Port Elliot: A Noteworthy Destination

Port Elliot: A Noteworthy Destination

Chapter 1

Greetings from Adelaide, Australia, where the present time is 10:46 AM. The current temperature is 23 degrees. We've been delighted to fly you, and we'd be thrilled to have you fly with us again in the future for your travel necessities. The cabin chimed with two high-pitched bells as a final announcement.

Aaron Cuthbert remained stationary, gazing out the small oval window. The previous day, 23 degrees had been common in his hometown of Minneapolis - in Fahrenheit, of course. There was an entirely different scenario taking place outside his observation point. In front of his eyes, people were scurrying about, and a jet was being loaded with the suitcases of travelers flying elsewhere. The perspective he'd just witnessed out of the window was nothing like what he'd seen previously, with all that snow piled high to the side and strains of ice still to melt.

The aircraft swayed slightly, bringing back the captain's voice through the cabin. They were responsible for opening the plane's doors. Aaron could not wait for the passengers to disembark in their casual exodus from the pressurized tube he'd spent 19 hours loathing. It wasn't the aircraft's fault; his comprised sentiment was directed at the whole situation.

His thumb brushed against his finger, where his wedding band had rested until a month ago, and he had uttered those fateful words, "I do." It took Aaron a month to adjust to not wearing that ring daily. Simply stated, his marital status had switched from "married" to "divorced," with all the entanglements concerning the intricate legislation just ending his part of this process. The appraisals, the splitting of the assets, the checks for his and Kasey's lawyers, the realtors, and even to Kasey wrapped up, though still awaiting final judgment.

Minneapolis ultimately turned out bleak for Aaron. A divorce amidst the coldest, darkest, most grim month made a city where he was raised and had fallen in love, felt more than depressing. It seemed to stifle, encase, and enclose him like a closure for the first-time viewer of a coffin. Divorce is nothing more than the decease of a marriage, and Aaron's ended in a snail's pace, a slow-moving, lingering disease. Maybe if Kasey had cheated on him, he'd feel less disheveled.

Staying in Minneapolis, the only place he ever lived, had turned unappealing. Hearing his colleagues offer their sympathies or characterize his ex-wife as undeserving of him had occurred so frequently. How many more times could he have listened to his wife sharing her light resignation that it wasn't his fault; her love for him had vanished? How would he handle encounters with her? How would he deal with her friends? Was he, indeed, escaping? Admittedly, he was. He traversed halfway around the globe just to flee the dismal Minnesotan winter. Fleeing the memories.

It was time for a fresh start.

Aaron had felt odd, searching the internet for locations as far away from Minneapolis as possible. Perth was the farthermost, but he found it a bit too large. He opted for Port Elliot - a small coastal city located about a drive south from where he had recently touched down. With the assets in his account, after selling their properties, he had more than enough funds to start anew. To reshape his life in a place where nobody knew the story of his aching heart or his shattered marriage of the previous year. He would find a dwelling while hunting for employment. Eventually, carefree days would filter in where 23 degrees implied shorts and a t-shirt, not heavy pants, wool jackets, scarves, hats, and gloves. Christmas movies could be experienced on a beach rather than in icy cities, and maybe he would locate someone new.

A second new experience.

The din of passengers deplaning gradually trickled through the aisle, allowing Aaron to descend the stairs and join them. He hoisted his coat above his arm, grinning slightly at the irony of carrying such a thick coat on such a splendid weather day. His tablet and cellphone were withdrawn from their tartan pouch, and down he went, joining the line in the aisle.

Slightly over an hour later, Aaron Cuthbert was managing a borrowed SUV, beginning with bewilderment upon having to steer on the contrary side than he was acclimated to, before concluding it to be a considerate challenge. This drove his mind off his divorce proceedings and onto the road. By the time he had left the metropolis and was gliding south along the A-13, he felt adept. He would attain the town well before nightfall, secure a room, and then commence his pursuit for employment as dawn broke on a brand-new chapter. What else did he desire?

The ride south was affable. He advanced through a string of tiny towns, stopping briefly for a water bottle in the hamlet of Mount Compass. The countryside all about him was filled with knolls, but he could't truly refer to them as mountains. Yet it was a soothing journey.

He kept going south with the bulk of his concentration invested in mastering driving on the side of the vehicle he deemed "wrong," every time he slipped behind the wheel. His other attention was occupied by the encompassing landscape. Aaron peered past the windshield in search of kangaroos, only to find himself dissatisfied by the sight of livestock or steers or large groups of sheep. Where were the kangaroos? After each field was incorporated into the enveloping woodland, he quieted himself, wavering onto pouting disappointment until the timberland made way to another field, still left with the same sense of discouragement.

On the radio, he caught song of a product he hadn't previously come across being sold in a municipality he hadn't before heard of. It was there, framed by trees on both sides and the sun glaring down from directly overhead that Aaron at last believed he had parted ways with Minnesota. He was definitely an alien in a hostile land, as someone named Heinlein used to penned.

Chapter 2

Ninety minutes or so later upon pushing away from Adelaide's core, Aaron meandered into Port Elliot. His GPS issued directions to his overnight lodging but because it was early in the day and the sun was shining agreeably from on high, Aaron opted for a sightseeing tour to while away the time. After all, what else did he possess? Time? Time to do all he wanted without worrying about the matters he'd abandoned or the idea that he's a coward running away from everything he'd previously known because his heart was damaged?

He ambled east along Port Elliot's major thoroughfare, North Terrace. Rolling fields on his left and squat low-rise houses to his right brought memories of the suburbs in which he'd grown up. If it hadn't been for driving on the "wrong side," he could've just as readily been in Port Elliot, Australia rather than Minnesota.

As he proceeded along the road, he first noticed a drugstore and a medical practice occupying the same construct. Up next was the Port Elliot bakery on his left, its name displayed on its metallic rooftop. He would soon discover it's where the majority of parishioners discussed: it peddled the best pies, donuts, cakes, and such, not simply in Port Elliot but throughout South Australia. On his right, he spotted the local take-out bottle shop, a peculiarity that reminded him of a McDonald's drive-through, only instead of purchasing cheeseburgers and french fries, a patron could procure their alcohol devoid of exiting their vehicle. He smirked at the thought that it might prompt drinking and driving yet knowing it didn't.

Continuing down the street, Aaron came across one of the two pubs in the city. Through the windows, he spied a couple of patrons holding up the bar. Persevering on his journey, he saw a supermarket. However, it was not typical - more like a corner store. Aaron marked its location in his mind, as it was one of the spots he'd earliest need to hit.

Going further along the street, he perceived a restaurant, a hairdresser, a chicken joint -Chicken Run- which took him back to the claymation film that had hit audiences years past. He motioned on, absorbing the surroundings. He wouldn't recall them all, something that would transpire later, but he labeled anyplace he might eventually visit. He passed a chapel, and a few other small commercial establishments. It seemed to Aaron that the town had the bare necessities, barring a gas station, but nothing luxurious. For fuel, he'd find out that he had to drive to Victor Harbour, only an 8-minute drive away.

Aaron pulled into a vacant spot, slipped out of the car, and scooped up his luggage from the boot. As the Aussies called it, not the trunk. How many more peculiar terms would he obtain, and when would they integrate into his lexicon? This proposal made him smile genuinely, the first time in a prolonged spell. He assumed he was doing the right thing after all, during that solitary moment.

Armed with his belongings, Aaron ascended the stairs to the hotel. Eyed the receptionist, a charming middle-aged lady with black hair and oversized spectacles, and did some paperwork. Handed the welcoming lady his key, an actual key, not the access key that closely resembled a credit card. Loved the vintage touch of it.

Aaron dragged his luggage up to the second floor, strolled toward room number thirteen. Not his preferred number, number four, yet thirteen was a close runner-up. Knocked on the door, revealed an average room. Aaron was not anticipating a spectacular hotel room, so he wasn't bothered by its basic nature. Just had a bed opposite a small tv. Also, a cozy chair set before a small desk installed with a notepad, an ink pen, and a brochure detailing nearby attractions of interest to tourists. Despite its unremarkableness, Aaron found it ideal. Plopped on the bed, toggled through the channels on the tv, captivated by the unfamiliarity of it all.

His rumbling stomach alerted him that dinnertime had arrived. Nursery-tired and fatigued by jet lag, Aaron desired to order something and chow down within his room. Switched on the phone and discovered an Australian app called "menulog." Verify which food was on offer. No local Port Elliot businesses on the app. Apparent he had picked a small town and needed to accustomize to small town norms. Not entirely unwelcome. Could spot a solitary pizzeria in Victor Harbour, a town 15 minutes away, and the hideous ETA on delivery was an hour. Resolute to avoid waiting that lengthy period, Aaron opted to rub shoulders with the locals. Meandered to the Port Elliot Hotel, situated next to a defunct railroad track. Though long dormant for commercial uses, each Saturday several trains shuttled passengers along the South Australian coast using this rail track. Tagged "the cockle train."

Stepped into the hotel, welcomed, and guided to a table. Relished his meal solo. Afterward, orbited the bar and conversed with the locals. His initial interaction was with Jennifer, a well-built lady in her mid-thirties. Jennifer detailed she was a lifeguard for the Surf Life Saving Club. Inquired if her place of employment had a vacancy for a lifeguard opening. Aaron, a fantastic swimmer, was confident he could carry out the job. Minnesota was a state rife with lakes, and throughout the summers, he had spent hours playing in various lakes. Winters were devoted to ice skating and hockey on the same bodies of water. Fancied a thrilling job. Passionate about the world's delights, not interested in retail roles.

Jennifer pondered at first. "Possibly we can employ you. We don't have many individuals who swim on the beach at the current moment. Then again, it's early December -the very start of Summer- and we haven't had a toasty day just yet. However, in a couple of weeks, temperatures will begin to skyrocket, and Adelaide inhabitants will flock to this area to escape the heat. When the beach becomes packed, we'll need additional lifeguards. So, why not give me a call on Monday?"

"Certainly, I will. Cheers," Aaron remarked, ecstatic that December denoted the start of Summer, unlike the horrendous winters back home. Chatted about their unlike lifestyles for the next hour. Aaron grasped the ins and outs of the train and how it chauffeured tourists along the coast, and reacquainted with the bakery. The woman who had assigned room thirteen had briefed him earlier. Called it a day at eleven, exceedingly past his typical sleeping hour, and trudged back to his hotel.

As the weekend approached and his interview with Jennifer set for Monday, Aaron decided to further explore his newly acquired home. To kick off the day, he chose to take a stroll along the main beach of Port Elliot, known as Horseshoe Bay. Upon arrival at the beach, Aaron immediately understood why it was so named. The shape of the beach literally mimicked a horseshoe.

To the right of the beach, overlooking the harbour, stood the local lawn bowls club, where a group of elderly gentlemen (all above the retirement age) were playing on an artificial grass field. He also noticed a restaurant and an ice cream parlor further along, and the Port Elliot Surf Life Saving Club, where he was set to meet Jennifer.

The beach housed a few swimmers, three young boys floating on paddle boards with higher hopes for a decent wave than the minuscule surf provided, and a couple of lifeguards keeping an eye on everything from the shore. And lastly, he spotted around two dozen people and several dogs strolling along the beach. It was surprisingly tranquil and peaceful. Taking a dip, Aaron was overcome by the warmer waters, yet another reminder of how the water in his hometown was colder and less hospitable.

Completing his beach walk, Aaron decided to check out the "great bakery" he'd heard so much about. He found a parking spot in front and entered. The bakery was bustling, which worked in his favor as it allowed him to thoroughly inspect the menu. It had an array of pastries, donuts, sticky sweet honey buns, pies, whole and sliced, and quiches. After carefully studying the options, Aaron ordered a chicken and potato cream pie and a custard Berliner (he'd never heard of those). He tried to be cultured when in a different country. Paying for his order, Aaron claimed a seat at an outdoor table. A few bites into his meal, he realized the food lived up to all the hype. His usual fare back home was far behind him now. But was it really his home anymore? He would have to ponder on that.

As Aaron prepared to leave, a customer named Harry approached him. They conversed for a while, and Aaron discovered Harry was a 29-year-old Australian; also freshly acquired a divorce and had just relocated to the small coastal town to pursue a fresh start. "I've got to be off!" Harry declared. "Want to have a game of tennis tomorrow?"

"I don't even own the proper gear for that," Aaron responded with a shrug.

"No worries, mate," Harry chimed with a chuckle. "I've got you sorted." Aaron nodded, accepting the invitation. With the handshake complete, they parted ways.

Later, Aaron made his way to his quaint hotel room. He dropped by the local mini-market on the main street on the way back. Though it was small and expensive, he came to accept this as a drawback of living in a semi-isolated area. Seeing as he needed groceries - bread and peanut butter, cookies, and two bottles of water - Aaron went to the cashier (wearing tattered blue jeans that were now almost white and a torn tie-dye shirt), paid for his items, and returned to his hotel.

The next day, Aaron met Harry at the supermarket. Harry explained the store served multiple purposes: aside from selling food, it rented out bikes and tennis equipment/courts. As he adjusted to his changed lifestyle, Aaron realized this would be one of the many things he'd come to appreciate about the town. It had its own charm. He really liked it. They rented a court for four hours, with Harry supplying some unused tennis balls and a quality Head racket for Aaron to borrow.

Harry led Aaron to the tennis court (a quick walk from the supermarket) and unlocked the gate with the proper key. Throughout the next several hours, Aaron learned more about Harry - like the fact that he worked at the Port Elliot Hotel and was a talented tennis player - and spoke about his recent divorce and his pursuit of new experiences in a new location. "You'll find that here, that's for sure," Harry assured him.

"And kangaroos?" Aaron asked curiously.

Harry laughed it off and soon enough, Aaron joined in. After several hours of physical activity, Aaron returned to his hotel room, sweaty and worn. A day spent with his new friend Harry, learning, laughing, and experiencing life differently, memorable anecdotes filling his memory. They exchanged phone numbers with the promise to have another tennis match again soon. "That was fun," Harry said, leaving Aaron also feeling the same.

In his room, Aaron took a lengthy shower. It had been a promising start to his reboot. He had revved up his engine and sped off the line just as the light turned green. Perhaps he was on to something. Perhaps a fresh start was precisely what he required. If you only consider what's ahead of you, it's not running away - it's advancing. Later in bed after his shower, Aaron determined that he would focus on what was before him, instead of the specters of the past.

He dozed off with the TV on and a smile on his lips.

Chapter 3

The weekend could have been renamed "The Shades of Dawn." Aaron's trip from Minnesota left him feeling more drained than weary. Surviving the time difference had proved to be just as grueling as drinking one too many beers while watching the Vikings lose another playoff game and recovering from a dental surgery. Sprinkle that with the rigors of playing tennis with Harry, and it's safe to say that by Sunday email was sent to the employment office regarding his well-being.

He awoke on Monday morning with forty-five minutes before reaching the shoreline. Jennifer and Aaron had discussed an in-person interview the previous night, setting the stage for a chat at the oceanfront. "I'll have to witness you traverse," she'd declared, an unnaturally logical statement considering the circumstances.

Rest had brought Aaron nearer to regular life. He was closer than halfway there, but functional. He inspected himself in the mirror, preferring the face of the living to the perpetual zombie hungry for human meat. His hair was in place, the left side parted. His jet-black coloring seemed normal, as did the alert expression made less so by the lingering drowsiness. He sprinted from his hotel, hoping to appear professional in his black shorts and white t-shirt.

The beach boasted an emptiness that neither blind nor deaf would mistake for a sunny paradise. There was a smattering of sunbathers and swimmers, Jennifer included. The tranquil ocean certainly contributed to the serenity.

He meandered towards the Port Elliot SLSC, a ubiquitous yellow two-story building, where he found a set of three vibrant red double doors. In pursuit of the doors, Aaron followed a brick path, nearly colliding with a woman exiting the club.

"Jennifer?" he enquired, narrowing the distance.

"Aaron, I presume." They shook hands, his grip modern and responsive. She nodded, acknowledging the firmness. "Let's get your swimming merit badge out of the way first, shall we?" As much as she spoke, she didn't allow Aaron an opportunity to respond. Turning to him, Jennifer darted towards the water, leaving Aaron to follow.

"Hold out your hands."

Aaron complied without delay. Jennifer produced a short length of fabric rope, estimating it roughly three feet long. She wrapped the ends around his wrists and looped four times, securing his wrists together. He tentatively raised the rope between his elbows, then apart, threading the rope along the back of his arms and reconnecting it at his palms. "Does this feel too tight?"

Aaron examined his wrists, arched a questioning eyebrow, Jennifer's face, the deserted beach, the island in the background, then his wrists again, processing this odd dilemma. For what purpose did Jennifer tie his hands together, bondage or a swim test?

Jennifer started talking before he could ask a question. "When rescuing someone, they can be scared and panic sometimes. They might grasp onto you not letting go. This is a good way to replicate that. Plus, isn't it a bit enjoyable?" Before Aaron could respond to this question, she proceeded. "That's Pullen Island. I left my swimsuit there this morning. I need you to go get it."

"Okay."

"Say, 'yes, madame'."

"Um, yes, madame."

"Great." Then she surprised Aaron once more. In a swift movement, Jennifer grabbed the sides of his swim trunks and yanked, pulling his pants and underwear down in one swift movement. His penis popped out in the warm morning air, swinging with the gusts of wind. He staggered backward, falling onto his bare butt. "Keep these at your ankles, too. Let's have an entertaining spectacle, shall we?"

Aaron struggled to speak and comprehend. He wasn't sure what was happening. First the rope, and now this humiliation. What were all these actions related to? Maybe the rope made sense - terrified swimmers could grab anything to cling onto, even if it hindered their rescue. But what did this embarrassment have to do with anything? Why would she do this?

Aaron slowly stood up, then reached for his trunks.

"Leave them," Jennifer instructed. She gestured towards him, still standing there, blending surprise and embarrassment, "You must hurry. You've got an audience."

He turned around to glance at the ladies behind him. A pair of elderly women with grey hair were still looking at him. They had on the most modest one-piece swimsuits imaginable. One of them was pointing at him, as if to say, "look at this guy." They were both snickering. At him.

"I'm unsure...,"

"Go," Jennifer ordered, still pointing. "Your bathing suit won't put itself on. Furthermore, when you get there, just wear mine - don't forget to leave yours. Any queries?" Jennifer didn't even give him a chance to respond. She turned back towards the clubhouse, abandoning him to the two elderly women, still displaying his nakedness while trying to protect his modesty and his swim trunks and underwear around his ankles.

Aaron approached the water due to instinct and uncertainty. He felt the need for a job, but was it worth the embarrassment? Even as he asked himself this, he found himself heading towards the coastline named Nelson Harbor. At least "Google Maps" had informed him that this was the right place.

The water was rather chilly but not incredibly cold. He anticipated it'd get warmer as the summer months prevailed. Or was it winter? It had been winter back home, or at least where his previous home used to be. Perhaps Port Elliot had become home now. Was he wading into Nelson Harbor with his hands tied and his cock bouncing in the wind as an attempt to become a resident? Was this place morphing from a stopover when escaping your past to a place that could turn into home? The Port Elliot bakery was almost enough to persuade him to be a resident all on its own.

He kept swimming further into the water. The level rose higher, first reaching his ankles, then his knees. Eventually, his modesty was safe, since the water level rose enough to cover his nudity. That made him feel better. He turned to see the two women from the land behind him. They were still watching him. These anecdotes they would tell, he thought, further away from the shore.

As he grew closer to the island, he could no longer walk. The water was high enough to reach his nipples. He began to swim towards the island. Swimming while bound was harder than he'd anticipated. His hands moved in tandem in front of him, pushing the water effortlessly, but his bound feet gave him serious issues. He couldn't kick them individually, and he couldn't spread his legs like he usually did. Instead, he had to crawl in the water, advancing by bringing his hands forward, then his knees, before kicking his feet back, coordinating hand and foot movements in tandem. This rhythm allowed him to move naively through the water, heading towards the island that was gradually approaching. The water-safety training test was an effective one, taking him out of his comfort zone in the water and forcing him to adapt to an unfamiliar scenario without any real danger. He could remove his swim trunks if necessary, freeing his feet and his tied hands, resulting in slower, stronger strokes if he preferred to forgo the frantic double-fisting he usually did.

In just less than ten minutes, Aaron swam to the small island. The tiny place had only sandgrass and rocks, completely devoid of greenery. He noticed an abandoned beer bottle, a soiled diaper, and two cigarette butts scattered around the ground. To his right stood the bikini that Jennifer had left behind. This discovery made him ponder; did she wear it while swimming across by herself, and did she swim back naked? His thoughts lingered on this idea. Jennifer was fit, as any lifeguard should be. She was tall, thin, and her body filled out the bathing suit perfectly. He believed she had indeed swum back naked. Aaron chose not to overthink it, choosing to enjoy the imaginings.

Aaron took off his trunks, then picked up the stranded bikini. It was a white and yellow two-piece striped bikini with tiny strings on the side. He managed to pull the bikini bottoms on, tightening the strings and successfully tying them at the tips. While challenging, he managed to do it with his hands tied behind his back. The bikini top was a more difficult task. Before donning it, he adjusted the knots on the strings so it sat perfectly on his chest. However, with his arms bound, he could do nothing more than drape the bikini over his head, hanging like a pennant. He felt self-conscious standing alone on a deserted island, half-dressed in a woman's swimsuit, but that was the scenario he was in. Was this all for a job, for following orders, or even to tempt him somehow?

Aaron gathered the trash, using his swimming trunks as an improvised garbage bag. The cigarette butts went into a bottle, the bottle and the diaper were stored in his trunks alongside his sodden underwear, and the entire hoard was transported back to Nelson Harbor. His return dip was quicker this time. As he stepped out of the water, the two women guffawed loudly, calling out to him as he made his way toward the surf club.

Jennifer waited for him, her face beaming with a smile. Aaron realized that it was a truly lovely smile. He threw away the trash, then rejoined Jennifer by the surf club. "Here's your swimsuit," he said, reaching up to remove the top.

"It's on backward." Jennifer walked behind him, swiftly loosening the ties around his neck and back, securing them at the tips. Appraising the position of the bikini's cups on his body, she addressed him again. "Good job, get rid of that trash."

Aaron walked back to the trash can and discarded the bottle filled with cigarette butts, then undid his trunks and shorts, throwing them both into the can along with his worn-out underwear. He returned to Jennifer, who observed him intently, seemingly gauging his actions. Did this factor into the job? Was it a test, one more difficult than merely swimming bound hands and feet?

The seconds ticked by, becoming minutes, Aaron debating when to proceed. Fifteen seconds later, he made his decision. He went back to the trash can and withdrew his trunks and underwear, revealing his body completely clad in Jennifer's bikini. Feeling a mix of embarrassment and excitement, he returned to Jennifer, unaware of others' reactions. "Did I earn your approval?"

Aaron was guided back to the clubroom by Jennifer. They headed inside and entered a private room. Aaron felt more comfortable being indoors, away from the swimmers at the beach. He was unsure what to wear home but preferred to keep his swimsuit concealed for the time being. Jennifer led them into a spacious room with a large wooden desk in the center. The floor's coolness on his bare feet was noticed. Photos of the beach, Pullen Island, the Sisters - a small jetty of rocks by the beach - and the Sydney Opera House decorated the walls. Jennifer took her seat and directed Aaron to sit opposite her.

"You're really good at swimming, Aaron, which makes you an excellent lifeguard candidate. However, I performed extra research on you and found that you have a criminal record, which you didn't disclose when applying for your work visa," Jennifer informed Aaron.

Aaron felt a sinking sensation. "I know I have a criminal record, but it was just a silly bar fight when I was 21. That was over a decade ago. I was drunk, and it was careless of me." He used the word "stupid" several times. "Please don't hold it against me." Until the notion that he might not get the job, the job wasn't that important to him. It became quite valuable at that moment. He'd been in a bar fight after drinking one too many beers. When you're young enough to be served, you're not old enough to understand how to manage your feelings. You feel invincible, entitled, and react to even the smallest provocation like a full-blown war. It was foolish.

"You should have mentioned it on your visa application, but don't worry, I won't report it to immigration if you agree to be my personal assistant."

"Your what?" he questioned, not exactly asking a question. The words made sense but the implication confused him. Had he misunderstood?

"My American plaything. You'll basically be my personal servant, meeting all my needs," she clarified.

"Absolutely not." Aaron's tone carried anger. He wasn't sure where the anger originated. She appeared so proper, so innocent, but what she was proposing seemed unacceptable. She was blackmailing him. Was that the right term? Was extortion more appropriate, but did that imply a monetary aspect? He was bewildered, which may have fueled his anger. Perhaps he was seeing his newfound aspiration vanish. If she was ready to do something wrong, immoral, or illegal, why was she so composed?

"Let me find the immigration hotline number."

She was so composed, so self-assured in her actions and statements, which made her proposal sound reasonable. Aaron spent a moment trying to make a decision without having all the facts. Being stark naked and having a soaked bikini offered no comfort and left him unstable. He needed time to think and required attire and warmth to think clearly.

"Here it is," she said, showing him the phone number on her cell phone.

The number for immigration was printed in bold black letters. Jennifer wasn't bluffing. He was faced with deportation and forced to return to his native country, admitting failure in his new life. He had gone there hoping for a new beginning, and now, with a single phone call, he'd have to return to a place he wasn't eager to revisit after such a short stay.

"Give me a minute to think."

As he looked down at his hands, folded neatly in his lap, his gaze shifted to Jennifer. Her laughter filled the air as she admired her drying bikini bottoms. Aaron couldn't help but find her attractive and acknowledge the growing feelings he had towards her. It had been a while since he last felt this way. After the divorce, he'd been robbed of his masculinity, but that didn't mean he wanted to be under her control. Still, the thought of returning to his boring and dreary life, admitting failure, and facing the pity of his friends and family was far more frightening. Maybe the unknown devil was preferable to the one he was running from. "I accept," he said, unsure if he was making the right choice.

Jennifer's grin widened. "Congratulations, Aaron! On Monday, I'll officially introduce you as a lifeguard at the Port Elliot surf club and my American plaything." She replied triumphantly.

Aaron hesitated for a moment before nodding and leaving the room to be alone. His mind was a tumultuous mix of thoughts as he pondered his decision. Had he made the right choice? The more unsettling question lingered in his head: did he truly make the decision, or was it forced upon him?

The following day, Aaron received a call from Harry. "Mate, fancy a game of tennis?"

Aaron hesitated, still exhausted from his restless night riddled with fear and confusion. "Not today, Harry. I couldn't sleep last night. My mind was full of memories that replayed like a never-ending song."

"Why are you so restless?" Harry inquired.

"I had a strange encounter with the woman who interviewed me for a job at the Port Elliot surf lifesaving club. She made me swim naked to Pullen Island, forced me to wear a bikini for the swim back, and tied my hands together with ropes. She then threatened to deport me if I didn't agree to become her... uh, her... service slave/American plaything," Aaron briefly explained, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over him.

"Why would you stay? Wouldn't it be easier to just go back to the States?" Harry asked.

"That's what I plan to do if this arrangement becomes unbearable. But there's something about Jennifer that draws me to her. It's more than just her looks. The swim was thrilling, the bikini trick was frightening, embarrassing, and intriguing. I've not felt anything since before the arguments with my ex-wife about divorce. I might give it a week or two," Aaron responded, contemplating the risk.

"If it was me, I'd just go home. I don't want to be anyone's slave," Harry reassured him.

"That's what I used to think," Aaron replied, slightly bewildered by his own thoughts. "There's something about Jennifer that makes it hard to say no."

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Chapter 5

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As the morning sun rose on Monday, Aaron contemplated his decision. He had spent the weekend agonizing over what to do, barely leaving his room but for food. The bikini was still on the back of his desk chair, beckoning him with its presence. He hesitated, refusing to entertain the idea of trying it on, yet it haunted him. It was as if the bikini had a grip on him he couldn't understand.

Before heading to the surf lifesaving club, Aaron prepared breakfast. He took out two slices of bread and placed them in the toaster, pressing the button down. Upon hearing the pop, he headed for the dresser drawer serving as a pantry to grab a jar of Vegemite. The supermarket clerk had assured him to use a little bit and to spread it evenly. Despite his doubts, he tried it. It wasn't that bad, but he found it a bit too strong. Perhaps the clerk was right. Too much Vegemite, and it would overpower the taste.

As he finished his breakfyast, Aaron began his trek to the club. It was the start of the summer season and all the lifeguards were assembled there, waiting for him. Stepping into the clubrooms, he was greeted by Jennifer. "Hey Aaron! Everyone! This is our brand new lifeguard!", she yelled out, drawing the attention of the group.

Aaron stood with confidence, receiving a genuine round of applause from the lifeguards. Jennifer continued her announcement, "On top of being our newest member, Aaron will also be my personal servant." Surprise manifested on Aaron's face as his peers' response wasn't shock or dismay, just a few chuckles. "Oh, you guys have heard of my... let's say 'preferences' before?", asked Jennifer. Aaron was taken aback by Jennifer's casual announcement of their odd dynamic.

Jennifer then brought Aaron around the room, introducing him to Derek, Jayne, Julia, and Richard. Each of them smiled at him warmly and eagerly, welcoming him.

Once the introductions were completed, she guided Aaron up to her office. Upholding his composure, Aaron followed Jennifer upstairs to her room. Jayne and Julia were already there, grinning mischievously. It looked the same as it did before - but scarier. It now held a sense of authority and power.

The two women stood by as Jennifer showed Aaron the pink chastity device she planned to put on him. He had never seen one, but recognized it from online stories. "To help you focus on your job and stop thinking about all the girls on the beach," she explained while gesturing at the chastity belt. It's weird and new to him, and his blushing red face reflected this.

Jennifer shouted out to the room, "Aaron, you need to pee first, before we put it on." Aaron, sheepishly lining on the floor, vaguely heard her say, "Don't know how to help?" but managed to muster the courage to pee. Suddenly, he felt a cold splash over his penis. "Sorry about that," Jennifer said casually, but there was a hint of amusement in her voice. "It needs to be flaccid so the device fits."

Jennifer locked Aaron's member in the device. A tight band encircled both his cock and balls. A small cage encased his penis, fully enclosing his flesh so tightly that it felt as if he'd be infused with this new role. The sound of the lock clicking shut hit him with the understanding that the device had real power now.

Trying to mind Jennifer's instructions, Aaron studied the device. The cage was tight, reminding him that he would be wearing a slice of metal on his body 24/7 for the time being. His bathing suit, though still snug, showed his tiny, enclosed cock. The four dial combination lock made him wonder: with 4 digits and 10,000 combinations... it might take a long time - a few hours at least! He considered the possibility.

"Perfect. Now we can change into bathing suits," she told him, still smiling. Gathered around!, the ladies giggled, observing his discomfort. "This will help you concentrate on the job. The pretty beachgoers in their bikinis won't distract you, right?""Uh-hmm," said Aaron, staring at his enclusre dwarfed by his bathing suit. "So now it's just... the sensation," he thought.

In the start, the first day wasn't too challenging. He invested less than a couple of hours on the beach. Nearly all the time was utilized in the club to accomplish his incorporation as a novel employee. He obtained a locker, with its own four-digit mixture lock, an email address, a tour of the amenities, which commenced with the shower and concluded with Jennifer's office. He underwent a practical test of CPR on a life-similar doll. Despite the diversion he had obtained being fitted out with the trio of J's, it was still critical that when the occasion arose, he could save a life. The extra stuff was merely for a good time. That notion instigated him to halt. Was it amusement? He dropped his sight at his secured penis. He had pondered about such moments, puzzled about the pleasure conceivable in relinquishing oneself pleasure, however, he had to concede to a certain delectable nervousness in enduring the chastity contraption. It was unlike he would entertain his penis at work, but finding that he was incapable to make him desire to and thereupon not want to at the same time. Was that ordinary? Could it be?

Jayne solicited his attention upon ending lunch. "Join me," she claimed. He obeyed her into the females' locker room. She seated on the wooden bench amid two rows of lockers, commanding Aaron to posture in front of her. Laughing, she drew down his swimsuit. "I hold the code to this," she uttered, whirling the dials. "It's leadful for when I want to conduct this." She deleted the chain, leaving the hoop preceding his balls, next fixed Aaron's dick in her mouth. He emitted a gasp, astonished, his maw opening and his eyes circumspect the room. He experienced humility at first, at that point, as Jayne continued, blowing the tip with a practised tongue, that sensation surrendered away, instigating him gasping in enjoyment when Jayne furnished him with a blowjob that he subsequently referred to Harry as charitably near excellent.

"That's adequate," she vented, withdrawing before he could arrive. She reposed there, grinning, as Aaron's penis generates within the empty space.

"Please," he pled.

"Request me to lock you after that."

No, that wasn't what he cited. Is it? He wasn't pondering transparently. He was set ablaze. His penis was blistered with the craving. Had he tenaciously abstained himself from experiencing an orgasm? Had he ever abstained toward the conclusion? No. He stretched down to stroke himself, to finalize what Jayne got underway.

"No," she intruded, slapping his hand aside. "Ask me to lock you afterward. Convince me that's what you long for."

He stared at her, his eyes appealing. The stare she responded back furnished was replete with lust. He had witnessed that gaze on his former spouse's face early in their connection. It had languished away, supplanted by maltreatment at best. Jayne was thriving in this. The authority she possessed. Did Jennifer cognizant she was administering this? Or would she even worry if she was conscious?

"Please," Aaron whimpered, "please lock me afterward."

"Are you sure?"

No. "Definitely, please. I genuinely feel it." No. Conclude me or permit me to conclude myself.

"Say 'pretty please.'"

"Pretty please."

"Well, since it's what you precisely yearn for." She backhanded his penis with her hand aggressive enough to sting. It annihilated a part of the impassion I he was smoldering, stirring Jayne to work the contraption back in place and fling the dial once more. Still beaming, she dressed him and yanked his bathers back inside place. His penis leveled against the contraption, making it stand out even more. "Perfect," she stated. "It's duration to head toward the shore."

As of the later part of the day, when the paperwork was concluded, the online evaluations and the practical trial concluded, Aaron revelled the sand in his skimpy swimsuit. He retained his gaze on the water, mainly neglecting the hardly there bikinis he had been valued a disclaimer about. The swimmers were in the water, so that was where he secured his attentiveness. Occasionally he would notice a whisper or a coincident, and it would create his cheeks redden, and he would turn to stake direction toward the sunbathers equating his hidden display. The adults knew what was occurring. Any kids, of which there were scant, didn't perceive anything as there was nil to perceive. Innocence is blessing, and Aaron wasn't innocent.

Jennifer greeted him in the locker room at the culmination of the day, "confront me in my office," she stated, ambling away ahead he could vindicate.

He clothed out of his swimsuit and into his jeans before going his procedure to Jennifer's office. Jayne, with the moist hot mouth, had set off home, as had Julia. There were a few leftovers in the club and just one lifeguard still on obligation, walking the sand with the identical wisdom Aaron had reflected during his two hours on the sands,

He ventured inside. Stripping off his trousers, he had conceded to embrace his role as her toy; hiding his true feelings would serve no point. He knew this for a fact yesterday. While promenading the shore, he double-checked to ensure swimmers were safe. He recognized his fate, trapped. It was a daunting feeling but also thrilling.

Jennifer unfastened the lock. "Jayne or Julia first?"

She already knew. "Jayne."

She flashed him a knowing smile. "Well, Julia awaits tomorrow." She shrug. "Perhaps." She offered him another lock. This one lacked a dial. It was a basic lock with a hefty hasp. In the spot where he believed a keyhole would be, he saw only an empty silver plate.

He pondered the implication. How could it open without a keyhole?

"It's equipped with a magnetic key," she mentioned. "Were you anticipating a regular lock, after all?"

"Yes, miss."

Curious, he wavered. Without a keyhole, how would it unlock?

"Oh, it does," she said. "So you won't try to pick a standard lock, I suppose?"

"No, miss."

He took the lock, carefully inserted it through a protruding nub, then secured it. No opportunity of escape unlike his hotel room. No chance of freedom during his alone time. No means of departure until Jennifer released him.

"In the morning, we'll trade locks again. Let the girls enjoy themselves. We'll switch them back each night when you return home." This led to a conversation about Aaron's long-term living conditions. His hotel was comfy, but unfit for someone settling down. He needed his own space. "There's a studio for rent here," Jennifer said. "It's pretty nice, albeit tiny. I spoke to the landlord on your behalf. I know him personally. It's yours if you're interested."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

Aaron had been scanning rental listings all these days. The options were limited; most rentals were out of his budget. Residing near the beach was expensive irrespective of their location. Tackling his finances was his second-most pressing matter.

The red-brick building contained eight apartments, his upcoming living quarters. A brisk walk away from the beach seemed preferable. This would cut down on transportation costs. A courtyard was nestled just in front, adorned with a concrete bench and occupied by a group of birds. Their appearance struck a resemblance to penguins. They were predominantly black with white markings along their backs. Their beaks were of a paler hue, transitioning to black. Although unclear about the species, it was soothing to have a bit of nature outside his window, even if it resembled a kangaroo. No sea views were necessary; he'd see enough while working. No need to bring work home.

The week proved eventful, ushering in a series of changes, both significant and minor. This began with finding housing. As Jennifer advised, Aaron decided to check out a recently available studio apartment. As the hotels were costing him, he considered upping his income. The position was his initial step and budgetary concerns were next on his agenda.

The red brick building with eight rental units sat a stone's throw from the beach. The distance would help conserve petrol costs. The courtyard stood outside, boasting a simple design with a concrete bench and two occupied bird feeders teeming with a large family of birds. With their black bodies and white markings along their spines, they resembled penguins. Their beaks, a shade of light grey, blended with their black coat. Although unsure of the species, it was gratifying to have a piece of nature right outside his window, even though it didn't resemble a kangaroo.

Another feature that stood out was the view of the water. No need to have the beachfront when he'd work there.

Moving into an apartment was more cost-effective than staying in a hotel. The rent was $350 a week compared to the $72-plus-tax charge per night. This meant considerable savings. The building had a billboard promoting Dodd and Page Realty, a small corporation specializing in renting and selling residential and commercial properties in small towns. The billboard showcased the property's layout, which looked simply cozy and inviting. The main door led into a single room with a bar featuring a sink on one wall, an oven and a microwave on the opposite wall, with a few cupboards attached to the wall. Next to the kitchen area was a bathroom containing a standing shower, a toilet, and a tiny sink. One could rent the flat furnished or unfurnished, both options bore the same price. The building also housed a common area with two washing machines and three dryers.

In just three days, Aaron completed moving in. First, he made a call to arrange a personal tour, and in the end, he collected the keys to his new abode. It may not have made him a true Australian yet, but it was a stride in that direction. If someone asked him where he was from, he could say Port Elliot and even provide the address. With two phone calls, he had the electricity and water in his name and hence became more official.

Aaron signed a month-to-month lease with his landlords, a lovely, elderly couple who were both curious about Aaron's accent. Kristina, Jason's wife, took particular delight in listening to Aaron's speech, giggling at how he pronounced some words. It was a revelation to Aaron that people found his accent amusing. He was an outsider in a foreign land.

The day following his shift at work, Aaron purchased a pizza from the neighborhood grocery store. It wasn't like the preferred Papa John's in Minnesota, yet who cared? When in a new place, you suck it up and adapt. He planned to find more things to enjoy as he became more comfortable in his new hometown.

Alone in his room, with the "Do Not Disturb" sign on his door, Aaron devoured half of his pizza, saving the rest for breakfast the following day. He left the "Do Not Disturb" sign out not because he dreaded being disturbed, but to avoid bothering the hotel staff. They didn't need to clean his room daily, so why request it? Also, it allowed him privacy.

Recently, Aaron had been handling his cage on his cock. It rested snugly, not so much as to be painful, but just enough to remind him of its presence. He gave it a squeeze, observing how it retracted from his contained balls. It didn't appear as if it would detach that way, so he massaged the base of his penis, trying to pull his cock towards his body. His cock jolted in response, but the sturdy plastic refused to relinquish its hold. The cage was strangely intriguing. The saying that "what one cannot have, one wants" perfectly fitted the situation.

On his computer, Aaron accessed the hotel's Wi-Fi. He started searching for a porn site which everyone used and came upon the term "femdom." It seemed appropriate, considering he's Jennifer's "American plaything," but he was unclear about the meaning. He decided to take a closer look, opening a video labeled "Wife canes her husband - FLR." He was unaware of what FLR implied, noting to himself later, but "cane" definitely piqued his attention. Spanking was a hobby his ex-wife enjoyed, and after some experimentation, Aaron discovered he liked it, too. This revelation played a crucial role in his previous relationship and his past.

"Where is the damn milk? You were supposed to acquire some milk when you returned home!" The actress wasn't convincing, dressed in an iridescent latex outfit that held her belly button. The cane in her hold, crafted from bamboo, sounded menacing as she whipped it through the air.

Moving forward, he bypassed the portion where the woman scolded him for neglecting to procure some milk on his way back from work. He skipped past the scene where he began to unclothe himself, filled with apprehension. Perhaps the foreboding of what was to unfold made it even more potent than the act itself? There was a time when he was a lad, he'd done something foolish. His dad instructed him to "grab the belt you want me to spank you with then wait for me." That half hour, as he browsed through his father's closet, scrutinizing each belt, wondering which one would cause the most agony, felt like the longest of his life. A while later, the penalty had ended. The interval spent in expectation of the caning that never materialized stayed with him long after his father's cremation. Anticipation remains embedded in our minds. He manipulated his imprisoned cock once more, awaiting the moment it would be liberated. Yes, anticipation has the power to linger in our thoughts.

Aaron resumed the video. The lad was slumped over the back of a dining room chair. His trousers were at his ankles, as were his underwear. He was astride a pair of white bikini panties. Aaron didn't rewind the footage; it was apparent enough. The male donned panties regularly. The woman draped in latex stood behind him, assuring him that he'd receive a baker's dozen. "Perhaps this will assist your recall."

The woman administered canings, one after the other. These were not gentle strokes. The men grimaced in pain with each hit, counting the stroke aloud. "One. Two. Three." Each digit, announced more slowly than the one that preceded it, becoming a testament to his suffering. Pablo colored lines emerged on the guy's bare buttocks, leaving no doubt in Aaron's brain about the severity of each strike. His penis throbbed within his confinement. He took pleasure in being spanked, but did the man's ordeal go beyond ordinary preferences for discipline? Was it peculiarly excessive?

His penis reacted once more, resembling a pulse with each strike to Mr. No Milk's untouched backside. Once the man had endured the designated twelve, the lady coerced her spouse to a desolate nook in the room. "At this juncture, an hour should suffice. I won't tolerate a word from you or we'll start over with the caning!" The stage began to feel less reconstructed and more authentic. The woman's acting progressed to become something she genuinely enoyed. The cruelty had shifted from a theatrical portrayal to genuine mastery. The marks on his backside proved the intermediate stage from the caning, but her demeanor and the way she performed demonstrated an intoxication and eagerness. Her complexion brightened, her nipples becoming more protruding through her black latex. She had morphed from an actress to a dominatrix, absorbed in enacting her best performance. Not the acting. No. The dominatrix.

Aaron felt kindred to this woman's experience, his libido empowered, yet he couldn't make use of it. His groping hand on his penitentiary cock attested to his sexual arousal. He was typically facile at wanking, but being denied the release he craved left him feeling wounded. Could he telephone Miss Jennifer and inquire about the key? Could he? Yet, in the back of his mind, he knew what her response would be. No. Her response would be followed by mirth.

Discontented, though not solely due to this denial, Aaron dwelt on the video. Instead of skipping ahead, he examined the actress's makeshift session. He scanned for the moment she transitioned from role-playing to embodying a raw, carnal dominatrix. As her grip on the belt in her hand tightened, as she reached forward to down the man's trousers, she ceased to embody a fictionalized character and became a genuine dominatrix. This occurred when she yanked the guy's pants down, first to his knees, then to his ankles, with a slight hiccup at first as the panties he wore entangled with his trousers, and she had to rearrange them. The expression on her face as she carried out this task, not for anyone's viewing pleasure, but for her delight, encapsulated the pivotal moment where she merged into the proud, kinky woman in control. This explicit expression was a hallmark of her capitulation to her true nature.

Feeling particularly upset after watching the video for the third time, Aaron couldn't control his emotions any longer. "Dammit!" He exclaimed, freeing his trapped dick from the cage and switching off his laptop. He went straight to bed but woke up early in agony the following morning. Strange burning sensations accompanied the pain in his testicles. Frightened, Aaron switched on the light, taking a look at his captive member. Fortunately, everything looked normal - not swollen or discoloured - just a halfway erection due to Jennifer's cock cage. To seek relief, Aaron took a cold shower, which somewhat lessened the discomfort. Had this been a common occurrence for others in the same situation? A quick internet search revealed it was. After a while, one would acclimate to having a chastity device and these small incidents would be a thing of the past. Yet, Aaron remained uncertain about when this would happen and what the experience would be like.

Work was similarly dull. Upon reaching the office, Aaron, obliging Jennifer's wishes, arrived around 5-10 minutes earlier than scheduled. As soon as he walked in, Jennifer, ever eager for some fun, replaced his cage with one meant for Julie. After some playtime, she would let him go on public duty wearing whichever outfit she desired. The first day, it was a tight swimsuit, making Aaron feel self-conscious at the beach. The next day, she outfitted him in a ridiculous bathing suit - one designed to showcase his cage even more by pulling the fabric between his legs instead of at his waist. With a vibrant green fabric and purple flowers adorning it, he believed it was conspicuous enough to stand out anywhere.

Aaron wandered the beach in his bathing suit, avoiding eye contact with others to avert any embarrassment. The swimsuit itself made him feel subservient, reducing his stature.

At lunchtime, Jen pulled Aaron aside and it was once again Jayne who presented him with unwelcome news. He assumed Jen and Julia would take turns teasing him, but it seemed Jayne held dibs on him. She dragged him into the women's locker room and instructed him to remove his clothes.

"Let me see what's inside," she whispered seductively.

Understanding perfectly, Aaron bowed his head to get rid of the straps of the green bathing suit before standing still, completely naked in his cage.

"It's quite tight," she remarked, caressing his balls through the bars. "Is this enjoyable for you?" Then, with a playful smile, Jayne bent down to shower his manhood with her warm, wet mouth. When she drew back, she giggled, "Did you feel that?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. He had sensed the unyielding chastity device holding him back, preventing him from expanding. The helplessness was overwhelming, as he was unable to grow beyond the confines of the prison-like cage. "You could free me."

Jayne let out a titter, "Not today. I'd rather not." She straightened before sighing confidently, "Turn around and lean over."

By the rows of lockers was a long bench. Jennifer instructed Aaron to turn around so his bare buttocks were facing her while his hands rested on the bench, presenting his backside for her pleasure.

Jayne's first swat startled him more than it hurt. The sound of the slap reverberated through the small room, amplifying its effect. Jayne waited a moment, striking him once more. This time the blow was harder, and his ass had started to redden. Jayne continued, each swat intensifying the pain in his buttocks. "Ten," Aaron said, counting his strikes aloud as he had been instructed.

"No, you didn't count the previous ones," Jayne said, landing another swat on his ass.

"Ummm... " Two "... I mean, one."

"That was one. You didn't thank me," she said.

"Ummm... sorry... thank you."

She gave him another spank. He winced as the blows had registered even more. Jayne waited, then slapped him again.

"Two," he whined, lowering his eyes.

"Nope. Try again."

He had moments earlier understood what Jayne wanted. "One."

She paused, amused. "All right then, you wanted that," she declared, smacking his ass once more.

"Two," he gasped, now clearly in pain.

"That was one. You didn't thank me," she said.

Aaron's frustration grew. She was obviously toying with him. "Thank you."

"There we are, a good boy obeying his Mistress," she cooed.

Jayne jabbed his ass one final time.

"Three," he groaned.

"Close enough," she smiled, "You get used to it."

Jennifer whisked him away, "Come help me in the office."

Aaron made his way to the office, his aching ass in tow. As his Mistress asked him to sit and pressed the pink marker to his ass, he could feel the pain intensify. "Thank you," he murmured.

"You're such a good boy. Next time, I won't let you off so easy. Learn to anticipate." she said with a smile.

It was unbelievable. The expression on her face told me Jayne was ecstatic with what she was doing. I wanted to argue, to protest how unjust it was, but why bother? I was Jennifer's pet too, and so was Jayne. If I were to express my grievances, they'd go unheard. "Thanks, Jayne."

"Mmhmm." She beamed, patting my ass with a light slap. "One," I said, thanking Jayne for the tap.

"Excellent."

Counting became simple after that. She stopped at number twenty-five. "That was quite the fun little game," she purred. "Now I'm going to head out and take care of myself," she traced her fingers into the front of her bathing suit, ensuring I knew what she was referring to. I felt my member stir helplessly in its containment. "You need to get going."

I turned to look, unable to see anything from behind. I slipped into my snug bathing suit that did nothing but expose my ass and protect my cage. Dressed, I headed to the front of the locker room. The mirror beside the door revealed my bright red rear Jayne had so lovingly spanked. There was no denying it; I had been spanked, and I was the one who had been spanked. Every laugh, every snigger, and every catcall would linger in my ears.

I wandered back and forth in the water, immersing myself up to my waist. I was trying to divert attention from my rosy cheeks, the color Jayne had added with her strong hand. After an hour, the whispers had faded, and the redness subsided.

In the afternoon, it was Julia's turn. She dragged me from the break room with other employees chuckling. They all knew whom the money was given to and the one who suffered these atrocities.

Julia was the shortest of all the lifeguards, barely reaching five feet. She had black hair pulled back in a tight bun. She wore a tasteful one-piece bathing suit, a stark contrast to the revealing suit I had been assigned. Julia dragged me to the locker room reserved for the female workers of the Surf Club. It wasn't entirely private, but it was better than being in plain view for the rest of the world to witness the humiliation that came next.

"Take it off," she commanded.

I obeyed, removing my bathing suit, leaving me exposed, save for the sneakers on my feet and the chastity device attached to my penis.

Julia sat on the main bench and pulled me toward her. She inspected my cage, tugging it and tormenting it. I cringed, cursed, and longed for a better life. Her fingers lightly touched my jewels, squeezing them, looking for any signs of discomfort.

"It's not too snug, yes? I mean, for your well-being."

I thought about it briefly. The device appeared to fit well enough, no chafing or anything. It caused me no discomfort unless I was intentionally trying to reach my penis. "It seemed fine. But I've not used one of these before."

"Let's try a different experiment." Smiling, Julia's bikini top fell to her sides, showing the small, pointy nipples on her C-cup breasts, decorated by tiny gold rings. Nude, she stood before me.

Aaron responded instinctively, as if hardwired to do so. The device around her genitals was larger and seemed to press tighter, causing me some pain. "Ugh, ow, ow. That hurts!" I exclaimed, prompting Julia's laughter.

"That's what I wanted," she snickered. "Hold still."

She carefully explored my naked body, eventually running her hands across my cage, checking the fit. She twisted gently to make me cringe and moan. Julia released me and checked the color of my testicles. Satisfied with her findings, she resumed her teasing. "Do you want more?"

Fighting against the restraint, attempting to break free and shatter his restraining device with sheer willpower, Aaron remained rigid as Julia inspected his confined manhood. "Excellent," she commented. "It's not nearly as terrible as I thought."

"It hurts."

"Think more impure thoughts," Julia instructed, widening her legs to ensure Aaron got a clear view of her entire body. Her pussy was flawless, manicured to perfection. From where he stood, enduring the uncomfortable stinging in his penis, there was not a strand of hair in sight. Julia was an attractive girl, with perky breasts adorned with tiny golden rings. She had a ring above her clit, which Aaron suspected was placed there merely to drive her wild every time she moved.

"How?" He inquired.

"Not my problem," she responded. She began to caress her pussy, providing Aaron with a show that any man would love to witness. Aaron loved it and was also dismayed. He wanted to watch and wanted to participate, but both were nearly impossible due to the searing pain in his genitals. His knuckles tightened into fists.

When Aaron tried to look away, Julia scolded him. "No. Watch me. This is hot and I need to reach orgasm."

Every time Aaron would turn his gaze away from the delightful show Julia was putting on, she would immediately admonish him, demanding he keep his gaze fixed on her bared body. She stroked her pussy, maintaining eye contact with Aaron. She relished the way his eyes would crinkle shut as his cock throbbed in its confinement before being held back by the uncompromising plastic. She delighted in the way he struggled to watch while desperately attempting to divert his gaze.

It didn't take long until her body trembled with unbridled ecstasy. She came, loudly. If she was worried about attracting a larger audience than she desired, she showed no sign of it. Satisfied, Julia adjusted her swimsuit. "That was fantastic. I'm afraid there's nothing for you though." She beamed a smile stuffed with delight. "I may unlock you tomorrow, although I doubt it." She gave his restraining device a tap, enjoying the way it flew out from his body as his suppressed erection tried to move and act.

Julia vanished soon after, leaving Aaron gasping for breath until his body calmed enough for him to breathe normally. He left the locker room, glancing at the clock as he departed. It was time for lunch, which he was eager for. He required the reprieve.

In the break room, he crafted a sandwich. The materials were communal; each employee contributed $20 every week, and in exchange, the lounge was equipped with bread, peanut butter, jams and jellies, fruits, snacks, water, and various carbonated beverages in flavours Aaron was uncertain he could endure. He opted for a blood orange soda while making a sandwich of peanut butter and something in a bright yellow tub called Vegemite. He smeared peanut butter on one slice of bread and the pungent compound on the other. One bite and the rest went into the trash. The flavour was far too intense. Perhaps it was an acquired taste. It had to be well-liked, with three bottles of Vegemite in the cabinet, and the very first commercial he'd ever seen on TV was for Vegemite.

After lunch, Aaron was back on the beach. When the workday came to a close, Jennifer modified the lock on his device, once more denying him any chance of self-release. "Call me if you have any issues," she said, repeating the same advice she'd given the night before. "Don't make any plans for next weekend. You'll be staying with me. Did you enjoy your time with Julia and Jayne today?"

Of course, she knew. He considered this scenario: did she know the specifics or only that he had been played with by both Julia and Jayne? What should he say in response to Jennifer's inquiry? He had no choice but to accept his predicament. The truth was he did take pleasure in it, even if it was painful – both the sensation of Jayne's hand spanking his rear and the frustration of his penis's inability to elongate during Julia's lewd performance. It had hurt, but it had been stimulating, too.

"Yes, Miss," he said, staring at the floor. His cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

"Good," Jennifer remarked. "We'll get along splendidly. See you tomorrow."

He was dismissed, just like that. Jennifer could have enacted more severe punishment, but she opted against it. As he left the Surf Club, Aaron pondered the idea that Julia and Jayne were not only amusing themselves at his expense. As he walked home, the thought solidified: it seemed they were training him not just for their entertainment, but as Jennifer's planned "American Playtoy." There was no other thought on his mind that evening.

In the coming weeks, Aaron's connection with Jennifer developed further. Then one day, on a Friday afternoon, Jennifer came up to Aaron. There was something unusual about her. Usually, she had a distant air around her. It wasn't mean or unappealing. It was like she was royalty and knew it. This time was different. She approached, with that feeling that she was above you, but it was overshadowed by another feeling, one of victory, "you'll be working for me this weekend. Do you get it?" Jennifer asked.

Aaron nodded his head, sensing the peculiar shift in her demeanor.

"Good. Meet me at the car park lot at 6pm." She departed as quickly as she'd arrived, leaving Aaron alone to scrutinize her opened mouth and puzzled.

Aaron was perplexed by this demand, but he didn't comprehend why. Serving Jennifer at home was simply an extension of serving her at the beach. He was her plaything after all, how could he assume not to work for her? Yes, he hadn't been very obedient in that area. Julia and Jayne had kept him busy during the week. Not a day passed without one or both of them harassing him in some manner.

Julia assumed the responsibility of selecting Aaron's attire for the day. He would saunter to work, heading for the dressing room to shed his shorts or jeans or whatever he was adorned in and into his swimwear. The only time he made it to the beach in his regular swimsuit was the only occasion that occurred. The following day, Julia was waiting for him in the locker room, a smile on her cherubic face. "There you are," she stated, as if she hadn't expected to discover him. "Let's get you outfitted for work."

It took him a moment to recognize the meaning of the term outfit. It wasn't a regular word in Minnesota. The first day she'd taken his usual swimsuit, replacing it with light pink bikini bottoms dotted with cherry patterns. It was something a little girl would wear. Julie handed him the spare bikini panties that appeared to be more like a bathing suit's bottom half than a man's. "Wear these today."

Aaron donned the pink swimsuit, relieved that it covered his chastity cage, including the inaccessible rotary dial lock.

With the bikini bottoms in place, Julia examined Aaron, "No, that won't do," she pronounced, as if contemplating how he was dressed. Giggling, she reached into the pocket of the shorts she sported to pull out the matching bikini top. "Here, put this on, too."

Aaron resisted. The bikini briefs were disgraceful enough. At least they resembled a regular swimsuit, albeit a feminine one. The bikini top wasn't a garment typically found on a male. It would be shameful.

He grunted as his erection attempted to grow within its unbreachable shell.

"Oh, do you like that notion?"

"No," he stated, feigning disinterest.

"I believe you do!" Chortling, Julia inched closer. Aaron could feel the warmth of her skin; he could inhale the floral fragrance of her perfume, blended with the scent of the ocean. "I think you enjoy it a great deal. Well, guess what, it's your new job attire. Wouldn't that be splendid?"

It didn't seem wonderful. It seemed embarrassing. Yet, part of him liked the notion. He couldn't concede how his cock was responding to the idea. When Julia said something again, his erection strained more, "and the best part," she said, laughing now, "is the tan lines you'll acquire. Even topless, it will seem like you're wearing your titillating bikini top."

As forecasted, Julia greeted him daily, at first simply to observe him change, then to verify he was attired in his embarrassing pink bikini briefs. Each night, following Jennifer's switching the rotary dial lock with an unpickable magnetic one, Aaron returned home and contemplated his reflection in the bathroom mirror. At first, he couldn't notice anything, then he perceived it, gradually bolder as the month progressed. Tan lines, more vibrant than the sun, in the form of his bikini. Two small triangles of untanned skin resting where his nipples were situated. Around his waist, he could see the twin lines. The tan lines appeared faint initially, but as the month drew to a close, they weren't just conspicuous, they were blindingly obvious.

Julia took pleasure in masturbating while Aaron viewed, enjoying the unease on his face as his cock endeavored to harden within its plastic casing. She provoked him as she satiated herself, teasing him about not fucking her. "Don't you want to fuck me, Aaron?" she'd moan, rubbing herself. "Why won't you fuck me?"

He might be set free if she chose to do so, but when he confessed this to her, she would just chuckle and respond, "So where's the excitement in that?"

Every day was unique, and yet it was the same. Jennifer would occasionally change the lock on his manhood, ensuring that Julia or Jayne could toy with that particular part of him. They would occasionally release him just so he could masturbate, or if they were feeling particularly sadistic, they would watch Aaron jerk off while swatting his hand away the instant he reached the height of bliss.

In the course of the day, they would introduce new torture. Julia would apply makeup to his face. It was never enough to make it obvious, but enough for Aaron to be aware that it was there. She might place lipstick on his lips, turning them a bright, shiny red. While at the beach, he would encounter shocked reactions from swimmers. Or he would hear laughter. He eventually learned to disregard it, completely absorbed in the majesty of the sea while keeping the swimmers safe. The fact that his back was turned to any potential audience was an added bonus.

Jayne had a more hands-on approach. She enjoyed teasing Aaron to the edge while laughing at his face as she withdrew her hand. On occasion, she would swipe his penis with her hand or, if she felt particularly vindictive, a small ruler, using the sting on his skin to reduce his arousal and secure it back in its minuscule confinement.

At least twice a week, Jayne would punish him with spanking. She would direct him to her lap on the central bench between the lockers, instructing him to lie down. Aaron would assume the position across Jayne's lap. She would remove his swimsuit one inch at a time. "Consider this," she stated, running her finger along the boundary delineated by the color on his skin. "These are the most beautiful sissy tan lines I've ever observed. Oh, you may be burdened with them for the rest of your life."

Aaron let out a slight whimper. He was aware of his appearance. How his body was marked.

With his swimsuit down, Jayne would administer a spanking. Most days she opted for her hand, but she liked the feeling and the sound. Once she used a slipper she had brought from home. The sound reverberated loudly in the changing room. Another time she used a hairbrush, leaving Aaron on the verge of tears.

"That was entertaining," she remarked. She handed the hairbrush to Aaron. There was a leather lanyard attached to the handle. "Wear this all day. If someone inquiries about its purpose, respond and offer them the opportunity to do the same to you."

Aaron considered himself fortunate that no one inquired about the hairbrush's purpose. The embarrassment of answering might have been too much.

The only time he was left alone was during lunch. Although marmite had the taste of death warmed over, he did discover something delightful since moving halfway across the world to Port Elliot. It was nirvana in a can. Farmers Union iced coffee. It was just sweet enough, just strong enough, and faintly addicting. He had a can with breakfast and kept cans in the Swim Club break room to have with his lunch every day. Usually, he brought a sandwich from home, though there was a pleasant restaurant - Flying Fish - a half block away. He initially ate there, but with his humiliating swimwear, he preferred to remain hidden from the world as much as possible.

Jennifer was surprisingly uninvolved during that first month. Gradually, she became more involved with him. Initially, she inquired about his day. She smiled when he expressed his discomfort. She learned about Harry and their twice-weekly tennis games and occasional dinners. "You've done well, Aaron," she said.

"Thanks," he acknowledged.

He wasn't sure what to say. Jennifer's question needed a more complex response than just a yes or no. It was bad, but it wasn't that bad, he thought. What did "I don't know" mean? He pondered this as Jennifer inquired about the meaning of his words. "It hurts," he confessed, leaving out the part about its erotic nature. He didn't mention how his erection tried to break free as Jayne slapped him first with her hand and then her agonizingly painful sandal.

"I'm sure it does. You look good, though. Why not go for a walk on the beach?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, aware that everyone present would observe his reddened backside. The beach stroll was as embarrassing as he expected it to be. Still, it wasn't the most humiliating experience he'd had. That occurred on Saturday evening.

He was playing tennis with Harry as they usually did twice a week. Aaron was hitting back Harry's serve when a smoker zipped by Aaron. The racket hit the ball, but only the tip. The ball's speed and power yanked the racket from Aaron's hand. He spun around, stumbling over his feet, sliding on the hard ground. Harry smiled at him and suggested raising his shirt to check for anything.

"What?" Aaron inquired, turning around.

"Lift your shirt, buddy. Something's on you."

"It's nothing," Aaron responded, hesitant to share his humiliation.

Harry was persistent. "C'mon, buddy, let me see it."

Aaron sighed and looked around to ensure no one else was watching. He pulled up his shirt like the ladies did in the old Girls Gone Wild videos he used to watch when he was discovering how to pleasure himself. The extent of his embarrassment was noticeable to Harry as Aaron showed him his tan lines.

"What the hell is that?" Harry asked.

Aaron didn't know how to answer. He put his shirt back down and crossed to center court. Standing at the net, glaring at Harry, he described his work situation. He downplayed his humiliation, "it's my swimsuit. It's a bikini."

"Why would you wear that?"

He didn't say he was a male prostitute, but that it was a price worth paying for the kinky things that took place at the club. "The girls playing with me, man." He wiped his hands on his shirt, trying to look cool. "I get to watch some hot shit. This one girl, Julia, she strips down almost every day to put on a show for me. Have you ever seen a woman touch herself? Have you ever witnessed two women perform oral sex on you while you're sitting on their laps? My swimsuit is a small price to pay for the kinky acts that take place at the club." He smiled, thinking about these experiences. "Cozzie" was his bathing suit. Last summer, he'd never heard the term and now he was using it casually. He wasn't a native, but maybe he would be one day.

"No really?" Harry retorted.

"No shit. It's a fair trade," Aaron said. "Here's your serve."

Harry let it go, but defeated Aaron 6-3, 6-3.

During dinner, Harry probed again. Aaron spoke mostly about the events, but not how they made him feel. He didn't comprehend that part yet. He relished Julia's self-pleasuring and Jayne rubbing her breasts in his face just to see him cringe as his erection came in contact with the jail-like confines of its prison. While strolling on the beach in his tiny bikini, he was aware that each moment of exposure deepened the burn lines on his skin. It was erotic. It was exhilarating. It was excessive. And at times, it wasn't enough. He confided in Harry, but focused on the elements that interested men.

"I can't wait to hear more stories, mate," Harry said before they parted ways. "It's a little crazy if you ask me."

It was far from just crazy. "I understand. See you later."

He replied, "Yeah, ma'am." He used that phrase for every woman now, not just Jennifer but also Julia and Jayne, as well as any woman on the beach who asked about his swimsuit or tan lines if he was only wearing the bottoms.

Aaron reached the parking lot five minutes before Jennifer arrived. She walked like a queen across the parking lot, her hair blowing in the wind, resembling something from a magazine. Her hair may have been disheveled but it was elegantly so. She nodded at Aaron and pointed to her car, using her key fob to unlock it. She waited for Aaron to open the door for her. Once she was seated, Aaron closed the door behind her.

Her initial action set the tone for his weekend serving Jennifer. "Pay attention," she instructed him as she drove. "I'll tell you how I want things once. After that, watch your face turn red rather than just seeing the result." It wasn't a threat or warning, it was just how it was. This was like a sign saying "wet paint" or "pedestrian crossing." This is how things are. This is the law.

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

After a twenty-minute drive along the coast, Jennifer pulled into a dense subdivision. It was near the water, but you could only see it through the scrubby bushes that looked too thick to walk through. The subdivision had many houses, all roughly the same size and shape, their differences being the colors of the houses and the numbers on the mailboxes.

After another two minutes, Jennifer parked in her driveway. Her house was like the others. It wasn't large, but it wasn't small either. It was a brick house with ashy colored bricks that weren't quite grey but well beyond black. White shutters adorned the windows. The front door was vinyl red, like a perfectly ripe strawberry. The lawn was meticulously maintained, with red, pink, and white roses lining the walkway leading to the door.

Aaron stepped out of the car first, then rushed behind it to open Jennifer's door for her. She hadn't explicitly told him to open her door, but he wasn't taking any chances. "Follow me," she said, climbing out of the car.

Aaron complied, shutting the door behind her, lest she have to.

The interior of the house was impeccable, with not a thing out of place. There were photos of Jennifer with a more elderly couple, presumably her parents, as well as ones of her alone and on vacation with friends. There were also some pictures of her with an attractive man. Each photo told a story; Aaron would eventually uncover them.

"Go this way," Jennifer instructed.

She took him to the side of the house away from the beach. She opened the door to a room with a single bed, a nightstand, a dresser with four drawers, and a small closet barely big enough for two people. "This will be your room when you're here. Eventually you'll move into mine with me."

Jennifer's words hinted at something long-lasting in her plans. She began listing instructions about her breakfast preferences, how she liked her eggs prepared, and how to make her coffee in the morning. She also informed him where she kept the cleaning supplies, the linen storage, and her desire for fresh sheets on a weekly basis, specifically on Friday nights. "Aaron, start with the sheets."

He obeyed, removing the sheet set and carrying fresh ones from the linen closet in the hallway closet. He made the bed, straightening any wrinkles he could find before putting on the clean ones. He changed the pillowcases, the blanket, and the outer comforter to a deep red, a color he had never seen before. Satisfied, he brought the soiled linens to the small laundry room with the washer and dryer. Aaron loaded up the washing machine with the dirty linens, knowing it would take three loads to complete the whole set.

He then looked for Jennifer, finding her lounging on the back deck in a chaise lounge, engrossed in a book by an author he'd never heard of earlier. "The bed's clean, ma'am."

"Excellent. I've called for dinner. Set the table for two, please."

She laughed at his question about whether she was expecting guests. "Silly, boy, I'm not. My company is already here."

In the kitchen Aaron explored all the cabinets, discovering where she stored her cooking utensils, dishes, and cutlery. He configured the dinner table for two, sourcing clean linen napkins from the same closet that Jennifer used for bedsheets, towels, and bedding. Folding the napkins carefully, he set them neatly on the table with the conventional dinnerware trio - knife, fork, and spoon.

A sudden ding from the doorbell snapped him out of his reverie. He answered the door, greeted by a shirtless delivery guy who seemed accustomed to the heat. "Hey buddy, your takeout!"

Aaron was unsure if he could keep the money or add a tip, as he wasn't entirely sure of the existence of such practices. Required to function in this foreign environment, he signed the paper and cautiously added a few dollars. Feeling completely unprepared for the situation, he continued to doubt his actions,remembering the societal uncertainties of his childhood. This overwhelming sense of inadequacy was reemphasized while clutched in his hands, the food for his new employer.

Returning to the kitchen, he dished up the Thai food, noticing intricate spiciness in the dishes she had ordered. Chicken satay and two portions of basil chicken, both with a spice level potentially beyond the stag-ragre o' four. A universal spice scale or the way they rated heat in his hometown of Minnesota?Pondering, these were ordered specifically to Aaron’s taste.

"Miss, dinner's done," Aaron notified his boss.

"Fantastic! I'm famished."

Intriguingly, the meal was as spicy as Aaron had anticipated. Their noses were dripping by the end of the meal. Jennifer was equally affected. "That's plenty spicy enough."

Aaron reported his agreement.

"I like spicy things," Jennifer coquettishly remarked with a glance, showcasing a sultry desire concealed within the words. She enjoyed him more than a hint of heat, fascinating to Aaron. Sensing he now qualified as spicy, that satisfied him.

After finishing the dishes and Jennifer resumed her book, they both retired to bed separately.

The following morning, Aaron was given a list of tasks as Jennifer set out to perform her own errands. He refreshed the bedroom linens of all three, the extraordinarily posh master bedroom and the sparsely used spares. He washed, dried, and organized Jennifer’s wardrobe, mopped the bathrooms, and scrubbed the kitchen.

Jennifer made her return, piled high with groceries. "Help me stow these away, and then start on the lunch."

Aaron made repeated trips to retrieve the groceries.Discovering the storage spaces, he put away the frozen goods, tucked items into the refrigerator, and arranged the pantry.

Upon entering her room, Jennifer expressed her approval. "It looks so good."

The gratitude resonated within Aaron. Unconventional, yet appreciated, her polite tone reflected her cultivated upbringing. Later, Jennifer emerged in her swimsuit, briefly visiting her lounge chair for reading. Relieved of dinner duties, Aaron proceeded to his lunchmaking. Combining a variety of fresh produce for a simple salad: lettuce, cherry tomatoes, red onion, cheddar cheese, shaved carrots, and a lone cucumber, he marinated his tossed chicken with Old Bay blackening seasoning to meet Jennifer's penchant for spice. Arranging the meals on the dining room table, he called Jennifer back in for lunch.

"You do great work today, Aaron. Therefore, I think you're due a pleasant surprise. Come here."

He could hardly believe his ears. It appeared she wanted him to masturbate. Here? In front of her? Aaron had never given a performance in public, certainly not during work hours.

"Uh, unless you don't want to?"

His hand moved quickly to his penis in a flash. He closed his eyes, envisioning not Jennifer before him, seductively displaying her curvaceous figure in her tiny two-piece bikini, incredibly similar to the one he donned daily for work. Instead, he imagined the women he would pass by as they pointed and jeered. This amusement and the embarrassment he had suffered prompted his hand to furiously stroke. He worked his penis, fast, swifter, until his hand became a blur.

"Stop!" Jennifer commanded.

It took a second for the instruction to sink in. Why cease?

"Stop!" she insisted, a little more intensity in her voice.

Aaron paused. He left his hand on his penis, wondering what was afoot. He could hear his heartbeat racing - thud, thud, thud.

"Okay, you can proceed again."

The game continued, starting and stopping. Aaron's hand punched against his erect penis, stroking it vigorously, moving toward the completion that Jennifer could halt with a simple phrase. Finally, she remained silent, allowing him to culminate what she had set into action. He ejaculated rapidly, spraying his semen onto the grass.

Jennifer waited a while before saying, "do you want to thank me, Aaron?"

Comprehending this request took a moment. "Thank you, Miss."

"Go clean yourself up." She suggested. "There are fresh towels in the linen closet and new razors under the bathroom sink. Shave, then come back. We can't have you unlocked, right?"

The alternative seemed unfathomable, and maybe it was just that. Entirely unaware if it was positive or negative, all Aaron knew was that the orgasm he experienced in Jennifer's backyard under her amusing gaze had been the most gratifying of his life. Pondering over it would never bring enlightenment, leading Aaron to conclude this thought forever. His penis, remotely held by Jennifer, had grown accustomed to the device. It felt like a part of him, and without it, he felt nude.

Aaron showered, thoroughly cleaning his deflated cock before shaving off the stubble that had grown since the initial lock was planted.

"Okay," Jennifer said when Aaron returned, wearing only the towel wrapped around his hips. His tan lines were akin to the markers along Lake Superior in Minnesota, glaring. "Let's lock you back up."

Her words didn't take long to implement. Aaron's penis was once more confined and devoid of any ability to bring him pleasure, yet it felt natural nestled within that device. As if it was an integral part of him - like the wedding ring on his finger that he'd felt for nearly two months after the divorce. When constantly present, one notices the absence.

The weekend proceeded smoothly. Aaron cooked their meals, cleaned up afterwards, and retired to his separate bedroom while Jennifer slept soundly in her.

Sunday afternoon, Jennifer led Aaron home. "You performed admirably this weekend, Aaron. I believe this setup is working well."

"Thank you, Miss."

"See you tomorrow."

From the next day, Aaron's life evolved into a regular schedule. Jayne went first. After the customary beach stroll in his rather humiliating bikini - "We need to ensure your tan lines remain vibrant," Jennifer had said, snickering after substituting his lock that morning and seeing him off to his assigned bathing duties, Jayne dragged him to the communal locker room. "Wash me."

Jayne remained by the shower entrance, a sly smile dancing across her lips, her arms bent and crossed over her chest. Aaron debated, unsure of her desired approach. When Jayne arched an eyebrow, Aaron decided to begin. The bathroom contained a single pipe, with four distinct shower attachments pointing to each compass direction. Aaron adjusted the temp of the water to a level that was warm but not painful.

Jayne stood at the edge of the shower, observing. She gave no guidance, no direction, no orders. She simply observed from a protected distance, a grin spreading on her face.

She asked, "Wash me." Did she mean that? If he misinterpreted her, she would stop him, right? He stroke across the bedroom and began taking off Jayne's clothing. He undid her bikini, freeing it from her body. His face glowed in euphoria as her tender breasts came into view. If she didn't object, he proceeded to remove her bikini bottoms. Aaron clutched the lower half at both sides of Jayne's body, and yanked them down, exposing the thin patch of hair she had left above her private parts and then the delicate crevices of her sex. He continued to drag the bikini down until it was at her feet. He tapped one foot and then the other. Jayne kindly lifted the mentioned foot, debris-free, concluding her transformation into a naked illustrious being in the shower. Her eyes twinkled. Aaron took the wink as a sign of the right course.

Aiding Jayne's hand, he led her deeper into the shower, positioning her under the water. She emitted a sound resembling a feline purr. In the corner, a washcloth, a bottle of shampoo - Hydrate My Hair - and a bar of soap smelling of jasmine and something like mango, and a bottle of conditioner by the same name waited.

Aaron embarked on the shampoo. He stood aside, letting water gush down Jayne's cleansed back. He guided her under the water, drenching her hair. Pleased, he stepped into the flow, fetching the shampoo, and commenced to incorporate it into Jayne's damp scalp. Meticulously shampooing her hair, it felt lush. Luscious. Jayne released indulgent moans, appreciating Aaron's efforts. With her hair coated in suds, Aaron dispatched to the right to rinse the residue. Jayne continued to emit indulgent sounds, tiny moans and gaps, which informed Aaron that he was performing splendidly. One of the many expressions he'd learned after relocating to Australia - "absolute banger."

Next, Aaron opted for the washcloth. He deposited the soap in the magnitude, effectively applying a dense lather into the washcloth. Starting with her neck, Aaron commenced to bathe Jayne. He cleansed her shoulders, her arms, her back, striding lower. When the washcloth would lose its foam, he regenerated it with the soap. When Aaron washed Jayne's naked posterior, he quelled a happy little moan. He aimed to reduce his responsive action, but he found himself aroused.

Moving lower, Aaron bathed Jayne's legs, one leg at a time. As he bathed her legs and feet, his eyes ceaselessly drifted to her enticing derrière. Swimmers portray a fit form, with tight little frames, and Jayne's physique adhered to this description. Jennifer and Julia and the other women all boasted exceptional attractiveness, sculpted by their time in the water. Even the men that conducted the surf club were trim. He revisited memories of Baywatch re-runs as a kid. There weren't any corrupt lifeguards back then.

"Facing me," Aaron almost coughed. Jayne rotated, instrucing Aaron with a complete view of her genitalia. This tale was one he'd remember eternally. The first time he bathed a female. In time, it would become commonplace, however, this first time was unique. Jayne disrobed in front of him, soaking wet and unclothed. It was the epitome of erotic encounters. His ex-wife had accompanied an element of shyness, preferring low illumination – if even that – when in the process of removing her apparel before him. Jayne gallantly presented no inhibitions. She stood nude and proud, allowing Aaron to cleanse her, focusing on her shoulders. He soaped her arms. He excessively swabbed her breasts. Had she requested him to continue, he would have forged a career out of cleaning in Jayne's private domain.

Having cleansed her body, he patted her dry with a waterlogged towel. Subsequently, he aided her in dressing. Aaron anchored Jayne's panties open at the waist, permitting her to step into them. He concatenated them up her legs, escalating them before they stabilized.

Successfully, he stationed himself behind her. He opened her bra, enchant by the full-frontal view. Jayne stood, devoid of modesty, basking in Aaron's washing service, starting with her shoulders. He soaped her arms. He lingered and dawdled cleaning between Jayne's legs.

When she was rinsed dry, Jayne announced, "Well done. Continue this for Jennifer from now on."

So, the biggest mystery in my time with the twins was finally solved. Jayne and Julia were not identical twins, but that's what I used to call them in my mind because they treated me with the same kindness. Now I know the reason behind it. Jayne told me they were grooming me, teaching me how to be Jennifer's American toy. They wanted the finished product, not the work in progress. Just hearing that statement made me feel proud - I was considered important enough to be turned into the best toy possible.

One day, Jayne decided to take another bath until Wednesday. When she left, dressed and ready to go home, she wished me a good day. As soon as she left, Julia walked in. "Hey, Aaron," she greeted cheerfully. She moved with grace, her smile as bright as the sun.

"Hi, Julia."

"We have a new task for you to learn." With that, I was more convinced than ever that I was being trained. "I brought you something," she said, handing me a small plastic bag. I recognized the place - it was across from the bakery where I'd bought so many treats that it must have been illegal.

I opened the bag and inside were two bottles of nail polish, one in bright red candy apple color, the other in vibrant life-preserver orange. There were also a pair of toe spreaders, a bottle of nail polish remover, and a package of cotton balls. I knew what all these supplies were for.

"I want you to paint both of my toenails and fingernails," Julia explained, starting to laugh after she said it. "Tonight, you'll paint your own. I can't wait to see how they turn out tomorrow."

Painting someone else's nails was more challenging than I thought. There was a certain level of pressure to make sure I didn't smudge or leave any marks. Every time I made a mistake, Julia had me clean the nail using a cotton ball dipped in nail polish remover and paint it again. It took me almost fifteen minutes before Julia was satisfied with her toenails. "Now my fingernails," she said, holding out her hand eagerly.

She handed me the bottle of deep red nail polish. Once her fingernails were perfectly painted, she started waving them in front of her face, blowing on them. "Very good, Aaron," she told me, handing me the orange nail polish. "If you do a good job tonight, I'll unlock your cage."

Completing the task wouldn't be that difficult, but the embarrassment was a different matter. My self-image kept shrinking with each of their demands. Painting my nails seemed like a small price to pay for the new world I was discovering with the twin sisters.

After dinner at the Ocean Crest Cafe, where we enjoyed grilled butterfish and crumbled prawns, which were much cheaper than their delicious taste, I returned to my little apartment. As I settled in front of the TV, I began painting my toenails. The process took almost an hour, but my fingernails took even longer - it was difficult to paint my dominant right hand. Because of this, I had to redo two of my fingers.

Finally, my nails had all the colors they needed. I was somewhat relieved to not have to put up with the interruption of these nail-painting sessions, but I realized how much they'd distracted me while they were still wet. I felt like a fish following a shiny lure or a dog chasing a squirrel in the park. This thought made me laugh, imagining the adorable dog from Pixar's movie 'Up', getting distracted every time he heard the word 'squirrel'. I was the dog; my painted nails were the squirrel.

It was surprising how much I'd come to admire this new part of me - the American toy they were turning me into. It felt like I was participating in an elaborate game, but one that was worth playing. My life seemed so much more exciting now, and I had the twins to thank for it.

The following day at work, Aaron was complimented on his nails by the entire team. Jennifer remarked that the color was excessive, and laughingly strolled back to her office. Jayne regarded his nails as "quite charming." Julia, as promised, led Aaron to the dressing room for women and subsequently to a vacant stall. She sat on the toilet then unlocked the chain linking his testicles together, leaving it in place.

"Fantastic job, Aaron," she exclaimed. "Therefore, I have a small token of appreciation for you." She unzipped her mouth and swirled Aaron's dick into her.

Aaron clasped the bathroom door for support, astounded. Julia continuously sucked Aaron's dick for nearly a minute before securing him back, arousing Aaron, vexing him, stimulating him, stupefying him, and desperate.

"Please," he panted.

"This is out of my hands, Aaron. All this relies on Jennifer's decision. Assume the responsibility yourself."

Leaving him alone in the stall, she departed to her workspace. A short while later, Aaron was strolling along the shore once more. He was uneasy in his swimsuit, self-conscious about his varnished nails, and experiencing a yearning urge in his penis. These sensations were a constant in his mind, exacerbated by his placement of employment. It was vital for him to keep alert, anticipating the possibility of somebody requiring his aid. Yet, the fact that he was crucial only minimally diverted his thoughts from Jennifer. He was her sex toy, he recognized it. As did Jennifer. Nonetheless, Jayne was cognizant of this as well. He was being subjected to instruction, readying himself to satisfy Jennifer. Julia and Jayne were preparing him.

This was a lesson he imbibed.

**************

Chapter 8

**************

Aaron's commitment to attending Jennifer's residence every weekend to work for her episode after episode. His responsibilities encompassed bathing, hair removal (legs typically), or undertaking her nails. Cooking their meals, he shared all of them with Jennifer; they were casual friends, never presenting as a couple. Maintaining her house or washing her linens. For Friday and Saturday evenings, Aaron remained the guest in the guest bedroom, returning home independently on Sundays after a distressing climax behind the bathroom lavatory.

Sunday night, approximately two months since agreeing to Jennifer's conditions, she enlisted Aaron for a conversation.

"I've been very satisfied with your service," Jennifer began, signaling Aaron to sit.

They were positioned on the sofa, adjacent to one another. Outdoors, the ocean braved an uproar; Aaron heard the crashing of waves against the beach. A caution flag would've been fluttering if at their workplace, signifying it's not secure to enter the water. Was it any safer listening to such a statement?

"I'd like to discuss something with you, Aaron. You've performed splendidly in both my house and at the shore. Henceforward, I'd like to track your moves, becoming a 24/7 enslaved individual. At my behest, you'll transfer your belongings here. Do you comprehend?"

Aaron mulled over this information but could only stoically nod.

"Splendid. Please organize what you need to move. We plan to have you arrive this imminent weekend," Jennifer stated elegantly.

Additionally, she proclaimed, "Instead of accepting the meagre quarters, I'd like you to transfer into my bedroom. You'll slumber in a slumber cage under my mattress on occasions I'm uninterested in sex. For the nights I'm not in the mood, you'll sleep in the cage below my bed," she added.

Aaron observed the mattress before, flaunting its vastness and elevated support. A slumber cage adjacent to Jennifer's bed boasted a generous width and length but lacked height. He had a feeling this was going to be pleasurable, hoping the actuality would be equally so. He gazed upon the bed, and after witnessing the specifications of the cage, he could only agree.

The following Saturday, Aaron prepared his packed car with his limited items. Forcibly moving from Japan, Aaron had very few possessions with him. His sparse belongings he organized within his car. He had purchased a used Toyota, older yet more economical, and filled all of his assets inside. [d] [e]

This story has been generated by ChatGPT, an AI model that can respond to your prompts with text, but it didn't really seem to have a sense of the original memo. It might be pointing out that the AI is good enough to imitate, but it's not actually understanding what it's writing about. Doesn't have much nuance or "feeling" to its paraphrasing. Degree of understanding: 7/10. Response time: 15 seconds.

Aaron wasn't overly concerned about filling Jennifer's home with his possessions since he didn't have much, but he didn't want to be a burden either. So, he placed the few items he owned in Jennifer's spare room - the one that she had used for her weekend visits before his new home. Her house now felt larger, but his bed was notably smaller.

Upon Jennifer's return from a day out with Jayne and Julia, she was content with where he had put her belongings in the house. While there were certain changes she wanted, overall, it wasn't terrible.

During the weeks that followed, the bond between Jennifer and Aaron strengthened. Aaron had never realized how much he missed returning to someone until it happened again. He had allowed anger and bitterness to overshadow everything during the divorce. Those sentiments had now dissipated, and happiness filled him. It was surprising for him to feel this way.

Their happiness led to them both enjoying each other's company all the time. This revelation emerged during a calm conversation over steamed clams, fresh drawn butter, and crispy garlic-glazed asparagus.

Two months had passed since Aaron moved in when Jennifer approached him for another heart-to-heart on the back deck. They had become more than partners, with Aaron assuming the role of a slave, subservient in both actions and words. He was also her lover, confidant, and best friend. As they grew closer each day, it seemed they became more connected, even after spending every waking moment together. The saying "absence makes the heart grow fonder" held true, but it was the shared acceptance that made the difference. His role suited him, and while it may have been embarrassing at times, particularly at work, that aspect made it all the more thrilling.

Jennifer began the conversation, setting her glass of red wine aside. She was relaxing on the deck, while Aaron was sipping water, staring out at the ocean. Their relationship had grown and changed. He was more than a slave to her - he was also her lover, her companion, and her confidant. Their interactions were steered by Jennifer, and his role was to fulfill her every wish. Their relationship provided its own rewards. With most evenings free of household chores, he could fully embrace his relationship with Aaron. If the world needed another female-led relationship model, this one would suffice.

"Aaron," Jennifer said. "I've been enjoying the growth of our bond since you moved in. I believe we're ready to take our relationship to the next level. Not the traditional marriage, but a formalized BDSM relationship, celebrated publicly with our family and friends." Jennifer inquires.

The moment had been long anticipated. The experiences at work, facilitated by Juana and Jayne, were instrumental in teaching Aaron new skills. He was just the right fit for Jennifer. In turn, she was the ideal partner for him. Aaron had already expressed to Harry his contentment with their arrangement, remarking, "I think I've found where I belong."

Aaron contemplated Jennifer's words, creating a mental image of the moment. With her feet resting in his hands, he sought to understand. When Jennifer's expression was as joyful as his own, he spoke, "I would relish being your slave, Mistress Jennifer."

After standing back up, they embraced, the mutual excitement in their hug accompanied by a tender kiss that conveyed a lifelong commitment. Their love for one another was based on mutual understanding, compassion, and affection.

**************

Chapter 9

***************

After much planning, it took four weeks to finalize the details of their ceremony. Jennifer communicated her vision, and Aaron transformed it into reality. His existence had become more streamlined and fulfilling. Minneapolis, his previous life, now seemed bleak in comparison to Port Elliot.

The alarm on Aaron's phone woke him up in the morning, and without hesitation, he leaped out of bed. They were scheduled to perform their BDSM ceremony today. Their union would mirror a typical wedding, with minor differences that mattered little.

As Aaron was brushing his teeth, he heard the doorbell ring. It was Harry, dressed in a tux showing off his physique. Harry greeted Aaron with a loving hug, which he accepted gratefully. This physical affection was a welcome change from his Midwestern life.

"How do you feel about this significant day?" Harry inquired.

"Nervous," replied Aaron.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine. I brought something for you, buddy." Harry reached into the pocket of his tuxedo and pulled out a pair of wool socks. "To prevent you from getting cold feet."

The gesture was heartwarming. For the next half an hour, as Aaron was preparing for his wedding, he and Harry conversed. "I'm still going to beat you at tennis."

"I have no doubt about that."

Their dialog was lighthearted. Conversational. Cozy. In the months since Aaron had moved to Port Elliot, Harry had become a great friend. Perhaps the best he'd ever had.

"Are you prepared?" Harry inquired as Aaron began to idle rather than actively doing anything.

"Yes, I am."

"You look amazing in that black tuxedo," Harry pronounced, pulling out his own jacket lapel, as if to say "I look even better."

"Thank you, Harry."

They both exited their house and headed towards Harry's vehicle. Aaron sat in the passenger seat while Harry settled in behind the wheel. Belted and ready to go, they took off to the Surf Life Saving Club for the wedding. Both Aaron and Jennifer had desired their kinky wedding in a stunning church, but the two churches in town were way too conservative to allow a BDSM themed wedding. Thus, reluctantly, Aaron and Jennifer settled on having the wedding by the water, overlooking the stunning view of Nelson Harbour where The Sisters could act as witnesses.

After a brief drive, Aaron and Harry departed the car and strolled towards the club. There were scores of people present already, including Jennifer's parents and her siblings. Of course, Jennifer was missing, secured in her office to prepare. They had consented beforehand that they wouldn't see each other until the ceremony. Wedding traditions were the same everywhere; the groom wasn't supposed to see the bride before the wedding. Aaron was not a believer in superstition, but why mess with fate?

While Aaron was awaiting the ceremony to unfold, he chatted with the man who would be officiating. The celebrant was a middle-aged man named Richard, who was receptive to Aaron's and Jennifer's unique relationship. Aaron and Richard scrutinized the ceremony process once more. Aaron wanted the ceremony to be flawless. Richard chuckled throughout their entire exchange.

After the conversation ended, Julia and Jayne approached Aaron and Richard. "Jennifer is ready for the ceremony," Jayne shared, nodding at Aaron encouragingly. Aaron nodded back, beaming a broad, happy smile.

"Alright, we'll begin in five minutes," Richard replied.

Richard grabbed the mic concealed behind the altar up front and instructed the attendees to take their seats, and that the ceremony would be underway momentarily. Family and friends all take their places. There are pleasant murmurs, hushed debates, and quiet jibes being thrown about as groups of people settle in to witness the ceremony. There are around a hundred people in total. The majority hailed from Jennifer's family and friends. Harry represented Aaron's one and only guest. Down the middle of the room ran a red carpet aisle. It was adorned with pale yellow rose petals. Standing at the front was Aaron, the socks from Harry concealed in his own pocket. To his side was Richard, observing the aisle.

The wedding music began to play. The crowd went silent as they stood. At the rear of the room, Jennifer and her father could be seen. Jennifer's father couldn't have been prouder, guiding his daughter down the aisle. They soaked in the atmosphere. Everyone, including Aaron and Jennifer, were caught up in this special moment. The people in the congregation sent their smiles Aaron and Jennifer's direction. And eventually, they reached the altar, where Jennifer's father handed his daughter over to Aaron.

"Welcome, family and friends. We have assembled today to witness the formal acknowledgment of Jennifer's and Aaron's relationship. This commitment is between two people who adore each other and wish to share their lives. Aaron intends to serve Jennifer as her slave. And Jennifer vows to care for, guide, and love Aaron throughout all of time."

Jennifer and Aaron both affirmed their pledges. "I call upon the people present to witness that I, Jennifer, enable Aaron to be my slave. I promise to love you, to care for you and to respect you for my entire life."

Jennifer repeated her vows verbatim, gazing not at the crowd but at Aaron, who stood beside her, soaking in the depth of her pledges, and the life they were about to share. Together. "I call upon the people present to witness that I, Jennifer, take Aaron to be my slave. I promise to love you, to care for you and to respect you for the rest of my life."

"Aaron, please repeat after me," Richard instructed, turning to Aaron. "I call upon the people present to witness that I, Aaron, accept Jennifer as my Mistress. I promise to love you, to care for you and to respect you for the rest of my life."

Aaron flawlessly repeated the vows.

The cheers and clapping for the newlyweds were overwhelming.

The applause subsided, and Richard spoke up again. "It's time for the slave collar," he said. He reached for a collar stored behind the altar and handed it over to Jennifer. She smiled widely at Aaron as she placed the collar around his neck. Another round of thunderous applause erupted, louder and longer than before.

Richard regained his composure and addressed the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, Jennifer and Aaron have shared with us that they want to start their life together under the formal bond of a BDSM relationship." Pausing, he looked at the couple. "May this special day become a cherished memory for both of you, full of delight and joy. It gives me such joy to announce you as your Mistress and slave. Now, if you wish, you can embrace."

We did.

We did.

The end.

I'm grateful for the assistance of fellow writer, Tester86, in creating this tale. [

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