No End in Sight

I first met Ann when we were at college together. She was so beautiful, and I couldn't believe she was interested in me. I think maybe she saw in me someone she could manipulate, someone so grateful just to be around her that I'd put up with anything.

My suspicions were soon confirmed. One day she made it clear to me that she had no interest at all in finishing college, only in pursuing her singing career, and she expected me to drop out too and work to support her. I protested that I had other plans, but she made it clear that was the only way we would go on seeing each other, and as always I gave in.

To give her credit, though, she worked hard at it. She put together a band fronted by her and another singer called Natalie, also stunningly beautiful, and the two of them were constantly writing songs, working in the recording studio or trying to get gigs. I resented working long hours in a job I hated just so that someone else could live her dream, but then I guess just being with her under any circumstances was a dream come true for me, so I didn't complain.

Finally all her hard work (and mine) started to pay off. The band started to gain a reputation, and they were offered gigs in prestigious venues all over the country. To celebrate her success, I cooked her favourite meal and served it with an expensive champagne. As we ate, I sensed that something was on her mind. Finally, she let me into her thoughts.

"This is all great, honey, and I do appreciate the effort you've gone to. But if you really want to make me happy, there's something else you need to do for me."

"Sure, anything."

"If things carry on the way they are, I'm going to be away from home a lot from now on. And with all I have to think about already, I'm sure you don't want me to be worrying unnecessarily about you."

"No, of course not," I replied, wondering what she was leading up to.

"So the thing is, honey, I want to you to wear a chastity belt while I'm away. I'll keep the only key with me. That way I'll know that even if you're tempted you can't stray, and I won't have to worry about you."

I was stunned. Did she say a chastity belt? It sounded like something from the middle ages. Did they even make things like that these days? I soon found out. After dinner, she led me upstairs and showed me a package that had arrived in the post that day. It turned out to contain a shiny metal chastity belt, with a penis tube just large enough to contain my penis when completely flaccid, and a sturdy belt and lock to hold it in place. I was horrified by how strongly built it was. This was obviously no plaything but a real, working chastity belt that simply was not going to come off without the key to unlock it.

She saw my discomfort and laughed. "Don't worry honey, you don't have to put it on now. We'll wait until I'm leaving on Saturday. Until then you can enjoy your freedom." Putting her arm around my neck, she pulled me down onto the bed for one of those nights that made everything else worthwhile.

Between then and Saturday she said nothing about the belt, and I began to hope she'd forgotten the whole idea. But on Saturday morning as she stood in the doorway with her bags packed, she turned to me with mock surprise and said, "Oh, but aren't we forgetting something?" I tried to reason with her, promising I'd be faithful and insisting that I never even looked at any woman apart from her (which was true) but she was implacable. Sure enough, when I waved goodbye to the cab as it pulled away from our house, she responded by smiling and dangling the key to the belt that was now securely attached to me. I was shocked by how snugly it fit me - she had obviously had it made to measure rather than buying off the shelf - and my earlier impression that there would be no way to get out of it was confirmed. Tug and strain as I might, there was no way I could slip it off, and the metal looked so strong that anything powerful enough to cut it would do terrible damage to the person inside it as well.

That night I hardly slept. My excitement at my imprisoned status caused my penis to try and erect constantly, but it didn't have any room to grow before it came up against the solid metal sheath. I understood too late that her not locking me up a few days before hadn't been a kindness, just a trick to ensure that once I was locked up and knew just how unbearable it was, I'd have an entire week of it to endure before I had any chance of getting the thing off.

At the end of the week, when she walked back through the door, she laughed when she saw the desperation on my face. I pleaded with her to let me out of my belt, but she drew the whole thing out as long as she could, pretending to have lost the key, looking in one bag after another until finally releasing me. I couldn't believe how good having a simple erection felt after my week of confinement, and the orgasm when we had sex that night was one of the best of my life.

Little did I know that this was only the beginning of my descent into a hell of frustration. She continued to lock me up every time she went away, no matter how long for, and became more and more casual about letting me out when she got back. She'd make me massage her all over, saying she was tired from her trip, which sent my frustration levels through the roof, and still refused to release me. One day she announced that she was tired of me badgering her about it, and that in future I wasn't allowed to ask to be released, the penalty if I did being extra time locked up, the amount to be decided by her. She would release me in her own good time, she said, and I would just have to wait patiently. So each time she got back I would do everything I could think of to please her, not daring even to ask for the freedom I so desperately needed.

One time, she had been away for three weeks, and five days after her return had still showed no sign of releasing me. I was going out of my mind, when to my surprise she said:

"You're probably wondering when I'm going to release your cock and let you have an orgasm."

I hardly needed to reply, so she went on:

"Well, I have some news for you on that score. I was very disappointed with the fuss you made before I went away, saying that I couldn't possibly keep you locked up for a whole three weeks. I think you see now that I can keep you locked up for just as long as I want?"

I nodded silently.

"Nevertheless, your little display alerted me to a potential problem. We've just been offered a tour that would mean me being away from home for several months, maybe even a year. Naturally I'm going to keep you locked up for all that time, but it's obvious you'll never let me lock you up if you know it's for that long. So here's my solution. From now on, you'll only be unlocked when your wrists and ankles are securely tied or chained to the four corners of the bed. That way I know I can always get the belt back on without any interference from you. While your belt is off, I'll play with your penis - sometimes I'll give you an orgasm, sometimes I'll bring you right to the edge again and again and then deny you. It will depend on your behaviour - or maybe just the mood I'm in - and you'll never know which it's going to be."

"This will happen maybe once a week while I'm at home, assuming your behaviour is faultless. While I'm away, of course, the belt won't come off at all."

I couldn't believe she could be so cruel, but every word she said came true. It turned out she was away for ten months, and by the end of it I thought my balls might explode with the amount of cum that had built up in them. I was amazed that the frustration level just kept on building and never levelled off. I fantasised about flying out to wherever she currently was, falling to my knees in front of her and pleading that I would do anything, anything at all if she would only let me out of this belt. Then I realised with a jolt that of course I couldn't fly because of the airport metal detectors. She really had me over a barrel, and all I could do was wait.

It didn't help that the band was starting to get TV coverage, and several times during this period I saw on TV the Goddess I adored who had turned my life into a living hell. If I thought she was beautiful normally, when the professional stylists and make-up artists had finished with her she was an absolute knockout. When an interviewer complimented her by saying that her boyfriend was a very lucky man, I could have wept with frustration.

However, just when everything seemed to be going well for the band, disaster struck in the form of a spat between Ann and Natalie. The papers got hold of it and, excited by the prospect of a long-running story featuring two such beautiful women, started to fan the flames, encouraging each of them to attack the other. Before long, what had been a minor disgreement that might have been easily resolved had turned into a blazing row. The rest of the tour was cancelled and Ann came home furious. Despite my desperation, I knew better than to ask to be released, especially when she was in such a foul mood, so I waited as patiently as I could.

But as the public row continued and her anger with her former bandmate grew, my situation seemed the last thing on her mind. Finally she said:

"I've got it. You can give an interview. Tell everyone that what I'm saying about that bitch is true."

"Me?"

"Why not? You've met her enough times, you know what she's like."

I started to protest, saying that doing that would only make the situation worse instead of calming things down. I didn't say that I suspected Ann was probably at least as much in the wrong as Natalie, if not more so. I knew how unreasonable she could be if she didn't get her own way all the time. But she cut me short.

"Oh for God's sake, do I have to spell it out? Say what I tell you to say, or you'll stay locked in that belt until hell freezes over."

I knew there and then that I had no choice. So to my eternal shame, I publicly slandered this perfectly nice woman who had never done me any harm and who I'd always liked whenever I'd met her. At first, I tried to keep it reasonably mild - exaggerating some things, taking other things out of context. I gave an unfair impression of Natalie without telling any outright lies. But Ann wasn't happy, saying that if I was so half-hearted in my support of her, I could forget any ideas about ever having an orgasm again.

With no alternative, I gave a second interview, saying I wanted to respond to fresh public insults Natalie had directed at Ann. This time I really laid into her, saying everything I thought the papers would print, however unfair or untrue. Even Ann seemed shocked by how far I'd gone, but by this time I was so desperate I would have said or done anything to get this infernal belt off.

A few days later, Ann said that I should come up to the bedroom at noon on Saturday and I would finally get what I was longing for. I hardly dared believe it, but when the time finally arrived she handed me an envelope. My heart sank as I took it and realised it was too light to contain a key. Seeing my reaction, she smiled.

"OK, so it's not the key itself, but it's the next best thing - an explanation of where the key is."

I opened the envelope and found a piece of paper inside. For a moment I didn't understand what I was looking at. It was a photocopy of a letter from Ann to Natalie, dated a couple of days earlier. It read:

The tears falling from my eyes meant I couldn't read any more of the letter. I looked up at Ann and saw her cold-hearted smile of triumph, her victory over me finally complete.

It was a look I was to see again when, a beaten and broken man, I knocked on Natalie's door later that day, When she answered, I threw myself on her mercy. I told her that Ann had made me say the things I did by threatening never to release me, and that I didn't mean any of them. I pleaded with her to show mercy on me and end my unimaginable frustration. But I knew from her face that I was wasting my breath.

"You think you're frustrated now, after only a year?"

Without another word, she turned and walked back into the house. I followed, to begin a new chapter in the saga of hopeless desperation my life had become.

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Page last updated 07-Aug-17 by: Altairboy@aol.com