Live, Laugh, Locked Ch. 09

Wednesday morning, Claire and I drove north to Sedona for our meeting with Mr. Whitney at his house. I would have preferred to meet somewhere else more public, but I felt comfortable with it since Claire was coming too. Plus, although anyone could find my video now, I still wasn't eager to discuss my new chastity lifestyle where strangers could eavesdrop on the conversation. We met at my apartment and drove together from there in my car. I must have looked flustered because Claire pulled my key out of her purse right away and put it in my glovebox, saying she wanted to make sure that there was no way the exchange could be forgotten.

I almost laughed out loud when she said that. For her, my key might be something she could forget about; for me, on my fifteenth day denied pleasure, that was impossible. It was hard for me to stay focused on much else and I felt like I had been losing my train of thought constantly over the past two days. With our filming still on hiatus, there had been nothing to occupy my time as I waited to see her and my key again. All I could was try my best to find temporary distractions from the desire trapped behind my belt, slowly building each day.

The exact feeling of this desire seemed to change throughout the day. Sometimes it felt almost like an annoying itch I needed to scratch; sometimes it felt like a pressure building inside me. The secure top band of the belt still sat comfortably snug around my waist, but when I felt the pressure, I could close my eyes and imagine it being strong enough to shatter the lock keeping it trapped. The tumbler and pins and springs simply coming undone, falling to the floor just because I really wished they would. However, when I opened my eyes again, the lock always remained stubbornly unaffected by the miracle I'd been envisioning.

Still other times, my urges would shift to feel like a void that needed filled deep inside of me. It was like the pressure became so great the it collapsed in on itself, leaving me with an emptiness, like hunger. When my urges felt like this, it felt like they could only be solved in the most primal ways possible. I thought I could release the pressure with just any orgasm, like I was just twisting a release value; I could only conceive of filling the void by getting fucked. Each time I pictured getting penetrated deeper than I'd ever been before, it felt like the void would retreat a fraction of an inch further inside of me, making me fantasize about rougher and rougher treatment - whatever it took to reach that spot.

The past few days had just been a constant ebb and flow through these different manifestations of my libido. It was as if the most basic instincts living near the base of my brainstem were trying anything they could to get me to fulfill my evolutionary prerogative, cycling through these different methods of persuasion. Each of the methods were extremely effective; I was entirely persuaded. The belt, however, wasn't so easily swayed.

Now in the car with Claire, key safe in the glovebox, the tone of these fantasies changed. As my mind wandered, it no longer felt like it was adding to my frustration. Instead, my daydreams as we drove north felt like I was laying the groundwork for my release that evening. With my key back in my possession, every thought about how exactly I'd pinch my nipple with my free hand later that evening felt more like a tiny step towards my climax than a cruel reminder of what I couldn't have.

We drove mostly in silence apart from the radio; clearly, my mind wasn't entirely there. In little over an hour, the greenery slowly sprouted from the desert while the rocks shifted from brown to deep orange-red as we reached Sedona. Mr. Whitney's home was situated on a hillside overlooking a vista of red rocks. It looked new, all glass and exposed steel and concrete; it was clearly the home of a very wealthy man. Claire looked slightly surprised at the building, not expecting our host to be so well off; I was not. With little else to distract me, I'd spent much of the previous day researching our unexpected collaborator. I'd found this house, it's property records in Howard's name, and the registration of the company which made my belt, that was all. Apart from those already established details, I couldn't find anything.

Claire and I walked up to the front door together and were met with the housekeeper who invited us in, directing us in to the dining room table where Howard would meet us soon. I struggled to keep myself from rolling my eyes, getting the strong feeling that this was all planned. He'd pretend to be busy to give us a moment to take in the house, thinking we'd openly gawk at the wealth and the view if given this time alone.

Despite it feeling like a small set up, I looked around the room as we waited, hoping to gather little clues about who exactly Howard was. The minimalist decoration didn't provide much insight and nothing about the house would give away that the owner also manufactured chastity belts. The lone exception being a large Georgia O'Keeffe painting hanging above the mantle in the Livingroom; it fit the southwestern vista well, but was certainly unsubtly vaginal. In front of us on the table was a centerpiece of vividly colored orchids. My heart skipped half a beat noticing that they were nearly the exact shade of lavender as my belt with deep, almost black streaks in the petals matching the stitching and fasteners in the unyielding fabric. Did he do this on purpose? Did this bastard put flowers matching my chastity belt on his dining room table to mock me — their delicate petals spread so open and inviting? No, this was extremely unlikely. I was just getting paranoid and emotional after feeling frustrated for so long. Besides, if I said something about it and I was wrong, I'd feel like a complete lunatic, like my frustration was making me see secret codes.

Eventually, Howard, or Ward as he informed us he preferred to be called, entered the room. He greeted us warmly and took a seat across from us at the table. Claire seemed to react well to him. Feeling so emotionally strained, I didn't quite trust my own read on him, so I looked to her reaction to get a measure of him. I was still suspicious of him, but on day fifteen, I wasn't exactly thinking as straight as I could be.

We didn't have a set agenda for our conversation, so the three of us chatted casually, just getting to know each other. In spite of my first impressions, Ward seemed to be just casually curious about what our plans were since my video had done so much to move sales even in the short time it had been up. He was evasive when I tried to ask for much detail about his personal life, but that was what I expected.

The conversation inevitably reached the obvious topic of the chastity belts themselves. Ward was much more open talking about the technical aspects of the belt than he was about himself. He focused mostly on the exotic materials he sourced for their construction with the fabric being originally designed by the department of defense and the padlocks being a custom design with very demanding material requirements. He was clearly very proud of what he'd designed. I relaxed as we talked; for all of the mystery around him, it felt to me like he was just an inventor who was happy his creation had finally found a new market.

We stayed for a few hours, finishing our meeting with lunch. At one point, I asked him if he kept duplicates of the keys for the belts to which he replied "Yes, are you asking me to get yours?," teasing me slightly. After an awkward pause, (to stop myself from shouting 'yes!',) I declined his offer and laughed with him; I could wait the couple additional hours. Before we left, He invited the two of us to return Friday night for a house party he was having. I told him that isn't really for me, but thanked him for the invitation anyway.

Claire and I drove south back home, both pleased with how the meeting had gone. We didn't conduct much business at all, but I felt more comfortable with the mysterious stranger who was now my unexpected associate. By the time we got back to my apartment and Claire had left, I was on the edge of my seat. Fifteen days of waiting and I finally got to reap the reward. I was now genuinely curious how it would feel; I'd never released this much tension at once before. Would I scream? Would I squirt? I was eager to find out.

I reached over to the glovebox where Claire had left my key and opened it. Nothing. All I saw were stacks of napkins and insurance documents. I dug frantically to the bottom, finding only the random accumulated clutter that had fallen to the bottom. Working piece by piece, I sorted through the pile to make sure it wasn't stuck between the folds of an unused roadmap. Nothing. There was nowhere it could be hiding.

After what felt like an hour of searching every possible crevice in the car, I stood up and slammed the door shut in frustration. I'd messaged Claire and she said that she hadn't touched it since she left it in the glovebox. I trusted her. My key was missing; was my key stolen? My mind raced as the desperate pressure returned, locked inside my belt.