The Fitting

The Fitting (F, chastity belt, denial, frust, b/d, cp, cons)
Jo G 

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

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.

The Fitting

Part 2

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 Ice 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.

The Fitting

Part 3

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 Ice 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.

The Fitting

Part 4

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 Ice 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 Ice 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.

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.

The Fitting

Part 6

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 Ice 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 Ice 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 Ice 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
castity-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 irresistable 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 difficlt 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 restraiints 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 ot 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 receeded 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 Ice 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 tne clench reflex, then The Ice
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 Ice
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.

The Fitting

Part 7

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 Ice 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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