Chastity People Chapter 13

A Femdom coming of age in the CARGO 'verse, where the NHS installs permanent chastity devices!

Read earlier chapters!

Midnight at Zoe's increasingly boozy toga party and a white-haired woman in an even whiter toga slid her hand up Milo's Roman kilt and felt his cage.

Milo couldn't just move away because the room was crowded and he was squashed against the big leather couch where the woman sat. Worse, he was clutching a tray of very full glasses of mulled wine. One mistake and there would be red wine and shards of glass everywhere.

The woman shifted. Her fingers reached his buttock. Her nails nipped his skin.

Milo's glass collar tightened and his testicles tried to retract against the base ring of his permanent chastity device.

This was not what he'd signed up for.

True, he'd already had his buttocks slapped and pinched, and one woman had actually tweaked his nipple causing a very private discomfort in his caged groin. But that had all been in passing and had felt like cheeky fun.

This was more... intrusive.

He glanced around for help. There was no sign of Ryan --- he was probably still in the kitchen making more mulled wine.

Anne --- Zoe's chunky tenant --- was closer. She was leaning on the back of the sofa talking to a tall leggy woman who had her long bottom perched on the ledge of the big dresser packed with Zoe's sheet music.

As Milo watched, the tall woman --- late thirties but oddly girlish --- flicked back her shoulder-length hair and giggled. In her flowing toga, she looked like an angel. However, her gaze dropping speculatively to the shorter woman's cleavage --- Anne had opted for a Wonder Woman costume calculated to flatter her broad frame and make the most of her breasts.

Anne put a tentative hand on the tall woman's hip, triggering a willowy squirm and a giggle that tightened Milo's cage.

He looked away. No help there.

"What ho!" Zoe appeared over the throng, presumably standing on the antique wooden chest in the window. The professor was resplendent in her toga with more cleavage showing than seemed feasible. She adjusted the massive garland crammed over her wild hair and waved a very biblical looking knotted scourge. "Let the games commence! Get into two teams!" She flicked the scourge, but the leather cords weren't long enough to make a whip crack. "Come on!" she cried.

The costumes Zoe had provided for Milo and Ryan comprised leather posing pouches and skimpy kilts in white fabric, matched with strappy gladiator sandals and fake floral wreaths to wear as headbands. They'd vetoed her plan to entwine more fake flowers around their collars. Even so, the end result was the kind of decadence that belonged in Fellini's Satyricon, or as Ryan had cheerfully put it, "1970s Roman Porno Orgy."

Ryan and Milo had contemplated themselves in her big bedroom mirror...

"Killing it," said Ryan.

"Actually," said Milo. "We do look pretty good."

It was true. Milo's gym sessions with Ryan had paid off, and he had a weird sense that he would remember this moment when he was old: he would never be as young and attractive again.

But now he'd attracted the attention of a much older woman with creping around her throat and bony hands, one of which was molesting his left buttock.

The groping woman hadn't asked, hadn't even flirted with him. In fact, she was seated on the couch giving her whole attention to an argument with a portly male academic whose toga looked like it had fitted him maybe twenty years ago.

"...warmed over SCUM Manifesto," he said, "but without the satire."

"What makes you think SCUM was ever satire?" she said, squeezing Milo's buttock as if testing its ripeness.

The worst of it was that the white-haired woman wasn't doing anything technically wrong. Being a chaste created a "presumption of consent", leaving Milo to set a boundary if he chose. That had once seemed an exciting prospect, but it had put him in this... situation.

Not a doormat. Not a doormat.

Milo opened his mouth to tell her no, but the word didn't come.

"But... but... Joyce..." The male academic was starting to sound shrill. "Your manifesto merely fetishizes a new hierarchy! It..." He finally noticed where the woman's had gone. He blinked, flushed. "...ignores how power seeps into every relation, every..."

The woman --- Joyce --- slid her hand around the inside of Milo's thigh, then grasped his balls through his posing pouch.

The male academic trailed off.

Joyce spoke into the gap, her voice clipped and precise. "It is too easy for those privileged by patriarchy to hide behind Foucault s abstractions. I think the status quo suits you."

"Patriarchy hurts us all..."

"Oh, really?"

And the debate raged on and the party got louder.

There just wasn't space for Milo to say anything. Inside its cage, his penis throbbed as if in protest.

Dr Burley elbowed through the press. She'd gone full Athena with her costume, complete with breastplate and tunic that left her sleek legs mostly bare. Instead of her trademark boots, thongs webbed her elegant calves from sandal to just below the knee.

Milo remembered burrowing between her slender thighs and dragging his tongue through her long pubic hair to lick her to orgasm. His cage tightened. Maybe she would rescue him...?

But Dr Burley took a fresh glass of mulled wine and turned away without acknowledging him. That was how the party had been so far. Slaves, even pretend slaves were invisible --- except as targets for wandering hands --- and Milo had found that quite comfortable. There was something relaxing about being part of the party without having to navigate it the small talk and banter.

Over at the other end of the sofa, Anne pushed off the back and stood up. She said something that made the taller woman giggle and stoop to kiss her on the mouth. Her long hair swung forward to cloak off the view. Anne's hands slid around her narrow waist to clamp her close. The tall woman curled a long leg around Anne's.

Milo's penis emitted a wet pulse. He wanted to... What? There was no place for him in that little scene.

"Ready!" boomed Zoe from her makeshift podium. Again she flicked the scourge. "Begin!"

Each team raced to pass an orange down the line using only their chins. They were all in white togas, so it was hard to tell much about Zoe's guests, beyond that they were mostly middle-aged with younger, like her tenants Dr Burley and Anne, and some much older like the woman currently squeezing Milo's balls.

Some of the female guests had gone for costumes, like Anne's Wonder Woman, Dr Burley's Athena and a couple of Cleopatras. More had gone for togas with sexy side slits that flashed hips and showed off bare thighs. The men... well most of them could do with more time in the gym and less in the pub. And maybe better looking glasses.

Laughter erupted from the game.

One of the women had lost the orange down the front of another woman's toga, then started nuzzling her cleavage. The other woman simply grabbed her head and kissed her on the mouth and the two 50-something women clinched in front of their friends and snogged.

Milo's penis grew yet harder in its permanent prison.

Everybody cheered the women on while Zoe scolded delightedly and brandished her scourge from her make-shift podium. "Naughty! Naughty!"

Milo spotted what must have been a husband standing looking stupid, arms by his side as if he wanted to flap them like an angry penguin. He stole a glance at Milo, didn't meet his gaze. Was that a look of fear or envy?

Perhaps that was what Zoe meant when she said she wanted to "discomfort the men"?

"You must excuse me," said Joyce. She started to rise from the couch. "I need to have sex now." (Her posh accent made the off sound like orf.)

The portly academic rose with her.

"Splendid," said Joyce. "How kind." Before he could protest, she took the drinks tray from Milo and handed it to the academic. "Just look after this for a few minutes while I get my rocks off." She hooked a skinny finger under Milo's glass collar and led him towards the door.

Milo half raised his hand to detach her, but resistance just wasn't in the script.

"Bring him back!" cried Zoe over the throng. "He's my slave!"

Not a doormat. Not a doormat.

Milo managed to come to a halt.

Somebody --- not Joyce --- slapped his bottom. He bit back a gasp.

The smack was hard enough to drive the blood into his caged penis so that it prickled and throbbed uncomfortably.

"Property is theft!" declared Joyce. She took a good grip on his collar and tugged.

Milo stumbled, and suddenly he was leaving the parlour while the guests people cheered and made lewd remarks.

Still with her fingers hooked in his glass collar, the white-haired woman led Milo across the hall to Dr Burley's room, which Zoe was using for coats. Inside, she finally let go, but only to close and lock the door. She put her back to it. Her gaze swept up and down his body. She grinned.

Now Milo could see her properly, Joyce had to be in her early 60s. She had a mop of functionally bobbed white hair, a strong jaw framed by wrinkles, and a web of crowsfeet that pointed to twinkling hazel eyes.

"All very amusing," said Milo. "But I'd better get back to serving drinks."

She stepped aside from the door.

Milo moved to leave.

Joyce swept past him and he could not help but turn to watch as she settled in Dr Burley's computer chair, legs spread so they they escaped the side-slits of her toga. The fabric bunched between her slender thighs.

They were good dancer's legs, noted Milo, slender but with muscle. Her golden thong sandals left her elegant feet mostly bare.

"You have to serve me first," she said. "Slave."

Milo's penis throbbed wetly against its cage. He indicated his kilt. "This is just a costume."

"The collar isn't," she said. Her hazel eyes twinkled. "Nor the chastity device." She lifted the fabric from her loins, and there was her vulva, black pubic curls shot with grey.

No knickers!

Milo's chastity cage clenched as if it was trying to crush his rigid penis. He shuddered. "But I'm not attracted to you."

"How is that relevant?" said Joyce. She tilted the chair back and moved her hips forward. "Hurry up. You need to get back to serving drinks."

The key was still in the door, realised Milo. There was nothing stopping him from just turning around and leaving.

Not a doormat. Not a doormat. Not a...

But he couldn't.

"What's happening to me?"

He flushed. He hadn't meant to say that aloud.

"After ten thousand years of patriarchy," said Joyce, "humanity is healing, one neutered male at a time."

"But I'm not neutered!"

There was amusement in her hazel eyes. "Come and take me, then, Mr Alpha Male. Dominate me with your massive virility. Shove your cock into my cunt. Ravish me. Make me scream. Teach me to love the patriarchy!"

Milo took a back step. "I wouldn't want to even if..."

"Neutered." Joyce pointed at her pussy. "Now lick me, slave."

Milo's caged penis heaved wetly. Part of him liked being called slave and he was turned on and dripping and there was a vulva waiting for him --- inner lips glistening and protruding, dark bush speckled with grey.

He knelt before the computer chair. "I don't really want to..."

Joyce draped her legs over his bare shoulders. "Another irrelevance."

Her sandals scraped his back. She smelled of fresh soap and expensive perfume - citrus and spice. A mark on the bulge of left inner thigh caught his attention: a fresh looking tattoo of the "c" Virgo symbol, but on a shield.

Then the warm scent of her vulva reached him. His penis pulsed in its cage, driving him forward. Maybe he could just go where this led, this once.

Just once.

"Better," said Joyce. "Slave."

Quivering, Milo stopped with her curls tickling his nose and drew his tongue up her outer lips, tasted the salty musk.

Joyce sighed. Her bare legs shifted around him.

He made a second stroke, pressing his face into her lips, trawling deeper.

Her clitoris was a little thimble of flesh.

He flicked it.

Joyce sighed again. This time the sound was more ragged. "Hard and fast, slave."

Milo put his arms around her thighs so the chair wouldn't roll away. Then, caged groin throbbing like an engine, he licked as fiercely and furiously as he could. His tongue squelched through her labia, slapped her clitoris again while each breath drew her musk into him, made his penis throb.

"Oh," exclaimed Joyce. She arched her back against the computer chair. "Oh fuck yes. Neutered! Neutered! NEUTERED!"

Her cry set off a joyless spasm in Milo's cage-neutered crotch. His penis went limp.

"All done." Joyce pushed his head away, slid the chair back and stood up so she was looking down at him like a disdainful goddess. Her face was flushed under her make up and her eyes bright, but she was old enough to be if not his grandmother, then maybe a great aunt.

"Hardly worth the fuss, was it, slave?"

Milo felt... soiled. His penis twitched like a dying fish. "Why did I just do that?"

Joyce laughed as she stepped around him. "Because I told you to."

Once she was gone, Milo knelt on the floor a while, his penis sticky in its cage, his face sticky with her juices.

What had he become? Or had he always been like this?

The door opened. He half turned, expecting to see Joyce returning to... what? Apologise? Tell him it was all sexy role play?"

But it was the woman he'd seen kissing the other woman during pass-the-orange. "Perfect," she said, arranging herself on the computer chair. "It's OK, I don't mind sloppy seconds." She drew up the hem of her toga, wriggled out of her knickers. Her bush was shaved and her vulva plump with hidden inner lips. "Well, get on with it."

And he did.

Milo was limp and sticky in his cage, but still he nuzzled between her plump thighs.

She tasted slightly bitter --- coffee and dry red wine --- and she orgasmed as if she was riding a roller coaster.

Again the door closed behind him. Again it opened and another women slumped into the chair. She whimpered and squirmed as she came.

The next woman was squealer.

The next one brought her husband to watch --- it wasn't clear whose idea that was.

By now Milo's abortive erection had returned and he was painfully hard in his chastity cage.

It made no difference.

Each woman came and he didn't while the noise levels rose in the hall outside the door, as if --- maybe --- there was a queue.

Finally Milo found himself kneeling on the floor in an empty room, his face plastered with juices, the flap under his tongue blazing and his jaw aching.

The door crashed open.

Oh God, not more!

But it was just the guests come to collect their coats.

Milo wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and made himself useful sorting through bags and jackets, avoiding eye contact while the tastes of half-a-dozen women blended and marinaded in his mouth, triggering waves of painful hardness in his cage.

And then the last guest was gone. Milo settled on the sofa bed, exhausted.

Dr Burley stamped into the room, still in her Athena costume. "Jesus Christ, open the window. It smells of sex in here."

Milo sprang off the bed. "Of course, hang on..."

"Oh fuck!" cried Dr Burley, behind him. "You've fucked my fucking computer chair."

Zoe appeared in the doorway. "Whatever is the problem?"

"Look at my chair!" Dr Burley pointed at the sodden triangle on the front of the seat. "It's covered in cunt juice!" She rounded on Milo. "Miles! What the fuck were you doing?"

Milo flushed. His hips twitched and a traitorous spurt escaped his pierced penis. "I was just being a good slave, I suppose."

"Jesus fuck! You're not a slave, you're a pervert in a knob cage and you've wrecked my ergonomic chair."

"It's OK," said Zoe. "I'll replace it." She beckoned. "Come with me, boy. You've been a very bad slave and you deserve to be punished."

It was then Milo noticed that Zoe was still carried the knotted scourge... the authentic looking knotted scourge with the heavy-looking leather thongs.

He opened his mouth to tell her to go to hell, but another spurt escaped his cage penis and he heard himself say, "Yes, Mistress. I've been a very bad slave."

While you’re waiting for the next chapter, discover Ryan’s origin story!