Romans had male chastity belts!

I've been doing some research for my book, "The Vanilla Dominatrix".

Look at the fresco from Pompeii - she's at her leisure, naked, but he's wearing clothes. I think it's a dead cert he's her slave.

And, guess what? I found some interesting quotes:

Is your slave's prick the only true one?

--Martial (Roman poet)

Martial also gives a hint that even in mixed baths there could be "women's recesses" (7.35.7: feminei recessus) of uncertain function

--Fagan “Bathing in Public in the Roman World

For men, there is both a large fibula (like a modern safety pin), that pierces the foreskin and covers the penis, and a theca, a metal pouch, or leather bag (aluta) that encloses the genitals

---Younger “Sex in the Ancient World”

A small percentage of Roman ladies could do pretty much as they liked. Some of what went on must have resembled my darkest femdom fantasies.

Look at this slave. Is he taking breakfast to his mistress? What else will she want? And, under that kilt, is he sporting a theca?

I don't envy him his life. But I'd love to swap places for a month or so...

New chastity belt manufacturer?

I can't decide if these guys are for real or not; it's not clear how the devices lock, or even adjust.

But, I like the idea of a fabric-based CB.

My own device uses polypropylene webbing, plus a DIY hard cup.

The innovation here is the mesh penis tube, which really would let you wear the thing 24/7 - assuming it didn't make mince out of your cock!

However, I'm not convinced that this would stop you getting off by simply massaging your cock through the mesh. This design is probably of more interest to TG/TV types than denialists.

The Challenge (now on Smashwords)

I've polished my short story "The Challenge" and turned the steam up to 11.

Since I write mostly for kicks, the whole editting process is a bit of a drag. For this reason, I've put the final version of the erotic story of male chastity up on Smashwords as an ebook.

If you want to read the souped up version, and find out what happens at the end, you're going to have to chip in to buy me a pint of beer...

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The padded envelope thudded into the bottom of the empty mail box.

I stood there in the snow and thought, What if it splits and the keys fall out?

And suddenly the chastity belt felt too tight. A mailed fist seemed to clutch my imprisoned groin. My cock swelled to bursting point and I hunched forward, as if punched in the stomach.

It was then I saw her boots; well worn black leather laced tightly around her calves, beaded with drops of water.

“Excuse me,” she said in an out of town accent.

Above the boots, black fishnet stretched over shallow curves like a wire-frame computer graphic. She had one leg turned out slightly, so I could see the inside of her thigh. Was that a glimpse of stockingtop under the hem of her miniskirt?

The girl stood in the half light from the streetlamp, winter coat gaping, tight top leaving her slender midriff bare. She was… impossibly tall.

“Excuse me,” she repeated.

I looked up and saw her lips were blood red and her bobbed hair a natural black with a dusting of snow flakes.

“Do you know any good night clubs?” chipped in her friend, appearing from behind her. The second girl was a walking hourglass. Her winter coat was open and she also favored black, but was short, with heavy breasts overflowing the top of a burgundy velvet corset, almost a corset. A long gypsy skirt hid her legs, but I glimpsed shiny leather Victorian ankle boots below the hem.

“We’re from out of town,” said the tall one.

“I’m not sure...,” I said. It was hard to think when I couldn’t stop my gaze flickering from bust to leg and back again. “There’s Wet and Rocky. It’s on Low Street.”

The two girls advanced until they were just a little too close for comfort. Now I could see down into the shorter girl’s cleavage. My cock heaved against its steel tube and I felt light headed.

“We don’t know where that is,” she said.

“You’ll have to show us,” said the leggy girl, over her shoulder.

I suppressed a groan. Picked up by two beautiful girls, and it had to be the night I’d trapped myself in a chastity belt!

“OK,” I said, dimly aware that this was a Bad Idea. It wasn’t as if I even knew when my key would bounce back, “Address Unknown”. A week perhaps?

“I’m Larch,” said the tall girl as we set off.

“And I’m Rose,” said the other, throwing me an appraising look.

“Fraser,” I said a little nervously. We walked in silence, my cock throbbing with each clack of feminine boot on damp pavement.

There was a queue outside Wet and Rocky – grungy rockers, flamboyant Goths plus some steam punk types – flying goggles for the boys, crinolines for the girls. I opened my mouth to say goodbye, but just then an entire stag night left the club. The queue surged forward and somehow I found myself hemmed in by bodies, the two girls dancing around me.

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Larch towered over me, her arms above her head, and undulated, like a ribbon fluttering in slow motion. A ripple flowed up from her boots, over her endless, fishnet-wrapped legs, her flat bare stomach, and into her long arms to set her fingers fluttering.

My cock strained against its tube and I swayed dizzily.

Then I felt hands on my waist and hot breath on my ear. “I’m glad we bumped into you,” purred Rose. She wriggled, nudging her corseted breasts into my back.

I squirmed, too turned on to pull away, but too embarrassed to relax.

“This is fun!” cried Larch. The tall girl writhed closer until her small breasts brushed my chin. Then she slid against me and the world pulsed in time to the throb in my captive cock.

An electric current seemed to flow between the two women, prickling my skin as it passed over me...

...and I wanted to weep. Any moment and they’d discover my chastity belt. I tried to slip free, but Rose’s grip shifted up from my waist to nip my nipples. The pain made me shudder, but it also sent electric pulses into my chastity belt.

I whimpered and something squirted from my captive penis.

Larch didn’t seem to notice. “Let’s go!” she said with a squeaking giggle.

And somehow, drunk on lust, I found myself staggering outside and into a taxi. It was only as we entered the hotel room that my head cleared.

Read more..

Four kinds of fetish...

My friend Furcissy makes a very interesting point:

For everyone that gets turned on by a scenario, a handful have a fetish for the activity and the majority have a fetish for the situation surrounding the activity. I think that many subs may feel like they have a larger kink-interest base than they really do because of this.

If you read the rest of his post, you'll find he means that the fetish can be for...

• ...the act or situation itself - let's call it a True Fetish.
  For example, I have a chastity fetish. I like being locked in my chastity belt (sort of). I also like being mildly whipped (sort of). Furcissy likes humiliated by being feminized (but hates it).
  
• ... the situation implied by the act - let's call this a Hazard Fetish.
  The fetish act that kicked off this line of thought was "being ignored". One several occasions, Furcissy spent several hours kneeling in a corner, and was most likely forgotten during this time. He came to the conclusion that it was nice if this was a possibility, but not if it were a main activity.
  I, like many others, crave roles in which a whipping is a constant hazard. I don't really enjoy the actual pain, but I do enjoy the sense of powerlessness, and the sense-enhancing fear implied by the possibility. Of course, I need to be whipped from time to time to make the thing real, but I wouldn't enjoy "games" in which all that happened was me getting flogged.

I'll add a third category; a fetish for...

• ...the sense of horror associated with an act or situation - call it the Horror Fetish (duh).
  This is all to do with using fear to heighten arousal, and very little to do with what you'd actually want to do in real life. The fantasy usually doesn't stretch much further than the act, or the moment of entering the situation. Into this bag go most castration and cuckolding fantasies.

It's very easy to get these mixed up.

True and Horror can look similar, because both can involve a lot of aversion. The only obvious difference is that the True focuses on the after, whereas Horror is all about lead up.

True and Hazard, meanwhile, are separated by degree. The problem is that fantasies tend to drift towards the intensities of Hazard at the expense of more livable True - e.g. it's easier to imagine being whipped until you bleed, rather than a quiet day as a slave.

Why does this matter? Because you need to be very careful what you wish for...