Stocks 1

We have a parade through the town each year and various organisations and companies build up floats. There's rarely a common theme to the floats, everyone just picking something they like or something that will promote their particular organisation of company. I'm quite good with my hands and when one of the local charities decided to build a float they decided to ask for my (unpaid) assistance.

I agreed to go along and help out and so I spent a number of afternoons doing carpentry for this float. The theme was Olde England and I had no idea why they chose that theme. Probably so they could stick their King and Queen up on thrones to really stand out.

There was a nice bunch helping us build the float plus a couple of assholes. We tended to put up with the assholes because they proved to be quite artistic and knowledgeable - just assholes about the way they flaunted it. Naturally we had one all-round-pain-in-the-neck.

The pain in the neck was the queen-to-be. Very busy organising us but very little actual helping. We very quickly learned to ignore whatever Christine directed us to do and to have a series of answers ready when she had a complaint. We actually came up with a list of answers to her complaints and passed it around so that we could all give the same answer to a complaint. She had a tendency to go from person to person, hoping for a different outcome.

"Why can't my throne be higher? I'm not as tall as Brian (our king) so my throne needs to be higher to put me on the same level."

"If we made your throne higher that would unbalance the float and increase the chance of it turning over when it goes around a corner. You really don't want to be on the throne and have the float turn over and crush you."

Pure bunkum, but when four people in succession told her that she accepted it. Trouble is she started to ask if the king's throne could be made smaller.

Now as one of the Olde England touches we had built some stocks. Not the sit down ones where your feet are in the stocks but one of the uprights, where your neck and wrists are fastened. We were going to have some of the more buxom volunteers taking turns in the stocks, wearing rather low-cut dresses so that plenty of cleavage showed.

There were a couple of incidents caused by those stocks. At least, a couple of incidents that I knew of. There may have been more with no-one talking about them. I know I didn't talk about the ones I'd been involved in.

Michelle was one of the volunteers. A pretty young thing, about nineteen, and very well stacked. She had natural assets that were every bit as good as the girls who had volunteered to be in the stocks and she was about the same general stature. I'd been flirting rather heavily with Michelle and she'd been flirting right back at me. I hadn't actually put any real moves on her but I had gained the impression that when I did they'd be seriously considered.

This particular afternoon the usual crowd had been there but for one reason or another they all left slightly early, leaving Michelle and me to finish of the tasks we'd been doing. I'd been doing some minor alterations to the stocks. When Rebecca, one of the volunteers to be in the stocks, had tried them out she'd complained they were the wrong height and most uncomfortable. I'd fiddled with the side stands so they could be raised or lowered over a range of about six inches, letting us adjust them to whoever was in them.

When I'd finished my adjustments I saw that Michelle had also finished the job she was working on so I co-opted her for a quick test. I had her lean over the stocks and closed them over her, locking her hands and wrists in place. Then I would the stocks down a little to what she considered a comfortable position. I was quite happy with my work and ticked the stocks off as completed.

That's when Michelle found she had a little problem. She lifted the top bar of the stocks, meaning to take them off so that she was free. The bar didn't lift.

"Ah, Drew, the top bar is stuck. I can't get it off."

"Not stuck, Michelle. Locked. There's an automatic catch to hold the bar in place. Too embarrassing if the float hit a bump and the stocks flew open and let the prisoner escape."

"Fine. It's locked. Can you unlock it, please?"

"I can," I said, sauntering up behind her. "I most certainly can. Ah, not just yet though. There's another small adjustment I have to make."

Michelle was dressed practically for both the work and the weather. Warm weather so she was lightly dressed but, seeing she was going to be crawling around on the float and didn't want to flash her panties at any interested onlookers, those light clothes included tights. Standing behind her I took hold of her tights and adjusted them, downwards. Being an efficient person I took her panties down at the same time.

She gave a squeal of outrage and I laughed.

"You know, I bet this sort of thing happened quite regularly to any young ladies fastened to the old fashioned stocks," I told her, my hand busy rubbing across her bottom and between her legs. "I can just see horny peasants hiding in the bushes around the stocks, taking turns to sneak out when the coast was clear and handing out a bit of personal punishment."

Michelle was quite vocal while giving her opinion of what should have been done to those horny peasants and equally s vocal as to what she was going to do to me. I can assure you, those peasants got off lightly compared to my purported fate.

"You worry too much," I told her. "What's a little petting between friends, especially when I have you at such a nice disadvantage? Just relax a little and enjoy the thrill of an illicit touch."

Michelle calmed down a little with my reassurances. That didn't mean she calmly accepted what I was doing. She was twisting about under my trespassing hands, muttering soft curses and imprecations.

She actually warmed up quite quickly under my touch. I could feel her heat growing and my exploring fingers were now finding moisture, although I wouldn't chance Michelle's by commenting on such. Deciding that she was nicely prepared I took the next step.

I very quietly unzipped and brought my friend into play. I'd idly stretched her lips and rubbed lightly between them a couple of times. Now I stretched them and then the head of my cock was there, pressing firmly forward. I withdrew my hand, letting her lips snap closed around my cock at the same time that Michelle let out an outraged shriek.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

By this time I was about half-way in but decided it might be wise to pause there.

"Ah, are you implying that you might want to refuse that which I'm offering?" I asked.

"Fucking no," was the very definite reply.

"Um, I'm confused," I humbly admitted. "Are you saying no you don't want me to continue, or are you saying no, you're not saying no, in which case I can continue."

"Take it out," she said, and it sounded like she was talking through gritted teeth.

"Um, well, yes, I will if you insist," I agreed, "but there is a slight problem there."

"What problem?" she demanded. "Are you saying you're not going to stop when I say no?"

"Well, probably," I told her.

"Probably? What do you mean, probably?"

"Well, I'd like to withdraw, very reluctantly, I might add, but it's the way we're built. It's a lot easier for a man to withdraw if he first puts it all the way in and as you can undoubtedly feel I've barely started."

"What?" A rather incredulous shout, "You're a lying, conniving, skunk. Whoever heard of such a thing?"

"Men," I flatly stated. "Ask any man and they'll tell you."

"I'll just bet they would," she said in a tone that could only be described as sulphurous."

"Tell you what," I said amiably. "Instead of deciding right now just consider it for a minute or two. I'll wait."

While waiting my hands slid up inside her top. I'd rather thought that she hadn't been wearing a bra and my hands closed quite happily over her breasts, starting to gently tease them. She gasped but didn't say anything.

After a very short while I could feel her starting to move a little restlessly, twisting about a little on my cock.

"What say I just go a little deeper so you can get a better feel for things," I suggested. "It'll help you to make up your mind."

With that I started pushing into her, feeling her passage yielding to me and capturing me.

"No," she said quickly. "There's no need for that."

I stopped again, while I continued the pleasant task of rubbing her breasts.

"It doesn't matter if I say yes or no, does it?" she grumbled. "You're not going to stop no matter what I say."

"Michelle, I am wounded. How could you say that? You must know I'd never force myself upon you."

"Wow. You're doing a pretty good imitation of it," she snapped.

"Well, the final choice is yours." I pulled back out, just a little, but enough to give her the impression that I would if she insisted.

"I really want to do this," I said softly, polling back another tiny bit.

"Oh, fuck you. You're a swine. Do it, damn you."

"Are you sure?" I asked plaintively and she groaned, following it up with a laugh.

"Yes, I'm sure. You win this one. Give it to me, now."

Mine but to obey. I drove in firmly, finding Michelle quite prepared to push back against me, helping me penetrate her fully, our groins coming together with a slap.

Hands massaging her breasts I started to pump firmly into her, Michelle responding beautifully.

"So how does it feel to be helpless?" I asked. "The poor maiden assaulted by the passing stranger, unable to defend herself."

"It's because she isn't a maiden that she probably wound up in the stocks," giggled Michelle. "From where I stand it feels strange. I don't really have any say in what you do. I'm stuck here until you decide to release me."

"If I was at home I might never release you," I assured her, driving in harder than ever.

I was almost lifting her off her feet I was driving in so hard, not that Michelle was complaining. I was getting a litany of, "Yes, yes, yes, harder, damn you," and I was doing my best to oblige. For someone who didn't have any say in what I did, she was certainly demanding.

It turned out that I had two reasons to be grateful for the early departure of the rest of the volunteers. That lack of people gave me the opportunity to approach Michelle. It also meant that there was no-one around to hear when Michelle shrieked like a banshee when she climaxed. Her scream was so sudden, loud, and high-pitched I nearly separated from her in shock. Only the fact that I was also climaxing kept me hanging on to her.

"What the hell?" I asked her after I'd unclipped the stocks and she'd started getting dressed.

She knew exactly what I meant.

"I like to scream," she said, sounding rather smug, "and this seemed like an excellent opportunity to really let loose."

"Well for god's sake, don't scream like that after I manage to lure you into my bedroom. The old lady next door would have a heart attack and report us to the police."

"First you've got to lure me into the bedroom," she said, smirking, "and then you'll just have to take your chances."

You're probably thinking that the second incident was just me taking a chance to play around with Michelle once more. Wrong. It involved stupidity (not mine), vandalism (attempted, but not by me), and a misplaced feeling that things had to go the way you wanted (again, not my sense of entitlement).

It was the evening before the parade and I happened to be driving past the warehouse where the float was stored. I wasn't actually going to the warehouse as the float was finished, everything ticked off, ready to be rolled out and put on display. So I was just a little surprised to see a light go on in the warehouse as I was passing.

I didn't pass, turning into the driveway instead. I mean, I'd put a fair bit of work into that float and I was damned if I wanted anything to happen to it. The side-door to the warehouse was wide open which seemed to indicate that whoever was there was there for a legitimate reason but I went on in anyway, closing the door behind me.

I couldn't see anyone right off but I heard noises on the other side of the float and strolled around to see what was going on.

"What the fuck?" I snarled, and Christine screamed and dropped the can of spray paint she'd been about to use.

"God, you're an idiot," she yelled. "Just what do you mean by trying to scare me out of my wits?"

"Me?" I exclaimed. "What are you doing messing around with the float with a couple of cans of spray paint?"

"I was just changing the colour scheme," Christine said, sounding as though this should have been obvious.

"Christine," I said patiently, "it would take you a couple of days to repaint the entire float."

"No, it won't. I can spray on a new colour really quickly."

"Really? Without getting any paint on all the decorations? With the accuracy required to do all the fancy bits which took Brad a week of careful work? And how are you going to change the colours of the various materials we've used."

She looked defiant and I was feeling like picking her up and shaking her.

"Why are you wanting to change the colour scheme now when the parade is tomorrow?"

That was apparently a 'der' question.

"Because the parade is tomorrow. They won't have time to change it back," she said, sounding as if it should be self-evident.

"For a start, the colour scheme we have was decided on by the charity. Remember them? They're the ones sponsoring the float. These are the charity's colours and recognisable as such. Even if that is irrelevant to you," from the look on her face, it was, "might I point out that you don't have anywhere near enough paint to cover the float."

"I know that. I'm not stupid," she snapped. "I have another can in the car."

Face-palm time. I sighed.

"Christine, for a float this big you would probably need twenty more cans and I wouldn't guarantee that that was enough. Why do you think we bought gallon pots and painted by brush? Why do you want to change the colour scheme anyway?"

"I bought a new dress. These colours will clash with it so we have to change the colours."

"Christine, the charity has provided the costume that queen will wear. It won't clash with the colours."

"Well, yes, but I want to wear my own dress."

"Then there's a simple solution," I said happily.

"Yes?" The non-trusting little minx sounded doubtful.

"Certainly. One of the volunteers will wear the queen's dress and you can wear your own. I'm sure most of the other girls would be willing to become queen if you choose to step down."

From the look on Christine's face I'd just uttered blasphemy of the highest order. Not be queen? The idea was unthinkable.

"If you want to continue as queen, stick to the script," I told her. "If you'd managed to start spraying things we'd probably have had to cancel the float or risk being a laughing stock. The charity would have called it vandalism and referred the matter to the police. Now are you going to leave things as they are or what?"

"But it's so unfair. My new dress is sensational."

"Then it's probably wasted on the float. You'll be sitting on the throne and no-one will be able to see it properly. However, at the evening ball you can choose your own gown. You don't have to wear the costume for the ball. That will give you a chance to display your gown for maximum effect."

I could see her considering this and then the little light came on. I was making sense. Unusual in a man, but this time I was right. She finally nodded, accepting the trade-off.

"OK, then. Now the reason I stopped by this evening was to have a last check of the stocks. They were sticking earlier and I want to make sure I've fixed the problem. Hop up and you can give me a hand. It won't take long."

She scrambled up onto the float in a rather disgruntled expression and followed me over to the float.

"What do you want me to do?" she grumbled as I opened the stock.

"Just put your head and hands here," I said, "while I test it."

The innocent little lamb did as requested and I closed the stock, automatic lock engaging.

"See if that opens," I suggested.

I watched as she pushed up against the stock which stubbornly refused to budge.

"It's stuck," she snapped. "You haven't fixed it very well."

"No, it's fine," I assured her. "It's locked, not stuck. A different thing entirely."

"Well, unlock it!"

"All in good time," I murmured. "All in good time."

I had been checking out how she was dressed while talking to her. She had a on a loose floral skirt that reached down to her ankles and a matching blouse, floral and floppy. As far as I could see the skirt was held up by an elastic waistband. An easy theory to test. I took hold of the sides of the skirt and tugged and the dress popped over her bottom and finished up pooled around her ankles.

"That's a lot easier than tight jeans," I told her. "Last time I tried to remove a girl's jeans I was standing on the bed, holding the jeans by the bottom of the leg, and trying to shake her out of them, not helped by her giggling like a loon the whole time. I gave up and she just did something and slithered right out of them with no fuss, leaving me feeling like an idiot. I really like skirts."

Christine was very quick to explain that she also liked skirts. It's just that she preferred them on so if I'd just undo the stock she'd just be too delighted to make that minor adjustment to her own skirt.

Not really being too interested in Christine's preferences at this stage I ignored her comment, sliding my hands up under her top to unhook her bra. I also took the opportunity to push her top high, giving me free access to her breasts, and quite lovely breasts they were, too.

"What the fuck do you think you're playing at?" she snapped at me.

"I'd have thought it was obvious," I pointed out. "I'm undressing you. Skirt first, then bra and now, these." I plucked to the waistband of her panties, such as they were. "How does it feel knowing I'm going to slowly remove these and there's nothing you can do about it?"

From the language I was able to deduce that she wasn't in favour of the deal. I simply smiled and started peeling. I took my time, easing them slowly down while Christine tried to pull away. Not easy seeing she had nowhere to go.

With her panties gone my hands were all over her, one hand playing with her breasts while the other stroked her mons and went exploring. It seemed to me that if she didn't want my hand exploring so intimately then she'd have kept her legs closed.

Christine was twisting about under my touch. For the life of me I couldn't work out if she was angry, scared, or feeling passionate. I tended to rule out scared as I'm quite sure she wouldn't have used some of that language if she was scared. Passionately angry, I decided.

"Just what are you trying to do?" she demanded.

"Just being friendly," I said. "Ah, make that very friendly. Don't worry, it's nothing to get your panties in a twist."

"Just stop doing it," she snapped at me. "I don't like it."

Maybe not, but her body was certainly reacting to what I was doing. My fingers had already gone trespassing inside her, feeling her wet warmth. They slipped in again, this time stroking around her clitoris.

She shrieked and shuddered.

"What the hell did you just do?" she gasped.

"Just this," I said, touching the same area and getting the same reaction.

"Yes, that," I said. "You seem to be a little sensitive there."

She spluttered a bit. I'm not sure what she wanted to say but that was OK. I don't think she knew, either. While she was spluttering I was unzipping, and now I was holding her close, my cock pressing against her buttocks. She suddenly stopped wriggling against me, holding really still.