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It could almost be a ‘modern Christian living’ advice column, couldn’t it? 🙂

Anyway, I wanted to give an update on the chastity belt too. Main findings: A) Leather is difficult for down there to keep nice and clean! B) The metal belts are hella expensive! If anyone can suggest where we can go to spend $300 and get a petite-sized hygienic short term belt, please, let me know!!!

And moving on to the fun stuff: this had actually turned into quite a reward. I just loved it far too much. “Oooh, a vibrator and a little butt plug, ooh, I’m all locked up! Hot!” So for a while he withheld it from me, to keep me begging, unsatisfied, and willing to do anything to get it. We eventually reached a bit of an impasse, particularly as it should be an effective mental tool to keep me in that headspace, down there, rather than just pleasuring me with its tightness.

So, compromise found. Have I mentioned that my husband is actually a real sadist at heart? I know we throw that term around in the scene around a lot, but, how else would you describe someone who has once fucked me anally until I cried, then immediately rammed in a fairly medium/large butt plug (larger than his cock, at least, and he’s massive), belted me up, padlocked it in – oh and I should mention my wrists were shackled above my head to the headboard – he then shackled my ankles to the foot of the bed, blindfolded and gagged me with the hood and an inflatable gag that he inflated til my mouth was wider than deep throating, and THEN, while I was fucking going out of my skull with the whole horrific scene, THEN, he started pushing on that fucking chastity belt, ramming that plug deeper and deeper, making it thud into me, reverberate through me, making me swear I was splitting open.

This is both making me wet to recall, and I’m also getting the clutch of fear at my heart that I get with the heaviest scenes. I know at those moments, there’s no stopping him.

Two years ago, this scene could never have happened.

These days, this is exactly the sort of thing that does happen. How do I live with not stopping him? How do I cope with being in there and not having any control, whatsoever?

This has gone off course slightly. I was talking about the chastity belt.

Anyway, now to just ramble on a bit more about the submission. He left me in that position for what felt like eternity, and he swore to me afterwards was only 45 minutes. I had to concentrate on breathing – through the tears, through the choking sensation, through the searing pain in my ass, through the knifeplay on my nipples. I managed it. I made it through, feeling my cunt get wetter and cursing myself, my body, my holes, my self, my mind, my cunt, my self. Giving in and remembering that he is in control. He became my light on the ocean – the talisman I held fast to in my mind – that my Master could be trusted. Trusted to do whatever was right, and good. And that if he was doing it, it was right. And if it was right, then it was good I was getting wet, and good I was screaming in my mind, and good I was humiliated to know I deserved it, and that I knew that wasn’t bullshit, some lie I tell myself, but the genuine truth. I gave myself to this when we agreed I couldn’t be trusted with my own cunt. I gave myself to this when we recognised that I was only happy in bed when I was in the deepest darkest headspace.

So I deserve it. I need it. It fills some aching vacuum that has been begging for pleasure since I first masturbated to the thought of being abducted and raped.

So I hate every second of it, and I give up mentally and stop trying to think about hate, about love, and about me. I just let it happen, and I calmed down, and it hurt, and my ass burned, and I just held fast to the knowledge that this was right.

After 45 minutes he stopped doing things to me. He took out the gag. He put down the knife. He kissed me. He fucked my face, gently, roughly, til I choked. He took off the hood. He looked in my eyes and smiled. He took off the nipple clamps, he left the shackles on but released them from the bed. He held me, he talked to me, he let me cry and beg, and he talked to me some more. He left the chastity belt on. He left the plug in. He stroked my body until I shivered, I shook, I fell asleep in his arms. Wearing shackles, collar, the plug, and the belt.

That’s how the chastity belt can work, now.

Other nights, other evenings, it’s simply the largest plug, his hand on my neck, he buckles the belt on, he locks it on, and I slowly stretch to accommodate it. I sleep with it, sometimes. I love those nights, though I hate that plug.


When I woke up, that morning? Quite simple. Lying in bed, the belt, removed. The plug, removed. And I couldn’t help myself, I begged for him to fuck my ass, to fill me up again, to make me whole.

In a way, it drives me out of my mind. Knowing I’m locked away from being used in two very straightforward ways. But most importantly, he has the key. And the control. He owns my cunt. I am his cunt. He owns my ass, my mouth, my cunt … I am his collection of holes, and he uses the belt to keep me organised and prepared.