It really was ironic. David Dawkins had brought up the idea of chastity to his wife, Sharon. He had practically begged her to try it. That group, the Female Council, had been talking about it a lot and he pointed that out to her in the hopes of making it seem less strange. Looking back, that was his first mistake. Sharon went from trying it out to full blown locked 24/7 in two weeks! To make matters worse, she had embraced the Council's recommendation that males not be allowed more than 9 orgasms a year. Between sex with Sharon and his masturbation he was used to that many in a month.
Sharon wore the key on a necklace, and he carried an emergency key in a sealed envelope. The envelope had many security features added to it; Sharon's handwriting crossed both sides of every seal, clear tape was applied over the seals and around the edge of the envelope. And it felt as if there was a second envelope inside, whose markings he wouldn't even know until the first one was opened. In short, it would be obvious if the envelope had been opened when he returned it to her, which was whenever he got back to the house.
It had been over a month since his last orgasm, and her teasing and edging had been relentless. He was out of his mind. That's when he concocted his plan. The protocol for an emergency was to call her as soon as possible, preferably before opening the emergency envelope. The most likely emergency was development of an edema, or other restriction on normal blood flow. He would open the emergency key envelope, duplicate the key and then fake the emergency. By pinching a part of his package he could restrict blood flow until his balls were turning a very dark and scary shade. He would quickly snap a picture of it and send it to Sharon's phone with the story that he had to use the emergency key. Then he would have a way to make sure he wasn't denied unreasonably.
With the emergency key free of its envelope he walked into Silver's Lock and Key. It was the only full service locksmith in the area. He had already checked out that hardware stores only carried key blanks for old cars, boats and houses. The chastity key was much smaller than those.
"Can I help you?" asked the tall, lean and muscular woman behind the counter, with 'Jean' embroidered over her shirt pocket. Her hair was short and she had a tough and slightly manly look about her.
"I need a duplicate of this key," he said, trying to be casual while he held it out.
"What's it open," she asked studying the key.
"A small padlock that secures a keepsake chest," he answered as she took it.
Jean studied the lock and key for a moment. Her face suddenly lit up as if she had just figured something out.
"I've got no doubt it locks up something important to you," she said smiling. "This is a chastity key, isn't it?"
David hadn't prepared for this. His stammering fluster prevented him having a smooth, ready answer which only confirmed her remark. But he still tried to play for denial.
"What's that? I don't know what you're talking about."
"Uh huh," she acknowledged. "I know you. She said. I always remember customers, I rekeyed the locks at your house after a guest you had left suddenly." She was flipping through an old fashioned index card file. "Yep, here it is. David and Sharon Dawkins, 6065 Newbridge Dr. Got the telephone number too. Why don't I call Sharon and ask her about the 'keepsake' box?" Jean was grinning widely now, clearly enjoying David's discomfort.
"Maybe I should just go somewhere else," David said reaching for the key.
"I don't think I should duplicate this key without checking, and I don't think I should let anyone else do it either," she said closing her fist around the key and moving back away from the counter. She fixed David with a look that said 'I mean business'.
David was completely broken. His plan was in a shambles, and he was at the mercy of Jean.
"OK. What happens now?" he asked. There was submission and defeat in his voice.
"For starters, how about you come back here and sit in that chair behind the counter," she opened the low swinging door and indicated a chair next to the wall. David was now in a small area where he'd have to get past Jean to get out of the store. "Now give me the lock, and the device." David froze like a deer in headlights. "Now!" He fumbled in his pants pocket and retrieved the lock, the device came out of his jacket pocket.
Jean took the device and lock and quickly figured out how it went together. It was a simple and elegant stainless steel design. The large ring had a square post on it that fit through an opening on the top of the penis cage. Holes on the post were for the lock's shank to slip through. Her attention was focused more on the lock.
"So how were you going to get away with this?" she asked out of curiosity.
David told her the whole story of the emergency key and how he could fake an emergency. He even elaborated on the emergency key tamper evident packaging. Jean listened with mild interest but was busy doing something with two keys that came with a similar lock. She finished what she was doing with the two keys and gathered up the device, new lock and keys.
"OK let's go in back," she said cheerfully to David.
Through a door behind the counter space was a crowded room that doubled as office and storage. Jean handed the device and the lock to David.
"OK. Put it on and lock it up."
"Here!? Now?!" he asked astonished and embarrassed that she would suggest such a thing.
"Just because I don't have much interest in them, doesn't mean I haven't seen what you have in there. Besides, there is no way you are leaving this store unlocked. So I'd get with it if I were you."
David reluctantly complied. He got the large cuff ring around his penis and testicles easily enough, but slipping into the cage was more difficult. He was not exactly erect, but enlarged enough to make slipping into the cage more difficult. With the help of a little lube that for some reason Jean happened to have in her purse he was at last in the cage and the lock snapped shut.
"Fine. Now let's call your wife."
David's defeated feeling was returning to panic now. But how else could this have turned out? Jean dialed the number.
"Mrs. Dawkins?"