BabySitter's Bikini

"Ah, did that hurt a bit?" asked Peter, noting my reactions. "Don't let it worry you. The pain will fade now and everything will be all right."

Easy for him to say. How would he react if I tore his testicles off? Would he say that hurt a bit? I just lay there, sweating, fearful of what would happen next.

You know what happened next? Nothing. He did absolutely nothing, just staying poised there, cock just barely inside me (deep enough to do damage though, blast him).

I looked up at him and he looked down at me.

"Just relax," he said softly. "Give the excitement and pleasure a chance to come back. The pain's gone and I won't do anything to cause any more."

That's the one nice thing about pain. Once it stops you can forget it fast. You don't want to remember it so it fades and is gone. That's what was happening now. The pain of his entry was fading but the fact of his entry was looming large. I mean, I had a cock in me. I wasn't a virgin any more. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

Again, it turned out the answer was nothing. While I was lying there wondering Peter suddenly gave me a little nudge. With his cock. It slipped into me a tiny bit more, sending a sudden thrill of excitement into me. That little thrill was enough to ignite those fires that had been blown out by the shaft of pain. Not blown out, it seemed. Just banked and waiting to be brought back to life.

I gave a little gasp, and then a louder one as Peter pushed even deeper. From that point on it was a case of me waiting and Peter giving these tiny little nudges, each one leaving him deeper inside me. I was breathing hard and my excitement was rising rapidly. Also my sense of wonder - like, I wonder how big that thing actually is? It didn't feel this big when I held it. I wonder just how deep he's going? Surely he must be just about there. I wonder what the fuck is happening to me? That last was more of a philosophical wonder than a practical - on the practical side I knew what was happening. I was being fucked.

There was one last hard push which seemed to double the amount of cock inside me, and I could help but give a small scream of surprise. I could feel Peter's hairy groin rubbing against me and I knew he was finally in place. I also knew, in theory, what was going to happen now.

Peter started moving, sliding back and forth inside me. My immediate reaction was, fuck theory, I'm all in favour of practice. I couldn't believe what he was doing to me. He'd come sliding into me while my back was arching up as I pushed to meet him, wanting him to come deeper, to really stir up those feelings he was bringing to life. He'd pull back, then in he'd come again, with me eagerly welcoming him, hating to feel him go, ever ready for his return.

At some stage my legs wrapped themselves around him, holding tight, not wanting him to escape. After a slightly confused and tentative start we were moving as one, an erotic dance that was not so slowly driving me wild.

He bounced along silently, not making a sound except for the harshness of his breathing as he plunged into me. That was OK. I was filling the silence, burbling away, not knowing what I was saying but saying it anyway, urging him to do his worst, or best, or whatever, as long as he kept doing it.

He did, too. Kept on doing it, I mean.

As far as I was concerned my whole world narrowed down to what was being done to me. Not that I wasn't doing my own fair share of the doing. Peter was gently rocking against me (OK, so maybe he wasn't being that gentle, going at me in a most fast and furious manner), and every move he made was lifting me higher. My whole body seemed to be on fire, on the edge of exploding, and he kept on taking me, thrusting into me as if his life depended on it. (He'd find out that it did if he didn't bring me to a climax, I can tell you that.)

I didn't know, nor did I care, how long we were merged like this. My only concern was my own passions and I was letting them have free rein. When Peter decided it was time to finish I still didn't care, probably because I didn't know that was what he was doing. He just seemed to be driving in with more determination and I was just as determined to match his ardour.

I was sort of taken by surprise when all that fire in me seemed to explode, ripping through me with wave after wave of delicious heat, leaving me shuddering and weak and helpless.

I scrambled to get my act together, finding Peter lying on the rug next to me, breathing hard and wearing a smugly satisfied look. He looked so full of himself I couldn't resist.

"Was that all you could do?" I asked him.

He abruptly sat up, looking very indignant.

"What do you mean, all?" he demanded. Saw me laughing at him and added an extra word. "Bitch."

I laughed out loud at that.

"I," he said, "will have to be going before my sister returns. She'll wonder what I'm doing here and will make wild guesses that might be rather insulting to you. I suggest you have a shower and get dressed again."

Oh, so he was doing a runner to protect my good name. How thoughtful of him. Still, he did have a point. It would be silly for him to still be here when Mr and Mrs Jackson returned. I could just imagine the conversation.

"What are you doing here?" Mrs Jackson would ask.

"Raping me," I'd put in, with a sob in my voice.

Yes, I could see the conversation going downhill rapidly from that point.

Smirking at the thought of that conversation I departed to have a shower. When I return Peter was gone. So, I noticed, was the rug. Checking the box it wasn't there, either. He had brought it with him for one reason and one reason only, and giving it to his sister wasn't that reason. I guess he likes to think ahead. I idly wondered if his thinking ahead would have caused him to consider the fact that a virgin might not be on the pill. I'd have to let him know that I wasn't. (I am, but he should have checked. The scare will do him good.)