Chapter 1: The Move-In

Monday, the second day of December. I went to work as usual that day, where I am the Chief Operating Officer of a privately-owned finance company. I have my own corner office and a secretary, and I'm treated with respect as befits my lofty position. I answer only to the owner of the company, and the four hundred employees report to people who report to people who report to me. I'm known as a man who is fair but demanding and is extremely savvy and succesful. I've done an excellent job of hiding the fact that I want to kneel at the feet of every pretty woman in the company and lick the sweat from between her toes as she beats me viciously. I've practiced for years.

As I've told in the story before this, there is one exception, and that is a young woman who works for the company, a teenage intern named Heather, eighteen, red-haired, beautiful, short but very curvy and with teensy, tiny feet, who happens to be the owner's daughter. And also happens to be a good friend of Martha and Jackie. Heather knows about my true self, and while we keep this utterly private in the office, this fact is always hanging unseen in the atmosphere whenever Heather and I are in the same room within the building. If her father knew that I, his right-hand man, had not only licked his young daughter's feet but had also eaten her shit, drunk her piss, and been whipped to bleeding by her, I believe he would have some issues.

So, we keep it secret.

Today, this first day of my Princess's moving into my home with Jackie to take ownership of me, was altogether a normal day at work. I supressed the anticipation of what awaited me after work as a hectic day unfolded. But a couple times during the day, Heather made sure to discretely tease me with her knowledge. Just before lunch, as I was alone in my office on a conference call, she walked in as I was responding via speakerphone to a client's question and she closed the door behind her. With a devilish smirk on her face, she twisted the lock and pulled up a chair just a few feet to my right. She placed her high-heeled black boots on my desk, one each to the right and left of the telephone I was talking to, and let me see that she'd put a post-it note on the bottom of each sole. The note on the left said "Reach in and take off my panties" and the one on the right said "... and put them on your head with the crotch over your nose."

She kept smiling as I kept on talking into the phone, nonchalantly, not letting my suddenly-elevated heartbeat be betrayed by my voice. She spread her legs and grinned. She scooted forward and got her skirted crotch wide open and close to me. Her sheer black panties were within reach, and I hooked two fingers under the center as she lifted her ass so I could slide them off over a bootheel. Her bare pussy, fringed with wispy red curls, was revealed. I saw that she was swollen and damp there.

Without missing a beat in my business speech, I pulled her panties over my head and adjusted them so that her dampness could be felt on my nose and lips. Her juices, so fragrant and raw, flooded my nostrils in scent as my heart jackhammered and I finished my sentence. I put the phone on mute and exhaled loudly as she giggled.

"Keep them on until the call's done!" she tinkered at me as she sashayed away, pantiless, locking the door behind her as she left.

I finished the call with a rock-hard boner filling the hard steel cup of my chastity belt. I hadn't come for thirty-one days.

When the call was over, I took off her panties and stuck the moist, aromatic wisp into my pocket and went back to work. Eventually the boner shrunk as I got into spreadsheets.

Late in the afternoon, the owner called a quick conference in his office of all the top people. As always, I sat to his right, and as was now common, his daughter sat behind him and took meeting notes on a laptop. As an intern, she was responsible for typing out the minutes. But where she sat made her able to look at me discretely without anyone else seeing her. As the meeting droned on from "short" to "medium", she slowly used the toe of one of her tiny black ankle boots to slide the other boot off her foot. Her now-bare sole was pointed at me. She began to waggle it, knowing I could see, but that nobody else could, for the entire remainder of the meeting. A total tease.

When the meeting broke up, it was time to go home and begin the first night of my new life. I'd arranged for movers to bring all of Martha's meager possessions from her mother's house to our new home. She'd been there all day with the moving men, arranging her new home as she pleased. I'd left her with the keys to my second car, a new silver Porsche, and had arranged for Jackie's apartment to be moved in as well by another crew of men. Jackie had her own car, a beaten-up old Mustang. Princess's car, given to her by her previous conquest, was sold off a while back and the Porsche would now be hers.

My instructions upon arriving home were simple: strip, put on my collar, and kneel on the rug in the front foyer to await my Princess's orders.

My cock throbbed more and more with every minute of the twenty-mile ride home. I cursed the traffic. It was after seven and dark when I keyed the code that opened the front gate to my driveway, and the heavy iron barrier slid electrically open to admit me. I drove up the cobblestone path to the four-car garage on the side of the large manse, parked my black Escalade, and walked around to the front doors of my three-story, six-bedroom-seven bathroom brick saltbox. The first floor foyer fed into a wide marble staircase with arches to the huge dining hall on the left and massive living room/theatre room on the right. The kitchen lay behind the staircase, and there were a few smaller rooms such as my den, a library, a bathroom, a solarium, and storage attached to the rear of the house. An enclosed pool, heated, with a hot tub attached lay off the rear deck. Upstairs off the central hall were four large bedrooms with attached baths to the left and two huge bedrooms with baths to the right. There was also a smaller staircase to the third floor, which was split into a gigantic gymnasium/dance floor on the left and a smaller writing room/office with skylights and an arch window to the right. Above that was the attic, an unfinished area filled with stored items... and also a hidden room I'd built up there. My secret torture chamber that I'd used in the past whenever I'd broken down with lust and hired a pro dominatrix or two. It was windowless, soundproofed, climate-controlled and supremely equipped. I'd even had the floor done in slate and the walls in old red brick. It lay behind a false wall and could be opened only by finding a tiny concealed keyhole behind an old harpsichord.

On the other extreme of the building lay the basement, which was unfinished but clean and dry, and which stored lawn and yard equipment as well as my fully-stocked and tooled workshop. And another hidden feature. Behind a fake end-wall was another secret room, a room I'd built but never used, a room that I'd put in over several months of weekends as a "just-in-case" my fantasies ever materialized. It was a small brick-walled room containing a tiny steel-bared prison cell in one corner and a small comfortable lounge area surrounding this. Perfect for a jailer to relax while tending to her confined slave, there was a large-screen TV and audio-video equipment as well as a stocked wet-bar and seating area with dual recliners and sofa all of leather. Plus a refrigerator and a secret dumbwaiter up to the kitchen. Inside the four-by-seven cell there was nothing but a steel bed bolted to the floor, a stainless steel toilet, sink, and toilet-paper rack. And shackles of heavy iron bolted to the walls and floor as well as a suspension rack hanging from a motorized ceiling pulley.

Both the attic and basement secret rooms were completely covered by sixteen hidden high-definition cameras with expensive microphones. Each recording system could be controlled via a control board and editing computer. In the basement the board was behind the bar and could be rolled out like a desk, and in the attic the set-up was folded into the wall and could be dropped down to form another fully-equipped outlay.

I thought of these two rooms as I put my hand on the cold brass knob of the front door to my now-shared home. I saw lights both upstairs and downstairs, and I heard music playing in the theatre room to the right. I heard Jackie's happy voice as she yelled something unintellgible to Martha. The Porsche was parked in the driveway, and Jackie's Mustang had been in the garage. There were no other vehicles, so I assumed that the movers had finished the job and departed. I was correct.

I opened the door and enjoyed the warm air that rushed out. The front foyer was lit only by refracted light coming from the kitchen behind the marble stairs before me and from the theatre room through the stone archway to my right. I noticed that the basement door, built into the side of the staircase and opening onto a stairway downward of its own, stood open and that the lights were on down there.