Mr Taylor's Tribulations Ch. 01

I lay strapped down on a leather-padded bench, my ankles spread wide on its two lower arms, my upper thighs attached to sturdy straps just below my groin, my upper body strapped down by two more straps going across my shoulders and through my armpits. My head was resting on an inflated rubber pillow. I was naked and, embarrassingly for me, displaying an eight-inch erection. I was quite comfortable, but had an apprehensive feeling that this would soon change.

In the large room in which the bench was centrally placed, sat six women, one of whom was my darling wife, Tanya Taylor, at 38, five years younger than me. She was lounging on a couch between one of her girl friends and her younger sister, Vanya, 35. On another couch three more of her female friends sat, waiting with what looked like eager anticipation to witness what was going to happen to me. All were fully clothed, a factor which seemed to my nervous mind to increase my own nudity.

It was all my own fault, of course. My name is Rupert Taylor, I'm a 43-year-old bookshop proprietor, and I married the money which enabled me to start my bookshop. My dear wife sank thousands of her fortune from her late father's estate into my business venture. In turn she has title on our house in Surrey, she owns the snazzy little Lotus I drive into town every day, she even pays my golf club fees. In return, I give her sensational sex, which is not hard because she's got the body of a goddess and the behaviour - in the bedroom - of a whore.

My bookshop is situated in a high-rent street in London's Soho, which is now a very much tamer red light district from its seedy days of the 1930s through to the 1970s. And, fittingly for Soho, it is a "specialist" book store.

It's called Book Domain for Serious Masochists, but everyone in the business of "kinky" erotica and pornography knows my little store as BDSM Books. And I do very nicely thank-you.

I have only two staff helping me, one a lovely 25-year-old lass named Naomi, an ebony temptress who wears a different leather outfit to work each day. The "straight" male clientele are often drooling by the time they've been served by her.

The male help is Dominic, a lovely gay man aged in his early 20s, who is there to help cater for those of his sexual preference - and there's more of them involved in the SM scene than you can shake a stick at. He's short, but good-looking, well built and has a very trendy hair do for his blonde locks. If I wasn't a womaniser, I'd go for him.

It was, of course, my womanising which got me into this predicament on the leather bench. Let me explain - briefly, because it's a familiar story to so many of you philanderers out there, I'm sure.

Each Wednesday, my wife went with three of her friends to play golf. I arranged - stupid, stupid, stupid, I know - to have an assignation with a "lady of the night", if you get my drift, on one of those afternoons. I usually went to her apartment not more than five miles from where we live, but this time I decided on a liaison at home. OK, I admit again - stupid, stupid, stupid.

The lovely little blonde worked under the name of Natalie - Naughty Natalie, her ad read, from memory - and she gave great head and took it up the back passage. "Rear door entry", as her ad also read. Anyway, I always took advantage of those two specialities of the house, as it were.

This particular afternoon in question, Natalie had given me a nice sucking with her hugely experienced mouth and I was just mounting her from the rear when it happened. My wife, of course, returned from her golf and caught us going at it in the guest's bedroom. I was so deeply stuck into the lovely little whore's arse that I couldn't escape before Tanya had taken three or four pictures of me with her digital camera.

Then, ominously for me, Tanya told Natalie: "Please get dressed, my dear, and come downstairs. I need to have a little chat with you."

Next she turned to me and in a voice made all the more threatening by its lack of loudness or stridency added: "And you get into our bedroom. I'll deal with you later."

Well, it seems that Tanya and her foursome had been about to tee off when an ugly thunderstorm struck the course. Rather than risk electrocution all four decided to cut and run. Usually they would have settled into the 19th hole for gins and tonic, but as my luck would have it, the other three had things they'd rather be doing that afternoon than sucking on Beefeater.

Tanya, it turned out, had suspected something was up - something to do with the way I was often "not particularly busy" on Wednesday afternoons, and decided to creep into the house and surprise me. Hence the digital camera at the ready.

I got dressed then, about half an hour after I'd been "nobbled", my wife called me downstairs. I found her in her office off the lounge, sitting in front of her computer screen.

"Oh, hi darling," she smiled sweetly - an ominous sign, I realise now, "have a look at these. They're rather rude."

And there, glaring from the screen in hideous colour was me with my cock buried in Natalie's lovely little arse, her firm little breasts hanging seductively beneath her. The next showed me half out, my cock shaft gleaming in the light of the flash. The third was a sharp and totally damning picture of my cock standing erect in all its glory, my foreskin pulled back to the ring by the tightness of Natalie's arsehole. The helmet was shiny, and a strand of pre-cum was linking my cock head with Natalie's brown puckered anus. Talk about being totally fucked!

"Rather damaging for you, eh Rupert?" smiled Tanya. "And this isn't looking too good for you either, I don't think."

With that she thrust a sheet of A4 notepaper to me. It was a typed message which read:

"This is a statement made by Naughty Natalie, real name Winifred Wimble, in my profession as a prostitute. I have for several months been entertaining as a client a man I now know as Rupert Taylor. He pays me for my services which include fellatio and sodomy. I have been offering him my services on a weekly basis. I did not initiate the meetings, it was always Mr Taylor who called me to arrange a meeting."

It was signed by W. Wimble and T. Taylor and dated.

"It's got no weight in law at all," I blustered, but Tanya laughed.

"This little piece of paper and these pictures from my camera are all I need to crush you completely, you fucking miserable philanderer you," Tanya snapped, displaying for the first time that afternoon a flash of temper.

"So don't give me any cock and bull about 'no weight in fucking law' you cunt," she said, this time almost screaming.

I shut up.

"Now get out of my sight while I make some phone calls to organise what I intend to do with you, you pathetic excuse for a fucking husband. Fuck off!"

I fucked off.

But not far. I hovered around in the lounge and heard Tanya making a phone call. It was obviously to her best friend, Paula Pain.

"Paula, it's me, Tanya," I heard her start. "Guess what? I've caught that fucking bastard of a husband of mine cheating on me, just as you suspected."

Paula obviously replied, then Tanya continued: "Exactly - so I was wondering if that dominatrix who helped solve your husband's behaviour problems is still around? She put on such a superb demonstration with your Jack and I thought it would be a good idea to give Rupert the same dose of mistress medicine."

Another pause, then Tanya asked her friend: "And you've had no problems with Jack since, have you? He's an obedient little puppy now?"

Tanya laughed, a cruel laugh which sent shivers down my spine. "Great, yes I've got that number, I'll give her a call. And I thought we'd do something similar to the way you whipped Jack in line. I'll invite you and my golf friends along and I thought I'd ask my sister, too. It should make for a fun afternoon or two. How many did it take with Jack? Six, wasn't it?"

I slipped out of the lounge. I'd heard quite enough, thank-you very much.

The rest of the day I waited on Tanya hand and foot and later in the evening, when we had retired I decided to go about making my apologies.

"Listen, darling," I began, but Tanya was still in no mood for contrition.

"No Rupert, you fucking listen," she said, "your behaviour has been so absolutely deplorable I'm having you taken to a behaviour modification expert."

The words sent a shiver and a thrill down my spine. "A modification expert?" I asked.

Tanya smiled, before leaning over to switch off her bedside light. "Correct, my dear devoted dallying husband," she said, icily. "Only in the books you sell in Soho she would probably be described as a dominatrix. Her name's Yvette, she's French and works under the name Maitresse Yvette."

I'd heard of her, even seen her advertisements, but I'd never been able to summon up the courage to make an appointment for a session. It looked as if my mind had been made up for me!

Tanya snuggled down on her side of the bed, yawned languidly and then added: "You're booked in for a session with her on Monday and I've invited some of my dearest friends along to watch it. We're all going to have great fun. Except you - I doubt what you're going to experience could be described as 'fun' but who knows, you may turn out to be the world's biggest masochist."

I rolled over, turning my back to Tanya. But I certainly hoped she was right!

The next day, when my wife had gone out with friends for coffee - and to no doubt inform them of my upcoming "session" - I called Jack Pain at his office in the City.

I told him my predicament and asked what was going to happen. "Oh fuck, don't ask, Rupert, please don't ask. Look, I've got my shit together, I'm in a very happy relationship with Paula now, but it's worth more than life to talk about it. Please, don't ask me." And he slammed the phone down in my ear.

The week-end dragged, and Monday morning seemed to go on forever. Finally, around 1pm, Tanya informed me it was time to go. She drove her Jaguar some five or six miles to a secluded but expensive-looking cul-de-sac and parked outside a large mansion.

The door was opened by a youngish woman dressed in an outrageous maid's outfit, the tops of her stockings were clearly visible, so was her cleavage.

"Hello, Marie," said my wife, "this piece of crap with me is my husband Rupert."

"Come with me, please sir," she said in a slight north country accent and I left my wife and was ushered into a sparsely furnished ante room.

"Clothes off please, sir, and wait for the arrival of Maitresse Yvette," said the blonde, and I started to disrobe.

Some minutes later, as I stood naked and feeling ridiculous, the door banged open and one of the most magnificent women I'd ever set eyes on swept into the room. She looked about 30.

Maitresse Yvette was wearing high-heeled leather boots which made her height almost equal to my six feet. The shiny black leather boots came to just above her knees. But that wasn't what made her look so stunning to my lustful gaze.

She was wearing a black leather basque, which was drawn tightly around her lush but firm-looking figure. The garment had no coverage for her breasts which thrust out towards me in erection-producing uplift. They were heavy and so superbly rounded I assumed they must have been implants. They were tipped with large brown, almost black nipples, surrounded by vast circlets of areolae.

The basque came down to her hips and left her lovely big bum and pussy uncovered. Her pubic hair was dark brown, like her nipples almost black, and had been shaved into a sort of crew cut which allowed me to gaze upon her thick, fleshy labia lips.

Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, her brown eyes flashed, her lipsticked full mouth was red and sensual. She had a rich golden sun tan, which seemed to add to her hauteur.

The magnificent creature smiled at me, almost as if in encouragement. "Welcome to my 'umble abode, monsieur," said Yvette. "My name is Maitresse Yvette, but you can call me 'Maitresse'. Now, put zis on."

And with that she threw me a tiny little black rubber posing pouch. I struggled to drag it on over my hips, until it was snugly in place, my cock and balls bunched in a tight bundle.

When I had "clothed" myself, Maitresse Yvette addressed tossed me a black leather collar. "Put zat around your neck, sweetie," she ordered, only the way she pronounced the word "sweetie" convinced me her French accent was as fake as her tits.

After I had completed that task, Maitresse Yvette looked at me approvingly. "Now you are 'ere for be'aviour modification, oui?"

I nodded.

"Good, you will find eet an exciting experience I 'ave no doubt," she informed me. "Eet may be somewhat painful in parts, and 'umiliating in ozzers. But nothing will be done to - 'ow you say? - damage you in any way. Comprendez?"

I nodded, I understood.

"We will now go into ze punishment room. You weel obey my instructions all ze time and escape is 'opeless. Anyway, I am a black belt in ze judo, so you try, I 'it you 'ard. Hokay?"

I nodded once more. Then she opened a side door to the ante room and pushed me through it into a large sort of lounge. There, seated on two couches, were my wife, her sister and four of my wife's friends. The preposterously dressed maid moved among them, serving drinks.

Yvette propelled me to the centre of the room, turned me to face the audience and cleared her throat.

"'Ello, ladeez and welcome to Chez Yvette where zis afternoon we are commencing the be'aviour modification of Meester Taylor 'ere," she told them.

"But before we start, what do we 'ave to do?"

A friend of Tanya's from the golf club raised her hand: "We have to strip him nude."

Yvette laughed. "Correct, Mrs Frobisher, and since you 'ad such a prompt answer would you like to do ze onners?"

Mrs Frobisher indicated she most certainly would and a tall, lissom brunette stepped from the couch and stood beside me.

"Can I use my teeth?" she asked the maitresse, with a grin.

"Non madame," said Yvette, sternly. "You know ze rules - with your 'ands if you please."

Then Mrs Frobisher placed one hand on each hip and with a deft movement slipped the posing pouch from my groin, revealing to everyone my naked shame. Yvette grabbed hold of my wrists and dragged them behind my back as several members of the audience produced digital cameras and took flash photos of my humiliation.

Mrs Frobisher then stroked her hand along the shaft of my cock and ran a finger into my foreskin lips.

"Yuk," she announced, peering at her finger, "pre-cum, how disgusting." And before I realised what was going on she thrust her beautifully manicured finger into my mouth and forced me to suck it clean.

"Zank you, Mrs Frobisher," said Yvette, as the tall lady resumed her seat to handclaps from her fellow members of the audience.

"And now zere is another problem with Meester Taylor - can anyone tell me what zat ees?"

Hands flew into the air and Yvette chose a large, frumpy looking black haired woman, who later turned out to be the golf club's women's captain.

"Yes, Mrs Paige, and what is ze problem we 'ave wiz our slave maintenant?"

"His cock and balls need shaving," said the large woman.

"Correct," called Yvette, "and for zat correct answer you may 'ave the onner of applying ze shaving cream."

The large lady rose from the couch and took a shaving brush, dabbed it in a mug of cream and liberally doused my cock and balls until they were thoroughly prepared, a process which, embarrassingly for me, caused my cock to become aroused.

Then Yvette handed her a safety razor and as some women took pictures, Mrs Paige depilated my crotch, showing surprising dexterity, I thought, and a gentle touch which did nothing to diminish my rapidly growing cock.

After I was towelled dry the women laughed at my near nudity and my obviously growing cock.

"Zere," said Yvette, proudly displaying me by pushing me closer to the couches, "as smooth as - 'ow do you British put eet? - a baby's bum."

"And now," she said, when the laughter and bawdy comments about my new look crotch had subsided, "we 'ave one more thing to do to our ami before 'ees ready for me to start. 'Ooo wants to tell me what eet eez?"

Vanya, my wife's attractive 35-year-old sister, put her hand up and called: "He needs to be fitted with the anal intruder."

"Excellent," cried the dominatrix. "And per'aps you'd like to 'elp me get eem ready for it, Ms Vanya?"

My sister-in-law approached us and I looked on with considerable apprehension as Yvette produced what looked to be a stubby five-inch anal intruder, with two long strips of stretchy rubber attached to each side of the base plug.

"Please, madame, oil 'is anus," said Yvette, and Vanya pulled on a rubber glove, dipped her fingers into a jar of Vaseline and then snapped: "Bend over, Rupert, show us that cute little backside!"

I obeyed and heard cameras being clicked as I felt Vanya plunge two fingers into my rectum and deposit a smearing of the thick oil to my back passage. As she discarded the glove, Vanya called out to her sister: "He's got a nice tight anus, Tanya."

There were gales of laughter as I heard my wife's reply: "Not for long, sis, not for long!"

Next I stiffened and gave a sharp intake of breath as I felt Yvette plunge the anal intruder into my back passage, feeling it invade my bowels and press strongly against my sphincter, an action which caused my cock to spring up into an instant and rigid erection. Again cameras flashed, as I was ordered to stand and face the audience. Some of the women made disgusting remarks, which made my face redden even further from the utter humiliation I was undergoing.

Next Yvette took the ends of the two straps from the front of the intruder and tugged them upwards until she could hook them into the D-rings set in my slave collar. Vanya, who obviously was no newcomer to what was happening, took the straps dangling beneath my buttocks and did the same until their ends were also attached to the D-rings in the back of the collar.

Their actions caused the dildo in my rectum to be pulled even more snugly into my back passage, invading me even further and, if it was physically possible, adding to the dimensions of my engorged cock.

"Zank you," said Yvette, when she had checked to make sure the anal intruder was completely buried in my arse, "and now 'elp me prepare 'im on ze bench."

Two pairs of hands then strapped me down until I was helplessly immobile on the bench, my cock waving up in the air above my abdomen, pre-cum oozing from its slit.

"And now ladeez," said the domme, "we can commence with 'is training!" And with that, the busty dominatrix straddled my face and placed her feet on either side of the bench, which was low enough so that I could smell the strong odour pouring from her steaming quim.

"I am told zis naughty boy likes to put 'eez cock in ladies' arse'oles," said Yvette. "Well, from now on monsieur, the only thing you are going to put in arse'oles iz your tongue."

And she squatted down so my face was inches from her bum and hissed "Lick me, naughty boy!"

My tongue flicked out onto her pungent brown anus, tasting the musky tang of her slightly damp orifice.

"Lick deeper, slave boy, let me feel zat tongue up my 'ole," came her command from above me as I heard cameras clicking.

I continued with my tasteless task, until my tongue managed to invade her anus, probing an inch or so into its fleshy folds.

"Zere," cried Maitresse Yvette, in triumph, "from now on zat is 'ow you will worship a lady's bottom, with your tongue, not with your 'orrid little peenis!" And as she uttered the word "peenis" I felt her mouth surround my cock head and suck on it, accompanied by the sound of digital cameras recording my continued humiliation.