Message-ID: <27279asstr$973465824@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: joggermcc@my-deja.com X-Original-Message-ID: <8u4h50$pjc$1@nnrp1.deja.com> X-Article-Creation-Date: Sun Nov 05 20:49:38 2000 GMT Subject: {ASSM} <*> The Fitting (F, chastity belt, denial, frust, b/d, cp, cons) 1/ Date: Sun, 5 Nov 2000 18:10:25 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, dennyw, newsman 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. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+