Wee Lassie

by

Caution: This True Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, NonConsensual, Reluctant, Coercion, Heterosexual, True Story, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Size, .

Desc: True Sex Story: A true story about how a married woman was coerced into sex by the lure of a modelling job

This is a true story, pieced together by me, from small snippets of information given to me by the central character. It came about because her husband had read on 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; he knew by her state, she'd not done it willingly. And on 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." And, "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 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. I asked what his business was, "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.

.... There is more of this story ...

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