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The mounting anticipation as I waited for my chastity belt to arrive was pretty intense. I found myself compulsively checking my mailbox even before I got the official shipping information. It was like this looming shadow in my mind, obscuring my ability to focus on the tasks at hand. Of course, when my husband did finally hand me the box marked Australia Post when it was delivered to our door, the towering silhouette did not leave. As I unwrapped my new chastity belt with trembling hands, I knew the mental distraction had only transformed, now an immense sentinel of desire to suffer... ever present and impossible to ignore. If I wasn’t thinking of the beautiful shine the steel had or the clink of locks clicking closed, it was of how desperate my pleas might sound when eventually I beg to be unlocked and fucked. These were the thoughts that swirled around in my head as I tried on the belt for the first time.
The initial kiss of steel was sharp and cold, making my flesh recoil, but I quickly discovered how fond I was of the speed at which the metal took on my body heat. After mere minutes, the steel plate was radiating with the warmth of the desire it shielded. The tension in the hip strap was like an intimate embrace, pressing into my curves as I clicked those locks for the very first time. This first step of the rest of my chastity kink had officially elapsed and I was left dripping with arousal in its wake.
After a year of orgasm denial and beginning to delve into new waters with chastity, I’m starting to learn things about myself that I may have kept buried. I had suspected that chastity would have an increased effect on my libido, but this has been some next level shit. As I mentioned in my last denial entry, I had been denying myself orgasm with the intention of reaching a full year, the anniversary being November 15, 2021. I’m pleased to say that I did manage to achieve my goal and have since claimed my reward for my efforts.
In all honestly, I was nervous as hell for my cum show. Denial has been all I’ve known or wanted for so long; suddenly selling this moment that had been seen by so few people had my heart pounding in my chest.



I was trembling a little when I clicked the “go live” button on Tuesday, nervously prepared to open my legs and fall over the edge I’d been hovering around for an entire year. My head is often so prone to over-thinking, especially when I’m tense about something. My biggest fear for the event was that these nervous thoughts would stand in the way, prevent me from being everyones obedient entertainment. Luckily, the best part about being a mindfucked hypnotized toy is how little control you have over the thoughts in your head. My anxieties began to dissolve under the tidal wave of triggers my viewers set off. It’s hard to hold on to your worries when your conditioning is designed to mash your thoughts to a pulp and release the resulting juice out of your cunt. In a foggy flash of triggers, the scheduled hour of waiting for people to purchase tickets was up and it was time to begin.
The small amount of brain power I revived to figure out the bot commands to start the show was enough to reawaken my nerves again. Once the hidden show had officially started, I felt the burn of the spotlight in a way I’ve never felt before in all my months of live-streaming. This one felt different; it was different... it was time to have some long put off orgasms.
I struggled a little at first. Muscle memory is hard to fight and I had been flinching away from the edge for months uncounted, even before I shot for a year of orgasm denial. In that moment, I remember thinking that my fears were starting to come true; I chased after the edge but it eluded me twice. I switched from the Lush to the Nora, thrusting the rabbit toy into me so the vibe repeatedly kissed my clit; I chased the edge with more earnest, more out of desperation to make good on the promises of my show rather than because I felt driven by the urge to cum. Just as my anxiety peaked and my mind started to swirl with fears, my hypnotic trance trigger went off, instantly draining my head of awareness. The tip sound ended with a snap and I came out of trance with the fireball of lust that always accompanies trance for me.
The burst of pleasure and submission I felt as I came back to myself, feeling my vibrator jutting out near my limp entranced fingers was different somehow. The pleasure I felt had that fiery urgency that I live for, the feeling I have lost so many endless hours to as I edge my mind away. I grasped the toy again, matching my previous pace, the need starting to take over my brain. Again, just when the edge drew near and my thoughts were drowned out in the din of arousal, I was tranced again, the edge ripped away from me as I sunk into my own mind. Reawakened at the snap, the submission and desperation hit me like a sledge hammer. Each time it happened I had just enough time to think about this onslaught of denial and how hard it turned me on. Eventually it became too much for me, I climaxed to that very thought only a second after regaining my mind... tipped over at the twisted concept of being denied orgasm.



The mind fuck of that realization left me weak. I came 10 more times that night. When I could fuck myself no longer, I went back to the Lush and locked it inside of me, beneath the belt. Taking control of the vibrator, my viewers pulled every ounce of pleasure they could out of me and left me a completely used and spent toy.
I said earlier that the Cum Show was a reward for my denial efforts, but more than anything, it was a revelation. Entertaining as my forced orgasms may be to watch I am not meant for this... at least not on any regular basis. Being denied makes me the most efficient and pleasing toy I can be. The orgasms were intense and mind blowing and I’m happy I made a spectacle of them for so many to enjoy, but they exhausted me beyond what I could have possibly imagined.
The onslaught of relentless pleasure wrung me out and left me limp. Legs nothing but jelly, I could barely muster the spoons to eat dinner before I crawled into bed and passed out. I found myself drifting off into an exhausted snooze every six hours for about three days after the Cum Show was over. The intensity and quantity of those climaxes left me completely fried; I felt emotionally fragile due to my complete physical and mental exhaustion. I’ve learned my lesson, I see how it is now. Orgasms sap my energy and make me useless, edging makes my mind mushy and malleable, but chastity keeps me on my knees where I belong. It took me less than a week to start to lose interest in the freedom of masturbating to orgasm and start to miss the ache of edging.
Many have asked me where I stand with denial now that I’ve accomplished my lofty goal. I’ve had a small handful of orgasms since, many of them fucked out of me by my delighted husband, but I still crave the howling lust that comes from a hard edge. I decided to compare them objectively, touching myself to an orgasm and then to an edge a few hours later. Without a shadow of a doubt, I crave the throb of edges more. I am a denial slut, through and thorough. My Cum Show may be over but there is still another event on the horizon to give my pussy reason to drool and perhaps I’ll start up another year of strict orgasm denial (paired with and assisted by chastity, of course) after I’ve come home from it. I’ll be attending the Charmed Erotic Hypnosis Convention this coming January and know with a twisted longing that more than anything I want to spend the entire con locked.
I think about what the event would be like if I didn’t bring my chastity belt; of how much time would be wasted, edging alone in my hotel room because of my overwhelming compulsion to touch myself. I’m so weak to the idea of being locked in chastity and dealing with being unable to touch by throwing myself completely into the hypnotic arms of my friends and peers. 



I would tell myself “I cannot touch; I’ll fill the void by being a brainless little plaything instead” effectively feeding the desire to edge even more. I’m so desperate for the vicious cycle of unmet need that locking up my cunt at a kink event will create. My mind torments me with thoughts of the things those who know about my other kinks might say, how they might use it to their hypnotic advantage. Words like “The lust in you has nowhere to go... it just builds and builds with no outlet... it must be so heavy, this arousal you can’t escape from. How it must pull at your mind...” floats in my head and makes me flush. I’m aching to have my desperation weaponized to crush my brain, it’s one of my endlessly recurring fantasy.
It’s not my only fantasy. So many have sprung up in the light of Charmed and the added glare of my metal-clad mound. I can imagine my arousal soaked humiliation as I explain my chaste predicament to someone at the convention. I can almost see the expression unfold on their face as they realize the fun and twisted possibilities that my overflowing frustrations can open up for them. I’ve thought of what it would be like to be called up to a hypnotic stage show; my visual mind can picture it all perfectly, even if the fantasy is a little self indulgent...
The line of chairs across the stage is slowly being filled with volunteers, guided by the two smiling hypnotists preparing to lead the show. I attempt to resist my friends encouragement until I reach maximum fluster-point, crumbling under their words of “but good toys display themselves” and “how can people enjoy you if you’re hidden in the audience?” Just as there are only a few chairs left, I stand and meekly walk up to the stage as the two hypnotist address the crowd and volunteers on what will occur during the show. My chastity belt makes contact with the folding chair just as I hear them mention hypnotic orgasms and my face starts to flush red with earnest.
Completely embarrassed, I get the attention of one of them and stammer quietly in their ear that I’m not allowed to cum and that I’m locked in chastity for the entire con. My tension reaches a new alarming pitch as I watch a grin spread across their face. “Alright then, I think we can work with that” they reply, smile widening as they take in my telling lip-bite and clenched thighs, before backing up to share the plan with their stage partner. Unexpectedly, my seat is swapped so that I am the very center of the line of chairs but I don’t have much time to think about why before being entranced with the rest of the volunteers. Only when they wake us and start unfolding the orgasm portion of the show do I understand why I was moved.



They start at each end of the row of chairs, triggering hypnotic orgasm in each volunteer down the line, the moans and trembles of climax getting closer and closer on either side of me as they move through the subjects. The choir of euphoria drums in my ears and my clit pounds with cramped arousal in my chastity belt, my eyes fixed of the faces of the hypnotists as the draw closer. There’s so much relish in their expressions as they watch the pleasure they induce in the others. I’m breathless and frozen in my seat when the orgasmic spasms of the people on either sides of me subside and they drift back down into trance. Everyone else is propped up and tranced out around me, enjoying their mindless post-orgasmic bliss... I’m the last subject standing, or sitting rather, in a literal puddle of my own arousal. The stage hypnotists stand before me, letting the tension of anticipation build to screaming point before they say “Good toys don’t cum, silly” as they yank my arms forward in a rapid induction. I am helplessly dragged down into hypnotic trance like the rest, but aching with a pounding sexual frustration that the others do not share...
I think about more intimate fantasies too. A little overwhelmed by the mass of hypo activities at the con, I might steal away to my hotel room with a friend for a needed social break. My lust however would get no such relief... my friends all know what a slut for denial I am and love to see me crumble under the pressure. This break away from the convention would be a perfect opportunity to try some more intimate kinaesthetic trances. What state would my mind (or pussy) be in if they were to hypnotize me so that the sensation of their hands on my skin captures my minds focus... and when their hands are traded out for their lips instead, the thoughts that had pooled there get drained away. Their hands hypnotically trace my flesh, collecting and gathering all my thoughts to a focal point on the surface and then stealing it away with a kiss. If more thoughts bubble up, no matter... that’s only more for them to siphon off and savor. Their lips touch the steel plate of my chastity belt and they tut with a tiny hidden smile.
“Hmm, can’t seem to reach the skin to get to the thoughts under here. I guess they will remain safe and secure... I’ll have to simply be satisfied with taking the rest. And then what state will you be in, with nothing in your head except desperate need?”
I’ve been dreaming of the kind of twisted mindfuckery I could get into at this kink convention. Lately I’ve been plagued with the thoughts of the mental and sexual strain I would feel to be bound in rope and forced to endure a long leisurely tongue lashing against the unrelenting steel of my chastity belt. They would be able to taste my arousal, but I would not feel a single thing. I’m not sure I could handle it... more rope might be needed. Additionally, the thought of my kinky peers trancing me to hand over the keys to my belt and use memory play so I lose track of who I gave them to, makes me tremble in all my kinky fear centers.



Chastity itself is already such a mindfuck, locking away my lust knowing it’ll only make it worse... but the added mental strain of not entirely knowing where my keys are makes me drip in the most delectably frightening way.
Speaking of fear play, my friend and top who has such a delightfully controlling grip on my mind couldn’t resist striking a chord of fear in me a little bit after my belt arrived. We were in a discord call as usual, the keys to my chastity belt slung around my neck. I had told him of my squirmy fantasies about loosing track of my keys at Charmed and he decided to give me a taste. After our conversation went on for a while, I began to feel a little... uneasy about my keys. They just... didn’t seem right. I kept looking at the brass of the locks at my hips and the silver shine of the keys around my neck. I found myself asking if I was sure there were the right keys... wouldn’t the correct keys be bronze, to match the locks?
Suspicion and anxiety grew in me until the wave of fear peaked and I started thinking about every place in the house I may have stashed a miscellaneous key.
Not until I started throwing open draws did my friend break the hypnotic suggestion with a look of pure sadistic satisfaction on his face as I calmed down and retook my seat. His smile is burned into my memory; the intoxicating mix of relief and submission at his apparent pleasure in my suffering left me dripping in my chastity belt... this has become a common occurrence during locked video chats with him now. Underwear to catch the slop is a necessity.
While my mind is thoroughly bound in the shackles of chastity, my body is still working up to getting used to long term wear. My hips and thighs are very curvy and plump and have a lot of squishy give to them. I’ve come to realize that the most comfortable way to wear a chastity belt is to tighten out all of the slack and close all of the gaps. The more it stays stationary on my body, the less rub and irritation my skin feels.
It seems like every time I lock back into it, I tweak it a little more; I can feel it fitting me better and solidifying my chaste future with each new lock. I’m constantly imagining my modification plans and how that will change the nature of my wear. The more I flex the main steel plate to fit my body shape, the more the straps seem to settle in different places and need to be adjusted. FancySteel has graciously offered to send me some new hip straps, as well as reposition the placement of the holes for the connecting jock straps, so they are closer to the back plate. I believe this will create more tension at the crotch of the chastity belt when I shorten my jock straps to the ideal length, pulling the crotch more flush to my mound and thoroughly eliminating any wiggle room. I know that when I get the belt to hug me more securely, I’ll be able to sleep soundly through the night and give locked up showering a go. I’ve just ordered a leather hole punch in anticipation of modification... so again I am here, fidgeting by the mailbox, impatiently awaiting the spare parts that will seal my doom. What is wrong with me.



As I mentioned in one of my other denial journals, I have a Vertical Clitoral Hood (VCH) piercing and have had it for several years now. I’ve been finding that the jewellery I have there does not cooperate well with the belt. I am heavily endowed in the clit and labia department, so I usually squidge through the main slot and too often is my clit pinched painfully at a shift in sitting position. Last week, I decided to make a phone call to my favorite local body mod shop and leave a message asking if there were any members of their staff who was willing to have a kink centered conversation with me about my genital piercing. After giving some details, I was told I can come in with my belt or show up already locked and with my key holder. I’ve got an appointment to figure out what is the ideal chastity jewellery with the woman who, in fact, pierced my septum only a couple years ago.
I’m currently trying my best to squash my reflex perversions with stoic professionalism, but the idea of working together with a passing acquaintance to figure out the most efficient way to keep me pierced and locked away just makes me squirm. She will also be piercing my nipples on the same day, a birthday gift from my husband. I’m going to leave that shop with three places on my body pulsing, aching and completely off limits to touch.
At the beginning to 2020, I was miserably making knives on the graveyard shift. By start of 2022, I’ll be a multiply pierced, locked and denied, brainwashed coin operated toy, about to dive head first into her first kink convention. Where will I be in another year? In three? How deep into this depraved frustration can I possibly sink? The saucy secrets my future might hold haunts my erotic nightmares. A year ago, I told myself I could never like chastity. Now my cunt drools more that it ever did before the belt was in my life.
My usual horny endeavors like reading smut and watching porn have now become borderline torture when I’m locked up. Helpless to my lust, I stroke the steel guard as I follow along, desperately aching for stimulation. My clit begins to pound relentlessly, like it’s chanting aloud its compulsive itch to edge and edge and edge. Even though I’ve been self locking with the key dangling conveniently around my neck... even though I know it would take less than 10 seconds to unlock myself and get the pleasure I’m so desperate for... I don’t. I’ve learned that the build up of need is so much better than actually getting what I want. The second my will folds and I unlock, the sexy intensity drains away and the sensations become lukewarm. Further proof, as if I needed more, that I’m a better toy when I’m denied.
These thoughts of chastity and denial have seeped into nearly all parts of my life now. My future plans for my livestream show have descended into absolute depravity.



I haven’t rolled them out yet, but I’m already considering making oral and anal training goals. I’ve made a big item wish list of pure debauchery, including a tip controlled bluetooth sex machine, a strapless open mouth ring gag, waist training corsets and have somehow even found myself lusting after other makes of chastity belts, mere weeks after getting my first one. I can’t stop imagining myself sandwiched between a fucking machine and mounted dildo, training the only holes I still have access to.
I fear I’ve been corrupted beyond repair; there is no stopping this train now. Any anxiety I feel about getting so lewd so quickly gets pulverizes when I think about how engulfed in fiery desperation I’ll be, when I participate in these activities while my cunt is off limits, enforced by locks. It’s so hard not to think about where this training might lead, what shape of submissive I will be later down the line. My goals for a long time have been to keep my arousal at a minimum level so that I’m always ready and enthusiastic to be used. Where will the constant training of my mind and body lead? How much conditioning and stimulation can I endure before it just becomes apart of who I am? How long until I’ve sunk so deeply that I’ve become an indefinitely locked and mindfucked two-hole fucktoy, helplessly devoted to relentless need and the service of others? Only time will tell.
Care to wait it out with me?
With Lust,
Part 1 - 2 

FS Products used in the Chastity Training Project with 

ViolentlyCurly.

Women's Hybrid Chastity Belt