As well as preventing me from looking online at porn, Jessica had now insisted I was locked into a chastity device. She was taking control of my life!
The next morning, she again dropped in on her way to work. “Now, how's the cage going?” she asked, once I had invited her inside.
“I'm still finding it difficult, Miss. I don't think I'll ever get used to it.”
“Of course you will, stop being so defeatist. It's still early days. You need to be a brave boy and remember that this will spice up our relationship.”
Obviously, she was using the term “relationship” to refer to our special arrangement—not to be confused with a boyfriend/girlfriend bond. But this was not the time to engage in semantics, so I simply replied, “I can see what you're saying, Miss.” In fact, she was right that my growing frustration was making me keener to do all I could to please her.
She sniggered, “So, what it's like being a Born-Again Virgin, darling?! Not much competition from real girls there, eh?”
“Sorry?”
“It's an expression for someone who used to have sexual intercourse but has now made a life choice to give up sex and revert to being a virgin. That's you, Frank. It was your choice to convert.”
God, she was right! I had consented to this, but I hadn't for one moment thought I was giving up sex for the rest of my life. I had to hope she was teasing me.
“You'll take a while to get used to it, darling,” she assured me. “But I've read that other men seem to manage, so I'm sure you will, as well. Okay?”
“I... I will do my utmost to please you, Miss.”
“Yes, I know you will! And I'm here to help and support you, darling. We'll get through this working together.”
Together? I was the one locked up. She continued, “Besides, it can't be that bad! If you've been telling me the truth, you've not wanked for about seventeen days, meaning your urges can't trouble you that much. So, I don't see how wearing a cage will be so difficult, do you?”
Of course, unknown to Jessica, I had masturbated twice during that period, but now was not the time to confess to disobeying her instructions. “I will manage, Miss... I'm sure,” I replied, resignedly.
oooOOooo
The following morning, Friday, she dropped by again. It had been raining overnight, and she was on her way to school but wanted to check I was all right. Luckily, I was up and dressed and I invited her in.
“I need to check your cage is okay, Frank,” she explained. “Because I really care about you,” she added, with a serious expression.
Without her needing to tell me, I dropped my trousers and pulled down my gym knickers, which were still the sole item of underwear that she permitted me to wear and which I had to wash daily. As I stripped, I thought to myself that only a couple of weeks earlier I would have needed to be ordered to undress and then would have made some sort of fuss. Now, getting undressed in front of her seemed second nature, although my penis was soon straining against the bars.
She wobbled the cage from side to side and up and down, convincing herself it was securely in place. “Any chaffing or irritation?” she asked.
“No, Miss,” I responded.
“Good! But you must let me know if there is,” she explained. “Don't try to be a hero.”
I was hoping she was going to enquire how I was coping with the cage, frustration wise, but that question didn't occur to her, or possibly she just didn't want to know.
She turned to leave, but then I saw her gazing at the floor. “There's some dirt down here, Frank,” she remarked, pointing at some wet mud.
I just stopped myself from asking her if she had wiped her feet when she came in. Instead, I looked at her, puzzled. “Sorry...” I found myself saying.
“It's not good enough, Frank. You're retired, so it's not as if you've got no time to clean. And now I've turned off your supply of porn and locked up your wanking machine you must have even more time!”
“Well—”
“You need something to occupy your mind, Frank,” she continued.
“Er...”
“You once told me you keep your house scrupulously clean, but that dirt on the floor says otherwise.”
“It looks very fresh, Miss Fuller!” I posited, diffidently, hoping it would dawn on her that it was she who had put it there. But, no, she gave no reaction. “I... I vacuum regularly,” I tried to explain, but she had moved away and was pointing up at the ceiling.
“There's a cobweb there. Look!”
“Er... they can appear very quickly—overnight, Miss.”
“I don't want excuses, Frank.” She had now moved to the kitchen.
“What a mess! I can't believe what I'm seeing. There are dishes waiting to be washed, and others waiting to be put away clean. And look! There are crumbs on the floor. And a bottle of milk sitting on the table. This is not good enough, Frank.”
“I've just had breakfast, Miss, and—” She had gone and was now in my lounge.
“Gosh! This is hurting my eyes!” She was pointing at my bookshelves. “Books have to be in some sort of order—alphabetical, by size, by colour... anything! But these just look like they've been thrown in randomly. I can't believe what I'm seeing!”
“Sorry,” I found myself saying. But why was I apologising? The system worked for me, if not for her. I could find the books I needed.
I was feeling bewildered at how she was throwing her weight around inside my own house. An Englishman's home is his castle, so the expression goes, but not so in my case, it seems.
“Let's look upstairs,” she continued.
She headed up to the bathroom and looked around, then opened the shower cubicle door. “When was this last cleaned, Frank?”
“This morning, after my shower.”
“Well, you didn't do a good job because I can see a short and curly near the plughole. It's disgusting!”
“Sorry... I must have—”
“This is not up to my expectations, Frank. You're retired, you've got all the time in the world, yet you can't be bothered to get off your bum and keep your house clean and tidy.”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts, Frank. You've no excuses. You're downright lazy and it's going to stop. I'm so busy with work, I don't have a moment to myself, yet I keep my house so clean you could eat off the floor.”
“Er... sorry, Miss, you're right,” I replied quietly, hoping that my softly spoken admittance of guilt might calm her down.
“For starters, I'm fining you £40 for your laziness. You can either give me cash or give me your time to do whatever I wish —or a combination of both.”
“I'm short of cash until my next pension payment arrives, so it'll have be my time, Miss.”
“Okay—I will sort something out and let you know. But today, I want this entire house cleaned from top to bottom. Cancel whatever plans you had for today—which I doubt amounted to much—and set to work. I will be back this evening to check. Understood?”
“Er... yes, I think I understand, Miss Fuller.”
“I expect to find the place spotless, Frank, otherwise I will need to punish you. I'm very disappointed in you. You've deceived me by saying you keep your house clean, and I don't like being lied to.”
“Sorry...” I replied, flustered and lost for words.
“You have a spare key, don't you?” She could see I looked puzzled, so she sought to clarify her question.
“You know, a spare key for your front door? If so, please let me have it, then I can let myself in whenever I want, Frank.”
“Er...”
“For crying out loud, Frank. I'm not going to be stealing your possessions. Just let me have a key, will you?” she exclaimed, impatiently.
Her tone was firm and assertive. She wasn't going to let this go so meekly I retrieved my spare key and passed it to her.
“Thank you!” she said, her voice dripping with contempt at my tardiness. “Now you've probably made me late for college!”
With that final broadside, she left, leaving the front door wide open. I watched her go, her bottom swaying seductively, and I was aware that my penis was starting to swell. I tried to process what had happened. She had ordered me to clean my own house with a threat of punishment if I didn't meet her exacting standards, whatever they were. And now she had a door key she could come and go whenever she wanted. Obviously, I was in my rights to refuse but... well, I knew if I did then she might carry out her threats to stop seeing me and I found my interactions with her to be exciting and arousing. Therefore, I set to work cleaning.
oooOOooo
She was true to her word that evening, popping around to inspect my efforts, letting herself in without ringing the bell. Her inspection was thorough, even opening cupboards and drawers. I trailed after her, waiting to defend myself should she find fault, not that I could see me winning any argument should one arise.
“Well...” she said, leaving a long gap before continuing. “What you've done is not too bad, Frank. Obviously, there's room for improvement, but you've escaped punishment. I now expect you to repeat this top to bottom clean at least weekly with the bathroom, kitchen and downstairs toilet done daily. And I want to see a steady improvement. Okay?”
“Er... yes, Miss Fuller. Thank you!” Why was I thanking her? Somehow, she had this effect on me, and I wanted to do all I could to satisfy her demands.
I thought she had finished, but she sat herself down on a chair. “Okay, now let me hear you recite the lyrics of the Madonna song. Stand there, put your hands on your head, and slowly and clearly work your way through it. I know it well enough to spot a mistake, Frank, so don't disappoint me.”
With a sense of trepidation, I cleared my throat and slowly recited the words.
She watched intently, giving no reactions to what I was saying. After I had finished, she paused for a few seconds, leaving me on tenterhooks.
“Good boy! You got the words right. Come round for a beer later. I love spending time with you,” she said, her voice warm and friendly. She stood up and gave me a peck on the cheek.
“See you later, darling,” she said, before letting herself out.
oooOOooo
That evening, I went around to her house, and we sat side-by-side in her lounge, enjoying a beer (that I paid for, obviously) and chatting. She was in a flirtatious mood and soon she had a hand on my thigh. I did wonder—for a brief second—of reciprocating, but an inner voice told me that it would not be a wise move.
As my penis attempted to swell, so I tried to distract myself by looking around her room. Lo and behold I could see dust on bookshelves, coffee stains on the table beside me, and some crumbs on the carpet. As far as cleaning was concerned, it was clearly a case of “do what I say, not what I do”.
She detected me looking, and went slightly red. This was the first time she had ever shown any embarrassment in my presence. “Sorry, darling, my house is not quite the exemplar that I may have hinted it was. But you know only too well I'm so busy I don't get a moment to myself.”
I nodded in agreement, while thinking the complete opposite.
“You know what would really help, Frank?” She didn't wait for me to reply before continuing. “What would help is if I had a regular cleaner.”
She paused, but it was blatantly clear where the conversation was going.
She looked me in the eyes, saying, “I would want someone I could trust... Someone who has demonstrated to me they can work hard and follow instructions. Someone who accepts that falling short of the required standards will result in punishment. Can you think of anyone suitable, Frank?”
As was her way, she placed a hand on my inner thigh, and I felt it edging upwards, albeit at glacial speed.
“Erm...”
“I'm sure you know someone who's suitable, so what do you say, darling?”
In another context, that question might have been ambiguous, but we both knew what she was asking.
“Erm...”
“You must get so bored, darling, being at home all day, with no company?” She placed a hand on my knee and gently caressed it. “Especially now I've curtailed your online activities, eh? Not to mention your self-pleasuring. In fact, I've taken away all your hobbies, haven't I?”
“Well, I find things to do... Miss,” I replied, grasping at straws.
“What do you do, darling?”
“I.. er.. read and go for walks.”
“Oh, you can only do so much of that. And it's important we all keep busy and have a purpose in life, isn't it? And I'm sure we can agree that your drive—the thing that gets you out of the bed in the morning—is serving me. Maybe in the hope of some treat if you exceed my expectations, darling?”
“Well, I might... I might be able to help you in some way, Miss,” I replied, enticed by the idea of being rewarded with treats but wary of a big commitment.
“I'm thinking one day a week of housework, which will include cleaning, laundry, ironing, and so on.”
“Er...”
“And just think, darling, you'll be handwashing my most intimate apparel. Hmm? Obviously, I would not condone you sniffing, without my explicit approval, and I would punish you if I saw you doing it... but I wouldn't be there to see, would I? And I don't think you are always entirely honest with me, Frank, so your denial that you would never do such a thing isn't worth much.”
My penis was throbbing inside its cage. “I... I wouldn't sniff, Miss,” I nervously lied.
“No, of course, not,” she replied, sarcastically, while smiling mischievously. “And if you're worried about the financial side, I won't charge you for cleaning my house. There will be nothing for you to give me, other than your labour for free. A real mistress would charge her little paypig, but I'm not like that. Does this sound fair? You become my cleaner.”
“Okay, Miss, I will.”
“Good—but you could sound more enthusiastic, Frank! Let me hear you say thank you properly.”
“Er... thank you, Miss Fuller, for allowing me to spend a couple of days a week cleaning your house.”
She smiled. “And? What else are you thankful for?”
“Er... thank you, Miss Fuller, for allowing me to work for you without having to pay you. It's... it's very generous of you, Miss.”
“Judging from your grimacing, I conclude that your thank you is heartfelt, darling.” She was right; the thought of being compelled to serve her, with no financial reward, was so arousing that my penis was intent on breaking the bars of its prison.
“Sorry, Miss,” I muttered, and she smiled sweetly in reply.
“Each cleaning day will be just five hours of work, plus a one-hour lunchbreak. This seems very fair to me, and not too onerous, but there's to be no slacking.”
“I understand, Miss.”
“Bring your own lunch, by the way, my generosity towards you does not extend that far,” she sniggered. “Oh! I forget, you will also need to do my weekly grocery shop. Do that on another day so it's doesn't interrupt cleaning.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“And since I'm subsidising you to do the cleaning, I think it's only fair you pay for my shopping. I can't let my little paypig get away without some financial contribution to my wellbeing. Okay, Frank?”
She made it sound like I was doing her a favour. “Yes, Miss,” I meekly replied.
“I will make a detailed list of what cleaning has to be done. And I'll give you a front door key.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“By the way, the doorbell camera will tell me when you come and go, so don't think you can cheat me with the hours. And I will be inspecting your work, and I'm expecting an exceptionally high standard,” she explained.
“Er... okay, but—”
“Mondays are the days for cleaning and laundry, and you can choose your own day to do the shopping. I don't see why I shouldn't trust you to take some decisions.”
“Yes, okay, Miss.”
“Make them all weekdays, though, because I don't want you under my feet at weekends when I'm trying to relax.” She was laughing, but not maliciously. It was just her way.
“I'm pleased we've sorted this out, Frank. As a reward for offering your services, I'm going to let you cum, darling, and without humping. Would you like that?”
“Oh, my, God! Yes, please, Miss.”
“Come on,” she urged, “jeans and knickers off.”
I didn't need telling twice and soon I was standing naked from the waist down. She pulled up the fine gold chain that hung around her neck, revealing the key to my cage. Seconds later, I was free and bearing a full-blown erection that she stared at disdainfully. “I don't want to watch, so you may spend five minutes in the downstairs cloakroom doing whatever it is you have to do. Off you go, and clean-up afterwards. I don't want to find the wall and floor covered in your jism. I'm timing you... starting now.”
I went to the cloakroom, grabbed a handful of toilet tissue, and started rubbing my erection. I estimate it took less than thirty seconds before I shot a massive load of cum into the wad of tissue. The utter humiliation I should have felt was displaced by the sense of relief I experienced. A load had literally been removed from me.
I cleaned myself up the best I could and hurried back to Jessica who was now holding a bag of frozen vegetables. As she spoke, so she pressed the bag against my penis to remove the last traces of my erection. “Good boy,” she commented, as if talking to a puppy that was undergoing toilet training. “Does that feel better?”
“My God, yes it does. Thank you so much, Miss.”
“Wonderful,” she exclaimed, clicking shut the little padlock. “Just don't expect this every couple of weeks, darling. You need to learn to go longer between wanks.
“You still owe me for fine that I imposed on you for not keeping your own house clean. As you haven't the money, then I will find you something you can do for two hours tomorrow to pay off your fine.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Come round at 1 PM tomorrow.”
“Yes, Miss.”
