The real thing....?

I've just discovered a chap who's planning to spend the whole of next year in a male chastity device.

It would be nice to think that he'll get some vanilla dates during that time, expecially because he plans to buff up. But - hey! - who said life had to be like the erotic novel?

Would his adventure make a good erotic novel? Not as it stands. There's nothing forcing him to stay chaste, and nobody trying to coax him out of the chastity belt... hmm, now there's an interesting dynamic.

Slave as participant voyeur

This 1920s burlesque short seems to capture it all: a bevy of fresh-faced flappers strip off to go bathing in their undies and have a giggle, away from the male gaze.

It would be nice to be part of that scene! However, as soon as a man turned up, the private girliness would be gone. In it's place would be reserve, flirtatiousness, or embarrasment .

It would be a different story in my Whips and Stockingtops world. A more or less identical scene could play out, told from the attendant slave's point-of-view. The girls simply wouldn't care if he was watching, though, later in the dunes, they might use his willing tongue.

(Of course, the scene would need more than that to work as fiction.)

Kolkislavia: opening to a permanent chastity novel

In the last couple of years, I've tinkered with some non-consensual chastity settings. One of these - inspired by Ruritania - is a former Eastern Block republic called Kolkislavia. On the whole, I like this one better than Chastity Planet because the power play is in earnest.

Kolkislavia is a fascinating country, well worth a backpacking trip if you can get a visa. The men were mostly wiped out in World War Two, so that by the time the next generation grew to manhood, the women were used to getting their own way. They are legendarily sexually forward, though somewhat demanding. There are however traps for the unwary male visitor…

(Nurse kindly provided by Butch, a denizen of Renderotica)

Chapter 1

It was the pain in my groin that woke me.

I opened my eyes on blinding whiteness and tried to reach between my legs, only to find I couldn’t move my arms.

The white coalesced into dirty polystyrene ceiling tiles. I tried again. Still my arms wouldn’t move.

I shifted slightly and found my legs were also pinned.

“Hey!”

My voice sounded hoarse.

“Hey!” I repeated and heard answering footsteps, the sound of high heels on linoleum. A nurse bent over me – a proper nurse; hair tucked up into an old-fashioned cap, white coat unbuttoned to the cleavage. She smiled and said something in a language I couldn’t understand.

Of course, I’m in Kolkislavia – hence the out of date uniform. The whole country was like that, not that I was complaining. Her cleavage drew my gaze. Her skin was a radiant golden white, like a Slavonic goddess. The curves seemed taut and firm.

I felt a swelling in my groin. Then a strange, stinging tightness in my penis and an ache in my testicles. I tensed my buttocks but couldn’t get an erection.

“What’s happened to me?” I asked.

She pouted and said, in a cooing voice, “Ataletik.”

“Ataletik?”

She shrugged and rolled back the sheet as far as my waist. Now I could see that my wrists were held by hospital restraints.

The nurse produced a sponge and wiped my face, then my neck. She reached my chest and made some little swirls around my nipples sending little electric tingles to my groin. Now my penis felt as if it were being rhythmically squeezed by a mailed fist.

I had a flash of another nurse scrubbing me down, and an operating table.

Rising panic now, I tried to close my legs around my genitals. I strained against the restraints until my thighs touched. Nothing.

And yet I could feel them?

Unless it was like a ghost limb.

I had to know what had happened to me.

Kolkislavia.

I remembered Christina meeting me at the run-down railway station, and our chaste kiss. Her simple summer dress made her look like a Pre-Raphaelite saint.

Then seven glorious days, walking hand in hand in the park, seeing the frescos she was restoring, and visiting the unspoiled country – not speaking, just basking in her company. She seemed to spend her days in a dream, an erotic daze.

The throbbing grew stronger.

Had we had sex?

Not a chance. In truth, I couldn’t even imagine it. When I kissed her she jumped like a startled rabbit.

And then, as I walked back from her lodgings and van pulled up. I remembered masked men and...

“Ah, Mr Carlisle. You are awake.” A woman’s voice, low and clipped, speaking in German, the official language of the Republic of Kolkislavia.

I raised my head and found a big Amazon of a woman standing at the foot of my bed. A peaked cap shaded her eyes. A long black leather coat flapped open, revealing a tight grey uniform and the tops of her knee-length jack boots.

“Theda!”

“Captain Theda. I’m here in my official capacity,” she said. “This is Dr Olslova.”

A grey haired women with a clipboard nodded at the nurse who pouted then whipped away the sheet and held a mirror up between my legs.

There was nothing there.

I yelped, blinked then looked again.

Glass bars covered the space between my legs, forming a leaf shaped cage. It formed a ridge, like a stalk, over my penis. On either side, mesh flattened my scrotum. Stitches marred its delicate skin.

“My balls!”

The doctor smiled. “Still there. Tucked up into their cavities.” She tapped the cage and I saw that the flesh bulged either side of the root of my penis. “They’ve taken some darts out of your scrotum. But it’ll stretch once the cage is off. It’s all quite standard.”

I sat back. “So when can you operate to remove it?”

The doctor glanced at Theda and back again.

Christina appeared behind the two women. The light from the window turned her hair into a red halo making her look like an angel. “Andrew, I came as soon as I...” Her green eyes widened.

Theda’s face became rigid, as expressionless as a mask.

I half closing my thighs, and felt myself blush. Even in this mutilated state, I was embarrassed to show her my genitals. Nothing

I expected her to flinch or look away. But her eyes softened. “Poor thing. I’m sure we can make it all better.”

Theda visibly relaxed. She cleared her throat. “In the bad old days, the State used these to prevent athletes from defecting.”

And then I remembered the Backpacker’s Guide entry. “But that’s just an urban myth...” The doctor’s eyes became pitying. “It’s booby trapped, isn’t it?”

The doctor nodded. “The tubes contain a powerful explosive. You need the unique Catalyst Key to defuse it.”

Theda coughed. “My government is most embarrassed that this should happen to a tourist. We will make every effort to recover the key and free you.” But in her eyes I saw a strange mixture of triumph and guilt.

“I’m sure you’ll do your best,” said Christina.