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Chapter 23 – Wendy's Whipping
Burnside almost immediately achieved her main goal with Wendy, to get her thought patterns away from what they had been over the past year. Wendy ceased to think about gambling. Her suicide fantasies totally vanished from her mind. Instead her life and thoughts consisted of pleasing her mistress, her correspondence classes, and her art. Wendy did not have time to think about anything else. Burnside forced her to focus her time and her energies. Wendy learned to appreciate her life. She learned to cherish the few free moments available to her and use them to their fullest. In a strange way she was happier then she had been in a long time. Wendy's life was very structured, with very clear rules and expectations. As cruel as Burnside may have been, she deeply cared for Wendy, and Wendy knew it.
Burnside punished Wendy much less frequently than the student had anticipated when she began her period of servitude. Partly this was because Wendy adapted well to serving her. However, it also partly was because of Burnside's attitude about punishment. Burnside believed that physical punishment loses its effectiveness if given too frequently. The victim becomes used to it and eventually becomes less afraid of being punished. There also is the fact that the body compensates for punishments given too frequently.
Burnside never punished Wendy over an area that had not completely healed from the previous punishment. She wanted to avoid toughening Wendy's body, but at the same time she wanted to avoid injuring her. For example, during the second week Wendy broke a glass pan lid while cooking. She immediate confessed to Burnside about the lid, kneeling and holding the two largest pieces in front of her. Wendy's confession resulted in a lighter punishment, 20 strokes across the fronts of her thighs with a riding crop. Wendy's bottom and shoulders were still marked from the first switching, and for Burnside would remain off-limits until the marks were gone. The only unmarked part of Wendy's body suitable for punishment at that time were the fronts of Wendy's thighs.
Burnside wanted her servant to fear each punishment as much as she feared the first one, which was another reason Wendy never received a severe punishment more than once every three or four weeks. Burnside never used the same implement twice. She forced Wendy to assume different positions.
At age 41, Ruth Burnside had an insatiable sexual appetite. About half the nights Wendy was with her, Burnside had a lover over. In all Wendy counted a total of 16 lovers; 13 men and 3 women. Some came over only once, others came over several times. The majority of the lovers seemed to be in their 30′s, although there were a couple of guys who appeared to be in their 50′s, and one young woman who seemed not much older than Wendy. Burnside's lovers included two Blacks, a couple of Hispanics, a guy from Mainland China, and a young man who appeared to be from the Middle East.
The discipline sessions all followed the same general pattern, but there were variations. For example, the young woman seemed particularly embarrassed at having to undress in front of Wendy. Burnside forced her to focus on her submission by ordering her to spend a long time standing under the spotlight with her hands behind her head, while Wendy walked around her and carefully studied her body. When the guy from Mainland China came over, it was Wendy who issued Burnside's commands to him in Chinese. The Chinese guy spoke good English, but hearing the orders spoken to him in his native language added to his humiliation and sense of vulnerability.
Wendy never participated in anything beyond the initial part of Burnside's discipline sessions. She came out to take the submissive's clothing and serve the wine, and then was dismissed. When Burnside was entertaining, she allowed her servant to close her bedroom door. Wendy's reward from Burnside for participating in the sessions was that she could work on her art instead of studying. However, the sessions fascinated Wendy and she gladly would have participated even without the incentive of not having to spend the night doing her coursework.
Burnside made the rules very clear to both Wendy and her guests. Wendy was expected to perform her role in Burnside's discipline ritual and serve wine. She owed the guests nothing else. The guests were to respect the servant and not attempt to flirt with her or engage her in any conversation.
"If anyone who comes over here is ever disrespectful to you, let me know immediately. I want you to understand that to disrespect you is to disrespect me, and there will be hell to pay for anyone who tries it."
Burnside invariably punished her lovers. Wendy often heard the CRACK!…CRACK!…CRACK!… of a punishment coming from Burnside's bedroom once the living room portion of the punishment was over. Sometimes she heard crying or screams.
Wendy was under the impression that Burnside cared little for most of her lovers. They came over, gave up their clothes, had their wine, received a punishment, had sex, and were gone after a few hours.
During January Burnside entertained lovers about a half of the nights Wendy lived with her. During many of the nights that Burnside was not with guests she ordered Wendy to be with her. When it came to sex, Burnside was extremely demanding and often very cruel to her servant. Occasionally Burnside used sex as a means to punish Wendy instead of the constant whippings she had expected prior to coming over.
Burnside totally dominated Wendy's sexuality during the first month of her servitude. During their first few nights together the professor learned the physical vulnerabilities of the student's body, and then used those vulnerabilities to completely control her. It was through sex, much more than the physical punishments, that Burnside forced Wendy to become truly submissive to her.
Burnside especially loved to torment her servant by bringing her close to orgasm but not allowing her to climax. Wendy spent countless hours with her wrists and ankles attached to her bed-posts and her eyes covered while Burnside played with her body. For hours on end she pulled desperately at her restraints and groaned while Burnside lightly teased her between the legs with her fingertips and tongue. When Wendy was almost insane from arousal, Burnside unhooked her cuffs and led her back to the master bedroom by the wrist. Sometimes she threw herself on top of Wendy and pressed her pelvis against Wendy's. Sometimes she forced Wendy's face between her legs. Sometimes she ordered Wendy to arouse her with her fingertips. Sometimes she shoved her fingers up Wendy's bottom or vagina. Sometimes she forced Wendy to use her fingers on her. Occasionally she was merciful to Wendy and allowed her to climax.
During that time Wendy was desperate to draw. The urge to draw burned inside her, to the point that she often sacrificed sleep to create drawings. By the middle of February she had a sizable collection of top-quality artwork in her desk drawer. The drawings became Wendy's outlet for the responsibilities and torments she was enduring. The drawings themselves had changed from the ones she created over the summer. Besides intense suffering, the newest works also reflected intense pleasure.
Wendy's work on her classes was one important part of her life while she stayed with the professor. Each morning, right after breakfast, Wendy knelt at Burnside's desk and held her correspondence work in front of her for the professor to review. She watched nervously as Burnside looked over her assignments. Burnside never corrected anything, but if she did not think that Wendy had done good work, she brusquely handed the papers back with the comment "This won't work. Re-do it." It was up to Wendy to figure out what needed to be corrected. Burnside was determined that her servant strive to do her best in her studies, and more importantly, to learn to solve as many problems as possible on her own. However, Burnside was not so cruel as to leave Wendy with no guidance with her studies. Wendy soon learned that during their breakfast or dinner conversations Burnside dropped hints about her work and how she could find the answers to her assignments. Wendy learned to listen carefully to the professor for any hints or tips that Burnside might be willing to give her.
Wendy learned the hard way not to try to slip anything past her mistress. At the end of January she needed to do a report for her independent study. She showed the report to Burnside along with some other papers. Burnside thrust the paper back in Wendy's face with the comment "Don't even think about turning this in! You will re-do it, and there will be no drawing until you have this report properly done!"
Wendy's drawing was her only outlet, so she desperately needed to get the paper out of the way and get back to her art. At that point she made a big mistake. She made a few corrections and e-mailed the paper to her accounting professor. The next day she received a response, a C+ on the paper. Then Wendy made another mistake, saying nothing to Burnside. She did not realize that Burnside had set her home Internet account to automatically copy all incoming and outgoing e-mail messages to her home and send the copied messages to her computer at work. From her office Burnside was able to review the entire correspondence between Wendy and her accounting professor. She downloaded and copied the paper and returned home with it in the afternoon.
Burnside said nothing to Wendy, but took out a whip and some wrist cuffs that were attached to chains. The implement was a thin buggy-style whip. The blows would sting, but the whip was not heavy and there was little risk of breaking Wendy's skin. Burnside would be able to hit Wendy many times with it, and even cross the welts, without much concern about injury. She laid the items on her dresser. This would be a long punishment, since Wendy had attempted to lie to Burnside by not telling her about her C+. However, Burnside was not planning to whip Wendy that night. Waiting would be part of her punishment.
It was significant that Burnside was not planning to do the one thing that truly would hurt Wendy; take away her art supplies. Burnside knew the importance of Wendy's art as part of her therapy. The loss of her art supplies truly would be a severe punishment to Wendy, but one, thought Burnside, that ultimately would not help her. Wendy would suffer for the correspondence course paper and not telling her what happened, but the suffering would be physical. Wendy's art was off-limits.
While Wendy was preparing dinner Burnside quietly slipped in her room and placed the downloaded paper on her servant's desk. Wendy would discover it after dinner and then would have to approach the professor about it. Burnside was pleasant during dinner and allowed her servant to sit with her. Wendy was cheerful, thinking she had outwitted the professor. After the meal Burnside sat down at her computer to work on an article for a professional journal she contributed to, while Wendy cleaned up from dinner. Wendy knelt at the bathroom door, as usual, for Burnside to take her collar off for her bath. She came out, knelt again for Burnside to put the collar back on, and then was dismissed.
Wendy's heart stopped when she went in her room and saw what was on her desk. Her hands shook as she picked up the paper. She looked out her door at her mistress, typing away at her article. Wendy stood immobilized in terror for a moment, but finally could not wait anymore. Shaking, she walked out and knelt next to Burnside's desk.
"Dr. Burnside…I…I…request…per…permission to…sp…speak."
Burnside said nothing. She was in the middle of a paragraph and typing furiously, not wanting to lose her train of thought. Wendy waited until she finished with the paragraph. Still ignoring her servant, Burnside said nothing. She thumbed through a book, found the quote she was looking for, copied it to the article and typed the reference footnote, and started the next paragraph. Wendy became more and more nervous.
"D…Dr. Burnside…I…re…request…permission to…sp…speak."
Burnside did not look up. She kept her eyes focused on her computer screen and with a cold, flat voice, responded, "I heard you the first time. Your problems are not the only thing I have to worry about in my life. I will finish this article, send it out, and then we will discuss your paper."
Burnside typed for another hour. Wendy did not know what to do. Should she get up, return to her room, and wait for Burnside to finish? Should she stay there, kneeling until Burnside was ready to talk? Wendy decided not to move. Her legs began to cramp from kneeling, but she was afraid to get up without being directed.
What un-nerved Wendy the most was that Burnside had not looked at her when she responded. With anyone else that might have seemed a trivial detail, but with Burnside it wasn't. Burnside was fanatical about looking people in the eye when she spoke to them. Wendy realized that she truly was in disgrace. Burnside had refused to even grant her the dignity of eye-contact.
The professor finished the article, ran spell-check, reviewed her footnotes to make sure she had properly cited her sources, logged onto the Internet and her publisher's account, and sent off the article. She disconnected, brought up her screen-saver, and finally turned to face her servant.
"OK, Wendy. Now you have permission to speak."
"You…you were right. I…got…a…'C' on…this p…paper. I…I'm sorry, Dr. Burnside."
"Two things. First, you got a 'C+'. Don't sell yourself short. Second, don't tell me you're sorry. If you were sorry you wouldn't have done it, and you wouldn't have tried to slip this past me. Telephone operators and customer service reps say 'sorry', which is what you'll be if you don't pull yourself together. I expect you to take responsibility for what you do and not be 'sorry'. Another thing. You saw full-well that I was working on an article. Your problem was not urgent. I did not appreciate the interruption."
"Y…yes, Dr. Burnside."
"So…where do we go from here? I told you not to send that paper for a reason. It's shit, and you should be ashamed you wrote it. Had you turned that to in me, I would have given you a 'C-'. Then you thought you could trick me. Send it off and I wouldn't know. Worse, you deleted your correspondence with your professor so I wouldn't see it, after I specifically told you to NEVER delete e-mail messages on my Internet account. You deleted your correspondence to deceive me. Now, stand up and turn around."
Wendy stood up, momentarily grateful to relieve the cramping in her legs she was suffering from kneeling so long. Burnside scanned her back and bottom. There were no marks from the switching several weeks before. Wendy was ready for her second severe punishment.
"Now face me…OK. Where do we go from here?"
"I…I guess…you'll punish me…Dr. Burnside."
"That's true. That is what will happen. I will whip you tomorrow afternoon, when I have some time to punish you properly. Now get in bed. I want you up at 6:00, my breakfast at 7:00."
"Yes, Dr. Burnside."
With that Burnside turned back to her computer and typed her password. Wendy was dismissed.
Wendy returned to her room, terrified. A whipping. She was sure that Burnside meant exactly that; She faced being flogged with a whip.
Wendy got in her bed and quietly cried. It was terrible to have to wait like this. She would not be able to sleep much, if at all. She thought about Amy and Suzanne, about their freedom and how they must be enjoying this evening. She thought about her parents, and wondered what they would think if they could see her now. Why had she done this to herself? Why had she messed up her life like this? If she could only go back and undo everything she did a year ago, she could have a happy, decent life right now. Instead…
As much as Wendy's heart filled with regret, if never occurred to her to pick up her cell phone and ask Amy or Suzanne to come get her. This was her life now, the one she had chosen for herself. She had nowhere to go, nothing to do, other than her life here in this house. Tomorrow would be a terrible day, but somehow she would have to get through it.
The following day started out normally, except that when Wendy went into the living room, she saw a pair of open leather cuffs suspended, about three feet apart, from chains attached to the ceiling. Wendy's punishment would not be until after lunch, but Burnside hung the cuffs as a reminder to her servant of what she would have to face later in the day. She also hung the cuffs in the morning to test Wendy's determination to remain in her house. Wendy had the entire morning to think about what she would face in the afternoon. Her cell phone remained in her room. There was plenty of time for Wendy to call Amy or Suzanne and leave if she so desired.
Wendy rushed into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Burnside had not said anything about eating or not eating, so she fixed herself breakfast as well. However, Wendy did not feel like eating.
Burnside came out, already dressed for her early class. Wendy seated her, then looked at the professor, wondering whether to sit down herself.
"Wendy, sit down and have a good breakfast. You won't be eating lunch and I doubt you'll want dinner."
Wendy forced herself to eat. Burnside said nothing more. She finished and went out to her car, leaving the student to clean up.
Wendy tried to keep herself busy the entire morning, to forget about what she would have to face in the afternoon. She cleaned up from breakfast and cleaned the two bathrooms. Burnside had expected her to study, but there was no way she could concentrate.
Wendy sat at her desk and glanced at her cell-phone. She felt a fleeting temptation to call Amy and ask her friend to pick her up. The temptation was only momentary, however.
Wendy had entered into her agreement with Burnside at her own request. It had been her choice to be Burnside's servant. It had been her choice to attempt to deceive Burnside about the assignment. It now would be her choice to stay and accept the consequences of her actions. The thought of being whipped terrified her more than ever, but she would stay and face that fear. She realized this was the moment, the opportunity for her to face her terror directly and overcome it. She would conquer her fear and finally achieve the transformation in her soul that she so desperately wanted. At that moment Wendy felt more liberated than she had ever felt before.
Wendy filled the rest of her time that morning drawing a picture. Her emotional turmoil came out in the drawing. She finished the drawing and was contemplating starting on another when she heard Burnside's car pull into the garage. Wendy ran out into the center of living room and knelt on the floor. Her heart pounded as she glanced up at the cuffs hanging from the ceiling. Her eyes were wide with fear and she was shaking.
Burnside came in and glanced approvingly at her servant. Burnside was well-aware of the temptation she had given Wendy by leaving her alone all morning with the option of fleeing the house open to her. She had decided to test her servant because she had doubted Wendy's determination to fulfill her part of the agreement. Wendy, by staying in spite of her fears, had proven herself to her mistress. Wendy's determination to stay would in no way alleviate her upcoming whipping, but it would very profoundly change the relationship between the two women once the punishment was over and Wendy's welts had healed.
Burnside went to her room to change and pick up the rest of the items that she needed for the girl's whipping. Burnside changed into shorts and a sports bra. She wanted maximum freedom of movement and was not interested in dressing the part of a dominatrix. She took out leather cuffs for Wendy's ankles, a black scarf to blindfold her, and some short chains and hooks to attach Wendy's ankle cuffs to eye-hooks installed in the floor. She picked up the whip and carried everything back out to the living room.
Chapter 24 – Paul's roommate problems
Paul and Amy accompanied Suzanne and one of her ex-classmates from the art department to Central Wisconsin for three days just before the Spring semester started. They rented a camper for Amy and Paul to change and warm up in, as well as a snowmobile and skis as props. Only Paul knew how to ski, and not very well. No one knew how to use the snowmobile, but Suzanne's classmate read the instruction manual and figured out enough to be able to turn it on and move it into place. Suzanne had chosen a location was that was lovely, with woods to one side and a frozen meadow sloping off to the other side. It would be hard for her as a photographer to concentrate on the clothes, since she was more interested in the winter beauty of the location itself.
Suzanne was a professional, however. She focused on her task at hand, using an attractive location and an attractive young couple to make the most out of the clothes. The message she needed to send was clear; buy these clothes and you will look like this couple. Suddenly Suzanne understood Paul's objections to advertising. Essentially she was using her camera to lie and she did not feel good about that. However, like Paul, she needed this session, to build her resume more than anything else. She pushed her doubts aside and started shooting, her classmate helping her with the lighting and changing film in the cameras.
The shoot itself was both fun and grueling for Paul and Amy. Over a three-day period they tried on 100 combinations of clothing. Still, they enjoyed much of their time over the three days. They romped in the snow and had a chance to be totally immature. Several times Amy put on the skis and invariably fell over, Paul having to help her up. Once she lost her balance and fell on top of him. They both fell into the snow laughing, with Suzanne firing away with her camera. These shots were genuine. Amy and Paul were a real couple, having real fun.
Many of the photos went into newspaper ads as soon as Suzanne had them developed. As she thumbed through the Sunday paper the following weekend, it gave Amy a very strange feeling to see herself smiling under the word "Clearance".
At the end of February Amy began her correspondence with Wendy. She wrote about her photo shoot with Paul, how she was doing in her classes, and her observations with the university in general. However, mostly she had questions, how was Wendy doing, how did she feel, what was her life like, what was living with Burnside like?
Wendy tried to answer directly and honestly. Talking about her life was easy. However, she was unsure about her feelings. She did not mention anything about guilt or gambling.
Wendy did have some surprises for Amy in her letters. Amy had expected that Burnside would punish her friend almost continuously when she left her at the professor's house in December. That turned out not to be how Burnside treated her. The only punishments were for specific offenses, and just three major punishments so far, the most recent one being a caning just two days before Amy's first letter.
Amy cringed when Wendy wrote her in detail about the whipping in January. She realized, however, that the experience had been a turning point in Wendy's life. She had been traumatized by that punishment, but, Amy was under the impression that Wendy was glad to have endured it. She certainly seemed more focused as a result of having had that experience.
In spite of the professor's harsh treatment, Wendy wrote mostly kind things about Burnside. She struggled to please her mistress. Pleasing Burnside was a difficult goal, but, with enough effort, one that could be achieved. Wendy's efforts to please the professor intensified her feelings about everything in her life, including the professor.
Amy could tell that Wendy already had changed, just two months into her five-month sentence. The changes were reflected in her art, but also in her writing. Wendy was very direct in what she had to say. There was a boldness in her letters that Amy had not seen before. For example, she was quite open about her sexual relationship with Burnside. The professor was bi-sexual, and had brought that out in Wendy. She now felt a passion for her mistress, a development that disturbed Amy. What if Wendy could not let go in May? What then?
Amy wrote long, caring, almost poetic letters to Wendy. She had so much to say to her friend, how much she missed her, how worried she was about her. Amy's letters meant a lot to Wendy, much more than she was ever able to express.
Wendy was both scared and excited when she read the following lines from Amy:
"I am so much looking forward to the end of March. I will get to see you, because Dr. Burnside wants you to start going out again, and she wants me to take you! We will spend time together, like before! And then you will have your life back!"
Wendy had mixed feelings. She badly wanted to spend time with Amy. She was not so sure she wanted her life back. She still hated who she had been before her internment and felt very comfortable surrendering herself to Burnside.
Amy struggled through the semester loaded down with Burnside's work. There were term papers, monthly tests, the midterms, and general counseling. The students initially saw Amy as more approachable than either the professor or Lisa Campbell, since she was only a couple of years older than most of the other undergraduates. She actually was younger than some of the students in the classes, the ones who had started their studies late.
Amy still had an innocent look about her, which in reality was quite deceptive. Her young appearance and small size made the students under-estimate her, especially the fraternity guys. Amy had been hardened under the tutelage of the professor. She developed the same sharp eye for detail and the same ability to quickly judge how honest the person sitting in front of her was. She expected respect, and was quick to dismiss anyone who did not give it to her.
Burnside spent a long time with her student teaching her how to identify plagiarized papers. She taught Amy tricks she had picked up over her years of teaching. She shared her vast knowledge of where plagiarized papers came from and who was most likely to use which ones. Burnside showed Amy the websites containing plagiarized papers and other methods undergraduates had for cheating. Most of them Amy previously did not know about. However, there was one website with several papers, including a paper about the Marshall Plan, that Amy was painfully familiar with. With a touch of sarcasm Burnside noted "I think you remember this one."
Amy realized that Burnside had a real fixation on academic cheating. Burnside was an expert on the topic, but, as she explained, there was no point in writing any articles about it. The information changed from day to day and any article about academic cheating would be outdated before it went to publication. Still, every day Burnside's e-mail in-box was filled with requests for assistance or advice from other professors, and even university presidents.
"It's a pity, because there is a lot of good information out there. It's too bad that people are using that information not to learn or enhance their own work, but instead to avoid working. They're just lazy and want to stay ignorant."
Term papers were due the week before Mardi Gras. Amy graded a mass of assignments over a five day period. Paul sat with her helping her, but this time in a way that would not get Amy in trouble. As she completed the grading on each paper Paul proof-read Amy's work to make sure she stayed consistent. He separated any papers that deviated from the standards set by Burnside and by Amy's own criteria for grading, for her to re-grade. At first there were very few that needed to be revised, but as Amy became increasingly tired there were more. Paul's help became especially important after the fourth day, when Amy started to make mistakes due to lack of sleep. However, all he did was point out her mistakes. Paul was able to provide her with crucial assistance by doing so, but it was up to Amy to make the corrections.
Amy identified several suspect papers that she needed to check before returning to their authors. She separated them from the other papers. There were six altogether. Amy expected to find half of the originals herself, and would have to check with Burnside about the others.
On the fifth day Amy graded a paper that had language that was disturbingly familiar. The paper had been turned in by Paul's roommate, Alex. However the language in the paper was Paul's. Amy recognized the writing because she had read many things Paul had written, and was well aware that Paul had a very distinctive way of expressing his views. He used a lot of the professional jargon from his field, but also a lot of the language used by the Dependency School of International Development that he so admired. Amy decided not to ask her boyfriend about the paper. She would get the answers herself, and if need be, talk to Paul later.
Amy prepared one of the dreaded empty manila folders with a post-it note inside for Paul's roommate. In the classes Amy and Burnside passed out the graded papers and a total of five folders. Burnside had determined that one of the suspect papers had been honestly written, after checking the language from the student's midterm bluebook, which matched.
In class Amy approached Alex, holding the folder up in the air. She felt bad, because she did not know if Paul was involved in his roommate's paper. But as she handed the folder to Alex, she saw his face go pale. They exchanged looks, She let him know that she clearly was irritated by the uncomfortable situation he had placed her in. Amy took the folder back for a second, and wrote on the post-it note…
"See me before you go to Burnside."
Later that morning Alex showed up at Burnside's office. Burnside was teaching another class so Amy had some time to be alone with Alex. He was very nervous, and with good reason.
"Alex, close the door and sit down."
Amy got right to the point as soon as Alex was seated. She waved the paper in the air.
"Alex, did Paul have anything to do with this paper?"
"Amy, I don't understand. Why would Paul…"
"Look, I am not an idiot! Don't even try treating me like one! This is Paul's language! I think I ought to know, since I'm dating him! Alex, I can assure you that YOU are screwed! That's not the issue! I want to know about Paul! How did you get this paper?"
"Paul helped me. He suggested that I take a couple of papers he wrote and use them to write my own."
Amy felt sick. If that were true…
At lunch Amy confronted Paul. At first he seemed confused.
"Alex asked me to lend him some of my papers. He doesn't do good term papers and admitted that himself. I thought he just wanted to see how a paper was supposed to be written. I told him to let me look at his paper before turning it in, but he said he had already given it to Burnside"
"Well, look at this. Is this your paper?"
Paul thumbed through the paper. Amy could tell that from his expression that he was genuinely surprised.
"Actually, parts of three different papers of mine are in this one. Yes, this is my work. All of it's mine. I sure as hell didn't think he'd pull this when I lent him my papers, though."
Amy was relieved. She had wondered whether Paul had helped Alex cheat. She could tell by his reaction that he had not. He was genuinely upset.
That afternoon Paul went back to his apartment and looked into the history files of the computer he shared with Alex. He knew enough about computers to be able to retrieve deleted files. Scrolling through deleted term paper files, Paul made a very unpleasant discovery about his roommate.
Alex showed up later that afternoon at Amy's office. She glared at him with the exact same expression Burnside would have used. He fidgeted and looked at the floor. Amy got right to the point.
"Paul trusted you with his papers and you copied them and turned them in. Now answer, honestly. Is that what happened?"
"So Paul didn't tell you to use his papers for the class?"
"No. He wanted to read over my paper before I turned it in. I didn't let him, obviously. I'm sorry."
Amy was hugely relieved. Alex had confirmed what Paul had told her. "You don't owe me an apology. You owe an apology to Paul, and one to Dr. Burnside."
"What happens now?"
"Well, under university rules you would be expelled immediately. If you talk to Dr. Burnside I don't think that's what will happen, although you might wish that it had…I think I know what she'll do, but I can't tell you because I'm not 100% sure. After you talk to her, talk to me again before you say anything to Paul."
"Please, Amy, do I have to talk to Paul about this?"
"Oh yeah, you got to tell him. He'll know, no matter what. You'll see why."
Amy paused, then, once again giving Alex the same harsh look Burnside would give him, added…
"I expect you to tell Dr. Burnside what you did and why you were caught. I expect you to tell her that I caught you because I recognized Paul's language in the paper. I doubt that telling her that will make your situation any better, but you need to take responsibility for what you did."
Burnside showed up before Alex left. Amy got up to leave, since she had a class to go to. She grabbed her backpack and turned to Alex. "You might as well tell Dr. Burnside now."
When Amy returned to Burnside's office, Burnside was by herself, thumbing through a couple of professional journals she had just received.
Amy wanted to know about Paul's roommate.
"Alex will be your responsibility. You caught him. I didn't."
"What do you mean, Dr. Burnside?"
"You will decide his punishment. What happens to him is entirely up to you. You can kick him out of school, do nothing, have him host the Mardi Gras party, whatever. I will support any decision you make."
Amy thought for a moment. She did not like being put on the spot like this, but she realized what Burnside was doing. Burnside wanted Amy to assume greater responsibilities to prepare herself to teach. It was not hard for Amy to figure out what Alex's punishment would be. Amy would switch him, and he would host Burnside's party in the nude along with Wendy. That was standard punishment for anyone who cheated in Burnside's classes. There was no reason why Alex should be any different.
"Dr. Burnside, I need to ask you two favors."
"Let's hear them."
"I need a copy of your discipline contract, and I'll put my name on it. And I need you to teach me how to use your switch."
Burnside brought up her file on the computer. Amy changed Burnside's name to her own and printed the following:
I, __________, admit to having attempted to commit plagiarism on __________. I have read and fully understand this university's cheating policy, and am fully aware of the consequences for committing an act of plagiarism under the student code of ethics.
In lieu of disciplinary action from the university administration, I, __________, freely and willingly choose to accept the disciplinary alternative offered by my professor's student aide, Amy Debbs. I understand that upon completion of the disciplinary alternative to Ms. Debbs' satisfaction, I will continue my coursework and no further action will be taken against me.
Signed __________.
Later that afternoon Alex came back for a third time, very nervous. Amy handed him the contract.
"Here's the deal. You sign this and do what I tell you, or you get kicked out under the student code of ethics. That's your choice."
"What's going to happen if I sign?"
"Well, I'll tell you. You are going to go to Dr. Burnside's house and take off all your clothes the afternoon before Mardi Gras. I'm going to punish you on the bare bottom with a leather switch. I'll give you 16 strokes, 8 on each side. That's standard for guys. Girls get 14, seven on each side. After that you'll serve drinks at a party in the nude, 'till about 4:00 in the morning or so. There will be about a hundred people there, including Paul. After the party is over you'll help clean up, then you'll get dressed and go home. You'll have two weeks to re-write the paper and then the whole thing will be forgotten. That's what will happen if you sign. Now, if you don't sign, I'll turn the paper over to Dr. Burnside, who will forward it with a report about your cheating to the dean. You'll be expelled sometime next week."
Alex stared at Amy, stupefied. He looked stricken. He was pale and his hands shook. He filled in the agreement, signed it, and handed it back to Amy.
"Amy, please, isn't there any other way I can make this up?"
"Sure there is. You can get expelled and then check the want ads for a job. That's your choice."
Amy had to go to Burnside's house for the second favor, learning how to use the switch. Burnside decided to invite Amy for dinner. When Burnside saw a look of anticipation on Amy's face, she added that Amy should not consider this night one of the nights she would really talk to Wendy. The professor explained that Wendy's servitude would not be relaxed until after Mardi Gras, when Amy would start taking her out.
Going over to Burnside's house placed Amy in a very awkward position. She would see Wendy, and not see her, at the same time. In spite of the fact that Amy and Wendy had written each other almost continuously over the past two weeks, Burnside's servent would not be allowed to talk to her during the evening. She would serve Amy, just like she would serve anyone else. If Amy spoke to her, she would kneel and answer.
However, there was one important indication that Wendy's life would soon change. Burnside told Amy to bring a suitcase of her clothes. Wendy would be allowed out of the house in about two weeks, if everything was going well. She would be allowed to see her suitcase, and would know that her life would begin to return to normal shortly.
Amy went over to Burnside's house the evening before Mardi Gras. Wendy answered the door, standing behind it to not be visible to the street. She sadly looked Amy in the eyes, but did not say anything. It shocked Amy to have her friend right next to her, for the first time in nearly three months, and not be able to even say hello to her.
Even though Wendy already had written her that Burnside had beaten her much less than she expected, Amy was still surprised to see her friend's body with almost no marks on it. There were a few faint traces on her bottom from her most recent caning, and that was it.
Wendy's appearance had other surprises for Amy. Even though Amy knew that Burnside had shaved Wendy's head, it was still a bit of a shock to see her with short hair. Wendy's hair had since grown out somewhat, but it still was much shorter than she had ever worn it previously. The other surprise for Amy was her friend's physique. Wendy's arms and legs were muscular and toned from her daily exercise sessions, and Amy could see traces of muscle in her stomach. Wendy always had rather soft features, but nearly three months of brutal exercising had hardened her body considerably.
Wendy took Amy's coat and hung it up. She then gave a look of gratitude when she saw the suitcase. However, Burnside ordered her to take the suitcase to the master bedroom. It would be another two weeks or so before Wendy would be allowed to use anything in it.
Wendy then knelt near Burnside's favorite armchair, quietly waiting for her next set of orders. Her movements were quick and automatic. There was no hesitation, nor was there any modesty about being the only nude person in the room. She had been nude continuously for three months and by now was quite used to not wearing anything except her collar.
Burnside then ordered her servant to pull the leather spanking bench, or "horse" as she called it, into the middle of the living room. Wendy jumped up, quickly walked to a back room, and dragged the heavy piece of furniture into the living room. She positioned it close to a back wall, then resumed her kneeling position near Burnside's chair. Except for the glance she exchanged with Amy at the front door, Wendy seemed not to acknowledge Amy's presence in the house. Amy reflected that she would have to ask Wendy about that in her next letter.
"Wendy, I want you to finish getting dinner ready for me and Amy. Be ready to serve in 45 minutes."
"Yes, Dr. Burnside."
Wendy quickly got up and went into the kitchen.
Burnside then tied a large, hard sofa pillow to the leather bench, at the level where Alex's bottom would be tomorrow afternoon. She explained about positioning herself, how to swing for maximum effect and control, and how to hold the switch. She demonstrated several times, hitting the pillow hard. Amy followed Burnside's instructions as best she could, and struck hard at the pillow. She would be able to hit every bit as hard as the professor could hit, but with slightly less control. Burnside observed carefully what Amy was doing, repositioned her slightly, and had her strike the pillow again. This time was better.
"OK, trial run. Hit the pillow 16 times; eight on the left side, eight on the right."
WHUP!….WHUP!…WHUP!…WHUP!…WHUP!…WHUP!…WHUP!…WHUP!… Amy struck hard, and struck well. There was no question that Alex would be no better off being punished by Amy than he would be by Burnside.
Wendy brought the plates out and a bowl of salad. She poured wine for both the professor and her guest, even though Amy was still a few weeks away from turning 21. She seated Burnside, and then Amy. She filled the salad plates and took her position near the kitchen door. Wendy stood at parade rest, her feet spread shoulder-width apart, her hands clasped behind her back, her eyes looking straight ahead.
This was a surreal experience for Amy, seeing Wendy like this. She badly wanted her to sit down at the table, but realized that until Wendy had her collar off that would not happen. She thought about what she would write tomorrow. She had so many questions.
Burnside chatted about the upcoming Mardi Gras party. She would have a total of three students hosting including Wendy, Alex, and a sorority girl. Burnside had decided to simply flunk the others, because they had given her attitude when she confronted them about their papers. Wendy would be serving drinks the entire night. Alex and the sorority girl would be fixing drinks in the kitchen. Amy was curious about Dr. Halsey and last year's birthday spanking.
"What happens if Dr. Halsey wants to spank you again, Dr. Burnside?"
"Oh, he will. He's done it every year for the last 17 years. It'll be 42 swats, as much as I wish it wasn't. I can't get away from my birthday, as much as I'd like to."
During the rest of the dinner Burnside talked about a wide range of professional issues, including her feelings about CNBC and the stock market, Europe, and scholarships. She moved to describing her vision of what she thought a capitalist system should be like. Then the wine went to her head a little, and her opinions became a bit looser. Burnside dismissed the current US leaders as idiots. As far as she was concerned, neither Bush nor Clinton, nor anyone in Congress, had any value as a leader.
"We are a dying nation. Any society capable of electing that idiot Clinton, and then right after him that pathetic corporate puppet Bush, deserves to die, and die quickly."
Burnside seemed to admire the Europeans much more. Amy said nothing. From what Paul had told her about France, it seemed to Amy that the Europeans were just as bad, or worse.
Amy got to see a different side of the professor, Burnside the idealist. This is totally bizarre, thought Amy.
Amy wondered about Wendy, as she quietly stood only a few feet away. What was going on in her mind right now, as she listened to Burnside pontificate about her vision of capitalism and her disdain of the country's leaders? Oh well. Another question for Wendy in tomorrow's letter.
Again Wendy's sad eyes met Amy's as she left Burnside's house. Amy felt sorry for her friend, knowing that she would be serving drinks all night tomorrow in the nude. She had chosen this fate for herself, however. She was here because she wanted to be here.
Amy met with Paul late that night. She was not in the mood for sex, nor was he. They had not talked to each other since Amy had confronted Alex the first time. Paul was so infuriated with Alex that he was not speaking to him. They both had to talk that night, Amy about Wendy and Paul about Alex.
Amy started with describing the surreal experience she had at Burnside's table, listening to her professor lash out at Democrats and Republicans alike while Wendy stood, silent and naked, only a few feet away. Then she described her confrontation with Alex, and Burnside's tutoring her with the proper use of the dreaded leather switch.
Paul described what happened with Alex from his end. Alex at first told him a censored version of what had happened with Amy and Burnside. Paul responded by showing his roommate the deleted file of his paper on their computer. He made Alex watch as he brought it up on the screen. Paul printed it, then went through the computer's history files to find and retrieve Alex's other recent term papers. In doing so Paul let Alex know that he had found out that this had not been the first time Alex had plagiarized Paul's work. Alex went white as the deleted papers appeared. He printed the other papers. Then he simply got up and left the room. He had nothing more to say.
Paul did have a final comment.
"As far as I'm concerned, you can treat him like Lisa treated that frat boy last year. I don't care. I'm as pissed at him as you were with Wendy when she tried to steal your credit card."
Amy e-mailed Burnside later that night.
Dr. Burnside. Alex will get a bit more from me than 16 strokes from the switch tomorrow. He copied Paul's work several other times that he didn't know about. Paul is really pissed at him. – Debbs -
Amy, what you do to him is at your discretion. I told you that I will support whatever decision you make about his discipline. – Burnside -
Amy, once again dressed in her nurse's outfit, complete with her accessories, arrived at Burnside's house early. As before, she was not wearing any underwear, in spite of the tendency of her short skirt to ride up around her hips whenever she moved about. She would constantly have to be pushing it down and readjusting it, but she could not resist the daring sensation wearing that skirt with nothing underneath always gave her.
Amy arrived alone, telling Paul to join up with her later. Wendy let her in, and again looked into her eyes with a sad expression. She already was wearing the metal cuffs and temporary tattoos of Burnside's servant uniform. Her pubic hair was shaved. Because Wendy's hair was still very short, Burnside made her wear a maid's cap. The only thing missing were welts on her bottom. Wendy had not cheated and thus Burnside had no reason to punish her. Amy had written her a long letter with her questions and laid it on her desk in the guest bedroom.
The sorority girl Burnside had mentioned was there as well, leaning against the leather spanking bench and crying quietly. Like Wendy she was naked, shaved, and wearing the cuffs and tattoos of the servant uniform. Burnside had punished her just before Amy came over. Amy glanced at her. She had the typical stupid-looking appearance of a sorority type, but at least she was smart enough to do what was necessary to stay in school.
Burnside had not changed yet; she was still in sweats. When Amy came out of Wendy's room the professor handed her a paper shopping bag for Alex's clothes. She then took Wendy and the sorority girl back to the kitchen to help with the food and drinks.
The doorbell rang. Amy opened it and faced Alex. Reluctantly he came in. Amy looked at him coldly.
"I have something to say to you. I talked to Paul last night. He told me about the other papers. You lied to me, and you used Paul. You're gonna pay for all that. Get your clothes off."
Alex reluctantly took his clothes off. Like Paul, he had an attractive body. He stood in front of Amy, trying to cover himself, while she stuffed his clothes in the paper bag. She motioned him to follow her to the bathroom. She picked up a razor and a can of shaving cream.
"Shave. All your pubic hair and what's on your ass. Get it off."
Alex looked at Amy with embarrassment, waiting for her to leave.
"I'm not going anywhere. I get to watch. Come-on. Get started."
Alex lathered his pubic hair. His hands shook as he started to shave. It was obvious that he would not be able to do it properly without slashing himself to bits. Amy rolled her eyes.
"Give it up, Alex. I'll do it. Put your hands on your head and put your feet apart…Now stand straight."
Alex gasped with embarrassment as he forced his hands behind his head. Amy turned on the bath water, and then shaved around the edges of his pubic hair, working her way towards his penis. She grabbed his penis, pushing it to either side as she shaved near the base. He grew hard from having her hands touch and massage him. Amy pulled the skin tight on his testicles and proceeded to clear the area around his scrotum.
"Bend over. Grab your ass cheeks and spread 'em." Amy lathered the area around his bottom-hole and quickly shaved it clean. Alex, bent over, his roommate's girlfriend shaving him, was sick from the embarrassment of what was happening.
"Alex, stand up and look me in the eye."
Alex stood up. He had a furious erection, adding to his humiliation. Reluctantly his eyes met Amy's. Amy stared at him coldly.
"I shouldn't have had to shave you and I don't appreciate it. There's no reason why you couldn't have done it yourself. And on top of everything else you're getting off on it. That's disgusting."
With that Amy directed Alex to finish cleaning himself off. He dried himself and Amy led him back into the living room, his penis still sticking straight out. She put the metal cuffs and temporary tattoos on his arms and legs, while Burnside, Wendy, and the other hostess watched. Amy clipped Alex's hands behind his back and turned him to face the three women, with his erection pointing straight at them.
"Alex, I put your hands behind your back because I don't want you trying to cover up. Now, when you are ready to behave and keep your hands at your sides, I'll take your cuffs off."
"I'll try, Amy. Please."
Amy unhooked Alex's cuffs. She turned to the sorority girl.
"What's your name?"
"Heather. Yeah, that name fits you. You look like a Heather. OK, Heather, get a pair of medical gloves and put them on."
Heather did so, quickly. Amy realized that Heather knew how to use medical gloves. It turned out that she was a pre-Med student. Suddenly Amy's plans changed. That was not good news for Alex. Amy asked to see Burnside in private.
Burnside sent the three hosts to the kitchen. Amy then asked if Burnside if she had another nurse's dress. Of course, responded Burnside, she often punished her lovers wearing nursing outfits. Amy asked Burnside to lend Heather a nurse's dress and for her to be able to wear it that evening. When Burnside handed Amy a dress and a matching cap and shoes, Amy told the professor the rest of her plans. Her idea included a huge break for Heather. Amy wanted her to be excused from having to serve in the nude. She would instead wear the nursing outfit at the party, in exchange for doing something truly wicked to Alex. When Burnside heard Amy's plans she was a bit surprised and very impressed. Oh, yeah, Amy looked so sweet and innocent. She wasn't.
Amy then took Heather into the bathroom. The girl's face lit up when Amy handed her the white dress.
"I can wear this? I don't have to be…"
"I'm giving you a break, Heather. Now you owe me. You, me, and Alex are going to put on a little demonstration for the benefit of the party tonight."
"Sure, Amy, whatever you want! Oh, thanks!"
"You still need to help with the drinks. But I'll need you and your medical expertise about half-way through the party."
Heather and Amy came out the bathroom; Heather now dressed in a standard nurse's dress. She was so relieved that she had forgotten about her recent switching. Alex and Wendy looked at her, wondering what was going on.
Amy suddenly realized she could make this even worse for Alex, and in doing so give Wendy a break as well. Her professor agreed, and sent Wendy into the master bedroom to put on a nurse's dress. Wendy, elated, rushed to Burnside's closet. It was the first time she was allowed to wear anything for almost three months. The dress fit loosely on her small body, but she didn't care. Wendy came out and stood next to Heather, both of them in white nurses' dresses with relieved expressions. Burnside stood off to one side, still dressed in her sweatsuit. Now Alex was the only nude person in the room. He would be the only nude servant at the party.
The next step was Alex's switching. Originally Amy had planned to paddle him as well, but with her new plans decided not to. She thought about giving him extra strokes with the switch, but again, with her new plans, decided to give Alex a "break". He would get his allotted 16. Then he could choose to get more, or accept an "alternative punishment".
Amy ordered Alex over the leather bench. She ordered him to spread his legs and grab the legs on the other side with his hands. She studied the backs of his testicles and his anus, thinking about the attention that secret opening would receive later that night, when the room was full of people.
Amy did not clip Alex's cuffs to the legs of the bench. She crouched in front of him, near his face. He looked at her, his eyes full of humiliation and fear. He was dumbfounded that Paul's girlfriend, of all people, was doing this to him.
"I'm going to start with 16 strokes on your bottom. A year and a half ago I took 14 strokes, in the same position, and did not get up or cry. I expect the same from you. I expect you to be brave, to be still, and to be quiet. If I have to hook you to this bench, I will double your punishment."
With that Amy stood up, picked up the switch, measured her distance, and tapped Alex's left bottom-cheek just above his thigh. She drew her arm back and swung sharply at Alex's bottom. The switch made its familiar whoosh and a reddish line instantly appeared at the base of the right bottom-cheek. Alex gasped and groaned slightly. This hurt far more than he expected. He never expected that Paul's girlfriend, of all people could…
The switch descended again, breaking into Alex's thoughts. He gasped again. The pain was brutal. How could he stand 14 more of these? Yet, if he moved, Amy told him he would get double, 32…
Amy tightened her lips and struck again, slightly above the first two strokes. Wendy and Heather looked at each other nervously. Wendy had endured punishments far more serious than what Alex was enduring, but it astonished her to see Amy punish someone every bit as cruelly as Burnside could. She flinched slightly every time the switch landed on Alex's bottom. Heather was equally surprised at the viciousness of Amy's strokes. Burnside watched her student with approval and pride. She had taught Amy well.
Amy struck Alex a fourth time. He gritted his teeth and gasped, making a real effort to hold back the tears. Amy paused to study the four lines marking the lower part of his left bottom cheek.
She changed sides, and laid the fifth stroke at the base of Alex's right bottom cheek. He grunted harder. Amy thought she heard "Oh fuck!" under his breath. She slashed again. He gasped yet again. She noticed dark droplets on the carpeting under Alex's face. He was starting to cry. Amy hit Alex two more times on the right, then stepped back to study her work. The last of her strokes were still rising and turning dark. Her subject had eight even strokes on the lower part of his bottom. He was breathing heavily, but making every effort not to make any noise. Amy felt for him, because she had done the same thing when Burnside had punished her, now more than a year ago.
"Alex, you lied to me about Paul. You could've fucked up our relationship, and obviously you didn't care. I don't appreciate that."
With that comment Amy struck hard, right in the middle of Alex's left bottom cheek. He grunted louder. Amy struck again, just above her last stroke. Quickly she laid on the two final strokes that completed the eight on Alex's left side.
"OK, Alex, just four more to go with this portion of your punishment."
Alex was in too much pain to appreciate the words "this portion". His knuckles were white from grabbing the bench. He was trying very hard not to scream or cry and make a fool out of himself.
Amy switched sides again and started on the final set on his right bottom cheek. Slowly she worked her way up his bottom with her final four strokes, enjoying the sight of the darkening lines and his flinching skin as it bounced from each stroke. Amy admired Alex for not screaming. It excited her to see him struggle to stay quiet. Amy was different from Burnside in this aspect. Burnside became aroused when a victim started screaming, while Amy was excited by watching a person struggle to maintain self-control during a punishment.
Amy finished and told Alex to stand up. His face was distorted from the pain and effort he was making not to scream or cry. Still, tears were running down his face. His hands immediately went to his bottom, but quickly went off again as he realized that the welts would not bear any pressure.
"Put your hands on the bench so we can have a look at you."
Alex complied, and then Amy noticed his body shaking slightly with sobs. So she had gotten him to cry after all.
Burnside walked up to Alex.
"You under-estimated Amy, didn't you? Didn't think she could do that to you, did you?"
"Y…yes…Dr. Burnside."
Now came Amy's plan. Burnside knew it already. Heather and Wendy did not.
"Alex, go ahead and bend back over that bench. I need to get started on the next set of strokes."
Between gasps and tears Alex, turned around.
"What…next set? You said 16…I'm done."
"For cheating on the term paper, yes, you're done. But then there's the fact you lied to me about Paul. That's another 16, over the ones you've had already. And Paul told me that you plagiarized some of his other stuff as well. That's another 16."
"Amy, you can't do that. You said 16…"
"Well, you signed the agreement that your disciplinary alternative would be to my satisfaction. As far as I'm concerned you've been disciplined for the midterm. But there's still the lie about Paul and the other papers. Both are just as bad. So, you get two more sessions with the switch."
"Dr. Burnside, please! I…"
"Don't look at me, Alex. I agree with Amy. You fucked up. If it were up to me I'd use a whip. Get a little blood out of you."
There was no escape for Alex. He looked at the bench, then at Amy.
"Amy, please! Can't you do something else? Anything?"
"Like what, Alex? How else am I going to punish you if it isn't with this switch?"
"Please! Anything! Something else! I can't stand it again!"
Amy exchanged glances with Wendy. She knew that Wendy had endured 70 strokes with this switch, and here Alex was, whining about just 16.
"OK. I'll stop at 16 strokes. I'll punish you a bit later, but I won't hit your ass anymore. However, you'll do what I tell you, when I am ready to punish you."
Chapter 28 — Epilogue
Ruth Burnside did not return to her classes in the fall. Being one of the first voices against the abuses being committed in the stock market, several Illinois state legislators decided to nominate her to lead a commission studying the effects of the recent corporate scandals on state pension and school funds. Burnside, in her new role, was vicious to anyone who tried to avoid telling her the truth. CEO's were afraid of the former professor and her ability to remember their words and twist confessions out of them. Burnside was noticed in Washington, and before long started testifying before Congress. The Illinois congressional delegation asked her to lead several national-level investigations. Finally, her position became permanent and she answered directly to Congress. In London, Amy felt real pride when she read the following article:
Illinois securities investigator to head SEC probes.
Controversial Illinois securities investigator, Dr. Ruth Burnside, will lead a series of probes into alleged insider trading at the national level. The former Chicago economics professor was appointed to her current position over the objections of several major corporations. Dr. Burnside, nicknamed 'Ruthless' Burnside, is credited with the recovery of $ 65 million for Illinois pension funds from several current and former CEO's. She has been widely praised for her meticulous investigations and knowledge of the Internet. However, she also has drawn criticism for her confrontational tactics. 'Yes, I confront' said the former professor in a recent interview. 'I go for the throat. I don't have time to deal with people's bull**** and lies. I want the truth, and I want it now. And if they can't remember, well, I make them remember. That's the point of investigating first and doing your homework.' Several Illinois representatives expressed their hope that the Dr. Burnside can accomplish the same results at the national level that she accomplished in Illinois…
Burnside's enemies researched her past, which turned out to be quite scandalous. They allowed rumors about her to circulate on the Hill, hoping to turn her into an embarrassment for the congressmen who had nominated her and voted for her. Finally a couple of House members, on behalf of their corporate backers, raised the issue of Burnside's moral character in committee. There were dark stories of parties in Chicago and multiple lovers, men and women. Burnside, in front of 30 House members and several reporters, momentarily shocked Washington by doing something unheard of, telling the truth. Glaring at her critics with her typical cold stare she said…
"You are asking me about my morality, and you mean my sexual morality to be specific. If you believe my sex life is relevant to the investigations I am conducting, Mr. Representative, then I will be happy to answer. Let's get the issue on the table, consider it, and move on."
Burnside then surprised the committee by pulling out her stack of underground magazines. She passed them to a congressional staff member who turned them over to the committee.
"I'm giving you some of my writings on my sexual preferences. There's a couple of stories, and the other pieces are opinion columns. I tabbed the articles for you. It doesn't seem to me that your quote, investigation, unquote, turned these up, even though they're publications. I believe that some of your questions will be answered in these articles. It'll save me from having to talk so much."
The committee clearly was caught off-guard. They had expected to slowly pick Burnside apart, to listen to her denials and then refute them with overwhelming evidence. Instead, Burnside had taken the offensive. She smiled internally as she contemplated the stacks of folders her critics had in front of them, all evidence against her, so it seemed. Burnside's next statement rendered most of that material useless.
"If I may continue, I have three issues in my life which have been the source of the rumors about me. First, I love sex. I have had many lovers, including women. I don't deny that. Second, I am into fetish. I wear leather outfits at costume parties and beat people's asses. I don't deny that. Third, I bore an illegitimate child, and gave her up for adoption. It is because of my love of sex and a moment of personal irresponsibility that I became pregnant, while on active duty in the Navy. I do not know who my child's father was, because I had three lovers at the time. I paid for my mistake by having a daughter I could not keep. I don't deny that. I accepted responsibility for my actions, and did what I felt was best for myself and the child at the time."
"Now, Mr. Representative, if you wish to explore my sexual life further, I would ask you to first explain how what I do with my sexual partners influences economic policy. If I understand how my personal life relates to the corporate abuses I am investigating, I will be glad to answer any questions you chose to ask."
With that Burnside's eyes bore into her critic. The cameras flashed at both her and the panel.
"Ms. Burnside! I am asking the questions here, not you!"
"Excuse me, Mr. Representative. I have a doctorate. I would appreciate it if you'd refer to me by my proper title. Again I ask you to explain to me, and to the public please, why you need this information on my personal life, and then I will answer…" she concluded with a cold, sarcastic smile "…in all the detail you want."
The Representative suddenly began to sweat. "Uh…well, Dr. Burnside, I am trying to determine whether you have the moral character to question others. I think that is as good a reason as any…"
"I have the moral character to have tried to tell people the truth about what was happening with the IPO's. I was right, and had anyone listened, a lot of investors would still have their money. I had the moral character not to care about my popularity when I saw what was going to happen to telecommunications. People did not like me because I told the truth as I saw it, but subsequent events proved me right. That is how I got here in the first place. As for my personal life, I have the moral character to not be ashamed of anything I have done. Most of it's there in those magazines. Read it, and then tell me if I've done anything other than exercise my freedom as an American citizen."
Burnside's answers made headlines for a day. There was no further point in dredging up the sorted details of her life. She exposed them herself and was somewhat "in your face" about her presumed moral shortcomings. She was perfectly willing to answer any question posed to her, as long as the questioner could explain why her sex life was relevant. The problem for Burnside's critics was that her sexual life was not relevant to anything, and the public knew it. Had she attempted to hide anything, her critics could have taken her down in a heartbeat. However, there was no point investigating facts that Burnside herself was quite open about. She could not be intimidated or blackmailed.
Burnside kept her job in Washington, although from that point forward cartoonists usually portrayed her in black, wielding a whip. She became a rogue hero for thousands of investors who had lost their money in the recent stock crashes. She also became a convenient political lighting rod and lurched from fight to fight and controversy to controversy, loving every minute of it.
A year went by. Amy and Paul had rough lives for different reasons.
Paul 's time in the Army started with nine very unpleasant weeks in the late summer heat of central Missouri, being shouted at by drill sergeants who had barely finished high school. In Basic Training Paul had a rude shock. He had to accept the fact that no matter how smart he was in college and in his outside world, in the Army he was no better than anyone else. He had to learn to march, to shoot, to crawl, and to polish floors from scratch. His college education was of no use to him, other than getting him a higher rank and thus more visibility with the drill sergeants, something he did not want at that point in his life.
After Basic Training Paul studied communications and then went to Monterey, California, to study Spanish. He enjoyed Monterey. Paul had expected that his entire year would be difficult, but once Basic Training was out of the way, his day-to-day existence became quite pleasant. On his free weekends he occasionally rented a car and drove along the California Coast, enjoying the spectacular scenery and rocky beaches.
Amy studied continuously in London. She had to give up exercising and put on 15 pounds during her year there. She continuously had to prove herself to her European classmates and professors. Because they looked down upon her for being an American, Amy was forced to be the best and the most diligent in her classes to earn the respect of the others. In the end she managed to impress everyone she came across. She acquired a long list of contacts and references, as well as a comprehensive understanding of the European economic situation. Her knowledge gave her the topics and much of the research she later used to write both her Master's thesis and dissertation in the years to come. She saw very little of Europe, other than the places she went to attend seminars. Burnside had been right in telling her this would not be a fun trip.
It would have been nice to say that Amy and Paul were loyal to their relationship during their time apart, but that was not true for either of them. They were two young, lonely people with healthy bodies that rebelled against their isolation.
In London Amy had two brief relationships. In the end, however, she was not attracted to British men because they all smoked. When in high school Amy herself had smoked, but was forced to quit when she and Courtney ran out of money in Detroit. Like many ex-smokers, she was sensitive to cigarette smoke and it made her sick. Kissing someone with cigarette smoke on his breath disgusted Amy. She could not handle the smell of tobacco on her lovers, and was alone when her time in London ended.
Paul's infidelity was more serious. He did not expect to be tempted while in the Army. However, in Monterey there was a short, attractive Hispanic private with the last name Padilla, from the nearby town of Salinas. Padilla was just out of high school and had enlisted in the Regular Army. She had her pick of the guys in Monterey, but she liked Paul because he was different from the others. Paul was attracted to her immediately. They went out into Monterey and to Padilla's home in Salinas, where Paul met her family and ate Mexican food. Padilla's long black hair and dark body fascinated him. For a long time he forgot all about Amy, except to answer her letters. About three months before his time in Monterey ended, he came very close to writing Amy to tell her that their relationship had ended. He decided to wait, and ultimately was very glad he did.
Padilla finished her language studies and was attached to a unit in Germany. Now Paul had two long-distance relationships he was trying to maintain. However, with both Amy and Padilla at a distance, Paul could look at them clearly and realized that it was Amy who was in his future, not Padilla. Amy was just about to come back, whereas Padilla had just left. Paul's second thoughts about Padilla were confirmed only a month after she left for Germany, when she wrote him a "Dear John" letter. The letter did not upset Paul at all. It was a huge relief to him that the issue of Amy and Padilla was settled.
Paul made it back to Pennsylvania only a day before Amy got back to Chicago. He drove overnight to be at O'Hare in time to see her get off the plane, not even having time to change out of his uniform. He met up with Robert and a very-pregnant Suzanne at the airport.
When Amy got off the plane she was not looking her best. She was out of shape from not having worked out, pale from having spent most of the past year indoors, and tired from the flight. Paul on the other hand, looked great in his uniform and from having been on active duty for a year. They embraced, but Paul's surprise at Amy's appearance and Amy's disorientation at seeing Paul in a uniform indicated that there were difficult times ahead for them. They realized that they had become strangers.
Amy temporarily stayed with Robert and Suzanne, but ultimately had to find a place closer to the university, as did Paul. It would have seemed logical that Amy and Paul would live together, but they decided not to. They had to start their relationship from scratch and get to know each other all over again. Paul finally moved in with another Reservist from his unit and Amy rented her own apartment with some of her modeling money.
Paul and Amy did not realize how difficult getting back together would be. At the beginning they felt very awkward around each other. They had spent a year apart, experiencing totally different things in life. Their lives had changed. The old landmarks in their lives were gone and they had to establish new ones. They even decided to put off having sex, until they could re-establish the other parts of their relationship.
Over time Paul and Amy spent more and more time with each other and gradually the old feelings came back. It was a slow process, but they were determined to put the past year behind them and make their relationship work, if at all possible. They began by returning to the university gym. Amy was in horrible physical shape in comparison with how she had been a year ago. Like her relationship with Paul, she had to restore her workout routine from scratch. She felt intimidated by Paul's fitness and her own flabbiness. However, Paul was patient with her in the gym and gradually Amy began to tone her body again. They went out to different campus activities and foreign movies. Amy was able to get Paul caught up on events in Europe.
Amy's feelings towards Paul finally recovered when she went through reverse culture shock about two months after getting back. Paul's experience in France came in handy to help him understand what Amy was going through. When Amy wanted to talk about Britain, he was there to listen, and could make comparisons with his time in France. Paul was the only person who understood Amy at that point in her life, since neither Robert nor Suzanne had lived abroad.
Amy and Paul spent Thanksgiving apart, mostly because Amy needed to spend time with Suzanne. Amy went to Robert and Suzanne's apartment for Thanksgiving dinner while Paul went back to Pennsylvania. When dinner was over Robert had to take off to his office and meet up with his two partners. The appeal for his huge liability case was looming, a case which had captured national attention and had turned into a major class-action litigation battle.
Robert's absence gave Amy and Suzanne the chance to spend some badly needed time together. It was the first chance that Amy had to talk at length to her since coming back. Suzanne took a couple of portraits of Amy and they talked about Amy modeling again once she finished getting back into shape. Suzanne then excused herself to dig out the collections of pictures she had taken with new models over the past year to show Amy. Momentarily alone, Amy looked out the dining room window.
Suddenly Suzanne's baby began to protest having been put down in his crib. Amy picked up the newest member of the Johnson family and walked back to the window. As she looked into the child's face she thought about her life's strange journey, and how different she was from whom she had been the first day she stood at this window, now almost four years ago.
Suzanne came back out with a couple of portfolios. She saw Amy holding her son, and joined her friend at the window. For a long time they stood together in silence, neither wanting to be the first to speak. They looked at the baby asleep in Amy's arms, content to share this quiet moment with each other.
By Christmas vacation Amy and Paul finally had re-established the love and passion they had felt for each other before Amy went to London and Paul went in the Army. The final step was for each of them to come clean about the relationships they had the year they were apart. Somehow each was comforted that the other had been unfaithful, since they both had been struggling with guilt over their outside relationships. Amy and Paul each had faults and weaknesses, but now they could admit that about themselves and concentrate on what was really important. What mattered was that they could put their pasts behind them and look forward to the future with each other.
The fall semester ended. Only one more to go, and then they would graduate, both of them in May.
Amy went to Paul's house for Christmas. She had not seen his family for a year and a half. There were changes in the household, all of which she was glad to see. The most important change Amy noticed was in Paul's sister Julie. She now was over half-way through the degree she needed to get a teaching certificate. Besides her studies, Julie had a part-time job at a day-care center. Amy had changed Julie's life, first by motivating her to study, then by forcing Paul to help her that one critical semester with the money from the clothing shoot. At her young age Amy had the satisfaction of having influenced at least one person's life in a very positive way.
After Christmas dinner Julie wanted Amy to pose for a picture with Paul's nephew, who now was almost six. Then Paul took a picture of Amy and Julie together. Amy realized that she no longer was alone in the world. She had lost her family, but eventually would become part of another. She had a future with Paul and would enjoy the companionship of likable in-laws. Amy knew that eventually she and Paul would have children of their own, although that would not be for a while. Graduate school lay ahead for both of them, as did the beginnings of their careers and spending a lot of time doing fun things together.
Later in the afternoon Paul and Amy walked through his desolate town, holding hands. It was a bleak overcast day in a bleak empty town, yet her surroundings did not depress Amy in the least. She was immensely happy. She knew that a pleasant, fulfilling life lay ahead of her. Amy felt a deep satisfaction that her wanderings were far from over, and that she alone would determine where those wanderings would take her.
"'I mean Rrrolex time.'" I mocked under my breath, rolling my 'R' with a sneer.
I was watching the face of the idiotic adornment, the knocker on Dagmar's door in my hand and raised. I brought it down on its striker precisely when the sweeping hand notched over the '12′ at nine o'clock sharp, repeating a few times before standing back, my hands clasped behind me as I looked aimlessly down the hall with a smirk at my little personal stunt.
She opened the door, wearing the business version of the 'little black dress'. My smirk was wiped off my face entirely as I took in how it looked so good while being decent and properly business like at the same time.
She walked into the hall, closing her door and looking at me with a smirk of her own, hair down and beautiful, gold earrings and necklace matching the double row of gold buttons running down to the hem from under those great tits.
"I thought you'd like this outfit."
She took my arm and we walked down the hall to the elevator.
"I want you obedient tonight, boy. You do what I tell you when I tell you, got that?"
"Yes.", I answered, remembering my earlier misgivings about this evening and glad for the leftover buzz from the whiskey.
"Just follow my lead and don't speak unless I ask you a question. Do well, and you'll be nicely rewarded for all of the little things you've done right here and there."
"Right.", I acknowledged nervously.
She didn't speak again until we were on the elevator car and going down.
"Also, I expect you to be attentive in case things get hairy. Nothing you can't handle, boy, don't fret."
"O-kaaay.", I said, fretting.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I- Yes, Mistress, I'll be on the ball."
"That's what I like to hear. Go on ahead and bring the car to the curb while I wait in the lobby. You will then come in and get me and take me to the car."
These things done, I was pulling out into the evening sun, headed North as instructed from my back seated passenger.
"Uhhh,…", I stammered, "should I grab the tire iron or something?"
"God, no. I told you it won't be anything you can't handle. Anyway, I'll be there, so just do what a good dog would do if our host can't contain himself, but I really doubt it will come to that, so again, don't worry.", she explained tersely.
Having to be happy with that, I drove for blocks in the mindless, 'stop-and-go-nowhere' traffic of uptown Toronto for a while. I would glance at her in the rearview mirror, seeing a very officious, but beautiful female passenger. It was like being the driver for the female dictator of some little banana republic as she looked straight ahead, as though she could already see our destination and was in the process of drawing up a mental list of grievances. Finally, she directed me to the highway.
"Going a bit fast, aren't we?"
" … Better?" I asked, dropping some speed and looking woefully at the Caddy up ahead that I was stalking.
" … I uhh, I googled the term 'vanilla'."
"Oh, you did, did you? And pray tell, what did you find?"
I glanced in the mirror to find her looking at me now.
"A lot of stuff. A whole lotta stuff. Including a couple of videos I'd rather not even describe."
"I wish you hadn't done that. I should have modified your internet settings. In any case, what videos do you mean? Describe them."
(dammit, I just told her I'd rather not describe them!)
"Well,… This guy with his bag,… tied to the floor and trying to stand up like this woman was telling him."
"And, uhhh,… this woman,… She had a strap-on and she was,… You know."
" … "Fucking him with it.", I said exasperatedly.
"His mouth?"
"She was fucking his ass, there I said it! Look,… you're not gonna do any of that Dominatrix stuff to me, are you?"
"See, that's why I wish you hadn't done that. Listen up, boy: First of all, I am not a Dominatrix. Never call me that. A Dominatrix is some stupid tramp who collects ten dollars per hour to smack some broken moron's ass with a flogger. I am a Domina, if you must use some term. I am what those silly tarts can't even properly pretend to be. And no, I have no intentions of abusing you in those ways."
"That's a relief", I noted.
"As your proper Dominant, I am your owner and therefore responsible for you. Abusing my belongings, or those I'm responsible for, is not a wise application of my resources and women who do that as a matter of course to their male submissives are weak. They fear and resent men and must completely emasculate them in order to feel some false sense of power, to feel like a woman. They are not true Dominants and what good is a broken man to anyone, anyhow? What was your opinion of the male subs you saw going through these things?"
"I kept wondering how they'd see a man in the mirror the next morning." I answered.
Dagmar chuckled softly at this. "They were probably never men to begin with. Just some over sexed reject who wants to get off in a new and kinky way, or someone who has no will, no spirit, no,… true Humanity. They're no more a proper submissive than their so-called Dominants and both are equally pathetic. No, I don't need or want to emasculate you like that, I want your spirit intact, your mind on me, and your will under my control. Not only are you more useful to me in this way, but you're also a lot more fun to toy with."
"Is that why you call me a 'wilder'?"
"Exactly. a submissive core with learned Dominant traits. What could be better for me? Sometimes I wish I could have gotten hold of you when you started grade seven."
"Uhh,… What?"
"Get your mind out of the gutter, I simply meant that it would have been nice to mould you for my later use. But, then you wouldn't be the fun you are now, would you? And you're still young enough to learn, in fact I think you've been learning,… somewhat well. A credit to my direction, although I do admit that I never expected this ah, sometimes familiar rapport between us."
"People like me; what can I say?" I quipped dryly, actually getting a laugh.
"People don't even see you."
I didn't answer to this insulting fact. It never bothered me as long as people weren't pointing it out like that.
"Kelly was quite popular." she noted. "Did you see all the little stuffed animals and offerings and people standing around crying out on the sidewalk?"
"Do you think anybody would have done those things had it been you that got killed there?"
"I suppose not. How about yourself?"
" … No. Does it bother you?"
"No. I think I'd have bigger fish to fry at that point. I mean, I'd be dead,… right?"
Some moments went by before I heard that soft chuckle from the back seat. I suddenly felt her hand lightly patting the side of my neck twice before sliding seductively away.
"Good boy. See, that's your value to me, that is the wisdom in keeping your spirit intact. Why have we sped up again and why are we following that silver car?"
"Oops, sorry, Mistress." I said, slowing down.
"I asked you a question, boy."
"Umm, well I was just,… well it's a Caddy.", I laughed awkwardly.
"Take the next exit. So it's a Caddy, so what?"
"Well, it's a big sport sedan like this is, you know. Um, it's a market competitor."
I sighed and just came out with it as I worked my way over and into the collector.
"I was just haunting him. This car will pulverize any Caddy and I just wanted to intimidate him. Sorry, force of habit."
"Hm. You need a haircut, get one. A nice short one, not buzzed, but nice and neat."
"Yes, Mistress."
"Do you ever use turn signals? I'd rather not be stopped by the police."
"Sorry, Mistress."
The rest of the trip was spent listening to 'El Presidante' pontificate about the proper time to use turn signals, how soon they should be activated before a turn and deactivated afterward if necessary in every conceivable situation. Sometimes she'd interrupt herself with directions to the impressive home in an upscale Scarborough neighborhood.
I parked at the curb as directed and got out, striding around to the other side to let her out as well. We walked right up to the front door where I rang the bell as told, then stood waiting on the brick step with her in the gathering darkness until the door opened.
A soft looking, slightly portly man in a black tux who might have been in his late forties stood in the threshold. He was one of those guys that guys like me just don't like on sight, a high feeling jackass who looked like a sports caster or some ex jock. He was a bit short and almost poured into the tux he was wearing, making it fit more like a leisure suit, and his dark, beady eyes seemed all alone beneath the buzzed, rapidly receding hairline. His nose was easily the most prominent feature that belied his personality, a beak like protrusion that seemed to gather information for all five senses as his face aimed it from one of us to the other.
"Hello, Bryan." Dagmar greeted politely, yet with an aloof quality befitting her dress.
He only looked back, obviously trying to place her with a wary, almost paranoid look in his eye, slowly shaking his head and saying, "I don't think we've met,…"
"We have. Dagmar Alejandro, one of your investors. I know everything."
With that, she walked right past him and inside, even brushing him aside with the back of her hand and forearm as she went. I couldn't believe it and neither could this 'Bryan' person, but I had to follow her. She told me to follow her lead, so what else could I do?
"Hey.", I greeted on my way by, shooting an uncomfortable nod.
I found myself in a large entry, just catching Dagmar's nice round ass going around a corner to the left. I caught up in time to see her settling it into a Queen Anne loveseat in a large, quite impressive sitting room. Across from her was a matching couch, between and at the end, two matching, wing backed chairs with a small, round table between them. She looked at me, then looked pointedly to the nearby chair before she spoke.
"Get me a cognac and sit down, Bryan. Let's talk about your future."
I crossed the ceramic tile floor and sat, looking at Bryan, who was standing just inside the room, staring at her. He was obviously scared, even worse, Dagmar's nerve in doing what she did really had him off guard, yet I just knew he'd say something like-
"What in hell is going on here!? Who do you think you are!?"
"I think I'm someone who has invested a tidy sum of money with you, along with many others, as it turns out."
"Yeah, I remember you now, so what!? That gives you the right to come into my home and order me around like it's yours!?"
"I'm glad you asked." she said, completely at ease. "It all started with Bernie Madoff and a few other notables in the news. Naturally, I remembered you and I got to wondering. So I hired a team of investigators, handpicked by yours truly, and after reviewing their findings,… Well, like I told you, I know everything. Now get me that drink and sit down."
This was getting interesting pretty quickly. Bryan's jaw sagged with each word she spoke after she mentioned Bernie Madoff and he now stood rooted to the spot, his mask of anger completely shattered.
"Now, Bryan. Don't make me tell you a fourth time."
He somehow ripped his eyes from her long enough to stiffly make his way to a wet bar, glancing at her with wide eyes as he went. Once he served her the drink, he sat opposite her on the couch as she sipped.
"Mmm. Oh yes, this is very good. Yes, so not to belabor a point but, in case you've forgotten my substantial investment capital, I believe it was in the neighborhoo-"
"Bryan, who was at the door!?"
Bryan went a little pale as Dagmar raised an eyebrow, asking, "I take it that would be your lovely wife, Heather. Not one of your girlfriends? Does she know about them, by the way?"
That was it. The man just sort of crumbled inwardly as I watched to the sound of someone descending some nearby stairs. It was exactly what she did to me, except apparently he was really guilty.
"Oh,… Hello." said a tall, high heeled blonde, a shapely woman in her late thirties, I guessed.
She was quite attractive in what one might call an unexpected way. Dressed in a very nice, shimmering red evening gown, hair up and bejeweled for the ball, she looked every bit the proper lady, or rich bitch if you prefer, and it seemed to fit on her too. But underneath it all, she had that look, the one that didn't have to rely on all the trimmings her lifestyle allowed.
"I didn't realize we had,… company."
Bryan only stared at his wife, not knowing what to say. Like any good opportunist/salesperson, Dagmar piped up in his failure to speak.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Chalmers, please allow me to introduce myself as dear Bryan is, I fear, a little preoccupied at the moment. My name is Dagmar Alejandro. As I was just reminding your husband, I've invested close to a half million Dollars with him. Please, do sit with us, Heather. Bryan, get your wife a drink."
(Ho-ly shit!)
I couldn't help but love her for her nerve, despite the fact she'd done much the same thing to me as I watched this situation play out.
Bryan got up and plodded to the wet bar again, not looking at anyone this time as Heather looked from Dagmar to Bryan, me, then back to Dagmar before sitting on the couch opposite her pleasantly smiling visitor. She looked uncertainly at the beautiful, dark skinned brunette with the striking green eyes, instinctively knowing that something was up. Then she looked at me again, nervously.
"This is an associate of mine." Dagmar commented. "He really has nothing to do with this on a business level, just a friend I decided to bring to work with me."
I gave her the same nod and almost apologetic, tight lipped smile I gave her husband and said, "Hi."
"I'm sorry if I've arrived at a bad time." Dagmar said sincerely. "You look like you were going out."
"Uhh, yes." Heather responded, smiling hesitantly. "The charity auction."
"Charity auction." Dagmar expressed, more as a question than a statement. "Isn't that so ironic?"
Heather opened her mouth, obviously about to ask why that should be so ironic, when she was interrupted by the return of her ashen faced husband. He handed her the drink and sat beside her with one of his own.
"Heather, I can see you're- you don't mind if I use your first name, do you? -I can see you're wondering why I'm here. Since it would be a little uncomfortable for Bryan if he were to fill you in, why don't I?"
My Mistress paused, taking a slow, thoughtful sip of her glass before putting it on the small table to her left, then beginning in a serious, yet congenial tone.
"Basically, Bryan took my money. He's a swindler. And I'm not the only one, oh no. In fact, the piddling monies I began to receive in return for my investments were actually the entire life savings of Myrtle and George Hargess, an elderly retired couple in Sault Ste Marie. You see, Bryan has been running his own little ponzi scheme for years and, hoo boy, has he been busy?"
Heather was dumbfounded. She looked at Bryan, lips slightly parted with a fearfully questioning expression.
"You didn't know?" Dagmar asked. "Honey, how do you think he got that luxury beach house in Florida? The pleasure craft? The Cessna? All the expensive cars and other toys?"
"Bryan,… is, is this true? Tell me she's lying." Heather asked in a breathless voice.
Bryan looked down between his knees and shook his head, no doubt seeing his future lying in ruins between his feet on the carpet.
"Oh my god. Bryan, look at me! Is this true?"
He looked up and to his right, but not into her eyes and croaked, "Yes, it- It's true."
"Oh my God, no."
"You really didn't know?" Dagmar pressed. "I mean, he's an investor, yes, but really, you must have suspected something, especially with the way the markets have been lately. This home all by itself should have made you think."
Heather was looking at her visitor again, shaking her head defensively, saying, "No,… I didn't,… I don't know anything about investments, or the market. I thought,… I thought,…"
"You thought you were rich. No, I'm rich, you two have only been using mine and other people's money to pretend you were."
"But you didn't know. You say that, and I tend to believe you. Bryan, did she know?"
"No.", he mumbled, looking at the carpet between his knees again.
"Hm. Well, if I have my doubts sitting here, imagine the doubts everyone else will have once this hits the news. Especially once they find out about the I.W.K. 'investment'. I wouldn't have thought a charity would have the money to invest, but I suppose a children's hospital is wise to take a long financial view,… Just not with you two. Oh, I know, Heather." Dagmar said, over-riding our Hostess's claimed plausible deniability before it could begin. "You didn't know, but I wouldn't expect anyone to listen to that. You see, Good ol' Bryan-boy has some considerable holdings stashed in your name, probably to get it away from his. I don't suppose you knew about that, either?"
"Bryan!" was all Heather could say.
The trophy wife stared at him, aghast. It was as though she'd had the mental wind knocked right out of her.
"I mean, the I.W.K., for God's sake." Dagmar marveled. "I just couldn't believe it. Do you two have any idea what will happen when people find out? What Madoff went through will be nothing in comparison; children will whip pieces of broken pavement at you in the streets, women will spit on you and men will want to beat the daylights out of you. Not to mention what the law will do. Oh my, what a lot of trouble Bryan has landed you both in."
Heather began to cry.
"What do you want?" Bryan asked in a quiet voice, looking at the carpet. "If it's your money, I can get it. I just-"
"No. As much as I hate to lose that amount, I can afford it. You will begin selling assets and paying money back to those who most need it, the Hargess's and the other working class people who don't know you've put them in the poorhouse as of yet. And the I.W.K.. My God, you have absolutely no scruples whatsoever, do you?"
"You're,… you're not going to blow the whistle on me?", Chalmers asked, daring to hope.
"If I were to do that, nobody would see their money, would they? Sure, you'd go to jail forever, which is what you deserve, but by then everything would be gone. Plus, you'd also be dragging your 'probably innocent' wife to jail along with you."
"How could you have done this!?" Heather wailed, covering her face with her hands.
"You're really not going to tell anyone?", Bryan asked again, ignoring her in favour of grabbing for that one twig of hope as he dangled at the precipice of his doom.
"No. I'd love to, but that would be counterproductive. Your wrongs must be righted. You are the most appropriate person to do that and you can't do it from behind bars."
"The I.W.K.! For God's sake, you fool!" Heather accused.
"What I can't get over is the blind greed." Dagmar imparted, picking up her glass again with a conversational expression. "I mean, every one of you ponzis just hang around for years doing what you do, getting richer, fatter and closer to inevitable discovery and you just stay. Any thinking person would get out while the getting was good and disappear somewhere with the money and a new name, but you idiots think you can just go on forever. Why is that? No, I'm really curious about such stupidity."
Bryan shook his head and refused to answer, or look at her.
"Did you think you were smarter than everyone else?" Dagmar laughed. "First of all, you're a man, so you should have known you're not that bright and that a woman would catch you sooner or later. Second, there's that old saying about fooling all of the people all of the time that you obviously have never heard,…"
"We'll be pariahs!", Heather cried into her palms. "My position at the Country Club,…!"
"Heather, please stop crying, honey, you'll cause your makeup to run." Dagmar soothed. "And as long as you both cooperate with me, they'll be no need of your worst fears coming to fruition, will there? Are you willing to cooperate, Bryan?"
"Yes.", he said, nodding a gesture of defeat and desperation.
"Heather, are you also willing to cooperate?"
The blonde had taken her face out of her hands and nodded as well, making a small sound that indicated she was willing.
"Excellent. You know, Heather, I really am inclined to believe you in this matter and I'd hate to see your life completely ruined by this, even though you've been enjoying the fruits of other peoples hard work for several years now. I'll bet that dress you're wearing is worth two or three months pay to the average worker."
"B-but that's not me! I,… I grew up in suburbia! My F-Father worked for C.N.!" she blubbered.
"Hm. I suppose you thought you'd found a winner. Sad. Bryan, give her your handkerchief, do I really have to tell you this? She is your wife, I'd say it's the least you can do after ruining her life, wouldn't you?"
He gave it to her, beginning to recover himself a little and looking just a little reproachfully at Dagmar for that comment as Heather carefully dabbed at her eyes and cheeks.
"Now,…", Dagmar said, resettling herself and then taking another sip before continuing. "With respect to the fact that I'm not going to get my money back, and you both are so ready to be so cooperative,… Heather,… I think I'd like to watch you suck my friends cock."
I was just beginning to settle back, thinking the real action and revelation was over. I should have known better. My eyes widened as I riveted my attention on Dagmar, holding myself straighter in my chair again in the silence that followed. Both the Chalmers looked at me with bewilderment and disbelief in their faces, then back at Dagmar.
"I know." my dangerously alluring 'friend' told them. "But you did hear me correctly. We all three know who's in charge here, and under the circumstances, Heather,… Who are you to complain?"
"You can't mean that!" Bryan protested, drawing my attention as he became tensed in his chair.
"Oh, please, I'll do anything!" Heather begged, glancing fearfully at me.
"Yes, you will." Dagmar replied sweetly. "And sucking his cock is a good start. Think of it as a payment on that dress.
"But I meant-"
"Make sure he cums, too. He's been quite good, a very fast learner in some areas, and he's been denied that opportunity as of late."
Heather looked at me again, not quite accepting this turn of events and, for that matter, neither was I. I kept waiting for Dagmar to tell them she was just fucking with their heads while my cock twitched. That didn't help as I could only helplessly stare back at Heather.
Looking over at me, Dagmar ordered, "Take your pants off and give her your cock."
Okay, this was nuts. I hesitated, staring back at Dagmar now until her eyes narrowed on me. I slowly stood, watching her eyes lighten a little once again.
"You mean you want her to,…!" huffed Bryan, red faced and as helpless as I was.
"Save your energy, Bryan." she laughed, taking another sip from her glass and adding, "You and I have some business to discuss while Heather attends to hers."
"I have to-", Heather faltered, "Here? Right in front of,… my own husband?"
"He shouldn't have a problem with it. He of all people should understand, I assure you and, besides, what are you complaining about? He's got a hell of a lot more going for him than Bryan does. He's working class, like your father, and it shows on him."
Now I'm totally on the spot, having taken my shoes and sox off and undoing my belt, stripping in front of these strangers. Worst of all, the entire situation had me turned on and, as awkward and fundamentally undesirable as it was, I was half hard by the time I dropped my pants and stepped out of them.
"Unbutton your shirt, pet."
I was red as a beet, undoing the buttons from the top and feeling my erection growing as I stood on display, all three of them staring and each with a different expression. Dagmar strikes again.
"Now, go stand in front of her so she can sit comfortably while she sucks you off."
Once again, I could only do as I was told. Heather drew back, eyes widening at my approach and I tried not to look her in the face as my phallus bobbed with every step, completely and humiliatingly hardened now. I stopped in front of her, looking to my left rather than in the direction of Heather's silently enraged husband.
"Don't be shy, honey, sit up and take a nice look at it. … Thaaaaats it. Now just suck on his head a little to start with, hmm?"
Peripherally, I could see the pleading look on the blonde's face, my cock standing at attention three inches from her disgusted and horrified face.
"Go ahead. Bryan, go get a cam-corder while she thinks about it."
"No! I'll,… do it.", she resigned herself, then slowly covered the head of my cock with her pink lips.
"That's it. Now, suck,…"
My prick jumped at the first touch of her lips and when she started sucking like she was told, I couldn't believe it. It was definitely no joke. I dared a glance at Bryan and saw him watching, stunned as his wife rather noisily sucked me.
"Mmmm.", Dagmar approved. "You must understand that, as the lady I am, I can't possibly allow a man to do this to me, however I do get such a vicarious thrill out of watching,…"
"Uhh!" I gasped under my breath, really enjoying her attentions despite, or maybe because of, the surrounding circumstances.
"Make it nice and sloppy for him, honey. Bryan doesn't mind that much."
"Mmmm!" she protested, going down a little further on me.
"Thaaaat's right,… Yeah, like that. Nice and sloppy, remember."
"Slluu-urp! Mmmgff."
"Is she good, pet?"
"Yes! I gasped, nodding and trying not to look at Bryan.
"Look at Bryan." Dagmar scoffed.
(dammit, she always did that!)
I looked to see him still watching as my cock now slid jerkily in and out of his wife's mouth.
"You enjoying this, Bryan? Feel free to jerk off while you watch."
"How dare you suggest-!"
"Use your hands, Heather." Dagmar instructed, cutting him off in mid sentence. "Stroke him and play with his balls. And make it sloppier."
She slowly raised her hands and did as told. Her head bobbed up and down as her saliva ran down my length to the balls she now played with. She choked and quite a bit ran down her chin, but she continued, wide eyed and affronted.
"Ohh, fuck." I moaned under my breath.
"Bryan, get your cock out and play with yourself while you watch this." Dagmar ordered with a smile.
"Gmmph! Umm- (slurp!) -mmmph!"
"This is going too far! I will not-"
"Stealing from the I.W.K. is going too far. Get it out, now."
He did it. I couldn't believe it, but he did and he was hard.
Dagmar chuckled and said, "I knew it. Go ahead and jerk yourself off for us."
"I can't help it!" he protested.
"Whatever.", Dagmar replied sweetly. "You better hurry before she makes him cum."
He started stroking himself, his rod jumping in his hand. He was humiliated, but glanced over at his wife in time to see a large amount of slobber hanging from Heather's chin drop down to her chest, left bare by the moderately plunging neckline of her gown. It ran down her somewhat impressive cleavage as her eyes squinted in shame, knowing what that was.
"That's it.", Dagmar grinned. "Play with that cock. Look at her sucking my pet like a slut. C'mon, honey, let's see that girl from suburbia."
"Mmmmmgglllp! (sl-uurp!) Gmmmmpp!" Heather retorted.
"You know, heather, my pet is rather good at the fine art of sucking pussy. If you ask him nicely, I'm sure he'd accommodate you after you're done here."
"Mmmp!" the blonde declined.
"Ahh-h.", Bryan gasped, breathing heavily, but still understandably outraged as he stroked himself, grabbing his balls a little at the base of his rod each time and dragging his fingers up his length, playing with his head before going back down.
Dagmar watched this little scene with a dirty smile, taking a sip of her drink and subtly grinding her thighs against one another.
"I- I thought we were going to talk business!" he blurted, looking accusingly at her.
"Make yourself cum first, that way you'll be relaxed and focused. Use both hands so you can stroke yourself while you play with your head."
"Oh, fuck!" I gasped as Heather took me out of her mouth for a breath.
Breathing heavily, she tried to stop the long, thick string of saliva stretching from my cock to her bottom lip from breaking, but was too late. It did and fell away to the front of her dress, running slowly down the smooth fabric and darkening a trail behind it until it stopped.
"Ohhh!" she moaned.
"Keep sucking, Heather."
She went back to me, sucking as told while her husband watched and beat off.
"Drool on yourself, Bryan. Lick your hands."
He did both and gasped all the louder when he went back to playing with himself.
"Ngk! Mmmgkk! (sluuurp!) Ommmmmff."
Both Bryan and I were groaning louder now as Heather really seemed to bend herself to the task.
"Ohhh, pet. Put your hands down the front of her dress and play with her tits. Tell me if her nipples are erect."
I carefully put my hands at the top of her chest and moved them down with no resistance from our Hostess, beneath the neckline of her dress and to a very small, thin, low cut bra. They were quite nice. Not as big as Dagmar's, but certainly respectable and with a very nice shape. I played my thumbs over her indeed erect nipples, making her jump.
"They are." I managed as she practically choked on my hardon, probably in an effort to get this over with.
"Mm hmm. Keep playing with her tits, I think she likes it. So does Bryan."
Oh, fuck!" he yelped.
I looked in time to see him ejaculate into the air a little ways before it returned to his tux. He spurted on himself over and over while he watched my hands down the front of his wife's dress, crying out ashamedly.
"Oh, my! What a mess you've made all over yourself." Dagmar approved.
"Oh,… Gaaa!" I exclaimed, getting close.
"Are you going to cum, pet?"
"Yes, Mistress!" I ground out.
"Heather, I want you to finish him with your hand. I want you to let him cum all over that beautiful face for us, hmm?"
"Mmm-mmm-mmp!" she protested.
"Oh, ffff!!" I breathed, hunching over a little and grabbing Heather by the shoulders. I drew out just in time to shoot my first blast over her upper lip as she continued to jerk me, pumping shot after shot into her face.
"Oh, no! Noooo! Ohhh, nooo!" she pathetically moaned as I laced my cum across her fine features.
"Oh, Yes!" Dagmar disagreed, "Oh, yes, yes, yes! Bravo!"
"Are you finished abusing us now?" Bryan asked, moving to put himself back in his pants.
"I didn't say you could put that away, and no, I'm not quite done abusing you now." Dagmar replied, looking over at Heather. "You did very well, honey. And don't you look so adorable with his cum all over your face?"
"I can't believe this is happening to me!", Heather whined, hands held away from her as though she were still trying to save the dress that a rather large clot of semen was now falling on from her chin.
"Well, don't you worry. Everything will be alright as long as you keep doing what I tell you. Now, just lie back in your husband's lap and ask my pet to lick your pussy."
I involuntarily looked at her lap, not wanting to do this, but still turned on.
"Oh, please." Heather implored.
"Ask him." Dagmar insisted, taking a sip of her glass. "Lie down and ask him to make you cum in your little panties, so Bryan and I can get down to business. Uh, you are wearing panties, right?"
She nodded in defeat as another large clot of my seed ran down over her parted lips. She lay down, looked up at her husband for a brief moment and then looked at me.
"Would you make me cum in my panties?" she asked quietly, looking at Bryan again, guiltily.
"That wasn't so hard, was it? Pet, lick her pussy. Don't be surprised if you find her all wet down there."
Heather moaned at this comment as I nervously slid her ankle length evening gown up her legs while she watched. I uncovered her thighs and glanced up at her as I exposed the small, white silk triangle between her legs, supported by narrow, see through pink straps around her hips.
Bryan observed helplessly as I spread her legs, taking a good look before moving in.
"Now as I see it, Bryan, you can't be trusted. So, I've retained my team of investigators to assist you while you sell off all your assets, just to make sure you don't try to hide anything, possibly yourself, the minute we leave."
Kneeling between her spread thighs, I looked up at Heather and saw the pleading expression in her eyes. There was really nothing I could do, though, except look at my Mistress with a pleading expression of my own as she spoke, if only to not have to look at Heather.
"And they're a top notch team, I'm sure you'll find. What's wrong, pet? Can't find her pussy?"
That was it, I tried and that was what the expression I flashed Heather said. She closed her eyes as I got closer, deciding there was nothing for it but to start. I put my hands, surprised to see them trembling, on her inner thighs and moved them up to her groin right away, softly massaging the very tops of her legs, actually trying to relax her. She jumped at my touch and involuntarily tried to close her legs but my shoulders were between them.
"Don't mind them, Bryan, they're just getting to know one another. Now, as I was saying, my team consists of a forensics expert, a corporate lawyer, a computer scientist, an ex Bay Street finance wizard, the standard private investigator and, of course, the muscle. In addition, a friend of mine will be specially tasked to see to your behavior. Mistress Crush will keep you on a very short leash and they'll all be in constant contact with you, since they already know all about you. Who better to oversee things, right? Plus, the money's good and they were only too happy to extend their contracts, especially after everything they uncovered."
I had gently pried her legs open while I continued the sensual massage, kneading her inner thighs and rubbing up on her front, my fingers on either side of the white satin. Finally, when she seemed a bit settled, I softly traced my thumbs back and forth along the sides of her lips, making her sigh forcefully, suddenly opening her eyes and locking them on mine. It made me feel guilty, being caught staring, but I was transfixed. She had a very nice mouth, a fact that I'd noticed just before she put my cock in it. Lying back, looking down at me with that panicked expression and my cum all over her face sort of really did something for me.
"So obviously, neither one of you are going to that charity auction tonight. In fact, my team will be showing up here soon to get you started. You are to cooperate with them in every way and you are to show them every convenience of this home. They'll be your roomies and you'll be serving them, waiting on them hand and foot, actually. Heather, spread your legs for him, it's much better that way, hon."
She crooned mournfully as she did as she was told. Slipping a finger a little ways in both sides of her panties, I stroked her lips slowly, softly, feeling them glide easily over the moist, shaved surface.
"Ah! Uhh!" she gasped, eyes widening as she watched my face the whole time.
"At this point, you're probably wondering where you're going to be left after all this is over and you'll be happy to know that I'll answer that right now. You'll be left with one thousand Dollars and an airline ticket to somewhere warm, like,… Oh, I don't know, let's just say Paraguay. Or Kenya. Or Syria. Wherever I decide you'll end up, you will be free and nobody will be the wiser. Pretty good deal, don't you think?"
"Oh!" Heather exclaimed as I began slowly rubbing in a circular motion with two fingers, only that white satin between them and her opening. "A-, Oh!"
"You're going to ruin me.", Bryan said contemptuously.
"I wouldn't complain. I'd think a man of your,… whatever, could get a good start in Paraguay with a thousand Dollars. It goes a lot further down there, you know."
"Mmmm. Ohhh, nooo!" Heather moaned as I rubbed up and down between her lips, slowly making my way to her clitoris.
"And how will I know you won't fuck me over?"
"You won't, I suppose. How did I know you'd fuck me over? See? See how that works, Bryan? Look, don't you do this for her? She seems to be enjoying this quite a lot, don't you think?"
"Nooooo, I- Haaaaa!?" she protested as my index finger wormed its way inside her wet slit. "Nnnnnnoooo!"
"Notice how he's thoughtful enough to warm her up first? Some woman somewhere taught him something, that's for sure."
I pulled her panties aside, exposing her pink entirely with my finger poking around inside as her clitoris swelled like one of Dagmar's nipples. I lowered my face and began to lap with my tongue between her lips and above my finger.
"Uhh! Ohhh! Oh, god no, please! Mmmmmaaaa!"
"Anyway, I think that's more or less it, as far as business between us goes. I'll be speaking to my team lead from here on in, so I'll only be around every once in a while for personal entertainment purposes until you leave the continent for good. In fact, I don't think I even want you on the same hemisphere with me. What do you think of Ethiopia? How about-"
"Ohhhh! Ohhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhh!"
"-How about Nigeria? If you're heart isn't set on someplace warm, I could always send you to Siberia."
"Look, alright, you have me! Please don't send me to some hell hole, I'll cooperate in every way I can!" I heard Bryan angrily ask.
"If my team is pleased with your overall performance, I may consider somewhere like China,… possibly even Egypt."
I was now licking up far enough to just touch her clit, lingering just beneath it a little before returning to her opening and coming back up. She was definitely enjoying this despite herself, and I could see the shame in her face over it when I glanced up at her from time to time. It turned me on even further and I suddenly lashed her hard, protruding clitoris with my tongue.
"Uhhh!! Ohhhh!! Fffffffffuck!! Oooooooohhh, god!!"
"I told you he was good. Didn't I tell her he was good, Bryan?"
Bryan declined to answer as I sucked on her bud, making her holler and writhe like she was on fire.
"Don't forget her ass, pet."
"Ohhhh, nooooo-hoooo!!"
"Oh, yes. lick her ass, boy. Make her all nice and jumpy. … Oh, see? She does like it. I don't know, Bryan, I don't think she's getting much quality sex out of you to be enjoying this like she is. You know, sex is either dirty or boring, that's what the song says."
"Do I have to watch this?" he demanded.
"Oh, yes indeed. You must watch this because I enjoy it all the more when you do. In fact, why not be of some use and hold her leg back for her?"
"Ohhh god!! Ohhh fuck!! Awwww!!" she squawked as I worked my pinky finger into her ass, knowing Dagmar would like it.
Bryan did as he was told, he and Dagmar watching Heather's hips jerk slightly and sporadically.
"You know what he's doing to her?" Dagmar teased with a leer.
Then I was using my middle finger, probing her squirming ass as I plunged deeper to the sound of her shocked squealing. I sucked greedily from her sex, digging with my tongue at the same time and flicking her clitoris with a darting finger.
He knelt by her feet awaiting her next move, her next sound, her next breath. He waited with baited breath, holding himself as still as possible, trying to contain the tremble in his body, that thread of anticipation which ran through him like and electrical wire, making his body shake and his cock quiver.
He was very aware of the fact that she was watching him, although his eyes never once left the floor in front of him, where he could see the tips of her black stilettos. She rarely wore heels, but when she did, she used them completely to her advantage. Other than the shiny black 4 inch heels, she wore a thin black thong, and matching bra that had even less material than the thong, barely containing her heavy tits and thick perky nipples.
She sat with her legs crossed on the side of the bed, silent for a long time, merely watching him, watching his naked body. She knew he would wait patiently and not move, even after becoming quite uncomfortable, just to please her, and that knowledge made her pussy grow wet at the very thought. So she sat a while longer, sometimes mindlessly stroking his hair and letting her thoughts drift to the night ahead.
Finally she told him to turn around, instructing him to present his ass to her, which he did promptly, glad to do as she wished, the undignified position turning him on even more as he knelt with his face against the carpet, and his hands clasped behind his back.
His ass lay bare and wide open to her, and his knees were tucked up under his body, although apart so that she could see his cock hanging down, bobbing as if it's aching could be assuaged somehow. His balls were tight against his body, and tensed with arousal, and she scraped her fingernails over the tightly wrinkled skin, making a shiver run down his body.
She then drew a single fingernail across his tightly puckered asshole, drawing another shiver down his entire body. She admired the beauty of his body for a few moments before reaching into the cabinet above the bed for her instruments of desire.
She selected a small black butt plug, a small vibrating egg with attached remote, and a bottle of lubricant from the cabinet. Squirting a small amount of lubricant on her fingers, she reached down and began to rub the lube into and around his tight asshole. He felt her fingers moving inside of him, stretching him and massaging him to prepare his anus for the toys she had selected. Her nails scraped him here and there, causing frictions of pain mixed with pleasure, and the delicious feeling of being in such a vulnerable position, open to her completely and wanting even more.
She didn't disappoint when she withdrew her probing fingers that she promptly replaced with the vibrating egg. Sliding it in his ass with no hesitation she used two fingers to push it up as far as she could fit it, the cord to the remote snaking out of his asshole and into her hands where she held the remote, which was off at the moment.
She then inserted the tip of the plain black butt plug into his now slightly loosened asshole. Teasing his ass, being sure to take her time, she slowly and carefully pushed the plug deep into his ass, rotating it deeply into him as she went. His breathing increased and the head of his cock dripped clear drops of pre-cum onto the floor beneath him. He took all 6 inches of the plug, and his ass clenched on the narrowed end of the butt plug, sealing the egg deep up in his ass.
He didn't hesitate when she demanded he get up and lay across her lap. She instructed him to place his cock between her thighs, which she then trapped there with the strength of her legs. "I'm spanking you now because I take pleasure in it. I take pleasure in the feel of my hand slapping your warmed ass, and I take pleasure in knowing that your ass is there for me to use as I desire. However, if you cum from this, I will take even more pleasure in truly punishing you. Do you understand?"
"Yes Mistress," came the coarsely whispered, yet reverent reply. He laid himself upon my lap as I had instructed, and I knew that he was becoming desperate to rub his cock between my thighs, but held still with that steel willpower I admired in him, yet truly enjoyed testing thoroughly. He lay still, bent over my lap at a nearly 90 degree angle, his sweet tight ass slightly parted and a feast for my eyes at that angle.
She slapped his thighs first, letting him feel the sting of her palm. Firm, steady strokes that left red marks, but no welts as she first warmed his thighs, then the top of his buttocks before applying short, stinging strokes with her hand to the delicate underside of his ass cheeks. And although he was not making a lot of noise, the tight aching need in his cock and balls was cresting every time her hand connected with his ass and he held back the raging orgasm that threatened to explode from his cock.
Her blows would vary in strength and location, leaving his ass bright red all over, and when she could finally feel the heat radiating from his well-used ass, she finally told him to return to his knees and face her.
He did so quickly, his cock still desperate for release. She ordered him to remove her thong, which he did as he had been taught, with his teeth, gently but deftly and without once scraping her skin. When the thong was removed, she spread her legs wide, exposing her pussy with the auburn triangle of hair neatly trimmed above her clit which was swollen with her own aching need, and the glistening moisture on the lips of her pussy gave testament to her own state of arousal.
She pushed his face into her crotch and he immediately began to lap at her juices. Using his tongue and mouth he tried to lick every crevice, drink every drop of wetness from her pussy. She tore her hands through his hair, pulling hard, and grinding her drenched cunt into his face, using her hands to push his head back and forth over her engorged clit.
He lapped eagerly and every thought in his head was about pleasing her, about making her cum. His tongue worked in circles and he sucked on her clit hard like he knew she liked. Even though she was riding his face, and he gasped for breath every few moments, he used what little control he had in moving his head to force his face further into her warm wetness, sticking his tongue as far up into her sweet pussy as he could get it.
She moaned at his ministrations, and as she got closer to orgasm, she increased the tempo of her pussy as she pushed it all over his face, nose and chin…using all of his face as her fuck toy, to get her off. She took a breath and shuddered as her orgasm crashed through her body and she fucked his face as hard as she could as she rode out the endless contractions inside her cunt.
Sated, he knelt back, not daring to wipe his face, but instead reveling in her juices drenching him and daring to hope that she might reward him with an orgasm as well, but not expecting it. Her moods were flippant at times and she may decide he is worthy of an orgasm or she might not, but his only focus was on pleasing her entirely.
Looking down at him she said, "You've satisfied me well with your face and mouth, now you will satisfy me with your cock. You will fuck me, but you will not cum until I say that you can, do you understand?"
"Yes Mistress"
He understood all too well, and mounted her from the top as she generally preferred. He took great care to keep his eyes downward, and began to thrust slowly, yet deeply into her. When she flipped the switch on the remote, he suddenly felt the deep buzzing of the vibrating egg deep inside his ass, vibrating the entire butt plug and sending an electrical thrill through his body as his ass tightened on the egg and plug and his need to cum was nearly overwhelming. Through some miracle, he was able to hold tightly to the last threads of control as she demanded he fuck her harder, scraping her fingernails down his back and sides, leaving little ribbons of red across his creamy skin.
"Fuck this pussy, show me how much you love to fuck my pussy," she said, urging him on faster. "What will it take for my fuck toy to make my pussy cum?"
At this, she pulled out a cat-o-nine tails she had pushed underneath a pillow, and using her right hand, started lightly whipping his ass as he fucked her, with everything he had, using his body to beg for both her release and his own. As the cat grazed his balls, he thrust forward even harder and she screamed as the orgasm crashed down upon her.
She increased the speed on the egg's remote and suddenly every part of his ass was vibrating intensely and deeply and she screamed for him to cum inside of her. He moaned in gratitude and as he felt her pussy contract against his cock, and the vibration inside of his stretched ass, he felt his balls tighten to the point of pain as he ejaculated in hard, heavy spurts deep inside of her, feeling the tip of his cock against her cervix as he thrust with every spurt.
She turned the egg off, and while he was still throbbing inside of her she reached around him and gripped the butt plug, and pulled it out with an audible plopping noise. The egg was soon to follow, as she pulled it out very slowly and deliberately with it's cord. He felt empty without them inside his ass and hoped she would fill him up again soon.
"Now clean me up like a good boy," she said, and moving down her body, he shoved his face back into her pussy which was laying open and carefully and diligently used his tongue to lick her clean from both her own juices, and big globs of his own cum which were by now starting to leak out of her open pussy and onto the bed sheets. He swallowed all of it greedily, and when he was done, she closed her legs and she told him how pleased she was with his tongue and cock.
He returned to his position on the floor as he knelt by her feet awaiting her next move, her next sound, her next breath.
Heather, now dressed in a dark, modest floral dress that buttoned up the front, never did answer Bryan, nor did she speak a word out on the sidewalk as I let Dagmar into the back seat of the car, Heather right behind her as she was instructed. Once we were out and moving along with the sparse traffic, I took a quick glance in the rearview at her, sitting back in the seat, but visibly stiff as a sculpture with a tense expression in the flash of the overhead streetlights through the sunroof.
Don't fret, Heather." Dagmar said as I felt her reposition herself behind me with her hand at the back of my seat. "Nothing bad is going to happen to you, okay?"
"Okay.", Heather answered in an unconvinced tone that matched her expression.
"You're going to be my guest for a little while and, since what you own now amounts to whatever you have in that suitcase, I'd say you're lucky to have a place to go. Also, you don't want to be involved with what'll be going on back there, not at all. You want to be distanced from that, insulated from it, for your own protection, if you are indeed innocent. You understand, correct?"
"Yes what, girl?"
" … Yes, Mistress."
"Besides," Dagmar went on, "You have no idea what to think now, finding out about those women,… and the I.W.K.! I can only imagine what you're going throug, and maybe that's not the best place to sort those feelings out, especially now, is it girl?"
"I,… suppose."
"I liked your dress, by the way. You have very nice tastes."
"Umm, thank you."
"I like this nice little outfit, too." Dagmar noted, her voice getting even heavier. "It makes you seem so innocent. Come closer."
"Uh-h,.. Mistress?"
"Come closer." she coaxed.
I glanced in the rearview mirror to see one of Dagmar's hands taking the front of Heathers dress, just under her breasts and pulling her to the other end of the back seat. There was the sound of a small tear and a surprised gasp from Heather.
"Oops.", giggled Dagmar. "Oh my, your skin is so nice and (tear) soft,… and warm."
"I- (gasp) Thank y- Oh!"
"Oh, that looks like a very nice bra. Did you wear that just for me, girl?"
"I- "(r-rip!) "-Oh, no, please!" Heather whimpered.
"Shhh-shhh-shhh. Just relax and give Mistress a nice kiss."
I glanced again and watched Dagmar forcing Heather down on the seat, her lips locked on the blonde's mouth, one hand spilling a breast from Heather's bra.
"Mmmm! Mmaaaa! Helmmmmmmp! Obmmmvvv!" Heather protested, uselessly trying to wrestle the bigger woman off of her while she was pushed down to her back.
"Oh, please, Mistress, I'm not lesbian, I've never- Ohhhh!!"
"You don't mind my hand down those adorable little panties, do you?"
"Oh god!" Ple- ummmm! Mmmmmph! Mmmmmmm!!"
"Shhh, little one. (r-r-riipp-p!) You'll just love sucking my pussy. Boy, take the long way home!"
—– —– —– —– —– —–
Again, Heather was silent when I returned to the car after having escorted Dagmar up to her condo. She sat in back, huddled against the passenger side door, holding her tattered dress around her as she peeked up and out the back corner of the side window. She seemed more or less alright, but what did I know?
Close to three quarters of an hour later, I stopped the BMW in front of my garage, on the front of which, the motion sensor security light had activated. I shut the car off, removed the key from the ignition and sat, staring at the garage door while moths began gathering under the light. I didn't speak, or look behind me as I sat there. It seemed I should say something, such as "Welcome to the club", but I could only think about how Dagmar had used me. She clearly had no feelings for me at all.
I abruptly got out of the car and shut the door, feeling a lot of things at once then. My head was down as I reached the back steps and ascended the four, wide risers to the small deck before unlocking my door and going in.
Without turning on the light, I picked my cigarettes and lighter off the table and lit one, got the bottle from the freezer and took a drink. A couple minutes later I was standing on the back step, cigarette pressed between my thoughtful lips as I put the bottle down on the deck at the top of the stairs. Back across the hard pack dirt yard, I reached the BMW, opened the driver's door and laid the long, black coat from 'The Alejandro Collection' over the seat before shutting the door and returning to the back deck. I sat at the top of the short staircase, took another drink and regarded the scuff marks in the dirt at the foot of the steps as though their random patterns spelled some way out of this mess.
By the time I heard the car door open and then shut, I'd adjusted to the point where some semblance of coping ability could be lured from the recesses of my mind. I took a drag and exhaled between my knees, down at the step my feet were resting on, not looking up at the sound of her shoes approaching, not even when they stopped within my field of vision.
"Where are we?" her quiet tone asked.
"My place."
"Oh. Who are you?"
A reasonable question.
"David Legassy. I'd welcome you officially but, under the circumstances, I just don't feel up to it."
"Don't worry about it. I've already had enough of your hospitality. Why am I here?"
" … You're here because she decided you'll be here. She told you so in the car."
"What is wrong with you two? Do you know what she made me do?" she asked, quiet shock and humiliation in her tone.
Oh, I knew, alright. I was hard as a rock the whole long way to Dagmar's Condominium tower, there was just no helping that. I didn't answer, but took another drink, finally looking up at her. I offered her the bottle and, sticking her arm out from beneath the cape she'd made of my long coat, she took it. She tipped it and gagged a little before handing it back.
"I had no idea when I went there." I muttered.
"You enjoyed it!"
"I couldn't help it, and so did you."
"I- That's not-!"
"Yeah, get used to that feeling."
"I- I don't know what kind of sick game you two are playing here, but-"
"See, you're not paying attention, blondie. You keep blaming me, but it's all her. I had no idea what would happen in your house, any more than you did, and I didn't have any more room to refuse than you did, either. Didn't you notice how she kept referring to me?" I asked, becoming a little angry.
" … So,… she's got something on you too.", Heather assumed, looking around herself and obviously wondering what interest Dagmar could possibly have in me.
"You might say that, yeah."
"None of your business."
"You know my business."
"I wish I didn't."
"Yeah, well when my husband gets his feet under him, he's going to get me out of this with lawyers and a lot of cops, who all happen to know that extor- Why are you laughing!?"
I took a drag, chuckling humourlessly as I exhaled in her direction while advising, "Forget about your husband."
"She can't do th-"
"You'd be pretty surprised at what she can do. I found out the hard way the first time I tried to kick against her. You'd be very fuckin' surprised, blondie."
" … My husband is a powerful man, he knows people who know-"
"Your husband is fucked. If she doesn't turn him in, she'll dump him someplace like Yemen, or Iran, or North Korea. She says she likes me, and you can't imagine,… Look, just forget about him. He's not going to get you out of this, he won't even be able to help himself. She loathes him and she's only playing with him. She guaranteed you would come out of this, not him, and if you're smart, you'll try to sit tight and see what opportunities present themselves. Your situation is actually a lot more workable than mine, you should feel lucky." I judged, taking another drink and flicking the cigarette butt over the railing and into the darkness.
"'Sit tight'?", she asked, incredulous at my words. "How am I- I was just raped by that woman and forced to,… to pleasure her with my mouth! After having to make you-! How the fuck am I supposed to sit tight, you moron!?"
"Right. Well, like I said, get used to that feeling."
She regarded me with an intense and sudden anger, balling her fists and actually twitching, her muscles gathering themselves for movement before she emotionally leveled off, her anger losing its power as she clomped up the stairs and ended up plopping down beside me, looking dumbly at the ground as I had been earlier.
"Here, take another drink. It helps make life bearable when you're not sleeping."
She took the bottle and tipped it again, looking back down and hanging on to it. A few moments later, she was crying. Soon, her tears turned to sobs as her shoulders shook with them under my coat. I heaved a silent sigh and lit another cigarette, staring off into the darkness beyond the corner of the garage.
I couldn't talk to her and I had no real interest in comforting her. I was upset enough about Dagmar and not exactly in the mood to talk about it, and besides, I expected that Dagmar liked Heather more than she did me. For all I knew, it wouldn't be long before Heather was gratefully telling me what to do, and anything I said then could be used against me later. No, I sure as hell couldn't talk to her.
After several minutes, when she seemed to be mostly through her emotional maintenance period, I slowly heaved my suddenly tired frame to my feet and walked to the door, pausing and looking down at her back.
"You're sleeping on the couch. There's a blanket in the hall closet, food in the kitchen and a lock on the bathroom door."
I went directly to bed, hoping I'd still be buzzed when I woke up.
—– —– —– —– —– —– —–
I was, but not enough.
I found her in the kitchen, wearing jeans and a pink polo shirt. She sat at the table with a cup of coffee in her hands, staring straight ahead as if in thought. I took the bottle off the counter where she'd obviously left it and took a pull, searched out the Tylenol and filled a glass from the tap before administering three to myself.
Neither one of us spoke a word.
I went back down the short hall to the bathroom and took a shower, dressing in a clean pair of tattered work jeans and an old gray shirt afterward. These articles had been in the laundry when Dagmar cleaned up and I smiled grimly at the one thing I'd been able to pull off with her to date. Combing back my wet hair to a slick, once again considering a pompadour, I left the bathroom to deal with another day.
Back in the kitchen, she didn't seem to have moved and I wasn't sure if that was the same cup of coffee, or what. I made myself fluffed eggs and ate while leaning against the counter, rather than sit at the table, directly across from her.
My intentions for the day were simple: Putter around in the garage and ignore Heather.
In the garage, I refused to think of what happened the night before, refused to think about how my unwanted victim was actually sitting in my kitchen as I carefully drilled a pilot hole down through the twelve mm. pipe, trying not to break the little 1/8 bit. I was actually successful with both the pilot hole and my refusal to think of the immediate past and present until a few hours later, when I realized I'd have to go out for a few things.
"I gotta go out and pick up some stuff." I quietly said about ten minutes later in the living room.
She sat watching some science fiction DVDs I had.
"So, what? I'm not your wife."
"Well, no shit. I thought you might need something. Forget I asked."
I turned to go, but she stopped me.
"Wait,… I'm sorry. I'm just having a hard time,… adjusting. I do need some things, but I don't have any money."
"I can get it, what do you need?"
"No, I coming with you." she informed me, turning my entertainment off before standing.
"What? Why?"
"Why shouldn't I? Did she say I have to stay here, that I can't go out?"
I regarded her, noting again how nice her body was in her jeans without actually checking her out and trying to figure her expression. Was that a poker face, or was it resignation that I was seeing?
"No.", I answered, having to make an effort to ignore her body. (what was wrong with me?)
"There you go. Anyway, it's boring here. Why don't you have TV service?"
"I don't need it, let's go."
"What about my shows, House, CSI, Law and Or-?"
"Not my problem, let's go."
We took the Monza, as it wasn't Dagmar's business, and she seemed to lighten up a little more beside me, probably glad not to have to so soon get back into the black, German sedan where she was raped by Dagmar.
"I'm trying not to blame you." she said as we roared down the blacktop, windows down in the heat. "I believe you when you say you had no choice; I remember the way you looked at she and I a few times last night,… It's just hard. To look at you and not see my abuser. I'm sorry, I just can't help that."
" … I know."
I did. It didn't take a genius to figure out how she must have felt.
"I see it the exact same way, except I'm the abuser.
She seemed to mull this over for a kilometer or so before speaking again.
"Ummm,… Did she say anything else? Did she say what would happen to me between now and whenever she lets me go?"
Of course, I knew that there was no guarantee Heather would ever be let go, but there was no point in telling her that.
"No. She just told me to take you home with me and put you up until she got in touch."
"I hope she meant that as a figure of speech."
"I wouldn't count on that." I advised, lighting a cigarette.
After a pause, she asked, "How long have you known her?"
"A little over a year. A lot better in the past week or so."
" … Is she dangerous?"
"Anybody's dangerous. But, she has a lot more potential and means, yeah. Let's just say that she's a lot more livable when she's happy."
"And when she's unhappy?"
"Think of Hurricane Katrina, the Indian tsunami, Pompeii, and the Haitian earthquake all at once. Especially if you're the one who was dumb enough to cause it."
"She into BDSM? What's this 'Mistress' thing?"
"Yeah,… after a fashion. But I gather she's not the average Domina. Don't call her a Dominatrix, by the way. She hates that."
"I don't want my boobs tied off and squeezed till they're purple." she said worriedly.
"You're in luck, she's not into that shit. Our Mistress prefers mental torture instead."
After another pause, she said something I didn't catch. I glanced over, but she was gazing out the side window at the green blur of the trees and occasional house going by.
From experience, I'd learned that women can't be trusted alone with money and Dagmar was very clear about my monthly allowance. That's why I had to go around with her and how I found myself in the lineup with her at the grocery store. While a little bit more at ease around one another, it was still an uncomfortable experience. It was like everybody knew, or something. I'd just begun to get over this feeling when the cell phone in my pocket rang, vibrating at the same time.
My heart immediately sped up, wondering what misadventure this call heralded. I dug it out and was about to answer when I remembered how I had to do it. I sighed, rolling my eyes and noting the big, tough looking construction worker who was waiting in line right behind me.
"Hello, Mistress." I droned, closing my eyes.
"That's not a very positive tone, boy."
"I'm sorry."
"I doubt that. Where are you? Did someone just call for a price check?"
"We're at the Supermarket."
"How mundane. Heather's with you?"
"Put her on."
I handed the phone to Heather, mouthing that it was Dagmar. She looked at me, her eyes widening as she took the phone. After a moment's hesitation and without even trying to drop her voice, she put it to the side of her face and greeted Dagmar.
"Hello, Mistress. … Umm,… not really. … N-no, Mistress. ….. Yes. ……….. Yes, Mistress, goodbye."
She handed the phone back, telling me Dagmar had already hung up as I took and closed it, dropping it back into my pocket. I involuntarily turned when I heard the amused hiss from behind me. 'Joe the plumber' stood there smirking.
"What the fuck are you lookin' at?" I asked him with a sneer while spreading my feet a little.
In retrospect, I think that his subconscious mind recognized a trapped and desperate animal, dangerous beyond reasoning and, despite his size, he shot me an uncertain, dismissive smile before looking away. I was actually disappointed by this. I can't explain why but, at the time, it would have been almost as good to be punched in the face as it would have been to mutilate his with my knuckles. It had been a rough nine days, and day ten didn't look like it was going to be any easier.
Heather looked sideways at me while we lugged the bags out to the car and, loading them into the hatchback, she explained.
"She wants us back at your place at five. Rolex time, she said to tell you."
"Fuck!" I hissed under my breath, finishing in a rush and checking my own watch. "A little less than an hour. Get in, I got more stops to make while I have the chance."
After grabbing a few immediate project needs at Canadian Tire, I hit the liquor store, getting in and out like a priest in a whorehouse before getting us under way again.
"We're going to be late." she said as we sat at a red light.
I checked my watch.
"According to Acqua time, we have twenty eight minutes."
"We'll never make it.", Heather worried.
She was making me nervous.
"We'll make time out towards my place."
"Not enough." she predicted.
We decelerated wildly out in the road and shot into the driveway with two and a half minutes left by my watch, Heathers mouth harping like it was most of the way back.
"-I'm just saying that whatever it was at Canadian Tire could have waited! Now we're late and-!
"We're not late! Made it with two and- Oh, fuck me, that's her!"
There was a black Mercedes coupe in the driveway, the same one that was there on the day my Mistress terrorized Earl.
"You didn't say she'd be here!" I yelled.
"She didn't tell me she would be, I assumed she'd call!"
"Well, never fuckin' assume anything with her!"
"Well, I'm sorry, I just wouldn't have-!"
"Never mind! We have to,…"
"I don't know! Something!" I yelled as I brought the car to a stop, unable to describe to her the kind of mayhem that generally went with Dagmar's visits. I was freaked out and I suddenly realized it was mainly because of this woman who'd been at me the whole damned way back to the house.
I turned the car off and said quickly, trying to calm myself, "Okay, we'll just leave all the stuff here and not keep her waiting. Try to look dirty and tired, or something."
"No time." I said, glancing at my watch and opening the door.
"Why should I-"
"Just shut up and move, blondie!" I hissed, getting out and shutting the door.
I was half way across the yard, horrified at what Dagmar might have been up to all alone in my home this time, when the other door slammed.
I turned and, without stopping, hissed over my shoulder, "Shut up!"
"I've had enough of that!" she declared as though she were speaking to a maid. "My name isn't 'blondie', and I don't appreciate being told to shut up!"
Now I had to stop as she hurried up to face me, her face pink with anger.
"Do you think we could deal with this another time? Isn't it enough that I had to listen to your mouth the whole way back!?"
"There's nothing to deal with, moron! Stop telling me to shut up and don't call me 'blondie'!"
"Hey! I don't have to listen to that shit from a spoiled little bitch like you! This is my fuckin house!" And I'll-!"
Dagmar had come out of the house and had been watching, neither one of us noticing in the rapidly heating confrontation.
"You forget, boy: This is my house. As embarrassing as that is to admit to."
"Yes, Mistress." I growled, glaring at Heather, whose anger had subsided in favour of apprehension as she watched her other abuser.
"You were almost late, boy."
"Yes.", I agreed, looking at her now.
"I could hear that idiotic, flying coffin coming for miles, it seemed. Both of you, get your asses inside."
We both stood there, a little stunned.
"Now!" she added.
—– —– —– —– —– —–
"Not like that, boy! Take your time, like the girl!"
We were each rubbing one of her feet as she sat on my (her) couch. I really wasn't in the mood for this, but I looked over at what Heather was doing anyway. I swear I saw the tiniest smirk on her face as she glanced back at me. I slowed down, starting a mental list of all the things I'd rather be doing.
"Better. … Now, what were you two arguing about?"
After a pause, during which both of us redoubled our efforts with our assigned foot, she cleared her throat pointedly.
"Just a little tension, Mistress." I offered up.
"Just a little tension." Dagmar repeated. "Girl, is that what it was?"
"He's a jerk." she mumbled.
Dagmar laughed out loud at this, one of those few sincere laughs or smiles that made my breath come a little easier.
"Yes, he's an abrasive thing. I may have to take that out of him some day if he doesn't smarten up. One thing is for sure, Mistress Crush would love to get her hands on him. Earlier today, she begged me for just two hours with him. Would you like to watch, girl?"
I froze, slowly looking up at Dagmar, knowing that, chances were, she wasn't kidding.
"Uhm- No, not if I didn't have to, Mistress." Heather responded nervously.
"No, indeed?" Dagmar asked with twinkles in her eyes before they turned on me, then back to Heather. "Nobody told you to stop, boy."
I got back to her foot with visions of the deranged Crush flaying my balls while-
"Don't worry, boy, I said no. But isn't it sweet that the girl wouldn't want to see that happen to you?"
After a short, very relieved pause, I figured out she wanted an answer.
"Don't you think you should try to be nicer to her in return?"
"Put a little more gusto into that, boy."
"Yes, Mistress."
"They'll be a delivery here sometime tomorrow, girl. I expect you to be here all day waiting for it."
"Yes, Mistress."
"What was your sleeping arrangement last night?"
"I took the couch."
"You will sleep in his bed with him from now on."
This time we both slowed to a halt on her feet, looking at her, then one another.
"And I want you two fucking at least once every day."
Our jaws sagged. I really should have expected something like this, though.
"Y- you mean-?", Heather attempted.
"Yes. And after tonight, I don't want you wearing any clothes while you're here, other than lingerie. You should be a proper little slut for him at all times, and just so you know, I don't allow him to wear anything beneath his pants, so you'll see when you get a reaction. Keep rubbing, you two."
We went back to her feet as she spoke further.
"I want you to let him do whatever he wants with you, whenever he wants, and I want you to tell him this now."
She froze and looked at Dagmar as though confused.
"Go ahead, tell him he should fuck you whenever he wants. Say please."
"Y- Uhh,…", she stammered, looking at me with no trace of a smirk now. "You should,… Please fuck me whenever you want to."
"There. Don't be afraid to go get what you want if he gets all shy on you. He may need encouragement. And don't worry, girl, before long you'll have a very impressive wardrobe to choose your daily, scant attire from. Now, one other thing: You will record the sexual act you have each day for me. You will both cum in these recordings and I expect to see some good stuff, since I've invested in a good camera. If I get bored, I'll liven things up myself."
The dazed look on Heather's face told me that she was now learning quickly about what Dagmar Alejandro was all about.
"Since tonight is your first night, I decided I'd help you two along a little, let you know the kind of thing I expect and how to dress and all. But more than that,… I want to make this first time special. Very special."
That wasn't a good omen, and a quick glance at Heather told me she knew this as well.
Dagmar sat back, closing her eyes and enjoying our worried attention.
"Mmmm. Do my calves now. Boy, did you like sucking the girls pussy?"
(Oh, shit!)
"Yes.", I mumbled, seeing 'the girls' head jerk in my direction.
"Heh. He's learned better than to lie, girl. It only took him the once, didn't it?"
"Yes.", I answered.
"Hm. He's learned to be pretty careful, alright. What about you, girl? Did you like sucking his cock and jerking him off in your face?"
"Ah,… I- I was turned on some, Mistress."
"Another careful one. Did you enjoy it?"
" … Part of me did, yes." she admitted, looking down as she worked Dagmar's calf in humiliation.
"Well, I loved it. And you were so adorable in the car afterward,… Didn't you just love making me cum like that?"
I could appreciate the impossible situation Heather had been maneuvered into, could read perfectly the sudden look of panicked indecision that crossed her face.
"I, uhh,… No, Mistress.", she admitted, dropping her wide eyes fearfully.
"No? Well, that'll come, if you'll excuse my little pun. The boy loves doing it, don't you boy?"
"The important thing is that I enjoyed it, although I hope your technique improves. In fact,… why don't you get a little practice in now? The boy will help show you." she said, tugging her black business skirt up to her hips while slouching with an anticipatory smile. "Come, now. Take my panties off for me and make me cum."
She laughed when both of us hesitantly reached for her bright red, silk underwear at the same time, then froze looking at each other.
"Yeesss, both of you."
We each took hold of the waistband at her hip, below the matching garter belt, and pulled them down and off with her lifting her pelvis a little to help us. When we were done, and I was hard as a rock, she spread her thighs wide.
"Come on, both of you get your little pink tongues in there. Make me happy."
I just got started, flicking my tongue at one of her lips and leaving room for Heather, who looked like she was going to cry with her mouth slightly open. But then she was there, tentatively licking Dagmar's other lip with her new Mistress's hand at the back of her head.
We both licked up and down at first, me lazily, Heather warily with her eyes held wide open. When Dagmar started playing her fingers at the back of Heathers neck, the blonde shivered and fluttered her eyes despite herself.
"Touch your tongues while you lick me.", she softly ordered, watching our every move. "Yeah. Aren't you two sooo lovely? Oooooh, yeah."
"Auhh.", Heather gasped a little at Dagmar's nails behind her ear.
"Mmmmm. That's right, Mistress can make you feel veeeery good. I can't wait for tonight. I wonder what my little- Ahh! -a,… arrangement should be? Something surprising, I think. something,… nasty. Ohh! Ohhh, yes, keep licking my cunt!"
Now I abandoned myself. Even Dagmar's words spurred me as I moved up to her clitoris and slowly circled with my tongue before kissing and sucking at it sloppily. She cried out repeatedly and pressed Heather's face to her sex harder, forcing her mouth over her opening.
"Suck me, girl! Suck me right- Ohhhh! Right there! Fuuuuuck!"
"Mmlelm!" Heather exclaimed.
"Use your tongue and su-! Ahhhhhh!! Yeah! Ohh, yeah!"
She was doing it. In fact, she was doing exactly what I'd done to her the night before and, after a minute or so, my new partner was more relaxed with the forced act. I watched her hand slowly feel its way up under Dagmar's Garter belt and, when our Mistress came, Heathers eyes were closed.
We kept licking softly, cleaning her up afterwards while she languished, arms thrown above her, smiling contentedly as if taking a lazy, late afternoon nap.
After a moment, she drew us up on the couch so our faces were close to hers and, with a hand at the back of each of our necks, kissed us both. We both willingly returned her attentions as she grinned at us.
"Mmmmm.", Dagmar expressed. "I'm a very fortunate woman. I can't wait to show you two off at the next Society Gala. You both will need some work, but I'm sure you'll make me very proud. Well, you will, girl. This one will probably mouth off at someone."
"Mistress, I softly excused myself, "I hope you don't think I run around treating people like crap all the time, cause I just don't do that."
"You almost started a fight with that big guy at the store.", Heather countered. "I thought he was going to kill you."
"He was being a dick."
"You didn't have to say what you did."
"If he wasn't being a-"
"Children! Really!"
"I'm sorry, Mistress." Heather apologized, looking down.
"My, aren't you easy?" I asked with a sneer.
"Well, she's sucking up and making me look bad, don't you see-!?"
The next thing I knew, I was looking up at them with my ass on the carpet, the side of my face stinging. There was that smirk again, a little bigger even. Heather, I suddenly realized, was a survivor. A pretty, shapely, blonde trophy wife, her type married idiots like Bryan Chalmers all the time, strictly for status and to be taken care of. Now she was being taught a new way to do what she'd always done and she was learning fast, just as Dagmar had noted. She would soon forget all about Bryan, as I ironically advised her, and would cleave to the powerful woman who ruined him and took his wife as her own plaything. And where did that leave me?
"I'm sorry, Mistress." I stated in a daze, analyzing my little revelation about Heather.
She looked down at me sternly as she played at the back of Heather's scalp and replied, "Make us something to eat. Then go do something with yourself for a while, something out of my sight."
Almost four hours later, I was in the garage, welding a round end cap to a shorter, smaller piece of pipe, when Dagmar entered. I stopped what I was doing and removed the mask as her nose wrinkled at the smell of burnt steel.
"I see you have a little problem with the girl." she noted, looking at what I was doing with curiosity.
"She's not exactly the kind of person I'd choose to be friends with, let alone have sex with."
"Why? What's wrong with her?"
"She's a parasite."
" … Oh?"
"That's right."
"You've gotten awful mouthy, boy."
"You asked. Why you'd bother, I haven't a clue. You obviously don't give a shit about me."
"Says who?" she asked, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
"Says your actions. If I was any more than a tongue and a dick to you, you wouldn't have used me with her. The whole idea would have made you jealous, but instead you make me perform for her what I'm only supposed to be doing with you."
She started laughing, a little at first, then more as her eyes stayed narrowed and fixated on mine. Finally, she responded.
"What makes you think you have any right to any expectations where my feelings for you are concerned? Huh? For your information, I do care about you. How I show that is my business, and it's not up to you to interpret my feelings for you by the instructions you receive. You will do as I tell you, as you've been doing."
"Yeah, I know…. But, that's all you'll get. Before, I was willing to please you in a way. Before, a small part of me looked forward to your visits and, if that's the way you wanted it, I've got news for you: You blew it."
Her eyes surely widened at that. Her expression rotated through varying degrees of anger until she only turned and walked out, slamming the door practically off its hinges in the process.
I was sure she was going to hit me again. I grabbed the liquid fuel I had stashed behind some paint cans under my (her) workbench and helped myself while I had the chance.
Not quite a half hour later, she returned, softly ordering me to close and lock up the garage and come out to the car.
Surprised she didn't tell me to clean up and change first, I got behind the wheel with both of them in back, Heather sitting nervously, looking at me strangely and now dressed in casual, pale yellow slacks and an off white, button up sweater with short sleeves. I just drove, not attempting to break the leaden silence inside the climate controlled, luxury interior of Germany's finest, not even when we arrived at the Chalmers residence and I was escorting Dagmar to the door.
Dagmar entered first, as she did the last time we were there, except a doubly nervous Heather followed close behind this time, looking back at me in worried frustration. What the hell was her problem? I'd wondered.
And then it hit me. Right in the gut as I entered, as it were. I sagged to the floor, just able to catch my breath enough to look up and behold,… Mistress Crush, grinning evilly down on me through her teeth.
"I tooooold you to behave."
In a flash, she had a collar on me, a choke chain. She jerked me off my knees before I could move quickly enough, choking and dragging me across the floor on my front, right on by Dagmar, Heather, and a couple of Dagmar's team members.
I could only hold on to the chain so I wouldn't be choked to death, trying to get my feet under me before she could reach the stairs. As it turned out, she didn't have the strength to drag me up them and had to stop in order to shout me to my feet anyway, so that was alright.
Once on the upper level, she jerked my chain into a bedroom where the big black guy was keeping an eye on Bryan. There was a heavy wooden cross set up in the large room, along with a few restraint apparatuses and strange equipment. Overall, it looked like a torture chamber and, let's just say, I was already pretty flipped out at this point.
Crush pushed me down to my knees on the floor beside the hapless Bryan. He wore a diaper and baby bonnet and I could hear a sort of muffled buzzing about him. He looked at me and conveyed an expression that jumped all class differences, all tax brackets, postal codes and attitudes between men. Whatever he'd gone through the night before, it wasn't pretty.
"Cheer up, man.", I mumbled, trying to be brave. "I won't blame you for taking some satisfaction in this."
My voice shook as I remembered the two cops and their batons,… then realized what that buzzing sound about him probably was.
Crush was on me so fast, I didn't even see her coming. She slapped the shit out of me, screaming at me to not speak unless spoken to.
"Ohhhh, you little fuck!" she seethed in my face. "I can't begin to tell you how happy I am to have this little opportunity to instruct you! Oh yes, wilder, you of aaaalllll boys! I'm going to make you cry." she giggled, then roughly jerked the chain, cutting my air off and making my eyes bulge for five seconds or so, during which time, I noticed Dagmar watching with a nervous expression from the doorway.
When Crush let go, I managed to get some air inside of my lungs, turned slightly to Bryan and croaked, "See? Th' skank likes me bettern you."
I paid for that with another punch to the gut and a few solid backhands while Crush raged from an inch away that I'd never use my dick for anything again, once she was through with me.
I was promptly jerked off my feet again and dragged to the bed.
"Get on it!! Now, now, you fuckin worm!!"
She hauled up mercilessly on the chain, forcing me along with the loop around my neck. Once facing her, I felt something hard between my legs. She was rubbing it against my inner thighs and sneering in my face.
"I'm going to do it, boy. You know I am, and it's not gonna be your mouth."
I spit in her face.
She howled and knocked me down on the bed, leaping on top of me and choking the shit out of me with the chain, this time for real as her livid, twisted features seared down on me.
"Glak.", I protested.
Panic was the last thing my mind needed to fuel the anger and humiliation, the mixed and conflicted feelings I'd been living with these last days, but it's what opened the floodgates. Before I knew it, I was doing something I never ever would have thought I'd do to a woman.
I grabbed the back of Mistress Crush's head and butted her nose hard with the top of my forehead. Her upper body straightened abruptly, almost as though it were at the end of a whip as her hollering likewise stopped. Her eyes were wide as she stepped back, grabbing her broken, bloodied nose, beginning to holler again, this time in shock.
I somehow rolled to the other side of the bed and gained my feet, gagging and clawing at the damned chain around my neck, but I couldn't get it completely off before the big guy came around the bed for me, a little smile on his mouth.
Purely on instinct, I booted him squarely in the balls as hard as I could, thankful I was still wearing my worn, steel toe work boots. I'm not sure it was necessary, but in that instant between getting kicked in the crotch and actually feeling the results, that instant where a careless smile could disappear forever, I gave him a fast, hard roundhouse palm heel to the jaw, dislocating it easily before he dropped like a cow under a sledgehammer.
By then, I was out of control. I hopped up and over the bed, no longer even bothering with the collar, launching myself from it to body check Mistress Crush against a writing desk, knocking her to the floor underneath me. I vaguely heard a woman's voice yelling "Boy, stop it! STOP, I say!!", but I actually didn't recognize that. 'Boy' was someone else and, obviously, the unknown, now shrieking woman was his problem and had nothing to do with me wrapping the chain leash around the red headed witch's neck and pulling at all, did it?
She flailed uselessly underneath me, her anger and shock now transmuted to primal fear as my enraged expression fixed on her.
"I'll fuck you up for life, you fuckin whoooore!!" I promised her, quite beside myself.
I heard Bryan sending up a weak cheer, followed by a satisfied chuckle and that's when the lights went out.
—– —– —– —– —– —– —–
I was tumbling somewhere, as though I'd been fitted into a loader tire and rolled down a gradual incline where the bumps weren't real and the rushing sound in my ears was- Nothing.
My feelings of vertigo subsided as I looked around a pretty nice bedroom, understanding that I was lying on a bed, but not where I was or how I got there. Most curiously, Shianne was there. Didn't I leave her behind in,… Where?
"Are you alright?" she asked worriedly, her hand brushing hair out of my face as she sat beside my inert form on the bed. She never gave a shit before, what was with the act? And why did it seem she looked so much better all of a-
Oh yeah.
I bolted upright on the bed, rewarded with a sudden pain at the back of my head.
"Ahh, fuck!" I complained bitterly. "What hit me?"
"Never mind that, just lie down and rest until you-", Heather cautioned, putting a soft hand on my shoulder before I interrupted her.
"Aw, get the fuck off me!" Shit! Fuck, do you even know what just happened!?"
"Shhhh!" the woman who I'd mistaken for Shianne warned. "She just told me that you ran amuck and that she had to sedate you. We brought you here and she told me to look after you while she dealt with things."
Chapter 2 – Kim's POV
My heart is racing with thoughts and anticipation of what is to come of tonight. I have carefully and purposely planned every last detail. I have taken my time and made sure everything is perfect. My planning started at least a month ago when I met with a Dominatrix named Mistress Bella. I spent the better part of a week with her while she taught me how to bring out my inner Dominatrix. She showed me how power, control, and authority, together with opposing sensations of pleasure and pain, can open you up to a whole new world. Mistress Bella found me the perfect place to acquire everything I could possibly need for my fantasy night. Now, here I am lacing up my black leather corset, pulling on my thigh high boots that make a perfect holster for my long leather whip. I finish it all off with a tight bun, lots of dark make-up and red lipstick. I pick up my cigar and I'm ready!
My prey is the love of my life, Andrew. A man that I know trusts me and loves me unconditionally. He has no idea of my plan let alone my intentions or kinky game. We started our evening at the bar with our friends, drinking, laughing, he being his usual gregarious smart ass self. The whole while I was watching him thinking "If you only knew where you will be and what you will be doing in a couple of hours from now!" As the evening was winding down, I took my opportunity to pour my special vial that Mistress provided for such purposes, into his beer. I only hoped that it was enough to work on his strong body! I needed to be able to get him right where I want him without too much of a struggle. Now, the stage is set, my "player" is in position and I am ready for my game to begin!
I walk downstairs and circle around him admiring my work thus far. I have him bound in leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles. There are heavy chains that lead from the cuffs to a mechanical winch so I can control him completely. He is laying in a drug-induced sleep, naked on the floor. He is blindfolded and I was sure to place a ball gag in his mouth to prevent him from screaming out. Tonight, I will introduce him to a whole new world and a whole other side of me, bringing us to another level. I hear a faint mumble and the clang of chains as he begins to stir, he tries to pull his arm up but realizes he can't. He tries to scream out but all that comes out is a mumbling. I can sense his panic and fear. Then just as quickly, he passes out again. Mistress warned me that it could take a few tries before he is fully awake and aware. I wait, patiently…
More time passes and I decide its time to get things started. I poke him in the ribs with the steel of my heel; this seems to arouse him from his sedated state. I circle around him making my presence known. There is a mumbling as he is trying to scream out at me. It is time to let him know who is in charge!
I wind up the big wooden handle and watch in awe, as I am able to manipulate his sexy strong body any way I desire. To make my point clear I pull his arms and legs tensely away from his body and have him laying face up. I feel very powerful and I am enjoying the fact that I can do anything I want! I circle around looking at this beautiful man spread out before me whom will succumb to my every desire. I can't stop myself; I place my hand on his hairy chest and run my nails down ever so slowly being careful not to go too far. I do it again, this time adding just the right amount of pressure to confirm my control. It makes him wince and a look of panic overtakes him. This excites me to no end and I can't control the delirious laugh that escapes me. I am feeling the desire and provacation that comes with power, control and authority!
I want him to see me, I want him to watch me, I want him to fear what is to come next. I remove his gag and watch as he gasps for air, licking his dry mouth, I see his chest fill with a breath, I know he is going to scream. "Shhhhhh!" I sternly whisper while pressing my finger against his lips, slowly increasing the pressure to make my point. I huskily whisper in his ear "Tonight, I OWN you!" as I slowly remove the blindfold and look him straight in the eyes. He looks a little confused as it takes him a moment to adjust to the light and realize what is happening. As he does, a smile spreads across his face. I show him no emotion as I circle him and present my tasseled whip to his exposed body. I run it up and down his limbs letting him relax and enjoy the feel. As I see goose bumps appear I quickly snap the whip up and let it backlash on his chest! He gasps for air from the unexpected lash. I need him to feel my capability so I lash him again, and again! With each time I am growing more and more stimulated. Looking at him, he is very scared and unsure of the game we are playing.
I walk back to my big wooden handle and manage to put him face down on his knees. I don't want him to see me, just hear me and feel my domination and discipline over him. His vulnerability is getting me wet. I caress his muscular sexy ass and let him relax before I give him what he really wants. As I feel his tension diminish, I lash out quick and hard allowing my whip to do its work. There are red welts quickly appearing on his ass, as I am consistent with my lashings. I return my whip to rest in the top of my boot as I let my hands caress the wounds I have administered. I run my hand around to his slightly aroused cock letting him feel every stroke I give. As he grows harder I slip down to grab his balls tightly and remind him that I hold the power! He struggles against the restraining chains wanting to turn my game around, but I am in control! I caress his fully aroused cock while my other hand probes his ass. I am allowing him to enjoy the pleasure and sensations I am giving. He is starting to breath harder and heavier, obviously relaxed and enjoying what I am giving him. I intentionally pull my hands away and laugh at his evident defenselessness. He is defenseless to ME and my desires.
I walk back to my handle of subjection; I take my time turning him over so he is face up and laying on his back, yet still tightly restrained. I climb on top of him, straddling his torso with my boots, leaning into him licking and kissing his sweaty salty neck, letting my tongue pave its way to his ear, slowly licking and probing every inch. He is groaning and getting aroused giving into the pleasure I am allowing him. My tongue slowly travels down his neck and chest as it circles his hard nipple. I let my desire and hunger take over and bite down on him hard! Oops… I drew blood!
I move down positioning myself on his thighs, suggestively bringing my boot up towards his mouth. He obliges and gives my boot a tongue bath, carefully, not missing a spot! Since he did so well, I pull my boot off and grant him the luxury of tongue bathing my foot. He starts out well but is losing his focus and not giving my foot the attention it deserves. I let this be known by smacking his stomach repeatedly until he's begging me and promising me he will do better. I give him a second chance and once again present my foot to him. This time he pays attention to detail, circling and sucking ever so slowly on each toe, nibbling and teasing me with his mouth. I am dripping with desire as I watch him with my foot in his mouth satisfying my demand.
When I have had enough, I slowly, make my way up and sit on his chest staring deep into his eyes, I say nothing, yet my eyes show him I am the Master. I slowly move up so my wet clit is pressed against his chin. He has a look of pure want on his face. Slowly raising myself up onto my knees I hover my hot wet pussy just out of his reach. He sticks his tongue out and is trying to reach me, groaning with desire. "This is MY game!" I think as I slap him across the face. He cowers back and awaits my cue. I repeat my teasing and he is careful not to upset me again. I lower myself down sitting on his face, allowing him to lick me, to please me, to fuck me with his tongue. He is bringing me to that sacred place only he can take me to, I grind myself onto him hard and fast, greedily taking every last sensation he has to offer until my body succumbs to the pleasure and satisfaction. As I let myself fall on him, I feel drained from the hard orgasm.
I catch my breath and allow my breathing to regulate. I am feeling the love and awe that only this man is able to give me. BUT I am not finished with him yet. I pull myself off of him and light my cigar, an indisputable sign of satisfaction. I can tell he is relaxed and proud of himself for pleasing me. He is looking at me, waiting for me to release him; evidently thinking our game has come to an end. I casually walk away. I return a few moments later being sure to enjoy every reaction on his face as he sees me walk in the room wearing a strap-on. His expression changes from that confidant, cocky smile that I love, to fear and panic. I walk to my handle and slowly yet methodically move him into the perfect position for my last hurrah, the whole while staring him straight in the eyes. I pull a bottle of lube out from my boot and begin to massage it around his tight ass. He is clenching his ass together and beginning to sweat profusely. I smack him hard and give him a look of warning. I see him try to compose himself and relax, since he knows what will happen. Positioning myself between his legs, I slowly grab his cock and begin to stroke it just the way he likes, building the pressure and speed. He has grown hard and has focused himself on the pleasure I am administering on his fully erect cock. I slowly, ever so slowly place the tip of my pleasure wand inside his ass. He groans out in what I am sure is neither pleasure or pain, but both. I use my hips and force my wand into his ass driving deep, still giving his beautiful cock the attention it requires. As I quickly pump myself into him over and over again he wears a new look that tells me he is in pure ecstasy. His orgasm comes hard and fast and I feel so empowered!
His pleasure has given me a need to release myself. I lean into him, as we look deep into each others eyes, I let him kiss me deeply. This is all it takes for me to let go, letting the waves and sensations wash through me, bringing with it a feeling of pure satisfaction. I lay on his chest listening to our laboured breathing, letting our bodies recover.
I have given him something he has never known before, the feeling of pleasure and pain. He has given me a new love of power, control, and authority!
Then just because I can, I stand up, and with whatever I have left in me, I smack his ass, and walk away.
I loved my wife with all my heart. I was kinkier than her, and we knew this from the start. But there is nothing in this world that could keep me from being with her. From the start she knew my fantasies were a little out there. I always fantasized about having a dominant woman make me her bitch. But after seven years together I had resigned myself to the fact that my fantasies would remain solely in my imagination. Or so I thought.
"Why don't we hit Vegas for the weekend" She said emphatically.
It had been a couple years since we had been to Vegas and with the recent craziness we had gone through with buying the new house and starting the new job we were both ready for a weekend away.
The tickets were book and before we knew it we were checking into our hotel on the strip and with a quick trip to our room to unload our luggage we were ready to get a bite to eat. We ate quickly talking about how to kill the rest of the evening finally deciding we should go out to a club. After returning to the room I had a quick shower before getting ready to go out. The shower felt great after the 3 hour flight and I was soon ready to get dressed for the club.
"Honey, where did you put my bag?" I asked after looking around the room.
"It's right where you left it." She responded quickly.
"No, I left it on the sofa over there but the only bag there is that black tote."
"That is your bag"
"No, I had the other Calvin Klein bag, you know the one."
"You can have that bag back tomorrow" She replied. "Tonight this is your bag, you can wear whatever you find in there"
I didn't know what to think about it so I opened the bag and took a peak inside, and to my shock and dismay, the first thing I saw was a latex French maids outfit complete with hooker boots and makeup.
"I know you've always fantasized about a dominatrix making you here bitch and humiliating you and now is your chance. You can have your other bag back in the morning maybe but tonight you are my bitch and will do anything I tell you to. Is this clear?"
I didn't know what to say. Yes I had always fantasized about being dominated but she had never shown any inclination towards it. I was blushing and embarrassed but I could feel my cock getting hard at her sudden change in demeanor.
"All right, I'll do anything you want tonight." I replied.
"Don't act like this doesn't turn you on. It's your fantasy to be dominated and I can see by the bulge under your towel that it's making you hot. Now, I want your word that you will do ANYTHING I say tonight.
"Yes honey, I give you my word."
"Good, now drop your towel. I want to see you stroke that cock of yours for me."
I began to rub my cock and she went wild and it wasn't long before she was helping me rub one out. I was too turned on right now to last and I ended up shooting my load early in her sexy hand.
"Hope you're hungry." She said with a wicked grin. "This is the first test of your loyalty. You are going to lick ever drop off my hand."
"C'mon honey, that's not funny." I started to say before I felt a sharp kick to my balls.
I crumpled over in agony. "You made a promise, and you have to learn there are repercussions if you don't keep your word. Now lick my hands clean."
I couldn't believe I was actually doing it. I had fantasized about her making me do this but I never thought I actually would be. It was awful, it was disgusting and it was the most humiliating moment of my life but I knew this evening was just getting started and that realization had my cock getting engorged again almost immediately.
"Good, now you better get dressed so I can start your makeup" She said with a grin as a stood there mouth agape. "I want ALL your hair gone except your eyebrows and what's on your head."
I headed back into the washroom to begin my hair removal, and after emerging I was confident that she would be happy with my progress.
"All done?" She asked. "Come here, let me take a look at you." She said as she began to circle me. "No, no, no, this will not do." She scolded. "Your balls are still covered in fuzz and, what's this?" She said as she pulled my ass cheeks apart. "I said ALL your hair. I knew you'd fuck this up so I took the liberty of booking you into the hotel spa to get waxed, better get dressed."
I couldn't believe she intended to drag me into the hotel spa dressed in that outfit, but I had agreed to obey and wasn't keen to have my balls kicked again so at this point I was willing to do anything she asked so I quickly donned my outfit and presented myself to her.
After securing a long black wig to my head and applying my makeup, topped off with the brightest hooker red lipstick she led me to the elevator.
It was a long trip down to the hotel lobby but I was grateful that our elevator car was empty. My luck was not to last however because as soon as the doors opened there was a group of people ready to go up. I could hear the snickers and giggles behind my as she lead me to the spa and I could feel my cock getting hard.
As we entered the spa, the pretty blonde behind the counter began to laugh out loud almost immediately. The next couple hours were the most painful of my life as my beautiful wife made sure my even my asshole had not a single hair remaining.
"Don't be such a baby, women have been going through this forever and your evening's not getting any easier." She chided as tears escaped the corners of my eyes.
Bonnie led the way across campus to our tutorial. She said very little to me, except to instruct me to walk on her left and half a step behind her. I complied.
Walking behind her allowed me an excellent view of her assets: short pencil skirt, pink strappy heals, and beautiful toned legs. I could feel my dick swelling, which quickly became uncomfortable as it filled its uncompromising plastic prison. I looked away and the pain slowly subsided.
We arrived at tutorial, which was held in a smallish room in the arts and sciences main building. The room was arranged with chalkboards on three walls, and a rectangle of tables. Our TA and a few other students were already there. Bonnie directed me to a pair of seats next to the TA and sat next to him, with me on her other side. Once we were seated, she proceeded to chat with the TA, while I pulled my chair as close to the table as possible to hide any evidence of my predicament.
After a few minutes of small-talk, the rest of the tutorial filtered in and we began. I was forced to participate, as I was normally on top of the readings and quite vocal in tutorial – so the TA was used to calling on me repeatedly. Not only was my mind elsewhere, but I hadn't done the readings – my answers were perfunctory and obviously ill-informed.
To make matters worse, Bonnie was toying with me throughout the tutorial. She sat slightly back from the table, angled her body slightly towards me, and kept crossing and re-crossing her legs in my direction – bumping my legs with her her toes each time. Tiring of this, she moved closer to the table and, when everyone was looking at someone on the other side of the room, daringly reached under the table to caress my imprisoned cock, and squeeze my balls.
I spent the majority of the tutorial in a state of painful semi-arousal, and desperate for it to end. More importantly, I was dying to remove the painful device on my penis.
However, Bonnie clearly had other plans.At around the 45 minute mark of our hour long tutorial, she leaned over and whispered something to the TA about an e-mail she apparently already sent to him requesting permission to leave early, and then began gathering her things. He bid her goodbye, and then continued on with the tutorial. I looked imploringly at Bonnie, but she had already gathered her things and was quickly making her way towards the door.
I was shocked and didn't know what to do, and the she was gone – leaving me (and my cock!) stuck in a difficult situation. Without another option, I waited for the tutorial to finish, pretended to be looking through my notes as everybody filed out of the classroom, and then packed up and left in a daze.
As I left, I turned my phone back on and saw that I had a text: 'Call u tmrw ~Bonnie~'. I texted her back asking why she had left me, but received no answer. I called her and she didn't answer. I hung up when her machine picked up.
At a loss, I walked briskly back to my res room.
I skipped dinner at the dining hall and ate leftovers. What should I do?! At least I didn't have any classes on Friday!
I decided to look up lock picking online, but a few minutes of browsing told me that I needed tools to pick a lock. I fashioned makeshift tools out of a piece of a pen cap and a bent paper clip, but to no avail. Not happening.
One thing was for sure: there was no way I was going to ask any of my friends for help… or go to a locksmith for that matter. My cock was staying locked until Bonnie let it out or I came up with a better idea.
At a loss, I went to bed early and tried to sleep. Unable to relax, my mind bounced between worry over my situation and thoughts of Bonnie. Even despite all that she had done to me, God did I ever want her. She certainly wasn't the ditz I thought she was – and damned if those legs of hers weren't absolutely gorgeous.
Every time my mind went down this path, I would begin to become aroused – which would lead to excruciating pain… and then more worry about my predicament.
Eventually, after several hours and too many of these cycles to recall, I fell asleep.
My phone woke me at 6am. It was a text from Bonnie: it read 'Meet me for breakfast at 7′, and named a cafe just off campus that was popular with students.
I was somewhat flabbergasted, but at the same time it's not like I could say no in this predicament. I texted back saying I would be there.
I quickly rose and showered (which was an interesting experience), and rushed out to the cafe. By the time I got there, it was 8 minutes after 7. Bonnie was sitting in the front window. As I walked past the window to the entrance, I could see her looking impatiently at her watch. Shit.
I rushed inside and approached the table, reaching for the chair to sit down.
Bonnie looked up and snapped 'Stop'.
I did.
Pointing at her watch, she looked at me expectantly. She was totally in control, and I knew it. I immediately apologized: 'I'm sorry Bonnie, it took me longer than I expected to get here.'
'From now on, you always on time,' she stated confidently, and more loudly than I would have liked. I had spotted some people I knew on my way in.
I quickly agreed, blushing and desperate to sit down. Wordlessly, Bonnie pushd the chair out from the table with her high-heel clad toe, and gestured for me to sit.
My intent had to been to confront her about leaving me in tutorial the day before, and to demand the key to my plastic prison. As had been the case with our every interaction lately, Bonnie had me so off-balance that I just sat there, waiting for her to take the lead. She was clearly in no hurry, picking up her pink blackberry and typing away while I sat there uncomfortably.
After a couple of minutes, she put her phone down and took a sip of her tea. She looked at me and smiled coquettishly, still saying nothing. She held the eye contact until I looked away.
We continued to sit there in silence. The server came and asked if I wanted anything. I ordered tea. Some people I knew vaguely walked past and smiled at me. I nodded back, hoping they wouldn't approach. Mercifully, they didn't.
Once again, despite my uncomfortable position, I couldn't help but admire Bonnie's assets. It was a cool morning, so she was wearing a fashionable sweatshirt with a pair of tight fitting jeans and black heels. Her legs were crossed, and she was dangling the heel on her crossed leg.
Bonnie caught me looking and smirked. Blood began to flow to my cock, and I winced in pain. She caught the wince too, and her smirk turned into a broad smile. She was loving this.
After this, she broke the silence: 'You like my heels?'
'Um… yes,' I replied, my eyes downcast.
'Good,' she said. After a pause, gestured vaguely to my midsection and asked, 'Does it hurt?'
'….. yes,' I said again.
'Good,' she repeated.
Another moment of silence.
'You are wearing underwear?' she asked. I said that I was. She shook her head, tisking gently, and gestured to the server for the bill. 'I do not like you to wear underwear.'
I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I didn't.
'We fix that,' she said. Before I could reply, the bill arrived. Bonnie pushed it over to my side of the table and stood up. I took out my wallet to pay, and she walked out of the cafe. I left $20 and followed, without waiting for change.
Outside, Bonnie hailed a cap. She got in, and I followed. She gave the cabbie an address in a young and hip area where a lot of students lived. It was sandwiched between campus and the city's gay neighborhood. 'My apartment,' she informed me.
As soon as the door was shut and the cab started off, Bonnie instantly grabbed my crotch. I yelped slightly, and saw the cabbie peek at me in the rear view mirror. She felt all over the chastity device, checked the lock through my pants, and then squeezed my balls. I grimaced but stayed quiet.
She continued to squeeze, caress and fondle my trapped cock for the duration of 10 minute trip. We rode in silence.
When we arrived, Bonnie stepped out of the cab and walked towards the house, again leaving me to pay. I did.
She lived on the first floor of a semi-detached Victorian style brick row house. It was the kind of neighborhood that had old houses and was relatively nice, but at night it became somewhat rough due to its proximity to subsidized housing nearby. Not a bad neighborhood per se, but not a great one either.
Her apartment consisted of a living room with big bay windows, a small galley style kitchen that looked under-used, her bedroom, and a back patio. The overriding theme of the apartment was pink.
She walked into the the living room and sat down on the couch. I moved to follow and she snapped 'stop.' I did.
'Strip, kneel,' she said.
This again. I complied without hesitation, even my boxers.
She smirked at the sight of my pink-plastic encased penis. Despite myself, I began to become aroused. It hurt. Again, she saw this and loved it.
She gestured towards the floor by the couch, and I knelt.
'Good boy.'
She poked the chastity device with the toe of her shoe. In the silence of her apartment, the dull noise from her toe making contact with the plastic of the chastity device was very audible. She did this a few times, and giggled. Tiring of this, Bonnie worked her toe under the chastity device to my balls and poked them, starting off relatively gentlly but becoming rougher very quickly. I did my best to keep from starting whenever she poked me particularly roughly. Despite the pain, I was still becoming aroused.
She lowered her shoe, and I sighed slightly with relief. But my relief was brief: she wasn't lowering her foot, the movement was actually the backswing for a small kick. The top of her shoe made contact with my balls, and I fell backwards groaning in pain. Bonnie found this hilarious – momentarily. Then she became angry: 'Back on knees!'
I regained my composure as quickly as possible, and regained my kneeling position in front of her. Bonnie leaned forward and delivered an open-handed slap to my right cheek. I saw it coming and managed to avoid falling sideways. She liked this.
Looking down at her foot and shoe, she saw that a bit of precum had wound up on the top area of her foot left exposed by her heels. It had probably been deposited there after that last kick. She pointed at it and said simply 'lick.'
I balked: as much as I would love to lick any part of Bonnie, I wasn't interested in licking up my own precum.
'Lick!' she repeated, louder.
'I can't,' I pleaded.
Angrily, Bonnie reached forward an grabbed the back of my head, pushing my face down towards her feet. I allowed my head to be lowered, but resisted when it came close.
She lowered her head next to mine and whispered quietly into my ear 'You lick now.'
'I can't!' I said again, imploringly.
She released my head and sat back angrily. Looking me in the eye, she raised her toe and tapped on my penis cage once again.
'You like this?' she asked
'No,' I answered.
'No lick, no key,' she spat. 'You lick mess or leave. Now.'
I considered my options: I could overpower her physically, but I had no idea if she had the key on her. It was probably in the apartment somewhere, but I'd probably have to assault her to find out where – and then she could just report me and get me expelled (or worse). Who would believe what had really happened?
'Ok,' I said. Bonnie smiled victoriously.
Leaning down, I began to lick my precum from her dainty foot. I could hear her giggling girlishly above me. She pushed her foot upwards against my mouth, and tapped her toes against my balls with her other foot – just hard enough to hurt. The precum itself wasn't as bad as I had expected, slightly sweet but mostly tasteless. It was just an incredibly humiliating position to be in, so I got it over with as fast as possible and quickly regained my kneeling position. The worst part was that my proximity to Bonnie's legs and feet had caused me to start to become aroused again, once more causing my trapped penis to swell and painfully lose the stiffness battle against the plastic prison.
As I lifted my head and looked at Bonnie, I was surprised to see that she was holding her Blackberry, with the camera aimed in my direction.
'Smile!' she chirped. All I could manage was a grimace. With that, she pressed a button on her phone, ending what I had to assume was a video of my humiliation.
Lowring the Blackberry, Bonnie examined her ankle briefly and nodded. Apparently she was satisfied with my work. 'Good boy,' she said. 'Next time you do what I say right away!'
I nodded.
Bonnie stood up abruptly and walked around me to my pile of clothes. She picked up my boxer shorts, and brought them over to where I was still kneeling. Thrusting them close to my face, she said 'You never wear again.'
'Ok,' I agreed.
Satisfied at my assent, Bonnie gathered the rest of my clothes and threw them at me: 'Stand, dress.'
Again, I complied. Once I was dressed (once more, sans underwear), Bonnie walked back to the front door and opened it, gesturing to me to follow. Directly in front of the open door, she reached her right hand down to grab my balls, and with her left hand grabbed my head and brought it down to her level.
Whispering in my ear, she said 'You my toy now. I call you… later.' With that, she gave my balls one last painful squeeze before releasing her grip, pushing me out the door, and slamming it immediately behind me.
Dazed, I stood there momentarily. What could I do? I made my way to the street and began to search for the subway.
As I walked I took stock of my situation: my penis was still locked, I had to believe that there was now video (or at least a picture) of the disgusting act I had been to perform, and Bonnie had made it clear that there was more to come. As disturbing as that was, there was no denying that I had never been so aroused in my entire life.
Churning through my options, I concluded that once again my only choice was to wait for whatever Bonnie had in store.
As I walked, my chastity cage brushed up against my jeans, making me consistently aware of my imprisoned state. My balls ached, both from their pent up state and from Bonnie's painful squeezes and kicks.
I checked my phone: no missed calls or texts.