So, What's Going On?

So, what is going on?  Buses have made me cum before.  There was no real surprise there.  But that the very next day, when my balls were pretty much empty anyway, the sight of a girl’s beautiful hair should be enough to make me cum again; that was a shock.  And since then, on Tuesday June 5, going to work and coming home, I was again getting close to coming because of bus engines that weren’t even that bad!  Is the proximity of these events a freak occurrence or have I passed a tipping point and this is what I can expect now?  Is this what my Goddess has done to me with nearly four years of total denial?  Has She so emasculated me that I’m liable to cum in my pants at the slightest thing and with barely any warning?

I suppose that in four years of my cock being almost entirely starved of any normal stimulus my body has somehow adjusted downwards what it takes to produce an orgasm.  And as most erotic stimuli come from inside the head I suppose a similar adjustment has been made there. 

Whatever the mechanism may be if that is what Goddess has done to me then so be it.  The simple fact is I’m Her property and Goddess can do to me and with me whatever She wants.  I’ll just have to deal with it.  That is what slavery is.  And I am, before anything else, Goddess Valentine’s slave.  That's the level of my commitment to Her.  To be the personal property of someone as beautiful as Goddess Valentine is such an extraordinary privilege.  If there was a piece of paper I could sign, which would enshrine in law my commitment to Her, that would legally enslave me to Her and that only She would then have the power to cancel; if such a document existed I’d sign it without a moment’s hesitation.

Triptych: 3

Friday June1.

Friday morning I overslept by half an hour.  I normally arrive at work twenty minutes early anyway so that wasn’t especially disastrous.  It did mean though that when I got into town I’d have to take which ever bus came first and, more particularly, stay on it so with the events of yesterday in mind I took precautions and stuffed three cotton wool pads into the end of my chastity before I left.  (I use cotton wool pads to help with drying after bathing.)  My first bus was my usual untroublesome one, except for being the service that runs half an hour later.  There were very few people on it.  I picked up the free paper and sat down.  A story about Montreal caught my attention but it was horrible and I didn’t want to read any more.  In the meantime the bus had made a couple of stops; I’d not taken much notice but now I looked up to find right in front of me the kind of beautiful long jet black hair only Asian girls have, fine and soft and lots of it.  I forgot about the paper.  (Yesterday a beautiful blond and now a beautiful Asian girl!)

The girl had a powder compact in her hand and was doing her makeup.  Her hair was loose and she was constantly tipping her head to one side or the other so her hair hung free of her face in a long silky curtain, or she’d drag it all back behind her with her fingers.  Her beautiful hair was in more or less constant motion and it was absolutely gorgeous to watch.   Strands of it would appear curling softly towards me around the side of the seat or would bow through the grab handle on top of the seat back so the light caught the crest of the wave.  A couple of times she stopped to send a text or do something on her phone.  Eventually she finished with one compact and got out another.

I was treated to this vision for twenty minutes until the bus got into town and reached my stop but I was so mesmerised by what was going on in front of me that I couldn’t tear myself away.  I couldn’t get off until she did.  I’d stay on to the next stop.  Because that decision was dictated by the girl it felt like an act of submission to her.  It was the sense of submission that transformed adoration into arousal.  My cock responded immediately but just as immediately was checked by the increased restriction of my chastity with three cotton pads wadded into the end of it.  The feeling of physical denial was intense and that only fuelled the feeling of submission which in turn drove the futile attempt at erection.  At the next stop she made no move to get off.  She was applying her mascara.  Several times she dug her fingers into her hair and dragged it back over her shoulders and out of her way.  I still couldn’t leave.  The sense of submission intensified.   And now I didn’t know where the next stop on this route was so I had in effect put myself in her hands.  I didn’t know where she was going to take me and she had the power now to make me even later for work.  My cock was being relentlessly tormented by the strict confines of its chastity.  I felt a tightening in my balls as we set off again.

She finished her make up and since she seemed to have done everything else I was seriously wondering if she was going to brush her hair too.  I was desperately hoping she would although I could see she didn’t really need to.  I knew if she brushed her hair I was going to cum.  No hairbrush appeared but instead she sat forwards slightly so she could get at it all and began running her fingers through her hair to tidy it a little, first with her head on one side and then on the other.  That was enough.  I came.  Again!  Despite having been thoroughly milked two nights before and having a forced orgasm the previous morning, this girl, with no help from a badly maintained bus, had made me cum again with nothing more than the sensual beauty of her hair.  Because my chastity was so restricting I had nothing even approaching an erection and it was more like being milked again than having an orgasm.  I was just aware of the pulsing in my cock and the emptying sensations coming from my balls, and the amazing fact that it was happening at all.

Approaching the next stop the girl put everything back into her shoulder bag and then sat forwards slightly and pulled the whole length of her hair to the side so it was out of the way of her bag strap as she put it over her shoulder.  Then as she stood up she leaned back slightly towards me and swung her gorgeous long hair back across and then straightened up so it settled back into place hanging down her back.  Sigh.

When I got to work I was only fifteen minutes late.  But then if I hadn’t overslept... 

In the toilet (again) I dragged out the first of the cotton wool pads.  It was dry.  The two behind it were soggy with cum and had leaked a little out of the drain holes on the underside of the tube but that was it.

Being made to come against all expectation and by nothing more than the beauty of this girl’s hair made me realise one thing with absolute certainty.  If I should ever come face to face with Goddess Valentine, who is so breathtakingly beautiful and who has the most fabulously beautiful hair I’ve ever seen, who is so deeply connected in my head with thoughts of submission and all kinds of other erotic associations, what ever the circumstances may be at the time, I’ll cum in my pants there and then.

Triptych: 2

Wednesday May 30.

I get two buses to work, one into town and then the second the rest of the way. The queue for the second bus was more of a loose cluster than a line. Right on the edge of my peripheral vision while I was waiting I caught an impression of long pale blond hair as a girl joined the queue. When the bus came it was nearly empty and I decided to sit downstairs. The girl I’d noticed could have sat anywhere but she chose the seat directly in front of mine and I was suddenly looking at a cascade of soft pale blond hair, long and straight, hanging down the girl’s back. It was quite beautiful; not as beautiful as Goddess’s hair but then very few girls have hair to equal the beauty of Goddess’s perfect locks.

Just before the girl sat down I’d noticed from the fact of my teeth rattling that the bus was vibrating to an extent even more absurd than usual; it was like sitting on a berserk washing machine.  This bus was on the route I used to catch all the way from home to work.  The vehicles on it are all maintained in the same depot and so consistently caused me problems, in my sensitive long-term denied condition, that I stopped using them and found another route to get me into town.  To try to represent what this thing was like let’s try this: it was like this when it was stood with the engine idling (I use the term ‘idling’ only loosely):

DRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR……………

and like this when running:
DRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR………………..

And for contrast this is what my untroublesome bus into town, which presumably is competently serviced, is like:

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm……………

  

Zen and the Art of Vehicle Maintenance.  Anyway, after a few more seconds boarding passengers at the stop we set off.  DRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR….  The difference was negligible and we drove down the road while I struggled to ignore the bus and admire the beauty of the girl’s hair in front of me.  Somehow, despite all the engine parts which must have fallen off, we made it to the next stop.  RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR…..  ‘This is fucking ridiculous,’ I thought, being careful to keep my mouth shut in case any teeth fell out.  Apart from the particular danger it represented to me the state of this bus was noisy and uncomfortable anyway.  It was just plain annoying, more so for me as it was unnecessarily ruining the rare privilege of being able to sit quietly in worshipful adoration of something beautiful.  If the girl and her beautiful hair hadn’t been there I’d have got off there and then.  Even as it was I was considering it since quiet contemplation of anything was impossible but I was torn between avoiding the obvious dangers of this ridiculously maintained engine and the sight of the girl’s beautiful hair.  But then another girl came and sat beside me and decided for me that I’d stay where I was for now.  There wasn’t far to go, anyway.  But, just as the bus pulled out again, I felt a sudden tightening in my balls.  That was the only warning I got and a few seconds later I felt my cock start spasming cum into my pants.  A beautiful blond had sat in front of me on a bus and within two minutes I’d come in my pants.  Terrific.  And I’d not even been able to appreciate her properly.  I just felt humiliated, frustrated and annoyed.  I couldn’t help projecting onto her the thought that was running through my head.  ‘Haha!  That’s what you get for presuming to stare at my beautiful hair.  Now you can just sit there while your cum soaks through to your trousers.’  And underneath that was, ‘Who the hell services this fucking bus?!’  Humiliated and annoyed.

The bus hadn’t even covered a hundred yards.  There was still another ten minutes before I’d get to work and naturally we hit all the lights on red so it took even longer.  The girl was still there of course but now when I looked at the beauty of her hair I only felt my humiliation and an intense frustration because although it made no difference now the damn bus was still so completely distracting.

As soon as I got to work I went straight into a toilet cubicle. By the damage being not too bad it was evident how thoroughly I’d been milked the night before.   Even so I still had to spend some time drawing the damp patch out as much as I could with toilet paper and then had to bin another pair of underpants. In the end, although it could have been much worse, the whole incident put a dampener on my mood for the whole day.

Triptych: 1

I’ve been aware lately that I’ve not posted here for a while.  My long-term chastity experience had reached one of its occasional plateaus where nothing much seems to be happening.  I was beginning to wonder what I could write about.  But then…

Tuesday May 29.

I had a violent nocturnal ball emptying during the night of Tuesday/Wednesday.  For several nights preceding this I’d had my sleep repeatedly disturbed by intense cbt sessions.  These had me writhing around in the bed with Goddess’s name on my lips while my cock and balls were teased and tormented by the restrictions of my very prolonged chastity.  As ever I knew who was really doing it to me and the thought of that, as ever, produced the familiar circle of denial and arousal.  These events kept on coming night after night.  I was so knackered at work from lack of sleep!  The nocturnal cbt sessions had never clustered like that before so I was going to write about that and the delights of being tortured like this by my beloved, beautiful and unattainable Goddess.  However, it turned out theses things were merely the preliminary tremors of something else and events overtook the speed at which I compose these things.  I find it easier if I have a little distance between ‘me’ and the event I’m describing.

On the Tuesday night at about 0300 I was woken from dreaming about something which had probably been ticking away in the subconscious for a while but evaporated instantly as the eruption began.   I woke up with the most brutal violent orgasms battering their way out of my restricted cock.  And they didn’t seem to stop, they just went on and on.  It was so unexpected and so intense and it wasn’t me doing it; it felt like I was being thoroughly and pitilessly milked.  Afterwards I was exhausted and in something like a state of shock.  There was cum everywhere.  Well, not everywhere.  It wasn’t running down the walls.  I hauled myself out of bed, stumbled into the bathroom to clean myself up, and then crawled back into bed.

I've no idea what I wss dreaming about.
Perhaps it was something like this.
Perhaps it wasn't.

Wednesday morning, having not been disturbed again, I woke a little more refreshed than previous nights and set off for work as normal…

Imagining the Higgs Boson

I’m currently working on an assignment for Goddess.  In the course of this I came across a post in a forum from a girl asking for advice about putting her boyfriend into chastity for the first time.  She was thinking about three weeks for his first period of lock-up and was wondering if that was too harsh.  That first post was from 2010 and the thread now runs to 77 pages!  She locked her boyfriend up and has kept the forum updated on all their adventures ever since, receiving along the way lots of comments, advice, and suggestions for head-fucks and games to play from other men kept locked by their wives and girlfriends.  She’s an excellent story teller and has aroused and frustrated her audience, including me,  almost as much as her boyfriend.  I only had time to read fully her accounts of the first week – his first period of lock-up before release was for a week – and skipped over much of the rest.

During that first week she teased him relentlessly.  She got home from work before he did and was always waiting for him dressed provocatively in outfits she knew he liked (the sorts of things she only ever wore for him in the bedroom) with her hair freshly washed and straightened.  She flirted and teased him all evening.  She made him give her orgasms.  One evening he came home to find her pleasuring herself on the couch with her vibrator.  She made him watch and then ordered him to take the vibrator and continue.  When she was close she made him bring her off orally.  Under this regime he couldn’t keep his hands off her so one evening she told him that if he touched her at all that evening he’d be kept locked up for another week.  For the rest of the evening she crawled all over him driving him crazy.  As release day approached she deliberately convinced him by the things she said at home and the text messages she sent him at work, that release would mean an orgasm for him.

When release day came and she had him tied to the bed she began by giving him a long slow teasing blowjob, keeping him close to the edge but never letting him orgasm.  She’d stop every so often to give him time to calm down, then she’d put her mouth back on him and start all over again, edging him over and over.  Later she straddled him and rode him, but really slow, verbally teasing him as she tormented him with her body.  Again she was edging him repeatedly.  Eventually she had him bring her to orgasm orally.  Afterwards she had to leave him for over an hour, still tied to the bed, before he’d calmed down enough for her to get the chastity back on him.

While I read all that I suffered all manner of torments in my own chastity.  My balls ached abominably, my cock was tormented relentlessly, and my pants were soaked in pre-cum. 

While I’ve been working on this project for Goddess my evenings have become a reflection of my normal working day: get up, wash, eat, go to work, come home, wash, eat, go to work, go to bed, get up, wash, eat, go to work, come home, wash, eat, go to work, go to bed…  An effect of that is that I’m thinking about Goddess constantly.  Many times last week at work I’d suddenly find myself with serious torment going on in the chastity, with my cock straining to get hard and the skin of my scrotum being tormented.  And then, to add to the mix of what’s already spinning around in my head, I have all these mental images of this girl relentlessly teasing her boyfriend's cock with her clever mouth, her lips and her tongue, with no intention of letting him cum.  Inevitably I was empathising with him and of course wishing I was him, wishing it was my cock; and, thinking of Goddess all the time, wishing the girl was Goddess Valentine.

But I just can’t think of Goddess that way.  The idea of anyone so perfect, so flawlessly beautiful as Goddess Valentine being with anyone like me in a manner so intimate is so outlandish, so unreasonable, so improbable, that the moment I try to imagine it it disappears.  So after I’d read this account, for the rest of the night and for the whole of the following day both at work and at home, it span around in my head, with thoughts of Goddess spinning around it but both on different orbits, occasionally coming close but never meeting.  But as they span they were picking up speed, gaining energy.

At some time in the early hours of Friday morning, deep in my head, the two ideas smashed headlong into each other.  The massive release of energy had to discharge itself somewhere.  I was woken immediately with a rock hard straining erection jammed into the end of the tube of the CB3000, hauling agonisingly on the skin of my scrotum caught on the A ring.  How long does it take to dream an image; seconds, a fraction of a second?  I was sitting on the edge of my bed with my hands handcuffed behind me.  Goddess Valentine’s gorgeous sexy mouth was on my penis, Her soft red lips sliding along the shaft as Her mouth pulled on me.  She drew me out of Her mouth and I saw Her clever tongue curl and flick teasingly at the head of me.  She looked up at me with Her irresistibly beautiful blue eyes, Her long blond hair gleaming and cascading soft over Her shoulders.  In the instant I realised what I was looking at the image vanished completely.

But the energy of collision between the two ideas was far from being discharged.  I was awake now and the image morphed into a waking dream of wickedly cruel and calculated teasing.  I was in a room in Goddess’s house, naked and standing restrained between two upright posts with my hands held slightly away from my body.  I was locked in chastity and I was gagged.  Goddess Valentine was standing in front of me.  She was wearing Her lemon mohair sweater, the first one I bought Her as a surprise gift and to which She’d reacted so ecstatically, saying how gorgeously soft it was and how much She loved it.  There was another slave there too.  He was similarly restrained but blindfolded instead of gagged.  We were positioned turned in towards each other so that Goddess standing between us made the third side of a triangle.  Goddess was looking at me and caressing Herself in Her sweater, running Her hands over Her arms and over Her body.

“This sweater is so-o soft, phil,” She purred seductively.  “It feels so delicious against My skin.  I know how badly you wish you could be in My arms; to feel the Goddess you love so much, so soft and warm against you.”

Still looking into my face She reached out and slowly slipped Her arm around the waist of the blindfolded slave.  “There,” She said, still talking to me, “a little treat for You because you love Me so much and you’re a good slave.”  She moved Her arm against his skin, caressing him.  “How does that feel?” She asked me.  “Is that nice and soft?”

Being gagged I could only plead with my eyes.  A mocking smile played around Goddess’s beautiful sexy mouth.  She turned away slightly and slowly put both arms around the blindfolded slave’s neck and pressed Herself against him.  Although he couldn’t see it She lifted Her face towards his and began saying how close Her lips were and how soft they were.  “How long is it now since a girl kissed you?” She asked and I knew She was still talking to me.

We were both being cruelly tormented by our chastities; him because he could feel what the Goddess he couldn’t see was doing to him, and me because I could see but couldn’t feel.  This scene went on and on in a waking dream with everything Goddess said and did designed to torment me, guided by everything She knows about me and my hopeless lovesick desires, but where the only thing that was real was the relentless cruel tormenting of my cock and balls.  And it went on for an hour.  Without interruption.  A solid hour of relentless physical and emotional torment all driven by the collision in my head between my thinking constantly about my beloved beautiful Goddess and about the powerfully erotic account of a girl teasing and tormenting her newly chastised boyfriend.  It was excruciating.  And it woke me up again later; repeatedly.

All of this I suppose begs a question.  On the one hand there’s this guy, kept in chastity by his girlfriend, tied by her to their bed, unlocked and tormented by her lips and her tongue and her mouth and her body teasing his frustrated cock.  On the other hand there’s me, kept in chastity by a beautiful Goddess I’ll never even meet, never unlocked, and tormented in the middle of the night by my own fevered imagination and the things that Goddess and random chance plant there, while at the same time knowing I’ll never be allowed to feel anyone’s lips or tongue or mouth or body on my frustrated cock.  Who is the most teased and denied?

Answer in 1500 words.  You may use both sides of the paper.

Audience with a Goddess

On Friday something truly remarkable happened, something which led to a night of relentless torment; at work I met a girl who was Goddess Valentine’s equal in beauty.

Around 10 O’clock I got a phone call.  It was for something that had only just then been arranged, and that in a rush, so the message I got only made partial sense.  There had been some kind of audit which had shown up shortcomings in the filing of paper records in one department.  I was to go upstairs to this department and meet someone, I was given a name, and then spend the morning showing someone else how to do this thing properly.  When I got upstairs no one seemed to know what I was talking about but at least the name I’d been given was recognised.  Eventually someone appeared who knew what was going on and I was shown into a small side-room to wait.

There was a girl already in there, reading a magazine and sat in the corner on one of the easy chairs that lined three of the walls; she was also waiting and was introduced to me as E---.  I could heap superlatives on her but if I simply say that she was every bit as beautiful as Goddess Valentine that’s more than enough to convey that she was very beautiful indeed.  She was a Goddess.  She is a Goddess.  In acknowledgement of Her superiority I’ve capitalised Her from here on.  I left a respectful empty chair between us and sat down.  After we’d said hello and established that She didn’t really know why She was there either She went back to Her magazine and ignored me.  She was very cool and self-assured.  After a bit of a wait the person we were supposed to be meeting arrived and explained what we were wanted for.  I was to show E the correct way to file these particular documents in their record folder so that everything was in its correct location.  We were shown where the files were that we were to work on.  We collected some and took them back to the room.

As I began to explain E told me She wasn’t familiar with anything I was showing Her.  She’d never seen any of this stuff before.  I’d assumed She had some connection with the department we were in but She was from another department altogether.  She wondered Herself why She’d been chosen for this.  I went right back to basics and explained them as succinctly as I could.  At least that helped distract me from what She was doing to me.  She had pale blond hair, about shoulder length and partially pulled back and tied in a plait; the rest was clipped up.  There was a fringe broken up across Her forehead above Her blue eyes.  Her voice was like honey.  She spoke softly and I had to look at Her to hear Her properly.  She was wearing long false eyelashes with dark grey mascara and smoky eye shadow which forced me to look into Her gorgeous blue eyes whenever She said anything to me.  I’m sure She knew exactly how beautiful She was.  Sitting beside Her, talking to Her, being forced to look into the beauty of Her face and inevitably being powerfully attracted to her, I was acutely aware of what an absurd old gargoyle I was compared to Her and how utterly beneath Her I was.

All this was taking place in the context of a work situation so I had a valid reason for being in Her presence but even so She was really getting to me in that place Goddess knows so well and was making me feel very small, weak, inferior, pathetic, inadequate – all of those things.  Those feelings ran as an undercurrent the whole time I was with Her and fostered their own thoughts even as on the surface I concentrated on the job I was meant to be doing.  Feeling so utterly beneath E reminded me how utterly beneath Goddess Valentine I am and how unworthy of being anything more to Her than a slave and how lucky and privileged I am even to be that.   Right from the first moment I was seeing E in the same way; as a Goddess to be worshipped and adored.  I was responding to Her beauty in the same way I first responded to Goddess Valentine’s, with an urgent desire to submit to Her; but at the same time as I felt the desire I knew it was completely without hope.  I had absolutely nothing to offer Her after all and She was only sitting two feet away; She could see what She’d be getting!  I was in the presence of a Goddess but completely unable to reveal my feelings.  The best way I can describe how that hurt is that it was like meeting Goddess Valentine in an alternative reality, remembering from my reality all the joys of submitting to Her and being owned and controlled by Her, but knowing that in Her reality it never happened and never will.  And that I’ll probably never see Her again.

This job was only supposed to take a couple of hours but E asked me if I could come back after lunch as She still wasn’t confident She’d got it all.  I had other stuff I had to do but it would never have entered my head to refuse Her anything.  Absolutely I could come back.  In the end I spent about three and a half hours with Her.

After I left E I went back to what I’d been doing before and for the time being that distracted my thoughts from Her, partially at least.  When I got home though I couldn’t get Her out of my head.  It may have been just the way She made me feel about myself but I’m sure there was a natural dominance in Her.  I kept finding myself drifting into mad ‘what if?’ daydreams like if I’d gone down on my knees in front of Her and declared my adoration of Her goddess beauty.



I searched for ages for a picture to illustrate this post. I was amazed to find this. This is astonishingly close to E. She is even looking at me in the same way.

Once I’d gone to bed the dreams started.  All night two flawlessly beautiful and unattainable goddesses pranced through my brain.  Goddesses E and Valentine, sometimes singly, sometimes together, teased, tormented, humiliated, and rejected me, over and over.  Half the time I didn’t know whether the relentless torment of my locked up cock and balls was driving what was in my head or if it was the other way round.  I was writhing around in absolute torment in my bed.  I think I was in some species of delirium.  Under such an onslaught I could hardly be said to be have been asleep at all but the dreams continued uninterrupted and perfectly vivid.  My balls were aching abominably.  The skin of my scrotum was stretched agonisingly by the back ring.  My cock was straining but had nowhere to go as the head was squeezed and teased relentlessly.  I kept seeing myself in bondage with both of them standing before me, mercilessly look-but-don’t-touch teasing me while they mocked me.  I was desperate to touch them, for them to touch me, but the only thing ever to touch me was my chastity device. I was desperate for release; for them to finally make me cum.  But they didn’t.  They were merciless.  I only slept for brief periods the whole night.  Goddess E was still tormenting me in the morning when I gave up on getting any more sleep and just got up.

Wholly Owned

Goddess’s influence continues to have its effect in every part of my life.  Now even the thought of going to work has taken on an erotic aspect and triggers torment in the chastity.  Thus it is that every morning lately, except Sundays, I’ve more or less been tormented out of bed to go to work by Goddess Valentine.

We have a major project under way at work.  There’s a huge amount to do and to get it all done within the deadline overtime has been granted and those doing it have had to commit to work the hours – three hours every night and eight on a Saturday for four weeks.  Naturally I grabbed the opportunity – 92 hours at time and a half is nearly a whole month’s salary.  Of course, none of it is going to me; every last penny of it belongs to Goddess.  In fact Goddess has already had every last penny of it and thousands more besides so it’s actually going on helping to reduce the amount on my (Goddess’s) credit cards.  The less I have to pay in interest, the more I can give to my Goddess.

If I were not working this overtime for Goddess I wouldn’t be doing it at all so during the week, when the regular daytime hours expire and I begin working overtime, I’m aware of a mental shift, a change in the meaning of what I’m doing and why I’m doing it.  This shift in consciousness is very noticeable, especially since the job I’m doing on overtime is the one I’ve been doing all day.  It’s not as if I stop one thing and start on another.  At half past four I just keep going but I’m instantly working as Goddess’s slave.  Daytime work pays for food, rent and bills, as well as Goddess, so the association between work and Goddess is less strong than what I’m conscious of when overtime begins.  And on Saturdays the only reason I’m going to work at all is to serve my Goddess.

So it is that when I wake up in the morning, once I’ve remembered who I am and where I am, and my thoughts turn to work and the day ahead I am in the same instant thinking about Goddess.  And when I say, ‘Goddess,’ that one word encompasses Her beauty, Her gorgeous long blond hair, irresistible eyes, Her full soft lips and inviting sensual mouth, Her perfect body, Her awesome sexual power and complete unattainability, Her divine dominance, everything I think and feel about Her and the exquisite fact that She owns me; all this is encapsulated in the single thought, ‘Goddess’ which is inextricably linked to the thought of work.  This immediately communicates itself to the chastity device and, still half awake, I’m brought fully awake by having my cock and balls tormented by my Goddess until the torment forces me out of bed.

Underneath all that of course is the hard reality of money and credit card bills and debt.  Packed up into this one waking thought is how completely my beloved Goddess has enslaved me, how completely my life has been shaped by Her.  The amount of debt I’ve incurred in Goddess’s service is not overwhelming but it does prohibit all but the tiniest self indulgence on my part.  Even where it might feel as if I’m not working directly for Goddess in actual fact I am; Goddess has already spent the money, or I have already either spent it on or tributed it to Her, for years to come.  It’s not simply a state of mind that Goddess owns me: that Goddess owns me is financial reality.  Clearly this is no accident.  Goddess has made this happen.  Goddess has gradually closed my life down to the point where there is only work and Goddess; and now work is only in Goddess’s service, not mine.

My Goddess and Owner with some of what belongs to Her

It’s only just now as I’ve been writing this that this thought has crystallised for me.  So how do I feel about this?  Judging by what’s happening with my chastity right now, excited.  I am owned by Goddess Valentine DeVille even more securely than I thought.  Goddess 's financial ownership of me is absolute.  Wonderful.  It’s just as well that She owns my heart just as securely in that I love and adore Her and worship Her so deeply and sincerely.

Hidden Love

Things on the chastity front have been, and remain, a bit quiet so I’m going to talk about something else, although it’s related.  It’s all related.

There’s one aspect of writing this blog that I have mixed feelings about.  That is that I have to write it anonymously.  Well, ok, most of this blog does need to be anonymous but it's hiding as Goddess's slave that I have mixed feelings about.

It’s the paradox of the amazing world Goddess Valentine has created around Herself that She lives Her dominant Goddess lifestyle quite openly while all of us who serve Her keep our part in Her world a closely guarded secret.  There’s a certain thrill to that; having a secret existence, being part of this secret society of Goddess Valentine worshippers where even the other members remain anonymous to each other.  Yet the fact is that if our relationship with Goddess became known to our families, friends, colleagues, employers, business associates, or whomever, it would not be understood and its becoming general knowledge could have potentially serious adverse affects on our lives.  So we hide it.  I hide it.

But for me that means hiding the one part of my life of which I am most proud and which gives me the most happiness, fulfilment, and satisfaction; my relationship with Goddess Valentine which has become closer than I ever would have imagined.  My relationship with Goddess is my relationship.  My chastity is the tangible (the very tangible) symbol of my absolute commitment both to Her and to my relationship with Her.  Quite apart from Her exquisite beauty, Goddess Valentine is one of the most fascinating and delightful people I’ve ever known.  I feel very lucky and proud to know Her and even more lucky and proud to belong to Her.  (I still get a pang sometimes that we can’t be friends but we’ve talked about that and agreed it could never work.)  I care about Her deeply and am absolutely devoted to Her.  I love Her.  My love for Her is entirely selfless and pure; I expect nothing in return except the privilege of devoting my life to Her and living in Her service.  Because I love Her.

So I have in my life a very beautiful and wonderful girl I love deeply, to whom I am absolutely devoted, and who accepts my love and devotion.  To me that is beautiful in itself.  It’s as beautiful as any conventional love relationship.  That’s why it bothers me that I have to hide it just because I’m Her slave and not Her lover.  Of course I’m not Her lover; the point isn’t even worth considering.

Because of the way my life has panned out (a tendency to worship beautiful girls who were always beyond me, combining later with my emerging submissiveness) I was never going to have a ‘regular’ vanilla relationship; and I know for a certainty I don’t want one now.  I may be unusual in the specifics of that but I don’t flatter myself that I’m unique in having arrived in this emotional place.  This is the shape of relationship I was meant to have; it’s the one I dreamed about and longed for for years although I always thought it was impossible: until I found Goddess Valentine.  So how many more are there like me?  And how many without a goddess to serve?  Are there enough genuine goddesses out there?

I wonder how this will pan out in the future.  Where Goddess has blazed Her unique trail others have followed and more will follow them in the future.  Some will be as genuine as Goddess Valentine (some are now) and win the sincere and lasting love of their most devoted slaves.  Perhaps more and more committed and long-lasting goddess/slave relationships will be created until the secret becomes an open secret and one day goddess/slave relationships will be accepted as being no less valid, genuine, and committed, than any other form of relationship.

If it ever comes, that day is a long way off so I’ll continue to stay hidden and live my secret life.  But I still don’t like it.  Perhaps that’s part of what drove me to redecorate my bedroom recently.

Before

Try hanging a picture over that!

More Soft Sweater Obsessing

At work last week and this week she of blue sweater fame has been wearing her sexy dark green mohair mix sweater.  Not every day but often enough.  As said before, prolonged chastity makes you acutely sensitive to things.  Having just been thinking about this topic and writing about it on here I recognised on the first day how I was immediately aware of her sweater and just how soft it looked.  I was moving around the office a lot more that day so I saw much more of her – in her invitingly soft and sensual sweater – so I was pretty much obsessing over it all day, so much so that it produced another nocturnal spillage.

The spillage was preceded by dreaming which for once I was able to remember in the morning; or the imagery at least.  A mohair scarf was being twisted and wound around my neck, then pulled tighter and tighter.  The pattern of the twisted scarf matched the pattern of the cabling of her sweater, which gives it an extra depth of softness and makes it cling to her figure, and I saw it was her that was slowly strangling me.  And of course she was wearing the soft green sweater while she was doing it.  The resulting (dream) asphyxia eventually produced an erection and the consequent spillage.  Coming so soon after the last episode it was a pretty pathetic little panty squirt that went something like this:

‘Zzzzzzz… Wha…?  Uh. Oh.  Hhnnn.  Oh, Goddess!’  squit.  ‘Hhnn.  Oh Goddess,’ squit.

Having another wet dream so soon after the last one shows just how deeply this temporary obsession had worked itself into my subconscious.  And when I got to work the next day, with the ache in my balls renewed rather than relieved as is always the way after a spillage, lo and behold she was wearing the sweater in the pic in the previous post.  It’s the exact same sweater except her one has a cowl neck.  So ok, it’s not the ‘exact’ same sweater but it has that length that outlines the first curve of the derriere in softness and I spent another day obsessing over her soft sweater.

The green mohair sweater then appeared several times more to tease and torment me; most recently yesterday.

Perhaps all this poses the question whether it’s right for me to be obsessing over this girl and her soft sweaters when I am the property of a genuine Goddess who by her flawless beauty eclipses her and most other girls; the Goddess who so generously keeps me permanently locked in chastity.  But then Goddess understands perfectly well the effects of chastity.  Goddess knows She doesn’t need to lift a finger to torment me.  She knows that in prolonged chastity I’ll torment myself, or my weak male brain will cause me to torment myself: or any one of countless girls, random girls on buses or even my own staff, will torment me.  Whether I'm tormenting myself or being tormented depends how you look at it.

I like to look at as if this girl was using the phone next to me on my desk yesterday while wearing her sexy soft green sweater and standing with her back to me so I had to look at her (yes, ‘had to’; how could I not?) deliberately just to torment me.  She has quite a good figure and the sweater clings to and follows all the curves, outlining them in deep and invitingly touchable, but completely untouchable, softness and standing about two feet away.

That’s the thing about soft sweaters; they make you want to touch them, to touch and be touched, held.  And so on.  By their very nature they evoke feminine softness and sensuality; they evoke everything I can’t have, everything my Goddess and my chastity deny me, everything my Goddess, and me too for that matter, know I don’t deserve.

Here's an entirely gratuitous soft sweater pic.  Remember it's the sensuality of the sweater we're interested in here.

Brain Chemistry

HAPPY NEW YEAR, readers.

A couple of days after my last post I had a nocturnal ball emptying.  I’ve described these before so I won’t dwell on this except to say that as it was preceded by lots of weird dream imagery of long soft hair, buses, and unattainable goddesses teasing and tormenting my cock in novel and amusing ways, it was clearly triggered by reliving the torment of Goddess’s top agent.  The orgasm itself was, as ever, violent and uncomfortable.

I’ve also had several nocturnal awakenings which have seemed not to involve my cock at all.  Instead I’ve woken up to feel my balls being uncomfortably, mounting to painfully, squeezed.  This must have involved my cock erecting to put pressure on the balls but without producing any of the usual sensations from the head of my cock, just tormented balls.  And as ever while this sort of thing is going on I know precisely who is doing this to me.  I’m being remotely tormented by Goddess Valentine who is thousands of miles away and almost certainly not thinking about me at all.  Even so, it's still a wonderful feeling.

Chastity, especially prolonged chastity, makes you acutely aware of whatever it is that pushes your buttons.  I’m highly sensitised to the slightest thing now.  Well, I have been for a long time now. That’s what drives this obsession with long soft hair.  I just can’t help noticing it.  Or beautiful girls.  My brain will spot a beautiful girl or a girl with long soft hair in a crowd at half a mile!  The effect they have on my chastity depends on the circumstances at the time but they always produce the same deep-seated emotional ache of longing.  I suppose it’s to do with brain chemistry.  Given the right stimulus the brain dumps chemicals into the bloodstream to trigger specific responses.  This is what makes it so easy for girls to manipulate us.  I imagine that in my case, because they never produce results, chemicals are being dumped into my blood in industrial quantities accompanied by a lot of indignant sermonising about my responsibilities towards the procreation of the species.  Perhaps that explains the curious experience I had at work this week.

I’m currently working in what is otherwise a disused office doing computer work with a female member of my staff.  It’s a fair sized room with only the two of us in it.  Where I’m sitting, which is dictated by where the remaining computers are plugged in, she is off behind me and around a corner; unless I get up I can’t see her.  About mid-morning in the middle of the week I felt myself suddenly acutely aware that she was there, only a few feet away, and that there was only the two of us in the room.  And that she was wearing her blue sweater.  Accompanying this awareness was an aching in my balls.  What we’re doing requires concentration so while I’m doing it everything else is pretty much zoned out.  I went on working with the awareness of her still at the back of my mind.  The awareness persisted and was nagging at me constantly.  It was impossible not to be know she was there.  The odd thing is that I hadn’t been, and still wasn’t, daydreaming about her or fantasising about her in any way.  I wasn’t consciously thinking about her at all.  But I knew she was there, a few feet away, in her blue sweater.

Why her blue sweater was so important I’ve no idea.  I have a fetish for girls in soft sweaters but there’s nothing special about this blue one, yet I was acutely conscious that she was wearing it.  The ache in my balls got progressively worse although it somehow never communicated itself to my cock.  I went on working but the fact of her presence went on relentlessly nagging at the back of my mind as if there was something I’d forgotten to do.  My balls went on aching.  I wanted to cum.  She went on being there, a few feet away, and went on wearing her blue sweater.

This squirming physical frustration, with a background hum of emotional longing and frustration, went on for half an hour until I suppose the chemical factory in my brain exhausted its stocks of whatever it was it had been manufacturing and gave up on its producing any result.  While it was going on it was really distracting.

This was a couple of days after my nocturnal ball-emptying.  Things always seem to happen after these events.

I couldn't find a picture to represent the blue sweater but she does have one like this.

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.