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Miss Erin's Homecoming Pt. 01

By: subjugated_sam



Alex sat outside the airport in Erin's black BMW, doing what he had become quite accustomed to over the past year. Waiting.

Waiting, as it turns out, had become something of a specialty for him. Erin made him wait for sex, even before all of this. She played demure, but Alex knew better now. She made him wait before every date they went on. She played overly effeminate, but Alex knew better now. She made him wait before closing the lock on his CB-6000S for the first time. She played unsure, but Alex knew better now. She was just controlling him in a different way, each of those times.

Four weeks now, counting the week she's spent away. Four weeks of waiting. Four weeks straight locked in his CB-6000S with not even a mention of release.

His eyes wandered, only for a moment from the doors of the departures exit to a happy couple walking hand-in-hand past the car. She looked up at him adoringly, he squeezed her close with a powerful arm. Alex's cock pushed against its prison as she looked up at him with big doe eyes and her short skirt billowed in the breeze. Her mannerisms were so like Erin's when they first started dating. The exuberant lovers moved on. He groaned, and waited.

There was no reprieve for his locked up twig when Erin emerged from the terminal.

A flight attendant may not seem immediately like the occupation of a truly dominant woman. But Erin certainly made the most of it. Sure, the passengers were grabby and rude, but she just leaned into their attentions. She cooed sweetly as men touched her ass, packed into the tight uniform skirt. She smiled and slapped hands away playfully as they brushed against her thigh and up along her cleavage, threatening to bust her uniform blouse at the buttons. Always sweet in her admonishment to her passengers and her simpering submissive at home.

But who could blame someone for trying to take liberties with a stewardess who looked like her? As she emerged from the terminal, Alex took a long look at his sweet, lustful tormentress. Her long, updone blonde hair had little hints of dirtiness in it. It served as a microcosm for the affectionate disregard with which she treated her chaste boyfriend. Her big, chestnut eyes searched the horizon for her familiar black BMW M3, a gift for her two-year anniversary with Alex. Her thick, pink-painted lips parted slightly to inhale the fresh, unrecycled air for the first time in hours. As Alex stepped out of the car, he observed the way she moved in this new, enhanced uniform of hers. Brock is such an innovator.

A snug white blouse barely contained her firm, ample breasts. It was tucked into a tight black latex hobble skirt that gave way to thigh-high stockings covering her toned thighs and calves. This personification of sex incarnate was perched atop five-inch black leather platform heels that extended her natural height of 5'9" to a towering 6'2", easily dwarfing her 6'0" boyfriend. In one hand she carried a jacket, in the other a severe-looking briefcase, the potential contents of which made Alex tremble with fear and excitement. She towed her roller bag along and happily waved when she saw her car. Her blood-red lips curled into a satisfied smile and she cocked her head to the side, the little latex cap not moving an inch. Pinned to her updone hair.

Alex groaned as he moved a little too quickly to her side. A rash move, considering the way his cock was churning in its plastic prison below. The little prick made another valiant attempt against its cage, only to be thwarted by the hard tube that forced it, perpetually, downward. Alex sighed at the discomfort but still rushed to his owner's side, reaching for her bag, jacket, and briefcase. She handed the first two to him and pulled the latter away, with a smirk and a twinkle in her eye: "No, little boy."

The first words either of them said to each other after a week apart. Fitting.

Alex popped the trunk and opened the door to the passenger seat of the car. She slid into the leather seat comfortably, her latex skirt squeaking a bit at the contact with the other pristinely-shined black surface. Alex carefully placed her luggage and jacket into the trunk and went around to close her door and get into the driver's seat. As he put the car in gear and drove away from the terminal, Miss Erin was already buried in her phone, giggling at text messages that had pinged her while she was flying. 

Tactfully, Alex pulled onto the highway to head home, listening and observing his girlfriend's actions until there was a lull in her texting to finally speak his first words to her. "Did you enjoy your trip, Miss?"

Erin smiled and set her phone in her lap, looking forward down the road. She took a deep breath, finished with a curt nod. "I did," she smiled, then turned toward Alex. "Paris was lovely, and Pierre was such a good host for me. He showed me the most romantic places, Alex. He even took me on a ride down the Seine on his boat!" She giggled, reaching over and putting her hand on his thigh, stroking them up toward his crotch. She watched his eyes as she glanced her fingertips along the hard plastic covering her boyfriend's cock, rendered inept for four weeks now.

Alex tried to focus on the road in front of him. Look, there's the jazz museum, on the left, he tried to force into his head. Erin's words pervaded his thoughts. Oh, and on the right, there's the first place you drove your girlfriend to get fucked by another man. He whined as that thought entered his head at the same time his girlfriend's hand landed on his thigh. He could feel her eyes on him, and knew he needed to respond appropriately. He opened his lips and a soft, pained moan escaped. Not that it was any great stretch for him to emit such a noise. That one, in particular, was becoming all too familiar for him.

"Pierre also gave me a little gift to take back with me on the plane," she smirked as her hand fully wrapped around the locked member. With her other hand, she opened up the mysterious briefcase and removed a remote, switching it on and beginning to writhe ever so slightly in her seat. She moaned, watching Alex the entire time, squeezing his balls in concert with her own pleasure. With a soft whimper, she twisted his balls to one side to get his attention before happily letting him know, "I used it three times on the plane. I just can't seem to stop cumming! I don't know how you can stand being locked up for so long, boy."

Of course the first mention of his current sentence came with an intense tease, and no mention of release for him.

Alex groaned and pushed his hips up to her touch, but stayed focused on the road in front of him. Driving her home while she pleasured herself was just another in the long line of sweetly humiliating tasks his girlfriend had set out for him. His ears burned with her whimpers and moans, the soft squeak of latex against leather as she pushed and twisted her ass in the seat. Each wriggle accompanied by a corresponding squeeze of his useless nutsack.

Eventually, her soft squeezes and twists turned to desperate grasps. She flipped the remote up to its highest speed and dropped it, grabbing the 'Oh, shit' bar above her door and fittingly exclaiming its name in a shrill, needy voice. Pressing herself hard against the seat, using Alex's cock and the handle as leverage, she let out a thunderous moan as the orgasm tore through her body, sending wave after wave of pure pleasure through her body. She shuddered, continuing to grip Alex's cock until she was fully spent.

Alex carried a sheen of sweat. Erin's grip on his cock had turned uncomfortable minutes ago, but he dare not complain. Interrupting one of his girlfriend's orgasms was one of the few things he could do to truly enrage her. She wasn't a mean-spirited person, but if Alex got in the way of her pleasure, she could turn on a dime.

Brock, on the other hand, was a tyrant. Brock, Alex thought. I almost forgot. He looked over at his girlfriend, who was slowly coming down from her climax with a satisfied smile on her face. She reached for her phone again after a minute.

"I've made reservations for you and Br..." Alex started.

"Quiet, sweetie, it's from Brock," Right on cue. Alex's blood ran cold as his girlfriend's attention was easily diverted by the man that had orchestrated his downfall.

Brock Conway was hired by the airline about seven months ago to shape up the flight attendant staff. They had become drab and uninteresting, and, like everything else with Mile High airlines, had become a non-factor in differentiating them from their competitors. Brock had ideas that were too lewd for the larger airlines, but Mile High was desperate.

He was a mountain of a man, standing at 6'4" and built on a solid frame crafted by consistent time in the weight room of the gym. His cardio work, however, came from his time in the break room, the restroom, and even the bedroom with his star employee. Erin. Of course, there was no shortage of cardio that he got from yelling at and berating her simpering, chastised boyfriend for the most minor inconveniences. Even in her tallest heels, he still lorded over her with his imposing figure. The thought of it made Erin squeeze her thighs together happily, and Alex quiver in fear at the ever-present threat. Whenever he would whine or complain about one of his multiple, menial tasks a side comment from Erin, asking if they should call Brock about this quickly diffused the subbie's reluctance.

Seven months ago, Brock had entered Erin's life. Six months ago, she started keeping Alex in chastity. At the time, he thought nothing of the correlation. Now, it was all he could think about. She put down her phone with a wry smirk on her face and looked over at Alex.

"Now, what were you about to prattle on about, little guy?" She asked sweetly.

"I made reservations for you and Broke at Bistro Modello tonight, Miss Erin," said Alex, still somewhat dazed from Erin's treatment of his cock.

Erin leaned over and in a surprise move, kissed her boyfriend's cheek. "Oh, that's so sweet of you, cucky! That's where we had our first date, and it's my seven month anniversary of ... working under Brock!" She was immediately back on her phone, texting with her lover and boss. Soon enough, though her giggles and happy sighs stopped. When Alex looked over to see if something had gone wrong, his girlfriend's sunny disposition was replaced with a smirk and a mischievous look in her eye.

Erin hummed softly, then turned and planted her hand back on Alex's thigh before speaking in the chipper tone that let him know the other shoe was about to drop. "You used to work in a restaurant, didn't you sweetie? You were a line cook?"

Alex already didn't like where this was going. "A busboy, Miss."

"Oh, right, you wouldn't have the brains to do much but clear tables, I suppose," she playfully chided with a little affectionate squeeze of his thigh. "Well, you're going to drop me off at home and head right to the Bistro, for training."

"Training, Miss?" Alex raised an inquisitive eyebrow to the passenger seat. She knew he'd ask that question, and pounced.

"You're going to get the chance to expand your brain to new depths, cucky. You're going to be our little waiter tonight!" She exclaimed excitedly. "Oh, and Brock says they have these silly little uniforms, which had better be impeccable, and you'll be quizzed on the menu, front to back."

Alex couldn't help but groan in humiliation at the thought. Forced to rush around and serve his girlfriend and her lover, stay out of sight until needed and be prompt and professional while they eyefucked each other.

"Is that a complaint, little boy?" Erin asked, in a slightly perturbed tone.

"No, Miss, not at all," and as it went with every perceived or real transgression, that simply wasn't enough. "I'm really excited to serve you and Mr. Samson tonight. I hope my service is to your satisfaction!"

That seemed to settle Erin, who went right back into a giggle fit at the messages popping up on her phone. As they arrived at their house, Erin gave Alex another peck on the cheek and a squeeze of his deftly controlled cock before cheerfully reminding Alex, "Don't forget to pick up Brock at 7:15 before coming home to get me. And good luck with your little training!"

Alex's cock twitched again as Erin departed up toward the house. Despite himself, he couldn't help but stare at the way her ass moved in the latex skirt assigned to his girlfriend by the gym rate alpha that had such control over both of their lives. Taking five seconds for himself, he closed his eyes and breathed.

He pulled the car out of the driveway, driving to the special place Erin and Alex had their first date. Where she would soon be making lover's eyes at Brock from across a candlelit table. Where, for their amusement and no utility whatsoever, Alex would be waiting on them hand and foot.

Miss Erin's Homecoming Pt. 02



Alex watched as his girlfriend clicked up the driveway to their home in her towering platform heels. Their cottage was secluded amongst the trees in northern Oregon, tucked into one of the many wooded areas of this state. The little bits of light peeking through the trees shone off her latex skirt, the same one her boss had forced as part of her uniform. This change of course was unbeknownst to Alex, of course, because it wasn't necessary for him to know anything that happened between Erin and Brock unless they chose to inform him. Or rather, Miss Erin and Mister Samson, as far as he was allowed to address them.

As Alex pulled away from the house for the thirty-minute drive to Bistro Modello, he tried to put the situation out of his head. Without Erin in eyesight or earshot, and especially without her cumming in the passenger seat while taunting his locked-up cock, this was an easier task. He approached a red light, stopped, and closed his eyes in silent thought.

Erin was right, Alex had been a busboy for a time at a restaurant, though it was long before they ever met. It was demeaning work, to be sure, but a suitable first job for a high school student. When he graduated high school, he left that little diner clearly in his rearview mirror. He only mentioned the job to Erin and Brock on one particularly degrading night, where they demanded that he tell them something embarrassing about him that neither of them knew. He immediately drew a blank, but concentration is difficult when you've watching your girlfriend get fucked by a physical specimen of a man while being forced to stand diligently with their drinks on a tray next to the bed.

It should have come as no surprise to him that something that isn't really embarrassing - taking a low-level job as a high school student - would result in tangible humiliation down the road. He felt momentary pride that they weren't making him bus the tables, but that was quickly squashed by reason. As their waiter, he'd have to check on them incessantly, perform perfectly and punctually, and disappear when they wanted him gone. He sighed as the light turned and he drove on.

After high school, Alex went directly into real estate. When the market crashed, he treaded water for a while before getting into the dangerous game of buying foreclosed properties, fixing them up himself and selling them for profit. He became very proficient at flipping houses and built a nice nest egg for himself. His affluence, he now surmised, was the main reason Erin was attracted to him in the first place. His lofty position as an officer at his real estate company meant little to Erin beyond his paycheck, and would obviously mean very little today. He bought and sold properties, transacting millions of dollars in an average week. The only difference these days was that he did it with a plastic prison firmly locked around his cock.

Brock had not only taken control of Erin's attire at her workplace, but he had also, by proxy, instilled a dress code at Alex's. The women were not permitted to wear pants, only skirts that flattered their bodies. He proofread and strictly corrected the memo he had forced Alex to write to this effect, and only after three rounds of edits with a week's chastity sentence added for each round was he allowed to send it to his company. A few employees left, but those that remained were excited by the opportunity to flaunt their assets around the office a bit more. This was, of course, all done in service of making Alex's life at the agency much more arduous and distracting.

Alex finally broke from his daydream as he saw the turn for Bistro Modello in the distance. A quaint little Italian restaurant set just outside of the busy Portland city center, it was the perfect location for a romantic rendezvous with someone you were trying to impress. That's what Alex thought when he first took Erin here, and it still held true for the rustic bistro. Deep red brick and stucco decorate the exterior with vines crawling from the roof down adjacent to the second and first-story windows. The second story is a façade. The interior opens up vertically to the roof, but from the outside it simply looks like a Venetian villa anatopistically juxtaposed against deep evergreen trees of the Pacific Northwest. Alex pulled his girlfriend's car to the front and approached the heavy wooden door, only to be met immediately by what may as well have been an actual wildcat.

She was at least eight inches shorter than he, sported long black hair tied neatly into a single French braid that extended all the way down her back. Her blue eyes pierced through his and her lips pursed. She had a runner's body, fitted into a snug white blouse and knee-length black skirt. Her skirt was snug enough to reveal the bumps of garter straps that connected to stockings, leading down to her sensible, but stylish three-inch black pumps. She also wore a pursed-lipped sneer as she took in Alex. At first glance, Alex would have guessed her at five years older than he. But as she spoke with an edge and annoyance that made him reminisce about Mister Samson's countenance, he began to realize that she was more aged than her well-kept appearance would suggest.

"Alex, right? The submissive waiter boy?" She immediately chided, setting the dynamic for what this relationship would be. This type of edge coming from a female form was new for Alex, and it, just like any stiff breeze these days, made his cock twitch in its little prison. "Staff doesn't park in front. Go around back." And she slammed the heavy wooden door shut.

Alex sighed in frustration. That type of strict, distant dominance was undeniably sexy to him. It was a place that Erin had yet to fully go. Her style was more of a sweet, unassumingly demanding girlfriend. She doled out tasks to Alex seemingly without regard for how intensely they'd frustrate him or how deeply they'd demean him. The only time she got truly mean with him was when he displeased her, and that often resulted in a simple call to Brock to sort things out anyway. And yet, a piece of him deep within craved this utter disregard for his feelings, this assumed feeling superiority.

Dutifully, he pulled his car around to the back lot. The BMW looked completely out of place as he tucked it into a small spot between a dirty, late-90s Chevrolet truck and a beaten-up Ford Escort. As he turned the car off, he noted the dust kicked up in the gravelly parking area and made a mental note to get the car washed before he picked up Br... Mister Samson. Neither he nor Miss Erin would cotton to being transported in anything that wasn't pristine.

He approached the back door and found it locked, of course, and knocked. And waited. Alex's forte coming to the fore once again. He was always waiting for something. It's no wonder he was mockingly tabbed for this particular job. Just as he was about to knock again, the door swung open and the waitress from earlier appeared, then immediately walked away. "Come on, boy, you've got a lot to learn," she tauntingly called over her back.

The kitchen was a tranquil, modern model of cleanliness and order. Everything was just where it should be, awaiting the chef and line cooks for the evening's dinner service. Aromas of cured Italian meats wafted through the kitchen and reminded Alex of just how hungry he was. He'd skipped lunch in order to make sure that the car was perfect for his girlfriend's arrival today. As it sat in the dusty employees' lot, he realized that he'd likely wasted that time and wouldn't get to eat until much later that evening.

Alex was led to a small room with a mirror, and a garment bag hung over the door by his dark-haired, pint-sized powder keg of an instructor. "My name is Sandra, but you may call me Miss Evans. You'll follow all of my instructions to the letter, or else your owners will find out what a bad boy you've been. They gave me this," she said, and he didn't even need to see it to know what it was.

Brock had developed a 'Report Card' for Alex for when he and Erin lent him out to people for their amusement. Such as the time they forced him to work as a gas pump attendee all day, buttplugged and wearing a humiliating sign that said 'I didn't keep my Mistress's car on Full.'

The Report Card included metrics in the rubric like Enthusiasm, Protocol, Speed, Accuracy and Appreciation. Each category was scored out of five, for a possible score of twenty-five. Erin, surprisingly, had come up with a few novel ways of turning a non-perfect score against Alex in the past few weeks. That's how he'd found himself impaled on a dildo in their basement, chained so he was crouching down and writing lines while he was forced to listen to recorded audio of his girlfriend getting pounded by Brock. Each point away from perfect resulted in twenty lines to be written based on the category where he was docked.

Enthusiasm - 4 out of 5. "This worthless slave will be eager to complete any tasks deemed too asinine for a real man." Twenty times.

Protocol - 5 out of 5. Thankfully, Alex was always good at addressing his betters with respect.

Speed - 3 out of 5. "When this slave is slow, he wastes the time of all those superior to him." Forty times.

Accuracy - 4 out of 5. "Those superior to this slave should expect perfect execution of every silly task they assign to him." Twenty times.

Appreciation - 2 out of 5. He had let his requisite smile slip from his face for a moment and actually growled as one of the patrons at the gas station poked his ass with the gas pump. Big mistake. "This slave will show how grateful he is for his lowly station at all times." Sixty times.

A score of 18 out of 25 netted out to 140 lines being written, which took all night impaled on a meaty rubber cock while his girlfriend and bull went out dancing and he listened to the sounds he only got to hear second-hand. A man's powerful pleasure and his girlfriend's gasping acceptance of his dominance. The sounds that Alex didn't get to generate himself anymore - the sounds that existed only for his torment.

The production of the report card snapped Alex into a docile state of mind. He stood up and put on a warm, practiced smile despite the battle raging inside of him. "Yes, Miss Evans," he calmly replied to her threat. "Thank you."

Sandra smirked and pointed to the uniform hanging in the bag. "You have ten minutes to change, little boy."

'Little boy,' Alex thought, 'that's something only Miss Erin calls me.' He shook off the momentary confusion as Sandra left the room and went to unveil his uniform for the evening. It consisted of a crisp, white oxford shirt and accompanying black bowtie, along with black dress pants and polished wingtip shoes. A black leather belt and a white apron completed the standard waiter look, but as Alex removed all of it from the rack, he noticed something else.

A little ziplock bag hung from the hanger, containing a pink, frilly thong and a note. Upon opening the bag, Alex was hit with an immediate waft of his girlfriend's scent, a scent he seemingly became more and more sensitized to the more he was chastised by her. The note was in a girlish hand, and read:

'Hey there, little boy! I can't wait for you to serve Mister Samson and me tonight. Do you remember these panties? These are the ones I was wearing the first time you had sex with me. You were so nervous and cute! Your little cock could barely stay hard, but when we started having sex, you spurted immediately. So funny. Anyway, you're wearing these tonight under your cute uniform. I came in them before sealing them up so you can really feel my juices on your little twig. Enjoy!'

Being alone in the room, Alex permitted himself to groan in frustration as he undressed and slipped the panties on. A tight fit, to be sure, but he was able to squeeze himself into them. As always when Erin forced him to wear panties, the bulge created by his plastic-encased member was unsightly and obvious, but Alex was more focused on the wetness seeping through the slats of his cage. He dutifully dressed in the rest of the uniform, making sure the bowtie was just right around his neck before emerging to face Miss Evans for what was sure to be an enlightening training session.

Just outside his changing room, Sandra struck a more imposing figure than before in her own uniform. It must have been the riding crop in one hand and his report card in the other. She led him out to the dining space. Alex hadn't gotten to eat there since that date with Erin, but seeing it immediately brought back a nostalgic warmth. The deep red walls are decorated by ornate sconces, adorned with unlit candles that, along with the individual candlesticks on each table will be the primary source of light for the patrons of the restaurant.

A stinging slap from the crop on his ass brought him out of his daydream. "Snap out of it, cuckie, and pay attention," Sandra began. "This is the main dining hall, and that," she pointed with the crop to a secluded, small table set deep in the corner of the restaurant, "is where your owners will be sitting tonight." He smiled as he looked over to the table. It was the same one he and Erin had occupied on their first date. That much he had requested, thinking it would at least amuse his Mistress. He just hadn't planned on witnessing her amusement first-hand.

"As soon as we're done here you will leave here to retrieve them," Sandra continued. "When you get here, you will drop them off and go back around to the employee entrance. You'll have to be quick, as they will be waiting to give you their drink orders. And Mister Samson told me that waiting wasn't as big a hobby of his as it is of yours," she cooed with a smirk.

She waited for his dutiful and enthusiastic, "Yes, Miss Evans," before continuing.

"The order of service here is drinks, antipasti, primo, secondo, and dolce," Sandra continued as she took a seat at a table nearby, propping her high-heeled feet up on a chair across from her on the other side of the table. "Our patrons sometimes order a contorno to go with their secondo," she rattled off with years of experience backing her every word. She narrowed her eyes on the inwardly tumultuous but outwardly placid servant in front of her. "You will answer every question your owners have about each course and serve them promptly as soon as their order comes from the kitchen. Any mistake made anywhere along the line will be blamed on you, and you will suffer the repercussions of it."

She produced a menu and wine list from a nearby table, pushing them toward Alex. "You have one hour to memorize every dish that we serve and every type of wine we have in the cellar. In an hour, you'll be serving me the same way you will Miss Erin and Mister Samson. And you'd better be perfect," she teased as she tapped the report card with her pen and his thigh with her crop. "You've got a lot riding on it."

She simply pointed down to the ground next to where she was seated as an indication that Alex's study area would be at her feet. He chimed in with another chipper, "Yes, Miss Evans, thank you," before settling in next to her on his knees and beginning to pour over the provided study guides.

The wine list was nearly impenetrable, the menu fully so. The name of every dish and bottle and their descriptions were written in Italian. Alex only spent five minutes with it before realizing that his attempts to describe Tortelli Mara-Monte as 'tortelli de recotti e spinachi i salsa di calamari e seppie con panna' would get him absolutely nowhere with Brock and Erin. They'd expect deep understanding of the menu, an impossible goal but one he'd need to strive to reach regardless. Alex swallowed his pride and looked up to his cold, taunting teacher, who was currently reading a magazine with her feet propped up on a nearby chair. She hadn't dropped her riding crop yet, and was tapping it in an incessant, methodical tempo on the top of the table in front of her.

"Miss Evans? I apologize, but I don't speak Italian and neither do my," he swallowed, it was still so hard to say it, "owners. I would be of much more comprehensive service to them if I were allowed to study a menu in English, if one were available. I'd be happy to allow them the Italian menu and answer any questions they may have about the dishes, of course. Is there an English menu available that I could study, Miss?" He looked up at her with wide eyes, his voice inquisitive and naive. It belied his natural assertiveness at the negotiating table in his line of work. But he wasn't exactly negotiating from a position of strength, here.

Sandra's lip curled into a smirk as she looked down at the supplicated slaveboy, begging for a menu in English so he could better avoid a vicious punishment from his girlfriend and the man fucking her. And she decided that he would pay for such a privilege. "There is one available, Alex, but you're going to have to make my time in fetching it worth it to me. When I return, I expect you under the table with your hands behind your back."

Of course, Brock had told Sandra about Alex's finely honed oral skills as it pertained to the female form. The only way he was really allowed to be intimate with his girlfriend anymore was with his tongue, and so he'd gotten very proficient with it. There even existed, in the playroom at their house, a flipboard scorecard modified from its original purpose - 'There have been 15 days without an accident.' - to keep tabs on how many times Alex had orally satisfied Erin between his orgasms. The number sat at an even 14 now, but she had been gone for a week. As he settled himself into the required position under the table, Alex deeply hoped that the next number to appear on that sign would be zero.

Alex slide his arms behind his back, clutching his opposite elbows with his hands as Sandra returned with the menus. She set them on the table and scooted her chair forward so that her pussy was just inches away from Alex's face, and he noticed, for the first time, that she had forgone panties. Something about the fact that he was wearing panties and she wasn't thrilled him in a twisted way and made his cock bob against its prison. But then, it didn't take much to do that anymore. She reached down and wrapped her fingers through his hair to pull him forward, not going through the trouble of raising her skirt. Instead, she shrouded him in darkness as she buried him there, coldly admonishing, "You aren't allowed to see it, fucktoy, just do your job and maybe you'll earn these menus to study."

The chastised slave nodded under the material of her skirt and answered with a slightly muffled, but enthusiastic, "Yes, Miss! Thank you," before nudging his nose against her slit. In the complete darkness under her skirt, this was the only way he could scout the territory and see. A nestling of his nose against the top of her slit elicited a moan and a squirm, and the feel of fingers tightening in his hair. He dug a bit deeper, pushing aside a little flap of skin and nuzzling the little nub underneath it. 

"Yesss..." came the affirmation from above, and Alex quickly replaced his nose with his tongue, pressing the flat topside of it against Miss Evans' newfound clit. His cock throbbed in his cage, but in this moment, Alex smirked in mischievous glory. For as long as he was allowed down here, in whatever context Sandra allowed, Alex, for a brief moment, had power over the situation. He rolled his tongue over her clit, flicking it with the tip and pressing the underside to it. His chin nuzzled into her slit below, collecting some of the juices from her pussy as they began to roll out. The rubric of his Report Card quickly flashed into his brain.

Enthusiasm and Appreciation. He moaned in response to her, thanking her with a muffled mouth. His words were not designed to be understood, but to simply add to the sensations. His deep voice rumbled against her sensitive skin and made her squeeze her thighs tight around his cheeks. Still, he persisted.




Miss Erin's Homecoming Pt. 02



Accuracy. He pulled her clit skillfully against his teeth, nipping at it quickly, which elicited a short shriek and three swats to his ass before a warm, settled, "Goood boy..." His ass stung, but this was a move he knew would generate a positive response from a superior, in the end.

It wasn't long before Sandra was gushing around Alex, and he dutifully lowered his face to keep his nose pressed to her clit and lap up her juices. No waiting for a woman like Miss Evans. His tongue, so precise in the generation of this orgasm just seconds ago, flattened to a spoon to lap up every drop of the output his trainer was giving him. Lest any would get on her skirt, he would certainly be severely punished. He gripped his elbows a little tighter as he worked to extract every drop from her, and stayed with his face buried in her muff until her hand pulled him away. His mouth full, his wide eyes looked up and met her glassy ones.

"You may swallow, little boy," she said with a smirk that finally cracked her cold exterior for the first time, "and I think you've earned these." She tossed the menus on the ground in front of him, slowly stood up, and walked to the bathroom on shaky legs. Alex swallowed his trainer's cum then looked down at the menus. Careful not to release his elbows from his grip, as he had not been given permission to do that, he poured over them, closing his eyes and repeating the name of the dish and its ingredients before moving on to the next. She had only granted him an hour of study time, and he had evaporated nearly half of it in pursuit of a menu he could understand. The wine list he would just have to ignore and hope for the best.

Finally, she emerged from the bathroom and took his menus from him, pointing toward the back.

"Time to go pick up Mister Samson, little boy. Don't be late."



Miss Erin's Homecoming Pt. 03



As Alex walked back toward the employees' exit, he began to recount how his life had transformed. How did an assertive, confident and successful man transform into the simpering, cock-locked humiliation toy his girlfriend and her bull had created? The answer, as it was with nearly everything in his life, narrowed down to his own choices and desires.

Erin had given him a chance. Or, more accurately, Brock had. She had been talking about Brock every other day since he took the job as the Director of Customer Satisfaction at Mile High Airlines. It was immediately clear that he was to be hands-on with his flight attendants, and the changes he made to their protocol were demeaning and thrilling at the same time in Erin's eyes. Their uniforms changed overnight from semi-professional business suits to short, slutty outfits only worthy of a common office tramp. The tight blouses were constantly undone down to show their cleavage, tucked into navy miniskirts that left very little to the imagination. Erin even regaled Alex with a tale of one of her friends who'd dared to leave an extra button on her blouse done up. She told her then-unlocked boyfriend with bated breath that Brock had simply taken a pair of scissors and cut away the useless top buttons from her blouse and those of the other stewardesses on the flight.

"Including mine," she said, as she offered the lapel of her blouse to her boyfriend for visual confirmation.

Stewardess. This particular term was another of Brock's sweeping changes. No more were they flight attendants, they were stewardesses, and announced themselves as such. An old-school, borderline-misogynist term that was made the default identifier for an entire group of women under his watchful eyes. If he ever caught any of his charges using the term 'flight attendant', there were severe repercussions.

As he approached the BMW, he sighed at the thought that he'd become everything he dreaded and desired in such a short amount of time. Careful what you wish for.

Alex had been given a chance, once the new relationship dynamic became clear. But the deep truth is that Brock's power over his girlfriend had been just as terrifyingly thrilling to him as it had been to her. A deep, hidden part of him craved that type of control in his life. Someone to subjugate him without regard for his pride or his pleasure, to use him simply for their own devices. 

On that fateful night, Erin was dressed as a perfect representation of this cross-section in their lives. She wore one of Alex's old plaid button-up shirts, her sleeves rolled back halfway up her forearm. That was tucked into a leather skirt that Brock had bought her, which led down to three-inch knee-high leather boots. On top, she was Alex's, down below, she belonged to Brock. And it was put into Alex's hands to whom she, and he, would fully belong.Brock watched as Erin fitted the plastic prison over Alex's shaved cock and slid the lock through the clasp, then spoke.

"Alex, this is your chance. You may step away, remove that cage, and go back to your home and your life. Erin will either choose to stay with me or go back to you, but I warn you - this is the only chance you'll get like this from me. If you stay, if that lock closes, you become property of Erin, who is property of me. We will endeavor to push your limits as far as they'll go, humiliate and deny you at every turn, and only reward you when you've deeply amused us. If you are staying, you may ask your girlfriend to close to lock. If not, you'll take it off yourself."

The way his cock bobbed in the little cage at the thought of Erin administering this degradation to him was indication enough, but he did take a moment to consider the ramifications of his decision. When would he be permitted to fuck his girlfriend again, or receive any sort of release? Was this only exciting now at the onset and would he come to regret submitting to it? That was the question that drove his real decision. He projected himself in the future, rationally hating the treatment he was receiving, stuck inescapably in it under the amused thumb of his girlfriend and the unyielding eyes of her bull, and the concept of him thrilled him like nothing else ever had.

"Please, Miss, will you close the lock on my chastity cage?"

Present-day Alex was every bit the remorseful, regretful whelp he had dreamed he'd be through rose-colored glasses back then. As he had accurately predicted, the car had been lightly coated in a thin layer of dust from being parked in the gravelly employees' lot. He sighed, knowing that this was unacceptable and resolving to get it washed before picking up Brock.

His trip to the gas station was uneventful, though he felt a bit like a chauffeur dressed in his crisp shirt and bowtie filling his girlfriend's car with premium gas and taking it through the car wash. He opted for the full package, including a wax coat at the end. It had been four weeks, and if he was especially well-behaved, his owners may allow him a humiliating orgasm at the end of the evening. He was meticulous to every detail, even pulling into a parking spot after proceeding through the car wash to thoroughly inspect the black, shiny luxury car for imperfections. 

Everything made him think of his denied state.

An errant glob of wax made him consider how similar his ejaculate would look, sticking to the pristine exterior of Miss Erin's car. Wiped away with the shammy cloth kept neatly stowed in the trunk, obliterated as was the control he had over his own pleasure six months ago. A drop of water left from the car wash made him think of kneeling at the foot of what used to be his bed as Brock and Erin fucked, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead from anticipation and unfulfilled need. Again, eradicated, as were any concerns of his desires from the minds of his Keepers. And when the car was perfect, an obfuscated reflection stared back at him through the shiny black exterior of the car. A thoroughly conquered whelp of a man, off to take his girlfriend and her fuck-buddy to a romantic dinner that he would serve happily.

Brock's house wasn't far, just a few minutes away. He pulled up to the well-appointed rambler, parking on the street just in front and taking a deep breath before approaching the front door. The routine for picking up Brock was well-established and chiseled into his mind. He rang the doorbell and stood, his hands behind his back, and waited. And waited. Brock and Erin did so love to make him wait. About 30 seconds after he rang the doorbell, Brock appeared and opened it. Alex recited the requisite greeting.

"Good evening, Mister Samson. Your ride is here for your date with my girlfriend."

Brock wore a black sportcoat over a dark green button-up shirt, unbuttoned to just show a tuft of his generously-distributed chest hair. His charcoal wool pants and shined black leather shoes completed his outfit, starkly contrasted in style with the little waiter boy in front of him. He humphed in approval and strode right past, leaving Alex to scramble to catch up with him. He scurried ahead and opened the back door for Brock to climb in. Woe betide the chaste slave whose lethargy would have necessitated his Keeper opening his own door. That simply would not have done.

Brock spoke to Alex only a few times on the way to his and Erin's home, and every time he did, it was a question wrapped in a humiliation. The latter, Alex assumed, was the point of the conversation anyway, but he had to answer with enthusiasm and respect all the same.

"What did you get up to over the past week while your girlfriend was off fucking the French, wimp?" He asked.

'Wimp' was Brock's favorite degrading term for Alex. It so clearly demonstrated the stark difference in their station. He cringed at the implication of Erin's robust sex life in comparison to his miniscule one, but instantly masked the biting pain with an aire of compliance and enthusiasm. "I had plenty of chores to keep me busy, Sir! I made sure her home was perfect for her when she returned home."

Brock seemed pleased with that answer and moved on. "How long has that cock been locked away? Are you even sure it still works?"

"Four weeks now, Mister Samson," as if he wasn't already acutely aware. He was the only one with keys to his chastity device. The only one who could possibly grant him the relief he so desperately craved. It seemed Brock wanted to have some fun, so maybe a joke would lighten the mood. "I guess I don't know if it still works, Sir! There's only one way to find..."

"That is NOT your decision to make, wimp!" Came the short, gruff response from the back of the car. Every word was staccato and laced with anger and power at even the inference that Alex would suggest such a thing. He knew, immediately, that he had made an egregious error.

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir." His tone was immediately muted and downtrodden, and the rest of the ride to pick up Erin was silent.

Again, Alex pulled alongside his home instead of into his own driveway. Brock busied himself with his phone while Alex went to retrieve his girlfriend. She made him wait even longer, but the view ended up being worth the wait.

What emerged from his front door was a vision of pure sexual allure. The red satin minidress came down to her mid-thigh and was cut to show off her ample breasts. Her slim waist was drawn in further by what he could only assume was a waist cincher lying beneath. Brock would almost certainly find out what was underneath that dress, and Alex had a pretty good chance at that reveal as well. Her makeup was artfully done, lips painted the same red as the fabric of her dress. Her red heels matched the ensemble as well, and her blonde hair was drawn into two, playful pigtailed braids.

"Good evening, Miss Erin. Your ride is here for your date with Mister Samson."

Similar to his required greeting for Brock, but with the knife twisted just a bit. He was obligated to speak in full sentences, to be the one who fully recognized that he was picking up his girlfriend for a date with the bully that had transformed both of their lives. He stood dutifully with his hands behind his back.

"Hi, sweetie! How do I look? Do you think he'll like it?" She was giddy and excited, the same way she used to be for dates with him.

"You look very sexy, Miss Erin, I'm sure he'll love what you've chosen to wear for him," he answered honestly. Indeed, it was already having an effect on Alex as his cock swelled as much as his plastic prison permitted. It was further enhanced by the way Erin patted him right on his locked cock, finding the lock itself and giving it a playful tug as she walked past.

Either she was unaware of the deeper effect of her sweet teasing, or, more concerningly, she was very aware of it and did it anyway. In either case, the momentary attention to his cock made him stop, shudder and close his eyes. When he opened them, she was three paces ahead and he needed to really scramble to catch up to her and get the door.

A quick check of the rearview mirror revealed that from the moment Erin slide in next to Brock, he was all over her. The contrast in the way Alex was allowed to observe Erin's appearance with his eyes and the way Brock was permitted to explore her with his hands was crystal clear as his large hands roamed without impediment all over her body. They kissed passionately in the backseat, as was their standard greeting. Alex gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter and drove toward the restaurant.

"Did you have a pleasurable trip to France, Erin?" He asked her.

"Oh, it was divine, honey, everything was so beautiful and elegant there. And the men were so romantic! But not any more than you, Brock," she assured him in a way she would have never assured Alex.

"I trust you performed well on the flights to and from, as well," he said with mock sternness toward her.

Her response was a giggling, "Oh, yes, Sir."

"Prove it. Show me where the emergency exits are on this vehicle."

Things were getting heated before they were even out of the subdivision.

"Well, they're here, and, uh," she pointed, her voice shaking a bit in anticipation. An indicative hand pointed toward one of the rear doors, and its wrist was grabbed firmly.

"No. Show me." And with that, he grabbed her by her hips, turned her around and planted her straddling him, her back to her boyfriend. She let out a surprised squeal and giggled again, her hands momentarily resting on his shoulders before she cleared her throat.

"The emergency exits on this vehicle are at the aft, located to your left and right, Sir," she said with more confidence, accompanied by a definitive wiggle of her ass against her bull's crotch. She indicated to each of the back doors with her hand before placing her fingers on the back of Brock's neck, stroking him tantalizingly. "In case of a water landing," she pointed toward a lake passing by in the mirror, "we'll scold our driver very harshly. You wouldn't put us in the water, would you, little boy?"

She actively engaged him. Made sure he was paying attention to them and their displays of affection. "No, Miss, I wouldn't put us in the water." He wasn't able to zone out, even if he wanted to. Deep down, he didn't want to anyway. The familiar twinge of jealousy and envy was savory, in its own way. He couldn't have what Brock had, but he was beginning to believe that he didn't deserve it. That he was every bit the wimp Mister Samson called him, the little boy Miss Erin called him. The degradation playtoy destined for a life of teasing and denial.

It wasn't long before he heard the familiar sound of pants being unzipped, lips against flesh and leather creaking as the two lovers in the back positioned themselves just so. He was approaching the restaurant, but something more important was happening in the backseat. He glanced up nervously in the rearview and caught Brock's smirking grin facing him back. When they locked eyes, Brock narrowed on the driver and issued a terse command.

"Drive around, wimp," he barked, before turning his attention back to the girl writhing in his lap, "Oh, no panties? Naughty girl."

Erin giggled, but it wasn't the same sound she made when Brock grabbed her and pulled her into his lap. It was a breathy giggle, one soaked in anticipation and admiration of her bull and her boyfriend's bully. "I didn't want anything in the way for you, stud," she whispered just loudly enough that Alex could hear it.

Dutifully, Alex passed the restaurant and made a circle around the block. The BMW's windows were tinted a deep black, so this semi-public display of sexual intensity was only being put on for his benefit. He kept his eyes on the road for a moment, stealing glances into the rearview. He saw braided pigtails shifting to and fro. He saw a man's hardened gaze belying his relaxed body, his hands never leaving his sex kitten's hips. He heard soft noises as his girlfriend pulled out the cock of her bull, and finally a gasp of ecstasy from her and a sigh of release from him as she pushed her sweet, dripping pussy over it.

"Oh, you're so big, stud. So thick..." She moaned, as she sat on his cock for just a moment. The beads of sweat, the same ones he wiped away from the car earlier in the day, began to form on Alex's forehead. His knuckles turned white. Ten and two.

"You like being fucked with a thick cock, don't you Erin? Bigger than those Frenchmen, and certainly bigger than that little boy in the driver's seat," Brock taunted.

"Oh yes, Brock, oh," her words were cut off by Brock gripping her hips, lifting her up, and pushing her back down on his cock, fucking her without her expecting and drawing another impassioned squeal from her.

As Erin began to fuck Brock in earnest in the backseat, Alex continued driving around in pointless little circles. His attention was more diverted by the second, and watching those braided pigtails bouncing up and down from behind was mesmerizing. So mesmerizing, in fact, that Brock took notice over Erin's shoulder and shouted at his driver with vigor.

"Eyes on the road, wimp!" He growled, and Erin simply moaned in response. She had not only grown accustomed to her bull shouting orders at her boyfriend, but the act seemed like it had become an aphrodisiac for her. Every time she went away with Brock for a few days, she came back a harder-edged Mistress for her subbie toy. But that only seemed to last a day or so before she was back to his playfully tormentous girlfriend.

"Oh, fuck!" exclaimed Erin as Brock grasped her by her right pigtail and twisted her head to face forward so that her expression was visible to Alex in the rearview mirror. Her face twisted in pain and intense pleasure as the orgasm built for both of them. Brock leaned forward, pressing her back against Alex's headrest and growled into her ear, "Not until I do, you little slut." 

Alex could feel Erin nodding against the back of his head rest as clearly as he could hear the grumbling moan from Brock as he ejaculated into his girlfriend. She let out a gasping "Yes!" before releasing herself. It was, at least, the second such orgasm for her of the day and quite possibly not the first for Brock. The audible theatrics in the backseat may have been comical to anyone who hadn't been denied his own release for four weeks now. As it was, all it did was make Alex stiffen up even more in his little plastic cage and grip the steering wheel even harder.

Erin panted a few breathless thank-you's to the man wielding the thick cock still emptying inside her, throwing her arms around his neck and leaning to him as she gasped for breath. "Thank you, baby, that was so good. You know exactly what I need." She let off a soft giggle as she whispered, "I hope we didn't distract our little driver too much."

Each word was a stab to the fully-perforated ego of her boyfriend in the front seat, but at this point, he was fully lost in his subspace. He was thinking of his girlfriend's creamy pussy that Brock was able to enjoy seemingly at will, the way she'd feel wrapped around him. His cock pushed against his locked-on cage and he opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by the foreboding man in the backseat.

"Who gives a shit? I'm famished, baby," was the smirking reply from a fully-satiated Brock. "Take us to dinner, cuck."



Miss Erin's Homecoming Pt. 04



Alex pulled the car to the front of Bistro Modello as his girlfriend languidly dismounted from her bull in the backseat of her car. Alex's poor, denied cock pressed hard against its cage. He shifted uncomfortably, not just from the chastity device which had become standard attire for him, but for the still-wet thong he was forced to wear under his uniform by his girlfriend. At the gruff instruction to take them to the restaurant he'd been circling for the past fifteen minutes, he turned a corner into the parking lot and pulled up to the entrance.

He knew he'd have to pull the car back to the employees' lot before he got out, so, distracted by the sex scene that had just played out in his back seat, he put the car in park and waited for his occupants to exit. It only took one cold stare from Brock and one annoyed sigh from Erin to inform him of his transgression, but it was too late. The barked order, surprisingly, came from his girlfriend.

"What are you waiting on, little boy?? Get our door, NOW!"

He was already fumbling with his own door handle as she berated him, and stammered out a "Yes, Miss, sorry, Miss," before scrambling to the rear door to allow them their exit. Brock was out first, muttering "fucking idiot," under his breath. Erin just shook her head as she took her leave, quickly grabbing Brock's massive arm and snuggling in close for the short walk into the Bistro. She made sure to wiggle her ass excitedly as she walked, knowing, somehow, that her downtrodden boyfriend was watching the whole time.

Alex knew he needed to move quickly so that his Keepers wouldn't be waiting long for his service. He sped around back and found the same spot he'd occupied during his training, heading in through the employees' entrance in the back and ducking through the kitchen until he reached the door to the dining area. He took a deep breath, straightened his bowtie and made sure the crisp shirt was tucked into his pants. He was perfectly dressed in the humiliating uniform, as well-trained to serve his owners as he ever would be.

He stepped through the door and went directly to the only table he'd be serving tonight, finding the happy couple's eyes locked on each other. Brock held Erin's hand on his side of the table, forcing her to lean over it a bit. Either intentionally or not, this gave him a wonderful view at her ample cleavage in the tight red dress she'd chosen to wear for their date tonight. As waiters often do, Alex only caught the middle of a particular part of this conversation.

Alex arrived just as Erin was beaming at her bull. 

"... for taking me here, Brock. This is so romantic!"

Alex felt his cheeks burn. She had said almost the exact same thing to him on their first date here at Bistro Modello. She wasn't dressed in nearly the scandalous fashion she'd chosen for her new fuckbuddy, but she was a much different person back then. They both were. She was demure and shy, but one thing that never changed was her saccharin sweetness. Even in her vitriolic control of Alex, she drenched her words in cute little pet names. He knew she still loved him, she told him that often. She just loved him as a playtoy more than a man.

"Welcome to Bistro Modello, Sir and Miss! My name is Alex, and I'll be your server tonight," he started. Erin seemed amused by his greeting and identification, and Brock stared up at him with cold eyes, bordering on annoyance. Alex wondered for a moment if he should have waited for them to address him, but the successful real estate mogul continued degrading himself for his Keepers' collective amusement.

"We have a wonderful selection of wines available in our cellar tonight. Might I interest you in a bottle?" He asked, sweating a bit as he remembered having to spend much of his hour between his trainer's legs and 'earning' a menu in English. Because of this diversion and delay, he wasn't able to study the wine list at all. Now, Brock held it up, intentionally preventing his waiter from seeing the content inside the list.

"Yes," Brock began, "I'm feeling like seafood tonight. What's the best vintage in your cellar to pair with salmon or tilapia?"

Alex let off a sigh he hoped would be imperceptible. It's almost as if Brock knew that he hadn't had time to study the wine list and intentionally quizzed him on it right out of the gate. Unbeknownst to the poor chastity slave, he had been informed by Alex's demanding trainer, Miss Evans, via a text message of his inability to study the available spirits. Perhaps if he wasn't lost in his own concentration, trying to recall even the slightest bit of information he'd picked up on wine pairings with food, he'd have noticed the telling grin Brock was sporting. Erin eagerly sat forward to hear the response, in turn wrapping both of her hands around Brock's one free one as she looked up at her nervous boyfriend.

"Uh," he began eloquently. Desperate thoughts flooded his brain.

White wine with fish, or red? White, I think. What's a good white. Chardonnay? Merlot? Which one was white and which was red. And how would he possibly know if they had it in their cellar?

"We have a very nice Chardonnay toni ..." He was immediately cut off.

"From what vintner, and what year, wimp?" Brock demanded.

"I ... uh," he stammered again. He was had, and all three of them knew it. No point in dancing around it, now. "I don't know, Sir, I am not as well-trained on the wine list here as I should be. I don't have an excuse for my improper preparation. Please forgive me. I will be happy to find someone more educated on the wine list than I to assist you."

Erin was the one that responded, much to Brock and Alex's surprise. "You do that, little boy, and be quick about it," her eyes narrowed on her downtrodden boyfriend-turned-servant, "You'll pay for this fuck-up later. You can count on it." Brock seemed very pleased as Alex scampered away to the back. 

He ran headlong into his trainer, Miss Evans.

"How's it going, newbie?" She asked. She seemed more cheerful than when they had first met, but still retained her air of superiority by offhandedly looking away from his eyes. Alex considered that she should be satiated and satisfied after his oral performance during his training session.

"Not well, Miss Evans!" He sighed, using the only name he'd ever known for this woman. Somehow, never having known her first name made it easier to address her in the required, formal way. "Br... Mister Samson had a question about the wine list that I was unable to answer."

She smirked for a moment, then her gaze went icy cold as she goaded him. "And just why weren't you able to answer it?"

"I ... " He began. Six months under the thumb of an oppressive ruler and playfully tormenting girlfriend had given him the ability to smell a trap. "I didn't manage my training time properly, Miss Evans."

She nodded, satisfied with his answer, but still returned a callous, "Dumbass. Well, I guess I'll have to take care of it myself, then."

He sighed a relieved sigh and nodded, "Yes, Miss Evans, that would be very helpfu.. ah.. Ahh!" He shouted as she gripped him by the earlobe and twisted it so he scampered behind her. She dragged him through the restaurant, garnering the stares and snickers of the other patrons as she walked briskly toward the two lovers' romantic table. This was happening too quickly for Alex to parse what was going on, but it was clear that he was going to be fully on display while his boss for the evening showed him up.

"I've heard there was a problem with your service this evening, Ma'am," Miss Evans asked Erin.

Erin broke her dreamy gaze from her beau and looked at the cold waitress, "Yes, in fact, this little boy had no idea what was on your wine list tonight. I'm hoping you have a better semblance of it, honey," she said sweetly to the woman currently physically dominating her boyfriend.

Miss Evans easily answered Brock's question, holding Alex hostage physically the entire time as she did so. She made sure to position him so he had to be at eye-level with a disdainful Erin during the entire conversation. Within minutes, Brock had ordered a bottle of 2012 Hanzell Sonoma Valley Chardonnay and Alex was dragged back into the kitchen by his ear.

Miss Evans finally released Alex's ear when they got back to the kitchen. With a smirk on her face, she disappeared to serve her own tables.

Alex quickly went down into the chilled wine cellar, going through the rows of bottles and taking an extraordinarily long time to find the exact vintage that Brock had ordered. Eventually, he did find it, but he guessed he'd spent ten minutes digging through bottle after bottle to find the correct one. Luckily for him, there was already a fully-stocked cart awaiting his return with a wine chiller, two bowl-shaped wine glasses, and a corkscrew.

As Alex approached the table, Brock had made a joke that had Erin in stitches, and, like last time, he only caught the middle part of the next sentence.

" ... mean, seriously, what kind of man allows his girlfriend to go out with another man to the place they first dated?"

He stayed silent as she giggled, not even noticing his presence.

"Your selection, Sir," he said softly as he held the bottle for Brock's inspection. He grunted, "About fucking time," and Alex opened it, then poured a small amount into one of the glasses and offered it to Brock. As if he was an advanced sommelier, he looked down at the liquid, sniffed it and took a taste, nodding wordlessly to his waiter. Alex finished pouring his glass and poured another for Erin, then spoke again.

"Might either of you have any questions on the menu?" He asked with a little more confidence. The thirty minutes he was permitted was not long enough to learn the intricacies of the offerings of Bistro Modello, but it's infinitely longer than the amount of time he was afforded with the wine list.

"Yes, I have a question," Erin spoke up, pursing her perfectly-stained red lips to hold back a giggle as she looked over the menu. "What are your sausages like, sweetie? Are they thick," she looked up at Brock and bit her bottom lip, "or are they petite and shriveled?"

With that, she reached over and ran her fingers over the plastic cage keeping Alex's cock resolutely at bay. The slightest attention being paid to it, of course, sent his libido into overdrive and made him moan softly. Her eyes widened and she grinned mischievously as she traced around the lace edges of her own thong that Alex was wearing. She kept one hand on his cock through his pants, the other on the stem of her wine glass as she looked up at him with wide eyes. She turned just slightly so that he had a full display of the view Brock had been enjoying all evening while she teased him. "Well, little boy? I'm waiting..."

He started, but she twisted his caged cock just a bit, making him draw a sharp breath before he continued. "Ah, uh, they are of the highest quality, Miss, I can assure you." He looked down at her and she didn't seem quite pleased with the detail of his response. He knew of one trump card that always bailed him out of situations like this. His own self-deprecation. "Much thicker than the shriveled little sausage in your hand, Miss," he said as his face reddened.

"I do want to have some meaty, hot sausage in my mouth tonight," she cooed at him, "Do you think you could help with that?"

"I can help with that," came the unrequested response from Brock, and Erin giggled before returning her gaze to her waiter, taking a long sip of her wine while she awaited his response.

"Ah, we do have a very nice chorizo gnocchi here," he half-moaned as beads of sweat formed on his brow. "Could I interest you in that, Miss?"

She smiled and nodded, "I trust the chorizo is ground up, the way a sausage whose only use is satisfying others should be," she teased ominously.

Alex just swallowed and nodded, "Yes, Miss, of course." Erin released his cock so that he could pay attention to his other customer. "And for you, Sir?"

"I'll have the roasted salmon with pecorino, wimp. And I'll be having your girlfriend in your bed, tonight," he unnecessarily reminded the downtrodden waiter. "Oh, and bring us some bruschetta to begin with. I'm starving, and I'll need to carb up to take this wildcat to task the way she deserves tonight."

Brock's steely gaze returned to Erin as he spoke the last sentence, but the barbs were clearly directed at Alex. He nodded curtly, his insides raging with desperate, long-overdue need. "Yes, Sir." 

He went back and gave the order to the chef, allowing himself to think for a moment about what it would be like to fuck Erin again. He leaned against the doorframe and touched the tip of his caged cock through his pants, feeling it respond immediately and stiffen at the mental and physical stimulation. The dull ache of it pushing against unforgiving plastic made him groan with frustration, but his sex-addled brain allowed him no quarter. His mind's eye conjured up images of Erin naked, spread wide open and waiting for him. He saw himself, a strong hand on her shoulder as he pushed forward to insert his unfettered cock ...

"Bruschetta up!"

The barked notification from the chef broke Alex's reverie, snapping him back from his far-fetched fantasy into this reality. Where he was a mere servant to his girlfriend and her lover, not the suave, macho casanova of his brief flights of fantasy. He spun on his heel to take the well-decorated dish from the chef, then stopped short as his swollen cock bobbed painfully in its chastity device. After another pained groan, he took the plate out to the now-familiar table.

His girlfriend sat alone, sipping her wine and checking her phone until Alex approached. He set the plate in the center of the table. "Primo, Miss." 

She responded with a wide smile at Alex, grabbing his wrist and excitedly asking if he thought Brock liked her outfit. Again, the inference that she was only interest in Alex's assessment of Brock's opinion, not his own. As he refilled their wine glasses, Alex assured her that she was stunning, which was met with a slap on the back of his hand and a scornful stare.

"I wasn't asking your opinion, pussy, I was asking if you thought Brock liked it!" She sighed dramatically, going back to looking at her phone, "You're going to have to do a better job of following simple instructions if you want that cummie of yours, sweetie."

Brock emerged from the restroom across the room, and Erin quickly waved away her boyfriend and stuffed her phone back into her bag. Brock always got her full attention, and Alex took the hint to scurry off.

As soon as he returned to the kitchen, Alex felt a vicegrip hand around his chastised member. It only took him a moment to realize that it was attached to Miss Evans, whose eyes showed a hunger that may not be able to wait until dinner was served to Alex's personal guests. She dragged him into the little dressing room where his old clothes still laid neatly on a chair, and she used a sharp twist of his balls and a hand through his hair to push him, forcefully, facing the wall. Her body nestled up behind his and she breathed hotly on the back of his neck.

"I trust you're performing exactly as I've trained you, little playtoy," she murmured as she squeezed his balls a bit more, making him writhe in discomfort against the wall. "I won't have your shitty performance reflect poorly on me." Her tone was malicious and biting, but Alex could feel her grinding her hips against his ass. She was certainly enjoying this power. "Maybe we'll have you back for a part-time job when your Keepers want some time to themselves," she mused, "Would you like that? More time with your cruel, wanton trainer?"

Alex remained silent before a response was forcefully demanded, and he gave the only one that would have been suitable. An eager nod and a cheerful, "Oh yes, Miss, I would ... arggh ..." He growled as his balls were twisted again, then quickly recovered, "I would love that!"

She smirked and nodded, suddenly releasing his balls as she spat at him, "I'll bet you would, you submissive chastity slut. I'll bet your customers are thirsty. Go see to them."

As he continually and dutifully tended to his customers, he continued only hearing snippets of what must have been scintillating and lewd conversation.

" ... going to fuck you so hard you won't ever be the ..." As he refilled their wine.

"... it was big, honey, but it wasn't nearly as big as yours ..." As he replaced the bottle.

"... make him watch, or lock him in his room?" As he served their dinner.

They consumed their dinner with notable efficiency. As he looked on from inside the kitchen, he saw the look in Erin's eye and the urgent gaze returned by Brock. They both had dessert on their minds, and nothing that would be served at Bistro Modello would do the trick. All the same, it was his duty to go through the motions. As they put the finishing touches on their chorizo gnocchi and salmon, respectively, he brightly asked if everything was to their satisfaction.

"I'm not fully satisfied yet, little boy," Erin coyly remarked, "but the food was quite good."

"Did you leave any room for dessert, Sir or Miss?" He inquired, already knowing the answer before Brock spat it at him.

"No. Get the car, we're leaving."

No mention of the bill was made, and none had to be. All parties involved knew that Alex would be picking up the tab. He gathered up the dishes from the table and took them to the back, running the check and looking at the amount. Two hundred and fifty-six dollars for one dinner was steep, especially when Alex had none of it to eat himself. As he was signing the check, MIss Evans approached from behind and swiped the pen from his hand. "No tip for the wait staff, little boy?"

He sighed exasperatedly, finally allowing some of the frustration to peek through in his voice. "No, Miss, I don't know what the point of tipping myself would be."

She growled and slapped his ass, hard. "Insolent whelp. That tip gets split between all of the waiters and waitresses, and the bussing staff. In this case, I don't think you'll see a dime of it, and that tone you just took will be going on your report card."

He sighed and nodded, beginning to write a more-than adequate tip of fifty dollars on the receipt, hearing the word "Higher," coming from his left. He sighed and changed the tip to eighty dollars before signing it and running the check. Three hundred thirty-six dollars total for the privilege to be humiliated and treated like the little bitch he had become. What a bargain.

Miss Evans had momentarily disappeared, but re-emerged and put a sealed envelope in his shirt pocket before giving his cock another squeeze through his dress pants. The contents of the envelope didn't need to be explained, and they clearly weren't for his eyes. "See you soon, cucky," she said as Alex departed through the rear entrance.