Secrets Ch 54

54

I woke sprawled across the bed. I was immediately aware of the physical ache of the cage denying my body the freedom of erection. It had been a while since it had felt so intense, which led me to wondering if it was because of the sensations of what I was wearing, or if it was because of some all-too-quickly forgotten dream from the night.

The house was quiet, and I was still alone, though I touched my collar as a kind of personal reminder of my Mistress's constant presence. I had slept in a bit longer than normal, so I forced myself out of the bed. After my morning constitutional, I took another shower, though a much shorter one than I had the night before.

I looked at the clothing and accessories that awaited me afterwards with a mix of excitement and agony. It felt so good to be owned and to submit, and to know what was expected of me, but it was still such humiliation. Nevertheless, I started getting ready.

Mistress had instructed me to re-dress as I had been the night before. I took that to mean with every detail that I could reproduce. I lubed and plugged myself, then slid on fresh panties. Next, I squeezed and tugged myself back into the breast forms, and then took out a fresh maid's uniform that fit over them. There was plenty of cleavage displayed, but the silicone was closely matched to the colour of my skin, so it looked oddly real. The thigh-high stockings didn't quite reach the hemline of the short skirt, leaving a band of bare flesh exposed.

I fitted the wig on once again and then got to the part I'd been dreading. I pushed my feet into the heels once again and actually winced as I closed the locks. The tiny clicks teased me, but I dutifully put them on then returned the key to Mistress's dresser.

I inspected myself in the mirror, turning and posing, checking out my curves and silhouette. I really was a sissified, emasculated slut. Looking at myself, I wished I could fit into them better. I wondered if I could ask Mistress to buy me a corset that I could use to narrow my waist and give myself some hips.

I realized very quickly that there was nothing for me to do. The house was still clean and no amount of me wandering through the place dressed like a sissy slut changed that. I ate a light breakfast, but didn't feel that hungry.

I did another full tour of the house, making sure it was immaculate, and then made my way to the living room. I had no desire to go back online. I didn't want any further temptation, nor did I want to sink back into a habit of thinking that seeking out porn in secret was my default thing to do when alone. I was too teased and horny to read, so I turned on the television. SportsCentre was on, as it always was, so I could lose myself in the sprawl of highlights and scores from a world I felt increasingly less a part of.

When the loud knock on the door came, I gasped out loud. I had somehow completely forgotten that at least one of the reasons I'd been sent home was to make sure someone would be here to accept a delivery.

Answering my own door dressed as a slutty maid was even more of a torment than it had been at Master's house. This was where I lived, and whoever it was would know what was happening behind that door. There was at least a certain kind of freedom that came with not having any choice.

I answered the door and the man waiting on my porch seemed more bemused than shocked.

"Looking good, sweetheart," he laughed, making me blush.

I had no idea what to say. I just accepted the clipboard he pushed at me and signed my name on the line where he pointed. After that, I expected him to just hand me a package, but instead he turned and revealed that the package in question was a box that was nearly as large as either of us. It was resting on a hand cart and, with one hand on the cart and the other on the box, he tilted it back and got it rolling. I had to duck out of his way as he rolled it right into the house, through the hall and into the middle of the living room.

I expected that he would drop off the box, get my signature on some form, then be on his way but without warning he started opening up the box, right there in the living room.

"I've been told to set this up," he offered as some justification. "Could I ask you for a coffee? It won't take too long, but I've had an early start."

"Oh... okay," I answered, stunned.

I left this stranger to his work and moved to the kitchen. I knew that I was dressed as a maid, but still it felt awfully presumptuous of this man to ask me to get him coffee. Obedience was becoming more natural to me, however, especially dressed as I was, and especially towards confident men -- men than, in one way or another, my Mistress had sent over. I put on a pot of coffee and prepare to serve it with the same attentiveness that I would have for Mistress.

By the time I returned to the living room with a tray carrying coffee, milk and sugar, he seemed to have nearly completed his work, to my surprise. Even more shocking was the detail of what he had been doing. Up against a previously blank wall of our living room, facing the entry, there was now a wooden St. Andrew's cross that reached nearly to the ceiling. It leaned back at a slight angle and also seemed fixed to a six-inch pedestal base. I was speechless, looking at the details and imposing presence of it. There were steel rings at the extents of it and a black padded cushion at the intersection of the X.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he said, smiling. "Though I will admit, most customers don't have these installed so prominently. I'm much more used to putting them in basements or back rooms. This is kinky. I like it."

"Are.. are you sure this is right?" I asked.

"It's all here in the paperwork. One deluxe solid wood St. Andrews's cross to be delivered to this address, this morning, to be installed in the front, main floor living room."

He held out the paper as waited for my signature. There was even a little sketch showing which wall it was supposed to be placed against. I signed.

"I hope this isn't a typo, but there's another notation here," he said.

"What is that?" I asked.

"It says that in lieu of a cash tip for the delivery and installation, the maid on duty offers oral sex. Are you 'Dolly,' honey?"

I felt my face start to radiate with heat.

"I am Dolly, yes Sir."

"Do you want to suck my cock, Dolly?"

Perhaps the most humiliating part of it all was that when I answered "Yes, Sir," I wasn't lying. The moment it had become clear that he too was now part of the group that knew the secret truth about me, I knew that servicing him would please my Mistress. I wanted nothing more than that, not even more than the sudden physical urge I was feeling to taste him.

He tossed his clipboard aside and unbuckled his belt. The rest he left to me. I felt my heart pounding in my chest as I stepped closer and then lowered myself onto my knees. I lowered his zipper and reached in to free his cock from his briefs. I could feel his blood stirring and he hardened quickly. He started to throb in my hands even before I got my lips to him, lovingly kissing at the head and tasting his precum start to ooze.

I could feel my own body reacting as well. I was tingling and leaking. My ass was squeezing the plug tight inside me. My mouth felt full of saliva.

I gripped the base of him as best I could reach, getting my hands in place as my tongue circled all around him, the tip of it following the ridge around his cockhead. Only then did I take him inside, squeezing and pumping him with increasing intensity as I used my tongue to press up against his shaft. I could taste sweat along with his arousal, perhaps from his efforts in installing the device that now loomed over me.

I could barely believe what was happening. I was living something out of a porn movie, kneeling and sucking some stranger who just happened to come to my door, sent here by my wife and Mistress. I stroked and slurped, sucked and pumped, feeling him getting so hard and thick. I felt humiliated and degraded at the same time as feeling thrilled and aroused. I could feel the plug tight in my ass as my body tensed, and I was very aware of the long hair of the wig falling around my face and onto my shoulders. I could feel my fake breasts pressing against his thighs.

He'd been just standing above me, receiving my attention, but as he got close to release, I felt his hands on me. He held my head and pulled me forward, forcing himself deeper into my mouth, until his cock was nearly gagging me and pressing against the entry to my throat. He was too strong for me to do anything about it, even if I had felt free to. He started to thrust his hips forward, fucking my mouth. He didn't seem at all bothered by my gasping and sputtering -- he actually seemed to rather enjoy it.

It was getting quite hard to breathe and my eyes were watering. I could feel foamy saliva dripping down my lips and chin. When I looked up at him I saw only closed eyes and an intense look of concentrated arousal. He was certainly not looking down at me. I felt him start to spurt, though he was buried so deep that I could barely taste his erupting orgasam. I could just feel the warm, slippery ropes of cum sliding down the back of my throat. He held himself there, buried balls deep in my mouth, until he finished. Only then did he release me, allowing me to pull back, gasping and coughing.

I was still kneeling on the floor, feeling weak, when he began moving around me.

"These come with the cross," he commented, and he closed leather cuffs around my ankles, just above my high heels.

There was another matching pair for my wrists, which he had snuggly fitted and locked around my wrists before I could say a word.

"Up you go, Dollow," he said, and with a strength I had not anticipated, he lifted me up onto my feet.

He backed me against the cross and had me step up onto its base. I stared at him dumbly as I obediently moved my body as his hands prompted and dictated. In mere minutes, my legs were spread and my ankles cuffs were locked to waiting rings at the base of each leg. He lifted my arms up, one at a time, and repeated the procedure with my wrist cuffs, stretching them high and using a length of chain there, to pull my body tight.

I was helpless and bound on display. My mouth was still full of the taste of him, and now he was casually standing around in my living room, while I was dressed like a sissy slut.

"Now, I hope it isn't too much of a bother, but I have rather a thing for gags. I'm going to guess that you have some about, is that right?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir. I do," I answered, feeling trapped. "They are on a shelf in the second bedroom upstairs."

"What a good little thing you are," he laughed.

He stomped away upstairs, spending an unnerving amount of time up there before returning with a classing rubber ball gag in his hand.

"Open up," he said and, aghast with myself, I complied.

He stuffed the thing into my mouth, past my teeth, then reached behind my head to buckle it securely. Once he had me silenced, he really seemed to relax and make himself at home. I could only stare as he took a seat on the sofa and finally picked up his coffee. He put his feet up on the coffee table and turned on the TV, jumping from channel to channel as he sipped at the mug.

I'd gotten aroused while servicing him and those feelings had been given nowhere to go, so they lingered within me, now heightened by both the physical and emotional aspects of my current predicament. I tried to move my arms and legs as a way of testing the limits of my bondage, and I could barely move an inch. My legs were spread so wide that I felt unsteady, especially on the high heels. Thanks to the metal rings linking my cuffs to the cross, however, even that small amount of movement was audible,and noticed by my captor.

"No, you're not going anywhere, honey," he smiled.

Perhaps 10 or 15 minutes later, he finished off his coffee and dropped the empty mug back on the tray, and pulled himself back to his feet.

"You're not the only one with a job to do and someone to answer to, so I suppose I should get back at it," he said.

I hung there and watched as he gathered up all the packaging material from the cross and he managed to carry all that material out the front door in one trip. He got all his tools put together and looked ready to depart for good, but then stopped and turned back towards me. He stood very close and smiled.

"You've really made this particular stop on my schedule a true pleasure, Dolly," he said.

As he spoke, I felt his hand reach up under my skirt and cup the bulge in my panties. It was as though he knew just how much I was aching and the perfect way to make it worse, as his fingers curled and he began to squeeze my balls in his grip. My eyes widened and I moaned against the gag.

"I assumed that you were locked up and controlled down there," he said, slowly increasing the pressure. "I always wonder how you sissies do it. I'd never seem to be able to go more than a day or so without rubbing one out at the very least. I'd ask you now you do it, but I guess you don't really have any choice, do you?"

He paused, waiting for an answer, so I shook my head to indicate 'no' which earned me more of his laughter as a response.

"Don't you feel it after a while? Don't they feel heavy and sore?"

This time I nodded.

"I suppose this doesn't really help then," he asked, squeezing even tighter.

I shook my head, rather hoping that the desperation I was feeling would be conveyed in my facial expression, earning me some mercy. Instead, he squeezed tighter for another long few seconds, and then released me. He withdrew his hand and smoothed my skirt and panties back over me.

"I hope your wife orders some more toys. I'd love to see you again."

He gathered up his tools and started heading towards the door. Realizing that he seemed like he was going to leave me restrained, I moaned into the gag as loudly as I could. In response he did pause and look back at me, but only for a moment.

"Sorry, Dolly. My instructions were to install the cross and lock you against it. They didn't say anything about setting you free before I left."

He turned away and walked out, closing the door behind him.

I was alone again, but in a very different predicament than I had been before. I could barely move at all, trapped there and on display. I'd be one of the first things visible once Mistress came home. Now I had to wonder if she'd come home alone, or if she might invite Master or Miss Jennifer along with her -- or anyone else. I knew she had other lovers, though I didn't know if she'd had any of them over to our home yet, or if she planned to.

There was no way for the recently departed stranger to have locked the door behind him, so there was also some small risk of me being discovered by anyone daring or nosey enough to try the door or enter without knocking. I could certainly imagine some of our neighbours fitting that description.

One detail that also frustrated me was that the empty coffee mug was still there. He'd put it on the tray, but I hated that Mistress would come to find the house in less than a perfectly clean state. The crooked tray and the warming pot of milk ate at me. There was, however, nothing I could do about any of it except wait and ache. There was no clock in sight, nor could I see my watch, even if I had been wearing one. There was no pocket in my maid's uniform for my phone, so at last check, it was still sitting on its charger in my bedroom.

I had no company but my own thoughts, and eventually those thoughts once again returned to thoughts of the kind of change and transition that it seemed more and more voices were speaking and whispering about. What if I was kept in feminine clothing all the time? Work would certainly change, that was for sure. It was a modern company, and I doubted that they would fire me for transitioning, but it certainly wouldn't be easy. I had this feeling I'd be shuffled into a job where I wasn't meeting with as many clients.

At home, it felt like I was already there. Mistress had no visible interest in me as a man anymore. She enjoyed my company, but seemed more pleased with me as a maid and as a submissive providing occasional oral service than she ever was with me as a husband and lover. My clothes were being replaced with uniforms and humiliatingly sexy outfits. All my underwear was replaced with lingerie. I was dressed and made up to amuse my wife and to try to appear appealing to the men that were now the focus of my sex life. To be fair, most of those men so far seemed more interested in my mouth and ass than how pretty I was.

It was all the in-between of life that became complicated. Things like being out in public on the weekends or evenings. Being exposed to strangers in my slutty and revealing outfits might not be practical, but would Mistress have me just dress like the most normal-looking girl that I could be? With these fake breasts, no matter how conservative my clothing was, I'd be drawing the attention of men.

The torment of that realization was that I knew that I'd want to be attractive to them. I wanted random men who might see me on the street or in the grocery store to see me as pretty or desirable. I wanted them to want to fuck me. I wanted to taste their cocks -- each and every one of them. If that meant taking hormones to change my body, that was fine. If it meant somehow having breasts like these for real, maybe that would be even better. It was scary to imagine that I could look like some of the trans models I'd seen online, and perhaps even more terrifying that I was really imagining it happening.

My balls ached from having been squeezed once again. I wondered if they were perhaps visibly bruised or swollen under my skirt and panties. Of course, that made me wonder if that pain would be forever gone if they were taken from me. What would the bulge in my panties look like without them? Would my cock shrink even more than it had from disuse and being caged? Why didn't the mere idea of having my balls taken from me have me running for the hills?

Pleasing Mistress was more important, I realized. When I had been keeping secrets and submitting during stolen moments online, I'd risked everything I had because I felt a need I didn't seem to be able to control. There had always been a limit, however. Anything that threatened the integrity of that secret and my life outside it had been out of bounds.

Master had pushed those limits to the very edge, and it had been thrilling and terrifying. I was fortunate that I'd found a dominant man in him who knew and, in his own way, respected those limits. Now, there was no longer any "other" life to protect. My marriage and my submission were one. My fantasies had become my real life. The secrets were gone, and with them had gone those limits and boundaries.

I felt blank and broken, hanging there. My lips were wet with drool which had also started to drip down onto my cleavage. I squeezed the plug tight inside me, over and over, as a kind of meditation or exercise perhaps. Mostly, I just waited and ached for Mistress to return home, to find me and use me as completely as she might wish to.

Interlude

Jane could feel that she wasn't in her own bed, even before her eyes were open. The sheets felt different, and she could feel a warm, breathing body on either side of her. She smiled, just letting it sink in that this was her life now. Her weekends used to be filled with housework and errands, with relaxation and perhaps a dinner out squeezed in between all that which seemed necessary. This weekend, all that was necessary had been delegated to her maid, freeing her time and choices to pursue only that which she desired.

It felt just a bit strange, in the cold light of morning, to be laying naked in between her best friend and her best friend's husband, but the three of them seemed to be sharing a lot more than a bed lately.