Chapter 8

Tuesday, February 15^th

At lunchtime I managed to head down to the phone box. Cue a dose of extreme paranoia every step of the way. I guess it was understandable when I spotted a couple of MCF officers on the other side of the street but in all honesty there were more interested in the guy they had stopped and spread-eagled against a wall for a search than they were in me. I just put my head down and carried on. What was harder to explain was the nervousness I felt passing any woman.

I got to the phone box and made like I was using the thing, trying to look nonchalant while trying to wedge the papers I had in the gap. I ticked the five bar gate again.

As I left the phone box, I practically fell over a woman that was waiting to use it. I hadn’t seen her waiting. I wondered just what she had seen, if anything.

“Can’t you be more careful?” she barked.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” she said, “but thanks for asking.”

Afterwards, I felt a bit pleased with myself. I hadn’t panicked and since I didn’t hear the wail of sirens from MCF patrol cars, I think she hadn’t noticed what I was doing. I’ll have to watch out more in future though.

Thursday, February 17^th

Lucy called me into her office this morning. “Good news,” she said, “I’ve sold you.”

I wasn’t sure if she was joking. “I’m pretty sure that New Order haven’t actually made slavery legal again,” I said.

“You’re going to do some consultancy. Your last sponsor wants you to do some work in the department advising them on what service companies do, so they design their bid documents better. Sort of poacher turned gamekeeper. You’ll need to spend a week up in London.”

I said I wasn’t sure if I could do that and that I would have to check with Jill, but Lucy said Angie was going to do that herself.

Then I said, “But can you spare me from here?”

Lucy smirked. “Don’t kid yourself. You’re not indispensable. There’s others I can take down to the stationery store if I feel the need.”

Friday February 18^th

In the phone box today there was the sign for “we need a meeting” (one of the five bar gates scribbled out). The arrangement was for me to stop by in a particular store that allowed unaccompanied males. I made out I was looking for some groceries and eventually bumped into Cara in the canned vegetables aisle. She had Harry on a leash. He looked pretty uncomfortable with that, as though he’d only agreed to it so that they would look inconspicuous.

“Thanks for all the stuff,” Cara said.

Harry was looking around in a bored sort of way but he had the air of someone keeping an eye open for anyone looking to eavesdrop on our talk. I told Cara about the interview with the hatchet faced Ms Collins. She sounded pleased, especially that the department were running round in circles looking for a rat in their midst. Then I told her about the trip to London and that really got her excited. “Find out what you can. Don’t take any risks, just pick up any details, people, jobs, anything really. When you get back let us know in the usual way.”

I probably shouldn’t have said anything. Now I’m nervous as a cat with a vet’s appointment.

Saturday February 19^th

“So, Lucy has found something useful for you to do.” Jill was waiting for me after I got back with the weekly shopping. “Why don’t you put that lot away, make some coffee and tell me about it?”

It didn’t take long to put the stuff I’d bought in the cupboards in the kitchen and to make coffee. I took it through to the living room. Jill was sprawled on the couch. The television was on showing some kids cartoon. I took her coffee across to her. She peered at the tray as much as to say ‘I don’t think I said you could have one,’ but didn’t actually say it. “So how long will you be up in town?”

“About a week, I think. That’s what Lucy told me, anyway.” I replied. “Didn’t she say?”

“No.”

“Sorry,” I said, though I wasn’t sure why I was apologising.

“Well, you’d better make sure the place is clean before you go. I’ve got friends coming over on Tuesday and I wouldn’t want them to think you’re a complete slut.”

“OK,” I said. There was no point in upsetting her, I thought, I’d be back soon enough.

“Well, it’s a shame your not going to be around, There’s a few ideas we were discussing at the sponsor’s group that I was thinking of trying out. Still they’ll wait until you get back.” She smiled. I wasn’t reassured.

I suppose I could pretend I was heartbroken. I wasn’t.

Sunday February 20^th

Spent most of the day cleaning house. Jill was out. Sally, her mother, stopped by. I explained that Jill wasn’t around but she insisted on coming in to wait. I’m sure she could tell I was embarrassed but that didn’t deter her. In fact she seemed to take advantage of it.

Sally sat down on the couch in the living room, lounging back like she owned the place. “So, how are things working out for you and my daughter?”

“I think she’s getting to grips with the whole sponsorship thing, Mrs Guest.”

“Is that all she’s getting to grips with?” Her tone was unmistakeable, even if her innocent expression suggested that any dubious interpretation would be entirely my own fault.

It annoyed me rather and I snapped back, “If you mean, am I shagging your daughter, or rather as it would be these days, is she shagging me, the answer is ‘No!’ I’m sorry to disappoint you or pleased to reassure you whichever is appropriate.”

“Neither disappointed or reassured, thank you, just better informed.” She wasn’t at all perturbed by my sharp response. “Does that mean you’re available?”

“I’m told that the right form is for you to ask my sponsor. I’m sure she wouldn’t want me making decisions like that. Isn’t it called MDDM, or something?”

“Well, it’s nice that you keep up with these things. My husband doesn’t have a clue. Can’t adjust to the new way of the world and hasn’t really woken up to the fact that the male sexual organ most women are interested in is the tongue – and I don’t mean for flirtatious chat.”

I thought that was a bit rich, given the turn of the conversation and the fact that I’m sure, during our chat, Sally had managed to surreptitiously undo one of the buttons on her blouse to show a bit more cleavage. Luckily Jill came back then. I made some excuse about needing to get back to the house work, to which Sally responded, “What a shame,” but at least it allowed me to get out of her way. Heaven only knows what Sally and Jill were talking about though –she stayed for over an hour.

Monday February 21^st

Worries about the predatory Mrs Guest are behind me for a while at any rate. I’ve got started on the project up in London.

Luckily I didn’t have any ideas of a quiet life during my trip to London, so I haven’t been disappointed. First off, I’m going to be busy. Angie has set up a whole series of meetings with different parts of the department. The idea is for me to give a talk on how we approach the bid management process, the sort if decisions we have to make in house and the timescales that needs. It seems they’ve had a lot of problems with getting procurements done in line with their own timing plans. I’m not surprised, it was something we’d had trouble because of last year. It was nice that Angie remembered that I’d got a point of view on it, really.

I asked her at coffee break if she wasn’t afraid that I’d be contaminating the department with my “shit MDDM”. She said, not at all. She wasn’t expecting me to make any decisions, so that set of personal inadequacies didn’t really bother her.

Angie has arranged for me to stay in a hotel near their office in Westminster. Well, hotel is probably the wrong word, hostel more like. I get a bed in a cubicle in a dormitory with a load of other blokes. The Department uses it for those members of staff that don’t have a private sponsor, it’s a bit better than the sort of accommodation they use for directly Government sponsored men, apparently, but not much.

Tuesday February 22nd

The hostel dormitory was quiet this morning. Almost everyone was up before me and had already left. It’s really cold in here, drafty too. The windows don’t fit properly and there are gaps around the door frames. Whoever had this cubicle before me has tried to make it a bit more comfortable by filling up the gaps in the panels with screwed up paper. The gaps are so big that they’ve had to use a lot. Some of it looked like the same buff coloured official papers I’d seen in the office. I smoothed out a couple of pieces. They were pages from briefing papers, mainly from the Treasury as far as I could work out. One was an economic analysis of “Department of Transport proposals to make unaccompanied male driving an offence.”, another was from the Electoral Commission with an assessment of the likely international response to a suspending male voting rights in future parliamentary elections. They both seem like the sort of thing that Cara would want to see. I just have to work out how I am going to get them to her.

There was a big demonstration in Whitehall today as I was going from the hostel to the office. The demonstrators were holding up banners saying things like “No Locked Cocks!” Just as I got to the office three MCF vans pulled up and about twenty officers in riot gear jumped out. They pulled on gas masks and started launching tear-gas canisters into the crowd without any warning. The demonstrators seemed to break away pretty quickly. It didn’t look like the MCF made any arrests. I got a dose of gas as I got to the office door and ended up with my eyes streaming and coughing like anything sitting just inside. Angie arrived about ten minutes later. “Bloody trouble makers, I had to wait until the road was clear. You got in all right then?”

I felt pretty awful all morning but I suppose it’s my own fault. It must have been my stuff that brought those demonstrators out. I hope nobody was hurt. I don’t know whether to be pleased that I’ve helped put up a bit of resistance or guilty that I’m making it harder for the Government to do what it was elected to do.

Wednesday February 23^rd

It was a pretty dull day today. No demos thank goodness but there was still evidence of yesterday’s protests as I walked in to the office – boarded up windows and some fly posters saying things like “Shit MDDM better than Shit FDDM” and “Caged Cocks = Femdom Bollocks” which seemed a bit confused if you ask me.

Work went off OK. Angie organised a meeting where I had to talk about the internal approval processes we go through – it’s quite often the case that the procuring department comes up with some new idea that has cost impacts and we have to go round the whole loop of assessing it all over again with all the consequent timescale problems that brings. I could see that most of the audience hadn’t thought about that.

By the time we’d finished for the day, Angie was quite pleased. “I know its not fashionable to acknowledge male expertise,” she said, “but you have helped.”

That left me feeling quite smug.

“Look,” she said, “I haven’t got any plans for tonight – why don’t you come back to my place for dinner?”

I wasn’t sure that was a great idea but Angie seemed anxious for some company and besides, sitting in the hostel didn’t appeal, so I agreed. She’s got a flat in a tower block overlooking the river and it’s in a great spot but you get the impressions she isn’t there much. She said she would cook, which made a pleasant change – I can’t remember the last meal that I didn’t cook for myself - and chatted away while she got the stuff together for the meal. She’s obviously still excited by being involved in things in Westminster and she’s no less gung-ho about all the New Order ideology but it sounded like she was lonely, that the bitchiness and back-biting among competing policy advisors wasn’t really her scene.

On the other hand she didn’t have to sleep in a drafty, damp dormitory.

We had some wine with the meal. I think we were both feeling pretty relaxed.

“I think you should stay the night,” she said.

I wasn’t sure that was a good idea, until she pointed out that it was past curfew time, and she wasn’t planning to walk me back to the hostel. So, unless I fancied taking a chance on avoiding the MCF patrols, maybe I should take her advice. That seemed like a new take on the old song, “I really can’t stay.”... “But baby, the male control force is outside.”

“Look,” she said, “it’s not so terrible. You were keen enough to get me into bed when we first met.”

That was certainly true.

She unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, standing there in her sweater and sheer tights. “Come on, it will be like old times.”

She grabbed my tie, led me to the bedroom and pushed me down on my back. Almost at once she was straddling me, pulling my shirt open and then grappling with my belt to et my trousers unfastened. I suppose I didn’t really put up any sort of fight. After all, she’s an attractive girl and besides there hasn’t really been much opportunity fro sex for a while. (I don’t really count the stuff with Lucy, because even if you get off on the whole bossy woman thing, it’s a distraction to be continually wondering if someone is going to interrupt you.

Angie was making the running though, paying a lot of attention to getting my dick hard, stroking my nipples and playing with my balls. I really thought that I was in for what New Order party members call disparagingly “prick sex”.

Then Angie reached down beside the bed and came up holding a large, black strap-on cock. “Have you done it with one of these before?”

“No,” I said, “and I’m not sure I want to start now.”

“Don’t be a baby. You’ve been happy enough to fuck me in the past, why shouldn’t I get my turn. Come on, I’ll tie you up if that makes you feel better.”

“What? Why would that make a difference?”

“Well, I thought you quite enjoyed it when we did it before. Plus I know you boys feel guilty about letting girls have our way with you and it’s a sort of emotional get-out for you isn’t it?”

“So that makes it OK?”

“To fuck you or to tie you up?” she said, playfully.

“Either, I guess,” I said resigning myself. It was clear she wasn’t going to be dissuaded and I didn’t want to have to risk the curfew to get back to the hostel.

“Good boy,” she said, “Now turn over and put your hands behind your back.”

To be fair to her she wasn’t rough. She didn’t pull the belt too tight and when she got started with the strap-on she had put plenty of lube on it. It was a strange sensation, her pushing away behind me while she grabbed my bound wrists with one hand and reached around my chest to twist my nipples with the other. I came quite quickly, bucking back against her but it was well before she was ready and in the end she pulled out and unfastened the strap-on. She rolled me over on my back and sat on my chest. “You’ve had your fun. Now finish me off,” she said as she slid her hips forward to push her cunt down over my mouth. I had to tongue her for quite a while until she came but then she rolled off and curled up beside me, reaching across to play with the hairs on my chest as she dozed.

“I’ve missed our play times,” she said, and fell asleep.

It was a curious feeling, affectionate and dominant at the same time. I’m not getting the hang of this new world order at all.

Thursday February 24^th

Angie kicked me out early because she had to be at a meeting. It was a strange evening. I feel she’s missed us being together but she seemed to have put her armour back on by the morning.

I managed to find a cafe to get some breakfast. That was the last bit of peace for the day.

It turned out to be an embarrassing morning in the office. One of the Departmental Under Secretaries – a middle aged woman with dyed blonde hair and a taste for black and white houndstooth check suits – came into the office in an obvious rush, first thing. I was working on the next session I was supposed to be giving in the afternoon. She pointed to three of the other guys in the office and me. “Right, you four can help us out. Get over to Meeting Room G3 and they’ll get you ready.”

“I’m not really anything to do with the department,” I said, “I’m just here as a consultant.”

She didn’t seem interested. “You’ve got a cock, haven’t you? Well, as far as I’m concerned that means you’re qualified.”

I didn’t feel I had a choice. She didn’t look like she wanted to have a debate about it. Angie wasn’t around to appeal to and I was pretty sure Lucy would be saying, “Do it, if it keeps the client happy,” so I followed the other three guys off to the meeting room.

When we arrived. there were two women waiting for us. On the table beside them were two black brief cases. As we got through the door, the older of the two women, a serious-looking afro-Caribbean girl, told us to strip off our trousers, pants, shoes and socks. The other women, a blonde girl in her twenties opened the two cases and I could see at once what it was all about. In each case, set in cut outs in the case’s foam lining, were four of the chrome steel devices of different designs and sizes. They looked identical to the chastity devices that Lucy had demonstrated on me.

“Right,” the black girl announced, “we’ve got some important visitors coming. We want to show them these and you’ve been chosen to model them. Don’t worry, you don’t need to mince up and down on a cat walk, but you do need to each get your cocks locked up in one of these.” She pointed at me. “We’ll start with you. Here. Slide this on.” She held out a chromed metal tube. “Lift your shirt up.”

I did as she told me. I thought it wouldn’t be any more embarrassing than what Lucy had put me through back in the office.

“Oh,” she said. “That won’t do. This one is intended for, let’s say, better-endowed men. Here try this one instead.” She took back the first device and held out another smaller, cage-like one, the one Lucy had demonstrated on me back in the office ... She watched as I fitted it on. The metal was cold and rigid. It fitted closely and I didn’t think I’d be able to put up with it on for very long. It also felt curiously heavy, hanging between my legs. The fastening closed with a disturbing final ‘clunk’ sound. She noticed my nervous expression. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a key.”

The other three all got fitted into their devices. In the end none of us were really up to the size needed to make the metal tube work. The blonde girl stood there shaking her head. “Oh, well what can you do? Lucky we brought some small ones. Is this going to do do you think?”

The coloured girl stared at the four of us standing in a line. “You can’t really see them properly can you? I mean part of the problem is this lot aren’t shaved, but also ... Hang on. I’ve got an idea.”

She reached for a large pair of scissors that was sitting on one of the desks and advanced on me with a disturbing glint in her eye. Gripping the tail of my shirt at the front, she cut across, brushing the heavy blade of the scissors across my belly as she did so. “That’s better. Get the shirt tails out of the way and they look a lot better.” She laughed at my nervous expression. “What did you think I was going to do?”

The blonde girl joined in with the laughter and cut off the shirt tails of the others. I didn’t understand why she just hadn’t asked us to lift our shirts up like Lucy had. “Right, now follow us,” she said and ushered us out of the conference room, back past the open office where our male colleagues looked on in sympathy and relief while the girls looked amused.

In the main conference room we were lined up against one wall and told to stand with our hands behind us and wait. After a few minutes a small crowd of people appeared, some of them were obviously department staff, at least four looked like they were a security detail from their solid build and wary expressions and I recognised Nina Henning. There were two others with her that I felt I sort of knew but it was only as the two girls who had fitted the cages on us started to talk about the devices that I realised it was Prime Minister Johannsen and the Minister for Home Affairs, Florence Daniels. Nina Henning was explaining how she thought the Male Chastity Programme should work, nothing I hadn’t already heard before. Then she went on to point out various features on the devices we were wearing, how the tag locations could be sensed and transmitted to an app. Johannsen asked about the anti-tamper facilities and the blonde girl piped up with some technical sounding guff that seemed to impress them. Needless to say, no-one asked us about how we felt about them.

I caught a bit of what Johannsen had to say, “ ... important work. This will help reinforce the levels of control that we have already established. Florence, you musty let me see Nina’s ideas on extending her brief to include rehabilitation and reform for those not yet convicted of gender offences. I think this will be popular. It will certainly play well with the Party.”

Maybe it will, I thought, but I couldn’t imagine it would play very well with any men I know.

It was then I heard a voice behind me. “Fancy seeing you here!”

I turned around to see Sally Guest, resplendent in a three piece dark-tweed trouser-suit with a fox fur around her neck. She was smiling at me.

“A friend of yours, Sally?” the Prime Minister said.

“Sponsored male from my village, Lillian,” Mrs Guest replied. “I have to declare an interest,” she gave me one of those looks that I found instantly disquieting. “My daughter is his sponsor.”

Florence Daniels shook her head. “Find out why he’s here, Sally, please. We don’t need this to be any more controversial than it already is. The Prime Minister needs to be off now.”

“Of course.” As the rest of the group left, Sally picked up a thin leather leash from the case on the table and clipped the fastening on one end to the ring in the end of my cock cage. She turned to the black girl. “Is there somewhere I can have a quiet chat with him?”

“Yes, there’s an office just through there,” she said pointing to a door at the back of the room. Mrs Guest set off determinedly with me anxious to keep up and avoid an unpleasant tug on the leash. Inside the office, she turned to confront me.

“Well?”

“Well what? I’m working here. I’ve been seconded here to do some consultancy. Jill knows all about it. Those girls decided that they wanted some men to demonstrate the devices I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I thought you modelled the device rather well. Should I ask Jill to get you one?”

“No thanks.”

“Shame. It might help some of the problems you have with Lucy,” I assumed Jill or Angie must have told her about that. “I could keep a spare key, just in case.”

I must have looked puzzled.

“In case I feel the need to amuse myself, since – as you say – my daughter isn’t taking advantage of the benefits of sponsorship. It wouldn’t be such a terrible experience, you know.” She smiled as she sat back on a chair. She still had hold of the leash linked to my cock cage. Her flirtatious look, combined with the languid way she was lounging, legs crossed with one stiletto-heeled, leopard-print shoe dangling from her foot, brought an all together unwanted reaction from my caged member. I winced as its swelling encountered the cage. Sally laughed. “Or, in case you find your self in need of relief from such a cruel enclosure.”