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Welcome to the Queen’s Court

“Be careful what you wish for….You might actually get it”

-Famous Domme

All Kinks Welcome

Come one! come all! Welcome everyone to my blog of stinky stories. Ill keep this introduction brief because we all know we want to get on to the smut. This is my new site for writting my kinky dirty stories to twist your titties. I will be posting here every couple of days as I am constantly …..inspired.

Logistics note, these posts are listed in order or most recent to oldest so make sure you haven’t missed anything, scroll down.

Happy reading pervs!

-QM

The Chalet, Part V – Domestic slavery in a mature woman’s world

Transparent Rope - Dog Chain Png Transparent, Png Download ...

[ Find Part I here – https://stinkies.blog/2020/07/23/the-chalet-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/

Find Part II here – https://stinkies.blog/2020/07/28/the-chalet-part-ii-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/ 

Find Part III here –https://stinkies.blog/2020/07/30/the-chalet-part-iii-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/ 

Find Part IV here – https://stinkies.blog/2020/08/03/the-chalet-part-iv-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/ ]

I awoke on the hard, freshly polished floor. The hushed moonlight through the curtains suggested it was still the middle hours. My face ran hot as the blood surged back to the cheek, tangy spittle sticking to my chin.

There was a coolness in the air. The finer hair that ran seamlessly along my body stood on end. My dried semen ran snail trails across my stomach and onto my chest, reminding me of euphoric heights only a few hours before.

Raising myself a little higher, I heard the cold scraping of smooth heavy metal on the floor. Looking over my shoulder I saw a long chain leading up to my back and out of my vision. I frowned a look of confusion as I brought my hand to my neck, only to find the chain snaking itself tightly around my throat. The metal seemed to match my body temperature and therefore must have been on for quite some time.

My arms were still weak for the climactic explosion I had unleashed in our last moments. Marina, had made my body scream and yet not laid a single feline finger upon me. As with all dogs, I was not to enjoy my share until the alpha had finished. I watched her scream an almighty roar as she unleashed her pleasure. Jealous and whimpering, I watched out the corner of my eye.

Marina now, however, appeared to be nowhere in sight, rendering the chain around my neck less a statement and more a very practical method to ensure that I did not move. I lowered myself back down to the floor, laid on my back, slept like the dog I had become.

I began stirring within my sleep, aware of the distorted and illogical focus of my dreams. Scraping my heels on the floor in a quiet fit of discomfort. My arm on a pinpoint. I gasped awake to the sight of Marina, stubbing her already finished cigarette upon my forearm. The smell of smoke already heavy in the air.

Reacting on instinct, I batted her off of me and scrambled backwards, forgetting the dog chain and catching the skin at the back of my neck in an almighty squeeze. I wretched and choked whilst trying to make sense of this rude awakening.

Even in these very moments, Marina retained her air of femininity. I hadn’t ever seen her smile. The most being a small grunt of satisfaction. Even in her deepest orgasm she groaned with an air of disgust.

Whilst I was still shackled to the floor, she was high in a chair. With her foot, she skitted across a dog bowl in my direction. I was relieved to see it wasn’t dog food, but a bowl of water. Reaching forward with my hand, I caught the gaze of Marina and thought twice.

And so I knelt myself forward, face first into the water. I began to imitate what I supposed a dog might do, lapping and slurping the water inwards. Seeing nothing but the black of the bowl.

Rudely awoken once more, I was drawn out the water, hair clamped firmly in the grip of Marina’s hand, she must have backed behind me with incredible stealth. She pulled my head back until I was facing the ceiling, my head almost resting upon her shoulder.

“You are going to play one last game with me”

Noting the finality in her tone, I exhaled a snort that suggested agreement.

“You shall only be released, after you have given me your freshest load. Failure to do so could be, well, extremely deadly for you..”

And with that, she swung her leg around the front, pushing me back into the floor and sat directly on my face. It took me by such surprise that I had barely time to catch an inward breath. Even more so for not being able to fully appreciate what years of refined perfumery laid between her thighs.

Seeing that the lack of air would soon cause me great issue, I grabbed for my cock. There was not a doubt in my mind that I would be raging hard and ready to go. And so I started pulling, as hard and as fast as I could. My eyes detecting the faintest fur on her pelvis, the ruffled skirt upon my nose line, the soft skin under her chin.

The harder I pulled, the more oxygen I burned. Something in me was building. I couldn’t decipher if it was an impending explosion of sexual euphoria, or a catastrophic implosion of oxygen deprivation. Each heightening the other.

I picked up pace and closed my eyes. My thighs clenching and toes curling, my balls pulling themselves deep inside me as if to build for something. More and more. Further and further. Less and less. I could see panic on the horizon, not being sure if I could come before passing out. I was suddenly wide awake and yet fading.

As if out of nowhere, Marina jammed her fingers up inside of me. In what was to be her token move, she had hit the mound which kickstarted the cascade of ejaculation out of my cock.

Every muscle in my body squeezed and groaned in deliverance, sweet and sticky release.

My mouth, released from her soft lips, drew in the air from the room. Filling my body with words of love and adoration.

“I knew you couldn’t do it…” She said, “pathetic.”

I could read what was really meant behind these words. Knowing that I couldn’t do it without her was all she needed.

“Your time here is done. Don’t ever come back.”

The Chalet, Part IV – Domestic slavery in a mature woman’s world

Metal Handcuffs | Partyrama

[ Find Part I here – https://stinkies.blog/2020/07/23/the-chalet-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/ 

Find Part II here – https://stinkies.blog/2020/07/28/the-chalet-part-ii-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/ 

Find Part III here – https://stinkies.blog/2020/07/30/the-chalet-part-iii-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/ ]

There we were, sat around the mahogany table of her kitchen-living room, she and I, in silence.

I had been summoned later than usual, only a couple hours before sundown. There had been no clear indication of the why, but it seemed we were past the state of playing trivialities. Her game was in full motion, I, a mere pawn in her Queendom.

She dragged hard upon her cigarette. Toking deeply, slowly. She was timely in her intakes. They lay like punctuation within her sentences, suggestions of unseen commas. To the outsider, it could have seemed an all too familiar situation. The wordless stand-off between family members. One attentive son facing an indifferent elder, perhaps a step-mother of sort. An apparent absence of maternal love.

There was, of course, one key difference. I was shackled, by my ankles, to the chair. These cuffs were no cheap affair, one could assume a sort of chrome-nickel brand, someone meaning serious business.

The mahogany stand-off seemed to roll on. There was no reason to rush for Marina, she was a woman free of obligation or commitment. A woman who could command whatever or whomever she wished. She dressed herself in neutral clothes, loose fits and hair pulled back. There was no need to distract from the fact that she was a woman. No need to shine to attention. She had a pussy to die for and this was honor enough of her womanhood.

On finishing a final heavy draw, she looked through the window, taking note of the last moments of sunlight. She stubbed her cigarette and walked to the kitchen drawers. A shining pair of scissors were brought to the table. My pulse quickened.

She drew herself behind me and began cutting. Starting from the lower seam of my shorts, she cut all the way up the side of my leg, passing through any fabric unfortunate enough to lie in its wake. She followed on up the side of my t-shirt, grazing the upper side of the scissor upon my armpit, following on the neck.

She pulled off the butchered clothes and threw them in the sink, leaving me naked as the day. She was the first person to ever have seen my nakedness. To have ever pondered my sexual machinery. She walked around me, as if she were to tailor me a new suit in her mind’s eye.

She assessed my slim ankles, the whites of my thighs, the harshness of my pubic hair, the outwardness of my belly button, my fatless frame. I admit I blushed when she squared up to my penis. I searched deeply in her expression to find some evidence of validation, if it was okay. I’d wondered if she’d seen many in her life. If dozens of other unfortunate men had been cuffed in the very same way I was.

Without a word, she hoisted her leg up over my shoulder and placed it on the top ridge of the chair. With one well calculated push, she forced the chair to swing back on its hind legs and in doing so, sent me crashing backwards on the floor.

The hard floor punched the air from my chest and left me gasping. My dick began to harden, I was in full submission. There was no longer any need for questions, nor any need for reasoning. I pulled myself around onto my back and found her standing over me with a bucket in hand.

She began pouring a thick, caramel liquid over my stomach, my pelvis and my chest. It could have been caramel if it’s fumes hadn’t made my eyes water. She knelt over me, one knee either side of my ears. Her heavy heat making my watery eyes run wilder. She drew her hand up her skirt and fondled around in search of something.

She drew out, from her lace knickers, a rag. It must have been sat in waiting for hours at the table. Compressed between her and the chair. She pulled down my jaw, crumpled the infused rag and jammed it into my mouth.

“Buff the floor”

The first words uttered in the hours between us. She hoisted herself back to her feet, dragged a chair on its hind legs and threw it against the wall.

I turned, my body staining itself an ochre red, my mouth full of sex. I withdrew the rag, made a singular wiping motion across my body. Picking up as much liquid in one go and slopped it on to the floor. I pulled myself to my hands and knees to face away from her.

I began, pushing the resin into the floorboards, buffing with all my might. My hard penis swinging right and left as if a meter reading. I dared a glance over my shoulder, seeing, nothing less than Marina, legs a meter apart, two fingers deep into the delight of her own pussy, eyes fixated on me.

I would have given anything to have been granted a moment to savor my own pleasure. To have partaken in our mutual masturbation. Eying each other deeply, panting with glazed expression. But Marina would not have permitted me such a bliss. The rush that ran through her veins was the result of the denial she was granting me.

And so I polished on, erection and the point of no return, mentally savoring the grunting moans of Marina…

[Find the final part here – https://stinkies.blog/2020/08/05/the-chalet-part-v-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/ ]

The Chalet, Part III – Domestic slavery in a mature woman’s world.

How Mental Health Is Like Pulling Weeds

[ Find Part I here – https://stinkies.blog/2020/07/23/the-chalet-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/

Find Part II here – https://stinkies.blog/2020/07/28/the-chalet-part-ii-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/ ]

That night I pulled myself so senseless to the thoughts of Marina. My heart thudded at the memory of her towering over me. I floated, mentally, back up her skirt, letting my senses fill in what my eyes weren’t able to. I became hungry for her, in a way I hadn’t known before. This woman tormented and pleasured my mind, with only the flow of hot ejaculation able to banish her from my mind.

I virtually ran to the chalet the following day. My eyes wild with fatigue and a yearning, my heart turning in my chest.

As with all great expectations, it was abruptly shot from of the sky and left to fall limply to the floor. I was not welcomed by Marinas sloping breasts nor her hot tobacco breath, but a crudely written note taped to the door.

“Weeds in garden need doing, see to it, currently out”

In some form of elliptical orbit, Marina had swung herself tightly round me and launched herself out into space. Or at least that’s what the melodrama in me had declared.

Despondent and ultimately pissed at the way of things. I stomped round the side of the chalet and identified the weeds of my misfortune.

A pair of gardening gloves had been compassionately laid out on the table. It was clear that this ‘garden’ had been long given back to nature. Winding thistles, dandelions and prettier sub-families of weeds were well at home in the rough ankle height grass.

Hours passed. Myself on my hands and knees, covered so aptly with cuts from roses. My shins were green with stains and I had already sweated through my shirt, now drying itself upon the table.

Looking upon my handiwork I saw that I had barely made a dent in this catastrophe of a garden. Perhaps this was some kind of joke. Perhaps this was a way of mocking me and humiliating me. ‘Fuck this’ I thought, I walked over to the table, sat myself down and lit a cigarette.

I didn’t consider myself a smoker, but had occasionally used it as a way of expressing defiance. What made the defiance even more delicious was taking the cigarette from Marina’s box, naughtily perched on the external window sill. I slipped my hands down my underwear and played with my flaccid dick. It was the perfect crime.

I breathed in the acrid smoke with satisfaction, reclined against the ground floor wall, quietly content with myself. I hadn’t yet realized that Marina had returned and was watching me from the double doors.

I choked and spluttered as I caught her eye. Throwing down the cigarette, making no attempt to excuse myself I fell to the floor and got straight back into the weeds. Her presence boomed from her, her gaze sent me shivers.

I heard her come close to me, leaning over, inches from my ear.

That musk had returned. A mix of dated perfume, tobacco and womanhood. Her words breathed into my ear.

“Suddenly, not much the man when a woman arrives”

My face flushed, embarrassed I leaned my head closer to the weeds that now seemed to be watching the unfolding drama with glee. My heart was pounding blood to my head and my dick.

“Why stop pleasuring yourself now?”

And with that, I received an unexpected hand in an unexpected place. She slipped her hands, swiftly and directly down the back of my trousers, curve round the mound of my buttocks and slip straight inside me.

I gasped a breath that could have swallowed the garden hole. My lungs drew in air to maximum capacity and my whole body clenched. No words escaped my lips. I was floating in the moment, my glands throbbing chemistry around my body. I was breathless and full of life all at once.

With her hand pressed inside, I exploded out my appendage. Pounding out lashings of semen, soaking the layers of clothes I had on, my breath still holding. I looked only to the blinding light of the sun.

Only when the seminal flow stopped did I finally relieve the outbreath. Panting on the floor, not wishing to move. I died the small death, right there amongst jealous weeds. Spittle had collected at the corners of my mouth. I was both present and completely absent at once.

She pulled her fingers out from me and left with the sound of footsteps on thick grass.

“Go home” she said “You’re finished”…

[Find out what happens next here… https://stinkies.blog/2020/08/03/the-chalet-part-iv-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/ ]

The Chalet, Part II – Domestic slavery in a mature woman’s world

Old wooden floorboards - License, download or print for £31.00 ...

[Find part I here –> https://stinkies.blog/2020/07/23/the-chalet-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/ ]

I had responded to a post in the local newspaper in search of assistance in general house maintenance and was already on my fourth weekend at the chalet. Nothing remarkable about the chalet or the owner could be taken from those initial weeks. She was notably distant, and often bellowed commands through corridors and was always trailed by a stream of smoke. Never too present, but at times I’d feel as if she’d be watching me.

It was that fourth weekend that Marina began to reveal her true intentions. I entered through the hallway, the texture of dust in the air.

“The veranda needs a wax, see to it” came the distant voice. “You’ll find what you need in the storage cupboard.”

Wishing to not displease my employer, I immediately sought out what I needed, but was distracted en route by a door that had never been open before. It struck me as bizarre as no visible light seemed to come from it. If anything, its darkness sucked the surrounding air into it. Edging closer, I dared to steal a glance.

The door snapped shut in front of me, the heat of her feminine presence leaned over me and onto a hand pressing the door shut. The softness of her chest almost imperceptibly touching my shoulder blades. Turning with a sudden sense of conscience at the clear violation of confidence, she stood, inches from my face, holding the wax in one hand and a buff in her other.

“I think this is what you are looking for.” stated as plain as her satin dress.

Wishing not to aggravate her any further, I took the bucket and cloth from her, head down and headed to the veranda.

She wasn’t lying, the veranda had been subjected to an intensive bleaching from the sun and was a withering grey. I cracked open the can with a screwdriver I found on the floor and set to work.

With a framework as slim as mine was, I was yet to be accustomed to the hard repetitive labour. My weak adolescent like arms would seize and shoulders quiver. But this was no place for signs of weakness from a woman who paid him a rather handsome allowance.

“Are you struggling?” The harshness of her voice suggesting a displeasure.

“No, no, no I…”

“Perhaps I should find someone else? Or have I asked too much…”

She had something about her today. She was much more present, much more oppressive in her tone. I wondered if it had been the room incident.

I further began to mumble, pardoning the undeveloped musculature of my post pubescent body. Offering her reason for my ineptitude. Then I felt something I hadn’t quite expected.

A foot, pressing into my back. Pushing me down onto the freshly waxed patch of wood I had been so diligently working on.

“Because…” at this point I was flat against the floor, daring not to move. “I am in need of a great many things here, and I am in need of someone who can do it all”

Her foot began shuffling its way, up my back and towards my face. My cheeks flushed with what I expected to be shame, but was stirred upon realizing that this was no shame. It was a new brand of feeling, one I wasn’t yet quite able to put my finger on.

“Are we going to be able to uphold our agreement?” By this point, the sticky wax tacked my face to the floor and her foot was flat against my cheek. I craned my view upwards to her towering heights which silhouetted against the sun. Her underskirt fully exposed but hazed by the shadow. Only a stir of her feminine vapor could be sensed.

She pulled her foot away, leaving a gritty and smarting outline on my face.

“Finish up then go home. Come back tomorrow. You are going to do something for me.”

With that she walked away. Lying, paralysed in a wash of hormones, I found that I had one further sticky patch, this time from between my legs. It was a penile premonition of things to come. Something inside me had arrived. It began as a simmer, but would soon be brought to boil.

Marina and I.

[Find the next part here … https://stinkies.blog/2020/07/30/the-chalet-part-iii-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/ ]

The Chalet – Domestic slavery in a mature woman’s world

8mm Chrome Effect Plastic Chain (2m) The Little Post & Chain Company

It took a lazy Sunday morning, reading the newspaper, my loyal, aging wife sat next to me, to be jolted back into a long abandoned chapter of my youth.

‘Woman’s death leaves chalet in disrepute’

The photo had me choking on my morning coffee. A tremor of my younger self belched to the surface, from the groin up. Beginning at the inside of my leg, hitting my diaphragm and an emerging a coffee-gurgled squeak

After all this time, there she was, or perhaps given her death, wasn’t. Long legs, a fleshless frame, cigarette poised between lips, and a long black skirt that trapped the sweetest part of her. This black and white print had captured her perfectly. A photo, one can confess, that I had taken.

I have never recounted to anyone what happened in that chalet. Partly because breaking the silence of a story threatens to crack it in two. For fear that what happened, could be manipulated, undermined or contested by those ears it fell upon; It was my dirty treasure.

You see, Marina was a special kind of woman. A woman whose tastes were written within her being. A secret language only she and her orgasm spoke.

The chalet has long since been the stage of my so many silent fantasies, layers of twisted truths and played out scandal. A place which my wife will never enter. The place my thoughts fall when I groan and penetrate her. Black belts, chains and dark breaths. Sorry my darling, you marry a man for his secrets as much as his truths. My wife should be grateful for Marina. There are times, I confess, where I have pleasured her to the thought of Marina, of all the things I did, and didn’t, with Marina. A thought that mixes me with shame and a dirty sense of pride.

I bear the burn marks one receives when dragged into manhood. I pledged my devotion to her. They stand proud on my skin today, long hidden by stories of ‘youthful infidelities’ and nothing more.

I brush breadcrumbs off my ever thickening arm hair and peer across to the table. My wife is yet to plunder my dungeon of dirty treasures. The moments when I was owned, when I no longer belonged to myself. When I was prisoner to Marina’s fantasy.

“Chalet up for resale as family struggle to retain ownership. Previous owner, described as solitary and withdrawn, left neither assets nor will.”

Hardly surprising for a woman like Marina to be described as such. She valued distance as much as she valued her unholy tastes. She had a particular niche for weak men, who in my case, was a late adolescent on the brink of manhood. Wielding a weaponry I had yet to understand.

She was 45 when I entered her world, and I 19 when she entered me.

A man can have many fucks in his life, an endless sea of feminine fragrance, dining on the freshest of pussy and offloading onto all manner of fabric. But you see, the greater sex is a much more esoteric venture. One where we become our deepest selves, only to be granted a ticket back to consciousness via climax.

I have always been loyal to my wife, both in mind and soul. But my cock, shall always be hers, Marina’s. This is the lesser told lust story, one where I was subject to the rightful scorn of an older woman’s lust, in what I have always so endearingly termed, The Chalet…

Find part II here – https://stinkies.blog/2020/07/28/the-chalet-part-ii-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/

ICE: Integrity, Chastity, Organization – Part VI

PART I – https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/13/ice-integrity-chastity-organization-part-i/ 

PART II –  https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/15/ice-integrity-chastity-organization-part-ii/

PART III– https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/16/ice-integrity-chastity-organization/

PART IV – https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/29/ice-integrity-chastity-organization-part-iv/

Part V – https://stinkies.blog/2020/05/01/ice-integrity-chastity-organization-part-v/

Airport Metal Detectors vs. Body Metal | Direct Orthopedic Care

Max, having become accustomed to the sensation of the cage, found himself swimming through ideas of the whats, the whens and the hows of Brianna’s game. It would seem, however, that the most enduring game of all, would be Brianna’s absence.

Given Max’s typically unimpressive romantic history and even more unimpressive penis, he had taken to the late night tug and cummy finish. He thought of it as his nightly indulgence, much like a late night courvoisier or reading in an armchair; activities, he supposed, real men would do.
Yet for Max, low-res porn with half-baked female orgasms saw him through.

But now, Max wasn’t able to enjoy the even smallest nugget of joy life had sparingly granted him. Or at least, life had infused that joy with Brianna’s pussy and then cruelly caged it out of reach. He was a man dying of thirst whilst bobbing in the ocean. Brianna had set fire to his senses, but he was condemned to sit and watch, tormented by the level of euphoria he would undoubtedly never reach.

She, the musty femme of which he had buried himself inside of, was nowhere to be seen. He was on day 9 of this Brianna-less rampage and he could take no more. Her absence burned deep into him. He had been denied his dick, now he was to be denied her.

And so the tedium of office life continued. Alison, the ball-crusher who sat next to him, had recently got a new boyfriend and found no hesitation in implying said boyfriend’s superiority.

“He’s like, got his life together, you know? Like he wants to take care of me, like, he’s in charge? Like the big boss? He’s actually going somewhere…”

Max was grateful for her incessant rambling. The noise blurred out the space where his flowing cum stream and throbbing cock should be. He pondered the idea of, when the time comes, to blow his first load on Alison. Just for fun. To rev himself up under the desk and just fire it up her leg. He smiled, but knew, he was no man for that. Besides, he didn’t need the office clocking on to his inadequate appendage.

However, given the metaphorical stopper tightly bound around Max’s balls, he felt the heat of sex surge through his bloodstream at most hours of the day. He was grateful on many an occasion to have had the cage, to help suppress his unintentional office erections.

There was Charlene from Marketing, a girl with a forgettable face but had no shame in wearing inappropriately high skirts. One day, she sat herself upon her office chair, not realising that her poor choice of workwear was rolling up her thighs, revealing her cheap lacey underwear. Max, positioned himself, somewhat pathetically, in view of her just to enjoy the hot thrill of sexual taboo. He was however caught out by her line manager, a married man of 5 foot 6, who gave him a look of disgust and contempt that was so commonplace for Max.

Then arrived a Thursday afternoon on a typically painful day in the office without Brianna. He was summoned down to run checks on the public computers in the Adult Learning Library. This wasn’t unheard of and was a good excuse to kill time with a slow, ineffective walk.

He lulled down the stairs, round the corner and crossed the building into the public space. The centre had seen better days. Government cuts alongside a society of lost causes meant things looked shabby. Things could also get rough at times. There had been stories of knives, drugs and heavy porn use in the library alongside a faint smell of piss and corsodyl.

Max gave the receptionist a passive nod as he walked up to the security barrier. The post was manned by a six-foot something woman in a tight fitting polo neck and long trousers. Stood next to a mini x-ray machine and metal detector frame. It was like passing through some pitiful airport security, just with less enthusiasm.

Max passed through the barrier, thinking nothing of it, but suddenly felt a firm hand hit his chest.

“Whoa there”, her voice was indifferent and almost acidic.

Max turned to her as his eye caught the red light flashing above the metal detector frame.

‘Shit’ he thought, the cage.

“Legs apart, this will be a second” she gestured, pulling out a sizable paddle, and hearing it click into action.

Max began to sweat, this was not going to end in his favor. His fingers started trembling as he knew what was about to happen. She passed the scanner roughly over his body until it screamed around his groin. She passed it over, again and again. Each time a new set of ears perked up from the reception area. She clearly was enjoying herself. She clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. She clearly knew that this Max was not the type to fashion a hot cock piercing and was only too eager to exercise her rights in finding out.

“Come with me,” she motioned to a door on the right.

She pushed him through the door alongside the echo of sniggers from the onlookers.

Max’s face flushed with shame. He wanted to curl over.

“It seems we have a problem here….Max”, squinting at his name badge

“I’m going to ask you to drop your trousers.”

‘Fuck,’ Max thought. This was not going to end well…

ICE: Integrity, Chastity, Organization – Part V

PART I – https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/13/ice-integrity-chastity-organization-part-i/ 

PART II –  https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/15/ice-integrity-chastity-organization-part-ii/

PART III– https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/16/ice-integrity-chastity-organization/

PART IV – https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/29/ice-integrity-chastity-organization-part-iv/

Jeflock JASDL Sliding Accessible Toilet Door Lock | Timothy Wood ...

Max shifted down onto his knees, eye level with Brianna’s pussy. He relished every second of the cold toilet floor, the hum of the extractor fan and the heat that emanated from between Brianna’s legs. For in achieving what felt like the climax of his conquest, he was also being shown the way out. It didn’t matter now, he had no choice, he was told to get the key and set himself free, it was what she wanted.

He lifted his hand and brushed the tip of his finger upon her soft pubic hair. Sensing the texture ripple through his fingertip, another pulsation of his penis caused him to grimace. He took his time, figuring that the years he would wank to this moment would be worth the momentary crushing on his hardening dick.

He switched the angle of his finger, and went to push himself inside. He was once again grabbed by his hair and pulled to meet her red-eyed stare.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Brianna blurted

“I… I…”

‘Fuck,’ he thought, ‘somewhere along the line, I have either misjudged what was happening, or more likely, done it wrong.’

Max was familiar with this territory. The barren wastelands where his confusion and her disgust would meet. A hot, fetid atmosphere, too uncomfortable to bear. Shame dripping out of every corner.

“I don’t want your poncy little fingers in me, if you want the key, I want you to get it with your tongue”

Max, this time, had to stifle a shriek at his mini hulk-like erection, threatening to burst the cage open. She smiled at this, she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Still not having released Max from her death grip, she forced his face deep into her.

Max was somewhere completely otherworldly now. He felt raised off of the cold floor and now floating through heats of some all female rainforest. The heartbeat of Brianna, passing along her pubic bone was now beating upon his face. Tick tick, tick tick, tick tick. The humid musk of her pussy made him shiver with excitement. He was everywhere and nowhere. The vast wilderness and the safest home.

He pressed his tongue past his lips and through hers. He was undoubtedly impressed that she kept her keys inside her as if a personal pocket. He was unsure if he would be able to hook anything with his tongue, especially given the circumstances. But he foraged around anyway.

He struggled to take air as Brianna was giving no option for retreat. He kept going, writhing his tongue around inside her, as deep as he could. Holding the backs of her legs as if to pull himself further inside.

Then a deep laughter came from within her. The thundering beats of her lungs pulsating through her skin. She pushed his head away, this time laughing harder.

“You little maggot, of course you are not off the hook that easy. We have a fucking deal, wipe yourself off and get back to your desk”

And with that she pushed him backwards to fall on his elbows. She gave a satisfied look at the cum-filled mess on the right side of his smart-casual trousers, leaking down just the one side. His hair, bunched at the back of his head, and his eyes, slowly returning back to mother earth.

She made for the door, throwing it open in plain sight of the rest of passersby and was gone. Scrambling to his feet, Max threw himself to close the door, locking it behind him and sliding down with his back against it.

He had barely caught his breath in all the time he was in the toilet. His hands were shaking, his legs lying limp in front of him. The only part of him still possessing life was locked beneath his underwear. He was in a state of exhausted euphoria, an unquenched mesh of sensations. He had no idea how far Brianna was willing to take this, or if he would even make it to the end of it. Only time would tell what else was in store for him.

[Find out what happened next here –> https://stinkies.blog/2020/05/04/ice-integrity-chastity-organization-2/ ]

ICE: Integrity, Chastity, Organization- Part IV

PART I – https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/13/ice-integrity-chastity-organization-part-i/

PART II –  https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/15/ice-integrity-chastity-organization-part-ii/

PART III – https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/16/ice-integrity-chastity-organization/

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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/ ]

ICE: Integrity, Chastity, Organization – Part III

[Find Part I –> [Find Part I –> https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/13/ice-integrity-chastity-organization-part-i/ ]

[Find Part II -> https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/15/ice-integrity-chastity-organization-part-ii/ ]

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… “Oh would you now?”

Stepping down from the stool, it was clear that Brianna was enjoying this.

“How much am I worth? You obviously have no money, so what else can I take from you? Your dignity?”

She sat herself upon the stool, provocatively leaning her elbows upon open legs.

“I’ll tell you what Braveheart, if you really want what’s under this skirt that bad, you give me this month’s check.”

The bargain echoed silently through the safe, there was suddenly a deal on the metaphoric table. But he couldn’t give her a month’s worth of salary, that was just out of the question. He simply did not have the resources nor the capacity to provide that.

Sensing his conundrum, she walked out the office and returned second later with her denim handbag. She leaned closer to him and he could feel her hot breath tickle his ear. He tried to subtly suck in her perfume like an addict at a crack pipe.

“If you really wanted me that bad, you would give up everything to make that happen.”

“I…I guess, but…” Max was so out of his depth, he wondered if he’d ever touch land again.

Brianna fumbled around her bag, and pulled out a small felt pouch.

“How about this, since you are truly worthless, I’ll take the only thing you have, your manhood. Make your dick mine.”

Max wasn’t sure of the implications of this agreement, nor the method of which it could be fixed but nodded through curiosity as well as complete helplessness to his needs.

Brianna, without hesitation, pulled down the fly of Max, silencing possible objections to being caught. Any blood that had been in his groin rushed to his feet. His cock shriveled in intimidation, he could never hope to please such a wild and feminine creature. Surely she would take one look at him and decide they should be “just friends”. The shame made him hunch lower, cringing at the thought of her reaction as she pulled his limp penis through his underwear. His hands failed to support him in resisting her grasp. He lowered his head, eyes fixed in bewilderment at the sight before him.

Searching desperately for some kind of excuse to placate her advances, he failed to notice that she was not focused on the state of his impotence. One cold fumble of the hands and a click later, Max realized what he had just summoned himself to.

“You give me your penis, and you could have everything, but until further notice, you are mine”

Max looked down at his flaccid and pasty worm. From what he could see, it was being incarcerated, punished by force in a penis-sized jail cell with a standard procedure padlock, and a small opening for a key.

Brianna stepped back and dangled the key in front of him. She reached under her skirt and hiked her shoulder as her hand slid between her tights and her stomach. Her expression changed and softened briefly as he heard the squelch of the keys being pushed inside a very wet secret hiding place. Her eyes sharply refocused on him and he was a trapped deer in the headlights. He found he could not move a muscle as she grabbed his face by the jaw examining him with her gaze. His nostrils flared. Now, mixed with the smell of her perfume, was the unmistakable smell of her femininity. Brianna smiled and wiped the back of her soiled hand over his dumbfounded mouth, leaving a trail of moisture. Max’s eyes involuntarily rolled into the back of his head and he quickly closed them. Internally, he vowed never to wash his face again.

Down below he began to feel an uncomfortable pressure as blood surged back to his lifeless member.

“Your cock is mine now, lets see how much you really want me.”

Leaving Max, stupefied with his genitals on display like a caged zoo animal, she pivoted and exited the safe door with a click of her heels. A slow, trailing, drip of pre-cum oozed out of his caged cock and fell to the floor. This was not how Max had foreseen the afternoon.

ICE: Integrity, Chastity, Organization – Part II

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[Find Part I –> https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/13/ice-integrity-chastity-organization-part-i/ ]

His mouse clicked frantically across the screen, as he blurted several incoherent words and passable smiles.

“Alison is off in a meeting…” she continued “…I’m in need of someone to help me file away these orders in the safe, she said you would help me.”

A sharp lick of perfume hit his nostrils. He couldn’t help but notice that she wore her perfumes as if a cocktail, mixing recipes of Chanel and Yves St Laurent at her pleasure. His brain filled with the scent, and began to run wild with thoughts of her fingers on his skin.

“Yeah…sure.”, his eagerness overpowering any attempt at nonchalance.

And so there they were, a fine afternoon of April, alone in the six by four metre safe. Not an inch of day would penetrate into the depths of that filing hell, and here he was, only 6 inches away from Temptation herself. She, taking the elephant foot-stall to reach letters D-F and he, poised, squatted like a 12th century fisherman over a mesh of paper.

“That photo of me you were gawking over was taken four years ago, that HR bitch pointed her smartphone at me and condemned me to a future of a red puffy complexion.”

Max felt heat rise from his belly and took upon his very own red puffy complexion. He had been caught out, shame once again tickling his loins. Yet he couldn’t help marvel over the idea of ‘HR Bitch’ being locked in the cupboard for smartphone portrait negligence.

“And why were you looking at my photo?, I see you drooling at me all the time” Her voice was like a whip. Max melted, and resisted the urge to shuffle backwards out of the safe, out of this situation, and into some dark hole where he could touch himself.

“I…I…” he stammered, unable to catch breath.

“I get it, fapping away at any old under 40 you can lay eyes on. I know your type, you think you have a chance with me?”

Words were so far out of Max’s reach that he thought he may never utter another syllable again.

“Do you think you have a chance with me? Huh? How much do you want me?”

There was no stopping it, he was powerless against what was becoming a rhythmic, scorching monologue

“How much would you pay to fuck me, right here, right now? Go on, give me a price”

Thoughts came rushing through his head, he would give his salary for a slice of her. Her sleek tights leading up her long legs, past the line of her mid-length skirt, up to where he knew few men could return from.

“…I forget, you are admin, admin salary and all that”

She turned back to reach letters G-I, as if she was all too acquainted with tormenting male coworkers alongside infinite filing tasks. The words bypassed Max’s internal filter and slipped through his lips, throwing caution at his mistress.

“I’d fuck you”

Nausea surged his throat. What had he done? How many office regulations had he compromised? How quickly this could escalate to harassment, in four words, albeit one partially contracted, he had given over control of the situation.

She turned back with an impressed smile on her face, this seemed to please her.

[Part III – https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/16/ice-integrity-chastity-organization/ ]