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George’s second summons came only two days later when a peremptory email appeared on his computer. “You have an appointment with me this evening at seven o’clock for one hour. Erica,” it said.
He had an appointment with Allison Callow at six o’clock and he had to rather rush through things in order to be ready to leave by half past. “I wondered if you might like a drink?” said Allison. “It is such a nice evening and the garden of the pub by the river will be lovely.”
“Ah, well, sorry, no,” stammered George. “You see I have another, well, it’s another, …”
“That’s all right,” said Allison, clearly disappointed. “Perhaps, some other time?”
“Err, why not?” said George looking at his watch and convincing Allison that it was most unlikely. “Look, sorry, got to dash. Got another meeting.”
He was ushering Allison out when she suddenly said, “You do the accounts for Erica Wilkie, don’t you?” If she had asked about any of his other clients, George would have thought nothing of it but the mention of Erica’s name caused intense feelings of guilt. Blushing, he admitted that he did. “It’s just that I wondered what her services were like. I wondered if I might find some therapy useful after all the trouble last year, with my husband leaving and everything.”
“Oh,” said George. “Well, I don’t know. I’m not sure if that’s really the sort of thing she deals with, I mean I don’t know but that doesn’t sound like her sort of thing. I mean you could ask her. Probably the best idea but not her sort of area of expertise, I would guess.” George was conscious that he was babbling on and that time was drifting by. “I really have to go,” he said, following Allison out.
“Yes,” said Alison, “yes, of course. Well, I’m sorry to have bothered you. Good evening Mr Franks.”
George breathed a sigh of relief and headed off towards Erica’s.
Hoping for another opportunity to worship at Erica’s feet, George presented himself promptly. The Erica that confronted him on his arrival this time though was not the feminine, simply dressed woman of their last meeting but a rubber-clad, fetish goddess.
“Don’t think I have this on for your benefit, slave,” she snapped, scowling through her mask as she saw George’s appreciative look.
“No, Mistress,” George responded quickly, bowing his head and dropping his eyes to the floor as he had been instructed.
“Good,” said Erica, striding up and down in front of him. All George could see of her was the foot of her high heeled boots as she went back and forth. “Right. You have one choice to make this evening. Stick or paddle?”
“Stick or paddle for what?” George was puzzled.
“Just make a choice!” Erica snapped. “Don’t ask questions.”
“Err, paddle?” said George.
“Very well,” Erica replied. Stand over there by the staircase facing it. Reach up and grab the stair rail.” George did so. A moment later Erica was fastening cuffs around his wrists to hold him strapped to the stair rail, arms stretched up above his head. “We don’t have much time,” Erica went on, “but we can introduce you to the idea of bondage. And,” she said, “the value of a gag.”
George was about to protest that he didn’t want to be gagged but in opening his mouth he gave Erica the opportunity to slip the rubber ball between his lips. He grunted in surprise and discomfort as she fastened a strap at the back of his neck to hold the gag in place.
“Now,” said Erica menacingly. “I have taken the opportunity to have a close look at the project I gave you. It was, as I said, a very good effort.”
“Ghang gooo, ghistesh,” George responded, pleased by her praise.
“But then,” she went on, “I wondered whether you might have been tempted to contravene one of my other instructions. Look at this.” She propped George’s scrap book up on the stairs where he could see it. The page was open at the pictures he had collected of Serena. Immediately he felt his cock stiffening still further at the thought of his fantasies about her and his excitement was increased by the feeling of Erica unfastening his belt and trousers and pulling them down around his ankles. “You obviously found this project arousing, didn’t you slave?”
George grunted his assent. With his erect cock on display as Erica pulled down his pants there seemed little point in trying to deny it.
“In fact, slave, I think you found this so arousing that you may have allowed yourself to come.”
George was suddenly worried, remembering that in the pamphlet on slave behaviour it said that slaves were expressly forbidden to indulge in sexual activities without the permission of their Mistress.
Erica went on. “And, in fact, I suspect that little stain in the bottom right hand corner of the page, there, is evidence of that. I am afraid that sort of disobedience cannot go unpunished, slave.” George now knew the significance of the choice ‘stick or paddle?’ He began to struggle against the straps that held him tied to the staircase. “Don’t you dare struggle,” Erica ordered, her rubber masked face only inches from his. “Stand still and take the punishment you deserve!”
George whimpered but stood still. He had been beaten at school only a few times – mostly he’d managed to stay out of trouble – but he remembered how painful it had been then. He was trying to think how he could best cope with the beating when the first blow landed.
The force of it took him by surprise, slamming him against the side of the stair case. “He squealed into his gag as the pain from the blow from the wooden paddle shot across his backside. As Erica pulled the paddle away it almost seemed to suck his skin with it, dealing him another streak of pain. After three more blows he was sobbing. After the sixth and last he was practically choking on the gag as tears ran down his cheeks, It was only when he realised that Erica had finished that he also felt the extraordinary sense of stillness, and relief that came over him. He gave a groan that was only in part one of pain.
A week later George opened a letter and read it with some nervousness. “Mistress Erica has decided that you should have some further training this afternoon. Ensure that you arrive at 4 o’clock promptly.”
He had to cancel a few appointments to clear his diary but he already knew that he had better do as he had been told. “Of course,” he told himself, “she would understand if there was something I really couldn’t change. Wouldn’t she?”
When he got to the house, though, it was Deanna rather than Erica that answered the door. Whereas Deanna had been elegantly dressed for their first encounter, Erica looked as if she had just got out of bed after a night with not enough sleep. She had a short, cotton dressing gown clutched about her, a half smoked cigarette was hanging from one corner of her mouth and her hair looked as if it was providing a home for a small flock of birds. She took a deep drag from her cigarette, coughed and peered through bleary eyes at George.
“Oh, look,” she said, “it’s the freebie. Come on in. How can we help you? Is there anything at all we can do?” she asked with heavy sarcasm.
George gave an embarrassed cough. “I had a note,” he said, “from Erica. Sorry, from Mistress Erica. Saying I should be here.”
“Who’s a good boy then?” she sneered. “Go on. Go through there.”
George went off in the direction indicated by her disdainful finger. Rather than one of the playrooms used for their domination business, it was obviously Deanna’s own room. Clothes were strewn everywhere, copies of magazines lay open on the floor, a half eaten bowl of cornflakes was balanced on the arm of a battered armchair.
“Strip off,” Deanna announced. “Erica says you can do the basics, right?”
George nodded uncertainly, starting to take off his tie. He went on undressing. Deanna appeared to take no notice. Instead she focused on finishing her cigarette, eventually stubbing it out amongst the remains of half a dozen others in the ashtray beside her armchair. George was naked. Deanna made no effort to disguise her distaste at his flabby physique.
“All right,” said Deanna, “let’s see how you are at foot worship.” She flopped down in the armchair, pushing out one of her feet towards George. “Get down and get your tongue to work on my toes,” she said and without waiting to see what he did in response, picked up a copy of “Hello!” magazine and started reading.
As he got to his knees on the dusty carpet in front of her she kicked off one of the pale pink towelling mules that she wore on her feet and wiggled her toes, indicating where George should start. George reached out to lift her foot towards his mouth. “No hands,” Deanna snapped. “Just use your tongue.”
George put his hands behind his back and bent his head to the floor to allow himself to use his tongue on Deanna’s toes. As he got close to her foot it was clear that she hadn’t showered that morning and from the way that her nail varnish was cracked and chipped she hadn’t paid much attention to her own feet for a while either. He licked at her toes and pushed his tongue between each as Erica had instructed him.
After about five minutes Deanna pulled her foot away. Instinctively, George looked up at her. Deanna simply shook her head, reached forward, and dealt George’s face a stinging slap. George slipped back on his heels, his ears ringing. “Don’t you dare stare at me!” Deanna barked. George dropped his head. “Now, make me some tea. You know where the kitchen is don’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress,” said George respectfully. He started to get to his feet.
“Wait!” she said. “Open your mouth.” As he did so, she picked up her discarded mule and jammed it toe first, between his lips. “Don’t want you snacking on anything in the kitchen, do we?” she sneered, looking down at his flabby belly. “It looks like you get enough to eat, if you ask me.”
George shuffled off with the slipper wedged into his mouth. He soon returned with Deanna’s tea. She was still sitting in the armchair but now she had turned on the television. He put the tea down on the table beside her chair and knelt silently.
“Give me that,” she snapped, snatching her slipper from his mouth, thwacking it against his naked backside and putting it back onto her foot. “Use this instead.” She took the TV remote control and used it to replace the slipper that had gagged George. He groaned as she pushed the plastic device into his mouth. Deanna just chuckled and turned her attention to the programme. George continued to kneel, ignored, while she watched. It wasn’t what he’d dreamt of when he’d first fantasised about Erica. Even so, kneeling in this dingy room, naked, being treated with contempt by a girl young enough to be his daughter, he was aroused in a way that he would have found hard to imagine a few weeks before.
He was still there twenty minutes later when Darla came into the room. Compared with Deanna’s slovenly appearance, Darla was clearly dressed to impress.
“How was the office?” Deanna asked.
“Oh, fine,” Darla said, tossing her briefcase across the room and unfastening the buttons of her dark blue suit jacket to reveal the primrose yellow blouse beneath. “But I’ll be pleased when I’ve got enough clients here so I can jack it in. I’d rather have those managers grovelling at my feet in here than me trying to keep them sweet at work.”
Deanna laughed. “Well, you won’t be able to give up the day job if Erica keeps inviting waifs and strays like this around.” She aimed a kick at George’s side. He grunted into his TV remote gag. “Bloody freebie!”
“Oh, he’s not so bad is he? He doesn’t look like he’s being any trouble.”
“He’d better not be.”
“Anyway, I thought you had a paying client this afternoon. Isn’t your motorist coming in?”
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” exclaimed Deanna leaping to her feet and nearly knocking George over. “What’s the time? Bloody hell. He’ll be here in five minutes and I haven’t got my uniform on yet. Oh, Darla, can you look after this useless turd and let me get changed? He’s due for an initial CBT and TENS session.”
Darla smiled. “All right,” she said, “but you owe me a favour.”
“Erica does, you mean. He’s her bloody freebie.” Deanna scooted off.
Darla prised the TV remote control from George’s mouth. He spluttered a bit as it came loose, then dropped his head not wishing to attract the girl’s disapproval. “Well, I think you’re quite well behaved for a beginner,” said Darla, running her finger across his belly. “And I need the practice, even if Deanna doesn’t. Now let’s see how good your tongue is for polishing shoes. Off you go!” Darla placed one foot forward and George bent his head to kiss and lick the toe cap of her black, patent court shoe. She kept him busy, insisting that he move around at her feet to get his tongue at every part of the shoe. He was busy working on the back of the heel, not looking forward to when she would lift her foot so he could get at the sole, when he heard Deanna’s voice again.
“Do I look all right?” she called.
Darla turned away and George looked up. Deanna was standing in the doorway dressed as a woman police constable. White shirt with dark epaulettes carrying the number “PC49”, black tie, straight black skirt, dark stockings, heavy lace-up shoes, broad leather belt with handcuffs in a leather pouch; she certainly looked the part.
In spite of the fact that he felt that he and Deanna didn’t get on too well, George liked what he saw. But then, he’d always had a thing about women in uniform. Darla, however, noticed that he wasn’t paying attention to the task he had been assigned. “Hey, you!” she snapped. “Carry on with what you were doing,” Darla ordered and George put his tongue back to work on her shoes.
Moments later, George heard the front door bell and then the sound of Deanna’s voice. “Well, I’m glad you decided to come in to help our enquiries, sir,” she said. She went on. Her own remarks punctuated by the protestations and eventually the yelps of a man’s voice. “I hope you can explain about this alleged speeding offence…. If you’d like to come through, sir. …. Ah, you shouldn’t do that, sir. I can see that I will have to use the handcuffs. … Now, now, much more of that and I’ll use my truncheon.”
Darla soon got bored with George’s attentions and ordered him to stop. “I’m going to get out of these things,” she said, peeling off her jacket and tossing it over a chair before starting to unbutton her blouse.
“Very good, Mistress,” George responded respectfully while taking the opportunity furtively to watch the girl undress. She unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor and then stripped off her tights.
Darla looked at George, amused to see his stubby cock stiffen at the sight of her standing there in her underwear. “You like to watch don’t you?” she said as she took off her bra and panties to stand naked in front of him.
George nodded. He had learnt that it made no sense to try to hide his response to things.
“Well, bring those,” she gestured to the discarded clothes, “and follow me.”
He scooped up Darla’s skirt, blouse and underwear and followed her towards the door. As she reached it she turned back to him. “Here’s a treat for you,” she said. Grabbing her panties from the pile of clothes he was holding, she pulled them over his head, positioning the crotch carefully over his nose. “Just to keep your mind on who you are serving,” she giggled as she turned and left the room with George scurrying along in pursuit, his nostrils filled with the girl’s musky scent.
He followed her up to her own room and put away her clothes at Darla’s direction, reluctantly consigning the panties to the girl’s washing basket. She let him kneel in the centre of the room while she dressed, choosing a black PVC zip-fronted jumpsuit and a hood that masked her face. Spike heeled boots completed the outfit.
“Well,” said Darla, “we can see what your little cock likes, can’t we?” George knew better than to reply. “Now, apparently its time to start your CBT and TENS sessions. Get down to the session room and when I get there I’ll expect you to be kneeling down with your back to the door and your legs apart. Understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” said George and scurried away, excited by the idea of experiencing these two, new forms of treatment.
George was kneeling in the session room, waiting for Darla with anticipation. He heard the tap of her heels on the floor behind him but knew that he must not look around. Suddenly he felt an excruciating pain as Darla gripped him by the balls with one gloved hand. “Ahh!” he exclaimed as she tightened some form of device around the neck of his ball sack. Whatever it was extended like a bar across the backs of the top of his thighs, just under his buttocks. The effect of the device was to double him up, keeping him in a crouched position.
“That’s a humbler,” Darla explained. “Very appropriately named, I think.” She picked up a ball gag to stifle his whimpering objections. “And I think you know what this is.” She pushed the ball into place and tightened the strap behind his head, silencing him. “Now get over to the frame.”
George tried to straighten up but the effect of the humbler pulled him back into a crouch with a gagged whimper as the device pulled on his ball sack. He shuffled over to the bondage frame as best he could and waited for Darla to fasten him in place. He wasn’t at all sure what this had to do with “Complete Body Therapy”.
Darla strapped him to the frame, retightened the humbler and flicked at his balls with a single finger – a move that was enough to set George struggling violently. She laughed at his protests as she fastened the TENS electrodes to his legs and buttocks. George was beginning to get quite worried and his lack of enthusiasm for waiting passively while Darla did as she chose showed it.
Darla connected the TENS unit to the electrodes and gave George an experimental jolt. Terrified by what was happening George began shaking his head violently. Darla rewarded him with another jolt.
By now George was almost panic stricken, he was struggling violently against the straps and ropes that held him. He bellowed incoherently through the gag that filled his mouth. Darla strode across to the TENS unit and turned up the intensity. As she did so, a jolt cut through the electrodes attached to his buttocks. He bucked on the frame he was fixed to. She twisted the knob again and this time the jolts ran through the back of each of his calves. Again he bucked uncontrollably in response to the pulse of electricity. George was keening through his gag, drool pouring from around the ball that filled his mouth. He felt Darla’s gloved hand running up the inside of his thigh to where the wooden bars of the humbler were clamped around the neck of his testicles. “I wonder if it’s enough to keep this thing fixed up like this,” he heard Darla’s voice say. “Perhaps it needs something else to help to keep it in order.” He saw Darla waving a handful of clothes pegs in front of his face and realised in terror what she intended to do with them. As she clipped the first one to the tip of his cock he struggled ever harder against the frame. “Don’t defy me,” barked Darla, giving him another shock from the TENS unit. As she clipped the second peg to the shaft of his cock George pushed back so hard against he frame that Darla thought he would succeed in breaking himself free. He was certainly putting up a good struggle, she thought.
Then she heard Erica’s voice behind her. “Is everything all right, Mistress Darla?” she asked. George was shaking his head vigorously.
“I think the slave is finding this part of his treatment more trying than he expected, Madame,” she responded. George tried squealing through his gag, desperate to be freed.
To Erica, it was evident that something was wrong. “You’d better stop,” she said. “And unfasten him from that frame.”
It didn’t take Darla long to free George. The sensation as she removed the clothes pegs was almost worse than when she had put them on and George groaned again. Erica waved to Darla to remove George’s gag. He was still doubled up by the effect of the humbler. Darla leant forward and unfastened the strap before easing the ball from George’s mouth. “Oh, thank you Mistress,” he gasped. “Thank you.”
“That’s all right,” said Erica. “New slaves often find CBT and TENS more difficult than they expected.”
Darla freed George from the humbler. Recovering himself somewhat he struggled around into a kneeling position. “Well,” he said, “I’m not sure I see why it’s called Complete Body Therapy anyway, she was just torturing my cock and balls. And as for Tri-Ecstatic Nerve Stimulation, it’s nothing more than electric shock treatment.
Erica looked puzzled. “Tell me slave,” she said, “where did you learn those definitions for CBT and TENS?”
George thought for a moment. “Ah, it was when I was filling in my application form,” he said, remembering. “I asked what they meant. Deanna explained it.”
“Did she,” said Erica slowly. “I think she must have made a mistake. CBT stands for Cock and Ball Torture. TENS is Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulator; it’s a form of pain relief.” George coughed in disbelief. “Well, we modify its use somewhat. It sounds as though there has been some confusion. Mistress Darla, I think you had better put this slave back on a simple foot worship regime for now,” she said. “I’ll sort this out.”
George breathed a sigh of relief as Darla clicked her fingers pointing to the toe of her boot. He knew at least he could cope with that.
Erica strode out of the room, evidently angry.
© Freddie Clegg 2010
Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission. All characters and events fictitious.
Email: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com
Web group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
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