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Chastity is Rewarded

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They couldn’t have planned it better if they’d tried. That was my first thought, once the initial panic was over. A moment of wry, bitter sarcasm as I studied the mess they had made of my clothing. My suit was very likely ruined by the black coffee stain, and my shirt and trousers were soaked through. Not a very expensive suit, thankfully, but I only had two and the other was at home. More alarming, however, the outline of the chastity belt could just be discerned through the wet fabric. I hurriedly folded my arms to conceal the belt.

“Fuck, Rach!” I hissed.

“I’m so sorry!” she cried, grabbing a towel and making a futile attempt to undo the damage. Martin stood by uselessly, looking guilty.

The truth, of course, is that they had planned it. I can only blame my dim intelligence and foggy wits on the fatigue of frustrated arousal that I had condemned myself to by leaving the belt’s key at home. What had started as an entertaining challenge had become an endurance test, not at all helped by Rach spanking me so severely at lunchtime. The skin of my cheeks and thighs was raw, each caress of my trousers a subtle torture.

Rach might have been satisfied by our encounter, but I was far from satisfied. She had left me on my knees in the accessible loo, my face, and also my shirt, wet from her fluids. I’m not a lesbian, but I had wanted more of her, more from her, more more just more. More pain. More humiliation. Instead I’d had to stand up, somehow, and return to the normal world of suits and spreadsheets.

My make-up was a mess. My hair was a mess. My crotch and thighs were wet. Sticky. Ten, fifteen minutes passed while I sorted myself out into a semblance of normalcy. Shield plate locked in place. Key resting between my breasts. Anyone who knew me well would see at once that it was a façade. But it was the best I could do.

And now I had been undone again. An accidental collision between Rach and Martin, just as Rach had turned around from the sink with a glass of water and Martin had rounded the corner muttering about yet another coffee left to grow cold.

I had been lost in thought, trying to work out how to explain to my best friend that I had no wish to be her girlfriend or her sex slave (although, perversely, I almost certainly wouldn’t resist her if she dragged me back into the accessible loo for more punishment), unaware that Rach was still intent on making me suffer for denying her access to my pussy. Not that I had had a choice.

“Fuck!” I repeated. “What am I going to do?”

“Wait here,” Rach said, and darted off. I caught Martin staring at my crotch, and he looked away hurriedly, his cheeks flushed. Not for the first time I wondered how much Rach had told him about our lunchtime encounter. Before I could ask again, Rach was back with a bag. “I went shopping at lunchtime,” she said.

I stared at her. While I was recovering in the loo, she had gone shopping?

“I think these clothes will fit you.” She took my elbow and guided me towards and into the stationery closet. As she closed the door, she said to Martin, “Stand guard.”

I hurriedly stripped out of my wet clothes, leaving on only my bra and, of course, the chastity belt, and used the back of my vest to dry my skin. Rach handed me the shopping bag and picked up my wet clothes. “I’ll hang these somewhere to dry,” she said.

“Wait!” I cried after her as she slipped out of the closet, but she flashed me cheeky grin and left me alone. It was only at that moment that I understood this was a set-up. With sudden dread I opened the bag to see what she had given me to wear.

There was only one thing inside the bag – a stylish, colourful Desigual dress, mid-thigh-length with a low-cut ‘v’-neck. Infinitely preferable to walking out of the closet effectively naked, I supposed. With a sigh, I worked myself into it, slipped back into my heels, and looked down at myself. It would do. Far more revealing than anything I had ever worn to work before, and I would have to be careful how I sat, but the only visible evidence of the chastity belt was the little key dangling between my breasts.

“Bitch,” I muttered. I felt I should have been angrier with Rach, but she was forcing me to live out my fantasy. The fire she had stoked at lunchtime had cooled to a simmer during the afternoon as I struggled to focus on numbers and procedures, but suddenly it was raging hotter than ever. Removing my bra, I leaned with my back against the door, massaging my breasts, squeezing my nipples. It did nothing to relieve the aching need, the throbbing demand for attention below that the belt denied, but I had to try, even knowing that I would fail, as I always did.

With a muffled scream of frustration, I abandoned the effort. I adjusted the dress, my hard, prominent nipples making sharp points in the fabric – I no longer cared who noticed – and dropped my bra in casino oyna the shopping bag. I had only to survive one more hour, then I could go home and liberate myself. My faithful pink rabbit was waiting for me, and maybe I would invite Tom and Ricky over later to satisfy me in ways no vibrator could.

Emerging from the closet, I scowled at Martin and Rach as I swept past them on my way back to my desk. I felt many eyes on me as I crossed the office, but ignored everyone. Opening my e-mails, I read all the way through a long message, only to realise I had no idea what I had just read. I read it again, but my brain refused to process it. The phone rang and I picked it up automatically. “Hello?”

“Come to my office, please.” It was my boss.

A cold shiver ran down the spine. I could hardly deny him. “Yes, Mr Darcy.”

I looked round to see Rach and Martin watching me like a pair of guilty conspirators. Rach winked at me. “Bitch,” I mouthed, and she laughed.

There was nothing for it but to walk into the lion’s den. I stood, smoothed my dress down, and walked over to his office. Emily, his secretary, glared at me suspiciously. She was not the first of Mr Darcy’s secretaries to have succumbed to his charm, and wouldn’t be the last, but she was still a sufficiently recent conquest to hope somehow that she would be the one to lure him away from his wife.

Mr Darcy – not his real name, but if my life were a film then Colin Firth would be a suitable casting choice – had never made a move on me, both to my relief and to my disappointment. I had no desire to be yet another of his meaningless conquests, or worse a pining mistress, but I can’t deny that I’d often had fantasies of him laying me on his desk and taking me there. When his eyes strayed to my breasts during tedious group meetings, it excited me with thoughts of his mouth kissing about my areolae, his lips and tongue teasing my nipples, his fingers trailing down across my belly to discover the wetness eager for his touch.

But he had never called me for a private meeting in his office. Wooden panels on the walls and a soft carpet spoke of power and wealth, but also of seclusion and secrecy. The sound insulation was very good. As I closed the door behind me, I knew no one would hear me if I screamed.

Mr Darcy was seated behind his desk. “Please sit,” he said, indicating a chair in front. I walked over and sat carefully, keeping my legs together and my dress straight. He observed me silently for a minute, my hard nipples not escaping his notice. “I have received a complaint about your dress,” he said.

Given that I had only had it on for a few minutes, I could guess who had made the complaint. “I’m sorry, Mr Darcy,” I said. “Someone spilled coffee on me, and this is the only thing I have to wear.”

“Nevertheless, this is a serious firm and we expect all staff to dress accordingly. Regulations clearly state that skirts should be at least knee-length. If you cannot respect that, maybe you should look for work elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Darcy,” I repeated. “I’ll go home at once and change.”

He sighed, his expression suddenly angry. “That’s not good enough. I can’t start letting staff go home early just so they can change into different clothes. I insist you take it off at once.”

“But I don’t have anything else to wear,” I whined. I was certain that Rach would refuse to return the suit.

“Off,” Mr Darcy said, his demeanour stern, almost threatening. “Now!”

Blinking back tears, I stood and pulled the dress off slowly over my head, leaving myself naked except for the belt and heels. I had been in this position before, but not with my boss. My utter stupidity in daring to wear the belt to work had reduced me to this absurd position. I was sure to lose any respect, any hope for a career. Such was my abject humiliation in that moment that I couldn’t look at him. I hung my head in shame, moving only to brush the tears from my cheeks.

Suddenly he was standing in front of me, holding me against him in an embrace that was tender and soothing. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Rachael said you wanted me to do this.”

Not quite believing, I looked up to see concern in his deep blue eyes. My shattered life reassembled itself slowly, and I laughed with relief. “Maybe,” I said. I was in no hurry to escape from his embrace. He was so warm, so tall, so strong. So protective. I loved his smell. It was easy to see why women fell for him so quickly. It would be so easy to fall for him myself. “What did she say I wanted?”

He smiled. “For me to undress you and ravish you on my desk. She said you were naked under the dress and ready to be fucked.”

From the growing hardness in his trousers, there was no doubting his hunger for me. “She didn’t tell you about the belt?”

“No.” He touched the little key that dangled so promisingly. “Does canlı casino this open it?”

“No,” I said, with a mournful sigh. “That’s the wrong key.” I wanted so badly to kiss him and give myself completely to him. I wanted to feel him driving into me, I wanted to watch his face as he filled my depths with his cum. The belt prevented it.

Instead, I sank to my knees, bringing my face level with his crotch, my fingers finding and undoing his belt, his fly, the buttons. I eased his trousers and boxers down to reveal a cock that was beautifully hard and of a good length. Too thick, alas, to have any hope of penetrating my ass, but not so thick that I would be unable to take him into my throat.

I took my time, worshipping his proud length with my tongue and lips, making a show of it. I wondered what Rach had really expected to happen between us. Was this her vengeance or her gift? Or a little of both? I paused briefly. “Did Rach really have a threesome with you and your wife?”

He laughed. “My wife always enjoys torturing my lovers. You never quite seemed the submissive type – the belt was a complete surprise.”

I thought about this for a moment. “I’m not submissive,” I said. “Just very kinky.” I returned my attention to his cock, taking him deep and fast. I wondered what it would be like to be tortured by his wife. Maybe I would find out, but I hoped not.

“Damn you’re good,” he said, his fingers caressing my scalp. I could feel he was close. I had to hold his hips to slow his attempts to thrust even deeper into me. The trick to enjoying deep throat is to keep control over the pace.

I wanted to watch his face as he came, but at the last moment, as his cock hardened and thickened beyond what was comfortable for me, yet thrilling in a way, his grip on my head tightened and he held me firmly with his cock in my throat, pulsing as it jetted cum deep inside me.

Desperate for air, I pushed him away, and a last spurt of cum splashed across my lips. I licked them clean, and looked up into his adoring eyes as I lovingly sucked the last trickle of cum from the head of his slowly softening cock.

I picked up my dress from the floor. “Thank you, Mr Darcy,” I said. “Will that be all?”

He didn’t try to speak, merely nodded, and I dressed quickly and turned to leave. I paused in the doorway and looked back at him. His secretary had just dashed away, presumably having had her ear to the door the whole time. She sat now in front of her computer, looking completely flustered. “You should get Emily one of these,” I said, loudly enough for her to hear. “She needs to learn discipline.”

He grinned. “You sound just like my wife…”

There was no way I’d get any more work done. Even sitting down and doing nothing was beyond me. I switched off the computer and grabbed my handbag. On the way out I stopped by Rach’s desk and stood behind her. She watched me nervously the whole time, no doubt trying to work out what had happened between Mr Darcy and me. “I’m not your girlfriend,” I said quietly into her ear. “You’re not getting the key.” I kissed her on the cheek. “But I love you anyway. See you tomorrow, bitch.” I walked off to the sound of her laughter.

I hurried home, eager to relieve the tension that had grown now almost intolerable. The vibrations of the bus were an exquisite torment. I closed my eyes and replayed the highlights of the day: Rach spanking me and making me eat her out, not that I’d resisted, but it was the way she left me there on my knees, discarded after use and desperately unsatisfied, that was most vivid in my mind; Mr Darcy forcing me to reveal myself, the humiliation of my boss seeing with his own eyes how disgustingly perverted I was… I wished I could capture those moments and live them afresh whenever I wanted.

This craving for humiliation was a sickness, I could see that, but it was a sickness I had no wish to recover from. That first night in the park, and now this day at work, I had experienced such a range and intensity of emotions that my life before the belt seemed dull in comparison. And so far it had done me no harm, beyond warping my social life. Arguably there were just as many perils at the nightclub in the quest for sex as there were running naked across the park in the dark. Indeed, I hadn’t had actual penetrative sex once since that fateful day…

Which I was oddly grateful for. I had loved seeing Rach’s hunger for my pussy so frustrated. If it weren’t for the chastity belt, she wouldn’t have dragged me into the loo in the first place – and then she’d wanted me so much more, simply because she couldn’t have me. And later, the belt had saved me from Mr Darcy, who no doubt would have made my fantasies of desk sex come true. The belt had not only protected my pussy, it had protected my heart.

But, I mused, the belt didn’t entirely prevent penetration, and I couldn’t help be kaçak casino curious. I texted Ricky: “Are you two busy?”

Less than a minute later his reply came: “No!!”

I smiled at his eagerness. “My place 10 mins,” I sent. Eight minutes later I discovered Tom and Ricky waiting for me on the wall outside my house. I ushered them in and went round making sure all the windows and curtains were closed.

The last time I saw them they had practically blackmailed me into giving them blowjobs. Now they were suddenly shy, waiting nervously for me to explain what I wanted. I ignored them a bit longer, checking the bedside table drawer for condoms, something I hadn’t thought about in weeks, and was relieved to find the packet was half-full. Enough for what I wanted, anyway.

I faced the lads, who had followed me into the bedroom, and stripped off my dress, revealing myself to be naked apart from the belt and heels. “Come on, guys,” I said. “Get your kit off.”

“All right!” Ricky said, and they raced each other, clothes flying around the room with excitement. Within seconds I had two naked men, their almost identical cocks semi-erect and hardening rapidly.

“I’m desperate to get my ass fucked,” I told them, getting two huge grins in return. Handing them the condoms, I said, “As long as you wear these, my ass is all yours.” I reached into the drawer again and grabbed a tube of lube. “Use this.”

Still they hesitated, perhaps waiting for me to take off the belt. I climbed onto the bed, on hands and knees, my bum pointed at them. I reached back and spread my cheeks, giving them a very clear view of the target and the metal ring of the chastity belt that I hoped was just wide enough to permit – one at a time, of course – the two now very hard cocks that were aimed and ready.

They argued amiably for a bit, then Ricky tore open a condom wrapper and proceeded to sheath his long, slender cock. Tom seemed content to watch as Ricky climbed onto the bed behind me and we tried to find a suitable position. After a few false starts, during which I felt him nudging awkwardly at my entrance, the angle was suddenly right and the soft-yet-firm head of his cock thrust into me, stretching the little ring of muscle painfully, deliciously.

Not only was he penetrating me, he was penetrating the belt, defying its very purpose. I have never come from anal sex, but in that moment I was closer than ever in my life. Chasing the dream, I thrust back, trying to take him deeper. “Fuck me!” I yelled. “Hard!”

Fuck me he did, but not hard enough. The belt made it too awkward for him to move with the speed and power that I needed to achieve climax, and I cried with frustration as I felt it recede. The belt might not prevent penetration, but it has certainly proved effective at preventing climax.

Ricky was focussed on his own climax, thrusting deep and steady and enjoying every moment of it. “Such a tight ass,” he said, panting with exertion. “Such a beautiful tight ass.” Until, with a triumphant cry, he came, his cock pulsing victoriously within my beautiful tight ass.

He eased out carefully, and for a few seconds I was conscious only of how achingly empty my ass felt, and how much I missed being fucked by a hard cock. Then Tom was behind me, and with the benefit of having watched Ricky and me find a position, he was quickly in place, thrusting wonderfully into my ass, filling it with hard cock and banishing the horrible emptiness.

If orgasm was to be denied me, I wanted something else. “Come on, guys,” I said. “Stop being so nice. Treat me like the slut I am. A cum-hungry anal slut. Come on, guys. Fuck me like real men.”

Tom, who had slowed to a halt during this impassioned plea, gradually picked up speed again. “Tell me how much you love my cock in your ass,” he said.

“I love your cock in my ass,” I said, thrusting back to take him deeper and harder. “I love your fucking cock in my fucking ass.”

He seemed to grow harder in response to my words. “Tell me what a little slut you are,” he growled.

“I’m a dirty little slut,” I growled back. “A cock-hungry anal slut. Fuck me with that beautiful cock of yours!”

“Tell me you want my cum, slut!” He was so close!

“I want your cum!” I cried. “I want it all over me!” I didn’t want him to waste it in a condom like Ricky had. “I want it on my bum, on my back, on my tits, on my face. In my mouth. Treat me like the dirty little cumslut I am!”

With a groan he pulled his cock from me and whipped the condom off. I turned quickly to face him and cum splashed across my left cheek. I leaned forward to take him into my mouth, but he aimed at my breasts instead. I stayed still and watched happily as his cum made glistening stripes across my skin.

Once Tom’s climax passed, I took his still-hard length in my mouth and encouraged it to stay that way. As far as I was concerned, the night had only just begun. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ricky tear open another condom wrapper. “My turn again, slut,” he said.

I was only too happy to assume the position.

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