In the Service Industry

Dear Readers, please remember that in sex, as in life, things are not always what they seem. Be sure to read the ending(s).

I decided to leave for the coast after a laughable freshman year in college, and immediately crashed with Keith, an old high school buddy who let me stay with him while I was looking for a job. Since he worked mostly nights as a chauffeur, I was left petty much on my own during the day. I wasn't really worried about finding something -- a job that would at least pay my half of the rent. I'm willing to work. Get along well with people. And I'm pretty good looking; never had trouble getting girls, anyway. I can even play the guitar some. I suppose I had some idea of hooking up with a band, or working in one of the clubs, or maybe doing something in films. I found a couple of part-time gigs as a bartender and worked at a couple of clubs, before I saw the help wanted ad for workers for the Better Western Pool and Lawn Service.

The money was good and I figured it would get me into some of the those huge fantastic homes in the hills. Then there were all kind of rumors about the "fringe benefits" of being a good-looking pool boy, though I figured that was just talk. Still it didn't hurt to get to rub elbows with some rich folks, and who knows maybe some hot rich bitch might ask Daddy to buy her a boy friend a Porsche? Well, as it turned out, I was half-right.

***

I heard someone call my name and squinted up into the sun to see Portia Crowley in a big straw hat and oversized sunglasses. She was leaning over the deck rail, looking down on me and waving a hand with colorful plastic bracelets looping her slim wrist. This was it! I had been summoned. I took a deep breath and laid down my equipment. On an impulse, I stripped off my T-shirt, slung it rakishly over one shoulder and started to climb towards the big house. Mrs. Crowley's "arrangement" was about to begin. I wondered what I was getting into as I climbed the stairs to that deck. Still, the sun felt good on my shoulders and the breeze on my bare chest. And I couldn't help smiling to myself. Mrs. Crowley was a definite babe, and she made it clear that she liked what she saw when she looked me over. My step quickened with the possibility of sex in the air; more than a possibility, if I played my cards right.

As I got to the top steps I saw them sitting there: four bikini-clad women with their tall iced drinks under the yellow umbrella of a round glass table. These were the friends she mentioned: attractive middle-aged women with lean athletic bodies, the kind who, when they're not out shopping in those little boutiques, are letting themselves be pampered in exclusive spas, or working out with the hands of personal trainers who slide their hands along their slender bodies for a quick feel. Women who are desperate to keep those bodies fit and trim enough to still turn heads when they sauntered by in their skimpy bikinis. Healthy, tanned, trophy wives on display: bored with their lives; neglected by rich husbands. Hubbies busy making deals for the latest blockbuster at some fancy restaurant, to pay attention to the prize they had left alone in their big house with the ocean view.

I knew the type very well, or at least I thought I did. But then I was only 26 at the time. Carlos, my boss, told me one of those horny Hollywood wives would take one look at me and go for it -- just a matter of time. He said he was cool with that - even a good thing, if it kept the customer happy. Dicking around with the customers was fine -- just not on company time.

***

How right he was! As it turned out, I'd only been on the job for about a month, when Portia Crowley made her move. She invited me in for an iced tea. It was then that she made me the proposition I couldn't refuse. She used to call it our "arrangement."

We were on her deck overlooking the pool. I was sitting on the chaise lounge admiring her long tanned legs and the nice way her bikini-clad bottom swayed as she strolled into the white house to get us something to drink. She came back with two glasses and settled down on a chaise lounge, casually crossing her long pretty legs.

"Why don't you come over here and sit by me?" She patted the warm cushion beside her. As I sat down, she shifted over, so close that our hips were practically touching. Handing me the cool frosty class, she gave me big smile from behind those sunglasses. I smiled back and quickly lowered my head to find myself gazing on a smooth nicely-tanned thigh that rested only inches from my leg. Then she told me about the arrangement she wanted to make. And as she talked she leaned back, one hand holding the glass, the other slipping down between us to come to rest on my leg just below my cut-offs. I tried not to react to her sudden touch, to act nonchalant, but the slender hand of this beautiful older woman just resting lightly on my bare thigh had sent me tingling.

She raised her glass in a toast. I was a handsome boy, she said, patting my thigh; she bet I was real stud in bed. She said it in a teasing way, but behind her dark glasses she seemed to be regarding me closely. It was obvious where this was heading; I felt a stir of excitement in my groin. And when I told her I did ok in that department, she grinned, that big sexy, know-it-all grin of hers, and asked if I would be willing to do some "extra" work for her. I would be paid; and paid well. An arrangement -- just between us.

And when I asked how much she had in mind. I nearly choked on my iced tea. Hell, I would have gladly fucked this beautiful cunt for nothing, but to have that kind of money laid on me...well it was so unbelievable! I couldn't help wondering if there was a catch. So I didn't answer her. Not at first. I played it cool and decided to ask a few questions. Like what exactly was it she wanted me to do for that kind of bread?

She assured me she was used to paying good money for top quality service. And that was what she expected from me. She wanted me for only a few hours once-a-week. But once set, she expected me to show up on time, clean and neat, and dressed exactly as she wanted to. I was to be available to her, to satisfy her wants, her needs, she added, all-business like now. Did I think I could do that? Satisfy her? I smiled and moved in to kiss her, but she pressed a flattened hand to my chest and pushed me back in no uncertain terms. "Whoa big boy! Not so fast. I'll tell you when, meanwhile there are a few little things we have to get straight first."

Then she told me what she really wanted: to do exactly as I was told. She wanted her orders followed to the letter. Should I be a bad boy, and not follow those orders, I would be punished. And then she gave a sexy smile. Everyone knew bad boys had to be spanked from time to time. It kept them in line, she added looking at me over the tops of her sunglasses, the half-smile widened on her lips. Now it hit me! This chick was into some kind of Dom thing. She wanted me to be something more than her "boy toy." Not really my kind of thing I have to admit, but I thought it over and what I could do with some real money, and I said 'what the hell, why not.' So I nodded and she smiled, and gave me a pat on the thigh.

And so that was the day I agreed to be Portia Crowley's plaything, and arranged to make her place my last regular stop on Thursday afternoons. By the time I got back with the truck Carlos would be gone for the day.

***

And now I was about to find what Portia meant by our "arrangement."

"Come over here Damon, Don't be shy."

I moved to the spot on the boards where she indicated, next to her deck chair. The other women looked up but no one said a word, just sat there across the table, quietly sipping their drinks, with little smiles plastered on their faces, watching me as I moved next to Portia's chair. I could feel their eyes taking in my shirtless chest, my flat belly, my thighs and the tight front of my cut-offs. "Oh, but where are my manners. Ladies, this is Damon, my new Pet. Damon, this is Meg, Brie, and Kat. And you may call me...Mistress. Wouldn't that be nice?" She looked up at me...waiting.

"Yes, Mistress." Now I knew I had been right. The bitch was a would-be Dominatrix. Suddenly, I didn't like where this was going.

"Yes, that's right. Now come closer. C'mon now. We won't bite. At least not hard." The women giggled like schoolgirls. Portia's hand came up my blue-jeaned hip, and slid around to pat me on the butt through the tight denim. "Ummm you got a nice body, Pet, you know that? Such a cute butt. Yesss...I'd like to take a little those nice buns of yours." She ran her hand down over the curves then grabbed one cheek to give me a sudden hard squeeze, almost knocking me off balance. Caught off-guard I teetered, and she slung an arm around my waist to steady me and to pull my hips closer to her.

"Let's have a good look at you," she purred, giving her gal pals a wink, with one of those deliciously wicked smiles on her painted lips. "Why don't you take those off, Stud? We wanna see what you're packin'."

I reached down to open my jeans and shoved the cut-offs down my legs leaving me standing on the open deck in my underwear. I almost laughed to see the way the bitches were practically salivating as they eyed up the bulge in the front of my jockey shorts.

"Mmmm...that's better. Now let's just take a look at the goodies you got hidden in there." Her hands came to the front, fingers hooked in the waistband as she rode my jockey shorts down my legs. I shifted uneasily. "No, don't move," she cautioned. " Put your hands up...behind your neck, and stand still, perfectly still." I took up the pose she wanted. Fingers locked behind my neck. My cock, suddenly released to the warm summer breeze, twitched in eager anticipation. A ripple of horniness ran through me as I realized how I must look: standing there, naked, with my underpants down around my ankles. But I kept my head held high, keeping my eyes on the far away ocean, while letting myself be exposed to the eyes of four good-looking women.

She moved closer, her face only inches from my private parts. "oh..my...oh yes...she murmured her approval. "Whaddya think, Girls?" She reached for my cock; lightly brushing her finger tips up my thickening penis, then lifting its semi-hard length on two fingertips, while she examined me.

As instructed, I kept my cool, not moving, looking out over their heads at the ocean, and keeping my face without expression, as though unconcerned, somehow above it all, like one of those models on the catwalk. I tried not to think of what was happening from my waist down where those lovely hands were working their magic on my stirring cock.

She held my manhood between two fingers..testing, lightly squeezing, sampling my firmness. When she suddenly abandoned my cock, I was allowed a brief respite. I took a couple of deep breaths, before her hand was back between my legs this time searching for my balls. "Mmm...Nice ...and big too! I do so love a man with big balls," she crooned, cupping me lightly. She weighed my hairy balls in her cupped hand, fondled me lavishly, rolling my balls in her palm till I couldn't keep quiet any more. A tiny grunt escaped my tightly-pressed lips.

"Yes..very nice," the bitch breathed. "Would you like your Mistress to make that pretty thing of yours all nice and hard, Pet?"

Too distracted to speak, I could only bite my lip and nod. The tension was starting to build. I was panting heavily; my cock clearly on the rise already with all this manipulation, it had grown to a full-fledged erection right in front of the eyes of the four gaping women.

I closed my eyes as I felt her long delicious fingers wrap around my rigid cock, holding my throbbing penis and tightening in her soft cool hand around me.

"Ah..poor boy...looks like he needs some relief."

She slowly pulled and stretched my stiffened prick, rubbed her thumb up the underside of the quivering shaft. I could do nothing more than whimper at that. Then the bitch started stroking me in earnest. I groaned, a deep throated groan of pleasure; my hips bucked forward instinctively.

The massive surge of lust that rose up in me sent me staggering. My hands came down to grip the chair. Half bent over her and panting heavily, all I could think of was what that jacking hand was doing to me, as I gritted my teeth. Sensing how close I was, the bitch tightened her fist on me and yanked harder as my hips bucked, meeting the increased rhythm of her jerking hand.

Without thinking about it I was thrusting back against that pleasuring hand, desperate to make the feelings more intense. She pumped faster. It felt incredible. I struggled to hold on just a little longer. Struggled against the unstoppable rise of pure pleasure. But it was a fight I was destined to lose.

Even though I practically collapsed on her, she never stopped her furious pumping. She merely ducked under my heaving chest and kept pumping away, determined to bring me off. I threw my head and shoulders back and moaned out loud. Sensing I was so very near the edge, the bitch gave one final vicious yank, and I came with a tremendous, earth-shaking shudder, spewing cum all over place, splattering her chair, the glass table and even her bikini and her thighs

***

It was on that day that Damon learned what it meant to be the pet of a dominatrix like Portia. For it was not just that she meant for him to perform on command but -- and this was the worst part -- she insisted on humiliating him in the process. She would punish him for breaking the pose without her permission; for decorating her deck and furniture with his sperm, for dripping it all over her thighs and for befouling her expensive swimsuit.

And so, in front of her fascinated friends, the young man was ordered to clean up his own cum, to bend down and lick the glass table top clean, to crawl around on the deck, naked and on hands and knees. To crawl past his Mistress' legs still licking up every drop that had fallen to the deck, while she reached down to slap his butt repeatedly, calling him her "bad boy." He heard the laughter of women ringing in his ears. And in the end, still on hands and knees, she made him lick every drop of male spendings from her lovely thighs, and even the drops that stained the slick purple swimsuit that spanned her hips.

***

Now there are two endings to the story of Portia and Damon. The one you've just read came to us anonymously in an e-mail from someone named Lady L. Damon however, when asked to respond, maintains that that day had a very different ending.

He said that he found himself moving as in a dream when he let her parade him around in front of her friends, made him undress for them, played with him in public, and even jacked him off while they all watched. But when she ordered him down on all fours to crawl at her feet like a dog, a strange thing happened. A sense of outrage suddenly came over him. He felt a surge in his loins and a swelling of his cock that grew into a second erection, this one even stiffer, more powerful than the first.

The healthy young male shook himself and stood up to his full height, his incredibly hard penis standing proudly, quivering in the open air. A deep-seated feeling of pride in his rejuvenated manhood welled up in him, as with a cry of rage he attacked his tormentor. Grabbing the astonished woman by her thick hair, he lifted her to her feet and dragged her shrieking, struggling body before the table, where he forced her to her knees, right in front of her awe-struck friends.

Clamping her bare shoulders to hold her in place, he thrust his hips forward, rubbing his hard throbbing cock all over the woman's twisting face. Then he grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and forced the kneeling woman to open her mouth and to accept his ragging manhood.

The End