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" Come on. I'll introduce you to Uncle Harry," Catherine said quickly as she turned towards the conference table.Uncle Harry was actually Harrison Beauregard the Third. He quickly pointed our commonality to me with a booming laugh. I was to discover that he laughed a lot. And that those around him couldn't help but laugh with him. His laughter was contagious. And he seemed to have a funny story about everyone, including himself.He told me about how he and my grandfather had taken my dad and a couple of his friends to their first hockey game, and how the three school boys had decided to see the game up close, so they wandered down to the ice. A few minutes later, a security guard came leading them back, claiming they had followed the players into their dressing room at the end of the first period.I scanned him while he told the story and found that Uncle Harry was exactly what he appeared to be, everybody's favorite uncle. He had reached an age where money was no longer a concern, and. .. and that's exactly the way I want you."Stunned, unable to speak, my mind racing, I lowered my head and askedmeekly, "May I put my clothes on Mommy?"The woman nodded, and waved me away.Without a word, I got dressed, trembling, terrified by the way the CB-2000 contraption looked in my underwear. There was a huge bulge in thepouch of my briefs. But when I pulled up my jeans, they were loose-fitting, and I was relieved to note that you could not tell that I waswearing a chastity cage underneath.Still wearing her robe half open, Alexia met me at the door to let meout. Her once unsightly, over-ripe body in the past did nothing to turn meon. Now, having been denied orgasm, she looked incredibly voluptuous.The sight of her strong thighs and her full breasts bursting from herblack merry widow were driving me wild. As she gave me a quick hug atthe door, I grimaced as my penis tried to rise its head, filled thesheath to capacity, and it smashed into the clear plastic cage. I stoodthere before.
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He wanted me to paddle you and I can’t go through with it,” she explained, trying to comfort me.“Paddle me? Or withdraw from the game on Saturday?” I asked, astounded that he would suggest that to Mrs. Baker.“Well, he wanted you to be punished. I thought that you could withdraw and save yourself the embarrassment,” she said, cocking her head to the side.“You think I’m going to lose?” I asked, shocked that she would say something like that to me.“Oh god, no! You’re going to take him in straight sets; he’s got nothing against that serve of yours,” she lauded.“I meant the embarrassment of a paddling,” she explained.When I heard that, something stirred inside of me. I felt like all the great women of history, like a modern-day Maid of Orleans staring into the face of the oppressive regime and I was determined to drive them to the sea. I was effectively rallied, not in inspiration for the woman who wanted to have my back, but to spite that tyrant and his vassal Victor.“I’ll do it,” I.

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