It all started with a podcast

10.
I have a dick.

When my dick is wanting, it controls my behavior, attitude and tactics. This is good and bad.

It can be good for Her. When my dick is wanting, I am easily led, doing as required and requested, often without prompting. Behave correctly and my dick might get a treat. Think correctly and my dick might get a treat.

It can be bad for Her. What an astounding number of layers my dick has. Like an onion, it is only when these layers are exposed, that the motivations behind my dick become visible.

Am I submissive as a means to an end? “If I do this, she will pleasure my dick.” That is not submission at all. Maybe it’s role play, I’m not sure. I’d argue it’s the schoolboy’s timeless pursuit of pussy and nothing more. “If I am nice to her, compliment her, and treat her ‘right’ for a time, she will pleasure my dick.”

*And afterwards I will run the same play with the next girl, imitating behaviors that will eventually open her pussy for my dick. I will never embrace those behaviors. I will pretend until I get what I want. I am self-serving.

For us, my dick was a major obstacle.

She was the one smart enough to point out the dangers of my dick. Is our FLR simply the pursuit of pussy but with a kink paint-job? Or was it more: she leads, I follow, my dick doesn’t get a vote.

This is the situation we wrestled with as we got to the verge of chastity. Would locking me up change my behavior? As in, really change it towards purity in the pursuit of pleasing Her, of being a gentleman and placing Her on the pedestal She deserved? Or would it just be a “long con,” with me imitating the right behaviors and mindset to get what my dick wanted?

Did chastity even matter? (I’ll answer this one: not in the slightest. Purity is not a cage).

And what did I want? Did I want purity or did I want pussy? Looking back, I was clearly somewhere in between, and that was OK. In fact, it was a perfectly workable foundation from which we could build.

Does the teacher teach to educate others or does the teacher teach for money, benefits and summers off? I’d imagine many teachers do it for both. Their intentions are good, but some are self-serving. Some teach solely for the money and the summers. The special ones teach because their desire to educate humankind, to serve the greater good, is so deeply ingrained in their soul that there is no self-serving. There is only serving.

That is purity.

Dicks aren’t considered.
 
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Now Alexandra said:
11.
The romanticized clicking of the lock was anticlimactic for us. I understand it now, but at the time it was like expecting a firework and getting a dud.

Click.

“Feel OK?”

“Yes.”

“Feel any different?”

“No.”

And then we got on with our day.
Click to expand...
Metal?
 
ChasteJase said:
are you going to continue your story?
Click to expand...
I'm trying to write often. I wish I had written things down as they were happening. Capturing moments from the past is hard. Trying to capture the mood - was it heavy, was it funny, etc. My goal is to reflect on the key moments that us to where we are. Once I reach the present day, it will be easier.
 
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12.
Someone smarter than me once said “chastity doesn’t begin until you want out.” I completely agree. And I wanted out, right quick.

The first day was fun. New sensations. New view when I looked down. Lots of teasing from her. Caged arousal. I had to sit to pee. That, combined with the pink cage, hit hard.

“Baby, it is so cute,” hit harder.

By the time we went to bed, my balls felt swollen.

She was in heaven. “It’s better this way.”

Those 4 words became a repeated mantra for her and eventually for me as we progressed. To my knowledge, this was the first time she used it. It’s a definitive statement. Powerful. Smart too, since any sentiment to the contrary is immediately defiant.

Her soft teasing felt amazing. Everything was heightened. Pleasuring her was a dream. I had no delusions of being unlocked the first day. This was all about her. Blissful.

Then we fell asleep and it all went to hell. News flash: night-time erections hurt. I thought my balls were going to be torn off at the ring. Urinating helped, temporarily. I think I managed to sleep for about 2 hours in total. Rolling over caused discomfort. At times I had to reposition the cage. I'd almost be asleep and feel like I had to pee. I'd get up and relieve myself, only to be woken shortly after by a painful caged erection and the subsequent ball tearing. Miserable.

We had read that my experience was fairly common. We dived deeper into it online after experiencing it ourselves. What we read was reassuring. It would get better.

What I didn't realize at the time is that while the actual clicking of the lock was a smoking dud, my new pink captor was the highly flammable accelerant for the Dominant fire inside her.
 
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13.
My first chastity experience lasted an excruciating three nights. The days weren’t bad. One of the advantages of Mr. Stubb being plastic is if you twist the lock hard enough, the pin breaks and the cage can be removed. With this “break glass in case of emergency” safety net, I “wore” my new pink friend to work on Day 3. Aside from a few pinches caused by the center pin (eye opening when they happen) and having to sit to pee, I survived.

But the nights were brutal. She could tell.

“You’ll go to work today without it. But it goes back on before bed.”

I didn’t love that plan – the nights were worse – but I appreciated she could see I was struggling without me having to say anything.

“And shave that tiny thing – all of it – the hair can’t be helping.”

Twenty minutes later I was hairless for the first time since pre-puberty. I also debunked the myth that shaving makes your dick look bigger. Mine remained a tiny thing.
 
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14.
I find there’s a bit of Yoda with chastity. Be or seem to be. Do or do not. I wrote about “be or seem to be” a few entries ago, and it was a struggle with us for a while. To the point it almost killed us over a related issue I’ll get to shortly in a different entry.

The “be or seem to be” issue existed in many forms and it absolutely reared its head when it came to chastity. Was my submission real or a means to an end? Was I serving her because I wanted her to unlock me and pleasure me? Or was I not self-serving at all and only interested in her happiness?

As I wrote before, I think I was somewhere in the middle. Serving her gave me pleasure. But I longed to be pleasured as well. We were at a plateau.

Plateaus happen on any journey. Weight loss plateaus. Exercise. Submission. You reach a point and nothing noticeable changes. The needle just won’t move.

But the nice thing about plateaus is that, if you keep going, you ultimately break through. Progress happens quickly after before tailing off at another plateau. If you keep pushing, the breakthrough process repeats. And I was about to be pushed to my breaking point. Do or do not.
 
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15.

It didn’t start the way most of our sex sessions did. With both of us busy working during the day and our love of a few drinks afterwards, she eliminated the risk of not “getting hers” by moving our sexy time earlier in the night. This way, if she was tired and wanted to go to sleep, she had still gotten off. And if she wanted another orgasm when we did call it a night, that was available too.

Twelve days into our chastity journey, I had made it 3 nights, another 3 nights and then 4 nights. I was always required to sleep in my cage. If she let me unlock during the day for work, I was required to put the cage back on when I got home.

I was locked up when we made our way into the bedroom. Normally we kiss for a while as our clothes come off and our bodies begin to explore. But this time my hands were quickly cuffed and tied above my head. I was on my back. She straddled my face, her neon yellow spandex g-string panties still on. She pressed them to my lips.

“Kiss.”

I gave her a loving peck, lingering for a moment.

She pressed again.

“Kiss.”

I kissed her covered pussy again. Longer this time.

Then she pressed down on me, the tiny V of her panties pushing into my mouth. She closed her thighs around me.

“Worship.”

I did as she instructed, getting lost in her. Later, she slid her panties to the side, grinding onto my face, my tongue inside her. I was squirming, my arousal fighting its cage.

She eventually came on my face. Then she slid down between my legs, teasing me with her nails, her soft touch and her tongue. My self-serving was back. I was dying to be unlocked. I had done well. Surely an unlock and an explosive orgasm were next. Her teasing felt like it went on for hours, my hips bucking with each new sensation. Longing. Craving. Needing. I was on tilt.

Then she stopped. My body continued to convulse for a short time after. I pleaded for more. She ignored me, untying me as I begged.

She laid beside me as my breathing calmed. We kissed.

“Who do you belong to?” she asked.

“You, my Queen,” I answered.

“Who does this belong to?” she asked as she jiggled my cage.

“You, my Queen,” I answered.

“Forever?”

“Forever,” I replied.

She began to climb out of bed. I got up to follow, assuming we’d go back to the couch for another drink.

“Want some more wine?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I began to gather my clothes to get dressed.

She slid her panties off and threw them towards me.

“These, too,” she said.
 
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16.

I didn’t think I’d have an issue with wearing panties. As we researched chastity and mutually agreed to try it, I had already read and seen enough online to know a cage and panties sometimes go together.


*I have a lot of thoughts about the sissy content found online that I will get to in a separate post.


I’m also a visual person and have always thought panties and lingerie are hot. On women, anyway. I hadn’t considered how I’d look in them, but let’s face it, you never know until you know. So, I put them on and I can tell you that sliding a g-string up your legs and butt is a sensual experience. There’s not a lot of fabric. They feel different and they delicately framed my cage. For a moment the sensuality of the moment rose.


Then it abruptly fell away and was replaced by a feeling of total emasculation. I felt pathetic. I could feel the embarrassment flush my face. I know she saw it too – and clearly reveled in it.


“Those are so cute on you,” she said. “I love the way they look.”


I didn’t say anything, hoping the silence would prompt her to ask me for my opinion so I could object.


“Come on, princess, I want some more wine,” was all she said.
 
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Now Alexandra said:
16.

I didn’t think I’d have an issue with wearing panties. As we researched chastity and mutually agreed to try it, I had already read and seen enough online to know a cage and panties sometimes go together.


*I have a lot of thoughts about the sissy content found online that I will get to in a separate post.


I’m also a visual person and have always thought panties and lingerie are hot. On women, anyway. I hadn’t considered how I’d look in them, but let’s face it, you never know until you know. So, I put them on and I can tell you that sliding a g-string up your legs and butt is a sensual experience. There’s not a lot of fabric. They feel different and they delicately framed my cage. For a moment the sensuality of the moment rose.


Then it abruptly fell away and was replaced by a feeling of total emasculation. I felt pathetic. I could feel the embarrassment flush my face. I know she saw it too – and clearly reveled in it.


“Those are so cute on you,” she said. “I love the way they look.”


I didn’t say anything, hoping the silence would prompt her to ask me for my opinion so I could object.


“Come on, princess, I want some more wine,” was all she said.
Click to expand...
"Tune in next week for another episode of 'As the Kink Evolves'!"

I am totally engrossed. Hooked. Can't wait. Thank you for sharing this so much.
 
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17.

The next morning, she made her intentions clear. Our shower in our primary bath is a walk-in with a glass door. As I showered, just outside on the gray tile floor lay the yellow panties. I had slipped them off as the water was warming up. Now, it felt like they were staring at me.

I always try and take the right actions as it relates to our relationship. I try and anticipate her needs. I attempt to foresee her reactions to my actions.

So, my brain was in overdrive searching for the correct move. Do I put the panties back on when I’m done showering, or do I leave them off? Would the former show acceptance even though I was on the fence – and would the latter be insubordination?

I elected to leave them off. My rationale was: I wore those last night. It is now the next morning. If pushed, I could claim I considered them “dirty.” It felt like safe ground, a logical and defensible decision.

It was also the right one.

“You can put those in the laundry,” she said, gesturing to the g-string. Laundry that I’d be doing, obviously. I threw them into the hamper.

“The yellow ones are yours. Here are your other options,” she said. “Pick three.”

Strewn on the bed were about a dozen pairs of her panties. Different colors and styles, but all either thongs or g-strings. Sexy panties.

I did as ordered and selected three. I remember I consciously stayed away from pink. One selection was black. I don’t remember what the other two were.

“Good. Those are now yours.”

She gathered up the rest and put them back in her drawer.

“Which ones today?” she asked.

I held up the black ones. She smiled.

Then she opened the drawer next to hers and gestured to me. Her bureau had never been mine, so I wasn’t sure what she had in it prior, but the drawer was now empty. I put the two pairs of panties - my panties - inside.

“Four won’t get you far,” she said. “We’ll get you some more tonight.”
 
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18.

My wife is anti-cliché. She hates them to her core. So I found it slightly amusing when we walked into Victoria’s Secret that night. Of all the places …

“Really?” I asked sarcastically.

She winked at me and grabbed my hand, pulling me deeper into the store.

I had been in Victoria’s Secret before, but those were duck-in/duck-out missions to purchase a gift for her. I was in and out in moments and barely took in my surroundings, instead focusing on what was readily available and fit her style. It was clear this visit wasn’t that.

She stopped me at the fragrances and tested a few, asking me to smell each. My anxiety began to rise as she asked me which scent I liked. I reluctantly picked one. Then, she took my hand and turned it over, so my palm was up and sprayed the mist onto my right wrist.

“Rub them,” she ordered, turning my left hand over and placing my wrists together.

I did what she instructed, my wrists making small circles.

“Smell,” she said.

I put my wrist to my nose, notes of lavender and vanilla engulfing me.

“Pretty, right?”

I cocked an eyebrow at her. She smiled.

She moved to the next display, lingering over each scent. Then over every tube of lipstick. Endlessly lingering. The process kept repeating; athleticwear, loungewear, sleepwear, makeup bags, hosiery, bras. Over 40 minutes later she was still at it. Lingering. Ten minutes prior my nerves were fraying and I was losing patience. Now I was out of it.

“What are we doing?”

“Shopping,” she replied.

“For what?”

“For you,” she said.

“How is this for me?” I asked, my voice rising. It was bad enough we were here at all, let alone just standing around watching her seemingly do nothing.

She paused. Then she looked me right in the eyes. I saw the look. It was then I realized my frustration had led me right into it.

“Oh baby, I am so sorry,” her voice amplifying with each syllable. “I know you’re excited to pick out your new panties. Such an exciting day for my princess.”

She wasn’t yelling. Her voice remained sugary sweet. But it was loud. I felt like the whole store could hear her.

“Come on honey, let’s go get you your pretty panties.”

It was then that her seemingly cliched choice of Victoria’s Secret became clear. She wanted a public place to humiliate me. That wouldn’t be possible shopping online.

I was horrified.

She kept at it, quieter now, but quite demonstrative, putting each new panty selection up against my waist, making me turn around at times.

“We need enough coverage for your cage,” she said, louder again, to no one in particular. “But obviously still a thong, because you’ll love the feeling in your ass.” My face flushed more with every emasculating word.

“Please stop,” I implored.

She pressed her lips to my ear. “Isn’t this what you wanted, princess?”

I looked at her, “no” on the tip of my tongue.

“Choose your words,” she crowed.

I reconsidered.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” she pressed.

“Yes, my Queen.”

“Yes, my Queen, what?”

“Yes, my Queen, I wanted you to help me pick out my panties.”

She had won again. As always.

“Good girl.”

We ultimately selected six pair in what became a maddening game I had no chance at. She would choose the cuts – they were all slinky and small without much variation – and then ask me to choose from a variety of colors. I’d select blue, she’d say “I love it” and then she’d pick up the same cut in pink. I’d choose black, she’d say “I love it” and then she’d select it in pink. By the third time I realized where we were headed. We ultimately ended up with three different styles – two of each - all in pink.

“Here you go, baby,” she said as she handed them to me.

"Can we please go now?" It was closer to begging than a question.

"Yes," she said. "Let's get you home."

Finally we were leaving. Thank God.

But as we reached the sales clerk and the register, she twisted the knife one more time.

“Put your panties on the counter, princess.”
 
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The first time being take panty shopping is always very embarrassing and yet very memorable. I love hearing how your wife handled it.
Thanks for posting this blog of your history and progression. i will continue to follow it. Its interesting to read how others got started and evolved.
 
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19.

Just 15 days into chastity and with frequent unlocks, I was struggling. Her dominance came naturally to her, and I loved my submission to it. But the cage was a problem. The center pin would lift and pinch. The ring caused chafing. Nighttime erections remained painful. An occasional ball would escape. At one point the cage came off in the middle of the night. Something had to change.

Sometimes it’s the little things that made a big difference. In our case, we realized the ring was actually two sizes too large. Sizing it down made a world of difference. It was more secure. It was also tighter, which felt better once I got used to it.

I wanted to love my cage. This brought us much closer to that goal. After living with the new ring for three days without an unlock and doing pretty well, she let me out for regular (supervised) cleaning and shaving.

We didn’t (and still don’t) have highly regimented rituals around cage removal. Sometimes she would unlock me. Sometimes she’d hand me the key and I’d unlock myself. It was the same for the lock up. I’d have to unlock and re-lock in her presence, but it was just a click and off we would go.

After this particular re-lock, with yellow lights switching to green based on the increased comfort and security of the cage, she ordered a week of lock-up, our longest to this point.

I felt confident I could do it. (And I did).
 
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20.

On the last day of my lock-up she had promised a reward. I was eager for it. My hands were tied to the bedpost above my head. She pulled my shorts down, exposing my panties.

“I will never get tired of seeing these,” she teased.

She slid them to the side. My cage tightened as she gently caressed my sac.

“They’re so full, baby,” she cooed. “So desperate for release.”

I whimpered in agreement.

She continued to tease me, licking around my cage while lightly teasing me with her long nails. I was in heaven.

She rose from the bed, leaving me wanting. She slid a drawer open and returned.

“I’m going to untie you. Then I want you to put these on.”

A pair of thigh highs. Hanes, lace top, Size CD, Color “Barely There” to be exact.

At that point, desperately in need of release, objecting wasn’t even a thought. I did as she asked, fumbling to line each one up correctly with my toes. I slid them up my legs.

“Oh baby, so sexy,” she said.

I stood there, ripe.

She got up again and retrieved the key. I watched as she placed it in the lock. With a twist it came free. She removed the cage. My cock grew in anticipation. My eyes rolled back in my head as she gripped me with one hand and began to disassemble the cage with the other.

Moments later I was free. I trembled as she began stroking me.

“Oh baby, you have done so good.”

“Thank you, My Queen,” I replied. I could hardly get the words out.

With just a few more strokes, I was already reaching the edge.

“Oh, oh, oh, honey, my baby-girl, you are not going to last long,” she said.

“I know, my love. I need it so bad.” I was quivering. My release was so close.

She stopped.

“Baby, there’s just one thing.”

“Yes?”

“Your leg hair. It looks so gross under these.”

She had made me shave when she put me in panties, but I had only shaved from the knees up. From the knees down my leg hair was plainly visible under the thigh highs.

“OK.”

“I want you to shave it. Shave it for me and I’ll watch you. And then you can have your reward.”

Saying “no” wasn’t an option. I was on tilt. Fifteen minutes later I was smooth from the waist down.

“So sexy baby,” she cooed as I toweled off. Then I slid the thigh highs back on. Clean now, she took me in her mouth and I immediately stiffened. Less than 20 seconds later I had earned the release I desperately needed, crying out and slapping at the side of the bed as I did so.
 
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