Mr. Green Is Privy To Sensitive Information
After Melony left, I balanced on my toes another ten minutes, calf muscles screaming, quadriceps trembling, before Mistress Hunter took pity on me. She rose from her desk and came up behind me, put her hands on my hips, and pressed down until my soles were flat on the carpet. “There, my pet, be still, you’ve pleased me,” she said. “You decorate my office so handsomely.”
“Thank you, Mistress,” I replied, grateful to have my feet on the floor. “Well, you’ve had quite the morning, haven’t you?” “Yes, Mistress.” “You’ve learned a lot, and overheard some interesting conversations, haven’t you?” “Yes, Mistress.” “It goes without saying that everything you heard this morning is privileged information, Mr. Green. I know I can count on your absolute discretion . . . and your sacred vow of silence forever, can’t I?” As she said this, her hand slipped around my balls and squeezed hard.
The Power Lunch Is About To Begin
“Absolutely, Mistress,” I gasped. “Good. Now Melony—that’s Mistress Melony to you—will be here in a few minutes to take you out to lunch. I want you to crawl to the closet, collect your things, go to my bathroom, take a quick shower and get dressed. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting, would we?”
“No Mistress.” Mistress Hunter unclipped my handcuffs from the ring at the top of the coat tree, and unfastened the cuffs. I was tempted to rub the red welts on my wrists, but thought better, instead dropping to the floor and assuming a position of worship at Mistress Hunter’s feet.
“Good slave; you may kiss my feet.” Mistress Hunter had re-donned her shoes, sharply pointed black patent leather stilettos. I noticed the gold trim, single leather strap fastened with a golden buckle, what looked like real gold plating on the buckle; shoes probably worth thousands of dollars.
Mistress Melony’s Turn To Dominate Me
I kissed her toes, waiting for permission to crawl across the office. “One more thing, Mr. Green, before you go.” “Yes, Mistress?” “Actually, two things. First, Mistress Melony has carte blanche to do whatever she likes with you during your lunch, is that understood?” I wondered what ‘carte blanche’ meant, but held my tongue. “Yes, Mistress.”
“The other thing is about Miss Lilly. I know your feelings and your concern for her. I assure you that nothing has ever happened, or will ever happen to Miss Packard without her consent. She is an adult; she chose to be my submissive of her own free will, just as you did. No matter what happens in the days and weeks ahead, do not forget that, and do not draw rash conclusions. Is that understood?”
It took me a second to absorb what Mistress Hunter said, and in that brief hesitation, she dropped to her knees and knelt at my left side. She put an arm across my shoulder and placed a hand on the opposite side of my face, turning my cheek so that I faced her, looking eye to eye.
Mistress Hunter Skilled At Manipulating Corruption
Her eyes were luminous, the Caribbean Sea blue. “Mr. Green,” she said in a sympathetic voice, “This morning you have learned the extent of the depravity that envelops the political machinery we so fondly call democracy. You now know it is anything but a democracy; it’s a corporatocracy, and the laws of the land are for sale to the highest bidder.”
She paused, letting me absorb that unpleasant bit of information, which I had long suspected before becoming her slave but yes, the reality had been driven home this morning while listening to her many conversations . . . and also that Ms. Hunter was a skilled player in manipulating the corruption.
Miss Lilly’s Choice To Be Bred Like a Farm Animal
She continued, “Not so in our private lives, Mr. Green. Among the members of our alternate universe, there is an honor, there is consent. Nothing . . . and I mean, nothing happens in our private universe without the willing consent of all parties involved. Lillian Packard may soon be bred like a domestic animal, but if she is, it is because she wants to experience it—for reasons you may never understand. Don’t jump to conclusions. Either trust me on this matter or get up on your feet this instant, put your clothes on and leave this office—and my world—forever.”
All the while she said this, Mistress Hunter stared deeply into my eyes with a fierce, laser-like focus. The force of her conviction was utterly convincing. It was all I could do to choke out a reply. “I trust you, Mistress.” A smile formed on her lips. “I hoped you’d say that.” She kissed my lips. “Now go, slave.”
Get In Doggy Position Slave
Twenty minutes later, I was outside on a busy sidewalk thronged with lunch-goers making their way to various dining establishments. Mistress Melony, walking briskly on clicking heels, led me to a five-star hotel. We skipped the swanky restaurant and rode the elevator up to the fifth floor, then down to the end of the hallway, where a large window offered a view of the phallic-like Washington Monument. “We’re doing room service, Mr. Green,” she said, inserting a card into the door slot.
The door swung inward and she stepped inside, blocking my path. She pulled a studded collar from her purse and buckled it around my neck. “Strip here in the hallway and put your clothes in a neat pile, Mr. Green, then assume a doggy position outside the door. I’ll let you in when I’m ready.” She flashed a smirking Cheshire Cat grin and closed the door in my face.
Naked Hoping No One Will See Me
Jesus. I looked down the hallway. Fortunately, it was deserted. I reluctantly began stripping off my clothes, taking comfort in the thought that most check-ins would not be until later in the afternoon, and hopefully, the maids had already cleaned this floor. But who knew? In any case, I had no choice but to follow my instructions. Soon I was naked, my heart thumping, my traitor cock throbbing in its cage.
To my dismay, after about five minutes of kneeling naked and utterly exposed in the hallway, I heard the sound of the elevator opening and then a cart rolling down the hallway. Oh. My. God. Mortified does even not come close to describing the feeling of humiliation that flooded my body.
I was tempted to wrap my clothing around my privates and run down the hallway, but somehow my training kicked in. Being the slave that I was, I did what I was told. I endured whatever embarrassment, humiliation or pain that was imposed upon me. I obediently stayed put, on hands and knees, my head down and butt thrust in the air for the enjoyment of whatever room-service waiter was behind the cart.
Room Service
Turns out it was a she. I heard her astonished voice above me. “Oh, my, what do we have here?”I remained silent, resisting the urge to look up. To her credit (you have to wonder what else she had seen, working at a five-star Washington, D.C. hotel), she remained professional, knocked on the door, and called out, “Room service!”
A few moments later the door swung open. I saw Mistress Melony’s shoes, then heard her voice. “Oh good, please come in.” Then to me, “Crawl in, slave. Assume your position by the table.” I followed the cart inside. Lifting my head, I saw that it was being pushed by a very attractive woman in a maroon, figure-hugging hotel uniform. She headed toward a table across the room, next to a sliding glass door in front of a balcony. I crawled across the carpet behind her and took up a position as the room service waitress unloaded the contents of her cart on the glass table.
Discretion Is Of The Utmost Importance
“Oh, that plate goes on the floor, in front of my slave, please,” Mistress Melony said during this process. A moment later, a manicured hand with black nails put a stainless-steel-covered dish in front of me. “Please uncover it,” instructed Mistress Melony. The cover lifted to reveal some sort of hash. “Thanks so much, let me pay you,” said Mistress Melony. I sensed money exchanged above me, and then heard the waitress’s voice, “Oh thank you, ma’am, that’s most generous!”
“Yes, isn’t it? I’m sure I can count on your discretion about what you’ve seen here.” “Of course, ma’am,” the maid replied in a conspiratorial voice. “Good, then you’re dismissed. Thank you.”They cartwheeled out of the room. I heard the door close. “Well, it’s just you and me now, doggy. You may start eating . . . Bon Appetit.”
Mistress Melony took her seat adjacent to me. I saw that while she still had her heels and hose on, she wore a white cotton hotel dressing gown. Hearing the clink of silverware as she ate above me, I pushed my mouth into the hash. Corned beef, is surprisingly good. Good doggy that I am, I ate heartily.
You’re Not A Man, You’re A Dog, Woof!
After a few minutes, Mistress Melony put down a small bowl of water next to the larger plate of hash. “Here, I’m sure you’re thirsty, Chance, aren’t you?” ‘Chance’ . . . I hadn’t heard that name in a while; Mistress Hunter had gravitated to calling me simply ‘pet’ . . . only Miss Lilly ever really used that name. Obviously, Mistress Melony had access to my file.
“Thank you, Mistress,” I said. “Oh no,” she replied, “that’s ‘woof!’, doggy,” she corrected me.“Woof!” I barked out, feeling my cock grow hard in its cage. What was it about being reduced to a dog that automatically turns me on? Hmmm . . . maybe I am because I am a dog at heart. Perhaps all men are, deep inside. I lapped up the water, making a bit of a mess around the bowl.
“Now it’s time for dessert,” Mistress Melony informed me. “Up on your knees, Chance.” I happen to like dessert. “Woof!” I barked. I rose up to see that Mistress Melony had let her gown fall away, exposing a lacy white bra that cupped perky C-cup breasts. She had a flat stomach, and below it, a flesh-colored cock was strapped to her crotch. In one hand, she held a plate, and in the other, a fork with pie on it. “Take a bite, Chance.”
Assume The Position
I opened my wide and she slipped the fork into my mouth. It was an apple. She took a bit herself, chewed with appreciation, then put the fork and plate on the table. She reached down and cupped her cock in hand at the base. “Now some different dessert. Suck, Chance.”
I bent over and placed my lips on the tip of her cock. She grasped my head, and then guided my mouth deeper on the shaft. After a few strokes, she lifted and tilted my head up so that I looked into her face. Her eyes glittered. “Such a nice dessert, isn’t it, Chance?”
I couldn’t reply with her shaft in my mouth, but I nodded in rapt agreement. “Keep your eyes on mine, Chance. Be a good doggy and suck my cock hard.” Soon she had me deep-throating her cock. She held my eyes, looking at me intently, grasping the sides of my head with a strong grip. A few times I gagged and she backed out to let me swallow the saliva, but then she’d start back pumping vigorously. Before long, her face shined with arousal. “Good doggy, Chance, now turn around and face the door, head down, and present your ass to me.”
What Do You Say Doggy?
Dessert was over. I turned around and assumed the position. A moment later I heard the snap of latex gloves, then felt a lubricated finger slip into my ass. She worked it around for a few seconds, not very long, inserted a second finger, made a few deep thrusts, then withdrew her fingers, replacing them with the tip of her cock. “Push back against me, Chance,” she ordered.
I did as I was told, and soon the tip pressed through the opening of my ass, followed by the shaft. She thrust it hard, all the way in, taking my breath away. “Ummm, how nice,” she moaned, seizing my hips. “Such a good doggy; I do so love your cute ass. What do you say, doggy?” “Woof!” I barked. “Good boy. Now just be quiet while I fuck you, doggy. This won’t take long.”
She began pumping her shaft vigorously. The pace rapidly increased and it was not long before the rhythmic sound of her crotch slapping against my bottom filled the room. True to her word, Mistress Melony came quickly, letting out a shriek of pleasure. After about thirty seconds, her hands moved from my hips to my cock. Of course, it was totally engorged, swelled against the rings of the cage. Her gloves still had lube on them and she stroked my shaft. “Don’t you dare come, doggy,” she warned.
Punishing Chance With A Hairbrush
She tormented me that way for a few minutes, while I fought off the orgasm that threatened to explode from within. Finally, I had to speak, to beg her to stop, or else I knew I would cum. “Please Mistress!” I pleaded. “I’m about to come.”
She froze, let go of my shaft, and clutched my balls. “Oh Chance, you bad, bad doggy, you should’ve barked and I might have let you cum. But you seem to think you can talk like a man.” She squeezed my balls painfully. “You know that bad doggies have to be punished, don’t you?” I barked a reluctant acknowledgment: “Woof . . .”
“That’s right, Chance, and it just so happens that I have a hairbrush in my purse for disobedient doggies like you.” She abruptly withdrew her shaft, sucking the air from my lungs. A moment later, she wiped my bottom. “There, nice and clean.” She stripped off her gloves. “Let’s get started, shall we?” I offered a sullen ‘woof’ in reply. “Oh, no, Chance, that won’t do, let’s hear some enthusiasm!”
The End Of Mr. Green’s Power Lunch
“Woof!” “Good boy. Now I want you to give me a good, healthy bark after each blow, understood?” “Woof!” Her hairbrush landed on my right cheek with a resounding ‘thwack!’ It stung like hell. “Woof!” “Good boy. We’ll make it a dozen more, how does that sound, doggy?” “Woof!”
‘Thwack!’ The hairbrush landed on my ass eleven more times, each blow stinging like hell, not quite as bad as a rattan cane, but still vicious. I gritted my teeth and barked each time until Mistress Melony had completed my punishment. “There, there, such a good boy,” she soothed, caressing my burning ass with her hand. “Well, lunch is over, dear boy. Let’s get cleaned up and dressed and back to the office, shall we?”
“Woof!” She unfasted my collar. We showered, dressed, and were back at Mistress Hunter’s office twenty minutes later. Mistress Melony knocked. When there was no reply, she opened the door and led me to the corner adjacent to the closet. “Stand here, slave,” she said, “I’m sure your Mistress will return shortly. Thank you for lunch, dear . . . it was delightful.” “Yes, Mistress,” I replied to the wall. I felt her hand briefly caress my ass. She gave it a sharp swat and left the room, the door closing behind her with a reassuring thunk. My power lunch had come to a close.
Next: The Art of Self Defense
