So we had this uneasy affair where she resented that I was the usual critical jerk-husband most of the time and an ultra-adoring slave only some of the time, and I resented her for being born vanilla. How to keep me from masturbating and destroying our marriage? The obvious answer was a chastity belt, but she was turned off by the idea when I first brought it up. "Why canít you just stop masturbating," she would say. Being a pushy submissive, I eventually got her used to the idea and she relented after a few months.
In the meantime, I had researched male chastity belts and had picked out a manufacturer and received the measuring form. When she finally relented, we went out and bought a tailorís measuring tape and she had me strip naked and we went through the measurements. We sent the check away and waited. In those months before the belt arrived, we made love frequently and passionately like we did when we were courting. On those days when I was disinterested, she would ask if I had masturbated. I would say "Of course," and she would look at me disapprovingly. "Not much longer now," she would say.
About three months after we ordered the belt, she asked me to come upstairs to the bedroom and bided me to take off my clothes. She cuffed my hands behind my back and unwrapped our chastity belt that had just arrived that afternoon. She ran her fingers over the stainless steel, admiring its solid construction. Watching her, I grew erect. She stepped behind me and reached forward to massage my cock.
"When did you last cum?" she asked, running her tongue against my ear.
"This morning," I answered.
"I hope it was really good, because that will be it for a while," she said, as I thrust into her hands.
She went downstairs and retrieved an ice pack from the refrigerator. In a few minutes the cold caused my erection to recede. Then, taking a stocking, she threaded it through the tube, drawing my penis tightly into its trap. After making sure the tube extended all the way down my shaft, she pulled on it gently, and was satisfied that it was gripping firmly. She wrapped the belt around my waist and putting slight upward pressure on the tube, engaged it into the shield. With two solid clicks everything locked into place. She had done a good job of measuring and the belt fitted snugly with the tube exerting only the faintest pressure upwards into my groin, its grip ensuring I could not withdraw my member. She pocketed the keys, uncuffed me, and gave me a peck on the cheek.
"All secured," she said, giving the shield a tug. "How does it feel now, my masturbating one?"
I could feel the blood rushing in and my penis struggling to grow erect as she gave a little laugh and left me to examine my new condition. I stood in front of the mirror, looking at the belt from all angles. I bent over to see if the shield would come off my groin a bit. I managed to slip one finger in and was just barely able to touch the tip of my cock encased inside the tube. My finger came out wet; I was already starting to ooze pre-cum.
I could not say the belt was comfortable, what with the pressure on my pubic region. It felt like a metal hand was constantly gripping my genitals. Personal hygiene now took longer, and I absolutely hated having to squat over those foul toilets in public restrooms, but I began to adapt and found I could tolerate being locked up 24 hours a day quite well. My wife saw that I grew more attentive to her needs, both sexual and non-sexual, and she delighted in the frequent hugs, massages, snuggling, and even flowers that I gave her. She kept commenting that our relationship was like when we first started dating. She appreciated that I was docile, and kind and courteous towards her. In bed, she found a new liberty to indulge in her orgasms. She confided she always felt she had to reciprocate before and sometimes felt bad she could not give me as much pleasure as I gave her. She had never wanted oral sex more than once a week before, but now it became almost a nightly affair. She would spread her legs and have me lick her to orgasm before she turned over drifted off to sleep, sometimes giving me a pat on the head if it was particularly good for her.
I grew very adept at keeping the belt clean. I used all manners of wet-wipes and baby powder to keep myself dry and clean smelling. I attached a small hose to the faucet in the tub so that I could get a strong stream of water underneath the belt and into the tube to flush out residue from urinating and wiping. I did not need to take off the belt at all to keep myself clean and soon it was only coming off for sexual needs. We settled into a routine where I was unlocked every other week or so and she allowed me to masturbate, and on rare occasions we fucked like mad. In between these sessions, I was deliciously and constantly on edge. In those few hours I was unlocked though, I would sometimes revert to my old self. Then I would get remorseful and allowed her to lock the belt back on and things would be fine until the next time. We would fantasized about keeping me chastised for longer periods, but my wife had not yet discover her sadistic side, and I could always count on her taking pity on me and letting me out.
To this day, I do not know why I did it, but about a year after we got the belt, after being released for one of the periodic getting-my-jollies session where we ended up making love, I refused to put the belt back on. I picked fights and generally treated her badly and jerked off every chance I got. I wondered out loud why we had married. I voiced the old, tired complaint that she did not understand the why of SM and therefore could not understand me. This went on for three days. She just looked at me grimly and waited her time. On the fourth day, I put the belt back on like she knew I would. She then proceeded to give me the silent treatment. I desperately tried to engage her put received the cold shoulder at every attempt. After three weeks, I felt a general thawing, and that night she allowed me go down on her. She sat up afterwards, and we looked at each other for a few minutes.
"What happened three weeks ago wasnít the first time, you know," she said.
"I know. I am sorry Ö it just Ö happened," I mumbled.
In an even voice, she said, "Listen, I am refusing to put up with these periodic episodes where you are emotionally abusive towards me."
I tried to explain, "I know, butÖ"
"No buts," she interrupted me. "Iíve been thinking about this, and this is what Iíve decided."
I waited for her to continue.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
I nodded and she straighten up, leaned toward me, and said, "You take the belt off now and throw it in the trash, and we will never mention it again, and we will not bring up SM activities ever again. I know that our relationship will probably deteriorate, but I will take my chances with counseling. Or, you keep the belt on permanently. It will never come off. You will never be allowed to cum again."
I looked at her in shocked but immediately felt a familiar sensation in the pit of my belly. We had fantasized about this very possibility, and I had even occasionally teased her about it. The last time I had an orgasm three weeks ago would have been my last. I had a brief, surreal regret that it happened into my hands.
"What will it be?"
This was the decision that we had flirted with but never met dead on. It was the unasked question that floated around us, ever so briefly and lightly, every time we took off or installed the belt. I could not help thinking maybe I had brought us to this point on purpose.
"Yes," I answered. "I want you to lock the belt on permanently."
There, I said it, and I immediately felt relieved I had said it.
She got up and went to the closet for her purse where she took out a tube of epoxy and a metal file. She evidently knew what my answer would be and had planned accordingly. I laid back as she got in between my legs and took the lock to the waist belt in her hand. I could feel her fingers through the metal shield. She squeezed the epoxy into the cylinder of the lock and then inserted the key. It was a quick-setting epoxy and after a few seconds, she filed off the key so that it was flush with the lock. She then took the spare key and did the same to the lock holding the penis tube in place. The locks were now destroyed and because of the hasp guard, would be impossible to cut. She took my face into her hands and we kissed and made love, tongue to tongue. "Youíre mine alone now, love," she whispered, "and youíre really secured."
Our relationship changed immediately. Whereas before she was hesitant to take control, she now showed a alarming penchant for putting me in my place. I had begged her for years to take the dominant role in our marriage. I said that when I pissed her off, she should just string me up and beat the shit of me. She never took me up on it, but now the whip comes out from time to time. One punishment session which I can still remember really made me think twice about ever seriously crossing her. I had again questioned our marriage and she grew incensed and at once dragged me down into the cellar and hooked my wrists over my head to the waiting shackles. She went back upstairs and left me to fret. She said later on that she needed time to calm down. After 45 minutes or so, she came back down with a wire coat hanger and whipped me from my shoulders down to my knees until I was black and blue and bleeding and almost passed out, pleading for my life. She said if I ever mentioned divorce again, she would take me up on it, no second chances. She then turned me around and gave me 10 lashes to my chest and abdomen, putting her whole body into each stroke, each one drawing a bloody welt. Except for that one time, she has never needed to be so cruel again. I still have faint lash marks to this day.
Soon afterwards, we visited NYC and she had her initials, three letters, branded into both my hips right below the belt in inch-high letters. She held my head as the brand was burned into my flesh and black powder rubbed into the wounds. She also had both my nipples pierce with 14 gauge rings, something that I had also begged her to do for a long time. I saw the bulge in the guyís pants when he saw the locks on the belt couldnít be removed, as well as the still livid marks from the coat hanger on my chest and back. She would have had my penis pierced too except of course it was unavailable. We debated a guiche but the people doing the piercing were worried about infection because of the belt and convinced us not to do it. The belt would have had to be destroyed and I would have had six months of freedom, something my wife was not willing to allow.
Not being able to cum, I started growing erect at the brief glimpse of a nubile body on a billboard, or the young housewife in tight jeans at the grocery store. I avoided the TV because of all the sexual imagery and I honestly think an issue of Playboy would have driven me mad. I thought I would get used to the constant arousal and that my needs for release would eventually abate. But my desire to orgasm never declined and my thoughts turned to sex at every free moment. When I was alone, I found my hands wandering to my groins and powerful urge to masturbate and cum every time I saw a bare mid-drift or a slightly opened shirt in the most innocent of images. The belt checked me at every turn, each bout of sexual desire more frustratingly powerful than the last.
And so it went for the last five years. I think with wonder that it has been five years since I first asked for the chastity belt. The belt is my constant companion and orgasms a lost sensation. I drip pre-cum on a continual basis. I have taken to wearing ladies underwear to keep from chafing between my legs and menstrual pads to catch the wetness. Sometimes I try to remember what orgasms were like, but it is as if I have never experienced my body doubling up and my cock throbbing with cum. I sometimes have wet dreams but the constriction of the tube always cause me to wake up before I actually cum, and then semen just oozes out the rest of the night, leaving me with an untidy mess.
I still service my wife regularly with my mouth. In fact, I crave to service her. The worse thing she can do when I displease her, even more so than any sort of beating, is to withhold herself, which she once did for a full month. Fortunately, I have improved much, both as a husband, and as a submissive, since she first locked on the belt and I rarely displease her much anymore. She has also purchased a strap-on, realistic-looking dildo for those times when she feels the need to "envelope her man" as she puts it. To my initial horror, it was much bigger than what I remembered my penis to be. And although I had never managed to make her cum with just vaginal sex when I was unbelted, she now has wall-trembling, screaming orgasms with her legs tightly wrapped around my waist, drawing the dildo as deep as she can.
She has also developed a taste for humiliation and will sometimes lock the harness for the weekend so I cannot remove the dildo and am continually reminded of my flesh-and-blood penis encased beneath the steel. It is especially humiliating when I have to shower with the dildo locked on and dangling from my crotch. She opens the curtain, pulls up a chair, makes lewd comments about getting both her penises clean, all the while watching as I carefully lather up and rinse seven inches of rubber. She makes a show of inspect the dildo for cleanliness and will make it me wash it again and again. "Soap it up and well and run your palm up and down the shaft," she tells me. "Does it remind you of something, lover? A certain much abused hand motion, perhaps?"
I am glad she has the harness, however, because she will occasionally use it on me. With my ass up in the air, she gently lubes my ass hole with KY-jelly, working the lube in with her fingers. The feeling of cold lube being massaged into my hole sends a gallon of clear pre-cum out the belt and has me moaning and thrusting my ass back into her hand. She straps in a double headed dildo so that half of it is up her cunt. The other, larger half, sticks out obscenely from her pussy, its realistic veins and massive cut head glistening with lube. Depending on her mood, she will either ram the dildo straight up to the hilt or tease me with it by running it up and down my crack. Either way, she soon has both hands over my belt, drawing me against her, her breasts sliding against my back, our hips moving in unison. Being on my hands and knees, with my genitals out of reach, getting fucked up the ass by my wife is almost as good as I remember my masturbation days to be. After humping me for half an hour, she stiffens, cries out her climax and then with the dildo still buried deep in my ass, slumps across my back, letting out a little sigh of satisfaction, her lips kissing the nape of my neck, her hands massaging my shoulder, telling me in whispers how much she loves her chastised man. I, on the other hand, do not respond to prostrate stimulation, and although it feels heavenly, can never quite orgasm. Love making like this just leaves me more horny than ever and afterwards, I am begging to taste her juices. She obliges me by popping out the dildo and letting me clean her pussy with my lips and tongue.
At night, when we are under the sheets hugging, kissing, and caressing each other, she likes to reach down and run her fingers up and down the shield, sometimes underneath the chains, her nails slightly grazing my ass hole, all the while whispering, "Donít you wish you can touch your penis. Wouldnít it feel nice sliding in and out of me. Can you imagine how warm and wet it would be?" She loves to feel the warmth of the metal encasing my genitals and how it radiates heat under her palm. She will reach down for the ever present pre-cum and runs it along the inside of my thighs, or rubs it along my nipple rings. She then rolls over for a massage and then if she feels like it, spreads her legs for my waiting tongue. As a special treat, she sometimes has me lie on my back and then gets on top of me, straddling my face with her back to the wall. She then bends over and taps the shield on my belt with her fingers, right over my bursting cock, trapped in its stainless steel hell, while grinding her pussy lips into my face, her nipples grazing my belly, my hands roaming her body, squeezing her breasts, until she cums.
Do I regret locking on the belt permanently, forever having my genitals out reach, and never allowed any release? I still think that locking the belt on permanently was the best thing we could have done. My wife certainly thinks so, and although I still harbor some thoughts that one of these days we will go to a metal shop where they can cut if off, she swears it will never happen. She thinks our sex life is better than ever, and while she cums and cums, experiencing the most intense orgasmic pleasures of her life, she sees nothing unfair in denying me release and keeping me in a constant state of arousal for the rest of my life. When I bring it up she says, "Remember before we were married? You used to say that making me happy would be the most important thing in your life. I didnít believe you then, but I think youíve convinced me. I like you so much better belted. No lover, the belt is never coming off." Putting her needs before mine does give me intense satisfaction. People express love in different ways, and after half a life time, I have finally realized I have found my particular way. No regrets. Lots of yearning, but no regrets.
I used to fantasize about wearing a chastity belt, and now I fantasize about it coming off, even for a few seconds. Did I really used to masturbate and cum anytime I wanted to? Two or three times a day even? And now never?? I finger the locks, I can feel the remains of the keys, forever embedded in their cylinders. I rub the shield, spending countless hours in the shower trying to slip my hands in, to cop the sightless feel. I need to cum. I have to cum. But my struggles never get me anywhere as the belt remains as impenetrable and uncompromising as the day it was put on. Pools of pre-cum dripping from groin reward my efforts.
My wife recently saw the lockable rear guard with its butt plug and asked me to order it. She had me order all three sizes of the plug and when it arrives, she will start training me to wear it constantly. I will start with the small one and graduate to the 3" plug. She says I am to be constantly plugged up except for 10 minutes everyday.
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Page last updated 98-Mar-14 by: Altairboy@aol.com