I needed a margarita...chilled and well salted. I fantasized scantily clad Jamie kindly serving me one while allowing Little Sam to bask in transitory freedom. And then came thoughts of his tongue and knowing hands...
Chapter Twenty Two
The ensuing week was mentally wearing. Ms. Hobson was given to constantly buzzing me in my tiny cubicle, seeming to beckon my attention to the most minute administrative matter.
At home I would arrive to find reminders concerning the building’s change of ownership. Utility service was interrupted at the most inconvenient times. Elevators were slow. Repairs were not timely made.
Then there was dealing with Little Sam. Early morning applications of cold water were required with Miss Elizabeth’s predicted nocturnal attempts at erection seeming to happen regularly just before dawn.
To escape the clutches of Ms. Hobson’s iron fist, I needed to complete a deal. And of course nothing was getting done and the termagant, unlike Winston, constantly reminded me of my ineffectiveness.
Then the cat was completely let out of the bag when. After sending me for coffee, I leaned over to serve her, and her beefy hand, one that I had surreptitiously felt so many times while suspended in Miss Elizabeth’s living room, grabbed the cage of the CB-2000.
“It’s no wonder you’ve agreed to have this locked up, Sam. You have balls but they’re not used for anything.”
She twisted, bringing pain and a spontaneous groan. Then the throaty laugh followed her release. As she stirred her coffee she slid open the top drawer of her desk. There, lying in plain sight was a very familiar padded manila envelope bearing the return address of Miss Elizabeth.
“I’m becoming very fond of home movies, Sam. Care to view one some evening?”
I demurred and humbly retreated to the confines of my little office. I was stunned. I was closer to being unemployed than I had suspected. Ms. Grace Hobson was toying with me like a cat playing with a mouse just before the kill. Making me go for coffee. Verbally taunting me with every opportunity.
She had the videotape. And I pictured the feigned surprise, disgust and shock when it was time for the coup de grace. She would ‘regretfully’ deliver the contents of the envelope to the executive committee, dutifully drawing their attention to documented evidence of moral turpitude. And how convenient that such an act would be committed by a borderline producer, someone about to be deemed expendable.
I quietly called Miss Elizabeth’s apartment. I so much needed comfort. And besides it was Wednesday, which had over the past eight weeks become the day for a regular early evening shaving and scrotal massage.
Contemplating Miss Elizabeth’s bizarre solution to my entrapment, the pressure to produce, Ms. Hobson’s demands, losing my apartment, the hormonal buildup ... all added to the downward velocity of the emotional roller coaster I was riding. And the only way up was being with Jamie.
He had the only key.
“Miss Elizabeth is out, Mr. Sam,” the halting young voice explained.
I took advantage, informing the blond ingenue that I was expected but would be arriving early. “I need the key and a margarita,” I brazenly insisted. To hell with Ms. Hobson and her opinions concerning my balls, I thought to myself.
I hung up. Then for the first time in my career, I sneaked out…, past Ms. Hobson’s nosey male secretary, into the hall, down the elevator. It was late afternoon, but Ms. Hobson had been adamant in procuring my assistance with mundane paperwork into the late hours. Tonight there would be no assistance. I needed Jamie.
The walk was short, but seemed to be endless. The doorman, having seen me twice or more per week for the past eight weeks sent me through. The elevator was not fast enough but finally stopped. When the doors opened I had already removed my tie, unbuttoned my shirt and unbuckled my belt.
I did not wait for the elevator to return to the ground floor on this visit. I just stripped, threw my clothes into the closet and grabbed the cuffs. I rang the doorbell and was kneeling to strap on the ankle cuffs when my blond, angelic key holder opened the door. I looked into the pretty blue, smiling eyes. Jamie had spent the time to pretty himself after my call. At least I convinced myself that’s what happened. There was mascara and definitely some lip gloss. And the smile. The ‘come hither’ smile of an expensive lady of the evening...on a little girl. At some five feet three inches, I almost looked Jamie directly in the face when kneeling. And ‘she’ was radiant. Attired in a white cashmere pullover sweater, a white cotton skirt so short that the crease of where ‘her’ thighs connected to ‘her’ hips flashed, and nothing else. Jamie wore no undergarments, the golden balls clicking noticeably. And the tiny feet were bare.
The hormones. Miss Elizabeth stated that she was increasing the level of hormones. Could such work that quickly? There seemed to be no masculinity remaining.
Jamie giggled ... as would a little girl making mischief when left home alone, as she watched me finish. When I stood, she helped with the wrist cuffs then clipped them together when I placed them in the obligatory position for entry to Miss Elizabeth’s apartment.
I stepped in. Jamie closed the door and gratefully the tiny hands held up the key to the CB-2000. She smiled and the gratitude I felt as the lock sprung open and the cage was tugged away was indescribable. The warm softness of her fingers had Little Sam standing before the cuff ring, a two-inch-diameter circle of comfortable smooth plastic, could be removed. And then, I suppose in her state of envy, Jamie knelt right there at the door, extended her tongue and lapped away at my scrotum, occasionally sucking in a testicle and swirling her studded tongue round and round.
“I need to be sucked,” I sententiously proclaimed, as calmly as I could, not wishing to sound too beseeching.
“I shave you,” was the terse reply.
Jamie stood and tenderly took my balls in her hands to lead me to the examination room. She was indeed a loyal servant. Contact with Li
ttle Sam was forbidden and she followed the rules.
I was lathered and shaved, the straight edge seemed to effortlessly glide with Jamie working her way around Little Sam, who celebrated his freedom by standing at attention as if at parade rest.
I thought about my circumstances. Blackmailed into over eight weeks of chastity, and not understanding the ransom to be paid, working for the termagant Ms. Hobson, in debt, limited foreseeable income, about to be homeless. Little Sam needed more.
And as Jamie toweled away the shaving cream with a divinely hot moist towel, something snapped. I realized that I needed more than the key and a margarita. That roaming about Miss Elizabeth’s apartment naked, wrists bound and penis standing was not going to assuage for the weeks of torment. I needed Jamie. I needed that tongue. I wanted to press that smooth warm and hairless flesh against mine…the sweetness...the innocence.