Deliberation

Mistress Stephanie grabs my hair and pulls my head back. She looks me square in the eye, a very serious look on her face.

"Slave, are you sure you want me to do this to you?"

"Yes Mistress," I say, almost regretting it already.

"Say it. Beg me for it."

"I want you to hold the key to my chastity belt, Mistress. Please take it and use it to tease and torture me. Please teach me how to be a good boy and not a pathetic wanker slut." Mistress slaps me in the face lightly, smiling a little.

"Tell me why you deserve it, slaveboy."

I swallow, remembering the words she made me memorize earlier, after the Interrogation and Confession session. "Because I'm a pathetic wanker slut. I can't keep my hands off my filthy prick, and I can't control myself. I need to be locked up so I don't have the opportunity to disappoint you."

Mistress looks at me deeply. "I've been very displeased with you recently. You can't seem to follow orders not to cum. I bring you close to the edge and hold you there, and you find some way to spill over, spraying your disgusting seed all over yourself. Furthermore, you have confessed that you masturbate every day, sometimes twice a day. I find this unacceptable. An orgasm should be special, something you treasure and look forward to. Your endless wanking has made it mundane and commonplace. For this, I will take them away from you. I believe that once you really know what it's like to suffer for one, you will come to thank me."

"Yes Mistress," I say. Mistress nods and kneels down between my legs. My cock is throbbing inside the plastic cage. The lock is in place but isn't closed. Mistress smirks to herself as I hear it click shut.

"I am going to make your life a living hell, slave."

"Yes Mistress," I breathe, sweating. My stomach tightens – this is going to be really hard. Mistress Stephanie knows just what my private thumbscrews are. In the interrogation, she squeezed out all my secret fetishes and desires, and I just know she's going to use them against me. Get inside my head. Turn me inside out. I'm going to be completely hers. Owned. Property. Not a person, just a toy.

Mistress Steph unhandcuffs me from the chair. "Give me the key now, slave," she commands, snapping her fingers. I scurry, naked, over to my backpack, where the key to the chastity belt is hidden. I hold the small key in my hands, turning it over. This is my last chance to turn back.

"Give it to me," she commands again, impatient, tapping the toe of her sexy boots on the floor. My guts are turning in knots. I don't know if I can handle this.

I DO have a masturbation problem. I am a young male in at the height of my sexual potency. I can get off two or three times a day without depleting myself. My mind is constantly on sex, always looking for something dirtier or something more twisted to get off to. Mistress has slowed me down a bit, but in private, I still jerk off – in the shower, before I go to bed, sometimes even at work. This is going to be a big change.

She had an air of annoyance in her voice. "Now, slave. The longer you wait, the worse I'm going to be on you." She held her hand out, her palm open.

I tried to plead with Mistress yesterday when we were talking about this arrangement. After that brutal interrogation scene, and then that humiliating confessional session, I was really in no place to disagree with her, only acceding to her wishes. I begged her that we should take this slow – that we should start off with only a few days and then slowly increase – so I could get acclimated. In a dismissive tone, she said she'd consider it.

"One," she counted. I knew much better than to let her get to three – but would the punishment for backing out now be worse than the treatment itself?

"Two," she said sharply, her foot still tapping. This is really the last choice I get to make for some time. I know that this, too, is an illusion... even if I don't give her the key, she'll find some way of torturing it out of me. Oh god this is going to be awful. I swallowed. I handed her the key.

"Good boy," she said. A feeling of helplessness came over me, a sort of rush of the loss of power. With it, there was a brief sense of serenity, but it was in the midst of near panic. Mistress Steph sat down in the chair in front of me. I was hers now, no question about it. She had my key and I was her lock.

Mistress Stephanie snapped her fingers and pointed at her pussy. She lifted her skirt and said casually, "well, get to work." Her breath was longer, deeper. I could tell that she was really getting off on the power she was just handed. Waves of submission brought me to my knees, a tide against which I am helpless. My face pressed against her pussy, my wet tongue snaking out my mouth to contact her gorgeous shaved sex. She was soaking wet already; I teased her with my tongue, flashing over her lips and flicking her clit very softly.

"No slaveboy, I need you NOW." Her hand tangled in my hair, she pressed my head forward into her, burying my face in her delicious folds, intoxicating me with her bouquet. She smelled like sweat and leather and orgasm and ecstasy. I could feel her alabaster thighs clamped around my head move with her breath, deep and moaning, coming up into a crescendo as I attacked her pussy with my expert mouth. She must have been close to cumming before I had even touched her. Nothing turns me on more than knowing my submission is getting my Mistress off.

As her cries fell off, she jerked my head back by the hair. Her face was flush, breathless. She grinned at me, "good boy," and then pressed my face back into her. Pushing her hips forward into me, I worshipped her with my tongue. My cock was swollen, painfully crushed against the plastic cage.

"I almost feel bad for what I'm going to do to you," she said as I squirmed under her skirt.