Part fiction, part reality. The forced fondling really happened. Somewhat non-consensual, but fun.
My husband and I were at a corporate retreat out in the wild woods of Maine for like five days. His group were having lots of business meetings, team building, that sort of thing. But spouses were welcome, with plenty of tennis courts, swimming pool, nature hikes to keep them occupied. We got together for dinner and evening parties. The next-to-last night, my husband's boss wanted to take us two out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. Out in the back woods of Maine, fancy restaurants are not easy to come by, so this one was a long drive away, an hour plus.
My husband, Tommy, is driving. I'm in the front seat, Ross the Boss is in the back seat sitting sort of sideways. It's a little cramped for a tall man, there's not a lot of legroom back there.
Tommy is concentrating on driving these back roads. Ross is talking to me. To stress something he reaches around the seat to touch my shoulder. A while later, he does that again, touching my arm.
After another time or two, he leaves his hand there. He gently strokes down my arm. I'm wearing a light summer dress with short sleeves. He touches my arm with almost a caress. He moves a little up and down my skin. Yes, definitely more than a friendly touch, more like a caress.
I'm a little uncomfortable. This is certainly unusual but not a big deal. Don't make a big deal out of it. This is after all husband's boss, and hubby likes his job.
I move over a little bit. He moves from my arm to my side, onto my dress. It's a hot summer evening. I have nothing under this lightweight dress but the usual bra and panties. He strokes my side. Doing that, he can feel the strap of my bra. (Guys always do that, check out women's underwear by feeling more or less innocently.)
Then his hand moves forward a bit to touch the cup of my bra and the side of my right breast inside it. Now this is getting too personal. I put my hand on his to signal him to stop right there. Doesn't work. He moves forward under my hand to cup my whole breast. Oh, geez, now this is really way too personal. What the hell!
But I can't say anything, and gentle prodding doesn't get him to remove his hand. I pinch the back of his hand. With my fingernails, that has to hurt. His response is to squeeze my breast firmly so that I feel the hurt, too.
Cripes, what can I do? I let him continue. He wants to feel my boob, okay, that's not that big a deal. At least, I'm going to pretend for today that it isn't that big a deal.
He fondles my breast, supports it to feel its weight. He squeezes and kneads it, firmly but gently, and that feels good. My nipples are hard, only a little from the car's air conditioning but mainly from my breast being fondled like this.
Of course he finds the protruding nipple and pinches it lightly. That feels *really* good. My nipples have always had a direct line to my libido. Little lightning jolts go down from my chest to my crotch.
My husband sees nothing of course, knows nothing of what is happening to me. He is concentrating on this curvy, wet road and the constant hazards of moose in the road. We are still talking, off and on, through all this, so he probably doesn't sense anything unusual.
Meantime I am constantly being molested by his boss. He probably thinks that he can get away with feeling up an employee's wife - and he's probably right about that. I am not going to make a scene and endanger my husband's great career. I am not about to lodge a sexual harassment complaint over a little feelski in the car.
Ross is not satisfied with just my breast, apparently. He moves farther over to the side of the back seat, to allow him to reach me more easily. And reach more of my body.
He moves his hand down from my breast to my waist. Over to my hip. Uh-oh. He feels the side of my bikini panties. Now he knows that I have panties on, and he knows that they are very small ones. Lightweight dress, lightweight panties. Small triangles to cover the important regions, but only a little string on the sides.
His fingers start to gather the material of my skirt. He's pulling it up my leg! The skirt was short as it was, well above my knees when I'm standing. It's even shorter when I'm sitting, most of my thigh is visible. Tommy likes that and so do I. But now that provides an open avenue for Ross to get to my leg.
He's pulling the skirt up, higher on my right leg. If my husband looked over he would see that my thigh was almost totally uncovered. I rearrange my arms and hands to hide this. I don't want Tommy to get distracted by this and wreck the car. Good excuse. I really don't want my husband to know that his boss is sexually molesting his wife, and to know that his wife is complicit in hiding those sexual touches from view.
