The glorious – and terribly sadistic – Miss Irene Clearmont brings us another story of female pre-eminence and male pusillanimity.
This time it’s an incredibly strict landlady who shows her lodgers their true destiny.
And, once shown them, they will NEVER escape it.
A novella of enforced male chastity and submission.
Chastity lay in his cot and waited for Mother, but it seemed that tonight she was busy. The playroom was dark, just a soft nightlight to give the shadows form. The bright designs on the walls reduced to pale grey, the curtains glowing where the streetlamps lit them from behind. He turned a little to watch the still mobile hanging from the lampshade, a grouping of outlines that cast vague shadows on the ceiling.
Chastity turned on the hard mattress and pulled the blanket to cover to his chin. The soft wool cover soothed him, the silken hem between his fingers as he sucked on her comforter and wondered how the fantasy had become so real. It had taken over his life, crept up, to become the totality of his existence.
Mummy had overwhelmed Chastity totally…
A noise came through the door from the house. It disturbed the perfect silence with the sound of chattering and laughing voices. Those were people who lived lives outside of the nursery that had become Chastity’s home; people who lived as adults, people with responsibilities and everyday existences. The voices rose and fell in greetings and conversation to be cut off by the closing of a door somewhere downstairs.
The dark seemed a frightful place to the mind of Chastity and he wished that Mother had left the light on for him. The dull glow of the nightlight just added to the gloom, highlighting it, making the monsters that inhabited the dark more worrisome. He tried to turn over and lie on his side, but the movement was not allowed by the restraints. Just a small change of posture was permitted, legs held wide and hands kept decently above the waistline.
Chasity lifted his hands and inspected them in the dark. Woollen mittens were secured around wrists and locked in place ensuring that she could not use them to pull the tiny bolts that secured and barred the cover to the cot, not that there would have been any sense in doing so. The bolts were not the only defence, merely placeholders that guided the padlocks that secured the cage that was the cot.
Once again there was utter stillness, only the slight sounds of Chastity’s breathing and the soft sucking sounds of his lips on his dummy. Mummy was entertaining her friend.
He could taste a little honey on the dummy and sucked at it slowly, making the sweetness last. He could feel the strange shape of it and realised that the shape was that of the tip of a real man, the part that, in his case, was welded into hard cold steel. The sound of breathing slowed as he drifted to sleep.
A time that seemed lost in the past intruded on his dreams…