The Chastity Belt

Sensing my vulnerability, and her quite obvious position of power over me, she slid unhesitant up my body, trapping my upper arms with her knees, and grasping the headboard with her hands.

Unerringly, she quickly lowered herself onto my mouth, not wanting to lose the moment, and began to slide her moist slit across my lips.

It would be fair to say I had always found the practicalities of this act distasteful. The fact that she urinated from this same organ had always put me off, and it was only during the first few exciting months of out relationship that I had consented to ‘treat’ her in this way.

At this moment the practicalities were a distant memory. Any misgivings I may have had were overridden by my burning desire to satisfy her. I slid my in-experienced tongue out, lapping at her swollen lips with an enthusiasm bordering on madness.

The scent of her filled my nostrils, her slit leaving wet trails across my face. I no longer found this nauseating, now it was proof of my ability as a man to satisfy my wife.

With one final thrust, and a guttural moan, her upper thighs clamped against my ears, she climaxed, her body shuddering at the unfamiliar sensation.

I gasped for breath as she slowly dismounted, her face scarlet from her exertion, her breasts heaving under the flimsy t-shirt she wore to bed . She slid back down the bed, snuggling up to my side, one leg lazily flung across my thighs, her arm draped across my chest, her face in my neck.

Mentally, I felt better. The joy of giving I suppose. Physically I was in tatters, the blood pounding through my cock, my testicles unnaturally swollen, a sharp stabbing pain in my gut and my back, and the ever present, unrelenting feeling of exasperation. It was pointless suggesting that she might unlock me. I knew she didn’t have the keys. It was very shrewd on her part to have handed them to a third party, lest she should crack under the pressure of sexual excitement, and unlock me in order that she could use my cock.

Instead I lay panting, my lower body aching, my mind racing, desperately and fruitlessly searching for a way to release the built-up pressure within me. She raised her head slightly to see my face and smiled at me agonised expression.

“That was lovely darling,” she murmured, kissing my neck.

“Perhaps tomorrow you could….” I tailed off, hesitant.

How could I phrase the words in way that would encourage her to relent?

“No chance!” she replied, not waiting for me to finish my sentence

“Two orgasms a week at my expense, over two years...” She did some mental calculations

“That’s two hundred and seven orgasms I’m entitled to” She was laughing now as she rolled over, leaving me to my agony.

“Oh yes” she added, obviously oblivious to the extent of my mental and physical anguish

“That’s without the interest…”

After that event, life began to establish a routine. A routine in which the balance was definitely tilted towards my wife in almost every respect, sexually and otherwise. She would insist on enjoying her orally induced orgasms at least once a day, at times which best suited her.

More often than not, her first action in the morning would be to gently but insistently pull my head towards her crotch, closing her sleepy eyes and sighing as she relaxed, a contented smile on her face, her fingers laced into the hair on the back of my head as my tongue worked across her slit.

.

I had become something of an expert by now, and knew exactly how to arouse her, how she enjoyed my tongue flicking gentling across her clitoris, the way she enjoyed my tongue wriggling inside the entrance to her hole.

She would not always climax, and more often than not she would push my head away when she felt satisfied, squeezing my hand and then falling back into a doze, a satisfied smile playing across her lips, only to re-engage my head later on, to ‘finish her off’ as she put it.

She had begun to view her orgasms in the same way I had viewed mine, and took it for granted that she was able to climax as and when she felt like it, regardless of my thoughts on the matter. I was expected to perform on demand, unquestioning.

I felt I had no choice, as well as the fact that with every orgasm she enjoyed I was closer to being released (although I knew by this point there was very little likely hood she was counting); I felt a strange obligation to succumb to her wishes.

I had begun to notice the blue of her eyes, the way her hair fell against her bare shoulders, the movement of her breasts when she rode my face, all the things I had forgotten and begun to take for granted.

Little things she would say would excite me, make me want to caress her, touch her, kiss her flesh.

Although she had become the sole instigator of our (or perhaps I should say her) sex life, I participated willingly, unable to resist, playing my tongue across her nipples for what seemed an age, revelling in the pleasure I was creating for her. My only pleasure had become her pleasure.

After two weeks I decided to take the rest of my holiday entitlement at work. I didn’t feel able to concentrate on my job. Far from becoming used to my predicament, the feelings of exasperation and frustration had intensified. I was almost constantly aware of the burning need within me, despite my best attempts to suppress them. It is difficult for me to believe that she understood how much I suffered, as on many occasions she blatantly and cruelly teased me about my agony, dismissing it easily, constantly citing the years she had spent in a similar situation.

“I learned to live with it, so can you”

She confessed on more than one occasion that given the limited use I had made of my genitals before my belt was installed, she had not missed penetration in the least, and would me more than happy never to use my cock again, provided she could continue to use my mouth

On several occasions, whilst in company, she had made cryptic comments about my life of chastity. Not specific enough to give the game away, but enough to cause me to redden, squirming in my seat, cursing her as she smiled at me seductively over the table.

On a regular basis I would ask her how long she intended to continue my ordeal. Sometimes she would ignore the question, changing the subject instantly.

At other times she would claim that her friend had misplaced the keys.

In a more frank moment she confessed that she had no intentions of letting me out at all, given that her life had improved so dramatically since the belt had been installed. I explained that in order for her to enjoy this newfound contentment I was being forced to live through a personal physical and mental anguish every day.

She had shrugged, disinterested.

I had begun to feel used, humiliated, and small.

I had truly been emasculated.

I had begun to take on most of the housework, partially because it occupied my mind, but partially to please her. She held the key to my rescue, and I automatically fell into a pattern of maintaining her happiness.

She had expanded on her first violent pursuit of her elusive orgasm, realising my vulnerability and a passion to please her, and would occasionally make her satisfaction a long and lingering ritual, kissing me and sliding her tongue into my mouth, nibbling my ear lobe, sucking my nipples until I begged her to stop, close to tears.

She would spin round on the bed, kissing my feet before working her way up towards my thighs, her spread buttocks edging ever nearer to my face, in our early days a pre-cursor to the classic 69 position, during which I would normally have orgasmed into her mouth long before she had gained any sort of satisfaction.

On these occasions, however, she would continue to kiss my thighs before lowering herself onto my face with a moan of pleasure, kneading my legs with her sharp finger nails as she gyrated her hips across my face, whispering instructions, forcing me to flick my tongue across the round, puckered hole of her anus, beads of moisture collecting on her labia, before sinking her warm, soft flesh onto my pliant lips.

On these occasions I would leave a visible patch on the bed, a pool of glistening pre-cum, my caged cock twitching and pulsing fiercely, the moisture trickling from its end, leaking through the vent holes I had drilled and dripping onto the sheets.

By now two months had passed, and she had shown no signs of relenting. My eagerness to please her had secured my fate. However, I had one card left to play. During my research on the subject of chastity, I had read that it was dangerous in the extreme to prevent natural release of semen for more than three months. I showed her the report, my heart leaping at the thought of my pending release. She was loath to remove my belt, but at the same time she wasn’t prepared to risk my health, and promised to give the matter some thought. For several days I badgered about the idea, to no avail, and her regime of self-satisfaction showed no signs of relenting. In fact it increased, as I’m sure she was attempting to make the most of the situation before her newfound source of pleasure was lost.

On one particular evening my face was pushed under the quilt six times, a record even by her standards. That morning, the membrane of skin under my tongue ached unbearably as a result of my trying to thrust it still deeper into her sex in an attempt to finally satisfy her.

Then, the following night, disaster struck.

She had been especially amorous on this particular night, stroking me around the area of my belt until I was sure that something might explode, I had watched as she became more and more aroused, her nipples brushing my belly as she gyrated her sex provocatively in front of my face. I watched as a tiny bead of fluid left her lips, adding to the collection of moisture that had left the wispy hairs around her slit sticking to her thighs.

I had never felt so aroused. My head spinning as he trailed her fingernails over my thighs, moaning slightly as she offered up her sex for my attention. The pain in my testicles was becoming unbearable, I was a moment away from pushing her away, leaping in the shower and sending jets of tepid water into the inside of my cage. The pain intensified throbbed, and then transferred itself to my cock, as if a hot needle was being thrust down its centre.

It began to throb, insistently, the pain intensifying.

I let out a moan, almost sob, and sensing what was happening, she bit down vindictively on my thigh, sinking her teeth into the flesh viciously, instantly transferring all sensation to the area round her mouth.

I screamed, my cries muffled by her labia, as she planted them firmly across my open mouth.

In a moment it was over. I sank back, my rigid body relaxing, the dull ache in the bit mark across my thigh overriding all other sensations.

I sat up, pushing her to one side, confused, dizzy, and a little nauseous.

“I...I... think something’s happened...” I began stuttering.

Turning round to face me, kneeling between my outstretched legs she smiled.

“You’ve come darling,” she informed, rubbing her fingertip into the gelatinous mess that was leaking from my belt.

“But I didn’t feel….”

“Shame!” she intoned, still smiling,

“Did we not enjoy our orgasm then?” she continued sarcastically, still trailing her finger through my semen.

“It hurt, and you bit my leg, I couldn’t feel…It didn’t…”

I trailed off, tears beginning to prick my eyes.

It was true. Unbelievably, the blessed release I had waited for for two months had occurred without me knowing it. The pain of the thick stagnant semen coursing through my cock, coupled with her timely bite, had meant that I had missed the whole event.

I had wanted to feel it, to see it, to watch my cock pulsate with life, to succumb to the deep pleasure as I spurted my frustration into her mouth in hot thick streams. I had wanted her to massage my turgid swollen balls, milking the last drops of semen from my proud cock with her hand, licking the salty mess from its tip, smiling lovingly as she swallowed the last few drops. Instead I had felt nothing but pain. Worse still, although the physical pain in my body had abated a fraction, the frustration and desperation I felt constantly was still there.

Although the physical pressure had abated slightly, the mental pressure was still as strong as ever. “Still Darling, there’s one good thing to come out of all this” she whispered, gently. I looked up, my eyes met hers. I could see the undisguised delight etched all over her face

“At least another two or three months until we have to talk about removing your belt again”