Auditions Three

Copyright Oggbashan July 2020. Edited July 2020 to get daughter's name consistent.

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

The action in this story happens several years after my story 'Auditions' and about six months after 'Auditions Two' but stands alone.

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"Harry," Margaret said conversationally, "Emily is thinking of reviving the auditions idea again."

I couldn't comment. I was gagged with a maid's apron, tied to the bed and Margaret's white cotton panties under a dark blue nurse's dress were an inch away from my face. As she finished speaking Margaret lowered her body to muffle me against those panties. She started squirming above my face. Soon she would whip those panties off and move down to engulf my insistent erection.

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Margaret's daughter, Emily, wanted models for her clothing products. She had found the old 'Auditions' sign in the unused parts of my industrial estate and that gave the idea of reviving the old auditions scenario, this time for her own company's creations.

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Up to a decade ago, three or four times a year a sign saying 'Auditions' used to appear at the entrance to an unmade track leading off a major road I used daily. It always seemed incongruous but I knew what it was about.

About half a mile down that track was a former commercial building that was the base for a small mail-order company that sold protective wear, mainly for women. They imported and distributed hotel wear, café uniforms, care assistants dresses etc.

The company closed down several years ago, and except for a short episode detailed in my earlier account 'Auditions', the buildings had remained unused. For a year afterward I had become an infrequent sex partner with Margaret, a local woman. We amused ourselves, Margaret dressing up as a nurse, a chambermaid, or a care assistant, before we made love.

Then I bought the whole industrial estate at an auction. I was the only bidder and there was no reserve. I asked for Margaret's advice since my previous property deals had been residential. We resumed sexual encounters with me as her victim while she was dressed as a maid or a nurse. As part of the deal between us I arranged for her daughter, Emily, to move into part of the estate with her clothing company. Emily and her staff were selling off the old industrial equipment and other items left on site with half the profits going to me to help fund a new access road.

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At first Emily had sold items through eBay with pictures of some of her staff taken on mobile phones. Now she wanted a more professional set of photos to produce a catalogue for postal and online sales through her improved website. A local photographic studio would take the pictures but Emily wanted models. The scenario used by the original clothing company a decade or so ago seemed suitable. The models would be paid expenses and fifty pounds and they would be given copies of any pictures to form a portfolio. Any suitable models would have their photos and contact details sent to a London model agency that might take one or two as clients.

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When Margaret untied me and rested her head on my shoulder she explained further about Emily's idea and what they wanted from me. I had replaced my LandRover with a nine-seat people carrier. If models came for the audition Emily wanted me to meet them at the train station and bring them to the site down the newly completed access road. After the auditions she wanted me to take the potential models back to the station. Our station is a rural one with no taxi service except by prior, and expensive, pre-booking. The women attending the auction were unlikely to have enough money for a taxi.

Now that I was retired, except for my infrequent property deals and finding tenants for the large industrial estate I had bought cheaply, I had time to run potential models to and from the station if I had a day or so's notice. When I was able to speak I told Margaret that I would cooperate.

I didn't appreciate that Margaret and Emily wanted me for other things as well. After I had driven the first two sets of young women to and from Emily's company buildings, Margaret and Emily asked me to return to Emily's base.

When I walked in to the reception area Emily seemed embarrassed.

"Mum, can you explain to Harry what I need, please?" Emily said before leaving us alone.

Margaret kissed me before making tea for both of us. She too seemed embarrassed.

She started speaking quickly, giving me little opportunity to interrupt.

"Harry, Emily's company has made a lot of money in the last six months selling the equipment and other things that were on this site when you bought it."

I nodded. My 50% share of the proceeds had already repaid the capital costs of buying the industrial estate and improving the access.

"You remember she found some larger size maids' uniforms and sold them for a high price on eBay before making some in satin."

I nodded again.

"Making those uniforms is now 25% of her turnover but 40% of her profits. Ordinary work wear has to compete on price with many other manufacturers and the profit margin is small. But the Maids' uniforms her company makes for male cross-dressers and for bondage is almost a unique range of products and she can set the prices much higher, and even higher still if they are made to measure."

I was beginning to see where this was leading.

"Although over the last six months the sales of surplus equipment has given her and you a lot of capital, eventually everything that could be sold will have been and Emily will have to rely on her products to keep the business profitable. The auditions and models will be used for the main catalogues of work wear but she also needs a separate catalogue for the specialised products. She isn't sure that she can realistically seek out male models for that because it might be embarrassing and expensive to get models for those specialist items."

Margaret paused for breath.

"So she and you thought of Harry?"

Margaret blushed.

"Well, yes."

"But I could be embarrassed too," I objected.

"We wouldn't use your face. Only Emily or I would take the pictures and I will give you a reward after each session."

Margaret knew exactly what sort of reward I'd like.

"In that case, I'll do it for you, and for the reward I'll get."

Margaret jumped on my lap, nearly spilling my tea which I hurriedly put down, hugged and kissed me before moving upwards and burying my head in her cleavage.

"I'll tell Emily," Margaret said when she let me breathe again.

She left. I finished my cup of tea. I had just put the empty cup down when Margaret came back with Emily.

"You've agreed?" Emily asked.

"Yes," I said.

I might have said more but Emily jumped on me and now I was being smothered in a daughter's cleavage. I could hear Margaret objecting before Emily released me.

"But I owe him so much," Emily said. "So do my employees. We all like Harry."

"You may like Harry," Margaret said, "But remember he's mine."

"But I love him too, Mum."

I couldn't say anything. Emily's cleavage was swamping me. She might not be as well-developed as Margaret but Emily has enough to make me speechless.

"Emily! He's mine!" Margaret protested.

Emily relaxed her tight hug and let me breathe.

"OK, Mum, but I owe him a lot."

Emily climbed off me and was immediately replaced by Margaret.

"Harry?" Emily asked. "Can you be here with Mum at ten o'clock Monday morning?"

I couldn't answer. My mouth was covered by Margaret's cleavage.

"We'll be there," Margaret said.

I took Margaret back to her house. She made an evening meal for both of us before another session of me being squashed against her cotton panties under the skirt of a nurse's uniform. After an hour, ending with me sucking and licking her naked sex, she moved down to claim my erection.

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Monday morning, after breakfast, I had to go home and change before taking both of us to the industrial estate. Emily met us in the reception area before we went through to what had been the previous photographic studio. It was still set up like a hotel room but on a blank wall there was a white background.

Emily gave me a face mask, looking like a simpering blonde with shoulder length hair. I could breathe through the nose holes but my mouth was covered. Once on, I had difficulty speaking. Margaret was wearing an identical mask. We both found them irritating because we couldn't speak to complain or object to what Emily wanted us to do.

"We'll crop the photos so the heads don't show. The masks protect your identity before the cropping," Emily explained.

"This is one of our cheapest and most popular products," Emily said, holding up a short white apron trimmed with lace. "We have made it in three sizes, small, medium and large. It is a modified version of the 'Mistress' apron we made at first. A few customers complained that if the hands were fixed by restraints outside the waistband, anyone who had reasonably flexible wrists and fingers could pull at the Velcro to release themselves, unless it was inside out. So now the restraints are inside the apron's waistband. Let me show you."

She put the apron against my waist before fixing my hands inside the waistband. She then overlapped the back of the waistband, pressing the ends together so they were fixed by more Velcro. Once the waistband was reasonably tight around my waist, I couldn't lift the Velcro that was holding my wrists by my sides.

"OK, Harry, I'll take a few pictures of you wearing that," Emily said.

She did, with more of me struggling futilely to release myself.

"And now, Mum, with you wearing the apron and Harry on his knees in front of you, please."

They fixed my wrists inside the waistband with my hands pointing upwards. My head was pressed against Margaret's waist. Emily moved around taking picture of my predicament.

"Mum? Cover Harry's head with the apron," Emily asked.

Margaret pulled the apron's skirt upwards and pulled it down behind my head. Most, but not all, of my head was now hooded by the apron and my face was pressed against Margaret's skirt.

"Now for the slightly more expensive one with long streamers," Emily said.

The apron was almost identical except that once the back pieces were wrapped and fastened with Velcro the streamers could be tied in a bow, hanging down the wearer's back. Emily repeated the photos she had taken of the first version.

It was boring as Emily repeated the photos with two versions of a calf length apron. My head was completely covered when Margaret pulled the skirt behind me. I was even more concealed when the ankle length versions were used. Those versions had Velcro at the edges of the apron's wide skirt. If I was wearing it, the apron's skirt could be wrapped around me, hobbling me, or it could be flipped upwards and wrapped around my upper body, hooding and blindfolding me. If Margaret was wearing it I could be fastened to her legs or underneath her skirt which was held tightly around me by the apron.

The aprons were embarrassing enough but Emily moved on to bondage dresses and female uniforms which were locked on me once I was wearing them. Whether my hands were restrained or not, and they usually were, I couldn't take the dress off without assistance from whoever had the key.

Margaret sometimes wore dresses or uniforms that trapped and confined me, usually inside the skirt and against her panties. The most expensive item in Emily's catalogue of special wear was a white satin wedding dress with a nine-foot long train. My body was tightly wrapped and imprisoned in that train and my head was scissored between Margaret's legs with my face secured against her sex by an adapted pair of white silk panties. No matter how much I struggled I couldn't move my face away nor do anything except make the train quiver slightly as I tried to free myself. Since my head was completely hidden inside Margaret's wedding gown I wasn't wearing the mask for that series of photos but resumed it afterwards for some other bondage dresses.

It was lunchtime by the time that Emily was satisfied that she thought she had enough pictures to make the catalogue. We were relieved to shed the masks and have coffee before Margaret and I left for lunch in a nearby public house. We would come back in the afternoon when Emily had reviewed the photos, just in case she wanted us to replicate any poses.

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Emily was satisfied. She gave Margaret two of each version of the 'mistress' aprons that she said were for 'washing'. I wasn't convinced. When I had replaced the kitchen Emily and her staff were using I had had installed a new washing machine and tumble drier. Emily could wash anything on site. I suspected Margaret wanted them to use on me.

That afternoon, back at Margaret's house, my suspicions were confirmed. We hadn't been in long before my wrists were constrained by the basic apron. An ankle length apron was tightly wrapped around my legs so I couldn't walk. Margaret pushed me to sit on the edge of the bed before putting another ankle length apron around my waist and then flipping it up to cover my upper body completely and hood my head. She heaved me to the centre of the bed before uncovering my head and fastening the apron loosely around my neck.

I was completely helpless, tightly bound by aprons as Margaret's panties descended to muffle my face under her uniform skirt. I was struggling to breathe as Margaret brought herself to a series of orgasms. Having me as her helpless prisoner always excites her. Finally she unwrapped the lower apron constricting my legs, pulled my trousers and boxers down before riding me to a very satisfactory conclusion.

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Shortly after Emily had moved her sales staff on to the site I had employed Andy, a fork lift driver, to move any equipment Emily's team might sell and to clear some of the industrial units so they could be refurbished. Andy was also a qualified handyman would could do basic maintenance and work with the contractors I brought on site to replace the electrics, and to fit a new kitchen, bathroom and toilets for Emily's staff.

Emily's staff helped significantly. They provided tea and coffee for anyone I had working on the site and assisted Andy with directing what equipment was due to be collected, or just moved so the contractors could work. The sales team produced information for potential businesses. But the work of running the industrial estate and finding tenants was becoming too much for me because I had my residential portfolio to run too.

I asked Margaret if she could become the part-time manager of the site, working from a small office next to Emily's unit. She was reluctant at first but after a week or so she found she was enjoying herself. Soon after the new access road was completed we had six new tenants of varying sizes, all benefitting from a free initial business rate and a 50% discount on their first year's rental. Those reductions helped new businesses become established and defrayed some of the cost of moving an existing business. Among the new tenants were an electrical contractor and a plumbing business, both of whom did work for me on the site.

The number of people working on the site, even taken with the older small estate reached by footpath, was not enough to justify a café, nor even a burger van.

The kitchen I had renovated for Emily's staff was initially used by all the people on site but the woman objected because some of the men had no idea of food hygiene, or even of doing the washing up. I made a room next to that kitchen into a communal dining room with a sink, a kettle and a microwave. That dining room became the social hub of the site with the men flirting with Emily's female staff, even if most of the women were married and older than the men.

Most days I had lunch with Margaret in that dining room. Either Margaret or Emily would prepare that meal in the kitchen. On the days that neither were there another of Emily's staff would make something for me.

Tuesday when Margaret wasn't on site until the afternoon I was surprised to meet David, Emily's recently divorced ex-husband, in the dining room.

"Hello, David," I said cautiously, not sure how he would react or why he was there.

"Hello, Harry," he said affably. "I'm here because Emily and I need to sort out some paperwork."

"You're speaking to each other?" I blurted without thinking.

"Yes, thanks to you, Harry, the separation and divorce have become much easier. My family were assholes, treating Emily far worse than she deserved. I loved Emily. I still do, and she loves me, but we grew apart as we concentrated on our business ventures. Now she has a base here and has left our family land, she and I can deal with each other as adults. We had intended an agreed separation but my family interfered making things awkward if not bloody difficult. Emily and I never intended that. And most of the credit is yours, Harry. Thank you."

"Emily has done a lot for me. Her sales of the equipment and other things left on site have paid for the site purchase and the new entrance," I said. "And now she is still adding to my capital."

"You know she loves you, Harry," David said.

"I know. That is awkward. I might become her step-father, but it's her Mum I want."

"She doesn't always think of you as a possible step-father. Even if she did, you are so different from her real father."

I knew very little about Margaret's former husband. Neither Emily nor Margaret talked about him.

"Her real father?" I asked.

"He was an asshole. He used his fists on Margaret and Emily. There might have been a prosecution for his abuse. The evidence Margaret and Emily gave at the divorce hearing was reviewed by the Crown Prosecution Service but the mother and daughter were just glad to be rid of him and didn't want him to be tried. Emily and I met just as the divorce proceedings were being heard. I was a sympathetic ear but at times I felt like punching Emily's father as I heard the details. Emily contrasts you with him and Harry seems almost perfect by comparison."

"I'm not," I objected.

"I know. So do Emily and Margaret. But you are so different from Emily's father and she loves you for it."

Just then Emily arrived with our meals. She put them down in front of us before siting between us. She kissed David's cheek before kissing me full on the lips.

"And what have the two men I love been talking about?" Emily asked.

"You, your Mum," David paused, "and your Dad."

"My Dad? He's an asshole. We would be wholly free of him except he and Mum still jointly own a holiday caravan in Essex. They bought that when I was a teenager. Mum has offered to buy Dad out, or suggested he could buy her half. He won't do either because he uses it to twist Mum's tail. Whenever she has to talk to him about it she gets stressed. That won't last much longer. It is now old and will have to be moved off site in a couple of years. I'll be glad when it is gone, even if I did enjoy it when I was young. Dad used to go to the bar for hours, leaving Mum and me on our own -- the only times he ever did. Those hours were bliss even if we paid for it when he returned drunk. When that caravan is no more, Mum and I can forget him and good riddance. We still use it from time to time but Mum has to check that her ex won't be around. Just checking with him makes her cry."

"I'm glad our divorce isn't that stressful," David said.

"No. It isn't, David. That's because we still have respect for each other and there is still some love even if we aren't compatible anymore." Emily replied.