ViolentlyCurly’s New Depths

New Depths
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
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 kinesthetic 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
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
jewelry 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
jewelry 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 wishlist 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