Tea and Spoons Part Four (Erotica)

Yes, Yes, late again. Anyone want to punish me? If you haven't read them, or want to read them again, the previous parts are her: One, Two, and Three

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Tea and Spoons
Part Four

The doorbell rang with Charlotte smirking at Jon as his cock reacted to the giant dildo in front of him. “Such precision timing! Jon, get the door.” Jon looked down at himself then, mild panic brushed through him, quickly replaced with excitement and an eager enthusiasm to serve. It felt different and new and special.

The man at the door was a giant, well over six feet tall, a good few inches taller than Jon, and wide. Very wide with muscles that stretched his neatly pressed shirt. He was beautiful with dusky blonde hair and green eyes that looked right passed him. “Charlotte, my love, you look gorgeous. The dinner is ready in the van, the boy should get it.”

Without even looking at Jon, Charlotte said “Boy, this is Bobby, you will call him Sir. Do as he says.”

“Yes Ma’am” He spat the words out, feeling jealous and curious and angry all at the same time.

“Now, boy, don’t speak to your Mistress in such a tone. Go to the van, in the back is a large box. Bring it in and follow the instructions on the lid. Oh, and put some shoes on before you go outside, these should do it.” Bobby went into his bag and pulled out a pair of red knee length boots. They had a slight heel and were laced up the front. Jon knew he should say “yes sir” but he felt slightly sick and tears (of sadness, anger, shame, fury, he had no idea) were threatening to fall.

The boots fit perfectly, of course they did.

When he opened the front door it was twilight and warm. A nervousness about getting caught ate into him, but it was easier to comply than fight and end up having to do it anyway. As he leant into the van and his lacy dress rose above his arse, exposing it to the air, he heard the neighbors leave the house laughing and joking. They must have spotted him because suddenly it was silent, then some coughing and hurried footsteps before the car left. His face burnt a bright red and he was grateful they hadn’t seen it.

The box was heavy. When he took it into the house Charlotte and Bobby were nowhere to be seen, but he could hear them laughing and chatting, but the words were jumbled and he couldn’t understand a word. Once or twice he heard footsteps going up and down the stairs. Occasionally he heard a groan of pleasure and his stomach twisted in knots.

The instructions were simple enough. The box contained a fully prepared steaming hot meal. It would seem Bobby was a chef of some sort. Jon had to prepare the dining table for two but serve everything onto plates for three. He had to take his boots off (that was written into the instructions, just how planned was this event?) and call out when everything was ready. He did so.

Charlotte and Bobby entered the dining room and sat down.

“Boy,” Bobby spoke with a deep American accent, Jon wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed that already. It was clipped and his voice was practically scraping gravel. “Bring us our dinner.”

Jon did as he was told.

“Good boy, now for your hard work, you may share our table. Get your dinner plate, quickly before it gets cold.”

Jon did as he was told.

“Now, boy, you may eat with us, between us in fact. On the floor, under the table, between our feet, like the scum you are.”

He almost burst into tears. He didn’t know this man, although he suspected who he might be, surely Bobby wasn’t his real name. It was all too much to bear. Shame and humiliation ate at him as he sat under the table. His throat constricted making it almost impossible to eat. He heard the two laughing and chatting, sometimes about mundane ordinary things, sometimes they were teasing each other. Four times Jon heard them talk about him, when this happened they pointedly spoke louder and in clearer, crisper tones. Each time Bobby asked: “He seems to be doing well, should we reward him?” Each answer Charlotte gave was different: “No, I thought I heard a whimper earlier, he has no humility.” And “No, he is only interested in his own pleasure.” And “No, he has not yet learnt to reflect on his own wants and needs and desires.” Jon cried then, he tried to cry silently but he knew he failed. What seemed like an eternity later, but must have only been five minutes, Bobby asked the question the fourth time. “Yes, I believe he has learnt something, a little reward would be good.”

At that, Charlotte opened her legs. What he thought were thick black tights were actually stockings, leading to her completely bare, naked pussy. She was so wet she glistened and the skirt beneath her was damp. Jon could smell her. He groaned loudly, desparate to taste her, to lick her. His hand reached out to stroke her but he pulled it back before he did, to avoid further punishment. He wanted her so badly his cock was dripping wet, he stroked it idly. And just like that, almost as if she knew, Charlotte closed her legs, moved the chair back and stood up.

“Now, Bobby, shall we retire to the lounge?”

“Excellent plan. Boy, come with us. Leave the plates. You will be cleaning them tomorrow.”

Jon ached when he stood up. He had to stretch himself, move his body to relax the muscles. He caught both Charlotte and Bobby admiring him and put it down to a win for him.

The brief pleasure from that vanished as soon as he entered the living room. Charlotte and Bobby had already sat on the sofa next to each other. Snuggling. (They were snuggling? What?) In front of Bobby was a footstool, one of those that rocks forward and backwards slightly. Wrapped around it was what looked like a belt, except standing up from a hole in the middle was the giant dildo Charlotte had been holding earlier. It was shining, glistening with lube and next to the dildo was a bottle of lubricant.

Jon seriously considered leaving then, calling “Red.” He had fantasized about being humiliated so many times, but when it came to it, he really wasn’t sure this was for him. He felt sick. He felt used. He felt ashamed. He felt disgusted with himself. And yet, and yet ... He had never felt this desparate in his life, this needy with want. If he had to beg and lick this strange man’s feet he knew right then he would do it.

“Start the DVD, boy. Then you know what to do.” It was Bobby who spoke.

“Yes, sir.”

The DVD that started was porn, a whole mixture of bodies of different sizes, shapes, genders, and colors playing in a lavish Edwardian style house in a confusing mix of scenes. Jon wanted to watch, but returned to the sofa. He looked at the stool and, picked up the bottle of lube.

“Turn around, bend over, I want to watch you lube yourself up.”

Jon heard the man undo his fly, he heard the man touch his cock as Jon filled his hands with slippery liquid. He smeared it on his arsehole. He easily put the first finger in. Then the second. Knowing that two people were behind him, watching, made him want to put on a show. He groaned as the third finger slid in and he started stretching his own arsehole. His legs wobbled, but he managed to stay upright. He touched his prostate, pushing it, pressing it, feeling the ecstasy roll through him. His legs buckled then and he nearly crashed into the floor.

“Enough! Face me, boy and sit down.”

Jon caught the look in Sir’s eyes, he saw lust and desire and want. For a moment they shared that, then Bobby looked at Charlotte and kissed her with a passion he had never seen before. Jealousy and lust caught him. He wanted to lean over and join in, he wanted to run his hands over their bodies and be touched by them, be kissed like that. He wanted it all.

“Really, Jon, have you learnt nothing?” Charlotte spoke then, with an exasperated kindly teacher’s voice. It was as though she were talking to a child and not a man wearing a lace dress about to slide his arse onto a giant dildo.

“Sorry Ma’am. Sorry Sir.”

Jon straddled the stool, he held the dildo in one hand. It felt rubbery and large. It had some flexibility and give, but not much. It was ribbed and he guessed about nine inches long and obscenely thick. Much thicker than his own ample cock. He placed his arsehole at the top of the huge penetrating toy (is is really a toy?). Anxiety and excitement about what such a large thing would feel like bubbled through him. The tip entered, stretching his anus, not enough to hurt but certainly enough to feel like his limit was being pushed. He started to slide down. There was never any pain, but occasionally he felt tiny amounts of discomfort, questioning him like a challenge. Mainly he felt ecstasy. Pleasure coursed through him. The further in the dildo got the more his muscles stretched until he felt waves through his body and like his head was fit to burst. He forgot where he was and started rocking the stool backwards and forwards stretching himself more and more until he felt his balls hit the stool and his arse totally filled and pulled. He was groaning and crying out in ways he hadn’t known possible. He was acting like a cheap hooker and all he wanted was more.

“Enough!” Charlotte's voice was broken and raspy, but quickly returned to the authoritative controlling voice of before. “You are here for my pleasure. Now I want you to suck Sir’s cock. Put on a good show and you may just get a prize.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”
 


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This is the penultimate chapter in this story, although I have so many scenes chopped out there may be extras at some point. The last chapter will be up sometime in the next week.