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Massaging Trish.

Men are like, confused cobras-they want to strike, but just kind of wriggle.

So I, like looked at him semi passionately, and I said something like "Oh, Mister Baines (That's his name, Brinker Caldwell Baines the Third). "I'm so excited by your magazine, I want to give you a blowjob, and I hope you don't think I'm too forward."

Once the bastard's dick was out, I grabbed a stone paperweight from his desk and mashed it on the coffee table, and Brink burst into tears. Then I slammed it again, and I picked up a sharp letter opener, running it up and down his shaft (for of course he was even more excited now, right?)

"You're such a hypocrite, you make me ill." I said to poor Brinker. I poked the letter opener into his balls a little bit, and then smiled evilly. "What people like you are like makes me sick...but maybe I'll let you off."

Then I pulled my skirt up and my panties down, and let him fuck me, and after work, we went to his place and made love for about seventy-two hours straight. He called in sick for both of us. And then he called in sick for me permanently...I get my salary, like a disability check that comes to the house or something. But I don't have to go nowhere.

At first I let Brink fuck me a lot, and then I cut him down-and THEN I noticed how much attention he gave to the chastity device pages, so I asked him about it, and he was very excited. Yeah, he wanted one bad. Till I locked it on him, then it became an "issue".

Brink's one of those dudes, the Alpha types who like to be in charge. Tell everyone else what to do, get as much snatch as he can catch, all that kind of thing. He's also a compulsive masturbator.

Dig it-instead of jerking off and dreaming of being put in chastity, you GET put in chastity, and like Aesop said, we would indeed be sorry if all our wishes were gratified, right? It's a tough compromise for poor Brink, though.

I admit, he's tried hard to bring me around to his way of thinking. He believes there should be a system-I should let him cum once a week, maybe jerking off, and then once a month I should let him fuck me. And then he'll "allow" me to have my dalliances.

I prefer the plan where he cums when I think he should-which might not be very often. I enjoy keeping the guy on his toes, and he really is much more dedicated to me that way. It's wonderful having a brilliant, older , compassionate man devoted to me, and I think subconsciously, or perhaps not even that subconsciously, he likes being kept off balance.

But then I catch him...I see where he's been trying different keys in his chastity lock, and it's so damned disappointing. One night last month I was so angry-I felt so betrayed! The belt was tampered with, there were porn magazines under the bed-and I was furious.

"Really, it's all circumstantial" Brinker protested, but I would have none of it.

"Take your clothes off and lie on your back on the bed-that's right, I'm going to cuff your hands above your head, and we're going to show your dick why "he" shouldn't tempt you like this." I said grimly. I took a hickory switch off the dresser-it had been in the bathtub all night, getting nice and wet, and I took a whack at his dick.

He moaned, gritting his teeth as the switch snapped on his glans. Brink moaned, and tried to pull away from his bonds, but he was quite securely locked down. I brought down the switch down again, in the middle of his shaft, and he howled in acute agony.

"I keep telling you, Brinker, it's up to me to arrange your orgasms for you. You are a poor scheduler of that sort of thing. Your deal is rockets and stuff. Not when you should be masturbating." WHACK! SMACK! "I know that you are really aroused, especially by looking at yours truly, eh?"

I opened my robe slightly so Brink could see the swell of my cleavage. I licked my lips at him, and he stared at me with just the most intense desire. I knew if he opened his mouth he would probably proposition me, and that couldn't happen...bad boy!

I lifted the switch again.

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