Shona's Surprising Slave - Chapter 15

Femdom romance in the CARGO 'verse, where the NHS installs permanent chastity devices!

Read my other erotica…

Shona sat back so hard her home office chair creaked. She stared at what she'd typed on her laptop. Taking the weekend off --- really off --- had been a good idea. "Project X is mine!"

A thrill went through her; almost sexual.

She'd really nailed it. Now she just had to convince her bosses. Her presentation skills were shit, but the girls could maybe help with that now she didn't feel like an ugly duckling.

She should celebrate by summoning a chaste. Where was her phone?

She rummaged around the piles of print-offs and glossy Annual Reports.

Maybe she should tidy first --- the last one had looked at her like she was a crazy cat lady, and she didn't even have a cat.

The phone buzzed from one of her jackets laid out on the spare bed. As she got up to get it, she had a vision of Whatshisname's big brown eyes, but she she Victor's profile came up on the screen.

"Fuck."

But it might be a work call.

“Hello Shona,” said Victor, all suave and in control. “Please don’t hang up.”

Shona could picture him in his pristine apartment, probably lounging in his silk robe, success incarnate. "You're interrupting my Monday evening," she said, as if any of her evenings were special, really.

"Of course," said Victor. "I'll keep it quick."

As quick as your wham-bam-thank-you-mam. "Go on then."

Suddenly the spare bedroom seemed cramped. She moved into the hall and strode into her lounge where she could at least pace --- as long as she didn't trip over the pizza cartons.

“Look," said Victor. "We exchanged some pretty harsh words the other week.”

“Yes,” said Shona. “Yes we did.” She almost added, Let’s start over. She clamped her mouth shut, let the line go silent.

“But we still have to work together. So if it’s all right with you, let’s pretend our little fling never happened.”

"Little fling?" She stomped a pizza box.

"Are... you OK."

"Just doing the recycling," she said. "What fling?”

“I knew you’d understand. In that case you won’t mind if I bring a date to your thing on Saturday.”

“What?”

Saturday? Shona glanced around her chaotic apartment. Her turn to host the team drinks party! Oh shit.

“I said...” began Victor.

Now she’d sounded as if he’d managed to rattle her.

“Just as long as she’s house-trained,” said Shona.

Victor made an outraged sound.

Shona ended the call.

But, she realised, she herself wasn’t house-trained. There was no way she’d get the place ready in time.

Shona spent Tuesday evening in video calls to the US.

On Wednesday she got a recommendation from a friend of a friend and rushed home mid afternoon to interview a cleaner. It turned out that the cleaner was interviewing her. The woman simply looked at the mess and shook her head.

On Thursday, Victor somehow managed to pass off an urgent job to her workload.

On Friday she just slipped away after lunch to finally tidy up her apartment. However, mid afternoon found her sitting in the middle of the lounge floor among the pizza trays and uncleaned outdoor gear, drinking from a bottle of wine, and wondering whether to phone her mum.

Instead she dug through her blocked numbers list and phoned Whatshisname.

“What the hell do you want?” he snapped.

She didn't mean to, but she laughed. "What's wrong? I thought I pushed your buttons?"

He made a strangled sound, but he didn't hang up.

Shona had vaguely planned to be persuasive. However, now she'd made another neuter and enjoyed the services of several chastes, it was hard to take him seriously. She took a swing of her wine. "I've been keeping an eye on your HrLckr reviews," she said. "I think I did you a real favour. Much better than getting your pervy rocks off folding women's unmentionables."

"It... it wasn't like that." He sounded deflated.

“Well," she said. "Now my flat needs cleaning. There's even bras to put away. You'll have a lovely time.”

“Speak to the cleaning company. I don’t work for them any more, remember?”

“I---” she nearly said, fired them. However, she was damned if she was going to explain herself to a man in a penis cage. “---think you’ll do a better job. Apparently, tidying up wasn’t in the remit.” A thought struck her. Another gulp of wine. “Fuck, you really did get off on going through women's things."

Silence.

Then. "It was just you I did extra for."

"So I'm special because you only dripped cum all over my flat?" She should probably feel violated. Instead she found the whole thing hysterically amusing. “You should have been paying me, not the other way around.”

There was a pause, just long enough for her to picture his discomfort. “It really wasn’t like that...”

He even had the temerity to sound hurt! “Only because you were wearing a cock cage.”

Silence. Then, “You’re a total bitch, you know?”

“Yes,” she said, suddenly realising she didn’t need him to like her. “But I’m the bitch with the money. Do you want the job or not?”

Another silence and she could imagine him calculating, weighing his anger against his need for cash.

“How long since you had a cleaner?” he asked.

“How long since you’ve been neutered?” she countered.

She caught a muffled, “Oh shit!” He named the price of a new pair of boots.

She halved it

“Bitch.”

“We already know that,” she said.

He met her half way.

“Done,” she said.

“Cash in hand,” he said.

“Well it won’t be cash in hand job!” she said.

“That wasn’t funny,” he said. “I’ll be with you at eight in the morning. I have to be gone by seven thirty in the evening to get to my remaining job. I’ll need to shower and change at yours. Have the money ready. I want it up front. Oh, and...”

“And?”

“Try to have some bloody clothes on this time.”

A nasal female voice said, "What was that about wearing clothes?"

Miss Armstrong's call had caught Hal just as he was about to ring the doorbell of a 60s-style flat; the kind that opened onto a long shared outdoor balcony instead of a common hallway.

Still clutching the phone, he turned back to the door.

It was wide open. A girl in a white towelling bathrobe stood on the threshold. Long straight black hair flowed somewhat awkwardly over her shoulders. Her skinny legs were bare all the way to her flip-flops, which showed off black-painted toenails. "You're LostBoy."

Student age, guessed Hal. Younger than him. Not quite a different generation but... when had that happened?

"You're JustHannah," he said.

"Just Hannah is fine." She gave a bark that might have been a laugh. "Joke," she added helpfully.

In the green below, somebody was kicking a football around. A bird sang.

Hannah watched him expectantly through narrow eyes.

"Oh," said Hal. "Very funny."

"No it wasn't, but I'll get the hang of it." Hannah wrinkled her nose and scrutinised him with hard dark eyes. Her nose unwrinkled, as if he had passed a test. "You took your time, LostBoy." She had a flat nasal voice that went with her over-long nose. "I'll take it out of your fee."

"Fee...?" began Hal.

Hannah gave another one of her bark-laughs. "Another joke. I had you there. You do this for free, LostBoy." She had this way of leaning into his HrLckr tag, as if it was dreadfully significant or a dirty joke.

"I have to want to do it," said Hal, starting to turn away.

I mean, what was he even doing here? Servicing random women just made him feel horny and lonely.

Hannah let the bathrobe fall off her shoulders and pile at her feet. Now she was standing in the doorway of her flat, stark naked except for her flip flops.

She was lithe and young, with low-slung breasts that curved down her chest, and a soft triangle of dark curls between sleek thighs. Behind the curls, her inner lips were already engorged and glistening; he could almost smell the sex.

And somehow he could also almost see Miss Armstrong, statuesque and freckled, towering over him, red-thatched crotch tearing at his shocked gaze.

Hal's penis swelled against its bars. He staggered back against the balcony's concrete rail. "You... can't just stand there naked."

"I think you'll find I can." Hannah clutched her head mockingly, making her breasts swing. "Oh no. I'm naked. Somebody might see."

The effect of her sarcasm was spoiled by her complete lack of intonation.

Hal just wanted to crawl back to his bedsit and... he wasn't sure what. But he found himself taking a step closer, marching to the beat of his caged cock.

The naked girl retreated into her flat. "Come on in, LostBoy."

Inside had that messy shared vibe; too many coats and shoes, plus some enticing knee-high boots.

"Don't worry," she said, "they're all at work. I have an interview for an internship in three hours and I need a seeing to for stress relief." She led him into a bedroom. "Sorry about the mess --- no, I know it's not messy. It's just what you're supposed to say."

Hal closed the door.

It was indeed a very tidy room, nothing like the mess Miss Armstrong made. There were neatly stacked Business and Accountancy text books, a freshly dusted desk that was clear except for a laptop open with a spreadsheet, and a plastic box containing a realistic dildo nestled in a foam cut out.

The bed creaked. "Come on, LostBoy. Clothes off. Dong on. Hurry up." Hannah was laid out on the bed like a neat starfish, a vision of smooth soft flesh and beckoning vulva. The only disorder was her long straight hair which was now strewn over her pillow.

Hannah reached down and rubbed at the apex of her slit. "Come on. I'm warmed up and ready, LostBoy."

There was no amused cruelty, like Miss Armstrong, just a casual assumption that he would do as he was told.

That casual assumption was enough to send the blood pumping into Hal's caged groin. Feeling like he was watching a stranger, he stripped to the magic boxers that Colleen had issued him with. So far they hadn't seen any use. The dildo was not a small one, but he got it installed.

"Very good," said Hannah in her flat, nasal voice. "Much better than a callow youth can offer."

Hal laughed. "Did you just say 'callow youth' unironically?"

"You'll never know, LostBoy." She drew in her knees. "Now come on. Less chat. More fuck." Another amused bark.

The dildo wobbling, he climbed onto the bed and knelt between her long-toed feet.

Hannah thrust her crotch suggestively. "Come on."

Bracing his hands on the mattress, he carefully lowered his hips so that the purple head of the dildo nestled in her slit.

"Slowly," she said. "And no kissing."

He sank his weight and, like a miracle, the dildo slithered into her vagina. His cock pulsed, but he felt only a prickly wetness.

Hannah groaned. "Faster and harder. Much harder, LostBoy."

Another wet pulse in Hal's groin.

He pulled back and the dildo came out with a slurp. He slammed it back in so her vagina squelched. A shockwave rippled through her breasts.

Hannah's eyes widened. She grunted. When she spoke, there was still no intonation. "Again. Don't stop."

Hal could only oblige. He worked his hips and lower back, churning the juices in her pussy so it slurped and squelched and the hot scent of well-lubricated vagina wafted up from between them.

Hannah began to let out little "Uh!" sounds in time to the pounding.

Sweat beaded her perfect skin. Her pupils dilated. Breath hissed from her nostrils.

More curious than turned on, Hal speeded up.

Hannah arched under him so her breasts almost pressed against his chest. "Oh... Uh! Very... Uh! Good..." Her eyes widened even further. Her breath quickened. The grunts ran together into a single vibrating moan. The moan grew louder, shriller. She chewed her lip, shook her head so her long hair lashed. "Don't... look... at my face," she grated.

Hal looked down at the realistic dildo pumping in and out of her vagina. It was easy to imagine that it was his real penis, that he was some kind of sex god worthy even of Miss Armstrong's embrace... to picture a similar dildo pistoning through her red curls.

Now he was turned on, painfully turned on. The cage prickled around his penis, which heaved and throbbed as if it could tear free of its prison.

Guiltily, he tried to stop thinking about the red-haired Amazon who had neutered him. It didn't work.

But Hannah couldn't read his mind, and probably wouldn't care if she could. She just lay there shuddering and grunting as he hammered the artificial penis into her hungry vagina.

Finally, she let out a squeak that became a scream. Suddenly the dildo encountered no resistance. Her sweaty hands pushed on Hal's forearms. "You can stop, LostBoy."

Still avoiding looking at her face, Hal eased the dildo out of her and knelt back on his heels. Only then was he aware of the insistent, hopeless throbbing of his lost penis.

The naked girl sat up and reached for her phone. Her face creased into a tight smile. "Let me see. You were very rude making yourself late by taking a phone call. However, that was a good pounding as requested. Four stars seems fair."

Hal's phone pinged.

He took that as his cue to get off the bed.

"Let yourself out," said Hannah. "I need to shower."

Hal was still hard in his cage as he left the flat into the face of the afternoon sun.

He squinted and leaned on the balcony rail and had a dizzying vision of naked women, all stretched out starfish-style, like an obscene version of one of those crazy old Hollywood aqua-musicals.

That could be his glorious, sensual future. All the pussy he could eat or pound, and he wouldn't ever have to make the first move.

The snag was, none of them were the cheerfully wicked Miss Armstrong.

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While you’re waiting for the next episode, read my first novel in the CARGO ‘verse, set 10 years after the passing of the controversial Act!