“Her Prisoner”

It started as an idea, a game. I had always wanted to try it.

I asked Mistress Paris whether she ever kept males locked in chastity. She said that she did, and we talked a little about what I had in mind. An experiment. A game. Perhaps a week, just to see what it felt like to be locked in chastity by a beautiful dominant woman.

That was three and a half months ago. Ever since, I have been trapped in my own personal hell, with my own private tormentress stoking the flames of my suffering.

It started innocently enough. She measured me for the device and ordered it herself, though at my expense, naturally. I can remember her looking at the tape measure. “Hmm, small,” she said in a disappointed voice. I remember lots of little things like that.

The device took a couple of weeks to arrive and I was eager to get started when she finally called me. We talked again about what I had in mind, and she explained that in order give me an unforgettable experience, it was important that she had complete control. I would be locked, and until she decided to release me, I would be completely under her control. I would have no say. I hesitated, but I trusted her and agreed. She fitted the infernal thing over my cock – a very tight fit – and threaded a small brass padlock through the pin. Before pinching the lock shut, she looked deep into my eyes. “I will have total control,” she said. “Do you agree?”. I nodded. There was a small click and then she smiled. That’s how it started.

The first thing I noticed was that it seemed very scratchy, even though the steel looked shiny. She explained why. She had ordered a spiked cage: there were small steel spikes on the inside of the device, there to make wearer extremely uncomfortable when aroused. They would not draw blood, she assured me. But as the excitement of my predicament grew, so did the pain. I was starting to understand. She wanted total control, and that meant I couldn’t even get hard without suffering.

She said she would call me, and I left, feeling dizzy, my dick stinging from the spikes. And of course, the more I thought about being locked and helpless inside her prison of pain, the more my arousal grew. That first night was agony. The next morning was worse. But eventually, I managed to lose myself in work and the discomfort subsided. When I was not aroused at all, the device was comfortable, though a strange ever-present sensation.

After a couple of days, the first text message arrived. “How are you feeling?” it said. I was in a meeting at the time, and so distracted by her message that I had no idea what anyone said after that. After the meeting, I sent a reply: “Suffering but surviving, Mistress”. Almost immediately she replied. “Too slow, £20 fine +1 extra day.” My heart was thumping when I read it. She was going to fine me and extend my time for not replying quickly enough!? The spikes started to dig into me again, and it became even clearer how she wanted to have total control.

She texted me several times over the coming days. Her favourite question was, “How long has it been?” Text messages must be answered within a minute or two, I discovered, and that particular message must be answered precisely, “Two days and 12 hours Mistress”. She would also ask, “Are you frustrated?” and, “Are you thinking about me?”. I learned the hard way that giving the one-word answers to these questions also earned me penalties. I am now constantly thinking about Mistress Paris, how long I have been locked by her and how frustrated I am. It goes round and round in my mind, from the moment I get up to when I go to bed. She tortures me with it deliberately.

But the mental torture and gnawing frustration of my long days and nights are nothing compared to the personal sessions she makes me endure.

I was first summoned after about two weeks, naively hoping that she might release me. I can’t believe I was such a fool. She took me to her dungeon and ordered me to strip, grinning at the silver device. Of course she was dressed to thrill, and with the added excitement of being naked in her lair, my cock was throbbing with pain from the spikes. She mocked me, twisting the device and watching me grimace in pain, laughing.

Then she asked whether I wanted to be released. Of course I said yes. She seemed to agree. “Very well, I will release you if you can endure a little suffering today.” Like a lamb, I allowed her to chain me spread eagled on her cross. She smiled and left for a few minutes. When she returned, she had a small key on a chain, dangling it in front of me. “Freedom is your prize,” she said, “But you have to earn it, by suffering for me.”

Then she unlocked and removed the device. For the first time in weeks, I was free. She wrapped her warm hand gently around my desperately hard cock, stroking it agonizingly slowly. After just a few seconds of this, I was begging her to let me cum, pulling at the chains that held me fast, but she just laughed. “Either you can suffer a little pain and be released, or you can have another week in that prison,” she said, still teasing my cock and grinning at me. “Christ! Please! No more chastity, please!” I begged. She grinned at me for a few moments, then without warning she slammed her knee into my balls. I screamed in agony, the pain was indescribable compared to the delicious feeling of her hand a moment before. I tugged desperately at the steel and leather straps holding me, but I was completely unable to escape.

She watched me suffer with indifference. Then, when I had recovered a little, she asked me again softly, “Pain, or an extra week?” I just begged her for mercy, not answering, not wanting either pain or chastity. So she chose for me, kneeing me again, even harder than before. I screamed a plea for mercy. I felt sick with the pain. All I could feel was pain. I would do anything to make it stop. Anything.

Then she asked me again, calmly: pain or an extra week, and I just crumbled. I begged for an extra week of chastity, in tears. The last thing in the world I would have wanted an hour earlier, now I was begging her to keep me locked and frustrated for a whole week.

And so laughing at my weakness, she forced the steel cage back over my cock, squeezing my tender balls through the ring, and I heard that sickening click once more. How short a week is when you are free. How long, when you are a prisoner. I was disgusted with myself for being such a wimp, for not being able to take a little pain, and for being locked and frustrated again as a result. I hated myself every time the spikes dug into my flesh. I resolved to be stronger next time. To take the pain. To see it through. To be released.

I earned a few more penalties that week, and she eventually called me back after ten days. Once again I found myself strapped naked on her cross, and once again she teased my cock mercilessly without allowing me any release, mocking me as I pleaded with her to let me cum, even just once. But of course she would not. She kept this up for maybe half an hour, until I was insane with frustration.

Then the question was the same, endure the pain or take extra time in chastity. I was terrified, but chose the pain. I think she saw the determination in my face, but whatever it was, she chose a different punishment this time: a vicious ball clamp.

The game was different this time too. She screwed the clamp onto my balls, slowing as I started to groan from the discomfort, eventually stopping when I hissed and growled from the pain. Only then did she ask me, while my balls were still being crushed, “Pain or chastity?” I pleaded with her – I was in such pain already, was this not enough? But it was not. She tightened the clamp and I cried out in agony. Eventually, when I had somehow managed to regain the ability to speak through gritted teeth, she asked me again, “Pain or chastity?” I tried to form the word “pain” through a grimace of terror, and she nodded, calmly tightening the clamp again. But then I just panicked, begging and screaming for her to stop the pain, sobbing from the suffering and the utter defeat. She stopped immediately, mocking me as a spineless wimp instead.

Once again, I was locked back into my private prison and kicked out, to wait another week in desperation and frustration.

I have visited her six times in all, so far. Each time she has offered to release me, and each time she has broken my will until I beg her to stop the pain and keep me locked in steel for longer. I have been ball-busted, clamped, paddled, tawsed and electrocuted. I could handle none of them.

I have no idea how long she will torture me like this. Either she is the most magnificently perfectly dominatrix alive, or she has been sent by Satan himself to personally torment me. She is in total control of my cock. I would do anything to secure release, and she knows it. She even enjoys it. The worst of it is that I asked for this, and I keep begging for it to go on. As though she forces me to bring this on myself as some sort of cruel joke for her own amusement.

But then, she promised it would be an unforgettable experience. She keeps her promises.

Advertisements