushing deeper and deeper into me.

This wasn't like before when all he had been doing was patting me. This time he was actually having sex with me and I was protesting.

"Will you stop this," I begged. "You can't do this to me. I haven't agreed to have sex with you. Ahhh. Not so hard. Will you take it out? This is rape, damn it. You can't just take a girl when you want to."

It didn't come out as smoothly as I might have indicated. I was gasping and squealing as he went in; my request for him to cease and desist being rather fragmented. But I did manage to tell him no, I didn't want him to take me.

I could have saved my breath for squealing for all the notice he took. He just kept on coming, pushing my poor little passage all out of shape, forcing it to take him, completely filling me.

It was odd, but at first I was aware of his cock pushing against my lips, and then I was aware of it coming down my passage and finally I was just aware of it. A cock. Inside me and filling me. My whole being seemed to be wrapped around this cock. That initial stab of pain had faded and my whole body seemed to just quiver with expectation. There was a cock in me and it wanted to play.

Now that he was right inside me Mr P. just held still, pinning me to the couch. All I could do was lie there, alternatively looking at Mr P. and his smiling face then looking down at where he was joined to me, still finding it hard to believe that he was doing this.

Finally he started to move, pulling back out of me. I was watching fascinated as he slowly emerged from me. Then he stopped and reversed directions, plunging back in hard and fast, causing me to give a startled squeal. Then, as they say, it was on for young and old. Mr P. was literally bouncing on me, his cock going like a jackhammer, smashing into me again and again and showing no signs of stopping.

I may have been taken by surprise by the whole affair, but I knew what was expected of me. I started pushing up to meet Mr P., my hips humping upwards, feeling his cock slide deep into me with every hump. Looking down the length of Mr P.'s back I could see his bottom bobbing up and down, knowing that each time it went down it was because he was driving hard into me.

Unfortunately for me I was already aroused before Mr P. started his dastardly attack upon me. That arousal had flared into full life even before his cock was properly in place, and every subsequent movement had just heightened my arousal. Mr P. was taking me hard and fast and I was responding with a great amount of enthusiasm.

(Reluctant enthusiasm, of course. I mean, he was raping me and I was hating it, and any enthusiasm I was showing was just me trying to get the whole thing finished with really quickly. It wasn't as though I was enjoying this terrible violation.)

As I was saying, I was enthusiastically responding, pushing hard up to meet his driving cock, and excitement was coursing through my veins, making me vividly aware of this cock inside me and what it was doing. I was burning up, heat flooding through me, growing hotter moment by moment, and I was doing my best to raise the temperature even more.

This time I was prepared for my climax. Well, not exactly prepared, but aware that it was coming. When it hit me I wasn't surprised. Shocked by what was happening to me, maybe, but not surprised. I was too stunned by the violence of my orgasm to even scream, just lying there with my mouth open, shaking myself to death as my whole body seemed to spasm.

This time when I surfaced I felt hopelessly lethargic. I couldn't have moved to save myself. It took all my strength to even give Mr P. a little glare.

"I suppose you're proud of yourself, now that you've probably traumatised me for life," I grumbled.

"I think you'll recover," he said, and I could tell he was laughing at me.

"That's what you think. Any time a decent man tries to approach me I'll be backing away, unable to bear the thought of sex and the terrible pain you inflicted on me."

OK, so maybe I was exaggerating the little sting when he popped my cherry. I'm allowed.

"That was only because you were a virgin," he said carelessly. "It won't happen the second time. Don't worry about it."

"I've only your word for that," I pointed out. "Of course I'm going to worry."

"Well, to save you all that pointless worry, I'm going to do you a favour," said Mr P. with suspicious cheerfulness.

He grabbed my arm and leg and lifted and just flipped me onto my tummy. Before I could do anything about it he had my hips and was lifting my bottom up into the air so I was half kneeling. He promptly climbed onto the couch behind me.

"What are you doing," I squealed, feeling that I had just been saying that.

His cock was pushing against my lips, wanting in, and my pussy, damn it, seemed to just say, hi, come on in.

Mr P. was taking me again. I mean, how? Men can't take a woman a second time just like that. Can they?

"You can't," I protested. "You just did it to me. You can't do it again."

It was becoming increasing apparent that he could. His cock felt just as large as the first time and this time it knew the way. He came banging in as if he'd never stopped.

"There, you see? That didn't hurt a bit, now did it?"

"But you can't," I pointed out again.

Stupid of me to belabour a point that I'd obviously lost. His cock was there and ready for action, and it wasn't waiting around for me to decide that he actually could take me again. He started pumping me again, driving in hard.

It took me a few moments to get with the act, I was so surprised. Then my body decided it didn't care what I thought, it knew a good thing when it felt it. I was pushing back to meet him even while I was still explaining to him that men can't do it twice like this.

He pounded me good and proper. It was slightly humiliating, but I just knew that if I'd been standing to the side watching, I'd be seeing my bottom doing the bob, bob, bobbing act, as it bounced happily, matching his strokes.

If I'd already been aroused before he took me the first time, you can just imagine how highly I was aroused this time. I'd just climaxed for a second time and my entire nervous system was still twanging slightly from the shock of it. Now that arousal was being kick started to a new life. Perhaps I should say cock started. It's more accurate.

Mr P. proceeded to annihilate me. His pounding cock just destroyed every semblance of thought and left me a quivering thing of nerves, bouncing under his driving need. The only advantage that I had was that it couldn't last too long. At least I couldn't. I had this horrible suspicion that Mr P. might be able to go all night.

Mr P. took me hard and fast, lifting me higher with each thrust, and there seemed to be an awful lot of thrusts banging into me. I was just screaming silently, not having enough breath to actually make a noise, needing it all for the violent exercise I was doing.

This time my climax rushed upon me so fast I just died when it struck, knowing nothing until I came to on that blasted couch.

This time I was gratified to see that Mr P. seemed decently exhausted.

"Have you quite finished?" I asked him.

"I think so. For now anyway. How about you? Any pain this time round?"

I didn't deign to answer the question. It was still far too soon to try to put together any sort of logical thought.

Eventually I asked the one question that was on my mind.

"Why?"

Mr P. knew exactly what I meant.

"Partly because you were hurting and needed it," he told me.

When I considered that I had to admit that he was probably right. I felt much happier now for some reason. I'd probably come down with a bit of a bump sometime in the future, but for now everything looked a lot better, even if I wasn't a virgin.

"What's the other part?"

"You do baby-sitting for other people?"

I nodded.

"OK. If you tell the father of any of those households that you're a virginal, eighteen year old, cheerleading, baby-sitter and I will guarantee you will find it hard to get out of that house unfucked. If you do, it's because the father is gay.

A man dreams about seducing a woman who is just one of those things. All four and you're a walking invitation to ravishment. "

"I'm no longer a virgin," I pointed out.

"So don't admit to it. They'll find out fast enough, but by then it'll be too late. Anyway, can you come and sit tomorrow evening?"

He had to be kidding. After what had just happened he was asking me to sit again?

"I thought you didn't go out on Sunday nights," I said.

"I don't," Mr P. said, smiling.