Chapter 1

 

I am writing this because I think it is a story worth telling and as a form of self-analysis, to try and reach an understanding of what I have become in just twelve short months.

Where should I start? It seems odd that, even as I gaze out of the window looking for inspiration, he is here under the desk awaiting my command. He is naked - he has not been allowed the luxury of clothing in my presence, or that of my friends, for many months - and his bondage is particularly restrictive. He is kneeling with his wrists and ankles chained together behind him. Another, heavier, chain runs from his ankles, through his cock restraint and up to his neck collar to ensure that he cannot lift his head. In this way he is being forced to look directly between my legs. I use this to my advantage, opening my legs from time to time, smiling as I hear him groan. The restraint will allow him a partial erection but today I have chosen a longer set of spikes and even a hint of excitement will cause him extreme discomfort.

Just last summer I was seated at this same desk thinking about my future. I had passed my psychology degree with honours and had been offered a scholarship at Princetown. The problem was money. Even with the bursary, a year in America was going to be expensive. My parents would have helped out, all too willingly, but I did not want to rely on them. I had already funded myself through Cambridge by doing some modelling work but I found the experience demeaning. Many men and not a few women have told me that I am beautiful and I am vain enough to agree but modelling is a world in which men are empowered at the expense of women and I did not want to have any more to do with it.

It was the phone call from Claire that changed things. She's an old school friend who dropped out of university after a year to set up her own employment agency. She had found me two months' work with a local company which held out the promise of reasonable pay and a potentially high bonus.

This is ridiculous! My computer screen is telling me that it's 9.03 a.m. and I'm already considering putting his tongue to use. I guess it's Gemma's fault. It was after speaking to her last month that I had his tongue pierced. She put me in touch with Helen Geitter in Vienna. Helen has made a name for herself as an artist creating gold and silver jewellery. The studs that she made for me were ridiculously expensive but totally exquisite. Each comes with a petite, triangular-headed tool which allows the studs to be locked once they are in place in his tongue. Today's stud is flat headed and covered with a pattern of raised dimples. I've turned him into a living clitoral stimulator! I'll save him until later.

The company that Claire put me in touch with was essentially a one-man band and that man was Oliver Edson. At first glance I was impressed. Around thirty, over six foot and still in possession of a full head of dark hair which was well cut in a style both casual but business-like.

His eyes were deep blue and his smile was almost startlingly white. He looked as though he worked out and his Armani suit sat well on him. It was only as he started to speak that I had my reservations. There was just something about him, something, at the time, that I could not put my finger on.

Another groan from under the desk. I'm wearing my silk kimono which does little to hide my modesty when I'm standing. Now that I am seated he is exposed to the full majesty of my womanhood. One of my recent enhancements was the introduction of a small spotlamp fixed to the underside of the desk. He knows that every extraneous noise will be noted and that his punishment this evening will be modified accordingly.

Edson was in the business of putting charities and aid agencies in touch with hauliers for mercy missions. More recently he had leased vehicles of his own and he needed someone computer literate to devise a simplified method of reclaiming the multifarious fuel tax rebates to which he was entitled. I had started out doing mathematics before I switched to psychology and so Claire gave me a ring. The job was challenging but, in the end, quite straightforward. I had a system devised inside two weeks and, with the help of Kylie, Edson's permanent secretary, the backlog was almost cleared within another two. Edson rarely made an appearance and Kylie suggested that he had fingers in many pies.

As so often nowadays I find my mind drifting. It is not many hours since I last punished him and already I'm looking forward to having him at my mercy again. Later this morning I have an appointment with the saddle maker. This is another of Gemma's "finds". Ostensibly he still makes saddles for a living but in reality he makes his money from discreet commissions from the finest dominatrices in the country. I asked him to make me a penis whip and he suggested that I also have a punishment platform. He showed me how the leather straps gird the victim's hips and thighs, allowing the wooden platform to jut out a right angle to the body. The penis is secured to the platform with a series of thinner adjustable straps. In this way I will be able to use the whip even if he remains flaccid but I am assured that, if the straps are correctly adjusted, the blood can be trapped in the penis, keeping it erect whether he likes it or not. I am getting excited just thinking about it and another groan tells me that he can probably smell my arousal. Back to the job in hand.

It was as I went to work on the current fuel tax returns that I spotted the anomaly. On some trips far more fuel was being used than the mileage warranted. My natural curiosity being aroused I asked the depot manger to send me copies of the tachometer records. Sure enough, the mileage recorded was excessive but, more oddly still, the fuel tanks were being refilled at shorter than expected intervals. It was almost as though they had reduced capacity. I put two and two together. The vehicles were going out of their way and, having done so, their fuel capacity was diminished. I remembered reading about the prohibition years in the States and how alcohol was smuggled inside bladders which were filled, and hidden, inside vehicle fuel tanks. My guess was drug smuggling, which would also account for the lavish lifestyle that Edson seemed to lead.

It's no good, I can't wait. I have shifted slightly forward in my seat and pressed the button on the desktop which causes the spotlight beneath to flick on and off. He recognises the signal and I hear his muted gasp of pain as he adjusts his chained body to get into position. He does not have the use of his hands and, because of the stud, he can only use the tip of his tongue. He shuffles even nearer and I can feel the warmth of his breath between my legs. He is waiting for the signal to begin and, tempted as I am to keep him waiting, my own impatience has got the better of me. I touch the button again and try to suppress a quiver as I feel the tip of his tongue working on my pubic hair. He is getting good at this. He moistens my fur so that his tongue can find its way through and he begins to work on my outer lips. I will let him concentrate there for a few minutes before I allow him to progress to the next stage.