Rain hammered against the floor-to-ceiling windows. The water droplets filtering Arlington's lights across the Potomac turned them into a kaleidoscope of gold and crimson bokeh. On the other side of the glass, two women sat in intimate seclusion, basking in the amber glow of chandelier light. Sergeant Major Williams traced one blood-red nail around the rim of her wine glass. Her dewy, glistening crimson lipstick smeared the edge of the glass, leaving behind a distinctive imprint of a kiss. Her gaze never left Major Garcia's flushed face across the pristine tablecloth.
At Sergeant Major’s request, Elaine traded her customary blue Class A Army Service Uniform for a dinner date outfit, a dress that would make seasoned courtesans whisper behind their hands. The burgundy backless garment, crafted from pure silk so liquid it seemed to breathe against her skin, whispered indecent promises. Easily worth one month of salary, it embraced her body like a second skin, mercilessly exposing rather than concealing every topography of her flesh. The warm light emanating from the chandeliers refracted against the fabric, transforming it into molten garnet that pooled and flowed across her body, drawing hungry eyes from every corner of the restaurant to linger on her silhouette.
Two razor-thin straps of burgundy silk crossed behind her neck, knotted into a pretty bow that seemed to beg for fingers to unravel it, its tail end draping against the lush expanse of her exposed back. The neckline plunged between her breasts, breathtakingly revealing the shadowed valley of her cleavage, leaving behind a silhouette of perky mounds. The silk clung desperately to her nipples, which stood at rigid attention beneath the fabric, their gold piercings pressing against the smooth surface.
The dress plunging back exposed the gleaming stainless steel waistband of her chastity belt, which visibly cinched her waist and bit into her flesh, framing it like a trophy on display. The thick cable attached to the back of the waistband was laid bare. It ran down between her sculpted glutes, connecting to the perforated shield that peeked shyly below her skirt, denying anyone access to her own genitalia.
The hem barely contained the swell of her firm buttocks. While walking in public, Elaine would frequently hook two fingers beneath the silk to tug her dress downward to maintain a street-legal appearance in adherence to local law, a performance that aroused her as it undoubtedly attracted strangers’ gazes. Her hairless legs, left bare by the absence of stockings, trembled as the absence of stockings left her skin hypersensitive to even the slightest breeze.
As was her habit since she started wearing a chastity belt, Elaine wore no panties beneath the silk fabric that barely constituted street-legal attire, fully exposing the contours and outlines of her chastity belt from every angle imaginable. From the belt's rear opening, a tiny golden chain with weighted rhinestones dangled from the base of her anal plug, dancing rhythmically with every movement she made. The carnal jewelry, precisely sixteen centimeters long, dragged well past her hemline. Its gentle tinkling drew eyes to the glistening trails of arousal on her inner thighs.
Per the TCX program protocol, the Major verified that her butt plug's electromagnetic lock was engaged and its internal plate splayed wide, anchoring the device deeply within her orifice to prevent unauthorized removal. Her fingers traced the icy metal of her waistband, finding the familiar raised bump where the old-school padlock sat, ensuring it was fully secured. She instinctively tugged at the steel waistband, fighting futilely to drive the vaginal dildo deeper inside her, only to whimper as the dulled sensation teased but refused to satisfy. The knowledge that her body was property of the US Army, denied from any sexual pleasure, made her thighs quiver with an even more insatiable need.
Guilt twisted in her belly as she imagined Sergeant Major Williams' fingers tracing the cold, rigid steel between her thighs, finding only denial where desire pooled. Her signature on the TCX contract had sealed away two of her orifices from unauthorized use, including from herself, surrendering their control to the military. Still, her tongue darted across her lower lip as she cataloged what remained available: the wet heat of her mouth and the soft valley between her breasts. She tensed as she imagined Williams' crisp uniform against her bare skin.
For a change, she opted to wear five-inch, platformless heels that exposed her toenails. The black patent leather straps crisscrossed over her arched feet, wrapping around her ankles, secured with tiny gold buckles that matched her jewelry. These five-inch “fuck-me pumps” screamed beautiful agony that made her military-issued six-inch stilettos feel like comfortable combat boots by comparison. The unforgiving design forced her hips to sway with each step, driving her anal plug mercilessly deeper inside her, eliciting audible gasps of desperate submission with every movement.
Her military bun remained pulled tight against her scalp, save for a few strands that framed her beautiful face, deliberately exposing the vulnerable hollow where neck met shoulder. A gold choker encircled her throat, a collar of submission, from which twin gold chains descended. The glittering metal slithered downward, their weight dragging through the slick valley between her heaving bosom, before vanishing beneath her silk dress. The chains were anchored to the barbells spearing through her nipples.
Gold teardrops, ostentatious and weighted at their ends, swung heavily from her pierced earlobes. Their considerable length, eighteen centimeters end-to-end, brushed against her bare shoulders with each subtle movement of her head. Each caress against her collarbone sparked sensations, echoing the presence of her gold choker and the ornate jeweled pendant hanging from her butt plug, all in matching hues.
Meanwhile, Sergeant Major Williams commanded attention without uttering a syllable, exceeding every fantasy Elaine had entertained during lonely nights. Dressed in her Enlisted USMC dress blues, her medals clinked softly against each other, telling stories of valor that her glistening crimson lips never needed to part to reveal. The seven red-and-gold stripes on her wrist cuffs and the embroidery of her rank insignia spoke volumes about her authority.
Her white blouse, pristine and creaseless even after twelve hours of duty, created a luminous contrast against the lapels of her tailored black jacket. At her throat, the black neck tab decorated the blouse's white collar, its crisp edges forming a perfect inverted triangle against the jacket's lapels. At her wrists, the white cuffs of her blouse peeked from beneath the sleeves, contrasting against the dark wool of her tunic. Three golden buttons on the decorative scarlet wrist flaps seemingly winked at Elaine.
Sergeant Major Williams’ ceremonial white belt, forbidden outside formal parades, cinched her waist in this off-duty engagement. Absent during her earlier duties at the military base, the belt sliced across the midnight-black uniform, its brass buckle gleaming like a war trophy at her midsection. Beneath her jacket, a corset mercilessly sculpted her form into a perfect hourglass, its steel bones pressing visible lines against the thick wool.
She had transformed a uniform designed to diminish and subdue female Marines' femininity into a weapon of seduction. The four golden buttons of her custom-tailored tunic strained against her heaving breasts. Her skirt's seams struggled to contain the generous curves of her hips. The jacket's flared hem emphasized the dramatic contrast of her savagely compressed waist, accentuated by the illicit white parade belt, strategically positioned between the lush expanse of her chest and hips.
Her legs, sculpted by years of military service, were sheathed in fully-fashioned stockings. The sheer, non-elastic nylon featured blood-red backseams that slashed the back of her legs like fresh wounds against a pale backdrop, matching the scarlet accents of her USMC jacket. These crimson lines marched from the base of her heels, climbing up the middle of her toned calves in perfect symmetry, before disappearing beneath her knee-length skirt like a tease. Her regulation stilettos, balanced on six-inch heels that could puncture flesh, were so meticulously polished that the black patent leather gleamed under the warm glow of the restaurant lighting. The bright crimson soles, unauthorized for wear by regular servicemembers, were an unmistakable giveaway that the Sergeant Major was also enrolled in the TCX program.
The VIP section of the Fire-In-The-Hole Diner guaranteed absolute seclusion, with plush leather booths bathed in amber lighting that carved dramatic shadows, flattering the smooth texture of the women's skin. Sultry jazz pulsed through the air, saxophone notes turning raw and desperate like a lover's moan of pleasure. Under the table, their legs slid against each other as the two women reminisced about the sexual energy of their youth, an unbridled lust ready to be unleashed.
When Elaine reached for her wine, the dress gaped open to reveal a brazen display of gold bars spearing through dark, swollen areolae in their full glory. The Officer's calculated maneuver was a resounding success as she heard the Marine’s breath grow heavier, her gaze locked onto the exposed twin peaks with such hunger.
Under the table, Elaine's bare calf brushed against Williams' nylon-sheathed leg, sliding along that impossibly smooth fabric. She bit her lip to suppress a moan as Williams' foot hooked deliberately behind her calf in response. Williams' seamed stockings scraped against her bare skin like a match striking flint. Elaine's womanhood flooded her chastity shield with an involuntary release of liquid excitement.
