Sheila's Trap

Let me tell you my own experience with enforced male chastity. You people need to understand exactly how these chastity devices can be misused in the hands of the wrong woman. How they can in fact be used to destroy a man's life. The one that ruined my life is basically patterned after The Curve. But someone else must have copied the design, because mine, as I eventually learned, is made entirely of hardened titanium. Lightweight, but utterly impossible to cut the material.

Sheila is the type of woman who should never have gotten her hands on that damn thing. I met her at work. We both had jobs at the same office complex and had gotten to know each other over a period of six months or so. She was really attractive and seemed to be attracted to me, so I had naturally asked her out on a few dates. We had a generally good time, and eventually ended up in the sack together several times. But after awhile it became apparent to me there was no long-term potential. She just wasn't quite my type - a little too demanding and prone to bitchiness, if you know what I mean. I didn't officially call it off or anything, but just let things take their course and eventually stopped calling her. In the meantime, I had met a really neat chick named Martha who I was becoming very interested in.
But Sheila wouldn't let it go. She would call me and try to rev things up again. She would stop me in the hall at work and rub up against me, trying to tempt me to come back. Her hand always found my crotch in those encounters, and I would have to physically disengage myself from her. What was worse, she started sending "presents" to me at home. They always had some sexual connotation, always toward the kinky side. Like a paddle, or a pair of handcuffs, or a butt plug, and on and on. There was always a note about how she wanted to get together with me to play with these toys. I was disgusted that she wouldn't quit. Rather than throw this crap away, I always boxed up her gifts and sent them back to her, hoping that would send her a message.
But then she sent one more present. It was the titanium Curve, although I didn't know what the hell it was when I first opened it. After I read the instructions and figured out what it was for, I was more disgusted than ever. I couldn't believe any guy would actually wear such a thing voluntarily. Then I saw the inevitable note from her. I don't remember the exact words, but this one was different in tone. Instead of her usual offending invitation to come play with her and her toys, she seemed to finally acknowledge that things were over between us, and that this was her farewell gift. She was sending it to me because she thought every man should have one. Don't send it back, she said. If I didn't want it, throw it away, but at least try it on once for the experience. Yeah right. I shoved it away and got ready to go out with some friends. It was Friday night.
I was more than a little drunk when I got home, and saw her little gift still sitting on the table where I had left it. I picked it up, intending to toss it in the trash. What got into me next I'll never know, but it was the biggest mistake of my life. For some crazy reason, I decided to try it on. It must have been the alcohol, I guess, making me curious enough to see how it felt. And to see if it really worked the way it was supposed to. So I actually put the damn thing on. Just getting the pieces fitted together, with my cock inside the curved tube, caused me some totally unexpected excitement. Then I thought, what the hell, I might as well get the full experience, and without further thought picked up the small brass padlock and locked it on.
I wore it around the house for a little while, just to see how it felt. No big deal, really. It was well made and comfortable to wear. And it clearly performed its intended function. I still didn't really get the kink, though. Whatever initial excitement I had started to feel had subsided. After about a half hour I decided to relegate Sheila's farewell gift to the trash, and then head off for bed. I dumped the three padlock keys out of the box and picked up one to unlock it.
The key didn't work. It wouldn't even go in the slot. I didn't freak at first because I figured it just wasn't machined precisely enough, and that one of the other keys would pop the lock. But they didn't work either. None of them would even go in.
Even now I didn't freak. I was sure I could get the thing off some other way. But to make a long story short, after an hour of trying everything I could think of, including pulling, stretching, soaping, greasing, you name it, I realized there was no way in hell that thing was coming off my cock, without the key to the lock. I started wondering if I would have to call the manufacturer, to get them to send me the right key.
I tried the keys all over again. No good. Then I looked at them more closely. They were identical to each other, but they weren't even the same brand as the padlock. I could understand how the wrong set of keys might end up with the wrong lock at the padlock factory. But how the hell could keys from a different maker of padlock get there. Unless someone deliberately ....
In one of those shocking moments of clarity and revelation, I suddenly knew exactly what had happened. Sheila had deliberately switched the keys, on the chance I would actually try the thing on and lock it. The shock compounded when I realized what that necessarily implied. Sheila had the keys to the cage that now imprisoned my penis.
Now I did freak. I spent another hour frantically trying to get the thing off, without success. Finally, exhausted, I went to bed. When I woke in the morning, I discovered what it was like to have an erection in my penis prison. Or more accurately, what it was like to try to have an erection. I spent the whole day trying to think of ways to remove it. By late afternoon, I realized I was going to have to do what I really, really hated to do. Go ask Sheila to let me out.
She opened her door, beaming. I'm sure she had spotted me through her peephole. With mock innocence she asked, "Whatever brings you over, darling? Did you come to play with me?" I pushed passed her into her apartment. "You know damn well why I'm here," I said. As I went by, her hand went to my crotch and cupped it. She immediately could tell what I wore under my pants and she laughed heartily out loud. "Finally decided to accept one of my presents?" she asked, still giggling. "I'm touched, dear, I really am."
"Cut the crap," I snapped. "Just give me the keys so I can get out of here." "Well, that's hardly the tone to use with someone who holds the key to your future, if you know what I mean. And I assure you darling, if that little padlock ever does get unlocked, it will be by me and not by you."
I glared at her. "Look, Sheila, you know its over between us. This was a funny little joke, and I yes fell for it, but now its over. You've had your laugh. Just give me the keys. Please." "Its no joke, honey, and its certainly not over. That thing really is on you, and I'm the only who can take it off. And you might as well calm down, because the keys aren't even here. If you're a good boy, I may go get them for you. But we have a few things to do first. For starters, I just have to see how it looks on you. Take off your clothes."
My glare turned to stare. What the fuck did she want? She was making this way more difficult that I expected. But I realized that for now at least, she had the upper hand. I stripped naked and stood there before her. It wasn't like she hadn't ever seen me in the buff before. But it was utterly humiliating to let her see me with that contraption on me. She looked me up and down, smiling. Then she knelt to examine my cock cage. She fingered all the fittings, pulled it this way and that, tugged on my balls, and generally satisfied herself that it was on for good. Her smile was even broader when she rose.
"I have a few errands," she said. "Perhaps I'll have time to retrieve the keys, perhaps not. In the meantime, I've got a few chores I want you to do while I'm out." She led me into the kitchen. The sink was full of dirty dishes. "Sorry, but the dishwasher's broken. You'll have to do it the old fashioned way. When you're done, the dust cloths and vacuum are in the hallway closet. Then I'll need the bathroom scrubbed down. The supplies are under the sink. That should be enough to keep you busy until I get back."
I started to protest but she raised her hand to cut me off. "It's the only chance you have, darling. I won't even consider letting you out if your performance isn't to my satisfaction when I get back." Then she gathered up my clothes, put them in a small satchel, and was out the door before I could do or say anything. It appeared that I would be laboring in the nude. I was outraged at the way she was taking advantage of my predicament, but there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. My mind just sort of went on auto-pilot and I got to work.
I was still finishing up in the bathroom when I heard her return. I stayed where I was and kept working. I didn't want to see her. I could hear her moving around in the apartment, no doubt inspecting my work. Finally she stuck her head in the bathroom door. "Looks wonderful, dear. When you're done in here, come back to my bedroom."
When I walked through her bedroom door, I found her curled up naked on the bed, smiling demurely at me. What the hell, I thought. Is she going to want a farewell fuck after she takes this thing off me? At that point I was willing to do about anything to get this scene over with. And, I have to admit, she really was gorgeous and incredibly sexy. I felt my cock trying to stir in its confinement. "OK Sheila, I've played your little game. Your apartment's cleaner than my house ever was. Where's the keys?" "The keys? Oh, I completely forgot. Maybe I'll get them later." As she was speaking, she leaned back against the pillows piled up against her headboard and spread her legs out wide in a knees- up position. She pointed to her pussy and said, "Do one more little favor for me, darling. Then we can talk about letting you out."
We had had sex plenty of times, but this was one little favor I had never performed on her. Damn it, I thought, she's going to milk this for all its worth. I crawled up between her legs and went to work on her. Despite myself, I got turned on sexually by the whole scene, which caused my imprisoned cock to strain mightily against the cage. It took a lot of hard work and a long time. She didn't come very easily. But I finally got her off.
She laid back with her eyes closed, purring contentedly. I started to rise up but her hands found the top of my head and pushed my face back into her pussy, forcing me to wallow in her juices. Then she started stroking and patting my head like I was her little pet. "Such a good boy," she murmured.
At length she swung her legs over my head and got up. She tossed my clothes on the bed. "You can get dressed now, dear, and scoot along home. I have some friends coming over for dinner. I thought about having you stay to cook for us, but I've decided to save that for next time. Thanks for the cleaning, though." "But what about ...?" "Its not going to happen. Not today. You need to get used to wearing it. But darling, if your performance today is any indication, you're well on your way to earning a few minutes out of it sometime."
I'll skip the details of my curses and threats. But the bottom line was, she refused to produce the key, and there was nothing I could do about it. The next week was hell as I had to learn to live with a constrained cock twenty-four hours a day. My morning erections, or what should have been erections, were brutal. Every day at work she made a point of stopping by my office, teasing me and asking me how her little prisoner was doing. On Friday she told me to come over on Saturday. It was time for my chores again. I went. That week, at least, she let me get dressed before her friends came over, but I had to wait on them hand and foot through dinner and drinks, and then clean up the kitchen afterwards.
All that happened over three months ago. She still won't let my penis out of its cage. Not once. For three months, I've had no erections or orgasms. Not that my cock doesn't strain and try. I've never seen the key which could release me from my torment, and she has assured me that I will never, ever, find it. I've begged her to take that awful thing off of me. I've pleaded. I've tried to reason with her, to negotiate with her. I've offered to give her anything she wants, to pay her any sum of money. I've asked her what gives her the right to so arbitrarily and summarily deprive me of my manhood. Nothing gets me anywhere. Whatever other qualities she may have, she is the most resolute woman I have ever met once she sets her mind to something. She steadfastly refuses to release me. She is absolutely unbending in her will. "I love seeing you this way, darling. Its fun for me." That's all the explanation she will give me.
For now, I have no choices in the matter, and I know that my only hope of ever being released from this life of enforced chastity lies in continuing to please her. She's made that quite clear to me. She reminds me of it often. So I serve her. I've continued to perform the weekly duties at her apartment, both menial and sexual. As to the latter, she loves to straddle me and ride my face to her orgasm, her fingers deeply entertwined in my hair. She's now shown me to her friends, and let them learn of my status. And then last week, she closed down her apartment and moved into my house with me. So now my servitude is performed in my own home, where she has taken charge of all household decisions. She has dictated that we live as lovers in most respects, except of course for the imprisoned status of my manhood. And I learned to my distress that she kept all the sex toys I had sent back to her. She usually saves those for weekend play sessions, but I know I may feel the sting of the paddle any time my performance level falls off.
Each night, before I tongue her, we lay together and fondle and caress each other as if we were real lovers. When I'm done servicing her I'm allowed to share her bed. She's developed the habit of fondling my balls as she falls asleep, and again when she wakes in the morning.
We're getting married in two months. At her bidding. I don't really love her of course, but I have to admit I've developed a strange craving for her presence, and an inexplicable overpowering need to please her. Its weird because I can remember when I had none of those feelings for her. But sometimes the outrageousness and audacity of what she is doing to me just overwhelms me emotionally. I've reached levels of frustration so severe that I've actually cried.
If I continue to be a good boy, she's promised to consider letting me out temporarily on our wedding night. I'll be tied down, she says, so that my little penis prison can go right back on later. And she isn't promising an orgasm. It might only be a chance for my pee- pee to stretch out for a prolonged teasing session. She refers to my penis as my "pee-pee," and insists that I do also, because that is all that it does now.
Sometimes the future terrifies me. I honestly don't know how long I can endure the life that Sheila has chosen for me. But I have no choice, other than to endure. I take one day at a time and so far have managed to survive. I serve her dutifully and I pray for any mercy she cares to show me. I can't wait for our wedding night.