The Key TrailSubmitted by: Peter Pain
"Ah, yes!" Tanya said, seeing the pleading, imploring look I was giving her. It was nearly noon, on Saturday. I'd served her breakfast in bed, tidied the kitchen, swept and vacuumed our house, watered all the house plants and was now preparing our lunch.
"I promised you a key today, didn't I? It's been eight weeks, minus remission. Fifty days. If you'd been a bit more obedient, a bit more - pleasing - you could have been out of that belt a week ago. But no, you had to spend your first few days whining, begging for release, didn't you?"
I nodded abjectly, stirring the bubbling bolognaise sauce on the stove while the spaghetti cooked.
"And your first attempts at pleasing me with your tongue were utterly pathetic, weren't they?"
She stood behind me. I nodded again. I could sense her sneering at my slender, naked body. Tanya never called me slender now. Her favourite descriptions were 'puny' or 'girly'. I wasn't sure if that meant she was on the point of leaving me. I didn't want that - I really didn't. I love Tanya, deeply and voraciously. I even love serving her in the way I've been forced to do for the last couple of months.
"Remember that evening when I first locked you up?"
I nodded yet again, and left my head hanging down. "Yes, I'm sure you do" she continued. "Stacey makes such delicious home-made wine…"
Yeah. I remembered. How could I forget? Stacey was one of Tanya's closest friends, a beautiful woman, slim almost to the point of emaciation, and long-haired. She'd had marital problems, and I'd stepped in with words of comfort and support, hoping to turn things gradually towards a more personal - and physical - relationship. But under the influence of her home-made damson wine I'd made my play rather clumsily, and the next day Stacey had reported back in shocked tones to Tanya.
Tanya had been absolutely furious. But she didn't confront me. Not at once. She remained tight-lipped with me for almost three months, saying nothing about the incident. But she knew. And I knew she knew. And she knew I knew she knew! She didn't allow me any sexual contact at all during those tense months.
Until fifty days ago.
I had come home from the office on Friday evening to find Tanya dolled up in the sexiest leotard I'd ever seen! When she greeted me by pressing herself sensually against my office-weary body and kissing me fully on the lips I thought thank Christ, I'm forgiven at last! I tried to respond, but she drew slinkily away. She told me to go upstairs and call her when I was ready for her!
Wow, I thought, my luck's changed! I hurried upstairs and went to the shower room, casting off my office clothes as I went, leaving them strewn on the stairs and landing. After fifteen minutes of hot, steaming water plus some soap I dried off, doused myself with some Calvin Klein body lotion and sauntered, naked, through to our bedroom.
There were four sets of leather straps on the bed. And a note, on perfumed notepaper.
"If you are still mine, my darling" the note said, "and if you want to stay that way, put these straps on and secure yourself to the bed. Then call me."
We'd played mild bondage games before. But these straps were new, and they didn't look like toys. I glanced at the bed-posts - she'd fitted them with anchor points designed to enable me to clip the straps single-handed, but once attached I'd not be able to release myself.
I'd read plenty of stories on the Altarboy site. If I'd given it a moment's thought, I would have realised this was a classic set-up for the application of a chastity belt. But I was blinded by the prospect of my first full-blooded sex session with Tanya since that futile, abortive stab at infidelity with Stacey. I put on the straps, clipped my ankles to the bed-posts, secured my left wrist then my right wrist, and called out.
"OK, Tanya, I'm ready!"
I heard Tanya come upstairs. She checked that I was securely attached, then disappeared again without saying a word. A few minutes later she returned with some ice cubes, a nylon stocking and a little box. Enthusiasts of the Altarboy site won't need details of what happened next. Suffice to say that, within minutes, my rampant cock had been frozen down to shrivelled limpness by the ice cubes, and shortly after that my pudenda were trapped - and locked - in a steel cage from which there was absolutely no escape! It wasn't a fully-fledged belt; just a device that encased my penis and locked firmly to a steel ring set behind my bollocks. But it was effective. Fuck me, it was effective!
Of course I remonstrated, but Tanya was adamant. She told me how shocked and disgusted she had been to learn from Stacey that I'd tried to be unfaithful to her. She refused to listen to my declaration that it was all because of Stacey's damson wine, that I'd never really have followed through. But hell, she knew me! OK, I was unreliable!
The cock-trap was on me, and it would stay there (she said) until I had earned my release.
"It took you ages to realise you could earn remission by performing a few household chores, didn't it?" she taunted. "I just loved that doggie-look of adoration you gave me when I actually reduced your sentence by one whole day, in return for six consecutive days of uncomplaining dish-washing. If you hadn't done all those stints in the kitchen you'd still have another six days to wait."
I said nothing. Yes, I'd learned some lessons, and the most important one was never complain, never whine. So I'd waited in silence. I knew she'd release me. Tanya couldn't keep this game up forever. At least, I hoped so. I just wanted this fucking contraption off my cock. I'd even put up with a sexless marriage - for a while - if I could only have a decent wank whenever I felt horny.
"I promised you a key today, didn't I? Well, here it is!" she said, holding up a little gold key on a small key-ring. I looked at her, not understanding. As I remembered it, the key to my chastity belt had been chrome-plated, not gold. Tanya saw my confusion, and she smiled as she handed me the key.
It wasn't gold at all. It wasn't even gold-plated. It was cardboard - gold-coloured cardboard. Disappointed almost to the point of rebellion, I let it drop to the floor.
"Are you going back on your word, Tanya?" I asked. "That's not like you."
"Look at the key-tag" she suggested softly.
I sighed, and picked up the flimsy, cardboard key again. I looked at the tag. There was a 3-digit number written on one side, and a longer one - probably a telephone number, I guessed - on the other.
"It's the key to your release, Hugh. Before you actually obtain that release, you'll have to prove your total fidelity and obedience to me. I want a proper husband, a truly loving, faithful one. Not a lying, cheating bastard like the one who tried to make out with my best friend! Now serve lunch."
She turned to go to the dining room, but hesitated at the kitchen door.
"From now on, and until that chastity thing is finally removed from your body, you will address me as Mistress. Always. Even if there's anyone else present. Got it?"
"Hey, hang on, Tanya" I began to remonstrate. "That's a bit heavy…"
"ALWAYS!" she shouted. "Forget about Tanya, and 'my darling', and 'my wife'. I'm not yours any more. You're mine. Got it? Mine. To you, I'm 'Mistress' until you earn a more equal relationship"
I hesitated. But not for long.
"Yes, Mistress" I replied.
During lunch I tried to ask Mistress what the numbers on the key tag meant, but she ignored my questions. All she would say was that I already had the key to my release, and what I did with it (if anything) was entirely up to me.
While I was washing up the lunch things I heard Mistress go out through the front door and drive off in our little Porsche. Duties done, I made myself some coffee, then took off my apron and went naked to my study to think what the stupid little cardboard key might signify. I was more and more convinced that the longer number on the key tag was a phone number. Probably a mobile phone number, I thought. It certainly didn't have an area code that I recognised. And the 3-digit number on the reverse of the tag was utterly meaningless to me.
Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, I thought. I picked up my own mobile phone and dialled.
"Hi, this is Sally" said an attractive female voice after a few seconds of the ring tone. "If you just want to leave me a message, press '1'. If you are seeking help with something unusual, press '2'"
Obviously a taped message. I pressed '2'.
"Thank you" the pretty voice continued. "Now key in your pin number and wait."
Ah! That must be what the other number is for, I thought. I looked at the key tag, and keyed in the three digits.
"Thank you. For extra security, please key in the number that corresponds with the initial of your first name."
Hugh. Number four represented the initial H on my keypad, so I pressed '4'. Yet another taped message followed.
"Hello Hugh. Listen carefully. I shall give you your instructions slowly, so that you can write down the important parts. When this message ends you must strip completely naked, apart from your chastity device of course, and get into your car. Take with you a notepad and pen, and your mobile phone - which should be turned on. Oh, and the little gold key, of course. Don't take anything else.
"Drive to Anderson Avenue, park opposite the driveway leading to a house called 'Twin Elms', and wait until your mobile phone rings. Do NOT answer it - the phone will stop ringing after a few seconds. Wait two minutes, then dial my number again. More instructions will follow.
"If you have understood and agree to all this, just ring off and do what I have told you to do. Do it at once. If you are so stupid that you need confirmation of anything you've heard, wait fifteen seconds and this tape will play back to you. There will be penalties if a repeat is necessary."
I quickly pressed the 'off' button. I'd got all the important bits. I didn't like the idea of driving naked through town, but if this Sally person was going to give me the key to my chastity belt I supposed it was a paltry forfeit to pay. There was a small blanket in our second car - a little Renault Clio - and I thought I could drape that over myself if I got caught in traffic.
Nakedness had become a fairly normal state for me in the past fifty days. The only thing new in my current situation was that the order to strip had come from a stranger. The fact that I was already naked didn't really affect the issue. Still, I mused, Tanya was clearly in on the game, so it seemed quite proper to follow the stranger's instructions. I gathered up the bits and pieces I'd been instructed to bring, and slipped out to the Clio.
The day was warm, but it was raining hard. I'd have to drive carefully - an accident while I was undressed like this would be acutely embarrassing. And I didn't want the mobile battery to run flat at some crucial moment, so I put the mobile on charge while I was driving.
It felt odd to be driving a car with bare feet. It took me a minute or two to get used to it. When I was well on my way I reached round for the blanket that was usually piled in a crumpled heap on the back seat. Shit, it wasn't there. Tanya - Mistress - must have removed it. Oh well, I was committed now. I'd just have to hope no-one noticed.
Thankfully the journey was event-free. Anderson Avenue was one of the roads that formed part of an exclusive Surrey housing estate some three miles from where Tanya and I lived. I knew where 'Twin Elms' was - I'd seen it once when I'd been sent to deliver some papers to a senior partner in the firm of solicitors where I worked. That was Beatrice Hogan - a snotty-nosed, elderly bitch who'd served a long time as a barrister before being appointed Queen's Counsellor. Since then I'd become a fully qualified solicitor myself, but so far I hadn't been invited to become a partner in the firm. Ms Hogan hardly ever showed her nose in the office now, but as a senior partner she continued to extract her share of the partnership's profits (to which, as a mere employee, I was making a regular and significant contribution).
I followed instructions and parked opposite the 'Twin Elms' driveway, looking round anxiously in case there were any passers-by who might notice my nakedness. Fortunately the avenue was deserted.
Beep! Beep! Beep! The sudden shriek of the mobile phone made me jump, even though I was expecting the call. The ring tone stopped almost as soon as it started, but I had enough presence of mind to note the time on the car's clock. The two-minute wait seemed to last for ages. I again dialled the number I had been given on the key-tag.
I went through the same routine of dialling selection numbers and pin numbers, and in due course I heard the pretty voice of Sally again. Another recorded message.
"Hello Hugh. You should be outside 'Twin Elms' now. If not, drive back home and admit to your Mistress that you have failed in your mission. You forfeit your release, and you will wait at least another ninety days before the next opportunity will arise."
The message paused. I said a little prayer of thanks to my guardian angel for getting me here on time.
"Now drive two hundred yards east" the message continued, "and look for a driveway on your right lined with white flowering bushes. There's no house name - just the number 21a. Drive past the front door, and turn left into the little service drive. Park by the servants' entrance - it's a white door with a wooden bench alongside, under a porch. Get out of your owner's car, leaving the keys in the ignition and the door open. Sit on the bench. You will find a package there, with your name on it. Open the package, and follow the instructions in it."
A click, and the dialling tone, told me the message was at an end.
No problem. I followed instructions, stopping the car at the rear entrance, and looked nervously round to check that I was protected from the view of any passers-by. Trees and bushes everywhere. This was safe, secluded. I stepped out, and went to park my naked arse on the bench in the porch.
I suddenly had a panic attack. Godalmighty, less than an hour ago I had been eagerly expecting Tanya to turn a little key in a little lock, to release my cock from the infuriating, embarrassing, frustrating imprisonment it had suffered for the past fifty days. Now I found myself embarked on a mission that would lead God knew where, entrusting my naked (though chastity-belt-protected) body to whatever fate my lovely Mistress had determined for me. I didn't even know for sure that it would end in release!
Calm down, calm down, I told myself. I took a few deep breaths, eyes closed, then relaxed and looked around.
Beside me on the bench was a small bag. I opened it and felt inside. There was something soft and velvety wrapped round something hard, and a piece of folded notepaper. I pulled out the note.
"This bag contains a blindfold and a pair of handcuffs. Before you put them on, note where the doorbell is so that you can press it without seeing it. Place the blindfold over your head and secure it. Handcuff yourself with your hands behind you. Then press the doorbell and wait."
Again, I carefully followed the instructions. The blindfold was in fact a black velvet bag that completely covered my head, with a leather strap with a catch to secure it around my neck. When it was in place and secured, I could breathe easily but it didn't allow even the tiniest scrap of light to reach my eyes. I could see absolutely nothing. I cuffed my hands together behind me, manoeuvred myself towards the doorbell, and pressed.
For a while nothing happened. I sat down again. I began to wonder if this was all a big wind-up until a click told me someone had entered my car and closed the door. Seconds later I heard it being driven away, God knows where to, and by whom.
I heard the white door open. Two pairs of hands took hold of me, guided me into the house. I tried to ask who was holding me, but as soon as I started to speak I received a sharp, stinging slap on my bare arse. OK, I thought, talking is forbidden. I didn't try again.
My unshod feet felt the rough surface of the doormat, then soft, lush carpeting for a short distance. Another door was opened, and we moved from the rich carpet onto bare concrete. I was led down a flight of stairs. The dank, musty air of a cellar filtered through the velvet head bag to my nostrils.
We stopped. I was gently backed against a wall. Something was attached to my ankles; something else to my neck.
After a minute or so like this I began to think my guides, my captors, had left the room. But no. A feminine hand took hold of my steel-caged penis, and I felt a key being inserted in the lock. I sighed with pleasure and relief. At last this hellish device was being removed from me! Was this the end of my suffering? When the hands reached behind me to remove my handcuffs I became even more convinced that my term of sexual deprivation was over. But the velvet bag covering my head remained in place.
My newly-released hands went inexorably towards my newly-released cock, but a loud voice said "NOT YET!" It was a slightly unnatural voice, and I realised it came through a loudspeaker. My unrestrained prick was rapidly erecting, and I desperately wanted to feel it with my fingers, but I obeyed, placing my hands on my chest to demonstrate that I was complying with the speaker's orders.
After a period of complete silence lasting a minute or so, I started to move my hands surreptitiously downwards again towards my groin, but the voice from the loudspeaker made me refrain.
"Not yet, Hugh." This time the voice was gentler. I thought it was Sally's voice, but it sounded slightly different from the voice I'd heard over the phone.
"Hugh, you have been brought here for your first test. Your Mistress wishes to assess your level of self-control. In a little while you will be permitted to place your hands on your cock. Once they have made that contact, your hands must remain on your cock for sixty minutes. No more; no less.
"Remember, Hugh, that this is a test of self-control. If you choose to spend the entire hour masturbating, that is up to you. Your Mistress would surely understand if you did so; after all, it's been seven weeks or more since you last had any sexual pleasure. But she would be disappointed in you. She wants you to be her loving and obedient slave, not the self-obsessed, unfaithful bastard you proved yourself to be when you propositioned Stacey.
"The rules of science apply here, Hugh. You must obey the laws of conservation. Every orgasm you take will have to be counterbalanced by one that you give. Masturbate to your heart's content, but another person must derive a pleasure equal to your own. This applies to matter as well as to energy. Also, every gram of fluid spilt during each orgasm must be returned to your body, or replaced by an equivalent amount. Bear this in mind while you caress your wanton cock.
"When I say 'now', Hugh, place both your hands on your genitals."
I readied myself. God, I wanted that contact! But I waited.
"Your hour starts … now!"
I couldn't help it. As soon as that disembodied voice had said 'now', my hands were on my cock. Just to feel it there was an extreme pleasure! For several minutes I fought against the temptation to start stroking, wondering if the disembodied voice would give me instructions, but there was only silence. Gradually, the siren-call of the orgasm I'd been wanting for nearly two months became too strong. My left hand moved to clasp my writhing balls, my right stayed firmly around the raging erection that ached for relief! Jesus, I wanted to cum!
At first I told myself I'd just stroke softly, do nothing to provoke an orgasm. Sally had made it clear that there would be some sort of penalty to pay if I went all the way. Up and down went my hand. Slowly, cautiously, just for the simple pleasure of the touch I'd been unable to enjoy for the past fifty days and nights. For a while this was easy - gentle stroking wouldn't do any harm, would it?
But gradually, inexorably, my slow, steady strokes built on one another until a cumulative effect began to manifest. Soon my cock was saying stroke me, stroke me harder. Before I knew it the whole process had become an animal urge over which I had no control. I felt myself build to a rapid climax, and the pulses of ecstasy that accompanied my spurting of seven weeks' sperm were greater than any I could recall from previous masturbations.
"One orgasm. Eight minutes"
The voice that came through the speaker was not at all intrusive. Just a gentle, almost sad reminder that I'd failed already, that there was still a long time to go, and that there would be a price to pay. It was no problem to remember the instruction to keep both hands on my genitalia, and almost without thinking I captured the residue of my cum and spread it liberally to lubricate my post-orgasmic, shrunken member. And of course, it wasn't long before that member returned to life and sought relief.
I remember Sally's voice telling me at eighteen, thirty-five, fifty-seven minutes that I'd orgasmed again, and again, and again. The fourth orgasm was almost painful. I never could enjoy a dry wank - the sensation of coming when there's no juice left to come always leaves me feeling like an over-squeezed lemon. But my deprivations over the last couple of months made me oblivious to the sensation of emptiness, and each of the four orgasms was an utter thrill.
When my hour was up, Sally's voice instructed me to place my hands behind me. Reluctantly I obeyed.
I felt my hands being cuffed again. Then the velvet hood that had covered my head since I'd arrived here was removed. Although it was extremely dark I could just make out a few details of the room where I was trapped, and I saw what might have been a naked body departing around a corner. Ohmygawd, I thought, it was a male! I'm in the hands of a man! The very idea of intimate contact with a male appalled me!
"Oh dear! Four orgasms!" The voice from the loudspeaker. But this time it wasn't Sally's voice. It was Ta - Mistress! How the hell did she get here, I wondered. Then I realised. She must have driven here in our Porsche before I left home.
"Hugh, darling," she said, "you have failed me yet again! Four times! That means you have four forfeits to pay before you qualify for your next key! Four orgasms to provide before you move on to your next test. If you want to qualify for your next key, get on your knees! Your tongue is going to be very, very busy for a while! Are you up to the task, you pathetic, puny little turd?"
I was utterly defenceless, utterly under the control of my lovely Mistress. God, I thought, if I was a real man I'd be fighting this, refusing to submit to a woman who'd signalled her intention to grind me down to a sexual nothing. But there was something about my abject, subservient situation that was curiously appealing. I actually liked the way Mistress was treading all over me. It gave me an odd sense of security, of being wanted by the lady that I loved. I knew what I had to say.
"Yes, Mistress. Tell me what you want of me, and I'll do it!"
Page last updated 01-Dec-04 by: Altairboy@aol.com