Not a Good Day

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As soon has she had him naked and secured his hands behind him she made him kneel in the centre of the room and went to get the phone. He kept his head bowed while she dialled.

“Ask for Mary,” she said, holding the phone to his ear, “explain to her why I need you punished.”

“Yes Mistress.”

She pulled a chair up beside him and leant forward so she could hear the conversation. The phone rang four times and was picked up, “Club Taboo, you are speaking to Clarissa, how may I help?”

“Ah, can I, can I please speak to Miss Mary?”

“Let me see, hold on a minute while I see if Mary is available. Who shall I say is calling?”

“Ahh, ah, Miss Robertson’s, ah, um, Fucktoy.”

“OK, Fucktoy, I think she is busy but I’ll check and let you know when she can call you back.”

He could sense her smile. He thought he knew Clarissa, one of the University students that the Club employed on reception, a plump girl with a blonde bob and very bright red lipstick. She usually wore low-cut sleeveless dresses to show off a rose tattoo across one shoulder. The phone was silent, there was no hold music. If you rang Club Taboo it was up to you to entertain yourself while you waited. His heart was pounding as the silence dragged on.

“No, sorry, Fucktoy, Mary is busy this morning; if you give me your number she will ring you at midday. May I ask what you want to talk to her about, Fucktoy?”

His Mistress, listening, smiled grimly and pinched his nipple hard, nodding, Mary really was very good.

“Yes Miss. Ah, um, Miss Robinson caught me with, um, a..” the twisting of his nipple got worse, “girlie magazine and she wants Miss Mary to punish me.”

His Mistress pinched his nipple painfully. “Severely.”

“OK, Fucktoy, I’ll tell her you need to be punished for wanking and she’ll call you back.”

“Well I wouldn’t say…” but the receptionist had hung up, the smile in her voice almost becoming a chuckle.

His Mistress sat up and took the phone away from his ear.

“Midday then. I have things to do so you better hold the phone.”

She left him kneeling and went off to their play room. She came back with his collar, ankle cuffs and some chain. His hands were locked to the ring in the front of his collar and his ankles locked together and chained to the ring at the back. The chain was short enough to keep his back pulled up straight and the collar from pressing on his throat. She put the phone into his hands.

“Don’t drop it. Mary won’t be happy if you miss the call and I won’t be picking it up for you.”

She left him to wait then suddenly she was back and dropped the magazine she had found in the recycling in front of him.

“Something for you to look at while you wait.”

He stared at the magazine. His name was clear on the address label. Behind the label a girl in matching lacy black bra and bikini bottoms stared back with a slightly questioning expression. She was pretty enough but nowhere near worth the trouble he was in. He sighed.

The wait was interminable. There was no clock in the room so he had no idea how time was passing. Occasionally he heard his Mistress moving around the house, working he supposed. The phone was awkward with his hands locked together at his throat. He couldn’t see the keypad and worried he would hang up instead of answering. His knees and ankles were aching after so long kneeling on the wooden floor.

When the phone rang he jumped and very nearly dropped it. He fumbled it with his heart racing and his hands suddenly sweaty.

“Is Fucktoy there, please?” came Mary’s deep amused voice.

“Yes, Miss, sp..speaking.”

The phone felt very slippery. His Mistress had come into the room and sat on the couch watching him intently.

“So. You want to tell me about your wanking.”

It was a statement more than a question.

“Well, n..not as such. My Mistress found a…a girly magazine.” He said looking at his Mistress frowning at him.

“A girly magazine. What a quaint way of putting it.” Mary was frankly laughing now. “So you’ve been caught with a wank-mag and she wants you punished.”

“It wasn’t…”

“Excuses and explanations. We don’t need them do we, Fucktoy? You’ve been thinking about playing with yourself over some dirty magazine and your Mistress wants you punished.”

“Yes, Miss…. severely.” His Mistress nodded.

“Good. When?”

“Um. Ah. As soon as you can,” he said looking at his Mistress for approval. She nodded.

“OK. I’m booked up for today.”

His heart sank as he thought of waiting.

“But then it shouldn’t take too long, should it? I think the best thing for fucktoys who can’t control themselves is to be caned. Don’t you?

He said nothing.

“Don’t you Fucktoy?”

“Yes Miss.”

“Good. We’re agreed then. I like it when you agree with me. What’s the most you’ve had before?”

“Ah, um, eighteen miss. I think.”

“Oh, Fucktoy, you are funny. Think again. I’m sure I remember giving you twenty-four at least once. Shall we call it a nice round thirty today so you have something easy to remember when I ask next time. Does that sound good to you?”

“Ah… yes Miss.” he was shaking badly with a mix of terror and excitement.

“How many strokes was that, Fucktoy?”

“Thirty, Miss.”

“Good. Do you think that will hurt, Fucktoy?”

“Yes Miss.” He was almost breathless.

“Good. You see, I do like it when you agree with me. Don’t worry, I will make very sure it hurts. Your Mistress can bring you in whenever she is ready and I’ll thrash you after my last client at about six. I look forward to it. So should you.”

She hung up.

He passed on the message to his Mistress with his voice shaking and as he held out the phone to her to put away, he dropped it. She unfastened his hands and feet and indicated his clothes, left over the back of the couch when she had made him undress. Immediately his heart started pounding and the breath was sucked out of him.

He had been in his cleaning dress all morning and that was what she was pointing at. For months she had been threatening to make him go out in public in some of his women’s clothes. It had been terrifying to think of in the indefinite future and now it seemed to be happening he was almost in shock. Hesitantly he picked up the lacy white knickers and matching bra and pulled them on. He had had the bra for only a few weeks. It had proper prosthetic breasts that matched his skin tone and looked surprisingly real. His Mistress watched.

“Before we go out you had better tape that thing down. Properly.”

He went over to the drawer in the big sideboard and rummaged around for the strapping-tape, glad to have something to do with his shaking hands. Finally he found it and tore off strips in the familiar routine. He took down his knickers, ran the strips of tape from his belly over his pubic hair, pulling his cock tightly down between his legs and taping over it, finishing off between his buttocks. When he had finished and pulled his knickers up it did look like a passable imitation of a woman’s mons under the lace. The skin colour of the tape meant it didn’t show through the sheer fabric.

He put on the button-through cleaning dress and did up its front. It was pale blue with a wide white collar low cut front that showed the new silicone breasts against his shaved chest. He stepped into the moderately heeled blue shoes that matched the dress and waited. His Mistress went to find a wig and came back with a dark pageboy that she slipped over his short greying hair and held in place with hair clips. She stepped back to look, then held his chin to put some pastel pink lipstick on him. Dressed like that with the wig, his arms, legs and body shaved and his slight frame he did have a very feminine look.

“Good,” she said, “Very nice. I’m looking forward to seeing my pretty girl getting thrashed within an inch of her life to remind her to keep her little hands off nasty, dirty magazines.”

He stood in front of her with his head bowed, knowing it was pointless to try to explain; it would only make things worse. There was nothing he could do to avoid his humiliation and beating. His mouth was dry with fear, and excitement made his cock strain under its layer of tape. He followed her out across their lawn to the garage keeping his head down and hoping that no one would see him, even though he was sure his Mistress was going to show him off deliberately in a minute.

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.


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 shut 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.

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