"Ah, yes!" Tanya said, seeing the pleading, imploring look I was giving her. It was nearly noon, on Saturday. I'd served her breakfast in bed, tidied the kitchen, swept and vacuumed our house, watered all the house plants and was now preparing our lunch.   


"I promised you a key today, didn't I? It's been eight weeks, minus remission. Fifty days. If you'd been a bit more obedient, a bit more - pleasing - you could have been out of that belt a week ago. But no, you had to spend your first few days whining, begging for release, didn't you?"


I nodded abjectly, stirring the bubbling bolognaise sauce on the stove while the spaghetti cooked.


"And your first attempts at pleasing me with your tongue were utterly pathetic, weren't they?"


She stood behind me. I nodded again. I could sense her sneering at my slender, naked body. Tanya never called me slender now. Her favourite descriptions were 'puny' or 'girly'. I wasn't sure if that meant she was on the point of leaving me. I didn't want that - I really didn't. I love Tanya, deeply and voraciously. I even love serving her in the way I've been forced to do for the last couple of months.


"Remember that evening when I first locked you up?"


I nodded yet again, and left my head hanging down. "Yes, I'm sure you do" she continued. "Stacey makes such delicious home-made wine."






Yeah. I remembered. How could I forget? Stacey was one of Tanya's closest friends, a beautiful woman, slim almost to the point of emaciation, and long-haired. She'd had marital problems, and I'd stepped in with words of comfort and support, hoping to turn things gradually towards a more personal - and physical - relationship. But under the influence of her home-made damson wine I'd made my play rather clumsily, and the next day Stacey had reported back in shocked tones to Tanya.


Tanya had been absolutely furious. But she didn't confront me. Not at once. She remained tight-lipped with me for almost three months, saying nothing about the incident. But she knew. And I knew she knew. And she knew I knew she knew! She didn't allow me any sexual contact at all during those tense months.


Until fifty days ago.


I had come home from the office on Friday evening to find Tanya dolled up in the sexiest leotard I'd ever seen! When she greeted me by pressing herself sensually against my office-weary body and kissing me fully on the lips I thought thank Christ, I'm forgiven at last! I tried to respond, but she drew slinkily away. She told me to go upstairs and call her when I was ready for her!


Wow, I thought, my luck's changed! I hurried upstairs and went to the shower room, casting off my office clothes as I went, leaving them strewn on the stairs and landing. After fifteen minutes of hot, steaming water plus some soap I dried off, doused myself with some Calvin Klein body lotion and sauntered, naked, through to our bedroom.


There were four sets of leather straps on the bed. And a note, on perfumed notepaper.


"If you are still mine, my darling" the note said, "and if you want to stay that way, put these straps on and secure yourself to the bed. Then call me."


We'd played mild bondage games before. But these straps were new, and they didn't look like toys. I glanced at the bed-posts - she'd fitted them with anchor points designed to enable me to clip the straps single-handed, but once attached I'd not be able to release myself.


I'd read plenty of stories on the Altarboy site. If I'd given it a moment's thought, I would have realised this was a classic set-up for the application of a chastity belt. But I was blinded by the prospect of my first full-blooded sex session with Tanya since that futile, abortive stab at infidelity with Stacey. I put on the straps, clipped my ankles to the bed-posts, secured my left wrist then my right wrist, and called out.


"OK, Tanya, I'm ready!"


I heard Tanya come upstairs. She checked that I was securely attached, then disappeared again without saying a word. A few minutes later she returned with some ice cubes, a nylon stocking and a little box. Enthusiasts of the Altarboy site won't need details of what happened next. Suffice to say that, within minutes, my rampant cock had been frozen down to shrivelled limpness by the ice cubes, and shortly after that my pudenda were trapped - and locked - in a steel cage from which there was absolutely no escape! It wasn't a fully-fledged belt; just a device that encased my penis and locked firmly to a steel ring set behind my bollocks. But it was effective. Fuck me, it was effective!


Of course I remonstrated, but Tanya was adamant. She told me how shocked and disgusted she had been to learn from Stacey that I'd tried to be unfaithful to her. She refused to listen to my declaration that it was all because of Stacey's damson wine, that I'd never really have followed through. But hell, she knew me! OK, I was unreliable!


The cock-trap was on me, and it would stay there (she said) until I had earned my release.










"It took you ages to realise you could earn remission by performing a few household chores, didn't it?" she taunted. "I just loved that doggie-look of adoration you gave me when I actually reduced your sentence by one whole day, in return for six consecutive days of uncomplaining dish-washing. If you hadn't done all those stints in the kitchen you'd still have another six days to wait."


I said nothing. Yes, I'd learned some lessons, and the most important one was never complain, never whine. So I'd waited in silence. I knew she'd release me. Tanya couldn't keep this game up forever. At least, I hoped so. I just wanted this fucking contraption off my cock. I'd even put up with a sexless marriage - for a while - if I could only have a decent wank whenever I felt horny.


"I promised you a key today, didn't I? Well, here it is!" she said, holding up a little gold key on a small key-ring. I looked at her, not understanding. As I remembered it, the key to my chastity belt had been chrome-plated, not gold. Tanya saw my confusion, and she smiled as she handed me the key.


It wasn't gold at all. It wasn't even gold-plated. It was cardboard - gold-coloured cardboard. Disappointed almost to the point of rebellion, I let it drop to the floor.


"Are you going back on your word, Tanya?" I asked. "That's not like you."


"Look at the key-tag" she suggested softly.


I sighed, and picked up the flimsy, cardboard key again. I looked at the tag. There was a 3-digit number written on one side, and a longer one - probably a telephone number, I guessed - on the other.


"It's the key to your release, Hugh. Before you actually obtain that release, you'll have to prove your total fidelity and obedience to me. I want a proper husband, a truly loving, faithful one. Not a lying, cheating bastard like the one who tried to make out with my best friend! Now serve lunch."


She turned to go to the dining room, but hesitated at the kitchen door.


"From now on, and until that chastity thing is finally removed from your body, you will address me as Mistress. Always. Even if there's anyone else present. Got it?"


"Hey, hang on, Tanya" I began to remonstrate. "That's a bit heavy."


"ALWAYS!" she shouted. "Forget about Tanya, and 'my darling', and 'my wife'. I'm not yours any more. You're mine. Got it? Mine. To you, I'm 'Mistress' until you earn a more equal relationship"


I hesitated. But not for long.


"Yes, Mistress" I replied.






During lunch I tried to ask Mistress what the numbers on the key tag meant, but she ignored my questions. All she would say was that I already had the key to my release, and what I did with it (if anything) was entirely up to me.


While I was washing up the lunch things


I heard Mistress go out through the front door and drive off in our little Porsche. Duties done, I made myself some coffee, then took off my apron and went naked to my study to think what the stupid little cardboard key might signify. I was more and more convinced that the longer number on the key tag was a phone number. Probably a mobile phone number, I thought. It certainly didn't have an area code that I recognised. And the 3-digit number on the reverse of the tag was utterly meaningless to me.


Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, I thought. I picked up my own mobile phone and dialled.


"Hi, this is Sally" said an attractive female voice after a few seconds of the ring tone. "If you just want to leave me a message, press '1'. If you are seeking help with something unusual, press '2'"


Obviously a taped message. I pressed '2'.


"Thank you" the pretty voice continued. "Now key in your pin number and wait."


Ah! That must be what the other number is for, I thought. I looked at the key tag, and keyed in the three digits.


"Thank you. For extra security, please key in the number that corresponds with the initial of your first name."


Hugh. Number four represented the initial H on my keypad, so I pressed '4'. Yet another taped message followed.


"Hello Hugh. Listen carefully. I shall give you your instructions slowly, so that you can write down the important parts. When this message ends you must strip completely naked, apart from your chastity device of course, and get into your car. Take with you a notepad and pen, and your mobile phone - which should be turned on. Oh, and the little gold key, of course. Don't take anything else.


"Drive to Anderson Avenue, park opposite the driveway leading to a house called 'Twin Elms', and wait until your mobile phone rings. Do NOT answer it - the phone will stop ringing after a few seconds. Wait two minutes, then dial my number again. More instructions will follow.


"If you have understood and agree to all this, just ring off and do what I have told you to do. Do it at once. If you are so stupid that you need confirmation of anything you've heard, wait fifteen seconds and this tape will play back to you. There will be penalties if a repeat is necessary."


I quickly pressed the 'off' button. I'd got all the important bits. I didn't like the idea of driving naked through town, but if this Sally person was going to give me the key to my chastity belt I supposed it was a paltry forfeit to pay. There was a small blanket in our second car - a little Renault Clio - and I thought I could drape that over myself if I got caught in traffic.


Nakedness had become a fairly normal state for me in the past fifty days. The only thing new in my current situation was that the order to strip had come from a stranger. The fact that I was already naked didn't really affect the issue.


Still, I mused, Tanya was clearly in on the game, so it seemed quite proper to follow the stranger's instructions. I gathered up the bits and pieces I'd been instructed to bring, and slipped out to the Clio.


The day was warm, but it was raining hard. I'd have to drive carefully - an accident while I was undressed like this would be acutely embarrassing. And I didn't want the mobile battery to run flat at some crucial moment, so I put the mobile on charge while I was driving.


It felt odd to be driving a car with bare feet. It took me a minute or two to get used to it. When I was well on my way I reached round for the blanket that was usually piled in a crumpled heap on the back seat. Shit, it wasn't there. Tanya - Mistress - must have removed it. Oh well, I was committed now. I'd just have to hope no-one noticed.


Thankfully the journey was event-free. Anderson Avenue was one of the roads that formed part of an exclusive Surrey housing estate some three miles from where Tanya and I lived. I knew where 'Twin Elms' was - I'd seen it once when I'd been sent to deliver some papers to a senior partner in the firm of solicitors where I worked. That was Beatrice Hogan - a snotty-nosed, elderly bitch who'd served a long time as a barrister before being appointed Queen's Counsellor. Since then I'd become a fully qualified solicitor myself, but so far I hadn't been invited to become a partner in the firm. Ms Hogan hardly ever showed her nose in the office now, but as a senior partner she continued to extract her share of the partnership's profits (to which, as a mere employee, I was making a regular and significant contribution).


I followed instructions and parked opposite the 'Twin Elms' driveway, looking round anxiously in case there were any passers-by who might notice my nakedness. Fortunately the avenue was deserted.


Beep! Beep! Beep! The sudden shriek of the mobile phone made me jump, even though I was expecting the call. The ring tone stopped almost as soon as it started, but I had enough presence of mind to note the time on the car's clock. The two-minute wait seemed to last for ages. I again dialled the number I had been given on the key-tag.


I went through the same routine of dialling selection numbers and pin numbers, and in due course I heard the pretty voice of Sally again. Another recorded message.


"Hello Hugh. You should be outside 'Twin Elms' now. If not, drive back home and admit to your Mistress that you have failed in your mission. You forfeit your release, and you will wait at least another ninety days before the next opportunity will arise." 


The message paused. I said a little prayer of thanks to my guardian angel for getting me here on time.


"Now drive two hundred yards east" the message continued, "and look for a driveway on your right lined with white flowering bushes. There's no house name - just the number 21a. Drive past the front door, and turn left into the little service drive. Park by the servants' entrance - it's a white door with a wooden bench alongside, under a porch. Get out of your owner's car, leaving the keys in the ignition and the door open. Sit on the bench. You will find a package there, with your name on it. Open the package, and follow the instructions in it."


A click, and the dialling tone, told me the message was at an end.


No problem. I followed instructions, stopping the car at the rear entrance, and looked nervously round to check that I was protected from the view of any passers-by. Trees and bushes everywhere. This was safe, secluded. I stepped out, and went to park my naked arse on the bench in the porch.


I suddenly had a panic attack. Godalmighty, less than an hour ago I had been eagerly expecting Tanya to turn a little key in a little lock, to release my cock from the infuriating, embarrassing, frustrating imprisonment it had suffered for the past fifty days. Now I found myself embarked on a mission that would lead God knew where, entrusting my naked (though chastity-belt-protected) body to whatever fate my lovely Mistress had determined for me. I didn't even know for sure that it would end in release!


Calm down, calm down, I told myself. I took a few deep breaths, eyes closed, then relaxed and looked around.


Beside me on the bench was a small bag. I opened it and felt inside. There was something soft and velvety wrapped round something hard, and a piece of folded notepaper. I pulled out the note.


"This bag contains a blindfold and a pair of handcuffs. Before you put them on, note where the doorbell is so that you can press it without seeing it. Place the blindfold over your head and secure it. Handcuff yourself with your hands behind you. Then press the doorbell and wait."


Again, I carefully followed the instructions. The blindfold was in fact a black velvet bag that completely covered my head, with a leather strap with a catch to secure it around my neck. When it was in place and secured, I could breathe easily but it didn't allow even the tiniest scrap of light to reach my eyes. I could see absolutely nothing. I cuffed my hands together behind me, manoeuvred myself towards the doorbell, and pressed.


For a while nothing happened. I sat down again. I began to wonder if this was all a big wind-up until a click told me someone had entered my car and closed the door. Seconds later I heard it being driven away, God knows where to, and by whom.


I heard the white door open. Two pairs of hands took hold of me, guided me into the house. I tried to ask who was holding me, but as soon as I started to speak I received a sharp, stinging slap on my bare arse. OK, I thought, talking is forbidden. I didn't try again.


My unshod feet felt the rough surface of the doormat, then soft, lush carpeting for a short distance. Another door was opened, and we moved from the rich carpet onto bare concrete. I was led down a flight of stairs. The dank, musty air of a cellar filtered through the velvet head bag to my nostrils.


We stopped. I was gently backed against a wall. Something was attached to my ankles; something else to my neck.




After a minute or so like this I began to think my guides, my captors, had left the room. But no. A feminine hand took hold of my steel-caged penis, and I felt a key being inserted in the lock. I sighed with pleasure and relief. At last this hellish device was being removed from me! Was this the end of my suffering? When the hands reached behind me to remove my handcuffs I became even more convinced that my term of sexual deprivation was over. But the velvet bag covering my head remained in place.


My newly-released hands went inexorably towards my newly-released cock, but a loud voice said "NOT YET!" It was a slightly unnatural voice, and I realised it came through a loudspeaker. My unrestrained prick was rapidly erecting, and I desperately wanted to feel it with my fingers, but I obeyed, placing my hands on my chest to demonstrate that I was complying with the speaker's orders.


After a period of complete silence lasting a minute or so, I started to move my hands surreptitiously downwards again towards my groin, but the voice from the loudspeaker made me refrain.


"Not yet, Hugh." This time the voice was gentler. I thought it was Sally's voice, but it sounded slightly different from the voice I'd heard over the phone.


"Hugh, you have been brought here for your first test. Your Mistress wishes to assess your level of self-control. In a little while you will be permitted to place your hands on your cock. Once they have made that contact, your hands must remain on your cock for sixty minutes. No more; no less.


"Remember, Hugh, that this is a test of self-control. If you choose to spend the entire hour masturbating, that is up to you. Your Mistress would surely understand if you did so; after all, it's been seven weeks or more since you last had any sexual pleasure. But she would be disappointed in you. She wants you to be her loving and obedient slave, not the self-obsessed, unfaithful bastard you proved yourself to be when you propositioned Stacey.


"The rules of science apply here, Hugh. You must obey the laws of conservation. Every orgasm you take will have to be counterbalanced by one that you give. Masturbate to your heart's content, but another person must derive a pleasure equal to your own. This applies to matter as well as to energy. Also, every gram of fluid spilt during each orgasm must be returned to your body, or replaced by an equivalent amount. Bear this in mind while you caress your wanton cock.


"When I say 'now', Hugh, place both your hands on your genitals."


I readied myself. God, I wanted that contact! But I waited.


"Your hour starts . now!"






I couldn't help it. As soon as that disembodied voice had said 'now', my hands were on my cock. Just to feel it there was an extreme pleasure! For several minutes I fought against the temptation to start stroking, wondering if the disembodied voice would give me instructions, but there was only silence. Gradually, the siren-call of the orgasm I'd been wanting for nearly two months became too strong. My left hand moved to clasp my writhing balls, my right stayed firmly around the raging erection that ached for relief! Jesus, I wanted to cum!


At first I told myself I'd just stroke softly, do nothing to provoke an orgasm. Sally had made it clear that there would be some sort of penalty to pay if I went all the way. Up and down went my hand. Slowly, cautiously, just for the simple pleasure of the touch I'd been unable to enjoy for the past fifty days and nights. For a while this was easy - gentle stroking wouldn't do any harm, would it?


But gradually, inexorably, my slow, steady strokes built on one another until a cumulative effect began to manifest. Soon my cock was saying stroke me, stroke me harder. Before I knew it the whole process had become an animal urge over which I had no control. I felt myself build to a rapid climax, and the pulses of ecstasy that accompanied my spurting of seven weeks' sperm were greater than any I could recall from previous masturbations.


"One orgasm. Eight minutes"


The voice that came through the speaker was not at all intrusive. Just a gentle, almost sad reminder that I'd failed already, that there was still a long time to go, and that there would be a price to pay. It was no problem to remember the instruction to keep both hands on my genitalia, and almost without thinking I captured the residue of my cum and spread it liberally to lubricate my post-orgasmic, shrunken member. And of course, it wasn't long before that member returned to life and sought relief.


I remember Sally's voice telling me at eighteen, thirty-five, fifty-seven minutes that I'd orgasmed again, and again, and again.


The fourth orgasm was almost painful. I never could enjoy a dry wank - the sensation of coming when there's no juice left to come always leaves me feeling like an over-squeezed lemon. But my deprivations over the last couple of months made me oblivious to the sensation of emptiness, and each of the four orgasms was an utter thrill.


When my hour was up, Sally's voice instructed me to place my hands behind me. Reluctantly I obeyed.


I felt my hands being cuffed again. Then the velvet hood that had covered my head since I'd arrived here was removed. Although it was extremely dark I could just make out a few details of the room where I was trapped, and I saw what might have been a naked body departing around a corner. Ohmygawd, I thought, it was a male! I'm in the hands of a man! The very idea of intimate contact with a male appalled me!


"Oh dear! Four orgasms!" The voice from the loudspeaker. But this time it wasn't Sally's voice. It was Ta - Mistress! How the hell did she get here, I wondered. Then I realised. She must have driven here in our Porsche before I left home.


"Hugh, darling," she said, "you have failed me yet again! Four times! That means you have four forfeits to pay before you qualify for your next key! Four orgasms to provide before you move on to your next test. If you want to qualify for your next key, get on your knees! Your tongue is going to be very, very busy for a while! Are you up to the task, you pathetic, puny little turd?"


I was utterly defenceless, utterly under the control of my lovely Mistress. God, I thought, if I was a real man I'd be fighting this, refusing to submit to a woman who'd signalled her intention to grind me down to a sexual nothing. But there was something about my abject, subservient situation that was curiously appealing. I actually liked the way Mistress was treading all over me. It gave me an odd sense of security, of being wanted by the lady that I loved. I knew what I had to say.


"Yes, Mistress. Tell me what you want of me, and I'll do it!"




Part 2

As I knelt in obedience to the command of my beloved Mistress, I felt a sudden jerk at my neck. The chain attached to my neckband was just long enough to allow me to kneel, but I had to remain upright instead of resting my bare arse on my heels.

"Hugh?" That was my Mistress's voice again, amplified through a stereo sound system and echoing through the slightly damp cellar.


"Yes, Mistress?"


"You have four orgasms to give. Are you ready?"


"Yes, Mistress. I love you. I just want to please you."


"That's good, Hugh. I shall want at least one of those orgasms for myself. Maybe more. But before your tongue touches me, I want to watch as you satisfy a friend of mine. There's something not quite right in your oral technique, and I want to study you in action without being distracted by your inadequate stimulation. Do you think you can handle that?"


I wasn't sure how to respond. Mistress had been so shocked, so horrified on learning of my attempted infidelity with Stacey that I felt sure she would never want me to have sexual contact with anyone else at all. And I felt hurt and demeaned by her cruel comment about my inadequacy. Was she really saying she wanted to watch me pleasuring Sally, the sweet-voiced woman in whose house I was currently a guest? The idea of tonguing a beautiful girl while my wife stood watching me was both acutely embarrassing and deeply arousing. My cock, still limp and slightly sore after my hour of intense masturbation, began to swell and rise.


"Whatever you want of me, Mistress!" I replied.


"Excellent" responded my Mistress. "My friend is an expert in oral play. Listen to what she says to you and obey her every command. You have a good, long tongue - it's always a shame to see a fine tool being wielded by an unskilled amateur. I want you to learn how to use it properly."


The slight electronic hum from the speaker ceased, and for a while I waited.


It startled me when the cellar lights were suddenly turned on. A naked man came in - presumably the guy I'd seen earlier - carrying a video camera, which he set up on a tripod and connected to some wires he'd trailed down the cellar stairs. He arranged it by my right shoulder, and spent some minutes checking that it was running properly, and in the right position to record all that I would be doing.


The guy checked my handcuffs, and the neck and ankle restraints. He slackened off the neck chain by three or four inches. Then, standing behind me, he quietly invited me to close my eyes. I did so, and a length of self-adhesive packaging tape was pressed firmly over them, effectively blindfolding me. I felt his erect prick brushing briefly against my back, leaving a cold trail of pre-cum between my shoulder blades.


Seconds later I felt him grab my prick. Oh, hell, this was embarrassing. I'd never had a man touch me there before. At first I thought he was going to play with it, but he simply fed it back into the steel sheath that had been its home for the past fifty days, and clicked the lock home. My brief period of penile liberty was at an end.


Then there was silence. I didn't know whether the guy had departed, or whether he had remained to operate the camera. It was probably a couple of minutes before the unmistakable scent of a feminine presence assailed my nostrils. Was I about to make contact with the sweet Sally? Or Mistress? It was a warm, sweaty, slightly musky odour, with no overlay of the perfumes I knew my Mistress liked.


No. The labia that were thrust peremptorily against my mouth were not those of my Mistress. Nor did they match the young, nubile image I had of Sally. These were tired, slightly hairy labia, the labia of a person old enough to be my mother! I instinctively drew back, but the woman immediately grabbed me by the hair and forced my nose deep into her cunt.


It felt somehow proper and natural to do my duty. My mouth opened and my long tongue snaked in between those cunt lips, sweeping upwards to find the clit and commence my assault. But the woman's hands angrily slapped my face and tugged me backwards to break contact.


"No, no, no NO!"


Only the one word, repeated again and again. But I knew that voice. It was unmistakable. Beatrice Hogan! My ultimate boss at the firm of solicitors where I worked! The elderly Queen's Counsellor who creamed off most of our profits!


"No wonder your Mistress is dissatisfied with you, Hugh! If you hit her like that every time she wants some fun from you, I'm not surprised she came to me for advice! Now start again. And remember, this is supposed to be for my pleasure. You can enjoy it too, but that's of secondary importance. Start with a deep, caressing penetration - forget the clitoris for now. Arouse me, Hugh!"


Ohmygod, I thought. If this ever gets out back at the office, I'm dead! Diffidently I returned to my task, and sent my tongue probing delicately between those flabby, hairy labia into the moist depths of her surprisingly taut vagina.


"Ye Gods, Hugh! You're such a fucking wimp! This is why you haven't been made a partner yet! You never get properly down to any task we set you! Get to work, for Christ's sake! Search for my sensitive spots, and arouse me!"


Stung by her insults, I forced my tongue to roam. Gradually I discovered the movements, the caresses that made this Amazonian senior partner relax and sigh with the pleasures I was giving her. I tasted the juices that began to flow from within her, and this stimulated me to greater efforts. My tongue probed deeper. I began to learn that there was a difference between pleasing myself, and pleasing the woman who was offering her cunt for my attentions. I attended to the signals she gave me. I was seeking her approval. Her peremptory thrusts and directions became gentle persuasions, guiding me to the areas of her genitalia that wanted to be loved.


Finally she led my mouth back to the clitoris that I had earlier assaulted so clumsily.


Carefully she taught me to use my lips on this delicate organ, kissing it and sucking so that it became engorged and aroused. For a long while she allowed me to stroke it with my tongue, manipulating my head to maximise her pleasure. Eventually there came a time when I knew (and she knew) she was approaching a climax, and she took complete control as her orgasm washed over her.


I was amazed. This woman was a master of the art! As she came, and her juices gushed down to meet my roving tongue, I was close to achieving an orgasm myself! I was prevented from coming a fifth time only by the fact that my cock was confined in its steel prison!


"Not bad, Hugh" declared Ms Hogan. "You learn well, and you do have some original moves of your own that worked rather well. If only you would apply the same ingenuity and initiative to your casework in the office, I'm sure you would soon be awarded a partnership. Perhaps, if your Mistress approves, we should get together again after this. If we can, er, build on the progress you made in this little session I might be able to put in a good word for you. I'll have to discuss it with your Mistress, of course."


Suddenly I was alone. It worried me that Ms Hogan hadn't even tried to retain her anonymity. She knew, and I knew, that my career hung on the outcome of this encounter. It was dawning on me that my entire life was now in the hands of my Mistress.


"Hugh?" It was the voice of my Mistress, coming through the loudspeaker.


"I watched that, on the TV screen. I've now got a videotape of your whole performance with Beatrice. Why have you never been able to satisfy me like that?"


I didn't know what to say. I had always assumed I knew how to give my wife oral, but that session with the bitch Hogan had made me realise I had an awful lot to learn.


"I do want to please you, Mistress. Thank you for giving me this lesson in subservience. Maybe I need more tuition. Just tell me what you want of me. All I want is to be released forever from this bloody cock-trap you put on me! Come down now, and let me try to please you like I did for Ms Hogan!"


I heard laughter coming through the speaker. Mistress's high-pitched giggle, and the sneering tones of Ms Hogan. There were several other voices, some of which were male.


"Oh, Hugh! Poor Hugh! You didn't please Beatrice! You satisfied her! You did a fair job. If you were a plumber, come to repair a leaking faucet, she'd have paid your bill but the wouldn't have tipped you. That was a journeyman's effort, not a craftsman's work! I want to see how you cope with your next orgasm. Are you ready?"


Ah. Maybe this time, I thought, it would be the lovely Sally. I dearly wanted to taste that delectable twat.


"Ready when you are, Mistress" I replied.


"OK, Hugh" responded my Mistress. "Ready yourself."


I took stock of my predicament. Bound by my ankles and my neck. Hands cuffed behind me. Blindfolded by a strip of adhesive tape. My cock was straining to expand and rise, but confined in its steel trap it merely began to ache. My mouth, though, was available. Eagerly, I anticipated the touch on my lips of a young, nubile cunt. I opened my mouth, readying my lips and tongue for the contact.


Only to have my mouth filled with a stiff cylinder of flesh that I immediately recognised as an erect, male cock.


Hands held my head, ensuring that I could not free myself from this dreaded contact. If there was one thing that appalled me, it was the idea of sex with a man! But here I was, my mouth full of rampant male cock, and there was nothing I could do about it!


I remembered that once, not long before that fateful incident with Stacey, Tanya had taunted me by saying I'd probably be better at satisfying a man than a woman. "Yeah, well" I had riposted, "at least a man knows what a man wants!"


At the time she'd just sneered at me. She turned over and went to sleep, denying me the fuck I was desperately seeking. But clearly the idea had remained in her mind, stewing up and becoming one of the elements of her desire to dominate and subdue me. Now she had me at her mercy.


Despite my innate revulsion at the very idea of homosexuality, I felt no inclination to refuse the challenge my Mistress was now issuing. I let my lips close on this monstrous male member, and feel the gentle pulsing as his erection hardened and expanded.


The cock, uncut and with the foreskin still covering his glans, was deep inside my mouth. I could have closed on it, clenching my teeth tightly around it, perhaps to bite it and even to sever it from the body of the man who had dared to penetrate me like this. But this was not the impulse that arose. My male mind knew what the male owner of this huge prick wanted. I began to suck.


I let my tongue play over the hard, intruding flesh. I allowed myself to enjoy it, sensing the pulses of blood that engorged this gross, invading member. I was aware of the delicate taste of precum at the back of my throat, a taste that I remembered from occasions when I'd masturbated and transferred the initial product of my efforts to my own mouth.


My body began to move backwards and forwards as I masturbated the beautiful prick with my mouth. A rhythm built up, and he started to counterpoint my own movements with thrusts and withdrawals of his own. He was fucking my mouth, trusting to my instincts. I felt as if I was sucking his very being from him! Deep down I knew exactly what he desired and I worked towards that, despite my underlying revulsion at the thought that he would eventually cum in my mouth. Faster, faster we thrusted. His bared glans, the foreskin cast back by the energy of my attentions, kept hitting the back of my throat. I didn't care; I wanted this to reach the natural climax.


Suddenly his body was wracked by spasms, and I felt the first, powerful spurt of cum hit my tonsils. My initial instinct was to retch, but I overcame this and continued to suck his pulsing, jerking penis as spurt after spurt of cum filled my mouth.


I swallowed. Oh, God, I swallowed. I needed his cum. I accepted it, and it was good!


As the moment subsided, and the flesh that had invaded my mouth gradually became limp, I had time to contemplate the situation. Throughout my entire previous life I had looked on the very idea of homosexual contact as repulsive and unnatural, yet faced with the task of sucking a cock to orgasm I had joined with the task wholeheartedly. Did that mean I was queer? No. I realised it simply meant that my mind had been opened; expanded to new dimensions. Suddenly my sexuality had become something I could offer to the whole human race instead of just to the female half of it.


Yeah. Sounds great, doesn't it? But I had other tests to come.




"Yes, Mistress?"


"You seemed to enjoy that. Are you a fag? A gay? Do you want me to divorce you and let you shack up with a man? "


Oh, Christ, I thought, she's used the d-word. Divorce. This was the last thing I wanted right now. Tanya was an heiress. She already had a fantastic income from a trust set up by a doting aunt who had invested in real estate, mainly in South America. But on her thirty-fifth birthday, only three years from now, she was due to inherit the capital. We'd be in clover! I just had to keep this marriage going for the next three years, at least! Anything that Tanya wanted HAD to be all right with me!


"No, Mistress. Please don't even think of divorce! I love you with all my heart! Everything I'm doing now is for toyr pleasure, not mine. Sure, I'd like to be released from this infernal cock-trap, and I'm hoping you'll take pity on me if I just do everything you ask. That last orgasm was dedicated entirely to you, Mistress! It gave me no pleasure to do it."


That last bit was a lie. I thought back to my performance. Once I'd overcome my initial revulsion I had enjoyed sucking that cock. It had given me a strange sense of achievement, almost of triumph, when those jerking spasms of cum had spat forth and filled my mouth. Technically he was raping me, I suppose, but I'd known I was in some sense the master as I took possession of his cum and gulped it down.


"You never were a good liar, Hugh," she declared, a tinge of regret in her voice. "There's a gleam in your eye that's never there when you make your sad little attempts to give me head. OK, my little slave, let's see how you manage your third orgasm!"


Slave. Mistress had called me her slave! Well, yes, maybe she was right. I couldn't deny it. She was calling the tune and I was dancing to it, willingly and without complaint. It was the only way.


"I'm ready, Mistress. Let's do it!"


Again I readied myself, open-mouthed. Was it going to be my lovely Tanya this time? Or perhaps Sally? I was really looking forward to pressing my tongue into the cunt of the sweet-voiced hostess who had led me into this dungeon.


But it was a cock that touched my lips. The same one that I had drained mere minutes ago. The soft flesh was manipulated into my mouth, and I didn't need telling I was expected to urge it back to erectness.


The limp, shrunken cylinder rolled around in my mouth, feeling strangely like a marshmallow! I could taste the residues of cold cum that still coated it, and the slightly different taste of precum that was already oozing from the soft glans. Wanting the sensation of a full mouth I carefully took in the shaven, slightly stubbly scrotum, and gently caressed the big, ovate testicles with my tongue.


When I sensed a tentative revival of the erection I released the balls, turning my attention to the tip of the tool that was gradually expanding and hardening. My lips and tongue had no difficulty in pushing back the loose foreskin, leaving it draped like a tiny towel around the neck of the swelling glans. My whole mouth made love to it, sucking, stroking, encouraging blood to return and engorge the intruding member. Soon the soft, marshmallow feeling had gone, and there was once again a stiff bayonet of horny flesh pressing firmly, eagerly against the back of my throat.


But suddenly it was withdrawn, leaving me with a curious feeling of deprivation. The guy placed his hands in my armpits and helped me stand up.


Something - a table - was pressed against my thighs. The chain that had held my neck high was unslung and my body was encouraged to bend across the table. I was made to spread my legs wide, rendering my arse more accessible. Oh, God, I knew what this meant.


The ultimate horror! I was about to be buggered!


He attached a short chain between my handcuffs and my neck restraint, forcing my hands up my back so that they wouldn't get in the way. Lubricant was spread liberally around my tight, virgin hole. A finger was thrust deep into me, taking some lube with it, and I writhed as it sought - and found - my prostate. The brief ecstasy turned to sudden pain as a second finger went in to accompany the first, and my arse was forced to open. I found myself fighting the intrusion, tightening my sphincter in a futile attempt to eject the cause of my agony.


"Relax, fool!" the guy muttered through gritted teeth. "It'll be easier for you if you do." And I did relax, though it was more a response of despair than a conscious attempt to heed the advice of an experienced arse bandit. It wasn't long before the pain did subside, and I found myself actually enjoying the unaccustomed sensation of male fingers exploring my very personal interior, helping to relieve my hole of its nervous inclination to tense up. It was with a strange mixture or relief and regret that I felt the fingers leave me.


I knew, with dreadful certainty, what was coming next.


Hands gently held aside the cheeks of my arse, leaving my slackened sphincter totally vulnerable. The cock that I had sucked back to rampant life touched my hole, and I instinctively tightened again. But I remembered the instruction to relax, and made a conscious effort to obey it.


He pushed. At first nothing happened, but suddenly I felt the glans enter me. It didn't hurt, but I couldn't help tightening again. He waited patiently at my anal threshold while I adjusted myself to his presence. When I felt able to relax again he pushed, gently but persistently, deeper into me until I thought his cock must be brushing against my lungs! I tightened again.


Again he waited while I calmed my fears and allowed myself to want more. When my sphincter slackened he put his hands on my shoulders and pulled himself yet tighter against my arse, until at last I felt his balls pressing hard against my own steel-bound genitalia. He was at his maximum depth!


I wanted time to think about this new experience. For a little while he just remained deep within me, almost motionless, but he made slight thrusting movements from time to time, probably to stimulate himself and maintain - even enhance - his erection. I could feel my own cock straining futilely to become erect in its prison. This wasn't so bad after all, I mused. Quite exciting, in fact. In the past couple of hours or so my entire preconceived opinions about homosexuality had been stood on their head! Am I gay, I wondered? No, I was still desperate to get back to a normal sex relationship with Tanya. And despite the consequences of my abortive advances towards Stacey I still saw her as an extremely desirable fuck. OK, I concluded, perhaps I'm bisexual. Apparently quite a high percentage of males are bisexual, even though many of them have never actually tried it. Bisexuality seemed a much more natural explanation of my newly-discovered feelings than fully-fledged homosexuality.


He pulled outwards, resting with just the glans embedded in my hole. Then he thrust savagely back inside me, sending my chastened cock smashing against the edge of the table. I gasped at the suddenness of the assault, but it was a gasp of pleasure more than pain. He repeated the motion, again and again. I couldn't help revelling in the situation. It hurt, but the pain was nothing compared to the thrill of the action! I found myself responding to his thrusts, bearing back every time his cock bore into me!


My gasps, and his grunts, became a rhythmic chant of orgiastic desire as he pounded into me. I became totally intent on squeezing a second orgasm from the organ that had already taken its first pleasure between my lips. I began to tighten and relax my hole in time with his thrusts. His hands slapped my bare arse as he rode me like a jockey eager to win the Grand National.


My God, I thought, why had it taken me all these years to discover that it was fun to be fucked by a bloke?


His thrusts got faster. It took him longer than I expected to reach the point of no return, but he eventually fell into the more relaxed rhythm that told me he knew he was going to get an orgasm. His final strokes were almost leisurely. I was eager to experience, for the first time in my life, the sensation of spunk bursting forth into my arse, and I kept my sphincter clasping tightly and rhythmically on him as he maintained his assault.


When his grunts became uncontrolled gurgles I knew the moment was close. His fingers dug into my arse cheeks, and suddenly his thrusts were dog-like spasms held deep inside me.


"Oh, fuck, YES!!" he gasped as the cum burst forth. At the same time I let out a prolonged "Oh-o-oh-o-oh!" and my arsehole clasped itself possessively around the base of his spasm-wracked cock! He remained hard up against my arse and we both revelled in the gradual, inexorable slide down the slope from exquisite orgasm to joyful, totally-spent relaxation.


I still held his cock tight in my arse. My sphincter was keeping it engorged with the blood that I had sucked into it with my earlier oral ministrations, and I wanted the experience to last as long as possible. But I knew how sensitive his member would be feeling in those minutes that followed his orgasm, so I reluctantly allowed the erection to subside. Lubricated by the stuff he had applied to my arse, and by the volume of cum that he had released inside me, his limp cock plopped out of my slack hole like an orange pip squeezed between two fingers.


"Hey, that wasn't bad for a beginner!" he declared. I felt a warm stream of his cum begin to emerge from my arse and course down my left thigh. I wished I had a finger free to catch some of it and put it in my mouth. As if he could read my thoughts, he himself caught the flow and allowed me to suck the sticky juice from his fingers.


"Maybe I'll ask your Mistress for another sessions with you some time!"


"That's OK with me!" I replied. Then I did a double-take. Was I actually volunteering to be buggered again? I shrugged. "I can't believe I'm saying this," I continued, "but I really did love having you fuck me!"


He stood me up and removed the table. Then he carefully peeled off the tape that had kept my eyes closed, and I found myself looking him full in the face. To my surprise he took my face in his hands and planted a genuine, sensitive kiss on my mouth, his tongue exploring my lips (which I eagerly opened) but not penetrating deeper. Then he broke the contact and went to turn off the video camera that had been recording the entire session.


He went to leave the cellar, but half-way up the flight of concrete steps he stopped and came back to me.


"I forgot to put back your original blindfold" he said, covering my head with the velvet bag I'd donned when I first arrived here. A click told me he'd secured the thing firmly around my neck. He also removed the short chain that had held my wrists uncomfortably up my back.


"You've only given three orgasms," he said. "One for Bea, and two for me. You're supposed to give four, but I think this session is over now. I wonder who'll get your fourth one?"


I heard him depart, and for a long while I was left with my thoughts. I was filled with a sense of wonder and astonishment at the events I had experienced, and at my own unexpected reactions to them. Even though I felt sexually sated, I knew I wanted to explore all these new sensual avenues again. Somehow I felt certain that my sex horizons would be seriously widened before I obtained my final release from the steel constraint that my lovely, rich wife had placed on my errant prick.




The amplified voice of my lovely, rich wife!


"You really are an out-and-out fag, aren't you? I was watching how you responded to Jason's cock. In fact I felt quite jealous!"


"I'm not gay, Mistress," I pleaded. "I do sincerely love you! Maybe there is an element of bisexuality in my makeup that I hadn't recognised before, but I swear that you are my only true love!"


"Huh!" A derisive snort. "You still have a fourth orgasm to give, Hugh, but you can't do it here. You need to make a little journey before you can completely fulfil your obligations. And for this journey, you will need another key."


I sighed. Surely not another naked drive to another chilly cellar?


"Don't forget we have a full video cassette of your performances today. The session with Beatrice will be made available on the internet as an educational video for a selected audience of a few thousand fem dom enthusiasts, but neither of your faces are shown so you won't be identifiable. The Jason video is different. The tape over your eyes doesn't hide who you are, and we're keeping that for issue to a few of your colleagues and friends in case you decide to rebel against this program of sexual training I've devised for you. It's a very explicit video, Hugh! Your reputation, such as it is, would be shattered if we had to release it!"


I slumped. Suddenly I realised how precarious my position was. If I went through with everything that Tanya made me do it was just possible that I could keep the marriage on track, and maybe qualify myself for a substantial alimony claim in three or four years' time. If I failed her, every single thing I'd managed to do to build an independent career would be cast into oblivion when she broadcast the video. My marriage, my career, my whole life would be in ruins.


And all because that fucking Stacey had ratted on me after my clumsy pass at her!


I was led out of the cellar, still naked and blindfolded, my hands cuffed behind me. I was put into a car, and driven God knows where. There were three women in the car with me. They all chatted in the way women inevitably chat, and I recognised the voices of Beatrice (the driver, I thought), Tanya (sitting beside her) and Sally, who I only knew by her voice, beside me on the back seat.


Sally kept fingering my steel-entrapped cock - a wicked thing to do, as I really fancied her voice, and her touches kept me agonisingly aroused. I'd guess we drove for about an hour.


The car stopped.


"You now have a little problem, Hugh," said Mistress. I decided I should try to think of Tanya only as Mistress, since she'd insisted that I do so. "We're going to leave you soon. There's a time-controlled lock on your handcuffs, and you'll be free in about ten minutes. We've put a bundle of clothes and other things you'll need in the Clio, and it's parked."


She hesitated, obviously looking out of the car window to confirm what she was saying.


"about a hundred yards from here. Goodbye Hugh. Remember the key. And good luck!"


I heard three giggling women leave the car. After what seemed like hours there was a click behind me, and my arms were free. I quickly undid my blindfold and looked out.


I was in a multi-storey car park. A glance over the parapet told me I was pretty high up, and all the lights and sounds around me indicated that I was at an airport. Gatwick, possibly, but more likely Heathrow.


Luckily there seemed to be no-one else about. I was naked, and I had to find my Clio in order to clothe myself. Nervously I opened the door and emerged.


Looking around, I saw what I thought was my car. Hard to be sure though - the orange lights always made it difficult to identify vehicle colours. I made my way towards it, careful to keep myself in a position where I could hide myself between cars if someone was likely to see me. But I realised it wasn't my car when I got within thirty yards of it - the registration number was all wrong. I stood up and looked round again.


Ah! There it was. In the next aisle, about twelve cars along.


Casting caution to the winds I crouched down and scurried across the open area to the next aisle, then hopped between cars until I came to the Clio that I knew and loved.


Shit! It was locked. Then I recalled what Mistress had said


"Remember the key!"


We always kept an emergency key to the Clio in a little magnetised box attached under the left rear wheel arch. I felt up, in the muck and debris that always gathered in wheel arches, and heaved a sigh of relief when my fingers found the familiar shape of the tiny box. In a matter of seconds I had the door open and I was in the car.


I reached up and turned on the courtesy light. There was a big zipper bag on the front passenger's seat, with an envelope attached to one handle. I desperately wanted to get some clothes on and make myself respectable, but something told me I should open the envelope first.


It contained a note with more instructions.


"Did you see the second key in the box?" it asked. Yes. I'd seen it, but I'd ignored it because I knew it wasn't the car key.


"It's your next key" the note continued. "It opens a left-luggage box in Orly Airport. The box number is on the key. Bon voyage, my little slave!"

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