Captions XXIII

No Chance of Escape

It all started when I inherited a lot of money from an aunt and bought a new house. The house had once been a police station, and although most of it had been converted and looked just like a regular house, in the basement there was still a single prison cell, about 10 feet by 8. I didn't think much of it at first, but as time went by it began to occupy my thoughts more and more. I've always had a strong masochistic streak, though mostly I've just fantasised rather than acting anything out, and I began to wonder what it would be like to be locked in that cell, completely helpless, unable to do anything but wait until my jailer chose to set me free? It was around this time I met the woman I came to know only as Lady Anne. She advertised herself as a lifestyle dominatrix, and I guess this appealed to me more than the idea of a domme whose motivation was purely financial. Over the course of the next year or so, we met up maybe two or three times a month, always at her place, and experimented with bondage, domination and some CP. I found I couldn't take too much pain, even though the idea turned me on. But my thoughts always came back to that prison cell. It was thrilling to be tied up for an hour or so, but then going back to real life was always such a let down. How much better it would be if my captivity lasted 24/7 for days or even weeks! Finally, I brought up the subject with Lady Anne. I was nervous, especially when I saw how much she obviously loved the idea. Within minutes she had worked out a practical plan. I would tell my friends I was going on holiday for two weeks, but I'd actually spend the time locked up in the basement of my own house. She would live in the house and provide for my needs (eg food and water) according to a schedule worked out in advance. We agreed that she should be completely merciless in making me serve the entire two weeks, even if I changed my mind and begged her to let me out. Finally the day came when my incarceration was to begin. Once I had carried her things up to the main bedroom - my bedroom - she led me downstairs into the basement and told me to undress. Standing there naked, looking at that open barred door and the tiny cell beyond, I felt thrilled but also terrified. What was I getting myself into? It didn't help my nerves when I asked to go over the rules one last time to make sure there was no misunderstanding, and she just laughed and said there was no point since I'd have no way of making her keep any promises she made now. But before I could protest, she said that it was just for two weeks anyway, so why was I worried? After that, my friends would expect me back. If they didn't see me questions would be asked, and there was no way my being held prisoner in my own basement could be kept a secret for long. I still remember the clang of the cell door as it banged shut behind me, the metallic clunk as she turned the key in the lock and the sound of her high heeled boots on the concrete floor gradually receding as she left the basement and went back upstairs. I looked around the tiny cell that was to be my home for two weeks. There was a hard bed, a toilet and a sink, cold water only. The bare essentials for life, with no thought given to comfort or enjoyment. I sat down on the bed, and was amazed at how instantly I felt helpless. It wasn't that I was really hungry, but somehow the knowledge that I had no control over when I would next eat blew the slight hunger I felt out of all proportion. I also realised with a start that I could see no natural light - for a whole two weeks I wouldn't see the sun or the sky, or anything but this cell or the basement on the other side of the barred door. I could see the keys to my cell hanging on a hook on the opposite wall. I reflected that it was lucky I hadn't told my friends I was flying anywhere sunny, as I certainly wouldn't have a tan when they saw me again. She'd taken my watch along with my clothes, and the lack of natural light made it hard to judge the passing of time, but I was ravenously hungry when she finally brought me my evening meal and slid the tray under the bars. It was under a silver lid, the kind used to keep cooked food warm, but this turned out to be her little joke as when I lifted it there was nothing but dry bread underneath, and nothing but water to go with it. Bread and water. She laughed at my expression of disappointment, and said she'd be back for the tray in an hour. I bit into the bread and found it was stale (I later found out she'd bought it a few days earlier and let it go stale deliberately) but I was so hungry I didn't care. I remembering wondering how sick of it I'd be after two weeks if that was all she gave me. By the third day, I was beginning to understand how solitary confinement can drive a person mad. I was going out of my mind with boredom, endlessly pacing back and forth in my cell. Having nothing to do but think, I reflected on how little time a human being can stand having absolutely nothing to do - not just the boring things we all resent having to do, but nothing at all. When she brought my evening meal - stale bread and water, as always - I begged her to let me have a book to read, a newspaper, anything at all to relieve the boredom, but she was implacable. Our agreement had said nothing about giving me anything to read, so that was how it was going to be. Likewise we'd agreed how often I would be fed but not what, so if I didn't like stale bread that was just tough. She turned on her heel and walked out of the basement, leaving me to curse my stupidity in not thinking through the agreement properly. But the next day at breakfast time, as I considered the prospect of another day just staring at a blank wall, I couldn't help myself. I said what would it hurt her if I just had something to read? It didn't seem much to ask. She looked at me long and hard, then put down my breakfast tray and snapped her fingers. "Remember that sound," she said. "It's a sound you'll hear any time you disobey me, or question my orders, or repeat a question I've already answered, or do anything else that pisses me off. It's a sound that means you'll forfeit one day's food." With that she picked up my breakfast tray and left marched out of the room. I was stunned by what she'd said, but sure enough lunchtime and dinnertime came and went but she didn't return. I spent the day wishing I had something, anything to take my mind of the hunger gnawing at my belly, and terrified both of the power she had over me and of the cold-blooded, sadistic way she used it. Finally, after the longest two weeks of my life, the day came for my release. When I heard her footsteps on the basement stairs in the morning I figured she was finally going to let me out. But no, there was the tray of stale bread again. I bit down my instinct to protest, remembering that the flight I'd told people I was returning on didn't land until noon, so she was within her rights to keep me locked up until then. Anyway, what was a few more hours? But when she came at lunchtime with more stale bread and turned to leave without releasing me, I couldn't help myself. However cruel she'd been, I said, she'd always stuck to our agreement, so how could she justify not releasing me today? To my horror, she snapped her fingers and left the room without a word. What could it mean? That she would keep me locked up for an an extra day just for the pleasure of starving me? Sure enough, I got no evening meal that night, and could hardly sleep for hunger. But I must have dozed off eventually, and when I woke I found that a newspaper had been slipped under the bars of my cell. What could this mean? That she was relaxing the conditions of my imprisonment? But she was supposed to be releasing me! I picked up the newspaper and instantly felt a jolt of horror in the pit of my stomach. The front page was devoted to news of a terrible plane crash at the Airport. It said that a plane coming in to land had caught fire and then exploded, and there were no survivors. I think I knew even before the article confirmed it that it was the plane I had told everyone I was returning on. "Kinda changes things, don't you think?" The voice came suddenly out of the dark of the basement beyond the bars of my cell. She must have been standing there all the time, waiting for me to wake up and read the newspaper so she could enjoy my reaction. "Wh... what do you mean?" I stammered. "You know exactly what I mean. Your guarantee of being released after two weeks was that people would miss you if you weren't. They'd start asking questions, the police would get involved and before long you'd be traced here. Well, now everyone thinks you died in that plane crash. No one expects ever to see you again, and your chances of getting out of that cell depend completely on whether I choose to release you or not." "So what would you say your chances are?" My mind was racing. Was she really saying she would never release me? Could she possibly be so cruel? Thank God I had the foresight to... Her voice cut into my thoughts. "Give me the newspaper back now. No exceptions to the rules, even on a day as special as today. But don't worry honey, I've got something here you can read." As I gave her the newspaper, she passed me an envelope, and my insides turned to ice. It was my writing on the front. It was addressed to my attorney, and on the back were instructions that he should only open it if he hadn't heard from me by a date two days from now. I knew without looking that the letter inside was the one I had posted to him the day before Lady Anne locked me away, telling him all about my forthcoming imprisonment in my own basement. This was my failsafe mechanism, designed to ensure that there was no way she could keep me locked up for longer than we had agreed. But how... "I followed you for a few days before locking you up, just in case you tried something like this. When I saw you mailing a letter, I called an old client of mine who works for the US Postal Service. He unlocked the mailbox and I retrieved your letter. All very illegal, of course, but I guess he didn't want his wife to find out where he really went on Thursday nights." "So you see, honey, your attorney never got this letter. He thinks you're dead, like everyone else does. He won't be coming round with the police. There'll be no seventh cavalry arriving at the last minute to save the day. There's just you, and me. You have right on your side, no question about that. I did promise I'd release you yesterday. Unfortunately I have something much more important - the keys to your cell." She dangled them between her thumb and forefinger, tantalisingly close to the bars, as if daring me to try and grab them. "And I'll be making sure they stay out of your reach - permanently." Hanging the keys on their hook on the far wall, she turned and left without another word. After that, everything seemed to happen very fast, and with the unstoppable momentum of a juggernaut. She spent a couple of days going through my private papers until she knew exactly what my assets were in addition to the house itself, then set about drawing up a will, dated six months earlier, which left everything to "my wonderful new girlfriend who has brought so much joy into my life" - ie her. I was horrified, but before I had a chance to protest she told me matter of factly that she would starve me for days, weeks, whatever it took until I signed it, and I knew I was beaten. Sobbing uncontrollably, I signed my name to the document, not daring to think about what it meant for my future. She told me that a memorial service was held for me, and that many people had attended and said nice things about me, little knowing that I was alive and less than a mile away in an underground cell. She played the part of the grieving lover very well, she said. Everyone had sympathised with her tragic loss, and thought it a nice idea that she take over the house the two of us had planned to live in together - little knowing that the two of us would in fact be living in it! How she laughed when she said that, and laughed all the more when she saw she had reduced me to tears of helpless frustration again. All this happened more than six years ago, In all that time I have not once been allowed out of this tiny cell. It's stifling in summer and freezing in winter - the basement has central heating but she refuses to turn it on, saying my money is better spent on luxuries for her than making my life bearable. Indeed, during the winter months she always comes down to the basement in one of a number of expensive looking floor length fur coats she has bought with her newfound wealth, while I huddle in a corner shivering uncontrollably. The water from the sink is especially cold in winter, making my daily all over wash torturous, but she insists that I do it unless I want a bucket of ice water thrown over me. I am now thin as a rake, my beard is almost down to my navel and my skin is sickly and pallid from the poor diet and complete lack of sunlight. I'm no longer aware of when it's night or day. I sleep fitfully, dreaming of my old life and cursing when I wake up to find I am still in my cell, with nothing to do but count the hours until my next meal of stale bread and water. I've begged and pleaded with her endlessly to let me go. I've promised that I'll go as far away as she likes, live under a different name, never do anything to jeopardise the luxurious life she's living with my money. Nothing gets me anywhere. She says if I were free there'd always be a risk that what she did to me might be found out. Even if I didn't tell, someone might recognise me in the street and start asking questions. And she's wasn't prepared to take that risk. Why should she, when she already has everything she wants? "After all," she says with a laugh, "I could end up in prison - and I don't need to tell you how bad that is, do I honey?" I face the constant threat of enforced starvation if I cross her in the least little way. She only has to raise her hand as if she's about to snap her fingers and I instantly stop whatever I was doing or saying. One day, she announced that I wouldn't be fed that day even though I'd done nothing wrong, because she'd forgotten to buy bread a few days before so there was none stale enough to give me, and she was unwilling to give me fresh bread as she said "good food was for jailers, not for prisoners". I raged against the unfairness, and she smiled, snapped her fingers and thanked me for giving her an excuse, saying she wouldn't feel bad about it now. She still refuses to let me have any books or newspapers to pass the time, and has even gone to the lengths of putting all the books that were in the main bedroom when it was mine on a table in the basement where I can see them. When she first did this I thought she was going to let me have them, but no, of course it was just another way to torment me with what I desperately wanted but couldn't have. She insists that she isn't keeping me locked up out of sadistic enjoyment of my suffering, but I know this isn't true as she deliberately makes the conditions of my imprisonment as unbearable as possible. The slightest complaint about anything means I don't get fed for a day, and she's become amazingly creative in finding ways to address my complaints which leave me worse off than before. Fo example, she's taken to having all her own meals down in the basement to remind me of what I'm missing. The smell of the wonderful food she was eating while I bit into dry crusts day after day nearly drove me out of my mind, and finally I snapped and said I couldn't eat nothing but dry bread for every meal for the rest of my life. As usual I got a day's starvation for my outburst, but then to my surprise she said I had a point. After all, bread doesn't contain everything necessary to keep a human being alive, and she didn't want me effectively getting years taken off my sentence by dying early. So once a week, she said, I would get a change of diet. I was suspicious of a victory so easily won, and I was right to be. The following night I found out exactly what my varied diet would be - a dish of dog or cat food, which she gets out of the tin in front of me so I can have no doubt about what it is. Needless to say, I have to eat up every single scrap or I'll never get fed anything else again. She watches me carefully as I eat, both to enjoy my humiliation and, I think, to see which flavours I find most disgusting, so she can be sure to buy those in future. Worst of all was the day I complained that I couldn't keep track of the passage of time. Fine, she said - that tied in with something she been thinking about too. From now on, she said, she would give me a merciless thrashing with a whip or a cane once a month, on the anniversary of the day my incarceration began. Needless to say, any refusal to cooperate would simply mean I was starved until I gave way. I was terrified by this, remembering how painful our early experiments in CP were, but at the same time it gave me hope. It meant she would have to unlock my cell door, and even in my weakened state, maybe I would be able to overpower her and get free. I should have known better. Before unlocking the door, she always securely fixes my hands into heavy manacles attached to the ceiling of the basement outside my cell. The chain is only just long enough, so I have to press right up against the bars and stand on tiptoe with my arms extended so the manacles can reach my wrists. Once I am secured, she goes upstairs. Sometimes she comes back straight away with a terrifying looking whip or cane, sometimes she waits a few hours to let my anticipation build, I never know which it is going to be. When she does finally open that cell door and I know it is about to happen, my legs turn completely to jelly. I always thought she was using all her strength back in the old days, but now I know she was just playing back then and she is capable of far, far worse. Every single stroke produces more pain than I would have imagined possible. Needless to say she just ignores or laughs at my screams and desperate begging for mercy. The pain is so excruciating that I lose all track of how long its been going on or how many lashes I've had, but she once told me I get between fifty and a hundred each time depending on her mood. When she's finished she leaves the cell, securely locking the door behind her, hangs the keys on their hook in the far wall, and only then releases my hands (sometimes she makes me wait a few hours even for this). I always crash to the concrete floor, completely broken and unable to support my own weight after such extreme torture. One day about four years into my imprisonment, my monthly thrashing was about to start. I was snivelling and crying even before the first stroke, and to my surprise she announced that she felt sorry for me and was going to show me mercy. "You now know exactly what the rest of your life is going to be like," she said. "There is no chance at all that I will ever release you or make the conditions of your imprisonment any more bearable. If anything, I will probably think of new ways to torment you. So if you decide you really can't stand it any more, I will take pity on you and end your suffering by flogging you to death." That was her mercy - she would kill me if I wanted, but only by the most painful method imaginable. "It doesn't have to be today," she continued. "Every month, when I've finished thrashing you, you'll have two options. You can choose to be released from the manacles and carry on as before with the life I've chosen for you. Or if you like, I'll carry on with the flogging as long as necessary until it finally kills you." Alas, even this was just a cruel false hope, as I think she knew full well. Three or four times now I have resolved that I couldn't go on and today was the day - I would definitely ask her to kill me. But whatever I felt in advance, when it came to it there was simply no way I could voluntarily take even a single extra lash, let alone the hundreds more it would probably take to kill me. So I always ask to be released and carry on with the living hell she has made of my life. Worst of all, after looking at your site she has come up with a way to deprive me of the one pleasure I thought she could never take away from me. One morning she appeared not with my breakfast tray, but with a shiny metal chastity belt. The penis tube was exactly the same size as my cock in its flaccid state, allowing no room for expansion at all, and the thick waistband exactly the same size as my emaciated waist. I knew there was no use in resisting, and as I fixed it in place, I knew without asking that it was never coming off again - she would never release me, and I simply didn't have any more weight to lose to help get the waistband off. She passed me the sturdy padlock, and once I had clicked it in place, she hung the keys on the opposite wall, saying she would get my breakfast now as I'd been such a good little boy. While I waited for her return, I stared at the two sets of keys, one for my cell door and one for my belt. They hung barely eight feet away from me, but might as well have been on the dark side of the moon for all the hope I had of ever reaching them. I began to sob uncontrollably, and... -------- Well he goes on like that for quite some time, but I won't bore you with it. I know all too well how tedious it is when he cries and wails and begs and pleads and grovels, over and over again. I've told him he wasting his breath, as I'll never let him go or make the conditions of his imprisonment any more bearable, so why does he do it? Ah well, after 6 years in a tiny cell, shut away from the sunlight and slowly driven mad by all the torments I can devise, I guess you can't expect a person to be too rational! Anyway, he's given a pretty fair account of his predicament and how he got to be where he is, and since your site gave me the idea of putting a chastity belt on him - I knew he was jerking off and hated the idea he was getting some pleasure I couldn't prevent - I thought I'd share it with you. I notice he tried to slip in some clues about where we live, which I took the liberty of deleting - still clinging to some desperate fantasy about being rescued, I suppose. Can't blame him for trying - though of course I can punish him! A couple of days of starvation, maybe? Twice as many strokes duirng his next thrashing? Decisions, decisions! Keep up the good work! Lady Anne

The Mystery Belt

Another Saturday night and I was at home, at my computer. It seems that I live to surf. Being single, and with no girlfriend, I have a lot of time to myself. Most people would call it a waste of time, but it was cheap and kept me out of trouble, for the most part. Most people that I meet in chat rooms are a lot like myself, and there are very few women. Perhaps many peoples' names would lead me to believe they were women, but more often than not they are just men in disguise.

There are simple ways to find out whether someone is truely a woman. A question like: "What is the difference between a size 7 and size 8?" If they reply: "1." It's probably not a woman.
Most of the people out there are searching for some sort of "net-sex". It's amazing, really. Nearly always, the first question a stranger will ask is: "R U M or F". The translation of this message is: "Are You Male or Female?". By using letters instead of words, these people can literally save hours of typing every night, since they ask this question several thousand times to every new person they encounter.
Over the years, I find myself drawn to the female domination groups. Although it's often difficult to tell who is who, it can be interesting at times. Generally there will be a bunch of guys and what appears to be a few dominant women. Whether they're women or not is hard to say (see earlier paragraph). I am never very aggressive in the channels, and I usually just watch in the background. If I find what appears to be an interesting woman, I may send a private message to her introducing myself and trying to strike up a conversation. Many times they will reply with some silly answer in the public channel for everyone to see. An example might be: "radman, talk to me in public channel. Don't send me private messages.". I never quite understood why they would do this, when they could simply ignore me if they wished not to converse. But the Net is often a pretty silly place.
My personal information which anyone chatting could see points to the web address of my own personal web page. I've included about everything describing myself and even my name, phone number, and address. It seemed to me that if someone visited my page and learned that I was near them, they might like to meet. Nothing ever came of it, but I thought I had nothing to lose trying.
One of my favorite topics of discussion was chastity belts. I've read many stories of men and women wearing them, and have always wondered what it would be like to wear one for myself. The good belts (from what I've read) are a bit costly, so I've usually decided against getting one for myself. Besides, it would take another person to measure me for a correct fit, and I had no other person. I've had several public discussions and conversations with people in the channel indicating my interest in chastity belts, but I never met that dominant women who I always dreamed would have me wear a metal chastity belt for her.
--
Friday finally arived and the week finally over. It was good to finally get home; the week had been a bit rough and I'd been looking forward to a nice quite weekend since about Tuesday. When I got home I found a package at my door, with no return address or postal information indicating an origin. I picked up the package and entered my apartment. Since I was not expecting any packages, I was a bit curious as I immediatly headed for the kitchen to get a knife.
I sat down on the living room floor and opened the package. Finally getting to the contents, I couldn't believe my eyes. My hands were shaking like never before as I pulled the 2 metal pieces from the box. It was a chastity belt! The design was unfamiliar to me, but I knew it had to be a chastity belt. It was shiny silver, and extremely smooth with no sharp edges at all. The thickness of the pieces was probably about 3/8" thick. When I lined up the 2 pieces they fit together perfectly, but there was no locking mechanism to be found. There were no hooks, notched surfaces, or holes which would keep the belt together. The 2 pieces slid into each other about 1/2", but there was no lock to be found. When I held it together, it looked like a pair of briefs, except the back was not completely covered; there was an eliptical opening at the bottom. The front piece was flat, and inside was a hole molded into the surface which was actually a tube which went downwards do a small hole at the very bottom where the 2 pieces would meet. From my knowledge of other belts, I deduced that this was for the penis to slide into and point downwards if the belt were worn.
I brought the pieces together once again, trying to understand how they would lock together, but after about an hour gave up.
There was nothing else in the box which might explain the function or how the belt would lock.
The whole time I examined it, I was getting quite turned on. I wanted to try it on, but I couldn't get the thing to lock shut. Finally, I decided to try it on and hold it in place to see how it would feel. My heart was racing as I undressed commpletely. Being fully errect would make it impossible to slide myself down into the hole in the front, so I tried to relax a bit. Finally, after about 15 minutes, I was limp enough to give it a try.
As I held the front piece to my crotch and tried to insert myself into the hole, it appeared that it was going to be a snug fit. Setting down the front piece, I went to the bathroom to get some lotion. I returned to the belt and applied a little bit to the inside surface of the tube. It was time to try again. This time I was able to slide myself down into the tube completely. If felt so slick and snug I felt myself beginning to get hard again. I held the front piece tightly against myself so that my errection wouldn't prevent me from holding the 2 pieces closely together. Then I picked up the 2nd piece and reached behind myself to hold it in place. The 2 pieces were just barely touching each other. I knew I'd have to push harder to get the extra 1/2" to make the 2 pieces come completely together, but it wasn't a simple task. Finally, I leaned against the wall to hold the back piece as I pressed with both hands firmly against the front piece. It was working! The slots lined up better and I finally knew how it felt. If only there was some clasp to keep it in place! It was difficult to hold the pieces together. After about 30 seconds, my arms were getting a bit tired. Just as I was beginning to release the pressure, I felt a vibration and a humming sound from the belt for about a half second. Immediately following that, the 2 pieces quickly tightened together and clicked loudly as the metal pieces came together.
I jumped away from the wall and looked down at the belt. It was staying in place, without my hands holding it! It was quite snug and recessed into my skin. I tried to pull the pieces apart, but they wouln't budge. There was no way to get my fingers under either piece for leverage to pull. It was locked tight. As I struggled with the belt, I could feel myself getting quite turned on inside the tightness of the belt, but the belt was holding me down tight. There was no relief for myself.
I ran into the kitchen to get my toolbox. There had to be something to help me pry the belt open. Searching for the right tool, I found a pliers. With great difficulty, I managed to insert one of the handles under the edge of the belt. But there was nothing to pry against. Withdrawing that, I tried for a different tool. There was a flat screwdriver, which I tried to insert into the crack between the 2 pieces, but there was no room to insert.
Everything was happening like in some of the fiction stories I read on various chastity belt pages. I couldn't even think straight. Finally in desperation I found the hacksaw and tried cutting into the side of the belt. I sawed for about 20 minutes, but there wasn't even a scratch on the shiny surface. After trying several other tools to scratch the surface, the only option left was a drill. My hands were shaking as I plugged the drill into the outlet and began drilling downwards into the surface of the belt. Several minutes of drilling yielded no success. Not even a scratch was left on the belt.
I laid in bed unable to sleep. This was too much for me to take. I reached down and felt the hard slighly curved surface; my heart began to race again. After several hours, I got out of bed and powered up the computer to log into my chat channel, hoping to find an answer. There were the regulars. Didn't these people ever sleep? Nothing unusual happening here. No strangers except for the occasional net-sex-seeker popping in and out. Finally, I crawled back into bed around 4am and fell asleep.
Around 10:30 I woke up and instinctively went to the bathroom. As I stood at the toilet, I was reminded of the belt. It wasn't a dream. The chastity belt was tightly wrapped around my waist and crotch area. From the stories I've read, I knew I had to sit to go to the bathroom now. Still in disbelief over the whole thing, I sat down and tried to relax. After a few minutes I was able to begin to go to the bathroom. It felt strange sitting and having this tight device around me, yet going to the bathroom. I reached for the toilet paper and dried a small few drops along the bottom.
There had to be someone on the Net who had the answers, and I had to find out. The computer was still on from last night, so I joined my chat channel. There was a chastity belt conversation going on, so I observed as I usually do. The conversation was starting to turn me on a bit but I was quickly reminded that I couldn't get errect. Reaching down to grab the front of the belt, I pulled and tugged -- trying to get some stimulation. It was useless. For over an hour I tried to get myself off, but the belt was too tight and no stimulation was possible. I was unable to have an orgasm as long as this device remained on me.
The weekend passed with no hint of a solution to my dilemma. Several futile attempts were made to pry the belt loose, but it wasn't going to come loose. When Monday came, I was wearing my slacks over the top of the belt and heading for work.
The day was very unproductive. My mind was not on my job, but on my belt. I was scared to death, trying to figure out how I was going to get it off. I couldn't seek help anywhere or it would all be public. Besides, I tried some serious tools and couldn't even scratch the thing. I did my best to get through the long day.
When I arrived at home, there was a letter at my door. No return address or postage marks. I quickly entered my apartment and locked the door behind me. My hands were shaking tremendously as I tore open the letter:
"Thank you for putting on the chastity belt I designed for you. I was hoping you would. There is no way for you to remove the belt. Accept it. Your life will be different now. I own you. I know where you are at all times. You will receive a demonstration of my power over you at 5:30 today."
I quickly looked at my watch. It read 5:15.
My head was spinning as I collapsed to the couch. This had to be a dream. How could anyone create such a device? There is no such metal that can't be cut! What is this? My thoughts ran as I kept track of the time. One minute to go. I sat and waited for my fait. Then, a few seconds later, I received a shock in my crotch. I screamed and reached down for my crotch, but it was no comfort. The shock continued as I beat my fists against the front of the belt. Never before have I felt such pain. Then after what seemed an eternity, the pain stopped. Only 1 minute had passed.
After I was able to think straight again, I went to my bedroom and removed my clothes. There was still a dull pain in my mid section as if someone had kicked me. The words in the letter were going through my head as I reached down to feel the belt again. The hard smooth surface pressing tightly against my body. What was I going to do? There's nothing else I can try. Who owns me? Why?
The next few days were quiet. There were no letters, no packages, no word from my "owner". Several times every day I tried something different to get the belt off, but they were all in vain. The letter was right; there was no way for me to remove the belt. I put on the belt, and now I'm trapped.
My only hope was the Net. My address and interests must have been obtained here, and someone had taken advantage of the situation. Most of my free hours were spent in my channels. There was no trace of anything out of the ordinary until Thursday night.
"Hello"
Rarely would I receive a message from anyone unprovoked. Maybe this was the one!
"Hello", I replied back. I waited for 10 minutes for the next reply.
"How are you doing?"
There was still no way of knowing if this was my owner. I tried to think of the correct answer. But what?
"I've been better.", was all I could think of typing.
"You'll get used to it."
It was the one! It had to be! The name was Sonya.
"Why are you doing this? Who are you?"
"You can call me Sonya. It's what you want, isn't it?", was the reply.
"I don't know! I want it off! I can't stand it!", I replied.
"Too late for that. I like it on you."
My heart was racing and my hands shaking where I could barely type.
"What do you want?", I had to ask.
"You're doing fine. I haven't decided yet. However, the belt you're wearing was costly. I think you should pay for it."
"Why would I pay for this thing?? I don't even want it! Get it off me now!"
I about hit the roof when another shock attacked my crotch. Just a small shock, about 5 seconds.
"That's why.", was the reply.
I couldn't believe this was happening. This person had total control over me, and there was nothing I could do. I had to do whatever was requested of me, or be tortured by this belt.
"Are you still there? Or do you need more?", she typed, as I felt another shock.
"I'm here!", I managed to type after recovering from the shock.
"Good. We'll do this in incriments. I want $100 every week. On your way to work there is a post office. In the back there is a dumpster. Put the $100 in an envelope and place it on the ground below the dumpster every Friday."
Sonya then logged off.
This was too much for me to handle. I decided that I wasn't going to pay for this. I didn't even want it!
My week went slowly as I began to adjust to the belt. No more standing at the urinal to go to the bathroom. No more getting myself off 3 times every day. I was getting more and more turned on by the smallest things every day. Finally, Friday arrived. On my way to work, I passed the post office and continued on my way to work. Everything was normal until 9am. As I sat at my desk consumed in my work, I received a shock that caused me to jump up and kick my desk loudly. I quickly sat back down again and tried to hide my pain. Another shock arrived. Several people noticed I was in pain and watched as I tried to hide the source.
"Are you ok?", asked my boss from behind.
I tured around and found my boss, Judy, standing behind me. She was a beautiful woman in her mid to late 30s, standing there in a fairly conservative suit and 4" heels.
"Yes, I'm ok.", I managed to fabricate. I was not ok. "I think it was that nasty breakfast I had.". Finally, the pain stopped.
"Well, ok. If it gets worse, maybe you should take the rest of the day off.", she replied with a smile as she turned to go back to her office.
"Oh, by the way.. could you come see me when you get a chance?", she stopped to ask, then continued to her office.
After my pain passed, I got up and went to Judy's office. The door was closed so I knocked.
"Come in.", I heard her say from inside. When I entered, I found her sitting at her desk with her feet up on her desk. At this angle I had a good view of the bottoms of her pumps. She obviously did a lot of walking in these shoes, from the looks of the worn bottom.
"Please close the door behind you.", she said as she brought her feet to the floor and sat upright in her chair.
She motioned for me to take a seat which was about 3 feet in front of her desk.
"I'll get right to the point. I've noticed something about you since the day you've started. You seem to be fascinated with my shoes. You really like high heels, don't you..", she said with a smile.
I was totally speechless and certainly began turning red.
"It's ok. I think it's fun. In fact, I'd like to ask a favor.", she said as she stood up and approached me. She really was a beautiful woman. Always dressed in a fairly conservative business suit, but always in black pumps with heels no lower than 4". Her obvservations were correct though; I look at her in her heels a lot. This whole ordeal was getting me very arroused, but I was quickly reminded of the chastity belt as the tightness in my crotch increased. She sat on her desk, facing me, and placed her left foot on my lap.
"Could you give me a foot massage?", she asked. I was completely caught off guard. Her foot was resting between my legs -- the heel only inches away from my chastity belt. I brought my hands down to her forefoot then behind the heel, and slowly pulled the shoe towards me. It was quite tight but slid off her black nyloned foot. The belt was causing me extreme discomfort as the metal restrained me inside. As I inspected the shoe more closely, I noticed the heels themselves were actually metal but heavily worn. This woman must have walked dozens of miles in these heels. The inside of the shoe had wear marks where her feet had spent so many hours. The tightness in my crotch was driving me insane. If I could just bring the heel to touch myself under the belt I would explode in an orgasm instantly.
Her foot was small -- I guessed about size 6. It was beautiful encased in the smooth black shiny hose. As I began to rub her foot, she closed her eyes and rocked her head back. If only this could have happend a few months earlier! I continued to rub, and rub, getting more and more arroused, and frustrated. She withdrew her foot and gracefully slid it back into the shoe on the floor. Then she raised her other foot slighly. I pulled the pump off her foot and heard her sigh with relief as I began to massage her foot being careful not to let it touch my belt. As I rubbed her foot I couldn't help notice how arroused she was becoming at the same time. Her face was one of total bliss. I didn't notice how close her foot was getting to my belt until it was too late; her heel landed right on the front plate. She woke from her state of relaxation and pulled her foot back looking at me with surprise. She brought her foot towards my crotch at tapped the belt with the ball of her foot, and immediately brought her foot to the floor and slid the other heel on.
"What are you wearing under there?!??", she said excitedly. I was totally terrified. What was I going to do or say?
"I've got to see. Stand up...Please?", she said in a voice that made me melt. I stood up, barely able to do so in my state of arrousal and fright. She slowly approached me and tapped on the belt with her knuckle.
"Oh my God! Is that metal??", she said laughing.
I didn't respond at all.
"Please, let me see!", she said, taking a few steps back.
Not knowing what else to do, and being more turned on than ever in my entire life, I slowly undid my belt and lowered my pants-- revealing the shiny metal belt in all its glory. Her eyes lit up with joy as she smiled and opened her mouth with awe.
"Oh my... ", was all she could say as she walked around me in a complete circle. She brought her hand to the belt and felt the surface. I about collapsed with arrousal as her fingers slightly glided across my skin.
"How do you remove it? There's no key hole!", she said giggling.
"I can't. I'm stuck in it.", I said in a shakey voice.
She looked up at me with a look of shock.
"You're 'stuck' in it? How? What happened?", she said as she continued to inspect the belt.
I started to tell her my story, as she continued to rub the surface of the belt, and then my thighs. Before I knew what was happening, she was close -- rubbing herself against the front of the belt. I pulled her closer as she thrust her crotch into mine trying to slide up and down against me. She pulled me around and pushed me against her desk and pressed herself into me. Her hands pulling on the metal back side of the belt covering my butt. As she continued to thrust herself into me I pulled her close and we locked together. Finally she screamed out as orgasm consumed her.
"That was incredible. That belt turns me on like you have no idea.", she managed to say as she tried to catch her breath.
After a few minutes she came out of her daze and asked me how it was for me.
"Can you get any sexual relief in that thing?"
I shook my head.
"You've got to get that thing off! What are you going to do?"
"I have no idea. I've tried everything and can't even scratch it. I don't know what else to do.", I said as she just stared at me with her mouth open.
"Well, that's too bad. I sure would love to have you out of it, or at least in control of it myself!", she said laughing, as she straightened herself out from her release.
"Good luck with it. I hope you find a way out.", she said as she sat back down at her desk. I turned around and left her office.
The rest of the day passed and it was finally 5pm. As I arrived at my residence, I found an envelope.
"Now you understand? I will not tolerate this again. Leave $500 next Friday, and $100 every Friday. I'm dead serious."
My mind was spinning as I sat down in the living room. I had no choice. She had complete control over me.
The weekend passed with no incident. When the following week passed, and Friday arrived, I left the envelope under the dumpster with $500 in cash. I knew she was watching, so I didn't bother to monitor the envelope; I proceeded to work. No shocks were delivered the whole day, so she must have found the cash.
That weekend, I was on-line again, hoping to find Sonya. On Saturday night, she was there.
"Hello", she started.
"Hello", I replied. What do I say to this person?
"I'm glad you came to your senses and decided to cooperate.", she said.
"Well, what choice do I have?", I asked.
"None. Those shocks were minimal compared to what I am able to deliver to you. Just hope that you never find out what your belt is capable of doing."
Sitting speechless, I tried to come up with a reply. There was nothing I could say.
"Also, the belt is capable of doing other things. Let me demonstrate."
A sense of terror hit me as I prepared for her next punishment. But I felt something different. The belt was sliding inside, slowly up and down. I was getting turned on almost instantly. I reached down to assist, but my hand met the wall of steel and was of no use. For about 1 minute this continued. Just as I was almost ready to orgasm, it stopped.
"How was it?", she asked.
"It was wonderful! Please give me more!", I tried to type as quickly as I could.
"No, not now. Try again tomorrow.", she said coldly and immediately logged off.
I pounded my fists against the belt. "Damn it!!", I screamed, as I tried to get myself stimulated again. But it was no use. She had control over that as well. My frustration slowly dissipated as I awaited the next day -- when maybe I would get some relief.
My system was logged into the channel all day, but there was no trace of Sonya. Finally, around 8pm, Sonya had joined the channel.
"Hello", she greeted.
"Hi, I'm glad to see you.", I replied.
"Are you? Why might that be?", she asked.
"I was hoping you could do what you did yesterday before you left."
The belt then came to life. The motion was identical to yesterday; it felt wonderful! I quickly became arroused and nearly approached orgasm when it stopped.
"No! Don't stop!", I typed as quickly as I could.
"'No!' ? Are you trying to tell me what to do?"
Just as the words appeared, I felt a slight shock. It was enough to turn me off quickly.
"Now, what were you saying?", she asked.
"I'm sorry. It just felt so good. Please, could I have more?", I pleaded.
"Very well", she replied.
The motion started again in the belt, and continued. I felt myself approaching orgasm and finally it happened! I exploded hard inside the belt, somewhere. It was painful having an orgasm in that position, but the pleasue outweighed the pain -- barely. I reached down and found a stream of fluid from the opening at the bottom of the belt. The only way that came to mind to clean myself was to sit on the toilet and go to the bathroom. It proved to work well to flush out the belt. When I returned to my computer, she was gone.
--
A few months have passed since I stepped into this chastity belt trap. My boss taps the front of the belt from time to time to see if it's still there, and walks away with a smile. The belt ended up costing me $900. I pleaded with Sonya several times to remove the belt, but she would provide me with a shock whenever I mentioned it. We chatted every weekend at least once. Since my first permitted orgasm, I received 2 others. After the last, she told me things would be changing for me soon and to expect a package. Today the package arrived. When I opened it all I found was some sort of electronic AC power supply with an outlet on one end and a flat blade about 1cm x 1cm long on the other end. The note included read:
"Be online tonight."
After about a half hour of inspecting the device and having no idea what purpose it would serve, I put it back in the box and decided to wait for tonight. It would be another 3 hours before we would chat, so I decided to take a nap.
My computer beeped, waking me from my sleep.
"Hello", she began.
"Hello, I got the package.", I said.
"Good. Here's what you do. Plug it into an outlet, and plug the other end into your belt. It will slide into a small slot at the very bottom of the belt between your legs.", she explained.
"What's it for?", I asked.
I received a shock.
"Just do what I tell you.", she ordered.
Having no choice, as usual, I removed my jeans and followed her instructions. The slot was practically invisible. As soon as I slid the adaptor into the belt it made a small click sound and wouldn't come back out.
"Ok. It's plugged in.", I replied.
"Good. The purpose is to keep the belt charged. You will need to do this every 3 months. The charging will take about 8 hours, so you can do it before going to bed. The adaptor will come free from the belt when it's fully charged.", she explained further.
I started thinking.. what if I didn't recharge it? Would her control over me be over?
"In case you are wondering or thinking about not charging the belt, I suggest you cooperate. The belt will deliver a small shock when it needs to be charged. Your shock would have arrived in a few days had you not started charging tonight. If you ignore the first shock, another will follow 10 minutes later much more intense. This will continue for however long it takes. The 5th shock would be more intense then any I have ever delivered to you. By the time the 10th shock comes around, it will probably electricute you.", she said.
"If you ever want to receive an orgasm again, wire $200 into this bank account."
She then provided me with some bank information for an account overseas.
"Be in this chat room the following night so I can verify and give you your reward. If I never hear from you again, I'll assume you're doing fine without sexual release. I hope you can get used to all this, because the belt will remain on you for the rest of your life. Once again, thanks for putting the belt on."