The Inaccessible Man had an impressive international reputation as the provider of the best fitting and most effective chastity belts in the world. We had seen descriptions and photographs. We had read reports by users describing their experiences, and everything we had read and heard had matched what we desired for ourselves, for me. The cost was high, but we had made sacrifices and could afford it. And now we were arriving for the fitting. We would stay a week at his house, longer if there were problems, and I would leave here wearing it.
He had designs to cover every taste, for both men and women. One prevented any vaginal penetration but allowed access to the penis or clitoris for masturbation. Another even claimed to allow penetration but to prevent any orgasm. For us, though, the ultimate was the denial of any sexual outlet for me: no penetration, no touching, no orgasm. I would pleasure him, use my mouth and hands to bring him to climax, but would myself remain always just short of orgasmic release. For me the ultimate experience was to be as close as possible to release but never actually to achieve it. More than that: I had to know, even as my instincts made me strive towards that point, to know deep down inside that release would always be denied to me. It was the supreme tension of the conflict between need and want, between pleasure and suffering, of achieving the impossible that I craved.
We had tried other chastity belts, but none had been satisfactory. Most had been made of metal, and had caused problems and embarrassment with the increasingly common airport-type security hoops. Many had had tight waist bands that restricted movement and caused aches and pains in the back. Few had been a good fit on the crotch, and had allowed a little finger to penetrate to stimulate the deep clitoris shafts to one side or other of the vaginal opening: my favourite spot for stimulation. And even when we had paid a lot of money for one that did not allow any access, I found that I could achieve orgasm after only a fortnight or so of frustration through vaginal contractions alone. But the reports indicated that The Inaccessible Man had a solution even to this problem.
"Welcome to the Ice House", he said as we got out of the car. He was younger than I had expected, not drop-dead gorgeous like, say Chevvy Chase or John Travolta, but definitely very desirable. We shook hands as my boy-friend introduced us: "Hello, I'm Keith and this is Miranda." It all seemed so plain and ordinary, such an absurd contrast to what we were about. I looked around me and saw a country house of the type so often depicted on television: it would make an excellent private hotel or the location for a television soap opera. There were neat lawns and rose beds, and hollyhocks beside the porch.
"Come in and meet some of the other guests," he said. We went into a large but comfortable sitting-room. Again the impression was of a private hotel: there was taste in the choice of wall-paper and chair-covers, but it was a strangely detached taste, as if the one choosing did not live there himself. There were several people, mostly in their twenties and thirties. We had not expected this. He sensed our unease: "It takes me only about half a day of my time to fit and manufacture each appliance, and most of your time here is spent checking fit and effectiveness. By having an overlap between guests, I can reduce my waiting lists, and my prices, and also satisfy more people.
"This is Josine, and her husband Simon. Keith and Miranda - they have just arrived." They got up, and we shook hands and said hello. "Josine is wearing the 'total denial' appliance just like you will be getting, Miranda, Josine will be leaving tomorrow if everything proves satisfactory for the rest of her stay. How is it feeling, Josine?"
"I know it is there, but it is not inconveniencing me at all - unless . . . .. ," she tailed off, slightly embarrassed. She was wearing a white front-opening cotton gown like a hospital gown; he was wearing ordinary jeans and a tee-shirt. I soon found that those being fitted with appliances wore these gowns all the time; those wearing ordinary clothes were their partners.
"This is Albert, he is with his boy-friend Joseph, who is over there. Ah, he is coming over to join us. Keith and Miranda!" We again said our hellos and shook hands. "Albert and Joseph are both to wear 'fidelity' appliances. They are worried about HIV in the Gay community and see this as a way of keeping themselves to each other as it were. Yesterday was measuring day, and the appliances are being manufactured today, so they will try them on for the first time later today.
"This is Amazon, and her slave who is just called 'Dog'." We greeted them. "Dog is wearing the male version of the 'total denial' appliance." He was kneeling on the floor beside her wearing a dog collar and lead; Amazon lifted up his gown to reveal the appliance around his hips. Some quite severe whip-marks were visible on his bottom and thighs. "The others are out exercising at the moment, I think. Would you like a cup of tea? And then I'll show you round the place." Again that terrifying contrast between the extreme and the banal. We sat on a comfortable sofa and had traditional English afternoon tea with toasted tea-cakes and scones.
Day 1: The Inaccessible House
After out tea, we went on a guided tour. We saw the work-shops where two men and two women were working, moulding and polishing plastic parts of chastity belts. We saw the measuring room with the couches, the computer console and the strange robot-like arms used for doing the measurements. We saw the swimming-pool, squash courts, the running and rowing machines where people exercised to ensure that the appliances would not impede even vigorous activities.
There was a girl in the swimming-pool wearing a black bikini, not the skimpiest of bikinis, but tight around the hips and crotch. "I know what you are thinking, said The Inaccessible Man," and we waited by the pool as he waved her over. "Would you step out, a moment, please, Julia? These people would like to examine the fit of your appliance if that would be acceptable to you.
"Julia," he said, as she got out of the pool, "this is Miranda and Keith. They have just arrived. Could you stand back a bit and turn around slowly, please." There was no unsightly bulge, no rigid line, just some slight creases and curves that could have been either flesh or plastic. "Julia is one of my staff. She works in the kitchens, but she also, as do all of my staff, acts as a model for the product, and provides me with a long-term test of fit and effectiveness. Julia is currently wearing the 'nemo tangit' version, meaning 'nobody touches'. Orgasms are possible, but only by vaginal contractions. Would you be so good as to remove your costume, please, Julia?" She wriggled out of her bikini bottom, revealing the flesh-coloured plastic of the appliance, pubic hair just visible sprouting out from the sides, clipped short close to the crotch-plate.
"How long have you been wearing it non-stop, Julia?"
"Since it was last briefly removed for your last examination, about six months ago; other than that, over a year, Sir."
"Any problems?"
"The pubic hair is the main one, Sir. If I clip it too short it itches, and if I let it get longer it shows round the sides of my bikini. I tried singeing the hair, but that close to the body it is difficult to do it without singing me! The only other problem is my boy-friend. He's wearing a 'no pen' and so I can touch him and give him orgasms, but he cannot touch me or give one to me. I don't mind but I don't think he likes it."
"The problem is that you keep changing boy-friends Julia. If you remember, we changed you to that one to enable you to be compatible with your then boy-friend. I cannot keep interrupting my test programme to accommodate the vagaries of your love-life!"
"No, Sir!", she said sheepishly.
"Do you need to examine it or ask any questions?" he said to us. We went up to her and felt the smooth fit, the lack of mobility of the hip-bands and crotch-plate. I shuddered as I thought that this would soon be me.
"How often do you get orgasms," Keith asked.
"I never could get the hang of doing it without touching," she said, "I try every night, but it is only about every week or ten days that I succeed. Mostly it happens when I bring my boy-friend off, so I don't know what it is he gets frustrated about. He's funny that way, always wants what he cannot get."
"What about periods?" I asked.
"My periods are quite heavy. I put a pad over the urine hole, but not much usually comes out. Most of it just washes out when I pee. I have a good soak in the bath each day of my period just to prevent any accumulation around the urine hole; the rest of the time I mostly prefer to shower."
We let her get on with her swim. Next we were shown to our rooms. For the first two nights we were to have separate rooms, after that we could sleep together. Keith's room was like a big double hotel room with TV, wardrobe, cupboards and en-suite bathroom. It was somewhat flowery with matching curtains and bed-spread. I would move in with him after the first two nights.
My room for those first two nights was more like a cell: a narrow iron bed, thin mattress, no carpet, no TV. There was a shower, a WC and a basin in the room, but no privacy curtain or shower-screens. The walls were painted a drab institutional grey. The only other furniture was a big mirror, almost floor to ceiling, with lamps around it like an actor's make-up mirror, and a tall stool.
He explained to Keith: "It is essential for the measuring and fitting process that she masturbates to orgasm both tonight and tomorrow night. Sleeping together, she might feel inhibited about doing so, hence the separate room. The hard bed and the other appointments of this room also contribute to important aspects of the measurement and fitting process.
"The measuring process takes place in several stages. The first is tonight after dinner, and is used as a base-line: a reference for all the other measurements. The next is tomorrow morning early before urination, and then again after urination, from all of these we can see the effects of a full and empty bladder, and of a full and empty belly. There will also be measurements taken after both gentle and vigorous exercise and at several stages through the day. This is done because the body changes its shape slightly through the course of the day. Miranda will, of course, be under constant supervision during this time."
He then offered to send somebody to help us to our rooms with our luggage, telling us to come to the drawing-room at seven for pre-dinner drinks.
Day 1: Interview
Dinner was a gourmet affair, with every taste catered for. We would have done no better in a top hotel. The price we were paying for the belt seemed to be less extraordinary when we took off what we would have paid for a week's holiday in a hotel of this standard.
After dinner came the first phase of the measurement and fitting process. This started, as we had been warned, with an interview. There were several purposes of this: to find the individual's commitment to going through with the thing; to be satisfied that the individual's fantasy needs were being met by the appliance that was being requested; that one person was not being unduly pressured by the other to do something he was not entering into of his own free will; and to check that the person was properly prepared for the effects of using the appliance. One part I particularly remember went like this:
"Have you worn a chastity belt before?" "Yes."
"How long was your longest period of wear?" "About 4 weeks; it was not a very good fit."
"Have you worn one that effectively prevented orgasm?" "I wore one that stopped me from touching myself, and it took me a while to learn to orgasm without."
"How long?" "About two weeks, but it was not a good fit and we stopped using that one after that."
"I want you to remember the time you were wearing that one and nearly two weeks had passed, and you were trying to get orgasm and gave up trying, the last time that happened before the orgasm? Tell me about how you felt then." "Oh, that was terrible! I had been slowly giving Keith head, making him come but, you know, holding it off as long as I could, and I was really hot for it, and as he came, eventually, I really thought I would come at the same time, I was just about frantic with need, but I just couldn't, and I wanted to ask him to take the belt off and let me but I couldn't ask him because that would mean that . . . . that I had been beaten, that I had let my desire get the better of my will. I turned over and pretended to go to sleep, but it was a long time before I could sleep. Then, in the morning, I woke up early and thought about that feeling, of leaving it unfinished, and feeling I needed to do that, and there were just a few squeezes and I came. I felt so ashamed. I woke Keith immediately and confessed what I had done, and asked him to beat me, and that is when we decided to save up for one of these." I was squirming on the edge of my seat, nearly climaxing, at the memory. He gave me a moment to calm down before he continued.
"Was beating the usual punishment for unauthorised orgasm?" "Yes, always."
"What sort of beating?" "It was a ritual. First I would have to pluck all of my pubic hair, one by one with tweezers. Then he would inspect me to make sure that I was perfectly smooth; any lapse earned extra punishment. Then he would ask me how many strokes I had had the last time; there was always more each time. Actually the score is seventy-three, now, but he only ever gives me about two dozen. He bends me over the back of a low chair, head down on the seat, hands gripping the front legs of the chair, legs straight and apart, and he uses a cane. He uses it slow and hard, spreading the blows all over my bum and the tops of my thighs. For me, the important thing is the conflict between, on the one hand, wanting to get up, to run away, to cry out and to protect myself, and on the other hand forcing myself to remain in position, to keep control of my feelings, to offer myself willingly to the pain."
"Do you ever orgasm when you are caned?" "I get highly aroused, and after each stroke, I clench tightly, and he makes me relax before the next stroke. The clenching increases my arousal but he does not let me come. He leaves me alone for a while afterwards to recover, and sometimes I come then, but I prefer to wait until after the cunt-whipping, or it is too painful. The arousal insulates me from some of the pain. When I have had time to recover, I have to lie on my back with my legs wide apart and back, and he gives me the same number of strokes on the cunt with a martinet. The strokes are slow again but more stinging than heavy. He tells me that that is to make it so sore I will not want to do it again."
"And do you usually come then?" "Again, I clench tightly after each stroke, but he does not let me come, telling me I will get extra unless I stop clenching. But afterwards, he leaves me alone again to recover, and I sometimes come then. That is not true. I always come then. But I do not generally admit to it, or get a beating after. It would be too much, so soon after. I actually want to be stopped at that time - that would be the ultimate denial, but, so far . . . it has not been possible for me." Again I was intensely aroused and clenching at the awfulness of these thoughts.
"What about later?" "Once the bruises have fully developed, it pains me even to get aroused, so I never try. It is usually OK again, though, after four or five days; as I say, it is not hard. The welts on my bum take three weeks or more to fade, but my cunt is OK again after only four or five days."
"Are there other times that you have had pain deliberately applied to your clitoris or vulva?"
"Often. It is something I seem to need from time to time. We have tried sterile needles, nettles, clips and electricity. I stood over a board edge-up one time, but we read that that can do permanent damage so we don't do that. The electricity was best; I seem to need deep pain."
"When did you last wear a chastity belt?" "We were told not to use one for three weeks before coming here; it was part of the instructions: so that bones and flesh could resume their natural shape." "So when was the last time?" "Oh! Just over two weeks. But it was only a leather one, no hard metal." "Hmm. OK."
"You are depilated now?" "Yes, by plucking, two days ago, like the instructions said."
"When was your last orgasm?" "Two days ago, after the plucking, and before that, about two weeks before."
"And when was the last cunt whipping or application of pain to the vulva?" "More than three weeks, again like the instructions said."
"And the last bottom beating?" "Again we obeyed the instructions, but I have got two saved up for when this is finished, three after tonight, if I have to climax." "There will be no beating for tonight's climaxes. We would prefer that you had two or three. It is an important aspect of the measurement and fitting process. Keith will agree to that." "I know; we have already discussed that; I'm just being silly. I just can't get used to the idea of being allowed to have an orgasm. The knowledge of the inevitability of terrible punishment is part of it for me." I recognised that, with the thought of being obliged to have orgasm, I was now feeling a complete absence of arousal.
"Does he never order you to have an orgasm?" "Yes, that has happened, when we first knew one another, but it is not something that we both want, usually." "If he orders you to, does he punish you then?" "No, of course not!" "We will ask him to order you to have as many orgasms as you can, tonight, up to a maximum of three. Do you think that will work?" "Yes."
There was far more of the interview, much of which I have forgotten. This part stuck in my mind because of the intense arousal and near orgasm when talking about the orgasm denial aspect and the beating, and then so soon after the contrasting flat total lack of arousal when he was telling me I that must have orgasms without fear of punishment that night. This told me something about myself that I had subconsciously realised without actually putting it into words. So many people go on about orgasm as if it was the greatest thing in the world. For me, orgasm is a let-down; the real challenge is submitting willingly to suffering, conquering desire, overcoming pain. This, for me, is the test of achievement, the real satisfaction.
I was taken to my room and requested to remove all of my clothes, empty my bladder and to put on the front-opening hospital gown that had been laid over the bed.
Day 1: First Measurement.
I was then conducted to the measuring room. Keith was there waiting for me, for he had said that he wanted to watch and observe throughout the measuring process. He had been interviewed too, and they would carefully compare the answers for consistency. I was first given a general health check up: height, weight, heart and lungs, temperature, and some gentle probing for suspicious pains and aches. I was then led to the measurement couch.
The couch was contoured to fit my waist and hips snugly, and it supported my whole length. A few minutes were spent settling me in position, for I would have to stay in that position for the whole of an exacting measurement period. My legs were held wide apart in stirrups. Next, The Inaccessible Man marked three dots on my flesh with an indelible marker pen. One was on the crest of each hip-bone and one on the pubic bone just above the top of the cleft of my pubis. "These are reference points. I place the tip of one of these articulated arms on each, and they bear down with a small but steady pressure. The arms measure the positions of the tips and send it to the computer, and all the other measurements are made relative to these. If you move slightly, they will adjust. If you move in such a way that they slip off the dots I have made, I merely have to restore them to their positions. I ask you not to rub too hard when showering for the next couple of days; the same marks will be used each time."
"Each of the arms has a device in each of the joints to measure the precise movement. The computer reads these and uses them to calculate the position of the tip to an accuracy of a tenth of a millimetre."
A fourth articulated arm was manipulated by him to perform the measurements. It had a small sphere at the tip, perhaps a centimetre across. At each point on my body he pressed slightly, and at a certain pressure, the computer bleeped and a new measurement was made. "The pressure we use is the pressure of the appliance when you will be wearing it. It is small but even all over. We use a different pressure for different amounts of body fat, a fatter person than you would have a higher pressure so that the appliance locates properly on the hip-bone. There are also differences in pressure on different parts of the appliance to keep it properly balanced and in position."
Each measurement around the top of my hip-bone was made by moving the ball at the probe-tip a tiny fraction and then gently pressing in. He would start pressing well into the waist above the bone, and then work outwards and down until he was pressing in sideways well below the top of the hip-bone; perhaps ten or twelve measurements in all. Then he would move perhaps half a centimetre towards the rear and the same process would be repeated. This went right from the reference probe tips down to the couch surface on either side. "The pressure of your weight on the couch distorts things a little in this area, but when we have you the other side up, we go over this part again until we get agreement."
Then he went down the front of the hip-bone towards the pubis. Again the same process was repeated, but with a lower pressure setting on the probe. "This part of the belt is in tension, but is not so important for position, so a lower pressure can be used."
The pressure was raised again over the pubis. First he went along the top side of the pubic bone, pressing well in towards the base of my bladder. Then he followed the line of the pubic arch around the vagina, always steering clear of the clitoris and inner labia. Then he did a series of measurements over the curve of the pubic bone starting above and finishing below. He must have done about ten such lines on each side of the centre-line, and each consisting of ten or a dozen measurements. "It is important to get the fit right in this area, as it is the primary location point for the device. If there is the slightest room for movement here, it will let this little lady do things she is no longer allowed to do." The whole process had been making me aroused, but this statement got me going somewhat. I felt rather embarrassed to be aroused with a comparative stranger watching me.
He was putting the probe right deep in beside the vagina to the inner surface of the vaginal wall close to where I like to press when I masturbate. He made a measurement. "Clench, and hold it," he said. I clenched, and he made another measurement. He did the same thing at three or four points along each side, almost tucking the probe sideways in under the pubic bone. As he did so, he was explaining: "This is the point on a woman that gives the greatest movement in the clenches that precede orgasm. Clenching when not aroused does not give this deflection, and so it specifically detects the combination of clenching and high arousal, in other words impending orgasm. By using the deflection of attachments to the appliance, this clenching can be made to cause pain sufficient to deter orgasm."
I tried to imagine what it would be like to be highly aroused and for every desire to clench to be accompanied by terror of pain. I nearly came thinking about it. He looked at the computer screen after making these measurements: "Yes, that will do nicely. With some girls we have a problem of too little movement, and then we have to use other techniques."
Next he adjusted the probe to measure with no pressure, and did a series of non-contact measurements. "These are the parts where we want the device to be just clear of the flesh, the exposed part of the clitoris and the little lips. This gives a measure of the free space needed inside." Next the probe tip was replaced by a much thinner one, perhaps only a millimetre across. This was used to demarcate the line between inner and outer lips, the gaps between clitoris and outer lip, the position of the tip of the clitoris and the opening of the urethra.
Next, he took each leg in turn out of the stirrup, and held it straight as he measured the gap between pubis and the top of the thigh where the outer edges of the device would lie. He was careful to measure the position of the tendons on the inside of the thigh, and had me tense these as hard as I could whilst he did so.
"There is one further test we need to do in this area. We need to find a point to apply the pains that prevent orgasm. For this we attach a couple of electrodes to the back of your hand; these tell us how much pain you are actually experiencing, and we use a blunt spike at quite a high pressure to simulate the effect of the spikes that will drive into you if you clench when aroused. There are several points we could use; different women have differing sensitivities in different places." He attached the electrodes and started to probe with the spike. The first point he tried was close to the point I liked to press, but although this was painful for me and I cried out, it did not satisfy him. The next point was close beside the tip of the clitoris, in the furrow where the skin is close to the pubic bone. He pressed at several points and suddenly found one where I got a blinding flash of incredible shooting pain that nearly caused me to black out. It was terrible; I screamed aloud. He did this again several times, saying, "we need to make sure that you will not learn to tolerate it after the first couple of applications", before bleeping the measurement into the computer. The process was repeated on the other side until the nerve-centre was again located. I was howling and weeping for mercy before he was done.
For the measurements of my back, he wheeled the couch away from under the probes, and wheeled in another one. This had strange cut-away parts at hip and pubis to allow him to position his reference probes against the same marks, now beneath me. The couch was hard and not very comfortable to lie on.
He checked the measurements of the rear part of my hip-bone first. When he was satisfied with these, he started on the back. "It is not often understood that the lower part of the spine, the sacrum, this part, moves relative to the hip-bone, and that an appliance that restricts this movement will cause back-ache and a lot of problems. The fit in this area must be always on the hip-bone without restricting the spine. We do not need pressure against the hip bone in this area, merely tension in the appliance to support the crotch-plate accurately relative to the top of the hip-bone." The line he traced with the probe followed the hip-bone to the outer side of the sacro-iliac joint, right down around the coccyx and then through the cleft of my bottom. He used a fairly high pressure to push the buttocks aside around the bum-hole, tracing an oval around it, finally reaching the pubic arch and meeting up with the measurements he had made before. Again, he glanced at the computer, Before, it had seemed to be displaying an unintelligible mass of lines, now it was clearly displaying a sort of 3-D representation of the measurements, and, I supposed, of the finished article. He manipulated the key-board to rotate the image a few times into different orientations. He looked, took a few more measurements in the rear of the crotch area towards the bum-hole and, after a few moments of intense concentration, grunted in apparent satisfaction.
"All right. You can sit up now, and relax. The next set of measurements is done first thing in the morning. If you wake up after about four am and are needing a pee, press the buzzer in your room and we will do the measurements right away; they must be done with a really full bladder. Before then, go to the lavatory, but drink a whole glass of water before going back to bed again. If you don't wake us, we will be along at about 6:30 to do the next set. Don't forget to masturbate, preferably at least three times. Shall I get my assistant to show you to your room?"
Day 1: Shower, bed and masturbation
My clothes had been taken away from my room. I only had the thin hospital gown, but the room was warm enough. I took a shower. There was no curtain or glass surround, and I realised that the whole floor was tiled and sloped to a drain in the corner with the shower. I knew I must masturbate, and when I was younger I used to get off using the jet of water from a shower before I had really realised that I was into denial. I was still pretty aroused by the measurement process, and the shower soon had me going. Using the shower, is in itself, a sort of denial: I want to touch, to press the right place to hurry it along, but I don't allow myself to, forcing myself to use the water stream as the only source of stimulation. As I was doing this, I thought of the girl we had seen swimming today. She would never be able to feel the shower in this way, and nor would I soon. That thought made me climax with extraordinary suddenness: gasping and grunting.
Awareness that this would perhaps be my last chance ever to do it this way made me much less affected by the knowledge that there would be no punishment after. I stood in front of the mirror, and looked at my smooth plucked bare pussy. I realised that this could be one of the last times I would ever see it. I decided to examine it closely, leaning back against the stool. I looked for the spot where he had talked about the clenching with arousal causing a strong movement, and felt for it. Yes, I was aroused, and wanting to clench, I squeezed, and felt the movement he has spoken of. I thought again about how it would feel never to be able to clench like this ever again without intense fear. I decided to try to find out whether it was possible to climax without clenching; I pressed and squeezed my favourite spot trying not to clench. It was impossible: I could get just so far, and then I would just have to clench or the rise towards climax could go no further. I tried to do it slowly and gradually, but this just made it worse, I needed that little bit extra at the end, and the only way to get this was with the clench. Eventually, I decided to let myself come, but to try to get away with just one or two clenches. I found that I needed at least three before I could even start to climax and counted seven in all before I could stop clenching. This was going to be terrible.
I carefully brushed my teeth and got into bed. There was only a thin sheet, but the room was quite warm, and I felt surprisingly comfortable. I knew I was expected to masturbate a third time, but I did not feel like it just then. Practising denial for a very long time, (I reckoned two to three a month for the last two and a half years was about all I ever had), caused the need gradually to becomes less; after long denial it actually gets more difficult to climax. Only one or two in that time had been got by touching and manipulation, the rest had been mostly by desperation with a little touching or pressing at the end when desire finally overcame will, so the flesh was just not use to a lot off manipulation. The more I thought about how I would set about accomplishing the third, the less aroused I became. Ironical, but then my whole life is a mess of contradictions.
So I decided that I just was not going to climax again. Let them complain, I had done my best, and I had reached satiety, which was surely their objective. I lay back and tried to sleep, but sleep would not come. I started to think about the fitting process, and about the shape I had seen on the screen. I wondered how it would feel to try to sleep in the device. I both longed for it and dreaded it. To be unable to touch or even to clench when aroused. I felt myself juicing. No! I would not do it, I would just go to sleep. And so the wonderful, awful conflict again did its magic, and I was soon near to bursting point again. I fought the urge: I would not touch! I found myself crossing my legs, squeezing the thighs together. I grasped the bed-head with both hands, and forced my legs apart. I wondered what it would feel like never to be able to feel the pressure on my vulva when I squeezed my thighs in this way, and that thought alone was almost enough. My thighs leaped together, squeezing in, crossing over fiercely. There was no attempt this time to suppress the clenches, I just let it happen, my hands were now in the bed, clutching at my crotch, feeling the intensity of fulfilment surging through me.
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Page last updated 98-Nov-18 by: Altairboy@aol.com