Problems, Problems, Solutions, Solutions

by Aurora

Copyright© 2008 by Aurora

Sex Story: The Engineer needs more lateral thinking. The story develops those previously posted.

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Consensual   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Spanking   Light Bond   Black Female   Pregnancy   BBW   .

Just when you think you’ve got everything sorted, all systems running exactly as they should be, and everybody knowing and doing what they should, something will go wrong. Sods law. My old granny always used to greet this kind of thing with a sage nod and say, ‘shit happens even in Kansas’. And then she’d giggle. I have no idea why she said this, because to my certain knowledge she had never been to Kansas; in fact I would be surprised if she even knew where it was. She had certainly never been further abroad than a day trip to Paris. When someone mentioned Americans, that is those from the United States, she would always say, as did many of her generation, ‘Over paid, over sexed and over here”. And then she’d have another giggle. This was a saying that had been current in the later part of the second world war when she had been in her late teens to early twenties. I strongly suspect that she had benefited from some of the additional pay, and attentions of a not entirely unwelcome nature in the course of providing certain ... ah, shall we say ‘comforts’ for fit young men, very pleasurable I’m sure, whilst the rest of the country was benefiting from their presence as fighting men.

But then she’d also tell us that that there had been Russian troops in London in 1942, because her friend had seen them. She knew they were Russians apparently, because they had snow on their boots.

So even my guesses could be wrong, and just because dad could do a very passable Yankee accent, and let’s face it with the number of Hollywood pictures he and mum went to see when they were courting - the local fleapit having double seats in the back row - this is, frankly my dear, not entirely surprising. And if Granny and Gramps had got married in what appeared to be a bit of a hurry, there is no reason to jump to conclusions. Gramps was, after all, a Royal Marine commando, and stationed not too far from home at about the right time. Bicycling distance for a young man with a stiffy you could do pole vault with for sure.

So when Felice rang my mobile – we use mobiles around the place because they are so much easier - to tell me we had a visitor I had no inkling of the trouble that was in store, or indeed that, as is often the case, some sharp and lateral thinking would be called for to provide a solution.

The morning hadn’t started well because I had discovered that Joanna, my daughter, had been pulling a train in the car park of the Mucky Duck the night before. The pub is really called the Black Swan, but since everybody knows it as the Mucky Duck, if a stranger asks for the Black Swan they are liable to get a blank look. This makes people think that the locals aren’t too bright, which in a few cases has a good foundation in fact. I was somewhat pissed off by Joanna’s attitude when I remonstrated with her.

“I can’t get more pregnant than I am,” she snarled.

“You will do, you’re only a couple of months along, and you can catch a lot of things too,” I told her. “Especially off one or two of those yobbos. What do you want to do, name the child Chlamydia?”

Her reply couldn’t be spelt let alone printed, and I frog marched her to the dungeon, where she decided that her clothing allowance wouldn’t stretch to the total loss of her outfit, so she stripped herself. I should explain that the dungeon is really part of the outbuildings of the house that were originally a barn and stables and coach house with a flat over. These had been converted into an office, a workshop and a storage and dispatch area for our range of up market bondage items. These, together with a range of corsetry, much made to order for specific um ... body shapes, and containing certain additional items that would not normally be included in foundation garments, but allowed the wearer to be restrained, made up the present business, all of which is mail order. The dungeon is just a sound proofed room in this complex used for research and development. Or sorting out recalcitrant daughters, wives, or girlfriends.

“I don’t deserve this,” she said, as I attached her to the restraint frame.

“Yes, you do,” I replied. “This isn’t just for last night, or this morning. You’ve been asking for it for the last few weeks.”

“I will not be gagged,” she said, between clench teeth.

I reached around her from the back and caught a nipple between fore finger and thumb nail and gave a sharp squeeze.

“Ow...” and silence as the ball went into her mouth.

“And I will not have you waking the neighbourhood, you never know when we might have visitors.”

There was a snarl from behind the gag.

It was at this point that my phone rang. Diana and Ruth, my two lovely slaves, both now new mums, were at work, with the babies, at their gym, but the screen showed the call came from the house phone line. With the problems of the morning I had forgotten that Felice my gorgeous accountant was coming in, and had arrived during the time that I was in the dungeon attending to Joanna. Felice had just started work when there was a caller.

“There is a lady from the council to see you.” She told me.

“I’ll be right there.”

And I shut the door leaving Joanna to await her fate.

I entered the office to find a smartly dressed woman practically drooling over Felice. She turned to face me. Now, dog turds are not in any way sentient, and are, therefore, not blessed with feelings. However, if they were, particularly when stuck to the bottom of your shoe in the middle of an expensive carpet, I would know exactly how they felt. All of this was contained in the woman’s expression. Here, it said, is a man.

“I am Miss Forsyth, the planning enforcement officer from the South Mummerset District Council,” she stated importantly.

Oh bollocks!

I stuck out my hand. “Delighted to meet you, how can I help?”

The hand was ignored.

“You have been carrying out building and development work here and you have not notified the Council.”

“I don’t think that anything has been done that would warrant an application to the council, either for planning permission or building regulation approval,” I lied, knowing full well that it had.

“I shall be the judge of that.”

“Well,” I said, “let me show you around and you shall indeed judge. We have done nothing to the house since the alterations were carried out about five years ago, and I see you have plans of that in your file. If you would like to look around here, I will show you what has been done to these outbuildings.”

“I understand that you have created a new dwelling unit.”

Now it was coming together. Despite Mel telling me that everyone in the local village was shagging everyone else, that was not, as one would expect, entirely true. There was a clique, who largely comprised the parish council, who were too dried up or up tight, and who objected to both our life style, and to the merchandise that we made and sold. I was aware that questions had been asked at the council meetings as to what could be done, but it was now apparent that things had gone further, and the district council had been asked to take an interest.

Whilst I claim to have good negotiating and arbitration skills, when it comes to local authorities, particularly with the involvement of my personal affairs, things are slightly different. Basically my belief is that you only get a job with a local council if you cannot get a proper job anywhere else. And I include in proper jobs being a pianist in a brothel. So you see I rate politicians, estate agents, tabloid hacks and snake oil salesmen all above local council employees. Particularly those from the Planning or Building Control departments.

But, of course, along with the aforementioned skills in negotiation and arbitrage, as a practical engineer I have also been in sales and marketing, so smiling and concealing my real thoughts is second nature. And smile I did, despite being confronted by a woman who might just as well have had an embroidered badge from the Sorority of Lesbos on her sleeve. Dyke Division.

I took a good look at the woman. She was about thirty five years old, no lightweight, but then she was quite tall and carried it well. She wasn’t fat, but well muscled, I thought, with big tits and wide hips. Dressed in a dark blue pant suit she had an attractive face with very short fair hair. If she had smiled I could almost fancy her, but then I’m known for my eclectic tastes

“All we have done,” I said, “is to refurbish existing accommodation which has been here since the house was built, although not used for some time. The lady who occupies it isn’t here at present.” Wendy was away visiting her mother with Mel, “So I can show you, if you would like to follow me.”

We went up to the flat. There were various questions asked regarding insulation and drainage. She clearly knew her stuff, but there are ways of doing a job and there are ways ... I’m sure you know what I mean. And then:

“I want to see the rest of this building.”

So I took her down and showed her the workshop, the office she had already seen, the dispatch area with its shelving and packaging materials, tables and stock computers

“And what’s in here?” She said, ahead of me and suddenly opening the door to the dungeon.

OH, SHIT. I had completely forgotten about Joanna, who now presented a pretty sight splayed naked and gagged on the restraint frame.

I was at this point standing behind Miss Forsyth. She groaned and moved a step forward. Then she dropped her brief case, a file folder spilling its contents across the floor, and she made her way forward rather zombie like to stand in front of Joanna. She dropped to her knees and buried her face in Joanna’s crotch. Joanna’s eyes were bulging as she looked at me, and I spread my hands out, palm up and shrugged my shoulders. Gobsmacked. But not for long. I pushed the door shut, and grabbed my phone from my pocket, almost like a monkey trying to get nuts out of a jar in my haste. Bluetooth enabled, the pictures I was taking were going straight to my computer. Nice to know when you’re off the hook.

Joanna was responding nicely to a lady who must have had a long tongue, and definitely knew how to use it. I got the impression that a few mimutes later they had a simultaneous orgasm. Good for them. Particularly good because I released Joanna who was clasping hold of Miss Forsyth, Annette, as I had noticed on her briefcase, and I was able to cuff the lady and stand her up before she became compus mentis again, clipping her to the frame.

With her arms secured above her head, and Joanna starting to remove her pants, she suddenly became aware of her predicament.

Too late.

I held her eyes. “Are you going to make a noise?”

She shook her head.

Joanna had her pants off and I was undoing her jacket before she really began to realise what was happening.

“Noo, don’t ... what are you doing?”

Being a tall woman she was able to stand on the floor with her wrists secured and Joanna had to lift her feet onto the rests, and clip her ankle cuffs to the frame. She was now wearing just her jacket, undone to reveal a magnificent brassiere, something that with Wendy’s skills in corsetry I had come to appreciate, and a pair of silk French knickers.

“I can’t wear those,” said Joanna, who had removed her ball gag. Note to self to design one that cannot be removed by the wearer. “They disappear up into my bum crack.”

“You seem alright with a thong flossing your anus,” I told her, somewhat absently because of the vision before me.

I picked up the scissors, it seemed a shame but, as Annette watched with saucer eyes I snipped the bra between her tits. The pieces fell to either side to reveal a stupendous pair of tits. They had dropped under their own weight, but not a lot and I was able to lean forward and pay homage to such a wonder with my tongue and my fingers. She groaned.

Joanna removed the scissors from my hand and exercised them on her knickers to reveal, as I stepped back to look, the hairiest crotch I had ever seen. I kicked my stool into place, dropped my trousers and pants revealing a cock that could have been used to bore holes in granite, stepped up and in one thrust entered the tightest cunt that had passed my way yet.

“Nooo...” She groaned, “I don’t do men.”

“Thank Christ for that,” I replied, “neither do I.”

As I thrust up into her, Joanna stepped around the back a laid a couple of fairly gentle lashes on the lady’s ample posterior. These had an amazing effect, and as I fountained up into her she had another long and loud orgasm. Followed by sobbing.

Joanna and I released her.

“Umm ... sorry about your bra and knickers,” I ventured.

The sobbing turned into, “Oh god, what have I done?”

“Well, nothing anyone around here is going to say anything about.”

“But you took photographs!”

“Ye – es. But you don’t really think we would use them do you?”

She looked at me.

“Put it this way, Nettie. We haven’t done anything that is really much to worry about, so why should you worry about what you have done?”

“So,” she said, “I scratch your back and you’ll scratch mine?”

“I think we could say ‘These are not the droids you’re looking for’ don’t you? And I really am sorry about the...”

“Yes,” she said crisply, “I don’t think we need worry about that.” And she stood up, pulled her pants on and did up her jacket.

We passed the office and she said, “I’ll write a report that will show that there is nothing here that contravenes any regulations. That isn’t too much of a lie. I’ll wish you good day.”

I glanced down at her crotch. “I pass home on my way back to the office.” She said, and left.

I went into the office to talk to Felice and engage her attention whilst Joanna made a naked dash for the house. She seems to make a habit of that.

Felice said nothing, but I could tell she was itching to know what had gone on, and I was determined to say nothing.

It was about a week later that there was a sequel to this. I had been quizzed over the affair first by Joanna, who was somewhat bemused by what had happened, although had enjoyed it in the finish, and second by Ruth and Diana. They knew something had gone on, because when she called in at the gym Felice was brimming over with the fact that something had happened but she didn’t know what. I didn’t want Felice to know, because as far as I knew she was not party to what went on. Silly me, with a couple of blabber mouths like Ruth and Diana that was a faint hope.

I was sitting alone in the office when a car drew up, and out got Miss Forsyth, Annette has I had discovered.

I opened the door for her and asked her in. She seemed rather out of sorts and a little tongue tied so I sat her down and gave her a mug of coffee. With a little something to keep out the winter chill added.

“You’ve come to talk to me,” I said, “so you’ve got to say something.”


“Shortage of underwear?” I tried a joke.

I was somewhat shocked when she burst into tears.

“OK, that wasn’t funny.” I gave her a tissue from the box on my desk. You were a bit shocked at what happened?”

She nodded. Contact!

“And since you’re a lesbian you don’t know what to make of it,” I hazarded.



“And I’m a man and you hate men, we only want to go round sticking our vile private parts into women and ... that sort of thing?”


Fuck, but this was hard work.

“Have you ever thought that not all men are like that, that some men treasure women, love them, worship the ground the walk on?” Laying it on a bit thick, but never mind. “And have you considered that what happened last week was a bit out of the ordinary?”


Time to try a question that couldn’t be answered yes. “What did you feel?”

“I don’t know. I don’t like men, and one gave me an orgasm, and I was beaten.” Oh hardly. “But that girl ... she was just so...”

“Nice? Perfect? Too good to pass up?”

“All off those and much more.”

I went over to her and knelt in front of her chair so that I could look at her. I lifted her chin so that we had eye contact.

“Had you thought that what went on was just sex? Not love, nothing to do with the fact that I’m a man, or that you’re a lesbian. Had you thought that gay men can have children with women if they want, but prefer men, in the same way you prefer other girls?”

“What about that girl? Why was she there?”

I explained in some detail why Joanna had been there, that it was accidental and that it hadn’t been set up to catch her, Nettie that is, I finally got out of her that the diminutive her partner used was Nettie as I had thought. Yes, she had a partner too.

“How do I know that I’m really a lesbian?”

“Oh come on now, you’re what, thirty five? I’d have thought you were pretty certain by now. I’m not trying to convert you, I don’t believe that that can be done. But you might be bi, my wife and her friend are. You don’t go to the gym do you?”


“Then you’ll know Diana and Ruth.”

“That have just had babies? But they’re not...” and she trailed off.

“Yes, Diana is my wife, and so is Ruth really. You may have noticed their collars?” She nodded. “They are in fact my slaves, and we all love each other.”

“Oh” She sat thinking.

“I’ll tell you what, if you are still worried about it then I’ll take you off to bed now, and if you don’t have an orgasm you’ll know, won’t you?”

This was of course utter bollocks as well I knew, but I was feeling a bit frisky by this time, and I felt Nettie owed me for trying to sort her out. And I reckoned it’d be rather fun to get my hands around those big tits again. And I remembered that very tight passage.

“Would you do that?”

I took her hand and pulled her out of the chair and into a very deep kiss with lots of tongue. When we broke off I took her over to the house and up to the master bedroom.

I removed her clothing one piece at a time over about five or ten minutes, kissing each area that was exposed and enjoying the feel of her ample but firm flesh. I told her just how beautiful she was, and just how much she had to give to anyone she made love to. By the time we were both naked, and Nettie was laid on the bed, she was dripping juice and I proceeded to gently remove it, ending up with my tongue and lips applied to her lower lips and her clitoris. She was an extremely sensual woman, and it didn’t take above five minutes for her to orgasm. And then again, several times. Eventually I crawled up over her.

“Do I have to do that to you?”

“Not if you don’t want to, you only do things you like.”

And I gently entered her, at the same time deeply kissing her, and blow me she was off again. A few minutes and I was finished for the moment.

We lay there quietly, me playing with her ample assets.

“I’m not a lesbian after all.”

“Oh yes, I think you are, but you’re also a very sexual being, you just prefer girls as partners.”

“Hmm ... what am I going to tell Annie?”


“Oh! My partner. She’s Annette too.”

“Now there I’ve no idea.”

We tried the orgasm thing again, just to see if she was a lesbian you understand, but she definitely had orgasms by me, so what you’d call that I don’t know. Normal, I should think. I know what to call me after that though. Bloody knackered, the woman was insatiable.

It was perhaps six weeks later that I met up with Nettie again, but before that quite a lot happened. When Felice came in the next day she could barely speak to me. About eleven o’clock I made some fresh coffee and sat a mug down in front of her.

“Tell me all about it.”

Silence. What is it with these women?

“Trouble with your love life?”

There was a sniff.

“Trouble is I don’t have one.”

“That should be easy enough for you to cure.”

“What do I have to do? Plead? You’re quite happy to shag that dyke.” How the hell did she know about that – how did anyone come to that. Unless ... Joanna. Hmm... “But do you want me? What is it, put off by the black skin? Doesn’t Massa wanna shag the li’l black girl?”

There was more in this vein, gradually pissing me off more and more. I don’t have a colour prejudiced bone in my body, and I mean, if she was that keen all she had to do was ask, that’s all Nettie had done.

I grabbed hold of her and stood her up, pushing her along the corridor.

“Do you know what is in here?” I asked shoving her into the dungeon.

I grabbed a couple of cuffs and in seconds had them on her wrists. There was a short struggle and she was secured to the frame.

“I don’t like girls wearing trousers,” I said, “because it makes it difficult to get straight to business.”

I unbuttoned her jeans, although she was kicking a bit, and shoved them down her legs. Unlike Nettie, Felice was quite short, so she was already on tip toe. She had low heeled shoes on that simply fell off and then I slid her jeans off too. I put ankle cuffs on and then moved her feet out to secure her.

She had been silent so far.

“What are you going to do?”

The question was so predictable that you could almost write the script beforehand.

“You’ll see.”

I picked up the scissors.

“Are you going to cut my clothes off.”


“You only had to ask, I’d have stripped willingly.”

She was wearing a pretty embroidered tee shirt. But not for long. It slipped off to reveal a pair of perfectly shaped braless tits, the dark nipples standing out firmly. That just left her thong. I snipped the waistband at the back either side of the join with the bit that came up between her bum cheeks. Then I went round the front and gently pulled it through. She squealed.

“You only had to ask too. Instead of which you decide to act like a spoiled brat and insult me. So now you are going to get what horrid brats deserve. And come to think of it li’l black girls allus gits whupped by the Massa.”

I didn’t realise that a black, or in Felice’s case a beautiful dark oak coloured skin could get lighter, but I can assure you that Felice certainly did.

“Whipped? She quavered.


I picked up a whip.

“What do you think we sell these things for, pub decoration?”

I laid the first stroke across her left bum cheek.

She shrieked. I keep forgetting the ear defenders.

And the right one.

“When you say that you are sorry, I’ll think about stopping.

Back of left thigh, back of right thigh.

“I’m sorry,” she blubbed.

Front of left thigh.

“You said you’d stop,” she shrieked.

“I said I’d think about it.”

Front of right.

“Bastard,” she screamed.

“Want to see my birth certificate?”

I rested for a moment.

“Are you really sorry? And are you going to accuse me of prejudice again? Because the only woman who has been attached to this frame that hasn’t had the same as you was Wendy, and that is because she wanted to find out what Mel was in for. Oh, come to think of it Nettie didn’t either, but that was for different reasons. I hadn’t tried to seduce you before because you are so beautiful that I was enjoying just looking and talking to and being with you. Not because I fancied some dyke rather than you.”

“Yes, I promise I am really sorry.”

I now used one of the options on the frame that I had rarely used before. The frame itself is basically circular and it can swivel about a vertical axis, and rotate about a horizontal one. I used the latter and Felice ended up upside down with her crotch at exactly face level. I leaned in and began to make a meal of it. Felice didn’t have a lot of hair, and probably had the neatest cunt I’d seen, almost nothing projecting. But in this position everything accessible. She had a delightful aroma and I wasn’t aware before just how much a body could flex in this position. And flex it did as she came, and came again. I stepped back, dropped my trousers and kicked them off, then rotated her back upright. As I suspected none of her juices had escaped and as I entered her there was almost a fountain of juices spurted out. I reached up and released her wrists, gripping her around her bum I bent my knees and released her ankles. Still fully embedded in her I walked across to the house and up to the master bedroom, by which time she had come several more times. A little later we stopped for a light lunch, and then resumed. We had just finished a long shower when Diana and Ruth arrived home. They walked into the shower room and took over from me. I took over from them later in the evening. I had looked after the babies for a while but there were certain things that I was simply not physically capable of. I just hope they’d left enough milk for them.

Felice went home late in a borrowed tee shirt.

We had one small recidivist act from Mel, but when I suggested that instead of the whip we could use a cane, and if the modelling agency wanted stripes they’d probably book a zebra, she apologised to her mum and nothing more needed to be said.

The other problem that we encountered was that caused by success. Wendy simply couldn’t cope with the orders. We had a second machine, but although like most other things, I could sew, I’m not that good – it takes practise – and I had plenty of other things to do.

Mel had decided to attend the local art college. I say local, but it was about twenty miles away in a large seaside town. The college covered all arts, from fine art, graphic and illustration and textiles to performing arts, and it was to the latter that Mel was attracted. I was acting as father to her, her own not being much use, and she didn’t want to see him anyway. She was really getting into acting, whilst using the modelling to provide finance, which was very good. She was so into it that I reckoned if we got her on the frame, she would have been pleading in Shakespearean tones and shrieking in tune. A keen student is worth a lot. Bloody drama queen too.

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