Journey Into Chastity, Book Two The Ecstasy of Denial

Chapter Two-4

She kissed me again and whispered, “I’m so sorry, John. Christine didn’t give me a key. I can’t let you out of your thing.” She seemed to be trying to be discrete in the cab – which struck me as odd because she never normally missed an opportunity to publicly humiliate me.

“I would do so if I could, sweetheart! I want you to know that. I want to be with you tonight John. All of you.”

She nuzzled her head in my shoulder and I hugged her gently.

Bollocks! I thought. The one time she actually wanted to let me go all the way, and I’m locked in my cage! She couldn’t even give be a blow job!

When we got back to the room, Laura was even hornier than in the cab.

“Let’s break it off you!” she told me. I noticed she was slurring heavily, and had seemed very unsteady on the short walk to my room.

“What?”

“Let’s try breaking the plastic – it must be possible,” she persisted, and she started to unbuckle my belt.

“Wait!” I said. “Let’s just think about this.”

“What is there to think about? I want you. Now! Let’s get this f*****g thing off you!”

I grabbed her shoulders and made her look at me.

“Laura. Calm down. Remember I’ve been living with this thing for weeks. I know a thing or two about it. I can tell you that trying to break the plastic would be really dangerous. But I think I could get the padlock off with a hacksaw.

“Well get on with it then!” she was frantic now.

I looked abashed. “I haven’t actually got a hacksaw,” I admitted.

Laura grabbed her hair like she was going to tear it out, but suddenly burst out laughing.

“Oh God, you’re f*****g kidding!” she giggled. “You’ve been desperate to f**k me for nearly two years, and now I’m begging you to do it. Right now, right here. And you can’t find a f*****g hacksaw?”

“I didn’t say that,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’ll bet Mike’s got one in his motorbike toolkit. f**k, it’s almost four in the morning. He’s not going to be happy.”

Laura grabbed me in an embrace and planted a big wet kiss on my mouth. She reeked of alcohol. That bastard Spencer had definitely been spiking her drinks! At least it had made her randy for me!

“I don’t care if he’s happy. I want to make you happy,” she whispered. “Why don’t you pop over there and tap on his door?”

“OK!” I said firmly. “I’ll be right back.”

Mike was a Mech Eng student in his final year. Somehow he’d always managed to nab a room in halls, and he lived a couple of buildings away from my block. He had a decrepit Yamaha 250cc motorbike that was always in bits on the floor of his room. More importantly, he would definitely have a junior hacksaw I thought.

Mike was a pretty heavy sleeper. But eventually he responded to my insistent hammering on his door.

“What the f**k do you want?” was his greeting. “Do you know…?”

“Sorry Mike, really sorry!” I whispered urgently. “But I really need a hacksaw. Junior hacksaw for preference.”

“What?”

“A junior hacksaw, Mike. I thought you must have one in your toolkit.”

“What…”

“A junior hacksaw, Mike, it’s…”

“Let me finish,” Mike said, hand on my chest. “What the f**k do you need a junior hacksaw for at four o’clock in the f*****g morning?”

I paused and took a deep breath.

“Look Mike. I could tell you, but it’s complicated and you want to go back to bed, don’t you? Could I please borrow a junior hacksaw and I promise I’ll see you right later?”

Mike closed his eyes, and turned round to go back into his room. I heard him open the toolkit and rummage for a few seconds. He reappeared at the door, hacksaw in hand.

“Don’t break it! I know what you f*****g chemists are like.” He closed the door before I could reply.

“Thanks Mike,” I whispered.

Back in my room Laura had stripped off her dress and was waiting for me, dressed in her corset and stockings. I frantically tore off my clothes and looked down at the lock.

“Be careful, sweetheart!” she told me. “We don’t want any damage done.”

She lay down on the bed and snuggled up with the pillows rather provocatively. Somehow I managed to tear my eyes away from her and back to the job in hand.

I moved over to the table, and propped the CB3000 onto the edge. Then I maneuvered the padlock into position and gently started to run the hacksaw over the shackle to try to get a start in the shiny metal. s**t! The steel was really hard, and I couldn’t get any leverage while the blade was in the handle. I’d need to take it out. I wasn’t very good with tools and I fiddled for ages trying to release the blade. Then suddenly “ping”! The blade snapped in two. f**k! Mike was going to be pissed off at me now. And even worse I’d confirm his stereotype about chemists and tools! As I stared at the pieces of the blade I saw a big drop of blood hit the table top. Oh God! As the blade had given way it had sliced across my right index finger. It wasn’t too deep, but it was dripping with blood. Not a good turn-on. I went over to the sink and ran some cold water over my hand to clear the mess. I always kept a toilet roll near the sink – tissues are for girls – and I wrapped a big wad of toilet paper around the cut. I looked at the pieces of the hacksaw blade and saw that one of them was probably still long enough for me to use. Luckily I’m left handed, but I still had to hold the padlock with my right hand, which now had a huge wad of paper around it. Try as I might, I couldn’t get the hacksaw blade to bite into the hardened steel of the shackle. f**k! f**k! f**k! Why hadn’t Christine given Laura the key? Of course I knew the answer, but I had to go through the motions of asking myself anyway.

It was clearly no good going after the shackle on the lock. But of course! The polycarbonate frame of the CB3000 would be an easy target, I thought. In fact now that I’d got the blade out of the hacksaw frame, I could just cut through the little plastic pillar holding the frame to the padlock! Brilliant! Why hadn’t I started with that idea? What a total i***t! As I examined the device, trying to figure out the best angle to apply the saw without slicing into my own flesh, I heard a gentle snoring coming from the bed behind me.

Laura had passed out. Bollocks! I looked at her for about a minute. She really was dead to the world. I put the hacksaw down and considered my options. f**k it!

I couldn’t leave her in the corset – she’d be in agony when she woke up. I managed to loosen the laces enough to undo the clips at the front and get the corset, and stockings off her. I left her panties and bra on just in case she’d need to run to the toilet in a hurry. All through the undressing procedure she didn’t give any hint of waking up. I gazed down at her bra and imagined her pierced n*****s and the two gold bars that went through them. I desperately wanted to put my mouth around them and feel the mixture of metal and flesh between my teeth. I could just do it, I thought. She’d never even know in this state. Or maybe just “cop a feel” as the Americans would say. The idea made me feel guilty though. It would be the sort of thing that a bloke like Tony would do, I thought.

I groaned, if she’d had that much to drink she really needed to get some water down her. Should I try to wake her up? She’d probably hate me for that. Christ, she was going to feel rough later on. I made her as comfortable as I could and then slid into bed next to her and clicked off the light. Despite my frustration, I managed to drift off to sleep.

At some point later I was awoken by Laura frantically climbing over me. I saw it was beginning to get light and the clock on the shelf read six thirty am. What was going on? Laura managed to get off the bed, and then I heard a thud and a grunt as she slipped over on the floor.

“Are you alright, love?” I croaked, sleepily – prizing myself up off the mattress.

The only answer was the sound of her throwing up. I’m not going to go into details, but I managed to get her back into bed and clear up the mess on the floor using the cleaner’s mop from the hallway cupboard. Luckily for me the floors in the men’s blocks are easy-clean vinyl. In the women’s blocks they’re carpet. Very perceptive of the building designers!

I poured her a glass of water and urged her to drink. She managed to get one glass down her, but I knew it was pushing my luck to force her to drink any more. It was probably too late to do much good now anyway. I rummaged around my toilet bag to see if I had any Tylenol, but I could only find aspirin; and I didn’t think that would be a good idea on her empty stomach. The local shop would be open in a couple of hours and I could get something for her then. I suspected she’d need it.

I was right. Laura had a huge hangover. She threw up again a couple of hours later – fortunately in the sink this time, and it was just the water she’d drunk anyway. She was sweating profusely and didn’t look too well at all.

As soon as the shop was open I picked up some pain killers, milk, and some bottles of isotonic sports drinks. If you are in this situation, remember you need electrolytes as well as water – it’ll help you recover faster.

An hour or so later the drugs, and glasses of milk had started to work. She was at least able to open her eyes!

“Oh God, John, I’m so sorry,” her voice was a raspy croak. “I know you said to switch to tonics at the end, but Professor Spencer kept putting large vodkas into them. I thought it was funny at first, and then I was just too drunk to care. Christ, I feel awful.”

“Well I’ve been there, darling. So I can sympathize with you at least. Unfortunately the only thing I can do is give you painkillers, and get plenty of liquids into you.” I’d been putting cold flannels on her forehead as well changing them every ten minutes or so to keep them cool.

“You’re too good to me,” Laura cooed. I leaned over and pecked her on the nose. Her mouth still smelled of sick.

Sunday ended up that way really. By about two o’clock she was able to get up. I made her some toast and jam in the kitchen, and a nice milky coffee. I didn’t really know if that was the right thing to do, but she seemed to enjoy it. I gave her another dose of Tylenol as soon as it was safe.

After showering and brushing her teeth Laura felt human again, but not surprisingly she wasn’t in an amorous mood.

“Oh God! I promised Christine I’d milk you again before I left,” she said with a groan. “She’ll be expecting a call. Let’s just get it over with, shall we?”

“But Laura, I’m sure I don’t need it,” I protested.

“That’s not the point, and please don’t get me annoyed while I’m feeling like this. The point of milking is to enforce your subjugation and humiliation. You will be milked, and it will happen now. Don’t bother getting undressed just drop your f*****g trousers, John.”

Laura slipped into the strap-on over her jeans. It was odd, that the lack of any s****l context to this was even more humiliating somehow. Laura added to the clinical aspect of it by calling Christine on her mobile phone as she milked me.

They chatted briefly about the previous night, the lecherous professors and their jealous wives. Laura admitted to her hangover and throwing up. She told Christine she’d be getting an earlier bus back because she just wanted to go back to bed. All the while she kept up a steady rhythm in and out. She added a little more lube after a couple of minutes, but carried on again. After ten minutes or so she cleared down the call and put the phone in her pocket.