More of "Fall in Chastity"

About the CARGO permanent chastity novel I'm working on at the moment...

Photo by Ceyda Çiftci on Unsplash

I created the CARGO ’verse because I wanted to write about a world where we — chastes, submissive men, Virgos and dominant Viragos… the whole lot of us — are normal and consensual power-exchange has real world teeth.

Thanks to CARGO, we’re a sexual minority, but an unremarkable one.

That way, I can explore the complexities of power-exchange relationships and male chastity, without having to keep going through what would be effectively “coming out” sequences.

CARGO — notoriously — makes it possible for a woman to de facto own a chaste.

There’s an option to have a gender-flipped trad marriage with Victorian legal framework. The wife ends up with power of attorney, veto on surgical changes to sexual identity — good luck getting your Artemis device removed — financial control and, a real stinger, the ability to sue any woman who takes you in for “alienation of affections.” Add to that an exclusive lock on the HrLckr app, and he’s pretty close to being enslaved.

No, as we learned from the previous episode, the CARGO ‘verse is really not a Utopia. It has some horrible pitfalls for the unwary male.

Even so, how many of us malesubs would be at least tempted to sign up to such an agreement? I know I would.

But, what would that look like in the long term?

Fall in Chastity takes place a full 20 years after Shona’s Surprising Slave, so let’s find out…

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Fall in Chastity — Chapter 2 (WARNING! SPOILERS FOR SHONA’S SURPRSING SLAVE)

"Surprise!" Shona's statuesque presence filled the entrance to Heather's flat, her bushed red hair unaffected by the wind that whirled the first of the autumn leaves along the concrete balcony.

Not my new vibrator, then, thought Heather. "It's not a good time..." She started to close the door.

Shona jammed put an elegant boot over the threshold. The boot was elegant, but she was neither a small nor delicate woman. "Oh, aye, I'm fucking sure it's not. That's why I decided to pay you a visit, young lady."

As always, the big older woman was wearing one of Heather's designs, this time an expansive sleeved shawl. Beyond the knitted swathes waited the diminutive "Whatshisname", Shona's --- ahem --- personal assistant. He was nicely turned out in a store-bought Autumn sweater that harmonised with the gold tint of the glass collar he must have worn for something like half his adult life.

Whatshisname was a Chaste. Like most Gen-C girls, Heather didn't care what he thought, but she didn't want her formidable friend and mentor to see her like this; a lumpy sack of potatoes in an old outsize sleeping T-shirt with a cat on it. "Seriously, come back later. Give me a chance to tidy."

Shona grinned and stepped aside to reveal that her Chaste was carrying two cardboard cups. "But I brought the pumpkin spice!"

Heather laughed. She'd run out of coffee sometime last week. "You got me! Sorry about mess!"

As Shona entered, the flat seemed to shrink and become more cramped. "Never bloody apologise, young lady," she said, sounding every bit the foul-mouthed Scottish adopted aunt she was. The tall woman stepped over the bags of yarn, the dusty cat toys and the empty pizza cartons with stately easy.

Heather dived ahead of her to clear the sofa of her laptop and Henry's ashes, still in the plastic jar from the pet crematorium. The two of them managed to sit down at the same time.

Heather glimpsed herself reflected in the TV screen and tried to push at least some of her hair back behind her ears. She usually had hair bands lying around, but they were probably under the layers.

"Your latte, miss." Whatshisname had navigated the chaos.

This was the first time she'd had him in her flat. She accepted the drink without making eye contact. "Thanks."

Shona took her latte without acknowledgement. "Slave, pile the recycling by the door and tidy up a little."

Whatshisname bobbed his head --- his salt and pepper hair was thinning a little. "Yes, ma'am." He turned and started gathering pizza boxes and crisp packets.

Heather cried, "Careful of Henry's urn!"

"Yes miss," said Whatshisname. "Shall I place it for safety on the dresser?"

Heather flushed and nodded. OK, Gen-C but not full Gen-C. She'd been five when the CARGO act passed. She turned to Shona and hissed. "You can't possibly..."

Shona shrugged. "Well I wasn't going to tell him to sit down and have coffee with us." She sipped her latte. "I do like Autumn."