A Chaste Slave to My Ex Ch. 03

Hello everyone! It's a series on everyday life's event in a Female Lead Relationship with a strict chastity regime.

Please show your understanding as English is not my native language.

Any feedback, suggestions, ideas, comments, remarks and constructive criticism are welcome. All characters in this story are adults.

Thank you in advance!

Anthea comes home late at noon; her sweat-soaked flesh speaks of the heat outside. I am on my knees, greeting her with alacrity, and initiating an ardent kiss of her toes, tops and soles of her feet.

Anthea collapses on to the couch and heaves a heavy sigh, stretching her legs towards me.

"Boy, massage my feet, I am at my end," she commands heavy with fatigue.

I kneel immediately, taking off her pale blue sandals and placing her feet in my lap. As my fingers start massaging the soles of her feet, I feel the tension slowly ease out of her body, but it's obvious the weight of her worry is still there.

"I am so tired physically and mentally," she utters, her voice barely above a whisper, with half-closed eyes. "The job is sucking me dry, and the PhD writing is endless; it is as though there is no exit from it."

I smile soft and comforting. "Lady, holidays are coming soon; it's just a few days more, and you'll be allowed to take some rest and enjoy your break."

She opens her eyes for an instant and bursts into laughter, though her voice is laced with irritation. "Holidays. ha! If only I could forget about work during them. Still, at least it'd be great to have just a few days free from worries."

She then pulls out from her purse a small, silver ring bell and says, "Here, boy, take it," extending it to me with a snicker. "I want this bell, in whichever room I be, placed there. As long as you hear it, from that day on, you run to me immediately. Understand?"

"Yes, Lady Anthea," I nod, taking the bell and rising as does she. She walks toward the bedroom, and I prepare her coffee.

Within a few minutes, she reenters the living room wearing a deep purple satin camisole; its slender straps lie delicately on her shoulders. It cascades down with soft fluidity over her torso before stopping just above her hips. Under the camisole, she is wearing a simple turquoise pair of lace-trimmed panties that cling tightly to her form, leaving little to the imagination.

"Cook for me something, boy," she says, walking by as if it is now the only thing you care about, her comfort. "I want pasta. Something light and easy, with a lemon-butter sauce."

"Yes Lady." I answer with an eagerness.

Anthea sipped coffee while watching me prepare for her.

"You're going to sauté garlic first, then add butter. Once it starts bubbling, I want you to squeeze in lemon and toss the pasta."

I prepare the meal, keeping my head slightly bowed. "Yes Lady, thank you for the instructions."

"And sprinkle some Parmesan on top before serving." Her voice is serious but with a note of satisfaction as she watches me again getting ready to serve her.

Anthea leans against the kitchen counter, a little way off, supervising me. Her eyes flick over my movements; her attention is keen.

"It's ironic, isn't it? There was a time when I used to cook for you... how things have turned around. Now I just sit here and enjoy the sight of you cooking for me."

I turn away briefly and catch her smirk, widened across her lips. "Yes, my Lady," I reply as I go about sautéing the garlic as instructed.

She shifts, her gaze following my hands in motions from stove to ingredients. "I kinda like watching you cook for me now especially in that apron," she says, an edge of playfulness, almost a seductive sound in her voice. "It's romantic in a weird sort of way. and honestly, a little arousing." She chuckles lowly.

She goes and stretches out on the couch, I serve at the coffee table-her coffee and water in a tray and then I curtsey, causing her to stifle laughter. "I'll answer a few messages while you are cooking," she says casually. "Work silently. I don't want to hear a sound from you unless I ring the bell."

I give a slight curtsey and withdraw into the kitchen to await further commands, well aware that I am only a ring away from responding to whatever need she may have.

I set the table out and serve her meal. She sits down in the chair, and I stand beside her, my hands clasped in front on my apron. As Anthea enjoys the meal, she eats each bite with slow deliberation, occasionally glancing at me. After a few moments, she speaks; her tone is tinged with amusement.

"I must admit, boy, your cooking is getting better. This is not bad at all," she says, swirling the pasta around her fork. "But don't get cocky. You still have a long way to go before I can say you're good at it."

I nod, acknowledging what she said, a sense of pride welling up inside me despite the subtle put-down.

"Thank you, Lady; such kind words from you do inspire me."

Having eaten her fill, Anthea stretches out on the couch, sinking into the cushions with her phone in hand. While I begin clearing the table, she scrolls through messages and social media feeds, chuckling occasionally at something that catches her fancy, paying you no mind--until she does.

My hands are deep in soapy water, washing dishes, and her voice cuts through the clinking of the plates. "Boy, scratch my calf. It's itching," she orders from the couch, her voice flat as if my compliance is a given.

I wipe my hands hastily on the apron, approach her in all haste, drop on my knees beside the couch, and scratch her calf. She waves me off after a few seconds without looking from her phone.

I resume washing up, but in a while, I hear the unmistakable tinny clang of the bell from the living room. I stop, wipe my hands on the apron, and run to her.

"Buy me some cigarettes," she says briefly, still not looking at me and scrol-ling on her phone. "Don't take too long."

I nod, quickly undo the apron, slip out of the apartment, and run to the nearest shop to buy her favorite brand. Coming back, I hand her the pack; with a cold "Good," she flips it onto the coffee table. I strip, don the apron, and go back to the dishes again, but again the bell rings.

"Hand me the TV remote," she says with a lazy smirk. I turn to her and see the remote barely a foot away from her hand, yet I know better than to make her wait. I fetch it for her in a hurry and place it in her hand. She flashes a great, almost mocking grin at me before returning her attention to the television.

I have washed up and started cleaning up. Anthea remains on the couch, ringing the bell every so often. "Boy," she says again, this time with two pulls on the bell. "You know what? I feel like some chocolate. Go out and buy one for me, would you? Dark chocolate. The good kind."

Again I dress and hurry out, returning with the chocolate she wanted. She takes it, making no effort to thank me, but I can see in her eyes the pleasure as she breaks off a piece to eat.

I strip down to naked but for cage and apron, resume cleaning, and she does not cease her demands. "Boy, fetch me some water," she calls, lounging with one leg draped over the arm of the couch.

I rush to get her a glass of cold water, only to have her say, "Make sure it's chilled. You know I don't like it room temperature."

I rush to the fridge, throw some ice cubes into the glass, and return it to her. She nods and gives the glass a silent reception as she starts gulping from it.

Some minutes later, the bell rings again. "Boy, my shoulders are stiff," she says, dropping her phone. "Give them a quick massage."

I obey, drop to my knees behind her, and start rubbing her shoulders; she slowly slumps deeper into the couch. After some minutes, she dismisses me to attend to my chores.

For some time, a blissful silence reigned, until the tinkling of the little bell occurs once more. "Boy," she says; this time, her voice cuts ice. "I need my phone charger. It's in the bedroom."

Without wasting any time, I hurry to the bedroom, get the charger, and just hand it over to her as she reaches for it and goes on in her usual manner of scrolling through the phone.

A few seconds later, the ringing of the bell starts again. "Get me a cushion. I want to prop up my feet."

I pluck the cushion from underneath the chair seat and fall to my knees, gently lifting her feet to slide the cushion under them. She doesn't say anything, doesn't even acknowledge that she's uncomfortable; she just lies back and lets me get on with it. She regards me with some amusement, some indifference.

I finish vacuuming, and the bell rings again. I rush to the living room and find Anthea with a cigarette on her lips. I hurry to get a lighter and light her cigarette; she waves me off and I head into the bathroom to clean the toilet seat.

Less than a minute later, the bell rings again, and I run to the living room.

"The ashtray. I don't feel like reaching for it."

The ashtray is only a foot away but I dutifully retrieve it and place it on the couch so she's fully attended to. Contented, Anthea puffing a cloud of smoke as she lies back, full in control, and tap the ashes in the ashtray as I head into the bathroom resume cleaning.

Within minutes, the bell rings again, and immediately I run to the sitting room, falling at her feet. "You know what? You think it is easy for me to see a handsome and masculine guy walking around the house naked all the time? I am a girl with an active sex life and human biological needs, you know. Bring on the blindfold and the phallus in the bedroom; I want to feel something good inside me."

I am excited. Rushing to the guest room, entering the bedroom, I hand her the phallus and blindfold cloth. Anthea sits cross-legged in the bed.

Anthea, her lips playing with a sneering smile, sets to work tightening the straps of the phallus gag around my head. I bite on one edge of the phallus inside my mouth, and she says, almost cooing, heavy with sarcasm: "There, that should make you act right, boy. Give me a good show. I'm expecting to be pleased. and I'm sure this won't be too difficult, considering how you've improved in making me happy, yes?"

She strokes the jelly on the phallus deliberately, smearing it evenly, her eyes fixed on me. Her smirk spreads into a soft laugh. "Too bad it isn't your real cock, huh? But this will do. At least the phallus might actually satisfy me."

With that, she blindfolds me, really putting me in the dark. The senses are heightened: the sliding of her panties down her legs, the rustling of fabric when she tosses them aside, and that faint, intoxicating scent of her arousal filling my nostrils. Firmly, she pushes my head, between her thighs and guides the phallus toward her slick entrance.

She sighs in satisfaction as the phallus presses against her wetness. "Oh, look at that. Already so eager," she mocks. "Come on, boy, push it in. Slowly now. Let me feel it."

My head is forced forward, and I start to push the phallus into her gently, slowly, my motions controlled by the tight grip she maintains around the back of my head. Every push is slow and it's deliberate to allow her time to savor this feeling that this dildo slides inside her.

"Ahhh, yes." she says in a whisper-thick tone with pleasure. "You're getting better at this; maybe I'll actually come this time."

A moan of pleasure escapes her lips.

"It's almost like you're fucking me, isn't it?" she teases. Her breath quickens. "But, of course, it's not you, is it? It's this--" She moans louder, her voice more ragged as I push the phallus deeper into her. "This toy is doing what you could never do."

Her legs begin to quiver some as I gradually increase the tempo, forcing the phallus into her more and more quickly, each stroke harder inside of her. The aroma of her begins to increase more and more, and her moaning becomes more spasmodic, filling the room with the sound of her pleasure. "Mmm, faster, boy. Fuck me harder," she commands, her voice low but insistent.

The phallus slips in and out of her wet pussy, and I feel the reactions of her body, quickening her breathing, her moans ringing louder. My cock is twitching in its tight cage.

"Yes, that's it," she gasps, her clutches on my head tighten. "Harder! Faster! Show me what you are good for!"

Ecstasy edges into her voice as the taunts cut closer to bone. "Too bad it's not your tiny, useless cock fucking me.." But this. mmm, this is filling me perfectly." She laughs through her moans, her words cutting deep, but I can hear the ring of real pleasure in her voice, her body responding to the phallus in ways I could never make it respond.

Her moans became screams at the peak of her orgasm, raw and unrestrained. "Oh, fuck. yes! Just like that!" she screamed high-pitched, teetering at the edge of delirium. "More. more! Harder, you worthless fuck! Make me come!"

My own arousal, impossible to bear, my caged cock twitching futilely, throbbing in its prison. I feel frustrated and desperate, I channel my frustration to her pleasure, my head is mechanically moving to please her, my body is responding to each and every one of her commands.

"YES!" she screams, bucking against the phallus as I thrust harder and faster, the dildo plunging deep inside her over and over. "I'm going to come! I'm-FUCK!" Her back arches off the bed, thighs squeezing my head as her orgasm crashes over her in waves. Her body convulses wildly as she moans and gasps, her voice nearly breaking as she screams out in ecstasy.

"Ohhh, fuck yes!" she groans out, her words punctuated by heavy breathing. "You-pathetic-little boy you've actually made me cum!" The laugh that escaped her was breathless and triumphant, full of mocking satisfaction.

Finally, when she lies still, she pushes me away. I kneel in the dark, humiliated, yet painfully excited, as she lounges back, basking in the afterglow of her orgasm. She pulls off the blindfold. Her eyes gleam with an edge of hilarity and gratification. "Well," she says between long, regulating breaths, "that was. quite a performance."

She stretches her leg, and she presses the phallus down towards me while staring into my eyes.

"Looks like you're good for something, finally- even if it's not with your own cock." She smirks, leaving the weight of those words hanging in the air having left me knelt, aching, and completely dominated.

Anthea sits at the edge of the bed, her legs crossed somewhat elegantly, her eyes directly fastening on the steel cage encasing my swollen, red-tinged penis. A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, and her eyes glint with amusement at the sight before her. "Well, well, look at this," she says soft but laced with mockery. "It would appear at least one part of your body is quite enjoying the show, isn't it?"

She bends slightly forward, her eyes narrowing in mock interest to study how my skin bulges between the bars of the cage, the reddened head of my penis exposed and leaking drops of pre-cum. Quite visibly the sight amuses her. "Such a pretty sight. The head's all red. it looks like it's just bursting with feelings."

She stops, striking a dramatic pose, her sweet voice dripping with sarcasm. "And those drops," she points to the precum oozing slowly down the cage, "such cute little 'tears of happiness'."

I fidget uncomfortably in the inspection pose, my legs wide open, hands clasped behind my head, gaze forward. I can feel the weight of her stare.

"Do you know why I call them that?" she asks playfully. "Because your poor little cock is SO happy to serve me, so grateful that it's been given the honor of being denied while I enjoy my orgasms. Those tears. are its way of saying thank you."

She gives a mock pout, as if sympathetic with my predicament, while continuing to study the cage. "But, oh dear, look at this, the head looks so red. it almost looks angry," she says with a wide-eyed look of terror. "I am frighten even to touch it. Do you think it is angry with me? Does it despise me for locking it up like this?"

I don't hesitate but answer at once, my voice full of reverence. "No, Lady. I would never hate you. It is an honor serving you in this intimate way. My cock is not angry, it is grateful. It belongs to you."

Anthea smirks wider, perhaps genuinely liking the color that has risen to my cheeks. "Oh, how cute," she says in a voice just oozing sarcasm."But you know, I'd love to let it out just for a little while. It looks so wild, as if it's struggling to get itself out of that cage." She chuckles softly, putting her hand over her mouth in feigned surprise.

"But. I'm not sure I can handle it. What if it's a monster? What if it attacks me? Rape me maybe?" She bursts into laughter, falling backwards and really enjoying herself at my expense.

It is only when she has finally calmed down that the mischief sparkles once more in her eyes, with her head cocking sideways. "Tell me, boy," she teases, "do you want to cum?"

Just the word hangs in the air, and my pulse rises as I realize the gravity of the answer I am about to give. I suck a lungful of air and answer truthfully, "Yes, Lady, I want to cum. But I will never break your rules. Even in the cage, it is possible to cum, but I vow never to break your trust."

Anthea's eyes widen fractionally, and her amusement becomes surprise. "Oh really?" she says, her tone incredulous. "You mean to tell me you can actually cum in the cage?"

"Yes Lady it is possible you know. I have done it when I was experiment on chastity devices by myself."

Her laughter fades into a thoughtful smile. "How fascinating. And it is pleasurable? I mean like an actual orgasm?"

I answer honesty. "No, exactly like an orgasm Lady. The pleasure is strong, hmm... I would rate it about seven out of ten compared to the pleasure coming from an orgasm."

She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a stern whisper, "Listen carefully to me, boy, if I ever get even the slightest suspicion that you've disobeyed me and cum without my permission, you'll never see me again. Do you understand?"

I nod my head furiously; my heart starts racing as her words sink in. "Yes, Lady. I will never disobey you. I take an oath, please believe me."

She holds her gaze on my face for a moment longer, her eyes glinting with her sharp, merciless intensity, before a smile breaks through once more into her grim features. "Good," she says, easing back against the bed. "Perhaps I should weigh your balls from time to time, just to make sure you're not lying to me. If they are swollen, full and heavy. well, we'll know you have been behaving, won't we?"

I swallow hard, feeling both the pressure and the absurdity of the situation as her eyes gleam with mock authority. "Yes, of course yes, Lady Anthea."

Then, casual as though she were offering me milk with my cookies, she asks, "Do you want to experience an erection now? Shall I let your cock breathe a little?"

My mind flashes back to her words from yesterday-the reason I have been denied an erection. "Lady," I say, showing respect to her, "yesterday you said I had to wait another week because I have been sloppy with ironing and folding your clothes.

Anthea sighs softly and mockingly, shaking her head with exaggerated sympathy. "Oh, I remember," she says in a voice full of mock pity. "Such a shame, isn't it? I'd love to give you an erection right now. but rules are rules." She shrugs, her voice back to playful once more. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before messing up my ironing, hmm?"

She leans forward again, her voice dropping to a whisper as her eyes fall upon my caged cock. "For now. I suppose you will just have to remain this way. All red, twitching, and helpless." Then she lies in the bed, eyes half-closed.

"Go back to your tasks lover-boy while I am taking a nap after this earth-shattering orgasm."