The Chastity Sack

She kept sewing. When she reached my neck, she leaned over my body and started sewing the top edges of the sheet on the other side of my head.

"Klara?" I reminded her that she hadn't answered me.

"Kuisheid zak. I don't know in auslander vords," she responded but sounded a little exasperated. "It ist zak to sleep in."

"A sleeping bag?"

"Maybe. I know nicht 'sleeping bag.' It ist ... It ist ... Ve have young daughters here. It ist tradition. Ye must nicht sleep here mit-aus dee zak," she finally ran through her explanation abruptly.

She reached my neck on the other side and moved to begin sewing down the open side. She pulled the sides together and stitched very close to my arm, causing the "bag" to press tightly in against my body. Obviously, my arms were not meant to be on the outside.

"Kuisheid is ven ye have nicht sex," she tried to clarify.

Well that pretty much summed up my life. Maybe I should really pay attention to this; it seemed pretty appropriate. ... Hmmm ... What about ... "Virginity?" I offered.

"Ney, I know dis vord. It ist nicht dat. It ist ven ye must have nicht sex."

Okay then, marriage? No, too cynical. ... Oh! "Chastity," I said triumphantly.

"Maybe, I know nicht dis vord." She kept sewing.

Well, wasn't this quaint? The material got continually snugger around my body as her stitching moved further down. I began to wonder if ... "Hey!" I had a realization. "You don't need to do this," I informed her. "I'm not going to have sex with your daughters. I'm not some kind of pervert or predator, you know."

She kept sewing.

After a while, she eventually got to the bottom and finished sealing the lower edges of the sheet. Boy, this was a lot of trouble to go through. Maybe this is why the Tannerites don't have hotels.

When she finished, she repacked her sewing kit and placed it on the washstand, and then she grabbed my arms and rolled me onto my back. I felt like a mummy. ... No, I felt like a shroud-swaddled body about to be committed to the sea for burial – slipped from the aft deck into the murky, churning waters ... churning ... water ... splashing ... soaking ... Uh, oh! I had a problem. "Klara?"

Klara sat down on the bed beside me and placed her hand gently on my chest. I think she felt comforted that I was now covered and under control, although the sheet was sewn so tight to me that the outline of my penis was clearly profiled under it. "It ist tight, but ye vill sleep goede," she re-assured me.

"Klara? I have a problem."

"Ya. Vat ist dee problem?"

"I have to pee," I informed her. She scrunched up her nose to indicate that she didn't understand. "I have to urinate," I clarified. She looked at me again blankly, and then her eyes widened with comprehension. "Ye must pass wasser?" she asked with some foreboding. I nodded my head.

She rose slowly from the bed, surveyed her handiwork and assessed the implications of my statement. Then she went to her sewing basket, got out a pair of scissors and slowly sauntered back to the bed, somewhat dismayed but also lost in thought. When she arrived back, her eyes widened. "Kein problem. Kom."

She rolled me onto my side and climbed onto the bed over my body. She pulled sideways on the sheet. It resisted her effort, but with more pulling, it slowly slid around my body. She pulled again until the stitching was mid-line of my front, and then she stopped. Inserting an arm under my neck, she helped me to sit up, and then she swung my legs over the side. Jumping off the bed, she stood in front of me, towering over my seated cocooned body, with scissors in her hand. ... Boy, this was a trust situation if I had ever seen one.

She got down on her knees and reached into my lap for a piece of the seam. Pulling it away from my body, she snipped at the stitches with the scissors. A small hole appeared, which she carefully widened, but she seemed reluctant to start ripping the sheet apart. I thought that she was just trying to avoid the inevitability of it. Surely, this bag would have to come off, if I was going to relieve myself. ... Come on, sister, grit your teeth and start ripping.

However, when she had made a shot-glass-sized hole, she stopped, and then she reached under the bed and pulled out a large bowl – a bedpan actually – which she placed on the bed beside me. Well, I wasn't understanding this. What contortions did she think I was capable of to relieve myself through that little hole into that pan over there without the use of my hands or legs. I couldn't even slide my arm inside the bag to get at my penis in order to push it out through the hole.

But Klara wasn't through. She jumped up onto the bed and moved around behind me. Then she reached around my side and ... oh my goodness ... pushed a thumb and finger into the hole. She fished around a bit and finally found my fleshy hose. Pinching its base, she drew it out through the hole. ... Mmmm, that felt good. ... Then, she grabbed it with her hand and pulled along it a few times to ensure it was fully deployed. ... Mmmm! ... It felt great sliding through her hand, and I thought that she should consider checking it for a while longer so that I could really relieve myself.

Leaning over and grabbing the bedpan with her other hand, she positioned it in my lap and then adjusted the angle of my penis as if she were elevating a mortar to fire over the rim of the pan. This clearly was not going to work. When she thought that she had is right, she looked at me for concurrence, but I just shook my head. "I think I need to be standing," I offered.

Klara put the pan back down and helped me to my feet. I teetered a bit because my bound legs did not offer me a very wide stance, but I settled into position. She got off the bed and stood beside me. Holding the pan about thigh level with one hand, she pointed my penis towards it with the other hand ... and waited.

Damn it. She had me thinking about it too much, and now I was pee shy. And how awkward was this, standing like a mummy with my dick pushed through a hole and a woman holding it at a bedpan? I feared that I might not be able to do it at all now.

We waited. ... She held the penis with a thumb and two fingers. It was curious that she was not too timid to touch it now. I guessed that she was rationalizing it as some kind of first aid or something. ... We waited. ... Her hand started to pull gently along my penis's length. Oh, don't do that. Did she think she was milking a cow? It felt great, but if I got hard, we would be there all night. Of course, that might not be such a bad idea. My cock jumped at the thought, and she stopped her milking immediately. ... We waited. ... Running water, running water, running water, ...

Finally, I felt the cue. I bore down on my bladder to get things going, just as ... no, don't ... just as she moved the bowl away to adjust her stance. No, no, no, don't do that. I was beyond the point of aborting the operation. "The bowl!" I cried out to warn her, but it was too late. The stream hit her sleeve. She yelped and brought the bedpan over in a split second. Focusing on the spraying hose, she positioned it to hit its mark. She had recovered well after that initial shot.

It felt strange and exciting to have her little fingers holding onto my penis as pee streamed through it. She was moving it ever so slightly from side to side, and I suspected that she was playing with it a bit. I shouldn't have been thinking those things, because it made me firmer to do so. Finally, I was done, and she shook the last drops off the tip. And then she shook it again. And then she shook it again. And then ... mmmmm ... she squeezed her fingers together and pushed them up my shaft. ... Wow! Good ending.

Klara set the bedpan down and pulled on my sheet at the hole so that my penis retracted back inside. Then she helped me sit back down on the edge of the bed. As I swung my legs up and reclined, I watched her hurry over to the basin and rinse out her sleeve. She seemed pretty concerned about it. She dipped the stain in the wash water and rubbed frantically, but she didn't seem satisfied with the outcome. Eventually, she grabbed the sewing kit and bedpan in a huff and hustled out of the room. In her haste, she left the oil lamp lit – I guess she was pretty distracted.

*** Sneaking In ***

Lying on my back in my mummy wrap, I stared up at the ceiling and listened, as the silence of the house pressed in around me. With the lamp left burning, I was not likely to drift off to sleep easily.

I speculated whether she would be coming back and doubted the possibility. That exit had had a lot of finality to it. If not, I wondered when I was going to be freed from my binding ... emerging from my cocoon, transformed metaphorically into my more evolved butterfly self ... Sorry, got carried away there. ... And what if I had to go to the bathroom again? I got the impression that she would not be as likely to help me out a second time.

I puffed my body out to see how strong the material and stitching were. ... Pretty strong. ... Unfortunately, being so tightly bound, I couldn't get any leverage, and so I concluded that I wasn't going anywhere. I exhaled in exasperation, "Whooooofff ..."

"Whooooofff," came an echo from across the room. An echo? I looked quickly over at the door. Leaning against the frame was the older daughter. With her mouth widened into a huge, toothy grin and her eyes wrinkled into a giggly squint, she seemed pretty pleased with herself at mimicking me. What a sweetie! Her arms were casually crossed behind her back, and just beneath the hem of her long white nightgown, one of her bare feet was casually rubbing up and down the inside of her other calf.

Pushing off the door frame, she took a long look down the hall and then, convinced that no one was about, entered the room and closed the door. She skipped across the room and sat down on the bed beside me, giving me another "aren't I adorable" grin. And in fact, she was. She acted younger and more spritely than I would have expected for her age, and her skin was rosy, flawless and glowing.

As great a fantasy as this was becoming, a visual image of her father skewering me on his pitchfork flashed in my mind. Time to nip this little adventure in the bud. "What are you doing in here?" I asked, trying to sound stern.

"Shhh ..." the girl replied, bringing an index finger to her lips.

Boy, she looked pretty cute doing that, and her fingers looked so thin and delicate for a farm girl, and her lips looked so soft when they pressed against her finger, and her eyes ... No! Pitchfork, pitchfork, pitchfork ... "You shouldn't be in here," I suggested strongly.

This time, she pressed her finger against my lips, and with her eyebrows arched up innocently, she shook her head from side to side to insist on my silence. I gave in.

Her hand moved from my mouth to my cheek, where it slid lightly across my skin, almost adoringly. At my ear, a fingertip traced delicately around its sensitive outer edge and then followed the chin back to my mouth. The very end of a fingernail followed the ticklish outline of my lips, and then the finger gently compressed against the lips until it pushed between them and withdrew with a light smack. The girl was mesmerized by her exploration.

She turned her head and scanned down my encased body, noting the profile of the growing bulge midway. Then she looked back at me and bit her lower lip impishly – she had evil on her mind. ... Not good, not good.

Her hand started just under my throat and glided across my chest. It explored for my left nipple and, finding a sensitive area, rubbed it through the sheet until the hardened bud pushed up firmly under the material. A fingertip fiddled with it over and over until an electric, ticklish sensation seared into my breast and caused me to squirm. This encouraged her to do the same thing to the other side. Her finger vibrated rapidly above my other erect little nub, continually grazing it with a fingertip until another sizzling jolt penetrated me. She seemed to enjoy making me squirm without fear of retaliation or escape.

Her hand moved slowly down my centerline to my stomach and then my abdomen and then my waist and then ... it stopped. We both knew where it was headed. Looking down at my face, she nodded her head and raised her eyebrows questioningly, as if to ask for permission to proceed. I shook my head vigorously – this was getting out of control, and she needed to stop. She moved her hand down anyways until a finger touched the head of my cock and stopped. She looked back at me and again nodded her request to continue, and again, I shook my denial of permission. She pouted and shook her head to mimic me but moved her hand down nevertheless so that another finger rested on my penis. She lowered her face close to mine and nodded again, but before I could even futilely respond, she had lowered her hand and gained further access. Then she coyly opened her mouth in a mock "oh-no" gesture and slid her hand fully over my cock. Geez, this was a tease!

I squirmed my lower body out of the way and rolled onto my side away from her. I wasn't going anywhere, but I had to take a stand. Eventually, her face loomed over my shoulder and presented itself to my sideways turned face. She let out a fake little sigh of exasperation and, with very little effort, rolled me onto my back again. Then, she waggled her finger at me and shook her head in mock disapproval.

Her hand and her attention returned to my cock, and she started to feel all over it and my balls. I didn't think she was trying to arouse me; instead, I thought that she just wanted to take the opportunity to explore – and explore she did. Fingers travelled up and down the sides of my shaft and along its underside and over my head and around my balls. It was getting too stimulating, and I was growing by the minute. Little thrills were occasionally running down my cock and into my spine, and I feared that she might accidentally find an especially erogenous location that would send me out of control. I tried to move a hand over to cover myself, but I couldn't make any headway against the tight sheet. I suddenly felt very restrained and claustrophobic ... and helpless.

Her fingers danced lightly over my increasingly sensitive member, and my arousal kept building and building. Finally, a little moan escaped from the back of my throat. I couldn't help it, and it was a tactical error on my part. On hearing my moan, she looked at me in surprise, suddenly realizing that she had been stimulating me.

With a little boost of energy, she hopped up onto her knees on the bed beside me and leaned over my face. Her nose was only a few inches from my nose, and her eyes stared intently into mine. Then she returned her hand to its previous activity, tracing and tickling and caressing and rubbing, trying to recreate my reaction. She ran a finger and thumb down either side of my shaft, and then squeezed and toyed with my balls, and then ran a fingertip up the underside of my cock to trace a few laps around the tip, and then lay her palm on top of my penis and pushed a long, steady stroke down its length.

I tried ... I really tried to show no emotion, but that last stroke was too much. I moaned throughout its push, and she inhaled sharply in surprise as soon as she heard me. The corners of her mouth went up, and she tried the stroke again and then again. Oh my gawd, what would happen in the morning if I were to make a mess in the sheet tonight? This was getting dangerous. "Hmmmphfff!!!" I groaned on the last stroke, and when I opened my eyes, I saw a bright twinkle in her eyes and a huge grin on her lips. I was totally in her control.

I thought it was all over at that point. She had my number. A few more well-applied strokes and I'd be cumming like a spitting cobra. In the morning, the mother would find me wallowing in the cum-soaked evidence and would run around the house madly shrieking some Dutch-German alarm. The father would burst in, pitchfork already in hand, and impale me with a single, well-practised thrust, using the cum stain as an improvised bull's-eye. Then, with my corpse conveniently pre-bound in a body bag, the family would casually toss me in the back of their horse-and-buggy like a sack of potatoes, trot me out to some open-faced pit down the lane, and roll me down its side to fall amongst the other bags of unfortunate auslanders who had also violated their customs. The film loop ran over and over in my mind – cum, scream, stab, toss ... cum, scream, stab, toss, ... but all of a sudden she stopped.

I unclenched my eyes and looked into her face. She was still staring at me, and she still had that devilish sparkle in her eyes, but she seemed to be pondering something. Her features softened, and she bent forward slowly. The tip of her nose slid down the side of my nose as her mouth approached mine. Her lips sucked in a bit of my upper lip and then released it. Then they grabbed the side of my lower lip and then let it go. She moved more over top of me and pressed both her lips onto mine. They were smooth and soft and pliable. She kissed me slowly several more times, experimenting with pressure and wetness and openness. She breathed into my mouth as she became more aroused.

At least if we were kissing, I would be less likely to make a life-threatening accident, so I relaxed and allowed myself to enjoy her. I stuck the tip of my tongue between her lips on one occasion, and it made her giggle. She must have thought I was fooling around. When I tried it a second time, she nipped it playfully with her front teeth and giggled again. She kissed me more forcefully for a few more minutes, and then, just as I was getting into it, she raised herself up and flashed me a big smirk. Bending to give me one last smacky kiss, she jumped off the bed and scurried out of the room.

Huh ... Well, that had been fun. But as much as I had wanted to stop the inappropriate intimacy earlier, I was now aroused and hard and unsatisfied. I couldn't win, but at least I stood a good chance of waking up unperforated in the morning.

*** Playing Around ***

Or did I speak too soon? Hearing a commotion, I looked up to see the younger daughter in the doorway. She was looking at me somewhat timidly but with wide eyes.

Pushed from behind, she lurched into the room and then turned to flee just as quickly but was stopped by her sister at the door. She tussled with her a bit to try and escape but failed, so she planted her back against her door guard and pushed, either to back them both out of the room or to minimize her presence there. She giggled with the effort and was shushed by her sibling, who whispered something in her ear. The younger girl's eyes widened, and she shook her head very definitely against the suggestion ... but the older girl seemed undeterred.

The older girl shoved her sister again, and despite the resistance of her feet scuttering on the floor, the two worked their way over to the bed. The younger one's mouth and eyes kept flashing signs of playful fear or nervous excitement as they neared.

At the edge of the bed, she received one last shove and toppled on top of me, her ponytail whipping around and hitting me in the face. She quickly rolled over to the far side of the bed, uncomfortable with our sudden close contact, and then raised herself up on her elbow.

The older girl laid down calmly on the nearer side of the bed and leaned on her arm next to my head. I was now surrounded. If the situation had been nearly out of control with the older girl's solo visit before, it seemed hopelessly dangerous with the two-some in attendance now. I looked fretfully from one sister to the other.

The older girl gave a "get on with it" nod in my direction to her sister, who shook her head in refusal. Undeterred, the older one, as if to encourage her, leaned down and gave me a soft sensual kiss on the lips, which smucked audibly at the end. She turned her head to check her sister for a reaction and saw that she was gaping in disbelief.