Bradley Jones's Chastity - Chapter 8
Wild eroticism in a 'verse like ours, except the NHS installs permanent chastity devices and "chaste" is an identity...
No sooner have I said it --- “Beat me,” I mean --- I realise it’s insane.
I’m strapped to a whipping bench in the power of a woman who --- judging from the sodden panties on the floor under my nose and the way she slapped me --- assaulted me, basically --- in public --- and slapped me on her doorstep without so much as a by your leave --- is obviously a deranged sadist and I’ve just agreed she can beat me as much as she likes, if only she does it in the --- admittedly delectable --- buff.
I open my mouth to say, “No”.
Caroline reaches behind her neck, making her breasts rise. She pulls at a ribbon.
The emerald dress comes away from her throat, folds to her hips.
Caroline shakes out her long brown hair. Luxurious curls cascade over her naked shoulders to brush the very edge of her breasts.
The scary lawyer from the Christmas party is topless now, but somehow even more scary.
I manage a strained, “Oh my god.”
The harsh lights of the home gym shine on pale, sweat-sheened skin. Her high breasts are so small they make her erect nipples look massive. Her lithe waist is built from two long curves connecting ribcage to narrow hips.
My eyes widen. My cock fills with liquid fire, strains against its bars. The my welts throb so it feels as if I’ve been draped in a web of barbed wire.
Suddenly, I feel like I’m looking at something forbidden.
It’s not just that Caroline is beautiful, it’s that I’m not.
I’m a sweaty, hairy, drippy man, on all fours like a dog, clamped to a leatherette spanking bench by unglamorous webbing straps, trapped in a chastity device I can’t remove, and a collar I dare not.
I whimper and burrow my head into the face rest.
Fabric rustles. “Look at me,” she orders.
I raise my head, regard her through half closed eyes as if peering into the sun.
The emerald dress is now pooled at Caroline’s dainty feet as if she has magically risen from it as naked as a virgin goddess, and just as unreal.
Desire boils through me. My buttocks clench. I bite my lip, taste iron.
Caroline is all bare legs and arms, long waist, narrow hips. A diamond navel piercing shines like the North Star high over a neat forest of chestnut fuzz. Her thick inner lips protrude from her pussy, as swollen and pouting as those of her mouth...
But there’s something uncanny about Caroline’s tall, trim figure. Her breasts are an afterthought on an androgynous, almost sexless, body that promises only toned muscle and bone. It’s as if it exists purely to support her pouting labia, big nipples, full mouth, and huge brown eyes.
It’s somehow indecent and I don’t know where to look other than into those huge brown eyes.
Our gazes lock.
The world blurs and nothing else is real.
Then, my hips twitch. Semen hoses out from my cage and splats on the floor like heavy rain. I blush. The blood runs to my face, makes my bruised lips pulse.
Caroline steps to the side and peers down at the floor --- I must be dripping. “Was that an orgasm?”
I shake my head. “Just an ejaculation, like in the gallery.”
Her palm lashes out at my face.
I flinch, try to duck.
She hits me half on the cheek half on the left eye. Everything starts to swell.
She pads closer, each footfall making me flinch.
The dark spell has gone.
Now I just feel bruised, sticky and in pain.
Cold as well; the sweat is evaporating from my marred skin. I shiver and strain against the straps. “Are we done?”
“This,” she says, “is why I started dating women. Every time... every time.” She raises my head by my hair, ducks to bring her tilted face close to mine so I can feel her breath on my smarting cheek. “Would you like to wait a little and try again?”
“Let me go!”
Caroline laughs and pads around behind me.
Somehow it’s easier to watch her in the mirror.
She bends over the folding table --- her small breasts barely move and her flat tummy barely wrinkles --- and picks up a coiled whip.
It looks big, heavy.
I strain harder. “Jesus. No! Please.”
Caroline does look at me as she uncoils it. “My ex wife would never let me use this on her.”
It’s a single snake of braided leather that tapers down to what looks like a shoelace just touching the floor by her bare toes.
My balls try to retract against the base ring of my chastity cage. My penis shrivels around its piercing hook. “Jesus! No!”
Caroline raises the whip and in a single fluid action cracks it diagonally over my shoulder blades. The little lace tears into the skin of my collar bone. Then --- like a sonic boom --- the pain catches up.
I scream.
I’m still screaming when there’s another almighty crack and the whip tears into my buttocks.
Through blurred eyes I watch Caroline whirl it swooshing overhead.
Another crack. This time my shoulders again.
I convulse against the straps, forgetting how to breath.
Crack!
My thighs.
Crack!
My buttocks.
I gasp for breath, start to scream---
My shoulder blades again.
And again.
In the mirror, a red liquid trickles down my collar bone.
Caroline pads around behind me, small breasts quivering, long brown hair swishing.
I close my eyes, press into the face rest and whimper.
Caroline slashes into my buttocks, settles into a rhythm of repeated strokes, hitting the same two or three spots again and again.
There’s no pent up desire to hide behind, no hard caged cock to transmute the pain into some kind of painful pleasure. Nor is there a way to surrender to it. The pain’s violating presence pins me in the horrifying present...
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
But she’s stopped!
“Thank God!”
My voice is hoarse. I raise my head.
But the naked elven woman has merely paused to pick up another implement of pain: an authentic looking cat o’ nine tails with a wooden handle and knotted leather cords.
She doesn’t even look at me, she just swishes it over my hips.
There’s no impact, just searing pain on my tender skin, then on my waist either side of the thick strap, up my ribs to my shoulders, to my exposed upper arms, then back to my thighs, my welted buttocks...
Everywhere the cat o’ nine tails passes, it leaves a wet agony until...
She stops.
Somebody sobs loudly... Me!
I’m blubbering and sobbing, and my cock is hardening in its forever cage.
There’s a tug on my right arm. It comes loose. Then my waist.
“Let yourself out,” gasps Caroline. She sounds breathless.
Her bare feet pad away.
I raise my head, watch her in the mirror as she stumbles like a newborn giraffe.
Caroline sprawls onto one of those leather weightlifting benches that looks like a really narrow deckchair, but in black leatherette. She spreads her long thighs, plants bare soles on the floor, and starts to rub at the apex of her pouting vaginal lips.
I squirm, and my welts sheet pain over my skin.
But her big eyes are hooded. This isn’t for me. Beating me has turned her on.
Breathing heavily, I writhe and twist, manage to get my left arm undone. I kneel up, my caged groin like a cannonball between my legs. I free my ankles and calves, then try to dismount the whipping horse.
The rubber mats rise up to smack my face.
I lie there, sprawled face down, my left eye throbbing. I want to escape, but I’m pinned by the agony of my abused back and buttocks and thighs.
A familiar wet clicking penetrates my haze. Caroline’s breathing quickens. My groin tightens in sympathy.
I manage to raise my head to see her in the mirror.
Caroline groans, but her hand continues to flickering between her narrow thighs.
I get my knees under me and manoeuvre around.
In the mirror, I see that actual blood drips down my flanks. I twist a little. There are not just welts, there are actual cuts and stipple marks where she’s broken my skin. There’s blood spatter on the whipping bench and on the mat where I landed, like something out of CSI. My lips are cut and swollen, and my I’m developing a blacked left eye.
I should crawl for the door, flee.
Instead, wincing as each movement stretches a welt or cut, I laboriously turn around. Still on all fours, I drip blood and semen as far as her elegantly pedicured left foot, with its neat toenails painted the same emerald green as her discarded dress.
The cool air has dappled the skin of her inner thighs with goose pimples, but her long finger works tirelessly in her notch, making her pouting lips ripple and twitch like some glistening sea creature feeding in the depths.
And I can smell her... smell the animal musk of her sweat, the feline scent of her wet pussy.
Without thinking, I kiss her perfect foot.
The skin is cold and tastes of salt and it sets of a spasm in my chastity cage. There’s a swish. A sharp sting wakens the welts on my back.
I recoil onto my knees. The position presses my smarting buttocks against my heels, making me whimper. My penis flexes like claustrophobic snail.
Caroline’s big brown eyes are on me now, but I’m staring at the whippy cane from earlier, which she has somehow gotten into her hand. She seems to consider, then says, “Eleven months, was it?”
“Just under,” I say. The thought of one day actually being able to masturbate makes my penis quiver into a new hardness.
“Good enough,” she says. Caroline shuffles forward to perch her small buttocks on the edge of the seat. “You can lick me for as long as you can bear it.”
Bear it?
I was born for this.
I roll forward, mouth open.
Her swollen inner lips greet me with salty juices that wash into my mouth like a tide of pure woman. I trawl my tongue up the fleshy crevice. Her clitoris is like a third nipple, swollen and ready.
I’ve had four years to practice for this moment! I start licking.
Caroline groans, grinds her crotch against my faces, smearing me with her juices.
My cock spasms stickily. And still I lick.
Another swish. Pain slashes across my buttocks.
I scream into Caroline’s pussy, have a vision of her wrinkling her nose at me at the Christmas party, but somehow keep licking.
Caroline groans, this time louder. “Oh My God! Oh!”
And she canes me.
Again, I scream, but nothing will stop me from working my tongue in her juicy furrow.
Now she screams, but like a mating fox.
And it continues, on and on.
I scream in pain.
Caroline screams in orgasm.
The cane bites my marred flesh.
The world dims into a pink haze and a blanket of agony clamps me in place between the legs of this beautiful, terrifying woman.
Licking.
Screaming.
And suddenly I’m back on my knees, blood dripping down my back, her juices dripping down my face, my caged cock beating like a drum between my welted thighs.
Caroline grins down at me and drops the cane.
It lands with splat, bounces, leaves lines of blood on the floor of the home gym.
A little spurt of semen escapes my chastity cage.
The elven woman doesn’t seem to notice. She rises and offers me my hand. “Come on, we’re disgusting. Let’s take a shower.”
There’s nothing sexual about it. We get under the hot shower and sponge each other’s backs like old lovers.
The soap stings my cuts, but when I yelp, she merely makes soothing noises and kisses me with her endlessly pouting lips.
I have to rise up on tiptoes to return the kiss. There’s a moment of tongues in mouths, of wet skin against skin and my lost cock hardening.
Then she laughs and makes a fuss of sponging the inside my glass collar.
All too soon we’re towelling ourselves down in the warm bathroom.
Caroline grins at me, opens her mouth, closes it; nothing to say.
“You’re being nice to me,” I say. “Am a human now?”
Caroline laughs. “Perhaps,” she says. She puts a foot on the closed toilet lid to towel her long thigh. She has a towel wrapped around her head, making her look like she’s out of an old harem painting. “But I we shan’t do this again.”
“Oh?” I say, sounding more disappointed than I should feel, given how I feel like somebody took a cheese grater to my back.
“Well,” she says, “on consideration, I think anything under a year is really too close for comfort. I shall use HerL... the dating app to find newly-minted Chastes. Or perhaps Neuters.”
Caroline sounds totally conversational, as if we hadn’t just shared this moment of amazing --- but honestly quite fucked up --- intimacy. She’s so casually outrageous that I actually get hard inside my Chaste Maker cage.
I dab at my back. The towel comes away bloody. “So you were doing me a favour?”
Caroline shrugs a shoulder, making one breast rise. “Perhaps I liked the way you looked into my eyes?” She straightens and wraps the towel around herself so it’s the world’s most revealing mini-dress.
I just want to drop to my knees and nuzzle up under it. Instead, I wrap the towel around my waist. I do my best to look cross. “What am I supposed to do with this information?”
She hooks a finger under my collar. “Remove this, and we could have another four years together.”
Caroline is actually expecting me to become a Neuter for her! But that’ll add another five years, not four. So, basically she’s proposing to abandon me well before I’m a year from release.
I’m almost speechless. “You’ll... you’ll date me,” I say, “but only until my chastity becomes too ripe for you!”
“Well,” says Caroline, very sensibly, “that would indeed be the decision point. But if things worked out between us... I rather like the sound of the new Capon identity.”
My hips twitch. “You’re...” I’m going to say totally outrageous, or something ruder. But Caroline’s looking down at me with her big eyes. “...asking rather a lot of me, aren’t you?” I complete. “I mean, you want me to give up my orgasm. Forever.”
Caroline shimmies her hips and lets out an unlawyerlike giggle. “Well, I’m quite capable of having orgasms for both of us. Don’t you think?”
“Um...” If I could, I would use my bare hands to snap my collar right now, make my self this woman’s slave. “No,” I say, firmly. “Really, no.”
“You’re being illogical,” says Caroline. “You signed up for five years of chastity. What will be different at the end of that?”
“I’ll be able to wank, that’s what!”
Caroline jerks as if slapped.
Silence.
Then, “I was right about you the first time. You’re just a degenerate paraphiliac storing up a memories to feed your solitary onanism.” She turns away. “Let yourself out.
It’s only as I sit in the taxi that I realise how badly she’s flayed my rear surfaces. I feel like I’ve rolled in nettles and now I’m travelling by thorn bush!
And had she produced some kind of boltcutters, I think I would have let her take off the collar.
What was I thinking?
No, I am definitely not dating again until I’m free of my hardware... until I’m a “basic” again.
The driver turns in her seat. She’s chunky with what sounds like a central European accent. “A Chaste,” she says. “You want to work for your ride?”
“Sure,” I say as my cock revives in its cage.
Well, not dating seriously.
I can still have adventures to pass the time. And I could do with doing a normal woman, one who just wants her pussy licked with no dick involved.
Thanks for reading! The next chapter is out roughly the same time next week. In the mean time, let me know what you think and take a look at a side story in the same ‘verse…