tagMatureA Rainy Day in Rosaton

A Rainy Day in Rosaton


"Hi Mr. Drayton, can I come in?"

I smiled weakly, pushing my handbag back over my shoulder, hoping the request wouldn't be turned down. Mr. Drayton took some time to answer. He glanced up and down the street for some moments, a little perplexed. He looked back at me, seeming surprised to see my eyes still fixed on him, like he thought I might have vanished. He opened his mouth to speak as he moved back against the door frame. No words came out, but I took his movement as a sign I could go inside.

He closed the door behind me as I headed to the living room, the sound of the heavy rain outside suddenly feeling far away.

"How can I help you Clarissa?" he asked, trying to sound jovial.

The first words he'd spoken to me, as a matter of fact. I enjoyed the voice, if not the tone. I took a moment to study his sparse room, stepping inside gingerly. It was tidy but bland, a sofa, table, armchair, some shelves. Nothing looked particularly new, but aside from the armchair it all seemed unused. The couple of books and cds I saw on the shelves reminded me of a furniture store display. I stared at them for a moment, water dripping from my hair.

Mr. Drayton coughed, I turned. He looked concerned so I smiled. Everything was ok, I explained, I'd just forgotten my house keys. I'd gone to the gym and left them in one of the lockers. I didn't want to walk back in the rain, and I couldn't wait outside either. My cothes were already soaked, my white t-shirt translucent, pink skin and bra visible underneath. My parents wouldn't be back for hours yet either.

That last thing I said wasn't strictly true. They'd probably be back quite soon, but things had been strange at home recently and I had no desire to return. Mum had become kind of secretive, introverted, very unlike herself. At first I'd enjoyed the silence. Previously, she'd only ever acknowledge me when I did something wrong. Usually I was in the way, but sometimes I was reclusive. Often I was wet and hopeless, but occasionally vain and cocky. Nothing suited her. My father had changed also, far more irritable than he had been. I assumed it was due to a mixture of business and his wife. His attitude I could at least understand.

"So I knocked on your door and here I am!" I said brightly.

The high pitch of those last few words jarred with the silence of the room that followed. I wasn't sure if Mr. Drayton had been listening, because he was staring dumbly. His voice was flat when he finally spoke, his mind elsewhere.

"I'll get you a towel."

He left the room, and I wondered if I should sit down. Cold and wet in that dull room, my clothes clinging to me, I suddenly felt very vulnerable. Was this really such a good idea?

He returned and handed me the towel, handing it at arms length, a defensive gesture, it seemed. I threw it over my head, massaging my skull, scrunching up my long dark hair. The towel covered my eyes and I wondered what Mr. Drayton was doing while I couldn't see him.

I knew he'd been watching me recently, the last year or so. We'd moved next door to him a few summers back, but I hadn't been conscious of him myself until last spring. I'd been 18 then, and my body had finally developed, much later than I'd hoped. I added a couple of inches in what seemed like just a few weeks, though I imagine it must have been longer. My breasts became rounder, swelling to an awkward but enjoyable size. It happened so quickly that everything in my closet had become suddenly too small. My mother had begun to castigate me about the way I dressed, unfairly I thought, especially considering her own wardrobe.

I peered from behind the towel. Mr. Drayton looked away guiltily.

"Er, would you like a drink?" he asked quickly.

I nodded, holding the towel with both hands in front of my lap. His eyes lingered on me for a moment, my legs and then my breasts, before he left the room. When he returned I was leaning back in the sofa, looking up at him. I took the drink from his hand, feeling empowered.

He sat opposite me on the chair. When our eyes made contact he smiled pleasantly, but his eyes contradicted him, they were hard, serious. He was agitated and trying to mask it.

"So, enjoying the summer?" he asked.

"Getting bored." I answered.

"Don't worry, you'll have lots of things to occupy your mind at university, I'm sure. Lots of new people to meet. There's more to life than goes on in this town, you should remember that."

He finished his sentence abruptly and I sensed something threatening in his words. The mention of university hit me harder though, I still wasn't sure I had the grades. I lost myself in thoughts of being stuck in this town forever, every little action considered, talked about and judged. Just getting your ears pierced made you a harlot in Rosaton. When I glanced back to reality, Mr. Drayson's eyes had drifted to my chest. He turned quickly. I smiled.

I had began to enjoy the attention I received from men, the experience of being noticed, the knowledge of being wanted. I'd uncovered a darker world previously unknown to me, and I was the centre of it. I was a woman who was desired secretly, it excited me. Just a few months before I was invisible. Now I could observe sly smiles, dirty little glances. I walked around the town making eye-contact with as many attractive men as I could, getting particular thrills from the men accompanied by their wives. It became a familiar game, flashing them a naughty smile as we passed, imagining my face in their mind the next time they fucked.

That was as close as I'd come to sex, however. I'd had a boyfriend for a while, but we'd broken up. It wasn't that I didn't want to have sex, I positively did, but I resented the pressure. I wouldn't be forced into anything. I didn't want to be taken, the opposite, I wanted to take another myself. I felt certain of my power.

"I hope I'm not intruding on you." I said innocently, crossing my long bare legs.

"I am a little busy, as it happens." he replied.

He tried to sound nonchalant, but there was something else in his eyes. Fear, possibly. I hadn't expected that, he'd always struck me as a confident man. He was the only person in our small town who hadn't spent his whole life here, wasn't even from here. Some people looked on him as an outsider still, after four years. He was treated with suspicion. Whether through choice or not, he kept himself to himself and was something of a mystery. This mystery intrigued me, attracted me.

I sat up a little, searched in my bag.

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

"I...are you old enough?" he asked.

"I'm 19," I shot back, putting the cigarette between my lips. I lit it quickly. I inhaled. I closed my eyes as the first wave of smoke passed through my parted lips. My eyes open again, I glared at him.

We stared at one another for a while, as if waiting to see who would break first. We listened to the rain outside. Although around my father's age he was still in pretty good shape, and must have been quite athletic in his youth. The only hint of age were the wisps of grey hair around his temple. Sitting there he looked older, perhaps because of the prosaic surroundings or the uncertain look on his face. I could see it now, anxiety, his nerves seemed as frayed as the carpet. His attitude annoyed me a little, I'd expected more.

He'd been the first man I'd been aware of, the first to see me. Last spring when I'd been fooling around in the garden, I'd caught his eye. I knew he was looking at me, and that he kept looking for a long time. That was the day I became aware of my clothes. My tight cut-out denim shorts, my bikini top, even my long blonde hair were suddenly infused with something sexual. They had been just the clothes I wore. Now they were my weapons, the medium in which I could advertise my body.

Initially I'd been intimidated by his looks, but I quickly learned the power lay with me. I was young, he was old, at least by comparison. I owned my body, he merely desired it.

"Tell me about yourself, Mr. Drayton." I asked, leaning back on the sofa, hands behind my head.

He tried to laugh casually, it came out as a nervous snort.

"Like what?"

"Well, what's your name for starters."

After a pause, "Philip."

"Philip." I repeated slowly, smiling. I took a drag on my cigarette imagining the name crossing my lips again and again in quick succession, each time rising in pitch.

"Ok Philip, tell me about yourself."

He chuckled, as if this was ridiculous, trying to convince himself I was just a girl. My legs stretching out on the sofa, my flimsy cheerleader skirt riding up, catching his eye. I waited.

"I work for an insurance company. I drive a good car. I play a little tennis, a little golf, sometimes with your father. He trusts me."

This last thing he said triumphantly, as if he expected to shock me with it. I blew out smoke, flicking ash back into the packet.

"Does he know you like watching me?"

The question hung in the air like the smoke. I waited tensely for a moment before looking back across at him.

"You do like watching me, don't you?"

He smiled, leaning back in his chair, the tension lifted from his body. For the first time I saw the man I'd come to see, composed, self-assured. The cocky smile I'd viewed as he'd talked to my father was back, the satisfied posture of a man who knows who he is, feels at home. I didn't have the sense to wonder what had been wrong before.

"Yes, I enjoy watching you."

I rolled over onto my stomach, reached across to the coffee table stubbing out my cigarette on a tray. My long legs stretched out over the sofa, muscles tight, held together. The tiny skirt had ridden up, only just covering the space where tight thighs became firm, swollen cheeks. I knew Philip's eyes would be lying somewhere between there and my little white socks, somewhere on my long, deliciously slender white skin.

"Why do you like watching me Philip?" I asked, excited about using his name.

"I think you know."

"Tell me." I said.

He sat, legs open, stroking his unshaven chin, smug and smiling. I'd enjoyed having him watch me before, but this was more thrilling. I could hear the names in my head of what people would call me, slut, bitch, whore. What I was doing was wrong in the eyes of everyone I knew, but it didn't matter. This room was a secret, normal rules didn't apply. There was an element of danger but of course it just drove me on further. This man was unfamiliar, unknown, but I was still in control.

He sat up, leaned forward, resting one arm on his thigh.

"I watch you because I'd like to fuck you," he said playfully.

His eyes didn't move from mine as he continued.

"You have very nice tits. Your legs are long and smooth, I want to stroke them right now. I've imagined your pussy many times as hot, wet and tight." He sat back, relaxed. "You're probably a virgin too, aren't you?" he laughed.

I couldn't understand why his whole demeanour had shifted, but at that moment I was just relieved by his reaction. He was strong and confident now, that was the important thing. My own mood had done somersaults that day also. I smiled hard, trying to suppress the butterflies in my stomach. We were quiet for a moment. My courage returned, but I was nervous now.

"I want to see your cock." I whispered.

He shrugged as if to say why not, stood and pulled his trousers down artlessly. His long cock jumped out, nodding at me as it grew. With each nod it rose a little higher. The image of a camel came into my mind, the long arc of the neck and slightly larger head. It seemed big, to my virgin eyes at least. He stepped towards me, sat on the sofa next to me, began to stroke my naked legs. I lay on my stomach and closed my eyes.

For a moment I felt like a girl again, unsure what to do. I chastised myself, knowing this man shouldn't think of me as foolish, immature. There was no going back, I had to prove myself.

I twisted around, a smile painted on my face as I pulled my t-shirt over my head quickly, unclipped my bra. Mr. Drayson leaned forward, cupping my breast, taking my overgorged nipple into his mouth. The harsh wool of his sweater scratched my stomach as his cock rubbed my thigh, precum sticking to my skin like honey. I felt my knickers go terribly damp, for a second suspecting I'd wet myself in fear. It was the wetness of lust however, my body wanted this badly. My mind still had doubts.

I felt his fingers at my side, reaching under the elastic of my panties. In a moment, they were down my thighs. He tore them off me completely and opened my legs wide. I yelped and then moaned as he ran the thin cotton of my panties up and down between my legs. I could sense the ruggedness of his fingers behind the delicate material. My mind was still confused, I draped my arm across my breasts modestly, simultaneously widening my legs.

He stretched a condom over his manhood quickly and lay down on top of me. He growled into my ear, a low guttural sound, as his cock eased it's way inside. It took some time, despite my wetness. I felt a hot, jagged and overwhelming pain for a minute or so, but it passed and when it did I felt him deep within me.

To feel my insides full was a strange sensation, but I felt somehow detached. He groped my breasts, gnawed at my cheek and neck, bawled obscenities into my ear, but all I could do was watch the rain hit the window outside. For such an important event in my life, it seemed over shortly, abruptly. A grunt, a groan, and silence.

My lover sat back up, pushing my legs onto the floor to give himself room. I sat there bewildered, like a child who lets go of a balloon and watches it drift away. I felt helpless. My power had seemed to evaporate with my clothes. Philip breathed deeply, eyeing my breasts and my sweat covered body.

"Even tighter than I imagined," he mouthed, almost to himself.

I began to get up when the front door was knocked. Philip pushed me back onto my stomach, covering my mouth with his hand. His body, still clothed, lay heavy on top of me. I could feel his cock, softer now, pushed up against my ass.

The knocking continued, then a voice.

"Philip, it's me. It's Rosa. Open up if you're in, quickly," the familiar voice hissed.

I lay frozen, petrified. I closed my eyes childishly, as if this would stop her from seeing me. I lay aghast at the thought of her peering through the window.

"Philip, please, I need to see you," she whispered through the letterbox, but she left almost imediately after. Perhaps my father had come home.

Mr. Drayton and I lay unmoving for a few moments. Finally he lifted himself off me, grinning.

"Why does my mother want to see you?" I demanded.

"I think you know," he said, as before, but this time he spoke with a swagger. "I give her what your daddy can't."

I shot up, repulsed, but he grabbed me by my wrist, pulling me down onto his lap with surprising force. He held the back of my head and kissed me. I half-heartedly resisted at first, letting his tongue trail between my lips. The tongue my mother had sucked. I pulled away. He smirked, holding me down as he spoke.

"You want me to leave your old lady alone, don't you?" Mr. Drayton asked.

"Yes." I shot back.

"That's fine. I'll leave her alone now. You know why? Because I have you."

I tried to protest, but he argued me down. It was my choice, he said, my decision to make.

"I'll tell my father," I said.

"Tell him what? What are you going to say to help him? His wife's a slut, his daughter too. You say anything, and I'll say worse. I can be malicious if I have to be. Yeah, he'll hit me maybe, but I can handle that. I won't be alone in being covered in shame."

I sat on his knee thinking, while he stroked my back. He was like a nasty Santa Claus, bouncing me on his knee, watching my tits jiggle. I tried to think logically. My mother was more in the wrong than me, she was married. My father deserved to have his wife back. It would be an act of kindness to my parents, wouldn't it?

I knew there was something else. Philip wanted me more than my mother and terrible to say, it thrilled me. I was younger, my body was in better shape. I had more energy to please him. I wanted him to take me, and I wanted to please him. I wanted him to tell me how much better I was as a lover. All of this lay buried a little below the surface of my thoughts, but I knew it was there. I stood up, my naked body facing him, my pert breasts, flat stomach trailing down to my almost shaven pussy.

"I'm yours," I said, "you can't see my mother again, but you can have me."

He pulled me down without a word. I let him spank me, hold me, use me I suppose. We fucked again before I left, my arms and legs wrapped around him. Each stroke made me feel older, wiser. He fucked me until I came, easy this time as the earlier pain had subsided. I thought of my mother, shamefully, as I climaxed. I felt guilty, but I pulled Philip deeper into me still.

"I thought you knew," he said later, "about Rosa and me, I thought you'd found out about us."

"Don't talk about her." I said. I tried to put my panties back on, but he wouldn't let me. He kept them. I sat in just my cheerleader skirt, his fingers underneath me, stroking my pussy.

"You know the real reason I watched you?" he said. I looked up at him. "I watched you because I knew I could have you."

When I left his house, the weather had cleared up. Perhaps the sun had come out earlier, I don't know, but it had gotten dark. There were dark clouds on the horizon, just visible in the gloom. The rain had stopped at least, for the time being, though it didn't matter to me. After all, I was still wet.

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