I've been busy and being a slave "for real" rather made it hard to focus on Femdom fantasies, plus I can no longer spend time building up my fantasies through masturbation. However, I have completed the first draft of a chastity and slavery novel. Here's the opening:
Brett hesitated in the lobby, aware of his bare legs under the fake Roman tunic, and the ceramic cage locked around his groin. “I’m not sure I should do this.”
Pippa smiled down on him. “Come on, you!” she said in what must have been her outdoor voice: English, aristocratic — posh! — and more suitable for bossing horses around than for people. “Think of those poor homeless kittens...”
“It was a donkey charity,” corrected Brett. The Student Union Charity Slave Auction had seemed like a good idea at the time.
“Those as well,” boomed Pippa. Her big hand caught his wrist and she tugged him towards the stairs. “It’s too late for second thoughts! I’ve paid my one hundred pounds. You’re my slave for the next 24 hours.”
The blood flowed from Brett’s brain to his penis, which stretched the inner sleeve of his Happy Happy Chaste Lover Purity Device(tm) freshly imported from
. He let the statuesque girl lead him to the
foot of the stairs. She released him and took the concrete steps ahead of him,
powerful legs taking five at a time. “Come
on!” She made a double-clicking sound as
if urging on a reluctant horse. China
Brett stumbled and tried to clear his mind. But it was no good, she’d pinged his fantasy about her. He had a flash of her striding across the campus in her riding gear, whip tucked under one arm, knee length boots adding to her already formidable height. She wasn’t wearing boots right now. Instead strappy sandals webbed her muscular calves.
Brett followed after her, gazing at her bare legs. The sight set off little spasms in his chastity device. This had to be better than spending his last hours as a student locked in his dorm room watching porn and getting cheap thrills by toying with the Red Button.
Pippa turned to look down on him from the next landing. “Hurry up.”
Below, the apartment block door banged open and a warm breeze tickled Bret’s legs. He felt the hem of his Roman tunic lift and clutched at the cheap piece of costume. “You should have let me go home to change.” He could at least have unlocked his chastity device.
Pippa gave a snort of laughter. “Now you know what it’s like being a girl.” Another click-click. She watched him with twinkling eyes until he had almost caught up, then turned and restarted her climb. She passed a window and the afternoon sun rendered her dress transparent, treating Bret to a glimpse of her bra strap and briefs clinging to her statuesque figure.
Head whirling, Brett stumbled after her. That look in her eye… was she expecting sex? The key to his device was back at his room. And how would he explain the chastity device to posh, clean-living Pippa anyway?
She stopped at what must be her front door and stood there like a goddess.
What the hell, thought Brett. He’d taken part in the charity slave auction because he’d wanted to do something crazy. Seducing posh girl while dressed as a Roman slave with a hi-tech chastity belt locked around his genitals was probably as crazy as it got. He could remember this when he was working a burger joint, or wherever it was Computer Science dropouts ended up. The pressure in his groin returned.
The apartment door opened and Brett followed Pippa inside.
Female cheers greeted Pippa.
Brett froze in the doorway.
Brett felt dizzy. Then he noticed the silence. All eyes were on him. He blushed, ducked his head, and wished he could climb inside his chastity device for safety.
“I thought it was no men,” said an olive-skinned girl with natural-looking dark hair. She had her arm around the waist of a curvy girl with dyed black hair, tattoos swirling over her bare arms and black and white Gothic makeup and a studded collar above her toga.
Pippa snorted. “Don’t be silly, Bryony,” she said, addressing the olive-skinned girl. “Brett doesn’t count, he’s here to serve drinks and stuff.” She gave him a shove, pushing him into the room. The door closed behind him.
“Hello Brett,” said Katriona, the Scottish red-head from Running Club.
Brett glanced around. There were other faces he recognized. Pretty girls from around campus, a couple from his class.
Brett felt his cheeks burn. His knees trembled. He just wanted to sprint for the door. “I..,” he stammered.
Katriona paced forward putting one long bare leg in front of the other like a tightrope walker. Her toga was more mini-dress than Roman costume, but then she was taller even than Pippa so perhaps that wasn’t deliberate. She bent one knee so her slender ankles crossed. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
Brett tried again.
Pippa interrupted. “The Charity Slave Auction had a Roman theme this year.” She grinned. “So I thought; Why not buy us a slave?” She threw up her hands. “This is our last Girls Together Toga Party ever. Let’s make it authentic!”
“Hurrah!” said another girl. “Well he can start by fetching me another drink.”
Pippa ducked down to hiss in Brett’s ear. “Go on, slave. I have to change. Wine and nibbles are in the kitchen. Just keep circulating them. You’ll be fine.”
Brett nodded dumbly and headed for the kitchen. He kept his eyes lowered, at first out of embarrassment, but then so he could feast his eyes on the forest of female legs, some curvy, some sleek, and all those delicious feet, painted toenails peeking out of sandals of every kind. This wasn’t going to be too bad after all.
Somebody smacked his bottom sending shock waves to his caged groin. He yelped and stumbled.
“Watch your step…,” said Bryony, the olive skinned girl. There was nothing playful about her smile. “…slave.”
Brett leaned over the back of the sofa and offered the wine bottle to two girls. They held up their glasses for a refill without breaking their conversation; Summer Internships and Brad Pitt’s declining charms. Brett might as well have been invisible—which suited him fine. From where he stood, he could see down the front of their togas and get a good look at their cleavages. His chastity cage seemed to ripple around his cock. He smiled to himself. Being a slave wasn’t too bad.
“So Brett…” said a Scottish voice.
Katriona towered over him, trapping him against the sofa back. She’d unbound her hair. Now carrot-red tresses draped over her loose toga which left one freckly shoulder bare and exposed the top of a creamy breast.
Brett stared and imagined sliding his hand inside the toga. His cock heaved and rippled inside its cage.
The Scottish girl blushed, shifted weight from foot to foot setting her breasts quivering.
Brett squirmed. He’d been caught leering.
Katriona flicked back her long red hair and set her chin. “So Brett. I’ve not seen you at Running Club for ages.”
Brett coughed and felt suddenly aware of the way his tunic left his legs bare down to his cheap sandals.. “I…” What could he tell her? That he’d been busy failing his degree and surfing Internet porn.
“Ah there you are, slave!” boomed Pippa.
Now wearing a knee-length toga, his statuesque mistress for the evening steamed through the crowd, a head taller than all the others except Katriona. “Come help me finish off the volovants.” She half turned then twisted back to put a hand on Katriona’s skinny arm. “You’re not meant to talk to him, darling. He’s just a slave.”
Brett bowed his head and navigated through the shifting forest of legs towards the kitchen. A foot shot out — he recognized Bryony’s olive skin — but he skipped over it and fled after Katriona. Behind him, Bryony said something that made the girls around her giggle.
When he caught up with Katriona, she was bent over the kitchen table piping filling into volovants. “At last,” she said without looking up. The position made her ample breasts swing forward so that the v-neck of her toga framed a long cleavage just waiting for him to reach out and… He remembered fondling her bosoms that one night back in First Year. His penis swelled to fill its cage.
She grinned at him. “What do you think? I did the puff pastry myself. They’ve only just cooled enough.”
“Great,” said Brett. He licked his dry lips. “What you want me to do?”
“What to you want me to to, mistress,” she corrected.
Cheeks burning, he repeated her words while his caged cock twitched wildly beneath his tunic.
“I’ll do the fillings,” she said. You lay them on the dishes as I’m done.”
They worked in silence except when Pippa had afterthoughts and got him to dig out ingredients from the fridge. As he handed her a jar of olives, she smiled down at him and touched his cheek. Her hands were slightly clammy, but the contact made a tingling sensation spread out over his face. His penis heaved inside its cage.
“I could get used to this,” she said casually but with a warm look in her blue eyes.
Brett’s penis twitched against its prison. What had possessed him to lock himself in that thing? Now he had to fend her off. “A bit late for regrets, mistress” he said, still clutching the olives.
She snorted. “I was too busy for what you had in mind back then. Actually I’m too busy right now.” She stooped and kissed him on the lips. “Thanks.”
“Being a good sport about being my slave,” she said.
The last two words seemed to echo inside Brett’s chastity cage. Head whirling, he stared up at the statuesque blond, .
Without looking away, Pippa took the olive jar from him and set it on the table. Then she caught him in a bear hug, crushed him to her soft bosom and ground her lips into his. Her mouth opened. Her teeth scraped his lips, then her tongue slid out and pushed into his mouth.
He gripped her waist feebly feeling the curve of her hip through her flimsy toga. Panic rose up in his chest. His pelvis twitched involuntarily as if it could drive his rock hard cock free of its prison.
Pippa’s hands stroked his back. One reached down under the hem of his tunic and caught his buttock. She twisted free of the kiss and he felt her hot breath on his ear. “I’ve got condoms in my bedroom.”
Ice water seemed to flow down Brett’s spine. “I’m not sure slaves are supposed to have sex… mistress.”
She pushed away. All expression left her face “Of course. The rules of the Charity Slave Auction.”
Brett’s shoulders slumped. A stone settled in his stomach. He couldn’t think of anything to say to make things right.
The kitchen door swung open, letting in the shrill noise of the party. “Where are those volovants?” asked Bryony. Her thick eyebrows lowered. “Did I interrupt something.”
“Nothing at all,” said Pippa brusquely. “Go on Brett, do your duty for charity.”
Brett grabbed a tray and headed out into the party. One of the pastries tumbled. He caught it with his forearm. At least he could not drop Pippa’s precious volovants.
The hem of his tunic lifted. Cold air swirled around his thighs.
“Take a look at his briefs!” said Bryony.
A circle of girls hemmed him in. They giggled and pointed.
“Hey!” said Brett, but there was nowhere to put the tray.
“Those are disgusting,” snorted a blond in a cut-glass accent.
“In the bin with them!” said the Goth girl he’d seen Bryony with earlier.
“Bin! Bin! Bin!” chanted the ring of girls.
He felt nails nip his waist. “Get off!” He tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go, and still nowhere to put down his tray.
The boxer shorts slid down his thighs leaving his caged groin naked beneath the tunic. They pooled around his ankles. Bryony kept tugging, trying to get him to lift his feet.. .
Katriona appeared through the throng. She looked down at his boxers. Her green eyes twinkled.
Matt pushed the tray at her. “Take it, please.” As she took the volovants, he squatted down to to grab at his boxers.
The plump Goth girl appeared in front of him and gave him a shove.
He rolled backwards, bumped into some legs, and found himself looking up a girl’s toga. Slender legs rose up to bracket a skimpy red thong.
His boxers came away from his ankles, taking one sandal with them.
All at once the girl stepped back, somebody screamed and Bryony remarked, “Kinky.”
The circle of girls were now pointing at his caged groin and laughing all except Katriona whose green eyes became as wide as dishes. She dropped the tray of volovants and fled.
“This isn’t happening,” said Brett. He rolled over, somehow got to his feet and fled through the laugh crowd until he hit a door. He slipped inside and slumped against it.
The door bumped a few times as people tried it. He heard Bryony’s voice, harshly amused. Then the laughter died away and the party went on without him.
Slowly, his eyes got used to the light. There was a cluttered desk with laptop, a big double bed, and in the corner a pair of tall riding boots. He was in Pippa’s bedroom.
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