Bringing It Backbyrainyday19©
It was just about the most ludicrous thing that had ever happened to her, Chelly realised. And, if she hadn't felt quite so embarressed, she probably would have laughed. As it was, she was only dimly aware of the humerous aspect of her situation, being mostly concerned with the chill wind that had blown her skirt up over her knickers.
How she had come to be trapped half-in and half-out of her kitchen window was all the fault of the man next door, Oliver Roland, who'd waylaid her that morning on her way to work.
Why he should have chosen to return her pinking sheers at 8.30 in the morning - when he must have known she was running late - had not struck her as strange at the time. But now it did. And, come to think of it, what had he needed the sodding things for in the first place?
She couldn't help feeling annoyed. After all, if he hadn't detained her, she wouldn't have got into a panic and left her front door key on the hall table. What on earth had made him think she was so desperate to have her scissors back that she'd jeopardise her job?
She should have bitten his head off and called him a moron for buggerin up her day. So why hadn't she? Stuck fast and out of ideas, Chelly thought about it. Perhaps his charming smile had fazed her. She remembered thinking how attractive he looked for a man past his prime, how his rugged, lived in features still qualified as handsome, despite the grooved and grizzled signs of age. But it was his body that amazed her: supple and bronzed from spending too much time in the garden, it was the kind of physique that a man half his age would envy.
She wondered why he didn't go to work. He was far too young to be retired and who in their right mind would want to hang around the house all day, waiting for a bitch like Louise to come home? Chelly loathed Louise Roland: a stick insect of a woman with a high flying executive job and a fucking great plum in her mouth when she spoke. The type who would sooner have her colon flushed than sit on a public loo. She hated Louise's beady black eyes and the way she looked at Chelly with the same haughty distain that she would view a piece of dog shit on her neatly manicured lawn. Especialy after Chelly had split up with her husband Bill. Louise had presented a cold shoulder like the north face of the Eiger.
It was Bill's fault really, that Chelly had locked herself out. If he hadn't got pissed and decided that a fuck with his ex-wife was a brilliant idea, she wouldn't have needed to change the locks and the front door key would still be on the keyring with the others.
It was Bill's fault also that the latch on the kitchen window had never worked properly. God knows she's nagged him enough. But Bill had always been more into screwing than screwdriving. In fact, his passion for drilling his bit into other women had lead to the break up of their marriage.
Chelly wondered what the time was and weather she'd ever be rescued. She was sure that Oliver had mentioned something about returning her lawnmower that afternoon. But had he been already? She tried lifting her head to look for it but all she could see was the billowing fan of her skirt.
Still, at least the sun had come out and her arse was getting warmer. In fact the breeze felt quite pleasant now tickling away at her rump. She let her head flop to the sink. There was no point in shouting again. She knew that Louise was away and since her other neighbour, Ethel, was as deaf as a post, all her hopes were pinned on Oliver, who must surely come round to borrow something or return something sooner or later. She knew that his visits were only feeble excuses to see her. It had been obvious for some time that he fancied her. She could tell by his leering looks and suggestive manner. But, aside rom a little harmless flirtation. she had never really encouraged him. He was a married man after all, and even though his wife was a pig who deserved to loose him, Chelly had tasted enough forbidden fruit in her time to know that it gave her the shits and was best left alone.
Admittedly she had been tempted once when he had come into the back garden to borrow a bucket and had caught her sunbathing topless. Just to tease, she had asked him, quite innocently, if he would mind rubbing oil on her back. She remembered how strong and rough his hands had been; how her nipples had grown hard as he's worked his fingers into the flesh under her armpits; how he had skimmed under the edge of her bikini bottom. He had been panting like a dog, and if she had rolled over, he would have fucked her there and then.
Chelly drummed her fingers on the stainless steel drainer. She was missing Neighbours and her legs were starting to cramp. Perhaps she ought to try shouting again. She opened her mouth to holler but promptly snapped it shut as her ears percieved the crunching, grinding sound of an ancient lawnmower being bullied over the pebbles of her gravel path.
As Oliver struggled to ram the garden devil through her squeeky gate, Chelly was suddenly concious of her predicament and felt the heat of embarressment flush through her body. With it came the ridiculous notion that - like the cartoon cutie in a seaside postcard - all four of her cheeks were now blushing.
"You've been framed" came Oliver's caption as he rounded the corner and sighted her. The gush of laughter was inevitable and Chelly let him have his fill before appealing for his help. He was still chuckling as the wind lifted her skirt again. Then his laughter stalled like an engine.
"Oliver?" she queried, guessing that the sight of her whispy, white panties had robbed him of his mirth.
He croaked a sound of greeting.
"The window's stuck" she pointed out, "Do you think you could give me a hand?"
"I'll give you a push" he offered hoarsely.
Before she could suggest that a push on the window frame would be a better idea, his hands were sliding up the back of her thighs. They were hot and clammy and she felt herself tense as he moved them over her hips.
"Could you cover my bum please?" she requested demurely. But he pretended not to hear as he dug his fingers into her butocks and hefted her up with his hands.
"This isn't going to work" she thought, and gathered the words in her mouth. But the rough thrusting of her hands on her haunches made her swallow them down with a gulp. Better let him do it his own way, she thought. Men like to take charge in situations like this. A voice in her head argued, "Who the fuck are you kidding?" but Chelly chose to ignore it. She liked the feel of his hands on her arse. And if this took all night, then so be it.
He was pushing up under her butocks now, his thumbs disturbing her panties as his trembling fingers scrunched into the globed of her arse as if they were balls of playdough. She could tell by his rapid breathing that her pliant softness pleased him. How different she must feel to Louise.
When this half-hearted attempt to dislodge her failed, he positioned his head beneath her butt and pushed. Nudging upward, he twisted his head until the half-moons of arse that had escaped from her panties were bouncing up and down on his face.
As she felt the scraping of his bristled jowel on her skin, Chelly knew that it was time to voice a protest. He was blatently molesting her now and if she didn't speak soon, he would surely read her silence as consent.
But she couldn't speak. It was too hard to think with his big calloused hands oh her flesh and her knickers pulled so tightly up her crotch that the lips of her sex were overlapping and the lace was chafing her clit. Besides, what harm could it do to let him grope her? Didn't she owe him that much for fixing her fence?
Spurred on by her silence, he gave up his pretext of freeing her and sprawled his hands luxuriously over the satin-smooth swell of her rump. It was a worshipping caress and she could sense his exaultation as his gliding palms went surfing down her legs.
When his hands reversed their course, Chelly felt herself grow tense. Her breath clung to her lungs as his languid, stroking fingers crept over her knees and prised apart her thighs. As their teasing touch skimmed over her pubic mound, she gasped. This was too bold. Too daring. She had to make him stop. But his hands had scrolled away before she could utter a sound.
As he fondled the back of her legs, she was trembling with fear and excitement. There was nothing she could do to stop him. Even if he - . Chelly felt a dribble of wetness in response to her thoughts, but, with it came a gnawing niggle of pain. Her swolen labia were being stealthily garrotted by the rucked up thong that her briefs had become.
"My pants are cutting in to me" she said, naively ecpecting him to loosed them. But, grunting like a pig, Oliver wrenched them from her arse and shimmied them down her legs. When they snagged around her feet, he tore them off impatiently and flung them over the head of a grinning garden gnome. Then, kneeling down, he grasped her knees. An "Oooh" of surprise popped from her lips as he lifted her legs like a wheelbarrow and hoisted them over his shoulders. He was breathing so heavily now that his hot exhalation blasted her bush as he nuzzled his face in her fur.
When she felt his tongue slither through her lips to her clit, Chelly bucked against his shoulders, gasping with excitement and yet somehow wildly furious. The dirty bastard was taking liberties with her, milking the situation for all it was worth. And there was nothing she could do about it. She was as helpless as a blow-up doll while he was all powerful and could do anything he liked.
Seconds later, she was wondering what the fuck she had been angry about as a wave of pure lust stormed up from her nether regions to deluge her brain with a whoosh of sheer pleasure which smacked at the beast of her passion and set it rampaging through her body.
Suddenly, her swollen breasts were aching for attention, so she scooped their heavy fullness into her hands and, through the fabric of her dress, grasped herself as roughly as the strong hands gripping her thighs.
Just as her body was quivering towards a climax, Oliver's snaking tongue released her clit. With a wail of frustration she begged him not to stop. But he only laughed and set her feet back on the ground.
"Dirty bitch" he uttered as he noticed her mauling her breasts. "Get them out. I want to see them."
"I've tried" she told him, "but I can't reach the zip."
His hands slid between her legs like a knife, slicing into the wet folds of her sex. "Do it" he rasped, burrowing his fingers in deeper. "You want this don't you?"
"Yes. Yes," she gasped excitedly.
"Or do you want this?" The alternative, a painful slap on her arse, drew an indignant yelp of dismay from her. "It's your choice" he offered cruelly. "Now take the fucking thing off, I don't care how you do it."
The combination of her smarting cheeks and his forraging fingers, of her helplessness and his power, made her frantic to obey him. And when she saw the pinking sheers that she had left by the sink, she grabbed them gleefully.
With Oliver's face pressed against the window observing, she sheered through her clothes with the scissors until, at last, her heavy breasts spilled out onto the cold steel of the drainer.
Oliver's cock, now slyly freed from its own constraint, nudged between her thighs. But, as she opened her legs to recieve him he slapped her again and forced her to lick and caress herself.
Moaning as he watched her sucking her nipples, he shoved himself violently into her and Chelly shuddered with joy as her wet muscles clamped around his cock.
The power was hers again and she squeezed his hot helmet with all her strength, drawing breathless groans of extacy from him. The harder he pushed, the more she gripped him.
"You're so tight," he wimpered helplessly. "Fuck it, I'm coming."
As his cock went into spasm, Chelly opened up the floodgates of her own release. Her climax joined his in a spontaneous combustion of pleasure.
As soon as it was over, Chelly grew concious of her bare behind and dripping cunt. Suddenly embaressed again, she implored him to free her. His big hands hefted the window frame with ease and, as it slid upward, she scrambled through and monkeyed over the sink as fast as she could.
Shame and indignation burned in her cheeks and she clutched her clothes around her to cover herself from his eyes. There was awkwardness between them as they looked at one another, neither knowing what to say or how to explain what had happened. Where did they go from here?
Oliver glanced about him. Then, sighting the garden gnome that had witnessed much of their coupling, he took the knickers off its head and in a matter-of-fact voice asked "Do you mind if I borrow this gnome?"
"Sure" she said, thinking how small the gnome's head looked in the palm of his very large hand, the hand that only moments ago had slapped her so hard and caressed her so sensually. "Providing," she added softly, "That you promise to bring it back."