It was quarter past eleven when the car came to a stop in front of the mansion, and a girl, no older than twenty, was helped out by its driver. She was tall, polite. Her hair was a fiery red, flowing gently around her face and down her back, shielding one eye. In the coldness and dullness of the autumn wind, her form was the one thing that stood out. A shining beauty clad in a stately boarding school uniform, eyes shining with wisdom beyond her years, lips upturned. Astania was, in fact, a truly special girl. If not one of a kind, she was an interesting person. She was a person everyone wanted to know. They all are.

But on this day, Astania steeled herself. She looked up at her home, and perhaps, as a result of the breeze, her face reddened. Or perhaps it was something else. As the car drove away, she took a moment’s respite. Then, she entered.

“Mother?” She called. Then, “I’ve arrived.”

Silence. Then, a sound – “the mistress-“ came a servant’s voice from upstairs, followed by several footsteps. The were coming.

Astania~” a young woman, about Astania’s age, smiled, opening her arms to hug her charge. It was Molly. She always found Astania first. Why must she be the one to always find her first?

The servants followed. They were quick, efficient. “Your luggage, ma’am.” “Take your luggage, ma’am?” As fast as they came, both they and her heavy bags were gone.

“M-Molly.” Astania said. She still couldn’t get used to the idea that Molly was the one with authority over her. A girl like her, from a family like hers, whom, had she had been born just a couple of years sooner, Astania would have been able to grow up alongside. Molly was her ‘keeper’, and always had been. Astania’s mother being generally absent, Molly was responsible for Astania’s welfare, her safety…

And something else.

“D-Did you, uhm, receive-“

“Your letters?” Molly smiled, leaning her forehead against Astania’s. “I did…”

“Can… is it allowed?”

Molly grinned impishly. She stepped back and sighed. Like Astania, she was beautiful. But in a different way. Each angel was beautiful in her own way, and Molly’s beauty was a mysterious one. Her tawny raven hair matched with her gothic appearance. Her body, at the front and behind, was its own work of art. Her chest, in fact, rivalled Astania’s. Her face was the kind that suited a smile, but rarely sported an un-malicious one. “You knew it wasn’t when you wrote it on the page.” She replied curtly.

“Well then… can we at least skip the, um-“

Molly looked at her for a long time. It was a look that an annoyed mother might give to a child that had just been caught doing something she shouldn’t have. Finally, she responded. “I think you should go and get ready. It’s almost time, isn’t it?”

Astania’s heart caught in her throat. “Please-!”

“Hush, now. You should go to your room. Get ready. Stretch. Get it out of your… system.”

Her room. It had been a while.

When she got there, she noticed some changes. The mirror she had broken had been replaced, for one, and it was tidier. Her wardrobes were in order. At the foot of the room, some servants were unpacking clothes near a floor length mirror that stood just a little higher than Astania did. She waited for them to leave.

Then she began to undress.

First, her blazer came off. It was put, rather hurriedly, onto a hanger and pushed between the well ordered clothes in a hurry. That was always the thing Molly brought up, after all. Her shirt and tie fared less well, dropped onto the floor and shoved to the side with one foot. For a moment, Astania relaxed. She stood in front of the mirror, concentrating just a little. Then, in quick succession, two gigantic wings burst from her back.

Astania was an angel. Like Molly, and like her mother. And perhaps like her father. Astania didn’t know. She looked up, glum now that the moment had passed, and her eyes caught on her perch, far above, by the window. She remembered the days where she had been like a bird in a cage, and missed them. She longed to go up and see if things were as she had left them. But Astania didn’t feel like flying now. She felt dizzy. She couldn’t think straight.

As she moved towards the bed, her skirt fell behind. Nothing followed. Now she was as naked as she could be, the cool air touching her almost everywhere. As she lay her body, along with both wings, over the soft sheets, she was reminded of a dream she’d had the night before. Her nineteenth birthday. She had been lying upon a bed, just like this, with her hands chained above her, feet chained below, writhing in agony as hundreds of soft little feathers stroked at her body. Someone sat by her, holding her by her narrow waist, running their soft fingers over her ass, and between her legs. As much as she tried to wake up, it only got worse. As she writhed and screamed, the rubbing and tickling moved to the area between her legs. The presence built her up, slowly but surely, with long, endurant strokes. And yet, quite suddenly, as soon as she neared the crest of the wave, everything stopped. And the whole thing started over and over ag-

Clank.

Her fist met a wall of steel. It pushed, angrily, and then opened, her hand exploring the fortress around her hips, scratching at her shielded pussy with her nails. Astania was an angel. And an angel hates nothing more than her chastity belt.

The maiden’s guard, a belt every angel had to wear to suppress their abnormal sexual urges. Its waistband was thick. It curved, snugly, against the nape of her ass, finding its unbreakable hold on her tiny little waist with only gentle curves that seemed for all the world to have been forged and melded to match her own. Her ass, roughly bisected by the rear bar, fared a little better. It was not cruelly squeezed by the belt – it was instead allowed to flare out beneath, red and tender from her two years without sexual release, and dripping, even as she tried to rub the moisture away, with glistening, feminine fluids. Over her crotch, a V shaped shield was mounted, sitting on top of the cold, thickened steel that was already there. It was the strongest part, and the part her slender fingers brushed and scratched at most. Over and over her hands went, over her hips, over her ass, over the V shaped front shield with its tiny, sticky holes – tracing around and around the mysterious, beautiful chastity belt she had worn, without end, since she had come of age. Indeed, no amount of prying and poking, no matter with what implement, seemed to reach the drenched, dripping jewel underneath it. And though it looked gentle, and its curves mild, the raw tightness of its hold was breath-taking – the angel’s shivers, tremors and gasps and she scratched and clawed at its secure shielding making it apparent that the belt, with all its tightness, would likely explode off her body; were it not for the lock.

A beautiful lock. It hung down from a tiny little recess in the bottom of the belt’s waistband. Carved into a pretty little heart, with delicate curves, intelligent patterns. Two chains hung from it in graceful, wobbling arcs, serving not a practical purpose as she glared at them from in front of the mirror, but a decorative one. They symbolised restraint, and though she had many a time tugged and rattled them in frustration, they remained restrained by the lock. Like her body. Like the belt. Gently, one hand found it, the other attempting in vain to seek out its anchor – a bolt concealed, recessed and nested somewhere below the thick waistband that squeezed her so tightly but looked so delicately fitted around her. In all places but the front, its contours those of her pale, dampened skin.

She pushed up, burying the lock in its bolt, and heard a gentle click – a click that signalled to her that it would go no further. She sighed, placed both of her hands upon it, and pulled – and again, there was a click. And no matter how she tried, how she strained and growled and screamed, she could not make it go any further. Her body sparked with wasted energy, her rosebud throbbing endlessly with the fearful beating in her chest as she held her crotch with both hands, breathing heavily through gritted teeth. As one hand carefully caressed her bulging, reddened ass, the numb fingers of her other drew strands of thick, sticky wetness from the hard, grated plate all but covering her aching crotch. She wanted to come. She needed to come.

She couldn’t.

It had been this way for some years. At a young age, during the years where she had been enclosed in this room, sometimes with Molly, but more often with nobody at all – she had been free to explore herself and her body. To this day wished she had taken advantage of this more, for when she had turned eighteen, and her shapely rump had reached full, swollen maturation, Molly had taken her aside and explained to her the responsibilities that angels carried. Astania had protested, but Molly’s ultimatum had been final. A chastity belt, forged and built for her body and mind, had arrived, and would need to be in permanent use from her nineteenth birthday onwards. Molly had been chosen to hold the key. One day, that key might belong to Astania’s partner, if she was granted one. And if not…

Well, Molly was still belted to this day.

As was Astania.

Her sister had been released, for marriage. But that didn’t make anything better. It only almost guaranteed that now that the bloodline was being continued, no more risks would be taken.

When she had agreed to try wearing it willingly, Molly finally showed it to her. It was a gigantic, complicated thing that weighed almost nothing. There were a lot of hinges, chains and hooks. And locks. The belt took a long time to apply, and an even longer time to remove. And each step required the key, the one key, that had been given to Molly. Begged for it by Astania, Molly, had once handed over the key, only for it to pass right through Astania’s hand. Only Molly could touch it. Only Molly could release her from the belt.

The very first time the locks were closed, and Astania had stood with the belt locked upon her, she remembered being shocked, by how light it was. Frightened, by how well it fit, and how completely inaccessible her groin was. And terrified by the fact that no matter what she tried, no matter how hard she pulled and shook at it, it would not come off. She had quickly turned to Molly and on no uncertain terms demanded the belt be unlocked.

“I’m sorry, Astania.” Molly had said, with an impish smile. “It’s so beautiful on you that… I think, I’m going to keep it locked. Perhaps tomorrow?”

Immediately, Astainia was furious. At first, she just wanted it off, but no matter how she begged and shouted at Molly over the next few days, she wouldn’t unlock the guard. The guard was tight, and with every passing day without relief felt tighter. Soon, however, she began to realise how dependent she had become on her secretive nightly rituals.

“Are you frustrated?” Molly had asked, days later, running her fingers over the angel’s thigh as she shuddered in anger. “Perhaps tomorrow… I might release it. It’s so beautiful on your hips…”

Night after night, she began to fight the guard.

First, her hands conspired, like spies, to sneak around the fortress of the front shield and gain access to the watery treasure within. As she twisted in front of the mirror, padlock swaying gently but tauntingly, they fluttered like light blinded bugs against the deeply secure and well tightened locks on and below the guard’s shell. She tossed and turned in bed, lip bit, rubbing her hand raw against the moist, hardened surface of the shield between her legs. She needed release. Every conceivable gap was pushed at, pried at, and, eventually, pounded at, but each individual attempt lead to the same result – failure. Too tight. The maiden’s guard could not be pried around.

“Hmm? Ah… no. Not today… perhaps next week?” Molly had whispered in her ear, a month later, biting into its point quite gently that night as she took the younger angel into her arms for the night. “I want to keep you locked… just a little longer…”

Astania had tried the back, from multiple angles. She tried perhaps a hundred different positions, and none made the shield pressed against her pussy any less secure. Despite the bulkiness, the maiden’s guard was indeed light as a feather. But it could not be entered via the back.

PLEASE, MOLLY-“

“Maybe in a month or so… okay?” She had giggled. ”You’re so quivery… but I’m keeping it locked for the time being, okay?”

As fear begin to overtake her, Astania tried more desperate tactics. She grabbed the waistband that was wrapped so tightly around her hips and had so much of her body between it and the floor, and attempted in vain to force her bottom through it, from several different angles, ending up, once again, resorting to defeated pounding and lock shaking. It was absolutely useless. The maiden’s guard could not be squeezed out of.

She tried tools. But they failed even to scratch the guard. It was made of heavenly steel. It could not be cut.

She tried lockpicks. But the locks on the guard were very complex and intricate, and she had never picked a lock before. It couldn’t be picked. Various attempts at sliding different screwdrivers, pencils and pens underneath the tight front shield failed as well. Continually stroking the hard front shield was making her very desperate, but no matter how she jumped up and down, hammered at the thing, stomped her feet and pounded at the guard with her fists, it would not come off.

Finally, her 19th came. “Ah…” Molly had said, dangling the key in front of the angel’s eyes, as Astania glared and sobbed, pounding at her locked crotch with her fists as the midnight bell sounded. “I guess it will need to stay locked, then…”

“W-Why…?”

“Why?” Molly had asked, smiling as she took the key. She flipped up her skirt then. “Why do you think?” She chided, as Astania gasped.

As with Astania, strings of divine moisture dripped from Molly’s guard. It was much the same as Astania’s, but with one crucial difference. It was stronger. Thicker, sturdier. Compared to Astania’s, it had little craftsmanship, except for the lock, which was what Astania had noticed first. It was Astania’s family crest. Molly was indentured, the standard punishment for a successful escape from one’s guard after the 19th birthday had passed. Molly’s key, she realised, must belong to her mother, along with the copy of her own that she had unsuccessfully pleaded for on a number of occasions. Which could only mean that Molly was an exceptionally powerful angel. Astania’s hands moved on their own, then, startling even Molly. She gently cupped the older angel’s ass, running her hand over it as Molly gasped, yelping involuntarily and shoving the suddenly shocked Astania onto her back.

“I didn’t say you could touch!” She hissed, pinning the younger angel down as she moved to sit on top of her. “I just rather think,” She spat, yanking up Astania’s wrists and binding them together at the top of the bed as Astania struggled to comprehend what she might have just tried to do, “That you should know where we stand.”

Back in the present, Astania’s thoughts were interrupted by a slam. As she looked over from her spot on the bed, face reddening at the intrusion, she saw her caretaker. Quickly, she remembered the treatment that she was about to suffer from that same day, two years back.

“M-Molly,” She stammered, her lip wobbling – “I-“

“Hush...” The older angel whispered, gently taking the key from around her neck once again. “Hush. I think it is time for your yearly… treatment.”

“T-Treatment?!” Astania had remembered yelping the first time, yanking and then rattling at the enchanted cord securing her wrists. “What treatment?! H-Hey, let me go-!”

The second time, she had been quieter. It had been a silent, tearful affair.

This would be the third time.

“Molly-“ She tried.

Molly put a finger to her lips. “Absolute quiet.” She chided. “Or I might just… lose count. Have you been to the toilet?”

“Y…Yes.”

“Good girl.”

She gently pushed Astania back, securing the angel to her bed by her wrists and sitting down on her thighs. After the second time, Astania knew better than to fight back. She felt something happen around her hips, then. As she craned her neck upwards to look, breathing rapidly, she saw Molly hold something up to the light. The guard’s lock, opened and undone.

“Can’t we-“ She tried again, but the older angel pushed a finger to her lips, dropping the heavy, moist lock gently next to her head, weighing a little on her hair as she flinched away from it; the rest of the guard was slowly, carefully opened around her hips. Continually, Molly’s fingers lingered on her moist, sensitive flesh, caressing gently, experimentally, in ever decreasing circles just shy of the spot where she most needed to be touched. She moaned a little, then a lot, as finally, the front of the belt lifted away.

“I bought new brushes…” The older angel breathed into her ear. “Just for today. Just for you.” She showed Holly a box of brushes then, slowly running her gloved finger over the neat row of silky, intolerable heavenly edging brushes. “Are you going to choose?” She asked.

Astania groaned. This was the worst part. Choosing her tormentor.

“T-The… smallest?” She suggested, immediately regretting her choice when she saw the older angel’s face light up, positively elated, at the thought.

“You’re a real degenerate, aren’t you, Astania?” Molly sighed, confirming the younger angel’s worst fears, gently plucking the brush from its place at the end of the row. “The most intolerable brush of them all. I was going to pick it anyway, for the end, but… if we must use it for the whole session…” Astania felt it touch the sole of her left foot. An intolerable feeling shot through her entire leg then, the restrained angel letting out a shriek of shocked laughter as she tried in vain to wrench her trapped leg from underneath her tormentor. Molly only smiled, letting the enchanted brush slide up and down Astania’s sole just a few more times. “For once, I just can’t argue.”

She leaned down, letting her hair caress Astania’s pointy little ear as she breathed into it; “Do you remember how many strokes we need to do to keep your body… prepared?”

“F-Five! Two! N-None at all!” Astania tried.

“That’s right,” Molly whispered back. “A thousand. Otherwise, you might start losing your libido. And that would be very unbecoming of an angel, wouldn’t it?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Astania pleaded, struggling wildly. “No one would know. Who would know?”

“I would.”

Astania tried to reply, but at the touch of the brush, it caught in her throat. She almost came right then and there, its tip barely touching her throbbing clitoris as Molly slowly tilted it forward, almost but not quite drawing the orgasm from her quivering hole.

“One.” Molly whispered, as Astania desperately tried to stay quiet. “Two…” She looked happily down at the desperate angel – an angel that thought that squaring her shoulders and biting her lip might even begin to hide the amount of arousal and desperation she was feeling – and continued to gently tilt the brush, until…

“Three… Shhhhh, there there.” Stroke, stroke.

“Four…” Stroke stroke stroke.

Tickle tickle. Caress… caress. It continued for quite some time, the keeper’s strokes and her stroke count becoming less and less connected by the second.

“Fourteen,” She whispered, gently flicking at Astania’s quivering pussy with the little brush. “Fourteen…” She continued, tracing around the outside. “Fourteen fourteen fourteen…” A minute passed, and still… “Fourteen.” She took the younger angel right to the edge and back. Once, twice, with increasing irritation at the lack of response. Finally, she relented.

“Fifteen… six… hmm. Fifteen.”

Molly didn’t dare argue. She knew what would happen if she made a sound at this early stage. Of course, she also knew that it was inevitable anyway. It would be over an hour before they reached two hundred.

“Twenty…” Quite suddenly, Molly traced a circle. Two. The younger angel flinched, trying to control herself, but did not make a sound; much to Molly’s frustration. Goodess, Astania was resilient. “Twenty…” She whispered again, lifting the younger angel gently up with one arm as she expertly tilted and circled the brush, bringing her charge right to the edge and then suddenly… lifting away. Astania cracked, letting out a tortured moan.

“NNnnNN!” The angel whimpered, tears in her eyes as she pried at her wrist restraints, wriggling her hips enough to slightly move Molly.

“Hmm?” Molly whispered. “That’s strange. I thought I asked for quiet while I worked.”

Astania was silent, tears forming in her eyes.

“I give you quiet when you work. It’s not much to ask, you know. I’m trying to keep count, I really am, but now you’ve thrown me off. I’m performing a very complex medical procedure… Oh…” She saw the tears, reaching down to wipe them away. “There there.” She whispered. Then, ignoring Astania’s yelp – “One…”

The same happened again. And again. And then Astania couldn’t keep quiet any more. She began to gasp, and pant, as the infuriatingly gentle “treatment” continued.

“One…” She felt Molly’s breath against her pussy then, her whole body tensing up as the older angel stretched it open with one hand and caressed ever so lightly at it with the brush in the other. “Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three… fifty-three… Shhh. It’s no use. It’s no use acting like that. You need to just let it be brushed. Angels don’t cum, remember? Now… one…”

It took less than an hour for Astania to finally lose control. She moaned and sobbed desperately, but it was no use. Molly was brushing her pussy with such intensity now, such recklessness, and yet… she couldn’t cum. Molly’s expert touches made sure of it. As the first hour passed, the older angel pulled her into her lap, lying down behind her and wrapping her legs around Astania’s. Not for a moment did the caress stop.

“There there.” Molly whispered gently, circling with the brush. “We’ve reached two hundred… two hundred and one. Two hundred and one…” She leaned closer, biting gently into Astania’s ear again and ignoring the loud moan that would have once seen the two of them back at one. Molly was done with that game. It was on to new ones. For now. But the gentle purr in her voice as she happily stroked and caressed at Astania’s pussy stayed the same. “I love to stroke it.” She whispered. “I love how it quivers. Like a leaf in the wind. I could do this for hours… Two hundred and one… Ah-ah. No. You can’t cum today…”

Two hundred and one lasted a minute. Two hundred and two lasted five. Finally, Astania had had enough. “FUCKING GET ON WITH IT!” She bawled through desperate tears, rattling at the restraints as Molly smiled and shushed her.

“Two hundred and three…”

“YOU ALWAYS DO WHATEVER YOU LIKE! I HATE YOU! YOU JUST LIKE TO TORTURE ME!”

“This is true, this is true. Two hundred and…”

“YOU’RE A PERVERT, AND YOU LIKE TORTURING YOUNGER WOMEN! NO WONDER YOUR FUCKING WINGS TURNED BLACK, YOU PERVERTED WHORE!”

Molly stiffened. For a moment, the stroking stopped. Astania’s breath caught in her throat a she heard the older angel sniff, feeling a tear against the back of her neck. “…four.” Molly finally said, through gritted teeth, suddenly pushing the brush down onto Astania’s captive pussy. For the umpteenth time, Astania nearly came.

Molly muttered something quietly, and all of a sudden, the brush’s tip began to glow. The caress began again, the brush brought fully down this time. Immediately, Astania was right at her limit. She began to scream, then moaned, alternating between the two as her body began to move on its’ own. She tried to speak, but she couldn’t form words. She could only moan and yelp, straining to cum. It was the most intense edge she had ever endured.

“You made a mistake.” Molly growled. A gentle smile appeared on her face as she touched her brush to Astania’s clit again, carefully stimulating her towards an orgasm that Astania could amost feel, sometimes pushing down hard and stroking quickly, other times allowing the brush to linger, stroke its way along, and eventually drift off and around the area at the last possible moment as, within Astania, a feeling of intense burning began to rise.

“Well?” Molly whispered, as she expertly brought the younger angel closer and closer to climax. “Nothing to say?”

“I’m sorry-” Astania moaned, as Molly began to stroke her faster and faster.

“You could just be saying that.” Molly whispered. “Because you know I have you in a compromising position and that I can do… whatever I want with you, basically.”

“I’m n-not-“

“I know you’re not lying,” She interrupted, her strokes becoming harder, quicker, faster. “You are sorry. But I think you should be… a lot more sorry. I think you should be very, very sorry. And I’m going to make sure, that- Ah. Ah,” Oh, goodness. Astania was about to cum. “Just on time.”

Suddenly, her strokes slowed to almost a stop. They became long, endurant, and oh so soft. “No,” She whispered to her. “No you don’t. Ah-ah.” One hand touched her lips, then continuing to stimulate only oh so gently as the other did the same. Astania, in shock, began to buck, rattling at the restraint again as Molly slowly ran her finger around the tip of her jumpy, desperate clit. “I’m going to savor this time we have together, Astania…” She whispered. “I’m so hot and wet behind my belt, but your mother just won’t let me cum. It’s really mean. All I want to do is cum. You couldn’t possibly understand…”

Astania couldn’t form a word in response.

“She strokes my clit for hours… just like this…” She got up, pulling the shivering angel’s ass into her lap, dripping crotch facing forward, legs pulled back, took the brush – and began to caress once more, with an artistan’s craft, at her pussy. Astania couldn’t take it. She kicked her legs, moaning and yelping, but Molly’s grip was strong and practiced. Only after several minutes, when the aggressive kicking and struggling had simmered down to desperate wriggling and sobbing, did Molly speak again. “It’s so much more intense than what we normally do, isn’t it?”

Astania could only nod desperately.

“Mmhmm.” Molly purred. Then, “They gave me to her, you see. When I escaped. She designs the belts. She put me in this one. It’s cursed. No one but her could ever take it off. She brushed me every day. Every time I made the slightest mistake around the house… she’d take me to her room, and for hours and hours, we’d be just like this, and she’d brush… and brush… and brush. I couldn’t take it. I lost my mind, and she brushed, and brushed, and brushed… until I was a good girl again. I tried everything to get this guard off, but she caught me, and she brushed, and brushed and brushed and brushed…”

“Do you feel like you’re going to cum?”

Astania made several noises, the last of which sounded, to her rapidly melting brain, closer to yes than any of the others.

“It’s such strong magic. It keeps you right on the edge. There there.” She gently kissed Astania’s ass, then. “Endure it for a little longer.” She said eventually. “Brush, brush… Shhhhhhhhhh…”

Astania began to struggle again, hard. She yelled and moaned, kicking her legs, trying to free herself from Molly’s lap, then the hand ties. Neither would yield, no matter how she tried. The movement of the brush continued, touching oh so gently as her most sensitive areas as Molly closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of the thrashing younger angel’s aching, sensitive pussy underneath the brush. It wouldn’t cool down. Its sensitivity never dropped. It twitched and ached and throbbed and Astania writhed, crying desperately with frustration. It went on for so long Astania thought it would never end. She collapsed eventually, remaining a twitching heap in Molly’s lap as the dark angel released her wings from the elation, savouring Astania’s torment for a moment. But then she looked back down, at the poor, writhing girl in her lap. “She wanted me to be strict with you.” Molly said then, very quietly, “Like she was with me. I’ve been very nice, really.”

“I’m s-sorry…” Astania barely managed, as the brush lifted away. “P-Pl-Please just, l-let me cum. I want to cum so much. I’ve never wanted to cum so much in my life. I’ll wear the belt forever if you just let me cum n-now! Please.”

Molly shook her head. “No, Astania.” She whispered.

“PLEASE! I WANT IT! I WANT IT SO MUCH! OF EVERYONE WHO WANTS IT, I’M THE ONE WHO WANTS IT MOOOOST! PLEASE! PLEEEEASE!”

“No.”

“Please… Please…”

Molly was silent for a while. Then; “Maybe just a few strokes with the brush uncursed.”

Astania’s heart lept. She shuddered, with a gasp, as she felt the brush touch to her pussy, and begin to run up and down. She pushed, craving a climax, trying desperately to remember how it would feel so she could be in any way prepared. She got closer and closer. She got so close.

“Nine hundred and eighty two… Nine hundred and eighty three…”

Astania could feel it gathering. She was ready. Her hips, in their entirety, were on fire, her body shaking and throbbing under Molly’s brush. Each stroke sent another wave through her body, up her back and down through her legs to the tips of her toes. It built up and up, until her body began to move with it, her chest rising and falling, her panting and yelping growing more and more desperate, her whole body jumping upwards each time, unti-

“One thousand.”

As Molly took the brush away, Astania burst into tears, yanking wildly at the cord holding her hands in place. “There, there.” Molly whispered, pulling her away from the head of the bad as she desperately tried to get her hands anywhere near her dripping pussy. “Come on, now.” Molly said lightly as the angel started trying to hump the bed, to rub her pussy against anything at all as Molly expertly pulled the guard into place and began to lock each lock, enjoying the sight of the pooling moisture and the soaked bedsheets.

Click. Click.

With each click, the chastity belt tightened a little more, making the crying Astania gasp and jump with it. Finally, Molly picked up the heavy master lock and attached it, securing Astania’s maiden’s guard firmly in place complete with its two hanging chains; with one final, loud, and heart shattering click, Astania’s throbbing, throthing pussy was firmly locked back into chastity.

Molly was supposed to release Astania’s hands, now, but there was something she needed to do first. She cupped Astania’s face for a moment, smiling naughtily as the scorned young woman retreated to the back of the bed. Then, she whispered. “There’s a way we can get out of this, you know.”

“H-How?” Astania whispered. “I’ll do anything—”

“Anything?” Molly asked, tilting her head as she watched the glum, frustrated angel subconsciously grind her ass against the pillow held between her legs, hands still locked behind her.

“Anything.”

Molly smiled. She moved forward, and very gently slid her arms around her charge’s shoulders, leaning her forehead against Astania’s once again. “Anything.” She said, quietly.

“A-any-“

Molly didn’t remember clamping her lips upon Astania’s. How could she have? She was too busy thinking about how cute Astania was. How beautiful she was. And meanwhile, Astania was far too preoccupied with certain thoughts about Molly specifically to notice, for a moment, that she was furiously kissing back.

It was almost a minute before the two stopped, pulling back, a string of moisture joining their lips as Molly released the bindings on Astania’s hands. Quickly, they began to explore one another’s bodies, their hands running over one another’s legs, breasts, and belts. The shook and rattled at the guards, pounding at them with their fists – Astania at her own, then at Molly’s. Finally, Molly’s skirt was drawn up fully, the two angels muttering apologies and attempted explanations to one another as Astania pushed Molly onto the bed, prying furiously at the metal fortification between Molly’s legs with her fingers and tongue. It would, of course, have been quite useless – that is to say, if at this very moment had the door not opened behind them.

“Ahem.”

Both of the angels froze, knowing that they were in trouble. Or at least, thinking that they were. They slowly turned to look at Astania’s mother. That was strange. Astania had never seen her mother grin like that before.

“Well then.” Her mother said simply. “That solves the marriage problem.”

 

Story by veryspecificfetish on Literotica