Pranks

Michael was the man who lived next door. I nice enough man, I suppose. Not unhandsome, quite fit, a full head of hair, blue eyes and a friendly smile. Rather popular around the neighbourhood.

Although his name was Michael most people called him Mike or Mickey. Me, I called him Mickey Mouse because he seriously annoyed me. He was filled with a happy self-confidence that I thought was totally unwarranted.

You may have noticed that my description didn't mention his height. That's because he didn't have any worth mentioning. If he topped five foot six it would be because he was wearing high heels, and I can assure you his over-weening self-confidence wouldn't let him do such a thing.

That man irritated me so much that I have several times played little practical jokes on him. Nothing really mean or dangerous but maybe not quite nice. He knew it was me, too, but he just dismissed the prank as child's play, which irritated me even more.

If I had to describe myself (which I do) I'd own to being blonde with hazel eyes that tended to turn green when I was in a passion about something. I had a very nice figure, everyone agrees on that, am intelligent, fit, and friendly. Except with Mickey Mouse. I'm also in my early twenties and married, but no children.

One day Brendan, my husband, had to go on a work trip, and he was going to be gone for a week, much to my annoyance. Nothing could be done about it, though, so I just signed and wished him luck.

When Saturday rolled around I went outside and did some gardening. Normally Brendan would do it but with him being away I thought it wouldn't kill me to tidy things up a bit and give the plants a drink.

I did a bit of trimming and weeding. Gardens don't need much work as long as you make sure that they don't get away from you. When they do it can be a real swine of a job getting it back in order. I finished up getting out the hose and watering.

While watering I noticed Mickey Mouse was doing a little gardening, too. It was entirely accidental that when I finished watering and went to turn off the water I left the hose running, pointing at the sky. Normally I relinquish the handle, shutting off the water, as soon as I finish. Anyway, the jet of water rose into the sky and what goes up, must come down, in this case on top of poor Mickey Mouse. He was suddenly a very bedraggled looking Mouse.

"Oh, Michael, I'm so sorry," I cooed, using his proper name to show how contrite I was. "I guess I was a little careless there. Terribly sorry."

It can be hard to keep a straight face when you're dying to laugh.

"That's OK," he said. "It's a hot day anyway."

"That's why I was watering," I conceded. "You know what they say, a little water will make anything grow."

Except him, apparently.

He just looked at me and continued with his gardening while I went inside.

That evening I went down to the club. There was no way I was just going to mooch around the house feeling bored. I could meet some friends at the club, have a drink or two, no more than that, and have a bit of fun.

I'd barely got in the club and was holding my first drink when I ran into Mickey Mouse. He looked at me and then looked at my drink.

"Better drink that fast," he told me. "I don't really want to find myself wearing it."

I gave him a nasty look and quickly skulled the drink, getting a second to carry around with me.

I totally blame Michael for what happened. I always make my first drink last a while before getting my second. Carrying my second around so early I forgot it was my second and when I'd finished it I got a third, sort of thinking it was my second.

Why is this a problem, you ask? I have a very low tolerance for alcohol. One drink and I'm fine. A second drink and I'm happy and feeling no pain. A third drink and I'm definitely feeling no pain because I'll be asleep. This low tolerance does have one big benefit, namely no hangovers. I wake up the next morning feeling great.

Normally if I have that one drink too many Brendan is there to take me home. This time he wasn't there, was he? I woke up next morning on someone's couch. There was a blanket on me and I had a pillow and, thank god, I was fully dressed except for my shoes, which I spotted on the floor next to the couch. I sat up abruptly, wondering where I was.

"So the sleeping loud-mouth awakes," said an irritating voice

I turned my head to glare at Michael. Instead of glaring I swallowed nervously. He was lounging against the door jamb, looking amused, and all that he was wearing were some pyjama bottoms. It was the first time I'd ever seen Michael without a shirt. You notice I'm saying Michael, not Mickey Mouse? That's because Mickey Mouse didn't come with the impressive musculature that Michael was showing. Mighty Mouse, maybe, but certainly not Mickey. The man was ripped. And he wasn't even flexing, just standing there relaxed.

"What am I doing here?" I demanded.

"You passed out at the club last night. Don't hold your drink too well, do you?"

I rubbed my hand over my face, trying to remember. I remembered that first quick drink. I also remembered it was Michael's fault that I gulped that first drink.

"I normally ration my drinks," I said bitterly. "You caused me to lose count."

"One, two, three," he said, lifting three fingers. "Yes, I can see how it might be easy to lose count once you reach two."

"That's irrelevant," I said with a slight blush. "What I want to know is how did I wind up at your house?"

"Well you were sounding off at me so much last night that everyone thought we'd come together and they left it to me to help you get home. Not wanting to kick your door down I just put you on my couch for the night."

I looked pointedly at my purse which was on display on the coffee table.

"You didn't think to open my purse to check for the keys?"

"Go through your purse?" He actually sounded shocked, the swine. "I wouldn't dream of looking through a women's purse."

"Well, thank you for helping me," I said grumpily but remembering my manners.

"Don't thank me too soon," he said, with an absolutely evil smile. "Did you know you told everyone how you watered me yesterday to encourage me to grow?"

"I didn't" I said, aghast.

"You did. You went on to describe a number of other little pranks you've played on me. It was quite a confession."

"Aaah. . ." I didn't know what to say. I mean, really, what could I say?

"I thought of getting an AVO, that's an Apprehended Violence Order, against you but that would probably make me look a little silly. Then I thought that I'd ask your husband to pull you into line but he's not available for a few days and heaven know what you might get up to in the meantime. I'm resigned to having to do something about this myself."

"There's no way you could get an AVO," I protested. "I've never hurt you. Not once."

"You've hurt my feelings," he said, laying a hand against his heart. "Am I an automaton that I go unhurt by malicious mischief? Do you know how often I have wept when I went to bed?"

I just looked at him incredulously. He had got to be kidding.

"Anyway," Michael said, "I thought I'd just give you a firm warning and tell you to behave yourself in future."

"Consider me as having got a firm warning," I said, trying not to snarl the words.

"Ah, no, not yet. First I give you the warning, stressing the important points with a friendly little spanking. When that's complete I'll consider you properly warned."

"You're kidding," I said, feeling somewhat incredulous. Did he really think I'd permit him to spank me? If he tried I'd punch him out and I'm just as big as he was.

"Why would I be kidding?" he asked me, strolling closer to me. "The real question is - are you going to take your spanking like a young lady or like the secret hooligan I think you are?"

"I am not a hooligan, secret or otherwise but if you think I'll let you spank me you're sorely mistaken."

"Oh, good. I was hoping you'd resist. This gives me an excuse to strip you prior to the spanking rather than just lowering your panties a little."

Now I knew he was having me on. He wouldn't dare. I jumped to my feet and found I was just about standing nose to nose with him. I promptly pushed him away.

Hands on his chest and I gave a hefty push and he didn't move one fucking inch. His hands came up and pulled mine together and he grasped them with just one of his. With his free hand he started undoing the zip on my dress. I struggled and tried to pull free and my zip came undone. I struggled and told him what I thought of him and he unclipped my bra. More struggling and he'd brushed both dress and bra off my shoulders and down my arms and I was effectively topless.

At that point he released my hands for a moment, but only so he could free my arms from the dress and bra, and then he was holding my hands again. He very calmly let my dress drop and, while I shrieked a very pointed protest, dropped my panties along with my dress. When he let me go I was naked and he was looking me over and smiling.

Quite frankly I just couldn't understand how he could manhandle me so easily. I wasn't a weak woman and I was quite fit but where he was concerned I might as well have been a child. It had become blindingly obvious that that musculature that I'd observed wasn't just for show.

He took hold of one of my arms at the elbow and sat down on the couch, dragging me down at the same time so I finished up across his lap, face down. I was still kicking and struggling and it was having no effect whatsoever.

"Being female you're probably worried I'm going to molest you and touch you here," he said, his hand closing over my mound while my eyes and mouth both opened in shock. "You needn't worry," he said, rubbing his hand against me, "because I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing."

I was just totally lost for words. How dare he touch me like that and then deny that he was doing it. I was starting to splutter out an accusation and some more abuse when his hand left my pussy and settled on my bottom. I screamed as his hand settled on my bottom hard and fast and it hurt.

"You stop that," I shrieked. "Don't you dare. You can't spank me."

For all my denial he was proving that he could and would. His hand just kept bouncing off my bottom while I wailed and shrieked and wriggled and carried on generally.

I have never in my life been spanked like that and I hope I never will be again. The man was a total brute and I'll swear that my poor bottom was bruised and probably bleeding and I wouldn't be surprised if any bones in my bottom were broken.

By the time he finished I was crying and seething and wanting to kill him. With one last spank his hand came to a rest on my bottom.

"There, all done," he said. "You now know how I feel about your mean little practical jokes. And, true to my word, I didn't touch you here at all."

To my further rage and disbelief his hand slipped between my legs and cupped my mound again, once more starting to rub it.

I gave another squeal and twisted away, trying to get to my feet again, and this time he let me. I turned to look at him sitting there, my bottom glowing and my hands hovering protectively near it. I was about to give him a real mouthful when I lost my voice and my mouth went dry.

The rotten swine had an erection. He was sitting there in pyjama trousers and his erection was standing tall, having pushed through his open fly. My first impression was that I didn't believe it. My first thought was that it should be illegal for a little man to have equipment like that. I mean, he was a little man, even if he did have surprising muscles. Even an average penis would look big on him. What was rearing up out of his trousers wasn't average, being at least eight inches and far too fat for anyone.

"If you really want to, feel free to touch it," he said.

"What?" was all I could say.

"You seem fascinated by my cock," he told me. "I was just saying that you can touch it if you want to."

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head, but I couldn't stop looking at the thing. My loins were suddenly feeling a lot warmer and I don't think it could all be attributed to the spanking. All of a sudden I was remembering what it had felt like when his hand had been rubbing against my mound and I was wondering what it would be like if his erection did so.

He stood up and I backed off a step, still looking at him. He dropped his pyjama pants and stepped out of them and I idly noticed it wasn't just his upper body that had muscles. The man was a miniature Hercules, nicely defined muscles all over his body.

"It seems to me that you have three options," he said, and I looked at him blankly, confused.

"You can grab your clothes, get dressed, and run for home, or you can get down on hands and knees and I'll settle behind you and make love to you."

Make love to me? He was suggesting that I get down on hands and knees so he could fuck me that way? No way. I told him so.

"What? No way," I said most emphatically. I paused. That was two options. He'd said three.

"You said three options," I pointed out, confused.

"I did. The third option is you just continue to stand there and I'll grab you, force you down onto the floor and rape you. It'll give me some exercise to start the day."

Talk about ridiculous choices. Did he really think I was going to let him have sex with me or, even more stupid, rape me? I mean that was insane. Of course I was going to get dressed and go home. Even if I was going to have some illicit sex, which I wasn't, it wouldn't be with a guy with a cock bigger than his arm. Well, bigger than my arm, anyway. His arms had some surprising muscles. Did that explain his cock? Was the cock a muscle so it got larger when you exercised? No, of course not, otherwise every man would have a giant cock. Still it was confusing. Such a little man to have a cock like that. But the very idea, suggesting that I'd have sex with him. As for letting him rape me, words failed me. I was going to get dressed and get out and never speak to Michael again.

I didn't even notice him reaching for me until his hands closed around my upper arms and he twisted me slightly and I found myself being lowered to the floor.

"You said I could get dressed and leave," I pointed out indignantly.

"True, but that was five minutes ago. Since then you've just been standing there waiting and I decided your waiting time was up."

I was now flat on the floor and he was kneeling between my legs. He'd accomplished that little feat very easily and I found myself wondering how often he'd done it before. I started protesting.

"Look, I haven't agreed to you raping me and I have no intention of doing so," I told him.

"Well of course you haven't," he said in this soothing voice as if he was talking to an infant. "It's that lack of agreement that makes it rape. However, seeing as how I've started you'll just have to lie there and suffer."

He was now half lying on me and I could feel the rigid flesh of his erection hot against my groin and lower stomach, pressing its length along me. His hands were on my breasts, playing with them, teasing the nipples which for some reason were already erect. I squirmed about under him, pushing at him and protesting. He ignored everything I said and just kept touching me, and he wasn't restricting his touching to my breasts, let me tell you.

I wriggled and squirmed and tried to tell him that this was a bad idea and he stroked my breasts and slipped a couple of fingers into my pussy. That gave me a shock, I can tell you, and it must have shown on my face because he laughed at me. I told him this was rape and he gave me what could only be called a, "Der," look, making me feel like an idiot. And he kept on touching me and the more he touched me the more I was aware of his cock lying hot and heavy against me.

He suddenly stopped stroking those places he shouldn't and, catching hold of my wrists, pushed my arms wide to either side.

"Now just stay like that, relax, and watch what happens," he told me.

With that he moved into a more upright position, his cock finally not touching me. For about one second. He adjusted his position, moving his cock so that it was now pressing against my pussy, right where the entrance to my passage was.

"Now just keep watching and push up to meet me," he said, leaning forward a bit, just enough for his cock to start pushing into me.

I'm like, "Oh my god," and watching his cock as it started disappearing, sinking into me. I'm thinking that there was no way I could take that thing but I could feel it moving along my passage, forcing my passage to yield to it, insisting that I should stretch and fit around him, and it was happening. I was going, "Ah! Ah! Ah!" and he was going deeper with every gasp I gave.

I'm pretty sure that I didn't push up to meet me, even though he was telling me what a good girl I was and to keep it up. If I was pressing up to meet him it wasn't deliberate and I'm sure he knew it.

I'll tell you this, if I'd been aware of his cock earlier when it was just pressing against me you can guess how aware of it I was now that he was pressing into me. My whole world was concentrated on his mammoth member invading my body. I seemed to be feeling him with every fibre of my being. When his groin finally slapped against mine I was so full of cock I thought I was going to burst.

Now that he was underway he didn't start bonking away like crazy. The rotten man started a gentle suasion, his cock slipping back and forth, engendering excitement with each subtle movement. OK, I have to admit that now I was moving with him. That motion he had going was almost hypnotizing in its smooth, relaxing, movement, and I have never in my life considered sex to be relaxing prior to this. I don't know how he did it but it worked and I was completely lost to that gentle motion.

He kept on going, quietly but inexorably, and I was with him all the way. The excitement I usually associate with sex wasn't there at the beginning, even though the arousal was. Bit by bit the excitement grew, capturing me, taking me higher, and I was totally captive to what was going on, moving in unison in a daydream that was wonderful.

Eventually that excitement started to build to levels that were too much for me to contain. I was pressing against him, urging him on, while he just smiled at me, prolonging the moment. Still, when it became a contest between him and Mother Nature, Mother Nature was going to win, hands down. I felt my climax approaching and pushed eagerly to meet it, screaming when it finally rolled over me.

I lay there breathing deeply and then he was helping me to my feet.

"I assume that I can get dressed and go now," I managed to say and he gave me this odd look.

"Go?" he asked, sounding surprised. "But we're just getting to the fun part. Now that you seem to be ready it's time for me to get moving."

I was going, "What? What?" wondering what the hell he was on about, and he was positioning me against the end of the couch, bending me forward over the arm.

"What are you doing?" I screamed at him, not believing what was happening.

"Just try to keep up with me," was all he said, and then his cock was driving into me from behind.

His arms came around to claim my breasts and he used them to help pull me towards him as he drove vigorously into me. The gentle suasion, the relaxation, the hypnotic allure - all were gone, replaced by a fierce driving need. Do you remember me saying about him having muscles? Now he was using them.

His cock drove into me so hard and fast that when his groin slapped against me it was hard enough to lift me off my feet. And that was just the opening move. He was pulling back fast, almost to the point of disengaging, then he'd be driving back in, putting his muscle behind it. I was literally bouncing up and down off my feet as he took me, my pushing to meet him seeming to mean that I'd just be lifted off my feet faster than expected.