Just finished wrapping up work for the day. "Finally, tomorrow's Friday. Can't wait to work half heartedly till 6pm again."
Right then, I had one those thoughts... How does my usual day look? Why do I work here? Is there a next thing? Ah, anyway... Can't wait to stretch my legs on the sofa while munching on food, continuing Archive 81, talking out random theories with Dean.
Who am I?
Leah Gryph. I work a usual 9-6 with a 4 year old agri-tech startup. I'm one of those people who you see around. Not standing out, just the average level of attention. A 33 year old, who's not really a workaholic or striving to reach the top. Just doing good enough for the next best thing. I'm just one of those people that are just there. Once I've had my rushed breakfast, I leave for work. Dean, my husband, leaves around the same time. The only difference is that he has a proper breakfast.
We have our own after work rituals before we rendezvous on the couch again. His includes walking to a bar near his workplace accompanied by his work friends for a beer or coffee depending on the kind of day. That's followed by riding back home listening to music, reaching home and freshening up. Sometimes we wait for each other to freshen up, sometimes we don't. My ritual includes having a smoke in the open, right outside my office before I leave. Then I take a cab that drops me roughly 20 minutes away from home. The drop off point is a garden. I either walk in the garden or just go and sit, maybe read something. Then, after taking a decent amount of fresh breath, I walk home. This is my 'Me time'. I do have some other occasional 'Me time' that usually have me drinking during weekends or some late night strolls.
Now that I was done chilling in the park, it was time to go home, walking to the beat of some pop. Dean would've started frying the popcorn and wedges already.
It would've been 5 minutes in the walk when I was conveniently shoved inside the gate of a broken building.
It was a well populated community area. Houses and bungalows on both sides of the road. Every now and then, a new one being made or one being torn down. Everything decently lit. Like a place where no one would worry about anything. And thus, the place to have your guard generally down. I should've stayed more focused on the walk, I would have probably noticed someone creeping up on me. But it was too late for that now. People think there may be a scuffle, there may be a problem... But if you're quick and surprising enough, whatever hit me.... Hits like a bus. Before I could grasp the situation and get a calibrated vision.... I was being pushed against a wall. These things are more surprising than assumed. You only notice one thing at a time. Like how when I was being pushed and I wanted to scream that my mouth was reluctantly opening up to a cloth being pushed in it.
My head was being sandwiched by the wall and his face. His prickly beard, brushing over my cheek. It's weird how close someone can be to you and you still can't see their face. Right then, he starts groping me in way that his hand locks mine with a lobster like grip, while he holds the other hand of mine pinned to the wall. Just a helpless wrist trying to break free from his grip. He was pretty fast and rough to feel me up. But It felt to slow. So time taking. While my hand was pinned, his roamed free over me. It was like they were thirsty for my skin. He didn't care enough for my tucked half curled shirt. He was quick to pull them out only to rush his hand to the top of my shirt. Confused, between grabbing a feel by groping me and unbuttoning the shirt to abuse my tits better. He groped my left tit, pushing it towards my face while his fingers made their way to the buttons. Once he felt them, he started flicking them open. He only had patience for the first two. After them, he just tugged at the shirt for my bra to show. He pulled the shirt for it to get stuck at my waist. Moving my hands around as, when and where he liked before pinning them again. He took my tits out of the bra in a split second to fondle with them as if I was his personal stress toy. He was angry enough that I'm sure I felt each grope through layers of my skin, making me moan all muffled. I was moaning..... Why wasn't I screaming in the cloth? Why was I moaning?
