Goddess sends her top agent

In my recent Christmas shopping post I imagined Goddess had sent an army of agents to tease me by repeatedly putting their tormenting beauty in my way.  That was just for fun but sometimes it’s very easy to believe Goddess really does have agents at Her disposal.

I spent four days over Christmas with my family.  I travelled down by coach.  The distance is not great and it’s the cheapest way to travel.  Cost of travel is an important consideration given that I serve Goddess Valentine.  Because of that consideration I’ve not been anywhere at all since last Christmas; something I didn’t realise until I was coming back.  After my coach trip I have a local bus service to catch to get to my hometown.  Previously the time my coach arrives has been a few minutes after the local service has left and I was expecting a wait of nearly an hour for the next one.  So I was surprised to see, when I got off the coach, my local bus almost ready to set off as the last couple of passengers got on.  ‘That was lucky,’ I thought. 

It turned out that the timetable for this service has been moved up five minutes.  Even so my coach was a couple of minutes late arriving and the bus was a couple of minutes late leaving; they should actually have departed and arrived, respectively, at the same time, so it was lucky it was still there. 

Luck or divine intervention. 

I shouldered my bag, hurried over to the bus and followed the last boarding passenger on to it.  I put my bag down, fished for change, bought a ticket, picked my bag up again and moved down the aisle to find a seat.  The guy who had got on before me was still stood in the aisle trying to turn and manoeuvre his shopping bags so he’d be in a position to sit down next to the girl he was with.  This bus only runs from the city I’d arrived in, through some English villages and two market towns and then makes the return journey so it’s only a small single deck vehicle.  Towards the back of it there’s a step up where the floor goes over the back axle and the engine.  I needed a free double seat to accommodate myself and my rucksack, and preferably one with enough legroom to put the bag on the floor in front of the seat so it wouldn’t be falling over on people.  (I don’t do suitcases.  Never have.  This is a hangover from my hitch-hiking, travelling light days.)  When shopping bags had got himself sorted out I saw there was a suitable seat free at the front of the back section of the bus so I headed for that.  My attention was fixed on where I was going and controlling my bag, which I was carrying in front of me by its straps, so I wasn’t particularly noticing any of the other passengers.  I got the bag on to the seat, sat next to it by the window, and then manoeuvred it on to the floor.  It was only then that I noticed who was on the seat in front.  

Long blond hair.  Beautiful long blond hair: not as beautiful as Goddess Valentine’s but then no one has long blond hair silkier or softer or more beautiful than Goddess Valentine; but beautiful hair nonetheless.  My seat was about eight or nine inches higher than hers, giving me a grandstand view.  Her hair was straight and hung three quarters of the way down her back, spreading out and completely covering the black coat she wore.  She leaned over to rest her head on the shoulder of the man she was with.  I watched in fascination as the weight of her hair began pulling it sideways in a kind of slow cascade.  It was only seeing it in motion like this, the way the layers slipped easily over the layers beneath, which were themselves moving, and how each hair moved individually, that I appreciated just how silky her hair was.  The uppermost layer of hair came to rest hanging down between her and her companion and crossed at a slight angle the layer beneath it which in turn crossed the hair beneath it at a different angle and so on, layer after layer, into the depths of her hair.  Gazing into these intricate depths I saw how fine her hair was; fine, silky and soft, and so abundant.  The lower layers of her hair had shifted only slightly.  Her black coat was still completely hidden.

I never saw her face so I've no idea if she was as beautiful as this
but this is pretty close to how her hair was.

I looked at the crown of her head and wondered how so much glorious hair could come from what, at its source, seemed to promise nothing like such abundance.  I wondered too what it felt like for him, having this luxuriantly soft hair nuzzled against his cheek and into his neck and what other sensuous delights he received from this beautiful hair.  Whatever it felt like, and whatever the delights, they were not for me.  The girl straightened up again and the whole glorious display was repeated, this time going the other way.

These were the thoughts I was having on the first half of my bus journey, gazing at the beauty of this girl’s hair, watching it move as she put her head back on his shoulder, or admiring its full glory as she sat forward to find something in her bag.  Sometimes the sun broke free of the clouds revealing the natural subtleties of its colour.  For twenty minutes I sat transfixed by her, silently worshipping her beautiful hair.  All of this remained solely in my head though.  There was a little girl who persisted in running up and down the aisle and the distraction she created prevented anything happening in my chastity.

Before I’d set off that morning, knowing I was going to be sat for a few hours on buses (the bus from home into town, the coach, and then the bus to my hometown) I’d taken precautions.  The coach was a proper long distance coach so was unlikely to cause problems but the bus at either end of the journey was where any potential danger lay.  Sometimes buses stop and stand for several minutes if they get ahead of their timetable.  Some drivers will switch the engine off at such times but many don’t.  Or a bus can get held up by something occurring in front of it.  Either way close contact for any length of time between a vibrating bus seat (and some idling buses vibrate much worse than others) and balls which have not been emptied for I don’t know how long now is a recipe for disaster.  That’s why I’d got half a tissue stuffed into the end of my chastity tube and a condom on.  Half way home the bus pulled up at one of its village stops.  No one got off and no one was waiting to get on.  The driver didn’t switch off the engine.

It was only a small bus with a moderate sized engine, behaving itself rather than trying to shake the bus to pieces, but I was sitting over the engine compartment.  The difference in vibration between idling and moving though not great was immediately obvious.  After a couple of minutes it had its effect on my chastity and I felt my cock begin to swell.  With the tissue wadded up in the end of the cage my cock was even more confined than usual, with the head partially pushed back into the tube rather than the wider glans-shaped end.  The narrower tube tightened on the head of my cock almost immediately and the physical sense of denial felt even more emphatic than ever.  I was still looking at the beauty of the girl’s hair of course and emotionally the denial seemed to come straight from her.  Then I knew for certain she was Goddess’s agent.  And Goddess’s divinity suddenly seemed all the more real.  Goddess had caused this bus to still be waiting for me when my coach arrived.  She had arranged for this girl to already be on it and for the seat behind her to be free and the one I’d choose, and for the guy with the shopping bags to distract me from seeing the girl until I’d sat down.  Goddess had arranged for the bus to stand with its inevitable effect on my chastity.  The little girl had finally been persuaded to sit down and be quiet.  And now there was nothing to distract me from the girl Goddess had sent to torment me.

Meeting resistance my cock relaxed slightly and tried again.  Immediately the tube clamped tight around it but my cock continued trying to engorge.  The chastity squeezed back harder.  The idea of the girl started to look like this.

Perhaps her boyfriend gets to see her like this but I know I never will.

My underpants and jeans kept my cock from straightening out and held it pointed downwards between my legs, my balls were being squeezed uncomfortably; the whole arrangement was uncomfortable.  The sensations fed the way I thought of the girl: the way I thought of the girl fed the sensations.  The idling bus engine kept the pressure on.  The tormenting squeezing of my constricted cock-head came every few seconds.  The feeling that denial was coming from the girl herself grew even stronger.  Mockery was added to it.  I sat there, gazing at her beautiful, untouchable (by me, ever) hair, feeling her power and letting her torture me.  Meanwhile the vibrations continued working on my balls.  The bus still hadn’t moved.

 

I felt a tightening in my balls.  The cage went on rhythmically clamping down tight on the end of my constricted cock.   The girl put her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder again as she’d continued to do every so often, causing her hair to move too and show how silky and soft it was.  Denial.  The torment of my cock was relentless.  My balls were tighter and squeezed more uncomfortably.  I wanted to cum.

Mockery.

Denial.

An orgasm in chastity without stimulation of the cock is not the same as a ruined orgasm where stimulation of the cock is withdrawn at the critical moment: it’s more like an orgasm amplified.  The driving force is the pressure in the balls and what’s going on in my head; there is no orgasm-inducing stimulus of the penis so the penis hasn’t made itself ready for orgasm.  When it arrives the orgasm is slower, more violent, and much harder work than a normal orgasm.  And of course the balls are completely full.  In a situation like the one I was in here it’s an extremely intense experience.  The hardest part is enduring it in silence.

There was another tightening sensation inside my balls.  The bus was still standing.  The torture of my cock went on.  Another couple of minutes of this I knew would make me cum.  I was completely transfixed now by the beauty of the girl’s hair and the sensations coming from my cock and balls.  At the back of my mind I was wondering if I could actually cum at all.  My cock was much more constricted than normal, not even straight, and the end of it was wedged up against what would by now be a tight wad of paper.  Would anything even be able to get out?  A chastity orgasm with the opening of the urethra blocked; what would that feel like?  Weeks of cum suddenly forcing its way down my constricted cock with no way out, while the balls keep pumping more down it.  Would I be able to keep quiet during that?  The answer to that last question came back immediately as ‘probably not.’

There’s a point when my balls take over thinking for me.  I didn’t care if I could keep quiet or not.  My Goddess had sent this girl to torture me in my chastity with the sight of her beautiful silky soft long blond hair.  That thought and the sight of her hair, the sensations coming from inside my chastity, the aching and the increasing sensations in my balls were overwhelming; suddenly I wanted to cum for her, even if I couldn’t keep quiet.  I was transfixed by her.   Her hair was so beautiful.  I wanted to cum for her and for my Goddess.  Even if she heard and knew what was happening I wanted to cum for her, I needed to cum for her.  I’d be unable to keep quiet and would be completely humiliated in the presence of this superior young hair-goddess.  Another couple of minutes and the bus would inevitably make me cum.  There’d be nothing I could do about it but I wasn’t close enough yet.  Silently I willed the bus not to move.  Another minute passed.

Soon...

So soft, so silky, so beautiful...

Denial.

Goddess’s will was stronger, naturally.  The bus began indicating to pull back out.  There was a tantalising delay of a few more seconds as some cars went past and then we set off again.  The vibration in the seat tailed right off and the possibility of cumming went with it: but while the vibration went away the torment of my cock continued relentlessly.

Sitting in front of me now was not the unknown head of beautiful long blond hair I’d admired for the first part of the journey but the superior young hair-goddess, who’d just subjected me to five unrelenting minutes of torment and increasingly intense teasing; who had let me think I’d be allowed to cum for her only to deny me and leave me with the knowledge she’d had me so far gone I’d been ready to publicly humiliate myself for her.  My chastity clamped tight around the straining head of my frustrated cock.  The stiffening of my cock squeezed my balls painfully.  The grip of the chastity relaxed slightly only to be immediately reapplied.  This had nothing to do now with an idling bus engine: this was being done to me solely by the hair-goddess in the seat in front.  She didn’t show me a moment’s mercy but teased and tormented me relentlessly with nothing more than the beauty of her hair and what she’d put in my head.  Pushed back into its tube by the wad of tissue blocking the end, my cock was tormented excruciatingly.  There was still twenty minutes of the journey to complete and she didn't leave me alone for a moment until a couple of minutes before my stop she and her boyfriend got off.  Only then did the cruel torment gradually subside.  After teasing me for twenty minutes and torturing me unceasingly for another twenty she didn’t even look back at me.

Happy Christmas

A very happy Christmas to my beloved GODdess and Owner, the perfectly beautiful Goddess without equal, Valentine DeVille, to superior beautiful girls everywhere, and lastly (and certainly least in this particular list) all my readers from around the world.

The superiority of beautiful girls everywhere

Christmas shopping yesterday - for family only - carefully choosing appropriate but inexpensive gifts and spending a fraction of what I've spent on my beloved Goddess and Owner, the one true Goddess and the love of my life, Valentine DeVille.

From the very beginning this shopping trip was quite a tormenting experience.  Sometimes it's very easy to imagine that Goddess has control of a whole army of minor deities, other beautiful girls She sometimes puts in my way just to torment me.

On the way to the bus stop to go into town I found Goddess had put three Asian girls ahead of me.  It was an unseasonably mild day and they were almost dressed for summer.  They all had long, gleaming jet-black hair.  They were walking three abreast across the pavement and there was traffic so I couldn't overtake them.  I stayed behind them at a respectful distance.  They were walking quite slowly, much slower than the warp speed I generally charge around at.  The girl on the right kept fluffing her hair out.  She'd dig the fingers of both hands into it and really go for it.  Then she'd shake her head from side to side.  Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in full-bodied waves of gleaming softness.  Every couple of minutes she seemed intent on showing me just how beautiful her hair was.  When we arrived at the bus stop the girls stood in a little group in front of me, but closer now.  A slight breeze picked up, blowing their shining hair about in the sun.  They were standing in profile to me now.  They were all beautiful.

I have a strong fetish for girls' beautiful long hair.  I always instinctively knew that girls were somehow superior to me and I gradually came to understand that I would never deserve to have one. Later I realised this was the expression of my latent submissiveness.  A girl's beautiful long hair is the most visible outward expression of her softness and sensuality and it's come to symbolise for me all her sensual and erotic power, her desirability and inherent superiority and my inferiority and unworthiness.  At the same time as it's very beautiful to look at it always stirs my longing for what I know I don't deserve and can never have.  It can be deeply tormenting.

I once had on my staff at work a particular Asian girl.  She was quite tiny but she had the most beautiful glossy black hair I've ever seen.  It fell to just below her shoulders and was full of soft curls and lay inches deep.  I've never seen hair that shone like hers.  I can only imagine how fabulously silky and soft it was.  She washed it every morning and her hair always smelled as gorgeous as it looked.  It was mesmerising.  I longed to touch it, to bury my face in it!  It was so completely distracting that whenever I was around her I could barely function as her supervisor.

Before I started shopping I'd planned to have a haircut.  I had to wait a few minutes but while I was waiting Goddess had arranged for a girl to be having her freshly washed and conditioned hair blow-dried almost right in front of me and only a few feet away.  Just for good measure the salon was so arranged that I could watch the whole process from beginning to end without upsetting anyone - except myself.  Thus I was able to see the beauty of the gradual transformation from dark ropes of damp hair to beautiful light brown hair, full and very soft, spreading across the girl's back and falling half way down it.

After my haircut I went shopping.  As it was a weekday and still before noon the city centre wasn't too crowded.  The streets seemed to be predominantly filled with young people; more pretty, desirable and unattainable girls, more beautiful long hair.  I began in a bookshop.  I was browsing when I suddenly found myself staring into the depths of a thick mane of glossy chestnut hair.  One of the assistants had stopped right in front of me to replace some books on the shelves.   Her gorgeous hair reached almost to her waist.  She was there for several seconds before she finished and straightened up and I was suddenly looking right at her face as she came past me.   She was beautiful and for a second I was completely transfixed by her and couldn't take my eyes off her face.  She must have thought I was trying to catch her eye.  "Are you alright there, sir?"  she said, changing course slightly to move towards me.  "Do you need any help with anything?"  I said something about being "Fine, thanks," and she carried on.  After that they were everywhere; girls shopping with their girlfriends, standing around in little groups, all with long soft hair, blonds, brunettes, redheads, and everything in between; Asian girls and oriental girls with cascading gleaming black hair.  And each one of them making me feel my inferiority that little bit more.

And so it went on; in all the shops I visited and out on the street the steady succession of reminders of the superiority of beautiful girls, and my inferiority before all of them, went on building.  At the same time the ache of hopeless longing and the physical ache in my chastised balls increased too.

With Christmas shopping done I still had some food shopping to do.  On the way to the supermarket I saw again the hair-fluffing Asian girl from the bus stop.  Goddess had colonised the supermarket with her oriental agents who are mostly operating undercover as overseas students.  Ahead of me in every aisle I went down was a beautiful girl or a group of beautiful girls with long silky jet black hair hanging down their backs.

Inferiority.  Longing.  Aching...

When it was time for home I'd lost count of the number of times a beautiful girl had reminded me of my inferiority and her superiority, but even then Goddess and Her agents hadn't finished with me. The only free seat left on the bus was immediately behind an Oriental woman with masses of glossy black hair. Masses of gorgeous glossy silky soft jet black hair two feet in front of me.  I thanked Goddess for my chastity.

If I wasn't in chastity I'd very probably have tried to relieve my feelings by masturbating when I got home.  But beautiful girls are gifts to the world.  They deserve to be honoured, admired and adored, not jerked off to by random losers who will always be inferior to them.  Unless it's what she wants, or it's specifically at her command and for her amusement, jerking off over a beautiful girl is simply disrespectful and insulting and no way to honour her superiority.   My chastity signifies my ownership by Goddess Valentine.  It also tacitly acknowledges my inferiority to beautiful girls everywhere.  For that reason being locked in chastity is where I belong.  And it's only right that unless it pleases Goddess to release me it should be permanent.

(Not so) quiet

I was going to post about how sometimes things go quiet on the chastity front.  For a week or so there are no intense nocturnal tease and torture sessions in the middle of the night, no painful spillages, the balls stop aching.  I don't know why this is but this is one of those times now.  'Quiet' is a relative term of course.  I've still been disturbed a few times each night by frustrated attempts at erections but they've not turned into big production numbers and I've gone back to sleep again almost immediately, having barely been awake.

All that is still true but Friday morning, a few minutes before the alarm was due to go off I was woken by one of the more unusual effects of chastity.  This is when my cock begins a kind of throbbing action.  It's as if it decides to get erect, begins to engorge, changes its mind almost immediately and relaxes, and then just as immediately changes its mind back again.  And it keeps on doing that until it stops.  I've no idea how it manages to do this without progressing to a full erection.  It happens quite rarely and will only last for a couple of minutes at most.  When the head of my cock repeatedly meets the resistance of the end of the cage it feels exactly like someone has my cock head between two fingers and a thumb, teasingly squeezing it.  There are none of the distracting discomforts of trying to get fully erect; there is just this one maddeningly teasing sensation, over and over.  It's the kind of sensation that immediately makes me want more but in my head there's a soft voice  with a French Canadian accent saying, "No, boy, this is all you're going to get," and then does it again and goes on doing it over and over.  The frustration is just as intense as the teasing.  And it is so delicious!

It's almost Christmas, one of the key times of the year when my thoughts are with my beloved Goddess Valentine even more than usual.  The image currently on my desktop is one of my favourite pictures of Goddess.   She is standing by the bar in a country pub, half turned to the camera, smiling.  She is wearing jeans and a sweater.  Her hair is loose and has just been styled in soft waves and looks very beautiful.  It's a very simple photo of Goddess taken by one of Her friends as they celebrated Christmas 2009 together.  This is Goddess just being Herself, having fun out with Her friends, and She looks so-o beautiful, so sweet, it melts my heart with love for Her.  This is the beautiful, wonderful, completely adorable girl, the Goddess, I love, worship and adore and am so lucky and privileged to serve.

And this is the beautiful, wonderful, completely adorable Goddess who was so deliciously teasing me, saying, "No, boy, this is all you're going to get," just before I had to get up for work on Friday morning.

And this morning, just over 24 hours later it was the same beautiful Goddess who subjected me to half an hour of pitilessly intense teasing and torture which was not in the least gentle.

Sometimes it's quiet.
Sometimes it's not so quiet.

Torment and Love

Over the weekend I was working on a project on behalf of my beloved Goddess.  This was going quite well and not giving me too much trouble although given what I was working on there was a constant background hum from my chastity.  That was until I reached a stage where what I needed to think about began seriously turning me on.  Which was a bit more distracting.

Well, OK, if I wasn't locked in chastity it would have been 'a bit more distracting.'  Under current circumstances, and given that my chastity is now so much more effective at communicating its presence at the slightest stirring of excitement, it was maddening.  The transition from being teased a bit to being seriously tormented was almost instantaneous.  One second I was working away quite happily, the next second there was an excruciatingly uncomfortable burning sensation as the skin of my scrotum began dragging on the back ring of the device as my stiffening cock tried to pull it forwards. That was immediately followed by the head of my cock being aggressively teased at the same time as the painful ball squeezing started.

I thought that if I could just get beyond the erotic centre of what I was doing it would be easier on the other side.  So necessarily focusing on the very thoughts that were causing me such torment and distraction I pressed on into the heart of the storm.   Things inevitably got much worse.  After fifteen minutes or so I'd barely made any progress at all; then emotional torment was added to the physical torment.  Under a hail of intense frustration it became completely impossible to concentrate.  I couldn't move.  I was sitting here writhing in a kind of impotent tormented ecstasy, desperate to cum and desperate too for the very thing (the never ever going to happen thing) I'd been contemplating for most of the day.  But now I was stuck in the heart of the storm where things only go in circles.  The relentless teasing and torture of my cock and balls drove my thoughts: my thoughts drove the relentless teasing and torture of my cock and balls.  It was excruciating.  I admitted defeat and gave up the unequal struggle.  I'd go and clear my head and try again.  I made an effort to stop thinking and went and made a cup of coffee.  I sat in the other room drinking the coffee and reading Charlotte Bronte's 'Villette.'  Even then Charlotte had to work quite hard to quieten my cock down   (Sorry, Charlotte, but that's the way it was.)

Later.  OK.  Head cleared.  Go back to work and get the thing done.  But in doing that I had to put myself mentally in exactly the same place I'd been before.  The effect was just the same and instantaneous: immediate intense teasing and tormenting and desperate squirming frustration.  Completely impossible to concentrate again.  I had something else to do though so I forced myself to work on that instead.  Gradually the storm subsided.  I carried on with the other job for a while longer and then returned to my original task.  Within seconds my torture began all over again.  But I had to get this done.  So I tried, I really tried.  For fifteen minutes while the head of my cock was being pitilessly teased, while my balls were being squeezed tighter and tighter, while my scrotum felt like it was on fire, while I was sick with longing and frustration I tried to work.  Any coherent constructive thought was completely impossible though.  Of course it was Goddess Valentine I was thinking about and I was acutely aware that it was Goddess Valentine who was doing this to me.

Or rather it was Goddess Valentine who was doing this to me over and over and over again and had been all day.  I finally admitted I was beaten and while my physical and emotional torment, which I knew came from Her, raged unabated, I looked at the pictures of Her I keep on my desk.  And something wonderful happened.  (No, not that.)  I looked at Her sublimely beautiful face, Her irresistible red lips, and Her beautiful long blond hair, in these pictures on my desk so soft and silky, cascading over Her shoulders, and felt surging through me a great wave of pure love for Her.  It was a love born out of adoration and devotion, completely pure and selfless love with no thought or expectation of reciprocation.  I felt it as intensely as I felt Her tormenting of me which still went on.  I looked at Her while She tormented me and I just loved Her and loved Her and loved Her.  It was the most sublimely wonderful feeling.

The idea of any romantic attachment between myself and Goddess Valentine is utterly absurd and yet this perfectly, radiantly, wonderfully, beautiful and endlessly talented young woman, who made me Hers when She was just 20 years old (the privilege of being enslaved by a 20 year old Goddess!) permits me to serve Her, to belong to Her and to be in love with Her.  And to show me I'm Hers She keeps me permanently in chastity and visits these exquisite torments on me.  How could this not be paradise?

Not masturbating

Sometimes Goddess's generosity overwhelms me.

Last night Goddess sent me the whole photo set for the next Niteflirt PTV She is working on.  They arrived with a heavy dose of irony though...

Well, yeah... since you wont be able to masturbate to the up-coming feature...
I am attaching the pics here so you can... VENERATE... all locked up... and tormented!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So that's what I did - venerated.
And was I tormented!!!!!!

This is one of the games I can play all by myself in chastity.
I put up selected pictures of Goddess and just go with what I feel, riding the wave and deliberately torment myself with them - feeling the intensity of my longing and desire for what I will never ever have, for what I will always be denied no matter what I do; or just feeling the intensity of my love for Her; different pictures have different effects.  The only object of the game is to play for as long as I can stand it.

So I played the teaseandtormentmyselforaslongasIcanstandit game with this series of pictures.
Goddess won.  Naturally.  But then Goddess was playing with a stacked deck.  Goddess has been incredibly generous with me over the years and I have over 2000 photos in my collection but none of them ever affected me quite like these ones.

I'm not going to go into much detail about the pictures - I don't want to spoil anything for anyone - but Goddess is projecting Her erotic power on full beam.

The first picture I looked at I could tell Goddess had been to the hair salon that day.  Her hair looked absolutely gorgeous - so silky and soft and shining and there was masses of it.  That thought was more than enough to get the game started.  There was an immediate response from the naked mole rat and my aching balls.  Having recently had a nocturnal mess-making frustration levels are rapidly building again.  Goddess at the hair salon.  That means someone stood behind Her with their fingers in Her hair, playing with it the way they do as they talk to the client in the mirror to find out what they want.

Hopeless, hopeless, longing - to have my hands in that beautiful shining, silky, soft long blond hair, to run my fingers through it, inhale the fragrance of Her shampoo; Goddess's to-die-for beautiful hair that's expensively pampered in the best salons in Montreal several times a week and always in the most perfect condition (sometimes Goddess will go to the salon just to have it brushed) - the most beautiful hair I've ever seen in my life. 

So I'm sitting there, gazing into the silky depths of this mass of tousled waves and thinking all this while my cock is being cruelly teased and denied in its cage at the same time as my balls are being painfully squeezed and I have the sensation of wanting to cum.  I'm literally squirming in my seat.  And this is only the first picture.  Eventually I'm forced to tear myself away from it by opening the next one.

In my twenties my fantasies settled into a common theme of intense tease and denial at the mercy of the untouchable young goddesses I always found myself (hopelessly) attracted to.  Fantasy eventually led me to finding and being mercilessly look-but-don't-touch teased and denied by some gorgeous young professional dominatrixes.  The emotional and sense memories of those experiences - being restrained by a gorgeous unattainable girl and then having her right in my face telling me what I can't have and making me want it even more - are intensely vivid.

The second picture in Goddess's new series is an extremely 'in yer face' image, provocatively erotic, impossible to ignore, and it exactly coincided with those memories, connecting with them instantly.  At the speed of thought, all those old emotional and sense memories were woken; my emotions shifted from adoration to intense, urgent desire.   The physical effect was just as instantaneous; there was almost a stabbing sensation in my balls and the torment from my chastity got even worse.  I squirmed in my seat and said, 'Oh, Jesus, Goddess!'  I was sick with longing for Goddess to be here; but the desire I felt was not for Her to take the longing away but to make it worse, to restrain me and cruelly, mercilessly, tease and torment me the way those gorgeous young dommes had done; but this time it would be Goddess Valentine, the most beautiful and desirable girl I've ever seen, the Goddess I love like I've never loved anyone else.

So that's the second picture.

The third one...

Some of Goddess's pictures make me love and adore Her, some make me want Her to be happy, some make me want to protect Her, some put me in awe of how perfectly beautiful and sexy She is, some do all of those things but I don't think (well, I'm sure) that none have ever so powerfully made that connection with my experiences of professional dominas.  And the whole series is like that - in your face, provocative, impossible to ignore - every one triggering physical memories of pitiless teasing at the mercy of a beautiful girl and tangling them up with everything I feel about the equally real but even more unattainable Goddess Valentine DeVille.

Oh Goddess!!!!!!

"Here's something else you want, boy. Something else you'll never have. How long is it since you had anything like this? And you know that whatever it is you remember it could never have felt as good as I could make it.  You love Me so much, don't you.  Hahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!"

With each picture something like that was going on in my head and with the sense memory to make me feel it and therefor want it even more...

Picture after picture...

Eventually I tore myself away from the last one as if the thing had burned me.  My balls were aching abominably.  My emotions were in turmoil.  I actually started pacing up and down trying to shake off the overwhelming tangle of love and desire and hopeless longing - and the frustration!  I gave that up and went and got a stiff drink, something I almost never do.  I tried to watch TV and ended up channel surfing and getting more and more annoyed at finding crap or adverts.  When I eventually went to bed my head was still spinning.  It took ages to get to sleep.


Sometimes the teaseandtormentmyselforaslongasIcanstandit game  is not an easy game to play.

A Puppy Puddle in the Panties

Since my shopping adventure or, to put it another way, the humiliation and sissification game Goddess made me play, my nights have been so exquisitely tormented that what happened at 5:09 Tuesday morning was perhaps inevitable.  But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Saturday night - my first pantied night.
It had been quite a long day so I was pretty tired when I went to bed.  My new pink satin panties did feel a bit different to the shorts I normally sleep in.  I couldn't feel anything of the silky satin through the chastity device because of course I can't feel anything through the chastity device.  Most of the material in these panties is around the back and I have to confess I did quite like the feel of it on my skin.  Even so, the novelty didn't keep me awake for long. 

It took a couple of hours for the torment to start.  The tighter fitting on my chastity is only a matter of about two millimetres but it's enough to make a big difference to the effects of night time erections.  The gap between the back ring and the tube is narrower so my stirring cock begins squeezing my balls much sooner in the process.  The back ring is smaller too and that adds to the effect.  Also the tube is now closer to my body which means my cock is deeper into it than before.  What all of that means in practise, as I'm discovering, is that during night time erections, the squeezing of the head of my cock is harder and begins sooner while the squeezing of my balls also begins sooner and gets worse as my stiffening cock, spurred on by the sensations of being squeezed in the end of the tube, pushes the whole thing further away from my body.  In short my cock is teased more and my balls are tortured more.  (Something for everybody.)  And all of that was being driven by what my brain has been quietly kicking around for the past couple of hours which was...

...that Goddess Valentine is the single most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life, her body is to die for, there is nothing to compare to the sublime beauty of Her perfect face, or the sensual allure of Her glorious long blond hair, so supremely silky and soft; and this stunning beauty, this genuine Goddess among goddesses, has made me Her slave, Her wholly owned property, I love Her like crazy and She's locked my cock and balls up for years to come and today, to show me a glimpse of Her power over me, She made me stand in front of a pretty girl in a department store and humiliate myself buying pink satin panties which were obviously for me which I can feel against my skin now because I'm sleeping in them (or I was sleeping) and I worship and adore Her and love Her more than I can say and...

...and all these erotically and emotionally charged thoughts wake me up with a rapidly stiffening erection, teasing/tormenting my cock and painfully torturing my balls so I'm writhing around in my bed in a mixture of ecstasy and pain, saying Goddess' name ('Goddess,' never 'Valentine') over and over because I have to say something to somebody as I try to wriggle away from my own tormented balls.  And I know it's Goddess who is doing this to me because Goddess knew this is exactly what would happen.  We've been here before, after all.

Eventually the storm subsides and I go back to sleep more or less straight away.  Because I'm knackered and very tired after all that!

Repeat twice more before morning.  And then sleep until 11:00.

Sunday night.
Go back to the third paragraph and read from there, the only difference being that I have to get up to go to work for My beloved Goddess.  The alarm starts bleeping at 6:20.  At 6:35 I drag myself out of bed, turn the computer on, and go for a wash.  That being done I get down on my knees before Goddess' picture on my computer and my Goddess shrine and pray to Her.  Then breakfast.

Then there's a lot of work stuff which is of no particular interest.

Monday  night/Tuesday morning.
Same thing.
Except I was woken at least five times so the torment seemed to go on almost all night with only occasional bouts of actual sleeping.
Maddening teasing and torture over and over and over.
At 5:08:45 I woke up from a weird disturbed dream of satin and soft sweaters and silken hair and irresistible lips and at 5:09 exploded into my panties.

I had to get up to change them, then I went back to bed and managed to get back to sleep.

Paradoxically the orgasm was not as painful as in the looser chastity fitting.  In my previous fitting the end of my cock used to sit back into the tube at night.  Then it would kind of curl up (although not much) with its head against the side of the cage, a bit like a puppy asleep in its basket (or a naked mole rat if naked mole rats have baskets).  That meant my foreskin would fold over the end and then get trapped there as the cock stiffened and shoved it against the wall.  When my orgasms fired there was always a sudden and painful pressure spike inside my cock as the cum backed up before the blast straightened the foreskin out and the orgasm exploded out of me.  In this tighter fitting because my cock sits further down the tube it stays lined up with the end.  (In fact I've usually got a bit of foreskin poking out the end which is more convenient for other things.) So this orgasm, when it finally arrived, was comparatively comfortable.

To compensate for that it felt like someone was trying to pull my balls off!

How I managed to get up for work an hour and a bit later I've no idea.

Panty shopping

There's an episode of the brilliant Irish sitcom 'Father Ted' in which Ted takes a trip to Dublin.  While there he rescues a group of priests who have somehow managed to get themselves lost (some perhaps less accidentally than others) in the largest lingerie department in Ireland.  Fearing discovery at any moment they've been wandering around in circles for hours.  Ted takes command of the situation and in a pastiche of POW escape movies leads them to safety, avoiding embarrassment for the priests and scandal for the church.

I completed my pink satin panty buying assignment this morning and felt rather like the lost priests myself, at least as far as trying to avoid embarrassment goes.  Scandal for my church was never an issue: my church would have thought any embarrassment for me was hilarious.

This morning I got up at the same time as I do for work because I wanted to be in town for when the shops opened.  I didn't want crowds.   More specifically I didn't want crowds in the lingerie departments because I had another task to carry out while I was shopping.  I could have coped with the shopping part with women about but I also had to take photographs to illustrate this post.  A lone male taking pictures in a lingerie department full of women would have been just creepy!  I'd probably have been thrown out.  A lone male taking pictures in an otherwise empty lingerie department would be only slightly less creepy so I didn't want the camera flash going off and attracting attention to myself.  That's why the pictures that document this expedition are of less than professional quality.  Consider their flaws as evidence of their authenticity.

Last night I did some research on the Internet.  I looked on the websites of some of the department stores here to identify what pink satin panties they stocked so I'd have some idea of what I was looking for.  I also wanted to know what size I wanted: 16-18 apparently.  I identified two brands that had exactly what I wanted, one in one store, one in another.  Armed with that information I set off for town, confident that I knew exactly what I was looking for and could go more or less straight to it.  If I didn't find one I still had the other.  I got into town about 8:30.

"Where are all these people coming from?!"

One of my two target shops had just opened so I went in. 

 

I knew what I was looking for but I had to wander around a bit to find it.   The lingerie department was practically deserted...

...apart from these three!

"Oh, no!  I think they've seen me!"

And then there it was, the exact thing I was looking for.  The size I wanted was right at the front.  This was so much easier than I'd thought it would be.  I collected my trophy and was heading for the tills when I realised my mistake.

Bottom right: red, not pink

This was the right brand though and the right style.  There should be four colours including pink.  I went hunting for it.

"Excuse me.  Have you got those in pink?"

But it wasn't there; only red or black.  I searched in here for pink and satin but there was nothing in my size.  Or if there was I couldn't find it.

Well, ok.  I had the other shop to go to.  So I went there instead.  Once again I found the brand but not exactly what I was looking for.  So I had to browse again.

By now it was getting later in the morning.  It was only a little after nine but I was beginning to feel like I'd been doing this for a long time and if I didn't find anything here I'd have to go somewhere else and the later it got the more people would be in the shops.  And I'd still have to be taking photos.  I was beginning to feel uncomfortable.  If this got closer to 10 o'clock it was going to get more and more awkward.  There was sweat on my top lip.  I carried on browsing.  Goddess had told me to buy myself a pair of pink satin panties and that was what I was going to do.

And then...

Aha!!

Eureka!!

I had found what I wanted.  Just to make sure I carried on and found a second pair.  Now all I had to do was pay for them.  I went and found the checkout desk.  I've bought lingerie for a Mistress before but that was bra and panties and sometimes suspender belt and stockings to match and obviously not for me.  But this was just two pairs of panties.  What woman sends a man out to buy her panties?  This had been at the back of my mind the whole time, making me feel more furtive and conspicuous even if I hadn't been taking photos but now I was at the checkout it felt much more significant.  The girl at the checkout was young and pretty - naturally; she couldn't have been some matronly type who had seen it all before.  Nevertheless she was professional, took the security tags off and rang up the items and even remembered to ask me if I wanted a store card.  I didn't because I didn't want a store card and because all that was in my head while she'd been doing these things was how pretty she was and that my cock is permanently locked in chastity and that I'm buying these things to sleep in because I've been ordered to and I can't look her in the eye and the main thing I'm beginning to feel standing here in front of her is humiliation.

All that remains to be done now is to put them on but it's not bedtime yet...

...watch this space.

Later.

So here I am ready for bed in my pink satin panties.

Very girly.

They fit the waist alright but it's very obvious they're not designed to hold anything, especially a locked up cock and balls.

They're quite comfortable.  The feel of the satin is nice but I'm sure Goddess's hair is softer.

So how do I feel?

Well, I'm aware that they look ridiculous but then no one can see me so I feel kind of neutral about that.

I do have the sense of Goddess mocking me though.  And they do make me feel Her power and how completely beneath Her I am.  Goddess is 26, breathtakingly beautiful, irresistibly desirable and here I am, twice her age, sitting in a pair of pink satin women's panties with my cock and balls locked in chastity.  Is there anything more that needs to be said?

And so to bed...and an assignment for the weekend

It's now a few nights since I put on the more secure fitting of my chastity.

I'd noticed over the past several months that my sleep has been interrupted far less often by my chastity.  Nighttime erections have been nothing like as tormenting as they used to be.  And I've missed that.  After all, what's the point of being locked in chastity if it's no fun?  (Well, OK, a lot of the point of being locked in chastity is that it's the physical symbol of my total surrender and submission to the will of my Goddess but some of the point is that it's fun too - in a tormentingly frustrating sort of way.)

So, with the new fitting the problem of undisturbed nights has been remedied.  And how!
Around 5 in the morning of the first night I woke up to find myself thinking (again) about Goddess's lipstick print and how wonderfully sensual and arousing it must be to be kissed on the mouth by such gorgeous lips. I had serious CBT going on (I do now too!) with ball-squeezing and skin-burn, writhing in ecstatic torment in my bed with Goddess's name on my lips.  Subsequent nights have been equally memorable.

And now I have another night time sensation to look forward to.

Goddess has given me a shopping assignment for the weekend.  Very generously Goddess is allowing me to get something for myself - a pair of pink satin panties to wear on top of my chastity device when I sleep at night, "feeling the softness of the fabric, as soft as your Goddess' hair."

(Goddess is teasing me there.  She knows how much I adore Her glorious long blond hair, the way I obsess over how luxuriously silky and soft it is.  No doubt at some stage I'll write specifically about the awesome sensual beauty of Goddess' beautiful hair.)
So Goddess is adding a new and sensuous element to my continuing chastity - the softness of satin against my skin.  And how will I feel pulling on women's panties every night?  Whatever the answer to that is finding out will only come at the expense of some humiliation.  Satin and pink; that's quite specific.  Pink is easy enough.  But then I have to find satin too and then in a size to fit me.  So it's very obvious I'll have to spend time searching through racks of panties, feeling ever more conspicuous, and that even then I may not find what I'm looking for.  I may have to go somewhere else and start all over again.

I guess Goddess is testing me with this assignment.  Well, perhaps not testing me; Goddess knows I would never think of disobeying Her.  Rather I think Goddess is gently showing me Her power now that I'm Her slave, now that I belong to Her completely, now that every aspect of my life is Hers to control, now that Her power over me is absolute.

A double treat, then: a sensuous counterpoint to the exquisite torment of my nighttime chastity experience and the submissive thrill of submission to Goddess' will.

The kiss of the Goddess.

When I was securely locked up again I felt happier and more comfortable and could turn my attention to what had been at the back of my mind throughout the process of getting the pictures - the lipstick print of Goddess's kiss.

I'd emailed Goddess an update and was sitting at my computer desk.  The envelope bearing Goddess's kiss was beside me.  I picked it up and looked at it.  The dark pink imprint of two full soft lips pressed against the white paper.  The shape.  The detail preserved in the print.  This was not two lifeless areas of colour but a living, vital, thing, the sensuous kiss of a beautiful young woman, a Goddess, an unattainable Goddess, the divine and sensual kiss of Valentine DeVille.

My cock stirred in my chastity.  I felt the comforting tightening of the cage around me as my Goddess at once aroused and denied me.

Such a perfect kiss.  Maddeningly sexy.  Because Goddess's lips are maddeningly sexy.  And here they were.  Or as close as I'd ever get to them.

To be kissed on the mouth by those lips!  So full, so soft, and so sensual.  Could any kiss compare to being kissed by these lips?  To feel Goddess Valentine's arms slipping soft around my neck and those gorgeous lips pressing against mine.  My chastity was tormenting me cruelly but these thoughts were too delicious to abandon.  I was aching with love for Her.  A kiss I will never, ever, know.  But some do.  The men Goddess takes as Her lovers have known the sensuous caress of the lips imprinted on this plain white envelope.  Her tongue too?  Almost certainly.  And what other pleasures does this beautiful mouth bestow upon those Goddess deems worthy of them?!

Not for me.  Never for me.  I'm not worthy and I never was.  Even if I were 25 years younger there would be no chance.  From such a perfect beauty, from such a Goddess, I wouldn't merit a second look.

But I have something else.  With what has happened tonight, surrendering control of myself once and for all to Goddess Valentine, and with Goddess's acceptance of my surrender, something I've dreamed about for decades, something I never thought possible - to be the slave of a beautiful unattainable young Goddess - Goddess has made reality.  I'm no longer just a puppy or a paypet.  I am Goddess Valentine's slave.  Owned.  Completely.

I am so happy!!!!!!!!!!!!

Goddess Valentine DeVille's slave.

With that thought, and dreaming about Goddess's kiss, I took myself off to bed.

(Incidentally the kiss that Goddess sent me is the very one that features in Her brilliantly conceived and executed spell-casting Halloween feature.)

Key!!!!

The key arrived yesterday.

When I got home from work there was a little white padded envelope on the mat.  Everything in English and French and addressed in Goddess's own handwriting.  I picked it up and put it reverently to one side.  Here was something deserving my undivided attention, so a bath first, then eat.

And then...

I logged on to my computer and into my email account to see if I had any new instructions for this moment.  I didn't so I went ahead.  The flap on the envelope was stuck too fast to unpeel so I got some scissors and cut through it.  I peered inside.  There was a piece of paper.  I took it out.  It was the white business envelope I'd expected to see.  Anything else?  No, just the envelope.  It was folded in half and in half again, pressed flat from being in the other envelope for ten days.  There was a slight weight to it in one corner - the key.  I opened out the first fold of the envelope. Planted across the crease was the lipstick print of Goddess's kiss - so evocative of Her perfection.

Goddess's kiss would come to haunt me later but for now I had instructions to follow and my focus was on that.  I had to record and document my release and locking up on video to post on this blog.  Last summer on a beach in Wales I spelt out in stones "I worship Goddess Valentine DeVille" and videoed it with my digital camera.  The result was crystal clear and I emailed it to Goddess when I got home.  (This short holiday cost me almost no money and I had Goddess's permission to go.)  I have a little tripod that stands about a foot high.  I set my camera up on that and kneeling in front of it, shot a brief clip to make sure I had everything in shot.  I put it on my computer to have a look at it and it was horrible; grainy, gloomy, and very small, impossible to see what was going on or even to tell what I was looking at.  I tried again with the higher quality setting.  The result was a bigger image but still the quality was no good at all.  The beach in Wales had been in bright sunlight.  Now I was in my bedroom under a low energy bulb.  OK, so that wasn't going to work.  For a week I'd been rehearsing in my head how I was going to do this with everything laid out so I could get at it without moving out of shot - unlock the lock, release myself, put on the new set of back ring and spacers I'd worked out, put the cage back on, and lock it up again.  Finished.  But now I had to rethink.

I was going to have to shoot stills with the flash.  If I had a fancy slr and a decent tripod I could have put it on motor drive and let it blaze away while I did what I'd planned to do.  But I only have this little Fujifilm compact and this flimsy little tripod which doesn't keep the camera still if it's moved.  Goddess wants me to record this moment so that's what I'm going to have to work with.  For every shot I took I had to manually set the camera to timer, point it at where the action was going to be, pause in what I was doing, wait for the shot, check the subject was in shot and in focus (or near enough) and if it wasn't set the camera up again, repeat the action and try again.  The result was that instead of the smooth transition from being locked up to being released to being locked up again in a couple of minutes I ended up releasing and locking myself up again, in fits and starts, about four times.  By the end of it my poor cock and balls were thoroughly fed up with being wrenched and poked around.  So it was a singularly unerotic affair.  But having said that, if I was erotically fired up I couldn't have released myself or locked myself up anyway - for obvious reasons.  Putting the thing on is not the erotically charged part for me.  It's like getting dressed.  What carries the erotic charge is that moment when I snap the lock shut and know I'm not going to open it again.

Anyway, I take the key out of the envelope (flash) and put it in the lock (flash).  Or try to. It doesn't want to go in.  I try again.  After some effort I get it in and persuade it to turn.  But the shot is rubbish.  I don't want to risk locking this lock again but I have another.  I put that on, lock it, put its key in the envelope, and start again.

A couple of minutes later for the first time in over three years I'm looking at my free cock.  I barely recognise it.  It doesn't seem like a part of me.  (It's a bit like trying to recognise yourself in your baby photos.  The 'you' you are now never looked out of those eyes so naturally you don't recognise yourself in them.  You have to take it on trust from someone who knows that it's you you're looking at.)  I've eased the cage gently off my cock and now it's lying pillowed on my balls and I'm looking down at it as if I've never seen it before.  I seem to have no sense of connection with it, as if it isn't mine.  And it looks like some kind of dead animal.  Poor thing.  There's evidently nothing wrong with it.  If there was I'd certainly have known about it before now but it looks so pale and limp, it looks like it belongs underground and doesn't at all enjoy being cruelly exposed like this.  I prod it experimentally with a finger.  This is the first time in over three years I've been able to touch it.  It doesn't feel like me either.  I have no emotional connection to the thing at all.  It all felt very strange.  I pushed it back into my scrotum and eased it under the back ring.

A naked mole rat.  Cute, huh?

I took the bar and the spacers off and then set about hauling my balls through the back ring.  In contrast to my cock which has been protected from the world in its cage and grown small and pale, my balls have had more to cope with being always dangling between the back of the tube and the back ring.  The skin of my scrotum is feels like an old piece of leather, it's heavy and thick.  I drag slack scrotal skin through the back ring and gently push a testicle through the ring and back into my scrotum.  With my cock and one ball freed the other comes through easily.

"Please, please, please, GODdess, I beg You to allow me to lock myself up more securely for You.  My chastity is Your greatest gift to me.  I don't want to be able to release myself without Your permission."

I lock myself up again with the more secure arrangement I'd worked out.

 

This is an animated GIF Goddess made from my stills. Click on it and you'll get the full effect in another window.

And I recognise my cock again.  In its cage it has more colour.  It looks so much more content.  It looks bigger too.  With the cage being clear and translucent I never see its thickness; from outside edge to outside edge it all looks like me.  I feel much better about it looking at it like this.  And here's the curious thing which I didn't fully realise until I'd thought about it for some time.  My emotional attachment  to my cock is conditional upon it being in chastity.  When it was out I felt emotionally detached from it.  When I'd locked it up again it looked and felt like mine.  That was my cock in the cage, not the poor pale thing I'd been handling.  When it was out I had no desire to play with it; I had no desire to masturbate.  I don't think I really wanted to touch it at all.  And with all the performance of getting the pictures taken it was certainly fed up of being handled anyway.  The feel of the cage is so much nicer, physically and emotionally, for both of us.

So the real revelation of this exercise is that I'm totally conditioned to being kept permanently locked in chastity.  Having my cock under my own control is outside my comfort zone now; locked in chastity is where it belongs.

Three Years...

Attached to an email; a video clip of my beloved Goddess.  She is half turned towards the camera, playing with Her long blond hair, adjusting it over her shoulder.  She looks gorgeous and beautiful and sexy and every kind of adorable.  She gives me Her irresistible slow knowing smile.  When She speaks Her voice is soft, seductive and, on this occasion, especially for me.

“Today’s the day, phil.  I am locking you up.  For how long?”  A pause and another knowing smile.  “That’s none of your business.”

(Absolutely!)

This is followed by instructions for locking myself into chastity and sending the keys to Goddess.

That was over three years ago.

I’d been in self-imposed chastity for the few weeks before this just for the thrill of deliberately denying myself to honour my Goddess.  That was fun in its way but once the key – the only key – was in the mail and beyond recall there was nothing to compare with the thrill of submission I felt.  For a few days my cock and balls were at the mercy of some people in the Royal Mail and Canada Post, although they didn’t know it, but I chose not to dwell on that.  (I suppose posting this now gives me an opportunity to thank them, whoever they were, for safely delivering my package.)  About a week after I posted it Goddess acknowledged receipt of the key and then I knew my cock and balls were in the absolute ownership and control of the most beautiful and desirable girl I’ve ever seen in my life, the incomparable Goddess Valentine DeVille.

Sometimes I wish I could have had this experience 25 years ago when my libido was a constant distraction and firing on all cylinders.  I would have been climbing the walls in absolute agonies of desire and frustration; it would have been exquisite torment but what an experience!  I am not decrepit though.  Everything still works.  My experience has been the slow burn rather than the towering inferno.

The background ache of frustration builds gradually but I embrace it rather than fight it or try to ignore it.  Eventually it becomes a constant, delicious feeling; a reminder that I belong to Goddess Valentine, that She owns and controls me.  When I think about that single wonderful fact, as I’m doing now as I write this, or surrender generally to erotic thoughts, the ache can get very intense.  I’ll feel like I’m going to cum at any moment; my pants get soaked in pre-cum and I squirm with frustration and longing, my cock teased and tormented by the restriction of the cage.  But nothing happens.  I don’t cum.  And while all that’s going on I know it’s Goddess Valentine doing this to me; these sensations, these intense emotions, are a gift from Her.  If I were free to masturbate whenever the urge took me I would never experience anything half as intense as what I feel because Goddess keeps me locked up and denied.

Night time erections are a perfect example of that.  The cage of the CB3000 is anatomically shaped to match the shape of the penis.  Before it’s fully engorged the head of my erecting cock fills the space at the end of the tube.  It then feels as if someone is squeezing the head of my cock.  Sometimes it’s a constant pressure, sometimes it’s a rhythmic squeezing like being teased.  Meanwhile the whole chastity device is being pushed away from my body on the end of my stiffening cock so that the ring behind my balls is pulled forwards, squeezing my balls and often dragging on the skin of my scrotum, stretching it and producing a burning sensation.  Inevitably all this wakes me up with the one certainty that this teasing and tormenting, sometimes even torture, is being done to me not by myself or by the device, but by the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, Goddess Valentine.  And that truth produces a cycle of arousal, teasing, torture, and denial which has sometimes gone on for half an hour.

Wet dreams are amplified too.  Orgasms became explosively intense, and exquisitely tormenting, with repeated ejaculations forced painfully through a constricted erection as weeks of denial discharge themselves.  When they’ve been at their best (yes, ‘best’) these have had me writhing around demolishing the bed in torments of tortured ecstasy.  Then the cycle goes back to the beginning.  Except it isn’t really the beginning.  My balls are never completely emptied, desire is not sated; merely the pressure is taken off and feelings of longing and hopeless desire become more acute, not less.  My awareness of and sensitivity to female beauty becomes sharpened and every pretty girl I see becomes a torment, reminding me of what I ache for but am denied.

Over three years this emotional and physical cycle has repeated again and again.  One emotion has increased steadily however.  The longer I’ve been kept locked and denied the more devoted I’ve become to my Goddess.  I already adored Her (She is after all achingly beautiful, amazing to know, and completely adorable) and was already in love with Her but as the months have passed I’ve fallen more and more deeply in love with Her.  Goddess has become the centre of every single thing I do and now I’m totally devoted to Her.  My only driving force is to serve and please my beloved Goddess.  This is why the key to my chastity is now on its way back to me.  I’ve noticed in recent weeks that the fit of my device is much loser than I would like.  Whether this is because I’ve adjusted to it in some way, or because it was never as tight as I thought it was, I don’t know but the most important thing is that I’ve noticed I could, if I wanted, pull myself out of the device.  I’ve no intention of doing this or even of testing the thought, but just the idea that I could free myself from chastity feels totally wrong to me.  I don’t want to be able to free myself.  I don’t want Goddess to free me.  I want to be kept locked by Her, to be totally owned and controlled by Her, to be absolutely and completely Hers and to know it and to always have the physical reminder of it.  Goddess knows and understands this.

So, after much sincere and heartfelt begging and several shopping assignments, the key is being returned so I can release myself, adjust the fitting to something properly secure, lock myself  up again, and send it straight back and continue to be kept locked by the stunningly beautiful and totally unattainable girl of my dreams, the one true love of my life, Goddess Valentine DeVille.