I guess this all began around this time two years ago. We were all at a beach party having a clambake celebrating my friend Gina's birthday. It was just around two years since we all graduated from college and we hadn't had a chance to all be together. It was nice for the "old gang" to be able to sit around and reminisce about frat parties and old professors that had thankfully bit the big one, never again to torture another student with a fifty page term paper.
It was getting late and most of our crowd had long since departed. Just me, Gina, and my buddy Tom were left and since I was the only sober one left, I started cleaning up while Gina and Tom, in a drunken stupor, started giggling and goofing around near the water. I was bagging up the last of our trash when I first heard the scream. I looked over at the surf to see Tom waving frantically. They had gone into the water and he had lost sight of Gina. I jumped into the water and swam as best I could towards the spot where Tom was pointing. The water was cold and the beach was dark but someone must have been looking out for us that night. I caught a glimpse of her as she was going under and grabbed her by her hair. I towed her back to the beach with the last of my strength and lay on the sand panting. Tom had already passed out from the beer or the excitement or both and I was left alone with Gina. She said I had saved her life but I insisted it was nothing. After all, we were friends. What was I supposed to do? Let her drown?
Weeks passed with Gina calling me on a daily basis calling me her hero. She insisted on repaying me in some way but I told her over and over again that it was nothing and that she would do the same for me. At dinner one night, she gave me a deep kiss and said that if there was ever anything that she could do, that all I had to do was ask. I kept that in the back of my mind.
I knew that I could have her if I wanted, but I didn't. You see, Gina was a straight girl sexually, and I was more of a deviant. The few sexual experiences I had with Gina in college were boring and vanilla. Missionary position in the dark and nothing else. She never could accept the fact that I wore a chastity belt. I loved the lack of control it gave me. I loved the feeling of restraint, knowing that if I lost the keys, I would be trapped forever. It was a reliable commercial brand made of stainless steel and I was confident that it was escape proof. I used to mail the keys to myself and relish the fact that my sexuality was dependent on the efficiency of the US mail.
One evening, I checked the mailbox after coming home from work to find the fright of my life. The envelope with my belt keys was in the mailbox, but is was torn nearly in half. It was covered in official looking stamps from the post office stating the obvious fact that my mail was damaged. The key was gone. I was trapped forever. Frantic calls to the post office yielded no results. Some kids had tossed some fireworks into a mailbox and blew half the mail to pieces. The guy at the post office knew nothing about any keys being found. My greatest fantasy had become my worst nightmare.
I resolved not to be a slave to my own deviance. A trip to Home Depot resulted in me purchasing a pack of premium hack saw blades. Since the belt fit so close to my skin, I decided to get to work on the lock and the hasp. I sawed for hours and made a second trip for more blades. After nearly haf a day, the lock fell free from the belt and I was free. My hands were full of blisters and I had a cut on my stomach where the blade slipped a few times, but I was released from my chastity none the less. I masturbated till I passed out from exhaustion.
The next day, reality set it. My fantasies were all crushed. My chastity belt would never seem permanent again. Six hundred dollars down the tube because of a few kids with nothing better to do but blow up a mailbox. I had spent four years living chastity fantasies and now nothing would seem permanent again.
I was watching the Discovery channel one night when Gina's offer came to mind. There was a special on about stealth fighers and how they weighed so little and were so strong because they were made out of such strong materials. Titanium alloys and all that. The parts had to be cast together and cut apart with a plasma torch because the materials melted at nearly 3000 degrees and were impervious to cutting by regular saws. The story seemed so familiar. Gina had told me the same one. You see, she was an engineer at Lockheed-Martin. She helped to design planes and stuff and had often complained about how difficult all of these new composite materials were to work with. I had an idea.
It took hours to convince Gina. She certainly didn't approve. Eventually, she regretfully agreed to look into a design for my new belt. She left my apartment with my old belt in hand and a half-hearted smile on her face. My phone calls to her over the next few weeks were unreturned. I assumed she had backed out of her offer.
I came home one night from work and bumped into my landlady. She had a package for me that the mailman had left behind. I was from Gina. I ripped off the wrapping to find a note:
I want you to be very careful with what's in this box. It's a relatively simple design but very effective. It's made out of a carbon reinforced titanium alloy that we use to make wings for supersonic jets out of. It cannot be cut without generating 3000 degree heat. The guys in the metal shop owed me some favors. The lock is the same one that we use for the cabinets in our documents room. It's also made of titanium and has only one key. It's certified pick and drill proof by the CIA. They're very anal about security when it comes to US military technology. Make sure to keep the lock cover on. I wouldn't want any dust to get in and jam the lock. Please be careful.
Love,
Gina
I tore the box open in a flash and there it was. A beautiful metal polished to a mirror finish. The waistband was about 1/4" thick and 1-1/2" wide. There was a three way hinge in the back with a third band runnng between the legs towards the front where it ended in a triangle shaped cover piece that attached to the waistband in front. There was a widening in the middle of the third band with an opening for the anus to allow defacation. The front shield had a penis tube built in made of the same glossy metal with a recessed area to cradle the testicles. The two sides of the waistband closed together and fit into each side of the front shield, each sliding into a slot leaving a nearly invisible seam. The belt was light. Very light. It couldn't have weighed more than a few pounds. I sat on the waistband to test its strength. It didn't flex a bit.
I examined the front shield. It was smooth but for a plug in the middle of the shield up near the waist. I grabbed a screwdriver and place it in the groove in the plug and twisted. It unscrewed a 1/4" and fell out to reveal the lock within. It was a high security barrel lock (not to mention CIA certified!).
I placed the key in the lock and turned. The locking mechanism must have been internal. Both sides of the waistband sprung out of the front shield. I pulled them back together and heard an audible click. The lock worked flawlessly. I opened the belt again and screwed the plug that acted as a lock cover back in. I shuddered at the thought of a truly permanent chastity belt. Was this what I really wanted? What if I lost the key again. There would be no escaping this one. The tender flesh of my penis would not hold up to the heat of a 3000 degree plasma torch. I stepped defiantly into the belt and pulled the two sides of the waist band around me. I sucked in my stomach and heard the click of my sexuality being sealed away. All I could do was feel the tightly confining belt hugging my skin and stare at the key, thankful that it was within my reach. I would need to get a copy made just in case.
"I can't do it. I'm sorry. I'll lose my license." This was the fourth locksmith. The `do not duplicate by order of US Gov't' stamp on the key meant that I wouldn't have a backup. I guess I needed to be careful. I had been wearing the belt for a week with no problems. I kept the key in my underwear drawer at home. This meant that I was locked in all day while at work. I wanted to keep the key at work but I was afraid of what might happen. What if they brought in new office furniture at night? I'd be screwed ( or unscrewed I guess).
I tested the security of my new belt a few times. The hacksaw blades which had taken care of my old belt didn't even leave a scratch. I even bought a Dremel tool and tried that too. All it did was dull the finish. I loved to put butt plugs in before I put the belt on in the morning and be forced to wear it all day. I knew that I couldn't take them out while I was at work.
One morning, I wisely decided to leave the butt plug out. I had some midnight tacos and I was up with the shits all night. I knew I wouldn't be able to shit at work with the plug in if I got sick again. I locked the belt on in the morning, put the key in my underwear drawer, and left for work.
Worked sucked. Hell all day. I didn't even get out until nearly seven. I drove home in a daze from the long day. I didn't even notice the sirens and the lights until the fireman stepped in front of my car.
"You can't come down this block buddy. Huge gas explosion. The whole main went up. Blew an apartment house to shreds."
The reality didn't set in right away. My god! Everything I owned was in there. Thank god for renters insurance. What used to be my home was now a pile of rubble with a bulldozer crawling over it.
Shit.
The key!
I left it at home.
But there wasn't a home anymore.
"I've gotta get in there! I've gotta get to my place!"
"Hold your horses buddy. The gas guys will give the okay in a few hours. Until then, keep back.Please."
Sure. What did he care. I waited for two hours. They let me sift through the rubble. For two days I searched nearly non-stop. My neighbors searched also. They were looking for remnants of the past. I was looking for the future.
Believe it or not, I found that key. It was where I had left it. In my underwear drawer. Only now, my dresser was flatter than the underwear in it. It had survived the explosion, but not the bulldozer. The round barreled key was now a flat piece of metal. The treads from the bulldozer had cut off the tip of it. Realization set in. I was trapped.
[ The story continues - Chapter 2 ]
[ Back to the chastity fiction page ]
Page last updated 99-Aug-01 by: Altairboy@aol.com