Lance knelt patiently in the middle of the hard wood floor. His knees hurt, but Lance was a fairly athletic young man and didn't complain much-not that he could, really.
"I signed up for this" he thought to himself, as always.
Lance tried to kneel without resting his butt on his ankles, as it was good for his posture.
His mother had once told him that a boy with good posture was a little gentleman. She had made Lance and his sisters walk with books on their head, teaching them to have a bit of gravitas in their shoulders.
But the kneeling in the room, on the floor was tough.
Another good reason to kneel straight up was, the gluteal muscles still ached from the thrashing Lance had gotten that morning from the back of Erroll's saucepan.
Lance really needed to stop making snarky remarks about her Visa bill! Pay without questions always seems the best policy, right?
Lance's ass was still quite tender.
Learning to sit in one place is so helpful, Lance thought to himself.
Often, Erroll would have little parties, and want Lance and Max to get on all fours and be human furniture.
Sometimes Lance could be a table, holding hot plates, and other times, he was supposed to carry stuff in his hands, but not move a bit.
If there was any moving, of course plates could fall, and then there would be terrible consequences.
Once Erroll had invited her adorable aerobics instructor to a party. Lance had been trained to hold trays for hours at a time, practicing by standing on two chairs and holding a phone book in each hand.
But Olivia had tickled Lance's dick (since he was, after all, naked)
And Lance had spilled the drinks, and then Erroll had given Olivia's boyfriend permission to kick Lance in the nuts! Oh God.
But Lance was improving every day.
What was Erroll doing now? She was with Max, probably.
Erroll's other submissive was Max. Max had more privileges than Lance, by a long shot.
Erroll had invited Max, a registered nurse, to live on the fourth floor of Lance's house.
Max wasn't crazy rich like Lance was, and he'd been quite pleased to share the big house. Max happily submitted to Erroll, but he could go out, do his own thing when he wasn't serving, and Max didn't have to wear a chastity device.
As he was medically trained, Max sometimes assisted in Lance's training.
He'd given Lance boiling hot and ice cold enemas at Erroll's direction, and, when she ordered it, attached a catheter to Lance's penis, so he'd been unable to urinate for 12 hours...it had been a horrific torture.
Lance was somewhat resentful that another submissive would have more privileges than he did.
It reminded him of when Mother would allow his sisters to stay up later than he, and have the TV in their room.
Erroll and Max laughed together a lot, and did stuff-Lance was only allowed to answer questions when Erroll asked them, and otherwise he was 24/7 in service.
It was exciting being in full service to Erroll, but so frustrating!
Lance had not had an orgasm in some time, and his cock swelled ineffectively against the little metal prison between his thighs.
Sometimes when they went on air travel to visit Lance's homes abroad, Erroll switched to a plastic chastity tube, but either way, Lance was locked much of the time.
Horny, and required to stay in this room, naked and kneeling.
Being in chastity might not matter that much if Lance could have left his little room to walk around his own damn house!
Once, Lance had tried to protest, confronting Erroll about his being "grounded all the time, when I'm thirty-eight years old."
"I love you Erroll, but I had a life before, I golfed, played tennis, did community theater, owned a race car, read books. My friends miss me."
"I guess we could stop our little game, Lance. Of course I'll probably leave then."
"No, it's arousing being a submissive, but not to this extent."
"Ordering me around, are you, Lance?"
At the time of Lance's complaint, he'd been standing naked but for his chastity device, in front of Erroll, who was wearing a little black dress...as she'd had a date that night.
In the middle of the discussion, Erroll's right foot shot up and slammed Lance directly in the nuts, hard.
"Watch out, faggot, I might give you the freedom to pee and shit outside in your front yard, on your knees, like a dog. Wouldn't your Manhattan neighbors like that, right outside the brownstone?"
Erroll had been rolling about on the floor, after Erroll's stiletto had landed on his testicles. Crying, he realized he would have to obey.
She'd left once before, telling Lance to return to his "cocaine and prostitutes" and of course he'd begged her to come back. He needed this.
Erroll said "You need so much more structure than Max does, honey, and that's why you'll be in that room most of the time."
"I want you home right after work, at six-thirty. It gives you 20 minutes in traffic to get here, since you are on the bus, as I use the Maserati.
Six-thirty, sharp. You'll get 20 strokes of the cane and five with the tawse for the first minute you're late and then one of the cane for each additional minute. Shit, if you lag too long, I could put you in the hospital!
If you are more than half an hour late, you'll also be locked in the closet of your room for an hour, and have to spend the night in a cage in the basement.
And I'm putting a time-card machine in the foyer for you to check in so I'll know w hat time you got in when I'm out."
Erroll had laughed musically. Her breasts had swayed in the cleavage, and Lance had been hypnotized.
"When you get in after work, you can spend a couple of hours cleaning this monstrosity your Mummy l aft you.
I'll be going over your work with a white glove, believe you me."
Lance had shaken his head as he'd listened.
"Mondays will be the bathrooms. All of them. Scrubbing out the medicine cabinets, washing the tubs and floors, and scouring the insides of the toilets."
Another tinkling laugh.
"You'd better do that thoroughly or I'll have you eating your lunch out of those toilets, hon."
Erroll had kept going on as Lance had sobbed silently, for he was a lazy fuck.
"And then you can work on dinner and after that, go kneel in the room."
And of course on the weekends, after Lance worked out at the gym (to keep him cute, as Erroll ordered) he had to spend all day in the room.
In the earlier days, Erroll had at least given Lance the treat of serving her beautiful body...covering it with kisses, extensive massages, and of course hours of oral service.
And, once a month, she'd allowed him to masturbate to orgasm as the chastity cage was being cleaned in the dishwasher.
Sometimes it had been a little gross, as Lance had had to lick out the semen of other men. But having such a beautiful girl in his bed! Oh God.
But, after some time, and meeting other submissives who wanted to serve, Erroll had told poor Lance that she no longer needed sexual services from him.
She didn't even want him assisting her in the bath anymore, as it made her feel "creepy."
So Lance had actually not seen Erroll unclothed in almost a year!
True, she wore sexy outfits, and there was something compelling about being so submissive that he was constantly naked and exposed, but his Mistress was clothed...
And once a month for a long time, in return for good behavior, Lance had been allowed to masturbate in front of Erroll, and then lick up his spooge.
It was horrible, no longer being horny and having to slurp up semen, but so glorious to finally have the release.
Lately though, for several months, Erroll had not even allowed Lance this.
She seemed busy, and preoccupied.
He tried reasoning with her...
"Lance, you have to stop being such a whiny, needy little faggot."
"You bitch about not being able to leave the room. You whine about not getting to lick my shaved, polished pearl, or to see me naked, and you're mad I won't let you beat your meat all the goddamn time."
"You have to learn to sit in the room, on your knees, and focus. You are so dependent on your social need, being popular, that crap."
She'd laughed again as Lance had blushed hotly.
"Before I took your Iphone you were on it constantly. Taking pictures of your lunch, taking pictures of your dick. It was disgusting.
I almost destroyed my nice Lochgelly Tawse correcting your other habits, getting you to give up cigarettes, and narcotics and all that hooch.
A good whipping it seems, is worth a thousand AA meetings!
And all the work it took whipping you into losing a few pounds."
Erroll paused, laughing.
"You said there were plateaus in dieting, and that was why you couldn't seem to shed the pounds during our once a week trip on the scale.
I notice though, that after my Tawse encouraged you to eat less and exercise more, you went right into losing three pounds a week!"
"And it probably helped that whenever you drank my piss, you'd throw up the first few times, right? Get some food out of your belly, like a damn bulimic!"
And Lance's secretary, his physician and co-workers had marveled at his getting into shape. His friends were saddened and puzzled that Lance was rarely available to play poker or go mountain biking anymore.
What could Lance say? When he wasn't kneeling in the little room, he had to serve Erroll, and that took priority over any socializing.
"Sorry, I couldn't go scuba diving with you, Eric, I was in a French maid's uniform on Saturday afternoon in full makeup, sucking off Erroll's redneck cousins, Dorcas and Dorsey.
Actually I was sucking off Dorsey, and Dorcas was fucking my ass!"
"And I missed the Garrett's barbecue because I was recovering from Erroll's friend, Princess Nirvana of Pittsburgh, who branded a question mark on the head of my penis."
Lance couldn't give his buddies excuses like that. He was just "busy". Poor Lance.
And, since he wasn't allowed any Iphones or Internet, there was n o connection through Facebook or Snapchat. People had mostly forgotten about him.
Erroll's younger sister Devereaux had become Lance's admin, and supervised his not using social media at work. Now Lance was getting more promotions for working harder, and he didn't lose money playing Texas Hold-Em.
When Devereaux thought Lance was slacking off, or if she caught him not eating lunch at his desk, she'd take his pants down in the private office and whip his bare buttocks until he cried.
Little Dev knew how to wield a hairbrush, that was for sure!
What had really changed in Lance's relationship with Erroll, when she'd restricted him to the room?
Previously they'd played bondage games and she'd whipped him with a belt, that had begun slowly and seductively.
But at that time they were still hanging out with his friends, who she thought of as moronic preppies.
Then one night when they were shooting pool, Erroll had looked at Lance, laughing with the boys and said,
"I want to go home now."
"But-but we've only been out for an hour, and it's been so long since I've seen my friends-"
"Now, Lance. Or I go home alone. Or Frankie can drive me."
Erroll had given Lance's "friend" Frankie a dazzling smile, and of course he had the serious hots for her.
All the guys were very attracted to Erroll, and that night she'd curled her short hair and was wearing a skin-tight white top that turned her hard nipples into bullets, but did Lance have to leave?
Lance's buddies thought Lance was pussy-whipped, but also envied him because they believed he was going home to fuck Erroll hard, and then probably watch a chick flick with her.
But Erroll and Lance had gotten home, and she'd instructed him to strip, and then she'd tied him spread eagled to the bed.
She'd snapped a couple of mousetraps on his nipples, and rubbed some liquid that made his cock and balls itch mightily right into his crotch.
She'd plopped a gag in his mouth. "Sure hope there won't be a fire, kid."
Then Erroll had told Lance she had changed her mind, and breezily said, "I think I'll go back and hit a few balls with your pals. See you soon!"
That night, Lance had lay there, helplessly, angry, but yet quite aroused at the thought that his beautiful girlfriend was carousing around, and she'd sent him to bed, like a child who is put to bed while his parents enjoy a party.
The humiliation of it all drove Lance insane, and of course his nipples felt horrible and his penis was going crazy with all the itching.
Why did she do this to him? Why did she not want Lance with her when she saw his friends? She always told him what dopes they were, and now she was out living it up with them.
Later on that night, Erroll had stumbled back in, quite drunk. She'd informed Lance, who really had to pee, being bound down, that she'd told his friends that Lance was "under the weather."
Erroll had sat on the bed for a few moments, and stroked and pulled Lance's dick until it was very horny.
"Gotta pee?"
Lance nodded. He hoped she'd jerk him off but...
Erroll put a tube over Lance's penis and he peed into it, and then she forced him to drink it.
Then she massaged his penis, rubbing her red nails up and down his frustrated cock for nearly an hour before letting go of it, leaving him, of course still bound.
"Your friend Frankie has a big dick." That was the last thing she'd said before going back out to the living room and passing out on the couch.
Did she hate him? He couldn't live without her, and the price now was, in the room, all the time.
At first he would offend her and Erroll would sentence him to five days in the room, not letting him share her bed. Ten days. Two weeks. Thirty days.
Then eventually Lance was permanently exiled to the room.
It was a spare, small room, a maid's cubby back when Lance's parents were alive.
Lance had used the room to store junk, ski equipment and the like. He wouldn't even make anyone sleep in a room that small as a guest, it was so little.
Now the walls were painted white and except for the dresser, a mattress on the floor and some bedding, it was a stark, empty room.
So plain, so ordinary. When Erroll had decreed that this would be Lance's punishment room and then his permanent abode, she had taken over the master bedroom and had Lance use a roller and eggshell white paint to turn it into the bland space it was now.
It really gave the kneeling Lance no distractions. Erroll had put Lance in a chastity belt some eighteen months before they'd moved in together, and then lessened the orgasms, which was tough enough...
But at least he'd had recreation, mountain climbing, seeing movies, chasing "Pokemon"
When Lance was frustrated and horny, he could at least turn on the TV, right?
But after Erroll had him kneel in the room, hours on end, his outlook began changing.
In the first few weeks, Lance's mind had raced, and he'd paced the room frantically, bored and energetic.
Erroll was a busy girl, but she'd had her other slave Max check on Lance now and then, and give him vicious canings if he was caught off his knees, off the little part of the floor she'd marked with crossed tape...the "X".
This had been especially painful and humiliating-being whipped by another man, who was clothed, and had more privileges. And Max knew how to handle the cane!
"Hit until you see blood" Erroll had ordered, and Max did his best.
And he could make Lance cry! Lance, who had not cried since early childhood.
Sometimes Erroll would hear Lance's screams and come in and watch him get his thrashing...
Once, after a caning, Max had said sympathetically. "You just gotta get in your sub space, man. Kneel and focus. It'll get easier."
Fucking low class stumblebum with his white trash English...caning me and then giving advice!
And then there was a sticker system. Max put a sticker on the outside of Lance's door. Lance could break the sticker four times a day to use the bathroom, or if there was a fire or something. Then there were 2 more stickers for when he had to come out and do chores and cook for Erroll.
But if Lance broke the seal to go take a shit, or pee, it could only be four times a day, and Max watched the door days, and Dorcas came and did night duty.
Lance had to learn not to overeat or drink too much iced tea or water, and control his bladder.
Once he tried peeing in a little soda bottle and hiding it, and Max had discovered this and nearly broken a straightened coat hanger on Lance's cheeks!
But finally, Lance learned to control his bladder and bowels, and to kneel meditating, focusing, and staying on his knees.
Now the sticker system was no longer used. Max didn't have to check on Lance, who was in complete sub space much of the time.
Sometimes Max or Erroll would come in to "stripe up" Lance with the cane or the tawse, but it was rarely for any errors or misbehavior.
Although Erroll knew intellectually that Max was also a slave, and he'd heard Max's screams when Max was being disciplined by Erroll, Lance really thought of Max as a master at this point.
Lance had heard that Max had had his testicles removed by a surgeon while Erroll had looked on, but this puzzled him, as Max had a girlfriend he went out and slept with...
And of course he'd given Max a thousand blowjobs!
Maybe cumming is all in the mind, though something had squirted into Lance's mouth when Max had cum.
But being left in the stark, white, room, kneeling was almost an escape when Lance was focusing.
He'd been smothered with attention since early childhood. When he'd had problems, he'd gone to shrinks, and run around with lots of people, and his relatives had always pestered him for his wisdom, even as a six year old.
Now Lance was learning to just be on his own.
After a while, Erroll had rewarded Lance with a large poster of her on the wall, facing where Lance knelt on the "X".
It showed her lounging in a bikini on a trip they'd made to his villa in the South of France.
Lance had actually not been to the beach with her, he'd been kneeling in the closet of his country house, hoping she was not fucking French beach idlers.
But it was a great picture!
Sometimes Erroll rotated that pic with others of her in cute swimsuits during various events, or in a snug white top, leaning on the deck of Lance's sailboat.
None nude, of course, that would be undignified.
Lance could gaze at Erroll's picture and get very aroused, forgetting the pain on his knees. His penis had a tiny bit of room to swell in the belt.
Though during the Lenten season Erroll had put Lance's dick into a chastity tube that had all sorts of needles on the inside, and the tube had forced him to keep his eyes shut so he couldn't see Erroll in the pic!
Not to mention when he'd see her around the house when he was cleaning...the needle tube could bring him to his knees when Erroll was in a crop-top!
Kneeling could be peaceful, though.
Now and then, Erroll would look in on Lance, smiling in approval as he stared at her picture, kneeling with blistered knees on the floor. It showed true devotion.
Of course Erroll would sometimes mix things up. Once she ordered an electric torture baton from China.
"They use these to fuck with the Falun Gong spiritual types."
Having been zapped with the baton, repeatedly having his nipples and balls burned with the wicked, electrical thing, Lance was relieved when Erroll left the room again.
The sizzling black stick had been run over Lance's cock and balls and the cheeks of his butt. His howls had reverberated through the neighborhood.
"Max reacted similarly." Erroll had said thoughtfully. "This might be too much for you guys."
But Lady Nirvana had told Lance that Erroll had been a submissive once, and had had the baton electrify and burn her gorgeous body, which made Lance feel very protective...of this woman who of course burned him!
Another time, Erroll had rubbed stinging nettles and habaneras peppers over her two foot strap-on dildo, and she'd butt-fucked poor Lance until he'd nearly lost his mind, and then tied him down in the little room with the strap-on stuck in his rectum until he'd passed out. But indeed, it made him a better submissive!
Much of the time, though, Erroll was just pleased to see Lance focusing on her picture.
"That's right, honey, just look at me, and not think about all that crap your mind is always wandering in."
What had amazingly happened was, Lance was starting to become just as aroused in the hours of kneeling, chaste, as he had been sport-fucking super-models!
He almost looked forward to his time on his knees.
And he had a little room in all the holiday homes in four continents.
A stockbroker and beneficiary of a munificent trust, Lance had pied a terres in Easthampton, Switzerland, Biarritz, Tuscany and most of the cities in France and Belgium.
When he and Erroll travelled, he would unpack in each home and retreat to the little room, after having gotten Erroll and her boyfriends whatever theater tickets, passes to sporting events, or whatever else they would enjoy.
He missed it all, but was completely content, much of the time, in his sub space.
He didn't really miss the days of sailing, skiing and race car driving, not that much.
Lance had sold his helicopter, his biplane, and his art collection to give Erroll and her lovers trips on their own, to buy Erroll little tennis bracelets...and when they were gone, Princess Nirvana babysat Lance in such a painful way that he was so appreciative when Erroll returned.
On skiing trips, although Lance was no longer invited, sometimes Erroll and her boyfriend, in their winter clothes, would bring Lance out into the snowy front yard and throw snowballs at him until he screamed in frozen agony...and then Erroll would warm him up again with her evil split tailed flogger!
In Lance's Belgian house, there was a large cellar, and Erroll would awaken Lance at five a.m. in the darkened room with a fire hose of freezing water...and then she'd go back up to bed, expecting him to prepare her breakfast to be served at ten-thirty.
It was rough stuff!
Now and then, Erroll had mercy on Lance, he would get to leave the room and dress, and if her lover was not around, Erroll and Lance would take in a movie, like old times, or go out to dinner, but often Erroll would be concerned about Lance's weight.
So while she ordered herself surf-n-turf, she'd ask the waitress just for a bowl of hot water for the hungry Lance.
Then Erroll would have him mix a little instant oatmeal, which brought a lot of hilarity and some pity to his servers.
And yet, all Lance wanted at this point was for this remarkable girl to marry him!
Lance had met Erroll for the first time at Chad Tinshaw's post-regatta party.
Lance had forgotten his own comely date in a general gape at the statuesque maven in the corner, with the short, curly blonde hair.
"You certainly are ordering that poor little bastard around" was Lance's first comment to Erroll.
Lance observed that the girl's date, a plump, sixtyish man was keeping her drink filled and cigarettes lit-and she was butting them out in his bare hand.
The chubby dude was also carrying Erroll's dessert plate around so she could occasionally nibble from it. At one point, when she'd relaxed on the sofa, the goof had fallen to his knees and given her a foot massage as she'd flirted with the vapid preppies sitting next to her.
At one point, Erroll had actually instructed the poor motherfucker to give the guy she was talking to a foot massage as well.
But when Erroll had arisen again to walk around, Fatso after her, Lance had taken the opportunity to approach her, and tell her what a pathetic date she had.
"I mean, the guy's a shmuck to put up with this from you, you bitchy little thing."
The girl had laughed good naturedly, but her date had not been pleased.
Hearing Lance's insulting remarks, the fat little man frowned at him. "Now look here, young man-"
But Blondie had given her elderly escort an icy look and the fat man shut up, and spooned a bit of Creme Brule from the dish he was carrying and fed it to her, as if she were a hospital patient paralyzed from the neck down.
"Well, Trippy has his uses." she said carelessly as she smiled dazzlingly at Lance. Those teeth!
"You're Lance Vane-Clevenger aren't you?"
"Guilty as charged." Lance replied, smiling.
"You're always showing up in the 'New York Social Diary' website my mother reads, in your penguin suit with a bimbo on your arm."
She smiled mockingly at Lance. "I imagine when you do go to the opera or to one of those well-reported events Mom reads about, you smuggle in a Spongebob comic, so you won't have to translate "La Traviata".
Lance bit his lip.
"And your dates-Is that your latest conquest over there? Fake tits? She's snarling at us. I bet she wears support hose. Lotta work done on the forehead."
Lance really hadn't known what to say.
"Don't marry her, Vane-Clevenger, her body really won't survive a pregnancy that well."
The tubby escort chortled. "That's telling him, Erroll. She's got your number, young fella."
Erroll looked at the older man, annoyed.
"Trippy you are getting on my nerves. Go--Wait, I don't want you bothering the other guests. Go sit on the front porch, look at your shoes and don't talk to anyone."
Trippy's jowls moved indignantly. "Erroll these are my friends. I brought YOU to this party. My friends won't be irritated-"
Lance rolled his eyes at this. Trippy was about twenty years older than most of the other people. He was probably friends with their fathers.
Erroll set her lip. "On the porch, not another word."
"But it's chilly outside."
As Lance gaped in astonishment, Erroll slapped Trippy's fat jaw, and then reached down and grasped his crotch in his brown khakis and twisted, and Trippy turned purple. Finally the girl let go.
Everyone was looking at them, and Lance wondered if he should back away from these crazy-ass people. But Erroll was so damn hot!
"Take your blazer off, Trippy. I want you to go on the front porch and sit there and be very chilled. I'll be out in about an hour and a half.
Stay on the porch. I'll know from Larkin if you sneak into the sedan to get warm. Your chauffer's a tattletale."
"This-Erroll you can't treat me like this in public. My friends, my business associates are all here."
Lance's eyes widened. This was Tripman Sleath, whose group had absorbed Uncle Manders's company in Beijing. Not so tough here? Talk about a wimp.
Lance thought at the time that he would've thrown a drink in Erroll's face and dragged her out of the party by her hair if she'd behaved like this as his date.
Why is Trippy arguing with this bitch?
Lance read in "Time" Magazine that Trippy had cut three ex-wives off with very little alimony. The guy wasn't usually this pathetic.
Lance was gazing hungrily into Erroll's cleavage as she leaned over to Trippy and whispered with clenched teeth,
"If you don't give your jacket to Lance here to hold and go out on the front porch until I'm ready to leave, I'll be very angry.
Remember at the Tunstall's when I pulled your penis out of your trousers in front of everyone?
I whipped it with my metal ruler till it was bloody, and made you stand around at the party with your dick hanging out for half an hour until the host called the cops? They don't invite you around anymore, Trippy."
Erroll reached out and twisted Trippy's nipple through his Oxford shirt, and he began sobbing silently, tears rolling down his corpulent cheeks.
"I've got the metal ruler in my purse, and I'll get Lance here to lend me his belt to follow up with...your dick won't stand a chance. And then I won't let you use it for a month, your little peter, and you know what I mean."
Lance was now wondering if he'd gotten stoned this evening. This couldn't be happening.
Trippy had looked down from his five foot eleven height at the tiny blonde and then at Lance's contemptuous face, and then he slumped.
Trippy handed Lance his blazer and trudged through the now smirking guests and out the front door.
Binky Philpott, Chad's first mate at the regatta had said "Faggot" as Trippy had walked by, and the older man hadn't even turned.
Lance was usually a quick worker with women, but he'd been somewhat abashed by this chick. Erroll had full lips that she kept fire-engine red, and enjoyed waving her 36 C breasts at him, encased as they were in her cocktail frock.
From behind, Lance heard Chad say "Trip's crying on the front porch. I can't believe my uncle thinks he's such hot shit."
Erroll began chatting sunnily with another woman who'd approached them. They were talking about a Betsy Johnson store, or some such.
Then some guys came up, and Erroll began discussing the happy results of the recent Cubs win at the World Series.
Several old friends had approached Lance, trying to catch up on old times, and there was the usual flirtation from other women, but Lance was deaf to everyone but the marvelous Erroll.
Lance felt a little ridiculous at the time, holding Trippy's jacket but he just stood there as Erroll enchanted different people.
Erroll was a magnet for men, but kept reaching over abstractedly and touching Lance's arm just to keep him interested, he thoguht.
Lance noticed his own date, Cynthia, steaming.
Cyn had her own share of hopeful male attention but obviously she was enraged that Lance had wandered off. A "Mirabella" model, Cynthia was not used to that sort of thing.
Cynthia was counting on Lance taking her on his African safari next month, but sadly, she was fading out in the young man's mind.
As Lance passed Cynthia later that night, while fetching Erroll a Mojito, Cyn had looked imploringly at him.
But Lance barely noticed her, and was thrilled at the end of the evening, when Erroll asked if he would like to accompany her home.
Lance had tossed a horny friend the keys to his Maserati, and told the guy to take Cynthia home, and promptly forgot about her.
When Lance and Erroll got outside, Trippy was shivering on the front porch.
"Okay, you little shitbird" Erroll said to Trippy. "Go get in the trunk of the limo. I don't want to be distracted by you with my new cute acquisition here."
Erroll smiled at Lance, who almost passed out with joy.
"I can't get in the trunk, please Erroll-" Trippy raised his voice.
"It's my own car, why should I ride in the trunk, getting my clothes dusty."
Erroll smiled. "You're right. Most of the guests are gone. Go to the car, take off your clothes, give them to Larkin and then get into the trunk."
Incredibly, Lance watched as Trippy did this. The bloated executive bit his pudgy lip, and stripped off everything, including his undershorts.
Trippy tried to ignore the remaining, somewhat drunken guests, leering in the front yard.
One lout actually threw a beer can at Trippy, but it bounced off the back of his head, and Trippy just hung his head lower, as he proceeded to undress.
The beer tossing made Erroll snicker, and she flicked her lit cigarette at Trippy's cock and it stung him briefly, the sparks bouncing off his extended pot belly.
But, with some difficulty, Trippy piled up his clothes, handing them to Larkin, the chauffer, and then Trippy rolled into the trunk.
The lid was closed by the grinning chauffer, and Erroll winked at him.
Lance would have asked a lot of questions but as soon as they got into the back seat, Erroll jumped on him.
Clamping her full, polished lips on his, Erroll climbed nimbly on Lance's lap as the chauffer drove into the night.
Lance was quite overcome, no working towards first base with this girl, she's ready for a home run already!
Erroll began rubbing back and forth on Lance's knees, rivaling the lap dances he'd gotten from a thousand strippers.
Erroll's legs were open on Lance's lap and her dress, just covering the stockings, moved back and forth pushing the astonished young man down into the car seat.
Erroll rubbed her crotch against his, kissing Lance's ear, and then biting his neck, working her way back to his lips after she'd given his neck five or six hickeys.
Those full, glossy lips!
"Does my mouth taste good, baby?" Erroll asked Lance.
"That's strawberry gloss, you know. I have strawberry scent and flavor on my pussy as well, kind of a vaginal pop tart. You'll have to taste sometime."
Erroll took Lance's hand, which had been lying numbly on the car seat, and guided it over his lap, under her cocktail dress and yes indeedy, there were no panties.
Who goes to a party with no panties?
Lance realized that if Erroll was wearing stockings, she must be wearing a garter belt to hold them up, which drove him insane with desire, as he had always had a bit of a pin-up fetish.
"Uh, the chauffer may hear us, Erroll-"
"Don't worry, hon, Larkin knows I don't wear panties, and I've fucked a few boys back here. I gave Larkin his Christmas tip early, or rather he gave his tip to me."
A musical laugh.
Lance rubbed the very shaven lips of Erroll's vagina and gasped as he felt her reach under her right leg and undo his trousers, pulling out his stiffening cock, stroking it with her long, magenta nails.
"You're such a hot guy, Lance. Poor Trippy is in the trunk, probably pounding his pud right now."
She toyed with the swelling crown of Lance's penis.
"Trippy's thinking of the fun we're having. I'll have to punish him for that."
"Erroll, if the poor guy wants to jerk off, let him, he's really being kind of understanding, especially if this is his car."
Lance remembered his ex-wife and her fury at his wanting just a three-some...and what poor Trippy was putting up with!
"No, Trippy needs lots of discipline and correction. Leave that to me."
What the fuck does that mean?
Erroll pulled herself off Lance's lap and got down on her knees on the floor of the limo, and began sucking Lance's penis, full on.
The light went on in the back seat, as if the chauffer wanted Lance to get a better view of this fantastic experience.
And indeed, Lance had looked down, hypnotized
Up and down the little curly blonde head went, the red lips slurping Lance's steaming cock.
Lance felt Erroll's tongue swirling around his member as if it were a vanilla ice cream cone, tickling the underside as Lance had recommended to each other in articles in "Cosmo".
Lance had had many a blowjob in his life, starting with his first prep school mixer, and in mid adolescence had attended junior high "rainbow parties" where cut townie teen chicks had tried different color lipsticks on the penises of the select rich boys from the school up on hill.
And of course in the seven years it had taken Lance to graduate from Yale, he'd had his pole smoked by some of the best!
He'd known little about his major, but fellatio had been a past master experience he'd certainly enjoyed.
But Erroll had skills Lance had never experienced.
Lance wondered if this girl had any gag reflex at all, she was taking his dick so deeply down her throat.
Lance looked a bit startled as Erroll ceased her ministrations briefly to look up at him from her kneeling position on the car floor.
"I had a boyfriend, a big tough guy a few years ago. He kinda envied me, you know? Not only did he like my blowjobs, but he wished he could do them too. So we arranged for him to have an operation and get his teeth pulled, and now "she" can suck cock like no one's business."
Erroll mentioned an NFL football player who had suddenly retired some years back, and Lance had turned pale.
But then she returned her mouth to Lance's penis, and he forgot the disturbing story, going into heaven again. Who cares if some 49ers halfback wants to lick a penis, as long as it ain't mine, right?
Erroll sucked some more. Then she looked up again.
"If I can make you cum before we get home, will you give Trippy a flogging for me? Hit him real hard, make him cry?"
Lance gasped. This was too much. "Hell no, I'm going for my Series 7. Trippy could have me prosecuted for assault. I can't get in trouble like that. The Securities and Exchange Commission-"
All business suddenly, Erroll pulled away from Lance's wiener and got back up on the seat.
Lance looked dispiritedly down at his penis, now briefly flagging.
Erroll took her compact out and began adjusting her makeup.
"Where do you live, Lance? I'll have Larkin drop you off. It was nice meeting you."
"Wh-what? You were just-we were having a nice time, right?"
Erroll smiled ruefully. "Lance, I like adventurous men. I asked you to do me a favor, if you don't want to do it, go back to Silicone Cynthia and her support hose."
Erroll made an O of her mouth, and traced the fire-engine red gloss over it.
She closed the compact. "Fat girls like Cynthia need a dependable schlep like you, anyway."
"Cynthia's not fat! She's a model. She weighs one-oh-three. Look, I'll hit Trippy if you want. I just hope I don't go to jail."
Suddenly Erroll squealed and gave Lance a deep kiss. She called through the little transom to the chauffer.
"Larkie, do three times around the block before you take us into the garage. Lance has a little treat coming!"
And back on the floor she'd gone, and Lance had enjoyed a massive orgasm, and then a second one, as Erroll kept sucking.
Finally done, Erroll had jumped on Lance's lap and given him a huge, messy kiss, spitting what felt like the whole business of two sperm loads back down Lance's throat and laughing.
"In the movie 'Slacker' they call giving you back your spooge a 'snowball."
Lance had nearly vomited, but he swallowed gamely and the limo pulled into the underground garage of a building on West 62nd street, near Lincoln Center.
This is an expensive area, Lance had thought.
The chauffer opened the door for them.
"Erroll honey, don't worry about Trippy shouting or raising any hell. I put a clothespin on his tongue when we put him in the trunk, and tied his hands behind his back so he don't touch hisself!"
Erroll had smiled. "Larkin, bring Trippy upstairs. You can remove the clothespin from his tongue now. He must be drooling up a storm. We'll meet him in the library."
"Aren't you worried about running into other tenants in the library with Trippy naked?" Lance wondered
"No, Trippy owns the top four floors of the building, and we have a private elevator."
Upstairs, Lance and Erroll repaired to the kitchen where they had a little snack, and then went into the library, which indeed had walls of books, but also a comfortable couch and a liquor cabinet, where Larkin had mixed some Martinis before calling it a night.
Kneeling in the middle of the room was Trippy, still quite naked, and wrists still bound behind his back.
Lance noticed that Trippy's dick was small but stiff, and the fat man looked up and beamed when he saw his beloved Erroll.
But then Trippy noticed Lance and his pudgy visage got quite annoyed, and then recalling the fact that he was nude...began blushing.
Erroll had repaired her makeup and looked glamorous again, and she sat down on the couch, Lance sitting next to her.
The contrast between the sophisticated couple in their expensive party clothes, and the naked, panting chubbo was a vivid one.
"Did you have to bring him, Erroll?" Trippy was almost purple with rage and humiliation.
Still, his penis was straining against his stomach.
Erroll's shoe reached out, toying with Trippy's hard dick. She brought both the tips of her shoes around his penis, just under the head as she stretched her legs off the couch. The shoes rubbed the penile tip until it was clear Trippy's wee-wee was soaked in precum.
Erroll cocked her head, batting her lashes. Her hair was glistening in the artificial light of the library.
"Trippy your appalling behavior at the party indicated you've regressed and need more training.
Why should you be considered mature enough to wear clothes in front of guests? I've brought you a master for the evening, Lance here.
Now you can learn to serve."
"I...I'm being a good boy." Trippy got the last words out, gasping. It did sound a little ridiculous.
"Remember how I warned you about my metal ruler, Trippy? I was going to take that chicken you like to choke out of your pants and punish it in front of your so-called friends?"
"I think now you can have a little bit of that."
Erroll smiled. "Though it would have been funnier at the party, all the pretty girls giggling at this idiot's humiliation."
Erroll reached into her little purse and pulled out what appeared to be a school ruler, but it was shiny and appeared to be steel.
Erroll lifted the ruler, and Trippy attempted to back off, scraping his needs in a panic against the carpet.
"Oh no you don't. Get back here. Unless you want me to take you to the sixth floor and administer your punishment in front of those vacationing Kappa girls."
"Erroll, maybe this isn't" Lance tried to rescue Trippy.
Erroll turned and put the steel ruler's tip gently against Lance's lips.
"Enough."
Erroll looked back at Trippy, her icy blue eyes daggers. Trippy shuffled back up close to her.
Erroll lifted the ruler, and Trippy closed his eyes and began trembling.
But again, Lance noticed that Trippy's penis was very hard, and dripping with pre-ejaculate.
WHACK! The ruler came down severely on Trippy's engorged penis.
"Oh it hurts so much, Erroll!"
"Don't be a little bitch, Trippy. Bite your tongue or I will gag you."
WHACK!
"When will you learn not to embarrass me in public, Trippy?"
WHACK
"It so saddens me (giggle) when I have to do this, you know."
Lance's was a fairly selfish and unsympathetic nature, but he felt incredible passion for the pitiful, older fat man.
Trippy's penis was wilting with the heavy smacks, and tears were coursing down his jowls.
It must be horrible, Lance thought, to be kneeling naked in front of a clothed couple in your own house, a place you worked hard for, getting your dick whacked.
Why does he put up with this?
But Lance looked at Erroll, and thought, perhaps it's worth it. She's just wonderful.
She's like a sadistic wood nymph!
"Trippy is very immature" Erroll said, turning to Lance as if Trippy was absent.
"I went to meet Trippy's dad, Lance-"
"Don't tell that story, please, Erroll." Trippy begged, attempting to pull his manacled hands from behind his back.
WHACK!
The ruler came down implacably on the tip of Trippy's ding-dong.
"Shut up or I'll get the clothespin and put it back on your tongue, douche bag."
Erroll again turned to Lance.
"Trippy's dad is eighty but is in fabulous shape unlike his obese son here."
Erroll smiled, purring to herself.
Lance remembered seeing Tripman Sr.'s pic on the cover of "Fortune" mag. It was true. The old bastard ran five miles a day.
"We were at a garden party, and Trippy said something the pater didn't like, and despite the fam being all together, Senior acted fast.
Trippy's dad cut a switch from a tree in the yard and pulled his fifty-eight year old son's trousers and tighty-whities down and thrashed him in front of the whole family, including Trippy's kids from his first wife."
Erroll did a hideous mocking of Trippy. "Please, oh please Poppa! Don't hit me anymore!"
"And his Dad hit Trippy till he cried, and then Dad made Trippy go stand in a corner of the yard, naked. It was truly hilarious."
Lance looked over at Trippy, who was crying once again, probably traumatized by the memory.
Erroll giggled. "Trippy's dad told me that Sonny Boy needs regular 'larrupings' as he put it, and gave me the steel ruler if I needed it.
And I totally agree. Trippy gets into these ridiculous tantrums and bragging and that sort of thing.
Trip believes because he is this big corporate raider with lots of inherited moolah, it means he's a big stud-muffin and what bullshit, look at his tiny dick.
Ego deflation is good for our Trippy."
The young blonde beauty leaned over and ran her long red manicure over Trippy's damaged organ. Slowly it began swelling again, and Trippy's tears vanished.
"Not that I don't love my little warthog" Erroll said softly, wetting her full lips in front of the sweating submissive man.
Erroll smiled and got up, walking to the fireplace, where a long bamboo cane was propped. She picked up the cane and walked back over to where Trippy was kneeling.
Erroll giggled. "Sometimes I take the fireplace poker when it's hot and burn the tip of Trippy's penis, just to remind him he's not in charge, but I'm feeling somewhat merciful tonight."
Erroll swung the bamboo cane around a bit, and both men stared at Erroll's breasts, her long legs and high heels.
"Do you like my stiletto heels, Lance? I also use this six inch spike sometimes to grind Trippy's penis into the carpet or the hard wood floor in the hall, when I think he's becoming a bit of a pouter."
Erroll mused. "Sometimes I wonder if Trippy needs to have his balls cut off. That might really be a help, castrating a rebellious mustang gets you a sweet gelding. No more testosterone confusion."
"My belief" she said, swinging the cane again, narrowly missing Trippy's head, "is that the sexy alpha males need their testosterone, but in an unattractive Beta wimp, it's just annoying."
"Open your legs, Trippy. I am not ready to cut off your nuts, but obviously they need a little reminder of who's boss."
"Oh please, Erroll, don't-"
"I could have Larkin fetch some garden shears, there's a hardware store near Broadway. I could cut off your testicles right now. Like Nirvana did to your cousin the Senator."
Erroll giggled.
"Now the Senator is less interested in funding MX missiles, and much more involved in free breakfast programs for poor black children."
Erroll walked right in front of where Trippy knelt, and used her foot to push Trippy on his back, waving his legs around like a disoriented potato bug.
Lance watched in fascination as Trippy bit his tongue and tried to right himself.
"No no, Trippy. Spread your legs so I can give you a little insight, babe."
Trippy opened his legs up, lying there on his back, and closed his eyes.
Erroll took aim, and winked at Lance.
WHACK!
Right between his legs, the cane had landed, leaving a nasty red weal across Trippy's penis, scrotum and testicles.
Erroll gave Lance a big smile. "See, this reminds the Tripster that he ain't all that."
Erroll winked at Lance again and then swung the cane mightily, this time missing Trippy's softening penis and landing full impact on his nuts.
Now Trippy began to scream in absolute agony.
"Not so bad." Erroll said nonchalantly. "Sometimes he actually blacks out."
"Do you want a shot at his balls, Lance?"
But as Lance raised the cane, Trippy looked up at him and whispered "One day it'll be you, pal."
Lance laughed. "Never."
