Punishment That Fits the Crime

Two months of carefully restrained love making later, we revisited the studio. The same piercer examined Laura, confirming that she had healed extremely well. She already knew what we wanted, removed the rings, and asked for the lock, comparing the width of the small closure, or shackle as it is technically known, with several steel tapers, until she was happy with which taper she should use.

You can shackle a person by their wrists, or ankles. It was a form of secure imprisonment. people were shackled in castle dungeons. Now it can be a sexual game, shackling a partner to the bed. Calling the lock's closure by that same word, seems inappropriate. It is only four millimetres thick, less than an inch around the curve. Something so small and neat cannot be compared with the heavy irons used to shackle the miscreant, or the sexual slave.

Yet, there is no other word, and whatever size the lock, it is the shackle that secures. On a garden gate a heavy lock will secure the entrance against intruders. For my wife's garden, even in miniature, this small gold lock set through her labia, across her entrance, would serve the exact same purpose.

Stretching Laura's piercings by lubricating the taper with some kind of oil, and easing the steel through each labia in turn was slow, but in due course both holes were wide enough to accept the small lock's shackle. As soon as the first piercing was stretched sufficiently, she slipped it through. Then the second, and she closed the lock. The garden was secured.

For a second time, we did not make love for a week, as the stretched piercings adjusted to the increased thickness of the lock closure. Seven days later I used the small key to free Laura's cunt, removing the heart shaped lock, and with neither rings nor lock to impede our enjoyment, Laura was a like bitch on heat, while I was the proverbial bull.

Afterwards, Laura went to the bathroom, picking up the lock as she went. When she came back, without my asking, the lock was back in place.

It suits Laura. Because the piercings needed to be on either side of her vagina, they are towards the bottom of her labia, and when she is naked, the lock is suspended in the space between her thighs. She needs to sit carefully on any hard surface, and she would be unable to ride a bike while wearing it, but the lock has never caused any serious inconvenience. It looks so neat right there, framed by the pure white flesh of her thighs, and her hairless pubic mound. Although it is only on our annual 'couple' holiday, when the kids are looked after by Laura's mother, and when we enjoy France's best naturist beaches for two luxurious, sun filled weeks, that Laura's lock is seen by anyone other than myself.

On the beach, it provokes interest. Maybe one woman in twenty on a naturist beach in France will have a nipple ring or bar-bell, or a labia ring, or a vertically placed bar-bell. Researching Laura's lock led me to know what each of these piercings is. But whilst these are not uncommon, only Laura wears a lock.

Of course there is no need for Laura to wear her lock while we are in France. We are together all the time. There no temptation or opportunity for Laura to let a stranger in. But that is not the point. The lock secures our marriage. No one removes their wedding ring just because they are with their spouse and there is no need to tell others that they are taken. Wedding rings are worn with pride. Laura wears her lock with pride. She tells me that it proves my love for her, and hers for me.

And at home, in England, the lock works. There is no risk that Laura will see another guy behind my back. The lock's placement ensures that enjoyment is impossible. Penetration cannot take place. Her garden is secure. I remove the lock each night when we make love, and replace it every morning. Laura now thinks of it as part of who she is, and feels undressed without it.

I also had to remove the lock for the guy who paid for the children's climbing frame, and for the student, and I will again, for the next guy, and for the others after him. Laura needs these reminders of who she is, and I love to watch, not just to watch but to plan, negotiate, and later to replay key moments in my head, most especially the semen escaping from her just fucked cunt, and to whisper in her ear when we are in our bed, how much I enjoyed watching her with him, or hear her tell me how it felt.

So my advice, when your wife strays, is do not even think that you can forgive her and forget. Do not even try. Let her know who is in control, but enjoy her inner slut. Be grateful. She loves to fuck, and her cunt is yours to fuck, and yours to decide who will fuck her. Whether you chose to record those times, with a tattoo, is your decision. But take my advice. Do not place your faith in trust. It is your garden where intruders may seek to play. Make the decision yours and yours alone. Lock the gate.

Post Script

This account was first written some years ago when I was planning the fifth tattoo for Laura's thigh, long before our children had grown up and before we became again a couple free to live our lives entirely as we wish. Is it not true that pleasures enjoyed should be revisited,so I have indeed revisited the same web-site once a year since then, booking a hotel room and making the necessary arrangements, asking the tattooist after each occasion to replicate the sperm tattoo again, with Laura now having fourteen of these in all. Total all of these experiences, and we both have delicious memories that we savour in the sharing. Fiction writers may be envious of a true story such as this, but read the first word of each sentence in this paragraph without the rest, as you sip your Rioja, Sancerre or whatever you enjoy, and I wish you well.