The Consultants 3.12

Part 3: Chapter 12

It was the weekend again. Leslie, Amber and Charles were sitting in the Dungeon. Leslie in her leather dominatrix gear on her throne. Amber was dressed in a hooded red latex catsuit, with built in ballet-toed boots and arms ending in attached stiffened fingerless bondage mittens that prevented her taking the suit off without outside assistance. She had curled up in a chair, the seat of which was covered with a spiky black rubber cushion that resembled nothing so much as an oversize hedgehog. When Charles asked, she claimed that it was very comfortable. Nevertheless he could not help wondering what happened if you sat on one of the spikes.

“Perhaps that’s all part of the fun,” he thought. Charles, as usual, as very much the junior member of the sorority had drawn the short straw. Having been sent to fetch drinks, he now sat, wearing his maids outfit, on the steps of the dais twisting a strand of hair between his fingers, unsure if he should tell them about one of the toys that had come with his things that they had brought down from the North two weeks ago.

Leslie sipped her drink, picked her riding crop up with the other hand and with its tip under his chin, used it to raise Charles’s head to look at her.

“Charlotte, dear,” she crooned, “you’ve been very quiet for the last half-hour is there something on your mind? Has what I did with Amber upset you?”

What had been done to Amber was, by the standards of the house, pretty tame. Relentless in the pursuit of her mission to make Amber stay still for more than two minutes at a time, Leslie had been trying out a new, deceptively simple, device. It consisted of a large sack made of heavy gauge latex that she had already positioned in the middle of the floor before they arrived. The sack initially was three-quarters filled with pea-size polystyrene granules. Leslie added a mask with a short attached breathing tube to Amber’s outfit and together Leslie and Charles helped her into the sack. Leslie told Amber to shuffle down into the granules then added more as she zipped up the sack to leave just a tip of the breathing tube protruding.

Finally she attached a hose near the bottom of the sack to the powerful industrial vacuum cleaner that was normally used to keep the Dungeon tidy and started to suck the air out of the sack. Immediately the sack began to contract, squeezing the granules, and Amber, together. In a few minutes the granules were tightly compacted into a solid lump holding her, immobilised in its grip. Leslie took out a small mirror from her bag and held it close to breathing tube. When she took it away, Charles saw mist quickly disappear from the glass.

“Can’t be too careful.” she said addressing Charles. “When you do things like this it is imperative to be sure your slave is not in trouble, or even isn’t breathing. I reckon that she’s just fine, but immobilised rather thoroughly.” She paused as a thought struck her.

“It’s quite funny, isn’t it,” she laughed, “usually you have things preserved in solid lumps of amber and here we’ve got Amber preserved in a solid lump.”

They had left her like that for the best part of two hours, Leslie checking her breathing every few moments while chatting, in a low voice, to Charles in her best psychologist manner gradually teasing out from him more about his background and what had lead him to his present situation. Eventually, Leslie decided that Amber had had sufficient of that treatment for the time being and let her out. She had obviously enjoyed every minute of the frustration of being immobilised. She stretched and exercised her stiff muscles a few times then was her bouncy self again.

“She’s just like Tiger in the Pooh stories,” Charles had thought.

“Come on, then, what’s on your mind,” chivvied Amber.

“Are you two ganging up on a poor defenceless woman?” said Charles with a laugh. “Shame on you!

“Okay, I’ll tell you. One of the things we brought back from the North was a gadget I’ve been playing with. In the sense of developing,” he added quickly. “The basic part I got for my wife just before we drifted apart to the extent that it never got used. Then, out of technical interest, I made a few modifications. I was wondering if I could persuade someone to try it?”

“Oh, Amber will try it,” Leslie said immediately without giving her friend chance to ask what it was.

“Yes, but what is it?” asked Amber, really wanting to know.

“Well,” began Charles, “it’s…”

“Stop!” said Leslie, holding up her hand, “Don’t tell her, she might change her mind.”

“But I haven’t made up my mind,” protested Amber.

“No, but I have,” replied Leslie in her, ‘don’t argue, I have decided,’ voice. “With Charlotte’s technical background it’s bound to be interesting.” She turned to Charles.

“Go and fetch it then, Charlotte dear, we mustn’t keep Amber waiting.”

Charles scrambled up on to the eighteen-centimetre heels he had taken to wearing with his maid’s outfit and climbed back to the flat. A few minutes later he reappeared with a portable CD player, a small innocuous looking die-cast box and a black plastic bag.

“Let me look,” cried Amber, grabbing at the bag.

“Careful,” it might bite,” teased Charles.

Amber put in her hand and brought out a strap with two rather odd looking dildoes attached.

“Ooh!” cried Amber in surprise.

“What’s the matter, pet,” said Leslie, curiosity getting the better of her and coming over to have a look.

“Well, they’re sort of, er, different,” was all Amber could think of. She looked at Charles for an explanation, hoping it wouldn’t be too unpleasant as she knew she would soon be finding out the details the practical way. Instead of being made of the rubbery material to which she was accustomed, they was clear plastic with two stripes of chrome down each side.

“You must have come across these in your travels,” said Charles unconsciously adopting his professorial style, incongruous though it was for someone dressed in PVC as a French maid. “They are similar to what the medics would call, ‘Trans-cutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulators’, TENS. I guess they could be pretty painful if you jack up the voltage, but with the right level of muscle stimulation they say that it feels as though you’ve got a vibrator surgically implanted.

“Better, in fact. My mod is to dispense with the straight power box and, instead, provide a driver that can sit between the dildoes and a CD or cassette player, even a radio. That way the range of rhythms and intensities of stimulation is huge. The especially interesting bit, though I thought, was to make use of the two channels of the stereo, feeding one to the vagina and the other to the rectum. That way, as the music ebbs and flows, sometimes they would be in step and sometimes they wouldn’t. With a portable player you could use it while you are out and about, but I’ve never had opportunity to put the theory to the test.”

“I don’t think you could do that, walking about I mean, for long,” interrupted Leslie who had been listening to Charles’s exposition and looking at the dildoes in rapt attention.

“Well, what are we waiting for, let’s get it on you Amber; it was you who wanted to try Charlotte’s toy.”

“Oh, I say, come on,” said Amber pushing away as well as she could with her mittened hands, “it was you who volunteered me!”

“Don’t argue,” snapped Leslie. “This is going to be very interesting, I’ve heard about these things, though only the plain vanilla ones, not anything like Charlotte’s ingenious idea. I’ve been intending for a long time to get some to try.”

“But Charles hasn’t tried them on himself,” wailed Amber.

“So!” was Leslie’s unsympathetic reply. Then, turning to Charles, “Be a dear and fetch me a tube of lubricant from the cupboard on the left, then drag the bead sack and vacuum cleaner over will you. I know that you were thinking that you could walk about with this gear, but I think we should try a static test first. Just in case.”

“Just in case what,” wailed Amber.

“Oh, just in case, darling,” said Leslie in a mock soothing tone.

Charles fetched the tube of lubricant and went off to retrieve the sack and vacuum cleaner. Leslie unzipped Amber’s suit from the crotch to the middle of her back, letting in a shock of cold air to her hot body and ordered her spread her legs apart and bent her over. After lubricating both dildoes and Amber, eliciting a few moans from the latter in the process, she pushed the front plug into Amber’s sex. By the time Charles got back she had re-lubricated the second plug and Amber’s rectum, and presented it to Amber’s rear. With only a little push, it slid inside.

A faint “Mmmm” was heard from Amber. Finally, to hold both plugs in Leslie fastened the straps around Amber’s waist and zipped the suit shut, leaving the power lead dangling down between Amber’s legs.

“What next,” asked Leslie, turning to Charles while Amber wriggled her bottom trying to get the intruders into a more comfortable positions. She had to admit that they were not as big as some she had sampled, but they felt odd being hard and cold.

“Why couldn’t they have warmed them first,” she wondered.

Once more they settled Amber in the sack. This time it was decided, by Leslie of course, Amber having no rôle in the decision, that as a great concession which was unlikely to be repeated on any future occasion, Amber should have her head out of the sack and be able to breathe normally.

“Thank you,” said Amber in a none too grateful a tone, as the air was sucked out and she was again locked solid.

“Now,” said Charles, picking up the cable that emerged for the sack behind Amber’s neck, “we just join the dildoes to the stimulator amplifier and plug that to the disk player. And while we are at it, let’s also plug the sound into the audio here so we can listen to what Amber is feelin”g. Amber watched apprehensively as Charles busied himself with wires.

“Nice to have a maid who knows how mend a fuse,” said Leslie, now settled back regally on her throne and flicking up his skirt as he bent over to make a connection.

“More like a mad scientist,” muttered the motionless Amber.

Charles straightened up.

“Right, here we go then,” he said and pressed the start, button.

To the girls’ surprise, the dungeon was filled with the strains of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D-minor.

“It was on top of the pile,” he said apologetically. Amber, however, already had an expression of intense concentration now, her face as, acting semi-independently, the dildoes caused her two sets of muscles begin to clench and twitch as if possessed of minds of their own. A minute later she very nearly came with the crescendo at the end of the toccata, the music frustratingly subsiding at the crucial moment. Now she was in the grip of the pulsation rhythm of the fugue. With the dying chords Amber came hard, screaming out while straining against the rigid grip of the vacuum sack that encased her.

The music stopped letting Amber calm down. Leslie went over to her and wiped the sweat off her brow.

“Was that nice, love?” she asked gently.

Amber nodded.

“Another go?” Amber hesitated, then nodded again, actually it had been the most exciting seven-and-a-half minutes she could remember, though, if truth be told, at that moment she could remember very little else.

“Okay, but this time we will have a bit less back ground noise to spoil the music.”

Unable to move her head more than a fraction, Amber followed Leslie with her eye as she went to a wall cupboard and extracted a rubber head harness with a large built-in pump-up gag with which she proceeded to silence Amber’s cries

On the second go Amber came twice, at the end of the toccata and again at the end of the piece. Leslie removed Amber’s gag to let her breathe more freely.

“You know,” said Charles, “I really do have to agree with Spitter that the last great composer died in 1750. Worth hearing a third time, don’t you think?” he added, now very much into the swing of the occasion.

“You’re wicked,” cried Amber. “Just you wait till . . .spurp”. Leslie put the gag back in the protesting mouth deftly buckling it behind Amber’s head and re-inflating it in one smooth movement.

“I agree,” she said, “but at a higher volume, the acoustics down here are just right for the organ.” Amber shook her head in futile protest as Leslie set the CD going again at maximum. For Amber one orgasm blended almost seamlessly with another, until she was screaming into her gag with every other breath.

“That was all very interesting,” observed Leslie after Amber’s paroxysms had died down and they were releasing her from her bondage. “Can you supply a production model for my professional use? And I must try it with some more modern music.”

“How about Olivier Messiaen’s Turangalîla?” suggested Charles.

“That’s something to do with love, isn’t it?” Leslie asked rhetorically, “No, I thought something by Iron Maiden might be more appropriate.”

They helped Amber to the shower room, at the end of the corridor leading to the Dungeon, where Leslie eased her out of her rubber suit that seemed to become half filled with sweat, and other fluids. Amber whispered something in Leslie’s ear. She smiled, nodded and sent Charles off to get another round of drinks for them all.

When he returned Amber, now dressed in a white towing bathrobe, was standing by the dais. She seemed to be holding something behind her back. There was a distinct possibility, Charles thought, that Leslie had decided to continue the scene and had fastened Amber’s arms back, but that was inconsistent with the distinctly conspiratorial air about her. Leslie, always the better of the two at disguising her emotions, sat impassively on her throne.

“Over here,” she beckoned, “put the tray on the steps.”

Charles knelt to put down it down, having well learned the lesson not to bend in that dress in that company, or any other. In a flash Leslie grabbed his wrists and the next moment Amber had snapped round then the handcuffs she had been hiding behind her.

“It your turn now!” she shouted in excitement.

Charles was dragged to his feet, then pushed unsteadily backward on his high heels towards wooden turntable, mounted on at about forth-five degrees to the horizontal, that stood in the corner of the Dungeon. Still holding the chain linking the two cuffs, Amber toppled him back against the board while Leslie reached under his skirt, grabbed hold of his frilly panties and pulled them off. Next she took hold of his right ankle and, pulling it out sideways some thirty degrees, fastened it to the board with a broad leather strap. The process was then repeated using his left leg. Thus secured, Amber undid the handcuffs and fixed his wrists so that legs, body and arms formed an X-shape.

“How does the mad scientist like it, then, when the boots on the other foot?” teased Amber, as Leslie temporally disappeared from Charles’s view. He growled back.

She reappeared. “First a few toys, then you can go for a ride,” she smiled.

She pulled down the top of his dress to expose his chest and clipped clamps onto his nipple. He winced as the little teeth in each clamp bit home. Attached to each clamp by a spring was small weight, pulling the clamp down and increasing the pain it inflicted. Charles bit his lip, determined not to let his side down, but his resolve nearly failed when, having tweaked the clamps to make sure that they were well attached Leslie turned her attention to his crotch. She folded up his skirt and looked at the truss that had been his standard daytime attire for the last fortnight.

“Having had that plug in for a while you should be pretty loose back there so I think I will swap it for two of these,” she said, holding up what appeared to be a ball bearing the best part of four centimetres in diameter.

“That’s new,” said Amber, looking over. Leslie handed it to Amber to feel. It weighed far less than she expected, judging from its size, but it also quivered and shook in her hand as if alive. “A Ben Wa ball, but why doesn’t it rattle?” she looked Leslie as the latter repossessed the ball and started to liberally lubricate it and Charles’s anus.

“It’s the pukha article,” she explained. “A welded stainless-steel shell, part filled with mercury. They normally cost the earth, but I managed to get a set of four in exchange for a favour.

Charles may have been ‘loosened up’, but getting the balls in was still a struggle. Eventually Leslie’s slippery fingers guided the second one through his protesting sphincter to join its mate packing his rectum.

“Because of differences in geometry I can’t push the other two Ben Wa's up your front, though perhaps I might think of something to do with them later,” she said looking meaningfully at Amber, who giggled. “So we will have to improvise a bit.”

She picked up another weight-spring combination, much heavier than those that hung from his nipples, and attached it the end of Charles’s penis corset that now hung free, having been detached form the crotch strap normally linking it an the, butt plug. Finally, she produced a pair of rubber zip-crotch panties. Undoing his ankles in turn so as to get them on she pulled them up to his waist, threaded his penis and it weight through the crotch slit and zipped them close. They were sizes too small and so extremely tight.

“That should stop the balls dropping out by accident,” she observed, “Don’t want them to get damaged as they aren’t on the insurance. And now for the joy ride.”

Leslie stood up, pressed a switch of the wall and the turntable began to slowly rotate around its oblique axis. As he moved from leaning back, but upright, through horizontal, to forty-five degrees upside down and back to near upright again, the sprung weights attached to the clamps pulled this way and that bringing his nipples, that had gone numb after the initial shock of clamping, vividly back to life. But that was as nothing compared with what was going on down below.

The mercury in the balls sloshed this way and that, now stimulating his prostate, now pushing the other way, while the weight twisted and tugged at his penis. Within a couple of minutes orgasm came, despite, or perhaps additionally because of the constraint of the penis corset that prevented any significant swelling. Charles could not help himself, it was sudden and powerful, shuddered and cried out, so much for stiff upper lip. They stopped the turntable. Eventually he came to earth again.

“I think,” said the now fully recovered Amber gleefully as she bounce from one foot to the other, barely able to contain her excitement, “that after what Charles, I mean Charlotte, did to me she ought to have a second go.”

“I can’t,” shouted Charles in panic. “I’ll . . .” But what we will never know as at that moment Leslie filled his mouth with the pump-up gag that she had so effectively used on Amber three-quarters of an hour before. Then Amber pressed switch setting the turntable in motion again, this time in the opposite direction.

His stock of endo-morphines having been temporarily used up, the sensations induced in his body by the various toys were now more painful then pleasurable. But for the gag he would have screamed as the balls moved inside him and nipple clamps’ weights flopped over causing the teeth to bite into him. As they all knew it would, with that curious asymmetry that exists between female and male sex responses, the second orgasm took a lot longer to come than the first. Nevertheless, come it eventually did, sudden and just as powerful as before.

Leslie turned off the power, got him upright and unbuckled the straps. Together they helped him down and helped him and seated him on the chair with the spiky rubber cushion about which he had speculated earlier. It was quite comfortable, he decided, as consciousness of his surroundings ebbed back.

“Playtime’s over.” Leslie announced. “Why don’t you two children run along and freshen up. I’ll make dinner. And let’s do it formally. If you, Charlotte, let Amber borrow her black latex dress back and you lend me your maid’s outfit, I’ll wait at table as my contribution to the evening’s entertainment.”

“Okay,” replied Charles, “provided you wear some chains.”

“It’s a deal,” laughed Leslie.

“And a gag,” muttered Amber under her breath. “Humpf, children indeed!” Leslie pretended not to hear.

“Come on, let’s go,” said Charles, giving Amber a gentle pat on her bottom to which she responded with a “Oh!” and feigned hurt modesty. “When you get to my age you might be flattered to be called ‘children’ and anyway it is not every day that you get to be offered dinner served to you by your cruel mistress.”

Charles left Amber on the first floor and went to his flat to change, wash his maid’s outfit for Leslie which, fortunately, dried quickly, and collect the black dress for Amber. Having taken them back down to Leslie’s flat, he returned to make his own preparations. Leslie had said that the dinner was to be formal. The only thing he had to meet that requirement was the red dress he had worn at the Ritz. He took a leisurely bath as he relived the evening’s entertainment.

“Gosh, what a change in life-style a couple of weeks can make,” he mused as he sloshed the hot water and suds around him and rubbed the several parts of his anatomy that were still mildly complaining about their recent experiences.

After a good half-hour’s soak he climbed out of the bath, dried and talced himself and climbed into the red dress. It did not seem quite so tight round the waist as he remembered it and was secretly pleased. For the past fortnight he had been tightly corseted and trying to be very careful what and how much he ate. The sacrifice really did seem to be having a beneficial effect on his figure. He worked his arms into the red latex opera gloves then, as a final touch, decided to use the red patent leather ankle strapped ballet boots he had been pressed into buying the week before. Not daring to descend the stairs on tiptoe in twenty-one-centimetre heels he carried them down.

Charles arrived in Leslie’s lounge first, struggled into the boots that proved exceedingly difficult having to bend as he did against the constraint of the tight dress, and was standing precariously in them supporting himself against the sideboard when Amber arrived.

Two flutes and a bottle of champagne in a silver wine cooler stood on a small table by the settee. Charles tottered over to it, toes protesting at having to support his weight, and picked up the bottle as Amber kicked off her shoes and settled herself in the corner of the settee. Yet again he made a mental note that he must break the habit of waiting on woman however, he consoled himself chauvinistically, “it is Krug 1982 so it warrants being opened by a practised hand.”

Charles did the honours, pouring out a sparkling glass for Amber and himself. As he did so he could not help, but recall that, during their tour of inspection two weeks before, Leslie had said that she had, ‘a bit of a wine cellar’ down below. If this was a sample he was glad to be able to make its acquaintance.

Because there were only two glasses he assumed that Leslie had decided not to join them. They chatted for a while then heard the tinkling of a bell coming from the direction of the dining room.

“I presume that means that dinner is served,” said Charles. “As we have no gentlemen to escort us perhaps you might lend me your arm. I don’t know how you are supposed to walk in these shoes,” he added.

“You aren’t,” said Amber, “they’re just for looking at.”

“Now you tell me,” said Charles.

The table was laid for a banquet for two. Candles burned in a pair of branched silver candelabra and the place settings, that faced each other, sported an impressive array of cutlery and glasses. They both stopped on the threshold to stare, it was obvious that Leslie, for all her powers, could not have rustled this up in an hour, it must have been pre-planned.

“Bang goes the diet,” said Charles. Amber agreed.

They made their way to the table. Remembering his mentally reaffirmed resolution about chivalry Charles turned to Amber.

“My dear,” he asked, “please would you mind helping an elderly lady to her chair? Apart from these damned ballet heels, the last time I wore this dress we had staff to assist us, but they seem to be sadly lacking this evening.”

“Certainly, darling,” said Amber, shoving the chair under Charles, “we really must have words with the management.” Then added, “I do hope the service is prompt, I’m famished.”

As if on cue, Leslie appeared from the kitchen door carrying a tray of starters. Amber shrieked with delight and Charles clapped his hands in applause. True to her word Leslie had on Charles’s PVC French maid’s dress along with black rubber stockings and opera-length gloves and a pair of patent leather shoes with the highest heels possible without them becoming ballet style. To the basic costume she had added several bondage items. Her ankles were linked with thirty centimetres of chain. A posture collar round the neck held her head rigid at a regal angle, her wrists being fastened to the front of this collar by short lengths of chain so that her hands could go no lower than breast height. Her final piece of bondage was a rubber mask with a built-in inflatable gag. She had left the pump bulb connected by a long tube thrown over one shoulder and left to dangle down the middle of her back to below waist level where the strings of a small apron held it, out of reach of her constrained hands.

With a struggle Leslie knelt down so that her hands were at table height. She served Charles first then, with even more effort, got up and went round to the other side, taking tiny steps to avoid tripping on the carpet’s thick pile, then knelt down again to serve Amber.

Amber flicked at the pump bulb.

“I wonder what this is for?” she asked with feigned innocence.

“I don’t know,” said Charles spreading foie on a piece of warm brioche. “Perhaps one should try a small experiment and give it a squeeze.”

Amber squeezed the bulb hard. The increased pressure in her mouth, held tightly shut by the mask and high collar, caused Leslie to gag slightly and jerk her head backwards thereby nearly dropping the plate she was proffering. Amber looked down at her.

“The training of the waitresses in this establishment leaves much to be desired,” she observed loftily. “They should be taken in hand, Charlotte, don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” said Charles, “though knowing, as I do, the proprietrix I am sure that they would not have been engaged were it not thought that they had potential, but I fear that she may have been too lenient in correcting inadequacies of this one.”

“I concur,” agreed Amber. “Make a note of its registration number will you? There should be a tag on its collar.”

Leslie had again struggled to her feet and was hovering unsure as to whether she had been dismissed or not. Amber gave the inflator another squeeze and treated Leslie’s bottom to an open palm slap.

“Off you go my girl and make sure that you serve the next course more carefully.”

Leslie finally escaped to return to the kitchen. Amber watched her friend’s departing posterior with professional interest. Even allowing for the difficulty of balancing in high heels and chain her gait seemed odd. She turned to Charles.

“I think I know where the Ben Wa balls have gone,” she confided.

“Yes,” he agreed, “and with her hands chained I don’t expect she can get them out unaided. I fear that the service might get a bit slow later on. We may even be forced to invent our own afters.”

They laughed.

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08.12.12

story continues in The Consultants 3.13

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