Chastity People Sub Plot: Therapy #4

Subplot from the otherwise free Web Novel "Chastity People"

See the entire series!

Yet more of the Petula subplot for my wonderful paid subscribers, though I’m still thinking I should turn the whole thing into an ongoing series: “Chastity, Actually”…

Chastity People: Therapy #4

There was a beeping from the coffee shop.

Petula closed her eyes, conjured up Subject 1 screaming as she whipped him, then poor neutered Uh-Ryan lapping between her legs like a pathetic dog.

Keys rattled as the collared barista locked the door and stepped out into the evening street.

"Hello," said Petula.

He spun on his heel, took a back step, looked her up and down. His hand went to his glass collar as if checking it were still there.

No, he was checking that a decorative leather patch was there. Petula had a vague feeling it was covering a QR code.

He broke the silence. "Hello?"

He was a muscular man and not too tall. He was better groomed than the morning's metal head, but he needed a shave. That didn't much matter for what Petula had in mind. However, it did make him seem all the more rugged and masculine... which was a bonus.

He was older than her, too. Not Freudian-old enough to be her father --- eww --- but the kind of 30-something man that would see a 19 year old woman as a prize.

What would he sound like when he screamed?

"Sorry..." he began.

"Don't you remember me?" she asked.

The man cocked his head, obviously searching his memory.

To be fair, thought Petula, thanks to Mother' credit card, she did look quite different from this morning.

Her one concession to practicality was her shoulder bag. She needed that for the handcuffs and other... toys she'd purchased. But even that was an expensive designer shoulder bag.

And the rest of her was now also expensive designer.

For a start, Petula was wearing the small tinted spectacles Mother had bought her for Christmas, not her sensible ones with the good field of vision.

Petula was also wearing make-up --- minimalist, but with striking red lipstick. And her hair was cut in an equally striking bob that Mother thought "too severe", but Petula liked because it showed off her neck and new dangly earrings.

But that wasn't what her target was looking at.

His gaze kept sweeping over the rest of her.

And no wonder!

Gone was the practical plaid fleece. Fortunately, it was just warm enough for the sleeveless black mini-dress that Mother did thoroughly approve of. The fabric was knitted and thick enough to be classy, but it clung to Petula' figure as if she were some loser's wet dream, showing off her small but firm breasts and the curve of her hips.

Freshly waxed bare legs --- she had good thighs from running --- then tight brown knee-length boots that were --- apparently --- "a little early for Autumn", but that she insisted upon because they felt dominant.

Twelve hours ago, Petula would have dismissed anybody dressed like this as "pandering to men."

Now? Well some women dressed like this were pandering. Petula, however, was hunting and her body was both her lure and her weapon.

"You don't remember me," she said.