Clothes Maketh The Man — Part 21.

As I drew the matt steel blade across the sharpening stone I regarded Trixie, the chihuahua, with loathing. It had been three days. Three days of walking the disgusting creature, putting it’s poop in a plastic bag and carefully mashing it to see if it had passed the key to the chastity device between my legs.

The steel cage sat there, weighed with gravity to continually remind me of my humiliation. Simple bathroom relief was easy enough, but coming up with excuse after excuse for Mandy, who wanted nothing less than for me to ravage her body, was becoming suspiciously difficult. I’d had ‘a headache’ for two days now, and her ardor was unabated.

It should be said that whilst professional and almost surgically cold on the

outside, Mandy had the body of a young gazelle, and the sex drive of a rhinoceros. She would not take no for an answer for much longer. And with each passing day the pressure was building. My need for release was becoming volcanic in nature and I found myself trying to distract myself at all opportunities when I found myself in the company of others.

I had been in a presentation this very afternoon with Steve, looking at a new account for a lingerie company. This would be a flagship account for a small advertising agency like ours, and as model after model paraded the company products before us…