Sarah, or Miss Jones as Simon was now expected to address her, drove them to her house. Once there, Simon was instructed to remove the remaining bags from her car and take them around the back to the garden shed, where they were added to those already there. Two or three trips were needed, but once everything was inside the shed, she locked the door with a hefty padlock, leaving Simon wondering when he would see any of his possessions again. Yet another noose had tightened around his neck.
Sarah then unlocked the house and ushered him inside. It was five years since he had last been in there but the powerful memories that the place evoked meant it might have only been yesterday. He followed her up the stairs to the spare room where he would be sleeping and on the way they passed the master bedroom--Sarah's room--where he had once shared a bed with her.
As he glanced into that room, he was taken back to that fateful final day five years earlier when Sarah caught him in flagrante. She had gone out, and he didn't expect her back for several hours. As she had just started her period, he knew sex was off the agenda for a few days, but Simon needed frequent release and he wasn't prepared to wait until she had stopped menstruating. Therefore, as he had done several times before during her monthly visitations, once he heard the front door close, he had rummaged through her dirty laundry bag and retrieved two thongs and a bra.
Already feeling growing excitement, he had quickly stripped naked and, picking up a scarlet thong, he had taken a quick sniff to remind himself of her heavenly scent. Then he pulled it up his legs, knowing, of course, that it was far too little for him, yet also knowing, from experience, that it would stretch. Yes, it was tiny, and it threatened to slice into his skin much as a wire cuts through cheese, yet, as he pulled it up as far as it could go, the discomfort he felt only acted to fuel his arousal. He felt a glow of satisfaction as he glanced at himself in the mirror on Sarah's dressing table. His penis, now fully erect, was too large to fit into the skimpy garment and the top two inches were stuck obscenely out of the top, already glistening with pre-cum.
He had then picked up her pristine white bra and pushed his arms through the shoulder straps. It was too small for him to fasten, but by lying on his back on the bed, with the band pushed behind him, it was easy for his brain to convince itself that he was wearing his girlfriend's bra. This illusion was made even more convincing after he had stuffed some white socks into the cups to provide shape and form.
Picking up the other thong, this one being purple, he draped the gusset over his nose and inhaled long and deep. He was in ecstasy. Dressed as he now was it was so easy to deceive himself that he was inside Sarah. Indeed, in some respects, he was inside her because his body was encased in her most intimate apparel--items of clothing that during the course of a day had absorbed the personal scents and secretions that made Sarah the exquisite entity she was. Yes, it was all a poor substitute for his penis or tongue exploring her most private parts, but it was still a powerful vision in his mind, which had its roots in reality.
Gently, he caressed his throbbing member while being aware from past episodes that he was on a knife edge and never more than a few seconds away from releasing a torrent of semen. As he delicately stroked his hardened penis with his right hand, so his left hand moved sensually over the soft fabric of Sarah's bra, allowing him to picture her wearing it and him feeling her breasts. Gentle prodding of the material, pushing against the stuffing inside, helped to intensify this fantasy.
And the intense fragrances from her purple panties, covering his nose, served to amplify the vivid scene he had created in his mind. Smell is supposedly the most evocative of our senses and never was that assertion more true for Simon than at that moment. As he delicately attended to his rock-hard erection, he was desperate to climax, yet equally keen to prolong his enjoyment for as long as possible.
For several minutes, he wrestled with this dilemma, sometimes slightly intensifying his strokes and other times backing off. Only after carefully playing with himself for several minutes was he ready to push himself over the edge. He began rubbing a little harder while inhaling more deeply. His eyes closed as he sensed he was approaching the point of no return. And then, just seconds later, the crescendo was reached and his body was wracked by an unbelievably powerful orgasm. Hot ejaculate squirted violently across his chest, some onto the bra, while his body convulsed up and down as he screamed out Sarah's name.
Just as quickly as it began, his orgasm was over and he flopped exhausted on the bed, still cosseting the bra in his fingers as well as massaging his spent member as it withered away. He was breathing heavily and his head was throbbing from a temporary increase in blood pressure. For a minute or so, his eyes remained closed as his brain processed and relived the intensity of his climax. Then, slowly, he descended back down to earth while still wallowing in this post-climatic moment. It was a couple of minutes more before he opened his eyes and then, involuntarily, he let out an animal-like shriek as he saw that staring at him, her face as purple as the thong enveloping his nose, was Sarah.
Simon's face went as white as a sheet! He was speechless! After all, what could he say? Luckily, I suppose, Sarah was not looking for explanations, excuses or apologies. She slapped him hard across the cheek, tore her bra from his chest, and pulled her thong off his nose. Brutally, she prised open his mouth with her fingers and shoved the panties inside. Another severe slap followed, this time on the other side of his face.
She was too furious to say anything. Instead, she stormed around the room like a whirling dervish, pulling a suitcase out of a cupboard, then emptying the contents of a drawer into the case together with a pile of clothes from a wardrobe. Simon, slowly recovering from his shock, tried to sit up from the bed, but she pushed him down, still not saying a word. She rushed out of the room and returned a minute later with his stuff from the bathroom, which she crammed into the case before slamming it shut.
The unspoken message was plain to understand—he was leaving--he was being kicked out. He tried to mumble something through his gag but was ignored. Sarah picked up the black T-shirt he'd been wearing and used it to wipe the jism off his chest. Then she threw the soiled garment at him. At last, she spoke. Barely inches from his face, and in an incandescent rage, she screeched, "Put it on! Put the fucking thing on!" She was barely in control and he felt her saliva splattering his face.
The wrath in her voice told him he had to obey, and quickly, so he sat up and slipped on the gooey shirt. Then she flung his jeans, socks and shoes at him, and he didn't need telling that he was also to put those on as well. Understandably, she didn't want her scarlet thong back, and that was his to keep, presumably along with the purple one stuffed in his mouth.
"Get out of my house!" she roared, slapping him a third time. "Get out now and don't ever come back!"
Feeling destroyed, and with his libido at rock bottom following his orgasm, he knew he had to pick up the case. He was still gagged and his black shirt was visibly stained with his semen, but those were the least of his concerns. Only when he was out of the house did he remove her thong from his mouth and try to process what had happened.
In a way, he was thankful that she had gagged him because he was sure that anything he had tried to say would only have enraged her further, if that was even possible. His only hope was that given a few days, she might calm down. He knew that not all his possessions were in that suitcase, so despite her dire warning never to return he had to go back sometime to collect the rest. Perhaps then she might listen to him, not that he had the faintest idea how he was going to explain his actions. In truth, he could understand her anger and he knew he had blown his world apart, and hers as well.
He had waited nearly a week before phoning her. The chilly way she took his call told him that he was not forgiven, and probably never would be. Nevertheless, maybe because she couldn't bear to look at his stuff, she had allowed him back to collect what was his but there was no prospect of a reconciliation. She hardly spoke to him and his attempts to apologise sounded pitiful even to his ears. It was plain to see that their relationship was at an end.
They still had to work together in the office but fortunately, at that time, they were in different departments. However, their occasional encounters were invariably business-only. It became common knowledge that they had split up though needless to say neither Sarah nor he wished to reveal the true reason for their break-up.
Simon continued to long for her but came to understand that they could never rebuild what they had. Even after five years, Sarah's relationship with him was cold and frosty despite them now working in the same department and supposedly collaborating on joint projects. Two or three times Simon had attempted to rekindle the flame that they had once shared but his efforts were always rejected. Just very occasionally he thought he detected a faint spark from her suggesting that she hankered over the days before their break-up, maybe wishing the clock could be turned back, but the spark was no more than transient as the damage done to their partnership that calamitous day could not be undone.
Eventually, Simon moved on and despite continuing to admire Sarah's stunning looks he came to accept that she would always detest him. He began to suspect she was emotionally scarred by what he had done, and this would certainly explain how a month ago she had so enthusiastically accepted the role of being Emma's enforcer during office hours. She had enjoyed exacting revenge on him. It might also explain her hints in the car that she was a changed person, probably tougher and more resilient.
Yet this was all history. After climbing the stairs, and peering into the master bedroom, it had taken Simon a minute or so to replay in his mind the dreadful event of five years ago. He was standing there mesmerised, but suddenly he snapped out of his daydream to realise that Sarah was staring impatiently at him. She knew what was he doing and shook her head at him in despair. "Stop gawping in there and get a move on," she ordered, and he followed her into the spare room.
It hadn't changed much from what he remembered and was still sparsely furnished with a single bed, a bedside table, a small chest of drawers and a narrow wardrobe. The bed was ready for use with a bottom sheet, a pillow, and a duvet.
Wondering when he would get back some of his possessions, he looked inquisitively at Sarah, who understood his unspoken question. "Your stuff will remain locked in the shed until I get chance to sort through it. Even a dimwit like you must be able to see that there's no room in here for everything. I'll go through the bags and decide what you can keep here."
He didn't like the sound of that but meekly replied, "Thank you, Miss Jones."
"Now give me your phone and I'll charge it up overnight. I'm going to bed and I will use the bathroom first. Then you can use it. Goodnight, Simone."
"Goodnight, Miss, and thank you," he replied. And his sincerity was genuine because he was thankful she had taken in him, irrespective of what difficulties might lie ahead. After the stress of the evening, along with thoughts of what the next few days would hold, Simon had trouble getting to sleep but eventually drifted off and, come the next morning, had equal difficulty waking up.
oooOOooo
"Wake up, you moron!" he heard in his dream. "Wake up, for god's sake!"
It was only as he sensed the duvet being ripped off him that he realised that reality had disrupted his dream. He struggled to open his eyes and, when he did, he saw Sarah looking down at him in a voluminous pink bathrobe, wearing no make-up and with hair awry, yet still looking amazingly gorgeous. Nonetheless, this was not the time to be thinking of her beauty.
He had chosen to sleep naked and as he came to terms with her shouting at him he found his hands instinctively moving down to cover his early morning boner.
"Did I say you could sleep naked?" she yelled.
"Er, no, Miss," he replied. Despite being still half asleep, he instinctively knew that it was not wise to say that neither had Sarah told him not to sleep naked.
"You must always sleep in your bra and knickers. Understood?"
"Yes, Miss," he replied, sheepishly. He had hoped this requirement of Emma's had ended, but Sarah had decided differently.
"Get showered, and then put this on." She threw something shiny onto the bed. His eyebrows shot up when he recognised it to be a stainless steel chastity device. Gingerly, he picked it up and found it was quite heavy. He could see it was not a toy, but a serious piece of equipment.
He couldn't help himself and exclaimed, "What?!"
"I'm taking no risks," she explained.
"But I promise I would never try it on with you, Miss."
"You will soon see what happens if you try it on, so get that idea out of your stupid head. What concerns me is you abusing yourself with my underwear. This will put a stop to that silly game."
"Please, Miss, I promise I'll behave. Don't make me wear this." His brain was going into overdrive. Already she held two aces, one being his undated letter of resignation and the other all his possessions. This contraption was a third ace and if he put it on, with Sarah holding the key, then he was relinquishing further control of his life to her. Escaping her grip would then require more than a Plan B.
Yet even as the thought of being further entrapped under her control terrified him, he became aware of a long-held and deep-seated desire to be locked in such a device. His morning glory erection had partially subsided with the shock of being rudely awakened, but the idea of being caged was causing his penis to swell again. The irony of being turned on by something that would make it painful to be turned on did not escape him.
"Come on, Simone. You know you want to wear it because your cock can't tell lies and it's growing again. Besides, you've no choice because I call the shots. I could email Vicky a scan of your letter today if you force me to. I'm sure she'd accept it and tell you not to bother coming in on Monday."
She was right—if he had been a high-flyer then Ms Deacon would be more than happy for him to retract the letter on Monday, but he knew, as did Sarah, that Ms Deacon was keen to get shot of him.
Sarah could tell from his next utterance that she was winning the argument and beating down his concerns. "How long would it stay on for, Miss?" he asked.
"Until I say it can come off," she replied dismissively. "The more you argue and the more you resist my authority, the less frequently it'll be removed. OK?"
"Yes, Miss," Simon replied meekly, but still longing for more clarification. "You don't mean 24/7 do you, Miss?"
"Yes, Sherlock Holmes, I do! It belonged to another former boyfriend, and it's been sterilised if that's what's worrying you."
That wasn't Simon's prime concern, but it was useful to know that it was clean. "Anyway," she continued, "you must know that men become more compliant and obedient when they're sexually frustrated, so I expect your willingness to please me will increase rapidly as time passes. It will make you better behaved."
He did indeed know that. He also knew--or at least had read--that it's recommended to slowly build up to wearing a chastity device 24/7, starting with just a few hours at a time. Surely Sarah didn't expect him to wear it permanently from today. "But Miss," he argued, "may I, er, respectfully point out that I've read that it takes weeks to become accustomed to wearing a chastity cage full time. The wearer has to be broken in slowly, otherwise it can be unbearably painful."
He realised as he said it was he was playing into her hands. He looked at her with pleading eyes and she stared back at him as if she was thinking before she beamed a smile and said, "Nah! We'll do it my way. Off you go and get showered. No wanking, and don't lock the bathroom door. I might burst in on you at any time."
Feeling wretched, he made his way into the bathroom. He needed to pee, but he was still semi-erect and it took a couple of minutes before he was soft enough to pass urine. As he stood in front of the toilet peeing, he waved his flaccid member from side to side, spraying the bowl and aware that from today he wouldn't be able to do that again or even, for that matter, stand to urinate--at least not until he could escape Sarah's grip and resume his normal life.
Accepting the inevitability of his fate, at least for the time being, he took a shower. After drying himself, he attempted to fit himself into the chastity device, but it was impossible because trying to insert his penis into the tube only served to cause it to tumesce. Was that his penis's way of resisting its loss of freedom? After trying fruitlessly for several minutes, he called out, "Miss Jones! Miss, sorry I can't get it on. It's impossible! It's too small!"
Almost instantly Sarah came through the door, a grin on her face showing how amused she was by his predicament. "Nonsense! A bigger prick than you've got has fitted in there before now. I'll get a bag of ice."
She fetched a bag from the kitchen. Applying the ice caused rapid shrinkage, and soon Simon was secured inside the contraption. "Now you can understand why we don't want to take it off too often, Simone, it's a damned hassle getting it back on. We don't want to go through this malarky too often." Simon gulped as she said this, and he prayed to himself that she was winding him up.
She then produced a small but strong-looking padlock and threaded it through the preformed holes in the stainless steel.
"It's best you snap it shut, Simone, so it's then your decision to enter a state of abstinence." He understood the symbolism of what she had said and hesitated for several seconds. Perhaps surprisingly, he thought, she was happy to wait patiently, maybe savouring this significant moment. Then he clicked the lock shut and looked up at her disconsolately.
She smiled back, "Well done, Simone, good girl." Bizarrely, he felt a tinge of pride in being praised in this way by his beautiful former partner despite the humiliating way in which the compliment had been framed.
"Now you go and make breakfast. We'll both have orange juice, coffee and bran flakes. Put your dirty bra and knickers on and I'll find you clean ones later."
Simon disappeared downstairs, very conscious not only of being made to parade around in just his white bra and pink panties, but also aware of the weight now attached to his genitals. It did seem that his fears of jumping from the frying pan into the fire might be proved correct, but he did begin to wonder whether he might be better off going with the flow rather than fighting Sarah's plans for him, at least until he could come up with a viable way out. Whilst he found the idea of being in a submissive relationship exciting in theory he was aware that having a fantasy of this kind could be very different to living it in real life, 24/7, with no escape.
But, thinking about it, he concluded he was confused, and he began to wonder if Sarah might also be confused. Did either of them know in what direction they were heading? And more to the point, did he have any say in the matter?
