Trapped

I was in an unusual predicament but it wasn't really my fault. It was just one of those unfortunate accidents that could happen to anyone. It happened like this.

I'm eighteen, fit and healthy, and reasonably slender. That's how I considered myself anyway and I hadn't heard anyone disputing that. I worked at a small factory on the far side of town. Now there were two ways to get to the factory from my place. First there was a twenty minute hike around the town and there I was. No problems. The second was a five minute walk, cutting through the old ruins, and there I was. No problems.

Now I ask you, which way would you go? That's right -- five minutes and I'm at work or at home, depending on which way I was going. It was early spring, the days being a bit iffy. The morning was warm but, being cautious I'd taken a coat with me, not really trusting the weather.

It was the correct decision, too. When I finished work that evening it was cold and I was quite pleased to have that coat, I can assure you. Coat on I moved smartly homeward, not the least worried about cutting through the old ruins. Why would I be? I'd been that way lots of times, that very morning for that matter.

The trouble was that to cut through the old ruins the easiest way was to slip through a hole in a wall. Too much rubble around to go any other way. I suspected that people like me had occasionally shifted a bit of rubble to make sure our path stayed clear. I know I had.

From the way the hole was positioned I suspected that it had been a window of some sort and some careful soul had salvaged part of the window, including the glass. Valuable stuff glass, if it's in a frame. This part salvage had resulted in a hole a little smaller than it ought to have been but, like I said, I'd already been through it once today.

It turned out that there were a couple of things that I hadn't taken into account. Little things, like the fact that I'd put on some weight over winter, which is to be expected of a growing girl who's figure is rounding out quite nicely. Little things, like the fact that a young lady with a coat takes up a bit more space than one carrying said coat.

I was just sliding past the narrow part of the hole when I came to an abrupt halt. That weight I mentioned was apparently settled around my hips and with the coat on I no longer fitted. This was a nuisance but not a tragedy. I simply had to slide back, take off the coat, and slide through. I slid back.

This is where I found that I'd also gained weight in the chest department. I have no idea why this was preventing my retreat but it was doing so. Now I was in a predicament, stuck in the wall, unable to go forward or backward.

My immediate instinct was to wriggle and I did so quite energetically. No good. This was so frustrating. I wasn't cramped in position. The trouble was that of a girl's three measurements the waist measurement was always less than the hips or bust. I hadn't realised just how much the difference made.

In between wriggling around I called out, hearing not a single answer. Sure, someone would be along sooner or later, but I wanted them to come along now.

"Stuck?" came a laughing enquiry. The voice seemed sort of familiar but I couldn't quite place it. I was going to make a sarcastic reply but decided discretion was the better choice. I acknowledged my stuckness and heard him laugh. (I was pretty sure it was a him.)

"Try wriggling forward again," came the suggestion, and I did so, going nowhere.

"Yeah, that won't work. Backwards?"

Another wriggle and another failure and another laugh from my rescuer.

"I see what's happening," he said. "There's two bits of rebar in the wall. Depending on the direction you move one of them drags against your clothes and stops you. An interesting little dilemma. Just wait a moment while I consider the problem."

"You know, I think your best bet is to wait until someone else gets here and we can attend to the problem from both sides at once. Just relax for a while."

That said his hands slid up under my dress and he pulled my panties down. I was outraged. I mean, I was a virgin and I'd never had a man touching me like that.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded. "You stop that at once."

"Just helping you relax a little," he said. "I mean, it's not as though you've got anything else to do."

He'd moved closer to me, pushing my legs apart.

"Nice," he said, rubbing my vulva.

I protested and he ignored me. His hand moved back and forth along my vulva, pausing to slip a couple of fingers inside me to massage me internally. I threatened and he explored, starting to touch me a lot more thoroughly than I'd do myself. I was feeling most peculiar.

"You have to stop that," I entreated, not noticing any lessening of the groping.

He kept touching and teasing and ignoring my wishes. I gasped when he dragged his nails lightly along my lips, making me feel the light scratching deep inside.

"You know, you're feeling hot and wet. What's it like when I touch you here?"

I felt a terrible shock go through me and I gave a small scream.

"That's what I thought," he said in a smug voice. "The clitoris is rather sensitive isn't it?"

"No it's not," I denied most emphatically.

"Oh. My mistake. I thought you reacted when I did this."

I promptly screamed when he touched me in the same area, wanting to heap a pile of curses upon him.

"Just don't do that," I gasped.

"What this?" he said, stroking my clitoris, the swine.

"None of it," I said hastily. "Just leave me alone."

"But that wouldn't be fair to you," he protested. "You feel all hot and wet and ready. Look what happens when I do this."

He pressed a couple of fingers against the entrance to my vagina and I could feel them sliding deep into me.

"Take them out," I entreated, and he sighed.

"If I must, I must," he said, his hand moving away. "First of all, how does this feel."

His fingers stretched my lips apart again, and I was lightly biting my lip waiting for his fingers to slide back in. Then he was touching me again and it took me a couple of moments to realise that he wasn't sliding his fingers inside again. If his fingers were as fat and long as what he was pushing into me he'd have had very strange hands.

If he actually popped my cherry or not I had no idea. I suspected it had been propped at some earlier time, not noticed except in some incidental way. I guess they're designed to pop fairly easily.

Hands on my hips he held me firmly, his cock sinking deeper and deeper. I was -- irritated -- to find that I was pushing to meet him. I didn't want this but it seemed that my body had other ideas. He held me, leaning into me, me taking him deep, and he gently encouraging me and telling me how good I felt. (If what he was feeling was anything like what his cock was doing to my insides then he damn well should be praising me.)

He started sliding back and forth, encouraging me to move with him. Not that I needed much encouragement, truth to tell. His cock was doing a fine job all of its own in that area. He'd come sliding in, stirring me up and raising my temperature, only to drop back, leaving me agitated and my temperature not decreasing one little bit.

He was banging in harder now and I suspected that it wouldn't be that long before I climaxed. I wondered what it would be like.

"Would you like me to stop now?" he asked and I damn near had a heart attack.

He wouldn't dare stop at this point. Would he?

"Of course I want you to stop," I yelled. "I've already said that."

"Too bad," he said, laughing, "as I'm not going to."

Quite frankly, if he had I'd have found a way to kill him. As it was I just surrendered to his assault, knowing that I'd said the right things.

It didn't take much longer for me to climax, and it was amazing. From the sounds he was making he enjoyed himself as well. He finally pulled away from me. Then he yelled, "of course," and slapped my bottom.

"Ow. What?"

"Just a thought. Try to push on through the gap," he said.

I did so, feeling the clamp closing over my waist as I moved. Then he was reaching around me, pushing the rebar out of the way. Just like that I was free and slipping through the hole.

"It occurred to me that that might work, and by damn, it did. Lucky."

With that he was gone, going back in the direction he came from. I was certain I knew that voice. I'd probably be listening for it for weeks. He'd also walked off with my panties, blast him. The big question was when did it occur to him that moving the rebar might work? Before or after?