My name is Collette Williams nee Blake and at 5'9 and with a voluptuous figure, I am blessed with a truly beautiful ass, apple-shaped, round and ample with a deep cleft between two rounded cheeks. My hips swell beautifully to my tapering thighs and long legs. From waist down have always been my most attractive features.. I usually wear hip-hugging dresses and trouser suits.
I work in a real estate firm under Mr Jack Jacobs. At well over 6 feet, my boss exudes visual power; from his large head, hands, torso and feet. With the making of a bulge in his midriff, he has an intense middle-aged face with lips as strict as worn leather soles; his slab cheeks resemble a scabby hillock. Whitish-grey hair runs through the black hair above his forehead, as if thoughts are aging him faster than the passage of time. From the moment I finished college five years ago, I have worked for him as his secretary and assistant. Some say I lack the ambition to be a go-getter but I cannot complain in these austere times. It also helps when you work in a genteel environment. Mr Jacobs loves glass furniture, and in the various reflective surfaces around the office, the stainless-steel appliances and the glass-fronted cabinets, I on occasion catch his eyes following me, but he has always been a gentleman and scrupulously formal.
In 4 years, he has never made a pass at me. Even the sexual innuendos stops when I marry a year later. Although my husband sometimes jokingly accuses me, I never take the thought seriously because it never happens. But from my boss's attitude, I know his has a soft spot for me; often treating me like a younger sister and yearly giving me raises and generous bonuses. He never shouts at me and takes many of my suggestions on board. In short, I feel safe in his company. However, such confidence brings complacency.
When he suggests I escort him to view a newly completed duplex up for sale. I agree without hesitation: we have done such tours before. We enter the house, fresh with paint, but devoid of furniture and inspect the four rooms downstairs. I offer suggestions and he acquiesces each time. As usual, he opens each door and enters each room first. We go upstairs and the first inkling I have that something is amiss is when we enter a large room, obviously the master bedroom. This time, I fail to note that he motions me to enter the room first after he opens the door.
I stride in. Lying on the bare floor is a large kingside mattress. The surprising thing is that the bed sheet covering the mattress looks new. Before I can put two and two together, I hear the door slam behind me.
From behind, he grabs me by the waist. I feel him pulling me closer and I feel the hardness of his loins pressing against the softness of my buttocks through my skirt. A chuckle escapes his lips and dread envelops me. I feel the stiffness abutting ominously into the crevice of my buttocks. I struggle and twist to escape his imprisoning arms.
But he throws me forward. I land on the mattress and he drops onto me like a lion pinning its prey.
"Mr Jacobs!" I squeal and try to push him away.
"Don't fight me!" he gasps, his mouth hot against the delicate skin of my throat. His hands knead and squeeze at my breasts through my cotton blouse.
"Mr Jacob!" I cry and again try to rise. "What are you..."
His mouth descends capturing my lips and thus silences me. I keep my mouth closed to his spearing tongue. His cologne assaults my nostrils.
"Don't fight me," He growls. "Just relax and you'll enjoy it."
Shivers run up my spine. "Don't look at me like that!"
He becomes silent but his hands now do all his talking. We dissolve into a tangle of arms and legs. I struggle and buck against his weight, trying to throw him off. He uses his strength; his weight and size stifles my attempts, keeping me in place. We are both panting now, but my struggles look hopeless when he grabs my hands and hold them over my head. This makes me struggle harder; kicking my legs and bucking my torso.
I push against his chest, but I lack the leverage to force him away.
"Mmmfff!" I moan against his battering lips.
"You want me to take you," he growls inches from my face. "Not true!" "Hauling such a juicy ass? I am going to pump you some."
"No!" I cry. "No! Mr. Jacob! No!"
Still, he pins my hands in an iron grip above my head. With the other, he rips off the buttons of my blouse. His coarse hands dive into the rent, mauling my breasts through the bra.
"You've got beautiful tits, Collette," he says. "I've always wanted to taste them!"
He tries to plant his mouth on a nipple, but I twist and squirm preventing him from locking on. But the bristles of his chin scrape over my nipples, causing funny sensations.
"Stop!" I squeal. "This is a ridiculous joke, which has gone far enough!"
"I'm going to fuck you, Collette," he said. "Loads of sperm."
"No! Mr. Jacobs, no!"
"I going to pump you some, make it good!"
"Let me up," I say, momentarily freeing my hands. "This is wrong!"
"I don't want to hurt you," he says, pinning my arms down again. "But I'm going to fuck you, whether you want it or not."
"I'll call the police!"
"I don't care! You're going to get fucked."
"NO!" I scream hoping someone can hear me.
"Either lie and enjoy it, or fight me."
Now I am furious and the anger gives me strength. In the past, during my school days, I often find myself in struggles with lecherous men. I have won them all. Each man has had to taste the bitter pill of defeat. Even my future husband loses on our second date. Like others before, he tries yet fails.
