Of course I found out about all of this later, some of it from Ralph, but I also gathered a lot from what I overheard between the women as they conversed. They never paid any attention to me. I was like a lamp or a table. In fact I was often used as a foot stool by one or more of them when they relaxed over tea in the late afternoon. When they were comfortable they spoke very freely with no concern about how I might feel about what they were saying. It was one such afternoon noon when I found out about an important change in my life. I was on all fours in front of the chairs occupied by Margarite and Susan. both of them had their feet placed firmly on my back, while I supported the weight of both of their legs. this had gone on for about 45 minutes and my wrists were numb for lack of circulation. I couldn’t even feel the strapping tied around my balls because of the dull pain my shoulders and neck were generating because of my extreme fatigue.
“I’m sure that you will be careful with my property, Susan. You are one of my very best friends and, after all, you know Bobbie quite well and he adores you.” She pulled on the leash attached to my collar as she said this, pulling my tired, achy head towards them. I tried to smile as I looked at them. I glanced directly at Susan to see her reaction to what had been said and as I did so I could see a vibrant light within her bright blue eyes and a look of anticipation, which I could not mistake. I had been feeling a certain dread growing over the realization that Margarite was planning to loan me out to Susan. My love for my mistress is so profound that any suggestion that I might have to live without her was a devastation to me. But she had said many times that the time might come when I would have to prove my loyalty to her by serving some one else on a temporary or even permanent basis. She had told me that it might be another women, or even a man (though I really never believed the latter). It might even be someone she hardly knew, to pay off a debt or something. She sometimes would joke with me about the possibility of auctioning me off to raise money, and when she teased me this way, I generally thought nothing of it, even though there was occasionally a certain edge to her voice and an impersonal tone which would leave me with a feeling of uncertainty and vague fear. Because of these uncertainties it was a tremendous relief to know that I would be so close to my mistress and be able to see her and continue to serve her from time to time, that I would not be sold- only loaned; and that I would not belong to a stranger or have to put up with indignities from some homo in order to prove my loyalty to Margarite.
After I had cleaned up Susan’s kitchen and returned to the living room, Margarite and Dr. Pam were ready to leave. I was to stay with Susan, though I had taken none of my clothes or other possessions with me. As it turned out I didn’t have to worry about anything. As Margarite was saying goodbye to me, she explained that Susan had decided to provide everything I would be needing and had described it as “the least she could do considering the value of the property she was being lent.” Margarite gently stroked my hair as she explained all of this to me. When her face was so close to mine I always became weak. smelling her perfume, her make up and lipstick put me in a trance. In fact, I valued the time I spent close up to her, in her aura so much that I had trouble concentrating on anything else. She kissed me on the eye lids, on the nose, the cheeks and finally my lips. I felt her finger tips slip under my apron caressing my swollen nipples- sending shivers through my chest and weakening my knees beneath me. My head was swimming in confusion and I was trembling meekly. Because she so seldom kissed me at all, this experience was especially magical for me. It filled me with a conviction to serve her loyally through my service to Susan. As her softly spoken words died away in my consciousness, I could feel her removing the collar I had worn for the last three years from around my neck. Turning me around with a gentle touch on each of my shoulders she presented me to Susan, who placed a new collar there, one which felt unfamiliar and a little uncomfortable. By this time I good feel a tear descending out of each of my eyes and traveling down my cheeks. As Margarite said her final good bye I could hear her voice catch with sadness and maybe a touch of regret. but this was very brief. The three women returned to a busy rush of good bye talking characteristic to their sex and again I had become part of the furniture. Reassuming a demure slave-like position near the door I began to wonder what it would be like living in this new place, with a new mistress to command me. Would she stroke my nipples until a drop or two of cum pushed its way out of my penis? Would she slap me as hard and as authoritatively as Margarite? Would she punish me? And if so, how? I didn’t even consider the possibility that I might be permitted to have intercourse with her, her image was so far beyond any hope I had in my own sexual identity.
I watched Susan, as she slowly closed the door after the departure of her dear friends. She was five feet nine inches tall without heals and had well formed long, languorous legs that pushed up against a taught set of very sexy buttocks. Her breasts I remembered as being about as perfect as any could be. Uniquely uplifted, they were unusually blessed with large erect nipples that seemed to point slightly upward as they bounced along atop their swollen spheres.
“On your knees Bobbie, crawl to me.” I did as I was told. “When you get to my feet, you may lick them.” This was already something new. Margarite had liked to have her feet kissed and her toes licked but always with her shoes off. It was clear to me that Susan had no intention of taking hers off. With her high healed boots on she was over six feet tall and towered above me, a vision of sexual dominance in black slacks and a white blouse that barely contained her incredible breasts. As I began to kiss and lick her boots I felt a rush of excitement and felt myself becoming erect. I was once again in a perfect place at a perfect time with a perfect person doing a perfect thing. I was like a pet who had been moved to a new home with a loving owner. Provided with the necessities of life and the dedicated task of serving my new mistress I was as happy and devoted as a well trained dog might be. In the days and weeks to come I would often think of Margarite, enjoying the memory of the time we had spent together; specific events that had showcased her dominance over me or my servitude to her, would float before my eyes and provide me with refreshing thrills of submission as I realized their shameful significance. But I had much to learn from my new mistress and much to hope for in the way of intimate privileges. Would I ever be allowed to touch those gorgeous breasts of hers? Would she order me to kiss her lofty buttocks? And wouldn’t it be like a trip to heaven if she were to allow me to place my tongue on her precious clitoris and inhale the musk of her exalted cunt while I labored away the hours in sacred duty. I well remembered Margarite’s experiments and demonstrations when I was shown off as a pussy slave, but those moments were not the private intimacies of love and I was a little frightened about what could happen to me in the presence of Susan’s sexual power.
These were the dreams I savored night and day as I worked for the beautiful Susan. I especially enjoyed washing and ironing her expensive lingerie. Most of it required hand washing and careful treatment with a cool iron. As I handled each item I thought of its rightful place on her warm and sensuous skin, I thought of the scent that was uniquely hers. I had vivid memories of oral service to her during those morning coffee klatches several months before, when Margarite was showing me off to Susan and Dr, Pam.
I remembered one day in particular. Margarite had blindfolded me and lead me into the dining room where all the women were sitting around the table, just finishing up the coffee cake I had baked the night before. I could tell from the voices that there were more people present than just Susan and Dr. Pam- at least two of the voices were completely unfamiliar to me. Margarite preceded to remove my apron and told me to step out of my panties. Everyone cheered when my little boner sprung out of its nylon sack and bounced back and forth as I turned my body with my head, trying to figure out what was going on. Margarite grabbed my balls and lifted them sharply upward until I was almost standing on my toes. Bobby has many talents. He is not just a reasonably good domestic. He has a phenomenal ability to identify a person by their scent. In order to demonstrate this talent it will be necessary for you to make room for him under the table. Releasing my balls from her firm grip she told me to get on my hands and knees and crawl under the table. this was not the first time I had been told to perform cunnilingus on Susan and Dr. Pam, but it was the first time I had been made to do it for strangers. I wondered what they looked like, who they were. Did I know them? Crawling under the table I moved forward until I encountered a foot. I gently touched it to orient myself and brought my other hand to the opposite foot. The woman whom I had touched gave out a shriek of surprise, which was followed by a chorus of cheers from the others. They were obviously enjoying themselves. I slowly pushed myself up under her dress and by the time I had reached the top of her stockings I knew that this person was a complete stranger to me. After I had pulled her panties down and placed my tongue in a mound of moist pubic hair I was caressed by a scent that was the apotheosis of cosmetic achievement- a combination of scents actually, layered like an olfactory tort. A tangle of expensive perfume that caused my head to spin, underlain by the bass note of feminine musk that riveted me to my task. I didn’t know who this woman was, but I immediately dedicated myself to pleasing her with all of the artistry my humble tongue could create. While I was busy pursuing her clitoris from every side I thought about the public nature of this event. I was already over the embarrassment of my shameful behavior, so involved was I in the servitude. I nevertheless realized that this magnificent woman, whomever she might be, would probably be inhibited from having an orgasm by the presence of the others. This would mean that I would probably go on for a long time with my labors with no eventual reward. You see, nothing pleases me more than pleasing a woman. And nothing verifies my success more than to witness a full-on female orgasm that I have contributed to in anyway. Of course, I preferred it to be the result of my diligent tongue, but as you already know being cuckolded and abused is quite thrilling enough for me- if it really pleases my mistress. Soon I began to hear short gasps coming from my woman’s mouth and I could hear the others hushing in surprise. Apparently no one expected anything more than a little thrill and a lot of laughs at my expense to come out of this little experiment. I began to feel the pressure of the woman’s thighs against my cheeks. Her garter belt snaps tore at my ears as her voice increased in volume. She began to gasp breathlessly, mouthing fractions of words with long vowels in the middle- trailing off into a guttural humming. I could hear the silence of the others being broken by tentative but encouraging exclamations of admiration. My tongue worked harder and harder, finding every corner of her womanhood, continually finding new receptors of sensation, surprising rhythms with which to tantalize her pulsing cherry. Suddenly it began to shrink and I knew that her orgasm was just coming within reach. I redoubled my efforts pursuing the fleeing clit deeper into the folds of her labia.
Her orgasm went on for several minutes, while the ladies on either side of her held her hands for support. After it was over, Margarite or perhaps it was Susan, placed a bowl of hot water and a Wash cloth next to me on the floor and then placed my hand in the water to inform me of its presence. “Bobbie, do you know this woman?” Margarite asked me. “No Mistress, I answered. “This is Jill, you should thank her for the privilege you just received.” “Thank you Mistress Jill,” I said as I dutifully washed my face. After I finished I moved counter clockwise to the next recipient.
I knew immediately that this was Susan. the singular smell of her designer leather boots rung in my head like a familiar bell. My mouth began to make saliva as though I were one of Pavlov’s dogs, for I knew that her delicious pussy would be a rewarding treat for me. Her female aroma was addictive. On a previous occasion I had been required to finger her clit and then play with her G spot while I licked her. Margarite had wanted to demonstrate the usefulness of a pussy slave to Susan. The scent that remained on my fingers became a treasure to me. It was several hours before I could convince myself to wash it off. And then it was only because I knew it would be the only way I could regain enough focus to complete my chores and avoid an extended whipping session with one of my mistresses’ most wicked instruments. Needless to say I completed my task with the utmost of devotion. Susan’s orgasms were less showy and I am sure that the ladies did not appreciate my effectiveness if they judged by her outward gestures. In this situation I felt a swelling pride because I could feel the deeper responses coming from her clit and from the swelling of her labia as they embraced my mouth like the petals of a flower and there were subtle changes in her aroma that were indescribable to me. I knew that parts of my sensory system were being activated and played with. Buttons were being pushed that I had no knowledge of and I was being even further enslaved to female service by a powerful inner urge that responded to a natural magic that was probably older than the race of man. Even as the contractions in her lower diaphragm continued reaching out to my retiring tongue and pulsed against my lingering fingers I gasped out her name, “Susan!” Several voices called out, “Aha!”, followed by good natured laughter and general exuberance.
This experience was so heavenly to me and so rewarding emotionally that I went on to the next woman’s legs with the kind of anticipation that a dedicated monk might feel as he begins the next worshipful task in his long sequence of never ending service. Each woman had her own distinct aroma, unique taste and set of erotic reactions to my stimulations. But where was Dr. Pam? I could not believe that I had not correctly identified her yet. After slipping off the shear and somewhat moist panties of my next Mistress I returned to my favorite occupation. Her scent was familiar but elusive- I couldn’t quite place it and was feeling like I might end up letting Margarite down. Just when I was beginning to feel pretty confused about this fact, I realized that a familiar feeling was beginning to rise up from the depths of my memory. At first it was only a tentative prodding. I could feel the tip of a shoe nudging at my balls seemingly by accident. The prodding had been growing more aggressive and was now beginning to feel painful. Then I knew it was intentional. The shoe lost contact for a second and then connected again. I was being kicked in the groin with slowly increasing force. Dr. Pam! It’s hard to describe the thrill this gave me. How could I not recognize her? After all of the time I had spent between her legs avidly licking and sucking on her various orifices, how could I not know? Now the kicking was sharp and the pain excruciating. My tongue work increased in energy as I sought to please my tormentor. I was licking twice as fast now, getting 10 or 15 quick licks in between each bursting flash of pain, while her shoe continued to pummel my bruised scrotum. My heart was pumping wildly and I was flushed with joy as a myriad of thoughts occurred to me simultaneously. Of course she would not cum. She never did. Not like any other woman anyway. No, she was working me over good, and enjoying it with all of the adoration that most women would devote to a rattling orgasm. She was listening to me, concentrating on my state of arousal, building me up to a peak of energy and emotion. I had only just got to this realization when I reached that peak. Two more earnest kicks to my balls pushed me over the top and I slunk to the floor in exhaustion. the room went black and I seemed to be swimming in a sea of confusing female voices, high-pitched with delight. the other ladies had heard the sounds coming from under the table and could tell by the movements of Dr. Pam’s upper body that she was moving her leg rhythmically into my crotch. They could also see the stern look of pleasurable assurance and the shine of perspiration flowering on her forehead and upper lip. No she didn’t have an orgasm, she had a mindgasm and it was pretty exciting to the other women. Margarite later told me that she had learned more in those few moments watching Dr. Pam than in all of the months leading up to that day.
That day was very special to me too, for it marked a new level of submission for me. Though my balls were aching I painfully adjusted my nylon panties. After I straightened my apron I began clearing off the dishes so that the ladies could complete their assessment of the experiment and discuss whatever other topics that might be of interest to them. As I went about my work I felt no self-conscious reticence, no embarrassment or shame. Though I could hear them talking about me as though I was not present in the room with them, I felt nothing other than a complete contentment with my total submission to the demands of my mistress. I had correctly identified all of the women I was supposed to know and the two strangers- Jill and Lisa. Lisa was a strict Lesbian who would not permit a man to touch her. I was nevertheless allowed enough close proximity to acknowledge that she was not someone I knew and could identify. It turned out that she was part of the experiment, adding a wild card to the variables. Beyond that I could also sense a certain grudging respect being paid to me by this room full of fairly hardened feminists. Perhaps a man, if he is submissive enough, a good cook and in possession of certain shall we say cunnilingal talents, that such a man might be tolerated, allowed to share the same space and breathe the same air with women, provided that he can adapt himself to their whims, be quick with a glass of wine and, if necessary, become a footstool for the luxury of a pair of lazy feminine calves