Chastity Experiment

By DX

Copyrighted 7/2019, 12/2022 all rights reserved.

Sanford Oaks receives an offer to wear a chastity device for one week to receive 50 pounds UK.  How easy is that?
Hand-jobs, sex and debauchery!  A 16K novella!

 He bent down the blades of the blinds and peered out along the rain swept street.  He imagined her stepping around the corner, her sharp heels clicking hollowly, clacking on the pavement.  She would be wearing her black, shiny mac, and it would be beaded with raindrops.  She would be wearing her clear plastic rain cap over her glistening black hair.  Beneath the hem of her mac would be her latex clad legs, moving quickly.  She would be pulling a black suitcase wheeling behind on quiet castors.

 She was late.

 She had never been late.  He could set his watch by her.  Since the program’s inception she would step around the corner at precisely 1359hrs and ring his bell at the moment of 1400hrs.  It had become the pattern he expected.

It was now the pattern his life depended on.

He looked away from the window.  He paced back and forth in his tiny front room, and then sat in his comfy chair.  He looked at the clock on the wall.  She was late.  He looked at his wristwatch to confirm the clock on the wall was correct.  He then got up and walked into the kitchen to look at the clock over the sink to confirm his wristwatch.

 1428hrs.  She was late by twenty-eight minutes.  On the scale of things this wasn’t much of a deal and easily explained.  The subway was late, the bus was late, another client held her up, her cat was sick, (if she had a cat and it was sick) would make a perfect, forgivable excuse for being late one time.

 In the quiet of the kitchen he could hear the battery-powered tick of the clock as the big hand neared 1429hrs and he became aware he had been sub-consciously touching the device through the fabric of his trousers.

 He pulled his hand away quickly and walked into the front room and looked down the street through the gap in the blinds.  He needed her.  He needed her to remove the device.  He had decided definitively it would be the last time.  If they offered him a million pounds to wear the device for another second he would resolutely state, no.  He practiced saying it, so it would be a quick, knee-jerk response.

“Would you like to wear the device for another second for a million…”  

“NO!”  He wouldn’t even let her finish.  “Just unlock it, give me my fifty-thousand pounds and have a good day.”

 The clock on the wall read 1430hrs.

 He pulled his hand away from the device.  Touching it did nothing and he could do nothing about his cock crushed within its confines.  It was the perfect chastity device.  He could not get erect, he could not orgasm.  It was the pinnacle of design, far removed from the first device they had him wear at the start of the program nearly two years ago.

 It began with a simple letter in the post.

 Buried with the bills and adverts was a plain white envelope with his name neatly written on it.  Initially he tossed it aside figuring it was an advert, but its simplicity called back his attention.  For starters, they spelled his name correctly, Sanford Oaks.

 “Dear, Sanford;” it began.  “We are currently conducting an experiment which based on your profile would make you a suitable subject.  You will be paid for your time.  If interested, please return the self-addressed, pre-paid postcard.”

 Sanford checked the return address.  It was foreign, probably Norway or Scandinavia or some such place, but they used the magic words, ‘paid for your time’.  Sanford considered himself a man of intricate complexities.  He was in his fifties, owned his house (inherited), and was collecting disability.  He had a long résumé of random jobs; building crack monitor, caviar extractor, drying paint supervisor, to name a few, but his last job, a level one inventory resupply specialist, had left him, as the doctors described, nervous and unable to work.

 He did supplement his income with random, unlisted jobs.  This income was never reported to the taxman, a villain if ever there was one, and kept him in beer and chips.  Sanford was always on the prowl for a few easy quid.

 Within a week of posting his reply, he received another letter in the same, plain, boring style.

 “Our experiment is to study male sexuality.”  The letter explained.  “To eliminate random factors, we need a chaste subject as a control.  To achieve this, we would first need to create a safe, gentle chastity device for long-term wear.  If you agree to wear our prototype for seven days you will be paid fifty pounds UK.  If you manage to escape the device, without damaging the device or injuring yourself, you will be paid an additional fifty pounds.”

 Sanford mused.  ‘Fifty quid for seven days of not touching me John Thomas?  How easy is that?’  He thought.  ‘And another fifty if my willie gets whiley?  Well!  A hundred pounds for a week’s worth of nothing?  Yes, please mister man!’

 As he checked off the card, he thought about how many times he self alleviated his male urges.  He casually went weeks without even bathing, let alone diddling himself.  This, he thought, was easy money.

 Only a few days later a post arrived announcing the device would be delivered in a few days.  It would arrive at 1400hrs.  “Please make every effort to be available to receive the device.”

 He glanced at his calendar.  He was available.

 It was a Thursday.

 He expected a lorry.  What arrived was quite unexpected.

 Her dimples sank into her cheeks and her smile was blinding.  “Good afternoon!”  She said.  “Sanford Oaks?”

 He nodded, numbly.  Her eyes were chocolate morsels, her nose crinkled when she talked, and her lips were soft and welcoming.  She was a delight!  Curvy, and nicely packaged in her blue nurse’s uniform.

 “I’m Madeline, I’m here to install the device.”  Her eyes flashed like a co-conspirator, almost winking as she said the word, device.  When Sanford didn’t respond, she went on.  “May I come in?”

 “Oh, yes!”  Sanford exclaimed, realizing he had been staring.  “Please, forgive me.  I was expecting the postman, yeah?”  He stepped back and ushered her in.

 She walked in, dragging her case behind as her eyes evaluated the house.  “This is excellent.”  She said turning towards him.  “Is there anyone else in the residence?”

 Sanford was lost in the depth of her dimples.  “Uh, no.”  He replied.

 She talked while smiling.  “Excellent.  Then we can do this here in the front room.”

 “Do what?”

 “Apply the device.”  She said simply.  As Sanford continued to stare, she went on.  “No worries, I am a certified professional.”  She reached into her purse and pulled out a flat, black wallet.  With a flick of her wrist a fan of cards draped out like a broken accordion.  “Please take a look.”  Her face tinged with bashfulness.  “I’m quite proud of them.”

 Sanford forced his eyes to look away from her pretty face to the list of cards hanging like a banner from her hand.  She was pointing out her accreditations and he was struggling not to watch her.  She wasn’t the prettiest girl, nor did she have the biggest boobs or curviest bum, but she was such combination of everything, her voice, her charm, her poise, her smile as it lit up the gloomy room, it was hard not to drink in her intoxicating image.

 “If you would pop in the shower and come back with a towel covering up, I’ll get set up here.”  She finished.

 Sanford scrubbed himself red in the fleeting moments he was in the shower.  When he returned, Madeline had donned a black rubber apron and had laid out a collection of documents across his coffee table.  “Please, have a seat and read these carefully.  I only ask you to keep them in order.”

 He sat on the sofa and watched her.

 Madeline had moved some of the furniture to make room for her set up.  She set her case on the floor and clicked it open.  Reaching in she grabbed the top strut of a skeletal structure and with a pull it began to unfold.  It moved on hinges and formed a stout chair.  She gave it a final pull and all the joints clicked into place solidly.

 She looked at him.  “Any questions?”

 Sanford had barely glanced at the paperwork.  “To be clear,” he surmised.  “I just have to put on a device,”  he wavered, “on my, privates, yeah?  For one week, right?  And I get fifty quid.”

 She shrugged while nodding.  “No and yes.  I put the device on you, and then you wear it for one week and get fifty quid.  If you get out of the device, without injury, you get another fifty quid.”

 He stammered.  “You put the, uh, device…”

 She smiled, brightening the room.  “I am a certified professional.  While everyone is a unique individual, I’m confident I have a good idea what’s under that towel.”  She gave her chair a pat.  “If you are satisfied with the paperwork and initialed and signed the highlighted parts, we’ll get started.”

 Sanford signed, scribbled, and scrawled.

 Tentatively, he took a seat in her chair as she donned gloves, a surgical mask and a white cap, leaving only her milk chocolate eyes visible to him.  With that done, she placed his feet into stirrups and secured his legs down with nylon straps of hook and loop material.  He tensed as she did the same with his arms, strapping them down to the chair.  His face of rising panic was soothed with a glance from her smiling eyes.

 “We must insure the control is free of variables.”  She said, patting his hand.  “You’ll have plenty of time to explore the device later.”  Madeline took a packet from her bag, ripped it open, and pulled out a sanitized mouth guard.  “Open up!”  She said, holding it to his mouth.

 “Wraugh gru?”  He mumbled as she stuffed the device in his mouth.

 “Again, variable control.”  She pulled a strap from her pocket and encircled Sanford’s head with it, ignoring his eyes of alarm, and sealed the mouth guard in place.  Running her hand smoothly along the side of his head, she checked for fit.  “Are you having any discomfort?”

 Sanford shifted in the chair.  He couldn’t speak.  He could barely move a muscle.  Glancing up, he fell into her eyes as she looked for any indicators of distress.

 “Alright then.”  She said.  “Let’s get started, shall we?”

 Gently, she pulled his towel away.

 A cool breeze brushed against his skin and Sanford tried to look away as his cock began to stir.

 Madeline was changing her gloves.  “That is a perfectly normal response.”  She said.  “Please do not be embarrassed.”  She draped a sterile sheet over him and threaded his manhood through a slit in the center.  “You are already showing healthy signs.”  She kicked at something beneath the chair and Sanford realized it was an attached, collapsible stool.  With her hands in the air, she sat down and made herself comfortable.

 Her eyes of chocolate birthday cake peered at him.  She took his blood pressure, pulse, and listened to his heart.  She then placed a sensor over his finger.  She noted his vitals, then changed her gloves.  “I will now start my examination.  During this time, many men experience an erection.  That is perfectly normal and somewhat expected.  This will take a few minutes so sit back and relax.”

 As she donned her safety glasses, he could see his ghostly reflection in her eyes.

 Her fingers skirted across his cock like the sweep a feather.

 Sensations rolled over him like an ocean wave as her gentle touch slid across his tender skin.  She cooed and ah’d, congratulating him on blood flow, size and girth.  He risked a glance at her and watched her eyes peer down at the task at hand.  Instantly he was like a rock, harder than he had ever been before.

 She rolled her fingers across the head of his cock and her fingers moved as if she played a wind instrument in an orchestra.  Gently she cupped him.  Gently her touch slithered up and down his shaft.  Gently she explored every millimeter of his genitals.  

 Gently, gently, gently.

 “It is perfectly normal,”  she went on, professionally, “to extrude pre-seminal fluid.”  She paused.  “Ah, here we are.”  Her finger dragged the clear tear around the head of his cock.  “Excellent.”  She stopped and sat back.  

 Sanford was afraid the exam was over.  He quickly thought, ‘Ah, so this is the scam!  I knew it was too easy!  Get me all worked up, cut me off and charge for a finish.’  He squirmed in his chair.  ‘and I’m trapped good, right where she wants me.  A fool I am, blundering into this trap!”

 Madeline, ignorant of his rising panic, took a cotton swab and captured a sample of his fluid and set it in a plastic test tube.  This process involved changing her gloves several times.

 With the tube sealed and properly stored, she changed gloves.  Then she pulled open a small packet and squeezed out a dollop of goo in her gloved hand.  “For the next part of this examination I will be using a sterilized lubricant.  While I tactilely survey your penis, it is quite normal to become aroused.  Many men ejaculate.  This is a normal and natural response.  Please do not feel embarrassed or feel you need to restrain yourself, alright?”

 Her hands were like silk as her fingers roved over every millimeter of his cock.

 Already primed from the first part of his exam, Sanford grunted as his eyes rolled back.  In seconds he went off like machine gun.

 “Excellent!”  Madeline exclaimed.  She busied herself using a fresh cotton swab to collect a sample of his seamen.

 Changing her gloves again, she took a warm, moist cloth and thoroughly cleaned him.

 Finally, after another glove change, she secured the device onto his manhood.

 She rose and quickly went through a well-rehearsed and methodical removal of her hat, apron, mask and gloves, and disposed of everything into a sterile bag before un-doing his restraints.  “I hope that wasn’t too distressful for you.”  She said, her dimples deepening.

 “Nuh, nuh, no.”  He said, nervously, his head swimming.

 “Next week this time?”  She asked, helping him out of the chair.

 Sanford was weak in the knees.  As Madeline pulled the sensor off his finger and helped him over to the couch, he peered at her confusedly.  “Next week?”

 She draped his towel over his lap.  “Yes, to remove the device.”

 “Oh, yes.”  He blinked, his senses returning.  “I’m a little winded.  That was a heck of a, uh, um, examination, yeah?”

 She shrugged.  “Many men enjoy it.  When I remove the device there will be a similar exam.”

 “Similar?”  Sanford exclaimed in disbelief.  “I don’t think I could manage that!”

 She smiled warmly.  “I’m certain you’ll be up for the challenge.”

 “What if I escape the device?  Will there be another, uh, exam?”

 Madeline nodded.  “Certainly.  Also another fifty quid.”

 Sanford could not believe what she was saying.  “Yeah, next week then.”

 She nodded as she turned to her equipment, and in moments everything was neatly folded back into her case and the furniture was properly arranged.  She surveyed the room, making sure everything was in order.  “Until next week then.”  She said brightly.  “I’ll see myself out.”

 And she was gone.

 Sanford was still reeling from the exam.  He sat on the couch until the clock chimed and nudged him out of his reverie.  Reliving the moment, he peered back in time and watched it again, this time floating out-of-body.  He watched her fingers filled with lightning rove around and touch all the spots of his cock, driving him mad.

 Although he was satiated enough to keep him for months without even thinking of his cock, he felt his member stir.

 He peered under the towel.

 The device was black.  It was sleek and shiny.  It encompassed his penis and clamped around his scrotum almost as an after thought.  He nudged it slightly, then tapped the surface with his fingernail.  He couldn’t decide if it was metal or plastic.  While it looked impressive, he couldn’t figure out what held it on.

 He tried the simplest and went to pull it straight off.

 It didn’t budge.

 It didn’t seem to pull on anything and he couldn’t imagine how it was anchored in place, but it certainly worked.

 He never realized how often he swelled and shifted until he had no access to his cock.  Often his Johnson tested the confines of the device, like a jungle cat pacing back and forth in the cage at the zoo.  Although the device was like wearing nothing, he was constantly reminded of it.  Thinking about it made his pecker grow.  His growing pecker would then be thoroughly restrained by the device.  Being restrained made him fidget with the device.  Fidgeting made him think about it.  Thinking made him grow.

 He was out of the device on the third day.  He had been distracted as he checked for lottery winnings while reading an article on how to win the lottery and not pay any tax, while subconsciously fumbling with the device, as he increasingly did.  

 It simply came off.

 He looked at it curiously.  No lock, no mechanism, it seemed to have be held on by nothing more than force of will.  He set it down and went into the toilet for a celebratory piss while standing.  He had never realized what a privilege it was to pee while standing.  It was a surprising revelation, one that really struck him while at the pub.  The device had forced him to sit to pee and the loo at the pub wasn’t the most hygienic place.

 With his tinkle done, he jiggled, then jiggled again, then closed the seat on the toilet.  He sat, closed his eyes and had a nice, meditative moment of self-gratification while thinking of Madeline.

 It had only been three days yet he spewed readily and heavily.

 Thursday at 1400hrs precisely he opened the door.  Madeline was there, mildly startled as she hadn’t even rang the bell.  Sanford presented the device.  “Good for you!”  She exclaimed.  “There’s another fifty pounds for you!  Perhaps, however, you’d want to do this inside?”

 “Oh, yes of course.”  He stepped back, bidding her entry.  “Would you like a hand?”

 “No, I can manage.  Why don’t you pop into the shower while I get set up?”

 “I just showered for you already.”

 “That won’t do, I’m afraid.  Rules are you have to shower while I’m here.  Make a quick rinse off for me?  There’s a good lad.”

 Sanford sprang up and back within moments, a towel around his waist.  Madeline sat on the couch and laid out her paperwork.  “Here is your gift card for fifty pounds.”  She held it up.  “You’ll get another one in the post once the paperwork is processed.”

 He watched her.  The afternoon sun shone in sharp lines through the blinds and brought everything it touched into high resolution; the curve of her cheek, the corner of her lip, the sphere of her breast.  She moved with precision and practice.

 Her brown eyes sparkled in the sun as she looked up at him.  “Read these over, alright?”

 “You changed your hair.”  He said, dreamily.

 She nodded.  “You’re the first one to notice.”  She reached up and pat her hair.  “It’s a wig.  To eliminate variables we all have to be brunettes now.”  She shifted over on the couch so he could sit and sign the paperwork.

 He joined her.  “How many others?  Nurses, I mean.”

 “We’re called technicians.”  She said, thinking.  “I don’t know how many they are.  The whole thing is done on-line; training, paperwork, the whole lot.  I’ve actually not met another person in the company.  I just get my assignments, install the devices and post the paperwork.  All the signatures have to be hard copies.”  She stood up and brushed the creases from her uniform.  “I’ll get set up while you have a read.”

 He glanced at it.  “Um, taxes, yeah?  How is it reported?”

 She pointed to a form.  “Here, you’ll see how that’s done.  You have to submit this income separately and you are responsible for all the taxes.”

 He nodded and grinned as she turned to pull her chair from her magic bag.  He then read the form.  In short, the taxman didn’t know.  ‘and what the taxman doesn’t know,’  Sanford thought. ‘won’t hurt him.’  He turned over a page and noted it was printed in several languages.  Obviously it was a foreign company and the experiment was being held in different countries.  The burden of dealing with different governments and tax rates would be challenging, so to skirt the issues they relied on the honesty of the test subject.

 This all translated to Sanford as simply, tax-free income.

 His eye caught numbers on the last page.  “What’s this, Madeline?”  He asked.

 She had set up her chair and was busy donning her black latex cap and latex smock.  “They’re offering you one hundred pounds to continue the program.  Two weeks.”

 “And if I escape the device?”

 She pulled on gloves.  “Without damage to the device or injury to yourself, one hundred pounds.  If you damage the device and get out, you’ll get fifty pounds.  If you injure yourself, there is no bonus.”  She patted the chair seat.  “If you just sign the other paperwork we can get started.  Once the exam is over, you can decide if you want to sign up for the two week program.”

 Sanford signed everything.

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The Ball Thief

By DX

Copyright 1/2019 6/20123 All rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced without written permission from the author.

 Bobby felt his breath rasp in his lungs as the world slowed around him.  His muscles tore as the sponge in his knees were crushed.  His body protested as he lunged for the football spiraling at him like a bullet.  The game was Two-Hand-Touch.  The field was the street.  The goals were manhole cover to manhole cover.  He and his friends had played this game almost every day of that long, endless summer.

 The summer that ended twenty years ago.

 Now he and his friends had come together for one last game of Two-Hand-Touch.

 Bobby jinked left, then charged right, slipping Jack.  He was in the end-field, wide open and Maurice hurled the football.  Bobby felt it slip past this fingers and into his chest where it bounced crazily, leaping like a fish.  His hands clapped desperately for it as it bounded drunkenly up into the air, over the curb, out of bounds, and into Mrs. Starlin’s prized rose bush.

 Out of breath and wheezing, the men gathered slowly on the sidewalk in front of her house.

 The house of the Ball Thief.

 Twenty years ago Mrs. Starling was the sole occupant of every boy’s wet dream.  

 She was handsome, with sharp, blue eyes and strong lips.  She had long, cascading black hair that shimmered like hot tar.  In the fall, all the young teen boys found a reason to be outside, hopefully to catch a glimpse of her in a tight sweater that hugged her bountiful, battleship breasts, while she tended her beloved garden.

 Her house was in the middle of the block, right where the kids played.  More often than not the ball wound up in her yard.  More often than not she refused to give it back.  Years back, after an intense argument over something no one could remember, Bobby, still miffed, hurled a soft ball at Maurice’s head.  He ducked and the ball sailed right through Mrs. Starlin’s plate glass window.

 “Who will pay for that?”  She raged.

 The other kids had fled leaving Bobby alone, his face dower.  “I’m sorry.”  He mumbled.

 Her eyes flashed, scalding.  “Do not apologize to me.”  She grated.  “Apologize to the window.”

 Bobby looked at her askance, then to the window.  “Sorry, window.”  He snorted.

 “Is it fixed?”  Her voice was steady, like a teacher.

 Bobby shrugged.  “No.”

 “No.  It isn’t.”  She concluded.  “It will cost me five hundred dollars to replace that window.”

 Bobby’s cheeks burned.  “I said I was sorry.  What do you want?”  He said, haughtily.

 “Don’t give me attitude.”  She admonished.  “Bobby, sorry isn’t going to fix this.  You have to think about your actions and the repercussions of those actions, do you understand?”

 He shifted queasily.  “Can I have my ball back?”

 Her eyes narrowed.  “I will return it to your parents when they come here to pay for the damage.”  She turned and went into the house.

 Bobby never told his parents.  He never fixed the window.  He never got his ball back.

 Throughout the neighborhood the legend of the Ball Thief grew.  The penalty was always;  “You can have your ball back when your parents come see me.”  But no one ever told their parents, and so no ball was ever returned.

 Bobby’s mind flashed with the twenty year old memory as he stood on the sidewalk in front of her house.  His breath stilled as she opened the screen door and stepped out onto the stoop.  Her eyes flashed with mild disbelief as she looked at the men and then to the splash of rose petals on her lawn.  “Aren’t you men a little old for this?”  She stressed the word, men.

 She hadn’t aged.  On the contrary, she was even more breathtaking.  There was a single streak of white flowing through her hair like a ribbon.  Her eyes were still sharp and piercing, gazing right into the soul.  Her waist was still slim, her thighs still shapely, and her breasts, her breasts still heavenly.  If anything, those dreamy breasts were larger.

 Years ago they couldn’t conceive the depth of her beauty.  They could only follow their teenage hormone induced lust.  They made jokes about her breasts, drew graffiti about her breasts, fantasized about her breasts.

 They all still fantasized about her breasts.

 She was wearing a sweater.

 As if she had it poured over her, it clung to her curves leaving no doubt of her lovely bulging breasts.

 The men, still out of breath, only stared.

 Standing on the top of the stoop, looking down at them, her lips were a thin, terse line.  “Well, go get it.”  She nodded to the flowers.  “Please be careful.  Try not to inflict any more damage to my roses.”

 Slowly, like a mourner, Bobby stepped forward, trying not to steal glances at her, at the subject that still flittered around in his dreams.  As he approached the fat rose bush, he could feel the shadow fall from her mammoth breasts on the back of his neck.

 He crouched low but couldn’t see the ball.  He shambled into the darkness and the delicate perfume of roses drifted all around him.  His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim.  He spotted its shape and grabbed it.

 As he retreated, the rose bush grabbed him.

 A thorn snagged his shirt.  As he slid off it, another grabbed his sleeve.  He tried to turn but more thorns grabbed him, pricking him.  Cursing, he shifted violently, trying to dislodge them, but only felt more grab him.

 The others were giggling as Bobby wrestled with the roses.  He could feel Mrs. Starlin’s warmth as she came down the steps.  “Stop.  Let me help you.”  She said in her teacher steady voice.  “Don’t move and I can free you.”

 His friends were now laughing and Bobby’s face was a blazing crimson.  He shifted quickly and tried to rip free.  His shirt tore.  His feet slid in the upturned soil and he fell, cracking branches as he did. 

 “Bobby,” She called softly.  “stop moving.  You’re making it worse.”  Her hands brushed aside the thorns gently.  “Now take my hand.”  He could feel her strength as she clasped his hand and pulled him free.  He stood, brushing thorns and petals from his hair.  He looked at her, realizing for the first time how short she was.

 Or maybe how tall he had become.

 She handed him the football.

 His eyes searched her face, following the sweep of her cheeks and loosing himself in the corners of her frowning mouth.  He glanced to the rose bush.  It was wrecked.  “I’m sorry.”  He mumbled.

 She stiffened, and then sighed.  “Just go, Bobby.”

 He stepped back, his cheeks tingling as if he’d been slapped.  Twenty years and again the Ball Thief had humiliated him.  He turned to his friends and tried to cover up his embarrassment with bravado.  “All right, last down!  The scrimmage line was the back of that veedub.”

 “Ah, let’s call it guys.”  Maurice said.  “I gotta pick up the twins from soccer camp.”

Bobby scoffed.  “I got the ball.  One last down.  Come on, guys!”

Maurice laughed breathlessly, motioning with his chin as Mrs. Starlin retreated into the house.  “Another game called on account of the Ball Thief.”  He smiled dubiously.  “Sweet dreams tonight, am I right guys?”  He then motioned to Bobby.  “I bet you’re going to bed early.”  He winked.  “At least you got your ball back.”

 Bobby watched with growing sadness as his friends laughed, hugged and made plans to do it again in twenty years.

 Struggling to smile, Bobby watched as another endless summer ended.

 Another game called on account of the Ball Thief.

 Sitting in his car, the engine off, Bobby replayed the events.  He could see her standing over him, her sanctimonious scowl casually humiliating him.  Her cutting eyes flayed away his manhood with the precision of a surgeon.  “That bitch,” he whispered through his teeth as he recalled her look of disappointment whenever she saw him.  “Always putting me down.  S’ fucking accident.  Why can’t she see that?  Who does she think she is?”  He gripped the steering wheel and glared at the back of his hand.  Bobby had strong hands.  

 The hands of a man.

 It was time to teach the Ball Thief her place and Bobby was the man to do it.

 He texted his wife he was going out with his friends.  Then he got out of the car and went to the trunk.  There, he rooted around for things he would need and stuffed them into an empty gym bag.  In the glove compartment he found the rest of what he would need.

 As the sky filled with the color of autumn leaves, Bobby started the car.

 He knew the neighborhood, and most importantly, the maze of back alleys.  As he parked his car behind an empty shed, he remarked how unchanged everything was.  With the bag in hand and the sky turning to night, he slipped easily through the ally to where her house was.  He ducked below her well-trimmed hedge.  He popped up and scanned her place.  He could see the light from the kitchen window.  She was puttering and washing dishes.

 As a teen he had crouched in the very same spot.  He would gaze up to her bedroom window.  The shade was always drawn but he could watch her shadow as her arms pulled off her sweater, then folded back to undo the clasp of her bra.

 Her silhouette was amazing.

 Always, always, right after her bra slipped free and her jiggling breasts ran wild, she would pause, and her shadow moved away.  The light would go out and the show would be over.

 Now, as sweat prickled along his skin, he moved along out of sight from the window and took up a position behind a slim tree.  There he retrieved the gun from his bag.

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Announcement

By DX

A woman announces to her husband a few changes in their life.  She makes him legally sign over his life and become her personal, cock sucking sissy faggot!  

Femdom, sissy, permanent chastities, surgical implants!

Copyrighted 7/2017, 5/2023, all rights reserved.

Teaser, For the whole story, click here!

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His face was emotionless as the lawyer laid each form before him, and explained in absolute detail what they were for.  First, was signing over his savings, bank accounts, 401k, everything in his life with value, to me.

His hand trembled as he picked up the pen.  His eyes flicked up to me, and then to the form, before he scrawled his signature quickly.

He signed his life away.

I made him wear a suit and tie.  I don’t know why, maybe to make it all so official.  It would certainly be the last time he ever wore a suit again.  

The next forms took the house out of his name and put it into mine.  

Then the cars.  

Mine.  

He signed until he had absolutely nothing.

Fifteen years of marriage had culminated to this.

I thought he was going to cry as she set out the divorce papers.

We were normal in the beginning.   Man and wife and future bright.  We were happy too.   It was our third year, or maybe forth, when it began innocently enough; rabbit fur cuffs and velvet paddles.  We giggled as we tried to figure out who got to tie up whom.  Gradually, rabbit fur graduated to leather, then rope, and then steel.  The paddle changed from friendly spanks and blushing bottoms to bruises, then welts, then contusions seeping blood.

Somewhere in there it was no longer who was going to tie up whom.  It would be me doing the tying.  I announced it embarrassingly, “I want to tie you up.”  And then I did, following the pictures from a Shinbari ‘how-to’ book.   Seeing him helpless was a distinct turn on; flopping around on the bed, trying to lick my pussy while trying to stave off my cat-of-nine tails, was an absolute thrill.

I switched to handcuffs.  There’s a reason why the cops use them; quick on, quick off.  No wasting time dealing with yards and yards of rope.  I’d come home from work, drag him into the bedroom, cuff him spread eagled and sit on his face until he made me come or he suffocated.  A few times I did grind my pussy so hard into his face, cutting off his mouth and nose, that he ‘whited’ out.

We went from a couple hours on the weekend to whole weekends.   After a while, bondage and beating his ass became the normal.  When he complained, there were more beatings.

Year Six, I think it was, I announced I was canceling our vacation plans.  I cuffed him, spanked him, and told him he would spend the next two weeks pleasing me.  He agreed, still thinking it was just our little sex game.

At the time I did too. 

How wrong we were.

I announced he would wear a French Maid’s outfit.  He cooked, cleaned and serviced me and I laughed out loud as I watched him through the front window as he took the garbage out to the curb and had to explain to our neighbor he had lost a bet.  He whined at me when he got back in so I gagged him, cuffed him, and put him in the trunk at the end of our bed.  Asphyxiation was a real threat so I let him out after a while, but made him sleep on the floor while I sat in bed with my lap-top and ordered a cage on-line.  It would be big enough for him to stay crouched in but I could leave him in it for longer periods.

Although the vacation had ended, I still demanded he do all the cooking and chores.   I did imply it was because my job was so demanding (and it was), but also mentioned I was the main breadwinner, ooooh, another deadly strike into his dwindling ego.  I bought him ‘how-to’ videos to improve his domestic skills and demand he study them carefully.  His response was to become passive-aggressive, which I did not tolerate for a second.  I locked him in his little cage all weekend and fed him only watery broth until he begged to be let out, promising to do better.

Sometime after that I announced he would do something about his body hair.  He had scrawly, sporadic body hair that I thought was rather unkempt.  “If I have to shave my body, so do you!”  I wanted him clean and smooth and to help facilitate that he would start taking natural herbal feminine hormone supplements as well as shaving.  I told him he would look hot and man-sculpted.  “All the guys are doing it these days.”

I didn’t want him to be a woman, as if that is some, demeaning thing, but I didn’t want him to be a man either.  I didn’t have a plan as to what I wanted because I didn’t know what I wanted.  Neither of us did.  I guess I wanted to break down his psyche to make him more pliable and certainly less argumentative; and when I say, argumentative, I mean whiny.  I sincerely didn’t think the supplements would do anything but I thought the mental idea of it would mess with him.

And that was where I was getting off.  Messing with him.

The more ‘not fun’ it was for him, the more of a turn on it was for me.  I didn’t understand it then and I don’t think I fully understand it now, here in the lawyer’s office.  As he scripted every letter of his name on the divorce documents, I could see hidden in the tiny wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, the twitch of pain like my riding crop leaving red ribbons crossing the back of his skinny thighs.  He was getting nothing.  No stipend, no alimony, and no liability, meaning he couldn’t come back and sue me later.

Who could imagine it would come to this?  Back then we still thought it was a game that would only go so far.

Wrong, wrong, wrong!

The female supplements actually worked.  His body hair thinned noticeably and he didn’t have to shave as often.  I flattered him by telling him how much I enjoyed his look and announced I had made an appointment for him at a salon.  “It’s a man thing now.  It’s how men look their best.”  It wasn’t until we had arrived that he realized it was the first in a series of sessions in electrolysis to permanently remove his body hair.  All of it.   He protested but I told him they were already paid for.  Besides, what did he need body hair for anyway?  “On you it only looks stupid: a throw back to Neolithic man.”  

His face was beet red as the clinician started on his balls!

I struggled not to laugh as he looked so much like a sad, little boy.  Once we got home I rewarded him by chaining him to the bed and giving him a slow hand job, stopping each time he was about to climax before letting him finally come in a whiskey glass.  I then gagged him with a funnel, added a little water to the glass, swirled it to get it mixed, and poured it down his mouth, forcing him to swallow his own cum.  I announced from then on if ever he came he would swallow his semen.

Teaser, For the whole story, click here!

Thank you for your support!

Copyrighted 2017/2023 all rights reserved.