Catch 22

It all started when my wife Ann and I had been married for about 5 years. Our sex life had always been great - she really looked after herself and still had the body of a teenager, like when we first met. Yet for some reason, I began to slip back into my old habit of jerking off occasionally. It seemed a weird thing for me to do - here I was with a wife who I fancied like crazy and who was more than willing to have sex at least as often as I wanted to, if not more. What the hell did I need to jerk off for? I felt guilty and ashamed about it and several times tried to break the habit, only to fall back into my old ways a few days later.

Looking back on what happened next, I sometimes wonder if I secretly wanted to get caught because I couldn't find any other way of stopping. Whatever the reason, I began to take more and more risks. Instead of waiting until she went out, I would jerk off in the bathroom while she was still at home. One day, the inevitable happened and she caught me at it. Her reaction at first was mainly shock - why would I do such a thing behind her back? Hadn't she always satisfied me sexually? But soon her shock gave way to anger, and she told me she needed to spend some time alone while she decided where we go from here.
After a few days in which she barely spoke to me (and I cursed myself for my stupidity, wondering if I'd ruined the best thing in my life) she suddenly announced that she had the answer. She wasn't angry with me, she said to my surprise, because she understood that it was an addiction which I couldn't control. On the other hand, she certainly wasn't happy to let it continue. So if I wanted our life to go back to the way it was, I had to promise to do everything I could to beat the addiction.
I was so grateful I think I would have agreed to almost anything. Despite this, I was a bit hesitant when she spelled out exactly what she meant. The key to breaking addiction, she said, was to overcome the initial craving. If I didn't give in to it, it would eventually die down and I would be free of it. Since my problem was obviously not having the willpower to ignore the craving, she announced that she was going to "help". She'd ordered me an inescapable chastity belt from the internet. When it arrived, she would put it on me and keep the only key. She didn't say any more, and I realised she was waiting for me to speak.
"Er... how long for?" I stammered.
"Well that's hard to say, honey. I guess there are no hard and fast rules about these things - one person's addiction isn't like another's. But the principle still holds - deny the craving for long enough and it will eventually die down of its own accord. And don't worry, I'll be happy to supply the willpower you lack. You can beg and plead for the key as much as you like, but the answer will always be no. Until you're cured, of course."
When the package arrived a few days later, I felt a strange mixture of thrills and terror. On the one hand, she was as she said helping me to break my habit. On the other hand, such an open-ended sentence, with no guarantee of when I would be free. Still, I supposed, she was right that there was no way to predict how long it would take.
I still remember the click as she closed the sturdy padlock, sealing me into the belt. The thought of being so completely in her control turned me on so much that my cock began to erect - and then immediately came up against the confines of its metal prison. My god, couldn't I even get an erection in this thing?
The next week was absolute hell. I hardly slept, since every time I dozed off my cock would try to get hard and the pain when it couldn't would wake me up. The constant pressure against my cock and balls as I went about my daily life made me want to jerk off all the time, but I was helpless. I begged my wife to let me out just for a moment, promising that she could lock me up again afterwards. I said that cutting down my jerking off was more realistic than going cold turkey. But she was as good as her word. She said that if I was allowed to jerk off now, the whole recovery process would be back to square one, and flatly refused to even consider it.
Things were made a million times worse because, from her point of view, our sex life was better than ever. She made it very clear to me that she didn't expect to be deprived just because I was, and as I didn't have the use of my cock I'd just have to use my tongue instead. Seeing her gorgeous body lying naked on the bed waiting for my attentions, feeling her grip my head between her thighs and nearly tear my hair out by the roots as she reached a shuddering climax and feeling my own cock unable to do anything but strain desperately against its cage, I seriously began to wonder if a person could go crazy from sexual frustration.
I tried to live with my new situation, but my frustration just grew and grew, never seeming to level off. By the end of the first month I was frantic. I begged her to show pity, offered to do anything at all, buy her anything she wanted, whatever it took. She just laughed and said how lucky I was to be married to her, since so many women would have given in to that kind of bribery. Yeah, I felt real lucky! But one day after I'd just finished servicing her and was pleading with her to let me experience the same feelings I'd just given her, she said something that chilled me to the bone.
"Hmm, this really is disappointing. I would have thought the need to jerk off would be starting to die off by now. But obviously it's stronger than ever. This really is a very deep-rooted addiction. But don't you worry honey, I'm in this with you for as long as it takes. I'll keep those keys so you won't have to rely on your non-existent willpower. Together, we'll beat this addiction."
I pleaded with her that I didn't want to jerk off, only to have sex with her.
"Really, honey? Oh that's so sweet, but there's really no need. You're getting so good with your tongue these days, to be honest I don't miss your cock at all. It's a shame you never used to like going down on me, you have a real talent there. But then, I guess back then you had other options."
I couldn't believe what she was saying - that wanting to be released was evidence that I still had my addiction, so she wouldn't unlock me? What kind of crazy logic was that? But I had no choice but to go along with it. So I did everything I could to hide my desperation. I serviced her in every way possible whenever she wanted it, never complaining about my own frustration, which by now was at a level most people could never even imagine. And my reward? Nothing. She cheerfully enjoyed the fantastic sex life she was getting, together with all the pampering and treats I surprised her with all the time, doing everything I could think of to get her in a good mood. But month after month went by and she never even mentioned by belted state, much less offered to set me free. It was as if she was so used to seeing me that way that she didn't even notice it any more.
Finally one day I cracked. I told her it had been six months since she locked me up, and in all that time I'd been able even to have an erection, let alone come. Surely now I'd been punished enough for what I'd done?
She looked at me with sadness in her eyes.
"We've been over this," she said. "It isn't punishment, it's treatment, and treatment that you obviously need. You know, I was just starting to think that you'd beaten then addiction at last. You hadn't begged me to let you jerk off for months. Finally, I thought, the craving's gone away and I could think about setting you free and things going back to how they were. But obviously I was jumping the gun. You put on a show of being a reformed character and I fell for it. Well, I won't make that mistake again."
All this happened 5 years ago. In all that time, I've never once been let out of this infernal belt. I'm helplessly trapped by her merciless logic. If I say nothing, my imprisonment continues indefinitely, month after month, year after year. If I beg to be let out, she says that I obviously haven't beaten my craving, even after such a long time locked up, and promises to "help" me by steadfastly refusing to set me free until I have. "As long as it takes," she always says.
I'm going out of my mind with frustration, and there's no end in sight.