The Siren free porn video

The Siren In Greek mythology, the Sirens were three dangerous bird-women, portrayed as seductresses who lured nearby sailors with their enchanting music and voices to shipwreck on the rocky coast of their island. [Author's Note: This story is dedicated to the gorgeous Celestine in memory of the most wonderful afternoon of pleasure in 2009 [email protected] N.B. My other Yahoo email addresses have been deleted] 1. Business Games Working for large company usually means being in a state of re- organization. It's a simple way by which middle managers can dupe their superiors by being in a constant state of organizational motion, thereby creating a moving target. One of the unhappy by-products of reorganization is the compulsory but much-hated "team-building" event where the boredom of presentations and the ennui of irrelevant games are only mitigated by the prospect of a free bar and a half-decent dinner in the evening. So, here was I, in a large airless, windowless, hotel meeting room, sat round a table with some of my new work-buddies, one of the many such tables hosting more than 100 people at the 2 day event. We were all trying to appear enthusiastic and engaged, but the looks and the stifled yawns gave the truth away; the first morning had been the usual catalogue of problems with the audio-visual equipment and the sound system, but having finally got rid of the gremlins the "work" began with a dour presentation given with all the enthusiasm of a lead brick. The buffet lunch was edible, though not much more and we were now herded back into the auditorium for another dose of corporate propaganda. "For our first presentation of the afternoon, I am pleased to introduce Helen Armstrong, Head of the new Business Intelligence Unit. Helen..." A small, polite, ripple of applause broke out. My colleague to my right said in a hushed voice: "This may actually be worth listening to, but for God's sake don't ask a question at the end." I looked at him to explain more. "A bit of a ball-breaker is our Helen, so I've heard." Helen Armstrong rose from her seat on the other side of the auditorium and glided her way to the front. Immediately, you knew she was a classically beautiful woman. She was in her mid to late 30s, her oval face with its symmetrical features and dazzling blue eyes framed by dark brown wavy hair that reached to her collar. She wore a well tailored dark-grey business suit with a crisp white blouse, open at the neck to give a tiny hint of cleavage, the tail of her gold necklace pointing the way. Her make-up was (to my eyes) flawless; scarlet lips and subtle shading to her eyes. You just knew that Helen smelt of subtle, expensive perfume without being near enough to verify the fact. As she swayed between the tables on her way to the front I caught a flash of a knee and lower leg, encased in sheer black nylon. Her talk mirrored everything Helen undoubtedly was; strong, assured, entertaining and punchy. Her presentation left us in no doubt as to the problems the company faced and what we needed to do to solve them. She backed up everything with numbers and facts. She had held her audience mesmerized, both by her presence and the content and delivery of her speech. When the chairman called for questions, a small balding man rose to speak. My colleague smirked and whispered to me: "This should be funny. She'll rip his balls off." The man spoke, attempting to make a coherent point and returned to his seat. As predicted, with her grasp of the business and the metrics that drove it, she was easily able to prove the questioner had a lower status in life than an amoeba. Following a further, very dreary hour we were eventually given the release of a tea break. As I approached the queue for tea, Helen was there in front of me, her back towards me; I stopped suddenly as if taken by surprise. It was the shoes. She had removed her jacket to reveal a tight waist, a bum-tight skirt over shear black stockings covering her slim, shapely legs, and ending in the most perfect pair of classical black high-heeled court shoes. The heels were slim - proper stilettos - of about 4 inches, maybe a little more in height. They were such a surprise, a very welcome surprise, I literally stopped, causing the guy behind to bump into me and drop most of his papers. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't expect you to stop like that..." he blurted. I bent down to help him pick up the papers, stealing a crafty look to my right and the power heels worn by Helen. The noise caused her to turn and face us. She was even lovelier than I had thought in the conference room. Her blouse, tucked tight into her waist showed the outline of her full breasts. Her bearing was proud; she was a woman in control, confident of her status and her sex. "Could you kindly pass me a cup?" she said to me. "This one's not clean." I reached over and handed her the cup, taking the opportunity to congratulate her on her talk. "Yes, it was very interesting," I said with honest enthusiasm, "I've used several of the techniques you described myself in my current role to good effect." She turned to me and smiled. "Oh. Do tell me more" she said as we moved away from the tea-urn and the queue of people. My guess about her perfume was perfect; a light mixture of intoxicating flowers enveloped me. As she turned to face me and I looked at her brilliant eyes for the first time I was screaming to myself "Don't look down at her tits!" Yes, I was mentally undressing her but was desperate not to show it in my eyes. I told her about my work and she seemed genuinely interested, but after a few minutes she looked at my name-tag and said "Excuse me, Steve, I've just seen someone I need to talk to before the next session. I may talk to you again." She turned, allowing me to take in the full glory of her wonderful figure and the sexy shoes that adorned her feet. *** Helen occupied my thoughts completely. Later, in my room, after an evening of enforced corporate jollity and probably too much beer, it was such a relief to be alone and allowed to dream of the beautiful vision of Helen. How different she was from my own wife of 15 years. Not that Agnes, my wife, was particularly unattractive, but domestic drudgery and 2 children had turned her into a plain asexual woman. Never would she wear such clothes, make-up and perfume, nor appear so confident, so controlled, so alive. I kept wondering about Helen's home life and her husband, for there was a wedding ring on her finger. Somehow, it was impossible to imagine her doing the washing or unblocking a sink. As I undressed for bed, II thought about my own urges, those urges suppressed by the conformity of marriage and the invasion of privacy it brings. I thought about my hidden secrets in our loft at home, hidden in the deepest, darkest corner. There lay my objects of total desire: my black corset with its 6 suspenders, several pairs of gossamer black stockings, my pair of 5inch high heeled court shoes, my dildos and my collection of magazines and DVDs. I lay back, naked and started to caress myself. How I wanted to dress in them now, to kneel on the bed, slide a toy deep into me and make slow, slow love to myself, enjoying other visions, visions that others may describe as perverted and debauched, but to me were just beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. The image of a big-breasted woman in black lingerie straddling a huge cock up her arse filled my mind, and spurt after spurt of my cream splattered down my leg. I reached down and scooped up my seed on my index finger and slowly licked it, relishing the deep musky taste. 2. Recruitment In the following months I began to think more and more of my life and the future. Home seemed to be somewhere to lay one's head and have a fruitless argument. My wife and I seemed increasingly remote from each other; although we slept in the same bed, sex was but a memory - she was always too tired and I was never in the mood. Yet we trudged on, keeping all together for the children, for appearance of others, but not for each other. Yet, if ever I had the house to myself, I'd instantly call upon images on the computer in order to be able to get off and drink the product, which I did slowly and with relish. I had conquered the self-loathing that sometimes follows release; drinking my own seemed to double the pleasure and take me into the world of the perverse. With more time, I'd climb into the loft and retrieve my private stash, dressing in my corset and stockings, being in total ecstasy when my feet felt the cool leather of the shoes and I stood up to the scream of my muscles at the back of my legs. My toys became an integral part of my play; I loved the feeling of being full and of being penetrated deep within me. Each toy I bought was always bigger than the last and I was always desperate to try it out for the first time. But such occasions of freedom were far too rare and I would go weeks with my only release being a furtive quick jerk in the toilets at work. I began to think of myself as a transvestite, who wanted, more and more, to be just a little bit like the gorgeous Helen; moreover, I began to think of myself as a bisexual transvestite. I had enjoyed a couple of experiences as a boy. I had gone around to a friend's house; we were both 16 and with the usual raging hormones. His mother left the house to go shopping and as soon as we had the house to ourselves, David, my friend, turned to me and said "Fancy a wank?" Instantly, I was erect, but terrified and excited at the same time. We went to his bedroom, where he produced some porn magazines - very soft in those days - and an enormous erection. As we looked through the magazines I was entranced by his wonderful cock; I just had to reach over and hold it. He was rock hard, easily 8 inches long with a large bulbous head; how rampant I was too, when I held his cock and felt the massive power beneath my hands. It didn't take long for either of us to explode. A couple of weeks later and we were into the long summer holidays and I was invited to spend the day with David again. I was so excited for the days before we met again; it seemed inconceivable that we would not repeat our previous experience. I was not disappointed. I was laying back on his bed, cock rampant; he was gently stroking me; hell, it felt so, so good. Before I knew it, my knob was being caressed in the wet, warm hollow of his mouth. It was good, almost too good, so, so sensitive. I wanted it, but I didn't want it. I found myself saying, "Let me suck you...." And so, I found myself performing one of the most intimate acts known to man. I found myself willing and able to suck his wonderful cock, not only for a few seconds, but wanting to do it for as long as I could; eventually he groaned and whimpered that he was about to come. I didn't stop, but let him flood my mouth with his gorgeous creamy spunk. At first, I didn't know what to do with it, so I swallowed the lot. We spent some time together most weeks that summer; we arranged things so we could have time together with parents out of the way, then we'd race to strip off and suck and caress each other to completion. Never was kissing or other intimacy considered; we both knew we were straight and we were just experimenting for the fun of it... But it remained with me as a marvellous memory of happy times just shared by two good friends. In turn we both gathered girlfriends and had our first sexual experience with them; we both went away to University and lost touch, though I know he was married for many years, as, regrettably, I remain. In the office, I did, all too occasionally, see the wonderful Helen. Maybe she was coming to a meeting in our building or I'd fleetingly see her at lunch. I never saw her wear trousers, always a skirt or suit. She always wore high heels and I always tried to position myself to get a discrete look at her whenever I could. There was talk that she was destined for a position on the main board; some thought that her "look" and her confident manner - some saw it as over-confidence - would go against her. We all knew she was building a good team around her that seemed to be delivering sound answers to the business, but nobody was more shocked than I when, one afternoon, the internal telephone rang and the display declared the caller to be "Helen Armstrong." Simultaneously as the frisson of irrational fear ran through my whole body I decided I must be strong - that she would appreciate someone who was also confident and forthright. I picked up the telephone and brightly declared, "Hello Helen, how may I help?" "Oh, hello, Steve. I wanted a word with you - in total confidence - can you speak freely at the moment?" "Certainly. Tell me more, I'm intrigued." "You recall our chat at the team-building day? Well, an opportunity has arisen and I just wondered if you'd like to come over for a chat sometime? I think it's something you may be interested in. I'm not poaching at this stage; I just wanted you to be aware of the potential." "Well, thank you for thinking of me. I'd be delighted to talk about it further; there's no harm in that. And, of course, I'll keep this to myself." "Yes, please, that's important. Good, I'm pleased. I'll send you a meeting invitation. Bye!" "Thank you. Bye." I was a bag of nerves for the rest of the afternoon, but excited at the same time. *** And so, one afternoon I made my way over to Helen's office. I had made an effort with my appearance - best suit, recent hair cut, polished shoes, nails trimmed, smartest shirt and tie. I was trying to control my nerves and make sure my hands were not clammy for that all important handshake. Helen, looking as gorgeous as I recalled her, beamed at me and ushered me to a seat in her office. We sat across from each other in easy chairs with no desk in between; how on earth was I going to be able to avoid sneaking a look at her black nylon-covered legs and heels? I told myself to concentrate on her eyes and the questions. "I must not look at her tits; I must not look at her legs; I must not look at her heels..." As an afterthought she got up and leaned over her desk to pluck an organisation chart from a pin-board on the wall. As she stretched over the desk I got a flash of suspender and good look at her 4.5 inch stiletto sandals. Had she done that on purpose...? She resumed her seat and leaned forwards to show me the diagram, giving me the opportunity to look down her blouse; I kept my eyes solidly on the paper she had in her neatly manicured hands with their scarlet nails to match her succulent lips. "Now here we are on the chart, I'm sure I don't need to explain what we do. One member of my group has asked to take early retirement in order to look after his ageing mother and I was wondering if you'd like to be considered for the vacancy..." *** Within 6 weeks. Helen had become my direct boss. She knew her job so well, worked us hard, and expected results. But, I truly loved the work as well as the huge compensation from seeing Helen on most days. When she was away for a course, or travelling to overseas meetings, the days were never the same. Helen was always smart, always fully and superbly made-up and usually wearing black or barely black stockings and always heels of some description. She obviously had many pairs, both simple courts and sandals; she never wore thick heels or platforms, always slim stilettos, with heights I estimated between 3 and 4.5 inches. In bad weather, she'd come into the office in stiletto boots then change into shoes. On days when I found her overwhelmingly alluring I had to steal a plastic cup from the drinks area, sneak into the male toilets to jerk myself off into the cup, pour the result into my mouth, savouring the taste before swallowing the lot. The perversity of it all made me feel wonderful. Why had I done it? - for Helen. It was as though I was worshipping her. My new work mates were a mixed bunch - a spinster just a few years from retirement, a young single guy who used all the money from the job to go and hear opera in the major cities of the world, and a newly married woman in her mid-forties. All had one thing in common - they were all extremely good at their jobs and worked very hard. I was determined to match them and more. The hours I was working had increased substantially from my previous role. But coming into work was now a real pleasure - especially when Helen was there - and every minute at home the opposite. 3. Comparisons Every woman finds the company Christmas party an ordeal, especially when it comes to the thorny question of what to wear. Agnes agonized over her decision for weeks (boring me into submission with her interminable questions) and eventually decided over some shapeless affair which looked as sexy as a sack of potatoes. Come the night, Helen looked utterly magnificent, dressed simply and elegantly in a knee-length black figure-hugging dress, with substantial eye-catching d?colletage, ravishing make-up and of course, the sheerest black stockings and matched with high-heeled sandals that were a masterpiece of minimalism and seduction. Not only were they high and thin (maybe 5 beautiful inches) but were held to the foot with such simple elegant straps. The contrast between her and Agnes was so striking that I was embarrassed and almost felt sorry for my wife. She was almost stunned to silence when we did the obligatory introductions; I could tell she felt extremely uncomfortable and my own jollity at the occasion seemed to make her feel worse. I t was the first time I had seen or met Robert, Helen's husband. He was a tall, elegant fellow, slim and slightly balding and maybe 45 years old. He was very pleasant but with an unintentionally superior air about him. Later, I found out that he was a surgeon; having learnt his trade in the National Health Service, he now only did private, mainly cosmetic, work. Having gained a good reputation, he was now in demand more and more from the rich and famous. The rumour was that Helen had persuaded him to turn his talents to the more lucrative end of the market. I tried my best not to spend the evening with my eyes on Helen's body, but it was so difficult. I could see from the male eyes near her how they were struggling too. And so, once away from the party and on our way home, I knew Agnes would comment on Helen. She started with "I didn't know you were going to work for a tart!" I was not going to be drawn into an argument, so very calmly I replied: "Everyone can see that Helen is an attractive woman, but she always dresses and behaves in an entirely appropriate manner in the office." "That's why you leave so early and come home so late - you spend your time ogling at the tart." There was going to be no respite to this, so I switched off and concentrated on the drive home. From that day, Helen was always referred to as "The Tart" by Agnes. 4. Embarrassment One Sunday, after a particularly bad day, Agnes asked for a "serious chat." I had thought she had wanted to suggest the idea that we separate, but no, she had other ideas. She thought that if we made more of our house it would give us all a little more breathing space; in short, she wanted us extend the house. It was something we'd talked over before, instigated mostly by me. Agnes had seemed very lukewarm about the idea so I was surprised she appeared so keen now. So, in the forthcoming months plans were made, local permissions were granted and a date was set for the builders to move on site. Talking to the builder, I realized that part of the existing roof needed to be re-modelled, which in turn uncovered the very part of the loft where my secret stash was located. Whilst the threat wasn't immediate, I knew that in the next few weeks, I should have to find time and opportunity to relocate my kit to somewhere secure. I had gone to a lot of effort, time and subterfuge to accumulate most of my collection, so I didn't want to get rid of it if possible. Maybe it was a rash decision in hindsight, but I decided that at the first opportunity I should remove my collection from the loft and hide it all in the car, and from there, to my locked drawer at work, there was plenty of room in the lowest desk drawer, and even if I wasn't the only one with a key, there was no reason for anyone else to go in there. So, with the family out of the way for an hour, I entered the loft with some strong plastic bags to collect 4 realistic-shaped dildos ranging in size for the modest to the substantial, 1 black short corset with 6 suspenders, 3 pairs of black stockings, 1 pair of black high-heeled court shoes with 5 inch half-metal spike heels and around 20 hard core DVDs. I wrapped my contraband as best as I could, checking and re-checking I'd not left anything behind in the dim light of the loft. Carefully I loaded my gear into the space under the boot cover where the spare wheel lay. The following week, I made an excuse to go into work especially early and by the time my colleagues arrived, my secrets were stored into my bottom drawer. I had even manufactured a sort of cover out of computer manuals so that the bags were not immediately visible upon opening the drawer. I locked the drawer and felt pleased with myself; after all, if I had to stay away on business, I would be able to take my collection for some extended fun. It seemed a win - win solution, security at home was ensured and the builders could get on with their work without me worrying about what they might find in our loft. A few months later, and our house extension was nearing completion, Agnes and I seemed to have come together in the common purpose of re-making our house. I arrived for work one Monday morning reasonably early, to find the office in some considerable disarray; desks had been ransacked and drawers had been flung open. Non-valuable stuff was strewn around the floor. I was instantly in a state of panic; I ran around to my desk and mine too had been forced open and emptied out! "Steve!" It was Helen. She called me over into her office. "As you can see, we had a major security breach at the weekend; thieves got into another part of the building and I was called by security to come down here and check our section. We'd obviously been done too, and they asked me to check on the computer equipment as items had been taken in the other building. I took the liberty of rescuing some of your more "personal" items. I don't think it was a wise move, storing such intimate items there. Do you? Still, no harm done I hope. I don't think anyone from security saw them; there were DVD cases across the floor and 4 dildos stuck to your desk - which some of the staff may have taken exception to. So I quickly bundled everything up. I suggest you take them out to your car." I was virtually speechless. "I'm sorry, I, I ...." I stammered. Helen continued for me: "You thought nobody would find them. I know. And you thought they would be secure in your desk drawer. As I say, I don't think anyone else saw them, so let's forget it and move on. When you come back from the car, can you please check for anything missing and let me know." As she handed me the ragged bundle of plastic bags, two DVDs fell out onto the office floor. Helen picked them up, taking a few seconds to look at the titles ('She-Male Cum Fiesta" and "Anal Ecstasy 12') and the explicit pictures on the rear cover, before she re-bagged them, almost taking pleasure in my discomfort in her knowing my secret. I blushed to the roots of my hair. Helen smiled at me in an almost motherly way: "Don't worry. I'm not going to tell anyone." I only hoped I could believe her and that no one else had seen them - except the thieves, who were presumably in such a hurry to steal as much valuable stuff as they could. I was annoyed with myself, too, because the work on the house roof was now finished and I could return my collection to their original place. But, it was difficult to work that day and the day afterwards. Helen's attitude to me did not obviously change, yet there was a knowing laughing look about her, as if inwardly she felt some deep glee in having discovered my secret. 5. Childhood A couple of weeks after my "embarrassment" Helen asked me to step into her office just before we packed in for the day. "Hi Steve, can I ask you for a favour?" she said brightly. She was looking her loveliest, despite the lateness in the day. "Of course, ask away," I replied honestly. "I need to get my car into the garage. Would it be possible for you to give me a lift into work on Friday morning?" "Sure. Just email me your address and I'll pick you up. What time?" "About 7? Sorry about the early start, but as you know, we've got lots to do." I hope I didn't wince too much at the requested time, for I was keen to please and it seemed a harmless enough request to agree to. However, when I saw her address, I was surprised, for she was located in a direction diametrically opposite to me; she must know that, surely? Inadvertently, I mentioned this favour to Agnes, who grilled me with questions I could not answer. Why did I have to get up at 5:30 in the morning to run around after "The Tart"? It was a good question. Helen's house was tucked away in leafy lanes. Neighbouring houses screamed wealth and status, and Helen's was no exception; it was difficult to find, and although I had started out at a time when I thought I would be early, in fact I was 5 minutes late when I arrived. The drive to house was a semicircle in front of an imposing and substantial house of 3 storeys set in its own grounds. I noticed the name on the gate-post which said "Troy." Being midsummer, it was bright and the day was warming nicely. As I ran up the steps to the front door, it was opened by Helen. She looked utterly stunning. She had pinned her hair up and made herself up so alluringly, with scarlet lips and lots of eye-liner and shading. She wore a simple yellow T-shirt, tight into her skirt, showing the full curve of her bosom and just more than a hint of cleavage. Her skirt was black and full but above the knee. Even though it was summer and promised to be a lovely day, she wore barely-black stockings and black 4 inch high-heeled ankle strap sandals. "Good morning!" I beamed, wanting to show that, despite the hour, I could still be cheery. Indeed, with a car journey in prospect with the delight of Helen beside me, why should I not be happy. I held the door for Helen as she sexily swished her lovely legs into the passenger side of my car, getting a glimpse of her full, large breasts as I did so. Maybe life wasn't so bad after all. We had passed all the usual pleasantries and I was starting to get the conversation around to work topics when Helen stopped me. "Steve, please. Can you pull into the hotel on the left? Let's go and have a coffee and a chat where we can have some privacy." I was stunned; what was she going to do or say? All sorts of scenarios raced through my head. Had I fouled up at work? Was she going to make a pass at me? As we walked into the foyer of the hotel, Helen's obvious bearing and authority seemed to pore from her. It was uncanny; for me, getting a secluded corner for two at a busy breakfast time in a large hotel where one is not a resident would have been a nightmare, trying to catch the eye of waiters and staff, for I would have been invisible to all. For Helen, this was no problem, her path through the hotel entrance opened up before us, and before I knew it, Helen had managed a word in the ear of the correct person, and we were ushered to a secluded corner in a comfortable lounge with a large pot of good coffee. "Please, Steve, please, there is no need to worry about what I'm going to say, so relax and enjoy your coffee. Your work has been really good, you've been working hard and I'm pleased with the results, so you can relax on that score. What I wanted to do was to ask - and maybe offer some ideas - on more "personal" development topics." She elongated the word "personal." This did nothing to make me relax. "In no way is this any form of personal criticism or judgement. We are all individuals and thank goodness we are; I think I know you well enough to be able to talk openly and candidly; we're both adults and we have our likes and dislikes. We can forget this conversation at any time and you can tell me to mind my own damn business and we'll go into the office and forget the whole thing. I completely understand. I will NOT be offended whatever you decide or say in reply to me." I was obviously looking worried. Helen smiled and I dissolved into a dreamy state; she was so lovely. "Tell me, Steve - if you want to that is - about life at home." I sighed. "Well, things between Agnes and I have been better, but they also have been worse. It's not that we don't love each other, at least I don't think that's the case, it's just that we never seem to have any fun. The kids are a huge burden on us and Agnes in particular - as you know, our eldest is particularly "challenging" as they say nowadays - being a euphemism for a pain up the arse. Consequently, she's tired most of the time which doesn't help. Things just feel so bloody melancholy; sometimes I feel really sad; sometimes I feel I want to run away from it all; sometimes I'm mad at myself for not running away from things. Work is my respite, which is one reason I enjoy it so much. But when I leave work, I just feel as though I'm going back to a daily grind of problems and raised voices - from the kids, from Agnes. We always said our house would not be like that; Agnes promised it wouldn't - after all she was insistent on the kids - I wasn't keen at all, which is why we eventually left it so late. They're OK as cute and cuddly babies, but the bigger they grow, the more horrible they get." I was almost in tears; Helen leaned over, refreshing our cups with more coffee. I continued. "You don't have any of this shit. You life looks perfect to me; you look perfect to me..." It was almost a pass, but not in the context of the conversation. I regretted this last remark, but didn't retract it. Again Helen smiled, radiantly and benignly. "Neither I nor my life is perfect. No one has the perfect life; no individual is perfect. But I do know what I like and I believe I am utterly true to myself. After the break-in, I've been thinking about the stuff you had in the office and why. Don't get me wrong. I was not shocked; the things you had there are no evidence of you as a bad person. It just says to me that you are frustrated and need some proper release. I'm sure you understand me. Let me read between the lines here. Some of this will be a guess; some based on strong evidence. From what you've said, I guess that life is not too great in the bedroom between you and Agnes." I was almost insulted at this, but Helen was so sympathetic towards me I wasn't going to interrupt. Helen was feeling her way with her words; she looked as though those last words had got her across some thin ice and she was about to continue with more confidence. "As a result of that, your subconscious and probably suppressed desires to cross-dress and experience more feminine things, has re- surfaced. It racks you with frustration but also guilt, you get a kick out of being - how shall we say - a little different, but at the same time you want to be "just like everyone else". Well, here's the news. There are no norms any more; the internet and the way it brings like-minded people together has proved that whatever gets you off, gets others off too. So whilst you're thinking that most people live in families with a married couple and 2.4 kids, the reality is much different. The rate of divorce, the number of kids with one-parent or step-parents has never been greater. Society is breaking conventions and in turn breaking its conventional groupings. Anyhow, this is not a lecture about social issues, we're talking about you. But I feel I can help. I'll tell you why. When I was a kid, I was shipped off to an all-girls boarding school in the south of England. My parents worked in East Africa, my Dad was a civil engineer, building dry docks and bridges and all that type of thing. They wanted to give me a British education so I was packed off to school. I have no siblings, I was the only one and because I was left to fend for myself most of the time I developed a strong sense of independence I believe I retain today. After my first year at university - I was 21 by this time as I'd had a couple of gap years travelling the world - my parents planned to return to the UK and retire to the country. They bought a wonderful, idyllic house in the country and moved all their possessions over and those from the smaller house they maintained here. Upon leaving Africa for the last time, their plane crashed into the sea and they were lost. At first, I felt so isolated, but as I'd been on my own for most of my life, I could look after myself well. Eventually, I got the keys to the house and, for one glorious English summer I lived there, trying to maintain the garden and entertain friends. One thing I did do was sort through all my parents" stuff, of which there were boxes and boxes. One particular trunk was locked with a huge padlock, and, when I had finally got it open, I realized why. It was filled to the brim with what I can only assumes was my father's collection, of pornography. Remember it was all very illegal in Britain in those days, so Dad must have picked it up on trips to Europe, which he made several times a year. And he had many different types - every sort of sexuality, every fetish, every perversion, he had it covered. Well, living by myself, I had no-one to answer to about how I spent my time. I spent a long time looking through Dad's collection and I'm certainly not ashamed to admit that a lot of it turned me on. I know it's not supposed to appeal to women, but it did to me. There was nothing that crossed the line - nothing with kids or animals or anything horrible like that - but anything else you can imagine was probably there. Inspired, I then did something I'd wanted to do for some time. I went up to London, had my hair done with the full works, and I bought some really good quality clothes, plus lots of very sexy underwear and my first real pairs of heels. I went a bit mad and bought 6 pairs I think. I wanted to do something for myself and to show I had developed into a full, sexual, woman. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't a virgin, but I just wanted to make the best of myself. I also went into Soho and bought myself a few sex toys - a very scary thing for a woman to do by herself in the early 90s. I got home and dressed like the girls in the magazines and videos in my new lingerie and stockings - and, of course, my new heels. Not only did I feel wonderful, I spent the whole night watching some of my Dad's collection of videos and using the new toys to get me off time after time. After that summer, I put the things I wanted to keep into storage and sold the house and contents at auction. Overnight I went from a relatively well-off student to a very rich student. Fortunately, I had the sense to complete my degree, went off to the US for some months where I had a ball. Sexually, I now felt utterly liberated; but I knew I could control myself and others. My mode of dress - I think you must agree - has a certain power impossible to ignore. I know you've not ignored it, the way you sneak looks at me. Don't worry - it's expected - and enjoyed." She was smiling as she was saying this, simply admitting what I had suspected all along; she dressed as she did because it made her feel good and because she knew of the power to turn heads and intimidate. "And then, just as I was about to go down the plug-hole of debauchery, Robert rescued me. We are kindred spirits, Robert and I. Children are of no interest to either of us - probably selfish, I know, but not for us. And... we both think love and sex are entirely separate things." She waited a while for the last statement to sink in. "Firstly, we can offer you a place to store your stuff securely and without fear - and you can have stuff delivered to our house if you need. And if you need some time and space, you can use the house sometimes so you can dress and so on. You'll get rid of your frustrations and life will be better, for you, and ultimately for your family." "Just think about it, OK, just think about it; no need to say a word now. Come on, we have work to do." As we got back into the car, Helen turned and said: "I'm sure I don't have to say this, but the conversation we've just had is entirely confidential and is not to be repeated to anyone. Not a soul." 6. Temptation and Reflection. I was dumbfounded by what Helen had told me and it whirled around in my brain for the rest of the day. Concentration on work proved difficult. Helen had that knowing half-smile on her face all day. Was I being used? Was she playing games with me? It all seemed so genuine and heart-felt. Why should I not take up her kind offer? Was it too good to be true? What were Helen and her husband going to gain out of all of this? Surely I wasn't being set up for a blackmail sting? Surely not, this was Helen after all. Moreover, they were loaded already, so there was no need for them to engage in some seedy scam. A week later, as expected, Helen took me to one side at work and asked me if I'd thought more about our proposal. Of course, I'd thought about nothing else, without coming to any conclusion. I felt as though I owed Helen an answer, felt inadequate that I had not formulated a response yet, and so, not wanting to appear weak in front of Helen, found myself saying. "Thank you, I'd love to take up your kind offer." The following week, I managed a window in which I again gathered my secrets from the loft and stored them in the boot of my car. Arriving at work early the next day, I parked next to Helen, and the contents were duly transferred to Helen for safe-keeping when we left for the day. I wanted to tell Helen to enjoy the DVDs, but somehow, it never emerged from my mouth. Whilst driving home that night, I realized what I had done. I had given complete control over to Helen. That was her real aphrodisiac - control and power. I began to have doubts, very strong doubts over whether I'd done the right thing, and if life would ever be the same again. 7. Maid Service "When do you want to go and relax?" Helen enquired after we'd finished a meeting. At first I didn't understand, and my face obviously showed it. I had almost dismissed my private urges from my head, as the "kit" was no longer under my control. Before I had a chance to reply, Helen said "Look, Steve, obviously there's no on forcing you to do this, but you've only got to say what you want to do - there's no alternative agenda here, you won't be blackmailed or ridiculed or photographed. You've been working very hard and putting some long hours in. I think you need a break. Why don't you take next Wednesday afternoon off, drive around to our house, and relax. It's simple. And all you have to do is to arrive, and the maid will let you in, show you around and leave you to get on with it - if that's what you want... there's no need to do anything the first time, you just do what you want." Helen detected the surprise in my face. "I know it sounds awfully posh, but we can't run a place like ours without any help. Robert and I are both earning good money and like our house, so why not?" Wednesday arrived, and with some trepidation, after lunch, I made my way to Helen's house. I took a deep breath as I rang the bell in front of the large double-fronted portal. The door opened wide; the figure holding the door seemed incongruously tall as I looked up, but I could only see an outline as my eyes adjusted from the sunny afternoon to the dim hall. "Do come in, don't be shy." That voice! As the door shut, I realized the figure was Robert, dressed as a French maid. "Hello, and welcome, Steve. I do hope my appearance does not put you off. I know it may be a bit of a surprise, but there are more TVs than you in the world, believe me. Come in, make yourself at home." My heart was beating like a hammer and I felt myself start to break out in a sweat, despite the coolness of the hall. The hall was large, with a marbled floor and rooms to each side and to the rear. In the centre of the hall was a large sweeping staircase to the upper floor. "As I'm dressed, please call me Roberta. Let me show you around our little place," said Roberta softly. "Do follow me." Roberta turned on her heels and walked, slowly, deliberately towards the stairs. My eyes were glued to Roberta's elegant high heels and slim black nylon encased legs. A man unused to walking in high heels usually looks like he is walking in gumboots through deep mud, picking up his feet in an exaggerated way, but Roberta walked in petite strides and looks as though she was gliding across the polished marble floor. The sound of her heels was really exciting and I started to get a frisson of pleasure in my loins. Roberta was not the obvious "man in a frock." Apart from her voice, and the fact that her heels made very tall for a woman, she had done a remarkably good job on her make-up and long, blonde wig. Her maid's outfit was the classic black bodice with very short, flared skirt. As Roberta started up the sweeping staircase, my eyes were naturally drawn up her long legs, the way signposted by the seams in her stockings, to the stocking tops and bare flesh above them. Her panties were tiny, hardly more than a G-string, and certainly not enough to cover the flare in the butt-plug she was wearing. "Helen put your stuff in the guest suite - it's through here." We walked into a plush bedroom with deep carpets and satin drapes. Roberta opened a door in the full height built-in wardrobe and pulled out a deep drawer containing all my collection neatly laid out. The stockings had been rolled neatly in pairs. "I must say, you have some lovely things. This is beautiful. May I?" She reached down into the drawer and extracted the largest of my dildos, some 10 inches long and 2 inches in diameter, very knobbly and made from a transparent, jelly-like material. "Not the biggest, but very satisfying I should think." I smiled, conscious of my silence, still feeling as though I did not belong in one of the bedrooms of my boss's house. "I'm sure you'll feel better once you have those nasty male clothes off. Just come into the bathroom for a moment." We stepped into a bathroom en-suite to the bedroom. " Now, have you used one of these? It's a portable irrigation machine - very useful for those of us who enjoy back-door fun?" "No, no, I haven't," I relied quietly. "No need to worry, after all I am a doctor, so it's not as though you're going to explode. Maybe I should supervise the first time? Would that be a good idea? It's just that if you want a dildo session - and I certainly would if I were you - it's good to get fully cleaned first. This machine ensures you won't be scalded and the pressure won't be too high and gets rids of the waste without any nastiness. Once you've had a go, you'll probably find the experience very pleasant and gets you in the mood. I know it does for me. As you've only got some sexy underwear, why don't you change while I get us both a cup of tea and then we'll clean you out. OK?" I muttered acceptance of her plan; it was as though I was undergoing some hospital treatment and I'd got myself on the end of a process I could not stop. Roberta tottered out of the bedroom, turning and giving me a cheery "See you in a minute!" I took a deep breath, and then another, to attempt to calm myself down. "To hell with it" I said to myself. I stripped off quickly and folded my male clothes neatly on the bed. My short satin corset was soon enveloping me, and I was enjoying the feel of the garment and its tightness on my body. Gathering the gossamer black stockings in my hands, I was in raptures as I felt the light material encase my legs, feeling like the caress from a million spiders. Oh, how long I had waited for this moment, to feel the power of erotica upon my body again. I rose and was fixing my suspenders in the full-length mirror when Roberta walked in with a tray of tea things. "I knew you'd have good legs, and I wasn't wrong. Those stockings look really good on you! Can I help you with those rear suspenders?" Before I could say a word, she had placed the tea-tray on the dressing table and was standing behind me. Our eyes met in the reflection of the mirror for a fleeting second; she had taken a lot of time on her make- up and had really made the best of her eyes with lots of sexy black eye-liner. Her hands held my waist as she leaned forwards over my shoulder and said softly "I'll help." She squatted down and smoothed each stocking in an upwards direction to straighten the seam before clipping each rear suspender for me. "Sit on the bed and I'll help you on with your shoes." By now the sexual electricity was tangible and I was almost fully erect as I sat on the bed. Roberta came over from the drawers with my stilettos in her hand. She held one up to examine it. "These are beautiful. And five inches too, what a sexy girl you are..." She held my each foot gently and slipped on the tight elegant shoes. I was wondering how I was going to walk in them after such a long time without, but there was no way I was not going to try. Roberta was kneeling at my now-shod feet, each hand on my inner thighs, rubbing softly. My cock had risen up fully and was on proud display. She looked up into my eyes, moved slowly forwards until her face was just inches from the tip of my cock. I could feel her breath. She took her gaze away from my eyes eventually and looked at my cock, as if in huge anticipation. Without asking, her beautifully manicured hand with its scarlet nails was around my member, closely followed by her matching scarlet lips kissing to tip of my cock. Oh, that glorious feeling as I felt myself enveloped by her hot, wet, inviting mouth. She pushed down over my full length, sucking deeply, and then withdrew, very slowly. I detected that, rather reluctantly, she stopped, kissed the tip and said " Sorry. Couldn't resist. I'm sure you understand. Let's clean you out." Roberta helped me up and I stood for the first time in months in my heels; the muscles screamed in the crush behind my legs, but slowly I came to stand fully, helped by Roberta. She massaged the muscles in my legs and it certainly helped; tentatively, I took some little steps towards the bathroom. It felt so good to be back in power heels. I wanted never to have to take them off again. Somehow, as the tension had been broken by Roberta, her intentions now clear, my inhibitions were slowly melted and I wanted to ask Roberta a million questions. I was led into the large airy bathroom which had the irrigation machine at one end next to a low bed covered in a single sheet. Roberta got me to lie on my side and raise my upper knee in order to best expose myself. I heard the snapping of latex gloves and then felt the cold of lubricating gel and the probing of his middle finger. "That's rather nice," I said boldly, "and two fingers would be even nicer." He doubled up and probed and poked; I began to moan. "More later," whispered Roberta in my ear. "Now, relax and enjoy the flow; if you feel any sort of discomfort, just shout. I'll have to come around the front and massage your stomach at the right points." The whole procedure took maybe half an hour, but at the end I felt truly wonderful. I took the time to ask my million questions. "You've done a lovely job with your make-up; I wish I had the freedom to be able to do that. And not a hair on your body, I'm just so jealous. And you can really walk in heels like a woman." "Helen is a very good teacher. I told her about my feminine side very early on in our relationship. I expected her to be turned off, but quite the opposite. She told me that if I wanted to be a woman I was going to do it right. I think she was glad I wasn't (as she puts it) a meat-and-two-veg man. She's totally bisexual and so am I. We both enjoy sex in many forms, with each other, both straight and with roles reversed, and with others, but always very carefully selected. You are potentially in the process of joining very small elite - if you want - if this works - if everyone gets on. As you've probably gathered, Helen is a very sexual woman. She says it gives her the release to be able to put in the effort in other parts of her life - especially her work, where you can see she's in complete control. She'll make the board next year and she'll deserve it." "Would you like to borrow a wig? I have several you could try. And how about some lipstick? I always like a lipstick ring on me." She winked at me. We went to Helen and Roberta's bedroom, an opulent affair with a huge bed. Roberta gave me several wigs to try on; I really couldn't make up my mind, but eventually settled for a short auburn style with open curls. "Here, pout your lips at me." Between us, we managed to apply some reasonable lipstick that didn't make me look like a dame at an erotic pantomime. "That looks good." said Roberta, spinning me towards her. We were close now, standing face to face in the bedroom, she still in her Maid's outfit and me just in corset, stockings, heels and wig. She pulled me closer and my turgid cock brushed underneath the hem of her skirt. "Lipstick is just an invitation to a kiss, don't you agree?" And so we kissed, a deep, sexy, mouth-open kiss. She placed my hand under her skirt to stroke the bulge under her panties as she held my member in her own hand. "Let's go down to the playroom where we can relax properly. We'll collect your toys along the way." 8. Playtime "This our little playroom - where we can totally relax and enjoy ourselves; now I'm just going to put on a DVD. I hope this is to your taste." We had gone down 2 floors into a basement under the main house; it had obviously been fitted out to give Helen, Robert /a and presumably others, a place in which to indulge their sexual fantasies I sat on a wide curved sofa which faced a huge square bed, and on the other side of that, a large plasma screen on the back wall. The disc Roberta had chosen showed a passionate girl-girl scene, each girl pleasuring the other using large toys in both holes. "Lovely, aren't they?" "Hmm, yes," I moaned. Roberta sat close and turned to me. She started to stroke the stocking top on the inside of my thigh. "You know, you could experience untold pleasures here. We can help you discover such sublime ecstasy. But you must be true to yourself, what you like, what you don't. Forget home and work; think about your pleasure and my pleasure. Tell me, how much experience have you had with other men?" I told him about David and how I regarded it as such a wonderful memory. Roberta smiled at me and stood directly in front of me; she removed the maid's dress, revealing her black satin basque below with its taut suspenders and her straining panties. She turned away from me, and bent over as she removed the black panties and stepped out of them, then turned to face me with her magnificent turgid member fully erect. I gasped, but could not take my eyes from her beautiful thick 9 inches. Without asking, I leaned forwards, held the base of her cock and opened my mouth to take her purple shiny knob end. I had waited so many years to experience this again; it just felt so good, so right. "My God, that's so beautiful" I said having withdrawn for a moment to take in some air. Before I could go down on her again, she resumed her place on the sofa. She leaned forwards and kissed me again; I responded and we lay for several minutes kissing and fondling each other's hard members. "I think you should start to wear a plug; and I should wear a bigger one. Come over here with me." Roberta rose and held my hand to follow her. We tottered over to a large cupboard at the rear of the room to reveal several shelves of sex toys. "We have most things here - all properly washed I assure you - with lubricants of your choice, wipes, towels, anything you want. What do you fancy trying?" "May I?" I said, asking to handle some of the magnificent toys. "Of course, please do." I picked up a huge black dildo and looked with some incredulity at Roberta. "That's one of our favourites. It's only a matter of training and perseverance; believe me it's worth it. When that beauty goes all the way, one nearly faints with pleasure." "But how about something a little less challenging to start with? Like this." She reached into the cupboard to select a plug about 5 inches long and 2 inches wide at the flared base. "OK, I'll give it a go, although it's probably bigger than the one I've used before." Roberta got me to lie face down over the corner of the bed with my legs across the corner to expose my hole as easily as possible. She applied lots of lubricant to my tight hole, running her finger in circles as if trying to produce a note from a wine glass. She started to probe with the thin, rounded end of the plug, just opening me a little at first, then withdrawing. Each time she seemed to penetrate a little deeper than before, or held it longer before withdrawing the plug again. All the time Roberta calmed me with her gentle words and gentle hands. Then more lubrication and more massage from her fingers before she used the plug again. Eventually, I felt my ring contract and I knew I had taken the plug. I sighed deeply. "Nearly there," whispered Roberta. She removed the plug again, re-lubricated, then pushed the plug all the way into me. "Oh, do that again, please, please, it feels so good." Roberta obliged, removing the plug and filling me again several times. "Now stand and walk and see how it feels," suggested Roberta. I did as I was asked and took a few steps. It was as though I was pivoting about the plug. The combination of the plug and my heels had stimulated me more and I was now rock-hard again. "Would you do me the pleasure of changing my plug for me?" asked Roberta. She tip-tapped across the hard floor to the cupboard, where she picked out a much longer and thicker plug than I had used. It was structured like interlocking balls, each ball towards the base being larger than one above. At the tip it was just over one inch thick, at the bottom, over two inches thick and in total around 9 or 10 inches long. "Just be careful when you get to around 7 inches, for the last ball forces the tip through the second gate where the gut bends. I shouldn't have a problem though, I've worn it often enough." Roberta took up the same position across the corner of the bed. I pulled at the base of her existing plug, extracting something much larger than I'd ever worn. Her hole gaped at me. "You have a most beautiful hole," I heard myself saying. "May I kiss it?" "Please do," responded Roberta with some enthusiasm. I used a wipe to remove the excess lubrication, then lowered myself to her beautiful distended hole. Delicately, I licked around the rim and within, then, hearing the moans from Roberta, with much more energy. Eventually, I raised myself, amazed by my own actions. "Wow, now that was good." I gasped. "I've never done that before, but I hope it's not the last." "Definitely not" shared Roberta. "Now, I need to be re-plugged." With lots of lubrication, I followed Roberta's example, inserting gently until feeling resistance, stretching, then withdrawing. In this way the hole opens up gently and, as Roberta had been plugged before, it was not long before the last ball was due to go in. Roberta showed me how to change the angle and encourage the plug to fully engage. She let me repeat the action, as practise for myself and as pleasure for her. "Oh, that feels so, so good," she said raising herself and moving her body and legs as if to settle the plug down into a comfortable position. "Have you ever been past your second gate?" asked Roberta. I shook my head. " I don't think so, but given the opportunity to learn, I'll be a more than willing pupil." Roberta hopped on to the bed and lay fully stretched out on her back. I climbed on after her and without any words, we naturally assumed the 69 position with me on top. I dangled my cock over her lips, whilst teasing her with my own lips. It was only a few seconds before we were sucking each other deeply and fully, caressing each others" stocking- clad legs and massaging each other internally with our plugs. After several minutes of sublime pleasure that I wanted to last forever, Roberta slapped me on the leg. I rolled off and faced Roberta once more. "I suppose you've given A before?" she enquired. "No, never. Not even when I was first married," I replied truthfully. Roberta looked almost shocked. "Well, no time like the present. That is, I'm assuming you're up for it." She glanced down at my raging erection and smiled wickedly; then she reached over to a small cabinet next to the bed and produced a condom from a large jar. We were kneeling together one the bed, facing each other, fondling, kissing lightly, stroking each other. "There is one rule here," she said. "When you come, you must come into my mouth. When I come it will be into your mouth. Is it agreed?" "Sounds good to me; hell, this is good fun." Within a second, she had the rubber sheath over my member and was presenting herself for me to mount her. I slowly removed her plug, allowing me to slide in easily to the root and felt the wonderful warmth of her hole; slowly, we started to move in rhythm, stopping occasionally for me to reach around and fondle her. "If we continue, I'm going to come soon, so let's swap" I gasped. We did just that and for the first time in my life I had a real live cock thrusting up into my willing arse. Not only was Roberta big, she was skilful too. She more than matched the plug for girth and exceeded it in length, so I could feel her probing really deeply within me. "Oh,this is so good!" I screamed as I felt her thrust. "I'm a real woman at last!" At Roberta's suggestion, we changed positions multiple times, each giving a slightly different sensation due to the different angle of attack and depth of penetration. Eventually she withdrew from me. I was amazed she had not come but she was still beautifully erect. "I'm just going to get some toys to stretch you a bit more." She brought back some beautiful looking phalluses from the cupboard including my largest toys and a couple of others even bigger. She spent some time teasing my hole with the large knob-end of my jelly dildo, until I felt the satisfaction of it slipping through my ring and up into my well-lubricated rectum. She slid the toy in and out of me with some energy, causing me to gasp with pleasure and moan with delight. Soon, I was delirious with sheer pleasure, my cock pouring pre-cum which Roberta happily licked off my rigid cock. The dildo was replaced with something bigger and longer. Again, my ring refused to open at first, but Roberta was insistent and skilful, working the head into me and then the body with long, regular thrusts. Roberta correctly guessed that I was near, so slowed for a moment, working the toy as deeply as she could within me and holding it in place whilst she whispered some instructions to me. Roberta continued to bend over me and again worked the deep thrusting of the dildo into a rhythm; at the same time, her mouth enveloped my rock hard cock head and began to suck insistently. Never did she take her mouth from my cock head as I bucked and screamed. With the dildo at its deepest point within me I was pulsing huge spurts of cum into her mouth, which she captured completely. Once my massive orgasm had subsided, she delicately removed her scarlet lips from around my cock- head; not one millilitre of the precious fluid was wasted. She moved towards me, lying, spent and broken. It was an erotic moment greater than I had ever known in my life. Her lips approached mine, and slowly, so slowly, she released the full stream of my cock-cream into my mouth. She lay down beside me and I then forced my body up such that I could release the mouthful of precious cream back into Roberta's mouth. She relished my gift, moving the thick, gluey liquid around in her mouth, before swallowing fully, pulling me to her for a passionate mouth-open kiss, tongues probing the depths of each other's mouths and sharing the subtle, musky taste of my spunk. "Did you enjoy that?" a new voice shouted from across the room. I got a massive shot of adrenaline at the surprise of another voice. It was Helen, standing in the doorway. As she moved into the room, I was surprised, yet excited by her costume. She had changed into a black ultra-short dress made from some stretchy material - it could have been latex or rubber or even soft leather. At the hem were six suspenders to hold up her lustrous sheer black stockings with the tops fully on display. The dress scooped up her ample bust and deep cleavage; it was as though a deep breath would cause them to tumble out. The dress was so short as to finish just below her cunt; I caught a glimpse of metal as though she had jewellery dangling from her labia. She had made herself up more dramatically than the usual subtleties she employed at work, with longer, curled eyelashes and bright red lips. And her shoes - low vamp stiletto court shoes with a pencil thin heel of at least 5 inches. In short, she looked divine and she knew it. I did not know what to say, or indeed whether a reply was expected or not. I was drained, completely drained both physically and mentally. She took a few paces forwards into the light of the room, her bearing erect, her heels tapping on the floor. I noticed than she was carrying a cane with leather loop on the end. Upon seeing Helen, Roberta slipped off the bed and knelt at Helen's feet in complete supplication. "Roberta, please get me a drink and join us on the sofa. Can you put on another DVD please - something harder than this." Helen strode delicately to the sofa and sat down, crossing her legs sensuously. "Please, Steve. Swap that dildo for a plug and come and join us. Roberta, please help." She paused to take a long swig of the whisky Roberta had fixed for her. Roberta went over to the cabinet to select a plug for me, but waited for instructions from Helen. "Show me what she's taken so far?" Roberta held up the plug and dildo I'd used that afternoon. "Not bad for a beginner. Roberta, please bring a plug another size up. Roberta gestured for me to bend over the corner of the bed as I'd done previously. As I was well lubricated and the last dildo had been my largest, The plug entered my hole quite readily; but it was bulky and heavy and I had to use my muscles to keep it in place. When seated, it was as though we were waiting for Helen to seal my fate. "I shall explain my terms whilst you suck Roberta all the way." Roberta was still semi-erect from our fun together. As she sat next to Helen and relaxed back, I knelt in front and took her cock - with much pleasure - in my eager mouth. She let me get going a decent rhythm before she started. "I do it like this so you can't speak back. Suck!" she demanded, smacking my buttocks smartly with a flick of her wrist at the crop. "I am the Mistress here and my rules and commands are obeyed. In return you get to worship me. Suck I said! Take it deeper. Hands off! Mouth only!" I winced as another whack of the crop landed squarely across my buttocks. "I am a benevolent Mistress as Roberta here will attest. You get to do wonderfully perverse things with other very perverse people, but only if I command it. We have a very small group of carefully selected friends who come to us on regular occasions for sex parties of a more advanced nature. However, to join, you must prove yourself worthy of our