‘Lost the key? What do you mean, you’ve lost the key?’ A moment of real panic flashed through Veronica, though she had to fight back a fit of giggles at the sheer goofiness of her situation. Here she was, along with Gardner Peterson and Stewart Dirks, three-fifths of the Brenford College history department, in the back room of a sagging building a few blocks from the Laketown boardwalk, except Gardner and Stew weren’t chained to the wall.
And neither one of the guys was wearing a chastity belt.
She rattled the chains and tested the limits of her movement. She might be able to scratch her hip if she struggled and stood on her tiptoes.
Stew probed his pockets and then turned them inside out. ‘I don’t have it.’
‘Maybe Igor has a spare,’ Gardner offered. He laughed openly, the bastard.
‘He said he’d be back in ... what? An hour? Can you stand it that long, Ronnie?’
‘I think so. The chains chafe a little, and the damned belt itches. Can you two see if you can get it off me?’
‘Sure!’ Stew answered with enthusiasm and caught hold of the metal band that circled Veronica’s waist. The belt hugged her waist over her shorts, though both men had tried to convince her to lose them so she’d look like she was nude under the ancient device when they took the pictures. ‘In your dreams, boys,’ she’d answered with a grin.
No way, she thought, and she was glad now, the idea of the old caretaker – the one Gardner dubbed Igor – returning to find her in a thong was seriously unappealing. Stew fiddled with the belt and Veronica fought the chains, trying to reach the band to help him. He pulled hard at the latch where the belt fastened.
‘Ouch!’ she cried. ‘That hurts!’
‘Wow, Ronnie,’ Stew said, his voice broken with suppressed laughter. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s not budging. Your shorts are caught in the hinge. The goddamned belt is stuck.’
They’d taken the trip together, the first weekend of summer break, from Brenford to Laketown, an urban fieldtrip, Stew called it. Veronica admired his passion for mid-century culture, and because Gardner’s uncle had owned an old concession just off the bad end of the Laketown boardwalk – shuttered since the 80s – the trip seemed a perfect launch to the summer. Laketown had a handful of historic buildings from the Civil War – Gardner’s area of expertise – and a museum of Native American artefacts. And, of course the little resort town had Shelley’s Lake and three good restaurants, all of which weighed into Veronica’s consent to the trip, even though there was nothing professionally appealing there for a teacher of Medieval and Renaissance history.
That, and she liked both Stew and Gardner well enough to have hooked up with each of them her first year at Brenford. None of them had any illusions about relationships, and all things considered, that fit perfectly into Ronnie’s life plan. Problem was, she could almost imagine herself falling in love with either one of them, and the risks of doing that before any of them had tenure were too high. At this point, it might end up with one of them employed and the other one moving on. She’d partied discretely with each of them a few times since, but she would never let either of them go too far, even when she really wanted to.
Ronnie pegged the trip as a kind of test, but she readily dismissed serious thoughts in favour of celebration. At the end of the spring semester, they had all been granted tenure after five years of educating the minds of the future. The fact that all of them were tenured was more than enough reason to celebrate, and Ronnie was ready for anything. Anything, she told herself, wondering exactly what that meant.
They drove into Laketown early Saturday and rented adjoining rooms at the Wahoo Motel, a survivor from the 1930s that Stew said had once been a hideout for mobsters, and then they drove down to the boardwalk. The waterfront had fallen onto hard times in the 80s and 90s, but the strip of ancient weathered buildings had recently begun to show new signs of life, a couple of restaurants and a charter outfit with its bright nautical motif occupied the centre of it.
‘Uncle Billy’s place was down this way,’ Gardner said, leading them down a narrow street that led inland from the shore road. ‘I told you, he ran an attraction on Coney Island for almost 30 years before he retired here. This place was a junior version of his Curiosity Museum at Coney. Classic roadside stuff. The building’s been padlocked since Uncle Billy died.’
They pulled up to an eroded curb and Gardner pointed to a white frame monolith, its windows shuttered with boards. Faded “No Trespassing” signs dotted the fence. A stooped, unshaven man of indeterminate age awaited them on the wide porch, jingling a ring of keys. Behind him the pink ghost of a garish sign promised “Fun and Thrills”.
Stew leant over to Veronica and whispered, ‘It’s Igor!’
She choked back a laugh as Gardner climbed out of the back seat. ‘You’re from Parrish’s, right?’
‘’S’right. Mr Parrish says you’re OK.’ The old man’s eyes clearly indicated general disapproval as he handed a little ring of keys to Uncle Billy’s prodigal nephew. ‘That big one’s for the front door. Not sure about the rest of them.’
Veronica and Stew joined the other two on the porch. Igor finally smiled when he saw Veronica in her shorts and tanktop. ‘You got all afternoon. I’ll come back in an hour or so to check on you. Don’t take nothing, but if you see anything you want to buy, Mr Parrish says it’s all for sale. Some of that junk you might be able to sell on eBay.’
With a parting leer at Ronnie’s legs, the old man shuffled off to a battered Buick and drove away.
‘OK,’ Gardner chirped and tried the key in the big panelled door. It turned easily and they stepped into the House of Curiosities.
Light filtered in through the boarded windows and their first steps raised dust. Gardner flipped a switch and dull luminescence emanated from ancient hanging ceiling lights to strain against the gloom. Veronica saw a counter, like a soda fountain, with a little kitchen behind it, shelves and bins, some of them still full of toys, a rack of grimy sunglasses, and a wide curtained doorway.
‘I remember this,’ Gardner said. ‘I was like seven. The museum’s back there.’
They spent a few minutes among the rubber sharks and suntan oil, but Stew’s impatience pulled them back. Ronnie had no idea what to expect but she appreciated Stew’s enthusiasm. This place was like a time-capsule to him and she shared his joy at the cheesy wonders of Uncle Billy’s ten-cent museum – a Fiji mermaid, some bell jars that must have once contained ... what – two-headed calf embryos? Yellow newspaper clippings hung between the cases and racks, mementos of the Coney years.
‘Back here,’ Gardner called from another doorway. ‘This was the best.’
Ronnie and Stew followed him back and, yes, Gardner was right. This was the best.
‘Wow, my turn!’ Ronnie said. ‘All the way back to the middle ages!’
The big room looked like a silent-movie torture chamber: a wheel and a rack, an incongruous guillotine, chains and a brazier. ‘There were wax dummies,’ Gardner said, the disappointment plain in his voice. ‘It was great.’
Stew moved around the room, wishing aloud for more light, but as their eyes adjusted, they could see well enough. ‘What’s this?’ Stew asked. ‘Is this what I think it is?’
Veronica laughed. ‘It’s a chastity belt,’ she said. ‘Let me see that.’ Stew handed it to her and she examined it; a steel belt, hinged on one side and with an interlacing buckle on the other – a buckle that could be locked with a simple bar or a padlock. A curved triangle of metal descended from the centre of the band like a tarnished bikini.
‘They’re all fakes, right?’ Gardner asked. ‘There weren’t really any chastity belts.’
‘Well,’ Veronica said. ‘There were chastity belts but some scholars think they were just ... conversation pieces, that no one ever really used them for their alleged Crusader-era purpose.’
‘I bet they were kinky toys,’ Stew offered. ‘Have you seen some of those antique dildos?’
Warmth slipped over Ronnie’s skin. She’d done plenty of research into ancient sex toys. If they only knew ... Without hesitation, she put the belt around her waist and positioned the metal g-string over her crotch.
‘Picture!’ Stew called out and produced his camera. ‘Get the shoes off, Ronnie.’
‘And how about you take your shorts off?’ Gardner asked, his grin wolfish.
Ronnie laughed as she kicked off her sandals and shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, but look.’ She walked over to one wall. A pair of chain shackles hung from rusty rings. One of the cuffs still had a key in it. She tried the key and the cuff opened easily. Laying her left wrist in the metal bracelet, she closed it and heard it snap, and then unlocked it, slipping her wrist free. She tried the key in the right cuff, grinning at the opening click.
‘Lock me up, boys,’ she said. ‘Truly a prisoner of history.’
Gardner and Stew looked at each other and smiled. Each of them took a wrist and closed the cold cuffs around her slender wrists. She felt the weight of the chains, the belt around her waist, and, yeah, she admitted it to herself. She was seriously turned on, in between the giggles.
She writhed in the chains as Stew took pictures but she couldn’t quite manage the look of pain and desperation. When he showed her the shots, she looked like the Happy Heretic, but she also had to admit she looked pretty hot – her hair messy in her face, the tanktop stretched appealingly. She knew both men were getting off on this too.
‘Let’s wrap this up, boys,’ Ronnie said, shaking the chains. They stood on either side of her, each with their hands on her wrists, and then they looked at each other.
‘Where’s the key?’ Stew said first, as they discovered neither of them had it.
‘It itches. The belt itches. And it’s heavy,’ Veronica said and her writhing took on new urgency. She hadn’t expected the damn thing to be so weighty. The metal bands felt like they might be starting to cut into her hips. ‘Can’t you get the fabric out of the hinge?’
‘I’ll try,’ Gardner promised and knelt beside her. He tugged hard at her shorts and she heard a seam rip. ‘Sorry.’ He didn’t sound too sorry, Ronnie thought. ‘No good. I can’t get a good grip to pull.’
She hung there a moment, her breath a little more laboured. ‘Do either of you have a knife?’ she asked. ‘Or maybe there are some scissors out there? Maybe you can cut part of it away.’
‘Cut your shorts?’ Stew asked, and then almost collapsed with laughter.
‘I’m glad you think this is funny,’ she chided, but she had trouble sounding serious herself. She smiled and stifled a giggle, the chirp doing little to help her imploring tone.
Neither of the men had a pocketknife, but they rattled around the room to search for anything that might cut her shorts away. Before long, they left her field of vision to fan out into the other rooms of the museum and the shop. Stew returned with a pair of novelty scissors shaped like an egret. ‘They seem pretty sharp,’ he said, kneeling by the hinge.
He put his hand on her thigh right below the hem of the troublesome shorts. His hand burned like a brand and her breath quickened again. His fingers slipped under the leg as he manoeuvred for room and began to cut the fabric. The cool metal of the scissors slid up and a little release of tension spread over her abdomen as the material parted. The point pricked her once and she jumped.
‘Sorry,’ Stew offered, but she bit her lip and didn’t spit out her chastisement. His hand worked inside the metal band, following the line of the cut.
‘Jesus,’ she mumbled. ‘You just cut my thong too, Stew.’
Stew pulled at an end of the fabric and part of it came free. He snipped again and drew out a length of lacy fabric. The metal of the belt stung her skin and she fought against her chains for a moment.
‘It’s no good,’ Stew said. ‘The hinge is still stuck.’
‘Let me try,’ Gardner offered eagerly, his hand almost trembling as Stew handed him the scissors. Snip, snip, and he pulled more of her lost shorts out of the chaste metal trap. She watched with amazing detachment as the remnants of her panties appeared in the palms of his hands. Before long, Ronnie realised she was, for all purposes, naked from the waist down under the ancient – probably fraudulent – device.
Both men knew it too. They looked at her with wide eyes, something almost feral glowing in the shady depths. ‘It’s still stuck,’ Stew announced, as he pulled at the hinge. His fingers lingered everywhere they touched her and Ronnie stifled her approving grin. ‘Let’s try sliding it down.’ Gardner proposed, nodding without confidence. Stew ran his fingers through his hair and nodded his agreement to the plan.
Ronnie only rolled her eyes.
One man on each side, they tried to work the band over the round swell of her bare hip.
‘Almost,’ Gardner said, when they paused, the sharp yelp from Ronnie stopping them as the band cut into her hip points. ‘If we had some oil, I bet it would come.’
Or someone might, Veronica thought, working to control the hot twinges along her spine and slicking her pussy lips. Yes, someone might well indeed. She began to sweat and her tanktop stuck to the sides of her breasts, the nipples practically candles poking out of the frosting of her shirt. How long did they have before the old caretaker returned?
Stew went out of the room and returned with a dark plastic bottle. ‘Coconut oil,’ he said. ‘It’s pretty slippery. Um, I guess we better put it on for you, right?’
She looked at her hands, still bound by the chains, the cuffs cutting her wrists a little. ‘Yeah, I seem to have a problem with my reach.’
They both filled their hands with oil and began to rub it into her hips and, reaching under the band, down her thighs. They both paused when their hands reached her bare ass, her nakedness unavoidable to their eager fingers. She pushed herself as far as she could away from the wall to give them access and they both oiled her backside, their hands incredibly hot, circling, kneading.
Ronnie groaned – her pussy as wet as Shelley’s Lake, her breath ragged and she had a clear vision of these two magnificent men fucking her. Couldn’t they feel it, couldn’t they see the opportunity?
Stew, his daring spirit shining bright, touched her lower belly just above the belt. Ronnie groaned and drew in her stomach to let his hand slide down, oily, lubricating. Thank God she had a fresh shave, she thought as her pussy lips flooded with warmth.
Stew’s hand brushed her mound and then lower, sliding just into the crevice, just above her clit hood. Yes, Gods, yes, Ronnie thought through dusty clouds of lust.
He looked up at her, his gaze ravenous and questioning.
‘Get this damn belt off me,’ she commanded. ‘Fast.’
They gripped it together and pulled. It scraped and abraded her skin. Veronica pulled in her stomach and clenched her butt. It passed the hard points of her hips then she was free. Both men held onto it while she stepped out.
Naked from the waist down, she hung in chains before them. ‘All right,’ she whispered, resolute. ‘I think you’d better fuck me now.’
Stew and Gardner blinked, and then looked at each other.
‘Both of you,’ Ronnie sighed. ‘Right now.’
She let out a throaty chuckle. Both men looked like they were hiding flashlights in their shorts. She would love to have given both of them a little oral attention but the chains made that impossible. The best she could manage was a slow grind of her hips so they could see just how wet and ready she was for them.
Gardner and Stew looked at her. ‘Maybe we should lock the front door,’ Stew said.
‘Hurry,’ Ronnie groaned, then rattled her chains for emphasis. While Stew was out of the room, Gardner dropped his shorts. His erection stood out at impressive attention. Ronnie bent her arms and caught her tanktop in her fingertips, pulling it up. Gardner took the invitation and attacked her breasts under the thin, satin brassiere. He went for the hook but her raised arms defied him. ‘Another job for your bird friend,’ she said, looking at the egret scissors. She didn’t have to tell him twice. Snip, snip, and her breasts were bare, nipples aching for the attention she knew would come. Gardner had one tit in his mouth before she could catch her breath, and his fingers exploited her wet slit just as Stew came back into the room.
Power surged through Veronica. ‘Come on, Stew. I’m pretty sure that’s why I have two tits, but get your shorts off first.’ On the surface it seemed silly for her to be calling the shots when she was the one in chains, but the two men seemed to need her direction and Veronica wasn’t about to reject the opportunity to have them both.
Sweetly shy, Stew turned his back to show her his muscular butt while he dropped trousers. ‘Now, Stew!’ she growled.
Turning back, he showed he had a good inch on Gardner, the glorious uncut cock presenting an impressive standard. Ronnie grinned, remembering the interesting bend in the rigid length, her body shivering with the memory of his cock inside her.
She couldn’t wait to have them both, a fantasy she had never remembered having before, though now the thought almost made her come – even though both of them had so far only worked on her breasts.
‘Who’s first?’ Stew asked between nibbles.
‘First?’ Ronnie scoffed. She thrust out from the wall. ‘There’s room behind me, Gardner. See if you fit ... back there.’
He barely hesitated, her directions understood immediately. Gardner doffed his T-shirt, and squeezed between Veronica and the stone wall. The chains bit into her wrists, and her shoulders strained, but Ronnie wallowed in the sensation of Gardner behind her, his rock-hard, gloriously hot cock moulding into the cleft of her ass and her lower back. Stew stepped back, stroking his lovely huge rod, the tip weeping and shining, bouncing in anticipation. He growled, no scholarly annunciation, but a medieval lord’s verbal brand upon his helpless slave. Professor Ronnie moaned in anticipation of reliving history.
From behind, Gardner nuzzled and bit her throat and the spongy head of his prick rubbed first against her well-oiled skin, then along her slit, bouncing off her clit. She needed no more encouragement and arched, precisely targeting his cock, capturing him in one thrust. Amazingly, she controlled the rhythm – she guessed he was in some kind of erotic shock, and that realisation spiked Ronnie’s need. She ground against him four times, then thrust forward so he slipped out of her.
‘Now you,’ she told Stew. He didn’t need to be told again. He caught her thighs in his strong hands and lifted her. Gardner’s dick slid hot and slippery on her bottom, as Stew lowered her onto his monster cock, filling her, parting the flesh in delicious wholeness. She scissored him with her calves, the chains half-supporting her weight, the men holding her between them. Stew slid in all the way, that magical spot deep in her cunt shouting at the delicious contact. Gardner caught on and probed at her back button, fingering her ass, sliding his finger into the tight ring of her sphincter, teasing, coaxing until her ass lips released. Before she could think, Gardner slipped his cock in, coolly waiting as a passage opened through the tight gate. Wet with her juice and the coconut oil, he probed the tight depths of her ass.
Ronnie’s senses flooded all input. She’d had anal a few times and never really liked it but this – this was cosmic. She set the rhythm at first but then her sensations relinquished control to the men who thrust into her. The wave built between them and she had no control over it at all. They fucked her hard, almost brutally, the chains singing in her ears, a chorus to their growls and grunts, her hands kneading the muscles of Stew’s back, both men’s hands all over her, worshipping her thighs and breasts and belly, Gardner’s teeth in her shoulder, Stew licking her throat, kissing her rough and deep.
The tide rose, a surge deep as the sea. Gardner pulsed in her ass and Stew deep in her cunt. She counted one, two, three beats, prolonging the moment, hanging over the depths.
The orgasm shattered time, brought castles to computers, obliterated the lines of language and art. She screamed, uncaring as to who might hear, who might see. Her body burst into colour, bright orange and vibrant blue, forbidden purple and sacred red. Pulsing hot shots of spew let her know they came deep inside her. The chains deafened her with the power of her thrashing. In moments, all that whispered through the museum was the harsh, mingled breath of the three of them, Ronnie skewered between the two men, their cocks pulsing in her ass and cunt.
‘Goddamn,’ Stew gasped when he slipped out of her.
Gardner kissed the slippery, sweaty back of her neck and he pulled her tanktop down over her tender breasts as he moved out from behind her. ‘What are we going to do? Igor will be back any minute.’
Veronica knew he was right. As deliciously depraved as she felt, she didn’t really want the old caretaker to find her, dripping from ass and cunt, chained to the wall.
‘There were some cover-ups,’ she said. ‘Out by the cash register. They shouldn’t be too musty to wear back to the hotel. I’ve got clothes there.’
‘But the chains,’ Stew protested. ‘You can’t get the cover-up on over those chains.’
Both men looked at her with sincere concern. Ronnie smiled. She saw in their eyes just how beautiful she was to them, just how much they still wanted her. The rest of the weekend would be heaven. After that, they had tenure; anything was possible.
‘We have to get you out of those chains,’ Gardner said.
‘No problem,’ she said her grin sly and knowing. She looked down at her bare foot on the dusty floor, curled painted toes pointing to a spot by the wall, where the key lay.
Exactly where she’d tossed it.