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Coerced Ch. 03

Coerced Ch. 03

Anal

There we were, Petronella and me, sitting in the bed opposite one another, admiring each other’s breasts, and wearing identical silky pyjamas. From the outside looking in we would have appeared to be a very erotic pair. And I was anxious to get on with some practical eroticism.

“I have decided, Honey,” smiled Pet. “Tomorrow we will gather up all your male clothes and I will take them to one of the charity stores in town. You’ll have no need for them anymore.”

I felt yet another surge of excitement. “What shall I wear instead?”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll sort that out right enough.” She took my hands and placed them on her breasts, one each. “Now, pay homage to your new mistress.”

Those words had my penis rock hard. I leant forward to kiss her. “Homage I said.” For a moment I was confused as to what she meant. She dropped her eyes and then steadfastly looked into mine.

“You mean?”

Her actions were louder than words. They had to be because she remained tight-lipped. She swivelled herself round and lay full length on the bed, her legs slightly apart. To make her intentions absolutely clear she lowered her pyjama bottoms a few inches. I stood up, and lowered the trousers and took them right off. She spread her legs for me and I knelt into the inviting space. The last time I had seen her pussy was over six months ago and then, as always it had been shaved clean. Now it was a delightful lawn of short black pubic hair which, at that moment at least, I found infinitely more inviting.

I tried every trick I knew with my tongue, my mouth, nose and fingers to bring her to a climax and it really didn’t take long. Whether that was owing to the fact she had gone without a man for so long, or whether I had more expertise, or a combination of both, I was not to discover. But when she squeezed her thighs round my imprisoned head in the act of climax I short my load into my silken pyjama bottoms. It was the second time I had done so without being touched.

When Pet had recovered somewhat she slid a hand down and inside the elastic of my pyjama bottoms, found what she was searching for and then uttered a derogatory “urgghh.” She brought back out a sticky hand and wiped it clean on me. “Have you just tossed yourself off, you naughty boy?”

I assured her I hadn’t, but that was the end of our “welcome home” lovemaking. We slept together in our big marital bed as I had expected. Little did I know then that expectation was no longer valid.

I slept in late the following morning probably because I was still coping with jetlag. I divested myself of the soiled pyjamas and freshened up in the shower. Wrapped in a huge towel I padded back into the bedroom to find some clothes to wear, expecting to see my travel bag where I had left it. It was nowhere to be seen. On a chair were a pair of white lacy panties, a matching bra and a loose fitting dress. I didn’t need my Arts Degree to work out they were laid out for me to wear. I tried to suppress the wave of excitement that welled up inside me.

I went and sat at Pet’s dressing table ostensibly to brush the tangles out of my long blonde hair. I looked at myself in the mirror. How I wished I could use some of Pet’s cosmetics laid out on a tray before me. That would be a step too far too soon. I did use her flowery deodorant and a dab of her perfume behind my ears. As soon as I had done so I wished I hadn’t. I felt I was giving too much away about my new self.

I wandered down the wide staircase wearing just those three items of clothing, and found Petronella sitting at the kitchen table with paper and pen, apparently making some lists.

“Morning Katrina,” she said off-handedly as if her husband dressed as a woman was the most normal thing in the world. “Help yourself to some breakfast. I’m going to shoot off in a minute.”

“Where are you going?” I asked, merely to show some interest.

“From now on, where I am going and what I do, is mine to know and yours to accept. Remember, you are now my maid and you must act so at all times. Unless, of course I want you in another guise. This is important Katrina. If you don’t accept this, and totally so, then you’re on your way out of here and there will be no coming back. Do you understand?”

“O.K.” I agreed, perhaps too carelessly.

“I don’t think you’ve got it yet, Katrina. But if you don’t get the idea fucking damned quick you’re on the road, girl.”

I must have looked sheepish. I certainly felt it. Perhaps the reality was just beginning to dawn on me. “Yes Pet,” I said with some deference this time.

“That’s better. And I’m not your Pet anymore. That will never do. You are my pet if anything. You will call me Petronella or Mistress from now on. Until you’ve learned your role fully, at least. Do you understand?”

“Yes Petronella,” I agreed.

I know, all this doesn’t sound realistic – more like a fairy tale or, depending on your take of things, a nightmare. But I had been subjugated in a Kyrshestanian prison for six months or more, part-feminised, effectively arse raped every bağdatcaddesi escort day at least once a day and had had my sexual preferences completely overturned. I had come to accept being ordered about, having all decisions being made for me and my body being used and abused. In those early days at least, the idea of being my wife’s maid gave me a hard-on and butterflies in my stomach. And I had learned to love dressing in women’s clothes. Call me pathetic if you like. What more can I say?

Petronella was away for the whole of that day and the following night. She telephoned me to say she wouldn’t be home. I still had my mobile then. I slept fitfully in the big double bed that smelled of Petronella’s perfume and sweat. I wore her set of pyjamas and the smell of her was comforting. I considered jacking myself off but thought better of it. If Pet was to ask me I would have to tell the truth. That was the state of mind I was in.

I heard her car crunching on the gravel of the drive mid-afternoon on the second day. She looked bright and happy and greeted me kindly. The insides and trunk of the car was jam-packed with carrier bags and boxes. I was soon to find out what this was all about after Petronella instructed me to carry them all indoors and put them in the main lounge.

I was wearing the loose dress, and bra and a clean pair of panties. “Make us a coffee then come into the lounge,” I was instructed. When I joined her, carrying a tray with the coffee and some biscuits I was told that biscuits were forbidden food. “We need to work on your diet Katrina.”

The bags and boxes were nearly all clothes for me. I was made to try on just a few – those which were questionable as to whether they would fit me. The majority, Pet said, would be an ongoing surprise. I started getting hard about the sound of that. Pet noticed. “We are going to have to do something about your appendages,” she said darkly. “They’re just too big and too fucking active. They will spoil the body line of your new outfits.”

“What the fuck did she mean by that?” I asked myself. Over the next weeks and months I was about to find out.

I couldn’t be absolutely sure but, when Petronella was bending over close to me during that session in the lounge, I thought I got the whiff of stale semen. Stale semen on its own has a particular range of similar smells – I should know, I had had enough practise of the stuff oozing out of my arse. But mixed with feminine juices it is a different smell again. That is what I thought had engaged my nostrils. Had my Petronella been to Boston to get herself fucked? Or should I say; to shop and get herself fucked as well?

I was instructed to carry all the shopping up to a room on the first floor where Petronella said she would “sort it all out”. She spent all afternoon doing just that after showering and changing her clothes. I was instructed to clean the kitchen and then make us a “tasty salad” for our evening meal.

When we did sit down to eat Pet looked extremely pleased with herself. “You’re going to adore your new clothes, Katrina, just as I will enjoy seeing you wearing them. Your bedroom is now one of the attic rooms. We’ll re-decorate it over the next week or two, make it more feminine for you, but it is nice enough for now. You will find your working clothes in the wardrobe; a practical maid’s outfit for everyday use and a really smart set for when we have visitors. That won’t be for a little while, until I can trust you to make no faux pas.”

“Surely your mother and father will recognise who I really am?”

“Not when I’ve finished with you they won’t. I’ve already told them Keith’s twin sister has come to work for me after falling on hard times.”

“That’s the first they’ve heard mention of my having a twin.”

“I’ll deny that. They are so busy and wound up in their own social swing they have barely taken much notice of both of us over the years. They are not exactly what you would call wonderful parents are they?. I have told them that your appeal has failed and I shall be pushing for a divorce as soon as it is proper to do so. You’ll be disappointed to learn that pleased them. They are dreadful snobs as you well know.”

“So why don’t you just ditch me and start a new life. Here’s your chance,” I asked.

“I really fancy having a sissy maid. The idea really turns me on, Katrina. Isn’t that what life’s about – getting turned on? Besides, I feel that I owe you something providing you continue to deserve it.”

“But you’re banishing me to the top floor?”

“Oh, well, don’t despair. I might call you to the big bed now and again.”

“Now and again?” I hollered.

“You’re just not getting it, Katrina. I’m now your mistress and you’re my maid. This is not a game. It’s real life. As far as the Western World is concerned Keith is still in that godforsaken prison. If you can’t understand that, or can’t cope with it, then sling your hook now, before it’s too late.

“Too late? What do you mean by that?”

“I am here to give orders, beykoz escort not to answer questions. Haven’t I told you I intend to divorce you as Keith as soon as practicable. I am sure I mentioned it to you. Whilst you behave yourself I’ll keep you on as my maid. And from what I can see so far, I think you are suited to that role.”

I started to cry. “How can you be so cruel?”

“Go to your room girlie and don’t come down until you’ve stopped snivelling.”

I did cry my eyes out up there in the attic room. So much had happened to me over the last few days and weeks, I was overwhelmed by it all. Who says boys don’t cry? What do they know? Anyway, I was as good as a girl now. I knew I had no real choice other than to go along with Petronella’s plan. And, I had to admit, having had the stuffing knocked out of me in the prison, in many ways I was quite excited about how my new life was panning out. I made the decision there and then to bow to Petronella’s future for me and to try and embrace it.

There was a fitted wardrobe, dressing table and a four story chest of drawers in my new bedroom besides a decent single bed. They had all been in place before we holidayed in Kyrshestan so that was no surprise. Pet filled them up over the following few days from the purchases she had made in Boston. Already neatly piled on the bed was my new uniform. The dress was plain, black, buttoned down the front to the waist and came just below my knee; practical and functional. A white apron tied at waist level, high denier black fishnet tights and black shoes with a small heel and that was it.

I peeked in the wardrobe and found several of my other fancy uniform already there, ready and waiting. Just a glance at the short black dress with plunging neckline and white frilly layers of fixed petticoat told me we were harking back to the late nineteenth century with the sexiest of overtones. It did leave me with the impression there was going to be some fun to be had.

By the time Petronella had finished loading up my drawers, wardrobe and dressing table I was fully equipped for life as a woman; no doubt about that. One small top drawer of the tallboy was full of panties of many descriptions – the other a selection of bras. Below were camisoles. culottes, silken vests and other items of delicious lingerie. Next below was tights and stockings and a miscellany of extras. The bottom drawer had gadgets; dildos, vibrators, several butt plugs and goodness knows what else. Most were in their original packaging and I chose not to disturb them for the time being. I felt a bit like a doll in a doll’s house in a rich girl’s playroom.

But the reality was not very much play as I was to find out all too soon. I was expected to rise at seven o’clock in the morning and make Pet’s breakfast and take it to her in the master bedroom. One morning in the first week she said she was feeling randy and she made me eat her out. That I really enjoyed and put my heart and souls into the exercise. Her juices really gushed and, lapping them up, I was in seventh heaven. She came, trapping my head as she was wont to do and I shot into my panties unaided yet again. That was a wonderful start to my busy day.

I had everything to do an average housewife did every day with the help of all manner of gadgets and appliances. Petronella was often out for lunch but almost always in for dinner when she would generally eat alone, with me serving her. At about eight in the evening I would be stood down. Fridays were the exception. She would be away overnight every Friday, visiting her friend Delia somewhere on the outskirts of Boston; I never knew quite where. On those nights I was left alone and given the whole run of the house.

One Monday, about six weeks after we had started the new arrangement, Petronella came home by taxi from a reception in the town hall in Arrow Falls. She was somewhat the worse for wear through drink, that was obvious and, knowing her of old as I did, I guessed she was feeling quite randy. I was prepared to go off to my room and leave her in the lounge to either sober up or finish the job off entirely via the cocktail cabinet, but she made excuses to stop me. “I’m feeling randy – I need you to fuck me.”

I was both shocked and delighted. At last, was she coming round to a new phase of our liaison? “Your bedroom or mine, mistress?” I asked somewhat sarcastically. I didn’t at that time call her “mistress” as a matter of habit.

“Over the back of the chesterfield. Not in my bed. If you want to kiss something you can kiss my cunt.” Her words were slurred.

This was not to be lovemaking but purely a shag. Beggars can’t be choosers. Did I care? The chance to fuck Petronella was beyond price. She shuffled round to the end of the piece of furniture and bent herself over the fat, padded arm. She was wearing a smart thigh length dress which made it easy for me to raise out of the way. Damn, sheer tights. They would have to come off one leg at least, otherwise I might not be able to part her legs wide enough to get a good line caddebostan escort on her fanny. I had them down to her ankles and then one leg free. I put her shoe back on to balance her. I pulled the gusset of her panties aside and massaged her vital bits finding her well lubricated already. She must have arrived home like that. I wondered who had been responsible for getting her so aroused and experienced a pang of jealousy.

I massaged her briskly until she started to moan. Then I decided to have the panties off her. I had to bend down as they reached the floor in order to get a leg free of them. My face on the level of her arse, I didn’t know what urge I was answering to, I opened her arse cheeks and stuck my tongue hard into her sphincter. Pet howled with what I assumed to be passion, and so I stuck a forefinger through the rosebud for good measure. She thrashed about, obviously enjoying the sensation. Holding my finger in her I lifted my skirt with my other hand and dropped my panties to knee level. My prick was just aching to get inside one or another of her two holes.

I decided her vagina would prove the more profitable on this occasion but I would rather have chosen her button. I probably had the prison to thank for that. I slid into her vagina so easily it brought me up short mentally. Petronella had always been tight for the whole of our married life and, of course, before then too. Now my penis seemed to have room to spare. Was it because she was so juiced up? That was a possibility, I kidded myself, but deep down I was thinking she had been fucking someone with a dick far bigger than mine. It did not occur to me until much later, days later, that my competitor might well be no more than a plastic dildo. But I think I was kidding myself on that score.

As I fucked her I stuck one finger in her button and the other hand on her buttock to steady myself. I had tucked the hem of my dress up under my chin so as I could see my prick pumping her streaming vagina, but I kept forgetting and when I raised my chin the fabric fell over the action. I had to stop and stick the material back under my chin several times. Funnily enough, I think doing so added to the whole experience rather than was a distraction. I dared not shoot my load before I had gotten Petronella off. That was very difficult and I was obliged employ every control technique I could imagine. I just managed it and we came together in one huge orgasm for me. The noise Petronella made seemed to indicate it was something similar for her too.

That fuck was to be of great significance and remembered for the rest of my life.

Two days later I was woken up at the unearthly hour of six o’clock in the morning. My first thought was that some sort of calamity had occurred. Petronella was standing beside me shaking my shoulder gently as I regained consciousness. “Nice underwear, and I’ve put a track suit on the end of your bed, flat shoes and a minimum of make-up. See you down in the kitchen in fifteen minutes.”

What was going on now? I hadn’t a clue. I dressed as I had been instructed and found Petronella in the kitchen, also dressed casually, and a light breakfast waiting for me on the table/. “Can I ask what this is all in aid of?” I asked respectfully.

“You’ll see all in good time. We’re going for a ride in the country. Have some cereal and juice but go steady.”

I could see that Pet wasn’t going to spill the beans so I quietly went along with what she wanted. It would make a nice change from my daily routine to be taken out somewhere. I had only been let out twice since my return to the States from Kyrshestan and they were both times to the dentist and chiropodist combined. My mistress seemed bent on keeping me in good condition and that was comforting.

I had expected we would take the route to Boston because the city had all the shops and services one could imagine. Instead Petronella pointed the car in the opposite direction and, approaching an hour of journey time, I noticed signs to Green Mountain National Forest. That was not our goal however. Rather we slipped in-between the gates of The Huntersdown Clinic. Pet parked in a lot full of expensive cars and turned to talk to me.

“I’ve arranged for you to have a minor operation to adjust your voice box. Just to make your voice a little more feminine. It should give you more confidence when we go out together on shopping trips and leisure activities. They’ll keep you in overnight and I’ll come and collect you tomorrow.”

Why all the secrecy for something so minor? On trips to the dentist and the chiropodist I knew where I was going beforehand. What was the big deal? These questions died stillborn; I just didn’t ask them.

Pet picked up a small travel bag from behind the front seats and led me into the clinic. We were expected, of course, and the booking-in process was kept to an absolute minimum. We were both led to a private room which was to be mine. Pet helped me undress completely and then slip into a cotton medical gown. “I’ll leave this bag with you,” she said stowing the travel bag in the bedside cupboard. “Inside are clean panties, some basic toiletries and a couple of fruit bars lest you want a nibble in the night, The clinic will look after you well. Anything you want just ask.” She gave me a perfunctory kiss on my forehead and was gone.

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