Gromet's PlazaTG/CD Stories

The Consultants 4.16

by Charlotte Arabella Graham

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2013 - Charlotte Arabella Graham - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-M; F+/m; F/f+; cd; fem; maid; cuffs; gag; enema; public; leather; toys; insert; cons; X

(story continues from )

story continued from part 3.15

Part 4: Chapter 16

Charles’s Hoovering of his lounge carpet was interrupted by a knocking on the inner door to the stairs leading up from Leslie’s living quarters. He glanced at the clock as he went to open it. It was not uncommon for her to come up for a chat on Saturday morning, but this was unexpectedly early.

“All right, I coming,” he called, thinking that, perhaps, he should not wear such high heels while doing his house work though, at the same time admitting that he was now rather addicted to them and, anyway, they went especially well with the maid’s outfit he wore when cleaning and were good practice for his every day office ‘flatties’ with mere twelve centimetre heels.

“All right,” he called again as the knocking restarted with even more vigour than before. “Is the house on fire?” He opened the door.

“Happy birthday,” three voices chimed in unison. It was the GALs, all three of them. It had been Amber doing all the knocking; he might have guessed.

The previous weekend Charles had admitted to it being his birthday that Saturday, though he had refused, totally, to drawn out on the question of exactly how many times the Earth had gone round the Sun since his nascence.

“It’s not something you should ask of an elderly lady,” he had chided Amber when she pressed.

“We’ve got three prezzies for you.” It was Amber of course unable, as always, to hide her excitement.

“Can we come in?” asked Leslie.

“Yes, of course, if you don’t with the way Amber is jumping about she’ll have you all fall down the stairs in a minute.”

They entered, Gwyneth holding back a little from the others, as she often did, her hands behind her back.

“Sorry about the cleaner and things,” said Charles apologetically, pointing to the Hoover, “I wasn’t expecting visitors so early on a Saturday.”

“It’s half-past eight already,” said Amber, “and there are lots of things to do for you. Shut your eyes and hold out your hands.”

“I didn’t think that you knew there were half-past eights on Saturday mornings,” he teased as he did as she asked, thinking that, perhaps, Gwyneth was hiding something behind her back. She was. With a click he found his wrists held together by a pair of handcuffs as, with a second click a leash was attached by Leslie to the ring at the front of the studded leather dog-collar that he invariably wore with the maid’s dress.

“Hey, what the…?” he exploded

“We’re taking you for your first prezzy or rather experience,” cried Amber, hardly able to contain herself.

Charles was led down to the dungeon. Leslie passing the leash to Gwyneth and using the lift for the last stage as going up and down stairs still gave her a lot of discomfort.

With the cast reassembled, Charles was stripped and forced to lie face up on a hospital trolley. Once on his back, the handcuff was released from one wrist, its other end being immediately secured to one of the trolley’s side rails. They secured his temporarily free hand to the other side and locked his collar to a hitching point behind him.

“I thought you said that you were giving me three birthday presents?” Charles protested.

“We are.” said Leslie. “We are starting with what you might call a ‘birthday experience’ though I’m sure that you will see it as a real present afterwards. Now shut up or I will have no option but to gag you.”

What happened next would certainly have made him immediately protest once more had it not been for the thought of the vast range of formidable gags that he knew Leslie had at her disposal, combined with a vivid imagination and the sure knowledge that she meant it! Stirrups attached to long metal arms were folded out from beneath the trolley, his knees placed and his ankles attached to them, then adjusted outwards and upwards so that his legs were held up in the air and spread wide as for a gynaecological examination.

“Don’t go anywhere,” teased Leslie. “We’ll be back in a jiffy.”

The GALs disappeared from Charles’s view. By now he had had enough experience of the GALs and their ways not to be too embarrassed by his present predicament, only somewhat apprehensive. He did wish, however, that his male plumbing, now unaccustomedly released from its normal constraint would stop doing what he had been assiduously trying to avoid for the last several weeks.

Gwyneth reappeared wearing a nurse’s uniform, predominantly in white latex with light blue accessories. Leslie, by contrast, had on a transparent, green tinted, plastic hooded overall suit. Its legs were tucked into white surgical boots while rubber gloves covered her hands. The suit was pulled in at the waist by a sash, knotted at the back that pulled the plastic to her, revealing that she was wearing nothing underneath. Out of the corner of his eye Charles could see Amber standing well back, a professional video camera on her shoulder.

Leslie approached the trolley, her plastic suit rustling as she moved, and bent over the prostrate Charles.

“What we are going to do,” she explained in the kind of detached manner of a professional medic that is mostly for the benefit of their assistants rather than the patient, is to make you pregnant or at least to simulate in you some of the feeling of late pregnancy. For this purpose we will be giving you a massive enema. I understand that you were yourself nearly four kilos at birth, allowing for the amniotic fluid I propose an absolute minimum of six litres and preferably eight so that you can begin to appreciate how your mother felt. But first we must clean you out very thoroughly to be sure that there is no blockage.

“Nurse, the first enema please.”

Gwyneth wheeled over an intravenous drip stand carrying a rubber bottle, from which hung a length of red rubber tube ending in a rigid nozzle, some ten centimetres long. Leslie lubricated the nozzle and gently worked it into Charles’s bottom. Almost as a reflex he could not avoid a grunt as the tube finally passed through his sphincters into his anus. A glare from Leslie immediately shut him up and forbade comment.

“This first wash is two litres of a warm mixture of soapy water and olive oil. Release the clamp, please nurse, just a gentle flow. I want the patient to try to retain it as long as possible.”

Leslie kept her hand round the stem of the nozzle, holding it firmly inside him as he felt the liquid flow into his intestines. It began to hurt Charles as he fought to prevent his natural reflexes expelling the invading fluid.

“Nurse, will you assist the patient by massaging her tummy. Also try to squeeze the enema as high up the colon as possible,” said Doctor Leslie, ignoring his discomfort.

Finally the bag was empty. Charles bit he lip trying to hold on. Finally he could stand it no longer.

“I’ll have to let go,” he gasped.

“Another minute,” Leslie encouraged. “Count with me, one, two, three; get a bed pan ready, nurse, seven, eight…”

“It’s no good,” shouted Charles as the enema came spewing out with a generous admixture of excrement. Gwyneth managed to catch some of it in the pan, but a major portion splattered all over Leslie.

“I can see why you have that suit on,” he was able to say when the flow had subsided.

“Amber probably told you I tend to specialise in water works. I find it pretty well essential. It’s rather fun too, isn’t it?” She did a twirl for the benefit of Charles and for Amber’s video that was recording the whole of this special initiation ceremony. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” said Charles lying back on the trolley to recover.

“I’m glad. Right nurse, enema number two, three litres this time of a rather more astringent mixture.

“Charlotte, I want you to concentrate really hard to hold this. I warn you it will hurt, but having gone this far and having you cover me with the remains of all last week’s dinners, I am not going to stop now.” Charles groaned inwardly as the process was repeated. This second enema caused him really severe cramps. Between them Leslie and Gwyneth helped him retain it for fully five minutes before the inevitable occurred.

Leslie went to shower down while Gwyneth cleaned Charles up. “We are going to let you rest for fifteen minutes before the big one,” she said, releasing his collar and tucking a pillow under his head and spreading a blanket over him.

“What about my hands?” he asked.

“What about them? They are okay as they are. Stops you falling off the trolley”. Just for fun she took hold of the end and spun it round. He shut his eyes and tried to relax. His inside hurt, oh, how he wished his hands were free to be able to give his aching tummy some comfort

A quarter of an hour later Leslie returned, her suit leaving a trail of drips behind her, from having spending most of the time under the shower getting clean.

“Time for the big one,” she announced.

This time she used a double nozzle, lubricating it and squeezing as much air as possible out of the long inner bladder before working it into Charles’s now rather sore anus. A couple of gentle tugs convinced her that it was in place, then she began to inflate it so that his rear orifice was sealed inside and out by the twin bulbs.

“Can you stand me inflating it anymore?” she asked. “I don’t want it to come out by accident.”

“I expect so, do I have a choice?” said Charles grimly.

“No, not really,” replied Leslie as she continued pumping.

Gwyneth came into view with the drip stand festooned with four two-litre bags of liquid.

“Plain water at blood temperature, this time,” she told Charles, “plus a pinch of bicarb. It shouldn’t hurt except for the volume of it all.”

She linked up the first bag to the tubing and started to run in the liquid, keeping the flow rate low and massaging Charles as he began to fill up. The first bag emptied and she switched to the second. Charles was beginning to feel distinctly round and bloated.

“Isn’t that enough,” he pleaded as the second two litres came to an end?”

“No way, the specialist said a minimum of six litres and a minimum of six it shall be.”

Charles began to moan as the third bag started to empty into him.

“Stop that!” Ordered Leslie, “You are not in labour yet, just eight-months gravid.”

Charles couldn’t help himself.

“That does it!” Leslie stamped over to a cupboard and returned with an inflatable gag. He tried to resist by holding his mouth clamped shut, but to no avail. Gwyneth had re-fixed his head before starting to administer the big enema. Now she just nipped his nose together between finger and thumb till he gasped for air, letting Leslie pop the gag it. Fastened behind his head and inflated he was now sealed at both ends as the girls continued to fill him up to what seemed like bursting.

Part way through the final bag a flashing light came on indicating that someone had pressed the bell at the clients’ entrance. Leslie clamped the enema feed tube and went on

“Amber, it’s my American friend, Cynetta. She rang yesterday to say she was in Town passing through to Amsterdam to get some additions to her wardrobe. I suggested that she might come around about his time to meet everybody and join in the birthday celebrations. Will you pop up and fetch her, there’s a dear?”

Charles did not like the sound of that at all. It was one thing to be as he was with the GALs with who he was now familiar. It was altogether different for a stranger to come crashing in, not that he had much choice.

Amber put down her camera and trotted up the stairs.

Leslie returned to Charles.

“I think that you will do,” she said, running a hand over his tightly distended abdomen.

“Gwyneth; fetch Charlotte’s maternity things, then come and help me get her up.”

Leslie unfastened Charles and swung him round on the trolley as Gwyneth returned with an armful of things.

“Put your legs over the side,” he was told, “Now let’s ease you up to a sitting position.” The mass of liquid moved down inside him causing his abdomen to bulge out alarmingly.

He put his hands under it to support the weight.

“How much did you put in,” he gasped?

“The best part of seven and a half,” said Gwyneth looking at the almost empty bottle on the stand.

“Well done, I’m sure I couldn’t have taken so much and I’m sort of designed for the job.”

Too weak to offer any resistance they dressed him. Unclipping the clamped-off enema feed tube from the depleted bag. The first thing they put on was a big nappy over which a pair of latex pants were stretched,

“Just in case you spring a leak,” he was told. Next they helped him into a pair of heavy weight maternity tights, then with grins on both their faces slipped round him a bra with the cups padded out to enormous size.

“Amber was all for fitting you with nipple clips under this,” Leslie told him, “but I think that you will have quite enough to contend with just looking after your bump.”

Finally, holding up his arms, a knee-length maternity smock was slipped over his head. True to style of the house, this was no ordinary smock. This model was in shiny blue vinyl with matching white ruffles round the neck, at the ends of the short sleeves and in two arcs beneath the bust. Putting it on cold, the whole thing stuck out round him like a bell tent. As time went by his body heat, trapped inside would soften the plastic causing it to cling stickily to his skin, peeling away a little as he moved; then reattaching itself in a slightly different position.

“Almost done,” said Leslie, “Gwyneth, dear, put Charlotte’s shoes on for her will you,” she handed her a pair of low-heeled sandals. “I don’t think she should be bending down. I wonder what’s keeping Amber? While you are doing that I’ll just fix this tube.” She worked it up Charles’s back inside the dress, which provided ample space, under his bra strap and finally attaching the tubes free end to his collar at the back of his neck where it was covered by hair.~

Amber returned with Cynetta. Though they had met for the first time only minutes before, it was obvious that they had hit it off immediately and were bubbling with common excitement. Charles had no idea what he expected this friend of Leslie’s would be like, but never in a month of Sundays of guessing would he have got anywhere near the reality. Cynetta was tall, probably as tall as he was himself and possessed a figure that was, almost, beyond belief. Dressed in a Chinese cheongsam of red latex, moulded at the top to accommodate her positively huge breasts the rubber stretched tightly to accentuate her incredibly tiny waist and seemed to allow a negligible amount of space below that to accommodate her long red latex sheathed legs. “Good morning, mum,” she addressed Leslie in what seemed to Charles a rather antique Cockney accent.

Leslie did the introductions.

“Pleased to meet you all, Ay’m sure,” the newcomer said with a little bob that would have been a courtesy had she been wearing any other dress. “You’ll be Miss Charlotte,” she said addressing Charles. “Leslie said it was your birthday and that they ‘ad something special planned for you. So, ‘appy birthday, and there’s some flowers for you up stairs.”


Cynetta and Leslie helped Charles out to the mews where the others were waiting with a pram, Amber rocking it gently.

“Here’s your other baby, Charlotte,” he was told.

Gwyneth turning down the cover to show him a large doll in the pram before covering up the doll again.

“It’s quite a good baby as long as you keep rocking it to sleep. If you stop…”

Amber stopped rocking. After five seconds the peace of the mews was shattered by the loud howling emanating from the pram. Amber set the pram in motion and the noise stopped immediately.

Slowly they walked out of the mews, its rough cobbles providing enough motion to keep the baby happy, and on to the street. Charles pushed the pram; glad of the extra support it gave him as he struggled to adjust to the load inside him. It was only a few hundred metres to the corner teashop that was their planned destination. Nevertheless, twice he had to stop for a rest, one on a pavement seat, the second time, in desperation, at a bus shelter. In his relief he forgot to rock the stationary pram and moments later the other waiting passengers were stunned as the curved shell of the shelter echoed to the banshee wail coming from the pram.

As he pushed the pram the others skipped along beside him asking if he is all right as though he were pregnant, speculating about whether he was carrying the baby high or low, whether it would be a boy or a girl and what names had he thought of. Charles plodded on trying to fix his attention on the teashop getting slowly closer and away from the liquid sloshing horribly inside him. Almost at every other stride his muscles tried to eject the plug in his bottom and expel the mass. Each time he shuddered as they were frustrated.

They got to the shop and sat outside in the sun. Charles was hot and sticky inside his plastic smock, but declined the offer of tea, remembering only too well the problems that it had caused when he had first encountered the GALs. The girls chattered amongst themselves while he concentrated on nothing but willing the ordeal to end and mechanically rocking the pram to keep it quiet. As a result he did not notice Leslie, who had popped into the shop, come out and creep up behind him. He felt a hand at the back of his neck then a cold sensation in his bottom. Leslie had connected a bag of cold water to the tube leading down to the rubber tubing inside if him and was topping him up with another litre. He grabbed at her with both hands. They struggled for a moment then the pram erupted with sound.

Soon he is bursting to ‘go’. He just had to have a pee. There was no sympathy from the girls.

“Well, all that water has to go somewhere, doesn’t it?” he was told. “There is nowhere here to risk taking you. You’ll have to try to hold on back to the house or do it in your nappy. Let’s be going.”

They made him push the pram all the all the way back. Progress was even slower than before. Charles took a rest on the seat. The pressure shift as he sat down was too much and his bladder emptied itself into his nappy.

Charles was in a state of collapse when the party reached the house. Leslie, in particular, was concerned that they had over done this initiation into womanhood.

“Cyn can you help me get Charlotte into my bathroom. You are stronger than I am at the moment.

“Gwyneth, run ahead and get the room a bit ready, it’s going to be messy.

“Amber do something with that pram!” The latter, unattended for its allotted time, had started to wail again.

They carried Charles to the bathroom and laid him on the floor that Gwyneth had already covered with towels atop a latex sheet. Leslie whipped off her outer clothes and slung them out on to the landing.

“You made the right choice of dress, Cyn, here goes, some-for-everybody time, I’m afraid.”

Leaving his nappy and rubber pants on to catch some of the flow; she reached inside and turned the valves to let the rubber tubing deflate. With a rush it was expelled together with several litres of unabsorbed liquid and assorted detritus.

They cleaned him, and themselves up and helped him out of the bathroom and into Leslie’s own bedroom where they tucked him up to recuperate. Leslie went to fetch a coffee for Charles, knowing his addiction, but he was sound asleep when she got back. Cynetta was nowhere to be seen. Cocking her head she could hear sounds from the bathroom. Peeping in she saw her friend; red latex cheongsam rolled up above her knees, performing the chores of a maid refurbishing the splattered room to its normal pristine condition.


“Now for your second present. We thought that you should have your hair done properly so we have all booked in at Raymond’s.”

“Not the society coiffeur who used to do, you-know-whose hair?”

“Yes, he wouldn’t normally be open on a Saturday afternoon but he owed me a favour so he agreed to open specially for the four of us. I’m sure that he can squeeze you in too, Cynetta.”

Cynetta put her hands round her tiny waist, making her fingertips meet. “Aye don’t fancy being squeezed any more, mum, but it would be nice to ‘ave my hair done by someone famous.”

“We ought to be going. Amber did you remember to bring your things so you can do Charlotte’s make up after. Good.

“Gwyneth, be a dear and ring for a taxi.

“Cynetta give Charlotte a hand up and help her to the down the stairs to the front.

“You don’t feel too wobbly do you Charlotte?”


Charles was under the drier, his hair having been washed, cut and styled and set on big rollers to the accompaniment of much tut-tutting by the Maestro. Amber was at work on his fingernails, smoothing and reshaping them into extended ellipses.

“What do you think about this morning’s experience, now you have had time to think about it?” she asked. “We had wondered about suspending you upside down in a water-filled sack and then doing a kind of delivery, but Gwyneth thought that making you look pregnant would be more, kind of different.”

“Well, I know who to blame if I have stretch marks,” Charles laughed. Actually he went on, “It was probably the right choice. I was the wrong way up and Mum had to have a Caesarean.”

“Trust you to be awkward!”

“Well, yes, I think now I have some appreciation of how mothers to be must feel. In fact, thinking about it I reckon that perhaps we’ve birthday celebrations the wrong way round. The child remembers nothing of the event, whereas, on the contrary, it should be the mother who gets the party and the presents.”

Charles came from under the drier and Raymond finished his work. Raymond held a hand mirror behind him so that he could see the effect.

“What does madam think?” he asked.

Charles could see very well why he was so famous. Starting from the improbable raw material of Charles’s overgrown male haircut he had created something stunningly feminine yet totally consistent with his age and professional image.

“Exquisite!” was the best he could think to say. “I’ll have to ask Barry to up my fees so I can come each week.”

“As a friend of Ms Weston’s it would be my pleasure. However, I believe your friend would now like to attend to your make up, so, if you will excuse me I will see how the other ladies are progressing.”

And he minced off.

They moved to a well-lit corner of the salon so that Amber could begin work on Charles’s face. Cynetta came across.

“May Aye watch, mum?” she asked. “Miss Leslie says that you are a professional make-up artist and Aye thought that Aye might be able to get some tips.”

“Of course I don’t mind. From what I hear from the same source, you are no amateur yourself. Grab a stool and why don’t you start by putting the foundation on. Here, see what you think of this one.” Together they worked on Charles.

“‘Ave you considered having your ears pierced, mum?” Cynetta asked.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Charles confided, “but I’m not quite sure yet. I don’t like to do things that can’t be undone so I think I’ll put up with clip-ons for a bit longer.”

“If you had your ears done you could have your willie done too, to hold it down,” suggested Amber.

“Yes,” retorted Charles rather angrily, “and we could get your clittie done so we can tie you down. Actually,” Charles went on, “it was done in Victorian times, willies I mean”

“Core!” said Amber and Cynetta in unison.

“Finally,” said Leslie when all the girls’ hair was done and every one had finished admiring the magic wrought by the combined handiwork of Raymond, Amber and Cynetta, “the big prezzy.”

From under a table she produced a box, 60 centimetres square and fifteen deep, elegantly gift-wrapped with a broad ribbon tied diagonally round it and ending in a big bow positioned towards one corner. She placed it on Charles’s lap.

“Open it,” cried Amber, excitedly, making a grab for the bow.

“It’s mine!” Charles reacted holding the parcel to him, recalling Amber’s impatience when he had undone the box containing the red evening dress. He proceeded to unwrap his present with excruciating slowness, unpicking the knot of the bow with the side of his finger nails so as not to damage their polish and neatly rolling up the ribbon, then lifting off each fragment of stick tape from the wrapping. To do so came naturally, it stemmed from when he was a child and presents were few; it made birthdays and Christmas last that bit longer. However it infuriated Amber, though she knew what was in the box she couldn’t wait to see his expression when he opened it. In her impatience she nearly forgot the video ‘til Leslie reminded her just as Charles was about to lift the lid.

Perhaps it was just as well that Amber’s hands were full of camera because inside the box were layers of coloured tissue paper that still hid its inner secret and that gave Charles a further opportunity to procrastinate. At last he got to the core and lifted out something black and held it up.

“Gosh,” was all he could say as he leaned back in his chair in surprised delight. It was the jacket of a Claude Montana leather suit like the one Leslie had worn when they first met and which had been ruined in the Sarah Turnbull attack. “Oh, it’s too much,” and, “You shouldn’t have,” and, “I don’t know what to say,” were all he could stammer out.

“Come on then, put it on” they all chorused.

He slipped off his things, fished the short, little more than wrist length, skirt with its two flirty side zipper, out of the box and held it to him.

“Never can be too short, mum,” said Cynetta admiringly. “Let me ‘elp you in to it,” and went to assist him.

“Odd being called, ‘mum’,” he thought.

Charles modelled the suit, “The shoes aren’t quite right,” he murmured.

“Just like a woman,” someone observed. “Spend £3000 on a suit for them and they are still not satisfied.”

“How do I look?” he asked.

“Wonderful.” Leslie told him. “Just keep it on and let’s all go out for an early bite to eat then we can go back to my place and spend the evening there together. There’s just one thing though, Charlotte.”

“What’s that?”

“Well I wondered if you could do me a favour sometime?”

“Of course, anything what is it?”

“Well, I miss my Montana suit and since I lent you mine once I wondered if you would lend me yours?”

“Of course I will, you silly girl.”

Amber giggled, she had never heard any one call Leslie a, “silly girl,” and get away with it, but on this occasion Charles did.

“It really is a lovely suit, mum,” said Cynetta. Aye wish Aye ‘ad the figure for it or Aye’d want to be on the ‘irer’s list, but Aye reckons Aye’s a bit too big round the top.”

“I think that should be alright,” said Charles, running the jacket’s zip up and down. “You ought to be able to get a nice cleavage. Your main problem with it would be your tiny waist. You’d need a belt of some sort to stop the skirt dropping off and to hold the jacket in.”

“I don’t think the cut is right for that,” said Leslie. “You can’t have it both ways, Cynetta, if you will corset yourself down to 42 centimetres you mustn’t expect clothes for mere mortals to fit you. Come on it’s getting late.”


“I’ve got a game for you two, well, more of a competition really.”

“Sounds super, Leslie! Your games are always bae fun,” Cynetta responded eagerly.

“Too much fun sometimes,” Amber muttered under her breath. “You want us all down stairs, I suppose?”

They all trooped down to the dungeon, Amber chattering excitedly to Cynetta, Charles wondering for the umpteenth time just what a mad house he has let himself in to. Gwyneth, concerned that Leslie had already been on her feet for too long for one day helped her down to the study from which she could take the lift to the basement, then brought up the rear.

By the time the four of them had arrived Leslie was sitting in her throne. They lined up in front of her for their instructions.

“First we’ll get Amber and Cynetta fixed up, then when it’s too late for them to complain, I’ll explain the rules. Strip off, to your stockings and shoes, both of you. Cynetta, keep your corset on.”

Amber would very much have liked to complain, but thought better of it and contented herself, as she climbed out of her clothes to ask, “What about you and Gwyneth and Charlotte?”

“Oh, rest assured, my dear that I have something planned to occupy us while you are enjoying yourself, now hurry up.”

Gwyneth had helped Cynetta so she already had her things off. Charles was unsure whether he should help or not. After what they had done to him earlier in the day there ought to be no inhibitions between them; yet he felt strangely reluctant to touch either of the girls.

Leslie clearly had been planning this event for a while; the dungeon was quite warm, hot even, for the benefit of the near naked girls. Charles felt quite sticky in his dress, or was it the threat of Leslie’s unknown ‘something to occupy’ him? She got up off her throne and pushed the girls to the centre of the floor and positioned them, facing away from each other by four rings set in to the paving slabs at the corners of a one metre square. She produced two pairs of ankle straps and fastened the girls’ ankles to the rings so that they stood with their legs apart in a wide upturned V, a metre apart.

“Right,” she said. “Gwyneth, you hold Amber and Charlotte, you hold Cynetta, as she is bigger, then ease them back so that their backs are together. Good! Hold them like that till I make them secure.” She passed a broad belt round both their waists, pulled it tight and locked the buckles. “Okay, you can let go, they shouldn’t fall over now. Just a few more accessories then we are away.”

Next she put studded dog collars round each of their necks using a small lock to fasten them together at the nape. This done, she turned her attention to the girl’s arms. Taking Amber’s and Cynetta’s, alternately, she fastened first their left and then their right arms behind them, attaching their elbows loosely to rings on the waist belt, so that Amber’s finger tips were poised over Cynetta’s crotch, and vice versa.

Cynetta tickled Amber’s clitoris, causing Amber to wriggle with delight.

“Stop that!” ordered Leslie, slapping Cynetta’s hand. “Wait till I tell you the rules.” The captives turned their heads, as much as their collars permitted, to listen. “I have here,” Leslie went on, “two rather generous dildoes.” What she produced from behind her were not so much generous as huge.

“Ye can’t bae serious, mum?” Said Cynetta with a gasp. “Not so ‘ugmongous a one, please”.

 “Once these are inside you,” Leslie went on, ignoring Cynetta’s plea, “you can each do as much as you like to excite the other. However, you have to use your muscles to hold the dildo in. The first one to let hers drop is the looser. The winner can then choose either to do something of their own choice with the looser of the game we three are going to be playing while you are at it,” Gwyneth looked at Charles and raised and eye brow, “or they can put the looser in to bat if they prefer.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Amber.

“That is none of your concern, young lady. You will have plenty of your own to worry about soon without being concerned about us.”

Both girls were already wet between their outstretched legs and, despite their massive size, had little trouble receiving their dildoes from Leslie kneeling beside them. Cynetta immediately resumed her attack on Amber who almost dropped her plug before Leslie had got up. She caught it as it emerged.

“Stop it, both of you,” She added as Amber made to retaliate. “Cynetta, that’s twice I’ve had to tell you. By way of punishment I am going to handicap you. Now both, be still ‘til I give you the off.”

Leslie went over to one of the side cupboards away from where Cynetta could follow her with her gaze. Leslie returned with something in her hand.

“These should balance it up a little,” she said as she opened her hand in front of Cynetta where she could see the content. She held a pair of toothy nipple clamps attached with short springs to 250 gram weights. She demonstrated them for the benefit of the Company and to whet Cynetta’s appetite.

“Pulling on the spring has a lever action on the teeth making them grip more tightly. Of course if the wearer moves her boobs the weights bob up and down furiously. I understand that it can be quite painful. But, we can get some first-hand information from Cynetta later.”

She clipped the devices to the base of Cynetta’s already hardened nipples on her ample breasts and adjusted the teeth so that they dug in, it seemed to Cynetta, almost to the point of penetration. Cynetta bit her lip as they were fixed, but couldn’t quite suppress a squeal as the pain briefly enveloped her.

“You all know,” Leslie continued with her lecture, “that nipple clamps are supposed to be worse when you put them on and take them off. That is true for static ones. These beauties,” she pulled one of the weights down a little and let it go so that it bobbed up and down on its spring causing Cynetta to let out another, louder, squeal. “Are just like putting them on and taking them off all the time.

“Right contestants; on your marks. Get set. Go!”

Soon the combatants were lost in their own world, oblivious to anything but the excitement welling in their bodies and the pressing imperative to keep their vaginal muscles clamped on the, now well lubricated, weighted dildoes and hold them inside them against the pull of gravity.

Leslie returned to the Charles and Gwyneth.

“What I propose is a game of strip poker. Whoever is losing when Cynetta and Amber have finished slogging it out is their prize. Okay?”

Charles did not think that it was at all, ‘okay’, but had already resigned himself to accept that, on occasions such as these, when Leslie was in her domain and in her present mood, her word was law and brooked no challenge. Gwyneth, though based on longer experience, had also reached exactly the same conclusion, in consequence both responded in unison with a, “Yes, sure!”

Charles was not a great fan of poker. He lacked the pure ability to bluff and to keep a straight face that was essential to success. He had played a little at university, but had really been a Bridge and Chess person. Soon he was losing handsomely and was down to his latex panties. Gwyneth was doing a little better and still retained her bra and tights as well when a thud was heard from across the dungeon and Cynetta let out a yell of triumph.

“Aye’ve won.” Both Cynetta and Amber started to giggle. Amber, not ceasing to attack Cynetta’s pussy soon caused her opponent to lose her tenuous grip on the massive member. They both convulsed with pleasure and laughter.

“That was fun. What to have a go with me, Gwyneth? Bet I could win that round,” Amber grinned, from ear to ear.

The card players got up and went to undo the others. Both were glistening with sweat. Rivulets ran down between their breasts, before mingling with other fluids to add to the substantial pool that had formed about their feet. Amber feigned a dejected look at having lost, but Cynetta could hardly contain herself only calming down a little and biting her lip as Leslie made to take off the nipple clamps, knowing full well how it would hurt as they were released.

“Ooooh, they really ‘urt, mum.” she said after they were removed. Leslie had freed her hands so that she could rub her smarting tits, then press her palms against her generous breasts to soothe them as circulation returned.

“Who ‘ave Aye won?”

“Charlotte.” Leslie replied.

“This is going to be very interesting.” Charles felt more than a bit apprehensive as Cynetta’s exotic eyes roamed over his near naked body. “Aye want to think about this,” she ran her tongue around her red lips. Charles put towelling robe round Cynetta to help her dry off and gave her a bit of a rub. “Aye’ll give you a fortnight to stop that, but ‘tis no good trying to ingratiate yourself,” he was told, “you are my prize now to do as Aye like, Mistress Leslie said so, right?”

However, it was not to be. From inside her handbag the ringing of Gwyneth’s mobile phone interrupted them.

“Sorry,” she apologised as she fished it out, “I forgot to turn it off.”

“Better answer it now,” volunteered Leslie. “It’s quite late for anyone to be calling. It might just be important. Perhaps you’ve won the lottery.”

Gwyneth put the phone to her ear, “Yes,” she said, rather angrily.

As she listened her face fell. The others gathered round as they heard a sequence of increasingly distressed, “yes’s,” “no’s” and “my God’s.”

Gwyneth switched off the phone and was silent; all colour having drained from her face.

“What is it G,” asked Amber coming up and touching her arm. Gwyneth burst into tears.

“The New Stables have been burnt down. The horses had been shut up for the night and couldn’t escape. They have been burnt alive. Three ponies and my champion show jumper, Quicksilver. They think that the fire was started deliberately.”

Uncontrollable sobs shook her whole body as she buried her face in her hands. Leslie, seated on the throne, took her in her arms and rocked her smoothing her hair and trying to comfort her.

It was Charles’s turn to organise affairs, his male origins betraying him as they were still inclined to do at times of stress.

“Birthday party over. Amber and Cynetta, go and get cleaned up and get your things on. Sorry about not letting you claim your prize Cynetta. Keep it on the slate for next time, I won’t forget.”

“Nor Aye, Charlotte” she said with a wink, as she hurried down the corridor to the bathroom.

“Maximum ten minutes everybody. I’ll drive everybody to Saxon Court in the BMW. We can drop Cynetta off at her hotel on the way. Leslie, look after Gwyneth. You’ll stay with her of course. Can I find anything that you need to take with you or would you rather deal with that yourself? All right, I’m going to change. I’ll be in the mews in ten minutes sharp, don’t waste time on your hairdos. Skoot!” He gave the still hesitating Amber, agog at seeing a side of Charlotte that she had not previously encountered, a loud slap on the bottom to accelerate her in the direction of the bathroom and was gone, to break the world record for climbing three flights of tall stairs in eighteen centimetre stilettos.


“Cynetta, where is your hotel, please?” Leslie had turned over the front seat to address her. As soon as Cynetta started to give directions, Charlotte announced the name of the hotel and made a quick right turn, to the obvious annoyance of following drivers.

“Aye’ll bae goin’ with ye ta ‘elp, mum.” She turned to Gwyneth who she had met for the first time, just a few hours before, trying to give what comfort she could.

“Cynetta, thank you, but there is nothing you can do to help. My horses are dead and the fire is out. We have a two-hour drive and the builder will arrive tomorrow to shore up what is left and make it safe for the time being.” Gwyneth patted her nyloned knee, as one would do to reassure a child.

“If nothin’ else, mum, Aye bae a trained ponygirl. Ye can use mae ‘til ye ‘ve ‘orses again, mum.”

Cynetta was completely serious with her bizarre statement and offer, still Charles and Gwyneth chuckled as Leslie burst out laughing so hard there were tears in her eyes.

“I don’t see anything funny about Cynetta’s offer,” Amber said, defending her recent adversary and, seated in the middle shifted as much closer to Cynetta as the crowded back seat allowed. She did not object and could not move into the door further.

“Cynetta, thank you, but I do not think I shall have not appetite, when I get back, for looking after a ponygirl, even as pretty a one as you are.”

“Well, mum. Aye could provide other services, mum.”

“Other services, Cynetta?”

“Gwyneth, my friend, Cynetta is a maid. I think you might find that she could provide you with a new definition for that term.

“Charlotte too, you can learn a lot! Just observe then emulate her. You still have quite a lot to learn,” said Leslie, it was the first Cynetta had heard her speak of her in such a way.

“There are maxims about Mademoiselle Cynetta, you’ll see they are true, Gwyneth. One big one is, ‘Never underestimate, Mademoiselle.’” Leslie gave a huge smile to Cynetta.

“That’s for sure.” Amber wiggled her hips as she squeezed her thighs together.

“Lesso, when we get over this barnacle, I want what you hinted at with her.”

Leslie’s laugh said she knew, Gwyneth and Cynetta surely did not and Charles just drove.

“And just what did our ever bubbly insatiable friend ask of you, Leslie?” Gwyneth was quite curious, the discussion briefly diverting her mind from the tragedy ahead at Saxon Court.

More giggles than laughs.

“I never had any client ask to spend a second time in my battery cage. Our friend has.”

Gwyneth slapped Amber’s thigh as Charles pulled up before the hotel.

“You, Amber, are completely bonkers.”

“And you, you old prude, didn’t feel what she did to my clittie!”

“Charlotte dear, promise that Aye shan’t be more than a few moments. Aye bae going with you. Aye can ‘elp!” So saying Cynetta gave her companions a quick look, not seeking approval that she felt she did not require, but that they fully comprehended what she had stated. Reaching over Charles’s shoulder, Cynetta grabbed the keys from the ignition switch and was off as fast as she could, into the hotel.

In less than twenty minutes, Cynetta reappeared carrying an apparently heavy suitcase. Gwyneth, having made up her mind, intercepted the maid before she reached with the key to unlock the boot. They stared silently for a moment before Gwyneth reached to take Cynetta’s hands in hers.

“That is an attractive outfit, Cynetta.” Gwyneth surveyed the form fitting black leather tunic that just reach the tops of her laced crotch length boots with towering stilettos, before meeting Cynetta’s eyes again.

“I do know that your offer to help in this is quite sincere, Cynetta, but I can’t accept it at the moment.”

Cynetta, sensing what she was being told, sniffled a protest, “But, I can ‘elp, mum.”

“I’m sure you can, I’m sure,” she gave her a hug. “But still I have to say no. I’m afraid there’s a lot more in this than just a stable fire that you don’t know about and I don’t want any more people to be involved than already are.” The light from the hotel foyer reflected off tears that started to flow down Cynetta’s cheeks, causing Gwyneth to nearly loose her resolve. To soften her rejection, she hugged her again and squeezed Cynetta’s hands.

“Make you a promise. When all this is all over, I’ll bring you to Saxon Court and let you show me just how good a maid you are. Is that better? It is a promise.”

 “Yes, mum.” Cynetta sniffled, dropped a deep curtsey. “Aye bae a good ponygirl, too, mum.”

“I’m sure that you are. Perhaps we can find an empty box to tether you in. I have it; we’ll let you share the box with our other ponygirl. You’ll enjoy that I’m sure.”

“May Aye know who bae yer other ponygirl, mum?”

As if to share a well-kept secret, Gwyneth rose on tiptoes and leaned her lips next to Cynetta’s ear. In a whisper she mouthed a single name, “Amber.”

They faced each other. Gwyneth saw Cynetta’s face wrinkle a bit then becoming a small smile. Though her tears had diminished, they still trickled.

“Aye’ll bae ‘oldin’ ye ta yer promise, mum.” She pulled her hands gently free and placed them to grasp the hem of her brief tunic then dropped a very deep curtsey.

“Good luck, mum. Mistress Leslie bae knowin’ ‘ow ta fetch me, should ye bae wantin’ me ‘elp.”

“Thank you, very much, Cynetta.” Leaving the girl standing on the pavement, Gwyneth re-entered the car and told Charles to drive on to Saxon Court.

Until they were outside of London, no one spoke. Leslie broke the silence. “I think that you should have accepted her offer, Gwyneth, Cynetta could have helped.”

“Perhaps, but until the battle with ST is over, I want no others involved. This is not for discussion.”

“I fear you are right to think it is Sarah Turnbull again, Gwyneth,” said Charles as they drove off, waving to a dejected Cynetta disappearing in the distance behind them. “I didn’t like telling you ‘til now, but I’ve had a threat not to meddle in her affairs. Now they have gone for you, perhaps because Leslie’s been staying with you at Saxon Court. We are all targets.”

Charles fell silent concentrating on driving rather too fast and his own thoughts.

Before Gwyneth or Leslie could expand on the problem that faced them all, Amber changed the subject.

“I really like her. Leslie, do you think it might be arranged for me to be together with Cynetta again soon?”

Even Charles had to chuckle when the others laughed over Amber’s request.

“I’ll give you something to think about, Amber, you might get to spend more time than you wish caged up with her.” Gwyneth added, diverting her mind from deeper thoughts, to tease her friend.

“I made Cynetta a promise, back at the hotel. I’m going to let her show me just how good a ponygirl she is and told her I’d provide a second to keep her from being lonely in her box.”

Leslie saw Gwyneth’s eyes flicker over Amber, beside her on the seat, but thought it fun to tease another.

“Charlotte, dear, I do think that you will make a most attractive ponygirl. Be fun watching you compete with one like Cynetta, don’t you think? They would be well matched for size as a pair, as well, don’t you think ladies?”

Charles stiffened, believing Leslie to be serious and unable to see her hand signal behind the seat for the others to be quiet. Rather formally, he protested.


You can also leave feedback & comments on the Plaza Forum


story continues in


If you've enjoyed this story, please write to the author and let them know - they may write more!
back to
TG/CD stories