tagFetishThe Chastity Belt

The Chastity Belt


My name is Tim, I am an engineer, and at the time of writing this I am 32.

Having digested the few tales I have read on this and other sites relating to chastity belts and forced orgasm denial, I feel compelled to write with reference to my own experience in this field.

I had imagined that this topic would have been much more widely written about and discussed, but apart from the few well known sites that exist, it seems a rare and largely ignored subject

I have been interested in power exchange, forced sexual deprivation and its effects for many years, and find its nature much more specific to bdsm than any other. By its very essence, intentionally depriving another human being of their natural bodily release (and revelling in it) is a more powerful and intrusive activity than any other action within the sphere of ‘alternative’sexuality.

I think the subject remains typically unexplored by most couples due to a simple lack of understanding of the strength of a male’s sexual urge.

Woman cannot comprehend the all encompassing, soul wrenching need a man can experience if forced in some way to abstain from orgasm (I’m generalising I know, but this is not intended to be a lesson in sexual sociology), and the majority of men have never been placed in a position for any length of time at which they have been unable to relieve themselves when necessary. It’s too easy, an innocuous trip to the toilet, and a few hurried strokes, and the built up tension is released. For most men it is habit, an almost unconscious reaction.

For many years I would treat this activity as part of my morning ritual: toilet, shower masturbate, get dressed.

Masturbation is wholly different to sex. The stimulus is different, the sensation different, the motive different.

It was usual for me to have sex with my wife, walk into the shower with a flaccid, spent member (or so she believed) and still enjoy my morning masturbation without any problems.

Women on the other hand (again I’m generalising) will tend to make much more of a meal of the issue, those who have chosen to correspond with me in the past as a result of fiction I have had published, have spoken to me of sessions lasting up to an hour, of hand mirrors, of lotions, of sex toys, etc etc.

So I suppose this piece is being written to explain the reaction forced abstinence can have on the individual, for those women who wish to know more about the effects it has on a man, and for those men who wonder what it must be like, but have never had the will power or the inclination to try.

It is only when something is taken away that we realise its value, and this cliché could not be more fitting than when applied to chastity belts. I could not have imagined the internal torment I would experience, or the way in which it warped and twisted my moods, attitudes and general behaviour.

For those readers who smoke, and have ever attempted to stop, I could liken the physical feelings to those felt when trying to give up. But much, much worse. The frustration, the tightness in the chest, all exist from the very instant you are denied the privilege of orgasm.

The feelings don’t go; they come in waves, sometimes worse than others. Worse still, the waves come in a chain reaction.

You develop an erection so you feel the instinctive need to react to it; you are unable to physically react to it, which perpetuates the erection. Your body automatically conjures up sexual imagery in an attempt to encourage you to satiate your natural bodily function, which in turn frustrates you more.

During my period of chastity, I could maintain an un-touched, un stimulated erection for over three hours, usually at night, during which time I would sweat, grind my armoured genitals into the mattress in the hope of gaining enough friction to satiate the burning desire in the pit of my stomach, toss and turn, trying to find a position in which I was un-aware of the throbbing, pulsating feeling between my thighs until exhaustion took over, until I would fall into a troubled sleep.

All this would take place while my wife laid beside me, either watching with amusement, or berating me for fidgeting, insisting I should sleep downstairs if I continued.

In these enlightened times, it is commonplace to see women attired in little less than a couple of handkerchiefs, and under some circumstances, transparent handkerchiefs. As men, we have built up a semi immune system to this display of sexuality, accepting it as normal, and becoming no more aroused than a Victorian gentleman would have become excited over the flash of ladies ankle.

For the male held in chastity this is not so, I would find myself transfixed by the glimpse of a thigh, appearing briefly through the slit in skirt.

I would become aroused beyond measure by the sight of a tightly fitting top and the slightest flirtatious sexual reference would leave me gasping for air, the tightly wound spring in my gut being turned one more notch every time.

Its not that I imagined myself sleeping with, or in any way being intimate with the girl I happened to have seen, more that I was aroused quite simply by the beauty of the sight, the womanliness and femininity of the person that I had observed.

The inhibitive nature of the device I was wearing prevented my subconscious from imagining anything more, all hidden agendas were removed.

The other interesting facet to my experience was the complete removal of any aggressive traits I may have had prior to my being locked up. I am not referring to physicals aggression, as I have never been a violent person in thought or deed. I am referring to the inability to be argumentative, conceited, difficult, and self-opinionated.

It seemed that almost instantly, the desperate sexual need I felt had overridden all of these elements in my character, almost in the way a dog’s behaviour changes after it has been castrated.

I instantly became much more tolerant, more accepting, and the little things I had in the past allowed to annoy me suddenly became much more tolerable.

As a psychological experiment it was very revealing, to say the least.

Without any prompting, I instantly became more attentive, sedate, and helpful in all aspects of my life, ironic when you consider the cauldron of burning emotion that was ever present in my conscious.

Perhaps (and I am not a psychologist) it was the removal of the primeval instincts that exist in all our minds.

Perhaps without ever being aware of it, we see all women as a potential conquest, and all men as a sexual threat.

With the ability to exercise our own sexuality removed, these threats become irrelevant, and it is possible finally to inter-react with members of both sexes without an inbred, primeval instinct ruling our personality.

As with all emotions and feelings, it is difficult to express in our crude, limited vocabulary the actual feelings and emotions I was undergoing, vastly superior writers to me have tried and failed, but I hope that in writing this I can convey something of the experience.

I hope that I am able to explain to the un-initiated the all-encompassing implications that chastity has on ones life, and that it is not purely a sexual kink. (Although that’s how it started!)

This is not a tale of straps and whips (although we had experimented briefly with them!) nor is it the technical specification of the device I was wearing. There are many other pieces of writing around that cover that particular angle.

I should also point out that at no time have I been encouraged to wear women’s clothes, been lent to any of my wife’s friends or been forced to participate in homosexual activity.

Again, there are plenty of tales on the net covering those issues.


I suppose the story begins with my finding the Internet.

It is a marvellous (and sometimes dangerous) tool that allows you to gather a wealth of information on any topic, allowing you to expand areas of specific interest that you had previously discarded as spent.

I found myself trawling through page upon page of material, not all sexual, astounded by the wealth of knowledge and relation of experiences by other people who held similar experiences and views as myself.

Initial, this newfound enlightenment led to our experimenting with handcuffs and sex toys, my imagination fired by the information and images I was viewing.

After a while this petered out, and it seemed a natural progression to begin devouring the sites that dealt with power exchange and more subtle domination.

I kept this penchant secret from my wife, quickly clicking to another page when she approached lest she discover my secret. As a practical man, ever willing to accept a challenge, I decided to attempt to build a foolproof chastity belt in my workshop.

I had access to almost every imaginable tool, and for some considerable time I put in a lot of ‘overtime’ hammering, shaping and experimenting.

I finally managed to create a device that achieved the level of security that I felt was necessary for a successful project.

You must bear in mind, that the very dedicated nature that had led me to construct the belt in the first place, would also be the nature that forced me to test its security to its limits, and so was forced to build it from the most impenetrable materials possible.

Eventually, the finished article was complete. Constructed from mild steel, I had coated it with plastic to avoid excessive friction against the skin, and had taken the time to ensure that every possible means of dismantling the product was hidden inside when it was worn.

I still believe (although I never tried) that the only way to remove it was to cut it off with an angle-grinder; this operation being so inherently dangerous that it would have caused inevitable and serious injury to the wearer. The padlock was recessed into the front panel of the device, and the rest of the steel belts were held so tight against my skin that the amount of heat generated in cutting them would have ensured the cutting process would have been incredibly lengthy, let alone the fact that it would have impossible to complete the cut without lacerating the skin beneath and around the working area.

I would have been able to perhaps file it off, but the time taken would have been immeasurable.

Apart from its weight, the device was reasonable comfortable, if a little hot at times, and on the few trial occasions I wore it for a short time, it proved easy to wear, and simple to conceal. Toilet functions were impaired slightly, the device forcing the wearer to sit down for both operations, and the application of a shower hose through the small vent holes was necessary to maintain hygiene. Other than that, I was quite impressed with my ingenuity.

It was difficult to know how to proceed next.

I couldn’t very well plonk it on the dinner table; ours was not that sort of relationship. I had to introduce the idea gradually.

My wife is computer illiterate, and wouldn’t begin to know how to use my pc, but she was always keen for me to print out some of the funnier e-mails I received from my network of computer –owning friends.

One evening, after a few too many drinks, I printed a sheaf of them out for her to read, and in doing so printed out a letter that I had spotted on the altairboy site. It was from a woman who claimed to have ‘locked’ her husband, and found him to be a changed person, attentive, well mannered, caring, and attentive to the extreme in the bedroom.

After the first initial flush of eroticism, I had long since orally satisfied my wife, so I knew this would spark her attention.

She didn’t mention the letter to me, nor did her mood change after reading it. It was few days later that by chance I heard her talking abut the subject to her friend. I didn’t catch the gist of the conversation, but the fact that she had seen fit to remember it and broach the topic with her friend was significant.

It was a couple of weeks later that the subject arose once more. We were out on one of our (rare) nights out, and she accused me of leering at other women in the bar. I have to confess, she was absolutely right, I had spent most of the evening transfixed by several blonde girls sat on the other side of the room.

All men do it; some are better at disguising it than others. I denied this of course, almost automatically.

“I ought to get one of those belts for you”

she muttered angrily.

Seizing the opportunity, I informed her that while I had been building our whips and other toys (all our bondage equipment had been hand made) I had built a chastity belt, ‘just for a laugh’

“Ill be putting you in it soon!”

she returned, jokingly, her anger dissipating. When we got home I got the device out of the shed to show her.

Shaking her head in disbelief she briefly examined the object, almost as if she was loath to touch it.

As she turned on her side, slightly drunk, I put the belt on the floor at the side of the bed, slightly disappointed that he had not asked me to personally demonstrate it. The exercise had obviously been a waste of time.

I could not have been more wrong. The way in which my wife makes decisions has never failed to amaze me.

At almost two in the morning she woke me up, gently caressing me with her hand. “Perhaps you should try it on, darling” she purred in my ear. Rousing myself from sleep, slightly bewildered by her sudden enthusiasm, I did as she asked, pointing out the aspects of it I was most proud of, describing the methods I had used to weld its parts together I pushed my still semi-erect cock into the relevant housing before snapping the front shut and removing the key. “See” I crowed, “impossible to get into.” She raised her eyebrow questioningly, and I explained how difficult it would be to remove. Seemingly satisfied with my assurances, she popped the keys in her bedside drawer and turned over once more, stretching her arm out behind her back and resting her hand on my inner thigh, just below the plastic coating of my belt. Ordinarily, her hand on my inner thigh would have done little to arouse me, (our sex life had waned considerably over the years), but under these circumstances, I found myself becoming stiff in seconds, or at least as stiff as the constrictive belt would allow.

It took some considerable time for me to sleep that evening, despite the alcohol I had consumed, and I was relieved when she removed her hand, allowing me to try and focus on something else in an attempt to diffuse the yearning I felt.

For almost an hour my erection stayed, pulsating almost to the point of pain, but finally I managed to doze off, awakened at intervals by the unfamiliar sensation of the warm plastic around my waist.

The next morning I awoke with the stereotypical erection, remembering instantly my predicament, and turning to my wife to request the return of the keys, realised she was gone. After searching at length for the keys, my cock still throbbing in its steel housing, I reluctantly gave up and had a shower, even at this early stage doubting my own sanity in suggesting this ludicrous idea. With hindsight, this is just another example of how much we men value our frequent, valueless orgasms. I had spent weeks preparing the moment, but in possession of an erection, was quite ready to abandon the whole idea for a thirty second wank.

It was several hours before she returned, grinning from ear to ear, explaining me that she had taken the keys a friend’s house and asked her to keep them indefinitely. I listened horrified, immediately asking her to retrieve them.

Like an addict without his fix, I was prepared to try almost anything to remedy the situation and satiate the burning in my cock. My testicles had begun to ache into the bargain by now, causing a dull ache in the base of my back, so putting as much authority in my voice as I could muster, I demanded she go back and claim the keys. It was no use. Her mind was made.

For almost two years our sex life had consisted of a two minute coupling twice a week. No foreplay, no affection. We, (or perhaps I should say I) had descended into a routine that had left me satisfied on each and every occasion, and left her frustrated and feeling used.

She had referred to this taboo topic before, never quite as explicitly, but now she happily elaborated on the subject.

She wanted me to know how it felt to be left wanting.

As simple as that.

I couldn’t believe she had ever been left feeling quite as desperate as I felt now, but through the overbearing feelings of sexual tension, I felt a pang of guilt.

If she had felt a tenth as unfulfilled as I felt now I could easily sympathise with her. My rational comments, the impracticalities of the situation I raised, none of these swayed her. Her mind was set.

And that’s how it started.

It took the rest of the weekend for me to come to terms with the fact that she had decided to deprive me of my manhood indefinitely (she maintained she hadn’t decided how long to make me ‘suffer’, as she put it).

It was impossible for me to be angry with her. Aside from the fact the whole thing had originally been my idea; she had a perfectly legitimate reason for continuing my ordeal. She claimed not to have had more than a handful of orgasms in the last two years or so, and all of those had been exclusively as a result of her own masturbation. Besides, it is not easy to become angry and sexually aroused at the same time.

It is a common fact that a mans sexual drive builds to an uncontrollable fever pitch up until the moment of ejaculation, and then disappears in the twinkling of an eye.

Any man honest enough will tell you that the first thing he wants to do after sex is go to sleep, his needs met.

I had not had this privilege in almost seven days, and by now sleep was the last thing on my mind.

The strangest feelings were beginning to germinate in my brain. This is difficult to explain in a way that makes sense but I shall try.

I was full of sexual impulse. Had she consented to release me, even after my short period of imprisonment, I would have ripped the end off my cock in my eagerness to relieve myself, instantly reverting to my old, sexually selfish self.

However, this possibility being unlikely to arise, I was left with a sex drive that knew no bounds, and no-where for this over-flowing emotion to disperse itself. Whilst it offered no personal physical gratification, and would only serve to exacerbate my situation, I found myself wanting to sexually please my wife in ways that I had long since abandoned as tiresome or mildly offensive.

Perhaps it was partly a need to prove my masculinity by satiating her desires, the need to leave her panting and spent, and in some way feel I had won a victory.

Perhaps I felt that in pleasuring her in this way, I was proving that I was still capable of having sex, and whilst not actually penetrating her, was still capable of engaging in a sex act, however one sided.

Perhaps my philosophy was ‘one of us might as well enjoy an orgasm, even if its not me’

I’m not sure which of these was true; maybe all of them, I just had an unnatural, overwhelming desire to please my wife at my own expense.

Towards the end of that weekend, during which (to my wife’s great amusement) I had spent most of my time pacing the house, trying to find odd jobs to focus my mind away from the almost permanent surging in my pelvis, the inevitable happened.

Having shared a couple of bottles of wine we went to bed, at which point my wife became amorous to say the least.

She rolled across me, straddling her legs across my hips, putting her hands either side of my shoulders and letting her hair fall into my face.

She began to grind her pubis into the plate of my belt, starting lightly and then harder, violently bucking against the plastic coating of the lock housing.

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