This story contains scenes of bondage and female domination, particularly post-orgasm torture (POT). It is entirely fictional and completely my own work.
Please DO NOT read any further if you do not enjoy fictional stories in which males submit to dominant females, either willingly, forcibly, or by coercion - If that's not your bag, none of my stories are for you.
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Femdom: 1905 (Post Orgasm Torment)
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Late though he was, Jackson had the hackney carriage drop him off on Argyle Street. This was still a respectable part of town and would not raise the eyebrows of the driver, but from there it was a mere skip down the steep granite steps to Chester Street on the edge of the Fairfield district, where gentlemen did not normally go alone.
Not far from the foot of the steps, he found the red double-doors of an under dwelling tucked underneath the shops of Argyle Street, and ratcheted a series of knocks upon them with the head of his stick. A hatch opened immediately, two young, female eyes scrutinised him for a moment, then one of the red doors opened, and Jackson quickly side-stepped inside.
In contrast to the bright Spring sky outside, the room within was dim, and he maneuvered himself almost by muscle-memory to present himself at the reception desk where a lady awaited him.
"Good Morning Madam," he began, "I'm..."
"Jackson Barnes," the lady interrupted.
He opened his mouth to protest at her impertinence, then remembered his place.
"Yes Madam," he said, humbly.
As his eyes became accustomed to the dark, he studied the lady before him. She was young, perhaps only just in her twenties, dressed in a black lace cotton dress over... he assumed... a strict corset that drew in her waist and pushed up her bosom - a feature sadly wasted beneath the frills of lace across her upper chest. She was so similar in looks and dress to the girl who controlled the door that he supposed them to be sisters - the daughters of the proprietor perhaps, though it was not appropriate to ask, so his musings remained in his head.
"You will be in room 6 as usual today Mr Barnes," she said, "Please go through."
He nodded kindly and tipped the brim of his top hat just as a knock came on the double doors. The girls looked at him sharply to hurry him away before the next visitor was let in. 'Just in time!' he thought to himself. Had he been one minute later, or the man outside one minute earlier, they might have had an embarrassing coincidence at the front door.
He hurried away along a corridor with half-panelled walls and red and white striped wallpaper that he thought very stylish, entered room 6, and closed and bolted the door. Alone in the small room, he wasted no time in removing his clothes and hanging them on the hangers provided, or folding them neatly to sit on a shelf. Finally he stood utterly naked, stripped of everything that identified him as being a gentleman of the upper class other than his gold pocket watch which he held with its chain gathered in his clammy hand. Now he looked, he thought, like he could be any man from any part of England, even a man resident of the Fairfield quarter itself... though far less grubby of course.
He took a moment to compose himself, then knocked loudly on another door on the opposite side of the small room. Almost Immediately, it swung open into a cosy boudoir, opulently furnished with objects in a deep red and purple palette, and thick with the scent of bergamot and mandarin. Two smiling ladies stepped forward to take him firmly by his upper arms, and escorted him into their lair. His genitals hung free as he walked between these two clothed beauties.
"How lovely to see you again, Mr. Barnes," the first lady said, her affectatious, plummey pronunciation scarcely disguising the loose vowels of her lower class accent. She was the elder of the two but could still barely have been in her twenties. She had dark brown hair in a classic pompadour, and seductive hazel eyes that Jackson found deeply alluring, but it was her confidence that he liked the most. She had been friendly but domineering with him right from the first time they met, and seemed to understand his desires implicitly. A working class girl of such tender years had no right to tell him what to do, yet she assumed ascendancy over him without a second thought, and left him in no doubt that here, in her bower, he was to be considered her inferior.
"Good afternoon Madam Eleanor," he responded cordially, then to the other young lady, "Good afternoon Madam Bessie."
When they reached a chair-like contraption in the centre of the room, Madam Eleanor told him to turn around and sit, and her bossiness caused him to start swelling.
The chair was made of a plain hardwood with green leather pads here and there, attached to the device by proud brass tacks. One such pad formed the short cushion upon which he sat. His spread thighs rested on two padded protuberances, his back against a narrow vertical backrest. He placed his arms on the padded arms of the chair, which splayed from the contraption at the same angle as his thighs.
The girls hitched their simple white cotton dresses up and sat upon him, each on one of his knees and facing him. Jackson was thrilled by a fleeting glance of Bessie's gartered black stocking top, and the soft, pallor thigh above it.
They took his wrists and deftly bound them securely to the chair with tan leather straps and brass buckles, padded with broad cotton straps, then they pulled more straps from behind the backrest and around his chest so that he had very little movement in his upper body.
"Nice and tight remember," Eleanor instructed Bessie, "this one's a right fidgetter aren't you?" she said, addressing Jackson and tapping him playfully on the nose.
They each worked with smiles on their faces as though happy in their work or, perhaps, because they were excited about what they were about to do to the man. Jackson admired their bright faces as they secured him; they were so clean and had such good teeth... nothing like the older and cheaper prostitutes he had encountered on past expeditions. He imagined that either of them might burst out into an idle hum or soft song as they worked.
Next, the ladies knelt before him and secured his knees, ankles and upper thighs to the chair, then they stepped back to admire their work.
"Well look at you, Mr Barnes!" Madam Eleanor said with a wry smile and a nod towards his stiff penis, "All excited already! We'll soon put paid to that!
"Are you secure enough?"
He strained against his bonds, though he knew full well that he was held tight. "Yes Madam Eleanor," he answered. It thrilled him every time to call these girls 'Madam' - a title reserved for ladies of seniority.
"Good man," she smiled, "Shall we begin?"
