The Consultation


It was 3 o’clock and Martin was my next appointment. I looked forward to meetings with Martin. He was easy to talk with, rattling off facts, figures and anecdotes with the ease of a politician. His sessions fulfilled something in me that was hard to explain. In fact, it represented the kind of work-a-day task that when you remembered you had to do it, you became elated.

As usual, Martin was 10 minutes late. I would take him to task over his tardiness as he knew I would. I was beginning to think that Martin purposely planned to arrive late in order to evoke a response from me.

At three-fifteen he rushed into my den in a state of apologetic anxiety. I work at home incidentally, as it is more private and I can plan my daily productivity schedule without losing time on travel.

“Greetings and salutations, sir.” he beamed radiantly. “Sorry I’m late, but the traffic was terrible and I had to stop at my lawyers to sign a few bits and pieces of papers of litigation. Please excuse me.”

I replied to this by saying that his tardiness was of no great problem. It was a lie. I was in fact anxious to begin.

Martin placed his brief case on the floor close to my desk. His action was tantamount to secrecy and I assumed that it might have contained papers from his work. In his other hand he cradled a canvass bag bulging with printed material. I could see the loose pages above its rim and the outline of hard backed books that lurked deep within. He held on to this satchel with a certain protective manner. Finally, he placed it upon my desk like a cat would deposit the night’s hunt at the feet of the master.

Martin worked for the government. His education and military background created a strong foundation for his position as Deputy Minister for The Department of Strategic Planning. He had recently assumed the position and was most articulate at describing in vague terms, as is the ilk of government personnel, of the more humourous occurrences that he had been party to since his appointment.

I asked the questions that I knew would draw him out and the stories that he related were absolutely fascinating. He loved to describe what he did. More so, he relished the authority that he held over other people’s lives. Albeit, he was careful to caution me that this very power that he was able to exercise over others, oft caused him concern. He had said that its premise bordered upon the tactics previously perfected by history’s worst despots and dictators alike. Alas, he would sigh, he tried to balance power with employment objectives, biased on the side of common sense and humanity. I believed his sincerity; but I distrusted his objectivity.

Our routine for these consultations had been devised between us over a period of months. There were no surprises, well at least not many, and we were both ready as the swirl of our meeting began to accelerate.

I moved out from behind my desk and walked over to the settee area. My office is arranged like someone’s living room. A couch, two comfortable chairs, coffee and end tables were arranged in balanced harmony. Two lamps graced the end tables and a four-foot tall statue of a naked David stood anatomically correct, off to one side.

I watched Martin’s eyes when I completed this first and all-important gambit. They flared and became intense. His rate of breathing accelerated and he began to fidget. It was all a part of the pleasure of course and he reveled in its manifestation.

Next, I asked him to stand. I then directed him to move into the centre of the room where he would be as isolated from furniture and other support. Personally, I wanted to rush into things, but savouring the slow method, I reined myself in. Martin felt the same, admitting to me that the movement to the ultimate end was more exciting then the end itself. How true!

“Remove your clothes.” I casually uttered in soft tones, confident that he would obey. I further instructed him to accomplish this in a feminine manner. He happily complied, as I knew that he would. He became demonstrably dainty in his motions and once naked, he pranced about arranging his discarded clothing in neat piles.

When he returned to the designated spot in the middle of the room, I ordered him to raise both arms above his head and join his hands in that upraised position. He was very pliable and obedient. I stood up and walked toward him when he had done as he was told. My gait and demeanor were determined. Standing in front of him I ran my hands gently over his chest. I playfully pinched his nipples causing them to stiffen. That was not the only thing that stiffened and as a consequence I grabbed his maleness firmly and commenced an undulating stoking motion. Martin groaned in pleasure. I then cupped his scrotum with my right hand and manipulated his tiny male pearls in concert with the stroking. His penis became fully engorged and with both hands exploiting the manifestation of his singular excitement, Martin hung his head.

It was not sorrow or regret that caused his eyes to descend downward into a position that some may equate with embarrassment. It was Martin’s resolution istanbul escort that I was in charge, and that he was succumbing meekly to my dominance. It was an act articulating his own slavery of his selfish desires. To me, he was just another client who desired to be trained, punished, humiliated and humbled. In the vernacular, Martin was really an unabashed submissive male slut!

I let go of my manipulations on his body. His hands were still joined; his arms still strung high above his head. Martin was malleable. But we both knew that. I barked questions directly at Martin concerning his fidelity to submission. He answered them all correctly. He loved this inquisition and I pressed even further. “Are you a slut?”

“Yes sir.” he admitted ashamedly

“Are you ready to submit to a most embarrassing grid of humiliations that I have planned for you throughout the whole of this afternoon, Martin?

“Yes sir.” he replied between gasps of breath, his breathing becoming more uneven.

“Then let us begin.” I stated forthrightly.

He immediately relaxed his arms and knelt down in front of me. He bowed his head forward and with long and loving movements of his tongue, he licked my shoes. The toes, the sides, and when I lifted one foot, the entire bottom.

I ordered him to stop when both shoes were glistening wet. He immediately stood up and resumed his previous position. “Good boy.” I said and patted him on his head.

Today I planned to conduct the consultation somewhat differently. This highly placed civil servant wanted the ultimate in humiliation and I had decided to escalate the stakes. I didn’t know exactly how he would take to it, but considered that his opinion simply did not form a part of the equation.

Into the centre of the room I brought a unique plant stand that stood about 3 and a half feet tall. It had a flat circular top about 18 inches in diameter and it was 3 inches thick. It was joined to the base by a thick tubular column. The base anchored the entire structure with four firmly placed ‘feet’. On top of each foot there was a steel eyebolt. This stand, more often used as a training device for Martin then a place for a floral arrangement, was a very sturdy piece of furniture.

“Get over here!” I ordered. “Bend over and put your stomach on the flat top. Drape your entire body over the stand and arrange yourself so that your feet do not touch the floor.” Martin complied obediently, without question or sound. Soon he was perfectly balanced, bent double over the pedestal. I then encircled each ankle with a set of leather cuffs, and then tethered both wrists with rawhide strips. Next, I joined the ends of these rawhide strips to the ‘D’ ring of each ankle cuff. The only thing left to do was to clip the locking device, attached to each ankle cuff, to the eyebolts fitted into the support feet of the stand.

When I finished, I checked my work. Martin was rendered immobile, clear of the floor, his body stretched taut over the stand. His legs were pulled forward, secured to his arms that were pulled back. And this joining of his limbs was tethered to the eyebolts on either side of the base. He was ‘pegged’ like a tent. Perfect!

“Well Martin, do you like this new position?”

“Y ess Thh..ank you” he panted out his reply, stuttering through each syllable.

“Have you ever wondered Martin,” I ruminated aloud, ” what it would be like while you were totally in my hands as you are now, if I were to invite some guests into this room to witness your precarious situation? To laugh at your predicament. And perhaps Martin,” I whispered conspiratorially, ” to participate in your humiliation?”

“Now just a minute here,” Martin spoke forcefully, wrenching himself abruptly out of the submissive character I had lashed him into. “This consultation is just for us. You understand me and what I like. Now untie me, I don’t like where this seems to be going. Untie me, please.” he wailed and squirmed, trying to rock with enough momentum to topple over onto the floor.

My response was nothing short of draconian. I took an over the shoulder swing with the buggy whip I had surreptitiously located while Martin had been exercising the denial of his situation and seared a bright red welt to the cheeks of his very exposed posterior. When he went to speak again, I reigned five more slashes upon his body in rapid succession. I was expert at this and left equal length marks across the expanse of both buttocks.

“Shut up.” I commanded. He remained silent as instructed. I did not want to loose him to his regular, daytime personality. I wanted him in his altered state. As a slave, a submissive male slut, dependant upon me for his salacious act of submission. I held power over him and I enjoyed it.

“Well Martin, what was that all about?” I enquired condescendingly.

“You’ve never mentioned about bringing other people in here.” he said with obvious fear. “I thought you and I understood my vital need for discretion. I can’t be seen…doing this, this sort of thing!” he spoke calmly. “Please untie me, izmir escort right now. I want an end…..”

He abruptly ended his diatribe in mid sentence, opened his mouth and groaned pleasurably. His hips moved rhythmically and he tried to spread his legs further apart than I had originally tied them. Failing this and still moaning with erotic pleasure, he attempted to raise his legs. This action, should he have been able to complete it, would have had the same effect. Martin desperately attempted to open up his buttocks to expose as much of the deep recess that lurked therein.

I knew that because I had caused this reaction. With a gloved hand and a finger liberally dipped in cool cream I had been assaulting Martin’s anus. I caressed the rim. First in flicking circles, then in erotic up and down motions from tailbone to scrotum. I probed directly, then withdrew. Round and round again, then another probe. His whole body was writhing.

“Well Martin, what was that you were saying?”

The moaning only increased and his body excited itself in the constant testing of the bounds he was restrained by. His only concourse was acceptance of his situation and he was otherwise speechless. He agonized in the pleasure he sought.

I kept up the playful teasing of his rectal area, sometimes kneading his scrotum in the process. I delicately stroked his stiffened shaft now and then, pulling the foreskin as far back as it could physically go. Then, I dipped two fingers into the lubricant and played an exotic symphony with both fingers upon Martin’s sensitive and ridiculously proffered anal area. When I looked around from where I was standing. I watched as drool slithered from his mouth. His mind was in a frantic dance with Eros, his eyes were closed and he moaned ever so subtly.

“Well Martin?” I reiterated

When he spoke I knew I had regained his total subservience. “Th..ank you Ooh, aah, ooh, that’s it….ooh yes. Yes! Thank you Master, thank you sir!”

“So Martin, have you ever thought what it would be like for others to see you…in this… most compromising position?”

“Do w..hat you want, I am yyy..our slave.”

“I intended to do just that Martin.” I said as I continued to explore and prattle the crease that divided both globes of his rump. “I don’t feel any obligation what so ever that I should solicit your ‘okay’ in this matter. I’m the dominant one here and you, well you are just a pliable slave to be toyed with. To conclude Martin, I intend to render humiliation to you today, that is beyond any other humiliation that you have ever experienced whilst in my skillful presence.”

Martin remained silent and I removed the soiled glove from my hand. His muscles relaxed and he slumped over the plant stand where he was ridiculously splayed. I slowly walked to my desk and from the top draw I extracted a life-like penis gag. It was attached to a wide strip of leather that tapered at both ends into securing straps. These straps employed a Velcro closure system that efficiently secured the gag into the oral cavity of a slave.

The functional end of this silencing domination restraint was brutally realistic. The dimensions were exact to an engorged cock in a fully erect state. It had a foreskin that could be closed or peeled back. In the latter position, the meatus head was exact to the pitted texture of the real thing. On the underside, this prosthetic organ even had the string of stretched skin that holds the foreskin to the shaft. Since the penis is 3 and a half inches long, it is meant not only to deprive a slave from audible objections, but he is also forced by the law of physics to constantly suck upon it. How delightful, I approved.

I squatted down in front of Martin’s face and ordered him to open his mouth. “Martin, I’m going to gag you now. I want you to lick the cock to lubricate it so that I can force it into you mouth. Now lick it!” I ordered curtly. He obeyed with my commands, salivating as his tongue flicked about the pretend male organ. Then I quickly fitted the gag into his willing mouth and secured the straps at the back of his head.

“Ah Martin, what a sight you make. What a ridiculous position you have got yourself into.” I laughed as I promenaded around him, oozing denigrating terms in his direction. “Now Martin, what you need is an audience.”

Martin squirmed and contorted against his bonds. His muffled grunts tried to penetrate through the gag that was seated deep in his gullet. It was absolutely tantalizing and I must admit that I became erotically excited by it all. Martin was truly fearful of an audience, but I knew it was all a part of the game he had so eagerly agreed to. It was at his request that I was treating him in this manner and Martin was paying for my special services. Mind you, we had never before discussed an audience.

I straightened up adjusting the waistcoat of my 3-piece suit, then buttoned the jacket over it. In the mirror I adjusted my tie and gave myself the ‘once-over’. Crossing the floor opposite my desk, I turned for one more look at Martin as I stood by the izmit escort door. He was ready. Oh yes, I thought to myself, he was definitely primed for what I was about to unleash upon him.


When I opened the door, she was placidly seated upon the couch in the waiting area. Her long legs were crossed, left over right and because of this her skirt had crept up six inches beyond the line of accepted decency. Her aroma was subtle but it had managed to invade the atmosphere of the small room. Her hair was tied back in a tight bun and she brandished long manicured fingernails at the end of narrow wrists and delicate hands. This svelte woman wore a conservative business suite, tailored and cut to entice the voyeur that lurks in every man. Her earrings were circles of gold, diminishing to a brilliant diamond at the centre and her lips were painted a bright red. But what she had chosen to encase her feet in, what I could only imagine as petite and dainty feet, were simply erotic. They were shiny black leather boots with pointed toes and heels that were most unnerving. The spikes of her exquisite pumps came to a plumb-bob point, 6 inches from where they had started. When she stood to greet me, I found it difficult to pry my eyes from the floor where she had planted her authoritative presence.

“Are you ready, Linda?” I enquired warmly.

“Yes I am. Where is he?” It was a statement lacking in any social embellishment or warmth.

I opened the door and she preceded me into my office. But as she crossed the threshold, the change in her behaviour was dramatic.

“Well, well, and what do we have here?” she said with mirth woven into the lilt of her intonation. “Oh my oh my.” she repeated, walking closer to where Martin wrestled with his restraints now that he was fully aware of the presence of, his wife!

She laughed out loud and continued to circle her husband. She touched, prodded and checked the strength of his entrapment. “Oh, I have to sit down for this.” she blurted out, laughing and giggling while wiping the tears of humour from her eyes. “This is too much.” she said trailing off into yet more laughter.

“You are pleased?” I asked.

“Oh yes! This is terrific.” she replied looking up at me with her wide eyes shimmering with anticipation. “Please, let us begin…I can hardly wait!”

I retreated to my desk and offered Linda the canvass bag that Martin had so proudly deposited in front of me when he had arrived. She dumped its contents out on the coffee table that hunkered low to the floor in front of her. She spread out the books and documents and selected a glossy magazine. “I’ll start with this one.” she said in a very confident manner.

Linda stood up and strutted over to Martin. She asserted herself directly behind him and began thumbing through the magazine.

“So Martin, this is your interest, is it?”

Martin remained silent. His body hung in suspension even though he was secured tightly to the pedestal.

For the next 20 minutes, Linda spat a litany of indictments aimed directly at her husband. Impaled on the pedestal as he was, he was unable to escape her lugubrious verbal assault. As the grit of her damnation of Martin increased, she began to walk around him, quoting from the photo ‘cut’ lines and discussing the sparse narratives that accompanied the pictorial aspect of the book she held. One after another, each book, manuscript and photograph was revealed to Martin in excruciating analytical terms. After each description of the subject matter or depiction of a photo, Martin squirmed in his ridiculous position. And as he sucked upon the penis that occupied his mouth, he muffled his apparent objections.

“These books all have the same theme Martin.” she taunted. “Dominant males in the leather immersed in the S & M scene. Is that why you come here? Does your consultant pander to your desire of being dominated by men?”

Martin squirmed frantically while grunting out his incomprehensible reply.

Linda picked up the buggy whip that lay on the floor where I had put it. Standing it straight up on the handle end, she leaned it upon Martin’s backside wedging its narrowed business end in between his buttocks.

“Just look at all these harridans in leather Martin. Powerful and intimidating men that you would probably kneel in front of like an obedient puppy!” she said as she flung the book onto the coffee table and picked up a set of photos.

“Here’s an interesting picture folio Martin.” she teased. “You look very cute in that petticoat. Oh, and look at this Martin…high heels, nylons and a bra! The make-up Martin, I must say that you look very feminine, vulnerable even.”

Linda then selected a larger photograph and studied it. “I have a question about this one.” she giggled. “I’m sure you remember it. It is a close up. Your face is just beautiful Martin. Your lips are painted bright red, your eyelashes are long and sensual and it looks like you are trying to swallow a huge pole. Actually, it is a very large penis, isn’t it Martin? All I can see is a portion of the shaft and your flayed lips. The picture was obviously taken when you were on the up stroke!” she sneered. “My question Martin is this: does the lip stick come off on the cock as you suck it?” She mirthfully chided with malice intent as she posed the question then placed the photo on the floor where Martin could not avoid looking at it.

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