Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 01

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He did not miss a step. "Tsk, tsk my dear. And you were doing so well. We will have to see about that in a minute."

With concern I would have appreciated in other circumstances, he pulled the shirt out of the jacket and shook both out. He laid them carefully over my stretching bar. Turning back, he said, "Let's get the rest of this." What?

He came close again and reached around to undo my bustier. This was no simple task. In my entire client book, I had maybe three patrons I would consider capable of it. Julian's corsetry is a study in contradictions. Incredibly free to wear, they are the devil to get into and out of. I was glad I had eaten more than three hours before. After a big lunch the bustier would have to be surgically removed.

As all these thoughts flitted through my mind, I became aware of his distinctive scent: hand cream, good quality aftershave, and him. He had a very masculine musk, of which I could take a great deal more. Meanwhile he was working, by feel, down a double column of hooks, all the while dealing with my arms, which were bound in exactly the wrong position.

Halfway done, he stopped and stooped to undo the stockings. He returned my compliment, inhaling deeply of my pubis. Standing, he reached around to undo more stays, or started to. Something else had gotten his attention.

"My dear, such tension. We must see to that." Placing his thumbs on either side of my throat, he grasped handfuls of tight shoulder muscle, and began to knead. Oh my god, he was good: firm, exact, sensitive. He worked across the tops of my shoulder, then down my spine. Tension melted away as he massaged his way down my back. Occasionally, he shifted his position and every few moments he would undo another hook. I did not realize it when he reached the bottom, since I was lost in the rapture of his fingers.

He demonstrated once again the need to remain attentive. His hands came up, out and down. That quickly the bustier was at my ankles. I gasped.

Oh shit. He would not miss something that obvious, "Dear, dear, that's twice now."

He pulled my undergarments against my foot, "Step. And the other. Thank you my dear. Your foot." I stepped out of the bustier and lifted my foot. He removed my shoe. I was ready to give him the other shoe when he stood. Oh shit again. I would never have thought of that one. I stood in one shoe and one tiptoe and waited. I would wait for a while it seemed.

He collected my things, "I need to know where to hang these. You may speak."

"My locker is in my office. That door."

"Thank you my dear. That will be all for the moment."

"But..."

"Oh my. Three times. This will not wait." My big mouth.

I soon found out, my mouth was not big enough. He picked a glossy red ball gag. I hate that color. I chose it to clash, when clashing is called for. This was not a time I would have chosen.

"Open." I opened my mouth as far as I could, and he forced the ball in. It spread my jaws apart painfully. If nothing else, I was acquiring a new appreciation of my own methods. He paused as he fastened the strap behind my neck.

"I would like to see your hair, but I realize that it may be inconvenient for your next appointment. Nod if you would like to have it down." I nodded.

"Excellent."

I have good hair, so I did not mind him seeing it. Odd. I never show it to clients. He liked the smell. He seemed to like a lot of smells. He carefully collected the pins and put them on the counter. That was very polite. He treated my things as if they were his own. He even seemed to appreciate how special those pins were. One was 200 years old and had cost me $500, and a bargain at that price. We would have to discuss esthetics some time, which was odd. I don't look forward to social contact with most of my clients.

He stroked my hair, and the breast under it. I shivered. Then, he held a lock to his nose, "Lovely. You must let me play with it sometime." As far as I was concerned, he could play with it right then. Naturally he did, taking a lock and tickling my nose. I didn't start like before, but I flushed from the effort to stay still. His smile said that he did not miss that either. I turned an even darker shade of red. I had been years since I blushed, now three times in one day.

The cad had something to say about my embarrassment. "My dear, you must show this side to me more often. It is really most becoming. Well, I shall return shortly." The brute.

As soon as he turned to leave, my attention turned back to my aching calves. He had taken my pump maybe a minute before. My leg was telling me about it. I could stand flatfooted with my left knee bent, but my back and shoulders screamed while metal cut into the flesh above my elbows. This would not work long. I went back up on point. I trained as a dancer. I can stand on point, but the shoe on the other foot threw off the balance. I stood on my left leg while I flexed my right foot.

Then back.

And forth.

For a small eternity.

Finally the door to my office opened again. Suddenly, I didn't notice my aching feet. I was urgently aware that I was bound naked in front of a strange man. Anxiety rushed through me like a train through a tunnel. He was maddeningly calm as he came forward carrying my suit and a clean shirt. He hung the suit on the wall beside me. Then, standing before me, he stooped once more.

Sean:

I paused halfway down her and squatted to undo the stocking stays. Her pungent sex was only inches from my nose. She was definitely wet, but nothing was showing. I had to get the name of the corset maker. I could personally sell a dozen of these within a block of my office, although a fit this perfect had to be made to order. You could overstuff this piece with an extra slice of pie during lunch.

Standing again, I noticed tension in her shoulders. Understandable with her elbows held inches apart. "My dear, such tension. We must see to that."

If I say so myself, I am a gifted masseur. I started at her shoulders, and then worked my way down her back, pausing to loosen a hook only as it impeded my hands. Soon it was hanging from her breasts not supporting them. As I worked her muscles I also spread the corset. With as little warning as possible I pulled it forward and down.

As I hoped, she gasped. "Dear, dear, that's twice now."

I lowered the corset to her ankles. "Step. And the other. Thank you my dear. Your foot." I removed her right pump. Points where points are due, the shoe was in total keeping with the corset. Neither was normal for business wear, but neither was obviously out of place. It was becoming clear to me that there was much more to Cynthia than met the eye.

Regarding the corset, which was now in my hands, and her other items, I needed to hang them. So I asked, "I need to know where to hang these. You may speak."

"My locker is my office. That door."

"Thank you my dear. That will be all for the moment."

"But..."

This was too good, "Oh my. Three times. This will not wait."

With a great, and totally insincere, show of regret, I set down the clothes and looked around. A world of possibilities was sitting in plain sight, all of it well organized. I chose a lipstick red ball gag. Her eyes widened, but she did not react otherwise. "Open." I said. Her moth opened and in the gag went, eventually.

While I had my hands behind her neck, fastening the gag, I decided I would like to see her with her hair down. However, that could be a problem for her later. "I would like to see your hair, but I realize that it may be inconvenient for your next appointment. Nod if you would like to have it down." She nodded. "Excellent."

Her hair was expertly piled, and secured by pins, not clips. The pins themselves were worth noticing, mostly bone or ivory. Many had hand-painted lacquer, class all the way. Cynthia's hair was almost waist length when stretched. I pulled it forward, over her right shoulder, partly covering one of her full breasts. The asymmetry was pleasing. Also pleasing was the aroma of rosemary. There were so many scents to this woman.

I stroked the hair, and the breast beneath, for an absent moment. "Lovely. You must let me play with it sometime." I picked up a lock and tickled her nose with it. Suddenly, there it was, a full body blush. I stepped back to gaze appreciatively. Her blush deepened. "My dear, you must show this side to me more often. It is really most becoming. Well, I shall return shortly."

I picked up the clothes and took them into her office. It was as spare as the entrance hall. I suspected there was more, hidden deeper, but it would be rude to pry. I found a heavy wooden suit hanger in the closet. I draped the suit properly and smoothed it. There was also a lint brush, which I used. The shirt went on a disposable plastic hanger, which I hung on the door. There were three other silk shirts in the closet. I selected one and a matching tie, gathered the suit and the one shoe, and returned to the gym.

As I expected, she had stood on tiptoe to keep level. I glanced at my watch. It was a little over five minutes since I had taken her shoe. She should be ready. After hanging her suit, I squatted in front of her a second time, and again received a full whiff of feminine sex. This time it was more clear, since she was exposed, and the scent was intoxicating. I blew on her moist cleft and was rewarded with gooseflesh. I indulged myself with one slow lap. She stiffened like a throbbing erection.

Chuckling. I reached down. "Foot." I received her right foot. That was my mistake. I should have specified the left. But I could make this work. I kneaded the piano-wire-tight small muscles in her arch. Then I worked down to the toes, back over the arch, the heel, the ankle, and up the calf. She made not a sound. Excellent. Even with the gag, I would have heard something.

Reaching down once more, I said, "Other foot." Off came the pump, and I repeated the process on the left foot. Finally, I said, "Stand."

As she stood, on two clearly grateful feet, I looked her naked form top down for the first time. She was trim, leggy, full-breasted. Suddenly, it was obvious. "You were a dancer. A good one, but you overdeveloped."

She did not so much as twitch, but a tear welled in one big brown eye .

"Well, you shall dance for me. You have one punishment remaining. When I release you, you will go to the bar and place one ankle over. Grasp the bar with both hands and stretch out fully while I administer the discipline."

I released the cuffs.

She flowed over to the bar. Up came the leg and out over the bar. Out went the hands to grasp the bar. Down came the torso till her breasts hid her knee, her hair hung almost to the floor and her leg was straight as a taught line.

"We will call this First Position. Practice it daily, alternating legs. Now, to business."

Sheila:

I expected something. He did not disappoint. He inhaled my reeking wet cunt. Then he blew on it. Oh shit. I shivered as I struggled for control. He leaned forward and slowly lapped his tongue up my slit. I had explosions, electric shock. Had I not been braced, I would have shrieked. Every muscle in my body clenched. He chuckled, and I didn't have the strength to hate him for it.

"Foot." I gave him my tortured right foot. Did I detect a flicker of embarrassment? Had I given him the wrong foot? He began massaging it. Oh, sweet Lord, those hands were divine. He soothed the knots out like a baker rolling dough.

"Other foot." He could do this for an hour. Even with no circulation to my arms, I would not object. At least both pumps were off now.

"Stand." I did. To hell with the circulation in my arms. I could put the shoulders back in their sockets later. It was heaven to stand down again. He was looking at me, head minutely cocked to one side.

"You were a dancer. A good one, but you overdeveloped." Oh Lord. Did he not miss anything? All through high school, when others had a life, I had a career, I thought. My tits thought otherwise. Herr Gruber never gave me any slack. He threw me out. The reason was not my talent, it was my body.

Mr. Richards has something to say about it, "Well, you shall dance for me. You have one punishment remaining. When I release you, go to the bar and place one ankle over. Grasp the bar with both hands and stretch out fully while I administer the discipline." This I could do very well.

Off came the cuffs, releasing needles of returning circulation. I ignored them. There was a task which I could perform well. And which I intended to do very well. Place the ankle on the bar. Grasp the bar. Stretch.

Mr. Richards said, "We will call this first position. Practice it daily, alternating legs. Now, to business."

I saw that he had picked up something. It was my favorite short lash. He did not let me think about it. His arm went up, and came down.

"One. For hating your body." He laid it across my left ass cheek. Was it that obvious I hated my tits?

"Two. For despising your talents." This across the right cheek. Huh?

"Three. For despising your left breast, which is beautiful." Backhand. Of course I hated it. Look what it had done to me. Beautiful?

"Four. For despising your right breast, which is equally beautiful." Across the other side. Is he serious?

"Five. For believing you are as small as a single art." At the split of my legs. Shit, that one really hurt. What does he mean "single art"?

"Six through ten. Because you think you deserve it and because I am unable to tear such foolishness from you physically." Back and forth up the back. Of course I deserved it. Didn't everybody?

"And finally, because I wish to." He bit my ass. That, at least, I could understand.

"You may stand and dress. This session is complete."

I pulled off the bar and removed the gag. "You really think they are beautiful?" Really?

Sean:

Cynthia moved like a cat. She flowed across the room and stretched out as if this were nothing but an early warm up. Perhaps for her it was. I knew a little Yoga, and that was an advanced position. Shaking my head, I selected a short lash with stiffened tips. This one would sting and mark the skin beautifully.

I elected to do ten lashes, spread out.

"One. For hating your body." I laid it across her left cheek.

"Two. For despising your talents." This across the right cheek.

"Three. For despising your left breast, which is beautiful." Backhand across the teat.

"Four. For despising your right breast, which is equally beautiful." Across the other teat.

"Five. For believing you are as small as a single art." Full on the pubis.

"Six through ten. Because you think you deserve it and because I am unable to tear such foolishness from you physically." I criss-crossed up the back.

"And finally, because I wish to." I took her left leg in both hands and carefully bit her ham.

"You may stand and dress. This session is complete."

She stood erect and slowly removed the gag. Wide eyed, she asked "You really think they are beautiful?"

Hear me, Gods. "Yes. As does everyone." She said nothing, but her expression said enough.

I ventured, "Same time next week."

"Not if you expect to pay me." she replied.

How sweet. "Send me the bill for the dry cleaning." Bowing, I took my leave.

Sheila:

My tits never gave me anything but grief. How could he think they were beautiful? Still, he said, "Yes. As does everyone." I had no idea what to think. He obviously had good taste. Shit.

He asked, "Same time next week?"

"Not if you expect to pay me." What? Did I say that? He smiled. Yes, maybe I did say that.

He replied, "Send me the bill for the dry cleaning." Then he bowed and left.

It could not have happened as fast as it did, but it did. At 4:00, exactly on time, he walked into my studio. By 4:23 he had turned my life upside down and gone. At least he had left with a smile and a promise to return. And permission to dress. That was good. Not likely. Not before a shower. Good move Sheila: a long shower, a stiff drink, a disk in the DVD.

Disk.

Good Heavens, the recordings.

I did not breathe till I had my hands on the controls. There was his face in beautiful digital color. I played it through. I played all 4 tracks through. Then I played them again in slow motion. That could not be me.

I stopped one frame. The scene was me, bound to the wall by my elbows, wearing only my stockings and one shoe, gagged with that horrid red ball, standing on that one black 3 ½" pump and one aching pointed toe. There was a glisten of moisture on my pubic hair.

Without thinking, my hand went to the spot. Oh my stars and heavens. I almost passed out. My cunt was running like a rare steak. My clit felt the size of New Jersey. I staggered back against my desk and orgasmed all over the light bill.

When the room stopped moving, I looked around. Something was wrong. The light. It was dusk, almost dark, though it was barely 5:00 o'clock. No, it was almost 9:00 PM. I had been standing in one place, watching myself—and let us not forget Mr. Richards—for almost four hours. All this while wearing stockings and nothing else. Talk about foreplay. I giggled. Time for that shower and drink.

I turned back to the machine. I had spent a fortune on this fancy equipment, but it was paying for itself through the stills the clients wanted to buy. My fees were high, because it was time-consuming, but the pictures sold regularly. I would no longer wonder why quite so much, though I might still question their taste on occasion. I hit print.

Mr. Richards didn't even know about the recordings. We had never gotten to that part of the disclosure. I zoomed in so my head was no longer in the frame. I hit print again. Mr. Richards would be getting a sample with his disclosure forms. After that session, I owed him a gift.

I looked at the finished shot. He was right. With my hair draped over one breast, my tits didn't look half bad. I found myself humming as I burned a copy to take home. Go figure. My feet were killing me.

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pocketrocketpocketrocketalmost 10 years agoAuthor
2013 Clitorides Winner - BDSM

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Hubbys_PrincessHubbys_Princessalmost 11 years ago
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Nice piece of writing and well done on the persona of a male dom.

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