Night With Mommy

by Sofia Connor

  He drove them out of their street, through the collection of shops in the centre of the suburb then down the hill and through the tunnel into town. She had him park under the raised section of the motorway by the Terrace which meant it was at least a ten minute walk through town to the club. As he got out of the car to open the door for his wife his legs shook so much that walking was difficult. Even as he stood holding the door for her his knee was trembling uncontrollably and he was breathing hard. As he closed the door she took his hand and held it tightly without saying anything. She knew he was terrified, she had seen how he had reacted every time she had suggested being seen in public in women's clothes. Always before she had worried it would be too much for him and had tried to think of a way of breaking him in gently but today she was too angry to care much. She was happy to drop him in the deep end and see how he coped. Serve him right. Even so she held on to his hand.

  He helped her into her jacket, locked the car, and they set off down the narrow path with the steps that led under the Terrace. As they came out of the narrow tunnel into the steep little alleyway of Woodward St she felt his hand tighten its grip as he braced himself. Luckily for him the street wasn't very crowded but still he kept his head down so as not to catch anyone's eye. The tape around his crotch meant he couldn't walk fast but he was practiced enough in the low heels so that it looked fairly natural. She kept hold of his hand and looked at people as they passed to see their reaction. Most people were too busy with their own affairs to pay much attention. Every now and again she caught an odd look but the people looked away quickly when they saw her looking back. Only one young woman, in very high red heels and a long black dress frankly stared and kept looking as they passed. She raised an eyebrow and gave her a smile and the girl's mouth opened slightly as she smiled back, blushing. If he noticed this interaction, he gave no sign. He kept his head down and held tightly to her hand.

  On Lambton Quay one of her colleagues was walking purposefully towards them, caught sight of her and came up to talk.

  "Hello Catherine, how is it going?" she asked.

  "Good. Good," his wife said, "I've been meaning to catch up with you about your restructure."

  "Sure, this week is pretty much gone but sometime next week? I think first thing on Tuesday is clear."

  "OK, when I get back to my desk this afternoon I'll get Sal to give your PA a call. I think Tuesday should be fine. But it is going well?"

  "Pretty well. The first round is over and we are recruiting for the third tier now."

  "Well don't poach any of my people. But sorry, I had better get a move on now if I'm going to make my two o'clock."

  "OK, good to see you, I hope we can catch up on Tuesday."

  While she was talking to his wife the woman had looked at him curiously a few times but had not seemed especially surprised. The two women kissed each other on the cheek and they all moved briskly off down the Quay in their separate directions.

  "Does she know about me?" he asked.

  His wife shrugged, "Never said anything but she keeps her ear to the ground so maybe she has heard something. I wouldn't be surprised. I must ask her to dinner and show you off. We could let her see your arse after this evening's thrashing so she can see how I'd like to keep my team in line." She laughed, "She probably guesses."

  As they went down the Quay he held his head up a little more. He caught a few stares and blushed but didn't look down. Once a group of office girls smoking outside their building all looked together then turned to each other giggling and he managed not to flinch.

  On the narrower footpaths on Willis St people seemed more concerned about not walking into them in amongst the building work than staring and as they got close to the Club in Cuba St it was his wife's elegant and obviously expensive grey dress that was attracting the odd looks from the dreadlocked and pierced passers by.

  Turning into the doorway of the Club and climbing the stairs he was feeling quite breathless. In reception his wife went straight up to the desk and quickly said that she was bringing in something for Mary and it wasn't allowed to leave until she came to collect it. The receptionist was the girl with the rose tattoo.

  "Good, yes, Mary said to expect him. What time do you think you will be back?" It sounded like the same snooty woman he had spoken to on the phone.

  "Well, Mary said she should be able to get round to him at about six so I'll try to get away from work by then to watch. If I don't make it she should just get started anyway," his wife said, backing away from the desk.

  "OK, I'll let her know. Have a pleasant afternoon and we'll see you later."

  "Good. See you later. I'd better run if I'm going to make my meeting," she turned on her heel and left without a glance at him.

  The receptionist's smile faded immediately. "In there, Fucktoy," she said indicating a door across the hallway. "I'll be keeping an eye on you," she tapped her screen, "so keep your dirty hands off yourself and don't touch the magazines. Shut the door behind you."

  As he pulled the door closed he heard it lock. The room was small and windowless, a small sofa and a large plant with shiny leaves on a side table its only furniture. On the walls were photographs of Vixen and some of her girls dressed up and looking sternly at the camera. There were a couple of Toulouse Lautrec posters of dancing girls with old men leering at them. On the table next to the plant was a pile of magazines, fanned out so he could see they were hard core BDSM. On the cover of the top one a girl in full pony gear was on her knees being fucked from behind while she sucked the cock of another naked man in front of her. Her back and thighs were marked and both men had riding crops. He remembered what the receptionist had said and guiltily looked for the camera. It was in a smoked glass dome in the centre of the ceiling. He could feel it looming at him so he looked away from the magazines and sat down on the little sofa, keeping his hands on his knees over the skirt.

  He had thought that they would have left him to wait naked and bound uncomfortably; kneeling on a hard floor at a minimum or suspended by his arms. That's what his wife would have done - with clamps on his nipples and a huge dildo up his arse to give him something to think about. He should have felt let off lightly just locked away in his dress but in a way he felt disappointed. As the afternoon wore on he knew he would have preferred to be bound. With nothing else to do, the pile of magazines preyed on his mind. To see the cover of the top one properly he had to turn his head at an angle and was busy reading the list of articles on the front when he remembered that the smug girl on reception would be watching him and was no doubt keen to report on him to Mary. More punishment on top of what she had promised him already didn't bear thinking about. He sat back in the sofa.

  Once the thought was lodged in his head he couldn't stop thinking about it. Thirty strokes! Like so many things in this fetish relationship with his wife, being beaten was exciting to think about before it happened, wonderful when it was over but awful while it was happening. The sexual excitement gave way to simple pain and fear after the first few strokes. Once a beating got going all he wanted was for it to stop. After four strokes from Mary he knew he would be begging to have it all end and wouldn't be able to remember how sexy and thrilling it seemed only a few minutes earlier.

  He suddenly just felt foolish sitting there in a cleaner's uniform, women's underwear and a wig. What could ever have made him think it was a good idea? But now the door was locked and there was nothing to do but wait until he was dragged out and beaten. He sat as still as he could as his fear and feeling of foolishness grew along with his desire to look at the magazines. If his cock had been free and the supercilious girl had not been watching he would have wanked over the magazine for sure.

  oooOOOooo

  He was feeling very sorry for himself when the sound of the key startled him. He was also thirsty and hungry and his bladder was full. The receptionist threw open the door and stood looking at him.

  "Right, she is ready for you. Get your clothes off."

  She shu
t the door and leaned on it to watch him, holding a cloth hood and swinging a collar and lead casually. He took off the wig then pulled his dress over his head. She seemed very amused by his false breasts and dropped her cool pose to come over to him and feel them.

  "Mmm. These are nice. They must make you feel very girly. Let's see what you have in those pretty knickers." She reached in to feel and turned her mouth down sardonically when she felt the tape.

  "Drop them and let's have a look. Oh yes. Very tidy but Mary said naked so you better get it all off."

  "Are you sure? Miss Mary usually..."

  "Don't fuck with me, Bitch!" she shouted and hit him hard across the face, "Get your prissy little cunt out."

  Trembling he put his knickers on the pile of clothes, took off his shoes and stockings and started picking at the edges of the tape to get it off. The tape usually stayed on longer and it was difficult to get hold of enough to pull on.

  He had just started when Mary breezed in. "Backchat?" she said smiling pleasantly looking at his red cheek.

  "Yes. He was slow to start getting that tape off."

  "Well, his Mistress... wife, does like to have him beaten with his cock taped down so she doesn't have to see him get excited. But keep going now you have started," she said, shaking her head slightly, seeing him trying to smooth the tape back down, "you'll just get in a mess if you try to put it back. Time to get back to the desk now, thank you, Claret babe. I think Vixen is expecting someone."

  The girl left grumpily, leaving the door open. Mary closed it, still smiling and leaned against it with her arms folded as the plump girl had before. Getting the tape off was proving really hard and she watched him struggle with it, pulling at the hair around his cock, with an air of increasing amusement.

  "Had a good day today, Fucktoy? That looks a bit painful."

  "Not a good day so far, Miss, but I'm used to the tape."

  "Oh, good. Well, I'm looking forward to making your day a whole lot worse for you then. When you've finished there get down on all fours for me please," she pushed herself up from the door and was looking around for something.

  "Where is that collar and hood? Oh, bloody Claret's taken them out with her." She left him for a moment, shutting the door sharply then returned with the gear. The last of the tape was off and he was already kneeling as the door opened.

  "Good," she said and knelt down beside him to buckle on the collar and pull the hood over his head. She ran her hand over his buttocks and reached for the cock between his legs then stood up to lead him crawling out through the reception area as his cock hardened.

  "Let's get you to the Punishment Room."

  He knew it well. It was a small room just down the corridor, but not so small there was no room to swing. The only furniture was a solid horizontal whipping bench for the subject and a couple of chairs so their owner could watch in comfort. The first time they had used it his wife had asked if it was soundproofed and been told that it wasn't and it was deliberately close to reception to give people waiting something to think about.

  Clarissa was still looking sulky but stood up and leant over the desk on her elbows to look at him as they came out. Just as they got in front of the desk his wife came up the stairs, slightly flushed and out of breath, and stopped to watch approvingly.

  "Good, not too late then."

  "No, Miss Robinson, not too late. Your Fucktoy is just being taken down for his punishment."

  "So I see. Excellent. Has he been behaving himself?"

  "I don't know, Catherine," said Mary. "Has he been, Claret?"

  "Pretty much, Miss Robinson. I didn't see him touch himself or the magazines while he was in there. He did seem very interested in them though."

  "Mmm, he does have a dirty mind. Let's get on with it," said his wife handing her jacket and briefcase to Clarissa and following Mary and her crawling slave along the corridor.

  Halfway down, one of the doors opened suddenly and Vixen strode out talking over her shoulder to a slight young woman with very short hair bleached platinum blonde. Vixen came out so abruptly that she nearly fell over the slave. Mary pulled him to a sudden stop with the lead just in time and Vixen stepped quickly to one side to recover her balance. Vixen nodded to his wife.

  "Ah, good. Do you mind if we watch?" she asked.

  "Not at all," said his wife, "although I don't think you'll find this worm very interesting."

  Vixen and her companion, who was looking very flushed and nervous, fell into line at the end of the procession as Mary got him crawling again with a kick and they carried on down the corridor. When they entered the Punishment Room Mary just kept pulling on the lead until he had no choice but to clamber on to the whipping bench. She dropped the leash and started searching the racks on the wall for wrist and ankle cuffs. His wife sat in her favourite chair with the familiar almost non-sexual thrill rising in her. Vixen and the young woman stood in the doorway.

  Mary found the cuffs and dropped them on his back in a pile as she started to buckle them on and clip them to the rings on the bench. She worked methodically, without saying anything, frowning slightly with concentration, putting a cuff on each wrist and ankle, pulling the limb as tight as she could and moving on to the next one. Once he was bound to the bench she went around each corner pulling the cuffs out and clipping them to rings a little further out until he was stretched out so tightly he couldn't move. The only sound in the room was the rattle of the buckles on the cuffs and the quick breathing of the woman with Vixen.

  His senses were filled with the smell of the leather of the bench through the musty hood. His heart was pounding. He knew it was going to hurt but even though it was so familiar he couldn't actually remember exactly what it felt like. Mary carried on, pulling up the thick leather straps attached to the bench and buckling them tightly over the small of his back and across his knees. He was completely immobilised and beginning to sweat. He heard his wife cross her legs restlessly and knew she was getting excited.

  Mary was at the rack on the wall sorting through the implements looking for the one she wanted. Sometimes his wife suggested what she should use but mostly she just let Mary choose. It was what she liked most about Mary, her almost casual brutality. Mary was happy to role-play if required and took obvious delight in the pleasure some of her clients took from milder forms of bondage but she always seemed most relaxed causing serious pain with a minimum of fuss. It was ideal for what his wife needed. She could do all the mind fucking with her slave and then hand him over to Mary and, with an ironic smile, she would inflict the torture to the edge of what he could bear. Certainly beyond what he thought he could bear. The muscular young woman seemed very sure at finding the overlap.

  He was scared. He was trembling and sweating clammily onto the bench. His wife couldn't stop herself smiling. After this she was going to take him home and have him lick her to orgasm and then bring her off a few more times with her vibrator. She'd have to make sure his cock was taped down again before he got started on licking her. It was disappointing that Mary had let him take the tape off.

  Mary had chosen her implement - it was a new one, a long thick riding crop made of fibreglass with a black shiny latex cover. She swished it through the air a few times and despite its thickness it made a lovely noise. There was silence after the swish as everyone in the room pictured what it would be like when it ended on the crack of hitting flesh. Especially the man on the bench. He flinched. The woman with Vixen had her mouth open.

  "How many strokes today?" Mary asked.

  "Thirty six, thank you Mary," said his wife. Mary raised an eyebrow.

  "He needs punishing. I found a dirty magazine he'd had posted to himself in the rubbish and I think he's been wanking without permission," his wife explained to Vixen, "haven't you, Pig? Disgusting. I know you have so now you have to pay."

  He felt a huge shock go through him when his wife pronounced his sentence. He was shook his head in the hood and starting to say, "No, no, Miss Mary only said thi
rty..." when his wife shushed him. It could only get worse so he lay still and clenched his teeth waiting for the first stroke.

  Mary stood behind him with her legs braced wide apart and began to lash him slowly and deliberately, clearly putting a lot of strength into the blows. As he had feared, the pain was too much for him almost immediately. This was not about leaving pretty marks, there was no warm up; this was just about causing him pain. He was screaming and begging incoherently but Mary ignored the noise completely and carried steadily on counting under her breath. She was pausing long enough for him to feel each stroke but not so long that the pain of the last one faded so the intensity built and built. At eighteen strokes she changed sides.

  When the beating was over the women were still, watching the man cry into his hood. The woman with Vixen had gone completely red and looked horrified but was running her tongue over her lips unconsciously. His wife waved her over.

  "Just looking around? It's a very good place. You can touch him if you like."

  "Yes, I am just looking, thank you," the woman said, "I've never been anywhere like this before. Do you come here a lot?"

  "I bring him in every month to get twelve or sometimes twenty four to keep him in line."

  The woman was very tentatively touching the bruises across his arse. Her touch was very gentle and felt strange through the burning left by the crop. His arse felt like it was wrinkling under her fingers.

  "What do you mean, keep him in line? Do you have him beaten even when he's done nothing wrong?" she asked.

  "But of course he's doing things wrong; he thinks about his dick all the time, looks at women in the street, fancies them, that sort of thing. He always needs punishing. And I like him to have marks, to remind him who he belongs to."

  "But he was in so much pain -- shouldn't you give him a chance to say no? Couldn't he sue you or something?" the woman asked, turning to Vixen.

  "No, we've got a contract signed by him to say we can do whatever his Mistress asks, haven't we?" said Vixen