Chaste Convenience Chapter 9
A Femdom coming of age in the CARGO 'verse, where the NHS installs permanent chastity devices!
(See the rest of the chapters so far)
Chapter 9
A month later, another Thursday, I’m going crazy waiting for Jane to come back from riding. We’re into April. The weather’s fine, but I’m not.
I can’t stay still, can’t settle.
I’m naked and manikinised as always, and I keep checking myself in the mirror by the door. Flawless! No hair below my eyebrows. The apartment is cool from having the windows open earlier, so my flesh toned chastity cage visually merges with my cold-shrunken balls to form a compact Useless Composite Organ. Only the black glass collar around my throat really stands out. The rest of me isn’t really there... like I’ve faded out of focus.
My groin feels sticky tight now, as if I’m the one who’s going to have the orgasm tonight.
I channel the arousal to give me the mental energy for one last check of the apartment.
Bathroom clean, towels folded... kitchen area tidy, food in the oven... sofa cushions just right and everything vacuumed...
Perfect!
OK I’m now slightly afraid of Jane beatings --- she’s become stricter in the last month. Mostly, though, I really want this Thursday evening to go smoothly.
And OMG I am so horny, somebody has to cum!
The hellish thing is, after that first finger fuck, everything stayed the same.
I mean, the finger fuck is ongoing. Every Thursday evening she comes back from riding, has dinner, chills, then has a massage with a happy ending, me going to my cell drippy and hard.
OK, and some other stuff has changed.
Jane’s less irritated by me, but maybe that’s because of the Active Listening thing... which really does work. I’ve been using it at the salon and I’ve heard everything about why the hairdressers are all dating chastes these days. Maybe I should send Jane to get her hair styled?
And maybe she’s treated me more casually like a servant. The please and thankyous have dropped out and she has more for me to do, and not just foot rubs. I’ve attained new standards of ironing and folding, I’m managing a late culinary flourish, and there’s fresh flowers on the kitchen table every day.
Even Catherine is impressed.
Mostly Jane visits her these days.
Jace the Capon is gone! Catherine sold her ward to a Scottish couple and he’s now living with them in the Highlands. I got glimpse of his new misses; long red hair and cottage core... knitwear designer I think... and Virgo pixie cut and runner’s body... some kind of AI expert.
I can imagine them together, with Jace on-hand as a fluffer and I feel a little envious. I suppose that’s what being a Capon has bought him...
Anyway, Catherine is training up a flakey OG Chaste called Ralph. He’s just in it for the five year term, so she needs to get him to standard and out the door inside nine months if she wants get the best price.
Catherine is so sweet and girl when she hangs out with Jane --- all big eyes and giggles. However, judging from Ralph’s welts, she’s hellish strict, and of course he needs to practice serving guests, and Jane is helping out, which is why I don’t see much of Catherine... I kind of miss that... those long legs, those short skirts...
As for me, I’ve finally got the hang of this housechaste thing and --- to be honest --- I’m feeling proud of myself and a little ashamed it’s taken this long. Blame Jane for not disciplining me enough!
Though, I have been caned three times since the first time I fingered her... maybe she’s having a late blooming too.
What’s not changed is Jane’s lack of modesty. There’s still nothing actually immodest about it. She doesn’t hide but she doesn’t flaunt.
She’s been like this with me for nearly a year, and I’d more or less gotten used to it: a background hum of arousal.
But now I’ve brought her to orgasm --- what? --- four times now, and she still behaves as if we were both asexual.
Somehow that makes it worse. I get all the guilty kicks of a Peeping Tom while I serve her tea in the bath or hand her clothing from the closet as she dresses and I know what the inside of her vagina feels like, how it tastes, how she grunts and groans when she cums.
Basically, every time I get a flash of white buttock or thigh, I get a vision of pistoning my fingers in Jane’s vagina while she climaxes rutting werewolf.
My Useless Composite Organ tightens like a trash compactor and I start to panic and then...
And then she calls for herbal tea and settles with a book, or gets dressed and picks up her packed lunch on the way out to uni.
I’m starting to become terrified of mornings and bedtimes.
I read that Roman ladies treated their slaves this way.
Also that somebody found a permanent chastity cage on one of the bodies from Pompeii.
Jesus! Imagine...
And---
The front door clunks. Here she is!
Hiding my smile, I help Jane out of riding gear. She strips off --- oh god my groin tightens --- dives into the shower, drinks tea under the spray while water cascades off her breasts, streams from her nipples, soaks her pubic hair so I can see her thick outer lips.
She hands me back the teacup and shuts off the shower.
I’m ready with a big soft towel. As I wrap her in it, a little squirt escapes my caged penis.
But she’s gone and I pretty much manage to not watch her dress while I take the salad from the fridge and plate the dunner food.
A little later she appears at the table in plaid pyjamas. I’m dressed in T-shirt and fisherman’s pants. We eat my latest offering --- home made lasagne --- like a proper couple. I have a little gossip from the salon, but mostly I listen while she talks about her day, ask the right questions, make the right sympathetic noises.
Next, she settles to a crime show on TV. I revert to manikin and clean up as quietly as I can. At last, I approach the sofa to offer her a foot rub. Without turning, she says, “Oh, get the massage table out.”
Half an hour later she’s naked and front down, sleek and relaxed and she gives the order. I push my hand between her oiled thighs, hook my fingers inside her moist vagina and...
Exhale.
Nothing else matters.
The world contracts to her rippling muscular tunnel and the tightness around my fingers somehow blurs with the tightness of my Useless Composite Organ.
I work my fingers in her pussy while she squirms and groans and my groin throbs like an engine.
And everything is magical and perfect.
At last she sighs.
That’s the signal to withdraw.
While she’s recovering I sneakily suck my fingers. Her subtle musk makes my Useless Composite Organ pulse, but I’m too hard, too crammed into the cage for any semen to escape.
Then I’m massaging her thighs, her calves, her feet.
And ten minutes after that she’s at her desk studying while --- dressed once again and back in weird boyfriend mode --- I read on the sofa.
Tea.
More footrubs.
Cell and the hell of lying in the dark horribly, horribly turned on but there’s a chastity device stapled to my penis.
It’s the same the next week, and the next.
And the one after that.
Jane never talks about the fingers.
I somehow manage to never even joke about it.
April turns to May and it’s like I’m stoned on lust half the time.
I realise how socially confident Jane is now. She has friends she goes out with, and a couple of women my age who come round for wine before going out clubbing.
I play naked slave and they don’t really seem to notice me. Gen-C --- Generation CARGO.
That’s another Thursday, so once we’re alone I once again I get to finger Jane to orgasm then steal a taste.
And she still isn’t talking about it.
She does talk about the whip, though.
I get threatened regularly, and an actual caning every few days.
After the next weekly fingering, I’m too fidgety for the sofa so she makes me strip off and use the kneeling block.
It’s not actually that bad. I kind of zone out and my thoughts eventually settle.
After a few repeat episodes, she seems to notice the change, and I spend more and more time on my knees and less sitting like an... Adult? A freeman? Like somebody who isn’t a slave? I still dress for dinner, but the rest of the evening I’m in naked slave mode, unless she wants company watching TV and Catherine can’t pop round
Though even when I’m kneeling in abject submission, she sometimes turns in her chair, stretches her sleek legs and tells me about what she’s just read.
Most of it goes over my head... literally.
By June she’s sat her exams and is back to the bank for a summer job. That sucks for us both, but she looks hot in a business suit and I am... two and a half months away from an orgasm!
I start applying for vocational courses. Not heavy STEM stuff, but options that won’t break my brain. Maybe I can work in hospitality, or I could be a plumber or electrician... apparently some agencies prefer chastes because women customers feel safer with them, however I tick the “Basic” box because come August there’ll be no collar or cage.
Come August, LOL.
Except after two years it will take about two weeks to get my “function” back and maybe longer to have a strong orgasm. Something about the urethral mesh tube.
So it will be Come September!
July, and I’ve not been accepted by any of the courses. The good news is I’m earning just enough from the salon to cover a flat share on the edge of town... except when I let slip about “reverting to basic” it turns out that the salon wants to “try something different next year” and won’t be renewing my contract.
OK I will be moving back into my old room with the faded posters and all the crap, at least until I can find a job. Mum’s yelling, Dad’s rolling midlife crisis. Joy.
At least I’ll be able to lock the door and have a really good wank.
Talking of which...
The first day of August comes. Over dinner, I remark on the date.
Jane doesn’t take the bait and I find myself stripping off and doing the dishes while she settles to her studies --- she’s already working on her year three material.
I’m all over the place! I keep clashing the pots, I even drop a fork.
She growls at me a couple of times then calls for tea.
I bring it over, then wait by her shoulder. My heart starts pounding. My guts feel like water.
Finally, she looks up from her laptop. “Yes?”
“First of August! You need to apply.”
She twists and blinks at me. “Apply for what?”