tagFetishDiscretion is the Better Part...

Discretion is the Better Part...

bypeachesmelba©

He'd seen the ad running in the local paper for the past several weeks, and he had to admit, it intrigued him -

"Discrete handyman needed for long-term remodel work. One employer, private residence needing significant updates based on owners' personal needs. Rewards commensurate with performance. Contact............"

He thought it might be the way it was worded - the emphasis on "Discrete", and no mention of payment...or experience required, just "reward commensurate with performance". He had a few minor jobs lined up already. Old Lady Taylor had some door knobs that needed replaced and Mr. McCracken needed his gutters cleaned and wasn't able to get up on ladders anymore. Seemed like most of the town was getting older and "less able" to do for themselves anymore. He didn't mind really, kept him in grocery money and the occasional beer. Nothing that challenged him though - or used any of the skills and talents he really did have.

His old man had been a contractor - could "build a house from the ground up starting with nothing but a pile of toothpicks, bricks and rocks". It was an old joke when he'd been growing up and he didn't think much of the O.M.'s skills and abilities. Not then anyway. Then it was just a pain in his ass, getting stuck all summer long hauling asphalt shingles up and down ladders doing roofing jobs - or spackling for finishing painters - or any of the myriad other "jobs" his father had found for him to perform as "unpaid labor". He had to admit now though, he'd learned. He'd learned a lot. Probably more than the old man had planned when some of the construction teams had taken him "under their wing"....

Might have been just because he was a skinny, long-haired kid. Made him an easy target for the jokes about "sissy boys" and not being able to tell if he was a boy or girl from behind. On the other hand, might just have been because they were mean fuckers - too small minded, and small town to leave him be. Granted, there were some whose only interest was in teaching him "useful" skills - how to use a miter saw, or hang sheet rock. He was still grateful to them for providing him with a way of earning a living.

It was "the others" - the half dozen or so finishing painters who, at the end of a long, sweltering week, the summer he turned 18, had turned up with a case or so of cold beer. They'd encouraged him to drink, and then sent him up the ladder to finish taping and mudding. He'd gone up, not realizing that, once he was on the ladder he was trapped - and with the help of the beer, he'd initially been a semi-willing victim to their hands and mouths. He was young then, a virgin, and like all teenage boys, perpetually horny. Just starting to date he had no experience to relate the events to and knew only that, at first, the feel of the older mens' hands and mouths on his genitals and ass had been wildly stimulating. He remembered his cock feeling so hard he'd thought he could hammer nails with it and he'd cum twice within mere minutes.

It was after - after they'd pulled him down from the ladder and bent him over the sawhorses that things got - not bad, but tough. The first few times had hurt like hell of course - they weren't particularly gentle and they'd all had too much to drink. He'd bled off and on for much of the next week. Just when he thought he was starting to recover nicely his father had informed him that the "crew from last week" had been so impressed with his work that they'd asked for him again - "special".

He'd arrived that morning on shaking legs but with his cock already hard and throbbing. They'd had a few more surprises for him that day he recalled - a lacy satin teddy and tap pants had gone on first, then lace topped, stockings made to stay up by themselves. A pair of low heeled mules and a touch of rose lip gloss had completed his ensemble. At first, the hard hands of the workmen had been rough, stripping and fondling him before they began dressing him in the items they'd brought - to "teach him another lesson". But one by one their voices had grown hoarse and hushed and their hands had gentled - stroking his balls sweetly as they dangled from the legs of the tap pants. Finishing they'd stood back and looking at their trembling hands and straining cocks he'd felt flushed with the sense of power over them he'd felt.

He'd spent the day strutting through the house - clambering up and down the ladder - luxuriating in the feel of the satin and lace against his skin. Watching them watch him out of the corner of their eyes - taking every opportunity they could to touch him, stroke him, rub against him with their hardness. He liked it. Liked the feeling of control it had given him, but loved the feeling of the material on his nipples and rigid cock or sliding over his ass when they slid their hands up and down his crack. Before he went home that night he was aching all over, the stockings and tap pants a wet sticky mess from the loads of cum draining from his ass and that he'd shot off himself with their handling. His jaws ached and his lips felt raw from sucking one after another cock. But they'd let him keep the gorgeous clothes, and even wear them home under his own clothes. It had been days before he'd washed them - keeping them under his mattress to fondle and masturbate into. Wearing them under his clothes - or strutting around the house in them when he knew he couldn't be discovered.

Early girlfriends were always impressed that he wasn't trying to get them OUT of their lingerie - but seemed content to fondle them through the clothing, or rub against them, occasionally even exciting them orally through the silk, satin or nylon. He'd eventually joined the military trying to get away from his Old Man. Maybe if his Mom hadn't died when he was so young things might have been different, but there was just the two of them, and no one to mediate their fights. During that time it hadn't usually been possible to enjoy his "little habit". He'd missed it. Time spent perusing girlie magazines and lingerie ads wasn't for the usual reasons - not that he didn't enjoy looking at naked girls and was no longer a virgin with women either - but he liked to look at the ads and imagine how it would feel to be wearing the clothing in the ads. THEN he would finally get so hard that he could cum in a few simple strokes of beating off.

After leaving the military he'd come home, thinking he'd pick up his life again where he'd left off, only to find his high school sweetheart had married a nice "college boy" and moved to the Capitol. Dude was in banking, or something like that - something that brought more financial rewards than cleaning the towns gutters, building an occasional wine cabinet and painting siding. He'd never married, not that there hadn't been women, even some fairly serious relationships, but something always seemed to be missing.

He kept busy and the ad stayed in the paper. But the day came when the odd jobs began to dry up as the economy tanked and no one had money to hire a "Handyman" anymore. The fact that the ad had stayed in the paper had really begun to pique his curiosity as well, he wondered what the job had entailed, or why it had gone unfilled. And finally one late afternoon, after a beer or two, he had called the number. The voice on the line was soft but husky. Female he was sure, but with a sound of too many late nights and cigarettes. What the old man would have called a "whiskey voice" he recalled. Her car would pick him up at the local convenience store parking lot in two days, but he was going to have to prove to the driver, and later to her, that he could be discrete - not talk about the work he would be doing for her. He had the two days to figure out just HOW he was going to do that.

On the afternoon in question he was at the Gas-N-Go standing next to his truck in plenty of time. When the Suzuki with the darkened windows pulled up next to him the driver only lowered the window a few inches - enough to look out with polarized sunglasses and a black chauffeur cap. He unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt. The window rolled back up, but he heard the doors unlock and he slid into the back seat, behind the driver. Lying on the seat was a blindfold and soft, classical music was playing over the speakers. He realized others before him had probably made this trip and that measures were in place for the protection of everyone involved. Strapping himself in with the seat-belt and sliding the blindfold on he felt the vibration of the 4-wheel drive vehicle change and realized they were in motion, leaning back he tried to relax without keeping track of the turns. He hoped he wasn't going to get motion sick from "flying blind" as it were.

As the minutes passed he felt his nervousness increasing and by the time the motion of the car stopped permanently and the engine was turned off he was starting to wonder just what the fuck he was getting himself into. Freakin' rewards had BETTER be commensurate with experience...no 'performance' that was it he thought as he heard the door next to him open and he risked reaching up to remove the mask covering his eyes. The driver was no where in sight, but the car itself was parked in front of a large, Victorian style house. A heavy cast iron door knocker hung on the door and he didn't see a door bell. I can still back out, he thought, but I don't have a clue where I am so I hope they take the unsuccessful candidates back to their cars instead of burying them out in the garden.

The echo of the door knocker was audible even outside the house but the door opened promptly from within, leading him to believe that someone on the other side had been waiting for his knock. As the door closed behind him and that someone stepped forward to take his jacket, he tried not to stare. A young woman...a gorgeous young woman he corrected himself, with flame colored hair tied back in a loose pony tail and hanging nearly to her hips, wearing a studded dog collar and leash and nothing else, her beauty invited staring, but her manner was quiet and withdrawn. Never raising her head or meeting his gaze he couldn't even tell what color her eyes were, but a spatter of freckles dusted her shoulders, upper back and the slope of her breasts. Fingernails and toenails were short, rounded and left natural without polish, and from what he could see, there wasn't an inch of hair on her, past the copper tresses of her head. No make up seemed to cloud her natural beauty and despite his nerves and the circumstances he felt a stirring.

She didn't say a word, just handed him the end of the leash attached to her collar, and turned to lead the way down the hall. Reaching a large solarium she stood by a comfortable looking wing chair until he realized he was supposed to sit. A cozy covered teapot sat on a small side table with dishes of cut lemon and cubed sugar, a small cream pitcher and a cup and saucer. Once he was seated, the young woman pour some of the fragrant tea - hands hovering over lemon, sugar and cream until he shook his head in negation. Wrapping his large hands around the cup, rather than try and hold it by the delicate handle, he savored the delicate flavor of the brew.

"What kind of tea is this?" he inquired of the young woman but, eyes still on the floor, she gave her head a tiny shake.

"It's Oo Long Tea Mr. Connor."

He nearly spilled the tea as the sudden voice, coming from behind him, startled him. The young woman, the maid he wondered, quickly moved to take the cup from him as he stood up and turned toward the voice.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

Struck dumb again, all he could do was bob his head. If he'd thought the young woman was gorgeous, THIS woman was breath-taking in the damndest way. Tall and full-figured she moved slowly, carrying a long, ebony cane with a silver, claw handle. Her hair was short and black with one, shining silver lock in front. Carmine lip gloss covered her full lips and a matching shade of nail enamel gleamed from her long fingernails. But it might have been the manner of her dress that sealed the deal for him, from the black, satin brocade corset to the matching garter belt, G-string and seamed stockings, she was a picture of perfection, and the frequent peek of nut brown nipples over the cups of the corset, totally set him aflame.

Moving slowly across the room to the chair directly across from him she finally seated herself, motioning him to return to his seat. "Copper" warmed his tea and returned it to him before she moved across the room to a similarly equipped table to serve her Mistress.

Sipping at the hot beverage the older woman spoke again -

"Now then Mr. Carson, you convinced my driver that you could be trusted, perhaps you will convince me."

And with fingers suddenly awkward from anticipation, he stood, setting down his tea cup, and beginning to remove his outer clothes. Underneath he was wearing a red satin teddy and thong combo with matching garter belt and taupe stockings. Despite his cock being tucked back, between his legs to start, with his walking and now his state of excitement, it had erupted from the side of thong and, once freed from his jeans, arched up and away from his body, swinging freely. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as they raked him from head to toe and back again. Holding up her hand and making a circling motion she indicated she'd like to see him turn around, and he did making one complete circle before ending again with his back to her. Bending forward until his head touched the seat of the chair he reached back, spreading the cheeks of his ass so that she could see, not only the thin strap of the G-string bisecting his cleft, but that it was holding in place the base of a butt plug. He heard her chuckle and turned again, re-seating himself but with his erection still making its presence known.

"You took quite a risk Mr Carson!" She smiled at him. "Suppose I had just wanted to know you were trustworthy around my home and valuables?"

He shrugged, "Then Madam," at her frown he took the risk and changed it, "Mistress, I would have shown you my bonding and insurance papers."

He watched her fingers disappearing as she fondled the young woman standing next to her.

"And how long have you enjoyed your diversions?"

He shrugged again, "There's no one alive who knows or remembers except me."

"I see. Perhaps you would like a tour of my home and the area where you will be working, but first, " turning now to "Copper" she said "Fleur, please take care of Mr Carson's tension so he can walk."

He suspected the "please"was a symbolic gesture as the young woman immediately moved to kneel in front of him, taking his cock in her mouth and gently releasing his balls from the captivity of the G-string. While her mouth and hands moved on him, the other continued to speak -

"This IS my home Mr. Carson, but it is also the meeting place for a very select group of friends and companions. Most of us have similar tastes and interests - highly 'specialized' tastes and interests in some cases. First and foremost, we require privacy and security to enjoy our diversions. Additionally, for some of us a modicum of luxury is required for our pleasure, while for others....well, it will all become clear to you."

As she talked she had begun to pace around his chair, watching the interchange occurring there with some interest until, without warning, pausing or breaking stride she lashed out with the ebony cane squarely across Fleur's ivory buttocks, raising an immediate red welt. Fleur neither jumped nor, more importantly he thought, bit down but did immediately begin sucking and bobbing her head, swirling her tongue, with more vigor and enthusiasm. Reaching under his balls he felt a finger gently probing toward his anus, circling the rim and removing the butt plug, then increasing the pressure until his sphincter gave, allowing her finger entry. He felt his nuts tighten as she stroked a few times, fucking him with one and then suddenly two fingers, but as she cupped her hand upward, fingertips reaching inside to massage his prostate, he groaned, gripping the arm rests of the chair hard, as he shot load after load down the back of the girl's throat.

"Ahhhh, good!" Mistress said, pouring him another cup of the Oo Long tea. "If you will please take a moment to refresh and collect yourself now, we will begin."

Fleur withdrew her fingers from his ass and he watched with morbid fascination as she licked and sucked them clean, then bending down further he felt her tongue licking and cleaning the area around his asshole and taint. He wondered at the psychology that produced such abject obedience and how long it took to attain. The combination of stimuli was enough to leave him semi-hard and he thought to himself, this might be it, this might be what I've been missing all these years - it's close, really close - from the acceptance of him in lingerie, to the visual stimulus provided by both Fleur and her Mistress, to the sheer physical pleasure he was feeling as Fleur delicately tongued his anus - all of it taken together in circumstances never achieved before. Oh hell yeah, he thought, this is CLOSE.

They began their tour in the upstairs bed and bathrooms. Some work had been completed already. Plumbing and electrical contractors had been through. Furniture had been purchased and some attempt at decorating had been made. Some of the rooms were furnished with masses of pillows and silk covered floor mats, with diaphanous draperies hiding walls and windows. Another room was furnished much like a child's class room with several student desks, a teacher's desk at the front and black boards. One room resembled a medical exam room with trays of equipment and an exam table with stirrups and a final room resembled a home library or office. As they moved through the rooms she explained the work that was needed in each room, from lacy wood-work to cover the windows and the installation of brackets on the walls in "The Harem Rooms" to building the built in bookshelves that were needed in the library/office.

Yes, he could do all the work that was needed. No, he would not need to hire anyone else although was she... Yes, she was aware that doing all of the work by himself would take longer, and yes, she was also aware that some of the rooms might be unusable while he worked on them. He was mentally making lists of needed supplies and his ideas until she grabbed a notebook and pen from a desk in the classroom, shoving them at him without ceremony. Thereafter he was able to sketch out ideas and make notes as they progressed from room to room. In the back gardens and woods she already had gardeners laying paths and laying in flower beds and other plantings. None of the gardeners looked up or glanced their way, despite Fleur's nudity and the presence of a strange man in lingerie and hose and again he wondered where in the HELL they were and how she attained their apparent loyalty and obedience.

As they reached the lower levels, the old basement and cellars, things started to get really fascinating to him. The main room had multiple floor drains and shower hoses on one side with what looked like gymnastic equipment on the other. A small set of bleacher seats stretched along one wall. As they entered the room Fleur moved, dropping to her knees in front of her Mistress. The corset-clad woman lifted her by the chin, asking -

"Yes, child, what is it?"

Green eyes, he thought, she has green eyes - seeing them for the first time as her eyes darted to the corner of the room.

The carmine-tipped fingers stroked the flame-colored locks as the senior woman chuckled, "Yes, you HAVE been a good girl at that. We have company though. Mr. Carson do you mind if Fleur takes her reward? We can watch if you like, or you may want to participate..."

The green eyes rolled back toward his crotch at that before blinking solemnly, the tip of her talented tongue touched her upper lip briefly before disappearing again. He felt a surge of excitement as he nodded, seeing Fleur immediately move to what looked like a gymnast's horse - except lower to the ground. It was, he realized, apparently hydraulic as Fleur pressed some buttons, adjusting the height. She laid back on the equipment, arms and legs dangling to either side, her naked body open and vulnerable in its display. The Mistress moved to one side, beckoning him -

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bypeachesmelba© 9 comments/ 37470 views/ 6 favorites

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