The Bureau of Pleasure Control Ch. 09

(Contains graphic sexual and BDSM depictions, including a MILF f/f age gap scene, male and female chastity, edging, pussy paddling, pegging, group sex, hand stuff, mouth stuff, and some m/f and m/m sexual interactions, too. 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. Be aware, this episode does have one brief, reluctant handjob in Artemis's section, marked with a ## instead of a # before it. A plot-only summary of that section is included at the end, in case you prefer to skip it.)

***

Kristen tapped her ID card to the sensor on the side of the subject's Bureau-issued chastity device.

The cage disconnected from its frame with a click, and the subject let out a tremulous breath of anticipation, as Kristen eased the tight wire restraint off of his already dripping cock, allowing the blood to flow in.

"Would you look at that?" Kristen sighed, crouching down with her hands on the man's knees, to watch the appendage bob and stretch and stand up.

It took the man a moment to recognize the gentle command in her words. His head was tilted back, eyes closed, and when he lifted it to obey her, he forced his gaze onto his cock for only a moment, before looking past it to her face.

"Are you scared?" Kristen asked him. "Does looking at it make you want to touch it more?"

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Kristen nodded as well. "I can't blame you for that. Who wouldn't feel that way? I'm a little tempted to touch it myself. I mean, look at it. Isn't it beautiful?"

"I..." a fragile smile took hold on the man's face. "I guess so, ma'am."

"It's like--"

A sharp double-tap on the steel table behind Kristen interrupted her musings on the pulsing bit of trapped magic awakening between the man's legs.

Her shoulders pulled upward in annoyance, but she forced them back down, winched a smile onto her face, and turned to look up at her new mentor, Officer Brixton.

"Lean forward a little more," he told her. "Let him think there's a chance you're going to suck it for him."

Kristen managed with difficulty to keep her smile on, and her palm away from her face. "Yes, sir."

She turned back toward the subject, adjusted her posture closer, and tried to find her way back to her moment.

The man kept glancing over her shoulder at Officer Brixton now, and his face was no longer soft enough to hold any expressions that might be called fragile. He was shifting in his seat, and Kristen was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the pressure in his balls. He seemed to be searching for the nonexistent angle that would camouflage his rounded belly.

She had just gotten him to relax and stop looking at the pile of his clothes as if he wanted them back.

"I don't think you have to worry," Kristen called the subject's attention back to her, back to the general space between his legs. "You're not going to touch yourself. You didn't earn all those points by being impulsive. You have the strength. You have the discipline. And you know the cost of unauthorized stimulation. You're not going to waste all your hard work and sacrifice now. No matter how long I make you stare at it, no matter how beautiful it is, you won't--"

"Stop calling it beautiful," Officer Brixton ordered. "Cocks can be either impressive or pathetic, but they can't stop being ugly. No one's going to believe you if you say otherwise."

"Yes, sir." Kristen managed not to speak completely through her teeth. She winked at the subject and mouthed, "beautiful," her lips a matter of an inch away from the dripping head.

"And you need to blow on it," said Officer Brixton.

"Yes, sir," Kristen sighed, and did as she was told.

The subject didn't respond to the jet of air she swept across his skin. He was too absorbed in glancing back and forth between her and Officer Brixton, preparing for a threat. His dripping had slowed to a crawl.

Kristen couldn't blame him. There were few situations more awkward than being sworn to obey two people who couldn't agree with each other.

"Are you sure you only want twenty thrusts into the sheath?" Kristen asked him.

Twenty probably would have been more than enough to make him cum when she'd first removed his cage, but with Officer Brixton still hovering, he'd probably be better off budgeting higher, in anticipation of distractions.

"Actually..." the subject hesitated. "Maybe I should--"

A light beep announced an authorized keycard being pressed to the visitor room door.

"Kristen. My office," Commander Hawkins barked, sticking his head into the room.

The subject's erection wilted in alarm.

Kristen wasn't sure whether to be relieved or doubly annoyed. "Coming, sir!"

She stood up and smoothed out her short, white uniform.

"I'm not sure how long this will take," she told the subject. "Would you like to wait?"

"No, thanks, I..." the subject stood up with her and reached for his own detached cage. "I was thinking maybe I should save up some more and come back another day."

"Hey," Officer Brixton sat up a little straighter in his chair to look at Commander Hawkins. "Kristen is my trainee, and she's in the middle of--"

"I need her," Commander Hawkins emphasized. "Now."

"...the middle of session that I'm perfectly capable of completing myself," Officer Brixton shifted gears, turning his focus to the subject.

When Kristen scurried out of the room to follow Commander Hawkins, the subject was still trying to lock his own cage back in place with the politest of excuses.

#

As the newly appointed head of the Bureau's freshly beefed-up site security department, this was what Commander Hawkins seemed to spend most of his time doing: sticking his head in places security had no need to be, and yelling at what Kristen considered an entirely unnecessary volume.

He yelled at everyone. He yelled at his own security staff, who also yelled at each other, even when they seemed to be happy. He yelled at the pleasure control officers, and he yelled louder at the trainees. Sometimes he even yelled at the subjects when he barged in on their sessions.

Maybe today was the day, Kristen thought grimly, as she followed Commander Hawkins down the hallway, close at his heels the way he liked it. Maybe this was the day when her tenuous position here would finally fall apart.

In the week since the rebels had blown a hole in the cafeteria, Kristen had already been questioned five separate times, by four separate people.

Senior Officer Kitterage was the one who had taken two turns with her, one of them soft, one with a more urgent, desperate tenor.

The other three were a smiling woman in a business suit (who had offered Kristen coffee, but not her name), a random security guard (who had done a terrible job of pretending to be a rebel to test her reaction), and Officer Brixton (who had demanded to know why he should accept his assignment as her new mentor, knowing how Officer Deacon had ended up).

None of them had been willing to clarify for Kristen exactly how Officer Deacon had ended up. The last time Kristen had seen her former mentor, she had still been drugged and handcuffed to that cold steel chair, babbling about how she'd helped someone called Artemis breach the Bureau servers.

Kristen wanted to believe that Officer Deacon was still in the building somewhere, locked behind one of its thousands of key card doors, but so far, she felt as cut off from her as she would have been if she'd taken Zach's offer, and run off with the rebels.

When questioned about the events of last week, Kristen's answers were always the same.

She knew nothing but what she had been told. Nothing about the rebels calling their members home, nothing about the server breach, nothing about whether the two events were related. She missed Officer Deacon and her fellow trainees who remained unaccounted for, but she was loyal to the Bureau, above any individual within it.

She was not aware of having done anything wrong, but if she had, she would gratefully accept punishment and correction for the future.

The truth and lies in this story flowed effortlessly in and out of each other as Kristen repeated them. So far, in spite of the persistence of the questions, she had not seen any hard evidence that anyone disbelieved her. She had not been disciplined, removed from duty, or even strapped in for the kind of interrogation she'd helped put Officer Deacon through, with drugs and vibrators and anal electrodes.

It would not have surprised her at all, however, if Commander Hawkins were the one to change that.

Though Kristen had never interfered with him, she got the impression he already didn't like her very much.

When he gestured her through the door of his new office -- the largest one located within the visitor floors -- she stepped in and stood with her hands clasped behind her back, bracing for the unpleasant flavor of adrenaline that she'd already come to associate with the grating boom of his voice.

In welcome but ominous silence, Commander Hawkins took his seat. His heavily muscled and more heavily armored upper body looked comically overequipped for the task of pushing a tablet across the desk at her.

"Sit down and take a look at that," he said, voice almost appropriate for the small space. "I'll wait."

Doing her best to keep her hands steady, Kristen picked up the tablet and scrolled through the file on the screen. To her relief, it was not about her, Zach, Piper, or any of the others who had left in the bombing. To both her relief and disappointment, it was not about Officer Deacon either. At least, not directly.

"Rose Daimler," Kristen summed up the file aloud. "Wife of our Director. Victim of the recent alleged data theft. Regular of Officer Deacon."

"Former Officer Deacon," Commander Hawkins corrected.

Even this was more information than Kristen had received before.

"But you've hit the problem on the head," Commander Hawkins went on.

"Problem, sir?" Kristen asked.

The two of them were technically not in the same chain of command, but tossing in a "sir" felt safer than not.

"Mrs. Daimler is waiting in room twelve," said Commander Hawkins. "She would be waiting in the waiting room, if she weren't a Daimler, and she's not happy about being expected to wait anywhere."

"Oh!" Kristen understood. "And she... does she not know...?"

"She doesn't know, and she isn't going to know, anything about Ms. Leila Deacon, except that she's unavailable, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Kristen. "Would you like Officer Brixton and myself to-"

"You are Deacon's closest and best performing protegee," said Commander Hawkins. "I want you to take care of Mrs. Daimler."

"I'd be honored," Kristen said quickly. "But trainees are only supposed to work under an officer's supervision."

Kristen was already off to a shaky enough start shadowing Officer Brixton. She didn't like to imagine how he'd take it, if she left him out of a potentially career-making session with Rose Daimler.

But as Commander Hawkins' face was in the process of verifying for her, it really wasn't up to her.

"Are you going to make this an issue?" Commander Hawkins asked.

"No, sir."

"Good. Because we need you to come up with the best session strategy you've ever devised, and you've got about five more minutes left, before Mrs. Daimler starts threatening to call her husband."

"Oh, is there something special she likes?" Kristen asked. "Something off the books?"

The notes in the file on Mrs. Daimler's sexual habits were fairly commonplace.

"She likes what everyone likes," said Commander Hawkins dismissively. "She likes to cum. Your job today is to talk her out of it."

Kristen sat blinking for a moment. Was this the way it was going to happen? Was she being set up to fail, so that she could be punished or fired, without the trouble of tying her to any particular act of sedition?

"...Sir-"

"You talked a pent-up new husband into ruining his release," said Commander Hawkins. "You turned a situation with a pain slut infiltrator into one of the Bureau's most talked about service messages of the year. You inspired Nick Holland to make that tell-all series about his shitty childhood and life in the closet and all that. What was it called? Never mind. The one where he says he owes everything good about his relationship with sex to the Bureau. That one. You did that. Or are the records incorrect?"

"No," said Kristen. "I mean, I did... I did at least most of those things. Nick came out?"

"If you can't handle this assignment, I don't know who can," said Commander Hawkins, in a scolding tone that successfully kept it from sounding like a compliment. "And if no one can, then we're all fucked."

Kristen risked looking him in the eye, finding nothing but bluntness.

"Why?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed. "You don't need to know why."

Kristen laced her fingers together for strength.

"With respect, sir, you're asking me to solve a problem without knowing what it is."

"I told you. She wants Deacon to unlock her. Instead, she's getting you to not unlock her. Your problem is making her accept that."

"When I made that video with Piper," said Kristen, "the one that apparently went over so well, I was told that my problem was to get her to denounce her own behavior, praise the Bureau, and make it convincing. If I'd accepted that as the whole problem, I'd still be in that room now, trying to brute force my way through impossible, instead of finding a way around it."

"Are you saying this is impossible?" asked Commander Hawkins.

"I'm saying there's a reason you want Mrs. Daimler to stay locked up, and what that reason is affects how I handle her. If you need her horny for something, then I probably shouldn't hold her back by saying something gross and off-putting. If you're trying to punish her for some reason, I shouldn't try to show her such a good platonic time that she forgets all about what she came here for and leaves happy. You see what I mean? Sir?"

Commander Hawkins gave this some thought. He seemed to find the experience unpleasant.

"I need you to convince her not to make us unlock her..." he moistened his lips, "so that she doesn't find out that we can't."

Kristen needed to swallow to loosen up her throat before asking, "Can't, sir?"

"You leak this, you'll spend the rest of your life sucking cocks in debt, you understand?" Commander Hawkins barked.

Kristen nodded seriously, the chains of her own device feeling particularly tight. How could the Bureau not be able to unlock a device if it was within the rules? Was she herself, even at this moment, trapped inside an unresponsive hunk of dead metal that no one had the power to release her from, no matter how hardworking and obedient she was? No. She'd just unlocked a subject, at least partway. She'd seen it work.

"Thanks to your former mentor," Commander Hawkins said with a hard edge, "there's still a worm in our system that no one seems to be able to get rid of. Someone outside the Bureau has locked down the devices of about a hundred of the highest-ranking wearers in the country. We can't open any part of them."

"The hundred highest ranking... and none of them know?"

"The IT nerds are working on it," said Commander Hawkins. "The rest of us need to buy them time."

Kristen nodded, pretending to be comforted.

"Okay," she said. "Then I guess that's what I'm doing."

##

Artemis sank into her client's jacuzzi and accepted the glass of champagne he offered her as if both luxuries belonged to her.

This was how Calvin always conducted in-person meetings. Not always in his jacuzzi specifically, but always in some setting that showed off both his muscles (which he clearly worked hard on) and his pleasure access (which he didn't, though it was the far more impressive talking point of the two).

He liked his guests to wonder if they were complicit in some crime or other just by being there.

Artemis knew this was all supposed to be intimidating, and it was, even after how many times she'd been through it. But she'd learned that the only way to revoke his advantage was to treat everything he did as if it were commonplace, even a little beneath her, no matter what it was.

"The Bureau hasn't agreed to a single policy change yet," Calvin said as soon as they were settled, more sourly than anyone should have been able to say anything while drinking champagne in a jacuzzi.

Drinking champagne unlocked in a jacuzzi.

Calvin was completely nude, the shape of his floating cock obscured only by the bubbling distortion of the water's surface. He leaned back against the edge of the tub, as if he were entirely unconcerned with the possibility of some passing spy drone noticing his escape.

"I said I'd get you access to everything, and I did." said Artemis. "You have your freedom, and at this moment, you have almost every dick and pussy in the country under your lock and key whether they know it or not. If you still can't get what you want, it's really a you problem at that point."

Calvin sipped his drink and gave his cock an idle stroke under the water, still with the same sour look on his face.

Artemis set her glass aside, and, in one purposeful move, straddled Calvin's lap.

Just like when she'd entered the tub in the first place, Artemis took care not to question whether she belonged there. She dismissed all the nagging background thoughts about whether she was too big, too soft, too presumptuous, and pressed the metal plate of her chastity device against his cock, crowding out his hand.

"Speaking of freedom..." she started.

"No."

"I'll let you in, when you let me out," Artemis whispered, rubbing the jacuzzi-warmed metal against him. "Even though I did all the work. Even though you already owe me so much more than the one little unlock command we agreed on--"

"No."

"Come on, you know I don't spend points on Bureau visits," Artemis pushed.

"That's not my problem."

"Problem?" Artemis laughed softly. "Of course not. For you, it's the opposite. Can you imagine how tight I am right now? And I'll let you fuck me, just as a bonus. As a celebration."

Calvin paused only a second and a half longer before his next "No."

Artemis sighed, put her hands on his chest, and shoved herself off of him. "Fine," she sighed. "I guess I'll just have to let the Bureau know who and where you are, so they can come deal with you in person."

Calvin caught her by the wrist and pulled her back down to his level.

"The evidence auto-sends if I don't stop it," Artemis told him as quickly as she could without spoiling her nonchalance. "Obviously. You didn't think I'd leave myself with no leverage, did you?"

Calvin forced out a laugh that was probably supposed to sound shrewd and approving.

"We'll celebrate when the Bureau caves, and we're in business," he said. "Not before."

"But then?" Artemis insisted.

"But then," Calvin pulled her back onto his lap, "You'll get to live the rest of your life as a valued member of Privalock, Inc."

"Call it whatever you want," said Artemis. "Just so long as it means I get unlocked."

"Of course," Calvin promised, kissing her neck. "More often than you'll know what to do with."

"Often?" Artemis repeated sharply. "The deal was that I get out permanently."

"But then, what would I have left to pay you with, the next time I need your skills?" Calvin teased. This time his laugh had feeling behind it. "You didn't think I'd leave myself with no leverage, did you?"