By slave 187.227
My phone beeped with a new message.
“How long has it been?”
Her message arrived as I was driving home and I immediately pulled over to respond as quickly as possible. Failing to respond to her texts within a couple of minutes always resulted in pain or more of the frustrating agony that was the life of steel enforced chastity that she held me in.
“Five months, three weeks and six days, Mistress. Thank you,” I responded. I always knew exactly how long she had kept me locked in chastity. She knew too. If I responded with the wrong answer, she would punish me. It was one of the many ways she kept me constantly on edge, constantly thinking about how desperate I was to escape this hell.
Normally she did not respond to my messages, unless they were late or I had given the wrong answer, so when the phone beeped again after a minute or two I pulled the car over again, nervous of what demands she might be making.
“So it’s the Big Six tomorrow. My place at 7pm to celebrate.”
She meant six months. My heart sank. It felt like six years. The constant reminder of the spikes on the steel device that imprisoned my cock. The continuous mental torture of her messages and mind games. The threat of the release of her “mail bag” of pictures if I dared to cut the device off. The physical punishments she made me endure for her amusement. Worst of all, the not knowing – not knowing how long she would torture me like this.
I was not looking forward to her ‘celebration’ of my endurance. Experience told me that if there was any fun to be had, it would be had by her and at my expense, often at my considerable expense. But of course I had no option but to attend, and be punctual.
She was smiling when she opened the door and invited me in. She seemed genuinely happy, and not in the usual mocking sense where she deliberately laughed at me. I wondered whether it was the start of some sort of cruel game. But I had no choice but to go along.
She led me down to the dungeon, which was normal, but then she said, “Why don’t you get comfortable while I pour us both a drink?” I immediately understood the code to get undressed, but I was used to it being barked as an order to strip, and it never came with the promise of a drink. I undressed nervously, watching her fetch two fluted glasses and a bottle from the fridge. Despite the distraction of the drinks, I could not help but respond to the situation – naked, at her mercy, watching the sway of her delicious curves beneath her leather jacket and lycra leggings. My desperate cock made a hapless bid for freedom, only to be dashed against the steel spikes of its prison.
Before she poured the drinks, she came back to me carrying an arrangement of leather, chains and handcuffs. She buckled and secured a wide leather collar around my neck, from which fell two short chains with open manacles on the end. I could feel more chain dangling from the collar down my back. She gently took my wrists and closed a cuff around each of them. My hands could reach down to belly-button height before the chain stopped them, but otherwise I was relatively free to move. This was another of her favourite restraints, keeping my hands away from my cock while she teased. Things were not looking good.
She poured the drinks – some sort of sparkling wine – and handed me one. We clinked glasses, even though I felt absurd standing with her naked and chained.
“Well. Six months,” she said with a sigh. “Hasn’t the time just flown by?”
I felt a twinge of anger, but smiled as politely as I could. “Yes, Mistress.”
“You know, I am really enjoying this very very much,” she said. “When I think back to when you first asked me to keep you locked,” she smiled, looking into the distance. “I wasn’t sure whether it would be fun or not,” she took a long sip from her glass, “but you really are such an interesting slave to toy with.” She giggled. “You get so desperate and frustrated locked in there! And you react so wonderfully when I tease you – the tears and the begging, I absolutely love it!”
So this was today’s game. Mockery and tease, and I was pretty sure, denial and utter frustration. I smiled as bravely as I could, sipping my wine.
“Oh yes, I know,” she said, reading my face. “I know you hate it.” The sympathy seemed fake. “But that’s why you love it, right? If you didn’t hate it, you wouldn’t love it. And if you didn’t hate it, I wouldn’t love it either!” I nodded stiffly. “So anyway,” she said caressing the cock cage, “I was thinking that perhaps we should let you out on your special anniversary. What do you think?”
Her touching the cage gave me another surge of spiked pain. This was probably just another mind fuck, like so many before. She would somehow build me up and then crush me and laugh in my face. But the opportunity was too precious to miss. “I would like that very much Mistress,” I said as earnestly as I could.
“Let’s do it,” she said, taking the drink from my hand and pushing me backwards gently. I bumped into a metal pillar, hard against my back. She pressed up against my body, the zips and studs on her jacket cold against my bare skin. “After all,” she said breathing into my face, “we can’t keep you frustrated forever, can we?” I shook my head, not daring to speak. She put a hand behind my neck and clipped the collar to the post I was pressed back against. Then she pulled away slightly and slowly pulled down the zip of her jacket, her eyes fixed on mine. I watched closely as the parting leather revealed her smooth skin and the soft curves of her breasts. A small key nestled between them on a fine chain. “See anything you like?” she purred.
My cock was now raging, impaling itself on a dozen or more points of pain. Seeing me wince, she reached down and stroked the steel, twisting it slowly back and forth, watching my reaction. “Oh… ffff…ffuck… please… please let me free, please,” I moaned.
She smiled. “Of course. All you had to do was ask,” she said taking the small key from around her neck. Squatting down she slipped the key into the padlock on my cage and I heard the sweet click of freedom. Standing up, she showed me the key and lock, grinning. My hands instinctively reached down, but the chains of the cuffs kept them just out of reach, even stretching my fingers down desperately. “Naughty,” she teased, “no touching until I say so.” She waggled her finger in mock disapproval. Again my cock swelled against the steel pins, even though the cage was unlocked, held in place by the huge erection trapped inside it.
She put her hand down around the cage and once again started to twist it slowly back and forth. The pins scratched into my sensitive skin again and I groaned, gritting my teeth. “Well, I’ve told you before,” she said unsympathetically. “If you keep getting those hardons, then you’ll just make pain for yourself. If you don’t soften up soon, it will be agony to pull this thing off.” But of course there was nothing I could do. If anything, the threat of painful cock punishment being dished out by a leather-clad Goddess just made me harder. The slow twisting continued and I could feel the cage slowly inching off my dick, but it felt like it was taking all the skin with it. I growled with agony, but she did not stop, eventually working the infernal thing off.
Finally, my throbbing cock pointed out and upward, harder than I’ve ever known it. I pulled down on the chains around my wrists, desperate to touch myself, but I could not reach. I was free, but I was still trapped, just as she intended.
Laughing softly, she stood back from me and ran a finger along the underside of my cock. “My my, aren’t we keen?”
“Please… please, just let me free,” I begged.
“Soon,” she said, “but I think you really shouldn’t have had that hardon while I removed the cage. You have some very nasty scratches and marks where the pins have been pressing all these weeks. I’ll put some cream on them, that will sooth the pain.”
She walked away, grinning darkly, leaving my cock waving in free space. And I was unable to do anything except twist on the collar that was clipped to the post and wave my hands helplessly above my waist. She casually opened draws and cupboards, supposedly looking for cream, though I was pretty sure it was just an act, intended to frustrate me.
Eventually she ‘found’ the tube of cream she was looking for and came back to me, lifting my cock with one finger and squeezing out a line of cream along the top. Then, grinning at me, she started to massage the cream into my skin. Slowly. Too slowly. Too slowly to get any pleasure. I tried to buck my hips to press against her. “Stop that,” she said sternly, and I tried to stop, but the agonising tease of her warm hands and the slippery cream meant that I just couldn’t help myself, trying to push against her hand as she massaged me. “I said stop that,” she shouted, and sighing she picked up the belt from my trousers and buckled it tightly around my upper thighs, pinning my legs to the post as well. “There, that should keep you still,” she said, continuing the massage me with the cream.
“So has the pain stopped now? It may sting a little, but this is a mixture of antiseptic and analgesic, so it should heal as well as help with the pain.” It was true, there was a tingling from the cream, but after a minute or two of the most maddeningly erotic massage I’ve ever had, the pain from the scratches had indeed subsided. Unfortunately, my desperate need to cum had not.
“Please Mistress, please please let me cum, please. Just once, please. I’ll do anything, please.”
“Anything?” she said, amused.
“Anything, I swear, I’ll do whatever you want, please… just… please, just once, please…”
“Hmm… well, it is a special anniversary. I suppose that would be fair.”
I dare not really believe that I would finally be able to cum, after all these months, but she seemed to be agreeing. Of course it would not be unlike her to let me get within an inch of release and then ruin it for me. Or just change her mind. Or kick me in the balls until I decide that I don’t want to cum after all. But I was so desperate, I had to try.
“How long do you need?” she asked. I looked puzzled and she sighed. “How long will it take you to jerk off? I haven’t got all day you know.” I made some uncertain noises and she snorted. “Yeah, whatever, you get two minutes, that’s it.” She walked away again, then came back with a small egg timer and her iPhone. “And of course this is going to go into the mailbag. So if you piss me off, all of your family and friends get to watch you jerk off. That’s the deal. You cum, I keep the video. You fuck me off, I post it to everyone you know. Deal?”
I could feel the humiliation creep over me like a black cloud. This woman was going to keep me under total control, and if I did anything to try to escape she would destroy me. And if I wanted to cum – and I was desperate to cum – I would have to give her even more power to destroy me. I had no choice. She had won again. All I could do was to try to enjoy one sweet orgasm before facing whatever future she had planned. “Deal,” I muttered, looking down.
She pressed some buttons on the egg timer, then did something with the chain fixing my right hand to the collar. The chain loosened and I found I could reach down to my cock. Just being able to touch my own smooth skin was unbelievably arousing, and I closed my eyes, feeling the slipperiness of my hard cock, still covered in the cream she had smothered me with.
“And here we have my chastity slave,” I heard her voice say. Opening my eyes suddenly, I found her pointing her iPhone camera directly at my face. I must have looked startled because she laughed out loud. “I’ve kept him locked in chastity for six months,” she continued, still laughing. “That’s right folks, I’ve kept him locked up, without access to his little dick for all that time. But today, as a special treat, I’m letting him jerk off…I’ve given him two minutes. Let’s watch shall we?” She pulled back, panning the camera down to my crotch.
When I first went to see her years ago, I had been forced to masturbate in front of Mistress Paris and her friends as a favourite humiliation of theirs. But that feeling was nothing compared to the feeling of being videoed, with the express purpose of that video being used to blackmail me into playing whatever depraved sadistic games she had planned for me. I told myself to just concentrate on my two-minute release. After all, I was paying for it dearly. But it felt like no matter how much I stroked myself, there was no real pleasure. All I could get was the feeling of powerlessness and humiliation. My dick didn’t seem to be interested, even though I know I was desperate to cum.
“Oh dear,” she said. “I think something must be wrong.” She laughed out loud again, this time a cruel mocking laugh. “I think that numbing cream I massaged him with must be making things difficult. Oh dear… and he only has two minutes… no, wait, now it’s just over one minute!”
The horror of the situation burst over me. I could not cum. She had deliberately set this up so that I could not cum, and she was going to video my humiliation and use it to torture me even more. I was bright red with humiliation, sweat and frustration, beating my cock as fast as I could, but there was barely any feeling.
“Just ten seconds to go folks… will he make it, or will he fail.. ” she was pissing herself laughing now, moving to video me from the side. “Five… four… three… two… one, and…” Then she yanked the chain behind my back, pulling my hand up and away from my frustrated cock. “Time’s up, loser,” she mocked. “Better luck next time!!”. She was still filming the look of defeat on my face.
All I could do was to hang on the post, waving my hands, panting and clenching and unclenching my fists. I felt tears forming in my eyes. She caught those on camera too, mocking me. I just wanted to curl up and die.
She left me alone for a few minutes.
When she came back she had no camera, but she was beaming that cruel smile that she uses when she knows I am broken. “Well, you didn’t think I’d just let you cum without a little fun, did you?” she asked. I shook my head, not looking at her. “No, of course not. But I am going to allow you a little more freedom from now on.” Puzzled, I looked up. “I’ve decided to allow you the possibility of release sometimes.” I looked at her, not understanding, not believing. “Sometimes,” she repeated. “When the mood takes me.” She grinned and I felt sick inside. “Maybe for good behaviour,” she added.
My cock had completely softened after its failure, and she took the opportunity to return it to its spiked prison. I was so used to the feeling, it was almost comforting to feel the familiar embrace of steel and pins. But inside me, I felt a bit more control ebb away as she clicked the lock on the device.
She uncuffed me, ordered me to get dressed and roughly pushed me upstairs and out of the front door.
“You get another chance in a month’s time,” she said as I walked away. I span round in disbelief. “Maybe six weeks,” she added, “depending on my mood.” She burst out laughing.
Before I could say anything, she slammed the door.
I could still hear her laughing as I walked away.