Please, Don't Make Me Do It

Chapter One

Carol was alternating between despair and furious anger. After 30 years of marriage. How could he, the absolute mean-hearted, two timing, treacherous devious bastard how could he?

She was aged 22 years and freshly out of University when she met him. She quickly fell in love and he equally quickly bedded and wedded her. Now she was 52 and he was the only man she had ‘known’ since that time. Oh yes, of course there had been clumsy fumblings as a young teenager, and somewhat unsophisticated and uncomfortably messy sex at University…after all ‘everybody did it’. But Bernard had taught her the true pleasure of giving herself without reservation or embarrassment, submissively and in total trust to his every need. He had demanded and she had surrendered, gifting all that she possessed, all of her ‘self’, body and soul, to please him. And he had brought her to pinnacles of ecstasy she had never previously known or thought could exist. Her wailing sobbing fulfilment had matched his own urgent calling, crying, throbbing, pulsing end to their passion.

The years passed, the frantic searching, each of the other lessened in its intensity. Now 30 years on it was their wedding anniversary. After 30 years - a very special anniversary she thought.

A week ago as Bernard had made no mention of any special evening, she had mentally prepared for a memorable meal at home, hopefully to be followed by a return to their former passionate loving. That evening she had laid the table carefully. The silverware polished, candles in their holders, flowers from the garden as a table centrepiece. A dozen oysters on ice in the ‘frig (his favourite starter), succulent veal strips with a little fragrant basmati rice for her to rapidly yet tenderly cook in a cream sauce as he finished his oysters and sipped his Muscadet wine. Afterwards, a crème Brûlé, Armagnac, coffee. And then, bed. Or hanging from the ceiling if he wanted her like that!!

All preparations made, she showered, sparingly used her favourite L’Air du Temps talc and cologne (and just a little touch in her pubic hair – and why not – at the base of her spine too).

Her mind drifted back to her first true intimacy with him, the time he had shown her that his needs were sudden and forceful. The time that she had become his nervously willing and submissive girl. They had dated twice before and when he had kissed her good night she had felt the maleness of him as he held her closely in his arms.

That evening they had gone to a disco and she had dressed in yellow, her mini skirt cut two inches above her knee softly hugging her hips. Her top had been a boob tube, nothing beneath, helping keep her cool during the heat of a summer evening. As she twisted and turned to the music the full skirt flared just below her hips revealing the white lace of her brief panties. After a while he led her outside.

In a dark corner of the building he had pulled her to him and his pressure was again instantly there. They kissed and she had felt his hands gentling her, smoothing her back, her hips, sides, his thumbs just nudging the side of her breasts. As she reached up and wrapped her arms about his neck he put his hands on her firm rounded cheeks and pulled her to him. She felt his need for her prodding against her tummy. One of his hands cupped her breast and she let it explore the outside of her, tingling at his touch and then he was pushing the material higher, revealing her firm uplifted breasts with her nipples straining to reach him. There was a searing flash between her legs as he rubbed his thumb over her and his other hand lifted the hem of her mini dress. She tried to pull his hand away as he let it slide up her thigh, over her silken inner skin but he took both of her hands and held them high above her head, gripped tightly in one of his.

“Don’t move” he whispered “just stand like this.”

“No, no Bern, please don’t, someone might come, someone might SEE” she said urgently.

“Carol will you just do as I tell you. Now STAND STILL and don’t take your arms down. I’m going to let go of your wrists but DON’T take you arms down. Do you understand?

“Please don’t, not here. Please Bern let me go.”

“For the last time Carol, stand quite still with your arms up or I’ll take you into the middle of the car park and do it there where anybody can see.”

Scared at his strength and the threat of being exposed to any couple who came out for a cuddle, she closed her eyes in silent submission. The grip on her wrists relaxed and he cautiously released her. She stood as he had demanded, her back to the wall, the covering of her breasts pulled high, her breasts now naked to the night air and her arms raised above her head. She again felt him lifting the hem of her mini dress, his fingers drifting higher and then the electrifying touch of his finger in the gap between her legs. He slipped his finger under the edge of her panties and she felt the cool kiss of night on her lower lips. The back of his fingers had brushed her pubic hair then turned to feel along her slit. He grabbed the gusset of her panties and pulled down to give himself more room to feel her hidden womanhood. His hand was inside her panties, feeling her hairs, her slit, and the wetness running from her. His middle finger discovered her hole and pushed for entrance. She whimpered as her tight muscle tried to deny him but his skilled finger probed and circled and finally pushed again, her body yielded and she felt the tip of him inside her.

“Bern, please don’t, please stop, its hurting me. Pleeaaase no not here” she whimpered.

“Open wider. Spread for me. DO IT NOW” he commanded.

Her mind whirling she felt her feet move apart, opening for him as he had demanded. His hands moved to the waistband and she felt him tugging, felt her panties begin to slip down and over her hips. Her tiny protection was slipping down her legs leaving her helplessly exposed to him. He pulled them down to her knees

“Now take them off. DO IT CAROL just DO IT.”

She stepped out of her shoes and obediently reached down and slid them over her feet. His fingers had fumbled with the catch at the waist of her skirt. She felt it loosen around her and as he released her zipper, it tumbled down her legs to lie puddled at her feet. His hands grabbed the boob tube and pulled it over her head, discarding it with her skirt. She was now totally naked in the night air. She stood before him, one hand covering her pubic hair and the other arm across her nipples shielding the nakedness of her heaving breasts.

“Put you arms over you head and open your legs” he ordered her.

“No, Bern please don’t make me do this. Somebody will see me” she pleaded.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the darkness of the corner. She saw a couple walking to their car and he dragged her towards them.

“NO BERN NO, please, please NO” she whispered “Don’t let them see me like this.”

He pushed her back into the corner.

“Right, arms over your head and legs spread wide for me.”

She mutely raised her arms and spread her legs. He was fumbling at the front of his trousers and she heard the sound of his zipper. She couldn’t help looking down as he opened himself, reached inside and pulled out his rampant cock. He held it in his hand, massaging its length, preparing it for her. He looked at her and saw the pale ivory body before him with its patch of dark pubic hair, her breasts proudly lifting as she nervously panted. Her nipples were hard, pointing, a deep blood red in the moonlight. He stepped closer and she felt the roughness of his cotton shirt pressing against the soft skin of her naked breasts. His hand cupped a breast, the other holding his cock and nudging the end of it between her open thighs. He stooped slightly and rubbed the blunt knob end on her clit and she jerked and whimpered at the erotic touch. He coated his cock with her juices, flowing heavily into her slit.

“Good girl, Carol. Good girl. Good girl” he crooned. “Now take ONE hand down and open your cunt with your fingers. I’m going to fuck you.”

Now totally and submissively under his control, she reached down and as she slipped her hand between her legs she felt the hard silky cock that was going to penetrate her. Her finger found her hole and slipped inside. She stretched herself and inserted a second.

“That’s it. That’s a GOOD girl. Are you ready for me now Carol? Do you want my cock in you? Do you want me to fuck you?”

She moaned and pumped with her fingers inside herself.

“Carol you must answer me. Are you ready for me? Do you want my cock to fuck you?”

Her reply was a strangled “Yes.” He told her to hold his cock in her hand and as he lifted her, to put it against her hole. As he lowered her gently she felt it penetrate her, possess her and as he began to pump inside she responded and began to grind her clit against his pubic bone.

“Is this good, Carol. Do you like it?”

“Oh god, oh god do it to me. Give it to me. Don’t talk just do me” she begged.

She emerged from her reverie, conscious that her breasts were now tight with the anticipation of the evening, her pussy already moist and impatient for his homecoming.

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 asleep 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 sleep, 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 sleep. She lay wondering … had he … had he done it that night with another …. on their anniversary … had he celebrated her 30th 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 sleep, and went into the bathroom. After, when she had washed her eyes and hands she draped 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 sleeping 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 sleep. 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 drunken 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 force 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.