Two years ago, I was still a married man. I was a forty-year-old senior curator at an archaeological museum. Outwardly, I was stern and aloof, respected but feared by my staff, but inwardly, I had strong desires to be obsequious towards women because of unsated submissive tendencies that I'd held from a youthful age.

At that time, I was stuck in an increasingly loveless marriage, longing to try some kinky stuff with my wife. But merely mentioning it had reduced her to mocking laughter—it was humiliation by a woman, but not the sort I was seeking.

And then I found out she was having an affair. Most husbands would be devastated by the discovery, but I immediately saw it as an opportunity—an opportunity to start afresh and find someone who shared my fetishes.

oooOOooo

So, I'm now divorced, living on my own, exploring my dark side. I've yet to find anyone to share my new life with, but I see this period as a chance to experiment and to explore my deepest fantasies.

And one of the dreams I've long cherished is to be locked into a tight-fitting chastity device. Not some cheap cage that would break apart with a sharp tug, but one designed to be inescapable.

I knew this was going to be an expensive venture, so I spent many an evening researching the market and reading reviews. Eventually, I settled on a model that some users referred to as the Fort Knox cage, ultimately secure. I knew that was the one I had to buy, despite its extravagant price tag.

It was made to measure, so I had to provide measurements of the width and diameter of my limp member. No information was called for on how big it became when erect, because inside this device, it was never going to become any larger than when it was flaccid.

It took a few weeks to arrive, and I knew it would take a while for me to adapt to it. It was not something that should be locked on 24/7 from the first day. No! Rather, I should start off wearing it for a few hours at a time, building up slowly over several weeks until I was able to wear it for longer and longer periods without a break. And that is the path I followed.

It was exciting to wear, by which I mean that both my brain and my penis were excited, even though the latter had no space in which to express its enthusiasm, causing me frequent discomfort and often severe pain.

But I persevered, building up the hours, reaching the point where I wore it overnight for the first time. As I'd been warned, nocturnal erections were a major problem, to the extent that I was forced to get up in the early hours to apply a bag of frozen peas to the device to cool my ardour.

However, with more practice and perseverance, I learnt how to cope, and I reached the point where I could wear the cage for two or three days at a time, before then releasing myself for an orgy of masturbation.

Wearing the device was becoming addictive but something was missing, and that something was a keyholder. Even though I had remarkable willpower, I always knew that if I became desperate enough, I could easily release myself for a quick wank.

oooOOooo

I started looking online for someone willing to fulfil the role and soon discovered there were plenty of women offering this service. It was after refining my search criteria that I found Miss Bryson, who described herself as a nineteen-year-old university student. There was no photo, but the very thought of my penis being under the control of someone so young was a big turn on. I made contact with her, first through secure messaging via the website, later by email, and finally by phone.

Miss Bryson (she never revealed her first name) was an American studying in England, and she sounded sweet and sexy on the phone with her mid-Atlantic accent. And my pulse quickened when I learnt that her university was only twenty miles from where I live.

It sounded so convenient, but I had to conceal my disappointment when she told me that she was not prepared to meet up in person. This meant that there was to be nothing intimate between us. Everything would be done by post, with me sending her a key and her returning it at a mutually agreed time.

She was knowledgeable about the practicalities of male chastity devices, congratulating me on buying such a secure model. Moreover, she was genuinely impressed when I explained that I had been practicing on my own, building up my tolerance to the inevitable aches and pain.

But, despite my now being accustomed to wearing the device for several days between releases, she suggested that the first time I posted her the keys, she should immediately send one back. Then, the next time, she would wait a few days before returning it, and the time after that, longer still, the intention being to acclimatise me to the psychological pressures of losing control of my sex life. The target, she told me, should be for me to reach the stage where I was locked up 24/7 for a month at a time. The thought sent a shiver down my spine and a throbbing inside my cage.

It all sounded wonderful, yet I was still nervous about entrusting my keys to someone I'd not met. I proposed to her that I should keep one and send her the spare. Her response had been to laugh, albeit not maliciously. It would be silly, she explained, for me to keep a key for “emergencies”. If I were insistent on doing that, then I might as well keep both of them and dispense with her services altogether. The entire point of engaging a keyholder was to prevent me from giving in to a spur-of-the-moment temptation, and there would be, she assured me, many such moments.

I could see she was right, despite my uneasiness. She had to have both keys; otherwise, I was wasting my money and, even more importantly, missing out on the excitement of a woman controlling my erections and orgasms. And Miss Bryson said that if I was really worried, then I should post each key in a separate envelope. What were the chances of both packages getting lost in the mail, she'd asked?

So that is what I did.

She gave me her address, which was a Hall of Residence at the university, and she assured me that, as she was the only Miss Bryson there, there was no need for me to know her room number. Addressing the envelopes to Miss Bryson was enough to ensure she would receive them.

Doing what she said, I posted her the first key and, the next day, she phoned me to confirm safe receipt. It was now down to me to mail her the second key—the only remaining key—together with payment.

Along with a handwritten thank you note and £50 in banknotes, I placed the key into the small, padded envelope, sealed it firmly and then stuck on a First Class stamp of the appropriate value. On the front of the envelope, I wrote her name and address, and, on the back, my own details just in case the package got mislaid in the post and needed to find its way back to me.

It was an innocent-looking envelope, yet, as I wrote her name and address, I felt a twitch from my locked-up tool. The realisation hit me that I was handing Miss Bryson total control of my penis.

oooOOooo

Standing next to the post box, I clutched the envelope containing the second key, plucking up the courage to post it. My brain was telling me that this was a foolish idea, but my penis, for unfathomable reasons, was becoming excited at the prospect of being denied release.

I took a deep breath and, before I could change my mind, shoved the package through the slot. My penis continued pounding, knowing it would be at least two days before a key was returned.

oooOOooo

I waited for Miss Bryson to confirm she'd received the second key, but heard nothing. Maybe she was simply going to post it straight back, as agreed. Therefore, I wasn't unduly concerned, but several days passed without receiving it in the mail and without her contacting me.

She had always withheld her phone number when calling me, so I had no way of phoning her. However, I could email, and that's what I did, except I received no reply.

I was now starting to get worried, so I phoned the university, asking if they had a student named Miss Bryson but, understandably, they refused to divulge that information for reasons of privacy.

I was in a dilemma. Miss Bryson seemed to have disappeared without a trace, along with the two keys to my cage.

A week passed without my hearing anything, and I was becoming frantic for release. Several times, I attempted to extract myself from the cage, even trying other keys that were lying around the house to see if they worked. None did.

In a last desperate effort to free myself, I tried using a small hacksaw to cut through the clasp of the padlock, but it didn't even scratch the surface. As the adverts and reviews had explained, this cage was truly inescapable.

It was looking as if my only option was to seek professional assistance, either at the Accident and Emergency Department of my local hospital, or at a fire station. Both prospects filled me with dread, so I waited a couple more days, putting the decision off.

And then, one evening, as I tried to summon up the courage to seek help, my phone rang, number withheld. It had to be Miss Bryson!

“Hello! Is that Miss Bryson? I'm so glad to hear from you,” I called out in desperation.

There was silence for several seconds from the person on the other end. Then, a calm, sultry voice, speaking quietly, with a refined English accent, announced, “This is Miss Kerridge.” She sounded young but authoritative. Had she called the wrong number?

“Er... Oh... Sorry, I was expecting someone else and—”

“Is that Barnes?” she interrupted.

“Well, this is Dr Barnes,” I sniffily replied, miffed at the impertinence of the caller.

“I'm your new keyholder, Barnes,” she responded. “I recommend you don't try to get smart with me. Be assured, it will backfire on you.” She spoke softly and confidently, and her tone was unnerving and chilling.

I didn't know what to make of her. I felt relief that I might soon be released, but I judged that she was nothing like the sweet and understanding Miss Bryson.

“Sorry,” I muttered, “But I was expecting Miss Bryson and—”

“Quiet!” she hissed, raising her voice a little. “I'm taking care of Miss Bryson's client list.”

“But what's happ—”

“I've told you to be quiet, Barnes! Do you think it's sensible to irritate your keyholder?”

Put like that, no, I could see it was the opposite of sensible!

“Hmm... sorry, Miss Kerridge,” I replied meekly, but I did want to know what had happened to Miss Bryson.

She read my thoughts. “Miss Bryson has gone back to America, and it's none of your business why. But you'll find I do things differently from her. For a start, you and I will be meeting in person, so you won't be getting keys through the post.”

“But—”

“Are you dense, Barnes? I've told you twice already to be quiet. You speak to answer my questions; otherwise, you say nothing. Is that understood?”

“Yes... perfectly, Miss Kerridge,” I mumbled, blood pooling into my penis, causing it to swell and press tightly against its steel container. “Sorry.”

“I was going to meet you tomorrow evening, but, in view of your inability to follow simple instructions, I'm going to make you wait a few more days. I'll be in touch.”

“But—” The line went dead. Release was on the horizon, but on Miss Kerridge's terms. She had made it clear that she called the shots. All I could do was wait.

With my penis straining inside its cage, I tried to imagine what she looked like. Her voice was sexy, and I hoped her appearance matched.

oooOOooo

It was two days later when she phoned again. The number was withheld, so I guessed it was her calling.

“Hello, is that Miss Kerridge?” I nervously asked.

“Barnes?” she quietly replied. “Do you have paper and pen?”

“Er... yes, I do now.”

She proceeded to give me the name of a hotel in the university town, and I wrote it down.

“Book the best room they have available for tomorrow night and be there by seven o'clock.”

“Tomorrow? Hmm... I've got a very important meeting. Can—”

“If you can't make tomorrow, Barnes, I have a date free in my diary in two months' time. Which is it to be?”

I imagined a smile crossed her face as I humbly agreed to meet the following evening. “Of course, thank you, I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Kerridge.”

The call was then cut off. I immediately looked up the number of the hotel and rang to make a booking. Not unexpectedly, the cost of the room fell to me to pay.

oooOOooo

The next day, I drove over to the university town, located the hotel and checked in. I couldn't afford to be late, so I arrived ludicrously early, at 6 PM.

All I could do was wait for Miss Kerridge to arrive. Seven o'clock came and went, and there was no sign of her. I kept looking anxiously at my watch, and gloomy thoughts raced through my mind that she had cruelly set me up to waste an evening with no release.

It was 7:20 PM when there was a sharp knock on the door. Nervously, I opened it and, standing in the corridor, were not one, but two, extremely pretty girls. Both were students, I guessed, aged around nineteen. They were both blondes and wore similar outfits—very short skirts with skimpy vest tops. And they both had sulky expressions. Neither could be described as being a bundle of joy.

“I'm Miss Kerridge,” announced the taller one, speaking quietly. She had pert breasts and long legs, but I made sure to look her in the eyes. Something told me that she would not appreciate being ogled.

“This is Miss Cooper,” she continued, pointing unnecessarily to her companion, who remained quiet and po-faced. Miss Cooper was shorter but had larger breasts. In her hand was a carry-on suitcase.

“Please, come in,” I said, although Miss Cooper was already pushing her way past me.

Miss Kerridge closed the door behind her. “Why are you wearing clothes, Barnes?” she asked. She spoke calmly but assertively, and without any hint of humour or friendliness.

“I... I didn't know what you wanted,” I replied.

“Remember your manners and address me as Miss Kerridge, Barnes,” she ordered. She exuded confidence, which was quite remarkable for someone so young.

“Sorry, Miss Kerridge.”

“So, what the hell are you waiting for? Get your damn clothes off,” sneered Miss Cooper, speaking for the first time. She had a less refined accent than Miss Kerridge, and she spoke with a much louder voice, striking me as someone volatile and excitable. Both of the girls were proving to be scary, but in different ways.

“Then you will open a bottle of prosecco from the mini-bar and fill two glasses,” added Miss Kerridge, curtly.

Moving as quickly as I could, I complied with their demands while they made themselves comfortable on the sofa.

My penis was aching inside its small cage as I opened the bottle of sparkling wine. I passed the girls a glass each. “Get down in front of us, on your knees,” bellowed Miss Cooper like a sergeant major addressing a new recruit, making me hope the adjoining hotel rooms were empty. “Put your hands on your head.”

Both girls had their legs crossed, which had the effect of drawing their short skirts further up their legs. Without doubt, it was done deliberately, and they were tempting me to look, and kneeling in front of them placed me in a good vantage point.

“You're quite pathetic, Barnes,” declared Miss Kerridge. “I'm sure he was expecting us to strip off, Alice,” she remarked, turning to her friend. “He was hoping we would show him our naughty bits. Is that right, Barnes?”

“No, Miss Kerridge. I wasn't expecting that,” I lied.

She looked at me suspiciously and then used the fingers of her free hand to move her left bra strap from beneath her vest top. The intense black of the strap was a sharp contrast to the pure white of her cotton top.

“Fix your eyes on this strap, Barnes, because you won't be seeing anything of mine more intimate than this,” she quietly explained.

I shifted my gaze to focus on the strap, and she looked straight at me while speaking softly, slowly and almost hypnotically to her friend. “Alice, I'm convinced his depraved mind will be conjuring up all sorts of obscene images. Looking at this strap, he will be imagining the lacey, semi-transparent cup it's attached to... my firm breasts trapped inside the two cups... my erect nipples... my matching panties... what they are shielding from view... and how moist I'm becoming from witnessing his abject humiliation.”

She paused for a few seconds, still staring intently at me. I felt beads of sweat breaking out on my forehead. “Is your dirty little mind thinking all those things, Barnes?”

“Yes, Miss Kerridge,” I replied, my imagination in overdrive and my penis straining painfully inside its cage.

“That bra strap is all you'll get to see, Barnes, but I'm sure, with your level of immaturity, it's turning you on. Is it arousing you, Barnes?

“I'm very aroused, Miss Kerridge,” I truthfully replied. She was correct that somehow, that strip of fabric, combined with my humbling situation, had made me very excited.

“If you move your gaze away from the strap by as little as a millimetre then you won't get unlocked tonight. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss Kerridge.”

I concentrated intently on the thin strap while my two tormentors sipped their drinks and chatted with one another about some boy they fancied on their course. From the corner of my eye, I was aware that they both chose to cross and uncross their legs, synchronising their actions. The movements were done slowly and more than once. From the corner of my eyes, I could tell that their skirts were rising a little higher each time and, quite possibly, their panties were coming into view.

However, I knew what their game was, so I was determined to keep staring at the bra strap, ignoring the provocations.

After a few minutes, they grew tired of their taunting and put their glasses down.

Then, suddenly, Miss Cooper leant forward. “Maisie! Look! Look!” she exclaimed, struggling to contain her excitement. “He's oozing pre-cum! You've got him leaking just by showing him your bra strap. It's disgusting! Shall I give him a slap to teach him a lesson?”

“No, that won't be necessary, Alice. He's an immature male, so he's not in control of his basal instincts,” replied Miss Kerridge, taking another sip from her glass. “His behaviour is pitiful but typical of his kind!”

I wanted to say something, but I had learnt not to speak without permission, so I kept quiet, my eyes fixed on that strip of black.

“How can someone his age be so bloody pathetic?” queried Miss Cooper.

“Who knows? But he's unbelievably puerile.”

“That looks like an expensive cage he's wearing, Maisie. I've not seen one like that before,” added Miss Cooper, in awe of what was constraining my penis.

“Yes, a top-of-the-range model. Completely inescapable if the reviews are true. I doubt even the fire service could cut him out of that, at least not without castrating him,” declared Miss Kerridge, without so much as a smile.

Miss Cooper got up and knelt in front of me for a closer look, holding my cage in her fingers and waggling it from side to side and up and down. Then she cupped my balls, squeezing them—not especially hard, but enough to make me yelp, which brought a sly smile to her face.

By now, I was immensely aroused, and I was struggling not to let my facial expression betray the pain I was in from my attempted erection. “You must be bloody stupid to lock yourself in something like that and then give the keys away,” Miss Cooper declared, her face just inches away from mine and her sensual perfume drifting in my direction, causing my penis to press ever more forcefully against the sides of its cage. “Are you really that stupid, Barnes?”

I hesitated in answering her. “I asked you a question, Barnes! Are you stupid?” she screamed at the top of her voice.

I wanted to reply that I wasn't stupid. After all, I had two university degrees and several diplomas. But that was not what she expected to hear. “Yes, I'm stupid, Miss Cooper,” I agreed.

“Look at me, when you answer!” she screeched. My eyes had been focused, beyond her head, on Miss Kerridge's bra strap, so it was with some relief that I was able to divert them to look at Miss Cooper's face.

“Sorry, Miss,” I replied, compliantly. She backed away, pleased with my reaction to her bullying.

From somewhere, Miss Kerridge produced a key, which I instantly recognised as one of those I'd sent to Miss Bryson. She held it in front of my face, twiddling it with her fingers.

“Stand up and turn around, Barnes,” she ordered. “Put your hands behind your back.”

I did so, and I heard what I guessed was the carry-on case being opened. Shortly afterwards, I felt one of them pulling my wrists together. Then something cold encircled them, followed by two clicks. I'd been handcuffed, which a gentle tug confirmed.

“You didn't think we were going to let you fiddle with yourself, did you, Barnes?” teased Miss Cooper.

“No, Miss Cooper,” I replied, this being the only answer that she was likely to find acceptable.

“Nor will you be seeing your dick,” chimed in Miss Kerridge. “Your days of seeing and touching your penis are over, Barnes. I hope you can remember what it looked like, because you won't be seeing it again—ever!”

She laughed, as she spat out that last word. Deep down, I didn't believe her, but that did nothing to stop my skin sweating.

A helmet made of leather was then pulled over my head. It had no eyeholes, but my mouth and nose were exposed.

“Shall we unlock him, Alice?” Miss Kerridge asked.

“Nah! He needs to earn his release, like the other freaks. Do you want to go first, Maisie?”

“Try and stop me!”

I heard a zip being pulled down and then someone, Miss Kerridge, I presumed, dropped down onto the bed with a thump.

“Get your sodding mouth working, Barnes. If you're going to be unlocked, then you have to satisfy us both,” explained Miss Cooper, who then guided me over to the bed, pushing me down onto my knees.

She manoeuvred my head so that my lips were in contact with Miss Kerridge's pussy. I knew what I had to do, and I set to work. Miss Kerridge was already wet and tasted divine, the sweetness of her juices mingled with a fragrant essence, which stimulated my nasal passages.

Ignoring the intense pain emanating from my nether regions, as my penis strained inside its cage, I used my tongue and lips to excite her. It took no time at all before she was wriggling and moaning, and almost without warning, she climaxed, her hands grabbing the back of my neck to secure me in place.

She rode me for what seemed like ages, bucking up and down and screaming out the Almighty's name. I thought I was going to suffocate, so tightly was I pressed against her vulva.

“My turn!” yelled Miss Cooper, eagerly.

There was scrabbling as the two girls swapped places, and then I found myself in action again. Miss Cooper tasted and smelt differently from Miss Kerridge, but both girls were delectable, and I would struggle to say that I preferred one over the other. She was also ripe, and it took little time before she orgasmed, just as her friend had. By then, I was sure that had I not been wearing such a robust cage, it would have exploded from the pressure that built up inside it.

Miss Kerridge waited for Miss Cooper to regain her breath. “What do you say? Do we unlock him?” she asked.

“Yeah... I guess... so. I give him... eight out of ten,” gasped Miss Cooper. “But we didn't unlock that jerk on Monday.”

“No, but he only scored seven. He was useless, and he'll need to do much better next time. I also give Barnes eight out of ten,” declared Miss Kerridge. “It's your lucky night, Barnes. Stand up!”

I was still cuffed and blindfolded, as Miss Kerridge undid the lock of my cage. My penis was as swollen as it could be inside its small tube and was reluctant to let go. I winced as she painfully yanked it off with no thought for my distress.

Immediately, my penis sprang to attention, and I was left wondering what would happen next. What I could rule out was having sex with either of the girls, or either of them allowing me to masturbate in front of them.

I listened as they whispered to one another, catching just the odd word. “These... no... too big...” remarked Miss Kerridge. They seemed to be rifling through the carry-on case again.

“What... these?” queried Miss Cooper.

“Boring... What about... plain but pretty...”

“Yeah, should do...”

I heard them come over to me. “Lift a foot, Barnes,” instructed Miss Kerridge.

She guided my foot into something before telling me to raise the other one. Then a garment was pulled up my legs. Despite not being able to see, I was certain they were dressing me in a pair of panties.

They were obviously too small and getting them over my thighs was a struggle, with the tight elastic gripping my skin. But, with a few tugs, they seated themselves around my waist. I could tell they were high-waisted, tightly imprisoning my erection.

“Me or you?” asked Miss Kerridge.

“You can do it,” replied Miss Cooper.

Miss Kerridge began rubbing the outside of my panties, stimulating my penis. It had been so long since I'd last had relief that I knew I wouldn't last long, but she was well practiced and aware of that, and several times she backed off just as I approached the cliff edge.

I was becoming desperate, and, with her last assault, I could feel myself reaching that point of no return. I knew ejaculation was unstoppable. Miss Kerridge drew the same conclusion and instantly removed her hand.

It was too late for me to hold back and I spurted, but it was the most disappointing of orgasms. Without Miss Kerridge providing further stimulation, my jism dribbled out into the panties in the most unsatisfying way imaginable. I had been drained of fluid, but I'd received no sexual satisfaction. It was, by definition, a ruined orgasm.

“You need to score higher next time, Barnes. Nine out of ten would have earnt you a more satisfying hand job from one of us. Can you do better next time?”

“Yes, Miss Kerridge, I will try my very best.”

“Well, I just hope your 'very best' is good enough, then.”

I wondered what the prize would be for scoring ten, and Miss Kerridge read my mind. “No one's scored ten yet, Barnes, but there's a reward in the suitcase for the first one to do so.” I guessed she was daring me to ask what it was, but I kept quiet, suspecting a trap.

She gave up taunting me and turned to Miss Cooper, saying, “Well, we need to get him locked up again. Pop your skirt on, Alice, and get some ice from the machine down the corridor. I'll keep an eye on Barnes and make sure he doesn't misbehave.”

What she thought I could do, goodness knows, but I waited while Miss Cooper fetched ice. My panties were then pulled down to mid-thigh, and ice was applied to my now semi-limp member. A minute or so later, Miss Kerridge locked me back into the cage.

Only then did she undo my handcuffs and remove my helmet. “Pull your knickers back up, Barnes. We're finished here.” Glancing down, I saw a pair of pink, cotton panties clinging to my thighs. They were very plain, so not sexy, but they were unmistakably feminine.

I looked at the girls. Miss Cooper was holding my boxer shorts, and I knew she had no intention of letting me have them. “We're keeping these for our trophy collection,” she squealed, smiling broadly for the first time.

I had no choice but to pull up the panties, sodden as they were with my spunk.

“Bye, Barnes,” called Miss Kerridge. “See you next time... I'll let you know by phone when that is. And make sure you turn up wearing those panties.”

The pair had humiliated me and denied me sexual satisfaction, yet, in a strange way, it had been an exciting experience.

oooOOooo

A couple of evenings later, my phone rang, number withheld.

My pulse quickened as I took the call. “Hello?” I answered, nervously.

“Hello, Dr Barnes, this is Miss Bryson,” the caller cheerfully announced. “I'm sorry I've not been in touch, but I got called back to the States for a family crisis. All sorted now, so I'm here again!”

“Oh, right, that's good to hear, Miss Bryson. I've missed you,” I remarked.

“Yeah! But I know Miss Kerridge has been looking after you, in her own way.”

“Yes, you could say that, Miss Bryson,” I replied.

“Cool! Because I'm afraid I'm permanently giving up my keyholder role to catch up on my studies and concentrate on my exams. I've still got your spare key. Do you want me to return it to you... or shall I give it to Miss Kerridge? Naturally, if I send it back to you, I'll need to let Miss Kerridge know. It would be unfair not to.”

I thought for a few seconds before replying, my hormones raging. “Erm... well... er... please give it to Miss Kerridge,” I let slip.

“Oh, really?! Er... okay!” she replied, taken aback by my choice. “I'm seeing her for a drink in an hour. Bye, Dr Barnes—and good luck!”

She terminated the call, and simultaneously, I broke into a cold sweat. What had I just said? My penis gave a massive twitch as I thought of the consequences of my decision.