The Ex-Girlfriend

"Pleased to see me?" she asked.

Pleased wasn't the word. But there she was, on my doorstep. I gathered from the suitcases that things hadn't worked out with the guy she had left me for. And now she thought she could just waltz back into my life as if the last year hadn't happened? My suspicions were confirmed when I noticed how much make up she was wearing - she always did know how to wrap me around her little finger.

"Look, I realise this must be a shock, but I promise it'll only be for a few days. Just until I can find somewhere else to live. And after all, we did say we'd stay friends."

Oh really, I thought, did we say that? As I remembered it, she said it and didn't stop to notice whether I was agreeing or not. Easier to say when you're the one walking out, moving on to (as she thought) something better, not the one whose dreams for the future have just been unexpectedly shattered. Still, I guess I got some kind of satisfaction from the fact that she'd run back to me when things didn't work out. Maybe I even thought she'd see how good I'd always been to her and we'd get back together. For whatever reason, I took the fateful decision of letting her stay.

In truth, hurt pride wasn't the only reason I was reluctant. I'd been single in the year since she left me, and had started to experiment with my old fascination with enforced chastity. I'd ordered myself a secure chastity belt from the internet, and would often wear it when I was alone at home. Just the idea of being locked away and unable to get sexual satisfaction made me so horny. I've always had this strong masochistic streak, probably the reason I was attracted to domineering women like her in the first place, though I'd never dared talk to her (or any other girlfriend) about my fantasies.

The trouble was, I would get so horny while wearing the belt that I'd want to jerk off which, since I had the key, I was able to do. I'd feel good momentarily, but then regret that I didn't have the willpower to allow my frustration levels to build higher before giving in. What I needed, of course, was a keyholder. But who? I didn't have a girlfriend, and going to a professional domme seemed incredibly risky - what if she started blackmailing me, demanding huge sums of money in return for releasing me?

Eventually I hit on a solution - I would mail the keys to myself, always in two separate envelopes in case one got held up or.. gulp... lost entirely! If I mailed them first thing in the morning, I knew I had 24 hours when there would be no way I could release myself. This thrilled me beyond words, but before long I began to wish there was some way I could be confined for longer. Then one day I had the idea of using a remailing service on the other side of the country.

This usually guaranteed me about a week locked up and. best of all, introduced an element of uncertainty into when I would get the keys back, since their turnaround time seemed to vary according to how busy they were. Towards the end of the week I would be climbing the walls. The feeling each day when the mail arrived but my keys weren't included is impossible to describe - desperate frustraion combined with a thrilling feeling of helplessness, the knowledge that I could do nothing but sit and wait.

This was exactly the situation I was in when my ex-girlfriend unexpectedly showed up. I had been certain that day would be when the keys would finally arrive, but no. When the doorbell rang, I even fantasised that it might be the mailman coming back, saying "Sorry, I have a couple more letters for you here, didn't notice them before." But instead, there she was.

Whatever my desires for us to get back together, I was relieved when she asked if I had some spare sheets so she could make up a bed on the couch. I couldn't begin to imagine my embarrassment if she discovered my belted state! The next morning, as we had breakfast together, I suddenly had a horrible thought. Sometimes the mail would come before I had to leave for work, sometimes after. That added another delicious element of uncertainty - all day long at work, I'd be wondering whether the keys I was so desperate for were lying on my doormat at home. But what if they came today after I'd gone out? What if she saw them?

All that day, my usual anxiety about whether the keys would arrive was combined with worrying about whether she would discover them and ask me what they were. But I told myself I was being stupid. They would just be a couple of envelopes as far as she knew, and she'd have no interest in opening my mail. When I arrived home that evening, I tried to be as casual as possible, asking her about her day, whether she'd seen any nice apartments to rent etc. before nonchalantly asking whether there was any mail for me.

"Yeah, I left it on the kitchen table," she said. My heart was pounding as I got up and walked towards the pile of letters. Just before I got there she added, "Just bills by the look it it."

The next morning, the mail arrived while we were having breakfast. I forced myself not to jump up immediately, but to finish eating and then casually saunter over to the doormat as if I hadn't a care in the world. Still nothing. This was the longest it had ever been. That day in the office, I called the remailing service. They said they couldn't monitor individual items of mail, but that they weren't too busy just now, and anything they received a week ago would have been processed and sent out again within a couple of days. What was going on? The mailman couldn't have lost both envelopes.

That night, I searched my ex-girlfriend's face for any hint that she might hold the key to this mystery, but she seemed the picture of innocence. Several more days went by with no keys and no clue as to what had happened to them, until one evening I came home to find my ex on the phone, seemingly talking about an apartment to rent, writing down the details on a scrap of paper. When she finished the phone call, she turned to me and said,

"I've got some good news. You must have been wondering when I was going to get out of your hair."

In truth, it was the last thing that had been on my mind.

"Well, I think I may have found the perfect apartment. I'll have to see it for myself, of course, but on paper it looks great. Hey, you know this town better than me - does this seem like a good deal to you?" She handed me the piece of paper.

"Yes," I said, "it seems pretty g..." My heart stopped and my insides turned to ice. She'd written the details of this apartment on the back of an envelope. I knew without having to look that on the front would be my address in my own handwriting. My mind churned, trying to come up with any explanation other than the one I dreaded. But when I looked up, I saw that she was struggling not to laugh out loud at my predicament.

"The apartment... seems... " I continued helplessly.

"Don't bother, honey. I know everything. I know all about the chastity belt you're wearing, and how you'd mail the keys to yourself. In fact, since I know where the keys are now, I'd say I know more than you."

"How..." I blathered.

"Well, as I'm sure you've guessed, the keys came in the mail the first morning I was staying here. What a shame for you the mail came after you'd left for work that day! Funny how the course of your whole life can turn on a little thing like that. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Very curious, I thought. Two identical envelopes stamped by a remailing service in California, both with something heavy inside them, and I was pretty sure the address was in your handwriting. To be honest I hadn't given you much thought in the year since I'd left you, but I confess I was suddenly very curious as to what kind of life you'd been living. All the more after I opened the envelopes and found nothing but identical keys inside."

"Now why would a man mail two identical keys to himself, I wondered. And why use a remailing service on the other side of the country? The answer had to be that he wanted to deprive himself of the keys for some reason, and wanted it to be for longer than a day. But I confess I still couldn't figure it out, until I had the brilliant idea of looking at your internet browsing history. What a revelation that was! Dommes, dommes, dommes and then... aha!... chastity belt manufacturers."

"Finally I understood - you'd locked yourself into a chastity belt, and found a way to ensure you couldn't unlock yourself again for a few days. I presume you considered asking one of these dommes to keep the keys for you but then chickened out, thinking they might take advantage, blackmail you maybe? Very wise. And since you didn't have a girlfriend to ask, entrusting them to the postal service was the only option you had left."

"Oh I can't tell you how much fun it's been for me over the past few days, watching you going crazy with frustration, desperately wondering what could have happened to those keys. And all the time putting on my innocent face, pretending I had no idea what was going on! Anyway, as I mentioned I've got good news. Oh not the apartment, I made that up. No, the good news is that you wanted a female keyholder, and now you've got one! And unlike these professional dommes interested only in money, it's someone you can trust, someone who'll never harm you. Though in this context, allowing your sexual frustration to build to the point where your brain melts doesn't count as harm, I'm afraid."

"The truth is, I always did care for you very deeply. You may not believe that, but it's true. It's just that it didn't work between us as a relationship of equals. I see now that you just wanted someone to dominate you, and I'm more than happy to do it. So here's how it's going to be. We'll continue to live here together. Obviously you'll go out to work, pay the rent and all other bills. You'll also do all the housework, cook for me and so on. You'll also satisfy me sexually whenever I demand it, without expecting to get any satisfaction of your own in return. Nor will you complain if I seek satisfaction elsewhere - or, for that matter, if I bring them back here to what used to be your apartment."

"As for your own sex life, that's up to me. You'll be released from the belt if and only if I feel like it, and you'll always be securely tied up so I can get the belt back on you afterwards. I'll be completely merciless in how long I make you wait - you should know already that your frustration inspires no pity at all in me, only cruelty. All you know for certain is that if you obey every one of my orders precisely and without the slightest reluctance, you have some chance of being released - a tiny, slim chance, but it's all you've got. Put a single foot wrong, and you have no chance at all. Period."

"Well, I don't know about you, but all this talking had made me hungry! I think you know where the kitchen is. And do put some effort into it. Serve me up a tv dinner and you might find the devil skating to work in the mornings before you get your next orgasm."

I cooked the meal in stunned silence, unable to take in the implications of what she had said. When I served the food, she said sharply:

"Er... I don't recall telling you to cook anything for yourself. But as it's the first day of your new life, I guess one small slip can be excused. Put all the food on your plate onto mine, and you can have whatever I leave."

She was as good as her word. I'm sure she ate more than she wanted just for the pleasure of depriving me. When I finally got my share it was served in a bowl on the floor, with my hands handcuffed behind my back to make it almost impossible to eat. Once I'd finished, she uncuffed me so that I could clean up the kitchen, then told me she wouldn't need me any more that night and I could go to bed.

I staggered towards my bedroom door, trying desperately to think of any way I could escape from this predicament.

"Er... excuse me," she barked. "Do you really imagine you're going to be sleeping in the bed and me on the couch? I don't think so. From now on the couch is yours. In fact, since it's your second mistake, tonight you can sleep on the floor. And I'm putting the handcuffs back on. Well, you'll need them in the morning to eat breakfast anyway."

This should give you an idea of what my life has been like for the last 5 years. I'm going crazy with sexual frustration, but nothing I do is good enough to earn me release, and she has warned me that begging will only lengthen my sentence. Worst of all, she constantly finds new ways to torment me, giving me hope that I might get release and then denying me. Two years ago, she announced one day that I had been an especially good slave and she was going to let me have an extended period out of the belt. She even asked me how long I wanted.

"Er... a week?" I suggested nervously.

"A week, really, as long as that? Well, if you think you can handle it!" she replied with a smirk.

I should have known. Before taking off the belt, she cuffed my hands behind my back, and flatly refused to uncuff me until the belt was back on a week later. After all, she said, she'd only promised me time out of the belt, not an orgasm. It was maddening that my penis was finally free but I was unable to take advantage of it. I protested that she should at least let me call my work and give some excuse as to why I couldn't come in.

"Sure," she said, "Go ahead and call them."

Finally I managed to lay the receiver down on the table, dial the number (after several attempts) and lean over with my head next to the receiver to talk to my boss, trying to sound as if nothing in the world was wrong apart from the flu bug which had unexpectedly laid me up.

She even demanded that I do all the household chores as normal during that week. "In fact," she said, " I expect to see some improvement, given that you now have all day to do them!" Inevitably, there were many things I couldn't do properly, and the meals towards the end of the week were particularly poor since of course I couldn't leave the apartment to do any shopping. Sometimes I was able to cook so little that by the time she'd had her fill there was scarcely anything left for me.

"Tut, tut," she said, "I can't pretend I'm not disappointed with the quality of your work this week. It's exactly this sort of sloppiness which prevents you getting the sexual release you're so desperate for. I'd say your recent performance has put off that date by... well, let's not go into specifics! Still, if you think it's worth it just to get a week out of the belt, then I guess that's up to you."

I can't see any way out of this hell she has made for me. Every time the mail arrives while I'm still home, she comments on how funny it is that it sometimes comes before I leave for work and sometimes afterwards, and laughs out loud. Sometimes I think I'll go insane with frustration.

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Page last updated 07-Aug-27 by: Altairboy@aol.com