Mr Taylor's Tribulations

On the way home in her large Jaguar, my wife tried to suppress a snicker, which became a snigger, and finally a full-blown laugh.

We were giving her sexy best friend, Paula Pain, a lift back to our place for drinks after my second humiliation session with Maitresse Yvette, and I was – naturally – in the back seat, my rightful place, I guess, now I was being trained as my wife's sex slave.

"What's so funny?" asked the blue-eyed blonde, as Tanya negotiated heavy afternoon traffic.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Tanya, "but it's that appalling woman Yvette. If I hear her come out with another 'horal' for oral, or 'horgasm' for orgasm I know I'll simply burst out laughing and it will totally spoil the mood of the punishment session."

Paula nodded. "I know what you mean. One 'horal' or 'horgasm' is quite amusing to start with, but constant repetition does tend to make it less and less funny."

"I mean," said Tanya, exchanging honked horns with an idiot in a delivery van who cut across our bows without any signal, "who does she think she's kidding?"

"Agreed," said Paula. "Before I engaged her to conduct the behaviour modification for my bastard of a husband I did some inquiries into her. Do you what her real name is?"

Tanya shook her head.

It was now Paula's turn to laugh. "It's Betty French – hence the assumed nationality, I suppose – and she's from Hounslow. Hounslow – I ask you!"

Tanya gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Oh fuck, that's so precious." And then my wife put on an imitation French accent: "Bonjour, mon esclave, je suis Betty French from 'Ounslow. 'Ow would you like to geev me an horal horgasm?"

Paula and Tanya both burst into laughter and I must admit I had to fight back a fit of the giggles.

When they'd both recovered, Tanya announced: "Well, I've had enough of it. I've decided that I know enough about how to dom poor old Rupert by now. And you can help me out, as well.

"I'm giving 'Maitresse Yvette' her marching orders. Next week, instead of her bloody silly 'passing out parade' I intend to have you and my sister Vanya along to complete his 'passing out' parade, more of a graduation ceremony, I think."

My heart gave a leap – no more humiliation at the hands of the sexy but awful fake-maitresse.

"Hold on," said Paula, "there will be a cancellation fee."

"No problem," said Tanya, "slut in the back seat here can pay it – after all, he's been paying for his behavioural modification sessions anyway."

She drove on for a moment, then added: "Rupert, I'm in such a good mood, I'm going to let you invite one more person along next Monday. That'll make four of us – an ideal number for some serious domination."

Once more my heart gave a leap. A choice! My penis started to stir in my pants and once it got fully aroused I knew there was no way it would go down – I was still wearing the anal intruder and the rubber bands were still strapped to my slave's collar.

"Who's it to be, Rupert?" asked my wife. "Make a choice."

I remembered Mrs Frobisher's hushed "We must do this again soon" which she had whispered to me during our dry hump and after she had urinated down my mouth. I had fancied the tall, long-legged blonde, even though she had slightly smaller breasts than my wife, my sister-in-law, or Paula.

"Mrs Frobisher, please, darling," I said, trying to keep the excitement from my voice. But Tanya spotted it instantly.

"Oh, Paula, he's got the hots for Jan Frobisher," she laughed. "You fancy her, don't you, slut?"

I nodded my head. "Yes, darling, she's rather lovely."

Tanya laughed. "Good, I'll remind her, we can get her to do something really diabolical to you, then."

Later that week, my wife informed me she had called "Maitresse Yvette" and cancelled any further sessions. But my relief was tempered by Tanya's next remark. "And tomorrow," she said, "you're taking me up to Soho so we can visit a sex shop and get some items for your continued punishment."

Tanya allowed me to drive her Jaguar up to town the next day. The Lotus, she reckoned, was too cramped. After leaving Naomi in charge, Tanya took me to a sex shop not four doors away from my BDSM book store. It had a sign hanging on the door "Closed: fuck off and come back later". I felt somewhat relieved, but it was only temporary.

Tanya rapped on the door and a curtain was pulled back. A hard-looking middle-aged woman peered at my wife, then me, then unlocked the door.

"Ello dearie," she said to me.

"Hello, Deidre," I replied. Deidre was a "regular" at my book shop, often purchasing books to read up on the latest fads and styles in sado-mashochism. "And you must be Mrs Taylor, eh love?"

"Hello, Deidre," said Tanya. "Well, as I explained on the phone, I need some gear. So do your sales spiel."

The busty, blowsy blonde, garbed garishly in a black leather mini, knee high leather boots and a leather jacket, its red contrasting hideously with the skirt and boots, smiled: "It'll be my pleasure, ducks – but I doubt that it'll be his 'ighness's."

Deidre then sold my wife an array of floggers, crops, whips and ball-busting parachutes – sorry, make that parachute, Tanya decided only one would be necessary. She purchased nipple clamps, weights for my ball bag, a spreader bar, a rubber ball gag and a dildo gag.

"Now for the piece de resistance," said Deidre, thankfully making no Mistress Yvette attempt at French pronunciation, "we've got this luvverly floggin' frame."

She pointed to a pair of metal poles standing about seven feet high and four feet wide, joined at the top by a cross bar. It stood on castor wheels and had various straps and D-rings attached.

"We'll never get it in the car," said Tanya.

"Yus, you will, luvvy," said Deidre, "it's collapsible."

"Ingenious," said Tanya, running a hand appreciatively along the gleaming metal pole. "I like it. Rupert, on the other hand, probably won't."

Deidre sniggered. "Give him time, ducks, and 'e'll beg you for it," she said. "All men love a bit of femdom from time to time in their lives and I bet old 'airy legs 'ere's no different, eh Rupert?"

I nodded. "I'm warming to it, Deidre," I smiled, amazed at what I was saying. I think I was still remembering Mrs Frobisher and her sweet-smelling snatch, her long legs, her pretty face. I began to get hard, merely thinking about her.

"Push off and browse around the other end of the shop," said Tanya, "there's something I need to discuss with Deidre privately."

I moved along the long racks of sex gear, crotchless panties, cut-out bras, bustiers, camisoles, you name it, while my wife spoke to Deidre and I saw a final package being wrapped and placed in a large bag containing all the equipment Tanya had purchased.

Then came time to pay – and this, of course, Tanya left to me. Deidre got a man from the back of the shop to load everything in the Jaguar, which had received a parking ticket by this time, as our meter had expired. "That's for you, too, slut," smiled Tanya, thrusting it at me before announcing she was off to golf and I could catch the train home.

At the week-end, Tanya prepared our living room for Monday's celebration of my "coming of age" as a sex slave. At least, that's the way she put it. The array of floggers was placed on a small table, along with gags and the parachute with its accompanying weights.

Then, after all the furniture was moved back against the walls, along with the dining table, the flogging frame was set up in the middle of the room and all was ready.

"Lovely," said Paula, clapping her hands in satisfaction. "All we need now is Vanya, Paula and Jan and your cup will be filled, eh my dear?" And with that she kissed me gently on the lips, then pressed her tongue into my mouth.

"All this arranging of whips and crops and the flogging frame has made me quite randy, you fucking filthy old philanderer, you. Come on, you can give me a dry 'ump, as the awful Betty French would say," she said, dragging me upstairs.

This was about the only way she used me to achieve orgasm now, although very occasionally she allowed me to perform cunnilingus on her shaved snatch. All in all, I think I preferred the "dry fuck", at least it meant I got to suck on her lovely breasts.

Monday dawned overcast and thundery. I made my now usual phone call to Naomi to arrange for her to take charge in the bookstore, and then Paula told me to get organised.

I had to shave and shower, them remove all the pubic hair from around my cock and balls, anus, back, shoulders, armpits, thighs and calves. She inspected me later to see that I had performed the task to her satisfaction. Some minute traces of bodily hair were removed after my eagle-eyed wife had carefully searched my body.

Around midday, the first of our visitors arrived. It was Paula's sister, the attractive Vanya, who I ushered into the house, as I stood nude, shielded from prying eyes in the street by the slightly ajar door. I was erect, which amused Vanya no end.

"So sweet, Rupert," she smiled, stepping into the hallway, "such a pity you've not got anywhere to put it!" And then she ran a cool hand over my manhood. "But I love playing with a man's rampant cock. Do you play with your cock, Rupert?"

"Yes," I said, lowering my head as she continued to stroke my erection, "but I'm not allowed to come."

"Oh that's great – orgasm denial, I love that game. Can I play it with you, Rupert?"

Just then my wife arrived on the scene. "Play what with him, sis?" she asked.

"Oh, hi, Tanya," said the younger woman, who still would not let go of my stiffy. "We've been chatting about orgasm denial games. I'd love to play that with him."

"Get undressed, then take him into the lounge and you can get going with him. Since you're here you may as well torture him, till everyone's arrived."

Vanya half pulled, half dragged me into a reception room and stepped out of her dress, revealing her lovely 35-year-old body, with pert 34-inch breasts in a black silk bra, her nipples clearly visible through the sheer material. The panties were made of similarly matching sheer silk, revealing her little tuft of brown pubic hair on her mons on an otherwise shaven pussy. On her hips a gleaming black satin suspender belt held up her stockings.

The sight of her caused my eight-inch cock to surge into what was possibly an even stiffer erection. Vanya noticed my interest and stepped into my arms. "Let's go, Rupert, I can't wait to see you start stroking yourself, you wicked old sex slave," she said, kissing me softly on the mouth and leading me out into our makeshift torture chamber.

Once inside, Vanya pulled an easy chair at the side of the room so it was facing the centre of the room, then sat in it, splaying one thigh across the arm, displaying the crotch of her little panties to my gaze. Then she placed a hand on her pussy.

"Now spread your feet, and start stroking your cock," she ordered, almost as if she had spoken to my wife and found out the usual pose I had to adopt for my wanking humiliation.

As I did so, and as I started stroking on my eight-inch stiffy, Vanya's hand began to stroke her pussy. Then she issued her second instruction – and then I knew she

must

have spoken to Tanya.

"Smear some pre-cum along the shaft, slave," she ordered, "I want to see it all shiny."

I obeyed her instruction, placing my wanking fingers inside the foreskin and spreading the juice along my shaft.

"Now the balls, don't forgot your ball bag, Mr Wanker," said Vanya, as I continued my masturbation.

My fingers smeared pre-cum on the swollen, distended ball bag.

"And tell me, Mr Sex Slut," said Vanya, as we both continued our masturbation, "what's the punishment for coming without permission?"

"It's awful," I whispered, which, of course, was not a reply.

"Of course it's fucking awful, Rupert," Vanya snapped, "but what the fuck is it?"

"Tanya makes me drink a glass of her first urine of the day if I misbehave and come without permission," I said, almost shuddering when I thought of the extremely brackish, salty, taste of her first bladder evacuation of the day.

Vanya chuckled – and just then Tanya entered the room with her best friend, Paula Pain.

"What if you come without permission?" Tanya inquired as she and Paula made for the comfort of the large leather couch, also facing me. "And who told you to stop stroking? Get fucking wanking, Mr Masturbator," she almost shrieked.

"Vanya asked what happens if I come without permission, darling," I said, as I resumed my hand work.

"Oh yes, the first of the day's piss," smiled Tanya. "Are we going to need to get a glass of that Rupert?"

"No, darling," I said, earnestly, "it won't be necessary. I'm going to control myself."

Paula spoke – a Paula who was looking absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, by the way. She was in a red PVC bra, with cut-outs at the nipples, and a pair red PVC panties, with a cut-out there, too. On her feet were red, wedged high heels.

"That's what all sex slaves say," she said, sneeringly. "My husband's just the same. 'Yes, dear, no, dear, three fucking bags full, dear' and then he tumbles and there's disgusting cum everywhere. Don't believe a word these slaves say, that's my advice."

Tanya stood – wearing a black leather bustier, open-breasted, no panties, high black leather boots which came to half-way up her sturdy, strong thighs.

"I've got a funny feeling you're right, Paula," she said, with almost a sigh of exasperation – even though I was dutifully stroking my cock and nowhere near reaching orgasm. "I'll go fetch a glass of my first morning's piss. No, on second thoughts, I'll make it a jug."

After she had left, Vanya stood up from her seat and walked towards me, as I continued to stroke my erection.

"Does Mr Slave want something to take his mind off his problem about coming?" she purred into my ear.

"Yes, please, Vanya," I said, as I kept up my stroking.

And my sister-in-law stepped out of her black silk panties and placed them on my face, arranging the gusset so it was draped on my mouth and nose. The aroma was powerful. Instead of taking my mind off ejaculation it increased my problem. Which was, naturally, Vanya's intention.

Just then Tanya returned, carrying a jug containing about a pint of thick, dark yellow liquid. She placed it on a stool just in front of me, and alongside it went a glass. "There, you wanker," she addressed me, "just a little reminder of what happens if you come without permission."

Then she pretended she had just spotted her sister's panties on my face. "Ooooh, how lovely," she laughed. "How nice of Vanya to provide you with some stimulating scents to take your thoughts away from controlling yourself. I hope you've thanked her for her consideration."

It was then that I began to feel the pressure building within me as the perfumed panties worked on my senses and as I looked at the three erotically-clad women seated in front of me.

Vanya and Paula didn't have any reaction but Tanya, who had by now plenty of experience in the wank torture game, picked up on my problem at once.

"Oh dear, my poor sex slave looks as if he's having a bit of a problem," said my wife, as the perspiration started to form on my forehead. "Does hubby wubby want an ickle resty westy?" she cooed, in humiliating child talk.

"Yes, please, darling," I sighed, as I kept up the stroking on my now throbbing and weeping cock.

"OK," said Tanya, back now to a sensible speak, "take a break."

Then she picked up a broad leather paddle and stepped behind me. "Adopt the position," she snapped, and I clasped my hands behind my neck and bent over until my upper body was at a semi-bent angle to the floor. This, of course, served to tauten the flesh across my buttocks.

The paddle whooshed down and cracked across my arse. And again, and again. Then Tanya moved to the other side of my body and whacked me three more times, then switched positions again. After 12 strokes had cracked against my naked bum, she asked the inevitable question.

"Slavey wavey want to go back to stroking his dicky wicky?" she teased me.

"Yes, please darling," I called out, as the pain burned through my poor arse.

"OK, get back to work," she snapped, and I stood up straight again and placed my wanking hand – my right – back on my by now semi-erect cock and began to stroke it back to hardness.

When I reached full extension again, there was the ding-dong chime of our front door bell.

"That'll be Jan Frobisher," said my wife. "I'll let her in, Vanya, you're in charge again. And remember, if she shows signs of coming, offer him the opportunity of the paddle again."

Vanya, whose hand was stroking slowly up and down her sex trench, smiled and answered: "It'll be a pleasure, sis."

And then I began to suffer the awful feeling of "God, my orgasm is near again, help!" but I tried to thrust the thought aside. Easier said than done, of course, wearing Vanya's panties as I was, and looking at my sister-in-law's fingers stroking herself along her sex furrow.

Then, in an obvious move to increase my anguish, Paula Pain stood and poured some of my wife's urine into the glass until it was almost overflowing. "I've got a funny feeling we're going to watch him drinking this before very long, Vanya," she said, resuming her seat, but not before giving me a long glimpse of her naked pussy in between the red PVC of her crotchless bikini bottom.

It was no good. Again I had to call for a break. "Vanya," I said, in a croaking, anguished voice, "I need a break, please!"

Vanya smiled and stood up, picked up the leather paddle from where my wife had left it on the table, and stepped behind me.

"Assume the position," she barked. I obeyed.

Then the leather went to work on my recently flogged flesh once more, only Vanya, if anything, was even more stringent in its application than my dear wife!

I endured six or seven searing strokes, then cried: "I'm ready to resume, Vanya, I'm ready!"

Vanya tossed the paddle back on the table, sat back in her chair and resumed stroking her semi-shaven minge. "Get going, and for fuck's sake try to go a bit longer this time, you pathetic wanker," she told me.

As I again took myself in hand, Tanya arrived with the long-legged, lissom Jan Frobisher. She looked a picture of erotic beauty.

Her small, but beautifully-shaped 32 inch breasts, were supported by a wet-look black satin quarter-cup bra, which pushed the pert-nippled peaks into lovely uplift. The garment served to make her breasts look larger than they really were.

On her hips was a gleaming, matching wet-look black satin suspender belt, which held up shiny black stockings. Dainty black leather high heels completed her outfit.

She was minus panties, her bare pussy displayed a small tuft of pubic bush at her mons, her slender but lovely pink labia lips were plainly visible to my gaze. I felt my cock give a surge in my hand as I stroked myself for the quartet.

The 36-year-old smiled sweetly at me, her big blue eyes sparkling. She walked over to me as I kept up my stroking.

"Hello Rupert," she said, softly in a deep, sexy voice, "pleased to see me?"

"Yes, Mrs Frobisher," I replied, feeling ludicrous as I stood naked and erect before her, my face covered with my sister-in-law's panties.

"You look so sweet," she laughed, running a cool hand over the gusset of the panties, pinching them onto my nostrils, "but you didn't have to get dressed up on my account."

This brought sniggers of laughter from the other three.

"And tell me, Rupert," said Mrs Frobisher, in a solicitous voice, "are they being nasty to you?"

"Yes, Mrs Frobisher," I replied, in all honesty, "yes, they are."

"Goody," she smiled, stroking her middle finger up and down the gusset of Vanya's panties. Then she turned to the three seated women observing my humiliation.