The Savant Pt. 02 - The Bagman Cummeth

It proved to be a special day in so many ways, not least because it was Marc's first outing in his new cock cage - which I gleefully applied to his bashful walnut with a firm squeeze of his balls and a delighted chuckle.

From the moment I unwrapped the steel chastity device I knew it was meant to be. There was something magical about cupping my sub's little cock in my palm as it sat snug inside a cornucopia of spiralling steel.

'Et voila!' I exclaimed triumphantly, clunking the lock closed.

For all his bluster, Marc was still being irksomely jittery about wearing his new cage. He'd got this weird hang up that I'd somehow lose the key and we'd end up needing to call the fire brigade.

'I can see it happening.' He squealed with an accompaniment of drama queen theatrics, 'There'll be a bunch of firemen perusing my caged dick and one of them'll decide that the only course of action is to use a grinding saw to prise the thing off! I can't wear it, I can't!'

'Don't be so sexist, for all you know they might be firewomen that turn up.' I offered languidly in reply, which only seemed to make things worse.

But Seriously? - And when I think of the abominably inappropriate objects and items men have wanted to stick up and inside me over the years.

And you'd have thought I was some kind of ditsy Domina who had a regular habit of misplacing things from the way my boy was whining. Moi?

'It's just that you have already lost the spare key and we've only owned the cage two days.' Marc lamented with the forlornly drooping shoulders of a moody teenager.

'Misplaced sweetheart. I have simply misplaced it.' I corrected, lovingly running my fingers over the remaining key that now hung from a silver chain around my neck.

Marc huffed despondently. I ignored him, chuckled some more, and stood back to enjoy the beautiful view of his sweet little cock so tightly packed into its restrictive steel compartment. Every woman should have one of these. And for fuck's sake get it a cage. You'll not regret it.

Branislav buzzed on the intercom five minutes later. He was Master's new bagman, and another hench meathead type from the local dive gym the two of them frequented. I loathed him - I'd met him three times and he seemed ever more painfully beautiful with each encounter.

He'd got a touch of the Ivan Drago's about him, which was nice, and he talked like something out of a Dostoyevsky novel, but he had some seriously misogynistic issues to boot. Not that he realised. He seemed to think hating on me for being pretty and having a vagina was all knicker dropping charm. Gallingly it kinda was with him. Bastard.

Marc insisted on staying home, which I put down to him not wanting an afternoon as the punchline to Master's cock cage jokes.

'You'll have to show it to him at some point.' I remonstrated, and then sped off in Daddy's Range Rover with the hatefully gorgeous Branislav at the wheel.

'He is going away.' The blonde adonis explained in his dry, monosyllabic tone when I enquired as to why Master had suddenly summoned me, 'And do you know what I think?'

'No. But do share.' I replied dryly, sparking up a spliff and giving the bird to some chavs who were trying to look like tough guys as we sped passed their little patch of street corner.

'I think if those shorts were any higher cut they would be a denim g-string. And it is obvious you are not wearing panties. I do not know what girl does this. I am just saying.'

Cheeky fucker.

I feigned an eye roll and petulantly ordered the late twenties stallion to keep his eyes on the road, whilst inwardly loving that he'd noticed the Dukes. Marc and I had made them out of an old pair of Levi's the previous afternoon. I mean, yeah, I probably wouldn't have worn them to a christening or something...

We drove on, with Branislav frequently glancing at my bra-less tits in the halter neck crop top I'd paired with the aforementioned slutty self made Daisy Dukes. I pretended not to notice as I peered out at the urban decay blurring passed us.

We took a detour to the club when I realised I'd lost the house key that Daddy had given me. It was probably with the one I'd lost for Marc's cage, I surmised.

Branislav wasn't amused and garbled something under his breath about how 'The Boss' wouldn't be happy about being disturbed.

'How the fuck are we supposed to get in the house without a key, eh numb nuts?' I retorted.

'Do you know what I think?' The eastern European eye candy muttered indignantly, 'I think you can be bitch like this only because you be looking like you do.'

He definitely wanted to slap me. I think we both got off on the unspoken flirtation of it.

There was a to-do list waiting for me when we finally rocked up at Master's relatively palatial three bedroom semi-detached located in one of Newcastle's less crime ridden neighbourhoods.

'So where's he going?' I asked, mindlessly tossing Master's door key on the couch and marching upstairs.

'I do not know this.' Branislav replied, following me upstairs like some kind of shadowy bodyguard, 'I think Spain.'

'You just said you didn't know. Then you say it's Spain. How can you not know one second and then instantly know the next?'

'Yes. It is Spain. Definitely Spain.' The bagman insisted, with a peculiar blend of shifty discomfort creasing his marble cheeked features.

The list was exhaustive, detailing exactly what Master wished to have packed for him. It was mostly the usual stuff, toothbrush, aftershave, four pairs of matching blue jeans and their corresponding white t-shirts, some Rockport boots, oh, and a suit.

Wait, what? A suit? Daddy owns a frigging suit? Well, of a kind. It was a pea green double breasted that looked like a hand-me-down from a pimp he must have befriended at some point back in the 1970's. Maybe he'd gotten the burnt orange suitcase from the same dude. I filled the latter with all Master's shit, regardless.

It was the bottom half of the list that stuck in my craw - Kink paraphernalia.

'What the fuck!' I hissed, 'Who's he going away with?'

Branislav stood mute behind me.

'I'm not packing any of his shit unless you tell me!' I ranted, 'Who the fuck is Master taking away with him?'

'I do not know how to answer this question.' Branislav answered, his pale cheeks suddenly flushing rouge.

'Try the fucking truth!' I demanded, and sat with my arms crossed on the edge of Master's bed.

Five minutes passed, and then Branislav reluctantly admitted that Master was taking Kirstie's Mum with him. I quietly seethed.

Really? - Kirstie's fucking Mum? That Bitch!

I still packed the stuff, most of it, anyways.

Butt plugs? Check.

Fisting lube? - I did a double take. Yep, Master had actually written that on his list. Maybe he was trying for humorous irony, because in all the times he'd forced his entire hand inside me he'd never fucking used the stuff. Yet apparently Kirstie's mum deserved the privilege, and she'd spat out two fucking kids! Sighs. Check.

Nine tails?... Check.

Clover clamps? Definite Check.

Oak spanking paddle with the words 'Daddy's' Toy' engraved upon it. Oops.

He could fuck off if he thought I was packing that. Master had always claimed that was his special nickname for me. So I opted to sort of accidentally on purpose leave the paddle in the duffle bag in the bottom of his wardrobe, as it were.

It was about four o'clock when Master returned from his club and discovered the deliberate error I'd made with my chores.

'Naughty girl. Get your ass over there' He sighed, shaking his head like a despairing father with one hand gesturing to the weights bench in the corner of his bedroom. I despised that ghastly thing. It seemed to ominously languish on the periphery of his colossal boudoir with beer stained shirts and discarded Calvin Klein's hanging idly from it. He'd never even used it. Until now.

'But Daddy...'

'Get on the fucking bench. Don't make me say it twice.'

'But that was twice Daddy.' I offered with a deliberate batting of lashes and a doe eyed stare.

Bring on the fury.

'Bee' was called back into the room. That was Master's nickname for Branislav. All his various lackeys had them, from Big John, who was even shorter than my five feet four, to Smiling Tony, who'd received a Glaswegian kiss back in his days as football hooligan and looked like a far too real version of the Joker.

Bee was tasked with physically lifting me off my feet and carrying me to the weights bench, whilst Daddy theatrically rolled up the sleeves of his pristine silk shirt.

Naturally I played the apoplectic damsel and hissed at him like a feline backed into a corner. He took full advantage of receiving the green light to put his hands on me and I responded with a whirlwind of kicking feet and flailing nails.

Branislav might have won, but I got some very satisfying shots in, not least a beautiful nail dragging effort that left an exquisite red slash mark weeping crimson down the length of his beautiful cheek. And so the simmering flirtation between the bagman and I had hit override.

'I think you need lesson taught.' He muttered, pausing briefly to peruse the wound I'd inflicted on his face. He looked genuinely shocked by the damage inflicted.

'You're not my Dom!' I rebuked, thumping his broad back with my little fists as he effortlessly tossed me over his powerful shoulders.

He then marched me across the bedroom and flipped me in his giant grasp before face planting me onto the padded bench with the sort of delicious strength that belied the forever unspoken weight of my curvaceous figure.

'I remove shorts, Boss?' Bee enquired, turning to Master with his giant hands holding me down.

'Do it. Not that there's any need - I've seen bikinis with more substance.' Master mused, and the two men discussed what an absolute slut I was.

Branislav went at my Daisy Dukes like a jock rapist chasing a prom queen down a sleazy back alley. I pretended to be incandescent with rage and tried desperately not to moan with delight - on account of despising him with every inch of my soul, and being terrified that Master might realise how much I fancied his beautiful sidekick.

Master then joined the fray, kicking at my ankles in a manner that expectantly 'encouraged' me to straddle the bench as Bee held me down. My Daddy then dragged my arms out in front of me and bound my wrists to the corresponding weights bar that hung from a rack above me. He then turned his attention to my smarting ankles, which he forcibly tied to the base of the bench.

They completed their work by gagging me with duct tape.

'She has, I think, how you say? - a toilet mouth?' Branislav observed, whilst dabbing his bloodied cheek with a tissue.

'You can take a girl out of the council estate, but you can't take the council estate out of the girl.' Master laughed, his sleeves ominously rolled to his elbows.

'I do not know this saying.' Bee admitted.

There was a brief pause while Master took a couple of Polaroids - apparently I looked 'too hot' not to capture the moment. There I lay, with Branislav's huge hands lifting my ass more provocatively - so Daddy could get a better shot of my cunt. I couldn't help but wonder how obvious my silky wet arousal might have been. Perhaps it's why Daddy wanted the polaroids, I surmised, and raged through my gag as Bee gaped my buttocks in his huge hands for Master to get some close ups.

I was given a proper thrashing with the nine tails for my 'obdurate failings'. I'd no business in not packing the paddle if he'd tasked me to do so, Master explained, with the sort of measured calm to his voice that belied the viciousness of his whipping frenzy.

'And how the fuck have you managed to lose the house key I got cut for you? In two days!'

I hadn't lost it - I'd misplaced it! I mumbled irritably, but neither of the bastards could make out a word of what I'd said.

The nine tails kissed like a bad bitch from Hades, and left me delightfully red raw and bleeding. I guess being a 'useless, pitiful failure' has its upsides. Master made a particular effort to catch my cunt with it flailing tentacles, perhaps having noted the arousal I'd experienced when his bagman had gotten all handsy with me.

Victory was mine though, of a sort. I'd gotten the special Daddy time that I'd wanted, even it was achieved through slightly duplicitous means. I didn't care - if Master was going away with Kirstie's mum, what choice did I have but to get his attention for myself by accidentally failing with my tasks?

It intrigued me that my Dom had allowed Branislav to get in on the act. The two of them took turns scolding my bare buttocks with the nine tails and even placed a small wager on who could create the most significant lacerations, which served only to up the ferocity of their efforts.

The pain was pure bliss, and I lost myself to thoughts of how beautiful the fresh red welts would look from under the high cut of my slutty Daisy Dukes.

It proved to be quite the amuse-bouche.

'We stick our dicks in her mouth, yes? To keep her quiet I think.' Bee offered as Daddy ripped the duct tape free, turned me around on the weights bench, sat me upright on its edge and fastidiously bound my arms behind my back.

'Give her a run out.' Master nodded, 'See what you think of her.'

It was only then that I noticed Marc kneeling quietly on the far side of the bedroom. He was naked and had a packet of condoms held out in one upturned palm, and the freshly used nine tails in the other. How long had he been here? And why were our suitcases nestled behind him?

He didn't see me looking across at him, being that his features were partially obscured by the myriad strands of rope that Master had begun wrapping around his handsome face. The finale was a work of art, leaving only Marc's mouth exposed, the nostrils of his nose and small slits for his eyes. He looked cuck happy though, and that's all I've ever cared about.

I felt a surge of arousal as I watched the two of them bonding together - Marc nervously opening his mouth for the older Dominant to feed him his fat erect cock. Awwwgh, look at that - baby's first blow job.

We would be cock sucking bitches together, it seemed. I felt so proud of him as Daddy took to fucking Marc's mouth like it was my worthless cunt at 3 am after a shitty day.

'That's it, good boy...suck my cock before I fuck your girlfriend.' Master encouraged, working his thick manly meat back and forth inside my boy's virgin mouth. What a beautiful vision, I thought, as Marc looked keenly and submissively up at the man using him.

I'd heard the rumours about Branislav. We all had. One of the club's waitresses had fucked him a couple of months back and word spread that he was super hung. I'd gotten the goss from Leanne, a trusted source who worked in the kitchen.

'It was Nina that went with him, but she stopped dating him because of it.' The sous chef had explained with a wickedly knowing grin, 'She reckoned it was too big to handle on a regular basis. I mean, I think I could kinda get used to something like that, personally.'

I hear ya, sister.

Branislav knew he was big, and it explained the hubristic swagger and the cocksure superior air. But some men earn that - and when he stepped up in front of me and dropped his trousers, I more than forgave him for the conceited smirk.

Master erupted in laughter when he saw Branislav standing over me. Maybe he'd seen my jaw drop, or the wide eyed happy girl stare that had frozen itself to my face - for the bagman had uncorked the sort of massive appendage that size queens dream of.

I've heard other women describe cocks as all being the same, give or take, and I'd wholly disagree. Bee's hung in front of my face with all the delicious arrogance of its owner. Bulging veins ran like tributaries up and down the thick shaft, proud of their place as part of something so impeccably beautiful. Even his balls hung with the swollen majesty of a prized Chianina, clanging silently beneath a piece of sexual real estate that few men could ever hope to match.

'Suddenly she has no words.' Branislav grunted, and began pulling back on the enormous swathe of foreskin that had coated the bulbous purple head of his dormant uber phallus.

In truth there wasn't any need for words. Master offered a series of impressed expletives, even Marc's eyes bulged as he peered across at me with his own mouthful of fat cock - which pretty much summed things up.

Any vocal appreciation I might have thought to make was lost when Branislav fed the semi erect white boy python into my mouth and I began to suckle on it like the happiest girl on planet earth.

Uh huh, I'll be your Moll when the egg timer calls last orders on Master's reign at the top. You get me? The blonde adonis knew what my doe eyed lust stare was crying silently aloud to him - I was the girl who would-be the slut to the man who might one day be king.

'These tits, I think, are the best I have seen.' He grunted, yanking my boobs from my crop top as he pushed his increasingly swollen cock further down the back of my throat.

It just kept getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger.

'Slap those tits.' Master instructed, as I began desperately trying to widen my jaw's diameter to manage the bagman's incredible penis, 'You'll love how they wobble.'

So the eastern European stud did exactly that.

'They are like giant jelly's.' He remarked delightedly, before slapping my breasts a second time, 'Look how they shudder!'

He started to fuck my mouth. There was some pent up rage going into each thrust. All those bitchy one liners I'd tossed at him, and all those teasing outfits he'd been forced to see me in - suddenly he was smashing his cock down my throat in a whir of angry lust.

'Yeah, really? Is that all you got?' I gasped, when a brief moment of respite was afforded me.

'We see what you can take then, eh?'

Oh how we flirted.

I braced myself for the inevitable as I felt his huge hands grip the back of my head. And so it was delivered - in violent pumping thrusts that pushed the tip of his cock down my throat and somewhere beyond. Even as I wretched and fought for air he was unrelenting.

'The princess needs to learn her place.' He grunted, his eyes baring into mine as tears began streaming down my cheeks. Saliva cavorted down my face and leapt from my chin with each vicious, piston pummelling thrust his hips delivered.

And then, for the briefest moment, he again recoiled. I fought for air, but it was cruelly snatched away when Master approached expectantly, his fat cock suddenly pushing belligerently into my mouth, and the mouth fuck pounding began all over again.

Maybe it was the lack of oxygen, but weird thoughts began to race through my mind - like why on earth had Master got one of those mirrored ceilings everyone used to talk about in hushed tones way back in the eighties. It looked sorta cheesy. Which made me think that maybe it had been part of a package deal when he'd shelled out for the water bed, possibly bought from a pot bellied man with a horrendous moustache and a Ford XR3i.

The two men tag teamed me for a while, and whenever Bee took his turn Daddy would snap away with his polaroid. I looked all kinds of pretty with mascara streaking down my teary eyed face and snot lurching back and forth from one nostril, so they both said, in between guffawing thrusts.

They were unrelenting - two stallions taking a willing filly beyond the mascara daubed, mucus bubble phase to the edge of that place where physically vomiting seems but moments away. And then Branislav suddenly bellowed aloud;

Let's dee-pee the bitch!

Master concurred that it sounded like a great idea and the two men high five'd, mutual Dom erections bouncing cockily beside each other.

I really did hate Branislav.