I pulled into the evening gridlock, the smell of Devina still in my head. The way she’d towered above me, so controlled, her big eyes inspecting me had left me feeling both more unsettled about her motives and yet compelled by the undeniable feelings growing within me.
I couldn’t help but feel desire for Devina. The woman who was the architect of my own destruction and this unchained slavery which she had so skillfully imposed upon me. I knew that, despite her releasing me from the abominable chastity device, after I had done as she had told me, I would return and lock myself up as she had instructed.
I would drive to Mandy, my girlfriend. There I would, as Devina had instructed me, ‘do my duty’ by Mandy and then I would return. Like a slave returning to their master. And I would be grateful.
Now, for those of you who have experienced neither chastity nor the powerful draw of a dominant partner this may all seem rather strange. However, there’s no doubt there is a peculiar motivation that forces us to do things that seem counter intuitive to the uninitiated. It has to be said though, the wife who returns to the husband that abuses her, the person that day after day goes to a job they despise, these are equally baffling, though psychologists will offer plausible explanations. Yet here I found myself, consciously considering that I was so firmly bound by these chains of desire that I had absolutely no choice but to do as Devina instructed. Could this be something like a case of Stockholm syndrome?
The image of Devina, tall and strong toying with me came back to my mind. It was intoxicating. Her laugh, her power and her control. I find it confusing and yet compelling. I wanted to obey.
The traffic was static. My instructions were clear. Go and satisfy Mandy. How Devina knew this what was needed I did not know, nor did I much care. My instructions were clear. I tapped out a text message in the frozen traffic and told Mandy I would be there as soon as traffic allowed. I guessed this would come as a surprise to her, but a reply came moments later.
“Good. Hurry up.”
Certainly the women in my life were not what anyone would call shrinking violets. They seemed to steer things and manage things as though I was a mere passenger in the process. Not wishing to explore this line of thinking much more I decided to turn on the radio and find something diverting.
I flicked through a few stations and settled on a call in show about relationships. Dr Julia, whoever she was, was dispensing advice to a young man who had a crush on someone he worked with.
“It’s really very simple, Martin. If you like her you should tell her, regardless if she is your employer,” came the voice.
I’d once called in to a show like this years ago. It had been a practical joke and I’d been kicked off the air, which silly young men sometimes do. The advice sounded decidedly unsound.
The announcer said that if any listeners had any troubling relationship questions they should call in. As the traffic crept forward I listened, wavered and then decided to make the call.
It only took a moment and I was surprised how quickly I was put through to the studio.
“Hello Doctor Julia,” I said. “I want to say how much I enjoy the show.”
“And this is Andrew, am I right?” Dr. Julia’s voice was soft and understanding.
“And you’ve been having some trouble with a relationship in your life.”
“That’s right.” I agreed.
“Well, perhaps you can tell me a little about it.”
I hesitated for a moment, and then just dived in.
“Well, I have this girlfriend.”
“That’s good,” simpered Dr. Julia.
“But I’ve just discovered she’s a lesbian.”
“And how do you know this, Martin. Many men fantasize about their partners being lesbian, but frankly if she’s with you it seems unlikely.”
“Well,” I said patiently, “I found out a sex party for her lesbian friends.”
There was a pause on the end of the line.
“And what on earth were you doing at a sex party for lesbians, Andrew?”
“I was,” I stumbled a bit here. “I was catering it. Serving.”
I could tell there was a prolonged pause while the producers wondered if they should cut me off, but Dr. Julia powered on.
“I see. And you feel upset that she’s a lesbian, and you feel betrayed?”
“Well, not really. I’m confused about this other woman really,” I said.
“What other woman. One of her lesbian friends? Are you jealous? That’s quite understandable”
“No, it’s this other woman who is in my life.”
I could tell Dr. Julia was trying to get her head around the issue. “You mean, your cheating on your girlfriend?”
“No, well not really. Sort of.”
“That doesn’t sound very specific, Andrew.”
“No, it’s this other woman who insists that I am in chastity,” I blurted out.
“Andrew,” said Dr. Julia firmly, “I know we talked some pretty sensitive subjects on this show, but…”
“And she makes me wear women’s clothes.”
I could tell Dr. Julia was torn between salacious ratings boosting content and an FCC complaint.
“Well, Andrew, you know many men do love to wear women’s clothes. There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with that. But being forced to, that’s another matter. One has to think of issues of consent.”
“Oh,” I said. “Consent isn’t in this woman’s vocabulary.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, she’s forced me to do… things.”
“You know, here on the Dr. Julia show we are all about having fun, but non-consensual sex is not part of that.”
“You’ve obviously not met Ollie The Octopus,” I said.
“What?” She blurted out.
“Nothing. I just think this particular woman’s choice of sexual adventure doesn’t conform to the norm. I mean, strapping me to a chair and parading me infront of her guests…”
“So, let me get this straight. You have a girlfriend, and your illicit lover keeps you locked in chastity for extended periods and forces you into sex acts that sound extreme not to mention disgusting. Exactly what is your question?”
“How do I escape this?” I asked and then added, “And why do I find myself enjoying it?”
The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I had said the unsayable. Was I really enjoying it?
A moment later the producer cut me off. A flurry of calls followed and the radio station ran some advertisements, ironically some of which were booked through my own company. However, the calls were as fascinating as my own admission.
It seemed that half the callers were disgusted and the other half jealous.
I pulled into Mandy’s apartment building and parked next to her little yellow Mazda. I was buzzed in and a moment later was knocking on the door of her apartment.
The door opened and Mandy stood in the doorway. Her slim forearm extended, took my collar and pulled me in.
I was about to start a little of the precursory small talk that would punctuate my visits with Mandy. This was all part of the pretence that our relationship was based on friendship and mutual respect. In reality we both knew what we were doing here, although this time I was here at Devina’s instruction. Make no mistake, making love with Mandy was no hardship. She was always a yielding and generous lover.
Dressed in a sheer chemise of smoky grey Mandy looked irresistible. My body responded immediately and I knew any small talk would be quickly lost. I wondered how Devina had known.
I opened my mouth to say something but was met with Mandy placing her hand over her mouth and saying, “Shut the fuck up and get into the bedroom.”
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