How to describe it? It was a typical day. I left my Victorian brownstone at 8:45 am and walked the ten blocks to my office as usual. I am a clinical psychiatrist and a 32 year old unmarried female. I have my own practice specializing in obsessive-compulsive behavior problems. Business is booming among the middle-age yuppie set.
I am 32, 5'7" (a bit on the thin side). People say I am attractive, with black hair and blue eyes, I am, at least, unusual. I have good proportions (enough about that) , work out regularly and have turned many a man's eye. My last boyfriend said that I have legs that don't quit. Cute. I am proud of them and wear skirts whenever I can. The fact that I am not married is not for want of trying. I have given up on the dating bar scene. The middle/upper class men I meet all seem to be so full of themselves that there is no room for me. I have some very traditional values left over from my parents. I want to be loved, worshiped and respected. I want the man to care for me. A man should treat me as the great prize I am The men I have dated seem to be more in love with their own reflection in the mirror than anything else.
I opened up my second floor office suite at 8:55am and waited for my 9:00am appointment. He was a new client. He didn't say much over the phone about his problem, only that he was referred to me by a local physician. At 9:01am he came into the office. I am seldom impressed with most men at first sight. I know all the types, the intellectuals, the pretty boys, the athletes. This guy took my breath away. He was tall about 6'3", 180-190 pounds, with brown hair with a touch of red in it and green eyes. He was beautifully developed. I could see great biceps and pecs through his dress shirt. His boyish face belied an intelligence and humor that I find very sexy.
After the formalities, we went into my main office where I do therapy. He chose a chair instead of the couch. When he sat down he said, "I don't know how to begin... I am confused, I have lost days, weeks and months of my life recently and most importantly, this morning, I woke up wearing a chastity belt." I was more than taken back. "A what?" He said, "a chastity belt that encases my crotch completely. I cannot remove it and don't know what to do." I did know whether to laugh or accuse him of some practical joke instigated by some of my colleagues in the profession. He was not amused by my comments. "This is serious ," he told me. "I need to know what happened to me. I woke up in a hotel room with this damn thing on and a note to go to you for help."
I asked him to disrobe (assuring him I am a medical doctor) so I could see the chastity belt. What a buff body. It took all the control I had to refrain from touching it. Muscles in al the right places but not too muscled, more like a well-developed swimmer than a pure body builder. I immediately saw his problem. Around his waist, covering his lower abdomen and genitals was a formfitting stainless steel cover. He could not touch or even see his cock or balls. It looked like one piece of stainless steel, more like tight briefs with leg holes. There was a gap for his anus so he could defecate, but his buns were molded and covered (I like tight buns). There was no lock to be seen, just a smooth seam running down the front. It probably fit together like a clamshell with his genitals in between. Ingenious. I asked him if he could urinate without problem and he said yes.
He put his clothes back on and sat back on the chair and asked what to do. I said wouldn't a metal shop or ER be better than a psychiatrist. He said that he talked to a friend who is a machinist who looked at the device and said that it is made too tight fitting to be cut off without physical damage. "It has to lock somehow and I need the key".
I told him at as long as he wasn't in pain, not to worry about the belt, we would solve the mystery in time. To just relax and together we would deal with it. You could see the relief in his face. I asked about the note. He gave me a crumpled piece of paper. It said, "You are now locked for life. Any attempt to remove this belt will cause you a great deal of bodily harm." See Dr. Michelle S_____ for help." Curious. Who could be belting men and sending them to me? That seemed to be a bigger mystery than this guy in the chair. Our fifty minutes were up so I made arrangements to see him again in a few days to talk this over and decide on a plan. He was an upper level executive with an international corporation with local offices, so getting away for visits would not be a problem.
When I came home that night, I got the mail from my mailbox and brought it into the house. There was one white standard envelope with no stamp or return address, just Dr. Michelle S___ on the envelope. I pulled a slip of paper from the envelope. Written on it were the words, "How do you like your present? Have you guessed yet?" Weird! I had no idea what it meant. But the use of my title (doctor) with my first name rang a bell. It was the same usage as on the slip of paper that my belted patient had. Few have called me that. I prefer the more formal doctor with my last name.
In the next few weeks, my belted patient and I got to know each other better. I was right, he was funny and smart and to tell the truth, I as attracted to him more and more. Odd thing, when I enquired about his sex life, he said he was not interested in sexual relations. He never wanted to be belted or have any interest in domination. I enquired further but met a lot of resistance to that line of questioning. I asked about the events just before he woke up belted but he could offer no help at all.
With his consent, I hypnotized him trying to probe his subconscious. When he was under, he immediately stiffened and screamed out as in pain. I quickly brought him out of the hypnotic state. He could not explain the why he screamed.
Returning home that night, I again, had a letter addressed to Dr. Michelle S____ in my mailbox. This time it was a long one. It started, "Give up? Well I thought you would figure it out, but since you don't seem to be able to I will explain. Do you remember back to your psychiatric residency at the psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane? Do you remember Jill Southern the patient in there for killing her abusive husband? Well I am Jill. You were the only psychiatrist who treated me with respect. The others probed and prodded me like a lab specimen but you alone treated me like a human. I remember our talks about men. I particularly remember joking with you about the perfect man being three feet tall with a twelve inch tongue and could breath through his ears. You said that although you agreed with the tongue part, muscles and the proper attitude were important. I deduced from what you said that the present crop of men did not meet your standards. From our discussions, I deduced what kind of man you were looking for (you were interviewing me, but I was interviewing you). When I got out of the hospital, I moved to your city and began looking for a man that would be a perfect match. It was easy to find the rare material. Then came the hard part. You see, I went to the hospital for killing a man so this time I just wanted to mess with his head. I believe that women must take control from men. Since society won't let you kill them, I decided to train them. You see here my present to you the first prototype of the new man.
How did this happen? First you may remember that I tested off the charts on your intelligent tests. I have sufficient resources that I can get and do what I want. And I am now a psychiatric nurse, so I have easy access to the right drugs and equipment. While in the psych hospital, I read all I could on behavior modification, aversion therapy and conditioning.
I will not go into all the details, but you should know that I started dating your patient, took him back to my house, drugged him and put him into a virtual reality world of pain and pleasure. He has been conditioned to dislike normal sexual pleasure. I doubt if he could have an erection if the belt were removed. He was strapped to a wooden chair, a VR unit covering his head, sometimes hours, sometimes days in pain, sweat glistening off his buff body as his genitals were tortured endlessly, he learned to serve a woman, that his pleasure is only what is granted by a woman. The hypnotic and psychiatric drugs I used helped mold him permanently. I also used drugs that would make him physical sick when he saw certain sexual images. Sort of an updated Clockwork Orange (only for real). Breasts, vaginal intercourse, beautiful women all turn him off. But I am not an animal. I gave him some pleasure too. Whenever he saw images of a woman being tongued by a man, I gave him pleasure. This is what he has been imprinted to do, make love to a woman's vagina with his tongue. Surgically implanted near his prostate is a little computer chip that can vibrate. With a touch of a button on a controller, you give him an intense orgasm. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Your patient has been training, permanently trained to serve. And here is the kicker. He has been conditioned to serve one woman. The first woman who comes to him in a blue silk shirt, black leather skirt slit up the side, wearing black hose and a black garter belt (no panties), telling him to get down on his knees and 'do her' will get him for life. If not you, then someone else. Enclosed you will find the key to his chastity belt. The lock is internal. It is a long flat rod that slips between the belt and your patient's cock (use grease on the rod). With a little fiddling and the enclosed directions to the switch, you can trip the internal lever and free him. Or you can wear that slutty leather skirt and enjoy. Also, enclosed is the little electronic device that emits a signal that activates the pleasure chip in his prostate.
How did she know about that leather skirt I bought on a lark and never wore? How did she know I owned a blue silk shirt?
Soon it was the day for his next appointment. That morning I took out that black skirt and put it back into my closet a hundred times. Finally, I lied to myself that it would be just an experiment to see if what the letter writer had said was actually true. If I did this I would be violating every tenet of my profession and no better than those disgusting male shrinks who make it with their patients. But I fooled myself. I said that if I got him out of the crazy's clutches I could heal him and release him from his prison of conditioning.
When he came into my office, he saw my black skirt and a hiss came out of his lips. I closed the door to the waiting room and asked him to kneel down and 'do me.' He immediately obeyed. I couldn't suppress a smile.
This is not the first time I have been made love to this way. Most men lick a woman like they are trying to jerk you off (not knowing a clit is not a cock). You can tell they want to get it over with quickly. They have no technique and don't realize that the vagina and clit are far more sensitive than the penis. Who trained this guy? His tongue lightly feathered my vagina at first. Darting in and out, barely grazing me. He was so precise with his tongue that he could touch the sides of the folds of the lips of my vagina. He was incredible. Ever so slowly he brought me along, alternating between soft and hard, sometimes touching my clit in short rapid bursts, sometimes tonguing me long, hard and slow, bringing me to the point of orgasm and cooling me down again and again and that was just the foreplay. For the main event, he started to circle my clit with his tongue, ever so gently at first then harder and harder. The circles were always at the same speed, kind of slow and never increased in speed for what seemed like hours. His tongue was so skilled it could lift my clit out of it's fleshy home and circle it while keeping it lifted. Finally, I could not stand it anymore and commanded him to finish me. The orgasm itself was more intense than anything I have ever experienced, heightened by the fact that he thrust his tongue into me while I was cumming, thus giving me a great vaginal orgasm. I screamed loud and long and when I finally came back to earth I realized I was holding some of his hair in my hand. Holding his head and pushing it into me, I had inadvertently pulled out some of his hair. I demanded more and was serviced three times before I activated the button to give him pleasure.
We have been together for five years, five of the best years of my life. I send him back once a year to have the belt serviced and the conditioning re-enforced. I am a gentle loving mistress who appreciates the gift I have been given. My former patient is content. I correspond with my benefactor and we discuss improvements in the newer models she is working on. Life is good.
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Page last updated 00-Jun-24 by: Altairboy@aol.com