On Thursday morning, after Luke left early for work and Brooke went for a run, I removed from Brooke's closet the the gossamer jacket I had worn to the Ren fair and put it into the trunk of my Prius along with the canvas shoes and white tights that had completed my humiliating "Little Foot Page" costume. I dared not disappoint Anna a second time.
Fortunately, I didn't have any punishment writing lines to complete after I cleaned her and Paul's apartment on Tuesday. Brooke didn't force me to wear any new feminine accessory that day. She was so fond of the choker that it had become an almost regular part of my daily attire.
As she kissed me goodbye that morning before I left for campus, she fingered the choker and my neck, saying, "I like this on you. Maybe I'll order another one with a subtle little ring on it."
I often couldn't tell when Brooke was joking or not.
"You mean something where someone could attach a leash? Like a slave collar? Please, Brooke. This is bad enough."
"No, it wouldn't have to stick out like that. I said 'subtle,' didn't I? The ring could be flat against your neck. That style is very common. It's sexy. But I do think we can get you a proper collar to wear at home. I'm thinking leather with silver studs and a nice ring in the front. That one will definitely stick out. Luke and I will look for something on-line."
Again, was she joking or not? She gave me her full, dimpled smile as she spoke, but that didn't tell me conclusively one way or another. Nevertheless, her smile, her touch and the nature of the conversation all conspired to cause my liberated cock to grow hard in the lace panties I was wearing under my khakis. I was hoping she wouldn't notice, so she wouldn't lock me back up; several hours later, I was wishing that she had noticed.
Except for regular cleanings, and one or two supervised, humiliating releases, I had been locked up pretty consistently over the previous 2 1/2 months. Therefore, I truly enjoyed my freedom most of that Thursday. I had an almost incessant erection, fortunately mostly concealed by my khakis (which were looser than most of the pants I was permitted to wear), even while waiting in line to get Neil's coffee and while walking across campus in a light snow to bring it to his office. The phrase "microaggressions" had become trendy on college campuses such as mine, referring to insensitive comments people make that are discriminatory or insulting, often even without intending to be. As I knocked on the door to Neil's office, I thought to myself how I was being subjected not to microaggesions at my college, but rather to microhumiliations. Such as fetching Neil's coffee.
"Come in," said Neil, through the door.
Remarkably, seated in the one chair across from Neil's desk was Paul Betz. Yet again! Alarming and suspicious. Or was I simply being paranoid? Neither of them made any effort to get up from their seats.
I was holding the cup of coffee in a paper bag. Feeling like an idiot, I placed the bag on Neil's desk.
"Thanks for the coffee, pal," Neil said, as he removed the cup from the bag. "It's a bit cold."
"Sorry, it's snowing out there," I replied, absurdly, as if it was even remotely somehow my fault that his coffee wasn't hot.
"No worries. I'll warm it up in my microwave. Paul and I were just discussing some swimming techniques. Paul's team has a big meet this weekend. Is it okay if I catch up with you later?"
Paul looked up at me with an arrogant smirk. I thought to myself: how much strategy could there possibly be to discuss? You jump in the pool and you swim.
"Of course," I said. "I'll talk to you later."
And just like that, I was dismissed. The coffee boy had delivered the coffee and was no longer needed. Why should I care about suffering this microhumiliation in front of Paul, who a few hours later would be subjecting me to any number of macro humiliations? Simply because he was gaining even greater knowledge about me, the nature of my relationships with others in my social circle and the breadth of my submission. Knowledge is power. More knowledge about me, more power over me. Nothing good could possibly come of it.
Paul was his usual arrogant self in class that afternoon, and it was clear that he, Anna and Kelly were all in exaggeratedly good moods, no doubt savoring the thought of interacting with me under radically different circumstances only a few hours later.
Anna was wearing black tights, a short, plaid skirt and black ankle boots. She propped her feet up on the desk in front of her next to Paul's and said, "Oh, look how dirty my boots are from all the puddles of slush."
Paul added, "Mine too. Fortunately, our shoeshine boy will be visiting later."
Kelly sitting two seats to their left, giggled and said, "The cold weather makes me ravenous. What's for dinner tonight, Anna?"
Anna grinned and answered, "Beef stroganoff. Our shoeshine boy is also an excellent cook, supposedly. A real Renaissance boy."
"Not a Medieval boy?", said Kelly. She and Anna both laughed.
Scanning the room, I didn't believe the other students were picking up on all of the innuendo (or, if they were, I didn't think they understood what it meant). Nevertheless, one serious female student, not part of Kelly's clique, looked at me as if to say, "Why are you letting these clowns do and say whatever they want? Why don't you take control of your classroom?" How I longed to do just that, to put the three of them in their place with some witty remark, as I would have done in the past. The pain of Paul's spanking on Tuesday still fresh in my mind (if not on my bottom), however, I bit my tongue and timidly began my lecture.
After class, I went to the grocery store to purchase all of the ingredients for Anna's prescribed menu of beef stroganoff, Italian green beans, and a starter spinach salad with warm bacon dressing (she had even directed me to her preferred recipes on-line -- I had tested the salad and dressing on Brooke, with positive reviews). I also purchased the two bottles of not inexpensive red wine specified by Paul.
When I arrived at their condo, holding multiple grocery bags, my nemesis doorman was lying in wait for me, like a snarky Cerberus dressed as a bellhop. My underworld was eleven flights up, however.
"I'm going to apartment 11B. Paul Betz."
"I have to announce you. Who should I say is calling?"
"The cook. Please tell him the cook is here."
He spoke into the intercom phone, smirking at me, "Mr. Betz. Someone calling himself the cook is here to visit you. Although I'm pretty sure it's the same guy who announced himself as the maid on Tuesday. May I send him up?"
Still holding the phone, he then addressed me: "Mr. Betz said they are expecting the maid, not the cook. What should I tell him?"
I sighed. "Please tell him the maid is here."
"Mr. Betz. He is now no longer pretending to be a cook, but has announced himself as the maid. Very good, sir, I'll send him right up then." He put down the phone, his expression more smug by the second, and said, "You may now go up. The elevator..."
I interrupted him. "I know perfectly well where the elevator is, thank you."
He stopped smirking to glare at me with annoyance for a moment, before resuming his smirk as I entered the elevator with my shopping bags.
When I got to their door, I got down on my knees and waited. Behind the door, I heard talking and sporadic laughter. They only kept me waiting about five minutes that day, and fortunately I was spared any encounters with Paul's and Anna's neighbors. It was during those five minutes on my knees, staring down at my cock pushing out my khakis, that I came to the belated realization that it probably wasn't a good thing to be free of my chastity cage in the circumstances in which I then found myself. As I continued to wait, a sense of panic began to set in, which paradoxically only increased my arousal.
When the door finally opened, I was greeted by Kelly. I was eye level with her short, blue skirt. I looked down at her sheer stocking-encased legs and black, strap-on heels before looking up at her grinning face. She had been wearing jeans in class, but had obviously dressed up for the exciting occasion of being served dinner by her submissive professor. I have not really described Kelly's appearance much before now, other than to say that she is attractive. Kelly has shoulder length, thick, brown hair and sort of a button nose. She is slender, but not as tall as Anna or Brooke. I would describe her more as cute than truly beautiful like the other two. However, by "cute," I don't want to suggest that Kelly isn't sexy. She is, but more in a teasing, playful way than the regal Anna. Sometimes it's those cute, playful ones that you really have to watch out for, I was to learn.
Generally speaking, it occurred to me that, on the cusp of turning 40, I was surrounded by -- and subservient to -- a number of meaningfully younger people, most of whom were well above average in the looks department. There are a lot of overweight Americans -- more in Ohio than in the Northeast, I thought (I'm sure Neil would have said that observation was still further evidence of my elitism) -- including a lot of overweight students on my campus. For whatever reason, however, I was this bookish, unathletic guy now surrounded by athletes (Luke, Paul, Anna, Kevin, and even my one contemporary in terms of age, Neil), or fitness freaks (Brooke) or the generally attractive people who they chose to associate with (like Kelly, Laura, and Brooke's estranged friend, Michelle). Growing up, my social circle tended to consist of the less attractive -- the geeks, the nerds, the social outcasts. So, being surrounded by the cool, beautiful people was new for me, and exciting. So much toned, taut young flesh. Of course, I was not, nor am not now, their equal. Not even close. I'm their servant, their lackey, their toy. But that's part of what makes the dynamic so exciting, so arousing. For me, certainly. But also for most of them, I believe (Brooke excepted; I am confident that there is a lot more depth to our relationship with each other, than to our relationships with all the others).
As I looked up at Kelly, these thoughts running through my head, I consoled myself that at least I wasn't being subjugated, teased and tormented by physically repulsive people. Remembering Brooke's advice to go with the flow, I tried to tell myself to be grateful for small favors.
"Hi, Professor Rollins!", said Kelly, brightly.
"Hi, Kelly," I sheepishly replied.
"Oh, come now, professor. We're not in class now. I think the proper way to address me here is Miss Kelly, don't you agree?"
"Yes, Miss Kelly, of course."
"You may enter," she said. Seeing Paul behind her, I remembered to shuffle on my knees into the apartment, bags in either hand.
Paul said, "What time do you need to be home tonight, Rollins? Where are Luke and Brooke?"
"Thursday night they almost always go out, sir. If you recall, that's why we picked Thursday evenings for me to...to come here. Luke is taking Brooke out to dinner tonight at a restaurant near his house. The earliest they'll be home, I think, is around 10:30, unless they decide to spend the night at Luke's. I'd like to be home by 10, just to be on the safe side, sir, if possible," I replied.
Kelly said to Paul, "I like the 'sirs.' I see that you've been training him well."
