Access Denied chastity belt and slave punishment story

Like most women, Anna insisted on dining out several times weekly at my expense. By the time Friday arrived, and the stresses of the workweek had dissipated, Anna was usually expecting more than a dining experience.

On arriving home from work on Friday evenings, once inside her condo, I had to strip naked immediately in the entrance foyer, carry my clothes to the laundry hamper, and shower. While showering, Anna would select the outfit I was to wear for the evening - sometimes, nothing more than slacks with a coat and tie, but more often, my Access Denied chastity belt with pantyhose and a bra, or a bodystocking, to wear underneath my clothes. Though Anna questioned my crossdressing during the earliest stages of our relationship, once she realized that my desires were limited to private moments in the home, she often made me wear feminine undergarments in public, as she knew I was terrified of being "outed".

Returning home from dining was an event I came to dread.  If her mood, the lateness of the hour, and the degree of privacy we enjoyed would allow, Anna would drag me from the car, though the parking lot, and into her building by my hair or my necktie. Once inside her condo, I was told to sit, ordered to fix her a drink, or (in her bitchiest moods) literally thrown over an overstuffed easy chair in her living room. Though I lived there also, it was always "her" residence. After she changed clothes, Anna would emerge from her bedroom with her arsenal - a 36" 3/8" cane she called her "schoolboy", and the heavy wooden paddle she referred to as her "board of education". The cane was simply a woodworker dowel from the local hardware store, the paddle I purchased for her at Leather Man in NY City. Anna didn't believe in mincing words or warmups, if I was already bent over the chair she simply began, if I weren't she would simply tell me to "get over here".

The pain of her initial blows, delivered full force, was indescribable. I always resented the first few, usually delivered with the cane (she said she liked to switch between the cane and paddle because although the paddle was more painful, she liked the welts the cane left on me), and I nearly always asked myself why I allowed her to do this to me. But after stroke five or six, I no longer felt the pain, I only heard the swoosh as the schoolboy or the board sailed through the air, and felt an intense emotional rush, almost an out-of-body type experience. My hands would cup my face, and my resentment turned to a strange mix of fear and excitement. My surreal protests turned to the squealing, feminine whimpers Anna loved to hear. Instead of resisting the blows, I would lean into them, eager to meet Anna's challenge to be a real sub. I would tremble uncontrollably, and my eyes would swell up with tears, while Anna would giggle and comment on what a wonderful shade of red my buttocks were.

When my absolute limit (usually about 25-30 strokes) was reached, I would burst into tears, and collapse on my knees before her, frantically embracing her around the waist, thanking and kissing her, and, if she were wearing her dildo, unconsciously fellating her. She had two wearable dildos, the very sensual latex dildo panties, I purchased for her at Dressing for Pleasure in Montclair, NJ, and the more fearsome-looking strapon, that came from The Noose in NY City. From that moment, I was hers, to please her traditionally, orally, or with DP/SO time. Though this regimen took time, discussion, and some fumbling to develop, once established, our relationship benefitted enormously. Anna loved the physical sensation and transformational mystique of the dildos, and the empowerment that they and her arsenal gave her.

For me, the pain and humiliation were beneficial on several levels. Obviously, they reminded me of just who was in charge of the relationship. But more subtly, having my attention periodically refocused by this recurring event set a healthy stage for the regular submissive behavior that Anna expected. I drew comfort and strength from the regular beatings. The torrent of emotion released by being pushed to my limit of pain tolerance was profoundly liberating, and worked for me as a high bar of expectation that put no level of submissive behavior beyond the pale. I no longer felt embarrassed by reluctant to act out my submissive desires, or struggled to balance them with the male persona I felt obligated to portray in my daily life. Instead, I felt a reassurance that my submissive nature was encouraged as a normal part of our relationship. Once this high bar had been established, I felt the freedom to act in the zone that she had created.

I enjoyed embracing her, arms around her neck, with my backside facing the closet mirror so Anna could admire the welts I was so proud of. I would kiss her softly and thank her for the experience. My acceptance of DP/SO time was not begrudging (as, admittedly, it became by midweek), but enthusiastic. There were no arguments about my need to remain silent and follow her with a shopping cart in the supermarket, do the household chores nude while she chatted on the telephone with her mother (who thought my choretime uniform was cute), keep the closets organized, turn my paycheck over to her, abide by her choice of restaurants, be on time for events (such as the figure skating performances she enjoyed), respect deadlines (trash out by 7PM, etc), do favors for her friends (e.g., drive Sarah to the airport), run errands, or hold her purse should she choose to chat at length with a female neighbor. Unexpected chocolates, flowers, and notes arrived often.

Anna never put her thoughts on paper, but if she had, I think she would have said that some men simply need regular beatings to remain focused on relationship goals, and be communicative. Men are solitary and non-communicative by nature; traits that served them well in primitive (male as hunter, female as gatherer) times, but to be true partners in successful, modern relationships of any sort (personal and professional), they need to transcend these instinctive communication barriers. In our case, a beating intended not to punish (those didn't wait for Friday evenings...) but instead merely to assert authority was what I needed.