Justin - A Modern Sadean Hero Ch. 03

A few days after the entertainments described in the last episode, Rula calls Justin to explain that the oldest of the whores from that event, Solomia, wishes to retire from the business. She asks if it would be okay if, in Rula's other role as owner of the cleaning agency, she could send Solomia to his house as his daily cleaner. The idea rather amuses our hero, and so he agrees.

Three weeks pass during which Solomia carries out her duties without acknowledging their former encounter. Justin ceases to notice her much and is anyway beginning to plan and relish his next escapade, in which he intends to explore both his voyeurism and his masochism even further.

Eventually he scripts, and Rula arranges, the following scene.

The ageing pervert is brought to an empty industrial unit by his procuress an hour before a certain event is due to unfold. On the floor is a mattress covered by plastic sheeting and just to one side, in a corner is a tall, metal locker. Rula takes Justin's clothes from him and supervises as he fits his penis into a steel chastity device, handing over the tiny key to her as well. She nods towards the locker and he wriggles his naked body inside the coffin-like space. Once inside, it is impossible for him even to raise his arms. She shuts and padlocks the door, turns on her heel and leaves the building. Justin can watch her go thanks to a rough grille of holes thoughtfully drilled into the door at his head-height. She turns off the lights and locks the outside door. He is left to silence and steel-confined anticipation.

At the appointed time, the procuress returns, striding into the space like a lady on a mission, business-suited, shades on her forehead and carrying a designer hold-all. The first of the recruited Spunkers sidle in behind her. There will be thirty of them before long.

Rula's prior arrangements need some examination here: the cunning Madame has placed a post on a forum used by punters to compare notes on local brothels and their girls. The post announced she was making a 'party' film at this location and needed thirty men to do no more than masturbate and ejaculate as directed. For this service, each would be paid £100 -- first cum first served. Rula is as good as her word, and so here are the fastest twenty responders: a mongrel crew of the area's sleaziest males of all shapes, sizes, and races.

Rula gets them to circle the mattress, explains that she is going to film everything on her phone (no male faces) and then sends a brief text. In moments, a female figure joins them. Justin's eyes widened as she enters. She throws off the pink, PVC hat and coat she had been wearing to cover herself from the car outside to the warehouse door. There, in nothing but g-string and jewelry, stands the hefty, pendulous form of Solomia, the lady who now cleans his house each day!

The thirty Spunkers break into wild cheering and whistles as sixteen stone of middle-aged belly, boobs, and butt wobble into their midst atop a pair of ludicrous stripper heels. Her hair is up, her make-up is heavy, and she saunters with whorish bravado around the ring of men. Justin notes that she has also been completely shaved since the last time he saw her naked. As she goes, the scarlet nails of her thick fingers drag across their collective crotches, and at this signal, a general unzipping ensues. Cocks of all shades, sizes and functionality begin to be pumped.

The filming starts, and Justin can see Rula organizing the Spunkers into smaller groups. At first, all the men are wanking to Solomia's bulky, posing show on the mattress. She is using greasy-looking dildo on herself, alternating between pussy, ass and mouth in a way which has the assembled men heavy breathing with lustful appreciation.

In his steel coffin, a few feet from the action, Justin tries to suppress his own breath, as his trapped meat filled the little available space. His cage is basically a tube which curves downwards and back under his balls. The interior space is just enough for him to get erect but at an unnatural angle and with no possibility of direct stimulation.

Rula introduces a second dildo from the hold-all for double penetration, but our performer is soon using it to smear the first couple of sperm loads over her torso. The Spunkers are instructed to avoid her face but to try and cover every inch of the rest of her. To help, she holds out her legs, feet, arms, and hands to the musty shower of cum. She even rolls over and separates her ass cheeks to make sure every crevice is lubed with it.

Justin witnesses this in detail as the shambling, wolfish, crowd of men progressively pant and whimper in their filthy pleasures.

It takes about fifteen minutes to unload the thirty men, after which Justin sees Rula handing out three thousand pounds of his own cash, as agreed, as they leave one by one.

Solomia stays quite still, her cum-bath slowly congealing on her skin. Only when his procuress extracts Justin from his prison does she turn to him with a slow, nasty smile.

'Now, it is you to be the cleaner' she states in her thick accent, stepping clear of the spunk-puddled mattress. Rula takes charge. Justin kneels on the concrete floor and is handed first one, then the other of Solomia's clear plastic platform heels. He togues them until any trace or smear is removed and consumed. His heavyweight goddess then offers her spunked-on feet to his mouth. He sucks greedily on her stubby toes, actual contact with her flesh causing his cock meat to refill his tube yearningly. Then it is a case of working his way up the legs and thighs, front and back, gathering and swallowing as he goes.

It takes a surprisingly long time to actually lick a woman all over, let alone one as expansively made as Solomia, with all her extra folds and creases. The fat-dimpled buttocks alone take several minutes, and so much cum is gathered under each, giant breast that our hero takes down a mouthful for each. Solomia obligingly lifts each one for him and presents her big nipples for him to suck clean in a delightful parody of breastfeeding.

As he works, the two women chatter away in what Justin believes to Ukranian, Solomia's native language. Certainly, it is not the Polish that he has been accustomed to from overhearing Rula. Some of this female talk is obviously derisive of himself, punctuated with the cruel laughter that is such music to his submissive ears. Some seems just idle conversation, as if having a naked millionaire lick you all over is hardly worth noticing. Some is Rula's instructions, like when Solomia removes her jewelry; earrings and necklace, for him to clean separately. The intricate necklace is particularly clogged because so many of the Spunkers wanted to cum on her boobs. Each item is placed in his mouth for him to spit-wash and suck until free from the stuff. Next comes the G-string, popped in as if his face were some handy, little washing machine.

After a minute, Rula hooks out the soggy garment and dangles it in front of him. 'Put it on', she commands. Justin soon has his steel-tubed cock cradled by his whore's wet thong. Next, Rula recovers the tongue-wiped high heels. 'These too', she says. Justin forces his freezing feet into the too-small footwear but remains on all-fours. 'You really deserve to star in your own porn, you know?' she purrs.

After that, Rula uses her phone to record him finishing his task. He cleans Solomia from armpit to fingertip before slurping on her ass-crack and plump, bare, cunt. After that, Rula produces a warm, fluffy bath robe and slippers from her hold-all for her employee to enfold herself in.

Thinking it might be over, Justin half-expects the same. Instead, the hold-all now delivers into the ladies' hands a couple of serving spoons which he recognizes as being from an exclusive cutlery set from his own house. He cannot tell whether his heart sinks or flies as he realizes what this means; they are going to feed him all that remains on the plastic sheet covering the mattress.

His women go about the task. The sheet is tipped and scraped until all the available semen is in one, stinking pool. Justin is told to crawl near and Rula gets a good angle to video Solomia feed him three good spoonfuls. Finally, she sticks the spoon in his mouth and leaves it there for a closeup. That done, the Madame sends a quick text and Solomia waddles out to the waiting car without a backward glance.

'Surely, now it's over', thinks Justin. But no. Rula is a very thorough person, and though the spoons are put away, two objects are still unaccounted for and lying on the warehouse floor. She nods towards them. 'Fetch one', she orders, 'Your choice'. He crawls painfully to them like a porn-bitch in heat and sniffs. It is pretty clear which dildo was used for which hole, and he takes a moment to admire the refined wit and cruelty of his Mistress in making him choose which to deal with first. His stomach is beginning to be troubled by what he has feasted on so far, so he goes for the easier option. His face against concrete, he manages to get the cunt-toy between his teeth. Crawling still, he drops it at Rula's stilettoed feet. 'Good Doggie', she laughs with a note of surprise. 'You could have just picked it up, but, you know what, I like it better this way'.

Having cleaned both dildos, Solomia's ass flavour is the strongest in his mouth as he finally stands on his unsteady heels before his tormentress. She lets the moment hang, eyeing him levelly.

'Is.. is it over?' he rasps.

'In a way, yes' she responds without warmth. Alarm bells jangle in Justin's over-strained mind. 'I just need to give you a key, don't I?'

'Yes, Madame'.

'Then, hold out your hand', she responds with a dangerous raising of the eyebrows.

He does so, and into his palm is placed his own house key. A coldness, way beyond that of the warehouse, creeps across him as he begins to suspect his situation.

'I.. I'm sorry', he stammers, 'but what about..'

'The other key?' she finishes for him. 'Solomia' will deliver that to you tomorrow morning when she comes round as usual.' And with that she turns away from him and makes for the door.

Our hero calls out for her to wait for him. She replies 'What for?' He pleadingly, despairingly, cries, 'I need to get home!' She agrees, with laughter, and nods towards the pink PVC coat and hat thrown into a corner a little while before. Justin now understands this is to be no small part of the cruelty of his humiliation. He is going to have to walk, dressed only in what is available to him.

Rula is impervious to his sobs as she pauses at a keypad by the door and inputs a code.

'You have ninety seconds. If this door is not shut at that time, the alarm will bring the security firm. If you are on the wrong side of that door, your movements will do the same. Even if you remain motionless, a dog patrol will arrive at midnight.'

Having fully explained the situation, she steps outside, and all Justin hears are the tip-taps of her heels, a closing car door and a dwindling engine sound, then silence.

Panic now overcomes terror, and he struggles into the lurid coat, grabbing the hat and closing the warehouse door behind him with a few seconds to spare. He hears it lock. In utter misery he tries to prepare himself for the ordeal his Madame has laid upon him.

His house is fairly close, in normal terms, just over a mile away. He guesses he might male it in thirty minutes if he can get the measure of his shoes and not totter too much. The coat was large enough for Solomia and so drapes his rather spare form with ease. It is trench-coat style, and so has collars that can be turned up, and the outrageous cap has a brim that can be pulled low. Justin, in stage heels a size too small, chastity cage and G-string, reeking of cum, buckles up and prepares to step out. At the last moment he notices one last gift from Rula, her dark glasses left for him, perched on top of a dumpster. These he dons with something of the air of a knight wearing the favour of his lady.

The way he must go is light on pedestrians but has plenty of passing traffic. Derisive honks on vehicle horns accompany him and one shouted comment about being a 'fucking disgrace' makes him wince. Still, he stalks on with short, womanish steps, closing the distance to home and safety with painful slowness. Twice, people cross the road to avoid him. No one, he realizes, takes him for an extravagantly dressed female. They know he is an old, male, pervert on some sort of ill-advised sexual adventure. He finds himself clutching his precious key like a talisman in his pocket and literally praying he can get there before someone calls the police.

This torment lasts just as long as Justin had calculated and marks him for life. Ever after he just thinks of it as 'The Walk' and tries to forget the details. At last, he attains his own gate, taps in the code and slips around the opening barrier, to collapse in tears on the other side. His front door is just a few tens of yards away now, and he crosses the intervening distance barefoot on his own expensively maintained lawns and paths.

After the key has worked its magic and translated him back into his own realm, Justin takes stock. His instructions to Rula had left much to her own judgement this time. His was the basic idea of a cheap whore being spunked on by multiple men while he watched from hiding. His also the role of clean-up slave. He had also asked that she push his limits in unexpected ways, a giving up of control which was, in itself, highly erotic to him. As he takes a hot shower, he concludes that his procuress has fulfilled her brief superbly and his caged cock attempts to rise in salute.

Tomorrow, he promises to himself, when Solomia arrives, he will kneel before her and offer her garments back to her, immaculately folded and presented as new. The heels he will re-clean, relishing the acrid tang and grit of street dirt in his mouth. He will also deliver an envelope with a substantial cash offering for both women and a private letter to Rula, requesting she undertake to be his tormentress without limits imposed by him. He will not ask for the little key but wait to see if it is offered.