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I find that the delivery of things in what they call flat-boxes to be extremely irritating at times. What they mean is that we’re going to ship you your goods disassembled and wish you luck in putting it together. OK, I have reasonable mechanical abilities. I can screw bolt A into slot B and assemble my stuff. What I have trouble with is the flat box.
Consider a cardboard box, over six feet tall, three plus feet wide, two feet deep. That is a big box, but I don’t want it. So I have to get rid of it. Toss it in the rubbish. Right, like something that size is going to fit in the recycling bin. The only real solution is to whip out the old Stanley knife and slice and dice.
I have two Stanley knives. I went out to the garage bright and early Saturday morning, all set to do a bit of slicing and dicing. No Stanley knife in my tool box. No Stanley knife in the cupboard where I keep the rest of my tools and stuff. (Probably hiding, cowering in a corner, afraid of doing some honest work.)
I checked the junk drawer in the kitchen, similar drawer in my bedroom and I checked the small stationery cupboard in my office. No Stanley knife. Damned if I was going to buy another one. If I did, the first two would come galloping out for a family reunion. I did what any man does when faced with a missing tool. I went next door to borrow one.
Mike was home and quite happy to lend me his knife, providing he could find it. He left me standing in the front room while he went off to forage. That’s when Samantha came waltzing in. Samantha was his daughter, an eighteen year old pixie, mousey coloured hair and hazel eyes, but there was nothing mousey about her personality. She was buoyant, full of live. From what I’d noticed she also had an excellent figure.
Too bad I couldn’t see it now. It was a cool morning and she was all bundled up in a terry towel dressing gown, hugging it tight. She came to a screeching halt when she saw me, blushing. Embarrassed to be caught in a dressing gown, I guess. She went to beat a quick retreat but I stopped her.
“Hold it a second, Sam,” I said quickly, moving over to her.
I’d said she was hugging the gown to her and I meant that literally. I noticed the belt wasn’t done up, just dangling loosely at her sides. I took hold of the lapels and calmly spread her dressing gown wide, finding no resistance.
“Well, damn,” I said, admiring her nice warm flannelette pyjamas, while she giggled. Giggled, nothing. She was openly laughing at me.
I gave her a reproving look. The nerve of her, laughing at a fine upstanding man like me.
“I dare you to flash me,” I said, giving her a challenging look. “Drop the bottoms or lift the top. Come on.”
She smirked and reached for her waist. Her top was tucked into the bottom half of the pyjamas so I wasn’t sure what she intended to do. She dropped the bottoms, just pushing them down and letting them slide down her legs.
“Well, damn again,” I grumbled. She had lovely legs, and I could see them from her toes all the way up to the pyjama top, which was long enough to serve as a damned dress. It came down past the interesting bits, preventing me from even seeing if she was wearing panties or not.
She was laughing at me again as she wrapped the dressing gown firmly around her, doing up the belt this time, with a wink to me to emphasize it. Then she stooped, pulled the pyjama bottoms off her feet and waltzed out of the room, holding the pyjama bottoms conspicuously, as a way of rubbing in my disappointment, I’m sure.
Mike came back with his knife and I thanked him and went home. One thing about having a nice sharp blade, you can take out your frustrations on an inoffensive cardboard box and it won’t complain. I sliced and diced with a will, reducing the box to a little heap of cardboard squares which I dumped in the recycling bin.
I have a little shelf just next to the side door of my garage. That’s where I put any tools I borrow, a reminder to me to return them. It’s the only thing I use that little shelf for. I put Mike’s Stanley knife on the shelf, took my two knives off it, and don’t ask me how they got there, and put my knives in my tool box. I was tempted to put a padlock on the tool box to stop the things escaping again.
Later that day I was trimming a few bushes in the front yard when I saw Samantha heading homeward. The day had warmed up nicely and she was dressed accordingly. Sandals, with knee high white socks, ragged-leg shorts and a nice t-shirt.
I waved to her, indicating that I wanted to talk to her. She came wandering over, smiling, probably thinking about my bad luck in the morning.
“Hi, Sam,” I said. “I’ve got your father’s Stanley knife in the garage. If you care to come and collect it you can return it for me.”
She agreed and ambled along beside me while I strolled over to the garage.
“Tell me, Sam,” bahis firmaları I said. “Are you still a virgin.”
She blushed and whacked at my arm.
“Really, Ian, what sort of a question is that to ask a girl?”
“Quite a reasonable one I’d have thought. I’d consider it the height of bad manners to ravish a young lady if she’s still a virgin.”
She started a little at that and gave me a look.
“Ah, are you saying that you intend to ravish me?” she asked, seeming curious rather than nervous.
“Well, a lot depends on you and how you’d react to being ravished,” I told her. “I mean, if you’re just going to lie there, crying, and wailing, “it’s too big,” then no, I’m not. Not worth the hassle. There again, if you turn into a termagant and scream and shout and bite and scratch and hit and kick, then no, with a capital N. I’m a gently raised person and I hate fighting, especially if it’s me being hit. Too, too, painful. Bruises I do not need.
However, if you’re only going to give token resistance and then cooperate, doing the Confucius bit, then yes, I’ll be up for a bit of ravishment where you’re concerned.
And that brings me back to my original question and the reason for asking it. Not only would it be rude to ravish a virgin, but she wouldn’t know what to do, so her cooperation would be limited. I mean, I want to ravish you, not have to train you.”
“Well, while I will admit to not exactly being a virgin, I would like to point out that I’m not really interested in being ravished.”
“Um I believe that reluctance is what makes it ravishment,” I pointed out, “so that doesn’t count. Are you the type to lie there crying and wailing about how big it is?”
By this time we had reached the garage and entered it. I leaned against my car, waiting to hear Sam’s answer.
“Well, probably not, but how can I tell unless I know how big it’s going to be?”
“A problem. Any suggestions?”
“Possibly a sneak preview?”
“What, take it out and put myself on display? Rather humiliating for me don’t you think.”
“It would be a lot more humiliating if I was lying there crying tears of laughter and pointing at it,” Sam said.
“A point, definitely a point. Perhaps you’d better sneak a peek.”
“You want me to take out your dick and check it out? Why don’t you just whip it out?”
“A gentleman doesn’t just whip it out unless he intends using it,” I told her. “We haven’t established whether I’m going to ravish you yet. Besides, the preview was your idea.”
If she did take it out it was in a state to be appreciated. The trouble would be putting it away unsatisfied.
Sam looked thoughtfully at my crotch and for a moment I thought she might actually unzip me. She seemed to give a little shake and then smiled at me.
“I think we can leave my curiosity unsatisfied for the time being,” she said.
“It seems to me that you’re at a bit of a stalemate,” Sam said musingly. “You don’t know how I’ll react to a threatened ravishment so you don’t know whether to proceed with it or not.”
“Maybe, but a wise man knows that if you don’t like the results of a game there is always a way out. Basically, you change the rules. So that’s what I’m going to do. Ravishment is out for right now, but I’ll reserve the right to bring it into play at a later time.”
“Uh-huh. So what are the new rules?”
“They’re a lot easier. I’m just going to remove a few items of clothing and see what sort of reaction I get.”
“You’re not worried that I might laugh when you show off your manly physique?”
“Not really. I’ll be removing your clothes, not mine.”
“Hold on. You just said ravishment was off the menu.”
“It is. This is simply me being a pervert and taking a look at your naked body. I suppose I could always sneak up and look in your bedroom window at night but I can’t be sure you’ll leave the blind up. And imagine if I was caught doing it.” I shook my head sadly. “Far simpler for both of us if I just take your clothes off right now.”
Before Samantha could react I reached over and hooked a finger over the waist band of her shorts, drawing her nearer. She yelped and pushed at me, which let me catch her wrists. I put them behind her back and held them in one of my hands, smiling.
“What do you think you’re playing at?” she asked. She seemed to be trying to say it rather firmly but it came out a little hesitantly.
“What I just said,” I murmured, reaching for and undoing the button at the top of her shorts.
“You can’t do that,” she protested as I unzipped them
“Come on, Ian, be reasonable,” she complained as I tugged at her shorts, persuading them to pop over her pert little bottom and giving them a nudge to sink even further.
“Nice panties,” I told her. “I’ll bet they look real cute when they’re wrapped around your ankles.”
“No, Ian, don’t you dare. Oh, you kaçak iddaa rotten swine. Let me go.”
“Oh, calm down. I’m not hurting you and you have a very nice body. I see you shave here. Makes you look younger.” I brushed my knuckles light across her mons, enjoying her squeak of outrage.
“I’ll make a deal with you. If you slip your feet out of your shorts and panties and agree to take off your top and bra I’ll let you go. Once I’ve seen you, you’re free to get dressed.”
She glared at me, and called me a rude name, but agreed, kicking her feet free. She flicked a glance at the door when I let go her wrists but I didn’t think she’d make a run for it. Not bottomless she wouldn’t. She gave me another nasty look, sighed and lifted her top up and off. Her bra followed, leaving her standing there nude.
“Very, very, nice,” I said softly. “You have a lovely body.”
She blushed, twisting a little from side to side, wanting to use her hands to cover herself, but refraining. She was also pleased that I liked her body, although trying not to show it.
“I’m glad you appreciate it,” she said. “Can I get dressed now?”
“Don’t rush me,” I said quietly. “I’m considering putting the ravishment back on the game plan.”
I reached out and cupped her breasts, just getting a feel for them. They were high and firm and fitted my hand very nicely. I stroked them, watching her nipples react.
A bit of pressure against her breasts and she backed up a little until she was leaning against my car.
“Lean back, legs apart,” I told her, and she moved as directed.
I stood next to her, hands travelling over her body. She started a little when I captured her mound but didn’t resist. I rubbed her there while leaning over her to suckle on her breasts. It wasn’t long before she was breathing harder, restless under my caresses. I could feel a slow movement under my hand as her trapped mound stirred, her labia swelling and protruding.
I stepped back and started unzipping my pants. She didn’t move, though her head did turn to watch what I was doing. I slid my trousers down, letting my erection spring free.
“Are you going to cry and say it’s too big?” I asked, and she shook her head.
“Fair enough. You’re not going to laugh and say it’s too small, I hope?”
She did laugh, but she also blushed, shaking her head.
“Fortunate for me,” I muttered softly. “That sort of thing could severely shake a man’s self-confidence.”
I moved back next to her, starting to stroke her again, making sure that she was ready for what was coming. My fingers slipped inside her, probing, seeking reassurance. (I know, she said she wasn’t a virgin. Finding out she lied by having her scream in pain with blood squirting everywhere would not be my idea of a fun time. It never hurts to check these things.)
I moved around to stand between her parted thighs, the length of my erection pressing against her. Her eyes opened wide.
“Oh my god,” she muttered. “You’re going to do it. You’re really going to do it. Oh god, I can’t look.”
For someone who couldn’t look her eyes seemed to be pretty well fastened to my cock. Still, if she was nervous about being ravished, I was willing to help her out.
“If you like you can turn around and lean forward against the car,” I murmured softly. “I’ll take you from behind.”
“B-but then I wouldn’t see what you are doing,” she protested.
“I thought you couldn’t look?” I felt like saying, but wisdom kept my mouth shut.
“The door,” she said, looking past me to the side door that still swung open.
Acknowledging her worry I stepped over to close it. One glance outside was enough.
“Grab your clothes and exit through the house,” I said quickly, hauling up my trousers. “Mike is walking up the drive.”
There was a horrified squeak and she grabbed her clothes and bolted, vanishing into the house, leaving me so frustrated I could have screamed. I grabbed Mike’s Stanley knife off the shelf and headed out to meet him.
Turned out he hadn’t come for the knife. He wanted to borrow my drill. I dug it out and let him have it and he stood around chatting for a while. When he finally left I was resigned to a no-nooky day. I went inside for a beer.
Getting inside I could hear the TV going. I was surprised, quite certain I had turned it off. Walking into the front room there it was, blaring away. Also there, was Samantha, still naked, curled up on the couch watching. I stood there looking at her. She was a tasty dish.
She must have felt my eyes on her. God knows I was looking hard enough. She turned, saw me, and said, “Hi.”
“What are you doing here, Samantha,” I asked. “The last I saw you, you were in the garage, leaning back against the car, about to be ravished. Why aren’t you there waiting for me.”
She blushed but didn’t say anything. She just hopped to her kaçak bahis feet and hurried back out to the garage. I followed along behind, admiring her bottom as she walked. In the garage I again pushed her up against the car. Leaning over I captured a breast with my mouth and lightly sucked on the nipple. From there, my mouth trailed across her chest, and a very fine chest it was, seeking and finding another nipple.
While my mouth tasted her my hand went exploring again. When I had left her she’d been wet and ready, labia swollen and waiting, almost dripping with moisture, heat rising from her in steady waves. Now she’d cooled down and I started rubbing her mound, fanning the still warm embers back to life.
You may have noticed that I didn’t ask her why she was still in the house and why she was still naked. I was aroused and feeling lusty, not insane. If she wanted to explain I was quite sure she would, all in her own good time.
I played with her, teasing her breasts and her mound. I dropped little kisses on her face, her lips and her breasts, while all the time my hands explored and stimulated, slowly rebuilding her arousal.
At the appropriate time my trousers descended again and I was standing in front of her, my erection brushing against her pussy while she looked down, watching.
Hands either side of her mound my thumbs dug in lightly and spread her lips. Not wide, just wide enough to leave room for my head to nestle between them. With that in place I released her, letting her lips close around me. Then I pushed. Slowly.
With my hands on her hips I held her firmly against the car, unable to push up to meet me. This meant I could just take my time, sinking in at a speed just a fraction to the side of dead slow. It took time to take her this way and I could feel her writhing slightly under me, trying to push up to meet me and complete the entry. She moaned and cursed me, demanding I do it, and I smiled and crept slowly forward.
Eventually, of course, I sank fully into her. At that stage I released her hips, my hands finding her breasts much more to my taste.
I drew back, watching her watching me pull out of her. She breathed in deeply as I came out, holding her breath when I stopped and paused for a moment. Then I was driving back in, forcefully, and she let out her breath with a whoosh, lifting her hips eagerly to take me back again.
There was no hurry. I took long leisurely strokes, putting a little time between each one. Samantha wanted more and said so, in no uncertain terms. I just told her that all things come to they who wait. Including death, I was informed, to those who wait too long.
I dismissed her puerile little threat, continuing to ravish her my way, moving slowly but firmly, increasing her arousal and excitement with every stroke. Mind you, it was doing some pretty interesting things to me as well. My gonads were calling out to me, telling me to pull my finger out, the arguments they were making a lot more cogent that Samantha’s pleas and threats.
I started moving faster. Not to finish things, but just to help set the scene for the grand finale. It wasn’t long and I was driving in steadily with Samantha happily enjoying the faster tempo.
Ever noticed how hard it is to please a woman. Samantha had asked me to go faster and I had. I was bouncing her against the car so hard and fast I was probably going to damage my shock absorbers. But did that keep her happy? Not so you’d notice. She became used to the new tempo and started writhing and gasping beneath me. She wanted something more and was demanding that I supply it. I was having fun. I held off a bit longer.
After a while Samantha was tossing her head from side to side, gasping loudly. It was becoming blatantly obvious that if I didn’t do something she’d do it herself, leaving me behind.
“Are you ready?” I asked politely, although I doubt the look in my eyes was very polite. I was certainly ready.
She answered the question with a voiceless moan that I took to be agreement, so I drove in even harder. A few relentlessly fast strokes and she climaxed, shuddering as I continued to drive in, climaxing myself and letting her have all that I had.
Coming down from my high I leaned on the car next to her.
“We have a little problem,” I said.
“What?” she asked, not bothering to look at me.
“When we were interrupted you were supposed to take the chance and run for safety. You didn’t. You hung around until I had the opportunity to continue. This means that you gave your consent and it wasn’t ravishment.”
“So I want to ravish you, remember. This means I’m going to have to trap you again sometime so that I can do so. Just letting you know.”
“So if I say I don’t want you to take me a second time and you do, would that be ravishment?”
“Not really. The way I feel right now it would be a miracle.”
Actually, now that she mentioned it, I was suddenly feeling a lot better. Why not roll her over and ravish her from behind? As long as I wasn’t in a hurry I should be able to manage.
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