"I'll get them, Ma'am," Sam suggested when she told him, but she declined. She couldn't stand the thought of his dirty, and she supposed, clumsy hands on her clean kitchen cupboard, and unable to suppress a sigh, pulled the kitchen steps over in position. Mounted on the third step, she noticed that Sam had moved even closer to her so that he was almost directly under her. Thank goodness I'm wearing slacks she thought as she groped around for the fuses. Relieved to find them easily, she began to descend, thinking maybe now he'll go away and leave me alone.
Suddenly, she stiffened. The blood pulsed wildly in her veins and a sudden wave of heat engulfed her and threatened to overcome her. She just couldn't believe what was happening. His hands were on her buttocks, feeling them, squeezing them – he was actually caressing her back there!
She didn't know what to do. Fear washed over her, followed quickly by revulsion, disgust, anger. She hesitated for a split second on the steps. Should she order him to stop, or should she just ignore it? If she got angry, perhaps she might intimidate him, but on the other hand, he was brazen enough to touch her like that, and he might get violent. But conversely, if she just ignored him, might he not interpret that as an invitation to continue? Oh God, what should I do, she wondered wildly. His work-coarsened hands continued their lewd manipulation of her softly yielding ass cheeks, kneading and clutching, and it seemed to the agonized woman that an eternity passed in those few seconds.
Then, she could stand it no longer.
"Take your hands off me, you disgusting old man!" she shrieked, almost falling from the steps in her sudden angry horror. Relieved, she found herself on the ground once more, and gave vent to her feelings.
"How dare you? How dare you lay your hands on me? I'll see you're fired for this. Your impertinence today was enough, but you've gone too far this time!" She stood glaring at him, panting from her exasperated speech, her green eyes flashing like sparkling emeralds.
"No need for you to get on your high horse with me, lady," Sam leered, an arrogant sneer on his weather-beaten face, "'cause I know what you're really like!"
Sandra was thrown off balance by his unexpected retort. She had anticipated apologies, sullenness, even a denial, but she had not expected him to be so completely defiant.
"What do you mean?" she asked, striving to keep a condescending tone in her voice. Her eyes swept contemptuously over his stocky, over-alled figure, and she imagined she saw him cringe under her proud stare.
"H'mm, guess not even your husband knows what you get up to when he's not around…" he said contemplatively, and Sandra's heart missed a beat. Just what did he mean? He was acting so strangely, not at all intimidated. She was beginning to feel worried. There was something menacing about this sudden change in their hired hand, and her pulse quickened in fear. She thought about screaming, but knew it was futile, because the other workers were in their quarters on the far side of the barns, and besides, the television in the lounge was blaring, and likely to drown out any cries for help she might make. Sam moved closer to her again, and she drew back suddenly from his insidiously searching hand which reached out and touched her hip.
"Get-get away from me!" she gasped, her terror mounting.
"C'mon now, honey, I happen to know you need a little lovin'!" Sam rasped, his eyes roaming freely over her trembling figure.
"I-I don't know what you mean!" she stammered. What was he hinting about?
"Don't play dumb with me, baby, 'cause ol' Sam knows more about you than you think!" There was a new ominous sound in his voice, an ugly, threatening note.
Sandra's heart raced with fear. He seemed to have something on his mind, something he was trying to threaten her with.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" she said defiantly, hoping to inject her voice with courage.
"Let's put it this way!" he taunted, rubbing his hands together. "You had a real nice time cleaning out the office the other day, didn't ya?"
Sandra blanched, and suddenly her throat felt dry. She could only stare in horrified amazement at the triumphantly grinning figure of the workman. She just couldn't believe that she had heard him correctly, yet the enormity of the implication of his remark was slowly etching itself on her disbelieving brain.
"No… no!" she gasped, unable to stop herself.
"Oh yes!" Sam laughed, delighted at the effect of his bombshell on her. He was glad he'd waited to drop it on her, strung her out a little first, got her ready for the big one. "Yessirree," he went on, unable to relinquish his stunning victory over her, "cleanin' out the office was a real pleasure for you that day."
Sandra continued to stare in numbed silence at him. Did he know – had he seen her? Was that what he was hinting at, that he'd seen her looking at those pornographic pictures, seen her pushing her own panties down to her knees and fingering herself, seen her reach orgasm?
"What I do is my own business," she said flatly. She felt devoid of all strength, completely stripped of the will to put in his place this lewd uncouth worker who was bent on tormenting her.
"It sure is," he conceded, "but I'd say them glossy pictures are Mike's business, too."
Did he know about the pictures, too? she thought wildly, suddenly desperate to get away from this vile man.
"Will you please leave?" she said in a tone of quiet command, but Sam only edged forward, and then suddenly, grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her close to him. His other arm closed tightly around her, and he peered with lewd suggestion down at her.
"I could tell you really liked them colored pictures… you got real hotted up when you looked at them, didn't ya?"
Sandra was paralyzed with fear. She was afraid to struggle, afraid to waken his real anger, which she sensed was lurking near to the surface of his demented personality. She decided that if she ignored him, he might get tired of his little game.
"That one where they were sixty-nining is a real winner, ain't it?" Sam taunted. "That's your husband in the photograph, and did ya see the size of his cock jammed into the broad's mouth?" Sandra felt a rush of nausea, and fought to keep herself from retching. He's insane, her mind screamed, you're not safe with him… Oh God help me…
"… and did ya see her pussy, all red and juicy and ready? I bet Mr. Peters really liked getting his tongue in that little hole!"
"Oh stop it! Stop it!" Sandra screamed suddenly, beginning to struggle wildly, unable to take any more of her captor's leering obscenities.
"What'samatter, honey?" he leered, his hand tightening roughly around her breast, crushing it painfully through her cashmere sweater. "Don'cha wanna talk about them pictures?"
"No, no, please leave me alone!" she whimpered, her reason deserting her and leaving her a cringing mass of fear and bewilderment.
"How did ya like the one where Mr. Peters was giving it to the blonde in the ass?" Sam taunted again, and Sandra felt a fresh shudder of revulsion convulse her. As if by magic, a startling clear reproduction of that vile photograph leaped into the terrified woman's mind, and she could see the lewd scene finely etched on her brain – the straining white mounds of the girl's buttocks, the tiny dark ring of her anus nestled between the creamy spheres; Mike's hugely distended penis already inserted in the tiny puckered entrance. She couldn't banish the lurid apparition from her mind, and she felt suddenly that she was going mad. She wanted to scream, to shriek and wail, do anything to shatter the terrifying reality which encircled her, a reality of disgusting perversity, peopled by such lascivious monsters as Sam Maguire and her own husband, Mike. Part of the revolting present was the hired hand's tight convulsive clasp on her breast, and even as awareness sunk once more into her brain, she felt that same hand slip down along the curve of her waist and once more cup her buttock, squeezing it intimately in a lustful gesture. Sandra felt totally devoid of control over her own body and mind. Something had snapped in her when she had finally realized that this lowly farm worker had witnessed her surrender to her own lewd response to the filthy pictures, and now she realized his domination over her was complete when he had revealed an intimate knowledge of those same dirty photographs. Had Mike shown them to his employee? How many other people had he shown them to? New, more frightening thoughts alarmed the despondent woman. How long had Sam been aware of Mike's infidelities? Had Sam felt pity for her, Mike's wife, every time he saw her, knowing of Mike's secret life?