While you've been working long and stressful hours this week I've been taking care of everything at home so that you don't have to worry about anything. So, the yard is mowed, groceries bought, meals planned, bills paid and filed, the trash and recycle has been taken out, everything has been dusted and cleaned, all the laundry is done, and floors have been mopped. When I got home this afternoon all I had left to do was vacuum and you know I'm saving it for last because I hate to vacuum.
I change out of my work clothes into an old low cut tank top and some cut off shorts and check on the meal I have cooking in the crock pot. I sigh as I glance at the clock and see that I have about an hour before you get home. I shake my head and get out the vacuum knowing that the sooner I start the sooner I'll be done.
You have had a pretty bad week: every day there has been some problem with the end-of-the-year data that you had to sort out, searching for paperwork or files, trying to solve minor details at every turn. It feels like everyone in the company is on edge anticipating your results but no one is willing to help you out. By Friday mid-afternoon you finally have everything squared away. You save your final spreadsheets and e-mail your supervisor the good news that the quarterly returns were actually higher than anticipated and all of the accounts are now balanced with projects all being on track. You've now updated the next quarter's projections, re-adjusting them based on last FY. You sigh, knowing that you are finally, finally done with this tedious and stressful end-of-year period.
You drive home and as you park you glimpse me through a window, and see that I'm doing the dreaded vacuuming. With my back to you, I bend over and pick up something from the floor. You notice that my ass is cupped by my shorts and you're suddenly filled with desire. Knowing that I can't hear you over the growl of the vacuum you quietly slip in the front door and grab a ski mask from the coat closet.
You unbutton your shirt and take it off in case I see the cuffs of your sleeves and also remove your shoes and socks so that I won't recognize them. You follow the sound of the vacuum and find me again with my back to you, now in the living room. You quickly move behind me and grab me from behind, your strong arms pinning me to your chest, and pinning my arms to my side. I cry out in surprise and fear. You step on the cord to the vacuum and pull it from the wall, knowing that you want to hear me scream (and all my other noises).
"Quiet," you growl into my ear now that the vacuum has been silenced, "be quiet!" trying to disguise your voice and covering my mouth with one of your large sexy hands. My body tenses against you, my brain trying to find any way to fight off this sudden threat. Your disguised voice must have worked, you think, as I claw at your hands and arms desperately trying to escape, kicking back uselessly at your legs and feet. You feel my strength and chuckle, "Oh, so you're a fighter, are you?"
You quickly bring your free hand up to my neck and squeeze hard. With your height and weight overpowering me you easily push me over the arm of the couch, sliding your feet between mine and kick them apart, bending me fully over which makes my ass rub tautly against your crotch. You enjoy that power for just a second, holding me down while I fight against you. You then quickly slide two fingers up to pinch my nose, knowing how easy it is to make me pass out. I try to bite at your hand that's covering my mouth but it is too late; my vision is already starting to go to pinpricks and narrow. I pass out, going limp over the couch arm, my face pressing down into the spot where you usually sit.
You quickly move remove your belt and strap it around me, under my breasts, and cinch my arms tighly behind me, knowing that you only have seconds before I come to.