The Fitting
Part 1
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 Ice 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 Ice 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 Ice 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 Ice 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.
