tagNonConsent/ReluctanceBad Luck Always Come in Threes

Bad Luck Always Come in Threes

bysmallncute©

I was, am the typical English housewife, and devoted mother. Typical of many of the mothers you see in the shopping centres of the United Kingdom. I never thought of myself as stunningly beautiful. But neither did I consider myself ugly. However, 2006 was a huge turning point in my life. Looking back, 18 months on, I started 2006 as a typical woman, wife I guess, though how do you define typical? I was then 30, having been married to my husband, who is slightly older then me, for 5 years, and was, am, the mother of a lovely son then aged 3, who I adored, as I did my husband. We would spend weekends walking with him in the local parks, still very much in love. We both worked, my husband in IT, and I in science research, which was rather flexible and really helpful to a young mother.

As I said, 2006 was a changing point in our relationship, but more importantly in my life. My husband, was, still is a member of the British volunteer reserve forces. In late January, he received an envelope, as did many others from his unit, requesting him to support the current operations in Iraq. Obviously I did not want him to go, and he was apprehensive. But he had been in the volunteer reserve forces since he was at university, and had enjoyed the benefits, and now he reasoned it was pay back time. However, more importantly, he knew his men needed him, and he needed them. They had trained as a team, and as a team leader, he felt obliged to go, and so in March, he left for a six-month tour.

The first two months or so seemed pretty easy, getting emails and phone calls from him regularly. Work too was being helpful, and so whilst looking after Zac was at times hard work, I was able to cope, until that fateful day in May when I had a phone call from the nursery he had started to attend.

There had been an accident at the nursery, and several of the children in their care had been injured, a gas boiler explosion or something. I was not sure of the details as I dropped the phone, and ran literally from work and into my car, driving in a rush to hospital. He was okay, but would require days, if not weeks in hospital while he recovered, though the prognosis was for a full recovery. He started to recover well, and was soon up and about looking the cheeky boy that he was.

For the following month or so, I was at the hospital every afternoon/evening, working mornings, before heading over to see him mid afternoons, and leaving him in the evening, heading home, to my solitary bed, an extra large gothic wrought iron bed, that was spacious with two, on my own I often felt lost. Often I would lay there in my bed, despite my body being tired; my mind would be very active, wondering if Zac would recover, whether my husband would return from Iraq. Even if I was not initially aroused, during those lonely days and weeks, I found the best cure for my insomnia was a good orgasm, a good cum, once I woke up with the small vibe still inside me...

Guess I should tell you about my sexuality. I was straight; I had never looked at a woman, though as with most girls I guess I had briefly been curious about sex with another girl, another female. But the thought was soon dismissed, and I was happy with my sex life, especially with Adrian. We were, maybe still are, what I would consider open minded sexually. Whilst neither of us was into Pain, Domme/sub lifestyles or anything else like that, we were more adventurous then the plain vanilla sex that many peopled seem to indulge in. We used toys, would play games, and we both enjoyed tie and tease, and apparently the technical term is a switch, we were both switches; enjoying being teased and doing the teasing. That was one of the reasons why we had that bed, the iron frame allowed silk restraints, or used stockings to be used to tie the victim to the bed. For me in particular, lingerie and clothing could, did play an important part in our sex life, and another use for the corner posts, hanging up in use bras to air in between wearing.

I liked then, and I still do, to dress in a smart manner, rather then a 'slut' style appearance. My figure was, is slender but with curves, and I dress to accentuate those curves, but with a sexual elegance. Whilst I have short 'mini-skirts'; I prefer to wear longer skirts with revealing slits. I prefer to wear blouses of pastel shades, light, and wear a complementary darker bra underneath, like a deep blue bra under a pale blue blouse. If I wore a plunging neckline, I would wear a lace camisole, the lace obscuring my cleavage. Guess I like to tease, as a lot of us do, but in a more refined manner. Another fetish that I inherited from my husband was boots. He loved to see me wearing knee high boots, and would buy them for me as presents or gifts.

During those first few weeks of his time in hospital, I was befriended by a petite nurse, who I shall call Liz. She was slightly taller then myself, and of a similar age. She was soon friendly towards me, and over a period of time, we developed, well at the time a rapport, but I guess with hindsight it was something more. Alas, again with the benefit of hindsight, it is obvious now that may be she wanted more, then a professional relationship, friendship which was what I was expecting; wanted, nothing more. Even though she was always kind, polite, and very complimentary, I wish Adrian would pay as many compliments as Liz did.

As the days went by, I saw Liz almost daily, and a couple of times we ended up in the coffee bar at the hospital, as I bought her a coffee and thanked her for all her support to us both during what had been a difficult time. We would sit there, talking about our lives, careers. Finally I heard the news that I wanted, that Zac would be released on Friday, and that I was to make arrangements to collect him and take him home.

Shortly after I was given the news, I saw Liz, in her uniform. As we hugged, I felt her hand lightly caress my bum, I am sure, but in the excitement I do not fully recall much except it felt slightly odd. In the moment, I asked her for dinner, maybe at my place, or a restaurant, and she accepted my offer to visit my place, and Wednesday night was agreed. I left the hospital feeling on top of the world, the slightly odd caress during the embrace had slipped my mind completely.

For the supper, I had decided on a simple pasta based meal, something that was fresh, and quick to prepare upon my return from hospital. And not long after I had finished preparing it, the door bell rang, and it was Liz, looking rather wonderful. I had not really appreciated her simple yet pretty face, and almost for the first time I had seen her out of her uniform. She had chosen to wear a wrap over top and skirt, the plunging neckline of her top revealing the delicate curves of her breasts. Some how, I found it striking, maybe out of place, but maybe she was heading out afterwards?

We got chatting, and out came a bottle of wine, and we had the starter, to keep in the Italian theme, I had prepared fresh mozzarella cheese, and beef tomato. I cleared up, and returned, from the kitchen with the main course, and again sat down, and started to talk, eat. It was the first time I had really drank since Zac had been admitted to hospital, and very quickly started to feel the effects, or so I thought, but I continued to eat, and talk, feeling generally relieved, Zac was coming home, as was my husband, who had been able to bring forward his leave on compassionate grounds. He had offered to try and come home earlier, but with Zac in hospital, I suggested that coming home when Zac was out was more sensible, so we both could spend time with him.

The rest of the evening, was, is still slightly vague, though I did find out why. After we had finished eating, we continued to talk, before I suggested we move over to the sofa, which she agreed was more comfortable. However, as I stood, I felt my knees give way, falling almost into Liz's arms, grip as she supported me to the sofa, and helped me to lie down on the sofa, my back supported by pillows, cushions.

My eyes were fogged up, my head seeing double, as I lay back on the sofa, hearing her worlds of support, before I heard the clatter of crockery, cutlery being cleared. My eyes closed briefly. How long, I feinted, slept I am not sure, but I soon felt her tender touch, and her caress, as she started to talk to me. I cannot recall what she said totally, but they were full of compliments, telling me how pretty I was...

I closed my eyes again, feeling strange, groggy, my legs rather weak, as did my arms; I felt her lips on mine, a soft probing kiss, and I tried to push her away, but my arms too had no strength. I wanted to scream, to shout, but again I had no strength, and that her lips were on mine, slightly arousing, in hindsight. The remainder of the evening was, still is a blur...

I woke up, to the sound of the dawn-chorus, suddenly aware that I was not alone. I turned over and saw her, HER laying in my bed, both of us nude, as I gasped, the soft echoes of the dawn peering past the curtains, curtains that had the impression of being hastily drawn.

My breathing was suddenly fast, heavy, as I tried to recall what happened the night before, after dinner. My hands softly stroked my form, remembering a soft sensation, and an intense orgasm, did I, did we? My fingers felt my matted hair, trimmed but still matted, my labia still softly swollen...

"Oh my God!"

My tongue licked my lips, tasting a strange taste, a taste of stale wine, saliva and something else; a taste that seemed familiar yet so different.

I remember walking around the room, looking at the floor, seeing our clothes, thrown, strewn across the floor, obviously discarded with some sense of urgency. I saw her hand bag, in the corner, open, in which what looked like a drug packet exposed. I walked over, checking to see if she was asleep still. I turned my head, and saw two capsules had been burst, the contents empty. Twisting my head, I could make out the letters, the name of the drug, the name sounding familiar, but unable to place it, wandering back to the dressing table, looking over the room, as I glanced over in her direction as she slept soundly.

I remember leaning against the dressing table still nude, looking at her from the back, as she slept, trying to remember what happened the night before; piecing the pieces of the jigsaw together, and the significance of the drug, as its name rolled off my lips I remember saying it out several times to myself. The room was still relatively dark, interrupted from the streaming sunlight passing through between the curtains.

Slowly I was able to start assembling the jigsaw puzzle, piecing the memories of the night before, as my memory came and went, like the sea breaking in on the beach, my thoughts ebbing in and out of my consciousness. I remembered her leaning into me, a cheek being caressed, feeling her breath on my lips, my cheek as she kissed me, in between saying the sweetest things. Her lisps, as she suckled on my lips, bit them gently, my hands tried to push her away, but no strength, no co-ordination. Just her relentless insistence, as she kissed, shivered as I remember her parting my lips, her tongue in my mouth, kissing me. Did I respond?

What was she saying, about how attractive I am, and boots, she emphasised my boots. Oh yes, and she, She, SHE was caressing my boot clad calf. I remember vaguely sighing, my hands touching her, as she kissed me, softly gently, unlike any other lover. I tried to resist the kiss, but had no strength. But I remembered that I vaguely started to respond, opening my lips to hers, feeling her tongue past my lips, as the kiss deepened, intensified. I am sure at some point, I tried again to push her away, but she bore down on me, kissed me even more forcefully, I felt her cup my breast, my nipple, sending a charge down my spine, as I realised it was responding, as I was responding.

"How did we end up in my bedroom?" The room I have only slept with my husband in until now... Oh god, not only was I raped, I was raped, violated in my own matrimonial bed"

"Rohypnol" as I suddenly remembered the name, a drug reported to have been used recently in a date rape trail; as I wandered back to the dressing table, trying to remember the significance; my memory still patchy from the night before. I gasped loudly standing there, as the events of the night before started to sink in, starting to make sense now, why I felt weak, and my memory so patchy, I was drugged, had I been raped?

"Rohypnol!" I blurted out, causing Liz to stir, as she rolled onto her back, exposing her slender breasts to me, gasping, her nipples were still erect. My eyes caught sight of something, a red mark below her breast, as the sight refreshed my memory.

Slowly, I looked up, into a mirror, as I saw myself nude, and a matching mark, together with faded outline of lipstick marks.... On my flesh, on my breasts, on my abdomen. Oh god, we marked each other to show our affection, so we could remember what had happened between us.... I became aware of my breathlessness, my breathing lightly panting.

My eyes continued to survey the scene, as my memory flash backs came and went. Seeing a hair brush, on the floor, I picked it up, the handle slightly sticky, a smell that came stronger as I brushed my hair...

"Oh god, I need to cum, I need to be filled" entered my mind, suddenly remembering lying on my bed, my legs wanton as she fucked me with the brush. During those minutes, before Liz woke, more and more fragments from the night before entered my consciousness. I remembered being on my side, in a 69 style position, visions of seeing a woman's sex, her labia, her entrance, her clitoris so close to my face, too close. I remembered hearing a gasp, a loud cry; did she call out my name? But she came, and she came hard, as I, intoxicated by the drug; by her scent continued to pleasure her, feeling her pleasure me, and I guess I came as well, as she performed oral on me...

"Good Morning Miranda." In a normal, morning manner as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened the night before, rolling onto her back looking up at me with a soft but sly smile upon her lips.

"You bitch" I screamed, as I called her names, telling her to get out. She stood up and walked towards me, ignoring my order, my request, and my pleas.

"You raped me you bitch, you drugged me up and raped me you lousy stinking bitch!" My hand reached out, swung in from a height as I slapped her cheek, feeling my hand, palm sting, before I burst into tears.

Rather then leaving me, she just held me, gently, as I sobbed, cried, calling her every name under the sun. She pulled my head onto her shoulder, softly, as she spoke.

"Maybe I did take advantage of you Miranda," she replied in a soft, gentle almost reassuring voice; "but can you remember what you said, as you came on my lips, as I came on yours...?"

"Stop it you bitch," I cried, starting to hit out at her with clenched fists, tears rolling down my eyes, my memory vaguely remembering that orgasm and how intense it was, how wanton I had become in Adrian's absence.

Her hands grabbed my wrists firmly, and before I was able to say anything, her lips were on mine, What shocked me the most I am not sure, whether it was her kissing me, intensely or rather that I responded as passionately.

The kiss grew in intensity, as the two mouths, tongues became one, Liz's hands were caressing, stroking my nude form. Pulling our pelvises together. Instinctively, I started to buckle, grind into Liz, pulled her close, and wrapped my arms around her, around Liz before Liz pushed me onto the bed.

She stood in front of me, smiling, as she knew she had me beaten, that I was hers.

Epilogue:

During the spring of 2006, having been intrigued with the ideas of coercion, specifically one female coercing another female, I thought of three story plots that I wanted to put together. All three stories were conceived within days of each other, but Miranda's Desire and Friend or Foe were finished and accepted pretty quickly.

The plot for this story though, was conceived as I reviewed for a friend a true Rape story, in conjunction with a date rape trail here in the UK at the same time. But for various reasons it took me a while to finish the work, partly due to reality calling up on more of my time, but also the controversial subject of this story. Despite trying to describe what happened in a sympathetic way, Date rape drug is an unpleasant experience for the victim.

As such I am unsure what response this story will receive, but I still decided to publish it here on Lit erotica. But please remember it is fiction, as far as I am aware, the names and story are not related to anyone alive.

Again, I will enjoy reading your comments. If they are negative, I do not mind as long as they are constructive and thought full, and if appropriate I will respond.

Thank you for taking the time to read the story and to reach this part. Also my thanks my appreciation goes to those individuals who read this story and made suggestions to improve it.

Miranda

April 2007

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While I agree that there are substantial technical issues in this posting, I think that the author's style - inclusive of sentence structure and atypical comma usage - lends credibility to the story beingmore...

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