Bradley Jones's Chastity - Chapter 4

The NHS fits men with permanent chastity devices, and chaste is "just" an identity!

Friday morning, the day of the gallery opening, and I haven’t slept all week. Every time I drift off, I get visions of RedRunner’s red-thatched crotch --- I mean women just don’t normally send unsolicited pussy pics! --- then dream about kissing my boss.

God I miss being able to wank. Eleven months and two weeks left!

Anyway..., luckily..., I have the day off to write my speech --- which seems excessive --- so I’ve switched off my alarm and woken later and refreshed, if still a little woozy.

I manoeuvre through my bedsit’s clutter of canvasses and paints and manage some coffee --- no milk, so I call it Americano. Finally, I sit cross-legged on the bed and open my laptop.

Shit.

There’s an email from the CEO --- my boss Lydia’s boss --- with the subject “Brief for your speech”.

I open it. Blink at the text.

“Shit!”

I mean, seriously, SHIT!

Dear Bradford...

--- bosswoman can’t even get my name right ---

Thanks for agreeing to introduce Artemis, who will be making an announcement about a new innovation. Please note that she is the main sponsor of the exhibition and that Artemis Futuristic is one of our major clients, and that she requested we platform an “ordinary chaste”.

Artemis! He means the women formerly known as Shohreh Christian, the Iranian former model turned entrepreneur turned plutocrat! The founder, owner and CEO of Artemis Futuristic, the company who manufactured my Chaste Maker. She doesn’t normally leave her South American charter city...

It’s then it hits me.

Arguably the most powerful woman in the world, and I have to introduce her, and do so in front of the world’s press and my boss.

It gets worse.

We are grateful that you have agreed to share your feelings about experience Chaste Pride.

Thanks Caroline! This is not what I thought I signed up for.

It’s important that you do so in a way that does not centre the male perspective, but at the same time avoids making patronising assumptions about female empowerment.

Now I have flashbacks to lawyer Caroline’s eyes boring into me while I squirm and feel dirty.

*Bear in mind that the audience comprises some of the most powerful female executives in the UK - for which read “potential clients”.

About five minutes should suffice.

Thanks once again...*

Blah blah blah.

“Shit! Shit! Shit! SHIT!”

#

By four in the afternoon, I’m jogging around the local park. It’s snowing lightly, but not settling, so I almost have the place to myself. I’ve got my phone, but I’m not in the mood for music. There’s something soothing about the rumble of traffic and the steady beat of my feet on the wet path.

It’s been a long day, alternating between hyper-ventilating panic and frantic research. I’ve gotten a page written, so I’m half way there. But it reads like a UN report:

Since 2023, uptake of the NHS Chastity programme has resulted in 5% of the male population of the UK...

Snooze!

I decided I needed to lose the stress so I could think. My gym is near work --- chastes get free membership for some reason --- so here I am running round one bit of green in the area. I wonder where RedRunner----

RedRunner herself appears from around the bend ahead, lithe limbs under green Spandex, red hair like embers against the winter grey of the leafless trees lining the path.

I get a vision of the pussy pic she sent me.

Quickly, I pivot and run the opposite direction.

She catches up with a giggle. Now she paces alongside me, shoes splatting on the wet path, ponytail bobbing. “You’re supposed to be chasing me, not the other way around.”

“Go away,” I gasp. “I’m working.”

“Well you’re certainly not wanking,” she says, and I realise she has a sweet Irish accent.

“I will be in a few months,” I say. “So thanks for the pic.” I break into a sprint to end the conversation.

I’m panting now.

A giggle and she’s caught up with me again. “Eleven months is long enough for my purposes,” she says. (Of course! It’s on my profile.)

“Too long for my taste. I’m on the wagon.”

The faster gait makes her red ponytail dance, but she speaks with ease. “But you cannot resist me.”

“Give me...” I have to speak between pants. “...your number and I’ll... call you... when I’m...”

“Oh, no,” she says. “I don’t fuck basics. Ew.” Another giggle and she speeds up so now she’s running in front of me, long buttocks twitching with each pace of her lean legs.

“Basics” is a term fashionable among what they call the CARGO Generation: the cohort who reached sexual maturity after 2023, and just take all this for granted.

I wish I’d been one of them!

I squeeze a little more speed out of myself. “Does anybody... ever... catch you?”

“Often.” RedRunner throws me a glance over her shoulder, all sparkling green eyes and parted lips. “When I let them.”

“But I don’t want to catch you.”

“That’s what makes this so hot.” She pulls ahead and calls back, “You’re hooked by your own paraphilia.”

Now she’s sounding like the sexy version of lawyer Caroline. I coax just a little more speed out of my legs. “Doesn’t that...” I lose it and grind to a halt.

RedRunner turns and jogs on the spot, making her small breasts quiver under their green Spandex covering. “Doesn’t that what?”

“Bother you?” I gasp. I straighten. “Doesn’t it bother you? My---,” I make air quotes. “---paraphilia?”

Her red eyebrows furrow in what looks like genuine puzzlement. “Why should it? I get what I want. You suffer. Why should I care if your life choices are stupid? Anyway, I’m getting cold and bored.”

She spins around and starts to run.

I sprint after her.

The worst of it is that I know I can’t resist, know I’m going to suffer, know this is not a good way to prepare for my dreaded speech.

I’m at her heels when she turns out of the park onto the street.

“Slow down!” I pant. “I’ll be too tired.”

“It’s not as if you have to get it up!”

RedRunner does, however pause at the traffic lights. Then we’re over the road into a new built block of student housing. She pauses again at the big glass door, running on the spot. “You have to accept the date.”

My phone is on a shoulder strap. It just takes a quick swipe to accept the date. Then we’re running across the foyer, past the elevators and into the stairwell.

She runs ahead, climbing one turn above me.

The fire door at the top is swinging closed and it looks like it has a security lock.

I hurl myself through it, and there’s a corridor of identical doors, except one’s open.

I stagger through it, stumble on a pair of discarded running shoes.

RedRunner leaps into my arms, wraps her legs around my hips, puts cold sweaty hands behind my neck, hooks bare feet into the crook of my knees.

---

I stagger back against the door, which bangs shut.

The red-haired Irish girl kisses me, fiercely --- chewing, tonguing while my cock goes wild in its cage.

I kiss her back. Her lips and cheeks are cold, but my tongue finds her mouth warm and wet beyond the scraping teeth.

I’m holding her by the waist, but RedRunner is skinny and doesn’t need my support. I tug at her damp Spandex. It rolls up over clammy skin, up her spine, the back of her sports bra.

She lets go of my neck, leans out and whips it all off in a single motion. Her small breasts are pale in the room’s harsh LED light, the nipples rosy like her lips.

I tear off my own top, cup her firm buttocks and raise her so I can suck a breast, tongue a hard nipple. The taste of fresh perspiration floods my mouth, tears through my senses so my caged groin hardens like concrete. I whimper into her flesh.

She giggles. She reaches back to let her long red hair fall free. Still giggling, she runs her nails up my back.

“Put me down on the bed, you degenerate perve.”

I stumble forward and deposit her on the queen-size bed, landing with my chest between her thighs.

RedRunner rolls her legs back - toenails scraping my skin --- and tugs her waistband.

Once again, Spandex and underwear come away, and there she is in her glory; pale freckled skin, rosy nipples and rosy inner lips glinting from behind a fuzz of red pubic hair.

My groin clenches. The cage crushes my penis. “Jesus!”

Her bare feet land behind my shoulders. She kicks her heels, nudging me down. “I’m not Jesus,” she says, “But if I do a hundred chastes, they say I’ll become a blessed virgin.”

I duck down and land on her pussy open mouthed and suck. It’s the same musk as her perspiration, but stronger, spicier. My caged penis prickles like its wrapped in barbed wire. I let out another whimper.

She giggles merrily. “Your going to regret this.”

Without breaking the kiss, I nod. Then I trawl her slit with my tongue, flick her clitoris.

RedRunner purrs and shifts against me. Juices well into my mouth. She places my hands firmly on her small breasts.

I pinch her nipples.

She groans and writhes.

Raising my eyes, I can just see through the red frizz of her pubic hair to her flushed face.

She crosses her ankles behind my head, clamps my cheeks with cool thighs. “Faster!”

I gladly obey. My tongue sloshes between her inner lips, slapping her clit at the end of flick.

RedRunner arches her back, thrusting he small breasts towards the ceiling, grinding her groin into my face. “Oh yes. Yes.” She’s breathing hard now, harder than when she was actually running. “YES!”

And that’s it. Her legs unfurl and she pushes me away.

I settle onto my knees and stare forlornly at her pussy while my caged cock throbs in time to the memory of my tongue in her slit.

She sits up on the edge of the bed, cheerfully naked, and flicks back her long red hair. “Very good. Five star review for you, ArtBoy99.”

“It’s Bradley,” I say.

“That’s nice,” she says.

I stand up. “I’d better go. I have an important work thing this evening.”

Her green eyes flash. She rolls to her feet and pinches my nipples, making me squirm. “I’m not done with you yet, ArtBoy99,” she says.

I try to back away, but that just stretches my nipples. A prickling pleasure-pain spreads out over my chest. “I need to go.”

“Yes,” she says, “You do.” She lets go of my left nipple and uses the free hand to pull down my trousers. “Oh good, magic boxers.”

“Hey!” I start to try to pull them up.

She straightens and slaps me, hard.

My cheek blazes with pain and I put one hand hand to it. “Hey!” I repeat, even as my lost cock twitches.

She slaps the remaining hand and I let go of my waistband.

Dropping to her haunches, she peels my trousers down to my ankles.

I start to back away.

She rises up like a banshee. “You’re going to leave a girl naked and unsatisfied, are you then?” She slaps the other cheek.

I should fight back, but now I’m holding my smarting face like it’s a football while my lost cock throbs like a second heart. “You’re crazy!”

“No, I just like getting what I want.” She points down.

Somehow she’s installed a realistic dildo in my magic boxers. “I need to go,” I say.

“You need to be fucking me,” she says. She springs on me like before, hooks her feet behind my knees. Then she lets go and drapes herself backwards until her palms are planted on the floor like something out of the Kama Sutra.

I look down and just find myself staring.

The artificial penis is still lodged in her vagina. Her lean tummy is stretched taught. Her small breasts have subsided towards her upside down face, which is red from the blood flowing to it. “Well?” she says. “Or is it my spurs I’ll have to get?”

I twitch my buttocks and the dildo goes in a few inches. As it withdraws, her vaginal lips seem to suck at it.

I repeat the twitching action and it looks for all the world like I’m having sex with this beautiful, red-haired Irish girl.

Except my real cock is curled up in its prison, hard as rock, as hopeless as a prisoner doing hard time.

I should be used to this after four years, but it never ever gets old... probably because I never ever get to get off and clear my head.

She really doesn’t weigh much. It’s easy to stand there rocking back and forward, poking the roof of her vagina with the dildo.

“Oh that’s good,” she says. “Don’t you wish you could feel it... feel me... feel my cunt...” She’s getting breathless and there’s the flush spreading up from her face to between her breasts. “I’ll forget you but you’ll remember me... my cunt... what can you feel?”

“Nothing!” I say.

“Nothing!” she repeats. “NOTHING OH MY GOD FUCK!” Then. “Stop.”

I obey and watch the shiny dildo spring free of the red forest between her freckled thighs.

“Wow. Dizzy.” She giggles, tries for the bed, ends up sitting on the floor with me looking down on her. “Intense.” Another giggle.

I stoop to reach for my trousers, which are still around my ankles. “I really should go.”

“Oh well,” she says, rising. “If it’s like that then.”

I flinch, expecting another slap.

However, RedRunner turns away.

Have I hurt her feelings?

She braces her legs and bends over the bed so that the arrow where thigh meets buttocks frames her puffy red-thatched vulva.

I find myself standing tall, stepping forward. I grab her slender, perspiration soaked waist, thrust my hips to hook the dildo up inside her.

My groin is now a numb knot of lust.

She giggles. “That’s more like it.”

I slam into her hard.

“Oh,” she cries. “Fuck me you pervert. Fuck me like the memory’s going to fuck you.”

I work the dildo like a piston, churning her squelching vagina while the hot scent rises from her like a face-full of sex.

RedRunner devolves into a swearing, grunting catlike animal. There’s a pause of inhaled breath, then a screech. “Oh myjesusandmary andfuck!”

I gently withdraw the dildo.

She turns around and unsteadily sits on the bed. “You can give me back Mr Knightly.”

“What?”

“My dong.”

I wrestle the slippery penis out of its retaining ring and detach it from my magic boxers. It actually says Mr Knightly on the base.

She catches my look. “Jane Austin themed dildos... there’s a website.” She takes the penis off me. “You can go. I need to take a shower then do some studying.” She picks herself off the bed and limps over to her small en suite.

My cock is still throbbing and I have this urge to thrust it into something... anything.

“But...” I begin.

“You see? This is why you chastes are great hookups, but crap boyfriends. Always pestering for sex. Fuck off or I’ll give you one star.”

Her contempt is casual, a million miles away from scary lawyer Caroline’s offence at my mere existence.

“Look,” I blurt. “I have to speak about chastes tonight. Answer a couple of questions for me? You owe me that.”

“OK,” she says, “One for each cum. But get dressed and be quick. I need a pee.”

She stands there in the doorway, totally naked, unconcerned by my gaze or the throb in my caged crotch.

As I pull on my damp running trousers I ask, “Have you done this with a basic?”

She laughs. “A basic wouldn’t have the staying power. And I’m not ever parting my legs for some random dick, to be used and discarded like some soiled hanky.”

“Soiled hanky?” I say, reaching for my shirt. “What does that make me?”

“Interactive porn,” she says, with a grin. “That hurts and pleads and sometimes bleeds. Now piss off and let me pee.”

“One more question,” I say as I pull on my shoe. “What about a bloke in an ordinary chastity cage?”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” She moves inside the bathroom. A toilet seat clangs and there’s the hiss of urine. “How would I trust him? And what kind if nice young lady would keep a poor boy locked?” There’s the scrape of toilet paper on crotch. The lid clangs, and the WC flushes. She sticks her head around the door. “Are you still here?”

“One more. Do you think you’ve behaved like a nice young lady tonight?

“Of course not,” she says. “I laid hands on you. Treated you worse than a stud animal, and now I’m sending you off without so much as a kiss goodbye. But perves like your are literally asking for it in your natty glass collars and inescapable cock cages. So I get a free pass. That’s the point. Now, if that’s all, I really do have to take a shower...”

“I’m done,” I say.

But she’s already closed the door.

I slip out of her room and head for home. I just have time to shower and rewrite my speech. It’s going to be perfect...

Walk a mile in my shoes! Read some more of the erotica I wrote while locked in chastity…