Raccoon 1

I was staying with my aunt and uncle for a couple of weeks. They have this place up in the country and they'd invited me up for a while. I had some holidays due so I thought why not? They always spoil me rotten and sometimes it's nice to be spoilt.

The second night we were there we were watching TV when there was some noise from the kitchen. My aunt looked at my uncle and he lifted his hands defensively.

"I'll fix it," he said. "I just haven't had time."

"What's going on?" I asked.

My aunt laughed and got up from her seat, gesturing for me to go with her, quietly. We went through to the kitchen and Aunt indicated that I should peep inside.

There was this big fat raccoon, sitting on the table, sniffing around. Then Aunt jumped into the kitchen with a yell and the raccoon was all scrambling paws as he bolted, heading out through an open window.

"That window has a defective catch," Aunt told me. "I've been after your uncle to fix it but it's not high on his list of priorities. That dratted raccoon had figured out how to open the window and he sneaks in every so often."

I laughed and after that I forgot about that fat old raccoon.

I remembered him a few days later. It was Friday night and my aunt and uncle had gone to bingo. I can't stand bingo. I don't like losing money and I hate seeing other people win it instead of me. What's more, their bingo night was an old people's gab fest that went on and on. They'd be lucky to make it home by midnight.

I'd had a rather energetic day and by ten I was ready to call it quits. I went and got ready for bed.

I have a brother. He is a bit of a joker and likes to tease me. For my eighteenth birthday he bought me a nightie. Not just any nightie, but a special nightie. It was transparent amber in colour, and consisted of some skimpy panties and a diaphanous negligee top. Not the sort of nightwear that you'd want to wear in mixed company unless you've got something naughty in mind.

"Now that you're an adult," my brother told me, with a big smirk, "I thought you should have something other than flannelette pyjamas."

Oddly enough, I loved that nightie and frequently wore it. Not that anyone else has seen me in it. That's what I was wearing to bed tonight.

I was sitting in bed, reading, when I heard the noise from the kitchen. That dratted raccoon, as Aunt would say. I decided to sneak down and scare the living shit out of him. (Not literally, as I'd have to clean up the mess, but you get the idea.) I went quietly downstairs and tiptoed up to the kitchen. Then I reached in, flicked on the light and jumped in with a yell.

"Get out of here you miserable little rodent," I shrieked.

Well, it started out as a nice loud shriek but sort of petered out to a thin squeak. It wasn't the dratted raccoon after all. There was this big man, dressed in dark clothes, standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking at me.

They say discretion is the better part of valour. I knew how to be discreet. If there was a burglar, let him burgle, was my opinion. I'd just go back to bed and pretend he wasn't there. And I'd lock my bedroom door. I withdrew my obviously unwanted self.

Expressed like that, you might think I apologised and quietly walked away. It wasn't quite like that. I screamed and bolted. I was up those stairs at an Olympic Champion's pace, vanishing into my bedroom and slamming the door behind me.

Instead of making a satisfactory bang as the door slammed shut it made a dull thump as it bounced of the man who was right behind me. I didn't stand a chance. He just grabbed hold of me and tossed me onto the bed and then pounced on me.

I was scared silly but also fighting mad. I was not going to be raped without a struggle, let me tell you. I was kicking and screaming and trying to bite him, and if my hands had been free I'd have been scratching him worse than any cat you've ever seen. But my hands weren't free, he was holding them. He'd just grabbed my wrists and was holding them in one of his hands. He was wearing a leather jacket so biting wasn't getting anywhere except leaving teeth marks on the jacket. My kicking he was just ignoring. I guess bare feet don't do much damage.

He drags this roll of tape out of his pocket and winds tape around my wrists and then taped my wrists to the end of the bed. Then he put his hand across my mouth so my screams degenerated into a meaningless burble.

"Will you, for crying out loud, shut the fuck up?! Anyone would think I was raping you."

Did that mean he wasn't? I shut the fuck up, glaring at him, and he carefully took his hand away from my mouth.

"Do you mean that you're not going to rape me?" I asked.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I just want to pinch a copy of Dr Edwards research."

(Dr Edwards is my uncle. He's a scientist doing something incomprehensible. He works from home.)

"Oh," I said, feeling relieved that I wasn't going to be raped.

"Oh," I said again, feeling indignant that he didn't consider me worth raping.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Why? Because I'm being paid good money for his notes, that's why. Why would you think?"

The man had a one track mind - money.

"I said why not," I pointed out, "as in why aren't you raping me?"

"What sort of stupid question is that? Just be satisfied that I'm not."

"Just curious," I muttered, feeling resentful. Not only wasn't I worth raping but he wouldn't even say why. Bastard.

"Well, for a start, you're probably underage and I'm not a paedophile."

"What? I'll have you know that I'm an adult." I said, indignant all over again. "People regularly mistake me for a young woman in her twenties. No-one thinks I look too young."

"Well if you're an adult and your nightie is any indication then you're probably promiscuous. I'd probably catch something nasty from you."

How dare he? I couldn't believe that a mere thief could be so insulting.

"You, you. . ." Words failed me. "How dare you," I shrieked. "Promiscuous? I can't believe my ears? I've never, not once. . ."

I felt too choked up to say anything.

"Ah, so you're a virgin. Well, there you go. You'd be terrified if I tried to rape you and would probably die of fright and then I'd have a body to dispose of. Altogether too much trouble."

Was he kidding me? No way he could be laughing at me.

"Like hell I'd be scared. Do I look terrified to you?" I asked acidly. "You don't scare me."

The man looked upwards as though appealing to the heavens.

"Why me?" he asked. "Why do I always run into the kooks?"

Then he looked at where I was lying, fuming. What did he mean, kook?

He shrugged. "I tried," he said. "You can't say I didn't try."

I couldn't believe it when the man calmly took hold of my panties and pulled them down. He just grabbed them and pulled, taking them right off. Then he took hold of my nightie and started pushing it up my body. I was wriggling and protesting and he was ignoring me, continuing to push the nightie up and over my head until it was riding up my arms, bunched up around my wrists, leaving me lying there naked.

"What are you doing?" I shrieked at him.

"I'm raping you," he said, speaking as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

"But you can't," I protested. "You said you weren't going to."

"I know, and I'm sorry," he said, "but you've talked me into it."

Say what? I talked him into it?

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, I wasn't going to rape you, lovely though you are," he said, taking hold of one of my breasts and squeezing it. "But every time I tried to give you a reason why I wouldn't, you refused to accept it. I just ran out of reasons."

"You have got to be kidding," I said.

In reply he cupped my other breast, leaned over me and sucked on the nipple. When he lifted his head away I could see my nipple was all puckered, and the other one was hurrying to catch up. He promptly assisted it by leaning over and sucking on that one as well.

"You know," he said, hands cupping and shaping both my breasts, "the trouble with lying on your back is that these lovely things also lie down and flatten. Watch."

He released my breasts and they promptly flattened themselves against me. He laughed and cupped them again, started playing with them. He'd cup them, shape them stroke and tease them, then let them go, watching the flatten themselves. Then he'd do it all over again while I twisted and squirmed under him, trying to talk him out of this.

After playing with my breasts for a while, driving me half crazy, he got to his feet.

"It occurs to me that you probably need time to adjust to what's coming your way," he said, starting to take his clothes off, "So I'll show you what you're getting. Then it won't come as a nasty shock at the last moment."

No. It came as a nasty shock right away. Now I am a virgin, but that doesn't mean I am totally untouched. I've had several petting sessions with boyfriends, sessions that have included said boyfriends waving their dinguses at me. I knew what the things looked like when they were standing tall so my new friend's erection wasn't a total surprise to me. I just found myself wishing that it wasn't such a big surprise.

Then he settled back onto the bed next to me, his erection resting against me. I tried to move away from it but he stopped me.

"No," he said. "Stay right there. Having it press against you will help you get accustomed to it and it won't seem so frightening."

Lot he knew. He'd never been on my side of an erection in his life. Accustomed to it? The longer it was there, pressing against my side, the more aware of it I became and the bigger it seemed to get. I mean, there was this cock, it was pressing against my side and it was going to be stuck in me. My mind was boggling at the thought of it.

To distract me from the thought of his cock, and it was quite a distraction, were fingers playing where they shouldn't. He started off by just rubbing my mons and tugging lightly at my curls. Then he tried to slip his hand between my legs and I jammed my legs tightly together. The hell with that for a joke. I'd learned to keep my legs closed a number of octopus type boyfriends ago - you know the type, hands everywhere.

"Listen, woman," I was told, his voice sounding exasperated. "You can politely move your legs apart while I get ready to take you or I can force your legs apart and hold them like that. It will be easier for both of us if you just relax, let me have an easy access, and see what happens."

I wanted to swear at him but I had to admit he had a point. If he wanted to get nasty he could just drag my legs apart and take me right away. As it was, he seemed to be willing to pet me and get me a little aroused so that it would be easier for me when he did take me. Reluctantly I relaxed my legs, feeling him ease them apart. Wide apart. I was surprised at just how far apart he pushed them. I was almost doing the splits by the time he was finished. Boy, talk about providing him easy access.

Now I've had boyfriends who wanted to 'finger' me. I've always assumed that meant a bit of touching in a personal area. I've even let a couple of boys a little bit of leeway in that area, but only a little bit and only when I was a little tipsy. Now I found out exactly what they really meant by fingering.

Like I said, he started by stroking my mons. Then his hands drifted down, following the cleft in my flesh, getting acquainted with every curve and wrinkle. He dragged his fingernails very lightly along my lips and my skin crawled. He massaged me lightly, sending little tremors deep into me. He massaged me more heavily, with more tremors running through me.

He rubbed me up and down, then switched to rubbing from side to side, dragging my lips apart as he did so, only to let them close again as he changed direction. He went between my lips, probing inside me. My god, nobody had done that before. It felt so strange. And he wouldn't stop. He just kept rubbing and poking and touching.

I was twisting about under him, suggesting that enough was enough. Why didn't he just leave me alone. He replied that once he stopped playing with me he was going to use his cock, and was I sure I wanted him to stop?

What was I supposed to say to a thing like that? Yes, please stop and stick me with your cock instead? Maybe I should just say, no, I would prefer you to keep driving me wild by fingering me until I go insane. I just shut my mouth and squirmed about.

By the time he finally stopped touching me I was a nervous wreck. You've heard that old joke about what lies quivering at the bottom of the ocean? A nervous wreck. That was me, lying on the bed, quivering, not knowing what would happen next. I knew something would because my whole body was expectant, waiting for it.

He moved between my thighs, kneeling there, looking at me. His cock was a rigid staff, standing out from him, hovering just above me. I lay there, looking at it, fascinated. I knew what he was going to do with and I found I was anticipating it. A little voice told me I should be screaming and pleading but I ignored that little voice. What would it know? It was as much a virgin as I was.

I saw him adjusting the position of his cock, watched it dip down, watched it approach me, then it was butting against my lips and it gently, almost delicately, eased my lips apart and slipped between them. I could feel my lips closing back around him, holding him, making him mine.

Then he was pushing into me. There was pressure and a stab of pain and he was sliding deeper into me. Something inside me acknowledged I was no longer virginal, but the pain had been nothing compared to the longing for relief that my body had been crying out for.

He kept on pushing into me and I could feel him going deeper, taking over my body. I'd have been repelled by the notion but for that vast easing of tension within me as his cock sank deep. I could feel my body welcoming him, my passage both yielding to let him in, and closing around to hold him, not wanting to lose this contact with him.

He only finished sinking into me when he was lying flat on top of me, his body pressing me firmly against the mattress, his groin rubbing against mine. His head was raised and he was watching my face.

"Now it begins," he told me.

Begins? I thought we were well on our way to the finish. What happens now, I wondered. I wasn't left wondering for long.

I could feel his cock moving, dragging against my passage, stirring me up. For a moment I thought he was going to take it right out, and I nearly panicked. I wasn't ready to have it stop. I gave a groan of relief when he stopped and thrust powerfully back into me. It was the same as his first entry, but different. My passage yielded while capturing him, and seemed to be catching fire as it did so. His first entry had been powerful and deliberate, going steadily into me. This second thrust, while just as powerful, wasn't taking its time. It knew the way and was going back home, fast.

Then he was bouncing on me, his cock driving into me, hammering me down against the mattress, only to have me bounce back as he withdrew for his next thrust. I was vaguely aware that I was moving with him, my hips pushing upwards when he drove into me, trying to take him even deeper. I wasn't deliberately doing that, it just seemed to happen.

Another not deliberate, just seemed to happen, thing was the way my legs rose up and wrapped around him, clinging to him, holding tight while he rode me, his cock thrusting in again and again.

I was moaning and groaning, not in despair, but in relief. My body was responding to the man possessing it, moving with him, relishing the contact and wanting more. If my hands had been free I have no doubt they'd be wrapped around his neck, clinging tightly.

The music of our bodies seemed to just go on and on. He was the conductor and I just followed where he led, wanting it all. The crescendo was going to be my climax (and presumably he would have one). Things were building rapidly and I could hear myself begging him to finish it, I couldn't take much more.

There was no smart-ass reply this time. He just got down to work, driving in harder and faster, pushing me closer and closer to the finish. There was one last thrust and I was gasping for air, my whole body shaking as my climax hit.

I was just totally relaxed, lying spent upon the bed. He was busy getting dressed again.

"I'll cut you loose as soon as soon as I've acquired a copy of the good doctor's notes," he told me.

"God, that means I'll be here until my uncle gets home," I groused.

"What do you mean," he demanded.

"He keeps all his work on a memory stick. He keeps the memory sticks unlabelled. He knows where the right one is. You don't. Even if you took the lot you wouldn't know if you've got the right one. He's got them hidden all over the place."

He glared at me and I smirked at him. He stalked out of the room, presumably heading for my uncle's office. Good luck to him. Uncle had dozens of memory sticks, all colour coded. He knew what the colours meant. No-one else did.

He was back a few minutes later, looking furious. He'd seen the mess that was my uncle's office and realised the futility of finding what he wanted. I had a scary moment when he pulled out a knife but all he did was cut the tape.

"Why the hell doesn't someone try to get that man's office organised?" he snarled. "You could lose a full edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica in that chaos."

I pulled the remains of the tape off my wrists, having the sense to keep my mouth shut.

"Ah well," he said. "It's not a total loss. I got laid."

It was my turn to glare at him as he smirked. Then he turned and departed, taking my virginity with him. Oh well, if I had to lose it, it had at least been fun.