Fishing

Brenda is still looking for whoever it was she met on the jetty that day. If she ever finds out I strongly suspect I’ll have to leave the country because she was sure furious about what happened.

Let me give you a little background on Brenda. She was either eighteen or nineteen, I’m not sure which. Big breasted, but not floppy big, if you know what I mean. Those breasts stood high and firm. She had a nice curvy figure, a really pert little behind and long shapely legs.

Brenda’s hair was black as a crow’s feathers, so dark it almost seemed to glow blackness. In contrast to that she had light blue eyes, an unusual and appealing combination.

Vivacious of manner, personal and friendly and, as far as the boys knew, virginal. No-one had ever claimed to have had any sexual success with her.

It was only natural that a number of the local boys had chanced their arm with Brenda. Her hand must have been quite sore at times from slapping at boys who were groping at her more prominent attributes.

I was damned positive that she knew what an erection looked like because I knew of at least two of the lads who’d proudly whipped theirs out and shown her, thinking she’d fall in lust with them. Tony got a black eye when he did it. Bobby wasn’t that lucky.

Fit and athletic, Brenda had an unusual hobby. She liked to go fly-fishing. She even tied her own flies. One of her favourite spots was a little jetty just up the road from my place. I’d seen her there quite often, early in the morning or late in the evening.

I’ll admit that I especially kept an eye out for her in the evenings after a hot summer day. When fishing Brenda had this habit of wearing this sort of shift that was bunched up just above her breasts, leaving her arms and shoulders bare. What she probably didn’t know was that as the sun went down, leaving her outlined against it, that dress was effectively transparent, giving me a view that was very much appreciated. As far as I could see, and I could see quite a bit, she didn’t wear a bra while casting. She’d just be standing out on that little jetty in her dress and a pair of panties. Made a man wonder, seeing her highlighted like that.

I do a bit of fly-fishing myself and I’ve used that creaky old jetty that Brenda uses. I was pleased to notice one day that someone had given the old jetty a facelift. Well, not so much a facelift as a silencer. They’d gone out there with a hammer and some nails and fastened all the loose boards. One could walk along the jetty now without the musical accompaniment that the squeaky old boards used to give. They’d also cleared away the rubbish around the sides of the jetty, and about time, too.

Trouble was, that nice squeaky clean and silent jetty started me thinking interesting thoughts. Wrong thoughts, some would say, but interesting for all that. I’m ashamed to have to admit that I gave some serious consideration to those thoughts and how they could be carried out.

It was a hot Friday evening a few days later when I saw Brenda heading down to the jetty, rod in hand. I gave her some time to get her sport in and then wandered in that direction myself.

Reaching the jetty the sun was setting quickly and dusk was upon us. You could see quite clearly for your immediate surroundings but things were dimming out at any sort of distance. We were effectively in private out there on the jetty.

Brenda had a strike and her entire attention was on her line and the fish she was going to land. She didn’t even know I was behind her until I took the hem of that shift dress and lifted it straight up into the air and over her head.

It was like I thought. That dress was designed to unclip and then drop, letting her step out of it. Lifting it up and over her head caught her arms and tangled them in the dress above her head, not helped by the fact that I slipped a loop of cord over the dress (and her arms) and pulled it tight.

One moment Brenda was getting ready to land a nice trout, the next her hands were tied above her head and she was effectively blindfolded and gagged by her own dress. The loop of cord also prevented her from getting at the fastenings and undoing the dress. (On a side note, she also lost her rod and the fish. I just knew that wouldn’t please her.)

By this stage it was dawning on Brenda that she was effectively nude bar a small pair of lacy panties, but before she had a chance to worry about that I’d attended to that last little detail, drawing her panties down to her ankles. Brenda started to kick and struggle at this stage but that was OK. I lifted her up and her kicking very neatly disposed of her panties for me.

Carrying Brenda, I stepped off the jetty and laid her on to the nice sandy section that someone had thoughtfully laid there when they did the jetty clean up. Brenda was still wriggling and kicking and I could hear muffled sounds coming from under the dress. Not the sort of language I’d expected her to use. It just goes to show, you never can tell.

Of course, having Brenda kicking and struggling wasn’t in my plans. A sharp spank on the bottom caused her to pause her struggling for a moment. As soon as the struggling resumed I gave her another sharp spank and waited. She learned fast. It only took four or five spanks for her to learn she wasn’t to struggle.

Now it was time to explore my prize. I cupped her breasts, squeezing gently. Brenda tensed and seemed about to start struggling, but a gentle tap on the bottom as a reminder calmed her down. With that I started admiring her breasts physically.

I stroked those wonderful globes, cupped them and squeezed them. I rolled her nipples around, feeling them harden and stand tall like good little soldiers. I tasted her, kissing and laving her breasts, suckling on her nipples. I could almost feel them swelling under my touch and Brenda, while moving around under my touch, wasn’t struggling. I have no doubt that she’d deny it but several times she turned her breasts towards my seeking mouth, offering them to me.

After a while I checked to be certain that the cord was still nicely fastened, holding her firmly. It was, and I was pleased about that, because when my hand closed over her mound she almost jumped straight up into the air.

A stream of abuse came from under her dress, muffled fortunately, because I’m sure that I would have blushed if I heard it properly. Her earlier spanking lesson held, and Brenda didn’t try to struggle, just abused me while I started further depravations upon her person.

I slid off my trousers and lay next to her, one of my legs pressing firmly between hers. I didn’t use any force. Just pressed between her legs, letting her hold them closed while my hands roamed around her body, travelling up to her breasts and then wandering back down to her pussy.

With her legs closed it was hard to do any serious entertainment where Brenda’s pussy was concerned. I was limited to massaging her mons and rubbing the tops of her lips, scratching lightly along the upper end of her slit and waiting.

If you keep up a gentle pressure, it is very hard to resist it. The person fighting the pressure puts a lot more effort in resisting than you do in pressing forward. The weight of my knee pressing between hers wasn’t much when I started and Brenda could resist easily. But the strain on her muscles as she tried to hold her legs firmly together began to tell, and each time she relaxed a little her legs were parted just that little bit more and she couldn’t regain any lost ground.

I heard her give a final frustrated scream and then her legs yielded to the pressure, parting to let my leg slip between them. My hand natural followed suit, sliding along her pussy and taking full possession of it. Now I had something to work with.

My fingers stroked and dipped, caressed and squeezed, stirring her pussy to reluctant life. My fingers slipped in and out, building up the tension, giving Brenda a hint of what was to come.

When I finally felt Brenda responding and pushing up against my intruding digits I changed tack once more. Instead of sliding in and out my finger stayed inside her, stroking and seeking. A little bit of exploring and I was brushing against her clitoris.

The first time my fingers touched it I could feel Brenda jump in shock, and that initial jump became a constant tremor as I started seriously paying attention to her there. I steadily flicked and caressed her clit, feeling her responses building. She was screaming and tossing her head back and forth, not knowing what to do about this exquisite torture.

I continued playing until I felt her stiffen. Her internal muscles were trying to clamp onto my fingers and Brenda was shuddering. Satisfied that she’d had a climax I decided that it was now my turn.

I pushed her legs wider, lifting her knees. Brenda must have known what was coming but she didn’t flinch. She just lay there, hips raised slightly, waiting. I didn’t keep her waiting long. I eased forward, felt her hymen and pushed briskly through it. She squealed at that but it was mainly a pro forma squeal I think.

Brenda certainly wasn’t backward about accepting my cock as I drove into her. As I drove down her legs arced up and closed around me, clinging to me.

Brenda was hot, wet and tight. Very tight. I had to slowly force myself into her. Her internal muscles were nervously clenched, automatically resisting me. Again I moved slowly, applying a constant pressure, not trying to compel her to yield but just leaving her no choice but to slowly give way to my intrusion. And every little advance made the next advance that much easier.

Brenda seemed to suddenly relax and I finally drove home the last couple of inches with a quick movement. I held there for a moment, letting her know that she was conquered and mine to use as I wished. The moment seemed to stretch, then I pulled slowly out, very slowly withdrawing until just the head of my cock was still inside her.

This time my entry was faster and smoother. There was no resistance, with Brenda just letting me drive home. I didn’t pull back for another thrust right away. I wanted Brenda to cooperate and participate, not just lie there.

Although fully inside her, I pressed hard against her and then relaxed without withdrawing. And again, just causing a repeating pressure against her pussy while staying fully within her. After a while I could feel an answering pressure and a mutual relaxation.

Now that Brenda had started moving with me I started drawing back a bit before returning. She had the rhythm now, her hips pressing up to meet my strokes, which at this stage were still quite gentle.

I could hear Brenda making muffled sounds under her gagging dress, but whether in pleasure, anger or indifference I couldn’t tell. I could tell that her pussy was no longer indifferent, moving smoothly up to meet me with each thrust.

While enjoying myself, what we were doing wasn’t enough. The way Brenda was starting to writhe under me I suspected it wasn’t enough for her either, so I started work in earnest.

After one long gentle stroke had been met with suspicious eagerness, I pulled fully back, paused, and then thrust back in hard and fast. I actually heard Brenda squeal at that stroke but her hips still thrust up quickly to meet it. As far as I was concerned that was the signal and I started driving in full force, daring Brenda to match me.

For someone so experienced, Brenda had plenty of drive. She was arching her back, pushing up to greet me, welcoming my insistent ravishment of her body. I could hear muffled squeals and screams of excitement as our bodies duelled, with Brenda apparently lost to everything but the excitement being raised within her.

I was having fun and things were going so well that I was taken by surprise when Brenda suddenly climaxed again. She gave a shriek and I could feel her squeezing my cock hard while she lay shuddering under me, her legs kicking loose and waving at the sky.

Instead of continuing to pound her as she lay there half stunned I did what any red-blooded man would do. I pulled out, flipped Brenda over onto her tummy, lifted her bottom up and was driving back into her, hard and fast.

I reached around and took hold of Brenda’s breasts, squeezing them tightly. By the time Brenda started to come down from her climax I was driving vigorously into her. She’d had two now, so she owed me one at least.

Brenda seemed to just wait a moment, assessing the changed situation, and then I heard a squeal and her bottom lifted, helping me drive fully into her. From that point it became a race. I was pumping her lustily, eager to reach my own climax while Brenda was responding with fire and fury, practically flinging herself against my rampaging weapon.

As my own climax neared I was pounding her harder and harder, mauling her breasts unmercifully, then I was shooting into her, hearing her outraged scream followed quickly by a startled gasp and a shriek as a third climax hit her.

This time when I withdrew I kept on going, fading out of the area. Well, not out of the area so much as out of Brenda’s sight. I did stay back in the shadows to make sure that she got herself untangled and that no-one tried to molest her while she was in an awkward predicament.

Brenda eventually realised that I was gone, got her hands free and found her panties. That’s when she found her rod was missing, her catch having towed it into the water while she was entertaining me.

That’s why she’s so mad about the whole affair. She was prepared to take the rape as one of those things that happen and she’ll be more careful in future. The rod was a good one but it could be replaced.

The trout, however, had been Old Gramps. Everyone had been after that old bastard for years. It probably weighed in at about twenty pounds and Brenda had snagged him. She had all but landed him when somebody had caused her to drop her rod and he’d got away. No-one believes she hooked him, which makes her even madder. Like I said, if she ever finds out it was me I’ll have to emigrate.