Coercion Pt 01

I've always thought of myself as ordinary. At school I was an ordinary girl, fairly clever, but not a genius, and as I got older, and grew breasts, they were completely average in size and shape. I certainly wasn't ugly, and I soon started to get asked for dates, but I wasn't drop dead gorgeous either, so I knew I wouldn't ever be a model or a film star.

If there was a way in which I was out of the ordinary, it was that I was a bit straight laced, a bit prim and proper, so when I went on dates, and the boys would try to grope my boobs, or put his hand up my skirt, I would push them away. After a number of similar experiences I stopped saying yes to the requests for dates, because I knew what they expected from me, and I didn't want to give it.

When I was eighteen I met Christopher, and for some reason he seemed different. By then I was working in the library, and he had come in looking for a rather old book which hadn't yet been digitised, and I tried to help him. We were both as shy as each other, but somehow we managed to have a drink together after closing time, and we quickly became friends, then a couple and, after three years we got married.

About twelve months ago something happened which completely changed our lives. We were still together, and we were both very happy in our rather ordinary lives. We had a nice house in a suburb of the provincial market town where we were both brought up, we would both go to the Methodist church on Sundays, and out for dinner or go to see a film on Saturday evenings, unless one of our friends from church or work were having a dinner party. We had been happily married for five years, and were trying to have a baby, so I'd stopped taking the pill and we made a point of having sex at least once each weekend, and maybe once during the week, if it was the right time for me to get pregnant. I have to confess, I didn't love sex, I thought it was ok, I didn't hate it, but I very rarely had an orgasm, and so it seemed a bit pointless, apart from the baby making, of course.

I think Christopher liked it a lot more than I did, but that's true of most men, I think, however, I always felt that he wanted something from me which I didn't give him, but I could never work out what it was.

Just over a year ago, on a sunny Saturday morning, we were discussing a hen night which I was supposed to go to. It was for one of the girls I worked with, and while we weren't special friends, I felt that I had to go, just because she'd invited me, but I didn't want to. I told Christopher that I wasn't going to go, but he persuaded me that I must go, since I'd made a promise. I knew he would do that, but it made me feel less guilty about going out 'on the town' without him.

"OK, you win, I'll go," I told my lovely husband, "but I'm going to have to go shopping for some new clothes, I haven't been clubbing for years!"

"Did you ever go clubbing?" He asked, smiling sweetly.

"Not really, no." I confessed.

"Come on then, let's go and raid the shops for something sexy for you to wear."

I wasn't at all sure that I wanted something sexy, but I didn't want to criticise him when he was being so nice.

Once we were at the shops, Christopher started suggesting dresses which were really short and really clingy.

"I can't wear that darling, everyone will think I'm a tart!" I protested.

"Better that, than as prim and proper as a librarian, don't you think?" He answered grinning.

"Ha ha, very funny." I shot back, trying not to grin too much.

"How about this one," he suggested, as a compromise, "it isn't as short, but it's still quite clingy."

"Well, it is very nice, but are you sure you want me to go out clubbing without you, dressed in that sort of dress?"

"Firstly, I trust you, and, I think you are beautiful and I want to be proud of you." He answered, presumably hoping that I would be swayed by his argument.

"OK, I'll try it on." I conceded, secretly rather excited at the idea of going clubbing in such a sexy dress.

I took three dresses into the changing rooms, but there was only one I was interested in. It was the little black number which my husband had suggested. I still couldn't quite understand what was going through his head when he suggested that dress, as it was so clingy that it showed off all my curves, and I just knew guys would hit on me, but I was so excited at the idea of going out clubbing wearing something really sexy for a change, that if he was happy with it, then I would buy it.

As soon as I put it on, I knew there was a problem. I had on my usual 'ordinary' panties, and the lines could easily be seen. At that time I didn't even own any thongs, so it would have to be big panties or nothing, and I certainly wasn't going out clubbing with no panties on. I tried one of the other dresses on and went out to show my patient husband.

"It's ok, but a bit boring." He told me.

The next dress was even more boring and I wasn't surprised when Christopher rejected it straight away.

"Just the one I suggested now." He said, looking as excited as I felt.

"OK, I'll try it, but there's a bit of a problem." I suggested.

"Really, what?"

"Wait and see."

I went back into the changing room and slipped on the dress. I felt very self-conscious as I went out to show my husband how I looked in the dress he had chosen.

"Darling, you look fantastic!" he enthused, "but I'm going to have to buy you some different underwear."

I couldn't believe my ears! I don't think he had ever mentioned my underwear in all the years we'd been together, let alone offered to buy me something more sexy.

"So is it a yes for the dress?" I asked, feeling almost giddy with the excitement about how naughty we were being.

"It's a definite yes to the dress," he told me, "but next we need to choose underwear, hold up stockings and maybe shoes?"

I thought he had gone completely mad, but I was having such a wonderful time being treated like some kind of sex goddess by my wonderful husband, that I didn't want it to stop.

True to his word, my husband bought me a sexy, lacy, thong and bra set to go under then dress, then, hold up dark stockings, and, finally, some really sexy red, high heeled shoes. I was so carried away that I didn't even imagine what the whole outfit would look like, once I was dressed and ready to go. With Christopher carrying all the bags, we headed for home, and once there I went off to shower and change while hubby poured me a big glass of Prosecco.

Once I had the whole outfit on I lost my nerve totally. There was no way I could go clubbing in the outfit my husband had chosen and bought for me. In my view I looked like a hooker, and I decided I would have to find something else to wear. I set off down the stairs to show Christopher, as I was sure he would feel the same way once he saw me.

"Wow!!" he said the moment he saw me, "you look absolutely amazing, I had no idea you could look so sexy, I adore you in that outfit!"

"But I look like a prostitute!" I wailed.

"Of course you don't, you look fabulous, I'm so proud of you, my gorgeous sexy wife!" He exclaimed.

"Oh, right," I answered uncertainly, "I was going to say that I can't go out in this outfit."

"Oh, but you must, you look fabulous!" He insisted, whilst pouring me another glass of Prosecco.

"OK, well, I suppose I could, if you insist." I answered, gulping more Prosecco.

"I do insist." Christopher replied.

I must confess I was in two minds. On the one hand I was terrified of going out looking like a slut, but, on the other hand, I was really excited by the prospect of being really daring and naughty. I suppose my husband's enthusiasm plus the Prosecco tipped the balance.

"OK then my love, I'm off, don't wait up, I may be late." I told him.

I finished my glass of fizz and headed for the door, already feeling a little tipsy.

"Have fun my love." Christopher called as I closed the door behind me.

As I headed towards the pub where I was meeting the other girls I couldn't stop my mind trying to work out why my husband wanted me to go out without him, dressed in such revealing clothes. I was sure he must have a motive, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out what it was.

I still hadn't resolved the conundrum when I arrived at my destination, which was a very busy pub in Paddington. I squeezed through the packed crowd, feeling extremely conscious of what I was wearing, although no-one else seemed to notice. I finally found my friends, and was given yet another glass of Prosecco, out of a bottle someone had invested in. With each drink, my worries about my outfit diminished, and by the time we left the pub, some two hours later, I was definitely 'feeling no pain', as they say.

About a dozen of us trouped out of the pub and up the street towards Paddington station, apparently on the way to the house which one of the girls owns. I was a bit irritated that we didn't seem to be going clubbing at all, so I probably didn't need the new outfit, however, I did feel very sexy in it.

There were seven girls and five guys, as far as I can remember, although I was told that more men would be going straight to the house from somewhere else. Since I was happily married, how many men went to the party seemed entirely academic to me, but I played along, and acted pleased.

The house wasn't far away, and as soon as we got inside, I was blown away by the opulence, it must have been worth a fortune. I don't know which friend of my friend owned it, but I assumed she must have some seriously rich parents.

They didn't have any Prosecco, so I had to settle for something called Veuve Cliquot, which I didn't like as much, even though I was sure that it was very expensive. It seemed quite tart in taste, so I swallowed it quickly rather than savouring it. There were some very good looking young men serving us drinks, dressed in very tight cycling style shorts and not much else, and they kept topping up my glass, so I quickly got more and more drunk.

After that my memory becomes rather blurry. I have some recollection of talking rather loudly to some good looking posh guys, but the next thing I remember clearly, is waking up in a strange bed naked. I felt terrible! I had an awful headache, I had no idea where I was, and I felt wet and sticky between my legs. It gradually dawned on me that I had been fucked by someone, but I had no idea who. I still had my watch on, so I was able to see that it was three in the morning. I looked around and could see my clothes strewn around the room, so I made a supreme effort and sat up.

The room was spinning, but I managed to stay sitting up as I waited for it to slow down. Eventually I felt a bit better, and I lifted the bed covers and risked taking a peek between my legs. I was horrified by what I saw. My pussy lips were all red and puffy and there was white goo oozing out onto the sheets. I knew it must be semen, but how many men would it take to produce that much. Once I'd seen the evidence of what had happened to me, I could feel my sex throbbing, as though I'd had multiple orgasms, and I realized that I was really sore inside my vagina.

Whatever had happened to me, I knew I had to get out of that house before something else happened. I concentrated as hard as I could on standing up, and eventually managed it, but I had to hold on to the back of a chair which was beside the bed. I found my panties, but fell over as I tried to pick them up, however, I persevered and finally got them on so at least all the come wouldn't be slithering down my legs.

It probably took me seven or eight minutes to get the clothes on which I started out in, and then I carefully left the room, anxious not to be stopped from leaving. I needn't have worried, everyone was fast asleep, and scattered all over floors, couches and chairs. I slipped out of the front door and headed for the taxi rank at Paddington Station.

Half an hour later, I was home, and I crept up the stairs as quietly as I could manage, slipped my clothes off on the landing and crept into the bathroom to shower. I was desperate not to wake Christopher as I was terrified of him finding out what I had allowed to happen to me. I was sure he would leave me if he found out.

I showered as thoroughly as I could, but, even so, I still felt a trickle of semen creeping down the insides of my thighs as I headed for the bedroom. I didn't dare open the drawer to get clean knickers out, and I certainly couldn't wear the ones I'd come home in, so I just slipped my pyjamas on and slipped carefully into bed next to my sleeping husband.

For ages I couldn't get to sleep, my head just kept going over and over what had happened, trying to remember how I'd ended up in a strange bed with my pussy sore and full of semen, but, it was no good, I just couldn't remember. Eventually I dropped off, and, despite some very intense dreams, I slept heavily until about nine thirty.

"Morning sleepyhead." Christopher greeted me, climbing back into bed, having been to the toilet.

"Morning darling." I replied, trying to sound cheerful.

"I assume you had a good time, since you were so late home?" he asked, started to touch me between my legs.

"It was ok." I answered, slipping my pyjama trousers down before he discovered how wet they were.

My wonderful husband then started kissing my stomach and working his way towards my still sodden pussy. I was horrified and pulled him up by his shoulders.

"Please just enter me baby." I asked, hoping he wouldn't insist on licking me.

"Oh right, horny are we?" He teased.

"Well, you clearly are." I shot back, trying to be witty.

My husband got rid of his sleep shorts and climbed between my legs and started to push his hard cock against my wet pussy. Meeting virtually no resistance he slipped straight in, and I sucked in my breath as my ravaged vagina was penetrated by his hard cruel cock.

"You sound pretty horny yourself," he suggested, "what on earth did you get up to last night?"

I couldn't think how to respond, so I just kept quiet and let him have his fun. I was far too sore to possibly have an orgasm, but, I thought that I should pretend to climax, otherwise he would do what he always did and go down on me, but, in the end, his own arousal came to my rescue and he squirted inside me very quickly.

"So, did you enjoy going out dressed in such a sexy way?" He asked me as he rolled off me without trying to lick me or get me off with his fingers.

"I suppose I did," I admitted, hoping he would leave the topic, "but it all went on so late, I'm just exhausted now."

Mercifully he left it at that and went off to shower, but, he wasn't finished with the topic. After breakfast, when we were sitting in the lounge, reading the Sunday papers and drinking coffee, he rounded on me again.

"I want you to go out with me dressed the way you were last night." He announced, apropos of nothing.

"Oh, right, ok," I answered, "why?"

"Because it would make me proud to be out with such a sexy woman." He answered, a little too quickly I thought, but I decided that agreeing to this demand was far better than an autopsy on my ill fated night out.

Little did I know that my problems were only just beginning.