The Bureau of Pleasure Control Ch. 11

(Contains graphic sexual and BDSM depictions involving f/f and m/f pairings, including edging, tease-and-denial, chastity, spanking, suggestions of ruined orgasms and genital pain, and some mutually rough vaginal sex. 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.)

***

Artemis left the gala announcement shoot with her hair wet, her head spinning, and her clit pounding inside its steel prison.

All her life, she had worked to make herself impervious to frustration. Teasing herself past the point of endurance, and then just a little further, all without any chance of release, that was just a Friday night. And doing the same with a hot partner, the way she had with Evie in their little video just now, that was one of her favorite pastimes.

Most of the best nights of her life had been spent more or less that way.

But this whole "partnership" with Calvin had sucked all the life out of everything she'd once enjoyed, including unfinished sex.

It hadn't been so bad when she'd just been doing odd jobs for him, in return for a few off-the-books luxuries. That was before she'd known what end goal those odd jobs were working toward.

Now that she knew, now that she'd let him sell her on this idea that things could change for her, it was getting harder and harder to accept the same old orgasm-free existence she'd worked so hard to make herself at home in.

Calvin had a way of making every scrap of pleasure she got, every little act of rebellion she seized, feel hollow and frivolous.

What did it matter that she had enjoyed making out with Evie? What did it matter that she had the discipline to enjoy it without needing to cum? What power was there in that, when the only reason she had to do without cumming was because Calvin had decided not to allow it?

It was one thing sneaking private little trysts outside of the Bureau's surveillance and patting herself on the back for finding some illicit joy in life. It was something else entirely trying to enjoy herself with Calvin standing right there, watching and smirking and waiting to jerk the feeling away at the cruelest possible moment.

Her pleasure was just an extension of his power, not her own.

That kind of dynamic was exactly why Artemis hated the Bureau. It was why she hated dominators of all kinds, every last one of them, and anyone who wanted to dominate too, no matter how far they were from achieving it.

But at least the Bureau would have treated her equally to most people, in the way it dominated her.

Calvin had promised that, with him in control, she'd at least get some consideration for all the work she'd done to put him there. She'd be a VIP at his new Privalock corporation, free to cum on a regular basis with no please-and-thank-you humiliation rituals.

Or rather, that was the latest version of his promise. Before that, it had been total freedom, and before that, total freedom for herself and anyone else she chose.

The deal just kept getting worse, and there was nothing she could do. She knew it and he knew it. She hadn't set up enough contingencies to protect herself. Her only backup plan had been to report him before he got to execute his plan, but it was too late now. The Bureau had already ceded too much power, and she couldn't take back the access she'd given him.

And now, here she was, walking through a world of people who were, at least for now, unlocked, with her own clit still securely out of reach under Calvin's new Privalock model 1 chastity belt.

Some VIP status.

She took the long way home that evening, picking the train that let off near her favorite bar along the way, and told herself that was what she was there for.

Just the bar.

Not the Bureau headquarters across the street.

She made her way laboriously along the choked sidewalk, staring at the throngs of people still waiting in the hours-long line to submit themselves for relocking. She stared because it was a hell of a spectacle, and because they were in her way.

Definitely not because she was thinking of joining them.

It would be a bit of a fuck you to Calvin if she did, though, wouldn't it? Especially if she volunteered to film one of those propaganda segments of theirs, right after starring in Calvin's gala announcement. Let the Bureau have a nice snappy shot of Privalock's own spokeswoman denouncing the new company and its owner.

But then she'd be resigning herself right back to the status quo she'd promised herself she would never cooperate with.

And any potential that truly lay in Calvin's Privalock vision would be lost to her. The Bureau might have an infinite forgiveness policy, but Calvin certainly didn't.

Artemis reached the front door of the bar.

She still had her old device with her old point counter in her purse, so that was one thing she could still do. She could still drink.

"Ma'am, have you decided what you're going to do about the Click?"

Artemis turned to look at the skinny little Asian kid who had spoken. No, not quite a kid, she reassessed. A man, if only just. Old enough for the lack of chain lines under his tight jeans to look out of the ordinary.

He had a fresh tan, bordering on a burn, across his nose and cheeks, as if he'd been out here all day without a break, and hadn't been particularly used to the sun beforehand.

He glanced down, tracing Artemis's own chains with his eyes.

"Ah, I see you have, sorry." He lowered the flyer he'd stretched out toward her and turned to move on.

"Wait," Artemis called out, the words at the top of the black-and-white flyer imprinting themselves on her vision.

You don't have to go back.

The guy stopped and waited, skeptical of her interest.

"You're not one of ours," she said.

Calvin no doubt had direct marketing reps working this crowd somewhere, but she knew what his handouts looked like, because she'd helped him finalize the templates. He liked everything to be glossy and bursting with primary colors.

A flicker of fear crossed the guy's face, then disappeared quickly under a friendly smile.

"One of yours?" he asked.

Artemis debated what to say about her relation to Privalock, and while she was hashing out the pros and cons to herself, the man with the wad of messy flyers turned and ran.

One moment he was smiling at her, seeming to wait patiently for her to make up her mind without a care in the world. The next he was elbowing his way forcefully through the crowd in the opposite direction, ducking deftly into the alley next to the bar and out of her line of sight.

"Hey!" Artemis shouted, running after him. She nearly slipped on the short stretch of sidewalk now littered with his abandoned flyers

You don't have to go back.

You don't have to go back.

"Please, I'm not going to hurt you!" she called out.

The little rebel (because what else could he be?) kept running. She caught a flash of his shirt as he turned onto the sidewalk of the next street.

Artemis could not have formed a comfortable explanation for why she was so determined to catch up with him. She had never put any stock in the anti-Bureau rebels before. Sure, they were real, maybe even numerous, but the kind of change they wanted was the kind that simply didn't happen.

Happiness, kindness, justice. Pleasure and freedom for all. People had been chasing and peddling that idea since the dawn of time, and no one had yet gotten their hands on it. The idea that someone could do it in her lifetime was laughable.

Pleasure and freedom for one, now that might be attainable, but not if you fell in with people like them. Open rebellion was how you made sure the Bureau noticed you. It was how you got more of everything Artemis didn't want in her life. And when you got caught and punished, it probably wouldn't even be an accident. It would be part of some plan, something the rebels had the nerve to ask of each other, because it was noble.

Maybe all of Calvin's teasing and denial was getting to her, in a way her own pleasure experiments never had.

Rebels were supposed to have ways of tricking chastity devices. As Artemis sprinted through parking lots, planters and alleys, the jostle of her pelvic plate against the outermost nerve endings of her pussy almost seemed to be leading the way, with an urgent, silent drumbeat under her jeans.

Or maybe the overwhelming need pounding inside her was composed of more fuck you and fuck it than for the love of god, fuck me.

"Come back! I can help you, damnit!" she shouted.

The rebel kept running, but Artemis knew the next alley he was headed toward. She had bought and sold chemical pleasures there more than once. It only let out next to the food depot next door, and she could get there quicker than he could.

She turned right instead of left, vaulted a low brick wall, and wove between the service vehicles parked out front to reach the mouth of the alley ahead of him.

The rebel skidded to a stop right in front of Artemis, but even as she reached for his collar to hold him still, she realized her error.

He didn't try to run past her or back the way he'd come, didn't lash out and fight, didn't smile and try to pretend he hadn't been running from her in the first place. He just fixed her with a distantly appraising gaze, and then looked behind her, toward the sound of one of those service trucks opening its rear door.

Artemis turned her head just far enough to perceive at least half a dozen figures all rushing in to stand around her, before one of them shoved a bag roughly over her head and two more yanked her up into the truck's cargo hold.

#

"You're almost done, just the sink to go," Kristen encouraged.

"I'm aware of that," Leila snapped, then caught herself. "Sorry. Sorry, ma'am, no disrespect intended."

"I'm sure there wasn't," said Kristen, quietly proud of how steady her voice was. "Which is why I'm only going to raise your repayment quota for the day by five extra points for that."

Leila looked up at her, as sharply as she'd spoken a moment ago, but she managed to hold her tongue this time. After several seconds, she asked almost meekly, "Really?"

Kristen held her gaze. "Really."

Leila nodded stiffly and returned to work, scrubbing the industrial-sized cafeteria sink.

She was completely naked except for her chastity device and pleasure-proof pasties. Kristen's only job right now was to monitor her. It felt terribly unnatural, watching her shake the cramps from her skinny muscles, while her knuckles and knees turned red from scrubbing, without offering to help.

"This isn't going to work if other people start questioning my ability to carry out your sentence," Kristen reminded her, more gently. "Do you see any upside to making it harder for both of us?"

"No, ma'am," Leila agreed heavily.

When Leila finished scrubbing and began washing the suds down the drain, Kristen hopped down from the counter where she'd been sitting and picked up one of the unused kitchen towels.

"These fit the same specs as the ones on the punishment menu, don't they?" she asked, weighing one in her hands.

"Yes, ma'am," Leila answered. "They're all from the same supplier. We just set a few aside for that purpose. And then we almost never end up using them."

"Because of how inconvenient it is to bring a bucket of water up to the visitor rooms?" Kristen guessed.

"I believe that's the main reason most officers don't bother to offer it as an option, yes," Leila agreed.

She had one hand on the center island of the kitchen -- surfaced with the same naked, stainless steel as the visitor room tables -- obviously anticipating Kristen's next order.

"Bend over the counter, hands in front of you."

Leila did so.

Kristen ran the dry towel under the faucet of the freshly sparkling sink, and wrung it out to just the right heft.

"How many strokes is it going to take to recoup those extra points for the day, do you remember?" she asked.

"Ten, at a half point each, ma'am," Leila answered easily.

"Count them down," said Kristen.

She twirled the towel around at her side to twist it into a lash, and then snapped it loudly against the left cheek of Leila's ass, where it left a red mark almost as bright as Leila's raw hands.

"Ten," Leila started the count.

There was no audible pain in her voice, which wasn't surprising. This was nothing, relative to the punishments she'd grown used to taking. Kristen was getting used to administering them, too, even on her.

The formality of their new relationship was still tricky for them both to remember, and sometimes to stomach. But the physicality was almost effortless. Almost normal.

"When we're done here, you'll need to get yourself cleaned up fast," Kristen told Leila between snaps of the towel. "We've got a strategy meeting at one, and they want you looking and acting like an officer."

"It'd be a lot easier -- three -- to look and act like an officer -- four -- if I were allowed to -- five -- feel like one."

"Do you think I'm going to be able to make that happen anytime soon?" Kristen asked.

"Seven -- No," Leila answered. "I'm just -- eight -- noting it."

"I have faith in you," said Kristen, raising the last two welts on Leila's porcelain skin. "Plus, if you let me down, I'm going to be watching you clean the rain gutters next. And so will everyone on the street outside."

#

"Her device is Privalock branded, and the ID chip says her name is Artemis," said Carmen.

Zach nodded, unable to look the leader of his cell, the leader of his whole rebel world as far as he knew, in the eye.

"Artemis!" Carmen repeated, pounding her fist on the rickety wooden desk they were using for this private meeting, in the back of one of the cell phone stores in the abandoned mall. "Is she the same Artemis who caused the Click? The person who managed to crash the entire Bureau server while we were still standing around with our dicks in our hands?"

"I wouldn't say we were--"

"Is she the same Artemis?" Carmen stopped him.

Zach shrugged. "I don't know, ma'am."

"What does she have to say about it?"

"I don't know, ma'am."

"You didn't think to ask her? It's not like it's a common name."

"I didn't ask her anything," Zach admitted.

"I see." Carmen leaned back in her chair, bouncing against its springy back hinge, arms crossed under the stretched chest of her low-cut tank top.

Zach didn't dare look at her for too long there either, so he focused on his hands.

"What was it you were supposed to be doing out there, again?" Carmen asked.

"Talking to people," Zach hammered the nails knowingly into his own coffin. "Feeling them out for amenability to the cause. I did bring us Sasha!"

"You did bring us Sasha," Carmen conceded, "and then..."

"And then I got the sense that this woman, Artemis, was working for Privalock, so I made a run for it. I was also supposed to be posing as a Privalock rep and not getting caught, so...."

Carmen leaned forward again, and clasped her hands on the desk between them.

"This isn't about your recruiting numbers," she said, lowering her voice. "It's not even about the fact that you brought in a potentially powerful enemy who was shouting 'I can help you' when we grabbed her, and you have no intel on how we should approach her."

She reached out and put her hand on top of Zach's.

"I know what you're like when your head's in the game, kid," she said. "And this isn't it. So, spill it."

Zach shrugged again, and almost said it was nothing, but the words fell apart in his mouth. He comforted himself with the knowledge that Carmen had not become a rebel leader by being easy to lie to.

"I thought people would be waiting for this day," he said. "For any chance, any scrap of freedom. I was waiting, every second I was locked up. I thought..." Kristen "I thought everyone would want what we want. Everyone except the ones in control, I mean. But even people who are obviously suffering, they just seem to be waiting for us to shut up and go away so they can stop thinking about it."

"So, you're finally realizing that not everyone is like you?" Carmen summed up.

Zach shrug-nodded.

"That's all?"

Zach shrug-nodded again, and said nothing more.

"All right, then." Carmen tugged on her long ponytail with annoyance. "I wish I could give you a day or two to grieve the much prettier universe you've apparently been living in all this time, but I can't. I need you to go in there and use that new insight to figure out what Artemis is like, and whether she really can be of use to us."

"Yes, ma'am." Zach shifted his weight resolutely onto his feet.

"Zach, wait," Carmen called out as he reached the door.

He looked back. Her expression had softened.

"You're a good man, Zach," she said. "That's why you're so easy to disappoint."

A melancholy warmth stung its way through Zach's blood.

"So, if I learn to lower my expectations, I'll be less good?" he asked.

"God, I hope not," Carmen laughed. "No," she added more seriously. "No, I don't think so. You're already so good at putting yourself in other people's shoes. Feeling what you would feel in their place. Learning how to feel what they feel in their place, even if it's different.... That's just the natural next step."

Zach nodded, without the shrug this time.

He wished he could respond with more conviction, but as always, speaking with Carmen did help a little. She never seemed to expect him to validate anything she said, which made it seem all the more likely that she was right.

"Whatever Artemis's deal is, I'll get it out of her," he promised.

#

Artemis waited on one of the scuffed benches of what had once been a shoe store. The inventory had all been cleared out, but the shelves and ankle-height mirrors remained.

The rebels who had locked her in here, the same ones who had accompanied her on the disorienting ride over, had held something sharp against her spine and shushed her whenever she tried to ask questions or explain herself. They had not restrained her, however, or left a guard.

There was a bottle of water and a protein bar, the kind you could get out of any dispenser in the country, laid out on the checkout stand.

Artemis thought she could probably carve her way out of the store through the plaster walls, or possibly jimmy the back door, but without knowing exactly where in the mall the rebels lived and worked, or when they planned to return for her, she'd have a poor chance of escaping the whole complex undetected.

And besides, it wasn't exactly as if there were anything about her life that she was itching to get back to. She'd come this far in the hope of talking to someone who had something new to say. If she was going to end up disappointed, she wanted to at least be conclusively disappointed, with no lingering sparks of hope that might flare up and bother her later.

So, she sat, and she waited. She ate the protein bar and was just debating how long she should save that last sip at the bottom of the water bottle, when the skinny little guy who'd gotten her into this in the first place strode up to the security gate at the front of the store, crouched down, and stuck a key in the lock.

He eyed Artemis attentively as he worked, but didn't seem particularly concerned that she might try to rush him.

With the gate re-locked behind him, he sat down on the bench across from her, so that their knees were a few inches apart, and stared at her.