Winifred was tired from the long drive, and she badly had to piss. She hadn’t felt the urge when she’d passed the restaurant on the A3 a few miles back, but almost as soon as she passed the turn-off she began to feel the need – Murphy’s Law! Since then, the road miles had seemed endless for the 61 year old professional journalist returning from covering a Government declaration in Whitehall London. She felt an almost physical release when she saw a sign for a bird sanctuary. Maybe there was a bathroom there; or if not, then at least maybe the woods would do. The bird sanctuary itself turned out to be quite a way from the road. It did have a small cement building, with two green metal doors. There was one other vehicle in the small gravel parking lot, a battered brown pick-up truck. Nobody was in sight.
Getting out of her car, Winifred found that the green door on the left had a silhouette of a woman, and, thankfully, was open. Inside was dirty and cold and there was only one toilet stall, but the relief Winifred felt when she squatted over the toilet seat which looked grubby made her as comfortable as if she were sitting on a palace throne.
Her business took her only a minute. She was just dabbing off her recently shaved fanny, which her younger husband Simon insisted on, which she then realised needed a more thorough job feeling the stubble, with some toilet paper when she heard the women’s room door open, and then close again with a heavy clang. The gravel trodding boots on the cement floor didn’t sound like a woman’s boots. “Ah sorry, It’s occupied,” Winifred said aloud, thinking that maybe a cleaner had entered the room. “I’ll be out in just a second.” “Finish your business, plenty of time,” a man’s voice said, noting the cultured tone on her voice, “But leave your panties off. Come out with your eyes tightly closed.” Winifred was stunned into silence! Oh no! Was it really going to happen to her? All her life, like every woman, she’d wondered if she’d ever be raped. Was this really going to happen?
“Come on,” the impatient male voice said. A heavy hand beat on her stall door. “Just stand up and leave your panties on the floor. Come on!” The hand beat again. Clearly the man was strong enough to knock down the flimsy door ... if he wanted to. Winifred stood up. “Leave them!” the man commanded as if he could judge what state she was in with her undies, as Winifred automatically reached down toward her panties. She was bare from the waist down. Her beige slacks and silk pale green panties with the cute teddy bear pattern were bunched at her ankles, confined to her feet by her own sensible driving footwear.
“Take off your shirt and hand it over the door,” the man commanded. “Please...” Winifred started to say, but he pounded on the stall door viciously. Winifred slowly began unbuttoning her light blue denim shirt. Tears were beginning in her eyes. Winifred wasn’t sure if she was angry, but she was definitely frightened. Very timidly she passed her shirt over the top of the stall door, surrendering it to the man. It disappeared swiftly. He now had her helpless.
“Now your brassiere,” he said. Winifred guessed he was mature otherwise he would have said bra, but that didn’t matter as her brain raced tried to think of some argument, some way to reason with him, but she was fearful of angering him. She decided that she’d better cooperate. She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, removing her arms from the loops and exposing her breasts to the cold air, sensing without glancing her nipples erecting. Winifred was still in the stall and he couldn’t yet see her, but she suddenly started crying aloud.
“The bra!” he demanded, and Winifred handed her bra over the top of the stall door. This time she saw his hand. It was white, with clean fingernails. For some reason she’d expected his fingernails to be dirty. Winifred stood naked in the stall for several minutes, sobbing. Her body was chilled; she felt very exposed. He wasn’t hurrying her now. That made Winifred cry harder, realizing that he was confident at taking his time.
“Okay, you’ve had your cry,” he said, “Now close your eyes tightly and come out.” Winifred closed her eyes, tried to be brave, and unlocked the stall door. She heard the door swing open only slightly, but then felt it pushed open. She was covering her eyes with her hands, as well as keeping her eyes closed tightly. She felt him grab her left elbow and let him guide her from the stall. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and his hand felt warm in the cold air of the bathroom. He led Winifred out of the stall a few steps, and then kept her standing upright while he evidently inspected her body. His hand stayed on her elbow.
“You look very nice,” he said, his voice not at all cruel sounding now. “Thank you,” Winifred stammered, not really knowing what to say. He touched Winifred’s left breast, just caressing the nipple with open fingertips. “Very nice, big and hard,” he said. His open hand slid across to her right breast then, and then back and forth between them. He teased at Winifred’s nipples very lightly with his fingertips. Winifred felt ashamed knowing her nipples were erect almost instantly inside in the chill air and no seeming to suggest she was hot and horny.
“I could play with these forever,” he said. Winifred was ashamed to feel pride in what he’d said. “I’ve never touched such responsive breasts,” he added. Winifred didn’t say anything; she didn’t know what answer to give. His hand slid down Winifred’s soft overflowing belly to between her legs, and his middle finger gently parted her pussy lips, and eased just a little way inside her. “Hmmm! Baldy too ... or nearly, dear me,” he scolded. He tickled her there for several minutes, very slowly, barely moving his finger within her. Winifred couldn’t see him, but she wondered if he was still looking at her breasts or if he was looking between her legs.
“You’re very willing, aren’t you? Tasty wet” he snickered. Winifred was ashamed to be wet with arousal. “I guess you’re more willing than frightened?” he asked. “Yes,” Winifred replied. “I’ll ... I’ll do whatever you want; and then you won’t hurt me Right ... pleeeaaase?” He continued playing with Winifred’s wet twat for several more minutes, saying nothing, making himself familiar with her naked and helpless body. She felt a warmth of new arousal between her legs, and her body no longer felt chilled. Winifred knew that her lustful desires were beginning to betray her. She had been up since four that morning and refused Simon his morning glory shag, because she had to prepare for the politician’s interviews. They had fucked every chance they had since her second marriage to this 50 year old estate agent.
During all this while the man had kept his hand on Winifred’s elbow. Now he led her forward. She had to move slowly because one ankle were still entangled within her slacks. To Winifred, her tailored slacks from Debenhams in Guildord which would be ruined now, felt like shackles; she knew that she couldn’t run away with her ankles confined like that. “Bend over,” he said. “Keep your eyes closed, but put your hands out in front of you.” Winifred bent forward, reaching out. Her hands felt the cold surface of the bathroom sink.
“Bend farther forward; put your head in the sink.” “Please,” Winifred begged, her voice echoing off the porcelain sink. “Please don’t drown me like this. I’ll surrender to anything you want to do to me.” He scoffed and pushed the back of her head down forcing Winifred to bend more. She found that her face fitted inside the bathroom sink. She knew that there was a mirror above the sink, and guessed now that her captor put her in this position, she couldn’t sneak a peep at him in the mirror.
In the bent-over position, Winifred’s upper body was almost parallel to the floor, her small droopy breasts hung downward; she was exposed entirely exposed from the rear. “Okay, you can have me like this,” she shouted, “I’m ready, just do it and get it over with,” she yelled, raising her rear slightly, anticipating penetration. He placed a hand on the back of her neck, scaring Winifred for a moment, but then he only brushed her greying hair forward so that more of her skin was exposed.
He began feeling Winifred everywhere. He caressed the flesh of her back, feeling her with both hands, like an artist might caress the marble of a fine statue. She was proud of her figure, working out at a gym once a week, accompanying Simon and sharing the naked sauna and showers with various like minded free thinking residents of the cathedral city. OK her bingo wings were there and the extra folds round her torso and belly, but they were in proportion. He reached beneath her and felt her breasts. He played with her breasts for a long time. He complemented Winifred about what fine skin she had, what good breasts, about what an excellent woman she was, and the wisdom of her obedience.
She was flattered with his choice of words, knowing her breasts weren’t pretty, being sort of narrow and partly filled balloon like. He often touched her pussy, stroking it with his fingertips, sliding the tips of his fingers into it. He caressed her gently right on her clit. “You’ll be alright,” he promised her. “I just want to fuck you.” He touched her hair too, and told her that it was sensual and mentioned for her years it was stylish. He touched her shoulders. His hands caressed her goose bumped rump, slid up and own her thighs, all the way down to her ankles and all the way up. He touched Winifred’s clit again. He parted her pussy lips gently, as if preparing it for something very big. He returned to touch her there again and again as he explored the whole of her body.
He even touched Winifred’s face, reaching into the sink to feel her cheeks, touching her lips with his fingertips, which he made her kiss. The Formica sink surround felt cold and the edge was digging into her belly, but Winifred’s body was beginning to feel warm everywhere, especially wherever he was touching her. She heard him undress. That was the only time he stopped touching her. Ever since he’d first touched Winifred’s elbow, he’d always kept one of his hands on some part of her body, owning her flesh. Winifred felt colder while he was undressing. When he touched her again, his touch felt anticipated, familiar, desired. He eased a finger into Winifred’s pussy, deeper now than before, and then he slid it in and out, slowly and rhythmically.