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Belted#

A bad decision#

Helen’s heart skipped a beat as the phone rang, the shrill sound slicing through her frantic thoughts. She glanced at the clock: She was late. Amelie would already be at the café. The relentless buzzing of her chastity belt’s mechanisms underlined her panic, every movement teasing her with vibrations and suction that left her legs trembling and her face flushed. The clit cup worked with ruthless precision, alternating between insidious licks and harsh pulses, while the inserts maintained a maddening rhythm.

As her fingers grazed the belts’ edges as it zapped her, a cruel, sharp punishment that made her yelp. She snatched her hand back, her thighs clenching involuntarily. With a sharp intake of breath, Helen reached for her phone. When she finally managed to answer, her voice was unsteady.

“Amelie!” she panted, desperately trying to steady herself.

“Helen, where are you?” Amelie’s bright, slightly annoyed voice filtered through the line. “You’re late!”

Helen stifled a moan as the belt, responding to the sound of her speaking, ramped up its torturous edge play. She pressed her thighs together, but the inserts only seemed to dig deeper, sending an electric shiver through her. “I-I’m on my way!” she managed to choke out, her voice strained. “Got… held up.”

“Held up? You’d better hurry,” Amelie replied, her tone softening. “I’m getting a coffee now, but don’t keep me waiting too long, okay?”

Helen barely heard the click of the call ending. Every nerve in her body was alight, her clit tingling from the belt’s unrelenting teasing. She stumbled to her wardrobe, yanking out the first dress she could find and shimmying into it with difficulty, the belt zapping her again when her fingers grazed its metallic edge. Her breath hitched, tears pricking her eyes at the dual sensations of frustration and undeniable, traitorous arousal.

She shoved her feet into flats and grabbed her bag, each step sending the anal and vaginal inserts jostling inside her. Locking the door behind her, Helen set off at a brisk walk. She prayed that no one would notice the faint hum of the devices or the slight flush on her cheeks as she made her way toward salvation at the café.

Helen’s steps were shaky as the inserts tormented her with every stride. The belt’s relentless teasing escalated as it picked up faint conversations from passersby—each murmur, laugh, and word seeming to trigger its cruel programming. She bit her lip, her breathing shallow, feeling as though every nerve in her body was conspiring against her.

As she reached the traffic light, the red hand glaring at her like an unyielding sentinel, a pair of strangers stood beside her, chatting animatedly about dinner plans.

“I’m thinking steak,” one said, his voice rich and booming, the sound enough to register on the belt’s sensors. Instantly, the clit cup surged to life, sucking and vibrating. Helen’s knees buckled slightly, her hand shooting out to grab the post for support.

The belt misinterpreted her movement as an act of rebellion. Without warning, a sharp zap jolted her clit and the anal insert simultaneously, sending her teetering on the edge. Her body convulsed, her thighs clamping together as she gripped the post tightly, her nails digging into the metal.

Her breaths came in short gasps, her cheeks burning as she fought to suppress a moan. The strangers continued their conversation, oblivious to her plight, but their voices kept the belt in overdrive. The suction on her clit alternated between gentle and brutal, the inserts pulsing in maddening sync. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, her body trembling as the belt cruelly ruined the edge she’d been teetering on, leaving her in a limbo of denied release.

“Are you okay, miss?” one of the strangers asked, glancing at her with concern.

Helen forced a weak smile, her voice barely above a whisper as she managed, “Y-yes… just a bit dizzy.”

The light turned green, and Helen willed her legs to move, each step dragging her deeper into the belt’s cruel embrace. Her destination—a key and a chance at freedom—felt impossibly far away.

A worse decision#

The café was a cacophony of voices, the overlapping conversations a cruel symphony that sent Helen’s chastity belt into overdrive. She stumbled through the crowd, her breaths shallow, every inch of her body ablaze with the relentless stimulation. By the time she spotted Amelie sitting at a table in the center, Helen’s vision was swimming, her legs wobbling with every step.

“You’re late,” Amelie snapped, her irritation cutting through the din like a blade. She sipped her coffee with the deliberate calm of someone barely containing her temper. “And you look like a mess. What the hell is going on?”

Helen gripped the back of a chair for support, her voice shaking as she attempted a lie. “I… uh, locked myself out of my apartment, and… had to sort it out.”

Amelie raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Locked out? Really? That’s the best you can come up with?” Her tone sharpened. “I want the truth, Helen.”

The belt chose that exact moment to deliver a punishing zap to her clit and anal insert, robbing her of air and composure. Helen gasped, her body jolting as she sank into the chair across from Amelie, tears brimming in her eyes.

“I—oh god—I locked myself into a chastity belt!” she burst out, her words spilling before she could stop them. “It’s timed for seven days, and it’s set to edging and denial mode, and it punishes me when I… oh god.” Her hands flew to her face, hiding her flushed cheeks as she whimpered. “You have the key, Amelie. Please, I need it.”

Amelie leaned back, her expression unreadable. After a moment of silence, she smiled—a small, wicked curve of her lips. “Well, that’s quite the confession,” she said dryly, setting her coffee down. “But you lied to me, Helen. And I don’t take kindly to that.”

Helen’s eyes widened, her breath hitching. “What? No, please—”

“It’s a punishment you deserve,” Amelie interrupted, her tone cold. “For lying to me. And now you’re going to learn your lesson.”

Tears spilled down Helen’s cheeks as she pleaded, her voice trembling. “Amelie, I can’t… it’s too much. Please, I’ll do anything!”

“Yes, you will,” Amelie said coolly. “Come with me.” She stood, gesturing for Helen to follow.

In the cramped privacy of the women’s washroom, Helen hesitated, but Amelie’s stern gaze left no room for argument. “Show me,” Amelie ordered.

Helen reluctantly lifted her dress, revealing the intricate chastity belt. Amelie inspected it with a clinical curiosity, her fingers grazing the sleek metal casing. A faint click echoed as she located the controller board and used her spare key to unlock and decouple it. Helen gasped at the sensation of relief, but it was short-lived.

Amelie held up the controller, examining it like a new toy. “Interesting. I’m keeping this,” she said, picking up the device.

“What—what does that mean?” Helen stammered, her heart pounding.

“It means,” Amelie said with a smirk, “you’re staying locked, but now I control what happens next.” She tapped a button on the remote, and Helen shuddered as the belt eased into a slow, constant tease—gentle vibrations that were enough to leave her simmering, on the edge but never quite tipping over.

“And every hour,” Amelie added, pressing another button, “you’ll get a little reminder of who’s in charge.” The belt hummed ominously, the settings adjusting. “You’ll get edged, hard, and then denied. Over and over. Starting now.”

Helen whimpered as the first teasing pulses began to escalate. Amelie leaned in, her voice low and firm. “Behave, and maybe I’ll think about letting you out. But don’t even think about crossing me again.” With that, Amelie walked out, leaving Helen trembling, humiliated, and utterly at her mercy.

Like a clockwork#

Helen splashed cold water on her face, her trembling hands smoothing her disheveled hair. Her reflection stared back at her, wide-eyed and flushed, the evidence of her ordeal written across her skin. She adjusted her dress, steeling herself to rejoin the world outside the sanctuary of the washroom.

As she approached the counter, she pulled out her wallet, fumbling slightly as the belt’s low, constant tease left her struggling to focus. Her clit throbbed under the relentless vibration, the inserts shifting just enough to remind her who controlled her pleasure—or lack thereof. She forced a tight smile as the cashier rang up the tab.

“Just a moment,” she murmured, her voice tight as she rifled through her wallet.

The café clock chimed four, its clear, resonant toll cutting through the soft hum of conversation. Helen froze, her body tensing instinctively as the chastity belt surged to life. The teasing vibrations intensified, climbing to a peak as the clit cup began a series of rapid, insistent pulses. The inserts matched its rhythm, thrusting and pulsing inside her, dragging her to the brink of an orgasm that she knew would never come.

Her legs buckled slightly, one hand gripping the counter for support as her other clutched the wallet. The cashier blinked at her, concerned. “Miss? Are you okay?”

Helen’s head dipped, her breath caught in her throat. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily, her face flushing as she fought the overwhelming sensations. “I-I’m fine,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just—just tired.”

The belt delivered a punishing zap, ripping a soft gasp from her lips as it ruined her yet again. Tears pricked her eyes, and she shoved the cash toward the cashier, desperate to end the transaction before she completely lost her composure.

As the belt’s torment ebbed back to its simmering tease, Helen managed to grab her change and shuffle toward the door. Her steps were shaky, her cheeks burning as she felt every lingering pulse of the belt’s relentless denial. Amelie’s smirk flashed in her mind, a cruel reminder of her predicament.

She pushed open the café door, the cool air hitting her like a reprieve and a taunt all at once. Seven days, she thought, biting her lip against a fresh wave of arousal. Seven long, torturous days.

No sleep till …#

The belt ran its relentless program every hour, on the hour. Amelie tried to sleep, but she knew she would not survive this for seven days. It was simply impossible.

Helen’s message to Amelie was sent in desperation, her trembling fingers typing out a plea for mercy. The reply came swiftly. Amelie granted her reprieve—but only during the hours of 11 pm to 6 am, with a warning: Your morning wakeup will remind you who’s in control.

When 11 pm came, Helen braced herself for the now-familiar torment of an hourly edging. The belt roared to life, teasing her to the edge. By the time the program ended, leaving her gasping and trembling in the aftermath of another ruined climax, her exhaustion overtook her. She fell into a deep, dream-laden sleep.

Her dreams were vivid, soaked in heat and depravity. She was splayed face-down on a grand, velvet-covered bed, her arms and legs bound with ropes that left her completely exposed: Ass up, knees spread, head forced cruelly by a rope bound to her hair. Around her were faceless figures, their bodies glistening with sweat, their hands and mouths ravenous as they explored her helpless form.

A man knelt between her legs, his cock thick and rigid as he thrust deep into her dripping cunt, unyielding and with a brual pace. Another pressed his length to her lips, forcing her to take him as he groaned, his hips driving into her mouth. Behind her, a strong hand spread her cheeks, the slick heat of another cock pressing against her tight hole. The stretch was intense, her body trembling with the overwhelming sensation as he buried himself to the hilt.

They moved in rhythm, using her in every way, their hands gripping her hips, her hair, her shoulders. She was a toy, a vessel for their pleasure, every thrust and slap of skin against skin pushing her closer to a climax that shimmered just out of reach. Their groans mixed with her muffled cries of need, her body arching as one man pinched her nipples cruelly, another’s hand slapping her ass.

She was teetering on the edge, her entire being consumed by the raw, animalistic energy of the moment. A voice, low and commanding, whispered in her ear, “Cum for us, slut.” She opened her mouth to scream as her orgasm approached, a blinding explosion of pleasure about to crash over her—

The dream shattered.

Helen jolted awake as the belt unleashed its morning punishment. Her body seized, a scream tearing from her throat as she tried to catch her breath, electrical zaps in all her orifices tormenting her, dragging her back from the edge of an orgasm–an orgasm she would never be allowed to reach. Her body was convulsing as the belt cruelly ruined her climax. She gasped for air, her face flushed, tears streaking her cheeks as the relentless torment left her trembling and utterly spent.

When the belt finally eased into its cruel baseline tease again after its nightly pause, Helen curled into herself, clutching her pillow. The frustration, the helplessness, the aching, unsatisfied need—it all came crashing down on her. She buried her face in the cushion, sobbing quietly, her pleas muffled against the fabric.

“Amelie,” she whimpered, her voice broken and desperate. “Please… I can’t take this anymore.” But she knew the only answer would come on Amelie’s terms, leaving her at the mercy of the one who held all the control.

Amelie’s ultimatum#

She called her anyway. What else could she do?

Helen stared at her phone, her trembling fingers clutching it tightly as Amelie’s cold, commanding voice delivered her ultimatum. “Dress up, Helen. I want you slutty. Show me how much you’re willing to debase yourself for a little relief. Then come over, and don’t even think about coming unless you’re ready to grovel.”

The line went dead, leaving Helen staring at her reflection in the bedroom mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair tousled from restless sleep. Every nerve in her body buzzed from the belt’s relentless teasing, her thighs pressed together instinctively as the inserts shifted inside her. There was no choice. She began to prepare.

She rifled through her wardrobe, pulling out a tight, short skirt that hugged her hips and left her thighs scandalously exposed. A matching lace bralette followed, the delicate fabric sheer enough to leave little to the imagination. Over it, she slipped a cropped leather jacket, unzipped to show off the teasing swell of her cleavage. A pair of strappy stilettos completed the look, her legs elongated, every step a reminder of the belt’s intrusive presence.

Her makeup was bold—a dark, smoldering eye and red lips that made her look every bit the part Amelie demanded. She added a choker around her neck, the subtle pressure oddly fitting for her situation. With one last look in the mirror, Helen swallowed her pride and stepped out and made her way to Amelie’s apartment.

The door clicked open, and Amelie leaned against the frame, her lips curving into a slow, predatory smile as she looked Helen over. “Good girl. Come in.”

The door closed behind her, and Helen didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees, her hands clasped in front of her, her head bowed as her voice broke. “Please, Amelie. I can’t take it anymore. I’ll do anything. Just give me some relief.”

Amelie tilted her head, her expression thoughtful as she walked around Helen, heels clicking on the floor. “Anything, you say? Let’s see just how desperate you are.”

She reached into a nearby bag and pulled out two items. The first was a pair of thigh bands, tight and constricting, designed to connect to the belt. They would strap Helen’s legs together just above the knees, severely limiting her movement. “Wear these,” Amelie said, her voice firm. “With them on, you’ll only have to endure four more days in the belt.”

Helen’s heart raced as she looked at the second item—an overbust corset that matched the sleek design of her chastity belt, also designed to connect. It extended upwards, cupping her breasts in a way that would tease them with every breath, while also cinching her waist mercilessly. “And this,” Amelie continued, “will take off another two days. It’ll compress you, shape you, remind you who’s in charge. But it’s your choice. Like the belt was your choice. You just used me as a keyholder, and then let me sit in the café, and to top it off, you lied to me.”

Helen stared at the items, her hands trembling as she weighed her options. The thought of being confined further was terrifying, but the promise of reducing her sentence by four days was tantalizing. Tears welled in her eyes as she whispered, “Amelie… I…”

Her voice trailed off as she made her decision, reaching for the items, ready to pay whatever price was necessary for even the faintest hope of relief.

Amelie’s smile widened as Helen reached for the thigh bands and corset, her trembling hands accepting the instruments of her own deeper confinement. “Good choice,” Amelie purred, her tone thick with satisfaction. “Now, put them on. Let me see you submit.”

The thigh bands were first. Helen carefully fastened them just above her knees, the straps digging into her flesh with a snug, unrelenting pressure, straps running up her thighs and connecting to the belt. They forced her thighs together, allowing only the smallest of steps.

She rose to her feet, wobbling as she adjusted to the hobbled stance, her short skirt doing nothing to hide the straps’ presence. Tentatively, Helen took a step, her legs pressed tightly together. The bands resisted her movement, forcing her into a mincing shuffle that emphasized the sway of her hips.

She hesitated, trying to take a larger stride—and immediately, a faint click sounded from the bands. The belt zapped her clit and ass.

“Agh!” Helen gasped, her knees buckling as the pain rippled through her. She caught herself, her face flushing as Amelie laughed softly.

“Careful, darling,” Amelie chided. “You don’t want to push too hard. Keep those pretty legs together like a proper little lady.”

Helen bit her lip, tears pricking her eyes as she forced herself to comply. Her thighs remained glued together, every movement slow and deliberate to avoid triggering another zap.

Next came the corset, sleek and imposing. Amelie took her time, tightening the laces herself, each pull squeezing Helen’s waist until she whimpered. The compression was brutal, the corset was cut straight from the bust to the waist, forcing her lower ribs inward, leaving her breathless. Her posture straightened involuntarily as the corset forced her to stand tall, her breasts thrust upward into the teasing cups.

Helen shivered as the corset locked into place with a soft click, joining with the chastity belt. The transition was seamless; her body was now encased from crotch to chest in unyielding, teasing confinement. The cups pressed her breasts up and together, creating a cleavage so spectacularly full and provocative that even Helen blushed at the sight.

Her nipples, sensitive from the tension and exposure, were not spared. Tiny electrodes within the cups began to buzz gently, sending delicate shocks that danced between teasing and painful. Helen’s breath hitched, her chest heaving against the corset as the electrodes worked in cruel harmony with the belt’s ongoing low-profile stimulation.

The corset’s connection to the belt meant it participated fully in the hourly punishments. When the clock struck the top of the hour, Helen would not only endure the familiar torment of the belt but also the corset’s merciless additions—shocks to her nipples.

Amelie stepped back, admiring her handiwork. Helen’s short skirt left no doubt about the bands hobbling her, her mincing steps and forced posture radiating both elegance and humiliation. The corset, gleaming and tight, accentuated her curves to perfection while leaving her helplessly trapped within its embrace.

“You look exquisite,” Amelie said, her voice thick with malicious delight. “Now, remember: every movement, every breath, every thought is a reminder of your submission. You’ll keep your legs together, your hands off, and your pleas respectful. Understand?”

“Yes, Amelie,” Helen whispered, her voice trembling. The constant tease, the restriction of her movements, and the unrelenting pressure on her chest left her dazed and vulnerable.

“Good,” Amelie said, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Now go on. Show me how well you can behave.”

Helen took a slow, halting step, her thighs pressing tighter as she fought to remain steady. Each movement was a battle against the relentless control Amelie wielded over her body, every jolt and tease a cruel reminder of how far she’d fallen—and how much further she had to go.

It’s only day One#

Amelie lounged on her plush sofa, her legs elegantly crossed, sipping from a glass of wine as she watched Helen shuffle across the room. Helen’s face was flushed, her breath coming in short gasps as she struggled to fulfill Amelie’s every whim. The corset, laced impossibly tight, forced strain on her ribs, while the thigh bands dictated her mincing steps.

“Another glass,” Amelie said lazily, holding her empty goblet toward Helen.

“Yes, Amelie,” Helen whispered, her voice barely audible, the low-profile teasing from the belt and corset making her tremble. Every step set off the inserts inside her, the anal plug and vaginal intruder shifting cruelly with her movement. The clit cup hummed softly, its gentle suction keeping her wet.

Helen reached for the wine bottle on the nearby counter, careful not to move too quickly. She could feel the tension in the thigh bands as she stretched slightly, her legs straining against the restriction. A faint click warned her of impending punishment, and she froze, but the zap came anyway.

As she turned back to Amelie, the sensors in the belt detected her elevated arousal. The suction on her clit intensified for a moment, the intruders pulsing in time with her racing heartbeat. Her body betrayed her, teetering on the brink of orgasm before the system snapped her back with a series of sharp, punishing zaps.

“Ah!” Helen yelped, her knees nearly buckling as the pain shot through her clit, ass, and nipples. The corset’s cups delivered their own cruel shocks, sending jolts of electricity through her tender, exposed flesh. Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled to recover, her body trembling from the ruined climax.

“Careful now,” Amelie said, her tone mockingly sweet. “You don’t want to spill a drop, do you? Cleaning up that carpet on your knees with the thigh bands on is guaranteed to zap you over and over."

Helen blinked back tears, nodding obediently. “No, Amelie,” she choked out, her voice quivering.

She curtsied carefully to set the glass on the table, her thighs pressing together to avoid triggering the bands’ punishment mechanism. The corset dug into her sides, making her movements even more labored, her breasts heaving against the teasing electrodes.

“Good girl,” Amelie said with a smirk, gesturing for Helen to rise. “Now fetch my slippers. And don’t dawdle.”

Helen shuffled off, the constant grinding of the intruders bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Her legs shook, the stimulation making her core ache with unmet desire. Every breath felt shallow and strained, her body screaming for a release she knew would not be allowed to come. When the sensors registered her rising climax again, the zaps came—harder this time, more insistent. Her cry echoed softly in the room, but she quickly stifled it, her shoulders trembling as she obediently retrieved the slippers.

As she knelt to place them at Amelie’s feet, the tears she could no longer hold back slipped silently down her cheeks. Her frustration was a tangible thing, but she continued to serve. Amelie sipped her wine, watching with unmasked delight.

“Lovely,” Amelie murmured, her eyes gleaming as she leaned down to tilt Helen’s chin upward, forcing their eyes to meet. “The perfect little servant. Just remember, darling—it’s only day one.”

Personal service#

Amelie spread her legs languidly, the confident curve of her smile sending a shiver through Helen. “Now,” Amelie purred, her voice a velvet command. “Get between my legs and make yourself useful. You’d better be good at this, Helen.”

Helen hesitated for only a moment before obeying, her body moving on autopilot. She moved forward, the tight thigh bands biting into her flesh as she shuffled closer to Amelie. The teasing buzz of the belt and corset blurred her thoughts, leaving her focused solely on obedience. With trembling hands, she reached up to part the fabric of Amelie’s skirt, exposing her glistening folds.

Tentatively, Helen leaned forward, her lips pressing against the slick heat of Amelie’s sex. Her tongue flicked out, hesitant at first, before she began to explore with greater fervor. The faint taste of Amelie’s arousal mingled with her own rising heat, the vibrations and pulses of the belt driving her actions.

Amelie’s fingers tangled in Helen’s hair, tugging firmly to guide her movements. “That’s it,” she murmured, her voice thick with desire. “Deeper, slower. Make me feel it, darling.”

Helen complied, her tongue delving deeper, swirling and stroking in time with Amelie’s moans. The pressure of Amelie’s hand on her head grew, pulling her closer until Helen’s nose was pressed firmly against her clit. Her breath came in short, labored gasps, muffled against Amelie’s heat. The helplessness, the complete control Amelie exerted over her, ignited something raw and primal in Helen. Her own arousal surged, the belt’s sensors picking up her quickened pulse and reacting with teasing jolts.

Amelie’s hips began to buck, her grip on Helen’s hair tightening brutally. “Yes,” she hissed, her thighs clamping around Helen’s head. The movement cut off what little air Helen had, leaving her fighting to keep up, her tongue working desperately as Amelie ground against her face.

The scent and taste of Amelie’s climax hit her like a wave, her moans growing louder, more ragged. With a sharp cry, Amelie came, her body trembling as she pressed Helen hard against her folds. At that precise moment, the belt delivered its cruel punishment to Helen, ruining her own rising orgasm once more. Sharp, relentless zaps tore through her clit, ass, and nipples, wrenching a muffled cry from her as she struggled for breath, her body convulsing under the dual assault of stimulation and denial.

Amelie relaxed slightly, releasing Helen’s hair as she leaned back into the cushions, basking in the afterglow. Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she gazed down at Helen, whose tear-streaked face glistened with evidence of her efforts. Helen was trembling, her lips swollen, her breaths ragged as she struggled to recover from the punishment.

“Ah, the symmetry of it,” Amelie murmured, her tone languid and amused. She ran a finger down Helen’s cheek, her touch almost gentle. “My pleasure, your denial. So perfectly balanced, don’t you think?”

Helen couldn’t respond, her voice lost in the haze of frustration and exhaustion. She simply knelt there, head bowed, her body still humming from the belt’s relentless teasing, her mind too fogged to think of anything but submission.

Amelie smirked, the satisfaction of her dominance written across her face as she produced a sleek gag. Helen didn’t resist; she didn’t have the strength to. The rubber ball slipped between her lips, the straps securing it tightly at the back of her head, muffling any protests she might have made.

Next, Amelie brought out soft ropes, expertly binding Helen’s arms in a butterfly tie. Her wrists were secured to her upper arms, leaving her shoulders pulled back, her chest pushed forward. The corset only enhanced the effect, her breasts thrust forward provocatively, framed by the tight embrace of the cups.

With Helen thus restrained, Amelie guided her to the bed, laying her down carefully. “There we go, my perfect little bedwarmer,” Amelie murmured, sliding in beside her. One hand rested possessively on Helen’s hip, while the other lazily stroked her hair.

Helen’s exhaustion dragged her into an uneasy sleep, her body wrung out from the relentless teasing and denial. In her dreams, she humped Amelie’s thigh, her bound body grinding desperately against the smooth skin, seeking friction that the belt denied her. The dream was vivid, her arousal climbing higher with every movement.

Suddenly, a sharp zap ripped through her clit and ass, pulling her from her fantasy with a muffled cry against the gag. Her body jerked violently, the bindings on her arms keeping her helplessly in place. Tears streamed down her cheeks as Amelie’s hand brushed gently through her hair.

“Poor, needy little thing,” Amelie whispered, her voice low and almost tender. “Not getting any, are you?”

The words broke Helen, and she sobbed quietly, her muffled cries filling the room as she eventually drifted back into a fitful sleep, her body trembling with unfulfilled desire.

At 6 am, the belt roused her with its cruel programming. The clit cup began its suction, paired with soft thrusting of the vaginal and anal intruders. Helen, still half-asleep, was dragged into another dream.

In this one, she was on her knees, gagged and bound as she was in reality, while Amelie sat above her, a queen demanding her every attention. Helen’s dream-self served with desperation, her tongue and lips worshiping Amelie’s body, her every movement driven by a need to please. The more she submitted, the more the dream’s version of Amelie demanded, each act igniting Helen’s arousal further.

As she was pushed to the brink of an orgasm, the belt struck again, shocking her clit and ass brutally, tearing her from the dream with a gasp and a strangled cry. Her body trembled, her thighs clamping together, the ruined climax leaving her dazed and utterly defeated.

Amelie stirred beside her, propping herself up on one elbow to observe Helen’s tear-streaked face. A wicked smile played on her lips as she ran a hand over Helen’s damp hair. “Another ruined dream, my sweet? Such a shame. But it’s exactly what you deserve, isn’t it?” Her words were laced with amusement, her tone dripping with satisfaction.

Helen could only nod weakly, her body wracked with frustration as the belt continued its low, constant tease, setting the tone for another day under Amelie’s control.

Morning routines#

Amelie moved with deliberate care as she prepared Helen for her next humiliation. She had her kneel down in the bathroom, and connected things to the rear of the belt. The rear dildo’s enema function activated with a soft hum, and Helen whimpered against her gag, her bound body tensing as the warm liquid began to flow. The corset’s unrelenting compression made the experience all the more unbearable, forcing her stomach to constrict as her body strained under the pressure.

Tears welled in her eyes, trickling down her flushed cheeks as she endured the enema, her thighs trembling. Gagged and helpless, Helen could do nothing but hold out, her body shivering with discomfort. When the process was finally complete, Amelie guided her to the toilet bowl, allowing her to empty herself, then cleaning her in the shower.

Returning to the bedroom, Amelie removed the gag and ropes from Helen’s arms, reattaching the thigh bands in exchange. “There we go,” she cooed, brushing Helen’s damp hair from her face. “Such a good little girl. So obedient, so pretty in your suffering. I do like that about you.”

Helen didn’t respond, her throat dry and her cheeks burning from the mix of shame and reluctant pride that came with Amelie’s praise. Amelie tipped her chin up with a finger, her smile warm but edged with wickedness. “Now, be a dear and make me breakfast. I’m hungry.”

Helen shuffled to the kitchen, her thighs pressed tightly together by the bands. Every movement was a reminder of her predicament, the inserts shifting inside her, teasing her relentlessly. Her breath came in short gasps, the corset digging into her ribs and keeping her chest heaving with the effort.

She worked diligently, preparing a lavish breakfast under Amelie’s watchful gaze. Eggs, bacon, toast, fresh fruit, and coffee—all arranged with care and precision despite the strain of her bindings. Once the meal was ready, Helen carried the tray to the table, placing it before Amelie with trembling hands.

“Perfect,” Amelie said, her tone dripping with approval as she began to eat. Helen stood silently by, awaiting further instructions.

When Amelie finished, she gestured to the floor beside her. “Kneel.”

Helen obeyed, sinking to her knees with practiced submission. She clasped her hands behind her back, her head tilted upward to look at Amelie, her lips parted slightly in anticipation. Amelie leaned down, slicing a small piece of fruit from her plate. She held it delicately before Helen’s mouth.

“Open,” Amelie ordered softly.

Helen obeyed, her tongue darting out as Amelie placed the morsel on it. She chewed slowly, savoring the taste, her eyes never leaving Amelie’s.

“Good girl,” Amelie murmured, feeding her another bite. “No speaking, now. Just listen and obey.”

The ritual continued, Helen remained silent, her body aching, her submission complete. Amelie fed her with a satisfied smile, reveling in the perfect image of Helen’s obedience.

More fun for Amelie#

While Helen finished cleaning up in the kitchen, Amelie retrieved ropes and the spreader bar, preparing the living room. She called Helen over, showing her where to kneel down on the sofa.

Helen didn’t resist as her elbows and wrists were secured tightly behind her back, leaving her chest pressing into the sofa cushions. The release of the thigh bands brought only a brief respite before the spreader bar was fastened between her ankles, forcing her legs wide apart. The pose left her exposed, vulnerable, her ass lifted invitingly.

Amelie smiled as she removed the anal plug, pulling it out with a deliberate slowness that made Helen squirm. The cool air against her now-empty rear was a fleeting mercy as Amelie fastened a strap-on harness around her waist, slicking the silicone phallus generously with lube.

“Perfect,” Amelie murmured, stepping behind Helen. She gripped Helen’s hips firmly, guiding the tip of the toy to her tight entrance. Helen tensed, her breath catching as Amelie pushed forward, the intrusion slow but unyielding. The penetration was deliberate, the pressure building until Helen’s body reluctantly accepted the length inside her.

Helpless and restrained, Helen could only whimper into the cushions, her face burning with humiliation. The strap-on drove deeper, each thrust purposeful, rocking her body against the sofa. The shame of her position and the relentless vulnerability sent a conflicting surge of arousal through her, her traitorous body betraying her again.

Amelie noticed the way Helen’s thighs quivered, the subtle arch of her back that signaled her rising need. “Oh, you’re enjoying this,” Amelie teased, her voice thick with amusement. “Look at you, helpless and desperate.”

Helen shook her head weakly, trying to fight the growing heat inside her, but the belt’s sensors picked up every flutter, every clench of her muscles as her arousal mounted. Amelie’s pace quickened, her thrusts striking deeper, the sound of slick movements filling the room. Helen’s breaths grew shorter, her body tensing as the unbearable edge crept closer.

“Don’t fight it, darling,” Amelie purred, slapping Helen’s ass lightly for emphasis. “You know how this ends.”

Helen’s muffled cries grew louder as the belt registered her arousal spike. Just as she teetered on the edge, desperate and trembling, the shocks came. A vicious jolt ripped through her clit and nipples, her muscles seizing as she screamed into the sofa. Amelie held her firmly, her grip unyielding as Helen shuddered beneath her, the ruined climax leaving her in a wrecked, sobbing state.

Amelie chuckled softly, pulling out and leaning over Helen’s trembling body. She stroked Helen’s sweat-dampened hair, her voice a mix of mockery and satisfaction. “Poor thing. You’ll never win, you know. You’re mine—every inch of you.”

Release#

By the end of the two days, Helen was unrecognizable from the self-assured woman she’d once been. Her mind was a fog of yearning, her thoughts consumed by a singular, burning need for release. Every breath, every shift of her body reminded her of the unrelenting stimulation that had kept her on edge, never allowing satisfaction. Yet, she had become conditioned—trained by the cruel pattern of denial and punishment—to shy away from the brink. The approach of an orgasm was no longer a promise of relief but a harbinger of pain, making her flinch even as her body begged to tip over the edge.

Her emotions were a fragile whirlwind of frustration, shame, and helpless arousal. Tears would come unbidden, spilling down her cheeks at the slightest hint of teasing, her sobs soft and desperate. She had become a creature of raw need, stripped of thought or will beyond the cycle of ache and avoidance, her body and mind trapped in the cruel conditioning Amelie had imposed.

When Amelie finally unlocked the chastity devices, Helen crumpled to the floor, her legs trembling, her body trembling with the sudden absence of their unyielding grip. Amelie knelt beside her, guiding her gently to her feet with hands uncharacteristically tender. “You did so well, my sweet,” Amelie whispered, her tone soothing. “Come, let me take care of you.”

In the shower, Helen stood trembling under the warm spray as Amelie carefully cleaned her, her hands gliding over Helen’s skin in a way that was both gentle and teasing. Every touch lit her up, her body responding with an almost unbearable sensitivity. Amelie’s fingers brushed against her nipples, her clit, her thighs, coaxing small gasps and trembles from Helen, who found herself teetering on the edge of release again.

“I’m here,” Amelie said softly, her voice a balm as she kissed Helen’s shoulder. “Let it come.”

But Helen couldn’t. Her body quivered, every nerve alight with pleasure, but the conditioning held her back, fear and habit locking her just short of climax. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her hands clutching at the shower wall as Amelie’s hands and lips continued their careful, teasing ministrations.

Minutes turned into what felt like eternity, the sweet agony of hovering on the brink stretching into an unbearable ache. Helen moaned softly, her head falling back, her body begging for release even as her mind resisted. “Amelie…” she whimpered, her voice raw, her need palpable.

Finally, with a combination of Amelie’s whispered reassurances, her gentle hands stroking just right, and the overwhelming build-up of arousal that could no longer be contained, Helen’s body gave in. The orgasm hit her like a wave crashing against the shore, a loud, unrestrained moan tearing from her lips as she squirted, her juices mingling with the shower’s warm spray. Her body convulsed, the ripples of pleasure rolling through her in endless waves, each crest dragging her deeper into bliss.

She clung to Amelie as the intensity overwhelmed her, her sobs mingling with her cries of pleasure. When it finally subsided, leaving her utterly spent, Helen slumped into Amelie’s arms, her head resting weakly against her chest.

Amelie turned off the shower, wrapping Helen in a soft towel and drying her with the utmost care. “Such a good girl,” she murmured, her voice warm with pride and affection. She carried Helen to the bed, laying her down gently before slipping in beside her.

Helen curled against Amelie’s body, her head resting on her chest, her breathing soft and even. Amelie stroked her damp hair, her touch soothing. “You were perfect, my darling,” she whispered. “So obedient, so beautiful. My precious, chaste girl.”

Helen sighed in her sleep, her face peaceful for the first time in days. Amelie held her close, the possessiveness in her gaze tempered by genuine care. As the night deepened, her whispered praises blended into the quiet rhythm of Helen’s dreams.

Onwards#

Helen stirred, her body heavy with the deep, satisfying rest she hadn’t known in days. For a blissful moment, her mind was clear, her body light, free from the weight of control and torment. But as she shifted under the covers, a familiar pressure greeted her—smooth, unyielding, and unmistakable. Her breath hitched as her hand instinctively moved to her waist, fingers tracing the contours of the chastity belt now locked firmly in place.

She sat up slowly, the realization sinking in. The controller’s small screen glowed faintly, displaying a seven-day countdown. No teasing this time, just denial. The settings were locked; the remote function disabled. The key, predictably, was nowhere in sight. Amelie had made sure of that.

A wave of emotions washed over Helen—frustration, resignation, and, surprisingly, a deep sense of satisfaction. She had given herself to this, fully and willingly. Amelie’s power over her wasn’t an imposition; it was exactly what Helen craved. The belt, with all its merciless rules and limitations, was her choice. She had made herself powerless, ensured she would need to plead, bargain, and submit if she ever wanted release.

Helen slipped out of bed, slowly, as she adjusted to the familiar restrictions of the belt. She padded to the mirror, gazing at her reflection. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks flushed with the remnants of sleep. The belt sat snugly at her waist, its presence both oppressive and comforting.

Amelie entered the room with a steaming mug of coffee, her expression warm and teasing. “Good morning, my sweet,” she said, setting the cup down on the nightstand. “I see you’ve noticed my little surprise.”

Helen nodded, her lips curving into a faint smile. “You locked me back in.”

“Of course,” Amelie replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You belong in it. And now, you’ll belong to it for another seven days. Unless, of course, you feel like earning your freedom early.”

Helen’s cheeks burned, but she didn’t look away. “You’re not giving me the key.”

Amelie laughed softly. “No, darling. You’ll never hold that key again. I’ll allow you to program it, set your time, your limits, but I will keep the key. Always.” Her voice softened, her hand reaching to tilt Helen’s chin upward. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Helen’s breath caught, her heart pounding. It was true. She needed this—the surrender, the control, the lack of escape. She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes. That’s what I want.”

Amelie’s smile deepened. “Good girl.” She pressed a kiss to Helen’s forehead, her tone shifting to a playful lilt. “Now, you’d better get dressed. I have a long list of things I need you to do today, and we wouldn’t want to waste any time, would we?”

Helen rose, her movements measured, her heart steady. The week ahead would be challenging, the denial absolute, but the knowledge that she had chosen this, that she had handed her control to Amelie, made her feel complete. She was exactly where she belonged.