Title: He Fell In a Crumpled Heap at Her Feet - Author: Kirstie Taylor
Published: May 2, 2013 - Contact:
All characters and terms refer to people over the age of consent
With hot shows on all three floors there was something for everybody at Madam Dorothy's Club.
The audience had gathered in front of the stage ready to watch the delightful show that was about to start on the third floor. Amongst the audience was Barry Wallace. He'd gone out of pure curiosity, never having been to a show like this before.
Come to Madam Dorothy's Club for the time of your life, said the advert.
The show that was to be staged on the third floor was one of female domination, something that had always intrigued Barry. He'd read lots of articles on female domination in various books and magazines but had never actually indulged himself in any acts with dominating females. In his job as Managing Director, he had to make lots of important decisions. In a way he was a dominating figure at work. He had lots of women working under him. Perhaps he found the idea of being dominated by a woman rather exciting.
As the lights began to dim he got the impression that certain members of the audience were going to be humiliated and degraded.
When Madam Dorothy came on stage a gasp spread throughout the entire audience. Her appearance was enough to strike terror in the hearts of even the most macho of men. Dressed in her tight leather black bikini and knee-high black leather boots it looked as though she was set for some merciless cruelty, a wicked-looking riding whip in her hand.
In the centre of the stage there was a long wooden bench, ankle shackles at one end and wrist shackles at the other.
Barry was absolutely terrified when Madam Dorothy came down amongst the audience.
"I hope she doesn't come anywhere near me," he said rather nervously to the gentleman standing next to him.
And lo and behold, that's exactly what she did. Before Barry could say another word, Madam Dorothy grabbed hold of his arm and dragged him on to the stage to the tumultuous cheers of the crowd.
With her lips curling back in an animalistic snarl, her boobs heaving, straining her bikini top to its limits, Madam Dorothy ordered Barry to strip naked, whip cracking to the stage floor, inches from his feet.
"Do as I say, slave! Show any signs of resistance and I'll whip your arse!"
To the cracking sound of the whip Barry removed his clothes, frantically fumbling, trembling with fear. What had he let himself in for He only came to the show out of curiosity and now here he was in front of the entire audience being forced to strip, the cruel audience loving every moment of it, chanting ecstatically.
In a matter of seconds Barry was reduced to Madam Dorothy's raw naked slave. In front of the audience he stood completely in the nude, totally vulnerable. With his eyes fixed upon the terrifying whip he covered his cock and balls. Madam Dorothy cracked the whip inches from his feet and ordered him to remove his hands. He complied.
This is where the humiliation really started. With hundreds of eyes staring at him, Madam Dorothy ordered him to put on a black lacy bra and a pair of matching knickers cut high in the thigh. Not wishing to be whipped, Barry obeyed her command, putting on the bra and knickers to the teasing laughter of the audience. The men were whistling and jeering, the women calling him names as he pranced about the stage under Madam's command, prancing and skipping gaily in his girlie underwear. Like a big girl he skipped around the stage, skipping in his knickers and bra, and as he skipped the chanting grew louder and louder.
With a wicked grin Madam Dorothy pushed him to the stage floor.
He fell in a crumpled heap at her feet.
Madam Dorothy ordered him to rise. With his body shaking he rose to his feet.
The audience were now right up against the stage, so much were they enjoying the show.
Madam Dorothy produced a pair of black stilettos. The heels must have been a good 6 inches. Barry thought to himself: if she thinks I'm going to wear those she's got another think coming.
Madam Dorothy handed him the shoes.
"I'm not putting those on!" Barry said defiantly, hands on hips.
There was a loud gasp from the audience.
Madam Dorothy cracked the whip and turned Barry's face towards the shackled bench. Getting the message, Barry stepped into the black 6 inch heeled stilettos. Madam Dorothy took him to the edge of the stage and ordered him to walk back and to from one end of the stage to the other. Amongst the sea of grabbing hands Barry walked, his knicker-clad bum wiggling uncontrollably as he did so. Madam Dorothy gave a mocking whistle and a cruel laugh as Barry was forced to parade in his bra, knickers and stilettos.
More humiliation followed as Madam Dorothy went to work with the make-up - false eyelashes, rouged cheeks, bright red lipstick, large dangling ear-rings. A long blonde wig completed the tarty image.
Madam Dorothy cracked her whip again, and once again ordered Barry to parade back and to in front of the audience. He complied, the audience going wild. Barry was a real tart exhibiting himself in front of the ecstatic audience. He had never expected anything like this. He felt privileged that he had been chosen by Madam Dorothy, privileged that he had been dragged up from the huge audience, singled out to be humiliated and degraded under the spotlight.
Back and to he walked, a first class tart. He was enjoying every minute of it, walking back and to in his stilettos as Madam Dorothy cracked her whip, swaying his hips, wiggling his bum. It was all good harmless fun. Luckily he didn't know anybody in the audience. Luckily nobody knew him. In front of the total strangers, he parading back and to in his 6 inch stilettos and bra, his cock aching to burst out of his stretched knickers. It was whilst he had his back to the audience that he quickly pulled the waistband of his knickers away from his body. The audience went wild when he turned around, three or four inches of his stiff cock sticking up above the waistband of his knickers, his bell end throbbing against his tummy.
Tomorrow he could go back to his office and nobody would ever know of his outrageous cavorting on the stage. If only his colleagues at work could see him now. If only his employees could see him now, their strict straight-faced boss usually so serious in his pin-striped suit and tie. Ha! If only they could see him now all boned up in his knickers and bra and 6 inch stilettos and wig.
He pursed his lips at the chanting audience, swayed his hips, wiggled his bottom, stroked his cock...and almost died when his Junior Assistant from work blew him a kiss.
This story is taken from my kindle book HE FELL IN A CRUMPLED HEAP AT HER FEET: TALES OF CROSS-DRESSING & FEMALE DOMINATION, available on Amazon © Kirstie Taylor 2013.