You Bastard!

“You bastard!” I said to myself. I couldn’t stand the guy to begin with, and here he was, once again, looking me over, his eyes roaming my tits, my ass, my legs, like I was a piece of meat, for fuck’s sake! Damn him, damn him, damn him!

I guess I should back up a bit, and fill you in on some details. Finished high school and waiting for college to begin, I was been dumped here by my parents, who were struggling to make ends meet, and could do with one less mouth to feed. They had made arrangements with this farm family that I would spend the summer on the farm, helping with the chores, working in the kitchen, etc. In exchange, the farm family would provide my family with meat, eggs, fresh fruit and vegetables, all from their farm.

I didn’t mind the work, in fact it was quite interesting. But their son was another matter. I couldn’t stand him. He could have been an all-right kind of guy, were it not for the fact I always felt he was sizing me up, wanting to jump my bones. Okay, I have pretty strong hormones, and just like any other girl in her late teens, I was desperate for sex. But I can’t stand being slobbered over, turned into an object, as though I’m just there for some guy’s gratification. And that’s what I got the distinct feeling I’d be for him, just a female body to satisfy his desires to feel and lick and suck and fuck. Not that I’m adverse to any of those things. I’m not now, and wasn’t then. But I want to be fully part of the action, not just lay there and take it with no say in the matter. The bastard!

Anyway, here’s what happened. I was sitting there working on some papers, when I realized he was looking at me again. Damn him! I was about to say something when he suddenly walked over and said “Your zipper’s open.” (I had on a pair of slacks with a side zipper.) Damn it! As if I didn’t have to put up with enough from him already! Before I could stop him, he reached down with his right hand to close my side zipper. As he tugged on it, I could feel his fingers touch the skin between the bursa escort fabric of my slacks and my panties. I shivered in disgust, but since he was already pulling it up, it was a bit late to say anything. The zipper was stuck a bit, so he put his left hand on my left thigh, whether to steady himself or to grab a quick feel, I don’t know. Likely the latter, knowing him!

He tugged, but it was still stuck. He moved his left hand further up, took a better grip on my thigh, and gave a final pull on the zipper. It slid up, and closed. He let go, stood up looking a bit flushed, said “There!” and walked away. I sat there, open-mouthed, but fuming. Damn him!

Over the next couple of days, I thought a lot about what had happened. As I did, I got more and more upset with him. I figured he was just using the opportunity to cop a quick feel, and had totally enjoyed sliding his left hand up my thigh to within an inch of my pussy, his right hand touching the skin of my left hip as he fiddled with the zipper. Was the zipper really that stuck, I wondered? Probably not! It was likely just an excuse on his part. The cad!

I figured he was too much of a coward to actually do anything openly, to touch me with both of us knowing exactly what he was doing. I intended to capitalize on that cowardice, and put him in his place. I would need to wait for the right time, however, as the family was always coming and going.

Then came a day when everyone else was either working in the fields or gone into town. He was sitting at the table in the sitting room, doing some kind of repairs. I didn’t know what, and I didn’t care! But I figured this was as good a time as any. I went to my room, took off my slacks, and slipped on a short skirt with a side zipper. I closed the button at the top, but left the zipper open. Checking the effect, I saw with satisfaction that it looked closed as long as I was standing, but if I sat down, it gaped open, revealing my panties. Then, to add to the effect and make for even more of bursa escort a put-down, I reached under my skirt and slipped off my panties. I walked downstairs with a few books and sat down in the sitting room by the desk, in his line of sight, and started to read.

It wasn’t long before I was aware, very aware, of his eyes on me. I continued to read. He worked on, then suddenly put his screwdriver down, got up, and walked over to me. “Your zipper,” he said. I nodded, as though I was too dumb to take in what he was saying. He reached down to tug it up. My sitting there made the fabric difficult to pull together, so it wouldn’t move easily. He put his hand on my bare knee, then slid it up my leg a bit, and tugged again. Still no movement. He moved his hand further up my leg, now under my skirt. I wondered how far he would dare go. Under my breath, I almost dared him to reach up and touch my pussy. I would kill him if he tried! Then I realized his fingers were actually touching, just barely, my pussy hairs. How the heck did he get that far up? I also realized I was getting wet. I sure as hell didn’t want to give him any ideas! I was about to push him back, stop him, and give him a piece of my mind, when he said, plaintively, “It won’t move!” Oh shit!

Flustered, I decided to give him a hand, and get this over with. I’d slide down in the chair a bit, which would straighten the zipper, at which time he should be able to pull it up. And that would be that.

I reached for something to hang onto, pull my hips forward. I found his left arm and, without thinking, took hold of it and pulled, pivoting my hips as I did so. He clearly wasn’t prepared for that. His left hand broke free of the inside of my thigh – and slid forward, two fingers straight into my cunt! He fell forward. My left hand shot out to stop him from falling against me – and landed squarely on the now-large bulge in his pants! How had that grown that big in such a short time? No time to think, though! His face was coming bursa eskort toward mine as he tried to stop himself. I opened my mouth to exclaim, just as he opened his. In a moment, our mouths were against each other’s. I gasped, and my tongue flicked out to say something. Suddenly I found it ‘face to face’ with his. And there we were, tongues dancing against each other, me moaning from the feel of his fingers in my cunt and my hand on his cock, squeezing it, him moaning from exactly the same thing. My body suddenly spasmed, my cunt tightening around his fingers, spraying him with a flood of my juice. “Oh, fuck!” I cried. I’d often masturbated, but nothing quite as powerful had ever happened before.

He thrust his fingers deeper into my cunt, then I heard a grunt as he went rigid. Under my left hand, I could feel his cock pulsing, shooting out stream after stream of his cum. We both paused, shaken, eyes half closed, then began to come down from our high. He looked at me, pulled his fingers out of my cunt, his right hand from my hip, and stood up. “Wow!” he said, his voice hushed.

My eyes still a bit glazed and partially closed, I could only answer, half to myself, “Yeah. Wow!” Then, to my surprise as much as his, I smiled! I opened my eyes completely, and realized I was still holding his cock. I looked at it, involuntarily moaned “Mmmm,” and gave it another squeeze. There was now a growing wet spot in the front of his trousers, as there was no doubt one on my skirt. I traced the line of his cock with my finger, then said “We should go clean up.”

Still shaken, he said “Yeah,” and grinned. He offered me his hand and pulled me to my feet. “That was amazing,” he said. I agreed. He bent down slightly, lowering his head toward me. I responded, and our mouths and tongues met, this time not by accident.

When we came back up for air, my hand reached for his cock, and I said “I want to check this out more completely.”

His left hand went to the front of my skirt, cupped my pussy. “Likewise,” he said. His right hand reached out for my left boob, squeezing it. “And the rest of you, too.”

I grinned. “Should be fun,” I said. We turned away from each other and went to our rooms.

Summer had suddenly, and definitely, become a lot more interesting.

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