A KItten in delightful trouble.

Negotiating!

“No! You can’t do that!”

That surprised him.

“If anyone knows I am here, I will be in trouble. This place is out of bounds. And the school nurse always fills out a report.”

“Yes, she does.” He smiled at her. “So Plan C, it must be.”

What happened to plans A, and B?

Whatever Plan C, was.

Various thoughts flashed through both of their brains.

Her thoughts were of pain, rebellion, and annoyance, as well as alarm and embarrassment.

His, were much less so. He was concerned; concerned for her, and recognizing that he now had his dearest wish, almost his dearest wish, granted. He would get to meet this goddess he had always worshipped from afar, always wanted to meet and speak with, though the present circumstance was not conducive to a happy or relaxed meeting, especially if any of her clothing gave way. She was annoyed with what had happened, and he had to tiptoe over broken glass to decide how best to help her without pissing her off totally with him. When he got her down she would probably run back to school without any kind of a ‘thank you’, and he didn’t want it to end like that.

He was deliberating, puzzling over how to get her down, taking too much time over it and she knew why and what he was looking at. He was admiring the hair she was struggling to hide under her hands and was probably wondering how much longer her panties could survive such stress before they failed. She could also see the wheels turning in his over-active brain as she waited.

While he was thinking and mulling about what to do, he spoke.

“You are Erin Nicholson, the girl that seems to land in trouble all of the time, aren’t you? I remember you. So, Erin, what did you do with the kitten?” He waited for an answer.

Why was he concerned more about the damned kitten than about her at a time like this?

And he knew her name. Damn! And the longer he sat there…. It was a case of what would give, first; the straps on her skirt, her panties, or her bra, and then once that cascade of events began, she would wind up at the bottom with no skirt, no bra covering her, probably no panties either, and no way to recover them, and landing all over him, even more injured. What might happen to her panties in all of that she could not be sure. They were pulled way too tight, and might also relax in their flimsiness and disintegrate, if they weren’t left up there with everything else. And then what? She had better not head down that path. His shorts might not survive any more punishment either and then she could figure out what would happen to her after that. f****d! Literally. Well and truly, unavoidably f****d!

He toyed with danger where he was sitting, but didn’t seem to care. Or he was waiting and hoping. What did she have to do to get him to help her?

She’d better answer his question first. “The kitten is where it should be. We decided that we needed to find it, but we also knew that we could not deprive the cat of her only kitten.”

He smiled. “Good answer. That was very kind and considerate of you. In that case, I shall take pity on you and rescue you.”

At last! But had it depended on her answer about the kitten? She’d let that slide.

“How?”

She watched him stand up, carefully adjust his shorts to accommodate himself better—did he have to do that where she could see him? Yes he did—and then he looked up at her again. Was there so much of him behind there? He had changed again. She didn’t like that look in his eyes.

Her mouth went dry. She might not survive this if he was one of those. What if they hadn’t been so kind and thoughtful about the kitten? Would he have left her hanging up here, or would he take some other kind of revenge on her? She knew what that was likely to be considering the state he was in. Her panties would come off first, a good tug, and then.... It would be easy with her hung-up helplessly where she was. And what would she say when she had to explain her distraught, teary look, and absence of panties to the principal?

“Oh, Miss, I was in the barn, where I shouldn’t have been when I got stuck on a hay ramp. That boy, that man (sob), he climbed up (another sob), took my panties off (sob) and f****d me with the biggest and most insistent prick I have ever seen. Three times! I was helpless to do anything about it and he kept my panties. Boo hoo!”

She could read his thoughts radiating from both heads; the big one and the little one (obviously not so little), the latter being the one that usually did all of the thinking. Thinking about f*****g everything female. All males were the same.

He watched as the cat climbed up to her kitten, running easily up the ramp beside her as though she wasn’t there, seeming to smirk at her predicament (serve you right, meow), and settled into her nest to feed him.

She heard the kitten suckling, and the mother cat, purring. It sounded very loud, but then everything else in the barn was so very quiet.

She decided to take her mind off what she was beginning to fear, and his too, from what he could see of her. “What are you doing here?”

She would ask a question or two of her own to distract them both as he made up his mind what to do with her, probably waiting for her clothing to ‘let go’, and then how would he respond to that? Was that what he was waiting for? He could obviously see too much of her for her own good, considering the effect she was having on him, and the way her clothing was relaxing on her.

“We came to find the kitten, but what about you?” Dumb question.

“I live here.”

The hell he did! She thought about that. That meant he was the grounds-man’s son. He was the one who had gone off to university, so he couldn’t be that stupidly slow. She had heard about him. He was the one the girls all speculated about. “Who was he? How old was he? Why did they never see him during the holidays when some of them were still here and susceptible to all manner of mischief with him?” Unless he was the boy at the hockey games, and that was where he knew her from. Yes, she remembered him now.

He kept watching her with interest, probably wondering which would give first; panties, skirt, bra, and in what cascading order, and what more he would be able to see of her after that happened, and what he would be able to do about it after that.

“By the way, Erin. May I call you Erin...?”

She said nothing but felt something else move. Either her skirt straps were pulling free, her bra was about to pop, or her skirt was about to slip up and over her breasts. In any one of those failings, the result would be catastrophic and not good for her.

“...You played a nice game of hockey last weekend. I watched.” She already knew he’d watched. “It was a bit brutal though.” She still had a bruise from that, and he would be able to see that too where he was sitting, thinking. If he was thinking. Unless he was mesmerized by the hair he could easily see, and what it did not hide of her body down there. Not any more.

They didn’t get any men to their games, and he had stood out like a spare prick at a honeymoon… like any mature young male would, in an all girls’ school as he moved along the sidelines with them, attracting a lot of attention and comments from her fellow players about who the horny guy with the big d**k was, who was watching her, and undressing her in his mind? (so maybe he had been as aroused then as he was now, but he had been undressing all of them, not just her). Was he her boy-friend?

Had he been horny then? She hadn’t noticed, though her friends had. And had he been watching her? She didn’t respond to such foolishness. But she hadn’t known that he had anything to do with the school in some way, no matter how remotely, which was why he was here, now. He lived here. Damnation!

She had not liked to be recognized so well, and she had more to think about now than last week’s hockey match. This, was more important at this moment.

“I think you should stop playing around up there, Erin, and come down now like a good girl.” He was being deliberately aggravating. She would give him a fat lip for that condescending comment when she got down.

She pursed her lips and looked annoyingly at him. He had been joking with her, trying to find some humor where she couldn’t.

“I can’t get down by myself. And I hurt.”

He knew she couldn’t do anything for herself, but he would have preferred it if she actually asked for his help, except she might be one of those girls who wouldn’t ask any man to help her as a matter of principle. Feminist principle! He didn’t have her pegged as one of those, and they usually outgrew that, most of them. Didn’t they? He was debating how best to get her down without more injury to either her, or to him. She was in a really awkward place and he couldn’t just climb up and unhook her skirt or she would skitter all the way down, pulling him down too to land on top of her between her legs, and then she really would want to murder him. And she was a tough cookie. He’d better watch his innate sense of humor.

He had attracted the attention of a few of those older girls in the game, curious about him. She had become conscious of him after a short while, and observed him in turn, hearing what the other girls had suggested, that he had been watching only her. Was he? She knew he was. Their eyes had met several times, albeit mostly at a distance when the play came to his side of the field. Yes, he had been watching her. Only her. He had smiled at her too and mouthed words of encouragement (mouthed something, anyway, even if not that) as she flashed by him. She had felt flattered by it, except he had distracted her enough that she almost lost the ball, and took a flyer.

“Yes, I know you are hurt, but we have to make sure it does not get any worse. You are scraped, and I see wood splinters too, in the back of your legs (as well as in other heavenly places). I told you. Yes, I expect those will hurt.”

He could see everything! She put her legs down and tried to bring them together, except she felt something else slip. She froze as she was. Let him look. Looking, didn't hurt. She’d better not move too much.

There was another hurt too, that she couldn’t mention to him apart from the burns on her legs and it was on, and in, another tender, unmentionable place, from sliding down that ramp. She needed to get out of here and see to it for herself over at the school in a hot bath, and with a mirror and tweezers. But she needed his help to get free before she could do that.

He was going over the options to help her in his head, and speaking them out loud.

“So, no nurse, and you don’t want anyone in the school to know you were here, so I shall have to be the one to help you if you will allow that. Lucky me.” He didn’t make it seem the way he said it.

He sighed. She wasn’t about to ask him directly to help her, but neither of them had any choice so he had better take the initiative, except she beat him to it.

“Thank you. I do need your help.” She admitted it at last, deciding she would try to sound gracious even if she didn’t feel it. She still glared at him. She was not comfortable with any of this.

He mused over the obvious. “Your skirt is trapped at the top of the ramp, and that is what is holding you up.” But not for long, with any luck.

He’d only just figured that out? That, and her bra, and her breasts. And to some small degree, her stressed panties.

He took his time assessing the situation, beginning to enjoy it, except she really must be hurting from what he could see.

He mused further. “It will be tricky. Some clothing may have to come off.”

She hadn’t liked to hear that. His, or hers? Or both? Oh god! He was one of them!

“I either lift you, if I can; except I will then have to figure out how to free your skirt while I do that, and I don’t want to be on that slippery ramp when I do that....” He could imagine various possibilities, all of which seemed to involve her legs being apart with him between them, and which also required some movement of her knickers, preferably ‘down’ or ‘off’'. “...Or... I unfasten your skirt first, take it off you, and then you will be free.”

Of course, her bra would then be likely to relax too, and if it were somehow sneakily unfastened while he was up there with her, fiddling with her skirt, it would allow other things, wondrous things, to his way of seeing things, to drop into view.

“No. Not that. Nothing comes off me. Lift me.”

Spoilsport!

But what she suggested was easier said than done. She hadn’t thought about it as he had.

“With us both on a slippery ramp, Erin, that may become very personal.”

As if the other wasn’t?

She scowled. He was being too indecisive. He was more of a thinker than a do-er. He was enjoying this and dragging it out longer than he needed to.

“How do you mean, personal? If you lay a finger on me, I’ll….”

“You’ll what?” He smiled up at her, encouraging her to say more. She was not in a position to threaten him, or he might walk away and leave her here, and she knew it, so she shut up.

“I will have to lay much more than a finger on you to help you.”

The magic finger! The rigid digit! And he would like to do much more than that to her too. She had been looking at him there, almost as much as he had been inspecting her in the same place on her own body. Okay, so they were both curious about the hidden bits of the opposite s*x, especially if they were not that well-hidden at this moment on her. Or on him.

He could see that she would not cooperate in what he would prefer to be doing with her of a very personal nature. Damn! There was so much promise in the situation.

She was flustered, and just as beautiful and tormentingly breathtaking as he knew she would be.

“I should go for help.” He knew that would get results.

“No! No, you can’t! I’m sorry. I’ll keep quiet and let you decide.”

At last! It would go now, just as he had hoped it would.