During The Holidays

The University was closed for the year for the long holidays. That left me with six weeks with nothing in particular lined up. My choices were varied. I could go and stay at the beach for a while, go touring, stay at home and bludge (that choice was looking good), get a temporary job (there's always positions for good mechanics), go home and work for my Father for the holidays (not in this lifetime, but it was an option).

I decided to stay at home and not budge, but neither would I bludge. While I had free time I'd do some writing. I had completed a couple of fantasy short stories and was half way through the first book of a three book series. I'd offered the short stories for a couple of friends to review and they approved, laughing at the right places. They also said I had a sick sense of humour but they laughed anyway. (I also offered them to my English professor and he did a critique, giving me both criticism and approval.)

The difference between staying home and going home was staying in the student accommodation where I lived while at school or going home to my parents place. If I went home I wouldn't want to pay rent for a room I wasn't using so that meant I would lose it and need to find new accommodation when the University started up again. Easier all round (and probably cheaper) to stay where I was.

I expected to have a very quiet house. Most of the students that stayed there had vanished at the end of the exams. Greg, the guy who ran the boarding house, had told us he was taking a couple of week's holiday. He gave us some numbers if we needed any emergency services and departed. That left me and the married couple who used the master suite. I think they were both students at the University. James had taken a temporary job for the holiday while Serena was looking for one. Effectively that let me have the house to myself as Serena was either in her room or out on a job search.

The first couple of days I got quite a bit of writing done. Ideas flowed freely now that I had no distractions. Mind you, the story wasn't going where I'd intended but that happens sometimes. The story seems to pick up a life of its own, dragging me along with it. Then things changed.

I'd been writing for a couple of hours and decided I wanted some coffee. If I tried to drink it while working I'd find myself ignoring the coffee while I wrote, leaving me with cold coffee. I like hot coffee so I sat down in the kitchen to drink it. That's when Serena walked in.

Let's discuss Serena. A young woman, early twenties would be my guess. Married but with an air that seemed to suggest that sex was a complete mystery to her. She didn't seem to be aware of her body or of the impact it had on the opposite sex. Legs that are long, slender, and shapely. Come to think of it that could apply to her entire figure, tall, slender, and shapely, except the shapely part encompassed a pert little bottom and a magnificent chest. (All natural that chest. Plastic surgeons might dream of emulating it but they never would.)

She came wandering into the kitchen, probably for breakfast or coffee. As soon as she entered I knew that she wasn't wearing a bra. The enticing bounce of her breasts told me that. Panties? Presumably. Outer wear seemed to be an old tattered t-shirt intended for someone much larger than her. Not James. Her father, possibly.

She picked up the coffee, gently testing the pot to ensure it was still hot, and poured herself a cup while I watched and thought 'bloody hell'. Yeah, t-shirts cover you admirably most times. However, if the t-shirt is overlarge you give a peep-show when you lift an arm. She reached, the t shirt gaped, and I had a full view of a lovely full-bodied breast.

Now once was an accident and she probably didn't realise. (Probably) However when she reached for the coffee, when she held the pot while testing the warmth, when she poured the coffee, when she put the pot back, even when she lifted her cup to drink the damned coffee, each and every time the t-short gaped and there I was, seeing it all.

I'm not a hermit or a misogynist. I like women. I like seeing them, talking to them, touching them. With Serena displaying her charms like that I had a natural body function take place. I didn't say anything and I certainly didn't stand up. Serena put her coffee on the table and sat down. Why sitting down required her to lean forward so far is beyond me but when she did the t-shirt neckline gaped and I was given a view down the front of her t-shirt that demonstrated that her breasts were matching beauties and that if you looked you could see between them right down to her miniscule panties, and yes, I looked.

I now faced the conundrum that men face every time they meet a woman. Would she be insulted if I made a pass or would she be insulted if I didn't? If I didn't make a pass and she resented it she might take some sort of nasty retribution just to teach me a lesson. If I did make a pass would she take it as her due and happily slap me down, accept the pass, which could lead to interesting results, or turn on me like a virago for daring to misread her signals? One could never tell.

So, make a pass or not? Either way I was possibly setting myself up for a fall. I've always used the philosophy that when facing two options with equal chances of being wrong take a third option. When Serena stood up to put her cup on the sink I did likewise. (Except I didn't need to lean forward, displaying a gaping neckline. Sexual harassment at its finest.)

Serena turned away from the sink even as I place my cup on it. The way I was standing she naturally turned towards me and I just naturally selected option 3. Option 3 consisted of me taking hold of the neckline with both hands and moving those hands energetically in opposite direction.

I had already noticed that that tattered old t-shirt had a few small rips along the neckline. When I stretched the material in opposite directions those small rips just naturally continued ripping. The front of the t shirt just split straight down the centre. There must have been equivalent tips on the back of the t-shirt because the back also split in half.

I released the t-shirt and the respective halves just fell free, having nothing to restrain their freefall. Just like that Serena was wearing a miniscule pair of panties and a shocked expression. (I was full dressed with a happy expression and a raging hard-on.)

"Oh dear. My hands slipped," I said. "So sorry."

Serena had given a startled gasp and that was it, except for her hands hurriedly trying to cover her breasts. They wouldn't have succeeded as the hand to breast ratio was against her. For that matter so was I. I took hold of her wrist and gently moved her hands away from her breasts. I say gently because there was zero resistance to me doing so. I then covered those same breasts with my own hands. (I noticed that her nipples had peaked even before I touched them.)

"Just what do you think you're doing?" she finally demanded. "Get your hands off me or I'll scream."

"Taking those in reverse order, screaming won't help as there's no-one home but us. As to what I'm doing I'm admiring your breasts prior to taking down your panties and having, ah, my wicked way with you. If you'll excuse me for a moment?"

I released her breasts, grabbed hold of her panties and helped them to move rapidly downward. I'll admit she made a grab for them but I was just a bit too fast.

"If you try to have sex with me I'll fight you," she snapped at me.

"Why?" I asked.

"Why?"

"That's what I said. I mean, I'm bigger and stronger than you so there's no way you can stop me."

"I'll report you."

"Bad idea. Everyone will know you had sex with me and I'll be insisting it was consensual and that you're in a snit because I wouldn't pay you enough."

"You wouldn't!"

"Of course I would. Maybe your husband would believe you or maybe he wouldn't. I'll leave you to decide."

She called me some rude names at that point. Very hurtful they were. Of course, by that stage my hand was covering her vulva, squeezing and stroking, fingers dipping into damp softness.

I took a moment to drop my trousers, my intentions clear. She looked, her eyes widened, and she deliberately looked elsewhere. I moved closer. Whenever my erection touched her she backed up but that didn't work for long as the kitchen table was right behind her. As soon as she was pressing against it my hands closed over her buttocks and I lifted her up onto the table, pushing her legs further apart.

She was still trying to look elsewhere but I didn't want that.

"Don't look over there," I told her. "Look here and watch what happens."

I stroked her slit to indicate where I wanted her to look. Once she was looking I eased her lips apart and settled the head of my cock there. She gasped and I pressed forward slightly, treating her to the sight of my cock starting to sink into her. I kept pushing and she kept watching, apparently engrossed in what I was doing. Her legs came up and wrapped around me without any suggestion from me.

I moved slowly, enjoying the feel of her hot female flesh wrapped around me, moving with me. I kept up that slow pace, watching her face as I did so. Her eyes slowly closed and she had a dreamy expression on her face, just letting it happen.

I kept it up for a while, seeing her arousal building. Picking up the pace a little and she was moving with me, taking me eagerly and wanting more. Her inhibitions were gone and she was riding my cock with determination. She knew what she wanted and she was willing to work to get it.

I actually managed to time it nicely, going into my home run at the same time as she climaxed. I ejaculated happily, her passage clamped around me, milking me for all that she was worth.

Passions died away and we separated. She snatched up her panties and the ex t-shirt from the floor, gave me an enigmatic look and stalked out of the kitchen, the poor hard-done-by victim. I just smiled and let her go.

Had that been rape? Damned right it had been. She may have wanted it but not the way I gave it to her. She'd probably sulk a little but she wouldn't tell anyone, I was sure of that.

Dinner time came and went. I saw both Serena and James during dinner time and there was nothing to indicate that she'd said anything. She was a little terse when she spoke to me but that was all.

Next day arrived and I settled down to continuing my writing. I heard James depart for his job but didn't think anything of it. OK, I lie. I did wonder if Serena would wander down to the kitchen again but wouldn't you? For all that I had no intention of hanging around the kitchen on the off-chance that she'd arrive and not do a runner as soon as she saw me.

I'd just finished a chapter and stood up to stretch when I heard footsteps in the hall. I opened the door to see who it was and there was Serena heading towards the kitchen, properly dressed. I shrugged.

"Hey, Serena," I called.

She stopped and looked back at me. "What?" she demanded in a snarky voice.

I opened my door wider.

"Can you come in for a few minutes?" I asked, indicating my open doorway.

"What? Why?"

"How short the memory is at times," I said mournfully. "Obviously I want to bend you over the end of my bed, drop your panties, and ravish you. Come along." My hand swept towards the open door again, an expectant look on my face.

"Are you insane," she demanded.

"No. Greedy. You know what they say, once is never enough. Coming?"

"You've got to be kidding!"

I shook my head, smiling and again indicated that she should enter. Did I think she would? I had no idea but I was hopeful. A lot depended on whether she'd really intended to seduce me the day before or just tease me. I was damned positive her peek-a-boo actions had been deliberate.

She turned and walked back towards me, giving me a rather nasty glare while she did so.

"You had no right to do what you did," she snapped.

"I agree," I told her. "And I have no right to strip off your clothes, bend you over my bed, and ravish you, but I'm going to do it."

"You're impossible," still talking with a snap in her voice. She also stepped past me and into the room.

"Nonsense. Just highly improbable," I said, closing the door behind us.

"Take off your dress."

"I thought you said you were going to undress me?"

"I am, but I'm management. I'll tell you what to do and you do it."

She looked as if she might argue but I guess she remembered how I took off her t-shirt. She sighed and slipped out of her dress, leaving her in panties and bra. She reached around to undo her bra but I stopped her.

"Panties first," I told her.

"Why?"

"Management decision," I said with a smile.

"Screw management," she muttered, undoing her bra and giving me a defiant look.

"That is the long term goal," I agreed as she dropped her panties, "but penalties must come first."

"Penalties? Why? What penalties?"

"You disobeyed a management directive. Obviously a penalty is called for."

I sat on the side of the bed, catching her arm and drawing her to me. I had her bent over my knee before she caught on to what I intended.

"You're kidding," she said, the sentence ending in a much higher note than the start as my hand descended on her bottom.

She squealed and wriggled while I spanked her. Not squealing too loudly or wriggling too energetically but the squealing and wriggling did take place. The spanking wasn't hard, just stinging little spanks that certainly got her attention, even more so when her legs drifted apart and a few spanks landed on her mound.

It was soon blatantly obvious that she was aroused and ready, even more so than in the kitchen. I swung her to her feet and had her bend over. Then it was simply a case of stepping up behind her, lining myself up, and driving fiercely home, my arms going around her to cover her breasts.

This time it was a case of the hell with nice and easy. This time I was going all out right from the word go and I'd shouted the go myself. Holding firmly to her breasts I started pounding into her, not in the least surprised when she gasped and bucked beneath me, putting in the same amount of effort as I was providing.

We fucked like wild animals, all action and lust, doing as we pleased and letting our partner react as they would, and I have to admit she reacted very nicely. I didn't last as long as for our kitchen tryst but I'll swear the level of excitement we raised was higher. She finally jammed a hand in her mouth as she screamed out her climax, while I simply groaned and released my load deep inside her.

Afterwards she dressed quickly, muttering about over-sexed animals who couldn't keep it in their trousers.

"No more," she stated firmly as she left. "You've had your fun now leave me alone."

"Must I? You don't really mean that do you?"

"I do. I'm not stuffing up my marriage for a roll in the hay with you. Back off."

"Fair enough," I agreed. "It never happened except in our imaginations."

She departed leaving me wondering just how long she'd hold to that decision. Not too long I suspected.