With a big "Thank you" to Kenjisato for his fine and very helpful editing.
This is a re-imagining of Uemlaut's "Die Klappe in der Tür".
I attempted to contact the original author several times within 6 weeks to get her/his permission but received no response.
Of course, all the credit for the idea and structure goes to Uemlaut.
Since English is not my native language, I ask for a little understanding if not every expression/punctuation mark is correct.
This story is about non-consensual and interracial sex. Among other things, a black man has sex with a white married woman. If you don't like this kind of story, please read another one.
Once upon a time in the countryside of Germany, when parcel service was not always in such a hurry as nowadays....
Lisa Berger arrived at her new home, a family home in a rural area, a little earlier than usual this Friday afternoon. With no neighbor closer than 500 meter and the dense planting of their large garden made the house a provincial idyll.
The children were with their grandparents from Friday to Sunday and her husband had already told her that he would be late because of a professional meeting he needed to attend in a distant town.
She parked the car in front of the house. As soon as she stood before the front door, she realized that she had given her front door key to the children. Her husband was out of reach and a spare key was not in sight.
How annoying!
She was still wearing a short office skirt and high heeled shoes. She was looking forward to finally peeling out of the admittedly very attractive, but also very uncomfortable clothes and shoes; to leisurely enjoy the weekend in comfortable clothes on the terrace, soaking in the sunshine and mild temperatures.
The house they had been living in for about half a year was very nice, but still very tailored to the needs of the previous owners. In the back, facing away from the driveway, and for safety reasons not visible from the outside, was the back door to the kitchen, which had a large dog flap or 'doggie door' at the bottom.
Lisa was a medium-height woman, 170 cm tall, in her mid-forties - a little beyond her prime - but still a very attractive sight. She had an expressive, distinctive face; with a slightly wide mouth and full lips; large gray-green eyes that could look at you, so that you got weak in the knees.
Her slightly wavy, dark hair, was usually tucked up, emphasizing her elegant neck. Her good-sized, C-cup breasts were perfect to look at. Her not-too-narrow waist turned into comfortable hips which then melted into her ass -- a world-class ass - swirl, round, heart-shaped in exactly the right size. With her silky-soft skin (as on her entire body), it was an invitation to gently caress it, to massage it heartily or even to give it a proper spank.
Beautiful straight long legs and in between them, her treasure, her pussy.
Colleagues from her professional environment were constantly making not-so-professional advances - even without any particular flirting behavior on her part.
Not only professionally, but also privately, she had a pragmatic approach to things that bothered her or posed problems. Consequently, even in this situation, she decided to do things herself and not wait for help. A visit to her friend was of course possible, but would be associated with a long car ride, especially with Friday stop-and-go traffic.
She walked through the garden path to the back of the house, put her handbag aside and took off the chic gray blazer and pumps. She knelt down, careful not to touch the paved ground with the fine white silk blouse and skirt.
She lifted the dog flap, which seemed wide and high enough and tried to push herself through, on her hands and tiptoes as if she were doing push-ups.
It quickly became apparent, that she had to stretch her arms forward to be able to push her narrow shoulders through. But, that also meant pushing herself forward on the ground.
While her skirt was a cheap, waist-high specimen, she did not want to ruin the sinfully expensive silk blouse. She unbuttoned button by button and took off the blouse, her attractive breasts with delicate pink-brown nipples were barely covered by the white-lace bra.
Again and again, she turned around and made sure that she could not be seen by anyone. No, no chance - the garden was so densely overgrown. The few people who got lost in this area would not be able to look through the thicket.
And even if the bra was almost as expensive as the blouse, she didn't want to go so far as to take it off. She carefully placed the blouse with the blazer and the pumps on the ground nearby, lifted the dog flap all the way to the top, where it remained quite locked and stretched out her arms to push herself forward.
Although surprisingly tight, her shoulders fit through the flap. She pushed forward cautiously and was already able to look at the familiar kitchen from a completely new perspective, when her hips prevented further progress. She turned so that her hips would probably fit through the diagonal of the flap but that was not possible, either.
She looked to get her hands on something tangible to hold onto and pull through, but there was not much available.
Next to the door, barely accessible to her, was a heavy chair that finally might give her a foothold. She grabbed the massive wooden legs of the chair with her delicate hands and pulled. In fact, she dragged herself a few inches further into the kitchen, but just when she believed that this was the solution to her problem, the chair's adhesion gave way, and she instead, pulled it to herself on the tiled floor.
That might not have been the problem, had not the large drying rack, which she had used in the garden yesterday, been leaning on the other side of the chair.
With a lot of noise, it slipped off the chair and fell on her.
The drying rack was designed as a folding frame and because of its considerable weight, had knocked over the chair at the same time. Both lay tangled in each other. The backrest of the chair hit her painfully on the head, and the drying rack and the heavy chair now laid on top of her.
She was stuck, she was trapped.
It took her a while to realize her predicament. Again and again, she tried to lift her upper body and push it backwards, out of the flap. But it was as if the drying rack with the weight of the chair sat on her like a clamp.
She simply lacked the strength to lift the tangled mess up or away.
The situation looked strange - her upper body was pressed inside the house on the cool, tiled floor of the kitchen and her lower body waist down, was still outside. It took some minutes and countless attempts to free herself, until she realized that she couldn't get out on her own - neither forward into the kitchen, nor backwards, back into the garden.
Not even the 'structure' on top of her upper body could be moved from the spot.
Despite the mild temperatures this September afternoon, she began to get chilled, as her almost-bare torso was pressed onto those cold kitchen tiles and her legs were splayed outside on the pavement.
She decided to press her waist as far away as possible from the floor, so that she at least did not have to lie with her legs lengthwise on the cool ground. She just managed to kneel, so that her legs would not get even colder.
In the overall view, she knelt with her ass raised and had her upper body on the floor with a deep hollow cross, her back arched in the air.
She cursed her situation and wondered how much ridicule she would have to endure from her husband, Mark, if only he finally came home.
The cell phone was out of reach along with the bag and she thought that shouting was pointless - the neighbors were far too far away to hear, there would be no one to help her.
After a good half hour of pondering and waiting, her bladder slowly and agonizingly began to report.
Desperately, she thought about how she could empty herself without getting wet after all, her husband had said that he would be back later in the evening, and it was afternoon now.
In the worst case, she would have to spend several hours in this position. She decided to choose the easiest way, and tried to put her right arm under herself, as the left one was absolutely blocked by the frame and the chair.
To look under herself was impossible.
She reached between her legs and pushed her simple, white cotton briefs to the side.
Cool air played around her pretty and unshaven, but-not-heavily-hairy pussy.
She had a slightly longer outer labia than many other women and the wind cooled her clitoris, which was always a bit protruding. She spread her legs as much as she could and released a carefully dosed jet, so that she would not wet her legs and skirt by splashing. The skirt still covered her butt, so she had to be very careful.
She cursed her situation again, and fervently hoped that she would not be found that way.
Finally, she had relieved herself and pushed the panties back as best it could be done, over her cunny again. With her hand, she dabbed off the last droplets with her panties.
Her pee had quickly seeped or evaporated into the joints of the paving stones, but her panties remained damp.
It was extremely uncomfortable, her knees hurt, but after some time, she began to doze and spent the time counting tiles or thinking about how to better furnish the kitchen.
It was maybe a little after four o'clock in the afternoon and the sun warmed her lavish, jacked-up buttocks, as she heard sounds, that she couldn't make out at first.
