George Franks was an accountant. He was good at what he did but he’d always ploughed his own furrow and never wanted to be part of the big corporate world. He’d been happy enough with his own small practice, doing the books of small businesses around the quiet market town that he’d moved to after qualifying. There was just him, working in a small office in one of the downstairs rooms of his semi-detached house, in a quiet cul-de-sac, on the edge of an estate of 1950s houses, close to the edge of town.
It wasn’t the most exciting existence as he would be the first to admit. But, on the other hand, he found he managed to keep a steady income and at least he was his own boss, able to take holidays as and when he chose.
The day was much like any other. He’d spent much of the morning finalising the payroll returns for a small engineering company. Then he’d had to take an hour or so to read through the latest information on company registration and corporation tax. Then one of his clients, Allison Callow, had appeared with the copy invoices that she’d promised so that he could finish the sales tax returns for her shop. She’d wanted to chat but he’d excused himself, wanting to get on. George was not really feeling very comfortable making small talk anyway.
George usually found his customers by personal recommendation, so he wasn’t too surprised when he received a telephone call from a woman, saying that he had been suggested by one of his clients and asking him if he would be prepared to do the books of a new business that she was setting up in the town. He’d invited the woman around to discuss things and had been pleasantly surprised when he saw from his window a Mercedes sports car pull to a halt outside his house at the time agreed. A slim, forty year old, red-haired, woman climbed out. Most of his clients weren’t too wealthy, none of them were attractive. This one was certainly the second and seemed to be both.
Women weren’t an area in which George had a great deal of experience and he found himself both attracted and rather inhibited by his visitor from the moment that he opened his front door and invited her into the front room that he used as office. He couldn’t help comparing his new visitor to the rather mousey Allison Callow with her rather conservative clothes in subdued colours and her diffident manner. This woman was quite different.
She smiled as she pushed her sunglasses up onto the top of her head and brushed against him as she followed his welcoming gesture. George gave an embarrassed smile and backed away from her clumsily, banging his head with a resounding thump against the wall of the hall as he did so.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” his visitor said. “Was that my fault?”
“No, not at all,” said George, “please go through. It’s all right. Quite all right.” George followed her through, somewhat bemused by the smartly dressed, sun-tanned woman whose appearance contrasted so greatly with most of his clients. As they entered the office he felt embarrassed by the muddle of paper piles across the desk and over the chair that he kept beside his desk for visitors.
George apologised for the mess, scooping up a heap of files from the chair, dropping one and scattering loose papers around She smiled, said it didn’t matter, and sat down.
“I do hope you can help me, Mr Franks,” she said. “You do some work for one of my clients and they suggested you.”
“Oh, good,” George replied. “I like to think I do a good job and it’s always nice to be recommended.”
“I’ve just set up my consulting chambers in town,” she said, passing him a business card.
George looked at the cream, card embossed with the two initials E & W intertwined. “Erica Wilkie FRPsyS, Principal Counsellor, EW Therapy Services” the printing on the card said. He looked back at this visitor, no wiser about her business.
“And I need someone to take care of my books, look after my tax returns and so on. It’s not too complicated, just myself and two other counsellors but I like to have things well organised, and I am always anxious to see that things are done just so for the tax man. There’s no point in making life difficult for oneself after all.”
George took in her immaculate appearance. The soft, tan, suede jacket and skirt that she wore, the immaculately laundered pale cream silk shirt, the carefully applied make up; all spoke of a woman with precise habits. He wasn’t in the least surprised that she liked to have her financial affairs in order. In his experience it was clients like this that proved the easiest to look after. “Well, I’m sure I will be able to help,” he said. “Perhaps, you’d like to explain the business, any assets that you have and so on.”
“Well, I’ve brought some files. I thought you might like to go over them first. Then perhaps I could show you around the offices.” Erica gave him the most disarming of smiles.
George nodded in agreement. “Of course,” he said. “That will be fine.” He caught himself staring directly at her, taking in her green eyes, the way that her long auburn hair brushed the shoulders of her jacket, the freckles on either cheek, the healthy tan that showed in the V of the neckline of her blouse, the diamond studs in the piercings of her perfect ear lobes, the curious gold pendant that she wore on a slim gold chain – it was the intertwined symbols for Venus and Mars, the male and female, except that whoever had made it had set it upside down, the arrow of the Mars pointing down, the cross of the Venus pointing up. To distract himself, he picked up the file and leafed through the various papers, conscious that she appeared to be returning his look with a penetrating gaze. He coughed, embarrassed for a moment. Erica, on the other hand appeared unperturbed. “Err, perhaps I could call you in a day or so? That will give me enough time to examine this file, I’m sure.”
“That will be fine, Mr Franks,” the woman said, getting to her feet. George stood up in response. “It’s been very nice to meet you, Mr Franks,” she said, extending a neatly manicured hand.
George reached out and took her hand. As he did so, he caught a subtle hint of her perfume. His expression glazed over, and then, suddenly, he realised that he had been holding her hand for far too long. Erica Wilkie smiled indulgently. George finally freed his tongue. “It’s been nice to meet you too, Ms Wilkie,” he responded, standing almost rooted to the spot while she collected her things and turned to go.
He watched her as she walked out. The memory of the vision of her back as she walked away stayed with him all afternoon. In fact he found it quite difficult to get his mind back on his work at all.
Although thoughts of Erica made it difficult for George to concentrate for the remainder of the afternoon, he finally finished the tax return forms that he was working on for Allison Callow. He’d called her to say they were finished and she’d offered to come around and pick them up. George, wanting to spend his time thinking about the work for Erica, put her off. “No,” he said, “don’t worry. I’ll post them.”
Allison had seemed disappointed for some reason but George didn’t really understand why and besides he had other things to do.
He picked up the folder that Erica had left behind, catching himself lifting it to his nose to see if it still held a trace of the scent she had been wearing. Feeling foolish, he dropped the file to the desk and opened it.
As he had suspected, Erica adopted an extremely organised approach. The various invoices and receipts had all been categorised and filed together in date order. It was a pleasant surprise. So many of his clients expected him to work his magic on a pile of dog-eared receipts, all jumbled up in an old shoe box.
He went through the entire file. By the time he had finished reading it, a few things puzzled him. There were quite a few bills for construction work. George supposed that was reasonable. Presumably Erica had needed work to be done to set up the consulting rooms. He wasn’t sure though, why, there were bills for things like steel bars and heavy balks of timber. The various medical items, the examination couch and lamp for example, were also to be expected he supposed, but he hadn’t thought that Erica’s therapy service really required that sort of equipment – after all she wasn’t a medical doctor or anything, although one of her associates could be, he supposed. And then there were the bills from a local horse tack business. It was all a little puzzling but he was sure that Erica would explain what it all meant. She obviously saw all of these items as legitimate business expenses.
On the other side the revenue aspects of the business looked extremely healthy. All her clients appeared to pay for their therapy sessions in cash. There wasn’t any detailed breakdown of receipts from individual clients but from the bank account statement he could see that there was plenty of cash coming in. George could only assume that Erica’s therapy was extremely well regarded. Either she was treating a very large number of people or her clients were paying hundreds of pounds for each session. He could quite see how she could afford to dress as she did and run that Mercedes.
With his initial work finished, he telephoned Erica the following day to suggest that they met.
“Good morning, Ms Wilkie,” he began. “George Franks here. I’ve finished looking at those files and I wondered when it would be convenient to have a talk?”
“My,” said Erica, “you have been quick. That’s very good. Well, I feel obliged to respond similarly. How about this afternoon?”
“Well yes, but we haven’t discussed fees or anything yet.”
“Oh, I am sure your fees are only fair, Mr Franks. I’m coming back to the offices and driving right past your place at about two o’clock. I could pick you up. That way you can see our offices. I could show you what’s there and that will help to put things into a proper perspective, I’m sure. Then I’ll run you back.”
“Oh, but won’t that be inconvenient?”
“No, not at all. I have to be over your way later and I can easily bring you back.”
George agreed and that afternoon he found himself headed across town in Erica’s car. It was only with considerable effort that George succeeded in preventing his gaze being drawn to Erica’s legs as her skirt had ridden up when she slid into the driver’s seat. She’d tugged it down as she started the car which had made him notice, he told himself, but it hadn’t done any good and as she drove confidently through the traffic, it was working its way back up again. George caught himself looking again. As he looked up again guiltily, Erica turned towards him and smiled before looking back and swinging the car around a slower driver in front of them. “Are you all right?” she asked. “I know some people find my driving a bit assertive.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” said George, grateful that she seemed not to have noticed him staring at her legs.
Their route took them through the centre of town and out to the southern edge. Erica swung the car up a short drive to the pebble dashed, bay windowed, frontage of a large, 1930’s style house. Gravel crunched under the car’s wheels as it slowed. She drove around to the back of the house, parking the car beneath a tall sycamore tree that brought some pleasant shade on the hot afternoon. “Excuse me for a minute, Mr Franks,” Erica said as George climbed out. “I just need to make sure everything is all right, I won’t keep you a moment.”
George nodded as Erica got out of the car. He watched her, almost furtively, following the very agreeable view of her backside in its tight skirt as she walked into the house.
He was paying so much attention to Erica’s departing rear that he didn’t hear the girls coming towards the house, out of the garden.
The two girls came up one on either side to the car. He looked up at the taller, blonde, as she drew level with the car door. “Were you looking for someone?” she said.
“Ms. Wilkie,” George said, nodding towards the house. “She asked me to wait here.”
“Yes,” said the blonde, “she always does.”
George looked puzzled but the suddenly felt himself pushed forward from behind. The girl behind him grabbed his arms and pulled them behind his back, winding him as he fell against the side of the car. He was about to call out in protest when he felt something round and hard being pushed into his mouth. He tried to push out whatever it was with his tongue but without success. He felt a strap being tightened around his face at the same time as steel cuffs clicked shut around his wrists.
“Right, come along with us,” said the blonde, grabbing George by the arm and pulling him from the car as he was dragged helpless, silenced, half falling and half staggering into the house.
© Freddie Clegg 2010
All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission
All characters fictitious
E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com
Web Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/femdom_fables/
George was pushed into a large room with only two small barred windows set high in the bare concrete wall. The far end of the room was separated from the rest by steel bars creating a prison cell but in the middle four wooden pillars were spaced evenly along the centre line of the room. Against three of them, three other, younger, men were already tied. The fourth pillar now served for him.
The three others were dressed much as he was, one wore a suit, one a shirt and trousers, the other a t-shirt and jeans. All of them were handcuffed with their wrists behind their backs. All of them were gagged; one with tape strapped across his lips, the other two with strips of cloth pulled cruelly tight. George looked around in panic, pulling against the handcuffs and the chains that held him to the pillar; grunting into whatever it was that was gagging him. The others seemed to accept their fate, neither struggling nor attempting to make a sound through their gags. George was puzzled by their quiescence but in time he realised that his struggles were having no effect other than to make his own wrists sore.
It was some time before the door to the room in which he was imprisoned opened again. It was the same two women that had pulled him from the car, but now they were dressed quite differently. They had discarded their jeans and crop tops and now wore matching outfits in a menacing black that gave them the look of members of some sinister secret police force. Both wore peaked caps and sun glasses, tight, short-sleeved shirts, shorts that looked as if they were sprayed on, dark sheer tights and high heeled boots that came to just below their knees. The taller of the two, the blonde, flexed a riding crop between her gloved hands, the other, the brunette, carried a leather leash and collar.
George watched in fear as the women strode across the room. The other men seemed not to acknowledge their presence, keeping their heads bowed, and their eyes to the floor. The two girls walked to the last pillar. The one with the leash used it to slap the man’s face before fastening the collar around his neck. She pulled a ring of keys from her belt and unchained the man from the pillar. As soon as she did so, George watched him drop to his knees. The two women took him from the room with a word to any of the others. They stood perfectly still. Only when the women had left and the door had slammed shot with the clang of a fastening lock did one raise his head and stare towards the door.
Time passed. Perhaps a quarter of an hour later. George heard the sounds on keys in the lock of the door. The women reappeared, dragging behind them, now naked, the man that they had taken from the cell earlier. They chained him back to his pillar. George saw in horror that his buttocks were criss-crossed by welts from a severe beating. The tape that had gagged him had been replaced with a red rubber ball gag like George’s own. The girl that had pulled him in, unfastened his collar. The other gave him a final cut with her riding crop and the two of them turned their attention to the next man in line, releasing him from his pillar and dragging him from the room.
If George had been disturbed by the return of the first man, the return of the second did nothing to reassure him. Once again the man had been stripped naked and his gag replaced with a red rubber ball. His buttocks were bright red, evidently the result of a severe beating. Two curious metal clamps seemed to have been clipped to his nipples and a leather hood had been pulled over his head. George watched fearfully as the man was secured back to his pillar and the third man taken out of the cell.
While the second man squirmed in pain at his pillar, George renewed his efforts to free himself but without avail. His groans of frustration, distorted by the gag that filled his mouth brought only looks of disapproval from the other two men who seemed to accept their lot stoically.
After the reappearance of the first two men, the return of the third, together with the fear that he was to be next for whatever the women had planned, heightened George’s concern. Again the man had been stripped of his street clothes; again he appeared to have been beaten. Instead of the t-shirt and jeans that he been wearing when the women took him from the room, now he wore a woman’s corset with suspenders and stockings on his legs. His feet had been pushed into high heel shoes and he teetered unsteadily as the two women, laughing, pulled him back into the cell and chained him once more to his pillar.
As they finished dealing with the third man the two girls turned to face George. He saw that each had evidently exerted themselves in the treatment of his predecessor, the blonde had unbuttoned her shirt to the waist and he watched, unable to tear his gaze away, as a bead of sweat ran down from the girl’s neck to trickle down into her bra through the cleft between her breasts. “Now what are we going to do with the new boy?” she asked, hands on her hips, evidently not expecting any response from the gagged and helpless George who shook his head and tried to pull away from the pillar.
“Seems like he has a lot to learn,” the brunette responded, with a smirk, flexing a riding crop between her hands. “I’m sure we can help him.”
It was then that George heard a third voice from the behind the two of them. Erica Wilkie was standing in the door to the cell. “Oh, goodness, Mr Franks, that’s where you have got to. I’m so sorry. Deanna! Darla! Girls, please unchain him immediately.”
A rather distressed George Franks was sitting in Erica Wilkie’s lounge drinking tea. He had been freed from his pillar and brought upstairs from the cellar.
“I’m so sorry Mr. Franks, so sorry,” Erica apologised. “I can’t imagine what they were thinking about. I wondered where on earth you had gone. It never occurred to me…”
George, polished his spectacles and looked bewildered.
“Do, have some more tea, Mr Franks. Are your wrists very sore? Let me explain.”
“Oh, I think I understand Ms Wilkie, I think I understand very well.” George might have been unsophisticated but he wasn’t stupid. “You are, presumably, what I believe is called a ‘dominatrix’. I imagine that this is your business rather than your hobby and I assume that you wanted me to do your accounts.”
Erica nodded. “You are right of course. Well, I am sorry about what happened just now. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to proceed.”
“Why wouldn’t I wish to proceed, Ms. Wilkie? To the best of my knowledge a business of this kind is not illegal. Since you were so keen to ensure that your taxation affairs were in order, I have no reason to be concerned professionally. Not everyone might approve of it but I try not to make moral judgements about the business of my clients. I quite understand that your associates must have mistaken me for one of your customers. I’m sure it was an honest mistake.”
“That’s very refreshing Mr Franks. I only wish more people were as open minded.” Erica found herself impressed by the quiet man’s straightforward approach. Most people, Erica thought, would find it difficult to be as understanding.
“I am afraid that I don’t make enough money from my business than to be anything other than open minded,” Franks said, stuffily. “Of course I could not condone criminal activity such as prostitution but my understanding of a business like your own is that it is unlikely to transgress that law at any rate.”
“Correct,” said Erica, “neither I nor my fellow counsellors would countenance any direct sexual contact. Domination is most certainly not prostitution as you so rightly say. But perhaps you have had experience of similar services?”
“My word, no!” exclaimed Franks, scandalised by the suggestion.
“I’m sorry, Mr Franks, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“That’s quite all right, Ms Wilkie,” George replied, pulling with one finger at his collar. “No offence taken, I can assure you. Now I know that you said you were hoping to show me around but, if I am honest, I think I have seen enough of the facilities to allow me to understand the accounts. I wonder if it would be convenient to run me back to town?”
“Of course,” said Erica. “I’ll just make sure that the girls can manage on their own and I’ll be right back.” She left him to finish his tea.
As George went to leave with Erica for his lift back to town he was waiting in the hall of her house. He looked down at a small stack of business cards. Unlike the one for EW Therapy Services that Andrea had given him, these carried a small logo with a riding whip and a high heeled boot, the words “Mistress Erica” and a telephone number. He picked one from the pile and dropped it into his pocket.
Later that night, George Franks lay on his bed on top of the sheets staring at the ceiling. The room was stuffy from the summer heat. Opening the windows had not had any effect. His green and white striped cotton pyjama top was buttoned up to his neck but the cord of his pyjama trousers lay untied and loose, snaking across the sheets. Franks gripped his thick, short cock in one hand and a wad of Kleenex in the other. He was pulling and stroking at his cock rhythmically but his body seemed almost rigid, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling but somehow not focussing upon it. Beside his head on the pillow were two business cards. The one that Erica had given him on their first meeting and the other that he had taken from her house. “Oh, yes,” he could be heard to say quietly, “Mistress Erica. Oh yes of course, I’ll obey you. Whatever it is you desire of me.” His cock swelled and shuddered, spurting grey cum over his hand before he had the opportunity to catch it in the tissues. He coughed and lay still for a moment before getting to his feet, cradling his cock in a wad of Kleenex and shuffling off to the bathroom, his pyjama trousers around his knees. When he came back he fell into bed, pulling the sheet over him and trying to sleep. The business cards stayed on his pillow.
© Freddie Clegg 2010
All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission
All characters fictitious
E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com
Web Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/femdom_fables/
Allison Callow had insisted that George come in to her shop in order to look at some of her paperwork. “I really want to be sure that I’m keeping the right records,” she’d said as she fetched him a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits. I know you’re terribly busy. It’s good of you to spare the time.”
George nodded. He actually felt a bit guilty. It wasn’t that he had really been avoiding her but he had been spending a lot of time thinking about Erica. “No, it’s quite all right,” he said. “And anyway I’m sure your records are fine. All the paperwork you’ve sent me so far is perfectly all right.”
“Oh. Good.” Allison smiled shyly. She was a quiet woman, in her late thirties, carrying a little more weight than she should and somehow looking as though the troubles of the entire town had piled up in her shop doorway. “Is your tea sweet enough? Can I get you another biscuit?”
“No. Thank you. It’s fine.” George looked at his watch. “Look, I’m sorry I can’t stop long,” he said, “I have to see another client. Perhaps I can just take these papers to look at later.” Nothing that was going on at Erica’s was making it any easier for George to pass the time of day casually with members of the opposite sex.
“Oh. Yes. Of course. Well, thank you for stopping by. I just needed reassuring, I suppose. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
George felt guilty for rushing away. “That’s all right it’s no bother really. It’s just that I’m….”
“That’s all right. Don’t worry. I understand.” Allison collected his empty tea cup as George got up. “Please give me a call if there’s anything you need.”
“Yes, of course,” said George picking up the papers. “Well good afternoon Ms Callow.”
“Oh, please,” she said looking disappointed by his formality, “Allison.”
“Ah. Umm,” George was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. “Well. Good afternoon, err, Allison.” She smiled, accepting the small triumph for as much as she was likely to gain, while George left.
Twenty minutes later he was at Erica’s. Erica Wilkie smiled at George Franks as he sat in the chair opposite the desk in her office. “It’s good of you to come over Mr Franks. Now what exactly was it you wanted to discuss. I’m afraid I really didn’t understand what it was that you were talking about when you called.”
George Franks smiled. “That’s quite all right, Ms Wilkie,” he said. “It can be a little complicated. It’s much the easiest if I can explain things face to face. I wanted to make sure that the business is able to claim the maximum possible tax relief and to take account of capital allowances, as well as assuring that you are treating your normal business expenses in the most tax efficient way.” If the truth was to be known he had simply wanted the chance to be in the same room as the woman that had come to dominate, in more than one way, his fantasies.
He took in the sight of the delectable Ms Wilkie, as she pushed back an errant strand that had escaped from the band that held her hair back from her face. He watched as she leant forward to pick up the file of papers that held the details of her accounts. As she did so, her jacket fell open, giving Franks a glimpse of the swell of her breasts in the fine white blouse she was wearing. George only just managed to stop himself from whimpering audibly. Erica got up from the desk and stepped around to George’s side. The skirt of her immaculately tailored suit was only inches from him. He glanced down, staring at Erica’s perfect legs, her sleek hose, her polished and spike heeled shoes.
“Mr Franks?” the sound of Erica’s voice brought his attention back to the matter in hand. She pushed the brown manila folder along the desk towards him.
I’m, sorry,” he coughed. “sorry. Err, yes, thank you Ms Wilkie.” He took the file from her. “Now there were a few points. Firstly, about the insulation that you had installed.”
“Ah, well, you’ll understand that some of the rooms need some sound deadening. My clients can be a little vocal in certain circumstance, you’ll understand.”
“Yes, of course. If the insulation also has heat insulation properties, we could claim for an energy efficiency grant that would refund the costs of the material and the installation costs.”
“Good heavens, I hadn’t realised that might be possible!”
George smiled, pleased to have been of use. “Well there are other possibilities too. Because we are in a regeneration area here, new business start-ups can be exempted from local business taxes for a period of up to two years. And if you were planning to take on any more consultants or other staff, you could be eligible for funding under the employment support programme. You see, your business would be categorised under service industries and the local council has put in place a number of incentives to help create jobs outside of the manufacturing sector.”
“George Franks,” Erica beamed. “You’re a marvel!”
“Thank you very much, Ms Wilkie,” George responded modestly.
“Please,” she said. “It’s Erica.”
“Oh, no I couldn’t,” George stammered. “I’d much rather call you Ms Wilkie. It’s more, err, more professional.”
Erica gave him a careful look and raised one eyebrow. George looked back sheepishly. He didn’t dare say what he would rather be calling her or that he would rather be conducting the conversation naked and on his knees with head bowed before her. He didn’t need to say it, of course. Erica knew exactly what was going through his mind. In the course of her work she encountered many men that found it difficult to give voice to their inner desires and it seemed to her that George Franks fell exactly into that category. She wasn’t sure why but she felt she wanted to help George overcome his diffidence, and open himself up to the possibilities of new experiences. “Your profession, or mine, Franks?” she asked wryly.
George spluttered his protests. “Mine, Ms Wilkie, of course.”
Erica looked at the accountant. For some reason she felt sympathy for the rather quiet man who was peering at her with the air of a startled rabbit. “Please, do give me credit for understanding the motivations of those that come to use my services. I think, Franks, that you would like nothing better than to join the ranks of those allowed into my service. That far from calling me ‘Erica’ or even Ms Wilkie’, you would far rather be calling me, ‘Mistress’. Wouldn’t you?”
George looked uncomfortable.
Erica smiled reassuringly but pressed on nevertheless. She was confident that by taking a direct line she would allow George to admit his needs to himself. “Franks, there is absolutely no need to feel embarrassed about your desires. It is my firm belief that we should all admit to and explore our deepest drives, provided that they bring no harm to others. You have been very helpful to me and I would like to help you. For my part, I would be happy to offset your fees against mine if you wished to explore your interests in that way.” She paused, staring directly at Franks. “Unless of course,” she went on, “I’ve misunderstood. In which case, please accept my apologies and perhaps we can get on discussing whatever it was that you really came to see me about?”
George looked across at Erica, taking in her calm, confident manner. Somehow he managed to summon up his courage, first biting at his lip but then becoming confident. “No, Ms Wilkie, you have not misunderstood,” he admitted. “Ever since my first visit here, I’ve done nothing but think about serving you, about being your helpless and devoted slave.”
Returning to her seat behind her desk, Erica encouraged George to continue. “I see,” she said, picking up a paper knife and toying with it as George returned her look bashfully, “Well it is for the best to be honest about these matters.”
“I’m sorry,” said George, “it’s very unprofessional of me, I know.”
“That is true,” she said. “However, I intend to overlook that, if you, for your part, are indeed ready to explore you desires as I suggest.”
“I’ve,” George, hesitated, embarrassed. “I’ve fantasised about you and the others and the cellar. I’m afraid I found that very arousing.” George felt both reticence and excitement at the turn of the discussion.
Erica looked George straight in the face. Her expression was unsmiling, her lips drawn in a thin, determined line, her gaze drilling into him. He lowered his eyes. Satisfied that George was ready to take things further, she went on in a stern tone. “Well, if we are going to do something about that, I cannot imagine that you will be allowed to sit in my presence.”
“No, Ms Wilkie,” George responded, slowly getting to his feet. “I don’t suppose I will.”
“And it’s Ma’am or Mistress when you address me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” George replied with enthusiasm.
“And I think you’d better remember that a grin is not considered appropriate.”
“No, Ma’am,” George said, trying to restrain his pleasure.
“Good. Well, we’ll start in the same way in which I deal with all those that come here. You’ll complete an application form…” George nodded. He was quite used to filling in forms. “… and then we’ll have another discussion. I assume that you are able to take some time now?” George nodded. Erica didn’t wait for him to respond but pressed a button on her intercom. “Deanna,” she called into the box. “Could you bring an application form up, please. Thank you.”
Having clicked off the switch on the intercom, Erica returned to studying some papers on her desk. She ignored George completely. He waited quietly. It seemed to be what was expected. ‘Deanna’ turned out to be the blonde girl that had dragged him from the car when he had first come to meet Erica. She was carrying a few sheets of paper and seemed surprised to see him standing there.
“Thank you, Deanna. This one,” she gestured towards George, “will be joining our little stable. Take him downstairs and see that he completes a form.”
“Yes, Madam,” Deanna said.
“Don’t worry about the credit card details though, we’ll sort that out separately.”
“But Madam,” Deanna began to object.
“It’s all right, Deanna,” Erica said, insistently, “don’t worry about it”.
Deanna scowled at George with evident disapproval. “You’d better come with me,” she said and pointed to the door.
George stood up and was about to leave when he turned to Erica. “Thank you,” he said. She waved him away and he followed Deanna out of the room. She showed him into a small sparsely furnished room. There was just a table, and chair on the bare wooden polished floor. The walls were bare. The room was lit by a single, naked electric light bulb that hung from the centre of the ceiling. On one wall was a window, but wooden shutters were closed across it.
“So you’re on a freebie are you? Well it’s all right for her, I suppose, but Darla and I have to earn a living,” Deanna snarled. “We don’t have time for free-loaders. There you are,” gesturing to the chair and tossing the papers down onto the desk. “Don’t take too long.” George found her off-hand manner disturbing. It didn’t seem so much dominant as irritated.
“Thank you,” he said, not anxious to get into an argument. He sat down as she left the room. He took a pen from the pocket of his jacket and looked at the forms. The first page seemed quite straightforward although he wasn’t too sure why they wanted to have the information. It wasn’t any real problem to fill in details like his height, weight, shoe and hat size, waist measurement, health and medication details and so on. Sexual orientation was no problem either. “Heterosexual”, he ticked.
The second page just asked him how he could be contacted, what his availability was for sessions, what his preferred times for appointments were.
The next page was more problematical. It listed a series of sexual practices and fetishes and asked which the applicant had experience of, which they were prepared to experience and which they wished to avoid. It wasn’t hard for Franks to fill in the “experience” column - in every case, except for “have you ever masturbated to the image or thought of a dominant woman” the answer was “no”. Even so it was an embarrassing process. He felt sure he would be being compared with other, far more experienced, applicants. It was much more difficult when it came to putting ticks in the column headed “prepared to experience”. There were some easy “no’s”: branding, piercing, whipping, hot wax, enemas, nipple torture. There were some equally easy “yes’s” – he had quite enjoyed being tied to the post by the girls so he felt he had to tick bondage. He could easily imagine himself crouched before Erica, worshiping her feet or boots so he ticked that and he supposed that some forms of humiliation would be a turn on too.
Some of the things though, he didn’t understand. When Deanna came back in to pick up the form, he took the opportunity to ask her.
“CBT?” she said with a mischievous look on her face. “Lets see, oh yes, that’s Complete Body Therapy. And what was the other one? TENS? Err, Tri-Ecstatic Nerve Stimulation.”
“Thank you,” said George, ticking the two boxes confidently, “they sound quite pleasant.”
“Well we’re not animals, you know,” she said, still smirking. “Have you finished?” George nodded. Deanna took the forms from him. “Very good. Well, you can go now. You’ll get a letter telling you when to turn up here next.”
When George got home, he found it almost impossible to think about anything else apart from his encounter with Erica and Deanna and the desires it had aroused in him. After years he now realised that he had deeper drives than he had ever suspected, darker needs than he had ever imagined.
Trying to recover his composure, he turned to the file of invoices and receipts that he had copied from those that Erica had provided. But, with his new found knowledge of Erica’s business, each document took on a highly charged meaning.
He took out one from Willis Equestrian Supplies. “Three pairs jodhpurs, three pairs riding boots, three pairs short spurs, three riding crops, one driving whip,” the invoice read. George needed little imagination to conjure an image of Erica, Deanna, and Darla striding across the yard of Erica’s house, wearing the jodhpurs, boots and spurs and brandishing the crops.
Equally arousing but more disturbing was an invoice from a supplier of fetish and bondage equipment. “Oh, please don’t Mistress,” George heard himself muttering quietly, “no, not the handcuffs. Oh, please, not so tight, no. And not the ball gag, please, please. Guummph!” The grunt of the imagined silencing effect of the gag coincided with a twitching of his cock as he came, unexpectedly. He slumped forward at his desk in embarrassment as he felt the coldness of cum, trickling down his leg and saw the tell-tale, damp, stain spreading across the crotch of his pale trousers. Disgusted with himself he staggered to his feet, heading for the bathroom. He needed to clean up and change. Another client was due at any moment.
The letter he was waiting for turned up three days later. He saw immediately from the post mark where it was from. He tore open the envelope, feeling a confused mixture of eagerness and trepidation. On headed note paper the letter said. “Please report for your initial evaluation and therapy orientation session at 10:00 on Thursday 9th. Please bring with you this letter and remember your reference number 06/302. Yours sincerely, Erica Wilkie, Principal Counsellor.” Clipped to the top of the letter was an EW Therapy Services compliments slip. On it, in Erica’s own handwriting, was the message, “I’ve done the various tax forms you wanted. We can discuss those separately another time.”
George approached the house slowly. He felt a strange combination of fear and anticipation as he pressed the door bell. There was a buzz and a clunk as the door unlocked. He pushed it open slowly. There was no one in the hall but he stepped inside anyway. As he did so, Erica emerged from her office. George was instantly struck by her appearance. Immaculately dressed in a neatly tailored dress and a tight, knee length, pencil slim, skirt, she presented an air of cool efficiency. It was exactly as he’d dreamed she would be.
“Ah, good,” she said. “I’m glad you are on time. This way please.” She gestured to the stairs that George knew led downstairs to the cellar rooms. “We’ll start in the White Room.” Erica opened to the door to a room fitted out like a doctor’s surgery.
Inside stood Deanna, dressed as a nurse, the lower half of her face covered by a surgical mask. She pointed to a screen at the far end of the room. “Behind there, please, and undress.”
“Is that absolutely necessary?” said George.
“Of course,” said Erica, briskly. “But don’t worry. This session is almost entirely about evaluating your responses to possible variations in our therapy programme. We won’t start any actual treatment during this session.”
Reassured, George did as he was told, stripping off and piling his clothes on the chair he found behind the screen. He shuffled out, clutching his hands over his crotch, only to see that Erica had gone. Deanna was standing beside a chrome and glass trolley. She pointed to the examination couch that stood in the centre of the room. “On there,” she said, briskly. George sat on the cold leather covered couch. “Lay back please,” Deanna directed, snapping on a pair of latex gloves as he did so. “Now, what we will be doing is measuring your response to a number of images so that we can assess the accuracy of your application form. It’s standard procedure. We want to measure your blood pressure, heart beat and respiration, so you will be wired up to this pen recorder.” She gestured to a small box on the trolley. “You have to relax and lay still, so I’ll need to strap you down. Is that all right?”
George blinked at the masked nurse. Being asked was the last thing he had expected. “Err, yes. I suppose so, yes.”
“Good, good,” said Deanna. Reaching for a broad strap under the couch, she pulled it across George’s flabby belly. Without asking him further she took other straps and fastened down his wrists and ankles. She fastened blood pressure and heart beat sensors to his chest. She pulled the trolley closer and pushed a rubber mouth piece between his lips. She put a clip over his nose and, as he breathed through his mouth, a rubber bladder attached to the mouthpiece filled and sank back.
So far, George had been relatively happy with the proceedings. He had even, if he was honest, found time to admire the way in which Deanna’s uniform stretched so agreeably across her backside and how the ruler straight seams of her stockings ran up under the skirt in a way that drew an admirer’s gaze to her neat, uniform clad, buttocks. She turned around clutching a roll of adhesive strapping and advanced towards him. He grunted into the rubber mouth piece, disturbed by her approach. Her expressionless eyes stared down at him from over her mask. “To make sure the mouth piece isn’t dislodged,” she said.
George grunted his assent and Deanna applied the strapping around his mouth ensuring that, what ever else happened he could neither expel the mouthpiece nor speak.
It was only now, with George silenced and helpless, that Deanna opened another box on the trolley. From this she took a slim rubber strap with two more electrical contacts. To George’s consternation she fastened this strap around the base of his cock. Ignoring George’s squeaking protests she fastened two more wires from the strap to the pen recorder.
To George’s relief nothing happened. Deanna came and stood beside him, peering down at him, only her eyes visible over her mask. George looked up at her. Her face was so close to his that he could see the flecks of mascara on her eyelashes but he could still sense little of what she was thinking. “Watch the screen,” she said pointing to a computer monitor above his head. “You’ll see some pictures. The equipment will measure your response.”
George grunted in response, grateful that nothing more disturbing seemed to be planned.
“We just need to calibrate the equipment,” she said and without warning reached out with a latex-gloved hand and pinched his left nipple. George squealed. Deanna’s eyes appeared to light up with satisfaction. She looked down at the pen recorder. “That’s fine,” she said and pressed a button on the equipment. “You will be all right for a while.” She left closing the door to the room behind her.
“Evaluation Sequence #1” the first slide on the monitor said before the caption dissolved into the first of a series of photographs of women in dominant poses clad variously in leather, rubber, uniforms, corsetry and everyday clothing. George could feel his own pulse rising and his cock stiffening as the sequence progressed. He could hear the pen scratching its trace on the recorder, detailing each aspect of his reactions.
Sequence #2 began. This time it was of pictures of various BDSM practices. Slaves were bound and gagged, forced to kneel at the feet of their mistress, beaten with whips and canes, made to act as seats, as tables, as ashtrays, treated like animals and so on.
The third sequence focused in on the slaves themselves, shots of men’s cocks locked in metal or plastic chastity devices, men dressed in women’s underwear or as maid servants, pictures of wheal striped buttocks and backs, more of hooded males forced to lick the toes and heels of their mistress’s shoes and last of all a series of gruesome pictures showing cocks punished with needles, hung with clothes pegs or forced into weighted metal rings. Even strapped down as he was, George shivered in response to these last pictures.
“Evaluation Sequence Complete” the last slide showed. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
George supposed that he would be released from the couch immediately but no one returned to free him for almost half an hour. He tried to struggle free of the straps that held him but without effect. He tried to call out but the breathing tube taped into his mouth prevented him making any significant sound. In the end he decided to lie back and wait.
Eventually Deanna returned. Without apologising, she looked at the pen trace and collected up the paper that held the record of the evaluation. She released the straps that held George to the couch. “Get yourself dressed,” she ordered waving to the screens and not even bothering to remove the various sensor leads.
George was aware that she was watching him closely from behind her mask as he unfastened the various wires and then pulled away the tape that held his mouthpiece in place. “Hurry up,” she barked. Mistress Erica is waiting for you.”
George needed no further urging. He had found the whole experience intensely exciting so far. The combination of disdainful treatment, tight bondage and the threat of worse had aroused him in exactly the way he had dreamt. He pulled on his clothes quickly, anxious to see what would happen next. Deanna barely waited until he was finished before ordering, “Follow Me!”
He did so, almost hopping as he tried to pull on one of his shoes. He followed Deanna along the corridor and into another room where Erica was sitting behind a desk. Deanna pushed the mask down from her face and passed the file and papers to Erica.
“The evaluation is complete,” she said.
“Thank you, nurse,” Erica responded. “You can leave us now.” Deanna left the two of them. Erica didn’t ask George to sit down. He didn’t think it appropriate. He stood silently while Erica flicked through the various papers, making the occasional note in the margins, muttering approval or tutting as she did so. George looked at her. Erica seemed to sense his gaze. “Don’t stare at me Franks,” she snapped without looking up. “Put your hands behind your back and look at the floor.”
George could no more disobey her than deny the arousal her commands invoked. “Sorry, Ma’am,” he said, doing as he was told.
“Well,” said Erica, “this all seems to be much as I expected. You will require a complete initial training. There are one or two things I am puzzled by. The lack of response to CBT and TENS images for example, given you expressed interest on your forms. Still I am sure we can sort that out.” George was a little puzzled. There hadn’t been any pictures that he remembered which would correspond to Complete Body Therapy or Tri-Ecstatic Nerve Stimulation but he assumed that Erica knew what she was talking about. “Now before you go,” George looked up, disappointed that things were ending so soon, “I have some tasks for you before our next meeting. Firstly some reading. Deanna will give you a copy of the little guide we have prepared for all our clients. I suggest that you study it closely.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” said George respectfully.
“And then I have a little project for you. I want you to buy a scrapbook and some women’s magazines. Five should do it. They are all to be purchased together; you will bring me the receipt. I want you to choose some pictures from each magazine, fantasy dominas if you like. Cut out the pictures, stick them in the scrap book and write underneath the name of each Mistress and how you would serve her. A short sentence for each will do. Do you understand?”
George nodded. It was a strange request but one that he felt he could fulfil.
“Good. It’s just a simple exercise to give you time to focus on the idea of being a slave. That’s all for now. Get out. See Deanna as you leave.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” George responded a little hurt by her curt dismissal of him.
“Oh, and George,” all of a sudden her tone was lighter, less aggressive, “thank you for those tax details. That all looks very thorough.”
George muttered something about being happy to have helped and went in search of Erica’s assistant. Deanna was in the White Room, still in her nurse’s uniform, sitting on a high stool, one leg crossed over the other revealing a glimpse of stocking welt at the hem of her skirt. She was smoking. As George came in she looked up with an air of contempt.
“Err, Erica said you would have a copy of a guide for me,” he said.
She eased herself off the stool, staring back at George. “That’s ‘Mistress Erica’ to you,” she sneered, reaching up to a wall cupboard and picking a small pamphlet from a pile. She tossed it to George, laughing as he lost his footing in his attempt to catch it. “You’d better get the hang of this or you’re going to find things unpleasant,” she said. “Freebies or not freebies.”
George said nothing as he took the pamphlet but nodded his thanks and left.
© 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/
Chapter 7 : Clippings & Concerns
George took the opportunity of being on the far side of town to go into a newsagent’s shop in order to get the magazines and scrap book. The girl at the cash desk gave him a very odd look when he turned up with his small pile of purchases. He ignored her quizzical look, hiding his embarrassment by trying to appear as though it was the most natural thing in the world for someone like him to be buying such titles as Cosmopolitan, Hello!, OK!, Vogue and Marie Clair. He scuttled off home with them.
George parked his car outside his house. Although none of the magazines he had bought could be considered in the least bit risqué, George still felt furtive as he picked up the bag they were in and got out of the car.
“Hello George,” a woman’s voice behind him called. Startled he almost dropped the bag and span around to see Allison Callow. “I thought it was you.”
“Ah. Yes. Ah. Hello, Allison,” George stuttered. “Just – err – popped out for some – well, needed to pick these up.” He smiled and almost dropped the bag. Allison looked puzzled by his flustered manner.
“Oh, well, yes. I wondered if that last lot of tax information was all right? Or if you needed to talk it through?”
George reassured her that everything was fine and that there wasn’t anything they needed to discuss. Clutching the bag of magazines to him, terrified unless they should fall, he bustled inside leaving Allison calling after him, “Well, if you do need to chat you can always give me a call. You’ve got my number.” George nodded and waved and hurried indoors.
Back in his study he piled the magazines on his desk. He was surprised by how easy he found his task; by how many of the images in the magazines seemed capable of being interpreted from a fetishistic perspective. George soon got into the swing of things and quickly collected a pile of pictures neatly snipped from their pages. He wasn’t sure how many “Mistresses” Erica wanted him to include or how many pictures he should have of each. In the end he decided that, since the scrap book had ten double-page spreads he would use each of them for a different celebrity, collecting a set of pictures of each from the various magazine.
As he pasted the pictures into the book he realised that he was revealing a great deal about his interests in the dominant women. Many of the pictures showed women with long shapely legs, often revealed by slashed skirts. High heeled shoes and boots also figured regularly as did pictures of women with an arrogant, unsmiling or sneering expression.
He started to add the captions that Mistress Erica had asked for. The first spread was a collection of pictures that showed his chosen celebrity as she was leaving a night club, her legs delightfully on display as she clambered into her limousine and then as she leant forward to pull the door of the car shut, waving the photographers away disdainfully. He wrote underneath, forming the letters in the careful script that he usually used for form filling or writing up reports. “Mistress Victoria: On her return from her night’s exertions on the dance floor, I would bath and massage her feet so that she might sleep, relaxed and comfortable.” He went on. Elizabeth: nothing would give him more pleasure than to wait on her in her new London apartment, depicted in such sumptuous detail in the pictures. Halle: how could he wish for more than to wait with towels to dry her as she emerged from her pool. Nicole: what could be a greater pleasure than to feel himself beneath her naked feet.
He worked his way through the book, unconscious of the passing of time, only aware of the dryness in his mouth, the sensation of desire and the stiffening of his cock between his thighs. Angelina, Lindsay, Beyoncée and Scarlett took their places in the album with George fantasising about how he would serve them. The more he did, the more astonished he was that he had never thought about fantasising in such a way before. Until he had fallen under Erica’s spell his desires had never found a focus, he had been aware of women, of course, but somehow he’d never thought of himself as having much to do with them or them with him. Now, under Erica’s influence it seemed the most natural thing in the world to be imagining himself the helpless, doting slave of some movie star or model, waiting on their every whim, submitting to any punishment they might desire, possibly being allowed to serve them in the most intimate ways.
George was suddenly aware that while he was turning the pages of his scrap book with one hand, his other was gripping at his swelling cock. The book lay open at the pictures he had collected of Serena, her muscular body seeming incongruous in the long, low cut evening gown she wore. George was revisiting the fantasy he had detailed of how he would be forced to launder her sports kit, washing it by hand until every trace of sweat and grass stains had been cleaned from it when his cock gave up the unequal battle with his arousal and twitched into orgasm. George fumbled with his trouser zip, trying to pull his cock from within before the gobs of cum seeped out from under his prepuce to dampen and stain his pants and trousers. In his haste he slid from his chair, falling to the floor, still clutching at his cock as it pulsed and finally shrank within his grasp.
George sat on the floor, surrounded by discarded shards of newsprint left of his clippings from the magazines, his cock in his hand, his hand covered in the cold grey slime of his cum. Desire slumped at the instant of orgasm to be replaced by a sense of disgust and dissatisfaction. How could he be doing this, he thought to himself? How could he be cutting out pictures of women from magazines and then masturbating over them like some adolescent? And all simply because she had said so.
He got up and walked awkwardly to the toilet, his trousers around his knees, still clutching his cock, trying to stop his cum dripping on the carpet. He cleaned himself up and went back to his study. He picked up the scrap book and almost hurled it into the waste basket. Then, catching sight of the leaflet that Deanna had given him, he suddenly knew that he couldn’t ignore the drives and desires within him. He put the scrap book back on his desk and picked up the leaflet instead.
“A Guide For Slaves,” the leaflet was titled, “How To Ensure That You Serve Mistress Erica As She Requires.” George sat down, opened the leaflet and began to flick through it, barely reading the text. Slowly he was drawn into it. The embarrassment at the way his solitary sexual pleasure had overwhelmed him ebbed away and he found himself first reading and then studying the pamphlet.
Something about its insistent, assuming tone seemed to project Erica’s personality from off the page. It was as if she was sitting right next to him, spelling out her requirements in that clear, distinctive voice she had.
As George read he tried to balance the conflicting feelings that the Guide aroused. On one hand the instructions that the guide contained implied that he would be subjected to exactly the sort of treatment that he had fantasised over. On the other hand it made it plain that this treatment was not some sort of game, that he would be expected to carry out his orders to accept restraint and punishment and to expect sanctions if he didn’t perform well. The guide made it clear he could achieve his fantasy but it also made plain that the fantasy would have a very definite reality. George wondered if he could cope with it and then, as he read more, how he would cope with it.
George hadn’t slept well and he was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate on his work. The scrap book which he had so carefully prepared sat in the bottom of the bottom drawer of his desk. The guide was tucked inside it. Every so often, he would take it out and read through the rules and advice it contained, enjoying the thrill that the prospect of further contact with Mistress Erica brought.
After a week, though, there had been no contact from Erica. George wondered if he should telephone her but he knew that he would need some business pretext and the more he thought about it the more he felt unable to pick up the telephone. It was during one of his “I’ll call her – no I won’t – yes, I will – no, I won’t” sessions that the phone rang.
“Hello, George.” Erica’s voice sounded as smooth and sweet as honey.
George almost dropped the telephone. Worried that he might be over heard in spite of the fact that he was alone in the office he dropped his voice to almost a whisper as he responded. “Hello, err, Erica,” he answered.
“I don’t think that’s right is it?” Erica responded sternly. “Or haven’t you read your little guide book?”
“Sorry, err,” stuttered George, looking around furtively in a way that looked all the more foolish because he was completely alone. “Err, sorry, err, Mistress Erica.”
“That’s better,” she said. “And I do hope you are on your knees as the guide requires.”
George gave a short whimper as he remembered the instructions in the pamphlet. He got to his knees. “Yes, Mistress,” he said. The tone of quiet submission in his voice was clearly audible to Erica and she decided not to bully him further.
“Good,” Erica said. “There were two things. Firstly, those tax details. I’ve found the papers that you asked for. If you would like to stop by some time, you can go through them or you can pick them up and drop them back later. Either way would be fine. I ‘m sure you’ll get them dealt with in time for whatever deadlines the Chancellor wishes us to meet.”
George was disappointed by the mundane nature of Erica’s call. Although he was on his knees dreaming of serving her, discussing tax forms wasn’t what Erica’s voice encouraged him to think of. Even so, it was, of course, what he was supposed to be doing for her. “Yes, certainly,” he said. “I could drop by this afternoon if that’s convenient. It shouldn’t take me more than an hour to sort them out.”
“That will be fine, George, thank you. It’s nice to have these things dealt with so efficiently.”
“It’s no problem. Oh and what was the other thing that you said you wanted to discuss?”
Erica was quiet for a moment as if thinking. “Ah. Oh, yes. Well if you’re coming over we can deal with it then. I just want to check that you’ve digested the contents of that guide properly. It shouldn’t take us more than an hour if you can spare the time.”
George gulped. He was anxious to experience Erica’s dominant presence again but still concerned less he should fail to comply fully with the guide. There was only one answer for him, though. “Yes, of course,” he answered.
“Very good,” said Erica. “I’ll expect you at three to go through the forms and then perhaps we can get together at four?”
“Yes,” said George, and then, more firmly, “Yes, of course, Mistress.”
George arrived at Erica’s exactly on time. The Guide had been most particular about punctuality. Neither early arrival nor lateness would be tolerated. Erica greeted him with a smile and showed him into a room that had been set aside for office work. On the desk was a pile of paper work, beside it on a tray was a steaming cup of coffee, a small jug of milk and some sugar. “I thought you’d like something,” said Erica. “Do let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
George coughed and nodded. He was a little confused. Erica was wearing a light summer dress with a floral pattern. After the more severely tailored clothes that he had been used to seeing her in, it seemed uncharacteristically, almost perversely, feminine. Her hair was tied back from her face with a scarf and she looked as fresh as the summer’s day itself, not wearing a touch of make-up. Beautiful was the word that sprang to George’s mind, although she hardly had the look of a dominatrix. She smiled as she left him and George started on the forms, wondering if he had completely imagined the appointment that he was so looking forward to in what was less than an hour’s time.
George worked away at the paperwork diligently. It wasn’t difficult; it was just tedious. Each one needed to be checked and completed with the information requested and of course the information required was never quite what was to hand. He had done it many times before. “Place the total revenue for the business excluding any grants, loans or other benefits in Box 4”; “Box 7 : Include the value of any capital allowances claimed in respect of the current year’s tax”; “Box 9: Include the costs of all income tax, insurance contributions and other staff related expenses.” By the end of the hour he had finished it. The forms were ready to go off, the tax calculated. All Erica had to do was to write a cheque for the tax due. It was the usual service he gave to all of his clients.
The payment of his fee, though, was another matter.
Erica appeared at the door. “All done?” she asked brightly.
George nodded, his mouth dry with anticipation, although Erica he was puzzled by the fact that Erica was still dressed for a summer afternoon garden tea party. Her dress was a simple shirt-waister in a pale green floral patterned silk. The skirt was slightly flared, the sleeves short and cuffed. It looked like she had stepped out of a 1950’s movie but she wore it with a confidence and self-assertion.
“In which case,” she said coolly, “I don’t think you should be sitting down at that desk, should you?”
In an instant George realised that dominance had nothing to do with dress. Erica’s commanding tone offered no opportunity for him to dispute her control over him. Remembering the instructions in the pamphlet, he stood up immediately, bowed his head and dropped to his knees.
“Better,” said Erica. “I see you read the pamphlet.” George was about to respond but Erica interrupted him. “No,” she said. ”Keep silent. If I want you to talk I’ll ask you a direct question. Otherwise you needn’t say anything.” Erica didn’t wait for any sign that George agreed or had even heard. “And this must be your project.” George assumed that she had picked up the scrap book he had left on the desk. “Well, I had better have a look at what you have done. You can stay there. Put your hands on your head.”
George did as he was told. A moment later he saw Erica’s foot swinging inches from his face. She had sat herself on the desk. As she crossed her legs her foot swung forward towards George’s head.
“This is very good, slave,” George heard her say. “A very good first effort. I’m pleased that you seem to have got the idea so quickly.” George allowed himself a smile of satisfaction as Erica went on. “However, fantasy is one thing. Actually being able to carry out even the simplest of instructions properly is something else entirely. Follow me!”
With that Erica was on her feet and almost out of the room before George scrambled up from the floor.
“On all fours, slave!” Erica snapped when she saw that he had stood up.
“Sorry, Mistress,” George apologised.
“And keep silent!”
George scuttled along behind her trying to keep up as best he could as Erica walked along the corridor and into one of the treatment rooms. She shut the door behind him as he entered.
“Over there,” she gestured pointing to the far wall. “Stand up, face the wall, and undress. When you’ve finished get back down on your knees.”
Wondering what she intended to do, George did as he had been told, He knelt feeling foolish; naked in the presence of a woman who looked as normal as he did absurd.
By the end of the hour, Erica had handcuffed his wrists, collared him and had him practice walking around on a leash, keeping close to her heels as you might train a dog. George, obediently, had followed every instruction, keeping silent as she had ordered. Erica sat herself on one of the stools. “That’s not a bad start at all, slave,” she said praising him. “You can show your gratitude.”
Erica crossed her legs extending one of her feet towards George. He was in no doubt what was required and bent his head forward to kiss her foot. “Thank you, Mistress,” he said quietly. His whole concentration was focused on the foot in front of him. The green leather of the strapping of her sandal with its darker green stitching, the fine tan mesh of the stocking that covered her foot, the glimpse of polish on her toe nails visible through the stocking; nothing else mattered at that moment as he pressed his lips to her foot.
She sat still for a moment, allowing him to worship at her feet but then called, “Enough,” and got up from the stool. She looked down at George’s expression of disappointment. “Never mind,” she said. “There will be other opportunities. But for now your time is up. I have others to deal with and you must go.” She reached forward and unfastened his collar and handcuffs. “I’ll let you know when you can come again.”
With that she took a final look at the kneeling accountant, turned on her heels and left. George kept his head bowed until he heard the tap of heels recede down the corridor. He dressed and returned home in a state of confused emotions; excitement, shame, disappointment and desire.
© 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/
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/
George Franks was having a busy morning. The deadline was approaching for completing the annual tax returns and everyone seemed to have left things to the last minute. Even so, George managed to get everything finished by lunch time. He even succeeded in completing Allison Callow’s tax return and she’d only let him have the last of her records the previous evening. She had suggested that the two of them met at a nearby wine bar so she could explain a few things but George had told her that he was certain everything would be clear and had insisted that she just fax them over. They had been no trouble at all, just as he had thought.
George had also finished the documents that Erica needed to file for her tax returns too but he needed to check that she was happy with them before he sent them off. At least that was what he told himself. It was only professional after all and not in any way related to the fact that he was looking for an excuse to see her again.
Erica smiled as she put down the phone on their telephone conversation. She knew what he was doing; she had plenty of experience of “pushy subs” as she called them but was happy to indulge him. After all, he had saved the business a great deal of money and he’d let her see that Deanna needed her ideas shaking up before she had done any damage to one of her real clients. She greeted him cheerily at the front door when he arrived, amusing herself by keeping everything on a very business-like footing. “Do come in, Mr Franks,” she said waving him in. “So good of you to come over.”
George, puzzled by her friendly manner, coughed and followed her into the living room. Erica sat down in one of the arms chairs and gestured for George to take the other. As she sat there in a modest, grey, woollen dress with its high neck, long sleeves and calf length skirt, George found it almost impossible to imagine that this was the woman that only a few days ago was standing in the hall of this same house, clad in rubber, her face hidden behind a mask, beating his naked backside with a wooden paddle.
“You have some forms for me to look at, I believe,” she said with an expression that implied that butter would not melt in her mouth. She smoothed her skirt modestly across her lap.
George, who had almost forgotten the supposed purpose of his visit, so busy had he been enjoying the unfamiliar pleasure of being able to look directly at his mistress, fumbled with the catch of his briefcase. “Ah, yes, Mistr.. err, Ms. Wilkie.” He pulled out the papers and offered them to Erica.
Erica looked at them for a moment. “Ah, I can see that this will take a few minutes. Would you like some tea?”
George nodded absent-mindedly. “Err, yes, thank you. That would be very nice,” he said. Erica reached across to a small hand bell that sat on the table. She gave shook out two short rings.
George was shocked when the door to the room opened and Deanna, dressed as a housemaid but in stilt high heels and with a red ball gag strapped into her mouth, appeared.
“Tea,” Erica said peremptorily. Deanna gave a gagged growl, glared at George and teetered out of the room.
George watched open mouth as she left. “But, but, she’s a .. Well, isn’t she?”
Erica put down the forms for a moment. “I am afraid that Deanna was rather out of order in the way that she treated you. If a mistress is to discipline others, she must understand the value of discipline herself. Mistress Deanna is going through a short programme to help her to re-focus some of her attitudes.”
“I can see that,” George responded with a worried expression, “but I hope you won’t mind if I say I find it a little uncomfortable. Having her wait on me like this. It doesn’t seem right, somehow.”
“I see,” said Erica, raising an eyebrow. “Would you be happier if your relative positions were restored?”
“Mistress,” George said, slowly, looking directly at Erica, “you have taught me to serve yourself and Mistress Deanna and Mistress Darla. I know that Mistress Deanna took advantage of my naivety and it hardly seems for me to say but all I know is that it seems wrong for me to be sitting here like this. I should be the one waiting upon the two of you.”
Erica looked carefully at George. Deanna appeared with a tray of tea things and George fell silent. Erica took her cup from Deanna as it was offered. Deanna turned with the tray towards George but he shook his head.
“It seems,” said Erica to her ball-gagged maid, “that Mr Franks here is uncomfortable with having you wait upon him. It seems, that in spite of your behaviour towards him he is still prepared – no, ready – to serve you as he does me.” Deanna looked suspiciously at George. “So, I shall be happy to consider that your penance has been served if you take Mr Franks here and remind him of his rightful place for an hour. You can keep your gag and your uniform on for now but I’m sure you will be able to let Mr Franks understand what’s required of him. After that, well, there should be no reason why you can’t take up your usual role again. Fetch a collar for Mr Franks and take him down to Therapy Three.”
Deanna looked at the two of them in turn and nodded.
“And you, Franks,” Erica said quietly, “you had better get into a position more appropriate to your status.”
“Yes, Mistress, yes,” said George, beaming and practically leaping from his chair to get to his knees. Erica smiled patiently at his enthusiasm.
While he was waiting for Deanna to return, Darla came in wearing a broad smile. She didn’t wait for Erica to ask what was making her look so pleased but launched into a stream of chatter. “I’ve got my first client of my very own. He’s made an appointment for this evening. Evaluation and then we’ll see what’s next. Two hours for a start but he thinks he’ll want two hour sessions most weeks. He’s been visiting a Mistress in London but now his job’s moved up here and it’s too far for him to go. It’s great. I told you I’d be able to build up my own client list. Isn’t it great?”
Erica waited for Darla to take a breath. “That’s good news. Wonderful. Therapy Four will be free this evening. I think you’ve learned enough to be able to look after him yourself.”
Darla peeled off the jacket of her office suit, flopped down in one of Erica’s chairs and kicked off her shoes. “I’m going to be so pleased when I don’t have to fill in at that stupid office. I only need a few regular clients and I can tell them where to stuff their stupid job. And as for that idiot of a sales director….”
“Would that be Jack Staples, Darla dear?” Erica asked with a mischievous smile.
Darla’s hands flew up to her face. “You don’t mean, he? Well, does he? Is he?”
Erica nodded. “Oh yes,” she said. “Mr Staples and I have enjoyed a number of meetings. Perhaps you should join us sometime. I think that could be VERY good for him” Darla giggled and nodded keenly.
Deanna reappeared with a collar and leash. Without waiting for George to acknowledge her presence, she buckled the collar in place around his neck. Jerking the leash down to indicate he should get on his hands and knees, she led George, crawling, out of the room.
Once Deanna had George in the therapy room she wasted no time in letting him know just how to behave, not letting the fact that she was gagged impede her in any way. A jerk from the lead had his forehead against the floor while she made herself comfortable on one of the stools. Another jerk brought George back into a kneeling position and he found himself looking up at Deanna as she crossed her legs and extended one foot towards him. Even dressed as a maid and with a red ball distending her mouth she was still able to present an imperious manner that commanded obedience. A gesture by the gagged mistress was sufficient to encourage him to put his tongue to work on the polished toe of her high heeled shoe.
George had been required to worship at Deanna’s feet sufficiently often to know what she required of him. He glanced up at her to see her impatiently flexing a riding crop between her two hands and knew that it was time to move on, sliding his tongue along the instep of her shoe towards the heel until he eventually took the spike of the shoes heel into his mouth and began sucking at it. Deanna allowed him to continue for a few minutes before she tapped him on the shoulder with the crop to indicate that he should stop. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs to allow him to set to work on the other foot.
Deanna was evidently enjoying having her slave obeying her every gesture without a word spoken. As he repositioned himself to allow his tongue to lick at the sole of her shoe he saw she had unbuttoned the front of her dress and was stroking her own breasts. When she looked down and growled through her gag, George knew that he shouldn’t have been caught looking. Deanna, aroused by George’s submission and his startled response to her look, grabbed George by the back of the neck and pushed him into her crotch. George whimpered as she thrust herself back against his face, using his nose and mouth to drive her own stimulation. Her gagged gruntings became more guttural as she approached orgasm, until with a final groan, she pushed George away. George fell backwards, Deanna followed him down, kneeling with her thighs either side of his head and sliding forward until the musk of her body was the only thing George could smell.
Hardly able to breathe, George tried to push back against Deanna but his struggles only served to arouse her more. She swayed backwards and forward dragging her panty covered cunt across his face over and over again, until finally, sated, she slide herself back to sit on his chest. Staring down at George’s pinkened features, she buttoned her dress demurely. Deanna stood up and pulled George up from the floor as well. She used her apron to wipe George’s sweat stained face. George’s grin was sufficient to earn him three cuts from Deanna’s riding crop, but even so, when Deanna dismissed him with a wave he knew that he had performed well.
It was, George decided, very unusual. He’d just telephoned Allison Callow to ask if he could see her about her end of year accounts and she’d been quite evasive. Normally she was only too happy for him to stop by. In fact mostly it was her phoning him to ask if there was anything he needed. So, when she’d said, no she was out and wasn’t sure what time she’d be back he’d thought it very odd.
On the other hand, it had meant that, when Darla phoned, he was in. “She wants you,” Darla had said. “You’re to come straight over. Come in through the back door. And hurry up!”
He barely had time to mutter, “Yes, Mistress,” before she had slammed down the phone.
When George arrived he went around to the back door as ordered. He made his way into the room where he had first been held captive by Darla and Deanna. The three pillars were unoccupied.
There was a small bag on a chair in the middle of the room. Alongside it was an envelope with George’s name on it. The instructions contained in the envelope were terse. “1. Strip 2. Put on mask, gag and cock cage from the bag. 3. Ensure all locks are closed. 4. Place clothes in this bag and lock it. 5. Wait. E.”
George hesitated for a moment but then, energised by the thought of a further session with Erica, he started to follow the instructions that he had been given.
Once he had put on the leather cock cage with its locking belt that would give whoever had the key access to his manhood, he turned his attention to the hood. It masked his face but left holes for his eyes. nose and mouth.
George finished by putting on the gag and knelt down to wait for Erica. After only a few minutes he heard Erica’s voice in the corridor. The door opened and in she walked, looking as if she had just come for a meeting to discuss her accounts, dressed in a sober skirt suit, with her hair up and wearing understated make-up. “Well, you can have a chance to try things out now,” he heard her say over her shoulder.
A voice from behind her said, “Well it’s good to have a chance to put something into practice. This is really helping me, Erica.”
In spite of his gag and the fact that he knew better than to speak in the presence of a Mistress, George’s reaction to the new arrival in the room was an almost audible grunt as he recognised her distinctive voice. He knew that the voice of the woman clad in black, and looking every inch the confident dominatrix, belonged to Allison Callow.
George was amazed at the transformation of the mousey woman that he had done work for. Instead of the jumper and jeans that she normally wore she had on a skin tight black cat suit. Over it she wore a shiny black patent leather corset, cinching her waist in and pushing up under breasts that George had never realised that Allison possessed. Short boots with spike heels and pointed toes, fingerless leather mittens and an eye mask completed the outfit.
With his own mask obscuring his face, George was pretty confident that she would not recognise him as long as she didn’t hear him speak. And with his mouth stretched by the rubber ball gag there wasn’t much danger of that.
“This is the slave I told you about,” said Erica. “See how he watches us come in. And he knows he’s not supposed to do that!” George dropped his head at once.
“You were right. He’s not much to look at is he?” sneered Allison and George found himself surprised, shocked and excited by her expression of disdain. “Is there anything he’s any use for?”
“He’s fond of foot worship but he still has got a lot to learn there,” said Erica. “He’s really a beginner but he’ll do for what you need today. Shall we start? Would you like to … ?”
Allison nodded. “Why not? You,” she said with confidence, pointing at the kneeling George, with a leather gloved finger, and then waving to a wooden frame on the far side of the room, “get yourself over there and bend across the horse.” George felt a sense of trepidation but did as he was ordered. Allison followed him and as soon as he had bent across the frame, bent down beside him to fasten his wrists with straps to the frame. Allison’s face was inches from his and he felt he must be recognised but she seemed to ignore him and carried on jerking the straps tight and threading the free ends through the buckles. She did the same with his ankles.
George heard the tap of heels as Erica walked across the room towards him. Bent over the horse, all he could see of Erica was her booted feet as she stood feet apart square in front of him. “Good,” he heard Erica say. “That was quite efficiently done. The straps look tight enough. You might like to let the slave wait a little before securing him, though. It never hurts to let them build up a sense of anticipation. Slow heightens the sense of fear, I find. Now you won’t have a device like this… “
“Well not at first,” Allison laughed.
“But you can achieve much the same thing across the back of a chair. The important thing is to get the slave’s backside well into the air.” George suddenly realised why he was in the position that he was and begun to grunt into his gag. Erica reached forward and gripped him by the back of his neck. “Be still, slave,” she ordered. George stopped grunting and struggling. “Choose one of those and try it,” Erica called across to Allison.
Moments later a sharp pain shot through George’s buttocks as a swift blow landed on his backside. He grunted into his gag. There were two more lighter taps and then another heavier blow. “You’ll find,” said Erica’s voice, that the paddle is best used from one side so it comes down with the main area across one buttock or another. Don’t try to catch him on both buttocks at once.”
“You mean like this?” There was another thump as George felt a blow this time to his left buttock.
“Not bad but try to get the wide flat end to wrap around the width of the buttock. Here let me show you.” Erica’s heels tapped across the floor and moments later another, more painful blow landed.
“Ah, I see. Let me try.” Allison reproduced the blow.
George was horrified. It was obvious that he was being used as some sort of training device to help educate Allison.
“That’s right,” said Erica. “of course you’ll want to even things up over a session.” Another blow came, this time to George’s right buttock.
“Of course,” laughed Allison.
“But you don’t need to start off with a heavy blow like that. I find they respond better if you build it up. Use a few short, lighter, blows first. Vary the time between strokes vary the strength of the blow. That way they find it harder to anticipate the next stroke and can’t prepare themselves for it.
“Good thought,” said Alison. “I guess the same applies to the cane?”
“Yes,” said Erica, “exactly.” George felt a number of exploratory taps on his buttock. “But, of course the cane lends itself to a strong swish followed by a light blow. That terrifies them!”
“I hadn’t realised that there was so much to it. It’s a craft all of its own.” A series of light taps was followed by four share cuts from the cane that left George gasping for breath.
“Very good,” said Erica, “he wasn’t expecting that at all. Now try the tawse.” George tried to wriggle on his frame but only earned another cut from the cane as his reward. “You need to be careful with this. You can pinch the flesh between the cut straps of the tawse which is fine as long as that’s what you are trying to do. It’s a bit harder to control than the paddle.”
George felt another blow, this time across the top of his right thigh. “This marks him better, though,” said Allison. “And the other thing I’ve noticed is that he seems to have calmed down. He’s struggling less than at first.”
“Very good,” Erica enthused. “Observation is one of the most important tools of the successful mistress. If you keep the effect you are having in view it is much easier to control the slave. Very good indeed.”
“What about the crop?” Allison asked. George was alarmed by the swishing noise behind him.
“Much the same in use as the cane. I tend to use a crop for day-to-day control and the cane when the slave has really earned a punishment. I just think the cane is a little more dramatic. It’s easier to generate a sense of fear in the victim.”
“And that makes the domination process easier.”
“Quite. You’re evidently catching on. I’m pleased with your progress.”
“Well, it’s a very different therapy from what I was expecting. But it’s certainly helping my self-confidence and assertiveness. It’s hard to be shy in an outfit like this.”
“Well, I’m pleased that things seem to be working out. Any more questions on these?”
“Oh. Err. Yes, one other thing. What about this?”
“”Mmm,” said Erica in a tone that worried George. “My favourite. The single tailed whip. I wouldn’t recommend it for a beginner but it is an elegant device.” A short crack was followed by a piercing pain as George felt the tip of the whip snick at his backside. “It’s a real precision instrument in experienced hands. You can put the tip exactly where you want it.” Another crack and another sharp pain set Georg whimpering. “And you can build up a series of blows in the same spot or spread it out more. Or you can lay the length of the whip across the flesh like this.” The next two blows wrapped themselves around George’s legs, first from the left side and then from the right. Pain shot through him from the stripes that the whip left on his flesh. “Well, I think that’s enough of the whips for now,” said Erica. George breathed an inward sigh of relief. The sensation of being made helpless by Allison when she didn’t realise who he was had been exciting, the beatings arousing but painful. He was happy to have some respite from the conflicting sensations of pain and pleasure and was only slightly disappointed when Erica said, “You’d better let him off the horse.”
Allison unbuckled the straps that held George over the wooden frame. All that he wanted to do was to slide to the floor but he knew better than to move without instruction.
“Right,” said Erica. “You also need to develop the way you feel about being in control. I’d like you to show me how good a job you can do of immobilising this slave with those lengths of rope.”
“Hmm, all right,” said Allison evidently thinking carefully. A moment later George felt another cutting sensation in his backside as Allison struck him with a hank of rope. “Off the horse!” she ordered. “Stand yourself up and face the wall!”
Allison went to work with the ropes. George was surprised by how quickly she wound the ropes around his wrist and arms, immobilising him. Another blow with the end of the rope forced him to his knees and Allison bent forward to bind his knees and ankles. With his face pressed against the wall he didn’t even have the consolation of a close up view of the corseted, booted and masked Allison.
“On the floor now!” Allison ordered.
George, scared of falling, with his ankles and knees bound, found it difficult to get himself down, earning him further blows from an impatient Allison. Flat on the floor his ankles were pulled back towards his wrists behind his back and a rope knotted between them to keep them there. George, not the most supple of individuals, groaned as he tried to find a way of relieving the pressure on his arms and legs.
If he had hoped for sympathy he was unlucky. “Excellent,” he heard Erica say. “Very good indeed. That will do for now. We can leave our friend here for a while – let me show you some of our other toys.”
George heard the tap of the two domina’s heels as they left him, struggling on the floor of the room. His whimpers attracted no attention at all. He wasn’t released for over an hour, by which time, George felt, the charms of bondage had been largely explored.
© 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/
After his recent experiences with Deanna & Allison, George was almost relieved when it was Erica that contacted him next. The telephone call was short and to the point. “Report at 7 o’clock this evening, please,” Erica had said. “Don’t make any plans for after that.”
George had no opportunity to reply before Erica hung up.
Erica’s call was followed by one from Allison. She gave no indication that she had recognised George at their session but her tone had changed dramatically from the diffident one that George had become used to. “You wanted to discuss my accounts, I think. Why don’t you come over this morning? About ten o’clock would suit me. Is that all right for you? Good!”
George barely had time to draw breath, much less answer, before Allison hung up.
George wasn’t sure about how he was going to cope with meeting Allison again after their encounter of the day before but he convinced himself that she could not have recognised him on the mask he was wearing and without hearing him speak. Even so, it was with some trepidation that he turned up at her office for their discussion.
Allison met him at the front door of her shop. She was no longer wearing the rather dowdy clothes that he was used to seeing her in. Rather she seemed to have taken some style hints from Erica. “Come in, come in,” Allison called when she saw him hovering outside. “Let’s get on with it. I have exactly half an hour, so let’s get started.”
“Yes, M..” George just managed to stop himself before addressing her as ‘Mistress’. He went on, “Yes, of course. I have the figures here.”
“Excellent,” Allison exclaimed, evidently enjoying her new found confidence. “Now, there were three things that I wanted to check. First, have you assessed the tax liability, secondly I wanted make sure we are providing for adequate depreciation and finally I want to be sure that the annual returns are going to be ready to be filed on time. We don’t want to incur any penalties, do we?”
“What?” George, who had been thinking back to his experiences at Allison’s hands the previous day, was snapped back to attention by the word ‘penalties’.
“Penalties,” Alison repeated. “For late filing.”
“Ah, no, of course not,” said George recovering his composure. “Err, ah, oh, I think you’ll see here,” he brought out his own file of documents, “that I have the numbers required. It’s only a matter of transcribing them onto the appropriate forms. And I can do that as soon as you approve them.” George was surprised at the ease that he gave way to the newly assertive Allison but if she saw any difference in his behaviour she gave no notice of it.
“Good. Well if you run through the numbers I’m sure we can get this put to bed quite quickly.”
“Errm, yes, well.” Two days before, George had been busily trying to avoid any contact with Allison but now the idea of ‘bed’ sounded distinctly attractive. He still wasn’t sure though whether her appearance at Erica’s had been part of some plan of Erica’s, a coincidence, or what. For now, he thought, the safest thing was to just get on with the job and keep everything on a professional footing. He caught his eyes wandering down to Allison’s ankles. Actually, he thought, she has got quite good legs and I could imagine……
“Can we just finish this?” Allison snapped him back to where his attention should be.
“Yes, of course,” George responded apologetically. “Of course.”
“And then I wondered if you might like to join me for dinner?”
For George this was all going too fast and he tried to shy away from the proposal. In any case he could hardly tell Erica that he wouldn’t be there that evening. “Well, of course, I’d like to but, well, ah, .. yes, I do have quite a few end of month reports to complete and they need to be in by tomorrow.. That’s the real problem. Sorry.”
“Never mind. Do you think you’ll get them all in on time?”
“Oh yes,” said George with confidence, “I’m sure I shall.”
“Good,” said Allison. “In which case, I’m sure you’ll be free for dinner tomorrow night. How about that?”
George, realising that he was trapped, had no option but to agree. “Err, yes. That will be fine. Yes.”
“Excellent,” Allison responded, “You can pick me up about eight.”
“Yes,” said George. “Yes, of course.”
George, still confused by the change in Allison’s nature, made his way to Erica’s as he had been instructed.
When he arrived at Erica’s house, she was there to greet him. She waved him through to one of the rooms at the back of the house and told him to undress. As usual he took his clothes and locked them in the small cupboard at the back of the room. Just like before he stood as he had been told; facing the wall and with his hands on the top of his head.
This was the worse part, thought George. He felt so foolish like this. It wasn’t bad once things got started but right now he felt as though he could easily run away. At least, he could have done if his clothes weren’t locked in that cupboard.
He heard the door behind him open and shut. It was Erica, he assumed, coming in. He didn’t turn around.
“Well done,” he heard Erica’s voice say. “You do seem to be getting the idea.” He was beginning to be wary when she praised him – it usually meant that something more difficult was about to be introduced. “Now keep still.”
George stood motionless as he felt Erica pull a rubber hood over his head. She smoothed it carefully into place and pulled up the zip at the back. The scent of the rubber filled his nostrils as the rubber stretched tightly across his face.
Mouth open!” she ordered.
He knew what was coming next; the hard rubber ball that filled his mouth and pressed down on his tongue and the tight leather straps that cut into the corners of his lips. He gave an involuntary grunt as she tightened the strap. ”Silence,” she snapped in the clipped manner he had come to expect. He was disappointed to be gagged. It meant that whatever else she had planned he wouldn’t be spending the evening worshipping her feet.
“Now, listen,” she said. “I am entertaining a friend this evening and I need you to wait on us.” George whimpered at the prospect of someone else being involved in their scene. “Don’t worry,” she went on, understanding his concerns, “you won’t be recognised. Your mask will help but this will be even better.” She drew back a curtain from across the alcove at the end of the room. Behind it, to George’s shock, was a mannequin dressed in a traditional maid’s uniform, black dress, white apron, cap and all.
George at once understood her intentions and grunted in protest. He’d expected to be confronted with enforced cross dressing at some time, given what he’d learned about female domination, but he hadn’t really thought it would happen yet.
“Don’t you dream of defying me,” Erica scolded, dealing him a blow to the thighs with her riding crop. “You can put those clothes on and be ready by the time I come back here or you can leave and not come back. This is well within your limits, so there will be no argument. Besides, you said you didn’t approve of Deanna as my maid. You can take her place.”
She didn’t wait for his response but turned on her heel and left the room, locking the door behind her. George sank down on the chair, confused and embarrassed. He thought how ridiculous he would look in the uniform. But then, he thought, I must look pretty ridiculous already. In the end he could not bare the thought of not being allowed back into Erica’s service. He started to undress the mannequin.
As he did so, his concerns grew. It wasn’t just the dress and the apron, he discovered, as he removed them from the mannequin he found the dummy was wearing a bra, panties and corset as well as stockings. Resignedly, he undressed the mannequin and started to put the clothes on.
As could be expected, Erica had taken care to ensure that it would all fit. He started with the bra and panties. The panties were bad enough, although the silky material did feel coolly pleasant against his cock, but the bra made him feel increasingly foolish. As he wrestled it into place, trying to fasten it behind his back he realised that the cups had been padded to provide him with an ample if not entirely natural looking bosom.
Next came the corset, an elasticated waspie that cinched his waist in, and the stockings. The waspie felt extremely odd. Although he had been put into various sorts of bondage since his involvement with Erica, the clinging, compressing sensation of the corset was something new and while he hadn’t been keen to fall in with Erica’s instructions, he had to admit that he enjoyed the sensation. The stockings felt peculiar too. Why on earth did women wear the things?
He pulled on the dress, stepping into it as though it were a pair of trousers. It took something of a struggle to get the dress zipped up at the back but eventually he did it, sweating profusely inside the rubber hood that covered his head. Finally he tied the white apron around his waist and, although he wasn’t sure what was required, he went back to stand with his hands on his head, facing the wall, in the same way that he had been when Erica had left.
It wasn’t long before Mistress Erica reappeared. George felt he could almost hear her smile of satisfaction that he had done as he had been told. “Turn around,” she ordered. He did so. She looked him over critically and gave a sigh. “Oh well,” she said. “I suppose it is your first time.” Erica fussed around him for a while, straightening his dress and apron before appearing somewhat satisfied. “You’ve forgotten the shoes,” she said, gesturing to a pair of high heeled, lace-up shoes in the corner of the alcove. George put them on, standing awkwardly in them as she looked at him again. “Oh yes, of course,” she said. “The wig and cap. Do come along.”
George shuffled across to the mannequin, precarious in his new footwear. He reached up to the dummy’s head and took the wig and cap, seating them both on his own, rubber clad scalp, feeling more foolish than ever.
Erica looked him over again. “Well, I suppose you’ll do,” she said. “Now shuffle off to the kitchen. You’ll find a trolley with some drinks and food on it. Bring it through into the lounge. My guest has arrived and will no doubt want some refreshment.”
George found the trolley without difficulty but pushing it and walking in his high heeled shoes was another matter.
George had half imagined that Erica’s guest would be another male submissive, another client for her “therapy”, so he was more than a little surprised to see Erica deep in conversation with a rather short, wide, grey haired, middle aged woman. She looked more like a member of the Women’s Institute than a dominatrice.
“Splendid. Refreshments!” the newcomer enthused as George teetered through the door.
“I thought you might like a drink and a snack, Ruth dear,” Erica responded. “A glass of sherry?”
“Gin, if you’ve got it!” Ruth smiled. “And not too much tonic, either.”
Erica turned to George and gestured to indicate he should pour the drinks. “Well, I’ll just have a soda water, if you don’t mind.”
“Please yourself, dearie,” Ruth replied. “You always were a bit on the abstemious side.”
George managed to pour the drinks and stood them on a tray before passing them first to Ruth and then to his Mistress.
“Not bad,” said Ruth sipping the gin. “Agreeably dry. And this is your new boy is it?” she peered at George. “He’s got plenty to learn hasn’t he?”
“Well, it’s his first time in a dress, as far as I know,” Erica said, “so we shouldn’t be too hard on him.”
“Hmm,” said Ruth sounding skeptical. “It’s my experience that the quicker they are corrected the faster they learn. Come over here, maid!” she ordered, pointing to the floor beside her chair to indicate where George should kneel. George teetered across the room, concerned by Ruth’s remarks about correction but anxious to give a good account of himself in front of his Mistress Erica. He knelt down beside Ruth’s chair, bowing his head in the way that he had been taught.
“Splendid,” she declared, and George felt himself puffing up with pride in spite of feeling so foolish. “I do like the touch of putting a wig on over his hood. It has an agreeably bizarre quality. He must feel perfectly ridiculous.”
If George had been able to say anything at all he would certainly have agreed. As it was, he had to content himself with remaining silent beside the two women.
“Do you think that you might be able to make use of him?” Erica asked Ruth.
George heard the remark with alarm. Surely Erica wasn’t planning to give him to this woman who was so little his idea of a dominatrix. She looked rather like the disreputable aunt that turns up at a wedding in spite of not being invited and then proceeds to drink her way through more champagne than is compatible with her remaining sober.
“I don’t know Erica,” Ruth replied.”I don’t really like beginners, as you know and I assume that you’re not offering him to me gratis.”
Erica leant across towards Ruth. “Well know, but I’m sure I could let you have him for a rate that reflects his experience.”
“Let her have me for a rate!” George though to himself. “She’s pimping me and at a cut price too!”
“Has he got enough cock to make it worthwhile?” Ruth’s coarse question simply underlined the unpleasant nature of the transaction as far as George was concerned.
Erica looked scandalised. “Really Ruth dear,” she admonished. “Is that any way to speak in front of the staff?”
“Maybe not but he’d better get used to it if I’m going to make use of him! I’ll think about it. But just you be sure, I’ m going to be expecting a big discount on this!”
George turned up to collect Allison at exactly eight o’clock. He always tried to be prompt, he thought to himself. It wasn’t just that Allison had been so firm about the arrangements or that George was half wondering whether she might have recognised him at Erica’s after all.
Allison opened the door. George was almost disappointed. She was dressed in a pale green sweater and a dark brown skirt, quite a difference from the outfit that he had seen her in at Erica’s. “But what did you expect,” he said to himself, “a leather catsuit?”
“I’m sorry?” Allison’s words snapped George’s attention back as he realised he’d been muttering to himself.
“Err, Cat, I saw a cat. On the road,” George said quickly, recovering. “I wondered if it was yours.”
Allison looked at him as though he was behaving more than a little oddly. “No,” she said, “I don’t have a cat.”
“Well, let’s go,” George thought it would be better to change the subject. “Did you have anywhere in mind, because if not…”
“Yes, I did, actually,” Allison said. “I do like Italian food so I thought we could try that new restaurant in town.”
George was quite relieved at not having to make the decision. “Yes,” he said. “That’s an excellent idea.”
As it turned out, George and the newly assertive Allison had a pleasant evening. Once George settled down to the idea that this was just a dinner and that Allison had no idea that he had been the hooded slave she had been encouraged to bind so effectively, they discovered a shared interest in Italian art as well as food and that they had both enjoyed visits to Florence and Pisa.
And then the evening was over. What George had half expected to be an ordeal and half expected to be some preamble to an erotic excursion with Allison’s dominatrix alter-ego had tuned into a perfectly ordinary, pleasant, evening out with good food and pleasant company. George was slightly disappointed when Allison didn’t invite him in for a coffee at the end of the evening (As they had driven back from the restaurant, he’d had visions of himself waiting on her and crouching at her feet while she drank it.) but in spite of that he had to admit he’d had an enjoyable time. “Well,” he said as the two said goodnight at her doorway. “I hope you had a good evening. I certainly did.”
Allison smiled, obviously pleased by the success of the approach that Erica had encouraged her to adopt. “Yes, George,” she said. “I did. We’ll do it again sometime soon.”
George said good night. It was only when he got back in the car that he realised that she hadn’t seemed to allow him much of a choice about whether or not they did it again sometime soon.
***********************
It was Deanna that greeted George on his next visit to Erica’s consulting rooms. She stood in the training room that he had been directed to, arms folded, wearing a short pleated skirt and a tee-shirt, knee-length socks and high heeled shoes and carrying, with an air of threat, a short thick riding crop. Her smile of amusement did nothing to put George at his ease as he arrived. George was very much concerned that she might be out to take her revenge. She couldn’t have enjoyed the humiliation of being punished by Erica for taking advantage of his inexperience, George thought.
“Well,” she said, “it seems I have to be careful with you. I wouldn’t wish to do anything that Erica might feel was out of order, would I?” George nodded in a non-committal way, feeling that it would do little good to try to defend himself, and besides, that anything he did say was likely to cause more trouble. “All right,” she said, “it seems we need a demonstration slave for one of Mistress Erica’s training sessions and you’re it. So, get stripped off and put on your hood and report back here. And get a move on. Mistress doesn’t like her clients to be kept waiting.”
George didn’t need any further encouragement, if Mistress Erica was going to be involved. He started to strip off. Deanna watched him with undisguised distaste. “You’ve put on some weight, haven’t you?” she said as he dropped his trousers.
“Err, I’m not sure Mistress,” George replied. He wasn’t sure if her remarks were simply the prelude to another verbal haranguing or the start of some other penalty or programme of humiliation.
“Still at least that makes you comfortable, I suppose.”
George was puzzled by her remarks. He never felt comfortable when Deanna was around. Things were much too likely to take a turn for his further discomfort, he thought.
“Over there!” Deanna ordered. “On the couch. On your back.”
Reluctant to do anything that might annoy Deanna further, Gorge did as he was told quickly. He might have taken more time if he realised that Deanna intended to secure him to the couch. No sooner was he stretched out than she reached underneath and pulled out leather cuffs fastened by chains to the couch. She strapped them in place about his wrists and ankles, rendering him helpless.
Laying on his back, naked and chained, George felt particularly vulnerable. Anxious as to what Deanna might do, he looked as on she consulted her watch. “There,” she said, “ready in plenty of time. I can put my feet up for a bit.”
She strolled across to the couch. As George looked up in concern she flipped up the back of her skirt and lowered her backside squarely onto his face. Deanna was slightly built but even so her weight was not something George ever expected to bear in this way. He gasped and grunted as she sat and then struggled trying to catch his breath as she wriggled herself in an attempt to find a more comfortable position – for herself at least.
In George’s efforts to catch his breath he quite forgot that Deanna’s expression ‘put my feet up’ might have been meant to be taken literally. After a few minutes of being smothered under her admittedly small buttocks, he was suddenly aware of increased pressure as she swung her feet clear of the floor and then a stabbing pain as first her right foot came down on his belly, jabbing the heel into him and then the second landed close to his groin. His reaction was to buck in discomfort but this had little effect beyond pressing his face hard against Deanna’s back side. “Keep still!” she snapped, taking a cut at the side of his body with her riding crop. “I’ll tell you if I want you to do anything with that fat face of yours.”
George could hardly breathe. The holes in the hood for his nose and mouth were sufficient normally but Deanna’s weight and the press of her panties against him made it ever more difficult to catch his breath. Every so often Deanna would move and he would get the opportunity to gulp in some air but he soon found that his best strategy was to lay as still as possible, ignoring as far as he could, the stabbing sensations from Deanna’s high heels on his belly and crotch.
The combination of the pressure from Deanna’s weight, the smothering effect of her arse and the overwhelming scent of her body filling his nostrils was pushing George close to the edge of unconsciousness when he heard Erica’s voice. “I see you have everything ready. Good.”
There was another stabbing pain as Deanna pushed down against her feet to lever herself upright but then the blessed gulp of air as she stood up. George was aware that he was gasping and coughing but was just grateful to be able to breathe again.
He struggled to look around. Deanna was standing holding a magazine that she had evidently been reading while she sat waiting for Erica. At the door to the room stood Erica and another, masked woman he knew at once to be Allison.
George was always excited by the arrival of Erica in the room. Whether she was dressed in fetish gear or in more mundane, street wear, she always impressed. For this session she had obviously decided that the situation required the dramatic.
She was dressed completely in rubber; a black, shining, cat-suit that stretched across her body covering it but revealing every curve of the muscles beneath. Her hands were encased in gloves, short spike heeled shoes on her feet. A rubber hood covered her face, all but for the holes for her eyes, nose and mouth and one at the back of her head through which cascaded o pony tail of her bright auburn hair.
Allison wore an identical hood and gloves but instead of the cat suit she had squeezed her body into a tight black basque which she wore with a pencil thin skirt that reached to below her knees. The two women together presented a daunting spectacle for the helplessly secured George.
“Is there a gag in here?” Erica asked.
“Ah, no, sorry Mistress,” Deanna responded, looking around. “I can fetch one if you need…”
Erica cut her off. “No, that’s all right, don’t worry. Look, use your panties and your socks, we don’t need anything more elaborate.”
George looked up in distress as Deanna stripped off her underpants and the pair of white, knee-length socks. “No, please, I’ll keep qui—unngfhh!” he spluttered as Deanna jammed the white cloth between his lips.
“Indeed you will,” she said, leaning forward over him and thumbing the wad of cloth deeper into his mouth. “This will make sure of it.”
“Harnng!” George protested as Deanna stood up leaving him, his mouth packed with her socks and underwear.
“Thanks you, Deanna,” said Erica solicitously. “That will do nicely. You can get on now. You’ve got some other clients, haven’t you?” Deanna nodded and left. Erica turned to Allison and began. “Now let’s explore the use of some of the more controlled forms of discomfort as an aid to increasing the slave’s willingness to submit. You’ll find that once you have established a regime of control you actually need very few sanctions to keep the slave under your command. They only need occasional reminders of what the price of defiance might be in order to keep them in line. I like to use these.”
Erica passed something across to Allison, Whatever it was she studied them for a few moments before handing them back to Erica.
“You don’t need to keep them on for long,” Erica bent down. Her rubber clad breasts close to George’s head, fuelling further his fantasies of submission and obedience. There was a sudden sharp stabbing sensation from each of his nipples. He groaned into his panty and sock gag and struggled against the straps that held him secure. “Nipple clamps,” Erica went on, “are particularly useful for this. You can improvise with clothes pegs but I do think this is one area where it is worth getting the proper item. With ones like this you can adjust the tightness by turning this little wheel, see.” George experienced new pain as Erica tightened the clamp on first his left and then his right nipple, bringing forth another moan of discomfort.
,
To distract himself from the sharp sensations of the clamps he stared at Erica and Allison. It was astonishing how much Allison managed to look the part and how easily she seemed to find it, dressing with provocative aggression and posing as if she had been born to enslave men. Curiously, as he watched the earnest conversation between Erica and Allison, the pain in his nipples seemed to ebb away leaving him conscious only of a strange numbness.
The two women returned to his side. “But then,” Erica said with no concern about George at all, “the real incentive for the slave is this.” She reached across him and with a swift twist she released the clamps.
To George it was as if two red hot needles had been pushed though his nipples. Even the socks and panties jammed in his mouth could not suppress the scream of astonishment. Dry as his mouth was from the way that the cloth had soaked up his spit, he could still moan and stutter as the blood flowed back into his nipples, kicking another spike of pain with each beat of his pulse.
“Such small things, and such extraordinary power!” Allison was looking down in wonder at the clamps as she held them in the palm of her hand.
George was writhing, lost in his own discomfort, and struggling against the straps that held him as Allison and Erica chatted amiably about the techniques and tools of dominance. Neither of them seemed interested in his response to Erica’s explanation.
A series of disagreeable – from George’s perspective – similar demonstrations followed. Erica worked her way through a series of similar pain-inflicting devices that clipped to his nipples with either screw clamps or springs. As she did so George slowly lost track of how long he had strapped to the bench or indeed, anything else other than the sequence of agonising pains in his nipples. It wasn’t as bad as Deanna’s electric shock treatment but it wasn’t much better. Erica seemed to know exactly how long to leave the damned things in place so that just as a blissful numbness was establishing itself she would remove the clamps and the pain would crash back over him, urging groans from his panty stuffed mouth that brought, he was disturbed to hear, giggles of delight from Allison. All George could do was to try to take his mind off the treatment he was receiving, focusing on the sensual delight of the sight of Erica and Allison in their closely fitting costumes.
In the end, Erica declared the session at an end. She and Allison left George strapped to his bench and disappeared chatting like old friends.
George could only struggle until Erica returned to release him.
“You coped with that very well,” she said. George, pleased to receive the complement smiled. “But don’t get complacent. You’ve still a lot to learn.”
George allowed himself to ask a direct question. “Mistress,” he said, as politely as he could, “You knew that I had met Mistress Allison before, didn’t you Mistress?”
“Why of course, George,” Erica responded with a laugh. “That’s what I thought would be so amusing.“
© 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/
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/
“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/
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/femdom fables/
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