The Gentleman's Confession Ch. 03

"But you cannot, can you?" she asked, a taunting eyebrow raised. "You can attempt to ignore me, perhaps, but when I am here, you cannot run away. You do not wish to. You're my pet, boy -- my playtoy. And I do enjoy playing with you so very, very much... I wonder what that boy Simmons would think if he knew his Master was in the thrall of a Lady even younger than he, the secretary, is?"

"What do you want from me?" I asked weakly.

"As it happens, I do by chance have some business with your bank. Rather a pleasing little accident of fate, do you not think, pet?"

As she spoke, she undid a top button of her dress, which fell open slightly, revealing a tantalising glimpse of the ebony-coloured corset beneath. From within, she pulled out a thin, folded sheaf of papers which had evidently been carefully concealed in an interior pocket. She reached forward and placed them on the desk next to the business card. She did not immediately rebutton her dress. I could see the flesh of her cleavage forced upwards and spilling over the edge of the corset.

I felt quite faint.

She smirked, knowing full well at what I was looking.

"Concentrate, boy. I know it is terribly difficult for you, but we have business to discuss. Come along. I'm sure that even you can keep your mind away from your amours for a few moments."

She made me sound so very pathetic. But I knew that I was. For as I picked up the papers, my heart leapt to feel how warm they still were, from having been pressed so closely to her flesh.

"Wh... what are they?" I asked, unfolding the documents.

"My great uncle recently passed away, and he appears to have held a rather substantial account with your institution," she explained, leaning casually back in the chair, the swell of her slightly-exposed bosom rising and falling with her breath.

A sudden, brief, momentary desire to rip open her bodice and know what it was like to spill my seed across her magnificent breasts flashed across my mind. It took my breath away. I blinked and it was gone, but I felt as if I had been hit by a speeding steam engine.

"I... er... that is to say..."

I fumbled with the papers, almost dropping them. She giggled.

"I said concentrate, pet. Really, you are such a silly little thing."

I forced myself to follow the writing and figures imprinted on the paper. It seemed that indeed her relative had held quite a significant figure with us. The papers appeared to be in order, but what had the account to do with her?

"The money was left to me in his last will and testament," she said, in answer to my unasked question. Did she know my mind so well already, as to anticipate anything I might ask? "He had no other living relatives," she continued.

"That is... um... all very well, ah... madam..."

"My Lady."

The correction was sudden and forceful. That look of steel returned to her face. I fumbled the papers again, dropping them to the desk.

"My Lady," I said apologetically, bowing my head.

Why? Why?

"You are wondering whether I propose to simply walk out of here with his money without any evidence of my claim? Of course you are. You think I am a stupid little girl. Well do not forget, boy, that this girl owns every inch of you, and can do with you as she pleases. But... in answer to your query -- his solicitors, Prentice & Jarlow, will ratify my claim. You know them?"

"I know of them... my Lady." The honorific was added hurriedly, but she nodded her approval anyhow.

"Excellent. Then you will be able to make the arrangements...?"

"You... erm... you hold an account with us?"

It had occurred to me that even now I did not know her name. She knew all about me -- my name, my place of work, enough to ruin me utterly, and I knew only her address, and not even that for certain. It could be somewhere rented, the house of a friend, any one of a number of things.

"No. But I will accept the money in either notes or gold bullion, whichever is most convenient for my boy's little toy bank to provide."

She was mocking one of the most august financial institutions in the Empire. But then, if I were a part of it, how esteemed could it be?

"You will tell me what you have arranged when you come to visit me on Wednesday evening of next week," she explained casually. This stopped me dead, in fear and lust and excitement and surprise and... Oh, a torrent of emotions all wrapped up together!

"My Lady?"

"You heard me perfectly well, boy," she replied curtly. "Wednesday next, you will come to my house at eight in the evening. You will tell me what you have arranged. And then of course you will be severely punished for all these weeks of having ignored me. You did not think that I was simply going to forget about all of that, did you, little boy?"

Images of whips and cuts and whelts came unbidden to my head. Of dark rooms, and torments, and of an aching, powerful arousal. I told myself that I did not want this, that it was not who I was, but the more the images came the more I knew that I did want it. More than anything, I desired to be punished for my sins, and the Young Lady was the one person who knew about them and could administer the deserved punishment.

"Yes, my Lady," I found myself saying, dumbstruck at my immediate agreement.

"Excellent! I knew you would agree! Such a good little boy... Well, some of the time, anyway.... Stand up pet."

The change of tone in her voice from praise to command was striking, and it jerked me quite involuntarily into action in the manner of a hound commanded by his master's voice. Or mistress's voice, in my case. I stood, embarrassed that the great bulge in my breeches was so obviously visible, and she giggled once more as her eyes fixed upon it.

"Dearie me boy! Such a dirty little creature... Come here, boy."

One delicate finger beckoned me forward. I was powerless to resist. Simmons might have returned at any moment. I found that I cared not a jot.

"Closer," she commanded, and I moved around the desk and walked right up to her as she continued to beckon. Eventually, with the tips of my shoes practically touching the ends of her boots, she moved her finger around in a slow arc and pointed to the ground.

"Kneel, pet," she said quietly.

"I..."

"Kneel."

I knelt. She smiled.

"Good boy. Now... give me your hand."

I reached out my right hand, and she took a firm grasp of it by the wrist. With her other hand, she began to pull her skirts up about her waist again, until once more the exciting, forbidden flesh of her young thighs was visible. And, of course, the soft pink material of her silky drawers, the most tantalising and erotic sight I think I had ever seen. I was so close, so very close, my face perhaps a foot away from that soft flesh and the veil of material at the centre.

I trembled. She looked down upon me like a Goddess from the mountaintop. Then slowly, slowly pulled my hand forward to her thigh, pressing my fingers against the warm, soft flesh. I had curled my fingers into a fist, but she admonished me to allow them free roam.

"Stroke it," she commanded.

"My Lady, it is not proper!"

"There is nothing more natural in the world, pet. Now... stroke it!"

I slowly, nervously, unfurled my fingers and allowed the tips to play across the wonderfully silky flesh. I felt as if my fingers were skimming across the surface of a vat of the finest cream. The Young Lady closed her eyes and leaned her head back, sighing slightly.

"Good boy..." she whispered, taking my hand and moving it a little further up her thigh. The flesh was warm and soft and wonderful to touch, but it felt so very wrong... That was a part of why it was so very, very exciting, I think. I was taut, fit to burst. I wanted this to end, and I wanted it never to stop.

"Good little boy..." she repeated. Then, eyes open once more and looking down at me, she pulled my hand again, this time right up to that most private and forbidden part of her.

"No, my Lady!" I gasped in horror, attempting to pull back, but her grip on my wrist was too tight, and she forced my hand forward until my resistant fingers were brushing against the thin material of her underthings.

"Do not defy me, boy!" she said, her voice full of threat. "Don't forget, that I can destroy you right here and now, pet. I need only call for help..."

I did not dare think about what lay fractions of an inch away from my fingers, beneath the lacy material, the single wisp of clothing left preserving her modesty. It was against everything I had been brought up to believe was right and proper and true.

"Slip your fingers under the material," she commanded softly and simply. "Stroke it. Pleasure your Lady, boy."

I looked up at her fearfully.

"I... I have never..."

She appeared surprised.

"Aw, the little wife at home has never...? No...? No, you have simply never asked, have you pet?"

"I would never ask such a thing of Annabel!" I gasped in complete shock and horror. The thought of it! Oh my Annabel! Allowing my hand anywhere near... It was vile.

"You would be surprised," the Young Lady told me. I had bunched my fingers together once more, but she pressed them firmly against the fabric, then allowed the dress to fall around my arm as she gripped my chin in her free hand, lifted my face up to her and leaned over, looking intently into my eyes.

"Touch me," she ordered. "Now."

My fingers spread. It was... It... Oh reader, how can I pretend? I am flesh and blood; skin and bone. Of course I was curious. How could I not be so? Please, reader, pity me. I was overcome with desire and with curiosity. My defences crumbled, all excuses gone and spent.

I slid two of my fingers underneath the material. I felt the tips brush against something very warm and wet and smooth, and I gasped in shock.

Just as she gasped in delight, her eyes lighting like fireworks and her bright white teeth exposed in a smile of joy. I felt my heart nearly burst to see her so pleased, and all thoughts of Annabel were gone as I brushed my fingers along her... her... her wetness once more, delighting in soliciting a similar reaction.

"Good boy!" she enthused. "Oh, such a good little boy!"

I ran the fingers across again, exploring the new world opened up to me, closing my eyes and feeling my way across the contours and textures of this most exquisitely feminine world. She was sighing more deeply now, rhythmically, in time with my strokes across her tender and ever-more-damp flesh.

"Are you certain you have not done this before, boy?" she teased.

"Of course not!" I insisted. "I have never... And Annabel would never..."

My protests were weak. She ignored them.

"Do it faster, my little playtoy," she encouraged, flushed and happy. "Come along now toy. Pleasure you Lady! Mmmmmmm, yes, come along! Faster! Faster!"

I stroked ever faster, my fingers slippy and wet with the juices I could only guess at the origins of, liquids I had known of the existence of beforehand but something that had never been spoken of when my wife and I had engaged in our conjugality. But this... this was nothing like that. This was a world away from the soft romantic evenings we had passed in our bed at home... This was something altogether filthier and more furtive, more shameful and sinful, and so, so much more exciting that I was half afraid I was about to spill my seed within my trousers, there and then, kneeling on the floor of my office with my hand within the underwear of a delicate young lady.

"Harder!" she demanded, and I was confused for a moment as to what she meant, when suddenly she used her grip upon my wrist to force my fingers more deeply behind her clothing and... and into her.

My fingers were inside of her!

"My Lady!" I gasped.

"Oh God!"

Her exclamation was followed my a deep, unmistakeable moan of pleasure that I was terrified would have every clerk in the bank running to the room in search of its origin, but it also thrilled me more deeply and fully than anything else I had so far experienced. I felt the muscles of her... of her cooze contract sharply against my fingers, and she moaned again and forced herself forward onto them, until they were so deep inside of her that the remainder of my hand was pushed hard against her wetness, grinding the soggy material of her underclothes against her flesh.

"Good boy!" she gasped, before sighing once more and then finally, finally pulling my wrist away and allowing my fingers to slide out of her, and for my arm to emerge from underneath her skirt.

I gazed at the glistening dampness upon them as she sat still upon the chair, her chest heaving, her breath coming back to her. Her usually implacable face was flushed red, and she gazed at me, grinning widely.

"Well done boy!" she exclaimed, looking even younger than she was. I felt as if I were some puppy dog who had just performed a clever trick for her.

"I.... I..."

"Oh be quiet boy, if I wanted you to speak I would have asked you to, would I not? Now... You had better clean yourself up, pet."

I frowned once more, not comprehending.

"My Lady?"

"Your fingers, boy," she said, the smile fading, and a look of intense, eager command replacing it. "Lick them clean."

This was a new horror upon horrors. But the arousal was still painfully intense, and by curiosity on fire to know what it might taste like.

"I cannot... It is... I..."

"Lick. Them. Clean." Her face assumed a mock-offended aspect. "Or perhaps you do not care to sample the taste of your Lady?"

That was enough to persuade me. With a last, lingering look at the way the sticky liquids clung to my skin, I closed my eyes, steeled myself and plunged the fingers into my mouth, Simmons and the clerks and my work and my wife and everything else be damned. I had come this far on this insane journey, what difference was a little further into the mire now?

She tasted wonderful, of course. It was like nothing I had known before, sticky and sweet and... so intimate. So arousing. It was quite the most powerful aphrodisiac I had ever known, and in that moment I would have done anything for her. Absolutely anything. The sin and depravity of what I had done, what I was doing, had driven me insane with desire, and all wisdom and common sense had departed me. There was only the Young Lady, and my urge to please and to pleasure her.

"Good boy," she said, rising to her feet and ruffling my hair. I opened my eyes -- she was walking towards the door, composure restored, every inch the refined young heiress.

Whilst I had been reduced to kneeling upon the floor of my office, sucking my fingers.

"I shall expect you next Wednesday, then, at eight o'clock precisely," she reminded me. "Oh -- and do not be late, boy. It is bad enough for you already, my pet -- but it could get so very, very much worse..."

With that she was gone. But my aching, tortuous arousal remained. And I knew, knew for certain, that run and hide and try as I might, there could never be any escape now from the thrall of the Young Lady of Maple Street.