In my recent Christmas shopping post I imagined Goddess had sent an army of agents to tease me by repeatedly putting their tormenting beauty in my way. That was just for fun but sometimes it’s very easy to believe Goddess really does have agents at Her disposal.
I spent four days over Christmas with my family. I travelled down by coach. The distance is not great and it’s the cheapest way to travel. Cost of travel is an important consideration given that I serve Goddess Valentine. Because of that consideration I’ve not been anywhere at all since last Christmas; something I didn’t realise until I was coming back. After my coach trip I have a local bus service to catch to get to my hometown. Previously the time my coach arrives has been a few minutes after the local service has left and I was expecting a wait of nearly an hour for the next one. So I was surprised to see, when I got off the coach, my local bus almost ready to set off as the last couple of passengers got on. ‘That was lucky,’ I thought.
It turned out that the timetable for this service has been moved up five minutes. Even so my coach was a couple of minutes late arriving and the bus was a couple of minutes late leaving; they should actually have departed and arrived, respectively, at the same time, so it was lucky it was still there.
Luck or divine intervention.
I shouldered my bag, hurried over to the bus and followed the last boarding passenger on to it. I put my bag down, fished for change, bought a ticket, picked my bag up again and moved down the aisle to find a seat. The guy who had got on before me was still stood in the aisle trying to turn and manoeuvre his shopping bags so he’d be in a position to sit down next to the girl he was with. This bus only runs from the city I’d arrived in, through some English villages and two market towns and then makes the return journey so it’s only a small single deck vehicle. Towards the back of it there’s a step up where the floor goes over the back axle and the engine. I needed a free double seat to accommodate myself and my rucksack, and preferably one with enough legroom to put the bag on the floor in front of the seat so it wouldn’t be falling over on people. (I don’t do suitcases. Never have. This is a hangover from my hitch-hiking, travelling light days.) When shopping bags had got himself sorted out I saw there was a suitable seat free at the front of the back section of the bus so I headed for that. My attention was fixed on where I was going and controlling my bag, which I was carrying in front of me by its straps, so I wasn’t particularly noticing any of the other passengers. I got the bag on to the seat, sat next to it by the window, and then manoeuvred it on to the floor. It was only then that I noticed who was on the seat in front.
Long blond hair. Beautiful long blond hair: not as beautiful as Goddess Valentine’s but then no one has long blond hair silkier or softer or more beautiful than Goddess Valentine; but beautiful hair nonetheless. My seat was about eight or nine inches higher than hers, giving me a grandstand view. Her hair was straight and hung three quarters of the way down her back, spreading out and completely covering the black coat she wore. She leaned over to rest her head on the shoulder of the man she was with. I watched in fascination as the weight of her hair began pulling it sideways in a kind of slow cascade. It was only seeing it in motion like this, the way the layers slipped easily over the layers beneath, which were themselves moving, and how each hair moved individually, that I appreciated just how silky her hair was. The uppermost layer of hair came to rest hanging down between her and her companion and crossed at a slight angle the layer beneath it which in turn crossed the hair beneath it at a different angle and so on, layer after layer, into the depths of her hair. Gazing into these intricate depths I saw how fine her hair was; fine, silky and soft, and so abundant. The lower layers of her hair had shifted only slightly. Her black coat was still completely hidden.
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| I never saw her face so I've no idea if she was as beautiful as this but this is pretty close to how her hair was. |
These were the thoughts I was having on the first half of my bus journey, gazing at the beauty of this girl’s hair, watching it move as she put her head back on his shoulder, or admiring its full glory as she sat forward to find something in her bag. Sometimes the sun broke free of the clouds revealing the natural subtleties of its colour. For twenty minutes I sat transfixed by her, silently worshipping her beautiful hair. All of this remained solely in my head though. There was a little girl who persisted in running up and down the aisle and the distraction she created prevented anything happening in my chastity.
Before I’d set off that morning, knowing I was going to be sat for a few hours on buses (the bus from home into town, the coach, and then the bus to my hometown) I’d taken precautions. The coach was a proper long distance coach so was unlikely to cause problems but the bus at either end of the journey was where any potential danger lay. Sometimes buses stop and stand for several minutes if they get ahead of their timetable. Some drivers will switch the engine off at such times but many don’t. Or a bus can get held up by something occurring in front of it. Either way close contact for any length of time between a vibrating bus seat (and some idling buses vibrate much worse than others) and balls which have not been emptied for I don’t know how long now is a recipe for disaster. That’s why I’d got half a tissue stuffed into the end of my chastity tube and a condom on. Half way home the bus pulled up at one of its village stops. No one got off and no one was waiting to get on. The driver didn’t switch off the engine.
It was only a small bus with a moderate sized engine, behaving itself rather than trying to shake the bus to pieces, but I was sitting over the engine compartment. The difference in vibration between idling and moving though not great was immediately obvious. After a couple of minutes it had its effect on my chastity and I felt my cock begin to swell. With the tissue wadded up in the end of the cage my cock was even more confined than usual, with the head partially pushed back into the tube rather than the wider glans-shaped end. The narrower tube tightened on the head of my cock almost immediately and the physical sense of denial felt even more emphatic than ever. I was still looking at the beauty of the girl’s hair of course and emotionally the denial seemed to come straight from her. Then I knew for certain she was Goddess’s agent. And Goddess’s divinity suddenly seemed all the more real. Goddess had caused this bus to still be waiting for me when my coach arrived. She had arranged for this girl to already be on it and for the seat behind her to be free and the one I’d choose, and for the guy with the shopping bags to distract me from seeing the girl until I’d sat down. Goddess had arranged for the bus to stand with its inevitable effect on my chastity. The little girl had finally been persuaded to sit down and be quiet. And now there was nothing to distract me from the girl Goddess had sent to torment me.
Meeting resistance my cock relaxed slightly and tried again. Immediately the tube clamped tight around it but my cock continued trying to engorge. The chastity squeezed back harder. The idea of the girl started to look like this.
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| Perhaps her boyfriend gets to see her like this but I know I never will. |
My underpants and jeans kept my cock from straightening out and held it pointed downwards between my legs, my balls were being squeezed uncomfortably; the whole arrangement was uncomfortable. The sensations fed the way I thought of the girl: the way I thought of the girl fed the sensations. The idling bus engine kept the pressure on. The tormenting squeezing of my constricted cock-head came every few seconds. The feeling that denial was coming from the girl herself grew even stronger. Mockery was added to it. I sat there, gazing at her beautiful, untouchable (by me, ever) hair, feeling her power and letting her torture me. Meanwhile the vibrations continued working on my balls. The bus still hadn’t moved.
I felt a tightening in my balls. The cage went on rhythmically clamping down tight on the end of my constricted cock. The girl put her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder again as she’d continued to do every so often, causing her hair to move too and show how silky and soft it was. Denial. The torment of my cock was relentless. My balls were tighter and squeezed more uncomfortably. I wanted to cum.
Mockery.
Denial.
There was another tightening sensation inside my balls. The bus was still standing. The torture of my cock went on. Another couple of minutes of this I knew would make me cum. I was completely transfixed now by the beauty of the girl’s hair and the sensations coming from my cock and balls. At the back of my mind I was wondering if I could actually cum at all. My cock was much more constricted than normal, not even straight, and the end of it was wedged up against what would by now be a tight wad of paper. Would anything even be able to get out? A chastity orgasm with the opening of the urethra blocked; what would that feel like? Weeks of cum suddenly forcing its way down my constricted cock with no way out, while the balls keep pumping more down it. Would I be able to keep quiet during that? The answer to that last question came back immediately as ‘probably not.’
There’s a point when my balls take over thinking for me. I didn’t care if I could keep quiet or not. My Goddess had sent this girl to torture me in my chastity with the sight of her beautiful silky soft long blond hair. That thought and the sight of her hair, the sensations coming from inside my chastity, the aching and the increasing sensations in my balls were overwhelming; suddenly I wanted to cum for her, even if I couldn’t keep quiet. I was transfixed by her. Her hair was so beautiful. I wanted to cum for her and for my Goddess. Even if she heard and knew what was happening I wanted to cum for her, I needed to cum for her. I’d be unable to keep quiet and would be completely humiliated in the presence of this superior young hair-goddess. Another couple of minutes and the bus would inevitably make me cum. There’d be nothing I could do about it but I wasn’t close enough yet. Silently I willed the bus not to move. Another minute passed.
Soon...
So soft, so silky, so beautiful...
Denial.
Goddess’s will was stronger, naturally. The bus began indicating to pull back out. There was a tantalising delay of a few more seconds as some cars went past and then we set off again. The vibration in the seat tailed right off and the possibility of cumming went with it: but while the vibration went away the torment of my cock continued relentlessly.
Sitting in front of me now was not the unknown head of beautiful long blond hair I’d admired for the first part of the journey but the superior young hair-goddess, who’d just subjected me to five unrelenting minutes of torment and increasingly intense teasing; who had let me think I’d be allowed to cum for her only to deny me and leave me with the knowledge she’d had me so far gone I’d been ready to publicly humiliate myself for her. My chastity clamped tight around the straining head of my frustrated cock. The stiffening of my cock squeezed my balls painfully. The grip of the chastity relaxed slightly only to be immediately reapplied. This had nothing to do now with an idling bus engine: this was being done to me solely by the hair-goddess in the seat in front. She didn’t show me a moment’s mercy but teased and tormented me relentlessly with nothing more than the beauty of her hair and what she’d put in my head. Pushed back into its tube by the wad of tissue blocking the end, my cock was tormented excruciatingly. There was still twenty minutes of the journey to complete and she didn't leave me alone for a moment until a couple of minutes before my stop she and her boyfriend got off. Only then did the cruel torment gradually subside. After teasing me for twenty minutes and torturing me unceasingly for another twenty she didn’t even look back at me.
