Chapter 18 : Tax Advice

George was always a little uncomfortable when it turned out to be Deanna that was charged with his next training session. There had been the early difficulties between them, of course, with the problem over CBT and TENS. George always felt Deanna blamed him for the fact that Erica had been so furious with her. And Deanna always seemed offhand in the way she dealt with him and while there was a perverse pleasure to be had from being ignored by an attractive, ruthless woman, George felt that at least there ought to be some sign that she knew he was in the room.

On this occasion it was worse than usual. She had been getting ready for one of her regular clients. She'd just got herself into the tight, leather, jump suit and stilt heel boots that her client liked her to wear when he had phoned to cancel and Erica had "suggested" that she look after George instead.

She'd insisted on him stripping off and then had ordered him into a small cage in a corner of the room. With her slave incarcerated in the locked cage she'd gone to find her handbag and pulled out an envelope. Now she was sitting at the table in the room turning over each of the sheets from the envelop one after the other and looking very worried indeed.

George, peering out through the wire mesh of his cage recognised the papers. They had the characteristic look of an annual tax demand. From Deanna's concerned look, and the way she was biting her lip, she hadn't been expecting it.

"Mistress," he called tentatively, "Mistress Deanna."

"Keep silent," she barked, "can't you see I'm busy."

George felt he shouldn't do as she ordered. "But Mistress,"

"I said keep silent!" She leapt to her feet and George knew he only had a moment or two before she would grab a ball gag and stuff it into his mouth to silence him.

"Mistress, if that is a tax demand, I may be able to help. If not I'll be quiet at once."

Deanna was standing over him as he crouched inside his cage. In one hand she held a ball gag, in the other her bundle of papers. "What if it is?" she said warily. "They want the money. I'll end up having to pay."

"Well, there may be ways of reducing what you owe. Allowances, expenses, that sort of thing."

She still looked suspicious but she let him out of his cage. "Here," she said tossing the forms to the floor in front of him. "See if you can see anything. But stay down there and," she jammed the rubber ball into his mouth and fastened the gag's strap behind his head, "keep quiet until you've got something useful to say."

George stayed on his hands and knees while Deanna found a packet of cigarettes in her handbag, pulled one out and lit it. George could see why she was worried. She owed several thousand in back taxes and not only was it already due, the dates on the form showed that it was getting perilously close to the time when without payment, court action would swiftly follow.

George was used to working on tax forms, although he wasn't so used to doing it naked, on his knees and with a two inch rubber ball in his mouth. After only a few minutes examining the forms he was confident that he could help solve Deanna's problems. He placed the forms into a neat pile in front of him and knelt as he had been taught to wait, with his back straight, his hands by his sides and his head bowed.

Deanna unfastened his gag. "Well?" she said standing directly in front of him, her arms folded.

George framed his words carefully. "I think we should be able to do something," he said. "Did you have anything that we could call business expenses to set against the income? That would help."

"It depends what you mean by business expenses." Deanna brandished her packet of cigarettes. "I get through about forty of these a day trying to keep myself sane."