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From: "Jo G" <JoG@mccullj.globalnet.co.uk>
Subject: The Fitting: (M/F, chastity belts, sexual denial, cp, bond)
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This is a sexually explicit story involving chastity belts, sexual denial,
pain, restraint and corporal punishment.  If you do not like such things or
if it is for any reason illegal for you to read such things, please go
away.

I, Jo G, the author, retain the copyright.  It may be copied freely as long
as there is no profit involved.  If anybody wants to make a profit from
this story, then I want a share.

The Fitting

Day 1: Arrival.

We had been planning for this event for over a year, when I had at last
realised that this and only this would fulfil my needs.  Many months
previously we had received the confirmation of our order and an appointment
for the fitting.  Yet at the moment that we drove through that gate, I felt
a terrible surge in my belly, a taste of finality, the feeling of a
previously uncrossed bridge now being crossed.  Now there could be no
turning back.  I sat back in my seat outwardly calm, but inside part of me
wanted to run away, to hide, to escape.  What kept me there?  I recognised
that this internal conflict was a major part of what I needed.

The Inaccessible Man had an impressive international reputation as the
provider of the best fitting and most effective chastity belts in the
world.  We had seen descriptions and photographs.  We had read reports by
users describing their experiences, and everything we had read and heard
had matched what we desired for ourselves, for me.  The cost was high, but
we had made sacrifices and could afford it.  And now we were arriving for
the fitting.  We would stay a week at his house, longer if there were
problems, and I would leave here wearing it.  

He had designs to cover every taste, for both men and women.  One prevented
any vaginal penetration but allowed access to the penis or clitoris for
masturbation.  Another even claimed to allow penetration but to prevent any
orgasm.  For us, though, the ultimate was the denial of any sexual outlet
for me: no penetration, no touching, no orgasm.  I would pleasure him, use
my mouth and hands to bring him to climax, but would myself remain always
just short of orgasmic release.  For me the ultimate experience was to be
as close as possible to release but never actually to achieve it.  More
than that: I had to know, even as my instincts made me strive towards that
point, to know deep down inside that release would always be denied to me.
It was the supreme tension of the conflict between need and want, between
pleasure and suffering, of achieving the impossible that I craved.

We had tried other chastity belts, but none had been satisfactory.  Most
had been made of metal, and had caused problems and embarrassment with the
increasingly common airport-type security hoops.  Many had had tight waist
bands that restricted movement and caused aches and pains in the back.  Few
had been a good fit on the crotch, and had allowed a little finger to
penetrate to stimulate the deep clitoris shafts to one side or other of the
vaginal opening: my favourite spot for stimulation.  And even when we had
paid a lot of money for one that did not allow any access, I found that I
could achieve orgasm after only a fortnight or so of frustration through
vaginal contractions alone.  But the reports indicated that The
Inaccessible Man had a solution even to this problem.

"Welcome to the Ice House", he said as we got out of the car.  He was
younger than I had expected, not drop-dead gorgeous like, say Chevvy Chase
or John Travolta, but definitely very desirable.  We shook hands as my
boy-friend introduced us: "Hello, I'm Keith and this is Miranda."  It all
seemed so plain and ordinary, such an absurd contrast to what we were
about.  I looked around me and saw a country house of the type so often
depicted on television: it would make an excellent private hotel or the
location for a television soap opera.  There were neat lawns and rose beds,
and hollyhocks beside the porch.

"Come in and meet some of the other guests," he said.  We went into a large
but comfortable sitting-room.  Again the impression was of a private hotel:
there was taste in the choice of wall-paper and chair-covers, but it was a
strangely detached taste, as if the one choosing did not live there
himself.  There were several people, mostly in their twenties and thirties.
 We had not expected this.  He sensed our unease: "It takes me only about
half a day of my time to fit and manufacture each appliance, and most of
your time here is spent checking fit and effectiveness.  By having an
overlap between guests, I can reduce my waiting lists, and my prices, and
also satisfy more people.  

"This is Josine, and her husband Simon.  Keith and Miranda - they have just
arrived."  They got up, and we shook hands and said hello.  "Josine is
wearing the 'total denial' appliance just like you will be getting,
Miranda, Josine will be leaving tomorrow if everything proves satisfactory
for the rest of her stay.  How is it feeling, Josine?"  

"I know it is there, but it is not inconveniencing me at all - unless . . .
. ," she tailed off, slightly embarrassed.  She was wearing a white
front-opening cotton gown like a hospital gown; he was wearing ordinary
jeans and a tee-shirt.  I soon found that those being fitted with
appliances wore these gowns all the time; those wearing ordinary clothes
were their partners.

"This is Albert, he is with his boy-friend Joseph, who is over there.  Ah,
he is coming over to join us.  Keith and Miranda!"  We again said our
hellos and shook hands.  "Albert and Joseph are both to wear 'fidelity'
appliances.  They are worried about HIV in the Gay community and see this
as a way of keeping themselves to each other as it were.  Yesterday was
measuring day, and the appliances are being manufactured today, so they
will try them on for the first time later today.

"This is Amazon, and her slave who is just called 'Dog'."  We greeted them.
 "Dog is wearing the male version of the 'total denial' appliance."  He was
kneeling on the floor beside her wearing a dog collar and lead; Amazon
lifted up his gown to reveal the appliance around his hips.  Some quite
severe whip-marks were visible on his bottom and thighs.  "The others are
out exercising at the moment, I think.  Would you like a cup of tea?  And
then I'll show you round the place."  Again that terrifying contrast
between the extreme and the banal.  We sat on a comfortable sofa and had
traditional English afternoon tea with toasted tea-cakes and scones.

Day 1: The Inaccessible House

After out tea, we went on a guided tour.  We saw the work-shops where two
men and two women were working, moulding and polishing plastic parts of
chastity belts.  We saw the measuring room with the couches, the computer
console and the strange robot-like arms used for doing the measurements. 
We saw the swimming-pool, squash courts, the running and rowing machines
where people exercised to ensure that the appliances would not impede even
vigorous activities.  

There was a girl in the swimming-pool wearing a black bikini, not the
skimpiest of bikinis, but tight around the hips and crotch.  "I know what
you are thinking, said The Inaccessible Man," and we waited by the pool as
he waved her over.  "Would you step out, a moment, please, Julia?  These
people would like to examine the fit of your appliance if that would be
acceptable to you.  

"Julia," he said, as she got out of the pool, "this is Miranda and Keith. 
They have just arrived.  Could you stand back a bit and turn around slowly,
please."  There was no unsightly bulge, no rigid line, just some slight
creases and curves that could have been either flesh or plastic.  "Julia is
one of my staff.  She works in the kitchens, but she also, as do all of my
staff, acts as a model for the product, and provides me with a long-term
test of fit and effectiveness.  Julia is currently wearing the 'nemo
tangit' version, meaning 'nobody touches'.  Orgasms are possible, but only
by vaginal contractions.  Would you be so good as to remove your costume,
please, Julia?"  She wriggled out of her bikini bottom, revealing the
flesh-coloured plastic of the appliance, pubic hair just visible sprouting
out from the sides, clipped short close to the crotch-plate.  

"How long have you been wearing it non-stop, Julia?"

"Since it was last briefly removed for your last examination, about six
months ago; other than that, over a year, Sir."

"Any problems?"

"The pubic hair is the main one, Sir.  If I clip it too short it itches,
and if I let it get longer it shows round the sides of my bikini.  I tried
singeing the hair, but that close to the body it is difficult to do it
without singing me!  The only other problem is my boy-friend.  He's wearing
a 'no pen' and so I can touch him and give him orgasms, but he cannot touch
me or give one to me.  I don't mind but I don't think he likes it."

"The problem is that you keep changing boy-friends Julia.  If you remember,
we changed you to that one to enable you to be compatible with your then
boy-friend.  I cannot keep interrupting my test programme to accommodate
the vagaries of your love-life!"

"No, Sir!", she said sheepishly.

"Do you need to examine it or ask any questions?"  he said to us.  We went
up to her and felt the smooth fit, the lack of mobility of the hip-bands
and crotch-plate.  I shuddered as I thought that this would soon be me.

"How often do you get orgasms," Keith asked.  

"I never could get the hang of doing it without touching," she said, "I try
every night, but it is only about every week or ten days that I succeed. 
Mostly it happens when I bring my boy-friend off, so I don't know what it
is he gets frustrated about.  He's funny that way, always wants what he
cannot get."  

"What about periods?" I asked.

"My periods are quite heavy.  I put a pad over the urine hole, but not much
usually comes out.  Most of it just washes out when I pee.  I have a good
soak in the bath each day of my period just to prevent any accumulation
around the urine hole; the rest of the time I mostly prefer to shower."

We let her get on with her swim.  Next we were shown to our rooms.  For the
first two nights we were to have separate rooms, after that we could sleep
together.  Keith's room was like a big double hotel room with TV, wardrobe,
cupboards and en-suite bathroom.  It was somewhat flowery with matching
curtains and bed-spread.  I would move in with him after the first two
nights.  

My room for those first two nights was more like a cell: a narrow iron bed,
thin mattress, no carpet, no TV.  There was a shower, a WC and a basin in
the room, but no privacy curtain or shower-screens.  The walls were painted
a drab institutional grey.  The only other furniture was a big mirror,
almost floor to ceiling, with lamps around it like an actor's make-up
mirror, and a tall stool.

He explained to Keith: "It is essential for the measuring and fitting
process that she masturbates to orgasm both tonight and tomorrow night. 
Sleeping together, she might feel inhibited about doing so, hence the
separate room.  The hard bed and the other appointments of this room also
contribute to important aspects of the measurement and fitting process.

"The measuring process takes place in several stages.  The first is tonight
after dinner, and is used as a base-line: a reference for all the other
measurements.  The next is tomorrow morning early before urination, and
then again after urination, from all of these we can see the effects of a
full and empty bladder, and of a full and empty belly.  There will also be
measurements taken after both gentle and vigorous exercise and at several
stages through the day.  This is done because the body changes its shape
slightly through the course of the day.  Miranda will, of course, be under
constant supervision during this time."  

He then offered to send somebody to help us to our rooms with our luggage,
telling us to come to the drawing-room at seven for pre-dinner drinks.

Day 1: Interview

Dinner was a gourmet affair, with every taste catered for.  We would have
done no better in a top hotel.  The price we were paying for the belt
seemed to be less extraordinary when we took off what we would have paid
for a week's holiday in a hotel of this standard.

After dinner came the first phase of the measurement and fitting process. 
This started, as we had been warned, with an interview.  There were several
purposes of this: to find the individual's commitment to going through with
the thing; to be satisfied that the individual's fantasy needs were being
met by the appliance that was being requested; that one person was not
being unduly pressured by the other to do something he was not entering
into of his own free will; and to check that the person was properly
prepared for the effects of using the appliance.  One part I particularly
remember went like this:

"Have you worn a chastity belt before?"  "Yes."

"How long was your longest period of wear?"  "About 4 weeks; it was not a
very good fit."

"Have you worn one that effectively prevented orgasm?"  "I wore one that
stopped me from touching myself, and it took me a while to learn to orgasm
without."  

"How long?"  "About two weeks, but it was not a good fit and we stopped
using that one after that."

"I want you to remember the time you were wearing that one and nearly two
weeks had passed, and you were trying to get orgasm and gave up trying, the
last time that happened before the orgasm?  Tell me about how you felt
then."  "Oh, that was terrible!  I had been slowly giving Keith head,
making him come but, you know, holding it off as long as I could, and I was
really hot for it, and as he came, eventually, I really thought I would
come at the same time, I was just about frantic with need, but I just
couldn't, and I wanted to ask him to take the belt off and let me but I
couldn't ask him because that would mean that  . . . .  that I had been
beaten, that I had let my desire get the better of my will.  I turned over
and pretended to go to sleep, but it was a long time before I could sleep.
Then, in the morning, I woke up early and thought about that feeling, of
leaving it unfinished, and feeling I needed to do that, and there were just
a few squeezes and I came.  I felt so ashamed.  I woke Keith immediately
and confessed what I had done, and asked him to beat me, and that is when
we decided to save up for one of these."  I was squirming on the edge of my
seat, nearly climaxing, at the memory.  He gave me a moment to calm down
before he continued.

"Was beating the usual punishment for unauthorised orgasm?"  "Yes, always."

"What sort of beating?"  "It was a ritual.  First I would have to pluck all
of my pubic hair, one by one with tweezers.  Then he would inspect me to
make sure that I was perfectly smooth; any lapse earned extra punishment. 
Then he would ask me how many strokes I had had the last time; there was
always more each time.  Actually the score is seventy-three, now, but he
only ever gives me about two dozen.  He bends me over the back of a low
chair, head down on the seat, hands gripping the front legs of the chair,
legs straight and apart, and he uses a cane.  He uses it slow and hard,
spreading the blows all over my bum and the tops of my thighs.  For me, the
important thing is the conflict between, on the one hand, wanting to get
up, to run away, to cry out and to protect myself, and on the other hand
forcing myself to remain in position, to keep control of my feelings, to
offer myself willingly to the pain."

"Do you ever orgasm when you are caned?"  "I get highly aroused, and after
each stroke, I clench tightly, and he makes me relax before the next
stroke.  The clenching increases my arousal but he does not let me come. 
He leaves me alone for a while afterwards to recover, and sometimes I come
then, but I prefer to wait until after the cunt-whipping, or it is too
painful.  The arousal insulates me from some of the pain.  When I have had
time to recover, I have to lie on my back with my legs wide apart and back,
and he gives me the same number of strokes on the cunt with a martinet. 
The strokes are slow again but more stinging than heavy.  He tells me that
that is to make it so sore I will not want to do it again."

"And do you usually come then?"  "Again, I clench tightly after each
stroke, but he does not let me come, telling me I will get extra unless I
stop clenching.  But afterwards, he leaves me alone again to recover, and I
sometimes come then.  That is not true.  I always come then.  But I do not
generally admit to it, or get a beating after.  It would be too much, so
soon after.  I actually want to be stopped at that time - that would be the
ultimate denial, but, so far . . .   it has not been possible for me." 
Again I was intensely aroused and clenching at the awfulness of these
thoughts.

"What about later?"  "Once the bruises have fully developed, it pains me
even to get aroused, so I never try.  It is usually OK again, though, after
four or five days; as I say, it is not hard.  The welts on my bum take
three weeks or more to fade, but my cunt is OK again after only four or
five days."

"Are there other times that you have had pain deliberately applied to your
clitoris or vulva?"  
"Often.  It is something I seem to need from time to time.  We have tried
sterile needles, nettles, clips and electricity.  I stood over a board
edge-up one time, but we read that that can do permanent damage so we don't
do that.  The electricity was best; I seem to need deep pain."

"When did you last wear a chastity belt?"  "We were told not to use one for
three weeks before coming here; it was part of the instructions: so that
bones and flesh could resume their natural shape."  "So when was the last
time?"  "Oh!  Just over two weeks.  But it was only a leather one, no hard
metal."  "Hmm.  OK."

"You are depilated now?"  "Yes, by plucking, two days ago, like the
instructions said."

"When was your last orgasm?"  "Two days ago, after the plucking, and before
that, about two weeks before."

"And when was the last cunt whipping or application of pain to the vulva?"
"More than three weeks, again like the instructions said."

"And the last bottom beating?"  "Again we obeyed the instructions, but I
have got two saved up for when this is finished, three after tonight, if I
have to climax."  "There will be no beating for tonight's climaxes.  We
would prefer that you had two or three.  It is an important aspect of the
measurement and fitting process.  Keith will agree to that."  "I know; we
have already discussed that; I'm just being silly.  I just can't get used
to the idea of being allowed to have an orgasm.  The knowledge of the
inevitability of terrible punishment is part of it for me."  I recognised
that, with the thought of being obliged to have orgasm, I was now feeling a
complete absence of arousal.  

"Does he never order you to have an orgasm?"  "Yes, that has happened, when
we first knew one another, but it is not something that we both want,
usually."  "If he orders you to, does he punish you then?"  "No, of course
not!"  "We will ask him to order you to have as many orgasms as you can,
tonight, up to a maximum of three.  Do you think that will work?"  "Yes."

There was far more of the interview, much of which I have forgotten.  This
part stuck in my mind because of the intense arousal and near orgasm when
talking about the orgasm denial aspect and the beating, and then so soon
after the contrasting flat total lack of arousal when he was telling me I
that must have orgasms without fear of punishment that night.  This told me
something about myself that I had subconsciously realised without actually
putting it into words.  So many people go on about orgasm as if it was the
greatest thing in the world.  For me, orgasm is a let-down; the real
challenge is submitting willingly to suffering, conquering desire,
overcoming pain.  This, for me, is the test of achievement, the real
satisfaction.

I was taken to my room and requested to remove all of my clothes, empty my
bladder and to put on the front-opening hospital gown that had been laid
over the bed.  

Day 1: First Measurement.

I was then conducted to the measuring room.  Keith was there waiting for
me, for he had said that he wanted to watch and observe throughout the
measuring process.  He had been interviewed too, and they would carefully
compare the answers for consistency.  I was first given a general health
check up: height, weight, heart and lungs, temperature, and some gentle
probing for suspicious pains and aches.  I was then led to the measurement
couch.

The couch was contoured to fit my waist and hips snugly, and it supported
my whole length.  A few minutes were spent settling me in position, for I
would have to stay in that position for the whole of an exacting
measurement period.  My legs were held wide apart in stirrups.  Next, The
Inaccessible Man marked three dots on my flesh with an indelible marker
pen.  One was on the crest of each hip-bone and one on the pubic bone just
above the top of the cleft of my pubis.  "These are reference points.  I
place the tip of one of these articulated arms on each, and they bear down
with a small but steady pressure.  The arms measure the positions of the
tips and send it to the computer, and all the other measurements are made
relative to these.  If you move slightly, they will adjust.  If you move in
such a way that they slip off the dots I have made, I merely have to
restore them to their positions.  I ask you not to rub too hard when
showering for the next couple of days; the same marks will be used each
time."

"Each of the arms has a device in each of the joints to measure the precise
movement.  The computer reads these and uses them to calculate the position
of the tip to an accuracy of a tenth of a millimetre."

A fourth articulated arm was manipulated by him to perform the
measurements.  It had a small sphere at the tip, perhaps a centimetre
across.  At each point on my body he pressed slightly, and at a certain
pressure, the computer bleeped and a new measurement was made.  "The
pressure we use is the pressure of the appliance when you will be wearing
it.  It is small but even all over.  We use a different pressure for
different amounts of body fat, a fatter person than you would have a higher
pressure so that the appliance locates properly on the hip-bone.  There are
also differences in pressure on different parts of the appliance to keep it
properly balanced and in position."

Each measurement around the top of my hip-bone was made by moving the ball
at the probe-tip a tiny fraction and then gently pressing in.  He would
start pressing well into the waist above the bone, and then work outwards
and down until he was pressing in sideways well below the top of the
hip-bone; perhaps ten or twelve measurements in all.  Then he would move
perhaps half a centimetre towards the rear and the same process would be
repeated.  This went right from the reference probe tips down to the couch
surface on either side.  "The pressure of your weight on the couch distorts
things a little in this area, but when we have you the other side up, we go
over this part again until we get agreement."

Then he went down the front of the hip-bone towards the pubis.  Again the
same process was repeated, but with a lower pressure setting on the probe.
"This part of the belt is in tension, but is not so important for position,
so a lower pressure can be used."  

The pressure was raised again over the pubis.  First he went along the top
side of the pubic bone, pressing well in towards the base of my bladder. 
Then he followed the line of the pubic arch around the vagina, always
steering clear of the clitoris and inner labia.  Then he did a series of
measurements over the curve of the pubic bone starting above and finishing
below.  He must have done about ten such lines on each side of the
centre-line, and each consisting of ten or a dozen measurements.  "It is
important to get the fit right in this area, as it is the primary location
point for the device.  If there is the slightest room for movement here, it
will let this little lady do things she is no longer allowed to do."  The
whole process had been making me aroused, but this statement got me going
somewhat.  I felt rather embarrassed to be aroused with a comparative
stranger watching me.

He was putting the probe right deep in beside the vagina to the inner
surface of the vaginal wall close to where I like to press when I
masturbate.  He made a measurement.  "Clench, and hold it," he said.  I
clenched, and he made another measurement.  He did the same thing at three
or four points along each side, almost tucking the probe sideways in under
the pubic bone.  As he did so, he was explaining: "This is the point on a
woman that gives the greatest movement in the clenches that precede orgasm.
 Clenching when not aroused does not give this deflection, and so it
specifically detects the combination of clenching and high arousal, in
other words impending orgasm.  By using the deflection of attachments to
the appliance, this clenching can be made to cause pain sufficient to deter
orgasm."  

I tried to imagine what it would be like to be highly aroused and for every
desire to clench to be accompanied by terror of pain.  I nearly came
thinking about it.  He looked at the computer screen after making these
measurements: "Yes, that will do nicely.  With some girls we have a problem
of too little movement, and then we have to use other techniques."

Next he adjusted the probe to measure with no pressure, and did a series of
non-contact measurements.  "These are the parts where we want the device to
be just clear of the flesh, the exposed part of the clitoris and the little
lips.  This gives a measure of the free space needed inside."  Next the
probe tip was replaced by a much thinner one, perhaps only a millimetre
across.  This was used to demarcate the line between inner and outer lips,
the gaps between clitoris and outer lip, the position of the tip of the
clitoris and the opening of the urethra.

Next, he took each leg in turn out of the stirrup, and held it straight as
he measured the gap between pubis and the top of the thigh where the outer
edges of the device would lie.  He was careful to measure the position of
the tendons on the inside of the thigh, and had me tense these as hard as I
could whilst he did so.

"There is one further test we need to do in this area.  We need to find a
point to apply the pains that prevent orgasm.  For this we attach a couple
of electrodes to the back of your hand; these tell us how much pain you are
actually experiencing, and we use a blunt spike at quite a high pressure to
simulate the effect of the spikes that will drive into you if you clench
when aroused.  There are several points we could use; different women have
differing sensitivities in different places."  He attached the electrodes
and started to probe with the spike.  The first point he tried was close to
the point I liked to press, but although this was painful for me and I
cried out, it did not satisfy him.  The next point was close beside the tip
of the clitoris, in the furrow where the skin is close to the pubic bone. 
He pressed at several points and suddenly found one where I got a blinding
flash of incredible shooting pain that nearly caused me to black out.  It
was terrible; I screamed aloud.  He did this again several times, saying,
"we need to make sure that you will not learn to tolerate it after the
first couple of applications", before bleeping the measurement into the
computer.  The process was repeated on the other side until the
nerve-centre was again located.  I was howling and weeping for mercy before
he was done.

For the measurements of my back, he wheeled the couch away from under the
probes, and wheeled in another one.  This had strange cut-away parts  at
hip and pubis to allow him to position his reference probes against the
same marks, now beneath me.  The couch was hard and not very comfortable to
lie on.

He checked the measurements of the rear part of my hip-bone first.  When he
was satisfied with these, he started on the back.  "It is not often
understood that the lower part of the spine, the sacrum, this part, moves
relative to the hip-bone, and that an appliance that restricts this
movement will cause back-ache and a lot of problems.  The fit in this area
must be always on the hip-bone without restricting the spine.  We do not
need pressure against the hip bone in this area, merely tension in the
appliance to support the crotch-plate accurately relative to the top of the
hip-bone."  The line he traced with the probe followed the hip-bone to the
outer side of the sacro-iliac joint, right down around the coccyx and then
through the cleft of my bottom.  He used a fairly high pressure to push the
buttocks aside around the bum-hole, tracing an oval around it, finally
reaching the pubic arch and meeting up with the measurements he had made
before.  Again, he glanced at the computer, Before, it had seemed to be
displaying an unintelligible mass of lines, now it was clearly displaying a
sort of 3-D representation of the measurements, and, I supposed, of the
finished article.  He manipulated the key-board to rotate the image a few
times into different orientations.  He looked, took a few more measurements
in the rear of the crotch area towards the bum-hole and, after a few
moments of intense concentration, grunted in apparent satisfaction.

"All right.  You can sit up now, and relax.  The next set of measurements
is done first thing in the morning.  If you wake up after about four am and
are needing a pee, press the buzzer in your room and we will do the
measurements right away; they must be done with a really full bladder. 
Before then, go to the lavatory, but drink a whole glass of water before
going back to bed again.  If you don't wake us, we will be along at about
6:30 to do the next set.  Don't forget to masturbate, preferably at least
three times.  Shall I get my assistant to show you to your room?"

Day 1: Shower, bed and masturbation

My clothes had been taken away from my room.  I only had the thin hospital
gown, but the room was warm enough.  I took a shower.  There was no curtain
or glass surround, and I realised that the whole floor was tiled and sloped
to a drain in the corner with the shower.  I knew I must masturbate, and
when I was younger I used to get off using the jet of water from a shower
before I had really realised that I was into denial.  I was still pretty
aroused by the measurement process, and the shower soon had me going. 
Using the shower, is in itself, a sort of denial: I want to touch, to press
the right place to hurry it along, but I don't allow myself to, forcing
myself to use the water stream as the only source of stimulation.  As I was
doing this, I thought of the girl we had seen swimming today.  She would
never be able to feel the shower in this way, and nor would I soon.  That
thought made me climax with extraordinary suddenness: gasping and grunting.

Awareness that this would perhaps be my last chance ever to do it this way
made me much less affected by the knowledge that there would be no
punishment after.  I stood in front of the mirror, and looked at my smooth
plucked bare pussy.  I realised that this could be one of the last times I
would ever see it.  I decided to examine it closely, leaning back against
the stool.  I looked for the spot where he had talked about the clenching
with arousal causing a strong movement, and felt for it.  Yes, I was
aroused, and wanting to clench, I squeezed, and felt the movement he has
spoken of.  I thought again about how it would feel never to be able to
clench like this ever again without intense fear.  I decided to try to find
out whether it was possible to climax without clenching; I pressed and
squeezed my favourite spot trying not to clench.  It was impossible: I
could get just so far, and then I would just have to clench or the rise
towards climax could go no further.  I tried to do it slowly and gradually,
but this just made it worse, I needed that little bit extra at the end, and
the only way to get this was with the clench.  Eventually, I decided to let
myself come, but to try to get away with just one or two clenches.  I found
that I needed at least three before I could even start to climax and
counted seven in all before I could stop clenching.  This was going to be
terrible.

I carefully brushed my teeth and got into bed.  There was only a thin
sheet, but the room was quite warm, and I felt surprisingly comfortable.  I
knew I was expected to masturbate a third time, but I did not feel like it
just then.  Practising denial for a very long time, (I reckoned two to
three a month for the last two and a half years was about all I ever had),
caused the need gradually to becomes less; after long denial it actually
gets more difficult to climax.  Only one or two in that time had been got
by touching and manipulation, the rest had been mostly by desperation with
a little touching or pressing at the end when desire finally overcame will,
so the flesh was just not use to a lot off manipulation.  The more I
thought about how I would set about accomplishing the third, the less
aroused I became.  Ironical, but then my whole life is a mess of
contradictions.

So I decided that I just was not going to climax again.  Let them complain,
I had done my best, and I had reached satiety, which was surely their
objective.  I lay back and tried to sleep, but sleep would not come.  I
started to think about the fitting process, and about the shape I had seen
on the screen.  I wondered how it would feel to try to sleep in the device.
 I both longed for it and dreaded it.  To be unable to touch or even to
clench when aroused.  I felt myself juicing.  No! I would not do it, I
would just go to sleep.  And so the wonderful, awful conflict again did its
magic, and I was soon near to bursting point again.  I fought the urge: I
would not touch!  I found myself crossing my legs, squeezing the thighs
together.  I grasped the bed-head with both hands, and forced my legs
apart.  I wondered what it would feel like never to be able to feel the
pressure on my vulva when I squeezed my thighs in this way, and that
thought alone was almost enough.  My thighs leaped together, squeezing in,
crossing over fiercely.  There was no attempt this time to suppress the
clenches, I just let it happen, my hands were now in the bed, clutching at
my crotch, feeling the intensity of fulfilment surging through me.  

Day 2: Morning measurements and exercise

I awoke to the sound of knocking at the door.  It was 6:30, and I was
ushered to the measurement room, my bladder bursting.  It was not a full
measurement session, there were certain places, (and not only the lower
belly just above the pubic bone), where a full bladder can result in a
change of shape.  It took only about ten anxious minutes before I was
finally, gratefully allowed to crawl to the WC.  

Once I had emptied my bladder, a full measurement session took place. 
Keith was nowhere to be seen.  They had woken him, as he had expressed a
desire to be present at all measurement sessions, but he had changed his
mind when faced with the reality of six-thirty a.m.

I had breakfast with Keith at about 8:30, and then there was a half-hour
break before a period of gentle exercise.  First I had to do a set of
exercises to test my body's flexibility: bending, stretching, the splits,
leg raises, and so on.  I was pretty good; I had done some ballet in my
childhood and early teens.  My flexibility was carefully measured.  I was
told that this would be compared with my flexibility whilst wearing the
belt to ensure that there was no loss, no restriction of movement was
permitted by the Ice Man.  

Then I had to use an exercise bicycle.  They measured my heart-rate and
breathing rate as I rode, and they told me to go faster or slower so as to
maintain a steady 120 beats per minute for about 20 minutes.  This was
immediately followed by another measurement session.  Again, there were
certain places that they went to first as the fit here was known to be
dependent on recent exercise.  There was another purpose: one of the places
they measured first was the clench detection point.  With recent exercise
there is absolutely no arousal, and so a proper flaccid measurement of the
clench point could be made.  I was asked to clench as hard as I could so
that the spike operation could be adjusted to accommodate this in full
without my suffering pain.

There was a further interview session, then.  "There is a small discrepancy
between the results of your two interviews that needs to be cleared up. 
Keith has stated that the rear entrance should not be protected; Miranda
has said that this should be protected.  As you know, in such cases thin
stainless steel wires are stretched across the orifice.  It prevents even a
finger from accessing it, but cuts the faeces like a cheese-wire as it
emerges.  It does require the frequent use of the bidet for cleanliness
which may prove difficult if you often use a public lavatory.  Miranda?"

I said: "I don't like it in the rear.  We tried once because he wanted it,
but I didn't like it so we never did it again."  

Keith said: "I never force her to do anything she does not want.  It is
merely an issue of hygiene and convenience in public places.  She does not
have access to a bidet at her place of work."

"Do you feel that you need protection from Keith or somebody else, perhaps?
 Do you need to stop your own finger penetrating there?  What is the reason
for wanting that point closed?"

I had used this point for masturbation when wearing the no contact belt
that I had used before, but I had never told Keith about this for fear that
he would want to play with me there.  Then I remembered the pain that would
be deterring orgasm for me.  "I guess I don't actually need protection; I
just didn't want the lack to be interpreted as permission for access
there."

"If you change your mind later, the protection can easily be fitted."

Then I was allowed to rest for an hour before another set of measurements
was made.  Then I had to do vigorous exercise.  This was a vigorous sprint
on the exercise bicycle until the heart-rate hit 180 and held there for a
minute.  Another set of measurements was made immediately and then it was
lunch-time.  

The afternoon was spent in the same way.  Each set of measurements was made
twice as a cross-check.  Finally, after dinner, a second 'full belly' set
of measurements was made, and I eventually went to bed exhausted.  There
would be one further set of measurements first thing in the morning, and
that, barring problems with fitting, was the measurement process done.

Day 2: Night-time and fantasies

Again I had orders to masturbate that night, preferably three times.  I
found it easier to think about, now, remembering how it had been before I
had identified denial as a need, remembering some of the fantasies I had
used to get myself off.  One of my early fantasies was that I was captured
and abducted into a secret cave owned by a really horrible man.  He kept me
there and had sex with me whenever he wanted but he would never let me
masturbate or have any orgasms otherwise.  I hated him, I hated being there
and I hated to let him have sex with me but I also looked forward to it as
my only means of ever getting orgasm.  I remembered how I used to imagine
his smelly breath and drooling disgusting mouth as he lay over me, his
great fat belly crushing me, his actions making me climax.  

As I remembered this fantasy, I realised for the first time that this man
had a strange resemblance to the priest in our parish when I was a child,
and that the cave had had a surprising resemblance to the vestry where I
would change into my cassock and surplice for serving at Holy Mass.  I
remembered how he used to bless us both before the service: we would each
kneel between his parted thighs, head bowed forward, and he would place his
hand on our heads pressing down as he said the prayer.  I remember pressing
up against his hand, not wanting to feel my forehead pressing against his
trousers and crotch.  I remembered vividly the rank unwashed public
lavatory smell coming through his cassock from his trousers.

Now, as I had this fantasy, I tried first to put Keith's face into this
role, but this did not work at all.  Then I thought about The Inaccessible
Man.  I imagined him locking me into one of his 'total denial' appliances
and keeping me here as a kitchen slave.  I imagined the level of
frustration I would reach, as he only ever let me out of the chastity-belt
at rare intervals to fuck me.  He would fuck me hard and fast before I had
a chance to become properly aroused.  His climax would always come when I
was still just short of climax myself and then he would immediately lock me
up in his total denial appliance again.  He would never let me climax.  I
imagined the terrible conflict between wanting to climax and hating letting
him fuck me; of knowing that this would be my only chance, and so inviting
him to, asking him, begging him to fuck me.  So often he would say: "no,
not today, it is much too soon after the last time".  So often he would
just laugh at my frustration.  I imagined my terrible disappointment when,
having begged and pleaded for weeks, having submitted once more to his
hateful fucking, I failed yet again to climax, and was locked into the
total denial appliance once more.  I found it surprisingly easy to come.  I
didn't even have to think about being beaten for doing it.  

I dozed for a bit.  

When I woke up, I started thinking about another fantasy that I used to
have.  In this fantasy I had a girl-friend of the same age as me.  We were
very close.  We would hold hands and kiss, we would tell each other all our
secrets and we would do everything together.  Soon we began to look at each
other 'down there' and we began to touch one another: lightly, gently,
innocently.  We would lie naked together in bed, and I remembered feeling
her soft, warm, downy flesh against mine.  I would gently rub my thigh
across her belly, she would softly stroke my back with her arm.  Each day
we would progress a little further, each knowing what the other wanted, but
respecting each others secret places and the things we were not yet ready
for.  

Before long, we would start to become sexually aroused, not by direct
stimulation of the sexes but simply from the intense pleasure of being
together.  We would kiss and hug, in a warm intensity of desire for the
unknown.  We were just getting to the point when we both felt an intense
need for something more direct when we were caught.  Big strong hands
pulled us roughly apart.  We were lectured that such things were evil and
harmful.  We were beaten for our wickedness.  We were separated and ordered
never to do such things again.  We saw each other each day, at a distance,
but were never allowed to communicate.  I kept wondering what it would have
been like, how we would have progressed in our sex with each other,
imagining our thighs rubbing each other's pussies as we lay in a kissy
tangle of warm, silky limbs.  I imagined that we were in bed together just
at the point of coming to a glorious mutual climax when we were torn apart,
shouted at and beaten for our sins.  It was this thought that brought on my
climax.

Perhaps I slept for a while.

Later, I remembered another fantasy that I used to have when I first
started to masturbate and was very disturbed by the conflict between this
need and the religious beliefs that I had been brought up with.  

In this fantasy, I was child at that age when sexual need first starts to
become strong.  I was carefully watched and secretly spied on to detect any
lapse in my perfect moral behaviour.  I could never ever relax my guard for
fear of being caught.  I never did anything suspiciously sexual although I
recognised a terrible need within me.  Soon I was being questioned about my
sexual needs: Did I think about certain things?  Did I ever want to feel
certain feelings?  This made me aroused, but I rigorously suppressed it and
hid my need.  

When I showed no sign of any lapse from perfect moral behaviour, the
physical examinations started.  The excuse was to check that I was still
intact, a virgin.  I was told that just by looking at my secret parts they
could tell if I had been doing anything improper.  Again, I made sure that
I never did anything suspicious although my desire to do so became ever
stronger.  They would wake me from sleep to examine me, or just as I was
fresh from my bath.  Many times a day I would be checked for purity.

Next the tests started: during an examination, I would be deliberately
stimulated into a state of arousal and then, when I was close to climax, it
would stop and I would be left on my own.  Even during the tests I remained
perfectly controlled and permitted no outward sign of any response to the
manipulations, although inside I was in a frenzy of desire.  Afterwards, I
knew that I was being secretly spied on for any sign of immoral behaviour,
and I felt turmoil of intense need inside, but outwardly, I hid the least
shred of evidence of this; I remained calm, apparently perfect, modest,
chaste and virginal in every way.  Each time, the test would last longer
and finish with me closer to climax, and I would have to try harder and
harder not to give way to my overwhelming desire, not to show anything that
could be criticised, not to give way to their manipulations.  At each test
I would fight the strong feelings and need to orgasm, struggling to
suppress my sexuality, and to suppress any outward sign of its existence.

Eventually, fearful of actually climaxing during the test, I started to beg
them to have the offending parts surgically removed to save me from this
awful disgrace.  And it was this thought that brought me to climax: that a
girl could in this way become so offended and alienated from her sexuality
that she begs for it to be surgically removed; that did it for me.

Day 3: Final measurement and manufacture

Again I slept well after this, and did not wake until it was time for the
early morning measurement.  This was the last of the measurements, and I
could relax for the rest of the day.  The first fitting would be that
evening.  If it fitted, I would wear it over night.  That last climax might
be my last for some considerable time.  I felt aroused and wanted to do it
again.  I told Keith.  "Oh, no you don't," he said, "I'm watching you.  You
have been going nearly three weeks sometimes without even having a belt on,
and now you pretend that you can't last half a day!  I really don't believe
you!  Are you committed to this deal or not?  You've already got two
beatings waiting for you, are you really wanting a third?  You just wait
until we get home!"

I spent time in the pool and time in the gymnasium, hoping that exercise
would lessen my need.  I went to the work-shop and looked at the computer
grinding out the moulds for my chastity belt parts, and at the girl who was
filling one of the mould-sections with mats of fibre bound with the special
plastic resins.  I spoke to her, asking if she wore one of them.  "Yes, of
course," she said, "it goes with the job.  Nobody works here otherwise.  It
means that we properly understand the need and do a good job.  You are
getting a 'total denial' type, and only those wearing one are allowed to
make up the crotch-plate, which is what I am doing.  It is an exacting
business."

"When did you last . . . .?"

"Spend time out of the belt?  Or orgasm?  The Inaccessible Man recommends
that wearers of the 'total denial' belt should be allowed to climax every
three months.  Not every owner does that, but a person denied every orgasm
eventually becomes frigid, and seriously depressed with it.  The spikes
that deny orgasm can be disengaged.  Every three months, the belt is
removed, the spikes are disengaged and the belt is replaced.  I generally
get an orgasm within a week, usually through a wet dream.  Then the spikes
are put back again.  I have been wearing this one, other than for that
disengagement and re-engagement, for two years now.  My last orgasm was
nearly three months ago.  I get the spikes disengaged tomorrow.  I used to
try to orgasm with the spikes engaged, but the pain is so terrible that I
would pass out first."

Keith, beside me, grinned.  My stomach fell and my arousal and need
increased until I was starting to clench.  I tried to suppress the clench,
imagining what it would be like in just a few hours to wear this device
that she was making, and this just about made me climax.  

Keith saw my reaction and sensed my arousal.  "I think it is time for a
brisk session on the exercise bicycle.  You've been getting very unfit
recently."  He led me away.

Day 3: First fitting

That evening, before dinner, was the first fitting session.  I had not
managed to have another orgasm, for Keith had watched me carefully, even
accompanying me on my visits to the lavatory.  I went to the measurement
room, and there on the table were the several flesh-coloured plastic parts
of my belt.  First The Inaccessible Man described the pieces.

"This is the crotch-plate.  These two parallel plates fit down between the
inner and outer lips, and contain the flow of urine and menstrual fluid,
preventing it matting the pubic hair and causing problems.  By minimising
the volume of this area, we prevent fluid being retained by the belt, thus
avoiding problems of irritation and smell. 

"The front edges of these plates are important as they follow the pubic
bone down either side of the clitoris, right across the sensitive spot we
found.  Concealed within the plates are the two spikes.  When these outer
parts are deflected inwards by the clench, like this, a tiny movement
causes these spikes to emerge.  There is a strong spring to return them
when the clench is relaxed.  For a short period every three months, the
spikes should be disengaged, unless you want to lose all interest in sex. 
This is done by moving this catch, here, with this little key or with a
tiny pair of pliers.  Now, the clench does not move the spikes.  Re-engage
by moving the catch back, like this.  She cannot move the catch, even if
she could reach it, because the spikes stick right out as the catch is
moved across.  Do you want to try it?"

We both looked at the arrangement, which we had seen described in pictures
and reports, and moved the little catch to and fro.  Without the special
key, it would require a strong grip with a tiny pair of pliers, for the
spring was very strong.  I squeezed in the outer plates, to sense how
strongly I would be clenching before the spikes came in.  I found that they
came in very suddenly when the pressure reached a certain critical level. 
The spikes were not sharp, designed to inflict pain but not injury.  They
would produce a very concentrated pressure against a sensitive nerve-focus.
 I felt the familiar intensity of fluttering down below but remained
outwardly calm.

"The urine hole is opposite the rear of the vaginal opening, so that the
flow goes across the whole length of the inner lips.  This helps to sweep
away any menstrual fluids.  You will see that it is of quite large
diameter, so as to take the full flow, but is shaped to have no direct
access from outside to inside for any penetrating object.  The outlet has a
simple flap-valve made of a synthetic rubber to prevent back-flow or
ingress of fluids from outside.  By sealing this area, air is prevented
from entering; it is the exposure of the residual fluids to air that causes
problems of irritation and smells.

"At the rear of the crotch-plate is the hole for faeces.  This does not
have the wire barrier across it; that has been manufactured, here, and can
be added at any time if you need.  To the rear of this is the point where
the hip-bands engage.  They fit in to it like this, pointing out sideways,
and then you rotate them forwards and inwards to engage on the hips."  He
performed the action.  "Once the front parts of these are together, they
will drop down into the front part of the crotch-plate, just above the
pubic bone, where the lock snaps shut, holding them in place."  He snapped
the belt shut, and handed it to me to examine.

It was a work of art.  It was light, smooth and elegant.  The joints
between the different parts looked smooth and only a hair-line crack was
visible.  I rubbed my finger across the join and could feel nothing.  I
handed it to Keith; he examined it, and nodded approval.

"The only metal parts are the lock, no bigger than a small ladies watch,
the springs for the spikes, which are even smaller, and, if you have them
fitted, the rear barrier wires.  They will not set off most security
screens.  I supply three keys; keep them safe: without them the appliance
has to be destroyed to remove it, and that would be expensive!  I always
keep a fourth key in a safe here.

"As you know, the belt is made of plastic.  A few moments with a good pair
of shears will remove it, but it will also destroy it.  It cannot, however,
be removed without detection: if it is in place and intact, it has not been
removed.  You can, as you have seen, shower, bath, swim, perform any body
functions except for sex with it in place.  For hygiene purposes, a good
soak in the bath from time to time will be beneficial.  Any questions?"

We were both silent.  I wanted to get on and try it.  I was not really
taking anything in; far too apprehensive about this momentous step, about
how it would feel.  I was also somewhat breathless and aroused at the
prospect.

"Right.  For fitting, you should preferably be completely naked, and with
an empty bladder.  Please, Miranda."  I took off my hospital gown.  I did
not need to pee.  "You should hold onto a solid object, the foot-board of
the bed, the back of a chair, a table; in this case the measuring couch. 
You should get your legs as wide apart as possible and crouch with your
knees well bent, and with your torso erect.  Press the front of the
crotch-plate well into the base of the belly above the pubic bone, and
rotate it down until the inner plates start to touch the labia.  Make sure
that they go between the inner and outer lips, like this.  Part the
bum-cheeks to let the rear opening fit snugly against the bum-hole.  Now,
put the two hip-bands in place in the rear mounting, facing outwards. 
Rotate them inwards together, they are linked, and you will find that they
seem to be nearly an inch below the top edge of your hip-bone.  Pull the
whole thing up firmly, and it will close over the top of the hip-bone so
that the fronts of the hip-bands meet and engage, like this.  The top of
the crotch-plate is just clear of the hip-bands now; draw them firmly
together so that the lock engages."  I heard the snap of the lock closing.

"You can stand up, now, Miranda.  How does it feel?"  How does a new pair
of shoes feel when you first try them on?  A new bra?  I stood up, raised
one leg and then the other, bent and straightened.  It was tight, pressing
in with an even pressure all over.  It seemed to search deep into my
crotch, and I was decidedly aroused, but there was no pain, no sense of any
point having undue pressure or roughness.

"I will have to see how it goes, but, compared with other belts I have
worn, my initial impressions are very good.  I feel very aroused by it.  It
presses deep into me at a point that is very . . . sensitive for me and
this makes me feel aroused.  Also the idea of it.  I need to clench, but I
am afraid to."  

"You can clench to find out how it feels, for the spikes are disengaged. 
You were clenching as I put it on, as you felt the outer plates press into
you.  This is why there was some difficulty getting it over your hip.  You
will have to learn not to clench at this point, or you will be hurt when
the spikes are engaged."

I clenched, and felt the outer plates first resist me and then move inwards
slightly.  This was the point where the spikes would bite.  I felt the
strange fluttering sensation in my belly again: that terrible wonderful
dread-desire combination.

"First, I want you both to fit and remove the appliance several times until
you are confident in what you are doing.  Try to concentrate on your
internal relaxation to prevent the clench when it goes on, Miranda.  For
removal, it is the reverse procedure.  Fit the key and rotate
anti-clock-wise a quarter turn and the hip-bands pop out at the front. 
Rotate them outwards, and they disengage at the rear.  Lift them out, and
then you notice that the crotch-plate is held up by its fit over the pubic
bone.  Crouch, a little, please Miranda.  Rotate it down and forward to
release it.  Miranda, you try first."

The first time I put it on, I caught one of the inner lips on the wrong
side of the inner plates, and that hurt as I tried to pull up the
hip-bands.  After that, I got it right, and practised two more times,
learning how to prevent the spontaneous clench as the crotch plate was
pulled into its final position.  Then Keith tried.  He got it wrong too the
first time, but he soon had the knack.  After that, the belt was left on.

"What about the spikes?" asked Keith.

"How long does it take her to climax in a belt without touching?  Nearly a
fortnight?  We take the fitting process in easy stages.  First it is worn
for half an hour, just sitting, standing and walking, then we check the
fit.  If it is OK, it goes on again over dinner, and gets checked after
about two hours of wear.  If it is OK again, it goes on over-night.  Then
tomorrow, we do some gentle exercise, then some more vigorous exercise,
checking each time, and making adjustments if necessary.  Sometimes we have
to re-manufacture parts at this stage.

"There is a process of education of spike awareness.  If we didn't do that,
she could be taken by surprise at awkward times: when driving a car, or at
work perhaps.  During this process, the spikes are at first engaged for
only a few minutes at a time, and then for increasing periods.  Only when
we are satisfied that both of you can handle the whole thing are they in
place full time.

"So just now, Miranda, you can walk gently, sit down, stand up, but do
nothing vigorous, and come back in half an hour for a check-up."

At the check-up, it was found that one of the inner plates was exerting
slightly too much pressure on the under-side of my pubic bone.  This was
taken out and re-manufactured during dinner, so I did not wear it over
then.  After dinner, the belt with the new inner plate was fitted, and
checked again an hour and again two hours later.  There were no more
problems.

That night I moved into the room with Keith.  He was very affectionate,
wanting to get me really aroused.  I was well aroused already, though,
because of the belt.  Its smooth and gentle intransigence really got to me
in a special way.  I felt it deep inside me.  I responded to him, giving
him head which he liked, and trying to come as this could be my last chance
for some time, but he came very quickly, turned on by my plight, and I
didn't.  I lay awake for a long time wondering what "education in spike
awareness" might signify.  

I had expected a lot of discomfort and annoyance from  just lying in bed
and rolling over.  This had been the case with previous belts, but there
was nothing worse than lying on a slightly creased sheet.

Day 4: Getting used to the belt.

The next morning I had to urinate for the first time wearing the appliance.
 I had had some bad experiences with poor quality belts that caused
flooding down my legs and over my bottom, so I was a bit afraid of really
letting go.  I need not have worried: the hole provided a steady stream
without splashing or flooding.  There was some back-pressure which I could
feel against my inner lips, but I realised that this would help to clear
residues of menstrual and other fluids.  I had to dab quite carefully to
remove the last traces of liquid, but the flap valve made this readily
accessible, and allowed it to be cleaned completely.  This first time was
supervised by a female member of the staff, ready to give advice or take
note in case of problems.

I went to the measurement room with Keith for the check-up, and there were
no problems found.  The top edges of my hips were a light red from the
pressure, but not at all sore or distressed.  I remembered the angry
dark-red patches I had got from some of the previous belts we had tried.  I
looked in the mirror at my vulva, especially at the part that had been a
problem before dinner the night before, and this was now looking and
feeling the same as my hip: there was visible evidence of an even, gentle
pressure but nothing unhealthy.  I felt more confident in putting it back
on.

At this time, I was asked to repeat the series of exercises to check my
flexibility: bending, stretching, the splits, and so on.  I certainly could
feel no impediment to my movements, although the tops of my thighs slid
along the under-side of the crotch plate at certain points.  I was told
that the measurements of my flexibility showed no significant differences.

After breakfast I had the first taste of exercise.  Again, I chose the
bicycle; I like cycling.  I did the same steady exercise that I had done
before during the measurements: a heart-rate of 120 beats per minute
sustained for twenty minutes.  I could feel the sweat under the belt, and
expected some relative movement around the tops of the thighs.  It was
highly polished in this area with no rough edges, and there was no problem.
 

Apart from the excretion zones, the plastic was porous without being
absorbent; a bit like a Goretex garment.  This meant that the sweat did not
accumulate in the skin-to-belt space and go stale; nor did it absorb into
the material of the belt, which would soon have given problems.  It was a
plastic specially designed for orthopaedic purposes: artificial limbs,
supports and prostheses, and it was designed for continuous wear against
the skin.  After resting for an hour. I felt quite comfortable despite not
having had a shower.

Soon I had my first defecation with it on.  The surround of the rear
orifice was of a non-absorbent material to prevent problems with faeces
becoming absorbed.  This was easy to clean, and indeed very little got onto
it.  Nothing got under the crotch-plate, which had been a problem with
several previous belts.  Again, this first time was supervised in case of
problems.  The girl held a mirror for me to check on my cleaning, and then
took the appliance off to let me check inside for hygiene problems.  I was
steadily gaining in confidence with it.  There was an incredible amount of
care and thought in the design.

After lunch, I rested a while and then did the vigorous exercise: a sprint
to 180 beats per minute for 30 seconds.  Again there was no problem found.


After this, I had a bath, partly to learn the technique of drying the
appliance.  I tried splashing water in through the urine hole as this had
had an arousing effect with a previous appliance I had used.  I could not
get it to cause me any stimulation at all.  Drying it took a little time as
a dry towel had to be pressed and held against the belt for a while to
absorb all of the water from the porous material.  I was told that wrapping
my loins in a dry towel, or wearing a towelling robe for twenty minutes or
so would normally do the trick.

Then it was time for my first session with the spikes.  I had become
relaxed wearing the belt, and I no longer found it an automatic cause of
arousal, but I had been very aroused a lot of the time and had become
somewhat relaxed about clenching, and was starting to like the sensation of
the sudden 'give' as the outer plates moved inwards in response to my
clench.  So I was a bit anxious about this.  I took the belt off as
instructed.  The Inaccessible Man moved the catch over, putting some dye
marker on the spike tips as he did so.  I put it back on, making sure to
relax deeply as I did so.

The Inaccessible Man had me lie back in a reclining chair.  "Close your
eyes, relax, and think back to an event you described in our interview. 
You told me about an event where you were wearing a chastity belt that
prevented you from touching yourself.  You had been without orgasm despite
trying for nearly two weeks.  You told me about coming very close to
orgasm, and wanting to come but you could not do it.  Remember that time,
and tell me about it again, but this time in more detail.  Tell me all
about what you were feeling, what you were thinking."

I took a deep breath.  How to begin?  It is strange, looking back on it
that I had already forgotten the belt and the spikes and the threat that
they posed.  I seemed focused only on The Inaccessible Man and on the
question he required me to answer.

"Keith likes to know when I get really frustrated and close to orgasm
without actually coming, and he had been asking me to describe how I had
found not touching myself.  I had tried to describe to him how I needed the
conflict between the wanting and the denial of pleasure, and how this
conflict seemed to me to be a pleasure in itself.  I was mouthing him, and
would stop and tell him how I felt.  But what I was telling him was
different from my real feelings; what I was telling him was designed for
his pleasure: what he needed to think for his arousal and pleasure.  

"For me, deep inside: I relished the conflict.  I had an instinct, a bodily
need, that said to me: let yourself climax; let it happen; it is easy, just
do it!  But I also had another me, on a different plane.  This me said:
don't let yourself go; the easy way carries no real satisfaction; just
think how you'll feel if you spoil the record you have built up; deny
yourself - that is the real test; master your instincts, overcome them;
prove yourself to be above all that; be strong!  And the thing that is
magic for me is not the winning of that fight, nor the losing, in effect
these are both unsatisfying in their own way; rather it is the conflict
itself that gives the greatest pleasure.  And the stronger and deeper that
conflict becomes, the better it is for me.  One day, I hope to reach the
point where that conflict reaches a certain extremity of intensity.  I know
the feeling I am trying to reach although I don't know how I know it.  I
know I have never got there yet, but my ambition is to let that feeling
rise and rise in intensity until  AAAAAaaarrrgh!"  

A spontaneous clench at the height of intensity had caused the spikes to
but in and destroy my rise towards orgasm.  I had to hold back my clenches,
requiring a supreme effort of will, until the feeling and need at last
subsided.  

At last he took off my belt and inspected the place.  Using a mirror, he
showed me the dye-marks on my flesh that the spikes had made.  He probed to
check that both sides had hit precisely the right spot; I was certain that
they had, and he confirmed this.  He put the catch over again into the
disengaged position, and I put the belt back on.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Shattered.  Shocked.  That is not what I want."

"I know.  But when you have fully learned, and you hold it deep in your
mind that that pain will happen every time, but you can stop it by stopping
the arousal short of that point, then the thing you do want can occur."

"I know that.  Hold me, Keith, I want to cry for a little while."  I sobbed
on his shoulder, and this shortly turned into a hug of love.

Day 4: A Testing Time

There were no more checks or tests until after dinner when I was called
into the measuring room again.  Again the spikes were engaged.  This time,
there was no immediate discussion of my fantasies or attempts to get me
aroused.  Instead, The Inaccessible Man brought in the girl I had met
before, the girl who had been wearing a belt like mine.

"You've met before?"

"I don't know your name," I said.

"Shirley," she said.

"I would like you," said The Inaccessible Man, "if you would, to perform a
small service for her.  To remove her appliance, and to move the catch that
disengages the spikes so that she will be able to reach orgasm.  Also,
whilst the belt is off, to carefully clean both it and her pubic area.  Do
you want to be plucked, Shirley?"

"Yes please, Sir."

"Would you be willing to do that, Miranda?"  

It felt a bit strange to be asked to do this for an almost total stranger,
but I said, "all right."  

He handed me the key.  I undid the lock and took the appliance off.  It was
almost exactly the same as my own.  Once it was off, she settled back on
the couch, with her bottom over the edge.  A bowl of warm water, soap and a
cloth were brought and I started to wash her.

"Did you ever have, or try to have, an orgasm dream, a wet dream, whilst
wearing it, Shirley?" asked The Inaccessible Man.

"Yes, Sir, that usually starts to happen after about ten weeks of wear.  It
happens about two or three times usually before I have the spikes
disengaged.  The most recent was three nights ago."

"What do you usually dream about when this happens?"  there was a small
accumulation of smegma-like dead skin in the matted pubic hair and I was
just gently soaping it and teasing it out.

"Oh, dear, many different things.  This last time, I dreamt that I had my
chastity belt on and I had met another girl wearing one, (it was a girl I
had been at school with), and she wanted me and I wanted her, and we were
naked except for the chastity belts.  We kissed and played with each
other's breasts, and we wanted to do more, but the belts were in the way,
so we just stroked each other's bellies and breasts and got tremendously
aroused.  We were daring each other to get more and more aroused but to
stop just short of clenching.  We were getting off on the terrible conflict
we were creating in each other.  We each wanted to see if the other would
break first, would feel the pain first.  We were licking and kissing each
other until, simultaneously, we felt the spikes of the belts cut in.  I
woke up then." 

"And what does it feel like when you are woken up by this pain from a wet
dream that is thwarted before the climax?  What do you feel and think
afterwards?"

"Mostly, I find the wearing of this belt a challenge, a means for me to
exert my own will.  But it is the deepest and most intense frustration to
be thwarted from a wet dream.  The body has reached a state of the most
extreme desperation for such a dream to happen, and when it does not, I
feel like there is no hope, no way out.  Then I think of the period of
disengagement of the spikes, and that gives me the tiny glimmer of hope to
go on.  Then I cannot wait for this day to arrive."  I was now washing the
belt, using a brush to scrub the inner parts of the crotch-plate.  I
noticed that the spikes were at a different point for her, pointing
outwards into the place he had first tested on me.  I was getting intensely
aroused by this talk.  Would I get wet dreams of this kind?  Would I be
awoken from them?  This would be the ultimate denial to be denied even a
wet dream.  I felt myself remembering my spikes and suppressing my need to
clench.  I wrapped the cleansed belt in a towel to dry.

"I get very afraid that one time when the spikes are disengaged, I will
have a wet dream in which I dream that I am wearing the belt with the
spikes in place and am stopped from having the orgasm in my dream even
though the spikes are not really there.  I cannot come, now, other than in
a dream, as I am so afraid of the spikes and can never really convince
myself that they are not there."  I had picked up the tweezers and started
plucking her pubic hair, but this thought overcame me and I clenched
involuntarily.  "AAAAAaaarrrgh!"  I exclaimed.

"Go on plucking," he said.

After a few moments for recovery, I started plucking again.  I started to
take an interest in her pubis.  It was fatter than mine, and the inner lips
longer and more wrinkled.  You could see the depressions where the outer
plates of the belt permanently dug in to sense her clenching.  Her pubic
hair was almost black although the hair on her head was much lighter.  She
did not wince as I plucked although no hand had touched this flesh for
three months.  "Do you always have one of the clients do this?" I asked.

"Sometimes it is a man," she said.  

"Do you like the feeling of the plucking taking place, or is it the state
of hairlessness that you like?"

"Both, really.  I have thought of electrolysis, but it would be several
days before I could wear the belt after, and submitting to the plucking
without showing any feeling is very important to me and I would lose that.
I don't think you cleaned under the hood of my clitoris, did you?"

"Oh, no.  This was rather more intimate than I had been prepared for. 
Shall I do it now?"  I peeled back the hood.  A lot of smegma had
collected.  When I had cleaned it, I found that the tip was small and quite
white.  Not purple, like mine or most I had seen, or pink as when it is
aroused.  "Was it always so pale as this?  Or is it a result of the long
denial?"

"Is it pale?  I have not seen it for so long."  There was no mirror.

"Her boy-friend does not want her ever to see herself down there," said The
Inaccessible Man.  "There are some other folds you have missed.  It is
important to clean this area thoroughly every so often.  We are doing some
tests to find out what happens if this is not done, but at present our
recommendation is three months with six months as an absolute maximum."

I cleaned in other folds I had missed the first time.  

"Do you sleep with your boy-friend?"

"Oh, yes, and he wears a belt too, a 'total denial' like mine.  He is
another member of staff; I met him through working here.  He was a client
without a partner, so I have never known him other than in the denial
state.  He has the spikes disengaged for the same period I do and we used
to try to come together, but that never really worked."

"But what do you do?"

"In bed?  Kiss, lie together, wind each other up occasionally to the peak
of arousal and denial.  We don't do this very often because it is very
exhausting, but every so often, we spend several hours at it, getting to
where we both want to be.  Mostly we just enjoy sharing everything we do. 
We have a very symmetrical relationship.  I don't think I would know how to
sustain a relationship where one was belted and the other not."  

I ignored that slightly pointed remark about my relationship with Keith. 
"Other than the chastity belt fantasy, what is your most important
fantasy?"

"Oh, dear.  Most of my fantasies are about denial of some kind.  I think it
must be this one.  I am in love with a beautiful boy of my own age - we are
both young, just at the point of full maturity.  We are noticed by an older
couple who are jealous of us.  They capture us and take us off to a castle
in a strange land.  They keep us locked up so that we can never talk to one
another, and hardly ever see one another.  I am expected to please this
man, sexually, and when I fall short of his demands, when I don't respond
to him, he takes me to watch my friend being tortured.  My friend cannot
see me or hear me but I can hear his screams and see his pain.  Sometimes I
am tortured.  I cannot see him, but I know that he is there and has
displeased them in some way.  I try to tell him that I don't mind the
suffering and that he should not do things he doesn't want to do for my
sake, but I don't think anything intelligible comes through my cries and
screams of agony.  Eventually, I decide that I will act as if I like them
and appear to do everything that they want and to enjoy every moment so
that my friend will never have to suffer again.  I know that he has made
the same decision when my torture also stops.  I know that we will never
see one another again, but I also know that somewhere deep inside, despite
outward appearances, I keep my faith with him and he mine.  I do this by
never climaxing with them: I pretend to enjoy, but never actually do."

Something about this fantasy brought something to life in me, but I
remembered the spikes and resisted the clench.  I was still plucking her
pubic hair, and noticed that she became moist with arousal as she related
this fantasy to me, but the clitoris did not rise or thicken and she did
not clench once.

"So, what is your favourite fantasy that does not involve chastity belts?"
she asked.  

I tried to remember the fantasies I had used for climax just a two nights
ago, but the mood was not there.  "Oh, dear."  I was afraid to become too
aroused by relating my fantasies.  "I am at a boarding school, in a large
dormitory, beds in serried rows as far as the eye can see.  I am not
allowed to masturbate or have orgasms.  They spy on you to see if you do."

"No, that won't do!"  She interrupted me: "that is clearly a denial
fantasy.  You must have had a fantasy that does not have denial as the
primary focus."

"Oh, I see.  Yes.  Let me think.  I am tied on a bed, not tightly, but
loosely with soft silken bonds that I can hardly feel, but they stop me
from doing anything for myself.  Every so often, when I am not needing it,
a big person comes along and starts to masturbate me.  This is done roughly
and perfunctorily, and there is no love nor desire there.  It brings me
from a quiescent state to orgasm in just a few seconds, but the orgasm does
not satisfy: it is not needed nor wanted.  Afterwards, I am ignored and
feel as frustrated as I did before.  I am totally dependent on this person
for everything, food, drink, warmth, cleaning and evacuation, for I cannot
move nor do anything for myself.  Sometimes I do get sexually aroused; then
my arousal is ignored totally.  This is sometimes for a very long period. 
When the unwanted masturbation does occur it is always when I have stopped
being aroused, when it is unwanted.  

"So I suppose it is partly a denial fantasy, but the main part is the
unwanted masturbation.  I have often wondered if this fantasy means that I
was sexually abused as a tiny baby."

I had nearly finished plucking her.  "But what is your favourite denial
fantasy," she asked?

"Oh, the ultimate chastity belt.  This is the fantasy where there is no way
to get orgasm no matter what I try.  The tension of wanting builds up and
up, but no matter what ingenious tricks I perform, there is no release. 
The tension increases further, but still there is nothing I can do.  I am
frantic with need, desperate to try anything.  I think I will kill myself
to escape, but I do not for even this would be too easy.  But when the
tension gets to its ultimate extreme, then there is a special reward, an
ecstasy that is far beyond mere orgasm, a God-like bliss.  A feeling of . .
 AAAAAaaarrrgh!"  I had done it again.

"You have still a few hairs to do,"  said The Inaccessible Man.  I
grimaced, tightened my lips and finished the job.  I washed her pubis.  I
checked that the spikes were disengaged; The Inaccessible Man gave the
appliance to her to test this; she did so, pressing the outer plates
inwards several times.  I fitted the belt back onto her.  I think she had
enjoyed making me clench like that, giving me pain.  Of course she had!  I
looked venom at her.

When I had finished, The Inaccessible Man removed my appliance, disengaged
the spikes, let me check that this was so, and replaced it.  "Just now, you
hate her for causing you that pain.  Later, when you are busy with a
monotonous job and idly thinking about other things, you will find that
this training has been of value, and that you will automatically avoid
hurting yourself, and possibly risk distraction at an awkward moment.  Do
you drive?"

"Yes."  I felt tight and resentful.

"Do you ever experience an erotic fantasy when you are driving on a long
journey, and there is not much happening?"

"Yes."  I was relaxing a bit.

"Do you ever get aroused and unconsciously clench when you are driving?  Of
course you do.  What would happen if the clench occurred when you were
moving at high speed on a motorway?  Thank her; she has done a lot for
you!"

I held out my hand.  "Thank you, Shirley.  I apologise for that."  The last
few pubic hairs had been pulled out at awkward angles, but she had not
complained.  She smiled, took my hand, leaned forward and gave me the
gentlest whisper of a kiss.  

Day 4: Revelations at Bed-time

It was bed-time, our fourth night at The Inaccessible House.  Keith was
visibly aroused by all that he had witnessed and heard.  "You never tell me
about your fantasies," he said, "I never heard either of those before."

"You never tell me about yours.  Now you have heard some of mine, how about
telling me what it is that you think about in those secret moments when my
mouth is full?  Or how about those times when I'm not good enough for you
and you just wank by yourself?  And don't pretend you don't because I've
watched you."

"That's easy," he said, "those times I dream about fucking you.  Yes, I
know you had a bad experience when you were younger and that any attempt to
fuck reminds you of it and turns you off.  But I always imagine that
somehow, sometime, you would find it different with me and discover that it
was possible to get pleasure that way without the memory of past pain."

"It's the pleasure itself that reminds me; that's why I am so strong for
denial of pleasure.  I feel safe with one of these on," I said, patting the
hard plastic crotch-plate.

"I think that some of your denial fantasies go back a long way, way before
that event."  

I hadn't thought of that; odd how the mind latches onto a single
explanation for a complex problem.  After a moment of thought, I said:
"yes, I think you might be right."

"Do you want to talk about that?  You have never really told me what
happened, just hinted obliquely.  It can help to talk."

"You're going to think me stupid.  If I try to tell it, it just sounds like
nothing to make a big fuss about."

"Who have you tried to tell it to?"

"Nobody.  Oh, I see.  Hmm . . .  Oh, dear.  Where to begin?  OK, here goes.
 

"I had this best friend, Carol.  She was my best friend right through
school.  I mean, right from nursery school.  We went about together.  We
told each other all our secrets.  We kissed and held hands, walked about
arm in arm.  We did everything together.  We even started our first periods
within days of each other; I was first but I was still bleeding when hers
began.  

"We weren't alike, though.  Rather we complemented each other.  Where I am
shy, she is out-going.  Where I am academic, she was sporty.  We enjoyed
each other's different skills and abilities, gloried in each other's
successes, commiserated over each other's failures.  It was love, intense,
wonderful, contented, complete.  

"It was not a sexual relationship.  We did not touch each other or give
each other orgasms.  We sometimes talked about sex, but no more than we
talked with other girls.  We were probably too inhibited by taboos about
homosexuality and decency.  We saw each other naked, we had even slept in
the same bed when we were younger, and we still bathed and showered
together, but it was never a sexual thing.  We used to sleep over in each
other's houses a lot.

"She discovered sex with boys soon after puberty, but I was not at ease
with that sort of thing.  It came to be a big difference between us: the
one thing we did not share.  Perhaps she felt it was pulling us apart, I
don't know.  She used to tease me, wind me up about my virginity.  

Analysing the situation now, I suppose that she felt that this difference
came between us, but that having lost her virginity she could never go
back, so I had to lose mine for us to be compatible again.  But I didn't
think about that at the time.

"One time, my parents were away, and I had arranged to stay over at her
place.  I had not realised that her people were away also.  I had never
really deceived my parents before, and she had tricked me into that.  We
were perfectly old enough to take care of ourselves, though, sixteen,
nearly seventeen.  We went to a party, and I got a little bit silly, a
couple of beers, no more.  Perhaps some hash was being smoked, and perhaps
the fumes in the atmosphere got to me, I don't know; I never did that
stuff.  Anyway, she was making up to this boy, and he had an older friend
with him, and they were both determined that I would have to pair up with
this man.  Anyway we both ended up back at her house with these two, and it
was clear that she was going to sleep with the boy she had chosen, and I
was expected to sleep with the other.  She even handed me a condom, saying
"Now's your chance."

"He was terrible: cheap showy clothes, greasy hair, sticky arm-pits and
cheap after-shave.  I wouldn't have chosen him in a million years.  I don't
know why I went along with it.  Perhaps I thought it would be easier
between us if I was no longer a virgin.  He was older, and it's clear to me
now that he was just virgin-bagging.  It wasn't as if I was raped or
anything, I just went right along with it, all the time not wanting to, but
not doing anything to resist.  I was trying to act as if I knew all about
it, acting casual and indifferent, dropping my clothes carelessly, and just
lying back on the bed, legs apart although I wasn't the slightest bit
aroused; quite the opposite.  

"He lay straight on top of me and just pushed.  I was totally dry, and it
hurt like hell, but I didn't say anything.  We never used the condom she
gave me.  I had it in my hand when I went into the room, but I don't know
what happened to it after that.  After pushing and shoving a few times, he
just ejaculated outside of me, all in my pubic hair.  He didn't even
penetrate, didn't take my virginity, nothing.  He rolled over beside me and
just went to sleep.  I lay awake a long time, afraid to move and disturb
him beside me.  Later I felt aroused.  I felt that I had missed something,
and masturbated to orgasm, rubbing the sticky semen into me.  In the
morning, he was gone.

"Carol asked me how it had gone, and I just felt frozen.  What I said and
what I felt inside were quite separate.  I said 'OK' or something like
that.  What I know now is that I felt that I had been raped by HER.  At the
time, though, I just felt that there was a massive impenetrable barrier
between us that had never been there before; a barrier that I just did not
understand.  I picked up my clothes and things and went home.  I always
kept some stuff over at her house, and I guess that is still there, for I
never went back.

"She phoned me over the next few days, asking to get together.  I put her
off, making excuses.  We went out a couple of times, but I was acting
indifferent outside and feeling inside that I should not be there.  Soon, I
started to make excuses when she contacted me.  She realised I was upset
about something, but could not understand what it was about.  

"Later, when my period was clearly not happening, I realised I was
pregnant.  I . . . I had an abortion a couple of months later after a lot
of fuss and distress.  That was . . . . pretty awful, too:  family,  . . .
religion,  . . . telling Mother,   . . . you know.

"That's it.  Pretty stupid, really."  I burst into tears and we lay and
just hugged for a long time.  That's what I like about Keith: he knows when
to be sexy and when to be strong.  

After a while, I stopped, and said: "Oh, no!  That's not all.  I'd better
tell you the rest.  This part's a bit hazy.

"I can remember waking up in the middle of the night.  I was lying on my
side, and he was fiddling with my bottom, trying to put his thing into my
bottom.  He was pawing me and saying: 'John', (John was the name of the boy
with Carol), 'John, pass me the lube; I can't get it in.'  I didn't know
what was happening, and I was feeling a bit hung over and disorientated; I
rushed out to the bathroom and locked myself in.  I may have been sick; I
spent a long time in there, I may have even slept in there.  As I say, this
part is hazy.  When I came out, it was morning and he was gone.

"They were obviously two queers living together, and, half awake, he
thought that I was his friend.  I keep wondering.  Did she know who they
were, what they were?  Did she slip something into my drink?  What was
making her do that?  She was the most important thing in the world to me. 
She knew everything about me; we really understood one another, or I
thought we did.  We loved one another!  I don't think I was quite ready for
sex, but it should have been with her if it was with anybody.  I felt I was
a whore sent to another man's bed by my pimp - her.  Oh, Keith, I still
miss her!"  I had never properly recognised that before.  I did a lot more
crying into his shoulder.  We fell asleep like that.

Day 5: Waking Reminiscences.

The next morning, I was woken early by a girl tapping my shoulder, and
holding her finger over her lips.  She let me have a pee and then led me to
a nearby room where The Inaccessible Man removed my appliance, checked me
for pressure or rubbing problems and refitted it with the spikes engaged.

"You can go back to bed until breakfast time," he said.  "Don't wake
Keith!"

I slid back into bed beside Keith.  It was about 6:00 a.m. and I had about
two hours before breakfast.  I lay beside Keith, wide awake, feeling his
warm body beside mine.  I was very conscious of the chastity belt, and was
feeling very hot and horny beneath it.  My mind was in that free-spin state
where it flits from subject to subject without any apparent logic.  I was
remembering many of the events of this last week at The Inaccessible House.
 I thought about a man I had been in conversation with who had suddenly
going rigid and vacant as if his mind was elsewhere; his spikes had cut in.
 We had been talking about different people's motivations for doing this:
whether everybody had essentially the same fantasy or whether some where
different.  

I thought of the two nights I had spent alone, and of playing with my pussy
for the last time.  I thought of how needing I had felt the next day.  I
felt myself needing to clench, and forced myself to relax, relishing the
feeling of opposing my need, the intensity of my need, the knowledge that
it would not be satisfied, that this feeling would stretch on indefinitely,
increasing all the time.  The need to clench rose in strength, and I
remembered The Inaccessible Man's words: "don't wake Keith!"  I forced
myself to relax, biting my lip, dreading the pain, knowing that I would cry
out.  I had a thought: Keith did not know I had the spikes engaged.  How
long could I go without him knowing?  How long could I keep it a secret?

I suddenly realised that keeping a secret was very important to me. 
Telling Keith about Carol and about that awful man last night had been a
relief, but it had meant that a secret that was important to me was no
longer a secret.  Why was secrecy so important?  What about when I had been
close to Carol: had I kept something important secret from her?  Yes, of
course: Uncle Jim.

He was a Priest, my mother's brother.  He would visit our family home
periodically, and I liked to sit on his knee.  Nothing sexual ever
happened, but I felt safe and cared-for, and there was another nice warm
feeling inside which I now recognise as sexual arousal, that I always felt
when I was with him.  He would tell me stories, read to me, play games,
make me laugh; he would call me his 'Little Angel'.  Thinking back, I
wonder if he felt sexual arousal also, but he was always relaxed, and never
showed any signs of it.  Later, he moved to another parish, further away,
and we saw less of him.

Later, soon after puberty, I stopped going to confession.  The Priest had
been repeatedly telling me that I should just control myself when I needed
to touch myself and to have orgasms.  I had decided that these feelings
were so overwhelming that what he was asking was unreasonable and
impossible.  So I had stopped going, but I never told my Mother why;
perhaps she guessed.  Mother remembered the closeness between Uncle Jim and
me, and asked him to visit and 'have a word with me'.

He told me that at that age, he had stopped going to confession, and had
had doubts about the teaching of the Church.  He asked me to tell him what
had been happening in confession.  I told him about the strength of my
feelings, and about the impossibility of opposing them, about the blunt and
unhelpful attitude of Father Anthony.  He told me that it had been just the
same for him.  He told me to go away and do whatever I needed to do,
whatever I wanted as often as I wanted for one week.  Whatever happened, he
would give me absolution.  But I was to come back and talk to him again
after that time.

For the next few days I rubbed myself raw.  I made myself climax five, six
or seven times a day.  I engaged in fantasies that I generally suppressed.
He came back to visit the following week.  He asked me how I had been
getting on.  I mumbled something.  He asked me if I felt that I had
achieved anything.  I did not know how to answer, and said nothing.  He
asked me if I felt that I now understood myself and my needs better,
whether, having done those things last week, I would move on from there the
next week or whether I would simply repeat the same things again.  I
thought for a moment, and realised that what I had been doing had been very
repetitive.  I said I would probably just repeat the same things again. 
"Then you have not progressed in your own self knowledge and understanding,
have you?"  I agreed.

"What do you need to do to progress, to develop yourself, your mind, your
understanding of this important part of your life?  Did I need to go and do
it with another person, to get pregnant, to have a baby?"  I said that I
did not want that, that I did not feel ready for that yet.

"Go away," he said, "for another week.  Again I will give you absolution
for whatever you do, but this week, each time, ask yourself this: 'what do
I really need for myself?'  'What will satisfy that need?'  'How do I
progress from here?'"

I did that.  At first I asked myself this afterwards, and realised I had
got nowhere.  Later in the week, I started to ask myself the questions
before: 'What am I going to achieve if I do this?'  'What do I really want
and need?' and so on.  And that was when I realised that there was
something beyond orgasm, something that could never be got through simply
giving way to pleasure, something God-like in intensity and power that I
needed to strive for.  And when I thought about this, I often found I did
not want orgasm, I did not want easy pleasures.  I needed to strive through
difficulty to achieve something greater than this. 

The next week, I told him of my discovery.  I told him that I did not know
yet what it was that I wanted, but he seemed to be satisfied by my
description of the unattainable God-like feeling that I at once knew about
yet had never experienced.  I told him that I would work towards finding
it, and that I would find it, wherever it was.  He muttered the words of
absolution, and I started going back to confession.

I felt for Keith beside me and wondered what Uncle Jim would say about
where the logic of that search for that Holy Grail, that unattainable
feeling, had taken me.  For the discovery I had made was that the Church
did not have the answer either, and that hypocrisy and deception were all
that they offered.  I could achieve my goal and satisfy my family's
prejudices through secrecy, deception and this complex self-indulgent
denial.  

I felt an intense urge to clench, and suppressed it.  Now, I was moving on
into a new realm.  Until now, I had been able to deceive myself.  Always
before, I had given way to desire when the feelings had become too strong.
Now, there was no longer any possibility of that.  Now I could be true to
myself - win through that barrier of self-will into the wonderful world
beyond.  Was it truly unattainable?  Or would my Holy Grail now be within
my grasp.  A moment of doubt assailed me.  Whatever the answer, I need to
find out.  I go on.  I clenched: in the intensity of my arousal and
distraction, a spontaneous vaginal contraction had occurred, and with it,
overwhelming pain from the spikes.

I went rigid and bit back the scream that wanted to expel from my throat. 
A soft sigh of a whispering scream slowly escaped as I released the clench
and fought down the intensity of my arousal.  Keith stirred at my spasm but
did not awake.  I would learn.  This suppression would become habitual and
total.  The route to my goal was not through pain, that I now knew.  Did it
lie through denial imposed by the fear of pain?  I would find out.

Day 5: Sex after Lunch.

After digesting my breakfast, there were some periods of intense exercise.
I was expected to try as many different types as I could: swimming,
running, jumping, rowing, dancing, cycling.  I even had a wrestling session
with another girl wearing a 'total denial' on her last day.  The purpose
was to discover any rubbing or pressure problems.  I was not as fit as I
would really like to be and kept running out of breath.  I had to stop for
a rest several times that morning, but they kept urging me to try as hard
as I could at every different thing.  There was not a moment to feel
aroused.

Afterwards, I showered long and slow, and then had lunch.  After lunch, it
was proposed that Keith and I retired to our room for a rest after the
exercise, (Keith had worked out along-side me).  We were told that if we
wanted sex, I was not to use hands or mouth but to do it by squeezing his
penis between my thighs.  This is something we rarely do, as I am too
afraid of it slipping into me, and doing it in our previous chastity belts
had always been uncomfortable because of their poor design.  There had
always been a risk of pregnancy also, with those chastity-belts.

Keith did not know the spikes were in place.  The belt had been removed
briefly after the exercise session just to check for fit, but had been
replaced without change.  I felt a warm glow of arousal from the knowledge
of this secret.

We lay for a while together, feeling the ache from the exercise.  There is
something about the aftermath of exercise that makes people sexually
aroused, and Keith was soon starting to notice me beside him.  I rolled
over and got on top, squeezing him between my thighs.  We kissed and just
lay there for a while.  He wanted me to move up and down, but I crossed my
feet between his legs, and just squeezed rhythmically.  "No, just leave it
to me!"

I was tantalising him with the slowness of my stimulation.  He was urging
me to speed up, trying to lift my body on top of him, but I would not
change tempo.  "No, you just do what the man said: he said just squeeze
thighs.  He didn't say anything about jigging up and down, anyway I'm too
stiff and aching from all that exercise to do that.  Just relax and let me
do the work.  

"I've decided," I said suddenly  "I think you cheat on me when I'm at work
or out.  I think you masturbate without telling me.  I think we have to get
one of these for you and only let you out when I'm around to make sure that
your only orgasms are with me."  That was getting him going.  "How often,
that depends on how I feel.  Once a week should be often enough, once every
ten days perhaps.  Maybe longer.  The guys here get it once in three
months; they seem happy enough.  How would you feel after three months? 
Ready for it?  Maybe I should stop now and let you rest, maybe I give you
too much.  Maybe its not good for you.  Did you see the belt that lets a
man fuck without coming?  Maybe I'd let you fuck me if you had one of
those.  How would it be if we both had one?  We could take turns wearing
it.  How would you feel if I got the climax and you went without?"  I could
feel him getting crazy and urgent under me.  I felt cool, calm and totally
in control.  You should just try, sometime, to squeeze your thighs without
clenching your cunt or your penis when you are highly aroused: you need to
be ever so detached and cool to do it.

"How would it feel always to have to make somebody else come but never to
come yourself?  You're a whore, a male whore, and I'm your pimp.  To stay
in condition, ready for action, you're never to come, only your clients
come.  There's a steady stream through the door, and I send them in at
twenty minute intervals all day, and you have to satisfy them all without
ever coming; you have to save it all for me.  So you wear one of those
belts to make sure that never happens."  It was getting harder to squeeze
my thighs when aroused without clenching my vulva; I had to concentrate. 
"If you come with a client, I beat you.  I cane you hard on the bum just
like you do me, and then I sting your prick with the whip again, . . . and
again, . . .  and again."  I timed strong squeezes with the last words as
he came between my thighs.  I needed so much to clench, to come, but I just
lay on him forcing my need away, nursing his waning erection between my
thighs, feeling the sticky semen slick and smooth.  

He kissed me deeply and strongly.  After a few minutes recovery, he said:
"A good thing your spikes weren't engaged!"  

"They are!"  

It took a moment or two to sink in.  "God!  How . . . ?  Since when?"

"About six this morning, I was up and doing whilst you were sleeping like a
baby.  Have a look, if you don't believe me: you've got the key,"  I said
when he started to look incredulous.

"Hey, no!. I believe you.  But . . .  Thigh-squeezing?  Wow!  How was it?"

"I felt great: calm, in control, totally able to concentrate on your needs
without thinking about mine."

"But are you . . . ?"

"I'm OK; really."  I held my hand out, palm down.  It was steady, not a
quiver, no shakes.  "I tell you, I'm feeling good, steady, calm,
comfortable.  No problems, OK?"  I had gotten a bad case of the shakes a
few times when he had violated some taboos of mine.  And some of the things
I had been saying were right in that taboo area.  Talking last night had
helped me to lay a ghost or two.  We should do it more often.

"Come.  I have to clean this sticky stuff off me before it seeps in under
my belt.  That flap on the pee-hole is not guaranteed, and I don't do the
pill, remember?  

Day 5: A visit to the Work-shops.

Later, we had the afternoon to ourselves, just walking about the gardens or
just sitting talking.  We went into the work-shops at one stage, because I
wanted to see how the male belts worked, how the clench was detected, where
the spikes would be applied.  When we had read about them, looked at
brochures, we had concentrated on the female variety, but now the male ones
had a strange attraction for me.  I knew he would never actually wear one,
but I also knew that he would be able to experience more lucid fantasies
about the reality if he had seen the details, and that I would be able to
inspire those fantasies with the right words if I knew what it was all
about.  

The male crotch-piece was moulded in two halves, right and left, which were
then fastened together with a special adhesive that had to be baked in an
oven to cure.  The sensing point was behind the testicles: the base of the
penis would move downwards and outwards with each clench.  A pair of
sensing plates were positioned either side of the urethra.  Pain was most
often applied to the dorsal nerve of the penis, just where it emerged from
the pubic bone, in front of the suspensory ligament.  A simple but elegant
slide arrangement connected the two within the thickness of the penis-tube.
 We watched as he assembled one of the two halves, and showed how a small
deflection of the detector-plate against its spring would cause the spike
suddenly to jump out.

The young man describing its action to us did so with considerable feeling.
 He told us he was wearing his for only the second month of his first three
month period.  He was clearly feeling it very deeply.  I asked if he had a
friend here, or if he was alone; all the staff seemed to live in.  

"Yes, I do.  My girl-friend works in the kitchens.  We both progressed to
this kind at the same time.  It's the ultimate, and we wanted to experience
the ultimate.  Before that, it was the 'nemo tangit' kind, but it sometimes
left us feeling kind of flat.  Just now, we're both right on the edge, if
you know what I mean."

"The edge over which lies either desperation or enlightenment?"  I said.

"Desperation is what we have at present.  It is the intangible something
beyond that that we seek."

"Do people actually achieve it?"  I asked.

"They stay; they seem happy and contented enough.  But they don't answer
the direct question.  We're waiting to see."

"So, what do you think, Keith?"  I said, holding up the penis tube. 
"Something to think about for the future?  All the guys here seem to be in
an equal share relationship.  It seems to work for them."  He didn't
answer.  He knew this was a wind-up, a reference to our previous
love-making.  

That made me think of another thing I had meant to ask:  "Tell me.  How do
you make love when neither of you is able to climax.  Do you have sex
sessions when you are in bed together?  What is the end point for you?  Is
there a clear culmination point that you both know has arrived?  What
happens?"

"That depends.  I guess it is a lot like other lovers.  Sometimes if we are
tired we just go to bed and go to sleep.  Sometimes we kiss and cuddle a
bit first.  Sometimes we have a really hot session where we practise
brinkmanship, taking each other right to the brink of letting go.  One
thing we do is to take both of us to the brink and stay there for a
lo-o-o-o-ng time.  We don't do that too often, though, it is too
exhausting."

"And do the spikes ever cut in when you do that or have you learned
sufficiently not to do that?"

"It happened once or twice with me.  I think she is much more in control of
her feelings than I am.  She went rigid a couple of times, but she said it
was an ecstatic feeling made her do that."

This talk was making me all hot and urgent again, and I had a hard fight
keeping from clenching, especially when Keith started to press the plate to
operate the spikes on the part-constructed penis tube.  

After we went out, I snuggled up to him and looked up into his eyes in the
sexiest way, saying:  "I'm frustrated, Keith, I'm horny.  It has never been
like this before, so implacable, so relentless, so absolute.  Keith, if I
ask you to fuck me will you let me out?"

"No, absolutely not; never."  I shuddered deep down inside, nearly
climaxing there and then.  I went rigid with the pain of the spikes as I
clenched involuntarily, but managed not to cry out.  What a man!  He knows
just what to say to a girl in need.

Day 5:  Training.

After dinner was another training session.  The idea here, I was told, was
to make sure that I had no fear of clenching when I was not aroused.  It
was essential for my health to exercise those muscles periodically and not
let them atrophy.  For this reason, I should at first try consciously to
clench several times a day when I was not aroused.  For this, a small
insert was placed in my anus: a pressure sensor that bleeped when a certain
pressure was reached.  Clenching the vagina also caused the anus to clench.

I get the shakes, as I have said, if my bottom is interfered with, so I
insisted on inserting the sensor myself.

I first did some physical exercise on the bicycle to ensure I was not
aroused at all.  Without the belt on, I found that clenching could easily
cause the bleep.  I next did it with the belt on but the spikes disengaged.
 It was hard to convince myself that the spikes were not going to hurt me,
and I thought of what Shirley had said.  I eventually managed to bleep the
device, and to do it repeatedly on demand.  Then the spikes were engaged. 
I did some more exercise to ensure that there was no arousal, and soon
found I could clench and bleep the device without hurting myself.  I was to
wear the bleeper all the next day, and those watching over me were to
ensure that there were bleeps during every hour throughout the day.

There was an interview session to find out how many times I had felt the
spikes cut in that day, and how I had got on with the love-making session.
I thought I had done pretty well but I was told that my performance was
much as expected, and that if the spikes had not cut in a few times, more
would have to be done to make sure that they did.  It was essential to feel
them sufficiently for the suppression of the clench to become habitual and
unconscious.  

I was told that I had had sufficient experience to spend my first night
with the spikes engaged.  This was something I especially feared, as I
often got intensely aroused in that strange state between waking and
sleeping.  

When we got to the bed-room, there was a cane and a martinet on the
dressing table.  I swallowed.

"I am to beat you tomorrow morning: one of the beatings you are due.  It is
to ensure that the appliance does not impede this process."  I felt myself
getting hot and twitching under the belt.  

This was a surprise, and, as I thought about it, I knew that the beating
was going to be a problem.  I find the tremendous conflict between
submitting to the cane and wanting to protect myself to be highly arousing.
 And when each stroke falls, there is an involuntary clench from the shock
of the stroke which I then prolong as a means of managing the pain and
nursing my arousal.  With the belt on, I would not be able to do this, and
would even have to suppress the clench response to each stroke.

I lay awake a while, wondering about the beating, and feeling a sick
apprehension.  The sort of anticipation of conflict that makes me really
aroused.  I put my hands down between my thighs, feeling the tender and
sensitive skin either side of the crotch-plate, teasing myself, knowing
that my arousal would be going nowhere.  

I was lying that way, in a warm miasma of contented frustration when I
heard the door open.  One of the helpers came in, her finger over her lip,
beckoning to me.  I got out of bed; Keith did not stir.  She led me to the
fitting room.  
Ice Man was there.  "This exercise is an important part of the spike
awareness training and a proof-test of the effectiveness of the appliance,"
he said.  "For this you have to be secured on the couch."  He gestured, and
I got up onto the couch.  

I had been expecting this, for we had read about it in the reports.  He
secured my legs in the stirrups, my wrists to the sides of the couch, and
strapped a 'butterfly' type vibrator over the crotch-plate of my
chastity-belt before securing my waist to the couch with another strap.

"The purpose is to demonstrate that, even with the most intense
stimulation, orgasm cannot occur in this device.   It will also improve
your control over the clench reaction which will be helpful during the
beating tomorrow."  

The vibrator was mains powered and he had a box with a couple of knobs on
it in the circuit.  He switched on the vibrator, and watched my reaction as
he adjusted both the strength and the speed of the vibrations.  I don't
know how he could tell, but he soon had me being stimulated at an
irresistible level.

I had used vibrators in the past, and they certainly made me orgasm, but
not in a way that gave me any real satisfaction.  During one part of my
'trying to be straight' period, I had read that Catholics can sometimes
fear the orgasm because of their religious conditioning, and that regular
use of the vibrator can overcome that.  I had religiously used it every
night for a fortnight before giving it up in disgust as failing utterly to
penetrate the complexity and subtlety of my need.

The vibrations were getting through to my physiological responses, and I
felt in an almost detached way the arousal, which had already been high,
reaching the point where I would have to clench.  Normally, with a
vibrator, I would be clenching long before this point, but I was both
consciously and subconsciously suppressing the clench, of course.  

Now, it became more and more difficult to hold it back, and I suddenly
realised that this was not just somebody trying to force an unwanted orgasm
on me, this was a tremendous challenge, a conflict of major dimensions. 
And as I realised this, and reached down into the depths of my self-will to
try to conquer the unwanted but intense stimulation, another part of me
responded to the thought of the conflict with a tremendous leap inside my
vulva that had me screaming and in tears as the spikes bit in.

The restraints were needed, then.  I writhed and struggled in my bonds,
part of me wanting to tear off the vibrator, part of me wanting to tear off
the belt.  My thighs fought to close over my tightly enclosed and protected
crotch.

I fought back the arousal, and the tears, and the clench reaction, but the
vibrator purred inexorably on, and as the pain subsided, slowly the arousal
built up again.  This time I was ready and gritted my teeth and thought of
other things as the arousal got to the point of overcoming my self-will. 
My hips rolled and struggled beneath the belt that secured my waist,
arching with the intensity of my feelings.  

In the end, the inevitable happened, another clench.  I screamed in
despair.  I had been beaten again, betrayed by my weak and fickle
physiological responses.  I determined to master them.  

Again I fought back my tears and cries, and tried to quieten my struggles.
Again the vibrator purred on, its implacable mechanical stimulus
penetrating to the very core of my being.  It seemed to search out places
that I never knew about where arousing sensations could be found.  I tried
to become detached, elsewhere, as this fickle body craved the empty solace
of a mechanical climax.  

Would the climax occur despite the appliance?  Could it occur?  Three
clenches in succession were needed, then I would be climaxing, oblivious to
further pain.  My idiot body actually wanted this, wanted the weak way, the
 . . .  "AAAAAaaarrrgh!"  

I had not been concentrating, had let the clench happen.  Again I fought
back the clench that wanted to overwhelm me, fought back my cries and my
tears, more in frustration and rage at my own weakness than through the
pain.  I struggled to bring myself to my senses.  

This time I would remain calm and focused, I would concentrate on the
sensations, not to enjoy them and have them overwhelm me, but to conquer
them and control them.  I would concentrate on suppressing the clench; it
would be easier now.

I concentrated on my breathing, using the trick of a woman in labour:
shallow panting breaths.  I calmed my body's movements, relaxing into the
restraints, letting my mind concentrate on pressing down into a permanently
relaxed state in my vulva.  There would be no more clench.  

The sensation from the vibrator had receded somewhat into a steady
tingling; my nerves were probably reaching saturation point with the
intense sensation.  This would make the thing easier to cope with, I
relaxed a bit, and found that The Inaccessible Man was adjusting the
intensity and speed.  Now, it was a deeper throbbing, less of a purr;
stronger but slower.  I felt that he was laughing at me.  This was
penetrating deeper than before.  I was determined to win.

I focused my mind on fighting off the sensation.  Something deep within me
built and built . . and built.  Soon I knew that it was futile, that the
clench could not be stopped.  Should I just let it happen, prove to him
that his device didn't work, at least, not on me.  Was I an exception?  
The only question in my mind was whether it would be just one clench or
whether there would be enough to precipitate the orgasm.  With a dreadful,
horrible inevitability, I just let it happen, knowing that I had no means
of stopping it.  "AAAAAaaarrrgh!"  

I knew, then, with absolute certainty, that there would be no orgasm for me
in this device.  The pain was just too much.  I was taken by it into a
different mind-state, one where there could be no orgasm.  And when I
returned to the mind-state that wanted the orgasm, felt the arousal, then
the moment had passed, and time would be needed again for the build-up,
which would inevitably end in the same way.

Now I knew with absolute certainty that there would be no orgasm, I could
concentrate on suppressing the clench.  There was no point to letting it
happen: it would get me nowhere. I found, then, that I could do it.  As
long as there had been the possibility of orgasm as well as pain, then I
had been letting the clench occur, responding to a small but present hope.
With no hope there, there was no reason to allow the clench.

Several minutes passed as I conquered the clench reflex, then The
Inaccessible Man deepened and intensified the vibrations once more.  Now it
was a deep throaty growl, rumbling right through my belly, setting me on
fire.  Slowly and inexorably the pressure and intensity rose.  I had more
difficulty resisting this.  Much more. . . . "AAAAAaaarrrgh!"  

Now there was only resentment that I had been subjected to this pain
unnecessarily. I was already convinced that the search for orgasm was
futile.  I spat out my venom and resentment in a rare but virulent shower
of invective.

"You can control your reaction to even this stimulus," was The Inaccessible
Man's calm reply when I had at length dried up.  He deepened and
strengthened the stimulus still further.

It was not so much a pressure that I had to exert, a forcing of a reaction,
rather it was the determination to maintain an absence, an emptiness.  This
was where I had been going wrong.  I felt lighter and easier, now, as my
whole approach suddenly inverted: just leave a gap in my response: no
reaction: so easy!

The growl persisted for several more minutes and I felt a heat in my groin
from the straining motor of the vibrator.  A tiny part of my mind was
needed now to focus on maintaining that negation of response; the rest was
almost bored by the ordeal.  I thought ahead to the beating in the morning.
 Yes, that would be easier, now, thanks to this training.  My mind started
to drift onto thoughts of that beating, and for a moment, I let go of that
negation, but I stopped myself, returning to conscious awareness before any
clench occurred.

The vibration stopped.  I felt weak and shattered.  I was unfastened from
the bonds, and helped to my feet.  I had to sit down for a while, and I had
a drink of water as my throat was on fire from the screaming.  Then I was
led back to my room, to bed.

I lay awake for a while, feeling a strange mixture of achievement and
frustration, but there was no intrusive arousal.  I no longer felt that I
had to concentrate on keeping the spikes at bay.  I was not really aware of
going to sleep, and did not wake during the night.  In the morning, I awoke
early, or rather came to in a half-awake state, and forgot about the belt
for a while but automatic reactions cut in before I had any unpleasant
reminder.  

Then I remembered the cane and the martinet, and I felt a deep shudder
inside me.  The arousal during a beating was an insulator against the pain
and the orgasm after was a soothing balm.  Now these would be denied to me.
 How would I feel?  How would I cope?

Day 5: The Beating.

After breakfast, we went together, me carrying the cane and the martinet,
to the room used for checking the fit.  Here the belt was taken off, and I
was asked to inspect myself to see if any plucking was necessary.  I had
plucked only a week before, and so there were only a few very short
pigmented hairs.  I was given tweezers and told to remove these.  Then the
belt was put back on, spikes in place.  

"If it proves to be a problem, you can get a 'no orgasm' appliance that
leaves most of the vulva exposed for the purposes of plucking,"  Keith was
told.  "We already have the measurements, so the additional cost would only
be manufacture and a little checking of fit."

"We'll see.  She sometimes comes if I don't watch her, but I think we can
manage without."

The bleeper was put back inside my bottom to detect any clenching.  A chair
had been positioned in the middle of the room.  The ritual started.

"Three weeks ago, you had an orgasm without my permission.  Do you deny
it?"  "No, Keith.  Please beat me.  Beat me so hard and long that I never
want to do it again, please!"  

He pointed to the chair.  I bent over it, grasping its front legs, my feet
either side of the back legs.  

"Remember that she is aroused by the whole process of the beating, and will
be inclined to clench involuntarily at each stroke.  Treat her as you did
the first time you beat her, starting gently, and gradually building up the
intensity as you see how she takes it."

I felt on fire as I waited for the first stroke to land.  I was in as
intense a state of conflict as I could remember.  I knew that I would have
to use every effort of will to prevent the stroke causing the clench. 
Normally he would have to tell me to stop clenching and would threaten
extra strokes to get me to stop between each.  Could I use the same sort of
negation here as I had learned last night?  I would have to learn it as it
was a different reaction.  I felt the cane tap gently against my bottom as
he took aim.  

There was a brief disturbance of air, and a line of fire painted itself
across my bottom.  It was not hard at all, but it stung, and I consciously
forced myself to exhale slowly and to bear down to oppose the desire to
clench.  Oh!  This was intense and massive internal strife.  So much I
needed to clench!  So hard I fought to oppose this irresistible force! 
What glory!  What ecstasy!

I said the words demanded by the ritual:  "Please, Keith, that was not hard
enough.  Please beat me so hard that I never want to have another orgasm
again without your permission."

There was a long pause.  I was trying to hold my breath so as to be ready
for it, but he took me by surprise, striking just as I breathed out.  Again
the brief whurrp of disturbed air and the cane stung my bottom again, just
a little harder, and lower so it hurt more.  I jerked a little in surprise
but avoided the clench as I sucked in air through pursed lips.  The power I
needed for self-control was extreme.  I tried to be calm, to detach myself.
 Always before when I was beaten, I would offset the pain by means of
fantasy, by imagining myself somewhere else; that this was happening to
another.  Now I could not, for to do so would have meant that the body's
automatic responses would occur, and I would be brought back sharply by
those spikes.  I fought back my habits of the past and concentrated on
winning this battle between self and will.

Each successive stroke was a little stronger than the last, and he waited
between each so that I relaxed, and had time for the pain to sink in and
become strong.  This delay also meant that I could not receive the stroke
with tightly held breath, but had simply to take it unprepared.  The need
to clench to nurse the pain was enormous.  The need to distract myself was
terrible, but the need to concentrate to keep the spikes at bay was
overwhelming.  Above all, the powerful intensity of the complex
multi-faceted conflict was an intense fire within me.

Eventually, the inevitable happened, as I am sure it was meant to.  The
stroke became so hard and my arousal from this intense internal conflict
became so strong that the spikes bit in.  I do not cry out from a beating,
but I cried out at this: I cried out not so much from the pain as from my
self-condemnation that I had lost this, my first challenge of a beating.  I
knew that there would be many more such battles, and that my ability to
endure and sustain my self-control would increase, but for now, I had lost.
 I felt ashamed at my weakness.  I had had harder beatings in the past, but
then I had always had the clench to help me.

After I had recovered, I again uttered the words, asking for the beating to
increase in strength.  My arousal was less, now, but I was determined to
prove myself.  I tried to focus on the sort of negation I had learned last
night.  The next stroke landed equally hard, not harder, and I was able to
sustain it, to suppress the clench.  There were three more, equally hard,
and I did not clench again; the negation was starting to work.  

Then Keith uttered the words that ended the ritual: "If I do it any harder,
Miranda, I will do you a permanent injury, so I'm going to stop, now.  I
think I will have to whip you on the cunt instead."

Afterwards, I remained there as I recovered, and felt the awfulness of
being denied the ability to clench into my arousal as a means of slaking my
suffering.  I concentrated on negating my need, and this made me feel the
intensity of the pain in my bottom all the more.

When I got up, half an hour later, the arousal had mostly gone.  The belt
was removed, and both it and I were checked for damage.  There was a fear
that the pressure waves that surge through the flesh from each stroke would
cause bruising where they impacted the belt-edge.  The belt was designed as
far as possible to avoid this, but the part round the bottom hole was
clearly right under the firing line.  There was fortunately very little
bruising or swelling in these areas.  I looked at the damage to my bottom
in the mirror: it was not as much as I had sometimes received, but nothing
to be ashamed of.

Next was to be the cunt-whipping.  The belt was taken off.  I lay back on
the couch, legs raised and apart, resting but not secured in the stirrups,
my bottom hanging over the edge of the couch.  Usually, at home, my knees
would be right up beside my shoulders, but the stirrups made my legs
farther apart and not so high.  The martinet stings horribly, but there is
little deep pain because it is not very heavy.  I generally clenched
tightly with every stroke, and wondered what would be expected of me this
time.  Instead of clutching my ankles, I grasped the bar at the top of the
couch.

It felt strange not to have the belt with its spikes in place, as if this
were somehow easier, and that I was cheating.  He laid it on thick this
time; perhaps he was showing off.  He really made me suffer, and he beat
quickly, rather than his usual slow and methodical style.  I was told later
that he had been instructed to do it as hard as I was ever likely to get it
so that the belt would be proved under worst-case conditions.  I was really
in one single clench all through, and certainly had no opportunity to raise
my arousal to orgasm point.  Immediately he had finished, the belt was
clapped back in place quickly, spikes engaged, as I lay on the couch.  It
took me by surprise, and I had to fight hard to suppress the clench as the
intensity of the pain built.  

I really wanted and needed the ability, then, to clench in my arousal, to
ease the suffering of my wounded cunt.  The soothing balm of orgasm would
have been very welcome.  It was not to be.  My suffering was to be enjoyed
to the full.  I throbbed, and smarted, and ached.  I lay there and started
to think of the way I used to orgasm in this situation; now I could not.
The conflict between the extreme desire and the inability caused by the
belt heightened my arousal wonderfully, causing a glorious agony of
heightened frustration.

Afterwards, the belt was taken off and the parts inspected to see if the
swelling from the beating was affecting the fit of the belt.  I felt puffy
and full inside the crotch-plate as it was refitted, but I was told that
there was no need for it to be left off: that the swelling would be
contained by the device and would not cause health problems.  It had been
built with some extra space inside for this very purpose, and now it was
merely a question of checking that the calculations had been right.  

I walked around a little gingerly for the next few hours, but it eased up
after a brisk session on the exercise bicycle.  I was checked again at
intervals through the rest of that day but there were no problems.

Day 6: Recollections

That night, as I lay in bed, I thought about my long and varied search for
effective denial.  My needs were very clear: I needed to feel safe against
rape and pregnancy and also to be denied orgasm for long periods.  I
recognised that orgasm would be required from time to time as a
physiological necessity, but that it was essential to minimise this.  I
remembered some of the things I had done and considered doing towards this
end.

I had made many chastity belts, of course.  I had attended evening classes
to learn metal-work.  This was after I had left school, for the convent
school had not had metal-work on its curriculum.  It was not possible to
make a chastity belt in the class, (just imagine the instructor's reaction,
the questions of the other students), and the bed-sit that I was living in
had little in the way of opportunity for setting up a work-shop.  I did,
however, later make a stainless steel device that was quite ineffective and
gave me a nasty case of vaginal dermatitis.

I remembered that I once read about the operations that were performed on
women in Somalia and The Sudan.  How they have the clitoris cut away deeply
and the whole of the vaginal lips cut away and sewed up to reduce it to a
tiny hole.  I dreamed for a long time of travelling over there and getting
a doctor to sew me up just like the native girls are.  I fantasised what it
would be like to touch myself down there and to find nothing to play with,
to masturbate, to stimulate.  I imagined how it would be when the wound was
part healed, to get aroused and to feel the internal pressure of arousal
against the wound causing intolerable pain and suffering, preventing the
clench through the strength of the pain.  I would often orgasm to that
thought, wanting so much to be placed in that situation.  But in the same
book I read how girls still get raped and sometimes become pregnant through
the pin-hole vagina that remains, and I realised that this would not be
fully satisfactory to me.

I remembered how, even before I left home, I would sometimes sleep with my
ankles tied apart in the bed and my wrists tied to the bed-head to prevent
myself touching myself or squeezing my thighs together.  But I always had
to do it in such a way that I could escape, and I realised that the
absolute implacability of a restraint applied by another and  the
incapability of escape were important considerations for me.

I once tried self-hypnosis to stop myself from touching myself or having
orgasms, but I could never make this work: if I relaxed deeply enough to be
susceptible to hypnosis, I would be too relaxed to give myself the
necessary instructions.  I thought of going to a professional hypnotist,
but when I tried to work out how I would explain my needs, I felt that he
would think me insane and refuse to treat me.

I even had a succession of boy-friends and girl-friends, whose only
interest for me was to be the supervisor of this denial.  Most got bored
within a very few days, and all wanted more from me than I was prepared to
give.  

I met Keith quite by accident.  I had become resigned to the frustration of
my ambition, and was considering a conventional life of marriage and
mother-hood.  I had not yet decided who would be the victim of my plan, nor
how to cope with the things about that plan that I found unthinkable, but I
was resigned to the non-achievable nature of my ambitions, and to the
necessity of becoming more ordinary.  I felt, indeed, some need for
companionship and even love.

I was doing a good job by then, managing a small office for a large
business.  But this offered very little social opportunities that would not
compromise my managerial position.  I had started to lay plans for meeting
people in a social environment, taking evening classes, (OK it was
metal-work again, for I now had enough private space for a small work-shop
and some tools), and going to the occasional party.  

I met Keith, however, at a conference I went to through my work.  I had
given a presentation.  Afterwards, at the rather noisy social event that
was to wind up the conference, we got talking about what I had been saying
in my paper.  We both felt a bit disinclined towards the socialising, and
sought somewhere quieter to talk.  As we chatted, we realised that we lived
quite close together and had a lot of interests in common.  We arranged to
meet up a few days later and go out for a quiet meal and a night at a
symphony concert.  We started going out quite regularly, and I felt it
strange, but encouraging, that he didn't try to bed me as most men I had
known would.  

One time we went to Amsterdam together, spending a few days visiting the
sights.  We stayed right in the centre, near to the red light district,
sleeping in separate rooms.  One night returning from a restaurant, we
passed a sex-shop.  We suddenly realised that both of us had stopped,
gazing mesmerised at a large glossy photograph of a girl in a very
professional-looking chastity belt.  We both suddenly became embarrassed
and aware of the other's interest.  

We were both about to apologise and then realised that we were interested
in the same thing.  I said: "Is there something we need to discuss?"  At
the same time he said "Snap!"

That broke the ice, and we were able, after some hesitation, to discuss our
needs: his to cause denial of orgasm to another, mine to be denied by
another.  It took a little time to become fully open and to realise just
how compatible we were.  The next day we went into some sex-shops and
bought what we could on the subject of chastity and sexual denial; it was
very little, for this is a rare and specialised subject with few
connoisseurs and fewer providers of the necessary equipment.

I fell asleep recalling those hesitant first steps towards knowing one
another in our special sexual way.  Remembering the long and tortuous route
to The Inaccessible House and this terrible, inexorable, wonderful thing
that I now wore.  I fell asleep with a warm glow of accomplishment.

Day 7: 

I woke, again forgetting the chastity belt at first, but waking far enough
to suppress my fantasy before I got to clench-point.  I was learning.

After breakfast, there was to be one last test before we left to go home. 
I was taken to the bed-room I had first occupied when I arrived; Keith was
not with me.  This time, there was a TV on a small table, a suit-case which
I found had all my clothes in , and a pair of powerful shears, capable of
cutting through strong plastic; otherwise, nothing had changed.  My
hospital gown was taken away, and I was left naked except for the chastity
belt.  The door closed.  

I had nothing to do for a while.  Bored, I remembered some of the events of
the last time I was in there, of the fantasies I had experienced, of the
last time I had watched myself playing with myself in front of that mirror.
 I looked at myself, admiring the fit of the belt, admiring the trim lines
of my body, becoming aroused as I fingered my nipples.  As I was watching
myself, the TV came alive, and a film started showing.  It was me.  It had
been taken through that mirror which must be false.  It showed me leaning
back on the stool, touching my cunt, opening the folds of flesh, exposing
the interior, examining the clitoris and labia, starting to masturbate.  

At first I was indignant that my privacy had been violated in this way, but
then I realised that much deeper privacies had been violated that week.  I
started watching the film, wanting to catch another glimpse of that now
hidden and forbidden part.  Wanting to re-experience that time, that
pleasure.  I watched myself rise and progress towards that climax,
remembering the details of my fantasy that I had experienced then.  I
forgot the time, the place, the belt, everything; I was there.  I watched
myself come towards my climax, and my muscles straining rigid, and I found
myself, for reasons I could not then remember, negating the clenching,
warding off the climax.  As the person in the video relaxed in
post-orgasmic bliss and contentment, I nursed my intensity of frustration,
the inward battle still fierce within me.  

So . . . did I glory in my present state or desire to return to my former
one?  This was the clear question posed by the film and by the situation. 
I could go back or forward.  Which would I choose?  I noticed the shears
beside the TV set.  I picked them up.  I fitted them behind the bar that
ran down in front of my hip towards my vulva.  I felt so very much like
pressing the blades closed.  Then I thought about the need to win. 
Especially the need to win over myself, over my own weakness.  I put them
down.  I went and laid on the bed; I gloried and suffered as the agony and
intensity of profound unsatisfied need slowly seeped through me.  

When, at last, it all subsided, I got dressed.  I picked up my suit-case
and went out to meet Keith.




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