Security

I was late getting back to the change-room after cheerleader practice. It was Brad's fault. Ever since I turned eighteen he's been leaning on me to go to bed with him. He can't seem to get it through his thick skull that when I say no I mean no, I'm not going to fucking sleep with you.

He's all, but you're my girlfriend (which is just his opinion) and I'm of age (I know that. It was my birthday that marked the date) and he's such a manly hunk that I should be flattered that he wants to fuck me. Give me a break. From what I've seen every male over the age of puberty wants to get into a girl's pants. Are all girls supposed to be supremely flattered because a satyr thinks they're fuckable? I don't think so.

Anyway, he bailed me up after practice, trying to talk me into going out with him. He's got access to his father's car, he assured me. An excellent reason not to go out with him, in my opinion. He drives like a maniac, and I suspect that his driving would be the least of my worries.

I managed to cool him off but boy, he's pushing the limit. One of these days I'm going to stop being nice and give it to him between the eyes. Probably with a baseball bat, as I suspect that will be the only way to get his attention higher than his groin.

When I finally got to the change-rooms they were empty, everyone having already showered and gone. That meant I could take my time under the shower, anyway, not having to rush to let the next girl in. Strolling down to my locker I stopped at one of the columns in the room.

At some stage the school lashed out and put full length mirrors on the columns in our change-room. A good thing, too, as trying to check your appearance on a small mirror tacked to the wall doesn't do much good. I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to see why the boys went all ga-ga and lusty.

I'm of medium height, athletic, and reasonable looking, which is pretty much true for all of the cheerleaders. You have to be to make the team. I have nice blonde hair. An ash-blonde, not platinum-blonde, which I'd prefer, but I'm satisfied. It's only shoulder length, but that's because of the cheerleading. Really long hair would get in the way when you're doing some of our routines.

My bust was respectable. Not oversize, like the udders on a cow like some people I could name, but nice C cups. No sag to them, either. Feeling irritated I hauled my top and bra up over them, letting them stand free. OK, so I thought they looked good but not that marvellous that boys would want to grab hold of them all the time. That was my opinion. In my experience, boys thought otherwise. Real hand magnets those things and a girl had to step lively at times.

Fuck it, I thought. There's no-one around and if I'm looking at myself I might as well look. I dropped my modesty shorts and panties and lifted my skirt, looking at myself and wondering what the attraction was to men. I was clean-shaven, but that was a matter of hygiene and personal preference, not because some boy preferred me that way. Why men always look there is beyond me. If they want to see what a vagina looks like just go on the internet. Vaginas galore over there. But no, they want to see one up close and personal. Fine, as long as it's not mine.

"Damned if I can see what the fuss is about," I grumbled, running my eyes up and down my figure.

"That's because you're looking with the wrong sort of eyes," a deep voice said, giving me an instant heart attack.

I just froze in place, unable to credit that there was a man in the room. He moved up behind me, a big man in a security uniform. He was also running his eyes over my figure and from the look on his face he very much appreciated what he was seeing. I gave a horrified squeak and dropped the hem of my skirt, hand flying up to cover my breasts.

"I was under the impression that all the cheerleaders had gone," the security man told me. "I was just doing my rounds and thought I heard a noise."

"Go away," I managed to say, and he laughed.

"In a moment. My name's A. A. Connor. Everyone calls me Connor."

"Ah, why not by your first name?" Stupid question. I didn't care why not. I just wanted him to be gone.

"My middle name is Aloysius," he said. "My first name is worse, so Connor it is."

"Fine. Please go away, Connor."

"First things first. Allow me to alleviate your curiosity. Here, hold this again."

Would you believe he reached down and lifted the hem of my skirt, flashing my pussy again? And he wanted me to hold it up? Was he kidding me?

"What curiosity? Go away. What are you doing?"

"Explaining what the fuss is about," he said calmly. "You'll find the explanation goes quicker if you just hold your skirt for a moment, the way you were when I entered."

Seeing he seemed determined to hold it up anyway I reached down and clutched hold of it. He straightened up and put his hands on my shoulders.

"Now look at yourself, but this time keep in mind that I'm here and I'm also looking at you. - Uh-huh - From that blush you're looking at yourself differently now, aren't you. You're seeing yourself and you're wondering what I'm thinking of the way you look."

My face was burning because he was right. I wasn't worried about what I looked like. I was worried as to whether he liked what he saw or not. I don't know why as it shouldn't have made any difference to me what he thought.

"Now keep looking at yourself but think what it would feel like if I was actually touching these places. Look at your nipples and you'll see them reacting to the thought of me touching them. Think of my hand stroking your mound, and you'll feel heat as if I was already doing it."

I tried to deny it but my nipples promptly made a liar of me. The rotten things peaked, standing out and just plain asking for attention. My breasts seemed heavier and I could feel that heat he mentioned down below.

"You see the difference?" he murmured. "You'll find it scales up again once the thought is replaced with deeds. Watch."

With that his hands came off my shoulders and closed over my breasts, gently squeezing them while his thumbs rubbed my nipples. My eyes opened wide with shock. I couldn't believe he was doing that.

"See how sensitive your breasts feel now," he went on. "Now just think how you're going to feel when you feel my hands moving down, knowing they're going to close over your pussy."

"You wouldn't dare," I gasped out, even as I felt his hands running down my sides. My eyes tracked his movements in the mirror, and his hands just came around me, squeezing my mound between them, before one retreated, leaving the other rubbing me down there.

So, all right, I was now one hundred percent aware of what the fuss was about.

"You stop that," I demanded. "You stop it right now."

"Worried I might go too far and try to fuck you?" he asked. "No need to be. This is just sex101, only touching permitted."

"I wasn't worried about any such thing," I quickly lied, feeling a little relieved. "It's just that you shouldn't even be in here let alone touching me. Ah, you were going to stop touching me, remember."

A gentle reminder seeing he was still busy massaging me.

"Um, no, I don't think I remember that," he said with a laugh, "but continuing with sex101 and touching only, turn around."

Like I had a choice as he calmly turned me to face him. A very quick glance showed his trousers were still zipped up which added to that touch of relief I'd been feeling.

"You'll find that some men will want to taste you when they touch you," he told me, and with that his head bent down and he captured a nipple with his lips. I was pushing at him and saying, "Stop that," and he was sucking and kissing my breast. He only stopped when he wanted to change breasts, being an equal opportunity toucher, apparently.

He finished up dropping little kisses between my breasts dropping lower. For a moment I didn't realise how low he was dropping until he went down on one knee, his mouth crossing over my mons and then his tongue was touching me, probing into me.

You can imagine my reaction. Well, perhaps you can't, because I couldn't work out what was going on. My hands clutched at his hair. I wanted to tell him to stop but I didn't think it would do any good. His hands were holding my bottom and he was all over me. I could feel his tongue dipping between my lips and probing inside me. I was making a few gasping noises but not really saying anything coherent.

For a while there I thought I was going to climax then and there but he finally drew away, lifting his head and standing. I was a mess of nerves, legs wobbly, stomach full of butterflies. I was quite relieved when he guided me to the nearest bench and had me sit down. I didn't really notice that he was making me lie back.

I snapped back to reality when he suddenly dropped his trousers. All of a sudden I was looking at this enormous cock and I'm lying there effectively naked. I started speaking fast.

"Ah, ah, you said, touch, ah, I, you." A very informative summing up of my feelings. He certainly got my drift.

"I know, I know," he said in this soft soothing voice. "I said touch only and that's all we'll be doing. It's just that I'll be touching you with this for a little while."

I was going, "But, but," while he was straddling the bench between my legs, my legs somehow managing to be on either side of the bench. That "But, but," was my big mistake. I should have been saying, "No, no." I sort of totally lost my voice when he started stroking the head of that truncheon he was carrying up and down along my slit. Even though it was just brushing the outside of my lips I could swear I could feel it inside me.

While I helplessly watched he spread my lips further apart and then pressed the head between them. He pulled his hand away and I could see my lips close over him almost lovingly. From that point on all I could do was watch as his cock slowly sank into me. It looked huge, and it was slowly pushing its way deep inside me.

Did I say I could only watch? Silly me. I could also feel and, oh god, could I ever feel it. Touching me with his hands had been a trifle frightening, making me nervous. His tongue had been worse, not frightening but still a whole lot worse. Now, what could I say? All I was really aware of was this cock taking me over, going deeper and deeper, making me vividly aware of its presence.

For some reason it wasn't until his groin was pressing against me, his cock fully inside me, that it dawned on me that I was no longer a virgin. Thinking back I suppose I could remember feeling my hymen give way but that had been incidental to what was taking place and what I was feeling. Now I had a cock all the way inside me and I was wondering what now?

I mean, I knew what would happen now, but I didn't really know, if you get what I mean. You can't really know until you actually do it and that's the stage I had now reached. I was just looking at him blankly, not knowing what to say or do. He just smiled at me and winked, and then I felt him moving again.

He pulled back a little, paused, and pushed back into me. I found myself automatically lifting my hips to take him, shuddering internally at the feel of him rubbing against my passage. He winked again and did the same little trick, out a little and back in with me pushing up again. (Still with the same exciting little internal shudder.)

His hands were back on my breasts, rubbing them, enjoying them, while he continued with those slow withdrawals. He slowly increased the scope of what he was doing, pulling further back and returning faster, with me still moving with him, pushing up to receive whatever he was offering.

He was matching the massaging of my breasts with the way he was thrusting into me, and he was thrusting now, not just easing his way in. He'd squeeze my breasts as he withdrew, releasing them when he thrust home, so I was constantly assailed by him, excitement of my breasts being replaced by excitement of my vagina with no reprieve. A constant ripple of excitement was flowing into me.

I heard a voice and for one terrible moment I thought one of the girls had come into the room. Then reality caught up with me. It was me, carrying on, pleading with him, begging him for more. I found it hard to credit. Had I no pride? Apparently not. What I had was a cock and a lot of pleasure and I wanted more.

I don't know how long he kept it up but it didn't really matter. The way I was feeling however long he took wouldn't be long enough. I was aware of my whole body, all my nerves twanging away, heat boiling through me. When he started really driving home I just went with it, feeling the heat increasing with amazing rapidity. Then I climaxed and I couldn't help but scream. It was fortunate that a security officer was already in the room or he would have had to come to investigate that scream.

I just sagged back onto the bench, completely drained. I couldn't believe what had just happened. He was rising to his feet, fastening his trousers.

"I'll leave you to your shower," he said. "Give me a wave when you leave so I know the place is empty."

With that he was gone. I finished stripping and headed for my shower. I relaxed under the water, a dozen different thoughts running through my head. Why had I let him do that? Did I let him or was that rape? If it was rape it was nothing like what I thought rape would be. Was it always like that. Was it my fault? He had caught me at an incredibly inconvenient moment, examining myself in a mirror with everything hanging out. As soon as he saw me he knew I was thinking about sex. As soon as he saw me he should have hastily left, and he knew it. Would he try that again sometime? If I was late out of the change-room next practice, would he come and investigate?