Stella dove into her work, regaling the watching women with a running commentary on her “D-forestation project.” Repeated references to ‘timber,’ ‘jungle,’ ‘underbrush,’ ‘logging’ and other derogatory terms had Dotty sobbing with humiliation. She’d had several crude and rude boyfriends but none of them had made even a passing reference to her hairy pussy, so this was a first in language that was at the least insulting, even if she agreed that it was well deserved.
As it turned out, the insults were a trigger for a mantra that she was at first surprised to find herself repeating. As it kept hammering at her thoughts she began to see it in a different light. Merely by repeating, “I am an ungrateful slut that deserves worse,” she began to learn to accept her punishments and start to work on deserving and regaining her husband’s love.
The girls seized the opportunity - while Stella was marking trails through the jungle - to badger Dotty with questions. Bound by Donald’s instructions, she was forced to give completely accurate answers, since she assumed that the recorder she had brought was catching every word. It was much too soon to learn to accept his order to set her own punishments and she openly feared what he could - and would - do to her. Unwittingly she was following the path he had laid out for her, doing much of his work, and not too surprising, totally accepting his domination. She was still unaware of the extent of Donald’s interest in bondage. She should have cued from his making her third person herself and answer to ‘slave.’
Dotty’s mound looked like a battlefield when Stella was done. There wasn’t a single nick, but every inch of exposed flesh was scraped and welted, almost as if she had been whipped. The girls crowded around, exclaiming over the razor ‘burn’ and loudly discussing how much it must hurt. Dotty would have gladly confirmed it, but nobody bothered to ask her.
Stella set off more laughter when she got a magnifier out of a drawer and began to examine her work at close range, to see if she had missed a hair. After a few seconds she backed away, complaining of the ‘stink’ in Dotty’s crotch, actually the scent of her arousal. The girls giggled, knowing very well what the smell was. Dotty missed most of the by-play, not catching on until they began addressing her as ‘stinky slave.’ She dared not disagree, now fully aware of the potential that her audience had that could make her life even more miserable. She vowed to do everything possible to avoid further humiliation.
Not that she could help herself, faced with a room full of people intent on non-stop humiliation. The group easily generated a continuous stream of questions, criticism and insult, leaving Dotty far behind. Again and again she decided to beg for mercy, and again and again stopped, knowing her pleas would fall on deaf ears - and probably increase the level of punishment she was subjected to. She wished that Donald was there to protect her, surprising herself with the thought, which she quickly suppressed.
Her heart sank a few moments later when a voice demanded, “If your husband was here, would he punish you, or protect you?
Almost certain that the woman was reading her mind, Dotty searched for an answer. To her dismay, the only answer was that she didn’t know how he would react. The voice whinnied a laugh.
“I’ll bet he would beat the crap out of you for prancing around nude and he’s really going to be pissed when he sees that rosy red bald dome you call a head.”
‘She could be right,’ was Dotty’s first thought. He had given her permission to get her head shaved but he never said he approved. It would be like him to let her go ahead with something on her own and then explain all the reasons why she shouldn’t have done it. Shaving her head was no different than some other entanglements she had gotten herself into, so there was every reason to believe the woman was speaking the truth. She was going to have to face an irate husband and the prospect was losing more and more appeal with each passing moment.
The manager announced,“All right, girls, let’s get her in the back room where we can play. You customers are invited too, so come along.”
Dotty expected to be lifted from the chair and carried to her fate, but the chair, which was designed for double duty, was released from the floor by a lever and rolled on its casters into the back room. The room was quite large and had chairs around three sides, with a small stage on the fourth wall - a mini theater. Dotty was still blindfolded, so she had no idea what the room was like, but she realized from the echos that it was fairly large.
Dotty and chair were moved up a ramp onto the stage. She heard the heavy door close behind her and the loud click of a lock. Even if she could somehow escape her bonds, there was no place to go. Escape was pointless anyway. No money, no clothes, in handcuffs, she was the epitome of the damsel in distress.
The manager became the master of ceremonies. After a short preamble, setting down some loose rules, he asked, “What should we do to her first?”
From the audience came a cry, “Show us how to use a dildo!”
“A great idea. Stella, please release her arms and provide a dildo so that she can show the girls exactly how she does it.”
Stella disappeared behind the curtain and returned, pushing a wheeled display board. It was covered with a wide variety of dildoes. Dramatically, she pointed to the smallest one on the board, barely larger than a pencil. Dotty of course had no idea of what was going on, but she heard every word, every snicker, every pleased laugh.
“Larger,” several yelled.
Stella pointed to a slightly larger one.
“Larger!” “Larger!” “Larger!” “Larger!”
“That great big one!”
The girl who screamed that sat back, her face flushed. Two of her fellow workers turned to her, teasing her unmercifully for her orgasm.
Stella finally got the group to decide on one, almost as big as “that great big one,” but still big enough to make it difficult to believe that a female body could accept it. The women “Ohhed” and “Ahhed,” suggesting to the blindfolded Dotty that she was about to welcome a telephone pole into her pussy.
She was sure of it when the massive head pressed against her puffy lips and her hand was placed on the ‘far’ end. To be fair, it had been lubricated, but Dotty was already supplying her own lubrication. She wriggled her ass sideways, trying to open herself up, maintaining pressure on the dildo until it breached her opening and began to slide into place, to the cheers, catcalls and whistles of the audience.
Their remarks were cutting, “Just like quicksand!”
“It goes in like it’s been there before!”
“Try the REALLY big one on her!”
“She’s too big - she doesn’t even feel it!”
Dotty quickly reached candy apple red, forcing herself to accept the dildo. It reached bottom with an inch to spare and she slowly drew it most of the way out, enjoying the full feeling despite the humiliating circumstances. Her other hand moved unconsciously toward her clit, only to have Stella slap it away.
“No fingers! Save that for later!”
Stella was in her glory. She was controlling and humiliating the woman who was known as “The Biggest Cheapskate in the City.” Dotty was known far and wide for stiffing waitresses and hair stylists. Stella had “inherited” Dotty when her previous girl had retired. Usually Dotty would “forget” to leave a tip. If she “remembered” at best she would leave a dollar tip for over a hundred dollars worth of work. Nobody had ever called her on it so she had gone her merry way, totally unaware of the ill feelings she left behind. Stella figured this was her one chance to get even, so she intended to play it to the hilt.
Dotty was rapidly working up a head of steam, even without playing with her clit. Under Stella’s watchful eye she repeatedly rammed the head of Monster 2 into her cervix, actually rearranging her internal plumbing to the point that the artificial ball sac snugged up against her crotch, burying the last inch.
Dotty started groaning, fingers scrabbling for her nipples, breaking into a screaming climax from the painful slap that Stella used to deny her. She was cheered on, with more insulting remarks. “Bottomless pit!” was one of the milder epithets.
Dotty had stopped, with the dildo buried. Stella slapped her again, “Get moving! Nobody told you to stop!”
Dotty was already exhausted and interested only in clearing the massive log plugging her pussy. Reluctantly she started to slide it out, to resume, but she was not quick enough. There was a loud “Snap” as an electric wand sparked on her left nipple.
‘Faster!” She was ordered.
She plunged the dildo back into her depths and quickly pulled it out, already feeling an advancing climax. Her wrist hurt, but she ignored it, her fear of anything electrical driving her into a frantic in-and-out movement. Stella slapped her free hand to remind her not to use it, just as another orgasm overwhelmed Dotty, leaving her limp and gasping for air.
The manager stepped in, “Stella, looks like you’ve got her warmed up for her next performance. If you girls will line up, we’ll see if we can’t establish a new Guinness world record.”
As they lined up, he explained, “Dotty has a very sensitive clit. You saw her reach for it to bring herself off. Each of you is going to work that clit to get her to come in as short a time as possible. The girl with the shortest time gets a day off with pay. If it’s one of you customers, there’s a complete makeover as a prize.”
Dotty listened to him in mounting horror. Her clit already ached. A bunch of rasping tongues would leave her raw to the core. She was helpless to protest as they had her over the proverbial barrel. She knew at once that she would make an ass of herself abjectly begging for relief that would be treated and ignored as a big joke.
There was some confusion as the girls lined up. Several guessed that by the end of the line Dotty would be programmed to climax from a hard look, let alone a tongue. Two of the more ambitious ones took station and made everyone else move in front of them.
As it turned out, they would have had a better chance at the front of the line. The one girl who had the worst spot was the first one in line. Dotty was ready to come almost immediately, but she coasted for precious seconds before she realized that the sooner she completed the line, the less damage to her clit. The second girl in line was the ultimate winner as Dotty cut her original time by more than 10 seconds. After the first few Dotty began having multiple orgasms, which slowed the times for the rest.
Stella directed traffic. As the last girl finished, eliciting a high pitched squeal for her tongue work, Stella waved her away and knelt between Dotty’s thighs. The sight before her was not exactly pretty. Dotty’s pussy lips were ballooning around the spike of her clit. Lubrication was dripping down into her ass crack and there was a thin rim of foam at her center.
The clit already looked like it had barely survived a train wreck. Stella examined it with her eyes, preparing to attack. She bent forward, taking a last look, and then gently enveloped the protruding button with her mouth. Not so gently, she bit down.
Dotty jerked as if she had been shot. She tried to push Stella away, earning both a slap and a warning tightening of the bite that was cutting her in two.
“Please,” she breathed.
“Beg me to make you come!” Stella snarled through gritted teeth.
“Do me, please.”
Stella’s grip tightened.
“Make me come, please.” Dotty was about to faint.
“Slut, who are you talking to?”
“Mistress! Make me come, please.”
“Mistress, bite my clit and make me come, please!”
Stella wiggled her lower jaw from side to side as if chewing off a piece of jerky, maintaining pressure, but not enough to break the skin. It was ample to send Dotty into screaming convulsions. She climaxed twice and fainted. Stella rose and made an exaggerated bow in response to the clapping and hooting from the other girls.
The manager felt her pulse and nodded. He retied her left arm to the chair and then got a glass of water which he dribbled over Dotty’s chest until she came out of the faint. He dropped his pants and underwear, exposing a long flaccid cock that hung like a curtain over his balls. He took it in hand and slapped Dotty’s face with it,
“Your next job is to get me hard. I hear you’re a great cock sucker, so I’ll see what I think.”
Dotty turned blind eyes toward his voice. For the first time she was ready to gamble on a protest. Her mouth had gotten her into trouble in the first place so it was unthinkable to suck yet another strange cock.
“Please who, slut?”
“Please, Master, don’t make me do this.”
“Get me hard with your hand and we’ll discuss it. You have two minutes.”
Dotty was puzzled, but in a few moments she would be even more puzzled. Her hand worked its magic on his limp dick, but there wasn’t the slightest response. It remained as limp as a dishrag. She jacked it and squeezed it, caressed it and even pinched it, but she might as well be working on a lump of rock for all the reaction. She had been concentrating on his cock so much that it came as a surprise that the girls were laughing their heads off.
“OhmyGod!” she thought, “The son of a bitch is gay!”
That explained a lot of things, but of more concern at the moment was what he had planned next for her. She steeled herself for the worst, expecting punishment for begging. At the moment she could hear his hearty laugh at her expense.
When the laughter quieted he told her, “We’re going to take you home, to make sure you don’t run away, and I need to deliver the video we shot...”
Dotty gasped. That was all she needed, a bad end to a bad day. Donald would mock her all over again and no doubt make her sit through several repeats as he savored her humiliation.
The manager went on, sinking her deeper into her pool of misery. He drove her car and Stella followed to take him back to the shop. When they got to the house he rang the bell, since Dotty’s hands were chained behind her, then escorted her in, watching as Donald removed her cape and sent her to her knees.
They left her there while they adjourned to the library and closed the door. The manager turned over the tapes and gave Donald a summary of the events.
Donald praised his work and wrote a generous check to cover expenses, loss of business and tips for the girls. Just before they finished the manager gave him some information which he jotted down. At the door, the manager looked down at Dotty.
“Slut, you have a 1 O’clock appointment next Wednesday. Be late - for whatever reason - at your peril. And, bring a check for Stella for $1,000. You’re at least that far behind on tips.”
Dotty wanted to look up at Donald, hoping for approval, but she didn’t dare, keeping her head down as she acknowledged, “Yes, Master.”
The manager spread his hand, gesturing. “At least we taught her that.”
When he was gone, Donald walked into the living room, stood looking out the window for several minutes, then came back to stand above her.
“Your escapade has already cost $2,000. Just how do YOU expect to pay that back?”
The question caught Dotty by surprise. She didn’t dare say “no idea,” a violation of his orders. She blurted the first thought that came into her head.
“Master, as a prostitute.”
Her husband’s laugh was brittle as glass. “That, slave, was either very dumb, very stupid or a pathetic attempt to make a joke of this. Your Master is NOT amused!”
Her apology was on the tip of her tongue, just as she realized she had not been given permission to speak, nor had he asked her a question. She kept her head down, her eyes futilely trying to bore a hole in the floor to crawl into. She could literally feel Donald’s gaze aimed right at her. He let her stew for more than a minute.
He stirred, and snapped, “Your trust fund would have been the correct answer. Or, perhaps you’ve lost interest in your marriage?”
Dotty didn’t dare move her head to shake it at her own ineptness. She couched her words with extreme care, “Master, this slave loves Master. Slave is sad that she has disappointed Master.”
“Hrmfe” was all she got in response. She waited, holding perfectly still, and waited, and waited, determined not to break position and inspire more angry words.
Out of the half darkness came the question she had dreaded, anticipated and prepared for.
“How will you punish this bumbling slave?” His tone conveyed his confidence that she would screw that up too.
“Master, this poor excuse of a slave is no more than a dumb beast. Like a beast, slave should be shackled and caged, both to keep slave from hurting herself or others, and to give slave ample time to regret her stupidity.”
“How big?” His question lacked any confidence.
“Master, it should be small enough to cause serious discomfort, yet large enough to display slave’s constant and complete nakedness.”
The latter was an obvious ploy to remind Donald that he had always enjoyed feasting his eyes on his nude wife. He pointedly ignored her answer.
“Master, slave should be caged and hung in the bedroom, where Master may keep slave constantly in sight, and immediately correct slave’s faults.”
For Donald, this was expected. He and her father had used her computer to follow her trail to dozens of bondage sites and several equipment suppliers, with an obvious emphasis on cages. While she was at the hair salon he had thrown some money at the project and in less than an hour...
He stepped forward, grabbed her ear and guided her to her feet. Using her ear he led her to the master bedroom.
“You mean, like this?”
“What... How... When...”
Her mouth snapped close. She knew from this that she’d been followed. He obviously knew her foibles. Once the surprise passed, she looked more closely. The cage was rough iron and at least a foot smaller that what she would have bought, narrower and not as tall. Discomfort with a capital D.
Donald’s laugh was genuine now. He watched her reaction closely. He was not obsessed with punishing her, even though she had hurt him deeply. He made a face as he thought that as his slave he could take her to his friend John, and watch as he made her suck his friend’s cock. The difference between a wife and a slave performing the same act of adultery would take a little study. He had cautioned the beauty salon manager not to let her suck him, a little unsure how far to let him go. It required thought, so he filed it for future reference. He was anxious to see her reaction on the tape.
“Slave had better use the bathroom. I’m damned if I’m going to get up in the middle of the night just so slave can take a piss.”
Dotty flushed and hurried to the bathroom. When she returned, he looked expectantly at her, waiting. She picked up on his unspoken command and went to the wall, where an array of bondage equipment had suddenly appeared during her afternoon absence. Hastily she selected a metal collar with attached chains and attached manacles and shackles. She turned and knelt before him, holding the pile of chains before her. Donald stared impassively at her.
She racked her brain. Certain she had forgotten something, she took several seconds to recall his “Your mouth got you in trouble, so I plan to take particular pleasure in using it, exclusively and often. Your blow jobs need to be perfection personified.”
She quickly crawled to him, kissed the toes of his shoes and with her head still down, begged, “This slave begs to service Master.”
She would have given a lot to see his reaction, but she knew better than to raise her head to look at him. The air literally reeked of potential punishment. She dropped her head an inch and kissed the toes again, to reinforce her plea. Her abasement was met with deathly silence. He let her kiss them three more times before he relented.
“Open my pants.”
Hurrying to obey, she had his pants and shorts around his ankles in seconds, speeded by a growl of annoyance. Donald’s cock sprang free, almost erect. Caught up in the drama, she gazed at it with a look of adoration, quickly remembering her duty, “Master, may your slave touch your cock?”
“Go ahead. Kiss the head. Lick underneath. Now on top. Now my balls...”
Donald kept up a rapid fire string of commands, treating her as if she had never had a cock in her mouth. Despite the constant distractions, Dotty was doing a bang up job of arousing him and bringing him to climax. She had always had some difficulty with her gag reflex, but under the current pressure it seemed to have mysteriously disappeared and she had no trouble burying her nose in his pubic hair, with every inch of cock fully in her mouth and throat.
The excitement generated an expected assessment. Thought Dotty, ‘Now that’s the way I want to be dominated!’
That was not to be. As soon as he filled her throat, he instructed her to clean him up, and then he went silent. She waited several seconds for a command that didn’t come. She turned and crawled toward the cage.
“Come back here!”
She returned to his feet, kissing them again to placate his anger.
“When you crawl, three things will remain in constant contact with the floor. Your nipples, and your nose. Got it?”
All three were tingling by the time she reached the cage. On the way she rethought being dominated, but agreed that it still was the way she wanted.
The cage loomed before her. This was her doing, so she didn’t expect further orders unless she made a mistake. She knelt up, removed the open padlock and hung it on the door. She crawled in, reaching the end in an impossibly short distance. She turned over and doubled her legs to get them inside the cage. The bars were too close together to get a leg out, once the door was closed.
Positioned, and already hurting, she looked up to see Donald, standing beside the cage holding the chain set she had selected, and forgotten. Later, once the routine was established, she would have backed out of the cage and crawled to the chains and dragged them back with her, but this was the first time.
Donald reached in through the open door and handed the chains to her, then closed the door and inserted the padlock, but didn’t close it. She noticed that she didn’t hear the lock snap shut, but at the moment she was too busy trying to untangle the chains to more than note it.
Once she had them in order, she lifted the collar and closed it around her neck. The pair of manacles had only an inch of chain connecting them to the collar, so she left them for last. The shackles for her ankles had a longer chain, but length was relative. She had to pull her legs up even tighter to reach them. The short chain and the short hobble between her ankles severely limited her leg movement, or for that matter, any movement. She addressed a very uncouth word to herself.
Dotty had plenty of time to think after Donald left her, as she was too uncomfortable to sleep or even rest. She was wide awake when he came to bed hours later. He deliberately stayed away from her cage, having kept a close eye on her with one of the security cameras. She wasn’t gagged so in an emergency she could yell - if she wasn’t too scared to address him.
Lying awake, she suddenly remembered that Donald never locked the cage. The door was held shut by the hasp, but the lock was open. A burst of elation welled up, stopped in its tracks by two things. She had selected this punishment, so even if she had wanted to escape, the cage was much too small for her to swap ends and reach through the bars to remove the lock. She assumed, rightly, that it was open to allow her out quickly in an emergency. Plus the applied frustration from knowing that she wasn’t locked in. She spent an hour trying to decide if it were some sort of test.
She spent another hour, or more, working up a frenzy trying to figure some way to masturbate. Her wrist manacles were tight to her collar so she couldn’t even reach her nipples, let alone the ‘good stuff.’ Thinking about it got her hot, ‘almost there’ but she couldn’t get that last surge. Under the right circumstances her ultra-sensitive nipples could trigger at least a weak to moderate orgasm, but far below the level reached by strumming on her clit.
Donald, meanwhile, had been watching the hair salon tape. After the first run through he called Phil, who arrived in a matter of minutes. The two sat and watched a second playing. After the third, they discussed it over drinks and then Phil walked back home.
Dotty spent her nights in the cage. Donald made no move to alleviate her suffering. Her days were filled with housework, nude, wearing a second, longer set of chains that hobbled her effectively but didn’t restrict the work she had to do.
The day of her next appointment dawned. Donald rattled her cage, waking her up. She had learned to sleep without moving, the lesson brought on more by fatigue than anything else. Silently he opened the cage and helped her out, unlocking her chains so that she could stretch her cramped muscles. The ritual usually brought one or two deep groans from her throat and the odd screech when a muscle rebelled.
She was ‘dressed’ as before. Shoes, cape and handcuffs. Once again she drove herself - to her doom - as she put it to herself. The manager was waiting at the door. Without ceremony he seated her in Stella’s booth. Quickly the week’s fuzz was scraped from her bald dome and her equally as bald pussy. Warily, Dotty took in the apparent haste, wondering what it meant. She would find out soon enough.
Finished, the manager took over, escorting Dotty into his office. She was beginning to get hesitant, but the manager overrode her dragging her feet and literally pushed her into the chair behind the desk. From somewhere a coil of rope appeared and between it and her cuffs, she was helplessly welded to the chair. As the tying finished, a gag appeared and was inserted and locked. The manager glanced at his watch and seemed to speed up even more. Turning on a large flat screen monitor, he closed and locked the office door.
She had followed him with her eyes and when she turned back to the screen, she could see the entrance and waiting room. The manager was standing at the door, welcoming a couple. The woman caught her attention first, as she was wearing a cape that matched hers. As she watched, the cape came off, revealing a nude body, replete with chains. The woman was blindfolded, so the man was guiding her.
The trio walked into the waiting room, the bound woman shuffling with tiny, hobbled steps. The manager spoke, “Girls, Maude is here for a reason. She will tell you why, and answer any questions. Slave, you have the floor.”
Maude! Dotty was dumbfounded. It was her mother!
At the urging of a short quirt that Phil wielded, the woman spoke.
“Last week, this slave’s daughter was here to be punished by having her head shaved. Now, it’s slave’s turn, because slave encouraged her to have an affair behind her husband’s back.”
She paused, just long enough for the quirt to offer encouragement. Dotty could clearly see the pained look on her face.
“Slave has volunteered to receive the same punishment that you inflicted on slave’s daughter and answer any questions.”
Dotty’s mouth dropped open as she saw the same woman who had struck her walk up to her mother, slap her face and call her a whore. She was even more surprised to see the woman make the victory sign from behind Maude.
The questions came thick and fast, almost all of them repeats from the previous week. Maude was lashed to a chair and Stella cut her hair off and shaved her skull just as she had done for the daughter. Phil stayed with her, but remained silent so she had no idea he was there, and watching.
When it was time for the dildo, Dotty finally saw all the different sizes that had been the cause of all the hilarity. Maude almost got the largest one as one of the girls urged, “She’s old enough to know how to handle it.”
Again they settled for the next to largest, and Maude had some difficulty even with that one. The events of the previous week were repeated one after another as if coming from the same script.
Things hit a snag when it came time for the girls to line up to lick her pussy. Maude objected violently when the first mouth touched her scraped and scratched pussy, calling the girls lesbians and expressing her disgust. She screeched when the quirt came out of the dark and welted her inner thigh, announcing that Phil had been there all along. She snapped her mouth shut, flushing redder and redder, proving that having her husband there, and participating, was doubling or tripling her humiliation.
She made no further protest, having a healthy respect for the quirt in her husband’s hands, until the entire roomful had their way with her. Stella did her bit, biting the swollen clit until Maude screamed and fainted.
Phil and the manager conferred. Phil nodded and tapped the pocket where his checkbook was. The manager pulled one of his girls aside and whispered in her ear. She nodded and returned in a few moments with a box. He showed it to Phil to confirm the size and then handed it to Stella.
“Fix her up,” was his cryptic comment.
Maude’s hair filled a shoe box. Stella dumped it into a food processor and pulsed it several times. When she poured the hair out, it had been cut into small bits, almost all less than a quarter inch in length.
The girls released Maude from the chair, but kept her blindfolded. They walked her into the middle of the floor where a mound of latex lay. Carefully, they moved her into the center of the pile. One girl sprayed every inch of her body with heavy oil, while two others started pulling the latex up around her body. Every few inches they threw in a handful of the chopped hair until she was totally encased in the latex suit. Even before they finished Maude was grinding her legs together, futilely battling the itch that was spreading like wildfire up her body. Stella gave her the bad news.
“Slave, this is your punishment for calling us lesbians. In the coming months you will be given ample opportunity to make up individually with the girls for insulting them. For now, you will itch until you think you are going out of your mind. Your husband will be in no hurry to release you, and, as angry as he is, more than likely will add fresh amounts of hair to renew the itching. As a slave you need to work ten times as hard to appease and entertain. Resistance will get you - right where it itches!”
Addressing Phil, she asked, “Would you like for us to keep the sweepings for you?”
Maude strained her ears for the answer she dreaded, but she couldn’t hear the silent nod, or see the massive grin on his face.
Dotty sank back in her bondage chair, exhausted by watching her mother suffer. Chains back in place over the suit, Phil led Maude out of the building and into his car.
Dotty waited impatiently for someone to come and release her. Her eyes widened when the manager, Stella and two of the other girls came through the door. Stella was carrying a latex suit that matched the one her mother had on.
“You certainly didn’t think you were going to get off THAT easily?” She grinned at Dotty. “Tit for tat. Oh, and thanks for the check.”
Dotty groaned, visualizing a night in her cage, unable to scratch. She had no choice, Meekly she stepped into the legs of the suit, watching as oil and hair filled between the latex and her flesh. Already phantom itches were coursing over her upper body.
Dotty’s drive home was a foretaste of the endurance test she was facing. In other words, a disaster. The manager and Stella had tugged and pulled on the skin tight latex suit, squeezing it into every dark corner of her body. Using a monster syringe they had inserted the long nozzle through an access flap and into the depths of her pussy and forced a generous amount of the hair-oil mixture into her. When it began seeping out, they turned her over and shot another full load up her ass.
The manager slapped her hard on her bare ass, “There! That ought to keep you occupied. Just be thankful we ran out of hot peppers. Unh, and a word of thanks is in order.”
Her mind said bluntly, ‘I’ll see you in Hell first,’ while her lips dutifully recited, “Thank you Master. Thank you Mistress for your treatment of me.”
Dotty was seething. This damn suit and the hair were the final straws. The humiliations, one after another, were etched into her very soul. The futility of having to hide her feelings and accept everything that was done to her was the worst humiliation of all, leaving her feeling like she was two inches tall. She was all primed to cuss them both out roundly, but Donald held all the cards, and as long as he and the manager saw eye to eye, Dotty was helpless.
Stella had one final indignity to heap on her head. She picked up a dog leash and snapped it on the D-ring embedded in the neck of the suit. She crawled her to the front door, handed her her purse and in the tone used for a dog, ordered, “Go Home!”
Dotty hesitated, ready to fight, one way or another. Stella made a face and picked up a rolled newspaper from the table. She swatted Dotty on the ass and again, with more emphasis, repeated, “Go Home, NOW!”
Dotty’s submissive nature took over. She ducked her head, “Yes, Mistress.”
Just then one of the other girls came running, Dotty’s handcuffs dangling from her hand. Stella thanked the girl and turned to Dotty. Dreading a renewed session, she meekly extended her wrists and allowed Stella to cuff her. She was warned, “Forget these again and we will have something very special in the way of punishment.”
Dotty’s eyebrows rose and she opened her mouth, goaded into rebelling. Stella stood her ground and stared her down, the refusal unsaid.
Dotty literally waddled to her car, letting loose a string of curses under her breath. A goodly amount of the oil had settled in the legs of the suit, making it seem to Dotty that she was wading in fresh cement.
The drive home was a nightmare on wheels. She got caught in a traffic jam that didn’t disperse for nearly an hour. The hot, sticky suit clung to her like a second skin. Every single hair seemed to have found a nest in her skin. The slightest movement stirred up hundreds of sharp points. Tiny imps were targeting her nipples with needles. Her clit was sending shock wave after shock wave to her brain, protesting its ill treatment.
She tried, and immediately discarded scratching through the latex. It not only failed to give the slightest relief, it triggered fresh waves of itching all over, especially on her back, which, while she was cuffed, was impossible to reach.
She became aware of a new humiliation. People in the cars on both sides of her were looking at her, with - to say the least - curiosity. Unable to drive away from them, and without any shades to pull, she was on display. Actually from their vantage point about all they could see was the eye catching vivid blue latex hood and posture collar, but that was enough to keep their eyes glued to her. All that could be seen of her face was the narrow oval from her eyes down to her mouth, allowing her to breathe. The stares kept a permanent rosy glow on her nose and her cheeks under the latex. She kept her cuffed arms below the wheel, hoping to keep the curiosity seekers from seeing them.
Dotty was exhausted and at wits end by the time she got home. She drove into the garage, closed the door behind her and just sat there, working up the courage to go into the house and face Donald. First she would have to explain - if he let her - why she was so late. Then there was the matter of the torture suit she was locked in.
The itching. Just thinking about it set off indescribable ripples and shudders complete with sound effects. She struggled for control, working on the plea that she would make, frantically thinking up other things she could invite him to do to her in exchange. As best she could she was ignoring her mantra, ignoring the fact that she had earned every minute of discomfort and pain. She knew that realistically her chances of persuading him to release her were barely above zero. One wrong move, one sharp word spoken in haste, could be regretted indefinitely.
The door to the house opened. Donald stood in the light, holding a flogger. Startled and dismayed, she fumbled with the door, finally getting it open. Rattled, she hurried toward him. His arm moved, the flogger pointing to the floor. Cursing herself she dropped like a rock, hitting so hard she bounced, while every atom of air in her lungs shot out of her gaping mouth. She crawled, dragging her nipples and nose across the cement floor. Fortunately for her it was painted and smooth. That was the first thing that had gone right all day.
She kissed the toes of his shoes, and rose very slightly, awaiting an order. She held the pose while her nerve endings screamed for relief. She worried; sure that she had ticked Donald off, reluctantly discarding any action on the suit. She was stuck with it now, for as long as Donald desired. He hadn’t put her in it, so again he was dominating her by remote control. He could leave her as long as he liked and deny having anything to do with it.
She scared herself with the alternative - a wait until her next weekly visit to the hairdresser. She had a clear and vivid picture of the excited girls “cleaning” her after removing the suit. She scared herself even more when she realized that they might very well dump in fresh oil and hair and lock it up again for another week. She had an all too clear picture of the demands they would make of her to even consider unlocking it.
At the moment, Donald was her only hope - and Donald was pissed at her. A pissed Donald was not to be messed with. Long experience dictated kid glove handling and sex that was erotic to the extreme. Remembering that she was severely restricted to blow jobs only, very nearly set off a panic attack. How do you sweet talk a man who with each breath is dictating every move?
“You’re over an hour late. Long enough for a quickie with John.” The tone was emotionless, but carefully spoken as a statement of fact, leaving her powerless to respond. Donald knew perfectly well why she was late as bulletins about the three people killed in traffic had filled the afternoon TV.
Dotty pinned her hopes on begging. Somehow she knew - or guessed - that he was aware of her whereabouts and dragged John in just to humiliate her. She tried, “Master, slave begs permission to open your pants.”
The loud, curt “No!” came almost too quickly, as he had expected it. No reason, no explanation. None needed for a slave. >Let her worry.
Dotty almost cried. Hurriedly she racked her brain for some other approach, but her mind was a jumble and of no help. A quick prayer was her sole remedy, and went unanswered.
She felt and heard the leash click shut on her collar ring. ‘We’re going walkies’ was her last thought before her mind went blank, with all the appearance of an overload.
Donald reluctantly allowed her to rise to her hands and knees, saving her belly crawl for the carpeted areas of the house. The latex suit was expensive and he intended to get his money’s worth both out of the suit and out of Dotty as well. Dragging it on the rough floor would at the least scratch and disfigure it.
He enjoyed the smooth appearance but he resisted the temptation to rub his hands over it, certain that it would send Dotty the wrong message. He sent the right message with the flogger, warning her not to drag her knees. He noted with interest that despite the relative mildness of the stroke, Dotty flinched with obvious pain.
This started a new train of thought. He had Dotty pegged as a pain slut. That a ‘love tap’ with the flogger would get a reaction cast some doubt on that assessment of her. He made a mental note to investigate it further.
In the meantime, he was not sure what to do with her. In an earlier conversation with the manager he had agreed to the latex as a needed serious form of punishment. While the manager admitted that Dotty was only the third client to get the full treatment, he’d had a dozen women customers who had been punished with either a hair filled bra or a panty girdle. Each had a problem of less magnitude than adultery, but too serious to be ignored. A day or two, or in one case, five days, had made the women docile and obedient or had renewed their Master’s control.
With Dotty, one glance was enough to convince Donald that she was having serious problems with the hair. His oft stated refusal to hurt her and his love for her kept creeping into his thoughts. At that, he was much more willing to inflict punishment than he had been, but he questioned the severity of the hair treatment.
Dotty was completely unaware of his mental conflict. She was far more concerned with the misery she was suffering and her hopeless quest for some way to end it. If she could have read his mind she might have been able to negotiate a truce and settle for some lesser chastisement. Not so strangely, he was thinking along the very same lines.
Donald directed her into the library and sat her down at the desk facing one of the big wall-mounted screens. He locked a chain between her ankles. It was already attached to a ring on one leg of the desk. He laid a notepad and a pen on the desk.
“I want you to watch this. It’s the tape of your visit last week to the hairdresser’s. I want you to record every question you were asked and your complete answer. If you didn’t answer it, show the reason why. Mark a large asterisk for each question you refused to answer. Oh, and as long as you’re doing it, make a separate list of the comments and wisecracks.”
Head down, she waited for him to instruct her to do the same with the tape of her mother’s visit, but Donald was finished, for the moment at least.
“Is that clear?”
His tone as much as shouted, “Don’t even think of asking to be let out.”
Meekly she responded, “Yes, Master.”
“The foot control to stop or pause is under the desk.”
She nodded and moved her foot about to find the switch. She pressed it tentatively and the screen lit up. It faded to the entrance to the shop and the manager, standing waiting for her. She picked up the pen and began writing. She had used the control a time or two so she didn’t have any problems with it.
Dotty carefully hid her disappointment. She dreaded her own visit, remembering the insults all too well. She could have done her mother’s visit with more composure, and perhaps more sympathy. She was still battling her emotions about her mother, not quite ready to blame her for all of this. She blamed herself for not honoring her wedding vows.
The phone rang and Donald walked to another room to answer it. Dotty strained her ears to hear what was being said, but the combination of the sound from the tape and the latex hood covering her ears muffled his voice completely. Distracted, she almost missed the first question.
Donald went to his office, leaving the door open so he could faintly hear the sound from the library. He kept an ear cocked as he handled some paperwork that had been piling up.
The doorbell rang, just as she finished the last question. She jumped, her reflexes jangling. She prayed, ‘Please, God, don’t make me answer the door.’
It worked better than pleading to Donald, but only because she was tethered to the desk and it would have taken too much time to get her loose.
Donald walked into the library, holding a pizza box.
He bent down and unlocked the desk chain. “Dinner in 15 minutes.”
Even more oil had gravitated into the legs of her suit. Walking, even crawling as she was now doing, was a feeling familiar to any fisherman who has ever gotten in over the tops of his waders and tried to move with them full of water.
Donald had a fresh humiliating instruction. “While you’re in the kitchen you will remain on your knees unless there is something you absolutely can’t reach. You will stand up only long enough to do it and return to your knees.”
‘He’s dominating me!’
She almost said it aloud, after thanking him. She wasn’t sure whether to be thrilled or worried at the sudden change. For a slave it was definitely something to worry about, but her intuition told her it was some sort of reaction to her travails in the suit. Perhaps he was practicing to take over from that damn shop manager? The thought soothed, but failed to calm her worries.
She spent the meal hugging the floor, after serving Donald. He made no move to invite her to sit, although it hurt him, but he was somewhat surprised at his own smug satisfaction at seeing her lying at his feet. The fact that she was in chains in addition to the suit touched some hidden nerve, flooding his brain with enjoyment.
The doorbell rang again as Dotty put the last dish away, the kitchen sparkling. Donald pointed to her, to the floor and to the door, leaving no doubt as to who was elected. Obediently she slithered to the door, lifted to her knees and with dread opened the door. She jerked backward violently when she recognized the man and the woman.
The shop manager and Stella stepped forward as Dotty hastily remembered her manners.
“Welcome, Master. Welcome, Mistress.”
Both brushed past her as if she were nothing more than a brass door stop, ignoring her greeting. Donald was close behind Dotty, with a welcome they accepted with profuse thanks. The difference was so humiliating that Dotty flushed to her toes. She trailed after them, wriggling on the floor until Donald stopped her with a gesture.
As if just realizing that Dotty was there, the manager snapped his fingers. “Display position! Tight chains!”
Dotty was at least partially familiar with the commands and the body positions so she instinctively jumped to her feet, stepped in front of her Master and held her arms over her head, snapping the chain taut. At the same time her legs parted and her ankle chain stretched flat. A vow of vengeance began to form in her mind. They had no right to come into HER house and treat her like a slave. She conjured up a lingering death for both of them, before the conversations began.
All three ignored her from that point on, again as if she wasn’t even there. Dotty was the topic of conversation, but she was pointedly not included in the discussion.
The manager spoke first. “If I understood you on the phone, you want me to teach you how to handle and manage your slave. Is that correct?”
Donald nodded. “I can dominate the slave, but my feelings for her tend to get in the way of effective training or punishment. I need someone - a professional - to come in and take over when I - I’ll admit - chicken out.”
“I sense you’re not exactly thrilled with that suit?”
“In almost any other circumstance it would be overkill. I’m having a little difficulty imposing it, even for adultery. I’d frankly have to really hate a person to use it on them.”
“Your slave cheated on you, then bragged about it. Punishment HAS to be swift, sure and must make a lasting impression, something she will go to sleep remembering and will wake up in the morning still thinking about her crime, and what is being done to her as punishment. I’d be the first to admit that this is a radical, cruel and unusual remedy, but as you are well aware, the punishment fits the crime. I’ll wager she hasn’t slept a wink and hasn’t gone a single minute without realizing why she is being punished and why it is a severe punishment.”
Dotty was fuming, her anger mounting. Her arms felt like lead. Stella was watching her closely, reading her body language. She suspected Dotty was ready to burst and her slight movements confirmed it.