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12 Labors of Hercules, caged Pt. 12

Part 12. Two exhibitionist castaways reach the island.

A mixed-age MF couple joins the group for Brunch.

Tag: brunch, serving, caged cock, gentle femdom, mature, CFNM, Incest, age gap, age difference, butler.

§ Chapter 40 The Sunday Brunch

At Sunday Brunch time, the girls were all in the meeting room, comfortably arranged to be served in total relaxation.

It was raining hard outside, one of those summer storms, but the temperature was still warm and comfortable. Perhaps it was the day with the most pleasant temperature since the beginning of the month. The Villa looked like an earthly paradise.

The two female Greek cooks had worked all day Saturday to prepare cold dishes that could be eaten without any processing or simple dishes that only needed to be heated for a minute on a simple frying pan.

Dicky was naked, caged, and with his wrists in front of his chest, shackled with a short chain a short distance from his collar. He could not cover the cage with his hands: this forced him to expose a full view of every jerk of his captive cock. And the awareness of such vulnerability turned him on, at least as much as the poses assumed by the girls: from the most provocative, to the most indifferent, they were all very arousing.

The wrists in front, instead of behind the back, as usual, had been an innovation suggested by Skye, to gain the entire team the services of a Butler.

Of course, they all unanimously approved: a brunch is always a time of joyful relaxation, doubled by the excellent food the Greek cooks had left the previous day and increased a hundredfold by the pleasure of being served by a helpful waiter.

Richard, too, was more serene, for (thanks in part to the cage, and the saving of time taken away from masturbation and seduction during daytime hours) his Book on Mythology was progressing rapidly, and the two put him in a very good mood.

Miss Cathy was participating from the big screen and chatting with the girls. For that morning, his wife had allowed Richard to wait tables without gags, and also to eat something: in fact, his wife’s plan was for him to respond with brief thanks to their orders. This would have increased the humiliation of his predicament and amused the girls.

Not to forget, that if his mouth was reachable, the girls could ask him for kisses or licking toes, or other oral services. The only obligation his wife had set for Richard that morning was the prohibition that he could not talk, avoid the risk of boring them all with his usual mansplaining (he would talk for hours about which Greek cheeses tasted best, or which kinds of olives had particular flavor–boring). He could groan, grunt, thank you, but nothing else.

For brunch, the dress code was a total absence of rules. Barbara and Teresa looked like “The Odd Couple” (the old movie with Lemmon and Matthau): the Latina in very short jeans, bare legs, and an unmarked ivory T-shirt, alongside a very elegant “Bach Damsel” all swaddled in an elegant silk dress with large yellow flowers drawn on green and blue fabric. On her feet were high-heeled sandals that exposed nude toes. Because she had been used to walking in them since she was a young girl, she could walk with ease and elegance, like an actress from “Sex and the City.”

Her posture was also in open contradiction. Teresa was wide-legged, like a Chilean truck driver in a diner, in a chair turned inside out, her elbows on the back resting rudely on the table. Barbara gracefully tangled at a tall, backless stool. From up there, her blue eyes were higher than Dicky’s standing ones, and she dominated him physically as well.

On the two couches were slumped limply Emily and Skye, a short distance from each other. Emily was wearing only a straw-yellow tank top, almost transparent: underneath, the areolas of her nipples could be seen, darker than the dark skin around them. She wore no panties: since she had decided to clear her own personal Equatorial Forest, she was very proud of her bald pussy, and displayed it shamelessly by holding her thighs apart, stretching her aroused clit in Dicky’s direction. Probably one of the first orders Butler would have received would have involved licking that horny clit.

On the other couch, Skye was also looking toward Dicky. She looked like one of those old Holly Hobbie dolls, with a long dark green linen skirt and lots of pleats on the puffy sleeves, and bare feet with dark green nail polish. She looked like an innocent little angel today.

Yesterday the female cooks had set up a buffet. But the girls thought it would be more relaxing if they each lay limply on their seats while Dicky served them running at every command.

Miss Cathy enthusiastically approved: she wanted to add, that to highlight his status as a servant, they should hook his ankles to a short chain, to make his steps unsteady and prevent him from running away (as slaves often did in ancient Greece). Everyone understood that Cathy intended to slow her husband’s bursa escort movements and prolong his suffering and exposure to the girls’ gazes (and her own eyes!).

He said nothing (to avoid mansplaining) but was happy to be able to serve his sweet torturers.

Emily felt like starting right away. “Dicky, would you bring me a small plate of scrambled eggs? Pretty please…:” He walked slowly, as slowly as the short chain between his ankles would allow.

Skye raised her eyebrows. In a flat voice, he commented critically, “You don’t ask a slave to please.”

Barbara intervened from above, “But it makes me laugh… it’s so ironic when she says «please», or «s’il te plaît» or «if you don’t mind»… knowing full well that he cannot avoid orders…”

Teresa snickered, “I’ll try it too! Dicky, make me an orange juice «s’il te plaît»… Wow! It’s true! It’s exciting because it’s ironic!” (giggled)

“Ah! I told you so! And wait until you see the look on his face when we each thank him, and he replies, «You’re WEL-COME!»” they all giggled.

Even Skye couldn’t contain herself and rejoiced, “Yeah! We all came, and came very well these days, but not you, poor Dicky, hehe!”

They all laughed. Dicky sketched a little smile. He was happy to be part of that excellent study team, and he was happy to provide so many orgasms and so much fun for the girls (and his wife remotely), but he sincerely hoped that at least Sunday Miss Cathy was planning to give him a release.

“Uh, silly me, I forgot to ask you for bacon too, if you don’t mind…” (giggle)

“I got it! Uh, Mr. Dicky please, could you add two ice cubes to my juice?” (giggle)

With each order, Dicky was forced to pace back and forth, holding up saucers and glasses with his hands.

Skye yawned as if having trouble waking up: she spread her arms wide and casually her hand hit one of Richard’s bare buttocks. “Oh: I didn’t realize you were up. I don’t feel comfortable with a cock walking at the height of my mouth…would you mind serving me a cup of coffee, crawling on your knees, Dicky? If you don’t mind…”

Richard immediately knelt. Then he had much difficulty turning around and crawling toward the buffet. He had to get up, in some pain because of the chain: it locked his ankles and made vertical movements of his knees arduous. Richard managed to get to the coffee machine, but he had exposed his bare ass to the mischievous gaze of the girls and his wife.

For a moment he thought about taking sugar as well, then guessed that Miss Skye had not asked for it specifically to force him to go the same route at least one more time, or perhaps two or three more (if he had asked separately for a drop of milk, and even a teaspoon).

Staggering on his knees, he arrived in front of Skye’s red pussy bush: the Scottish woman had raised her skirt and gathered her knees, and the nails of her dark green enameled toes framed her pussy. “Thank you, Dicky: then I’ll ask you for another service too, but right now, would you also get me a sugar cube?” and smiled like a devil.

Dicky only said, “You’re well… (wait for it…) COME, miss…” The girls laughed.

While Dicky started to maneuver to turn around, they heard a loud noise coming from the dock, overpowering the downpours.

Barbara tried to get up to look at the window, but Teresa was dressed much more comfortably, as well as being more athletic. The Latina with a leap was already at the window, “There’s a sailboat stranded on the beach! And there are people!”

Everyone looked at each other with embarrassment. It was obvious that they had to offer hospitality to the castaways, but it was clear that the brunch could not continue like that, with a professor handcuffed and kneeling in the middle of the room.

As always, the most concrete reaction came from Teresa (who was also the only one dressed appropriately to leave right away). “I’ll go out! The rain and the cold never bothered me! I make time with the castaways, you unfasten the prof and think of something.”

§ Chapter 41 Two Castaways under the storm

In the rain, Teresa ran toward the castaways. They had no umbrellas, or maybe they were in some closet but she had no time to look for them. The rain wet her very short hair, and she thought, “My father did not approve of them, but see how comfortable short hair is when it rains!”

Her shoulders and chest were soaked. Her bare toes sank into the cold, wet sand The clouds were so dense and low, that it looked like night. Teresa came in front of the castaways and shouted to be heard.

“Do you speak English?”

“Yes of course!”

“Are you all right? There is a villa where you can be medicated!”

Teresa sharpened her eyesight. In the darkness caused by the water-laden clouds, she could see a man standing there, wearing a large blue-and-black boxer-type swimsuit, which covered him up to beyond the knee; and below him was a woman, naked, with her head bandaged and with long black scratches.

“If you beat this woman bursa escort bayan until she bled, I’ll show you, asshole,” thought the Latina, gritting her teeth. He took two steps forward, put his hands on his hips to show his aggression, and said, turning to the woman, “Madam, do you need help?”

“Oh! No, dear, that’s very kind, but I am not a Damsel in Distress… and although it doesn’t look like it, I AM dressed, this is the swimsuit he choose as a gift for me… and which I am wearing by my own free will.”

“This is my wife, Melissa… My name is Jean-Claude” the man said, turning to Teresa.

Teresa stared at the woman as she stood up from the wreckage. She was completely naked except for a few strips of gold and blue fabric held together by metal rings that encircled her nipples, now erect like pencils from the cold wind and large raindrops.

Teresa noticed that both were not maintaining eye contact with her. They both seemed interested in staring at the top of their own ivory-colored shirts. Lowering her gaze, she saw that in the rain it had become competitively transparent. The two strangers were staring at the light triangles of untanned skin that framed her dark nipples and silver piercings. The awareness of that exposure aroused two sudden erections of the Latina’s nipples.

Perhaps the same awareness aroused another erection under the man’s long blue swimsuit, which remained silent, embarrassed. His wife continued, in a serene voice, “I understand that from a distance they may look like something else, but it’s a thin blue swimsuit with lots of gold stitching…in the light, we’ll be able to see it better. And this white towel is just to protect your hair from the rain — silly, isn’t it?”



“But don’t you two talk to each other?”

The husband said “Oh, it’s nice of you to ask us… on this vacation, my young wife two and I are doing this sort of psychological game, an experiment that Angela, a psychologist friend, recommended… but if you really have a house with a roof, maybe we could ask for asylum for a couple of hours? I’ve already radioed about the incident, but it’s raining here… and maybe we would converse better over hot coffee…”

“Ah. Yeah. The Brunch. Our Brunch. Follow me.”

§ Capitolo 42 Un Brunch allargato

Teresa turned and led the way to the Villa. The two were not speaking to each other: it was true. The only phrases they had spoken were addressed to her: a stranger offering hospitality, a roof, and warm food. But they were not talking to each other. The girl trudged almost naked in the rain, and the man followed her, perhaps out of chivalry, or perhaps to admire the almost naked buttocks swaying before him. He if seemed a voyeur, and she an exhibitionist. Both shoeless, typical over sailboats: he tried to cover his head with a small braided rope bag of hers, with a pink and purple feminine scarf around the handles.

According to the rules of good manners, Teresa was supposed to lead the conversation, introducing light topics like the weather.

But she was nervous about the arrival of two strangers on “their” island. Moreover, it seemed to her that doing small talk during a storm was not a great idea. She followed her character: she remained silent.

“Who knows! Maybe the psychological game between these two, could be successful even between us, how many times have Barbara and I got angry over one word too many? And with friends, with friends’ girlfriends… you know maybe, being a little bit more laconic…”

She smiled, thinking of herself recruited into the Spartan army, like in the movie “300” (although Frank Miller’s graphic novel was better than the two movies, Teresa had a deep crush on Lena Headey/Gorgo).

### A brief flashback: Meanwhile.

Meanwhile, as the quick-witted Teresa ran out into the rain to greet (but also to slow down) the castaways, the girls wondered how to behave.

Richard was about to say something, with his index finger raised, but Skye quickly shushed him.

“No mansplaining! Miss Cathy has ordered that you be quiet, and we will obey her orders.”

“But how are we going to do that? I’m almost naked!” shrieked Emily.

A light bulb lit up on Barbara’s forehead. “We’ll say he’s our Butler. We will continue to tease him, even though you, Emily, will accompany him to his room. Uncuff him, undo his collar, and help him put on the clothes he had on the plane–if you find a white shirt, he’ll look like a waiter. I — by sheer coincidence, I’m already dressed up, I could be credible as the heiress of the Villa, right? And you will be my archaeological collaborators. What do you say, Miss Cathy? [Cathy nodded as she turned off the screen] Perfect. It’s showtime!”

“What about the cage? Should I ask for the code to release it?” asked Emily doubtfully.

“Hospitality is about hosting. I don’t think castaways can ask a butler to undress. That would be very inappropriate.”



“Okay for me, escort bursa Miss Barbara.”

“That sounds good. I think we could keep the title ‘miss,’ it sounds very professional coming from a Butler. Now quickly, everyone gets dressed. I’ll greet them from the doorway, we’re so lucky, I’m already even wearing the right shoes!”

From the Main Door came like a fury Teresa, completely wet, and grunted something like “It’s raining cats and dogs” and “here are Jean-Claude and Melissa, husband and wife. She’s wearing a nice swimsuit, by the way,” and slipped straight to the room to shower and dry off.

Barbara greeted the two newcomers with an embarrassed smile. The man wore shorts that came to mid-calf, but the (much younger) girl wore only a few strips of dark blue fabric and gold threads, held together by two thin wooden rings that framed around her erect nipples. The cleft of the shaved pussy was furrowed by a strip of fabric that had slipped in.

But the girl also stared at Barbara: in particular, at her chest. Barbara was used to it, and she knew how to handle it. She said, smiling, “Surgery: removed breast, run in the family. Everything is fine now. I survived and I’m very proud. And my eyes are up here.”

“Oh! Excuse me…ma’am…”

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Barbara Bach, an archaeologist. Welcome to the Villa! We are an academic research team, here on an investigation of the mythology of Hercules. But today is a day of rest, and if I may invite you to join our Brunch.”

The man said nothing. The girl said, “With great pleasure, I am Melissa and this is my husband, Jean-Claude. Thank you for welcoming us to your Villa, ma’am…”

“No problem at all. Allow me to introduce my colleagues… Dr. Emily Brown, and Dr. Skye McDuff.”

Skye squared the pair with a disgusted look. She thought, “A too-young gold digger, she’ll be twenty at most, married to an old pig who’s at least forty or forty-five or worse, just because he owns a sports car and a sailboat. That sucks.”

Fortunately, the two did not notice Skye’s icy stare, because they were distracted by the jovial eloquence of Emily, who shook hands first with the girl and then with the man and said emphatically, “Oh, you know, for the Greeks, like Oedipus and Electra, hospitality was sacred. And for us scholars it is as well.”

The husband was quite dazed: he thought these scholars were all a bit strange. He thought silently, “Platypus? Carmen Electra? And who the heck were these people? Maybe the nicknames of Greek gardener and the maid of the Villa?”

Skye had brought two large towels. As the two castaways dried themselves, Skye thought that perhaps the presence of two strangers might have been quite a challenge for poor Dicky.

Barbara invited the man to follow her inside the room, to have coffee: his short hair did not need much care to be dried. In that way, Barbara had managed to separate the couple: if the young woman needed help, that was the time to take advantage of her husband’s distraction. In addition, Barbara wanted to make sure that the presence of a butler was not a problem for the two newcomers.

“I hope you don’t mind learning that the brunch was prepared by our two female Greek cooks.”

“Oh! Are there any other women in this Villa?”

“No, not at all. There are only us. But I must tell you that brunch will be served by our Butler. Richard is a very faithful husband; he is a discreet and reliable person who will not harass your young wife in any way. But, since the swimsuit she is wearing is skimpy, we wanted to check first if you don’t mind your wife being served by a male Butler.”

“Served in what sense?” he asked, half suspicious and half hopeful.

“Oh, no. Just the breakfast dishes. You see, our butler is completely faithful to his wife, and he is not homosexual. Of course, he also has eyes like all men, and if he sees his wife in that costume, he will probably have lustful thoughts, but we can guarantee that he will say nothing. He hardly ever says anything; it’s like having a mute.

“All right.”

At a nod from Miss Barbara, Richard entered, dressed as a butler, with a full suit, tie, socks, and shoes (and the cage, invisible under the dress pants). He made a faint bow but said nothing.

Mr. Jean-Claude nodded.

§ Chapter 43 Introduction of Butler (part one).

Still in the lobby, Emily, motherly and protective, asked the nearly naked and shivering girl if she wanted them to borrow clothes for brunch. But Melissa replied that she had promised her husband to wear only that costume during the sailing vacation, and that she didn’t intend to break her oath over a silly accident–if it didn’t bother them, since, of course, that skimpy micro bikini was meant for the boat and not for close looks, and she didn’t want to be offensive.

Skye read the situation as a confession of exhibitionism. She was still not sure, whether the exhibitionist was the husband, or the wife: but surely one of them enjoyed showing Melissa’s nearly naked body.

Baby steps.

Skye said that maybe being barefoot might be okay on the boat plank, but that the floor of the Villa was treacherous–maybe she could borrow shoes if the size matched. But Melissa had a foot that was too small–which matched Teresa’s size.

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