My CEO Locks My Chastity Key

The fortieth floor had gone quiet the way only money ever went quiet, the city a grid of cold light under the glass and the merger binders stacked like a low wall across Barrett’s oak desk. Petra sat on the edge of the credenza with her heels off, twenty-eight and sharp even at one in the morning, the silk of her blouse sticking faintly to the small of her back. She had been his executive assistant for three years and his private, unfinished sentence for one of them: the looks that lasted a beat too long, the way he said her name when he wanted the room cleared, the standing offer neither of them had quite dared to cash.

Barrett was forty-two, broad through the shoulders in a shirt he’d rolled to the forearms sometime after midnight, gray at the temples and mean about deadlines in a way she liked more than she admitted. He closed the last binder and looked at her the way he looked at a number that didn’t add up yet.

“You’re smiling,” he said. “We just gave away a board seat. You shouldn’t be smiling.”

“I’m not smiling about the board seat.” Petra crossed her legs, the whisper of stockings loud in the hush. Under the tailored charcoal pants she wore what she always wore when the building emptied: black lace panties strained over steel, a garter belt biting soft at her hips, a bra she’d bought because the hormones had finally given her something to put in it. The cage had been her own idea six weeks ago, a locked little secret she carried through meetings while he talked about leverage. Tonight the secret had teeth. “I’m smiling because you’re about to lose your mind, and I get to watch.”

His eyes narrowed. “Petra.”

“There’s a lock on me,” she said, voice low and pleased with itself. “Steel. Tight. My clitty’s been in it since I dressed this morning, and the key is somewhere in this office. I hid it before you came back from the call. You can look, or you can pretend you don’t want to. I’ve been pretending for a year. I’m done.”

The hunger that moved through his face was not polite. It was the same look he got when a rival blinked first, except warmer, darker, aimed entirely at her. He didn’t reach for her. He set both hands on the desk and leaned in until she could smell coffee and the clean bite of his cologne.

“You locked yourself,” he said, “and then you told me. In my office. After midnight. That’s not a tease, Petra. That’s a key with my name already on it.”

Her pulse kicked. She pressed her thighs together and felt the cage shift, a mean little weight against lace. “Then come take it.”

He didn’t rush. That was the worst and best of him. Barrett came around the desk like he had all night and nowhere else he’d rather spend it, stopping close enough that her knees brushed his slacks. “Say it plain. I don’t take things that aren’t offered.”

“I’m offering.” She tipped her chin up, twenty-eight and certain, the year of almosts burning off her tongue. “I want you to have it. I want you to decide when I get out. I’ve wanted that since the first time you looked at my mouth in a meeting and then looked away like it cost you something.”

“It did.” His hand came up, not quite touching her jaw. “Still does. Take the blouse open. Slow. If the key’s on you, I want to see you choose to show me.”

Her breath caught, exactly as she’d known it would. She undid the buttons one by one, silk parting over a black lace bra and the warm swell the hormones had given her, fuller than they’d been a year ago, sensitive enough that the air from the vent made her nipples tighten against the cups. A fine chain lay in the hollow between her breasts, warm from her skin, and at the end of it a tiny steel key no bigger than a pinky nail.

Barrett’s eyes went nearly black. “There you are.”

“Here I am.” Petra let the chain pool in her palm and held it out, then, because she was filthy and she knew him, she drew it back an inch and pressed her stockinged thighs together until the cage ached. “I’ve been walking around your floor all day with my clitty locked and this between my tits, thinking about your hands. Thinking about you owning it. I get wet in the panties when I hear your voice on a call. I leak in the cage when you say good girl without meaning to. I need you to take the key, Barrett. I need you to keep it. I need you to tell me my locked little clitty belongs to you now, or I’m going to lose what is left of my professional reputation on this desk.”

He made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Your reputation’s already on this desk. Come here.”

She stood. He took the chain from her fingers and didn’t put it on yet. He let it hang between them while his other hand settled at her waist, thumb stroking the place where garter met skin under the open waistband she’d already loosened without quite noticing.

“From now on,” he said, low, “I control when this comes off. Not you. Not a hiding place. Me. You want out, you ask. You beg if I want begging. You wear it to the Monday meeting and sit there pretty and locked and you look at me when it aches. Say yes if that’s what you came here to give me.”

“Yes.” It came out ragged. “God, yes. Own it. Own my locked clitty. I’ve been aching for you to say that since the holiday party, and I didn’t even have the cage then, I just had the want. Take it. Please take it. I’m so—” She laughed once, breathless and mean with need. “I’m so wet it’s embarrassing. The panties are a disgrace. If you don’t touch me I’m going to do something undignified against your leg.”

“Undignified,” he repeated, and the corner of his mouth went sharp. “Good. I want you undignified. I want that sharp mouth of yours messy. I want you bent over the merger like the merger can wait.” His thumb brushed the key, then the upper curve of her breast through lace. “You’re beautiful like this. Not despite the cage. With it. My brilliant girl, locked up and offering me the only key. I’m keeping it. Understand?”

“Keep it forever,” she said, and meant the filth and the tenderness both. “I’ll be good. I’ll be awful. I’ll be whatever you want as long as you don’t give it back tonight.”

“Tonight,” Barrett said, sliding the chain over his own head so the key rested against his chest, “I’m not giving anything back.”

He turned her before she could answer, a firm hand between her shoulder blades, and bent her over the massive oak desk. Binders slid. A pen clattered to the carpet. Petra caught the far edge with both hands and pushed her ass back into him without being asked, the charcoal pants already shoved to mid-thigh by his impatient grip, lace panties dragged aside so the steel cage and the pale curve of her ass were bare to the low lamp.

“Look at you,” he growled. “Silk stockings in my office. Cage shining. You’ve been sitting six feet from me all night like this.”

“All day,” she said into the wood. “Unbutton the rest. I want your hands on my tits. They’re sore in the best way, Barrett, please—”

He ripped the blouse the rest of the way open, buttons ticking across the desk, and dragged the lace cups down. Her breasts spilled into his palms, hormone-full and hot, nipples stiff against his fingers. He pinched, not cruel, just sure, and she moaned like the sound had been waiting in her throat since the first binder.

“Mouth,” he said. “Now. I’ve wanted this mouth since you corrected my slide deck in front of the bankers and smiled like you knew exactly what you were doing.”

She turned, dropped to her knees on the expensive carpet between his shoes, and opened his belt with hands that only shook a little. His cock was thick, already hard, the head flushed dark. She looked up at forty-two years of control coming apart and took him in, slow at first, then deeper when his hand settled in her hair and guided. The stretch made her eyes water. She gagged once, pulled off, spit shining on her lip, and went back down because she wanted the mess, wanted him to feel her throat flutter around him.

“Fuck,” Barrett said, voice cracked. “That’s it. Take it. Good girl. My locked girl on her knees with her tits out and her clitty caged. You have no idea how long I’ve pictured this.”

She pulled off just far enough to speak, filthy and bright-eyed. “Then stop picturing and use me. I can take more. I want to gag on it. I want you to remember this every time I hand you a coffee.”

He did. He fucked her mouth in short, deep strokes until saliva slicked her chin and her mascara smudged and her caged cock throbbed uselessly against steel, leaking through the slit at the tip onto the lace. When he pulled out she chased him, mouth open, and he laughed once, wrecked, and hauled her up.

The key was warm against his sternum. He found the cage’s lock with practiced care for all that his hands weren’t steady, turned it, and the steel came away. Her small cock sprang free, flushed and wet at the tip, aching so hard she whimpered and grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t let me come yet,” she begged. “Not from that. I want—God, I want you in me. There’s a plug in my bag. Vibrating. I brought it because I knew if I told you, I wouldn’t be able to stop at telling you.”

He found it. He bent her over the desk again, spat, worked two fingers into her ass until she was pushing back and swearing into a quarterly report, then slid the plug in and thumbed it on. The buzz went through her like a struck glass. Her freed cock jumped, a clear strand of precum swinging from the head to the oak.

“Up,” he said. “On your back. Legs in the air. I want to see your face when I fuck that tight hole, and I want that pretty leaking cock in my hand while I do it.”

She scrambled, papers sticking to her bare back, blouse hanging off one shoulder, bra wrecked under her tits. He hooked her stockinged ankles onto his shoulders, pulled the buzzing plug free, and pushed his cock into her in one long, relentless stroke that knocked the air out of her lungs. She was tight and eager and already open from the plug, and the stretch still bordered on too much in the way she loved, the way that made her clutch his forearms and nod frantically so he wouldn’t mistake the gasp for a stop.

“Yes—yes, Barrett, don’t you dare go easy—own it, own my hole, it’s yours, the key’s yours, my clitty’s yours—”

He set a pace that had the desk thumping the wall, deep strokes that seated him to the base and dragged back slow enough to make her sob. One hand wrapped her freed cock and stroked in time, slick with her own leak, thumb smearing precum over the head until she was shaking. The other braced beside her head. His chain swung. The tiny key tapped his chest with every thrust.

“Listen to you,” he said, filthy and fond and ruined. “Begging to stay locked. Begging me to keep the only key while I pound your ass on a hundred-million-dollar merger. You’re mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours.” Her voice broke. “Your locked office girl. Your—fuck—your sissy when you want me in lace and your sharp-mouthed assistant when the lights are on and yours either way. Keep the key forever. Don’t give it back. I want to feel it on you tomorrow when I kneel to pick up a pen. I want to ask permission to get hard and hear you say no. Please, Barrett, please, I’m going to come, I’m going to come on your cock, don’t stop stroking—”

“Come,” he ordered. “Come while I fuck you. Then I’m locking you back up dripping.”

She came with a cry that would have carried to reception if reception hadn’t gone home, her cock pulsing in his fist, thin streaks of come striping her stomach and his knuckles, her ass clamping down so hard he swore and lost the rhythm. He drove in deep and stayed there, grinding, and came inside her in hot pulses she felt one after another, his forehead dropped to hers, both of them shaking.

For a moment there was only breath and the tick of the lamp and the obscene wet sound when he eased out. Come leaked from her onto the desk blotter. She was glowing, boneless, smiling like she’d won something expensive.

Barrett didn’t fumble. He cleaned his hand on his discarded tie, fit the steel cage back over her spent, dripping clitty with a care that made her eyes sting, and snapped the lock shut. The key went back against his chest on the chain. He looked at her like she was the only clause in the contract that mattered.

Petra pulled him down and kissed him, deep and slow and tasting of both of them. “I can’t wait,” she whispered against his mouth, blissed-out and sure, “to be your locked office sissy every single day from now on. Morning coffee. Late nights. The key on your neck where I can see it and nobody else knows what it opens. Yours.”

He kissed her again, thumb stroking her cheek, about to answer—

The private elevator at the end of the hall chimed.

Both of them froze. Barrett’s head came up. Petra’s stocking-clad leg was still hooked over his arm, her blouse ruined, his come cooling on the blotter, the cage locked, the key bright against his open collar. Through the glass sidelight they could see the car doors parting. Magda, the CFO, forty-five and famously early for everything including disasters, stepped out with a phone at her ear and the forgotten signature folder in her other hand, already saying, loud enough to carry, “I’m grabbing it off his desk, two minutes, don’t start the call without—”

Her heels clicked toward the closed office door.

Barrett’s hand found Petra’s. The lock on the cage was cool against her skin. The key was on his neck. Neither of them had time to become decent, and the handle was already turning.