by Becky Bell
'This,' Mrs Beatty said, running her finger under the strap and pulling it out slightly, 'can be fitted with two dildoes for the front and rear passages. It holds them in place.' She pulled the man up and turned him around again. The leather straps emerged from his crotch, splitting in two on either side of his large erection and travelling along the line of his pelvis, to be buckled into the waist belt again. 'It's all adjustable and can be padlocked into place, too. And this...' she squeezed the man's glans between her thumb and forefinger and lifted it, '...is one of our penis harnesses.'
Angela saw that a series of thin straps had been wound around the base of the man's shaft and his balls, lifting and separating them. They were so tight, all the veins and blood vessels on his cock were standing out prominently. 'Again, completely adjustable. Of course, if you put it on before he gets excited...' She giggled again. 'The other two have variations on the same design, and one at the end has a penis corset.' She gestured to the man at the end, whose cock was encased in a glove of soft black leather, laced at the front. Unlike Harriet, he had been fortunate enough to have it applied after he had got an erection.
'These harnesses are more conventional,' Mrs Beatty continued, indicating the other two men. One was bound by a series of leather straps which banded his body at the shoulders, chest, waist, thighs, knees and ankles. His wrists were bound together and forced back over his head, so his elbows were raised above it. 'Most uncomfortable. The last one is wearing what we call a suspension harness, which is leather specifically reinforced with steel cable for strength.'
They had walked to the end of the line. The last man was lying on the floor. His ankles and wrists were strapped into four leather cuffs which were all attached to the same steel ring, so that his body was doubled up. A chain extended up from the cable to the ceiling, where it disappeared through a hole in the plasterwork.
'I'll show you.' Mrs Beatty went to the wall and operated a circular switch. Slowly, the chain tightened and began rolling back up into the ceiling, hauling the steel ring and the cuffs with it. As his wrists and ankles were pulled up off the floor, his body rested on his bottom, then that too rose into the air. When it was three or four feet off the ground, Mrs Beatty stopped the machinery. 'We sell this as a complete package with either manual or electric versions. It's very popular.'
The man's body was swaying slightly from side to side. He was completely helpless. His penis had been drawn through his thighs so it sat squarely on top of his bottom.
'The position is extremely uncomfortable. And, of course, whipping is facilitated.' Casually she walked over to the man and slapped his buttocks. He made no noise.
Angela stood transfixed. It was not that long ago when this whole world had been a closed book to her. Now she was beginning to realise exactly how much of it went on.
'How long do they stay like this?' she asked.
'I've another customer due at six. Two hours, maybe. Then their mistresses come and pick them up.'
Angela shook her head in amazement.
'So,' Mrs Beatty said brightly, 'have you decided?'
She had installed a floor-to-ceiling mirror on one wall of her treatment room and caught a glimpse of herself in it as she walked back into the room. The red satin basque fitted perfectly, the tightly boned waist giving Angela an hour-glass figure, its low-cut bra allowing tantalising glimpses of her breasts. She was wearing long gloves in the same material that reached almost to her armpits and red patent leather shoes with an ankle strap and spiky high heels. She noticed a wrinkle in the sheer, glossy black stockings that she had clipped to the suspenders of the basque and stooped to smooth it out with the palms of her hands.
She had pinned her hair up, emphasising the bareness of her shoulders and her long neck, her flesh appearing impossibly creamy and soft in contrast to the harsh, tight, shiny satin. As she straightened up, she stared at her reflection. It had been a long journey in a comparatively short period of time, but she could not say she regretted one step along the way. Her eyes stared back at her defiantly, daring her to challenge the truth of that statement. She could see her excitement too, her arousal written in every contour of her face.
The treatment room still smelt of paint and freshly planed wood, but Paula had given her a bottle of expensive perfume as a house-warming present and she had doused herself with it tonight, the scent making some inroads into the less erotic aromas.
'Well, I think it's time to resume our little tete-a-tete,' she said, turning to face Gregory. She went over to him and pushed his thigh gently, making him swing forward. Of course, she didn't expect a reply.
Gregory was hanging from the RSJ that traversed the ceiling. One of the devices that she had dreamt up for herself was a metal bar, suspended like a trapeze from a heavy-duty pulley by metal cable. The bar had been hooked under Gregory's knees and his ankles bound to his thighs by white nylon rope, before it had been winched into the air, so Gregory hung from it upside down.
He was naked apart from a pair of Angela's white lace panties, which she had decided she wanted to see him wear. They were too small to contain the whole of his erection and the elasticated waistband cut across it painfully. She had pulled them down to his thighs at the back and six bright red weals already decorated this area of his anatomy.
His wrists had been strapped into leather cuffs in front of his body, then roped to a metal ring set in the floor. Gregory's head was laced into a tight leather helmet, with the zips over the eyes firmly closed. A large rubber ball gag had been crammed into his mouth and strapped securely in place. There was enough play in the rope that held his arms to allow him to swing backward and forward and Angela pushed him again, to keep up the momentum. She had to say that she was enjoying herself. Before, everything had been improvised or under Paula's control. Now she was her own mistress, as it were. And, very obviously, his mistress, too.
She had given him half an hour hanging like this, while she went to the living room and poured a glass of champagne from the bottle he'd brought with him. She had been in the flat for two weeks and he had visited her three times, each time bearing expensive gifts of clothes or jewellery, and each time bringing a bottle of vintage champagne.
'So what am I going to do with you now, my little slave?' she asked, slapping his buttock with her gloved hand. She slid her hand between his legs and cupped his balls, squeezing them lightly through the thin nylon of the panties. 'One day I'm going to have a party. Have you strung up like this and introduced to all my friends. You'd like Sally. She's very pretty. Just your type. I'm sure she'd be interested to see you like this.'
He shook his head and tried to say the word 'no'. His body swung more violently.
She knelt down and untied the rope from the ring in the floor and pulled it back behind him, so his wrists were forced back behind his neck and his elbows were bent sharply. She tied the rope off to the middle of the metal bar from which he was suspended, tugging at it to make sure it was secure.
Taking a straight-backed wooden chair, she placed it in front of him and sat down on it. She leant forward, caught hold of his hair and reeled him towards her. She clamped his head between her knees and unzipped the little flaps over his eyes.
'I've decided to let you watch; isn't that nice of me?'
He tried to nod.
Angela opened her legs and he swung back. She spread her legs further apart and ran her right hand up on to the top of her thigh. She could see his upside-down eyes staring at it. Slowly she allowed her hand to slip down the inside of her thigh.
'So soft,' she said. 'It's like silk.' She rubbed her hand against her flesh, feeling her clitoris throb as if trying to draw attention to itself. Her heels were so high that, with her shoes planted firmly on the floor, her thighs sloped downward, her knees higher than her pelvis. She moved her hand to her sex, stroking the furry blonde pubes like she would stroke an animal. Little pulses of pleasure made her labia tingle.
Ever since the first time she had seen him like this
, completely vulnerable and powerless, she had been excited by it; and now she was totally in control, her excitement was even more pronounced, a rich, sticky, sweet concoction of delights that made her feel almost lightheaded, lifting all her physical pleasures to new, richer, deeper levels. Over the last two months she had tried to work out why she should be so affected by it, but had been unable to come up with any explanation. She had decided just to accept it.
'Are you watching?' she asked unnecessarily. Of course he was watching. His eyes were glued to her sex.
Angela opened her legs a little wider and let her finger sink into her labia. She moaned softly as the tip of her finger nudged against her clitoris. It was so sensitive that she knew she could come just by gently massaging it. But that was not what she had in mind. She wanted to tease him and torment him.
Wriggling forward on the chair, she angled her sex up a little and slipped a finger into the mouth of her vagina. She hoped he would be able to see it disappear inside, then pull out again, glistening with her juices.
'Wouldn't you love to be allowed in there?'
He nodded eagerly.
'Come closer.' She leant forward and grabbed his hair again, pulling his body forward until his face was right between her thighs. 'You'd better do a good job,' she said, hooking her hand around the back of his neck and pulling him on to her sex.
His tongue probed her labia. It was hot and wet. Angela felt an immediate wave of pleasure as it probed the mouth of her vagina. He was very good at this. Paula had trained him well.
'Higher,' she said sternly.
His tongue moved up the silky slit of her sex to her clitoris. She moaned as he batted the little button from side to side. His cock was right in front of her face, the waistband of the little white panties cutting right across it. There was fluid dripping from his cock onto his belly.
'Faster,' she ordered.
His tongue worked faster. She felt all the familiar sensations coursing through her body. Her mental excitement matched her physical arousal exactly. Seeing him hanging here, helpless and totally vulnerable, gave her as big a thrill as the tiny but telling movements of his tongue. There were so many possibilities, so many scenarios she could invent for her own pleasure. She raised her hand and hooked a finger into the waistband of the panties, pulling it as far out as it would go, then let it snap back against his cock. He moaned, a blast of hot air expelled against her sex.
She was coming already. She thought of using a dildo, sitting on a nice thick phallus while Gregory toiled away at her clit, but the sensations in her body were already becoming irresistible. Instead she leant back in the chair and allowed the pleasure to wash over her. His tongue was adroit: the perfect pressure, the perfect place, the perfect relentless rhythm.
'So good...' she breathed, almost to herself.
Suddenly she felt her body change gear, the pleasant and almost dreamy delight changing to something more urgent. Her vagina contracted wildly and her clit throbbed, both feelings combining to produce a surge of acute pleasure. God, how she loved this. She tried to hold her eyes open so she could see his bound body and his cock but it was impossible, the feelings were too strong. She threw her head back, opened her mouth and gave a long low keening sound as her orgasm raced through her nerves, her thighs clamped like a vice around his head.
It was a long time before she relaxed. She sat up and opened her thighs, allowing Gregory's head to swing away from her.
'So what are we going to do with you now?' she said, standing up. She stood in front of him and pulled the white panties away from his cock, hooking them under his balls. He had been erect for a very long time and his cock was red raw. She slapped it with the palm of her hand and he whimpered.
Angela was in a teasing mood. She walked away, knowing his eyes would be following her, feasting on her slender legs and the glossy stockings and tight suspenders, and her round pert buttocks. So many possibilities, she thought to herself. Instead of a cupboard like the one in Paula's treatment room, Angela had installed a large black chest of drawers. She opened the top drawer and took out a comparatively small cream plastic vibrator. It was smooth and straight. She also took out one of her stockings, a champagne-coloured stocking, one she had laddered last week. Stockings, she had discovered, were ideal for bondage. They stretched but never broke, though frequently had to be cut away as the knots became too tight to undo.
'I've decided to give you a special treat tonight,' she said, holding up the dildo as she walked back to him.
He tried to pronounce words that sounded like 'thank you, mistress'. Now she was his sole mistress, she had made him drop 'Ms Strickland' as a form of address.
She placed the dildo alongside his erection, then wrapped the nylon stocking around them both, very much as if she were tying a splint to an injured bone. She could see he had raised his head to try to see exactly what she was doing. His cock was bigger than the dildo and his glans stuck up above the top of it.
'Now, when I turn this on, I imagine you're going to feel some very pleasant sensations, aren't you?'
He nodded.
'But you know the rules, Gregory. What shall we say? I think, tonight, we'll go for eight. Do you understand?'
'No,' he tried to say, shaking his head, his whole body beginning to swing again.
She knew he was going to have a great deal of trouble lasting until the count of eight, but that was his problem. She turned the gnarled knob at the base of the vibrator and heard a steady humming fill the air. Gregory's cock twitched vigorously.
'One,' she said.
'Please,' he tried to say.
'Two.' A tear of fluid formed at the eye of his cock, then dripped onto his belly. It ran down towards his chest. It was sticky and viscous and did not get very far.
'Look at me, Gregory,' Angela ordered.
He raised his head to look up Angela's legs, to the apex of her thighs. His glans ballooned out and was visibly throbbing.
'Three.' She ran her hand down to his chest and pinched his nipple viciously. She hadn't tried the nipple clips on him yet. They would have to wait until next time. He groaned.
'Four.'
The vibrator droned on. She saw him close his eyes.
'I told you to look at me,' she snapped.
He opened his eyes again. She moved so she was standing directly in front of him, spreading her legs slightly so he would be staring right up at her sex. She hoped her labia had winked open enough for him to be able to see the scarlet maw of her vagina. She could see his face was creased with the effort of trying not to come, and that excited her. She could so easily have come again. Maybe she would, later.
'Five. Six.'
Gregory's whole body was absolutely rigid. She could see he was desperately trying to hold back his ejaculation, but the wall of the dam was crumbling fast. His eyes looked wild, gazing fixedly at what she knew he wanted most in the world.
'Wouldn't you just love to be able to fuck me, slave?' she said.
He nodded.
'Seven.'
He fought his bonds, pulling on the leather cuffs that held his wrists, trying to straighten his legs, hoping the pain would distract him from the pleasure, but it did not. It made it a great deal more intense. He twisted and turned on the bar, his face brushing against Angela's nylon covered calves, but there was nothing he could do to prevent the spurt of semen that escaped his cock exactly at the moment that Angela said the single word, 'Obedience.'
She just managed to step back in time, the fluid spattering down on the floor and his belly, great white gobs of it.
'Well,' she said. 'Quite a performance.' She knelt at his side and unstrapped the gag.
He knew what to say. 'Thank you, mistress,' he gasped. 'Thank you.'
The doorbell rang at exactly seven. He knew what trouble he would be in if he were ever even a minute late.
Angela pressed the button on the entry-phone without looking to see who it was. She was surprised he'd rung the bell. He had his own
set of keys.
'Hi,' she said, opening the door for him. The flat was on the top floor of a purpose-built modern block.
'Hi,' he said, kissing her on the cheek. 'This is great, isn't it?'
It was Sunday night and, as Gregory spent weekends in the country with his wife, Angela hadn't expected to see him again until Monday. But he had called at four from his country home to ask her if she were free this evening.
Considering the amount of money he paid out for the mortgage on the flat and for the fittings, and rather unusual features and for her unique wardrobe of lingerie, Gregory, so far at least, had never abused his privileges. He had never turned up unannounced, always telephoning her first, and had never once asked her what she was doing the rest of the time or if she were seeing other men, all areas where Angela might have expected him to be troublesome. His attitude to her in the treatment room extended to his approach to her in general. He appeared content to be her slave.
'How come you're here at all? It's Sunday night after all,' she said.
'Pamela's going to some ladies' night at the golf club. Won't be back until midnight, at least. So I suggested there wasn't much point me sticking around down there. She seemed quite happy.'
'What happened to your keys?'
'Couldn't find them. Must have left them in the office. They'll turn up.'
'Doesn't she ever get suspicious?'
'She knows I work late.'
'But what if she rings you?'
'I say I was at a meeting and had my mobile turned off. Anyway, she doesn't care. As long as she's got the big country house and the dogs, she's not in the least interested in me.'
