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‘You have done what?’

Sarah seemed surprised.

‘I’ve got a job working as Angie Sinn’s PA,’ I repeated.

‘But darling, do you really want to be a PA? You are used the excitement of AUNTIE; won’t you be bored being a PA? What is she doing anyway? I thought she was working for the CIA or some cloak and dagger thingy.’

I suppose the aftermath of a second orgasm was not the ideal time to tell my wife about my new job, but for some reason it came out; along with a lot of other stuff.

I explained that Angie had set up her own detective agency, dealing in the sort of cases which people might not want to take to the police. I told her about Sir Adrian’s companion, who had gone missing from a sex party whilst, supposedly, securely restrained by chains to a St Andrew’s Cross. It was, I added, not likely that a man in Sir Adrian’s position would want the authorities to know about his proclivities.

‘A man in his position should keep a more secure lock on his property; what was she, Houdini or something?’ Sarah laughed.

It was not, I told her, a case of her freeing herself. But thanks to Monica’s undercover work we had picked up a clue to her whereabouts. The Goon who ran the dungeon where Monica had been displayed and whipped had told her that there was ‘another girl,’ who was being ‘broken’ for, as he put it, ‘further use.’ Cleverly, Monica had mentioned that she was looking for a woman with tattoos, because she found them arousing, and the Goon had told her that the woman he had mentioned had tattoos and ‘the biggest tits you’ve ever seen.’

We had checked back with Sir Adrian, who confirmed that this sounded like his companion, Sherry.

‘But how do you know that she isn’t doing what this Monica woman did? If she could pay to have herself humiliated, flogged and brought to orgasm, why couldn’t this Sherry woman?’

It was a good question, but my answer got lost in a sudden desire to eat out Sarah’s arse. This produced the response for which I had been hoping. She grabbed me by the pigtails, called me a dirty little bitch, and put me over her lap and spanked my arse until I was kicking my little legs and squealing. Just as I was on the edge, she told me to kneel up, ‘ass out, head down,’ and made me wait.

I was panting, she had me so on the edge. I was desperate to orgasm, and she was denying me what I needed. I knew what I had to do.

‘Please Miss, I am a bad Pixie, a slutty Pixie, can I have my cum, please, pretty please?’

‘And what were you doing in a brothel with that tart Angie? Bet you wished it was you strung up and not that Monica?’

I moaned. She knew, she always bloody knew.

‘Yes Miss,’ I admitted in a whisper.

‘Oh God, she looked so sexy. But I don’t think I could take the pain, darling.’

‘No, but you can fucking take this, you whore.’

As her feeldoe entered me from behind, it did so with such force that it almost pushed me onto the bed, flat. But somehow I steadied myself and pushed my arse back. I heard a ‘smack,’ as her mound pushed into me. Grabbing my narrow hips, she steadied herself and began to fuck me hard.

‘You are not to cum, you little bitch, no cumming until I say, okay?’

‘Yes Miss,’ I moaned. God, I thought, she was in one of those moods, I was in for it.

‘Oh God!’ I moaned as she grabbed my pigtails, using them as reins to ride me. Friends sometimes asked why I wore my hair in pigtails; I could never explain that it was because Sarah liked to use them to control me when we were having Aydınlı Escort sex. She ploughed in, deeper each time it seemed, and harder. My head hurt from the force she was using to pull me back, but that simply added to the pleasure, as did the six smacks she delivered to my arse, which burnt as they were added to the ones I had received a few moments earlier.

As she pulled me tight into her, she hardly seemed to move, just drilling deep into me, pushing me, feeling as though she was splitting me in half.

Then it began. I heard her gasping. Suddenly she began to shake.

‘Fuck, fuck, I am cumming, don’t you fucking well dare, you skanky little bitch, don’t you fucking dare.’

I was aching to cum, desperate, but did not dare. Last time I had disappointed her, she did not let me cum for a week. So, exercising every ounce of self-control, I stayed on the edge. I did so through two more of her orgasms. Greedy bitch, I thought, five of the things and I have not had one yet.

She seemed entirely oblivious to that fact, although I suspected that her decision to bugger me instead, may have had something to do with helping me not to cum.

It was only after her sixth orgasm that she flipped me over onto my back, pinioned my legs back and fucked me hard. Biting my aching nipples, she ordered:

‘Cum for me you fucking slut!’

I think I passed out.

At least, when my eyes opened, she was kissing my lips and saying:

‘Fuck, I’m sorry, did I kill you?’

She giggled as I woke up,

‘Just remember, little Pixie, no one gives you orgasms like I do, so behave yourself with all these deviant women. Don’t forget, I’ve seen you on the job.’

Well, I agreed, so she had, and so she did. Any fucking way, I was far too exhausted to argue. I snuggled into her bosom and drifted off into a deep sleep.

I woke to her voice, emerging from sleep all of a sudden.

‘It’s ten,’ she said, ‘here’s your coffee. Don’t forget I am doing the evening shift this week. Oh, and by the way, there was a sexy sounding Yank called, I take it that’s Miss Sinn?’

Rising on one elbow, I sipped the coffee, feeling as though I had been rogered by a herd of lesbians; I ached in places I didn’t even know I had. Who knew your perineum could hurt? What the hell had she been doing? I asked her – foolish move.

‘You, darling, I was doing you, and a bloody thorough job. So be a good girl and no naughties, okay?’

I hastily agreed. In fact, I had no intention of being ‘naughty,’ but I did love the results of her getting all possessive over me.

After breakfast, I gave Angie a call.

‘You okay, Hun? Late night? Gawd, you sound as rough as I feel, but then I was buggering Monica half the night, which you weren’t.’

I had to agree with that statement, but failed to volunteer any incriminating evidence against myself.

‘We have tracked Sherry down. The question is how do we spring her? It looks like the Goon is there with a guard, and thanks to your bug, we know there are two of them, plus the Domina. It looks as though they are going to ship her out this afternoon. Any ideas?’

‘I thought you were the detective, darling, but yes, as it happens, I have.’

I explained it to her in her suite at the Savoy.

‘Hey,’ I asked, after explaining my plan, ‘how come you can afford this place? Is your business that profitable?’

‘Hush you,’ she said, ‘I can only say that I am funded from what might be called deviant Irish sources.’

‘Don’t Aydınlı Escort Bayan you means devious?’ I enquired.

‘I know what I mean. So this plan, let’s run through it again.

‘

I explained it to Monica and Annie, Angie’s associates.

In some senses, as I had tried to explain to Sarah, the two could not have seemed more different.

Annie was in her early twenties, blonde, blue-eyed and fit in the way only an Australian sportswoman could be fit. She was feisty, and, I reckoned, a good match for Angie. Monica, by contrast, was older and gentler. There was something almost exquisite about her, which made her sexual proclivities all the more erotic. She was, it seemed to me, a natural submissive; but who could tell? Take me for example, as Sarah pointed out.

Sir Adrian’s Bentley pulled up at the house in Bromley just after one o’clock.

Monica looked so sexy in her driver’s uniform. I thought it was the peaked cap that did it, but Annie reckoned it was the flash of her red silk French knickers as she got out of the car.

Speaking of sexy, in a black leather micro mini skirt which barely covered her arse, black stockings and a boob tube, it did not take the pink wig Annie was wearing to make her stand out in a crowd. Even with Angie in her leather boots, tight trousers and bustier, Annie looked like the whore. That, of course, was the intention.

Monica rang the bell. The Goon answered.

‘Fresh meat, sonny boy,’ Monica said, giving him a flash of her stocking top.

‘What, what you talkin’ about, we’re not expecting nobody, so fuck off!’

Angie intervened, striding from the car in her boots and skin tight trousers; if she did not have a whip in her hand, she strode as though she had. She walked right up to him, not so much invading his personal space as occupying it with hostile intent.

‘Listen, my man,’ said Angie, in her best “Miss Sinn,” voice, ‘we have this little whore here for training, and are you saying you’re going to reject her?’

At that point Annie shimmied out of the car, offering the Goon a perfect view up her skirt.

‘Maybe I was a bit hasty, Miss. Why don’t you come inside, sure we can work somethin’ out?’

At which point I emerged from the car.

‘Who’s the midget? I like midget porn, is she going to join in?’

‘I might, if you are lucky,’ I smiled at him. Typical, three sexy women, and he wanted the midget: men!

And so he let us in.

He did not quite know which way to look as we sat down.

Monica was shamelessly flashing her red silk Frenchies, while Annie was making no secret of the fact she was wearing no knickers at all. Angie simply looked as though her trousers had been painted on. The way she was looking at him made a lion looking at its prey seem benign. He was positively drooling.

‘We really need access to the dungeon for young Annie here,’ I said.

‘Well there’s been a mix-up, Miss. Will you really get your tits out for us later? I love midgets, dead sexy.’

‘It’s a shame,’ I said, ‘because I have to go soon, but if there was another room we could use in the meantime?’

I smiled sweetly.

‘Okay Miss, well I shouldn’t, but let’s go down, the cell will be ready by two, so we can have a good time before then. You wearin’ nice knickers?’

‘Well, the sooner we get down there, the sooner you will find out,’ I responded cheekily.

He used his security card to operate the electronic lock, which let Escort Aydınlı us through.

‘Mmm, does that open every slit here?’ I asked lasciviously.

‘It does, will it open yours you pretty little midget?’

At which point Annie delivered a karate chop to his neck, and he went down like the sack of potatoes he so closely resembled.

‘The other guy is in with Sherry,’ Annie said, picking up the bug that I had planted on him.

Quietly, I used the card, the door pinged and opened.

‘What, that you Stan? Who the fuck is there?’

Angie, striding in, gave the answer.

‘Miss Sinn is in the building.’

‘Well you should fucking well get out of this cell right …’

At which point, a high kick from Miss Sinn put paid to his protests.

There, in the corner, naked, was Sherry. It was the tattoos that identified her – and the 38E tits.

Monica picked the lock on her manacles.

‘Who, who are you, what are you doing?’ she asked, anxiously/

‘Adrian sent us,’ I said, ‘and we are the Marines.’

She flung her arms around Angie, then me, but I vanished between the tits and had to be rescued by Annie.

Monica picked up Sherry’s dress and helped her into it, copping, I saw, a quick feel, mouthing to me:

‘Oh my God, they are real!’

We got to the car.

‘Fuck,’ said Annie, ‘they are early, there’s a car coming down the drive.’

‘Don’t worry, honey,’ said Angie.

She took the wheel from Monica and put her foot down. She drove fast at the car coming toward us. At the last minute the other driver lost his nerve and ploughed into the ditch with an almighty smashing sound.

‘Don’t fuck with me, wuss,’ was Angie’s only response.

‘But Miss,’ remonstrated Monica, ‘how could you be sure he could chicken out first?’

‘Because I’m Miss Sinn and I have balls of fucking steel,’ she laughed, ‘and anyway, this Bentley is built like a tank and would have flattened that Ford.’

Annie high-fived me.

‘I fear, Ma’am,’ added Monica, ‘that I may have wet myself.’

‘That’ll be another six later,’ Annie responded.

‘Yes Miss,’ she blushed.

‘Miss Sinn,’ Sherry asked, ‘do we have to go straight back to Sir Adrian? I wouldn’t mind offering my own thanks.’

So it was that we diverted back to Angie’s suite at the Savoy.

It was a mark of how expensive it was that the doorman did not bat an eyelid at what must have appeared the most incongruous crew. Angie, clearly on an adrenaline high, looking like something from a BDSM manual; Monica in her uniform, Annie looking like a whore we’d just picked up, and Sherry, disheveled and clearly braless – not a state her tit size suited. But we strode past. Well, actually, I had to run a bit to keep up.

Back in the suite, Sherry asked if she could have a shower, but Angie growled she could have one later, and, grabbing her, led her to the master bedroom. from which loud noises soon emanated.

‘I think, Mons, that Miss Sinn might want you cleaned up for later if you peed yourself. Join me, Pix?’

The blush on Monica’s face was too delightful to ignore.

As she stripped, slowly, sexily, Annie leaned over to where I was sitting and, stroking my hair, gave me a deep, wet kiss, I responded in kind.

Mons saved the day.

‘Ready Miss Annie.’

Naked, submissive, head down, Monica looked good enough to do what Annie did next – eat her.

Feeling it was time to go, I made my excuses and left.

Sir Adrian was delighted with Sherry’s return, and commented she seemed even more compliant than ever.

That, I told him, was down to the Sinn Supremacy.

‘I somehow think I may have need of your professional services again, Miss Sinn,’ said Sir Adrian, signing a handsome cheque.

‘Any time, Sir Adrian,’ she winked.

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