The Fitting
Part 5
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 Ice 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 Ice 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 Ice 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 Ice 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 Ice 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 Ice 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 Ice 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 Ice Man. I grimaced,
tightened my lips and finished the job. I washed her pubis. I checked
that the spikes were disengaged; The Ice 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 Ice 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 Ice 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.
