My wife and I have been married for 18 years. We are a long-term chastity lifestyle couple, however, our chastity does not involve key holding. In fact, we are both in permanent chastity and there are no keys. We are both into heavy gear bondage. By gear bondage I mean metal, leather, rubber, canvas, neoprene, and rope, but not the human macrame type called Shibari.
Like a fetish-level bondage craving man, I rarely get enough heavy bondage. In fact, I’m what is called a bondage pig. My wife is a rare woman because she enjoys a level of bondage that would frighten most kinky men. We both play in the extremes and we love playing long and hard.
After these many years, our limits have been stretched to the very edge and beyond. We now play almost exclusively in the beyond. The knowledge and trust we have built over the decades give us a special ability to challenge each other to go into places others only read about in stories. Our intuitive communication and trust is now second nature. This allows us to blur the line between role-playing and reality.
Our need for this type of bondage is for a different reason. It isn’t to enhance sex it is to escape from sex. I know this sounds confusing so let me explain.
We are both in permanent chastity with no hope of escape. Our devices cannot be removed. I am locked in a spike-lined tube. It is secured on with a bar through the head of my cock and a bar through the base of my shaft. Both of the piercing bars are titanium and permanently secured in a titanium cage. Removing it is impossible to even with special equipment. It has been in place for about 15 years now, but why count?
My wife has 16 permanent Titanium rings lining her labia lips with a spike-lined plate that locks securely over her clitoris with three additional rings. Her vagina is covered by a screen to allow urination but absolutely no access to a cock or a sex toy. No keys or special screws, every chance of escape or removal has been eliminated. She has been permanently locked for the same 15 years.
You are probably wondering how this happened. We were both young .com success stories. Young coders that were in the right place at the right time. For some reason we had the sense to pick up our winnings and cash out before the crash. With common-sense investments, we will never have to work again. We discovered mutual chastity play and for the first year it was amazing and we never ever wanted it to stop. The erotic idea of permanent chastity combined with a dare and a “go big or go home” philosophy got us both in these devilish devices.
We were both young, wealthy and adventurous so we designed and commissioned these escape-proof devices. The device creator did warn us to be careful what we are asking for but we didn’t listen. Our first few years were awesome because we lived in a perpetual sexual high. We then went through a few years of panic with several real attempts to have the devices removed. We offered to pay the creator 10 times what we had paid for the devices if he would remove them. He said he was sorry it was truly impossible and unfortunately a few months after we asked this he became ill and sadly passed away.
All hopes of removal had faded so our only choice was to accept our fate. Once we accepted the responsibility for our choices and excepted the fact we will be buried in these damn things we began to focus on the only thing that gave us any rest from the sexual torment, heavier and heavier bondage.The following years have been totally focused on acquiring and creating more and more bondage equipment and honing our skills.
We do have a sex life. I have several custom dildo gags and cock tube dildo attachments I use for anal sex. She has similar devices to use on me. I get ass fucked for regular milking, however, the internal spikes prevent any orgasms or pleasure. An erection is always painful especially when I am fucking her and she screams out a window-rattling orgasm. I believe she gets additional pleasure out of my painful suffering.
It seems to work about right for a chastity couple. I get milked and stay permanently frustrated without the possibility of an orgasm or full erection. And she has a weird combination of earth-shaking anal orgasms combined with the sexual frustration of never touching her clitoris or feeling the thrust of a hard cock pounding her vagina. In spite of the anal orgasms, she has a constant itch she cannot scratch. This need keeps building and building like a man’s need to orgasm. She says the more she fucks the more she needs to fuck.
The clit plate is also lined with tiny painful and possibly damaging spikes that make any attempts to rub or vibrate one out impossible. Even a few seconds of vibration will turn her tender tissues into ground meat. She has made a few maddening attempts without success which left her painfully raw for a week. After the first few years, she has learned her lesson.
Now if she can’t find sanity from an anal session she asks me to put her in strict bondage with a discipline hood and an effective gag. It is quite a scene to watch as she desperately struggles, screams and cries. When she is eventually physically exhausted, which can take several hours she is released. She is not sexually satisfied after this but she has gathered enough internal strength to control herself and function.
We can be total animals at the drop of a hat. The D/s dynamic between us as it applies to chastity is; I want to ignore my sexual needs but she wants to battle with hers. This means I am called on every day and more to engage in her battle. The result of this ass licking and dildo fucking causes me extreme pain from the spikes. I am compelled to do this and endure this pain, she feeds on it and feeds her sadistic nature which fuels her sex drive. As I lick and pound her asshole her screaming anal orgasms feed my erection attempts, then the pain fuels my own masochism, which fuels my sex drive and so on. It is a perpetual loop for us both that can only be paused by a bondage session.
The bondage we both enjoy is to give us both a place to rest from this frustration. The one not in bondage can focus on “normal” things. Out of sight out of mind is the theme of our sessions so there is little interaction just more and more extreme bondage. The one in bondage can be left with their thoughts or made uncomfortable enough to be forced to focus on their predicament.
This isn’t the usual interactive bondage session it is quite one-sided. Enjoying bondage for bondage’s sake is on the fetish end of the scale. Both of us find this a powerful place to play.
Today maybe my turn to be in bondage. I have had little sleep the past week because my wife is on another run to “chase the tiger”. Sex has been like a drug to her this past week and she is making a full-throated attempt to once again satisfy her sexual hunger. The hours of licking and fucking her ass have me exhausted so I am looking forward to a long bondage session.
We have enough income from investments we rarely leave the property so we can play as long as we want. We have developed a program to generate random choices. This determines who, what type, how long, the level of stress, and dozens of interesting options.. The first choice is witnessed by both parties then the others only by the one controlling the bondage.
Sessions can be from one day to thirty days. The stress levels can include hours of suspension or predicament bondage, sleeping in cramped standing or puppy cages to full coverage sensory deprivation floating comfort bondage. There can be some interactive options like punishment flogging, caning or paddling sessions designed only for distraction and deepening the headspace. We both enjoy the endorphins and overpowering stimulation but have no interest in punishing or being punished. Other distractions such as VR and audio distractions. Every game of chance must involve risk so one random choice is sexual torment. The sessions are usually a place for escape from this but hours and hours of visual and audio hypnosis 3D porn can fuel the fires to the point of breaking.
Common features are not knowing how long anything will last and minimal interaction. It is a don’t ask and don’t tell method that we both love and hate. Alone with your discomfort, and thoughts is an overwhelming place to exist.
Today I was chosen to be the one in bondage. She immediately pushed earplugs in my ears, taped my eyes shut, strapped a breathing penis gag in my mouth, pulled a hood over my head, laced it and locked it, locked on a posture collar then stripped my clothes off. I was locked in bondage mitts after my hand was taped into a fist. Cuffs were locked on my ankles, elbows, thighs, and waist. I was locked on the floor in a strict hogtie as she finished the random choices. My cock painfully strained in its spiked cage and yearned for her fist deep in my ass, so much for the distraction. I must have laid there for hours.
I knew she was probably nearby bouncing her ass up and down on a large floor-mounted dildo. I was finally rolled onto a low cart and wheeled out to our outdoor re-enforced concrete ground cell. I was lifted with a hoist and lowered into the ground cell. It was small, just enough room for a man in a tight hogtie. The lid was an eight-inch thick re-enforced cement slab. The hoist lowered the lid into place. For some reason, there were thick chains for locking it in place. This is my idea of head bondage. I realized this was where I would sleep tonight.
I was in a great deal of discomfort as the hours slowly passed. My sexual thoughts faded as the discomfort turned into pure pain. This is that place just beyond that edge where we had learned to play. I knew I would be here until I wasn’t so my focus was simply on surviving. No need to struggle or panic just breathe and process the pain. Eventually, I entered that place where I lost the sense of my body. The strange and frustrating thing that happens in this place is an involuntary erection. Not one sexual thought, in fact, no thoughts at all but there it was straining in its spike-lined cage.
The body aches had blurred into the background but the pain in my cock was like a branding iron. I willed it to subside but it had a will of its own. For the first time I heard my moans then I lost my grip on reality. The next thing I knew was a rush of air and a rumble of the cement door. I was rolled out, unlocked from the strict hogtie then locked spread eagle on the cement floor.
Hours later I was taken to our standing cage. It was a very special cage with enough room to stand. All of the restraints were removed except for my mitts, hood, and ankle cuffs. My body was smeared with electrical jell and my mitts were locked over my head and my feet were locked to the floor. This cage was my invention so I knew what was coming. My feet were on a steel plate that attached to one side of the electrical source. The other was attached to the cage so any contact with the cage bars would result in a very unpleasant shock. Each shock would raise the intensity of the next shock so it was vital to focus. By now I was very sleepy so each time I lost focus would determine how high the setting would be by morning or whenever I would be released.
Eventually, I brushed a bar with the cheek of my ass. I jumped forward bumping my cock tube against a bar that gave me a double shot and yes a painful erection. I then felt someone touching my ass. The power must be off as my ass cheeks were spread open and a large metal egg shaped object was pushed deep into my ass. It was extremely large and uncomfortable going in because of it’s size I knew I wouldn’t be able to push it out without water pressure. I had designed this feature but had not yet used it. A cord attached to the probe came out of my ass and hung to the floor, it was locked in place to the plate I was standing on. Now if I touched the sides I would be shocked from deep in my ass direct to the point of contact.
I stood very still because I knew the power was back on. I know I made it a good hour or so when the inevitable happened I brushed a bar with an ass cheek and again jumped forward making contact with my cock cage sending a charge from the probe directly through my prostate and up the shaft of my cock. This actually made me scream. The cage suddenly got much smaller. This was a very long night but I didn’t think much about my sexual frustration. The shocks were at a level by morning that even though I was totally exhausted the cost of a mistake kept me razor-focused.
I was removed from the cage and led to our sauna. I was allowed to remove the restraints and hood. I was given water and food and allowed to use the toilet. We had installed metal cuffs for wrist, neck and ankles so I locked myself in, arms up and legs spread in a sitting position. I had also pulled a thick rubber hood over my head. The hood only had nose holes and a bite tube for water. The sauna heated as I heard the door open and the food and equipment were removed. I knew I was in for a long sweat.
The heat became more intense as I could feel my body begin to sweat. This felt good on my aching muscles and joints. Soon I heard the hiss of steam as I felt the temperature rise. The sweat was now pouring out of my body so I drank my fill of water. I was beginning to feel my heart to beat louder and my breath became more rapid. I knew what was coming in one sudden shock I was doused with gallons of ice water. I gasped for air then the cycle began again. After about a dozen cycles I was removed and locked for the night blindfolded and spread eagle on the spa tile floor. I slept for most of the night until I was awakened and my bondage was changed.
My skin was clean and soft from sweating, very sensitive to the touch. She must have thought it was a good time to administer the selected punishment flogging. The program selected the implementation, intensity and number of strikes. I was fitted with suspension cuffs and ankle cuffs. I was raised off of the ground by an overhead winch. My body was stretched into a tight hanging spread eagle until I could not move one inch.
The implement chosen was a rubber flogger, the level was high intensity and the number of strikes was 100+. The rubber flogger was between a thud and a sting depending on the intensity so with high intensity it would be a painful sting. The plus on the number allows the punisher to continue as long as they want beyond the prescribed number. I was flogged front and back, arms and legs for the full 100 then it began to get interesting. My body dripped with what I hoped was sweat and the stress of the position was becoming unbearable. I was not taken down so I knew she was not finished with me. She walked around my body touching the marks in a way that sent blood to my caged member causing that dreaded sexual frustration pain. I knew she was also suffering the same sexual frustration from the flogging as she lowered me and I sank into an exhausted pile.
I was fed then locked in a white canvas sleepsack and hood. The canvas bag was well made and designed for vertical and inverted suspension. I was so exhausted I was able to sleep the night in the inverted position. The dreams you have when you sleep inverted are amazing.
My sessions went on for another week, it had been a fairly intense session but I’m no worse for wear. We plan to take a week-long trip up the coast before we resume our bondage play. We have already determined my wife will be the one in bondage. This is usually followed immediately by the start of the session but that is optional. I want to make her sweat for a few more days. She will need the rest because it will be for a full 30 days of intense bondage with plenty of optional extras. She doesn’t know this but she is nervous and distracted.
A few nights in a bed and breakfast with a view, walks on the beach and a few candlelight dinners will give us a chance to connect. The drive home will be even more interesting because she is going to be hogtied in the trunk. I know, I’m just a hopeless romantic.
She looked at the clock, 8:47, thirteen more minutes until he said to start.
It has been a busy time for him. The holidays were always a busy time at his work, a spate of bad weather, and then an unexpected illness in the family had kept him preoccupied. Even when he did have a free evening, he was tired and irritable, falling asleep in front of the television rather than doing anything with her.
She knew better than to nag him, but as the days grew into a week and then two weeks she kept sending him that quiet longing looks. She told herself it was not her, that he still cared, he was just tired. He even acknowledged that he had been neglecting her, making apologetic comments about wanting to, but just not having the energy, muttering something about thinking of something to keep her occupied. She tried to be patient, engaging in discrete solo play when he was not home to keep the weeds at bay. It wasn’t the same but kept the wolves from the door. Still it was no substitute for having him use her. She desperately missed feeling him inside her, taking his pleasure from her. He was very aware of her habits and did not usually object. Privately she held the opinion that he liked her frequent masturbation because it took some pressure off him.
Then this morning he had surprised her. It had been the first day of her Christmas holiday. He had ordered her into the shower with him and pushed her down onto her knees, pressing his cock into her mouth without any words. He had gripped her hair and used her mouth rough, enjoying the sounds of her gagging and gasping for air. Then he had picked her up and bent her over, taking her from behind as the water ran down her back and into her eyes and nose. She had gritted her teeth and tightened her cunt around him as tightly as she could. He had come quickly and then she had spun around on and taken him back into her mouth, soothing him, bringing him down from his orgasm. She was trembling with her own need but silently told herself that she could finish what he started once he was out the door.
After a while, he stroked her face and looked down at her smugly, “Listen closely, today after I leave for work at precisely 9:00 am you will get out your vibrator and masturbate to orgasm. You will look at the clock and note exactly how many minutes it took you to come. Write that down. You will do this again at each hour for the whole day. If you are unable to come within the hour, you will stay in bed, with the vibrator on your clit until you catch up or I get home.”
She looked up at him blinking. She knew that it would be difficult to do this. She was not readily multi-orgasmic, especially with only clitoral stimulation. Her body had a stubborn streak and would just not come after a while. He was well aware of this.
His next words sent a rush of fear and submissive delight through her, “For every orgasm, you miss that will be a week of no orgasms for you.”
Her breath caught, “None?”
His hand tightened in her hair, lifting her face up, leering down at her. “None, in fact we will start with a week of waiting for that little question, and will add to that depending upon your success or failure.”
She swallowed hard, afraid to say anything more. “Yes Sir.”
She looked at the clock, 8:55. She got out the big hand-held vibrator that plugged into the wall. She knew which one he meant. It was the big one that could be heard just about anywhere in the house when she used it. He liked it because he could tell when she was using it. All others were off limits, reserved for his use only. Carefully taking off her pajama bottoms she slipped under the covers watching the big red numbers on the alarm clock.
At 9:00 she pushed the button and put the vibrating head against her flesh. Closing her eyes she let her mind drift back to the shower, the sensation of his cock so deep in her throat, choking her, the hard porcelain hurting her knees, the way his hand pulled at her hair as he fucked her face. Silently she writhed as the sensations built quickly, when she counted down from ten, remembering his voice in her ear as he so often had done before. Her climax was sharp and short, making her clit pulse against the vibrator.
She looked at the clock, 9:07. That had been quick, but his use in the shower and instructions had left her on edge. He had never spoken of restricting her orgasms before but it had always been a fantasy of hers. In fact he had never so controlled her masturbation before, usually leaving it up to her. The memory of his words, the look on his face as he had said the words had her hot as hell. She stretched and climbed from the bed and wrote down, 9:00… seven minutes.
At 9:45 she got out one of her favorite ‘dirty’ books and opened it up to a favorite scene. He had not said that she couldn’t use a little help getting her head in a good space. At 9:55 the phone rang, his voice was sharp, “Where are you?”
“In bed.”
“Already?”
“Um… I was just reading, watching the clock, Sir.”
“How many minutes did it take at 9:00.”
“Seven minutes.”
“Hot little cunt today, aren’t you?”
She could not help but grin at his harsh words. He knew how much it turned her on to be verbally humiliated. Her voice dropped an octave, “Yes Sir.”
At precisely 10:00 she switched on the vibrator and started again. His voice over the phone was gloating, “How does that feel?”
Her voice gurgled a little, “Good, Sir.”
His tone was slightly mocking, “My hot little cunt, all the time riding her fucking vibrator. Enjoy it today because you will be missing it later.” And then he hung up without saying good bye.
It did not take much longer, his words echoing in her head, this time she counted down out loud, and right before exploding she groaned out, “Yes.” Opening her eyes she looked at the clock, 10:13. Her cunt ached and tingled and she was happy to pull the vibrator away. She knew it was only going to get harder. As she wrote down thirteen minutes, it never even occurred to her to lie to him.
It seemed like 11:00 came much too quickly. Her pussy was still burning and tired. She stared at the clock and made a pained face as she started. Holding the vibrator she reread the sexy part of her book, putting herself in the extreme scene that had always made her get hot. When she got close she propped up the book and pressed her hand tight against her chest, crushing her breast, tensing her whole body into a hard vibrating arc, fiercely counting down, but when she got to one, she hovered there, grating out the last number over and over, “One! One! One!” The book slid to one side as she groaned out the word, her tone agonized and pleading. Finally, she pushed past the block and came hard, her orgasm shaking her whole body, making her collapse and convulse. She was breathing hard and drenched in sweat when she looked at the clock. Her heart sank, 11:33. Only twenty-seven minutes until she had to start again. She was tempted to fall asleep but she knew that she would probably oversleep and miss noon.
His instructions had been clear. There was no way to skip one and rest. His words had been clear, ‘if you can’t come during that hour, you will remain in bed with the vibrator on your clit’. She knew that starting at noon; she was not going to be anywhere but in the bedroom torturing herself according to his wishes.
She forced herself to get up and walk into the kitchen and got a pitcher of water with a lot of ice in it and a glass with a straw. She made sure to pee and then grabbed the rest of her favorite sexy books and some lube to help with chafing; she stood in her bedroom trying to think what else she was going to need. On impulse, she took two aspirin and filled a wine glass up with her favorite Merlot. She made sure that her phone was within reach. She was pretty sure he would be calling again sometime soon to check up on her.
At 11:55 she stripped down completely nude and on impulse took an ice cube out of the pitcher and chilled her fingers a little and then gently slid her icy fingers over her swollen and aching clitoris. The cold was soothing.
At noon, she sighed and put the vibrator between her legs. She flinched, Jesus, it was more painful than pleasurable. Clenching her teeth and sliding down on the bed she lay there with her eyes clenched closed, focusing on the sensation, visualizing his hand on the vibrator. It was his command that had put her here. Even with him busy and at work, he was there with her. And she was sure she was on his mind too. She knew he had to be looking at his watch, that tight predatory grin on his face as he thought about her here, contending with his commands.
Once the pain faded to a manageable level she clenched her thighs together holding the vibrator in place and began to read, deciding on not worrying about it so much. “Just relax and ride the wave.” Her voice trembled in time with the sensations.
At 12:15 her phone rang. His voice was teasing. “What are you doing?”
She had to swallow before she could talk, “Masturbating.”
He chuckled, “Having fun?”
Her voice quivered a little, but she struggled to sound light, “Oh yes Sir, lots and lots of fun.”
His voice darkened, “Have you missed any yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“How long did the last one take?”
“Thirty-three minutes.”
The teasing tone was back, “Not so hot now?”
A little wave of silliness rose up in her, “I don’t know. I think it is starting to smoke down there a little, much more friction and I might just burst into flame.” A small pang of fear shot through her. Sometimes he did not find her little sarcastic statements all that funny. More often than not she ended up regretting the impulsive little jokes. To her relief, he snorted with laughter.
Her voice was a little plaintive, “Sweetheart, Sir, when do you think you are going to be home tonight?”
There was a hint of sadism in his voice, “I don’t know. I have a lot of things to get done here, and there are some guys talking about grabbing some drinks after work. Maybe I will join them.”
She forced the tiny whimper of protest from her voice, “Sir, I did not have time to plan anything for dinner.” Cooking dinner was the one the few domestic things he insisted on. He did not much care if the house was messy or not but he had become very accustomed to having a hot meal waiting for him when he got home.
“Then maybe I will get something before I come home.”
This time she could not help but ask, “But do I have to keep doing this?”
His voice was sharp and hard, a crack of a whip, “Make that two weeks. Question me again and it will be four.” She swallowed down her next question. Oh god, he was going to figure this exponentially. She had not gone more than a couple of days without some kind of sexual satisfaction, now she had at least two weeks and it went without question that there was going to be more. The vibrator was buzzing merrily against her cunt but things were not moving along at all, in fact things were starting to go a little numb.
Her voice was defeated, “Yes, Sir.”
“Get busy, girl.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Again he hung up without saying goodbye. She looked at the phone for a second. He had never had much patience for little social niceties. He never had much patience period. It was his impatience and stringent ways that had attracted her to him in the first place. It did not take long before his impatience and her craving for his control had pushed the power imbalance in his direction. And each step of the way she began to thrive more and more on his dominance.
She thought back to the first time he had physically punished her, spanking her and then beating her with his belt. She did not even exactly remember why he had punished her but the feeling of surrender; loss of control, had been amazing. It seemed like after that she had always looked at him with trepidation and awe. He had always been important but now his wishes were central to her existence.
The thought of that first beating seemed to wake up her numb and battered nerve endings, making her cunt clench and the feelings of heat and tingling running up her legs. She started to count but to her surprise, the orgasm shot through her before she could reach one, her body almost spastic and uncontrollable. A low sob accompanied her orgasm. Turning she looked at the clock, 12:48. Blinking back tears she dropped the vibrator to one side and reached for a drink of water. After a long cool drink, she lowered the glass with its coating of cool condensation and pressed it to her throbbing cunt.
It felt jarringly cold but so good. She let out a long quivering groan. Her clit was doing this odd, throbbing thing. If felt like it was twitching spasmodically against the cold wet glass.
There was a kind of resignation in her mood and movements when 1:00 came upon the clock. She had an odd boring thought that it was too bad he did not allow a television in the bedroom. She sort of wanted something to do that took less effort than holding a book or focusing on words on a page. The idea of coming or not coming was too hard to think about. Closing her eyes she let her thoughts drift, trying to picture where he was, what he was doing. Thinking about Christmas next week, wondering what he had planned for them to do. She made a rueful face; one thing was sure, there would be no orgasms. Once he said something, he had never once changed his decision. And right now that was beginning to sound not so onerous.
She could tell she was getting sleepy; her body was getting heavy and her thoughts slower. Knowing that he would not accept sleeping as an excuse to stop, she reached down and found her underwear and awkwardly pulled them on. They were form-fitting spandex and helped hold the vibrator trapped against her cunt. The angle was a little wrong but she folded up her pajama bottoms and wedged them under the handle strategically to force the vibrating head against her clit. Smiling at her ingenuity, she flexed her tired hand and arm, lay back down, and let her mind float again.
Before her eyes drifted closed she looked at the clock, 1:34. She mentally shrugged and added a week to her projected fast. She lay there wondering what it would be like. Would it be easy or would she be totally horny? She wondered what it would be like to serve him without any prospect of satisfaction. She was not so worried that she would not be able to do it, would become somehow spontaneously orgasmic. Orgasms were perfectly possible but took some effort and concentration. But what would it be like to have none, none at all?
She shifted a little and the head of the vibrator settled a little deeper into her flesh, sending a sharp pang of agony through her. She winced and blinked a few times but the bedroom seemed too normal, too at odds with her predicament to bear and she closed her eyes once more and retreated deep into her mind.
She was amazed to feel the tension building in her body again, her thigh and belly muscles jerking. It was odd, she did not feel it all that much in her cunt, but somehow the messages were getting up to her brain and her body was trying to respond. Normally she did not find internal stimulation that helpful somehow her cunt felt empty and she wished he was here to fuck her. If he was fucking her she knew she would be able to make it happen again. Experimentally she reached down and slid her fingers into her cunt. She was not surprised to find it hot and very wet. Her fingers were cool in contrast and felt kind of nice. The heel of her hand was pressed down on the vibrator as she tried to force her fingers in deeper, searching for that elusive g-spot.
She had read about it, and once or twice found it, but only after extended sessions when she was too tired to appreciate it. He usually did not bother with her orgasms all that much, demanding she learns to come on his countdown but only as she had masturbated for him, and only engaging in this kind of play on rare occasions. In fact, he seemed to prefer not to come while he used her. He did not have the patience to force her to reach this place like where she was now, very often.
She wished she had a dildo or something huge to shove up there, anything to make the empty feeling go away. She had mentioned perhaps wanting one once. He had said that her vibrator was all she needed, that she masturbated too much as it was and that a dildo would only make her do it more often. She also wondered if he did not like the idea of her having something that obviously phallic. It seemed like his use of her this morning in the shower was days instead of hours ago.
She worked her fingers inside her passage, massaging the inside walls and was rewarded by that deep achy sensation that was so close to needing to pee, but not quite. Softly she breathed out a triumphant, “Yesssss,” and felt her body begin to shake with a pending explosion. This time she did not bother to count her thoughts too clouded to think about anything but the building passion that was threatening to tear her apart.
Normally she was pretty quiet when she orgasmed but this time a loud harsh grunting scream was forced from her lips as she thrust her fingers in as deeply as she could, curling up and jerking with waves of blinding ecstasy. She was mindless, almost howling. It had never been so strong before. The vibrator was still going, compelling her body to writhe along with its demanding rhythms. She blinked and looked at the clock, 2:30. According to his instructions she had to leave it there.
She wailed in defeat, “Oh god, I can’t keep doing this.” But she knew she would. She knew that even if she were unconscious when he got home that the vibrator would still be there, battering her tender parts to mush.
Her hand shook so hard as she wrote the time down that it was almost unreadable. She reached for the glass of wine and slopped a little on the sheets as she took one deep swallow and then a second. There were still some ice cubes floating in the pitcher and she reached in and grabbed a couple and pressed them to her burning cunt. The sudden cold was agony and she let out a hoarse squawk but kept the ice pressed against her tortured flesh.
The cubes melted quickly and she reached for some more, ignoring the wide wet spot forming on the bed under her ass. The handle of the vibrator was getting hot and she carefully made sure that she folded up pajama bottoms were between her and the hot plastic. A tiny hopeful thought that maybe the thing would just wear out intruded into her mind, and she let out a tiny hysterical giggle as she visualized it melting in her hand or exploding.
When the second handful of ice cubes melted she let her hand fall to the side, letting her body sag limp and weak on the damp sheets. She was simultaneously chilled and too hot, her body shivering but at the same time sweating. Keeping her eyes closed she just tried to breathe and relax. Even if he hadn’t been serious about coming home late she did not expect him home before 5:30. Peeking at the clock she saw that it was only 3:14.
Hoping that if it were possible to come again, her body would wake her up, she pulled the sheet over her body and let her mind drift further and further until sleep took her. His weight making the mattress sag and shift was what woke her. Her eyes flashed open to see him sitting on the edge of the mattress looking down at her. Convulsing in guilt she gasped and stammered, “Oh god, Sir…” but he put his fingers over her lips, silencing her. She looked past his hand at the clock. It said 4:30. He was home an hour early.
She became aware that her hips and belly were jerking in what seemed to be an endless series of small agonizing convulsive jerks, her empty cunt clenching and opening spasmodically like the mouth of a dying fish. Her tortured flesh was curiously numb but sharp lances of pain were shooting up from her whole pelvic area. Looking up at his face she reached up and pressed his fingers even more tightly to her lips and then burst into sobs. He reached across to the dropped paper she had been writing on and raised an eyebrow.
“Do you want to try for one more or are you willing to just accept the extra week?”
Her voice was choked, “Oh god, make it stop.”
He pulled the sheet back and looked at the makeshift manner she had used to trap the vibrator in place. When he reached to pull it away, he exclaimed and jerked his hand away as the hot handle almost burnt his fingers, “Shit.” She looked down dully as he used the pajama bottoms to pull the heated item from her panties. He looked a little concerned and quickly turned off the vibrator and dropped it to one side. Quickly he pulled her panties off and spread her legs. “Are you burned?”
Her voice was confused and uncertain, “I don’t know. It hurts but it feels kind of numb too,” She paused, “like when your foot goes to sleep and is trying to wake up, sharp painful tingly numbness.” For the first time she wondered if she might not have injured her cunt.
He frowned and peered closely at her crotch. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down. Her cunt looked swollen and amazingly deep red but she couldn’t see any blisters or bruises. She asked softly, “Sir, would it be permitted to put some ice on it?”
He pushed her back down flat and muttered, “Stay there.”
When he came back he had some burn cream and to her relief an icepack. His touch was amazingly light and tender as he spread the ointment on her skin. His voice was a little gruff, “You should have called me and let me know it was getting so hot.”
The icepack was heavenly and she sighed. “Yes Sir, I guess I should have. I thought that putting the cloth around it was protecting me enough, but I should have informed you.” Then she mumbled, “And it sort of was numb and painful after a while. It was hard to tell if it was too hot.”
He chuckled at her confession, “Your poor pussy was all confused.”
She looked up at him with wide eyes and nodded in agreement. After she stopped holding the icepack against herself, her whole cunt continued to throb and tingle like the vibrator was still there and her clit had this strange tendency to randomly twitch, making her jump and wince.
He made her stay in bed all that evening, bringing her some take out Chinese food to eat. When she begged to be allowed to get up to use the bathroom she was shocked at how much it hurt to pee.
After dinner he made her spread her legs again and closely examined her flesh. Speaking briskly and clinically he commented, “No burns but it looks like it has been used hard.” Then to her dismay, he leaned down and began to gently run his tongue over her tender tissues. She almost reflexively reached down to shove him away, but she stopped herself just in time. This was almost more than she could bear. He hardly ever lowered himself to perform this intimate caress.
He looked up and chuckled at the terrorized expression on her face, his tight sadistic smile on his lips, “Hands and knees, bitch.”
Her eyes grew large as she realized his intent. But she obediently assumed the position, scooting down to the bottom edge of the bed to the place he demanded she take when he chose to use her. He opened his pants and shoved deep into her from behind, taking her hard and fast. Surprisingly it did not hurt as much as she had thought it might, but it still burned and the sensation of the skin being stretched and pulled back and forth across her clit was intense and she found herself heating and warming under his pounding.
He grabbed her shoulders and growled out, “Your cunt is so hot, it’s like fucking a volcano.”
She focused on squeezing as tight as she could on his cock, reveling in his growls and grunts as he plunged into her hard, his hips slapping into her ass. Softly she urged him on, “Yes, hot, hot for you.” When he shuddered and groaned with his climax, she found herself calling to him, “Yes, oh yes,” filled with emotion as she felt his cock flexing deep inside her, filling her with his essence.
He leaned down over her, his voice a little foggy, “You didn’t come did you?”
“No Sir.”
His voice was a little triumphant, “Good, only six more weeks to go.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Joe questioned his friend Chuck as they sat
down for lunch. Taking a big bite of his sandwich he looked at Chuck.
They bought worked construction and were working on a downtown
apartment complex. Their lunch took place sitting on the tailgate of
Joe’s old pickup truck.
“Well, you could of fooled me. You look like shit. You don’t even
come out with the rest of us to the Strip Club on Friday’s after
work.” Joe probed. “So what’s up? Is it the boss? He can be a real
assholeâ�¦”
“No it is isn’t Henry, although he is an asshole!” Chuck laughed at
his own joke and Joe joined him.
“Is it Heather? Did she find out about Bunny down at the club?” Joe
asked.
Chuck shrugged and sighed. “She didn’t find out about Bunny and even
if she did she would realize a man needs a quick mindless suck once
in a while at a tittybar. Hell, she hasn’t done that in a long time.”
Joe looked horrified. “No? Geez, man I am sorry.”
Chuck smiled sadly. “She is a damned good vacuum too when she gets
around to it! But she is on a baby kick. Man, every time I have to
cum in her cunt and then she elevates her legs for 30 minutes.”
Laughing, “it is kind of funny watching her.”
“Man oh, man! Congratulations! Why the hell, didn’t you tell me you
old dog?” Joe was happy but was pissed he wasn’t informed.
Rolling his eyes Chuck tried to explain but it was damned
embarrassing. “Because she isn’t in a family way yet! We have been
trying for a year now. I really liked the fucking daily at first but
I got to tell you it is now just a chore.”
Joe laughed. “How could fucking daily become a chore? That’s what
every man wants, isn’t it? Well, that and for it to be with twins who eat
each other out as a sideshow. And oh yeah blow jobs at the breakfast
table while we eat andâ�¦” Chuck’s elbow stopped Joe’s impromptu
wishlist.
“Will you shut the hell up? I am serious!” Chuck looked
miserable. “It is just all work now.”
Joe looked confused. “How is getting your nut work?”
Chuck looked him in the eye and replied. “Every time we have sex she
wants to cum too.” Rolling his eyes and sighing. “It is a pain in the
ass! A few times a week didn’t seem like such a chore but every
freaking day? Man, my tongue and dick feel like they are going fall
off waiting for her.”
Joe chuckled. “Oh man have you been pussy whipped.”
“What do you mean?” Chuck demanded.
“I mean you don’t have to make her climax each and every time? She’s
your wife, right?” Joe was laughing.
“You know Heather is my wife. What is your problem man?” Chuck was
visibly annoyed.
“I mean did you make all the girls you have been with cum?” Joe asked.
“No, I didn’t. I usually didn’t bother to even try to get them off. I
would just sweet talk them out of their panties then get my rocks
off.” Chuck was lost in memories. “Some were pretty pissed, but they
were sluts parting their legs for some stranger they met at the bar
what could they expect? Unless I was dating the bitch I didn’t.”
Joe concurred. “Damn right. That would be like taking the time to get
Bunny at the club off. I mean she doesn’t need it, and it keeps her
hot for the next time she takes care of your dick.”
Chuck nodded. He had just gotten a major boner thinking of all the
girls he used for his pleasure. He remembered how much he enjoyed
just taking what they had to offer and walking away. How easy that
had been.
Joe watched Chuck then has eyes narrowed. “I got it man. I got your
answer.”
Chuck was suspicious. “What?”
“You can tell her it’s a way to help make a baby.” Joe beamed.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Chuck growled.
“Tell her you heard some women purposely don’t orgasm so they can
conceive. Tell her you heard some of us talking about how it really
worked. Tell her it is a sacrifice a lot of women are happy to make.”
Joe explained.
Chuck laughed and clapped his buddy on the back. “I think you have
something there, Joe. That would be great! Do you think it will work?”
Joe smiled and nodded. “I know it will.”
Joe wasn’t surprised to see Chuck leaving early that night. He was
probably going to go try out his plan.
Chuck needed to leave early. He could barely walk with his hard on
trying to poke a hole in his pants. The thought that he could use his
sweet Heather like a slut was too delicious for words. Arghhh! He
couldn’t get home early enough.
Chuck burst into the house. “Heather, honey I am home.”
Heather being adorable and sexy skipped up to him to plant a sweet
kiss on his lips. “Hi, baby.”
“Honey, I did a bit of research on our little problem.” Chuck sat
down and accepted the beer Heather handed him. He pulled her down to
his lap. “Baby, lots of the guys down at the site have had
difficulties knocking up their woman.”
Heather pretending to be offended by his turn of phrase playfully
slapped his chest. “You mean planting their love seed within their
lady loves, don’t you?”
Chuck laughed and caught her hand and kissed it before giving each
finger a quick suck. He knew each suck was felt in her warm
pussy. “Yes, love seed. Look, there are things we can do before we go
see some fancy expensive doctor.”
Heather’s innocence caused him to harden even more. “Honey, I will
try anything. What did you hear?”
“Well, there is an old wive’s tale that the women in the 1950’s used
to avoid pregnancy by avoiding climax. However, this actually
increased a woman’s chance of conceiving.” Laughing “That’s why there
were so many shotgun weddings in the ’50s. By not cumming they got a
baby.”
“Well, I want a baby. But why would that work?” Heather questioned
not quite like the idea of not orgasming.
“I guess a women’s pussy clenches at the man’s dick, I mean penis out
of frustration so she drains more of his sperm out of him. Then her
cunt, I mean vagina sucks the sperm into her hot body. No orgasm
means her hormone level is elevated so her body is more ready to
conceive.” Chuck was trying to sound scientific when all he really
wanted was a hole to dump his load in. Heather pussy was slowly
grinding circles over his cock making him crazy.
Taking the lead, Chuck pushed her off his lap and began leading her
to the bed. “Honey love I think we should start right now.” He was
already undressing her.
Heather put up no protest. She just nodded. She wanted a baby so
badly she would do anything.
Chuck gave her much less foreplay but Heather thought that was
probably best since she wasn’t supposed to orgasm. Sighing mentally,
Heather committed herself to this course of action.
She moaned as Chuck entered her. Chuck smiled. “I know baby but
remember no cumming for you if you want to be a mommy.”
“Oh I do Chucky I do.” Heather groaned. “I won’t cum I promise. But
you cum big and hard for me. Cum right up my cunt. Give me all your
juice.”
Chuck loved Heather talking dirty to him. As he sawed in and out of
her hot, wet little hole he wondered at his luck. Amazingly this
scheme would work. He tricked his wife out of her orgasms. She
willingly is not going to cum. In and out. Oh so nice. “You feel so
good baby.”
“Enjoy me. Don’t worry about me, baby. Just use me to get yourself off
giving me all your cum.” Heather was husky and groaning. Chuck knew
she was shaking with need but also knew she wouldn’t cum.
Chuck pumped. Then he felt it. Up, up and it was all jetting up into
his wife’s hot little snatch. It was griping him begging for the
pleasure of orgasm that wouldn’t come. “Oh yes honey. Yes, make me
cum. But ahhhh don’t cum!” His head was thrown back as he jammed his
cock into her deeply and spurted his seed.
“I won’t baby. Fuck all your cum into me. Deposit your load.” And he
did.
“MMMMMM, oh baby that was great.” He stated unplugging his dick from
her unsatisfied cunt. Chuck looked down at her pussy and saw how red
and swollen it was from the frustrating fuck. He saw his cum started
to drool out of it. He quickly grabbed her ankles and pulled her
around so her legs and ass were elevated. Chuck gave her two little
spanks to her bottom. “You forgot to put your legs up.”
“Ouch. Opps. Sorry. Thanks.” Heather smiled at him.
Chuck reached down and scooped some of the escaped cum up with his
finger. He put it back into her cream depository. She moaned in
frustration as he gazed her clitoris.
She wondered if he would make her cum now. She frowned somehow
knowing the answer would be no. “Honey, do you think it would be bad
if you made me cum now?”
Chuck smiled sadly. “Yeah, Honey I do. I don’t think that’s a good
idea. The guys said they didn’t let their wives cum until they were
pregnant.” He chuckled at the gasp his wife made. “You wanted a baby
sweetie.”
She nodded sadly. “I hope I get pregnant soon!”
Chuck laughed at her pouting. “Well, I am going to make it my job to
see that you. I have an idea. While you are elevating your legs why
don’t you suck me for a bit. That way when you can put your legs down
I can make another deposit.”
Heather pouted but if it meant more baby juice she had no choice. She
sighed and began sucking his dick. It was already long and hard. She
guessed this denial thing turned him on.
“Fuck my mouth honey. Pretend it’s my cunt.” Heather sucked as he
pumped into her mouth.
“Expect this feels like a cunt with a tongue.” Chuck laughed as he
fucked her sucking mouth without a care. “Ahhhh yeah feels great.”
This is how is should be. “I am getting ready to make another
deposit.”
Heather quickly swung her legs down and parted her thighs. Chuck
fucked her for less than a minute before he came in buckets up into
her womb. He kissed her tenderly before collapsing in a heap. She
elevated her legs and prayed for a baby. He was blissfully snoring
while his wife’s clitoris was throbbing with need. Well, it will be
worth it
The chastity belt I am wearing is very effective and totally foolproof,
as I have discovered in recent weeks of continuous wear. And I do mean
continuous since it has proved beyond my means to take it off since the
time I first put it on! Not that this happened by accident. I have
always been mildly interested in that sort of thing and often wondered
how the ladies coped with being festooned with a great iron belt,
sometimes for literally years on end, whilst their husbands went off on
a Crusade. Anyway, my interest was raised when I read a piece in the
paper about a small firm that had started to make ‘mod’ belts; sheet
copper for the vital protection, held in place by little chains and a
natty lock. So I give them a ring and find out more about them.
The young lady who answered the phone was very helpful, explained in a
little more detail what I had already read, assured me that they did
the same job as the 12th Century version but with about one-tenth the
weight, and quoted a price of L5.25 complete, including postage and
packing. If I wanted I could also buy a matching metal bra for a
further L5.25.
Encouraged by her matter of fact way, I asked if they were much
inconvenience to the wearer. I was quite surprised when she openly
said that she had worn one a few times, but never for more than an
evening to local parties, and claimed that the boys had shown more
interest than if she had just gone wearing a bra and panties. She was
aware that she was wearing something ‘different’, particularly when she
crossed her legs, but wasn’t really inconvenienced as such.
I also found out that they would sell over the counter, that it was a
one-size fit (and would). I could get one that day if I so wanted. I
made a note of the address – about five miles from where I worked –
checked on their lunch closing (they didn’t). And what time they
closed at night.
I still wasn’t keen to spend all that money, but after I had made the
call my interest started to build up, and after a while I found myself
planning to get to their workshop somehow. I had enough money with me
in my purse, and it was still only just after 11:00 a.m. I could get
there and back in my lunch hour if I hurried. But I would miss
lunch. Never mind, if I was going to spend L5.25 I would have to miss
out on lunches for a while.
My lunch hour is 12:30 p.m. to 1:30 p.m. As time passed I found myself
drawn to checking bus routes and time tables. Yes, I could get a
through bus. It ran every 15 minutes and took 20 minutes or
thereabouts for the trip. If I caught one at 12:40 p.m. I could be
there by 1:00 p.m. A quick check on the return shown a bus leaving at
1:15 p.m. which would get me back to within a few minutes walk of the
office by 1:35 p.m. I couldn’t expect to be back at my desk before
1:40 p.m. at the earliest – perhaps 1:45 p.m.
By this time I think I was already a lost cause. I was thinking up
ways to get the additional time off without just taking it, and finally
approached the manager to ask if I could have an extra 30 minutes off
at lunchtime if I made it up that evening. He was very understanding
and asked if it was important, and I said that it was, to me. How long
did I really want? Probably 15 minutes would do, but I didn’t want the
firm to think it was all taken and no give. Try and keep it to 15
minutes if you can, then perhaps we can forget about working late
tonight. Hooray, I had made it!
By 12:30 p.m. I was on the starting line, and at 12:31 p.m. was clear
of the building. The bus was about on time, and all the way to the
destination I wondered if I was an idiot or a fool for doing it. 1:00
p.m. and I was off the bus, walking to the address I was given.
It looked a very ordinary type of shop front, with nothing in the
window but dust. I tried the door, and somewhat to my surprise it
opened and made a bell go ‘Ding’ at the back of the premises
somewhere. A chair scraped, and a young girl came in.
“Er, were you the young lady I was talking to on the phone about 10:15
a.m. this morning?”
“Probably. I get calls all the time. What was it about?”
“Er, this mod belt you are making. Can I see one please?”
“Oh, yes.”
Quite a matter of fact. No nonsense. She pulled a box from under the
counter turned back the tissue paper and revealed a nicely displayed
belt, gleaming copper, neat silver chains, and unusually designed
lock.
“Are they easy to put on?” I said with what sounded like a quaver in my
voice.
“Very. You just locate the centerpiece, pull the chains tight around
you – tight enough to make sure it can’t drop off over your hips that
is, make sure it’s comfortable, and then snap on the lock. In certain
circumstances it’s possible to forget that you are wearing one,
although on other occasions it does tend to make it’s presence felt.”
Here she smiled. “The whole thing is treated against rust and
corrosion so it can’t make nasty marks on your clothes, and as you can
see, it is nicely finished.”
“Have you one boxed ready to take away” I said, “I’m afraid I haven’t
much time.”
“Yes. One moment.”
She russled some papers under the counter once more and came up with a
quite small parcel, sealed with sticky tape. “There we are. That’s L5
please.”
“I thought it was L5.25?”
“Over the counter L5. You save on postage and packing.”
“Good” I said, fiddling for my purse with trembling hands.
“If you weren’t short of time you could try it for fit, although as I
say they are basically one-size and all one really needs to do is a
little thoughtful adjustment of the chains.”
I looked at my watch. It was already 1:10 p.m., and the bus left at
1:15 p.m.
“I have just five minutes to catch a bus. A No. 53. They only go
every 15 minutes and if I miss it I shall be rather late back,”
“Where to? I mean, perhaps there’s another bus going the same way?”
I told her.
“Why not get the underground from around the corner, they run every
three minutes this time of day, and you can still be back on time.”
I hadn’t thought of that. To be honest, I didn’t know the tube station
was anything like as close as it was.
“How long will it take. I mean to put on properly?” I was a bit
embarrassed to even say this, but she was quite unperturbed, as though
she had seen it all a thousand times, which probably she had.
“Not longer than it takes to slip off your dress and panties. We have
a changing room through here if you would like to come along.”
She led the way to the back of the shop, where I found a small cubicle
curtained off. Inside was a chair and a mirror.
“Would you like me to help, or can you manage?”
“I think I would welcome some assistance. This is the first time I
have ever worn one of these.” I put the parcel on the chair, and
fiddled from my zip. My assistant was already there, and unzipped me.
Shaking inwardly, I stepped out of my dress and laid it over the
chair.
“I’ll undo this,” said my assistant picking up my parcel, “you slip
your pants off.”
There was nowhere to hide, and I had already asked her to stop and
help. So I turned half sideways and slipped my panties off. By this
time the paper wrap was on the floor, and she was jangling copper and
silver around, sorting it out. Not that it took her long.
“Step through here, that’s right, and then we pull it up into
position. Good. Just make sure that the front is in position and not
awkward im amy way. O.K.? Then we have to take up these side chains
and bring them round to meet at your right side here, where the lock
takes up the loose ends. Now before we do that, how tight do you want
it to be?”
We made one or two adjustments until I was comfortable and satisfied
that it wasn’t and couldn’t fall off on the bus home.
“The locks are quite unique, needing these rather special keys. They
are not generally obtainable in the shops for obvious reasons, but they
are rather well designed for their job don’t you think? Is that O.K.
for you? Right.”
Snap. And the lock was in situ, and I was belted up. I belt down to
put my panties back on and was immediately aware of the metal parting
my legs, plus the tug of the chain around my waist. It was not all
that unpleasant.
Once I had my panties on the young lady was already holding my dress
ready for me to step back into, and zipped it up. I picked up my bag,
thanked her for her assistance, asked the quickest way to the station,
and made for the door. The belt was pulling against me, and I couldn’t
walk with my legs so close together as I normally did. I was sure the
whole world could see me emerge from the shop, and knew that I had been
belted up and was watching my first steps into a loveless world. I
couldn’t hurry to the station because of the strange feeling the belt
imparted, plus the unusual restriction on my legs. But I got there,
bought my ticket and caught a train almost immediately. The train
journey was much quicker than the bus, but left me a little further to
walk at the other end, and it was 1:50 p.m. before I got into the
office. I made my presence known to the manager, thanked him for the
time, and said I would work a bit later anyway to catch up.
I couldn’t go off to the toilet too quickly to examine myself; it just
wasn’t on, but by 3:15 p.m., having worked like a dog since I got back,
I thought no one would mind unduly if I disappeared for a few minutes.
Into the toilet, and down with the panties. This was the first real
consideration I had to give on how to spend a penny. Not over hygenic,
but I managed, and then spent a minute or two checking over my
equipment. The assistant had not over empahsised its effectiveness,
and really it was a quite well made and attractive bit of ‘mod’ gear.
Then it dawned. I had no key. I must have left them in the shop in my
haste to get away. They closed well before I could hope to get there
that evening. It meant I would have to wear the belt all night and at
least part of the next day. Wow!
Phone calls are not entirely encouraged at the office, and I had
already made one that day, and had 20 minutes extra time off in the
bargain. I could hardly ask for another call. And by the time I got
out of the office, they would be closed. I was stuck, but good.
Strangely, the known fact that I was stuck, and couldn’t take the belt
off, made it exciting for me. And I didn’t mind at all being stuck. I
wasn’t quite so sure about it all when I was going home; the strange
walk it induced convinced me that everyone must know I was wearing a chastity belt, however, mod.
The evening and night were quite exciting in their way. After all,
I was only wearing it for a night, whereas the ladies of the 12th C.
wore one for years. And I had fulfilled an ambition, which had also
cost L5, so I decided to make the most of it all and enjoy my
situation.
The next day at work I was faced with the problem of how to once again
get time off and go and fetch the keys; it would be easier to get
another telephone call and ask for them to be posted to me – although
this would mean that I would be trapped for at least another day –
perhaps two. It was a hell of a decision to make, but at least I could
call and ask if the keys were there. This I did. A man answered. The
young lady was not there, could he help. I related some of the story,
but at the end of it all he said that he didn’t know anything about it,
could I call back. When? Tomorrow. The young lady wasn’t expected to
come in now, it was too late. Stone me. What a situation! No keys,
no young lady, try in the morning. And if she wasn’t there then? It
was Thursday, and if she posted the keys off on Friday it was touch and
go if they would arrive on Saturday, or if I would have to wait until
Monday morning. I didn’t mind being belted up, but I hadn’t quite
planned for it to go on forever. Even the ladies in the 12th C.
managed to get out of them eventually!
Tights were out. It had to be pantie girdle and stockings for me now.
Another night in chains. Another funny walk to the office, sur I was
being stared at.Very uncomfortable to keep one’s legs together when
sitting down, almost impossible to cross ones legs at all – as I found
out when inadvertently trying on a few occasions.
Another telephone call? My goodness, it must be important. Again, that man. No she hadn’t turned up again. When? No idea,try Monday. Possibility of spare keys? Had I one they could match – without it virtually impossible. They were all “a bit special”. Had any keys been left lying around. Not that he knew. Stalemate until Monday. The weekend was again a bit unusual for me, although I adjusted quite well to my new and continuing situation. Not too much running about, but a bath showed no rusting to me encouragement.Monday. Another call? Does Mr. Wood know? Well, perhaps just this once, but really you are doing it rather hard. Spoil it for the others, you know.Horror. The same man. No young lady. No knowledge if whereabouts or when she would be back. All he could suggest was keep in touch. Sorry couldn’t help. Keys very tricky things, really one-off on rather special locks.
“Do you have such a thing as a Master Key available?” There was a pause. “May I ask why you want one?” I thought the answer to that one had to be obvious. “I want to unlock one of your ‘Mod Belts'” I said. “Oh, I see” said the man. “I didn’t quite follow you at first. I take it that you are wearing it and want it off.” Bright fellow, I thought. Catching on at last. Quite happily I chatted on “Yes, that’s right. It’s getting a bit inconvenient – in fact it’s almost a week now since it was locked on me, and as you probably know there’s no chance of slipping out of it. So until I can get hold of the keys I’m absolutely stuck like this. I hope you can help?” The reply dumbfounded me. “No chance at all darling” said the man.”Get quite a few like you
trying it on, but it’s more than we dare do to them off once the
customer has out them on. Just think how many irate clients we’d have
pounding at our door having sold them a fivers worth of belt, and then
do the dirty on them by letting their ladies out again. No, pet, you’ll
have to see your old man about it, nothing I can do I’m afraid.” and
with that he hung up on me.
I was staggered. He obviously thought I had been belted up by a
non-existent husband and wanted out. I couldn’t phone him again from
the office, and I walked back to my desk ina semi-daze. If the young
lady wasn’t around and he didn’t want to know, I was really stuck. And
I had no idea how long for. But this couldn’t go on. I had already
spent six days belted up, and would cheerfully have taken it off there
and then and dropped all five quids worth in the Thames had I had a
chance. But I didn’t. Because I couldn’t. It fitted snugly – not too
tight – but too tight to slip off, or round, or down, or anything. When
we had put it on we both made sure it as just right. And frankly the
fit was in fact just right.
After work I found a phone ( after queueing for one) and tried to reach
the man again. There was no reply – as I already knew, they went home at
the same time as I did. There was nothing for it but to go home for one
more night and try , somehow, again tomorrow.
Tuesday, I didn’t dare risk the wrath of another private telephone call,
si I waited until lunch time and had to wait and wait for the uese of a
G.P.O. phone whilst boy friends phoned their girl friends on reversed
charges, and vice versa, on calls that apparently go on for ever.
Eventually it was my turn. I was already in a bit of a huff over having
to wait around most of my lunch hour, but didn’t want to sound too sharp
if the man answered the phone again. After all, I really did need his help.
A strange voice answerde. I went through the rigmorale of explaining that I
wanted to speak to the young lady, or failing that, the man who answered
the phone in her absence.
“Oh, that would be Joe. He’s at lunch until 2.00 pm.”
“Is the young lady there that usually serves at the counter?”
“Janet, you mean. No, we haven’t seen her in days, although I believe
that Joe was going round there to see what’s up.”
I seemed pointless explaining my predicament and starting all over again
– but than again, perhaps this one might help? I breifly outlined my
story, but before I could finish he jumped in with:
“Oh, you’re the one that telephoned Joe yesterday. No hope love, if we
were to take that belt off you we could shut down the works tomorrow.
Never sell another one wherever we went to”.
“But it’s not like that, I promise you I….”
“I believe you, love, but if word was to circulate thet we not only
sold Mod Bets but took them off anyone who spun us a yarn we’d be
finished. In fact you’re one of our best advertisements; the more people
you tell that you’re stuck in one of our belts teh better we’ll like it.
Name in the paper if you can. Would ber very good for business.”
“I haveb’t told anyone about this. How could I? I mean it ould be just
too embarassing.”
“You might, in time”, said the voice. “And the longer you leave it the
better the story. Course, your old man might come home in he meantime
and spoil it all, we’ll just have to risk it. Again, if you’re really
that desperate you could get your boyfriend to saw it off, although that
would be take a bit of explaining to the old man when he comes home.”
“I’m not married, and I haven’t any boy friends” I said , near
hysterics.
“Still not tempted” he said “Completely misconstruing what I had meant.
“Look, love, it’s your problem, don’t involve me, I only work here.”
“I’m sorry. Can you please say when, er, Janet will be back?”
“No idea where she is, or why. Ought to be here, but hasn’t shown in a
week. Joe will know though, if he went round to find out like he said he
was going to.” But Joe was out to lunch. Sometime he came back early,
sometime late. It all depended.
“Did anyone work late, ever. Like, could I phone again at say 5.40 p.m.
after normal hours and speak to Joe?”
“You can if he’s here. Sometimes works on a bit, depends what’s on.”
This was getting me nowhere. I thanked him, told him he was quite wromg
in his assumptions about me and he in turn told me that he probably was
but that it wouldn’t make any difference anyway, and we hung up. I
whisked out of the office building at 5.30 p.m. sharp, and made for the
phone kiosks which as usual were all full. But luck was in, and I managed
to get in one that was on a three minute call. Through to the number. It
seemed to ring endlessly, and once again it seemed I was doomed to yet
another night as the victim of my own carefully planned escapade. But
escapade seems wrong, it surely should be ‘imprisonment’.
Then, somewhat to my surprise as I had already decided that they had
all gone, the phone was answered by the m,an I had spoken to earlier.
No, Joe had gone but he had had a word with him about me and Janet.,
and Joe had said that if I phoned again to tell me not to bother anymore
as Janet had left her Job and gone to work in a pickle factory.
“You’re kidding” I said. “You are just trying to put me off from
phoning.”
“I’d like to do that,” dsaid the voice “but I’m not kidding about
Janet. Joe said that she just got fed up with putting assorted birds
in shackles and decided to pack it in. Not getting any more money or
anything, but just wanted a change. Got to get a new bird here I
suppose, though Gawd knows who. It’s not everybody’s cup of tea I can
tell you, we get some right ravers in here sometimes. Some can’t wait to
get them on and others, like you I suppose, can’t wait to get them
off. And others just don’t know what they want. Mind you, Jan was
pretty good at it and seemed to cope with them pretty well, it wasn’t
often she had to get someone up from the works to keep an eye on
things. Mostly it was birds prancing around in the altogether who
couldn’t decide whether they wanted to be belted up or not, and making a
right nuisance of themselves. You’d be surprised how quickly they would
either put on a belt, or their pants, or both, once they knew some fellow
was coming up to see what was going on. Mind you, they all wanted it,
but needed a bit of persuasion to take the final plunge so to speak.
“Keys was another thing” continued my informant “You’d be surprised how
many customers left their keys behind when they went off. Like you did.
Think it must be a combination of the subconsciuous and sheer exitement
of the moment that made them do it, but Jan used to reckon on one in
four she fitted up went off without them. One time she used to make a
point of specially handing them over after a fitting but soon learned
that it wasn’t always in her best interest to do so. Do you know, she
was even asked if she wouldn’t mind minding the keys for a few days in
case the customer lost them, and on another occasion some bird asked her
to drop them down the drain for her. After a bit she used to put them
all in a box in case any of them changed their minds, but the fall out
rate was so low that after a while she brought them all down to the
works and we knocked them up. Can’t be too carefull in the security business.”
“Is it possible that my keys are in her box” I asked.
“Even if they ever were, you can’t get them. Please, miss, this is more
than my job is worth. And I did stay back to give you the facts. Now be
a good girl and let us alone. We can’t help you, and I want my tea.”
“Thank you” I said, without knowing what I had to thank him for.
So, for all my trouble all I had to show was the news that Janet had
gone to a pickle factory. Joe and the other man weren’t going to help
“for security reasons” and all in all I had been fighting the existance
of the chastity belt, trying all I knew to beat it, to get it off. Now I
knew it had beaten me, nicely clamped between my legs and moderately
tight around my waist. The episode with Janet came clearly back to mind,
the care we had taken to get it “just right” before Janet slipped home
the special lock. Undoubtedly I was as belted up as any 12th century
madam had ever been, although they at least could look forward to their
eventual release albeit in three or four years. For me, no one would
return with the key. For me I would have to stay belted up, with no sign
on the horizon of how I may ever get free again.
The weeks have come and gone, but the tight inward satisfaction of
HAVING to wear a chastity belt, as opposed to wanting to try one on for
a laugh, continues. I have come to terms with myself, and with life in
general. There are things that I cannot now do that I would otherwise
have done, such as crossing my legs when I sit. Sunbathing is out,
although I have considered buying the special matching bra top and using
what I then have as a sun-suit. I can wear loose fitting briefs over my
belt, but skin-tight ones are not really on. Pantie-tights are O.K., but
tights not really suitable. I have to be careful not to wear any
tightish skirts, or the chains which run diagonally across my bottom
become visible through it. I can’t run for buses any more, or rather I
can, but it makes me look bandy.
But the inconveniences involved are outweighted for me by the sheer
pleasure of knowing, and having to accept, that I am really hopelessly
stuck. I have thought of trying to cut through the chain, of course but
I would need a hacksaw or something which I haven’t got, and wouldn’t
get, and wouldn’t know how to use it when I had one.
And so, after five weeks I have adapted to a new way of chaste
existence. I have not tried phoning the firm again since I last spoke
to Joe’s assistant; there seems very little point. I have laso thought
of trying to track down Janet at her pickle factory, but even id I did I
can’t think what help she could be to me. Her job seemed to be to fit
the belts and then have the unwanted keys smashed up, not as a licksmith
to fretting females who had changed their minds after the first mad
flush of fun.
The seventh week, a rather trying one for me, brought the decision to
once more persuade Joe, or his new assistant, if he had one to unlock my
belt. I had adapted to it very well, accepted it so to speak and was
living within its restrictions (quite literally!) but a difficult week
made me try to obtain my release from it. After all this time a phone
call from the office would surely be permitted without raise eyebrows,
or perhaps even another personal visit to the workshop. Phone first
perhaps.
I thought about it all next morning at work, and at lunchtime I actually
found an empty phone box that worked (I wasn’t planning to make a
lunchtime call) and on the spur of the moment dialled that number which
is now imprinted on my mind forever. A ‘new’ young lady answered.
I hadn’t really thought what I was going to say, as it all happened on
the quick, other than in general terms, and now there was someone saying
“Can I help you?”
“Well, I hope so, I have a, er, friend, who has somehow managed to lose
the keys to a Mod Belt. Can you supply duplicates?”
“It would be very tough unless your friend could let us have a sample key to
match. The locks on the Mods are rather special and we don’t ever stock
spares of course. It could represent something of a security risk and
our customers wouldn’t like taht. Do you have a spare?”
“No. Both keys were together I’m afraid. Do you have Master key my
friend could borrow?”
‘I’m sorry, then there’s nothing e can do to help your friend. As a
security operation it would be like us making safes and selling spare
keys to anyone who came in for one. We just couldn’t do it, any more
than we could just pop around and open a safe up for them.”
“Then how can my friend get her belt off?”
I said it as a plea, but as soon as the words had left my mouth I knew I
had phrased it wrongly.
“Oh, it’s a worn belt. I see.” The voice had hardened a little. “Quite
out of the question to ask us for assistance, we just don’t want to
know.”
“Please” I said “I’m getting a bit desperate about it. If I came round
to see you could you help.”
“If you came around with a man who said he was your husband, or for
that matter your husband, we still couldn’t help. We daren’t. What the
customers do with their purchase after they leave the shop is entirely
up to them. We can’t accept responsibility for peoples behaviour, and if
your old man has slipped a belt on you, then it’s up to him to take it
off again, not us. Look , love, I’m sorry but we do get this kind of
request from time to time from birdies who are being deprived of their
share. But our job is to make and sell chastity belts. They’re designed
to keep young maidens chaste, the young maidens should hardly complain
to us if they are kept chaste.”
“But I’m not married” I wailed “No one wants to keep me chaste.”
“Someone obviously does. Now be a good girl and run along home. I can’t
help.”
“It was Janet” I said. “Janet did it. That is, she helped me put it on
and then like a fool I left the keys there and I’ve been wearing it now
for seven weeks or more.” It was a pointless, poor explained outburst
which did nothing to help.
“Then go back to Janet, and get to help you take it off again. Seven
weeks, you must be missing it by now, poor kid. But I still can’t help.
Sorry.”
And the phone went click.
That evening I made a complete reappraisal of my situation, and
examined the belt in close detail by means of a mirror. It further
reassured me that it was not going to fall off me. The copper frontpiece
had gone rather dull, so I gave it a polish and was surprised how well
I managed to make it shine. Anyone who saw me at work with a tin of
metal polish would have been lost for an answer as to just what I was
doing, and the thought made me laugh out loud. A polish on the chains
didn’t make anything like the same difference. I suppose their contact
with my clothing had kept them bright, whereas copper would have a
natural tendency to dull down a little.
Tha chains themselves were not all that thick overall, but the links
themselves were thick in relation to the overall width of the chain, if
you understand what I mean. They were quite positively secured to the
copper frontpiece and secured by this natty lock which needed special
keys which I hadn’t got, had never had, and never would have. After
fiddling about with it all I decided that when we fitted it we couldn’t
have made a better job of it; it was as near perfect as it could be.
I had adapted very well to it all, as I have already said, and wondered
how my ancestors in the 12th century got along with their great heavy
and totally inflexible love traps. At least I had a fair degree of
flexibility, could bend in any direction fairly freely, run (bandily),
jump, stand up, sit down, do a normal day’s work, including looking
after my own flat, and wear almost all my usual clothes. The early
problems with a visit to the loo had been overcome, and about the only
inconvenience as such was the inability to cross my legs when I sat
down. They, poor sould, had to suffer a 3 1/2″ iron waistband with a
fixed 4″ downpiece clamped rigidly into position with a whacking great
padlock. The whole lot must have weighed about 14 lbs and the sheer
inconvenience, effective though it must have been, must have had them
giving carefull consideration prior to making most of their basic
movements, like walking around, lying in bed, or even just sitting down
without actually looking like an inverted letter “Y”.
There were of course even more disasterous contraptions for achieving
the same ends, including one which was virtually a tapered steel shell
which fitted round the waist and reached almost down to the knees. Once
locked on it must have proved very inconvenient to the wearer, who could
not then touch any part of her body between the waist and knees. Think
about it. Bending, lying down, sitting, all would pose tremendous
problems and about all they could then do would be either stand still
all day, or lie prostrate all day. By comparison my version was made of
feathers. I concluded that I wouldn’t mind trying one or two of them on,
but this was all conjecture since I didn’t have access to any of them,
couldn’t afford them if I had, and had been wearing a chastity belt for
seven weeks non-stop anyway which I couldn’t get off, even to put
another one in its place.
Whilst the folk of yesteryear may appear rather hard to us in their
treatment of the miscreant I suppose the punishment handed out was more
or less just if viewed in the complete context of the times, and not
several hundred years later through more so-called civilized eyes. The
petty, or wayward, got themselves a few days in the pillory and thereby
made a sitting target for anything and everything that came to hand. I
suppose the next step up from there was to be locked in the stocks, and
whilst the prisoners could had sit down I suspect they were very glad to
be able to stand up again at the end of their sentence. Both would have
had a very marked effect on the wrongdoer, and I should think that
anyone experiencing the ridicule of the pillory, not to mention having
to face up to miscelaneous flying garbage, would be rather keen not to
repeat his misdeeds. The stocks would have been even worse, since
sleeping would have presented them with quite a problem, assuming that
someone cared enough to feed them from time to time, and their mental
and physical state after a week or so should have had a most encouraging
effect on their future behaviour as citizens. For the really naughty, one
can still see examples of the whipping posts where the prisoner gets a
fair stinging before going into the stocks. One assumes that if we owned
three chickens and someone came along and stole two of them from us we
would feel exactly the same way about it as they did in those days.
Except that the comparative values would be more like three cows now,
rather than three chickens.
For the folk that really annoyed the Lord and Master there was always
something nasty in the dungeon, but it’s hard to think that these
specialities were for other than their contemporaries who had got out of
line and were trying to usurp control, or found themselves on the
losing side in a local war. Again I suspect that if someone tried hard
to kill you, but you won the day, it wouldn’t be too hard to have him
chained to a wall for twenty years or so in case he tried to do it
again, or if he was really dangerous, to pull his arms out on the rack.
And in the context of six or seven hundred years ago it might all seem
perfectly right and proper.
I’m not sure that the trainig corsets which came into fashion for young
ladies about the 18th century were entirely justified. Lacing, and
sometimes even locking, a young girl into a very overtight corset which
stretched from sometimes high under the chin down to the hips, then
tying her hands behind her in case she got rebellious and tried to take
it off, sounds a bit sadistic. The idea, I read, was to extend the top
of the corset so that it forced the wearer’s head to tilt backwords so
that she “carried her head proudly erect” and since her elbows would
almost meet behind her when her hands were tied, they sometimes tied the
elbows together as well for the alleged sake of posture and deportment.
What the young ladies then did with themselves I’m not sure. About all
they could do would be to sit down or walk around with their heads
“proudly erect”, and since they would be quite unable to fend off any
advance from the male population they were probably lumbered with 14
pounds of chastity belt as well. Only in this case I would be a strong
supporter of the idea!
So the development of a device for keeping ladies chaste was quite
logical, for the times. It’s still logical now, if the situation is
such that one or others of the surrounding parties cannot altogether be
trusted. So when Lord Strongsword made off to the wars he first ensured
that no one was going to share his wife in his absence. Not that he
didn’t trust her of course, he didn’t trust all the others to take
advantage of her pure innocence, so he got her to strip off and stay
still a minute darling whilst I defend your honour in my absence. It’s
also recorded that the long-distance runners didn’t trust the
effectiveness of the locks than available, and had the local smithy
hammer home this nice metal belt I’ve expecially made as agoing away
present darling with a few hot rivets “just to stop it falling round
your knees the minute I’m gone.” What the ladies thought isn’t recorded,
but I wouldn’t mind betting that quite a few of them spent many a long
hour picking away at the lock with a hairpin in the hope that they could
trigger it off. As would I at times, had not lock technology developed
to a point where I wouldn’t even know how or where to start on this
one. But time has passed on, and I have accepted my situation.
* * *
It is now rather more than 10 weeks since belting up day. Guile came to
my side one restless evening, when I again pondered on how to free
myself from my belt. A plan! Why not, but why not buy another one,
another belt at 5 heaven help me, have it wrapped up and taken away,
then return the next day to say that the keys won’t work the lock! They
would HAVE to help me take it off. I could escape. It was a lot of
money for a working girl, but I collected it together and without prior
announcement of my arrival did another mid-day flip to the works. On
entering I was greeted by the ‘new young lady’ whose voice I recognized
by our one conversation. She was built like an Amazon; big boned and
rather musculine, and probably around the early 40’s I thought. No push
over, but my plans were laid so I pressed on. Yes, she had a Mod Belt I
could see, displayed much as before, another wrapped up ready to take
away. 5 cash. I was out of the shop and on my way. It cost me a taxi to
be back at work on time, so the outing cost me a lot more than I could
afford. At home that evening I unwrapped the belt, and without much
hope tried the keys in the lock of the belt I was wearing. Like they
had said, they were all a bit different, but this one seemed a lot
different, it didn’t even fit into the keyhole which I found
appeared by pressing two sides of an aperture together.
Nextday, out of the office at 12.30 p.m., round to the tube station,
and into the shop again by 1.00 p.m. flat. And I hadn’t wasted a second
anywhere.
“Oh,” said the Amazon, “back again? What can I do for you today.”
“Well, it’s a bit embarrassing for me to explain, but I hope you’ll
understand. I bought a belt here yesterday, and just for a laugh I put
it on last night and then found I can’t get it off again. Somehow the
keys just don’t seem to fit.”
“That’s odd” said the Amazon “We are a bit careful over these things.
Perhaps you didn’t do it right. Come into the back of the shop and let
me have a look for you.”
I followed her through to the same little changing cubicle with its
mirror and chair. I unzipped the top of my skirt and peeled over the
top of my briefs to reveal the lock, handing the keys to her as I did
so.
“Can you unlock it for me please?”
Amazon looked at the keys, the lock, and then me.
“They just don’t seem to be the right keys at all” she agreed. “But
perhaps it’s because I’m not approaching the lock at the right angle.
Very tricky these things. Would you mind if I asked you to slip your
skirt right off so I can see what I’m doing?”
“No, of course not” I replied, complying with her request.
And your pants down a little too please, so I can see what’s going on.”
Down came my briefs an inch or so, but not so far as to be embarrassing
for me.
Amazon fiddled with the lock and the keys, and ran her fingers around
the chain encircling my waist.
“When did you say you put this on?” said Amazon, snapping the chain
against my side.
“Er, yesterday evening, when I got home from work. It went on O.K. as
you can see, but the joke ended when I tried to get it off again. If my
boyfriend knew what I have done” I added, departing from my prepared
script thinking I was making small talk “he’d laugh his head off at
first – before he got rather cross about it all once he realised what
it really meant.”
“I’m sure he would” said Amazon. “Would you Iike to tell me what
really happened before I throw you out of this shop?”
“Pardon” I said, rooted to the floor. I just couldn’t believe my ears!
“Look” said Amazon “we get all types here with all sorts of stories.
But your tale is in about Division III. If you had only been wearing
that belt for one night your waist would be red where the chain has
chaffed against it. Yours looks as though you have been wearing it for
not less than a couple of months. On top of which we stopped using this
lock mechanism weeks and weeks ago and replaced it with a modified
type so that the customers keep happy. I know that you bought a belt
here yesterday, but that’s not it, but I wouldn’t mind betting that the
keys are from yesterdays purchase. Right”.
I was on the verge of tears. She was an overpowering woman, and I
didn’t doubt she could toss me out on the street if she so wanted. I
nodded my head in agreement.
“I will tell you the truth if you really want to know” I said. “The
honest truth.”
“Husband or boyfriend playing a little joke which you think has gone on
far too long probably” said Amazon. “I see them all in here. You’d be
surprised the tricks some people will pull to try and shake off a
chastity belt. Not that anyone of them has managed it yet. Just put
your skirt on and go away will you. And don’t come back.”
Amazon stood there with folded arms whilst I rearranged my dress, and followed
me to the door.
“It reaIly is a true story I have to tell” I pleaded with her.
“Like the one where you put it on yourself, and then lost the keys?”
“Yes, yes, that’s right. It really did happen like that!”
“Good afternoon” said Amazon. ‘ Don’t come back or I’ll call the police
and have you charged with loitering. Then you can have your name in the
paper and we can get some free publicity.”
The door was closed behind me and I was standing out in the street, the
proud possessor of two MOD Chastity Belts, one with two keys and one I
was wearing with no keys at all .
I got back to the office very late and had to feign sickness to cover
my absence. I worked on in the evening to catch up so I suppose I put
the black mark right. Once home I kicked myself for a fool in wasting
all that money in a quite abortive attempt to slip a chastity belt I
have grown to like wearing, but only when there seemed no hope at all
of ever getting free of it. Once such a chance presented itself to me I
just had to follow it through to see if I could make it work. And so
far, my endeavour had been a complete failure, and once again with no
hope of freedom in sight I enjoyed its metallic caress. It was into the
eleventh week. The eleventh long beautiful week of sitting very quietly
on toilet seats because of the chinking noise the chains across my
bottom would otherwise make; of making excuses for not wanting to go
swimming, or sunbathing, of not being able to make up the number in a
netball team, or start a little hockey training. But I was content with
my lot, and when at my exhilerated best was secretly glad that Janet
hadn’t passed over the keys which in all probability my sub-conscious
mind had decided to leave behind anyway. I spent more time at cinemas
than in years, although this isn’t a cheap outing any more, and
watching TV. My recreation had to be tailored to my circumstances, and
my circumstances had quite decidedly changed. Boyfriends were out,
naturally, in case wandering hands discovered things they shouldn’t
know about, and I wanted to keep my personal secret a personal secret.
I am experiencing periods of quiet tranquility between an occasional
burst of energy aimed at finding a way to escape what I am becoming
more and more convinced is the inescapable. I suspect that Freud would
describe these occasional endeavours to shake off my belt as my need
for reassurance that I cannot in fact get out of it, and indeed I
cannot. I am now in week 14, and over the last three weeks I have made
several close inspections of the mechanics of it all, in a continuing
reappraisal. The basic aim each time was to find a “weak link”, the
easiest spot in which the chains could be attacked with the object of
breaking or cutting them off, but no realistic conclusions have
emerged. What I have discovered is that the chain which encircles my
waist is in fact a little stronger than the four which lead from it to
the centrepiece – these are hardly thin. Where the chains join the
links appear to have been braised together and polished down so that
the join as such is difficult to find, and hardly represents a weak
spot. It is the same with the lock, which if anything seems stronger
than the chains it holds together. As already mentioned, the key
apperture only appears when two sides of the lock are pressed together,
and springs somewhere inside push what seems to be like double doors –
double overlapping doors – back from the key aperture. I have made a
quite futile attempt to pick the lock – a complete waste of time and
effort for by the time I held the lock just so in order to expose the
key hole I seemed to need three more hands to get at it. Even then, I
have no idea how the mechanism works, but it looks as if it has a
double system working on a centre pivot over which the key slips. I
prodded about with the blunt end of a needle for a while, but couldn’t
find anything inside that even felt as if it wanted to move, so I
packed it in.
If somehow I was able to find a method of cutting through the chains,
without cutting me at the same time, it would help. Except that the
chains themselves are very close to me, every link of the way. Snug,
without being really tight, but tight enough to prevent hacking away at
them with something sharp, without getting hacked.
The choice would be to cut through either two of the chains running
from the waistchain to the centrepiece, or the chain encircling my
waist. The waist chain is out, since by its tug around my middle it
throws up (I am ashamed to say) a little heap of surplus flesh which
stands almost level with the chain itself. Thus if I try cutting the
chain, I also get cut. Not on. The chains from the waist to centrepiece
came next. How could I get at them. Much thought, a little experiment
with protective pieces of cardbord between chains and me (discarded
as of not much help in case of misplaced energy and a slipping file)
followed by a piece of wood I managed to obtain – again rejected as too
inflexible, too tight under the chain, and basic inability to get at
the chains themselves without getting me too. The wood placed under the
waist chain somehow? It couldn’t be attacked anywhere across my tum as
any movement of a file would have knocked straight into my breast –
unless I was able to do a straight up and down between my cleavage. But
since I’m not all that small, vision was a bit restricted downwards
anyway. Not much point in trying the right hand side – that is where
the lock is; the only possible point was at my left hand side.
As I have said, once I have thought of a possible escape I can’t rest
until I’ve tried it. So I tried it. I bought a file on the way home –
I had not the least idea of what sort of file I wanted, just a file
which turned out to be about 10″ long, triangular, and rather more
expensive than I would have believed. I pushed the piece of wood into
position, making the waist chain uncomfortably tight, and tried a few
experiment passes with the file.In no time at all I had stuck the thing
in my leg, and grazed myself both above and below the waist. Not to be
outwited that easily, I stood up and tried again but found it was quite
impossible to hold the file by one end without digging the other end
into myself. The only way I could get some action was by holding the
thing in the middle and trying to work it up and down. The result was
chaos. I dropped the file, several times, made a finger bleed gripping
the sharp edges of the triangular file, and apart from some small
scratch marks on the chain, made no impression on it at all.
I wasn’t completely satisfied that I had lost this round, so next night
I tried again, this time with Elastoplast on all my fingers as an
anti-abrasive device. It didn’t matter if I tried to saw upwards or
downwards, the movement I could get without getting myself as well was
minimum, and if I tried to push too hard I soon found that I suffered,
not the chain. Despite the chain being very tight with the board pushed
between it and me, the links still moved up and down with the movement
of the file, and virtually no impression was made on them. In all I
spent about two hours with these experiments for no real visible
result, and calculated that at that rate it would take about 20 years
non stop to cut through. I abandoned the idea as good in theory but
hopeless in practice. To save myself further unnecessary cuts and
abrasions, of which I then had several, I dumped the file in the
dustbin.
It is after real hard-trying experiments like these that I feel at my
happiest.
Week 18. Another month has slipped past without any idea of how I may
eventually escape having come to mind. A month in which I have been
totally content with my situation, as I think I am all but perfectly
adjusted to my new way of life. My chastity belt now seems as much a
part of me as an arm or leg, and is accepted and is as welcome as
either of them. I don’t want to have to take my belt off after all this
time, having gone through the early difficulties and inconveniences of
having had to learn how to live with it. Now I can live it, know its
fullest extent of restriction and inconvenience, but also know and can
exploit the fullest level of the ‘freedom’ available to me within its
metalic embrace.
The fact that there seems to be no method of escape from it that I
have not already tried out, really tried out at not a little expense
either, makes my belt seem to fit all the more snugly around me. I
don’t want to take it off, I can’t take it off, and there seems no hope
of me ever finding a way of getting it off. This makes life wonderful
for me, for as I have already said, once I think I have a possible way
out I just have to try it. If only to reassure myself that it is
impossible and that I really am permantly belted up. And at the time of
writing there isn’t even a feint inkling in my mind as to what I should
try next.
I have not been able to play hockey this year of course, although I was
pressured for weeks to turn out for the team again this year. I enjoy
the game, and miss playing, but in my present situation it is quite out
of the question for me to try running around for 90 minutes, not to
mention the possibility of my little secret being discovered the minute
I started to change into my hockey outfit. Being chained in what
amounts to a pair of metal briefs is great fun for me, but I am not
sure that I want to have to explain why I chose to wear them or for
that matter even if I could explain satisfactorily why I chose to wear
them. I had thought that I might try, when I was being really
pressured to play, by turning up wearing fairly thick blue knickers
under my gym-slip, and try sneaking away after the matches without
taking a shower, or changing into more normal everyday dress, but this
in turn would almost certainly draw comment. And again, I can’t run
very fast now and when I do I look completely bandy anyway. All-in
all, I reluctantly had to abandon the idea of playing sports and whilst
by no means completely inactive these days, I have to take more fun in a
quieter and more refined way; theatres, cinemas, television, reading.
The local library has a regular visitor in me just lately, as the other
interests are too expensive for regular visiting.
I am still drawn to make an occasional inspection of my metalwear to
make sure all is well with it, and to give the copper part a polish up.
I still have to laugh at myself when I am doing this; it must look
quite ridiculous. Nevertheless the copper front does look very smart
after a polish up. The chains themselves have never needed any sort of
attention from me. They have always been bright and shiny, and
fortunately have never made a mark of any sort on my clothes.
Close inspection of the braized joints show no hint of wear anywhere.
The most I can fairly claim is that where the chains join onto the
front of the copper panel, the copper never looks quite as dull as the
rest of it. This must be due to some movement of the chains on the
copper, although at the present rate of progress it seems it could take
about 150 years of violent exercise before it would wear through.
There are of course times in my life when I am less keen about the
whole idea than others, and I might be encouraged at such times to take
my belt off if I had the means of doing so. Fortunately for me, I have
not, and I am always pleased when such times are over and I am my
normal happy belted up self again. I also know, now, that if I had a
key there would be times when I would belt myself up for a while, just
for the fun of it. Equally I know there would be, and have been, times
when I would not do so – even if I really wanted to – by reason of
circumstance. As things stand, these problems do not arise for me and I
have happily accepted that regardless of what the situation might be I
and my chastity belt are inseparable. Wherever I go, it goes. Wherever
it goes, I go. Amigos, forever! I avoid all possible situations where
questions could be asked about my enforced chastity, and foster those
where I am allowed to be my normal belted seIf. No boyfriends of course
– the chain around my waist would be discovered far too quickly it can
easily be felt through my normal clothes and in fact calls for a little
skilful care to completely disguise it – but I can and do go out with
girl friends now and again, to a cinema, or for natter over a snack and
a cup of tea. I still have the second ‘Mod’ belt I purchased in an
expensively vain attempt to escape one I wear. I have pondered on the
possibility of selling it, but always somewhere at the back of my mind
has been the thought that if, somehow, I managed to slip the one I’m
wearing, I would probably put the second one straight on in it’s place,
and personally smash up the keys!
Week 22 threw up an idea which I have been working on. Simply if one
cannot fight them, then join them! If I can’t escape myself, I’ll join
them and escape by having them on my side. The idea really evolved
from one of trying to cut my chains by means of a pair of bolt cutters.
I saw some of these used in a T.V. show, and it occurred to me that if
used on my chains they must surely yield to it. Also that my Mod belt
is not likely to prove anything like as permanent in use as I had at
first envisaged, and this in turn disappoints me very much. If I can
be cut out of a Mod belt, there must be other types of heavier belting
available which even a bolt cutter can’t destroy. I therefore plan to
replace my present Mod belt with something far more permanent if I can,
but to do this I need to be ‘on the inside’. I need to have friends,
accomplices, with the ability and facility to help me. So I have been
planning. I know that I can purchase copies of 12th Century Chastity
Belts fairly easily, and good, secure, locks are available. Making
them keyless would be simply a matter of following a previously
recorded comment and dropping them down the nearest drain. And not even
bolt cutters, at least the type I have seen used, should be stout
enough to cut through the thick iron bands then available to me. But if
I am able, I want to be even more sure than that. As I will explain if
my plans start to work as I hope they wilI. As I hope to be much more
nearly permanently belted up then I am at present, although I must
admit that my present Mod belt is still as effective and secure on me
as ever it was, I still want to be reasonably comfortable, which may
involve me in a personal fitting to ensure no rough edges,
overtightness, or slackness, anywhere.
Week 23, and a big success so far, althouh I hardly dare to think it
might completely work out. I have been in contact with my friends
asking if they had any vacancies for a typist with telephone experience
and some book keeping ability. All of this is true. To my heart
pounding delight they have, and I have arranged to go along for an
appointment tomorrow afternoon. I haven’t the least idea how much they
may pay but I’ll accept anything within sweet reason. If I manage to
get the job it will mean that I will almost certainly have to change my
flat to something nearer their side of town, but that will be hardship.
Where I am is O.K., but nothing special.
I arrived at the workshop a little before time, but went straight in
rather than stand around in the rather bare gloomy street. The Dragon
was not there as I had expected, and a youngish man whom I had not
previously seen before answered the ringing doorbell. I told him who I
was and whom I wished to see, and why. He disappeared for not more than
three minutes, then came back to usher me through a little corridor in
bad need of repainting into a small, dingy ‘office’. No one was there,
and he said ‘Joe’ would be along in a minute. ‘Joe’! Now there’s a name
I knew .I was thankful that we hadn’t actually met before, and felt
sure it would be unlikely that he would recognise my voice after all
this time. Anyway, we had only spoken on the ‘phone. Joe arrived in a
couple of minutes, as promised, and asked me to take a seat.
Joe was a short, fairly thick set chap of about 35 with thick brownish
hair, poorly pressed suit, and with worry hidden under an open-plan
pleasantness. He was short on education, articulation, and most things
demanded of anyone working in a City office, but had a sincerity,
honest forthrightness, and basic openness about him which more than
made up for the shortcomings elsewhere.
The job on offer was one of answering letters, signing them, keeping the
filing in order, making tea and coffee, helping with the accounts on
occasions, helping to make-up wage packets, making the tea and coffee
again, going out to collect small orders which were late on delivery
and which they had to have in order to stay in business (fairs paid)
and helping out in the shop at meal times, etc. The pay wasn’t as much
as I was getting, and I said so. Honest Joe said that IF I shaped up to
being a harrassed Girl Friday he would match my present pay, but he would
want “a couple of months” to see how things went. I accepted on the
spot, explained that my present company needed a weeks notice, and
agreed that I should start on Monday week at 9.00 a.m.
Although I had arranged a half-day off {from my annual holiday
entitlement) I went back to the office and handed in my resignation. Mr
Wood was startled to think that anyone would leave, could leave, or
have the least reason to leave. I was given a little talk on how bright
my future could be if only I would reconsider, the hint of a pay
increase at the end of the year, and time to think things over. I for
my part thanked him, but asked that the resignation should stand until
or unless I changed my mind. He agreed, and it was only on my way back
homeon the bus that I realised that I had actually given terms to the
great Mr. Wood, which had been unconditionally accepted. Normally
everyone below management status stood in fear of him; a powerful man
given to the quiet and efficient knife thrust which had seen the
downfall of many a poor insignificant office clerk.
My financial situation is not one which will allow for extended unpaid
holidays, and as things stood I would be leaving one company on a
Wednesday evening and not starting with another until the following
Monday. As a concession to Mr. Wood, and after letting him sweat for a
little while on whether I was going or staying, I finally told him on
the Friday evening that I was definately going, but would be prepared
to work out a full further week, “if it would help him keep things
together while he obtained a replacement”.
If it hadn’t happened to me I couldn’t have believed it. Once again the
great man almost entreated me to reconsider – frankly I had often
thought he didn’t even know that I existed other than as a working body
at a desk, to be queried if too often absent from it – repeating his
veiled promises of greater glories in store for me I remained
singularly unmoved, although I have since wondered what effect it might
have had on me had I not already decided to put a bizarr and exciting
plan into action. Probably I would have been moved to tears, and signed
on for 21 years!
With a sigh, Mr Wood accepted defeat, and thanked me for staying on the
extra few days, although “he was quite sure that it would take him
much, much longer to find a girl of my calibre and ability to replace.
This would all be a great shock for the Company you know. We do try to
keep our employees happy. “If ever they had, or did, it hadn’t filtered
down as far as me. The only reason I worked there was because it was
handy to get to, the money was standard for the area and not in any way
exceptional, and it was a job I could do standing on my head. It was
also handy for the better shops. Leaving would not be any great
hardship for me, although I would miss the friends I had made in the
office. Many of the others hadn’t seen much of me on the sportsfield
for some time, and would probably have forgotten about me anyway.
Excitement mounted as the week passed, very slowly for me, culminating
in a little send-off party from the rest of the girls who gave me a
broach which I thought was rather nice of them. My final pay-off
included holiday pay, so all in all it was a good Friday for me. When
asked why I was going, and where, I was fairly vague and said things
like more money a bit further over in the city, and invented names of A
Company which changed almost daily. I also explained that it was
something like “…..” but couldn’t exactly remember, and that they
made metal fitments. Ha ha.
On the way home on Friday I bought several papers which carried
advertisements for flats to let, and spent some time on Friday evening
pouring over them. It seemed that I could do at least as well by
moving, without having to pay on Sunday I went over to have a look or
two of them – not that I expected to be able to look over them as they
were nearly all under agents names and addresses – but I wanted to see
what sort of district they were in, and how accessible they might be to
my new job . As a result of this I short-listed two possibles,and
planned to follow both up as soon as I had the chance.
Sunday night I was restless; my plan was working out almost too well,
and made me wonder what I might have overlooked or forgotten. Like the
Dragon recognising me and throwing me out of the shop before I had a chance
to explain why I was there, for example. Eventually the alarm went off,
and I rolled out of bed, still tired but excited at the new prospect. I
had left myself lots of spare time; I was determined not to be late on
my first day and in fact arrived a good half hour before the agreed
starting time. I let myself into the shop which was open. It was
unattended, so, as an employee I wandered off along the dingy corridor
to the room where I had met Joe. It too was unoccupied. Onwards, into
the unknown, through a door which opened directly onto a workshop where
three men were already at work. I approached the nearest and explained
who I was, and was directed to the ‘office’ in the corner of the
building which looked as though it had been used as a stores come spares
department for the last 30 years, and obviously needed a lot of
attention to tidy it up. I quietly sat in a chair and waited for the
next arrival, watching the men as a passtime. The very nature of their
work excited me, and the youngest and cheekiest of them at one time
held up a Mod belt and asked me if I would care to try it on for
size! If only he knew I had worn one continuously for 23 weeks, and
had a ‘spare’ at home in case of eventualities, his expression might
have changed a little!
Eventually Joe arrived, or arrived back, as he explained that he had
had to pop out for some more gear from a local stockist to keep the
plant going. Obviously their stock control system was not all it might
be.
Joe told me that I was to be Queen of all I surveyed, to make myself at
home, and get the kettle on. He would explain the rest of my duties as
the day passed.
I discovered the kettle under heaps of unwashed cups and unanswered
letters, invoices and bills. There was obviously a lot of work to be
done here to sort the lot out.
Joe told me where to find all the usual ‘offices’ and I trotted off to
wash up the cups while the kettle boiled. There was no washing-up
materials available, and only a rather grubby tea-cloth on which to dry
them. Things would have to change here.
The morning post proved to be interesting for me; several orders for
belts of different sorts, some with cash, others with cheques or money
orders. The system Joe had used for following these through was chaotic
and it’s a wonder that anyone ever got what they ordered.
By lunchtime I was beginning to realize the extent of what I had taken
on. There wasn’t a system for anything, only piles of papers everywhere
none of them meaning anything on their own. Such effective work as I
could do I did, and the rest I just had to start piles of my own – only
I knew what had to be done and equally knew that it would be done.
>From time to time I had heard a ding of the shop bell, and supposed the
Dragon was in residence although I had still not met her. I just hoped
that when I did that my hair-piece would be enough to throw her off the
scent; it was quite different to the time when I had last met her
professionally.
I had prepared a few sandwiches for lunch, and had a few minutes break
to eat them (with more tea, making a mental note to get a ten-gallon tea
urn at the earliest opportunity) and on reflection felt that it had all
been such a change and a challenge that the morning had flashed by and
that I had enjoyed myself. It was certainly different to the last
place.
At the first chance I explained to Joe why I thought he should have a
few registers kept on money received, goods despatched, cheques cleared
or returned, etc. He said this was a good idea, but that he had never
had the time to do it. I volunteered, and he gratefully accepted. I got
a couple of pounds from him from the petty cash and went shopping for
best buys – and I found them too.
By evening I had established a register of orders in and out, cheques
received and cleared, and money paid cashed. I also had a new tea
cloth, washing-up liquid, and file covers for a system of basic
recording of transactions made. I would have stayed on late, but Joe
shooed me out, saying that I had already done my share for the day –
and then, and only then, did I meet the Dragon for the second time. She
shook hands with a grasp that almost wrenched my wrist off, looked at
me and quizically for a second or two, and then seemingly dismissed me
from her mind.
Continued in next issue.
Part Three
Things on Tuesday went even better; I managed to clear away large piles
of paper which were months old by more or less sorting them into
alphabetical order and dumping them into a filing cabinet previously
filled with bits and pieces of engineering gear. Joe took the evicted
gear into the workshop and left it there to rust away I suppose. By
evening it was almost possible to see across the office, and things
were definately taking on a more orderly shape. Joe appeared delighted
with all, as I explained everything I was doing, had done, why, and how
to him. Suddenly his life was becoming less of a mad chase through
piles of paper and worrying about what he had forgotten.
Wednesday, further progress, Thursday I even found time to dust around
the furniture I had found under the rubble, and by Friday everyone was
reaping the benefits of the new, if simple, systems I had instituted.
Next week stock control. I shuddered to think how Joe managed his bank
statements. Perhaps he had an accountant to worry for him.
I was still taking sadnwiches and having a working lunch hour, so much
was there to do and hadn’t found time to look at the flats. However,
on Friday I told Joe where I was off to and why, and made for the
agents offices. The first flat was in a tower block, which seemed a
little unusual to me, and the second was on the first floor of a
building, immediately over a gateway leading into a private yard.
There were only two flats there, the other occupied by a rather deaf
old dear whose husband had at sometime worked for a firm at the rear.
I took it on the spot, although I have still to pay one months rent in
advance before I can leave the present flat. Finding rent for two
flats is a luxury I cannot afford, although it was to good an
opportunity to miss. Just right for one person, compact without being
stifling, all mod cons, handy for my new job, and reasonably close to
shops and busses. I gave a deposit, and the agents are drawing up the
agreement with the owners for me to move in as quickly as possible. I
am in no rush, as I have said, I still have to give one months notice
to the owners of my present flat.
Despite all these negotiations I was still back at work within the
stipulated hour, which made a nice change from the times when I used to
dash around in expensive taxis to no good purpose.
So pleased was I with my news that I told Joe immediately I got back to
the office. To my surprise he offered to shift my furniture in the
firms truck – or as much of it as would go in. This was very
satisfying to me, and meant that I was at least making an impact on
Joe, who was finding my working services of use.
I had also got to know the men on the shop floor a good deal better
too, and had identified “the voice” who had stayed back one evening to
explain the situation to me. There was, naturally, a good deal of chat
and chaff about them belting me up, but I shyed away like a gazelle
whenever any of them came anywhere near me and made a hell of a lot of
noise. This tamed them down a bit, although I have been on constant
guard against any of them slipping their arms around my waist and
discovering that they have already been beaten to it. By nearly six
months!
Of the three, the youngest seemed to hold out the best hope for my
plan, and from time to time I would slip out to his workbench and let
him chat me up for a few minutes. Eventually he got around to asking
me out one evening, and I countered by saying I would, but only if his
two workmates put a chastity belt on me first and hid the keys from
him. It was a theme I wanted to develop, and would always stop for me
when we were talking about belts and belting up, but cut away fairly
soon if we were talking about the weather, holidays, or going to the
pictures. Eventually the message got across; I was interested in
chastity belts. But I would never be drawn into a discussion on them
with the other two. Only the youngest one, on his own.
Meanwhile the office systems progressed and prospered. Never, I am
certain, had the office looked so organised and clean. Never had the
teacups had saucers under them, or the tea arrived on prompt time.
Stock control was making Joe’s life a dream, and the number of
occasions on which he had to rush out and get spare bits and pieces
fell away rapidly. Things were going well.
At least my selected young engineer got around to suggesting that a
good belting would do me the world of good. I said that I assumed that
he meant chastity belts, as I was not that sort of girl.
“If you like!”
“You mean you really would put a chastity belt on me if you could?” I
asked in my best little-girl-lost voice.
“Not half. What sort do you fancy” he said, cheekily as ever.
“What sort have you got?”
There followed a diatribe, and lots of cheek and chaff, on what was
available. As he went down his list I countered with ideas of my own
on the weakness of them all.
“How about a nice Mod. Just your size. Suit you a treat it would.”
“But surely they can be cut off too easily. Anybody who really wanted
to could snip them off with a pair of scissors.”
“Well then, there’s this medieval type. Weighs a ton. Here cop hold.
That shouldn’t slip down round your knees, now should it!”
“A bit hit and miss for size, isn’t it? I mean, we’re not all the same
shape, and you seem to churn there things out by the score here.”
“I’ll do you a special on then. Any particular style you like?”
“How do you mean special?”
“Well, I’ll have to take a few measurements first, here and there, and
then make one up to fit.”
“We’d better stop talking like this. Your mates would roll up if they
knew what we were on about.”
“Let’s not tell them then.”
There was a pause, and I knew I had to seize the initiative.
“What sort of measurements would you want?”
“Oh, waist, and the length from here to here.” He indicated what he
meant, with a wink which expressed a good deal more than he had
actually said.
“Anything else?”
“No, apart from style, which would have a bearing on the eventual shape
and size of it all.”
“That style of down-piece seems the most practical to me” I said,
indicating a style which tapered at the tops, but filled out to make a
complete block in the vital area. “On this style of waist band.” Here
I pointed to a 3/8″ metal band of 1 1/2″ width. “Only I think these
protrusions and hinges and things make the whole thing lumpy and
uncomfortable. Is there any way of joining them up without all the
bumps.”
“Usually they all have hinges and things, so they can be put on and
taken off without too much trouble. If you didn’t have a hinge
somewhere you wouldn’t be able to, would you.”
“I don’t know. You’re the engineer. It just seems a pity to make a
good design all wrong by having staples and hooks and things. A clean
line would be much better, especially from the wearer’s point of view.”
“To get that, it would have to be made on you.”
“How?”
“Well, by making the thing in sections to your size, and then knocking
it together on you with rivits. You wouldn’t be able to take it off
again. No one would. Except a blacksmith that is. Why, do you want
to try one?”
“I’m intrigued by the idea. If you could do it, that is.”
“I’m a smith arn’t I? I can do it already, despite what they say in
the shop. I’m as goos a smith as either of them.”
“I’m sure you are. But if you do it, what happens next?”
“That waist band, that down piece, hammered home. Need a working
design I suppose. Then some measurements. Then you again. Shouldn’t
take long.”
“Starting when?”
“When do you want to get measured?” he said with a gleam in his eye.
“When can we do it? Oh, and by the way, the reason I’m not likely to
object to this is that I’m already wearing a ‘Mod”, so I’m not on free
view.”
“Wearing a Mod!” he echoed. “Which of those two has managed to con you
into it? Most of the dollies we have seen through here have been foxed
into one sooner or later, but I didn’t know they had caught you yet!”
“Surprise, surprise” I said. “You don’t know everything, and if you
keep quiet neither need they either.”
“The blighters. Not a word to me, either. Just like them.”
“Well, stop moaning about them and let’s get some action. When can we
get started, or don’t you want to go ahead now you know your mates are
not playing the game with you?”
“Any time you like. Have you got a tape measure?”
By no accident at all, I had.
“Let’s go into Joe’s interview room” I said. “We should have a few
minutes to ourselves there. I’ll follow you, after you have gone
through.”
“I returned to my ‘office’ and fetched the tape from my handbag. Then
out through the door, seemingly toward the Ladies. First left, into
the room where my engineer was waiting with big, shining eyes.
“Waist first?” I queried, handing his the tape. He took it, and gave a
reasonably accurate reading of what I would have said it was.
Measuring the downpiece was a bit of a fiasco, as the tape kept
slipping to one side of the copper frontpiece of my Mod belt, and
needed almost constant attention, mainly from my engineer. Eventually,
after a little professional judgement as well as an examination of me
from all angles, he was satisfied.
“How long will it take? To make I mean?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to get up some sort of design first.”
“Can I help. I mean I know nothing about you job or what it entails,
but I may be able to at least give you an idea to work on.”
“Sure. Anything you like.”
“I’ll knock something rough out for you. Perhaps you can tidy it
afterwards.”
We returned to our separate places of work, this time I leading the
way. Once in the office I sketched out a system whereby half of the
belt, with a 2″ extension at both front and back, would have the entire
down piece rivited to it before I stepped into it. The other half of
the belt could then be placed in position around my waist, and the
entire loop formed by riviting it to the 2″ extensions I had allowed
for. I didn’t think that I should have too much trouble getting in
half a belt, even allowing for the curving extension pieces. Perhaps
2″ ws too much, and 1 1/2″ would be sufficient. Also, if the matching
pieces could be tapered they could slot together without forming any
sort of bump or lump. I took the suggested design out onto the floor,
with a flutter of eyelids.
Yes, he thought it could be done alright. I was sure, I said, that a
man of his ability would make light work of it. How long to make? Oh,
this time tomorrow should do.
I had already spent too much time talking to him, and the other two
were spending more and more time looking over their shoulders at us. I
never went back on the floor again that day.
Next day I was really excited, and could
see from time to time how my “special” progressed. He first made the
downpiece, to my selected design, and suggested that I take it away
“somewhere” and check that it was a snug fit. I pointed out that I was
still belted up in a Mod, so the fit would be meaningless. He was
surprised to hear that his mates had let the joke run on that long, and
we agreed that he would “snip” it off me at lunchtime, and make good
the repair before his mates realised what had happened.
Lunchtime. Joe was around a lot of the time, but eventually we managed
to get away and in less time than it takes to relate I had a piece of
metal chain cut like butter. For the first time in six months I was
unbelted, as the whole lot fell down into my knickers. The engineer
wanted to stay while I tried the new downpiece for fit, bit I wouldn’t
let him. I think the disappointment of having found just how easily
the Mod belt could be snipped off showed on my face, although he wasn’t
to know that.
I chinked along to the Ladies, and there removed my knickers, complete
with a lot of old chain and copper frontpiece which had been my close
companions for so long. It was really upsetting for me to know that
this was the end for them so close had we been, and such excitement had
they imparted to me.
The new downpiece was quite different. It felt totally strange, and
not a little cold to me, and whilst it seemed to fit quite well it ws
impossible to say how well until it was rigidly affixed to the waist
band.
I took it back to the workshop, via the office. I also smuggled the
wrecked Mod belt into a bottom cabinet drawer for temporary safe
keeping.
I laid the metal casually on the bench, and gave a slight nod to the
engineer. Quietly I told him that it seemed just fine, but that all
depended on how well it fitted to the waist band. Set too high it
would be impossible, and too low, useless. He understood all this
without me saying so, and said that as an engineer all would be well.
That afternoon I watched as the downpiece was hot rivited to the
waistband with not a little care, and the rivit tops polished down.
The inside of the join was then smoothed down with a buffing unit,
making lots of sparks. No particular attention was drawn to this
activity, as I had found that all sorts of strange orders were
fulfilled in that shop, no questions asked.
Later, the second half of the waist band was made with great care and
attention to fit. I couldn’t help going out for another look, and the
engineer demonstrated just how well half No 2 fitted into half No 1
with rivit holes matching exactly all ready to go. When did I get to
wear it? That night if I wanted to.
I was breathless with anticipation. That evening. Pow. I must have
looked flushed, so excited was I, but fortunately Joe chose to be away
most of the afternoon, leaving me to look after the office affairs,
which I could do even better than he could anyway.
Came the evening, the men made off to the washrooms as usual, I stayed
back.
All the usua1 goodnights from everyone to everyone. Then, just me, and
the engineer, who came bak to the office to find me.
“What do I have to do” I asked.
“Strip off first, and try it for size.”
“I’m not that sort of girl. That’s why I don’t mind trying on this belt
of yours”.
“It wilI be yours as soon as it’s on.”
“Oh thank you. Are you making me a present of it.”
“If you like.”
“But no hanky panky please. I can’t be bought, and I don’t feel like
giving myself away just yet.”
“Once you have got the Iron Maiden on you it won’t be a question of not
wanting to, but not being able to.”
“No messing, agreed?”
“O.K. Seems a shame a girl like you not wanting to play.”
“Action, not words.”
“Come on then.”
I hadn’t considered what might happen, but automatically followed him
out into the shop to his bench, where the new belt was waiting in its
separate halves.
“It’s no use” he said, “you’ll just have to strip in order to put it
on. It can’t go on over the top of that lot.”
Reluctantly I peeled off my dress and slip, leaving myself standing in
a bra and panti-girdle.
“I could fit it over the top of that” he said, indicating my
panti-girdle ‘”but you would have to cut it off afterwards.”‘
I thought about it’s cost, and very, very reluctantly, turned sideways
and slipped it off.
“That’s better. Now you have to step through here, and pull it up waist
height.” Quickly, trembling, I did so. Legs slightly apart to allow for
the metal to seat properly, and to get the waist band neatly around me.
With a professionaI approach, the engineer picked up the second half of
the waist band and held it in its eventual position. Really neat.
Even in the excitement of the moment of being actually fitted with a
new, and everlasting type of belt, I tried to be as objective about it
as I could. This one just did not allow for adjustment of any sort, and
unless it was near-perfect to start with it could never get any better
once rivited into position. Nevertheless I was surprised how well the
smithie had done his work; he couldn”t have been fiddling about to no
avail all the time when I was being measured, and as far as I could
tell the waist band had been made correctly, and when sitting around me
over the tops of my hips, the downpiece was snugly held between my
parted legs without either pulling up into me or sagging down. The
engineer made a critical inspection, somewhat to my embarrassment, as I
knew that despite being covered with a whacking great thick metal bar,
there was visible evidence of a lower hair-line. Not that he seemed to
mind it!
Eventually we both agreed that it fitted as it should, and I was then
asked, to my consternation, whether I wanted the second half of the
belt hot or cold rivited. I had not the least idea what he was talking
about, and said so, asking the advantages and disadvantages involved.
The cold rivits, it seems, were more brittle in use and were placed by
smashing the metaI into a different shape, destroying most of it in the
process. Hot riviting melts, or almost melts, the metal and it can then
be moulded to a new shape, keeping almost all its previous strength
characteristic. The snag with the latter method was that with hot
rivits there was some risk of burning me, during or after insertion.
and would take longer to do.
“How careful are you?” I enquired, signalling that I had already
decided for the hot treatment.
“Very. But I shall need a lot of co-opertion from you, and you’ll have
to be prepared to get a bit wet afterwards as I douse the rivits to
cool them. Otherwise they will burn holes in you. It might be a bit
tricky if you start to wriggle around, particularly if it starts to get
a bit hot.”
“I’ll do my best then” I said, in a rather non-committal way of
agreeing to the hot riviting.
The engineer turned on the forge blower, and considering it had been
out for the night, it quickly glowed red again. He laid something that
looked like small bolts rather than rivits into the fire, and started
to prepare a means whereby he could bang them into position on me. This
took only a few minutes, by which time the rivits were flowing red hot,
demonstrated to me to show how much I couId get burned if I “did silly
things” whilst he was working on me. Frankly I was a little alarmed
now, as the belt was a tightish fit around me, and I had no idea how he
might get these red hot rivits onto the belt without burning me as
well, hard as he might try not to. Not that 1 had much chance to
develop the idea in my mind.
“Come on then, over here!”
The engineer pointed to a small anvil, set on iron legs and standing
about 30” overall from the floor.
“I’m going to put this wet rag across your back to start with, as a
last ditch insurance against really hot burns, then I want you to bend
right over so that the belt can be placed over the end of the anvil
point there.”
I didn’t really understand at first, but he helped me bend over, with
the tip of the anvil pushed up under the belt at my back. This was
very uncomfortable for me. The anvil dug into my back terribly, and the
belt at the front was pulling hard into my stomach. I was not happy,
and said so.
“Please keep as still as you can, and you won’t know what’s happened.”
I hardly dared look up as the engine moved around. Then suddenly there
was a thump, thump, thump, on the anvil which reverberated right round
the belt, and shook me to the toenails. This was followed by what felt
like a bucket of water, which ran all over me. I protested.
“Did you get burned at all?”
“No. I hadn’t thought you’d started on the rivets yet. what’s
happened?”
“The first one has gone home O,K. That’s all. Do you wantto stand up
so that we can check that it’s all straight and level?”
I affirmed, and he helped me off the anvil hook, to my feet. Sure
enough, though the water streaked situation, I found that the two
halves were now one, joined at the back by a single rivet. Acheck was
made to ensure that the rivet holes at the front were exactly right,
and that the belt had not been twisted out of position.
“To make sure it stays on straight I need to put the next rivet into
the front. This time you will have to bend over backwards somehow.”
The arrangement for this was an absolute farce. Eventually we managed
to work it out by bringing a chair from the office and 1 supported
myself with my arms whilst virtually otherwise suspended from the anvil
by the waistband, which was no more comfortable than before. What then
happened shook me. The engineer took up a red hot rivet from the fire
with some tongs and came for me. I was petrifiied that he would drop it
on me, particularly when he was fiddling the thing into position by
inserting it under the belt, although of course the anvil head
protected me from it. It felt hot on my stomach, several inches away.
Then he took up a hammer, and thump, thump, thump, thump. Followed by
another dousing of water, which ran all over me, down the front of my
bra, down my legs, all over me. The heat sizzled away. and died out.I
was about to get up – or try to – when he said:
“Stay as you are, we might as well finish that front now.”
And with that came a second rivet. Just as before. Thump, thump,
thump, thump, splash. And a third. Only they didn’t seem to be what I
have called rivets, but bolts about 1/4″ thick, but with a square head
and about 1/2″ long. After the third one had been hammered home and
cooled off, I was helped to my feet, a little unsteadily. I had not
enjoyed the experience of having red hot rivets waived about all over
me. But the belt seemed just fine. I tried to adjust its seating
between my legs, but soon I found I couldn’t without trying to move the
whole issue.
When I went over again, frontwards this time, I used the chair and was
a lot more comfortable despite the sickening feeling the pressure on my
tummy gave me. I didn’t look up as the last two rivets were brought
over to me and slammed into position. Two more soakings and I was
being helped up again – rather quicker than I had imagined. I don’t
think the last two took more than two minutes to knock in, from start
to finish.
I stood up and felt around myself and my new cage. It was superb. I was
trembling a little and suggested that we both had a cup of tea. The
engineer agreed, and with a strange new gait I made off to the office,
carrying my clothes as I was still very wet. I put on the kettle than
dried myself off as best I could in the Ladies with a small hand towel
I keep there. By the time I returned to the office the kettle had
boiled and the tea had been made.
All this time I had been completely “turned off” as far as thinking
about the male sex was concerned, and it suddenly came home to me that
there I was prancing about dressing only in some very wet shoes, an iron
chastity belt, and a very wet bra, being watched by the engineer. I
decided on a course of modesty and went to put my slip back on, but as
I reached my hands up over my head I felt a sharp little prick on my
middle, under the waistband of the belt. Cautiously I put my fingers
down underneath and discovered a protruding piece of metal. I
explained what I had found to the engineer, and asked what could be
done to level it off a bit. He, in turn, explained that he hadn’t
finished the job off yet anyway, but that we had just stopped for a cup
of tea!
“What more is there to do then?” I enquired.
“Well, to start with I’ll have to file down that rough edge on the
inside for you. Then I want to skim off the tops of the rivets to seat
them in line with the belt itself. When I’ve finished that you
shouldn’t get any trouble with snagging your clothes or things.”
“Oh, I see. Thank you.”
I put my slip-on for modesty whilst we were drinking our tea and took a
a lot of old chaff from him on being belted up properly this time, not
that I would never be able to get it off again by myself, and that he
wasn’t even sure that he could get it off me even if he wanted to. I,
in my turn, and feeling fairly sure of my inviolate position retorted
that he probably could if he wanted to, particularly if it was the
rutting season.
Tea finished, we returned to the workbench, and where once again I was
asked to strip off. I did so, knowing that the final process was about
to commence. First, he had me backward onto the chair again, with the
anvil tip under the front of the belt so as to create a gap in which he
could work around file. This operation took quite a little while
before we were both satisfied that it was now perfectly smooth inside.
The six rivets on the outside of the belt responded rather more quickly
to an electrically driven carborundum wheel which made a lot of sparks and left an almost silky finish where it had been used. The rivet ends
were still visible, but could not be felt at all.
“There you are then, that’s finished.”
“No water this time?” I enquired, with a thankful tone in my voice.
“No need. The grinding wheel does warm the metal up a bit, but I
didn’t use it long enough to make things hot for you. How’s it feel
now you’re inside?”
“Just great” I enthused. “It feels just great. You certainly made a
good job of getting the sizes right and the whole thing feels really
snug on me.”
“Are you quite sure you know what you’ve done?” he asked. “I mean,
you’re not going to be able to take it off again, come what may.
Busting that off you would be a full-time job, I can tell you. You’ll
never be able to do it by yourself you know.”
“O.K., O.K., so I’ll never be able to take it off by myself. So what?
You did a great job fixing it on me, and I know you’ll be able to do an
equally, good job getting it off again, won’t you?”
“You want it off again?” he echoed. “Blimey, I wish you’d make up your
mind. It’ll take hours that will!”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean right away. I meant at some future time when I’m
driven to seek my freedom again. I’m not sure how long I can put up
with all this (here I tugged at the belt) but ladies of several hundred
years ago suffered them for several years at a stretch before they were
unlocked. I’m not sure what happened to the ladies with a smooth
finish.” I added, running my hand over the polished rivets. “Possibly
they lived and died in them.”
“You may well have to, too,” said the engineer.
“Is it likely to be that difficult to remove. When I want it off, I
mean?”
“Chastity belts are not supposed to come off whenever young ladies want
them off. That’s just when they are supposed to stay on, and on, and
on. And since you opted to have yours made from steel, it will be a
good deal more difficult to get off than most.”
“Steel?”
“Yes, that’s what you choose, isn’t it. Not easy stuff to work with.”
The authorities have approved a reform to the penal code, this new laws apply these forms of punishments for determined crimes. It has been proven that punishments of deprivation of sexual liberty are more effective than money fines or imprisonment.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
“The defendant Chritine P. R. at the date of 7/25 of the present year, did not stop her car at three different red lights.” said the judge. “How does the defendant plead?”
“I plead innocent, your honor.” replied Christine, as her lawyer recommended.
“Well, the automatic sign detector has verified that you did pass three red lights without stopping.” said the judge. “This court sentences you to two months of forced sexual deprivation. Does the defendant has anything to say in her defense?”
“Your honor, it was an accident. It wont happen again!” pleaded Christine.
“Your allegation makes no change on your sentence. Now, let the sentence be carried away.” said the judge.
Christine is handcuffed and taken by a female officer to another wing of the building, where she is taken by another female officer to carry on her sentence.
Christine knew what her punishment consisted of
“May I go to the bathroom first?” asked Christine in a tiny, pleading voice.
“No!” replied the female officer, “No you can’t. You might try to masturbate, and that is forbidden for you since the sentence was announced by the judge. I’ll be done in fifteen minutes, and you can go then.”
The female officer unlocked Christine’s handcuffs, “Okay, now take off your panties and sit over there.” she ordered.
The thing that Christine was ordered to sit on looked a lot like those chairs with stirrups commonly used by gynecologists, Christine was then closely examined and all of her pubic hair was shaved off. After that, the female officer applied some strange cream on the shaved area which irritated Christine a little.
System Jo Body Shaving Cream Adrenaline @ Stockroom
“This cream will keep your pubic hair from growing for at least five months, so it will prevent possible problems or infections.” explained the female officer, “However, the cream is slightly irritating, the lab that makes it adds some extra ingredients, made especially for women.” she added, “Imagine what it’ll be like when I fasten the belt on you.” she said with some irony.
“Okay, you can get off the seat now, rise up your skirt while I measure you.” ordered the officer.
Christine blushed and did as she was told, exposing her shaved pussy and her butt to the female officer. The officer took out a measure tape and took measurements of Christine. Of her hips, 64 cm, then of the distance from her front to her back in between the legs, 59 cm.
“Okay, with that taken care of, let’s pick your new underwear.” said the officer, clearly enjoying herself. She walked over to a shelf filled with chastity belts in different sizes, all of them ordered by their size from bigger to smaller. Finally, she found one that matched Christine’s measures, “Here we go! This one will do just fine! Okay, let’s see how it looks on you.”
The woman placed the belt on Christine, adjusting it as much as possible so it fitted snuggly around her hips and between her legs.
“It’s too tight.” complained Christine.
“It is?” asked the officer, “Well, let’s see. Hold your breath and suck your stomach in.”
Christine did as she was told. But the officer took the opportunity to fasten the belt even harder around her waist, and then locked the padlock on it with a loud CLICK.
“No! No! I wanted you to loose it a little bit!” complained Christine again.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” said the officer, with a voice that showed that she wasn’t. “But once the padlock is locked on, I cannot open it until you finish the time of your sentence, which is two months from now.”
“Okay, now let me tell you the ground rules for this,” said the officer casually.
You are not allowed to take off the chastity belt under any circumstance
“If you try to open your chastity belt, and get caught, then your sentence will be increased by one year. In case of an emergency, you should come directly to us.” explained the woman. “Also, if you happen to commit another crime while wearing the belt, you will be forced to wear it for one year more.”
“And what about my right?” asked Christine.
“Oh yeah! I forgot! You have the right to remain ‘chaste’ for the next two months. Ha ha ha ha!” laughed the female officer at her little own joke. Christine did not find it funny at all.
“Now, let me write down your belt’s number for the files.” the female officer looked at the crotch plate of Christine’s belt. “Let’s see, the number is 522.”
After writing down the number on the file, the female officer gave Christine a light smack on her ass.
“Okay, you can go now. I hope you enjoy your new underwear.”
Strap-in Chastity Harness @ stockroom
Christine walked out of the courthouse, her walk was a little tentative. At the beginning she was sure that everyone was staring at her, like if she had the word “guilty” written all over her face. Then she calmed down, telling herself that it was all in her head, and that nobody could tell that she was wearing a chastity belt under her skirt. She could aslo feel a terrible itch on her sex, but knew that she could do nothing about it.
She still wanted to go to the bathroom, but she decided to wait till she reached her home . . .
“Finally, home at last!” exclaimed Christine as she closed the door behind her, “I couldn’t wait another second to get here!”
She ran straight to the bathroom, and sat down on the toilet to pee. Just like she expected, the small hole at the crotch of the belt allowed her to pee without problems, and she was able to dry herself easily.
But the itching was still there, so she walked over to the bathroom mirror and lifted her skirt to take a look at herself. All the skin surrounding her sex was completely red, but it was on her sex itself where she felt the itching the most. She walked over to the bidet, and sprinkled some water on the area of her crotch, this eased off the itching, but just a little.
It was just half an hour later when her boyfriend Peter arrived.
“Hello Peter.” said Christine greeting him.
“Hello Christine. How did the trial go?” asked Peter.
Christine looked down, “It was just like you warned me it would be. I got two months of ‘sexual deprivation’!”
“Well, that’s what you get for being a bad girl and passing with your car with a red light. Now you’ll learn your lesson.” replied Peter.
“But Peter, you know how much I like to have sex . . . this sentence is very hard for me!”
“Well, you’ll have to get used to go on without sex for a while.”
“No! I don’t want to get used to!”
“It’s not like you have a choice dear.” replied Peter, “Now lift your skirt, I want to see how it looks like.”
“Fine, take a look.” said Christine as she lifted her skirt for her boyfriend, showing him the stainless steel chastity belt, “So, what do you think?”
“I think that its very well made. You won’t be able to do anything while wearing it. Well, nothing sexual at least.” he said, “The belt looks very good on you, it constricts your hips very tightly, and it presses very hard on your pussy.”
Christine eyes started to get wet with tears as she looked at the hard steel locked over her sex.
“This is so unfair! Not only that, but they put some strange cream on my pussy after they shaved it, and it has left me very exited!” she whimpered.
“Well, I don’t think I’ll be able to do anything to help you with that.” said Peter, “But I’m sure that you can still satisfy me . . .”
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Life with the harness
The next Saturday morning, Christine went to the local tennis club to play a game with her friend Laura.
At the dressing room, while they were changing clothes after the game . . .
“Christine! What are you wearing?” asked Laura, her eyes wide with surprise.
“It’s a chastity belt, I have been prosecuted for passing three red lights while driving, so I have to wear it for two months.” replied Christine.
“Two months without sex? Will you be able to do it?” asked Laura.
“It’s not like I have a choice! Peter tried some things, but it’s impossible for me to feel anything with this thing on, I can’t get any relief!” replied Christine.
“Why don’t you go to a locksmith to get it open?” Laura asked.
“No! I can’t do that! If they find out, they’ll make me wear it for a whole year!” Christine replied.
“I have heard about the new laws, but I have never met anyone that has been sentenced to them. Can I take a look of it a little closer?” asked Laura.
“Fine, if you want to.”
“It looks good on you. It even has a number engraved on it: 522.”
“Peter told me the same thing, but I would like to see you having to wear one of these!”
“Ha ha ha ha! You’re like one of those ladies from medieval times, wearing a chastity belt and all! You poor thing, no sex for you for a long time.” said Laura, “Me and my boyfriend Alfred do it every day, several times a day! How long have you been wearing that thing?”
“Four days.”
“Four days! With your libido? I bet that you are horny right now!”
“Yes, I’m very horny! I must admit that I envy you.”
“I can see that, your nipples are as hard as a rock!”
“If I could only take this thing off for just a few minutes . . .” Christine whimpered, “I would do anything to get this thing off me!”
“I believe you.” replied Laura, “You know, I might have something that can help you . . .”
“Really? What?” asked Christine, very curious.
“My boss has recently bought a special lock for the entrance of the company building. He was telling me the other day how it is a very special lock, practically impossible to break, and I think that they are the same model that the government uses for their chastity belts!” said Laura, “We can try . . . maybe the key would work on your belt!”
“And you have the key?”
“Yes, my boss put me in charge of opening and closing the front door, so I have the key with me right now, it’s in my purse . . . so, want to give it a try?”
Christine’s eyes lit up with hope, “Oh, yes! Yes let’s try it!”
Laura rumagged a little around her purse, and produced a small and strange looking key. “Here it is! Now all I have to do it put it in the lock and turn it . . .”
The key slid inside the lock of the padlock on Christine’s chastity belt, but no matter how hard Laura tried, the key would not turn.
“Sorry, it didn’t work, I can’t open it.” said Laura.
But as she tried to get the key out of the padlock, she found that it was stuck.
“Is something wrong?” asked a worried Christine.
“Hum, well, I can’t remove the key, it’s stuck to the lock!” replied Laura nervously.
“Oh no! Please don’t tell me that! You have to take it out somehow, please!” pleaded Christine desperately.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do it.” replied Laura, “Wait, let me call my boss on my cell phone, maybe he’ll know why the key got stuck.”
“But . . .”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell him that I tried to open your chastity belt with it.”
Laura took out her cell phone, and after talking for a minute with her boss, she hung up.
Christine saw how Laura’s face looked very worried, and that made her worry too.
“I’m sorry Christine, he told me that this sort of locks only open with the right key. And to prevent anyone from forcing them open with a similar key, the lock keeps a key stuck if it’s the wrong key.”
“No! Noooooo!”
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Two months later, Christine went back to the courthouse once her time was over .
She was greeted by the same female officer that had locked her in the chastity belt.
“Well, look who we have here. If it isn’t the ‘little treasure’ that we put under lock and key just two months ago! I imagine that you have been a good girl all this time. Right?”
Christine did not answer, she remained with her head down and in silence all the time.
“Okay, lift your skirt!” ordered the officer.
Christine did as she was told, with trembling hands she lifted her skirt to show the officer her chastity belt.
The officer was surprised to see the key stuck in Christine’s belt, but then she looked up at her with a knowing (and almost naughty) smile. “Well, you have been a bad girl. You actually tried to open your belt!”
“Please, it was an accident!”
“Quiet! No excuses!”
@ stockroom
The following day, at the courthouse . . .
“Christine P. R. You have been found guilty of attempted escape. You are hereby sentenced to wear a chastity belt for a year.” said the judge to Christine.
Then he turned to look at the person next to Christine.
“Laura E. L. You have been found guilty of helping Christine P. R. of escaping. You are hereby sentenced to wear a chastity belt for a year!”
It was an art class I went to that made me think of it. I life draw and once a week go to a life drawing session in Kew. One week the model – a beautiful girl called Laura – was painted with latex in footballers clothes. Naked, just latex. I watched Laura peel some of it off afterward and realized that it was a wonderful way to get the exact shape of someone.
We both like slow sex, not fast and furious. Sometimes fast, but it’s rare. That normally happens when we’ve been apart for a few weeks and we just need each other. Then we got back to slow. We both like using hands as well. That became apparent fairly early on in our relationship; we’d lie next to each other and let our fingers just enjoy each others’ bodies, ending up playing with each other’s genitals. It was all quite slow and gentle, sometimes we’d just stop and talk. Being aroused and stimulating but having a conversation about nothing somehow makes it more arousing. Trying to concentrate on something normal while someone is playing with you – very nice indeed.
This naturally progressed to teasing with us asking each other, “Are you close?”. We know each other’s bodies so well know, we know the signs when each other are about to cum, but to explicitly say it heightens the emotions. With my finger slowly rubbing up and down just to the right of her clit hood – her favorite place, knowing she’s on a knife edge:
“Are you close?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t cum yet,” and I’d keep up the slow rubbing.
Sometimes she’d reach down and stop my hand. Just hold it still, while she teetered on the edge. Five seconds. Sometimes ten seconds. Then she’d breathe out and let go and I’d continue. Other times she’d do the same to me. Often together. Sometimes we wouldn’t cum at all. Sometimes we’d stop, go out for a meal, and finish when we got home.
Two things about Judy. She finds it very difficult to cum in public, and she finds it very hard to cum standing or with her legs together. But she has done both. At the same time.
Her first unfinished orgasm
She told me a story once, about when she was a child which probably explains something about the things that turn her on now. She figures she was about eight at the time. She has masturbated for as long as she can remember. She can’t remember a time she hasn’t. I guess some kids just find out what feels good and keep doing it. She remembers being in her bed late one morning – she knows it was during the holidays. She was lying in bed rubbing herself and working her way up to a nice orgasm (under the duvet, fortunately) and just as she starts to cum, the door bursts open and she has to stop in midstroke, frozen, as her father strides into the room, informing her that her aunt and uncle are rowed up in the living room with her four cousins and she has to come and say hello to them. She has pajamas on, fortunately, and her father asks her to come down as she is. Her orgasm started, but didn’t finish, and dies away as she puts her slippers on. She sits with her aunt and uncle and their family all through a late breakfast, feeling completely unfinished and finally is allowed back upstairs to dress (and cum). She has told me this story several times. This is what I was saying about events affecting your sexuality.
Things started to move out of the bedroom bit by bit and slowly she became the someone more submissive partner in our relationship. Not always, but when one of us is in charge, it is more often me. In the rest of our lives, we’re equal.
It started fairly simply one Saturday morning. I started using orgasms as bargaining chips. I’d always wanted her to go out with no knickers on – it’s a thing I have and I think most guys like it – but never summoned up the courage to ask her. She’s always been quite prim and proper, and I really like the idea of her feeling a bit exposed, or, well, not exactly insecure, but doing something a little bit beyond herself. We’d been edging each other for the best part of an hour. My balls were starting to ache, but I quite like that.
When I said I’d been edging her, I’d been edging her from edging. It was something I’d started fairly recently that time, which was to not get her to the edge, just keep her turned on and not far from edging. I had a finger either side of her clit and was slowly moving her hood up and down over her clit, very lightly. I fastened the pace a little and felt her breathing change slightly, her legs fall out and her hips push up slightly. Her hand stopped moving on my cock, which meant that she’d forgotten to try and edge me because of what she was feeling.
“How does it feel?”
“Please, a bit more.” I speed up a little and listen to her breathing. She is getting close now. I slow down a little but keep a good pace. Suddenly she takes a sharp breath and her chest rises. I lift my fingers away. She slowly exhales and I move my hand back and very slowly slide it up and down on one side of her clit hood. I can feel her hand around my wrist just in case I don’t read breathing and body movements correctly.
Don’t cum, not just yet
“Close?”
“Mmmm…”
“Want to cum?” As I say ‘cum’, I put in two fast strokes with a little more pressure, and then stop for a few seconds. She doesn’t move. As she breathes out, I start moving slowly again. Her breathing is ragged. I know she is right on the brink, feeling those things you feel one second away from going too far.
“Want to cum?” I say again. I repeat the same trick.
“Yes,” she says softly. The ‘s’ trails off into an exhalation.
“How much?”
“Lots.”
“Now, or later?”
“Now.”
“Don’t cum yet. I want to chose when you cum.”
“Oh God!”
I’ve not said this to her before. The idea of her not know whether or when she’s going to cum suddenly has me very very aroused. I’m rock hard. I realize that it does the same for her because she suddenly grips my wrist and she’s panting. I keep my finger absolutely stationary. She raises her hips slowly.
“Oh God,” she murmurs again, “Oh my God.”
“Don’t cum,” I say. Very very slowly she relaxes. I start moving my finger again. She gets close again. Her other hand is barely touching my cock now – she’s forgotten about it. However, I’m thoroughly enjoying myself.
“Please…” she begs. I decide to take the bull by the horns, as it were
“Don’t cum now. I will choose when you can cum, ” I repeat to her. This time, it has changed into an instruction. Her face turns to look at me. Her eyes are bright and incredibly excited. A plan formulates in my mind.
“Please…”
“If you want to cum, you must earn it,” I say very softly. Her chest is moving deeply. I can feel her breast against my arm. I am still moving my finger on her clit.
“Earn it?” she murmurs as though she’s taking a while to understand. She probably is. She’s very close to cumming.
“Yes,” I increase the pace very slightly. I can feel her body desperate to cum.
“How?”
“I’m driving you to work in a bit.”
“Yes.”
“I want you to leave your knickers off until you get there.”
She stops. I realize that the arousal is going because her analytical brain has kicked in. I stop sliding my finger around.
“Why?”
“Because it will turn me on a lot.”
“Really?” She curious. I slide my finger slowly down to her vulva to pick up her wetness and side back up.
“God yes!” She still has her hand lightly on my cock. She grips and moves slowly.
“Why?”
“I don’t know, it just will. I love the idea… I don’t know… of you being aware of your sex all the time.”
“Really?”
“And if you aren’t wearing any you’ll be thinking about it all the time.”
“Mmmmm…” I can almost hear her thinking about this. I don’t want to make her do it if she doesn’t want to, but if she knows it’ll turn me on, maybe it’ll turn her on. Her hand moves a little faster.
“What, you’ll be thinking about me all the time?”
“Yes.” It’s my turn to breathe fast.
“Will you want to touch yourself?” This catches me off guard.
“What?”
“Will you want to… masturbate?” She’s shy of that work. I can tell she’s close again.
“Yes.” I say.
“I’ll do it, if you promise not to, while I’m at work. I like the idea of you being frustrated.”
Somehow a feedback loop has been formed. Another symbiosis. I am turned on by her not wearing knickers. She is turned on by the fact that I’m turned on. I’m turned on by the fact she won’t get her orgasm until she gets back, but I haven’t told her this yet.
Our hands are still moving on each other. We’re both close.
“What, you’ll go to work, with no knickers on, and spend the afternoon like that, and come home, still with no knickers on?”
“Yes. And in return, I get to cum?”
“Yes.”
“And you won’t touch yourself while I there?”
“Yes.”
“Ok, it’s a deal.”
“Ok.”
We kiss for a while, and then I start to get up.
“What?” she says.
“What?” I say.
“I haven’t cum yet?”
“I know,” I say. “You don’t cum until afterward, of course!”
“Oh God” She almost moved to touch herself, but she’s never done that in front of me before and stops herself.
I’m out of bed and suddenly see the time.
“Judy, you’re going to be late!”
No panties, no musterbation
She jumps out of bed and rummages around in her underwear drawer. At that time, she worked in BHS, the department store. The uniform was a black skirt, white blouse, shoes with no heels. I dress as she dresses. She clips on her bra looks at me for a moment. I can see her thinking… reconsidering. Then she pulls on a blouse and slides her skirt on, zipping it up at the side and turning it through ninety degrees so that the zip is at the back. She slips on a pair of black shoes and drops her mobile into her bag and puts it over her shoulder.
I’ve just slipped on a white tee shirt, a pair of jeans and flipflops. It’s illegal, but I like driving in flipflops.
We don’t often have rough or fast sex, but as we walk to the front door and turn her back to the wall and lift her skirt. Within a second my jeans are open and I slide into her. In and out quickly, one, two three times and she gives out a long moan of surprise. She still soaking. I do my jeans back up and kiss her. She pulls down her skirt.
“Come on!” she says.
The journey into town is ten minutes. Judy sits in the passenger seat with her bare legs together and I am acutely conscious of the fact that she’s naked under the skirt. I imagine that she is too. We don’t speak much.
“You’ve got your phone with you?” she asks me.
“Yes.”
“Are you going out this afternoon?”
“No.”
“I might text you.”
“Ok.”
We both feel nervous. I pull up as near as I can get to BHS.
“Careful to keep your legs together,” I say, trying to be useful. I know this is quite a big step for her to take. She rolls her eyes at me, then stares blankly at me for a moment, kisses me ever so lightly on the nose and whispers in my ear.
“I’m so fucking horny.” Another short blank stare at me and she carefully gets out the door without flashing anyone inadvertently. She mouths, “And no playing with yourself unless I say so,” through the door, closes it and walks off into BHS. I watch her until she disappears, a little speechless.
I drive home slowly, thinking. What we’ve done has us both turned on. Halfway home I feel the phone buzz in my jeans pocket, but I’m driving and it’s only a few more minutes. I get home and read the text as I get in the door.
Let the sexting begin!
[They’ve put me shelf stacking in the underwear department. It made me laugh. Let me know when you’re home.] I text back.
[Am home.]
Nothing comes back for about half an hour, then.
[You there] I text back immediately.
[Here]
[Can’t text while working. Hiding briefly in the bathrooms. What’re you up to?] I’m instantly becoming turned on.
[Am in the bedroom putting stuff away.]
[I still haven’t got knickers on. My skirt is around my hips. Are you hard.] I am by now.
[I am now.]
[I’m so wet had to come here to wipe myself. You really hard?] I am.
[Yes]
[Play with yourself.] Suddenly my heart is thumping in my chest. I start playing with myself, not too fast, not too slow, just a nice pace.
[Am] There is a pause. I am so excited. I wait, masturbating. The reply seems to take forever to come.
[Do it as fast as you can. Don’t cum. If you get close, tell me and go fast enough to stay close.]
I started masturbating a full speed. It is so intensely exciting. She doesn’t get a long break. How long so far? Then I’m edging.
[clse] I can’t text well with my left hand. I keep myself close, wanting to know if I will get to cum. Then I send another text:
[and u?] One comes back immediately.
[Not touching myself. You haven’t told me to. Keep going. No cumming.] I’m halfway through texting her back to start and this arrives:
[Break is over. Stop. Do your trousers up. x]
Reluctantly I stop and do them up. Then a text comes through.
[So wet. Going back to work now. Speak later. x] I text back immediately.
[Love you. Thank you. x]
I am so turned on at this point that I’m trembling. I want to masturbate. I want to not masturbate. I want to slide her hand under her skirt and touch her. She’s walking down an isle of BHS feeling desperately turned on and so am I, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
The afternoon goes by slowly. She finishes at six. I keep checking the phone even though I know that nothing has arrived. It’s four thirty and I’ve started preparing some food for us for when I go and pick her up and the phone bleeps again. I’ve been semi-hard all afternoon.
[You there?]
[Yes.]
[Still not cum?]
[No. You?]
[No, not allowed. Hiding in the bathrooms again. Are you hard?] I decide it’s my turn this time.
[Yes. Rub your clit.] She’s never masturbating in front of me, let alone remotely, by text, in a toilet!
[doing it. fst or slow?]
[Fast. Stop if I tell you to.]
I wait for exactly one minute.
[Stop].
[I’ve stopped.]
[Start again.]
I wait for another minute.
[Stop. How’re you doing?]
[Am very wet.]
[Are you close?]
[Not that close, but very wet.]
[Do you want an orgasm?]
[Don’t know if I can here. Can try if you want.]
[Start again.]
I know she’s doing it. I wait for 30 seconds or so.
[want me to cum] I decide not to tell her whether she can or not.
[Not yet. Keep masturbating.] I know she must be feeling how I was with the added tension of being in the staff bathrooms, so I wait for one minute and then text:
[Stop. Pull your skirt down. Don’t wipe.]
[Need to wipe. On my thigh.]
[ok. Wipe it off your thigh.]
[Gotta go. xxx]
I know she’s rushing back to work, horny and wet. She knows I’m standing here wanting to touch her.
I pick her up outside BHS. She gets in.
I really, really need a release
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi,” I say and lean across and kiss her. Hard and deep. My hand is on her hip and I feel her legs moving against each other as we kiss. Finally, we break. She can barely talk and neither can I. She has a look on her face that I’d not seen before, which I now know means “I really, really need to have sex with you.” We barely say a word on the way back either. I lay my hand on her thigh, half on her skirt, half on her bare leg.
As we hear the house, she parts her legs. I glance across at her and she is looking straight ahead. I slide my hand down inside her thigh and let the edge of my palm lie very lightly against her labia. I can feel the wetness against my hand. I can feel the muscles in her leg tense and release.
We’re home and we trot indoors from the street. I’m watching her backside as we go up the steps. I can feel we’ve crossed a boundary that we haven’t before and neither of us is really sure where this is going to go.
Then we’re in the living room and she turns to face me and puts her arms around my shoulders. We kiss again, and then I break.
“That was really arousing.”
“God, I know.” I can feel her body against me, soft and beautiful. I can see half an inch of a white bra strap. We kiss again.
“What did you like about it?” She pauses to think for a moment.
“Not knowing what you were going to tell me to do. I don’t know if I could have cum there, but I would have tried if you had told me to. I am so turned on.”
Her speech comes out as a babble as though she’s been holding her breath, she continues, “I’ve spent all afternoon stocking shelves and I can’t control what I’ve been thinking. I’ve been wanting to touch you, wanting to touch myself, so aware that I’ve got nothing on under here. I’m sure everyone knows, but I know they don’t. I couldn’t stop thinking that I was doing this because you’d asked me to. I’ve been thinking about cumming all afternoon. I love the thought of you here masturbating thinking about me there.”
I realize that she’s used the word masturbate without even realizing it. She’s normally so shy of that world. I slide my hands down over her waist and hips, my thumbs pressing inwards just inside her hip bones. I feel her push her hips towards me, her mons against my thigh.
“You haven’t cum, have you?”
“Not yet… please Mark…” she is so aroused I can’t resist her any longer. I don’t want to make her wait for more. She’s broken so many boundaries today, and well, also I just want to have sex!
Still dressed, I sit her back on the sofa and open her legs and slide into her. She is very wet. I am moving fast and leaning over her. I can hear her breath coming fast, as is mine. I can hear traffic in the distance and the seagulls. It’s strange how you remember these things. She’s moving against me looking into my eyes and I can see that she’s close.
Suddenly she moves off me and pushes me back onto the floor and straddles me and starts again. Her arms are straight and her hands are on my shoulders with her weight on me. On the whole, our lovemaking is gentle and slow, but this is a different game. Looking at me, she says, “Don’t cum yet. Don’t cum… don’t cum.”
“What?” I say.
“I want to cum first. You can cum after.” I amazed at her directness.
“Ok.” I agree.
She moving faster and I can see the blush starting on her neck. She’s really close and so am I, but I’m trying to hold back for her. I see her face get that far away look of concentration as she rocks on me. I can feel her cumming on me. She’s wailing gently. I know she’s cumming and I’m not and this is such a turn on. I’m so hard and I can feel her contractions around the base of my cock. She hasn’t been moving up and down my shaft, just grinding my her clit on me.
She slows eventually and falls forward lying on me.
Don’t cum yet my love
“You didn’t cum, did you?” she says.
“No.”
“You feel so hard in me… so needy.”
“I am!” She giggles.
“Do you want to?”
“What?”
“Cum.”
“Yes,” I say.
She starts moving up on down on me. She’s grinding her clit, but providing friction for me. Sometimes she just keeps the head of my cock in her and provides fast little movements there and then switches to deep slower movements. I’m soon coming back to the edge.
“I’m getting close,” I whisper.
“I know,” she says.
She keeps moving and I’m very close, and then she stops.
“Don’t cum until I say,” she whispers in my ear. After a few seconds, she starts moving really slowly, up and down my shaft.
“Don’t cum yet… don’t cum yet…” she repeats the mantra in my ear as she moves. I can feel my heart thundering in my ear.
“I’ll tell you when you can cum. Not yet.”
I am at the edge. The feelings are exquisite. I have tried to relax completely and my world is just Judy, moving up and down on me, wet and warm, soft and alive. Her eyes bore into me.
“Not yet,” she repeats, but I can see her concentration going.
“You’re not to cum again,” I say, “You have to earn it again.” I see a slight look of surprise in her eyes and I start to cum in her. Not on purpose; just the thought of her staying horny tips me over.
She doesn’t realize for a second as I’m trying not to thrust, but then, “You’re cumming.” and stops moving.
I try to relax completely and feel sperm run out of me rather than squirt. I don’t even spasm as I cum I’m trying so hard, but she can tell from the look on my face and probably because after a while that I start to go soft.
“You’ve cum!” she says, and she’s right, but it doesn’t feel complete. Then she starts to move and I sort of cum again, or I feel the completion of my orgasm and hold her tight. We lie for a while, her on top of me. I’m still semi-hard inside her and I can feel her moving slowly on me, keeping herself aroused. She sits up on me.
I start to unbutton her blouse. I pull it off her shoulders and I unclip her bra. It clips at the front and has firm cups that shape her breasts. She’s a touch under a C cup and wears a C cup. Her breasts are beautiful and I slide my hands over them and then up and down her torso. She has a naughty look on her face and she is still moving on me. I know what she wants.
I pull her blouse onto one of her arms. She looks at me quizzically. Then I manage her into the other arm, still with her kneeling astride me and me inside her. She can’t figure out what’s going on. I carefully button it up. I leave a couple of buttons open at the top. It’s a white cotton blouse and her nipples are obvious through it, not just where the material is pointed, but also the color of her areola.
I cup her breasts and squeeze her nipples gently through the cotton. She gives a little moan and she moves slightly faster.
“Do you want to cum again?”
“Mmmm….” she murmurs her movement a little faster. I let her continue for a while. It feels so good and I’m getting hard again. Then in one movement I reach for her and pull her forward onto me and slide out of her. We are nose to nose and she is looking quizzically into my eyes.
The week had been a busy one, with the year coming to a close soon. It was this time of year Dawn dreaded the most but felt the most relief when over. She was a very successful CEO of a large business, no husband, no family, and a large house in the better part of town. The opportunities for a relationship were there, but she preferred to be on her own. Knowing when she got home from work, it was just her to herself meant a lot to her. She valued that freedom, and wouldn’t give it up for anything.
When she arrived home that Friday evening, she put her things away, poured herself a glass of wine, sat down on the living room couch, and kicked off her stiletto pumps.
“Oh, finally..”, she said quietly to herself, rubbing her nylon clad feet. After a few minutes, she turned on the TV, flipping through channels without any real goal, and finally stopped on some sci-fi movie. For a brief period, there was a scene with a woman wearing some sort of chastity belt trying to free herself but unable to do so. When Dawn saw this, she sat up and watched with great interest. For whatever reason, it was having an effect on her causing her to become very aroused. As the woman struggled, Dawn brought her hand across the front of her leather skirt. She then stood up, unzipped her skirt, let it fall to the ground, and sat down again. Again she brought her hand to her crotch only covered with her pantyhose now and started rubbing her hand across her hosed crotch. The thought of the chastity belt aroused her, as she worked her fingers under her hose and underwear, rubbing herself more. She imagined what it would be like to not be able to access herself– how frustrating it would be– which turned her on even more. Within 10 minutes, she was turned on like never before and exploded into a powerful orgasm. “Oh my… what … that was .. amazing..”, she said to herself, nearly ready to do it again. Never before had she been so turned on by some visual aid or thought.
Dawn was a very sexual woman, and her appetite for orgasms led her to masturbate no less than three times daily. She would get herself off at work, in her private office, as well as when she got home for the evening. Several times she tried stimulation of her nipples to achieve some sort of release, but only had success via clitoral stimulation. This didn’t really bother her, since having an office provided her all privacy she could ever want; it was never an issue.
That night, as she laid in bed, she couldn’t stop thinking about the woman in the chastity belt. “What would that be like, to not be able to access myself that way?”, she thought. The thought got her blood boiling again, as she slid her hand to her crotch and rubbed herself. Like earlier, after only a short period of time, she was moaning as the orgasm exploded. Finally exhausted, she fell asleep.
The next day, Dawn turned to the Internet searching for chastity belts. To her amazement, there were countless suppliers with many different styles. Some seemed a bit weak, and she knew they would never work for her. Finally, after several hours, she found something. The company was in Europe and seemed to have exactly what she wanted. The design would cover her completely in front, and only left an opening in the back about 3″ long and 2″ wide. The entire belt was solid, with no chains. There was some sort of hinge at the bottom, and the sides would slide into each other through sleeves on each side. When pushed together, the front section would slide into the back section. The lock, a cylindrical type about 1.5″ in diameter, and 1″ thick- – with a round keyhole like those on vending machines, slid into a round hole in front. Behind the lock in the hole were metal pieces which made their way to the lock area when the belt was pushed shut. These pieces had latches which would line up where the lock would be. The lock would then be pushed down into place, preventing the metal pieces from moving back. This would keep the belt locked into place. She clicked through more of the pages on the site and found some videos of the belt. They were demonstrating the strength of the metal, using saws and drills to try cutting through the belt. Each tool barely left a scratch on the surface. This metal was very hard and nearly indestructible. The only way it could be cut is with very high-temperature cutting equipment.
Dawn could only imagine what it would be like to be locked into such a device, and eventually decided she had to have this belt. As she navigated through the site, she learned the price was significant: $3500. It didn’t matter; she could easily afford it. However, there was one thing which might be difficult for her: She needed to be measured in person.
The next few days passed, and Dawn couldn’t get her mind off the belt. She had to have a belt- – that belt. It was perfect. Just the thought of it got her more and more excited. She contacted the company for more info and decided to take the trip.
Her cab arrived at the shop, but before getting out of the cab, she informed the driver she would need a ride back to the airport in a few hours. They exchanged numbers, and he went on his way.
Dawn approached the shop and knocked. A woman came to the door and greeted her. “Oh good, a woman..”, she thought to herself with relief. It was difficult to know from the email the gender of the shop owner, and she was leery to have these measurements taken by a male stranger.
“Hello, I’m glad you made it okay!”, she said in a strong accent.
“Please come this way..”, she said, leading Dawn to a workshop of some sort. There were various tools, strange metal parts, and equipment all over. After they discussed what needed to be done, she had Dawn remove her clothes. The woman took many measurements in Dawn’s crotch area, waist, and upper legs. She would often leave and return with a different tool or piece of metal. After about an hour, Dawn understood why these measurements needed to be done in person; there were so many, and they seemed complicated. Finally, after a total of 2 hours, the woman was finished.
“I have everything I need now. Do you have the 3500 Euro in cash?”, she asked.
Dawn’s heart sank. She thought it was 3500 US dollars. The woman got a calculator and did a conversion, indicating it would cost nearly 4000 US dollars. Trying to remain calm, Dawn agreed. Fortunately, she had an extra 2000 in cash. Normally she would never carry this sort of cash, but not knowing what to expect she wanted to be prepared. She paid the woman and verified mailing the mailing address.
“It should be ready in about 1 month.”, the woman told her as she left the shop.
As the cab driver returned her to the airport, Dawn couldn’t stop thinking about the belt. “One month– this is going to seem like forever!”, she thought to herself. She went through all the usual inconveniences at the airport and was soon on her way back home.
The first week passed slowly, but the remaining weeks moved faster. She could hardly stay focused at work, constantly thinking about this belt. The last few days of the 4th week were crazy. She would speed home, hoping to find the package waiting for her. Finally, after 33 days, the belt arrived.
“Oh it’s here! Finally!”, she said to herself, as she picked up the box and entered her house. She dropped her car keys and things on the table and started tearing open the box. As she removed the belt, her jaw dropped; it was beautiful. She inspected every inch, admiring the smooth surfaces and craftsmanship. On the inside, where the front would make contact with her crotch, some something unusual– a device of some sort. She touched it, and it moved a little. But it appeared to have some sort of mechanical logic because it wouldn’t always move the same way when she touched it. She shook the belt and noticed it would move in various directions but unpredictably. After turning the belt upside down, up and down, inspecting it, the device came to life and started moving back and forth for several seconds– then stopped. It then occurred to her what the purpose might be. It would randomly stimulate her after the belt moved enough to ‘wind it up’. “How sinister!”, she thought to herself, laughing.
Challenging the locks
The inside surrounding the crotch area had a curved lip, curved toward the outside. After a few minutes, she realized this would prevent any tool from sliding under the belt and make contact with the crotch; it would redirect the tool upward where it would meet nothing but metal. Also in the box were 2 of the round locks, each with their own set of keys. A spare perhaps? “Oh, this is too much!”, she laughed, excitedly. She couldn’t stand it any longer and had to try it on.
She brought the belt to her bedroom, kicked off her pumps and removed her hose. She took off her skirt and underwear. Then, with her hands shaking stepped into the belt. It was then she realized she hadn’t tested the locks. She sat down, picked up the belt, and pushed the sides together. As the metal parts entered the lock area, she pushed the lock into its home. She had to push with some force.
The lock was in place, flush with the surface of the belt. She tested the strength. It was locked shut tightly. She inserted the key and turned.
The lock jumped out about halfway, allowing her to remove it. She smiled and locked/unlocked each lock several times. They both appeared to work correctly.
She lowered the belt to the floor to step into it again. She raised it, up, past her knees, and up over her hips. Shaking, she pushed the front of the belt back, but found it hard to get the leverage she needed. She walked over the wall, leaned against it, and pushed the front backward. This time she was able to push it all the way as the slots on the sides lined up, but it took a lot of work to get the holes to all line up. Once lined up, she quickly pushed the lock into place.
She released it, and it stayed in place.
“Oh!!”, she said with joy, pushing and pulling at it, but it wouldn’t budge. It was a very snug fit, hugging her crotch tightly. She couldn’t get a finger under any surface. As she was testing its strength, moving around, the small device inside at her crotch wiggled for a brief period causing her to let out a short squeak.
“Oh my God!”, she laughed, clutching at the belt but unable to get any relief. She took a few steps, then back. It fit her so well, there was no issue at all. She sat down, then stood up, having no difficulty. Then she started jumping up and down, to get a good idea of how well it stayed with her, and was happy with the results.
“I wonder how it looks under my clothes though..”, she said curiously, sitting down. She worked her feet back into her hose and pulled them up over the belt. She then stepped into her skirt and zipped it shut. She stood up, and stepped into her pumps and and checked the fit. No lines to be seen. She walked to the mirror and smiled. As she started walking back the device in front wiggled again.
“Shit! This thing is going to drive me insane!”, she said, pounding her fist against the front of the belt, laughing.
“I think it needs a test drive.”, she said to herself as she picked up her car keys and purse, leaving her house. She got into her car and headed to the mall. After she got out of her car, she realized she had left the key back at her house.
“I can’t get out now, even if I wanted.”, she thought to herself, smiling, as the excitement boiled inside her. She headed for the mall entrance when the device fired off. She stopped and reached for a railing to steady herself until the stimulation passed, and continued walking– stiletto heels echoing.
The next couple hours were spent window shopping, and occasionally stepping into a store to browse. It wasn’t long before her feet started to hurt. She decided it would be a good time to visit the restroom anyway.
“This should be interesting.”, she thought to herself as she walked into the bathroom stall. She lifted her skirt, pulled down her hose, and sat. It was difficult to get herself to go, but eventually, she relaxed and was able to go. It felt strange, but the belt design directed the fluids out the bottom through small holes. The material seemed to repel fluids like a non stick Teflon pan, so there didn’t seem to be much trapped in the belt. She sat for a while, and rested her feet as well.
Another hour had passed at the mall until she couldn’t stand it any longer. The belt would fire off, causing her to stop and regain her composure about every 50 feet, and the frustration was driving her crazy. She could sense how wet she was and desperate for release.
“I need to get home and get this thing off!”, she thought as she started heading back to her car to drive home.
She entered her house, set down her things, and unzipped her skirt– letting it fall to the floor. She pulled down her hose enough to expose the belt, and inserted the key to unlock.
The lock moved forward. She quickly pulled it off and pulled the belt open. Once open, she slid her hand between the belt to her soaking crotch and began rubbing herself. Within minutes she exploded into a powerful orgasm like never before, over and over. Finally, exhausted, she had enough and fell down on the couch, recovering.
“This is incredible..”, she said quietly, locking it back shut again with a smile.
That evening, Dawn stood before her bathroom mirror getting ready for bed, wearing only a sleep shirt, 5″ wedge mules, and the belt. She brushed her hair, smiling as she caught a glimpse of the belt from time to time. When finished, she made her way to bed. Sitting down on her bed, she kicked off her heels, slid her legs into bed, and turned out the light.
At around 2am Dawn was awoken when the device came to life.
“What… what’s happening..”, she said, instinctively reaching for her sex but finding the metal barrier. As in prior times, it stimulated her for several seconds then stopped. She wanted the belt off, but decided she was too tired to get out of bed. Instead, she rolled over and went back to sleep.
The next morning Dawn woke up, initially not thinking about the belt until she sat up. She smiled, running her finger over the lock, curious why it came to life last night. The only reason that came to her was she must have been tossing and turning in bed, ‘winding up’ the device, until it finally fired off.
After a few minutes, she slid her feet into her wedge heels, stood up, and got ready for the day. She decided to wear the belt to work– and leave the key at home. The thought of being at work all day without the ability to get herself off got her very worked up.
She got her outfit together for the day and brought everything to her bed. After sitting down, she kicked off her mules and worked her feet into dark hose and pulled them up all the way. The panty section slid easily over the belt. Through the hose she could see the metallic shine of the belt. Next, she stepped into a tight knee length black leather skirt and zipped it up in back. She then stepped into her black patent stiletto pumps, and stood up. Her blue halter top was next, followed by a form-fitting jacket. She checked her look in the mirror, and went on her way.
Day of stimulation
Dawn was a little late arriving to the office and had to park further away. She got out of her car and started heading for the door. As she expected, the device fired off after walking about 50 feet. She stopped, took a deep breath, and continued. It was difficult to maintain her composure through the morning, and by 10am she was dying to get the belt off. She locked the door to her office, lowered her skirt, and tried pushing/pulling on the belt, knowing it probably wouldn’t offer any relief. After about a minute of futile attempts, she stomped her stiletto heel in frustration. She opened her desk drawer looking for something she could slide behind the belt and found a letter opener. She tried for several minutes to slide it behind the front shield but couldn’t get it to slide in more than about a centimeter. The belt being so snug and form-fitting, combined with the anti-tampering shape behind the cover surrounding her crotch made it impossible. She threw the letter opener down and stomped her foot again in frustration.
“What was I thinking?!”, she said to herself, frustrated, pounding the belt with her fist. Then, with all the movement, the device fired, causing her to let out a short scream. She quickly put her hand over her mouth, and pulled her skirt up, hoping nobody heard her.
“I can get through this.”, she told herself. I just need to relax. After a few minutes of calming down, she realized she had to be off to a meeting. She collected her things and headed for the meeting room. As she entered the meeting, the device fired again. She reached for a chair to keep her balance.
“Are you okay?”, asked one of her male co-workers, offering her a hand.
“I’m fine. Just almost lost my balance is all.”, she replied with a smile, looking down at her heels. He looked down as well and smiled at her. She then sat down.
Fortunately, the meeting went without incident, but she was wet and excited behind the belt. After the meeting, Dawn headed back to her office and realized she had forgotten to bring her lunch. This meant she would have to walk to her car and find something elsewhere.
Dawn made her way to her vehicle, taking a couple stops along the way when the device fired to recover. Once in the car, she decided to go through a drive-through somewhere, to keep it simple. She found something and headed back to work. As she walked back to the office, she decided to try taking gentle steps to prevent the device from winding. It seemed to work! She gently walked into her office and locked the door. Then, the device came to life, causing her to nearly fall down. She set her back down and fell into her chair as the device continued for more than the usual few seconds. It ran about 3 times as long, driving her insane. She started to moan as the device wouldn’t stop, causing her to thrust upward and downward. It eventually stopped, but not enough to give her any sexual relief.
“No, you can’t stop now!”, she pounded her fist on the belt, but it was finished teasing her. The device activation can’t be avoided. It stores the energy longer, and goes off harder.”, she thought to herself, frustrated, as she tried to recover. She was a mess mentally but making her way through the day.
Anxious for the day to get over, Dawn counted the minutes until she could get home and free herself from the chastity belt.
As she drove home, she was thinking about the extended stimulation from the device after lunch. Apparently, there was no way to avoid the device simulations. It would only build up more if it didn’t go off as often. She was learning more and more about the belt; it both excited and scared her at the same time.
Dawn arrived at home, exhausted. She dropped her things on the table and went directly to her bedroom where the key was on her dresser. She unzipped her skirt, stepped out of it, and sat on her bed. She kicked off her pumps, removed her hose, and sat back further on the bed. Then she inserted the key and turned it.
She pulled the lock from the belt and pulled it apart. She then slid it off completely– for the first time since she put it on. Then, lying on the bed, began rubbing her soaking– bringing her to a mind shattering orgasm. After she calmed down, she lied on her bed relaxing.
“How wonderful to finally be free of that thing.”, she thought to herself.
Over the next several days, Dawn continued to wear the belt all day and night. She would shower in the belt, which seemed to work out; it could be worn indefinitely. However, when going to work, she would bring one of the keys just in case things got too much for her to handle. She used all her will to avoid using the key, but usually, she couldn’t stop herself. It was then she realized both keys must remain at home, for her own good.
Self denial is the way
“I can do this, I know I can.”, Dawn told herself, leaving for work. She was on her way, but this time without a key to her belt. In fact, the belt had been locked on since yesterday afternoon after getting home from work. This morning she refused the temptation to remove the belt and decided to keep it on for an entire day. By the time she would get home from work, the belt will have been locked on for an entire day– longer than she had ever worn it.
The day went without too much trouble. The device came alive several times, but Dawn managed to remain in control. She had been in the belt for over a day, which in itself was turning her on more and more as time passed. By the time the day ended, she wasn’t sure what would happen when she got home. A part of her wanted the belt off badly, but another part wanted to keep it on– fueling the burning to get herself off. As she walked to her car, the device came alive. She stopped to let it pass, and told herself, “I don’t care; it’s coming off when I get home.”. After she recovered, she got into her car and drove home. During the drive, her mind was in turmoil. Wearing the belt for all this time, without release, was having an effect on her. By the time she got home, she still didn’t know if she was going to remove the belt. She entered the house, set her things down, took off her jacket, and sat down on the couch to read the mail, placing her stiletto booted feet on the table. After a few minutes, she realized she hadn’t even thought about taking the belt off.
“Am I adjusting to this? All day today I wanted it off. But now that I’m home, it’s still on.”, she thought to herself as she stood up, and walked to her bedroom. There, she took off her skirt and top, and put on a sweatshirt. She then picked up the key and pulled her hose down to expose the belt, and inserted the key. Just as she was about to turn the key, she stopped herself.
“No, it needs to stay on. I can do this.”, she said quietly to herself as she removed the key and placed it back on the dresser. She managed to keep herself busy that evening, trying to keep her mind off the belt.
Standing in front of the mirror that evening, getting ready for bed, she asked herself, “What’s happening to me?”, still in the belt, her hose, and stiletto boots. She looked down at the belt, which had been locked in place since yesterday afternoon. If she could keep it on until morning, it will have been locked on for a day and a half. She rubbed her hand across her crotch, feeling the belt through the smooth slick hose.
She sat down on her bed, unzipped her boots to remove them, slid into bed still in her hose, and turned out the light.
The next morning she woke and realized she was still in the belt.
“I can’t believe it’s been on this long. This is the longest I’ve gone without getting myself off in years.”, she thought to herself. She got out of bed and tip-toed to her closet where she found a pair of 5″ mule heels.
“If I can keep this on all day, it will be over 2 days straight!”, she said to herself, excitedly, rubbing her hand across her hose covered metal crotch. She got ready for work, but just as she was about to leave the house she grabbed the set of keys– both keys now on the same keyring again. “If I have the keys with me, and I keep the belt on, I’ll prove to myself I can resist the temptation.”, she thought to herself, putting the keys into her purse and left the house for work.
The morning was about as she expected. The device came to life as she walked across the parking lot, but she got better at disguising her frustration. Around mid day, just before having lunch, she had to visit the restroom. As she sat, doing her business, she couldn’t help but feel proud of herself for lasting so long in the belt. When she finished, she stood up and flushed the toilet. Just then, her cellphone rang. She quickly reached into her purse to pull it out and accidentally pulled her keys out as well. She reached for them, but they fell into the toilet and were quickly flushed away by the high-pressure toilet.
“Oh no!!!”, she screamed, reaching for the toilet, but the keys were gone.
“No!! This can’t be happening!!”, she screamed, pounding her fist on the toilet seat. As terror struck her, she walked as fast as she could out of the restroom and too her office, locking the door behind her. Frantically she searched through her desk for the letter opener, trying to pry the belt open, but there was no way. She pounded her fists on the belt crying.
“What am I going to do? How am I going to get this thing off?!?”, she said to herself.
“I’ll contact the woman in Europe! She’ll have a way!”, she thought to herself as she got on her computer to find the contact information again. She sent an email to the address, asking if she could get a copy of the keys. All Dawn could do now is wait. She left work and headed home since she was in no state of mind to be at work. She had to get the belt off.
When she got home, she quickly checked her email, but there was no reply yet. She immediately kicked off her pumps, pulled her skirt and hose down, took off her hose, and stepped into her 5″ mule heels.
“The other lock! Maybe those keys will work!”, she said to herself running to the drawer where the other lock and keys were stored. She took the key and inserted it into the lock. But when she tried to turn the key, it wouldn’t budge. She started to cry, trying frantically to turn the key, but it was no use. She ran back to her computer to check her email again but had no reply. She sat down on her bed, heart racing.
“Calm down. The woman from the store in Europe will know what to do. I’m sure this has happened before.”, she tried to tell herself, trying to calm down.
That night, Dawn sat in the couch flipping through channels, with a glass of wine. She needed to get her mind off the belt, but she couldn’t help reminding herself that it was locked– and she had no way of getting it off. It had been locked on for over 2 days. That, combined with the fact she couldn’t remove it even if she wanted, made her blood boil. She was so desperate for an orgasm. After her 3rd glass of wine, she decided to go to bed. But first, she would check her email again. She had a reply!
“Dawn:
I am very sorry, but I can not help you. The lock and keys are unique, and I have no backup set. I suggest you visit a locksmith. A good one should be able to pick that lock I hope.”
Dawn’s hands were shaking, as she looked for a locksmith on-line. She found several, but nothing open at this hour. She would have to wait until morning.
Dawn tossed and turned that night, unable to sleep. The belt came alive twice, as she pounded her fist against the front in frustration. Her mind raced, thinking about the video she viewed on the chastity belt website. The metal was nearly indestructible, she remembered. “What if the locksmith can’t get the lock off? Will I be in this thing for the rest of my life?”, she thought, rubbing her hand across the front metal, finally crying herself to sleep.
Exposing the drvice to another man
The next morning Dawn took the day off work and continued searching on-line for a locksmith. There were several, but one stood out as being the best. The reviews were very good, and the website had a lot of info. She always thought businesses who take the time to have good websites are more serious about their business. She called to explain her situation. It was a bit awkward to explain, but the man was very professional and wanted to see her. She agreed and said she’d be over sometime this morning.
“What to wear..”, she thought to herself, as she decided on a pair of jeans, black knee-high stiletto boots, and a black sweater.
“This should be an interesting visit.”, she thought to herself as she headed for her car to visit the locksmith.
“Hello, come on in!”, he said as Dawn entered the shop. She stepped in and shook his hand. “Thanks for taking the time to see me this morning.”, she replied.
“No trouble at all. Please, let’s go into the back room to have a look.”, he said as he led her to a shop in back. There were lots of odd tools and equipment, similar to the woman’s shop in Europe. It was very clean and tidy, which always went well for her.
“Can you show me the device?”, he asked as he led her to a bench area.
She blushed a little, then unbuttoned her jeans, pulling them down to her thighs to reveal the belt locked in place.
He came closer for a better look. “I see how this could be a problem for you, but we’ll see what we can do.”, he said in a professional tone. He looked closely at the lock, then went to another part of the shop to get a small box of tools. When he returned, he sat down.
“Please stand on this stool so I can have a better look.”, he said, motioning to a stool he placed in front of his chair. She stood up, with her hand on the wall to steady herself in her stiletto boots. He picked up several small tools and poked around inside the keyhole. As he continued, the look on his face turned to one of great concentration. He continued for about 15 minutes, then stood up.
“This is a very complicated and precise lock. I’m not sure if I can help you.”, he said in a sympathetic voice.
Her heart raced with fear, causing her to nearly fall off the stool. He helped her down. “Where did this come from? I’ve never seen anything quite like it– the lock I mean.”, he asked. She told him the story, trying not to sound too frightened as her voice shook. He nodded and listened.
“If only I had another lock like it. I could then study the other side and see how it worked.”, he said.
Dawn’s face lit up, “Oh, I can help you there! I have another lock at home with keys! I tried the keys, but they didn’t work. But the lock looks the same!”, she said excitedly.
He smiled, “If I could see that, I stand a much better chance. Can you bring that to my office?”, he asked.
“Oh yes! I’ll get it now!”, she said, pulling her jeans back up and zipping them. She thanked him and made a quick stiletto heeled dash to her car. The belt then came to life. She closed her eyes, trying to hold back any look on her face.
“Thank God it didn’t fire off while in that shop.”, she thought to herself when it finished, and got into her car to head home. She wasted no time and returned to the shop with the other lock and keys within the hour. She greeted him again as she handing him the lock with the keys.
He took them, set the keys down, and inspected the lock with his eyeglass magnifier. After a few minutes, he set the lock down.
“I’ll need some time to look at this more closely. Can you call me tomorrow afternoon? I should have some news by then.”, she asked.
She looked down at the lock and keys, nodding.
“Don’t worry. I think I can figure it out.”, he said, comforting her. She smiled, thanked him, and left the shop.
As Dawn drove home, it occurred to her that the belt had been locked on for 3 days. But tomorrow she’d hopefully have some good news. Since she had the day off, she decided to run some errands which needed to be done anyway. Most of the day was spent out and about, but she arrived home around 6pm. She set her things down, went to the living room, sat down, removed her jeans and stiletto boots, and rubbed her feet.
“Tomorrow you’re coming off.”, she said quietly, with a smile, rubbing the front of the belt. The next day she called the locksmith around 2pm in the afternoon.
“Hi, this is Dawn. I brought in the lock yesterday for you to study and try to unlock?”, she asked.
“Yes, I am still working on it. It’s a very complicated design, and I’m still trying to figure it out. Can you call me tomorrow morning? I should have something by then.”
The day was long, and Dawn was beginning to lose her confidence. She was trying to remain positive since it was all she could do. The belt has been locked for 4 days, and it wasn’t getting any easier. Fortunately, it was such a snug and smooth fit, it was not visible under even her tightest clothing.
“What am I going to do if he can’t unlock it? Will I really be locked in this thing for the rest of my life?!?”, was all she could think about. She thought about cutting it, but remembered the video which demonstrated the strength of the metal; it couldn’t be cut.
Dawn tried everything she could think of to get some sort of stimulation, but nothing she tried could get past the metal intrusion prevention behind the belt. The more she tried, the more frustrated and turned on she would get. If she could just touch herself for only a few seconds, she was convinced it would be enough to get her off.
“Tomorrow I’ll have an answer, and be free of this thing.”, she told herself. But now she needed to keep her mind off the belt. She sat down and turned on the TV, finally set for a movie. It managed to keep her occupied until early evening when she turned to a book. She headed to bed early with high hopes for the day tomorrow.
Dawn woke up early the next morning, around 6am. The locksmith’s shop wouldn’t be open until 9am, so she decided to do a little house cleaning until it was time. The device came alive once as she was walking about the house, so she sat down to wait it out. She never seems to be able to be ready when it happens, and it always feels like a surprise. “What an evil thing.”, she thought as the stimulation passed.
At a little after 9am, Dawn called the locksmith.
“Hello, yes I have made progress. I think we’re in good shape. Come over and we’ll get to work.”, he reported.
Dawn was so excited she could hardly contain herself. She slid into some jeans, a denim top, black pumps, and she was on her way. When she arrived, he led her to the back again where there was a table prepared for her to lie down.
“Before we get started, I need you to sign some paperwork. Basically, whenever I unlock a lock, this sort of thing needs to be done. It guarantees I do not get sued for illegally tampering with a lock, and indicates you permit me unlocking a device owned by you.”
She skimmed it quickly, anxious to get the belt off, and signed it in the 5 places he indicated with an “X”. He took the papers and left, returning a few minutes later.
“Okay, this is going to take a while, so I thought you should lie down and get comfortable.”, he said, directing her to the table. She sat down, then brought her feet up to lie down. She unzipped her jeans and pulled them down enough for him to access the lock, and laid down. He was very gentle, and Dawn could hardly notice he was doing anything at all. After about 45 minutes, she fell asleep.
“Dawn, we’re done. I was able to unlock the lock.”, he said as he shook her to wake her. She opened her eyes to see him holding the lock in his hand. She smiled.
“Oh thank you! Thank you so much!”, she said, sitting up. She looked down only to find the belt still locked but with a different lock. She tugged at it, but it wouldn’t budge.
He smiled, “That metal is very strong indeed. I tried several drills, blades, and even some acid to make some small holes but was unable to do so. But fortunately, I was able to get the new lock in place.”
“What the… what..new lock?? What’s this?!”, she asked, pointing to the new lock. It looked slightly different, with 2 concentric round keyholes instead of 1, but otherwise a perfect fit. She looked at him.
“That’s the new lock, which is much more secure. Even I can’t pick that– nobody can. It’s my own design.”, he replied with a smile.
Dawn tried to force a smile, “Uh…. Okay… Where’s the key?”, she asked, frightened. “Well, as you know from signing the documents, the new lock and key are my property. That being the case, it’s illegal for you to unlock the lock, or have possession of the key. Only myself or people I authorize are allowed to have a key or unlock the belt. Violation is considered theft and punishable by prison time.
“What are you talking about?!? I didn’t agree to this!”, she screamed, standing up.
He calmly turned around to pick up a copy of the agreement and handed it to her. This time she read every word, hands shaking.
“No.. no.. I don’t care. I want this thing off. Get this thing off me!”, she yelled, throwing the papers on the table.
He looked at them, then at her. “I’m afraid that’s not an option. It needs to remain on from this day forward. The only time it will be removed is for hospital visits. Let me know when this is necessary, and I’ll arrange for the temporary release.”, he replied.
Dawn was completely at a loss for words. She looked around the office for the keys, but they were nowhere to be found. Crying, she grabbed the papers and stormed out of the shop. Once in her car, she sped away and to her house determined to cut the belt off. When she got home, she quickly took off her jeans to inspect the new lock. It was a perfect fit, just like the original. She pushed and pulled at the belt, crying, falling to the floor.
“I don’t want this thing! Come off! Come off!”, she screamed, pushing at the belt, kicking her heels on the floor at the same time.
Over the next few days, Dawn tried everything to cut the belt off but nothing could even scratch any surface. She made several trips to Home Depot, trying various tools and metal dissolving solutions, but with no success. She called the locksmith and pleaded with him, offering money for her release, but it fell on deaf ears. She re-read the documents over and over. They clearly indicate that she accepted to wear the lock as his payment for removing the original, but would never have possession of the keys. The lock remains with her, but the keys and the right to possess them are forfeit. The lock and keys are not her property, so she has no right to have or damage them in any way. She did more research, as best she could, and come to the conclusion that she can not get out of the agreement. The belt will remain locked on her at all times, until the owner of the keys authorizes removal under special conditions, and on a temporary basis.
It took her over a week to come to grips with her dilemma.
“Why is he doing this to me? What would anyone have to gain from this?”, she asked herself over and over. She thought about going to the police, but even if they threw him in jail I’d be locked in the belt forever. There was no way out for her. She tried visiting other locksmiths, but none of them had any idea how to pick the new lock. They told her to have the lock drilled out, and provided some references, but none could drill through the metal. The belt was on for good, and only the key could free her.
The weeks passed, and months as well. The locksmith never contacted Dawn. She still had no idea why he would do this to her, other than having the knowledge he totally controlled her sex. Despite the passage of time, she still was constantly frustrated and horny as she was at the start. The device would come alive, and it always drove her crazy. When her 6 month arrived, she was due for her annual gynecologists’ appointment, so she contacted the locksmith.
Being controlled
“Hello, this is Dawn. The belt needs to come off for my gynecologist appointment this week.”, she told him in a calm voice. What will he say? She had been wondering this for several days. “Yes, I understand. I’ll email you the contact information for an approved gynecologist. You can then make arrangements.”, he said in a professional voice.
“Okay, thank you.”, she said, hanging up the phone. “Why did I ‘thank’ him?”, she wondered. But it didn’t matter. This is her chance to be free of the belt, and she was anxious for the visit. She contacted the gynecologist to set up an appointment for the following week. She was very polite and professional, so Dawn was confident this would be the end of her wearing the belt. Once it was off, she’d not be putting it back on.
Dawn arrived at the gynecologist in the afternoon and was greeted by the receptionist, who handed her the “new patient” paperwork. Dawn filled it all out, handed it back to her, and waited her turn. After about 20 minutes, she was called by a nurse. Dawn stood up and followed her down the hallway, making several turns, and finally ending up in an examination room.
“Please remove your clothes and put on the gown on the table. The doctor will be with you shortly.”, she said, leaving her in the room alone. Dawn looked around, not seeing anything unusual. She then looked at the examination table itself and noticed something odd. The arm and leg rests had what looked like metal restraints. Just as she was about to stand up and inspect the table closer, she heard the echoing of high heels on tile as the doctor walked in. “Hello Dawn, I’m Doctor Angela Martinez.”, she said, extending her hand. Dawn shook her hand as she sat down. She asked her the usual questions and recorded everything on a laptop. As they talked, Dawn couldn’t help but notice the doctor’s footwear. They were stiletto-heeled pumps, with short pointed toes and heels around 5″ high, with a strap across the top of her foot and around her ankle. At first, she thought they were black, but they were a dark silver metallic color.
“Those are really beautiful pumps.”, Dawn commented.
The doctor appeared to force a smile, with a slightly stressed look on her face and thanked her for the comment. Dawn suspected they probably hurt her feet, being in them all day.
The doctor then had Dawn sit up on the table, placing her arms and legs into the stirrups as normal. The doctor then reached behind the armrests and clamped Dawn’s upper arm and wrists to the rests with the metal restraints.
“Wait! What’s going on?!?”, Dawn asked.
The doctor looked at her with a calming face. “It’s okay, this is standard procedure. Don’t worry.” she replied, as she secured Dawn’s upper legs and ankles as well. Dawn struggled a little as the doctor walked over to a cabinet with some sort of keypad safe. She entered several digits to open the door, and removed a key from the safe. Upon seeing the key, Dawn’s eyes lit up. The doctor returned to Dawn and inserted the key into the lock on the chastity belt.
Dawn noticed the new lock sounded different when unlocking. More secure?
The doctor then adjusted something below the table causing Dawn’s butt to be exposed from below. Dawn sat silently as the doctor removed the lock and pulled the belt apart, exposing Dawn’s sex for the first time in 6 months. The cool air gently moved past Dawn, causing her to moan quietly. The doctor removed the belt completely and set it on the table behind her. “Oh, thank you! I can’t believe it’s finally off!”, she said excitedly.
The doctor smiled, then took a small can of spray from the shelf behind her. She sprayed Dawn’s crotch, sending a cool sensation, then waited for the spray to dry.
“What is that?!”, Dawn asked.
“It’s a numbing spray to prevent you from getting stimulated, which might cause accidental orgasm during the exam. Don’t worry; you won’t feel a thing when I start probing you.”, she said with a smile.
Dawn’s heart raced, “What was she going to do?!? Why do I have to be restrained?”, she wondered, struggling again against the restraints.
The doctor began to probe as the exam continued, but Dawn couldn’t feel a thing. She was certain if she could feel any contact, she would immediately explode into a powerful orgasm, but she couldn’t feel anything. The doctor continued, probing deeper, taking samples, and eventually finished.
“Okay, finished.”, she said with a smile.
The doctor then picked up the belt and started securing around Dawn’s crotch again.
“No!! Wait!! I don’t want that thing back on me!! Stop!”, she screamed, bucking up and down struggling in the restraints.
The doctor waited for her to stop, then spoke.
“Dawn, it must go back on. We would be in serious breach of contract if it wasn’t locked back into place. The contract is very clear on how we have to behave if the belt is removed.”, she said as she continued with the belt.
“No! Please! I’ll pay you! I’ll pay you $10,000 if you leave it off! Please!!”, she pleaded. But the doctor continued with the belt.
“Why are you doing this?!? What contract?? Why are you involved in this?!? You can’t do this to me! I don’t want to wear that thing! It belongs to me, and I don’t want to wear it!”, Dawn screamed.
The doctor stopped and looked at Dawn. “Look, I could be sent to prison, be discredited, have my license revoked, and suffer few other consequences if I didn’t put the belt back on. I’m sorry, but it must go back on.”, she said in a professional voice as she continued to work the belt back in place. She then pushed the lock back on.
“No!! Oh no!! Please, I don’t want to wear this damn thing!!”, Dawn cried, as her sex was once again locked away.
The doctor then returned the key to the safe, and locked it.
“Everything looks good from the exam.”, she said with a smile, unlocking Dawn’s restraints. “The numbing agent will wear off in about an hour.”, she said, leaving the room, as the echo of her high heels faded.
Dawn stood up, and immediately tried pulling the belt off, but it was once again locked. She pounded her fists on the belt, “No.. no…”, she said softly, sitting back down, crying. “Why are they doing this to me? How could he get a doctor to agree to this?”, she thought as she stood up and got dressed. She left the office and headed for her car, noticing the device hadn’t come to life.
“Maybe it got disabled somehow?”, she though– hoped. But as she was driving home, she remembered what the doctor said about the numbing agent. She suspected it was probably trying to stimulate her, but she couldn’t feel anything.
That evening, Dawn surfed the Internet for any information she could find on the locksmith or the doctor, but turned up nothing. The belt came to life just before she crawled into bed, so it appeared to still be functioning.
Dawn’s life went on, and the months passed. She still couldn’t adjust to being locked up with no access to herself. All she could do was hope to find a way out. The only prospect which came to mind was Doctor Angela Martinez. There was something there– something about her, but she couldn’t quite figure it out.. yet..
On the fifth day of our vacation, I was done with repeating the same scenario again. Usually, Ella just does what I tell her to do on a mission-by-mission basis, but this time I thought we could do things a bit differently. I started out with a little mission, though. Ella woke up, gazing at me happily, already eager to please.
She immediately began touching herself vigorously. Her breathing got faster, her head started rocking a bit. Her legs stiffened. Suddenly she pulled her hand away, and arched her back, gritting her teeth. She had stopped herself from coming, just at the last instant, since I hadn’t told her to come.
Gradually, she calmed down, refocused her eyes, and looked at me, smiling softly, wondering what her next task might be. That’s when I thought I’d let the shoe drop. I tried to do it with sufficient theatrical effect so as to make the point clearly.
“Do you see that clock over there?”
I pointed to a clock on the wall in the next room, which we could see from the open door at the other end of the bed. It was a few minutes after 9 am. Ella looked at the clock attentively, then looked at me, and somewhat theatrically shook her head affirmatively. She didn’t know why I was mentioning the clock, but she had most definitely looked at it as instructed.
“Until that time tomorrow morning,” I explained, pausing for emphasis, “no orgasms for you.”
There was a sudden intake of breath as Ella realized I was completely serious. She was used to me only telling her to come periodically, like usually after she had stopped herself several times and seemed to be bursting with desire, but she had developed an expectation that release would be there eventually, after not too long, really. This time she knew it was different.
I entered her and fucked her slow and deep for a while. I got on my knees and started fucking her harder. This is generally what makes her come pretty fast. I could see she was trying to remain calm, which she managed to do for several minutes before her breathing sped up all of a sudden and she said “stop” as her body stiffened and she shook a bit as if she were cold. I lay down again and moved slowly in and out, keeping her aroused but not right at the edge.
“Should I make you come now?”, I asked. She knew it was a rhetorical question.
“I don’t want to come until tomorrow,” she replied. She knew the correct answer.
Of course, her little body was already hotly disputing this assertion, but Ella was still maintaining a fairly convincing facade.
Ever since I was a teenager, and first heard young women complaining about guys that apparently were only interested in having an orgasm and then going to sleep, I vowed never to be one of those guys. I read books on the subject and learned how to maintain an erection indefinitely, without coming until I wanted to. It was upon mastering this practice that I began to notice that most women were at least as orgasm-fixated as they accuse men of being.
Let the torture continue
Women like Ella seem to just ride a constant wave, from one orgasm to the next, all day and night. When they describe a good sexual experience with a guy, the description will often include the number of orgasms they had in the course of it. I wondered if Ella could handle living a day the way I often live mine, without coming.
I flipped her over and fucked her hard from behind. She was working on some kind of new technique for not getting to the edge so quickly, by tensing her leg muscles. It didn’t seem to be going well, though, because after a few minutes there was the predictable, “stop,” the increased tension, the holding of breath, the eventual exhale.
“Eat me,” I instructed.
She withdrew her pussy and clambered down the bed to engorge her mouth with my cock. With big, deep arcs she repeatedly shoved my dick into her mouth, as if it might go deeper if she started with more distance, and sped up as she went down.
After a couple of minutes, her pussy was apparently feeling unattended, as it migrated towards my leg and started rubbing against it. I didn’t tell her to, but soon she was touching herself. After a couple minutes, she was eating me with less gusto, getting distracted. Soon she couldn’t eat me and breath at the same time, so she pulled her face off of me. Once again she pulled her hand away from her pussy quickly, looking like she had seen a ghost, her face grown pale temporarily. Soon she was eating me again, and rubbing her clit on my leg.
I fucked her some more until she stopped me again. This time she looked a bit desperate.
“Is it time to get up?”, I asked.
Ella looked at me as if to say, damn, you’re really going to do this to me, aren’t you, and she nodded affirmatively.
“Let’s take a shower,” I suggested.
I caressed her body in the shower, enjoying how responsive it was, needy even. I kissed her long and deep, and bit her in all the fleshy parts I like to bite.
We both got dressed. She put on panties and was going to wear a skirt on top of them, but I told her to put on jeans. The jeans will rub against her clit and keep her in a higher state of arousal, I knew, as did she. She put them on.
“I know you really want to come,” I said, with mock sympathy. “Why don’t you at least pretend to come. Maybe that will make you feel better.”
Edging herself on her jeans
Ella dutifully sat down on the couch, slipped her hand beneath her panties, and started touching herself. After twenty seconds of build-up, she started moving her fingers with more intensity, and shaking, gasping and making a relieved-sounding yelp, then removing her hand and slouching into the couch.
“Do you feel better now?”, I asked.
Ella said nothing but nodded in agreement. She knows she’s supposed to respond to my questions with verbal answers. But if it gets to a certain point, she can no longer talk. She calls it “going nonverbal.”
I suggest we take a walk. Ella stands up, ready to follow me outside. We go out, walking through the long park that starts across the street from where we’re staying. Normally Ella has a fair bit to say. She’s a very thoughtful, intelligent person. But this walk is a quiet one. She seems interested in the occasional observation I make but only manages to grunt or nod in response. Her jeans seem to be increasing her state of agitation, I surmise, noticing how she sometimes stops walking, pulls them away from her skin as if to allow her pussy to breath a little bit, exhales deeply, and then keeps walking, a bit stiffly.
Once we’re back at home, I instruct Ella to lie down.
“Touch yourself anywhere but your clit.” From the bed, she looked at me sitting in a chair nearby, while exploring her gorgeous little body with her hands, touching her breasts, her lips, her stomach, her thighs, her vulva. I enjoy the show. A mellower, less dramatic show, without her clit involved. No sudden stops or jerking about, just caressing.
I go over to the bed and push my cock into her. I move slowly, gradually, keeping Ella like a stove on simmer. I turn up the heat a little, moving slightly faster, with a little more certainty. When Ella is about to boil, I slow down again. I repeat this process several times until Ella is about as stiff as a piece of wood.
“You like it?”, I ask. She nods affirmatively.
“Should I let you come now?”, I inquire.
She shakes her head from side to side. I didn’t think so either. Of course, normally, at this point I’d be feeling like I should just let her come, stop torturing her. I wasn’t feeling that way this time. She could deal with one day, somehow.
“That’s good,” I said, “because I don’t want you to come.”
Ella drew in her breath sharply, involuntarily. It turned her on to hear me say this, but at the same time she seemed to be getting more fragile, less like a stove now, and more like a porcelain cup teetering on the edge of the counter.
I fucked her hard, with no warning. She could only endure it for thirty seconds or so before managing to utter the syllable, “stop,” as she drew her breath in to hold it. As soon as she was breathing again I resumed fast, rhythmic, hard fucking until she told me to stop. I was still so satisfied from days of sex before, that I was no longer moved by Ella’s silent pleas.
A tear started drifting down Ella’s face, and then another. The poor girl is crying, I noticed. I lay down beside her and held her while fucking her very gently from behind.
“My clit is burning.”
The words came as a surprise since it was the first full sentence to come out of Ella’s mouth for a couple of hours. I withdrew from her pussy and just enjoyed holding her taut little body. I rolled over on my back, and Ella began to eat me. This time she didn’t rub her clit on my leg. She was giving her burning clit a little rest.
“Move around so I can see your pussy,” I instructed. She did. While she ate me, I looked at her pussy. Her clit didn’t look any different, other than maybe a bit redder than usual. I licked it now and then, as you would an ice cream cone you didn’t want to eat too fast. After a while, each time I licked her, she shuddered a bit, so I started licking her less frequently, so she wouldn’t shudder too much.
One interesting thing about Ella is that even when she’s more or less unable to speak, she can still write. We took a break, made a meal, and sat with our laptops for a couple hours. I caught up on booking-related emails, and Ella wrote in her journal, eloquently, about how much she was enjoying this very difficult day.
The evening came. It was winter, so that happened faster. We went to bed early. I played with her desire in a way that occasionally struck myself as heartless, but I pushed aside those pangs of conscience and kept going, bringing her right to the edge of coming and then stopping. I didn’t need her to tell me to stop anymore, I knew when the orgasms were coming. I wasn’t sure she could be relied on to tell me to stop, anyway, by then.
Once she seemed again in a state of sexual-emotional crisis, I started moving slowly inside her, enjoying her tension immensely.
“Maybe you should pretend to come again,” I instructed.
As I moved slowly inside her, she made some affectionate noises and appeared to explode in waves of an orgasm that went on for a full minute. She lay beneath me, apparently relaxed and relieved. I could tell it wasn’t real, though, because the tension was back within five seconds or so after the act was over.
“That was so hard,” she complained.
“Should I make you come for real now?”, I asked.
Ella hesitated.
“Please let me come,” she whispered.
“You want to come now, so soon?” I was wondering how far she was going to go with this little rebellion.
“Yes.”
Her body was so tense. She sure did seem to very authentically want that release, which she only seemed to be able to find in this one way. She wasn’t touching herself without permission, but then it would be tough for her to touch her clit in this position, with me mostly on top of her.
“I thought you didn’t want to come till morning?”, I reminded her.
Ella suddenly realized this wasn’t going anywhere.
“Morning,” she managed to say. “I don’t want to come until the morning.” She enunciated each syllable painfully but methodically.
I sensed that if I moved much more, she’d come without any possibility of stopping. I really wanted to fuck her hard some more at that point, but I was too determined to continue the experiment. I slowly pulled out.
She gracefully and quickly moved down the bed and ate me hungrily. Soon her clit was moving against my leg again, eagerly. It moved faster until I could feel her clit and her vulva pressing hard against my leg, and moving up and down like that. It was warm and wet. I thought about telling her she could come this way if she wanted to, but I said nothing.
With a jolt, she lifted her pussy off my leg, and moved to the side, preventing another orgasm. She made an exasperated noise and continued to eat me. Once again I really wanted to fuck her some more, and I knew the feeling was mutual, but I rolled to my side, held her hair in my hand, and fucked her mouth instead. She moaned with pleasure at this turn of events and whimpered at the same time for her currently unattended pussy.
I came hard in her mouth. Thinking of how full of unfulfilled desire her whole body was made me come much more fully, and Ella swallowed several times.
“That was so good,” she said, lying down beside me, shaking a bit. I quickly fell asleep, holding Ella next to me.
Tik Tok, Tik Tok. The orgasm is coming
By morning, it seemed Ella had managed to get some sleep. Certainly, I had. And it was nice to have had a day that didn’t go quite like the rest of them.
It was just after 9 am and we were still in bed. I noticed Ella had her hand between her legs again and was looking at the clock. She seemed happy to see the clock in that position. She smiled and looked at me. She remembered her decorum, and rather than announcing she could come now, she asked.
“Am I allowed to come now?”
Ella is a very intelligent person and very attentive to details. She knew as well as anyone that “for the next 24 hours no orgasms” doesn’t mean “in 24 hours, you can come.” It means “for the next 24 hours you can’t come.” So she knew that the answer was not an automatic yes.
We gazed into each other’s eyes, while Ella kept on playing with herself. A minute went by, then another, and Ella’s hand was moving with more determination. Her eyes were wide open.
“Can I?”, she asked again, clearly very close to the edge, expectant. Too expectant, I thought. I knew it wasn’t nice, but I couldn’t help myself.
I picked Kim up from the airport. Two-hour drive. On our way there we talked, smiled, hadn’t seen each other in a long time.
Eventually, she asks me, “is there something I should be doing right now?” Looking for instructions.
“Touch yourself,” I reply.
Kim reaches inside her pants and starts playing with herself. She was already wet and is quickly aroused. Within a few minutes, her hand suddenly jolt from out of her pants.
“I’m sorry, I almost came, I had to stop.”
She’s tense, shuddering a little. She knew she should only come if I told her to, and I hadn’t said she should, so she stopped just before the point of no return.
She also knew that she should now await further instructions before touching herself again. We found some things to talk about. Kim rolled a cigarette and lit it. After she had taken a few drags of her cigarette, I suggested that she play with herself some more.
She put the cigarette in her left hand and moved her right hand smoothly down and under her damp underwear, and resumed touching herself. She was already very worked up before she landed, and this time again it was only a couple minutes before she abruptly pulled her hand out of her pants, held her legs together, and bit her lip.
Her whole body was rigid for a few long seconds, and then she relaxed, a little. It was all a bit distracting, trying hard to pay attention to the road and all, but after Kim had a minute to calm down I said, “more.” She knew what that meant, and immediately started touching her clit some more. Within a minute she had to stop again, panting, and clenching her legs together.
I let her have a longer break this time, and avoid any heart attacks from occurring. After it’s been a good long while, and we’re within a half hour of our destination, I interrupt our conversation with one word. “More.”
Kim complies quickly. She’s had a bit of time to collect herself, and she starts slower and lasts longer this time. Eventually, she pulls her hand out, but less abruptly, and with a more measured intake of breath, not quite a gasp this time. She breaths deeply again.
“This is hard,” she complains.
“Good.”
We get out of the car and go to the house. We sit down with my friend there and chat for a while. After a bit, he shows us to our room.
I sit on the couch and begin to undo my belt. You notice this and start unzipping my jeans, pull my underwear down and take my cock in your mouth. You deliver fellatio with skill and enthusiasm, an amazing combination. You’re not trying to get me excited enough to fuck you, you’re trying to make me come in your mouth.
“You should take your clothes off and go to bed,” I advise.
Kim reluctantly pulls her mouth off of me and begins to remove her clothing. She pulls off the covers of the bed and lies down.
“Play with yourself some more.”
She does, while I undress. I get a glass of water, drink some of it, and get in bed beside her, just as she jerks her hand off of her clit and digs her fingernails into her thighs while shaking and gritting her teeth.
I put on a condom, and, with her beneath me, I enter her. She’s so taut with unresolved sexual tension, it’s like the volume has been turned way up, so every move I make is amplified. Slowly, deeply, I move in and out, holding her gorgeous body in my arms. After a couple minutes, I start moving more quickly, harder, deeper. After thirty seconds of this Kim says, too loudly, “stop!”
I stop moving and tell her she has to be quieter. Other people live nearby, no yelling.
“Why did you tell me to stop?”, I ask her.
She knows the correct answer, but every time she’s faced with responding to a question like this, she finds it a bit challenging. The contradictory desires are crashing into each other – pleasing me vs. finding release. Usually the former wins.
“Because I don’t want to orgasm.” She’s still shaking a bit with desire and longing as she utters this phrase.
I know that in this state, I might be able to move slowly and avoid making her come, or making her stop me from moving. But if I move hard and fast, she’ll come within a minute or less. I’m starting to get too excited by Kim’s pent-up sexual tension. This time as I’m fucking her, she urgently tells me to stop again. I do, but only for a few seconds. Then I keep fucking her hard and fast. Within a few seconds, she tells me again, stop. I don’t stop, and Kim has a fairly earthshaking orgasm.
She’s so worked up, she’s ready to have a second orgasm within a couple of minutes. I keep fucking her, feeling refreshed myself by her release, and ready for more. She’s just about to come again, but through the fog she remembers that I haven’t told her to come again.
“Stop,” she says quietly but firmly when she’s just about to come again. I stop.
She’s so sexy, in general, but especially in this state. I kiss her, long and deep. I kiss and bite her breasts, and other bits that are easy to get my teeth around. I fuck her slowly, deeply some more. When she seems to be getting especially aroused, I slow down. When she seems a bit calmer, I speed up.
Once I knew I had been keeping her on the edge for ten minutes or so, and that she was once again ready to burst, I stopped moving. She was shaking again, slightly.
“What would you like me to do right now?”
Kim knows that in a situation like that, what I probably want to hear is exactly the opposite of the truth. It was clear that every cell in her wound-up little body was screaming, fuck me hard, right now.
So she said, “slow and gentle.”
She sounded unconvinced. I knew she needed a little break. I lay still for a few minutes, which was very relaxing. For Kim it might have seemed longer, I don’t know. By the time I started moving again, though, she seemed to have collected herself.
“Would you like me to fuck you hard now?”, I asked, knowing she very much still did, since that’s the particular activity that made her come very quickly.
“No,” she said, firmly.
“You get on top,” I said.
Together we readjusted ourselves, and Kim was on top of me, sitting, lovely to look at now from a bit more distance.
Kim knew what to do, which was what she wanted to do, more or less. She moved back and forth on top of me. Over the course of a couple minutes, she moved faster. Then, with a quick intake of breath and a sudden tension in her body, she stopped. She held her breath. After a while, she exhaled, looking a bit agitated.
Without more than ten seconds of respite, she started moving again. This is a beautiful thing about her – left to her own devices, she is harder on herself than I am. Soon she was moving faster, and then faster still, pushing herself quickly towards the edge, and then, with a sudden jerk of her body, she stopped, still, tense, holding her breath. Again, after just being able to breath, she was back to moving swiftly back and forth, again bringing herself to the edge, tense.
Slowly, she lay down on top of me. I moved slightly, which made her shake, she was so close to the edge. I let her rest there for another minute, then moved a bit more, and she wasn’t shuddering anymore. I gradually starting moving with bigger strokes, and she groaned.
“Should I fuck you hard?”
“No, gently,” she replied, measuring her breath so her voice wouldn’t shake and she’d sound convincing.
From beneath her, I started moving fast and deep. She was trying to stay relaxed, I could tell. She wanted to enjoy it. A couple minutes went by, and she quietly whimpered, “stop.”
She was really pretty beside herself with desire at this point. That’s when I really like to ask questions.
“Do you want to come now?”, I ask.
Her clit was burning and shouting yes. Her mind was racing to find an acceptable way to come, and was telling her to say at least something like if you want me to. But she knew what was expected of her.
“No, don’t let me come.”
The problem with hearing those words is it gets me all hot and bothered. I tried to calm down but it wasn’t happening. I took a deep breath and fucked her hard, and ordered her to come, which she did, spectacularly, which helped calm me down a bit, too, as it does.
I took a break, just holding her, feeling her content, relaxed body, moving slowly. Inevitably, over the next few minutes her body was feeling less relaxed, needier, and I fucked her harder. She had come twice and was less wired up now, and she was able to let me fuck her pretty hard for several minutes before she was panting again, and told me to stop.
I waited a few seconds and fucked her some more, and a minute later she told me to stop. I did it again, and again, and again, working her into a peak of desire beyond anywhere we had gotten so far. She was as stiff as a piece of wood at this point, about to snap.
“Should I let you cum now?”
“No, I don’t want to come,” she said, working hard to emphasize each word evenly, so it wouldn’t all just come out in one exasperated breath.
I kissed her some more, passionately. I love kissing her when she’s in this state.
“Maybe you should eat me then.”
She looked defeated. She wanted so much more. “Yes,” she said, but the way she withdrew her pussy from my cock was very gradually, with what looked like great effort.
She pulled off the condom and devoured my cock. As she did, I positioned my leg beneath her pussy. When I did, she started rubbing her pussy on my leg, and I could feel the liquid pooling on my thigh, dripping down to the sheets.
“I want to see your pussy,” I told her, and she moved around so her bottom half was near my face, her knees beneath her, her pussy looking so needy and wet. So nice to see.
“Touch yourself.”
She kept on eating me with gusto, while vigorously rubbing her clit with her second finger. I watched. She moved her finger faster, and slower, and faster again, over the course of many minutes. It was clear she was bringing herself to the edge, and then backing off, and then doing it again. She started going much faster, and then suddenly pulled her hand away and gripped the bed sheets, pushing my cock deeper into her mouth.
“Put some panties on,” I instructed.
Kim did as she was told. I patted her panties, and her electrified clit beneath them. Kim whimpered while she ate me. I felt her taut body, felt her hair, and grabbed it, pushing my cock deeper into her mouth repeatedly, and I came into her mouth with large quantities of jizz that she eagerly swallowed. She kept moving back and forth for a couple minutes until I started to be less hard.
She lay down beside me, tense, but happy. I put one of my between her legs.
“You can come if you want to, but you have to do it this way,” I explained.
Kim moved her pussy against my leg, with her panties on. Normally this might not be the most optimal method, but she was grateful for the opportunity and came hard within a few minutes of rubbing.
“Let’s go to sleep,” I suggest.
Kim lies there for a long while, but can’t sleep. She then engages in her only act of real disobedience for the evening. She puts on a robe, goes outside, and smokes another cigarette.
I lead you blindfolded into the dungeon and place you on a special chair. You wait while I tie your hands tightly behind your back; I force your thighs wide open and tying your ankles so you’re fully exposed for me. The rope is soft silk but still tightly tied. You’re wearing only white, lacy bra, and panties.
You listen and wait. You can hear me move around in the room, you wonder what I am doing. Wondering what is going to happen.
I grab your hair and pull your head back, kissing you, hard, my tongue in your mouth; you respond and kiss me back, knowing that I am taking you for my pleasure.
You feel the cold of steel against your throat and you feel it sliding down to you’re the center of your chest, you realize that I am cutting your blouse off with my knife, you know it is sharp as the is very little pressure, but you feel the cloth separate, first the front, then you feel the knife cut the material of the sleeves and the shoulder, the blouse falls off.
Feeling the sharpness of the knife on your skin, dragging over it, tracing and outlining your bra, I watch you tremble, waiting, then the bra straps are cut, first one then the other slowly all you feel is the pressure as the knife cuts them. Then, with the pressure of the blade on your nipple. Feeling the blade push through the material of the bra, cutting a circle around the nipple, you are afraid of being cut, the material is pulled away and you feel the knife on your nipple, stroking it teasing. Then the same is done to the other nipple, trembling with fear, anticipation, your panties are now wet. I smile.
I sit quietly and watch you. Making you wait until I am ready to continue with my pleasure of teasing you.
I know you wonder what is going to happen next, you hear me move toward you and feel me next to you and then my lips on your neck, a bite, I see and feel you gasp, tremble, smiling I lay the side of the knife on your shoulder, sliding it down and over your breast, into and under your bra. You feel pressure and then the knife cutting the bra off of you, it falls, exposing your breasts. The knife and my fingers tease your nipples. Cool air makes them grow harder.
You feel the tip of the knife trace a pattern on your breasts, you can feel the knife tip marking you with a light scratching, sensual pain, outlining your nipples, teasing them with the sharp tip of the cold steel blade. Your breathing becomes rapid with short gasps of breath, the tip of the knife excites you, your panties are getting wetter you squirm, moving your hips, trying to grind your pussy into the chair to satisfy the desire to have your clit touched. The knife tip moves all over your breasts and down toward you hot wet pussy that desires the attention it so much needs and wants.
The knife is at the top of your white lace panties, tugging at the waistband, your breathing stops as the tip of the blade bite your soft flesh, a little moan escapes your lips as the blade cuts the fabric of your panties, loosening the waist of them. I slide the blade over your panties, you feel the blade pressure on your pussy, gasping and moaning I hear “please’ from your lips as you try to arch your back to thrust your pussy toward the knife. Flipping the knife, then using the hilt I grind it into your pussy, making you want more, you moan, gasp, squirm, moaning even more as I continue to tease your pussy. I see your labia swell with passion and desire, flipping the blade I slip it into the fabric and start to cut up toward the waistband to complete the cut I started, then cutting the legs of your panties so they fall away to expose your so very, very wet pussy.
I untie your legs and then retie them so they are raised and your pussy and ass are fully exposed for me to tease, torture, torment. I place TENS unit electrodes on your ankles and turn it on adjusting it so you feel a tingling in your pussy, you moan and gasp arching as much as you can with each pulse. This is just the start; you tremble, from anticipation, the TENS, the strain on your legs. Suddenly you feel the knife separating your pussy lips, dragging down to your ass, the cold hard steel making you gasp, the sharpness you feel, then back up to the top of your pussy and then on your thighs you feel the blade scratch your thighs, you cry out, both from the slight pain and the need for more of the blade. Then the blade is on your Mons, you feel the steel marking your Mons, marking the way to your hot wet pussy as if to guide what will come next. You feel a different blade of cold steel, it too slides on your pussy lips, and suddenly you gasp! The cold blade enters your hot wet pussy, sliding in slowly, you shudder and tremble as you’re fucked with the cold steel. You don’t know it is a dulled blade with the edges rounded, all you feel and think about is the feel of the cold steel and you shake and moan as it slides over you now hard clit, making you even wetter and the tingle of the TENS makes you scream as you cum for the first of many times.
I smile and tease your clit with my fingers, letting you relax for a little while, you moan at my touch, you whisper, “more”. I pick up one of my favorite vibes, “the infamous HITACHI”, now the torture will start. Turning it on you recognize the sound, you moan. I place it on your Mons just above your pussy, just so you feel the vibration near but not on your “G” spot. Moaning, squirming, your breathing is fast, coming in gasps as I play my tune on your body, moving the vibe down, over your so very swollen and wet pussy, so sensitive, you gasp as it comes near your clit, then holding it on your clit I tell you to cum, cum you little slut, cum for The Master, and you scream and cum, I tell you to cum again and you do screaming with release. I do not and will not stop until you’re completely spent until you scream in pain and still scream for more and more. I smile and enjoy every cry, every moan, every time you cum. All you can do is mumble incoherently, I take the vibe off of your clit, and you say “MORE”, I then give you more and you cum again and again. The ropes are the only thing keeping you upright, they just hold you in place, they do not cut in or hurt or harm you in any way. I continue to use the vibe and you scream and cum, then you cum again and your gone, completely out of reality, I stop, turn off the TENS and remove it, carefully I untie your legs and lower them, then I free your arms, lifting you I carry you to the bed cover you and hold you. Your breathing is calm and even as you drift off to dream and sleep. Laying down with you we both sleep. Later, well we will see what cums next.
A good Dom knows how to spoil his little
it was in the early part of the afternoon when I arrived. You did not know I was coming to see you, I wanted to surprise you today. The dogs were quiet as they knew me and they just walked over to greet me, then laid back down.
You were on the deck, enjoying the sun, and you were naked and asleep. I watched you for a few minutes, one hand was at your side, the other on your hip near your sex, legs slightly spread, your pussy glistened, I knew you had been enjoying yourself and fell asleep.
I quietly walked over to you. I knelt down and kissed your nipple, you stirred and moaned, I licked it and took it into my mouth, there were a deep sigh and moan of pleasure.
Your hand moved to touch your pussy you touched yourself, slowly moving your fingers, touching your G-spot. You moan slightly, I let you continue
I kiss and nibble your nipples and you wake slowly and look at me, you smile and I kiss you, and I kiss you for 15 minutes, our tongues intertwined playing and enjoying the feeling holding each other tightly.
Holding you tight I kiss you lightly and then went back to your nipples, kissing licking, taking your nipples into my mouth I suck and flick my tongue on your nipples, so nice, hard and sensitive. Sucking and nibbling one nipple and then the other, teasing them, biting hard, not enough to harm you, they will be very sore before I am done.
Then I lick your breasts, kissing, nibbling, and biting hard enough so you will have marks from the biting and sucking. Your lovely breasts will be well marked and tender for a few days, especially your nipples from my biting them. But, then it is the sadist in me.
I lick the moist skin between your breasts, a nibble here and there, licking slowly and making sure that not an inch of you is left untouched by my tongue.
You moan, squirm, I tell you to lay still, you say “you say nooooooooo. Please let me move”, not yet my little one. I move your hand from your pussy and continue to work my way down. I spread your thighs and kiss the inner thighs, using lips, tongue, teeth, I reach your very wet pussy. I take your clit into my mouth and hold it with my teeth, gently but firmly. I use my tongue. Flicking, your clit, I can feel it get harder and swell, and become so much more sensitive.
Licking, sucking nibbling I use mouth, teeth, and tongue, licking your pussy lips, I feel your juices on my face, then tasting your sweet and salty juices, I drink them in enjoying the taste. I smell your sex, it makes me want to fuck you right now, but not yet, I have a long time to tease and torture your pussy with my tongue.
I lick you, taste you, while doing that I put one finger in your pussy, gently massaging as I torture your clit with my teeth and tongue. My finger slowly massaging your pussy, I add another finger, you gasp and moan, cry out and scream with passion, you beg to cum, but I will not allow that for now.
I move my fingers in and out of your hot, wet, swollen pussy, you moan, cry out, I lick your clit at the same time, your juices flow, I drink them in!
I take my fingers out and lick you from ass to the top of your pussy, tongue fucking you, licking and using my tongue on you,
I lift your legs and go down to lick your sweet and salty juices that have flower down to your ass, I lick your ass and tongue fuck you in the ass, your screaming begging for me to let you cum, but I just torture you with my tongue. Going back to your pussy, tongue fucking you, then to your clit sucking it into my mouth I lick your clit lightly.
Flicking my tongue on your clit, you grab my head and pull me into your pussy thighs wrapped around my head you scream as I tell you to cum.
Then I move my hand to your ass and start to massage your ass hole with one finger lubed by your own juices, you gasp, moan, crying out “ OH GOD” then just moaning with the pleasure as I put my finger in further, your, relaxed and
I slowly add another finger, moving in a slow circular motion I relax you even more. Slowly fingering your tight ass hole, you are crying out “PLEASE, OH GOD, PLEASE, you beg for more, to be fucked, I know it is not to stop. While my fingers are in you I move them in and out slowly, you beg to cum again, I smile and say nothing.
I go back to your swollen clit and take it in my teeth nibbling, biting, you moan squirm, beg to cum, then I say: you may come my little one” you moan, groan, and cry out, screaming with cuming, you cum hard and long, I lick your cum making sure I am getting all of it. I tell you to cum again and you do, you keep cuming, and cuming!
I kiss your head then your eyes, nose, chin and mouth, you moan softly “sleep my dear”.
I let her sleep, I clean, up pour a glass of wine, then watch her sleep, soon I will wake her, for now, she needs to rest.
After about an hour I go into the bedroom and find the water-based lube, pick up a nail file and clippers and go back to watch my little one. I trim and file my nails, making sure they have no sharp edges, take my rings off. It is time to wake my little one.
I kneel beside her, kissing her lightly, I reach down and spread her thighs, fingering her pussy, she moans. I lube my hand very well,
I start with just one finger, massaging slow and easy, she moves, spreading her legs wider. Then two fingers in her pussy,
I can see she is being aroused, she says “Sir” and slowly wakes, touching her nipples she enjoys what I am doing. I add more lube, and insert the third finger, moving my fingers in and out slow and easy, going deeper with each stroke. As you relax and stretch
I add more lube, and insert the 4th finger, your moaning and breathing deeply as I work my large hand with long fingers in further and further, you gasp,
I slide my hand back a bit and let you wrap your mind around what’s happening.
I watch you relax and I add more lube and slowly work my hand into your pussy,
I know your almost ready for the fantastic orgasm you will have as I move my fingers inside you.
Your breathing is quick, your flushed, moaning, your so ready you will have to ask permission to cum, I will make you wait for a short time, “Sir, PLEASE MY I CUM SIR”.
I look at you as you beg, then say you may cum my little one!
I push my hand in further, you cum, moans and, cries, “OHHHHHHHHHHHH”,”AWWWWWWWWW”.
Then I use my thumb on your clit, moaning squirming, begging me to stop as your clit is so very sensitive, ]
I tell you to cum again and again until you are completely spent.
I take my had out, then take you in my arms and hold you, letting you relax and come down, kissing you lightly, caressing you,
I let you fall asleep, then pick you up and put you in bed, covering you, I kiss your eyes, nose, chin, and mouth, “sleep well my little one”, as I quietly leave…………..
I did not fuck you, there will be another time.
A little Sensory deprivation is good for you
You are naked, blindfolded, tied spread eagle on the table. You can hear me moving about, sometimes feeling my light touch on your body. You have no idea about how long ago I tied you down and blindfolded you. You know I will do something to you when I am ready, for now, you just anticipate what will happen. Your, uncomfortable, The Master wants you to suffer for a while, he wants you to think about why you were late in arriving, making The Master wait, is not good. Now he makes you wait, you wonder how long it has been, how long will you have to wait, trying to move to change position does not work, you wait.
You hear footsteps, movement, sounds. You wait, not knowing what will happen, worse not knowing when it will happen, you wait.
You know The Master is there, you can smell his cologne, Lagerfeld, he is the only one you know who wears that. This is torture. You smell fresh coffee, suddenly your thirsty, you feel the hard table under you, your naked flesh on the harsh wooden table, how long has it been, minutes, hours, God, The Master, a sadist, I know he is watching, enjoying my discomfort, he also knows I am getting wet thinking about……. I can’t imagine what, when, how.
I pick up the knife and slowly run the blunt edge over the middle of your pussy, gently caressing your clit with the steel before moving it between your legs and lightly pressing the tip against your ass. With a precise motion I run the sharp edge against your inner thigh, you tremble as I run it down to your knee, then back up to your pussy, stroking your labia and then down the other inner thigh and back up to your pussy………… I watch you tremble with anticipation of where I will use the knife next.
You feel the knife move over your clit and up over your stomach, feeling the cold steel as it touches your neck, you feel the pressure of the tip pushing on your soft and tender skin. The pain gives you pleasure but also fear, you wonder if I will cut you or not. You take a deep breath and wait.
The blade rests on your nipple, you feel the sharp point pressing hard, moaning you enjoy the pain wanting more. The pain makes you feel alive, giving you life that brings you the excitement that fulfills your need for the pain. Finger pinch the other nipple, gasping, you cry out with pain, The Master pinches harder and the knifepoint pushes into your nipple further. Moaning, crying out, The Master says, “There will be more pain, much more”.
Kim knows that in a situation like that, what I probably want to hear is exactly the opposite of the truth. It was clear that every cell in her wound-up little body was screaming, fuck me hard, right now.
Kim did as she was told. I patted her panties, and her electrified clit beneath them. Kim whimpered while she ate me. I felt her taut body, felt her hair, and grabbed it, pushing my cock deeper into her mouth repeatedly, and I came into her mouth with large quantities of jizz that she eagerly swallowed. She kept moving back and forth for a couple minutes until I started to be less hard.
I know you wonder what is going to happen next, you hear me move toward you and feel me next to you and then my lips on your neck, a bite, I see and feel you gasp, tremble, smiling I lay the side of the knife on your shoulder, sliding it down and over your breast, into and under your bra. You feel pressure and then the knife cutting the bra off of you, it falls, exposing your breasts. The knife and my fingers tease your nipples. Cool air makes them grow harder.
I lift your legs and go down to lick your sweet and salty juices that have flower down to your ass, I lick your ass and tongue fuck you in the ass, your screaming begging for me to let you cum, but I just torture you with my tongue. Going back to your pussy, tongue fucking you, then to your clit sucking it into my mouth I lick your clit lightly.
I pick up the knife and slowly run the blunt edge over the middle of your pussy, gently caressing your clit with the steel before moving it between your legs and lightly pressing the tip against your ass. With a precise motion I run the sharp edge against your inner thigh, you tremble as I run it down to your knee, then back up to your pussy, stroking your labia and then down the other inner thigh and back up to your pussy………… I watch you tremble with anticipation of where I will use the knife next.