LIZFiction Submitted by: Tony
She could even remember when it started.
At her junior school, the teacher had been reading a tale of knights of old to the class and the expression had popped up. It meant nothing to her then, but another girl, curious, had asked the nun in charge what a chastity belt was. The nun, though very embarrassed (and nothing would grab the attention of a class of 12 year old girls more than discovering something that caused their teacher obvious discomfort) explained its meaning in the coyest possible terms. The rest of the class squirmed in horror, but Liz was surprised to find herself squirming with... what? Fascination perhaps? Boarding at a convent school she had learned little about her body, her desires, and their development, so the information, striking a chord, found an unexplored and rapidly expanding part of her psyche to blossom in. Or maybe a firework had always been tucked away there, waiting for her teacher to inadvertently touch an ember to the fuse.
Whatever the cause, she was now 23, slim, dark, pretty, and curiously lacking in boyfriends. She dressed and acted quietly enough, but her single status was more due to her disinterest in most boys than vice versa. She had tried, tentatively, to discuss the subject of enforced chastity when on dates, without revealing her own wishes, but young males bursting with testosterone are not the most sensitive of partners for an intimate discussion, and she soon learned to give up on such talk and concentrate on fighting off their twelve pairs of hands.
As she'd grown and learned to pleasure herself (the explorations had in part been sparked by that first moment in the classroom. Why must the maidens be locked up? Did it have anything to do with the flush which had so suddenly swept through her body, centred on what the nuns insisted on referring to as her front bottom?) she had experimented as far as she could with the idea of chastity. She enjoyed the enclosed feeling of a panty girdle, the unfashionable garment carefully concealed from her friends, but of course she could remove it at will, and anyway she could feel herself through it. Denying herself masturbation was simply frustrating, without the essential frisson that it was out of her control. The only information on chastity belts she had been able to glean from the library cast a little more light on them as a historic subject. Her disappointment at finding out that the wearing by Crusaders' spouses was probably a myth was tempered by the excitement of reading about their actual use as quack medical devices in Victorian times. The day she found a photo of a genuine 15th century belt in a museum she had to lean against the bookshelf for support and suddenly had great difficulty in maintaining the silence rule. For the most part however, her strange yearning stayed in the background, popping up occasionally when a snippet of information or a chance remark caused it to surface.
The turning point was all Jenny's fault. They had been best friends for years, with similar tastes and a shared sense of humour, though Liz had never quite plucked up the nerve to tell her friend of the secret tickle at the back of her sexuality. Jenny would probably not have been shocked, having a far more bawdy attitude to sex than Liz, but Liz suspected she would roll on the floor laughing, and she wasn't sure that that would be any better. Eventually, with jobs in the same part of town, it was an obvious and agreeable decision to share an apartment, to which Jenny brought her computer. Even after a boozy evening surfing the net together, looking for pictures of nude hunks and holding outrageous chat room discussions with what Liz suspected were really spotty youths, the idea of using the net to air her longings didn't occur to her, perhaps because she'd always assumed that she was unique. She didn't like the word freak, but it seemed to hover in the background of her mind at times.
However, she did think she might be able to find a bit more historical information, and one Saturday when Jenny was away she managed to access the search engine that she'd last seen "big willies" typed rather woozily into. The first shock was the sheer number of responses to "chastity belt", even if half of them did seem to be the same joke about King Arthur and Guinevere. The second shock was bigger. Hardly any of the sites she looked at had anything to do with ancient research; instead they were about people making, selling, using, enjoying, suffering in, enthusing about cb's (she was learning the language) right now. She sat back from the machine, dazed. Her heart was thumping and the room spun round, but they were nothing compared to the state of her front bottom. She threw herself back on to Jenny's bed and threw her hands to her lips. Just moments later she was exploding in ecstasy. She lay there, exhausted, excited, exhilarated, relieved, frightened, for a long time, her clothes soaked in sweat, before gingerly returning to the screen. For the rest of the day, punctuated by further sessions on the bed, she wandered every nook and cranny of the web that seemed to have a connection with enforced chastity, departing quickly (though not without a horrified thrill) from a couple of the more extreme religious cults and exploring with more and more confidence the enthusiast sites where she simply felt she was at last among friends she could share her feelings with. Not having her own e-mail address she couldn't join in the discussions (she certainly didn't want Jenny receiving any weird messages, the replies they got during their boozy hunk hunt were quite enough, she thought rather primly.
The day flashed by. She had printed a number of articles to read at leisure, and with the thought of tucking up in bed with those as consolation, cleared up and tidied the bedroom before her flatmate returned. Jenny had invited her to use the computer, but she felt shy about being asked where she had been.
She needn't have bothered. It was at breakfast the next morning that Jenny stared at her across the toast and marmalade and asked,
"Want to tell me about it?"
A grin spread across Jenny's face as a slice of toast dropped from Liz's fingers and landed marmalade down, unheeded on the lap of her dressing gown. The colour drained from her face and the room spun round for the second time in two days.
"Wh.. Wh.. I.."
Jenny wasn't cruel.
"I saw you'd been using my machine and was curious about where you'd surfed. Didn't you know that the software keeps a record of your travels in case you want to find a site again?"
The colour came back to Liz's cheeks far too enthusiastically as she turned crimson. It took a while for Jenny to convince her that she was neither disgusted nor about to roar with laughter, though she did seem to be biting the inside of her cheek a few times. Eventually the need to talk to someone else about her feelings was too great, and the tale came bubbling out. To Liz's amazement, far from thinking her weird, Jenny admitted to a taste for bondage and a bit of gentle spanking, until Liz's relief at talking was tempered by her annoyance at not having confided in her friend a long time ago.
"OK," said Jenny at last, "So when are you going to get one?"
Liz squirmed. "Oh God, I'd love to Jen, the idea keeps getting me hot now I know it's possible, but you should have seen the prices! Those things are several hundred dollars! Apparently they have to be custom made to fit properly. I can't even start to save for one. You know I had to borrow money for the deposit on this flat, and I won't have paid that off for months.
Besides. it's a wonderful fantasy, but after I'd spent all that money, would I actually want to be belted for real? It's a lot of cash to find that the answer may be no. And what would I do about the key. It just wouldn't work for me if I could unlock the thing myself, and I could hardly throw away the key".
After her previous excitement, she looked a bit miserable as reality crowded in on her. Jenny leaned over and put her hands on her friend's shoulders. She looked straight into Liz's eyes with an intensity which made her shy away.
"Look at me! First of all, you've been creaming yourself on this fantasy for over ten years; there is absolutely no way you're not going to be bowled over by the real thing, whatever the practical problems. Secondly, the day you manage to get a belt to lock yourself into, I shall expect you to hand over the key to me!"
"No buts! I'm the best friend you've got or will ever have. I care about you enormously, I would never hurt you and I'd love to help you get where you want to be. Besides, I think I might enjoy it!"
A curious smile played round the edges of Jenny's lips.
The matter might have ended there, at least for a good while. There really was no way that Jenny could afford to indulge her reawakened passion, and with mixed feelings of excitement at Jenny's words and her discoveries of the day before, mingled with frustration at feeling so near yet so far, she went bed that night and reread some of the items she'd printed out the day before.
One story particularly intrigued her. It was a rather rambling tale of a girl in similar circumstances to herself who had read a story on the internet about a girl who obtained a belt via the internet from a man she never met, and found an invitation at the end for female readers who wanted to emulate the girdled heroine to contact the author. Now that she was perusing the tale at a bit more leisure, she noticed among the copyright notice that she'd previously ignored the line "If any female readers would like to emulate all or part of our heroine's path, e-mail me on."
"Jenny! Jenny! Read this!"
"Mmm? Wh..? Whazat?"
Look, wake up and read this!"
"Liz, it's two o'bloody clock in the morning. I have to get to work bright eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow. Today. What is it?.
Oh look, I hate to disappoint you, but that's just some guy who wants to get his rocks off on the e-mails from lots of wide eyed innocents like you. There are loads of wannabes on the net who just use it as a substitute for real life.
Oh, alright then if you must. Just type quietly for God's sake and let me get to sleep. And I'm telling you, you're wasting your time".
Liz checked Jenny's e-mail for a week, hoping for a reply ("Listen Kid, I'm going to set up your own address after this first message. You won't get a reply anyway, and I don't want you reading all my private mail. Some of those guys really were hunks."). Eventually, the response she feared/hoped for materialised:
Thank you for your e-mail in response to my story. I must admit I haven't been checking my mail recently as I'd more or less given up hope of the sort of reply I was looking for. I can't say I've had no correspondence, but so far it's consisted of a number of men hoping I'll make them a belt (nothing personal, just not my scene), a couple of messages that turned out to be from other men pretending to be girls to get a quick thrill, loads of spam and a long tome from a lady who was only interested in saving my soul for her brand of God. So please excuse me if I seem a bit wary, although you do sound like the first genuine reply I've had.
OK, to put you in the picture. Female chastity has been a fantasy of mine for a long time, and being of a fairly practical turn of mind I've done quite a bit of thinking about ways to make the best possible device that could prevent sexual contact (including masturbation) while being wearable on a permanent basis. Understandably, women who want to wear such a device aren't exactly common (or at least, don't make themselves visible, which may not be the same thing ;-)) so my story was partly a catharsis and partly a slightly sneaky way of looking for a volunteer (subject? victim? partner? Take your pick).
OK. On the assumption that you are really who you say you are (please excuse the ongoing cynicism) I'd like to make the following points right at the start.
With best wishes,
Thank you for your thoughtful message. Your thoughts coincide with my wishes, though I hope you will understand that this has never been more than a secret fantasy of mine and I fear the reality as much as yearn for it.
I cannot make any promises about how far I will go with this, though permanent, complete denial is certainly my fantasy (Is that what I really want? She wondered). I have a flatmate in whom I have confided, and she is willing, even keen, to be my keyholder.
I do not have a boyfriend and there are no other practical/emotional ties which I envisage being a problem.
I enclose a digitised photo as requested (Thank God Jenny has a scanner!) and have left my face uncovered so that you can see that I really am a girl! I await your reply
She held her breath and clicked on the Send button.
Page last updated 00-Jan-29 by: Altairboy@aol.com