Flawed Red Silk Ch. 12

Chapter 28: Red Revolution

The French Knickers had been a success. They had been sent out as Valentine’s Day presents to our major customers, except the pair I gave to Serena. They had been a success in a different way. Now she is in control of her life and her man, which is as it should be.

A few customers had not appreciated the gift. One pair came back with a snooty letter signed by the Managing Director. I hadn’t realised that they only bought formal ecclesiastical clothing from us. I’m sure some Vicar’s wife would have appreciated the knickers but I suppose they weren’t ‘suitable for our business’ as the MD put it.

That pair of knickers I sent to Ralph when he rang up asking if another pair could be made. There must be a story behind his request. Why did he want two pairs? I understood that he and his wife weren’t too close and she didn’t sound like the type to wear silk knickers. I bet she wears thornproof ones. So who did Ralph want two pairs of knickers for? I’ll ask him next time I see him.

When I next spoke to the secretary whose boss had returned the knickers she was furious.

“Stupid old fool,” she’d said, “any of the women in the office would have loved to own them. We were drooling over them. I suppose he returned them to stop us arguing over who should have them. If you get any more…”

We would. We had hundreds of orders for French Knickers and other lingerie. Mr. Jones might have to extend the factory. He had already recruited ten more staff just to produce lingerie. Serena had given them the usual explanation about his ‘appraisals’ but her heart wasn’t in it. On her last appraisal she’d left him tied up for me to release. He had to send me out to buy a new shirt because she left his original one soaked in cum. How did he explain that to his wife?

It was nearly time for me to reveal the real reason I was a temporary secretary to Christopher Jones. I didn’t need the work. I didn’t need the grief that his ‘appraisals’ caused his staff.

However I had gained from the experience. I had been practising my juggling and prestidigitation whenever I had free time. I had been initiated as a witch. I was gaining confidence in my occult abilities although the spell on the French Knickers had been my greatest work and seemed to have been an almost unqualified success.

I had tried to influence Mr. Jones to turn his sexual attentions to his wife instead of his employees. So far that hadn’t worked unless the few days when he hadn’t called some woman for an ‘appraisal’ counted.

The shop floor women and Serena their forewoman looked on me as a ‘wise woman’ who would solve their problem with Mr. Jones. They consulted me on so many things that I felt I was their personal agony aunt. Lunchtimes I had a queue of advice seekers. I used my common sense as much as possible rather than my occult knowledge.

Their husbands had improved their behaviour after Serena’s Reshad and veiled sari-clad women had beaten a few others up. They weren’t perfect; what men are? They were better and most now had employment that helped the families’ budgets. After only a month at the factory the improvement in the staff’s morale was incredible. Mr. Jones’ ‘appraisals’ were the only remaining flaw and it was that flaw that I had come to change.

Jane had hinted to Mrs. Jones that there was a problem. She hadn’t been specific because Mr Jones was her employer, not Mrs. Jones. But Jane had said enough for Mrs. Jones to turn to me in my real job, not as a magician’s assistant, but as an employee in an enquiry agency. She asked the agency to find out and report exactly what her husband was doing. That had been easy. I found that out on day one.

The problem changed as soon as I reported my findings, which Jane could have told her. I also reported Serena’s words to Mrs. Jones. We understood that altering the situation could have dire effects on the workers. She, Mrs. Jones, wanted a solution that left him in charge of the factory, but without treating the workforce as his personal harem. He ran the company at a profit despite paying above average pay and providing fringe benefits for the staff. His skill was essential.

So far my witch’s potions and spells hadn’t worked. He was less enthusiastic about his ‘appraisals’ but still did them. None of the appraisees had dared to tie him up as Serena had done. All allowed him a simple fuck before they returned to work. In exchange they received bonus payments in their pay packets. He was treating them as prostitutes and they accepted it.

One evening I persuaded Serena to meet Mrs. Jones and I after work. Serena wanted a solution as well but was very worried about his reaction. We met in a Chinese restaurant that had very secluded alcoves and piped music. It was impossible to overhear a conversation in the next cubicle, which possibly explained the number of couples who did not act as if they were married.

I introduced Serena, who was very uneasy, to Mrs. Jones.

“Mrs. Jones, this is Christopher’s forewoman, Serena.”

“Serena, this is Mrs. Jones.”

“But please, both of you, call me Nicole. That is my name and I hope we will be working together to benefit all of us. Serena, Mary was working for me before she came to the factory. I sent her there to help you and the other women. Has she helped?”

Serena was embarrassingly effusive in my praise. From her description you would think I was an angel who had transformed the factory into a place of sweetness and light. I protested but the two of them overruled me. They even toasted me in rice wine.

After Serena had finished any awkwardness between her and Nicole had gone. We were three equal conspirators determined to change Christopher.

The plot we hatched was to destroy his power over the women of the factory by making him appear less awe-inspiring. As the manager he had power. We intended to show the workers that he was just another man.

We agreed the details and turned to more interesting matters. Serena told us what she had done to her Reshad and we laughed when she mentioned her mother wiping her arse across his face.

I knew that Serena was now wholly in charge. She couldn’t have told about her errant husband so delightfully if she thought he might be a threat in future. Without mentioning names she told of some of the other women’s punishment of their husbands.

One who caused trouble by woman-chasing had been locked in chains and forced to wear his wife’s clothes for a week. She had shown him off to all her female friends, the ones he had been chasing. Most of them teased him by giving him advice on how his sari should be worn or what make-up was best for his complexion. He had objected to the advice about make-up. His head was held between his wife’s knees while her friends applied blusher, lipstick, and eye shadow. The first time he struggled and ruined the effect. They cleaned his face with a dirty sponge, forced it into his mouth and left it there until he agreed to co-operate.

His wife allowed him to resume his male clothing only when he promised to be faithful. The first time he tried to stray his target retorted that perhaps he needed another lesson in make-up. He had forgotten that she had been one of his tormentors. His intended victim told his wife. The next morning he woke up chained to the bed. As he struggled his wife laughed at him. When he swore at her she gagged him and pinned some nappies round his middle. She left him chained up until he wet himself. He threatened to hurt her but she warned him that her friends would repay any injury several times over. He has been good for at least two weeks since then.

The plot was set for the next leaving party. Lalita, one of the workers who had been with the company some years, had finally become pregnant and intended to be a stay at home mother for a few years. Christopher Jones would give a speech as he always did on such occasions. He would present the leaving present and a cheque. Lalita would kiss him to thank him. That was also normal. The next thing to happen would be our script, not his.

Lalita’s baby didn’t read the script. What baby ever does? Lalita had miscalculated her dates and the full-term baby arrived two weeks before her scheduled leaving party. We deferred the party for a month. Lalita would come back, show off her son, and we would have an “Ooh and Ahh” session. We started with the Oohs and Ahhs before Mr. Jones left his office for the formal part. I accompanied him on his progress across the shopfloor to the decorated bench used on such occasions.

He made his usual speech that many had heard before but this time I sensed that he meant his conventional regrets. Lalita had been a popular person with the other workers and also one of Mr. Jones’ favourite appraisees before she became too obviously pregnant.

At the end of his speech and after he had presented his cheque Lalita stammered her thanks in carefully broken English before throwing her arms around him and kissing him more passionately that was usual at such affairs.

That was our signal. While he was embarrassed by Lalita’s kiss, every woman present moved forward. As many as possible laid hands on Mr. Jones. He was lifted off his feet and laid down on the bench. Lalita’s hand stifled any outcry as many deft hands completely removed his clothes and wrapped him inside layers of the flawed red silk that had been unsuitable even for the panties. His private parts were left nakedly exposed.

Lalita stuffed his mouth with a bundle of off-cuts of the silk as another tied a strip around his head to hold the gag firmly in place. More silk was wound around his head in a parody of a sari veil. The last act was to tie the weakly wriggling silk bundle to the bench. All that could be seen for the formerly elegantly suited Mr. Jones were his eyes, nose and wrinkled sex.

Lalita wrapped her hand around his flaccid cock. She bent forward so that her face was in front of his eyes.

“Mr. Jones,” she said, “or should I call you Christopher since we have been so intimate over the years, we have decided that it is time that you stopped given your appraisals, which are demeaning to us, and unworthy of you.”

There was not a trace of broken English. Lalita spoke as if English were her native tongue.

“I will remove your gag shortly but we will not let you speak. If you do speak, you will be sorry. These…” Lalita’s hand squeezed his balls hard, “…are very vulnerable. Do you agree to keep quiet? A nod will suffice.”

The silk-encumbered head nodded as far as his bonds permitted.

“OK. I have been chosen, since you no longer employ me, to start a demonstration of our annoyance at your sexual harassment. We will harass you, gently and with some consideration, but you are unable to resist, as we were unable to resist you because our employment depended on your favour. You treated me, and the others, as a sexual convenience. We will not treat you like that but as a child.”

Lalita untied the silk wrapping Mr. Jones mouth and removed the wad of silk off-cuts. She dropped her sari to her waist and unbuttoned her tight blouse revealing a front-fastening nursing bra. That too she undid allowing an engorged breast to fall free.

She put the nipple to Mr. Jones’ mouth.

“Suck it!” she ordered. “You are no longer my boss. You are my baby.”

It seemed as if he might refuse but she squeezed his balls again. His mouth gradually opened and her nipple entered followed by her aureole. Her eyes closed as he began to suck. Droplets of milk seeped from the unoccupied breast.

After a couple of minutes while the surrounding crowd seemed to hold its breath she removed one breast and stuffed the other one deep into his mouth. She had rammed the breast in as if she wanted to push it through him. The soft globe spread over his face blocking his nostrils. He sucked frantically and vainly tried to struggle. His face was turning red when I intervened. I pulled Lalita back slightly and depressed one of my fingers against her breast to give him an airway. He panted through his nose to replenish his air supply.

When Lalita lifted her breast out of his mouth tears were rolling down her cheek. She brushed them away with the hem of her sari before putting her breasts back inside her clothing.

“Goodbye, Mr. Jones, and thank you,” she said. “Not just for being a good employer, which you were but for one failing, and for giving me a generous bonus, but for letting me demonstrate that you are nothing but another of my babies. Feeding you has been my revenge and now I can kiss you goodbye as a friend."

Lalita kissed him on the lips, her hand reached out and stroked his penis, and then she moved back from the bench.

“I’ve had my turn. Now it is yours.” She announced.

A woman approached with her head hidden under her sari. She moved to the end of the bench and dropped her clothed breasts across Mr. Jones’ face. She held them there for about twenty seconds before lifting them and walking back into the crowd.

Several women followed her example, then one sat her ample sari sheathed backside on his face. That became a popular variation as woman followed woman to humiliate Mr. Jones. Asmita straddled his chest and buried his face against the folds of cloth covering her pussy. She did not veil herself so that he was aware exactly who she was.

Serena was the last. She stood over him.

“We have expressed our domination over you. I have already done that so I don’t need to demonstrate it now. We have done this with love. We could have done this with hate because you gave us reason to hate you despite all the good you have done us. Your appraisals will stop. If not this will happen again and we might not be so gentle next time. There are two more ladies to come. The first is your temporary secretary and full-time witch, Mary.”

“Hello, Mr. Jones,” I said brightly. “I have been asked to perform a spell. I will, with the assistance of all present. The purpose is to make you completely impotent except with your wife. It can only be reversed IF she agrees.”

I took a pot of ointment from my handbag. I looked around. The women started a mantra that I had taught them. The words seemed meaningless but the effect was strong as all the women chorused them together. I dipped my fingers in the pot and smeared ointment over Mr. Jones prick and balls while I muttered words in an ancient language under my breath.

“Now I will demonstrate the effect.”

I heaved up my skirt to reveal my pair of red silk French knickers. I straddled his body, pulled aside the gusset of the knickers and rubbed myself against his flaccid prick. Although I rubbed hard for a few minutes there was no reaction from his prick. It just lay there.

I climbed off him, stroked his prick with my hand, and said:

“As you can see, the spell works. You are impotent. To demonstrate the other part of the spell we need one more woman.”

The crowd parted to allow Nicole, Mrs. Jones, to approach the bench. She moved into his line of sight.

“Good afternoon, Christopher,” she said bending over to kiss him as his eyes opened wide in shock, “I have been an interested spectator at this afternoon’s ceremony. I enjoyed it. Now it is my turn. Mary’s spell makes you impotent with every woman except me. I’ll prove it.”

He tried to speak but I pressed my hand on his mouth. Nicole stripped off her dress revealing a lacy bra and her pair of French knickers. She sat on his chest and pushed her silk clad bush against his face.

“Remember these?” she asked. “You wanted Mary to put on spell on them so that the wearer would find you irresistible and then you switched them with her pair? She switched them back and she switched the spell as well. The spell she actually put on them was to make the wearer irresistible to you, but only if I, your wife, was wearing them. Cunning little witch, isn’t she?”

I resented the “little” but didn’t interrupt Nicole. Whatever else I am, I’m not little. I was a head taller than everyone else who was present in that crowded workroom.

As I watched Christopher and Nicole I could see that he was getting erect. I winked at Nicole. She winked back.

“Now is the time for the demonstration,” Nicole said as she moved down his body and yanked the knickers to one side. She impaled herself upon him. He arched his back as far as his bonds would allow as he sank deep inside her.

Nicole pumped up and down on him. She was arousing him despite his acute embarrassment at being ridden in front of all his employees. A few more strokes and he came inside his wife. She sat still on him.

I moved forward and untied some of the bonds holding his head so that he could turn it from side to side. He looked around to see that all the women had turned their backs. Only Nicole and I had seen him shoot his load into his wife but the sounds had been enough to confirm the effectiveness of my spell.

“I have finished,” I said distinctly. “My task is done. I came here at Nicole’s request to put an end to the appraisals. That I have done and I have made it impossible for them to start again. From today, Mr. Jones, you have a new temporary secretary until Jane comes back from her maternity leave. Her name is Nicole. She might give YOU an appraisal but you will give none.”

I had intended that speech to be my final act. I would walk out of the door to my car that was already packed with all my personal items from the office. Nicole and Serena changed that. Serena grabbed me to kiss me. Nicole pulled me towards her and kissed me while keeping her balance on her prone husband. The rest of the women surrounded us. I was touched by many hands, heard so many words of thanks, was kissed by so many lips that I was overwhelmed by it all.

A voice was struggling to be heard through the hubbub. Serena shouted for quiet.

Mr. Jones, still buried deep in his wife said:

“I am sorry, ladies, for what I did. I hope you will forgive me. I promise not to repeat my offences against you. With my wife’s help I want to be a model employer from now on.”

He looked straight at me.

“Mary, witch, you cannot leave just like that. You too deserve a bonus and your own leaving party. If everyone agrees, that party will be here, tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock.”

There were murmurs of assent.

“Before then, the ladies of this factory have a special task. I want them to produce some special clothing for Mary to remind her of her time with us. That clothing will be made with the best we have.”

I have a complete wardrobe of silk dresses, suits, and underwear. There is love in every stitch and not a single flaw. Even so, my favourite item is the pair of French knickers made from that length of Flawed Red Silk.