Wage Slave

by Gail P. Wright

  Adam swallowed audibly. “I think I’ve figured it out.”

  Peter raised an eyebrow.

  “The Yard High Club, I mean.”

  Peter smiled. “Forewarned, old son, is forewarned,” he said in a stage whisper, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of a hairy hand. “Control. Always keep something back. Either the which, the what or the when. This is the first sip of the real vintage for both of you. Don’t gulp it. Savour every drop.”

  Adam was suddenly aware of what he was doing: the knickers he’d been absently fingering in his pocket were back before his face like a nosegay.

  “That’s an idea,” cried Peter, pointedly unbuckling his belt and stepping out of his trousers. Sloughing his shirt, he stood there, thick legs effortlessly supporting the massive, barrel chested body, clad only in a white jock-strap which a bull couldn’t have better filled. “If you’re shy don’t ..”

  “Not at all.” Adam stripped faster than an adolescent on a promise. The pouch front of his briefs, one of Eva’s trial selection, which were more sensuous to wear than he dared admit - bulged equally impressively. Outlining the indurate dick in a crimson sheen, the satin held the heaving head in an elastic embrace against his belly, where it palpitated in frustrated fury.

  Removing his jock. Peter snapped his fingers. “Let’s have ‘em!” When a puzzled Adam handed over his briefs, he gave each garment a sniff and nodded: “Nicely ripe. They’ll do fine.” Tiptoeing over to Eva, he shook out the jock-strap and slipped the waistband over her head so the pouch covered her mouth and nostrils. Then, lifting the briefs over Petra’s face, he stood back to watch the result.

  No longer able to hold her breath, Eva shook her head violently and the supporter slipped off. With a grunt Peter snatched it up, fashioned a hitch in the waistband and replaced it. This time she shook in vain and was obliged to inhale the sour odour of sweaty balls.

  Petra, compliant as always, breathed steadily. If she recognised the strangeness of the smell she gave no sign of it. Perhaps this scene had been played out before. Perhaps attracting and involving acolytes was simply Peter’s way of spicing things up.

  A cruel impulse started him fingering the tawse again But Peter seized his wrist. “Not yet, “ he urged. “I thought you’d worked it out! Just follow my lead.”

  So Adam shadowed Peter’s every movement.

  He stood belly to belly with Eva, so close his prick needed propping on her jaw. Reaching his left arm round her thigh, he used the tips of thumb and forefinger to pry apart the livid labia, revealing the lambent interior. Ducking, he embedded his nostrils in the plush pink velvet and revelled in the moist fumes first hand.

  The effect was instantaneous, quicker than a whiff of poppers or a spray of mace. Dizzy and desirous by turns, he pressed his tongue into the crease and searched out the bead Finding the quickening nub, he nuzzled and nudged it, sucking and flicking the juicy berry into exquisite sensitivity. Eva quivered, registering a five on the Orgasm Scale. He slowed to a steady lap, allowing partial recovery while he aid the foundation for the Big One. Perhaps the Biggest Ever.

  Her abductors shuddered as she strained to close her legs, but the harder she fought the more determinedly he burrowed. Cunt equalled control and he wasn’t about to relinquish any of it. Steadying her hips he slobbered over the crinkly inner lips and ploughed deeper into the fondant furrow.

  PLATTT!

  Eva floundered, burbling a scream. The shock gave her strength and for a second or two she heaved up far enough to smother Adam’s face in her flesh. Still tonguing, he twisted and saw Peter similarly occupied but with sufficient presence of mind to find an appropriate use for his free arm. Adam raised his own tawse and swiped it where Petra’s cheeks should be: PLATTT! Feeling the responsive jolt, he finally recognised a good thing.

  Somewhat less rhythmically than before, they resumed their tandem tanning: PLA-PLATTT! P-PLATTT! PLATTT-ATTT! A syncopated symphony of strapping.

  Now everything was on the move; thrashing men and thrashing women. Even the beam swung drunkenly back and forth.

  PLATTT!...PLATTT! PLA-ATTT! PLATTT! PLATTT!

  Fuck it! Cock at bursting point, Adam tossed aside the tawse and fumbled with Eva’s gag. Tearing it and the jock-strap off in one violent movement, he took a steadying grip on her waist. Tilting his pelvis, he aimed the turgid bulb and launched it at her mouth!

  ***

  Eva was pissed off!

  Her jaw ached and the blood felt to be bloating her head to netball size. She’d been beaten to within a spasm of climaxing only to have the pain cease a stroke too soon. Then, adding insult to injury, the bastards had decided to really swing and change partners, quietly, so they thought she wouldn’t know. But she knew, all right. She knew Adam by touch, taste and smell and it wasn’t his pants she’d had her head in!

  And Adam had agreed to that other bastard sucking her off! While he cunnied Petra, no doubt - for Petra’s convulsions had matched her own.

  But she’d be fucked - and he’d have to be clever to manage that from this position - if she’d suck HIM off!

  So, thwarting his first thrust against gritted teeth, Eva took the initiative. Opening her mouth wide, she extended an inviting tongue. The RSVP wasn’t long in coming.

  As the prick’s second rush took it skittering towards her gaping throat, the careering cock blundered past her cheek and out into space.

  Resisting the urge to bite down on the offending organ, she went two better. As the pursuing balls collided with her brow she nudged forward. And butted hard!

  “UUUUUURGH!”

  Got ‘im!

  SLAPP! Her head rang as a hand slammed into her temple.

  “Bitch! Fucking bitch!” snarled a pain choked voice, wracked and contorted with rage.

  Gotcha! Polish those fucking horse brasses, wanker!

  Heavy feet shook the room behind her.

  “Adam? What’s up?” Peter thundered.

  Peter? Adam? ... “Oh, my God!” Now Eva really was pissed off!

  Chapter Five

  “Ouch!” What a stupid place to leave a lump of stone.” Adam clutched his throbbing toes and hopped on into the bushes. “Ah, shit!” The other foot found the missing statue lying in the grass. Couldn’t Peter be satisfied with plaster gnomes instead of pseudo-Italian masonry?

  A rustling from the denser shrubbery by the garden wall summoned him back to the chase. Odd flashes of bare flesh beckoned him on, heedless of the branches lashing face and body. The thin nylon briefs afforded him sod all protection, doing nothing more than prevent his cobblers from getting into a serious tangle.

  Edging warily past a row of spidering rose bushes. he found himself back on the lawn. Eva was almost at the back, her bounding bottom a gold-pink salute of farewell.

  “Hey! Stop!” he yelled fruitlessly as, with a skip and a slam, she disappeared into the house leaving him to hobble painfully after her.

  The door was firmly bolted. Panting with fatigue and fury, he hammered until his fists hurt. Where was Peter? Had he also been suckered into a corner? God preserve them from wily women!

  Fetching a stone from the rockery he smashed the glass panel. The passage was empty. Likewise the Hospitality Room. Which meant she was upstairs. Floor by floor, Adam sought the elusive Eva. Under behind and inside every conceivable hiding place - and a few which weren’t. Nothing. Nor a whiff of Peter.

  On the uppermost landing he paused for his breath. The Rubber Room door stood wide. Nothing moved inside, but he checked anyway. Turning, his heart gave a jump. Across the landing stood Petra. Stark naked, she stood motionlessly watching his fevered search. While he was still trying to fathom her purpose, she pointed to the door of Peter’s study. In three strides he was there.

  He entered cautiously. It was in total darkness except for the recta
ngle of bare boards framing his shadow. He felt for the light switch. There wasn’t one. he stepped forward, peering myopically.

  “Eva?”

  The only response was a shove in the back. The door slammed. A key turned. Darkness.

  “Eva?”

  His voice lacked its former authority. Only his rasping breath and hammering heart disturbed the dusty stillness. One tentative step at a time, he advanced into the room. If he gof away from the door there was always a chance Eva would make a break for it, back into the light.

  Four paces. Five. And still he’d not encountered furnishings, just more boards and empty space. Six ... He started! Something brushed his cheek. A light cord. Snatching gratefully, he tugged.

  With a Frankensteinian splutter and buzz, the fluorescent tube flared.

  “Hullo,” said Eva, smiling sweetly. Heather just glared.

  Reacting instinctively, he studied each naked women in turn. A glance was sufficient for Eva’s familiar form, but Heather’s sumptuous shape demanded more time. Her frankly formidable breasts, full hips and rich thighs arching from a tightly curled muff occupied his mind for those few precious seconds when he should have been noting what the women held. By the time he did it was too late.

  “Oooooooph!” He doubled over as the handle of Eva’s thick cane thudded into his unsuspecting solar plexus. Nearer the floor, he managed a glimpse of the long plaited lash curled by Heather’s feet - just before she whipped it expertly round his ankles and yanked his feet from under him.

  Like overseers beating work from a slave, the harridans laid into him. Head, body, limbs; anywhere they could reach. THAPP! FWIPP! THAPP! FWIPP! THAPP! FWIPP!

  And Adam wasn’t proud. He yelled.

  “SHIT! OUCH! FUCK! Just you - AHH! BITCH! CUNT!” Twisting desperately, he made blind grabs for their weapons, suffering further agonies in the process from blows rained on his unprotected knuckles.

  The pounding ceased.

  Warily he opened his eyes. Eva and Heather - demonic smiles contorting their beautiful faces - stepped apart. Into the gap came Petra, a cat ‘o God-knew-how many-tails in her hand, each tendril tipped with lead. Hard eyed, she spoke.

  “After me, girls. One, two, and a one-two-three...”

  Right on cue they commenced the round:

  SLASHH! THAPP! FWIPP!

  SLASHHH! THAPP! FWIPP!

  “Aaah! No! Aaargh! Adam twisted and cursed some more. But this time with a purpose of his own.

  Rolling onto his belly, he steeled himself against the fusillade which threatened to lay bare his spine. Thrusting a hand into his briefs he grabbed his secret weapon, took a steadying breath, and span over onto his back with a cry of triumph.

  he women froze, their faces stunned into a communal rictus of horror at the object held before them like a cross before vampires - and with as devastating an effect. Their weapons fell unheeded from nerveless fingers. Colliding in disarray, they retreated before the diabolical spectacle.

  “Ah ha!” Adam drove them back, gloating at their stricken terror. “Never learn, do you? Down, slags! On your knees. DOWN!’

  hey collapsed In a cowering heap.

  Taking the giant phallus in a two-handed grip, he swung the monster member high. The knob gleamed, Excalibur sensing victory.

  THUDD! THUDD! THUDD! He slammed it down upon their heads, knocking them askew. THUDD! THUDD! THUDD!

  “Adam!”

  THUDD! THUDD! the bludgeoning took its toll, hammering the trio flat. Chopping swings flung them onto their backs where, one at a time, they surrendered - “Adam!” - THUDD - to the colossus who ruled THUDD-”Adam!”- their lives - “Adam! Wake up Adam!”

  “Eh?” Adam dragged his feel from the tangled duvet and stumbled to the bedroom door.

  “At last,” cried Peter. “Talk about the sleep of the dead!”

  Adam yawned. “Sorry. Didn’t hear. Dreaming.”

  Peter nodded, eyeing Adam’s rampant dick. “So I see. Well, waste not want not. Let’s go check on the girls.”

  ***

  A plethora of thoughts occupied Petra’s mind during the long night hours. To sleep would have meant missing the deepest, most profound experience in all the games she and Peter played, so she wallowed, content, in a skin-deep universe; revelled in the rubber swathe which wrapped her as snug as a cock in a condom.

  Not even the discomfort of her posture could detract from the heady latex perfume filling her lungs; the head-to-toe elastic clutch, more intimate than a lover’s hug; the tormenting trickle of rolling sweat relieved only at her shaven snatch by the huff and puff of Eva’s breath.

  She lay spread-eagled. Centre floor. Limbs stretched to the corners by straining steel cables. Peering blindly through the misted lenses of the gas-mask into the rubber lined, rubber curtained, blackly silent uterus of the room.

  Images of anticipation flickered endlessly. Involuntary tics and jerks nibbled at her composure as neutral sparks flashed randomly across starved retinas, precursing that gut churning moment when portentous light would flood from the opened door.

  Fate hovered on silent wings, sheltering Petra in ecstatic isolation. Blood pounded in her ears. Air hissed through the respirator. Eva’s head pressed stone-hard and heavy on her groin.

  ***

  Balloons. Parties and sticky feasts. Childhood’s glee and wide-eyed gratitude.

  With the rubber smell of Christmas assailing her nostrils, Eva railed dumbly against the incongruous associations, marred though they were by the concentrated odour of Petra’s rank sweat and sex enveloping her face.

  The men had had - perhaps even contrived - difficulty getting her into position for the night. Naked, her legs strapped every few inches and with several more straps binding her arms rigidly from wrists to biceps, she’d been heaved along the rubber floor between Petra’s gaping thighs. Then - like settling a side of beef for butchering – the shoving had started, fine tuning the end result. For Petra’s staked out, latex-swaddled body was to be her living tomb.

  The hood moulded onto the front of her thick rubber knickers had been stretched carefully around Eva’s head and fitted snugly round her neck. Claustrophobic panic had dwindled with realisation that vents near the groin permitted her breath; dwindled, but did not vanish. For once she was safely inured, the men padded away, clicked off the light and slammed emphatically out.

  Perspiration rapidly pooled on the indented tiles until she lay in her own slime-slick. All efforts to pull away from Petra’s ucky wet, fleshy meringue of swollen sex lips were steadily eroded by the irresistible tug of the hood until, neck muscles strained beyond bearing she succumbed.

  And so she lay: nose jammed awkwardly into Petra’s pubic bone, mouth pressed tight against the baby-bare vulva - already as tacky as Peter could have wished!

  ***

  Adam was surprised. Looking over Peter’s hairy shoulder, he had half expected to see the women grinning with sheepish pride at their escape. But nothing had changed since, without a backward glance, he’d borne his throbbing testicles off to bed the previous evening.

  Petra rolled her head and he sensed her studying them through the fogged glass. She drew a long breath as if steadying herself, then turned her face back to the ceiling.

  Eva remained motionless. Her position reminded him of spermatozoa which, breaching the egg, gives up the struggle and clings on for dear life. The room was palpably humid and her skin glistened. Her ribs expanded rhythmically, each breath demanding deliberate effort. He wondered what she had by then decided she would give for one good gulp of clean air.

  While Peter busied himself with Petra. Adam knelt beside Eva. Despite the straps, her fingers and toes were healthy pink; which came as a relief given the vengeful spirit in which he had bound her. Offering a cautionary vow for next time, he touched the
dewed hollow of her flank. And pulled back sharply when she jumped.

  Fevered imaginings had strung her bowstring tight; a red- hot poker couldn’t have provoked a greater response than his hand. She tensed as if electrocuted, the straps straining. Her toes scrabbled, gripped and lever her knees clear of the floor. Her buttocks tightened and rounded. Her neck and back arched, stretching the hood almost to rupturing point, peeling her breasts from the floorings sticky grasp. A wailing moan rose in muffled threnody, counterpointed by a muted, liquid gush as her bladder voided, the endless stream of signalling the cataclysmic climax of fright in her thrumming body.

  As quickly as it erupted, the paroxysm passed. The collapse was total. Drained, inertia dispelled every vestige of the wilful woman in thrall to a masterful male.

  Surrendering to a wave of sympathy Adam rolled the hood from her head, revealing matted, sodden hair around a face so shameful that she pressed it back into Petra’s crotch.

  Twining his fingers in the tangled locks, Adam pulled her head up. The eyes were closed, her teeth gritted. Bending, he pressed his mouth to hers, tasting the stranger’s sex which coated the blooming lips; pressed and moulded patiently until, slowly at first and then more urgently, her fervour matched his own.

  Their breath was rapid. Tongues slithered and probed. Teeth grated and ground. And when he finally drew back it was to glimpse unimaginable depths in her expression.

  ***

  Peter was pleased. The young couple were approaching the point of no return. That ultimate commitment. Their final vows.

  So, what if it was a gratuitous thrill to relish the vigour and variety of youthful inexperience? That he and Petra had come late to a physical resolution of their problems was, after all, a mixed blessing, highlighting the vacuum of wasted years and ineffectual arguments. His one cause for regret was that in becoming a Master he had faced the reality of his own responsibility and been found wanting.