My cute, sweet, adorable wife took me shopping. To my surprise she took me to a sex shop. We browsed the dildos, vibrators, and buttplugs. Picking up a few along the way, asking the other if they liked it. Then knowing full well the answer, putting it back as they said no. It was hot and sexy. I was turned on. She looked good in her little red and white dress. I just wanted to go home and fuck her. She eventually picked out a tiny little chastity cage. Once she said. “I like this one.” Before I could say anything. Two leather clad mistresses seemingly out of nowhere grabbed me by the arms. “Shall we get him locked up for you? They said in unison. To which she replied. “Yes please!” They drug me to the back room cuffed my wrists to a St. Andrew’s cross, and yanked my pants off. Then secured my ankles to the bottom of the cross. They oiled up my cock and balls making me hard as can be. After stroking my throbbing cock to the edge and backing off several times. They then took turns kneeing me in the balls until I was limp again. The ring, tight as it was slid right on with all the oil applied. Then it was seconds and they were coming at me with a tool that fastened the cage on. I knew what they were putting on me, and was surprised there was no lock. This was going to stay on for quite some time. Possibly forever. I didn’t know what I did to make her do this to me. We were just having fun and flirting in the store. Once they finally released me, and I got outside to ask her. All she wanted to do was make sure we didn’t need adjustments before we left. It was a quiet ride home!
You really don't like work at all. You're not sure anyone does, really, but probably not for the same reasons as you. At work you have to pretend to be someone you're not
Someone you used to be, maybe. Someone they expect. But not you.
Not anymore.
Sir has made you into something so much better than the girl you were before. A new girl in a lot of ways. A different girl. But you still have to pretend sometimes, and it gets harder all the time. Having to act like you can think for yourself, that you're not stupid. It's not you.
You have to play along. You find yourself standing with a few of the people you work with. Around a water cooler, in fact. Just standing, talking. None of it means anything, and most of it isn't going in for you anyway. Just giggling and nodding and agreeing, all a reflex.
And then they ask you what you did over the weekend.
You could tell them a lie. You usually do. You usually tell them something bland and generic, the sort of thing they'd expect to hear. It's not a question anyone expects a proper answer to anyway.
But that feels wrong now, somehow. Now, you feel a need to be honest. It sits in your head, stopping your normal answer in its tracks. He probably put it there, that feeling. He probably made it so you'd want to be honest and tell them everything. Knowing that just makes it stronger.
Harder to fight.
Impossible to fight. You need to be honest.
"Sir is making me better."
It slips out before you even think to stop it.
Everyone heard it. Everyone's looking at you. Too late now.
So you just keep going. You need to be honest.
"Sir is fixing me. He goes into my head and takes out everything bad and only lets me keep the good bits, the bits he wants. I only think what Sir thinks now. I'm only allowed to think what Sir wants me to think. I'm happy. I'm safe."
It's good to be honest. You shouldn't hide what a good girl Sir has made you. People should know. They asked. You need to tell them.
Sir is inside your thoughts and you have no choice.
You bite your lip and you keep going.
"I sucked Sir's cock and he stroked my hair and told me what a good girl I was. Nothing else mattered. Sir was my whole world. Sir is my whole world. When he came I didn't spill a drop, that's how he's trained me. I'm Sir's perfect cocksucker, it's what my mouth is really for. It's not meant for talking, it's meant for sucking cock."
There was a time before when saying anything like this would have been unthinkable for you, but it's not a time you can really remember now. There's a lot you can't remember now. So much he's got rid of, so much you didn't know you didn't need. You don't know how much he's taken away. You don't need to know.
They're all staring at you. You're too dumb to know what the look on their faces means. One girl has her mouth hanging open. It doesn't matter.
You're panting a little now. The memory of the weekend is too much. The thoughts of Sir are too much. He's your whole world.
"Sir had me play for him, too. I was porn for Sir. I dressed up and showed off for him. I spread my legs and played and moaned so he could watch and listen. Sir had me hump his leg like a needy slut. I was blank and totally his. I didn't cum. I never cum. It isn't for me. Sir cums. He took them away to make me better."
You've never cum. You know that for a fact. They're not for you, so you never have. It's simple. It's a fact. Sir told you and Sir knows best.
"Sir is making me better," you say again. The words are reflex. They sit so perfectly in your head and slip out so easily and with so little effort that you know for sure he put them there. That makes them so much better to say. It's another bit of him inside you forever.
After that you're not sure what else to say. You're so wet you can't really think straight, not that you're usually able to think that straight anyway. The urge to start playing is strong but you haven't got your collar on or special permission from Sir so you know you're not allowed. So you just stand and feel all fuzzy.
Eventually, as the silence just goes on, you look at the girl closest to you, the one whose mouth is still hanging open.
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