Steel World Inc. Chapter Thirteen

 

“Well, don’t you look handsome and dashing tonight, Simon Rogers. It seems clothes really do maketh the man.”

 

Miss Madison approached me as I walked back into the main reception room. It was now gone three in the morning, and my allotted half an ahn in the Pleasure Alcove was over. 

 

And I was still technically a virgin. 

 

Though I had now at least been stimulated to orgasm twice by a woman. 

 

James of course would tell me that a man only lost his virginity when he penetrated a woman and came inside of her. 

 

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I had been pleased to see that Lady Penelope Grantham was still helplessly chained to the wall when I had emerged from the Pleasure Alcoves. Puta had remained in the alcove, for another man had requested her use when my half an ahn was over. I suspected there was a shortage of collared girls tonight in contrast with the number of eager men wishing to taste them. I felt more confident now that I had enjoyed such good oral sex with Puta. I felt like a true man. This time I had not ejaculated quickly. This time my pleasure had been prolonged. I had learned how to hold back, though not quite where my limit was. It would be a while now before I would be ready for a third encounter with Puta. My concern was that other men might now have her for the rest of the night. It was already well past three in the morning, and although I was not working tomorrow (for once I had a Saturday off as I was ahead of my coding deadlines), the party would no doubt wind down in a few hours’ time. 

 

Lady Penelope recognised me, I think, as I emerged back into the corridor, nodding to the man from ‘Treve’ who guarded the archway. He nodded back, assuming I had enjoyed myself. 

 

“You’re still here, Penelope?” I had said as I approached her. She seemed to be breathing heavily around her gag. Oh how cruel that gag must be. Her mouth would be very dry by now, and her jaws aching where the heavy rubber bit was forcing them apart. There was a muffled moan and I watched as she fidgeted in her high heels where she stood. The tight arches of her calves looked lovely, strained as they were in the high heels. As I paused before her I lifted the ragged hem of her dress and rolled it up past her panties. She struggled in the close chains until a glance from me made her still. That and the casual touch of my finger in the waist band of those delicate silk panties. Was Arabella wearing something like these? Surely not! They were so flimsy and soft. So feminine. Slutty, even. I peeled those panties down around her tanned thighs, leaving her sex bare. She mewled softly again. I had to remind myself she was a Free Woman. I glanced back at the man from ‘Treve’, wondering whether he might object, but he said and did nothing. The Lady’s eyes were frantic above her gag as she seemed to appeal to him for help. 

 

He had told me he was ‘of Treve’ as if that explained things. 

 

I placed a finger inside of Lady Penelope’s sex and felt her wriggle wildly in shock. I moved my finger around inside of her, feeling the wetness spread. When she was really quite wet, I slid my finger out and touched her nose with it, marking her with her own juices. “Lady Penelope,” I said in mock criticism. She was breathing heavily through her gag again. Her hands wriggled in their tight, steel restraints behind her back. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

 

There was a soft mewl.

 

She really was lovely, but after two exciting encounters with Puta, it would be a while yet before I would be ready for anything more. 

 

I pulled her silken lace panties completely free from both feet before I left. As I am not a thief, I wrapped and tied the tiny silken under garment around her left wrist. I then hitched her ragged hem a little higher. It was quite snug on her body when I rolled the fabric up around her hips, so there was no danger of it slipping down again. There was just now a small hint of her sex, barely visible now, peeking beneath where I had rolled the fabric of her dress up. This would make it easier for the next man who might want to touch her.

 

She rattled her chains again and shuffled her feet, pleading something through her gag that was incomprehensible to me.

 

“Ladies shouldn’t speak with their mouth full,” I said. “If you remain still and quiet, men may not pay any attention to you.”

 

I felt good in my sharp tailored suit. I felt very good indeed. 

 

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“Miss Madison.” I nodded politely as she stepped closer in her sparkling heels. Her long dress was lovely. I especially liked the gauze effect flaring around the inner material. 

 

“I’m glad you accepted our unusual mode of invitation,” she said as she gently touched my chest with the fingertips of her left hand. Her right hand held a narrow flute of sparkling champagne. “You should know that I’ve been saying good things to Karl about you.”

 

“Really?” My abiding concern right now was Arabella. I had been a fool. I had sworn at my woman and ended the phone call rudely and abruptly. Now she wasn’t taking my calls again. I wanted to go to her and put things right.

 

“Yes, really.” Miss Madison sipped from the flute as she looked up at me and played idly with a finger, teasing the earring hanging from her left ear. The playful motion served to draw a man’s attention to the earrings that pierced her lobes, and therefore, to the beauty of the woman herself. Even in her high heels she was still shorter than me by several inches. I have often wondered and speculated why it is that women seem attracted to men who are so much taller than them – specifically men who are taller than they are when they wear high heels, which common sense would suggest is their way of compensating for and mitigating the height difference to begin with. Why not just date a shorter man? But it seems natural and common place that women desire very much to be dwarfed by a man, to be made to feel small and weak by comparison.  They do not want a man to merely be their physical equal. They want the man to be able to overpower them, though of course they are safe in the knowledge that he never will. I smiled at Miss Madison as she had to tilt her face to meet my gaze.

 

Miss Madison had authority over me, but in the natural order of things I was taller and stronger. In times past, strength and size would have dictated which of the sexes was in charge, which of the sexes was dominant and which of the sexes was submissive. But that counted for nothing now, because in the modern age men routinely granted women authority over themselves. This was of course the right thing to do, as women are in every way the equal of men, save for the size and strength differences.  

 

The twenty first century man is not a barbarian. We are kind and considerate enough to permit our women to have authority over us. 

 

“And why has he been asking about me?”

 

“You made a good impression at the club, it seems. You stood up for your…” Miss Madison smile politely, “woman. He respects that. I didn’t know you were dating, Simon?”

 

“Well, I am. Her name is…”

 

“Arabella Whitlock. I know.” She sipped her champagne. Something about the way she said Arabella’s name irritated me. 

 

“Miss Arabella Whitlock,” I said, emphasising the Miss.  

 

“Of course.” She smiled again and leaned forward just a little. We stood close together in the party, surrounded by other men and their beautiful trophy wives, girlfriends and escorts for the night. Miss Madison’s perfume was expensive and quite exquisite. It had sophisticated class, unlike the unbridled eroticism of Puta’s perfume. “Do you like what you’ve seen and heard tonight? I understand you spent some time in a… pleasure alcove?”

 

“Yes. Have you been in one, yourself?” I asked.

 

“No.” She sniffed. “Of course not.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Well, for one, I am not allowed. Women are not allowed in there. Did you not know that?”

 

“Oh.” I feigned ignorance. “But Puta entered the alcove with me?”

 

“Well,” Miss Madison searched for the right words, smiling. “Puta is permitted in the Pleasure Alcoves. She wears a collar. Girls in collars can pass through.”

 

“So if you wore a collar, you would be permitted to enter an alcove with a man?”

 

“It’s really not as simple as that.” her eyes flashed and she sipped her champagne. 

 

“It seems simple enough. Girls locked in collars may enter?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So if you wore a collar, then you could enter. As I said, simple enough.”

 

“But I don’t wear a collar.” She seemed irritated now. “Try to remember I am your manager at work!”

 

“Of course. I am sorry, Miss Madison. It’s just that, well, it seems to me that any girl can wear a collar, surely?”

 

“What do you mean by that?”

 

“The collar, the steel collar, it could be placed around any girl’s throat and then locked shut? That is a fact?”

 

“I suppose. In theory.” She sniffed and sipped some more champagne.

 

“Your throat, for example, could take a steel collar just as beautifully as the throat of any girl here.”

 

Her eyes flashed. “I am your manager,” she reminded me. “Your manager!”

 

“And once placed around your throat, locked in place, you would be unable to remove it?”

 

“Of course. Only the man who holds the key can unlock a collar. A girl is helpless to remove it herself. She is never given the key.”

 

“So then, if you wore a collar, I, or any man here, could, I suppose, conduct you to an alcove.” I smiled, reassuring her this was just a theoretical thought for the sake of polite conversation.

 

“You don’t understand how things are around here.” Her hand holding the flute trembled slightly as I met her eyes and didn’t look away. “There are girls who will undoubtedly wear collars and there are girls who will never wear collars.”

 

“I am sure that is the case,” I said with another smile, not looking away from her eyes. She was now the first to break contact and look down. “It seems then that we both agree that some women will inevitably find themselves in a collar. It’s only a matter of time.”

 

“I… I have duties as a hostess tonight.” The long, perfectly manicured finger nails of her left hand briefly touched her bare throat. “Enjoy the party, Mr Simon Rogers.” She tossed her head and walked sharply away. 

 

I was feeling very confident in my sharp suit. I felt at home here surrounded by the rich and powerful. 

 

Many women had been spinning the wheel of fortune while I had been away. I saw now that there were three new slave girls in collars and tight white tunics. They walked barefoot between the guests, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment as they served drinks. One of them, to my astonishment, was the lovely Miss Esme Hamilton, who worked as a secretary on my floor! I of course approached her immediately, as she carried a tray of champagne flutes across the room.

 

“Careful, Miss Hamilton. Your hand is trembling with the tray.”

 

She seemed startled, upset as I stood before her.

 

“Mr Rogers!” I had always thought Esme was very pretty, but now, in a steel collar and tightly clingy tunic that clearly revealed all of her legs, and much of the deep valley of her cleavage, I found her astonishingly desirable. I would never forget the sight of Miss Esme Hamilton in a steel collar. 

 

“I think you’re supposed to call me master,” I said with a friendly smile, trying to help the poor girl who seemed to be in an agitated state.

 

“Oh God, yes!” She touched the fingertips of her free hand to her lips as she suddenly realised her mistake. “There are so many things to remember!” Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of blush. She squirmed, distraught that a work colleague could see her like this.

 

“Did you win anything?” I asked.

 

“No,” she sobbed. “My fist spin…”

 

“Ah.” I smiled and gazed at the deep valley of her breasts, so clearly visible in the revealing neckline of the tunic. 

 

“Please don’t tell Miss Madison I forgot to call you master!” She seemed genuinely worried. With her free hand she tried now to tug down the short hem of her tunic skirt, but the material was extremely stubborn and simply rode back up to its original position high on her thigh. 

 

“Miss Madison would not be happy?’

 

“She would be furious! Oh, she was so strict when she took me aside. So friendly when I was on the podium, of course, but after I lost…” She trembled.

 

Miss Esme Hamilton of course could not risk angering Miss Madison. She could be fired the next day and given a very bad reference for any future employer who might consider hiring Miss Hamilton. And then there was the question of her heavily subsidised work accommodation in London.

 

“I suspect Miss Madison could easily make your professional life unbearable,” I said.

 

“She could. I have to be very careful.” Her hand holding the silver tray of champagne flutes trembled again. “And I saw what happened when one of the other girls was reported.”

 

“Reported?”

 

“Three girls have been collared tonight,” she said. “Two others, apart from me. Miss Felicity Winthorpe neglected to call a woman ‘mistress’. The woman being served was furious and swiftly reported Felicity to Miss Madison.”

 

“Oh? What happened?”

 

“It was unbelievable! Outrageous even! Miss Felicity Winthorpe was made to bend over a table, raise the hem of her tunic skirt above her bottom, and then Miss Madison gave her five short swipes of a brutal looking thin cane. Oh, how Miss Winthorpe was crying afterwards! And she has a degree in Ancient History! She’s sensitive and well educated!”

 

“Do you think Miss Madison would apply the cane to your bottom if I spoke to her?”

 

“Oh, please, please, Master, it was a slip of the tongue. Please don’t tell her! Please!” 

 

She begged so nicely. The champagne flutes rattled slightly on the silver tray as Miss Esme Hamilton considered the possibility of being bent over a table tonight and caned on her soft bottom. 

 

“Well then, it will be our little secret, Esme.” I patted her curvaceous bottom that thrust the teeny little skirt out behind it.

 

“Oh!” she gasped as she felt my hand touch her intimately like that. Again, the champagne flutes rattled on the tray. “Your hand!” she cried.

 

“Careful,” I said. “I suspect Miss Madison would not be pleased If you spilled any of the glasses.”

 

There was a soft gasp as she nodded and was careful to control her right hand. I let my hand remain on her bottom and lifted the thin hem of the skirt away from her skin just slightly. It appeared she had not been permitted to wear any underwear. When she realised I now knew that, she blushed an even brighter crimson.

 

“How delightful, Miss Hamilton.” I touched the bare skin of her bottom and heard the glasses rattle again. “Careful,” I warned.

 

Miss Esme Hamilton gulped and steadied herself. 

 

“Esme! Oh my God!” Two other girls appeared beside us. They were the two girls I had noticed earlier tonight, the ones I suspected worked for Arabella on the second floor. They wore their beautiful floor length gowns and each girl clutched a shiny gold envelope in her left hand. They had both played and won, it seemed. One envelope had the image of a pair of shoes, while the other had the image of a handbag. “Look at you in your…” the girl’s top lip curled into a mocking sneer, “slave collar!”

 

“Mistress,” said Esme as she lowered her eyes. Miss Madison had no doubt told her earlier that she was not to look directly at the female guests. 

 

“Mistress!” the two girls repeated, laughing joyously. “Oh, that’s perfect! Miss Esme Hamilton is calling us Mistress!”

 

“A gentleman would introduce himself,” said the second girl as she caught sight of me in my expensive suit. She seemed interested that I didn’t have a companion tonight.

 

“Simon Rogers,” I said.  “Enterprise Resource Planning and Modular Design.”

 

“Oh!” Clearly she didn’t know what that was, but it sounded important. She giggled and looked at her friend who met her eyes in a knowing way. 

 

“Sally Albright,” said the first girl, before her friend could introduce herself. “I work on the second floor!”

 

“Of course you do,” I said, taking her hand and kissing it in a confident and respectable manner that made her wiggle about in her heels. 

 

“And I’m Katrina Pursing,” said the second girl who had been the first to speak to me. “I work on the second floor too!”

 

“I can think of no better place for you,” I said, taking her hand and kissing it too. 

 

“You’re so gallant,” said Miss Katrina Pursing. 

 

“You both know Miss Esme Hamilton?” I asked, indicating the girl in the collar.

 

“Oh yes,” said Miss Sally Albright. She laughed again. “I’ll never forget tonight.”

 

“She thinks she’s so superior because she got promoted to your floor, Mr Rogers,” said Miss Katrina Pursing. “But now look at her. Wearing a steel collar!”

 

There was a soft sob from Miss Esme Hamilton, and again the champagne flutes rattled slightly.

 

“I see you have both won tonight,” I said, indicating the shiny gold envelopes. “Shoes and a handbag? Is that what you were both hoping for?”

 

“Well, I wanted a handbag,” said Miss Sally Albright as she clutched the gold envelope with the shoe image.

 

“And I wanted designer shoes.” Miss Katrina Pursing glared at her friend, Sally, as she clutched the gold envelope with the handbag image.

 

“You could perhaps swap?” I suggested.

 

“What, and give Sally my designer handbag!” said Katrina in alarm. “Out of the question.”

 

“She’s not having my designer shoes,” said Miss Sally Albright. “The very thought!”

 

“Of course.” I glanced at the wheel of fortune. “I suppose you could both try again?”

 

“There are so few envelopes left!” moaned Sally. “All the handbags may be gone by the time I’m allowed another try.”

 

“We must plead with the men to give us another chance,” said Katrina with a sense of urgency in her voice. “And soon!”

 

“I suspect that is the best strategy,” I said. “How can the men resist two such lovely ladies pleading so nicely?”

 

“We often get our own way with men,” admitted Miss Sally Albright with a smile.

 

“It’s just a case of looking pretty and smiling,” said Miss Katrina Pursing. 

 

“Of course. Well good luck to you both. I’m sure those precious prizes will be in your hands very soon.”

 

I watched as they both hurried away with a click-clacking of stiletto heels, only to pause to take some selfies together with their phones. 

 

A glance at my watch told me it was now 3.38 in the morning. Arabella would probably be asleep, but I was determined to see her, to put right the harsh words I had spoken. I felt wretched for ending the call in such a way. I even felt some pangs of guilt now, thinking how I had betrayed her trust with Puta in that alcove. And yet, Puta was so desirable. How could any man turn down the opportunity to be with her? It was different from a girlfriend. The things Puta had done, I would not expect Miss Arabella Whitlock to do, and so it was surely better for our relationship that I did them with Puta? That made sense to me. It explained why, throughout history, powerful men had indulged mistresses on the side, separate from their wives. The relationship was healthier that way.

 

It was time to go, for I didn’t think I would have the chance to enter an alcove with Puta again tonight. 

 

Lovely Puta. I suddenly realised I didn’t have her phone number! How was I to call her again after this evening? I had no idea where she lived, or where she worked, when she wasn’t indulging her slave girl fantasies.

 

I desperately wanted to call her after tonight. I had to see her again. 

 

I had to.

 

A problem for tomorrow. First things first – I had to see Arabella and put things right. I would pound on her door until she would finally relent and let me in, and then I would win her back by assuring her of my love. It had been a mistake. We were both tired. 

 

Time to phone a taxi and head over to her building.

 

“Simon.” 

 

I glanced round and saw Miss Madison had returned.

 

“I was just leaving, actually,” I said. “I need to call a taxi.”

 

“Later,” she said. Her voice was clipped and to the point now. I had offended her earlier, it seems. “I’m to take you to see Karl Magnus. He wishes to speak to you.”