Bradley Jones's Chastity - Chapter 17 (Free Read!)
Femdom romance in a world where Chaste is an identity and the NHS installs permanent chastity devices.
Previously on Bradley Jones’s Chastity (i.e. the end of Chapter 17 should read)….
It takes one call and — thanks to my viral video — I’m talking to Artemis herself.
The World’s Most Influential Woman Leader listens to my story, then says, in her breathy sexy Persian voice: “Of course we can fast-track you, my boy, but you’ll have to agree to being our ambassador.” She lists the duties involved. I’ll even get paid!
“Great,” I say. “Yes, I mean.”
“Only,” she says, “fuck keys and buttons. We need a Capon Ambassador, not a poster child for part-time perverts!”
So now I have Significant Life choices.
Chastity cage as sex toy? Or, chastity cage as body modification?
Raunchy, sexy, needy Lydia? Or, coldly elegant, sadistic Caroline?
Chapter 17
As I reach for the familiar doorbell, my hand freezes.
It’s like those social media memes: Superman sweats over which button to press. Two bad options.
But I’ve made my choice and this option is a good one. I’m just worried about what might turn into an uncomfortable conversation.
I press the doorbell.
My ex girlfriend buzzes me in.
I unzip my jacket as I take the two flights of stairs and there she is framed in her doorway, dark hair unbound, a long quilted dressing gown covering her from neck down to ankles. Her feet are bare and she’s wearing golden toe rings. Her ankles cross and golden anklets jangle. She flashes her ragged-toothed smile.
“Hello Jones,” says Lydia, “I have something special planned for you.”
I get a gut punch of regret. All that sexual magnetism focussed on me!
Lydia steps aside to let me in, closes the door behind us and I’m back in the apartment that was semi-home for four months. It’s tidy like the first time, which probably means she’s shoved all the junk in the spare room. But that shows she’s made an effort.
“I’ve missed you,” I blurt.
“Hang up your coat, Jones.”
I turn away to put my coat and shoulder bag on the rack. When I turn back, she’s shed the robe and is standing there naked except for...
All the blood goes to my groin. I stagger back drunkenly.
...lots of gold.
Hoop earrings... necklaces... a kind of beaded mesh crop top through which poke her small nipples... armlets, bracelets, and a girdle that’s like a mutated charm bracelet with chains and bells that cover the top of her hips, but leave bare the neat triangle of her well-tended pubic hair.
Lydia smiles slyly, and with a sway of her hips, advances on me. The jewellery shimmies and the little bells jingle. “What do you think, Jones?”
“I...”
I think I need to know what happens next.
Lydia reaches to put her hands around my neck.
I intercept them, kiss her be-ringed fingers.
“Oh,” she says.
I turn her hands over, kiss the palms, her wrists past her bangles --- catch a whiff of a heavy sensual perfume.
Lydia wiggles her girdled hips, making the bells jingle. “So do you have a thing for belly dancers, Jones?”
“I do now.” I grab her soft waist above the girdle. This traps her arms inside mine so she can only copy my gesture.
Her fingers slide a little down the back of my jeans. She tilts her head, causing her black curly hair to fall across her face.
I nuzzle through it and kiss her.
She sucks at my lips, opens her mouth, flicks her tongue, sending a jolt of lust to my groin.
I slide my tongue past her teeth and lose myself in the churn of flesh and saliva in the red-dark of our mouths.
Lydia bumps my groin, pulls away. “Jesus you’re hard.”
“Is something wrong?” I knew this would get awkward.
Lydia looks down at her golden body jewellery and gives a rueful shake of her hips. “I thought if I packed in lots of bang for the buck, you wouldn’t lose interest after. But who am I fooling? What am I going to do? Buy a new shtick every week...? I mean, belly dancer today, latex catwoman next Friday, the Friday after that it’ll be a plush wombat costume!”
“I don’t have a thing for wombats.” I add firmly, “Whether plush or not.”
Lydia grins, but her eyes are bright with tears. “Well that’s a relief. But we’ll shag, I’ll give you my heart, then you’ll be off looking for somebody with a bit more depth. You sensitive artist types are all the same. Sorry Jones.” She averts her eyes. “I just can’t do this after all.”
I look at her... magnificent long body, confident in her nudity, dressed like an adolescent Conan fan’s fap fantasy, a power player in the board room, a glorious orgasm factory in the bedroom. Strangely, I have no regrets.
“Lydia,” I say, “look at me.”
She raises her gaze. “Nothing you can say...”
I pull off my turtle neck to stand in her hallway naked from the waist up, except for...
Her small eyes twinkle. “A gold collar!” She sways slightly and her bells jingle. “But that means... Not ever...”
My groin throbs, tightens.
I kick off my socks and shoes, pull down my trousers and boxers. The silicone dong springs free.
“I thought you seemed a little too well endowed.” Lydia laughs and turns away. “You’ll have to work for it, though.” She scampers down the hall, jewellery rattling, bells clinking.
I run after her.
The bedroom hasn’t changed. It’s still all mood-lit blacks and charcoals and it feels like a homecoming. We’ve fucked like rabbits in this room, and held each other on cold nights.
Lydia turns at bay by her bed, legs braced, hands extended. “Ravish me, Jones. If you can.”
I grab her left wrist, turn her, bend her over the bed with the arm behind her back.
Lydia groans and wriggles her bottom. Her inner lips bulge from her normally neat pussy. A bead of juice escapes and drops on the grey sheet.
I grab her waist above the golden girdle, start to lower myself.
Lydia giggles. Bells jingling, she wriggles away onto the bed.
I slap her long buttocks.
She squeals.
I spring on onto the bed, get astride her.
Lydia writhes around. She flashes an urchin grin. There’s a tumble of limbs, and suddenly she’s on top of me, wet pussy pressed into my belly, nails digging into my wrists. “Hah!”
I struggle pathetically. “Help! Help! Mercy!”
Lydia tosses back her long black hair. “Honestly Jones, you’re not much good at this ravishment business.”
I thrust slowly, feel the dong prod her buttocks. “In my defence, if I’d been Master Alpha Dick, I wouldn’t be a chaste.”
Her thin lips widen into a grin. “Capon. You’re a capon.” She lifts off, tilts her pelvis. Her breasts strain against the bead crop top.
I take the hint and brace without moving.
There’s a slurp and Lydia expertly backs onto the dong so that her pussy engulfs the head. “Oh I’ve missed this!”
Now it’s safe, I thrust my hips, driving the dildo up into her with a resounding splat. “Upgraded,” I say.
Lydia gasps. She sinks her weight, grinds her pussy against my caged groin so that the gold of her girdle flashes in the low lighting. She speaks between gasps. “Upgraded... to... capon. Forever.”
My lost cock spasms. Defeated, I sink back into the mattress.
Lydia releases my wrists and sits back. Still grinding, she raises her arms over her head like a belly dancer.
I stroke her thighs, then her waist from the cold metal of her girdle up to the where the fringe of beads covers her full breasts.
Lydia draws circles with her hips, circling her pussy around my dong while the beaded crop top swishes and the bells tinkle. She’s panting now. “Always horny... never jaded.”
I slide my hands up under the dancing beads and cup her full breasts. The flesh is clammy with perspiration, her small nipples like pencil ends against my palms.
Lydia arches her back, thrusts out her bosom, shudders. “Hell! Bloody!” She’s panting faster now. Her hips rock as if possessed. The bed creaks, judders. “Bloody hell...”
I shift my grip and pinch her nipples.
Lydia gasps, screeches, grabs my wrists. She shudders so fast she becomes a blur of olive skin and tinkling gold jewellry. Her red nails sink into my flesh.
I’m naked before a storm of womanhood, pinned to the bed by the spike of burning lust in my neutered crotch. Somehow, amid the rising terror I hear myself blurt, “Lydia I love you!”
Lydia throws back her head and cries, “Oh my jesus god FUUUUUCK!”
I gently let go of her nipples. My hands are shaking.
Lydia sighs and settles onto me, still upright, almost prim, like the statue of some ancient love goddess that would be better left in the ruins if Babylon. She flicks back her long black hair and grins down on me. “I love you too, Bradley Jones.”
I shudder. My dong is still inside her, but all I can feel is a wet heat through the mesh of the silicone thong. “Check your phone --- the app.”
There’s a little awkward manoeuvring and leaning, then she has her phone. HrLckr opens with a ping.
Lydia’s small eyes narrow. “Oh. You’ve sent me a... an exclusivity offer.”
“I hope it’s OK. There’s a...”
“One Penis Policy.” She tilts her head. “So you’re faithful to me, but I can play around with other women?”
I squirm. “I wasn’t sure I’d be enough for you.”
“That’s very considerate.” She’s still astride my dong, but it’s easy to detect the sarcasm. “So you’re what? Hoping for a harem, are we Jones?”
“I just don’t want to compete with other men.” This is going wrong! I press on. “I thought the terms might make up for it.”
Lydia peers at her phone, and I realise she’s not wearing her contacts. “Exclusivity continues indefinitely until cancelled by the HrLckr member... wait, that’s me?”
“Click Accept,” I say, “and all my reviews vanish, and I’m locked out of the app unless you decide to let me go.”
“But people date off-app. I have it on good authority you’ve whored yourself that way --- I had a rebound thing with Mariella, who I believe you know rather well.”
I flush. “They always check you out on the app first. If you don’t exist, it’s a red flag.”
Lydia tosses her hair back over her shoulder. “So basically, I’ll totally own your sex life. Hell, yes.” She clicks the screen.
There’s a ping. There’s a muffled answering ping from my phone in my jacket pocket back in the hall.
Lydia stiffens. “Oh Jesus. I’m the only women you’ll ever shag, and you’ll never ever come. That’s hot.”
I hear myself whimper. What have I done?
Lydia rocks her hips. “I’m wet just thinking about it.”
I just stare up at this bejewelled goddess grinding at my neutered groin and realise this is as good as it can ever get.
Tears fill my eyes, trickle down my cheek.
Lydia halts. “Jones, what’s the matter?”
“I can’t ever make love to you.”
She laughs. “Well, what’s this then?” She rocks her hips, causing the dildo to squelch in her vagina. “Assisted masturbation?”
“I can never put my real penis inside you,” I say.
She’s still rocking her hips.
Somehow the helpless irritation only makes my chastity cage seem tighter. “You know what I mean.”
Lydia bights her lower lip, lets out a tiny whimper. Her expression clears but she keeps on rocking. “But, let’s face it...” Vagina and dong are now generating a rythmic splat-splat sound. “...Jones, you never could. I mean, be realistic. You needed... Oh that’s good... something a bit extra to get into my knickers.”
Now my cage does loosen. “I thought you said you loved me!”
“I do... love... YOU...!” Lydia pants and twitches her hips as she speaks like somebody riding a bicycle on a bumpy road while her jewellery rattles and jangles. “Just... Oh that’s good... the... My god... WAY... you...” Her eyebrows steeple. “ARE!” She keeps going, writhing astride me, panting while the perspiration breaks out on her smoky olive skin. “Just thE... WAY... yOU ARe...”
I crying and I’m not even hard, and she’s actually shagging me and I haven’t made a noble sacrifice for the woman I love, I’ve merely taken the necessary step to put me in her dating pool.
Jesus.
I’m no more heroic than if I’d gotten a better job, or an expensive suit, or really worked on my abs in the gym.
And Lydia is still shagging me like none of that matters and she’s having one continuous orgasm and doesn’t care and really I’m not worthy and...
My groin clenches so hard it’s like I have a black hole between my legs. Reality blurs like that time I experimented with a hot clubbing girl back in university, before she said we were just friends and went off with another girl...
Lydia slows down and just sits there making little twitches with her hips and moaning softly. She mumbles, “Can’t ever come ever again... I own you... Oh Jesus!” Without warning, she screams as if giving birth.
It’s shockingly loud.
Liquid squirts down the shaft of the dong, splashes the thong. The salty liquid stings my pubis.
My groin spasms and I sob.
Lydia stops moving and looks down at me dazedly. She grins. “I squirted!” Then her eyes narrow as she registers my tears. “Oh shit. I’m psycho like Caroline.”
“No you’re not,” I say. “You’re a glorious wet dream I’ve chosen never to wake up from.” Still weeping, I reach for her girdled waist, draw her forward.
Lydia’s pussy plops off my dong, trails warm wet over my belly and chest. Her anklets scrape my flanks. She lifts up, then pushes her her furry wet sex into my face.
I suck, hard, so the salty rich juices cascade into my mouth. Then I trawl between her engorged lips and ping her fleshy tower of her clitoris.
Lydia groans and shifts. “Oh Jones, you’re my absolute slave and I love you.”
I just lick faster and the universe drops away. Nothing exists except her thighs around my head, her dripping pussy, and the comet of lust streaking an orbit between my wet mouth and my tight groin in time to the primal heartbeat of her groans.
Everything in my life has led up to this moment and...
“Jones! Jones! You can stop!”
The warm wet female world has gone.
I open my eyes.
Lydia is sitting beside me, propped up in bed, still naked except for her golden belly dancer jewellery. “Wow, Jones. Just wow. We were going for half an hour.”
I roll onto my side. “I love you,” I lisp.
My tongue actually has cramp! When last did that happen?
“I love you too,” she says.
Oh Jesus no, I sense a but.
“But you’re not a switch, and I am.”
I roll over onto my front, trapping the sticky dildo against my belly. “But nor is Caroline.”
“That’s one reason we broke up.”
Lydia draws in her legs and hugs her knees so I have to fight not to stare at her sodden pussy. The whole bedroom reeks of woman sex and I’m still rock hard in my cage.
“You’re still in love with her,” I say.
Lydia sniffs. “Passionately. Aren’t you?”
I frown, close my eyes, and have a vision of Caroline in her green dress. “But she’s a sadist.”
Lydia grins cheekily. “Exciting, isn’t it?”
I remember screaming like damned thing while she beat me. My penis throbs traitorously. “I suppose it spices things up,” I say.
Lydia undoes her necklace. “Within limits.”
“She’s a pillow princess,” I say. “I’m not.”
“Good point.” Lydia pulls off her beaded crop top. The weave has left a pattern on the skin of her breasts. “Oh, be a darling and do my feet. Slave.”
She softens the word with a smirk, but it triggers a weird wet pulse from cock. Dong swinging, I kneel up and strip the rings from her toes and unfasten the anklets. “So what? You’re dumping me to have another go with Caroline.”
Lydia shakes her head. “I’m not enough for her. That’s the root of it.”
“Nor am I,” I say.
“Come to bed, Jones.”
So the jewellery goes away, the dong thong gets a rinse and hung up on a towel rail and the central heating goes off.
It’s still wintry outside, so Lydia puts on cosy pyjamas. I wisely brought my overnight things, and we curl up like an old married couple.
In the morning, I slip out of bed and return with a cinnamon swirl and cappuccino. I’m not sure what our relationship status, so I end up hovering at the foot of the bed in my street clothes.
Lydia stretches luxuriously and treats me to her ragged-toothed smile. “OK, it’s official, Jones. I’m not ever giving up this.”
My heart leaps. “On breakfast in bed?”
“Oh, that and other things.”
I grin and make to join her under the covers.
Lydia puts out a ringed hand to stop me. “Hold on, Jones. I have to say something.”
“Go ahead.”
“You’re in love with me...”
“Yes...”
“However...” Lydia sips her coffee. “I love you but I’m not in love with you. Or at least it doesn’t feel that way right now.”
A cold hand clutches my gut. “This sounds suspiciously like the friends with benefits zone. I didn’t know that even existed.”
Lydia shrugs and munches her Danish. “Well, Jones... Mmmm... I own your sex life now, so it’s what you’ve got.”
My gold collar feels suddenly tight, and I get that dark feeling I’ve been trying to escape. My lost cock stirs in its cage like some undersea monster from Ada’s pulp SciFi collection. “What... what happened?”
Lydia flashes her urchin grin. “You made the mistake of making me feel secure. Took the passion out of the pursuit. Though bloody hell the whole situation makes me horny. Maybe that’s enough. Get undressed, Jones.”
“Uh... How does...?” It’s hard to think, but I start stripping of. “I mean, how is this going to work? Are we still a couple?”
“At least that, I think.” Lydia wriggles under the covers, and I realise she’s pulling down her pyjama bottoms. “I take it,” she says as she settles her head back on the pillow, “that Caroline contacted you with a similar offer to mine? The poor sweetheart is so determined to be normal...”
I can’t answer right away because my mouth is full of pussy. She hasn’t showered since our love making, and the ripe taste blasts through me to coil in my cage-neutered groin. I know deep down that even without the app I would be this cheerfully ruthless woman’s slave.
But what does she have planned?
You have really sold this story as a potential reality. Even the capon has its appeal tge ultimate chaste experience