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“George,” Erica announced, “I need an escort for the County Ball.”
George was immediately attentive. After the disastrous evening with Allison he’d had barely been out of the house.
He’d been busily checking the bank account for the business when Erica had walked in to the room. The County Ball was a major event and he had never had the opportunity to attend. “It will be my honour to accompany you, Mistress,” he said.
Erica broke into giggles. “Not for me, you fool,” she laughed. “Mistress Ruth has asked if I can supply her with an escort and it seems like an excellent idea to be paid for the use of your services.
George looked crestfallen. Ruth had seemed rather haughty and disdainful when they had met before. “But,” thought George, “perhaps that had something to do with the maid’s uniform I was wearing.” He turned to Erica and said, “Of course, Mistress, I am sorry to have been so presumptuous as to imagine you would allow yourself to be seen in public with me.”
“Very good, George, very good,” Erica responded. “You are a very good slave, you know.” George allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. “Now, you are to meet Mistress Ruth at her home tonight at seven o’clock. Black tie, of course. Don’t expect to be home before breakfast. She’s asked to rent you for the entire night.”
***** ***** ***** ******
George arrived at the house of Mistress Ruth exactly on time. He had learned the penalties for lateness well. His date for the evening ushered him inside. Unsurprisingly she was still wearing a cream silk dressing gown, evidently only half way through her preparations for the evening. “I assume you are used to doing as you are told,” she said. “So go and find me a glass of wine while I finish dressing.”
George managed to find some wine in the fridge and put a glass on a tray before going off in search of Ruth. He found her sitting at her dressing table in her bedroom. She barely looked up to take the glass as he offered it to her and then waved him away to a seat on the far side of the room. “You’ll have to wait while I finish getting ready. Sit down there,” she ordered.
Although Mistress Ruth was in her early fifties, George thought, she still presented an attractive sight as she fidgeted with her hair and her make up. From where George was sitting he had a clear view of one stocking clad leg where her dressing gown had fallen open to reveal nylon, thigh and suspender and, as she leant forward, peering into the mirror to apply her mascara, the sight of the swell of her ample breasts, constrained by her basque and revealed by the fall of her robe. George started as he realised she had caught sight of his interest in the mirror. “Dear me,” she said, getting to her feet and striding towards him, “don’t you know it’s rude to stare.” Without waiting for an answer she dealt George a hearty slap across the face with her open hand, leaving his cheek stinging. She returned to her dressing table without another word. George, not anxious to earn another slap, cast his eyes down at the floor where all he could see were her nylon clad feet and her pink, high heeled mule slippers.
Moments later, the phone rang. “Hello… Oh, Julian,” Ruth said. “What a surprise. How lovely. Well yes, I do have a date for tonight. Oh, really! You are naughty. Oh, Julian, Goodness! Well, I could stand him up, I suppose. Why not? It’ll be fun. …. Well, I’m virtually ready right now. And you’re outside? You always did expect to get your own way didn’t you?”
Ruth turned to George. “Well, I expect you heard that. I’ve got another date for tonight, now, but since I’ve paid for you I think you can stay here. Maybe I’ll want to play when I get back, Julian does have a way of getting a girl all worked up, you know.” She brushed aside George’s spluttering protests with a brusque, “You’ll stay here if I say so! And I’m going to make sure you do.”
So saying she picked up a pair of discarded tights and proceeded to tie George’s wrists together and then to one of the arms of the chair in which he was sitting. With George complaining about the unfairness of being left while she went off with someone else, she picked up some stockings and tied his ankles each to one leg of the chair as well.
“That should do,” Ruth said. “Oh, and by the way, I don’t want you bothering my daughter. She’s here this evening with her boyfriend, so I’ll have to make sure you stay quiet as well, I’m afraid.” George knew only too well what that meant and pleaded not to be gagged but Ruth took no notice. “Don’t be such a baby,” she admonished him, picking up a scarf and knotting it several times to make a big ball of fabric in its middle. “It’s only one of my scarves.” She pushed the knotted ball between George’s protesting lips, muffling his objections. “Now, I’d better get on,” she exclaimed, “I don’t want to keep Julian waiting!”
Ruth finished dressing quickly. She pulled on her long, red, strapless, silk gown, wriggling in an enticing manner as she pulled it over her head and then zipped it up. George could see that it was a little tighter than it should have been, a small roll of flesh bulged over where the dress swept down under her arms to the middle of her back. She fastened her earrings and took one last look in the mirror. Apparently satisfied with her appearance she turned to George. “Now, you sit there quietly,” she said, “and don’t struggle too much - you’ll damage that chair and then I’ll be cross.” She picked up a pair of long evening gloves in the same red silk as her gown. She slid them on to her hands and her arms fastening the tiny buttons at the wrists carefully.
George gave a grunt intended to assure her that he had no intention of causing any damage.
“Well, that’s understood then. Now, just so you don’t get bored, here’s a little something to remember me by while I’m out.” With that she bent down to a pile of discarded clothes beside George’s chair. When she stood up George saw that she was holding a large pair of white silk knickers. “I had these on all day,” she said, draping them over his head so that his nostrils were filled with a pungent odour of her sweat and he could guess what else. “They’ll give you something to think about. Have a fun evening.”
George whimpered as he heard her leave the room, shutting the door behind her. He knew just how foolish he must look, wearing his dinner jacket, wing collared shirt and bow tie, trussed up on the chair with a pair of panties over his head. As a result he was particularly not anxious to attract the attentions of Ruth’s daughter. Somehow he felt she might well exhibit the same tendencies as her mother. There was one point when he heard what he assumed was Ruth’s daughter and her boyfriend coming up stairs. He sat as quietly as he could. There was some chatter outside the door of the room that he was in and the door knob started to turn. But then there was a male voice saying, “No, don’t be stupid, she’ll be back soon,” and the threatened discovery never happened.
George breathed a sigh of relief and carried on waiting, without much option but hoping that at least there might be some amusement when Ruth got back. He’d be quite happy to be made to worship her feet or even, given what he had seen of her back side when she was struggling into her dress, to act as her seat. That thought, combined with the smell of her panties, soon pushed his cock to a rigid erection and fuelled a whole series of fantasies that he was quietly enjoying when he heard someone coming back into the house.
He guessed it was late but he had no way of telling. From downstairs came the sounds of exaggerated “sshhing!” and giggles as one or other of those concerned collided with the walls or with items of furniture. As the voices got closer, George could make out the sound of Ruth’s evidently inebriated laughter. “Ooo! No! Stop it! You are naughty! Oh, Julian! No, don’t! Sshh! You’ll wake everyone. No. Stop it!” George became more and more concerned the closer they got. It was obvious that Ruth had brought her date back home and that the two of them were coming his way. He tried to struggle with the ties that held him to the chair but by now it was far too late to attempt escape. He couldn’t even shake the panties from his head although as he tried he realised that wasn’t likely to do much good anyway. He heard the bedroom door open and at once there was a man’s voice saying, “What is that?”
“I told you I had to stand my date up,” Ruth replied. “It’s just that he wasn’t keen on the idea. Now come on. You’ve been bragging what a great lover you are. Now you can show me.”
“What with him there?”
“He can’t see anything. Don’t worry about it.”
“What’s he got on his head? Are those your knickers? I hope you’ve got something more enticing on under that dress!”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Ruth teased.
“Well, come here. I’ll have to get you out of that dress, won’t I?” George heard the sound of hands running across silk and the slide of a zip.
Ruth gave a quiet “Oh! Julian!”
Julian responded with, “My, they are nice, aren’t they? I do like women that look like women.”
“And how’s this?” asked Ruth to the accompaniment of more sounds of clothing being unfastened.
“Such big nipples,” said Julian. “Come here and let me see if they taste as chocolatey as they look.”
“I thought you wanted some more champagne,” said Ruth with the pop of a cork.
“Only if I can lick it from your navel,” Julian responded, causing another outburst of drunken giggling from Ruth.
There was a springing sound as the two of them obviously fell onto the bed. George was left in confusion by the sounds of passion, lust and mutual indulgence as the two obviously began making love. His head swathed in Ruth’s panties, he could only imagine what was going on but the cries, moans, grunts and squeals made sure that every possible image of sexual congress was conjured up for George by what he could hear.
He was kept there, tied to the chair all night, until Julian tired of Ruth’s plentiful amusements and decided to leave. As Julian disappeared, Ruth staggered out of bed to release George’s wrists. “You can do the rest,” she said. “I’m going back to bed.”
Even with his wrists freed of the pantyhose it took him some time to struggle free from the chair and to remove the panties and the knotted scarf that gagged him. With Ruth snoring in the bed, George let himself out as quietly as he could. He didn’t think it was likely to be a good idea to wake her again.
***** ***** ***** *****
When George saw Erica Wilkie next she was very complementary. “Mistress Ruth declared herself well pleased with her evening. Apparently she had a very good time.” George looked embarrassed, reluctant to admit how he’d spent the evening. Erica noticed his reticence. “Don’t worry George, she told me all about it. You don’t imagine we girls have any secrets from one another do you? You're lucky that she didn't suggest her lover took a turn with you.” George made a choking noise. “But she's so cock-greedy I think you were quite safe there. Now, run along and finish checking those bank accounts. And when you’ve done that perhaps you could make sure you enter up the details of the fee for your hire for the evening. You’ll find a note of what was involved in the cash box.”
George, blushing with discomfort, headed off to find the account books.
George was always a little uncomfortable when it turned out to be Deanna that was charged with his next training session. There had been the early difficulties between them, of course, with the problem over CBT and TENS. George always felt Deanna blamed him for the fact that Erica had been so furious with her. And Deanna always seemed offhand in the way she dealt with him and while there was a perverse pleasure to be had from being ignored by an attractive, ruthless woman, George felt that at least there ought to be some sign that she knew he was in the room.
On this occasion it was worse than usual. She had been getting ready for one of her regular clients. She’d just got herself into the tight, leather, jump suit and stilt heel boots that her client liked her to wear when he had phoned to cancel and Erica had “suggested” that she look after George instead.
She’d insisted on him stripping off and then had ordered him into a small cage in a corner of the room. With her slave incarcerated in the locked cage she’d gone to find her handbag and pulled out an envelope. Now she was sitting at the table in the room turning over each of the sheets from the envelop one after the other and looking very worried indeed.
George, peering out through the wire mesh of his cage recognised the papers. They had the characteristic look of an annual tax demand. From Deanna’s concerned look, and the way she was biting her lip, she hadn’t been expecting it.
“Mistress,” he called tentatively, “Mistress Deanna.”
“Keep silent,” she barked, “can’t you see I’m busy.”
George felt he shouldn’t do as she ordered. “But Mistress,”
“I said keep silent!” She leapt to her feet and George knew he only had a moment or two before she would grab a ball gag and stuff it into his mouth to silence him.
“Mistress, if that is a tax demand, I may be able to help. If not I’ll be quiet at once.”
Deanna was standing over him as he crouched inside his cage. In one hand she held a ball gag, in the other her bundle of papers. “What if it is?” she said warily. “They want the money. I’ll end up having to pay.”
“Well, there may be ways of reducing what you owe. Allowances, expenses, that sort of thing.”
She still looked suspicious but she let him out of his cage. “Here,” she said tossing the forms to the floor in front of him. “See if you can see anything. But stay down there and,” she jammed the rubber ball into his mouth and fastened the gag’s strap behind his head, “keep quiet until you’ve got something useful to say.”
George stayed on his hands and knees while Deanna found a packet of cigarettes in her handbag, pulled one out and lit it. George could see why she was worried. She owed several thousand in back taxes and not only was it already due, the dates on the form showed that it was getting perilously close to the time when without payment, court action would swiftly follow.
George was used to working on tax forms, although he wasn’t so used to doing it naked, on his knees and with a two inch rubber ball in his mouth. After only a few minutes examining the forms he was confident that he could help solve Deanna’s problems. He placed the forms into a neat pile in front of him and knelt as he had been taught to wait, with his back straight, his hands by his sides and his head bowed.
Deanna unfastened his gag. “Well?” she said standing directly in front of him, her arms folded.
George framed his words carefully. “I think we should be able to do something,” he said. “Did you have anything that we could call business expenses to set against the income? That would help.”
“It depends what you mean by business expenses.” Deanna brandished her packet of cigarettes. “I get through about forty of these a day trying to keep myself sane.”
George shook his head. “No, I don’t think we could claim for that,” he said, “but you must have had some expenses for setting up with Mistress Erica.”
“Well, she helped a lot – I get to use all the equipment here, of course but I’ve had to buy things like this cat suit – that’s not cheap let me tell you.” George allowed himself the opportunity to take in how the fine leather shaped itself to Deanna’s body. Luckily she was so preoccupied with her problems that she didn’t stop to admonish him. “And there’s all my whips and floggers too.”
“I think we could make a case for charging those as legitimate business expenses. Protective clothing and essential tools are considered tax deductible.” He let his eyes travel down to her feet. She was wearing the stilt heeled, platform soled shoes that added a good five inches to her height. “Can I ask about your shoes, Mistress?”
“What about them?”
“How high are the heels?”
“Err,” Deanna looked down, turning her foot back and forth, “six inches, I think and a one inch platform.”
“Fine, they should qualify. I think we could make a case for them not being practical footwear and so specifically required as equipment for your business. Anything of a similar size or with a higher heel would qualify.”
“My shoes are tax deductible?” Deanna looked delighted.
“I think we can make a case, Mistress. Also one of the reasons for the large bill is that they want half of next year’s tax as well”
She peered at the forms. “Oh. Yes. I hadn’t realised that. I’ve no idea if I’m going to make as much as I have this year but they want the same amount as I would have paid. There’s no way I can afford that.”
“That’s because you’re registered as self-employed, Mistress. There are several things we could do. You could class yourself as Mistress Erica’s employee, if she was amenable. Then the tax for next year wouldn’t need to be paid until the end of next year.”
Deanna took the papers and sat down on a chair looking at them. “Well that would make a big difference.”
“We could improve things further if you were a limited company, Mistress.” Deanna looked puzzled. “That way you become an employee of your own accompany and then you can draw a small salary which doesn’t attract income tax. You pay corporation tax on the profits of the business but that’s at a lower rate than you would normally pay on income and …..”
“Wait, wait,” said Deanna. “This is all pretty confusing. Can you sort this out for me?”
“Yes, of course, Mistress.”
“Well, thank you. I’m just a bit puzzled as to why you’re being so helpful.”
“Well, Mistress, I assumed when Mistress Erica said she wanted me to help on the tax affairs of the business she’d want me to help you and Mistress Darla. It’s what I do. I’m happy to help.”
“Well, I’m really pleased,” she looked down at George who was still kneeling on the floor, “slave. Now turn around.” As he did so she drew his wrists behind him and fastened them with a pair of handcuffs. She slipped the ball gag back into his mouth and pushed him down under the table. “You can stay there while I read these tax forms through again.” As Deanna took her seat once more, George felt the delightful pressure of her heels digging into his back. She swung a light kick at his side. “Keep still and make the most of this, slave,” she said. “You can thank the tax inspectors for this little treat.”
“George,” the voice on the telephone was Allison’s. “I’m glad I caught you in. I thought you might come to dinner again. I know I wasn’t very sympathetic about your condition. Perhaps I can make up for it with another meal?
“It wasn’t any problem,” George said, reluctant to get into any deeper discussion about just why he was wearing the cage over his cock. “Honestly. I’m sorry that I hadn’t said anything before.”
“I don’t blame you,” Allison replied. “It a very difficult thing to cope with I’m sure. I was talking to a friend of mine and she told me all about it.”
“Oh really?” George was puzzled as to how sense might have been made of his imaginary condition.
“Yes,” Allison responded. “What did she say it was called – ‘210605 Syndrome’ – I’d never heard of anything like it.”
“No well, oh!” George suddenly realised the significance of the numbers. 21-06-05 were the numbers on the tag that secured the plastic tube that still kept his cock imprisoned. There was only one person who could have told Allison the numbers; Erica. His reaction was immediate. A hot flush of embarrassment, his mouth dry at the realisation that Allison and Erica had been discussing him and his cock stiffening painfully against its constraints were the results.
“So,” Allison went on, “why don’t you come to dinner – tonight, shall we say, and you can explain to me all about your painful condition and we’ll see if it agrees with what my friend told me. How about that?”
“Err, all right,” George agreed, uncertain of what else he could say.
When George arrived at Allison’s he was feeling even more trepidation than he felt these days turning up at Erica’s. It was the uncertainty, he supposed, that was making him feel so nervous and causing the collar of his shirt to feel stiffer than it normally would. He pulled at his tie as he approached Allison’s front door. George wasn’t someone that did “smart casual”; the best he could manage was a sports jacket and trousers to go with his shirt and tie rather than the suit he normally wore.
Then there was the problem of the social etiquette. For a dinner party as a rule it was polite to turn up with flowers or wine or chocolates as he had before. Did that apply when the hostess had announced that she wanted to discuss with you why you had your cock locked in a cage to which you didn’t have the key? And then there was the problem of the greeting kiss. One cheek? Two cheeks? Her feet? Probably not, George thought, as he swallowed hard and pressed the door bell.
Allison opened the door with a warm smile that still didn’t help George to feel relaxed. “Come in,” she said, “let’s try again, shall we?”
George nodded. “Yes, well, I’m sorry. It was all rather embarrassing. I’m sorry.”
“I quite understand.” Allison took his coat and gestured to the living room where they had shared their Chinese meal so tensely a week before.
George stood nervously until Allison returned with a gin and tonic for each of them to drink. “Do sit down,” she said. “I think we have quite a bit to discuss, don’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” George replied diffidently. “You’ve been speaking to Erica...”
“Erica is it?” Allison said with a mischievous twinkle. “Really?”
“Sorry. I mean Ms Wilkie.”
Allison raised an eyebrow as much as to say, I think you mean ‘Mistress’, not ‘Ms’ but said nothing.
George continued. “You used those numbers – 21 06 05 – did she explain what they mean?”
“Oh yes, George. Erica and I exchange many confidences. Perhaps I should explain first of all. I have been having therapy from Ms Wilkie for some time. I was worried that my shyness was a problem to me, holding me back, stopping me from finding out what I really wanted, stopping me from pursuing it.”
George nodded, listening closely.
“Well, you will understand that some of her therapy is a little unorthodox. All I can say is that in asking me to experiment with some different roles, Erica has helped me to discover something that I enjoy very much indeed.” Allison paused, making sure that she had George’s full attention. “Cock!”
George spluttered with shock and almost dropped his drink.
“That’s right, George, I’ve found that what really fulfils me is being filled full. Actually I don’t mind much whether it’s a male member or something more artificial but the sensation of feeling something rigid inside me is one that I have come to enjoy greatly. Of course I love the other little amusements that go on around the act too but what I really like is cock, thick, hard, hot, tumescent cock. And Erica tells me you have rather a nice one.”
“Uhh.” George almost whimpered in response. He hadn’t ever thought of himself as being particularly well endowed.
“You are one of her slaves, aren’t you? As well as doing her accounts?”
George nodded. “Yes, I suppose you could say that. It was sort of an accident really.” He stopped as Allison looked sceptical. “I men it didn’t start out with me intending that. I was just expecting to do her accounts. I didn’t even know what the business was about, really, until well, until I’d said I would do it.”
“And you couldn’t refuse Erica could you? Of course you couldn’t!”
George looked down. “No,” he said, “I couldn’t. It really was an accident, my getting involved, but once I had I didn’t want it to stop. I find her compelling.”
“Well, I’m sure you will find me compelling too.” Allison didn’t wait for George to question her assumption. “Now tell me about your cage.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked directly at him, with an expression as impassive as if she had just asked him to describe his car or his job.
George, while still feeling embarrassed by the fact that Allison and Erica had been discussing his slavery, found it hard to do other than respond to Allison’s directness. He swallowed and began. “Err. I’m not sure how to explain,” he said. “Erica put this device on me. She holds the key. I can’t remove it. Whenever I get an erection my cock presses against the cage, it can be quite painful if I don’t distract myself somehow.”
George looked across at Allison, she was looking at him attentively, studying his every move. Standing there in her tight black ski-pants, spike heeled boots and clinging black sweater, she looked every bit as dominant as any of the women he had met through Erica. As his mind wandered momentarily, his cock stiffened in fetishistic response, crushing itself against the walls of its cage. “Aah!” George exclaimed, involuntarily.
Allison smiled. “Well,” she said, “it’s nice to know I have that effect. There’s a bit more though, isn’t there. You implied that Erica asked you to wear this, didn’t you? I didn’t think that was really the case, talking to her about it.” Allison was standing with her arms folded and her feet slightly apart looking directly at him, defying him to deny that it had been his idea to ask Erica to allow him to wear the device.
“No,” he said sheepishly, feeling that there was nothing he could hide from this new, direct Allison, “you’re right. I asked her if I could wear it for her. She’d told me not to masturbate without her express permission. I found it so difficult to follow her orders.”
Allison grinned, impishly. “I expect so. You do seem very,” she paused and tossed her long loose hair back. The act drew an appreciative intake of breath from George and an almost instantaneous whimper as his appreciation of Allison’s appearance drove his cock to further rigidity and increased discomfort from the cage. “very, impressionable. The slightest thing,” she turned sideways to him. Her body sculptured by ingenious underpinnings presented George with a lust inducing profile. The grunt of discomfort from his stiffening member followed moments later. “...seems to cause you considerable distraction.”
“Please, Allison,” George begged, “don’t tease me. I know it’s funny but it’s important to me.” George was relieved by Allison’s sympathetic look. “And besides,” George said with a smile, “it’s bloody uncomfortable.”
Allison laughed too. “Well,” she said, “as a special treat you can fix me another drink. Bring it on a tray and kneel beside me with it. Then perhaps you can tell me some more about how you came to discover this part of yourself.”
It was, thought, George, the most extraordinary evening. Their conversation was much as would have been heard at any dinner party, on any date. Their discussions were thoughtful and analytical, he describing his circumstances, she her reactions and experiences of therapy. The only thing was, George thought, that he was on his knees, while she sat comfortably and that when it came time to eat, she had asked him, as if it was only what any good hostess would do, as to whether he would rather take his meal at the table or in a bowl at her booted feet.
George, his cock already painfully stiff, from the evening’s discussions, opted for the more conventional meal. He couldn’t tell if Allison was disappointed but it gave him a chance for his painfully restrained member to subside.
Over the meal the conversation reverted to more normal chit-chat. Allison describing some films she had seen, George, sounding as interested as he could, even though he had seen none of them and only heard of a few.
It was as they finished the meal, that Allison returned the conversation to the topic of sex. “So,” she said, “after our last encounter and my discussion with Erica I realised that I would have to take things into my own hands if I wanted to benefit from your performance in the bedroom.”
“Ah, uh?” George stammered.
“Now, I couldn’t possibly expect you to go back on your promise to Erica. She did let me have a key, see.” She reached beneath the polo-neck of her sweater and pulled out a small key on a silver chain. “But I don’t think that would be fair do you?”
George bit his lip but said nothing.
“No, I thought not. So I found something that I think solves the problem. Have you seen one of these before?”
Allison held up an arrangement of straps and what looked like two rubber dildos. George, shook his head warily.
“Never mind,” Allison said, “you’ll get the idea. Come here.” Allison went to work, pushing the shorter of the two rubber dildos into George’s mouth while he sat unresisting, a puzzled look on his face. She fastened the network of straps around his head until it was held firmly in place. “How’s that?” she asked, not really expecting an answer but getting a grunted, “awh-hiight” in response.
“Now this is the bit that really interests me,” Allison went on, screwing the second dildo onto a peg in the base of the first. George could feel the weight of the second dildo pressing the first back into his mouth. “Kneel down,” Allison ordered as she sat herself on the edge of the table.
As George followed her instruction he caught sight of himself in a mirror, an absurd figure in jacket and tie with a thick, black rubber cock erupting from his mouth.
“Now let’s have some fun,” Allison grabbed George by the hair and pulled his head toward her. George saw that she had unzipped her ski pants as she guided his head and the thick rubber dildo towards her cunt, as his face got closer and she eased the rubber cock inside her he could see the evidence of her arousal in the glistening on her labial lips. Finally she pushed on the back of George’s head to ram the rubber cock home with a loud sigh of satisfaction.
As Allison moved her body George found the rubber plug in his mouth was threatening to choke him. He attempted to struggle but the efforts brought on by his distress only served to arouse Allison further, as she bucked and wriggled in response to the sensations of the dildo inside of her cunt and the pressure of the leather straps from the harness that enclosed George’s head on her clit. “Uhh, that’s nice, that very – oh! – nice,” Allison exclaimed clenching her thighs against George’s head so hard that he felt he would hardly be able to breathe, his nostrils filled with her sexual scent as his nose pressed against her pubic bone. “It’s a shame you’re all locked up.” Allison somehow reached out with the toe of a boot to kick gently against George’s cock. George gasped as best he could into his gag as he felt his cock swelling further and crushing itself against his cage. “... but I guess I’ll manage.” She set to, once again riding the dildo, pushing her crotch against George’s face until a violent shudder and a deep throated “Oh!” convinced George that she had reached the orgasm she sought. His relief at the prospect of his ordeal ending lasted only for a second or two before Allison started again, pulling his head back and pushing it forward in long steady strokes until she achieved a second and then a third orgasm.
Finally though, she finished, pulled herself clear of the thick rubber cock and freed George’s head. “Thank you, George,” she said as she unfastened the straps from around his bruised and raw face and pulled the rubber plug gag from George’s mouth, “I really enjoyed that.”
George, uncertain what to say, could only give a grunt of acknowledgement in response. Apart from anything else, although Allison might have achieved a release, all he had for the evening was his cock still stiff and aching within its prison. He wasn’t sure whether or not he was enjoying the new, assertive, Allison at all.
George arrived eagerly in response to Erica’s summons, but he was dismayed once he had been stripped and told to put on his rubber mask and ball gag by Deanna, to discover that there were half a dozen other slaves similarly masked, similarly naked, similarly gagged in the room he was shown into. He never really enjoyed sharing his experiences with other slaves. Even masked there was something too revelatory about the exercise for George’s sense of embarrassment.
When Deanna herded the group of them through into a small room, crowding them all together, he felt distinctly uncomfortable. The door of the room was shut, plunging them all into darkness. The group stood there silent, uncertain what was happening, for perhaps a quarter of an hour. When the door opened once again, they were confronted by Rebecca, Darla and Deanna in full fetish regalia. Even Rebecca was there in a short flared skirt and a tight black sweater, very much part of the party.
As one the group of slaves dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. From where George knelt he was lucky enough to have an uninterrupted view of the three women’s feet and the sight of the dagger sharp heels and the shining leather were more than enough to take George’s mind off anything else. His luxurious contemplations were interrupted by two things; the cramping discomfort as his cock stiffened and swelled against its cage and then the sound of Erica’s voice.
“Excellent,” Erica announced. “Now listen to me.” She barely needed to give the group that instruction; they all waited with rapt attention. “You are here because you are my most devoted slaves and you will be the most affected by what I have to say. The facilities here will be closed for the summer. Mistress Deanna, Mistress Darla and myself feel we have earned ourselves a holiday so you will not be required here for the next eight weeks.”
The assembled slaves said nothing but George could sense in all the others the dismay that he felt at the idea of having no contact with Erica or the others for so long. For his own part he wasn’t sure how he would cope without the prospect that the phone would ring and that there would be Erica’s voice, or one of the others, summoning him. And that was without even thinking about what would happen with his cock cage.
“Now, I am quite aware that none of you can be trusted for that length of time. I dread to think of the trouble that we would have getting you all back in order after such a time. So we have decided that you will each be looked after while we are away. Mistress Darla will explain.”
With that Erica turned on her heel and left the room. Seven pairs of masked eyes swivelled surreptitiously watching her disappear, each lost in their own desperation at whatever it was that they would not be experiencing during the Mistress’s holiday.
Darla interrupted their thought with the crack of her cane on the frame of the door if the room the slaves were in. “Right, all of you, listen,” she snapped. “We have invited a group of our friends that have expressed an interesting looking after one or more of you. Some of you are more attractive propositions than others because of your natural abilities or training so the only fair way is for each of you to be auctioned. Rebecca will make sure you are marked up with your lot number. Mistress Deanna will bring you in and I’ll be running the auction. After all we want to make sure we’ve got enough to have fun with while we’re away, don’t we?”
Seven gagged mouths mumbled what could have been “Yes Mistress.” as Darla left to follow Erica.
+++++
In the sitting room Erica was already entertaining her guests. They made a curious bunch. Erica herself was in a three piece tweed suit with loose, 30’s style trousers and the others were dressed in outfits ranging from classic dominatrix style corset and boots, through to Allison in a rather ordinary skirt and sweater. The group was socialising in a manner that while friendly could not disguise the anticipation of the coming competition for the services of Erica’s slaves. All of them were wearing masks of one type or another.
Ruth was happily contemplating a large gin and tonic while Allison sat rather diffidently, not really comfortable with finding herself part of the group. Although the others were all busily exchanging their ideas of just what they were going to do when they took possession of one or other of the lots on offer, Allison kept quiet, nodding and smiling as the conversation demanded but not really feeling able to join in.
“This is an excellent idea, Erica dear,” Ruth congratulated. “It will do some of your ‘students’ good to feel another woman’s control. I’m sure I speak for most of us when I say you’ll find them no worse for our attentions when you get back from your break.”
“I’m sure you’ll take great care to see they are well looked after,” Erica said, bringing a laugh from most of the others.
“And do you have that funny little man I had for the County Ball?” Ruth asked. “I might well be interested in bidding for him.”
Allison looked up. She was worried. After their last encounter, she had decided that George was going to be the one to serve her. She was aiming to secure George’s services in the auction but if Ruth was planning to bid it could all get a bit too expensive.
Erica took her seat beside a small platform at the front of the room. “Ladies,” she said. “Let’s begin.” As the others took their seats, she took her walking cane and tapped it smartly on the floor before pulling a whistle from her waistcoat pocket and giving a sharp peep to start the proceedings.
Rebecca appeared leading the first of the seven males slaves by a chain attached to his collar, a further chain ran from his shackled wrists to the collar of the next in line and so on down the line. George shuffled on last of all, half dragged along by the chain from the wrists of the man which linked to the ring in the end of George’s cock cage. The audience greeted the arrival of the slaves with a few muttered comments, but their murmurings were interrupted by a leather clad and booted Darla appearing to take charge of the proceedings.
“Ladies,” Darla began. “We have seven lots for you today....”
As Darla explained the way in which the auction was going to be run, George (together with the other ‘merchandise’) looked out at the prospective buyers with some trepidation. Apart from Ruth, who he knew could be cruel, and Allison he didn’t recognise any of the masked women. They all, however, had a determined, no-nonsense look.
For George, the experience was a curious mix of sensations. First of all there was the embarrassment of being paraded, naked except for his mask, in front of a group of women obviously appraising his physique, such as it was as a prelude to the bidding. There was the physical discomfort of having his hands chained behind him and of the jerking of the chain to his cock cage as he was pulled around the platform. And, of course, there was the trepidation about which, if any, of the women would succeed in bidding for his services with the added humiliating possibility of being sold for a low price or not being sold at all. George watched as each of the others were brought forward and Darla read out some form of commendation of the use to which they might be put. “A real pain slut, this one, good if you need to practice your whipping and spanking.” ..... “Useful around the house. If you’ve got work that needs to be done in your house or garden this one is the choice you should make.” ... “A bit of a challenge this one. Needs good discipline but his performance in the bedroom will reward it.”
As each was sold, their purchaser’s name was written in lipstick on their buttocks and they were sent to stand at the back of the platform facing away from the audience.
Then came George’s turn. He shuffled forward in response to a tug on the chain to his cock. Darla grabbed the ring of his collar and pulled him to his knees alongside her. George groaned into the rubber gag that filled his mouth, earning a slap on the cheek. “Still very much a beginner this one,” Darla began. “Not too much use but he does have quite a low pain threshold so you can get quite an effect without too much effort. He’s reasonably competent t foot worship but you’d best regard this one as a project to practice your own training skills rather than one that will give you any real benefit. You’ll have the key to his cock cage of course, if you should want to make use of what’s in there. Do we have any bids?”
George found the deafening silence that followed Darla’s question one of the most humiliating experiences of his life. A few of the women were muttering between themselves. Over to the left an exchange of comments led to two of them bursting out laughing.
There was another burst of laughter as George stood waiting, now blushing over his entire body. “Fifty,” came a call from Ruth, “and that’s more than he’s worth.”
There were more laughs. “Fifty?” thought George, the least that any of the others had gone for was seven hundred and eighty.
There was a pause. “Surely we can do better than that,” Darla called. “I mean I know he’s not much to look at but even so...”
“One hundred.” It was the first time that Allison had spoken and her words came out more clearly and louder than she had intended. All the other women turned towards her.
“One fifty,” Ruth responded.
“Two hundred.” Allison’s response seemed less than definite. George was worried in case Ruth outbid her again; he knew which of the two women he would rather serve.
Ruth looked across at him, evidently recalling the amusement she had derived from his humiliation on the evening of the county ball. She picked a piece of cake from the table beside her and pushed it into her mouth, chewing slowly and wiping an errant blob of cream from her lips before coming to a conclusion. “Four hundred,” she said with a satisfied smugness.
George was dismayed. Darla looked across at Allison, “Four hundred, I’m bid,” she said. “It’s against you.”
Allison appeared to have regained her calm. “Five hundred,” she responded looking straight at Ruth.
Ruth shook her head. “You can have him for that,” she said.
“Any more?” asked Darla before cracking her gavel down on the table. “Number six, five hundred pounds from Mistress Allison. Sold.” She turned back to George. “Over there,” she ordered, “face the wall.”
George shuffled off to take his place at the back. The feel of the lipstick marking his backside was both degrading and comforting at once. And at least it hadn’t been Ruth that had won.
George surveyed his new office. It was quite a contrast over the way that he used to work but he had to agree that it was a lot easier to get things done with all the clients’ documents neatly arrayed in box files rather than in the selection of carrier bags, folders, ring binders and piles of bulldog clipped documents that had been there previously. He had a tidy desk too; just one lot of papers was waiting for his attention.
He owed it all to his new secretary, of course. She was the one who had organised all this.
She arrived in the room without knocking, peering at George over the rim of her spectacles. “I think,” she said in measured tones. “that work should really have started, shouldn’t it Mr. Franks?”
George looked up to return her quizzical stare with a bashful, “Yes, Miss Callow. I’ll was just about to get on with it.”
Allison knew that wasn’t quite the case but she didn’t mind. She had been quite amused by the challenge of using George’s enthusiasm for female domination as a springboard to improving the performance of his business. She was taking time away from her own business but she was enjoying herself and, to her satisfaction, finding that although George might be very knowledgeable he could certainly benefit from some help in the way he went about things. When they had started she had it remarkable that George managed to get any work done at all.
George, for his part, was more than happy with the situation. Allison’s close supervision of his work was encouraging him to get things completed and that was leaving the two of them plenty of time to indulge their mutual enthusiasms; he to worship at her feet and treat her as a goddess, she to delight in his attention.
The phone rang. Allison folded her arms and pointed to it. “Two rings,” she said. “That’s all you’re allowed!”
George reached out quickly and picked up the handset. “George Franks, Accounting,” he announced. “How can I help?”
The voice on the other end spoke for a few moments before George replied. “Yes. ... Certainly. ... Well, I’m sure I can. ... Can I ask how you heard about us? ... Oh, well that’s very kind. Thank you. Yes, if you can get the papers to me by the end of the week I should be able to let you have a draft set of accounts within the week. Will that be suitable? .... Fine. Thank you again. Good bye.”
He put the phone down. Allison smiled. “More business?”
“Yes,” George replied. “They’d been recommended by that engineering company we started working for last month. Apparently they said we were the most efficient accountants they’d ever encountered. Especially impressed by our accuracy and reliability, they said.”
“Well, it seems your attention to detail must be improving,” Allison looked down at George as he stared up at her from his seat. They both knew what she was talking about. For the first week of their new working arrangements she had paid very close attention to the ways that George did things and had applied appropriate corrective measures whenever things did not appear to be going well. It had worked for, while George’s back-side was somewhat reddened as a result of repeated applications of Allison’s belt, there was no doubt that the resulting improvements in service to his customers had already been noticed.
Allison’s words gave George a twinge of discomfort in his sore arse but even so he could only look up at her with puppy like devotion. She had determined that by dressing the part she could keep his mind, if not on his work, at least on what she wanted him to be doing. Her pencil skirt, seamed stockings high heels and crisp white shirt stretched tightly over
well supported breasts might not seem to be the ideal way of keeping the boss working assiduously but, in their case, it was working. “And now?” she said.
“Companies House submissions for Hamel & Braithwaite, VAT returns for Coopers Limited and a preliminary balance sheet for Carroway Haulage, Miss Callow.”
“That sounds as though it should keep you busy for the morning, Mr Franks. Would you like some coffee?”
“Oh, yes please,” said George.
“How would you like it this morning,” his domme-secretary replied as she reached the door of his office and turned to see him following the movement of her tightly skirted buttocks with rapt attention.
“Black, no sugar, as usual, please,” he said and then, after a short pause. “In a bowl at your feet, please Miss Callow.”
“We’ll see,” smiled Allison, “We’ll see.”
She closed the door behind her and George, trying to turn his mind away from the prospect of his coffee break in an attempt to defuse the erection that was pressing his cock against its chastity cage, could not imagine how things could have turned out better.
Allison for her part, was thinking much the same. It was well worth the discomfort of her boned under-pinnings and the teetering on high heels to have the relationship they now both enjoyed. She toyed briefly with the small key that she kept on a silver chain around her neck. Perhaps, she thought to herself, she would allow George some respite from his penile imprisonment later. The idea of straddling his cock for a while, after lunch perhaps, was an attractive one, even if was one that she would never have contemplated a month or so ago.
She had so much to thank Erica for and so of course, did George.
The End
© 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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