I remember I read a story once. It was about a man who goes on vacation with his wife, and she is humiliated at the airport and then meets some locals in a crowded bus. I read lots and lots of stories in those days, and most of them I still remember : there was the one about the happy couple on vacation, exchanging laughs and giggles with a bunch of young men, and the one about the young man trying to propose, and... there were many stories. My whole life seemed to consist of stories, of daydreaming. We tried, me and my wife, we sorta-kinda tried some of the things, but not really. She wasn't into anything, not really, not ever more than skin deep. She liked to relax at home, she said. She liked to watch TV, and make dips. I gained fifteen pounds over the seven years of dipping, the endless, dreary years of ever so slightly dipping into so many interesting, enchanted things -- but always from far away. Always from behind something quite like thick glass.
Eventually I made the hardest decision in my life : I thought anything's better than that, even solitude. I thought there must be someone out there who shares at least some small part of an interest, there must be! Maybe we'd have already met, I could be with her, I thought, if only I wasn't married already. The thought kept me up at night. It used to be my desire, then my frustration kept me up at night ; but after enough time went by even frustration went away, its place taken over entirely by one obsessive thought I could never really shake : if only...
I filed for divorce, and then, after another seven years... I was just about to give up, on everything. I kept a file, for my own records, seven years, a hundred-sixty-eight dates, thirty-two different women. Nothing. Just... nothing. They wanted to cuddle, to watch TV, to... But then, finally, just as hope was about to die I hit the jackpot! Deborah!
Deborah is everything I am attracted to. She was 39 when we met, no fibbies, by the driver's license. She really didn't look it. She took great care of herself. She cooked at home a lot, exercises every day... she's easily the best dresser I've ever seen. People in the movies have nothing on her, the women I mean. Her career just took off, which is how we met. The previous week she had been promoted, as senior marketing executive for a major brand. She asked for a secretary, and corporate ok'd it. I went in for the interview. There were other people there, maybe six or seven, but I was the only guy. We got on like a house on fire, by the time the interview was over I was in love. I could think of nothing but her, the way she acted, the way she spoke. The way she held herself. I was taking an art class at the time, from the local college, a sort of outreach program they had, to better serve the community. I went through a whole 100-sheet block of drawing paper trying to capture something of her, anything. The neck, an arm, anything. It wasn't any good, and then the days started stretching out. Two weeks after my interview I knew I didn't have a chance.
Maybe I never had a chance. Maybe my only chance at hapiness was good and gone. I had just glimpsed enough to know it's possible, and forever stay up at night thinking of what I could never have. It made me so angry! Eventually I asked an online expert. I had to buy all sorts of useless junk, "information products" they call it, but eventually spent enough to obtain a direct consultation. He listened to me half-way. I could hear computer noises in the background and guttural excitement, I think maybe he was playing video games with his friends. After I tried to explain things as best he could he said "Nevermind that. Do you know her full name ?" Indeed, I knew her full name. "You call the reception where she works. You say you're the new intern at the brand she works for, and could you please have the number for Deborah what's her face." Why didn't I think of that ? Five minutes later, as if possessed, I was throwing the meekest "Hello ?" into the empty distances.
"Yes ? Who is this ?"
I said my name. Evidently it meant nothing to her. "What's this in reference to ?"
"Yes... Ma'am... I... I interviewed for your secretary."
"Oh," she said, and my whole life concentrated, centered in a needlepoint right inside my chest, under the bone. I could feel she's about to hang up. Maybe say something first. Maybe. Hang up, for sure. I blurted out "Please, Ma'am. I need a job. I would do anything for you. I..." and hot, freezing perspiration waterfalled down my back. What an idiot. The one shot, my only shot, and waste it up like that. Not even prepare, nothing. Just waste it, down the drain. "Please, I can be a maid. Or... anything." I said, my courage building as I heard my squeaky, begging voice. "I'd do anything for you."
There was a pause. It seemed to stretch forever. I felt numb. I was dead, completely dead inside. Then the voice sprouted in my head, like all the brass of fifty bands going off at once : she hadn't hung up! She hadn't! If she was going to, she'd have done it by now. A woman like that ? Decisive. She'd have done it by now for sure. She's considering it. My skin leaked everywhere. Eventually the confirmation came from across the line. I was right! I was right! She was considering it!
"Do you have a uniform ?"
"I... uh yes, I do." I said, praying to all the saints that she'd leave me enough time to buy something.
"Fine. 1982 Montgomery, Saturday, eight in the morning. Sharp."
"Yes Ma'am" I ejaculated, about ready to collapse.
"And... wear it."
She hung up. I spent all the ensuing Friday shopping for my future uniform. It started tame enough, early in the morning, but before nine o'clock I realised she didn't mean a male uniform. I didn't mean a male uniform either, not really. I was to show up in a skirt if I was to show up at all, and... I had no experience at all with anything like that. I didn't even know how to broach the subject. I considered going back home and asking for advice on the Internet. There must be people willing to help in communities and things like that. I didn't think I had the time. What if it takes too long ? What if the shops close ? I couldn't be late, and she lived far out in the suburbs, it was at least an hour drive, though I had resolved to leave at six thirty and wait in the car in front of the address for a whole hour if it need be, rather than need an extra minute I didn't have to get there.
I couldn't just tell the clerks I want to try on the stuff. I know I should have, but I just... couldn't. It didn't even occur to me. I kept trying to broach the subject, but it didn't work out, and it made me come off extremely odd. The clerks tried their best to maintain a professional demeanor, but their disinterest soon gave way to leering, and then disdain. I was beside myself and growing more frantic every minute. I took a break, and while sitting in the food court with coffee I told myself, I'll just have to come clean. There's no other way. The next shop I tried had a single young girl working. Just her and me. I knew this had to be it. I knew I couldn't walk out of there without a knockout maid outfit. She was very small, almost tiny, with really large eyes and black hair neatly pulled in a braid. I went right up to her and said "Miss... I am in love". Her eyes widened. "But the woman, she doesn't know it." Her eyes grew wider still, her tiny nose and tinier mouth mere points underneath. "There's a... there's a costume party, and I have to... I have to go as a maid." Her relief was palpable. "I must look really, really good. Will you help me ? Please ?"
She blinked, complicit, then whispered "You mean, a woman's uniform ?" I nodded vigorously. She whispered "have you ever wore women's clothes before ?" I shook my head, just as vigorously. She looked me straight in the face. "Would you like to have breasts ?" I froze. Breasts. Women have breasts, that's why their clothes look like they're women's clothes. That's why they're made that way. I'd look like a scarecrow, there's no way out. I'm doomed, this hare-brained scheme isn't ever going to work. I whimpered, and started to collapse. Her tiny hand reached out to my shoulder. "Don't worry", she said, like a mother comforting a scared child. "Wait in the dressing room, I'll be right there." I don't know how long I waited. I wasn't exactly passed out, nor really day-dreaming either, more in a suspended state like I think hypnosis goes. When she came in she had an armful of pre-stuffed bras. "They're for women that had mastectomies" she explained. She stripped me to my chest, then helped me put them on, one by one. I was babbling incoherently. She picked one for me. Then she handed me a roll of duct tape. "I'll go get buttocks now. You have to tape your penis neat and tight, otherwise the panties won't look right." She left. I couldn't understand what she meant ; then I understood. I rushed frantically to fix myself, though maybe using too much of the tape. She had me try on a variety of different panties, they all came down the leg and had silicone pads over the butt. It all made me feel strangely feminine, mostly the sisterhood feeling I was developing for her. Though it was only us in the dressing room, a ways away from the empty store she quietly whispered "If you want the real look you can buy see-through panties too, and find something at a specialty shop." I looked at her, dazed. "There's silicone gaffs. Like a mask. Nobody can tell just by looking."
I said "Thank you! Thank you so much!" she nodded and smiled. "May I... do you want me to... to..." I said, skining to my knees, my face inching towards her crotch. "Oh, no thank you." she giggled, and shot out of there. The duct tape pulling on my hairs made it very obvious what a huge mistake I'd made. But she came back, with an armload of French-style maid uniforms. "These are the skimpiest we have", she said. "Let me know what you like, I'll be over there" and she left again. As I was trying on my way through the pile, trying my best to somehow decide which of the simply stunning outfits was my best bet, she came back in again. "I forgot the pantyhose. Or do you want stockings ?" I stared at her blankly. "What's the difference ?" She chirped like a pro, at high speed : the pantyhose includes the panty, and is advantageous in my situation because it'll hold everything in tight. Stockings need garter belts, and this is why they are more expensive for first time buyers ; but they amortise that cost because one can change just one stocking at a time when it gets a run or anything, there's no need to throw out both. Some people also think they're classier and look better. "Stockings. Definitely." I said. She flew out and came right back in bearing beautiful white stockings and a collection of high heels. Soon enough I was the most gorgeous maid a dude ever made, though I could barely stand. "Do your feet hurt ?" she asked me in her warm, loving, almost motherly way. "Very much" I winced. "That's good. My feet hurt too" she said. "You'll get used to it." I was overwhelmed by a desire to rub her feet, and not just that, to kiss them, to smell them. I never experienced that before. I said "Please don't be offended, but I'd really love to smell your feet." She giggled and looked around, unsure of herself. "You really are a weirdo, aren't you." I nodded my head. "What's your name ?" she asked, juvenile curiosity shining through her voice. Like we were at camp.
"Phillip", I said.
"Well Phillip... if I let you sniff my feet will you rub them, too ?" I nodded even more vigorously than ever before. Definitely, rub them, yes, oh yes, please. "Are you going to get weird ?"
I shook my head. "No, no, certainly not without permission... Ma'am." I looked at her.
She shook her head, sending the braid whiplashing about her shoulders. "I don't want to say."
"That's okay." I said, and sunk to the floor. What a relief, being off of those shoes for a moment! She sat herself on the bench, kicking off her stilettos. I grabbed her tiny, dainty tiny feet in my hands, and kissed her toes, then the ball of her foot. Her aroma was intoxicating, very faint, barely perceptible. "May I..." I said, looking up at her. She nodded and undid her garter straps under her skirt, pushing the stockings down past her knees. I eased the flimsly stuff off of her divine little feet, and rubbed and kissed and loved and craddled those doves of hapiness until she had enough of me. She went to put her stockings back on, but I stopped her. "Please, buy yourself a new pair. Charge it to me."
She looked up, excitement sparkling in her eyes. "Really ?" I nodded. "How about two pairs ?"
"Sure" I said, excitement sparkling in my eyes too.
"How about... how about if we max out your credit card ?"
The store was whirling around me. The answer came, unavoidable. "That's what I'm here for."
"Oh, Phillip... you don't know what this means to me. I'm behind rent, and... and... I mean, you know I'll return them, right ? I don't really need that many stockings for anything."
I just nodded. She ran out. Then she ran back in, for her shoes. Then she ran back out, still barefoot, holding her shoes in her hand. Then she came back in, a little later, shoes back on. "I thought about it, and we'll do it after the rest of the stuff you want, okay ?"
I nodded yet again, and hauled my loot to the register. It made a large pile : two different uniforms, just in case, three pairs of stockings, two pairs of very uncomfortable heels, the special undergarments... added up there still was left room for twenty-nine pairs of stockings under my ceiling. She charged them one by one, her excitement growing with each accepted transaction. "Maybe we'll be here all day" she chirped. I didn't say anything. Eventually, as the thirtiest pair was rejected she smiled sweetly and said "Twenty-nine!" with a victorious ring to her voice. "Just like my age!"
"Many happy returns" I said, not understanding I had made a joke until she choked up with laughter. "Can I use you again in the future ?" she asked then, her eyes shyly seeking up to mine. I nodded again. "But how will you know... oh, I know! Phillip, when you're ready for another shearing you come right here to see me. You can be my little lost sheep. Here!" she said, excited, and handed me a little sheep mascot from somewhere behind the counter.
"Thank you." I said, grabbing hold of the many bags.
"Don't be a stranger now!" she giggled, as I was going out.
"Wow it's so cool to be sitting here talking and everything! I never thought it'd happen..."
"All it took was saying hi."
"I know, right ? How cool is that! So... no, nevermind."
"You know I totally want to ask you all about it, right ? But whatever. You'll probably flip out and not wanna be friends anymore. We're friends, right ? I mean..."
"Ha! This is like the best thing that happened all year. Really, we're like... I can tell people oh yeah, I know Alexis, we're tight!"
"Can I crash at your place whenever I feel like ?"
"Yeah ? I mean totally, would you ? Please ?"
"So then. Isn't that what friends are ?"
"Are you coming this weekend ? We could... well I got this Sephora kit we could try it out. If mom throws a fit we'll just use the den or something."
"Should I bring lingerie to try on ?"
"O god yes. You got lingerie ?"
"You mean like nighties and shit like that ?"
"Oh my god totally. We'll make jello shots."
"You can buy alcohol ?"
"I got vodka stashed! And things. Say... can I invite some of the other girls ? I mean... no, nevermind. Should just be the two of us."
"They're dying to know, you know. They're all dying to know."
"Know what ?"
"You know... would you tell me ? Please ? I promise I won't tell anybody. I swear!"
"What do you want to know ?"
"Is it true ? Were..."
"Is what true ?"
"You were in that movie. Weren't you ?"
"What movie ?"
"Oh my god. Oh my god. I'm totally sorry. I didn't mean anything. Please don't be offended now."
"Calm down. You mean, with Donna ?"
"Oh my god! Donna! Yes, when you're tied up in that underpass. And there's some girls coming down the stairs, like four girls. They're all dressed like normal, and you're... you're..."
"But completely! Completely naked! And tied up. And they... they..."
"So how was it ?"
"Well... I mean, you've seen it."
"But not really. You only see the outside."
"No, it's exactly like it looks. I was having lunch on campus, you know, on the lawn. Next thing I know Donna walks up to me and says 'Hi, I'm Donna.'"
"Oh my god! She said that ?!"
"Well... yeah ?"
"So what then ?"
"Then she asked me if I'm interested in making sixteen hundred dollars that afternoon."
"I know, right ? She said they had a model that cancelled, and they have a slot, so if I want it and I can show ID it's mine."
"But I mean... didn't she say what it is ?"
"Not exactly... I mean, come on. It's Donna. You know what it's going to be, no ?"
"So... yeah. They picked me up in a van, we talked the script over, I asked if it's cash, they said it can be if I want and counted it out, then we were there, she took me out"
"On a leash!"
"Well yeah. And then two hours later more or less it was all done."
"But I mean... do they... you know, before ?"
"Oh, no. No, it wouldn't look good right after."
"How about afterwards ?"
"Not really. I mean, if you really want to, I guess. But no, not really."
"So they just drop you off ?"
"Fantastic. Man, I wish something like that could happen to me!"
"Yeah, it wasn't bad at all."
Deborah's definitely an alpha woman. Our relationship was immediately what they call "female led", though it wasn't immediately a relationship. Her pleasure always comes first ; I'm only ever allowed to orgasm with permission. Deborah decides what we do, all the time, since Day 1. After 6 months of coming in three times a week plus whenever she felt like calling, she finally suggested I move in with her. I jumped at the chance. She told me that she took so long to decide because she really enjoyed paying me my salary. We had a special arrangement where I earned century-old wages. I cleared eight, nine dollars a week most weeks, she usually paid me in coins to underline the humiliation. She often forced me to spend it frivolously, knowing full well I can't afford anything, not even bus fare. Most of the time I'd be walking down the street by buskers who had more money on display than I had had in my hands altogether in weeks! But then she said, a position opened up at her place of work, for a janitor. I'd go work there, it pays almost as little ; plus I'd have to actually be a janitor. The idea thrilled her, I could tell. So I quit my day job. She wouldn't give me a lift ever, I had to go and come back by bus. I don't even understand how this is possible, but for many years that one line still used paper, it had no electronic ticketing system. Sometimes she wouldn't buy me a new pass for a few days once the old one expired on purpose, so I could have the thrill of getting in trouble as she called it. If they caught me without a ticket (which I rarely could afford) and with an expired pass they'd sorta detain me. It was very humiliating, like highschool detention almost. She'd let me sit there a while, then show up pretending to be angry, and berate and humiliate me in front of the little people, as she called them. She said it's good for them, she said they enjoy so much seeing scum worse than themselves. I guess that was me. It certainly felt that way, the looks they gave me.
She wouldn't even buy me new overalls for my first day of work. I had to use one of the old pairs left behind. She wouldn't ever buy me new clothes in general. She only bought second hand for me, and she really preferred it if my shoes had at least a few holes in them. Many times she made me wear girly body suits with my overalls, the sort that skaters wear over their pantyhose. She liked the long sleeved ones, sometimes legless but often with legs and almost impossible to get off by yourself. A few times she did the whole nine yards as she called it : she made me put in a tick plug in the morning, then she forced me to eat a bowl of dried prunes in buttermilk for breakfast, then strapped me into the tightest, least accessible legged body suit available and off I went. After an hour on the bus I was just about ready to explode. I did explode once. That time she used nail polish to solder the clasps shut, I was too excited to notice and simply couldn't get them off at all. I thought I was going to die, it hurt so bad inside. Fortunately the plug was large enough to stay in, especially if I sat down on it ; but the supervisor saw me sitting and gave me what for. Eventually I had to stand up, and after that I had to run off, dripping off the pant legs. I spent most of that day cleaning after myself as best I could.
The move-in took our relationship to a much deeper level. Deborah showed me my new room excitedly : it was the space under the stairs, where she stored the brooms and mops and cleanning supplies. It wasn't large enough to have a cot in there, let alone a bed. She laughed deligtedly at my puppy face, and showed me an old dog basket deep in there. I had to sleep curled up ; though she said in the Summer it'll be ok if I take it out and sleep on the porch, just as long as I keep my leash on at all times. I did all the chores, of course. It really was frustrating, but it was my fantasy come true.
Only a few weeks after moving in I had another shock. Deborah told me her daughter was taking a break from studying in Europe, so she was coming home to stay, "for a while". Many times I had heard Deborah wax lyrical about her daughter, truly the apple of her mother's eye. I was honestly looking forward to meeting her, though I had my doubts and fears, as usual. As it happened her Father, Deborah's first (and only) husband, disappeared many years prior. Nobody knew where he went, or why ; but I soon figured out that Alexis did not at all like the fact that her Mother had a new partner, or at any rate someone living in the house. The disappearance had affected her very much.
A week before Alexis was to arrive Deborah sat me down and said "Phil I want to ask you for a favour."
"Yes Ma'am. Anything, Ma'am." I replied, trying my best to do my best, as usual.
"I am a little worried about Alexis. You see, she was really hurt when her father... well... to tell you the truth I do not think she ever got over it. I love her dearly and she is so precious to me I do not want to see her upset in any way."
"Of course not." I agreed.
"She doesn't like the idea of you being here at all. I told her you really don't have anywhere else to go, but she's still really unhappy about the whole thing. You understand, of course, that merely because I use you sexually now and again doesn't mean anything. It's absolutely not like you being a step father for my daughter."
"Actually, I'd be a lot more comfortable with this discussion if you were a lot less comfortable. Drop and give me fifty."
Deborah worked out a lot herself, and was very conscious of the human body. She made me do all sorts of exercises, especially push-ups. She really enjoyed seeing me physically exhausted, struggling to continue some exercise she dreamed up for me. Especially pushups. When we first met I couldn't do one no matter what, but by now she had me where twenty was comfortable, thirty a sweat, and fifty certainly a struggle. As I was pushing hard, splattering beads of sweat everywhere on the spic&span floor I would soon have to clean again, she towered over me.
"You're not anything to me, or my daughther. Is that clear ?"
"You're certainly not her step father."
"You're not to come even remotely close to anything like that, you understand me ?"
"Be very careful not to cause any trouble on this score. Any trouble at all. Got it ?" she said, kicking me slightly in the side. That was her way of letting me know I was done. I had to roll over, and she'd rub her shoes over my penis until she got bored of it -- whether it made me cum or not irrespective.
As she was mercilessly torturing my balls I started to get concerned. I thought for a moment she was going to dump me! Then she eased off, maybe taking pity on my helpless whimpers. She said "I also want her to see that you are very different man. A very different kind of man. You are, aren't you ?"
"Yes Ma'am," I sighed as I sputtered.
"Maybe she understands there's ways a man can make a woman happy after all. That there are ways to make a man very good to live with. That not only you make me very happy, but that someone could make her happy one day too." she said, pensive.
"Yes, Deborah." I said. "I would like nothing more Ma'am."
She recollected herself. "That's wonderful to hear Phil, I was hoping you would. Please understand that it may take a while for her to get used to you. She may be a little harsh at times, even. But I can just ask you to suck it up for a while. Can't I ?"
"Of course, darling. I understand. I'll do anything for you."
"I think a good start would be if you painted her bedroom this weekend, so its nice for her when she gets her on Tuesday."
I knew right then and there it's the end. My life as I knew it, as I had known it before Deborah, included one fixed point, throughout the years : the Test Match with my friends from my old cricket team. Alas, it evidently was not to be, Deborah did not want it anymore. The match was sold out, and my expensive ticket went up for grabs on eBay immediately. Once sold, the funds would go into her account, and that was that -- I never could ever again afford such a thing. My networth had just taken a final tumble, and yet most people losing 99.99% of everything they own don't often feel quite in the same way I felt that day. It was firm, definite. Final. Like a marble slab had made something airtight.
She slapped me hard across the face. *Whack* I shook awake.
"What's more important to you Phil? Me and Alexa or your stupid cricket friends?"
"You, of course!" I said, startled, but still humble.
"You can listen to the match on the radio while you paint. So you don't completely forget about it, you know. It'll make the sacrifice so much better."
However heavy it felt inside, I readily complied with my woman's wishes. I meekly complied ; my face still stung from her slap, and I knew another punishment would be coming my way tonight. Not for having done anything wrong, mind you. It was a long time since she punished me for doing anything wrong anymore. No, the punishment would be for doing so well, just as she said. So I don't forget, to make the sacrifice so much better. Deborah was a real perfectionist, especially when it came to my sacrifice. I loved cricket ; and while I hadn't played for a number of years now I enjoyed going to the Test Match each year and having a few beers with my mates from my old cricket team. This year it was extra special as it was an Ashes Test, and the team had been playing really well. My friends had already teased me about being pussy whipped, for a long time. It hurt so deeply, having this last, final remaining priviledge stripped away. "Has someone been a naughty boy have they?" they'd ask, and I'd try my best to dissimulate. "No, no, it's just... something has come up". They wouldn't buy it, and... oh, what's the use.
After cooking dinner and washing up that night I reported to Deborah's study. I knocked on the door and was asked to come in. Deborah always looked so imposing sitting behind her desk! She had her hair tied back, and looked very intimidating. She didn't give me permission to sit so I stood there before her, my head bowed, too scared to make eye contact.
"I was extremely pleased with your reaction today, Phillip. It showed you have real maturity and centerdness, that you are responsible and have your priorities straight."
"Because self-sacrifice is the mother of all virtues. When I invited you to live with me you promised you would always put me and my priorities ahead of your own, and indeed every time you do exactly that. It makes me proud of you. To commemorate this moment,"
She had a way of making me feel ashamed and guilty. I lowered my head further. The way her words came out, it just made my cheeks burn and my back curl. I was so devastated, somehow! Maybe she really was about to dump me. But... why ?
"No, Deborah, no. I love you dearly. Yes it is selfish of me. I am truly sorry. Please! Please forgive me! Let me make it up to you."
She had me begging before I knew it. I couldn't even tell what I was begging for. She knew how to make me feel guilty and ashamed. I was desperate for her forgiveness.
"You will need to be punished, Phillip."
"Pull down your trousers and underpants and lean over the desk."
Her words were firm, round, dripping authority. It curdled something in me, something deep inside. As I did exactly as I was told I felt deeply satisfied, like an unreachable itch was finally being scratched. She proceeded to lay upon my quivering backside thirty-six cracking strokes of the long, flat paddle she kept for this very purpose. I know, for I counted them outloud. It was agony, sheer delicious agony! After each stroke I said. "Thank you Great One for this lesson in obedience! I will obey promptly and happily in the future!" Now and again she'd send a stroke across the upper part of my thighs instead, sending my unrestrained ballsack flying like a baseball. I squealed like a banshee! Oh how that hurt! Then there were too the strokes that were overlays of earlier strokes. They really killed. My throat started to choke up as the punishment went on and it got harder and harder to clearly express my gratitude. Needless to say by the end of it the message had sunk in. I fell to my knees and kissed my wife's feet in genuine remorse. I worshipped her for a long time before being sent to my doggy den. First, her divine feet ; then, once she signalled she was satisfied working my way slowly back and forth her thighs, and then working her orgasms with my mouth the way she likes me to, the complicated, intricate way our ritual goes. Then the Amish way, where I'm perfectly still, all inside of her, the handle that she likes buried deep inside my ass. I have to go in perfectly slowly, and then hold still, while she plays with me, and squeezes and enjoys herself. Then, after the inevitable if long, agonizingly prolonged squirt, the cleanning up, all of it, while complimenting her on her great choice of men, that I'm pretending to be tasting inside her, lengthy, specific descriptions and elaborate flattery. Then she was in the mood for anal violation, so I thoroughly licked and prepared her asshole, and then exchanged the handle for the double-headed dildo. As I lay perfectly still she tortured me while torturing herself, at her own pace, to her own satisfaction. All the while I pretended to be a helpless victim, loudly, verbose for her amusement. Then she caned my feet, for failing to protect her from the butt rapist, while I licked and kissed better her suffering hole.
In the morning I started on the painting, which was a big job and took most of the following weekend. It was not a straightforward job as the bedroom had not been painted for many years. I had to move all the furniture out first, and the wardrobe was quite heavy so I had to take all the clothes out to move it. Deborah insisted I sand the walls thoroughly, and insisted on inspecting before I move on to actually painting. She rejected my sanding efforts three times before allowing me to wash the walls with sugar soap. The ceiling had an intricate trim and there was a lot of woodwork around the windows and the skirting board which all meant extra care to be taken. I was so relieved when I finally finished, to Deborah's satisfaction, late on Sunday night. By the time Alexis'd arrive the smell of the paint would have settled.
Deborah took me along to help with the bags when she went to the airport pick up her daughter. As Alexis walked towards us I was breathless, intoxicated by her unrelenting beauty. She was just like her mother, only better in every way : slightly taller, slightly better built, and that disdain in that voice when Deborah said "this is Phil, my manservant" and she said "Oh."... I had seen photographs of her, but none truly conveyed. I was in love again, desperately, helplessly, hopelessly in love again. Unlike with her mother, I'm sure Alexis had a lot of competition to offer too, lots of young men chasing that tail on her. She greeted Deborah with a huge hug, they were both so excited to see each other.
I offered my hand to shake, but she just looked at me like I was a walrus or something.
"It's lovely to meet you, Alexis! Your mother has told me so many good things about you."
She just ignored me. Turning to Deborah she asked,
"Why is he wearing women's clothes ?"
"Oh, that" Deborah answered. "He's just a little confused, that's all."
"Oh... Mother! And he's living with us?" she continued her line of inquiry, in a very displeased tone.
"Yes. Don't give it any thought, there's nothing there. In time you might come to appreciate its utility."
"He better be useful." the god damned brat said, gesturing vaguely but very dismissively towards her bags. I hussled to it. I had known Alexis for all of 5 minutes, and already she had me feeling beyond intimidated. I was too scared to say another word, and walked behind the Mother and daughter carrying her bags. Truth be told, I was more affraid of her than her Mother, which is why I kept my eyes glued on her swinging ass the whole time. On the drive home I kept quiet while the two of them chatted away like jays.
On arrival they followed me and the bagpile towards the room I had painted for Alex. Deborah said "Look! Phil painted your room for you!"
"Yuk! It's disgusting!" came the immediate reply. "What an awful colour."
"Awww. He picked it himself! But no matter, you can pick something else and he'll do it over again."
I was crushed! After all the work i did this was the thanks I got! Do it all again!
"Go grab the colour charts and let Alexis choose!"
I ran out of there, then back in. I fetched the swatches at a running pace the whole time.
I sunk to my knees in front of the couch. The little princess sat there undisturbed, like the Queen of Sheba. As she leafed through the colour charts I inched closer and closer to her feet. Eventually she noticed me and smiled sweetly. I took that as encouragement to put my nose right on the little cut coming in between her toes. She let out a warm "Awww!" and then kicked me as hard as she could. Hard enough to start my nose bleeding. "There!" she yelled. "That's the color for the highlight. and Lemon Butter for the main." She threw the catalog at my head, and I stumble-ran out of there before Deborah could ask anything.
"Mummy," I heard her saying on my way out, "You're not going to be doing things with him while I'm here. Are you ?" my
"Um... no dear, of course not."
"Can I sleep with you in your bedroom ? While he paints mine again ?"
"Why certainly dear!"
I was stepping on air. That little bitch! Cockblocking Deborah as sweetly sweet as she busted my nose! What a cunt! What a perfect, just simply perfect cunt! I glanced up at Alexis and she smiled at me with a look of victory plastered all over her smug mug.
I loved Deborah dearly, and while serving her was challenging at times it was always something I enjoyed. She appreciated the things I did for her, and her punishments and corrections made me a much better man. Alexis on the other hand was an entirely different kettle of fish. Deborah had warned me, but I don't think she'd told her anything. It almost seemed as if I was to become the scapegoat for all her bottled anger. She took to bossing me around from the very first day. Deborah was so concerned for her that she gave in to her every wish not wanting to upset her. Before I knew it I was doing everything for her, from serving her breakfast in bed, to doing all her ironing and washing and being her chauffeur whenever she wanted to go out. I had to wash her socks, stockings and underwear by hand, something Deborah thought was such a splendid idea I was reasonably certain would become a permanent fixture. The little bitch was as hard a taskmistress as possible, forever picking holes in my service, and eagerly complaining to Deborah. Often she would go out late at night and I would get a call in the wee hours of the morning to pick her up. Most times it took me longer to get there than she thought it should, so she'd gleefully humiliate me in front of her girlfriends before having me drive them and her home. Around the house she was so messy it seemed almost intentional. I was forever picking up after her. If she sat down with a plate of figs in front of the TV, she wouldn't merely lay the ends on the coffee table in a pile. She wasn't even content to simply throw them all over the livingroom. No, she had me be there, and find them one by one. Whenever she changed she just dropped her clothes on the floor, not even in the bathroom. Far from not bothering to put them in the dirty clothes basket, she left them wherever and then gave me the third for missing clothes. Her panties especially, she took great pleasure in stuffing them random places panties can't normally get to and then pretending like I'm secretly stealing them. Every shower required two fresh towels, and she wouldn't dry off in the shower stall but had to step out and leave the floor soaking wet. Whenever she wanted something she took to sending me a text message, it would simply say "lounge room now" and I would be expected to get there ASAP or else. She particularly loved slapping me across the face ; truth be told I loved it just as much, the sting but especially the humiliation of it.
Things took a definite turn one evening. Deborah had to go out to a work function straight from work. I had made Alexis her dinner and served it to her while she watched TV. I had wolfed down something myself in the kitchen and was busy washing up when she summoned me back to the lounge room.
"I just had a call from Jean, we are going out. Iron my little black dress and lay it out on my bed little bitch!"
She had never called me that before. It was not a request but a command, of course. I was well used to her bossing me around. I laid off my washing up and hurried to the laundry to iron her dress. When I returned to the bedroom where I used to service her mother, I found the door closed. I knocked, and she called me in. She was standing in there, stark naked. I was gobsmacked. Just simply mesmerized. She really was stunning. As she reached a perfectly manicured nail down, parting her lips slightly and rubbing herself delicately she smiled sweetly again. "What are you looking at, you pervert!"
"Nothing, Princess Alexis. I... I was just not expecting you to be... to be..." I hadn't called her that before either ; but desperate times do require desperate measures.
"You were ogling me, you filthy little swine. Weren't you ? Answer, bitch!"
"Wait 'till I tell Mother!"
"Please don't, Alexis. I wasn't, honest. It was just the shock of seeing you like that, so wonderful and luscious and please don't say anything to Deborah."
She reached down and grabbed my crotch. She took her time feeling my rapidly hardening erection. When it reached the consistency of well set cement she pulled down my ruffly panties, fully exposing it.
"You really think I'm luscious ?"
"Oh, yes Mistress."
"Am I the most beautiful woman you ever saw ?"
"Oh yes. By very far!"
She took two steps back. "Alright little bitch, here's what I want you to do : go ahead and stroke that ridiculous miniturd of yours while I vid you with my phone. Tell me how great I am and how much better than my mother the whole time, and loudly, 'cuz the microphone is kinda fucked. I want it to be crystal clear what you're saying. If you do a good enough job I won't show it to mom. At least... not yet."
I was so desperate for release, any kind of release, I went straight to it, seamlessly. I started stroking and preening, and all the while saying "Oh, Princess Alexis! You are the most becautiful woman I ever saw! You are so much better looking than your mother! Deborah is nothing compared to you." The little bitch soon took to rubbing herself in earnest, biting her own shoulder to keep any moans of hers off the incriminating video she was exploiting out of me. We collapsed moments later, both at the same time in the throes of an equal but separate orgasm of cataclysmic proportions. I was very pent up, it's true, but really I never felt release like that before. Once she stood up she went for a belt and charged at me. As the first whack connected she was quite shocked to discover I wasn't running away. I said "Thank you Greatest One for this lesson in obedience! I will obey promptly and happily in the future!" She took a step back, puzzled. Then she asked
"You really like me beating you ?"
"Anything for you, Mistress."
"Is that what you call mom, too ? Greatest One ?"
"No, Wonderful Princess Alexis the Greatest Ever."
"What do you call her ?"
"Great One, Magnificent Mistress."
"That's right, huh."
"Yes it is your Majesty."
"If I sit on your face do you know what to do ?"
We spent the rest of the evening like that, me lapping her delicious font while she twisted and twirled and tortured the shredded remains of my manhood. Then once she was done she gave me a good kick up the backside as I scurried out of the room.
As I curled in my sleeping place I started to panic and worry on some strange level. I knew of course that Alexis would never say anything ; but on the other hand, leaving that aside, Deborah had indeed made it clear to me that ogling any woman was strictly forbidden. What would she say had she found out I ogled not "a woman", but her daughter! And the things I said... some part inside truly wanted me a complete nervous wreck. It was so unfair, too, which somehow only added to the appeal. I had not had any sexual relief for nearly three weeks, ever since Alexis moved in! I was on edge, in a state of perpetual arousal, even without being confronted by a drop dead gorgeous nineteen year old improved version of her mother. I was only a man after all, with only natural desires. I found it hard to concentrate on my chores the whole morning.
Deborah always sleeps in on Sunday, so I had some time to think things through. It was nothing out of the ordinary. I was wondering if Alexis had said anything to her about the previous night's episode. It was about half past ten when I received a text message from Alexis ordering me to make both ladies of the house coffee and bring it to the room immediately. My heart sank. They were obviously both awake, they likely had a conversation. I was nervous as hell as I walked up the stairs with the coffee tray. I knocked on the door and they made me wait for what seemed like an eternity.
"Come in", came Deborah's voice through the door. She was sitting up in bed, in her smooth silk pjs. Alexis was sitting up also but had pulled the quilt all the way up to her chin, making a big deal of how traumatized she was by my sight of her, and how dedicated to hiding any view of her body from me. I placed the cups on the bedside tables and turned to leave when Deborah said, "Not so fast, Phillip. Stand to attention at the end of the bed and face us."
I quickly got into position.
"Is there something you would like to tell me, Phillip ?"
"Yes Ma'am," I said weakly. Alexis was fixed on me. Looking straight into those gorgeously beautiful mischevious eyes of hers I said "I am sorry to say Ma'am that last night while lady Alexis was preparing to go out I snuck quietly at the door and spied on her like a filthy peeping tom, Ma'am. I am very ashamed of myself for it. As it was right she caught me, and she beat me with her belt for it as I deserved. I beg to be punished for my horrible behaviour, Ma'am."
"Is that true honey ?"
"Oh yes it is Mom! He's a pervert!"
"Is there more Phillip ?"
Keeping careful track of the stoplights shining in the little brat whore's eyes I proceeded cautiously forward. "Yes there is, Ma'am."
"What, Phillip ?"
"What were you doing while spying on her, Phillip ?"
"Were you touching yourself, Phillip ?"
"Yes Ma'am. I was, I was touching myself like a filthy dirty pervert."
"Do you know you're not allowed to oogle other women, Phillip ?"
"Don't you know the male gaze is abuse and demeaning to women ?"
"Yes I know Ma'am."
"Didn't you know Alexis is my dearly beloved daughter ?"
"I knew it, Ma'am. I'm sorry Ma'am."
"Didn't I forbid you from touching yourself, or by yourself, or engaging in any kind of sexual activity without my permission ?"
"It's a good thing you came clean of your own. You can imagine how disappointed I was in you when Alexis told me about the incident last night."
"I am so sorry, Ma'am. Truly."
"Quiet!" she yelled, a shiver of pure fear running down my spine. I started sobbing, down on my knees. "To oogle any woman is a sign of grave disrespect, and something I forbid you to do if you were ever to live with me. But my own daughter! Have you no shame ?"
"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I'm so sorry!" I said, watching a devilish grin wash over Alexis's face. Then hung my head low, focussing on the floor, not wanting to make eye contact with Deborah. The grin from Alexis was enough. I knew I had satisfied her, thoroughly, by going exactly as far as she had wanted me to, and not further. Isn't that what a man is for ?
"Look at me, Phillip!" cried out Deborah, in the angriest of tones. I didn't. I pretened like I couldn't, but really, if she didn't know it already she was going to find it out on her own hide soon enough. The house had a new Mistress now, and her name wasn't Deborah. Not by a damn sight, nothing even close to Deborah. It was Alexa, and as I secretly sighed the glory of Her name to myself my heart was beating fast and I was shaking in my boots.
"You know Alexis has been deeply troubled by events in her childhood, and that it is very difficult for her to trust another man! I thought you had been accommodating her so well, only to discover the rotten filth underneath! How can she feel safe and comfortable in her own home, if she is being oogled, and by the man who claims to love her mother!"
"I love you, Deb..." I tried the old refrain. It came out off-key, inescapably playing to the tune of "Say, it's only a paper moon, sailing over a cardboard sea". Yes, it was. Barely a canvas sky anymore, hanging loosely off a coupla remaining stitches over an old muslin tree and all the while a tight, taut teenaged slut with matches in her eyes toyed idly with the whole assemblage.
Deborah cut me off self-importantly. "Do not speak unless I say so!" she yelled out. She squeezed her thumb and forefinger close together. "You are this close to being thrown out of here! It is in fact just what I intended to do. But Alexis here, in her kind and generous heart, asked me to reconsider. You should be very grateful for the opportunity Alexis has given you, Phillip!"
Somehow it was exactly what I was expecting to hear. "You'll be sharing that doggy bed with me soon enough, dummy." came the thought, obsessive, inescapable. "We'll have our tea for two in there yet!" I struggled to repress anything like a smirk. I knew it wouldn't do, and I certainly didn't dare to even in the slightest degree run the risk of offending or annoying the real Princess. But the thought was simply intoxicating. I ached, my whole body and soul ached for such a perfect union with her as that'd be realised. To bring her down with me, to have her crushed, in the same way, to the same degree. To, at the same time, feel the whack on the buttocks and the squeeze of her hand from her own whack on her own buttocks, it literally made me squirt in my pants. I struggled to keep it to myself, but I could tell it wasn't escaping the brat. We, both together, me and her. Ahhh...
Oblivious to all the subtext, Deborah droned on. "Alexis said she would feel safe if your penis was locked up in a chastity device. She then showed me some websites about it and I have to agree it is the only way I could possibly allow you to remain in this house. So you may thank Alexis for her suggestion."
I was stunned. We had never spoken about chastity devices before. I certainly never had the guts to bring it up.
" A ch... a ch... chastity device ?"
Alexis helpfully cut in. "It a special little device that goes around your uncontrollable little... well, whatever it is. It prevents you from misuing it in any way. Not just masturbating, but getting an erection at all. It will make me feel so much safer around you, and, who knows, maybe my panties stop disappearing also."
"Please lady Alexis, I never took any. You said yourself the red pair with the lace were where you left them." She just waved her hand at me dismissively. I turned to Deborah. "But... what about my release, Deborah?"
"That will be up to Alexis, from now on."
I was totally floored, this couldn't be happening! Just how thick is this dummy ?! "But... but... what about us, Deborah?" My tone was pleading, begging -- and apparently convincing!
"Come now, Phillip. You haven't been lasting very long lately. You know I barely use your wee wee the Amish way anymore. We never do anything else, because it's not worth the trouble. You will still be able to please me with your filthy mouth anyway, and with..."
"But what about my release!"
"That will be up to Alexis, so you have to be will well behaved."
I glanced at Alexis and a smile washed over her face. I could tell she is thoroughly cherishing her thorough victory. Who knows, at her age maybe it was the first time. Maybe Alexis' first time was with me. Maybe... "Happy to have been of service, Mistress" I sent over to her, telepathically.
Deborah continued, "Don't flatter yourself with the idea that you have a choice in the matter, Phillip, because you don't. You will be locked up just like Alexis says, you know that, don't you."
"But just to help drive the point home better, I want you to go to the library and write an application for it, with a five thousand word essay detailing why you want the device and supporting its necessity for your happiness."
"Yes Ma'am," I said, and high-tailed it out of there. My head was spinning. I still loved Deborah, of course. I couldn't bear the thought of not living with her ; but there was a new head of the household, and that's that. Deborah then gave me one of her most sultry looks on my way out. I thought she looked plenty melted.
As I returned with my application and essay a few hours later I overheard the two ladies talking in the bedroom. The door was cracked ; I could swear Alexis contrived to leave it ajar on purpose. I very carefully kept a couple of steps away, not looking in through the crack. I could still hear them. I knew what they'd be talking about anyway : Alexis was taking over her mother's life in more ways then one, and what better place to show off than dressing her ? Poor Deborah was unconvincingly, weakly protesting the outfit's too revealig, clearly betraying the thrill underneath ; Alexis stood her ground, as firm as a tower of rock. When I went in I had a mild shock : the little hussy was playing off fire by fire. No single mother'd have permitted her single daughter out of the house dressed anywhere near how Alexis was dressed ; except, of course, if she was struggling with her own, similarly scandalous if ever so slightly toned down outfit. I never saw Deborah quite that exposed, but her daughter was indeed a feast for the eye.
After I parked the two... ahem, club-dressed ladies led the way into the adult store. Deborah followed Alexis straight up to the counter, facing the well built, tall dude with a very gay moustache standing behind it. He wore a brown leather vest directly on the skin, showing off his muscular chest. Tight fitting jeans necessarily completed the charicature. Adult store employees are dressed like diner waitresses eat. I looked around for the military-style cap. Alexis spoke without hesitation, loud enough for the whole store to hear "We are looking for a chastity device for my Mother's boyfriend here. Could you help us ?"
I'm sure I must have turned red as a beetroot, in fellowship to Deborah if for no other reason. The guy gave me a condescending smile. I did my best to imagine contempt in his eyes, and feel extremely self conscious.
"Sure we have a number of different models. Are you looking for a toy or something that can be worn more permanently?" came the mustachioed response.
"Definitely for long term. We are after something secure..." chirped Alexis, without hesitation. Then, after giving me the gypsy eye, she went on "Something... permanent. And very, very secure."
"It will need to be comfortable so he can do all his chores." offered Deborah, to not fall by the wayside completely.
I appreciated the sentiment : not exactly the carying for my comfort as such, but that "chores" in there. She could've just said work, or exercise. Her daughter was certainly taking after someone, even if she caried it further than anyone ever had before.
"Is he pierced?" asked the guy, of either of the ladies in preference of the subject of his sentence. What do I know, anyway.
"No." said Deborah.
"Not yet," settled Alexis. Her mother just looked down, saying nothing. It caused a shiver of panic to run down my spine.
"The only really secure devices do require a Prince Albert. But if he isn't pierced, a good starting device can be the CB series. While some guys do manage to extricate themselves, it is no easy feat. They do require at least one indemn testicle to attach securely, however."
I braced for another "yet", but nobody said anything. The guy continuned, "In any case it's outright impossible to get back on, so you can say it is at least tamper evident. Knowing he will be found out and have to answer for it can often be enough motivation to prevent a submissive from attempting to break out. We also sell these numbered plastic locks which serve the same purpose. You will know if he breaks out if you have recorded the number and it is no longer on at inspection. The item itself comes in two sizes, normal and small. The normal is 3 1/4 inches in length and the small 2 1/2, for the tiny boys."
"Definitely small for this one." Deborah piped up and again. I blushed red. The guy looked at me and laughed saying, "It's what everyone gets anyway. Even if he isn't, he will be in a few months anyway."
Both ladies laughed along with him.
"There are of course the metal versions. It's true they're more expensive, but they do have some advantages."
"What advantages ?" inquired Alexis eagerly.
"For one thing, surgical steel is much easier to keep clean. Plastic scratches, and in the scratches bacteria breeds at its leisure. For play time now and again the plastic or soft silicone versions are ideal ; but for the long term steel is actually cheaper, as it can be safely autoclaved. It's basically forever, as opposed to being replaced three, four, five, eight times a year. Particularily for live-out situations metal is what we recommend. Also, the metal comes up on metal detector tests, so it is more humiliating to wear ; and in being heavier it both keeps the submissive more keenly aware of his chastised situation as well as, over time, deforms the penis and testicles in a reliable pattern that's very familiar and so readily recognized by anyone in the know."
"Like a sort of slow body modification!" Alexis perked up, clapping her hands in excitement.
"Something like that."
"We'll take that metal one over there. Make it small" said Deborah.
"Would you like anything engraved on it ?"
"Can it be P heart D ?" asked Alexis quickly. Deborah smiled content, but I had my suspicions. There's lots of things with that initial, right ?
As the item was being prepared the clerk took the ladies all over the store, suavely upselling and cross-selling the living daylights out of them. I just sat down by a rack of silicone dildos, each single one of them larger than any human penis I ever saw. Some much, much larger. They were all marked for, indented for and no doubt used for vaginal penetration, but good lord... what's this world coming to ? It used to be a large penis was comedic, a mild insult, as if you'd draw a politician with asine ears these days. Not anymore, huh.
I didn't know it at the time, but part of what they did during their tour of the store was checking out the glory hole rooms. Deborah was fascinated but also repulsed by the idea ; Alexis, with her usual air of the worldly know-it-all, insisted. They just watched the action briefly before Deborah ran off, Alexis after her. As the guy was handing over the package Alexis added some special hypnosis USB sticks to the order. Deborah protested, but Alexis kept pleading with her mother and eventually Deborah caved in and bought them. "It'll help you with those headaches, Mom! My friend from school Consuelo tried them and it completely cured her! She had headaches ever since she was a little girl!"
I tried to interject a "But, Deborah.." but the response came very curtly "Shut up. No one asked for your opinion." The guy at the counter snickered, Alexis snickered with him. While Deborah was paying I whispered in Alexis' ear "You know, if you want to give the faggot a quick blowjob I can take your mom for coffee or something". She reached over and squeezed my balls, hard enough to bring a tear out, but not hard enough to actually make me squeal. The guy was snickering the whole time, enjoying my abrupt calling to order. I enjoyed being put in my place too ; but rather feared a punishment was coming once we got home. If Alexis was anything like her mother, her juices were definitely stirred into a boil by how successfully the trip had been. I went quiet, and hanged my head in outward submission to stimulate her further. I noticed she once more give me her triumphant smile as her mother retrieved her credit card.
The slave was driving her Master's Mercedes at a brisk rate, weaving in and out of the sluggish, geriatric-paced traffic. She was dressed like a slut. She felt like a whore. Her maenaid (which is an elaborate, cultured & refined way of saying "crazy woman"i) seated in the back, her knees just about nipple level owing to the towering platforms reforming her feet into bimbo compliance, gave the keeping of the conversation going her selfless utmost. He had never told her what "neprecupetind nici un efort" meant in some long-forgotten tongue, and so she didn't know.
Suddenly He spoke.
"Did you see them ?"
"Making out ?"
"Yeah. Park. Go talk to them." His orders flew without specific recipient, naturally falling in exactly adequate, ready to go recipients. One parked ; the other jumped out in traffic, thereby causing wave upon wave of anxious misreaction crashing on each other, echoing off each other, reverberating and self-amplifying. If an observer at the other end of town'd have failed to pick up the phenomenon by nightfall it'd have strictly been through observational ineptitude or inadequacy of instrumentation. Nothing ever died out among the lousy drivers of the agglomerated, sprawling village deemed a town through simple absence of anything like a real town to put it to shame -- each incorrect swerve, each inadequate brake living on, forever, like ghosts whose energy long joined the background radiation in an impossible alternate universe bereft of information loss, no wave ever capable of dying out, no utterance ever extinguished. Stupidity piled upon stupidity stretched on into infinity, forever.
The two weren't exactly making out, for the record. It was an awkward, improbable pairing, the elder standing behind, perhaps a college freshman ; the younger, maybe just about highschool cheerleading ageii standing in front, her back to the other, who was using the backs of her hands to slowly, plausibly-deniably massage her recent, growing breasts while purporting to instead be unremittingly engaged in some other activity history has not recorded -- even though its momentary pretense to factual existence loomed so much stronger, so definitely firmer, so pretendingly absolute as to entirely ecclipse whatever (obviously enough) actually went on.
The pair quickly squeezed itself into the tight, empty front seat while the bimbo that had importuned them skipped and jumped around back to hers. The car took off in the excited giggles of the agglutinated flotsam, clearly living out their best, unspeakably exciting years. Isn't this exactly what you're not supposed to do, anyways ? Get into cars with strangers ? Yet they did it, as anyone worth the mention ever does ; and so there's mention, continued and sustained. He spoke again, it's not recorded what ; but, as effect, the younger peeled herself out of the embrace ensconcing, protecting, holding her down, and squeezed herself through and over the center isle, on hands and knees, into the endless, endlessly demanding promise of the leathery backseat. The driver turned to her right, shooting a short glance upon her suddenly awkwarding neighbour.iii "Wanna go topless ?" the prodding came, in flawless timing. "Let's do it. Together." the driver continued, in cadence, and then, for the next beat, the stick hand came up and pushed the curtain-like top of her dress inside, freeing her large, well siliconed bosom back to the light. The other went right back to giggling, eagerly pulling the hem of her common t-shirt out of the waistline of her common jeans, then over her head. The white, standard-issue "cotton" (100% xC2H4O-nC23H44O6N6) bra peeled off hesitatingly, excitedly, and there they stood : two girls, four pairs of breasts, confronting oncoming traffic. A caper, it was doubless a caper, one helluva caper -- and they were doing it!
Meanwhile in the back seat the junior had lost most of her coverage in amusedly contorted proceedings just about the time the car came to a darkened stop. The four filed out in disorder, then followed the leader through the parking garage, up an unmoving escalator, through the late morning Sun begilding the sidewalks of the little pocket mall, and into a small, very posh medical laboratory. It advertised (in terminology and design as passed for elegant at the time and place) various services including prominently enough pregnancy and sexual health tests. The man followed his giggling gaggle indoors : the one in a short dress barely covering her bare ass and platforms longer than her foot, the other in sneakers, ankle socks, and girlish cotton briefs, the third in jeans and bra marks between her shoulderblades and underneath her prominent enough udders, slightly saggy under their own weight, and finally the one in the bunched upfront black dress that clicked the clicker making the car beep-beep. He nodded at the shocked, unbreathing clerk, then said "Give the slut herd the fuck test." with a complicit smile hidden among the curls of the corners of his mouth -- not complicit with the clerk, nor with any other viewer besides merely himself. How would you have said it ? How many ways to say it are there ? And... why go in halfway ?
Briefly thereafter the tittering quintet found itself gathered about comfortable furniture in a widely open, abundantly sunned space. Someone had made batidos ; the tall glasses gathered, barely sipped, on a cluttery coffee table, discussing among the unruly abundance the ongoings among themselves in quiet, glassy tones. Everyone's everything was long abandoned, excepting, for some reason, the youngest's ankle socks, slowly but surely taking on ever gray-er an aspect in place of their original, virginal sparkling white -- if indeed they had ever been all that white to begin with. She reclined on a strange, custom piece, something between loveseat and oversized ottoman. Soon enough she found herself squarely on her back, her head halfway off the plush, her knees bent, slightly apart, held up for some reason, hovering her feet in the air as if she sat on an imaginary chair laid horizontally for her. Her friend straddled her, encouraged by the others, and soon enough held cheekbones between thighs, now and again batting inefectually at a sling suspended close by -- and for her trouble getting the poliurethane-formed seat come back to bat her in the face more often than not. Eventually she gave up the fight, grabbed hold of the fucksling, and rested her head on it. Then, suddenly aroused, buried her face right in the middle, then took to kissing it -- long, hard, sucking wet kisses all over and around.
"Here! Let me show you how!" the milkshaker proposed -- though it's dubious the intended recipient could have heard her through the thighs -- then grabbed hold of the ankles under the socks to push the knees back and further aside. She lightly took to kissing -- expertly, self-assuredly kissing -- the leaking wetspot in between, growing harder and more demanding by degrees. Even if she went unheard nevertheless some sort of idea must've formed in her wake, because soon the other's face was no longer worshipping history in reverent kisses but contorting in the intermediated immediacy of the same feeling. Though it was, it must've been a different feeling, one tailored just for her, somehow, out of nothing, by unseen hands like perhaps the same gnomes' that make Christmas presents. Especially made, for everyone ; but made by no-one in particular out of no identifiable external materials at all -- the heart and soul of conceit, the definition of conventional feeling. Her own feelings, of her own breast begot, by the other's tongue, as moved by the other's mind, as driven by some idea formed, perhaps heard, or perhaps felt, in her own folds, of the yet-other's own tongue, and lips, and unrelenting dedication to serving Him, whichever way that may turn out, however distant from all available conceit or conventionally accepted form of sentiment. This electric circuit of an idea, alligning soul to experience and panting to phenomena somehow, easily, automatically, allegedly personally yet universally predictable, readily predicted... this was her whole life, now. For now -- for this brief moment stretching out like endless drop of honey, for this brief moment she thought as if endless, she thought outside of time for not wanting its ever end -- her entire existence concentrated in the point of her first ever orgasm. Novel to her, unknown as of yet to its giver, yet given just as well. Familiar to all others, yet unexperienced as such by the actual source of the whole commotion -- for how could've he had ?! Hers, though, hers, hers, hershershers! Ooough.
He had walked around and now stood in front of her, his hand in her hair, behind her head, pulling her face up. It hurt. She didn't mind. He didn't care. Finally his voice came, impossible. "Do you want to marry her ?" Incomprehensible. Yes of course she did. She wanted to. Anything. Whatever it was. Please. Yes. More. More. Moremoremore! She felt him let go, like a pang of regret, and presently collapsed, soundlessly, with a humongous splash, back into the deep waters of herself. The mouth, the elastic, magic ring driving her whole nervous system, cording her muscles underneath the skin, countless numerous muscles she didn't know she had, from in between the toes to all around her asshole stopped. Froze. She had been a virgin, Little Miss Ankle Socks ; but not anymore. She was a wife now, soon to be married, by the rod. No longer waving wave upon crashing wave of pure, unadulterated bliss inside. An end to joy, unspeakable. She let out a hard, wailing moan. Fake tits came around and sat herself in the sling, putting her feet on the desperate shoulders, then pulling her head in. The dank dampness excited her, drove her to a different kind of mania. She slurped, she inhaled eagerly the other's novel tones. So strange, so unexpected in their subtle, seemingly absent aromas. There mostly as an aftertaste, unmistakable yet so delicate, inebriating. She abandoned the oversensitive, engorging nubbin to focus on getting as much of the other's flavour out of her, reaching as deep as she could, deeper, deeper, using her tongue like a sword, like a stabbing, hard, immense, humongous piston that of course it could never be. She felt herself being pulled down, back down. She yielded, holding tight to the sling and its burden, until her friend's tussled face was right under. "Kiss her", she heard, and she did, her own aroma, familiar from her own self-exploration on previous occasions -- so unproductive, in retrospect, yet so common, so numerously many previous occasions, so much wasted time -- on her other's breath comingling, and sensuously contrasting the novel, delicate scents on her own.
"Now say : with your blood inside me I thee wed."
"With... with your blood inside me... I de wed."
"And promise to obey you and serve your every whim."
"Promise... to obey... and serve... every whim."
"Until the day I die."
"Until... until... untill..."
That was all the time she had, for he spent, adding pearly white on the inside to match the ruby red on the outside of the thin, non-permeable membrane. A most elegant match, white and red do go together well ; they mix well, too, but do not have to. At that exact moment a deluge of tears came crashing down on the newlyweds, from on high. He must've made a sign, or maybe he made no sign. He hadn't said anything, but the ass in the sling let go, thighs open wide, labia held separate on each side by the respective hand, fingers alligned, elegant aquamarine manicure looking so well, so well at ease on the engorged pink of the woman's sweet fold. A whole bladderfull, unrelenting, unabashed, finding its way from hair on top to hair below, soaking through, seeking the eyes, the nostrils, innundating the mouths with characteristic generosity. The two kissed through it, and swallowed some, and exchanged some, and even snorted some, especially the hussy underneath. It felt just right : salty, warm, and loving, a mantle and a veil for ever.
"Mom...Mom ? Mooom ?"
"In here baby."
"Oh mom. Thanks god you're home!"
"Hey, what happened to you ? Here, sit down. What happened ?"
"Oh mom... I'm... I'm married, now."
"You're what ?"
"Oh how do I explain this."
"When were you married ?"
"I thought you were in school."
"I was...but then..."
"You know mom... there's this girl."
"From your class ?"
"No, she's not in college. She's in tenth grade. She's in highschool."
"She's wonderful, mom!"
"But... honey, she's too young to be married. Nobody will marry you."
"Who's he ?"
"No, let me tell it. So mom... you know... when I was going to school... I didn't always go."
"I mostly didn't go. Because I met Maria, you know. And she's wonderful."
"She is ?"
"How old is she ?"
"Fifteen and a half, okay ? And we were just you know, hanging out, and this black car stopped, and it was with like strippers inside I think and they asked us to go in and we went and then the man did her, you know, and then with the blood did me and so we were married because he pronounced us hussy and wife."
"Because she was a virgin. And now I have to obey her every whim and be her slave for anything she wants for the rest of my life."
"No mom, I have to. And can she come stay with us ?"
"But what about her parents ?"
"Oh I don't mean all the time, just, you know. Often."
"I'll have to meet this young lady."
"But... mom, you know... I have to do anything she says. Anything."
"And so do you."
"Please, mom. She's really sweet. And she loves me."
"Wait just a minute here..."
"Please mom. I'm doing anything your weirdo boyfriend wants me to, aren't I ?"
"No, it's true. It's true. He's a weirdo. He is. And I only do it for you. So you're happy. Why can't you make me happy ?"
"But baby, I... I..."
"Will you do it ? Please mom ? Please, will you ?"
"But... what do I have to do ?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know ?"
"I don't know. Anything she says."
"But I mean... do I have to be naked ?"
"Maybe... oh I know, how about we wear lingerie."
"Yes, the really nice things! Ha, thanks god we caged your weirdo boyfriend huh!"
"Wait, he has to be there too ?"
"Oh, who the hell cares about him."
"Ok, ok, then he can be there too."
"I don't know Lexi..."
"Everything will be great, mom. You'll see. I was worried too, you know, but there's never any reason to. Everything works out ok in the end."
"It does ?"
"When you're a whore it always does, yeah."
"That's not the way I raised you, young lady!"
"Oh mom, don't be silly. Being a whore's good."
"It is ?"
"Oh yes! It's the best thing, by far. Even better than a slut."
"What are you talking about, child. You've got no idea what you're talking about, have you taken leave of your senses ? It's terrible, being a whore is the worst thing there is. You have to... you have to... ugly men, just anyone, off the street, it's not even the money, it's..."
"Oh mom, that's not what it means. That's a streetwalker. A whore's when you give yourself to your lover. Like you, you're a mom, because you give yourself to your children. But I'm not like you. I'm not going to have any. I don't even like children. I'm going to give myself to Maria."
"And that's what makes you a whore ?"
"Yes mom. That's what it is."
"What a crazy world. It sure isn't what it meant when I was your age..."
"There's progress, mom. They have inter-racial couples now and everything. Even gay people."
"It's not that, it's just..."
- Really, it's a Nicole original :
So she's my maenaid...
I live (and travel, and suffer and laugh and watch movies and cook and eat and sleep and everything else) with my Master (though the language is dubious, because I'm his, he's not mine) and... his... other slave?
Except she's not "his other slave" to me, our relationship isn't that.
Nor is she my sister, because we fuck, which sisters don't (gimme a break) ; and besides, the harem is just as much (really, more) of an institution as the family ever could hope to be, with just as much (really, more) space in the history of human expression, to say nothing of its majority share of sum-total actual enjoyment ever since those early days when Adam discovers Eve tastes best right after Lilith ate her out. It may well be virtually unknown by the current ebonics or rarely seen in the subcivilised world (that's an exonym, the endonyms are "Western" or "First" or whatever such adorkable barbarisms), but that's because most everything is.
She's not my girlfriend because we're not vanilla, she's not my Mistress though she's the bossest bitch anyone ever saw I swear, she's just... she's my maenaid, what. Vaguely related to ancient Greek "madwomen" (though in period Greek mania denotes inspiration, generally of a divine source, and has nothing to do with disease or commonality of human experience), but really, the word for women of the harem.
So now you know.
- There's an age for that, like for all things, and it falls maybe about sixteen, though really slightly under. [↩]
- A lot of women live like that, such that outside sluttery sustains their own ; but once the source removed its echoes inside them die out, and they find themselves cooling rapidly, like a mere gas giant suddenly bereft its (perhaps comparatively smaller) heating star. A naive observer could readily have confused the pair for the same thing ; but it had never been a meeting of equals : only one of the two blessed with the spark of life inside, the other stuck mimicking but not capable of producing her own -- maybe, perhaps, not just yet. [↩]