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Is Something The Matter? Ch. 02

Part 2 of 2. You don't need to read the first part of this story, but it will help make sense of the characters and how they got here. Thanks for comments and suggestions. I had intended this to be only one part, but I agreed it needed a bit more. There might be a third part, but I can't promise anything.

Please remember that everything described below is safe, sane and consensual.

Don't mess around with CBT unless you are with someone who knows what they're doing, or you'll be peeing blood for a few days (true story). Also, if you *do* decide to get into CBT, please do your research. You'll notice that the male character in this story gives his verbal consent, and that the female character - asks for his consent.


"Is Something The Matter?"

The question hung in the air between me and my beautiful wife. She sat there in bed, looking imploringly at me. I was standing with my towel in one hand, and my cock locked in the chastity cage. We were (by my estimation) about 3 weeks into the lockdown, and it had just dawned on me that this type of foreplay - this game we had played - had turned into something else.

"I was wondering how long it would take you" my wife continued, "Since you're looking quite confused, I'm going to guess that you don't know that you've been locked up for 3 weeks and 4 days straight, and I'm also going to guess that you don't know the changes I've seen in you in the past 2 weeks."

"Changes?" I hadn't noticed any changes - I just got lost in the COVID time - where days run into one another. Nothing had changed, other than the fact that I've been locked up.

"Yes, changes. You've been locked up for over 3 weeks while we've been working at home. About 2 weeks into it, your work productivity went up. You walk around with a smile on your face, despite the fact that the world outside of our home is going crazy. Something changed. I don't know whether its the fact that you've been locked-up continually, but something got better. Something changed, and we've both been the beneficiaries."

That floored me. I started wracking my brain to figure out what had happened - and I recall that I'd gotten some great feedback from work. I'd made some amazing progress on projects around the house. I'd been going down to the basement to work out at least 4 days a week and I think I lost a few lbs. But...wait... I haven't been able to get off. I haven't been able to get hard... We hadn't had real penetrative sex...HOW could I be more productive, more happy? It didn't make sense.

I stopped and thought for a few minutes, but couldn't express what I was feeling. Finally she broke the silence: "Okay, I can see by the look on your face that you're a bit confused. First of all, if you want to unlock, I will gladly give you the key. As much as I've come to like this, I'm climbing the walls here and you've been Mr. Oblivious for the past few weeks."

It didn't take much more than that offer - I extended my hand, grabbed the key and unlocked. Running to the bathroom, I grabbed a clean wash cloth to give myself another once-over, and then sprinted back to the bed and tackled her. We rolled around kissing like we were teenagers, quickly getting her as naked as I was. I think I could have cut glass with the erection I had, and for the first time in it seems like forever, she pushed me down on my back and started kissing her way down my body until she ended between my legs. She looked into my eyes and said "I love you more than you know." I watched as she slowly licked the length of my erection, her hands gently kneading my balls. One more quick look in my eye, and she was down on me - contrasting the steel sleeve I'd been in for over 3 weeks with the warmth of her mouth. My hands dug into the bedding as I tried to gain some traction, and my eyes went to the ceiling just before they rolled back into my head as I had probably the most powerful orgasm I'd had in years. I'm not sure if I blacked out, but the next thing I knew she was lying beside me, kissing my neck and nuzzling her body into mine.

"Okay", she said "now that we've got that out of the way, I need you inside me. The strapons are fun, but they're not the same. I need the warmth and the feedback I feel when I squeeze you."

I meant to tell her that I'd need a bit to recover, but I looked down and saw that my cock was still at full mast. When was the last time, that had happened? I flipped her over and onto her back, kissing my way down her body to return the favor, but as my mouth moved past her stomach, I felt her grab me and pull me up. She looked into my eyes and said "No. I don't have time for that now - maybe later. Right now I need you inside me."

My mother raised me right - and taught me to always be considerate, so I obliged her and gave her what we both had been missing for weeks. Thanks to the earlier blowjob, I lasted for quite some time, and watched her melt into 3 orgasms until I finally could hold back no longer. By this time, we were spooning on our sides, and I rested inside her, feeling the last tremors of her final orgasm shudder through her body and gently squeeze the last cum from my cock.

We lay there for some time, both of us awake, but neither talking as we intertwined our hands and arms, reveling in the closeness and sensuality of the act, and wordlessly expressing the love we felt and the intimacy we shared. Finally, she broke the silence.

"We need to talk about this. We need to talk about whether this long-term chastity is a real thing we're going to do, or just a one-time thing."

I had no words. Literally - no words. I started a few times, but couldn't finish. How could I have gotten that lost. How could I have just been so absorbed that I didn't realize what was going on.

Finally she put her finger on my lips to silence me. "Okay, so here's the thing. Please don't lock up again or ask me to hold the key until we unpack this. As much as I love what just happened, we can't start this up again until we really discuss what this little steel trap is, and what it means for us. Now - even though you're not locked up, I'm going to challenge you NOT to touch yourself until we figure this out. Last week I downloaded a book from Amazon on chastity, and there's literally a hundred different paths we could take this, but if we both don't agree on what that path is - maybe not the destination of the path - but perhaps the boundaries of that path - we could get lost."

I responded "Well... that was a lot of words. You've obviously been thinking about this, while I've been going about my day." I could feel myself getting hard once again (seriously, how is this happening?). She must have felt it too, because she pulled away, kissed me on the forehead and said "No. We're not going to avoid the conversation by having sex. I'm going to take a shower - let's meet downstairs in 20 minutes and talk this through. I have a bunch of questions for you."

Twenty minutes seemed like a lifetime, but finally I heard her making her way downstairs, dressed quite simply her hair pulled back. We sat at the table, sipping the coffee I had put on, and hoping the other would start the conversation.

"Okay, so let's figure this out." She said. "First, I have to apologize to you - I realized you were in a mode with chastity, and I didn't interrupt you, mostly to see how far it would go. I'm conflicted about whether that was me being cruel to you, or me being kind to you by letting you go deeper into something that I've read about called "subspace". As you know, when we started playing with chastity I was brand new to this, and I can't really say that I was onboard. Over the past few months though - I've seen how it has become a little more than foreplay for us, and I actually found myself driving the conversation. Remember that I'm the one who suggested getting different cages, and I'm the one who researched how to clean without removal. I gave you your own tub of Vaseline so you could lubricate the ring so it wouldn't rub your balls raw. I've been helping you to go longer."

That last admission hung in the air, as I realized that the thing that I thought I was in control of was being manipulated ever so deftly by my wife.

"So" she continued "here's what I want to know... Where do YOU want to go with this? What are your fantasies, and I think the best way to determine that without you waiting months to tell me is to talk about your little online porn searches."

I interjected "I don't..."

And she shut me down immediately by saying "Just stop right there. I'm an attorney, and I never ask a question unless I already know the answer." She flattened a folded piece of paper on the table and started reading out " Let's see here... 'chastity, CBT, denial, femdom'. Those show up most frequently, in your search history and as an aside, you're absolutely terrible about hiding the search history, especially since all our Apple devices are linked. There are a few others, but these seem to be the most popular. I know what chastity is, and denial, but let's talk about CBT. I'm going to assume this isn't 'Cognitive Behavior Therapy' - even though that might be appropriate with long-term chastity play."

I looked down at my coffee cup, wishing that I could jump in and hide from her at this point. "No," I stammered, "it means 'Cock and Ball Torture".

"Good. I do know what it is, but thank you for telling me the truth. Is that something you're interested in in addition to the chastity, or is that something you're interested in as part of the chastity" she asked.

"Probably a little of both. I don't really know."

She grabbed my hand across the table, looked me in the eye and said "Hon. This isn't going to work unless we're honest. So I need you to really think about the next thing you say..."

Four Months Later

My right hand gripped the tennis ball so hard, I could feel it deforming in my hand. If I dropped it, we'd be done, but if I held on she'd continue her gentle but relentless assault on poor abused ballsack. The tennis ball was key because I was gagged and blindfolded - dropping it constituted my safeword, while holding on to it indicated my continued consent. It was a cool airconditioned 68 degrees in our finished basement, but I could feel beads of sweat pouring from my brow along the edge of the blindfold, and the build up of perspiration between my shoulder blades was making me slide just a bit on the vinyl cushion of what (up until a few months ago) had been just a weight bench.

I heard her whisper in my ear, "okay so that's 17 clothespins that I've now attached the loose skin on your balls and up the center of the underside of your cock. I have three more clothespins here, but I've run out of room and I'll have to find somewhere on your cock that has room for these. Remember, YOU'RE the one who picked the playing cards that added up to 20, so this is really not up to me anymore. I see you still have the tennis ball in hand, so here we go...

Earlier that evening we had finished cleaning up dinner, and I mentioned that I was going to go out to the neighbors to "socially distance" with the guys from the neighborhood at our neighbor Chris' firepit and enjoy a cool September evening and play some cards. She looked up from her phone and said "You better text Chris and let him know that you can't tonight. I think we need to head to the basement."

My breath caught - like the wind had been knocked out of me.

It had been almost 10 days since we had "visited the basement" - which was a euphemism for her perfecting the art of CBT (aka causing me an immense amount of delicious pain). In the months since we had our big conversation, she had been a voracious reader of books like "The Mistress Manual" and "Good Girls Guide to Female Domination", and I had come to learn that in her mind, practice made perfect. I hadn't seen her attack a subject with such intensity since she was finishing up law school, and I'd come to fear her attention to detail and mental dexterity about as much as the opposing counsel in her legal cases must.

She continued, "After you text him, grab a quick shower and meet me in the basement so we can play a little game."

I was familiar with the games - she had all sorts of ways of introducing goals and achievements for us to take the CBT to the next level (and I don't know whether to thank or curse the authors of the books and blogs that she'd been reading). During our last session, she had me guess a number between 30 and 50, and then for each number I was off, she added a weight to a leather ball parachute affixed around my scrotum but just above my balls. As she'd add the weights, she'd slowly push the weights and parachute back and forth to cause me additional discomfort as the weights stretched my balls from my body. Once that was done, she stood and admired her work for a while, before beginning to wrap some soft nylon rope around and around the stretched skin and then removing the parachute and the weights. This left my balls pulled tight and grotesquely separated from the rest of my body. The dull pain continued to build and she exacerbated it by flicking my distended balls with her fingernail, then running a wire hairbrush over them and rubbing them almost raw. It took 4 full days of recovery before I could put the chastity device back on.

No matter what she tried, she had a simple plan - get me as hard as possible with anticipation, then use CBT to totally deflate my erection, and repeat. Not once during these sessions was I ever allowed to have an orgasm, and for those of you who have played with CBT, an orgasm becomes the last thing on your mind when you're becoming desperate with pain. Afterwards, depending on the session, it can take a few days until you're interested in having an orgasm.

But that was 10 days ago, and this was tonight. I texted my buddy Chris, and gave him some lame excuse. It was tough to come up with excuses when we were all kind of stuck at home with this damn virus circulating around, but I tried my best. He responded by text with a 'pussy whip' GIF. I shook my head and thought to myself "Dude, if you only knew the half of it." Then it was up to the shower to clean-up the best I could. I used the hand-held spray to soap up and clean everything nice, and then headed back to the room to grab a robe. I saw a text on my phone from her and read it "Bring my favorite black pumps downstairs with you."

This was new. One of her caveats for doing this was that she wasn't going to dress up. "If you think I'm going to put on one of those bustiers or all those ridiculous leather straps, you can just forget it. If this is going to be enjoyable for me, I'm going to be comfortable, so maybe you need to start using the search criteria "yoga pants" in your next PornHub search" she laughed.

I grabbed the shoes - thinking to myself how beautiful she looked when she was all dressed up and wearing them. I recalled one time seeing her go off to work (before we were stuck at home of course) all dressed up. I had to sneak back in the house under the guise of forgetting my phone charger - to get myself off, or I would have been walking around trying to hide an erection all day at work.

When I got to the basement, she was waiting for me. She thanked me for bringing the shoes and asked me to put them down and lose the robe.

The next thing we did was a bit of a ritual. I'd kneel in front of her wearing only my chastity device and she'd inspect me for cleanliness and shaving. Then she'd give me different position commands (again...thanks to the BDSM writers who categorized these), to exhibit her control. If I wasn't doing something quite right, she'd gently correct me. For example one position was called 'Present' - I'd kneel, with my legs spread, my back straight and my hands behind my head. We'd practiced it enough that as soon as she said it with an authoritative voice, I instinctively got into position. She'd even sprung it on my once when we were in the living room, just to see what I'd do. I was halfway down to my knees when I realized what had happened, and saw her look of approval.

If I wasn't straight enough, or if my elbows weren't in the right position, I'd be adjusted, and then I'd hold this position until the next commanded position. While I was holding position, she'd get into my head - listing the things that we would be doing that night, or maybe telling me that I had put on a little weight, or perhaps I hadn't left the bathroom clean that day. Once she had felt she had gotten my attention, she'd invariable say "Tell me what you are here for."

It was then my turn to ask her to punish my cock and balls. If she didn't feel I was asking with enough enthusiasm, she'd tell me to repeat my request in a different manner until I got so desperate for her approval, that I literally begged her to hurt me. Her goal here was obvious - everything that happened was because I had asked for it. I willingly gave myself to her, but she made sure that I was 100% on board before we started.

This evening, she took her time, admonishing me for making plans to hang with the guys without checking in with her first and reminding me of some things I had failed to do that week - like putting away laundry or getting the trash cans to the curb.

Finally satisfied, she presented me with the key so I could unlock myself, putting the cage off to the side of the room on the floor next to her black pumps. What were the pumps for? I couldn't figure it out.

She then changed the tone and said "so what were you planning on doing tonight?" I answered we would probably have a few drinks and would have played some cards on Chris' patio. "Cards huh? Well, in that case, we're going to play a little card game. First you're going to draw three cards from a deck of 52. We'll use the sum of those cards to determine what happens next."

Together, we raised the weight bench seat into a recline position, then she gave me the leather cuffs to attach to my ankles and wrists. Soon she had me secured to the bench, with a strap around my torso, and another around my waist. Next she fanned the card deck, and I drew my first card with my cuffed right hand.

Because of the position, I couldn't see it, so she pulled it out of my and and showed it to me: "6 of Diamonds. Not too horrible. Two cards to go." The next card was a 4, and the final card was the Jack of Spades.

"Adding those up, we're looking at 20" she declared, "But 20 of what? Well, if you recall earlier this week you left your laundry piled up in the bedroom for 2 days, and I had to remind you several times to put it away. So, since you asked so kindly for punishment, we're going to take 20 clothespins and attach them to your cock and balls. This should remind you to do your laundry and put it away in a timely manner. Now, I'm sure you're aware this is going to hurt, and I'm going to gag you so I don't have to hear you begging me not to do what you begged me to do in the first place. Secondly, we're going to put a blindfold on you as well, as I've noticed that you watch what I do and seem to anticipate and prepare yourself. That won't do. If we're going to continue to perfect this art, you're going to have to willingly accept everything I deal out."

And so this is how I started this chapter of the story - she carefully, and slowly attached 20 clothespins to my cock and balls, the last 3 to the glans of my penis, which was excruciating. I was yelling into the gag, sweating profusely, and my heart was racing.

I sat there for a bit in raging but delicious pain, when I felt her move closer to me. She leaned over, just barely touching me, and I almost jumped at the touch. She left the blindfold, but removed my gag.

"I took a picture of this so you can see later what we accomplished here. Personally I think it's a work of art, and I hate to destroy it, but we have to keep moving. From what I've heard, these hurt going on, but they REALLY hurt when they come off and the blood rushes back. I'm going to let you scream this out, because I honestly think you need the endorphin release, and since we're in the basement I think we're okay that the neighbors won't wonder whether we're torturing a cat in here."

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