BabySitter Stakes

It was just chance that I happened to be available when Mrs Holding called. I'd had a date lined up, but I'd just received a call from his mother saying he wouldn't be available. He'd decided that falling off his bike and breaking a leg was an interesting way to spend the afternoon.

While I sympathised, it did sort of leave me dateless on a Friday night. That's a terrible situation for any eighteen year old girl, so I was actually relieved when Mrs Holding needed an emergency sitter. It was a perfect excuse for not being out partying.

Apparently Mrs Holding had accepted an invite to a friend's place for a lingerie party, assuming that her husband would watch the kids for a few hours. On the other hand, Mr Holding had invited some friends around for beer and poker, assuming his wife would be home looking after the kids.

Could I come over and watch them for a while? It would only be a few hours and then Mrs Holding would be home. It sounded like an easy night so I agreed and duly arrived at their place at the nominated time.

Mrs Holding and the kids were pleased to see me, but Mr Holding seemed especially pleased. I found out after Mrs Holding had left that he had ulterior motives. Would I be so kind as to keep an eye on him and his mates in the games room to make sure they didn't run low on snacks and beer? I didn't actually have to make the snacks. That was all done. Just make sure that they were available when required. It would save him having to leave the game to get stuff.

He asked nicely enough, so why not? It wasn't going to take much effort on my part.

His friends arrived and their games began. I made sure beer and biscuits were available, flirting a little as I did so, and then left to put the kids to bed. As I left I heard one of them give an appreciative sigh.

"Very nice. Very nice indeed. I wouldn't mind one of those at home for myself."

I pretended not to hear, of course, but I was smirking as I left and it's just possible that my bottom might have been swishing about a little more than strictly necessary as I walked.

After that I put the kids to bed and watched a little TV. When the show finished I checked to see how the snacks were holding up, found they needed more and went to get them.

When I was putting the things out it seemed to me that the men were all looking at me rather intently. It was both flattering and rather embarrassing. I mean, I was eighteen, and they were all around the thirty mark. I know I've got a good figure and I dress to show it off but I don't normally get that much attention.

As I was leaving there were some odd comments.

"How about if just one of us scores."

"Could be fun for the one, but which one?"

"We play. Winner takes all and he can do what he likes with the prize."

"If she objects?"

"Who cares? And if she tries to complain, four of us will be saying it was OK."

I checked the kids and they were asleep. Mrs Holding would be back in another hour or so and I'd be free to go. I settled down to watch some more TV.

About halfway through the show Mr Holding and his mates came into the room, all grinning like maniacs.

"Listen, Tracy," said Mr Holding. "The boys and I were talking and we were wondering if your breasts were padded or not. We figured the best way to find out was for you to show them to us. Um, we thought fifty bucks might help persuade you."

I was shocked. I've hear boys say show us your tits before, but never quite this blatantly asking me to really show them.

"You've got to be joking," I said coldly. I mean, really? Show my breasts to a group of men? They had to be having a joke at my expense.

In reply, Mr Holding held up a fifty. He wasn't joking. I found myself looking at the money.

"It's just a case of undoing your bra and lifting it and your top up," pointed out Mr Holding. "It's not as though we'll be touching them or anything like that. And fifty buck is fifty bucks."

I was tempted, I'll admit it. Like he said, fifty is fifty, but to flash them? I shook my head.

"Oh, come on," said one of the other men. Peter I think his name was. "What will it hurt? It's just a bit of harmless fun."

They all seemed to be laughing at me and my nervousness. Mr Holding waved the fifty back and forth in front of me. It was just a case of lifting up my top and bra for a moment, after all. I wore bikinis at the beach without thinking twice. The only difference is that they'd see a nipple and did that really matter.

I shrugged and grabbed the fifty and shoved it into my pocket. Reaching behind me I unhooked my bra and then lifted my top and bra, feeling vaguely defiant. I have nice breasts and I knew men looked at them.

There were a couple of appreciative comments and someone suggested that I should bounce. I shook my head at that one and pulled my top back down into place.

The men laughed and Mr Holding produced another fifty. I was instantly suspicious.

"Thanks, Tracy," he said smiling. "You have very nice breasts. We were also wondering if you shaved. For another fifty, will you show us?"

That was a no brainer. Show them my pussy? Totally out of the question. Not for fifty and not for five hundred. (Actually, if they'd offered five hundred I'd probably have seriously considered it.)

"No way," I stated, project a flat refusal for all I was worth. "The subject is not even open to discussion."

"Told you she wouldn't," said someone. "Back to option one."

I was confused. What was option one?

"OK, Tracy, forget the shaving bit. You can have the extra fifty if you take your top and bra right off. Same deal. No touching."

Now that one I had to think over. After all, they had already seen my breasts. All I would be doing was showing them for a bit longer, so why not?

I held out my hand and Mr Holding slapped the fifty into it. It promptly joined the first one in my pocket and I took off my top and bra and stood there topless. The men were most appreciative of what I had.

That's when things went a little screwy. Peter reached over and cupped my breasts and squeezed them. I jerked back with a cry of protest.

"Hey. No touching, remember?"

Peter just laughed.

"Oh, that only applies to them," he said. "I'm allowed to do what I like. I won the game."

I blinked, startled. "What game?" I asked. I noticed that Mr Holding and the other two men were now sitting down, just watching.

"We played a game of poker with you as the stakes," Peter explained. "The winner, me, gets to do what he likes with you, whereas the losers, them, can only watch and wish."

"And just what do you think 'what you like' covers?" I asked.

"Just that. I'm going to fuck you and enjoy it. Would you care to take your slacks and panties off now?"

What I cared to do was depart, swiftly, on flying feet. I turned to bolt for the door.

For an older man he was fast. Peter caught me almost before I manage to turn around. He was behind me, holding my hands together in front of me and pulling me against his body. With his free hand he undid the catch on my slacks and dropped the zip.

He let me go at that stage, transferring his hands to my slacks and pulling them down. I tried to grab them but they were already bunched around my knees and I tripped and finished flat on my back on the carpet while Peter was hauling away at my slacks. I was stupid enough to try kicking my legs about and effectively kicked my slacks right off.

With the slacks gone I was free to bounce back onto my feet and I did so real fast. I was quite ready to run out of the room and the house and down the street if needed, clad only in a pair of skimpy panties. Chance would be a fine thing.

Peter was laughing and Mr Holding and the others were still sitting back, watching and commenting.

As soon as I had scrambled back to my feet Peter had hold of me. He pushed me over to the one armchair that wasn't occupied and forced me to bend forward over it. Holding me in that position he yanked down my panties. As if that wasn't bad enough, he wasn't standing behind me, but to the side. This was, he told me, so that his friends could get a good view of what he was getting and they weren't.

I wasn't taking all this quietly, by the way. I was yelling and cursing and telling these big brave men what I thought of them, picking on an innocent young girl like me. I can tell you this, my squealing and yelling rose a notch when Peter stuck a finger up me.

He was deliberately massaging me and trying to get me wet and, damn him, he was succeeding. Totally ignoring my wishes my pussy was responding to Peter's demands. Then my fury climbed even higher when Peter casually commented that I wasn't that innocent a young girl.

"You seem to have lost your virginity at some stage," he pointed out, not that it was any of his business.

Peter kept pawing me and playing with things that I regarded as mine while I kept wiggling and squealing and letting everyone know my opinion of what was happening. And my good humour was not improved by hearing Mr Holding and his friends laying bets on how Peter would perform.

Peter finally decided that he'd spent enough time playing with my pussy.

I could feel him moving my lips apart and I started wriggling harder than ever. Not that it did much good. I could feel him push past my lips and, anytime my wriggling slowed or I accidently wriggled into the right position, Peter would give a little push and sink in deeper.

I'd stopped squealing by this stage. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing me squeal while he stuck me. I could feel him getting deeper and deeper, his cock just swelling up inside me. I was still wriggling, but not as much. What was the point? He was coming in no matter what. Then I abruptly stopped wriggling completely when I realised he was enjoying it. Bastard.

I was resolved to just lie there and take it. There was no way I was going to do anything that might be interpreted as cooperation. I could feel his groin grinding against me and knew he was finally home. And he felt fucking enormous.

"Is that it?" I asked him.

He called me a bitch, the bastard. Then he pulled almost all the way out and thumped back into me. Apparently he decided he needed something to hang onto while he had his fun and his hands came around and groped my breasts.

Satisfied that things were where he wanted them he started on me. He'd ram into me, squeezing my breasts at the same time, then let go my breasts and slowly drag his cock back out.

He wasn't in a hurry I noticed, just relaxed and seesawing in and out, the ins being noticeably faster than the outs. I hate to admit it but his languid lovemaking was getting to me, slowly arousing me. I was still keeping my lips sealed but to my immense frustration I could feel my hips swaying back and forth, pushing to meet his cock when it came.

I tried to stop still, but when I did Peter would just give a slightly harder push, and I'd be swaying in time with him again. And the whole thing just went on and on. As Peter had so thoughtfully pointed out, I wasn't a virgin, but that didn't mean I'd had a lot of experience. Hardly any, really.

As far as I could tell, Peter's casual fucking had lasted longer than all my previous sexual exploits combined. I knew that young men were in a hurry to get laid but until then I hadn't known just how much of a hurry. Peter was just not stopping.

Things had reached a stage where I was getting desperate. My body was screaming at me that things weren't happening fast enough. I wanted to scream at Peter, telling him to go faster, harder, something, but how could I? I was being raped, after all. I wasn't going to say anything to encourage him. All I could do was scream silently and pray for something to happen.

As far as I was concerned it was a blessing when Peter finally got to the business end of his rape. He started speeding up, hitting me faster and faster and my body seemed to consider this in blissful anticipation, and I could feel all hell gathering inside me, ready to break loose.

Peter suddenly went mad, pumping frantically and hosing me down, and he just blasted me into a climax. He finally got me to scream as he just blew me away, and I collapsed against the chair, completely spent.

I came out of it fast enough. Sheer self-defence, I suppose, wondering if the other men were going to try something now. They didn't, though. They were just congratulating Peter and slapping him on the back and apparently going back to their poker game. Well, excuse me for interrupting it.

Mr Holding gave me a friendly pat in an unmentionable place and told me to get tidied up.

"I wouldn't bother mentioning this to anyone," he advised me. "People wouldn't believe it, especially as there would be four of us saying you consented after being offered a hundred dollars."

He winked and left me standing there.

He was probably right. I'd me in for an ongoing nightmare if I tried to press charges. But the very next time Mrs Holding tried to hire me to babysit I was going to say, "I'm sorry, but your husband is a rapist, so you've been blacklisted." Let's see how he likes that.