“We want one that she can wear all day, every day”, Jutta said to Master Ricardo.
“Of course. All our chastity belts are custom made.” Ricardo said with clear pride in his voice. We are in Belgium. If rumours are true, he was a true master in his trade. Like Rembrandt was a master painter, or…, I don’t know…, a master chocolatier. We are in Belgium and these people know to make their chocolate. Only the best Instrument makers with years of experience, skill and craftsmanship, with formal training and apprenticeship, can call themselves a master instrument maker. Ricardo could not make a cello, but his peers considered him to be the best in chastity belts. In a way, he was also an instrument maker, with my pussy as his raw material.
“Anyone can make a steel cover around a cock. The simplicity of a male chastity belt mirrors the uncomplicated nature of men. To make a belt for a complicated woman that needs to wear it all day, that’s where you need Ricardo.” I translated his French into German. Jutta did not speak a word of French. Similar to many individuals of Belgian descent, Ricardo was probably capable of comprehending and potentially even speaking Dutch or German. His determined commitment to using only French was annoying.
“Please tell him that I have the utmost faith in his craftsmanship and that I trust him to make a belt for you, a belt that will symbolise your loyalty to me and will keep you faithful.” Jutta instructed.
“It will take a day, so perhaps the mistress wants to go shopping in La Louvière?” Ricardo said. I translated.
“What is the French word for slut?”, my mistress asked me.
“Souillon, mistress.”
“Good. Tell him I will stay with my souillon for the rest of the day.” With cheeks burning with shame, I told him that.
“I did not hear the word souillon, slut.”
“Je resterai avec mon souillon pour le reste de la journée,” I translated this time literally.
Ricardo just nodded. Demeaning language was his trade’s jargon. Payment was required before we could proceed any further. More accurately, I had to pay up front. From my own bank account. Like a washing machine or a car, his goods came with a two-year guarantee. While I prefer not to specify the sum, I can tell you without reservation that the expense was completely unreasonable and shockingly high. We proceeded to his workshop in the back. It reminded me at once of the tattoo parlour where Helga and I got our labia rings. What’s the fascination with these guys that they should have a gynecologist’s examination chair in their workspace? One thing that was really different was that Ricardo had a lot of tools. Three walls filled with all kinds of impressive looking tools. Koen would gladly kill for the amount of tools neatly displayed on the wall. Ricardo turned the heating knob to turn it up a bit.
“Undress, souillon. You can keep the top on.” I took off my skirt and thong. My nipples were burning holes in my tight top. I hope I would not get too wet in front of this very round and overweight guy.
“You can also tell her to take her top off, you know. She’s used to being completely naked.” My mistress said’
“J’ai peur que ça ne fasse que me distraire. En plus, seules les bites bien dures m’excitent.”
“What did he say?”
“It will only district him. Only hard cocks turn him on.” I translated.
“Oh.” For the first time I saw a little blush on my mistress’ cheeks. He measured, with a tape measure that looked very much like one a tailor would use, my bottom at every conceivable height and drew lines on my skin with a pen as if I were a mannequin. He drew circles on my buttock, first left than the other. With a sliding calliper, he mapped my pussy. My pussy lips, the length, the width, the thickness, or lack thereof. The length of my perineum. Ricardo opened a little box, and he presented the contents of it to my mistress. The box was quite lovely; it was made of walnut wood and the inside was lined with a rich red velvet. Normal people would save their string of pearls or some other heirloom jewellery in such a box. Not this guy. Five steel, shiny buttplugs from small to XXL.
“What kind of plug is she used to?” The motherfucker asked.
“This one.” Jutta said with no hesitation, pointing at the biggest one of the lot.
“Would you be so kind to plug it in for me? Several tubes of lube are behind you.” Only those that are familiar with a buttplug – and praise your guardian angel if you lack that particular experience – know that the pleasure of wearing a plug comes some time after you have inserted it. It also takes considerable strength from the invader to get it past the sphincter muscle. Especially if it’s as strong as mine. So Jutta took her time loosening me up and get that monster in. Ricardo stood by, keeping his nose near my buttocks, showing his determination not to miss a single thing. At the broadest point, the point when you are in pain and waiting for the relief that monster dick is sliding into place at that point, Ricardo yelled, “Stop!”
Like the obedient slave Jutta also was, she stopped at once. I felt his bloody calliper against my butt, measuring how wide my ass could stretch. It felt like 10 centimetres. Finally mistress gave it the last little push the monster needed to slide into my second fuckhole. Sweat was on my forehead.
“You are sure you want this made of calfskin leather, instead of steel?” Ricardo asked Jutta.
“Tell him I am sure. Black leather with only minimal metal.” Jutta confirmed. With a few adjustments to the gynaecologist chair, Ricardo changed it into a kind of examination table. He removed the part from the table where my butt would rest, so it was a kind of hanging in the air. To make sure I wouldn’t move, he strapped me to the bench tightly. This is what it must feel like to be strapped to a bed in a psychiatric hospital. Big wide straps over you, and zero centimetre of freedom of movement. I kind of freaked out when he got on one of those moving boards that my garage mechanic uses to look under my car to have a good look at my butt. I felt his pudgy fingers all over my butt, rubbing the cleft between my buttocks.
Jutta sat in the only, more or less comfortable, chair. I was lying there as if I was a piece of meat in the slaughterhouse. Not being able to move. Ricardo was humming a tune above my pussy now, completely absorbed by the task at hand. I felt leather against my skin. It felt good. No. It felt preposterous good. In an effort to pass the time and stave off boredom, Jutta occupied herself by perusing a magazine. She quoted out loud funny parts from Vanity Fair. Lying there, the smell of leather and oily tools filled my nostrils, and I lost all sense of time.
I am hungry. Let us skip an hour for lunch, shall we?” Ricardo said suddenly. I translated.
“Good idea.” Jutta agreed. I was freed from my bonds and dressed again. I relished the feeling of the thong against my pussy. The soft silk felt wonderful against my skin, and a thought crossed my mind that this might be the last time, for I don’t know how long, that I would be so fortunate to enjoy this luxurious sensation.
We found a little but nice restaurant about ten minutes from master Ricardo’s shop. After we ordered, Jutta touched my hand.
“Perhaps you would have felt better had Koen joined you instead of me?”
“No, mistress.”
“Why not? It is still possible to have some alone time with him; don’t forget that.”
Conveniently, lunch was served. It was important that I delivered my message with precision and honesty. “Locking my pussy, mistress for a month, a year or forever, is a good thing mistress. I am a souillon. You would think, given my many years with Koen, that he knows me intimately, but in the short time I have known you, my beautiful mistress, you’ve somehow managed to see through me with remarkable clarity. Perhaps it would be painful for Koen to realise he should have locked me up years ago. I wanted to shield him from that pain.”
“When you are in your cell beneath our bed, do you masturbate when we are making love? Remember to tell the truth, slut. You know what happens if you lie.”
Oh, I remembered. The welt on my under boob was there to stay. I was uncertain whether that occurred accidentally or if it was a deliberate action. To help me always tell the truth, she might have thought I required a visual aid that will serve as a constant reminder.
“Yes, mistress,” I answered her question. “The sounds of his flesh slapping on yours, the sounds that you make when he is fucking you, it turns me on. Sick as it may be, it makes me horny.”
“What turns you on the most?” She asked.
“When you beg him to slap you harder in your face. After you’ve explained to him what a turn on it is for you to be slapped, and when you yell ‘harder, you bastard, harder,’ I always come, mistress. Most of the time, your orgasm matches mine, mistress.”
“And now I am taking these away from you,” Mistress pondered. “Should I take that pleasure and horniness out of your life, my slut?”
“Mistress, my body is yours. If you want me never to have another orgasm in my life, it is your prerogative to do so. My statement that you own me was not a casual remark or an empty threat; it was a sincere promise, a solemn pledge I made to you. I know what I am getting into with this chastity belt. There is nobody here holding a gun to my head.”
“I know. But if I were in your position, the idea of abstinence would be utterly maddening, and frankly, I would find it unbearable to even contemplate.”
“My mistress, we have different wiring.” I smiled.
“Don’t I know it,” she sighed. “OK, let us finish up here so we can get back to Roberto.
“Ricardo, mistress.”
“Whatever.”
Ricardo said nothing when we arrived back at his small workshop, even though we might have been too late. He had been busy in the meantime. Although he had taken his time with the measuring process, he now worked with remarkable speed and efficiency. I was back on my back with my ass getting enough free air around it to catch a cold. Apart from the periodic measurement of its components, boredom struck. Mistress, always attuned to my feelings, came to towards me. With Ricardo busy at his workbench and his back towards us, she quickly stripped off her panties and wrapped that intimate garment into my mouth.
“That will keep you busy for a while.” She grinned. I tasted her excitement. My doubts about whether this freak show was turning her on were erased. In the meantime, Ricardo worked imperturbable at the symbol of M&M’s (Master & Mistress) distrust. He was humming the same tune over and over again. Leather on my ass. In a V shape around my mound, up to my waist. Ricardo’s disapproving grunt. Again. One more fitting. Another. Finally, he spoke to Jutta.
“It is finished.” Jutta looked at me for the translation of these last words. I grunted around her panties in my mouth. She giggled and rushed towards me to retrieve the ball of wet silk out of my mouth. For a moment, she just stood there with her panties in her hand and then I saw her mentally shrugging. Under the protection of her long skirt, she replaced the saliva soaked panties back to her comfort zone. Ricardo was helping me in the meantime from the table.
“Master Ricardo says he is done.” I said.
“Good, good. Good boy,” Jutta said, her mind obviously distracted by the sensation around her waist.
Ricardo gave her a strange look, but said nothing. Probably has seen and heard weirder things.
“Let me explain how you put this on her,” Ricardo Said to Jutta, “this strap goes around the waist, this one through the legs and you fasten it like that. And like this, you can lock the belt with a small lock. She cannot touch her pussy from outside now, but of course it is still possible for bodily functions to be relieved. How does it feel?” He addressed me for the first time directly since we came here.
“It feels amazing,” I said honestly. “I was worried about how heavy it might be, but to my pleasant surprise, I can barely feel any weight at all.”
“So you are pleased with the result?” He talked to Jutta again.
“Yes, it looks beautiful on her, don’t you think so?” She answered him with a question of her own.
“It’s another Ricardo masterpiece.” He said in all modesty.
Koen also liked the combination of decorated leather and metal – the metal parts for hygienic purposes. Before we left, Ricardo lectured Jutta extensively about chafing, instructing her to wear the belt only a few hours daily initially, and gradually increasing the wear time as my body adjusted.
The first nights Koen and Jutta were fucking like minks and I was wearing my belt as I tried frantically to reach my pleasure nub. I can only come from clitoral stimulation. So I rubbed. And wriggled. And moaned in frustration. There was no way I could stimulate it enough to make me come.
I heard Koen spanking Jutta above me. An irregular pattern of slaps followed. Jutta meowed like the spoiled kitten she was. She loved being spanked, especially if Koen just used his own hands. When Koen’s hands started to hurt, he stopped. If it was up to Jutta, he could have gone on forever.
Not being able to sit in the cage underneath the bed was annoying sometimes. I could crawl in, and that was about the height of the cage. I could sit, but I had to bend my head so far down it hurt.
Love hurts, love scares, Love wounds, and mares. Any heart, not tough, or strong, enough to take a lot of pain. Take a lot of pain. Love is like a cloud, holds a lot of rain. Love hurts.
My husband and his wife made me listen to their lovemaking. I could hear his familiar groaning when he came. I could see his face from memory, what he looked like when he ejaculated. Below them, I could smell the mixture of sweat and love juice. When I came with them, one story lower, it gave me a sense of togetherness, maybe even belonging. Now that was impossible.
And it hurt. I have to be honest. It hurt.
Koen is not a young stud anymore. Although the mind is willing, the flesh is weak. Out of nowhere, Jutta developed a craving for fist fucking. And her big snatch seemed to be made for his piano fingers. We had tried it a few times in the past, but I was just too small for furiously ramming his fist into my pussy. Jutta was not. She took all of his hand. It released her dirty mouth more than anything else.
“Oh, fill me, my strong Master. Fill my sloppy dirty wet cunt with your mighty hand. Ravish your cunt with your fist. Destroy that cunt you own. Show your slave who is really the boss of my pussy. Yes. YES. Yeeeaasss. Oh, my Lord your whole hand is in my pussy. There is a giant moving thing in me and it feels so good. So good. So fucking good. Fuck me with that fist, Master. Ram that fist in me. Hard. Harder, Master you can’t hurt me.”
The only thing I heard from Koen was his heavy breathing. My mistress was panting and working herself in a frenzy. “Fuck me. I can take it. Pound me. Make me sorry for locking up your bitch down there. Feel me. Hurt me. Feels so good. Faster! I am going to come. Oh God! I need to come. Permission to come, Master? Please? Please Sir, I need to come, I can hold it anymore… I aaaaammmmm…”
She didn’t finish that last loud wail, but the trashing above me left nothing to the imagination. Jutta’s sigh afterwards was that of a well-fucked woman. Some days they summoned me to come to bed and clean up the mess they made with my tongue. Not today, though. The only thing I heard was the sound of their cuddles.
Somehow that hurts me even more than the sounds of their fucking before.
