serial

“I feel like I’m in gym class again,” I said as I tugged the blue mesh vest over my t-shirt. In school we had called these weird holey garments “pinnies” for some obscure reason (there were never any pins involved), and I had no idea what the official name was, if there was one.”



“I know,” said Josh. “Isn’t it awesome?”



I looked at him in disbelief. Of course, he would have been that most hated creature in the high school bestiary: the jock. He even managed to make the pinnie look not ridiculous as it barely managed to hold in his muscular frame.



“Oh come on Mike,” said Dawn. “This will be fun. Besides which, we make such a big thing about being more in touch with our bodies, and this is another way to do that. I mean, not that the other ways aren’t great, but…”



“You know,” I said. “I think there are some parts of my body I could stand being out of touch with. Like the pain nerves.”



Josh had a weird glint in his eye. “Those are great too! Come on, man, you’re gonna love it.”



Dawn clapped her hands together, as manic as usual. “All right! Let’s play soccer.”



It was a nice day to be outside. I’d give them that much. The early summer sun cast its benevolent rays down on the park, making every glade of grass that perfect shade of emerald, and every newborn leaf sparkle. If there was ever a perfect day for the co-ed weekend soccer league, this was it. I was the newly minted member of the blue team, which apparently changed its name every few months but was currently called the Kicking Zombies. Our opponents in yellow, the Golden Gryphons, stared across the field at us with smiling menace.



At first I just tried my usual gym-class tactic of hanging around in the back, claiming to be playing defense, but the actual defensive players all urged me forward, and soon enough I was exhausting myself chasing after that elusive black-and-white ball.



I stopped to squat and pant for a moment, sweat running down my face. My legs felt heavy and warm, like they had burning coals strapped to them. Everyone else around me was grinning. How were they happy? Did they find this fun?



And then the ball arrived at my feet, completely by accident. For a brief moment, that I’m sure was a lot shorter than it seemed in my mind, everyone from both teams looked at me, looked down at the ball, and then looked up at me again. And then they were all charging towards me, a surging mass of humanity, and I was running the other way.



My legs kicked the ball forward unwittingly, furthering the chase. I was rushing down the field, driving the all-important ball in front of me. The goal loomed in front of me. With a start, I realized that I was doing it, I was playing the game, and I was winning, I was about to score for my team! Pride shot through my veins like a drug.



“That’s our goal!” shouted one of the blue-clad defenders.



“What?” I stalled in the middle of the field, the ball momentarily still. And then came a pixielike woman sliding in between my legs, propelling the ball forward and into our home net. I tumbled backwards over her and her momentum, rolling a couple times in a flurry of dirt.



Dawn bounded up to me, laughing. “Well, at least it wasn’t quite an own goal.”



There was a shooting pain in my ankle. Instinctively, I clutched it, which only made the injury hurt worse. The ground was hard against my back, and the sun shone directly in my face, but for all that I really didn’t want to get up.



The other players began crowding around me, including the petite woman that had dropkicked the ball out from under me. “Hey, are you okay?”



“Ankle?” I said, gesturing to the offending body part.



“Okay, I think we might have found the world’s worst soccer player,” said Dawn as she offered me a hand up.



She and a couple of the others carried me ot the nearest bench. Josh pulled the shoe and sock off my hurt foot, a process that caused me to cry blue murder as pain shot through my leg. This was not exactly the kind of communing with my body that I had been hoping for.



“It’s just twisted,” said Josh. “Not too badly, either. Somebody get me some ice!”



“I am so sorry,” said my inadvertent injurer. “I didn’t mean to do anything, I just wanted to do something cool… I was thinking in the moment. I’m sorry.”



“Dude, that was like a chop block,” said Dawn. “What did you expect to happen?”



I held up one hand, begging for peace. “It’s okay. It was an accident.” Maybe I would have been more upset if it wasn’t a cute girl who was the one at fault. Dawn scowled, but stayed quiet.



When Josh applied the ice to my ankle it was like a blessing from heaven. Cool comfort enveloped me. The pain was still there, but sort of abstract and far away. Josh still had a stern look on his face, the kind of look I hadn’t seen on him before. “We need to wrap this up properly so that it doesn’t swell. Maybe we should take you home.”



“I guess I’m out of this game, then,” I said, trying my best to look sad.



“Dude, you’re gonna be off your feet for two weeks,” Josh said. “Sorry, but the way the ankle crumbles. Now let me see if any of these jokers have a decent first aid kit.”



Dawn went off with Josh, and most of the rubberneckers dispersed, leaving me with the petite girl who had knocked me over. She had close-cropped black hair and a nose stud that glinted in the spring sunlight. “Like I said, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking, heat of the moment…”



“Nah, it was a cool move,” I said. “If I wasn’t in so much pain right now, I would probably be high-fiving you over it. Besides which, as just demonstrated, I know a thing or two about getting an adrenaline rush and doing something stupid.”



“You’re really good at acting nice,” she said. “Even when I’m sure you must be pissed.”



“Thank you. I’ve worked very hard at that skill over the years.”



She looked relieved, and stuck out her hand. “I’m Nina by the way. I guess this is a pretty shitty introduction, huh?”



“Mike. And I’ve had worse.”



Nina dug her cell phone out from her gym bag. “Here, I want to make this up to you. I’ll take you out for drinks. All on me, of course. That’s if you can stand being around me.”



“I think I could hold my nose long enough for free booze.”



“Hey, if you want you can kick me in the shin a couple times too. Just so we’re even.”



We exchanged phone numbers. I remember thinking that I had done much more embarassing things for the sake of a date in the past. Nina ran off to rejoin the soccer game. Josh and I were out, so she crossed over to the other team to even up the numbers. Dawn also reluctantly got back to playing.



Josh came back with a fistful of medical wraps. “Got ‘em. Now try and hold still, ‘cuz this might hurt a bit.”



“Josh? I am never making fun of your Kinesiology degree again.”



He started looping the wrapping around my foot. “I’m gonna hold you to that, you know.”







And that was how I found myself laid up in bed all week. Josh had procured some crutches for me that got me around the house when I needed to — mainly at meal times — but the old place wasn’t exactly accessible to the disabled, a realization that caused my progressive-minded housemates no end of dismay.



I spent most of the week in bed with my laptop, killing time on the Internet, perhaps the best method of time-killing ever invented. In the back of my mind I was glad to have an excuse not to go out looking for a job. Everyone stopped in to pay their respects, so to speak. Padma and Julia mainly made fun of me for my athletic mishap, while I tried to swipe at them with my crutches. Julia did leave me some good porn, though, so I guess she meant well. Ellie made me chicken soup, and I didn’t have the heart to explain to her the difference between a twisted ankle and a stomachache.



The strangest came when, in the midst of a riveting YouTube video, I heard my door being roughly and awkwardly pushed open. It was Josh, and he was on his hands and knees, scraggly brown hair hanging down and casting a shadow over his face. He was also entirely naked save for a leather collar around his neck, which was attached to at least that was currently being held by Dawn. She was wearing a black leather corset that clung tightly to her voluptuous body, her heavy breasts threatening to spill out. Her hair was done up in a bun and she had a stern look on her face that I had never seen in her before.



“Uh… hi guys,” I said.



Dawn put a big leather boot on Josh’s rear end, and he scurried forward across my bare floor until he was at my bedside. From here I could see the beads of sweat on his back and the tense quivering of his body that betrayed a mixture of fear and arousal. There was also a layer of criss-crossing fresh red welts that stood out on his back. I was completely baffled.



“Joshua here would like to say something to you,” said Dawn in a cruel, condescending and entirely uncharacteristic tone. “Isn’t that right?”



Josh bowed his head down even further. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, Mike. I let you get hurt. I’ve been a bad boy and I deserved to be punished.”



It seemed to me that he hadn’t let me get hurt any more than Dawn had, and she was holding the leash. “Um… it’s okay Josh. All is forgiven.”



“Oh it most certainly is not,” said Dawn. “Joshua is going to receive quite the punishment for his failure.”



Josh bowed his head like a dog. “Yes, ma’am.”



Dawn put her foot on his back and ground the heel of her black leather boots into one of the welts. “Did I ask you a question, Joshua?”



“No, ma’am.”



“Then why did you speak?”



Joshua whimpered. Dawn grabbed his leash and steered him around until he was heading out of the room. I could vaguely make out his erect cock hanging down between his naked legs. “I am so sorry for my servant’s behaviour,” said Dawn in that imperious voice that seemed so unlike her. “I promise you, it won’t happen again. I will make it up to you somehow.”



With Josh’s back turned, Dawn gave me a wink and mouthed a thanks for playing along. The strange duo headed out of the room, leaving me at least momentarily distracted from the pain in my leg.



Before the door could even close Simon caught it and headed into my room, shaking his head. The injury had made me very popular indeed.



“Did you see those two?” I said, hoping that I hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing.



“Who, Dawn and Josh?” said Simon. “Yeah. They mostly keep that kind of stuff down in the basement, but every once in a while they’ll come up here. It’s harmless enough, although I think Dawn’s in it mainly for an excuse to wear black leather and not get laughed at.”



“I don’t understand it,” I said. “I mean, I just can’t see getting off on some girl insulting me and treating me like shit.”



“Have you ever tried it?”



“Well, I’ve had plenty of girlfriends treat me like a slave, and I’ve never popped a boner from it, so I think that’s one kink I don’t have.”



Simon sat on the edge of my bed, grinning warmly. “Oh yeah? As opposed to the kinks you do have?”



“Um…” I was frantically wishing for a way to take back the last couple lines of the conversation. “What did you come in here for anyway, Simon?”



He took a long stiff of my fermented aroma and wrinkled his nose. “Well, I was thinking you could use a sponge bath. Considering you can’t use the shower, and it’s been a few days and, well, the aroma is kind of wearing down our sympathy.”



“Sorry, but the shower isn’t the easiest in crutches.”



“That’s why I brought you this.” Simon reached into his pocket and produced a disgusting dried-out sponge. He had a completely serious look on his face. Did he actually want to sponge-bathe me? How would that even work?



I tried to roll away and save myself from this degrading fate. Simon laughed. “Relax, Mike. It was only a joke.”



I turned over to find that Simon was now laying down in the bed, disturbingly close to me. Everything was pressed together — our chests, our noses, our knees. I was suddenly out of breath. “You know, you have a hell of a deadpan,” I said, trying not to let the shakiness enter my speech.



“Thank you,” said Simon. I could feel his hot breath on my cheek, provoking a strange mixture of discomfort and excitement. Suddenly that first night came back to me, that strange dreamlike handjob from the nymphish Simon. It hadn’t been repeated, and I had halfway dismissed it as just a dream. But here he was, his face — his lips — inches from mine, and there was that disquieting arousal that pulsed within my ribcage, something that felt wrong but irresistible.



When I went to speak, I found my throat suddenly dry. “So, what did you really want?”



“Do I need to want something to come see you?” said Simon. He ran a hand across my short hair and under my ear, the latter spot suddenly seeming like the most sensitive spot on my body. “Surely you don’t think I’m that mercenary.” I couldn’t stop staring at the soft pinkness of his lips, of the small strand of saliva that he broke when he opened them to talk.



In a way it was a natural position — I had been here with girls numerous times before, a couple times in this very bed (although mostly that was with Dawn, who never dragged out the teasing this long — or seemed to be teasing me so effectively just by her presence). There was an instinctual part of me that wanted to lean in and kiss Simon, to wrap my arm around him the same way he was doing to me. But then I felt the hardness of his muscled chest, dropped my eyes just slightly and saw the prickly field of a five ‘o clock shadow, and felt something stiff swelling against my thigh through our clothes.



I shifted back. “You’re making it hard to stay in bed, you know.”



Simon chuckled. “Really? That’s not what people usually say.”



I folded my arms across my chest, as if making a glyph to protect me from Simon and his strange magic that made me question things I had always known about my sexuality. He kept his distance, but continued talking. “Seriously man, you stink. If you want to take a shower, I could help you out.”



“Like I said, I’ll have to pass on the sponge bath.”



There was a twinkle in Simon’s eye that made some unknown organ inside me do flips. “Nah, I can just help you in and out of the stall, and keep you standing. Be a physical support as well as a moral one. Just think of me as a human crutch, one that’s not going to get all soaked and soggy.”



I weighed the idea. There was a part of my mind that was screaming at me for even considering the idea, insisting that I wasn’t a fag and this wasn’t something that I did. Of course, that part of me — the superego, to crib from Freud — was pretty much constantly indignant lately, and usually to little effect. I still wasn’t sure about the strange mixture of attraction and repulsion I was feeling, but I could use a good shower. And despite his obvious fondness for seduction, I had a feeling that Simon wouldn’t do anything that I didn’t want.



It was just a question of what I wanted.



“Sure,” I said, with a long exhalation, as if trying to purge all the uncertainty from me via the lungs. “I think Josh said that these bindings were waterproof.”



“Cool,” said Simon, trying and failing to contain his excitement. “I am at your service.”



In a moment Simon was around the other end of my bedside, offering me a helping hand up. Being vertical rarely over the past couple days, the sudden shift brought a round of dizziness to me, but I was able to steady myself by leaning heavily on Simon, draping my arm over his opposite shoulder. I held my injured ankle, wrapped up in a virtual shoe of bandaging, up while I stood on one leg and let Simon lead me to the bathroom. I had been in here before, on my crutches to use the facilities, but I didn’t want to see how the wooden instruments warped under the shower’s water.



“All right,” said Simon, all business. “Let’s get you undressed.”



“I knew you had an ulterior motive,” I said. Simon bent down and let me sit on the edge of the tub.



He reached down and unbuttoned my jeans. “I can do it myself,” I said.



“Just sit back and let yourself get helped already,” said Simon. He instructed me to lift my legs up, which I did with some difficulty, and tugged my pants and boxers down in one smooth motion. It felt strange, like I was a little kid being helped into (or out of, as the case may be) his big boy pants.



“Wait,” I said. “I need to pee.”



Simon helped me limp over to the toilet. My dick, half-erect but shrinking, sat their like a useless piece of vestigial flesh. Simon stared at it, a faintly amused look on his face.



“Well, I can’t do it with you watching me.”



“All right.” Simon turned his back. His presence was still disruptive, but I managed to get a trickle of the pressure in my bowls out. I turned my head to find that Simon was disrobing in the meantime. His shirt was already on the floor, and he was slipping out of his pants as I watched.



I opened my mouth to say something, but what got out was only a weird strangled noise, as that happened to be the moment Simon turned around. He was a slender guy, but he had a surprisingly well-developed chest, and abs you could bounce a quarter off. I reasoned in my head that I didn’t have to be gay to appreciate an attractive guy when I saw him — I mean, appreciate that he was attractive, as in knowing it, not as in appreciating his body in a sexual way. Of course.



“What, you didn’t think I was gonna go in the shower with you and get my clothes wet?” Simon said as he peeled off his underwear. His cock was thick, heavy, and uncircumcised — it didn’t seem to belong on Simon’s sleek, almost effeminate body. Despite this, I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. He caught me staring with a wry grin. “I know, it’s pretty, but we need to focus on cleanliness here.”



“You know, maybe I should see if Dawn or someone can do this.”



Simon sidled up to me and helped me up off the toilet as I undid my shirt. His naked skin against mine was like an electric shock. “Dawn’s too busy disciplining a naughty slave. Now come on. Let’s get in the tub.”



Getting my injured foot over the edge of the tub was a challenge, which required Simon to lift me up practically like he was carrying a bride over the threshold. Like I said, the guy is surprisingly strong. The blast of cold water that greeted us only calmed our fervour for a moment, and then that strange nervous crackling feeling between us was back. As the water turned warmer I could feel my cock stir, and thought I saw Simon’s doing the same. (Once again, I told myself to stop looking at his cock, but my eyes wouldn’t listen.)



Simon moved around behind me, still somehow supporting my weight. His cock pressed up against my ass cheek, making me shiver. I realized that I had perhaps never been as close to another man before, and certainly not while the both of us were naked. It wasn’t really comfortable, but I couldn’t push away without falling and hurting my ankle more.



How did I keep getting into these situations?



Simon’s hand emerged from behind me lathered up in liquid soap, and at that moment I wished I had gotten the bar kind. His hands roamed all over my chest and into my armpits, up to my neck and face, down to my stomach. Simon practically massaged the soap into my skin and watched as the shower water cast it away. I couldn’t help but appreciate the sensation. Simon seemed to take especial care in soaping up the area around my nipples.



I tensed up as I felt his hands going lower, now armed with more soap. Simon carefully cleaned my thighs, but instead of going for my now stiff erection, he went down further. I found myself moaning — with pleasure? With disappointment? — as he ran his hands over my legs, letting the sudsy water drip down onto my bandaged foot. Simon kept me propped up by ducking down and throwing my arm over his shoulder. Our bodies were wet and hot and slid together with great ease.

“There,” said Simon, his voice husky. “I think I’ve washed everything.”



“You missed one thing,” I said quietly. I wasn’t talking about my back.



“Oh? What did I miss?”



I didn’t want to respond to his coy voice, didn’t want to identify my desire. Somewhere in my mind there was a difference between a guy jacking you off in the shower and asking a guy to jackk you off in the shower. As much as I begrudged Simon for his advances, it was much easier going along with him than vocalizing the desires I had a hard time admitting to myself.



“Well, I can’t help you out if you don’t tell me what I missed.”



I couldn’t say it. I just couldn’t.



“Is it your cock?” Simon was hard against me now. I could feel it.



I nodded, slowly but unmistakably.



“Well why didn’t you say so? We’ve got to keep that clean.” The first few strokes were with the addition of soap, actually cleaning the foul-smelling organ. But that pretence could only last so long. The soap fell away into the warm water and then there was just me and the guy who was briskly stroking my cock.



It was an exhilarating sensation, the kind of quick and dirty pleasure that was utterly addictive. Simon’s grip was different than mind, but he seemed like he had the same experience with stroking my cock (or at least a cock), and his devotion to onanism was paying off with incredible sensations. Of course, this was so much more than masturbation, with the independent hand and the feel of another man at my back constantly surprising me. And when Simon pinched the head of my cock between his fingers… I almost came right there.



For the moment, my anxieties about my sexualities were banished, and I was a creature of sensation alone. The water made Simon’s increasingly agressive strokes a little uncomfortable, but it was that slight amount of pain that seemed to multiply the pleasure. He leaned into me closer, somehow still supporting my weight, and licked the side of my neck.



That was it. I shuddered as cum spurted out of my cock, landing in white streaks across the wall of the shower. Simon kept slowly milking it as it deflated, drawing out every ounce of pearly white juice he could. He then held out his hand palm-up, as if making an offering to the carnal gods, and watched my cum dissolve and race into the shower drain.



We were all over each other as we staggered out of the shower. Orgasm hadn’t dimmed my fervour, although I was starting to feel those old anxieties beating at the walls again. I pressed my body against Simon as we kissed, and it was as though our forms were meant to be together, the grooves of our chests falling into complete alignment, our cocks almost intertwining. He tasted good — wet and juicy, like summer fruit. I separated him briefly, and almost fell, but Simon caught me by the arm and pulled me back up. I felt a twinge of pain in my ankle, and was sure that Josh would be scolding me later, but at the moment I didn’t care.



We stumbled back into my bedroom, and he guided me back to my bad. And there we were again, minus the clothes, leaving a dripping trail all across my room. Our bodies were wet and slippery as we grappled on the bed. I was going to do it, I realized. I was going to have sex with another man.



No, not just some abstract other man. Simon, this gorgeous young specimen that I felt privileged to have my hands on.



I found myself kissing my way down his torso, flicking my tongue into his belly button. It was like with a girl, save for the breasts. And then I reached the major difference.



Simon’s cock stood erect inches from my face. It shouldn’t be a big deal, I knew. I should just stick it in my mouth. By logical standards, I was definitely past the point of stringent heterosexuality. But the cock loomed enormous and unappetizing in front of me. And then suddenly the doubts crashed through the mental walls built up by Simon’s touch, and this other man’s penis was revolting.



I tried to rally myself around, but my previous state of mind was gone, and I was now finding even Simon’s earlier attentions disquieting. He was looking down at me, my head hanging still between his legs, his anticipation slowly transforming to confusion, and then to disappointment.



“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t. I just… I can’t.”



Simon drew up his feet and sat cross-legged on the bed. “It’s okay.” His cock throbbed insistently, but he was doing his best to be understanding. “We can take it slow.”



I stared intently at the bedspread. “You must think I’m so selfish right now.”



“I don’t. I think you’re trying hard to get over something, and right now you haven’t done it yet, but you’re working on it… and when you get past that wall, I’ll be on the other side waiting for you.”



It was clear as mud. Simon redressed both of us and left, giving me a pat on the shoulder and telling me to get better soon. My ankle, which I had been more or less ignoring in all the confusion, was throbbing hard and recriminating me for my reckless activity. I wasn’t sure what I had been thinking. I mean, I was straight. I had always been straight. It wasn’t that I had anything against gay people, I just hadn’t even thought about being one of them.



In other words, I was a confused, pained, and generally miserable form laying prone on my bed for a good long while.







Once again, the Internet’s seemingly endless wonders had been exhausted, and I found myself watching once-funny YouTube videos for the tenth time in a row. If there was a hell, then I was certainly going to it, and I was afraid it might look a bit like this — boredom, malaise, but nowhere to go and no way to go there. Or maybe that would just be purgatory.



I mentioned the boredom once in an off-hand conversation with Padma, and the last thing I knew Josh was barging into my room, with a big flatscreen TV cradled in his arms. “Hey man. I heard you were going stir-crazy in here, so I thought I would set up my entertainment centre in here.”



I’ve never liked people who called their TV-setup an “entertainment centre”, but I wasn’t about to split hairs here. At this point, any kind of amusement was like water in the desert. “You don’t have to do all this,” I said, hoping that he would be unconvinced.



“Nah, this is nothing,” said Josh. “Hang on, I’m gonna grab some games. I’ll get you set up on some Mass Effect and you won’t be moving from here even after your leg gets better.”



A minute later Josh came back in carrying his Xbox, a tangle of cords hanging off the back and a small stack of games perched precariously on the top of the console. I felt a little bad watching him labour without helping, but my ankle felt like lead at this point.



“I will warn you,” said Josh. “I’m gonna be in here watching the UFC special on this thing tonight. Other than that, it’s all yours.”



“Is this the only TV in here?”



“Yeah, I own it from my last place,” said Josh. “Julia doesn’t want the idiot box in the house, but don’t think I don’t hear her watching Mad Men on the computer in her room. And then there’s her whole porno thing, which is apparently less uncouth than watching a TV show. It actually works out pretty well for me… anytime someone wants to watch something, they have to barter with me. I haven’t done dishes in months.”



“And now you’re giving me this power?” I said.



“Ah, but with great power comes great responsibility. Do you accept a handjob from Dawn for letting her watch Real Housewives of Wherever, knowing that it’ll torture you later? What happens when Simon and Padma both want the TV at the same time? These are the dilemmas that are gonna torment you.”



I couldn’t help but laugh. “You should be thanking me for taking it off your hands.”



“Let’s not get carried away here.”



I paused. As much as I liked joking around with Josh, there was a four-hundred-pound elephant in the room dressed in leather. “Um,” I said softly. “Can I ask you about something?”



“Is it the dom/sub thing?” he said, without even looking up from the tangle of wires he was trying to thread through to their appropriate mates.



“Yeah… your relationship with Dawn. It’s not… it’s like, I’m okay with it, I just don’t get it. I never imagined a guy like you enjoying being abused and ordered around.” After I said it I held in my breath and hoped fervently I hadn’t offended him.



Josh grinned just a little bit. “I don’t get it either.”



“Huh?”



“It’s like… I guess if you want to play shrink you can come up with all kinds of reasons for why I like being Dawn’s sub. Like, Julia says to me that since I’m such a brute in real life I enjoy having that power taken away… although I dunno if I’m really a brute. Maybe it has something to do with my mother. But I don’t worry myself about shit like that. I mean, having Dawn call me scum and whip me is hot as hell, and I don’t know why and I don’t really care. You can really freak yourself out worrying why you are who you are.”



He said all of this casually, without the confessional pretensions that Julia had when she was talking about her sexuality. I wasn’t sure how to respond. “I guess so. Is it just with Dawn?”



“Well, Padma doesn’t want to touch me, Jules does but doesn’t like to admit it, and Ellie’s too sweet and wholesome to hold a flogger. So right now it’s just a thing between me and Dawn.” Josh finished shoving all of the pins and other metal attachments into the right sockets and triumphantly turned on the TV. The bright blue screen made him frown. He quickly turned it off and went back to fumbling with the cords.



“I mean, were there girls before her? Doms, I mean.” I was still getting used to all the strange terminology these people used.



Josh cast me an askew glance over his shoulder. “What is this, the porno interview?”



“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just… curious, you know. But you don’t have to answer. We can talk about sports or games or whatever you want.”



“Nah, I just find it kind of funny. Maybe you want to get in on this.”



I actually gave it some consideration. I didn’t think I would like being dominated — or doing the dominating — but then again, I was discovering new vistas of my sexuality all the time. The shower encounter with Simon had certainly demonstrated that. Maybe, in the heat of the moment, I would find a taste for black leather after all.



“Like I said. I’m just curious.”



“Well, tell you what,” said Josh. “Dawn’s been wanting to work you into a scene with us, and I think your curiosity will be satisfied a lot more if you get to see it up close and personal. You mind if we stop by a little later on?”



“You already did.”



Josh whacked the top of the television set, as if hoping to abuse it into working. “That was just a visit. This would be more like… playtime.”



“Uh huh. Mind getting more specific?” I said. It wasn’t that a little curious — hell, I was a lot curious — but I didn’t want to end up in a gimp suit.



“Kind of a cuckold scenario, I guess,” said Josh. “You would be the other man. I would take most of the punishment — all you really need to do is fuck Dawn, and I know for a fact you like doing that.”



“How could you be a cuckold? Isn’t it like, free love around here?”



Josh finally gave the television set enough smacks in the right place to get it working. A crystal-clear image of some dumb manly man show popped in. “Success! And I dunno. It’s like, sometimes it’s hot to pretend things, even if it wouldn’t be hot to live things.”



“You know Josh,” I said. “I used to think you were a big jock that was just here for the sex. But you’re a bit deeper than I realized.”



He shrugged. “Nah, I’m still a dumb jock here for sex. Liking weird sex doesn’t make you any more complex or whatever. But don’t tell that to Julia, okay?” Josh turned his head to the TV. “Aw sweet, I love this show. There’s a clip of a guy getting his head blown off — just wait a minute, they’ll show it at the end…”



And that’s how I spent a very pleasant afternoon with someone I wouldn’t have given the time of day a month before. Josh wasn’t really a secret genius, but I thought there was something to admire in him — the brazen brute desire, the simplicity and the honesty. Even with my recent scarring sports experience, I was beginning to wonder if maybe the jocks didn’t have it figured out after all.



Oh, and I agreed to his and Dawn’s “scene”. I figured that, if nothing else, it would be an experience.







A few days later, I was able to tentatively walk again, although my injured ankle was still encased in some kind of strange sock-brace, and Josh instructed me to take it easy. I used that as an excuse to continue my reclusive and frankly lazy lifestyle. One couldn’t pound the pavement in that condition, after all.



I had almost forgotten about agreeing to be a part of Dawn and Josh’s fantasy, when they came into my room one evening, much the same as they had entered that strange time before. Josh was now clothed, in a polo shirt and jeans (although he still had a black collar around his neck, while Dawn was back in the black leather corset. My throat dried as soon as I saw her. She looked like she might burst out of it at any moment, the way it clung tightly to her torso while leaving her delicious limbs exposed.



“I have decided,” said Dawn. “That Joshua has not been punished enough for the grievous harm he has done you. Isn’t that right?”



“Yes, ma’am.” Josh got down on his knees by my bedside. “I am so sorry, Mike.”



Dawn produced a thin but stiff leather strap from the valley of her cleavage. Almost experimentally, she snapped it through the air, producing a shockingly loud crack. She ran the edge of the strap along Josh’s back. “From now on, you will address Michael as Sir. Understood?”



“Yes, ma’am,” said Josh. He bowed his head down even lower. “I apologize, Sir.”



“Well, apologies are all well and good.” Dawn was bouncing the end of the strap in her hand in a way that made me a little scared. “But we’re talking about punishment here. You can be as sorry as you want… doesn’t mean we can’t make you sorrier.”



Dawn paced around the room, a completely uncharacteristic air of menace coming off her. It was as if some demonic spirit had possessed the usually bubbly girl. I was starting to wonder if maybe I should back out, if this might be one step too far out of my comfort zone. “Now, boy… what am I going to do with you? I’ve already given you some beatings, but I’m not sure you learned your lesson. In fact, I’m beginning to suspect you even enjoy the beatings, being the little man-whore that you are.” She scoffed a bit under her breath.



She sat down next to me, and ran her hand along the length of my leg, as though she was evaluating a piece of furniture for sale. We all knew what was coming next, but Dawn was making it seem spontaneous, and I even almost bought into it. “I have an idea. What if you had to watch as your precious treat — your lovely mistress — got fucked by this stud in front of you? If Michael made me come and come, and you just had to sit there, and watch, realizing slowly how much more of a man he is than you? Would you like that, Joshua?”



“No, ma’am,” came the obedient answer. I assumed that Joshua was still there on the floor, but all my attention was taken up by Dawn and her imminent, leather-clad body, constantly creeping closer to me.



“Well then,” said Dawn, nuzzling at my neck. She had done a lot more before, but suddenly I felt vulnerable in a way I hadn’t during my previous encounters. Every ounce of brain power I had was focused on that tiny patch of air between her lips and my skin. “That would make it a good punishment, wouldn’t it.”



“What?” I had completely lost the plot here.



Dawn threw her legs over my torso and straddled me. My overhead light gleamed off her leather outfit enticingly. She felt strangely smooth and even as she ground herself against me. “Joshua, boy, find a seat will you? And pay close attention. It would do you good to see how a real man makes love. And if you look away for a second, or start to touch yourself… well, you’ll regret it.” There was a hammy, theatrical cant to this persona, and in a detached part of my mind that didn’t quite realize there was a girl squirming on top of me, I thought it might be fun to play such a character.



“Yes, ma’am.” Josh stood up and walked over to my computer chair, where he sat down firmly. His awkward gait and the distinct tent in his pants betrayed his arousal. His presence weirded me out a bit, but there was a kind of nervous erotic energy inside that anxiety. It felt a bit like when I was with Simon earlier.



Of course, Dawn was taking up most of my attention. She swayed on top of my body, our clothed groins rubbing together, and her black-clad tits jiggling back and forth. Then she swooped down and kissed me hotly. There was a kind of desperate arousal to her motions, as her tongue instantly shot into her mouth, and I followed suit. Our bodies rubbed spastically against each other. For a long moment there was no weirdness, because there was nothing outside our tongues endlessly exploring each other, our bodies contorting to take each other in, and the light touch of her hair, down loose for once, touching in a ring around my face.



Dawn broke away from me to take a big breath. “Phew. Hold on big boy, we’re just getting started.”



“If memory serves, you’re the one who needs to hold on,” I said, running a hand along her leather-clad ass. The black material was hot to the touch.



I sat up to discard my shirt, and it was then that I saw Josh again, silent and stiff as a board. Dawn leaned into me and nibbled at my shoulder, but I knew she was constantly performing for him. I went to undo her corset, but couldn’t make much sense of all the strings and ties, so I just set back and let her lick her way down my chest, leaving a number of kisses on my nipples. Dawn knew how to reward every part of my body, not just the obvious ones, delightfully massaging my arms and stomach with her spare hands.



“Now,” said Dawn. “Why don’t we show the boy here what a real man’s cock looks like?”



The nerves returned again, but I wasn’t stopping. It was foolish, I thought, to think that Josh would be evaluating me and scoffing at my dick… but I suddenly realized that I had become as much a part of this performance as Dawn was. “I… I think that would be a good idea.”



I swear that Dawn deliberately fumbled with my fly, teasing my now fully-erect cock with the promise of release. Finally, she had it open and peeled off my jeans, taking care with my wrapped ankle. Dawn paused to theatrically lick her lips at my tented boxers before tugging them down and letting my cock snap free.



“Now there’s a real cock for you,” I said as my member stood straight up. I was looking right at Josh and trying to find the right words, the kind of words Dawn had been saying. “I’m sure it, uh… puts this little boy’s pea-shooter to shame.” It sounded awkward on my tongue, and I had a hard time not bursting out laughing, but Dawn and Josh seemed to take it perfectly seriously — at least if the strain on Josh’s face was any indication.



“It certainly does,” said Dawn as she nuzzled up against my erection. The warm touch of her cheek against my cockskin practically made me jump. And when she licked her way up to the top, then swallowed me deep into her mouth… well, no matter how many times we did it, I was sure that sensation would never stop being startlingly wonderful.



Dawn moved to the side so that Josh could get a full view of us, and then started sucking me off with gusto. Her hair formed a black curtain that stopped me from really seeing what she was doing, which just made the sensations more intense, her sudden bursts of movement and slow, teeth-scraping sucks taking me by surprise. Her tongue was all over my cock, coating it in a thick layer of warm saliva that ran down my cock and pooled at its base.

She had a weird way of making me feel like giving head was an ecstatic gustatory sensation for her, the way she kept eagerly bobbing up and down on my cock as if she was mainlining some kind of strange drug she couldn’t get enough of. She turned her head and captured the head of my cock sideways in her mouth, a strange but not unpleasant sensations. I couldn’t see for sure but I knew that Dawn was glaring at Josh, taunting him with her eyes over the oral treatment he couldn’t have.



I found myself getting into it too. The words slipped out easier this time. “You like seeing your mistress suck my cock? Are you getting hard seeing her drool over another man’s dick?”



Dawn broke off so she could join in the verbal battery. “I think he is. Our sick little boy has an erection. Don’t you, Joshua?”



Josh lowered his head. “Yes ma’am.”



Dawn got up off the bed and put one of her big black boots on Josh’s knee. She was a short girl, but damn if she didn’t seem intimidating at that moment. “I want to see it. I want to see how hard you got.”



Josh stood up and, looking genuinely ashamed of himself, slowly removed his pants. His half-erect cock hung heavily between his legs. I could see our teasing didn’t have much basis in fact — he was packing a monster, long and thick even now when it wasn’t fully hard and it certainly put me to shame. (In the back of my mind I thought that maybe this was why all the girls wanted Josh around.)



Dawn looked down at Josh’s member disdainfully. “Leave it out there for everyone to see. But don’t touch it. If I catch you playing with yourself… well, let’s just say that going blind will be the least of your worries.” She spun around, presenting me with a view to die for: Dawn’s glimmering, leather-clad visage complete with a cruel, masterful look on her face. “Now be a dear and untie this thing, boy. I think Michael here would like to experience more than my mouth, if you know what I mean.”



“Yes, ma’am.” Josh got up and fiddled with the spiderweb of cords at the back of the leather corset with practiced expertise. There was a faint snapping sound, and the front of the outfit sagged forward. Dawn’s bountiful breasts at last slipped out of it and were exposed to my ravenous eyes. Hard scarlet nipples hung off those mounds of flesh that I couldn’t wait to get my hands on. Josh tugged the whole piece down around Dawn’s ankles, and she stepped out of it. Wearing nothing but a glowering look, she looked just as authoritative as she had in the leather.



“Thank you, boy. I knew you were good for something. Now sit down and don’t move.” Joshua obeyed, his cock getting stiffer by the minute. Dawn sat down on the end of the bed and lay back. There she was, spread eagle for me and lewdly fingering her clit. The expanse of her body seemed like an endless paradise. “Come and get it,” she whispered in a sultry tone.



I was on her in a flash, capturing one of her tits in my mouth and sucking on it firmly. Dawn gasped and through her head back as I ravished her breasts. One of these days I swore I would take it slow with Dawn, but her decadent body just drove me into a frenzy. It was all the mental effort I could stand to manoeuvre my way to those wet lips between her thighs and thrust my eager cock into her.



“Fuck!” Dawn yelled at the first penetration. She exhaled and wrapped her legs around me. I didn’t mind — I wasn’t going anywhere. I began quickly thrusting into the wet warmth of her pussy. Dawn muttered little obscene notes of encouragement as I did so.



She rolled her head back. and I immediately leaned in to lick at her neck. She was looking at Josh, focusing only on him and his discomfort, but I had more or less forgotten our observer and our context. It was just me and this heavenly cunt demanding my fiercest pounding. So I kept fucking her and watching as i did the ripples of my thrusts pass through Dawn’s buxom body, making those glorious tits bounce back and forth. Her gasps were now-getting more high-pitched and urgent.



“Stop that, boy!”



I didn’t know what had happened, but I stopped moving, my hard cock still sheathed within her. But it wasn’t me she was talking to. I looked up to see Josh sitting there with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, wrapped into a fist around his cock. Dawn’s cunt tensed around me.



Josh looked sheepish. “Sorry, ma’am. I was just…”



“Just what?” she yelled. She started to shift away, and I obliged by pulling out of her. Dawn almost fell off the bed, but managed to swing herself around to her feet with a modicum of grace. She stood up and loomed in front of Josh, all the more intimidating for her brazen, slightly sweaty nudity and the patch of sticky arousal between her legs. “What were you just doing, Joshua? Because it looked to me like you were jacking off.”



Josh stammered like a schoolchild. “Well, I was, but you just looked so sexy ma’am and…”



Dawn grabbed him by his curly brown hair and shoved him facefirst into her scruffy black bush. “Sorry, care to make excuses again?” Josh said something muffled into her pussy, but I couldn’t make it out. “I didn’t think so. Get in position to receive your punishment.”



Dutifully, Josh turned around and bent over, placing his hands on his former seat and proffering up his pale ass. Dawn grabbed the leather strap she had discarded earlier and whipped it menacingly through the air. “What do you think, Michael? Does he deserve ten lashes or fifteen for this disobedience?’



“Um… ten?” I said. I had just been sitting there, watching the two interact like some kind of strange theatre, a museum diorama from an alternate history. I didn’t really want to see Josh get hurt, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.



Dawn chuckled. “You are lenient.” She ran the tip of the strap along her sopping pussy. “I was thinking fifteen myself, but I guess we can compromise. Let’s say twelve. Count them off for me, will you.”



She ran the now-damp end of the strap along Joshua’s taint, making him shudder. With one swift motion, Dawn snapped the piece of leather up into the air and down hard onto Josh’s ass. I could see the bright red streak across his skin and the snap of leather against flesh almost deafened me. Dawn looked in my direction. “Um…. one,” I said.



Dawn brought the strap up again and smacked it against the pale ass once more. I could see her put her whole body into the motion, the a ripple travelling through her body’s curves, up her arm and down to the end of the whip. This one was in the opposite direction, forming a red X on Josh’s butt cheeks. “T-two.” Dawn kissed the leather and continued with the punishment.



“Three.” Dawn was really getting into the rhythm now, and I could see her body moving in a strange kind of dance as she continued the whipping. “Four.” Josh cried out in pain for the first time as the whip revisited a previously struck spot. “Five.” This time, I found myself wincing along with him.



And so it went for another half-dozen strikes, each one building on the previous damage and drawing out an increasingly agonized cry from Josh. Ugly red welts blossomed on his ass I felt queasy. I had always hated being around people in pain — as much as I had been able to shrug off my own injury and play cool, if it had been someone else I would have been going far away to sit down and take some deep breaths. Something in the back of my mind told me that I should stop this, that I stood stand up for Josh and myself. But I just kept counting, having suddenly shifted from co-master to co-slave.



And then, just as my counting became automatic, I began to notice some things that scrambled my sympathy. For one, there was Josh’s huge cock, now rock hard, at its intimidating full length, and bashfully red. This was all without any direct contact. Each strike of the whip made that prick bob up and down as if nodding encouragement. And wasn’t there a pleasured — maybe even ecstatic — undertone to Josh’s cries of pain? Weren’t there some moans mixed in with the cries?



“Eleven,” I found myself saying. Dawn brought up the strap above her head for the final blow, then sliced through the air with it. The whole house must have heard the smack when it finally made impact. Josh shook with that strange mixture of pleasure and pain. My throat felt as dry as sandpaper. “Twelve,” I managed to get out.



“Why don’t we make it a baker’s dozen?” Dawn brought the strap down quickly against Josh’s back, making him swear under his breath. “What’s that? You didn’t say a bad word there did you, Joshua?” He slumped forward, letting out a sigh of contented defeat.



Dawn was now covered in sweat from the exertion of her forceful whipping, but she still managed to maintain her intimidating demeanour. She walked around Josh, clinically inspecting his bruises. She ran a hand along one particularly prominent welt, causing him to flinch.



“Now,” Dawn said. “Are you going to touch yourself again?”



“No, ma’am,” he managed to choke out.



Dawn turned to me, although she was really speaking to him. “You know, Michael, I don’t believe him.” She paced over to the bed and sat down, crossing those plump legs. After all this time, my cock was still hard and ready to go, shiny with Dawn’s juices. “I think he needs to be restrained. Don’t you?”



“Huh? Uh, yeah, I guess. Maybe.”



Dawn chuckled. “My companion is more charitable than me, but that won’t help you Joshua. Why don’t you go to the basement and get me that special rope you like so much? Then we can keep those naughty hands of yours out of trouble.”



“Yes, ma’am.” Josh went for his clothes, and Dawn snapped the strap down across his wrist. I swear, she was a crack shot with that thing.



She tut-tutted in mock disappointment. “No, Joshua. You’re going to have to let everyone in the house see what a naughty little boy you’ve been. Now get going.”



With a gulp, Josh turned and limped out through my bedroom door, still buck naked. The second he was gone, it was like Dawn’s whole persona melted, and she was back to being the sweet oversexed girl I knew. She kissed me on the lips, almost apologetically.



“How are you doing with all this?” she said, concern in her voice.



“It’s… strange,” I admitted. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s kind of exciting… but I don’t understand how you can treat someone you care about like that. I mean, I barely know Josh, and even I felt sorry for him.”



“It’s not really cruel,” said Dawn. “In fact, it’s probably harder on me than it is on him. He loves this stuff.”



“I don’t get how you can love being insulted and mistreated.”



Dawn sighed. I noticed that she had started giving me a slow handjob, keeping me hard for the next round. “I don’t really understand it, but from what Josh says to me, it’s like… pain is a part of the human experience, you know? You can never get rid of pain, so you may as well embrace it. It’s like the soccer thing. It’s all about embracing your body and all the things it can make you feel.”



“When I twisted my ankle, there wasn’t any pleasure to that pain.”



Dawn tossed her hair over her shoulder and jutted out her delectable breasts confidently. “No, but you didn’t have the Dawninatrix doing it to you.”



“The Dawninatrix? Really?”



At that point we both collapsed in a fit of giggling. It was a welcome relief.



“But seriously,” Dawn said as she struggled to recover. “It’s not like I would ever actually hurt Josh. It’s all surface-level pain. I think that’s part of the appeal — it’s like, you’re in danger, but you’re not in so much danger that it’s not sexy. At least I think so. I’m not much of a psychologist, I’ll admit.”



I heard Padma laughing in the kitchen and rapidly creaking floorboards. “It sounds like he’s coming back,” said Dawn. “Quick, get hard again.”



“It doesn’t just go up and down like that,” I protested. “It’s not like I can flip a switch or something.” But before I could even finish my sentence, Dawn was bent over, taking my flaccid prick into her marvellous mouth. With her hyperactive tongue she restored my laughter-slain erection to health. It turns out that sometimes it does just go up and down like that.



Josh limped into the room while Dawn was facedown in my lap, her activities hidden by a waterfall of hair, but her obscene sucking sounds making it no secret what she was doing. He was carrying an armful of silk rope, which he almost dropped. The poor boy looked genuinely uneasy.



Dawn broke off from my cock. A thin strand of precum trailed between her mouth and my instrument, but she broke it off with one strong stroke of her tongue. “Try not to tarry so much, Joshua,” she said, instantly back in persona. “A little intermission is all well and good, but my meal was getting cold. Now, sit down in the chair with your hands behind your back.”



He did as instructed, although the contact of his raw ass with the hard seat made him clearly wince. Dawn began doing up the rope in some kind of intricate pattern that left Josh completely immobile, but with his cock still fully accessible to anyone but him. The half-erect prick limped down in front of him as if in shame.



To my surprise, Dawn bent down and started quickly stroking Josh’s cock, which responded to her touch by inflating to its usual massive proportions. The view from my spot on the bed, of Dawn’s round ass sticking up in the air with her slick sex gleaming underneath, was more than enough to keep me hard. She leaned in to whisper something to him, and Josh just gulped and muttered “Yes ma’am.”



Dawn waltzed back over to me. “Now there, where were we before our little miscreant distracted us?”



I suddenly found myself willing to go with her into this strange baroque drama. I grabbed Dawn by the shoulder and dipped her down onto the bed as though we were dancing. My hard cock fell perfectly in the wet cleft of her lips, her girl juice tickling the underside.



She scrambled onto her hands and knees, pushing that glorious ass against me. “I want Joshua to see exactly what he’s missing,” she said. “Sit down.” I followed her instructions, coming off my haunches and spreading my legs out as far as was comfortable. My cock stood straight up, askew from the rest of my body, like a tribute to a lusty goddess. Dawn climbed on top of me, her back to my chest, squatting obscenely. And then she slowly began to lower herself onto my rod.



Dawn drew out the process, making me feel each inch of her slippery and red-hot cunt as it slowly parted for my cock. She was letting out one long, slow breath as she took myself into her. Her head was nestled against mine, and I could feel the vibrations of her trembling. And then, finally, she reached the bottom, and I was fully inside that tremendous channel.



After a brief pause she began raising and lowering herself on my cock, a slow motion which quickly developed into full-on riding. I could do little except support her weight and thrust up into her weakly, but judging from the gasps and titters from Dawn she was doing fine enough on her own. And it felt damn good from my end too.



I had seen this position before in porn, but never actually done it before. It felt strange, but good, and I loved having her head right next to mine, emitting those cute little Dawn noises. But I knew that for Josh, this was the best possible view, meaning the most torturous one. Dawn was splayed out before him like a medical specimen, everything available for view just a few feet from his hungry eyes. He could doubtlessly see her drooling pink pussy lips as they engulfed my cock, her tremendous breasts as they heaved with the rhythm of her equestrian bucking, and the ecstatic look on her face as another man brought her closer and closer to the edge.



Even though Dawn’s pussy pumping up and down on my cock was blowing my mind, I never forgot about Josh, sitting there with his hard scarlet cock straining towards us. It was sending a strange tingling mixture of stage fright and glee up my spine, making me pay attention to everything. Usually during sex I fell into a kind of instinctual rhythm, but here my mind was here to revel in all the sensations and have its own fun.



“Oh fuck,” Dawn yelled. “I’m gonna come. Mike’s gonna make me come with his big, fat cock and. .. ugh!” She errupted into orgasm, grinding her bubbly ass against me. I could feel her release gushing down my shaft and coating her balls, and hear her high, breathy climactic cries, cries that almost sounded like laughs. I screwed my eyes shut and tried my hardest not to come. I knew that if I saw those big tits bouncing up and down with her that would have been the end, and I wanted to make a greater show of my masculine virility.



She finally settled down, slumping against my chest, my hard cock still embedded in her wet cunt. I ventured one eye open to see Josh standing there, a cocktail of agony and desire on his face. Where the ropes touched him there were deep red marks on his skin from him straining against them. A large drop of precum glistened on top of his rigid cock, begging for attention.



“Phew,” said Dawn, whipping her hair back casually (and into my face, but I tried not to mind). “Now that’s what I call an orgasm. What about you, Joshua?”



“Please, ma’am…”



She shifted forward and loomed over the jock, now looking like a hapless dork cornered in the playground. The shadow of her breasts fell across his dick. Somehow, she managed to stay on my throbbing shaft. “Please what?”



“Can I please come already?”



Dawn laughed hard, and I could feel the rumbling around my cock. “You know what? Go ahead. Come as much as you like. As long as you don’t move, of course.”



Joshua paused for a moment, as if he was actually trying to psychically stroke himself off. Dawn started slowly he bowed his head even further and barely managed to squeak out his next request. “Well, could you… stroke it?”



Dawn turned to me briefly just to display the excellent shit-eating grin she had on. “I’m sorry? I couldn’t hear you, Joshua.”



He seemed to shrink into the chair. “Could you stroke it?”



“Now, I must have misheard you,” said Dawn. “Because it almost sounds like after I was nice enough to give you permission to come, you asked me to actually touch your disgusting little penis. Is that what you said?”



Josh’s head bobbed once again in ashamed agreement.



“Hmmm,” Dawn said, making a show of deliberation. My cock was still hard inside her, but for the moment I was caught up in this psychodrama. “Well, you can’t ask for too much. How about this. You pick one. You can come, or I can touch your cock. But only one.”



It wasn’t a choice at all, of course, and the pinched expression on Josh’s face showed that he knew that. “…stroke me.”



Dawn pointed her ear towards him condescendingly. “Speak up.”



His face was now as beet red as his ass had been after the flogging. “I said I want you to jack me off.”



Dawn leaned forward, drawing me ever closer to the edge of the bed. She was balanced precariously in my lap, and it seemed as though the two of us would topple over embarrassingly onto the floor any minute now. But somehow we stayed there, and Dawn extended her legs to grab Josh’s cock in between her feet.



“Is this okay with you?” she said, her voice simultaneously coy and sultry. “I don’t want to get off this big fat cock after all.” She rubbed the edges of her feet up and down on Josh’s shaft, and he fervently nodded.



It turned out that Dawn was as good at footjobs as she was at seemingly everything else sexual. She deftly batted Josh’s cock between one foot and the other, rubbing his cock between both of them, and then capturing the head in between her big toe and the one next to it, jacking Josh off with that tight little ring. The rhythmic motion of her feet made her move slowly up and down on my cock. It was shallow penetration, but it seemed to work for her, as her ragged gasps — not entirely from exertion — attested to.

It was all a dream, thought Adam. It was the only explanation that seemed to fit the facts. There was no Academy. Monica is safe here with me. None of it really happened.



Adam looked back and forth between Eve and Monica. He concluded he was still dreaming. The evening had had a dreamlike quality from the beginning.



This isn’t going to be a good dream, he thought. I shouldn’t have two mistresses.



Another possibility occurred to Adam. As it did, a dull panic that had lurked in the back of his mind for months jumped to the forefront of his imagination. He looked at Eve and tried to shout a warning, but the loud music combined with the gag in his mouth prevented him from making any audible sound.



Ironically, his inability to scream supported his dream theory.



“I’ve made an impression on him!” teased Monica.



“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” said Eve. “He seemed really into it a second ago.” Eve looked around the dance floor and asked, “Where’s your sub?”



“Closer than you think,” Monica said, winking at Adam and reaching for her cell phone. “Pardon me while I make a call.” She located a number in her phone’s contact list and pressed SEND.



“Of course,” said Eve. “If she’s that close, shouldn’t we buh, uh, OHHHHHH . . .!”



Eve abruptly collapsed, letting go of Adam’s leash as she fell into a fit of unanticipated passion.



Others on the dance floor looked on—their expressions ranging from disapproval to amusement.



Monica saw Eve’s condition and laughed. “I didn’t actually know that would work,” she admitted, grabbing Adam’s leash as Eve squirmed on the floor. “Did Eve ever tell you about the chip in her head? The one that allows me to give her a spontaneous orgasm through the telephone? It’s very high-tech—and convenient.”



Monica calmly tied the end of Adam’s leash securely to a nearby hand rail. Bound by his straitjacket, he could do nothing to untie it. Other than Monica, no one else paid attention to him, only to the moaning woman on the floor.



“Pardon me, slave,” said Monica, removing a pair of cuffs from her belt. “The effect is intense, but it won’t last long.” She knelt over Eve and expertly pulled the gasping woman’s arms behind her back and applied the cuffs. Eve made a superficial attempt to resist, but her current state of distraction made all her attempts ineffectual. Monica quickly added a ball gag and a leash to the squirming woman.



“I said my sub would be tightly tied,” Monica told Eve. “Bet you didn’t know my subbie would be you!” Monica removed her own belt and wrapped it around Eve’s knees.



Eve screamed as she climaxed, still writhing on the floor.



When she was done, Monica bounced to her feet and raised her arms in the air as if expecting people to applaud.



Strangely, some did. Onlookers were baffled but entertained by what they believed to be some kind of performance art.



“Thank you! Thank you!” said Monica, beaming. She leaned over Eve and pulled her roughly to her wobbly feet. Eve stood, sweating and gasping in confusion.



Monica unfastened Adam’s leash from the rail. With a leash in each fist, she pulled them both close to her face and said, “Now I trust I have your attention?”



Eve looked at Adam with uncomprehending eyes. Adam was only beginning to understand the nature of the situation but had no power to explain it to her.



“It will all be clear in a moment,” Monica assured them. “Now there’s someone at the bar who wants to see you.”



Monica led the way through the crowd, tugging the pair behind her. Adam had a sinking feeling he knew what to expect. For Eve, what happened next was a horrible surprise.



Sitting at the end of the bar in a short vinyl cocktail dress, the last woman on earth they wanted to see smiled confidently before taking a sip from her drink.



Eve lurched away at the sight of her former mistress. Adam tugged against his leash as well but was abruptly blocked by a tall dominatrix appearing behind him whom he recognized as an Academy guard. Other latex-clad dommes now emerged from the crowd to back her up.



“Well, look at you!” said Helga as she gazed upon them. “Both of you!” She absent-mindedly wiped some moisture from her glass before putting her finger into her mouth. “I think you should know that you have put me through quite a bit of trouble. In fact, I’m quite cross with you.” The intensity of her last statement bubbled with understatement.



Helga stood and examined them as if inspecting rented cars for new scratches. She met Adam’s gaze. “You took my best Pony,” she accused, “and my boat!”



She turned to Eve and grabbed her sparkly dress by the neckline. “And this! Is this what you think a Pony wears? You silly thing! Fortunately I have more appropriate attire for you in my suite!”



“And just in time!” added Monica who rudely placed her hand between Eve’s legs. “Somehow her outfit got all wet!” Eve looked tearfully at the floor.



Helga turned to Monica. “You’ve made a good start in restraining them. I’ll help you finish the job.”



A room service cart loaded with straps and chains was rolled into view. Dominatrices pushed Adam and Eve roughly to their knees as others applied additional bondage implements to the pair. When they were done, both were secured in tight fetal positions, unable to move.



The dommes then hoisted them onto the room service cart, Eve on top, Adam on the shelf below. Head harnesses were applied to them both which were fastened with tight chains to the cart itself. The chains were so tight, Adam couldn’t move his head in any direction and could only face forward.



At a sign from Helga, the dominatrix guards disappeared into the crowd. Helga and Monica turned toward the crowd and struck a theatrical pose. “Like so!” declared Helga.



Cheers and catcalls answered them as Helga rolled their captives through the club and out the door, followed by Monica. Adam and Eve protested vigorously but could convince none of the partygoers that they weren’t playing a role.



The captives were briskly rolled through the hotel lobby in full view of unsuspecting guests. Adam caught the eye of one of the smartly dressed hotel staffers they had met by the elevator. He shouted a muffled plea for help.



The staffer looked down at him and smiled. “I see you found The Club! Are you enjoying yourself?”



“Oh, yes!” Helga replied for him. “We were a great hit. Thanks for loaning us the cart.”



“You’re welcome,” answered the staffer helpfully.



“Come again soon!” her coworker added. Neither showed any sign of understanding the tied couple’s distress, and one still looked jealous, thinking the captives were being escorted to yet another party she couldn’t attend.



Inside the elevator, Helga pressed the button for the top floor. The doors closed. Easy listening music played inappropriately.



Monica removed scissors from a tray on the side of the cart and unceremoniously removed Eve’s ruined panties. “So, Adam, this is the bitch you abandoned me for?” It wasn’t a question; no response was expected or permitted.



What did Helga tell her? wondered Adam.



Monica shook Eve’s panties in her fist. “You know, I thought you’d be prettier,” Monica told Eve, setting the scissors back in the tray and removing a riding crop. “I thought, if he’s going to abandon me to run off with a different mistress, she’d better be awfully GODDAMNED PRETTY!”



She swatted Eve viciously and repeatedly across her bare bottom. Adam could hear Eve’s protests as she squirmed helplessly above him.



“Monica!” Helga rebuffed at last. “Temper! We’re still in the elevator! You’ll have plenty of time to spend with your new pet once we’re back on the island. For now, we need to concentrate on getting them ready for shipping.”



The door opened on the top floor, and the pair were rolled down the hall. There was a flurry of activity on this floor—the nature of which shocked Adam. Dommes escorted slaves—many of whom were naked—from room to room. Adam again attempted to cry out, hoping to call someone’s attention to their plight.



“No one here will help you,” explained Helga. “They’re all with us. We’ve rented every room on this floor.”



They stopped in front of a door, but Adam could not see the room number. Helga knocked, and the door immediately opened.



“Are these the ones who escaped?” asked the young domme who appeared in latex lingerie. “Somehow I thought they’d look more . . . formidable.”



“They’re livestock,” remarked Helga. “Think of them as such.”



The cart was rolled into the room, and other young dommes started to unfasten Eve from her perch on the top. Adam could only see the dommes’ bare legs as they worked, but he could hear Helga rummaging through Eve’s purse as they did.



“Here’s their room key,” she told one of them. “Go to their room, gather their things, and leave their key at the front desk. Make it look like they had a night of passionate love-making and checked out early. Bring all their personal items to Mistress Monica. They’re hers now.”



Adam saw two empty wooden crates on the other side of the room, each one two feet by two feet, and about four feet tall—each with a hinged top and a removable side panel. The lowest six inches of each crate was a separate compartment accessible only from the side. There was a six-inch round hole joining the upper compartment with the lower one. The purpose of the lower compartment became clear when a domme slid an empty bedpan into it (beneath the hole) before replacing the side panel. The fact that there were two crates removed all doubt as to how Helga intended to smuggle him and Eve out of the country.



One of the crates was labeled PONY with clear stenciled letters. From his current position, Adam could not see the label on the other crate.



“They’re both overdue for a proper grooming,” said Helga. “Monica, you will supervise the Pony’s grooming here. I’ll attend to Adam personally in my own suite. Be thorough. Don’t leave a single pube.” Helga swatted Eve’s backside with a rolled up magazine as the other dommes carried her away.



“Mistress Helga,” said a young domme who had just entered the room. “Mistress Kathy wants you in the big suite right away.”



Mistress Kathy’s here too?



“Godammit, what does that woman want now?” cursed Helga. She threw the magazine on the floor in disgust.



“The client is here early,” explained the domme. “Mistress Kathy is already in the showroom negotiating.”



Client?



“She can manage a client on her own. Doesn’t she know that I have grooming to do?”



Adam glanced at the discarded magazine on the floor and saw that it wasn’t a magazine at all. The glossy cover had assorted pictures of frightened slaves on it. Above the pictures was the title Mistress Kathy’s Updated Slave Catalog.



Holy shit!



The young domme exchanged a hopeful glance with her partner. “We can groom the slave for you,” she suggested, “in our room.”



“No,” said Helga flatly. “I am not leaving the two of you alone with him. You may groom him in the shower adjoining the showroom where I can keep an eye on you. Now help me get him upright. He can’t be groomed while in a fetal position.”



The dommes detached the chains binding him to the cart and rolled him roughly onto the floor. They removed his shoes, then unfastened the chain that joined his collar to his knees so he could finally stand up. Adam hoped they would untie his legs or remove his gag next, but instead they wheeled an upright dolly to him.



“We need to get that straitjacket off,” said Helga. Adam hoped this would be an opportunity to resist his captors, but the dommes had worked out a strategy of removing one arm from the straitjacket and cuffing it to the dolly before releasing the other arm. He made a brief attempt to resist when his right arm was free, but the pair of dommes quickly grabbed it and secured it to the dolly before he could make use of the moment. Adam protested loudly through his gag.



“I wonder what he’s trying to say,” said one of the dommes.



“He wants his gag out,” said the other. “Who wouldn’t?”



The dommes completed their task, chaining his ankles, knees and collar to the upright dolly.



“Just one more thing,” said Helga brandishing the scissors. She used them to cut through the elastic in his pants and underwear. The young dommes then took delight in tearing the garments away from him, leaving him naked and defenseless.



“My, how you’ve grown!” teased Helga. She stroked him just enough to provoke the reaction she wanted. The other two dommes giggled shamelessly. “Adam’s waiting, girls. Let’s take him to the big room.”



The dommes turned his dolly around and pointed him at the door. As they did so, Adam glimpsed the stenciled label on the second empty crate. It said CHANDELIER.



With Helga in the lead, Adam was wheeled naked to the suite at the end of the hall. Helga entered while the dommes waited in the corridor with Adam.



“There she is,” he heard Mistress Kathy say. “Ingrid, this is Mistress Helga. Helga, this is Ingrid, the Countess’s attaché. The Countess could not be here herself, but she’s joined us by internet.”



“Hello, Mistress Helga,” announced a strangely accented voice through some kind of speaker phone. “I am watching with great interest! Mistress Kathy was about to overcharge me again.”



Kathy and Helga laughed politely at an apparently an old joke.



After several minutes, Helga was engaged in conversation with the client. The pair of dommes in the corridor decided they had waited long enough and wheeled Adam stealthily through the door of the suite and toward the bathroom.



Adam caught an eyeful in the seconds it took to get from the door to the bathroom, but it was hard to believe what he saw. The suite was indeed a showroom—crowded with fifteen or more naked women, all of whom were tethered in some way to the wall, the ceiling, the floor, or each other.



Adam had only a second to gather in this scene before being whisked away into the bathroom. Before his captors could close the door, however, a voice came booming through the speaker phone.



“Who is that gentleman in the back?” the voice demanded. “He’s magnific! I must have another look at him!”



The young dommes looked at each other, unsure what to do.



“The ‘gentleman’ is not part of the selection,” he heard Helga say. “He’s a recent acquisition.”



“And a flight risk,” added Mistress Kathy.



“Nonsense!” said the woman on the speaker phone. “I have the finest security on the continent! No one has ever escaped from me!”



“He’s to be trained as a staff slave,” said Kathy. “He’s not for lease.”



“Nonetheless, I want to have another look at him,” insisted the voice on the speaker phone. “Bring him out, or I shall cancel our arrangement and rent none of your girls.”



The negotiation seemed to have reached a standstill. Kathy finally said, “Bring him out then. There’s no harm in letting her look.”



Adam was wheeled out of the bathroom into the suite, and his eyes were able to confirm what he had glimpsed only briefly a few moments earlier.



Naked women were bound so as to be completely immobilized in a variety of artistic poses—as if they were statues in a museum. Those that weren’t standing were tied to each other as they lay on the floor, and some dommes were forced to step over them when moving about the room.



Perched on a loveseat was Mistress Kathy wearing a short but elegant dress. Across from her was the Countess’s attaché in prim business attire. Helga stood in the middle, pitching their wares as if each slave were an art piece. Another woman in office attire carried a small video camera connected to a laptop whose screen was turned away from Adam.



“Oh, look at him!” said the accented voice on the speaker. “I can see why you want to keep him to yourselves. He’s an alluring beast! Olga, get closer! I want a better angle.”



At once, the young woman with the camera approached to within a foot of him and started tilting the camera up and down along the contours of his body.



“Oh my,” said the voice, which then trailed off. “I want him. Money is no object!”



“Countess, we’ve discussed this before,” said Kathy delicately. “The arrangement was to lease some of our fine women. Females only.”



“But I’ve rented men from you before!”



“Yes,” admitted Kathy testily. “And you’ve always returned them broken.”



“You’re not still blaming me for that, are you? That was so long ago! And they were so fragile! Hardly men at all.”



“Countess,” said Helga, inserting herself into the conversation. “Not to put too fine a point on this, but your contempt for men is well known to us. Our slaves have to be returned in good working order—with all their parts attached.”



“Otherwise we take a loss on the transaction,” continued Kathy. “Your deposit only covers marks and scratches, not complete disability.”



“Very well, I’ll buy him outright then!” continued the voice. “I’ll give you double the usual price.”



“Out of the question,” said Helga.



“Mistress Helga,” Kathy interrupted. “I will decide what’s out of the question.”



“Ingrid,” said the voice. “I want to see more. Be a dear and—how do you say—give him fluff.”



“Of course, Countess,” replied the attaché, who must have been well paid, because she did not hesitate to obey her employer’s bizarre request. She had a small bottle of lubricant ready in her coat pocket which she used to squirt fluid into her hand. The two young dommes stood ready with hand towels in case she requested them.



At first, the attaché showed no emotion, no pleasure, from what she did. She smeared the lubricant on him and quickly massaged him to full arousal. When she achieved her goal, her expression finally changed, as if she seemed to be just a little bit impressed.



“Oh my!” said the unseen Countess. “No wonder you don’t want to part with him! I’ll buy him. Right now I will buy him from you.”



“Admittedly, he makes a good first impression,” said Helga. “But he’s hardly trained. We can’t guarantee that he has the stamina to satisfy the demanding needs of one such as yourself.”



“Now you’re just making excuses,” said the voice. “Very well, then. We’ll need a proper test. Ingrid, you’ll have to mount him for us. Show us how well he satisfies you.”



“Yes, Countess,” said the attaché. To avoid mussing her outfit, she dried her hands first, then promptly unbuttoned her coat. “Shall I do him on the bed or on the floor?”



“The lighting’s best on the table,” said the woman with the camera.



At once, the two dommes assigned to Adam’s grooming cleared off a table and lifted Adam’s dolly onto it as the attaché continued to disrobe.



“Mistress Kathy,” said Helga. “You can’t seriously be considering this?”



Kathy glared angrily at Helga. “Countess, please excuse us for a moment while Mistress Helga and I discuss a private matter.”



“Of course,” said the voice.



Kathy pulled Helga to the far side of the table and started to scold her in whispered tones. “I’ve been very patient so far in dealing with your fuck-up. Here’s a chance to recoup at least some of our losses on this one.”



Adam thought it was uncharacteristically careless of them to whisper so close to him that he could hear what they were saying, but he ultimately realized they had no reason to care. No one made any indication that they were going to remove his gag, so there was no chance of him compromising their “private” conversation.



“She’ll damage him,” insisted Helga. “You know she will.”



Adam couldn’t quite hear Kathy’s reply, but it sounded like, You were going to dismember him anyway.



He strained to hear more, but was distracted as Ingrid’s panties landed softly on his chest. The naked attaché strutted toward him and climbed nimbly onto the table, straddling him on all fours. For the first time, she smiled at him, evidently in anticipation.

The second coach arrived, bringing the last two guests to the castle. Adam’s shiny new manacles ensured that he reached the foyer to greet them well behind the others.



“It is good to see you again, Lady Tara,” greeted the Countess, ignoring her assembled slave maids. “And this must be your new friend, Lady Emily.”



“How did the two of you meet again?” asked the Duchess as she got her first look at Lady Emily, the Assembly’s youngest member. The attractive blonde dropped her duffel bag which made an unexpected clanking sound when it hit the floor.



“Emily here got herself engaged to my idiot brother,” said Lady Tara, “and we became pals.” Lady Tara casually kissed Lady Emily on the lips—apparently not for the first time.



Pals with benefits? wondered Adam as he shuffled into the room.



“What my brother doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Tara added with a smile. “But at least the marriage will elevate my new friend from the drab life she had back home.”



“Drab?” asked the Baroness. “I wouldn’t think that being a lingerie model in England would be drab.”



Emily replied with a bashfulness that was hard to believe in a woman so beautiful. “I was a lingerie designer, but thank you for the compliment. I designed the styles that are exclusive to members of the RDA. Did you enjoy the samples I sent you?”



“We’re wearing them.” The Duchess twirled to display how smooth her generous curves looked under her slutty outfit. “They accent our gowns beautifully!”



“And in our favorite colors,” said the Baroness, also twirling for attention. “How thoughtful!”



As Adam joined the slave maids, attention focused on him.



“The new man-slave,” appraised Lady Tara. “I like the muscles. And the skin! He has so much of it! How long will you have him?”



“Sweetcheeks is under contract for two weeks,” said the Countess, “but such things are always negotiable.”



Adam realized he had forgotten to kneel before the new guests, so he dropped to his knees. Because of his shackles, this was an abrupt and clumsy task.



“How may I serve you?” he asked according to custom.



Lady Tara studied him with judgmental eyes. “Bring our suitcases to our room,” she demanded. “Our driver is bringing them now.”



The carriage driver, a stocky peasant woman from the local village, quickly excused herself after leaving the bags in the foyer.



Lady Emily smiled at Adam in a way that might have conveyed sympathy—or mimicked it. “Tara,” she said upon seeing his manacles. “I don’t think our man-slave will be able to get our things up the stairs. I mean, look at him.”



“Emily, darling, you’re new to this lifestyle,” said Tara. “The point isn’t whether he is able, but how hard he will try.” She turned to the maid slaves. “We’re thirsty. We must have refreshments before we change into our evening clothes.”



The maids quickly went into the dining room. The Countess and her guests strolled after them with Tara taking a gift box that she had brought with her. Adam hoped the gift box wasn’t for him as he contemplated moving the oversized suitcases and the heavy duffel bag they had left behind.



Realizing he was alone for the first time since his arrival, a new thought occurred to him.



The carriage probably hasn’t left yet.



The idea was far less than a plan, yet he had to act upon it immediately. If the driver were really a local villager as she appeared to be, he might be able to convince her to smuggle him to safety.



Adam slipped out the open door and saw the driver about to rouse the horses into a trot. Adam tried to wave to her, but the shackles thwarted him. He had to risk calling out.



“Psssst!” Adam called. “Driver! Wait! For god’s sake, help me!”



The woman turned, saw Adam struggling to get her attention, and turned pale.



Vârcolac!” she cried before lashing at her horses, urging them forward. The horses bolted away at full gallop, towing behind them the carriage and the frightened woman.



Adam’s heart sank as his best chance of escape disappeared into the night. He hadn’t anticipated that his appearance—manacled and attired in an immodest g-string–could frighten a wary villager. Dejected, he stepped back inside and closed the door.



“You tried to get to the driver, didn’t you?” said Lady Emily, staring at him knowingly.



“No, I wasn’t,” he lied. How long has she been standing there?



“It’s all right,” she said. “She probably thought you were one of the Countess’s werewolves. The locals tell a lot of spooky stories about this castle.”



Adam would easily have believed that Emily was a model. Her short blonde hair framed a beautiful girl-next-door smile, suggesting an innocence that couldn’t possibly be real. She sauntered toward him as he self-consciously backed away.



“I’m not scared,” she teased. “Just horny.”



“Is something wrong out here?” asked Lady Tara as she entered with her drink. “He’s not up to any mischief, is he?”



“Nothing like that,” said Lady Emily. “I came back to get my bag and decided to get better acquainted with the man-slave.”



She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. “Your favorite color is blue,” she whispered so only he could hear. The statement meant nothing to him, but she seemed to think it should.



Lady Tara eyed them jealously. “Emily, you told me you were a lesbian.”



“I can go both ways, just like you,” said Lady Emily as she picked up her heavy bag. Again, it clanked as though it were filled with pipes. “I’ll take my little bag. Let’s see how long it takes our man-slave to get the rest of our luggage up the stairs.”



Adam struggled to get their cases to their rooms while shackled, enduring taunts and insults from Lady Tara the entire way. Tara seemed to be the more experienced of the two newcomers, relishing her role of teaching the less-experienced Emily the proper way to dominate.



Afterwards, Adam was escorted down to the kitchen so that he could help prepare dinner.



The kitchen was full of activity now. In addition to himself and the rented maids, at least a dozen other slaves were toiling to make last-minute preparations. Many were “bootlickers” like Chrissy—women forced to work in the nude.



Even Zana, his trainer, was at work, having apparently been released from her bondage because more help had been needed. As an alternate punishment, she had been forced to change into a form-fitting vinyl gown with a skirt so tight and narrow it forced her legs to move as though bound. Her feet shuffled with even less mobility than Adam’s.



The Mediary sent Adam into the dining room with a bowl of strawberries to place on the table. By this time, all of the guests representing the Royal Dominance Assembly were in their party clothes.



Lady Emily had changed into a shockingly short lavender tube dress which seemed to be in stark contrast to the innocence of her smile.



Lady Tara, meanwhile, wore a black silk blouse and a matching leather miniskirt. High boots and a judgmental stare completed the look calculated to show Emily how a dominatrix ought to dress.



The Baroness and the Duchess, in their slinky gowns, continued to sip their drinks while stealing glances at the bootlickers that moved about the room.



All seemed pleased to see Adam as he set the bowl on the table.



“Wait, man-slave,” commanded Lady Tara with a smile that foreshadowed nothing good. “Before you return to your duties, we have a gift for you.”



“Another gift?” exclaimed the Countess. “You are very popular, Sweetcheeks!”



At a nod from Lady Tara, her “pal” presented Adam with the gift box. “It’s from both of us,” said Emily with anticipation.



Adam responded with mandatory humility. “I am beneath you and unworthy of such generosity. I shall accept only if it pleases you.”



“Of course,” said Lady Tara. “Open it.”



Adam opened the gift box. First he only saw tissue paper, but beneath it he found a leather harness with many straps.



“It’s a torso harness,” said Lady Tara. “The top fastens to your collar, and the bottom fastens between your legs while leaving your vitals completely accessible. Each strap is adjustable, so it fits snugly against your skin. And it has metal rings all over, giving it wonderful variety when you require discipline!”



Adam didn’t know what to say, aside from the obvious. “I will cherish this gift more than I can say, and I am—”



“Don’t thank us yet,” Lady Tara interrupted. “Try it on first!”



“I can’t,” he answered.



“Of course you can!” insisted the Countess. “She wants to see you enjoy your gift!”



“I mean I can’t. My hands and feet are chained together. You’ll have to take off my manacles before I can put this on.”



Lady Tara grew impatient with Adam’s logic. “Nonsense! Undo the buckles on the harness, and it can be applied around any existing restraints you’re already wearing. Lady Emily will help you.”



Lady Emily smiled as she silently took the harness from him and eagerly undid the buckles. She was very helpful in applying it to his body. As she tightened the buckles, she occasionally glanced at Lady Tara who judiciously watched her movements, urging her to make each buckle a little bit tighter than comfort would suggest.



When Lady Emily was done, the harness was tight, almost hampering his breathing. Emily grasped Adam’s hips and spun him toward the other guests for their approval.



“How do you like it?” demanded Lady Tara.



He stared sullenly at the floor. “I will cherish this gift more than—”



“Wait,” she said. “You haven’t seen the best features yet. Your shackles can now be fastened directly to the metal rings for a more restrained look. If you get on your knees, you’ll see how easy it is to attach your ankles directly to the rings on your lower back.” She stared expectantly. “Try it,” she ordered.



“But if I do that, I won’t be able to help the others with dinner,” he reasoned.



“Then the others will work harder in your absence,” answered Lady Tara.



Adam now saw Sara, the bodyguard, enter from the back of the room. She eyed him suspiciously as she grasped her rifle.



Adam assumed a kneeling position, and Emily applied the clasps.



“That’s too loose,” corrected Tara. “Make the chains tighter, and it will give him a look that’s much more flattering.”



Adam felt the restraints on his ankles pulled slowly tighter. Each time Emily touched him, it seemed she was moving a little more purposefully, more skillfully, making him feel almost caressed within the restraints she adjusted.



Emily’s more experienced than she lets on, Adam suspected.



Tara complimented her. “See how easy that is? A forced kneeling position suits him extremely well! But it’s not finished, is it?”



“It’s not?” asked Emily.



“It’s not a true forced kneel while his hands can still reach the clasps. You must cross his arms behind his back and secure his wrists to the harness as well.”



“Sounds exciting!”



Emily turned her attention to Adam’s arms, pulling them tightly behind his back, but not too tightly. Whatever Tara may have thought of her, Emily knew just how much pressure to apply to achieve the effect she desired.



He enjoyed her touch more than he wanted to, and she knew exactly the effect she was having.



The Mediary and several other slaves paused in their duties to watch. The sight of Adam made the maids smile and whisper among themselves.



“There,” said Tara. “Isn’t that appealing?”



“Very appealing,” Emily agreed. “And he loves it!” The stretchy material in Adam’s garment was stretching near its limit.



Tara approved. “When he’s tied this way, it’s much harder for him to maintain balance.” She abruptly pushed him over, and he grunted painfully when he hit the floor.



“Did we hurt him?” asked Emily.



Tara stepped closer and placed her boot on his ass. “He’ll function.” She grinned pitilessly as she applied pressure under her heel. “A slave’s suffering is wasted unless you savor it.”



She leaned over Adam. “Now what do you think of your gift, man-slave?”



He gasped, “I will cherish this gift more—”



“But wait,” Tara interrupted again. “An even better feature of the gift is that it supports his full weight! Emily, help me hang him from that pipe so that he may fully appreciate its value.”



Adam hadn’t forgotten the ceiling had been engineered for discipline—like so many other rooms in the castle.



Tara rose from her seat and helped Emily lower chains attached to the pipe suspended horizontally above Adam. Hooks on the ends of the chains were attached to various metal rings on Adam’s harness. The excess chain was looped over the pipe. Tara ordered some of the naked slaves to hoist the chains, lifting Adam into the air.



Only when Adam was suspended horizontally five feet above the floor did they secure the chains. He could barely hide the sense of panic he felt at having nothing to hold on to and no way to free himself. He now hung at their eye level as all the guests stepped closer to appreciate his distress with sweet smiles and inappropriate touches.



Lady Tara placed her arm casually around his waist—allowing her hand to playfully tug on the gold chain that held his g-string. “See how aroused he is?” she said instructively. “And I can feel his heart pounding!”



“Mine is, too,” said Emily, tugging the hem of her dress as if it were getting shorter.



“Sweetcheeks is very popular,” complemented the Countess. “Having gotten three such fine gifts in one night, the other slaves must be terribly jealous.” She winked at him. “What do you say?”



There was only one response allowed by protocol. “I will cherish this gift more than I can say,” he stammered, staring at the floor below him, “and I am dumbfounded by your inexplicable—”



“Oh, for goodness sake!” exclaimed Lady Tara. “We forgot it comes with a matching headpiece! Lady Emily, would you be so kind. . .?”



“Of course,” said Emily, looking through the paper in the gift box. She pulled out a smaller harness, designed with matching straps and buckles to wrap securely around a man’s head.



Under Tara’s supervision, Emily quickly applied it. Then she attached a length of chain connecting a ring on top of his headpiece to the overhead pipe.



With his head forced sharply backward by this chain, he found himself staring involuntarily into Lady Emily’s smiling face—now only inches from his. “He’s certainly getting excited,” she said, staring down the front of his distressed g-string. “Is that the last part of our gift?”



“Almost,” said Lady Tara, twisting the gold chain in his costume to be sure he was listening. “There’s just one more piece, and it snaps into the front of the headpiece.”



Emily reached into the box and pulled out a small panel of tightly stitched leather with a snap at each corner and a 2-inch rubber nub sewn into the middle. She gave it to Lady Tara who positioned it over Adam’s mouth.



“This final accessory will keep the man-slave from speaking out of turn,” she said, “which is the finest feature of all.” She addressed Adam disapprovingly. “Don’t you agree, slave?”



“Yes, mistress,” he had to reply.



“Would you like to try it on now?”



The Countess nodded to Adam that he should agree.



“Yes, mistress.”



“Before I put it in, is there something you wish to say?”



He’d grown to hate the words. “I will cherish this gift more than I can say, and I am dumbfounded by your inexplicable kmmmff!”



The panel gag was pushed into his mouth and the snaps were secured to his headpiece.



Helpless and mute, he could only watch, listen and flail.



“Dinner is served,” informed the Mediary at last.



For Adam, the dinner table a few feet away might as well have been in a different castle.



“Now?” asked Lady Emily. “But the man-slave is just starting to enjoy his new gifts.”



“I see that,” said Lady Tara, lightly stroking the front of his throbbing g-string.



“If he is to be initiated properly, he must be included in the ceremony,” said the Countess. “But that is easily arranged.” Adam hoped she might order his release but was disappointed. “We shall move the table to him. The slaves will see to it.”



The new maids were instructed to remove the lit candles and any other loose items before the bootlickers carefully slid the table toward Adam. They positioned it so that he was at the head of the table, but the Countess corrected them.



“Do not put the table in front of him. Put it under him. Since he is so popular, we shall make him the centerpiece of our dinner.”



When the slaves were done, Adam was suspended above the center of the table, and the lit candles were placed beneath him so that their heat made his chest, legs and groin simmer.



The guests were seated around him. Assembly members sat to his front, while the rented maids (who were also to be initiated) sat behind him. After Zana and the bootlickers had brought out the guests’ entrees, they retreated quietly to the periphery of the room in case they were needed again. The Countess’s bodyguard and the Mediary stood at the entrances keeping watchful eyes on everyone.



“Too bad the man-slave won’t be able to enjoy the meal,” said Lady Emily.



“That’s his concern,” said Lady Tara. “If he were really hungry, he wouldn’t have insisted on trying out his new toys before dinner. At any rate, I’m sure he’ll tell us when he’s ready to come down.”



Adam grunted in distress. He was already sweating profusely.



“Yes, you may stay up there as long as you like, Sweetcheeks,” said the Baroness. “And you’re welcome.” She squeezed the front of his garment as a reward for his presumed good behavior.



Those seated around Adam ate and talked and drank. He realized nothing he did would evoke any sympathy from the diners, so he resigned himself to hanging and perspiring. If he remained silent for too long, however, the diners would take turns poking him with utensils in unexpected places until he reacted in a way they found entertaining. After a while even the bootlickers were looking for excuses to approach the table so they could poke him without being noticed by their mistresses.



As they dined, the Duchess began the second phase of the initiation ceremony. She asked questions of the new maids, testing their knowledge of culinary arts, bondage positions, castle protocol, and other matters considered relevant to new castle slaves. During this time, no questions were asked of Adam, nor would he have been able to answer any.



“I must say, your Sweetcheeks is very well-behaved for a man-slave,” said the Duchess when she was nearly done with her meal. “Getting him to tie himself up was so easy! How did you make him so compliant?”



“I allowed him to think that his good behavior would be rewarded with leniency from the Assembly,” said the Countess.



“Doesn’t he know your reputation?” asked the Baroness. “Doesn’t he know what happened to the other man-slaves?”



“He does,” said the Countess, “but I managed to blame that on my staff.”



“You didn’t!” said Lady Tara. “He believed it?”



“How could he not?” There was no longer any evidence of the sorrowful mistress of the castle that she had earlier pretended to be. She was now a seductive predator—her true self.



She selected a long carrot from the hors d’oeuvre tray. “Sweetcheeks was terrified when he arrived and desperate to believe anything that might offer him a way out of his fate. So I offered him a pleasing lie. Domination is so much more interesting when you can gain their trust first. This way, I get to savor the look on his face when he realizes I’ve deceived him.”



Adam thrashed against his bonds with useless determination.



“That’s the look!” She pointed with the carrot. “Isn’t he entertaining?”



“Well worth the wait,” admitted the Baroness. She used her fork to prod the gold chain that held his g-string together, and with a twist, caused his shaft to pop out from behind the thin fabric.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Adam’s adventures began in “Mistress Kathy’s Academy” and continued in “Mistress Kathy’s Slave Catalog.”







Adam had strange and unwelcome dreams.



He is in her embrace. He is safe. He is happy.



“Love me,” Eve commands. “Love me forever and no one else.”



He luxuriates in her touch. Her hair tickles his face. Her legs wrap around him.



“I will love no one else,” he gasps. “I promise.”



He kisses her warm neck, her smooth shoulders, her bare breasts.



Her legs squeeze him until he can hardly move. Her nails dig into his flesh until it hurts. Something is different. Something is wrong.




He pulls away. It’s not Eve. Not anymore.



She laughs. “Promises, promises!” taunts Helga. “Slaves are so fickle!”



“Why, Adam?” cries Eve—who now is somehow across the room, watching them. She’s wearing a pony suit. Her collar is chained to a post.



Adam runs to her assistance, but she turns away from him. He must help her. He must earn her forgiveness. He unfastens the buckles on her bridle.



Helga mocks him. “You don’t deserve her anymore, Adam. Just ask her.”




Eve stares at him with angry eyes. “See what you’ve done? You’ve done to ME what you’ve done to HER!”



Monica.



But he had tried to help her.



“This is the way it has to be,” says Helga, taking the bridle and reapplying it to her Pony. She leads Eve to a large wooden box, into which the Pony obediently climbs. Monica is in a different but identical box next to it. “You belong to me,” says Helga, fastening the lids onto the boxes with her Ponies inside. “You all belong to me.”



“I object!” shouts the Countess.



How long has she been here?




“You have no claim to him,” retorts Helga. “The contract was for a limited time.”



“Bitch!” cries the Countess.



“Slut!” cries Helga.



Helga and the Countess fight each other with their bare hands. Their gowns are torn away. Enticing latex swimsuits are worn underneath.



Their bodies entangle. Their fight excites him.



He shouldn’t enjoy this.




They push and pull and tear each other’s swimsuits. They fall down and roll onto each other. Their cries of hatred are mingled with perverse giggles.



He should stop them, but his arms are tied behind his back. His inability to intervene makes their struggle more arousing. His nakedness leaves him unable to hide his interest.



The two women stop to stare at him.



“He has the nerve to enjoy this,” hisses Helga.



“After I kill you, I will punish him,” says the Countess.



The women kiss. What remains of their garments is torn away. Their legs intertwine. Their pussies touch.



This isn’t a healthy dream, thinks Adam.




Adam awoke, suddenly out of breath. He was in another strange bed in another strange room.



A strange but beautiful nurse was staring at him and smiling.



“You must have interesting dreams,” said the young woman. Adam assumed she was a nurse from the white dress and cap, although he didn’t know of any hospital where the uniforms were so tight and had so much cleavage.



Maybe I’m still dreaming, thought Adam.



“Are you feeling well?” she asked.



“Probably,” was the best he could manage. Complete sentences would have to wait until he was fully awake.



An old woman more conservatively dressed in scrubs entered the room to look at his medical chart but said nothing.



“What’s the last thing you remember?” asked the young nurse.



He mentally pushed back the memory of wrestling mistresses and tried to recall something that he could believe had actually happened. Given the recent nature of his life, this took some thought.



“I was on a helicopter,” he said. “Nobody would answer my questions. They said I should get some rest so I could adjust to the climate. And they wanted to run some tests on me.”



The old woman spoke for the first time. “That’s right, sweetie. I’m here to collect a little blood if that’s all right.” With practiced ease, she placed a hypodermic needle in his arm to collect a sample and applied a bandage when she was done. “You were suffering from altitude sickness—and a lot stress, you poor thing. The sleep seems to have done you good.”



“May I get you anything?” asked the younger nurse. “Some water perhaps?”



“No, I’m fine.”



“Something to eat?”



“No, thank you.”



“There’s an adjoining rest room if you need it.”



“I think I’d like to stay in bed for a while.”



“Would you like me to tie you up?”



“I, um . . . What?”



“Or I can get you a fresh pillow.”



“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said the older woman. “Leave him be! He’s embarrassed to tell you he’s had a wet dream, so he’s waiting for us to give him some privacy.” She threw him a clean towel. “There you are, sweetie.”



“Why would he be embarrassed about that?” asked the younger nurse.



“I’ll explain later,” said the old woman. “Why don’t you go get some clean sheets?”



The young nurse left the room.



“Thanks for the towel,” muttered Adam with embarrassent. “I haven’t had a wet dream since high school.”



“You’ve spent time at the Academy, and that changes a fella,” said the woman. “And you’ll have to pardon Cindy. She doesn’t understand how much your ways on the outside are different from ours. She knows that you’re a submissive, so offering to tie you up is her way of being polite. I’ll leave you alone now, and if you feel like wearing clothes, there are some here on the nightstand.”



The old woman left.



Adam wondered where the fucking hell he was.



He cleaned himself and got dressed. The woman had left him a white smock and matching drawstring pants which were not his normal style but which fit him comfortably.



He pondered his next move. Presumably he was expected to wait for a nurse to return, and then answers would be forthcoming.



Presumably.



He sneaked out the nearest exit. Although his hosts seemed friendly enough, he was no longer in a trusting mood. He thought it would be a good idea to get a lay of the land and to have an escape plan ready in case things went weird.



What he saw outside the building could have been either a park or a college campus. Simple buildings connected by sidewalks surrounded by grass and trees suggested an isolated community far away from big cities.



The people were harder to figure out. Across the lawn from him, a young man and woman sat at a picnic table having breakfast in the nude. A half dozen others were walking about their daily routines with no embarrassment about their lack of clothes. The only fully dressed people he saw were an elderly couple wearing loose-fitting smocks like his own.



He suddenly felt overdressed, although no one took notice of him. He decided to take a quick walk around the “hospital,” which was a much smaller building than he had imagined.



His short tour revealed similar sights. A pair of nude women on bicycles rode by and smiled as they passed. The trees that added to the beauty of the environment prevented him from seeing the surrounding terrain, so he had no clue as to what part of the world he was in.



He stepped around a corner and nearly walked into a perfectly shaped bare bottom. The woman it belonged to was bending over to adjust the kick stand of the bicycle she had just parked.



Not wanting to appear rude, and still hoping to be unnoticed, he decided to go back the way he had come before the girl noticed him staring at her ass.



Too late. She turned around and smiled.



“Hello, Adam! I was just coming to see you.”



“Lady Emily?”



“It’s just Emily here. Lady Emily was my cover. Did you sleep well?”



“Yes,” he said, and averted his eyes. “I was just looking around. You know, looking.”



“Cool. I came by to make sure you’re all right. And to apologize for last night.”



“For rescuing me and saving my life?”



“For keeping you tied up while I did it. And for not explaining what I was doing. There was no reason to keep you in the dark the way I did. I don’t really know why I acted that way.”



Women keep telling me that.



He accepted her apology and went back inside the hospital with her.



Down a hall, they found an empty lounge where the two of them could sit and talk. He chose a seat on a plush sofa, and she sat next to him.



“I don’t think I’ve never asked this before,” he began, preparing her for his next question, “but why are you naked?”



“Today’s my day off,” she said. His uncomfortable silence told her that a more detailed explanation was in order. “Nobody here wears clothes on a day off—unless they’re children—or in a committed relationship. I guess you’re not used to that where you’re from.”



“I’ll adjust,” he said, still wondering about the most polite way to direct his eyes. Her athletic body accented her innocent smile in a way that couldn’t be more distracting. “So where am I?”



“We call it Oasis,” explained Emily, “although the exact location is a secret.”



“And who are you? I mean all of you. You mentioned a sisterhood.”



She turned her body toward him, propping her arm on the back rest. “The Marstonite Sisterhood is a secret society that lives by a philosophy of free love and feminism. It’s premised on the idea that a stable, civilized society is only achieved when men willingly submit to the loving authority of women.”



“So you’re a community of dominatrices?”



“Not the way you’re thinking. We practice a nurturing approach in which men and women care for each other. Women are intuitively more nurturing than men, so it’s natural that they be the more dominant influence.”



“Don’t men ever resent your ‘loving’ authority?”



“Anyone can leave whenever they choose.” She leaned forward, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s nothing like the experience you’ve had.”



“Good,” said Adam, starting to believe her. “Maybe you should have a school of your own. Teach your philosophy to others.”



Emily looked away, as if this were an uncomfortable subject. She stared at the floor.



“We did. It was the Academy.”



“What?”



“It was long ago—longer than you’d think. It was called Mistress Katherine’s School of Discreet Discipline, and it catered only to the wealthy and influential. For most of its history, the school’s been managed by a line of women holding a variation of the title ‘Mistress Katherine,’ and our ancestors taught and lived on the island—until the schism occurred which forced us out. Since then, outcasts like me have lived here at the Oasis, while the Academy founded by our ancestors has become a menace.”



The elderly nurse suddenly entered the room and seemed relieved to see them. “We’ve been looking for you, Adam. Thank goodness you and Emily are together! Highmother wants to see both of you as soon as you’re able.”



“Who?”



“Our spiritual leader,” explained Emily. “We’d better not keep her waiting.” She smiled at him as she stood up. “She can answer your questions better than I can.”



Emily returned to her bicycle. She picked out a second bike for Adam which she assured him he could take. Apparently, the bikes didn’t belong to individuals but to the community as a whole.



Makes sense, thought Adam. Nobody carries bike keys because nobody has pockets.



As they rode across the campus, Adam observed others going about their routines. Some wore clothes, others didn’t. He noticed one woman in a corset leading a man and another woman by a pair of leashes. Emily told him that the three were in a consentual relationship and were just engaging in friendly role-playing. Adam had to admit the leashed pair seemed to be enjoying themselves.



After a short ride through a wooded area and a garden, Emily and Adam arrived at a building that resembled a chapel. They parked their bikes and entered through a side door where they found an official-looking conference room.



Around a glass table sat a group of athletic women in revealing outfits. At the head of the table sat Highmother in an ornate high-backed chair that demanded respect for the woman who sat in it. The women were already deep in discussion, but they stopped when Adam and Emily entered.



Adam glanced nervously at the ceiling.



Good, no chains.



“We have a guest,” said Highmother, standing. Both sides of her toga-inspired gown were slit to the waist, and the gown’s loose-fitting bodice did not prevent her hefty bosom from swaying hypnotically as she rose from her chair. The others at the table rose in deference to her authority. “Welcome, Adam! I hope that you have been treated well since your arrival. I understand you’ve endured a great deal before your arrival.”



“I’ve been treated very well,” said Adam as Emily offered him a seat at the table. “And I’m grateful to all of you for saving my life.”



“Naturally,” said Highmother as she and the others were seated, “but I believe we may be able to help each other. I had hoped that I could allow a few days for you to recover from your ordeal, but events now force us to act without delay. Emily, I’m afraid you won’t be getting a day off after all, as much as you deserve one.”



“Whatever it takes,” she said, setting her bare bottom in the chair next to Adam’s.



“That goes for me, too,” said Adam. “But I’m not sure what you need me to do.”



“You, Adam, have intimate knowledge of Bitch Helga’s lair at the Academy,” revealed Highmother. “Our intelligence concerning the layout of the fortress and her lair is badly out of date, and none of our surveillance has been able to penetrate it. Helga and her mentor, Mistress Kathy, guard their secrets very closely, yet according to your own online postings, you’ve seen things that other outsiders haven’t.”



“I had the full tour,” admitted Adam. “But first, I have some questions of my own. Like, what do you know about Mistress Helga?”



“Of course,” said Highmother. “We should start at the beginning.”



Highmother told the story of Helga as she knew it, although later, Adam would learn much more. The complete story, as Adam would later come to understand it, begins like this:



ELEVEN YEARS AGO, IN THE HEARTLAND OF AMERICA . . .



St. Augustine’s School for Wayward Girls sat on the eastern side of a modest campus overlooking a courtyard with swings, a basketball hoop and a few trees. Its mission was to offer hope for teenage girls whose aberrant behavior was beyond the scope of most other intervention programs.



On the opposite side of its campus, St. Augustine’s School for Troubled Boys offered similar hope to out-of-control male youths.



A convent in the middle prevented funny business.



Most of the teens who ended up at St. Augustine’s had already been in trouble with the law, and some had seemed destined for a life in prison or worse. Many were dealing with drug addiction and alcoholism. And then there were those whose sexual experimentations were just too much for their parents to control.



Sister Camilla had the case file tucked under her arm, and thinking about it nearly made her weep.



The awful things that girl has done! Just awful!



There was little time. The girl was already eighteen, and when she no longer depended on her parents for room and board, the school’s ability to help would come to an abrupt end.



She carried the file down the hall, out the door, and into the courtyard. She had spotted Father Murphy and Reverend Mother Josephine by the basketball hoop, and hurried to meet them.



“Her parents are desperate to control her,” Sister Camilla complained, thrusting the file in front of them. “It is the most shocking case file I have ever seen!”



Father Murphy recognized the concern in her voice. “What exactly is she doing?”



Sister Camilla seemed at a loss for words. “Experimenting,” she finally whispered, “with boys.”



“Ah,” said Father Murphy. “It’s unfortunate, but we deal with troubled teens, after all.”



Sister Camilla fidgeted with embarrassment. “I don’t think you quite understand, Father,” she said. “It’s not that she’s having sex with them. . . .



“Then what do you mean?”



“She’s . . .” Sister Camilla was choosing her words carefully. “She’s hurting them.”



The Reverend Mother Josephine, whose 45 years of experience as a counselor had given her some authority on such matters, nodded her understanding. “She’s bullying them.”



Again, Sister Camilla fidgeted. “Not in the traditional sense, no. She doesn’t hit them or steal their money. Instead, she . . . Well, she’s been humiliating them—privately.”



“Hmmmm,” said Father Murphy. “And the boys naturally resent her for this.”



Sister Camilla fidgeted mightily. “Nnnnnnnnno. . . . They don’t.” She opened the file and handed it to him. “Just read for yourself.”



Father Murphy and the Reverend Mother looked over the file as Sister Camilla continued her awkward explanation. “Apparently, she lures boys into some private place by promising to have sex with them. But once they are there, she says she will only fulfill their wishes if they perform subservient and humiliating acts for her. She convinces them to remove their clothes and then she ties them up—with ropes, or sometimes their own clothing. She insists that they call her ‘mistress’—as if they were slaves!



“After tying one poor boy to the hood of his parents’ car, she wrote the words ‘Spanky Toy’ on his buttock with indelible ink and threatened to open the garage door for all the neighbors to see if he didn’t . . . Her exact words were ‘worship her cunt with his tongue.’ I think that’s a euphemism.”



“Sister,” the Reverend Mother gently reminded. “There are children nearby.”



“Sorry, Reverend Mother,” said Camilla in a hushed voice. “But you see the extent of the problem.”



“I’ve seen this type of behavior before,” said the Reverend Mother, “although never before in such a shocking fashion. I’m afraid it will take months of my lecturing to turn her around.”



“That may not be the right approach,” said Father Murphy who had been looking at the report with concern. “Her file indicates that she doesn’t respond well to authority figures. In fact, she doesn’t seem to acknowledge anyone’s authority but her own. If we start with a clumsy authoritarian approach, we may lose our credibility. On the other hand, someone closer to her own age might be able to connect with her on her own level.”



They glanced at the convent’s youngest nun who was, at that moment, counseling a student within the courtyard.



“I forbid it,” said the Reverend Mother. “She just took her vows!”



“She’s ready,” said Father Murphy. “I believe our newest recruit may be our best chance to reach this poor child.”



The Reverend Mother relented. “Perhaps you’re right.” She called across the courtyard. “Sister Helga?”



Across the courtyard, Sister Helga turned toward them, shyly brushing away red hair that had momentarily blocked her pretty smile.



“Could you come here please?” asked the Reverend Mother.



Sister Helga complied. She was very obedient.



“We would like you to talk to this troubled child,” said the Reverend Mother. “Her name is Darlene Carmichael, and she’s chosen a very dangerous path for herself.” She handed the case file to Sister Helga.



“She wants to be a dominatrix,” whispered Sister Camilla.



“Really?” asked Sister Helga uncertainly. “What does that mean?”



Sister Helga spent most of the day reviewing Darlene’s file. Although the young nun already possessed an intuitive understanding of human nature, she lacked any experience at all with sex—or the fetishes and behaviors associated with it. She attempted some research at the library, but the school’s resources were severely lacking on the subject.



When Sister Helga finally met the girl in question, she felt underprepared, but also felt a responsibility to the girl whom Father Murphy believed only she could help.



Helga introduced herself and explained her reasons for being there. She felt it was an achievement that she did not blush.

The hospital at Oasis had a shower room which had been hastily converted into a decontamination area. Two shapely doctors in gas masks and skintight latex hazmat suits entered the shower room pushing Adam in front of them.



He now wore a latex hazmat suit himself—tailored slightly differently from theirs, but just as form-fitting. The latex doctors had forced him to put on the suit before they’d brought him here.



The gas mask was uncomfortable, designed to fit tightly against the latex hood that gripped his head. The suit had been somehow made from a single piece of latex with only a single opening for his face and a single zipper extending from the small of his back to just under his scrotum. The latex was tough, flexible, and mostly opaque except at key stretch points which made him reluctant to do any serious reaching or bending.



Not that he had much choice. The doctors had handled him roughly on the journey back to the hospital. They had explained nothing to him except the urgency of his immediate quarantine.



“I still don’t understand,” he complained. “What’s this all about?”



“We’re decontaminating,” said the doctor through her mask. “You should have told us Bitch Helga was experimenting on you.”



With their suits still on, the doctors in white latex lathered each other thoroughly, giving intimate attention to every curve and crevice of their bodysuits, making sure that each part of the suits were sanitized and free of faults. As he watched, Adam had to admire their attention to detail—and the tailor who had made the suits so functional yet so flattering.



Then the doctors turned the same attention to him, unsatisfied that he could perform such a demanding task for himself. They were particularly concerned with the parts of his body that were likely to secrete moisture, inspecting those regions of his bodysuit carefully for punctures or tears which might put them at risk.



They lathered. They rinsed. They repeated.



They toweled off each other, then him. After a while, he suspected they were enjoying the activity, but through their masks, he couldn’t tell.



When they were dry, the women stripped to the nude in front of him. The women were even more beautiful when unclothed, although they looked a bit sweaty from the activity.



They instructed him to leave his gas mask and suit on.



They led him back to his hospital room and locked him inside. An orderly brought him lunch, but she instructed him not to remove his mask to eat it until after she had left room.



Two hours passed with no explanation. Finally the orderly returned and asked him to accompany her. He asked if he could loosen the straps on his mask, only a little bit—but this only agitated her.



He was led to the lounge where he found Highmother and one of his doctors sitting around a coffee table and talking about him.



Highmother seemed a bit embarrassed.



“Please accept our apologies for the way you’ve been treated. Especially for the way I treated you. We were forced to place you in quarantine until we could assess the severity of your condition.”



The doctor now wore a lab coat over a short leather minidress. Adam suspected she had been one of the latex doctors who had dragged Highmother away, but he hadn’t seen their faces then, so he couldn’t be certain. She stared at him angrily and pointed at the chair in which she intended him to sit. The moment he did, the doctor leveled an accusation at him.



“How long have you known that you’re irresistible to women?”



Few men, if any, have ever been prepared for such a question. He stared back at her for several seconds before he realized she couldn’t see his expression of disbelief through his mask.



“Me?”



“Don’t be coy,” said the doctor. “You are producing pheromones at thirty times the normal rate, and those pheromones are bonded to some kind of empathy-dampening agent that compels women to take advantage of you. You must have known this.”



It was alarming to hear this out loud, yet he wasn’t surprised. It confirmed a theory he’d had for some time.



“Eve said it was a side effect of being on the island.”



“That doesn’t explain the physical changes,” insisted the doctor. “There’s something in your blood we can’t identify that’s rewriting your DNA—toning your muscles, enhancing your anatomy.”



Highmother added, “The island increases people’s libido, but it’s never caused the changes we’ve seen in you. To our knowledge, only Helga’s ‘boy toys’ have ever had such symptoms.”



The doctor continued, “Women around you are not just aroused. Those with a prolonged exposure have their desire to dominate stimulated until they’re incapable of mercy. Considering where we found you, I can’t explain how you’re still alive.”



At this point, Emily entered the room sleekly dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and a miniskirt. She carried a mass of papers which she dramatically plopped onto the table.



“Here’s the intel we have on the boy toy serum.” When Emily realized who it was behind the mask and latex, she smiled and twirled her hair like a school girl. “Hello, Adam! Your hazmat suit flatters you!”



“Don’t encourage him,” warned the doctor with disgust. “You’re still afflicted.”



Emily pouted at the doctor before opening the file.



“After the fiasco with her boy toys, Helga continued her experiments. As far as we know, everyone who took the serum . . .” She paused and looked at Adam. “Are you sure we want him to hear this?”



“He has the right to know everything,” insisted Highmother.



She continued more cautiously.



“Everyone who took the serum . . . died. Not from the serum. From abuse. At the hands of others. Most in kinky sex play engineered by Helga herself, suggesting that she’s not immune to the influence of her own tests.”



“The boy toys?” asked Highmother.



“They were the first, but not the last,” said Emily. “She kept some of her victims isolated so that she couldn’t be tempted to abuse them, but in her absence, they each went insane.”



“That proves my theory,” said the doctor. “Adam is insane.”



“I think I want a second opinion,” said Adam. “And I’m not a test subject.”



“Clearly, he is,” insisted the doctor. “Nothing else can explain such changes in his anatomy. His cock is enormous.”



Emily giggled, but a glare from the doctor quickly silenced her.



The glare turned toward Adam. “When did you first notice the physical change?”



“Almost right away,” admitted Adam. “Eve said it was nothing to worry about.”



“She would,” said the doctor with disgust. “Are you sure Bitch Helga never injected you with anything while you were on the island?”



“Not on the island, no.”



“According to the intel,” added Emily, “Helga was also working on a topical solution.”



“How about it?” demanded the doctor. “Did she put any creams or lotions on you?”



“Actually,” said Adam with some reflection, “there was a lot of that. It was kind of a regular thing.”



“If he is a test subject, it might explain Helga’s interest in him,” said Emily. “She was trying to engineer a perfect slave, and she may regard Adam as her first successful test.”



“But he’s not the perfect slave,” said Highmother. “He resists being dominated, even by me.”



“That is puzzling,” said the doctor. “Are we sure he’s really a submissive?”



Emily interrupted, “He enjoyed being dominated by me.”



“That means nothing,” said Highmother, “if he’s insane.”



“I just said that he was,” insisted the doctor. “Why does no one listen?”



“ENOUGH!”



Everyone in the room was startled into silence.



None of them had ever heard Adam shout before.



Even he was surprised.



In a much calmer voice, he continued. “In the last few months I’ve met the most dangerous women I’ve ever known and been humbled in ways I’ve never imagined.”



Adam paused to make sure they were listening. They were.



“I’ve been cuffed, gagged, stripped, fondled, shipped, drugged, boxed, dangled and fucked, so I’m not the man I was. How could I be? But I’m not answering any more questions about how big my dick has been or how submissive I’m supposed to be. None of these questions are important. Not to me. Not anymore. All the women who want to control me are getting in the way of what I have to do.”



He waited for someone to challenge him. No one did.



“I’m going to find Eve,” he said. “Whether you help or not, I’m going to rescue my mistress.”



When no one responded, Adam was sure that he had said too much.



“That’s it!” said Emily in a flash of inspiration.



The other two women looked at her uncomprehendingly.



“I finally understand what makes Adam different from Helga’s other test subjects,” she said, “and why Adam stayed sane while the others went mad. We should have seen it before! The boy toys weren’t in mutually caring relationships, so they could never satisfy their urges. They had no positive outlet for the impulses they were having. They weren’t in love!”



The doctor gave her a long skeptical stare. “Your theory, Agent Emily, is unscientific and stupid.”



“Adam has made his point, however,” said Highmother. “The purpose of this meeting was to determine how best to deal with his condition. Do we continue to keep him in a containment suit?”



“The influence of his pheromones will probably wear off with time,” said the doctor, “but he’s still a threat. He must continue to wear the suit and gas mask while in the presence of others, and he must only eat and bathe while alone.”



Adam did not like it, but he did not object.



“Then it shall be so,” said Highmother, rising. “We have much to do before this afternoon’s mission briefing. Adam, I want you to work with Emily. Answer all of her questions about the Citadel. We will need maps that include every detail you can recall.”



“I’ll help any way I can,” said Adam. “We should expect the unexpected when we get to the island.”



Again, Highmother and Emily exchanged glances. “Adam,” she said with some reluctance, “you have to understand, we can’t allow you to go back to the island.”



“What? You can’t leave me behind!”



“Your determination is admirable, but you are too important to our cause. You’ve not had the proper training—or had time to recover from your ordeal with the Countess. There is also your condition to consider. I forbid you to go.”



Adam did not think he could change her mind but did not consider the matter closed. Instead he reluctantly agreed to Highmother’s wish and resolved to pursue the matter later.



The plan, as explained in brief by Emily, was for a covert team to infiltrate the island and shut down its automatic defense grid. It sounded plausible, but Emily was hesitant to explain the details, saying it would all be made clear at the mission briefing.



After more than two hours of discussion about the minutia of Citadel layout and security, Adam and Emily produced a modest collection of notes, maps and diagrams. Emily digitized all of this information and disseminated it among the covert team members who had been training for the mission.



Late that afternoon, they were summoned to a meeting to introduce Adam to the rest of the team. Adam and Emily walked to the meeting room, and on the way, Emily asked what seemed at first to be a rhetorical question.



“Are you familiar with the work of Della Tiara?”



Adam, like most people, knew her name well. It was a name that called to mind glamorous images from magazine covers and billboards all over the country.



“The supermodel Della Tiara?” he asked, not understanding where the question was leading. “The woman the tabloids are calling the next Heidi Klum?”



“Yeah, the spokeswoman for Glamour Girl Cosmetics and all those other products. It might interest you to know that she’s one of the newest recruits to teach at the Academy’s Domination School.”



“She’s a glamour model and a dominatrix? That’s not her image at all.”



“Yeah, well, she was spotted at some of the more exclusive fetish clubs in L.A. When the Academy got word of it, they started to recruit her aggressively.”



“Why does the Academy want to recruit someone so high-profile?”



“They think she can help recruit others. They need more slaves, and someone like her has a lot of contacts. Imagine what kind of mail a supermodel gets. Hundreds of lonely guys write to her and will agree to do anything she asks if she’ll just give them some attention. So she invites them out to the island, pretends to be interested, and gets them to sign a slave contract. When she has the signature, she signs the contract over to Mistress Kathy and collects a commission.”



“Holy shit. She’s doing that?”



“Not yet. Like I said, she’s a recruit, and our intel says she starts her new job at the Academy this week.”



“That’s pretty evil. But what does that have to do with us?”



“We think she would be valuable to us as a double agent.”



Adam whistled out loud. “Is she on our side?”



“We’ve attempted to recruit her into our Sisterhood (for a lot of the same reasons the Academy has), but she knows we’re competing with the Academy for her loyalty, so she’s been . . . Let’s say demanding. Still, Highmother has agreed to meet her demands if she can come through for us, and we’ve been attempting to finalize our arrangement with her. Our plan for getting on the island unnoticed would depend on her cooperation, and that would involve some risk on her part.”



Emily led Adam into a building which seemed designed to impress visitors. There was a lobby where a young woman in a blazer told them they were expected.



“The rest of the team is waiting to meet you,” said Emily. “Don’t be nervous.”



His skintight latex did not inspire self-confidence, but he tried to relax as Emily led him toward the meeting room.



Adam asked, “Do you really think a celebrity like Della Tiara will take such a risk for us?”



“We’re about to find out,” said Emily. “She’s in the next room.”



Emily swung open the door beyond which Adam saw Highmother chatting with one of the most recognizable women on earth lounging comfortably on a loveseat. He was glad that his gas mask hid his surprise.



Della Tiara was also surprised. “Is that him?” she asked. “Is this the miracle boy you’ve been telling me about? If he escaped the island dressed like that, I’m impressed!”



“He wore less,” said Highmother grinning. “He was entirely naked when they found him.”



“I’m sorry I missed that.” She rose to her feet and offered her hand. “Della Tiara.”



“Adam,” he said, shaking her hand. Feeling like an idiot, he added, “I’m familiar with your work.”



“Most men are,” she said without a hint of irony. Her confidence would have been off putting if Adam hadn’t been so awed by her celebrity status.



“This is Agent Emily,” continued Highmother. “She’ll be working with you on the island.”



“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Tiara,” said Emily.



“Perky,” said Della Tiara. “I like her.” The supermodel’s beauty was as impressive in person as it had been on billboards and television. She made herself comfortable on a stool at the wet bar where a drink had already been prepared for her.



There were two other women in the room who were familiar to him. They were introduced as Agents Jamie and Jackie. Adam remembered Jamie from the helicopter, but he could not remember where he had met Jackie before.



“Tell me about this dangerous plan of yours,” said Della Tiara.



Highmother tapped a button on a laptop which caused a map to appear on a wide screen. It was a map of the Citadel which Adam had sketched out only an hour or so earlier. This began a lengthy audio visual presentation which laid out the details of the island’s security—details which Adam already knew.



“The foundation of our plan is this,” explained Highmother. “We propose that when you report to your new duties at the Academy, Ms. Tiara, you will bring your own personal slave with you. There is some precedent for this, is there not?”



“It’s been known,” said the model.



“That slave will be one of our own people—Agent Emily. Once you’re inside the Citadel, you can give her access to one of Mistress Helga’s computers. She will download a program which will disable the island’s automated defense system, allowing our invasion force to storm the Citadel from the beach.”



“You said that the Academy is already familiar with your agents,” recalled Della Tiara. “Isn’t that why you need my help? Your spy will be recognized.”



“No, she won’t—because Emily will be a latex slave. We have devised a slave contract for you which explicitly states that she must wear a mask and a rubber suit at all times and that only you, her mistress, will be allowed to see her face. Such an arrangement is unusual, but not unreasonable among extreme fetishists such as yourself. No one will recognize Emily because, by contractual obligation to you, she’ll be masked.”



“Plausible,” said Della Tiara. “But she’ll have to be convincing. Is she willing to perform the functions of my personal slave? I won’t make it pleasant for her.”



“She has proven herself to be extremely pliable—and effective—in a variety of roles,” assured Highmother.



“I see,” said the model. As if looking for defects, she looked at Agent Emily’s athletic figure judiciously. She gently tugged the hem of the blonde’s turtleneck and asked, “Would you mind?”



“Not at all,” said Emily. The blonde pulled off her sweater and dropped her miniskirt. Attired only in boots and a thong, she posed for the supermodel with a confidence that almost matched the model’s own.



“Not to put too fine a point on this, but I want to be perfectly clear,” said the model, looking her over. “Once on the island, I will abuse her. I will humiliate her and take advantage of her in ways she won’t be expecting. If I don’t, the Academy will be suspicious. Is that going to be a problem for her?”



Agent Emily stepped forward and put an arm on Della Tiara’s shoulder. “Would you like me to demonstrate?” She placed a thumb inside the lining of her thong as if waiting for the model’s next instruction.



The supermodel smiled as she considered the offer. “Perky and committed. I knew I liked her.”



Adam’s latex ached.



Gently, the supermodel pushed Emily away. “No need to demonstrate. Not just yet.”



“We’ve taken every precaution for your safety, Ms. Tiara,” said Highmother. “If your cover story is exposed or something else goes wrong, just activate the emergency transmitter we’ve given you, and we’ll have an extraction team meet you at the rendezvous point to bring you to safety.”



“But if we fail,” noted Della Tiara, “your extraction team won’t be able to get through the automatic defense thingy around the island.”



“We’ve acquired one craft—only one—with the necessary recognition software to penetrate the perimeter,” said Highmother. She touched a key on her keyboard, and the image of a small, fast boat appeared on the screen. “By itself, it’s not adequate for an invasion force, but it’s more than enough for a rescue team.”



“That’s the boat Eve and I used to escape the island!” said Adam. “I sold that on Craig’s List!”



“You sold it to me,” said Agent Jackie, and Adam suddenly realized where they had met before. “When we saw your ad, we knew we had to act quickly before the Academy reclaimed its boat.”



“One more thing for which we are in your debt, Adam,” said Highmother. “In time, we may be able to duplicate the boat’s recognition software, but that would take valuable time. With Ms. Tiara’s help, we can act without delay.”



Now that the details of the invasion plan had been fully laid out, everyone looked at Della Tiara to see if she would agree. Much depended on what she would say next.



“By your own admission,” she said, retrieving her drink from the bar, “this plan is dangerous.”



“Nothing worthwhile is without risk,” said Highmother.

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