There was something about sitting for Mr Ashley that puzzled me slightly. He had a couple of nice kids, and they were no trouble at all. His wife had died in an accident when the kids were just babies and he's done a marvellous job with them. I like sitting for them.
What puzzles me is the looks he gives me occasionally. Don't get me wrong; they're not lecherous looks. He doesn't seem to be ogling me or imagining me naked like some men I could mention. He'd just give me a thoughtful look, as though he's contemplating something. To quote Yul Brynner from 'The King and I', "It's a Puzzlement".
It really came as a total shock to me when I found out what Mr Ashley was contemplating. He's only twenty four, not that much older than me, but I'd never considered him as a potential boyfriend or anything like that. He was just Mr Ashley, a nice man that I sit for sometimes.
I'd been sitting for him one Saturday evening. He'd given me one of those contemplative looks as he left, nodding his head as though he'd made up his mind about something. Anyway, with him gone the kids and I had some fun and I eventually tucked them into bed and they both just zonked right off, leaving me free for the evening. Just me and the TV.
Just before midnight Mr Ashley returned and he seemed in a very cheerful mood.
"Ah, Melody, it's nice to see you sitting there," he said. "You know, ever since you turned eighteen I've been contemplating trying to seduce you."
Ye gods and little fishes. Was he about to make a pass at me? I frantically tried to think of a polite way to say thanks, but no thanks. I was quite relieved to hear his next words.
"I decided it wouldn't do. You'd probably say no and then there's all the awkwardness afterwards."
Well, thank god he had more sense, I was thinking, when he added the zapper.
"I decided that as I really do want you I'd better just say the hell with it and take you, and now seems like as good a time as any."
Say what? He was just going to take me? Did he mean sexually? Like rape? He wouldn't.
It quickly became bloody obvious that he would. He just strolled over to where I was sitting, took my hands and hauled me to my feet. Before I could say anything, mainly because I didn't have the faintest idea of what to say, he had imprisoned my wrists behind me, holding them in one of his hands, and was unbuttoning my blouse.
I promptly registered my objections, verbally and physically. It was really, really irritating to watch him totally ignore my verbal objections and apparently not even register my physical struggles. There again, how much struggling can you do when your hands are pinned behind your back. I'd never really noticed just how big a man Mr Ashley was. Oh, I knew he was large, that was obvious, but until he was right there, holding me and undoing items of clothing, it hadn't registered that he was huge compared to my dainty little form.
He unbuttoned my blouse and peeled it back off me and down my arms. Then he unclipped my bra. He was surprisingly deft at it, too. He just reached around and flicked and it was undone. I just wish I could undo it that easily.
At that point he let go my wrists. Not to set me free, but to permit him to tug my blouse and bra right off. He just tossed them aside and before I could react he had my wrists again. He could move fast, I noted.
Now he demonstrated that he was serious about what he was doing. He had the gall to touch my bare breasts. Touch them? Ha! His hand was all over them. You'd think he was examining them with an option to buy. He stroked me, squeezed, massaged and stroked again, every so often playing with a nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger.
Now I'm not saying that it was awful or anything like that. Truth be known, it was actually quite nice, but he shouldn't have been doing it, and I told him so in no uncertain terms. So what did he do?
He took his hand away and replaced it with his mouth. For god's sake, he was kissing my breasts. Licking them, and I could feel his teeth rasping lightly over my skin. What was worst was that he sucked on my nipples, each in turn, rolling them around with his tongue. Then he blew on them, quite softly, but wow. My nipples were wet from his mouth, and slightly puckered, I have to admit, but when he blew on them there was an instant chill effect and my nipples just puckered right up. I'd never been so conscious of my breasts since they first appeared. They felt swollen and heavy. Felt, nothing. They were swollen and heavy.
After taking his own sweet time getting to know my breasts he decided to work on the rest of my clothing. He reached down and unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. Initially he just left it at that, his hand sliding into the opening provided and rubbing my lower tummy, bordering on the edge of my mons. He couldn't go any further because my jeans were too tight.
That's when I had a bit of a victory. He tried to push my jeans down and they wouldn't go. This didn't surprise me at all. I was the one who had to put them on in the first place and I knew how tight they were. No way were they coming off just because a man tried to push them down.
He pushed even harder at the jeans, but they weren't budging. I've found it take time and patience to get them off. Mr Ashley straightened up and looked at me. I couldn't help it. I had a big smirk on my face. He just grinned back at me.
"Ever come across this trick?" he asked, letting go my wrists.
He cupped my chin with one hand and put the other one quite firmly on the back of my head. Then he simply put my head on the carpet.
The rest of me went down with my head, naturally, but it wasn't as though I fell down. It was more like a graceful swivel with him smoothly controlling me as I went down. It was a case of one moment I was standing and the next I was lying down. I was quite shocked at the ease with which he did it.
"It's an old trick," he said. "If you control the head, the rest of the body has to follow."
With that he attacked my jeans again. This time he grabbed them by the waist on either side of me, pulling them firmly down and my bottom upwards at the same time. Would you believe the damn things popped over my bottom just like that and Mr Ashley was just calmly peeling then down my legs? I've never been able to get them off that easily, and he did it as though he was just peeling a banana. So much for extra tight jeans.
I was naked now. He'd sort of hooked hold of my panties when he pulled the jeans off and my sandals were just slip-ons. They had obediently slipped off and were now tucked inside the legs of my jeans.
Of course, he'd had to let go my wrists while he put me on the floor and stripped my jeans off. This naturally gave me a chance to fight him off, right? Yeah, right. When he hoicked my jeans and bottoms up into the air all I could do was wave my arms around, and they weren't waving anywhere near him. Once my jeans were off he just let me slip back down to the floor and caught my arms with no trouble whatsoever. Martial Arts is not one of my skills.
With my wrists pinned, above my head this time, and a leg lying across one of mine, pinning me down and keeping my legs nicely separated, I was totally defenceless, and he took full advantage of it. He rested his hand on my right breast, squeezed lightly, flicked my nipple, and then ran his hand down along my body until it was running through my little furry tuft. I'd always shaved most of it away, not wanting any pubes showing around my bikini. Now I was wishing I'd shaved it all away. The rotten swine was tugging at the fur that was there, just little tugs, teasing me.
He started massaging, rubbing my mons firmly and continuing down along the inside of my thigh. I could feel the hairs on the back of his hand brushing against my mound. Then it was back up along my mons and down the inside of my other thigh, again, only the hairs on the back of his hand touching my mound. Back up, all the way up to my left breast, his fingertips leaving a curling sensation under my skin as he trailed them over my tummy, heading up.
Then he did the same thing all over again, starting at my left breast, teasing it and then heading down, around, and back to my right breast. I was squirming and telling him why this whole thing was a bad idea. Um, OK, I was swearing blue murder at him, but it had no effect. He just continued that damn stroking, breast to breast, down and back again.
And I found the most annoying thing about it was that he wasn't greedily snatching at my pussy. Apart from rubbing my mons he wasn't even touching it, and it was so goddamned frustrating you wouldn't believe it.
It wasn't that I wanted him to touch me there, god knows, but I was expecting it. I had a right to expect it, blast it. He was sexually assaulting me, after all, so he should get on with the sex bit, now shouldn't he?
When he suddenly cupped my mound I was so taken by surprise that I shrieked, hurriedly shutting up again, not wanting him to know he was getting to me. Stupid really. He knew damn well what he was doing. I was the one who didn't.
Now that he had decided to play with my pussy he didn't muck about. He massaged me, squeezed, rubbed, lightly drew his fingernails along my lips. That last, by the way, almost had me bucking up off the floor, it felt so strange.
After that he started dipping into me, spreading my lips and trespassing inside, getting acquainted with even more sensitive areas. Did I say sensitive? Having a man lightly probing around near your clitoris gives whole new meanings to the word sensitive. I was twisting and turning, trying to get away from that dreadful touch, at the same time I was wishing it would continue.
Even while he was tormenting me down there he wasn't neglecting to tease my breasts. His mouth had settled upon them for a second time and he was tasting my nipples just a bit too freely. That would have been bad enough by itself but, with the ongoing stimulus from my pussy, I was practically blubbering.
