All the Bells and Whistles Pt. 08

22. A Helping Hand

"Seriously, I'll help you clean this room." The look on her face said she wasn't kidding.

The look on my face was stunned disbelief.

"Wait -- what? Why?" I stammered.

"Why not? You look like you could use the help," -- she tapped my hands for effect as she said it.

"What's the matter? You don't want any help?" She looked at me intensely, waiting for my response. It felt like she was testing me.

"No... I mean yes... I mean, I just... I... are you serious?" I didn't believe her.

I didn't even know if her offer was appropriate. I mean, this wasn't exactly supposed to be a group activity. Then again, I didn't cause any of this, so I could hardly be held responsible for the outcome, right?

She shrugged and said: "Good. It's settled. You sit still and I'll gather the rest of this -- stuff -- up. I'll be much quicker, and quieter, than you ever could hope to be."

And with that, she got to her feet, picking up the basket as she stood. I noticed her toes -- they were painted a bright red, and her feet looked like she must have just had a pedicure. For some reason, I found myself wondering what her plans had been for tonight before she found herself helping me?

I shook my head and said, "You don't have to do this, really," as she scooped up more ribbon, a small vibrator and a ball gag, and dropped them all into the basket. It was appalling just how much quicker she was without my restrictions.

She looked back at me and smiled; "You really think I could just walk away and leave you like that? With all those guys down there?"

Stockings, two different collars, a handful of different lengths of chain and a pair of nipple clamps went into the basket without a second glance from her. So far, her casual attitude was saving me from the acute embarrassment I was expecting when I'd realized what she'd be doing.

"I can't believe this is happening" I muttered, as she picked up the little satin pouch that held the other plug in our inventory.

"I think it's pretty sexy, to be honest." She smiled sweetly as she picked up the panel gag I'd worn earlier in the evening.

She stopped short of placing it in the basket though, and she looked at me instead.

"This is wet. Were you...?" She trailed off as she held up the white leather strap with the stubby black cock on the inside, the material obviously still wet from my mouth.

I nodded yes and turned my head, so I didn't have to look at her, my cheeks blushing crimson.

"Is it comfortable?" I heard her ask.

It wasn't the type of question I was expecting, under the circumstances.

I shrugged and said, "It's better than some options, I guess; especially if you're going to wear it for any length of time."

"And did you? Wear it for long, I mean?"

What was this, twenty questions?

I nodded again. "A while," I said, and looked at the floor again.

She seemed satisfied that I was telling the truth as she finally placed it in the basket and moved on. A pair of latex panties was next, and then a coil of rope.

I wasn't paying close attention as she made her way around the room. My mind was still spinning from the turn of events and starting to understand just how lucky I seem to have been. If I was going to be discovered, I had expected the result to be very different than this.

Out of nowhere came a startled squeal from her. I spun my head to see what the cause was.

"Ick, these are soaked!" she was holding the panties I'd been wearing earlier. "They're not... Like... why are they wet? It's not ...?"

It dawned on me in an instant what she was struggling to say, and I shook my head vigorously as my eyes went wide with terrified embarrassment.

"No! Oh, god no!" I blurted out.

She looked at me, confused yet again, still holding the panties, waiting for an explanation.

Eager to convince her that there were limits to even my husband's sexual deviances I abandoned any modesty I had hoped to save and blurted out: "They were in my mouth. That's why they're so wet."

The look on her face suggested she wasn't ready to believe me.

"Honest, I swear! They're wet because they were in my mouth... basically."

"Basically?" She looked a little appalled, if one can be a little appalled. "What does 'basically' mean?"

I lowered my gaze from hers once again and managed to mutter "I was gagged with them. After -- you know -- I'd been, like..." my voice trailed off to silence before I could manage to finish the sentence.

There was a long silence, and all of a sudden I felt like crying again.

"Oh, thank god!" I heard her blurt out, unexpectedly. "I thought they were, like, wet from something else... Not that I'd judge or anything, I swear!"

Yeah, right.

I shook my head. It's all I could manage.

Then I heard her giggling again, which caused me to look up. She was dangling the panties from her finger, and she had a cheeky look on her face.

"Is there anything he doesn't stuff in your mouth? I mean..." and she shook the basket as she spoke "you've got at least two other gags in here, and I haven't cleaned up the whole room yet."

I sheepishly shrugged my shoulders. What could I say?

Then she tossed the panties at me, which took me by surprise. They hit me square in the upper chest and slid down over my cleavage and dropped in my lap. She was right, they were very wet.

"I'm assuming the rest of this stuff" --and she nodded towards the basket now tucked under her left arm -- "is clean, and those are obviously anything but. I'm not going to put them in with clean toys, and I'm not going to carry your wet panties for you either." She wiped her free hand on her jeans, a little dramatically I thought.

Still, I nodded submissively. It seemed reasonable to me. I can't imagine I'd do any differently if I were in her shoes.

She continued filling the basket. There was more tape, more rope, more -- clean -- lingerie. Soon the basket was brimming with items I never intended anyone to see, all items she had now handled and scrutinized. Aside from the panties though, she hadn't made a single negative comment about any of it. In fact, she had cooed enviously over the lingerie and even some of the kinky accessories.

In less time than I would have imagined, the room was presentable again. The two desks, the end tables and the chairs all seemed to be free of anything and everything that had come from our adult toy box. She definitely accomplished the feat in a fraction of the time it would have taken me.

"That looks like it's about it then" she said as she stood over me and turned a full circle, scanning the room one last time. "The master bedroom is at the other end of the hall, I'm guessing?"

"Yes," I said.

"Alright then. I'll make sure the coast is clear, then I'll drop this basket off and come back for you... don't go anywhere," she said as she winked for effect.

"Yeah, right," I replied meekly.

She opened the door and scanned the hallway, then she was gone. She didn't latch the door behind her, but she had at least pulled it closed.

With the door open the music and the noise from the men below came blaring in, I realized that it was even louder than before. I guess I had been somewhat preoccupied since the woman had stumbled upon me. They were so loud that none of my accessories would be likely to give me away now -- not the panties or even the heels I was wearing.

I looked down at my fists, and then at the panties in my lap. I started working my two paws together, attempting to get a hold of the panties, in preparation for the upcoming dash to sanctuary.

23. Walk of Shame

The wait was longer than I expected. For a moment I thought maybe she'd abandoned me; Maybe she changed her mind? Maybe she realized that this whole situation was seriously fucked up, and that she should get as far away from me, and this house, as she could?

I was wrestling with those and a million other thoughts, when suddenly she appeared in front of me. The Ballerina, it turned out, had nothing on this girl. She moved like a cat.

"Ready to go?" She said it casually, as if she was picking up a friend to go to a movie.

"Sure" I said. I didn't sound confident though.

Earlier in the evening, when I was on my own, it had been up to me to work up the nerve. It had been my responsibility to work up the courage to undertake each more difficult task. Now that she was here though, it felt different. It was like I wasn't in charge anymore. I had the feeling that I just had to do what I was told. It was a relief, in a weird way.

She held the door open and motioned with her hand for me to go first.

I took a deep breath, and then pinched the panties -- the last of the items that my husband had scattered about the room -- between my satin-covered fists, and rocked my weight back until my bum was balanced on my heels in preparation of getting up from my kneeling position; not an easy thing to do in a corset, with heels on and no hands to steady yourself.

Before I could make the final upward push to get to my feet though, I saw her shaking her head disapprovingly... and so I hesitated.

"Don't get up, dear," she said, still shaking her head.

I smiled at her joke, but my concentration had been interrupted and the panties had slipped from between my fists while I struggled to maintain my balance.

The panties ended up on the floor beside my knees, and I had to shuffle backwards in order to be able to bring both of my paws to bear on them once more.

"Just a sec, I'll be ready, I promise," I said. I had this feeling like she was waiting for me, and every moment I delayed was a disappointment to her.

I pushed the panties around until they were in a ball that I could pinch between my fists again. Oh, what I wouldn't give to have my fingers back at that moment!

"Seriously, don't get up," she said again.

I looked up at her, expecting to find her smiling, maybe even giggling. Surely, she was making a sarcastic reference about how long it was taking me to get moving?

She wasn't giggling. She was smiling, but it was a different smile than I'd seen earlier; it brought me no comfort.

"What... what do you mean?" I asked, my voice wavering slightly.

"I mean, don't get up," she stepped closer to me as she repeated herself. She crouched down in front of me as I tried to process the situation. It was my turn to look confused.

While I searched my thoughts, trying to find the sarcasm or the humor that I felt I must be missing, I continued to work at the panties with both fists, trying to pick them up so I could take them with me.

I wracked my brain, but I couldn't come up with a reason for her comment about not getting up. I didn't get it. What was her point? Why shouldn't I get up?

"But, how will I get to the mas..."

I didn't finish the sentence.

If you were to give the matter some thought, you would probably conclude that it is very hard to put something into someone's mouth if they don't want you to. I mean, have you ever tried it? Even if they're restrained, they can still close their mouth and hold it shut with incredible force. And chances are they can turn their head from side to side too, making it even more difficult. No, in order to smoothly and easily put something into someone's mouth, they either have to allow it, or you have to be both really lucky, and really fast.

Think about it -- even if someone isn't really expecting it, if you move a hand or an object towards their face quickly enough, they'll flinch. Flinching alone would probably be enough to prevent you from putting anything in a person's mouth on the first try.

That's why I was so shocked by what she did.

As I tried to ask her how I was supposed to get from one end of the house to the other without getting up, she demonstrated that she was very fast, and she was also very lucky. She picked up my panties and managed to stuff a significant portion of them into my mouth just as I was trying to say something, and while I wasn't really paying attention to her, to boot. I never saw it coming, thus I didn't even flinch.

I just knelt there, staring at her, my face blank while my jaw closed around the soaked fabric in my mouth.

"There. Now you don't have to worry about carrying them." She said, and then she smiled -- genuinely this time -- as she looped her finger through the ring at the front of my collar and pulled me forward.

I automatically reached out with my mittened fists to prevent myself from falling on my face, and ended up on my hands and knees, just as I'd been when she found me.

Authority is a funny thing. It comes in so many different forms, and it works in different ways on different people. Normally, I'm not the type to roll over to just anyone claiming authority. After all, I didn't get to where I am in life by being a pushover.

...However, I can tell you from first-hand experience that circumstances can have a huge impact on how a person perceives authority. For my part, while I usually have the self-confidence to question any authority of dubious legitimacy, I had never found myself confronted by a stranger while faced with so many reminders of my complete and utter lack of authority.

A maid's costume, complete with bondage accessories, as well as a plug and a mouthful of your own panties will do a lot to undermine your ability to feel authoritative towards anyone. Couple that with being tired, sexually frustrated, humiliated, and suffering from the cumulative effects of an hours-long emotional roller coaster, and I can't pretend that I even considered questioning her orders.

So, when this strange woman basically ordered me to get on my hands and knees, and then stuffed a pair of embarrassingly used panties in my mouth when I protested, I found myself doing as I was told instead of protesting her very presence in my house. It's kind of scary when I think about it... if I think about it.

"That's better, dear," she said to me, smiling as I assumed my position on all fours.

She walked a circle around me, and when she was again in front of me, she was holding the riding crop that should have been collected in the basket of other toys, and thus should not have been in the room.

"I was thinking it would be fun for both of us, if you were to crawl to the bedroom. What do you think of that?"

I wasn't sure if she was expecting me to try to answer her with my mouth half full. I decided to remain silent and wait.

"I have a feeling you might enjoy crawling there a little more than walking, and I think it would be fun to see. Plus, it seems like something your husband would approve of, and besides; you owe me."

She was having trouble suppressing a giggle when she spoke, and she was flexing the crop between her hands like a jockey choosing his weapon before the Kentucky Derby.

I was too stunned to think straight. I couldn't wrap my head around the situation that had developed fast enough.

I had a hundred questions: Was she serious? Was she crazy? Was this a test of some sort?

But my mind kept circling back to one question more than any of the others: Who is this woman?!?

I hadn't moved yet. I was still on all fours with these fucking panties in my mouth - yet again - and she was looking at me expectantly.

I let out a sigh, and then I reached forward with my right hand, and started towards the door. Just before I lowered my eyes to focus on the floor in front of me, I caught a glimpse of the look on her face when she realized I would do as she instructed; the look was one part smug satisfaction, and two parts lower-lip-biting lust...

That first stride produced a chorus of bells ringing from my backside. I could hear her giggle with delight at the sound. By now I had come to think of the bells as a tiny army of little silver monsters, camped firmly on my ass. In my mind they were dancing with joy, throwing a noisy little party with each wiggle of my bum. I wanted to crush each of those little monsters under my heel, one by one.

She stood at the door as I slowly made my way to her. I couldn't see her face; it would have been uncomfortable to tilt my head up to see her while crawling even if I had wanted to, but the truth is seeing her face would only have served to make my humiliation worse, and so I avoided it. Instead I focused on her bright red toenails as I crawled; first to them, and then past them as I entered the doorway, leaving her slightly behind me.

At the doorway I paused. The threshold represented a new world of danger, and the reality of my new chaperone became more distinct; crossing into the hallway, dressed like a fetish model and jingling all the way, crawling on hands and knees carrying a blatant symbol of humiliation in my mouth, and being urged along by a crop-wielding stranger was a whole new echelon for me. I'd gone from sexy housewife to bona fide fetish tart in a few short hours.

I don't know how long I hesitated in the doorway; it could have been a moment; it could have been a minute. But I distinctly remember the sting of the crop on my right ass cheek, followed by her voice.

"Go on dear, out you go."

Her voice was light and airy, but the tone was all business. Where did this woman come from?

My left cheek received the same treatment as the right only a second later, and I couldn't stifle the squeal it elicited, but at least it was muffled. The bells jingled their approval of her tactics.

The noise from downstairs was so loud I didn't worry about the noise I made, but it also added a new dimension to be afraid of; would I be able to hear someone coming up the stairs at this point?

I crossed through the doorway into the hallway on my hands and knees, just as she had instructed. As I made my way past the top of the stairs and turned the corner to start down the long hallway, with my sanctuary at the end, I found myself wondering about the woman behind me.

What would she do if one of the men came up the stairs? Would she stay, and risk being discovered with me? Or would she tip-toe into a guest room, or hide behind a door and leave the humiliation all to me? Would she valiantly run interference to protect me? If she did, how would she hide the crop?

As much as my mind was racing between the endless questions that materialized from somewhere back in my subconscious, it was also starting to process the erotic side of the situation. It had taken me less time than I ever would have guessed to feel the positive effects of this ridiculous scenario. I couldn't deny that with every passing minute, the situation was becoming more and more arousing.

I have fantasized about submitting to a woman before, many times. My husband knows about this, and from time to time he would incorporate other women into the suggestive stories he would whisper in my ear; our version of talking dirty.

But just like I had never imagined actually being caught in any one of the many exhibitionist fantasies I'd indulged in, I had also never actually imagined what it would be like to have a real, live woman involved.

I didn't have a crush on a particular woman. The stories my husband would weave for me never had any detail; he never referred to any woman I knew, so I couldn't prepare myself for her personality or the sound of her voice... or her unpredictability.

But now I was living a fantasy, in a way. I was completely compromised; I had no illusion of choice or innocence. She had found me in a position so obviously, consentingly perverted, yet so vulnerable that she had almost carte blanche to do with me what she pleased. And so far, she was taking advantage of it.

The reality of her decision to participate instead of expose or judge had finally set in. It was a cliché from a porn script that just isn't supposed to come true in real life. She was supposed to be embarrassed, horrified or even angry when she found me as I was. Instead she was loving it and making the most of her opportunity by taking full advantage of me. When all of that had finally sunk into my head, I actually shuddered with pleasure. The tiny spasm moved through my body like a wave; it started at the back of my neck and rolled down my body, setting my skin on fire as it went. The wave passed through my hips and down between my legs, creating a brief clenching sensation that was at once exquisite and entirely unsatisfying. It did, however, remind me suddenly of the plug I'd been wearing since my last challenge.