Important Note: For those of you who have read my stories before, I want to warn you that the Poor Amy series is a different type of story than I have written in the past. No romance, very little caring, and often, very non-consensual. See my blog (http://mwtb-blog.blogspot.com/2006/10/poor-amy-series.html) for more details.
Amy Jameson was snared. Amy was a nurse, and one of her duties was to inventory the medical supply cabinet every Tuesday and Friday. Amy had been doing her job, when she reached deep into a drawer to try and pull back a small box that had fallen there. When she had the box firmly in hand, she discovered that her shirt had been snared by a sharp corner of the cabinet.
Amy tried pulling herself lose, however she stopped when she felt the fabric pulling. Amy was in a bit of financial hole at the moment, and she did not want to have to spend the money to repair or replace the uniform. She spent five minutes gently moving around, and she finally decided that she would either have to rip the shirt or take it off. She had unbuttoned half of the buttons when she heard someone come in.
"Thank God!" Amy exclaimed. "Can you help me out here? I'm stuck!"
The person didn't say anything, but they came over and felt at the point where she was caught. After a moment, the unknown stranger stepped away. Amy waited for a few seconds, then thought about what she must look like. The drawer that she was leaning over was level with the top of her stomach, and to reach in she had to be up slightly on her toes. Her arse was sticking right out, and she could feel that her skirt was pulled up to nearly the top of her stockings. Amy's arms were in the drawer, holding up her weight, and her blonde hair fell over her face. She was unable to turn her head enough to see anything behind her.
Amy said, "Hello, can you help me please?"
When she received no response, she began to get nervous. "Hello?" she repeated in a quavering voice.
Just then, she felt a hand on her back. The hand pushed the shirt up, exposing her bare back to the stranger. She felt the person's hand lightly rubbing her back.
"What are you doing?" she asked, trying but failing to put some indignation into her voice.
The hand continued caressing her for a few minutes as Amy Jameson became more and more nervous. The hand pulled away and Amy was about to breathe a sigh of relief when the stranger placed their hands on her legs, just below her hips.
"Please just release me," Amy begged, but instead the hands started pulling Amy's skirt up.
"Stop, or I'll scream!" Amy whispered hoarsely. However the stranger did not stop and Amy did not scream. Soon Amy's knickers were exposed to the unknown assailant. Amy was not even sure if it was a man or a woman, though the actions strongly indicated that it was a man.
The surprisingly gentle hands left Amy momentarily, and then she felt something cold and hard on her hip, slipping under the band of her knickers. Amy heard a snip, then felt the loosening around her waist. Another snip on the other hip and her knickers fell to the floor.
"You'd better stop right now!" Amy cried. She knew that she should scream, but she could not imagine what it would be like to be caught in this position.
Amy had just about decided that she was going to scream anyway when her blonde-furred twat was speared hard and fast. Amy gasped and grunted in pain. She discovered that she was far wetter than she expected, yet she was still not lubricated enough to easily take the organ that had been shoved into her, removing any doubt as to the sex of her assailant. Amy just about had her breath back when the man pulled most of the way out, then shoved himself back in, seating himself right up against her cervix, filling her completely.
Amy Jameson was no virgin. She had slept with six guys, and even fooled around with a girl once, but she had never been this full in her life, not even with the toys that she played with. Her mind was numb, and she could not figure out what to do, but to her dismay her body did not seem to share that reaction. Her pussy was lubricating quickly, and there was a tingling from her scalp to her toes, particularly centred on her nipples and her clitoris.
The well endowed stranger continued on, oblivious and uncaring of the warring feelings coursing through Amy's body and mind. The stranger's hands reached in the drawer that had Amy snared and discovered that Amy's shirt was half unbuttoned. She heard a deep chuckle as he reached in and pushed her bra out of the way, grasping her nipples in his fingers and twisting. She gasped again as more warm feelings spread through her body, and she realized with embarrassment and betrayal that she was about to have an orgasm.
Amy clenched down, trying to withstand the forces building in her body. Her unknown partner enjoyed the feelings that her efforts created on his cock, but all of Amy's attempts came to naught as her body convulsed in pleasure. Amy managed to muffle the shrieks of pleasure that wanted to explode at her loudest volume, but her body clearly revealed its pleasure to the large cock violating it, and the stranger shoved even more deeply into her, grabbing her hips.
Even through the haze of orgasm, Amy knew what that meant. "No, please, pull out!" Amy begged. "I'm not on any birth control."
For a second, Amy thought that she had gotten through as the man started pulling out, but it was just so that he could get enough speed to slam the tip of his cock right into her cervix and pump gushes and gushes of cum into her unprotected womb. For some reason completely alien to Amy, that thought redoubled the feelings slamming through her, and she sagged down, weak with exhaustion.
Amy Jameson's unknown sperm donor pulled out, rubbed her ass gently, then walked out. Amy remained there for another five minutes before she had the strength to push herself up and remove her shirt. She slipped it off then pulled herself up on her weak legs. Amy looked around the empty room. Except for the cum dripping down from between her legs and the overwhelming mental and physical exhaustion that her orgasm had caused, it could have been a dream. She glanced down between her legs, and was worried that there was not more cum dripping out. Given the number of pulses that she had felt, she was sure it would be pouring out in buckets.
Amy pulled her bra back into place, pulled the treacherous shirt carefully from where it was snared, and put her clothes back on. Her shredded panties lay on the floor, and she didn't know what to do with them. She used them to wipe up the excess fluids that she had produced, then stuck them in her pocket.
Amy found her supervisor and told her that she wasn't feeling well, and could she please go home and come in early on Monday morning to finish the inventory? Her concerned supervisor immediately agreed, and Amy went home. Despite the early hour, and despite her desire to wash away any evidence of the day, as soon as she reached home she pulled off all her clothes and collapsed into bed.
When Amy woke up the next morning, she couldn't remember why she felt so bizarre. Then it all came back to her. She remembered the events in the supply closet, but she also remembered the vivid dreams that she had been having all night, the visions of her tied down, defiled, used. She started rubbing the sleep out of her eyes when she realized that her fingers were goopy with her own juices. "Oh my god!" Amy thought. "I must have been masturbating to my dreams!"
Amy got up and took a long, hot shower, paying particular attention to getting her pussy quite clean. She wanted to scrub further, but she stopped when she realized that the contact of the cloth was turning her on again. All day Saturday and all day Sunday, as she went around doing her normal weekend activities, her mind kept replaying the events of Friday afternoon.
It was finally Sunday night, less than twelve hours before she had to return to work, when Amy acknowledged that far from sending her into waves of tears and remorse, every time she thought about the events in the supply room she became aroused, excited, wet. She spent a good portion of the night trying to analyze her feelings and her feelings about her feelings, but she could not figure it out.
Amy got up early on Monday and completed the inventory without incident, though she constantly looked towards the door. When the inventory was over, Amy went to the door, but then she stopped. She returned to the drawer that she had been stuck in and examined the stray piece of metal that was sticking up, the one that had snared her shirt and led to the events last Friday.
She opened the drawer and reached her hand back in, careful not to snag herself this time. She stood there for a good three minutes, in the same position that she had found herself stuck in the previous week. Finally, she sighed and left the room to do the rest of her job.
Amy Jameson was up quite a bit of the night, worried about what would happen when she had to do her regular inventory the next afternoon. She never made a conscious decision, but she noticed that the underwear that she wore was her date underwear, and she had selected the pair with the strings that held it all together with a bow. She was even shocked when she realized that she had slipped her diaphragm into her bag.
"What am I thinking?" Amy thought, though she couldn't, or wouldn't, answer herself.