The Chastity Belt

Wearing the chastity belt for a year had been harder to bear than I’d expected. I mean, I was skeptical about it when she first suggested it, saying that she wanted me to wear it for a year to demonstrate my devotion to her, but as she slowly talked me into it I managed to convince myself that it couldn’t be all that bad, especially since I’d know it would be removed eventually. I hadn’t realized how frustrated I could get, or that frustration could actually drive me to tears.

“I really want you to do this,” she’d said. “I want to know that you’re this serious about our relationship. Please, honey, if you want me to be your Mistress, I want to know that you can take being dominated for a long time without a break.”

“You mean you want to test me,” I said, not sure whether to feel hurt or not.

“Um, yes, I do. Look, honey, do you really know that you really want to be committed to being my slave? Do you really know that you won’t get bored with it someday and want to change things? Because I’ll love you even if you’re not my slave, but if we’re going to try to be serious about this D/s thing, I do want to know it’s going to work. So yes, I am saying I want to test you.”

“Uh, yeah, I see your point. But a whole year? I mean, admittedly the idea has intense fantasy potential, but …”

“Dear, it would also please me and excite me to know that I had you locked up.” She gave me that sly smile that always sets butterflies swarming in my stomach. I think she knows it has that effect on me. “I’d enjoy,” she drew out the word ‘enjoy’ deliciously, “I’d enjoy knowing just how frustrated you were getting. I’d love knowing all the time, even when we’re apart, that you’re my slave and that you’re suffering for me.” She was getting turned on talking about it, and, well, seeing her get turned on does things to me.

“What if I can’t take it?” I asked nervously. “And does the chastity belt really work like they say? I mean, is it really practical for wearing such a long time?”

“I’ll have the key, honey. If we absolutely have to take it off, we can. But I really want you to wear it the whole year.”

We talked like that off and on for a couple weeks. I reread all my old wanking material that mentioned male chastity devices. She made sure I knew how much the idea excited her. Eventually, trembling, I agreed. That night she locked the thing on me. It was a week after her birthday.

It was deliciously exciting to have her lock me up, knowing that I couldn’t free myself and knowing that the plan was for me to wear the harness and be deprived of my manhood for twelve long months. Fear mingled with excitement, my fantasies and my nervousness played tag, and with my heart all aflutter I stood there and let her tuck me into the device and lock it on my body.

That night she played with me, and the frustration was spice added to our lovemaking. She was very gentle, stroking me here and there, and I made tender love to her with my hands and my tongue. It was frustrating not to be touched on my penis, not even to be able to get hard, but it was the kind of frustration that can be fun in bondage. “This isn’t so bad,” I thought, “This is kind of fun. A year is a long time, but at least I know the end date.”

Over the next few weeks, the frustration stopped being so much fun, but it wasn’t too bad. My desires, being thwarted, diminished, and that made the chastity belt easier to bear. I got used to washing with it on, managing to get enough soapy water to run under it to keep me clean. I got used to the way it felt under my clothes at work and slowly, oh so slowly, started becoming less self-conscious about it. I got used to sitting down to pee. And I got used to seeing the chastity belt locked on me when I looked in the mirror or looked down at myself.

I almost convinced myself that I really didn’t mind pleasing her without being able to take the same kind of pleasure. I almost convinced myself that the feel and taste of her pussy when I went down on her, or the wonderful sounds she made, didn’t have to result in my dick painfully trying to get hard within its prison and my mind feeling as trapped as my penis by my lack of release. Almost.

After a month I was starting to feel a little crazy. “I’m not sure whether I can stand this, love.”

“Oh, is it really that bad? You’ve gone longer without sex before, haven’t you?”

“Well yeah, but I could masturbate then.”

“Um. Think of it as a challenge. See whether you can master your desires. Do it for me, honey? Please?”

I gulped. “I think I can manage a little longer, but jeez, this is starting to drive me crazy!”

After three months, I was getting a little irritable. I was also constantly trying to think of ways I could get even a little stimulation on my cock. I was sure that the slightest touch there would trigger release.

“Dear, I really don’t want to unlock you yet, but it’s not fair that you do all these wooonderful things to me and I’m not doing much back. Hmm. How do you feel about being fucked in the ass?”

Desperate for anything, I said, “Yes, please Mistress!”

“Honey, I want to hear you beg for it.”

The next half hour was thoroughly embarrassing.

I was so incredibly turned on when she started spreading the lube in my ass! And when she started pushing the strap-on against my opening, I was in heaven! Oh rapture, oh delight! As she fucked me, my pleasure built and built … and so did my desire for more, more, more. But never release. My cock hurt, pressing against its confinement unable to become erect. At the time the pain merely added to the delicious feast of sensations.

Eventually she tired and stopped, grinning a grin that would set fire and ice chasing each other around your soul if you saw it. And I actually howled in frustration, banging my head against the pillows and crying.

I eventually calmed down, managed to relax and sleep. And a month and a half later, desperate, even though I knew it would leave me weeping in frustration again, I knelt before her and begged her again to please fuck me in the ass. And again I flew on winds of sensation, only to come crashing down again, weeping and thrashing in frustration.

She’d given me some new rules while I was begging, little things to make our roles of Mistress and slave a bit more formal, and I’d agreed to them. Our relationship was getting a little more intense.

The next time I begged her to fuck me, she refused. She made me wait a week after I got so desperate that I was ready to beg. Oh, I still got to touch her, to enjoy her cries and moans of pleasure as I licked and nibbled. And swats from her riding crop when my own frustration and desire carried me away and I got a bit too enthusiastic, bit too hard, or went too fast.

Finally she asked me to wear her collar for a week. To work. I was shocked. I was scared. But I said yes, and she fucked me in the ass. That Monday I went into the office skittish as a kitten at the dog pound. I got a few raised eyebrows, and one or two kind comments. The real teasing didn’t start until Tuesday.

The time after that she locked the collar on and added a tag saying “Property of…”. It’s only come off when I’ve had to wear a tie since then.

“Mistress, I don’t think I can take this any longer! I’m going mad, I’m so frustrated, I mean sometimes it’s just so intense and fantastic and exciting, but then I start to get excited and I can’t get hard and it gets frustrating again. I love you and I love being dominated by you and I love feeling trapped and I even love the frustration but I’m not sure I’m strong enough to take this.”

“Oh, but you don’t have to be strong enough, darling. That’s what the lock is there for.” She smiled so sweetly, and caressed my face so tenderly that I calmed down immediately, hanging on her every word. “I really want you to do this for me. Do you think you can manage now?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, much calmer, “I think I can. Please forgive me for … my weakness.”

“Oh, honey, I know it’s not easy. It’s not supposed to be easy. Knowing how hard it is for you, knowing that you’re suffering excites me.” I swallowed and she continued. “As a matter of fact, I’m excited now, and I think I want to fuck your cute little slave ass again.”

Things changed a little after that. Instead of making me wait until I was ready to beg for it and then making me wait some more, she started fucking me in the ass more often, at her whim. That meant I didn’t have to beg, and in some ways it made the frustration a little easier to bear, but in other ways it made it harder, because getting fucked excited me so. I think she knew exactly what she was doing.

New rules … I was her sex toy, to be used however she wanted whenever she wanted, no matter my mood or how tired I was. Well, if she’d wanted to she could have done that earlier. Still, by then it was a lot easier to get into the mood when she decided she wanted me. At first it was just another neat dimension to our game. Eventually I started feeling that I no longer had any rights to my own body. That was both scary and fantastic. And the frustration continued.

In the last few months, I settled down a bit and started coming to grips more with my situation. I got better at handling the frustration, better and not letting it get in the way of my enjoyment of pleasures sexual and otherwise. Perhaps knowing that most of my “sentence” had passed helped.

The last month she removed the key from its hiding place and started wearing it around her neck. “The year’s almost up,” she’d say, “and it looks like you’ve passed my test. Are you glad? Are you happy to know you can take being my slave, so we can make our relationship permanent?”

Yes yes, oh yes I was glad. And thankful for her reminder that though my year of chastized hell was nearly over, it was not the ending of the dominance I loved, but the marking of our knowing it would endure.

But oh, how I looked forward to the day when the infernal device would be removed from my manhood and I could have the orgasm I’d been waiting a year for. How I longed to thrust deep into her and feel her warm cunt gripping my shaft. I could afford to let myself think these thoughts, now that the time of my release was in sight. Every time I saw the key dangling between her breasts on its chain, I licked my lips.

So yes, wearing the chastity belt for a year had been much harder than I’d imagined, but I’d survived it. I’d held out for a year, I’d passed her test, I’d proved to myself as well that I could bear such torment. I’d thought to beg her for release, but I’d never thought to use my safeword to escape.

And tonight, a week after her birthday, it had been a year. She led me to our bedroom, lit several candles, and tied me to the bed, muttering sweet compliments to me the whole time, stroking me as she would a cat. A bowl of ice sat on the bedside table, alongside a couple of neatly folded towels. A glass of something clear sat on the dresser with a plate resting on top of it. She stripped, while I watched, licking my lips, then straddled my face. “Eat me.”

When she tired of that, she sat astride my belly, idly stroking my nipples. “You made it,” she said. “It’s been a year.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to continue to be my slave after this?”

“Yes, Mistress, I do!” I was excited beyond belief, and as much in love with her as the day she’d first proposed locking me up.

She smiled, that delicious slow grin, and said, “Good. Because I want to keep you! I don’t want it to be a game. We’ve been playing pretty seriously, but we’ve both known there was a time limit. Now I know you can handle that kind of intensity for a long time. Do you want it? Do you want to continue permanently as my slave? This deep?”

“Yes, Mistress! Anything! I am yours!”

I swear she started breathing harder and sweating a little. “I want this to be real. I want you to get a tattoo saying you’re my slave. And I want to get married, and I want you to take my name instead of the other way around. And I want to know that I can continue to use you whenever I want, to punish you whenever I want, even to lock you up when I want, from now on.”

My heart raced. I was frightened to make such a commitment with no time limit, but I’d already found that I could not only handle being dominated full time but even enjoy it even as I suffered. “Yes, Mistress. I consent. I want that too.”

“Do you want it enough to give up your safeword?”

“Yesss! I am _all_ yours, my love!”

She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me passionately, rocking her hips, scooting back so she was rubbing herself against the edge of my chastity belt. “Oh God, how I love you. And you’re Mine!” She reached back and stroked my thighs, then leaned forward to lick my nipples, the key on its chain brushing against my chest. I panted, I moaned, I called out my love for her.

Finally she stopped, picked up the key, and said, “Well, it’s time to deal with this, no?”

I looked at her hungrily.

She removed the chain from around her neck. She removed the key from the chain. She went to the glass of clear liquid on the dresser and uncovered it. “A toast,” she said, “to your showing me you could pass my test!” She lifted the glass, and the key.

And she dropped the key into the glass, where it fizzed and foamed and slowly dissolved.

My heart fell. Actually, I think it stopped. She watched my face, grinning, as I lay there disbelieving.

“I have a soldering iron in the bedside table,” she said very quietly. “I’m going to fill the keyhole with solder. You’re mine forever, my love.”