THE FOOTMAN OF L.A. (6/7)

The trunk opened with a click. Jennifer reached in and freed my ankles, then helped me into a sitting position. Steadying my arm, she urged me to stand, and climb out of the trunk. We were in a small darkened garage, attached to a house, judging by the light that shone through a nearby door. I stretched, then turned to her, wondering what she had in mind.

"This way," she said with a tight smile, taking me by the upper arm. With my wrists still pinned and my gag in place, I couldn't really resist or protest effectively.

Into a large, well-lit kitchen. This place seemed too upmarket for it to be hers. On into a hallway, with expensive-looking decor in the several dimly-lit rooms off to the side. No, definitely not hers. This was a mansion, almost.

Ahead, sunlight. A patio and pool. Oh, this was upmarket alright. She led the way out. I looked around, blinking in the bright sunlight. A walled garden, intensely private. Lots of shade trees. No overlooking properties, not even rooftops.

Jennifer was gone, suddenly. And I saw why. A tall, tanned guy in his late twenties, muscular, filmstar handsome, stepped out from behind a hedge, dressed in a pair of baggies and not much else. She rushed forward and began to kiss him passionately, her tongue in his mouth, her hips bumping against his.

Finally, she turned to me, her eyes gleaming and said: "This is Brad, my sex slave. And this," she purred, "is Carl."

He nodded acknowledgment, a confident little smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

"Just like you said," he told her. "Good girl."

She was very pleased with herself.

"Need the keys?" she asked him eagerly.

"Not yet. Get changed, honey. It's way too hot out here."

Not for me though. I was left standing there while Jennifer vanished indoors.

Carl looked me up and down: "I've heard a lot about you, lover boy. Ha ha. Do you really suck toes? Lick asses!? Oh, how pervy can you get! Who'd have thought it, you looking so straight and normal? Mr. Brooks Brothers, incarnate. Just shows, huh? Well, it's good you have all those exotic tastes and kinks, to be honest. Cos without 'em, a little honey like Jennifer wouldn't even give you the time of day. Partner or not, Mr. Big Shot. I mean, I make more money in a week than lawyers like you make in a year. And I mean it. The cute ones fuck the big bucks, and that's like an immutable law, man. But, if you got something weird to offer, then you can play. . . a itsy bitsy little bit, anyway. . ."

Jennifer reappeared wearing a tiny, canary yellow thong bikini. I'd never seen so much of her body before. It made me ignore this airhead and his self-important posturing. Hollywood was crawling with this type, and I was that I didn't get to meet them very often, except in line at Morton's.

He carried on talking: ". . .a luscious thing like her doesn't want to even think about you sticking your prong in her, but. . .she'll play games with you, if you're pervy enough. Hey? True, right, Jennifer?"

"Uh huh," she purred, slinking up close to him and looking at me with her big eyes, eyelids batting wildly. "The only cock I want in me is Carl's. He really knows how to fuck. . .But I'll let you worship me with your filthy mouth, Bradford. . .my cunt needs a lot of attention, after all. . ."

"Yeah, right. Did he really lick your ass?" Carl asked, smiling at my obvious discomfort.

"Oh, you bet he did!" she breathed. "Sniffed it like a dog, and kissed it. Licked it like crazy. Put his tongue right up inside it too. . .disgusting! But kinda nice, though. . .I like anal stuff. . ."

They looked at me, kissed deeply again. He was touching her breasts, her backside, and she was responding. Then Jennifer urged him: "Strip him, Carl! You know it'll be good for him. He just eats up humiliation. . .Go on."

He nodded. "Yeah, okay. Like you said. . ."

He stepped forward and unapologetically unfastened my tie. "Let's be informal, shall we?" he teased. My jacket was slid off my shoulders, then my shirt unbuttoned to the waist and tugged out of my pants. "Kick off your shoes," he told me. Jennifer knelt and quickly pulled my socks off.

To my shame, I was erect. Was it Jennifer's revealing bikini? The sight of her breasts? The tension that had been building all day? She pointed it out to him: "Look at that. Shameless, isn't he? An exhibitionist of the worst sort. . ."

She walked behind me. Freed one cuff just long enough to pull my jacket and shirt free. Meantime, he was lightly touching my chest hair, tweaking my nipples. His hands fell to the waist of my pants, unbuttoned them, unzipped me. They fell, unstoppably, to the floor. Jennifer firmly handcuffed me again, then rushed back to watch him tug the front of my shorts down and expose my penis, which pointed straight at him.

"Look at that boner!" he said with a smirk. "Is that for me, or her? Ha ha. I never met a single guy your age yet who wasn't semi-gay, so I'll draw my own conclusions, Braddie dah-ling. . .."

He slipped my shorts down below my knees, saying: "Step out of them."

And there I was. Naked. They watched me, and I felt myself turning crimson in shame.

Jennifer was giggling, her hand over her mouth. Then, seeing my penis wilt a little, she took it in both hands and began to tease it. "Come on, sweetie, you know it turns you on," she breathed, coupling this encouragement with expert short strokes that hardened me immediately.

Carl watched approvingly. "Very good. Oh, I didn't notice. . .he's uncircumcized, huh? You didn't say, Jen. Cool," he commented.

"Like it?" she purred.

"He's pretty big. Not huge, but that's okay, yeah. Yes, I get it, Jennifer. I see why you've been having so much fun. You love to tease, I know. . ."

She smiled coquettishly, pleased with herself.

"So, uh. . .?" she said, raising her shoulders in query.

"So, what's it going to be?" he replied.

"Want to see him, uh, do some stuff?" she asked.

"Sure. Why not?"

"Right! On your knees, then, Brad. I've got some foot duty for you. . ." she told me with a huge smile, kicking off her shoes. She bent to remove my gag. "Take your time. Do each toe properly. . ."

And I did, devotedly. He chuckled at my busy sucking. And then I found out why. As I finished up, her bikini bottom fell round her ankles. I didn't dare look up, even though I longed to. I guess I knew better.

"Good boy," she said quietly. "You're beginning to understand, aren't you? You know you're not allowed to look without permission. . ."

A black silk scarf was wrapped round my eyes and tied.

"Okay. Let's see what you can do, shall we?" Carl ordered, touching my shoulder. "Jennifer would like her pussy attended to. . ."

She pushed me back onto my heels, and steered my head into a leaning back position. She straddled my face, and made herself comfortable before lowering her wet, hairy sex to my mouth. She was very aroused, extremely fragrant, and her juices were flowing freely. Within a minute or so of my starting to lick her, my mouth was flooded, my face was sticky, and I could feel her trickling down my neck and chest. She was eager to come, and kept up a steady monolog of filthy encouragement about where my tongue should go next, how I should suck and swallow, what I should nibble. And come she did. . .about a half dozen times, with Carl purring his approval as she became less and less inhibited.

Just for a minute, she broke away, giving me a chance to pant for breath. Then I heard her gasp: "Yes, of course I am. You've got to see it, baby. . .come on!" The blindfold was pulled aside, and she straddled me again, her bare buttocks pushed into my face, bending to grab her knees. "Oh look at his face!" Carl was laughing. "Cunt juice everywhere. Revolting! And he's not looking forward to this either. . .ha ha. . ."

Jennifer wasn't going to wait around. She edged backwards, and I did as she told me. "Tongue up and down the crease first," she said snappily. "It's very sweaty. And I've been drooling. . .okay, that's good. Now, see where you're going?" She reached back and held her buttocks apart, squatted a little lower to spread her thighs, and bent forward more. My eyes were tempted by the sight of her chubby pink labia dangling, but her tight pink anus was right in front of me. "Run your tongue round it for a while," she purred. And I did, stroking the rosette of sparse hairs there. "Now, in you go! Push. . ." she ordered, flexing herself a little, puckering the pink orifice. Carl was giggling happily as I followed her instructions. "Tongue right out, Brad. Stiffen it up. Like it was a cock, huh? And in, in, in, further. . .come on. Like you expect it to come out my bellybutton. . ."

Whatever she expected, she got it. Because I felt her tremble, heard a shrill little cry, and she came. She pulled away, walked out of my view without every turning to show me her belly. I knelt there, head downcast, feeling totally humiliated.

Carl walked round me, not speaking for a while. "What are we going to do with you? You're so disgusting, it's not true. . ." he mused to himself.

Jennifer returned, wrapped in a short towelling bathrobe, looking a little dishevelled -- not just from my ministrations, but from running her head under a shower, I think. Her mischievous smile was back. She grabbed my hair and made me look up. A big, self-confident smile: "You're an excellent oral slave, sweetheart. Well?"

"Yes, Mistress Jennifer," I weakly conceded, dropping my head again. She tugged. I'd missed some cues here. But now I got them. She'd drawn Carl forward by the elastic of his baggies. Then, with a polite smile of request, she'd tugged them down and exposed his sizeable, half-erect penis. Her perfectly manicured hand grabbed the shaft, stiffened him with no perceptible effort. I heard him murmur: "Jennifer, really? Do you really want to? No. . ."

"Oh, yes, Carl. . .most definitely yes. I do want it, understand? Don't be so damned selfish all the time. . ."

And then, before anyone could get into further discussions, his erect prick, eight inches of circumcized muscle, was right under my nose. Jennifer lightly pinched my nostrils -- cutting off the rather horrible musky scent -- and said: "Do it!" I opened my mouth, and he was inside. Huge, like biting off far more than you could chew, eating in the dark. It filled my mouth, squashing my tongue out of the way. My jaw ached as I stretched to accomodate him.

"Suck, you big pansy. Don't pretend you don't know how to. . .I'm sure some misguided babe has blown you once in your miserable life. . . ." she growled. "And keep it up, Carl. . .you love to be sucked off, you bastard. Who knows how many mouths this has been in, eh? Well, this is a proxy one from me, okay?" Fighting back the conflicting urges to bite, choke or vomit, I decided all I could realistically do was. . .do it. So I sucked rhythmically, bobbing my head, concentrating everything on getting this ordeal over with. Him, I sort of forgave. But her? Oh, how could she?!

"Look up and admire him," I heard her giggle. "Guys love that. Just like in the blowjob videos. Eyes open, sweetheart. Look grateful. Devoted. Impressed. Whatever. Ha ha. See what you're doing. . ." I did as she said, but couldn't see much, just a bulge of hairy belly and chest, a distant blur. Bad eyesight has its compensations. With a little quiver, he came, holding tightly to the back of my head. Half a dozen hot spurts of fishy, salty semen into my mouth, some down my throat. Ugh. I choked for a second, and then -- what a relief! -- he was pulling it out, streamers of cum splashing my chin and chest, like snot.

Jennifer was so happy, and Carl seemed pleased it was over. She looked at me, licking my lips with distaste, and panting for breath. She said with a thin smile: "Now, when I call you fuckface, I'm not exaggerating one bit, am I?"

Carl pulled his shorts on. Jennifer asked: "Well?"

"Very convincing. Are you sure he's never done that before?"

"Well. . .As far as I know. . ."

"Ha. Well, I think you're right about this guy, Jen. I think he's well and truly ready for total slavery. We'll set up a meeting with Helen. Tomorrow sound good to you?"

"The sooner the better. . ." she said, hugging herself. "Oh, yes. . ." She looked down at me with a peculiar smile. "Congratulations. You made it. Ten's coming, Brad."

I looked at her rather desperately. I still sported a huge erection, and was really aching. She helped me to my feet, and said: "I can see what you want, but sorry, no deal. A little celibacy is good for you. Let's put you back in the trunk and take you home, shall we?"

The next twenty four hours passed in a dizzying whirl. I was driven home, naked, and released, on a strict promise that I'd get an early night and wouldn't masturbate. Jennifer instructed me to take a cab to work the next morning, and called and booked it for me. I was told to pretend I had a sudden need to be on the East Coast, and book a week's vacation. It was no problem: a slow, slow time of year, and all covered by partners' privilege.

Late afternoon, she called and told me to meet her at her car, in the adjacent lot. This time, at least I wasn't going to be stuffed in the trunk.

We drove out to the suburbs, and after a while she pulled in at a beauty parlor in a strip shopping center. Only a couple of cars outside, not a busy day for them either. She led me in. The woman behind the reception desk was one of her hispanic friends from a couple of days earlier. She greeted me with a huge grin and a comment about me looking different with my clothes on.

Jennifer pointed me towards a curtained-off cubicle and told me: "In there please, Brad. Take everything off, and put your clothes in the cardboard box on the chair. You'll find a gown on a hook. You can put that on."

I went in. Did she mean this? What did she have in mind? The box was a UPS overnighter, addressed to her. I undressed slowly. I caught her peeking through the curtain as I stood in my underpants. "Everything, I said," she scolded. "Come on. We haven't got all day."

The white nylon gown was short and translucent, and tied at the waist with a velcro gizmo. I stepped out, rather flustered. Jennifer took me by one arm, and the receptionist took the other. The salon was like most other hair and nail joints, all mirrors and chrome. I looked a fool in the wraparound gown, reflected on all sides. The salon wasn't at all busy, but a couple of staff waited for me at the far end. Two young Valley Girl types, women in their twenties, cool and professional. A certain disdain in their eyes.

"This must be Brad," one said with a polite nod to me. The other greeted: "Hi, Jennifer. So, a proper clean-up. Is he ready?"

"Uh huh," she agreed. "Full shave and wax, like we said. . ."

And that's what was done. I blushed hotly as they took my robe, one commenting to Jennifer: "Oh, he's horribly hairy, isn't he? A rug!" and the other saying: "No, you can't be seen with someone retro like this. . ." They stood me on a little pedestal and went to work with electric clippers, trimming the hair from my chest, back and legs. The only bit left was a tidily trimmed pubic triangle: even my balls and ass were shaved, with businesslike disdain for my stiffening penis. Then, to make the job perfect, my chest and belly were waxed, and my legs lathered and shaved even more closely.

They daubed me with a thin, scented oil and gave me a fresh robe. Then I suffered the indignity of having my bush washed and rinsed with a solution that bleached it a dazzling blonde color. My face was lathered and shaved, then made up with foundation, face shaper, eyeliner and a dark pink lipstick, with gloss and outliner. While that was being done, one of the women styled my hair in a rather feminine way, then fitted me with a longish blonde wig. My fingernails and toenails were painted a vivid pink. I didn't protest: Jennifer was watching the whole time, and had obviously decided on what she wanted.

Her only comment was: "Don't look so dour, huh? Try to think pretty, and you'll be pretty. . ."

After they were through, Jennifer supervised buttoning me into a long black dress with a flowing mid-calf skirt. To my relief, this crossdressing escapade didn't entail any female underwear -- bras, garter belts, or other hot items -- although I was given some high-heeled satin shoes with ankle straps to put on.

"Delightful," she pronounced, after an hour of this ordeal. "No one will be fooled, but you'll certainly make the point that you're not good old Brad the beancounter any more, I think. . ."

At the door, I got to pay. . .$350 for the makeover, $300 for the dress. Jennifer smiled: "It's not cheap, being lovely. . ."

She showed me to the car, and helped me get comfortable. It felt quite unusual. I'd never, ever worn women's clothes before. Privately or publicly. Nor, in my wildest fantasies, had I thought about doing so. But Jennifer unerringly knew what would get to me. I felt flustered, a little excited. I wanted to see what this might lead to, weird though it was. What was next? My prick bulged the front of the skirt. She saw this, of course, and nodded her satisfaction.

The receptionist and the two cosmeticians were joining us, it seemed. They locked up behind us, and trailed along in their own car.

Jennifer wasn't going to give much away, I knew from prior experience. But she did say that we were headed back to Carl's place, that there was a party, and that this time, I'd get to come, too. She teased: "You'll be the belle of the ball, too. What should we call you now? What's a nice girl's name? Bradwina? Adele? Ellen? Alexandra? Oh, I know! Alice. . .that's you, to a tee. . ."