Babysitters Are for Ravishing

I had a new baby-sitting job. I'm always a little nervous meeting a new set of parents. You never know what you're going to get. Admittedly, most parents are average, understand that their kids may be troublesome, and they can generally see things from the sitter's point of view.

Other parents are so eager for a break from their monsters that they fall down and worship at your feet. They're the good ones, though the kids generally bring you back to earth with a thump.

Finally there are the parents who represent hell on earth. Their kids are spoiled rotten and you're supposed to keep on spoiling them while disciplining them, but in a nice way, because they are sensitive souls. If anything goes wrong, it's the sitter's fault, and you don't get invited back. (Fortunately.)

The Morrisons fell into the average category, with a slight tinge of very nice about them. The kids seemed nice and when Mrs Morrison gave me the third degree she did it very sweetly. If I hadn't been grilled by so many parents I might not have even noticed what she was doing.

She was sweet and petite and friendly as all get-out. After chatting with her a bit I found that I'd just about told her my life's history and we'd been exchanging anecdotes about people she'd sat for when she was younger and comparing them to people I sat for. She was, she said, pleased that I was eighteen. She much preferred someone slightly older to watch her kids. The way she put it made me feel the complete responsible adult - very flattering.

About that time her husband came in and she introduced me. He was a bit of a surprise when compared to her. He was huge. Not fat, mind you; just a lot of him. And he looked furry. I had this vivid thought of him lying down in front of a fireplace, imitating a bear skin rug. When he spoke his voice matched the bear analogy, almost growling his words. A nice friendly growl though. Whiten his hair and he'd make a fantastic Santa Claus.

Naughty of me, I know, but I couldn't help but wonder if he was big all over. If so, I sympathised with Mrs Morrison when bedtime came around.

Mr and Mrs finally departed and I settled down with the kids. They were fine. They played, ate their dinners with no problems, had their baths and finally went to bed and fell asleep. An easy job this one and I'd quite happily come back for further jobs.

With the kids asleep I just hopped onto Facebook and Twitter for a while and then watched some TV. I was pleasantly drowsy and just starting to nod off when Mr and Mrs arrive back home.

I was startled into wakefulness when I heard Mr Morrison's growling voice. I shook the sleep from my head, stretched and stood up, blushing slightly when I realised that Mr Morrison was looking at my bust. I have to admit that I have quite a well-developed bust and when I stretched it sort of stood out and was very noticeable. Mr Morrison certainly seemed to appreciate it.

Mrs Morrison was standing behind him. She gave me a friendly little wave, smiled, and said she'd be right back. She was just going to look in on the kids. Then she ducked out and headed off to the kids bedrooms.

That's the point where everything went to hell in a hand-basket. Had I been thinking that Mr Morrison was like a big friendly Teddy bear? Ha! Big mistake. I suddenly found that he was more like a gorilla crossed with an octopus.

He grabbed me. Just like that, no warning, and he had his arm around me and pulled me up against him. Then he started pulling off my clothes. He wasn't tearing at them or anything, just very efficiently undoing buttons and zips and things and peeling them off. The whole thing reminded me of myself undressing a squirming little child, and that's how I felt - small and squirming and being stripped regardless.

As I'm sure you can guess, I wasn't taking this stripping quietly. I was wriggling and protesting and frantically calling for Mrs Morrison. I heard her call that she was coming but she sure seemed to take her time. When she finally came trotting into the room I was naked, standing there blushing and trying to cover myself with my hands, and feeling totally shocked.

Mrs Morrison didn't even hesitate. She sailed right into her husband.

"Aaron, just what do you think you're doing?" she demanded. "You know damned well you're not supposed to undress the sitter while I'm not there. It's very rude of you."

Not supposed to strip me while she's not there? What the hell did she mean by that?

"Don't you mean that he shouldn't be taking my clothes of at all?" I protested. "Tell him to give them to me."

I couldn't reach them. As he'd peeled of my various things he'd tossed them to the side and he was standing between me and them. I wasn't going to try to push past him while naked.

"No, dear," Mrs Morrison tells me. "I meant he shouldn't strip you before I'm here to watch. He has to strip you, you know, because he can't exactly screw you while you're fully dressed."

I'm like, "What?"

"One of our little rules is that Aaron is not to undress the sitter until I'm there. He had no right to break the rule."

Mr Morrison is looking embarrassed and a little apologetic. It wasn't his fault really, he pointed out. I'd deliberately teased him by pushing my boobs out to be admired and he felt that he should have the chance to admire them properly.

I'm still going, "What the hell? What are you talking about?"

Mrs Morrison finally condescended to explain.

"It's quite simple, dear," she told me in her soft little voice. "Aaron likes to give the sitter a good fuck when we get back and I like to watch while he does so. It's hilarious watching their faces when they see the size of his dong sticking up. Then there's all the wriggling and squealing as they struggle and try to prevent him using it on them. I absolutely love it. I hope you're going to put on a good show. This is one reason why we insist that the sitter be of age."

I looked at her, horrified. This just could not be happening.

"You're mad, you know," I told her. "You can be arrested for this sort of thing."

"Ah, no dear, I don't think so. You won't report it. You'll find it's two against one and that counts in legal matters. We'll admit to the sex but say it was consensual and that you only got snippy and reported it as rape when we had an argument about how much we were supposed to pay you. You really won't want to report us; it would ruin your reputation. And you'll find that we do include a handsome bonus in your pay."

I felt rather sick. She was serious about this. They were serious. Glancing over at Mr Morrison I got another shock. While Mrs Morrison had been explaining the evil facts of life to me, Mr Morrison had been stripping.

I found myself focusing on his dong, as Mrs Morrison so crudely described it and felt even sicker. I heard her giggling and guessed she was watching the expression on my face.

"Impressive, isn't it," she carolled. "You'll find you're going to enjoy that."

Enjoy it hell. I was so out of here, and I didn't care if I had to run down the street starkers while getting away. I bolted and Mr Morrison grabbed me and tucked me under his arm with no problems whatsoever.

"You know, dear, I think she's the type to try and scratch when you play with her. A bit feisty. Lay her on her back and I'll hold her wrists for you."

The world seemed to just spin around me as Mr Morrison twisted me around and dumped me on the carpet. Well not dumped. Not really. The man was strong enough to be able to just gently put me on the carpet as though laying a baby down.

Mrs Morrison promptly grabbed my wrists and held them above my head. Nothing I could do about that. She had all the leverage. While she was doing that Mr Morrison took my ankles and just dragged my legs apart. Again, nothing I could do. I tried to wriggle and kick but he was far too strong.

That done Mr Morrison just settled between my thighs, his cock just leaning casually against me, one leg hooked over one of mine keeping me pinned. And he proceeded to not fuck me.

Mr Morrison was in no hurry it seemed. He started off by rubbing my breasts, moving his hands smoothly over them, making sure to roll my nipples around as he did so. My breasts reacted normally. I could feel them swelling and I could see my nipples standing up. Sure enough, as soon as my nipples stood up Mr Morrison was on them, sucking them.

He seemed to spend ages playing with my breasts, trying to get me a bit aroused. (And succeeding, even though I wouldn't admit it.) He also had this knack of rubbing his cock against my pussy when he moved around, making me constantly aware that it was there and it was ready for me. Too bad I had no intention of getting ready for it.

Big words and just as useless as words always are in a situation like this. All the talking in the world doesn't have the same effect as a finger suddenly poking you in the pussy and pushing into you. I squealed and jerked, Mr Morrison winked at me, and Mrs Morrison gave that irritating little giggle of hers. If I could arrange a visit for her from a dozen drunken sailors, then she'll see me giggling.

Now that Mr Morrison had given me that initial poke in the pussy he transferred most of his attention down there. He still kept one bloody great paw wandering back and forth across my breasts, but his attention was focused on pussy playing. He squeezed me, stroked me, probed me with his fingers. He rubbed his hand up and down along my slit, then around in circles, anything he could think of.

He seemed well acquainted with female anatomy, knowing just where to touch me to get me squealing and squirming. He was arousing me with no effort at all and I found the entire thing profoundly humiliating and infuriating. He knew what he was doing to me, too. The way his fingers dipped in and out of me he had to know how wet I'd become and I had no doubt at all that he'd observed my swollen labia as my lips slowly pursed, inviting him in.

Finally his hand covered my pussy and he spread his fingers, dragging my lips apart as they moved. I knew just what he intended next and I was having no part of it. I twisted to the side, trying to throw off his intentions, then twisted back again. His hand just stayed clamped to my pussy and I could feel his cock slipping past them, pressing against my lips.

I swore at him at that stage, still trying to get out from under. The whole thing was being made worse by his damned wife laughing and cheering me on, telling me to fight. Maybe I could have if she'd let go my fucking wrists.

Slowly but surely I could feel him pressing home. I couldn't stop him. I'd wriggle and he'd wait until I paused for a second and then push a little more. Each push put him that much deeper inside me. Annoyingly, I was actually feeling gratified to note that I was taking him quite smoothly. He'd got me hot enough and wet enough that my pussy was quite prepared to stretch to accommodate him, which I hadn't thought at all likely when I first saw his erection.

He gave one last little push and I was history, fully impaled on his cock, and with a cock like that impaled is the right word. Mrs Morrison was laughing, enjoying the whole show. Bitch!

Now that he had me where he wanted me, Mr Morrison didn't just start humping away. He lay on me, pressing firmly against me, his hands cupping my breasts while he kissed them and played with them. My guess was that he was being considerate, letting me get used to the feel of him inside me before he started the main action. Isn't it nice to have such a considerate rapist attack you?

Finally he started humping me. He pulled slowly back and, to my disgust, I found myself pushing up to meet him when he came back in, totally involuntary on my part, but happening anyway.

Mrs Morrison gave a small crow of delight.

"Ha," she said. "I win. I knew that the little tart would respond as soon as you started. I could see it in her as soon as I met her."

Double bitch! I was so going to slap her once I was free.

After that, any comments she might have made went completely past me without stopping. I was too preoccupied with what Mr Morrison was doing to me. His pole was sliding into me, stirring me up and filling me up. Then it would be dragging itself back, seeming to go on for ages, then it was hey ho, and up she rises, as he came pushing firmly into me again.

He started at what I have to admit was a nice friendly pace. I found I could match his rhythm quite easily and was doing so. Anything I might have wanted to say about what was happening was lost. I was reduced to going, "Uh, uh, uh," in time to Mr Morison's driving cock. I mean, how can you stop to think and form words when a bloody gorilla is ravishing you, using what felt like a blasted club for a cock?

After the event I realized that he was still being considerate, starting off moving at a speed that I could handle. That initial consideration went by the way soon enough. As soon as he decided I was handling him fine the way we were, he increased his speed. Not by much, and it was an easy adjustment for me to make.

He increased his speed again, didn't he, making me move even faster. And again, and again. No single increase amounted to much but I was soon galloping along at quite a rate of knots. He was driving down and I was bouncing up to meet him, moving so hard and fast that my bottom was bouncing clean off the rug. The little grunts that he'd been forcing out of me with each thrust were now a continuous wail of sound as he hammered me flat. I could barely snatch enough breath to keep my squealing going.

I don't have the faintest idea of how long he was banging into me. It was just something that was happening, a natural event that I was committed to, moving with him and taking my pleasure from what he was doing to me. It wasn't that I was no longer reluctant, or that I had become eager and enthusiastic. Reluctance and enthusiasm were irrelevant. I was being taken and I just responded, moving in that age old rhythm and just feeling, not thinking at all.

I have no idea who climaxed first. All I knew was that one moment I was lost in this haze while Mr Morrison ravished my poor pussy, the next I had climaxed and was just totally lost, not sure if I was alive or dead, but suspecting I had died.

When I finally decided that I hadn't died I opened my eyes and looked around. My clothes were neatly stacked next to me. Mr Morrison had gone but Mrs Morrison was sitting on the couch, smiling. I gave her a nasty glare and scrambled into my clothes.

"That was fun, dear," she said to me. "You'll really have to sit for us again."

"Your pay's here," she added, handing me an envelope. "Like I said, you'll find a nice little bonus included."

I didn't say anything. I just took the envelope and stalked out to my car and drove straight to the local hospital.

Oh, it wasn't to be examined because of what Mr Morrison had done. I figured I would be on a loser trying to follow that up. The reason I went to the hospital was to get my hand looked at. I think I broke something when I punched Mrs Morrison on the nose. Hopefully I also broke her nose.