5 comments/ 39731 views/ 5 favorites The Peek-Chique Account By: Alexis Haines The Peek-Chique Account Chapter 1: A Second Chance "If you can't come up with something better, we must consider a reassignment, Jessica. You've done valuable work here; I don't want to lose you but really, I expected something better than this." Mr. Ambrose looks down his patrician nose at my layout for the new campaign; models' photographs, storylines for TV ads, sketches, sample web pages, months of work carefully placed along the length of the twenty foot, black lacquer conference table. He isn't happy with any of it. "We worked hard to get this account." Now he is fixing me in place with a sharp, focused glare. "This client is looking to us to propel them to the top of the lingerie industry, and we assured them we could put them there. We promised them the best of what we built our reputation on, Jessica. Savoir-faire! Sharp marketing! Strategy! Where is it in this pile of shit, hmm? Where is it! Answer me!" Of course, I couldn't. It happens in my line of business. One minute you're the hot new thing. Your ideas are sharp, it's easy, you're fast, unstoppable. You pass the wannabes in the corridors and you don't have to acknowledge them because you are The Hot New Thing. You're riding high in the most elite of London's advertising firms. And then you get the plum account, and it all dries up. At 25, I'm finished, my glamorous, yuppie career is over. Lingerie! How hard could it be? But I soon found out; every idea I could think of had been done before. Hours of looking at Peek-Chique's product line just sucked the inspiration out of me. All the bras, panties, teddies, suspenders, blah, blah, blah. The little bows, the little florets, the little minded tedium. I lost it. "It" wasn't in that pile of shit, and we both knew it. Wordlessly, I follow Mr. Ambrose, the firm's founder and final arbitrator of taste, as he strides to his office. His grim expression beacons his displeasure to all the other glass-walled offices. A thousand stares follow us along the corridor as I shuffle after him, head bent. Done for. "Take a seat." I move to a chair at his desk; he moves to the couch by the window. Oh God, have I lost all ability to read anything that's going on? I change direction and eventually plop hopelessly on the other end of the couch. He surveys me coolly; I survey the silk threads in the carpet. As the silence lengthens, I am forced to raise my head and meet his gaze. He is the epitome of cool. He is all tall, grey, elegance; fifty-ish, with well cut short hair and a long, athletic frame. He is swathed in a cool, grey, silk suit; the trouser leg drapes like mercury as he leans back, swings his right foot onto his left knee, and spreads his arm expansively along the back of the couch. "Jessica," his tone is warmer, more confiding now, "This is the worst time to hit a plateau." "Yes, sir." "I want to give you another chance. I still think you can do it, you know. You just need a little help." "Jessica, look at me." The softness in his voice is almost more than I can stand. My mouth is going slack and I'm swallowing, trying to keep it together. Blubbering in Mr. Ambrose's office would be just asking for the coup-de-grace, the merciful final blow. Oh God, please don't let him fire me. "Jessica, I know what you're thinking. That's not the plan. I have another; if you will only trust me, I know exactly what you need." OK! A final swallow and I turn towards him, straighten my back, turn back my shoulders (he doesn't hide his assessment of my realigned breasts) and look him right in the eye. "Mr. Ambrose, I want you to know I will do anything to turn this around. I know what this account means, I truly do. This is not my best work, I admit it. It's nothing like what you expect of me, what you deserve. I mean it. I'll do anything." His mouth spread in an almost imperceptible lean, lined smile. I hold my breath. For a moment, all I can hear is the hush of that smile. "Very well. You will take the rest of today off, and go shopping. At Peek-Chique's. Charge everything, firm expense. Buy the best, most outrageous products they sell. I want you to purchase crotchless panties, a peek-a-boo bra, a corset, silk stockings. Then get yourself a new suit. Short skirt and jacket. A nice, fine English wool. Dark grey. Very expensive. And get a pair of six inch, high heeled boots, black patent leather, thigh length. Go home, have a light dinner, put everything on, and wait for my call. You'll hear from me at 8:00 p.m. sharp. Go." That evening my full length bedroom mirror sees a new me and I squeal at the transformation. "Ooh, you tart, you! Look at you! Pointy toes, pointy heels, shiny black, all the way up your legs. Naughty girl!" I pirouette and pose in front of the mirror, enraptured with myself. My new tight fitting skirt eases around my buttocks and hips, artfully showing three inches of silky thigh above the boots. The jacket fits snugly too, and the wide, low neckline shows my ample, bulging mounds. I undo the jacket to admire the regalia underneath. The corset really is well made, and the shop girls at Peek-Chique's knew their merchandise. They fitted me with a dark green brocade underbust model, with metal clasps down the front, black ribbon lacing up the back, and suspenders. I hitch the skirt up to my clamped waist, to admire the view. Turning slowly, I look over my shoulder to see my exposed round buttocks, the top of my leather thong lying just under the bottom edge of the corset. A very neat package. And it doesn't stop there. In front, the corset top rises in a crescent below my breasts, to point the way to an exquisite black leather bra, with a little slit sewn along the cup seam. I push my titties around a bit, so the nipples peak out a little better. To get just the right look, I pull on them and roll them between my forefingers and thumbs until they engorge. There. Protruding nicely. Uh-oh. It's 7:30 p.m. and Mr. Ambrose is going to call. I totter into the kitchen to grab a quick bowl of cereal. I can't wait to tell him how inspired I am. He's really the best, a genius. This has made all the difference; I have a whole new direction for the campaign. It's going to be great. "Jessica." "Mr. Ambrose, you have your best marketing consultant back on form. I really can't tell you how…" "Are you dressed as I told you?" "Oh, yes, sir! This is absolutely brilliant, you have no idea…" "Write down this address, hail a cab, and announce yourself as Mr. Ambrose's guest when you get there. Go, now." He hung up. Chapter 2: A Red Devil Woman I'm dumbstruck. I stand in the middle of my kitchen, staring at the scribbled address. I don't understand any of it. He wants me to go out dressed like this?? I can't! I mean, it looks great but I don't wear this kind of thing in public. Actually, I don't wear it in private, either. But what'll happen if I don't? Should I call him back? And say what, Jessica? "Gosh, I'm really sorry Mr. Ambrose but I don't usually wear clothes like this and could you not fire me anyway?" Oh, sure! What choice do I have? It's freezing outside, the pavements are sparkling with an early frost. I'll compromise and wear my long black cape. It's warm and stylish, and it'll cover me up. I'll worry about what's underneath when I get there. It'll be OK. I quickly catch a taxi on the street corner and give the cabbie the address. "I think it might be a hotel or something, but I wasn't given the name of it, just the street address, sorry." The cabbie shot me an odd look as we moved out into traffic. "That's not a hotel, luv." "You know the address?" "Yeah." Either I had an unusually taciturn driver, or there's something wrong here. "It's a private address, then? A house?" "Yeah." I'm puzzled, but try not to show it; cabbies know London like the back of their hands, but they don't know the individual houses, surely? How come he knows this one? Oooh! It occurs to me that maybe the house belongs to somebody famous. That's it! Mr. Ambrose has asked me to a private party and I'm to show everyone how great our account looks in real life. It's a little risqué, but I can brazen it out. Get people's reactions, get some ideas. Brilliant! "If you don't know why you're going there, luv, you'd better think about it. I can turn back." I'm not sure what he means, and my heart hit my boot tips as I realise I'm dressed for a party, alright. I just don't know what kind. I don't have a clue. But I still don't have any choice. I tell the cabbie to keep going, and settle back into my seat and my mounting anxiety. My words in Mr. Ambrose's office come back to haunt me as I near my destination, "I want you to know I will do anything to turn this around… I mean it. I'll do anything." I finally face the truth. I don't know what I'm doing. I really don't. God, please take care of me tonight because I don't know how this is going to work out. And I'm scared. The house is a large, solid Edwardian in a quiet residential street. A path leads from the gate through a tunnel of shrubbery to the front door. There is a dim light glowing there, but the curtains are drawn at every window, no trace of light in any of the rooms. For all I know, nobody's home. I hope. I press the door bell. A woman's voice answers over the intercom, "Who calls?" "Um, I'm Jessica. I'm Mr. Ambrose's guest." A buzzer sounds and the door swings inward, revealing a tall black girl in a formal maid's dress. Only I've never seen a maid's dress like this before. The low neckline reveals half circles of her dark aureolas, just covering her teats. The dress is a narrow sheath of slick PVC, full length to her ankles, with a double zip up the front. The hem looks tight and confining. The neckline, the long sleeves, the hem, and her little white satin apron are all edged in frothy white lace. I can't speak, as my mouth is hanging open. Without a word she turns, and my eyes pop at the naked, brown cutaway ass, as she hobbles away on high platform shoes across the entrance hall and down a corridor. "Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore!" I tell myself. I step into the entrance hall and close the door behind me, not daring to advance any further in. I wait, and take in my surroundings. The flooring is old fashioned, large, diagonal black and white tiles. At the far end of the hallway is a curving, dark wood staircase. To my right is a corridor running along the house to what I suppose would be the kitchen, scullery and cellar stairs, originally. It's so quiet. An enormous brass candelabra hangs on a chain from the high ceiling, illuminating the dark red wallpaper and several closed, solid-looking dark wood doors. I can hear no sounds from behind them. "Good evening." A female voice from halfway up the staircase makes me jump. A tall woman in a long red velvet dress is slowly descending the stairs towards me. The skin-tight fit shows she is lean, muscular, and full breasted. A fishtail train drags heavily behind her. I put her somewhere in her mid-thirties, 5' 10". She is a redhead; her long hair with golden glints is piled up high, Victorian style. Her grey eyes and arching eyebrows are set wide in her fine-boned face; her deep red-painted lips are full. She trails her hand carelessly along the banister as she descends, red fingernails contrasting starkly with the pale skin and dark wood. She fixes her total attention on me as she steps slowly, deliberately, towards me; her expression is a curiously sensual sneer. A red satin choker draws my eye to her long, firm, white neck and her black jet drop earrings; they remind me of the screw-on earrings my grandmother used to wear. Suddenly I feel overwhelmed, like a little, helpless girl. She stands in front of me and regards me with obvious distaste. "What, pray, are you wearing?" "I'm sorry?" "Oh, you will be. That heavy mass of stuff around you; who told you to wear it?" The question is rude but somehow I can't refuse to answer. "Ah, well it's very cold outside you see, and I thought I should wear an extra layer, and this cape seemed to be the…" "Mr. Ambrose gave you explicit directions, did he not? Did he mention a cape? Well? I have an excellent memory and, I warn you, I know when someone is playing games. Answer!" I am almost panicked by the tone of her voice. "My employer did not mention a cape, no, but as it is so cold…" "Silence!" Her scream seems to bounce off every wall and tile and I jump in shock. "Remove it! NOW!" I fumble with the buttons and shrug out of the offending cape as quickly as I can. I stand awkwardly with it in my arms, not knowing what is required of me, only knowing this woman obviously has expectations on Mr. Ambrose's behalf. "Put it down on that chair. The maid will put it away." I comply, and then turn to face the haughty red woman. "Mr. Ambrose did not give me a reason for coming here tonight," I venture. "As you seem to be familiar with his intentions, could you let me know what they are, please?" "Oh, very pretty. You express yourself well, when you want to. Yes, I think we can do something with you. Follow me." Chapter 3: What the Butler Saw I follow her into what looks like a sitting room and, at her gesture, close the door behind us. There is an eclectic mix of furniture, most of it facing a fireplace with a blazing fire in the hearth. "Sit." I choose an overstuffed low-back chair and, as I sit, I try not to let my skirt ride up any higher. I keep my knees together and cross my ankles slightly to one side. "I understand you have been failing Mr. Ambrose, but that you wish to redeem yourself in his service. Therefore, Mr. Ambrose requires me to instruct you in such a way that you will once again be useful to his business. Do we have an understanding?" "Ah, well yes, I think so. Mr. Ambrose has not been happy with me lately and I have had some difficulty in my work. Do you know much about advertising?" "Nothing at all. In fact, my business here is extremely private. In a moment, I will require you to sign a contract prepared between Mr. Ambrose and myself, and you are to sign it as a third party. It binds you to absolute secrecy. In having you here, Mr. Ambrose has demonstrated considerable trust in you. The damage to his firm resulting from any indiscretion on your part would be calamitous. Do you agree to sign the contract?" I have signed a dozen or more confidentiality agreements; I nod pertly, regaining some composure on this more familiar ground. At this, the red velvet woman crosses to a writing desk, steps behind it, and presses a button. Presently the door opens and a tall, solidly built man enters bearing a silver tray on which, I presume, is the contract. He is wearing a dark, old fashioned suit which contrasts oddly with his short cropped blond hair and light blue eyes. He lays the tray on the desk, bows, and steps back. The woman, who has still not offered a name and for some reason I have not dared to ask it, waves me over as she unfolds the document and offers me a pen. I sign the contract where she indicates, noting the typed name under her signature as simply "Mme.", the abbreviation for 'Madame'. "Good. Now, how do you like Wilhelm? A fine figure of a man, don't you think?" I had not really paid much attention to the butler while attending to the contract and it seemed an odd question, but I obliged her by turning towards him… and stumble backwards. While I was signing the agreement, Wilhelm had unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock. As I try to regain my composure, he looks right at me and begins to stroke himself. He is flaccid, but enormous. "Do you not feel a little warm? Take off your jacket," Madame says to me. Madame obviously knows what my dress instructions were, but I don't want to show my corset and peek-a-boo bra to this monstrous man. I don't like where this is going, at all. I put my foot down. "No." "NO?!" The volume of Madame's outraged scream is astounding in the close room. She comes at me like a tiger, grabs my hair in a clenching fist, drags me to an end of a sofa and forces me over one arm. She furiously pulls up my skirt, exposing my bare buttocks and thong. With my head forced down into the sofa cushion I can not see what is happening but, through my cries, I can hear a drawer being opened and shut. The next sound I hear is a loud 'WHAP' as something hard makes contact with my left cheek. The sting is sharp, lingering. Again, I feel it; then again. And now again. At each pause, the sting barely subsides before it is revived and the pain is becoming a long, rising crescendo. I want it to stop. I wail, and kick against whatever, whoever, I can reach. "You will NOT resist your chastisement! Lie still! Now!" The spanking increases in intensity, the rhythm becoming faster and, although I can not help but twitch under each blow, I now hold my legs as still as I can because I understand it will not cease until I obey. Eventually the spanking slows, and then it stops, leaving me weak and sobbing. Now a hand palms my stinging cheek in circles, soothing the pain. I am so grateful it is over. Then, 'WHAP', my right cheek is given its share of attention too, until I am pushed again to my limit. Again, the palm soothes, and it is finally over. "You may stand." Trembling, I stand, but find I need the treacherous sofa arm for support. My legs are shaking so much I can't balance on my heels, but I don't want to sit. My skirt is still up around my waist but I don't even move to pull it back down. Madame is standing behind the desk once more. "Do you remember what I asked of you?" Sniffling, head down, I nod and take off my jacket. I hold it, without initiative. "Give it to Wilhelm." I look up at the huge butler. Wilhelm is standing beside Madame, still stroking his long, wide cock, now much bigger and blood-engorged. The foreskin is pulled back; the head is almost purple. Expressionless, he appraises my brocade corset, my black leather bra with my peeping nipples, my hitched skirt, and my exposed leather thong. I stagger across the room to him, and hold out my jacket. He takes it, and looks to Madame. "Go and hang it up. I will ring when I want you," she tells him. His disappointment was obvious but he leaves, taking my jacket and his engorged prick with him. "Now, I notice you are wearing a thong." I nod, not trusting myself to speak. "You were told to wear crotchless panties, were you not?" Oh no, not again. I hadn't taken Mr. Ambrose literally; I hadn't thought it necessary, but now I am wishing I had followed his instructions to the letter. "It is this sort of disobedience that brings you to your humiliation. What Mr. Ambrose expects, Mr. Ambrose gets. You are to understand this. And I am to help you to understand this. Remove your skirt and your thong; lay them on my desk." I ease the tight skirt down from around my waist to around my ankles and step out of it, and then pull down the leather thong as quickly as I can and scoop up both garments. I lay them on her desk as she ordered, and stand before Madame's desk, my hands clasped in front of my naked bush. Despite the humiliating semi-nakedness, all I can really think of are my throbbing buttocks. "Bring that wooden chair over to the centre of the room and sit on it." The chair Madame indicates is an old, narrow, wooden ladder-back that looked like it would have had rush seating at one time. But there is nothing but the seat frame, now. After trying several positions, I find the only way I am able to keep myself from slipping into the missing chair seat is by spreading my legs wide enough that my thighs are supported by the frame. I try to brace myself with my feet on the floor but, because I am not very tall, I can only tip-toe the floor in this position. For extra support I clutch the frame of the seat, palms down. This pushes my shoulders back, and my breasts forward. Madame's expression tells me she is pleased. Strangely, I like this. And I am grateful too, that I am not being forced to put pressure on my sore buttocks. I am starting to realise that Madame has planned everything, well in advance. The Peek-Chique Account Chapter 4: Support at Air Time "Now I can inspect you properly. You are a natural blond, obviously. However, I do not like to see pubic hair. The maid will shave you. In the meantime, your nipples are not of sufficient size. So, we have some work to do." Madame rings and this time the black maid enters, wheeling a cart. On it are a basin of steaming hot water, rolls of small white towels, a can of shaving gel and a basket of small razors. In another basket are some clear plastic cylinders, some air tubing, and a small hand pump. Another basket has some tweezers, and some other paraphernalia I have not seen before. The maid kneels on the floor in front of me, between my outstretched legs. Madame stands over us, and directs the maid as she shaves off all my mons hair. Then she shaves my lips. Then she tilts me up and shaves me below to my anus. Her firm black fingers spread me at every angle, pulling my skin taught and working methodically. She totally denudes my private parts. In my humiliation I focus on the mantel above the fireplace, holding myself as still as possible. Finally the maid stands aside for Madame's inspection. Madame leans on me, placing one hand on my thigh while with the other she fingers me everywhere, searching for any missed hairs. She looks me straight in the eye while she subjects me to this indelicacy, and I know I am not to look away. Eventually she straightens up and dismisses the maid. "That is much better. I think by now your legs must be feeling some strain, no?" I agree that this is the case. My arms and shoulders are beginning to ache too. "Then you would probably appreciate some support. I will have Wilhelm arrange it." The huge blond butler reappears, his cock flaccid once again but still hanging long and low outside his trousers. I avoid his eyes as he appraises my new position and denuded parts. He is carrying a pole about 18 inches high with a large, square, flat metal base. Madame hands Wilhelm a shiny red item from her cart and he affixes it to the top of the pole. Madame then takes the pole and attachment from him, and shows it to me. "Have you seen one of these before?" I tell her truthfully I have not. "Notice the attachment. See the rounded tip and the series of bulbous shapes below it? This is designed for anal insertion. Have you had one put up you before?" My expression tells her I am an anal virgin. "Very well. I will lubricate this one for you." That done, Madame supports me while pulling me forward and Wilhelm positions the anal pole below the chair. I am eased back into position and immediately try to rise when I feel the tip pressing into my anus. "Ease yourself down onto it, and in time you will find it a nice, comfortable, full feeling." Seeing my reluctance to lower myself further, Madame adds, "I can, of course, have Wilhelm extend the length of the pole." I realise that, as my legs and arms fatigue, I will sink lower so I try my best to accommodate it at its current height. As Madame and Wilhelm watch, I take the tip inside me, and then slowly ease myself down onto the first bulb. I gasp as I slowly force it in. The last bulb is the biggest and I whimper as I try, unsuccessfully at first, to take it up into me. Finally I get it into me and now I am fully impaled on the pole. The plug fits tightly and I try to support myself more with my arms, to relieve the pressure. This pushes my breasts up even higher. "Now that you are supported, I will attend to your nipples. Wilhelm, assemble the equipment." Wilhelm attaches the hand pump to air lines that end in two small, clear cylinders. In the warm room, my teats are barely showing so, while Wilhelm is busy, Madame readies them as I had done in play a little while ago at home. But Madame demands faster results; she pulls, twists, pinches and squeezes until I wince and gasp. Then Madame takes the pump, while Wilhelm positions the ends of the cylinders between the seams of the leather bra and over my newly aroused nipples. Madame works the pump and Wilhelm pulls a little to ensure suction. Then he steps back to watch the proceedings. Madame increases the vacuum. I feel my nipples being slowly sucked up. The more they are sucked, the more they ache. And the more they ache, the more Madame increases the suction, until I cry out in agonized pleasure. "Oh, Madame, please…" "Silence! You will achieve the extension I feel is necessary and you will have no say in the matter, do you understand?" I nod, panting, biting my lower lip in ecstatic agony, as my nipples are pulled and pulled. I throw back my head and the new alignment of my spine pushes me further onto my 'support'. "Oh, oh, oh!" I know I am not supposed to cry out, but I can't help it. "Slut! Are you wet? Put your finger in your pussy and show it to me!" The anal plug presses fully into my back passage now, as I contort to obey. I press the index finger of my right hand to my vaginal opening and hold up the wet tip to Madame. "Lick it." I open my mouth and protrude my tongue, and wipe my sweetly scented finger on it. In my side vision, I see Wilhelm is working his colossal penis again. Mercifully, Madame lets me clutch the chair frame once more while she disconnects the cylinders, but the valves hold the suction and keep them clamped and upright upon my poor engorged nipples. At Madame's nod, Wilhelm connects another cylinder and air line to the pump. He then applies the new cylinder to my clitoris and Madame initiates suction once again. My button is swelling. Madame engorges it until I start to buck, the ache between my nipples and my clitoris ebbing and flowing together into unified ecstasy. I want to be fucked in my hole! I want Madame to use me! I will do anything for her, anything to come! Madame releases the tubing from the cylinder clamped to my throbbing clitoris. My head hangs down over my cylinder-tipped breasts and I whimper; dreading, yet eager for, whatever is coming next. Madame lifts my chin and looks deeply into my eyes; I can barely focus now. I lick my dry lips, and she smiles. "You may rise now." Madame watches while Wilhelm holds down the anal pole. I gasp as I slowly pull myself off the largest bulb, and then the smaller bulb, and finally the tip comes out. Madame leads me back to the wide, overstuffed, low backed chair. I wait, my nipples and clitoris pulsing in their prisons, as she plumps up some cushions and then I arrange myself as she commands, propped back with my legs draped over the arms. I watch in disbelief as she presents her back to Wilhelm, who unzips her red velvet dress. She is harnessed. With morbid fascination I take in the black leather belt with Y straps converging on a wide steel ring, from which straps pass down and around between her long, slender legs. Chapter 5: Intimacy and Gratitude Striding now in her high heels, Madame returns to the cart. She stands with her back to me and I see how the harness straps wrap firmly around her buttocks and attach at the top of her belt. She is having Wilhelm make some adjustment to the front of the harness. Then again she turns to me, a red rubber penis now protruding from the harness. "How wet is she, Wilhelm?" The butler approaches me and coolly inserts a finger deep into my vagina. "I would recommend a toweling, Madame". "Prepare her." Wilhelm returns from the cart with a towel, and three sets of tweezers. He kneels between my legs and I submit to his ministrations, trying to breathe regularly while I fix on the ceiling. First, he releases the valves on the cylinder clamped to my clitoris and then he attaches one of the long stemmed tweezers to the base of my now engorged clit. He makes some adjustment to the tweezers, and I feel them pinching tighter and tighter until I bite my lower lip to stop my cry. Then, he does the same to my nipples. Finally, he pushes two fingers into my vagina several times, wiping them dry on the towel each time until he has most of my juices removed; he then stands back to allow Madame's inspection. Madame pulls on each of the tweezers. They are apparently sufficiently tight, except for the right nipple which she tightens by sliding the tweezers' little ring a little more up towards the nipple. "It is very nicely elongated, we mustn't allow it to diminish now, must we?" she asks. Thinking it is a rhetorical question, I do not answer. "Wake up!" Madame slaps my left breast, and then fast as lightening pulls up and down on the tweezers attached to its nipple. "Ohh, oh, oh, no, Madame! No, it must stay up, Madame!" "Stay awake! Now, push yourself further back. I want your head hanging over the back of my chair." I do as she says. "Turn your head, face Wilhelm, and open your mouth". As I comply, I see Wilhelm approach with his penis in his hand. It is now, surely, fully extended in width and length. It is deep red, except for the head which is purple, and dripping clear liquid. As I watch his approach, I feel Madame climb between my legs and, once again, something firm is pressed to my anus. "This is a little larger than your last treat. Now, return the favour Wilhelm did for you, and dry his head." I am not certain what she means me to do; I hesitate and instantly feel the tip of the anal plug being pushed up me. "Lick it!" I stretch my neck a little, and quickly lick the clear liquid from the head of Wilhelm's penis with the tip of my tongue. "Squeeze it." I reach up and do as she commands, producing more drops. I hold Wilhelm's shaft as I prepare to minister to him again. "In your mouth this time!" The first bulb of the new anal plug is much bigger but I feel Madame push it up me in half the time it took me to take the smaller one. In shock, I lurch and suck in more of the penis head than I had intended. Suddenly all of it is in my mouth. "Good. Now, suck him!" The pressure is enormous as Madame works the last bulb up me, and frantically I begin to suck on Wilhelm's fat, purple head. Wilhelm looks down at me impassively as I make embarrassing slurping noises. "Lick his shaft!" As I slide the butler's huge shaft back and forth across my mouth, I work my tongue and lips along the underside of it, salivating and drooling over both of us. Then I feel my clit being pulled up by its tweezers, and my lips are spread apart. Something large and firm is pressing at my vaginal opening. My tongue flicks fast with anticipation around the base of Wilhelm's shaft. He slips a hand under my head to support my aching neck while I pleasure him. "Suck his balls!" Obediently I lift Wilhelm's bulging scrotum to my lips and bury my face in his smooth sac, mouthing it and sucking it. Then Madame lunges into me, ramming the firm dildo into my cunt. Now I am stuffed in my ass and my pussy. I scream and shake in agonized pleasure at the long awaited vaginal penetration. Wilhelm quickly silences me by stuffing his cock into my open mouth. I can feel the contours of the anal plug through the wall of my cunt as Madame works the dildo with a hard, fast pumping action. Then Madame withdraws, and jiggles the clitoral tweezers as I gutturally moan in mouth-stuffed, suffocating agony. I want the dildo again. I imitate the motion I want Madame to perform on me, thrusting my hips while I plunge Wilhelm's cock with both hands in and out of my mouth. He is thrusting his hips too, and I take as much of it as I can, breathing deeply through my nose so as not to gag. Madame ignores my physical pleading, jiggling the tweezers on my engorged nipples instead. Then, mercifully, Madame reenters me and gives me a few good, hard, thrusts. But then she withdraws again, and Wilhelm slides himself out of my mouth. "Get up." Disappointed, I stand aside with my head bowed as Madame lays the length of the sofa, one foot on the floor, her legs spread wide. "Bend over and get your face in my pussy. Pleasure me!" I bend over the arm of the sofa and spread Madame's lips apart. I flick my tongue tip over her clitoris, then take it in my mouth and roll my tongue around it. I lick the insides of her lips as I hold them open; I lap and suck at the juices from her pussy. Then she takes hold of my head and pumps her buttocks, wiping herself up and down my face, spreading her juice on me. I hold myself still while she does as she likes, still holding her lips apart for her, keeping my tongue out like a Maori warrior to please her. I sense Wilhelm position himself behind me and, as he grasps the laces of my corset, I spread my legs for him. The plug is still inside me and as he plunges hot and hard into me, I scream into Madame's quim. He alternately does me hard and fast, then long, deep and slow. His rhythmic banging pushes my face into Madame's pussy, the tweezers swinging unbearably on my teats, my clamped clit pulsating in time to his thrusts. After some minutes of this, while I am tonguing Madam, Wilhelm pulls out of my pussy. Madame pulls my head up and tells me to unclip my nipples and take off my bra. Quickly, I do as she says. "Now, kneel before Wilhelm and offer up your breasts to his cum." I kneel and cup my breasts up to Wilhelm as he towers above me. He leans back with one hand on his hips, the other busy working up his cum. Madam pulls my head back by my hair to catch it as he spurts. Gratefully, I receive the copious white stream on my face and in my open mouth, over my chin, my neck, my hair, both my breasts and my engorged nipples. A Successful End Madame releases me and I collapse, exhausted, to the floor. After a while, Madame rolls me over onto my back, spreads my legs and I feel my clitoris finally liberated from the talon grip of the tweezers. Firmly, slowly, while I gasp at the release, Madame removes the anal plug. "You may get dressed." Eventually, dazed, I rise weakly to my feet; she is seated now behind the desk, dignified, still naked, one hand extended in invitation towards my bra, thong, and skirt in a neat pile before her. Wilhelm is nowhere to be seen. As I approach the desk, I see she is still wearing the harness and dildo. Hesitantly, I retrieve my clothes, and dress as she watches me. I'm still coated with her juices and Wilhelm's spunk, but I don't care. "Tell me, Jessica," it is the first time she has used my name. "How did you like me ramming my dildo up you?" "I, I liked it, Madame." "And Wilhelm's cock, did you enjoy sucking it?" "Yes, Madame." "Did you expect to take an insertion in your ass tonight, Jessica?" "No, Madame." "Did you like it?" "Uh, eventually I did, yes, Madame." "And did you expect to have your nipples and clit enlarged tonight, Jessica?" "No, Madame." "Did you enjoy having that done to you?" "Yes, Madame, I liked it very much." "Did you enjoy having a stranger's cock up your cunt tonight, Jessica?" "Yes, Madame." There is silence, while Madame lets me reflect on the statements I just made. "Have you ever had sex like that before, Jessica?" with this final question her tone is soft, warm, a kind light in her steady grey eyes. She is smiling at me. I stare, open mouthed at this red devil woman. "No, I have never had sex like that before. Never. I'm never going to forget it, and I'm going to think about what I just said for a long time, because I did enjoy it. I really did." "You think about it while you rework the advertising campaign, Jessica. Remember everything you did while you were wearing your client's products, and everything you felt." "Jessica, you must know that there are thousands of women, just like you. They vaguely know the promise of clothes like these, but they only vaguely know. The sexiest clothes hint at the deepest pleasures; until tonight, you too could only guess at what those pleasures might be. Take your newfound knowledge, and instill the shock, the taboo, the fear and the release into your work. This is the message Mr. Ambrose wanted you to not only hear, but also experience. Remember this night." "Now, off you go. A taxi is waiting to take you home. Wilhelm will give you your jacket and cape on the way out. Good luck." At the restaurant just around the corner from our office, a few short weeks later, the celebration champagne brunch is in full swing. Mr. Ambrose rises from the head table, and calls for silence. "Ladies and gentlemen, I want to read to you a few words from the "London Advertising Journal". Listen to this…" "The highly esteemed Ambrose firm," there are loud cheers, "has produced a singularly sensuous launch campaign for their new account, lingerie merchants "Peek-Chique"." More cheering. "Everything about this advertising campaign speaks directly to the brain. In every aspect, one hears the dark whisper of desires, intentions, longings and urges. The campaign captures the very essence of the taboo, and brings it triumphantly to the light of day in a way that demands attention. This campaign defies the general public to deny the dark urging at its core. Sensual, provocative, if ever a launch campaign deserved international recognition, this is the one. Ambrose leads again." The cheers rise to the ceiling; Mr. Ambrose turns to me and raises his glass in salutation. I could die with joy. Thank you, Madame.