(Contains graphic sexual and BDSM depictions, including edging, tease-and-denial, female chastity, female masturbation, cunnilingus (m/f), caning, genital clamps and electric play (f/f). As ever, this story takes place in a forced chastity dystopia where uncoerced consent is often impossible, but characters are always over 18 and generally gain at least some enjoyment from their activities.)
***
During what would soon come to be known as "The Click," Leila Deacon was dozing on the hard tile floor of her cell.
She had no way of knowing that, in a single instant, almost all of the Bureau-issued chastity devices in the country had suddenly unlocked themselves.
The only thought that ran through her mind when her chains suddenly released was,
This, I don't need
.
"I didn't do anything!" she shouted, hoping that there was someone monitoring her cell to hear her.
She raised her hands in the air, leaving the plate of steel over her pussy where it belonged, though there was nothing to hold it there.
"It wasn't me, I didn't break it! I didn't steal any pleasure!"
Minutes passed without an answer.
Eventually, Leila rested her head back on her arm and began to drift off again.
She was somewhere between sleep and waking, no longer certain whether the looseness around her hips was a dream, when the cell's outer door opened.
"I didn't--" she started again.
"Technically, you kinda did," answered a voice that did nothing to help convince her she was awake.
"Kristen?" Leila asked, heart suddenly pounding with nightmare ferocity.
That voice felt so good. And nothing that felt good could possibly be here for any reason other than to be used against her.
The overhead lights switched on, and Leila squinted against the glare.
Most of her cell was made of steel walls, but there was a sliding wall of bulletproof glass that locked into place between her and the side of the room with the door and the light switch.
The blurry figure of Kristen pulled her hand away from the switch and placed it on the glass between them.
"Hey," she said, with a breathless smile.
It had to be a test, a punishment, or an illusion.
Kristen was still in her short trainee's tunic, with the outlines of her chastity device and pleasure-proof pasties showing through the tight, clingy fabric.
Officers were supposed to have an air of aloof authority around people still serving their time in that uniform.
Maybe that was the test.
It wasn't easy for Leila to demonstrate what a qualified officer she still was, when she was naked, stiff, disoriented, and holding her own chastity plate in place by hand -- but she was damn well going to try.
"Give me the update, trainee," she prompted.
"Seriously?" Kristen shook her head and laughed.
She actually
laughed
. Sure, it sounded like a crazed stress laugh, but still, it was only a few weeks ago that Leila could have spanked this upstart new girl for such disrespect. In fact, she would have been required to.
"Okay then,
debtor
," Kristen responded in kind, removing her hand from the glass and sitting down on the floor across from Leila. "The update is, that woman you helped hack into the Bureau server? Artemis? Well, apparently, she's been putting that access to use."
Leila listened in silence while Kristen explained the mass shutdown of the chastity devices, and the public announcement of Privalock, the new private company touting itself as an alternative to the Bureau of Pleasure Control.
A tightly wound knot that had sat for years in Leila's stomach suddenly unraveled, and she grasped at the ends, trying to pull them back together before the structure of her being, everything she had ever hung on the strength of that knot, had a chance to collapse.
It was bad enough being locked in here, staring at the insurmountable debt on her point counter, knowing that she might never again eat solid food or wear clothes or touch her pussy, because she had
risked
the destruction of the Bureau and civilization as she knew it.
It was so much worse to know that she had actually
caused
the destruction of the Bureau and civilization as she knew it.
She couldn't even imagine the pandemonium that must be going on outside these walls, with everyone suddenly able to touch themselves and each other with no regulation at all. At best, nobody would be working. Services of all kinds would grind to a halt. At least a few people had probably already died because of Leila, accounting for jobs like emergency medicine.
She wouldn't be surprised if there were hundreds, thousands more killing themselves with exposure and dehydration and accidents, simply fucking themselves to death in riotous orgies in the streets.
#
"Sir, have you decided what you're going to do about the Click?" Zach called out.
The man shuffled quickly past Zach, avoiding the flyer in his outstretched hand.
"Ma'am, do you have a moment to talk about a pleasure management option you might not have considered?"
She didn't even look at him.
Zach sighed, tacked yet another flyer to a conspicuous tree, and studied it for a moment.
YOU DON'T HAVE TO GO BACK
The need for chastity is a LIE.
Director Daimler of the Bureau of Pleasure Control is a HYPOCRITE who gets off DAILY. He's the one who needs YOU to hold HIS life together, not the other way around.
Pleasure deprivation disrupts our natural tendencies toward cooperation and self-regulation. It tricks us into believing that we cannot be trusted. That we need more of the same discipline that cut us off from our best instincts in the first place.
You CAN own your pleasure, AND be a good person, AND meet your goals.
Come to The Mill on Saturday at seven to learn about how you can make the Click a turning point in your life, and our history.
Zach re-read it three times through, still unable to see what anyone would find unenticing about it, before moving on.
Most of the streets were eerily empty today. People had shut themselves in their homes, either afraid of the volatility in the air, or enjoying their bodies in privacy for the first time in their adult lives, or both.
The only places that seemed to be busy were the areas surrounding the Privalock signup office, and Bureau headquarters. Zach was currently assigned to the latter.
It was bustling here, but no less eerie.
There were lines spilling out the door and around the block of the building itself. Every restaurant, bar, and coffee shop within an hour's walk was overflowing with people looking for a comfortable place to wait for a lull in the Bureau's wait time. The staff of all those businesses, usually at least a few hands short, were scrambling to figure out interim policies for accepting points from devices that were no longer attached to their owners.
Zach and a few of his rebel friends had started at the edges of this clump of foot traffic, hoping to quietly divert a few stragglers before they could get inside to sign the new Bureau consent forms.
As the day had worn on, the lack of attention they'd attracted -- either good or bad -- had driven them to shout their message ever louder and closer to the center.
