Please - Don't Make Me Do It - Part Two SeXStoRY

wife submissionShe discovers husband's infidelity, plans revengeand is sexually molested on a crowded train CHAPTER TWO He had said he would be home at 6.30 p.m. At 7.15 he phoned to say he had to work late, could not be home before midnight as he had to drive out of town. He did not say “Happy Anniversary”. There had been no flowers, no card, no romantic dinner, no loving, no attempt to exchange that wondrous touching and stroking and kissing, ever more intimate as their emotions took over from their minds. And importantly, no domination and no erotic submission. She had been suspecting, as his need to work late became more frequent and his affection for her became imperceptibly more offhand, his manner microscopically more indifferent, that he might be “seeing someone” but had pushed it to the back of her mind. Now it surfaced as a fearsome possibility. Would he? Could he? Had he? Who with? Oh God what if he had? What should she do? She miserably drank a glass of chilled white wine, another, another. Cleared the table – threw away her carefully prepared sauce, sat, sobbed. Fell asl**p on her couch. Carol woke at midnight stiff and cramped and went to her lonely bed. He was not yet home. She slipped out of her clothes and examined herself in the chevalier mirror. Her figure was trim, lean, toned from her exercise regime. Her breasts? Well ok so it was 40 years now since they had begun to show her budding womanhood, but my god she thought they were in pretty good shape. Her tummy had a little embonpoint, a little roundness that exercise could not totally eradicate. Her legs were really quite good she thought, and her thighs with the enticing gap at the top which had always so much excited him, her slit shrouded under the covering of soft dark curls, surely, surely they were a gift any man would treasure. And her rear!!! No complaints there she was sure, still taut, enticingly rounded. She had bought a new ‘honeymoon’ nightie, virginally white to set off her golden tan, edged with lace, held together by two ties above the waist, flowingly sensual and easily to be opened wherever he wanted to explore her. Her eyes prickling with tears she folded it and put it away in her ‘intimate’ drawer. She took out a cotton nightie and drew it over her head and lay on her lonely bed. Suddenly she rose, went to her undies drawer and took out a plain pair of cotton panties, angrily pulling them to cover her; her protest, her protection, her denial to him of herself. She lay down again. Her eyes closed and she slept. Later she was aware he had eased himself in beside her. Pretending sl**p, she had her back to him and was aware of his breathing, rapidly becoming heavy and finally there was the deep rumble of a near snore as he passed finally into sl**p. She lay wondering … had he … had he done it that night with another …. on their anniversary … had he celebrated her 30 th wedding anniversary inside another woman’s body? She slipped carefully out of bed and crept to the bathroom. Once inside she eased the door closed, clicked on the light, opened the laundry basket. At the bottom lay her own used clothing of that day, and concealed beneath hers were his shirt, socks, and underpants. She lifted his shirt, no make-up on the collar … then she caught it, the faint lingering smell of a perfume not her own. His underpants now, inside out, ahhhhh smears of his own male sexuality leaking unrealised into his clothing. She returned the clothing beneath her own as he had ‘hidden’ them. What fools men were. To think putting them under her own would not make them MORE noticeable when she came to empty the basket. Just one more careful check though. She gently slipped back into bed and listened to his breathing. She put her head, her nose to his body. Around his hair the same faintly foreign perfume. Around his body the smell of soap not used in their own bathroom. Then it hit her … if he had been working and travelling then he could not have showered or bathed. This was a pathetic attempt to conceal the smell of rampant female sex, coated over his body by his lover. CHAPTER THREE The shrill of the alarm clock brought both to a blurred semi-awake-ness. Carol stood, her mind still pushing back the curtains of sl**p, and went into the bathroom. After, when she had washed her eyes and hands she dr**ed her housecoat about her, went to the kitchen, started the breakfast preparations. Fully awake now Carol played over in her mind the agony of last evening and the callous rejection by her husband. For more than 30 years he had dominated her, demanding a complete submission to his every need. At times he had humiliated her by his demands in public places, her parents’ home, anywhere his fancy took him. She was determined she would not be humiliated further. She went through the options she had and slowly, reluctantly, came to her decision. As she heard his shower running, she continued to complete her morning tasks. She would bring to this grey morning as close a sense of normality as she could. She would see him off to his office as usual and would make no mention of her growing hatred of him. During the day she dug out of the attic all her old University text and research books. She refreshed her memory from the pages and decided on the most simple and innocuous ingredients. She needed items that were easy to buy, everyday items that no shop or store would give a second thought to. Finally she put all her study books and notes into her car, took her degree certificate in its protective roll and drove down the motorway to a distant city where she dumped everything into a skip ready to be taken to the incinerator. In the city she was able to get her key ingredient from a snake bite kit. She already had everything else to hand. Back at home she prepared a glass container with the two essential items and capped it firmly. She tied the neck with string and looped it over a rafter in the garage, leading the string over nails fixed in the wood so that it led to ground level, concealing it under a metal sheet they used to avoid oil leaks staining the floor. As a car drove into the garage it would unavoidably run over the metal sheet. That evening Bernard again “worked late” but she waited for his return. He seemed disconcerted, a little surprised to see her reading and waiting. “Hello darling”, she said, “you must be absolutely exhausted. Can I get you a whisky?” “My love I’m so sorry to be neglecting you and working as I am. A scotch would be lovely – shall we each have one in bed?” Her heart lifted, perhaps she was wrong, perhaps tonight…..? He went into the bathroom as she poured their drinks. Hurrying to her drawer she rapidly donned her special nightie for him and slipped into bed, her drink in her hand. He came to her wearing his sl**ping shorts, took his drink and they sat side by side. The silence was devastating. She finished her drink and lay back on top of the bedclothes, her nightie covering her tantalising feminine parts yet offering her gifts to him. He finished his scotch, switched off his light and lay beside her. She reached her hand out to him, brushed his shoulder lightly with her fingertips. “Bernard ? Darling ?” “Carol I’m absolutely exhausted, I’m so sorry. I don’t think I would be very good for you tonight can we leave it for a few days?” he said quietly. She withdrew her touch, an icy hand gripping her heart. She heard him slide into sl**p. He hadn’t even LOOKED at her flimsy garment or the way it concealed but revealed. Again she checked the laundry and again she smelt the stranger’s perfume. His underpants were again marked with an earlier excitement. Once again the odour of a different soap lingered on his skin. Her stomach was a hard ball within her, her throat tight with the grief of her rejection. Well she now knew what she had to do. In two days time she would follow Bernard by a later train to the City. She would tell him of shopping she must do … of an arranged meeting with a friend. She would say that she would like to have dinner in town and book an hotel room. He would accept that as quite a normal thing for her to do. She continued to mull over the final detailed preparations she must make. “Morning, Darling” from him as he entered the kitchen, showered, impeccably dressed in his city suit. “Good Morning, my Sweet…Darling I want to go to town in a couple of days, stay over at the Connaught . I shall phone Janet and ask her to meet in town, shop a little and have a girls’ evening later. Do you mind?” “So…you won’t be home that night?” he asked. Just a trifle over eagerly she thought. “No, my love. Not unless you’d prefer I didn’t stay over. It isn’t terribly important; you know Janet, she can be exhausting. If you’d like me to come home then I shall come home my Darling. But if I stay over I’ll call you from the hotel to let you know I‘m back there safely and not in some d***ken stupor with Janet. Will you be here?” “No, no…you have a nice evening in town…Of course I will be here. Call me when you’re safely in your room and then I won’t worry about you having been mugged” he said with a stilted attempt at humour. Carol immediately phoned and made her reservation, making sure that he heard her. CHAPTER FOUR Two days later she made the train with a minute to spare, just being able to f***e herself into a corner of the crowded commuter train. Theirs was the last station before the city and a journey of 30 minutes lay ahead. It promised to be a hot sultry day in town and Carol had dressed in a light tan cotton dress, shirt neck and fully cut from the hips to allow comfort in the heat. She wore cotton bra and panties again for comfort and just hoped and prayed that someone had opened all of the windows to allow air to flow. As the train lurched forward, Carol was thrown back against the person behind her who in turn grabbed at her hips to stop her from stumbling. “Sorry…so sorry” Carol gasped to the person. “Quite all right, no problem” came a pleasant well-spoken masculine voice. The train was lurching as it threaded its way through points, throwing them forcibly against each other and she was suddenly aware that the man, standing with his back wedged in the corner of the coach, was still holding her hips to steady her. She also became aware that as the train threw her against him there was a definite bulge that greeted her firm bottom cheeks. She was tempted to turn around and slap his face, but suddenly thought “well where’s the harm. It’s quite a compliment” and she giggled to herself. As the train steadied into its journey he continued to hold her hips, but now he was holding her firmly against himself. Through her thin cotton dress she could feel his lump throb as it pressed her. She felt her tummy contract with the touch of him, felt her breasts tighten in her bra and a wicked moistening between her legs. He was now quite blatantly humping himself at her bottom and she stood firmly as he pushed and relaxed as he withdrew. They hurtled into the darkness of a tunnel when suddenly the train came to a screeching halt. The lights went out and there were muffled screams and exclamations in the darkness of the carriage. There was a click and a metallic voice said “Ladies and gentlemen. There is an accident at a station ahead of us and we have temporarily lost power. There is nothing to alarm you. The problem is being dealt with but we may have a 10 minute delay as we wait.” Mains power was off, but there were some lights from the train battery packs, but the corner in which she stood was very dim. She sensed the stranger put his mouth close to her ear and whisper “How very fortunate.” His breath tickled her ear and she shivered. He was again pushing at her with his thighs and she willingly stood without a murmur. His hands had dropped from her hips to the hem of her dress and she felt it being lifted. She couldn’t believe what was happening to her, what he was doing to her. This had been Bernard at his most daringly exciting. She shivered again with the erotic situation, surrounded by commuters, her skirt being lifted by a stranger with a rampant cock in his trousers. Her skirt was now up past her panties and he was tugging them down, over her hips, baring the cheeks of her bottom. She felt him fumbling between them, felt his hand move down as he unzipped, then ohmygod his knob end being rubbed up and down between her bared cheeks. He held it firmly and moved it from side to side, easing it into the warm tightness. She felt her feet separate without her conscious effort so as to give him more room. He was holding her hips again, pushing his cock at her, rubbing the knob along past her anus and to the leaking wetness of her pussy hole. Suddenly he held her firmly and pushed, she felt just the very tip of his cock slip into her hole with the f***e of his pressure, and then it was throbbing and jerking as he spurted his seed between her thighs. She heard him gasping in her ear, and a cloth, a handkerchief was thrust into her hand. She reached behind and wiped herself, and then held it as a pad to blot his semen as she pulled her panties back around her middle. Her heart was thudding with the intense feelings he had created within her. Her pussy was soaking her slit and she thanked god for the handkerchief, acting as a sanitary pad to prevent her shame leaking onto her dress. He leaned towards her and she again felt his soft breath as he asked “Are you staying the night in town?” She had whispered back “Yes.” “Where?” “ Connaught ” He had then asked what she was doing in town in a more conversational voice and she had told him of meeting her friend and taking in a show. He had whispered what time would she be at her hotel for the night and she had said she couldn’t be sure. Then as they thundered into her station, he had asked her to leave a note for “Alan Sandars” at the reception desk, and to put a note of her room number inside it. Before she could reply the doors had opened and there was the usual pressure of commuters forcing their way off the train. She looked vainly for him – she had no idea what the man looked like who had made her yield to him. She took a taxi to her hotel, uncomfortably aware of the padded handkerchief pressing into her. She hastened to register and hurried to her room, throwing off her clothes. THANK GOD there were no stains on her dress. She peeled off her panties and pulled the handky from between her cheeks. It was covered in his cum and her own juices. As she unfolded it she saw the initial AS embroidered in the corner. She showered, washing the sticky remains of the coupling from between her legs and around her anus. As her finger slipped over it with the silky touch of soap, she remembered his fat knob rubbing her there. Her mind replayed what she had allowed – encouraged – to happen in the crowded train, and suddenly her fingers were moving in their familiar rhythm over her clit and in and over and around and oh god I’m cummmmiiinnngggg as she exploded onto her fingers. She dried, lay on her bed and drifted into asl**p. She awoke an hour later and dressed. She rang Janet on her mobile and they arranged to meet for lunch. The two friends had an enjoyable afternoon shopping, ate a deliciously expensive meal at Simpson’s in The Strand and had a wonderfully enjoyable time watching “Mamma Mia”, the Abba show. Janet had to catch her train back into the suburbs and Carol walked into her hotel at 11 o’clock, still feeling high from the pleasure of the show and the excitement of the music. As she asked for her key at reception the thought of the stranger on the train crossed her mind. What did he say was his name? Should she leave a note …? No of course she shouldn’t. It was just a folly. Best to be forgotten. She entered the lift and went to her room, undressed and after the heat of the evening and the theatre, she luxuriated in the feeling of the room's air conditioning on her skin. She took another shower and as her fingers cupped her mound, lathering herself, she held the spray head of the shower to herself and felt the familiar tightening in her tummy. There was a tingle of excitement, not to be denied in her loins. She shut out the thought of the train journey and tried to concentrate on the show but it was a losing battle. Without conscious thought she found herself writing her room number on a slip of hotel paper, sealed it in an hotel envelope and addressed it to “Alan Sandars”. She slipped into her undies, put on her dress and went to the desk, asking the clerk to give it to her “b*****r” if he called at the hotel. She rushed back to her room before she could take the envelope back. Again she undressed, convinced that she would hear no more from the devilish Mr Alan Sandars.