Mister P

Read parts one and two here.

“You may exhale,” said Dr. Acosta as she cinched the chastity belt snugly around Emilio’s waist.

He felt the belt constrain his breathing slightly as he did so. “It’s too tight.”

“Nonsense, servants need the feeling of constriction less they forget they are servants.”

“Makes sense. Hey!” Emilio said as Dr. Acosta hand forcefully slapped his face.

“I do not look to any man to approve my decisions. Much less a impotent hermana like you. Understood?” Emilio nodded meekly as Dr. Acosta continued, “You were hired to be a servant and it’s time you started acting like it, which is what this is for.” Dr. Acosta tapped his chastity belt lightly.

“A few days after a man’s cock is caged be slowly begins to lose the machismo that was beat into his thick skull since he was born. In the next room you will find a servant’s uniform. Once you are properly attired, I will show you to your duties.”

***

“A servant’s uniform?” thought Emilio as he looked at the black PVC pants and vest shirt that from a hanger in the accompanying room. “Surely she can’t mean this.” However, no other clothes hung in the room to suggest otherwise.

Emilio found the clothes quite limiting. The plastic fabric did not stretch or breathe the way more traditional fibres would. And the pants stretched tight over his chastity belt making him look like he had decided to add a tiny codpiece underneath his costume for “The Crow.”

I can’t be seen like this.

Dr. Acosta opened the door. “Get out her maricón!” she yelled

He hung his head in shame and compliance as Dr. Acosta led him from the medical building across the open courtyard towards the main residence. The compound was clearly built with defensibility in mind. A chain link fence surrounded the compound with a guard tower at each of the four corners. In each guard tower sat a man on duty with a high powered rifle.

The main residence lay at the heart of the complex like a medieval keep. In fact, the entire complex looked as some strange combination of classic Gothic architecture with ultramodern refinements… and guns. Lots of guns.

A security guard leading a German Shepherd approached the pair as they approached the main residence. “Oscar, I believe you already know our newest servant,” Dr. Acosta said.

“Si,” said Oscar.

Emilio looked up into Oscar’s grinning but bruised face.

The relish Dr. Acosta felt at the moment she had no doubt orchestrated was obvious. She pointed to the puffy swollen areas of Oscar’s face. “You got him pretty good with that knee. He suffered a minor concussion, but recovered quickly. Oscar would you like to know why you got the job despite losing the fight?”

Oscar noded.

“Tell him Emilio.”

Emilio’s face flushed. He looked into the face of the man he had fought just a couple of days ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Oscar, I need you to administer punishment to this unruly servant until he learns his place,” Dr. Acosta was enjoying this too much.

Oscar smiled as he cracked his knuckles which prompted the guard dog he was leading to growl. “My pleasure.”

“I have a small penis!” Emilio blurted out.

“What!” Oscar laughed.

Dr. Acosta forced herself to laugh boisterously so as to further humiliate Emilio. “Of course he was a better fighter, he was compensating for his little polla.”

Emotionally abusing Emilio gave Oscar a tremendous release after the shame of losing the fight. His laugh grew deeper by the second until tears streamed from his eyes and he feel to his knees clutching his belly.

“You see Emilio, you are already increasing morale. Now come with me,” said Dr. Acosta as she led him into the main complex. The pair walked past the another smiling guard at the lavish entry way and then arrived at a banquet hall. “For your first assignment, clean up after Consuela’s party. Promptness and efficiency will earn you a reward. Doing otherwise…” she shook her head and walked away.

Emilio surveyed the room he was to clean. The fine china had already been put away, but numerous other cups, saucers, wine glasses, silverware, and linen napkins littered the table. The discarded lube containers and used condoms littered the place like lewd confetti. It was obvious what had occurred after the meal. Hell, perhaps during the meal.

He decided to start with the dishes. After fetching a plastic tub from the kitchen, he collected the dishes. As he went about his work, the stainless steel chastity belt snug around his waist constrained his movements… amongst other things. Amidst the drudgery of the work, his mind wandered to how the belt had got there.

This is all so unfair! I won the fight.

He came to an unusual kind of stool at the head of the table: painted black wood with lush cushioning, but strangely lacking an actual seat. Padding all along the outside of the stool told him that this was indeed a place for sitting, but the vacant hole in the middle suggested it was not the most comfortable place to sit. It seemed like whoever sat on it would slide down into the middle right over the cushion at the bottom which head a semicircular cut so as to accommodate… someone’s head.

For the first time, Emilio began to question whether he had made the right decision in taking the job.

Mister P enjoys writing erotica, discussing politics, manufacturing queening stools, and counseling submissive men on the unique challenges they face. He and his wife Mistress Roulette host the Diary of a Dominatrix Podcast. Mister P is also the maker of the Queening Stool.

“Dr. Acosta will be with you soon,” said the attractive woman in the nurse’s uniform who showed Emilio into the examination room. It seemed different than the other ones in which he had been previously. For starters, some type of medical electrical equipment sat against the wall. He knew that most doctors do not need to deliver electrical shocks as part of their practice. What kind of medicine did Dr. Acosta practice? Almost in answer to his question, Emilio noticed that the examination table had restraints designed to bind the hands and feet of the less willing.

“Would you like anything while you wait?”

Emilio was surprised. On reflection, he should have known this “routine” exam would be anything but. Given that he was applying to work for the Morales crime family, drug lords who lived above the law, it would only make sense that the family doctor helped with interrogations as well. In fact, aiding in these sessions might be part of his job description in working “security.” Emilio wasn’t really sure what he would be asked to do to earn his pay, but he had been assured of one thing: the money he was to make here would be more than he would have an opportunity to earn in two lifetimes of working a legitimate job.

“Get me a soda.” He stared at the perky tits barely restrained by the small shirt. If they wanted a cool customer, he would give them one. He had won the fighting contest; he was a man to be feared. The right man for the job today, and the right man to run the family down the road.

The nurse nodded. “Dr. Acosta will be with you in a moment. In the meantime, please remove your clothes and wait on the examination table.” She left the room before he had a chance to respond, leaving him to his thoughts: a rolling stool, rack of periodicals upon the wall — and the examination table.

“A torture chamber with People magazine,” he said aloud to no one, beginning to unbutton his shirt, and caught his reflection in a large, wall-length mirror. A two-way, no doubt. A cool customer — whose fear was rising. He re-buttoned his shirt. Who was behind it, studying him this very minute? He had not applied for an ordinary job. No doubt they (whoever they were) wanted people in their employ who were tough and cool under pressure. If he appeared rattled now, he could forget about ever working for the Morales family. This is a test; it has to be.

The Morales family also lacked any strong men at the helm — all the casualties of the family’s decades-long struggle in the drug war. No doubt, they needed to hire some back. They wanted to see if he was a leader or a follower. He’d be damned if he’d let a woman tell him to strip naked. Emilio snatched a magazine from the rack, kicking back on the examination table, flipping through the pages of women not unlike the nurse he just saw.

Unless … they’re testing me to see if I can take orders from a woman.

But a nurse? Why test him with an underling?

His course resolved, Emilio sat in his seat, trying to project an air of confidence, paging through the magazine. His continual fidgeting betrayed his true feelings, however.

Finally, the door opened and Dr. Acosta entered the room. The small, auburn-haired woman wore a silk blouse underneath her white lab coat; both open so as to display her impressive rack. Being the third pair of impressive tits Emilio had witnessed on a woman associated with the Morales family, Emilio began to suspect they had negotiated a volume discount with a plastic surgeon.

An air of authority and dread followed the clack of her high-heel shoes as she walked cooly into the room. If she was surprised or shocked, her face certainly did not show it.

This must be what it feels like to be interrogated by her.

He wanted to continue feigning the tough exterior, but, Emilio realized, this must be the same exact scenario to which the good doctor had become accustomed: to enter into the room and see her helpless victim trying to act unfazed; it must have played out for her countless times.

He didn’t want to, but his mind ran wild with that image: he pictured Dr. Acosta as the eye in the middle of the storm; around her were men (he figured it must be men) inflicting pain on one another as she calmly watched and directed the action. Suddenly, his thoughts raced out of control, leaving him with only fear and anxiety.

He imagined her enjoying the interrogation — hell, he saw her taunting the poor victims with her enjoyment … touching herself … as the intensity of their pain increased … bringing herself to climax … as their lives slipped away.

“You were instructed to strip naked, no?”

As her question brought him back to the present, he was suddenly embarrassed to find he didn’t know how to answer her. He didn’t want to indicate his willful disobedience to Dr. Acosta. Though he wasn’t sure how she would react, he still didn’t really want to find out.

“Oh, yeah.” Emilio forced a big smile onto his face. “I thought she was kidding. I’m sorry. I’ll do that right now.” And he began, once again, unbuttoning his shirt.

“So, the nurse did not make herself clear?”

“She did. I just thought — ”

Dr. Acosta turned towards the door. “Erin, get in here!”

The nurse — whose name was apparently Erin — returned, holding a tray with an unopened soda can and a glass full of ice. “Yes, Dr. Acosta?”

“You stupid bitch! Look what you’ve done!”

In seconds, the glass had shattered to the floor; the can of soda, ruptured, its dark liquid collecting. Dr Acosta had slapped Erin’s face with such force as to knock the tray clear from her hands; the unexpected and sudden savagery stunning Emilio, who felt helpless to do anything but watch.

Soon, Erin recovered her composure, slowly coming to attention, her right cheek flushing a bright red. “I’m sorry for my clumsiness and stupidity.”

Although Dr. Acosta walked behind Erin, her eyes remained on Emilio. “And what else is wrong with this situation?”

Erin’s eyes remained upon the floor. “The subject is not naked for examination.”

“That’s right. He isn’t. Why don’t you ask him why not?”

Erin looked to Emilio. Her eyes pleading with him not to make her situation worse. “Why are you not naked for examination?” she asked in a noticeably small voice.

“I’m sorry. I thought it was a test. I didn’t want to seem weak,” Emilio blurted, wanting to set things right before they spiraled out of control any further.

“Ah. So she was clear in her instructions,” said Dr. Acosta, walking back in front of Erin. Her eyes seems to peer straight into Emilio’s soul.

“Yes, doctor. Very clear.”

“Emilio, do you know what I do here?”

He had a pretty good idea, but did not dare say it. Better to play dumb. He shook his head.

“I extract information. Often from people who are trying to conceal it. What I just did to Erin was one of the techniques I use. People can often endure plenty of discomfort but will not want to see another suffer. You see?”

He did see. This bitch is good. “Si, señsora.”

“Good. Now that you’ve had a demonstration, I pray you will never attempt to deceive me again.” After a moment, she began nodding her head slowly. He nodded quickly in response.

Then Dr. Acosta turned and began unbuttoning Erin’s blouse, who made no move in protest. Like a chess game played against an opponent far more experienced, each move Dr. Acosta made seemed bewildering to him. Though reason certainly drove her moves and actions, he wished he could anticipate them. Erin remained at attention as Dr. Acosta opened her blouse and then unfastened the clasp nestled between her cleavage.

Erin stayed still, hands at her side, as Dr. Acosta exposed her breasts.

“Do you like them?” She rubbed them gingerly.

Emilio remained in a state of total confusion. Erin, who, five minutes ago was a person he was having a conversation with, had now become an object who started blankly ahead as Dr. Acosta rubbed her.

I better play along with whatever her plan is.

Dr. Acosta walked behind Erin. She placed her hands underneath Erin’s breasts as if offering them to Emilio. She studied his face from over Erin’s shoulder as she awaited his response.

“Yes. Of course.”

“What do you want to do with them?”

“I…” shame and embarrassment eating the rest of his sentence.

“I see you are shamed easily.” She grabbed each nipple between her thumb and forefinger and pulled them away from her body. She began to roll them lightly back and forth. Emilio stood transfixed.

Dr. Acosta pinched her nipples which caused a sharp inhale from Erin. Erin’s eyes grew wide as she tried to silently cope with the pain and remain in her position. Dr. Acosta pinched again which caused Erin’s knees to buckle. A groan escaped.

“I will rip her nipples off of her tits if you aren’t naked and on the examination table in ten seconds. Diez…. nueve…”

Buttons went flying as Emilo tore his clothes off. He was naked on the examination table with two seconds to spare. “Cuff him to the table.” Dr. Acosta pushed Erin towards Emilio. Erin looked at him and her eyes thanked him for his compliance as she strapped his legs to the table. Her naked tits brushed his arm as she leaned forward to secure his arms.

Dr. Acosta walked to the side of the table and stared down into his face. She held his gaze for a long few seconds, and then stared between his legs. Her face scrunched in annoyance. “Suck it.”

If there was any commandment Dr. Acosta could give which Erin would not obey, it had yet to be found. Without hesitation, Erin maneuvered between his legs and lowered her face to his crotch.

“She’s quite good.” Dr. Acosta stared into Emilio’s eyes. Studying him.

He felt her warm breath on his balls as she slowly kissed up and down each side of his stiffening cock. She grabbed it by the base and licked from the midway point towards the head in a long, luxurious stroke. She did that twice more before flickering her tongue over the head.

Yes she is.

Emilio watched Erin. He did not want to meet Dr. Acosta’s scrutinizing gaze. Better to get lost in the moment. He watched as she began to work her mouth up and down his cock, cupping his balls and rubbing her nipples against them. Shameless, she started to moan. Emilio felt himself building towards climax he closed his eyes in anticipation.

“Stop.” Dr. Acosta commanded and Erin obeyed. Emilio opened his eyes to look at Dr. Acosta, but she was starting down at his crotch. She shook her head. “I’m sorry Emilio, but I’m afraid you are not cut out of security.” The exam apparently concluded, Dr. Acosta began to walk towards the door.

“What?” Emilio shouted.

“Erin will release you from your restraints and see you out. If you’d like, I can also have her swallow your cum as a going away present. Would you like that?”

Emilio wanted to scream. Many things actually but “Yes, what, fuck and bitch,” seemed the most dominant choices. He stammered as he tried to compose himself.

“Like I said, easily shamed.” She walked out the door.

“No. Dr. Acosta.” She walked back in. “I won the fight. I get the job.”

She shook her head. “You get a job. But to work security, I have to sign off on you and you lack the necessary equipment.”

Bitch!

“But I get a job.”

“Well, sure, if you want it. We are always looking for servants. Someone to clean the compound and tidy up and things like that.”

“A servant!” he said finally finding his voice. “I’ve trained to be a fighter.”

“You see. I knew you wouldn’t want the job.” She turned to leave again.

“How much does it pay?”

“Half of what security makes.” That was still a lot of money.

“OK. Servant work. Sure. And then I can move up into security later.”

“The Morales women are very sexual. Since their security detail functions as their constant companion, they want the men in that detail to be of a certain… caliber.” She walked back into the room and pointed as his now shrinking penis. “I’m afraid that just won’t do. Furthermore, servants have to wear a chastity belt. The Morales women don’t want their servants getting ideas. Do you understand?”

He didn’t, but he nodded anyway.

Mister P enjoys writing erotica, discussing politics, manufacturing queening stools, and counseling submissive men on the unique challenges they face. He and his wife Mistress Roulette host the Diary of a Dominatrix Podcast. Mister P is also the maker of the Queening Stool.

Oscar’s hands choked the life out of Emilio. Estefan watched the two closely from a few feet away, ready to halt the contest at the first sign that Emilio has lost consciousness which Estefan felt might be any second now. Emilio was on the flat of his back and Oscar was seated on his chest. Oscar had “fully mounted” Emilio, to put it in the language of grappling. Oscar’s hands were crossed over Emilio’s neck. Each hand had grabbed Emilio’s grappling gi and they were pulling the cloth into Emilio’s neck to choke him.

“Don’t give up, Emilio!” shouted his beloved Ana from the crowd watching the fight.

All Emilio could see was Oscar’s leering face hovering over him as he struggled to breath and stay conscious. Emilio’s mind was in a state of panic at his lack of oxygen, but the words of Ana reached him in his desperation. He steeled himself as he rolled to his left side, pulling Oscar in so that he could connect with his right elbow to Oscar’s jaw. The blow dazed Oscar and Emilo was able to buck him off.

The crowd roared, but none louder than Ana as Emilio took advantage of Oscar’s situation and pushed Oscar off of him. Both attempted to scramble to their feet, but Emilio got there first. He placed his hands behind Oscar’s head as Oscar struggled to stand to guide it into Emilio’s kneecap. Oscar saw Emilio’s knee, then nothing at all.

“Se acabõ” shouted Estefan who stepped towards the competitors. “You’ve won.”

Emilio couldn’t believe it, but the crowd must have judging by their enthusiastic response. Ana rushed down to Emilio’s corner of the octagon. “Te amo – I love you” she screamed enthusiastically. Estefan opened the door to the competitive arena to allow Ana inside. She threw her arms around Emilio oblivious to the sweat and blood that drenched him. She showered him with kisses as he picked her up in his arms.

Consuela Morales, the 26 year-old woman for whom this entire contest was staged, stood from her elevated seat overlooking the match. Consuela looked as though she were dressed for a day at the races; her voluptuous body concealed behind a long black dress complete with matching gloves and large hat. “I’ll take both of them,” she called down to Estafan who turned to meet her her gaze. “Have them report to the compound tomorrow.”

Estefan bowed to Consuela. “Si Señorita Morales. Mañana.”

Consuela nodded to Estefan, and turned to leave.

Emilio was oblivious to everything except the woman in his arms. “Let’s go celebrate,” he said as he carried her from the octagon.

Estefan walked over to Oscar to see about reviving him, but his eyes were drawn to the happy couple as they departed. Their love seems as close to true love as he had ever seen in this corrupt drug town. He caught himself hoping that their innocence might endure, but he knew better. No one remains innocent for long in the employ of La Patrona. Still, Estefan had known Emilio since he was a boy. He had taught him to fight and felt that if anyone had a chance of surviving, it was him.

******

Ana scrubbed Emilio’s back gingerly with a soapy wash cloth. She was mindful of all the obvious bruises but still eager to ensure that she was not hurting her beloved. “Does it hurt?” she asked.

Emilio’s face was to the shower who’s pathetic stream barely covered his naked body, much less the naked body of Ana standing behind him. “You’re helping it to feel better,” said Emilio. His body ached in several places from the fight, but victory has a funny way of overriding pain.
“And I know something else you can help to feel better,” Emilio said turning to her.

Ana looked down at Emilio’s member which was beginning to swell in anticipation. She backed away. “I guess you deserve a reward for winning the fight,” she said as she stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. “I’ll be waiting for you in the bedroom after you dry off.”

Emilio enjoyed the thought that his beloved lay for him in the next room. He felt like the warm water that streamed out of the shower was victory itself. For that victory, he had worked harder than for anything in his life and he wanted to stand in that moment forever. He had conquered Oscar in the octagon and now he would conquer his beloved once and for all. Or so he hoped. Ana’s virginity was special to her and after six months of dating, they both remained virgins.

The hot water having run out, Emilio stepped from the shower. He toweled off and stepping into the bedroom.

Ana knelt before one of the Virgin Mary’s many statues. He noticed that she had lit yet another candle. She finished murmuring a prayer, crossed herself, stood up, and went to lay on the bed. Emilio was not far behind.

“Once I get started at the Morales compound, we’ll have enough money to get married and raise a family,” he said.

Ana smiled and nodded in response.

“So I was thinking… you know.”

Ana shook her head. “Emilio, I’m so happy that I am to be your wife, but you know how important my faith is to me. We have to save ourselves for our wedding night.” Ana pushed Emilio onto his back as her hand grouped him. “Still I will make it special for you.”

Emilio spread his legs for Ana as she moved between them. His cock grew rigid in her hands and she lightly blew over the head. She smiled up at Emilio.

“Oh baby. Thank you.” He looked down on her and bathed in her adoration. Unfortunately, for him, her adoration did not translate to enthusiasm at her task. Ana clumsy put her mouth down over the head of his penis and began the perfunctory back and forth motion. Emilio closed his eyes and conjured a vision to help himself build to orgasm. He imagined Ana a bit older and more experienced as she must be after they got married. More confident. Self-assured. More like… Consuela.

Ana increased the speed of her stroke as she attempted to speed Emilio to his destination. He secretly aided her in this effort by fantasizing about Consuela. She was in the her mid 20s and yet her family ran the entire town. Everyone in the town moved to the snap of her fingers, even Estefan his fight instructor. A man who never bowed to any man, and yet, anything Consuela wanted prompted Estefan to snap to attention. Such power held in such a small, but beautiful frame.

He was going to work for Consuela tomorrow. Of that he was sure. And he felt he would have her. In his fantasy she was so moved by his performance in the octagon that she would simply have to sexually submit to such raw masculine power. Surely her sexuality was more primal and uninhibited than poor Ana. Her tits far larger too. She envisioned what a blow job from her would be like.

Ana continued to work her head up and down the shaft of his manhood, but what really excited Emilio was the fantasy that soon Consuela would be doing the same. He envisioned her staring into his eyes as her hand and mouth sent waves of pleasure over him. He had never had any kind of sex with such a strong confident woman and his mind ran wild with the possibilities. In his fantasy Consuela brazenly opened her blouse and expose her beautiful full breasts. She would periodically take breaks from her task of bringing him to orgasm to enhance the experience for him by rubbing the glistening head of his cock against one of her nipples. She looked into his eyes and knew how in love with her breasts he was, so with no hesitation she shamelessly spit into the opening of her cleavage before before taking his cock between her magnificent tits.

“Do you like?” she asked him as she pressed her tits together to make a tight sandwich of soft, delicious flesh that his cock slide effortlessly between.

“Oh yes,” he cried out. “I’m coming.”

Ana quickly withdrew her mouth from the head of his cock. “Oh yes, my darling, come for me,” she said as she worked her hand over the head of his penis to send him over the edge. And he did come all over her hand, but, in his mind, it was all over Consuela’s tits.

As the orgasm washed over him, Emilio immediately felt shame for his fantasy. He looked up into Ana’s expectant eyes.

“Was it good?” she asked.

Emilio nodded. “You’re the best a man could ever hope for.”

Ana blushed. “Thank you,” she said as she moved to lay beside him.

“It’s your turn,” Emilio said.

“That’s alright,” said Ana. “Today is your day.”

Emilio felt a pang of guilt as he accepted Ana’s offer to not reciprocate, but then quickly justified his actions to himself. “I am the victor, and to the victory go the spoils.” He imagined his cum running over Consuela’s tits. A man deserved to soil a massive pair of tits like that. Spoils indeed.

Read part two here.

Mister P enjoys writing erotica, discussing politics, manufacturing queening stools, and counseling submissive men on the unique challenges they face. He and his wife Mistress Roulette host the Diary of a Dominatrix Podcast. Mister P is also the maker of the Queening Stool.