Chapter 14: Deanna's Day

George turned up to collect Allison at exactly eight o'clock. He always tried to be prompt, he thought to himself. It wasn't just that Allison had been so firm about the arrangements or that George was half wondering whether she might have recognised him at Erica's after all.

Allison opened the door. George was almost disappointed. She was dressed in a pale green sweater and a dark brown skirt, quite a difference from the outfit that he had seen her in at Erica's. "But what did you expect," he said to himself, "a leather catsuit?"

"I'm sorry?" Allison's words snapped George's attention back as he realised he'd been muttering to himself.

"Err, Cat, I saw a cat. On the road," George said quickly, recovering. "I wondered if it was yours."

Allison looked at him as though he was behaving more than a little oddly. "No," she said, "I don't have a cat."

"Well, let's go," George thought it would be better to change the subject. "Did you have anywhere in mind, because if not..."

"Yes, I did, actually," Allison said. "I do like Italian food so I thought we could try that new restaurant in town."

George was quite relieved at not having to make the decision. "Yes," he said. "That's an excellent idea."

As it turned out, George and the newly assertive Allison had a pleasant evening. Once George settled down to the idea that this was just a dinner and that Allison had no idea that he had been the hooded slave she had been encouraged to bind so effectively, they discovered a shared interest in Italian art as well as food and that they had both enjoyed visits to Florence and Pisa.

And then the evening was over. What George had half expected to be an ordeal and half expected to be some preamble to an erotic excursion with Allison's dominatrix alter-ego had tuned into a perfectly ordinary, pleasant, evening out with good food and pleasant company. George was slightly disappointed when Allison didn't invite him in for a coffee at the end of the evening (As they had driven back from the restaurant, he'd had visions of himself waiting on her and crouching at her feet while she drank it.) but in spite of that he had to admit he'd had an enjoyable time. "Well," he said as the two said goodnight at her doorway. "I hope you had a good evening. I certainly did."

Allison smiled, obviously pleased by the success of the approach that Erica had encouraged her to adopt. "Yes, George," she said. "I did. We'll do it again sometime soon."

George said good night. It was only when he got back in the car that he realised that she hadn't seemed to allow him much of a choice about whether or not they did it again sometime soon.

It was Deanna that greeted George on his next visit to Erica's consulting rooms. She stood in the training room that he had been directed to, arms folded, wearing a short pleated skirt and a tee-shirt, knee-length socks and high heeled shoes and carrying, with an air of threat, a short thick riding crop. Her smile of amusement did nothing to put George at his ease as he arrived. George was very much concerned that she might be out to take her revenge. She couldn't have enjoyed the humiliation of being punished by Erica for taking advantage of his inexperience, George thought.

"Well," she said, "it seems I have to be careful with you. I wouldn't wish to do anything that Erica might feel was out of order, would I?" George nodded in a non-committal way, feeling that it would do little good to try to defend himself, and besides, that anything he did say was likely to cause more trouble. "All right," she said, "it seems we need a demonstration slave for one of Mistress Erica's training sessions and you're it. So, get stripped off and put on your hood and report back here. And get a move on. Mistress doesn't like her clients to be kept waiting."

George didn't need any further encouragement, if Mistress Erica was going to be involved. He started to strip off. Deanna watched him with undisguised distaste. "You've put on some weight, haven't you?" she said as he dropped his trousers.

"Err, I'm not sure Mistress," George replied. He wasn't sure if her remarks were simply the prelude to another verbal haranguing or the start of some other penalty or programme of humiliation.

"Still at least that makes you comfortable, I suppose."

George was puzzled by her remarks. He never felt comfortable when Deanna was around. Things were much too likely to take a turn for his further discomfort, he thought.

"Over there!" Deanna ordered. "On the couch. On your back."

Reluctant to do anything that might annoy Deanna further, Gorge did as he was told quickly. He might have taken more time if he realised that Deanna intended to secure him to the couch. No sooner was he stretched out than she reached underneath and pulled out leather cuffs fastened by chains to the couch. She strapped them in place about his wrists and ankles, rendering him helpless.

Laying on his back, naked and chained, George felt particularly vulnerable. Anxious as to what Deanna might do, he looked as on she consulted her watch. "There," she said, "ready in plenty of time. I can put my feet up for a bit."

She strolled across to the couch. As George looked up in concern she flipped up the back of her skirt and lowered her backside squarely onto his face. Deanna was slightly built but even so her weight was not something George ever expected to bear in this way. He gasped and grunted as she sat and then struggled trying to catch his breath as she wriggled herself in an attempt to find a more comfortable position — for herself at least.

In George's efforts to catch his breath he quite forgot that Deanna's expression 'put my feet up' might have been meant to be taken literally. After a few minutes of being smothered under her admittedly small buttocks, he was suddenly aware of increased pressure as she swung her feet clear of the floor and then a stabbing pain as first her right foot came down on his belly, jabbing the heel into him and then the second landed close to his groin. His reaction was to buck in discomfort but this had little effect beyond pressing his face hard against Deanna's back side. "Keep still!" she snapped, taking a cut at the side of his body with her riding crop. "I'll tell you if I want you to do anything with that fat face of yours."

George could hardly breathe. The holes in the hood for his nose and mouth were sufficient normally but Deanna's weight and the press of her panties against him made it ever more difficult to catch his breath. Every so often Deanna would move and he would get the opportunity to gulp in some air but he soon found that his best strategy was to lay as still as possible, ignoring as far as he could, the stabbing sensations from Deanna's high heels on his belly and crotch.

The combination of the pressure from Deanna's weight, the smothering effect of her arse and the overwhelming scent of her body filling his nostrils was pushing George close to the edge of unconsciousness when he heard Erica's voice. "I see you have everything ready. Good."