Chastity Punishment Stories

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Chastity Punishment Stories
 The desire to curb human passions and the approval for power over the most deep-seated motivations, lead to the creation of some of the most sophisticated and intricate devices of torture known to man. So there now exist anti-masturbatory rings and chastity belts.
The earliest instance of the female chastity belt was discovered in Austria by the famous archaeologist Anthony Pechindzerom and belongs to the XVI century. These tools were very popular among knights, those going into campaigns and too conscious of the loyalty of their spouses. They chained wives up and took the key away with them. Although one is able to defecate in them, they make hygiene almost impossible. Over time, the model’s measurements were improved, and the creation of locks was engaged in by jewelers. Keys were produced as a single copy, and picks to them could not be created. In addition, anyone returning from distant lands could see how many times his missus tried to escape from her ‘captivity’ which a device modified to “pinch off” a piece of the material it was protecting, every time someone tried to open it without the key.
A century later in Victorian England, a similar device with rings was invented for males which were worn to wean young boys away from masturbating. In those days it was customary to assume that masturbating lead to blindness, insanity, sudden death, and other dire consequences. However, loss of men especially the young, to sex or masturbation – this is a real torture for such behavior. These devices were made of metal, sometimes supplied with studs, and most were just very tight and prevented full erections.
But among the intimate forms there existed even more terrible devices. For example, pears and wooden phalluses. They were often used in conjunction with the interrogation of witches and heretics. Both instruments were designed to break the most sensitive of organs. Using the pear as punishment was considered more severe, since before it is applied it is heated, then injected into the mouth, anus, or vagina. When the screw tightened, the pear segments were released to allow for maximum carnage. Victims of this device could very quickly die from blood loss and painful shock.
An interesting fact: The chastity belt was considered to be leather straps, which in Ancient Rome, were used by slaves in trying to prevent pregnancy. Later, their purpose and type were transformed into their iron counterpart.
One of the main factors that drives a human being — that is the instinct to procreate, and the pleasures involved. The people who first realized this simple truth began utilizing it for the complete manipulation others. For this, many sophisticated devices have been contrived.
The husband of one beautiful girl, leaving for the far reaches of the land, safeguards his relationship from adultery. He’s asked a blacksmith to forge for her innovative underwear made from strong iron. For these next few months she won’t be able to sit nor move normally. The “chastity belt” rubs against her hips and crotch, limiting not only her sexual instinct, but also her unwashed body’s access to water.
Young boys born into religious families often suffer nightly from pain derived from the pressure applied to their sexual organs by protective caps made from metal rings, or splints.
The second type of device is used to mock actions of sexual nature, and for the aggravation of said mockery into truly monstrous forms.
A woman suspected of witchcraft is tightly bound, stripped of all her clothes, and stretched across and torture table in an obscene position. Executors take hold of wooden, oblong objects, not always anatomical in shape, and mimic sexual penetration. They do this in such a rough a manner that the unlucky sufferer experiences horrible pain and burning sensations. Gradually, the torturers gets her to bleed, as well as recognize all her sins upon this Earth.
A separate example of cruelty and inhumanity takes the form of a mechanical “pear”. It’s introduced into the natural cavities, the same way in both men and women. Already in and of itself it causes terrible torment. Then the executioner turns a screw, and “petals” unfold, tearing off bodily tissue inside the subject. After such torture, mercy means a quick death, as the victim will no longer be able to walk, nor adequately perceive their reality.
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© 2015 Torture Museum. All rights reserved.




robbi on September 4, 2021 at 12:16 am




Jim on September 2, 2021 at 7:40 am

{ Note: This is Chapter 3 of a story series. It can be read alone, but will make more sense if you start with Chapter 1, available here: Ch. 01 }
Oh, Ouch! I thought. Who’d have guessed that a simple spanking would hurt so much. I lay completely naked over Susan’s jeans-clad left thigh where her other leg locked me in place. She’d used Mary’s hair brush to spank well beyond my ability to just ride serenely with the pain. She’d stopped now, but I still lay there trying to get myself under control.
Susan had put down the hairbrush and was now lightly caressing my bottom. I was surprised the heat she generated in those mounds didn’t burn her, but apparently, it was only burning me.
“Are you okay, John?” Susan asked. She unclasped my legs. “Can you stand up now?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. My entire body was exhausted, both by the trauma and my ineffectual struggles to escape. My face was wet with tears, and I tried to turn them off before either Susan or my soon-to-be ex-wife, Mary, saw me crying. I never cry. I never cry.
With my hands tied behind me, I needed Susan’s help to stand. Once I stood unsteadily before her, she pulled a small silver key on a golden chain free of her cleavage and off over her head. “I promised I would unlock you, John. You earned this temporary release. You did good.”
True to her word, Susan unlocked and removed the sheath portion of the chastity device from around my cock. She left the backing ring in place, but I hardly noticed. It felt so good to be out of that damned cage after a week of imprisonment. It was only a week, but my first time of ever being denied made a week far too long.
“Could you untie my hands, please?”
“I will, but there are conditions, John. You must not touch either your bottom or your penis until given permission.”
Words to the effect of: It’s my body. I’ll touch anything I damned well please, almost escaped my lips, but I mastered the impulse and said, “Yes, ma’am.” I turned my back to her, and she untied the rope.
Susan rose from her chair, took me by the arm, and led me to a corner of the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready soon, and we’ll call you out then. Stand still and do not talk until you’re released. Consider what got you into this corner time and do not lie to me again. And especially do not lie to yourself.”
I hate to be treated like a naughty child, given corner time, but Susan just demonstrated she could treat me in any way she chose. So, I did not object. I did not turn to her and demand I be treated like an adult. Yeah, right, I thought, bare naked with my butt flaming red. That’s a compelling argument for adult status.
I stood quietly, trying not to fidget (although the burn in my ass compelled me to shift from foot to foot), and mostly feeling sorry for myself. Even the joyful freedom of my cock did not outweigh the intensity of that bare-bottomed hairbrushing. I tried to further console myself with the smell of the beef bourguignon Mary had in the oven. It’s one of my favorite meals. I’m sure she had that in mind when she prepared it—a consolation, I suppose, for the treatment she knew I was to receive over Susan’s knee.
Both women must have been supremely confident that I would accept a spanking and corner time after being locked in chastity, with the threat of more weeks to come until I gave in. My continued chastity if I did not give in—with no attempt to break out of the cage—was virtually guaranteed by the threatened release of the video they took of my caged cock last week when they tricked me into putting it on.
It was a half hour before Mary opened up the oven to check on the stew. A wonderful aroma filled the kitchen when she took the lid off the pot. “I think it’s ready,” she said. “Would you set the table, please, John?”
A partial boner had arisen while I was in corner time, and it was humiliating to have the women see it. But my little man was freed after seven days of cruel confinement. It’s reasonable to expect he would display some exaltation. Casually blocking the women’s view with my left hand, I turned and said, “Happy to, sweetheart.”
I gathered three sets of knives and forks from the drawer and set places for Mary and Susan at the table. I feared they might force me to sit down with them to eat, but Susan kindly said, “Feel free to set your place at the counter, John, if you’d rather not sit just yet.” With a smile of thanks, I did just that.
During dinner, the women quizzed me about the motel where I was living. Susan wanted to know if it really improved my commute. “No, not by much.” And Mary, whether it was a nice place or an overly cheap place. “Well, maybe a little closer to the cheap side, but I don’t need much.”
Both were interested in the rental arrangement. Susan pointed out that motels that have a weekly rate are lower cost per day than those who just rent by the night. She asked which I was in.
“No, but they didn’t offer one, so I assume it’s not available.”
She just shook her head. Susan thinks I have poor people skills and am afraid of social interaction. Nonsense.
“Are you paid up in advance?” she asked, “or committed to any length of stay?”
“Would you like to return and live here? You’re welcome, or you can continue to report to us each Friday evening. After dinner, why don’t you take a shower and shave, while you decide. Since you’re out of your cage, you can clean that area well. Take all the parts with you and clean them also. I’ll keep the lock so it doesn’t accidentally get lost down the drain. And while you’re in the shower, feel free to ‘give yourself a hand,’ as they say. You have my permission.”
“Your permission,” I said, louder than intended. I have needed no one’s permission to take matters into my own hand since puberty. It was my own damned business, and no one else’s. This woman really knew how to piss me off. Her explanation from last week about the effects of masturbation on a relationship flashed through my mind, but I am not currently in a relationship, I countered, so fuck off! I thought those words but had the good sense not to say them.
Susan raised an eyebrow, daring me to continue my objection. Considering recent experience proving her opinion does actually matter, I declined, picked up the cage parts, and headed for the bathroom.
I took a long, leisurely shower. The water pressure here is much better than at the motel, and we have a humongous hot water heater that has never run out on us. I took special care to wash my package with very soapy hands. When I was done, I almost collapsed, my release was so intense after a week in prison. It could only have been better if one of the women was in the shower with me. Well, make that if Mary was in there with me. She has great hands. Susan might well twist some vital parts off my body.
I also considered Susan’s proposal that I move back into this house. It made sense. I felt like an idiot. I’d stormed out a week ago, announcing that I didn’t need them. Then this evening, I said they would never see me again except when I came to pack up the rest of my things. That was foolish. With the images they had in the cloud of me in chastity, their hooks were in too deep. Susan and Mary had enough to draw me back any time they wished, for any reason they might have.
While I was doing corner time, I imagined just running away. Leave everything behind and go. Chemical engineers are in demand. I could find a job over on the coast or up north. Mary might take me to court, but she was welcome to everything. What did I really need?
Now, I was seriously considering moving back into our house (for three more months). Not that there was all that much moving involved. All I had at the motel was a small duffle, a shaving kit, and my laptop. Come to think of it, all the clothes in the duffle needed to be washed, and I had no idea where a laundromat might be. Would the lady at the motel front desk know? Ah, hell. Run? Find the laundromat? I couldn’t see myself doing either. I needed Mary in my life, and maybe even Susan. It was becoming clear to me I needed someone. I just did not know how to find that person.
After a lengthy shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist, and crossed the hall to my bedroom to get dressed. I left the chastity cage on the bathroom counter. My clothes were still in my room, which was a relief. As I left the bathroom, it occurred to me that the women might have put all my things into storage. Fortunately, not. I put on clean boxers, cargo pants and a knit shirt. The absence of the chastity device between my legs felt strange. Weird! A lifetime with no metal at my crotch, but after just a week, the absence feels strange.
I returned to the kitchen to announce my decision to the ladies. Susan and Mary had each gotten a small bowl of ice cream, and I saw one for me on the counter. “I considered your suggestion,” I said; “I think I’ll move back here for the next couple months. No sense spending the money on motels and restaurants to no real advantage.”
“I think that’s a wise choice,” Susan said. “Of course, either way, you’ll be back in your chastity device throughout the week. That requirement has not changed.”
“And if I refuse to wear it?” She’d pissed me off again. I knew I was in dangerous territory, but I just got out of prison. I did not want to be put back in.
Both women stared at me for a minute, then Susan said, “I thought we established who was making your important lifestyle decisions for the next few months. Do I need to borrow Mary’s hairbrush again, so soon?”
Before I responded with another really stupid statement, guaranteed to dig me ever deeper into the pit I was excavating, Mary opened her laptop and jumped into the conversation. “I got some fantastic video of you over Susan’s knee, John. The sound quality is also excellent; you can almost feel the hairbrush as it crashes onto your ass, and your cries for mercy are quite distinct. I also got some nice still shots of your flaming bottom on display in the corner. Would you like to see them?”
Her tone of voice was that of a woman discussing everyday topics. There was not the slightest hint of a warning or threat. But that’s not how I heard her words. What I heard is: “Won’t your secretary, Lois, love to share these pictures of your bare ass being spanked by a woman like a little sissy. And my mother! Just imagine the fun she would have with them!”
“No, thank you,” I said through gritted teeth. Mary assumed I was answering her question about showing me her latest documentary evidence of my current status. And I was, but I was also answering the question we both knew lay behind her words.
“I had planned to wait until tomorrow morning, John,” Susan said, “but I think we should do it now, instead. Go put on your chastity device and report back to me to install the lock.”
I ate my ice cream that night standing at the kitchen counter, my package safely locked away. When I finished, Susan said, “John, since Mary cooked today, why don’t you and I take care of the leftovers and do the dishes.”
“Sounds fair,” I said. It did actually sound fair and reasonable, but looking back, I can’t remember when I last took care of the kitchen for Mary. I was the bread winner, out earning the living we enjoyed together. It never occurred to me to work together with my wife sharing the simple day-to-day chores around the house. Deep thoughts, and silly. I’m sure she understood that after a long day, I needed to relax.
As we worked, Susan said, “In the morning, I’ll drive you to your motel so you can collect your things and check out.”
“Thanks, but you don’t need to.” I didn’t want Susan or Mary to see where I was staying. It’s not a dangerous place, but certainly not in one of the better parts of town. I picked it because it was cheap. Also, because I drive by it on my normal commute, so didn’t have to go looking for a place.
Saturday morning, Mary asked me to make pancakes for breakfast. I do a recipe that I like, though it doesn’t involve any measuring. It consists of equal parts whole wheat flower and instant oatmeal, baking powder, flax seeds that I put in the microwave with a little water for thirty seconds, chopped pecans and an egg. Easy to do and people like them.
Susan slept in our smaller guest room Friday night, so she was with us for breakfast. And because I cooked, Mary said she would clean up while Susan and I retrieved my things from the motel. It seemed clear to me that the women were determined that Susan see where I was staying so she could report back. I would have had to be excessively rude to sidetrack that plan, so I didn’t try.
Susan wanted to take her car, so I rode as passenger. Before our divorce, when Mary and I went somewhere, I always drove. It was different being in the passenger seat with a woman at the wheel. I was not in control, which may have been the point of this trip.
Susan asked for the address. I told her the general location and gave her directions as we got closer. I didn’t know the address—no reason I should. If you know where a place is, you don’t need an address to find it. The only comment I got back was a disparaging, “Really?” from Susan when we edged into a less desirable part of town. It’s not a bad part, our town doesn’t have parts as bad as in the big cities, it’s just rundown from a few years of neglect.
The motel is all ground floor with living space for the manager behind the front office. Not one of the large chains. I was in unit 3. I unlocked and opened the door. Susan stuck her head in to look around and chuckled. When I checked in, I didn’t notice the worn state of the carpet or the sag in the middle of the bed under the chenille bedspread.
Susan volunteered to go tell the lady at the front desk that I was checking out. They were still talking when I walked in to pay the bill. As I was coming through the door, I heard Susan say, “We were wondering, for future reference, if you have a weekly rate?”
“Oh yes, it comes to a savings of about fifteen percent, but we don’t mention it unless the guest indicates they will be with us for an entire week. I checked your husband in, and I remember he was uncertain about his intended length of stay. This is our slow season, so I did not press him. He said he would keep me informed. Of course, I didn’t chance to see him again, but he was a quiet guest and we have his credit card number, so I was not concerned.”
Susan did not correct the lady regarding our relationship. I paid the bill, and we left. I could tell she was having trouble keeping a straight face all the way out to the car. Once her door closed, she burst out laughing.
“You were a—quote—quiet guest. That’s got to be high praise from a motel owner in this part of town. You didn’t ask them for a weekly rate, but on the other hand, you didn’t explore their hourly rates either. That must have confused them.
“Oh, Johnny, you really need help. I doubt you would survive in this world without Mary. What are we going to do with you once the divorce is final?”
Copyright © 2021 by Jonathan Quincy Graves. All rights reserved. Please do not repost or use for any commercial purpose without written approval from the author.
The story continues with: Ch. 04 The Sissy Thong
Excellent story with a lot of truth. No woman wants to forego her husband’s prosperity. Susan and mary will also break john so far that mary can
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