Ms. A was due to fly from our city to her ultimate destination about two weeks before I would follow. This would allow her more time to settle the personal affairs of her late parents and allow me more time to gracefully extract myself from my employment. What Ms. A didn't know was that I planned on being securely self-belted during the two week hiatus we would be apart. Was I ever in for a surprise!
The "Day of Doom" as I was to subsequently call it started out as if nothing out of the ordinary was about to occur (didn't December 7, 1941, start the same way?). I drove Ms. A to the airport, we hugged and kissed and said we'd see each other in about two weeks. I left Ms. A standing in the ticket line and drove off to work.
Only I didn't go to work. Unbeknownst to Ms. A, I had arranged for several hours off that morning (ostensibly to drive Ms. A to the airport) and instead drove to the site where I kept my WJ-manufactured chastity belt stored. I retrieved the cb and headed home, where I would "prepare" myself to wear the belt (masturbate 2 or 3 times), put it on and lock it, then prepare a padded envelope whereby I would mail myself 3 of the 4 keys (the 4th key I kept in my wallet for "emergencies" (such as if my hormones absolutely couldn't stand it anymore . after all, I was only self-belted!)). My plan was to receive the envelope, then immediately prepare another envelope and continue in this fashion until such time as I departed to join Ms. A.
Only, as you may suspect, my plan didn't quite work out the way I anticipated. (Do these things ever work out the way they are originally intended?) In fact, things went very wrong very early on. Because I knew I had several hours to kill, I had taken my time retrieving the belt from storage and had also treated myself to a Danish and coffee at a doughnut shop not far from our house. So I was blissfully unaware that Ms. A's flight had been postponed until the mid-afternoon due to - of all the things I couldn't have anticipated - a problem at the en-route airport (something to do with a runway being closed.). In any case, Ms. A had been unable to even so much as check in her luggage (the airlines had told her that the flight was delayed but may be canceled, so they wouldn't accept her luggage until they knew for sure about the status of the flight). So there Ms. A was at the airport with nothing to do for several hours. So she had decided (as I later learned) to call me to come get her and she'd treat both of us to a meal at a favorite near-the-airport restaurant, then make a call to learn about her flight status, then have me drive her either back to the airport or home. So she had called and tried to reach me at work, but they quite truthfully told her I was not in yet because I was taking her to the airport. Mystified as to where I could have gone and fearing something had happened to me, she had tried calling the house, but I had not yet gotten home. Unable to reach me (I don't have a pager . I hate those things and refuse to wear one!) and fearing the worst, she had gotten a taxi ride back home.
As she later told me, she knew something was up when the taxi turned into our condo parking lot and she saw my car parked right there. But, she said, her suspicions were that I was being like a lot of husbands - unfaithful - and had never dreamed she would find what she walked in on.
With all the stealth she could summon, Ms. A had quietly unlocked the front door, let herself into the house, shut and locked the front door, left her luggage downstairs, then climbed the stairs towards the upstairs bedrooms.
Meanwhile, I had been preparing for my self-belting. I had cleaned the cb and laid it out on a towel on the bed (ready for donning), had spent several minutes sitting on the toilet (we later determined that the sound of the bathroom's noisy motorized ceiling fan had completely masked Ms. A's entering the house), and had completed my "preparations."
Naked, I had donned the penis tube and the waist belt. I was lying on the floor, on my back, staring straight up at the ceiling as I used my hands to align the tube with the front shield, adjusted my scrotum sac to avoid pinching, sucked in my gut, then raised my knees in order to give myself as much slack as I could as I pulled the front shield towards the waist belt. (I have purposely shortened the rear chains so that the fit of the front shield is as snug as I can make it and still force it shut.)
I was in this position when Ms. A walked into the bedroom. At first, I didn't see her as I was completely lost in my personal reverie. When she spoke up I thought I would jump right out of my skin!
"What are you doing?!" she screeched.
The belt would pop open if I didn't get the lock on its post and snapped shut, so I must have performed this action, although I don't remember doing it. As quickly as I could, I jumped to my feet and tried to hide myself by picking up the towel and holding it in front of myself. But it was too late. Ms. A had seen the cb, even if, at first, she didn't realize what she was looking at.
It's funny how, when world-ending crises are suddenly happening and your entire world, your entire known universe, is rapidly crumbling, you gain a remarkable inner peace, almost a surreal state of being wherein a calmness descends, both internally and externally.
Caught, trapped and cornered, I was instantly confronted with the fact that the worst thing that could happen was, right that minute, happening. My heart felt as if it would burst from my chest and I'm sure my penis, if not in it's tube, would have shrunk to an immeasurably short length. I don't have an entirely clear recollection, but I'm sure I was starting to sweat and my hands got clammy. My mind, however, seemed to achieve a remarkable clarity.
Ms. A and I have a constant, standing rule in our marriage. It's a good rule and one we always follow: Always tell the truth. Regardless of how bad something is or may be, tell the truth. If you can't tell the truth, you can't be trusted. So always tell the truth. No one will be mad if you tell the truth, but they will be beyond pissed - not to mention unable to ever trust you again - if they subsequently catch you in a lie. Always tell the truth.
So, to answer Ms. A's question, with my head as clear as a ringing bell, I reverted to our rule and told her the truth.
"I'm locking on my chastity belt," I explained as I dropped all pretenses as well as my towel.
"Your what?!" she said.
I asked Ms. A to have a seat and I would explain everything. She sat and I got dressed as quickly as I could. Once properly clothed, I first reminded Ms. A of our marriage rule. She curtly nodded, so I continued.
I explained how I had found an Internet web site about male chastity belts and had ordered one for myself, which she had seen just a few minutes ago.
Ms. A said she wanted to see the cb again, so I lowered my trousers (I don't wear underwear when wearing the cb). I turned this way and that as Ms. A looked me over with a look of total disgust. She kept making remarks about how she couldn't understand me and how could I do something like this to myself?
I suggested that Ms. A take a look at the web site which had caught my eye. She agreed, so we went to our computer room. I logged on to Altairboy's web site. Ms. A sat down and read a few of the introductory paragraphs at the top of the male page, then abruptly stood up.
"This sort of thing makes me sick," she said, "But at least you weren't off from work, screwing some other woman on our bed. In fact, with that stupid thing on, you can't screw anyone, except yourself. Which you just did. I'll be back later. While I'm gone, I want you to consider what you've done and whether you want to stay married. When I get back, I'll expect an answer." And with that, she picked up the car keys and her purse and left the house.
I was doomed. I rapidly considered my few options and took the belt off. I cleaned it and put it away in the bag I stored it in, then took it out to the dumpster. Just before throwing it in, I considered what would happen if Ms. A divorced me. I could wind up wearing the cb a lot more! (I know that sounds incorrigible considering my circumstance, but that's honestly what went through my head at that instant.) So I returned to our condo and stashed the bag in the back of a spare closet.
I called the office and asked for today to be designated as a one-day vacation. My secretary told me that Ms. A had called, trying to reach me. I told her that we had gotten together and that was why I was asking for the one-day vacation. The secretary told me she would take care of the paperwork and to enjoy my day. If only she knew!
I took a shower and tried to calm my jittery nerves. Nothing helped.
About two hours later, Ms. A returned home. Her mood had changed somewhat, but only a blind man couldn't see that she was still very upset. She came in and, without saying a word to me (just glaring), went to her desk. She called the airlines and canceled her ticket. Then she called her sister (who was supposed to meet her at her final destination) and told her that the travel plans had changed and that she and I would be traveling back together in about two weeks.
(That was the first I knew that Ms. A and I would still be together, at least for a little while longer.)
Once off the phone, Ms. A, still glaring and biting her words off, told me we had to have a long talk and the sooner the better. Gulping, I said I was all for it, and that I had reached and made a decision. Ms. A told me to wait before telling her anything else.
Ms. A started out by telling me that I owed her for the canceled airline ticket. I said I would pay it. She ignored me and went on to tell me how angry, mad and upset she was about this entire thing! She had tears in her eyes. I moved to hug her and she yelled at me to stay away from her. I shrank away and resumed my seat. Ms. A went on about how she didn't understand how I could possibly enjoy such a thing and failed to see anything exciting, sexy, or erotic whatsoever in any of this. And on and on. She was venting, and we both knew it, recognized it, and allowed it to run its course.
Ms. A started yelling and crying and carrying on, occasionally banging her fist on the arm of the couch, both for emphasis as well as in anger. Didn't I understand how difficult life was for her these days? What was I thinking? How could I possibly do this? Didn't I ever think about anyone else other than myself? What about her feelings? I quietly sat and took it.
Ms. A went on like this and I allowed it, up to a point. Then, I started getting mad about her ranting and raving. Finally, I had had enough. I stood up and yelled back, which quieted her. In order not to bore you any more than absolutely necessary, suffice to say that I got up and left the house, but didn't drive away. Rather, I walked around the block, cooling off. I remember that I checked my watch occasionally, because I was still thinking in terms of getting Ms. A back to the airport in time for her flight. Dumb, I know, but after living through what I had just gone through, I think perfectly understandable.
I returned home. Ms. A had changed her clothes and was busying herself around the house. I went upstairs to our bedroom and was surprised to find my cb sitting out on the bed. I turned. Ms. A was standing in the doorway. She told me she knew where I hid things I didn't want her to find. I slumped and sat down in the chair. Ms. A followed me into the room.
It soon became apparent that Ms. A wasn't through, except in addition to her complaining, belittling me and asking rhetorical questions, she was now also asking more practical questions. And her voice, while still having a bit of an edge to it, had moderated somewhat.
How much did this thing cost? I told her.
Where did you get it? I told her about ordering it via mail order from WJ. She asked where WJ was located. I told her in Vero Beach, Florida. With a sneer she said, "Well, at least you're not liable to run into anyone who knows about this around here, are you?" I didn't answer her.
She asked how long I had had it. I told her I had ordered it in 1997 when she had been gone for much of the year due to being back in the Midwest with her ailing parents. She asked me how long I had worn it back then. I told her the longest period was only a handful of days, when the pressure to relieve my sexual urges got to be too much.
She asked me how the cb worked. I held up the various portions (waistbelt, penis tube, rear chains, front shield, locks, buttons) as I explained each part.
She asked me how I used the toilet or took a shower. I explained how both urination and defecation were handled and how I took a shower just like I did when I wasn't wearing the cb, except that drying was a procedure. As I explained, she just shook her head. (I remember thinking, while I was speaking, that I would get some sort of negative reaction or remark when I discussed sitting to urinate or defecate, but none was forthcoming.)
In between her questions and sometimes while I was speaking, Ms. A continued to make unpleasant comments. I had finally had enough and exploded: Glaring at her, I apologized one last time and then said I would throw the damn thing away but that she had to stop saying all those unpleasant things about me. After all, I told her, it wasn't like infidelity or anything. In fact, being unfaithful was prevented when wearing this thing! But in any case, enough already with the personal attacks!!!
She apologized to me, went and used the toilet, then faced her hands and face, then returned to where I was standing next to the bed. She resumed her questioning, but this time without the constant complaining.
She asked how I got fitted and measured for the belt. I told her I had self-measured (3 times!) and that because I had not followed recommended procedure and had some one else measure me was why the belt had had to be modified by myself. I pointed out the plastic tie-wraps I have used to shorten the rear chains and the duct tape (another use for this versatile product!) I use on the bottom of the front shield to prevent chafing of the tip of my penis. Ms. A nodded her head as I spoke.
Ms. A knew there were two locks. She asked me how many keys were used. I told her that each lock had two keys, for a total of four keys. I also told her that the two locks were keyed identically, so any one key would unlock either lock. She asked where the keys were. I opened my wallet and showed her one key. I walked down to the computer room and showed her the padded envelope and the folded-over 3x5 card which had the other three keys Scotch-taped to it. I explained how I had planned to mail myself the three keys and keep the other for emergencies.
And it was then that Ms. A really started to blow me away. You can probably guess what happened from here, and in all truthfulness I was half hoping for it and half dreading it. Ms. A picked up the 3x5 card and we returned to the bedroom. Ms. A asked for the key from my wallet. I gave it to her. My stomach was churning something fierce.
Ms. A said she didn't understand why I wanted to do something like this, but for the kind of money I had paid, I was - if I really wanted it - going to experience it. I had to understand that there would be no emergency key. She would have all four keys. And there would be no sex, no "quickies," no "please unlock it just for a minute, dears," no nothing at all. I had to understand this going in. Once in, there was no out. I had to learn that I had to be careful what I asked for, because I now had the opportunity to get it. She would hold the keys and that would be that. So don't give me an answer right away, because my hormones wouldn't permit me to make an intelligent, rational decision. I had three hours and after that time, the cb either went on or went in the dumpster. Now get out. I'll expect your answer in three hours. Without another word to each other, I left the bedroom.
I went to the kitchen and got myself a tall glass of Diet Pepsi from the refrigerator, then retreated to the computer room, where I logged back on to Altairboy's web site. Sitting alone, in the quiet semi-darkness of a room with the curtains closed, with the only light in the room coming from the computer monitor, I slowly read and reread many of the postings there. About half an hour after my silent, solitary journey began, Ms. A silently joined me. Neither of us said so much as one word to the other. I read the postings while Ms. A, seated slightly behind and off my left shoulder, read along with me. Neither of us made a sound. Over the distant sound of traffic, I could actually hear the chirping sounds of some birds outside our window. It was that quiet.
After about 1-1/2 hours of reading, my Diet Pepsi was gone and I needed to use the bathroom and stretch my legs. I asked Ms. A if she wanted to remain logged on. She asked if there was a woman's "page" on Altairboy's site. I hyperlinked to it without saying another word and left the room.
I used the bathroom, then went downstairs. I left the house and slowly walked around the condo complex several times, breathing deeply. I knew what I wanted . but did I have the courage to go through with it?
Ms. A later told me she glanced at the woman's page, then logged off. Similar to myself, she had used the bathroom, then composed herself, all the while asking herself: Why? Why? Why did he want such a thing? Was something the matter with him? Was there something the matter with me? Is he doing this because of something I did or am not doing? Did I marry someone I shouldn't have? In the end, she had no clear-cut answers. Only more questions. She rewashed her face and was waiting for me when I returned from my walk.
I started by holding my wife's hands in my own and looking her right in the eye. She looked right back. We were eyeball to eyeball, although we were not having one of those staring, who'll-blink-first contests. Truth be told, my hands were shaking a bit and I know they were a bit clammy. Speaking in an even tone, I told her that I loved her more than anything else on Earth and that I didn't want to hurt her, ever.
Still holding her hands, I thanked her for her understanding and for her not leaving me when she discovered me earlier in the day. She closed her eyes and nodded slightly. I continued.
I apologized for any hurt, anguish, misgivings or insecurities she had or may have experienced since this morning. I told her I understood if she had those feelings, beliefs or concerns and that I couldn't and wouldn't blame her if she wanted out.
Ms. A stopped me and told me not to get started on this particular aspect right now, because too much else had to transpire before she could rightfully and in all truthfulness, for all time, make an honest, knowing, carefully considered decision. She was right, of course, so I let it drop.
I told her if it wouldn't end our marriage, I wanted to experience the cb, first hand. I told her I understood the ramifications of what I was saying and fully accepted complete and total responsibility for anything and everything which would occur in the future. And I told her I wanted to start the experience now.
With that, Ms. A asked me how I prepared for my lock-up. I explained that I didn't refer to it as "lock-up," but rather as "self-belting." Okay, Ms. A said, how do I prepare for my self-belting? I asked if we had finished our present discussion and she said we had. I said I was still unsure of where we stood on anything. Ms. A told me to proceed and let things take care of themselves for a while.
I explained what I was doing as I did it. First, I took a slightly damp sponge and carefully wiped off the inside and outside of the entire cb, including the waistband, rear chains, front shield, the two buttons, and the outside of the penis tube. For the inside of the tube, I dampened a filament-reinforced paper towel and ran it back and forth through the tube. For the two locks, I carefully wiped both of them off with the paper towel, then squirted a drop of liquid graphite on to a key, then ran the key in and out of both locks. Then I used a short burst of WD-40 spray lubricant on the inside and on the outside of both locks. Then I wiped the excess WD-40 off the locks. Then I used the toilet, making sure I was as "empty" as my bladder could be.
Then, I told her, I undressed completely, after which I masturbated several times in order to (1) enjoy myself because it wouldn't be available for a while; (2) relieve any erectile pressure; and (3) although not medically sound, to empty my testes. The last step in my procedure, I said, was actually donning and locking the cb. I did not, at that moment, masturbate.
Ms. A asked me if that was the procedure I had used earlier today. I told her it was. I also mentioned that my undressing was in no way a precursor to my masturbating; its just that it was easier to don the cb when I was naked.
She asked me if it was the same every day. I told her it was not because once wearing the cb, it was not a day-to-day thing; that is, once on, the procedure wouldn't be necessary until the next time I was going to don the belt. Ms. A acknowledged she had misstated her question and asked if the procedure was the same every time. I told her it was the same procedure I used every time. I explained that I had created and followed my own procedure because I had not seen any such information on the cb web site and that even if I did, my self-created procedure worked for me and I planned to continue to follow it.
Ms. A asked me how many times "several times" was that I masturbated. I told her two or three times. She told me she was going to leave the room and that I should undress and masturbate to my heart's content and then to call her back into the room when I had got to that point. She said she wanted to watch me put the cb on. With that, she got up and walked out of the bedroom without once looking back or saying another word.
I undressed (that was the easy part). I then attempted to masturbate (that was the not-so-easy part). It sounds funny, but I had a tough go of it. Mentally, I was a wreck and trying to coax a climax at this juncture wasn't the easiest thing in the world to do. Finally, I finished two masturbations. Although I ejaculated both times (less fluid the second time), I can't say that I enjoyed that familiar orgasmic "high" either time. I waited for a few minutes, then used the toilet again.
I washed my hands, then dried them. Even after drying them, they were still clammy and sweaty. I brought a second towel over to the bed and continued to stamp my hands into the fluffy towel. I went to the doorway and called Ms. A back to the bedroom.
She came back upstairs, holding two glasses of Captain Morgan spiced rum and Diet Pepsi over ice, one in each hand. She handed me one while she sipped the other. I thanked her and had a sip.
I was naked. Despite having recently twice masturbated, my penis was flaccid. Ms. A asked me if I had masturbated. I told her I had done so two times. She asked me if I was still ready to go through with all this. I told her I was. In between our conversations, we were both sipping our drinks.
Okay, she said, put it on.
I donned the waistbelt, then used the stocking trick to don the penis tube. Ms. A stopped me and said she wanted to see that again. I pulled the penis tube off, then showed her how it was done. She just looked and shook her head, saying nothing. She asked me if I had figured that one out for myself and I told her about another individual on the cb web site who had discovered it. She also asked me about the stocking, making specific mention that she didn't wear them. I told her I had purchased the least expensive pair of stockings I could find at the local Wal-Mart. She told me to go ahead and put the tube on again, which I did. I then laid down on the floor of our bedroom and, using my hands, aligned the tube with the front shield, adjusted my scrotum sac, sucked in my stomach, and raised my knees as I started to pull up the front shield.
Ms. A stopped me again and asked if this is how she found me when she had come home earlier. I told her it was.
She asked if there was any reason why the post sticking through the front shield couldn't be locked right away. I told her there was not but that I usually did it later because I had always self-belted and didn't want to let go of the front shield to fasten a lock which wasn't going anywhere.
Getting on her knees beside me, Ms. A put the button on the post and attempted to push the lock shut. She had to twist the button/lock around until it clicked into place. She then pushed the lock shut. There, she said, that's all done. I told her that what she had done was lock the penis tube to the front shield but that until the front shield had been locked to the waistband, I could still get out. She said she understood that, but one thing at a time and for now, the lock was on and locked ... continue. Ms. A stayed kneeling right next to me.
Raising my knees, I pulled the front shield up. For some reason, it seemed more of a snug fit than I ever remembered. Pulling as hard as I could I finally got the front shield up and on the waistband posts. I looked over at Ms. A, who reached over and put the button on the post. It aligned itself perfectly. Ms. A pressed down on the button but I told her it was on correctly. Without saying a word, she looked me right in the eye as her hand quickly and firmly pushed the lock shut. Standing, she withdrew her hand and told me to get up, get dressed and sit on the edge of the bed. I did.
Okay, she told me, you wanted it, you got it. No whining, no complaining, no begging, no pleading, no "secret searches" for the keys. Did I understand the rules? I said I did. Okay, then, I'll unlock that thing when we go on our vacation and not a minute before. I hope you like what you've got yourself into because you are in it now. And so I was.
The ensuing two weeks were both hell and a mind-jumbling mixture of excitement and frustration. We both kept our word: She never once let me out and I kept my complaints to myself. I'll admit that there were times when I was this close to begging her to unlock it and let's forget the whole thing, but I didn't. And the inability to relieve my sexual anxiety was making me a nervous wreck. I hardly slept the first two nights. Then, over breakfast on the third morning, Ms. A told me that I wasn't getting out, and if I didn't stop fidgeting in bed, one of us would have to sleep in another room.
Spouses sleeping in separate bedrooms was how my first marriage had started to unravel. Ms. A was aware of that, so I was keenly aware and very sensitive to not having this action take place. I figured I had already managed to move this marriage into enough hot water.
Night three was a test of my ability to lay quietly. Since Ms. A didn't mention any fidgeting the next morning, I must have succeeded. (I must admit, though, it's quite a feeling to go to bed wearing a cb. I could feel the edges of the front shield on my upper inner thighs. The rear chains were shortened enough so that when I was on my side, not once during the entire two weeks did they ever slip into the crack of my rear end.)
Despite both our knowing full well that I was locked into my chastity belt, other than an occasional remark or question about pinching or how I was doing, Ms. A never asked about it. We chatted over dinner as all couples do. The subject of the cb occasionally came up, but was never the sole focus of any of our conversations. After the first few days, in fact, I practically forgot I was wearing it.
We carried on with our lives as if nothing out of the ordinary was occurring. I went back to work the next day and Ms. A went about her daily activities. Ms. A saw the cb in the morning when I got out of bed to use the toilet, sink and shower in preparation for going to work (I had to start getting up earlier in order to get ready because drying after my shower took a lot longer); then saw it again in the evening just before we went to bed. She never said a word about it during any of those times. (In all truthfulness, I kept expecting her to make some remark or ask me if I was tired of it yet, but she never did.)
The worst night had to be have been night five. It was a Saturday and we had been watching VH-1 and MTV earlier in the evening. Now I was wishing I hadn't. It was late at night and I was exhausted. In that stage somewhere between awake and light sleep, I laid quietly, breathing evenly, silently cursing myself. And then, in the dark, quiet, stillness, I thought I felt a mild earthquake. (In this part of the country (Southern California), such seismic activity is not uncommon.) In any event, the bed was gently but definitely shaking. I knew I wasn't moving. As soon as I thought "earthquake" I recognized what it really was. I remained quiet and unmoving as Ms. A, thinking I was asleep next to her, furiously masturbated herself. As she finished, I slowly rolled over on my side, facing away from her. If she could have seen in the darkness, she would have seen the tears of my unrelieved and unable-to-relieve anxiety running silently down my cheeks. And nobody wants anyone else to see that.
Ms. A had several more surprises in store for me. One of them is posted elsewhere on your site, Altairboy. They are the Polaroid pictures of me taken in a public park early one fine morning, but before my freedom and the start of our vacation.
I know this is long, but every word is true. Please feel free to post this to your marvelous site. I only ask that you identify me as "Anonymous."
[ Back to Male chastity page ]
Page last updated 99-Mar-20 by: Altairboy@aol.com