Steel World Inc. Chapter Eleven

 

I let the phone ring a few times, because I wasn’t sure whether I should answer it. This really wasn’t a good time to chat, but what if Arabella was calling because of something important?

 

“I’m not going to whip you,” I said to Puta. “You can get up now.” I watched as the girl rose to her knees and parted her thighs before me, placing the palms of her hands facing me on those thighs. It was a lovely position, and seeing her like this, seeing those soft, vulnerable palms open to my gaze, it made it hard to remain angry with the girl. 

 

“My woman is calling me,” I said. “You are not to say anything.”

 

Puta nodded. There was relief in her eyes that she would not be whipped. Did she really think I was the sort of man who would whip her?

 

How ridiculous!

 

I gazed again at the whip where it hung on the wall. 

 

Other men might have whipped her. But I was better than them.

 

I gazed at the phone screen, and pressed to accept the call.

 

“Arabella?”

 

Her voice at the other end sounded frantic. “Oh God, Simon, thank you for picking up!” There seemed to be relief in her voice, too. Relief that I was there for her at such a late hour. 

 

Of course I’d be there for her. She was my woman. 

 

Oh, Arabella! My lovely Arabella! So innocent and demure, compared with the curvaceous, lascivious Puta, who knelt in such an erotic position, awaiting my further commands. Her face was close to my stomach, mere inches away. Those lips could so easily reach out and kiss my skin if I commanded her to. 

 

But that would not be appropriate, for I was now talking to the demure woman that I was courting. We might soon be classed as companions. We could expect a life together and our love would continue to grow.  

 

“Is something wrong my love? Why aren’t you in bed?”

 

“Did I wake you? I’m so sorry, I’ve lost track of time! I’m at my wit’s end! I’m beginning to doubt my own sanity. The police, they think I’m making this all up, or I’m a drama queen, or a complete liar, or just deluded! The WPC didn’t believe a word I said, and she was indifferent to my concerns! It was so humiliating. She looked around my flat and I could feel her judging me with everything she found. Please, I don’t know who else to talk to! I’m so glad you’re there, Simon.”

 

What on Earth was she talking about? Police?

 

“What’s happened? Arabella, you’re not making sense.”

 

I could her voice hyperventilating.

 

“Just take deep breaths, darling. Calm yourself, and then tell me what’s wrong. I’m here for you. Take your time.”

 

Puta was so close to me. Her eyes were downcast, but I felt her soft breath against my penis. It twitched just a little. I placed my left hand in her hair and stroked it as I waited to hear from Arabella.

 

“Please, Simon, I’m not making up what happened! I’m not imagining it! I can’t be imagining it, because that would mean I’m going mad!” She took a deep breath, almost afraid what my reaction might be. “I’m not wearing the same underwear.”

 

What?

 

What was that supposed to even mean? “Arabella? You’re still not making sense. You had to change your panties? Did you have an accident? Is it that time of the month?” It seemed a trivial thing to get worked up about. All women experience varying degrees of flow during their period. Was that it? Was that why she had interrupted me? For all she knew, I would be asleep by now. 

 

“No, no, I’m not talking about my period. That was last week.”

 

Hmm. I had noticed she had been a little on edge for a few days that week. 

 

“Simon, I’m wearing different underwear!”

 

“I still don’t understand, Arabella.” I gazed down again at Puta. She really was lovely. I reached down with my left hand and tilted her chin so that she was now looking up at me. As she did so she smiled and there was relief in her face. Without being asked to, she leaned forward ever so gracefully and kissed the flat of my stomach. My God, it felt good! Just that single kiss from a beautiful woman in a collar, on her knees with her palms open to me. My soft penis twitched some more and became just a little bigger. 

 

How is that a steel collar, locked on a woman, could make her so desirable?

 

“I’m not wearing the underwear I put on this morning. It’s not the same underwear!”

 

I confess I was getting a little tired of this. I wanted now to pay attention to Puta, lovely Puta. Arabella was lovely, but she wasn’t Puta. “Arabella, are you phoning me at a quarter past two in the morning to tell me you had to change your panties today? Why is that a problem?”

 

“No, Simon, you’re not listening to me, I haven’t changed my underwear, but it’s not what I put on this morning! It’s not! The WPC didn’t believe me! She thought I was making this up and wasting her time! She was so rude and dismissive, like I was some silly little girl who was imagining things and couldn’t even remember what lingerie she was wearing.”

 

“Lingerie? You mean panties? Bra?” I could imagine Arabella’s panties – clean sensible cotton briefs in a comfortable style with perhaps just a little plain lace around the edges. Tasteful, pretty and demure. I knew of course that in addition to the sensible underwear she was expected to wear support garments at work to tuck in her waist, keep her back straight, and give her a healthy professional appearance in management circles, of the kind stipulated by the American New Feminism movement that popularised a back to basics approach to Femininity. 1950s style posture under garments – foundation girdles - that she confessed she hated, for the girdle in particular was so tight and unforgiving, not comfortable at all. She had described once how it was worn. A woman would first dust her body with nice scented talcum powder to allow the girdle to slip on more easily and not stick to the skin. She would then fold it over two to three inches at the waistline and ease into it, finishing off with rolling up the fold to meet her waistline, compressing the stomach flat and adding delightful curves to her lower body – creating the hourglass shape that was popular at the time and essential if a woman was to fit in the exquisitely tailored dresses and skirts  available to her then. Arabella always  looked forward to removing her roll on girdle in the evenings. It was such a relief. But the underwear itself – her choice of panties and bra - would be her own. There she had the freedom to dress as she wished. 

 

“I…” her voice sounded a little hesitant, “I have different sets of… underwear. You know, for… different occasions. There’s my undergarments for work. Sensible panties and bras. Plain, comfortable, cotton. And then… well, I’m a woman, Simon. I have pretty lingerie, too.” There was a sense of hesitation in her voice, as if she might be afraid to admit that to me. 

 

“What kind of lingerie?”

 

“Oh God, this is embarrassing.” She hesitated again. “Does it matter? Just some pretty silk things. Light silk. Pretty.” I heard her swallow to clear her throat. “You know. Nice things. Soft.” Her voice went a bit quiet. 

 

“Silk things?” I felt my penis rise a little more. 

 

“Italian.” She sounded nervous. “Expensive Italian. Light silk. Just, for, you know… going out and things.”

 

“Going out? With me?”

 

“Yes.” Her voice sounded almost childlike. “I like to wear nice things sometimes… against my bare skin… when I’m out with you. I like to feel… feminine, Simon.”

 

“Like… in the club?”

“Yes.” No doubt Arabella’s face was flushed with embarrassment right now, but I couldn’t see it. “Yes, like at the club. Places like that.”

 

I had certainly seen the lingerie Kissy had been wearing that night – it was hard not to when her skirt had ridden up and she had been on her back on the couch with James. A flimsy little bit of silk and lace between her legs. Scandalous. The sort of underwear that begged a man to remove it quickly. The sort of underwear that invited a man’s touch. Hardly the sort of thing a Free Woman might wear, but then Kissy was… well, I wasn’t going to speculate. But, surely Miss Arabella Whitlock would not be wearing anything remotely like the scandalously light silk that Kissy had felt caressing the lips of her sex? It was unthinkable.

 

I imagined now an image of Miss Whitlock standing coy, ashamed, flushed with embarrassment, caught by me in some flimsy little silk panty and bra, her nipples erect under the gossamer silk. No. That wasn’t Miss Arabella Whitlock, surely? That was girls like Kissy.

 

Whatever, I found my penis now halfway erect at the thought.

 

“Arabella, what are you wearing now?”

 

“Oh, Simon, that’s just it, I’m wearing… I’m wearing what I wore on Thursday night, on our date, at the club. But I didn’t put it on this morning! I swear I didn’t! I had simple cotton underwear on. A little lace around the edges, but not this soft silk.”

 

Soft silk. My imagination began to paint a picture  of how Arabella must look right now. 

 

“What colour?” I felt my penis rise fully now, quivering.

 

“White.” Her voice sounded tiny, scared. “Does it matter?”

 

“With stockings?” I squirmed a little, for I suddenly felt Puta lick my shaft with her tongue. I grew fully hard the moment she did that. 

 

“Yes. With lace tops and thin white suspenders. But I didn’t put them on! I swear I didn’t! I came home late tonight after work; it must have been just gone midnight. I remember seeing the clock on my wall read 12.15. Everything was perfectly normal. I poured some wine in the kitchen and brought the glass into the living room. And then I felt, I don’t know, so tired all of a sudden. I had to lie down on the sofa because my legs felt wobbly and my head was spinning like a sudden flush, a dizzy spell, and I closed my heavy eyes. Just for a minute or two. The clock hands had hardly moved by the time I opened them! I swear! But then, I felt a little different. My undergarments against my skin felt different. I touched myself and I realised what I was wearing under my clothes was very different to what I had dressed in this morning. Silk, Light silk. Feminine silk.”

 

“You dressed this way when you went to work?”

 

“No! Didn’t you hear me? Just a plain bra and knickers, I swear! Why would I dress like… like…”

 

A slave, I thought suddenly to myself. Why would you dress like a slave under your skirt and blouse, to go to work?  

 

“I rushed into the bathroom to check under my skirt and blouse and I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t dressed this way! I hadn’t! I was scared. I called the police. A WPC came with her partner. WPC Arlene Colton. A northern girl. I don’t think she liked me very much. She was… not kind.”

 

“You must have put them on, Arabella. There’s no other explanation. You’ve been working long hours. You’re tired. You’re forgetting things. You’re confused. You need some rest.”

 

Puta placed her lips around my erect penis and took it fully into her mouth. I gasped, but it sounded like Arabella was crying now, and she thankfully missed the inflection in my voice.

 

“That’s… that’s what WPC Colton said. She said I was tired and confused. But it’s different underwear! I swear it is! What I’m wearing now should be in the wash basket after Thursday! I put it there! But what I’m wearing is washed, clean and pressed today. Scented even. Oh God, Simon, the perfume scent. It’s…”

 

“It’s what?”

 

Again it sounded like Arabella swallowed back words she couldn’t speak. “It’s not the sort of perfume scent I would own.”

 

Slave perfume. I inhaled the erotic scent of Puta’s slave perfume as she continued to suck and lick my penis, taking it deep into her mouth. It felt incredible. My mind was no longer on the phone call. I didn’t hear what Arabella said for a couple of minutes, until her urgent voice cut through again.

 

“…Simon? Are you still there? Say something? You’ve gone quiet.”

 

“What did you say, Arabella? The line is bad?” Puta’s tongue and lips were incredible. This was heaven. Absolute heaven.

 

“I think there was someone in my flat when I came home! Someone waiting for me! I think I passed out and he… Oh God, he undressed me naked! He would have been standing there, gazing at my naked body. He would have touched me!”

 

She was being ridiculous now, but I didn’t care. For Puta was sending me to a plateau of pleasure that was indescribable. 

 

“I think… I think he… dressed me like this with his hands, while I slept!” Arabella was crying. “The lingerie first, and then my clothes again. It’s the only explanation. I didn’t put this underwear on this morning!”

 

“You only closed your eyes for a minute or two, Arabella.” I wished she’d just shut up and go to bed. All I could think of right now was Puta’s lips and tongue on my penis. My body was shaking uncontrollably as she ministered to my needs.

 

“That’s just it! I’ve been thinking this over and over again. What if he changed the clock! I mean, before I got to the flat? What if he was there, waiting for me in the darkness, and before I came home he moved the hands forward, just enough to compensate for how long he would expect me to be unconscious, so when I did wake up, the genuine time would now match the time I saw on the clock when I entered the room, and he only had to turn the clock hands back to that time! Then I’d naturally think I’d only closed my eyes for a minute, but it could have been… the things he could have done to me in that time! He might have photographed me!”

 

“Listen to yourself, Arabella! This is ridiculous. Why would anyone do that? It’s very elaborate. How would he get in? Where would he hide? How would he know when you were coming home? How could he just make you fall asleep at a click of his fingers? You’re not talking sense.”

 

“I don’t know… Simon… I don’t know! But someone did this to me. Someone was waiting for me when I got in, and I think the clock was set to roughly the time it would be when I’d wake up again, and I passed out somehow and he stripped me and touched me and dressed me. Oh God, I’m so scared!”

 

Arabella had been working too much. This was nonsense. A far simpler explanation was that she was so tired from over work that she was forgetting she’d worn that underwear in the morning. She had been drunk last night and probably forgot to put it in the wash basket. Why would any man go to such an elaborate effort to undress and dress her, and then leave her in a different set of underwear? What would it achieve? 

 

“Ohhhh…” I couldn’t stop myself from suddenly gasping with pleasure.

 

“Simon? Simon? Is everything all right? You made such a strange sound?”

 

“Please go to bed, Arabella. You need some sleep. You’re tired. You’ve been working too hard.” I really had to end this phone call so I could concentrate on the lovely Puta.

 

I pictured Arabella in the softest, most expensive white Italian lingerie. My penis throbbed hard in Puta’s mouth. All the sensations I felt now were centred in my penis. This was glorious. 

 

I imagined Arabella as a complete slut, crawling on her hands and knees in that white silk lingerie, then kneeling before me with her thighs spread and the palms of her hands facing me on her thighs. 

 

I imagined her with a collar around her throat, and Puta standing close by with a long switch in her hand, training Arabella. 

 

Of course Arabella would have to be trained. She wouldn’t currently know how to please a man. How could she know? Not lovely Arabella. And Puta would be the girl to train her. Puta would have whip rights over her, and Miss Arabella Whitlock would have to work hard at her lessons to please the stern Puta. 

 

I knew I was close to coming. I knew I should tell Puta to stop, so that I could rest and then take her between the legs, pushing her onto her back and fucking her hard, to lose my virginity, but this just felt so good as it was, and I just wanted, needed, a little bit more before I had her pause.

 

“Simon please tell me you believe me! Tell me you don’t think this is in my head? Please?”

 

Arabella in my mind was begging me for use. She was on her back on the soft furs, spreading her legs as I took her ankles and locked them in steel cuffs, then taking her wrists and locking them to a slave ring at the head of the couch. 

 

“Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh,” I was so close now and this was sooo good. I was gasping and grunting.

 

“Simon? Are you hurt? What is it? You’re making awful sounds? You’re scaring me!”

 

Shut up! I thought to myself. Shut up, Arabella. All this time you’ve been wearing slutty silk, like Kissy. Soft, light silk against the soft, sensitive, wet lips of your sex, and you’ve been pretending to be some demure woman, and now, now when I’m actually enjoying myself, you have to drone on and on about wearing the wrong panties and bra today. 

 

“Yesss….” I growled as I came close to orgasm and Puta doubled down on what she was doing with her mouth, lips and tongue. I grabbed hold of her hair with my left hand and twisted it into a fist. 

 

“Simon? What’s going on? You’re shouting? I’m really scared now. This isn’t like you. Should I get a taxi and come round?”

 

“Go to FUCKING BED, Arabella!” I shouted into the phone. “It’s nearly three o clock in the fucking morning!”

 

And then I ended the call and threw the phone onto the bed.

 

Any moment now I’d tell Puta to stop, and then I’d put her onto her back and fuck her hard. Just a little bit more of this, though.

 

Just a little bit more.

 

Oh, it’s so fucking good! So fucking good!

 

“You are so fucking hot! Don’t stop!” My teeth were gritted now as I rocked hard against her mouth. I felt weightless, feeling nothing but the sensations coursing through my penis.

 

Any moment now I would throw her onto her back and continue inside of her. I would lose my virginity with Puta, the lovely Puta.

 

Any moment now I would tell her to stop with her mouth, because this time I would have sex with her between her legs.

 

I wanted to fuck her between her legs. 

 

But this, with her mouth, is just so fucking good.

 

Just a little bit…

 

I ejaculated inside her mouth hard. And screamed my pleasure at one of the finest orgasms any man could ever experience.  

 

“Master,” said Puta with a smile as she knelt back, making a swallowing motion.

 

I lay back on the couch, shaking, literally shaking. I felt Puta come close and begin to clean my flaccid penis of dripping residue with her tongue and lips.  

 

“That was…” I gripped and kissed her. “That was amazing.”

 

I still hadn’t fucked her on the bed, but that had been very good. 

 

And then I saw my iPhone, resting on the furs. 

 

What had I said? I had shouted at Arabella! I had sworn at her!

 

Oh God. I suddenly felt a sense of revulsion. 

 

I had shouted at the lovely, gentle, Arabella. That was like screaming at a kitten because the kitten wanted to snuggle on your lap. 

 

I quickly retrieved the phone and called her back.

 

The phone rang and rang, but she didn’t pick up. I dialled again, but still no answer. And so I dialled again. And this time I left a message.

 

“Arabella, I’m sorry! Please, please pick up. I’m so sorry. I love you. Arabella. I didn’t mean any of that. I’m tired, too. So very tired. The hours I’ve been working. Please speak to me. Darling, please speak to me.”

 

I rang again, waiting twenty seconds. She didn’t answer.

 

“Arabella, it’s Simon again. Please I’m begging you. I didn’t mean any of that. Please, baby. Speak to me. Darling.”

 

I finished the call and dialled again.

 

And again. I left two more messages and then I threw the phone down in frustration and screamed into my open hands.