You're So Fired

Club Sin. Michael had passed it hundreds of times in his life, but had never gone in despite his keen interest in the subject matter. He had only recently been able to confess to his girlfriend his particular kinks -- she was proud of him for having done so, and had even gone so far as to buy him a session with a professional domme for his birthday. Two whole hours of blissful domination -- Sydney hadn't told him what to expect, just that she had hoped it would be fulfilling. He was excited -- how lucky could he be to have such an understanding girlfriend?

His hands shook as he opened the door, but upon doing so felt a surge of pride. He knew he'd come a long way towards accepting himself, and this was just another step on the journey. As he let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, he saw a sign pointing to the left that said "Reception." He followed it and came into a waiting room, not unlike what you'd find in a doctor's office -- if that doctor had a thing for gigantic dildos and riding crops. Still, he wasn't one to criticize one's design choices -- he did, after all, live in an apartment with white walls and no decorations.

The young woman sitting at the receptionist's desk gave him a friendly welcome and beckoned him over; he walked up to her and, timidly, asked how this was supposed to work.

"First time, eh? Not to worry, hon, we're all pros here," she said with a wink. "Just give me your name and I'll get you to your appointment, OK?"

"Uh, sure," he said. "Name's Michelle. Michael, I mean. But it might be Michelle" -- he trailed off, his old nervousness kicking in. But the young woman merely smiled and opened her appointment book. Scanning through it, he saw her mouthing the names to herself, before finally coming to a stop.

"Ah, here we are!" she said. "Mitchell, 1:30. Candy will be right out to see you."

"Yeah, sure, thanks," said Michael, the obvious slip-up lost in his haste to sit down to settle the butterflies in his stomach. After a short wait, the woman called Candy -- he doubted it was her real name -- came out to greet him. She was tall, and busty, and spoke with an accent he couldn't quite place but nonetheless found endearing.

"Ah, you must be Mitchell," she said, waving him to follow her into the back. He did so, slightly puzzled, but wrote off the mispronunciation as a product of her accent that he would be rude to correct. After a short walk they came to a black door, which she opened and gestured for him to enter.

"Ladies first," she said, a wicked smile on her face. Michael couldn't help but blush and did as he was bidden. The room he found himself in had a lovely red bed shaped like a heart, with posts around the circumference with lashing points for various kinds of restraints. Beside it lay a cart covered with a white cloth, and beyond there was another door. Michael stood there, unsure what to do, until Candy pointed to the door at the far end of the room and told him that he could change into something a little more comfortable if he so chose. He murmured thanks and walked quickly to the second room, his nerves starting to get the better of him. He had the odd feeling that something wasn't quite right, but chalked it up to his relatively new status in the BDSM world. Surely it would fade with time, right?

In the second room he saw laid out an adorable French maid uniform, as well as a mirror and make-up, and even a selection of wigs. Whatever Sydney had told them, she had gone all out. God, he loved her.

He slipped out of his street clothes and into the maid's uniform, noting that it was really quite tight -- he was suddenly thankful he hadn't had anything to eat for the last day and a half. Or, rather, had, but wasn't able to keep it down due to his anxiety. Still, tight uniform or not, he was determined to make the best of this experience, and after putting on a beautiful red wig and doing his make-up had completed his transformation into Michelle. He couldn't help but feel more confident with his armour on.

After taking several deep breaths to calm himself, he opened the door to rejoin Candy and what he hoped was a wonderful experience. No, not hoped, knew.

Candy, too, had changed, losing her robe to reveal form-fitting latex leggings and bustier, revealing ample cleavage and a rather more muscular figure than he had anticipated. Seeing him blushing, she walked over, running her fingers over the uniform, pausing occasionally to poke and squeeze, tut-tutting in an odd manner. Still, she was the pro, so he said nothing.

"Naughty, naughty maid," she said while standing behind him -- over him, really. "I thought we had come to an understanding, you little whore." He felt her slip something around his neck -- a collar, which she used to drag him over to the bed. She forced him to sit and wait; he did so, curious as to where this was leading. She returned a moment later, holding a gag on one outstretched finger.

"Now, are you going to be a good girl and let me put this on, or are you going to give me trouble?"

He shook his head -- no trouble, but he really didn't know where this was going. Still, new experiences, that's the point, right?

She forced his mouth open and placed the ring behind his teeth, then forced his head down and fastened the straps behind his head. He sat there, drooling, both turned on by her demeanor and concerned by use of the gag -- he hadn't always had the best experiences with these things, but ultimately he trusted Sydney not to set him up for disaster.

Candy pushed him backwards so that he lay down on the bed, and forcibly moved him into position so that she could strap his extremities to the posts. He noted idly that they hadn't established a safe word, but didn't want to seem a wimp and neglected to try to bring it to her attention.

Once she was satisfied that he was completely secured, she once again started running her fingers up and down his chest and his legs, squeezing and shaking her head all the while.

"Snacking on the job again, were we? And to think I trusted you to stop. But some girls just don't learn, do they?" She winked, and walked over to the cart, while Michelle wondered just what the hell she was getting at. OK, yeah, I'm not in the best shape, but now you're just being mean, he thought. Then, she pulled off the cloth, revealing containers of ice cream, heavy cream, protein powder, peanut butter, and... mayo? Oh, good god.

He started struggling, convinced now that there had been some mistake. "Nnng guh! Nnng GUH!" he said. "Wrong guy, wrong guy" was what he actually meant.

But instead of picking up what he was throwing down, she jumped on the bed and held his head still, jamming a funnel in his gaping mouth, then securing his head in place with some intricate ropework.

"I thought you said you were going to be a good little girl? Such a pity. But don't worry, I can teach you to live up to your word."

He turned his head as she walked back to the cart, grabbing what to his eyes was an industrial-sized container of mayonnaise -- or what he preferred to call, "White Death." She popped the top and held it over his face menacingly.

"Ah, now I've got your attention. So do you apologize for lying to me?"

He nodded vigorously, and her face seemed to relax.

"Good, good. But I don't believe you," she said as she upturned the container, dumping mayo into his waiting mouth. He gagged, or tried to, but she was having none of it. She rested the container on top of the funnel, leaving it nowhere to go, and held his nose closed with her other hand.

"I can wait here all day, you little bitch, but you might need to breathe sometime in the next, oh, several seconds."

And so, try as he might, he was finally forced to swallow what was in his mouth, taking big, gasping breaths at last. But far from letting a single lesson stand, she proceeded to pour the rest at a steady pace, repeating the nose-pinch whenever he tried to resist. Eventually, reluctantly, he had had it all, but at least it was over, and he had to admit, it was kind of hot to be force-fed like that, even if he would have preferred something else entirely. Like cookies! Cookies were good. But fucking mayo. Ugh.

"No wonder my maid's gotten so fat," said Candy, poking his stomach and laughing. "And we haven't even had the main course yet!"

Michelle froze. Oh, right. Fuck. He started squirming again, trying to spit the funnel out so he could at least try to communicate, but to no avail. Instead, he just saw Candy look madder and madder, which, perversely, made him hornier and hornier, a fact which she certainly noticed.

"So, she's a pig in more than one way," she said as she pulled his skirt down. She sat down on the bed beside him and lightly stroked his penis, which was already glistening with pre-cum. "I bet you'd like me to finish you off, right?" she said while leaning down, tantalizingly close, licking her lips in anticipation. Michelle, despite himself, quivered. Why yes, yes I would like to blow a load in your mouth. However did you guess, oh mind reader?

Her gaze hardened. "Maybe if you hadn't lied to me, we could have worked something out. I'm not cruel, you know. But that ship has sailed." She pulled his skirt back up, but not before giving his cock a final, light caress.

Then, she paused, as though considering something. "Tell you what, you finish your main course without cumming, and I'll do whatever you'd like me to. But if you Vesuvius even a second before, I swear you'll be drinking your own cum. You get me?"

Michelle got her. And shuddered, once again, at the threat.

For the next several minutes Michelle could do little but lie there as Candy made up his "main course," which, so far as he could tell, consisted of some 100,000 calories worth of chocolate, sugar, and cream. So if he didn't die of a heart attack or his stomach didn't explode, he might get a blowjob out of this. On balance, he felt, well, a bit shafted.

"I hope you brought your appetite, slut," she said, bringing him back from far, far away. He turned his head, hoping that facing the firing squad would give him a kind of strength, or courage, or oh fuck, that is the biggest mixing pot he'd ever seen. And while he'd been spacing out she'd set up a kind of elevated drip-feed, with the pot on a hinge, hanging over a large metal funnel with a tube attached to the bottom, just dangling there like the world's saddest pinata. She took hold of the metal hose and crawled across the bed as he once again strained to get away -- "Good, work up an appetite," she said -- and fed the tube into his open mouth.

"Any last words," she said, giggling at her own joke. In any other circumstance Michelle might have joined her, but in this he was pretty sure he was about to die. Or at least about to want to die. "No? Then here she comes!" she said as she tipped the pot and it started emptying its contents into the funnel. It only took a moment for the first of it to hit his mouth, and while he couldn't deny it tasted pretty good, he was still concerned about the sheer quantity.

"Ooh, that uniform's not going to last much longer!" she said as she sat down beside him. As she did so, one of the buttons popped off, and she slapped his belly as she watched it grow in size in real time. Michelle felt sick, like she never wanted to eat again, and as if to prove there was no god, Candy informed him that he was almost a third finished! And to add insult to injury, between the taunts she stroked at his penis, which stood erect despite himself. With each swallow he felt that much closer to death; she looked on with childish glee, stroking his penis faster and faster, until he couldn't hold it back any longer. In a flash she grabbed a small jar off the cart and put it over his penis as he came, coming very close to overfilling it entirely. Just then, the last remnants of the main course dripped through the tube, and Michelle relaxed, at least as much as he could having apparently swallowed a beach ball. Candy crawled up the bed and removed the tube, but waved the nearly full jar of his own cum in his face.

"Remember our deal?" she said, and Michelle resumed her struggle. This was not going at all how he had pictured it, and he'd be damned if his first time with a professional domme was going to end with him drinking his own cum. Again.

"Pity, too," she said as she dipped a finger in and licked it. "I wouldn't have minded taking this myself." She started tipping the jar, slowly, so slowly, over his mouth, when she was interrupted by a harsh knock at the door. She turned and stared at it, confused -- this must have been an emergency. She set the jar down on the cart as she walked over to the door and slipped outside, while Michelle struggled to breathe on the bed, more full than he'd been even after the aliens -- who didn't actually exist, according to his therapist, and no, he couldn't explain the gallons of cum from an unknown species that had been pumped out of his stomach, either, but he still got paid for the sessions, the prick.

Michelle heard the door open and saw Candy walk back, blushing and looking extremely embarrassed and upset. She unfastened the ropes and the gag as quickly as she could, explaining all the while that he had gotten the wrong session -- Mitchell's girlfriend knew he loved to eat, especially when he was "naughty." Michael's girlfriend just wanted him to get some light whipping and spanking, maybe a bit of pegging. Isn't that funny, ha ha?

Michelle knew she'd find it a lot funnier in hindsight, but as of this moment wanted to go throw up for several days and never think of food ever again.

Sydney could not stop apologizing as they lay in bed that night. She'd ruined his birthday, she said; he'd never trust her again, she thought. Mostly Michael just wanted to sleep; it wasn't her fault, not really, and hey, it'll be funny in a couple weeks provided he doesn't die from diabetes. It's the thought that counts, right?