Just Being Outrageous Pt. 03

Just Being Outrageous, Part 3

Matchmaker

You know the score: all rights reserved, everyone partaking in sex is 18+.

This is the third episode of a multipart story that features sex rather than being sex centric. You should read the previous parts before reading this.

Too impatient? This is the ongoing tale of Andi and her pussy posse. Andi is a drop dead gorgeous, successful, in demand fashionista who just happens to be a dominatrix and mistress of two very willing, submissive, equally attractive lesbians.

Enjoy ????

Chapter 1 Biding

It took me a few moments to get my bearings the next morning. The presence of Wendy and Asha, gagged and secured to the four-poster bed by their wrists and ankles, provided a welcome reminder of last night's fun and games in the playroom.

Asha seemed relieved that I was awake. It appeared she needed to pee or something. The large ball gag in her mouth did a splendid job of muffling her. The trouble was her nipple rings were far too tempting.

So I ignored her muted begging whilst I played, pulling and twisting on her rings. Judging from her reaction, she enjoyed it as much as I did. By some minor miracle, she didn't wet herself. I was about to switch my attention to her fanny when I noticed the time.

"Shit, we're late." Wendy and I were due to spend the day working at the salon.

In double quick time, I freed the girls from the bed. Leaving Asha behind, we rushed upstairs, dived into our respective showers, dressed and grabbed the bare essentials to apply our makeup on the move.

Our housekeeper, Em, bless her, had made coffee to go, having witnessed our mad dash through the house. She was waiting for us in the entrance hall, sporting a knowing smirk, holding a couple of travel mugs.

"You're an angel," I said, snatching one as I dashed past.

Followed by Wendy's "Thanks, Mum," as she grabbed the other, hot on my tail.

Vish was standing beside the car, ready to open the door the moment we appeared. We were ten minutes late leaving. Somehow, I doubted it would faze him.

Wendy's cuffs still adorned her wrists and ankles. They matched the solid metal bondage collar she'd worn almost constantly from the instant she so willingly signed the total power exchange contract.

I adored the look of utter disdain she meted out to those who'd dared challenge her for proudly wearing an item many viewed as a symbol of oppression.

As such, when I said, "I see you still have your cuffs on," her dismissive "so" came as no surprise.

Thanks to Vish's smooth driving, we arrived at the salon with time to spare.

Although I loved the petrol effect colouration I'd been flaunting over recent months, it didn't reflect the sense of gravitas expected from a dominatrix. So I made a welcome return to black hair and nails. After all, it had been my signature style for years before Lisa persuaded me to go burgundy.

Oddly enough, I considered going maroon. What stopped me was my refusal to accept anything that traitorous bitch would love.

When Kim started on my talons, she said, "I've just taken possession of the absolute best metallic chrome powder I've ever used. You're going to love it."

Thirty minutes later, she'd proven her point. My nails had the blackest, most divine mirror lustre imaginable.

Of course, I had to change my lipstick colour to match. So I reached for my current favourite black lippie, MAC's Caviar. It lasts for ages and has such fantastic, intense coverage, although I had to apply a coat of clear lip gloss to cure its matte finish.

My decision to return to a more mainstream hair shade would make my booker's day. Not that I ever experienced a shortage of modelling opportunities. I was discerning, rejecting way more offers than I accepted.

January was normally a quiet month for the salon, with many people having to watch their post Christmas expenses. But not for me. We had decided to limit the wait times for style makeover appointments with me to six months. So lucky old me still had three clients today.

To get on the list meant bidding in a monthly auction. Even I think it's a ripoff. We'd only run a single auction to date, but is two hours of my time really worth north of twelve grand?

When I had both Jane and Kim together, I asked about Lisa. Jane snorted and returned to whatever she'd been doing, leaving Kim to answer, "It's not good. It's like she's lost her soul. She turns up, barely talks to anybody, including punters, just gets on with her bookings, then leaves."

"Is she losing clients?"

"No more than normal churn, but from a new client point of view it's easier to book an appointment with her than I've ever known."

That's worrying. With her reputation, she should have had a waiting list that rivalled mine.

It hit like a punch to stomach every time I heard how broken she was, but I knew I had to wait for her to reach out. Except I've never been any good at waiting.

I bitched the whole journey back. The moment we pulled onto the drive, Wendy just placed her hand on my thigh and asked, "Are you finished now?"

"Sorry, have I been going on?"

She looked heavenward.

Oops...

We were supposed to show our faces at some fashion industry shindig. Not having eaten all day, I needed sustenance, so I suggested dinner out prior to the event. We ended up at the Italian restaurant I used to frequent when I lived in Dalston. The food was every bit as bellissimo as I remembered, so we stayed until closing, drinking our way through their entire Barolo section whilst chatting with the owners.

Compared to our meal, the party was an exceptional disappointment. The paparazzi caught us on camera as we arrived. Job done, we managed a couple of laps before boredom set in. So we made our excuses and sneaked out the back. We headed straight for home and made love sans toys, with me delivering the occasional smack to the girls' bums, especially Wendy's.

Sunday, we had committed to helping Em clear the house she'd shared with her late husband. The sizeable townhouse stood as a testament to their success. No wonder she found it hard, given all the memories the place held.

As we worked together, she mused, "You know I have enough money to retire comfortably. I even considered selling this house and buying somewhere on the coast and living the life of a wealthy old Edwardian dowager accompanied by some poor young companion that I could boss around."

Wow, did she just confess to wanting a submissive lover?

How do I respond without offending her if I'm mistaken?

I decided my only option was to do a playful impression of some Agatha Christie cum P. G. Wodehouse version of a mature widow of independent means. Although I ended up sounding more like Oscar Wilde's Lady Bracknell with my "Oh my dear, there is nothing better than the joyful surprise of realising one has acquired an indebted young filly for one's personal use."

"Quite so, darling," was Em's response.

Intrigued, I made a mental note to revisit this subject at the earliest opportunity.

By close of day, we'd boxed up the contents of four rooms. We promised to assist with anything remaining once we were back from the upcoming fashion shows.

The next morning, we were on our way to NYC. We had to put the March edition to bed and oversee the magazine's autumn/winter fashion month coverage. For Wendy and me, it meant loads of editorial meetings, with the usual round of dinners and events. Not forgetting Tuesday's lavish party, where I would announce Carrie as my successor.

Carrie was my first port of call on arrival at the publication's offices. I'd liked her from the moment I first met her years ago. For a native New Yorker, she had a pronounced sense of Parisian sophistication about her.

She always wore heels, just not as high as mine. Trading height for comfort, or so she claimed. It's strange how I found a mid height heel more awkward to walk in than anything north of four inches or south of two.

Today, she was wearing a pair of pumps with a very 80s Chanel vibe, right down to their distinctive architectural cone heels. They were the perfect style for her three inch heels. I must admit to being drawn to the styling as a method of adding a touch of curvature to soften an overly aggressive stiletto. An aesthetic Gillian and I had adopted with several of the shoes we'd designed.

For the shows we were walking in, we squeezed in fittings around other commitments. Everything was new to Wendy. It quickly turned into a baptism of fire for the poor girl. Largely down to the demand her very public relationship with Asha and me had stirred up.

NYC week ran from Saturday to Wednesday. Most collections were at least enjoyable. But some were so bland I couldn't help wondering why they bothered. It's always hard to produce positive prose about designers one admires when they put on an inferior event. Come on, people. Give us something we can tease on the socials, please. It's bad enough deciding what to post in real time versus what to keep back for the print edition.

We travelled back home during the day on Thursday to attend London Fashion Week. Avoiding the red eye was an absolute joy, although we still slept for most of the journey.

Mentally we were still on East Coast time, so we visited the club and picked up a couple of girls who desperately needed dominating. I suspended a gagged and blindfolded Wendy above the Sybian and selected a long running programme. Asha busied herself strapping our two guests face to face onto the frame. I went with the same cane I'd used on Wendy the other week, while Asha chose a whip.

The moment I inserted a single digit into the younger looking one, she begged, "More. I need more, Mistress."

I slid another finger in.

"More."

A third worked its way in.

The girl was now dictating, "At last we're getting somewhere. Now, push your little finger in, followed by your thumb and then start fisting me."

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't tolerate a submissive telling me what to do. After all, I had only intended to tease her G spot, bring her to the edge and leave her frustrated. But the little minx had intrigued me with her demand.

Thanks to her encouragement, I soon found myself with my whole fist, wrist deep, in her. I was so impressed that anyone could allow, let alone crave, having such a huge object inside their fanny. Yet here I am, fisting her to multiple orgasms.

It had me so mesmerised. Her third climax triggered my own little trip to heaven. Sure, I'd seen a few fisting videos. But the improbability of a girl begging for it fascinated me as much as it thrilled me.

Once we'd finished playing, we placed an exhausted Wendy on the bed.

Asha took the lead. "There's a price to pay if you want a return visit," she said whilst brandishing a needle.

"Where?" Our fist fucking fan asked.

"For newbies like yourselves, one in each nostril, plus your septum and tongue."

"Okay. It's a shame it doesn't include the nipples though."

"Definitely, if it guarantees another visit," her friend added, before Asha could get her "next time" response out.

The girl turned towards me. "What must I do to become owned and branded like them? You've had a taste of what I can tolerate, so you know I'll be exceedingly accommodating of all your demands, Mistress."

Now, how could I resist? "What are your vital statistics?"

"36-24-34."

"D cup?"

"Yes."

And it shows. Jealous much? You bet.

"Are you prepared to follow a regime of extreme waist training to maintain a waist of eighteen inches?"

"If it means I'll end up with a figure like hers," nodding towards Wendy in one of her Edwardian style corsets laced down to twenty inches, "then sign me up, Mistress."

"You'll be at least a couple of inches thinner than Wendy."

"Cool."

"I may even choose to have your Achilles tendons shortened, forcing you to always wear high heels or walk around on tippy toes."

She purred her reply, "Oh, I get what you're into. You love exaggerating the female form. Wearing serious stilettos pushes the bum and tits out. An extreme corset does the same, while cinching the waist to nothing. Yeah, I see you, and I'm all in, Mistress."

I couldn't deny it, nor would I. So I smiled at her. Miss Clever Clogs maintained eye contact, looking all smug like. You know what? I believe this one would actually give herself to me without a second thought.

The middle of fashion month wasn't the time to recruit another willing slave. Before temptation became irresistible, I gave them my closing speech. The one where I reminded them to make themselves available during club nights and to keep the piercings they were about to receive.

Without any further ado, Asha set to, enhancing their nostrils, septa and tongues.

We led the girls out to their Ubers. Em was already up, and judging from the gorgeous smell emanating from the kitchen, our house mum had just brewed a pot of coffee. She stood watching from the doorway as we passed by and casually remarked, "Nice."

"They are both searching for a mistress if you are interested."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not quite there yet."

That didn't stop our fisting fan from eyeing up Em as she glanced back, with Em returning the girl's lustful gaze.

With our latest playthings gone, we had three hours to get ourselves to the nine thirty TOGA show, looking all fresh and rested. Being the first womenswear show of London Fashion Week, it kicked off a full day of shows and an evening of parties. Saturday and Sunday were just as manic. Monday, we focused solely on Gilly Bell, with a return to the craziness of consecutive shows on Tuesday.

London Fashion Week was a roaring success. Especially the Gilly Bell event featuring the three of us. I closed the catwalk show, letting a three quarter length coat fall away, leaving me in a corset and thong cut from one of Gillian's more infamous fabrics. Well, we had to preserve our enfant terrible reputation. Regardless, we generated plenty of excellent media coverage, which always leads to a welcome spike in sales.

We travelled to Milan along with the rest of the fashion circus on Tuesday evening. Of the major fashion capitals, Milan was always the most chaotic backstage. What amazed me was the shows somehow managed to provide a façade of effortless serenity.

The circus moved to Paris on Sunday. I adore Paris as a city, but during fashion week, one never gets to enjoy the place. The backdrop is magnificent, but it's just a blur with one's focus centred on the collections and associated networking.

I had made a conscious decision to limit my modelling appearances, so I only walked two runways in Milan and four in Paris. As opposed to Asha, who walked seven and ten. Even new girl Wendy walked in more than me.

That said, with my magazine work, I still appeared on the front row of all the major shows I wasn't walking. And along with every appearance came the inevitable freebie clothes. After all, what self respecting design house would let its frow guests be seen dressed in the competition?

Gillian joined us during Paris Week. We owed the Fédération a proper discussion about showing in Paris. The more we learnt, the less it felt appropriate for the Gilly Bell brand. However, we spotted an opportunity to create a new label that took the core elements of Gilly Bell and merged them with classic, understated Parisian style. We agreed to hold further meetings, in effect buying ourselves time.

Finally, it was all over. Four weeks of constantly having one's photo taken entering every show and party soon becomes tedious as hell. Despite all the smiling, elegant faces, one could see it in the eyes of everyone who'd followed the whole circus. By Paris, they were bored, missing loved ones or just craving a break.

Wendy and I had to return to NYC to put the finishing touches to the magazine's April edition. Asha, the lucky cow, returned home thanks to various European modelling commitments.

Wendy proved to be indispensable during the fashion weeks. Together we were acting as one. She handled most of the low level editorial sessions, freeing me up to focus on the strategic aspects. We worked ridiculously long hours for seven solid weeks, all to ensure my final edition as editor in chief seriously raised the bar. Thank God Carrie had persuaded me to be in town for the next few editions before becoming a remote pain in her butt.

The following week, we returned to London overnight Thursday to enjoy our first normal weekend for ages. Wendy and I spent Saturday working at the salon. We swung by the cottage to check progress in person, rather than rely on the pictures supplied by the contractors. Due for completion within six weeks, it appeared to be on schedule. The major refurbishment tasks were all finished, with just a few fittings and decorating remaining.

Sunday, we were back helping Em. Having packed up most of the rooms in her house, she discovered that clearing things out had its own special cathartic charm. She now needed to organise storage and a man with a van to remove everything. Leaving her former home ready to rent.

Chapter 2 Reputation Building

When we returned, I cooked dinner for everyone. I'd grown close to Em. She'd become our cool mum or big sister, who, as if by magic, turned our house into a home. Little details, like the constant supply of fresh flowers throughout the place, always made our return such a joy.

We found ourselves alone together in the kitchen whilst I prepared the meal.

I was trying to engineer an opportunity to discuss her wish for a girl of her own, but the cheeky moo beat me to it. "What is it that you find satisfying about dominating women?"

"I'm a complete control freak."

"That figures. I'm considering what qualities I desire in a partner. I must admit, the dynamic you have with your girls, especially the dominant elements, fascinates me. You just seem to ooze natural authority regardless of the situation."

Butter me up, why don't you? I'm loving the direction this conversation seems headed. So I jumped in. "You do know Asha and Wendy committed themselves to me without prompting. Asha's motives were obvious. She'd wanted me for years, and there was no way she was going to miss her opportunity, however it presented itself. The little slut had grown used to being part of a threesome. So I'd bet good money she planted and nurtured the idea inside Wendy's head. Between being abandoned by Lisa and my extreme control freak tendencies, I wasn't complaining."

She asked, "Darling, when were you first aware of your dominant traits?"

"I've always been drawn to fetish clothing. It probably explains why I became a goth, well, that and the makeup. I started experimenting with kink at uni. My girlfriend at the time had submissive inclinations and used to beg me to spank her when we made love."

I paused whilst I considered the rest of my answer. "Things sort of developed from there as I began dovetailing different scene elements, especially my passion for extreme heels and corsetry, with restraints and alternative forms of punishment."

"We would have been quite the formidable pair, my dear, if we'd been friends at university. When did you decide to become a dominatrix?"

"I'm sure we would have been, but I think I prefer having you as our 'mum'."

"Why, thank you, but you're not avoiding my question that easily."

"Does anybody ever set out to be a dominatrix? With me, it just sort of happened. The first occasion I felt like I was acting as a dom was at the Torture Garden's St Valentine's party three years ago. Lisa and I went suitably attired, with Lisa leashed and collared." The mere mention of it brought back such warm, nostalgic memories.

"We bumped into Asha, who made her play by kissing us both incredibly passionately, and I mean wow level passionate. She asked if I had another collar on me. I replied I had an extra one at home. So I ended up in bed having my evil way with two collared girls."

Em chortled, "Sounds like a normal Thursday for you, darling."

"Strange you should say that because it was a Thursday, and I refused to remove their collars until Monday morning. Something Asha didn't like at all, believe me, but I relished the sense of power and control I held over them. It's so addictive."

I needed some answers of my own. "But what about you? Your comment about wanting a young companion to boss around implies you have some kinky desires. I've confessed. Now it's your turn, honey."

Em glanced at me as if to say, touché. "Well, my dear, like you, it was with a girlfriend at university. I had a desperate desire to tie her up and tease her. One day I just did it, much to her surprise and our mutual enjoyment. We explored casual S&M together until we split up."

She paused, hoping she'd provided sufficient info, but I'm not so easy to satisfy. I kept staring at her. She soon broke. "It was my fault. She wanted us to live as a couple when we graduated, but I wasn't brave enough to be publicly out when trying to get established working in investment banking. It proved to be serendipitous, as I met Dave."

She took a deep breath before continuing. "He insisted on taking me out. I acted so aloof during our dinner date and warned him that if we fucked, I'd top him, which, of course, only encouraged him. I'd always assumed I was a lesbian. So, I'm sure you can imagine how it threw me when I realised I actually fancied him. Anyway, after our meal, I took him back to mine where I tied him up, whipped the schmuck and pegged his virgin arse. The poor guy was in total shock, yet completely smitten. I couldn't stop myself from falling for him. You know, until he fell ill, I don't think we ever had vanilla sex."

"I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to cause any distress."

"Oh, my darling, you have done nothing wrong. I'm just reminiscing. Mind you, he was beyond obsessed with women in corsets and heels and all that shit. He would be forever pestering me to wear them along with stockings. Serves me right for stripping down to my basque, stockings and heels on our first night. I would pretend I didn't care for them, but the truth was, I adored them."

She paused for a moment. "I must confess, I do miss being tightly laced. Although heels are less of a problem. I believe it's an unwritten house rule." She peered down at the burgundy Blahnik BB pumps gracing her feet.

"Absolutely, heels must be worn at all times with a minimum height of four inches," I replied, sounding all tongue in cheek but in reality being dead serious.

"Precisely, my dear."

"I'm sure you'll be glad to hear that I prefer my girls to have hourglass figures, so corsets are also mandatory. I can hook you up with the corseterie we use, if you like."

"Oh, kinky. Yes, please. I'm so up for some hardcore waist training."

I then asked the million dollar question: "Do you really fancy a submissive girl of your own?"

She stopped for a moment. "Probably, but I'll need to play with a suitable young thing first."

"You are always welcome to join us at the fetish club."

"Thanks, I will one of these nights."

We changed subjects, and before long we were dishing up dinner.

The following week, I spent four days working with Gillian, progressing new designs with the team. I squeezed in meetings as best I could with several of the companies in which I hold a significant financial stake. Wendy focused on the cottage's refurbishment. Asha hung out with us when she didn't have a modelling gig.

Thursday evening soon rolled around again, meaning another club night. At least I wasn't playing host. Gillian and I had reduced our hosting duties to once a month, having recruited a couple of additional dominatrices. They were both heterosexual, thus helping to restore the balance of what punters were beginning to view as a lesbian orientated club.

It had become the norm for us to leave with a girl each. We'd usher the willing victims down into our Gothic Revival inspired playroom and immerse them in the deviant sexual pleasures they craved. Only to eject the freshly pierced, spent bitches sometime Friday morning. Tonight was no different.

The highlight was the repeated caning I gave one petulant cow whilst she leant over the chaise longue. She refused to count strokes. Instead, she demanded, "Just fucking cane me, bitch."

Her insolence incensed me, so I obliged her with another, harder blow.

"Oh, yes."

She appeared to view this as a game. So I walked behind her, bent over and coldly whispered in her ear, "I never lose, slut." Stepping back, I started raining blows down on her arse, hard enough to make that distinctive slapping noise unique to bamboo hitting flesh.

The lewd little tart had the temerity to just laugh and wiggle her bum at me as I hit her. Which only deepened my rage. She shouted the occasional comment, such as "Mmm, harder." I adjusted my angle of attack to strike her crotch full on with all my force.

She gasped, "Perfect," and slid her feet further apart, fully exposing her pussy.

I kept going until she came, yelling, "Yes," as she collapsed into a heap on the cold stone floor. Lord knows how many strokes she'd taken.

When she could move, she twisted towards me with a look of utter contentment. "I win. You beat an orgasm out of me. Thank you, Mistress. I knew you wouldn't disappoint."

I wasn't going to rain on her parade. Personally, I'd call it a win win, given that I'd just vented my rage on her body. Naturally, she left with the welts to prove it. Nothing permanent. They should heal within a few days.

At the weekend, I visited my parents, staying over Saturday night. Early Sunday morning, my mum and I snuck out to an antiques fair. Lisa and I used to go whenever the mood took us, and many of the pieces that gave the townhouse its unique character had come from similar fairs. We discovered several items suitable for the cottage.

We were back well before midday because we were due at Aunt Alison's for an extended family lunch. I always enjoyed spending time with my cousins and their families. Afterwards, I dropped my parents off and drove straight back home.

The following week, Wendy and I again spent most of our time working with Gillian. The three of us took a day trip to the French capital on Tuesday to view potential sites for our Paris atelier, without much success. We intended to staff it with local talent, providing oversight and direction ourselves. We'd used a similar approach with our ready to wear designs, allowing Gillian and me to focus our principal design efforts on the couture side of the business.

This week's club night, hosting duties fell to me. So, we arrived an hour before the doors opened to ensure everything was perfect. The same three girls we'd abused last week were desperate for a return visit. They made a whole bunch of ridiculous promises no sane person would ever agree to.

Much to my amusement, they had competition from another group of women who thought they could buy access to our after party. They'd offered me their hard earned dosh for sexual services before. Why they thought I'd bite is beyond me. Sure, I have a price, but it's well north of these tarts' budgets.

Besides, I only needed them to prove they were prepared to humiliate themselves. So I ordered all six to lose their clothes from the waist down. Which was a tad more embarrassing for those unfortunate souls wearing dresses, but rather amusing for the voyeurs enjoying the vista.

It brought a smile to my face when I saw the backside of the girl I'd caned the previous week, still displaying clear signs of her punishment. I asked her, "Are you expecting a repeat performance?"

"No, I'm still recovering. Tonight I promise to play nice."

"You're still a slut and sluts need punishing. So don't expect to be spared a whipping."

She just shrugged.

Next, I turned my attention to the girls with more money than sense. "You wanted me to whore myself for your satisfaction. That's not how things work in my universe. I choose who I fuck, and if you want me to pick you, we'll have to verify your appetites are compatible with my tastes. We'll start with you performing cunnilingus on these certified bitches in full view of everyone in the club."

The prospect proved too mortifying for two of the moneyed wannabes as they grabbed their stuff and ran. Leaving one surviving rich bitch, whom I ordered to work her way through all three of the previous players. Well, I had to ensure that everyone endured their fair share of public humiliation.

She went down on our caning fan first. After driving her to orgasm, she switched girls without prompting. Feeling satisfied, our fan took it upon herself to service the third girl.

The two dining at the Y finished together, glanced at one another and launched into a rather long, passionate kiss. Not to be outdone, the pair on the receiving end soon followed suit.

So, having established they were total exhibitionist sluts, we had our slaves for the evening.

Once in the playroom, we cycled through the submissives. Subjecting them to a session of extreme pleasure dangling over the Sybian, queening one of us and a couple of bouts of suspended play.

During the suspension sessions, Asha pierced their nipples and fannies. She toyed with doing their clitoral glans to leave her victims in a state of constant arousal, but the scheming bitch settled on a much more devious plan. For now, our playthings ended up with vertical clitoral hood, Princess Albertina and fourchette piercings.

Asha had acquired a large quantity of rather stylish padlocks suitable for use as body piercing jewellery. They were about an inch round, with the bottom half housing the locking mechanism and the top forming the shank made from 3mm wide surgical steel.

Her thinking was they could be used as a chastity device to seal off access to the vagina. She intended to insert them in a run, spaced about a centimetre apart, along the entire length of the labia. Asha pitched it as the ultimate revenge for when Lisa returns. To say "the idea piqued my curiosity" would be a serious understatement.

Of course, Asha was desperate to try them out. But given the number required, she could only create a series of 2mm holes without risking tearing or infection. So when we'd finished playing, she announced, "I'd love to add a set of ball closure rings to your inner labia. Next time you're invited back, we will offer you the chance of giving yourselves to our Mistress. All for the simple cost of having the rings replaced with these padlocks."

She showed them a lock. "And handing our Mistress total control over your fannies. Who's in?"

They all were.

The number required varied by girl, with parallel runs of between six and eight paired piercings. The effect looked kinky as hell. So naturally, I wanted my pussy done along with Asha's and Wendy's.

First, we needed to get rid of the girls. The original three were easy, but our moneyed wannabe begged for more enhancements. She demanded her nose match everyone else's.

Asha agreed on the condition that Miss Pushy let her do her tongue.

She responded with a wanton, "You can pierce me wherever you desire." Followed by, "You could start by replacing the rings in my fanny with the padlocks."

Asha replied, "Oh, sweetie, you need to be patient. You really don't want to suffer any permanent damage. Look, I used a 2mm needle, and the locks require a 3mm hole. Trust me, you need to wait a minimum of four weeks for the piercings to heal before we attempt to stretch them by locking you up."

It looked like the message wasn't sinking in, so she added, "You know, most professional piercers will only do a maximum of four per session to minimise the risk of infection and shock. I've just given you nineteen and agreed to do an additional four."

Following a touch more back and forth, Miss Pushy, whose real name turned out to be Dani, accepted Asha's argument. Once Asha completed the additional piercings, along with yet another aftercare lecture, Dani was on her way. But not before promising, "I'm already yours, Mistress. I'll be back in four weeks so you can fit my chastity padlocks."

None of us put much stock in her statement. Honestly, it felt like girls were forever pledging their undying loyalty only to never be seen again.

The moment we had some privacy, I said to Asha, "I want our pussies pierced like Dani's."

She replied, "We should bide our time and see how our guinea pigs cope. You know I'd hate to spoil your cute pussy."

Knowing she always had my back, I agreed to wait, albeit with a certain amount of reluctance.

Wendy and I devoted Saturday to working at the salon, having first received our regular hair and nail treatments. On Sunday, we started furniture shopping for the cottage. When the stores closed, we'd sorted the bedrooms, but still had the living and dining rooms to finish.

Monday morning, we flew to NYC for a fortnight as part of the handholding agreement for my successor. Asha spent most of her time at photo shoots. Even though my name still appeared on the editorial page as Global Chief Fashion Officer, I missed the pressure of the editor's chair. Wendy and I were so bored we envied Asha's steady workload.

I still had plenty of business meetings to occupy the evenings, but there was less urgency surrounding them. As a result, we were a little wild during the nights, wasting our time enjoying the delights of the local fetish scene.

It proved to be a mixed bag. We adored the vibe at House of Yes's monthly fetish party, although the journey from Midtown to Bushwick felt like the long drag out to JFK. The bookable dungeons made for a fun, novel experience, apart from the overbearing insistence on hiring one of their dominatrices.

Seriously, how far must I have fallen down the rabbit hole if I'm missing our home playroom?

You know what? I didn't give a damn.

Chapter 3 Well, Who'd Have Thought It

The first Wednesday back, I'd agreed to meet Annie for dinner to review a few minor legal matters along with a good old fashioned natter. Since my marriage wake party, we'd only spoken in passing. Wendy and Asha joined us upstairs at The Ivy.

Once we had finished our business and spent some time chewing the fat, Annie asked, "Could you do me a bit of a favour, luvvie?"

It's one of her tells when she reverts to using pet names. So, with a certain amount of trepidation, I took the bait. "Okay, what can I do for you?"

"I need your help to find a girl as submissive as Wendy for me."

Her request floored me. I just sat and stared at her, wondering if I'd become some female version of Bertie Wooster. Well, the Art Deco interior would have suited the Drones Club.

Only when she said, "Hello," did I answer, "Of course, but since when have you been into girls?"

"Well, given all the guys I've dated for ages turned out to be a complete waste of space, I decided to experiment during your marriage wake party last December. So, I invited the cute girl I'd spent the evening chatting with to come back to mine. A fun night soon became the most fantastic few months of my life. She encouraged me to explore my dominant side so I could satisfy her submissive tendencies. It was perfect until we broke up a week ago, after she refused to move in."

"This doesn't sound like a temporary trip to Sapphic Ville."

"I must confess it came as a bit of a shock discovering how superior sex with women was. I'm not missing cock at all. Besides, I haven't met a man I thought I could marry for over a decade."

She took a breath before continuing, "You know, it's quite the personal discovery that at thirty six I prefer submissive girls."

"Come to tomorrow's club night. Dress in your most risqué leather skirt teamed with a biker jacket and your highest heels."

"I'd love to, but I've nothing leather to wear under my jacket. Plus, my shortest leather skirt is two inches above the knee."

To which we all answered "flirty" in unison.

I continued, "Which is a possible option, but 'cheeky' or 'provocative' would suit better."

Annie asked, "What gives with all the names?"

Jumping up, Asha used her hand to mark lengths starting at her knee, calling out "proper" as she moved up her leg. We joined in, "flirty, cheeky, provocative, asking for it, slut," ending with "whore" at crotch height. Asha was wearing an 'asking for it' length skater dress, and because she was in polite company, she teamed it with opaque tights.

"I can't go that high, but I might manage provocative," Annie declared.

"Matching knickers, or a well trimmed pussy, would also be useful," I replied.

"Oh, ducky, I'm bald down below."

No surprise there. "Moving on. For under your jacket, I recommend you either go nude or wear a leather corset."

"I really don't have kinky stuff like that."

Asha chipped in, "If you've any genuine desire to possess a sub, you need to look and act like a dom."

"Obviously."

"Well, a proper corset has always been a dom's golden ticket to looking the part."

"Okay, so where do I get one in the next twenty four hours?" Annie pleaded.

I grabbed back the initiative. "I'll forward you the details of the corseterie we use. You ought to be able to complete the round trip within ninety minutes. They will insist on measuring you properly. Let them. Besides, I've never met anyone who's into heels like you are who isn't also into corsets. So I reckon the moment you try one on, you'll be hooked and will leave having purchased an entire wardrobe full of corsets. Tell me what time you intend to arrive, and I will warn them. With my endorsement, I promise they will squeeze you in regardless of how busy they are."

That more or less wrapped things up, so before going our separate ways, we agreed to meet at the townhouse at eight the following evening.

Thursday morning, we woke up at the civilised hour of seven. We made love prior to getting ready for our nine thirty ride to Gillian's. I contacted the corseterie during the drive over to inform them a dear friend of mine would be paying them a visit at lunchtime. They assured me they would take excellent care of her.

Tonight, I had hosting duties again. Meaning I needed to be there well before the club opened.

Annie arrived at ours a couple of minutes after eight. She'd taken our advice and dressed all in black leather. Her tight fitting 'provocative' length mini skirt made it obvious her shopping had extended beyond corsets. She wore it over a three quarter cup Victorian style hourglass corset. To finish, she'd combined it with a cropped biker jacket and a pair of five inch, pointed toe stiletto pumps.

Although she looked the part even with bare legs, I convinced her to try on some stockings. I ushered her into my walk in wardrobe and grabbed a pack of sheer, seamed nylons along with a set of suspender straps.

With her skimpy skirt exposing her stocking tops, I expected a reaction when she stood up and checked herself in one of the full length mirrors. She didn't disappoint. "God, I look like a slut."

"Precisely. Now own it, bitch, and remember to act like you're in charge."

For Annie's benefit, I ran through how the evening would go. Asha handed her a lead to attach to her chosen sub's collar. Annie tucked it into her dinky little sling bag, and we were off.

The club had been open for ninety minutes. Some trite David Guetta hit filled the dance floor, turning the crowd into a seething mass moving as one. The bass pulsed through me, forcing me to nod in time with the beat. Annie and I joined Gillian and her partner Brittany in our normal nook from where I could monitor most of the club. It was a good night. A true hedonistic gathering, meaning I could sit back and enjoy.

We were on our third bottle of champagne, eyeing up the kinkier clientele in various states of undress, when Wendy led in five naked girls. Well, apart from their collars and heels.

Not a single plain Jane among them. Taller than average, with figures from svelte to athletic, all suitably enhanced by their stilettos ranging from four to eight inches. Okay, the thigh length boots with the eight inch heels included a three inch platform, but who's counting?

Wendy and Asha had been working the door, enforcing the club's esoteric dress code while watching out for potential subs. Five in an hour and a half was an impressive haul.

"I brought you some playthings, Mistress."

"Lose the skirt. You're not on the door anymore."

An evil, hungry look spread across Wendy's face. She slipped the leather micromini down over her bum and dropped the glorified belt onto the bottle in front of us. By now, her expression had settled into smugness as she stood wearing just a tight fitting quarter cup leather corset and a pair of black patent So Kate Louboutins.

Oh, Asha and I had been such a bad influence on the girl. When we first met, it took over five minutes' cajoling before she'd follow our lead and bare her nipples in the club. Now, the little exhibitionist can't wait to display everything.

I invited Annie to join me as I stood to inspect the girls.

"So, you all aspire to be full time slaves like the lovely Wendy?" I demanded and was greeted with a row of nodding heads. "Has the cat got your collective tongues? I need to hear your response," I barked.

A chorus of "Yes, Mistress" echoed back.

"This is my dear friend, Annie." I gave her a little nod. "She requires a new sub prepared to commit to being owned 24/7. Now the question is, are you?"

They replied en masse. "Yes, Mistress."

With that, I glanced towards Annie. "Over to you, honey."

Annie worked her way down the line, quizzing each candidate in turn. The girls' expressions grew ever more anxious. After five minutes, she rejected one, leaving Wendy to console her by promising to take her back to ours for some after hours fun. Annie discarded another two who had a tendency to greet every enquiry with a vacuous Gen Z stare. She continued questioning the remaining pair before homing in on one, asking her a series of follow ups. Then, a wicked smile crept across her face as she attached a lead to the girl's collar.

The new sub closed her eyes, exhaling a deep sigh. Upon opening them, she locked straight onto Annie's lustful gaze, draping her arms around her mistress's neck. Annie reciprocated by wrapping hers around the girl's waist as they pulled each other close for a short yet passionate kiss.

I asked Annie, "What's her name?"

"I've no idea," she replied, as if it were of no importance.

Amused by her reply, I changed tack. "Why her?"

"She works as an associate solicitor at some minor league law partnership based in North London, Southgate, I believe. She enjoys the work, but she has almost zero chance of making partner. Her remuneration is barely enough to survive on, what with servicing her student debt as well."

All I heard was she's only in it for the money...

"She's had it with living a hand to mouth existence. That's why she's so willing to commit to being my full time sub."

Confirmed. She's a proud member of the oldest profession, prepared to sell herself in exchange for a better life.

"Would Asha be up to doing a little piercing work for me when we return to yours?"

The girl's expression changed, conveying a sense of pure curiosity at the mere mention of piercings.

"Trust me, that bitch will seize any opportunity to poke holes in people."

Matchmaking done, I left them to continue getting to know one another as I turned my focus to the rejected girls. For my personal enjoyment, I selected a pair at random, leaving the remaining two for Wendy and Asha. I attached leashes and led them in tow whilst I wandered round the club chatting with punters.

We departed at three, having arranged a minibus. It gave us an excuse to check out how well the subs dressed. Only two met the club's strict dress code, explaining why the others were only too happy to succumb to Asha's persuasive ways. Annie's girl passed. She wore a full length black latex hobble skirt teamed with a matching bra and a rather splendid pair of 12cm stiletto open toed slingbacks. The cutie understood elegance. She kept it simple, letting her body do the talking.

During the journey home, I said to Annie, "You guys seem to be getting on."

"Oh yes, thank you so much for finding her for me. Her name is Rebecca, but most people shorten it to Becca, which I quite like. She's a proper smart cookie, so I've told her she's going to come and work for me and start earning some real money. Tomorrow, well, today now, she's going to resign. I have a cunning plan to grease her exit. Asha, I wonder if you could pierce her septum and add a matching stud in her other nostril, please."

"Absolutely. I could also do her nipples and clitoris while I'm at it?"

"Not tonight, thanks. I don't want anything preventing me from enjoying her. Remember, the immediate aim is to ease her out of her current job as soon as possible."

"In that case, can I suggest you let me add to her ear piercings? Given how conservative most law firms are with their dress codes, a full ear stack combined with the ones in her nose will guarantee she'll stand out."

"Thank you. That's a brilliant suggestion." Then, turning to me, she asked, "Are you okay with us crashing at yours?"

"Of course, we have four spare bedrooms you can choose from."

Wendy butted in. "You could use Asha's and my room. We normally sleep with Madam, but we intend to spend tonight downstairs in the playroom. We always have an interesting selection of kinky toys available in our bedside cabinets. Feel free to raid our wardrobe for clothes in the morning. I'm guessing you won't be so gauche as to send her to work in what she's wearing now."

Annie thanked Wendy before asking Becca, "What's your shoe size?"

Becca replied, "Five."

Wendy responded, "Cool, that's the same as Asha and me, so you shouldn't have any problem finding a suitable pair. We only wear proper high heels, mind. However, given your chosen footwear, I doubt wearing four or five inch heels all day will present much of a challenge to you. Clothing wise, I suspect you'll need to borrow a corset to fit into most of them."

Becca answered, "Brilliant, I have a thing about corsets."

Which I took as my cue. "Annie knows an excellent corseterie. I am sure she will love keeping you tightly laced. Have you always been a lesbian?"

"I was gay until graduation, when I started dating men. Except all the men I met were such total losers. The best sex I've had since leaving college has come from one night stands with women. Hence why I'm perfectly happy giving myself to a Mistress."

"Annie's a recent convert to the delights of Sapphic lovemaking. She was one hundred percent dick only until she attended a party of mine and hit it off with a girl who, it transpired, was submissive."

"Oh, it was multiple orgasms becoming the norm that did it for me. With men, you are lucky if they can deliver one decent fuck a night," Annie clarified.

"Well, Becca, it seems like you're now on a fanny only diet," I quipped before adding, "Annie, we are all getting visible but discreet lesbian tattoos this evening. Why don't you join us?"

"What do you mean by a lesbian tattoo?"

"A double Venus symbol, as in a pair of overlapping female symbols with hearts instead of circles, in black, on our middle fingers."

"Sounds intriguing. We may do," Annie replied, sharing a knowing look with Becca.

Our arrival at the house cut our conversation short as we all traipsed down to the playroom.

Asha had taken to keeping all her piercing gear down there. When Wendy equipped the playroom, she recognised Asha needed somewhere suitable for performing piercings. So, she included a stylised lash treatment bed identical to those in the salon.

Never one to miss an opportunity to inflict a touch of humiliation, Asha ordered Becca to remove her clothes and lie on the bed ready to be pierced.

I left Asha to it, so I could return my focus to the girls I'd laid claim to at the club. Likewise, Wendy didn't waste any time exploiting her pair. After all, I'd promised the four Annie rejected a taste of being owned through the weekend.

Wendy ensconced herself on the four-poster bed and opened her legs wide. She told one girl to eat her out and the other to straddle her so she could feast on the girl's honeypot. Knowing Wendy, she'd have them at it all night.

My two were no less obliging. I had them strip naked except for their shoes and told them to use the oxblood red leather chaise longue for support, so I had easy access to their derrières. Game recognises game. They both exaggerated their graceful movements as they grabbed the back of the chair, pushing their bums outwards and upwards. Ready for me to insert jewel topped butt plugs into their exposed buttholes. Judging from the ease of entry, this wasn't the first time they'd had their arses violated.

I locked one in the pet cage and ordered the other to remove my skirt. Next, I took up residence on the chaise longue and pushed her head towards my fanny, stating, "I need satisfying, bitch. Don't stop until I tell you."

It took the girl a little while to get into her stride, but she supplied a mind bending full body orgasm I couldn't fault. As instructed, she kept the climaxes coming until I was drowning in one long continuous stream of unmitigated ecstasy. One can only endure so much pleasure before experiencing a total petite mort moment.

Asha's smiling face greeted me as I regained consciousness. "Welcome back, lover." She gave me a quick kiss. "I thought it best to remind your bitch to cool it. If she continued, I wasn't sure you'd ever recover. I spent over ten minutes watching you ride the waves of one hell of a prolonged orgasm. Given how violently your body was responding to her munching, I'm amazed you survived as long as you did."

"Well, she knows how to deliver quality cunnilingus."

It took me a few moments before I could continue. "Help me fuck her whilst you wait for Wendy to finish."

"She'll be at it all night if we let her," Asha said as she grabbed a couple of strapless strap ons.

"I'll take bottom." In my current state, there was no way I could top her.

"Climb on, facing me," I told the girl.

Prising open her pussy lips with a couple of fingers, I guided the shaft in. I fucked her nice and slow as Asha prepared her back door. She winced when her butt plug was pulled free, yet took Asha's business end straight up her arse with a simple, near silent, pleasurable moan.

As Asha began fucking her, I provided fair warning. "We are going to fuck your poor little body until you can't take any more."

She dropped her eyes and then slowly lifted them to meet mine. The raw sexual hunger running through her was as clear as day. She stared into my soul, willing me, no, begging me, to destroy her. A task I was more than happy to accept.

It took less than five minutes for her to enjoy her first orgasm. Twenty minutes later, she lay unconscious, a limp dishrag, having succumbed during her fifth climax. I couldn't be certain, though. From the third, they blurred into one endless release.

My principal contribution was providing a little lateral movement whilst the girl fucked herself against me. Her action transferred through the strap on straight into my pussy, triggering another couple of delightful orgasms. Asha eked out three, having the advantage of being on top. Her last coinciding with the poor thing passing out. With Asha's final push, they came together, leaving me so close I just had to fuck the unconscious girl's body until I claimed my own ecstatic relief.

We swapped her for the girl in the cage, the one wearing the thigh length boots with the monster eight inch heels. Like her boots, she was brash and loud. We gave her the same treatment. She lasted longer than her companion and provided the most wonderful foul mouthed running commentary. Once finished, we placed the girl back in the cage alongside her fellow slave.

Somewhat coldly, I informed them I would play with them again later this evening. And then, in earshot of the girls, I told Asha I was heading to bed to get some shuteye, but she could continue playing, provided she kept them caged when not in use.

It must have been after half past six as I reached the kitchen. Em had just finished pouring herself a coffee.

"Morning, Em, that coffee smells divine."

"There's plenty in the pot if you fancy a cup, my dear."

"Thanks, you're an absolute star, but I really need to grab some sleep. I'd appreciate one with an eleven o'clock wake up though."

"Of course, darling. What have you done to Asha and Wendy?"

"They are still playing. We have four guests who will be resident in the playroom until Sunday. Expect to find them secured when not in use. Feel free to play with them yourself. We should probably feed them. Are you okay arranging that?"

"Sure, no problem."

"Where you feed them is your call, but they must remain totally naked apart from their shoes."

"Harsh, but sounds like it could be fun."

"It's definitely fun. Why don't you join me this evening?"

"My dear, I just might."

"Oh yes, I nearly forgot. Annie stayed over in Asha and Wendy's room with a girl called Becca. They are both working today, so I'd expect them to be awake and moving soon."

With that, I headed to bed, reflecting on recent events. I was still reeling from Wednesday's news that Annie was gay. Admittedly, she went through male suitors at such a rate of knots that I quit trying to remember their names years ago.

The fact she was dominant didn't surprise me in the slightest. The forthright way she narrowed down the group of submissive girls was a prime example of her natural tendency towards exercising absolute control.

I marvelled at how comfortable Annie and Becca seemed in one another's company after such a short time. I'd bet Annie already has their wedding date set, along with who'll carry their first child and when.

Em woke me at eleven, bearing the promised mug of coffee. She mentioned that Asha and Wendy were still active in the playroom and enquired whether she should interrupt them. I suggested she wait until one before disturbing them and then remind Wendy she has a conference call at two.

I had various calls scattered from midday through to five, meaning I had no problem being ready to leave at quarter past six. Asha, the sleepyhead, only just made it.

Our appointment was at seven. On arrival, I spoke to Rose, the tattooist who did Asha's and Wendy's ownership tattoos, and confirmed that we were all getting lesbian double Venus symbols on our middle fingers.

She asked, "Which hand?"

"Both," I replied.

Finally, I discussed the kisses I wanted on our right buttocks. She handed over some paper for us to kiss, leaving a lipstick stained impression behind. She was about to collect our best impressions when Annie and Becca turned up.

Wow, I spotted it straight away. A discreet, plain rose gold ring in Annie's septum. I expected to see Becca sporting a septum piercing, but never Annie. Unlike Becca, Annie only had her septum pierced, but I still had to tease her.

Annie admitted, "I've envied yours since the moment I first saw it. I was expecting flak from my fellow partners, but nobody said a damn thing. Thus, rendering all my procrastination completely moot."

I just smirked and continued teasing.

Becca had a whole multitude of fresh piercings adorning her nose and ears. No doubt, with Annie's active encouragement, Asha had gone to town on the girl. A bold 3mm cubic zirconia stud had replaced the discreet little stone she used to wear in her right nostril. An identical stud decorated the matching piercing she'd acquired in her left nostril, along with a cluster clicker featuring alternating CZ gems through her septum.

She already had a row of three in the lower lobe of her right ear. So, Asha extended the run, adding twelve more, all fitted with 2mm CZ studs. She switched Becca's existing earrings with 5, 4 and 3mm CZ studs and added a couple to the lower lobe of her left ear. Again, discarding her old earring so she had a shorter stretch of matching studs.

Annie announced, "Becca is moving in with me this weekend, and I've had HR send her a formal job offer. She's due to start in a month's time."

Becca described her interesting day. "It began within minutes of my arrival. I barely had time to type my resignation email when I was ordered into my boss's office. He started his attack on my 'unacceptable' appearance before I could shut the door, so I left it wide open for everyone to hear."

If she worked in fashion or media, one would describe her look as suitably fashionable, but at your average high street law firm handling everyday family matters, property and criminal proceedings, she was giving a massive finger to established norms.

The girl looked smoking hot, having raided Wendy and Asha's walk in wardrobe. She'd selected a black leather mid calf, high waist pencil skirt paired with an off white silk blouse, black seamed stockings and a matching biker jacket. On her feet, she wore the best part of a grand's worth of Philipp Plein black patent leather slingback metal heeled stilettos with metal capped pointed toes and jewelled skull embellishment.

That by itself was risqué enough, but with a metal slave collar around her neck, an unmissable gem adorned ring through her septum, along with all her other new piercings running up one ear, was guaranteed to provoke a reaction.

Her makeup was a pure lesson in elegant simplicity. Black eyeliner and mascara, the merest hint of colour on her cheeks and around her eyes, paired with the same dark burgundy lipstick and matching nails from last night sealed the deal.

"I let him rant whilst I stood in the doorway, grinning at the fool. Within a minute, he couldn't take it anymore and demanded to know why I found the situation so amusing. I just ever so casually suggested he check his email, where he discovered my formal resignation. Which outright stole his thunder, as all he could do was stare open mouthed at me. I just had to press my advantage as I informed him I would only be working four weeks of my 'official' three months' notice period."

She looked so chuffed retelling the events. It was mesmerising.

"That shook him out of his stupor. He threatened to withhold my reference in a desperate attempt at bullying me into serving all of what he'd turn into a prison sentence. I countered with all I needed was confirmation I worked here for the period stated. He then tried to demand that I remove my collar and nose piercings, insisting I dress more appropriately. The arse claimed no one would employ me looking like that. I retorted by telling him I'd worn this outfit, including the jewellery, for the interview, so he'd better learn to live with it, or I could leave now. The wimp chose to live with it."

Annie seemed pleased as she added, "Limiting it to a month was a deliberate adjustment to ensure that Becca didn't stand out from other new hires."

She then changed the subject by asking, "What's with all the lipstick kisses?"

I replied, "We are getting a kiss from each other tattooed on our bums. Rose was just going to pass them to her colleague to scan and transform into stencils."

Turning to Becca, Annie asked, "Do you fancy a kiss from me permanently adorning your derrière?"

Becca answered, "Of course, Mistress, if it's what you want."

Annie double checked. "Do you really want one? It's pretty personal and permanent."

"The contract we signed says you can choose to have me tattooed and pierced in areas that are normally covered up, and yet I've already let you do my septum, my other nostril and my ears. Plus, I'm about to have a very visible tattoo on my finger publicly outing me as a lesbian. Do you think I'm at all bothered by having my lover's kiss decorating my arse?"

"Okay, I get the message. By the way, we are having our double Venus tattoos on the tops of our fingers. We're loud and proud to be out." She grabbed Becca's hand and squeezed it as they stared into one another's eyes.

Rose passed over the unused paper and invited them to leave kisses. A couple of minutes later, they both had versions they were happy with. Meanwhile, my lot debated the merits of hidden on the side versus in plain view. Wendy was the most adamant, insisting on having hers on top regardless, quoting Annie's 'out and proud' argument. Truth be told, it seemed the better option to me.

When Rose returned, she asked, "Do you guys require any other tats, such as an ownership mark?" Rose, bless her, never missed an opportunity to upsell.

Becca looked confused, so Wendy dropped her skirt and knickers to show off her ownership tattoo.

"Wow," Becca let out. Then, turning towards Annie, she said, "I need one of those."

Asha beat me to it. "It's best if you're permanently bald down below first."

"The salon can handle that. It should only take a couple of electrolysis sessions, three if you're unlucky," I added.

"Luvvie, you're so getting marked as mine," Annie stated.

"Thank you, Mistress," was Becca's simple yet loving response.

Next up were the double Venus tattoos. I informed Rose we had agreed on the top of the middle finger. Annie confirmed with a nod. To finish, we received our kiss tats on our bottoms. For colour, I opted for deep burgundy, black being too morbid for something so permanent. Wendy chose dark blue. Asha selected a magenta purple. For both Becca and herself, Annie picked a strong maroon chestnut matching her hair tone.

Afterwards, we piled into a nearby Thai restaurant to eat. During dinner, I asked Annie, "How extensive is your contract, given the speed with which you guys drew it up?"

Annie explained, "I used the one you have with Asha and Wendy as a base, adding clauses covering each of our commitments. Mine include taking care of Becca, whether it be with her career or if she decides to be a stay at home mum when we have kids. Becca commits to being my obedient wife and to allowing me to dictate how she dresses and looks, including making permanent changes to her body, such as surgical enhancements, piercings and tattoos. It also provides an outline timetable detailing everything from marriage to children. We both want to carry. It even covers what happens if we should break up."

Honestly, I tried so hard not to laugh when she mentioned they'd already planned their wedding.

"Okay, what's so funny?"

"Well, you both looked so comfortable together during the drive back home that I just knew you'd set the date."

I received 'the look' in response.

Chapter 4 Oops

Once we had eaten, we all returned to our respective homes. Everyone was feeling the effects of last night's activities and the fresh tattoos. Wendy and Asha snuck off to their room, having been awake for two days straight, excluding Asha's brief catnap. I headed downstairs to the playroom to check on our 'guests'.

The sight that greeted my eyes as I entered was a rather pleasant surprise. Em was on the bed, sitting astride the face of the slut in the monster thigh highs, very much enjoying being queened. Lying beside her, nicely trussed up and gagged, was the other one Asha and I double dipped.

The moment she noticed me watching, she smiled. "Oh darling, these bitches are pure bliss."

"I know. I rode them both last night. Once you're finished, would you care to join me in providing them with a little taste of the whip? And what's with all the ball gags?"

"They kept droning on about needing the loo."

"What, even the ones in the cage?"

"My dear, the protestations when I pointed out they had a litter tray were so depressing."

"It appears our caged pets have anointed themselves as our toilet sluts. I'm so looking forward to pissing in their mouths whilst they swallow and lick me clean."

The wide eyed look of terror on their faces was perfection personified.

Em's jaw dropped open, but an evil grin soon replaced her shocked expression. "Young lady, your depravity knows no bounds. I'm going to test drive one."

She grabbed the girl's hair and pulled her off. The foul mouthed little tramp knew what was coming as she returned Em's wicked look, running her tongue across her top lip in anticipation.

"Lock on to my fanny, bitch." The tart reattached herself as Em pissed into her welcoming mouth.

Once Em had finished, she turned towards me. "Oops, I appear to have relieved myself into the wrong girl." She placed her hand over her mouth in mock horror.

"Never mind, Mummy. I'm sure it doesn't matter. More to the point, how did it feel relieving oneself into a slut's mouth?"

"Wonderful, she never missed a beat, darling. She seamlessly switched from toying to swallowing and back to toying. Oh, such bliss." She closed her eyes, happy to get lost in her slave's ministrations.

I discarded my biker jacket and silk blouse, keeping my leather trousers, matching high heeled ankle boots and brocade quarter cup corset on. Sex wasn't this evening's priority. That was pushing these girls to their limits.

After the girl had brought Em to a very satisfying climax, I wandered over to Em's side of the bed, bent over and kissed her. We soon escalated the intensity as we matched and bettered one another's responses. Our tongues danced, slithering around, exploring each other's mouths. As hard and as passionate as we snogged, her mouth remained so soft and inviting.

It marked our first moment of intimacy. Even though we'd discussed our fair share of carnal topics. Especially my love of dominating women and her desire for a submissive partner. It didn't matter she was old enough to be my mother. I wanted her.

She mirrored my passion step for step. I felt her hand reach out to my left breast. Caressing it before cupping it in her palm and focusing on the barbell running through my nipple. She took hold of the ends between her thumb and first finger, toying with it, gently twisting and pulling, driving me insane as the sensations coursed through my body.

It would have been so easy to surrender and have her satisfy me, but we had our sluts to torture.

I broke the kiss and brought my nipple to her mouth. "We'll continue this later, I promise. First, we need to break these bitches."

"Pity their nipples aren't pierced like yours, darling."

"We can fix that tomorrow. I'll have Asha do it first thing."

"The bitch can do mine while she's at it along with my tongue. Oh, the way your tongue stud ran through my mouth sent tingles racing all through me."

"I'm sure she will be delighted to oblige. Especially if you let her pierce your septum as well."

"We'll see," Em teased as she started releasing the trussed up slut lying beside her, saving her ball gag to last.

With that, I switched my focus to lowering the spreader bar. We attached the girls to the bar using wrist cuffs, facing each other. Then, we fixed their ankle cuffs to the anchor points on the floor. One final check, and everything was well secured. So I raised the bar, leaving our volunteers suspended and stretched out between the floor and the ceiling.

I had to know. "Still glad you volunteered?"

"Yes," answered the piss drinker without a moment's delay.

"Well?" Her companion needed prompting.

"Sort of," she replied.

"Go on."

"I'm terrified, but I don't want to stop."

"Oh, how perfect."

I stole a kiss from a smirking Em before selecting a couple of canes from our collection of toys, displayed in their very own purpose built cabinet. She took one, swished it twice through the air to get a feel for it, demonstrating she was no stranger to wielding a cane.

For everyone's benefit, I ran through the house rules. In short, submissives must call out the number of every hit. Along with a reminder they'd agreed no safe words. I warned them we would each deliver a dozen strikes with the canes.

I ordered the girls to kiss one another. As they were getting into it, I delivered the first hard strike.

The recipient yelled from the shock. She took no time to recover. "One."

"Don't stop kissing."

I nodded to Em, who dispatched her first swat onto the other girl's bottom.

She winced before calling out, "One."

The moment they resumed, I dispensed my second strike. The girl wiggled her bum at me whilst she said, "Two."

I started trash talking them. Em joined in as we took our time alternating between smacking the girls across their arse cheeks and down the backs of their legs. One could sense the relief as Em delivered her twelfth stroke.

They had a rude awakening when I continued, regardless. After all, I was determined to break them.

It took a dozen more smacks from us before the terrified one cracked. "Please, Mistress, why are you still punishing us?"

"Because you're paying with pain tonight." As I added another smack mark to her rear.

The impact triggered a moan from the girl, but she still managed to say, "Twenty five."

"Good, you are still counting. The game's changed. We're going to continue beating you until we're bored."

Em smacked the same one. This time across her shoulders, having declared her back needed some matching welts.

We continued taking turns until we had delivered a grand total of one hundred strokes, split equally between the girls. We left the sluts suspended.

I announced, "I'm desperate for a piss." Turning to our caged pets, I asked, "Which one of you is going to be my toilet?"

Nobody volunteered, so I unlocked the cage and ordered them to get out and stand to attention. I pulled their ball gags free and asked again, receiving the same blank response.

So, I reminded the dumb bitches, "You both willingly signed a blanket consent BDSM contract for the weekend, having been prepared to become full time slaves. So, I'm asking for the third and final time, who's going to be my toilet?"

They refused, claiming they could never swallow piss. I spelt out that staying meant honouring their blanket consent and letting me do whatever I wanted to them, yet they continued to decline. Whilst I wanted to break the bitches, they had to be willing. Yes, I can be sadistic, but I'm no bully, so I ordered them to leave.

It took less than a quarter of an hour for their Ubers to arrive. They kept pleading as they waited, promising they would try to do it. But it was too late. They'd proven unworthy of my time and needed making an example of. So, when their rides pulled up, I informed them in no uncertain terms they had blown their chance and would never be invited back.

Once the dissenters were gone, I turned to the suspended sluts and asked them. The girl who drank Em's piss volunteered without hesitating. As much as I appreciated her enthusiasm, I needed to humiliate her scared friend. The poor thing's discomfort was so obvious as she accepted my demand.

We lowered and released the pair from their restraints. I told my victim, "Lie on the floor." I removed my boots and leather trousers so I could sit on her face and pee straight into her mouth.

She swallowed it all without complaint. Clearly, she had no desire to be expelled like the others. She clamped her lips tightly around my fanny, swallowing as fast as I peed. The moment I stopped, she started running her tongue along my slit, taking her time playing with my clitoris.

The experience was exquisite, so I remained seated, enjoying her teasing for a few moments longer than necessary. I was desperate for her to continue, but I knew I should involve the other girl. So I raised myself up and addressed our dirty mouthed little piss lover, "Kiss her and make sure her mouth is nice and clean."

She didn't hesitate. As she went down, she sneered, "I hope you've left something for me to taste, bitch."

Em turned to me. "It's such a rush peeing on someone."

"It is when they swallow it all. Next time we will give them both golden showers."

With that, I kissed Em long and hard. I didn't want a discussion. I'd planned the whole exercise as a pure act of dominance, but the bitches made it more sensual than intended. What's worse, I found myself being utterly turned on by the entire experience.

I broke the kiss. "We should bundle the sluts into the cage and make love."

"Oh darling, I thought you'd never ask."

In next to no time, we had them caged and ourselves canoodling on the bed. We started by fingering one another, which morphed into scissoring. Em came, but it wasn't happening for me, so we switched to sixty nining, where our mouths drove us to a shared climactic heaven. Having brought one another to several rather delicious orgasms, we collapsed asleep, cuddling.

Wendy woke us in the morning. She and I had agreed to spend the day shopping for the remaining furniture needed for the cottage. At the sight of Em and me wrapped in one another's arms, she froze. But that paled compared to the look on her face when I sat my bum on the cage and relieved myself over the girls. Em followed suit as we exchanged a lingering kiss. Feeling all warm and fuzzy, I headed to my bedroom to prepare for the day.

We used the car service to run us around the stores we'd shortlisted. On the way to our first stop, Wendy asked, "How come you ended up sleeping with Em?"

She'd been rather terse all morning. Any fool could tell the idea of Em and me sleeping together didn't sit well with her, which caused me some concern. She'd never shown any jealousy before, despite all the women I'd played with since we met.

"Okay, what have I done to offend you?"

"Nothing," she snapped.

"Like hell there isn't. Please tell me what I've done, or I'll start probing."

She turned away.

"Based on your shocked expression first thing, it's because Em and I slept together. Although watching your reaction as we both provided golden showers for our willing guests was an absolute picture."

"You're so proud of being a total bitch, aren't you? How would you like it if I fucked your mother?"

Now that's something I'd love to witness. My parents, the original Mr and Mrs Square, swinging at an orgy with Wendy bringing my mum to climax. Somehow, I managed to keep the thought to myself.

"I'm sorry if I offended you. That was never my intention."

"So why did you sleep with her?"

"You know she's entitled to her own sex life?"

"I know, but she's been a better mother to me than my own mum. It came as a shock. I wasn't expecting it, okay."

Shit, I hadn't foreseen Wendy's admission. If I had, I would have handled the whole situation with more discretion.

"I promise I won't make love with her again if it offends you."

"It's too late for that. I can't unsee what I've seen."

"I'm sorry you had to witness it, but you must admit it's funny finding out your mum's kinkier than you."

"Oh, I so hate you." Her expression betrayed her as a smile crept across her face.

I gave her a hug. "You don't have to play with Em."

"I'm pretty certain I'm going to have to get used to witnessing her enjoying herself if I want to mess around with our slaves again."

Our arrival put a temporary halt to our conversation.

At the next opportunity, she broached the subject of why Em and I were dispensing golden showers and what had become of the other bitches. I filled her in on last night's antics and explained it all formed part of their humiliation, which, thanks to Em, went a little further than anticipated.

At least our open and honest chat didn't impede us from sourcing the perfect dining table and matching chairs, teamed with a Welsh dresser large enough to display a complete dinner service.

When we returned home, we found Asha and Em playing with the girls in the playroom. The poor things looked spent. Whether from two days of intense domination or their fresh piercings, I neither knew nor cared.

Em was in her stride, not letting anyone's new body mods stop her, including those running through her septum and nipples. When I challenged her, she pushed up her breasts with her hands, leant towards me and stuck her tongue out, revealing her final piercing. All accompanied by one of the finest blown raspberries I've ever heard. Oh, well, c'est la vie.

Wendy and I took up residence on the chaise longue to watch the proceedings while making gentle love. I owed her a show of genuine affection. What with my faux pas of sleeping with Em. Anyway, a little past midnight, I declared it time we locked the girls back in their cage and headed to our beds.

We rose around nine on Sunday. Our basement guests had been entertaining, but three days in, they'd become tedious. Wendy and Asha concurred with my diagnosis.

Em was in the kitchen when I entered. She'd brewed a fresh cafetière of coffee in anticipation of our arrival.

We kissed our hellos.

I said, "We are going to dismiss the sluts. They've been fun, but it's all become a little samey."

"Let me do it, my dear. I'm not finished with them yet."

"Enjoy." Now, I would never deny a fellow dom her indulgence.

I grabbed my mug and headed towards the gym, where I spent the rest of the morning exercising.

As Em wandered past on her way to the playroom, she announced she would cook this evening's dinner. So, at lunchtime, Wendy and I popped out to finish buying furniture for the cottage.

We'd spotted a couple of sofas yesterday that we liked, but not enough to buy them on first viewing. So, we returned to the store to double check they still appealed before ordering a pair. While we were there, we also bought a coffee table.

On our return, Asha was looking smug. When pushed, she confessed to having given our visitors the chastity option. They both took it.

During the evening while helping Em finish cooking our meal, I enquired whether she wanted a girl of her own.

"Yes, dear, I believe I do," Em replied.

"How about one of our weekend guests? We have their telephone numbers, or are you looking for something different?"

"They were a pleasant distraction, but I don't see either being my loyal Amy." A nod to Miss Hinchcliffe's giggly, devoted lover from Agatha Christie's A Murder is Announced.

"Leave it with me. I'm certain I can find you the perfect specimen." Of course, I already had the ideal hellion lined up for her. I just had to pray I'd catch the little minx at the club soon.

Chapter 5 Confirmation

The following week was quiet. I spent the bulk of my time working with Gillian.

Wendy took a trip to Paris on Monday and Tuesday to view potential ateliers. She'd toured one in Canal Saint-Martin she swore matched our requirements to a tee, along with a couple in Place des Victoires that came close.

Thursday evening, and we were back at the club.

Dani, the tart who wanted padlocks inserted into her fresh, undersized labia piercings, made her presence known within the first hour. She wasted no time in reminding us it had been four weeks since we'd pierced her, and she needed, no, required, the ball closure rings running along the sides of her pussy replaced with the promised locks. She had a friend in tow named Candy.

They both returned with us for some kinky after party fun and games. The perfect girl for Em, alas, was a no show this week.

Once home, Asha swapped the rings with the padlocks. Dani was well aware she was placing herself into chastity. She loved the idea of being denied penetrative vaginal sex. Part of the appeal was knowing if she ever hoped to regain access, she'd have to beg with no guarantee of release. Either that or find some unfortunate soul blessed with a pencil dick.

I handed her a copy of the contract making her mine for life. She signed, refusing to read it, insisting she meant it when she gave herself to me the first night we met. We agreed to meet at Rose's Pink Lady tattoo studio Friday evening so she could get her ownership tat.

Then we played. Asha suspended Dani, teasing and whipping her poor body. Meanwhile, on the bed, Candy queened Wendy to a frenzied state of continuous orgasms. I sat back and watched the girls have fun while I amused myself with a cute little pocket vibrator.

Candy had strong submissive tendencies that screamed 'I need possessing' but seemed somewhat resistant to the idea of being owned. She was so up for playing with us again and eager to have her nipples pierced, but declined the offer to pierce her septum.

She intrigued me. I wanted to understand what was holding her back. I just needed her to open up, so I stood a chance of neutralising her fears.

Dani and Candy were gone by six thirty, enabling us to grab some sleep.

We slept through until two. I spent a couple of hours working out between business calls, followed by a long, relaxing soak in the bath and a pampering session whilst I made myself presentable to the world. The three of us headed for Rose's tattoo studio for Dani's seven o'clock appointment.

We were a few minutes late. Dani was waiting outside, accompanied by Candy.

I greeted Candy first. "Oh, do tell me you've decided you need to be owned."

"Not really. I'm just annoyed at missing out on owning Dani myself."

"Honey, I know a way you could own her if you truly desire her."

"How?"

"Give yourself to me. You own Dani. I own you and, by extension, Dani."

Dani interjected, "It's the rules, babe. Everything flows upward to Mistress."

"It's tempting," Candy admitted.

"So, what's holding you back?"

"Sometimes I like to switch roles."

"So you're a switch. Asha's always been my submissive, but she's a dom to everybody else. Aren't you, honey?"

Asha just smirked.

"It's not just that. It's being marked permanently as someone else's property."

"But you're more than happy with your friend being forever marked as yours."

"Yes," she paused. "I know I'm a hypocrite, but," she left it hanging.

I softened my voice. "But what?"

She looked away, but it took her less than fifteen seconds to confess. "I'm scared, okay? I know you will have me sign a lifelong version of the contract I signed last night. It's bound to contain clauses about body mods, how I dress and behave. I've heard some absolute horror stories about girls ending up with monster boobs and being whored out to men after signing total power exchange type contracts."

"Yes, you will sign a contract that covers modifications including tattoos, piercings and surgical enhancements, but I've never invoked the enhancements bit. Obviously, piercings and discreet tattoos are a different matter. Although you seemed more than comfortable getting your nipples pierced."

I paused before adding, "Asha informed me they are perfect for double piercing. I'm sure you'd love having them adorned with both horizontal and vertical barbells."

Candy blushed and dropped her gaze.

Dani let out a soft, mocking giggle. "Look at yourself, girl. You think you can own me when you're all but begging to feel the needles pierce your skin again. Go on, give in to your inner slut."

"As for hiring you out, well, I may share you with female friends, but I assure you, I'll never let a man touch you if you find the thought so repellent. Honestly, I've never understood the attraction of men." But I sure as hell understood the art of supplying an attractive, eager girl as the price of securing a man's commitment. Not that I've had to use it. At least not yet.

I gave her a moment before delivering my offer. "I appreciate it's a life altering decision, but I also know you love being dominated, and deep inside your soul, you are screaming to be owned. So, are you brave enough to give yourself to me?"

Dani dialled up her charm to eleven. "Stop stalling, babe. We both know you're going to cave anyway. Just go for it."

Candy took a deep breath. "Okay, I'm yours on the condition that you never share me with any men."

I added a suitable clause to an electronic copy of the same contract Dani had signed earlier. I advised her to take her time reviewing it. She gave it a cursory glance before replying, confirming acceptance of the contract's terms.

"Are you sure you understand what you've signed up for? This is it. When we enter, Rose will mark you for life as my property."

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"That's better." After all, one must do one's best to maintain proper etiquette. "We can go inside now."

Rose welcomed us in and escorted us into her workspace. Candy was up first. Rose had quite the dominant streak as she ordered Candy to strip naked and lie down on the tattooing bed. She trash talked Candy all the way through her tattooing. Teasing her about how much fun Asha was going to have piercing her. Saying she'd never seen one of my girls with fewer than twenty piercings before.

Rather predictably, Rose had based her taunting around piercing. I'd planned on using it to prove a point to Candy. The moment Rose finished the ownership tattoo, I asked her to pierce Candy's septum.

Rose laughed whilst Candy objected.

I reminded Candy that she'd given me full control over her body.

She lay back, glaring at me, resigned to a future under my total control.

Rose soon had a ring through Candy's septum and was onto Dani, who couldn't keep her eyes off Candy. Dani stripped, and that's when Rose saw her fanny.

Rose spent several moments examining the metalwork penetrating Dani's nether region. "Oh shit. That is so extreme. I absolutely love it. I bet you're not so keen on being locked up and denied, though. Well, bitch?"

"I love denial."

"Kinky or what! Hey, Candy, are you looking forward to having your slit done up?"

I beat Candy to the reply. "I'm having all my girls done. Can you do Asha's for me?"

Rose answered, "Oh, most certainly. How many sessions did it take?"

"One," replied Asha.

"You can't be serious. The pain will be unbearable."

"She is," Dani explained. "With a little persuasion, she also did my clitoral hood, Princess Albertina, fourchette, nipples, tongue, septum and nostrils in the same session. The hurt was nothing compared to the exquisite whipping she'd just given my body. I was so high on adrenaline. She could have fucked me with anything and I'd have come."

What a marvellous outburst! Our Dani can be a right little brat when the mood takes her. I love it. Oh, what fun we'll have with you, honey, when you try coming that attitude with me. I shouldn't be surprised. She's been feisty every time we've met.

"That was incredibly irresponsible," Rose retorted.

"That's exactly what Asha said," Dani replied.

"But why?"

"I was playing catch up. The other bitches had a head start, and I refused to lose. So, I kept on pushing for more."

"You're both mad."

"But you're going to pierce me?" Asha all but demanded.

"I assume you'll want a Princess Albertina and fourchette as well."

Asha nodded.

"Yes, I'll do it if you're prepared to accept the risks."

The septum piercing ruse I pulled on Candy was enough to ensure she knew her place. It worked almost too well.

A rather contrite Candy stopped Rose from applying the stencil detailing her as Dani's owner. She stated the obvious, "You own both of us, and to pretend otherwise is just denying reality, Mistress."

I was going to defer Dani's tattoo, but Candy insisted. The poor girl sobbed through Dani's tattooing while they held each other's hands.

Once Rose had finished piercing Asha, Candy begged us to complete hers. As a caring mistress, a. k. a. a sadistic bitch, I knew all about prolonging anticipation. So I left her hanging with a promise of one day soon. Besides, I've no idea how many holes she'll end up with. Which reminds me, I must discuss with Asha how many one can fit on a tongue.

My parting words to Dani and Candy were to tell them that if they don't already live together, they should.

We made our way home with Asha sporting a full set of fanny piercings, feeling smug yet a touch tender.

The moment we arrived at the townhouse, we made a beeline for the playroom. Wendy and I had a date with Asha's needles.

Prior to my op, I discussed the possibility of piercings with the surgeon who'd be constructing my custom pussy. She stated it shouldn't be a problem once it's fully healed. So, during my one year checkup, I double checked my suitability. Although back in April I was only considering having my clitoral hood done, I received the green light for all varieties of genital piercings.

Asha started with the VCH, moving on to a Princess Albertina and fourchette before placing two rows of six holes in my inner labia, working upwards from the bottom. It helped that Asha was an excellent piercer. She had a natural confidence and efficiency when pushing the needle through, thus minimising what should only be a momentary stabbing pain.

Pity it didn't ease the Princess Albertina piercing, which was pure, unadulterated agony.

"Bitch," I screamed as it tore through.

Asha apologised.

She wasn't the intended recipient, but then she'd wielded the needle.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise after witnessing our four guinea pigs receiving theirs. Thank God, the searing pain was short lived following the initial shock.

In comparison, the discomfort from the others was no worse than having one's earlobe pierced.

When I caught my reflection in the mirror, I loved the sight of all the rings gracing my fanny with a single ball visible above my clit. It looked so dangerous and naughty. How could I resist running my hand along them? A long, low "Oh" escaped. Everything felt a hundred times more sensitive.

I hung around whilst Asha did Wendy's. Wendy already had a VCH, so Asha started with the painful Princess Albertina piercing. Having witnessed my experience, she tried bracing herself with limited success. Asha wasted no time moving on to Wendy's fourchette and adding two rows of seven piercings running up her inner labia, matching the number Rose placed into Asha.

The only downside was the few days of celibacy while our latest enhancements recovered from the initial trauma.

Chapter 6 California Dreaming

Saturday, the three of us visited the salon for our regular hair and nail appointments ahead of our last scheduled NYC trip. I'd tagged a cheeky jaunt out to LA onto the end as a little well earned self indulgence.

Wendy and I also had a couple of makeover clients, including Wendy's first solo session.

Kim and her team of beauticians handled most of the makeover business, with only yours truly providing the exclusive premium service at a ridiculous markup. Oh, did we know all about exclusivity, what with all the lucrative new punters we kept having to turn away.

Little wonder Kim couldn't hide her delight when Wendy mentioned she'd love to take on some of the top tier clients. With the reputation Wendy had built, we could double the number of premium slots. Although it had little impact on our capped six month waiting lists.

Jane had been managing the salon for almost nine months. She'd hired a bunch of talented stylists to enable the hairdressing side to operate at maximum capacity. With Jane and Kim at the helm, we were for all intents and purposes fully booked for the next quarter.

But we still had one Lisa shaped elephant lurking in the place. She was only working Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, having surrendered all business decisions to me. I understood what the business meant to her and felt somewhat guilty for pushing her out as retaliation for her abandoning me.

Jane tried reassuring me, "You know Lisa only ceded control so you wouldn't set up a rival operation to wipe her out."

"I get that, but it doesn't assuage my guilt."

"Stop worrying about it. She has way bigger problems than the salon. I've never known her to be so depressed. She's a mere shadow of her former self."

"Why doesn't she reach out then?"

Jane just shrugged.

With the cottage's transformation complete, we called in on our return trip. Thanks to Wendy's design and oversight, it looked wonderful. Lisa wouldn't have recognised the place, that's for certain.

What Wendy had achieved was magical, but seeing it finished just piled on the remorse.

Wendy clocked my mood change. "Okay, spill. What's bothering you?"

"I'm missing Lisa."

"Yes, but what's new?"

"I adore what you've done to the place, but it's just added to the guilt I'm feeling for taking her business from her. It's as if I've belittled Lisa by having the gall to touch her home."

Asha weighed in. "It's called karma. She got what she deserved."

"And that's supposed to help?" I asked.

"We all know you still love her, but she shat on both of us. She doesn't deserve your guilt. Remember, she owes you one hell of an explanation for abandoning you."

"Yes, I get it, but I do miss her something terrible. I hate playing the long game, but it's my only option to win her back. The slow wait for Rob's inevitable, unforgivable fuck up that will compel Lisa to leave him is driving me mad. It really doesn't help whenever you," I nodded towards Wendy, "or Annie speak to her, and you both relay the same old message about her missing me."

I needed a moment to compose myself. "And then there's everybody else telling me how sad and depressed she is. I just don't understand why she's still with the bastard."

Wendy's turn. "Just accept that someday she will reach out, pleading for you to take her back. And before you mention it, she's well aware the three of us come as a package deal."

"I know, but the waiting's killing me when I can see she's suffering."

"But will you be comfortable staying here?"

"I don't see why not."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. Why do you keep asking?"

"I'm trying to make sure you're happy, so I can confirm the furniture delivery and installation."

My grief manifested itself in all consuming bouts of depression. I knew better than to ask Jane and Kim how Lisa was. But I couldn't stop myself. What's worse, once triggered, I always spiralled.

Winston Churchill summed up depression perfectly when he compared it to a black dog, a permanent companion that follows you everywhere. A constant reminder, ready to pounce and consume you.

Like Churchill, I suppressed it by working and playing hard.

And then there was the alcohol consumption. Another aspect I shared with him. I was drinking well over a bottle of wine a day. Yet I was seldom drunk, taking my time sipping my way through every glassful. Most days, at least, I'd down a black coffee or two before pouring my first glass of champagne.

It didn't excuse the unhealthy volume. Worse, I was averaging just one meal a day and over an hour's cardio to compensate for the booze.

It would have been easy to blame Lisa, except these were my coping mechanisms.

Anyway, we needed to return to the townhouse and prepare for a get together we'd promised to attend. For once, we managed a quick turnaround and were ready to leave by ten.

The party was okay, but nothing special. We'd only agreed to show our faces as a favour to Lara, the editor of the magazine's UK edition. She'd been pestering me to resurrect my old style section with more of a London vibe now I'd stepped down from editing the US version.

The idea appealed, but I struggled with her whole London vibe thing. I wrote about what I knew, and I'd lived, worked and played in London for all my adult life. How the hell can I make myself more 'London'?

She was supposed to be joining us in New York next week to attend the Met Gala. I'll make a point of calling her into my office to discuss my current thinking.

None of us had any desire to stay long because we had a bit of an early start the next morning. So we were home before midnight. Once in bed, all I wanted was some traditional, old fashioned cuddling. Which Asha and Wendy were happy to provide.

We wasted the bulk of Sunday travelling to NYC. This was my final handholding session with Carrie. It just happened to coincide with this year's Met Gala. Hence why we were flying out a day earlier, complete with an oversized trunk containing our Gilly Bell gowns.

Wendy and I spent Monday in the office until 3pm when we returned to the hotel to prepare for tonight's gala. Gillian had produced three very individual evening dresses that all shared a common theme. Each one was elegant, silvery and figure hugging with a hint of naughty suggestiveness. Our sides were bare apart from a run of ornate kilt pins securing the backs to the fronts, making our lack of bras and knickers blatantly obvious.

We'd teamed the outfits with different yet similar 12cm stiletto heeled strappy sandals in the most gorgeous liquid silver finish. Our makeup was a perfect exercise in understated glamour, even if I say so myself. For our hair, we borrowed one of the magazine's in house hairdressers to style our tresses in some magnificent updo Jane had devised. Besides making herself available via video chat, Jane had supplied a private YouTube clip showing how to achieve the look.

A red carpet arrival was obligatory. We entered as a threesome, aiming for elegance with a touch of edge rather than trying to steal the show by wearing overtly outlandish costumes. Perversely, with us being a very public lesbian throuple, we delivered on novelty value alone.

Once inside, we spent our time mingling with the industry's key players. After several hours pressing the flesh, I couldn't wait to get back to the hotel.

Thanks to all the new piercings decorating our vulvas, it had been three days since we'd last had sex. None of us could resist any longer. We tried to keep things gentle. Wendy pushed me on to the bed and set to toying with my nipples. Asha wasted no time coming in for the kill.

The bitch always knew how to satisfy me, placing a couple of fingers over my clitoral hood before pressing the barbell end against my glans just so. I expected heightened sensation, but this was beyond exquisite. I doubt I lasted five minutes with Asha grinding against my most sensitive spot before enjoying an extra memorable climax.

With all my moaning, Wendy had given up trying to kiss me and had locked her mouth onto my right nipple, where she was sucking, licking and nibbling. She used her hand to ensure my left tit didn't feel ignored. Alone, it would have been sufficient, but with Asha's ministrations, I was in paradise.

Asha then inserted a pair of fingers whilst still playing with my glans. Now that was serious voodoo. Every movement was relayed through my vagina to the urethra, triggering a wonderful, deep yet vivid arousal that's almost impossible to describe. I soon found myself knocking on heaven's door once more.

I tried holding on, but the sensations were so wild my body started bucking moments before a wave of pure electric joy raced through me as I experienced one of the most brutal, intense releases of my life. It triggered a petite mort moment. I recovered just as another surge of sheer bliss swept through me.

I couldn't take much more, so I snapped at Asha, "Enough."

The bitch ignored me. What's worse, I let her.

There was no relief. She made sure successive orgasms merged into one. Given the intensity, there was no hope of my remaining conscious. The next thing I remember is basking in the wonderful glow that follows an awesome fucking.

I'm not sure I really regained consciousness before drifting off to sleep. I had a series of vague recollections of witnessing Wendy and Asha making love, but I was too far gone to care.

On Tuesday, Wendy and I arrived half an hour prior to the daily editorial meeting with the deliberate intention of ruffling the feathers of everyone who'd overindulged. I'd also summoned Lara to a little midday tête-à-tête.

Before that, I had a session with Carrie, who walked straight into my cavernous corner office and joined me, taking the opposite sofa. Absolute confidence. I loved it.

"You are the most evil bitch I know," she announced, with a grin running from ear to ear.

"You must admit it was fun, though."

"Oh, the look of utter shock gracing Marcia's face when you accused her of drinking on a school night, between sips of your champagne, was such a picture."

"The poor girl really needs to learn what her limits are or just give up booze."

"Indeed. Now, please end my misery and tell me you are resurrecting your old section?"

"I am. In fact, I'm going to commit to producing ten to twenty pages every month with certain caveats."

"Let me guess. You'll retain total editorial control. Well, that's easy. You already have that with your board position. Besides, that's part of your appeal. You always refused to follow each month's theme."

"That's because no one ever told me what it was. Now, to be fair, I never asked."

She just stared at me.

"The magazine within a magazine will focus on provocative, style centric content. It will contain regular contributions from Wendy and me, along with whoever I fancy commissioning. The title is changing to 'London Calling'. For imagery, we will mimic the cover art of The Clash album of the same name, featuring yours truly smashing a sewing machine onto the ground in sheer frustration."

"Pure genius. I can see it now."

"Oh, yes, one last thing. We are going to publish it in both the UK and US."

With my ongoing contribution sorted, I met with Lara in my office. I've never been one to let an opportunity slide, so I'd moved my arse from the sofas to behind my oversized desk.

She knocked on the open door as she arrived.

I sat up and greeted her. "Hi, close the door and take a seat," gesturing towards the single upright chair positioned in front of the desk. "How are you doing?"

The abject panic on her face as she wrestled with deciding between taking the chair offered or plonking her bum down on one of the sofas was so telling.

She opted for the chair but was so flustered she thanked me for seeing her when I had demanded her presence.

I just smiled.

We went through the usual pleasantries. I enquired how she felt about her current performance, knowing full well the magazine's stats showed she was doing a bang up job. I then mentioned her desire for me to resurrect my old section and asked her to expand on her 'more London' point.

She started with, "For our offering to appeal to zoomers, we need to focus on the ever evolving street scene." Her pretentious drivel continued, oblivious to the aspirational nature of the magazine's target audience. I switched off.

When I thought she'd droned on long enough, I interrupted her, "Whoa, hold it there. Let's review the facts of life. We sell advertising targeting fashion conscious luxury capable spenders. As such, we publish the fashion bible. Meaning we are style setters, not followers. And as for street style? Well, for the masses, it hasn't changed in forty years. Oh, other than who manufactures the most bad arsed kicks and what logo should adorn their hoodies."

I checked she hadn't fainted from the shock of being interrupted. Well, as a species, editors are a bunch of prissy prima donnas. "Need I remind you that regardless of whether it be print or digital, circulation and subscription figures rose significantly during my tenure editing the US edition. You do realise I've always exploited ideas I've observed when out and about across both my magazine and design work?"

She was doing a rather splendid job, and I had zero desire to destroy the woman. So I ended my analysis on a positive note. I paraphrased the few pertinent points I gleaned from her sleep inducing sermon. "It seems to me, what you really want is me to be more edgy, to expose the unapologetic me, the enfant terrible designer cum stylist?"

I let her get a word in. "Yes," said with real meaning.

But before she could squeeze another one in, I had to tease her. "I think you've heard rumours I like to play."

"There are, er, stories going around that you host, um, some of the hottest private kink parties."

Oh, how marvellous. The poor thing is so embarrassed.

I'd always been open about my involvement in the fetish scene. So, I had no problem confirming the story. "I do host parties for attractive women who crave the brand of care only a dominatrix can provide."

Lara's face turned such a wonderful shade of red. I couldn't help but twist the knife in further. "Really, Lara?"

Her mouth dropped open, but no words came forth. Once she'd suffered enough, I gave her a knowing smile and introduced her to the commitment I'd made to Carrie, including describing the items I intended covering along with each one's provocative angle.

Learning it would appear in both the US and UK shocked her. Not that it mattered, she'd swallowed the bait, hook and all.

Not surprising when one considers the maths: every ten pages of editorial content for March and September's principal fashion issues equates to thirty to fifty pages with advertising. In other words, an easy 5% of the magazine's content that someone else was taking responsibility for.

We wrapped up the meeting on a high. She even thanked me again as she rose to leave.

It was so easy, I couldn't resist having one last dig. "Lara, if you're that desperate to be dominated, I suggest you try getting on your knees and begging."

The pitiful girl paused for rather longer than necessary before turning and rushing out. Leaving it to her flushed cheeks to confess her hidden desires.

The rest of the fortnight was somewhat subdued, with me vacating the editor's chair. Asha was putting Wendy and me to shame with her numerous modelling gigs. Although the evenings were pretty active thanks to all the networking at the gala.

Back in Blighty, Gillian took a day trip across the Channel to confirm the suitability of the buildings Wendy had shortlisted for our Paris atelier. She loved the potential of the one in Canal Saint-Martin. So, I gave Wendy the nod to sign the letter of intent for the property. In effect, buying us a month's exclusivity to complete due diligence and decide if we wanted to sign the preliminary contract.

The second Monday, I bestowed on Carrie a most precious gift: the keys to my corner office. I already had a plush suite within the magazine's London building, which, having fulfilled my promise, I will have more need for than some fancy NYC status symbol. On the odd occasions when I require a Manhattan workspace, I will just commandeer an appropriate meeting room.

Rather than travelling back overnight on Thursday, we stayed an extra night in NYC. We were spending the weekend at the Cruel World Festival in Pasadena, after working Friday morning and flying to LA in the afternoon.

The festival had an impressive goth, post punk and new wave lineup across three stages, with the same bands playing both days. For Asha and me, the principal draw was the chance to see Bauhaus again, although Morrissey was the main attraction for Wendy.

The weather forecast predicted a hot weekend, so leather and latex were out. Instead, Wendy and I wore black Lolita dresses with velvet bodices tapering into dramatic, bell shaped skirts lifted by layers of hidden petticoats. Asha chose a ridiculously oversized Bauhaus tee held in place with a studded belt, sans knickers.

As for shoes, the festival was being held at the Brookside Golf Course. Now, I'm someone who adores wearing stilettos, but there are two surfaces I avoid at all costs: snow and grass. It's not like they are impossible to walk on, but the hassle from the additional care required and the possibility of experiencing an embarrassing mishap simply aren't worth the risk.

So, faced with a couple of long days on grass, I selected a pair of low cut lace up ankle boots with sky high tapered block heels and modest platforms. Asha chose similar, but Wendy opted for 'sensible' black ballet flats teamed with cute, frilly white ankle socks for the first day. A choice she soon regretted.

The poor girl had worn nothing but four to five inch heels since meeting me. Her Achilles tendons had shortened, causing her discomfort when walking flat footed for any length of time.

Within a couple of hours, she'd started searching stalls for anything with a heel. An hour later, she'd purchased a pair of holographic purple ankle boots complete with bonkers platform heels straight out of the seventies glam rock era.

To provide some shelter from the sun, Asha and I packed parasols, while Wendy preferred a large brimmed hat. But one thing was for certain: we were going with full goth makeup, even spending Thursday evening having our nails manicured in black with an exquisite high gloss finish.

When I was a baby bat, my musical education centred around Bauhaus, Joy Division and Siouxsie and the Banshees, along with a whole host of British bands. American acts, with the exception of Nirvana's grunge, never quite cut the mustard. Well, I suppose there was the proto goth trilogy of The Doors, The Velvet Underground and Iggy. Anyway, it was a bit of a pleasant surprise to witness Christian Death and Violent Femmes putting on truly noteworthy performances.

But for me, Bauhaus delivered the best set of the weekend. It helped that they received celestial support midway through their Sunday night show, with a full moon rising over the California sky during a total lunar eclipse. It was the epitome of goth.

We travelled back to England overnight on Monday. Before heading to Gillian's, we swung by the house to dump our bags and say hi to Em. Whilst we worked, I provided Gillian with a complete rundown of the festival.

The moment I finished, she announced she had bought us all tickets for Bauhaus's Brixton show on the 19th of August. A welcome little thank you for everything I'd done for her. By six, we were knackered, so I had Vish drive us home, and I was in bed crashed out with the girls two hours later.

Wednesday, I spent working with Gillian again. Wendy and Asha were at the cottage, waiting for furniture deliveries and supervising the installation. My brilliant angels kept going until they'd made the place a home again, including making up the beds. Which, if I know them, they only did so they could christen them.

Chapter 7 A Right Little Charlie

Wendy and I spent Thursday running around town attending numerous meetings. During the evening, we were back at the fetish club. As had become the norm, I had to turn down various financial inducements to provide private domination sessions. I understood the men, but it was the women I struggled to comprehend. After all, it only required a pretty young thing to exercise some savvy to score free entry to our after hours fun.

Lucky for me, the little minx I pictured as Em's ideal submissive partner dropped by to say hello. Our busty fisting fan from February. Given Em's rather distinctive kinky nature, I figured they'd make the perfect couple.

I wasted no time, giving her a welcome kiss as I slipped a lead onto the ring on her collar. Her ecstatic "Oh yes, please" response provided all the confirmation I needed to know she wanted to play.

Two newbies joined us. A cute pair who'd heard intriguing tales about our after party soirées. Once home, we alternated between the three subs, using them for an hour before swapping. I organised proceedings, so I had the bitch I hoped would become Em's pet last.

With Asha's help, we hung her up, spread eagle style, so I could whip her. When it appeared she couldn't take any more, I started fingering her. One thing led to another, and I soon found myself with my hand wrist deep in her slit once again.

I was busy reaming her fanny with my fist when Em entered and announced, "Morning, girls," sounding all bright and breezy.

Oh, such perfect timing. Serendipitous or what?

Wendy, who was on the bed fucking a newbie, replied all cheeky like, "Morning, Mummy."

I seized my moment. "I have a girl here you admired last time she joined us."

Em wandered closer for a clearer view. As she approached, she enquired, "What are you doing to the poor thing?"

"I'm fisting her."

"Ouch, that's definitely going too far."

"She begged for it, didn't you, slut?"

"Oh God, yes," came her strained yet eager reply.

"Well, really. Mind you, it does look hot though," a fascinated Em stated.

"You can have a go if you fancy," I suggested.

"Why not? I'll never forget the hungry look in her eyes during our first fleeting encounter. Andi, darling, if I recall, she was looking for a mistress, wasn't she? Well, my dear, I'm looking for a submissive."

Busty clearly remembered Em as she stared deep into Em's eyes with a look of pure lust.

"She was. Let me withdraw my fist, and I will teach you how to insert yours." I couldn't help smiling as my scheming bore fruit in record time.

I outlined the steps as I took my time unfurling my fist and withdrawing my hand.

The little slut shuddered as my hand came free.

Em grabbed my wrist and ran her tongue across the back of my hand, sampling her prey's juices. She purred a long mmm as her intrigued expression transformed into utter desire.

The girl gave a brief moan, as if she'd been holding herself back.

"Did she just have a mini orgasm?" Em asked.

I glanced at our victim. "Well?"

She nodded as she answered, "Yes, Mistress."

Ever cautious, Em double checked, "Are you certain you're okay with me fisting you?"

"Oh, yes. For someone like yourself, Mistress, I promise I'll endure all your whims." Brilliant. They're both so desperate.

Em pulled her into a passionate kiss. It didn't take the girl long to convince her she meant it. Em glided her hand down towards the bitch's fanny. On arrival, she slid a couple of fingers into the girl's slit, working them back and forth, feeling her wetness.

She soon slipped a third finger in. They had stopped kissing. The girl half encouraged, half pleaded with Em to move faster. Em added a fourth finger and then her thumb. The slut was in heaven the moment Em had her entire hand, wrist deep, inside her.

When Em formed her fist, the girl let out the briefest whimper, followed by a demanding "Oh yes, now fuck me, Mistress."

You'd have believed Em was the one getting pounded judging from her expression. She wasn't holding back as she pumped her fist into her prey's pussy.

The girl was soon on the edge, moaning, desperate to prolong the experience, all too aware she was fighting a losing battle. A scream accompanied her inevitable surrender as her body craved the welcome relief of the climax crashing through her.

Em let out a little "Ah" as she all but stopped pumping her fist inside her willing victim's fanny.

I whispered in Em's ear, "Did Mummy just have a petite mort moment of her own?"

"Ooh, yes, darling." She flushed pink.

"You should keep fucking her until she passes out."

Em picked up the pace afresh. The girl continued emitting appreciative moans and, over the next ten minutes or so, climaxed twice more before succumbing to an orgasm so intense she blacked out.

"Help me get her down," Em pleaded more than asked.

"You could leave her there."

"I need satisfying."

Which sounded like the perfect reason to me. So I grabbed the controls to lower Busty.

The moment she came around, Em began whispering to her. I unclipped the chains attached to her wrist cuffs and helped Em carry her over to the bed. We laid the girl down, forcing Wendy to slide over.

Em wasted no time kicking off her stilettos and stripping down to just her corset before joining her latest conquest on the bed. They started making out, exchanging passionate kisses.

A minute later, Em opened her legs and ordered, "Eat me, my dear. I need to come."

Whilst Em played, I moved to the other side of the bed to toy with Wendy and her playmate. I amused myself by teasing the newbie's nipples, threatening to have them pierced. To which I received a rather appealing "Please, Mistress."

It only took Busty five minutes to drive Em to a very audible orgasm. The brave fool eased up only to have Em bark, "More." She doubled down, driving Em to several more climaxes before Em pulled her off by her hair and told her to lie beside her.

Once Em had recovered, she dragged herself up and began questioning her quarry. "What do you do for a living?" The authoritative tone in her voice attracted everyone's attention.

"I'm a general assistant in a hotel."

Em considered the girl's response. "Are you still searching for a mistress?"

"Yes," she answered without hesitation.

"Are you prepared to be a permanent, full time, live in slave?"

"For you? Oh God, yes."

"Good. You are now mine, baby girl."

"Thank you, Mistress," she said with real heartfelt excitement, embracing Em tightly.

"I'm your mummy, not your mistress, baby girl." Em's voice had softened, reminiscent of a mother correcting her child.

"Yes, Mummy."

"When can you move in?"

"Today, if I can have an ownership tattoo like hers, Mummy," pointing to Wendy's.

Em gave a little snort. "What about working your notice?"

"Technically, I'm supposed to give four weeks, but then I've been there over a year, and I'm still waiting for my written contract. Besides, almost no one who works in hospitality ever sticks around once they've quit," she explained. "Assuming one of you has a car, it will take me less than a couple of hours to pack everything. So, am I getting a tattoo, Mummy?"

I interjected, "It's best if you have your body hair permanently zapped first. If you take her to the salon tomorrow, I'll ensure they can squeeze in an electrolysis session. You should wait a week for it to heal before tattooing over it, though."

"Stop! I need a few moments. My God, I don't even know her name, and I've already invited her to live with me."

"You get to decide her name. After all, you declared yourself her mother. And if you feel it's important, you could always ask her," I retorted.

Em sat back on the bed, directed her newly acquired daughter to snuggle up beside her and suggested she tell everyone about herself.

"My name is Chantelle Smith."

In a flash, Em had interrupted. "Oh, you poor thing. What were your parents thinking, giving you such a vulgar name? What do most people call you?"

She replied, "Chantelle, some use Tilly, and I had a friend at school who used to call me Charlie."

"Did you like being called Charlie?"

"Yes, Mummy."

"Excellent, my dear, your name is now Charlotte Anderson, Charlie for short. Please continue."

"I'm twenty four. I've always worked in hospitality since leaving home. Well, to be accurate, when my mum kicked me out the moment I was eighteen."

"You are kidding, right?" Em exclaimed.

"Not at all. The day I turned eighteen she told me to sling me hook because she won't be getting any more money for me. So, I packed what little I owned and walked out."

"Have you ever been back?"

"No, and I've no intentions of ever seeing the skank again."

"That's not a pleasant way to talk about your mother."

"She wasn't a pleasant person. Do you know how I survived?" Her anger was obvious.

She paused, but not long enough to give anyone the opportunity to reply. "I got a job working as a maid in some shabby, flea ridden pub that did rooms, where I had to accept the landlord and his mates fucking me in exchange for accommodation."

Oh God, she was revealing her darkest memories in a rant. Em winced at her revelations.

"His wife was no better. She pimped me out to the pub's clientele so she could make some extra dosh. And you know what's worse?"

She paused again. I dreaded what might come next. "My mother was forever opening her legs as part of some con or another. Her conditioning made me believe being a shitty little whore was normal."

It was over. A look of absolute trepidation had replaced her anger.

Everyone else was in a state of shock apart from Em, who pulled her in for a hug as she started rocking her. "Shhh, baby girl, I'm your Mummy now and I promise I'll never let anything like that happen to you ever again."

Charlie hugged Em back hard, burying her face against Em's body. She made no sound. Only the rhythmic shaking of her shoulders betrayed her sobbing.

Hearing her recount it felt bad enough. One could only imagine her hell.

I turned around to our other guests. "I'm sorry, girls, but I'm afraid that's it for tonight. Everything's become a little too personal. I'm sure you understand." I nodded to Wendy, who sprang into action and hustled them out.

Wendy returned ten minutes later. By then, Charlie had recovered enough to free her face from Em's embrace. She looked totally lost and broken as she stared into Em's eyes.

Em broke the silence. "You don't have to say anything, baby girl."

"I do, Mummy. I need you to know it all," Charlie whispered.

"Okay, I'm with you, baby."

"Well, one night some random john suggested I should go and work at his regular haunt. I jumped at the opportunity to earn some real dosh. So, less than a week later, I snuck out of the pub with all my belongings crammed into a couple of bags, and I moved straight into a brothel, where I was turning tricks 24/7."

She took a deep breath. "The money was good, but it was seriously messing with my head. I ended up self medicating, abusing alcohol and drugs, until I nearly died."

Charlie paused at the memory. "I had no desire to end up being another lost crackhead whore working in some god awful underground brothel, dead from an overdose. So, within a month, I found myself a live in general assistant's job in a pleasant hotel in Paddington."

She went quiet, needing a moment. Em moved to hug her, but Charlie shook her head. "I'm okay."

Em waited a few seconds before asking, "What had you taken?"

"Ecstasy washed down with plenty of vodka." She wiped away the tears. "I was stacking tabs one night whilst drinking heavily at a club and suffered a severe reaction. I ended up getting hospitalised. The experience was so terrifying it forced me to clean up my life."

"Baby girl, do you still do drugs? If so, what drugs?"

"Alcohol is the only drug I do these days. If I'm being honest, I still drink too much. Back in the day, I used to smoke pot and pop ecstasy almost daily, with the occasional line of coke."

"Well, baby, alcohol abuse is a common problem within this household." Em glanced at me. "But I'll help you wean yourself down to a healthy level. Was that it for your sex work?"

"No, the pay in my new job wasn't great, so I started working as a part time escort, arranging tricks via an online service. I specialised in offering the girlfriend experience. It's a bit like being paid to date, but with a guaranteed fuck and loads of repeat business."

Asha quipped, "Sounds like fun."

"It beats working in a whorehouse or on the streets, hands down. It's safer, the money's better, and it's one hundred percent legit."

"Are you still working as an escort?" Em enquired.

"I did it until I turned twenty three, when I gave up all hope of finding a rich sugar daddy. It's soul destroying constantly entertaining men who only cared about gratifying themselves. I found myself a new job that paid more, whilst I kept seeing several of the nicer regulars. One by one they dropped away, with the last one in March."

That completed Charlie's confession, bar various follow up questions, such as how many times she'd been arrested. "Never," she replied. "I've been lucky enough to have only worked in places that knew how to be discreet, and I've never walked the streets."

Em just wanted to smother Charlie with love and mother her. She kept telling her how brave she'd been and congratulating her for pulling herself out of an abusive lifestyle.

Whilst I agreed with Em's sentiment, I reckoned Charlie wouldn't hesitate to return to escort work if money was tight, not that I begrudged her that option. It's not something I'd do for moolah, at least not involving men.

I suggested that once Charlie had grabbed some sleep, they take the Range Rover to retrieve her possessions from the hotel staff house.

With that, Wendy, Asha and I headed to bed expecting to snatch some shuteye. We managed a couple of hours once we'd finished discussing Charlie's colourful history. How could anybody not feel for her, but for everyone's sake, we agreed we needed a full background check on her.

We woke up around one thirty and made our way to Gillian's. When we returned home, I checked in with Em. She felt proud having helped her new daughter pack her life into a motley collection of suitcases and assorted bags. Charlie beamed, having finally found somewhere she belonged. Although her poor eyes were so red from all her crying. None of us stayed up late thanks to last night's debauchery followed by this morning's confessional.

I'd phoned the salon during the afternoon, checking if they could squeeze in an electrolysis session for Saturday. We had a couple of options. I snagged the 3pm slot. I suggested Wendy accompany them since Em hadn't been before. Em countered my proposal, suggesting Wendy take Charlie on her own, providing Em the chance to catch up with various things.

They were ready to depart at noon, affording them ample time for the drive. True to her word from our first encounter, Charlie wore a pair of six inch heels with a hidden platform. Of course, Em had to tell everyone about Charlie's brief 'farewell and good riddance' ceremony as she binned the few flat shoes she owned.

I wondered if Em had broached the subject of corsets yet. I do hope so. With her top heavy figure, an eighteen inch conical corset will look stunning on her.

Chapter 8 Near Miss

Once they had left, I prepared a simple tomato sugo. Something easy to reheat and pour over fresh pasta for a quick dinner once the girls returned home.

Em and I chatted while I cooked. "Thank you so much, my dear, for finding Charlie for me. Although I'm still somewhat shocked by my impulsiveness. And what about her tough past? I mean, I would be lying if I didn't confess to experiencing the odd moment of doubt myself."

"Yeah, we discussed it in bed, and we thought it might be a wise precaution to have Annie's people do a full background check on her."

"It may well prove judicious."

"Good, leave it with me. I'll speak to Annie, and while she's at it, she can provide you both with a contract similar to the one I have with Asha and Wendy."

Next, Em recounted the trip to collect Charlie's gear from her digs. She reiterated the importance of trust within a relationship, checking Charlie didn't have any other skeletons hidden away. Em wrapped up the discussion by telling Charlie to walk away now if she had any doubts.

In response, Charlie reassured Em that she'd revealed everything to do with her abusive past. She even showed Em her STI test results for the last year to prove she'd taken care of herself. That came as a welcome relief, let me tell you.

All the way through, Em wouldn't stop thanking me for engineering their encounter so she could take care of Charlie, both as mother and lover. Sealing her thanks with a passionate kiss and a reassurance that we would still play together.

Wendy and Charlie arrived back at the house just after seven. Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting down and eating. Food all consumed, we continued to hang out around the kitchen table, drinking wine and nattering.

With a little prompting from me, Charlie confessed to hoping she'd found a sugar mama when we played back in February. "The moment I clapped eyes on Wendy's ownership tattoo, I saw the possibility. I'm sorry for trying to force the situation, but I was getting desperate, what with you trying to show me to the door and all."

"Don't worry about it," I reassured her. "You weren't the first, and I doubt you'll be the last. Besides, it worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah, but it took its time."

"You should have attended club nights more often."

"I went whenever I wasn't working and several times when I was, but you were never there."

"That's the trouble with life. It has this nasty habit of getting in the way."

With that, I called it a night and excused myself.

Sunday was another quiet, lazy day. I wasted several enjoyable hours mooching around the antiques fair held each month at the Royal Horticultural Halls. Asha and Wendy tagged along. It was a successful trip, as we gained a few quirky pieces for the cottage.

For Asha, Wendy and me, the following week brought little out of the ordinary. Wendy and I devoted a few days to working with Gillian. We had various business meetings, including a couple of dinners in the evenings. Asha spent Tuesday and Wednesday at some photo shoot in deepest France. All mundane stuff.

For Em and Charlie, life proved somewhat more complicated. Em talked to Charlie about the need for us to run a full background check on her. Much to Em's relief, Charlie confessed to being surprised we'd let her move in before checking her out.

Monday, one of Annie's researchers, Dan, turned up to obtain all the info for Charlie's background check. Not a lot happened prior to late Wednesday afternoon, when he arrived for the deep dive session on her social media.

Everything was going so well until he asked, "Can we take a gander at your OnlyFans account?"

The poor girl went into meltdown. "Oh shit, I forgot I even had an account."

"OnlyFans, really?" Em asked, sounding more amused than disgusted.

Of course, Charlie was in full freefall and missed the signal. "I'm so sorry, I forgot all about it. Honest, cross my heart and all. Believe me, I'm not trying to cover anything up."

He interrupted, "It's alright, calm down. What did you use it for?"

"When I was doing escort work, I used it to advertise my services."

"Okay, what was the content like? Full nude images revealing everything?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that. Sure, there was the odd boob shot, but mostly it's just pictures and videos of me all dressed up."

"Sounds like you've nothing to hide. I suggest we take a look."

Charlie recovered her password, only to find the account still generating a respectable income. Dan spent the next half hour reviewing the contents, with Em transfixed beside him.

She had quite the collection of images and videos available to subscribers. True to her description, most were teasers, though plenty still showed off her generous D cup boobs adorning such a petite frame. Dan summed it up as no more explicit than the topless piccies that used to grace page three of our red top newspapers.

Em found the OnlyFans episode rather amusing and typical of the speed at which your average zoomer churns through social media platforms. I had a sneaking suspicion Charlie wouldn't be living down her OnlyFans account anytime soon. What with it being a right little earner, it wouldn't surprise me if Em has her posting pictures again.

It took Charlie until late Thursday to gather all the supporting documentation needed for her DBS check. I had already decided to skip the club this week, opting instead for a family playdate with all five of us in our very own playroom. After all, I wanted to spend some quality time with Charlie, and it was about time Em asserted herself over Wendy and Asha.

Friday morning, I ordered my girls down to the playroom and reminded them, "Today's the day our fannies are getting locked up."

I slipped a seven inch dilator into my fanny and suggested Asha show Wendy how to remove my BCRs and insert the padlocks so they could do one another.

Asha would never admit it, but I don't think she was happy at having her fanny placed off limits. She's known me for years, so how the hell she thought she'd escape such a wonderful punishment of her own devising was beyond me. If she couldn't hack it, she shouldn't have suggested it. Wendy was the opposite. She'd been very public about looking forward to it.

Myself, I loved everything to do with being locked up, especially the restriction of only being able to finger myself. Mind you, having a dilator trapped inside my fanny helped. A discreet little push and I was on my way to heaven.

Once we were all secure, I grabbed all the keys and headed to my parents' for the weekend, leaving the girls' fannies all but impenetrable. Of course, I knew it would never stop them enjoying sex. The mere sight of Wendy's favourite butt plug nestling in her arse was all the proof one needed.

Thanks to a scheduling cockup, I wasn't due at the salon for another week. Rather than waste the weekend, I took the opportunity to get in a little golf with my father. As a kid, it was a rare week when we didn't get at least one round in. I even played off a better handicap than him. Since turning twenty, I doubt we've teed off together more than half a dozen times.

My fault. I tended to share Mark Twain's view of golf. "A good walk spoilt."

However, with various folks to schmooze who loved to play a round at any opportunity, it meant adding the game to my arsenal. But first, I needed some serious practice.

I tried using my old clubs, but with all the changes I'd been through, they were just so wrong. I persevered through our first round before making a beeline for the course's well appointed golf shop. It took me an hour to select the perfect new set, trying different combinations of shaft flex and club weight. Even then, the staff needed another hour to change the grips before we could start our second round.

My dad didn't care. He was glad we were playing together. I told him during our enforced lunch break, "I can't be travelling up to Norfolk every time you fancy a game. So, you'll have to be prepared to travel down to Essex or Hertfordshire if you expect this to become a regular fixture."

His reply was a simple, "You're on."

Well, that'll learn ya...

Monday morning came around, and Charlie received a text saying her DBS check was available online. Just as she said, all clean, proving she'd had no criminal convictions.

Dan had more or less completed his investigation, having discovered nothing more incriminating than her OnlyFans site. So Em decided to celebrate by asking Asha to pierce the eager Charlie. Em claimed to be missing the sensation of playing with pierced nipples. I've no idea how that justified Charlie's full complement of pussy piercings matching ours. Nor why Em opted to have her own fanny done.

Em took Charlie to my favourite corseterie on Tuesday. Given how she looked in the off the shelf twenty inch corset, I couldn't wait to witness the effect the bespoke eighteen inch corsets would produce. The initial result had such an impact on Em, she insisted Charlie only wore a corset, stockings and heels when working in the house. Remembering my first encounter with Charlie, I bet that was music to the girl's ears.

I loved Em's decadent take on a modern maid's uniform, so I suggested, "You should wear it too."

Em replied, "I may from time to time, especially during dinner parties."

Oh, as if I ever needed an incentive to organise a get together.

Wendy and I spent a couple of days working on the magazine's new London Calling section. Wednesday we were in the office getting to know our UK PAs. Suffice to say, I was already missing Amber, who'd accepted Carrie's offer of managing the US Editor in Chief's office. At least she promised to ensure my NYC trips would remain hassle free.

We spent Thursday at a photo shoot featuring me smashing up a sewing machine, trying to capture the spirit of Paul Simonon wrecking his bass guitar. All we needed was that one perfect shot, which we achieved using three photographers to cover all angles.

At first, we practised. With me throwing down hessian bags full of rice, whilst checking the lighting and my stance were perfect. We tried a bunch of different clothes and boots. Settling on a pair of tight fitting faded jeans, teamed with a navy silk high low top and a pair of lace up matt black knee high boots with 12cm stiletto heels. Trading the tee shirt for the high low top produced a far more pleasing aesthetic while remaining true to the spirit of the original.

Trust me, the frustration was genuine. By the time we were using real machines, I'd had enough of slinging 14kg weights around. My muscles were screaming with every machine I lifted. I loathed each individual sewing machine I repeatedly smashed onto the floor. You should try it with your legs positioned close to twenty to eight, trying desperately not to do the splits whilst wearing stilettos. It's nigh on impossible.

We achieved the money shot on the second smash of the fifth machine. It had taken almost a thousand shots, but we had it. Along with a dozen almosts, all the video and another decent ten shots of me venting my anger by kicking the trashed machines. To say I was cream crackered by the end would be a massive understatement.

Arriving home, I headed straight for my bathroom for a long, relaxing soak, praying my body would recover by the time we were due to depart for the club. Annie and Becca joined us at our usual table. Annie was enjoying having her lover around 24/7. It transpired that Becca had overseen Charlie's background check and prepared our favourite little whore's ownership contract. Apparently, Becca and Charlie have a double date at Rose's tattoo studio on Saturday evening.

The girls who tagged along with Charlie the other week popped over to say hi. Wendy pulled a couple of collars out, waggled them under their noses and asked, "Are you game?"

Well, duh, of course they were. So we honoured our promise of a return visit.

Asha stopped me from removing our padlocks, claiming we needed to leave them in situ for a month while the stretching settled. No problem, it's not like I'm a stranger to a little mutual buggery. Besides, it will be fun to try a strap on with a flat pony end.

Having enjoyed a wonderful time satisfying my curiosity, we sent the girls on their way around six, after piercing their nipples.

We grabbed some sleep. Charlie woke us at midday and the temptation to play with the girl's pierced nipples and fanny, exquisitely framed between her tight laced corset and stockings, was irresistible. But I needed to remain focused, so I limited myself to running my hand nice and slow along her pussy just once before dismissing her.

Within the hour, we were on our way to spend an enjoyable weekend at the cottage.

Wendy warned me in no uncertain terms I wasn't allowed to go off on a doom spiral over Lisa. Sure, I'd had a few wobbles. Understandable, given I'd felt guilty for exorcising her presence from the cottage. Nevertheless, I was keen to stay there again. I hadn't realised just how much I'd missed the place. Granted, I couldn't escape missing Lisa, but most places I went held memories of her, so why should the cottage be any different?

During the evening, I popped in for a chat with Lisa's mum. After all, she'd gifted me the cottage, so it seemed only polite. We spoke on the phone most weeks. Margaret's resolve held. If anything, it had hardened. She still refused all contact with her daughter. Why Lisa kept trying to reach out intrigued me, but I'd no idea whether it boded well.

Margaret was eager to discuss the Lambert Group, expressing some concerns about the current state of the construction business, focusing on Eric's performance.

"He's not suited to the role," I stated, feeling somewhat smug about the various informal get togethers with the more crucial business partners I'd been quietly holding over recent weeks.

"Obviously, but what shall we do with him?"

"Well, he did a good job running the plant hire business. He could return to that."

"Won't he view that as a demotion?"

"Probably, but then it is. I suppose we could move the chap who took over from him. Paul Philips, right?" I waited for Margaret's acknowledgement. "I'm sure there's a senior role that urgently needs filling we can offer Paul. Then position Eric as temporary stand in whilst we 'search' for a permanent replacement. We can dress it up as being in addition to his existing duties, except we will relieve him of all relationship management responsibilities."

"He might buy it."

"Can I suggest you meet him for lunch and be honest with him, tell him it's this or he's out?"

She consented. Not that she had much choice.

I made my excuses and returned to the cottage.

What a blessed relief not having to endure the two hour commute from town on Saturday morning. The evening promised to be even better, but as we pulled out of the back street behind the salon, Wendy called out, "It's Lisa."

I followed the direction she was pointing, and there sat Lisa in a window seat of some chain coffee outlet. The moment my eyes locked on to hers, she raised her hand and smiled. "Oh, God, she looks so lost."

I returned my focus to the road, determined to find some, any available parking place.

Wendy realised what my plan was. "Just pull over and run back. I'll drive around the block and meet you there."

I switched on the hazard lights, pulled to the side and ran back to the store as fast as I dared in my heels. The adrenaline had my heart racing.

Of course, she was nowhere to be seen when I arrived.

Damn it, I'd left my bag in the car, along with my phone.

She could have chosen any of a dozen places to park. I checked the nearest. No sign of her.

Wendy found me a few minutes later. My heart hadn't stopped pounding.

She asked, "No luck?"

"No." Thank God she had my bag with her.

I rummaged for my phone and tried calling. Typical. Straight to voicemail. "I came back for you, but you'd already left. Call me. We can meet up. Love you always."

The moment I hung up, Wendy said, "We should either get ourselves a drink, or I'll drive us back to the cottage so you're free to answer any calls."

Opting for a drink, I headed for the store where we'd spotted her. Wendy ordered our coffees while I nabbed the table Lisa had used.

It took about five minutes for me to receive a text reply. "Love you too. I'm sorry, but I just had to see you. Please hold on a little longer."

I discarded the phone on the table as all the pain came rushing back.

Wendy picked it up and read the message. She squeezed my hand. "It's proof she wants you. She's just waiting for her opportunity."

"I know, but it doesn't help." My eyes had welled up, but at least I wasn't crying.

"Here, I've replied for you." The cheeky moo handed me my phone.

I read the message. "Not too long, please ❤️‍????" Now, how could I argue with that?