Author: Old Softy
Title: The Collar Around the Heart
Summary: James is sixteen today, and his birthday present is pretty unusual. But the future is a foreign country; they do things differently there.
Keywords: mf ScFi rom 1st slave bd oral anal
Part: Chapter 8 of 14

Chapter 1 is at http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Old-Softy/The_Collar_around_the_Heart/The_Collar_1.txt

DISCLAIMER: This work of fiction contains sexual situations not 
suitable for children. It may not be reproduced in any way where 
readers are charged for it. Copyright reserved Old Softy 2007 

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Chapter 8 - Friday Afternoon

When I got home, I had a message from Rob. With all the drama at school
I had actually forgotten about him and Liz. I rang him back, and he
asked how it was going. For some reason it was not easy to answer him.
It had been great with Liz on Wednesday night, but knowing how he felt,
it was difficult to be effusive so I suppose my reply might have sounded
a bit evasive.

"Hey, yer not goin' to screw her around are you?" he asked, with an odd
note to his voice. Was he threatening me, or concerned for her, or both?

"No, of course not! You know me better than that. But it is not as
straightforward as you think."

"Oh, so not good enough for you is she?"

"Of course she is! She is fantastic, and we had a fantastic time; we...
we went all the way, you know." This was ridiculous. Any minute now I
was going to be mortally offending him by not shafting her enough! Or,
I realised with more perception, by not being in love with her like he
was.

"Great, I knew it 'd work out."

But in his voice, I heard the hurt. Yes, he wanted her to get her wish
of hooking up with me, but at the same time it was killing him that it
was not him. That chap was a screwed up as I was. I had to ask. "Rob,
are you sure you want me to be doing this? I mean if you..." how could
I put this delicately "if you were interested in making a play for her,
I would step aside without a murmur." (Would I though? Would I?)

"It ain't about what I want is it? S'about what she wants."

"Look mate, I am not really sure what she wants, and whatever we do, it
is going to be difficult. What do you expect — some sort of marriage
or something?" His silence confirmed that he knew what the options were
— and what they were not.

"Why don't we just give it a few days and then..." and then what? All
my life so far I had muddled along, taking the path of least resistance
and throwing a tantrum when it went wrong. This time I needed to make an
actual decision about my life, and stick to it. But I could not make it
now, not without some serious head time. "I'll speak to you on Sunday.
On Sunday afternoon I will let you know exactly what I am going to do.
What we are going to do. So, can you wait until then?"

"Alright. Sunday, then. See ya then."

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Back in my room, Annie was in the middle of folding up my clothes and
putting them away. The place looked fresher, somehow, and the sunlight
through the window shone warmly on the carpet and floorboards. Is this
what real cleaning does to a place, I wondered?

"Boss, are you all right?" asked Annie, in genuine concern. Hell, I
should have known I was not going to hide anything from this one,
hanging on the least flicker of every expression.

"I've just had a tough day at school. Nothing to worry about."

"What about if I..."

I interrupted with a grin, in spite of my mood. "And no, I don't want
relief right now, although it was sweet of you to think of it."

"No, Boss, I was going to offer a massage. They are supposed to be the
thing after a long day. I was told I was pretty good when we used to
practice on each other."

Well, there was an idea. I stripped off and lay flat on my front as
ordered, waiting while she gathered a few bits and pieces together. I
thought I knew what I was letting myself in for. I thought that a back
rub would be pleasant, and I was vaguely looking forward to the
fondling and the sex that I suspected might follow after. If she could
get me in the mood, maybe a bit of 'relief' would be a good idea after
all.

It started gently enough. Smooth hands and soft fingers lulled me into
a false sense of security. Warm scented oil washed over me. I relaxed,
let down my guard, and then it all changed.

I did not know I had knots in my shoulders until she attacked the first
one. It was searched out and isolated in iron fingers before being
kneaded into submission, and then smoothed back into my shoulder. The
others followed, each in turn mercilessly subdued until, slowly but
certainly, my back and shoulders and neck became as smooth and fluid as
the oil she used. Her scope widened. Her hands were everywhere, no, not
just her hands, there was warm soft oil-slippery skin on mine in too
many places. Someone else might have identified thighs and forearms and
breasts but for me there was only the pressure, the folding and
smoothing of my back, my arms, and my legs. Her whole self was over me
and on me, moving like water, washing over the pebbled streambed of my
back. Then my body was the water; I was the stream, being poured from
one pool to the next. The pressure lightened; clouds floated over me,
or was I floating on a cloud? I was on that margin, the hinterland
between waking and sleep where all was calm. Time stopped. She stopped.

To say thank you would have been inadequate. I rolled over slowly, and
looked up at her. At some stage she had lost all her clothes, too. I
still could not work out which part of the massage was by her hands and
which part involved other, softer, parts of her. It did not seem to
matter. I was floating: suspended, warm, safe and relaxed. It was like
the bliss of lying in on a Sunday morning, not tired but not needing to
get up. I held out my arms and wordlessly she lowered herself alongside
me and fitted her body to mine. Our legs entwined, her breasts squashed
against my chest and her head tucked up in the angle of my chin. We
slept.

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The nap was only twenty minutes but after it I felt reborn. Murdoch,
Liz, my Mother, the Ball, the motorbike — they didn't matter. I just
knew that somehow I could pull through.

It was dawning on me that I really really wanted to keep Annie. But it
would break my heart to say goodbye to all hopes of that lovely bike.
Then there was Liz. I wanted Liz, and while I was not sure of her long
term plans, they surely did not include a collarslut on the side. And
then finally — Murdoch. My resolve hardened. Whatever happened in
this mess, I was going to keep Annie out of his hands. I would start
there. There must be something I could do about him.

Penny! She was the undisputed queen of that school. Surely she could
help. It was four years since I had last used that number, but
amazingly it was still in my fone. I was oddly nervous as I waited for
her to pick up, although there was no good reason why.

"James! How nice to hear you." And for some reason not only did I
believe her, but it was nice for me to hear her. You didn't really
notice it when she was standing in front of you, but she had a lovely
voice. Unconsciously sexy, I decided. But this was not really a social
call, and I got down to business without much in the way of chat.

It was disillusioning to discover that there was a limit to the power
she had in our school. Boys, she could only get at secondhand, through
the girls, and while that influence was not trivial, Murdoch's position
as rugby hero and school tough guy was almost unassailable unless she
declared an all-out war, and she was not prepared to do that without
preparation. She was sympathetic but she couldn't pull his teeth over
one weekend.

"Is it really true about young Emily Bradshaw, though?"

"Sure is. I was there, remember."

"Yeah, and I heard you put the Fifth years up to black-balling him.
Well done, you."

"Did I? Oh, well I suppose I did. Any chance of doing the same with the
Sixth Years?"

"Pretty difficult. I will do my best — I never liked him myself —
but he has a lot of status amongst the girls at the school. But let me
muster my allies amongst the Prefects and we will see what we can
concoct next week."

"I just don't get it! He is a bounder; an untrustworthy bully with an
unpleasant taste for hurting people. How can they like him?"

"James, liking is not the same as attraction. Yes, he is a complete
cad. But I can tell you, that is part of why someone like Vincent
Murdoch can seem attractive. There can be an irresistible whiff of
excitement about powerful men, or even dangerous men."

I still didn't get it. I did notice she thought of him as a man, not a
boy. How did she think of me, I wondered? "Well, do what you can, if
only to keep any sensible girl out of his hands. Anyway, I suppose I
will see you tomorrow night."

"Of course, James. I hope you are at least a little excited now. With a
bit of luck, it's going to be a night to remember."

One way or another that would certainly be true, I thought to myself as
I made my goodbyes.

I glanced back at my fone. It was time for my fitting with Mrs.
Haversham, and amazingly, I was quite looking forward to it.

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The suit felt like a second skin and looked fantastic. "This is so
good," I enthused to Mrs Haversham, but I was surprised to see her
frown.

"No no no," she muttered to herself, marching around me, pinching here
and pulling there as if I was a shop dummy. "Zis will 'ave to come in,
and 'ere," she tugged unmercifully at my elbow, making more marks with
tailor's chalk, "a crease, and zere... Very well, we make ze changes
and maybe when you come back tomorrow eet will pass."

To my inexperienced eye, the outfit was perfect, and I had hoped to
take it home, but discretion was the better part of valour. I changed
without a murmur and stood in front of her in my own clothes again.

"And, what of your young lady? We must see what it is zat she is to
wear — we must make sure she is, 'ow you say, compatible."

"Young lady? Oh, you mean my date. Well, I am afraid I don't have one.
I was not that keen on this before, although I have to say I am feeling
a little more enthusiastic now."

"What! No one on your arm! No flower to set against ze austere
perfection of ze creation of Giorgio Armani 'imself? We cannot do zis
zing!" I quailed before Mrs Haversham's horror. But who the hell could
I get to take to the Ball at this late stage?

Sophie and Jennifer from my dance class were outside possibilities. I
was pretty sure that my mother or Mrs Jones would have already invited
them, and Sophie in particular had occasionally requested me as her
dance partner in school. If I made it really clear that it was only
about the dancing, and that there was no implication she would have to
go out with me, maybe I could talk her into appearing on my arm. Then I
recalled that she was walking out with Jingo, so she would turn up with
him. And frankly, the chances of Jennifer being free at this late stage
were just as remote.

I paced about, thinking. What about Penny? Although she had already
done an enormous favour for me, she had seemed willing to do a pretend
date next week. Could I lean on her to play that part? Then I
remembered why the whole affair was so important to her. The last thing
she wanted was to appear to be already taken. No, it was no good even
asking her.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Haversham, I can't think of anyone who isn't taken,
and I don't see what I can do at this late stage."

"So, you 'ave no luck with your society trollops. Sacre Bleu! Young men
today, zey 'ave no zoom, no zest! Are you l'escargot, ze snail?" She
marched round me, gesticulating wildly while I kept my head down.

"Bribe your sister! Hire an escort! Try ze next school, ze next town!
Zere are beautiful women on every street corner if you know where to
look. 'Ave you no imagination?"

For a few wild seconds I toyed with the image of Liz, dressed in an
over-the-top version of the "Wedding Cake" swirling across the wooden
floor of the Assembly Rooms. It was promptly squashed by the thought of
what she would actually say if I asked. She despised high society even
more than I did.

Even if by some extraordinary dint of persuasion I got her to agree,
did I have the balls to face them all down with a prole on my arm? And
what were the chances of preventing Liz from clocking one of them in
the eye once they launched into her, as I knew they would?

Imagination. She was right. I needed to think laterally. I watched,
unseeing, as Annie wistfully circled around that vision in green silk,
still on its dummy. Not knowing I was watching, she reached out
daringly to touch the floating hem.

Surely not. And yet... I smiled. "What are we looking for in this
partner, Madame? Tall? Slender?"

"Mais oui!"

"Pretty face?"

"Hmmm. Perhaps not necessary. She can sport a mask — it is all ze
rage in Paris. More important is ze posture. She must be elegant; she
must walk like a dancer and dance like a zephyr."

A mask! Of course, then no risk of her being recognised as a collar!
"What about big breasts?" I was painfully aware that my collar would
not shine in the current fashion for cantilever bosoms to display
maximum cleavage.

"Ah, non! Zey get in ze way! We do not want crude sex. We want elegant,
we want slim. Fashion is not to attract ze boys — it is for making ze
other girls to die with envy." Her bright eyes fastened on me like a
bird on a worm. "So, now you are thinking, perhaps? You 'ave someone in
mind?"

She saw where I was looking, and her sudden cackle frightened the life
out of me. "Merde! Of course! You surprise even me. You 'ave ze cajouns
for zis zing?" I nodded, now certain.

Annie stood frozen in surprise while Mrs Haversham stalked around her,
twitching at her clothes and body. "Tall, yes, good back, hmmm ze arse
is so important. Good, good. Lift ze arms girl! Excellent, we can do
something with zis. Now, 'ow to dress it. Mais ouis! What else!" The
little French lady took a fold of the green silk dress and held it up
against Annie's face. "Ze colour. Ze eyes, ze 'air. Parfait!"

Wow. I realised what she was thinking. That dress was as different from
the standard ball gown as my suit was from a gentleman's dress uniform.
She was right — what else could we have used?

"Annie, how would you like to actually wear that dress you have been
lusting after?"

"Oh, Boss, I wouldn't dream of it! I was only admiring it, the fabric
is so beautiful."

"Ah, ze beautiful fabric is nothing without ze beautiful woman under
it. But put zem together — and ze world melts!""

Decision made. "Annie, I am going to take you to the Ball, wearing that
dress."

"Boss! I couldn't!"

But it did not take all that long to talk her into it. I was not going
to give her the choice anyway, but in fact I could see that somewhere
deep inside, the fantasy of swirling across a ballroom floor with all
eyes on her, had her in its grip. Now all we had to do was pull it off.

The next hour was both frantic and boring. Annie in just her panties on
a stool. Mrs H. stalking around her muttering darkly and pecking at her
like a starling at a particularly obstinate bread crust. Tape measure
and chalk marks on her skin. The dress draped over her. Cutting and
sewing. More tape measure and chalk marks. Back in the dress, this time
walking around.

"No underwear," declared Mrs. H. "We cannot 'ave zat unfortunate line
on ze 'ips." Annie naked. (God, I loved her sweet little bottom.) The
dress again. Annie dancing, arms raised. (She danced surprisingly
well.) More chalk marks, and more adjustments, although if the dress
had changed a fraction of an inch I couldn't see it.

And then, at last — "Yes. Eet will do."

It was skin tight, but pulled nowhere. It supported her sweet breasts
but somehow left them free to sway enticingly with every movement. (I
could see that Mrs. H. was right — any bigger here would have been a
disaster.) Her nipples were almost hidden — but not quite. Christ
knows what would happen if she got aroused. The sheen of the silk made
the lines and curves of her body, already heart grabbing, seem even
rounder; somehow more three-dimensional. The shifting grey-green colour
turned her eyes to jade and her hair now had the gloss of chestnut
conkers.

For the first time I saw why a woman might pay a fortune for a dress.

But then Mrs. H. hissed and pointed to Annie's groin. "Ha! Look, ze
shadow. It must go!" I stared after her, puzzled, and I could make out
a disturbance in the surface of the cloth; yes, a faint shadow, just
where Annie's pubic hair must be. Well, maybe it was less than perfect,
but who would see it, and what could we about it anyway?

"'ORTENSE! Drat the girl, where is she!" The dressmaker's collar
appeared as if out of a hat. "So slow — where 'ave you been, lazy
girl! Now, take zis young lady, and give 'er ze shave — every corner,
full works."

Bowing, the collar disappeared out the back with mine before I could
open my mouth.

"Mrs. Haversham! You are not going to... her pubic hair! All of it?"

" Mais certainement, mon brave. You are not going to object?"

"Well, I don't know. I've never thought..."

"Ah, live life dangerously! Try her out later and I zink you will like
ze smooth ride. I know Mr. 'aversham does! Now, what about ze shirt?
Over 'ere, mon ami."

We spent twenty minutes looking at dress shirts. I favoured the style
of white tie they used to use two centuries ago, but Mrs. H sold me on
a closefitting white shirt with a stand-up neck that was designed to be
worn without any necktie or cravat. It was almost shocking in its
austerity.

"So, where is zat dratted girl now?" muttered Mrs. H.

I looked around for Annie. Indeed they must be finished by now. The
dressmaker headed for the back of the store, and I followed, curious.

Behind the door at the back was a short corridor to a couple more
doors. An odd noise was apparent — a short high-pitched moan. Mrs. H.
stood still, for some reason smiling to herself, but I recognised it.
Annie — and she was in trouble! I brushed the dressmaker aside
despite her attempt to stop me, and pushed the nearest door open with a
crash.

It is odd what your mind takes in; when the scene in front of you is so
bizarre it cannot be registered. The strange twist of my 'maid's awkward
pose, on her back on some sort of padded table, trying to face me with a
frozen look of dismay at our entrance. The aborted jerk of her knee,
frustrated because of the buckled cuffs clasping her ankles to the
table legs. The swinging hem of the older collarmaid's short pleated
skirt, exposing the backs of her thighs as she kneels between Annie's
splayed knees. And the jet-black shape of the neat pageboy cut of the
head fastened between her thighs.

In the moment it took me to orientate myself, Hortense tore away from
Annie's groin, and threw herself to her knees on the floor. Annie, not
able to get off the table, sat up and bowed her head over, while
clutching her hands over her private area.

"Well, now, 'ow embarrassing!" Mrs. H. was the first to find her voice.
"'Ortense, I 'ave told you before about zis. No flirting with ze
customers unless they ask for you! As for zis..."

Hortense, giving every appearance of contrition, had bent her forehead
to the ground, but the dressmaker did not seem that furious. Indeed I
was not sure I could not detect a tone of amusement beneath that stern
admonition.

"Mistress, this one repents!" grovelled Hortense. But was her voice
that repentant?

"I don't understand," I queried. "Annie? What's been going on?"

"Boss, I am so sorry," she replied, bending over but not able to get
her head any lower because of the way she was trapped on the table.
"The brush... when she lathered me up... and then her fingers, when she
held the... I just, she licked me Boss, she licked me!"

"Mister Pilsbury, I am so sorry zat zis 'as 'appened. Your collar 'ere,
it enjoys ze ladies also?"

It was only then, that I fully understood what had been going on. Yes,
all right, I was pretty slow on the uptake, but the idea that girls
might like each other in that way was still new to me. "NO — not at
all!" Then, remembering the collar serve in that clothes shop; "At
least, not as far as I know. She has never done anything like this
before."

"Ah, well for 'Ortense, zat is ze only way she likes it. She is very
popular with ze ladies, in ze dressing room." Mrs. H. explained. "Good
at 'elping zem to dress with ze clothes and to undress of course. Zo
popular, zat often a lady will ask for 'er by name, and I let zem 'ave
'alf an 'our in 'ere together first. But sometimes," here she frowned
and growled down at the head before her, "she gets carried away,
doesn't she, 'Ortense?"

The dressmaker's collar looked up from under her fringe. "Madame, look
at her, how could I resist. Would you have?"

"You cheeky little zing! Ah, but it is over a month, is it not, my
frisky collarmaid. Yes, it must be five weeks. Time to get ze Cat."

I had no idea what that might be, but the kneeling collarmaid knew, and
shivered. It got to its feet and, a strange expression on its face, left
the room.

Annie, head hanging and hiding her pink face behind her hair, said
"Master — this collar is so sorry — but this one can't reach and
she can't kneel and..." I realised that she was near tears in
mortification. I also realised that her ankles were still clamped to
the table legs, so I bent down to release the buckles. Knowing her well
enough by now, I caught her before she too, could throw herself to the
floor.

Her hands fluttered in front of her before settling to her sides where
they should be while she stood at attention. I could not help noticing
the way her now bald lower lips were on show. It was so rude, so
blatant somehow, and their pink and swollen condition was made all the
more obvious.

"Don't worry about it girl. Let's get you home and we can talk there."
I reassured her.

"Moment, s'il vous plait," interrupted Mrs. H. "Do you not stay to
watch ze punishment?" And at that moment, her collar returned,
ceremonially bearing in front of it, a coiled leather shape. With
horror, I recognised a short but many-tailed whip.

Recoiling, I exclaimed "Surely you're not going to use that thing!"

"Mais, oui! I cannot let zat 'Ortense get away with zis. Up on ze table
with you!"

"I am sorry, Mrs Haversham, but I cannot allow you to do this thing,
for an imagined injury to my collarmaid. She is fine, I am fine, and
there is no harm done"

"But my collar, she is not fine. Ask 'er yourself."

"What do you mean? Hortense, just tell me you do not want it, and I can
save you from this whipping."

But all this time, the collarserve had been undressing, and, facing the
table, had reached down to fasten the ankle cuffs on itself. Amazingly,
it slowly shook its head at me. "The Master is very kind, but this one
has done a naughty thing and it must be punished. It will be fine,
really."

"What, are you telling me that it won't hurt, that you will not feel
any pain!"

"Oh, no, Master. It will hurt terribly, and this one hates the pain.
But... but it would hate more not to be the slave for the Madame... and
afterwards, it will feel so good, when the Madame makes it better."

That was the first time I had ever heard a collar use the word 'slave'.
Shaking my head, I watched her lie on her front on the table and place
her wrists in the cuffs at the far end. I turned back to the
Frenchwoman, who had stepped forward to buckle up the cuffs properly.

She looked back at me with sympathy while completing the task of
fastening down the strap over its waist. "Come, mon ami, it is not as
bad as you think. Zis collarmaid, she is usually very attentive, but
she needs regular discipline. She as ze emotional need; she is, ow you
say, ze masochist. If I do not keep 'er in line, at least every month
or so, zis little collar gets rebellious. She does not really mean it;
she just goes a little screwy without ze punishment."

"All right, then do this for me. I am about to spend a lot of money
with you, and, I don't know, I thought we were on the same wavelength.
Just this once, let her off."

"Ah, 'e is so squeamish, zis boy!" Mrs. H. stood as if at least
considering the possibility, before replying to me. "'Ere per'aps you
do it yourself? You can practice a few swings on ze bench cover. You
must not be too 'ard, or it leaves ze scars, zose little white lines,
and spoils 'er pretty pretty skin"

I looked at the pale backside and legs of the beautiful girl stretched
out and strapped down on the table in front of me. The memory of the
thin white welts on the thighs and torso of Murdoch's collar popped up
and my gut tightened. "Certainly not. Mrs Haversham, I am determined on
this. If you proceed, then you and I cannot be friends."

"Ha! You zink zat will sway me! You could 'ave said you will not spend
your money 'ere!"

"I could have, but I think you do not worry that much about the money.
And... I like you. I think you are amazing, wonderful, and I love what
you do. Now I will think that much less of you."

She stared at me for a moment. "Zo, you surprise me again, mon ami. And
you are right. Very well — for the sake of your good regard, I will
not do zis thing. But what are we to do with my maid? Maybe zome other
'umiliatiation, one that you will not object to... Aha!" Smiling to
herself and muttering something inaudible, Mrs. H. got out some sort of
strap and proceeded to fix it around her collar's head. As she stepped
back I could see that it was a purpose made, indeed beautifully made,
leather gag, of a spherical ball in its mouth and straps which bucked
under its short black hair at the back of its neck. For some reason,
the collar frowned, and for the first time, started to look worried,
but of course it could not say anything.

"Just you 'old on, my rebellious little zing. I 'ave ze very answer!
Mr. Pilsbury, I can see zat zis has you a little, 'ow shall we zay,
excited?" She looked meaningfully at my crotch, and of course she was
right. A man would have to be made of stone not to react to what was in
front of me. "'Ow would it serve if I were to ask you to use zis zing
for ze sexual relief?"

"Oh! Very kind of you to offer, Mrs. Haversham, but I could not
possibly impose on..."

"No, you do not understand," she interrupted. "Not for your pleasure,
but for 'er punishment — although I would be pleased for you to enjoy
yourself. You can bring yourself to be a leetle rough if you choose,
n'estcepas? And ze 'umiliation, yes, I zink it will be enough. It is
zat, or ze whip," and she swished the evil thing through the air
suggestively.

I would like to say that I was thinking of saving the girl from pain.
Well I was. But the pink lips peeking out at the junction of her long
legs to her round buttocks sealed it. I nodded, dry mouthed and
wondering if Mrs. H. was going to want to stay and watch. I think I
would have been prepared to give it a go even then, but she headed for
the door.

"Excellent! I have ze final touches to complete next door — let me
know when you are done."

I stepped forward to run my hand over the warm smooth skin on the back
of my prize. It flinched at my touch and seemed to be writhing to stay
as far away from my touch as the tight restraints would let it —
which was not very far. Hardly flattering, I thought, but with every
moment I was worrying less about what the collar thought. This was
going to be good.

"Boss! Can I watch? Please!" I had forgotten all about Annie and I
certainly had not expected that reaction. Her eyes were glowing with
excitement, and I noticed her hands unconsciously rubbing circles over
the tops of her thighs. How could I refuse her?

I smiled. "All right. But you have to be good."

"Oh, yes Boss. Look, I can..." and with that she knelt down and deftly
opened my zipper to extract the prize within. I have to say she managed
it very neatly considering its engorged state, but her lips over the end
stopped me from appreciating her dexterity. "Just to get you ready," she
explained breathlessly, removing her mouth after a minute, and then she
turned to face the collar on the table.

"And maybe I should..." She stared at the buttocks only a few inches
from her face, and before I could work out what she had in mind or stop
her, pressed her face to them. Hortense quivered and made buzzing noises
behind its gag, but it was difficult to tell whether it was in objection
or delight. I tapped Annie on the shoulder before gently pulling her
away, to expose the bound girl's sex, wet and swollen before us.

Annie licked her lips reflectively. "Not bad. I wonder if that's how
I'd taste. I think she's all ready for you now, Boss." Hortense was not
the only cheeky one around here, I decided, but I had better things to
do than admonish her now.

I stepped up, positioned my prick and pushed. It just slid in. God,
that was good! In only the few hours since this morning I seemed to
have forgotten how fantastic it felt to be buried up to my balls in a
live girl. And this one was writhing and twisting like it was
possessed, even though I had just started. I held it by the waist, its
smooth skin hot under my fingers, and admired how it bucked and flexed,
almost like it was fighting me. Through the gag I could hear it grunting
and moaning, but with the buckles and in particular the waist strap
belting it down, it could not dislodge me even though it was throwing
everything into it.

Of course. Girls had no way of closing their vaginas. I pulled out,
stepped back to look at where I had been, and took my fill of the sight
of the steaming opening, gaping temporarily. Even better was feeling of
hot sliding resistance, yielding as I pushed back in again. I did it
all once more, just because I could. It was apparent from its grunts
that it got to the collar as well. I could see how, being restrained,
it did not have to hold itself back, but could really let go.

Enough of savouring the dish, I decided. I waded into the body laid out
in front of me, and started pounding away. It seemed natural for Annie's
eager fingers to be part of the business, pressing on my buttocks,
cupping my balls, wriggling between our two bodies, and caressing under
and around and over the writhing naked girl in front of me. I paused to
watch my collar push her hands under the girl's front, and, amazed, saw
the girl arch its back and convulse as Annie tugged at something under
its chest. The spasms in its pussy got to me as well, and before I
could control myself, I was shooting off hot on its heels.

I took a few minutes for us to catch our breaths, and, suddenly
awkward, I hurried to release the dressmaker's collar from its
restraints. "Get dressed, Annie," I muttered, looking for my own
clothes. But Annie saw to my attire first, so when Mrs. H. returned a
few minutes later, I was looking quite presentable, even if I did not
feel it.

"Hmmm, Tugging on ze nipples like zat, where did she learn zat?"
muttered Mrs. Haversham, who was, I noticed, looking quite flushed, as
if she had just run here. She undid the ball gag from her collars neck
— Annie had already released the rest of the restraints. It
immediately knelt at the dressmaker's feet and hugged her knees.

"Madam, you promised!" it cried. "No men!"

"Hah! You question me? And you brought it upon yourself. So, zank zis
man 'oo 'as saved you from ze whip. Go on, zank 'im for using you!"

Reluctantly but obediently the collar turned to me. The tears streaking
its face were real enough, and its appearance was different from before,
somehow more real. It actually was contrite. "Thank you, Mr Pilsbury,
for using this one for relief," it said, with real sincerity.

I could not help feeling I was still missing something. "What did it
mean, 'no men', Mrs. Haversham?"

"She is a lesbian," stated Mrs. H. simply, and shrugged as if that said
it all. I am afraid I was none the wiser, although the recognition on
Annie's face said that the word meant something to her. Seeing my blank
expression, Mrs. H. took pity on me and continued. "She likes ze other
girls." I nodded. "And she feels about ze sex with men — as you do,"
she added dryly.

"So... but... I would never have done that if had known she was hating
it!" I was furious with Mrs. Haversham for tricking me.

"Ah, non — she thought she was going to 'ate it. But did you not feel
'er at ze end? You are very good, mon ami, and now she knows a leetle
more about men!"

"But..."

"Come, come!" exclaimed Mrs Haversham, now all briskness. "Ze fun is
over, and we must to work! I 'ave much to do. Mr. Pilsbury, I look
forward to seeing you and ze young lady tomorrow afternoon for your
final fitting."

I still didn't get it, but I was feeling more than a little embarrassed
about my part in the whole affair. And what was that about nipples?
Maybe Annie would know. I would have to ask her, later.

Mrs. H. hustled us through the shop and, my head still reeling, I was
on the street and heading for home before I knew what was happening.
Well, if nothing else, I now had an outfit and a partner for the ball.
And, I had to admit, my sex education had been advanced with yet
another girl!

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If you liked it so far, drop me a line to 
'oldsofty  @  hotmail.co.uk' (don't forget to remove the spaces)

Chapters nine and ten will be posted Tuesday 13th Nov 08