The Fitting
Part 7
Day 6: Recollections
That night, as I lay in bed, I thought about my long and varied search
for effective denial. My needs were very clear: I needed to feel safe
against rape and pregnancy and also to be denied orgasm for long
periods. I recognised that orgasm would be required from time to time
as a physiological necessity, but that it was essential to minimise
this. I remembered some of the things I had done and considered doing
towards this end.
I had made many chastity belts, of course. I had attended evening
classes to learn metal-work. This was after I had left school, for the
convent school had not had metal-work on its curriculum. It was not
possible to make a chastity belt in the class, (just imagine the
instructor's reaction, the questions of the other students), and the
bed-sit that I was living in had little in the way of opportunity for
setting up a work-shop. I did, however, later make a stainless steel
device that was quite ineffective and gave me a nasty case of vaginal
dermatitis.
I remembered that I once read about the operations that were performed
on women in Somalia and The Sudan. How they have the clitoris cut away
deeply and the whole of the vaginal lips cut away and sewed up to
reduce it to a tiny hole. I dreamed for a long time of travelling over
there and getting a doctor to sew me up just like the native girls
are. I fantasised what it would be like to touch myself down there and
to find nothing to play with, to masturbate, to stimulate. I imagined
how it would be when the wound was part healed, to get aroused and to
feel the internal pressure of arousal against the wound causing
intolerable pain and suffering, preventing the clench through the
strength of the pain. I would often orgasm to that thought, wanting so
much to be placed in that situation. But in the same book I read how
girls still get raped and sometimes become pregnant through the pin-
hole vagina that remains, and I realised that this would not be fully
satisfactory to me.
I remembered how, even before I left home, I would sometimes sleep with
my ankles tied apart in the bed and my wrists tied to the bed-head to
prevent myself touching myself or squeezing my thighs together. But I
always had to do it in such a way that I could escape, and I realised
that the absolute implacability of a restraint applied by another and
the incapability of escape were important considerations for me.
I once tried self-hypnosis to stop myself from touching myself or
having orgasms, but I could never make this work: if I relaxed deeply
enough to be susceptible to hypnosis, I would be too relaxed to give
myself the necessary instructions. I thought of going to a
professional hypnotist, but when I tried to work out how I would
explain my needs, I felt that he would think me insane and refuse to
treat me.
I even had a succession of boy-friends and girl-friends, whose only
interest for me was to be the supervisor of this denial. Most got
bored within a very few days, and all wanted more from me than I was
prepared to give.
I met Keith quite by accident. I had become resigned to the
frustration of my ambition, and was considering a conventional life of
marriage and mother-hood. I had not yet decided who would be the
victim of my plan, nor how to cope with the things about that plan that
I found unthinkable, but I was resigned to the non-achievable nature of
my ambitions, and to the necessity of becoming more ordinary. I felt,
indeed, some need for companionship and even love.
I was doing a good job by then, managing a small office for a large
business. But this offered very little social opportunities that would
not compromise my managerial position. I had started to lay plans for
meeting people in a social environment, taking evening classes, (OK it
was metal-work again, for I now had enough private space for a small
work-shop and some tools), and going to the occasional party.
I met Keith, however, at a conference I went to through my work. I had
given a presentation. Afterwards, at the rather noisy social event
that was to wind up the conference, we got talking about what I had
been saying in my paper. We both felt a bit disinclined towards the
socialising, and sought somewhere quieter to talk. As we chatted, we
realised that we lived quite close together and had a lot of interests
in common. We arranged to meet up a few days later and go out for a
quiet meal and a night at a symphony concert. We started going out
quite regularly, and I felt it strange, but encouraging, that he didn't
try to bed me as most men I had known would.
One time we went to Amsterdam together, spending a few days visiting
the sights. We stayed right in the centre, near to the red light
district, sleeping in separate rooms. One night returning from a
restaurant, we passed a sex-shop. We suddenly realised that both of us
had stopped, gazing mesmerised at a large glossy photograph of a girl
in a very professional-looking chastity belt. We both suddenly became
embarrassed and aware of the other's interest.
We were both about to apologise and then realised that we were
interested in the same thing. I said: "Is there something we need to
discuss?" At the same time he said "Snap!"
That broke the ice, and we were able, after some hesitation, to discuss
our needs: his to cause denial of orgasm to another, mine to be denied
by another. It took a little time to become fully open and to realise
just how compatible we were. The next day we went into some sex-shops
and bought what we could on the subject of chastity and sexual denial;
it was very little, for this is a rare and specialised subject with few
connoisseurs and fewer providers of the necessary equipment.
I fell asleep recalling those hesitant first steps towards knowing one
another in our special sexual way. Remembering the long and tortuous
route to The Ice House and this terrible, inexorable, wonderful thing
that I now wore. I fell asleep with a warm glow of accomplishment.
Day 7:
I woke, again forgetting the chastity belt at first, but waking far
enough to suppress my fantasy before I got to clench-point. I was
learning.
After breakfast, there was to be one last test before we left to go
home. I was taken to the bed-room I had first occupied when I arrived;
Keith was not with me. This time, there was a TV on a small table, a
suit-case which I found had all my clothes in , and a pair of powerful
shears, capable of cutting through strong plastic; otherwise, nothing
had changed. My hospital gown was taken away, and I was left naked
except for the chastity belt. The door closed.
I had nothing to do for a while. Bored, I remembered some of the
events of the last time I was in there, of the fantasies I had
experienced, of the last time I had watched myself playing with myself
in front of that mirror. I looked at myself, admiring the fit of the
belt, admiring the trim lines of my body, becoming aroused as I
fingered my nipples. As I was watching myself, the TV came alive, and
a film started showing. It was me. It had been taken through that
mirror which must be false. It showed me leaning back on the stool,
touching my cunt, opening the folds of flesh, exposing the interior,
examining the clitoris and labia, starting to masturbate.
At first I was indignant that my privacy had been violated in this way,
but then I realised that much deeper privacies had been violated that
week. I started watching the film, wanting to catch another glimpse of
that now hidden and forbidden part. Wanting to re-experience that
time, that pleasure. I watched myself rise and progress towards that
climax, remembering the details of my fantasy that I had experienced
then. I forgot the time, the place, the belt, everything; I was
there. I watched myself come towards my climax, and my muscles
straining rigid, and I found myself, for reasons I could not then
remember, negating the clenching, warding off the climax. As the
person in the video relaxed in post-orgasmic bliss and contentment, I
nursed my intensity of frustration, the inward battle still fierce
within me.
So . . . did I glory in my present state or desire to return to my
former one? This was the clear question posed by the film and by the
situation. I could go back or forward. Which would I choose? I
noticed the shears beside the TV set. I picked them up. I fitted them
behind the bar that ran down in front of my hip towards my vulva. I
felt so very much like pressing the blades closed. Then I thought
about the need to win. Especially the need to win over myself, over my
own weakness. I put them down. I went and laid on the bed; I gloried
and suffered as the agony and intensity of profound unsatisfied need
slowly seeped through me.
When, at last, it all subsided, I got dressed. I picked up my suit-
case and went out to meet Keith.
