A Gift in the Post Pt. 01

I had read about stuff like this on the internet. On the sites, I went when no one was looking, late at night, when I was alone.

I have had bondage fantasies since I was too young to be a dirty old pervert, and what I was looking at was the pinnacle of those fantasies.

I had just returned to my little flat and found the box waiting for me inside my street door. Just a plain brown cardboard box with a delivery label with my name and address. I laughed out loud when I read Signature Required on the label. Something from eBay, I assumed. I was always buying junk and getting rid of it a month later.

I couldn't even remember what it was I'd bought this time. I popped it on my little post table, then found a knife and opened it. There I stood, mouth wide open, looking at what had been, for me until now, just fantasy images on a screen.

This was definitely not a piece of junk; where it had come from, I could not imagine. What I discovered as I parted the plain brown packing paper was a bright, highly polished, stainless steel chastity belt. It was the stuff of my wildest fantasies. I was, to say the least, a little surprised.

The only other item in the box was a padlock. There was no letter or note other than the courier's label that said "Strictly Private and Confidential. I was fascinated; how could I not be?

I removed the lock from its sealed packaging, and three keys fell onto the floor. I was in a complete quandary. My brain was saying, "Stay, boy, let's have a good look at this," and my dick was screaming, "Put it on, put it on, put it on.

Obviously, Dick won the argument, but not until I had tested that the keys worked and had a proper look. It was seemingly made entirely of what looked like stainless steel, including the tube, and when I had assembled the waist belt to the crotch belt, I noticed a ring on the front. Pulling the ring caused dozens of tiny sharp spikes to peep out of their little holes in the tube, probably not far enough to permanently damage its occupant, but I would guess enough to draw a little blood when a good pull was applied to the ring. A lesser pull would still cause the wearer pain but less damage.

The phone rang, and I ignored it. It was bound to be someone from a land far away wanting to explain to me why the phone package she was selling was much better than the one I had now.

I checked the key in the lock again; it worked. It took me a while to figure out that the lock slid into a pocket in the front plate of the belt, and the two arms of the waist belt were pushed down simultaneously onto the hasp, forcing the lock to snap shut and just about completely hiding the padlock from view apart from the keyhole. This just about made it totally tamper-proof.

Putting the key in the lock and giving the key a quarter turn released the locking mechanism. The arms jumped up about half an inch and could then be sprung out of the way, releasing the victim. So far, so good. The phone rang again, and I cursed it and ignored it again.

My mind was spinning, my dick was throbbing, and the two thoughts in my head were: where on earth had this evil bit of kit come from, and why, when it was so obviously made for me, had I not tried it on yet?

I needed to investigate further; I was a little worried about the tube and its spikes. The tube had a lining of what appeared to be soft silicone rubber; there was no way the spikes would come out without a pull on the ring.

The tube was mounted on a slide that allowed it some limited movement. It was connected to the slide by two tee-section head studs. These had to be at the end of the slide to disengage and come free of the tube. That was impossible while the belt was locked on.

This is a very solid piece of kit, and it would take considerable effort and expertise to take it off without the key. There were no other hitches as far as I could see, so in for a penny.

I dropped my pants and my y-fronts and took off my shirt for good measure. Holding the waist belt, I stepped into it and pulled it up. But that was it; there was no way on God's green earth that my dick was going into that tube.

Off I went to the freezer and picked out a bag of frozen peas. Feck me, I thought; pressing these into your baby's bits hurts. It had my dick back to its sleeping size in no time at all, though. No pain, no gain," as they say.

I tried again and failed again. As soon as I tried to push my cock into the tube, it hardened up and refused to go inside.

I remembered reading on a chastity belt website about the "sock trick". So I chilled my poor dick again and put a sock on it. I pulled the belt up and threaded my dick into the tube. I brought the arms around and tried to push them into the lock to close it. The whole contraption pushed down hard on my cock and balls and hurt like hell.

Using a mirror, I could see the tube was not moving all the way up its slide. I would have to take it off and repeat the icing and sock detail again, or a little force may just do it. I managed to get my finger in behind it, and the phone rang again. "Piss off!" I hissed as I freed the slide, which sprang to the end of its travel with a click. That allowed me to press the arms of the waist belt into the lock pocket and click. It was locked.

The pain from the spikes as my dick swelled almost had me reaching for the key, but with a deep breath or two, I managed to gain a little self-control, and with the aid of the spikes, I felt my poor member recede.

The phone rang again, and I picked it up. "About time," said a husky female voice I knew but could not place. "I suppose you have been playing with my toy?"

"What?" I answered.

"Oh, I'm hurt; you don't remember me, do you?"

"What!"

"You bought me a drink at the last Battersea Fetish Market!"

"What?" Even I realised my answers were getting a little boring.

"Have you been playing with my belt?" she insisted.

"Err, no, I replied."

"Oh well, if you don't like it, I will come round and collect it."

The phone went dead. Shit, I love the idea of this, but I am not about to admit I am a world-ranking, first-class weirdo to someone whose voice I cannot even remember.

I grabbed the keys and had a feel for the slot. To my abject horror, I could not get the key in. Using a mirror, I could see the slot was obscured by a small sliding stainless steel plate.

Rather ingeniously, the slide arrangement on the tube was linked to this plate. To move the plate back, the tube had to be slid back. To slide the tube back, it had to be unlocked. To unlock it, I had to slide the plate back. I was missing something here, but for the life of me, I couldn't see what.

I tried to move the slide back; it moved about a millimetre, and so did the tube. After that slight movement, it was solid. As I saw it, at that point, the only way to take this off was to have it cut off.

At this point, my memory kicked in, and in my mind's eye, I saw a woman a little older than me--early forties, if I had to put any age on her. Very tidy, dressed quite suggestively but not tartly, and very well presented. Nothing outlandish--well, not by fetish market standards anyway. She was nearly my height in her heels, with a very curvaceous hourglass figure. She sat with me at the bar, having a drink together. This was a huge step forward. She had let me buy her a drink! Previously, we had a chat or two at previous meets, but this was the first time I felt I was getting any encouragement. I asked her for a date; she didn't refuse, but she didn't expect it either. She gave me a number, and I gave her my home and mobile numbers.

We had talked about my Fem Dom, spanking, and forced cunnilingus fantasies, and I had admitted to her that I found the idea of male orgasm denial a huge turn-on and had often fantasised about buying myself a chastity belt. When she said, "If you do, I may just steal your key, I nearly came in my pants.

"I have to go abroad for a while to finalise my husband's business interests." My face must have dropped when she said husband. He died three years ago. I would not say the marriage was loveless, but it was a convenience. As long as you didn't scratch too deep, I gave him an air of respectability."

"If you still want to take this forward when I get back, she just left it hanging there. I didn't realise at the time, but that was, as fishermen would say, when she set the hook."

I told her about the chastity belt I had made; I didn't even tell my ex-wife about that. How it worked successfully How it nearly put me in the A&E of our local hospital. It caused skin abrasions that I ignored until, not keeping them as clean as I should have, I ended up with a persistent bastard infection.

We walked around the stalls together; she stopped at one stall and had a chat with a guy who obviously ran it.

"Can I buy you a present?" she asked. "

That took me by surprise. "Yes, please", I said. Then "err what?

"A set of three rings." The guy opened a jewellery box with three screw-ball closure rings inside.

"Oh, err, where do they go?"

"The same place as mine," she said with a sweet smile on her face.

well, nearly the same place as mine. She pointed at the bigger one of the three. In my set, this one is a little smaller, but I think it probably goes in a smaller place."

I have dreamed about getting my nipples pierced. So I thought, "Now or never.

"Yes, thank you."

"Look, I have to leave you in Kay and Kevin's capable hands; I have to go home and get ready to catch a plane this evening. The price includes the piercing. You can have it done now, or you can have it done after you have thought about it. If you have it done now, I will wait and drop you off at your home.

An absolutely gorgeous, tiny woman did the piercings. First my nipples, then the RPA in my cocked head--that was a little embarrassing at the time, and despite the anaesthetic, it hurt like hell. I was given aftercare instructions and a pair of pliers to remove the balls and take the rings out, and then my new friend drove me home in her brand spanking new five-litre F-type Jag. It was nearly as sexy as her.

I had tried calling her half a dozen times, but the phone was never answered. I tried people from the munch I knew, but none of my friends knew any of her friends. The only contact I had was a Facebook friend request.

I accepted it as it came with a personal message about her owing me a drink for the wine I bought her at Battersea. That was obviously a trigger to send me a massage. That told me Miranda was now retired and taking a long-overdue holiday.

However, if I were a friend, she would contact me when she returned, and if I clicked the link below, it would set a reminder for her. I clicked it and didn't hear a thing until now.

She had said she was going on a trip but had been no more specific than that. More and more, I was sure she was my mystery voice.

Nothing much had been said, but I thought she might be into some real kinky stuff. All our conversations were pretty much her asking questions and me answering. She had a real talent for getting me to open up. I'm not good at talking to women; Miranda just peeled me off and laid me bare.

Then she asked me if I ever wanted to play the role of ponyboy. Strictly between you and me, dear reader, a little bit of wee came out. Without her knowing, I managed to get a photo or two of her with my phone. It was not all perviness; photography is a hobby of mine. The best photo I got of her and me as her pony has been my computer screen saver since I took it.

Thinking about it, I had said a lot about myself but had received very little information back. She had one small glass of white wine and then said she had to go as she was travelling tomorrow.

I walked her to her car, and I got a good view of her lacy red knickers, suspenders, and stocking tops as she climbed into her 5-litre supercharged Jaguar XF. Wow. On the passenger seat lay a riding crop. Not a toy with a silly little hand-shaped paddle on the end. The kind of thing a jockey would use on a bastard of a racehorse with a mind of its own.

One little bit of information she let slip was that she owned half a horse. Her and an old friend, Miranda, owned the horse, but her friend owned the land where the horse was stabled. They shared all the costs--food, vet bills, etc.

Was this just a part of her riding kit? Is your horse stubborn?" I asked. Oh no, he is a lamb. She picked up the crop and looked over it as she flexed it between her hands. She gave me the sweetest smile and said this was for an altogether different type of stallion. I grunted and very nearly made a mess in my underpants.

She dropped me off at my shitty little flat; her car was worth more than my home.

The intercom squealed, "Shit!" I exclaimed. I pulled on my jeans and a T-shirt and answered. "Hello, let me in, please." Despite the please, it was an order. She did not shout; it was not rude, but an order none the less.

I wanted to give her a piece of my mind, but my finger pressed the door release button. I heard her heels on the stairs as I opened my door. She walked into my little world as if she owned it.

She dropped a holdall onto the floor, unbuttoned and slipped off her full-length leather coat, and handed it to me. I cried out in real pain as my dick instantly sprang to attention.

It felt as though every point in the tube had pierced my circumcised nob. The very understandable reaction from my best friend was provoked by the way she was dressed.

A cherry red latex corset that just covered the nipple line, the narrowest waist I have ever seen flare onto her hips, then her divine arse. Ended in eight suspenders holding up black stockings and a pair of boots with needle-thin, glittering metal stiletto heels that had to be very near six inches. A pair of frilly black knickers that looked a little out of place, but I felt it best not to comment.

I must have looked a little surprised as she pointed out that the sleeve of her toy was a very soft silicone rubber and would allow me a little movement, but the spikes would prevent any nonsense.

She asked me if I had any questions, and I said, "Does this belt come off?" Playing the game well, she then changed tracks and said, "I don't understand, belt! You distinctly told me you had not touched it."

She held the silence for two or three minutes. Despite the obvious bulges in my jeans, I could not bring myself to admit I had locked myself into her chastity belt.

"So we add telling lies to your sins! Show me," she eventually said. I was frozen. "Strip!" She commanded in that undeniable voice of hers. I dropped my jeans. "And the rest." I took my T-shirt off, and my trainers followed. "That's better; to answer your question, yes, it does, but only when I see a need to take it off. It needs another key and the knowledge of where to put it." I don't really see a need now.

"I have the knowledge, but as you distinctly told me you hadn't touched the belt, I left the magnetic key in my safe at home."

Ohh

"You wanted a date?"

"Err, yes".

"Do you still want a date?"

"Err, yes"

Is "Err, yes" the only thing you can say?

"Err no"

Miranda laughed at me. It wasn't a nasty laugh; it was quite sympathetic. You've gone all little boy on me. I honestly didn't know this was coming today until the courier sent me a text that it had been delivered. Delivery wasn't promised yet, but it was two weeks early. This is a wonderful opportunity for both of us, if you have the bottle to go through with it.

"At the last munch meeting, no, sorry, I was away then; at the one before, I asked if you would get involved in pony play. I'm asking you again?"

"Yes, I think so." When?"

"If I said a month from now, what would you say?"

"I don't know what's expected of me."

"You don't need to know; you just need to follow my direction and obey."

"Err"

"Stop! No more with the err; it's very annoying. And a few more Yes, Mistress replies are in order. She produced the crop that I had seen on her passenger seat. She flexed it again and treated me to the same smile she gave me after I had ogled her stocking tops.

So, boy, what would you say?

Yes, Mistress.

If I said next week, what would you say?

I resisted the urge to prevaricate, "Yes, mistress."

So I take it I won't have to whip you to make you come to The Other Pony Club's premier race of the season this afternoon, then.

Err I Err

Just for a second, the mask slipped, and she spat out in a diamond-hard Glaswegent accent, "Listen, sunshine, you're pushing it," then back to her nice home county ladies cut glass accent. Your next Err gets you six on the bum with this--the one after 12, the one after that 24, you get the picture.

What happens if I mess it all up?

In short, I doubt you can, unless you can run faster around corners than my 4-legged pony and tip me out of my sulky. Seriously, my current two-legged pony is, to be honest, too old. I'm frightened he is going to collapse on the first lap these days. I could never enjoy using my carriage whip on him, so I have had to put him out to pasture.

It's not about winning; there is only ever one winner these days, but I've taken part every year for 24 years. I want to make it 25.

There is a word that does not come very easily to me. Will you do this for me, please?

OK

"OK," she said, leaning forward and giving the ring on the chastity belt a sharp tug. "Shouldn't that be yes, mistress? It will be a privilege to serve you in any way I can.

"I yelped." I'm circumcised, so the obedience pins went straight into my most sensitive bits. "Yes, mistress, please, mistress, I would love to mistress. It will be a privilege to serve you in any way I can, mistress.

"That's better, pet. Come on, then, get dressed; we have a couple of hours to get there. We can have a bit of fun on the way."

Out in the street in front of my flat was a horsebox, not a huge one, built on a Mercedes seven-and-a-half-don't chassis. Miranda went to the back, where there was a single door. I was invited in; I need to get you ready. At the back, just over a metre of the length of the truck compartment was partitioned off. Hanging from the ceiling were a pair of expensive suspension cuffs.

If you let me put the cuffs on you, I will take the belt off.

Really, I wasn't sure I trusted her.

Girl Guides Honour, she said, "Besides, you can't race in that; I would like to run you out wearing it, but it's just not practical. I like to test men, not damage them. Well, not too much. I got that same sweet smile again.

I held the grip bars in the cuffs and let her fasten the buckles.

I'm going to have to keep myself in check with you, pet. You are so easy to manipulate. She went over to the side of the truck and pressed a button. I heard an electric winch wiring away as the suspension ropes tightened and I was slowly lifted off my feet.

Now tell the truth; I will know if you lie again, and don't forget that there is only one punishment for lying. She was flexing the crop again. Can you guess what that is?

The crop mistress

Yes, pet the crop. Can you guess how many?

Three mistresses.

Miranda laughed out loud. Oh, no, no, no. Try again. If you don't guess correctly, I'm going to double it.

Six mistresses. It's still a long way out. A long way out. One more guess, but before you guess, let's take this nasty belt of yours off.

You said you didn't have the other key.

Did I? I must have forgotten that I had thought to myself, "This boy is a dirty pervert. There is no way he won't try it on, so I better bring the one and only key for the double lock with me. Look, pet; it's the only key; look where it is.

She had a chain around her neck. On the end of the chain was an ingot pendant. No, sweety, she said, reading my thoughts. It's not a silver ingot. It's a magnetic strip key. I have to be very careful, though. If I put anything in the keypad aria that isn't absolutely in the right place, it moves the lock plate into a position it will never return to. I can be so clumsy sometimes.