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 cliche 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.
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"
