People Who Take Advantage of Me

I expect this story to disappoint you. It features female domination and crossdressing, and not much sex.

Tea has been poured with proper ceremony, each cup customized with sugar, lemon, or milk. Sandwiches on plates of floral china have been set before the ladies, followed by cake cut and delivered. For some of them, sherry has been poured in little cordial glasses.

Jane has just stepped up onto that wide, raised limestone slab beside the door from the sunroom to the original house. Formerly the outside doorstep, the stone provides a fine little speakers' platform.

The uncomfortable part is to begin.

I stand off to the side of the room, still just a bit unsteady on the painful, even higher heels she produced for me to wear for today's tea party. An embroidered white apron covers the full skirt of my tea dress, blue and purple flowers and green leaves over a pink background, I briefly wish I could take a few steps backward and disappear through the sunroom wall into the garden outside the house. I find myself wondering, again, how is it Jane has so many kinky friends willing to do this. These tea parties have come every two or three weeks all through the summer. 12 or 14 women come to each one, totaling well of 100. I swear I've only see three or four women more than once. Beatrice, the only regular, has been at about half of Jane's Saturday tea parties. These women are nearly all of an age they could be expected to have families of their own, but they manage to have an entire Saturday afternoon to participate in these little entertainments.

Jane tells her guests how much she enjoys their company, what pleasure it gives her to spend time with them, how grateful she is for their visit. I've heard her give a speech just like this at every party. Each time she manages to sound like she's never before said it at any party.

My eyes wander downward for a moment, taking in my garnet-colored toenail polish, fully visible in the strappy sandal. My fingernails, on the other hand, have a more demure shade of pink matching my lipstick.

The cadence of Jane's speech changes. I tune back in and raise my head just a few seconds before her elegant hand gestures toward me, her words describing how happy I am to participate in the party as well. They she turns to look at me.

"Nikki, dear, come here, stand beside me."

I go to join her and to face whatever challenge Jane has planned.

When she takes my hand it no doubt looks affectionate, but her grip is her firm, as if to assure I won't flee. Jane goes on and on about how my deportment has improved so much, how I am just such a refined young lady now, how one day soon I'll be introduced to society and begin to make my own way in the world.

"She has such elegant taste in clothing, don't you dear?" The smile to me seems genuine, in the instant she seems truly pleased with what she's accomplished. She does not mention it isn't my taste in clothing. She chooses everything I wear on these weekends, even nail polish and makeup colors. "Give a turn, show the ladies what you are wearing today."

She improvises variations and expects me to follow her lead, but overall the routine is familiar. These parties always end with Jane quite literally showing me to her friends.

I make a model turn on the step, then Jane insists I walk along the room and back. These ladies have seen me from all angles, I've been walking among them for the better part of two hours, making sure they have everything they want, making a little polite conversation, serving and clearing away plates and glasses. Even so, to please Jane, I treat it like a catwalk, striding slowly down, stopping halfway for a turn to the right, then to the left before continuing. At the far end, I am so close to the outside door I could simply dash for it and make my escape, but I stop, pirouette and strike a pose, hip pushed right, for just a few seconds before walking back. As I approach Jane, she is beaming, her hands raised to initiate a polite, quiet little applause. I manage to refrain from smoothing my skirt or otherwise acting self-conscious, keeping my hands at my sides as a model would.

"Perhaps Nikki has a future in modeling," Jane wondered aloud to her guests. "Her refined taste in clothing includes her underclothing. Would you like to see what she's wearing under her dress today?"

Of course they'd like to, as though someone modeling their lingerie happens at every weekend tea party. Perhaps it does for the ones Jane's friends attend. Jane unties my apron and hands it to me, I fold it carefully while she pulls down the zip of my dress. There happens to be a table at the corner of the stone slab where clothing can be set down as it comes off. I set down the apron. By then Jane is ready to slip my dress off my arms, I hold it up until she is ready to lower it so I can step out. Jane lays the dress carefully across the table, stopping to pull the waist straight so the full skirt spreads across two sides of the table.

Today I'm wearing a lovely satin camisole and matching half-slip. The satin is ivory. The camisole has pale pink, dentelle lace covering the bodice. The satin is cut quite low in front, but the lace covers more, preserving the illusion of a demure neckline until one is close up. Jane likes me to wear this camisole under a sheer blouse, the lace showing through having a pretty effect. The half slip has a kick pleat with a vee of the same lace. I am required to make a model turn so both the back and the front of my lingerie is shown. I'm lucky I don't have to walk the room again.

"My dear, are you wearing stockings?" The lady seated closest to the step asks a question easily answered by looking at my nearby leg.

"Yes ma'am, I nearly always wear stockings. It gives my legs a more finished look." It also helps to reduce me to just what I am wearing, instead of being a person.

"Yes, Martina, and you shall have quite a good look, too." I wonder if Jane has suggested things they could say, or if this exercise just comes naturally to these ladies. Jane puts a hand on my shoulder. "Nikki, dear, we're all wondering what you're wearing under that slip."

I lower the half slip to below my knees. I am must move slowly in those high heels, to step daintily out, first one foot, then the other. For me, it is about not falling over. For the audience, it is a slow strip tease so sensuous women can enjoy it. Under the slip I'm wearing French knickers matching the camisole, ivory satin and a lovely triangle of pink lace on the outside hem of the leg openings. It fits around at my waist and hips, but flairs quite a bit to the full legs. The look enhances the illusion of an hourglass figure.

I expect Martina's question has been answered more fully, because the tops of my stockings, and the garter clips holding them up, are now fuly visible below the bottom of the knickers.

"Take a stroll, dear, give everyone a better look."

While I'm making my runway walk, one of the women asks, "Jane, why on earth do you subject her to such things?" Finally, after three months of being treated this way, one of them is sane.

"Ah, Deidre, what better way to learn poise, self-confidence? If you can stay calm in just your lingerie in public, you can stay calm in any situation." As if this is done solely because it benefits me. "And," Jane adds with some amusement in her voice. "From time to time Nicki has been known to get another benefit from this as well."

I complete my walk. Jane does not lead any applause this time. I stand again on the step beside Jane, hands calm at my sides no matter how I am feeling inside.

"What about your bra, dear? Don't you think the ladies would like to see the brassiere that goes with this ensemble?"

I cross my arms to pull the camisole upward by its shoulders. It is important to never let it look awkward or difficult. Done properly, the camisole does not turn inside-out. I succeed this time, it is rather a new skill. I gently place the camisole, folded in half, on the pile of clothing. Place, never toss, everything is done in slow, calm motions.

The bra is from the same line. The pink lace is an additional layer covering the underside of each satin cup. For each item of lingerie I'm wearing at any of these parties, Jane requires I be ready to give the fashion magazine caption, in case one of the guests should ask.

Martina speaks up again. "Nikki, please, I'd like a better look at your stockings and garter." Now I'm more convinced Martina is a shill for Jane, asking just the right thing at just the right time. She could as easily be just enjoying the strip show.

"Of course." My calm, matter-of-fact answer completely conceals that this is perhaps the worst part of the exercise. This step never gets easy. I ease the knickers down my legs, making sure they stay smooth and flat, don't bunch up, they must look good through the entire process of taking them off. I step out of them, take two unhurried steps as I fold them in half and place them gently on the table. I stand there, my face showing no concern that I'm wearing only bra, garter and stockings. I've gone far beyond being in public in my lingerie. Jane's arcane rules always have me keeping the bra on.

None of the ladies seem surprised by my action, nor by the nudity. How can Jane know so many women who won't even react will to a scene like this?

Jane steps over to stand beside me. "Hasn't Nikki been a good sport? Isn't she a dear?" There are nods, murmurs of agreement. Now the main question will be heard. I listen to carefully to parse its nuances, but keep my face bland, as thought I'm not even listening to her.

Jane reaches down and cups her hand over my crotch, her fingers moving just slightly in the right places, intending to get me aroused. A moment of silence passes, Jane looking directly at me, willing me to show I enjoy her touch, I work hard to ignore how her hand really feels for me. I give the room a blank gaze, but paying attention to the all the strangers looking at me certainly helps me keep my cool. This is new, in past parties she's never tried to stimulate me before the verdict. Keeping up the stimulation of her fingers, she turns her head to her guests. "Nikki has waited quite a few weeks, just over a month now, to be allowed an orgasm. Her orgasms do not happen very often, as a result they are quite important to her. I think she's done a fine job at this party. I think we should permit her this treat. What do you ladies think?"

This was good news. Jane's veto power over the finish was absolute, and she opened the question with the implication she would not veto. I redouble my efforts to ignore her fingers until the decision has been finalized. The last thing I want is to upset her this close to the ending.

Beatrice asked her usual question. "How do you know she hasn't taken care of herself, when you're not looking? You aren't with her every minute of the day."

"Nikki, perhaps you should answer."

I summon all my sang-froid so I can sound matter-of-fact, as though speaking of the price of Chianti or the time of the next train to Ipswich. "Jane would know. She has shown me she always will know."

Jane's smile to me was cold, but approving.

"Shall we let Nikki have her orgasm this afternoon, ladies?"

The ladies give nods and a verbal "yes" or two. At every party they all seem to know in advance that any one can object, meaning the orgasm won't be permitted. Not one of them has ever said, "no, I don't care to witness such a thing." True to form, today no one objects. I have a brief impulse that I should object, but the consequences are unpredictable.

Not letting go, still stroking me with her fingertips, Jane asks the next question of me, as though she can read my mind. "Nikki, would you like an orgasm today, with these ladies watching?" The testing isn't quite over yet.

I take care to speak with an air of indifference. "If you think it would be appropriate, Jane."

"Oh, come now, you must have an opinion."

"I have an opinion, but what I think really shouldn't be allowed to influence the matter."

Her approving smile is warmer.

"Good girl. You remember all the rules, don't you?"

"I do remember."

"Then let's give you a lovely little orgasm." Her fingers don't change their light touches, she waits for evidence that I'm getting aroused. It takes a moment to change my thinking, relax and try to enjoy what she's doing. I know if I take too long to show evidence of my response she will change her mind. I do what I must in this situation, I ignore the audience entirely and indulge in some fantasy.

Jane fingers move a bit differently. They feel so much better, give my first indication that she's aware knows I'm responding to her.

At this point in the event Jane is a bit more forgiving. She tolerates a little loss of composure, I don't have to maintain my blank face, I don't have to respond if one of the ladies present speaks to me. It has been a long time, but we also spent the better part of two hours last night and another hour this morning edging me, bringing me to the brink a dozen times, only to stop. Struggling to maintain my balance on those damned heels, I can feel my world narrow down until there is nothing around me but her hand, giving me such lovely caresses between my legs.

I can feel that I'm making Jane's hand wet, making her motions feel that much better. I've been to this point many times under Jane's charge, too many to count. However, it wouldn't take many of my fingers to count out the very few times she's allowed me to go the rest of the way.

She has edged me in front of her guests, stopping before the promised orgasm. One, memorable occasion, she edged me four times before I caught on and begged her to make me wait longer for an orgasm. This time it appears she does not intend to stop.

It is more difficult than it looks have have an orgasm standing up. The difficulty is further compounded this time by those tall heels and the effort Jane puts into making the few orgasms I'm allowed pretty spectacular. I have to divide my attention. Avoiding falling over makes it that much more difficult to reach the release Jane appears to be trying to give me. She may not actually stop me, but she has a hundred ways to help me not get the pleasure I've waited so long to experience again.

My eyes focus for an instant, and the sight of all those women watching with interest gives me still another distraction. I force my eyes to lose focus so I can make at least that distraction go away.

I can feel I'm about to reach it, knowing full well Jane could at any time declare she's lost interest and make me stop. But Jane doesn't stop, and I can tell soon it will be impossible to stop. Normally I warn Jane I'm approaching that point, giving her the last word on the event, but this time I have no reason to tell her.

I can't tell if my orgasm surprises Jane, but it takes me by surprise. I feel like my feet aren't holding me up, I nearly put my hand on Jane, to steady myself, but I manage to shift my feet on the irregular stone and keep my balance. The peak is wonderful despite the distractions. Mercifully, Jane doesn't stop, she keeps on stroking. There are no surprises or interruptions, I actually get to enjoy the whole thing.

I open my eyes and see the smiles on the faces of the women. I've just been a public spectacle.

Of course the humiliation isn't quite over.

Jane holds her hand up, palm flat. She is looking at me, waiting to see if I need to be goaded. I know what to do. As my penis quickly shrinks, I lean down and lick my own semen from her hand. Her hand is quite low, just above my waist. It is perfectly clear I'm leaning down, she's not pushing her hand at me. When her hand is clean, she gestures to the step. I step down to the floor of the sunroom, bend from the waist and lick up the drops that escaped Jane's hand. In that position, Jane can be sure the ladies see the wide base of the pink, silicone butt plug put in this morning.

The rest of the humiliation winds down. I remain wearing only bra, stockings and suspender belt as Jane and I entertain the guests for another ten or twenty minutes before we escort them to the door. Beatrice is the last in line to depart. While Jane is talking with another woman she whispers, "I love seeing your cock when it's nice and hard. It's quite nice to look at. One day I'll get closer to it, won't I?" Beatrice is one of the last women I'd let near me.

She lean closer and takes my penis in her hand. "You like it up the bum, don't you."

Touching me, she's crossed the line for one of Jane's rules. I don't feel the need to be careful. I grab her wrist. I try to stop her unwanted groping, but of course she has my penis in her hand, so there's a limit on what I can do to her. "I expect you like that more than I."

Her eyes widen at the snarky answer, then a sly smile spreads spreads. She gives my penis a sharp squeeze before letting me push her hand away. "Cheek! It's good to see you still have your spirit, but Jane has always completely tamed those she takes in charge. Don't worry, one day she'll give you to me, and then we'll compare which of us likes it better. You don't appreciate how much of this summer has been for my benefit." Her look is cold when she turns away from me, but instantly shifts to warm when she gushes her goodbye to Jane.

I'm required to remain in my disrobed state while I clean up from the party. By the time I have the dishwasher running and the kitchen counters wiped down, Jane has disappeared for a soak in the tub and a nap before dinner. I'm expected to change into a plain, maid's uniform, prepare her dinner, and serve it to her when she wishes.

This Saturday evening I'm planning something different.

When Jane comes into the dining room, she finds me seated at her table, sipping soup. I've never eaten at her dining table before. I'm dressed in the jeans and striped shirt I was wearing when I arrived the previous evening.

Predictably, Jane overreacts. She stomps quickly to the sideboard where I know she keeps BDSM gear, yanks open a drawer, grabs a riding crop and advances toward me. I knew she'd respond just this way, I'd rehearsed to make the delivery cold and convincing. "Jane, if you come close enough to touch me, I will make sure you have bruises you can't conceal when you go out." I pause, checking for effect. "Would you like your eye blacked? Maybe a few nice finger-marks around your throat?"

It's as though I let the air out of her. Her raised arm slowly deflates and drops, her grip on the riding crop relaxes, she seems to lose a bit of her upright posture.

"It's over, Jane. I'll be leaving in a few minutes, and I will never return." She looks dazed, so I stand and pull out her chair. "Sit down, I'll serve you some soup."

A few minutes later we are seated at the table, both sipping soup. One of the earliest rules in Jane's house was that she didn't care what I ate, as long as she never saw me eating, precisely why I decided to part with her while we ate together.

Jane puts down her spoon. "Alright, what happened today that's set you off? Was it Beatrice? I saw her taking advantage of you, and she will hear about it."

"No, today was... ordinary. I decided, two weeks ago, it would end today."

"Then why did you cooperate today?"

"I saw no reason to embarrass you in front of your friends."

She gave a short, derisive snort. "Friends! I don't know but a handful out of all of them. I find them online to be the audience for you!" She decided to try putting me in her debt. "After all I've done for you! You owe me more than just quitting."

"Bollocks, what exactly have you done for me? It seems to me I've done quite a bit for you.

"You have done just one thing for me. Your premise to recruit me was I'd learn how to deal with people who take advantage of me. I've only learned because you are taking advantage of me, and I'm dealing with you by ending it now."