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Rich, powerful, handsome. Bob Dersey could have had his pick. It was well known that he had always had a special twinkle in his eye for attractive women. Yet even his most determined critics couldn't find even the tiniest whiff of impropriety. Not that they didn't try. For the longest time they tried digging into his past and watching his every step. Despite all their efforts they had come up empty-handed.
Finally his opponents resorted to entrapment. They engaged women loyal to their causes to obviously "make themselves available", but the women always reported that they got nowhere. Oh, sure, a few stunningly attractive women reported that they got into some serious necking and maybe one or two even got very special "breast exams", but never anything more. Never anything really incriminating and never any evidence.
Every so often one of the President's critics made allegations anyway, but Bob Dersey always steadfastly denied them and Barbara was right there at his side, vehemently supporting her husband, confident that there was no truth behind the rumors of alleged affairs. She knew they were groundless and she was very convincing. Without evidence, the allegations soon disappeared and the accuser was left with egg on his face. As far as the public was concerned, Bob Dersey was a paragon of morals. A man dedicated to the sanctity of marriage.
Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, if left to his own devices, Bob Dersey would have laid every female staffer in the White House, and their sisters - and their mothers. He had more than an eye for women, every part on him longed for the female form. But Bob never had sex with any of them. He never even tried. In fact, he found even being too close to attractive women too painful, too frustrating. Ever since, that is, the day he was fitted and locked into his very own chastity belt - thanks to his loving and very ambitious wife, Barbara.
Barbara was no fool. She knew her husband was an insatiable tomcat. She knew it when they met in college and she knew it when he slept his way around law school. She knew his faithfulness ended at the front door, and, eyeing the maid, maybe not even that far. But she also knew when she first met him that he had the stuff it took to succeed in politics and to make it to the Oval Office. He was ambitious enough, good looking, well connected, and not too smart for his own good. He was somebody who people rallied around, a born leader. But even back then she worried. How could he possibly avoid the scandal associated with the inevitable affairs? And how could she convince this guy to keep "it" in his pants?
It wasn't because she was jealous. Hardly. For all she cared he could bed whomever he wanted. Truth be known she almost never thought about, or even wanted, sex. And when she did, well, let's just say that she and Bob shared similar interests when it came to potential bed mates. Now, she could live with the infidelity, but the potential for scandal was simply not acceptable for her plans. With her help he would be President, and she, through him, would run the country.
At first it seemed hopeless. Even her Maid-of-Honor reported having to fend him off. The guy couldn't even make it through their wedding day without chasing after other women, how was he ever going to last through two terms in the House and a term or two in the Senate? Sure, some of the women would be discrete, but sooner or later one was sure to turn up who could not be shut up or bought off. What she needed was a safe to lock that "thing" up. Her mind immediately flashed on to the stories of the knights of the Crusade locking up the chastity of their women while they were off fighting. That's what I need, she thought.
Wait a minute, she thought, wasn't there something called S&M? She had heard her social friends gossiping about the "vulgar" people who wore leather and used whips and chains. Maybe a store catering to those people could help her!
Desperately grasping at what might be her only hope, she found the number of an erotic clothing store in the city. "Hello," she said to the woman who answered the phone, "do you sell chastity belts?"
"For women or men, hon?" came the reply.
Barbara was stunned, she really hadn't believed that such things even existed! "F,F,F,For men," Barbara finally stammered out.
"No," said the woman, "try --------. Can I help you with anything else?"
Dazed, Barbara thanked the woman and hung up. She tried to keep her hopes in check as she quickly located the number and then rang up the other store.
"Yeah, sure, we sell them" the man said in response to Barbara's question.
"Are they secure, I mean really, really secure?" Barbara wanted to know, "Or just for show?"
The man at the other end laughed, "Trust me, babe, no man is gonna want to show this thing around. But yes, they are very secure. Stainless steel, pick proof lock, and fully lined for wearing 24 hours, seven days a week. If you get the fit right, you can't even cut the thing off unless you go to a good tool shop, and even then the guy is probably going to get cut up pretty badly."
Barbara's heart soared! Here was her answer! "I want one," she yelled into the phone. "I want two! Do they wear out? If they do, get me three!" she screamed for joy into the phone. Both of them dissolved into laughter that took a while to settle down. Finally, the man said that she should come into the store and see what he had.
An hour later, Barbara stood in the store. She was amazed. With the salesman at her side she gazed at the gleaming chastity apparatus before her. This was definitely not a toy. Thick, heavy gauge steel with a tube for the penis and a plate to cover the tube. "Will it show through his pants?" she asked the salesman.
"Nope", he had told her, and then turned around. "Can you tell that I'm wearing one right now?" he asked her.
No way! She couldn't believe it, there was no way to tell, even through the thin linen slacks the man was wearing. "I've just got to see it. Take off your pants! she insisted excitedly.
Despite repeated requests and cajoling, the man refused. Barbara was used to getting her way however. She picked up a nasty looking riding crop nearby and with mock seriousness said, "We can do this the easy way or" tapping the crop to her palm, "we can do this the hard way." Both of them immediately started laughing and, seeing no one else in the store and deciding that he liked this spirited woman, the salesman opened his pants.
The metal was practically molded to his crotch. She could barely get a finger behind the belt and couldn’t even begin to reach his penis. She poked and prodded until she noticed that the man was looking like he was in some sort of pain. "Problem?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"This unit has a custom feature," the man explained, "it has some short spikes located just beyond where the head of the penis would normally rest when limp. However, when I start to become aroused - well, the spikes make sure I don't. It's devilish," he continued, "considering where I work." They both laughed.
Barbara knew that she had found her answer. She took home the order form and soon, after measuring her husband very carefully and using skills she acquired in sculpture class, she sent away to the manufacturer a full-size mid-section plaster cast of her husband with instructions for two very close fitting belts, with the spikes of course. The manufacturer was probably surprised to get the plaster cast, but Barbara wanted to make certain that the fit was perfect and reasoned that the cast was the best way.
She had also purchased a whip and two pairs of police issue, Smith & Wesson handcuffs from the nice young man at the store. She realized that the handcuffs would be a necessity. After all, the belt would need periodic removal for cleaning, maintenance and so that Bob could get periodic relief. She wanted to insure Bob's fidelity, not drive him mad from denied lust. So she needed the cuffs to restrain him during the periods when the belt was off; thus ensuring that she could get the thing back on without any trouble.
She sent the order and counted the days.
Eight weeks later the belt arrived. Bob Dersey never knew what hit him. He and Barbara had found new passion, or so he thought. Lately his chilly wife had gotten quite spicy. First there was that night that she had fucked and sucked him dry, and then made that plaster cast of his torso. Then she had become interested in bondage sex, gradually introducing the handcuffs to their lovemaking. He was in heaven, he loved her newly acquired interest in kinky sex.
However, the night be got his chastity belt he realized he had been duped. Still cuffed to the headboard, one minute he was enjoying the afterglow of surprisingly luxurious bondage sex with his wife, the next minute he was wrapped up in a steel truss. He started to protest but was told to shut up and get used to it - or the key might disappear for a while. She also mentioned that she knew of his past affairs and that there would be a price to pay for them. She told him that his punishment would be to be given a "taste" of what it was like to be a women - and pissing sitting down wasn't the only thing that she meant! Barbara considered it fitting that the "Anti-Pollution President" disposed of his own "pipeline emissions" by orally recycling them.
At first he fussed and fumed, threatened and pleaded, and even tried to cut the thing off. All he got for his efforts was a long period of celibacy and some nasty cuts that almost required stitches. The belt was there to stay.
Today, Bob is a man resigned to his fate. He is a paragon of virtue and a powerful and beloved President. In public and in private he is a man who dotes on his wife and is frequently captured on film and video whispering lovingly in her ear as she, basking in his affection, wraps an arm around his waist and gives a little squeeze.
Classified Secret Service surveillance records note that generally about twice a month, at night, Barbara makes her way from her bedroom down to his and stays for not more than an hour. The maids gossip that afterwards they find a used condom in the trash, but with no semen in it. They think the first lady must really like the taste of sperm, but the truth is that she hasn't had a drop since the night she made the cast.
Occasionally, when the President and the First Lady have been "at odds", sometimes because he approved a bill she wanted vetoed or vice versa, the agents have noted that her visits temporarily became much less frequent, stretching out to six weeks or longer. During such periods, the President became increasingly more tense and irritable, to everyone except Barbara.
Barbara was a known horse lover and had been riding consistently since she was little. She continued to ride while in the White House. However, whenever she and Bob were fighting, she often came straight from the stables and, crop in hand, she would insist upon having a private, closed door discussion with her husband. Such discussions could last close to an hour or more and the President always seemed ill at ease afterward. Just hearing that his wife wanted to see him after she was done riding could cause the man to break out into a cold sweat and begin to tremble. As the Presidency wore on, however, such occasions became increasingly rare.
Professing to feel insecure alone in the White House, the First Lady arranged for her own Secret Service bodyguard, a rather attractive woman with an unusually curvaceous frame, to guard her in her bedroom all night long. It was politely assumed that the woman spent the night on the foldaway couch.
Nearing the end of his second term, the President was frequently overheard expressing his relief at finally, after 20 years in government service, being able to shrug off the "iron truss" of leadership and to returning to all of his old pleasures. But his expectations are premature. For unbeknownst to the President, the First Lady has been secretly planning her own run for public office - two terms in the House, a term or two in the Senate, and then, who knows?
And for that she'll need a faithful and chaste husband, one who is guaranteed to be secured from scandal.
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Page last updated 98-Dec-14 by: Altairboy@aol.com