Lucinda's New Life - Part 1 - Dissatisfaction free porn video

Monday 7th July

It was Monday afternoon and as the long, dark, chauffeur-driven car sped through the London traffic away from her office in the City, Lucinda, or to use her full name, Lady Lucinda Estelle Spencer, was once again convinced that she had made a mistake in her marriage.

After spending another strained weekend with her husband, for her, the start of the working week had been a relief.

Five years into what was supposed to have been wedded bliss, she now realised that marrying a man ‘below her station’ as her Grandmother would have put it, had not been a good idea. However good looking, charming and at the time, world famous her husband had once been, when it came down to married life, they simply had too little in common.

At first, they had been the golden couple everyone wanted to read about and be seen with. Lady Lucinda, the daughter of a Duke, had been a B-list debutante, her presence at parties mentioned if not featured in society magazines and she was always invited to all the right places at all the right times.

She was society news, if not on the front page.

She had met the gorgeous Peter Mountfield at a party held by one of her oldest friends in her family’s country house and they had fallen for each other almost immediately. As one of the foremost rugby football players in the England squad and tipped for the captaincy one day, Peter had already achieved A-list status and, thanks to several lucrative product endorsement deals, was a celebrity even in Lucinda’s world.

Despite her aristocratic background and his sturdy, middle-class roots, she had been dazzled by this strong, handsome, world-famous man and had all but stalked him throughout the evening until he finally had no choice but to notice her.

Lucinda herself was a tall, willowy brunette with perfect manners, a noble bearing and an innate sense of style that could bring extra life even to a Lagerfeld dress. Despite, or perhaps because of her slightly supercilious demeanour, she was impossible to ignore and, once he had spotted her, she knew it would only take her a few minutes to captivate what she believed was a very attractive but not-very-bright sportsman.

It was a miscalculation; Lucinda had completely underestimated the effect Peter’s presence and muscular body would have on her in return. Instead of the encounter being the start of a few weeks’ well-publicised wooing as she had intended, before she realised what was happening, he quickly and efficiently seduced her and bedded her noisily and comprehensively in his nearby hotel room that very evening.

She had foolishly underestimated the stamina of an international athlete like Peter too; they had spent the entire night and most of the next day in bed making passionate, almost violent love until she had finally fallen asleep, tired and drained but for the first time in her life, truly satisfied sexually.

When Peter had eventually driven her home to her family estate late the following afternoon, she had been dishevelled and exhausted, a fact that did not go unnoticed by her family and the society press as the following month’s headlines shouted to the world.

So had their relationship begun, very much in the public eye.

Lucinda’s father had himself been a rugby player of some standing and had approved of his daughter’s choice of boyfriend, though not without some misgivings. Hugo, a shrewd and able businessman as well as an undoubted aristocrat, had inherited both his title and a large property portfolio from his uncle. The business had blossomed under his expert care and he was now considered one of the fifty richest men in Britain.

His daughter Lucinda was a bright girl as well as a highly attractive one. Unlike her mother and so many of her former school friends - the clothes-horses as she rather cruelly called them - she had a real and worthwhile job. True, she ‘worked for Daddy’ in his property business but her role in the Commercial Department was real and demanding. Like her father, she was damned good at it too and had proved herself over the past few years even to her most cynical colleagues. Although she could often be high-handed and condescending, her judgement was unimpeachable and it was an open secret that her father intended her to take over the business as he approached retirement.

As the older child, she would probably inherit everything after his death too.

Lady Lucinda stared out of the car’s darkened rear window at the familiar London streets as they whizzed past and sighed; if only her marriage to Peter had been going as well as her business.

There had been another argument that morning over breakfast to add to the many that now routinely marred their married life. The Kensington apartment they had lived in for the last three years was beautiful and had even featured in one of the glossy society magazines, but was a place of torment for her now. Ever since the back injury two years ago that had cost her husband his sporting career, his fame and his sponsorship income, her life had been unbearable.

To the outside world, they were still the golden couple but within their own little world, the tensions were running high. Why Peter couldn’t be content living off her considerable income was a mystery; after all, she made more than enough to keep them both in the height of luxury for the rest of their lives, even without the trust fund her father had set up for her.

Why did he have to be so fiercely independent?

And what was wrong with people feeling pity for him? Pity had showered down on Peter after his career-ending injury but even then he didn’t seem happy. Why he had to have this stupid ‘macho’ mentality about being ‘the man of the house’ was beyond her.

No, Peter had insisted on making use of his much-neglected degree and had joined his own family’s law firm in Southampton. As a job, this hardly fitted in with her intended A-list lifestyle. It also meant working long hours and being available twenty-four-seven which was bad enough for Lucinda, but what was much worse was that it required him to mix with the seedier side of the Hampshire population. He had little time now to be with the society crowd and her former celebrity friends who now seemed increasingly to ignore the two of them when planning parties.

As far as Lucinda was concerned, Peter had become unpleasant, grumpy, bad tempered, sex-obsessed and a bore.

She knew that he increasingly thought of her as an over-privileged, workaholic, status-obsessed Daddy’s girl who was rapidly becoming frigid.

The last problem wasn’t helped by the fact that Lucinda had lost interest in sex with him less than two years after their wedding. Even now she couldn’t be sure why; maybe the pain brought about by his extraordinarily large erection had played a part – certainly she had always been very tight ‘down there’ - but whatever the cause, their love life had been sporadic at best for three years and, as she drove to work that morning, they had not made love for over three months.

Having Victoria, Peter’s young, slim, blonde, moderately attractive paralegal PA to compare her with every working day hadn’t helped. The girl simply worshipped her employer in a way Lucinda found unhealthy; even nauseating but which her husband didn’t even seem to understand.

From her husband’s body language on the few occasions the two had been working in Lucinda and Peter’s apartment, she didn’t think the two of them were sleeping together. But from the adoring expression on the silly girl’s face when she looked at him, all Peter would have to do was snap his fingers and she would jump into his bed.

Peter was still incredibly handsome and she knew she was still stunningly attractive, but something wasn’t working between them for some time now she had been considering cutting her losses and had been talking to her lawyers about a divorce.

Nobody but Lucinda knew this yet; she had drafted the letter of explanation and instruction to a top family law firm two weeks ago. It was saved on her PC; she had amended it a dozen times since but hadn’t yet made the final decision to send it.

This morning’s row had made up her mind though. Peter had been beastly, just because her old school friend Helen and her husband Nigel were coming to stay. Peter considered Helen to be vacuous and superficial and had never liked Nigel, accusing him of having tried to seduce Lucinda several times in the past.

This last accusation was true, Lucinda had to admit but as she had told him many times, Peter had never understood the dynamic of the aristocracy where so many marriages were still arranged based on necessity rather than love. As a result, affairs were commonplace, particularly once the wife had provided the obligatory two sons; the ‘heir and a spare’ as they were jokingly referred to.

In the hunting fraternity, it was normal to try and seduce other men’s wives from time to time; indeed, in some circles, it was almost an insult if you did not at least make an attempt. The constant and delicious rubbing of the saddle against a girl’s inner thighs during the day provided would be Lotharios with such a head-start that, come the evening, their adulterous approaches were frequently successful.

But that did not mean the intended victim had to mildly let herself – or in some cases himself - be bedded just out of politeness. Tempted though she had been, Lucinda had remained faithful throughout their marriage.

No, the problem was Peter. Peter was an ignorant, jealous, overbearing pig - but then that’s what happens when you marry out of your class. She had yelled those words at him that very morning. Of course, at this point, the row had really got going and when she had stormed out of the apartment ten minutes later, she had been determined to put an end to whole sordid mess that her marriage had become.

Since then, it seemed as if everything had conspired against her. She was having a ridiculously busy day. The unexpectedly large mass of paperwork she had ploughed through in her office that morning was now to be followed by an unexpected and unwanted visit to a development they were building in Hampshire. The traffic was terrible, the air conditioning in her car had failed, the trousers of the suits she habitually wore were creased and she had a headache.

Even her home had been against her. The TV had been flickering badly for days, as had the screen on her laptop. The PC in her office had been playing up recently too, giving her a constant headache.

Why was all her technology irritating her? It didn’t use to!

No, things were not going smoothly. What was more, it was time to give the Site Manager a piece of her mind. In her current bad temper, this suited her well; the self-important, sexist, misogynist pig wouldn’t know what had hit him.

After that, she would go home, print off the letter to the solicitors, post it and divorce proceedings would start.

Two ignorant men dealt with in the same day; that would be a result and no mistake. Tomorrow she would feel better; she might even take out the grey mare for a couple of hours on the downs.

Lucinda smiled when she thought of the look on her husband’s face when the solicitor’s letter arrived. She wished she could be there to see it but that would be very bad form. Let him have his miserable surprise on his own.

The much debated and resented pre-nuptial agreement that her lawyers had insisted on would help ensure her soon-to-be-ex-husband did not leave the marriage too well off. This would be a shock to him too but the thought gave her some kind of satisfaction. Her family would be disappointed though; they had always loved Peter though God knows why. Still, it would be a pity to disappoint them; Lucinda really did care for her father and in most respects, took after him rather than her mother Caroline, who she considered to be something of a blonde bimbo obsessed with clothes.

At least they had been discreet; both Peter and Lucinda had been very careful not to let anyone suspect that their marriage was coming apart at the seams. Her father still genuinely liked and respected her husband but her mind was made up; it was time to be single again while she was still young enough to enjoy it. She was certainly rich enough!

Thank God they hadn’t had any children!

Of course, that had been another big dispute between them; Peter had wanted kids badly, she had wanted to pursue both her sparkling career and her glamorous lifestyle with passion.

Before things between them had become this bad, Lucinda had reluctantly accepted that she would have to produce an heir at some stage, if only to please her own family. But when that finally happened, the child would have to be brought up by the paid help.

There would be no baby goo-goo noises; no messy, undignified breast-feeding for Lady Lucinda.

She would make sure she recovered her figure very quickly too and maybe even let herself be interviewed for one of the society magazines. But there would be no babies now, least of all with her current husband in her current marriage.

Being single again was a good life plan; she was still young enough and good-looking enough to find a new, more compliant husband from her own class; someone who understood how the upper echelons of society worked.

Now she had finally made the decision, Lucinda felt pleased with herself.

Meanwhile, Peter would be out of her hair for two full weeks on his latest uninteresting, trivial court case. Two weeks to get her work life in order; two weeks to start divorce proceedings; two weeks make sure she was, as always, in complete control of her life.

It was late when the Mercedes swung smoothly into the entrance to the half-built Business Park and pulled to a halt outside the large, multi-storey Portakabin building which contained the site offices. It was time to bang a few heads together on this project, she thought angrily, and she was in the right mood to do it, especially after that morning’s row.

Indeed she had been so angry when she stormed out of the apartment, that she had stupidly left her mobile phone somewhere too. Bloody Peter! It might only be on the kitchen table but there was no way she was going to call her stupid peasant of a husband to find out, not after the row they had endured.

Still, it was yet another inconvenience; another way the world was getting at her that day; another good reason for giving that chauvinist bastard of a Site Manager a piece of her mind

She was bang on time for the meeting. Lucinda couldn’t abide lateness. She looked briefly at the back of her driver’s head as he stepped out of the car to open the door for her. Richard had been with her for three years; thank God for at least one reliable man, she said to herself as she stormed into the meeting room, metaphorical guns blazing.

*

It was getting dark by the time the meeting ended, but it had been worth it, Lucinda thought as she washed her hands in the Ladies’ room. She had shown those men who were in charge!

It had given her great pleasure to take Brian Bloody Barlow, the Site Manager, down a peg or two; to remind him just who worked for whom in this business.

She smiled; it would be a long time before he called any woman ‘my dear’ again.

It had been particularly pleasing to watch him realise that his muscles and bravado had no effect on her. However impressive his physique and self-confidence unquestionably were; however intimidated she had felt inside, Lucinda was sure that, on the outside, she had appeared unintimidated and in control.

Things would move back into line now. One man down, time for the next, she told herself as she swept out of the door and into the cool evening air. Time to get home and get the letter off to her Solicitors; time to start the divorce. Meanwhile, she had an hour’s drive in which she could get herself organised.

Where was Richard? Ah! There was the car, just pulling over now.

She slipped her briefcase under her arm as she pulled open the back door and stepped into the limousine with a grace her Grandmother would have been proud of. She smiled; Grandmama would most certainly not have approved of the trousers Lucinda habitually wore every day to work but she had not been averse to putting the lower orders in their place when it was needed.

“Take me home, Richard!”

She sat back in the deep rear seat and sighed heavily; why did so many men let her down? Only her father had never disappointed her; she must make sure she never let him down in return.

Lucinda snapped open her expensive laptop and watched it quickly boot up.

Bloody hell! The screen was flickering again. She tried to ignore it and got on with her work, slipping on a pair of even more expensive headphones, frowning at the soft buzzing in her ears.

*

“We’re here, Lady Lucinda,” a voice in her ear brought her to her senses.

“What? Already?”

“Yes, Lady Lucinda. We have arrived at your apartment.”

Lucinda looked at the open laptop in front of her. Its screen was bright but there was no evidence of her having done any recent work. Had she fallen asleep for the whole journey? She must have but that wasn’t like her!

She carefully took off the headphones from which no sound was now emerging.

Lucinda had never fallen asleep in the car before. She cursed herself; what a waste of time – time she could have used to... what was it she was going to do? She shook her head angrily at her unprofessionalism, closed the laptop, put the headphones in her briefcase and, thanking Richard politely, took the elevator to her apartment.

There was no sign of her husband; his bedroom door was closed so she went straight to the study to make up for the time she had unaccountably lost on the journey home. She booted up the over-sized desktop and opened both her e-mail account and the link through to her office.

She swore under her breath. This screen had that annoying flicker too.

Wednesday 9th July

Lucinda rose early that Wednesday morning, determined to make up for the time she had lost the previous night. After Monday’s wasted evening there was even more work to do but circumstances had conspired to prevent her catching up on Tuesday too.

First, her alarm had failed to wake her, though it was still buzzing when she finally did open her eyes an hour late. She had another dull headache. The apartment’s TV seemed to be playing up too; the screen flickered as annoyingly as her laptop had done the night before.

Throughout the day there had been annoyances; first, her desktop screen had started flickering, then her mobile phone seemed to have some kind of white noise playing in the background whenever she made or answered a call.

Why didn’t technology ever work properly?

But the site meeting had been the biggest annoyance of all. Those bloody men with their cave-man attitudes to women! She could out-work, out-smart and, she thought, probably out-fight them too if it came to that but did they give her the respect she deserved? Did they Hell!

Still, no-one had ever said that being a Senior Manager in the world of construction would be an easy job for a woman to hold, even if she was the Boss’ daughter.

She had eaten dinner with her father in a local restaurant with the intention of working late into Tuesday evening but this had fallen foul of events too. Not only had she fallen asleep in the car on her way home but she had dozed off at her desk in the study, waking after midnight with the screen in front of her glowing softly and the room cold and dark.

She had gone to bed angry with herself and determined to get up early the following day.

Things began to look better when the alarm did wake her as planned at five o’clock on Wednesday morning. Lucinda showered quickly in her en-suite bathroom, pulled on her underwear and robe then sat at her computer which was linked to her office desktop.

There were so many emails that her headache came back with a vengeance, but she poured an extra cup of really strong coffee to keep herself awake and glowered at the screen. The annoying flicker was still there but it was much less noticeable now.

Two more cups of coffee and nearly an hour’s work later, the clock announced it was almost time for her driver Richard to arrive and take her to work.

Time to get dressed, she thought. Lucinda went to her walk-in closet and stared angrily into at the rows of hangers.

Trousers! Trousers, Trousers! Nothing but trousers! Did they think she was a man for Christ’s sake? Where were her work skirts?

Ah! There they were. She had always preferred skirts so why did she own so many trousers? She would get rid of them at the weekend, meanwhile why should she deny her femininity just because she worked in a male-dominated industry’?

Skirts it would be from now on – that would show those chauvinistic bastards who was in charge!

Thirty minutes later and wearing a smart suit with a slim-fitting pencil skirt, tights and low-heeled court shoes, Lucinda wriggled awkwardly into the back of her chauffeur-driven limousine and entered the London traffic ready for a good solid day’s work.

But it was not to be! Wednesday was to be as full of annoyances as Tuesday and what’s more, seemed to drag on endlessly.

The project was undeniably behind schedule but after the dressing down she had given him yesterday, the Site Manager Brian Bloody Barlow was finally showing signs of bringing it back into line. If only she didn’t have to put up with his archaic, chauvinistic attitude! Still, if he got the job done she would perhaps take a more lenient line – but only until the project was finished!

Bloody men! Lucinda thought. She needed fewer of them in her life!

She had tried three times to complete the letter to her solicitors instructing them to start divorce proceedings against her husband Peter, but every time she had called up the letter on her laptop – cursing its still-flickering screen – she had become distracted and had finally abandoned the idea.

When she finally got home, leaning back on her sofa with a gin and tonic in her hand and the BBC News playing on the softly flickering wall-mounted TV screen, Lucinda reflected on her day.

It hadn’t been all bad; she had been very surprised how much better she had felt about herself now that she had abandoned her trousers in favour of a skirt. Of course, she should have realised this long ago. Trying to beat the men at their own game was futile; they had a lifetime of experience playing macho.

No, using femininity to her advantage was a much better idea, and one with which they could not directly compete. Besides, she had felt more comfortable in her softer, more feminine attire and the attitude of her female subordinates had improved considerably, once they had got used to her new appearance.

Yes, the skirts were here to say. Once the TV news was finished she would bundle up her unflattering trousers and leave them for one of the charity shops to collect.

Now to finish that letter about the divorce… Where was her laptop?

Bloody Hell! The screen was flickering again. She couldn’t write anything as important as the divorce letter on a useless piece of junk like that. She would get that other useless piece of junk - the spotty IT nerd at the office, whatever his name was - to look at it tomorrow.

Then she would finish the letter and start moving Peter out of her life!

Thursday 10th July

The alarm roused Lucinda from a troubled sleep in which images of her husband, Victoria his worshipping PA, the nerdy IT expert Alan Reid and Brian Bloody Barlow had been interspersed with deeply vivid images of her having sex with them all in many positions and combinations. The one constant theme apart from the disturbing content of the dreams was the permanent state of arousal in which she had found herself every time she woke in the night.

Contrary to all her normal weekday behaviour, she had been driven to masturbate herself to orgasm three times simply in order to drive the nightmares from her mind.

Now, tired and achy, she turned on the TV morning news on the bedroom screen. After a few seconds, the reporter’s face appeared but that irritating flickering was still there and once again, there seemed to be a strange background noise behind the woman’s voice.

She cursed and turned up the volume while she put the kettle on then showered, feeling the life force slowly re-enter her body. A slice of toast later and she felt almost herself again. There was no way she would take any time off sick in any circumstances so she steeled herself to get on with her day.

As she crossed to her closet, pulled out her clothes for the day then, catching sight of herself in the full-length mirrors, Lucinda took stock of her appearance. Her figure was quite nice; a bit flat chested perhaps but still slim and fit-looking. All that horse riding was good for the buttocks, she smiled wryly.

So if it wasn’t her body, what was it that was niggling at her? What was it that was still making feel uncomfortable?

Yesterday’s site meeting had gone quite well; she hadn’t bothered to put Brian Bloody Barlow in his place again despite him calling her ‘love’ and patting her on the hand several times.

If he did it again tomorrow though, there would be trouble.

Maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault though; maybe there was something about her that made him behave in that awful, sexist way. She looked at herself in the mirror and her clothes on the bed. Smart white blouse, hair still tied back and under control, dark tights and her knee length, pencil skirt.

That skirt! That was it; that damned skirt!

She frowned angrily and riffled through the hangers in her closet. All her skirts were the same; look at the length! How could she have been so unthinking, wearing skirts so long that they were almost at her knees?

For God’s sake, Lucinda, you can worry about your legs when you are old. Right now, you need to be taken seriously at work. How can that happen if you dress like your Grandmother?

Not one of her skirts was short enough! Lucinda rummaged through the mass of hangers looking for something more appropriate. Too long! Too long! Much too long!

Nothing! No, wait!

There were a couple at the back she had forgotten about. She couldn’t remember buying them but there they were in her size in her closet so she must have bought them, mustn’t she?

She pulled them out. These were better; much better. Lucinda held one of them up against her waist. It came no more than half way down her thigh. She tried it on. It was black and pleated and fitted her perfectly, showing most of her leg.

Not too bad she thought, a bit like a school uniform but, in a way, quite business-like. It would have to do anyway, at least until she could buy something a bit shorter in the morning.

Cursing her misjudgement, she stuffed her long skirts into a bin liner then dressed, promising to go shopping on her way home tomorrow and get some really nice miniskirts.

*

“Peter?” she called out as she entered the apartment that evening.

It was late; after nine o’clock. Lucinda’s husband was supposed to be in Southampton on a case but as she opened the apartment’s front door Lucinda thought she could smell the expensive cologne he had so profitably advertised to the world until his accident had brought his fame to an end and with it, their A-list status.

She hoped it wasn’t him. Something was troubling her and the last thing she needed was a distraction like her soon-to-be-ex-husband around. Even so, she was a little surprised at the flash of disappointment that passed through her when there was no reply.

Lucinda shrugged; it had been a long and difficult day again and she had no time for silliness. After hanging up her coat and kicking off her shoes, she poured her usual large gin and tonic and went into the kitchen. There, she slammed a ready-meal into the oven and walked through into her bedroom to get changed into something more comfortable before pulling out her laptop and settling at the desk in the study she shared with her husband.

*

It was nearly midnight when Lucinda closed her laptop decisively and downed the last of her coffee. Three hours of good solid work; after the last few days, that was quite an achievement! She had got so used to the flickering of her screen that she barely noticed it now, though her head did hurt from looking at it for so long.

Maybe it was something to do with the mains electricity supply. Peter would know but he wasn’t there to ask.

Peter! Had she really been so angry with him? She played with the idea in her mind.

Maybe she was being a bit hard on her husband. Okay, he had been difficult to live with recently, but he had been under so much pressure with his new job and his injury. Perhaps she should have been more patient; more understanding with him. What with the big court case keeping him in Southampton and the new project she was working on, she hadn’t seen much of him over the past week and, to her surprise, she missed him terribly, especially in bed.

Bed! Lucinda couldn’t believe how little they had made love over the past few months. How could she have turned down such a wonderful, handsome, desirable man even once, let alone all the times she had refused him?

She had been bad-tempered too and had even planned to… what was it she had been planning to do? She couldn’t quite remember.

Once they were less busy and back living in the same apartment, she would make it up to him; he could do anything he wanted with her.

She was his wife after all, she told herself proudly then shivered with unexpected excitement at the idea.

Still, her property deal and his court case had to be finished first. They would go away together somewhere romantic once all the contracts were in place. Meanwhile, she put her feet up on the stool to relax, looking over her flat tummy and the delicate silk panties she had chosen that morning, down her long, slender, aching legs, towards her bare feet.

Her feet. She stared at them in horror!

That was it; shoes! Flat shoes! She had worn flats all day! Had she really been so stupid? Worse; she must have worn them all week? For Christ’s sake why hadn’t anyone told her? No wonder her legs ached!

Wearing flats with trousers was bad enough, with knee-length skirts it was worse but with skirts as short as hers it was a style gaffe so bad it was almost criminal.

What had she been thinking? Heels were what was needed! And the higher, the better.

Despite her tiredness, she ran into her bedroom and opened her walk-in closet. Where were her heels? She had several pairs; why hadn’t she worn them for so long?

Ah! There they were… three-inch… three-inch… four-inch... Ah, five-inch; that was better.

Lucinda pulled out two boxes and opened them. Yes! Five-inch patent shoes, one pair of black, one pair of red. Why on earth she had bought the lower heels she couldn’t imagine! She took out the red shoes, slipped them on and sighed; the colour would have gone so well with the fashionably tiny skirt she had worn all day.

Why hadn’t she found these shoes that morning? To think that all those men on the site had seen her in her short skirt and flat shoes! With dress sense like that, it was no wonder they had treated her with a lack of respect.

Well, that wouldn’t happen again! No way!

Lucinda took a large black bin-bag and began to fill it with those hated flat shoes - and the low heels too for good measure. Only high heels for her in future!

In the lounge, the laptop screen flickered and glowed.

Friday 11th July

Lucinda felt pleased with herself as her limousine approached the smart building in which she worked. Things would be better today; her short, pleated skirt was a big improvement on the long ones and looked even shorter and more stylish with the red high heels. To cap it all, she had made herself look even more professional and business-like by choosing a really tight-fitting white top to go with it.

It had been tricky getting in and out of the limousine in such a short skirt without flashing her knickers but Lucinda had been to the right school and knew all about deportment. She had worn dark underwear and tights too, just in case anyone was nearby and could have seen up her skirt, but she was confident all had been fine.

She had arrived early, to get on with her work as soon as she reached her desk. She had tried to work at home but the screen flicker and sound had been too distracting and after half an hour her mind had wandered so far she knew she had to get to the office.

There was the usual site meeting that afternoon and she needed to be spot-on with her preparation.

As she stood in the lobby of the huge office building and pressed the button to call the private elevator to the Directors’ Floor, she could feel the eyes of the staff on her from all sides.

Let them stare, she thought. This is what a real businesswoman looked like. Look hard at the woman who would soon take over the whole multi-national corporation. Learn from the woman who really knew how to dress.

The woman who, when she had spent half an hour or so on her make-up in the Ladies’ room upstairs, would be taken very seriously indeed.

*

It was already late when Richard dropped Lucinda off at her apartment.

She was annoyed; the site meeting had over-run, she still had an hour’s work to do and she was due to meet a group of her old girl’s school friends in the West End at nine o’clock for an evening of chat, dancing, drinking and more chat. Lucinda had been looking forward to this reunion evening for weeks; as a workaholic she didn’t go out with her friends very often but the meeting that afternoon had annoyed her too much to let her relax.

Brian Bloody Barlow, the site manager had been insufferable, calling her ‘sweetheart’ and ‘my dear’ again throughout the meeting, the patronising git. That was despite the new ultra-short skirt she had worn especially for the meeting and her fantastic business-like red high heels!

Only Alan Reid, the firm’s IT expert, had treated her with real respect. Alan had tried to deal with the flickering screens on her desktop, laptop, home pc and her TV too. To her increased annoyance, it was still there, though it was much less noticeable now.

She snorted; the man might be a computer whiz but, despite his good looks, he wasn’t perfect.

Strange how she had never noticed how attractive he was; Lucinda could have sworn he had been nothing but a spotty geek until recently but now… Still, perhaps she would be able to look at her screens for longer now without getting the headaches that she seemed to have become prone to since Peter went away for work.

Work!

Lucinda knew she must concentrate on work! She mustn’t let herself get distracted. Strange how that seemed to be happening a lot more often since... since what?

Work, Lucinda!

There would be another Site Meeting the following afternoon – yes, it was a Saturday but this was too important a project to worry about trivial things like weekends and anyway, her beloved Peter couldn’t get home until Sunday so she would have been on her own anyway.

She really missed her gorgeous husband. Strange how they hadn’t been getting on so well recently. Perhaps it was to do with her job. After all, she had only just realised how wrongly she had been dressing and behaving at work, so maybe she had been making mistakes at home too.

It certainly couldn’t be Peter’s fault things had been strained. He was everything a girl could want.

Lucinda promised herself she would make a really special effort to make him happy when he returned. Sex would be best; sex and plenty of it. It had always helped her relax in the past and she was so much nicer to be with when she was relaxed.

It’s not as if it was a burden; Peter was the best lover a girl could ever want too. She smiled inwardly when she remembered what it was like being in bed with him; his strong, fit body, his long, thick cock – how she wanted to feel that cock inside her again. It made her feel so…

Work, Lucinda! Got to be ready for the meeting!

Well, maybe she would do that when she woke in the morning. It was so hard to concentrate now she had started to think of her husband and what she wanted him to do to her in bed…

No! Do the work now! It had to be now!

There was very little time to get ready for her girly evening and she had to work out exactly why the site meeting had gone wrong. There must be no repeat tomorrow.

Trying to shake off her distraction, Lucinda went into her bedroom and looked in the full-length mirror, hoping for an answer. The tight shirt she wore looked professional; her small boobs were well presented. The new, extra-short skirt looked smart and business-like too, and hung so well with those high heels.

Thank God she had remembered those heels! Her legs looked long and slim and sexy in them, just as a high flying businesswoman should look, so what was wrong?

She bent over to brush a piece of fluff from her ankle. Her skirt rode up, exposing a tantalising glimpse of her buttocks.

Then she saw it! Of course! How could she have been so careless; so stupid?

Tights! It was all down to tights! For days now she had gone to work wearing tights with her skirts!

Tights! For God’s sake girl, haven’t you learned anything? Wearing flat shoes had been bad enough, but tights!

It was no wonder Brian Bloody Barlow hadn’t taken her ideas and objections seriously!

Lucinda felt very embarrassed; everyone knew that skirts and heels need stockings, not tights! What must the team have thought of her committing yet another terrible style gaffe? No wonder they had been staring at her when they thought she couldn’t tell.

Well, that wouldn’t happen again! She would buy a couple of pairs of stockings from the late night supermarket on her way into town to meet the girls. They would do for tomorrow if she couldn’t find anything else, but what did she have in her drawers already? Lucinda went into the closet, pulled open the second drawer down and rummaged.

Tights Tights! Tights! All were tights. What had she been thinking?

Hold on! There at the back were two new pairs of what looked like stockings. Strange, she must have bought those years ago and forgotten about them. She couldn’t remember doing it but thank God she had! Lucinda pulled them out, unwrapped them and inspected them carefully.

Hmmm! Very fine black hold-ups with lacy tops. Would they do? They would have to. They weren’t quite as delicate and sexy as she would have chosen but they would certainly do for tomorrow; at least until she had had a chance to get to Victoria’s Secret. Better get a couple of decent suspender belts as well – better still, get a matching lingerie set or two; she could afford it after all.

Lucinda figuratively kicked herself. What had she been thinking? How could anyone take her seriously if her legs didn’t look right?

Tomorrow things would be better.

Feeling pleased with herself for having worked out what to do, Lucinda could concentrate on getting ready for her evening out!

She could try out one of the pairs of stockings straight away - once she had finished her work of course. Now she had realised what the problem was, she would be able to concentrate much better!

Smiling, Lucinda sat in front of her open laptop and began to type, cursing under her breath as the screen flickered once again.

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 any time 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 sports 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.

Continues…