I'd been had, hook line and sinker. Hook line and sinker. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.Dianne let go of my cock."Did he twig?" the policewoma... asked."No," Dianne said. "Not an inkling. Thick as a plank. Daft as a bog brush." Then to me she said, as if to a halfwit. "Aren't you: daft as a bog brush?" My head was spinning. "Well," Diane added. "You wanted rape. Guess what? You're going to get it."And there I was, down on all fours, handcuffed to the radiator, naked arse in the air, a big. My mum soon initiated me into the secrets of womanhood which then consisted mainly of tying a strip of old sheet round your waist and between your legs and washing what Mother called my kitten regularly.Father was the manager of a pot bank at a local china factory in Stoke on Trent where we lived and mother ran a small grocery shop which we lived above. Father died of a heart attack at the breakfast table when I was 16. I was studying for my school certificate exams at the local all-girl. She knew that it was useless to protest or ask for the man to stop. He had his orders and was clearly enjoying obeying them to the letter. She concentrated on trying to control her convulsive shivering as the dousing went remorselessly on and on and on, the jet moving steadily up and down her body. She was directed to turn around from time to time so that her back might get its share and Mr Fitch have a sight of her bruised, battered, but still firm and shapely, rump. The gardener began to feel. I said its fine. I then yanked her panty and started smelling her cunt. The exotic smell was driving me crazy. I then started brushing her pussy with the bottom of her panty’s thin cloth in a to and fro motion. She was gasping for air when I did that and started moaning erotically and started saying “ I love you Rahul…..I am all yours today…fuck me to the core”. She was also pressing her tits over her bra. Soon she removed her bra and threw it away. I brought her panty to the bottom of her legs.
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