The Excursion -- Part IV

The warm, wet pulse of the shower felt good. Slave had experienced quite an interesting afternoon with his two Mistresses. And a cast of many, if not thousands. Jennifer at the drugstore, the corset saleslady, Amanda (or was it Amy?) in cosmetics -- even the perky young ingenue who sold him those delightfully restrictive high heels -- all had willingly participated in his submission and humiliation. As he relived the afternoon in his mind, he felt his arousal returning after that most frightful experience at the restaurant ladies' room. He knew he hadn't performed as expected. Despite all that had happened that day -- and despite his arousal at the thought of the being used as a maid -- he had filled the little cup only half-way. Which was why he was here, in the shower at a hospitality suite at the hotel. The least he could do would be to help Mistress Angela with her gathering this evening.

As he quickly ran a razor over his soapy legs, he thought about the hospitality suite itself. Most of the furniture had been pushed to the side of the room, making space for an arrangement of Queen Anne chairs, gathered in a semi-circle surrounding an additional two chairs in the center. One of these chairs was another Queen Anne, the second, a simple straight-back wooden chair with armrests. What kind of training class is this?, he thought.

He dried himself carefully with the oversized, fluffy towel. Moving into the anteroom next to the shower, he saw Mistress Angela sitting there with his underwear for the evening, calmly reading a fetish magazine. "Mistress," he said as he came to his knees before her, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mistress, am I to wear the corset again tonight?"

"Oh, I do believe you must," she responded huskily, smiling seductively as she looked up from her reading. "I like the way it looks on you. Besides, I want the other girls to see you in it." She motioned for him to rise as she gathered the silky, pink confection that would soon restrict his movements. She pulled the laces hard, squeezing him tightly. "I know you have some questions concerning this evening," she said as she worked, "which will be answered in due time. Suffice it to say that I have a small class of women training to become Dominas, and you're my . . ." She paused to move her face close to his ear, whispering, ". . . you're my audiovisual aid, shall we say." The smell of her perfume and the tone of her whisper produced a predictable heat between slave's legs.

The lacing job on the corset was superb, and most effective. The extremely sheer pink baby-doll she placed over his head left nothing to the imagination, allowing the viewer to observe the tightness of the corset in back and slave's rosy nipples in front. Mistress had to help slave with his nylons, raking her nails against his tender skin as she attached the garter tabs. His heels, as well, required her assistance, and he relished the feel of her hands on his feet as she slipped them into the high-heel pumps. All that was left were his panties, a pair in pink satin, elaborately trimmed in white lace. Everything about his lingerie was coordinated. The panties felt wonderful as they glided up his nylon-covered legs. It wasn't until he pulled them all the way up that he realized they were crotchless.

"Mistress, please," he implored, "this baby-doll only comes to my waist. With these panties, I'll be on display whenever I become aroused."

"Mmmm, I know," Angela replied, pulling him close to her, her hand reaching between his legs. She signaled him with her wandering hand to spread his legs wider, and he shifted carefully to allow her free access. "I want you on display," she whispered as she manipulated him shamelessly. "And I want you aroused. Is that understood? Don't make me bind you before we even get started."

"Yes, Mistress," he replied, gasping as he felt himself grow hot in her hands.

"There's wine in the fridge," Angela said, returning to business. "Open a bottle and get six glasses from the cabinet." As he went into the main area of the suite, he noticed Mistress Christy working on an odd piece of furniture. It was a large metal chair -- actually, more like a chaise -- its seat padded and covered in rich black leather. The seat was attached to some internal mechanism that allowed it to slide the user into a prone position, elevating his (or her) legs about two feet. Leather straps were attached at strategic places, and Christy was adjusting them. Slave didn't ask what the chair would be used for. He had a feeling he knew already. Slave opened one of the four bottles of wine and poured a glass for each of his Mistresses. Christy thanked him as he handed her the glass. She slapped his butt as he moved quickly to the bathroom to present the other glass to Angela. She was waiting by the vanity in the anteroom, seated comfortably in the luxurious chair, her makeup kit open on the table. How had she changed clothes so fast?, he thought to himself. It didn't matter... she was stunning. Her silk top, in lilac, had spaghetti straps and a dramatically plunging V-neckline and push-up cups for décolleté shaping. The matching skirt rode-up her legs nicely, revealing one of the most beautiful garter belts he had ever seen, holding her subtlely patterned stockings taut against her legs. Her delicate feet were encased in open-toe lilac pumps with what had to be four-inch heels.

"Thank you, slave," she said politely, taking the glass from him. "I want you on your knees while I freshen my makeup." Slave knelt on the cold tile floor as Mistress Angela prepared her face. Her hands moved quickly, with confidence, as she refreshed her foundation and powder. He watched, mesmerized, as she began working on her eyes. Angela's eyes were so, so attractive, even without makeup. As she applied the eyeliner carefully, then the shadow, her eyes assumed a whole new dimension of beauty and mystery. She spoke to him as she worked.

"I want you to behave yourself tonight," she said, "and understand that you are in a very, very special place. Only my most valued slaves have the opportunity to serve me in this way." She paused to look at him, noticing his organ had grown substantially as she applied her makeup. "You like watching me do this, don't you?" He replied affirmatively, but before he could express himself completely -- to explain to her how special she was and how watching her in such an intimate setting aroused him so -- she interrupted him. Leaning close to him as he knelt next to her, her face next to his, she whispered. "Touch yourself, slave. Slowly. Touch yourself while I finish. But don't you dare mess. No, not yet."

Mistress continued with her work, glancing at him from time-to-time to make sure he didn't become too aroused. As she applied the mascara, slave noticed how that little touch -- just the addition of color to her lashes -- made her eyes come alive. Before long, she had lined her lips and filled them in with color, a shade that matched her blush and accented her face beautifully. The total package, after all the color had been added, was perfect. Angela looked gorgeous, with just the right combination of color to result in perfection. Made-up, but not overly so. "Let's see how Christy is doing, shall we?" she said as she rose from her seat. Slave released his grip on his organ -- reluctantly -- as Angela moved to the main room. He was solid as a rock at this point, the first signs of dripping apparent to anyone who cared to notice.

Mistress Christy had apparently finished with the "contraption" and had changed clothes. Her outfit accentuated her voluptuous body very nicely. Her black, ribbed-knit top with a ballet neck was cropped short, a few inches above her navel. It went perfectly with the black mini-skirt she wore, with its subtle A-line shape. Slave noticed the tops of her seamed stockings peeking from beneath the skirt as his eyes traveled south to her strappy, high-heeled sandals. Such a vision! Although Christy doesn't use much makeup, slave could tell she had freshened her mascara and lip gloss, as well. He felt his pulse quicken as she pushed him to his knees, pulling his head closer to her, under her skirt. She guided him roughly as she ground his face into her pubis. "Mmmm," she moaned, "I'm in such a mood tonight! This is going to be fun, isn't it?"

"It will certainly be fun for us," Angela replied, laughing. "Slave, fill our glasses. Our guests will be here shortly." Christy released the slave, who reluctantly went to the fridge for the wine. The glasses were filled, and none too soon, as slave was ordered to answer the knock at the door. Not knowing who to expect, slave nervously approached the door. He heard lively female banter outside, and paused to look through the spy glass to see who was there. "Just open it!" Angela ordered. So he did. Here goes nothing, he thought to himself, checking himself quickly to see how badly his organ was protruding from his panties.

Slave shouldn't have been surprised to see what was waiting for him on the other side of that door, but the sight of those four young ladies, each wearing a fashionable ensemble right out of Elle magazine, startled him nonetheless. None of them appeared to be a day over 24, and their beauty was striking. The aroma of their perfumes wafted into the room, nearly overwhelming him. He stood there, mesmerized, drinking-in their beauty. They could have been four models going to a photo shoot, but no -- they were here for their next lesson in domination, and he was their subject. The redhead broke his trance. "Oh . . . my . . . god! Would you look at this, girls?!" she exclaimed, a broad smile growing on her face as she seemed to immediately recognize the opportunities. The others joined in the laughing as they pushed past the startled slave, entering the suite and leaving him to close the door behind them.

The last lady to enter, a blonde wearing a revealing halter dress in red, with matching heels, paused momentarily as she strode by him. "Nice panties," she said mockingly, looking him in the eye as she raked her blood-red nails along his shaft. Slave had grown aroused again, his organ peeking from within its pink confines. Her brief but effective manipulation of him only made matters worse as he felt himself grow hot in response to her touch.

He quickly came to his senses and went to the kitchen to prepare the wine. The ladies greeted Angela and Christy warmly and exchanged a few pleasantries. By the time he was ready to serve the wine and cheese, the ladies had taken their seats in the comfortable Queen Anne chairs. As he went from guest to guest serving their wine, the ladies continued talking with each other and their instructors as if he wasn't even there, although he could feel their eyes on him the entire time, sizing him up, anxious to get-on with the lesson and the possibilities it might engender. He placed a fresh bottle of wine on the small side-tables between the chairs, on the coasters provided, so that glasses could be re-filled with a minimum of effort.

Mistress Angela instructed him to sit quietly in the wooden chair in the center of the semi-circle. Mistress Christy had placed two large pillows against the back of the chair, forcing him to sit to the front, his maleness hanging over the edge, as if on display. He was at full arousal, to be sure, and he hoped this pleased his Mistress. She winked at him in acknowledgment before she began the lesson.

"Well, ladies, this is the final installment of your training, and guess what? I've saved the best for last!" Mistress Angela stood to his side as she spoke, her nails absently wandering about his neck and shoulders. Her nails were quickly replaced by something else . . . Christy was attaching a high-necked leather collar around his neck, forcing his head into an exaggerated position of attention, allowing him to look straight ahead and nowhere else. His gaze focused on the redhead he met at the doorway. She was absolutely gorgeous, with delicate features and a full, pouty mouth. Their eyes locked on each other, and he could have sworn he saw her lick her lips as her stare bore right through him.

Angela continued. "What we have here tonight, as you can tell, is a closet transvestite. A crossdresser. And he's quite submissive, aren't you, slave?" She didn't wait for his reply before proceeding. "Yes, you are, indeed! This is an individual who, despite his best efforts, loves nothing more than to be forced to wear delicate silk and satin. To feel the restriction of a corset that is laced much too tightly. To be forced into impossibly high heels. And, I might add, to be forced into servitude of the superior sex. Which is why I brought him here before you, so we can explore some of the possibilities such a slave has to offer."

Slave felt something cold and hard being placed around his wrist. Mistress Christy was attaching restraints! He was being bound to the chair...first his wrists, then his ankles, then his . . . his knees? His knees, indeed. His knees were pulled apart and attached to the legs of the chair, causing him to spread himself in a most lewd fashion. "As you can tell from his physical reaction to being put on display like this," Mistress Angela again raked her nails against his turgid member, "this particular slave is a bit of a slut. Aren't you, slave? Yes, I do believe you are. Look at this, you're beginning to drip!" Angela's voice was full of contempt, but she winked at him again, secretly, and smiled briefly. "And so, ladies, as a precaution, I'm going to place this small towel on the floor in front of the chair, lest he ruin the carpet with his disgusting discharge."

With the towel in place, Angela continued. "Now, being the slut that he has shown himself to be, can anyone tell me what is missing from this picture? Anyone? Melissa?"

It was the redhead. "Well, he's not wearing any makeup, for one."

"Exactly," Mistress Angela replied. "So I'd like the four of you to do him up nicely. Christy, would you roll the makeup table over here? Thanks. Ladies, you have this entire collection of cosmetics to work with. As you can see, it is quite an extensive collection, indeed! And all by Estée Lauder, my favorite! Keep in mind that, when you're working with crossdressers in the future, you'll probably want to use cosmetics sparingly, just enough to make your subject beautiful. A lady. Much as you would for yourself. But for tonight, you have no such limitations. No, tonight, I want this slave to look like the slut he is, so throw caution to the wind and do him as he should be done." This last statement brought a flurry of voices as the four ladies began talking all at once, giggling and laughing as they stepped forward to apply the cosmetics to his face.

Mistress Angela stepped aside to give his tormentors room to work. Slave as beside himself. His entire field of vision was occupied by a group of lovely females, all intent on embarrassing him with makeup. Under different circumstances, he would like nothing more than to bed these women, to show them how virile and studly he was, enrapturing them with his charm and his sexual prowess. But he had to put such thoughts out of his head. After all, he was in no position to demonstrate his manliness, was he? He was merely a playtoy, a sex slave. A slave dressed in satin and lace, his torso bound by a pink satin corset. And judging from his response to these circumstances, it was obvious to anyone who bothered to notice that he enjoyed being a submissive little slut.

The ladies worked quickly, debating among themselves the most appropriate colors and cremes to use on him. One student -- he thought it was the blonde who manipulated him at the doorway -- began applying nail polish to his fingertips. He couldn't tell what shade she was using, but the aroma of the nail polish, together with her gentle touch as she applied the color, only heightened his arousal, causing him to squirm in his chair. "Hold still," the redhead -- Melissa, was it? -- exclaimed. "I can't apply your eyeliner if you're moving around!"

"Oh, that happens from time-to-time," Mistress Angela explained. "Some slaves become so overwhelmed with the sensation of makeup being applied, they can't help themselves. But it can't be overlooked. Let's not forget to punish him for that when you're finished."

"Oh, we get to punish him, too?!" This came from the brunette, a tall, lithe beauty who looked slightly younger than the others, if that was possible. Slave wondered how a woman so young -- she looked to be only 19 -- could have such an enthusiastic command of the dominant arts.

"Of course you can, Linda," Mistress Christy said, taunting the slave. "He simply loves to feel the sting of the crop, don't you, slave?" This reply brought a renewed flurry of discussion among the students, who were obviously excited at the prospects of disciplining him after his makeover was complete. Melissa began using a long, thin pencil to line his lips. How did they work so quickly? he wondered. He had tried applying his own makeup now and then, and it seemed to take forever. Well, there were three of them doing his face. Maybe that was it. And now he was watching Melissa -- beautiful, beautiful Melissa -- doing his mouth. Her proximity to him as she carefully drew her lines was intoxicating. He studied her face as she worked. Her skin was flawless, her own makeup expertly applied. Every single eyelash was separated from the others. And they were so long! She was so close he thought he could smell the aroma of her lipstick as she worked. Subconsciously he reached-out to touch her, but his bonds made it impossible to move.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other brunette, the one with the ponytail, whispering to Mistress Angela. Angela listened to her carefully, then clapped her hands in glee. "What a wonderful idea, Ashley! Here, use this. Although I'm not sure he needs it!" They both laughed at this inside joke, and slave wondered what was going to happen to him next.

He didn't have to wait long to find out. As Melissa began filling in his lips with a bright pink hue (using a lipstick brush, of course!), slave felt a tug at his genitals. He was being wiped-off with the towel. Then the wonderful sensation of a pair of cool, delicate hands began manipulating him below. He felt something tight being attached to his organ. No! Even his scrotum! His genitals were being placed in bondage. The contraption must be fairly intricate, he thought . . . he was requiring quite of bit of effort to encase his parts with whatever Mistress Angela had given Ashley. Oh, it was so tight! But what a delicious feeling as Ashley moved him this way and that, attaching what felt to be a number of straps, separating his testicles from each other and from his very swollen member. He prayed silently for velcro, as opposed to snaps, and his prayers were answered. He couldn't afford to have his skin caught in one of those snaps! Although his prayers were answered, the genital bondage device kept his equipment in check. He was much more sensitive to the touch, his organ bulging almost purple with desire. He was so mentally focused on his lower parts and the sensation of being touched down there that he didn't even realize Melissa was holding a mirror for him to examine his new self. What a surprise! He knew the ladies had applied a lot of makeup and he expected to look like a clown. Nothing could be farther from the truth. The makeup was heavy and dramatic, to be sure, but it was done with exceedingly good taste and a feminine flair. He was hot! With a wig or a big, floppy hat he would almost be passable. Needless to say, he was very pleased with what he saw, so much so that his arousal grew to an alarming state.

"Very nice work, girls," Mistress Angela said. "Very nice, indeed. But I think he could use some lip gloss, don't you?" The girls agreed readily, and Melissa began the task of applying a clear gloss to his mouth. Linda -- the brunette so excited about the prospects of punishing him -- moved quietly between his legs, kneeling down to examine his genital bondage. She looked up at Angela, questioningly. Angela nodded her approval. Of all the ladies present, only Angela knew that Linda was an accomplished masturbatrix. Angela had seen her work and knew that slave would never last. Linda grasped his tool firmly and held it there, letting slave adjust to the sensation. A moan escaped his lips as she began slowly toying with him, running her fingers up-and-down the shaft, pausing at the head and digging her perfectly manicured nails lightly into his flesh. Melissa saw what Linda was doing, and simply continued to apply more lip gloss to his mouth. Over and over again, the dainty lip brush painted a heavy but measured coat of gloss. Even so, his lips were becoming quite saturated, and slave could taste the gloss without even licking his lips.

Linda continued her ministrations, using one hand to scrape his testicles with her nails, the other to manipulate his organ. The other students gathered around her, knowing full-well what was about to happen, their gazes switching from the lip treatment up-top to the genital treatment down below. Linda realized she was putting on a show, and she made the best of it. She began a rapid routine of stroking his member then dancing across it with her nails. Stroke . . . dance . . . stroke . . . dance . . . stroke . . . dance. Slave was beginning to get a bit vocal, moaning and ahhing and such. It took only two-and-a-half minutes, from start to finish. Slave never really had a chance. He groaned loudly as the first pulse of semen shot forcefully from within him. Linda dodged just in time, allowing the arc to shoot its full distance. She continued to milk him, coaxing from the swollen member pulse after pulse of sperm, each one slightly less forceful than the one previous. "Ooohs" and "ahhhs" punctuated the room as the students marveled at Linda's touch. As she pumped the last dribbles from him, Mistress Angela approached his chair, holding a her favorite riding crop -- the one with the thin leather stinger at the end. She tapped it lightly on her palm as she spoke in a quiet, but mocking voice.

"That was quite a little show you put on for us, slave. Quite a show, indeed. But you know you're not supposed to mess without permission, don't you? Yes, of course you do. And look what you've done to poor Linda . . . she has your discharge all over her hand. She's disgusted by it, I can tell." Angela turned to Linda who, rather than be disgusted, seemed quite proud of herself! She quickly returned to character, however, and grimaced in mock disgust. "Linda," Angela asked her, "would you like to do the honors? I believe the standard punishment for premature ejaculation is a dozen strokes with the crop. And perhaps the other ladies would like a take a few swipes at him, as well." This statement brought a roar of enthusiasm from the students, who began talking all at once and pointing to the padded horse Mistress Christy was pulling into view. Linda, in particular, seemed excited at the thought of delivering the first strokes.

"Yes," Angela continued, "I do believe all the ladies should have their turn, don't you, slave?"