Four for the Handyman Ch. 02

They came down when I cooked, demanding at once that I strip for them. I warned them that I wasn't easy, I told them there was a price to pay, I got shirts off of Tatiyana and Karen, and after a bit more scolding from Suzy and Marie, though they all kept their bra's on, though Karen went habitually braless. The sight of four pairs of beautiful boobs lined up waiting for me stiffed me up nicely, not that I needed much encouragement at the moment.

And so it went every day after. I did some labor during the day, fixing little shitty problems, planning minor landscaping, and so forth. The girls came home, teased, or didn't, before going upstairs until dinner time, which I was forced to suffer through sans clothes, after two days I was almost constantly seeping fluid, and noticed that Suzy once wiped up a dollop smeared on a cabinet door and licked it experimentally, though she begged off dinner when she saw me looking her way.

By Wednesday I had all of them down to bras and panties, though Marie warned me that she would go no further until our deal was sealed. She also disappeared upstairs when I made my price clear, later I was told by Tatiyana that Marie hadn't owned a pair of panties since she was maybe twelve or so... shortly after she discovered sex supposedly. She'd had to borrow something modest (boy shorts) from the taller girl just to eat.

Karen was merciless to me after Tatiyana spoke to her. Aside from the fact it was a crap shoot if she'd be wearing panties at any given dinner, and never had a bra (she didn't actually own any, which was fine for her small breasts by any reasonable standards) on; she usually came home first, and when she had a chance she'd trap me somewhere and stroke me, suck me or even, if she was particularly bold, slid her slippery slit against my shaft. She sometimes snuck downstairs in the night to slip into the garage where she'd be absolutely merciless until I'd made her cum. She wasn't totally mean, like the cool blonde she was an expert at keeping me under control, though I had no doubt I could force the issue, a gentleman never does. I wasn't sure how much longer I could be a gentleman, however.

Wednesday, Friday and Saturday nights Tatiyana either skipped dinner or we ate early, as she'd catch a ride to work, coming back sometime in the wee hours. Saturday, after I mowed, and having the girls around all day, I planned to make my final moves on Suzy. I was already out of the garage, sort of. I was sleeping on the couch, fully nude, with only a too small blanket to cover me, my clothes stayed in the stifling room, where I would change.

Friday was really the big day, the run up. During the day I took advantage of the empty house to inspect the entire upstairs, in specific the girl's rooms. Marie's room was no-nonsense, empty of clues. I knew she was into sport, and her room reflected that a bit, but aside from a few pictures from a family vacation, including a few with skimpier swimsuits than I had already seen, and a few textbooks, there was nothing there.

Karen's room was incredibly girly, her closet and dressers bursting with clothes, including an impressive panty drawer, complete with a half buried note addressed to me to take whatever I liked... obviously written earlier and moved when she took stuff out. I found a few sex toys and a tiny porn collection that pretty much told me what I already knew about her, and a box of souvenirs from past conquests, small items that guys had accidentally left with her, or that she had filched. She actually had one of the tools from the garage, one of the ones I'd left in the bathroom during our escapade in there.

Tatiyana's room was elegant, sparse and arranged like a boudoir. It almost seemed, aside from a tiny selection of scruffy sweats that all she owned were fancy, elegant clothes, though she had a singularly impressive collection of toys... in fact a suitcase with foam inserts, in several levels, all arranged neatly by purpose. Toys for solo play, toys for play with other girls, toys for play with boys... or so I estimated.

Suzy... it was like walking into a teenager's room, which I supposed by some accounts was entirely accurate. No toys, no sexy lingerie, no real hints... but she did have a diary, along with a largish collection of bodice ripper romance novels. I needed the cliff notes, but I didn't have time, so I skimmed. I think Karen suspected what I was up to when she got home, but she only smiled and said nothing.

After an early dinner Tatiyana let me escort her outside to her ride to work. Another woman, tall and athletic, with obviously enhanced breasts; I could see frilly see-through clothes and high heels peeking out of a bag in the back. Much became clearer.

"Have a care." She warned me softly, kissing my cheek. " You are moving too fast." Was all she said before climbing in. The car almost rolled off, pausing when she rolled down the window and leaning out. "I should let you know, I'm on a full scholarship, and my family sends me enough money for my share of the rent." I absorbed this, adding it to the mental model I was building for each woman in my head. Still, her first comment, that I was moving too fast? What exactly did that mean?

Saturday... the day, I thought. I was on the couch, second night for me, it was more comfortable than a cot in the garage, and everyone 'in the know' agreed that a naked man on the couch was a good move to keep Suzy moving towards her awakening. From there she could see me, couldn't necessarily ignore me, pretend I didn't exist. The semi-enforced nudity was tiring, I admit. I'm a guy, we generally don't like our dangly bits being that vulnerable. Still, I know it was worth it, I'd wakened a few times knowing a woman was standing at the top of the stairs looking down at me.

I woke this time to the door opening. It was almost three in the morning by my watch. I could hear the click-clack of high heels across hardwood. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness hours ago, the streetlights streaming through the still open front door were more than bright enough.

She hadn't changed from work. Glitter dusted her skin, even in the darkness. She wore a dress of some see through material, and nothing under it. Had I stood her shoes would have made her taller than me by a few inches, no mean feat. I could see, strangely enough, her friend standing in the shadows just inside the door. Hiding in darkness, more a presence than someone I could see clearly.

She sat on the couch next to my leg, the dress riding up over her hips as she sat, bare smooth skin against my hairy thigh. Her nails caressed my swollen sack, the endless torture repeated once more, though I was coming to enjoy it, strangely enough. She leaned over me, her long body draping across my own, until she could gently bite my nipple, her tongue soothing away any pain. She didn't speak, just stayed like that for a long moment, until I felt compelled to do something, anything.

As soon as I shifted she pulled back, putting the fingers of her other hand over my lips to keep my silent, staring up the stares silently for a second. She nodded to her hidden friend, who left silently, giving me only the briefest glimpses of her shadowed body as she slipped out and closed the door silently.

She slipped off the couch, to her knees, hand still on my balls, closer to my head now when she leaned down to whisper in my ear.

"If you are silent, and if you can control yourself, you may come with me." She husked. "Consider it a foretaste of your rewards for good behavior." I nodded, barely certain. Control myself? I'd been on such a tight leash for so long I was starting to fear I'd forget how to lose control when I finally had the option. I ached for release every moment of every day, my dreams filled with nubile bodies and... at least recently, iron bands around my balls, shackling my cock. Twice this week I'd turned on the television to find that someone had slipped porn into the DVD.

She stood, letting me follow, never quite letting me go. It was awkward, to be led silently up stairs by a woman with a firm grip on my nuts, but we managed. The thick carpet of the stairs and upper hallway muffled her footsteps as we passed Karen's wide open door. I could see her nude body, pale against dark sheets as she slept soundly.

Inside Tatiyana's room she released me, closing the door behind me stepping to the foot of the bed, looking at me over her shoulder.

"By the rules, I can not have you yet. You are the handy man, my body is stiff and sore, be handy. Pamper me, take care of me, love my body as best you can. Do you understand?" I nodded and she closed her eyes, letting out a deep breath.

"Do you need... help... controlling yourself?" she asked. I wasn't sure what to say to this, so I shrugged.

"It might help." I offered. She nodded again, turning back to me, walking to me, to a small table near the door covered with small bottles and tubes, one that hadn't been there during the day. She selected one, pouring it liberally into one palm as she knelt before me, almost... but not quite... worshipfully.

The oil was cool against my cock, soothing the burning that seemed almost permanent now. A numbing agent of some sort, pretty mild, but effective for all that; she applied it in a way that was unmistakably sexual, making sure that no part of the boys went untouched. She wasn't done just yet, from where she knelt she could reach the table easily, and in deft moves had firmly applied tight rings to my shaft above and below my balls, and another, a wide steel O that fit perfectly under the ring of the glans, putting pressure on the underside of the sensitive ring, cutting off some of the sensation. It was uncomfortable, yet exciting in it's own way. Then she took a strange looking bag of leather, fitted nicely to my swollen shaft and sealed my member in the leather, lacing it tightly. I swear I swelled to fit, but I was reasonably certain I could endure almost anything sexual without risk now, sensation numbed or redirected to the point of non-existence.

She stood with the easy grace of a dancer, the heels no obstacle for her, and returned to her position at the foot of the wide bed. Again over the shoulder:

"You may begin when ready, Handyman." I did not reply. Service is not a reward, but I knew the night was just starting. I picked up the tiny table and placed it near her, near the end of the bed, then, thinking quickly, I walked, awkward in my 'control' measures, to the windows that faced the street and opened the curtains wide. The room was softly lit, but this late, from outside it would be like we were spot lit. I could see the familiar car across the street, a shadowy shape in the driver's side. I smiled to myself at guessing correctly, or reading my 'mistress' if you like. I looked back at the shivering woman in her heels, looking tired yet expectant. It had been a very long day for her, 18 or more hours, the last eight on her feet, in those shoes. She could be seen, the bed could be seen from across the street, if barely. There was no better public view, but compromises have to be made, I supposed.

I padded silently back to the waiting woman, staying behind her. There were no fasteners on the flimsy dress. I could have peeled it down her body, perhaps I should have, but I wasn't some meek servant, for all I seemed to be playing one. I took the two shoulder straps in hand and tore, the material parting like rotten tissue. She gasped as I pulled it from her, tossing it aside, her shivering growing more pronounced. I removed my watch, setting it on the table. I would be done when I was done, maybe by the time the sun came up, and that was that. Now I wore nothing but what She'd put on me, which only seemed proper.

I let out her hair, gently now, shaking it free. It would be in the way a little, but these things have their own rhythm. I selected a folded square of silk, some sort of handkerchief in burgundy, and a bottle of rose scented water, wetting the silk. Slowly, methodically I washed her body, taking the sweat, the grime of strange hands, the glitter from her skin, every inch of her. I worked from the top down, her back then her front, taking my time, taking smooth long strokes, pausing often to rinse off my cloth. I polished her little rings, removed her earrings, the rings on her fingers, setting each on the table as I worked.

When she was finally clean, except for the soles of her feet, the areas covered by the straps, I switched to the oil. Her entire body shook openly now, her nipples were hard, her pussy visibly wet, a drop of milky fluid suspended from the silver ring through her clit, the ring I had just polished carefully. I chose an oil that heated in response to body heat and friction. I massaged it into her, worked the oil into her skin until she gleamed like polished marble. I oiled her breasts, letting her moan and lean against me as I worked, I oiled between her legs, working it into the lips of her cunt, up inside of her, I oiled the crack of her ass, slicking one finger and working it gently into her just cleaned rear. She shuddered, but I didn't linger. Sex, gratification, was not the point...

As I worked her legs she nearly collapsed as exhausted, taut muscles finally gave out. I caught her gently, lowering her to the bed, raising each foot in turn and removing the tortuous shoes, having waited as long as she could stand. I paused then in my oiling to clean her feet more thoroughly, then climbed up, straddling her, and began massaging her in earnest, the oil growing hot under my hands. She almost cried as knots unwound, as her body relaxed, too sexed up to pass out, but so on the brink. I took special attentions on her legs, her feet, until she began to writhe on the bed.

I took another oil, a moisturizing, scented oil and began all over again, front and back, leaving nothing, absolutely nothing, undone. She panted and squirmed under me, helpless, though I played the dutiful servant.

When I had her on her stomach once more, after finishing the second oil, I selected a third, one meant for hair, a 'treatment' that she would wash out in the morning... whenever that was for her. I worked it into her scalp, the very roots of her hair on out to the tips until it lay heavy against her skin.

Only then, my hands aching and slick, my cock almost painful in its confinement, was I done. There were perfumes and other items on the table, but she was headed to sleep, not out... they were useless now.

I stood, dutifully, at the foot of the bed. She shuddered, rolling over sensuously to look up at me, her eyes pure smoldering sex.

"I have half a mind to beg off, to pass out her." She said softly, accent thicker with exhaustion, "But I am not so selfish as to forget a promise, a bargain made." She rolled to her feet then, standing, not far from me, steadier than she'd been before I removed her shoes. She slid one finger along her sopping slit, coating it with juice that she rubbed gently onto my own lips, pushing me back, a bit farther from the bed.

It was my turn, I realized. I had gotten so wrapped up in the pampering of this gorgeous woman I had forgotten the deal, at least partially, temporarily. I could taste her on my lips, could smell her sex, her lust.

She began much as she had when we'd entered the room, kneeling before me. There was no mistaking the position this time, worship, submission, her face pressed against the tight leather sheath, hands wrapped around my ass as she rubbed herself against me, breathing deeply.

After a moment of this she stood before me, turning me gently to face the bed as she had so long ago. I felt the cool water on silk first, just as she must have. She took less time than I had, I supposed, but I didn't mind. I had more skin, certainly, but less funk by some measures. Cleanliness wasn't as important. Still, I luxuriated in the unexpected sensations, my skin coming alive, the cool water evaporating in the hot night, aware of distant eyes watching as I hadn't when I had been working. I braced my hands against the posts of the bed when she raised my feet, one by one, kissing them as she worked. She worked up my front from there, still behind me, heated flesh pressed to mine.

When she started with the oil there was no massage, no pretense of needing one. She oiled me as an act of worship, anointing me as a God, a messiah in the most original sense of the term. Her hands worshipped my body, as mine had soothed hers.

She unlaced the leather sheath, tugging it off me, leaving the rings. The relief was palpable, but she didn't bother with a second dose of the soothing cream. I had to earn this worship, had to be worthy. That was how I chose to interpret it. Its possible she wanted me to fully luxuriate in the sensations, wanted to feel my skin, the heat pouring off me. Certainly she made liberal use of the sticky goo that oozed out almost continuously, applying it to lips, nipples, even clit, dabbing it on her body like a perfume as I watched. She oiled my shaft, taking special care of it, torturing me with pleasure until I was harder than I'd ever been, fighting the constraining rings.

Without speaking she pushed me gently back onto her bed, until I lay back, head propped on her pillows against the oil and sex stained sheets, still faintly warm from her body. I knew, absolutely and uncompromisingly, that I still had to maintain control, no matter what. I knew she would test me. I suspected, only that, suspected she would not hold it against me if I failed this one test. Perhaps not hold it against me, but I would regret it, I was certain.

She climbed up between my legs, her heavy, oiled hair brushing my thighs, followed by her lips, her tongue as she worked up my body, thighs, then cock, then stomach, chest, nipples, her breasts, then her sex following, leaving a faint trail of her own lust as she worshipped my body, this time not as a god, but as an implement of pleasure, perhaps as a lover. She straddled my hips, her burning wet cunt pressed tight against the length of me, her hands braced on my ribs. No words, just an understanding.

She began to slide against me, the faint click of metal on metal punctuating each movement as she hit the rings at the base and head of my cock with the ring through her clit. I could do little but grip the posters at the head of the bed for all I was worth as she worked, slowly, certainly. I shuddered and twisted beneath her as she tossed her head, her body flushed with pleasure. She took her time, oh how she took her time. Once or twice I thought I was utterly done for, each time she slipped past the head, pushing my cock back with her body, bumping painfully against her ass as she forced my body down, and once I had calmed began the agonizing torture once more.

The Sun had almost crested the horizon when she finally shuddered to a halt, a silent flood drenching my tortured flesh as she came silently, collapsing against me for a long moment, her hips still pumping slightly.

She helped me to my feet, I was almost curious as to why, thinking she'd collapse into unconsciousness, having been up for more than a day by this point, but there was still the matter of the rings. I learned, almost to my chagrin, that there was an art to removing them when the man in question was so thoroughly ready to pop. As blood rushed into the affected flesh, I almost lost it once more. There was no way, none at all that I could make it through the day, I swore to myself. The merest brush of cloth, or god forbid a teasing hand, would spell the end of me.

She handed me the numbing oil with a knowing smile, practically collapsing back on the bed. I glanced out the window, but the car was gone.