Accidental Chastity

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No End in Sight

I first met Ann when we were at college together. She was so beautiful, and I couldn't believe she was interested in me. I think maybe she saw in me someone she could manipulate, someone so grateful just to be around her that I'd put up with anything.

My suspicions were soon confirmed. One day she made it clear to me that she had no interest at all in finishing college, only in pursuing her singing career, and she expected me to drop out too and work to support her. I protested that I had other plans, but she made it clear that was the only way we would go on seeing each other, and as always I gave in.
To give her credit, though, she worked hard at it. She put together a band fronted by her and another singer called Natalie, also stunningly beautiful, and the two of them were constantly writing songs, working in the recording studio or trying to get gigs. I resented working long hours in a job I hated just so that someone else could live her dream, but then I guess just being with her under any circumstances was a dream come true for me, so I didn't complain.
Finally all her hard work (and mine) started to pay off. The band started to gain a reputation, and they were offered gigs in prestigious venues all over the country. To celebrate her success, I cooked her favourite meal and served it with an expensive champagne. As we ate, I sensed that something was on her mind. Finally, she let me into her thoughts.
"This is all great, honey, and I do appreciate the effort you've gone to. But if you really want to make me happy, there's something else you need to do for me."
"Sure, anything."
"If things carry on the way they are, I'm going to be away from home a lot from now on. And with all I have to think about already, I'm sure you don't want me to be worrying unnecessarily about you."
"No, of course not," I replied, wondering what she was leading up to.
"So the thing is, honey, I want to you to wear a chastity belt while I'm away. I'll keep the only key with me. That way I'll know that even if you're tempted you can't stray, and I won't have to worry about you."
I was stunned. Did she say a chastity belt? It sounded like something from the middle ages. Did they even make things like that these days? I soon found out. After dinner, she led me upstairs and showed me a package that had arrived in the post that day. It turned out to contain a shiny metal chastity belt, with a penis tube just large enough to contain my penis when completely flaccid, and a sturdy belt and lock to hold it in place. I was horrified by how strongly built it was. This was obviously no plaything but a real, working chastity belt that simply was not going to come off without the key to unlock it.
She saw my discomfort and laughed. "Don't worry honey, you don't have to put it on now. We'll wait until I'm leaving on Saturday. Until then you can enjoy your freedom." Putting her arm around my neck, she pulled me down onto the bed for one of those nights that made everything else worthwhile.
Between then and Saturday she said nothing about the belt, and I began to hope she'd forgotten the whole idea. But on Saturday morning as she stood in the doorway with her bags packed, she turned to me with mock surprise and said, "Oh, but aren't we forgetting something?" I tried to reason with her, promising I'd be faithful and insisting that I never even looked at any woman apart from her (which was true) but she was implacable. Sure enough, when I waved goodbye to the cab as it pulled away from our house, she responded by smiling and dangling the key to the belt that was now securely attached to me. I was shocked by how snugly it fit me - she had obviously had it made to measure rather than buying off the shelf - and my earlier impression that there would be no way to get out of it was confirmed. Tug and strain as I might, there was no way I could slip it off, and the metal looked so strong that anything powerful enough to cut it would do terrible damage to the person inside it as well.
That night I hardly slept. My excitement at my imprisoned status caused my penis to try and erect constantly, but it didn't have any room to grow before it came up against the solid metal sheath. I understood too late that her not locking me up a few days before hadn't been a kindness, just a trick to ensure that once I was locked up and knew just how unbearable it was, I'd have an entire week of it to endure before I had any chance of getting the thing off.
At the end of the week, when she walked back through the door, she laughed when she saw the desperation on my face. I pleaded with her to let me out of my belt, but she drew the whole thing out as long as she could, pretending to have lost the key, looking in one bag after another until finally releasing me. I couldn't believe how good having a simple erection felt after my week of confinement, and the orgasm when we had sex that night was one of the best of my life.
Little did I know that this was only the beginning of my descent into a hell of frustration. She continued to lock me up every time she went away, no matter how long for, and became more and more casual about letting me out when she got back. She'd make me massage her all over, saying she was tired from her trip, which sent my frustration levels through the roof, and still refused to release me. One day she announced that she was tired of me badgering her about it, and that in future I wasn't allowed to ask to be released, the penalty if I did being extra time locked up, the amount to be decided by her. She would release me in her own good time, she said, and I would just have to wait patiently. So each time she got back I would do everything I could think of to please her, not daring even to ask for the freedom I so desperately needed.
One time, she had been away for three weeks, and five days after her return had still showed no sign of releasing me. I was going out of my mind, when to my surprise she said:
"You're probably wondering when I'm going to release your cock and let you have an orgasm."
I hardly needed to reply, so she went on:
"Well, I have some news for you on that score. I was very disappointed with the fuss you made before I went away, saying that I couldn't possibly keep you locked up for a whole three weeks. I think you see now that I can keep you locked up for just as long as I want?"
I nodded silently.
"Nevertheless, your little display alerted me to a potential problem. We've just been offered a tour that would mean me being away from home for several months, maybe even a year. Naturally I'm going to keep you locked up for all that time, but it's obvious you'll never let me lock you up if you know it's for that long. So here's my solution. From now on, you'll only be unlocked when your wrists and ankles are securely tied or chained to the four corners of the bed. That way I know I can always get the belt back on without any interference from you. While your belt is off, I'll play with your penis - sometimes I'll give you an orgasm, sometimes I'll bring you right to the edge again and again and then deny you. It will depend on your behaviour - or maybe just the mood I'm in - and you'll never know which it's going to be."
"This will happen maybe once a week while I'm at home, assuming your behaviour is faultless. While I'm away, of course, the belt won't come off at all."
I couldn't believe she could be so cruel, but every word she said came true. It turned out she was away for ten months, and by the end of it I thought my balls might explode with the amount of cum that had built up in them. I was amazed that the frustration level just kept on building and never levelled off. I fantasised about flying out to wherever she currently was, falling to my knees in front of her and pleading that I would do anything, anything at all if she would only let me out of this belt. Then I realised with a jolt that of course I couldn't fly because of the airport metal detectors. She really had me over a barrel, and all I could do was wait.
It didn't help that the band was starting to get TV coverage, and several times during this period I saw on TV the Goddess I adored who had turned my life into a living hell. If I thought she was beautiful normally, when the professional stylists and make-up artists had finished with her she was an absolute knockout. When an interviewer complimented her by saying that her boyfriend was a very lucky man, I could have wept with frustration.
However, just when everything seemed to be going well for the band, disaster struck in the form of a spat between Ann and Natalie. The papers got hold of it and, excited by the prospect of a long-running story featuring two such beautiful women, started to fan the flames, encouraging each of them to attack the other. Before long, what had been a minor disgreement that might have been easily resolved had turned into a blazing row. The rest of the tour was cancelled and Ann came home furious. Despite my desperation, I knew better than to ask to be released, especially when she was in such a foul mood, so I waited as patiently as I could.
But as the public row continued and her anger with her former bandmate grew, my situation seemed the last thing on her mind. Finally she said:
"I've got it. You can give an interview. Tell everyone that what I'm saying about that bitch is true."
"Me?"
"Why not? You've met her enough times, you know what she's like."
I started to protest, saying that doing that would only make the situation worse instead of calming things down. I didn't say that I suspected Ann was probably at least as much in the wrong as Natalie, if not more so. I knew how unreasonable she could be if she didn't get her own way all the time. But she cut me short.
"Oh for God's sake, do I have to spell it out? Say what I tell you to say, or you'll stay locked in that belt until hell freezes over."
I knew there and then that I had no choice. So to my eternal shame, I publicly slandered this perfectly nice woman who had never done me any harm and who I'd always liked whenever I'd met her. At first, I tried to keep it reasonably mild - exaggerating some things, taking other things out of context. I gave an unfair impression of Natalie without telling any outright lies. But Ann wasn't happy, saying that if I was so half-hearted in my support of her, I could forget any ideas about ever having an orgasm again.
With no alternative, I gave a second interview, saying I wanted to respond to fresh public insults Natalie had directed at Ann. This time I really laid into her, saying everything I thought the papers would print, however unfair or untrue. Even Ann seemed shocked by how far I'd gone, but by this time I was so desperate I would have said or done anything to get this infernal belt off.
A few days later, Ann said that I should come up to the bedroom at noon on Saturday and I would finally get what I was longing for. I hardly dared believe it, but when the time finally arrived she handed me an envelope. My heart sank as I took it and realised it was too light to contain a key. Seeing my reaction, she smiled.
"OK, so it's not the key itself, but it's the next best thing - an explanation of where the key is."
I opened the envelope and found a piece of paper inside. For a moment I didn't understand what I was looking at. It was a photocopy of a letter from Ann to Natalie, dated a couple of days earlier. It read:

"Dear Natalie, I know you will be surprised to get this letter from me. Communicating via the tabloids has been more our style lately, hasn't it? I think that's been part of the problem. An insignificant quarrel has been blown way out of proportion. I admit I was as guilty of this as anyone, and I'd like to do what I can to make amends. You must be wondering what has caused my sudden change of heart. It was hearing my so-called boyfriend saying such awful things about you in the papers. I'm sure he was just trying to stand up for me in his own deluded way, but that really is no excuse for the kind of poisonous garbage he came out with, the things he said about someone he hardly knows who has always been nothing but pleasant to him. When I realised how angry I was at what he'd said, I knew that I still cared about you very much and had to do whatever I could to heal this rift between us. So here's what I plan to do to make amends. He's yours now. The key you'll find in this envelope is the only key to his chastity belt, which he's now been locked in for nearly a year without relief. Believe me when I tell you that he will do absolutely anything to get it off, even for a moment, a weakness that I've been exploiting for many years. I could carry on doing the same but frankly it's no challenge any more, so I think you should have him. Do with him whatever you like. At the very least, you'll never have to clean your house or cook a meal again, but I'm sure I can trust you to come up with some more creative ways to abuse him as well! And if you start to feel any mercy or pity for him, just remember what he did to you. I'm sure you'll agree that continued - maybe even endless? - frustration for him is the only reasonable outcome. I'll be showing him a copy of this letter on Saturday at noon. Something tells me you'll be seeing him soon after that..."

The tears falling from my eyes meant I couldn't read any more of the letter. I looked up at Ann and saw her cold-hearted smile of triumph, her victory over me finally complete.
It was a look I was to see again when, a beaten and broken man, I knocked on Natalie's door later that day, When she answered, I threw myself on her mercy. I told her that Ann had made me say the things I did by threatening never to release me, and that I didn't mean any of them. I pleaded with her to show mercy on me and end my unimaginable frustration. But I knew from her face that I was wasting my breath.
"You think you're frustrated now, after only a year?"
Without another word, she turned and walked back into the house. I followed, to begin a new chapter in the saga of hopeless desperation my life had become.

Wham, Bam, Thank You, Ma'am! (A Short Story)

---

We knew each other from online. Only, I just didn’t know her name. Well…not her real name, anyway. The only way I knew how to refer to her was by the screen name she used…and that screen name, of course, was the infamous “Ms. Handcuffs.” Her logic in taking this approach was supposedly to afford us both the maximum amount of anonymity. She didn’t know my real name, and I didn’t know hers. She didn’t know my phone number or home address, and I didn’t know her phone number of where she lived either. All I knew was that we essentially both lived in the same metropolitan area and that I was excited --to say the least-- that she’d finally agreed to meet me in person.

In fact, I could barely contain my excitement as I meticulously followed the instructions that Ms. Handcuffs had sent me in an e-mail from earlier. I was supposed to reserve a room for us an exclusive local hotel and then leave a key at the front desk for her, so that she could let herself into the room whenever she got there. In the meantime, I was supposed to arrive first --before she did-- check into the hotel, go up to the room and then remove my clothes.

Once I disrobed, I wasn’t supposed to be wearing anything other than the shiny silver Lorie's chastity device that only she had the key to and that she also insisted I wear at all times, the most secure on the market.  And trust me, at times, it was exceedingly frustrating. For one thing, I no longer had control over when I could have an orgasm or, for that matter, when I could achieve an erection. She quite literally had me “by the balls,” and we both knew it. At any rate, aside from the uncomfortable Lorie chastity device that she insisted I wear, I was also supposed to fasten a black leather slave collar around my neck and then attach independent, thick black leather shackles to each of my wrists and my ankles as well. I was supposed to securely fasten them to my wrists and ankles, but not connect them together. Well…at least not yet, anyway.

Once I was properly outfitted, according to the instructions she had sent me earlier, I was then supposed to kneel meekly at the foot of the bed, facing the door, with my head bowed out of respect. The next thing I knew, the door to the hotel room was opening and in walked a shiny, new pair of stylish black leather boots. The reason they looked so familiar to me, I suppose, was because I was also the one that had paid for them. Earlier. As an online tribute to her while we were chatting about the possibility of actually meeting each other in person.

She positioned her right boot in front of my face and without even being told, I enthusiastically started covering the surface of her shiny black boots with submissive kisses. She seemed genuinely pleased that I was so grateful to her for the opportunity to serve in person, but she still pushed me away with her boot once she was satisfied with my submissive spit-shine. She then told me to back up just slightly and lie face-down on the dirty, carpeted floor of the hotel room. She reached into the pocket of the buttery-soft black leather jacket she was wearing at that point and produced a sporty pair of supple black leather driving gloves. The gloves and jacket also looked familiar to me, of course, because I had paid for them earlier as well.

While she stretched the black leather gloves onto her hands, Ms. Handcuffs slowly sauntered around behind me and squatted down so that I could no longer see what she was doing. The next thing I knew, she roughly pulled my arms behind my back and fastened the shackles around my wrists together. At that point, she quickly connected the shackles around my ankles to each other and then she also attached both my wrists and ankles together, effectively hog-tying me.

My submissive mind was now starting to wander and I wondered what would happen to me next. I had no idea what to expect and, for that matter, no way of doing anything to prevent it. It was official, I was now completely at the mercy of Ms. Handcuffs.

She chuckled softly at my confused reaction before strolling back around in front of me again. She then squatted back down right beside my head and gently slid her gloved hand underneath my chin, lifting it up just barely to meet her intense, smoldering gaze. She looked excited and sadistic at the same time. She smiled at me…and it was evil grin…

“Open wide,” she teased as I reluctantly opened on my mouth…only to have her roughly shove one of my own socks into my mouth before securely duct taping it shut. She had not only hog-tied me on the floor of my hotel room, but now, she had even gagged me with one of my own dirty sweat socks! I was seriously starting to feel more and more foolish about the situation that I now found myself in, but being so expertly bound and gagged, could do nothing about it…but watch in frustration --that is-- as my Mistress, the mysterious Ms. Handcuffs, strutted arrogantly over to where I had left my wallet on the dresser of our hotel room. She rifled through it quickly, efficiently discarding anything that didn’t interest her and keeping everything that did, including all of my cash and credit cards.

I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. I mean, honestly…I was being robbed in my own hotel room. Literally!

Laughing at my frustration as she looked back over her shoulder at me, Ms. Handcuffs then strolled over to where I was still hog-tied on the floor and squatted back down beside my head again. The creaking leather of her skintight pants made an unmistakably sexy sound. Then again, “they should,” I thought to myself as she reached her gloved hand out and slid it underneath my chin again, “after all, I paid for them, too…and they cost almost $500!”

I didn’t know what to expect at that point, but Ms. Handcuffs didn’t keep me in suspense very long. Still laughing at the strained expression on face, she held my driver’s license up in front of me so that I could see what it was she was holding.

“Hmmm,” she mused thoughtfully as she glanced at first my driver’s license and then back at me, “so that’s your real name, is it? I had no idea…but now I do! Now I know your name, your age, your birthday, your address, where you live…everything!”

“And thanks to this,” she smirked sarcastically me as she held my BlackBerry up with her other hand, “I know your phone number, too. Not to mention the phone numbers and e-mail addresses of all your friends and family! This was just waaaaay too easy, you stupid loser!”

“I mean just look at you,” Ms. Handcuffs continued cruelly as I struggled against my bonds. “I bet you feel like a total dumbass right now, don’t you? I love it!”

She then laughed again as she took a few pictures of my predicment and stood back up and put both my driver’s license and my BlackBerry into the pocket of her black leather jacket. She just couldn’t resist telling me what was about to happen next. Not that I could do anything about it, of course, but just so I would know…she was about to leave…and go down to the bar that was in the lobby of the hotel where we were. Maybe she would come back later and let me go, and maybe she wouldn’t. That would all just depend, she said, on whether the live band at the bar was any good…or if she found someone else more interesting to play with while she was there.

“But don’t worry, though, loser,” she further explained to me, “if I don’t come back and let you go later, I’m sure the hotel maid will find you in the morning at check-out time and let you go then! In that case have a nice frustrated life”

Still laughing at not only my gullibility, but also my current predicament, she then sashayed over toward the hotel room’s door, apparently about to leave. But she didn’t leave right away. Instead, she turned back around --with one hand on the hip of her insanely sexy, tight black leather pants and her other arm held up just slightly, so she could see what time it was-- and exclaimed, “Wow! Ten minutes?! That must be a new record!”

And then, the last thing I remember was the mesmerizing sight of her shapely, leather-clad ass walking out the door…and the sound of sarcastic laughter accompanied by the clicking of high heels in the hallway as Ms. Handcuffs left.

Penalties

Carmenica Diaz

SYNOPSIS

Penalties: Barry had a secret fantasy that involved prolonged teasing and subsequent denial. He never revealed it to anyone until he saw an advertising leaflet that promoted a tease and denial service. Poor Barry, he just had to call. This is a story in three parts and all parts will be posted here. This story will also be published in a collection of short stories at some future time.

Penalties

His fingers trembled when he picked up the telephone and began to dial the number. Her number!
It had been three weeks, three weeks of trying to regain control, of attempting to withdraw from her illicit web of fantasy. Oh, he had tried to be strong, to resist it but the lure of his forbidden fantasy nagged at him and his resolve crumbled like stale cake.
He wanted to say no but now he was dialling the number. Again! Even though he had said he would outlast her, to go the distance, his fingers were still pressing the buttons as if they had a mind of their own. The fact was, he wanted so much not to call but couldn't resist, he just couldn't!
Barry looked nervously around the office to see if anyone was noticing what he was doing but all seemed oblivious to his actions, going about the usual pandemonium that constantly inhabited the offices of Brown, Brown and Burrows.
As usual, his co-workers ignored him. They only approached him when they wanted something, some financial analysis but excluded him from any social gatherings. He didn't mind, he was a little anti-social these days.
Twice he put the telephone down before completing the number, wiping his sweaty palms of his trouser legs while he gathered his resolve but it was no use.
The stale cake crumbled and Barry surrendered to his desires, surrendered to his fantasies.
And dialled.
It rang and rang until a loud click and her breathy, husky voice slid down the wire and nestled in his ear,
'Hello?'
He cleared his throat and whispered, 'it's Barry…'
'I knew you'd call.'
'Yes…'
'I thought you'd last longer but you're not as strong as I thought.' Her voice was casual, almost warm and yet with a hint of arrogance and steel. It was one of the things about her that he fantasised about.
'No,' he whispered, glancing around the office. 'Can I see yo…'
'Not very strong at all,' she continued as if he had said nothing. 'Are you?'
Barry swallowed. 'No, I'm not,' he admitted softly, hands sweaty around the telephone and a slippery sheen on his forehead.
'Not what?' It was asked in a teasing tone but Barry knew better than to reply in kind. That was not what she wanted and if he didn't give her exactly what she sought, the call would be abruptly terminated and wouldn't answer her telephone for another week.
'I'm not very strong,' Barry answered desperately, watching the Managing Director's personal assistant walking across the open plan office towards his work-station.
'No,' she said with finality, 'you're not. In fact, you're weak.'
'Please…'
'What are you?'
'I'm weak!' Barry replied in a hushed but anguished tone. 'I'm weak! Bronwyn,' he pleaded, 'can I see you?'
'I'm available tomorrow night at eight. Can you wait that long?' she teased. 'There is a penalty,' she reminded him but Barry didn't care.
Barry's heart sank, he had hoped that Bronwyn would be available that night, no matter what the penalty was, but he knew better than to argue. 'Yes,' he murmured, 'I'll wait.'
'Poor darling. I'll be at the Ritz under the name of Mrs Michele Mouse.'
Click!
Barry stared at the telephone before slowly replacing the now dead receiver. She had hung up on him!
Desperately he wrote down the name of the hotel and the idiotic name she would be staying under in case he forgot.
'Are you all right, Barry?'
His head jerked up and he looked into the cool green eyes of Judith, the Managing Director's personal assistant.
'Yes,' he said quickly with a feeble grin, 'I'm fine.'
'You look pale, almost green,' Judith said with faint concern as her eyes danced over him. 'You're not going to be sick, are you?'
'No, no. Really, I'm fine. Something just disagreed with me.'
'How awful,' Judith said with a complete lack of interest, placing a file on his desk. 'Mister Brown requires a summary of the financial position of Hendon industries for tomorrow morning's board meeting.'
'Yes, of course,' Barry said, picking the file up with trembling fingers.
'Just email it to me when you've finished and I'll print copies for the board. I'm leaving at six so I would appreciate the report by five.'
'Yes,' he said hurriedly, 'of course.'
Judith vaguely smiled at him and walked away, leaving Barry with furtive thoughts of the next evening at the Ritz Hotel.
It had all been just a fantasy, that's all. His secret, forbidden fantasy that Barry had controlled and hidden from everyone. Not once did he confide in anyone, not even his wife, Rose, and he kept his desire in check.
Unfortunately, Rose was now his ex-wife. She had found Barry's best friend, Roan, to be undeniably attractive and they had fled together to New Zealand. Once the divorce had been settled, friends had slyly let Barry know that Rose and Roan were deliriously happy and operating a guesthouse in the Bay of Islands.
The Bay of Islands. Barry had stared at the postmark over the stamp on Rose's final letter, a terse communication about the last of their property settlement and tried to imagine what a place called the Bay of Islands looked like.
Barry's sudden bachelor life was miserable. He worked by day and sat alone in his small flat at night, watching television or reading the newspapers after a frozen dinner. Once or twice he had gone to the pub but that had also been rather miserable. Their friends, he discovered were actually Rose's friends and they all drifted away, leaving him to his dull and ordered life.
And then he saw it.
A leaflet fluttered from his newspaper and he picked it up. It was just a small advertisement but it was the instrument that changed his life.

PERSONAL SERVICES

Mistress of Tease and Denial.

The third line carried a Post Office address and Barry read that advertising leaflet a hundred times, holding it in trembling hands. Finally, he wrote a short letter, sealing it nervously in an envelope and went to bed.
When he arose the next morning, Barry walked downstairs and tore the envelope and letter into many small pieces.
He wrote the letter at least three more times, tearing it up soon immediately but, at last, he nervously posted it and waited. Barry had been careful and gave his return address as a small local post office box he had recently reserved.
Would she write back? Who was she? Was it possible there was a woman who enjoyed tease and denial? How much would it cost?
These questions and more constantly plagued Barry as he went about his mundane life. For the first time, that mundane life had a shot of vibrancy within it but he was careful not to show any emotions to his co-workers. To them, he was the same old dull Barry from Finance.
Three days later, his shaking fingers retrieved a pink envelope from the Post office box and rushed home to tear it open. The envelop smelled of a sweet perfume that permeated his every sense and his hands were shaking as he stared at the paper.
The pink paper was folded once and just above the crease was the name Bronwyn and a mobile telephone number.
It took Barry an hour to assemble his courage to call, his foot tapping nervously as the phone rang and rang.
'Hello?'
'Ah…hello…is this Bronwyn?'
'You called the number, didn't you? Don't you know whom you call?' The female voice was cool and calm and yet strangely sensual. 'Are you in the habit of dialling random numbers in the hope of engaging in social contact?'
Her teasing tone caught him off guard and he stumbled for words. 'Ah…no...Ah…'
'So you did call me? And why is that?' she teased.
'Ah…I wrote…a…letter…'
'Is that Barry?' His name in her soft and warm voice made his cock harden at once and he felt very hot.
'Ah…yes…is that…'
'What a lovely letter. Did you mean it?'
He had laboriously written about his favourite denial fantasy and Barry flushed, remembering the detail he had incorporated into the letter.
'It's…a fantasy…I…'
'I know it's a fantasy,' she said crossly and Barry winced at her tone. 'But you want me to make it come true?'
'Well…sort of…'
'Sort of?' she pounced.
'Yes…' he said lamely, 'or something…like it…'
'Yes,' she agreed, 'something like it.'
'Could…you tell me how much…' Barry stumbled through the delicate part of the conversation.
'One hundred pounds,' she said calmly, 'for starters. It's my introductory offer. Goodness,' she suddenly giggled, 'I sound rather important, don't I? I sound like an advertisement.''
'One hun…'
'Yes, it's the very least I will accept, I'm afraid.' And, for a moment, her voice actually sounded full of regret. 'It has to be cash, of course.'
'All right,' he whispered, head bowed.
'Do you know the Boar's Head Inn on Kings Road?'
'Yes,' he croaked, 'I think so.'
'Friday night at seven. I'll be registered under the name of Miss Diana Muppet.'
'Muppet?' he said weakly.
'Yes. Please don't be late. I rather expect punctuality.'
Click!
Of course it wasn't the original Boars Head Inn. That establishment had survived Henry VIII, the London fires and Hitler's bombing but had fallen foul to greedy councils and developers. A large glass and steel hotel now stood in it's place, incongruously retaining the original name.
The lobby was a first year architects vision of what a traditional wayside inn had looked like in 1678 – plastics manufactured to appear as royal oak and waitresses dressed as serving wenches, their faces expressionless, their eyes bored and their minds counting the tips and the hours until they were free – it was rather terrible but travelling salesmen and American tourists thought it was wonderful.
Barry had worn his best suit, a white shirt and a tie free of food stains. Unfortunately, Barry was a crumpler – that type of man who can dress in a smartly pressed shirt and, the moment he put it on, instantly wrinkle it, – and so he appeared a little dishevelled.
He was also losing his hair and the three or four wisps he carefully arranged over his expansive forehead had drifted off course to tickle his left ear. Rose had given up trying to get him to stop the ridiculous comb-over as she called it but he stubbornly retained it.
'What am I doing here?' he mumbled, feeling the pound notes in his jacket pocket. It was a rhetorical question as he knew very well what he was doing there, he was about to fulfil his fantasy.
The well groomed man behind the reception counter looked down his nose at Barry. 'Can I help you, sir?' he sneered, noting that Barry did not have any luggage.
'I…I wanted to see Miss Diana Muppet.' Barry felt a little foolish saying her fictitious name aloud but the hotel employee didn't even blink. He had been employed in large hotels for over fifteen years and nothing surprised him any more.
'The house phones are over there. I'll put you through.'
Palms sweating, Barry held the white telephone, listening until it suddenly clicked and her voice said, 'hello?'
'It's…ah…it's Barry…'
'Right on time. How rather delightful of you. Room 507.'
Click!
Barry stood outside the room, his heart pounding and fighting the urge to run away, to belt down the corridor and into the lift, to flee!
Instead, he gently knocked and waited. Finally, the door opened and a woman stood smiling at him. She was about thirty or thirty-five and dressed in a smart woollen skirt with matching half-jacket and cream blouse. Pearls at her throat and ears, her hair styled in what fashionable society would call a contemporary matron's cut and her eyes were a sparkling blue. She wasn't beautiful but obviously comfortable in her own skin and Barry had the insane thought that she rather looked like a young Margaret Thatcher.
'Barry,' she smiled, her eyes lingering on his vagrant hair and crumpled shirt. 'It is Barry?'
'Ah…yes…Bronwyn?'
'Today I'm Diana,' she announced with twinkling eyes. 'Please, do come in.'
Nervously, he followed her in and the door closed behind him.
'Do you have it?' Bronwyn asked, her eyes gliding over him and he thought he saw her full lips twitch into the beginnings of a smile and then, maybe not.
'The…money? Ah…yes.'
'Be a perfect angel and put it on the coffee table.'
She stood by the door to what Barry assumed was the bedroom and watched as he sheepishly placed the money on the coffee table.
'Wonderful,' she said and smiled at him. 'Come with me.'
Barry followed her into the bedroom and immediately noticed a pair of handcuffs fastened to the bed head by one cuff and the other cuff fastened around another pair of handcuffs.
'Lie on the bed,' she said gently.
A thousand thoughts overwhelmed his brain as he fought to make a decision. Once bound, he would be under her control and, although that was a part of his fantasy, it could also be dangerous.
The fantasy won and he gingerly laid on the bed after removing his jacket. 'Lock the cuffs around your wrists,' she said calmly, examining her fingernail polish as if it was much more important than him.
Maybe it was , he thought shamefacedly as he clicked the handcuffs in place. At the sound of the ominous click, Barry's cock swelled and pushed against his trousers.
That movement did not escape Bronwyn's careful eye. 'I see you rather enjoy being restrained,' she said with a grin. Barry blushed a deep red and looked at her, suddenly afraid. 'Let's see what we have,' she said cheerfully as she began to undo his trousers.
Suddenly, Barry was engulfed with a sharp feeling of embarrassment that bordered on humiliation and he wished he hadn't fastened the handcuffs.
Hot and aroused, he watched as Bronwyn's capable fingers unbuckled his belt, unfastened the top of his trousers and slid the zipper of his fly down. 'Lift up,' she said coolly and pulled his trousers around his ankles once he did as instructed.
His cock pushed against his sensible white cotton y-front underpants. 'Rather unfashionable,' Bronwyn commented evenly as she slipped her fingers into the waistband. 'I much prefer my lovers to wear boxers, so much easier to remove and not so little boyish , if you know what I mean.'
Smoothly, his underpants followed his trousers and his rigid cock popped into view and Barry's face became even redder as Bronwyn gazed down on his pulsing cock.
'Lovely, so cute,' was all she said, stood up and walked to the dresser. Barry was suddenly mortified as he watched Bronwyn slip on a pair of white latex gloves from the box on the dresser and return to sit beside him with a bottle of hand oil.
Casually, she squirted the oil onto her glove and then began to slowly pump his cock.
Small slurping noises filled the room and Barry moaned as she manipulated his cock. 'Your fantasy is to be teased constantly but not allowed to orgasm for sometime. I have got it right, haven't I?'
'Yes,' he moaned, watching her hand in the white glove slide up and down his cock. It had been so long since his cock had been touched by another person and he immediately felt his orgasm building quickly.
'Excellent,' Bronwyn said, watching him keenly and then suddenly removing her hand, leaving him gasping and his cock twitching.
Bronwyn stood and smiled down at him as she peeled the gloves off. 'That should do for a moment or two. You are quick, aren't you? You almost spurted then.'
Barry's breath was coming in deep gasps as he watched Bronwyn walk out of the bedroom, leaving the door ajar. Barry tested the handcuffs but found he was well and truly restrained.
This was a mistake! I'm crazy for coming here with this strange woman!
He could hear her voice in the other room and guessed she was talking on the telephone. Music then filtered through the half-opened door and Barry waited, naked from the waist down, restrained on the bed and with a twitching and stiff cock.
She returned after ten minutes, smiled at him as she snapped another pair of gloves on, repeated the ceremony of the oil and sat beside him to slowly play with his cock.
Her touch was so soft and sensuous and yet firm enough to rapidly build him to approach orgasm once again. Barry was soon moaning and gasping until her hand vanished from his straining cock.
'No…' he gasped, 'no…please…keep going.'
'I couldn't do that,' she said, removing her gloves. 'That wouldn't be what you paid me for. Now,' Bronwyn smiled, 'the waiters will be bringing up my dinner in a moment so I suggest you be quiet.' Standing and smiling at him, Bronwyn added, 'if it's a nice waitress, I'll bring her in so she can watch you be teased.'
'No!' he cried, aghast. 'No…not…'
'You're hardly in a position to argue,' Bronwyn said sternly. 'Keep silent, there's a good boy.'
Panicking, Barry watched her leave the room and listened frantically when he heard a knock on the door of the suite.
Voices and the sound of a trolley being wheeled in. Her voice came closer, as if she was standing close to the half-open bedroom door, as if she was going to open it to usher some blushing waitress in to see him tied half-naked to the bed, his exposed cock hard and throbbing.
She wouldn't, would she?
Would she?
No, she couldn't! She mustn't!
'Please wait,' he heard her say, 'I'll just get my purse.'
'There's no need, madam…'
'But you've done such a wonderful job. Surely I can recognise that?'
The door opened and Barry stared up at it, afraid that he would see Bronwyn accompanied by some sweet young thing in a fawn uniform but it was only Bronwyn who placed a warning finger to her lips.
Silently, she sat beside him and wrapped her warm hand around his straining cock. The touch of flesh without gloves rocketed through him and Barry quivered under her sparkling eyes.
Slowly, she masturbated him while watching him closely, a taunting smile on her lips. 'Just a moment,' she suddenly called to the door and Barry shuddered at the thought he was about to be exposed.
Again, she released his straining cock, leaving him shuddering on the edge of orgasm, stood, rummaged in her purse and left the bedroom and, to Barry's horror, left the door almost completely open!
'Here you are, you've both been very sweet.'
'Thank you, madam,' Barry heard a male say and, to his relief, the suite door closed.
A few moments later, Bronwyn appeared in the doorway, sipping champagne from a crystal flute glass and examining him with those flashing blue eyes. 'Your letter was quite detailed,' she said conversationally and he winced. 'You have a sordid imagination but,' she sighed, 'that's par for the course with men, isn't it? I am constantly amazed at what men come up with. My girl friends and I chat about it all the time and just when we think we've seen the ultimate, another poor fool comes along with an outlandish fantasy.'
Once again, she casually toyed with his cock until he was begging her incoherently to let him to come, even offering her more money, an offer that made her smile.
Time and time again, she brought him to the edge of orgasm with her efficient fingers, teasing him and taunting him until he was a mass of quivering desire, desperate to achieve orgasm, to come !
Panting, fever-like and that crumpled white shirt now soaked with his perspiration, Barry pleaded with his eyes as she released his cock once again and sipped her wine.
All evening she had teased him, even eating her dinner while she stroked and caressed him. Of course, she always denied him what he now craved.
Until Bronwyn glanced at her elegant diamond watch and said, 'three and a half hours. I think that's sufficient. Now,' she said, twinkling eyes looking down at his anguished face, 'you want to spurt now?'
'Please…oh please…'
'Stop gibbering, there's a good boy,' Bronwyn said, snapping another pair of the white latex gloves on. 'This is, after all, what you desired, your fantasy.'
Barry watched breathlessly as the gloved hand encircled his red cock and slowly began to stroke him until he was shuddering with pleasure and, grunting, spurted an arc of his seed across his pot belly while Bronwyn said cheerfully, 'good boy, that's the ticket!'
Freed at last, Barry struggled into his trousers, his face red and shame coursing through his every fibre. He had cleaned up with the box of tissues she had dropped on the bed beside him and had tried to avoid her smiling and knowing eyes as he almost ran to the door.
'Bye, Barry,' Bronwyn called after him.
Feeling he had to say something, had to attempt to draw some dignity from the evening, he pulled his suit coat tightly around his rumpled shirt and said haughtily, 'I suppose thanks are in order but you have been paid, haven't you?'
It was meant as an insult but Bronwyn smiled, sipped her wine and said, 'yes, and you paid me to do that to you.'
Flushing, Barry opened the door. 'I'll say goodbye. I don't think we will see each other again…'
'No?' Bronwyn raised her eyebrow. 'We'll see. You have my telephone number. I have some interesting tease and denial ideas I could share with you. Perhaps you'll call when that fantasy of yours becomes too much to bear.'
'I don't think so…'
'We'll just have to see then won't we?'
Barry slammed the door behind him.
He endured his mundane and lonely life and his lust for fifteen days before calling again.
A glance around the office told him that, as usual, he was just a piece of the furniture and no one really saw him, really noticed him.
'Hello?'
'Ah…Bronwyn? This…'
'Is that you, Barry?' she cried gaily down the line.
'Yes,' he admitted in a soft voice, 'it's me.'
'It will be one hundred and fifty pounds this time.'
'One hundred…'
'It will be longer this time. Do you think you could survive five hours? A whole five hours?'
It was enticing, the idea of it seduced him and even though he knew most people would shake their heads at his weak fantasy of teasing and denial, it made him feel alive.
To be teased by her in that calm, confident and ultimately dominating way aroused him and there was no way he could say no.
'Five hours?' she prodded. 'With just my hand for you to focus on.'
'All right,' he whispered.
'Tomorrow night at seven,' she said briskly. 'The Coleridge Hotel on Kent Road. I'll be registered as Mrs Edwina Bear.'
Click!
She was true to her word and Barry was restrained for five hours as she stroked, teased and tantalised him. Using her hands, a feather and even a pair of her silky knickers to stimulate him, the minutes ticked by but Bronwyn always left him on the edge and a quivering mass of flesh consumed by hot desire.
Finally, she allowed him to come and the orgasm he achieved was the most intense of his life and he felt he would ejaculate for ever.
Dressed, hand on the door knob, he admitted shamefully, 'thank…you…I'll call you soon.'
'Please do,' Bronwyn had smiled.
At the end of their third meeting, when Barry was quivering insanely, begging to come, Bronwyn had casually said, 'I have a way to expand your little fantasy.'
She looked at him, her hand lying tantalisingly close to his red raw and straining cock and he tried to speak.
'I have a chastity belt for you. I'll put it on you after you spurt and then I'll explain the rules. Do you want to come now?'
In his lost fog, Barry could only nod frantically and Bronwyn smiled as she stroked him to another shattering orgasm.
This time, she didn't release him. Instead, she cleaned him up and he watched horrified as Bronwyn threaded his now flaccid cock into the metal tube and then locked the apparatus shut. 'There,' she said with satisfaction, pleased with her handiwork.
'What are you doing?' Barry managed to speak as he stared down at the metal device that now encased his cock.
'A different game,' Bronwyn said matter of factly as she released his hands. 'This must be becoming a little boring for you so I've come up with a new game. This new game could be fun. We both know you love tease and denial, I'm only trying to make it better for you. Now, listen to the rules.'
'Rules?' he said weakly, still staring at his groin.
'I'll nominate a period that you have to wait until you come. This time, it will just be two weeks. If you get through the two weeks, I'll play with you as I normally do at no cost.'
'But…what if…I can't…'
'You just telephone me and you'll get to come, you'll have to pay me but you will get to have your little spurt.'
'Oh,' he sighed with relief.
'But there will be a penalty.'
'Penalty?' Barry shot her a startled look as he sat up.
'You'll still get to come but because it's early, there will be a penalty.'
'What penalty?' Barry demanded standing.
Bronwyn laughed. 'That's a surprise. You may never find out as you'll be able to last two weeks, won't you?'
'I suppose so,' he said miserably. 'Look,' he said suddenly, gathering his courage, 'this has gone far enough. Get the key and unlock me.'
'Key?' She laughed again. 'You don't think I have it with me, do you? I'm not stupid, dear boy. Now, why don't you run along? I have another friend coming to see me in twenty minutes. I know you would hate to bump into someone you might know.'
Horrified at the idea, Barry dressed and bolted, telling himself he could last two weeks.
'Hello?'
'It's Barry…'
'You lasted two weeks! Congratulations. I suppose you want to…'
'Yes! Please!'
'You sound rather urgent,' she teased. 'Is it urgent, Barry? Do you want to spurt rather badly?'
'Yes,' he admitted in a thick voice, ;'yes, I do. Please.'
She laughed softly. 'Tomorrow at six at the Hilton. I'll be registered as Miss Venus Mons.'
Barry lay exhausted after the marathon teasing session that had climaxed in…well, his climax! 'Let's have a bit of a challenge,' Bronwyn had said, putting the chastity belt back on him, 'let's make it four weeks.'
'Four…'
'You know the rules. I hope you can last,' she added with a grin.'
He couldn't and telephoned Bronwyn after just seventeen days.
'Bronwyn,' he said hoarsely.
'It's Barry, isn't it?'
'Yes!' he cried and suddenly wondered just how many other men she had in chastity belts. 'I…I can't…'
'Of course,' she soothed, 'I'll help you but there will be a penalty. As we agreed.'
'Agreed? I didn't agree to anything!'
'No? I must be misinformed,' she said icily. 'Goodbye.'
'No, wait! Please…yes…'
'Yes what?'
'Yes…a penalty…all right…but…please…'
'It will be only one hundred and sixty pounds. Tomorrow evening at six thirty at the Royal Grand on the mall. I'll be registered under the name of Mrs Patricia McHunt.'
Slowly, Barry replaced the telephone. The past few days had been hell, surrounded by the pretty women of the office and that bitch, Judith, the Managing Director's personal assistant had made his life hell. Yes, it would be wonderful to come, no matter what the penalty was.
Completely naked for the first time and with a separate pair of handcuffs for each wrist, Barry stared at his tormentor as she teasingly stroked his cock, always stopping until he was about to come. Her stamina was immense and the caressing and the denial ritual went on for several hours until Barry was a begging, blubbering mess.
'In a moment,' Bronwyn said casually and Barry watched as she set a small video camera on the side table. The red light glowed and Barry swallowed.
What was going on?
'Do you really want to come?' she teased and Barry frantically nodded his head.
'Yes! Please…no more…I can't stand it…'
'There is a penalty. I call it the humiliation penalty,' Bronwyn informed him as she release his right hand. 'You can do it now.'
Bronwyn stood back, folded her arms and smiled down at him.
'Do…do?'
'Wank. You must know how to do it. Go ahead or I'll put the chastity belt back on.'
Red faced and humiliated but driven by his incredible desire to come, Barry closed his free hand around his cock and slowly began to pump. 'That's it,' Bronwyn encouraged him, 'wank for the camera,' and he came in a heated rush.
When she was putting the belt back on, Bronwyn informed him the denial period this time would be six weeks.
He was astounded and protested vehemently but Bronwyn would not be swayed.
'You can come any time,' she said, smiling, 'but there will be a penalty.'
This time, Barry was determined to endure the six weeks. It couldn't be that difficult, could it? The denial game was intriguing him as well has keeping him in a constant state of arousal.
For the first time since his wife had left, Barry felt alive and sexual.
It couldn't be that difficult could it? It's only six weeks.
His fingers trembled when he picked the telephone up and began to dial the number. Her number!
It had been three weeks, three weeks of trying to regain control, of attempting to withdraw from her illicit web.
But now he was dialling the number. Again! Even though he had said he would outlast her, to go the distance. But he couldn't, he just couldn't!
Barry looked nervously around the office to see if anyone was noticing what he was doing but all seemed oblivious, going about the usual pandemonium that constantly inhabited the offices of Brown, Brown and Burrows.
Twice he put the telephone down before dialling the number and wiped his sweaty palms of his trouser legs.
And then Barry surrendered to his desires, surrendered to his fantasies.
And dialled.
It rang and rang until a loud click and her breathy, husky voice slid down the wire and nestled in his ear,
'Hello?'
He cleared his throat and whispered, 'it's Barry…'
'I knew you'd call.'
'Yes…'
'I thought you'd last longer but you're not as strong as I thought.' Her voice was casual, almost warm and yet with a hint of arrogance and steel. It was one of the things about her that he fantasised about.
'No,' he whispered, glancing around the office. 'Can I see yo…'
'Not very strong at all,' she continued as if he had said nothing. 'Are you?'
Barry swallowed. 'No, I'm not,' he admitted softly, hands sweaty around the telephone and a slippery sheen on his forehead.
'Not what?' It was asked in a teasing tone but Barry knew better than to reply in kind. That was not what she wanted and if he didn't give her exactly what she sought, the call would be abruptly terminated and she wouldn't answer her telephone for another week.
'I'm not very strong,' Barry answered desperately, watching the Managing Director's secretary walking across the open plan office towards his work-station.
'No,' she said with finality, 'you're not. In fact, you're weak.'
'Please…'
'What are you?'
'I'm weak!' Barry replied in a hushed but anguished tone. 'I'm weak! Bronwyn,' he pleaded, 'can I see you?'
'I'm available tomorrow night at eight. Can you wait that long?' she teased. 'There is a penalty,' she reminded him but Barry didn't care.
Barry's heart sank, he had hoped that Bronwyn would be available that night, no matter what the penalty was, but he knew better than to argue. 'Yes,' he murmured, 'I'll wait.'
'Poor darling. I'll be at the Ritz under the name of Mrs Michele Mouse.'
Click!
Barry stared at the telephone before slowly replacing the now dead receiver. She had hung up on him!
Desperately he wrote down the name of the hotel and the name she would be staying under in case he forgot.
'Are you all right, Barry?'
His head jerked up and he looked into the cool green eyes of Judith, the Managing Director's secretary.
'Yes,' he said quickly with a feeble grin, 'I'm fine.'
'You look pale, almost green,' Judith said with faint concern as her eyes danced over him. 'You're not going to be sick, are you?'
'No, no. Really, I'm fine. Something just disagreed with me.'
'How awful,' Judith said with a complete lack of interest, placing a file on his desk. 'Mister Brown requires a summary of the financial position of Hendon industries for tomorrow morning's board meeting.'
'Yes, of course,' Barry said, picking the file up with trembling fingers.
'Just email it to me when you've finished and I'll print copies for the board. I'm leaving at six so I would appreciate the report by five.'
'Yes,' he said hurriedly, 'of course.'
Judith vaguely smiled at him and walked away, leaving Barry with furtive thoughts of the next evening at the Ritz Hotel.
'I'm here to see Mrs Michele Mouse,' Barry nervously asked the grey haired woman behind the hotel counter. Her nameplate proclaimed her to be Doris and with her wire spectacles and prim hair, she looked very much like a Doris.
'I see,' she said, 'your name?'
'Barry Jones.'
'One moment, please.' She tapped the computer keyboard, stared thoughtfully at the screen for a moment and then announced, 'yes, Mrs M. Mouse,' Doris said with a small twitch to her lower lip as she picked up the telephone.
'Good evening madam, there is a Mr Jones,' she said with a slight sneer, 'to see you. Very good, madam. Thank you.' Doris replaced the telephone, looked him up and down before saying, 'Mrs Mouse will see you. It is suite 708 on the seventh floor. The lifts are to your left.'
Bronwyn smiled at him as he entered and placed the money on the coffee table without a word. 'Good evening, Barry,' she said.
'I can't stand this,' he said mournfully. 'I want it to stop.'
'What, now?' Bronwyn asked with a raised eyebrow. 'Don't you want me to play with you? You have paid for it.'
Barry stared at this exasperating woman, so immaculate in her conservative business attire and those flashing blue eyes. Most men wouldn't look twice at her in the street but she was, in Barry's mind so sexy and sensual when she sat beside him, fully clothed, to caress and stroke his rigid cock. It was as if she was inside his head, reading his dirty secrets and smiling.
And, above all, above everything else, Barry Jones, Finance Assistant, wanted to come!
Bronwyn obviously took his silence as assent and gently steered him towards the bedroom. 'Why don't you take your clothes off and lie on the bed. You know you want me to play with your dickie.'
In a dream like state, Barry walked into the bedroom of the hotel suite and slowly began to undress. Once again, there were two pairs of handcuffs attached to the oaken bed head and he guessed that, once again, his penalty was to masturbate for her while she watched. It was shameful and humiliating but, at the same time, very exciting.
Naked, except for his chastity belt, he lay on the bed and waited. He didn't wait long and Bronwyn walked in with a wineglass in her hand and proceeded to lock the handcuffs shut.
Placing the wineglass down, Bronwyn retrieved a small bag from the floor and sat beside him. 'I have another surprise,' she cheerfully said, crossing her legs, nylon scraping. 'See?'
It was a black leather dog collar with silver studs and before Barry could protest, it was wrapped around his throat and locked with a tiny gold padlock. 'So charming,' Bronwyn murmured, leaning back to survey her handwork.
'But…'
'Shush!' A thin silver dog chain was locked to the collar with another padlock and the other end fastened to the bed head in a similar fashion. 'There,' Bronwyn beamed, 'so fetching.'
Barry sighed and watched as Bronwyn deftly unlocked the instrument of his torture and soon his cock was standing upright, begging to be touched. 'What a brave little soldier,' Bronwyn said ironically, snapping latex gloves on. This time, the gloves were pink and seemed to accentuate the redness of his cock when she enclosed it with her gloved hand.
'Does that feel nice?' she murmured as her hand slowly moved up and down.
'Ye…yes…' he moaned.
'Careful,' she admonished him as he pushed against her hand, 'we don't want any accidents.'
An accident was exactly what Barry wanted and he tried again as Bronwyn stroked his quivering cock.
'Naught boy,' she said crossly, releasing his cock and walking to the door. 'You'll have to wait.'
Wait he did, for over thirty minutes until Bronwyn returned and continued her erotic ministrations and, this time, Barry meekly accepted her caresses, not pushing against her hand.
'That's better,' Bronwyn said, stroking his rampant cock with her gloved hand while sipping her wine from the wineglass in her other hand.
Barry was screwing up enough courage to ask her what the penalty was when he heard a loud knock at the suite's main door. Eyes wide with fear and surprise, Barry gaped at Bronwyn who simply smiled, released his throbbing cock and left him alone in the bedroom.
His ears strained as he heard Bronwyn open the suite door but could only identify two female voices speaking in muffled tones.
Another woman! She's brought another woman here!
There was laughter, definitely female laughter and the clink of glasses. More giggles and then what Barry dreaded, footsteps moving towards the door.
Desperately, he looked down at his naked body and his rigid cock as if he hoped that by some magical force he was suddenly clothed but he was still obscenely naked with a throbbing cock.
'There he is, all waiting for his little spurt,' Bronwyn said from the doorway and Barry, suddenly fearing the worst, turned his bright red face and saw Bronwyn and Judith smiling down at him.
Judith! The Managing Director's personal assistant!
Stricken with shame and humiliation, Barry tried to move his head away but his frozen neck would not obey him. 'You know Judith Durham, of course,' Bronwyn teased and both women smiled at him over the rim of their wineglasses.
'Hello, Barry,' Judith said with a giggle. 'You are glad to see me,' she added, nodding at his rampant cock.
Barry willed his face away from that pair of flashing green eyes and Bronwyn's knowing blue ones and his cock seemed to grow harder from the acute embarrassment of the situation. The office would never be the same again!
'Say hello to our guest, Barry,' Bronwyn said sharply.
'Hello,' he mumbled, chin to his chest.
'Hello, Barry,' Judith said gaily. 'I enjoyed watching your video, the one where you masturbated.'
Oh no!
His face went even redder and both women giggled.
'I especially liked the way you screwed your face up when you spurted. I thought it was rather deliciously funny and I tried hard not to laugh every time I saw you at the office.'
Barry hung his head as he recalled how Judith has smiled at him when she delivered files from the Director.
She knew, she had watched me wank!
Bronwyn sat beside him and released his hands, standing up quickly. 'Get off the bed,' she said softly, 'it's time for your penalty.'
There was no escape, he knew that. The chain locked to his throat prevented any opportunity to flee and he slowly stood naked in front of the two women.
'Kneel down there,' Bronwyn pointed at the floor in front of Judith and meekly, he followed her instructions.
'Tell Judy how long you lasted?'
'Three weeks,' he mumbled, head low.'
'That's not very good, is it?' Judith said scornfully.
'No,' Bronwyn agreed, 'we have to teach him better control.'
We? What is she going on about? Please, let this be over with quickly.
'This is your penalty, Barry. You get to ask Judith if you can wank and, if she's especially nice, you just may get to spurt.'
Barry looked up at his tormentors and swallowed.
Ask the secretary of his boss of he could wank?
The shame and humiliation flooded him but his cock quivered as it stood proudly, jutting from his bed, red and ready to spurt.
He had to come!
'Can I wank?' he mumbled, staring at Judith's black shoes and nylon covered legs.
'Look up, Barry,' Judith commanded and he was forced to face those green eyes. 'What did you say?'
'Can I please wank,' he muttered, face glowing.
'You did do an excellent job on Hendon Industries. Of course, I took the credit but I suppose you deserve a reward. Yes, you can wank.'
He wanted to deny them the enjoyment of humiliating him but Barry couldn't, driven as he was for sexual relief. Slowly, he began to caress himself as the two women watched and offered encouraging words.
Finally he came and they clapped as he came and spurted at their feet.
'Pity the poor hotel maid,' Judith said, looking down at the puddle at her feet.
'Up on the bed, Barry,' Bronwyn said calmly and after cleaning him, slid the belt back on. 'I'm leaving on Monday to spend the summer in the south of France. One of my charges has a villa there and he has absolutely begged me to come. I imagine he wants to come as well!' Bronwyn and Judith laughed at that.
'So, I'm giving the key to Judith.'
Barry looked at her in horror. 'Please…'
'She'll be very good for you, Barry. You do enjoy tease and denial, don't you?'
'We knew you would,' Judith said calmly, sipping her wine, 'that's why we slipped that advertisement into your newspaper. We thought you were a perfect candidate for our stable.'
It was planned from the beginning! Judith was in on it from the start!
'How long do you think he should go this time?' Bronwyn asked Judith.
Judith stared down at Barry, a sly grin forming on her full lips. 'I think eight weeks.'
Eight weeks! Please, no!
'Of course,' Judith smiled, seeing the broad expression of horror filling his face, 'you can ask me to come but there will be penalties.
Barry sank back on the bed, trying to ignore their giggles and wondered if life would ever return to normal?
'There are always penalties,' Bronwyn giggled. 'And Judith's penalties are wicked, very wicked indeed.
Barry suddenly felt like crying but his cock did stir in the metal tube.

A Suitable Punishment

By Carmenica Diaz

The bar was noisy and Brett had to lean closer to hear George's words. Not that he wanted to hear George as Brett was tired of the continuous boasting but George was his boss so he did what he had to do.
Sorry, missed that,' Brett said with a practised smile.
I said that I banged that little redhead in Accounts last night!'
Brett kept his face expressionless but inwardly he seethed.
Did he mean Margaret? She's cute.
Brett had planned to overcome his natural shyness and invite Margaret for a drink but nerves had delayed him.
Don't tell me that this oaf fucked her? How could she ?
Margaret?' Brett squeaked and George frowned.
No, her name was Jenny. Who's Margaret?'
No one,' Brett said quickly. Where did you go to do ah to do the business?'
Not to my place,' George said with a broad wink.  Bit difficult with the wife prowling about!'
He chortled at his humour and then leaned closer.
Went back to Jenny's flat and banged her twice. Course she blew me first.'
Brett privately groaned at the unnecessary details and the image of George and Jenny that now filled his head. Too much information , he wanted to scream, instead he smiled blandly.
Sounds like fun,' he said weakly, glancing at his watch.
Fun!' George laughed loudly and nudged Brett with his elbow. Fun! Course it was bloody fun! Say no more, say no more, nudge nudge, say no more!'
Perhaps it was the alcohol or the annoyance that bubbled inside Brett, but he found himself asking, what about your wife? Don't you ever worry she might find out?'
Eleanor?' George snorted. She has no idea!'
What would she do if she found out?' Brett pressed maliciously. Divorce?'
George blinked at that as he had married Eleanor for her money. It was a cliché but he had married the bosses' daughter and now, when Eleanor's father died, George ran the business.
Eleanor was plain and a good little wife who had no idea that George was bonking every young woman he could find. George wasn't handsome but the women were turned on by the money and the gifts he lavished on them. Money, after all, was the third most potent aphrodisiac  only chocolates and roses were more powerful.
Nah,' George said, beckoning to the blonde woman behind the bar for another drink, Eleanor won't find out.'
Good morning Mrs Dawes.'
Good morning Roberta. George has left for the office?'
Roberta nodded and poured tea into a fragile bone china cup.
He left just before eight. Did he come in late again last night, Mrs Dawes?'
We both know he did, Roberta,' Eleanor said unfolding the newspaper, there's no need to be diplomatic.'
No, sorry, Mrs Dawes. Toast? Cook has made a new batch of her orange and lemon marmalade?'
Sounds yummy. Thank you.'
After bathing, Eleanor examined herself critically in the mirror and sighed. She could hardly be called beautiful by any stretch of the imagination and had always felt overawed by the perfect beauties that floated like ethereal butterflies through every society social occasion.
Perhaps Melinda is right , Eleanor thought, perhaps I should have a complete makeover.
Melinda was Eleanor's best friend since boarding school and was constantly prompting Eleanor to improve herself. Melinda was gorgeous due to the surgical and cosmetic improvements her father's money had provided.
It's worth it, darling,' Melinda had enthused, �just get a nip there, a tuck here and you'll look like a mink full of Euros!'
�George doesn't want me to.'
Melinda had sighed.
�Sod George! Do this for yourself. He's a prat anyway!'
Two weeks later, Eleanor was fighting the sick feeling that threatened to overwhelm her stomach.
�I'm sorry it's bad news, Mrs Dawes,' Harold Holmes, the private detective said softly, discreetly gathering the photographs and slipping them back into the envelope. The restaurant they had chosen for their rendezvous was not crowded and he thought his client looked like she was going to bolt for the bathroom at any minute.
They always expect the worse , Holmes thought stoically, but when they see what they expected, they go paler than Mary Queen of the Scots ghost!
Eleanor didn't bolt for the bathroom which surprised Holmes; instead, she sipped her water and offered him a weak smile.
�It appears my husband is rather a bastard.'
Holmes diplomatically said nothing and wondered if she would order wine. Some of the wives did after the initial shock and almost scoffed the lot. Holmes had poured many a distraught and babbling wife into a taxi but not before he collected his fee or a glass of wine.
�Do you think his antics are common knowledge, Mr Homes?'
�As far as I can tell Mrs Dawes, only a few of the people he works with�'
�Men?'
Holmes nodded. �Yes and the women he was indiscrete with, of course.'
�Of course,' Eleanor said thinly, �let's not forget the women.'
The waiter hovered. �Would you like to see a menu?'
Eleanor looked at Holmes. �Are you hungry Mr Holmes?'
�Well, yes, but there's no need�'
�Leave the menus, thank you,' Eleanor said to the waiter who scurried away. �We mustn't allow my husband's antics to stop us from enjoying a delicious luncheon.'
Holmes studied his client over the top of his menu. This was a new reaction and he wondered when she would break and become teary.
�Let's have some wine as well,' Eleanor smiled, passing him the wine list. �Choose something nice, Mr Holmes.'
She'll go to water after the wine , Holmes thought as he scanned the wine list, another one to get into a taxi.
But Eleanor surprised him.
�This is a rather good menu,' she said with a smile, �I'm suddenly ravenous. Oh, I have your fee here, Mr Holmes. Thank you for a super job!'
Holmes took the envelope. �Well�ah�thank you.' He looked at her, puzzled and said nothing more until they ordered their meals and the wine.
After a glass of wine, Holmes boldly asked, �will you divorce him, Mrs Dawes?'
Eleanor looked at him in surprise.
�Divorce? Oh, that would be too easy. No,' she said with a cold smile, �I must think of a more suitable punishment.'
Two weeks later, George was surprised to see Eleanor awake when he rolled in just after midnight.
�Well,' he slurred, �I thought you'd be in bed.'
�Couldn't sleep, darling,' she said brightly. �Let's have a nightcap together.'
That was also surprising as Eleanor didn't drink that much. Perhaps , he thought, she was changing from being a stuck up frigid bitch to being a real woman! Wish she'd lose some weight, though.
�Ok.'
Eleanor offered him a glass. �I mixed one when I heard you fumbling at the door. Bottoms up.'
�Chin chin,' he mumbled as he drained his glass while Eleanor watched him with a slight smile.
�You should toddle off to bed now,' Eleanor said.
�Yes,' he said, his brain suddenly fuzzy. �I'm tired.'
George woke with a thick tongue, eyes that felt like they had half of Brighton Beach behind the eyelids and a frightful pain in his privates.
Blearily, he stumbled to the bathroom and fumbled with his pyjama trousers. Instead of his fingers finding his flesh, they found hard steel.
�What the fuck!'
Desperately, he clawed at his pyjama bottoms, stepping out of them to examine the steel monstrosity that encircled his penis. A metal tube was locked securely around his testicles, captured his cock, prohibiting erections and George understood instantly why his groin was painful.
�That bitch!' George muttered as he vaguely remembered the previous night.
Desperate to urinate, George realised his only option was to sit on the toilet like a woman.
�She's in fucking big trouble!' George muttered as he released a stream of urine.
�Roberta!' George yelled as he stalked into the living room. He was dressed as usual � smart business suit � and had showered after spending a good half an hour attempting to remove the device from his penis but to no avail.
Fuming, he had then searched for Eleanor but she had vanished from their home.
�Yes Mr Dawes?' Robert asked, appearing in the doorway in her immaculate black dress, white apron and black nylons and shoes.
�Where's Mrs Dawes?'
�She's gone away, Mr Dawes.'
�Where?' George snapped.
�I don't know, sir, but she did ask me to give you this.'
It was a large envelope and George took it as Roberta briefly smiled.
�Mrs Dawes suggested you may wish to open the envelope in the study � in private.'
Roberta walked away and George took the envelope into the study and shut the door. He tore the envelope open and photographs cascaded to the floor. George's heart sank when he saw they were all photos of him with various women in rather indelicate poses.
�Shit!' he muttered and picked up the folded piece of paper that had fallen to the floor with the pictures.
It was a letter from Eleanor.
I'm sure you've noticed the small gift I've given you. In case you're wondering it's a chastity belt for males called the Dickson Device and, rest assured, it's the best money can buy.
It requires two separate keys to unlock it and, I'm told, even if you had the keys, it's rather difficult for the wearer to unlock it alone and the only way to remove it without keys is to cut it off with a diamond toothed saw. Of course, your penis and testicles will be removed with it.
I'm sure you'll try to get it off anyway so allow me to wish you luck! The keys not in the house so don't both searching for them. You probably won't believe me but please be tidy in your search.
I'm enjoying a makeover in Switzerland � I'll be away for three weeks so we can discuss options when I return. I haven't decided to divorce you yet but if I do, the photographic evidence and testimony from various people will ensure you will be left penniless.
Your loving wife and key holder.
George's fingers shook as he reread the letter, then screwed it into a ball and flung it with all his might at the closed window. It was a useless gesture but it did feel good.
�She can't do this to me,' he muttered as he paced the room, �she can't!'
However, the evidence to the contrary was locked securely around his penis, evidence that proclaimed, indeed, she had done t!
He picked the photographs up and locked them in the desk drawer before leaving for the office. It was while he was driving in, that the first cold fingers of fear tickled his stomach.
For George the three weeks were Hell � sheer hell!
Of course, he tried to find ways to remove the device � spending hours researching the Dickson device � but soon came to the unhappy conclusion that he would not be able to remove it without the keys.
It was also humiliating as he had to decline all invitations for drinks or fun times with his former associates, as he wasn't able to perform in any way.
Of course, he couldn't explain � what could he say?
Sorry sweetie but my cock is locked up tight and I can't get it out or get a stiffy!
Ah, erections!
Now a thing of the past but the sexual urge did not diminish � in fact it appeared to increase with each passing day. A glimpse of thigh, a wisp of lace, a sniff of sensuous perfume would drive his poor cock insane as it fruitlessly squirmed against the unforgiving metal of the Dickson Device.
As the days ticked by, George realised that this was the longest period between orgasms he had ever endured! Hour by hour, his frustration increased.
All women drove him deeper into his insatiable frustration � he even had to avoid Roberta as she cleaned and scurried around the house. Roberta would bob into a half curtsey when he sadly returned home and his eyes would automatically look at her cleavage � a glimpse of delicate white lace peeking from her rounded hills � and his cock would jolt with pain.
�Is everything all right, sir?' Roberta asked when he grimaced.
�Ah�yes�headache�that's all�you can go,' George said through gritted teeth.
�Mrs Dawes has notified me that she intends to return tomorrow.'
�Does she, by Jove? I'll be interested to see her!'
George was waiting for her when Eleanor calmly walked through the door.
�Darling, you're here to meet me,' she beamed. �How sweet.'
�We need to talk,' he hissed.
�Do we?' Eleanor said, removing her coat. �And why is that?'
�This�this thing! You have to remove it!'
�I don't have to do any such thing,' Eleanor said walking to the stairs. �Pay the taxi river and bring my bags up.'
�Now look here�'
�Now, darling,' Eleanor said calmly, �I suggest that it would not be n your best interests to make me cross. Hurry up, the taxi driver is waiting.'
Furious, George paid the driver and staggered upstairs with Eleanor's luggage.
She was seated at her dressing table, dressed in a full black slip and stockings � a sight that made his cock twist and turn.
�Such a tiresome journey,' she said removing her earrings and dropping them into her large jewellery box. �Have you noticed my new hairstyle? My skin is wonderful and I'll be returning for some other enhancements later.'
�It's very nice,' George muttered. �Eleanor, please take this thing off me�'
�Why?' Eleanor said calmly, removing her rings. �Why on earth would I do that?'
�But�' he spluttered.
�You've been cheating on me and denying me of my rightful sexual favours. I've decided to own you. If I were you, I'd watch your step and obey me without question. Take your clothes off so I can see how you're progressing.'
He gaped at her.
�Naked, darling. Now!'
But�'
�It's tiresome repeating myself so I won't � I'll just say the magic word � keys!'
Sullenly, George removed his clothes and stood naked in front of his wife.
�How amusing,' Eleanor tittered and slowly parted her thighs.
George tried to tear his eyes way but couldn't and stared at the tan stocking tops that signalled the entry to that dark and mysterious shadow between her thighs.
It hurt like hell!
�Does that hurt, darling?' Eleanor asked with fake solicitation. �Does it hurt when your thingy tries to get hard?'
�Yes,' he groaned, �it does.'
�Excellent! It was obviously worth every penny.'
George stared at this cold woman that had once been his docile wife and wondered what she planned. Suddenly, he was afraid � very afraid!
�I expect obedience, George � complete and utter obedience. Any refusal, any quibbling and�well, I think you can guess the outcome. On your knees!'
George knew it was useless to argue, useless to protest � obedience was the answer � and he just had to hope she would grow tired of her game and remove the device. What other choice did he have?
Eleanor watched him as he knelt and then extended her foot. �Remove my shoe.'
He was so close he could peek up the slip and was punished with a glimpse of her panties � punished because the pain to his cock was instant. Fingers trembled as he removed the high heel shoe and Eleanor giggled.
�Kiss my toes.'
I have no choice! It was a mantra he was now repeating but George indignantly seethed at the humiliation while his imprisoned cock twisted and turned in the unforgiving tube.
His lips brushed the nylon covered toes and he delicately kissed each toe.
�The other one.'
As he removed the other shoe, he heard footsteps behind him and was about to turn when the cold look from his wife stopped him. Slowly, he bent forward to kiss her toes.
�Welcome home, Mrs Dawes,' Roberta's voice echoed in his burning ears, �your hair looks wonderful.'
�Thank you Roberta. You may remove my stockings, George.'
What sweet punishment! His hands trembled as his fingers grazed her plump flesh as he strived to unclip her suspenders.
She knows it's hurting me! She knows it! This is punishment!
He heard Roberta giggle and, face burning hotly, he crouched naked before his wife and unclipped her stockings.
�Roberta,' he heard Eleanor say as he began to unclip the other stocking, �you will call him George or Georgie from now on and he will obey your commands. I trust you will have many tasks for him?'
�I think so, Mrs Dawes,' Robert said with a cruel laugh.
Startled, George looked up at Eleanor's cold face.
�You will resign tomorrow and announce that you've decided to be a househusband. That nice young man Brett will take over.'
�But, Eleanor�' George protested.
�Shut up!' Eleanor said calmly. �Go run my bath. Hurry!'
Sadly, George padded naked into the bathroom, conscious that Eleanor and the maid were watching him.
How do I get out of this?
George's mind raced at the indignity and the hopelessness of his situation. He could do nothing.
The bathtub was almost full when Eleanor walked in naked and George quickly tore his eyes away as the pain in his cock became unbearable.
�Can't look?' she taunted him. �What a pity. I heard you were quite the pussy man! Kiss mine like you love it!'
The pain was incredible as he pushed his face towards her neatly trimmed pussy but her fingers in his hair stopped him.
�No,' Eleanor said with a grin, �my pussy is too good for you. I have a better idea.'
Horrified, George watched her turn around and bent over from the waist, her large round bottom mocking him.
�Kiss my bottom, George, kiss it like you love me and I may take pity on you.'
George's face was bright red as he leaned forward, tongue ready to travel where it had never done before and he vaguely wondered if Roberta was still out there, perhaps watching him as he kissed his wife's bottom.
�Get right in,' Eleanor laughed and his tongue pushed in � tasting her � and he felt like weeping.
�You're such a pig!' Eleanor said contemptuously, pushing him away. �Put bath salts in the tub and then go downstairs. Roberta has work for you. And don't bother dressing!'
The days passed slowly for George once he resigned and turned over the company to Brett. It had been humiliating to announce he was to be a house-husband, to devote himself to his wife's well being. The staff, particularly the women, had snickered at that and George felt his world crumbling around him.
That night, naked, George had knelt at his wife's feet and cut all his credit cards into tiny pieces.
He had nothing.
The intense sexual frustration he felt was constant and the merest contact with Eleanor, her friends and Roberta sent paroxysms of pain to his cock and his entire body quivered with frustration.
After he had paid homage to his wife's bottom that night, he never saw her naked again.
In fact she took great delight in informing him that what he once took for granted and spurned, was no longer available. Longingly, he would stare at her nylon sheathed legs, the wisp of lace at the hem of her slip that inadvertently peeked from her skirt, her perfume � anything at all � as he fell deeper and deeper into frustrated submission.
Roberta, however, insisted that he kneel and service her with his mouth. She only had to threaten to inform Eleanor that he had been resentful or tardy and he immediately complied, feverishly licking her to orgasm after orgasm while his denied cock twisted and turned in the tube.
As Roberta insisted that he cease shaving � the stubble irritated her intimate flesh �George now boasted a downy beard and spent most of his time naked on his knees � either servicing Roberta and other servants or scrubbing floors.
Sometimes, Eleanor and Melinda would strut past, their legs taunting him as he scrubbed the floor and his cock ached.
�Does he always drool?' Melinda casually asked Eleanor.
�Constantly,' Eleanor had replied, �it's rather tiresome.'
And then, she had laughed.
Speech was becoming impossible as the frustration enveloped his entire being.
One night, when Eleanor had departed for six weeks in Switzerland for a nip and a tuck, Roberta had looked down at him he licked and suckled on her hairy pussy, bringing her to another exquisite orgasm and smiled.
�You've become rather good at this, Georgie Porgie. Cook thinks you're the bees knees ! Once you used to be able to stick your willie in pussies but those days are over.'
After some research, Roberta had decreed that prostate milking was required and one night she ravaged his bottom with a hooked vibrator as he dutifully knelt naked on the table.
Eleanor and Melinda watched while sipping champagne.
�It's just running out,' Melinda observed, �all that icky stuff is dripping out! Astounding!'
�He's not enjoying this, is he?' Eleanor quickly asked.
�No Mrs Dawes, he feels nothing. Don't you, Georgie?' Roberta slapped his naked bottom to emphasise the question.
�Ah�no�nothing�' he mumbled, trying to turn his head from the sight of his wife's knees, humiliation overwhelming him.
Life consisted of intense and over-riding sexual frustration and constant humiliation.
Sadly, he would watch his wife lead her lovers up the stairs and he tried to remove the flickering image of Eleanor naked and being fucked from his addled mind.
�You remember Mrs Kidman?' Roberta gleefully asked but George was almost incoherent by this stage. �The plump Indian cook from next door? Apparently, she enjoys certain anal pleasures. I told her your tongue was the absolute cats pyjamas ! She'll be here after dinner.'
George's birthday arrived some months later and Eleanor insisted on presenting him with a small cake to celebrate, as she gleefully put it, �eight orgasm free months!'
Dolefully, he stared up at her as she sipped champagne.
�You know, darling,' she said conversationally, �I do have a rather awful temper. It came to the fore when I was trying to decide what a suitable punishment would be for your indiscretions.'
George stared at the sheer black nylon that glimmered on her legs.
�Try to concentrate, darling,' she said crossly as he drooled, �this is important. I want to tell you about the keys.'
Keys ? George tried to tear his eyes from Eleanor's new plump breasts and stared up at her.
�I suppose you think that the chastity tube is your punishment and one day it will be over. I'm afraid,' Eleanor said, sipping champagne, �that is not the case.'
He blinked hopefully at her and she smiled bleakly.
�As I said, I do have rather a temper and on that first night after I locked the tube on you, my bad temper surfaced. I had the taxi stop at the Thames on the way to Gatwick and I must confess I threw the keys into the river!'
George heard that ! Horrified, he gaped at her and Eleanor smiled.
I know you're disappointed but you'll have to get used to no sex, no orgasms and definitely no relief! I know you're probably annoyed but there is absolutely nothing we can do about it and there's no use in crying over spilled milk! Of course, it's no loss to me as I've found many other men to amuse me.'
A solitary tear trickled from George's eye. The vague hope for sexual freedom had been all that had kept him going and now she had cruelly removed that faint hope forever.
Eleanor sipped her champagne and studied what her errant husband had become.
I suppose you're thinking that is your punishment  it is punishing, I suppose  but it's not what I consider a suitable punishment .'
George wept silently  wept for what he had become and for what he had lost. The immense sadness even overwhelmed his sexual frustration for a minute or two.
�I'm not completely heartless, darling,' Eleanor smiled, her eyes glittering. �I have decided on a suitable punishment that you will want and even crave for!'
George looked at her through his tears.
�I will grant you a special birthday wish for your next birthday � yes, that's right � in twelve months time!'
George blinked, waiting as his cock throbbed.
�On your next birthday, darling,' Eleanor continued, �you may request that I arrange to have your testicles surgically removed � I have a rather accommodating Swiss doctor � and that will be the end of your frustration! I believe massive doses of female hormones after the surgery will reduce your tiresome male sexual drive.'
Mouth open, George stared at his wife and Eleanor laughed.
�You have twelve months to think about it and I have no doubt you will beg me to arrange the surgery. Of course, I will comply. Just twelve months, darling, and each day will bring you closer and closer to your birthday and your decision.'
Eleanor drained the champagne glass and placed it on the table.
�I think you will agree,' she said with a satisfied smile, �is a suitable punishment!'