Sinful Restraints: A Corporate Descent
Links for easy navigation: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
Chapter 1: Whispers of the Automated Lash
I woke up in my penthouse suite, the city skyline mocking me through floor-to-ceiling windows smeared with last night’s rain. The air hummed with the low buzz of the Helix system—my personal AI enforcer, disguised as a sleek black obelisk in the corner. Liam Hargrove, mid-level exec at Nexus Corp, but here? Just another slave to the code.
My body ached from the week’s squeeze. That damn harness, laced tighter than a junkie’s vein, had cinched my ribs until every breath was a negotiation. I stripped naked, the cool marble floor kissing my bare feet like a lover’s chill tongue. Heart pounding, I stepped into the alcove, wrists snapping into the padded cuffs. Click. The machine purred to life.
The Cleanse
Arms whirred out, unlacing the glossy latex girdle with surgical precision. It peeled away, revealing skin raw and pale, marked by deep red welts. A nozzle invaded my mouth—hollow, insistent—forcing me to suck sterile mist while brushes scrubbed every inch. Soap stung my eyes, but the real burn was the scent: clinical ozone mixed with my own musky neglect. Five minutes of hanging, dripping, drying under hot blasts that left me shivering, exposed.
The screen flickered alive. My gut twisted. Holo-images scrolled: rumpled silk sheets tangled with takeout boxes, a forgotten whiskey tumbler crusty on the nightstand, my gym bag spilling socks across the foyer. “Sloppy indulgence detected,” it intoned, voice like crushed velvet over gravel. “Five infractions. Penalty phase initiated.”
The First Sting
“Ten strokes per fault.” The bar yanked me forward, bending me double, ass high, head dangling. Vulnerability flooded me—balls swaying free, hole clenching in dread. The paddle whooshed. Fire cracked across my cheeks, a white-hot brand that ripped a gargled scream through the tube. Again. Again. By ten, tears streamed; by fifty, I sobbed, thighs quaking, skin throbbing like a heartbeat.
Dazed, I missed the next verdict. “Infractions two through four: Extended compression protocol.” Arms hauled me upright, toes scraping. The new sheath wrapped me—ebony latex, seamless weld glowing blue as it shrank. Inch by inch, it crushed inward, ribs protesting, waist narrowing to a wasp’s dream. Another half-inch beyond endurance. I gasped, vision spotting, the mirror reflecting a stranger: corseted hourglass, nipples peaked against the shine.
“Final sanction: Prolonged denial.” A cage clicked over my thickening shaft, cold metal biting soft flesh, locking my sinful urges in steel. One month. The machine released me; I collapsed, tasting salt and shame.
Chapter 2: Echoes in the Glass Tower
Staggering into the elevator, late as hell, the mirror showed my tailored suit hiding the torture beneath—posture ramrod straight, breath shallow. Nexus Corp’s tower loomed, all chrome and glass, smelling of coffee and ambition. 47th floor: the team waited, clapping like seals as doors parted.
“Liam! The golden boy!” Tara rushed forward, her perfume—jasmine spiked with something feral—invading my space. Red hair cascaded over power shoulders; she gripped my hand too tight. “Promotion’s official. Senior director now.”
Heart hammered against its prison. Applause thundered. I managed a grin amid the chaos, the cage a constant throb. Settling at my desk proved agony; the corset forced me bolt upright, spine a steel rod. Emails blurred—orders, reports—while sweat beaded under my collar. Noon crept in. Tara poked her head: “Lunch?” I waved her off, grabbing herbal tea instead, its bitter steam a meager comfort against the building heat low in my belly.
Afternoon dragged, focus splintering on fantasies of release. Then, the ping: “Serena Voss requires your presence. Penthouse lounge. 5 PM sharp.” The CEO. Elusive phantom, iron empress of our digital empire. Rumors swirled—rewards lavish, punishments biblical. My mind raced scenarios, cock straining futilely as the clock ticked.
Chapter 3: The Velvet Invitation
The lounge door hissed open to opulent shadows: velvet drapes muffling city roar, air thick with sandalwood incense and faint leather polish. Empty, save a glowing console avatar—Serena’s digital siren, porcelain features smirking.
“Liam Hargrove. Thief-catcher. Quota-crusher.” Her voice dripped honey over thorns. “Company raise is yours. This? Personal.”
She gestured; a panel slid, revealing the Vault: crimson carpet unfurling to a massive obsidian throne, flanked by columns tethering slaves—lithe forms in glossy sheaths, masked, collared, silent. Twelve in total: six women, five men, one anomaly I couldn’t place. Console hummed options: select, sequence, indulge.
Excitement surged, then crashed. Chastity. No penetration, no relief. Turn down the queen? Stories chilled: vanished execs, broken careers. Desperation birthed a plan—risky, sinful, brilliant. I tinkered: swapped a male slave for a female, masked her gray for anonymity. Stripped, entered the booth. Minutes later, I emerged sheathed in mirror-black bodysuit, fishnets hugging thighs, stilettos wobbling my steps. Purple mask hid my face, ball-gag stretching lips, collar clicking home.
Switching Thrones
The biggest-cocked male went next—re-outfitted to mimic me, helmeted, cuffed unseen to the throne. Console armed, timer ticking: 30 seconds. I knelt at an empty column, zipping blindflaps, cuffs snapping wrists overhead. Darkness absolute. Breath roared in my ears. Helpless. Aroused. The sinful thrill coiled tight.
Whir. Robot glided. Soft footsteps approached the throne. “Service your lord,” it droned. Wet slurps echoed faintly, stirring my trapped length to agony. 🔥
Chapter 4: Tongues of Fire and Shadow
Blind, I waited, musk of arousal thickening the air—sweat, latex, slick desire. Something yielding pressed my face: smooth mound, heat radiating. Gag yanked free. “Satisfy your pair.”
I lunged forward, nose burying in damp folds, tongue spearing her core. Salty-sweet nectar coated my lips; she bucked, gag-muffled moans vibrating my skin. Circles on her pearl, flicks relentless. She shattered five times, thighs quivering like bowstrings, before withdrawal left me gasping, jaw throbbing.
Next: firmer lips, deeper taste—muskier, urgent. I lapped like a man starved, her hips grinding. Then the third. She straddled bold, smothering. I attacked her nub—circle, flick, repeat. But it pulsed, elongated, thrust into my mouth. Shock froze me. Cock. Thick, veined, blooming from her depths—a futanari masterpiece, retractable genius of flesh and tech.
The Throat’s Surrender
Choke. She eased back; I gulped air laced with her essence. Robot zapped—collar and plug firing twin jolts up my spine. Squeal muffled, I submitted. Silky girth slid over tongue, probing throat. Gentle pistons built rhythm; gag reflex waned as pleasure bloomed—velvet steel, salty pre-cum like forbidden elixir. I swirled, sucked, hollowed cheeks. She swelled, rammed deep. Convulsion milked her; hot jets blasted—down throat, pooling on tongue. Ambrosia. Sinful nectar igniting nerves, craving more. I chased her retreat, draining every drop, blushing in darkness at my hunger.
Robot unclipped, belted me: harness with jutting phallus, locking heels. “Mount while master observes.” Hands found upthrust ass—plump, slick. Dildo teased her slit, dipping in her flood. She rocked into void; another filled her mouth. I thrust—buried to base. Orgasm ripped her; I pounded merciless, plug shifting inside me with each slam, nipples scraping latex, cage cruel.
Hands encircled from behind: full breasts mashed my back, voice husky. “Locked away? Let me unravel you.” Her strap slid between thighs, teasing balls, syncing with my rocks. Fingers pinched peaks, nails raked. Edge danced near—denied. Ponytail yanked, teeth sank neck. Spank—fire bloom. “Climax, slut!” I shattered, dry waves convulsing, pleasure ripping screams unspoken. She cooed, “Good pet.” 💋
Chapter 5: Columns of Ecstasy
Recovered, cuffed behind, swaying blind amid slave chorus: “Gratitude, sire.” My turn: knelt, cheek brushed warm, slick rod—the imposter’s cock. “Bestow kiss and thanks.” Lips pressed shaft, inhaling mingled spend. “Thank you, master,” whimpered through gag.
Session peaked in frenzy. Robot chained me spread to a column, legs splayed. Vibrating tendrils invaded—front cage teased, rear plug thrummed. Futanari returned, her hardness spearing my thigh gap, grinding while hands milked my form. Others joined: mouths on nipples, fingers probing seams.
The Futanari’s Dominion
She flipped me, ass presented. Lube-slick, her tip breached—slow, inexorable. Burning stretch yielded to fullness, prostate kissed with each inch. “Take it, sinful boy,” she growled, gag yielding words somehow. Pounds built: wet slaps echoing incense air, sweat dripping, her breasts slapping back. I begged through moans, cage leaking futilely.
Climax chained us—her seed flooding deep, triggering my ruin, body milking phantom release. Collapse into arms, tenderness post-storm: strokes hair, whispers praise. Others rotated: double penetration illusions via toys, mouths devouring every inch. Sensory overload—tastes of cum and pussy mingling, scents of sex-soaked latex, touches electric, moans symphony, visions glimpsed in blindfold slips: writhing bodies, glistening skins.
Hours blurred. Exhaustion claimed me amid piles of spent slaves, throne master spent, my deception holding by thread.
Chapter 6: Fractured Reflections
Timer died; cuffs released. Stumbling free, I reversed chaos: imposter to booth, gagged for months, shipped to remote facility. Guilt gnawed—fair trade for his throne throne? Futanari eluded ID; emerald mask lingered in mind, her taste haunting. Slaves stored, cleaned; I shed disguise, suit reclaiming normalcy.
Week blurred: new role devoured—reorgs, deadlines, corset a secret whip. Sinful dreams plagued nights: her cock down throat, denying cage a torment turned tease. Serena’s note arrived Friday: “Performance noted. Deeper rewards await.” Dread and lust twisted. Was she watching recordings? My ploy exposed?
Weekend loomed, Helix humming ominously. I eyed the alcove, waist throbbing, shaft weeping pre in vain. The sinful cycle deepened—punishment birthing promotion, denial fueling depravity. Touching the cage, I hardened futilely, breath ragged. What fresh hell—or heaven—Monday wrought? Only the machine knew, and it never lied.
In the mirror, corseted silhouette smirked back, a stranger forged in latex and lust. The city lights flickered like distant orgasms denied, promising more descent into this exquisite, unbreakable grip.
But beneath the ache, connection stirred—slaves’ muffled thanks echoing my own buried cravings. Perhaps tomorrow, I’d seek her out. Emerald. The one who made swallowing sin taste like salvation.
