Auntie Knows BestSubmitted by: Nigel
When my marketing company went bankrupt two years ago I had no alternative but to move in with my aunt Agatha who lived in the suburbs. She was glad of the extra help I could provide in exchange for rent, and encouraged me to start up another business from her home.
I had often stayed with my aunt Agatha as a young boy, but it was over twenty years since I had last been a guest under her roof. Within a few weeks of moving in the dynamic of our relationship soon devolved into how it had been all those years ago. I was the naughty schoolboy who couldn't be trusted to be left on his own, and she was the stern aunt who felt it was her duty to teach me the error of my ways. It manifested first as mild disapproval of my slovenly bachelor ways, then progressed to lists of chores I had to complete before the end of the day, then to being told what I could or couldn't wear and what time I had to go to bed.
It all came to a head during that first summer with her, on an afternoon when I thought she was out shopping. Unbeknown to me, she had returned early from her trip and caught me in the bathroom masturbating with a pair of her panties - they were a soft pair of white ones with scalloped trim.
It wasn't just the embarrassment of being caught red handed that freaked me out, but I had been on the verge of a massive orgasm. I was suffused with that golden intensity just before the moment of eruption, when she pushed open the door and screamed out what the hell I was doing. My erection was so hard and throbbing it was impossible to hide it, but I quickly threw the panties down, and cupped my hands over my desperate cock. Just a few more strokes and I would have been there. Just another few minutes and she would never had known what I'd done.
Unfortunately, my moment of folly was to be the end of my masturbatory life.
Angered and disgusted by what she saw my aunt Agatha proceeded to lecture me on the evils of my 'perversion' and told me how she was going to wean me off it with a little device specially made for naughty boys. She had once been the headmistress of a boy's boarding school and knew all about their masturbatory habits. It's never too late to change, she said, and said she was going to teach me to control that organ of mine if it was the last thing she did.
She asked me, seeing as I'm an inveterate masturbator, whether I have any respect for women? Most women, she said, respect men that have chosen to adopt a more dedicated, abstaining life, away from their penile urges. Then she asked me whether I wanted to change.
I thought to myself, why are women always so shocked to know how frequently men masturbate? Don't they know it's an uncontrollable urge that cannot be defeated? I had tried to stop my habit many times in the past, and failed, so I was surprised to hear her say she could cure me.
That night she ordered a CB-2000 off the internet which duly arrived a week later. What follows is a series of extracts from the diary I kept of my first few weeks in chastity.
I don't like the look of this plastic cage. It looks very constricting. How will my cock ever fit into the thing? I try it on, and after making a few adjustments after which she's satisfied I'm well and truly encased, she locks up and hides the key. With a satisfied smirk she explains how she'll let me out once a week for relief, just to stop me going mad. Then once I've got used to that, it'll be once every two weeks, then once every three weeks, and so on, till I'll only need to come out when the woman in my life wants to make love. That, my aunt concluded, is the proper use of a penis.
I'm suddenly taken over by a wave of fear. What have I let myself in for? But the sight of her plunging cleavage, and the bulge of enormous breasts under her blouse, soon assuage me. I'm suddenly excited again and my cock tries to swell. Shit this thing's tight! I can't go anywhere in it.
Maybe that's the lesson? If you can't stop masturbating you have to be careful concerning any women in the house. You have to be extra cautious and always on your guard. If not - wham! she'll suddenly appear from nowhere and cast you into darkness.
Once a week - that was her agreement, but why didn't I have a say in the matter too? This is more than I can bare. Why are women always so keen to deny men the pleasures they love?
I feel like a prisoner who's been inside for ten years and his parole is up. He can't wait to smell fresh air again, to hear the birds sing, and to feel the touch of a beautiful woman on his parched body. I know how it feels, I've been denied the greatest freedom of all.
Then, oh sweet perfumed heaven, she leads me into the bathroom, orders me to take my clothes off, compliments me on my powers of endurance, and then unlocks the cage. As she bends down I get a fantastic glimpse of her lacy bra and big wobbly tits. As soon as the cage off I get hard. Seven days of pent-up frustration suddenly rush out and I'm a rod of iron. Wow! Yes! Come on, I'm thinking, let me spurt, you vindictive vixen! But she wants to do it her way.
I'm made to lean over the bath tub and slowly rub my knob head - not too fast, she says, or I'll go back in the cage straight away - but I'm finding it very difficult to hold back. The pleasure, having been denied for so long, is exquisitely sweet. I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I blurt out but she insists I stop before it's too late. Please let me cum, I implore, desperate for release, but it's not until my third time of begging that she says I can ejaculate - into the bath, and without spilling a single drop on the floor. The relief is indescribable. It's the biggest, strongest orgasm I've ever had, and my sperm shoots out with such force it splashes against the tiles on the opposite wall. Afterwards, my whole body relaxes so thoroughly from the release of tension I almost collapse.
She asks me how it felt and I reply it was glorious. Good, she says, commenting on how thick and creamy my sperm is, and that now I know what a proper orgasm is like she tells me how determined she is to help me - with a little support from 'our friend the CB-2000 - to truly understand the beauty of sexual pleasure. It's not, she said, something to be gulped down whenever you feel thirsty, but a fine wine to be anticipated eagerly, to the sipped and enjoyed in the right circumstances, and to be appreciated for its richness and depth.
I'm told to wash myself with soap and water, towel off (slowly!), and then shave off my pubic hair. When she sees the look of disbelief on my face she says that as I've been behaving like a little boy - all those obscene fantasies and ³willy tugging² - then I should look like a little boy.
When I was finally as bald as a ten-year she put the chastity device back on. She's satisfied with my first week and, as she's locking me back in, smiles sweetly as she catches me glancing down her blouse. I'm told of the 'treats' to come if I make good progress. I need encouragement, she says, and complete denial of sexual pleasure is not part of the ³training². It's all about restriction, rationing, and anticipation. But all I can think about is her boobs, her beautiful, curvy melons looking at me longingly, desperate for my tongue.
The image of her gorgeous breasts is so firmly imprinted on my mind that I'm horny again as soon as she leaves the bathroom. I tug at the cage to see if I can get some friction going. I pull to see if it'll slip off, knowing I've already done this a hundred times and it's no use trying. I don't know how I'm going to get through a second week of denial.
Next day she's out of town, that at least I'm sure of, and I take the opportunity to sneak a peak at her used panties again. I take a pair out of the laundry basket and start sniffing. Suddenly I'm going mad with desire. All the memories of those blissful electric shocks of pleasure I used to get from her underwear come flooding back, but I can't do anything about them. I can see the goal - I'm holding it in my hands!! - but it's far, far away, and it's driving me crazy. I content myself with wearing on my head, the gusset over my nose, and lie on my bed inhaling her pungent aromas for the rest of the afternoon, dreaming of what might have been.
To be continued...
Page last updated 05-Jun-14 by: Altairboy@aol.com