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George’s next summons arrived on Erica’s headed notepaper but was signed, “Rebecca Phillips, Personal Assistant to Erica Wilkie”. He was intrigued to see who this new individual was and when he arrived, exactly on time as by now he knew the penalties for tardiness, he hoped he’d have an opportunity to meet her.
“You’d be Mr Franks,” said a curly haired blonde, cheerily as she opened the door. “Come right in, Ms Wilkie won’t keep you a moment.” She ushered him into the front room. George saw that it had been re-equipped as an office since he was last there. A small name plate on the desk said “Rebecca Phillips” and George guessed that the maybe eighteen or nineteen year old girl that had welcomed him was her. She was quite short - barely five feet tall George guessed without the heels she was wearing - and slightly built apart from breasts that looked out of scale for the rest of her. “Do take a seat, Mr Franks,” she said waving him towards a sofa. “I must say it’s a pleasure to meet you.” George looked puzzled. “Oops, sorry. I’m Rebecca, Ms Wilkie’s new PA. I hear it was you that told her she could get funding for new employment, so if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have this job.”
“Ah,” said George. “Good. Well, I hope you find it interesting.” He wasn’t at all sure how much Rebecca knew about the actual nature of Erica’s business and her clients.
“Oh, I’m sure I will. I mean Ms Wilkie is putting me on all sorts of training courses for the computers and everything.” Rebecca was sitting on the edge of her desk, leaning forward with her hands clasped around her knees. George could hardly avoid the view she presented of her cleavage.
“I’m sure that will help a lot,” George said, trying to maintain a calm tone.
“Oh yes, and of course if I show the right aptitude she says I could learn to be one of her therapists too. Do you think I might be good at that?”
George spluttered at the girl’s matter-of-fact manner. “Well, Rebecca, I’m not sure I can really judge,” he said. At the same time he was thinking that she would probably be very good indeed. There was something extremely erotic about the idea of being in service to a girl not yet twenty and lacking physical strength perhaps but able to subdue a man with just her will.
“Perhaps I can persuade Ms Wilkie to let me try with you,” Rebecca said. “Just to see if I might be any good or not. Would you mind? I mean it wouldn’t be too much trouble would it? Do you think?”
George was thinking that it wouldn’t be any trouble at all but he found the girl’s straightforward approach disturbing. “Err, well. I suppose we ought to hear what Ms Wilkie thinks. I mean I’m sure she’ll have your training all planned out, she’s very methodical like that. And, well, I’m only really supposed to be helping out with the accounts. Really.”
Rebecca raised a quizzical eyebrow. “That’s not what I heard from Deanna,” she said with a laugh. “Perhaps I’ll have to supervise you while you do your sums,” she giggled.
George coughed with embarrassment and then heard Erica’s voice behind him. “I do hope you’re not teasing my PA, George,” she said.
George leapt to his feet, protesting his innocence. “No, no. Of course not, Erica. Sorry! Ms Wilkie.” Erica smiled tolerantly, amused by George’s spluttering and pleased by the initiative that Allison was showing.
“Come along,” she said. “Let’s go into my office. Otherwise Rebecca will get no work done at all, I can see.” George followed her gratefully. As he passed by her desk Rebecca waved to him and gave an exaggerated wink. George hurried after Erica, glad to escape the new girl’s attentions.
While George was there, Darla knocked at the door to interrupt them. Instinctively George got to his feet and bowed his head. Darla just laughed in response. “He’s quite the best behaved slave we’ve got!” she exclaimed and then turning to Erica said. “Can I have a word, it’s about my new client. A business idea.”
Erica looked at Darla and then at George. “You over there,” she ordered George with a wave. “Hands on your head, face the wall.” George obediently followed her instructions. “So what’s this idea?” Erica asked Darla.
“My slave is really keen on this fantasy he’s got,” Darla began.
“Aren’t they all!” Erica interrupted.
“But it’s something that needs quite a lot of organisation and it would need all of us, maybe more and to really work it needs quite a few slaves, maybe half a dozen and quite a bit of time maybe twenty four hours. Now he couldn’t afford to fund that but maybe if we could put some sort of package together he could fund enough to make it worth while.”
“So what’s the fantasy?”
“He’d like to be held in a prison – mistreated by warders and so on. It only makes sense if there’s several of them though and several of us. I think he could be up for say five hours worth of fees, if we got four other slaves at the same rate and worked out some sort of shift system it could be a money spinner, couldn’t it?”
Erica looked thoughtful. “Actually it might work she said. I can think of at least three of my clients that would be interested and I wouldn’t be surprised if Deanna had some interest too. Let me think about it.” There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” said Erica.
“Oh, Ms Wilkie,” George heard Rebecca’s voice. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realise you were …..”
“That’s all right, Rebecca,” Erica replied. “Mr Franks has to put up with the way we run the office. Don’t ever be worried about interrupting when one of us is with him. Now, what was it?”
“I just wanted to go through your diary for next week, Ms Wilkie, but we can do it later.”
“Yes, that would be better, Rebecca. Can you get your notebook though, please? I’d like to jot down a few ideas about a little project Darla has come up with.”
“Yes, of course. I won’t be a moment.”
Erica turned to Darla. “I think there’s real possibilities in this.” Rebecca reappeared. “Ah good. Take a note of this can you Rebecca dear. Project – Darla’s Gaol.” Rebecca giggled. Erica looked tolerant. “Accommodation – well let’s say we use the main punishment room we can get five clients in the cell in there provided they’re restrained.”
“We could set up the small cages in the room as well. That would let us accommodate another three if we wanted,” Rebecca chipped in.
“All right, so a maximum of eight - inmates - shall we call them? So let’s say forty hours worth of tribute revenues for the weekend. Now with you, me and Deanna we could run a four hours on four hours off series of shifts. We’d only need all three of us to be there for a few sessions. Let’s say, when we book them in and they’ll probably need a little correction at some point in the proceedings. Meal times they’d need extra supervision but otherwise we can probably leave just one of us here. Are you getting all this Rebecca?”
“Yes, Ms Wilkie. It sounds like fun. I don’t suppose I could take part as well, could I?”
Erica looked across at Darla, who smiled. “We’ll see. It might be a good introduction for you if you really are interested in becoming a therapist eventually.”
Rebecca looked pleased with herself and carried on making notes on her pad.
George felt he was being ignored. Accurately as it turned out.
“We’ll need to work out a timetable of activities. It won’t be enough just to lock them up for the week-end.”
“More’s the pity,” grinned Darla.
“We’ll need to keep them hooded or masked – some of them won’t be comfortable with being identified by the others. Yes, this is going to take a bit of thought.” Erica suddenly remembered that George was still standing by the wall. “All right Franks, you can go.”
George was disappointed that there hadn’t been more to their encounter. “But, Mistress,” he said plaintively, “I’ve only just got here.”
“Don’t you dare argue with me! Get out now. You can kiss Mistress Darla’s feet if you like.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said George compliantly, dropping to his knees and trying to ignore Darla’s bored look as he pressed his lips to her shoe.
“Oh, Ms Wilkie, please,” George heard Rebecca say.
“Oh, all right,” Erica said with a sigh. “Franks, pay your respects to Mistress Phillips as well.” George swung his head to see Rebecca stepping forward to place her own foot before him. She giggled, excitedly as George kissed her foot obediently. “Enough,” Erica snapped. “Now go. I’ll tell you when you can come back.”
George, his cock stiff with frustration, got to his feet. He looked across at the happily grinning face of Rebecca, her nipples clearly stiff with excitement beneath her blouse. “Goodbye, George” Erica said. Darla waved to him. George made his way out of the building and headed home.
George awoke in a sweat, his cock stiff and in imminent danger of spurting. The dream had been vivid. He had been imprisoned in the cold stone dungeon of a castle where Deanna and Darla were smartly uniformed guards. Rebecca had arrived with food for him but his chains would not let him quite reach it. He had struggled against the chains while Darla, Deanna, and Rebecca all stood watching him and laughing. He sweated. They stood calm, cool in their crisply pressed uniforms. He could feel the chains chafe against his wrists and ankles; feel the pull of the chain from his collar to the wall behind him. Erica had walked in, striding in boots. Her outfit of black leather, dark glasses and a peaked cap commanded respect from the helpless George and the guards alike. She had trailed the tip of the whip she carried across his stiff, stubby cock as he wriggled in his chains, She had been advancing towards him as he woke. It took all his will power to stop himself reaching down to grasp his member but he knew what his Mistress would want him to do.
It was later, kneeling in front of Erica, that George confessed his dream to his Mistress. “I know that you said I should not indulge in sexual activity without your permission, Mistress,” he said. “But what can I do about dreams? When I woke up it was all I could do to keep my hands off of myself.”
Erica looked sympathetically at him. “It is difficult to obey isn’t it?” she said.
George nodded. “Yes Mistress. The image of yourself and the other Mistresses are powerful incentives.”
“And just us? Or have you ever opened the scrap book I had you make?”
George thought back to the first task that Erica had given him, the book of cut out pictures of the Mistresses that he had chosen from the magazines. He blushed. It was enough for Erica to confirm what she had already known.
“Of course you have. I understand.”
“But I never masturbated, Mistress. I never came. I promise you.”
Erica folded her hands in her lap. It was a line she had heard many times. As if that made any difference. “Perhaps not,” she said. “But it remains to be seen if you have given your sexual self to me as you profess.”
“But I have, Mistress. Why else would I tell you of my dream?”
“A hundred reasons. To boast. To test my resolve. To manipulate me into punishing you by giving me the excuse.”
George hung his head, shaking it from side to side; distraught that Erica could think such a thing of him.
“But, from your lack of protest perhaps you are being honest.”
“I am, Mistress, I want to give myself to you. I want to be sure I have given myself to you.”
“Even though you find it difficult to obey.”
“That’s why I thought…. I should have … I should wear…” George stammered. Erica waited patiently. She had learned that patience was more effective than a whip at bending a slave to her will. In the end the slave that bent themselves to her will were more fully submissive than any other.
“What?” she said, giving him the slight encouragement that he needed.
“Something to keep me obedient. Something to keep me chaste.”
“Isn’t that a bit of a cheat, slave? A chastity device? If you wear one of those where is the need for will power? Where is the obedience?”
George dared to look up at Erica. “I did think about that Mistress,” he said, “really I did. But I do want to show you that I can do as you ask.”
“I understand. I can help you I think. You will wear a device for me. I will provide you with the details. The device that you will wear can be removed if you choose. However, if you do so I will know and then, quite simply, you will not be allowed to come here again.”
George bit his lip.
“If you beg me to remove it, I may do so but I do not promise to. I may get bored with the idea and remove it anyway. I may not. You need to be certain that this is something you want.”
“I understand, Mistress,” George said.
++ ++ ++
George arrived at Erica’s with a dry mouth, both expectant and fearful of his anticipated meeting with Erica.
“Good morning, Mr Franks,” Rebecca greeted him cheerily. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for a while, Ms.Wilkie is with another client at the moment and can’t be disturbed.”
The waiting rooms for Erica’s consultations looked like any other professionals offices. A few not very comfortable chairs stood along one wall with a low table in front of them carrying an assortment of out of date magazines. George, nervously clutching the bag containing his chastity device, sat down.
Rebecca didn’t seem to have too much work to do. She was busily varnishing her nails, not paying George any attention at all. As she peered at her fingers holding them to catch the light, looking for the slightest imperfection in the glossy coating, George found himself staring at her hands. The way that her finger bent backwards seemed almost animal like as though the movement was the prelude to her unsheathing claws that could rake across the flesh of an opponent, drawing blood with each slash. Those same fingers he could imagine deftly threading ropes in an elaborate bondage, her own slight strength fastening wrists or ankles so that the strongest man would be unable to resist her.
George could feel his cock stiffening, this was exactly the sort of situation that the device was intended to remedy. What would Erica say if, when he came to put it on, he already had a raging erection? The thought simply made matters worse. George picked up a magazine in an attempt to divert his attention. The ruse didn’t work; the magazine was the same as one of those he had chosen to fulfil his first task for Erica, cutting out those pictures of his imagined dominatrices. The result was to strengthen his erection as each of the pictures that he had selected came into view.
“Ahh!” exclaimed George as he realised what was causing his problem.
Rebecca looked up from her work on her fingers. As she did so she tossed a lock of hair clear of her forehead. To George it looked like the flicking tip of a whip. “Was there a problem, Mr Franks?”
“No, no, not at all, George responded. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you. Sorry.”
“That’s all right, Rebecca replied. I wanted to ask your advice anyway.”
She got up from behind her desk and walked around it. As she did so, George saw she was wearing one of the shortest skirts he had ever seen, together with a pair of shoes whose heels seemed designed to puncture the floor at every step. It was all George could do to stop his tongue lolling uselessly out of his mouth.
Rebecca sat beside him, her nylon clad thigh tight against his. She reached out with one hand towards his leg. George snatched his package away. Rebecca laid her hand on his thigh. “What do you think?” she said. “It’s not too bright, is it?”
George looked down and coughed nervously. “No, no, not at all,” he stammered.
“I think long nails look more dominant, don’t you? I mean a lady with slaves doesn’t need to do work so she can leave her nails long, can’t she?”
George could feel the sharp tips of her nails through his trousers and his member stiffening in response. “I’m sure you’re right Rebecca,” he said.
Rebecca giggled. “I love that. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ That’s the wonderful thing about working here. Nobody ever said anything like that to me before. It was always, ‘do this’, ‘don’t do that’, ‘no one’s interested in what you have to say’. I’m quite enjoying people taking notice of my opinions for a change.” Rebecca closed her fingers, pressing her sharp nails into George’s thigh again. “Still, I can’t spend too much time chatting. I’ve got things to do.”
George almost whimpered as she got up pressing down on his thigh as she did so. She stepped back across the office. George’s view of her backside in her tight skirt and the spike heels of her shoes as she walked away from him did nothing to quench his hard on. He was still rigid when Rebecca’s intercom buzzed and after a short exchange, she gestured to the door to one of the consulting rooms. George wasn’t sure if he was glad to be escaping Rebecca’s attentions or worried that he was about to receive Erica’s
Erica was waiting for him, dressed as immaculately as she usually was. Her pale cream jacket and trousers hardly seemed the garb of a dominatrix but George had at least learned that a woman’s outfit told you little about her sexual desires. She beckoned for him to come in and sat on one of the comfortable leather chairs, leaving George standing in the middle of the room.
“Well, we had better get on with this, hadn’t we?” she said.
“Yes, Mistress,” George responded respectfully.
“I don’t have much time, I’m afraid, so just drop your trousers and underpants.”
George had hoped for something more theatrical, something more erotic. After all, he was putting the control of his sexual activities in the hands of this woman. Her looked at her only to see her looking at the heavy gold wrist watch she was wearing. Resignedly he did as she had asked.
“I assume you have the device,” said Erica as he revealed his naked crotch. “If you haven’t this is all a waste of time and we evidently do need it.”
“I’m sorry, Mistress,” George began to apologise for his swollen member, “it was Mistress Rebecca and...”
“Never mind,” Erica said. “Let’s get on shall we.”
The device that Erica ordered George to obtain was a small plastic tube that closed with a peg and a plastic ring around the base of his cock. “Good,” she said as she stood over him while he fitted it in place. She handed him a small padlocked shaped plastic tag. “Slot the thin piece through the hole in the peg. Then clip the free end into the tag.”
George looked up and hesitated for a moment.
“You don’t have to do this,” Erica said.
Nothing that she said could have been more of a command. George had thought a great deal about this moment and he was certain that this was something he really wanted to do. He clicked the tag shut with determination and looked up at Erica.
“Now,” she said, “let me explain.” George looked at her intently. She continued. “The only way for you to remove that is to beg for me to allow it or to break the tag. If you break the tag, I will know. If you try to replace it with another tag, I will know. They all have unique numbers. I will know. And you know the consequences of that?”
“Yes, Mistress,”
“All right then,” she said. “Now read me the number.”
George took a deep breath and looked down at the tag. Erica smiled and turned to the cabinet beside her. On top of the cabinet was a small wooden box. She opened the lid and took out a small book and a silver pencil. As George called out the numbers from the tag she wrote them down. Erica smiled as he finished and flipped the small book shut. She dropped it and the pencil back into the box. It left George in no doubt that he was not the only one pledged in chastity to his Mistress.
++ ++ ++
The device locked around George’s cock was much more of a challenge than he had imagined it would be. There were the practical problems of trying to keep clean; the embarrassment of realising that he couldn’t really use a urinal without risk of discovery and the discovery that the slightest erection soon became quite painful. Every time though that he was confronted with one of these, he was reminded of Erica and the approving smile that she had given him as she wrote down the numbers on his tag. It was more than sufficient compensation, George felt. He didn’t regret it all week, until Friday.
The phone in George’s office rang. He picked it up. “Hello George,” the voice on the other end said. George recognised Allison’s cheerful tone immediately.
“Hello,” he said. “What can I do for you.”
“You can come to dinner tonight,” she said firmly. “I’ll take no excuses.
George tried briefly to protest – he wasn’t at all sure how he would cope with being in Allison’s company after their recent encounter and given the fact that he had this extraordinary, rigid, bulky feeling device between his legs. She, however, was having none of it and so, in spite of himself, he found himself on her doorstep carrying a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine at eight o’clock that evening.
“Come in, come in,” she said in greeting. “Oh, what lovely flowers. I hope you like Chinese?”
George took in her outfit. A black silk cheong-sam embroidered with a bright red dragon design, clung tightly to her figure and she was wearing her hair up. As she stepped back, the slit in her skirt slid open to reveal a glimpse of thigh. “Yes, absolutely,” said George, enthusiastically, “you look stunning.”
“Not me, silly - the food! But thanks for the compliment anyway. Come on through. I thought we could be very relaxed and eat in the living room.”
George followed her. He had never really thought of her in a sexual way until their recent encounters and this was a whole new Allison. The Chinese dress suited her slight frame and somehow lent her a sensuousness that he had never noticed before. It presented George with a dilemma. If Allison was hoping for something more than dinner, whatever should he do? He couldn’t tell her about the chastity tube but if he took it off, Erica would know. All he could do was to hope that he could divert Allison’s attention from any sexual games.
The meal was laid out on warmer on a low table. “Let’s eat sitting on the floor,” Allison announced pointing to some cushions. “There’s some sparkling wine over there why don’t you open it?”
It was half way between a suggestion to an order. George was happy to oblige and poured them both a glass. He turned to see Allison sitting on the floor, her legs half tucked up beneath her, a generous expanse of thigh on display. She was smiling, pleased that her directness with George was having its desired effect, and more than satisfied with what she had learned in her sessions with Erica.
Allison patted the cushion beside her and George sat down, happy to fall in line with her suggestions. He put their wine down on the table. Allison handed him a bowl and said, “Come on let’s eat.”
The two of them helped themselves to a selection from the foil dishes on the warmer. It was as George sat down again that he managed to knock over one of the glasses of wine, spilling the sparkling liquid all across his lap.
“Oh heaven’s you’re soaked,” Allison said, leaning forward instinctively with her napkin, to dab at George’s wine drenched crotch. As she did so, she suddenly realised that beneath his trousers was something solid. “Oh,” she said, “I’m sorry. What on earth’s that?”
George blushed, mortified that his secret had been discovered. He wasn’t sure what to say.”It’s, it’s for, err, a medical condition,” he stammered.
“Goodness,” said Allison, sympathetically, “whatever can that be? I trained as a nurse and I never came across anything like that.”
George looked dismayed at the thought of having to keep up the pretence. “Err it’s a new treatment,” he said. “Alternative therapy. To, err, protect against, err, sensitivity.”
“Do you have to wear it all the time?”
“Oh yes,” George said, grateful that Allison appeared to be accepting what he said at face value. “I can’t take it off at all for quite a while.”
“At all?” Allison looked sceptical. George shook his head. Allison turned back to her food. “Well, we’d better enjoy the meal. It doesn’t sound as if there’s going to be any more fun than that this evening.”
George’s mouth fell open, surprised by Allison’s directness. “Oh,” he said, “I didn’t realise. I mean, I hadn’t thought, I mean if I had I would have asked I’m sure she would...” George realised that his mouth was running away with him.
“What on earth are you saying? I thought this was some medical intervention, not something you could ask someone if you could remove. What is it?”
George was completely flustered. He couldn’t bring himself to confess to wearing the chastity device, much less to the fact that Erica had put it there and that he had been the man at Allison’s feet a few days before. “No, it’s as I said, Sorry. Let’s just finish the meal.”
“Yes,” said Allison flatly, clearly disappointed at the unexpected turn that the evening had taken, “let’s. I don’t think there’s going to be much else on the menu.”
© 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/Femdom_Fables/
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