Penalties

His fingers trembled when he picked up the telephone and began to dial the number. Her number!

It had been three weeks, three weeks of trying to regain control, of attempting to withdraw from her illicit web of fantasy. Oh, he had tried to be strong, to resist it but the lure of his forbidden fantasy nagged at him and his resolve crumbled like stale cake.

He wanted to say no but now he was dialling the number. Again! Even though he had said he would outlast her, to go the distance, his fingers were still pressing the buttons as if they had a mind of their own. The fact was, he wanted so much not to call but couldn’t resist, he just couldn’t!

Barry looked nervously around the office to see if anyone was noticing what he was doing but all seemed oblivious to his actions, going about the usual pandemonium that constantly inhabited the offices of Brown, Brown and Burrows.

As usual, his co-workers ignored him. They only approached him when they wanted something, some financial analysis but excluded him from any social gatherings. He didn’t mind, he was a little anti-social these days.

Twice he put the telephone down before completing the number, wiping his sweaty palms of his trouser legs while he gathered his resolve but it was no use.

The stale cake crumbled and Barry surrendered to his desires, surrendered to his fantasies.

And dialled.

It rang and rang until a loud click and her breathy, husky voice slid down the wire and nestled in his ear,

‘Hello?’

He cleared his throat and whispered, ‘it’s Barry…’

‘I knew you’d call.’

‘Yes…’

‘I thought you’d last longer but you’re not as strong as I thought.’ Her voice was casual, almost warm and yet with a hint of arrogance and steel. It was one of the things about her that he fantasised about.

‘No,’ he whispered, glancing around the office. ‘Can I see yo…’

‘Not very strong at all,’ she continued as if he had said nothing. ‘Are you?’

Barry swallowed. ‘No, I’m not,’ he admitted softly, hands sweaty around the telephone and a slippery sheen on his forehead.

‘Not what?’ It was asked in a teasing tone but Barry knew better than to reply in kind. That was not what she wanted and if he didn’t give her exactly what she sought, the call would be abruptly terminated and wouldn’t answer her telephone for another week.

‘I’m not very strong,’ Barry answered desperately, watching the Managing Director’s personal assistant walking across the open plan office towards his work-station.

‘No,’ she said with finality, ‘you’re not. In fact, you’re weak.’

‘Please…’

‘What are you?’

‘I’m weak!’ Barry replied in a hushed but anguished tone. ‘I’m weak! Bronwyn,’ he pleaded, ‘can I see you?’

‘I’m available tomorrow night at eight. Can you wait that long?’ she teased. ‘There is a penalty,’ she reminded him but Barry didn’t care.

Barry’s heart sank, he had hoped that Bronwyn would be available that night, no matter what the penalty was, but he knew better than to argue. ‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘I’ll wait.’

‘Poor darling. I’ll be at the Ritz under the name of Mrs Michele Mouse.’

Click!

Barry stared at the telephone before slowly replacing the now dead receiver. She had hung up on him!

Desperately he wrote down the name of the hotel and the idiotic name she would be staying under in case he forgot.

‘Are you all right, Barry?’

His head jerked up and he looked into the cool green eyes of Judith, the Managing Director’s personal assistant.

‘Yes,’ he said quickly with a feeble grin, ‘I’m fine.’

‘You look pale, almost green,’ Judith said with faint concern as her eyes danced over him. ‘You’re not going to be sick, are you?’

‘No, no. Really, I’m fine. Something just disagreed with me.’

‘How awful,’ Judith said with a complete lack of interest, placing a file on his desk. ‘Mister Brown requires a summary of the financial position of Hendon industries for tomorrow morning’s board meeting.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Barry said, picking the file up with trembling fingers.

‘Just email it to me when you’ve finished and I’ll print copies for the board. I’m leaving at six so I would appreciate the report by five.’

‘Yes,’ he said hurriedly, ‘of course.’

Judith vaguely smiled at him and walked away, leaving Barry with furtive thoughts of the next evening at the Ritz Hotel.

It had all been just a fantasy, that’s all. His secret, forbidden fantasy that Barry had controlled and hidden from everyone. Not once did he confide in anyone, not even his wife, Rose, and he kept his desire in check.

Unfortunately, Rose was now his ex-wife. She had found Barry’s best friend, Roan, to be undeniably attractive and they had fled together to New Zealand. Once the divorce had been settled, friends had slyly let Barry know that Rose and Roan were deliriously happy and operating a guesthouse in the Bay of Islands.

The Bay of Islands. Barry had stared at the postmark over the stamp on Rose’s final letter, a terse communication about the last of their property settlement and tried to imagine what a place called the Bay of Islands looked like.

Barry’s sudden bachelor life was miserable. He worked by day and sat alone in his small flat at night, watching television or reading the newspapers after a frozen dinner. Once or twice he had gone to the pub but that had also been rather miserable. Their friends, he discovered were actually Rose’s friends and they all drifted away, leaving him to his dull and ordered life.

And then he saw it.

A leaflet fluttered from his newspaper and he picked it up. It was just a small advertisement but it was the instrument that changed his life.

PERSONAL SERVICES

 

Mistress of Tease and Denial.
The third line carried a Post Office address and Barry read that advertising leaflet a hundred times, holding it in trembling hands. Finally, he wrote a short letter, sealing it nervously in an envelope and went to bed.

 

 

When he arose the next morning, Barry walked downstairs and tore the envelope and letter into many small pieces.

He wrote the letter at least three more times, tearing it up soon immediately but, at last, he nervously posted it and waited. Barry had been careful and gave his return address as a small local post office box he had recently reserved.

Would she write back? Who was she? Was it possible there was a woman who enjoyed tease and denial? How much would it cost?
These questions and more constantly plagued Barry as he went about his mundane life. For the first time, that mundane life had a shot of vibrancy within it but he was careful not to show any emotions to his co-workers. To them, he was the same old dull Barry from Finance.

 

 

Three days later, his shaking fingers retrieved a pink envelope from the Post office box and rushed home to tear it open. The envelop smelled of a sweet perfume that permeated his every sense and his hands were shaking as he stared at the paper.

The pink paper was folded once and just above the crease was the name Bronwyn and a mobile telephone number.

It took Barry an hour to assemble his courage to call, his foot tapping nervously as the phone rang and rang.

‘Hello?’

‘Ah…hello…is this Bronwyn?’

‘You called the number, didn’t you? Don’t you know whom you call?’ The female voice was cool and calm and yet strangely sensual. ‘Are you in the habit of dialling random numbers in the hope of engaging in social contact?’

Her teasing tone caught him off guard and he stumbled for words. ‘Ah…no…Ah…’

‘So you did call me? And why is that?’ she teased.

‘Ah…I wrote…a…letter…’

‘Is that Barry?’ His name in her soft and warm voice made his cock harden at once and he felt very hot.

‘Ah…yes…is that…’

‘What a lovely letter. Did you mean it?’

He had laboriously written about his favourite denial fantasy and Barry flushed, remembering the detail he had incorporated into the letter.

‘It’s…a fantasy…I…’

‘I know it’s a fantasy,’ she said crossly and Barry winced at her tone. ‘But you want me to make it come true?’

‘Well…sort of…’

‘Sort of?’ she pounced.

‘Yes…’ he said lamely, ‘or something…like it…’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘something like it.’

‘Could…you tell me how much…’ Barry stumbled through the delicate part of the conversation.

‘One hundred pounds,’ she said calmly, ‘for starters. It’s my introductory offer. Goodness,’ she suddenly giggled, ‘I sound rather important, don’t I? I sound like an advertisement.”

‘One hun…’

‘Yes, it’s the very least I will accept, I’m afraid.’ And, for a moment, her voice actually sounded full of regret. ‘It has to be cash, of course.’

‘All right,’ he whispered, head bowed.

‘Do you know the Boar’s Head Inn on Kings Road?’

‘Yes,’ he croaked, ‘I think so.’

‘Friday night at seven. I’ll be registered under the name of Miss Diana Muppet.’

‘Muppet?’ he said weakly.

‘Yes. Please don’t be late. I rather expect punctuality.’

Click!
Of course it wasn’t the original Boars Head Inn. That establishment had survived Henry VIII, the London fires and Hitler’s bombing but had fallen foul to greedy councils and developers. A large glass and steel hotel now stood in it’s place, incongruously retaining the original name.

 

 

The lobby was a first year architects vision of what a traditional wayside inn had looked like in 1678 – plastics manufactured to appear as royal oak and waitresses dressed as serving wenches, their faces expressionless, their eyes bored and their minds counting the tips and the hours until they were free – it was rather terrible but travelling salesmen and American tourists thought it was wonderful.

Barry had worn his best suit, a white shirt and a tie free of food stains. Unfortunately, Barry was a crumpler – that type of man who can dress in a smartly pressed shirt and, the moment he put it on, instantly wrinkle it, – and so he appeared a little dishevelled.

He was also losing his hair and the three or four wisps he carefully arranged over his expansive forehead had drifted off course to tickle his left ear. Rose had given up trying to get him to stop the ridiculous comb-over as she called it but he stubbornly retained it.

‘What am I doing here?’ he mumbled, feeling the pound notes in his jacket pocket. It was a rhetorical question as he knew very well what he was doing there, he was about to fulfil his fantasy.

The well groomed man behind the reception counter looked down his nose at Barry. ‘Can I help you, sir?’ he sneered, noting that Barry did not have any luggage.

‘I…I wanted to see Miss Diana Muppet.’ Barry felt a little foolish saying her fictitious name aloud but the hotel employee didn’t even blink. He had been employed in large hotels for over fifteen years and nothing surprised him any more.

‘The house phones are over there. I’ll put you through.’

Palms sweating, Barry held the white telephone, listening until it suddenly clicked and her voice said, ‘hello?’

‘It’s…ah…it’s Barry…’

‘Right on time. How rather delightful of you. Room 507.’

Click!

Barry stood outside the room, his heart pounding and fighting the urge to run away, to belt down the corridor and into the lift, to flee!

Instead, he gently knocked and waited. Finally, the door opened and a woman stood smiling at him. She was about thirty or thirty-five and dressed in a smart woollen skirt with matching half-jacket and cream blouse. Pearls at her throat and ears, her hair styled in what fashionable society would call a contemporary matron’s cut and her eyes were a sparkling blue. She wasn’t beautiful but obviously comfortable in her own skin and Barry had the insane thought that she rather looked like a young Margaret Thatcher.

‘Barry,’ she smiled, her eyes lingering on his vagrant hair and crumpled shirt. ‘It is Barry?’

‘Ah…yes…Bronwyn?’

‘Today I’m Diana,’ she announced with twinkling eyes. ‘Please, do come in.’

Nervously, he followed her in and the door closed behind him.

‘Do you have it?’ Bronwyn asked, her eyes gliding over him and he thought he saw her full lips twitch into the beginnings of a smile and then, maybe not.

‘The…money? Ah…yes.’

‘Be a perfect angel and put it on the coffee table.’

She stood by the door to what Barry assumed was the bedroom and watched as he sheepishly placed the money on the coffee table.

‘Wonderful,’ she said and smiled at him. ‘Come with me.’

Barry followed her into the bedroom and immediately noticed a pair of handcuffs fastened to the bed head by one cuff and the other cuff fastened around another pair of handcuffs.

‘Lie on the bed,’ she said gently.

A thousand thoughts overwhelmed his brain as he fought to make a decision. Once bound, he would be under her control and, although that was a part of his fantasy, it could also be dangerous.

The fantasy won and he gingerly laid on the bed after removing his jacket. ‘Lock the cuffs around your wrists,’ she said calmly, examining her fingernail polish as if it was much more important than him.

Maybe it was , he thought shamefacedly as he clicked the handcuffs in place. At the sound of the ominous click, Barry’s cock swelled and pushed against his trousers.

That movement did not escape Bronwyn’s careful eye. ‘I see you rather enjoy being restrained,’ she said with a grin. Barry blushed a deep red and looked at her, suddenly afraid. ‘Let’s see what we have,’ she said cheerfully as she began to undo his trousers.

Suddenly, Barry was engulfed with a sharp feeling of embarrassment that bordered on humiliation and he wished he hadn’t fastened the handcuffs.

Hot and aroused, he watched as Bronwyn’s capable fingers unbuckled his belt, unfastened the top of his trousers and slid the zipper of his fly down. ‘Lift up,’ she said coolly and pulled his trousers around his ankles once he did as instructed.

His cock pushed against his sensible white cotton y-front underpants. ‘Rather unfashionable,’ Bronwyn commented evenly as she slipped her fingers into the waistband. ‘I much prefer my lovers to wear boxers, so much easier to remove and not so little boyish , if you know what I mean.’

Smoothly, his underpants followed his trousers and his rigid cock popped into view and Barry’s face became even redder as Bronwyn gazed down on his pulsing cock.

‘Lovely, so cute,’ was all she said, stood up and walked to the dresser. Barry was suddenly mortified as he watched Bronwyn slip on a pair of white latex gloves from the box on the dresser and return to sit beside him with a bottle of hand oil.

Casually, she squirted the oil onto her glove and then began to slowly pump his cock.

Small slurping noises filled the room and Barry moaned as she manipulated his cock. ‘Your fantasy is to be teased constantly but not allowed to orgasm for sometime. I have got it right, haven’t I?’

‘Yes,’ he moaned, watching her hand in the white glove slide up and down his cock. It had been so long since his cock had been touched by another person and he immediately felt his orgasm building quickly.

‘Excellent,’ Bronwyn said, watching him keenly and then suddenly removing her hand, leaving him gasping and his cock twitching.

Bronwyn stood and smiled down at him as she peeled the gloves off. ‘That should do for a moment or two. You are quick, aren’t you? You almost spurted then.’

Barry’s breath was coming in deep gasps as he watched Bronwyn walk out of the bedroom, leaving the door ajar. Barry tested the handcuffs but found he was well and truly restrained.

This was a mistake! I’m crazy for coming here with this strange woman!

He could hear her voice in the other room and guessed she was talking on the telephone. Music then filtered through the half-opened door and Barry waited, naked from the waist down, restrained on the bed and with a twitching and stiff cock.

She returned after ten minutes, smiled at him as she snapped another pair of gloves on, repeated the ceremony of the oil and sat beside him to slowly play with his cock.

Her touch was so soft and sensuous and yet firm enough to rapidly build him to approach orgasm once again. Barry was soon moaning and gasping until her hand vanished from his straining cock. ‘No…’ he gasped, ‘no…please…keep going.’

‘I couldn’t do that,’ she said, removing her gloves. ‘That wouldn’t be what you paid me for. Now,’ Bronwyn smiled, ‘the waiters will be bringing up my dinner in a moment so I suggest you be quiet.’ Standing and smiling at him, Bronwyn added, ‘if it’s a nice waitress, I’ll bring her in so she can watch you be teased.’

‘No!’ he cried, aghast. ‘No…not…’

‘You’re hardly in a position to argue,’ Bronwyn said sternly. ‘Keep silent, there’s a good boy.’

Panicking, Barry watched her leave the room and listened frantically when he heard a knock on the door of the suite.

Voices and the sound of a trolley being wheeled in. Her voice came closer, as if she was standing close to the half-open bedroom door, as if she was going to open it to usher some blushing waitress in to see him tied half-naked to the bed, his exposed cock hard and throbbing.

She wouldn’t, would she?
Would she?

No, she couldn’t! She mustn’t!

 

‘Please wait,’ he heard her say, ‘I’ll just get my purse.’

‘There’s no need, madam…’

‘But you’ve done such a wonderful job. Surely I can recognise that?’

The door opened and Barry stared up at it, afraid that he would see Bronwyn accompanied by some sweet young thing in a fawn uniform but it was only Bronwyn who placed a warning finger to her lips.

Silently, she sat beside him and wrapped her warm hand around his straining cock. The touch of flesh without gloves rocketed through him and Barry quivered under her sparkling eyes.

Slowly, she masturbated him while watching him closely, a taunting smile on her lips. ‘Just a moment,’ she suddenly called to the door and Barry shuddered at the thought he was about to be exposed.

Again, she released his straining cock, leaving him shuddering on the edge of orgasm, stood, rummaged in her purse and left the bedroom and, to Barry’s horror, left the door almost completely open!

‘Here you are, you’ve both been very sweet.’

‘Thank you, madam,’ Barry heard a male say and, to his relief, the suite door closed.

A few moments later, Bronwyn appeared in the doorway, sipping champagne from a crystal flute glass and examining him with those flashing blue eyes. ‘Your letter was quite detailed,’ she said conversationally and he winced. ‘You have a sordid imagination but,’ she sighed, ‘that’s par for the course with men, isn’t it? I am constantly amazed at what men come up with. My girl friends and I chat about it all the time and just when we think we’ve seen the ultimate, another poor fool comes along with an outlandish fantasy.’

Once again, she casually toyed with his cock until he was begging her incoherently to let him to come, even offering her more money, an offer that made her smile.

Time and time again, she brought him to the edge of orgasm with her efficient fingers, teasing him and taunting him until he was a mass of quivering desire, desperate to achieve orgasm, to come !

Panting, fever-like and that crumpled white shirt now soaked with his perspiration, Barry pleaded with his eyes as she released his cock once again and sipped her wine.

All evening she had teased him, even eating her dinner while she stroked and caressed him. Of course, she always denied him what he now craved.

Until Bronwyn glanced at her elegant diamond watch and said, ‘three and a half hours. I think that’s sufficient. Now,’ she said, twinkling eyes looking down at his anguished face, ‘you want to spurt now?’

‘Please…oh please…’

‘Stop gibbering, there’s a good boy,’ Bronwyn said, snapping another pair of the white latex gloves on. ‘This is, after all, what you desired, your fantasy.’

Barry watched breathlessly as the gloved hand encircled his red cock and slowly began to stroke him until he was shuddering with pleasure and, grunting, spurted an arc of his seed across his pot belly while Bronwyn said cheerfully, ‘good boy, that’s the ticket!’

Freed at last, Barry struggled into his trousers, his face red and shame coursing through his every fibre. He had cleaned up with the box of tissues she had dropped on the bed beside him and had tried to avoid her smiling and knowing eyes as he almost ran to the door.

‘Bye, Barry,’ Bronwyn called after him.

Feeling he had to say something, had to attempt to draw some dignity from the evening, he pulled his suit coat tightly around his rumpled shirt and said haughtily, ‘I suppose thanks are in order but you have been paid, haven’t you?’

It was meant as an insult but Bronwyn smiled, sipped her wine and said, ‘yes, and you paid me to do that to you.’

Flushing, Barry opened the door. ‘I’ll say goodbye. I don’t think we will see each other again…’

‘No?’ Bronwyn raised her eyebrow. ‘We’ll see. You have my telephone number. I have some interesting tease and denial ideas I could share with you. Perhaps you’ll call when that fantasy of yours becomes too much to bear.’

‘I don’t think so…’

‘We’ll just have to see then won’t we?’

Barry slammed the door behind him.

He endured his mundane and lonely life and his lust for fifteen days before calling again.

A glance around the office told him that, as usual, he was just a piece of the furniture and no one really saw him, really noticed him.

‘Hello?’

‘Ah…Bronwyn? This…’

‘Is that you, Barry?’ she cried gaily down the line.

‘Yes,’ he admitted in a soft voice, ‘it’s me.’

‘It will be one hundred and fifty pounds this time.’

‘One hundred…’

‘It will be longer this time. Do you think you could survive five hours? A whole five hours?’

It was enticing, the idea of it seduced him and even though he knew most people would shake their heads at his weak fantasy of teasing and denial, it made him feel alive.

To be teased by her in that calm, confident and ultimately dominating way aroused him and there was no way he could say no.

‘Five hours?’ she prodded. ‘With just my hand for you to focus on.’

‘All right,’ he whispered.

‘Tomorrow night at seven,’ she said briskly. ‘The Coleridge Hotel on Kent Road. I’ll be registered as Mrs Edwina Bear.’

Click!

She was true to her word and Barry was restrained for five hours as she stroked, teased and tantalised him. Using her hands, a feather and even a pair of her silky knickers to stimulate him, the minutes ticked by but Bronwyn always left him on the edge and a quivering mass of flesh consumed by hot desire.

Finally, she allowed him to come and the orgasm he achieved was the most intense of his life and he felt he would ejaculate for ever.

Dressed, hand on the door knob, he admitted shamefully, ‘thank…you…I’ll call you soon.’

‘Please do,’ Bronwyn had smiled.

At the end of their third meeting, when Barry was quivering insanely, begging to come, Bronwyn had casually said, ‘I have a way to expand your little fantasy.’

She looked at him, her hand lying tantalisingly close to his red raw and straining cock and he tried to speak.

‘I have a chastity belt for you. I’ll put it on you after you spurt and then I’ll explain the rules. Do you want to come now?’

In his lost fog, Barry could only nod frantically and Bronwyn smiled as she stroked him to another shattering orgasm.

This time, she didn’t release him. Instead, she cleaned him up and he watched horrified as Bronwyn threaded his now flaccid cock into the metal tube and then locked the apparatus shut. ‘There,’ she said with satisfaction, pleased with her handiwork.

‘What are you doing?’ Barry managed to speak as he stared down at the metal device that now encased his cock.

‘A different game,’ Bronwyn said matter of factly as she released his hands. ‘This must be becoming a little boring for you so I’ve come up with a new game. This new game could be fun. We both know you love tease and denial, I’m only trying to make it better for you. Now, listen to the rules.’

‘Rules?’ he said weakly, still staring at his groin.

‘I’ll nominate a period that you have to wait until you come. This time, it will just be two weeks. If you get through the two weeks, I’ll play with you as I normally do at no cost.’

‘But…what if…I can’t…’

‘You just telephone me and you’ll get to come, you’ll have to pay me but you will get to have your little spurt.’

‘Oh,’ he sighed with relief.

‘But there will be a penalty.’

‘Penalty?’ Barry shot her a startled look as he sat up.

‘You’ll still get to come but because it’s early, there will be a penalty.’

‘What penalty?’ Barry demanded standing.

Bronwyn laughed. ‘That’s a surprise. You may never find out as you’ll be able to last two weeks, won’t you?’

‘I suppose so,’ he said miserably. ‘Look,’ he said suddenly, gathering his courage, ‘this has gone far enough. Get the key and unlock me.’

‘Key?’ She laughed again. ‘You don’t think I have it with me, do you? I’m not stupid, dear boy. Now, why don’t you run along? I have another friend coming to see me in twenty minutes. I know you would hate to bump into someone you might know.’

Horrified at the idea, Barry dressed and bolted, telling himself he could last two weeks.

‘Hello?’

‘It’s Barry…’

‘You lasted two weeks! Congratulations. I suppose you want to…’

‘Yes! Please!’

‘You sound rather urgent,’ she teased. ‘Is it urgent, Barry? Do you want to spurt rather badly?’

‘Yes,’ he admitted in a thick voice, ;’yes, I do. Please.’

She laughed softly. ‘Tomorrow at six at the Hilton. I’ll be registered as Miss Venus Mons.’

Barry lay exhausted after the marathon teasing session that had climaxed in…well, his climax! ‘Let’s have a bit of a challenge,’ Bronwyn had said, putting the chastity belt back on him, ‘let’s make it four weeks.’

‘Four…’

‘You know the rules. I hope you can last,’ she added with a grin.’

He couldn’t and telephoned Bronwyn after just seventeen days.

‘Bronwyn,’ he said hoarsely.

‘It’s Barry, isn’t it?’

‘Yes!’ he cried and suddenly wondered just how many other men she had in chastity belts. ‘I…I can’t…’

‘Of course,’ she soothed, ‘I’ll help you but there will be a penalty. As we agreed.’

‘Agreed? I didn’t agree to anything!’

‘No? I must be misinformed,’ she said icily. ‘Goodbye.’

‘No, wait! Please…yes…’

‘Yes what?’

‘Yes…a penalty…all right…but…please…’

‘It will be only one hundred and sixty pounds. Tomorrow evening at six thirty at the Royal Grand on the mall. I’ll be registered under the name of Mrs Patricia McHunt.’

Slowly, Barry replaced the telephone. The past few days had been hell, surrounded by the pretty women of the office and that bitch, Judith, the Managing Director’s personal assistant had made his life hell. Yes, it would be wonderful to come, no matter what the penalty was.

Completely naked for the first time and with a separate pair of handcuffs for each wrist, Barry stared at his tormentor as she teasingly stroked his cock, always stopping until he was about to come. Her stamina was immense and the caressing and the denial ritual went on for several hours until Barry was a begging, blubbering mess.

‘In a moment,’ Bronwyn said casually and Barry watched as she set a small video camera on the side table. The red light glowed and Barry swallowed.

What was going on?

‘Do you really want to come?’ she teased and Barry frantically nodded his head.

‘Yes! Please…no more…I can’t stand it…’

‘There is a penalty. I call it the humiliation penalty,’ Bronwyn informed him as she release his right hand. ‘You can do it now.’

Bronwyn stood back, folded her arms and smiled down at him.

‘Do…do?’

‘Wank. You must know how to do it. Go ahead or I’ll put the chastity belt back on.’

Red faced and humiliated but driven by his incredible desire to come, Barry closed his free hand around his cock and slowly began to pump. ‘That’s it,’ Bronwyn encouraged him, ‘wank for the camera,’ and he came in a heated rush.

When she was putting the belt back on, Bronwyn informed him the denial period this time would be six weeks.

He was astounded and protested vehemently but Bronwyn would not be swayed.

‘You can come any time,’ she said, smiling, ‘but there will be a penalty.’

This time, Barry was determined to endure the six weeks. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it? The denial game was intriguing him as well has keeping him in a constant state of arousal.

For the first time since his wife had left, Barry felt alive and sexual.

It couldn’t be that difficult could it? It’s only six weeks.

His fingers trembled when he picked the telephone up and began to dial the number. Her number!

It had been three weeks, three weeks of trying to regain control, of attempting to withdraw from her illicit web.

But now he was dialling the number. Again! Even though he had said he would outlast her, to go the distance. But he couldn’t, he just couldn’t!

Barry looked nervously around the office to see if anyone was noticing what he was doing but all seemed oblivious, going about the usual pandemonium that constantly inhabited the offices of Brown, Brown and Burrows.

Twice he put the telephone down before dialling the number and wiped his sweaty palms of his trouser legs.

And then Barry surrendered to his desires, surrendered to his fantasies.

And dialled.

It rang and rang until a loud click and her breathy, husky voice slid down the wire and nestled in his ear,

‘Hello?’

He cleared his throat and whispered, ‘it’s Barry…’

‘I knew you’d call.’

‘Yes…’

‘I thought you’d last longer but you’re not as strong as I thought.’ Her voice was casual, almost warm and yet with a hint of arrogance and steel. It was one of the things about her that he fantasised about.

‘No,’ he whispered, glancing around the office. ‘Can I see yo…’

‘Not very strong at all,’ she continued as if he had said nothing. ‘Are you?’

Barry swallowed. ‘No, I’m not,’ he admitted softly, hands sweaty around the telephone and a slippery sheen on his forehead.

‘Not what?’ It was asked in a teasing tone but Barry knew better than to reply in kind. That was not what she wanted and if he didn’t give her exactly what she sought, the call would be abruptly terminated and she wouldn’t answer her telephone for another week.

‘I’m not very strong,’ Barry answered desperately, watching the Managing Director’s secretary walking across the open plan office towards his work-station.

‘No,’ she said with finality, ‘you’re not. In fact, you’re weak.’

‘Please…’

‘What are you?’

‘I’m weak!’ Barry replied in a hushed but anguished tone. ‘I’m weak! Bronwyn,’ he pleaded, ‘can I see you?’

‘I’m available tomorrow night at eight. Can you wait that long?’ she teased. ‘There is a penalty,’ she reminded him but Barry didn’t care.

Barry’s heart sank, he had hoped that Bronwyn would be available that night, no matter what the penalty was, but he knew better than to argue. ‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘I’ll wait.’

‘Poor darling. I’ll be at the Ritz under the name of Mrs Michele Mouse.’

Click!

Barry stared at the telephone before slowly replacing the now dead receiver. She had hung up on him!

Desperately he wrote down the name of the hotel and the name she would be staying under in case he forgot.

‘Are you all right, Barry?’

His head jerked up and he looked into the cool green eyes of Judith, the Managing Director’s secretary.

‘Yes,’ he said quickly with a feeble grin, ‘I’m fine.’

‘You look pale, almost green,’ Judith said with faint concern as her eyes danced over him. ‘You’re not going to be sick, are you?’

‘No, no. Really, I’m fine. Something just disagreed with me.’

‘How awful,’ Judith said with a complete lack of interest, placing a file on his desk. ‘Mister Brown requires a summary of the financial position of Hendon industries for tomorrow morning’s board meeting.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Barry said, picking the file up with trembling fingers.

‘Just email it to me when you’ve finished and I’ll print copies for the board. I’m leaving at six so I would appreciate the report by five.’

‘Yes,’ he said hurriedly, ‘of course.’

Judith vaguely smiled at him and walked away, leaving Barry with furtive thoughts of the next evening at the Ritz Hotel.

‘I’m here to see Mrs Michele Mouse,’ Barry nervously asked the grey haired woman behind the hotel counter. Her nameplate proclaimed her to be Doris and with her wire spectacles and prim hair, she looked very much like a Doris.

‘I see,’ she said, ‘your name?’

‘Barry Jones.’

‘One moment, please.’ She tapped the computer keyboard, stared thoughtfully at the screen for a moment and then announced, ‘yes, Mrs M. Mouse,’ Doris said with a small twitch to her lower lip as she picked up the telephone.

‘Good evening madam, there is a Mr Jones,’ she said with a slight sneer, ‘to see you. Very good, madam. Thank you.’ Doris replaced the telephone, looked him up and down before saying, ‘Mrs Mouse will see you. It is suite 708 on the seventh floor. The lifts are to your left.’

Bronwyn smiled at him as he entered and placed the money on the coffee table without a word. ‘Good evening, Barry,’ she said.

‘I can’t stand this,’ he said mournfully. ‘I want it to stop.’

‘What, now?’ Bronwyn asked with a raised eyebrow. ‘Don’t you want me to play with you? You have paid for it.’

Barry stared at this exasperating woman, so immaculate in her conservative business attire and those flashing blue eyes. Most men wouldn’t look twice at her in the street but she was, in Barry’s mind so sexy and sensual when she sat beside him, fully clothed, to caress and stroke his rigid cock. It was as if she was inside his head, reading his dirty secrets and smiling.

And, above all, above everything else, Barry Jones, Finance Assistant, wanted to come!

Bronwyn obviously took his silence as assent and gently steered him towards the bedroom. ‘Why don’t you take your clothes off and lie on the bed. You know you want me to play with your dickie.’

In a dream like state, Barry walked into the bedroom of the hotel suite and slowly began to undress. Once again, there were two pairs of handcuffs attached to the oaken bed head and he guessed that, once again, his penalty was to masturbate for her while she watched. It was shameful and humiliating but, at the same time, very exciting.

Naked, except for his chastity belt, he lay on the bed and waited. He didn’t wait long and Bronwyn walked in with a wineglass in her hand and proceeded to lock the handcuffs shut.

Placing the wineglass down, Bronwyn retrieved a small bag from the floor and sat beside him. ‘I have another surprise,’ she cheerfully said, crossing her legs, nylon scraping. ‘See?’

It was a black leather dog collar with silver studs and before Barry could protest, it was wrapped around his throat and locked with a tiny gold padlock. ‘So charming,’ Bronwyn murmured, leaning back to survey her handwork.

‘But…’

‘Shush!’ A thin silver dog chain was locked to the collar with another padlock and the other end fastened to the bed head in a similar fashion. ‘There,’ Bronwyn beamed, ‘so fetching.’

Barry sighed and watched as Bronwyn deftly unlocked the instrument of his torture and soon his cock was standing upright, begging to be touched. ‘What a brave little soldier,’ Bronwyn said ironically, snapping latex gloves on. This time, the gloves were pink and seemed to accentuate the redness of his cock when she enclosed it with her gloved hand.

‘Does that feel nice?’ she murmured as her hand slowly moved up and down.

‘Ye…yes…’ he moaned.

‘Careful,’ she admonished him as he pushed against her hand, ‘we don’t want any accidents.’

An accident was exactly what Barry wanted and he tried again as Bronwyn stroked his quivering cock.

‘Naught boy,’ she said crossly, releasing his cock and walking to the door. ‘You’ll have to wait.’

Wait he did, for over thirty minutes until Bronwyn returned and continued her erotic ministrations and, this time, Barry meekly accepted her caresses, not pushing against her hand.

‘That’s better,’ Bronwyn said, stroking his rampant cock with her gloved hand while sipping her wine from the wineglass in her other hand.

Barry was screwing up enough courage to ask her what the penalty was when he heard a loud knock at the suite’s main door. Eyes wide with fear and surprise, Barry gaped at Bronwyn who simply smiled, released his throbbing cock and left him alone in the bedroom.

His ears strained as he heard Bronwyn open the suite door but could only identify two female voices speaking in muffled tones.

Another woman! She’s brought another woman here!
There was laughter, definitely female laughter and the clink of glasses. More giggles and then what Barry dreaded, footsteps moving towards the door.

Desperately, he looked down at his naked body and his rigid cock as if he hoped that by some magical force he was suddenly clothed but he was still obscenely naked with a throbbing cock.

‘There he is, all waiting for his little spurt,’ Bronwyn said from the doorway and Barry, suddenly fearing the worst, turned his bright red face and saw Bronwyn and Judith smiling down at him.

Judith! The Managing Director’s personal assistant!

Stricken with shame and humiliation, Barry tried to move his head away but his frozen neck would not obey him. ‘You know Judith Durham, of course,’ Bronwyn teased and both women smiled at him over the rim of their wineglasses.

‘Hello, Barry,’ Judith said with a giggle. ‘You are glad to see me,’ she added, nodding at his rampant cock.

Barry willed his face away from that pair of flashing green eyes and Bronwyn’s knowing blue ones and his cock seemed to grow harder from the acute embarrassment of the situation. The office would never be the same again!

‘Say hello to our guest, Barry,’ Bronwyn said sharply.

‘Hello,’ he mumbled, chin to his chest.

‘Hello, Barry,’ Judith said gaily. ‘I enjoyed watching your video, the one where you masturbated.’

Oh no!
His face went even redder and both women giggled.

‘I especially liked the way you screwed your face up when you spurted. I thought it was rather deliciously funny and I tried hard not to laugh every time I saw you at the office.’

Barry hung his head as he recalled how Judith has smiled at him when she delivered files from the Director.

She knew, she had watched me wank!

Bronwyn sat beside him and released his hands, standing up quickly. ‘Get off the bed,’ she said softly, ‘it’s time for your penalty.’

There was no escape, he knew that. The chain locked to his throat prevented any opportunity to flee and he slowly stood naked in front of the two women.

‘Kneel down there,’ Bronwyn pointed at the floor in front of Judith and meekly, he followed her instructions.

‘Tell Judy how long you lasted?’

‘Three weeks,’ he mumbled, head low.’

‘That’s not very good, is it?’ Judith said scornfully.

‘No,’ Bronwyn agreed, ‘we have to teach him better control.’

We? What is she going on about? Please, let this be over with quickly.

‘This is your penalty, Barry. You get to ask Judith if you can wank and, if she’s especially nice, you just may get to spurt.’

Barry looked up at his tormentors and swallowed.

Ask the secretary of his boss of he could wank?
The shame and humiliation flooded him but his cock quivered as it stood proudly, jutting from his bed, red and ready to spurt.

He had to come!

‘Can I wank?’ he mumbled, staring at Judith’s black shoes and nylon covered legs.

‘Look up, Barry,’ Judith commanded and he was forced to face those green eyes. ‘What did you say?’

‘Can I please wank,’ he muttered, face glowing.

‘You did do an excellent job on Hendon Industries. Of course, I took the credit but I suppose you deserve a reward. Yes, you can wank.’

He wanted to deny them the enjoyment of humiliating him but Barry couldn’t, driven as he was for sexual relief. Slowly, he began to caress himself as the two women watched and offered encouraging words.

Finally he came and they clapped as he came and spurted at their feet.

‘Pity the poor hotel maid,’ Judith said, looking down at the puddle at her feet.

‘Up on the bed, Barry,’ Bronwyn said calmly and after cleaning him, slid the belt back on. ‘I’m leaving on Monday to spend the summer in the south of France. One of my charges has a villa there and he has absolutely begged me to come. I imagine he wants to come as well!’ Bronwyn and Judith laughed at that.

‘So, I’m giving the key to Judith.’

Barry looked at her in horror. ‘Please…’

‘She’ll be very good for you, Barry. You do enjoy tease and denial, don’t you?’

‘We knew you would,’ Judith said calmly, sipping her wine, ‘that’s why we slipped that advertisement into your newspaper. We thought you were a perfect candidate for our stable.’

It was planned from the beginning! Judith was in on it from the start!
‘How long do you think he should go this time?’ Bronwyn asked Judith.

Judith stared down at Barry, a sly grin forming on her full lips. ‘I think eight weeks.’

 

Eight weeks! Please, no!
‘Of course,’ Judith smiled, seeing the broad expression of horror filling his face, ‘you can ask me to come but there will be penalties.

Barry sank back on the bed, trying to ignore their giggles and wondered if life would ever return to normal?

‘There are always penalties,’ Bronwyn giggled. ‘And Judith’s penalties are wicked, very wicked indeed.

Barry suddenly felt like crying but his cock did stir in the metal tube.

First Published 2005

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