The Exchange of Sexual Power

My name is Tim, I am an engineer, and at the time of writing this I am 32.

Having digested the few tales I have read on this and other sites relating to chastity belts and forced orgasm denial, I feel compelled to write with reference to my own experience in this field.

I had imagined that this topic would have been much more widely written about and discussed, but apart from the few well known sites that exist, it seems a rare and largely ignored subject

I have been interested in power exchange, forced sexual deprivation and its effects for many years, and find its nature much more specific to bdsm than any other.

By its very essence, intentionally depriving another human being of their natural bodily release (and revelling in it) is a more powerful and intrusive activity than any other action within the sphere of 'alternative'sexuality.

I think the subject remains typically unexplored by most couples due to a simple lack of understanding of the strength of a male's sexual urge.

Woman cannot comprehend the all encompassing, soul wrenching need a man can experience if forced in some way to abstain from orgasm (I'm generalising I know, but this is not intended to be a lesson in sexual sociology), and the majority of men have never been placed in a position for any length of time at which they have been unable to relieve themselves when necessary.

It's too easy, an innocuous trip to the toilet, and a few hurried strokes, and the built up tension is released. For most men it is habit, an almost unconscious reaction.

For many years I would treat this activity as part of my morning ritual: toilet, shower masturbate, get dressed.

Masturbation is wholly different to sex. The stimulus is different, the sensation different, the motive different.

It was usual for me to have sex with my wife, walk into the shower with a flaccid, spent member (or so she believed) and still enjoy my morning masturbation without any problems.

Women on the other hand (again I'm generalising) will tend to make much more of a meal of the issue, those who have chosen to correspond with me in the past as a result of fiction I have had published, have spoken to me of sessions lasting up to an hour, of hand mirrors, of lotions, of sex toys, etc etc.

So I suppose this piece is being written to explain the reaction forced abstinence can have on the individual, for those women who wish to know more about the effects it has on a man, and for those men who wonder what it must be like, but have never had the will power or the inclination to try.

It is only when something is taken away that we realise its value, and this cliché could not be more fitting than when applied to chastity belts.

I could not have imagined the internal torment I would experience, or the way in which it warped and twisted my moods, attitudes and general behaviour.

For those readers who smoke, and have ever attempted to stop, I could liken the physical feelings to those felt when trying to give up. But much, much worse.

The frustration, the tightness in the chest, all exist from the very instant you are denied the privilege of orgasm.

The feelings don't go; they come in waves, sometimes worse than others.

Worse still, the waves come in a chain reaction.

You develop an erection so you feel the instinctive need to react to it; you are unable to physically react to it, which perpetuates the erection. Your body automatically conjures up sexual imagery in an attempt to encourage you to satiate your natural bodily function, which in turn frustrates you more.

During my period of chastity, I could maintain an un-touched, un stimulated erection for over three hours, usually at night, during which time I would sweat, grind my armoured genitals into the mattress in the hope of gaining enough friction to satiate the burning desire in the pit of my stomach, toss and turn, trying to find a position in which I was un-aware of the throbbing, pulsating feeling between my thighs until exhaustion took over, until I would fall into a troubled sleep.

All this would take place while my wife laid beside me, either watching with amusement, or berating me for fidgeting, insisting I should sleep downstairs if I continued.

In these enlightened times, it is commonplace to see women attired in little less than a couple of handkerchiefs, and under some circumstances, transparent handkerchiefs.

As men, we have built up a semi immune system to this display of sexuality, accepting it as normal, and becoming no more aroused than a Victorian gentleman would have become excited over the flash of ladies ankle.

For the male held in chastity this is not so, I would find myself transfixed by the glimpse of a thigh, appearing briefly through the slit in skirt.

I would become aroused beyond measure by the sight of a tightly fitting top and the slightest flirtatious sexual reference would leave me gasping for air, the tightly wound spring in my gut being turned one more notch every time.

Its not that I imagined myself sleeping with, or in any way being intimate with the girl I happened to have seen, more that I was aroused quite simply by the beauty of the sight, the womanliness and femininity of the person that I had observed.

The inhibitive nature of the device I was wearing prevented my subconscious from imagining anything more, all hidden agendas were removed.

The other interesting facet to my experience was the complete removal of any aggressive traits I may have had prior to my being locked up.

I am not referring to physicals aggression, as I have never been a violent person in thought or deed. I am referring to the inability to be argumentative, conceited, difficult, and self-opinionated.

It seemed that almost instantly, the desperate sexual need I felt had overridden all of these elements in my character, almost in the way a dog's behaviour changes after it has been castrated.

I instantly became much more tolerant, more accepting, and the little things I had in the past allowed to annoy me suddenly became much more tolerable.

As a psychological experiment it was very revealing, to say the least.

Without any prompting, I instantly became more attentive, sedate, and helpful in all aspects of my life, ironic when you consider the cauldron of burning emotion that was ever present in my conscious.

Perhaps (and I am not a psychologist) it was the removal of the primeval instincts that exist in all our minds.

Perhaps without ever being aware of it, we see all women as a potential conquest, and all men as a sexual threat.

With the ability to exercise our own sexuality removed, these threats become irrelevant, and it is possible finally to inter-react with members of both sexes without an inbred, primeval instinct ruling our personality.

As with all emotions and feelings, it is difficult to express in our crude, limited vocabulary the actual feelings and emotions I was undergoing, vastly superior writers to me have tried and failed, but I hope that in writing this I can convey something of the experience.

I hope that I am able to explain to the un-initiated the all-encompassing implications that chastity has on ones life, and that it is not purely a sexual kink. (Although that's how it started!)

This is not a tale of straps and whips (although we had experimented briefly with them!) nor is it the technical specification of the device I was wearing. There are many other pieces of writing around that cover that particular angle.

I should also point out that at no time have I been encouraged to wear women's clothes, been lent to any of my wife's friends or been forced to participate in homosexual activity.

Again, there are plenty of tales on the net covering those issues.

*****************************************************

I suppose the story begins with my finding the Internet.

It is a marvellous (and sometimes dangerous) tool that allows you to gather a wealth of information on any topic, allowing you to expand areas of specific interest that you had previously discarded as spent.

I found myself trawling through page upon page of material, not all sexual, astounded by the wealth of knowledge and relation of experiences by other people who held similar experiences and views as myself.

Initial, this newfound enlightenment led to our experimenting with handcuffs and sex toys, my imagination fired by the information and images I was viewing.

After a while this petered out, and it seemed a natural progression to begin devouring the sites that dealt with power exchange and more subtle domination.

I kept this penchant secret from my wife, quickly clicking to another page when she approached lest she discover my secret.

As a practical man, ever willing to accept a challenge, I decided to attempt to build a foolproof chastity belt in my workshop.

I had access to almost every imaginable tool, and for some considerable time I put in a lot of 'overtime' hammering, shaping and experimenting.

I finally managed to create a device that achieved the level of security that I felt was necessary for a successful project.

You must bear in mind, that the very dedicated nature that had led me to construct the belt in the first place, would also be the nature that forced me to test its security to its limits, and so was forced to build it from the most impenetrable materials possible.

Eventually, the finished article was complete. Constructed from mild steel, I had coated it with plastic to avoid excessive friction against the skin, and had taken the time to ensure that every possible means of dismantling the product was hidden inside when it was worn.

I still believe (although I never tried) that the only way to remove it was to cut it off with an angle-grinder; this operation being so inherently dangerous that it would have caused inevitable and serious injury to the wearer. The padlock was recessed into the front panel of the device, and the rest of the steel belts were held so tight against my skin that the amount of heat generated in cutting them would have ensured the cutting process would have been incredibly lengthy, let alone the fact that it would have impossible to complete the cut without lacerating the skin beneath and around the working area.

I would have been able to perhaps file it off, but the time taken would have been immeasurable.

Apart from its weight, the device was reasonable comfortable, if a little hot at times, and on the few trial occasions I wore it for a short time, it proved easy to wear, and simple to conceal. Toilet functions were impaired slightly, the device forcing the wearer to sit down for both operations, and the application of a shower hose through the small vent holes was necessary to maintain hygiene.

Other than that, I was quite impressed with my ingenuity.

It was difficult to know how to proceed next.

I couldn't very well plonk it on the dinner table; ours was not that sort of relationship.

I had to introduce the idea gradually.

My wife is computer illiterate, and wouldn't begin to know how to use my pc, but she was always keen for me to print out some of the funnier e-mails I received from my network of computer-owning friends.

One evening, after a few too many drinks, I printed a sheaf of them out for her to read, and in doing so printed out a letter that I had spotted on the Altairboy site.

It was from a woman who claimed to have 'locked' her husband, and found him to be a changed person, attentive, well mannered, caring, and attentive to the extreme in the bedroom.

After the first initial flush of eroticism, I had long since orally satisfied my wife, so I knew this would spark her attention.

She didn't mention the letter to me, nor did her mood change after reading it. It was few days later that by chance I heard her talking abut the subject to her friend.

I didn't catch the gist of the conversation, but the fact that she had seen fit to remember it and broach the topic with her friend was significant.

It was a couple of weeks later that the subject arose once more.

We were out on one of our (rare) nights out, and she accused me of leering at other women in the bar. I have to confess, she was absolutely right, I had spent most of the evening transfixed by several blonde girls sat on the other side of the room.

All men do it; some are better at disguising it than others.

I denied this of course, almost automatically.

"I ought to get one of those belts for you" she muttered angrily.

Seizing the opportunity, I informed her that while I had been building our whips and other toys (all our bondage equipment had been hand made) I had built a chastity belt, 'just for a laugh'

"Ill be putting you in it soon!" she returned, jokingly, her anger dissipating.

When we got home I got the device out of the shed to show her.

Shaking her head in disbelief she briefly examined the object, almost as if she was loath to touch it.

As she turned on her side, slightly drunk, I put the belt on the floor at the side of the bed, slightly disappointed that he had not asked me to personally demonstrate it.

The exercise had obviously been a waste of time.

I could not have been more wrong.

The way in which my wife makes decisions has never failed to amaze me.

At almost two in the morning she woke me up, gently caressing me with her hand.

"Perhaps you should try it on, darling" she purred in my ear.

Rousing myself from sleep, slightly bewildered by her sudden enthusiasm, I did as she asked, pointing out the aspects of it I was most proud of, describing the methods I had used to weld its parts together

I pushed my still semi-erect cock into the relevant housing before snapping the front shut and removing the key.

"See" I crowed, "impossible to get into."

She raised her eyebrow questioningly, and I explained how difficult it would be to remove.

Seemingly satisfied with my assurances, she popped the keys in her bedside drawer and turned over once more, stretching her arm out behind her back and resting her hand on my inner thigh, just below the plastic coating of my belt.

Ordinarily, her hand on my inner thigh would have done little to arouse me, (our sex life had waned considerably over the years), but under these circumstances, I found myself becoming stiff in seconds, or at least as stiff as the constrictive belt would allow.

It took some considerable time for me to sleep that evening, despite the alcohol I had consumed, and I was relieved when she removed her hand, allowing me to try and focus on something else in an attempt to diffuse the yearning I felt.

For almost an hour my erection stayed, pulsating almost to the point of pain, but finally I managed to doze off, awakened at intervals by the unfamiliar sensation of the warm plastic around my waist.

The next morning I awoke with the stereotypical erection, remembering instantly my predicament, and turning to my wife to request the return of the keys, realised she was gone. After searching at length for the keys, my cock still throbbing in its steel housing, I reluctantly gave up and had a shower, even at this early stage doubting my own sanity in suggesting this ludicrous idea.

With hindsight, this is just another example of how much we men value our frequent, valueless orgasms. I had spent weeks preparing the moment, but in possession of an erection, was quite ready to abandon the whole idea for a thirty second wank.

It was several hours before she returned, grinning from ear to ear, explaining me that she had taken the keys a friend's house and asked her to keep them indefinitely.

I listened horrified, immediately asking her to retrieve them.

Like an addict without his fix, I was prepared to try almost anything to remedy the situation and satiate the burning in my cock. My testicles had begun to ache into the bargain by now, causing a dull ache in the base of my back, so putting as much authority in my voice as I could muster, I demanded she go back and claim the keys.

It was no use. Her mind was made.

For almost two years our sex life had consisted of a two minute coupling twice a week. No foreplay, no affection. We, (or perhaps I should say I) had descended into a routine that had left me satisfied on each and every occasion, and left her frustrated and feeling used.

She had referred to this taboo topic before, never quite as explicitly, but now she happily elaborated on the subject.

She wanted me to know how it felt to be left wanting.

As simple as that.

I couldn't believe she had ever been left feeling quite as desperate as I felt now, but through the overbearing feelings of sexual tension, I felt a pang of guilt.

If she had felt a tenth as unfulfilled as I felt now I could easily sympathise with her.

My rational comments, the impracticalities of the situation I raised, none of these swayed her. Her mind was set.

And that's how it started.

It took the rest of the weekend for me to come to terms with the fact that she had decided to deprive me of my manhood indefinitely (she maintained she hadn't decided how long to make me 'suffer', as she put it).

It was impossible for me to be angry with her. Aside from the fact the whole thing had originally been my idea; she had a perfectly legitimate reason for continuing my ordeal. She claimed not to have had more than a handful of orgasms in the last two years or so, and all of those had been exclusively as a result of her own masturbation.

Besides, it is not easy to become angry and sexually aroused at the same time.

It is a common fact that a mans sexual drive builds to an uncontrollable fever pitch up until the moment of ejaculation, and then disappears in the twinkling of an eye.

Any man honest enough will tell you that the first thing he wants to do after sex is go to sleep, his needs met.

I had not had this privilege in almost seven days, and by now sleep was the last thing on my mind.

The strangest feelings were beginning to germinate in my brain.

This is difficult to explain in a way that makes sense but I shall try.

I was full of sexual impulse. Had she consented to release me, even after my short period of imprisonment, I would have ripped the end off my cock in my eagerness to relieve myself, instantly reverting to my old, sexually selfish self.

However, this possibility being unlikely to arise, I was left with a sex drive that knew no bounds, and no-where for this over-flowing emotion to disperse itself.

Whilst it offered no personal physical gratification, and would only serve to exacerbate my situation, I found myself wanting to sexually please my wife in ways that I had long since abandoned as tiresome or mildly offensive.

Perhaps it was partly a need to prove my masculinity by satiating her desires, the need to leave her panting and spent, and in some way feel I had won a victory.

Perhaps I felt that in pleasuring her in this way, I was proving that I was still capable of having sex, and whilst not actually penetrating her, was still capable of engaging in a sex act, however one sided.

Perhaps my philosophy was 'one of us might as well enjoy an orgasm, even if its not me'

I'm not sure which of these was true; maybe all of them, I just had an unnatural, overwhelming desire to please my wife at my own expense.

Towards the end of that weekend, during which (to my wife's great amusement) I had spent most of my time pacing the house, trying to find odd jobs to focus my mind away from the almost permanent surging in my pelvis, the inevitable happened.

Having shared a couple of bottles of wine we went to bed, at which point my wife became amorous to say the least.

She rolled across me, straddling her legs across my hips, putting her hands either side of my shoulders and letting her hair fall into my face.

She began to grind her pubis into the plate of my belt, starting lightly and then harder, violently bucking against the plastic coating of the lock housing.

Sensing my vulnerability, and her quite obvious position of power over me, she slid unhesitant up my body, trapping my upper arms with her knees, and grasping the headboard with her hands.

Unerringly, she quickly lowered herself onto my mouth, not wanting to lose the moment, and began to slide her moist slit across my lips.

It would be fair to say I had always found the practicalities of this act distasteful. The fact that she urinated from this same organ had always put me off, and it was only during the first few exciting months of out relationship that I had consented to 'treat' her in this way.

At this moment the practicalities were a distant memory. Any misgivings I may have had were overridden by my burning desire to satisfy her.

I slid my in-experienced tongue out, lapping at her swollen lips with an enthusiasm bordering on madness.

The scent of her filled my nostrils, her slit leaving wet trails across my face.

I no longer found this nauseating, now it was proof of my ability as a man to satisfy my wife.

With one final thrust, and a guttural moan, her upper thighs clamped against my ears, she climaxed, her body shuddering at the unfamiliar sensation.

I gasped for breath as she slowly dismounted, her face scarlet from her exertion, her breasts heaving under the flimsy t-shirt she wore to bed.

She slid back down the bed, snuggling up to my side, one leg lazily flung across my thighs, her arm draped across my chest, her face in my neck.

Mentally, I felt better.

The joy of giving I suppose. Physically I was in tatters, the blood pounding through my cock, my testicles unnaturally swollen, a sharp stabbing pain in my gut and my back, and the ever present, unrelenting feeling of exasperation.

It was pointless suggesting that she might unlock me. I knew she didn't have the keys.

It was very shrewd on her part to have handed them to a third party, lest she should crack under the pressure of sexual excitement, and unlock me in order that she could use my cock.

Instead I lay panting, my lower body aching, my mind racing, desperately and fruitlessly searching for a way to release the built-up pressure within me.

She raised her head slightly to see my face and smiled at me agonised expression.

"That was lovely darling," she murmured, kissing my neck.

"Perhaps tomorrow you could.." I tailed off, hesitant.

How could I phrase the words in way that would encourage her to relent?

"No chance!" she replied, not waiting for me to finish my sentence

"Two orgasms a week at my expense, over two years..."

She did some mental calculations. "That's two hundred and seven orgasms I'm entitled to"

She was laughing now as she rolled over, leaving me to my agony.

"Oh yes" she added, obviously oblivious to the extent of my mental and physical anguish, "That's without the interest."

After that event, life began to establish a routine. A routine in which the balance was definitely tilted towards my wife in almost every respect, sexually and otherwise.

She would insist on enjoying her orally induced orgasms at least once a day, at times which best suited her.

More often than not, her first action in the morning would be to gently but insistently pull my head towards her crotch, closing her sleepy eyes and sighing as she relaxed, a contented smile on her face, her fingers laced into the hair on the back of my head as my tongue worked across her slit.

I had become something of an expert by now, and knew exactly how to arouse her, how she enjoyed my tongue flicking gentling across her clitoris, the way she enjoyed my tongue wriggling inside the entrance to her hole.

She would not always climax, and more often than not she would push my head away when she felt satisfied, squeezing my hand and then falling back into a doze, a satisfied smile playing across her lips, only to re-engage my head later on, to 'finish her off' as she put it.

She had begun to view her orgasms in the same way I had viewed mine, and took it for granted that she was able to climax as and when she felt like it, regardless of my thoughts on the matter. I was expected to perform on demand, unquestioning.

I felt I had no choice, as well as the fact that with every orgasm she enjoyed I was closer to being released (although I knew by this point there was very little likely hood she was counting); I felt a strange obligation to succumb to her wishes.

I had begun to notice the blue of her eyes, the way her hair fell against her bare shoulders, the movement of her breasts when she rode my face, all the things I had forgotten and begun to take for granted.

Little things she would say would excite me, make me want to caress her, touch her, kiss her flesh.

Although she had become the sole instigator of our (or perhaps I should say her) sex life, I participated willingly, unable to resist, playing my tongue across her nipples for what seemed an age, revelling in the pleasure I was creating for her. My only pleasure had become her pleasure.

After two weeks I decided to take the rest of my holiday entitlement at work. I didn't feel able to concentrate on my job. Far from becoming used to my predicament, the feelings of exasperation and frustration had intensified. I was almost constantly aware of the burning need within me, despite my best attempts to suppress them.

It is difficult for me to believe that she understood how much I suffered, as on many occasions she blatantly and cruelly teased me about my agony, dismissing it easily, constantly citing the years she had spent in a similar situation.

"I learned to live with it, so can you"

She confessed on more than one occasion that given the limited use I had made of my genitals before my belt was installed, she had not missed penetration in the least, and would me more than happy never to use my cock again, provided she could continue to use my mouth

On several occasions, whilst in company, she had made cryptic comments about my life of chastity. Not specific enough to give the game away, but enough to cause me to redden, squirming in my seat, cursing her as she smiled at me seductively over the table.

On a regular basis I would ask her how long she intended to continue my ordeal.

Sometimes she would ignore the question, changing the subject instantly.

At other times she would claim that her friend had misplaced the keys.

In a more frank moment she confessed that she had no intentions of letting me out at all, given that her life had improved so dramatically since the belt had been installed.

I explained that in order for her to enjoy this newfound contentment I was being forced to live through a personal physical and mental anguish every day.

She had shrugged, disinterested.

I had begun to feel used, humiliated, and small.

I had truly been emasculated.

I had begun to take on most of the housework, partially because it occupied my mind, but partially to please her. She held the key to my rescue, and I automatically fell into a pattern of maintaining her happiness.

She had expanded on her first violent pursuit of her elusive orgasm, realising my vulnerability and a passion to please her, and would occasionally make her satisfaction a long and lingering ritual, kissing me and sliding her tongue into my mouth, nibbling my ear lobe, sucking my nipples until I begged her to stop, close to tears.

She would spin round on the bed, kissing my feet before working her way up towards my thighs, her spread buttocks edging ever nearer to my face, in our early days a pre-cursor to the classic 69 position, during which I would normally have orgasmed into her mouth long before she had gained any sort of satisfaction.

On these occasions, however, she would continue to kiss my thighs before lowering herself onto my face with a moan of pleasure, kneading my legs with her sharp finger nails as she gyrated her hips across my face, whispering instructions, forcing me to flick my tongue across the round, puckered hole of her anus, beads of moisture collecting on her labia, before sinking her warm, soft flesh onto my pliant lips.

On these occasions I would leave a visible patch on the bed, a pool of glistening pre-cum, my caged cock twitching and pulsing fiercely, the moisture trickling from its end, leaking through the vent holes I had drilled and dripping onto the sheets.

By now two months had passed, and she had shown no signs of relenting. My eagerness to please her had secured my fate. However, I had one card left to play.

During my research on the subject of chastity, I had read that it was dangerous in the extreme to prevent natural release of semen for more than three months. I showed her the report, my heart leaping at the thought of my pending release.

She was loath to remove my belt, but at the same time she wasn't prepared to risk my health, and promised to give the matter some thought. For several days I badgered about the idea, to no avail, and her regime of self-satisfaction showed no signs of relenting. In fact it increased, as I'm sure she was attempting to make the most of the situation before her newfound source of pleasure was lost.

On one particular evening my face was pushed under the quilt six times, a record even by her standards. That morning, the membrane of skin under my tongue ached unbearably as a result of my trying to thrust it still deeper into her sex in an attempt to finally satisfy her.

Then, the following night, disaster struck.

She had been especially amorous on this particular night, stroking me around the area of my belt until I was sure that something might explode, I had watched as she became more and more aroused, her nipples brushing my belly as she gyrated her sex provocatively in front of my face. I watched as a tiny bead of fluid left her lips, adding to the collection of moisture that had left the wispy hairs around her slit sticking to her thighs.

I had never felt so aroused. My head spinning as he trailed her fingernails over my thighs, moaning slightly as she offered up her sex for my attention. The pain in my testicles was becoming unbearable, I was a moment away from pushing her away, leaping in the shower and sending jets of tepid water into the inside of my cage.

The pain intensified throbbed, and then transferred itself to my cock, as if a hot needle was being thrust down its centre.

It began to throb, insistently, the pain intensifying.

I let out a moan, almost sob, and sensing what was happening, she bit down vindictively on my thigh, sinking her teeth into the flesh viciously, instantly transferring all sensation to the area round her mouth.

I screamed, my cries muffled by her labia, as she planted them firmly across my open mouth.

In a moment it was over. I sank back, my rigid body relaxing, the dull ache in the bit mark across my thigh overriding all other sensations.

I sat up, pushing her to one side, confused, dizzy, and a little nauseous.

"I...I... think something's happened..." I began stuttering.

Turning round to face me, kneeling between my outstretched legs she smiled.

"You've come darling," she informed, rubbing her fingertip into the gelatinous mess that was leaking from my belt.

"But I didn't feel.."

"Shame!" she intoned, still smiling,

"Did we not enjoy our orgasm then?" she continued sarcastically, still trailing her finger through my semen.

"It hurt, and you bit my leg, I couldn't feel.It didn't."

I trailed off, tears beginning to prick my eyes.

It was true. Unbelievably, the blessed release I had waited for for two months had occurred without me knowing it. The pain of the thick stagnant semen coursing through my cock, coupled with her timely bite, had meant that I had missed the whole event.

I had wanted to feel it, to see it, to watch my cock pulsate with life, to succumb to the deep pleasure as I spurted my frustration into her mouth in hot thick streams. I had wanted her to massage my turgid swollen balls, milking the last drops of semen from my proud cock with her hand, licking the salty mess from its tip, smiling lovingly as she swallowed the last few drops. Instead I had felt nothing but pain.

Worse still, although the physical pain in my body had abated a fraction, the frustration and desperation I felt constantly was still there.

Although the physical pressure had abated slightly, the mental pressure was still as strong as ever.

"Still Darling, there's one good thing to come out of all this" she whispered, gently.

I looked up, my eyes met hers. I could see the undisguised delight etched all over her face

"At least another two or three months until we have to talk about removing your belt again"

[ Back to chastity fiction page ]

Page last updated 02-Nov-13 by: Altairboy@aol.com