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 /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 ----------------------------------------------------------------------- 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." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- 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. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- 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. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- 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! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 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