Joels Gift: One Slaves Journey into Chastity

I operate a number of websites, including two that are devoted to the subject of female dominance. For one of these sites, the Sex Slave Academy, last month’s update was all about chastity. So I asked Joel Tucker, purveyor of chastity devices and owner of The Stockroom to add an article to the site from his unique perspective. Joel seems to know a bit about chastity and has an ability to convey a lot of thought in relatively few written words. Joel sent an article that touched on the historical, religious, sexual, D/s, and BDSM aspects of chastity, and his perspective intrigued me.

Knowing that The Stockroom’s most popular and highly recommended male chastity device was the CB2000, I also requested one of those for me to use on a model to add a photo gallery to the article. When it arrived, I opened the box and removed a black velvet monogrammed bag and simply held it in my hands.

I’ve been around the block, D/s-wise. You name it, and I’ve probably done it with my willing submissives and slaves. As the saying goes, I’ve been there. I’ve done that.

But not chastity.

I suppose in the past I shared, at least in part, a common assumption about putting a male slave into chastity — that it implied he needed controlling because he couldn’t control himself, or that he couldn’t be trusted. I’ve never dealt with men like that; mine have always been trustworthy. I’d never yet had a slave I wanted in chastity. But I was about to do some experimenting, and I was about to experience first-hand how chastity could open up a whole new avenue for exploring my favorite element of D/s: control.

A good chastity device can allow a dominant to exert almost the ultimate in erotic control. This goes beyond the level of casual fun. It’s the sort of thing that is most meaningful in the context of a longer-term or special relationship. And that’s just the sort of relationship I have with my slave.

I have been nothing short of amazed at the reactions that a CB2000 have produced in my slave. It has created a new type of suffering for him, the physical, psychological, and sexual frustration of having his erections and orgasms controlled. The effects on him, and the related effects on me have been quite profound.

My slave was out of town for four long weekdays’ work in the cold mountain country. I overnighted the device to him, kept one key but sent him two just in case. He opened the box, looked the CB2000 over, and then called.

“Do you want me to put this on?” he asked, matter-of-factly.

Using the CB2000 from time-to-time during this particular four-day workweek was supposed to be mechanical, just trying it out to see how it fit. Neither of us had any idea where this might go and weren’t sure it would go anywhere at all. Just a trial, just a test.

For a few minutes, he fumbled experimentally with putting the CB2000 on while speaking with me over the phone. Our exchange was hilarious.

“WHERE did you say this goes?” he asked incredulously as I tried to imagine what part he was holding.

“I said there were five rings; why’d you choose the biggest first?” I asked in exasperation as he took off the back ring and tried a smaller one that I knew wasn’t going to fit. In all, we tried three rings before deciding.

“Lotion!” I yelled into the phone. “The directions said to use lotion.”

“You sent the directions?” he laughed. “What for? Were you going to let me do this by myself?”

“Don’t lose the parts!” I reminded him repeatedly. “Especially the key!”

Everything finally seemed in place and he understood the need for spacers. (I like the way he’s hung – he requires spacers.) And we were ready for the finale – locking the small padlock.

I understood completely that he had two keys and could “get out” at any time but I also know my slave’s heart. If I had said, “Leave it on forever,” that’s exactly what he’d do, unless there was bad pain. With little fanfare, I instructed him to slide the hasp through the holes, put the phone there, and lock it so I could hear it.

He did. In the warmth of my sunny south, I smiled.

At first, it didn’t seem all that special. There were a few minutes of casual touching, to feel it, to see if it were comfortable, to look over the optional pieces, to reevaluate the spacers, and finally to walk across the room in it. We talked about it and finally, I told him to take it off. He “aww’ed” a little, as if he didn’t want to, but did as instructed. Then I had him take out a spacer, change the ring to a smaller one, use the lotion he forgot, and put it back on.

It’s ironic about telephone D/s; sometimes it’s just such hard work for the dominant that it’s simply not fun. Not this time – I could feel the difference. And I was clear: I knew in just a few seconds that this was going to be for real – it was going on but it wasn’t coming off until he had to leave his cold mountains and return to my sunshine. (I wasn’t going to have him test airport security on this trip.)

This time, when the hasp clicked shut, something utterly amazing happened. Within seconds of locking it and hearing me say again that it was for at least two whole days and nights this time when I darn well knew I meant his entire four-day trip, my slave had a massive psychological reaction to his perception of its permanence and the installation of my unrestricted control. His body reacted; his mind wasn’t functioning. He moaned and groaned, twisted all over the bed, shuddered, shook, and trembled. When I finally ordered him to “Let it out!” he came from somewhere deep inside him. It was long and loud – a joy to listen to and absolute agony that I was so far away. Some men never get even one full-body orgasm in their lifetimes. Mine had either a series of them or one long one that wouldn’t quit.

For fifteen minutes, I let him absorb it – the finality of it, the fact that he was caged in the CB2000, he now lived within my control, and wasn’t going to take it off just because he wanted to. Decisions that had been his were now mine; his casual touching was under my control; his ownership of his own cock was gone and was transferred to me. He realized rather suddenly that it was my order that put him into it, and that all those years of wanting a sense of firm outside control had just arrived literally in his lap. Every time he seemed to calm down, he went off again verbally and physically, trembled and talked, and sang me a symphony of suffering that I had wanted to hear for so long that the whole experience almost hurt. Later, we would both describe those moments as an out-of-body experience.

A caged slave who understands that the control emanates from outside his ?self’ is one who can finally touch all those feelings that have been swirling mercilessly inside him for so long.

Without letting his words stop by his brain for editing, my slave told me repeatedly that he was so overwhelmed that his body was reacting and he was unable to control it. He thrashed and twisted all over the bed. His strong legs twitched almost in their own frenzy, and his chest and shoulders were shuddering with no apparent cause. By the time I could calm him, he was exhausted physically, but his mind was racing.

His week suddenly became mine. I controlled him, what he did, how he acted, and effectively, what his body would do. The rush of power – of control – was so enormous after only two days that by Wednesday afternoon, I called and gushed a thank-you to Joel, which precipitated a long and meaningful conversation. He offered a few pointers, and I set out to explore each of them.

My slave was going to have to learn how to wear the CB2000 under his clothes, to use the bathroom, to walk, sit at meetings, get in and out of cars, eat and sleep while wearing it and feeling my control. And one other thing: he was going to learn what it felt like to be aroused while caged. I already felt the need for it; he was going to live it in just a few short minutes.

The bottom line of all of this is that this feeling of control is what he had wanted and was where we were going for more than a year, but neither of us knew it until Joel sent the CB2000 and the lock clicked shut.

What he thought was going to be a mere 48 hours evolved into 96 because I wanted him in that CB2000 for as long as possible, and every hour centered on his wearing that device. I was concerned that it would distract him from his work, but we were in for yet another pleasant surprise in that regard. He actually found that he was incredibly charged during business and focused clearly on the task-at-hand with new-found energy. Yet, he measured his days by when he could return to the hotel, strip naked, and wear that for me in the way he felt he should. We talked incessantly so I could monitor him as best I could. I listened a lot. I pushed him with tantalizing visualizations that I knew would drive him wild, just so he could experience a pulsing and bulging cock constricted by an unyielding gleaming plastic cage. I needed him to react, so I pushed him; I craved feeling the control it engendered.

He exuded power and sexuality. Commenting on a woman in the hotel lobby who was “eyeing” him, he related how he knew better than to look, lest his cage fill and trap his burgeoning cock in its unrelenting grip. Even a trip to the pharmacy with a wall full of magazine covers of attractive women made him think twice before deciding not to inspect them for fear of his cock’s reaction.

He was full of energy, though his sleep was restless. I woke him early each morning with a call and a cage check. Even before his normal morning coffee, he woke instantly with an overwhelming awareness of the CB2000 caging his cock and feelings it engendered. His normally strong voice couldn’t control his passionate need to let his cock get hard as I sat, sipping coffee, and smiling.

It wasn’t good enough for me. I wanted him to feel all of it – arousal and its effects, what a straining cock felt like when caged, and what it really meant to ignore the two handy keys that I had sent.

I set about to drive him crazy.

Each morning when I called to wake him, I heard his sleepy voice mutter, “Good morning, Mistress,” immediately before he told me how he felt wearing the CB2000, like it was always on his mind. And every morning, while I sipped my coffee, he concentrated in the darkness on my voice. I took him deeper and deeper into a state of arousal that is special between us. On his knees, I had him drop his caged cock onto a pillow and stroke it back and forth repeatedly until I could hear his heavy breathing underscoring his pleading voice. Within just a few seconds, he was screaming to be allowed an erection. The cage did its job and all he could do was drip profusely.

Another morning brought a more evil challenge. In the guise of safety, I had him remove the CB2000 and cover his cock with lotion until his voice was a single rasp oozing need. I knew just how he looked: jaw clenched, eyes shut, shoulders hunched forward, his entire body struggling to wait for me to say the word. He was working toward finishing with the wonderful groans and moans that go with that almost-there moment when, just when he thought he was going to get the opportunity to finish the act, I firmly told him to put the CB2000 back on and force his hard shaft into the cage so I could hear the lock close. I was insistent and he was struggling to obey, even just to believe what I said, and his voice begged for ?just a few seconds more, please.’ I wasn’t sure it was going to get back into the cage. But I also know my slave. He would make every effort.

In all, he was out for only four minutes. It seemed much longer to him and almost a lifetime’s worth of joy to me.

I was having so much fun exploring this new avenue of erotic control. I added one more final bit of entertainment to another of his mornings. With a well-lubricated plug in his ass, I had him lay flat on the bed and slide across the sheets, insisting that he not lose the plug. His panting filled my ears and his pleading filled my heart. He longed so much for what had always been his: to get hard, to touch, and to finish.

But that was all gone. The CB2000 made it all mine. He could barely remember what it felt like to be hard, let alone to finish.

The afternoon before he left, I told him that I wanted him to wear the CB2000 longer-term, but he would first have to agree. Moreover, I wanted him to beg me for permission to wear it. After having had a few days to think about it, he asked if he could kneel and cradled his head and the phone in his hands on a nearby chair.

It was one of most profound moments of my life.

For a full ten minutes he pleaded and sobbed semi-coherently to be allowed to wear the CB2000 for me and to feel my control over him at all times. I listened closely, never said a word, and drank in every syllable, however unintelligible some were. As he implored me for permission to continue wearing the CB2000, I felt a new need rise dramatically inside me: absolute control. I liked him wearing it, I liked it the control, and I wanted much more over him. It tasted so good.

Joel forewarned me that my slave would be more passionate, exude sexuality, be more focused, and show new needs while wearing the CB2000 and he was absolutely right. What Joel didn’t mention but let me find out for myself was that this form of control tastes so intensely sweet. I’m very happy with my slave, my control, and the wonderful impact this device has had on our relationship.

My slave is on a 6-week chastity journey that has, so far, involved several business trips and concomitant metal detectors. With the plastic locks, everything was just fine. When he’s caged, he is more focused, exudes sexuality, pays attention, and can let go of the unnecessary trivia to concentrate on what matters (a lot of which is me!). I intend to get several more plastic locks and enjoy all of this 6-week odyssey. We’ll see what happens next.

This has been a wonderful experience so far and I recommend it without reservation.

Amity Harris
Joel’s Gift
one slave’s journey into chastity
© 2002 Amity Harris

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