Laying the Groundwork
Once he'd freed her skirt, she watched, disbelievingly, as he folded it carefully and placed it over his shoulder, but not before he had adjusted it a couple of times, touching it, folding it again almost reverently, looking at it carefully as though making up his mind about something.
Then, he quickly buried his face in it and breathed deeply into it where she sat on it (the lascivious sod! Didn’t he know she could see him?), then he slid down the ramp on his feet as though he were on an ice slide, keeping his balance all the way down and as though he had done it all of his life. He did not lose his balance even once, as she had, and landed beside her holding onto the rope she had hoped to hang on to.
He grinned at her as though he knew that she had seen him sniffing her skirt where she would sit on it, but didn’t care, challenging her to dare to say something. What would she say? There was a word for what he had done: gum-ballooing, or something like that, as when boys went around sniffing the seats of the girls bikes. She shivered at thought of them doing that depraved thing.
When he had been freeing her panties earlier, and she had felt his breath on her, he may have been close to sniffing her there too. Or more than that; a lick or a kiss! Just as bad!
Men, were deeply-disturbed animals!
After sorting out the top of her skirt and the straps, he leaned in to wrap it around her with an eighteen inch overlap of material, bringing the straps and buckles together; too tight at first, adjusting it with his hands holding into it at the waist, and with his fingers even going down into the top of her panties to do so, moving them around too with her skirt (he was being deliberately mischievous, maybe, but seemed serious, so she could say nothing). He constantly startled her and had even briefly touched some hair behind there (again), and intentionally, if the dreamy look on his face meant anything. He would deny it if she accused him of doing that deliberately. It had all been a fast, hit and run. Then he fastened the straps at her waist.
She could look closely at him as he did that for her, coming close to her. Too close. He had a strangely alluring smell to him. He had showered recently, but he still had some stubble that he had missed when he had last shaved. He was too virile for comfort. Her comfort!
His eyebrows were as light-colored as his hair, but not blond, and his eyes were a grey-blue. His breath was warm inside her blouse, flowing over her breasts as he did that, standing over her and way too close, and she wasn’t sure that some of that wasn’t deliberate either. He was constantly mischievous; constantly curious about her, or was always ready to push boundaries to see what he could get away with before she choked up and said something to stop him. To try to stop him.
A typical male! She was not amused but couldn't say anything accusatory. It might all have been accidental, happening so fast. But she hadn’t imagined it any more than she had imagined that he was aroused. He was still that way and it had briefly touched against her. She'd better keep her eyes open and be ready for him.
“Let’s get you to the house.”
She had no intention of going to his house with him. No bloody way! Not with him like that all of the time. Once out of the barn she would kiss him off, head back to school, think about what had happened, and do it for herself somewhere safer for her to do so than in his company.
She was sore, and limped slowly beside him as he held her arm. Her straps on her skirt had stretched too, and it was still loose, sitting too low on her waist and about to drop off her just like her panties. He knew why she limped. She wouldn’t want to let him help her but it would have to be seen to. She was in too much discomfort and wouldn’t be able to make it back to school.
She was too damned stubborn and proud for her own good.
At that point he picked her up easily without asking her permission, looking down into her face, listening for any complaint about pain.
Again, he looked like he wanted to kiss her. Perhaps she wouldn’t object so much if he did. He was decisive about everything, once he had made up his mind, and he was much stronger than he looked. If this was what fate intended for her...? She soon recovered from that defeatist line of thought before it got too far out of control.
She would fight him if she had too, but not yet.
“Hang on tightly or I might drop you.” Her arms went around his neck. She knew he was looking at her straining blouse, mostly gaping open and leaving her midriff exposed; looking at the top of her breasts, and at other things too, but she could do nothing about it. She was conscious of her panties being loose on her, and that they were not where they should be. As he had picked her up they had slid to near her knees on his forearm. There was no way she could have walked back to the school.
They paused at the door to the house, and he asked her to turn the doorknob for him and let them in.
‘Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.’ No easy escape now.
She could hear a kettle sizzling, and was welcomed by typical farmhouse kinds of smells: herbs drying, wood-smoke, chickens. Chickens?
It was very welcoming, or would have been in a different circumstance. She had never been inside this cottage before. And he lived here.
The cat and her kitten were there before them in front of the wood range that radiated heat. She would find another hiding place for her kitten if she needed to, but she was safe here for the moment.
“So, this where you feel safe now, is it? Yes, those awkward girls won’t bother you in here.” He was holding her in his arms and at the same time was carrying on a conversation with the cat.
Awkward girls? He had said that deliberately to get a rise out of her. She bit her tongue.
Then she saw that he was standing where he was, holding her in his arms where he could see under her skirt again in a mirror sitting on a dresser at the side of the room. The light from the window beside it illuminated her too well under there. Her panties were too relaxed, but not only that; his forearm had indeed moved them from covering her when he had picked her up, sliding them toward her knees, leaving her completely exposed under there. She reached for them with her free hand and pulled at them, but it was too late, he’d already seen everything, vulva, labia, hair, and all.
He really was a mischievous sod!
He put her down on to her feet. She felt him again, hard against her as she clutched at her underwear through her skirt, holding them both up. Her panties were another casualty of war. Was he going to be like this all of the time, knocking her off stride? She decided to say nothing, yet again. What could she say? She couldn't accuse him of deliberately holding her where he could see everything about her on display under her skirt; hair, vulva, labia; her entire quim, in full detail. The entire bearded clam.
He smiled at her. “My mother will not be back until later." He smirked at her, knowing she had seen what he had been looking at in that mirror. "Despite what you said about not needing help, I should get the school nurse for you.” He looked at her to see what she would say.
He had the upper hand. She had no cards left to play.
“No. No nurse. The headmistress would see her report and I am already in her bad books." She was almost tearful. "Can you do anything to help me? Please? I can’t go back to school looking and feeling like this.”
What had she just requested; putting herself into his hands? In truth, she had no choice about it, but if he tried....
His star was now in the ascendent (as was another part of him after what he had seen of her). This was getting better by the minute.
“I can always do something (without having to be specific about what that might be), but I'm not sure I should. This is really awkward, I’m sure you know that. You could object, as girls sometimes do, and I might get into serious trouble. I have my reputation to think of.”
And never mind hers?
What was he talking about? Boys didn’t have reputations to lose the same way girls did, and their reputations were always poor to non-existent if not outright bad. And they were usually proud of it.
She didn’t understand him.
“How could you get into trouble for helping me when I am asking you to help me? I need your help.” She sounded frustrated again.
Good. She was the one protesting for his help now, and not protesting against it. Did he really have to explain it to her? He looked into her face with his hands on either side of her, resting on the table. She was trapped between them, and he was looking into her eyes from just a few inches away, smiling, sensing the power he held over her, and at the same time sensing the lustful ache that he felt for her in his pained loins, straining at the leash. He'd better not kiss her just yet.
He spoke suggestively, almost in a whisper. “Well, first, you are alone with me in my home, where we should not be alone together.” He let that sink in.
“Second, considering where you are injured--a very tender and personal place as we both know--and hurting, and the nature of your injuries (and her loose panties. She could feel them), and with us, again, being alone like this...?” He did not elaborate further about that last one, but it was clear where his mind was.
“Third…. No, I can list all manner of objections why I should not help you. You know what the school thinks of girls entertaining men on school grounds, especially about being alone with them, which is what this is.”
"I am not ent...." She was not entertaining him that way!
He waved his hand to encompass the house and surrounding grounds. “I would be in danger in so many ways.” He let that sink in.
“If a man messes around personally, with a half undressed, well-developed (as you are), beautiful (he actually sighed), as you are, under-age girl; a minor, and one still at school, as I will have to do if…?” His voice tailed off suggestively.
She wasn’t entertaining him in even the slightest way. She was hurt. Was he just going to wash his hands of her and walk away; refuse to help her? Though he did think her to be beautiful, so he couldn't be all bad.
However, he was being ungallant.
She came back at him persuasively. So it might backfire upon her. “But I need your help. I will say nothing to cause trouble for you." She became more forceful. "And I am not under-age. And I am not half-undressed.”
Not yet she wasn’t, but she soon would be.
So she knew what he was referring to by under-age, but then all girls did by the time they got to eight or nine; under the age of consent if it was an older man, but not if he was their own age and a boy or a youth. Then, it was assumed to be harmless and innocent play, when everyone knew that it wasn't. Girls always knew more than they let on, and always tried to interest older men.
“Damn! You were reasonably safe with me until you admitted that.” That irrepressible sense of humor again.
“You should never have told me that. Now I really could get into trouble.” He continued to smile at her, looking at her, waiting to see what she would say to persuade him to progress to the next challenging stage.
She had a ready answer. “If you think I would say anything, or let you get away with anything that I did not approve of, then you have another think coming. I can defend myself.”
Them was fightin’ words!
He had known she would rise to the bait. She was a demon on the hockey field, her short hockey skirt whirling about her legs--nice legs--, giving a brief, haunting glimpse of bare legs all the way to the top. Then her knickers, but no hair to be seen (not like a few minutes ago) unfortunately.
Did they really not know how that glimpse of things disturbed a horny, young, male observer? Him? Then there were her bobbing breasts, fighting to get out of her bra as she fought off an attack. It was not a hockey match for him but a battle of the breasts; tits everywhere, girls lunging bravely for the ball, falling, their legs flailing in the air, exposing the tormenting possibilities. Oh, the thoughts and sensations that caused; knickers exposed everywhere, giving brief and haunting glimpses of almost everything, and more exciting than any game, as he imagined taking them off each of them to liven the game up for him, but mostly just off her.
He didn’t see any ball, all he saw was flying tits and flashes of knickers and bare skin. Too fleeting. He didn’t even remember what the final score had been. He’d seen enough tits and ass for the rest of his life. At least until he got home and went to soak in a cold bath.
She continued. “And if I said anything about this I would be in more trouble than you would be.” He liked to hear that.
“Then we are agreed, Erin. I won’t say anything either. But it could still become personal and be misconstrued as messing around. And you will object.”
What more did he want her to say to give him permission to help her?
He was a talker. She could have stamped her foot in frustration with him, except that would have hurt too, and her panties might not stay where they were if she were not careful.
Her frustration with him began to show. “Can you help me or not?” She didn’t understand why he would not help her. Men were always too ready to help when it was not needed, and now that it was…? And what would she do if he changed his mind about helping her and left her to deal with it herself?
“Yes, I can help you, but I told you it will get personal, and I don’t want a black eye. I saw you swing at that defender last week. If you had connected you would have felled her like an ox.”
“I will be covered.”
God, she was so naive! She didn’t seem to understand how she was injured.
“Covered? Maybe not.” He looked at her meaningfully as he said that.
“What do you mean?” She now began to feel some alarm.