Confessions of a Chastity Slave

It's hard to believe it all started with some talk on a chat room. I was in college then, and always straight in real life, although not very successful with the ladies. But my dirty little secret was that I liked to go online and indulge my fantasy: being enslaved, feminized, and kept in chastity by a man.

At first, I'd wander through chat rooms and find a guy to be my Master for a night, and for an evening I'd be his little slut, giving my mind over to his pleasure, trying to be the girl he wanted. My fantasy was always being forced to serve while kept in some sort of chastity device: a belt or a cage, usually. In my mind, I'd be locked away, sucking my Master-for-a-day off, getting fucked hard in the ass, all the while my own little cock unable to stiffen or experience any pleasure at all.

But of course, in real life I'd be beating off like crazy. And then I'd cum, and the fantasy would be over, forgotten for a while. It was like that for a long time.

I've always been the monogamous type, though, so I guess it was natural I'd eventually find just one Master. And I did. Sean.

At first, it was just like any other time. But with Sean, even after I came, I felt strangely drawn back to him. There was something about him that drew the fantasy out of me: he probed me with his words, forcing me to bring up new wrinkles, new ideas, planting kinky new seeds in my imagination. Even now, I'm not sure how much of it was my idea and how much his: probably much more his.

Sean turned me on like no other. Instead of trolling around the chat rooms for new guys and new fantasies, I found myself drawn to him over and over. He was just so cool, so confident, and it seemed like his desires were the perfect complement to mine: he obviously wanted a feminized slavegirl as badly as I wanted to be one. It wasn't long before I was talking to him every night. Sometimes I'd find myself waiting up until 2 or 3 A.M. just to talk to him for a few moments. Soon after that, every time I masturbated, I was thinking of him (my mental picture of him, anyway) and my -- our -- fantasy. Over the weeks and months, it developed: me turned from a college boy into his slutty little housemaid slavegirl. My penis would be locked away in a chastity belt, and he would have the only key. If I ever wanted to come again, I'd have to serve him well with my mouth and my tight little asshole, working hard for one paltry orgasm a week. And meanwhile, he'd be mercilessly using me for his pleasure several times a day. My body would be transformed into that of a nubile little girl through a variety of fantastical means, whatever struck our fancy: surgery, drugs, magic.

Eventually we switched to phone sex. We always talked about this fantasy, always adding new episodes, new wrinkles. And I always came at the end, as did Sean. But gradually Sean began to probe me in questions about my real life (somehow he always dodged mine). I told him my problems: about how hard it was to make ends meet, about how I was failing out of school (mostly because I was talking to Sean and neglecting my work), about how I had no job, about how I was alone in a strange city.

And one day I was short on my rent. I told Sean. Sean said, "I can help you, my little slavegirl. But you'll have to do something for me."

I was nervous. "What do you want me to do, Master?"

"I want you to stop masturbating, slave. It's not proper for a slavegirl. And you are my slavegirl, right?"

I gulped, but said, "Yes, of course, Master."

"Then show me your faith, slavegirl. I want you to stop masturbating."

There was a pause while I considered this. "But-- but I don't think I can, Master."

"I know that you can't, slavegirl. You're weak. And that's what makes you such a good little slave. But I want you to try, really try. If you do this for me -- if you be my slave -- I'll take care of my slavegirl, like a good Master should. Do you understand?"

I considered it. Knowing I'd try, knowing I'd fail. I'd masturbated every day, more or less, since I was twelve. But Sean asking me to do this -- give up my orgasms for him, start making the fantasy a reality -- was just so hot. I was already rock hard, just thinking about it. And I did need the money -- my rent was already late. "I... yes. Yes, Master."

"Yes what, slave? I want to hear you say it. Promise me."

"I... I promise I'll stop... touching myself..." I stammered. "...stop masturbating, for you, Master Sean."

"Good! And I promise I'll take care of you as long as you remain true to me, slavegirl. Now go to bed."

And with that, he hung up. Leaving me alone, in my apartment, with my hard cock in my hand.

I thought about it. But I kept my word. I stopped touching myself and crossed my arms, gripping my forearms tightly. I went to bed like that, and laid there for a long time, trying not to think about how turned on I was, trying not to think about Sean and what I had agreed to.

Eventually I fell asleep. Without coming. The next day in the mail was an envelope, shipped express. Inside it were ten crisp new hundred dollar bills. And a note:

"I keep my word. Do you, slut? - Your Master"

I was instantly very, very turned on. It was mostly the note, but the money didn't hurt either. And being turned on by the money only made me feel sluttier. But I was good, all that day.

Inevitably, though, I cracked. Later that week, I jerked off, as I had known I would. And as my Master had known I would. But I did the right thing: I told him. He wasn't surprised.

It went on like this for a few months. Master was paying my bills, and I was servicing him at night on the phone. I'd talk dirty to him, hear him cum, and then go to bed quivering and horny but trying so hard to be good. And when I failed, I'd tell him. He seemed understanding.

But then things changed. I had failed out of school, and still had no job. I was just barely making ends meet on the $1000 a month Master was sending me. Eventually, the rent was late again.

"Master... your slavegirl humbly informs you that her rent is late."

"Is that so, slavegirl?"

"Yes, Master. I'm sorry."

"How many times have you touched yourself in the past month, slave?"

"Errr... I... don't--"

"Seven, slave. Seven! This is entirely unacceptable, don't you think? When I've honorably kept my end of the bargain?"

I blushed. "I... um... I'm sorry, Mast--"

"Shut up," he said. My blush deepened. "Are you serious about being my slavegirl?"

"Yes, Master, very, Master!"

"Good. Then I will need a greater commitment from you."

In panic, I said, "Of course, Master, anything!"

And I could hear him laugh. "Good girl." I squirmed when he called me that, as I always did. "We'll see how much you mean it. Tomorrow, slave." And he hung up.

The next day, in addition to the usual $1000, a smallish box was in the mail. As always, there was no return address -- typical of Sean. I rushed back to my apartment, eager to open it.

My fingers fumbled at the brown cardboard of the box, tearing away tape, and at last it was revealed: some odd metal thing, made of rings and tubes and sliding parts. I had never seen anything quite like it, and I couldn't figure out what it was.

There was a note. It said:

"Will you be true to the terms of your bondage, girl? You have until midnight to decide. Wear it in love, bitch, or never trouble me again."

I shuddered with terror and sexual excitement as I picked up the metal object again. It was a chastity device, of course. And unlike any I had ever seen.

It was like some kind of cock cage, made of a matte gray metal fitting on behind the scrotum, with a tube that would slide over my cock, imprisoning it. The lock was incredibly complex, with a surprising amount of sliding parts, but it was obvious how the device was to be worn and locked.

There was no key.

I pretended to myself that I would think about it. But I couldn't really think any longer. Every time I looked at that device, I just got so turned on. I masturbated seven times as afternoon faded to evening and to night.

At 11:30, I knew I had to do it or lose Sean and my fantasy forever. And what kind of life was waiting for me? No more school, no job, no friends or family. If I wore it, all I'd be giving up was my inhibition and my seven stolen orgasms a month. And I could always get a locksmith to go at the thing if I backed down.

And so I put it on, sliding myself into it. It fit perfectly; I guessed Master had somehow sized it based on the nude pictures I had sent him. Before I could psych myself out, I slid the clasp closed. And suddenly, I understood what all those mysterious moving parts were for: the device clamped onto my small, exhausted penis with a series of swift click-click-clicks, forcing it down and under my body at a shockingly steep angle. Simultaneously, I felt a burst of blinding pain as it forced my balls up against my body.

With a shriek of agonized surprise, I dropped to my knees in shock. When the pain subsided, I looked down in horror at my newly transformed crotch. Before, where I had a penis -- small, sure, but well-used, by myself if not the ladies -- I now had only a short gray tube of inert metal. It wrapped under my scrotum, pinning it against my body, to where it pointed slightly downward. It was now clasped at both ends to the ring that encircled my scrotum. In short, where I used to have a set of male genitalia, I now had nothing but a little mound of metal-girted flesh.

My mind reeled as I tentatively poked and prodded at the device that now imprisoned me. It was devious: my penis was kept imprisoned and tucked underneath me in a space and angle that prevented the slightest degree of stiffness. The ring around my scrotum somehow pulled my balls up incredibly close to my body. Yet the initial wave of pain had passed; now the whole device felt disturbingly comfortable. Clearly, I could be kept in this thing indefinitely -- if Sean wanted.

I confusedly thought that my days of peeing while standing up were over. Yes, I'd have to sit or squat to pee, like a bitch, for as long as my Master wanted --

A whimper escaped me. I was getting turned on thinking about my newly chastised condition. But now my poor penis was trapped, imprisoned in an utterly inflexible metal casing. There was no way for it to get erect. The only feelings I had were a hot flush throughout my body and a warm, tingling pressure inside my chastity cage. I rubbed at the tube, then at the whole slave-mound between my legs, but there was no relief. The feeling only got tantalizingly stronger.

What had I done? Peeing sitting down was the least of my troubles. My normal life was over. I could forget about getting hard for anytime in the near future. Orgasm was obviously out of the question. Certainly there was no chance of the delicious pleasure of penetrating a woman. Even the paltry pleasure of masturbation was quite impossible. What the hell had I been thinking? A fantasy was one thing, great in small doses that ended with a nice orgasm. But now I'd gotten carried away, and it was real, all too real.

I picked at the lock with a fingernail, but of course this was fruitless. The panic was rising inside me. I began to tug at the device, then pull hard, and was greeted only with aching pain for my efforts. There was no way to remove the thing short of tearing off my trapped genitals.

Tears welled in my eyes, and I felt true fear as the enormity of what I'd done to myself set in. No, there was only one way I could get out: the key. And who had it? A man. A man I had never met or even seen. A man who could be anywhere in the world, for all I knew. A man who I had promised to serve with my body. A man who I had on many occasions begged to keep me in brutal slavery and chastity. A man I had taken money from, as a good faith deposit on my servitude. I had sold myself into slavery, for a few measly grand, and now the bill was coming due. Thinking about this was terrifying, but it was also making me very, very excited, and that agonizingly delicious sensation was building up in me again. As I stroked at the tube, wishing for the slightest sensation, I began to weep.

That was when the phone rang. I looked up at the clock through a blur of tears: Midnight.

I leapt for the phone and answered it with a shaky hand. My voice was choked with my sobs.

"He-- hello? Master?"

His voice was perfectly calm, as always. "I see you've decided to honor your part of the bargain."

I felt cold. "But how could you know that, Master?"

"I have had several cameras in your apartment for some time, slave. I look after my investments. That's the only reason we've progressed this far: because I know you were honest in reporting your previous failures of discipline to me. But that aside, I can tell by the sound of your voice. You wouldn't be crying like the bitch you now are if you hadn't put it on."

"But how --"

"Shut up." I blushed. "You know, slave, you're lucky. The springs in that device are quite powerful. If you had put it on incorrectly and then locked it, it probably would have cut your little boy-clit clean off. Or maybe crushed it into pulp. And while a penectomy is probably in the cards for you some day" -- I swear I could hear his smile as he said this -- "I don't think you're quite ready for that, hm?"

I felt light-headed, dizzy, sick. I closed my eyes and listened as Sean kept speaking.

"Don't try going to a locksmith. He'll just scramble the lock, and then you'll be in that thing forever. Because it can't be cut off, at least not at any temperature that would leave you with genitals when it was done."

"Yes, Master," I whimpered. I had already suspected as much.

"Is it comfortable, slave? I had to guess on the fit a bit."

If I said it pinched or rubbed me, would he release me? I doubted it. And I didn't want to lie to him; it could only make things worse. "It fits perfectly, Master."

"Good! Because you're going to be in it for quite a while."

This was hardly a surprise, but a little moan escaped me anyway. Not least because my Master's deep, calm voice was turning me on as it always did.

"I see you have the money. You know the exchange -- you get the money, I get your chastity for another month."

"A month! But Master, please, I'll go crazy!"

Sean sighed, as if bored. "A month. Since you were unable to keep your word before, I shall force you to keep it now. Or was it your wish to break your word, slave?"

"No, Master!"

"That's good. Because I'm giving you my word that I'll grant you release in thirty days. After the month I've purchased." My Master laughed. "You must be so excited, slave! All your fantasies are coming true at last! You'll hear from me in a month. Be good, slave."

"Please, Master, wait--"

But the line was dead. He was gone. The tears began to flow again, and I blearily made my way to bed. A long time later, I slept.

The next month was a dark time for me. Master no longer called or came to the usual places online. The only way I had to reach him was e-mail, and he never responded. I realize now that Master was testing me, but at the time all I knew was frustration and fear. I woke every morning, alone in my apartment, feeling the dull hot throb in my boy-clit (for so I thought of it now) that formerly would have been a nice stiff morning erection. And most nights I cried myself to sleep, alone and aching with unfulfillable need. It only got worse as the month progressed; at times I could feel the ache of lust all through my body. At the worst, it felt like my nipples and anus were spasming with hot ache. I couldn't bear to meet the gaze of women in the street, for it just gave me a pathetic feeling of sick longing. They seemed impossibly beautiful and aloof, and there was no question they were utterly sexually inaccessible. To me, anyhow. I tried watching pornography a few times, but it just made me frustrated and sad. Every time I went to the bathroom, I had to sit. As such, I was reminded multiple times a day of my stupidity, my new humility, and what I had really given up -- not just my orgasms but my gender.

As the days stretched into weeks, my sadness deepened into depression. I was in a constant haze of unfulfillable lust, and Master had left me alone. On the worst nights, when the ache was utterly unignorable and sleep eluded me, I drank myself into black unconsciousness. I couldn't fulfill or relieve my libido, but I could blot it out for a little while. This only made the mornings worse. I had no school, no job, no family to occupy me. I contemplated going to a locksmith. I might get out, and if not, I could have the thing cut off. Sure, it might destroy my cock and balls, but it wasn't like I had them now. And it would be an escape from the delicious tingly ache that was my only companion. I contemplated suicide.

The only thing that kept me going was my hope that Master would keep his word. And he always had, so far. I had no reason to doubt that he would release me from this infernal device after the agreed term of one month. But even so, doubt I did. I began to irrationally think that something had happened to Sean, that he had died in an auto wreck or some other senseless accident, and the key to my chastity tube was lost forever. I would just wait in vain for a call that would never come for the rest of my life.

But Master had always been true, and I true to him. And so my hope survived, and it carried me through the month. I woke on the afternoon on the thirtieth day, blackly hung over from the previous night's liquor, and rushed to my mailbox. Sure enough, there was a note:

"Go to the Ritz-Carlton downtown. Thirtieth floor, midnight. I will be there in person to grant you your release. Almost there, slave."

My heart raced. He had kept his word! Tears welled in my eyes again. I had been crying a lot lately, which I attributed to the hormonal imbalance of a long month without ejaculation. But this time, it was only due to the overwhelming feeling of love I felt for Master. But I was nervous. He'd be there in person. I was still a virgin when it came to men; I'd never even seen a cock besides mine in person. But I had a feeling that was going to change soon. Master was going to want to taste his slavegirl's sugar...

All the sudden I was overcome with a throbbing flush of excitement. I ran back upstairs to begin g ettingready.

And so at 11:55 I found in an elevator, rising to the 30th floor of the nicest hotel in town. My mind raced and my boy-clit throbbed with a month of stored passion, anticipating its imminent release. I tried to imagine what Master would look like and came up blank for a moment. I'd never been with a man before, and I'd never found myself particularly physically attracted to one. All the same, I imagined him having a body to match his dominance and self-assurance: tall, muscular, maybe blonde with a tan and a cold smile. Older, too, maybe even in his forties. It was hard to tell from his voice, which was deep and had a slight, undefinable accent.

Myself, I was quite short at about 5'5", and skinny, little older than a teenager. My hair was brown and my eyes green. I had showered thoroughly, and then I had shaved off all my body hair -- at least what wasn't covered by the chastity tube. I knew Master would like that. But I didn't have anything nice to wear, so it was just my usual jeans, boxers, and a T-shirt. I had a feeling I wouldn't be wearing it for very long anyway.

The elevator dinged and let me out. I found myself in a small foyer with a small sofa and oak paneling. Ahead was a door with a small plaque that simply read "30". As I approached it, I was trembling with anticipation and involuntarily rubbing at my tube-encased boy-clit. Soon I'd be with my Master, serving him in slavegirl fashion. And I'd be free of the damned tube, at least briefly.