The BetSubmitted by: CTRL-ALT-DELETE
I am a real sucker for bets. This weakness has over the years brought me both wealth and poverty. Although not at the same time of course. Despite the fact that I lost more than I have ever gained betting, it is a habit I cannot kick. However, my last bet was probably my worst one - ever.
Jen and I had been an item some years ago, but the erotic interest had gradually faded, and we had become "good friends" and gradually drifted apart. Some months ago, she moved into an apartment just a few blocks from where I was living, and we got together for some sort of "good friends reunion".
Jen could drink any man under the table - and frequently did so. I was aware of her skill, and held back. Besides, I could take almost as much as she could.
Around midnight, had discussed politics, religion, football, music and the weather. Suddenly she changed the subject:
"You know that I've been chaste since I left you?" she inquired.
I did not know, but for some reason, the surprising bit of information pleased me. "I must have been a hell of a lover, so good that she never wanted anyone else," my bloated ego told me.
"Really, that is quite a surprise," I responded.
"I could just as well have been wearing a chastity belt," she continued.
"Chastity belts are just fiction - unsuitable for long term wear and if you really want to get out, you can always destroy the belt and get free," I responded, without ever seeing even a glimpse of the closing trap.
"Bullshit, I know that I could make a totally inescapable chastity belt, I am an engineer you know." She was eager now.
"Nothing that I and my Dremel tool could not get out of in a matter of minutes, or worst case hours," I said. My speech was by now slightly slurred – both by a slight arousal and by the alcohol.
"Want to make a bet?" she asked, closing the trap. Of course, I took her up on it.
"OK, the deal is that I make a belt for you, put it on you and you break out – with any tool you prefer to use. If you are out of the belt within one week from being locked in, you win and I will be your house servant for one full year. Deal?"
The word "no" never entered my mind. We went home to her where she measured me - to my great disappointment without removing my underpants. She then politely asked me to go, because she had work to do.
One week later, I was very excited. My apartment was a mess, and a thorough cleanup was very much needed, although I had no intention of doing so myself.
She greeted me with an eager but brief kiss when opening the door, then danced into her apartment. She was very cheerful, and I could only assume that she looked forward to becoming my servant for a year.
"Strip and cuff yourself to the bed –hands and feet," she instructed, and disappeared into the bathroom. "I'll be with you in a moment."
This was looking good to me. I had always been fascinated by bondage and being tied up and naked on her bed certainly was one of the several fantasies I have had. She had arranged hand and foot shackles of the self-locking type. The leg shackles pulled my legs far apart, while the hand shackles were together over my head, making it easy to lock myself in place. Once secured, I was totally immobilized in a tight upside Y configuration.
"OK, I'm ready," I said, a little hoarsely.
She came back into the room, carrying a black leather hood.
"I want no cheating here, so here we go," she said, and pulled the hood over my head. She did not bother to lace it up, because there was no way I could get it off anyhow. My manhood responded by pointing eagerly to the ceiling, an embarrassment she quickly ended by wrapping something cold around it. I was left to cool down for a while.
I finally felt her on the bed. "Are you really sure that you want to be locked into an inescapable chastity belt," she asked.
"You bet, put it on baby," I responded.
It took her a while to get the device on, ant twice, she removed it and went away, presumably to make adjustments. Each time she went away, the icepack was reapplied to my genitals. After about half an hour, she released my hands and feet, and let me remove the hood. I looked into the mirror, and examined her handiwork. The belt was beautiful. It was lined with silicone, and the metal looked like gold. It fit like a glove and followed my hips and totally encased my penis and my balls. The front plate was massive, and the most noticeable attribute was its eight keyholes. A rather substantial metal rod ran between my ass cheeks and connected seamlessly with the waist-belt in the back.
"Now, you little prick, it is time to listen before you fire up your Dremel and do serious damage to yourself. I promised you an inescapable belt, and that is what you are wearing. Actually that is not quite true. You can escape at a price - and the price is the loss of your manhood. Inside the belt, there are eight high-tension springs that can push either spikes or guillotine-like knives with a force sufficient to cut through most human tissue in its path. The belt is hollow, and between the layers of the front plate, there is an intricate system of wires and pulleys, keeping the knives and spikes retracted safely, but if you cut or otherwise move any of the wires, then any or all of the eight pistons may fire. Your ass wire is also hollow, so is the waistband. Any tampering with any component of the belt will therefore have severe consequences. And in case you plan to pick the locks, you should know that they must be picked in the right order, or else…"
I was utterly shocked, and started to object.
"Shut the fuck up," she interrupted. "The bet was a simple one: You have a week to get out. I don't think you will manage that - at least not as a man. But you were so convinced that you made a bet. I was equally convinced, and for the moment it looks like I am winning. Did you really think that I would put you into something that you could easily get out of? I do not intend to be your servant. Not for a minute…"
"This thing is a lethal weapon! You can not do this to me. I admit it; you won. Now get this guillotine off me!" I was beginning to sweat and shake, and there was more than a little pleading in my voice.
"It stays on. Remember that I have a video of you cuffing yourself, willingly accepting that I put on the inescapable chastity belt. If you go to the police or a lawyer, I will simply claim that you had the belt made, and that although I have the keys, I have no knowledge of which order the locks must be opened. The belt is on for a week. Now get out of here, before I loose my temper. I hate whimpering men. Don't contact me before the week is up, or I'll add another week. Caprice?
Minutes later I was dressed and out on the street. In a daze, I got into my car and drove home. I almost did not dare to touch the belt, out of fear that I might accidentally trigger one of the eight traps.
Five days passed. I called in sick at work, and stayed at home, curtains drawn. I moved around as if I was walking on eggshells. I barely got any sleep. Despite my miserable state, I was horny as hell, desperately fearing that my vain attempts at an erection would trigger the diabolical mechanisms.
On the sixth day, I finally realized that unless I tampered with the belt, I was not going to loose any bodily parts. I brought out my digital camera, and took pictures, frontside, backside and from below. I examined each picture at maximum zoom, but found no clues on how to open the belt safely. I picked up the telephone and dialled Jen:
"Listen, I admit it, I am defeated. You win. Now can we end this bet?"
"We never agreed what your forfeit would be if you lost. I assume that I can make a reasonable demand?"
"Sure, this bet was stupid. I underestimated you. I probably deserve everything you can demand."
"I am glad you see my point. We were together for a year and a half. You were probably the most egoistic lover I have ever had, and I only had two orgasms during the time we were together. You have no idea how many nights I spent horny as hell, just waiting for you to go to work so that I could get my rightful satisfaction from my faithful vibrator. Being a reasonable person, I will only demand that you wear the belt for a year. Then we are even."
It took me some seconds to realize what she was saying, but the moment the implications registered in my brain, I exploded: "You cheating, lying bitch.
Whore! Cunt! Manhater!..."
"Well, let us settle on two years then," she interrupted, but my foul mouth was unstoppable:
"I'll go to the police. I will sue you. I will tell your friends. I will wreck your car. I will…"
"OK, five years it is. Now will you shut up before I double it again?" she said in a very calm voice.
I shut my mouth before more words could escape. We were both quiet for some time before I spoke again:
"I am so sorry. I sincerely apologize. Please forgive me. I will gladly wear the belt for a year, if that is what you require. If I was to wear the belt for five years, I would be 34 before I can have sex again. That kind of upsets a man you know."
"I'm glad you accept your apology, and that you will gladly wear the belt for a year. Then you only have to wear it for another four years without being glad for it. And I too will be reasonable: I will let you have two orgasms per year, just as you gave me. You decide when they are to be. I will also remove the belt once per week for cleaning. You will have to be restrained during the procedure. And before you restrain yourself, I would very much like you to clean and tidy my house - do the laundry, wash the windows, clean the sinks, in brief terms: Make my apartment sparkle. Or else, you may have to go without cleaning, and people may start asking what the foul smell is…"
I was about to verbally lash out at her again, but thought better of it. I mumbled some politeness phrases, and was about to hang up when she responded:
"Friday the 12th at 07:00 am sharp. Be there!"
"But that is in two weeks," I objected.
"That is correct. I promised you to add an extra week if you phoned me before the agreed week was up. Have a nice fortnight. And don't be late on Friday the 12th."
Page last updated 05-Jan-04 by: Altairboy@aol.com