Excerpt from 'Owned and Owner'Submitted by: Anneke Jacob
I don't normally publish just an excerpt, but the aurhor is a CB enthusiast and long time reader of this site. This page is from the book, 'Owned and Owner', with further information at the end of this article. - Altairboy@aol.com
IntroductionLong before the time of this story, men and women on a colonized planet divided themselves completely from each other, and formed separate societies; the women separated so far as to move their population to a different world altogether. On rare occasions, however, a woman convicted of crimes could choose to be sent to the men's planet. When this happened, she was sold as an exotic pet, had the status of an animal, and was kept as a slave. This is the story of Etrin, a passionate submissive who makes this choice, and Garid, the man who buys her.
Garid keeps his acquisition in the most abject slavery, never allows her to speak or learn his language, and enjoys the absolute control and pleasure that his ownership gives him. His staff, Pav and Arleben, look after Etrin as well; Arleben is particularly experienced at breaking an animal to harness. At this point in the story, Etrin has more or less adjusted to her role, but Garid has new challenges for her.
The sound of the lockAs time went on, my master seemed to focus more and more on arousing me, and less and less on satisfying me. It was torture, exquisite and excruciating. The first few nights that I was chained up in my kennel without an orgasm, I stayed awake for hours, convinced he must be coming back.So it was not surprising that I began to play with myself, when I thought no one was looking. Mind you, after an intense session I was always prevented from touching myself; my hands were chained to my collar, my knees spread, sometimes my nipple rings tied to the ceiling of my kennel, I suppose to torment me further, and to keep me from turning over and humping the floor. But they didn't try to keep me immobilized all day. I did get a terrible whipping the day my master noticed my juices soaked into one of my mitts. After that I knew he was looking for evidence, and I began to be more careful. I could sometimes manage it against my forearm, if my mouth was free to lick the evidence off afterwards. But Arleben or Pav caught me more and more frequently as they began watching for the infraction. The result was always immediate immobilization, sometimes some painful swats from Arleben, and angry scolding which I imagine consisted of something along the lines of, "Just wait till your master gets home!" When he did get home, the punishment generally included the offending area, and was seriously unpleasant. The beatings were enough to make me very, very sorry, and to make me decide that the pleasure was simply not worth the punishment. When he applied hot sauces to my cunt, however, and left me writhing in torment for hours, and burning afterwards for a day and a half, I was truly convinced. Until the next time. Really, he left me no choice. You can't drive a poor girl to the edge over and over, and never let her fly. And it wasn't as if I was expected to be self-controlled. No one gave me a parental lecture and told me to use my willpower. We're not talking rational persuasion here. We're talking animal training, cause and effect, operant conditioning. Certain behaviours were followed by unpleasant consequences, and should have deleted themselves from my lexicon. Well, I guess I acted on those impulses less than I had before, so maybe a psychologist would say it worked. I don't think my master or his staff were satisfied, however. Because the behaviour involved so much pleasure, so much potential release, that there was no way they could completely extinguish it. At least, so I thought at the time. My master spent all of one evening teasing me almost out of my mind. My hands were tied up behind my back with the strap which crossed between my breasts. He spent what seemed like hours, sucking and pulling on my nipples, both of them at once; of course he knew what that did to me. I remember he had me face down over his lap for a long time, playing with the labia rings, before he began inserting objects into my ass. I could never control my hot humiliation when he did that. The whipping came later, when I was so deep that pain meant profound, out-of-control arousal. He kept a plug in my ass as he whipped it, and I got so close, so close... . When he stopped I cried, writhed in my restraints, begged him with every kind of body language I knew and some kinds I didn't know I knew. He laughed at me. He fucked my mouth in a leisurely way, pulling on my nipple rings, then for the first time used my ass to come. He was huge, and it hurt, but the worst part was that I couldn't come. A touch would have done it, one touch to my clit, I was so filled up, so swollen. Every part of me was quivering on the edge, every pore filled with sex, nothing but that, no mind, no self, just screaming desire centering in my cunt, my empty cunt, and my swollen, abandoned clit, the rest of me stimulated past bearing. He came inside me, hurting my breasts with his big hands, emptying himself in my welted ass. Then he laid me on my back, my ankles tied to bedposts. I was still crying and helplessly clenching. He went away for half an hour or so, and gradually I calmed down. The juices coating labia and thighs cooled against the air, like lava drying on a mountainside. Inside I was still molten, and shaken with tremors. Then he came back with something metallic in his hands. There was a belt that went tightly around my waist. It felt cold and I shivered. There was another band that came up between my legs. This time I shuddered with pleasure as it pressed tightly to my still-swollen vulva, but there was no actual contact with my clit; an inside edge pressed all around the area instead. I felt my master fiddling with my labia rings, and then there were some metallic clicks. He released my ankles, and pushed me down to my knees on the floor to give him my usual tribute of kissing his feet. The new restraint made itself felt with every move. Standing me up, he examined the belt closely against my flesh, then pushed me into different positions and checked it again. At last, apparently satisfied, he chained my collar to a ring on the wall, released my arms from behind my back, and left the room. I couldn't believe my luck. My hands weren't in mitts. Surely I could get past this new thing and stroke myself. My arousal level was still stratospheric, and the tight metal bands were pushing it higher still. And by this time, any opportunity had become irresistible. I could think of nothing but coming; punishment was immaterial. The shield over my pubic bone came up only a little over my fur, where the waist belt attached to it on a diagonal from both sides. I tried to slide my hand down under the shield, but it was too tightly curved over my pubic bone; there wouldn't have been room for a piece of paper, much less a hand. I felt round the band between my legs. It was weird to feel the hardness there, instead of my own soft flesh. There were little openings, but none that I could feel myself through. The band continued up between my ass cheeks, but it was just a smooth, narrow rounded rod there, and not quite so tight. I opened my legs and tried to slide a finger under the metal, but was stopped by the inside edge. I tried harder, and was stopped more thoroughly by a painful pull. My labia ring was caught, I thought - I'd just have to wiggle it loose - but no. It came to me with a jolt that both the rings were inserted through slots in the metal band, and were locked there. There was no way to pry myself away from that band. But I kept trying, going at it from every angle, increasingly frantic. My vulva was throbbing and swelling inside its prison, rising toward fingers that couldn't reach it. Hard metal instead of yielding, slippery tissues... those tissues' nerve endings shrieking for contact... . My body twisted and strained; my pelvis urged itself like a thing possessed. At last I collapsed, sobbing and defeated, in an exhausted puddle of frustration. When I looked up, there was my master, looking thoughtfully down at me. I stuffed my fingers into my mouth in a pathetic attempt to hide the evidence, and sobbed even harder. When I managed another look up at him through my tears, his eyes were glinting with sardonic amusement and delight. He saw my expression, gave me one of his rare smiles, and cupped my cheek in his hand. Then he whipped me hard, all over, front and back, actually raising my level of arousal if you can believe it, and making me so sore the next day that I could hardly move.
In the next little while I tried every way I could think of to come with that belt on. I tried to use the belt itself, pressing myself against the floor in my kennel, or attempting to shift it back and forth against me when I thought no one was looking. It fit too tightly. It was so well-constructed and cleverly designed that nothing gave me enough stimulation to orgasm. Even when he tormented me further by using the belt to lock dildos into me, I was helpless. I squirmed, I wriggled, I pressed up against things. I rubbed my nipples until they were sore, hoping to get off. Every single attempt pushed me to the edge of the cliff of insanity, without ever letting me fly.
The above is provided by the author for use on Altairboy's Chastity Belt website. The book Owned and Owner is published by and available from
Pink Flamingo Publications
in paperback and ebook formats . Please do not use without the author's and publisher's permissions. Another excerpt, review, readers' comments, etc. are available on the author's website
Owned and Owner
Page last updated 2009-Sep-12 by: Altairboy@aol.com |