Wee Lassie


This is a true story, pieced together, from small snippets of information given to me by the central character. It came about because her husband had read one of my previous stories, and felt the events in my story were similar to what must have happened to his own wife. I say felt, because although his wife had admitted she'd had sex with other men; and he knew by her state, she'd not done it willingly. And for her part, she was so ashamed by her involuntary capitulation, that she couldn't bring herself to explain to him what had actually taken place. Apart from saying through her tears, "They both had me. No, it wasn't rape. I don't want to go to the police."

So with his encouragement, she contacted me, and gradually the story unfolded. I've changed the names of the people involved and the type of work place where she was employed. (Both of these to protect her identity) The actual conversations are my own words, as she couldn't bring herself to re-live the actual events. But whereas the words used might be different, the meaning behind them and tone in which they were used are authentic. As are the events portrayed.

I am a 5ft 2 inches tall, 23 year old, with shoulder length brunette hair and weigh just under 8 stone (112 pounds). I suppose you would say, petite. But up here in Glasgow they just say, wee lass. I have Smallish boobs but am told I have good legs and, well men whistle if I pass them. Oh and Ken (my husband) says I have a bum to die for. When my story happened I was working in a factory that manufactured flat-pack kitchens. This day I'd been sent by my supervisor up to the works manager's office. When I arrived at his upstairs office, I knocked and waited, fearing what he might want me for.

"COME IN." He called loudly.

As I opened the door I could see he was sat down behind his big desk. He pointed to a chair on my side of his desk, "Sit yourself down lass."

He picked up a glossy brochure, and handed it to me. It was a fitted kitchen and a woman with a big beaming smile holding up a dish dripping with water. She was obviously supposed to be tickled pink with having this wonderful new kitchen.

"What do you think?"

"About what? That isn't one of our kitchens, is it?"

"No. But the idea of the advert. A woman will pick up a brochure to look at the kitchens. But a man won't. But by putting her on the front, you're just as likely to get a man to pick it up. Then, what's he gonna say he's looking at when his wife asks?"

"I see. That's good thinking."

"You bet it is."

"I'm thinking about the same kind of thing for our stuff."

"What a glossy brochure?"

"Well no. I couldn't run to that, but just a single sheet, still a glossy picture, just something to lay on shop counters and the like."

"Sounds great. But isn't there some kind of copyright or something?"

"Only if we use their idea. But I think a girl with a clip board, all the little check boxes ticked. One of the bottom cupboard doors open, and her bent over, looking like she's just ticking off the last cupboard check."

"Yes, I guess that would work."

"It would say across the top, we get someone who knows what a kitchen is used for, to make sure our kitchens are going to delight our customers.

"That's really good."

"So are you interested?"

"Me? Interested in what?"

"Being the girl in the advert."

"You are joking?"

"No. My brother Max is a professional photographer; we have all the units we need. All we need is a sexy girl. And they don't come any sexier than you. Especially if you're bent over showing that bum of yours."

"Oh I don't think I dare."

"It's all above board. And you'll be wearing overalls."

"I don't know."

"You'll get two hundred quid, and the picture will only take two hours at most."

I sat there thinking, what would Ken say (my husband). Then knowing he'd recently lost his job, and money in our house was tight. I said, "Yes, I'll do it. Thank you so much for thinking of me for the job."

"That's alright. After all, we couldn't use one of the canteen ladies. Imagine if we got old Gladys to bend down looking into a cupboard, nobody would be able to see the kitchen units." Then he laughed, and I joined in. But in truth I didn't think it funny, just a nasty thing to say. Then he added, "Ok, run along, and once it's arranged, I'll let you know the details."

When I got home and told Ken, he at first looked a little concerned, but once he knew I would be wearing company overalls, and the pictures had to be respectable to appear on shop counters, he suddenly began to show real excitement and I'm sure more than a little pride.

The session with Max taking the pictures was done one Saturday afternoon, and it took a lot longer than Graham (Mr James had now told me to call him this) had said.

The reason for this was instead of just the one picture Graham had described, Max took pictures of me doing everything but walking a tight-rope. I stood on a stool reaching up to cupboards. Bent down into cupboards. I sat on work tops; even lay down on the work top. In short, if it was possible for him to pose me with the kitchen units as my background, then he had me in that pose.

Part of getting me into the poses he wanted, involved him first holding my hand, helping me up to the stool or what ever. But gradually I found his hand under my bottom, just guiding me. Or on my waist; turning me this way or that.

Nothing as crude as feeling my bust, or groping in between my legs, but touching never the less. But as this man was a professional photographer, and like his brother a respectable business man in his forties, I assumed it must be a necessary part of the modelling. And, anyway, I couldn't imagine two men about town making a play for me, a married woman, dressed in overalls.

So I let the touching carry on unabated. But at no time was there any suggestion of loosening any buttons to reveal any flesh. But I will say this; the overalls weren't the ones I'd normally wear at work. They were specially made, and not only had the company name emblazoned on front and back, but were cut in a styled fashion, allowing my bust, hips and bottom to be shown to full effect.

The results were great, but just one picture was used, out of, I'm guessing, maybe a hundred taken. One of me lent forwards, as he'd first suggested. Clip board in hand, but my bottom was very evident even in overalls.

My first reaction was, to think Ken might say it was too sexy, but I couldn't have been wider of the mark. He was so over the moon, he'd show the sample sheet I'd been given to any and everyone who came to our house. And even I have to admit, I was proud when anyone mentioned they'd seen it and recognised me.

But the next few weeks at work, I did get a bit of mickey-taking. Remarks like, here she comes, the bum that sold a thousand kitchens. And nearly everybody said something nice, even if some a little cheeky. I ignored any cheeky remarks, but just to be on the safe side, I never went around at work without my overalls.

And even in the hottest weather, I didn't follow the advice given me by several helpful co-workers (all men of course). "It's so hot with overalls on, you aught to strip off to your bra and pants, the overalls will cover you up."

But hot or not, I always kept my jeans and top on under my overalls. And the overalls fully buttoned up at all times.

Then two weeks after the poster, Graham told my supervisor to send me up to his office, and when I walked in, he was sitting there with his brother Max. He explained that a friend of his had seen the posters, and wanted something similar for his business. When I asked what his business was, Graham replied, "Garments. He wants you to model dresses, skirts, blouses, jeans etc. It won't be boring old kitchen cupboards; this is the glamorous end of the market."

I blushed, and then said, "But I don't know if I could do stuff like that."

Max butted in, "Trust me Linder; you have a body that could make an old sack look sexy. And I should know I've taken pictures of hundreds of girls."

"But I couldn't just say yes now, I'd have to ask my husband."

"We wouldn't expect anything else, but don't forget to tell him, its five hundred quid cash in hand. And as Donald wants to use some of the photos for a mail order idea of his, if that takes off, there'll be additional bonuses."

I was so excited when I told Ken, and after at first a show of concern, he then said, "I'm not saying no, but I think it might be a good idea if I meet these men to make sure it's all kosher."

"But you Know Graham, you saw him when you went for the interview."

(Ken had tried to get a job at the same place as me, but they hadn't taken him on.)

"Yes, but I want to see all of them, just to be sure you're ok."

"Ok, I'll tell Graham."

"Graham is it? You used to call him Mr James."

"But he told me to call him Graham."

"I'm only ribbing you. Don't worry."

When I got to work the next day, I went straight to Graham's office, and told him Ken wasn't against the idea, but he wanted to meet them to make sure everything was above board, and discuss the details. Graham picked up his phone, and made a call, I can't remember all his words, but basically he was talking to Donald and after asking me my phone number, he gave it to him, and told him to ring my Ken, and explain what was expected of me, and what I stood to get in return.

I then went off to my work area, and continued as normal for the day. I'm not sure if you can imagine the thoughts going through my head, here I am doing manual work, earning seven quid an hour, and only a few weeks ago, for three hours lounging around, I got two hundred quid. It felt kind of bizarre. I know the poster thing was just a local distribution, as would be this mail order catalogue, but it felt to me, like I was on the verge of something big, and there were all these thought going on in my head about how it could maybe change my life.

Ok so that was silly, but I'm sure if you ever get into this kind of situation, the same dreams will come to you, no matter how unrealistic. Oh, and by the way, although I may have been dreaming about things to come, I'd never have admitted that to anyone, even my Ken. In fact when he made joking remarks about it being the cat-walk in Parris next, I'd just go all shy and tell him not to be silly.

But when I got home, Ken told me about his conversation with Donald, and said they wanted me to meet them on Sunday morning, bright and early.

The rest of the week dragged by, but eventually Sunday morning arrived, and Ken gave me a lift to Donald's factory, where he was waiting with Max (Graham's brother, the photographer). I could see straight away, Donald was also in the same age group as Graham and Max, I'm guessing mid forties.

As my Ken's car pulled away, leaving me on my own with Ken and Donald, Donald climbed up into the driver's seat of this big white van.

The Van was just a Van to me; I'm not into describing these sorts of things. But as I soon found out, it had a double seat in the front for passengers, and a Drivers seat which as I said, Donald had climbed into. As I turned back from waving goodbye to Ken, Max was stood by the passenger side door, holding out his hand to help me in. As I started to make my climb, I felt his hand on my bottom, and he gave me just a little lift, nothing more.

I turned and gave him a look, but he just shrugged his shoulders and said, "What?"

I didn't respond, and soon we were off, me sat in the middle on the long passenger seat. Incidentally, Don, as he now wanted me to call him, did all the driving, whilst I was always seated in the middle of him and Max. As we drove along, and they talked, I looked around, and could see that behind the seats we were on, it was quite a big space. Down each side were racks of clothes, which reached from the back doors, up to about a yard or so from the back of the front seats. On the racks at one side were a few pairs of different coloured jeans and tops, on the other, three or four skirts and two dresses.

We drove for about ten miles to a nearby town, and they stopped the van in the parking area of a little park. Max had spotted an ornamental fountain, and told Don to drive into the gates and park up.

It was now the reality of modelling hit me. "Ok love, in the back, and let's see you in a pair of jeans. Oh and one of those white tops."

"Do I get changed in the back of the van?"

"Well you can get changed out there in the car-park if you want, but I think you'll soon draw an audience."

By now Max was out of the van, and I shuffled myself to the edge of the seat, he took hold of my waist and lifted me down. As I walked behind him to the back of the van, he opened the door, and held his hand out to steady me up. I had to stretch one leg high up onto the van floor, and he just slipped his other hand under my crotch, lifting me in. It was a bit embarrassing, but it wasn't as if he actually tried to feel me, or grope in any way.

Then as I walked in between the racks, I saw him close the door. I began to take my own stuff off, and as I did so, I could see both of them through the front window of the van, as they stood outside chatting.

The doors weren't locked, and it felt so nerve racking, stripping to bra and pants in these unfamiliar surroundings. The first thing I noticed was that all the clothes, jeans etc, were tight. Jeans sometimes are, even if the size marked inside is supposed to be your fit. But I wondered if maybe they had made a mistake, and got my size wrong. But after a wiggle and pull, I managed to get into them, and then put the top on. This was also tighter than I'd normally wear, making my average size breasts look bigger than they were.

I started walking to the back of the van, but as I approached the door, it magically opened. So I guess either Max was psychic, or they'd been watching me get ready. Again, up came his hands, and he took my waist, lifting me to the ground. I posed in maybe twenty or more different poses, none of them in any way daring, but as I say, we were in a public park, even if there weren't many people around. Then Max said, "Ok let's find a new location."

So we were off again, me sat in between them, while they chatted about this and that. We went about from place to place, stopping several times, each time the same routine, each time me changing into this and that. One thing I did notice was from about the second stop onwards, Don made sure he got to the back of the van to help me in, and then again once I'd changed to help me out. From then on, it was as if they were taking turns. The other thing was the frequent touching I'd had with Max while he'd done the pictures for the kitchen poster, gradually returned, it was mostly Max who did this, but Don did touch me a few times.

At no time did either of them get in the van while I was changing, and after a while, I began to feel a lot more confident whilst doing this. And bearing in mind, I knew by the way they always reached the back door before me, that they must be glancing my way, checking on me from the front of the van. But as I reasoned their view could only be down to shoulders or above, it seamed of no consequence. I guess I could say the nervous feeling in my tummy had about disappeared, when Don said, "The little Chinese number next."

Harmless enough request, you might think.

"Ok, do I wear anything with it?"

Max replied, "No. Just the dress, and no Bra, the materials too thin, it'll show through."

Even this idea seamed reasonable, but just the simple act of removing my bra, knowing they were out the front, got me more than excited. My belly was getting all tight as it does when I get a bit aroused, and I didn't appear to be able to do anything to stop the feeling intensifying. I wiggled my way into the dress, which like most of the other stuff was a real snug fit, and then eased up the zipper. They had a mirror in the van, and as I looked I could tell the excitement I'd been feeling had affected not just my tummy. My boobs may not be huge, but you could see the shape of them and my nipples were sticking out like the proverbial, Chapel Hat Pegs.

I was reluctant to step out, but as before as soon as they'd seen me checking myself, they'd made their way to the back doors. The doors opened, and Max said, "My god Don, come look at this. She's a real stunner in that."

I remember making some feeble excuse about it being too revealing, but between them, they coaxed me to the open door, and being as the leg movement was so restricted, they both took hold and lifted me down. Now remember, we were still visiting various public places on a Sunday, in a small town, so it wasn't as if there could be any funny business going on. But I lost count of the number of times they both stroked either my breasts or my bottom. And with me being bra-less, this was having a very unnerving effect on me.

I was more than relieved when around one o'clock, they took me to a hotel for lunch, this at least gave the turmoil in my tummy a little while to subside. The hotel was nothing swank, but very nice all the same. We had wine with our meal, just a half bottle, Don didn't drink any, and Max only had one Glass. Between them, they urged me to drink the rest, saying it was a sin to waste it. But as I'm not much of a drinker, by the time we were walking out to the van and the fresh air hit me, I was beginning to feel a bit tiddley.

When we left the hotel after lunch Don said he would like some photos taken with a country view, and maybe even some with a beach background. I asked, "But how long will that take? Ken was expecting me home before tea time."

Don replied, "Don't you worry about time, now were out this far we need to get as many shots as we can while we've got a good day." Then as he handed me his phone, "Here, phone the old man and tell him it'll be some time later in the evening by the time we get back. Tell him we'll give you a lift home."


"Hi Ken, it's me."

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. Fine. But were out near Mossblown. And while they've got good weather, they want to take some pictures on the beach."

"How's it going? Any problems?"

"No. It's been great. We've just had lunch at some posh hotel, and later they say we can have tea somewhere. Will you be ok getting your own tea?"

"I guess so. Have you been drinking?"

"Well I had a glass or two of wine with the lunch, why?"

"You sound a bit slurry. I hope you're not drunk."

"No. It was only two glasses of wine."

"Ok, see you later, take care."

"Bye. Love you."

As Don took the phone from me he said, "Well, it looks like you're ours for the rest of the day." I didn't know what he meant by that, but I just smiled. Maybe the drink was having some effect by now.

This time, they headed out of town, and eventually, found a country lane. I hadn't a clue where we were, and I don't think they had either. But it was deserted and Don seemed to think that was okay. They parked up in a little clearing, we were miles from anywhere. Don said, "Ok lass. Skirt and top this time."

Again as I changed I could see them standing in front of the Van talking, they were stood up on a raised bank. I turned my back as I took my own top off and quickly put theirs on. I knew they couldn't see past the seats so putting the skirt on was no problem. As before, as soon as I turned to the mirror, they were gone from sight, and seconds later the van door opened. Max spoke first, "Very nice. Come on then."

Again, they both helped me down, only, this time, Don walked with me, while Max carried his camera bag and stuff. But as Don was holding one of my hands, helping me up the small grass bank, into the field, he again ran his hand over my bottom. But this time, he'd slipped it up the back of my skirt, meaning I only had my panties for protection.

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byVictoriajohn© 20 comments/ 152710 views/ 97 favorites

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