He Complimented My Appearance

Author's note: This is a different version of an earlier story, "Meeting Charlotte", but with a gay focus. So there is a strong element of mind control which makes it a hybrid of sorts.

I. A MEETING AT THE MALL

Three taps on the door, followed by "five minutes to show," the voice said.

"Gotcha," I called back. "Almost there."

"OK," the voice replied, fading away.

I was almost there. My left stocking seam was refusing to line up. The Cuban heel was straight, but the seam was drifting., I thought. Shucking it down to the foot, I squared it once more and then pulled straight up. Success!

Time for my toe-to-head review: heels -- stocking -- seams -- backless panties -- rear zipper on the 20-inch black leather skirt halfway up -- chemise straps up -- bra low -- cleavage moderate -- vermillion lipstick -- wig fluffed -- two button black kid gloves. Check. Deep breath and out I go.

The stages fluctuate between five settings: Bedroom, Confinement, Domination, Vampire, and Office. Tonight it was Confinement. The set-up is simple. A straight back chair with a night stand next to it. A bar between two chains with cuffs attached and an overhead lamp above that. Cameras to the left and right with boom mikes to the side.

Ricco, our "Star", was already there. Taller than me (I'm 5-9+) in his flat feet, the four-inch heels made us about even He was in black leather pants and a white silky shirt. He had leather wristbands. Just enough mascara to accentuate his eyes.

He sniffed, "Cutting it a bit close, aren't we? Are you ready?"

I nodded, "Yep, one seam wouldn't cooperate. Cleaned and lubed."

Victor - the "Director" - stepped up, gave us the once over, "OK, you're good to go. Any questions on the sequence?"

We both shook our heads.

He stepped back, holding up his hand. A brief pause and then, "Five -- Four -Three," he counted down showing Two, then One and then a finger point.

Ricco was behind me. He grabbed my neck and pushed me into the set. I stumbled, looking around.

"Hey," I yelled, swatting his hand down. "What's this? What the fuck is this?"

He stepped around, grabbing me by the throat. "You said you wanted to go somewhere quiet and get to know me better," he snarled. "So here we are."

I reached up to pull his hand down, but he blocked it and twisted me around into a Half-Nelson with his other arm across my throat. We were facing the cameras now. He hissed loudly, "It's real quiet in here, and pretty soon you are going to know me intimately. You thought you were going to be in charge? Little arrogant, self-centered Bitch. You should have known the moment you approached me out there, I was always in control. Or maybe this is your game---pretend to be forceful but then submit at the first sign of power. Huh? Is that it?

I got my free arm up on his forearm, but the more I pulled, the harder he squeezed the elbow. I was writhing, but even that was not loosening his grip. I dropped my arm.

Embracing me tightly, he pulled me back to the chair. He brought my arm from behind my back and jerked it up, grabbing the manacle and sealing the Velcro in one swift move. I got my other arm free and swung a slap. He blocked and then smacked me across the cheek, my face spinning as it came across. I reeled and up went the other arm. He pushed the chair in behind me.

And there I sat, glaring, struggling, mouthing off, and demanding to be released.

At which point he acknowledges my efforts, tells me to save my energy and that a release will be coming in a little while. His leer and innuendo made me shiver.

He then starts removing items from the night stand----a crop, a gag, dildos/vibrator, cigarettes.

He selects the crop and starts stroking me with it. I give him grief. I know he is not going to stop, but he tricked me, and I'm outraged.

He steps back and yells, "Enough. You Dumb Bitch. You followed me down a dark hall to a back room. Did you think we were going to play with Barbies?"

And with that he whacks my cheeks with a right and return left stroke. My head snaps each time and I start up again.

"You are so damn mouthy," he shouts. He grabs the ball gag and pitches my nose until I open up for air and in it goes. The Velcro closes before I shake it out.

Standing behind me he caresses my neck and shoulders, encouraging me to relax. I shrug him off and stand. But he grabs my shoulders and with his height advantage, holds me there.

I feel him looking me over. "Cuban heels," he snorts. "You are a tramp!"

He then pushes me forward and bends me as the chains allow.

"What have we here?" he wonders.

Spinning me around (the bar is on swivel), he displays my ass to the viewers. Caressing it and my legs, he slowly unzips the skirt exposing my panties.

"Oh wow," he exclaims. "Looks like this little tramp came prepared."

He moves me left and right so the audience gets a good look - - bottomless panties in black lace with a bow at the top. The lace encircles the buttocks. It's all ass and thanks to my being a runner and a cyclist, is really, really firm. He massages it a bit and then in a smooth, well-practiced move, lubes his first two fingers, penetrates and thrusts as he grabs the butt plug with the other hand, inserting it. Spinning me back into the chair, he activates it. He runs the speed up and down as I writhe trying to get control of the sensation.

Reducing the speed, he grabs me by the throat, lifting my head. He sneers, "Do I keep this up or are you going to give me what I need?"

With his other hand he releases the ball gag.

"Please," I beg. "I'll do it. I promise, I'll be good, please stop the egg, I can't concentrate!"

He releases my hands and turn me sideways on the chair so the cameras are looking at our profile. He then unzips his pants and withdraws a moderately sized cock.

He then grabs the cigarette and lighter. As he lights it, he removes my right glove. He pours some lube in my right hand, and puts the cigarette in the other. He then releases the straps.

"That 120 will last about seven minutes. I want a smoking blowjob. Get me off and I'll release you. Come up short and you'll be here all night."

I take my first drag and blow it gently on his shaft, and then get to work. I know how he likes to be stroked and how for me to use my tongue. Two months of practice has taught me how to draw it out or hasten the conclusion depending on the time remaining. I used the lubed hand to get the process started and then as he swells halfway, begin to go down on him.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Victor give me the three minute sign. So 20 seconds later, I start humming and taking him deeper. He moans and utters the appropriate compliments and epithets. 30 seconds to go he grunts. I pull out, take a drag and as I exhale slowly through my nose, he begins to vibrate. Two more exhales, and he pushes my hand away, taking his cock in one hand and holding my head with the other, he cums on my face = = once, twice, then three and four. I sit back on my heels----no easy feat, or 'feet' rather, and take one more long inhale, I exhale towards the ceiling. I lean back and put it out on my sole.

"Lick it off," he commands.

Facing the camera, I take my finger and wipe it up, then sucking my finger clean before taking another swipe and repeating---all with a satisfied smile.

Victor signals fading to black, and I wait for the "all clear" call.

Getting to my feet, I look at Ricco and pointing to my ass, say, "A little help please."

He snorts, "Not my job."

Victor is on the computer and Richard is shutting down the equipment. "Uhh Richard?" I ask.

He barely looks up, "I'm busy, sorry," he answers.

As usual, I'm on my own. I spent six years as a loadmaster on a C-17. There the crew concept was the basis of success. Not so much in the world of Saturday night BDSM pornography.

Fortunately, there's a tail. Putting a glove back on for traction, I extract the pesky plug, sighing in relief.

There's only one sink in the basement, it's wide and deep, but Ricco -- Diva that he is -- never shares. So I sit and wait as the sweat, gunk, etc. dries up.

Ricco has gone upstairs with Victor to check the log-ins and settle up. Me? I'm cleaning up the toys and the props because that's who I am. I wish Richard a good night and to be safe going home. He looks over his shoulder for a brief second, shakes his head, glares, and then is gone.

As I wait my turn with the Victor, I hear Ricco arguing with him about the cut. He does this every week. True, we've averaged 5,000+ discrete viewers since I started. And trending upwards per Richard's reports -- he's the bookkeeper too. At $25 a login, the cost of lights, internet, some lube and a couple of cigarettes leaves a huge profit margin. The clothes we get from vendors to shoot advertisements for them.

Me? I'm thrilled to be making extra cash--a lot of cash actually even as the second banana. Hah--banana, I wish; more like one of those hors d'oeuvre tiny dill pickles if truth be known.

The Company pays the new hires very well and there's a decent bump when you "graduate" to full employment. But the grad school tuition loan needs to be gone as soon as I can, and I've always sent some money to Mom. The loan should be paid with another month of shows. Then comes an IRA and savings - municipal bonds maybe. Putting the ethics and moderate physical discomfort aside, this is easy money.

I hear Ricco leave, and I start up the stairs. But then I hear Richard go in and so I wait outside. I guess he thought I was gone or still downstairs. I figured he would just be a moment so I stood quietly.

"You need to put him back under," he demanded.

"Why? What's wrong?" came the response.

"He's becoming more friendly, more flirty, we can't have that!" he asserted.

"I gave him a really good dose the night we recruited him; it should be holding," Victor replied.

"It's not, he's been asking about a drink or a late dinner. He keeps trying to banter. He even tried to ask me a cost-accounting question," he retorted.

"Well gee imagine that, a nice 30-something wants to be friends with another fellow about the same age who is attractive, professional and apparently single in a business where we are up to our elbows in sex. Besides, you got all flirty with him when we gave him the Domme obedience test. Maybe he just wants to have a friend.

Richard was firm. "We can't have him getting attracted to me. He's still ambivalent as you can well see, but the timing is wrong."

"OK, OK," Victor said. "Is he still here?"

"Yeah, cleaning up the place like the good little Boy Scout he is," he replied.

"Go ahead and split, I'll take care of it. Viewership was way up, I'm going to boost his cut. I'll put him under and reinforce the wall.

I fade. Quietly. I'm puttering downstairs when he calls asking me to stop by.

As I enter, the only light is at his desk, and the computer screen behind him is swirling. He makes small talk about how hard he knows it is to work with Ricco, but I'm doing a good job and the viewers seem to like my character as well. We need to discuss expanding the techniques, especially the anal, but all is good. Good enough my share is increasing. He tells me to sit and relax and then from behind he murmurs a word in my ear. A flood of memories rush in and directions like watch, obey and so forth repeat in a loop.

So I sit back, watch the screen and wait.

He comes back in. To be honest I almost nodded off---it's late and tonight's show wore me out, much less the puzzle as to whatever is going on with Richard. But as he talks, I become more alert, but careful to sound drowsy. He talks about Richard, how he is a private person, has no interest in anything except the business, he doesn't want to socialize, so please respect his wishes.

He goes through it a couple of times. To prove I understand and will obey, he gives me a simple test - - take home an outfit and then send a picture of me wearing it.

With his prompting, I repeat the direction to avoid Richard and respect his privacy a few times, then he counts down and I "awake".

As I come to, he tells me I've got a $5,000 raise. I'm effusive, then I pause and tell him I need to go back downstairs. Moments later I'm back up with some wet look PVC pants, a black grommet vest and burgundy forearm covers.

"Hey Victor, I've had my eye on these for a while. Mind if I take it home?" I ask.

"Only at home," he admonishes. "Please don't go out. You know the rules. You're no good to me or yourself if you get rolled."

"Not a problem," I say. "I'm still getting used to all this so hanging out at some bar is not happening right now.

"It might one day," he says cryptically.

___________

At the condo, a quick shower to get the rest of the night off of me, and then I go ahead and dress up. The leather sleeves actually makes my dick stir. I had also grabbed some gloss and eyeshadow and a cigarette to use as a prop. I decide to oversell. I balance the phone and set the video. I pose, unlit cigarette in one hand with the other slowly going up and down caressing my crotch. I move against my hand for bit, and then straighten up, asking if we could add this in for next Saturday, please. Stop-Send-Delete.

That task now done it's time to figure out what the heck is going on. Still in the outfit, I pour some bourbon and take the cigarette I "borrowed" out to the patio. A couple of swallows, and then I send a couple of long, slow exhales drifting up to the sky. A few more sips and long slow exhales later, I admire the lip imprint on the glass and the filter. A shudder goes through me as my cock stirs further. I drain the glass and extinguish the cigarette.

OK, OK---- alcohol is bad, smoking is bad, cross-dressing is bad, giving head and getting analized is bad, but it's sexy and I'm still young and this is something I never even fantasized about. I smile while I imagine my Scout Master and Track Coach having coronaries--not literally mind you.

A moment later it's time for replaying what I overheard. I start trying to figure out Richard, but am getting nowhere. We're the same age, both professional, and I haven't taken the time yet to figure out if my interest is collegial or maybe I'm starting to lean Gay as a result of all the stimulation.

I go inside, strip except for the sleeves, put a ball gag in, get the lube and relieve myself. Oh, I forgot to mention. Only Ricco cums; I'm not allowed. So I have to wait until I get home. But it's good money, so I can be patient.

Who knows why, but as I settle under the covers with a slight post self-coital glow--- 'POP'--- it hits me. I now recall meeting Victor for the first time.

__________

My Mother liked shopping; but not the actual buying as money was always tight. She liked looking in the windows and walking the aisles. As it was just me and her, I was her always available escort.

I never understood the benefit of looking at things you could not have, but it was a time of being together, chatting, learning and observing. It was a good time.

And so here I am in Denver, two weeks into my new job, on a Sunday afternoon, strolling through a nice Mall. Consistent with my Mother's rules, I was respectably dressed, not that dressing "up" even slightly took much effort compared to most folks these days, but khakis, a pale pink oxford shirt and Bass Weejuns would have met with her approval.

I had completed the first floor and was halfway around the second when I reached the entryway to the Hilton that tied into the Mall. I stopped and considered having a drink. Although I lived with my Great Uncle while at Georgia Tech, 80% of my loan and GI Bill went to tuition and fees. But Friday was payday, and I was living rent free in the condo Martin-LOGEX provided for its trainees.

I mentally created a spreadsheet just as any self-respecting new graduate holding a Masters in Industrial Engineering with an emphasis on Logistics would do---risk/benefit assessment. I mean, who doesn't use Six Sigma to decide between a glass of wine or an Old Fashioned.

The calculation was favoring wine - - too early for bourbon - - when a fellow walked up from behind and said "Excuse me."

"Certainly," I said as I turned. "But what for?"

He reminded me of Ray Walston--Boothby on Star Trek. He was well dressed to include a blue blazer, but not overdone. Nothing pretentious like an ascot. He looked at ease, comfortable.

"I just wanted to compliment you," he said.

"For????," I drew out the question.

"Look around you," he said gesturing towards the Mall concourse.

I followed his gesture. It was still the Mall. There were still lots of people going back and forth.

"Sorry, I'm not seeing what you're seeing."

"The people--how they look, what they are wearing. No one has any style any more---sweat pants, bed room slippers, shredded jeans. The majority appear to be in their pajamas. You on the other hand, look respectable. So, you're not from around here, are you?"

Looking back and forth, I could see what he saw. I never thought much about it though unless someone was spilling out of their pants or top and then it was hard to ignore. I behaved and dressed as I was raised; I didn't judge.

I shrugged. "My Mother liked to go shopping; it was her entertainment, her reward to herself. It was just her and me, so I was her escort. And then ten years in the Air Force--fatigues and flight suits were for work only. Old lessons stay with you."

"That is true," he replied. "Very true. Are you staying here at the Hilton?"

"No, sir," I replied. "Here for six months of OJT. The Company has condos for us to use. Got settled in last weekend, and so I decided this weekend to stroll around and window shop. You?"

"Shoe shopping," he said holding up the bag. "And going to have a drink before heading home. Join me?" he asked.

"Thanks. For the first time in 12 months, I've got nothing pressing."

"Charles," I said offering my hand. "Victor," he responded shaking it.

I gestured for him to lead the way.

It appeared he knew the hostess and indicated where he wanted to sit. I followed his lead on the wine -- I tend to defer to older people -- and agreed some cheese would be good.

We made small talk; a quick toast when the wine arrived; a piece of cheese every now and then. It was comfortable. I found myself thinking I wasn't a crew dog or a grad student anymore; I felt like an adult.

A second glass of wine appeared.

I don't know when I noticed it, but he had positioned his left hand flat on the table. He wore a ring that had a large, clear stone with lots of facets. The settling was unique, sort of like flower petals. Maybe inspired by a water lily. The light was over my shoulder and was reflecting off the ring. There was a large fan overhead on low and it was causing the reflection to flicker. It wasn't distracting. But he never moved his left hand and I found myself looking at it from time to time.

Pretty soon I found myself looking more at the ring than at him and thus lagging in responding to the conversation. Slowly, his voice softened and slowed.

"It's pleasant isn't it? The way it catches the light? The steady rhythm of the fan overhead? The quiet hum of the motor? It's all so pleasant and relaxing. It's why I like to sit here. It's why there is nothing to bother or interrupt us. It's just the so, so pleasant sensation of watching the light, and listening to my voice. Don't you think so?" he asked.

"Uhhh," I mumbled. I was trying to process what he said.

"A simple yes will do Charles," he instructed.

"Uhhh; yes," I mumbled again.

"Finish your wine, please, and then focus everything on the ring. It is so pleasant, so warm. You want to relax and just listen to my voice. Will you do that for me please, Charles? We're just two people, getting acquainted. I just want you to relax. It's so pleasant to relax. So pleasant just to relax and listen. And the more you do, you find yourself submitting more and more to the warmth. It's so comfortable to submit to the warmth spreading through you. Breathing slower and slower. So pleasant, so warm, so relaxed," he said smoothly.