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Gordon was seated at his desk deeply involved in the analysis of several stocks displayed on his computer screen. His pager beeped and he glanced at the number showing on the display. It was Mistress Florence. He returned her call immediately with his cell phone. Florence answered using a scrambler device to prevent anyone from listening in to her telephone calls. Her caller ID told her it was Gordon returning her page. "Speak Slave," she said.
"You paged me Mistress. What may I do for you?" Gordon responded.
"I'm having some friends for cocktails and dinner this evening. They will arrive promptly at six thirty p.m., so you must be ready. To save time, I'm sending you, by courier, some things to wear. I want you to put everything on, under your suit, just as soon as you receive them. I will expect you to be home no later then six o'clock.
"Alteisha is preparing dinner and you must be there in time to greet our guests, serve the cocktails and serve dinner to our guests. The courier should arrive within minutes. Even though you still have several hours to work, I want you to put on the things I'm sending you, just as soon as the courier leaves," Florence hung up without waiting for an acknowledgment, or a goodbye.
Gordon was uneasy, but returned to his analysis, even as he heard someone talking to his secretary, Maureen. "Mr. Phillips, there is a courier here with a package for you. He says that he must get your personal signature on the receipt," Maureen said on the intercom.
"Send him in, Maureen," Gordon told her. A tall black man, in a courier's uniform, entered Gordon's office carrying a package. Gordon recognized him immediately. It was Robert. "Hello," said Gordon, without using any name recognition. Robert smiled and nodded hello as he gave the package to Gordon and offered the receipt pad for signature. Gordon quickly signed the receipt, and returned to his computer.
Robert left right away. Maureen asked Gordon if she should open the package for him, but he declined, asking her to shut the door behind her as she left. When he was alone Gordon quickly locked his office door and opened the package. It contained his net cock and ball restraint, the butt plug, a thin leather collar with a chain, a pair of crotchless frilly panties, net stockings, a garter belt, brassiere with openings for his nipples and his maids uniform.
Gordon undressed and swiftly put on the clothes Mistress Florence had sent him. The butt plug was difficult to insert without lubricant, but he improvised by using his saliva to provide some lubrication. Even with the saliva, the plug felt as though it was dry and Gordon suffered to fully insert it into his ass, but at last it was done. Gordon attached the chain to the ring on the net cock and balls restraint, through the butt plug ring and then to the leather collar about his neck. He put on his shirt, tie, and suit over his maid's uniform. Fully dressed, Gordon placed his male underwear in his briefcase, unlocked his door and returned to his work.
The butt plug was even more uncomfortable in his office environment, than when wearing it at home. Sitting directly on it drove it deep into his ass, causing discomfort during the course of his work. More vexing than the butt plug was the cock and ball restraint, which kept pulling at his genitals with every movement he made. The chain pulled harshly at his cock and balls and the butt plug, each time he moved.
Mistress Florence had deliberately made the chain shorter than usual to add to his discomfort, thus reminding him of who was in control. No matter, he relished his role. It was not a 'predicament', as some might think. For Gordon it was total liberation from the concerns and misgivings of daily life. His existence was now the concern of his Mistress, who knew far better than he, what he needed to be happy. What she required of him was love, devotion, obedience and worship of his Mistress. She would provide everything else necessary. He was totally content.
Exactly at five forty five p.m., Gordon shut down his computer, grabbed his briefcase and left his office for the weekend. He told Maureen to have a nice weekend and hurried to the elevator. Maureen followed closely behind him as he left and joined him in the elevator. She smiled at him as they descended the twelve stories to the garage below.
"Mr. Phillips," she began, "What are your plans for this weekend? I hear the weather will be gorgeous, will you be going to the beach?" He became surprised and slightly uncomfortable at her asking into his activities. Usually, she was pretty closed mouthed and private, but he shrugged it off with his answer.
"No. I will stay home," he replied curtly, but courteously.
"I'm going to the beach with some girl friends," said Maureen, in a tone that he sensed she was not too thrilled about her weekend plans.