Lucinda's New Life

Saturday 12th July

Lucinda woke late on Saturday morning with a terrible headache.

Had she really been drunk enough to get a hangover like this? Surely not and yet... She felt nauseous as she threw back the duvet and eased her long, slim legs over the side of the mattress.

Jesus! What had happened?

She wanted to go back to sleep but her bladder dictated otherwise so she forced herself to stand up. The nausea got worse as she tottered unsteadily through to the en-suite bathroom and slumped onto the toilet, her head spinning as she relieved the first of her problems.

What in God's name had happened last night to make her feel like this?

She remembered getting bathed and laying out her little black dress to change into before going to meet the girls. She remembered trying to squeeze in half an hour of work before her taxi arrived. She remembered sitting at her desktop pc and the infernal flickering on the screen that had immediately started.

Beyond that she remembered nothing. She wiped herself dry between her thighs -- and winced aloud at the unexpected sharp pain that shot through her loins. Bending awkwardly, she looked at her vulva to find her outer lips swollen, pink and puffy.

There could be only one conclusion; she had had sex the night before. From the state of her vulva it had been hard, energetic sex too but she had no memory at all of it happening. She had a vaguest recollection of dancing in a club and being pleased to meet a man there whom she recognised, but she couldn't remember who it was. His face began to form in her mind but was driven out every time before she could recognise him.

She did remember something about a taxi ride. She recalled having difficulty with the key to her apartment and someone helping her; she remembered being excited; aroused even but after that, nothing in any detail at all.

Had she been so turned on that she had masturbated too vigorously and made herself sore down there? To her shame, she had done so in the past.

Or had Peter been home and made love to her? She hadn't expected him and had no memory of him but it must have been Peter. Yes, that's who it was. He must have come home unexpectedly and they had made love when she had come home from her girly evening, having had a few too many glasses of champagne.

He would have left early to go back to Southampton; that's why she was alone now.

Oh God! Look at the time!

Lucinda leapt to her feet -- far too quickly because another wave of nausea passed through her, making her retch and hold onto the towel rail for support. She tried again, more slowly this time and fumbled her way into the bedroom where her clothes lay strewn over the carpet.

What were those doing there? The little black dress she had intended to wear was nowhere to be seen, instead on the floor lay a tiny, frilly red skirt, a pair of white hold up stockings and a white crop top. In the hallway she found her discarded red high heels and a small red handbag she hadn't seen before.

Lucinda picked up the bag and opened it. Inside she found her credit card, some cash, a pack of three condoms -- all unused - and a pair of tiny cheap thong panties.

Surely she had never worn anything this tacky in her life before! Why would she have taken condoms to a girls night out? And why would her knickers be in her handbag?

But there was too much to do that day to wallow in hangover self-pity.

Lucinda struggled through to the kitchen and made herself a large pot of strong black coffee, all the time trying to remember what on earth she had done the previous evening. Beyond the PC flickering while she worked, nothing new came into her mind.

Frustrated, she gathered up the discarded clothes and began to put the unfamiliar items in the laundry. Maybe she had bought them last night; or perhaps a long time ago for a fancy-dress event and forgotten all about them.

She looked at the tiny skirt and crop top. They might have been cheap but they were very sexy; she might even wear them to work the following week. She would certainly wear them when Peter came home tomorrow. She would have to cook something very special for her wonderful, attractive husband too but right then, the thought of food made her feel queasy.

Lucinda looked at the bedside clock. Her driver Richard would be round to collect her in an hour to take her back to the site. The unusual weekend meeting had been called at her instigation and could not be missed. She felt terrible but knew she had to make exactly the right impression if she was to be taken seriously and the project was to be brought back on time.

After a good long shower to revive herself, Lucinda quickly pulled on her new work ensemble; stockings, suspenders, thong panties to match, a tiny, nine-inch-long black pleated skirt, a tight white sleeveless vest top and five-inch heels.

She brushed her long dark hair until it shone as it fell over her bare shoulders and put quite a lot more make-up on too, just in case she looked a little rough after her mysterious night out.

That was better, she thought as she looked in the mirror again; very smart and very professional. Her father would be proud of the way she was starting to run his empire. She would be the safe pair of hands he needed to leave it in when he retired later in the year.

The doorbell rang and, grabbing her coat and briefcase, Lucinda tottered towards the exit where her chauffeur was waiting.

***

"Hello Hugo?" Peter's voice sounded serious as he answered the mobile call in his car.

"Peter, um... I'm pleased I caught you. Where are you now?"

"In my car on the motorway," Peter replied. "On my way home."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes of course. What's the matter Hugo?"

"It's Cinders... you've been away all week, haven't you?"

"That's right. It was a long case that kept getting longer and..."

"I thought so," his father-in-law interrupted. "So, you haven't seen her this week?"

"I'm afraid not. We've talked on the phone but you know how busy she's been."

"Did she sound... normal?"

"I suppose so; our conversations were a bit strange, but things haven't been that great between us recently. You already knew that, didn't you?"

"Y... yes," The older man sounded uneasy; unsure.

"Is something wrong?" Peter asked, his voice a little agitated, "Hugo, please tell me."

"Well," his wife's father was clearly in two minds what to say. "She's been behaving... strangely for the past week, maybe longer."

"What sort of strange? She has been under a lot of stress with the new site."

"It's not that; the site's going well. Brian Barlow is a good man to have in charge. A bit traditional perhaps but fundamentally very sound. No, it's Cinders' behaviour we're all puzzled by. She's... different."

"Come on Hugo," Peter said irritably. "What do you mean exactly?"

So Lucinda's father explained to her husband how the strong, confident, powerful businesswoman they both knew and loved had come to work wearing uncomfortable 'fuck me' high heels, hold up stockings, a skirt that barely covered her bottom and a thong that allowed her buttocks to be clearly visible when her skirt rode up -- which was often. Add to that a tight fitting cropped vest top, a bra which had obviously been padded out and wildly excessive make up and you got... at the very least, a puzzle.

"And this just happened this morning?" Peter asked, his voice conveying disbelief.

"Well, it's been building up for a week or more; each day is a bit more outrageous than the last. I can't let her see our clients looking like that but she just keeps going to her office every day and carrying on as if nothing had changed. Lord knows what she will be like tomorrow."

"I... I don't know what to say? There was no sign of this when I went away," he replied truthfully.

"I just thought I should warn you, and ask you to try and find out what's... well, what the Hell's going on."

"I will do my best, Hugo. I promise," Peter frowned, "I'll call as soon as I've talked to her."

They said their goodbyes and hung up.

Sunday 13th July

The apartment was silent the following morning when Peter slipped out of the hot, fetid bedroom and into the lounge. Looking around, he quickly located and picked up the phone. He was naked, the thick but flaccid cock that dangled between his legs was an angry red colour; sore from over-use.

He crossed to the kitchen and filled the kettle then dialled a well-remembered number.

"Good morning Hugo," he said quietly when his father-in-law answered.

"Peter! How are things?" came the anxious reply. "Is everything okay?"

"Well... to be honest, I'm not quite sure what to tell you," Peter replied hesitantly.

"Is she okay? Does she need a doctor?"

"I don't think so but I do see what you mean. Her clothes..."

As he told his father-in-law an expurgated version of the previous evening's events, Peter's mind was filled with vivid images of all that had taken place:

He explained how his strong, powerful businesswoman wife had met him in the apartment's hallway with a properly prepared martini, had taken his coat and made him feel more welcome and at home than he had felt since their wedding.

He did not tell the older man how his daughter had done all this dressed only in lingerie and heels and that they had made love wildly, noisily and passionately on the rug in front of the fire, his trousers around his ankles, before a second sip had been taken.

He explained how they had gone out for dinner afterwards and that her dress had been 'eccentric'.

He did not explain that this was a euphemism for Lucinda wearing a black skin-tight dress that barely covered her buttocks and exposed her stockings, suspenders and black lace thong every time she bent over. A bra had apparently been considered unnecessary. Peter did not tell her father that he had insisted Lucinda wore a long raincoat over this ensemble to try and retain some form of dignity in a restaurant he hoped to be able to return to one day.

He hinted that she had been uncharacteristically warm and affectionate. He did not tell Hugo that on returning to the apartment after dinner, his daughter had turned into a cock-hungry slut whose insatiable demands had kept them both awake into the small hours and had left both of them red, sore and exhausted.

He did suggest that he and his wife should come over to visit her parents for the day so that Cinders, as Hugo and Caroline called her, could indulge her love of horse riding and they would be able to judge for themselves what her current state of mind actually was.

***

Well after midnight on Sunday evening, Lucinda lay awake in the darkness listening to her husband's long, slow breathing.

How she adored this man; the way she felt about him was almost frightening in its intensity. From the moment he had arrived she had been astonished to realise how much she wanted him; how desperately she needed his body deep inside hers; strong and masculine, fit and fertile.

She had offered herself to him immediately and he had taken her. She had been perhaps a little disappointed that he had only taken her in the conventional way at first but after dinner he had let his imagination roam wild, with amazing results.

Lucinda couldn't remember anytime during their marriage or before when she had been this comprehensively fucked. Not even on their wedding night when her orgasmic cries had disturbed the occupants of several adjoining hotel bedrooms had she let herself go as completely as she had just done with her wonderful husband.

Driven by his wife's seemingly insatiable demands, Peter had needed all his sportsman's fitness to satisfy her; taking her on her back, on her knees, cowgirl style in a chair, wrapped tightly around him pressed against the closet door and others too baffling to recall. Between each penetration, Lucinda had brought kept husband's cock fully erect with the energetic use of her mouth and tongue until, desperate to feel like a real, complete woman she had begged him to cum inside her body.

She had woken him up twice in the night to repeat the performance. Stunned by his wife's behaviour, Peter had risen to the occasion with the same total commitment he had been famous for on the pitch during his international sport career.

Lucinda was sore now; very sore in truth but it was a good sensation. The feeling of liberation that had overwhelmed her when she had yielded herself completely to her husband's desires had been transformational. The sex that had followed had been the best of her entire life; each copulation better than the last until she had actually passed out during her final orgasm.

And now she lay with all that wonderful sperm swimming round in her body like a real, fertile woman should.

A real, fertile woman? Lucinda frowned; that wasn't quite so!

Why in the name of God had she made herself infertile? Those stupid birth control pills she took every day were making her into a monster; a barren, infertile monster who couldn't give her husband what she knew he had always wanted; a child.

She would remedy that straight away; first thing in the morning those horrible pills would be flushed down the toilet and she would become a real, complete woman again.

She dozed a little.

It had been so lovely. After their first few torrid copulations, they had cuddled on the sofa, naked underneath the duvet pulled from their large bed, watching a romantic late-night movie together. The screen had flickered badly but Peter hadn't seemed to notice, and she had gradually stopped noticing.

Perhaps it was her eyes? Perhaps being infertile was affecting her vision as well as her temper. Perhaps if she was fertile, she would feel better all round and be an even better wife for her amazing husband.

A warm glow washed over her as the thought took hold; she would be a real, fertile wife for her husband, whatever it took! Peter wouldn't even be tempted by Victoria, however efficient, attractive and available she might be.

She wondered whether the men on site would notice the change in her. They would certainly like the change if they knew about it but would they treat her with more respect?

They hadn't always given her the respect she knew she deserved, but why? She had sorted out her terrible dress sense and they seemed to prefer her in her smart new revealing work clothes so what else could it be?

Perhaps they were intimidated. Perhaps they thought she was too aloof; too stand-offish. Perhaps she needed to show them that she was part of the team after all; one of them; that they didn't need to feel intimidated by her.

She thought for a moment.

Her name! They all had nicknames -- some really rude ones too. Lady Lucinda was all well and good for the daughter of a millionaire Earl, but as a successful business woman in her own right she needed to fit in with people better sometimes.

She couldn't give herself a nickname so what could she do? Maybe her title was annoying them. Maybe they had problems with the aristocracy. Maybe if she stopped insisting she was Lady Lucinda Spencer, they would be more friendly and respectful.

What could she call herself? What had the kids in primary school called each other?

Then the answer suddenly came to her; Cindy! That was it!

The boys on her father's Estate had called her that once when she was little. Her mother had told them off; told then that boys in their position must call her 'Miss Lucinda' but, she now realised, she had always liked the name. It was a friendly name, a warm name, the sort of name that would suit the sort of girl like she had become.

She would insist that they called her Cindy. That would make them want to behave in a more friendly way. She would be more approachable too. She would smile more; maybe even join them for a drink after work. She knew they all went to the pub in the evening, especially on Fridays.

Cindy! She tried out the name in her mind over and over again. It was good; she really liked it. Deep down, she realised she had always liked being called Cindy. Lots of women used different names at work from those they used at home. She herself had never used her married name at work but at that moment couldn't imagine why. She would change that straight away

Cindy would never even think of denying her marriage to her amazing, irresistible husband, she thought, turning towards him once again...

Monday 14th July

Cindy was still sprawled naked and motionless on the rumpled sheets when, very early that morning, Peter left the apartment to start the long drive to Southampton. He felt exhausted after a largely sleepless night during which his almost insatiable wife had made a relentless series of demands on his body. It was only the second such night in many, many months and had involved the most energetic and imaginative sex he had enjoyed for many years.

He had ejaculated three times in a single night; something he hadn't done since his teenage years. After their first copulation in the missionary position, Lucinda had insisted he fucked her on her knees on the bed, bent over the back of the sofa, lying on the kitchen table and once even against the wall of the shower.

Even that didn't seem to satisfy her. Thank God he had kept up a vigorous training programme after his retirement from international sport. It had probably saved his back from serious damage. As it was, he was seriously sore between his thighs, his lips were numb and his neck ached from hours of kissing and cunnilingus.

He wondered what to tell his wife's worried father. There was no denying that his beloved Cinders had changed but how do you tell a man that his daughter had suddenly become a slut? Peter was genuinely fond of his father-in-law and respected him both as a family man and a businessman. He did not want to upset Hugo unless it was absolutely necessary; if the truth could wait a few days then that would be best, he reasoned.

Meanwhile he had a case to progress in court and some important telephone calls to make. He pressed the 'dial' button on his steering wheel and waited for the familiar female voice to answer.

"Victoria?"

"Yes, Mister Mountfield?"

"I need your help..."

Thank God he had someone he could really rely on; someone he could trust to get things done. Someone who really knew how to support her Boss how he needed, when he needed it.

***

It was past nine o'clock when Cindy dragged herself out of bed, once again a full hour and a half after she would normally have been at her desk. Her legs and hips ached from all those hours of wonderful sex in so many positions, her lower back was scuffed from being rubbed over and over against the sheet and her vulva was fiery red and sore.

She looked at the indentation in the pillow next to hers where her gorgeous, caring husband had slept and felt so happy! She looked at the stained, rumpled sheets where her juices and her husband's semen had oozed from her to form a hard crust.

Cindy smiled; for the first time in her life, she really understood what her priorities had to be. Her job and all that went with it were fun and a challenge but for a girl like her, pleasing her husband had to be the most important part of her life.

And doing so had made her feel so good too!

Why she had agreed for Peter to be away from her for two full weeks was beyond her understanding. Surely she should have simply followed him down to Southampton as a good wife would have done. Instead she had wasted time trying to be a woman in what was really a man's world; time she could have spent taking care of her wonderful husband's every need.

Still, there was a job to be done at work and she had to get on with it. Whatever her life might become, she was no quitter and had to finish what she had started. Peter had told her so and he was always right in these matters.