by Laurie Mann
Then we stopped and firm pressure on my shoulders forced me to my knees, although I was kept upright by the upward pull of the rope? leash? whatever it was. I responded to the tapping of something hard on my inner thighs by parting them, then stretching them wide as the tapping continued. My ankles were crossed. They were bound with the same biting tightness as my wrists. I settled back on them, flesh accommodating flesh.
A cord was wound round the top of my left leg, painfully hard, digging deep. It was tied off and pulled around my midriff twice before it was pulled excruciatingly tight and secured round my right leg. I winced as rough rope was forced between my stomach and the cord, then gasped as it burnt when it was pulled through until a large knot rested against my pussy. Fingers brushed my skin as it was secured, which made me tremble. I cried out loud as it was tied tightly to my wrists, forcing the knot deep into my pussy and pulling the collar hard against my throat. A hard plastic ball was pressed into my mouth, straining my jaws and then buckled so that I could feel the straps bite into my cheeks.
I anticipated more but was not sure what further torment they could inflict. Relief followed the sound of retreating footprints.
Ears strained against the deathly silence for the slightest indication of another’s presence, senses honed in the blindness of both lack of sight and overwhelming sexual arousal, but there was none. Every muscle strained to bursting point, but the bonds could have been bands of steel for all the give in them. The ropes hurt where they dug into my flesh, back ached from being forced into an unnatural curve and the strain on my arms was intolerable as I tried to relieve the pressure of the collar around my neck. All common sense said stay still and not aggravate the discomfort, but the sheer excitement of it all, combined with the knot in constant contact with engorged lips, keeping them inflamed and desperate for release, made keeping still a physical impossibility.
It was Catch 22. Impossible to move - unbearable not to.
Concentrate on other things, I told myself, but I kept replaying the clinical, utterly professional way I’d been treated. Even my breathing, the most basic of human instincts, was being controlled. Excitement ensured it was faster than usual, while the gag made it harder. There was even an element of humiliation as, unable to swallow, I could feel saliva tracing rivulets down my chin to drip onto my breasts.
Madam had managed more than my wildest dreams. Bundled up in a neat little package. I longed for the moment never to end, but also yearned for the spell to be broken and allow the relief so desperately desired.
The merest hint of a draught brushed a sensitive, sweat soaked body and the slight creak of ancient hinges preceded the sound of footsteps. The sharp staccato of stiletto heels I recognised as Madam’s, but whose were the other plodding steps? They stopped as they neared me and then silence. Impossible silence. Suspense more unbearable than any bonds. I strained for any sound other than my laboured breathing.
“It looks like It’s been exciting Itself, doesn’t it?” Madam’s crystal clear voice shattered the silence. I cringed with embarrassment as she called me ‘It’.
“Now now, don’t be uncharitable, dear. She is a woman, you know, a particularly fine specimen as well, by the look of her. Yes, she does look as though she’s been exciting herself.”
“Nonsense. You’re too soft. It’s an unproven piece of flesh, that’s all.” My face burned as her words cut through me, but it was pure pleasure making me shudder as fingers brushed my sex lips. A hint of expensive perfume reached me.
“Absolutely sodden, even left a puddle where It’s dripped. No decorum whatsoever. Still, It can lick it up later.” I couldn’t believe the mellow but authoritative voice. Surely they didn’t really expect me to do that! The thought appalled but did nothing to stem the flow of juices.
“Change Its position and let It rest. We’ll conduct some oral tests then.”
Strong fingers released my ties, leaving just my wrists still secured to the collar.
“Hurt, does it?” Madam’s voice held none of the compassion normally associated with such a question.
“Yes, Madam.” My reply needed effort as the rope between my wrists and collar was used, first as a handle to haul me to my feet and then to support me as my legs filled with agonising pins and needles.
“Complaining, are you?”
“No, Madam.”
“Put It on the table.”
What’s the table, what else will they do to me? I was dragged across the floor and dumped onto what felt like a low couch, not a table.
“Other way up. You go first.” I was roughly turned onto my front so my head overhung the table edge, supported only by my collar. What felt like wide straps were buckled across the small of my back and calves after I had been bound with cord at knees and ankles.
After some rustling of clothes, the nauseating scent of cock hit me. The warm head pushed past my lips and deep into my throat. I hate the thought of sucking cock and retched as its thickness prised apart my jaws.
“Suck it!” Madam ordered. I began to taste the throbbing flesh with little enthusiasm but as much vigour as my collar allowed.
After what seemed an eternity, the man’s breath quickened and he tensed. Thick, salty goo into my throat. I wanted to be sick, horribly overwhelmingly sick, to rid myself of the unwanted unsought cream filling my mouth and throat, but dared not do such a thing. With difficulty, fighting every natural reaction, I swallowed it.
“Turn It over.” Madam was maintaining her strict authority over the proceedings.
The straps were released, I was turned over and they were replaced, my head still supported by the collar which was by now extremely uncomfortable.
There was more rustling of clothing and to my utter horror I felt nylon-clad thighs touching both cheeks as she lowered herself onto my face. Twisting my head to avoid the dreaded assault only resulted in it being clamped between her thighs until her quim rested over my mouth.
“Come on, It, get busy with that tongue.” Her thighs muffled Madam’s command. It was my first time with a woman and I very self-consciously began licking, too terrified of what she would do to refuse. What difference did it make now? I had been forced to swallow the semen of an unseen male, who may have had every disease imaginable, for all I knew, was this any different? Having never had lesbian tendencies, the act revolted me but it was that or suffocate or suffer her extreme anger, and that I did most definitely not wish to do! I hated it, the thought, the taste and the way her juices lingered as my position made it almost impossible to swallow. Somehow I summoned the will power to keep my tongue wiggling against her sex. Thankfully it wasn’t long before I felt her hips begin to gyrate and she pushed herself harder onto my chin and nose. Her screams of ecstasy told me she’d reached her climax and my ordeal was over. Madam climbed off me, allowing me the use of my lungs again. It was only slightly less uncomfortable with no one astride me, the table still hurt, the collar still dug in, I still felt humiliated and degraded. Yet, despite my intense loathing of the way they’d both used me, I desperately hoped I’d done well. My only desire was to please Madam - not only because of the blackmail threat.
“What do you think?” Madam enquired breathlessly.
“Not much. She’s idle, lacks imagination and grip and her tongue is so weak as to be a waste of time.”
For the first time since encountering Madam, my temper started to rise. This man, who had only minutes ago unloaded his filthy sperm into my mouth, had the gall to criticise me in such an offhand manner! It was all I could do not to shriek my anger at them both.
“I agree, It’s much too lazy. I ended up doing all the work myself. The clients will not tolerate such poor quality. Prepare It for training.”
Still fuming, I was flipped back onto my stomach and strapped down tightly again, although at last the collar was removed. Something was strapped above the bl
indfold, which was removed. My eyes had accustomed themselves to the light, but I could not see what I hoped to see, as some kind of visor effectively stopped all that.
I had hoped to see Madam and my surroundings. I was disappointed; no matter how I tried, my field of vision was restricted to a few feet of the polished parquet floor.
All I could see of Madam were her very slender ankles and shoes which had such high heels it impossible to comprehend how she could stand in them, let alone walk.
I could also see a large pair of brown brogues and the turn-ups of beige casual trousers. Whereas Madam’s ankles appeared ageless, the brogues intimated at an older man and, assuming he was Madam’s husband, I imagined her to be in her late forties or early fifties. But these were mere assumptions, no one was giving anything away to a mere It.
Then I saw a very strange contraption. It had to be some kind of training aid but I couldn’t see what possible use it could have. A clear glass bowl with a very realistic penis stuck in the middle, sculptured in what looked like clear plastic. Tubes ran from its head to the bowl with a concertina section half way down, suggesting the top half would move like a plunger. Below its head, on the underside, was a pad connected to a bulb inside, which in turn was connected to more tubes. To further confuse, all the tubes were inter-connected by a series of tiny valves and one bigger valve at its base.
“Thirsty, is It?”
“Yes Madam, I am.” I felt it important to aver that I was a person and not an ‘It,’ though I knew it was Madam’s right to call me what she pleased. My presumption appeared to be overlooked - this time.
Water was poured into the bowl.
“Go on then. Drink.”
I hesitated, unsure what to do. My mouth was dry but I couldn’t see how to get the water from the bowl other than through the penis. I couldn’t even see how that would work.
“Go on. Get it in your mouth. Trying my patience will not be one of your better ideas.” Madam’s harsh tone goaded me into action.
I tentatively took the head into my mouth, still nervous about what would happen. I held it, wondering what to do next and, after a few moments of nothing happening at all, heard Madam impatiently tapping her foot. Anxious not to displease her any more, and light beginning slowly to dawn on my over excited mind, I gently started sucking the awful contraption. The water began to move but but black despair flooded in as it became obvious I’d have to suck much harder if I was to get the drink I longed for.
I sucked and sucked, but could not draw the water through the tubes. Madam’s foot tapping became more urgent. It seemed more was needed than just sucking. I explored the pad. Then, unsure of the outcome, I pressed it gently. Nothing, so I pressed harder and harder until it gave way. Valves opened and the flow of water into the penis increased. It took a combination of sucking and working the pad with my tongue to draw the liquid into my mouth.
It still seemed that progress didn’t match the effort I was using; Madam’s constant foot tapping confirmed this, although she offered no advice. The only thing I could think of now was the head itself, so I gripped it and tried pushing it down. My lips slipped over its shiny surface but at least it moved, although it was not until I’d forced it into the back of my throat that I could get it to work with any effect.
By simultaneously sucking, bobbing my head and squeezing the pad in and out, water was drawn from the bowl quite quickly and, much encouraged, it was soon filling my mouth. I was euphoric at my achievement, but then mortified as I relaxed and all my hard work drained back into the bowl.
My second attempt was easier, now I’d fathomed out how the contraption worked and whilst it took every ounce of my concentration to co-ordinate all three requirements, I soon had a steady and productive rhythm. The mental effort was matched by the physical: jaws, tongue and neck ached and bits I didn’t realise I had also ached. Eyes bulged and stung as sweat ran into them and beads of perspiration dripped and made ringlets in the bowl.
Pure agony is the only way to describe the task, even the encouraging taste of the water created yet another problem. It was imperative I swallow it all, for every drop lost dribbled down the shaft and back into the bowl. Every drop I lost would have to be drawn back up again. It seemed that each time one problem was solved it created another, but after what seemed like hours, I finally drained the bowl and collapsed, totally exhausted though grateful that the thing was no longer in my mouth and I could breathe freely again. I don’t know who devised the devilish thing: I had never seen anything like it before - incredibly complex in its function, devastatingly effective in its torture of mouth and jaw. If it was Madam who had invented it, she was even smarter and more devious than I suspected. I had to confess I knew nothing of this woman, nothing at all, other than she knew me through my Journals, that she had the powerful assistance of strong armed men, what seemed like a large home (probably expensive) and wore perfume you could only buy from Harrods. Oh, and she liked lesbian sex, and dominating a helpless submissive female. Not exactly clues to her identity, which reminded me that in the overload of sensory experiences, I had also forgotten the number plate of the car: not that it would have done any good, I wasn’t really about to start calling in Private Detectives to track it down for me, and I didn’t have any pet policemen in my circle of contacts.
The man released from the table and I was guided to the centre of the floor, pushed down so my nose was in the drying puddle I’d dripped from my pussy earlier - which I had forgotten in the excitement.
“Clean it up.” With my hands still tied and my nose rubbed in it, it was obvious I was expected to use my tongue. Reluctantly I began lapping at my own juices, which had partially dried. I had never tasted myself before and, mixed with the powerful taste of the floor polish, I found it disgusting. I fought the need to retch again as I busily cleaned the floor, feeling a warm glow of pride as Madam pronounced herself satisfied. She then brushed cool fingers across my face, replacing the blindfold and removing the visor.
The wrench on my shoulders caused a sharp pain as I was hauled roughly to my feet and while my hands were released I felt my clothes land in a heap around my feet.
During my struggle to get dressed, I kept visualising what sort of mess I’d look after doing it all by feel. I dreaded anybody seeing me as I was taken home.
“The penis bowl is an excellent way of exercising and strengthening your mouth. You will be given one to take home and will drink one pint of water from it every day until your next training session in two weeks’ time. Your oral capability will be tested and the required improvement expected.”
“Yes, Madam.” My heart sank at her words, but I knew I’d willingly obey her command. Anything to please that imperious sounding lady.
Monday 8th June
Mondays are THE day for writing in the Journal, after a visit to Madam! It’s a good way of reliving the thrilling experience, as well as keeping a record of when I went and what I felt.
Two weeks without a visit to Madam seemed an intolerably long time to wait. Her brusque treatment had heightened my excitement - strengthened the bond that gave her the control.
Every evening I measured a pint of water into the bowl and willingly tortured my mouth until every last drop was drained. Like a nagging toothache, my face ached and made me very self conscious when I spoke in the many meetings I’d arranged for the fortnight.
As Lisa’s presentation loomed I felt nervous for her, really hoping she’d prove herself and her plans. That in itself is a mystery: why should I bother so much? I run Mildmay Fabrics, if I decide I want a fleet of vehicles, I will have them! So why did Lisa’s presentation mean that much - unless I was secretly attracted to her in some way ... a dangerous thought, one that would not have occurred to me before -
Before Madam. Before I recognised that a woman could control another as well if not better than any man. Had I not admitted I reco
gnised my own arrogance in Lisa? Such thoughts were - and are - extremely dangerous, only for my Journal to see!
In the event she was more successful than I’d dared to hope, easily winning over the other managers: all except Monica, my personnel manager, concerned that the current driver shortage may prove to be a problem. Lisa simply agreed with her concerns, accepting it may be a problem but felt it was relatively minor at this stage. Personally, I couldn’t see the problem. What was there about being a lorry driver that meant supply could not meet demand?
After the presentation I reflected with pride on the strength of my management team. It had effectively challenged Lisa’s plans but then united behind her as her detailed answers won their support. I was particularly pleased with Lisa who, more and more, reminded me of myself in my younger days.
My follow up meeting with Lisa was more interesting than I’d expected and included a surprise. I was astonished by the detail she had at her fingertips and was still amazed by her enthusiasm. What else did I need to know to ensure she was the right choice for the job?
“What’s the problem finding drivers then, Lisa? I can’t believe it will be that difficult. You don’t think you’re worrying too much and would be better leaving Monica to deal with it? Then you can concentrate on more important things.”
“No, Frankie. They’re our link with customers and I feel they’re an important part of my team, so I want to select them myself. Also, I’ve put some feelers out. Two recruitment agencies haven’t been unable to help and these are the only responses to a small advert. I think they illustrate the problem.”
A glance at the letters she pushed across the desk was all it took to see her point. I didn’t expect much but had assumed that some effort would be made to impress.
