It’s official: I am now John’s keyholder. Male chastity for my
idiot beloved husband is now as close to being “forced” as it ever could be (and for those of you reading the Newsletter – and if you’re not, why not? – click here and rectify that lamentable omission immediately – this is not the big announcement I promised for tomorrow’s issue).
Where was I?
Yes, the keys. Well, we still haven’t sorted out the biking problem yet (and many thanks to everyone who’s sent me messages about that, especially about recumbent bikes and split-saddles), but that’s OK – I just take it off him before he goes out, and put it on again when he returns.
I’ve been practising (hot, lurid, prurient and described in the Newsletter this week) and got it down to something of a fine art. He has to cooperate, of course, and it’s best done with him lying down, but, hey, real life ain’t Hollywood or an Internet Forum full of dreamers, is it?
So, how does it feel now male chastity has kind of “arrived”?
Not much different, to be truthful. I think that’s probably because I believe with every fibre of my being John doesn’t “cheat”, so my having the keys isn’t so different from my having his promise. In some ways it’s perhaps less thrilling. I don’t know.
It’s still sinking in (I can feel it warm between my breasts on its chain as I lean forward to see the screen to type this). I like that.
John gave me the keys before we went away at the weekend along with a silver chain to hang it off, all kind of symbolic after all the work we’d been doing (I know how silly that reads now I’ve written it. Sue me. I know what I mean… long story). It made my weekend… fucking spectacular not to put too fine a point on it; and John’s somewhat to the far-right of torturous. But that’s what he asked for – male chastity. Orgasm denial. Aching balls and an ecstatic Lady Sarah (and he calls me that because he’s old fashioned and chivalrous, not because I’m a Domme; so you can STFU before you say a word).
And that’s what he’s going to get until, oh, Christmas at least. Like I said, it’s still sinking in.
Which all leaves us… where?
Well… work has slowed down, mercifully… although there is going to be the inevitable tidal-wave from the product sales from the event so the lull won’t last long. In the meantime, all we have to do now is actually get paid for it. That will be rather pleasant, because it’ll give me licence to play with the Blog and get up to all sorts of literary male chastity shenanigans, at least until the tsunami arrives. There is some truly filthy fiction in the offing, you’ll be, ah, horrified, to discover.
And, I have, as I say in the audio I’m playing with on the right, some wicked plans for John. One thing having his keys has done is make me much crueller when it comes to male chastity in general and teasing him in particular (his belt has come off every night for me to play, so 24/7 is more like 21½/7).
I don’t know why I am getting like this, although I’ll think about it and try to explain if anyone’s interested. I suspect it may be just knowing his cock is hidden behind that steel makes me want it more, and it brings out the fuck-vixen in me because I’ve told myself (and him) I can’t (won’t) have it.
And it’s That Angry Time of the month again – either that or overwork has made me overtired and ornery (anyone got an arse needs caning?).
So… that’s where we are. He’s locked, aching like fuck, and Sarah is a Very Happy Bunny with Big Male Chastity Plans.
And tomorrow’s Newsletter, of course.