Shona's Surprising Slave - Chapter 16
Femdom romance in the CARGO 'verse, where the NHS installs permanent chastity devices!
The apartment door was shut, even though Miss Armstrong had buzzed him into the stair.
Hal set down his buckets of cleaning materials and rang the doorbell.
Nothing happened, though maybe he heard a toilet flush.
He closed his eyes and tried to prepare himself. He thought of all the women he'd serviced. WingedHussy the cab driver who'd used him so casually. Curvy NightNurse with her luxurious black hair, and her room mate he could barely remember. UberSmith and her butch partner, then the blond marketing exec and the waitress... and her boss. Then all the others, right up until the distinctly odd JustHannah.
His cock hardened in its forever prison and he told himself that Miss Armstrong was nothing spec---
The door opened and there she was.
And she really was as tall as he remembered.
Tall and statuesque, as if she had been scaled up or he had been hit by a magic shrinking ray.
The Scotswoman was wearing comfortable pyjamas. Her red hair was bushed and unstyled as if she had just gotten out of bed. Her big breasts hung unsupported, nipples forming bumps out of the stretchy fabric. The material draped loosely around her thighs, but he knew what was under there.
Hal had a mental flash of red pubic hair and glistening secret flesh. His hips twitched, sending a wet pulse through his lost penis. Had he really buried his face in that magical place? It seemed so far away from him now.
Miss Armstrong's green eyes blinked at him. She yawned. "Whatsyourname, you're late."
Hal resisted the urge to bow his head. "Had to pick up cleaning materials." He put his hand out. "Money up front."
Miss Armstrong slapped a wad of notes into his palm. “OK get on with it, then." She turned away.
He picked up his cleaning materials and followed, feeling himself dwindle as he entered her domain.
The towering redhead padded into the lounge where she had brutalised and effectively neutered him what felt like a lifetime ago. "Start in here."
Hal set down his cleaning gear in a clear space between pizza boxes and discarded shoes. “Jesus Christ!”
She didn't seem to hear. She stomped her way through the chaos and vanished into the kitchen.
He started on the business of gathering up the food delivery boxes, neatening the cushions, corralling the scattered footwear...
Miss Armstrong reappeared from the kitchen clutching a mug of coffee and a bowl of cereal.
He glanced at her, expecting her to notice the difference.
She settled in a sofa in front of the TV and waved her fingers. "Away! Go do the other rooms just now."
She'd set up the guest bedroom as a study, only it was also an equipment dump for her various sports. And of course the waste basket was overflowing with envelopes and crumpled paper. He frowned. She’d need this room for the party cloakroom.
He stuffed the recyclables into the bag, grabbed muddy boots and mountain biking gear which she seemed to think would wash itself if she left it hung up.
The master bedroom was a mess. The sheets hadn’t been changed for two weeks. Pyjamas lay scattered on the floor. Several jackets lay draped over the armchair.
And it reeked of her, especially the crumpled bed linen: an animal musky scent that went straight to his captive groin.
His hips twitched reflexively. He chewed his lip, tried to fight back the desire.
But this was the way he was wired. Even though she was a real bitch, and not just playing at it, he couldn’t help being turned on by all this.
He returned to the lounge with a bundle of washing.
She had her big bare feet up on the sofa like a Roman lady reclining on her couch, and was lost in console game: apparently she was controlling a red-haired Amazon who was slashing up monsters with her broadsword.
Miss Armstrong looked pretty much as he’d imagined her each time he’d tidied her flat; the lost country girl left behind by her big corporate self's career.
He'd always imagined bringing her a cup of tea and looking after her.
Without looking up from her game, she said, "Take away the dishes. Bring me a coffee."
She said it so casually he found himself stooping to pick up the breakfast bowl. "What?" he said.
"Dishes..."
On the screen, the red haired Amazon clove a goblin in two and Hal couldn't help wondering what Miss Armstrong would look like in a chainmail bikini.
"...and coffee."
"No!" he said. "You paid me to clean, that's all."
"But you'll do it," she said, still without looking at him. "You have a 'service kink'. I googled it..." She did something with her controller and the Amazon did a double back-flip and choked out a troll with her thighs. "You men think you're all so very unique, but actually you fit into a handful of neat wee boxes."
Something about the words, or the way she spoke them tied a knot of lust in Hal's chastity cage. "But I'm not going to consent to doing anything with you --- you practically assaulted me!"
"What are you doing here, then?" she said.
Hal opened his mouth, but couldn't find the answer. He hugged the bundle of laundry and the musk bathed his face
This woman really had assaulted him. Beaten him without his consent... then the red button... modified his body while he pleaded with her and now he'd probably never have an orgasm again, let alone have actual sex...
The insistent throb in his caged groin made it hard to think but he was pretty sure Miss Armstrong wasn't sweet the way he'd imagined her. All that had been an illusion woven from a few photos and the debris of her bachelorette life. She was a bunch of red flags wrapped around a irresistible statuesque figure, that was all. More to the point, she was amoral verging on actually evil.
His penis pulsed to remind him that he still hadn't answered her.
"Exactly. Fuck your consent." On the screen, she tore apart a skeleton warrior. "When I pressed your red button, I made you. Like a vampire. You're bonded to me. And I can do anything I like. "
"And..." Hal's mouth was dry. He swallowed. "Are you bonded to me?"
"Certainly not. You're a pervy loser with a cage on his dick. Now away with these dishes... Slave."
She said that last word with total cynicism, but that somehow gave it more power.
Hal shuddered and found himself clutching the laundry to his chest so he could pick up her breakfast bowl and plate with his right hand. The tip of his dick felt wet.
It was, he told himself, the best way to escape being put on the spot and dishes probably counted as cleaning anyway... but when he reached the kitchen, he couldn't resist bypassing the instant coffee, getting her espresso machine going.
He got the washing on, then made her a proper latte.
The statuesque redhead didn't look up as he returned with the coffee. However, she pointed down the way you would for a dog. "Kneel over there."
Hal opened his mouth to protest, but it was as if the weight of his caged penis was dragging him down. He went and knelt by her feet. It was slightly awkward in his overalls and wearing trainers.
Miss Armstrong, however, looked cosy in her stretch pyjamas. Her feet were bare. They were as large as those of an outsize Roman statue in museums, and the deep red enamel on her toenails had chipped in places. Even so, there was an feminine elegance to the curve of her instep and way it flared out into the pad and the neat row of toes.
And she just ignored him.
And it felt right.
The throb in his cage-neutered groin reminded him that it only felt right because this was pretty much his fantasy of being a Roman slave made re. It didn't seem to matter.
After a few minutes discomfort set in and he shifted and squirmed.
Her phone went. She paused her game. "Oh, Colleen! Yes, come round."
As she rang off, Miss Armstrong glanced at him. "Oh, why are you fidgeting, slave?"
Hal licked his lips. "Fabric's bunching behind my knees. I'm not dressed for kneeling."
Her red eyebrows raised.
"...mistress," he completed.
She swung her legs off the sofa to sit in a comfortable slump. She lifted her buttocks and peeled her pyjama trousers down past her hips so that she treated him to an expanse of honeyed curve.
Hal's groin tightened.
"Take these off and lick my cunt, slave."
Hal let out a yelp.
"Well, hurry up, the flat isn't finished." She took another sip of her coffee, licked her lips and picked up her controller.
Hal scrambled around to kneel between her feet. The tufts of her red pubic hair were just visible over the waist of her pyjama trousers.
With trembling hands, he reached forward and hooked his fingers into the elasticated waistband and tugged.
The trousers came down her long, muscular legs and free of her feet.
And, there, framed by powerful thighs as big as his ex girlfriend's waist, was Miss Armstrong's pussy, bulging inner lips glistening behind the red frizz.
Hal had seen... a lot of vulvas in the last month... seen and serviced. Even so, he found himself squinting and wanting to shield his eyes as if he were looking into a furnace. His groin became a single, pulsating ball of lust.
Battle sounds came from the TV behind him. A monster roared. Miss Armstrong didn't so much as look at him. She just shifted her hips forward so that her buttocks were perched on the edge of the sofa. "Don't let it get wet."
Hal ducked forward between her honey-skinned thighs. The heat radiating from her vulva warmed his cheeks. Her ripe musk filled his nostrils. The ball of lust in his caged groin clenched. Her inner labia suddenly seemed massive, alien.
A wave of fear brought him to a halt. He had a flash of the first time, when she'd come naked out of the shower, and of how meekly he'd obeyed her and that was before she'd pressed his red button.
There was a whole world of horny women out their waiting to enjoy his services... enough of them to almost compensate for what she'd done to him. However, instead of wallowing in all that pussy, here he was acting as if he were the actual slave of the woman who had virtually castrated him.
Swords clanged from the TV screen.
Miss Armstrong shuffled her pussy a little closer.
Her red curls tickled his nose.
Hal shuddered. He opened his mouth wide until his lips stretched and engulfed the entire furry red mound.
She hadn't showered.
He had time to think, This is a bad idea.
Miss Armstrong's taste hit him like all the fantasies he'd ever had about her, rolled into a fleshy wrecking ball that shattered his mind.
Then there was only her furry pussy in his mouth, her slippery flesh around his trawling tongue, her juices pooling in his mouth... and the folorn lust like a stone between his legs.
Hal swallowed the musky juice and his penis pulsed painfully around its hook. A stinging wetness bathed the tip.
Hal didn't care. He located Miss Armstrong's thick clitoris and lavished his tongue over its slick surface.
Behind him, the video game clanged and roared, but Miss Armstrong's belly rose against her pyjama top. As her breathing quickened, so did the tempo of the noise from the game.
Hal kept licking. Every ten beats, he shifted down to suck and swallow so her juices and his saliva didn't soak the sofa.
This was, he realised, his comfort zone. His life was complicated and his career choices difficult. But here, between a woman's thighs, he was an expert. His tongue wasn't going to flag. All he had to do was...
Miss Armstrong groaned. Her hips twitched. She groaned...
And it as so easy, but it was a miracle, a pagan sacrament even.
The game emitted a scream then announced, "GAME OVER!"
Miss Armstrong groaned again and Hal's whole body vibrated to the sound while her juices flooded his mouth.
Abruptly she sat up and closed her legs. "OK, back to work, slave."
Hal found himself standing and --- wetly hard in his cage, his face bathed in her musky juices --- staggering off in the direction of the kitchen.
Behind him, the game emitted a fanfare. Miss Armstrong called after him. "Oh, slave, bring me another latte."
The doorbell went.
"Fuck! Colleen! Get that."
As Hal made for the apartment door, Miss Armstrong thundered past and off to the bedroom.
Hal buzzed the caller in and waited until the bell rang to open the door.
Colleen was wearing strappy red polka-dot sun dress that showed off her ample cleavage. She looked puzzled. "LostBoy? What are you doing here?"
"He's being my slave for the day." Miss Armstrong, now in a very nice floaty green dress, pushed past Hal and embraced the Irish girl.
The shorter woman craned her neck and they kissed full on the mouth.
Hal blinked.
Little squelching sounds reached his ears - they were actually necking. His penis inflated in its cage and he just stood there, swaying.
Colleen twisted her mouth free. Her face was flushed and she sounded breathless. "I thought we weren't going to be having a relationship?"
"Aye, I'm off relationships," said Miss Armstrong. "For the duration." She shifted her hands to hold Colleen's waist. She grinned down at her. "But we can be friends with benefits, can't we? It's just I'm nervous about my party and that makes me horny."
"Well enough," said Colleen. She bushed her long dark tresses over her pale shoulders. "Are you going to invite a bi-curious girl in, then?"
"Come on then. Whatshisname will make you a coffee. It seems he's something of a barista."
Hal took their orders and, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, made drinks and served them to the two women on the sofa. They were sitting sardine fashion, bare legs entwined.
As he reached the kitchen door, he heard Colleen ask, "Is this a kinky role-play thing?"
Hal hesitated, waiting for the answer.
"Och, no," said Miss Armstrong. "I'm just exploiting his fetish that's all."
Hal's pierced penis emitted a spurt of semen. His legs gave and he had to lean in the doorway. What was happening to him?
"That makes it real then," said the Irish girl.
He turned to look at the two women who had --- it seemed --- been lovers at least once. The sofa was set up with its back to the kitchen so he could watch without being seen.
Colleen sipped her mocha. "Oh this is good." She set it down on the side table. "He's quite a catch."
"I suppose it must," said Miss Armstrong. She laughed. "Be real I mean. Aye, it's not like he can say 'no' to me."
Colleen rolled forward so now she must be on hands and knees over Miss Armstrong's legs --- Hal could only see her back and side boob. "What if he really could be your slave for real?"
Miss Armstrong laughed. "Well that would simplify keeping a cleaner."
"I'm not joking." Colleen leaned closer to Miss Armstrong and kissed her ear.
"Nor was I." Miss Armstrong threw back her head so her red hair hung clear of her neck.
Colleen nuzzled under her chin, and planted little kisses on her throat. "There's something about you..."
"But tell me about the slave thing?"
"Have you been...(Kiss. Kiss) ...following the...(Kiss)... CARGO act thing?"
Each smack of female lip on female skin sent a jolt to Hal's caged groin. He steadied himself on the door frame.
"No, that's local news --- I just do international."
Colleen pulled back. "Consenting Adults Relationships, Gender and Orientation Act. CARGO for short. I just had a briefing from Artemis."
Hal tried to focus. They were talking about the controversial sex and gender legislation the unbelievably hot Prime Minister Aurelia Sharpe was pushing through with the help of a motley crew of minority parties.
"But they're not going to legalise slavery," said Miss Armstrong. "Not even for no-hopers like Whatshisname! Also you stopped."
"Oh, but they are," said Colleen. "Mmmmm. You have such lovely long legs." She disappeared below the back of the sofa.
Miss Armstrong gave a little gasp. "OK keep doing that while I look this up." She reached for her phone. "Aye," she said. "It's looking like a... Oh that is nice... right trash fire of niche legislation for special interest groups."
Hal's grip on the door frame tightened. He wanted to run over and join them, or at least see what was happening. Tabitha and him had discussed threesomes, but it had never quite happened. It wasn't going to happen today either, he realised.
"Look at the marriage section." Colleen sounded slightly muffled. "It's so bad even the Traditional Values Party called it the Stepford Act --- Oh, no knickers, you hussy."
"Go on then." Miss Armstrong shifted to lie back. Now both women were completely hidden from view.
Hal clutched his groin with both hands. He could feel the cage through his overalls, hard an unyielding. If only he could at least masturbate!
Colleen's flushed face bobbed up, but she was looking down at Miss Armstrong. Her arm moved. "You're really wet. You've been seen to already."
"Neuters... Oh nice..." Something slurped. "...don't count."
"They must count as something."
"Oh... Um... Masturbation... then."
Hal squirmed. She really was serious. What he'd done... the way he'd worshipped her... meant nothing.
Colleen's arm moved faster. Her breast quivered. "It's not midday and you've wanked already, you harlot."
"Takes one to... oh yes." The unseen Miss Armstrong let out a groan that went straight to Hal's groin.
He licked his lip, tasted her dried juices.
Beyond the women on the sofa, through the balcony window, it was a sunny day. The trees looked green and bright, the new-build houses clean and tidy. Everything was normal.
But Hal was stuck here, his penis clamped and pierced so it couldn't even erect itself, while two women made love just out of sight, and he couldn't join them, had no way to even ask.
The unseen Miss Armstrong groaned. "A bit faster. Yes. Mmm." She let out a long groan. "No, don't stop I can manage another... Mmmm. So, I'm not... Mmmm... following this CARGO slave thing."
Colleen sighed. She knelt back, one hand raised. Her fingers were glistening with juices. "Jesus and Mary, woman. I'm fingering you. Will you put down that phone."
Miss Armstrong sat herself up. She did indeed still have her mobile phone in her hand. "Executive summary, then?"
Colleen licked her fingers the way a cat would, then took a deep breath. "It's like this. One partner can have complete conservatorship over the other... finances, contracts, medical. The lot."
"Fuck, that's regressive," said Miss Armstrong.
"It's gender neutral and there are safeguards, but --- get this! --- they only apply to men and women. For legal purposes, chastes count as a third sex 'adjacent to male'. Everybody 'forgot' about that. Whatshisname really could be your slave in all but name."
Hal shuddered. A squirt of semen escaped his engorged cock. Imagine really being owned and owned by Miss Armstrong. But that was just a fantasy. He'd bee insane to sign up for that.
Miss Armstrong cocked her head to one side so her red hair bushed against a freckled shoulder. Finally, she said. "What if he did walk out?"
Colleen laughed. "Good luck with that. He couldn't even sign a contract without you and you'd control his bank account."
"What if some hussy took him in?"
"You could sue her for 'alienation of affection'."
"Fuck! Gender neutral and regressive. Regressive all the way back to Ancient Rome."
She was right. What idiot would sign up for that?
"Yes," said Colleen. "But some boys would do better that way. It would be a kindness."
"It certainly sounds convenient."
Hal had a sudden vision of Miss Armstrong in a Roman tunic and sandals like Diana the Huntress. His penis squirmed in its cage.
Miss Armstrong started to settle back down into the sofa. She paused, turned her head, noticed Hal.
He flinched, expecting her to be angry he'd been spying on her and Colleen.
Instead, she just said, "Hurry up and do the kitchen, slave."
Hal said, "Yes, mistress." But her head had vanished behind the back of the sofa.
Miss Armstrong sighed. "Oh, yes please." Then she raised her voice. "Slave? Close the door so we don't have to hear your racket."
Groin still throbbing, Hal shut himself in the room with the thrumming washing machine and started on the work surfaces.
Just as he switched to cleaning the floor, Miss Armstrong's orgasmic groan reverberated through the door, loud enough to be heard over the spin cycle.
Hal steadied himself against the mop.
She must know he could hear, but she didn't care.
Everything the statuesque redhead had said was true. He was nothing to her, just a cleaner and a sentient masturbation toy.
Something seemed to click in his head.
Despite all that --- no, because of that, admit it --- he had fallen totally, abjectly in love with her.
If the goddess-like redhead marched into the kitchen and demanded he sign up to the CARGO thing, he would... well he'd end up spending the rest of his life chastely tidying up after her, with only one-sided oral service to look forward to.
And maybe he'd get to be in the same room when she hooked up with another woman...
Hal's pierced penis twitched against its cage.
"Jesus no! I have to fight this!"
But, he couldn't not love her.
He had to somehow get her to love him back... and the first step was getting her to see him as a full human being, and to do so without just making her angry.
Or, a little voice in his head said, he could just sign whatever paperwork she put in front of him, and become a real slave like in all his Roman fantasies.
"No," he repeated.
The kitchen door opened. A very flushed Miss Armstrong ducked her head in. Her mouth looked sticky.
Had she... Had she..
Hal's penis tried to rear free of its cage.
"Lunch," she said, and Hal glimpsed a black pubic curl stuck between her teeth.
"Yes, mistress."
Well, we’re about half-way through Shona’s Surprising Slave! I’ll try to get another couple of chapters out between now and Christmas, though at some point I’ll have to take a short break!
In case I don’t get to say it properly before the end of the year, I’m overwhelmed by the support and interest my niche erotic fiction has garnered from the chastity community, and from wider kinky readers. It makes it all worthwhile.
That is a great fantasy goal, isn’t it? To be completely helpless and obedient. I’m in.
Well You've done it again. I want to reach out and slap HAL until he realizes what an idiot he is being!
I'd say I'd slap Shona too, but then she does sort of just own the way she is an evil bitch and you also have to admire that. Shona is lying to manipulate Hal and it is working and she knows it. Hal on the other hand is only lying to himself. But then I suppose the truth is as it has always been from the start. It's too late and there is no turning back.