Molested in the Back Seat

Part fiction, part reality. The forced fondling really happened. Somewhat non-consensual, but fun.

My husband and I were at a corporate retreat out in the wild woods of Maine for like five days. His group were having lots of business meetings, team building, that sort of thing. But spouses were welcome, with plenty of tennis courts, swimming pool, nature hikes to keep them occupied. We got together for dinner and evening parties. The next-to-last night, my husband's boss wanted to take us two out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. Out in the back woods of Maine, fancy restaurants are not easy to come by, so this one was a long drive away, an hour plus.

My husband, Tommy, is driving. I'm in the front seat, Ross the Boss is in the back seat sitting sort of sideways. It's a little cramped for a tall man, there's not a lot of legroom back there.

Tommy is concentrating on driving these back roads. Ross is talking to me. To stress something he reaches around the seat to touch my shoulder. A while later, he does that again, touching my arm.

After another time or two, he leaves his hand there. He gently strokes down my arm. I'm wearing a light summer dress with short sleeves. He touches my arm with almost a caress. He moves a little up and down my skin. Yes, definitely more than a friendly touch, more like a caress.

I'm a little uncomfortable. This is certainly unusual but not a big deal. Don't make a big deal out of it. This is after all husband's boss, and hubby likes his job.

I move over a little bit. He moves from my arm to my side, onto my dress. It's a hot summer evening. I have nothing under this lightweight dress but the usual bra and panties. He strokes my side. Doing that, he can feel the strap of my bra. (Guys always do that, check out women's underwear by feeling more or less innocently.)

Then his hand moves forward a bit to touch the cup of my bra and the side of my right breast inside it. Now this is getting too personal. I put my hand on his to signal him to stop right there. Doesn't work. He moves forward under my hand to cup my whole breast. Oh, geez, now this is really way too personal. What the hell!

But I can't say anything, and gentle prodding doesn't get him to remove his hand. I pinch the back of his hand. With my fingernails, that has to hurt. His response is to squeeze my breast firmly so that I feel the hurt, too.

Cripes, what can I do? I let him continue. He wants to feel my boob, okay, that's not that big a deal. At least, I'm going to pretend for today that it isn't that big a deal.

He fondles my breast, supports it to feel its weight. He squeezes and kneads it, firmly but gently, and that feels good. My nipples are hard, only a little from the car's air conditioning but mainly from my breast being fondled like this.

Of course he finds the protruding nipple and pinches it lightly. That feels *really* good. My nipples have always had a direct line to my libido. Little lightning jolts go down from my chest to my crotch.

My husband sees nothing of course, knows nothing of what is happening to me. He is concentrating on this curvy, wet road and the constant hazards of moose in the road. We are still talking, off and on, through all this, so he probably doesn't sense anything unusual.

Meantime I am constantly being molested by his boss. He probably thinks that he can get away with feeling up an employee's wife - and he's probably right about that. I am not going to make a scene and endanger my husband's great career. I am not about to lodge a sexual harassment complaint over a little feelski in the car.

Ross is not satisfied with just my breast, apparently. He moves farther over to the side of the back seat, to allow him to reach me more easily. And reach more of my body.

He moves his hand down from my breast to my waist. Over to my hip. Uh-oh. He feels the side of my bikini panties. Now he knows that I have panties on, and he knows that they are very small ones. Lightweight dress, lightweight panties. Small triangles to cover the important regions, but only a little string on the sides.

His fingers start to gather the material of my skirt. He's pulling it up my leg! The skirt was short as it was, well above my knees when I'm standing. It's even shorter when I'm sitting, most of my thigh is visible. Tommy likes that and so do I. But now that provides an open avenue for Ross to get to my leg.

He's pulling the skirt up, higher on my right leg. If my husband looked over he would see that my thigh was almost totally uncovered. I rearrange my arms and hands to hide this. I don't want Tommy to get distracted by this and wreck the car. Good excuse. I really don't want my husband to know that his boss is sexually molesting his wife, and to know that his wife is complicit in hiding those sexual touches from view.

Ross has pulled my skirt up to my hip. The hem of the skirt is even with the string sides of my panties. My right leg is completely exposed. What can I do now?

He starts to slide his hand over the top of my thigh. It tickles, but it also sends shocks, delicious shocks, to my crotch. I don't want that but I can't help it. It just feels good, and sensual, and erotic.

And then he is lightly inside my thigh. He presses his fingers into my leg. His message is clear: move this leg to the side, open your legs for me.

Ohmigod, I can't resist at this point! I move my leg until it touches the door. This has gone so far now that anyone looking on would conclude that I want him to feel me. Let's see. I let him cup my breast, I let him pinch my nipple, I let him lay his hand on my bare leg under my skirt, and now I have opened my legs for him to feel me even more intimately.

And he does. His hand slides up my thigh to my crotch. Oh god, as much as this is embarrassing it is also arousing. I am sexually excited by being touched, secretly, with my husband right next to me but unaware. I am getting more and more excited with each minute, more with each new liberty he takes and I allow.

He presses his fingers into the gusset of my tiny panties. I'm sure he can feel how hot and damp my panties are. My pussy is hot and my vagina is seeping. Involuntarily, sure, but I'm terribly aroused nonetheless. He presses his fingers into my pussy, into my slit. My lips separate at his touch. They are puffy, hot, and wet. He pushes into the wet spot on my pants. My flower opens up to his fingers. To this intruding stranger! Oh, god, if he touches my clit, I'll scream!

He wants to get into my pants, but they are too tight. And, by miraculous accident, just then we get onto the main highway. This road is too well lighted to continue these intimate touches. Ross withdraws his hand and I slowly close my legs a little and pull my skirt down. Well, as far down as it will go.

Another few minutes and we are at the restaurant.

In the ladies room I discover that my panties have a large, very wet spot where they covered - and protected! - my opening. I take a couple minutes to settle down, blot juices off my labia, and go out to join the boys.

Dinner was uneventful. I had only a brief chance to tell Tommy that Ross had put his hands on me and felt me up. He was concerned but not overly. I didn't tell him the whole story. A little grab on the boob, okay. I did not mention his adventure under my skirt. He was concerned, as was I, that we not do anything to embarrass his boss, which might endanger his job or at least his advancement. If it's really a problem for me, then I should take firm steps to stop him, like really spear him with my fingernails.

My strategy for the drive back was to give Ross the front seat "with more legroom for a tall guy," and I would ride in the back seat. That worked well until we got again onto the unlighted, twisty, slippery back road and the moose hazards. Again, Tommy had to concentrate completely on the road, which left Ross and me to carry on the conversation.

I'm in the middle of the back seat so I can talk with him thru the gap between the front bucket seats. They can look back at me to talk to me, mainly Ross the Boss because Tommy is driving. Now and then, Ross reaches back to touch my knee to stress some point.

The way I'm sitting, dead center, I have a problem with the center hump in the floor. My feet are on both sides of it for stability. There isn't room for two feet on top of the hump. It's round anyway not flat, so if I put both feet on one side, or one on top and the other on the side, then I fall over every time the car goes around a curve.

So I have one foot on each side of the hump. Which is tricky if you're wearing a relatively short, lightweight skirt, which I am. With my feet a foot apart like that, I'm having trouble keeping my knees together ladylike. Most of the time they're pretty loose, half a foot or a foot apart, but, hey, it's dark and no one can see, right?

Nope, I'm a target. Ross puts his hand on my knee to make sure I pay attention to the punch line of his joke. And he leaves his hand there. He's starting again, and in this position it will be more obvious that he is groping me. But of course Tommy can't see anything because he's driving and it's really dark on this country road.

When Ross starts kneading my knee and moves his hand to the inside of my thigh, I put my hand over his to keep it from going any farther. That stops him for maybe ten seconds before his fingers start stroking my thigh again. I apply more pressure to his wrist to slow him down, and that's all it does: slow him down. Doesn't stop him.

Just like before, I can't make a scene. This is my husband's boss, after all. And all Tommy needs is a confrontation with his boss - even if the boss is sexually molesting his wife.

I try telepathy. Honey, look back here, please. Please. This guy has his hands on me. He's trying to feel me up, get into my privates. Just give me a quick glance. Maybe if he knows that you know he'll stop. Help! I push his hand down my leg, away from the goodies. Please look, make him stop! But on this dark and narrow country road, my husband has to concentrate on getting home safely. Telepathy doesn't work, never does. He doesn't protect me. He can't, I know, but he ought to.

The boss changes from groping my thigh to just caressing my knee, that's a relief, and then down my calf, it actually feels good. He massages the calf muscles that always hurt a little from walking in heels. Eventually he reaches my ankle. He grasps it firmly and picks it up to move my foot out to the side. Way out. Uh-oh. Back to that again. Well that's one way to get a girl to spread her legs, I suppose.

Then he taps the inside of my right ankle, until I move it, too. Now it isn't just the floor hump between my feet but another two feet of carpet. It's impossible to keep my knees together, not even close. I don't even try. He can look straight up my skirt to my crotch. If my husband turns around now, he will see his wife with her legs wide open to flash or welcome another man, and he'll see his boss groping between her thighs. What a sight.

Ross now continues back up to my knees. I grab his wrist to restrain him, but he's stronger. He forces his hand up my thigh, he gets up really high. I can't seem to stop him from making progress towards my sex. Maybe I loosen my grip a little because I know it isn't helping. He takes that as consent and continues even faster.

By the time he reaches his goal, my crotch, I am seriously aroused again. I can't help it. Here's a man caressing my legs and cupping my pussy.

Thank god I still have my panties on for some protection. They are small but tight.

He cups my crotch, presses into my pussy. It is hot again, and my juices are flowing again, and my pants are wet again. I'm sure that he can feel it, too, so he knows that I am aroused. Again, involuntarily, but what does that matter? Hot pussy is hot pussy, even when its owner is not sure that she wants to be hot.

He presses into my slit and it opens. The outer labia are so puffy and so wet that they spread to accommodate the intrusion.

He presses the rough fabric of the panties into my clit! An electric shock thrills my whole body! For a few seconds I can't breathe. My eyes are closed tight because I am trying not to have an orgasm right here. But I do. Thank god, a quiet one that I can hide (mostly). How bad would that be, for me to have a loud orgasm while my husband is driving but his boss has his hand on my pussy!

Ross hooks the legband of the panties with his finger, snaps it a couple times. His message is clear this time, too: get these panties out of my way! But I can't. Removing them, the way I'm sitting in the back seat, would be a major operation and attract too much attention from my loving husband, to whom I am being unfaithful at this moment. I pull them down my legs as far as I can. This leaves like six inches of room between the fabric and my flesh, plenty of space for his hand to get into.

And so he does. He reaches around the panties to my pussy, my hot, wet slit that is open and drooling to be touched.

Oh god what am I doing? I'm sitting here with my husband only a foot away, letting this strange man reach under my clothes to my sex! And *wanting* him to penetrate me, to stick his fingers inside my hole, push them *into* me, and fuck me with his hand! Insane! My mind is screaming, Husband! This man has his hands on me! This man is finger fucking your wife! Right here! In the dark, in this car, while you are driving us through the woods! And she is loving it!

Lust won out over ambivalence. I slouched down in the seat to make it easier for Ross to reach my crotch. Just a few inches closer so that he could get his fingers deeper into me! So that he could pump his hand farther into my dripping vagina! So that he could own my sex! And make me come again!

I did come again. This time, I had to bite down hard on my hand to hide the unmistakable sound. Ross coughed, too, to cover my moans that slipped out. Always the gentleman.

He withdrew his hand from my dripping cloister. I hate to say that I hated to feel his fingers leave. My pussy felt empty. He patted my thigh as he pulled his hand back. I saw that he subtly managed to lick my juices off his fingers. So we both enjoyed ourselves.

I managed to pull my panties back up, sort of, thrashing around while claiming that I had a leg cramp from sitting that long.

That was the end of the adventure for the night. Back at the lodge, when we went to bed, I positively raped my husband.

On the last day of the outing, I managed not to be alone with Ross, so nothing more happened there. And I never told Tommy about it. Well, not until now. When he reads this story, he will know what happened that night, just in case he had any suspicions.

I wonder, when he learns how his wife got manhandled, sitting right next to him, and how much she enjoyed being manhandled - felt up and drilled! - will he be angry, or will he spring a boner and fuck my brains out?