I went to the measurement room with Keith for the check-up, and there were no problems found. The top edges of my hips were a light red from the pressure, but not at all sore or distressed. I remembered the angry dark-red patches I had got from some of the previous belts we had tried. I looked in the mirror at my vulva, especially at the part that had been a problem before dinner the night before, and this was now looking and feeling the same as my hip: there was visible evidence of an even, gentle pressure but nothing unhealthy. I felt more confident in putting it back on.
At this time, I was asked to repeat the series of exercises to check my flexibility: bending, stretching, the splits, and so on. I certainly could feel no impediment to my movements, although the tops of my thighs slid along the under-side of the crotch plate at certain points. I was told that the measurements of my flexibility showed no significant differences.
After breakfast I had the first taste of exercise. Again, I chose the bicycle; I like cycling. I did the same steady exercise that I had done before during the measurements: a heart-rate of 120 beats per minute sustained for twenty minutes. I could feel the sweat under the belt, and expected some relative movement around the tops of the thighs. It was highly polished in this area with no rough edges, and there was no problem.
Apart from the excretion zones, the plastic was porous without being absorbent; a bit like a Goretex garment. This meant that the sweat did not accumulate in the skin-to-belt space and go stale; nor did it absorb into the material of the belt, which would soon have given problems. It was a plastic specially designed for orthopaedic purposes: artificial limbs, supports and prostheses, and it was designed for continuous wear against the skin. After resting for an hour. I felt quite comfortable despite not having had a shower.
Soon I had my first defecation with it on. The surround of the rear orifice was of a non-absorbent material to prevent problems with faeces becoming absorbed. This was easy to clean, and indeed very little got onto it. Nothing got under the crotch-plate, which had been a problem with several previous belts. Again, this first time was supervised in case of problems. The girl held a mirror for me to check on my cleaning, and then took the appliance off to let me check inside for hygiene problems. I was steadily gaining in confidence with it. There was an incredible amount of care and thought in the design.
After lunch, I rested a while and then did the vigorous exercise: a sprint to 180 beats per minute for 30 seconds. Again there was no problem found.
After this, I had a bath, partly to learn the technique of drying the appliance. I tried splashing water in through the urine hole as this had had an arousing effect with a previous appliance I had used. I could not get it to cause me any stimulation at all. Drying it took a little time as a dry towel had to be pressed and held against the belt for a while to absorb all of the water from the porous material. I was told that wrapping my loins in a dry towel, or wearing a towelling robe for twenty minutes or so would normally do the trick.
Then it was time for my first session with the spikes. I had become relaxed wearing the belt, and I no longer found it an automatic cause of arousal, but I had been very aroused a lot of the time and had become somewhat relaxed about clenching, and was starting to like the sensation of the sudden 'give' as the outer plates moved inwards in response to my clench. So I was a bit anxious about this. I took the belt off as instructed. The Inaccessible Man moved the catch over, putting some dye marker on the spike tips as he did so. I put it back on, making sure to relax deeply as I did so.
The Inaccessible Man had me lie back in a reclining chair. "Close your eyes, relax, and think back to an event you described in our interview. You told me about an event where you were wearing a chastity belt that prevented you from touching yourself. You had been without orgasm despite trying for nearly two weeks. You told me about coming very close to orgasm, and wanting to come but you could not do it. Remember that time, and tell me about it again, but this time in more detail. Tell me all about what you were feeling, what you were thinking."
I took a deep breath. How to begin? It is strange, looking back on it that I had already forgotten the belt and the spikes and the threat that they posed. I seemed focused only on The Inaccessible Man and on the question he required me to answer.
"Keith likes to know when I get really frustrated and close to orgasm without actually coming, and he had been asking me to describe how I had found not touching myself. I had tried to describe to him how I needed the conflict between the wanting and the denial of pleasure, and how this conflict seemed to me to be a pleasure in itself. I was mouthing him, and would stop and tell him how I felt. But what I was telling him was different from my real feelings; what I was telling him was designed for his pleasure: what he needed to think for his arousal and pleasure.
"For me, deep inside: I relished the conflict. I had an instinct, a bodily need, that said to me: let yourself climax; let it happen; it is easy, just do it! But I also had another me, on a different plane. This me said: don't let yourself go; the easy way carries no real satisfaction; just think how you'll feel if you spoil the record you have built up; deny yourself - that is the real test; master your instincts, overcome them; prove yourself to be above all that; be strong! And the thing that is magic for me is not the winning of that fight, nor the losing, in effect these are both unsatisfying in their own way; rather it is the conflict itself that gives the greatest pleasure. And the stronger and deeper that conflict becomes, the better it is for me. One day, I hope to reach the point where that conflict reaches a certain extremity of intensity. I know the feeling I am trying to reach although I don't know how I know it. I know I have never got there yet, but my ambition is to let that feeling rise and rise in intensity until AAAAAaaarrrgh!"
A spontaneous clench at the height of intensity had caused the spikes to but in and destroy my rise towards orgasm. I had to hold back my clenches, requiring a supreme effort of will, until the feeling and need at last subsided.
At last he took off my belt and inspected the place. Using a mirror, he showed me the dye-marks on my flesh that the spikes had made. He probed to check that both sides had hit precisely the right spot; I was certain that they had, and he confirmed this. He put the catch over again into the disengaged position, and I put the belt back on.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Shattered. Shocked. That is not what I want."
"I know. But when you have fully learned, and you hold it deep in your mind that that pain will happen every time, but you can stop it by stopping the arousal short of that point, then the thing you do want can occur."
"I know that. Hold me, Keith, I want to cry for a little while." I sobbed on his shoulder, and this shortly turned into a hug of love.
Day 4: A Testing Time
There were no more checks or tests until after dinner when I was called into the measuring room again. Again the spikes were engaged. This time, there was no immediate discussion of my fantasies or attempts to get me aroused. Instead, The Inaccessible Man brought in the girl I had met before, the girl who had been wearing a belt like mine.
"You've met before?"
"I don't know your name," I said.
"Shirley," she said.
"I would like you," said The Inaccessible Man, "if you would, to perform a small service for her. To remove her appliance, and to move the catch that disengages the spikes so that she will be able to reach orgasm. Also, whilst the belt is off, to carefully clean both it and her pubic area. Do you want to be plucked, Shirley?"
"Yes please, Sir."
"Would you be willing to do that, Miranda?"
It felt a bit strange to be asked to do this for an almost total stranger, but I said, "all right."
He handed me the key. I undid the lock and took the appliance off. It was almost exactly the same as my own. Once it was off, she settled back on the couch, with her bottom over the edge. A bowl of warm water, soap and a cloth were brought and I started to wash her.
"Did you ever have, or try to have, an orgasm dream, a wet dream, whilst wearing it, Shirley?" asked The Inaccessible Man.
"Yes, Sir, that usually starts to happen after about ten weeks of wear. It happens about two or three times usually before I have the spikes disengaged. The most recent was three nights ago."
"What do you usually dream about when this happens?" there was a small accumulation of smegma-like dead skin in the matted pubic hair and I was just gently soaping it and teasing it out.
"Oh, dear, many different things. This last time, I dreamt that I had my chastity belt on and I had met another girl wearing one, (it was a girl I had been at school with), and she wanted me and I wanted her, and we were naked except for the chastity belts. We kissed and played with each other's breasts, and we wanted to do more, but the belts were in the way, so we just stroked each other's bellies and breasts and got tremendously aroused. We were daring each other to get more and more aroused but to stop just short of clenching. We were getting off on the terrible conflict we were creating in each other. We each wanted to see if the other would break first, would feel the pain first. We were licking and kissing each other until, simultaneously, we felt the spikes of the belts cut in. I woke up then."
"And what does it feel like when you are woken up by this pain from a wet dream that is thwarted before the climax? What do you feel and think afterwards?"
"Mostly, I find the wearing of this belt a challenge, a means for me to exert my own will. But it is the deepest and most intense frustration to be thwarted from a wet dream. The body has reached a state of the most extreme desperation for such a dream to happen, and when it does not, I feel like there is no hope, no way out. Then I think of the period of disengagement of the spikes, and that gives me the tiny glimmer of hope to go on. Then I cannot wait for this day to arrive." I was now washing the belt, using a brush to scrub the inner parts of the crotch-plate. I noticed that the spikes were at a different point for her, pointing outwards into the place he had first tested on me. I was getting intensely aroused by this talk. Would I get wet dreams of this kind? Would I be awoken from them? This would be the ultimate denial to be denied even a wet dream. I felt myself remembering my spikes and suppressing my need to clench. I wrapped the cleansed belt in a towel to dry.
"I get very afraid that one time when the spikes are disengaged, I will have a wet dream in which I dream that I am wearing the belt with the spikes in place and am stopped from having the orgasm in my dream even though the spikes are not really there. I cannot come, now, other than in a dream, as I am so afraid of the spikes and can never really convince myself that they are not there." I had picked up the tweezers and started plucking her pubic hair, but this thought overcame me and I clenched involuntarily. "AAAAAaaarrrgh!" I exclaimed.
"Go on plucking," he said.
After a few moments for recovery, I started plucking again. I started to take an interest in her pubis. It was fatter than mine, and the inner lips longer and more wrinkled. You could see the depressions where the outer plates of the belt permanently dug in to sense her clenching. Her pubic hair was almost black although the hair on her head was much lighter. She did not wince as I plucked although no hand had touched this flesh for three months. "Do you always have one of the clients do this?" I asked.
"Sometimes it is a man," she said.
"Do you like the feeling of the plucking taking place, or is it the state of hairlessness that you like?"
"Both, really. I have thought of electrolysis, but it would be several days before I could wear the belt after, and submitting to the plucking without showing any feeling is very important to me and I would lose that. I don't think you cleaned under the hood of my clitoris, did you?"
"Oh, no. This was rather more intimate than I had been prepared for. Shall I do it now?" I peeled back the hood. A lot of smegma had collected. When I had cleaned it, I found that the tip was small and quite white. Not purple, like mine or most I had seen, or pink as when it is aroused. "Was it always so pale as this? Or is it a result of the long denial?"
"Is it pale? I have not seen it for so long." There was no mirror.
"Her boy-friend does not want her ever to see herself down there," said The Inaccessible Man. "There are some other folds you have missed. It is important to clean this area thoroughly every so often. We are doing some tests to find out what happens if this is not done, but at present our recommendation is three months with six months as an absolute maximum."
I cleaned in other folds I had missed the first time.
"Do you sleep with your boy-friend?"
"Oh, yes, and he wears a belt too, a 'total denial' like mine. He is another member of staff; I met him through working here. He was a client without a partner, so I have never known him other than in the denial state. He has the spikes disengaged for the same period I do and we used to try to come together, but that never really worked."
"But what do you do?"
"In bed? Kiss, lie together, wind each other up occasionally to the peak of arousal and denial. We don't do this very often because it is very exhausting, but every so often, we spend several hours at it, getting to where we both want to be. Mostly we just enjoy sharing everything we do. We have a very symmetrical relationship. I don't think I would know how to sustain a relationship where one was belted and the other not."
I ignored that slightly pointed remark about my relationship with Keith. "Other than the chastity belt fantasy, what is your most important fantasy?"
"Oh, dear. Most of my fantasies are about denial of some kind. I think it must be this one. I am in love with a beautiful boy of my own age - we are both young, just at the point of full maturity. We are noticed by an older couple who are jealous of us. They capture us and take us off to a castle in a strange land. They keep us locked up so that we can never talk to one another, and hardly ever see one another. I am expected to please this man, sexually, and when I fall short of his demands, when I don't respond to him, he takes me to watch my friend being tortured. My friend cannot see me or hear me but I can hear his screams and see his pain. Sometimes I am tortured. I cannot see him, but I know that he is there and has displeased them in some way. I try to tell him that I don't mind the suffering and that he should not do things he doesn't want to do for my sake, but I don't think anything intelligible comes through my cries and screams of agony. Eventually, I decide that I will act as if I like them and appear to do everything that they want and to enjoy every moment so that my friend will never have to suffer again. I know that he has made the same decision when my torture also stops. I know that we will never see one another again, but I also know that somewhere deep inside, despite outward appearances, I keep my faith with him and he mine. I do this by never climaxing with them: I pretend to enjoy, but never actually do."
Something about this fantasy brought something to life in me, but I remembered the spikes and resisted the clench. I was still plucking her pubic hair, and noticed that she became moist with arousal as she related this fantasy to me, but the clitoris did not rise or thicken and she did not clench once.
"So, what is your favourite fantasy that does not involve chastity belts?" she asked.
I tried to remember the fantasies I had used for climax just a two nights ago, but the mood was not there. "Oh, dear." I was afraid to become too aroused by relating my fantasies. "I am at a boarding school, in a large dormitory, beds in serried rows as far as the eye can see. I am not allowed to masturbate or have orgasms. They spy on you to see if you do."
"No, that won't do!" She interrupted me: "that is clearly a denial fantasy. You must have had a fantasy that does not have denial as the primary focus."
"Oh, I see. Yes. Let me think. I am tied on a bed, not tightly, but loosely with soft silken bonds that I can hardly feel, but they stop me from doing anything for myself. Every so often, when I am not needing it, a big person comes along and starts to masturbate me. This is done roughly and perfunctorily, and there is no love nor desire there. It brings me from a quiescent state to orgasm in just a few seconds, but the orgasm does not satisfy: it is not needed nor wanted. Afterwards, I am ignored and feel as frustrated as I did before. I am totally dependent on this person for everything, food, drink, warmth, cleaning and evacuation, for I cannot move nor do anything for myself. Sometimes I do get sexually aroused; then my arousal is ignored totally. This is sometimes for a very long period. When the unwanted masturbation does occur it is always when I have stopped being aroused, when it is unwanted.
"So I suppose it is partly a denial fantasy, but the main part is the unwanted masturbation. I have often wondered if this fantasy means that I was sexually abused as a tiny baby."
I had nearly finished plucking her. "But what is your favourite denial fantasy," she asked?
"Oh, the ultimate chastity belt. This is the fantasy where there is no way to get orgasm no matter what I try. The tension of wanting builds up and up, but no matter what ingenious tricks I perform, there is no release. The tension increases further, but still there is nothing I can do. I am frantic with need, desperate to try anything. I think I will kill myself to escape, but I do not for even this would be too easy. But when the tension gets to its ultimate extreme, then there is a special reward, an ecstasy that is far beyond mere orgasm, a God-like bliss. A feeling of . . . AAAAAaaarrrgh!" I had done it again.
"You have still a few hairs to do," said The Inaccessible Man. I grimaced, tightened my lips and finished the job. I washed her pubis. I checked that the spikes were disengaged; The Inaccessible Man gave the appliance to her to test this; she did so, pressing the outer plates inwards several times. I fitted the belt back onto her. I think she had enjoyed making me clench like that, giving me pain. Of course she had! I looked venom at her.
When I had finished, The Inaccessible Man removed my appliance, disengaged the spikes, let me check that this was so, and replaced it. "Just now, you hate her for causing you that pain. Later, when you are busy with a monotonous job and idly thinking about other things, you will find that this training has been of value, and that you will automatically avoid hurting yourself, and possibly risk distraction at an awkward moment. Do you drive?"
"Yes." I felt tight and resentful.
"Do you ever experience an erotic fantasy when you are driving on a long journey, and there is not much happening?"
"Yes." I was relaxing a bit.
"Do you ever get aroused and unconsciously clench when you are driving? Of course you do. What would happen if the clench occurred when you were moving at high speed on a motorway? Thank her; she has done a lot for you!"
I held out my hand. "Thank you, Shirley. I apologise for that." The last few pubic hairs had been pulled out at awkward angles, but she had not complained. She smiled, took my hand, leaned forward and gave me the gentlest whisper of a kiss.
Day 4: Revelations at Bed-time
It was bed-time, our fourth night at The Inaccessible House. Keith was visibly aroused by all that he had witnessed and heard. "You never tell me about your fantasies," he said, "I never heard either of those before."
"You never tell me about yours. Now you have heard some of mine, how about telling me what it is that you think about in those secret moments when my mouth is full? Or how about those times when I'm not good enough for you and you just wank by yourself? And don't pretend you don't because I've watched you."
"That's easy," he said, "those times I dream about fucking you. Yes, I know you had a bad experience when you were younger and that any attempt to fuck reminds you of it and turns you off. But I always imagine that somehow, sometime, you would find it different with me and discover that it was possible to get pleasure that way without the memory of past pain."
"It's the pleasure itself that reminds me; that's why I am so strong for denial of pleasure. I feel safe with one of these on," I said, patting the hard plastic crotch-plate.
"I think that some of your denial fantasies go back a long way, way before that event."
I hadn't thought of that; odd how the mind latches onto a single explanation for a complex problem. After a moment of thought, I said: "yes, I think you might be right."
"Do you want to talk about that? You have never really told me what happened, just hinted obliquely. It can help to talk."
"You're going to think me stupid. If I try to tell it, it just sounds like nothing to make a big fuss about."
"Who have you tried to tell it to?"
"Nobody. Oh, I see. Hmm . . . Oh, dear. Where to begin? OK, here goes.
"I had this best friend, Carol. She was my best friend right through school. I mean, right from nursery school. We went about together. We told each other all our secrets. We kissed and held hands, walked about arm in arm. We did everything together. We even started our first periods within days of each other; I was first but I was still bleeding when hers began.
"We weren't alike, though. Rather we complemented each other. Where I am shy, she is out-going. Where I am academic, she was sporty. We enjoyed each other's different skills and abilities, gloried in each other's successes, commiserated over each other's failures. It was love, intense, wonderful, contented, complete.
"It was not a sexual relationship. We did not touch each other or give each other orgasms. We sometimes talked about sex, but no more than we talked with other girls. We were probably too inhibited by taboos about homosexuality and decency. We saw each other naked, we had even slept in the same bed when we were younger, and we still bathed and showered together, but it was never a sexual thing. We used to sleep over in each other's houses a lot.
"She discovered sex with boys soon after puberty, but I was not at ease with that sort of thing. It came to be a big difference between us: the one thing we did not share. Perhaps she felt it was pulling us apart, I don't know. She used to tease me, wind me up about my virginity.
Analysing the situation now, I suppose that she felt that this difference came between us, but that having lost her virginity she could never go back, so I had to lose mine for us to be compatible again. But I didn't think about that at the time.
"One time, my parents were away, and I had arranged to stay over at her place. I had not realised that her people were away also. I had never really deceived my parents before, and she had tricked me into that. We were perfectly old enough to take care of ourselves, though, sixteen, nearly seventeen. We went to a party, and I got a little bit silly, a couple of beers, no more. Perhaps some hash was being smoked, and perhaps the fumes in the atmosphere got to me, I don't know; I never did that stuff. Anyway, she was making up to this boy, and he had an older friend with him, and they were both determined that I would have to pair up with this man. Anyway we both ended up back at her house with these two, and it was clear that she was going to sleep with the boy she had chosen, and I was expected to sleep with the other. She even handed me a condom, saying "Now's your chance."
"He was terrible: cheap showy clothes, greasy hair, sticky arm-pits and cheap after-shave. I wouldn't have chosen him in a million years. I don't know why I went along with it. Perhaps I thought it would be easier between us if I was no longer a virgin. He was older, and it's clear to me now that he was just virgin-bagging. It wasn't as if I was raped or anything, I just went right along with it, all the time not wanting to, but not doing anything to resist. I was trying to act as if I knew all about it, acting casual and indifferent, dropping my clothes carelessly, and just lying back on the bed, legs apart although I wasn't the slightest bit aroused; quite the opposite.
"He lay straight on top of me and just pushed. I was totally dry, and it hurt like hell, but I didn't say anything. We never used the condom she gave me. I had it in my hand when I went into the room, but I don't know what happened to it after that. After pushing and shoving a few times, he just ejaculated outside of me, all in my pubic hair. He didn't even penetrate, didn't take my virginity, nothing. He rolled over beside me and just went to sleep. I lay awake a long time, afraid to move and disturb him beside me. Later I felt aroused. I felt that I had missed something, and masturbated to orgasm, rubbing the sticky semen into me. In the morning, he was gone.
"Carol asked me how it had gone, and I just felt frozen. What I said and what I felt inside were quite separate. I said 'OK' or something like that. What I know now is that I felt that I had been raped by HER. At the time, though, I just felt that there was a massive impenetrable barrier between us that had never been there before; a barrier that I just did not understand. I picked up my clothes and things and went home. I always kept some stuff over at her house, and I guess that is still there, for I never went back.
"She phoned me over the next few days, asking to get together. I put her off, making excuses. We went out a couple of times, but I was acting indifferent outside and feeling inside that I should not be there. Soon, I started to make excuses when she contacted me. She realised I was upset about something, but could not understand what it was about.
"Later, when my period was clearly not happening, I realised I was pregnant. I . . . I had an abortion a couple of months later after a lot of fuss and distress. That was . . . . pretty awful, too: family, . . . religion, . . . telling Mother, . . . you know.
"That's it. Pretty stupid, really." I burst into tears and we lay and just hugged for a long time. That's what I like about Keith: he knows when to be sexy and when to be strong.
After a while, I stopped, and said: "Oh, no! That's not all. I'd better tell you the rest. This part's a bit hazy.
"I can remember waking up in the middle of the night. I was lying on my side, and he was fiddling with my bottom, trying to put his thing into my bottom. He was pawing me and saying: 'John', (John was the name of the boy with Carol), 'John, pass me the lube; I can't get it in.' I didn't know what was happening, and I was feeling a bit hung over and disorientated; I rushed out to the bathroom and locked myself in. I may have been sick; I spent a long time in there, I may have even slept in there. As I say, this part is hazy. When I came out, it was morning and he was gone.
"They were obviously two queers living together, and, half awake, he thought that I was his friend. I keep wondering. Did she know who they were, what they were? Did she slip something into my drink? What was making her do that? She was the most important thing in the world to me. She knew everything about me; we really understood one another, or I thought we did. We loved one another! I don't think I was quite ready for sex, but it should have been with her if it was with anybody. I felt I was a whore sent to another man's bed by my pimp - her. Oh, Keith, I still miss her!" I had never properly recognised that before. I did a lot more crying into his shoulder. We fell asleep like that.
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