A Gift in the Post Pt. 01

I had read about stuff like this on the internet. On the sites, I went when no one was looking, late at night, when I was alone.

I have had bondage fantasies since I was too young to be a dirty old pervert, and what I was looking at was the pinnacle of those fantasies.

I had just returned to my little flat and found the box waiting for me inside my street door. Just a plain brown cardboard box with a delivery label with my name and address. I laughed out loud when I read Signature Required on the label. Something from eBay, I assumed. I was always buying junk and getting rid of it a month later.

I couldn’t even remember what it was I’d bought this time. I popped it on my little post table, then found a knife and opened it. There I stood, mouth wide open, looking at what had been, for me until now, just fantasy images on a screen.

This was definitely not a piece of junk; where it had come from, I could not imagine. What I discovered as I parted the plain brown packing paper was a bright, highly polished, stainless steel chastity belt. It was the stuff of my wildest fantasies. I was, to say the least, a little surprised.

The only other item in the box was a padlock. There was no letter or note other than the courier’s label that said “Strictly Private and Confidential. I was fascinated; how could I not be?

I removed the lock from its sealed packaging, and three keys fell onto the floor. I was in a complete quandary. My brain was saying, “Stay, boy, let’s have a good look at this,” and my dick was screaming, “Put it on, put it on, put it on.

Obviously, Dick won the argument, but not until I had tested that the keys worked and had a proper look. It was seemingly made entirely of what looked like stainless steel, including the tube, and when I had assembled the waist belt to the crotch belt, I noticed a ring on the front. Pulling the ring caused dozens of tiny sharp spikes to peep out of their little holes in the tube, probably not far enough to permanently damage its occupant, but I would guess enough to draw a little blood when a good pull was applied to the ring. A lesser pull would still cause the wearer pain but less damage.

The phone rang, and I ignored it. It was bound to be someone from a land far away wanting to explain to me why the phone package she was selling was much better than the one I had now.

I checked the key in the lock again; it worked. It took me a while to figure out that the lock slid into a pocket in the front plate of the belt, and the two arms of the waist belt were pushed down simultaneously onto the hasp, forcing the lock to snap shut and just about completely hiding the padlock from view apart from the keyhole. This just about made it totally tamper-proof.

Putting the key in the lock and giving the key a quarter turn released the locking mechanism. The arms jumped up about half an inch and could then be sprung out of the way, releasing the victim. So far, so good. The phone rang again, and I cursed it and ignored it again.

My mind was spinning, my dick was throbbing, and the two thoughts in my head were: where on earth had this evil bit of kit come from, and why, when it was so obviously made for me, had I not tried it on yet?

I needed to investigate further; I was a little worried about the tube and its spikes. The tube had a lining of what appeared to be soft silicone rubber; there was no way the spikes would come out without a pull on the ring.

The tube was mounted on a slide that allowed it some limited movement. It was connected to the slide by two tee-section head studs. These had to be at the end of the slide to disengage and come free of the tube. That was impossible while the belt was locked on.

This is a very solid piece of kit, and it would take considerable effort and expertise to take it off without the key. There were no other hitches as far as I could see, so in for a penny.

I dropped my pants and my y-fronts and took off my shirt for good measure. Holding the waist belt, I stepped into it and pulled it up. But that was it; there was no way on God’s green earth that my dick was going into that tube.

Off I went to the freezer and picked out a bag of frozen peas. Feck me, I thought; pressing these into your baby’s bits hurts. It had my dick back to its sleeping size in no time at all, though. No pain, no gain,” as they say.

I tried again and failed again. As soon as I tried to push my cock into the tube, it hardened up and refused to go inside.

I remembered reading on a chastity belt website about the “sock trick”. So I chilled my poor dick again and put a sock on it. I pulled the belt up and threaded my dick into the tube. I brought the arms around and tried to push them into the lock to close it. The whole contraption pushed down hard on my cock and balls and hurt like hell.

Using a mirror, I could see the tube was not moving all the way up its slide. I would have to take it off and repeat the icing and sock detail again, or a little force may just do it. I managed to get my finger in behind it, and the phone rang again. “Piss off!” I hissed as I freed the slide, which sprang to the end of its travel with a click. That allowed me to press the arms of the waist belt into the lock pocket and click. It was locked.

The pain from the spikes as my dick swelled almost had me reaching for the key, but with a deep breath or two, I managed to gain a little self-control, and with the aid of the spikes, I felt my poor member recede.

The phone rang again, and I picked it up. “About time,” said a husky female voice I knew but could not place. “I suppose you have been playing with my toy?”

“What?” I answered.

“Oh, I’m hurt; you don’t remember me, do you?”

“What!”

“You bought me a drink at the last Battersea Fetish Market!”

“What?” Even I realised my answers were getting a little boring.

“Have you been playing with my belt?” she insisted.

“Err, no, I replied.”

“Oh well, if you don’t like it, I will come round and collect it.”

The phone went dead. Shit, I love the idea of this, but I am not about to admit I am a world-ranking, first-class weirdo to someone whose voice I cannot even remember.

I grabbed the keys and had a feel for the slot. To my abject horror, I could not get the key in. Using a mirror, I could see the slot was obscured by a small sliding stainless steel plate.

Rather ingeniously, the slide arrangement on the tube was linked to this plate. To move the plate back, the tube had to be slid back. To slide the tube back, it had to be unlocked. To unlock it, I had to slide the plate back. I was missing something here, but for the life of me, I couldn’t see what.

I tried to move the slide back; it moved about a millimetre, and so did the tube. After that slight movement, it was solid. As I saw it, at that point, the only way to take this off was to have it cut off.

At this point, my memory kicked in, and in my mind’s eye, I saw a woman a little older than me–early forties, if I had to put any age on her. Very tidy, dressed quite suggestively but not tartly, and very well presented. Nothing outlandish–well, not by fetish market standards anyway. She was nearly my height in her heels, with a very curvaceous hourglass figure. She sat with me at the bar, having a drink together. This was a huge step forward. She had let me buy her a drink! Previously, we had a chat or two at previous meets, but this was the first time I felt I was getting any encouragement. I asked her for a date; she didn’t refuse, but she didn’t expect it either. She gave me a number, and I gave her my home and mobile numbers.

We had talked about my Fem Dom, spanking, and forced cunnilingus fantasies, and I had admitted to her that I found the idea of male orgasm denial a huge turn-on and had often fantasised about buying myself a chastity belt. When she said, “If you do, I may just steal your key, I nearly came in my pants.

“I have to go abroad for a while to finalise my husband’s business interests.” My face must have dropped when she said husband. He died three years ago. I would not say the marriage was loveless, but it was a convenience. As long as you didn’t scratch too deep, I gave him an air of respectability.”

“If you still want to take this forward when I get back, she just left it hanging there. I didn’t realise at the time, but that was, as fishermen would say, when she set the hook.”

I told her about the chastity belt I had made; I didn’t even tell my ex-wife about that. How it worked successfully How it nearly put me in the A&E of our local hospital. It caused skin abrasions that I ignored until, not keeping them as clean as I should have, I ended up with a persistent bastard infection.

We walked around the stalls together; she stopped at one stall and had a chat with a guy who obviously ran it.

“Can I buy you a present?” she asked. ”

That took me by surprise. “Yes, please”, I said. Then “err what?

“A set of three rings.” The guy opened a jewellery box with three screw-ball closure rings inside.

“Oh, err, where do they go?”

“The same place as mine,” she said with a sweet smile on her face.

well, nearly the same place as mine. She pointed at the bigger one of the three. In my set, this one is a little smaller, but I think it probably goes in a smaller place.”

I have dreamed about getting my nipples pierced. So I thought, “Now or never.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Look, I have to leave you in Kay and Kevin’s capable hands; I have to go home and get ready to catch a plane this evening. The price includes the piercing. You can have it done now, or you can have it done after you have thought about it. If you have it done now, I will wait and drop you off at your home.

An absolutely gorgeous, tiny woman did the piercings. First my nipples, then the RPA in my cocked head–that was a little embarrassing at the time, and despite the anaesthetic, it hurt like hell. I was given aftercare instructions and a pair of pliers to remove the balls and take the rings out, and then my new friend drove me home in her brand spanking new five-litre F-type Jag. It was nearly as sexy as her.