A Day at the Office

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[For those of you who’ve never heard of a Chasti-Permalock (or the predecessor, the “Chastilock2000”), a bit of introduction is in order. Back in 1998, I was watching some infomercial (for lack of a better programme), and was struck by the uncanny way that one Barbie-dollish spokesmodel was hyping up a product as though it were the greatest thing since sliced bread. I even forget what it was, but I remember realizing that it was something she’d probably never used, would never *have* to use, and probably wouldn’t be all that good for her, anyway. And yet that pasted-on grin and phony enthusiasm was infectious. I was fascinated, but not in the product, just the Hollywood-style delivery of it.

So to be completely off-the-wall, I imagined some grinning, bubble-headed spokesmodel narrating in all seriousness an infomercial for a permanent chastity device which would rob her of her own sexual pleasure for the rest of her life (but make her constantly craving), and yet somehow she seems convinced that this was a good thing. Moreso, it utilized nanotechnology at an advanced state far beyond current theory (probably impossible, but that’s the joy of fantasy). The concept was totally ludicrous, and nobody would ever go for a story like that.

I had it completely written (aside from some edits and additions by J.G. Leathers) in about three hours. The early badly-colored line-art took a little longer.

The “Chastilock2000 Infomercial” became a cult fave in the USENET newsgroups, it’s been suggested that it inspired a name for two actual chastity devices which appeared in a few months following (Chastilock and CB2000 — although both are male devices), and later my website (http://www.sweetchastity.com/) grew out of the realization from this little tale that there were some twisted people out there who actually enjoyed my kinky stuff. Well, that story is six years old last March (although I got the site URL much later), and what follows is one of a number of sequels it has inspired (by several authors, although the one below is mine).

Yes, it’s weird (and it winds up slowly at first), but I hope you find it fun!]

A Day at the Office

By ten to seven, the main-floor lobby of the Chasti-Permalock building is already quite active these days. Sometimes, you’ll catch a glimpse of political figures, foreign businessmen, military officials…. The other morning, we even had pop stars Britt Baby and PsycheDelia from the Diva Dolls pass through — rumor is that there’s a cross-promotion agreement in development, so perhaps they’re going to be wearing our appliances, soon.

Employees punch in on the main floor, now. Ever since they brought in the scanners to do check-in, they like to encorporate that in the main lobby security clearance. I think they just like to have us show off our C-P devices so that onlookers can see that the staff proudly wears them.

Yeah, we inevitably have to show off our Chasti-Permalocks. After speaking into the voice print mic and giving a retinal scan, I lifted the front of my skirt and the attendant ran the hand scanner over the bar code embedded just above the device where pubic hair once grew, until a >blip< signalled that I was now recorded in the active roster and cleared to enter. "You may proceed," he told me. Security is a huge issue here, particularily because of the nature of the technology that we wield. There is a global partial-moratorium on nanotech research, with Chasti-Permalock Corporation being one of the very few to be licensed internationally to research and utilize nanoscale tools (a more accurate term than “nanobots,” because they’re often more likely a charged compound than the kind of ‘bot that we’re used to). And when you think about it, it’s absolutely necessary. When you’re talking about sub-atomic particles geared toward rebuilding matter on a molecular level, you’re talking about being able to rebuild all of creation. Splitting an atom would be easy, and you don’t need a several-ton warhead to do it. Without regulation, we could be looking at a shift from the old nuclear government-hoarded weapons of mass destruction to private enterprise knowledge-capable mass destruction. A laboratory accident could conceivably wipe out a city or begin a chain reaction that destroys an ecosystem. Oops. You can guess how many folks would like to get their hands on this technology. Right now, Chasti-Permalock is one of three companies licensed in its use. And different divisions of the company direct many varied applications. The Vyrtu Division oversees medical applications, although the biological functions of Chasti-Permalock’s devices require that the division works very closely with their central one. CPFab is researching the use of nanotechnology in construction endeavors and other commercial enterprise, while CPBotix deals with the cutting-edge Artificial Intelligence work we’re doing, CP++ directs device and nanoscale programming, and “Ops” is the nickname we have for the unofficial güvenilir bahis division that works with the military and (as the rumor goes) probably accounts for the lion’s share of our funding. My Division is CPKulture, which oversees many departments in the mainstream market geared toward pop commodities: entertainment, fashion, cosmetics (although some of the more radical bodily modification is governed by Vyrtu), and everything on down to the aesthetics of the basic devices that Chasti-Permalock is best known for, themselves. My own role is secretarial, in the Public Relations Department.

Excuse me. The Human Relations Department. I keep forgetting about the recent name change.

All the way up the elevator, I couldn’t help thinking about the bar code. Upon accessing a new floor of the building, or entering or exiting a new cluster of offices, we have to get our bar code scanned — this is how our movements throughout the building are continually monitored. It is also for this reason that it is mandatory in the dress code that women wear mini-skirts and only their devices underneath, barring special personal circumstances. But it disturbs me that our bar codes are so intimate, while men (that is, unless they’re part of the various intergendered programs) can wear theirs on their chests. They justify this by physiology: we can’t have women publically baring their breasts and men publically baring their genitals (the vast majority of women wear permanent genital devices like mine, and the few exceptions are indecency exceptions that management is willing to live with). What’s worse is the bar code’s significance. For example, when we get our bar codes scanned to leave the building, we sign the same asset management form that we would if we were taking some other major piece of company property off the premises.

I’m not the only one who’s noticed the implications. Several co-workers have remarked on this.

“Keep in mind, though,” Ellen from the Telco department had said, “that once you’re Chasti-Permalock, you’re always Chasti-Permalock. They pretty much own us, anyway. That non-disclosure agreement we sign when accepted for employment here gives them authorization to ‘upgrade’ our devices upon termination, and we all know that means cutting off all ability to communicate our knowledge of company programs to anyone else… and just about all ability to otherwise function as a human being, in the process. It’s not really a change in treatment of staff so much as an acknowledgement of that fact.”

Sixth floor. I scanned in, and scanned again when I reached the HRD entrance. “Good morning, Jasmine,” Cindy beamed from behind the reception desk. “The board meeting’s at eight and we’ve got a few guests coming in for it. Mr. Sternson wants you to report to him at least a half hour before the meeting. Oh, and you’re a mouth girl, today.”

A “mouth girl.” As if there was ever any doubt.

Sexual favors are not only abused in this company, they’ve become expected. Part of it is from maintaining an atmosphere of having to enjoy as much pleasure as we can before we lose it to the devices we’ll be volunteered to wear. There’s no secret that Chasti-Permalock Corporation bucks the sexual harassment policies of other workplaces — they even welcome the attention, so that prospective employees and the public at large acknowledge that sexuality is a part of the bargain in working for C-P. Therefore, all applicants agree to submit to that treatment. After all, sexuality is an integral part of the market that Chasti-Permalock deals with. They don’t hire often, so they can be extremely selective and only take on compliant personnel. When I started there, it was partly for the excitement, I admit.

And that’s how I became a mouth girl. Sexual duties are assigned daily. Cindy’s usually given ass duties, even though she hates anal sex. Me, I’m always a mouth girl. When I took the job, my talents were assessed and I was given top marks for oral performance. It usually takes several months or even a year or two before a new employee is volunteered for device testing, but within the first two weeks of my employment here, I received permanent vaginal and anal devices. There was no doubt as to where they wanted me perpetually assigned. So I’m a mouth girl. Rare days, I’m assigned “tongue” duties — oral chores for women — and I’ve never been assigned as “hand girl” (I’m not even sure it exists, aside from on paper) or “titty girl,” but otherwise, my repertoire is limited. I sort of regret having practiced on a bottle for the couple days before my job interview.

But that was several years ago. Before setting up at the office, I paused to fix myself a coffee in the employee lounge. Cindy slipped in, having had the same idea. “Hey, listen,” she confided in a whisper, “I overheard Winston talking about the mass-market devices. He said something about a back door feature. Do you think that the company might be getting involved with population türkçe bahis control? I mean, being that they’re so closely allied with the government…”

I stopped her there. I’ve observed that it’s not healthy to speculate, in this company. “If they were talking about a ‘back door’ feature,” I fib, “it was probably a euphemism to describe an anal device.”

“You think so? I mean, I’ve heard some weird things…”

“You’re only getting half-conversations, Cindy. It’s not good to be jumping to conclusions.” I didn’t elaborate, but I was aware that people who jump to conclusions tend to get reassigned to CPBotix or CP++ suddenly.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said, tossing sugar into her mug. As for me, I had to hurry to get ready for the day. Especially if I wanted to squeeze in a visit to Pam, this afternoon.

I’m barely in my office when the shocks zapped me.

My anal device is a simple remote-control one. Two quick zaps meant that Sternson wanted to see me in the office right now. He obviously wouldn’t wait for seven-thirty. The zaps aren’t too bad. Punishment, on the other hand… well, let’s just say that I didn’t dally.

Sternson is a big man, broad-shouldered and heavy-set. He has a lot of weight on him, but also a certain amount of strength. He dresses in grey, like some bland director of the Ministry of Truth, and his hard eyes are just as piercing and darkly inquisitive. “Were you delayed chatting with Cindy again?”

“Only long enough to pour a coffee, sir.” Something in his stare told me that he was somehow aware of everything said. I was suddenly afraid for her. “She’s silly, but she’s an innocent kid at heart. She’ll learn.”

He said nothing in response to that. Instead, he tapped the Chasti-Permalock between my legs. “Today’s your tongue day, isn’t it? And Carole is out on assignment.”

I blushed. “I was hoping to see Pam, this afternoon, Sir,” I admit.

My Chasti-Permalock vaginal device has an experimental timer programmed into it. If I don’t make a certain quota by 7:00 at night, it will begin to shock me intermittently until I fulfill that quota.

The quotas are quite devious. There are sensors embedded on my tongue that can detect the presence of certain chamicals. From Tuesday to Saturday, it has to detect semen in my mouth twice during the course of the day, or it will allow the shocks to kick in.

But Mondays, it has to detect vaginal fluids instead, on one of those two outings.

“No good,” he says. “Pam will be out of the office this afternoon, and there aren’t too many other women in this department who aren’t sealed up. There’s Cindy, but she has to stay at her desk.” He pressed his fingers between my lips, urged my mouth open, and then inspected my tongue and teeth as though inspecting a horse. “Fortunately, I have another solution, although it will require cancelling all of your other plans, today.”

“Sir?” With Sternson, “Sir” is a required appelation which carries almost the same weight as “Master.” I feel submissive every time I way it.

“I just received a call from a very special guest who has opted to sit in on our board meeting, this morning. She has expressed interest in being attended to by a white woman who has an aversion to lesbian encounters, but is still compliant and skilled at them. Well, we all know that you protest the lesbian portion of your weekly quota. As to your skills there, reports vary — but given who the guest is, I suggest that you put in the same kind of enthusiasm as you do with your other oral duties.”

“Um, who’s the guest, Sir?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped back to his desk, sat back in his chair with his legs alongside it, knees open. “There is a possibility that this guest may require your services for the evening, so then there is the one male portion of your Monday quota to consider. I suppose that I should take care of that, right now.”

I understood, and crawled around his desk, to unbutton his trousers. I’m trained to undo the zipper with my teeth, so my face was pressed to his throbbing erection, all the way down. A quick downward slide of his pants and undershorts, and the object of my attentions was freed.

I began with the subtleties, some breaths and licks, a couple of kisses and then some intricate tonguing up and down the length of it. I was reverent and hungry at the same time. After a bit of worship, I opened wide and took it in.

I always hate going down on Sternson. His member is massive, making my jaw ache from the girth. However stiff I can keep my upper lip, there’s always a risk of scraping with my teeth. Whenever I get too close, I have to resort to giving little love nibbles, as though I’d meant for the teeth to touch. Even worse, deep-throating is difficult, as it reaches far past the back of my throat. Good breath control is absolutely necessary.

I made sure to generate the required humming and wet sucking sounds for him, as well. If güvenilir bahis siteleri I moan from deep enough within my throat, he can feel the vibrations in my lips.

He got closer to the end and the salty taste became thicker until finally he knotted his fingers in my hair and thrust into my mouth several times. All I could do was breathe on the withdrawals and suck hard as he rode my tongue. And swallow. Lots of swallowing.

When it was finally over, I looked up to him from on my knees, sticky cum trickling down my chin. Oral sex is such a submissive act. But there was one final gesture needed: “Thank you, Sir,” I complied.

“You’d better clean yourself up,” he stated.

“Yes Sir,” I replied, still trying to swallow down all the taste of him. Then, I paused as I stood to leave. “I still don’t know what this meeting is, Sir.”

“The top brass upstairs have come to an agreement on a cross-promotions contract, and have handed it to us to negotiate the details.”

“Oh.” Still not enlightened, I went back, wiped up, sorted the things in the office that I probably wouldn’t get to that day, went to the restroom to brush my teeth and change into my attendant’s uniform, and then reported to the boardroom.

Nicole and Desiree were already kneeling inside the doorway when I arrived. I took my place beside them.

“You mean they’re actually going through with it?” Desiree whispered to Nicole excitedly.

“Well, I don’t know if they’re actually going to be permanent devices, or what, but yeah. I mean, this is history in the making,” Nikki bubbled.

“What?” I was hoping it would be a clue about the morning events.

“The Diva Dolls. The pop singers. They’re making a deal with the company to promote our devices. Just a minute ago, Cindy heard a rumor that one of the girls would be sitting in on this meeting. And I’m guessing that’s why you’re here, Jazz.”

I blushed. I was never a lesbian, and it still caused me considerable embarassment when people knew that I had to service women as one of my Chasti-Permalock device’s requirements.

“I guess that mouth of yours is multi-talented, isn’t it, Jazz?” Nicole quipped.

“Winston said that was the one thing that kept them from volunteering her for a pussyface,” Desiree added.

“Quit it!” I growled. I wasn’t going to take that from them. Not here in the boardroom, and, uh… well, on my knees… wearing my attendant uniform….

The attendant’s uniform is a fairly simple ensemble, consisting of 3/4-length silk gloves, ankle boots with 6″ heels, a boned satin corset, a choker, a jacket which was bolero-cut in front and tuxedo-tailed in back, and a bellhop’s hat, all in royal purple with gold trimmings. Our breasts and vaginal devices were left exposed.

They didn’t have an opportunity to continue with their taunts. Members and guests began filing in for the meeting — at first an occasional one or two, and then a steady stream of people until there were about twenty. Some were executives who I’d recognized, others were music industry folk — agents, managers, legal consultants. As each entered, we dutifully dealt a welcoming kiss to the swelling crotch of each one, except for the stenographer and security people (any time there were guests, they were always accompanied by security). When paying my homage to one of the guests, he patted my head, turned to one of my colleagues and quipped, “this has got to be a wonderfully sexy place to work….”

And then, she was standing in the doorway, waiting for everyone’s adulation as she entered.

I didn’t know much about the Diva Dolls, aside from the fact that they were five women who were all image and no substance that the recording industry packaged with lame pop music and sold to the public. They all had tacky stage names (SweetHeart, LeatherEtte, PsycheDelia…), and were similar to other pop tart groups that I’m vaguely familiar with from the past eighty years — the Tricks, the Go-gos, Tantala, the Spice Girls… although I couldn’t name anything they’ve ever recorded. But this one, she was known to the public by the hokey name “Black Beauty,” and was rumored to be a disagreeable sort. Certainly, she wasn’t without her own set of controversies, even just a year and a half into her stardom.

She seemed a little startled when Nicole leaned forward to place her kiss, but then when her manager nodded and swept his hand toward Desiree in an invitation to proceed down the queue, she caught on and laughed uproariously.

When she arrived to stand before me, I knew that I had to make my kiss a little hotter, a little more exciting, so I buried myself into the fabric of her skirt until I felt my lips press against her pubic mound. My kiss was flaming and passionate on her, and ended with a lick of the cloth that seperated me from her labia.

“Ooh.” She suddenly beamed, a sparkle appearing in her eyes. She ran her hand through my hair as though petting a dog. “Is this one ‘Jazz’?”

I don’t know if it’s the way I shrunk away from her slightly or the fact that my face turned red, but I involuntarily answered her question for her. “She should crawl over to my chair and wait by my side,” she stated, grinning wryly.

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