When you hear of a woman being raped you always get this faint suspicion that maybe she did something to incite the guy. Maybe unintentionally, but you know, it doesn't really happen unless you lead the guy on a bit.
Until it happens to you. Even when it did happen to me I couldn't help but wonder for a while if it had been my fault. But it hadn't been and I damn well knew it. Let me tell you what happened.
I had a new boyfriend, Andrew by name. He lived at home with his father, his mother having died or something. He hadn't told me exactly what happened to her. We'd been out several times but weren't yet lovers, although that wasn't too far off. I like sex and Andrew was nice and just my type. A bit young, maybe, as he was only twenty, a year younger than me, but a very attractive guy.
I'd met Brad, Andrew's father, a couple of times. He was in his forties and a big solid man. In him, I could see the sort of man that Andrew would grow to be, and I heartily approved. He was flirtatious, but most men are, and he didn't really mean anything by it. I quite liked him.
When Andrew told me that his father's birthday was coming up and wanted suggestion for a present, I had a great idea. Both Andrew and Brad were average cooks. Very average, in my opinion. I, on the other hand, am an excellent cook. Why don't I cook you a very nice dinner for his birthday, I suggested? You can pay for the food and I'll cook something special.
The next Saturday afternoon found me around at Andrew's house, preparing a special dinner. I won't go into the menu, but there was a lot of work involved in it. Brad had taken one look at the preparations I was making and made himself scarce. Andrew, on the other hand wanted to know everything. Why was I doing that? Why did I need to do that? Why are the eggs just sitting in warm water? That won't cook them will it?
After a half hour or so of this I'd had enough. You can have me cook dinner or you can have me give you a cooking lesson, I informed him. Which did he want it to be?
Andrew laughed, opted for dinner, and said that he'd shoot through to the local for a couple of drinks with some mates. He'd be back in plenty of time for dinner. He'd better be, I thought, with all this work going into it.
Now everyone knows that when you're cooking a complete menu there are times when you're frantically busy and other times when everything seems to be going along nicely and all you can do is wait until it's time for the next step. I'd just hit one of those slack times when I heard someone walk into the kitchen. A glance showed it was Brad, and I gave him a quick nod of greeting before I turned my attention to finishing off what I was doing before relaxing for a while.
I was, to put it mildly, a little startled when Brad reached around and cupped my breasts, jiggling them slightly as though trying to guess their weight. I squawked and indignantly slapped at his hands. There's being flirtatious and there's going too far, and groping my breasts was going too far.
I was relieved when Brad's hands promptly dropped away, but my relief was short lived. The next thing I know Brad had lifted up the back of my skirt and was running his hands over my bottom. And not only my bottom, I assure you.
I protested, loudly and vociferously, and Brad just ignored me. I was wedged against the table, so I couldn't get away, and Brad just kept on stroking me. I was squirming and wriggling, and Brad's hand was rubbing back and forth along my mound. I squealed furiously when I felt a finger slip under the crotch of my panties. He hooked his finger around the crotch and just dragged it to the side, leaving my pussy completely exposed, and Brad wasn't shy about taking advantage of it.
I was still protesting, but that didn't stop Brad's fingers from slipping between my lips and probing deeply. Next thing, he seemed to be trying to stretch my lips apart.
"What do you think you're doing?" I protested, and then found out.
I shut-up, completely stunned, when I felt this whacking great cock pushing its way between my lips.
I shrieked with fury and started trying to wriggle out of the way of that cock. Fat chance. Brad's hands had clamped onto my hips and was holding me still, or reasonably still, anyway. And his cock kept edging deeper.
"Will you cut it out?" I wailed. "Take that out, now!"
The answer was his cock moving even deeper into me. Just how big was that thing? I was finding out the hard way, as it kept edging deeper, filling me, stretching my passage, taking me.
Finally I could feel his groin pressed firmly against me, and I knew he was fully inside me. That it all fitted was amazing to me. I seemed to have been stretched all over the place. Brad just rested then. He wasn't trying to actually fuck me, or more than what he'd actually done.
Brad started tugging my top loose from my skirt. I damn-well knew why. Sure enough, his hands slip up inside my top to my bra and unhooked it. His hands reached around and this time when his hands closed around my breasts, they were bare to his hands.
Please don't think I was taking all this quietly and just letting it happen. I was protesting and wriggling and demanding that he stop this nonsense instantly, and being ignored. What was worse, I'll swear that he was enjoying my wriggling around. Probably, I finally realised, because I was effectively fucking myself with his cock when I wriggled on it. Why should he bother getting down to work when I was doing all the sliding required?
Once I realised what I was doing, I stopped. Brad, damn him, just laughed, and then he started to fuck me properly. He started sliding in and out of me, while he squeezed my breasts in time to his stroke. I couldn't do anything about it. Worse, I found myself moving with him.
Brad had started slowly, but he was speeding up quite nicely. He was really driving into me and, despite my personal wishes, my excitement was rising rapidly. I'd finally stopped protesting, realising it was just a waste of breath, and I needed all my breath. Sex can be quite a vigorous exercise, and this was a case in point.
Brad was now hammering into me hard and fast and my bottom was bobbing up and down as I moved with him. His hands were firm on my breasts, teasing my nipples and sending extra little stabs of excitement into me. I was gasping and squeaking with excitement as the tensions built within me.
We came racing up to the endgame with what seemed like lightning speed. It was approaching too soon for me (not that I wanted it to approach at all, mind you) but I was just there for the ride and had no control over what was happening to me. Brad gasped out, "And a happy birthday to me," and then he just let loose, deep inside me.
The feel of his semen splashing inside me was just too much and I climaxed and collapsed, shuddering in the aftermath.
I was vaguely aware of Brad doing up my bra and straightening my panties. I wanted to yell and rail at him, but I didn't have the energy. I was just too damned relaxed from the sex. Mind you, I recovered my energy pretty quickly when Brad casually pointed out that the sauce was starting to boil.
I suspect that it was the cooking that saved me from becoming all despondent over what had happened. I didn't have time to think about it as the menu had suddenly reached one of those points where I had to do a dozen things at once, and I was rushing madly from one point to another keeping everything going.
Some people would say I should have just walked out, or deliberately ruined the meal, but I couldn't do that. I take pride in my cooking and I wasn't going to let a bout of unexpected (and unwanted) sex ruin my efforts. By the time Andrew got back I had everything coming together nicely, but I didn't have time to stop and complain about what Brad had done.
I probably should have made time. Not having broached the subject when Andrew first got back I found that the longer I put it off the harder it became to raise the subject. I finally just kept my mouth shut and tried to act as though everything was fine. And the meal was a complete success, taste wise, although Andrew did mention that he thought I'd been a bit quiet. Tired from all the work, he suggested.
Before the dinner I had been sort of hinting that after the dinner, when Andrew saw me home, things might get a little interesting. Now, as I am sure you can understand, I had no interest in anything interesting developing right then. Andrew accepted the too tired excuse. He couldn't really do anything else, seeing he'd suggested it in the first place.
I was in two minds about whether to go on seeing Andrew. If I saw him I'd run into his father, and I didn't really want to do that. I finally decided that I'd give Andrew a chance. After all, what happened wasn't his fault. I'd just make sure to avoid his father where possible.
This worked well for a couple of weeks. Mind you, I still hadn't gone to bed with Andrew and I could tell he was getting impatient. I was going to have to make a decision one way or the other very shortly.
Then the day came when I went to Andrew's place, at his invitation, to find he wasn't there. Brad was. He apologised for Andrew's absence. Andrew had tried to call me to explain but couldn't get through. Hadn't I got any of the messages?
No, actually. I dropped my phone and the screen shattered. It was at the shop being fixed. I was going to pick it up on the way home. The one time I really needed to get a message I had no phone.
I hastily made my excuses and started backing towards the door. I was so going to be out of there. I was astounded when Brad spoke up.
"What's your hurry? Have you got some sort of problem with me?" he asked.
