I could ask Erika. If she was in a good mood, she might be open to it. I didn’t believe the others when they said she had a soft spot for me—she had a soft spot for everyone in the inner circle; she was just good at remaining stoic through it—but it might be worth a try.
Except I chickened out, and Erika just said I could ask Eli to fetch her from the office if I needed something, and she was out the door before I could unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
Not the best start, but at least I hadn’t tripped or done anything actively to embarrass myself yet.
The room had a makeshift stage—a slightly elevated wooden platform that was a lighter color than the rest of the flooring plan, with a microphone that I was forgoing and a couple of chairs. I remembered Erika asked if I had a preference for a couch or chairs, but I’d thought chairs would be less intimidating.
Note to self: a couch would’ve been pretty nice.
“Uh, hi, everyone.” I thought I’d need to strain to get people’s attention, but thankfully, everyone had their eyes on me as soon as I got upstage. It wasn’t great to slow down my heart rate, but it would’ve been worse if they had been talking among themselves and I’d felt as unseen as I always did back when presentations were part of my grade and expected of me, so… No complaints so far. “Uh, thanks for coming. I swear I have this prepared, and I’m not just fumbling through it.”
“You do,” Santos murmured.
I startled.
It was on me for assuming he would’ve either sat on one of the chairs, or plastered himself to the wall as the bodyguard he supposedly was on paper. Instead, I felt the warmth of his hand on my lower back, his hip touching mine.
He didn’t look worried because there were more than a dozen people staring at us, which worked ten times better to help me take a deep breath.
I had prepared for this. I got it.
Sergio sent me a quick thumbs-up from his spot in the first row.
Eli and Abel were flanking him. Cece and Rox were here, too, closer to the back. Carlos was next to Abel, arms crossed over his chest and back straight like I imagined it would be during a briefing.
Was that something people actually did?
Ugh.
Nope, not having my brain go in a thousand different tangents today.
The issue with workshops was that, at least at the beginning, they were rather boring. I loved attending them, but I didn’t have the charisma to command a room, and Erika had made me swear that I’d focus on all the technical aspects of chastity and all the risks and precautions that had to do with cleaning up and long periods of wearing it.
Sure, it was important. I had spent days’ worth of research when I first entertained the idea, and talked with at least a dozen people, but I kind of just wanted to talk about how hot it was, and how it affected my thoughts, my stamina, and my horniness levels. Was it practical? No. Was it going to help the people here if I just went on and on about how sometimes I was so turned on I couldn’t think, but at the same time, there were fewer distractions, and I felt calmer when I didn’t have to worry about hard-ons or giving in to desire whenever I wanted? Not really.
So I took a deep breath, and went through the minutia or how to put it on and off—because there were tutorials online, but I was more of a hands-on learner and that had been a struggle when I got my first one—and I talked about how often to clean both the device and your own dick every day, and what to watch out for. I hadn’t had any issues, but I was aware that part of it was down to pure luck. Sometimes, people needed longer breaks out of it, and it was okay. I didn’t want to think about me needing them, but that was neither here nor there.
The main thing was that I got through it. I scratched my nose a few times, and I had to reword things a couple more times because I was convinced no one understood what I was saying, but I didn’t implode. No one started whispering and talking or looking at me with a sardonic smile or any kind of mockery.
I was just starting to breathe normally, to think that maybe the issue before had had to do with the people who had beenwatching and listening for every little flaw and not so much with me, when the first question came.
Sergio raised his hand as high as it could go.
I supposed that was Abel’s influence.
“Uh, yes?”
“Doesn’t it poke you when you’re sleeping?”
“No?” I frowned. “I guess that depends on the quality of the material. And if you’re a messy sleeper.”
And the types of cages. I saw a few with spikes and other designs on them, but they looked too terrifying. I didn’t think I’d try them on even if someone handed me one.
I wasn’t into chastity for the pain. Sure, CBT felt much more overwhelming, especially when I hadn’t come in a long while, but I didn’t want the constant sensation of spikes teasing me. I just wanted the happy haze that came with it. The horniness. The humiliation when I was in front of the right Dom.
“I’m a messy sleeper,” Sergio mumbled.
Abel whispered something in his ear in response. I exchanged a look with Santos. My answer had been fine, right? Maybe I could’ve added more pizzazz or humor or something. Public speaking might have gone better with people who didn’t actively despise me, but it was still not my thing.
