Max, later that evening, found himself sitting in front of the computer, nude from the waist down, googling his own demise. It took him several searches and rephrases to fully understand contraption that held his life hostage. His cock, no longer his, rested quietly upon his swollen balls.
He had already mastered the art of pissing, after having shamefully sprayed an unfortunate (yet thankfully unknowing) IT technician in the staff urinals. He began to resort to using the bathroom stall, feeling like a helpless little girl. He positioned himself far back on the toilet, leant forward whilst spreading his legs wide, letting the hot relief flow into the front half of the bowl.
There was, of course, the undeniable upside to being in sex prison; the prison guard. Brianna, having laid her metaphorical stamp upon him, pissing over her territory in a state of dominant euphoria, was now always on his mind. He wondered perhaps if there weren’t several others in the office, the Brianna slaves. Each one condemned in his (or her) own way to sexual deprivation. Hundreds of puny cocks, doing hard time in a soft way. Perhaps he should listen for the jangle of keys sloshing around in her pussy…..
A boom of blood caused him to wince, the pressure of an impending erection, its uncomfortable presence. He liked to imagine that it was her hand down his pants, squeezing his small nub in a death grip, yet this ironically only fueled the problem further, often ending in a dry pre-cum stains and red rub marks.
Two days into the cage, Max came across Brianna. He was filling his water bottle at the cooling pump, located just outside the main office door. Brianna was wearing a blouse that was too small and a skirt that was too big. It was as if all eyes were to be drawn to her warm breasts today as her long legs were on annual leave.
He was bent over, obliviously filling his bottle at the fountain when he was grabbed by his hair and pulled upright. The surprise had caused him to flick spatters of water on his shirt and trousers, a small pool by the fountain.
“You are a fucking mess, you might as well have pissed yourself, get in there” she said, pushing him sideways into the infamous disabled toilets.
She locked the door behind them and turned to look him in the eye. He, shriveling in height, sat himself upon the toilet and put his eyes to the floor, stifling the excitement on his face.
“Time’s up, get the key” she blurted.
Max’s eyes lifted from the floor, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“But it’s only been two days…” Max stuttered, spittle slipping out his mouth.
“Yes, but you mean nothing to me, you are, quite frankly, disposable, get the key.”
Max was disheartened, he had reveled in her torture for what seemed like an even crueler game of deception. His time with Brianna was apparently done, too worthless to play the role of unworthy, how pathetic.
“So where is the key?” Max sighed
She looked at him incredulously, as if he was incapable of doing any thinking for himself, a lesser than man. She looked him in the eye, daring his defiance, and slipped her hand to the hem of her skirt.
“Exactly where I left it”
Sliding the zip that ran down the side of her skirt all the way to the floor, she stood upright with her feet wide apart. Her skirt fell to her ankles. There it was, her unshaven womanhood, an inviting mist, an unexplored wonderland. His cock began to swell and pinch against the metal.
The place he was about to go, was only going to give him a penetrating discomfort in what was to be an erotic hell.
[ Find out what happens here –> https://stinkies.blog/2020/05/01/ice-integrity-chastity-organization-part-v/ ]