Because I’m never running for office. I have no desire to. I much prefer working behind the scenes. Also, I have no desire to paint a target on myself. Right now, I’m fairly insulated and can swim through political waters with little risk to myself. I can pick up information and finagle secret handshake deals and never face fallout.
George hasn’t actually put this device on me before, although he’s taken it off me once. Except…I currently have a problem.
Which, unfortunately for me, George quickly susses out without asking for input. He grabs a washcloth, wets it in the sink with cold water, and pulls me in for a kiss as he grabs my cock and balls with it, making me yelp into his mouth.
Makes him chuckle, too.
The cold washcloth does the trick. At least he didn’t use ice water, like Casey is fond of doing.
Then he dries me off and locks me up. I wince, because almost immediately I’m trying to get hard again.
I can’t help it—Casey’s sort of conditioned me to get hard when I’m wearing the goddamned thing, because she’s a fucking sadist.
That wasn’t a complaint, by the way.
Sir smiles down at me and I already know I’m in for a rough night. Multi-tasking in this condition will be difficult, to say the least.
“Hands behind your back, boy.”
I immediately comply.
He pinches my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and begins rolling them, lightly tugging on them. Not hurting me—well, not torturing my nipples—but teasing me.
The discomfort comes from my cock trying to harden inside the damn chastity device.
Considering Casey has trained me to get hard over pain and physical discomfort, that only exacerbates my…problem.
Of course I moan, and whine, and find myself involuntarily rocking my hips.
Sir leans in close. “Oooh, I have a very needy boy right now, don’t I?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Excellent.” He gives my nipples one final tweak and releases them, chuckling as he does.
It takes me a moment to get myself under control. I have to breathe deeply, try not to think about my aching cock stuffed into the silicone torture device, and drag my protesting brain back into work mode.
George watches me with the intensity of a scientist experimenting on a test monkey.
Which…I guess, in a way, that’s not an inaccurate analogy. I’m a shiny new toy to him. He’s still trying to map my body and brain’s hard-wiring, checking my reactions, learning my triggers, gauging how far is just enough to get the reactions he’s looking for.
Considering he was with his wife for over two decades, and even by Casey’s accounts George never cheated on Ellen, I don’t have any worries of being thrown over for a newer model. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who’d get bored and discard me.
We get dressed, and I help him tie his tie. If the guy has one trifling weakness, it’s that he cannot tie a necktie or a bowtie worth a shit.
Yes, I get the irony, that’s he’s damned good at tying knots in ropes.
Even he admits it. It’s not uncommon for me or Casey to tie it for him, if he arrives to work without it tied. Even before he was governor, long before this change in our relationship status. If he tied it himself, one of us usually unties it and redoes it, because it drives us crazy.
Casey told me Ellen used to tie it for him every morning. It was a ritual they shared between them. He’d put her day collar on her, and she’d tie his necktie.
We’re both dressed and ready to go by the time Casey arrives to check on us thirty minutes before the security detail is due to pick us up. She looks stunning in a black, shimmering floor-length sleeveless sheath dress.
I need no prompting to drop to my knees for our greeting. “Hello, Ma’am.”
She leans in and rubs my head. “Hello, boy. Are you being good for Sir?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
