• Author - King BeerButt
  • Rating -   
  • Site Rank - 2431 of 2955
  • Story Codes - F-m, bodymod, chastity, extreme
  • Post Date - 4/27/2021

Part 1

I had this strange dream that night. A dream of flying in an airplane with my colleagues and friends and having a great party. Cocaine and some beautiful exotic escort ladies - of course everything payed for by the company. There are benefits to being a top manager. I felt like a mighty stallion, with all the mares just waiting for me to cover them. My sex drive and the success in business where just over the top.

Waking up, though, that was a different story - one I would love to forget. As the cloudy dreams started vanishing from my mind, my body started to tell me stories of agony instead of bliss. I had the worst headache in the history of headaches - maybe ever. Trying to open my eyes, the orange light made my head jump like an electric jolt deep inside my skull. Being half-awake I already noticed, that this was clearly not my bedroom, I specifically chose a much brighter light there. It sounds like a strange thought from this perspective, but you know how men's brains are, when hung over the weirdest conclusions emerge. The next thing I noticed was a strange taste in my mouth. Nothing unusual in having a dry mouth or foul taste after a hangover, but somehow my jaw was hurting and the taste was different then usual. I tried to move my tongue but couldn't which was the exact moment I realized something was terribly wrong. I tried to stay calm, but did not succeed. I brought my hands to my head and noticed a strange device in my mouth. It felt like a horse bit. I used my fingers to reach inside my mouth. Apparently this device had some metal flap attached to it, which held my tongue down and kept me from producing any intellible sound. Moreover, I felt a piece of cloth inside my mouth which turned out to be an old thong of my wife. I thought that this had to be some kind of joke, since just the evening before she had finally agreed to have a romantic evening with me. I am using „finally" here, since at that time, we hadn't had sex for almost half a year and even slept in separate beds.

Angrily I opened my eyes and accepted the punishment by the headache for more information. I found myself lying on a spare matress inside one of our basement rooms, which we used as a storage room for water and food. It was barely three by two meters, the lighting very dim. In the far-left corner from the door was a small sink for making the mopping easier. The door itself was made of massive oak, as all the doors in our basement were. This resulted from the architect forseeing wine cellars in all of the rooms.

When I tried to move to sitting position the next shock struck my already aching body. Just above my waist there was a steel band of about two cm width with a metal plate on the front where „CS-500/A" was printed. A little further below, a massive stainless steel tube was attached, which encased my manhood. Also attached to that plate was some round metal bar bent like the letter U that reached behind my balls. But this was not all, just behind my balls, a small padlock was closed around my sack. It was so small, that pulling it off was impossible. A wire, made of what also looked like steel, was attached to said padlock and ran through my legs. Pulling on this wire resulted in dull pain and pressure in my butt. I immediately freaked out, nothing had ever penetrated me there and it didn't even feel small, but it was pointless. All of the efforts of pulling that wire or breaking it just resulted in more pain on my rear orifice. I tried to pull the tube off next, which resulted in even more pain and a little blood coming out of that tube. It is probably understandable that seeing my own blood dropping from my dick made me stop my pulling frenzy. I got up and explored the room only to find the heavy door locked and the shelves well equipped with enough fresh water canisters and a lot of canned food. Near the door was a small box with a letter on top. I opened the envelope and what I read terrified me to the bone:

Dear Dan,

I can't take it anymore. I am leaving you, taking effect immediately. I never argued with you about affairs and escort ladies on the trips, since we had a good life after all. But over the last months I learned that I cannot forgive you for what you did to me that evening. You might remember that you came home from work, drunk and frustrated because you did not get that one deal - as if that one mattered. We spoke about my hard limits of not swallowing and anal, yet you forced yourself inside my mouth and asked me whether I rather wanted to swallow or suffocate that night.

That night, I ran to the bathroom to vomit and must have looked like the most miserable thing in the world. And even then, you took advantage of me shoving my head towards the toilet and telling me how generous you are, by financing me and that you deserved all of my body. You made me choose again, beating me up or anal. Today, my revenge starts.

I called your office and they accepted unpaid holidays for you - two months straight.

Also, you probably realized the predicament you're in. The metal belt you're wearing is made of thick stainless steel, all locks are super-glued shut. You should really drink a lot of water over the next days to prevent an infection, because I took the liberty to pierce your dick - you are now a proud owner of a PA piercing. It seemed only fair to me to penetrate your penis and make it bleed after you did the same to my anus.

Speaking of drinking - you will have noticed the gag you are wearing. Since you've always been so proud of your stallion-attitude, I though a horse bit might be fitting. Sure, you can't chew or move your tongue, so it will be hard go get food down the next days. But you will just have to swallow it, in order to survive - sounds familiar, right?

The device inside your ass is a so-called asslock - a butt plug which can be spread inside your bowels and locked to that position, like a choke pear. As I heard, removing it while locked is extremely agonizing at best, the worst case can be major injuries to the sphincter leaving people unable to control their bowel movement. I broke the lock, so you will have to find out for yourself. The plug is not only locked-spread inside your ass, but also fixed to a steel cradle running from your balls to the back of the belt.

But, I will be generous, too. You will have a choice.

With the belt being unremovable for you, the only other way to even attempt to remove the plug is to get rid of the front lock at your balls. I left an elastrator in the box to make your self-castration easier for you. You can either choose to remove your own manhood and get a chance at removing the plug or wait for an intestinal breakthrough. It's all in your hands now: You can die in this room as a stallion, or live your future life as a gelding.



P.S. The key to this door is just above the plug, neatly stored inside you.

P.P.S. Elastration might take a few days, so you probably want to make a rather quick decision

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I too remember the night she mentioned. Coming home from work drunk and frustrated because I personally made a mistake leading the customer to cancel a deal which would have brought me a small fortune of a bonus. It wasn't even the money I missed, which got me furious back then. For the first time since ages I felt powerless and miserable. I got wasted at a bar on the way home, tried to hit on some girls there. But you know girls - they can sense misery and bad mood like monitor lizards sense prey - but instead of hunting, they avoid you at all cost. So I left the bar, even more disappointed that my old stallion-powers were not as mighty as I remembered. This whole culmination of events led to the fateful evening, when I practically raped my wife. Not because I was horny, but because I wanted to feel the rush of power and regain a sense of control of my life. I can only recall pieces of what happened, the alcohol raging in my blood made me loose a lot of my memory. But what I remembered was enough: I slapped her, when she said she did'nt want to blow me without showering. She fell and I dragged here to the edge of the bed and forced my dick down her throat. My stiff member throbbed while I grasped her throat with both hands to keep her compliant. While I kept pounding her mouth, she gagged several times. I remember her tearing up, her mascara being washed away over her face, marking her skin with dark lines on the way. When I shot my load, I didn't care, that I overstepped another boundary. The feeling of control was overwhelming and I told her she would just have to swallow if she wanted air. She crawled to the bathroom afterwards as I watched her sitting on the bed. The next thing I remember is her kneeling in front of the toilet, trying to throw up. In my drunk and frustrated mind, this felt like a rebellion, since I already decided for her to keep my load inside of her. I grabbed her dark blonde hair und pushed her face inside the toilet, dipping her face into the water multiple times while yelling at her. Her dress got pushed up by her crawling and me yanking her head. It exposed the same thong, which I found in my mouth that morning. The next thing I remember is the tip of my dick touching her pucker and me trying to force my way inside. All the while, she was pleading me to stop and that she learned her lession and would not throw up anymore. I can still recall the high-pitched tone she made, when my dick finally passed her backdoor-gate and entered her, deflowering her anus. While I can't remember how long I really did have anal sex with her, I noticed, that at some point she stopped pleading and started to sob and moan with the rhythm of my penetrations. After I had shot my second load inside her bowels, I just left her there and went to sleep.

The next day, she would not talk a word to me. We started sleeping in separate rooms, I tried to explain the situation and to apologize, but it was to no avail. The night before this incident, I thought she might have finally accepted my apologies as she prepared dinner, dressed sexy and opened a fine bottle of wine. She even asked me to refrain from sex and masturbation for two weeks. I complied and hoped for a normalization of the situation - boy, was I wrong.

I was sitting quietly in the cellar, assessing my situation. She had me by the balls, literally. I needed to get to a hospital or a blacksmith soon - possibly both. Yelling for help would not have helped, since the house was rather secluded, and even if somebody would have been near, the cellar was damn well isolated. With my bare hands, I would be totally unable to break the heavy wooden doors. The walls were made from cast concrete and also would have required a lot of time and power tools - I had neither. As the helplessness of my situation sunk in, I damned her for the steel tube around my dick even more. I would never shoot a load again, not even a final one - either because I would die here with no chance of release, or because I would live without any balls at all. Like a spider, she had all of this meticulously planned out and I had stepped into her net and now I had to make a tough choice...

Part 2

As you could figure out by reading this - me being able to tell the story at all - I did not want to die in that grey, dark, moist and dirty basement room. I must admit though, that this decision didn't come easy. Even though I knew about yelling for help being pointless, I still did it for what seemed like hours. I hit my hands on the wall, trying to create more sound, but nobody answered my pleas for help.

Eventually, I noticed, that I couldn't tell how much time I spent trying to escape this torture chamber that she created. I thought about committing a more painless suicide, but I couldn't even find a single suitable tool.

I remember, that we used to store glass jars in one of the storage shelves, but she replaced everything with metal cans and a safety opener which even prevented sharp edges, obviously forseeing my move. It seemed, that I was outgamed by her in my last playing move as well. The thought of how long she must have planned this, was haunting my mind.

After drinking some water I somehow managed to calm down again - my management spider-senses activated by themselves and I prioritized the decision of life and death. I wanted to live - first of all because I wanted to live, but second: I wanted to get revenge. This did not seem like a fair revanche game by her. I decided to do, what every good decision maker does - sleep over serious decisions at least a night. After drinking some more water I decided against opening a can of food.

Ingesting nutrients now would just accelerate my downfall and cost important time, also I had become a little chubby here and there over the last months, so I would not starve by a single day of fasting or even a few days. Speaking of drinking, I want to mention, that drinking without using the tongue or being able to fully close the mouth is a mess. I gurgled, choked, nearly vomited the first few times I tried. The water ran down my windpipe, making me cough over and over until I found a technique which was at least somewhat acceptable.

After laying down on the old matress, I felt the urge to pee. I went towards the sink in the floor, just opposite of the door and tried to let go. It hurt like hell, I tried to touch my dick in reflex but my hands only found hard steel. I really couldn't afford to skip on hydration, I thought, since a simple infection there would take any choice away from me. After finally emptying my bladder I went back to my improvised prison-bedding and slept.

The next wake-up - I will deliberately not call it day - my decision was still holding. My mind was interfering with my determination, though: Can you really live this way? Is the key actually inside yourself, or will she just make you suffer extra before letting you die in agony anyway?

I brushed these thoughts away, there was no way to find out without trying.

My knees were trembling as I moved towards the small cardboard-box containing the device to end my existance as a stallion. I opened it, and took the elastrator out, the manual was included but the functionality was so straight-forward, that wouldn't have needed it. I read it anyway, just to buy some more time before making the final call.

When I grabbed my balls and pulled them through the opening of the elastrator I teared up. It was just too much for me, as my manhood was such a defining thing for my ego. I tried to reassure myself, that there's no ego without life. It is impossible to say how long I sat there before I pulled the trigger. What I do know, is that the pain was excrutiating, but the knowledge of what was to happen to me was even worse.

With the band stopping the blood flow to my testicles, the bound sack began changing colors - a sign of dying tissue inside my manhood. There was no way back now, removing the elastrator band would have just killed me by poisoning my blood. The pain started to fade away pretty soon, all that remained was a feeling of dull pressure.

At this point, I want to fast-forward a few awakes, since describing me sitting in my basement with a dying sack and just waiting for it to fall off while trying to stay sane at the same time and dealing with increasing cramps due to the plug locked into my rear could end up either boring or too much.

When I woke up and finally felt the lock dangling loosely between my legs I could almost smell my freedom. I had made the greatest sacrifice a man could, and it was now only a matter of removing the locked buttplug and finally get out of this nightmare. „Only removing a locked buttplug" was actually harder to do then I had anticipated. Again, I will spare you the details of me almost ripping out my sphincter in the first rush of excitement until I found out via pain, that careful stretching and training was required.

Fast forward another three awakenings, a few painful stretching sessions and a final pull with a lot of force. I felt my rear opening finally give way to expel the unforgiving intruder. The feeling was so intense, I must have blacked out.

When I opened my eyes, the room was filled with a horrible foul stench. A mixture of my feces and blood was on the floor - together with a brass key matching the metallic color of the lock on the wooden door. I couldn't believe my luck, even though the smell almost made me throw up. Immediately, I grabbed the key and wobbled towards the door, leaving the mess behind.

Each step hurt and my legs felt like pudding, I couldn't tell whether my sphincter was gaping, lacerated or normal it just felt bad.

The key did not only fit in the keyhole of the massive oak, I was actually able to twist it and the bolt of the lock retracted with a loud clicking sound. The door was unlocked, and opening it revealed the hallway of my basement.

I made my way through the corridor towards the exit, passing several other wooden doors to other chambers which did not interest me in the least.

When I reached the central exit I grabbed the handle of the door and pushed it down, the locking mechanism creeked. I pulled on the door to open it, but it would not move.

As the realization of the door being locked hit me, I was mortified. Thoughts of doubt occured to me: Did I go through all of this for nothing?

I checked every other chamber in the basement, each one I encountered was locked, except the chamber next to where I woke up.

This room used to be my man-cave, it had a TV, a couch, a small fridge and a blue-ray player inside and I had many great memories drinking beer and watching movies in there. As I pushed down the handle, the door gave way.

On the first glance it looked like nothing had changed, except that there was a blue-ray box, some sheets of paper and a pen on the table in the center, right in front of the massive 165 centimetre flat screen. I searched the room for more hints and changes. There were some sturdy metal keysafes with combination locks and markings to which room they belonged. It was obvious, that she wanted me to look at the blue-ray, so I approached the box and was shocked and ashamed, as I recognized it.

Only three months before, I ordered this movie, when I was lit up on some coke and drunk at the same time. It is still a mystery to me, what the original motivation was. Anyway, it was a relatively brutal femdom porn, and after it arrived, I never even unpacked it, let alone watched it.

The box was now opened, I picked it up from the designer table made of glass, and looked at the cover - still feeling the shame I opened it quickly to make the cover vanish from my field of view. To my surprise, the original movie was not in the box but a self-made disc without any markings. Searching for clues on my way out, I decided to just push the disc into the player and turned on the TV.

On the screen, a selfie-video with my wife appeared. She was still gorgeous, being in her thirties. Her boobs were the size of decent apples and still as firm as they were when I met her in her mid-twenties. With her figure and ass she could still give any model or film star a run for their money, which was also a reason I chose her in the first place. A top-grade earner needs a top-grade wife after all.

The video stated:

Hey gelding,

If you see this video, this means you have survived successfully. As stated, I am generous and will not be after your life from now on. Still, I won't let you off the hook, till you have cooled down a little, since I fear you might be furious for revenge right now.

I know you always wanted to have a threesome with me and another women, and I know that you always concentrate best, when confronted with numbers, so I have prepared a little exercise for you. During the next four hours of video, I will show printed numbers in the camera or I might moan numbers, as the video contains a selection of my self-made videos with your assistant. If you add up all the numbers occuring, you will get the right code for the next room - the gardening storage room. If she moans a number, you have to ignore it - so listen carefully. One final tip - because I am feeling generous: Below the disc-player is a vacuum-sealed thong of mine, that was soaked with my nectar in a heavy masturbation session just before I dragged you into that room. You should smell and taste it carefully, while watching the movie.

Now have fun watching and counting and don't get too excited, that piercing still needs to rest for proper healing and your gun is blocked and out-of-ammo anyway.

After a second of blackscreen, a hardcore lesbian amateur porn started, starring my wife and my assistant and all I could do was sit, watch and take notes. Alex, as was her name, was a splendid women in her mid twenties. She had raven black hear and piercing green eyes that looked, like they could devour your soul if you watched long enough. Her body could be described best as petit with a height of only about 1,50 meters and a very slim figure. Actually, I cannot remember seeing her in anything less than 12 centrimeter high heels - it made her look way taller. I did not hire her for her looks, though. She had the attitude and fieriness of a hungry pitbull while being smart enough to pick only winnable battles. I knew that she could handle most difficult and arrogant clients without my intervention - saving my time for the real problem cases where my authority was needed.

The video showed Alex and my wife in our bedroom, both were only wearing lingerie - thongs, bras and stockings to be more precise. Alex wore all-black and had her heels on making her only a little smaller than Marge. Her hips had a beautiful but assertive swing when she walked over to my wife and pushed her on the bed with her right hand. My wife moaned „six", while falling back and retreating into the sheets. Alex climbed on top of Margerie's body and started kissing her. One of her hands was busy massaging her firm breast through the bra, the other hand holding her throat and squeezing every few seconds. After breaking a kiss, Alex moaned „four" - which was when I realized that this will be a very hard task. She took her hand from Marge's breast and reached under one of the pillows. A black strap-on with a formidable size appeared in her hand. The dong was shaped like a horse cock. She pulled one of the bra-cups down revealing my wife's firm nipple. Bringing her head down she started nibbling at it while teasing her: „Marge, I want to claim every orifice of your body with this dick. I want to be the girl-stallion you deserve and make you cum over and over until you lose your mind." - she tightened her grip around Marge's throat - Marge just answered: „Seven". My wife reached behind the nightstand with her arm, struggling to stretch there. She produced a piece of rope and willingly put it around her own neck, tying it shut and then handing it to Alex while coily saying: „Make me yours". Alex' wicked smile would have made any pro-domme jealous. She released her hand from Marge's throat, took the rope and fed it around the top left leg of the king size bed. A controlled, but powerful pull on the rope made my wife stretch out, overextending her back and making her breasts stand out like the central mountains of exotic islands in the carribean sea. The overextension also resulted in her lower back arching upwards, forcibly angling her hips towards Alex, who immediately abused this by diving into her sex head on. After pulling her thong aside with her teeth, she ravaged my wife's pussy with her tongue extensively, never seeming to get tired and reaming every square centimeter she could reach. On every flinch of Marge, she pulled the rope a little tighter, further constricting her airflow and making her expose her dripping wet pussy to her more. Judging from her heavy panting she could not take it much longer, and in a small break of Alex' onslaught on her pussy she moaned „Cover me like the mare I am, please! anyway you want, just stop torturing me like that! Three!". Alex ordered her to turn around, putting her glistening cleanly shaven sex directly on full display. She snapped the strap-on shut and slowly moved the tip up and down her dripping slit, gathering her lube in the process. When she finally pushed the horse-cock into her with a single powerful thrust, I heard her make a sound like I never heard her make before. It was a high pitched shriek of excitement, surprise and the sheer bliss of satisfaction, which made me press the pause button immediately.

Meanwhile, my erection was as large as the metal tube allowed, revealing my excitement. I had so many questions, like how did my wife convince Alex to play along in this? And why does Marge make me watch this.

Clearly, I needed to get my head straight and my excitement down. First, I drank some water and tried to collect my thoughts.

It was obvious that I would not get out of this basement right now, as the task was hard to do - pun intended. My mind was as calmed as possible - sure I was still trapped - but she held her word about the first key, so she may be reliable enough to get out of here and my life was out of immediate danger. Cleaning the mess inside the room was the first thing I needed to do, since I could not stand the stench in there and I would have to endure that damn matress just a little longer.

After the room was in a decent condition I drank some more water and took a deep breath.

With the disgusting smell slowly vanishing and no hope for a quick escape in the next hour, I began to feel the built-up hunger. I opened a can of sausages and found out, that swallowing chunks of food without chewing is more disgusting and humiliating than drinking water. I shredded a small wiener to even smaller pieces, and placed them on the top of my restrained tongue. Then I snapped my head backwards, like a giant hornbill when eating fruit, and, well, just swallowed. My butt still hurt like hell, but it had stopped bleeding rather quickly, so maybe it could be fine. I would have to sit on an almost lacerated butt and watch at least four hours of porn with her cunt-honey soaked thong in my face, after being forced to neutering myself.

I needed to rest before taking on the challenge to my escape, any mistake would result in me needing to rewind the and rewatch portions of the video.

My wife had become a cruel bitch indeed, or should I call her an evil mare? Maybe it is more fitting, since I am now a gelding myself.

Part 3

I can tell you, that extracting the code from this video was a nightmare by itself. Seeing my wife and Alex going at it, was not everything. Sometimes it was my wife only, with her toys - it went on for hours. I had to concentrate, focus my attention to her moaning in order to not miss any numbers. I needed to keep a close look on her body to not miss any written numbers. It must have taken me about two to three whole iterations of watching to get it correct. My dick was straining in its metal prison, and the partial erections made the new piercing hurt. It seemed to get better over time though. In the beginning, my erection tried to break the belt, forcing parts of my glans to protrude through the bars that sealed the front of the tube shut.

Even worse, four or five hours into the porn-marathon, she had forced upon me, my dick started to leak what looked like slimy little tears of pure frustration, helplessness and agony.

I must have looked like some pervert straight out of a Japanese hentai cartoon, considering I had her well worn thong over my face the whole time. Speaking about that thong, I really have to admit, that her scent was intoxicating, I never really noticed that before. When I first put the fabric in front of my nose, it hit me like a truck. But I got sidetracked, sorry for that.

So over the hours all of this got better: my penis stopped leaking at some point and the once raging erection seemed to calm down to a half-stiffy radiating solely acceptance and defeat.

It was probably at attempt number ten, when the keysafe's internal locked clicked, revealing the brass key to the next room. We had used the room, to which door it belonged for storing our gardening supplies. I thought, that with a little luck, I could find some tools to break out of the basement in there. But even more important, was the existence of a small water hose inside to allow for easier cleaning of the utilities we stored there. Maybe I could finally get a little humanity back by taking a shower, getting rid of the sweat, the filth and the blood that had accumulated over my whole ordeal.

Sure, the water was probably cold as ice, but I couldn't wait to open the door. I rushed through the corridor, not even turning off the TV, and unlocked the door. Surprisingly, the room was almost empty, a load of sandbags were still piled up in one corner. At least the hose is still there, I thought. Quickly, I searched some drawers and boxes but found that all of my power tools and even hammers were gone, there was no shortcut out of this basement. I became a little suspicious and wondered, what my cruel wife had in store for me this time.

On the pile of sandbags I found a letter, telling me the code for the next room was simply the weight of all sandbags combined in this room. She had glued a scale to the floor in the opposite corner of the room, where I could measure the weight of each bag. Furthermore, another sealed bag containing a probably worn thong of her was attached which I should smell while doing the task. My shortcut-oriented manager brain was delivering great ideas, and I really tried to take any easy way I could think of: I compared the weight of the topmost bags, maybe I could just weight one and count the number of bags. Unfortunately they were all filled with different amounts of sand. Even counting them was difficult, as some gaps where deliberately placed in each layer. Finally, I thought about at least bringing the scale closer to the pile. On checking how she fixed it to the ground I saw that she had glued the electrics of the scale to screws protruding from the floor. Removing this had a chance of destroying the scale, eliminating any chance for escaping this damn dungeon. My fate was sealed, I had to carry each bag over to the scale, weight it, write down the number and put it away. I was glad, that I had some paper and the pen left over from the last test.

This task itself didn't have any sexual to it, it was pure manual labour. But to be honest, I was even kind of relieved, that I did not have to do anything sexual anymore and even got access to an improvised shower. I opened the sealed bag, put her thong over my nose and instantly felt that warmth again in my lungs, as I inhaled her essence. Carrying 3,461 kg of sandbags around was extremely hard work - especially for an office worker like me - it took me in total two sleeps to get that done and I must have consumed at least five liters of water before hitting the cold shower after I became too exhausted to continue. The keysafe did not open on the first attempt, but I quickly figured, that the scale was probably a bit inaccurate and tried a range from minus to plus 20 kg in total, having the first two numbers fixed correctly was the most important thing.

After I finally had the key to the next room in my hands, my whole body was aching. Every muscle seemed to be burning. This was probably the hardest I had ever worked in my life and it had taken it's toll. My lower back felt stiff and I could barely raise my hands over my head. Despite the physical pain though, I felt a sense of accomplishment after moving that much sand. Sure, my cruel wife took my balls off of me, but I could still achieve and work like a man. Also, with all the soreness in my limbs, the realization that I had felt pain neither in my anal region nor at my dick, was cheering me up. I was pushing through this ordeal and crawling my way back into freedom. It was surprising, but I felt good for the first time in what must have been days.

Motivated by this find and - even though I am ashamed to admit - the possibility to have a chance to find another one of her marvelous lacy thongs with the mesmerizing smell of her pussy embedded I pushed myself through the corridor. The next room was my small home gym. A box was prominently placed in the middle of the room directly under the spot of the light bulb, that radiated an orange coloured warm light. On top of the box, a large brown envelope was placed. It really surprised me to not find another letter or instructions in it, but what seemed like copied pages out of some kind of diary. The pages looked like written by an old typewriter. Clearly, this person also knew the charm and beauty of retro. A few years ago I bought an ancient typewriter from England before the war, it was a very unique thing and I had used it for important letters.

When I started reading through the pages, I could not believe my eyes. The diary started on the day I raped my wife, it was written by „me" and was brutally explicit. It contained every detail of what happened that evening, even filling in some blanks in my own mind that the alcohol had left. I skipped some pages and found „myself" writing about regretting my deeds and wanting to suffer for my wife in order to do penance. In meticulous detail, the pages contained how I wanted to punish myself for the crime I committed, how I wanted to either die trying to atone for my sins or live my future life without having another orgasm or even balls for the rest of my life.

I found the bill for the "CS 500/A" thing that was locked around my dick and event the locking butt-plug. It was all paid for with my credit card, delivered to my address weeks ago while my alter ego was battling his conscience whether he should put himself under this punishment or rather just continue living with the feeling of guilt or even just get a divorce.

I was in total shock, realizing she must have forged all of this on my typewriter while I was working. Old typewriters are pretty unique, it's nearly impossible to forge documents on a different typewriter. Still, some of the pages even had my signature on them, the content was credible and the details were scary. Nobody would ever believe me, that I had been framed.

My chances at getting my revenge were non-existent anymore.

I put the sheets back into the envelope and opened the box, a letter was on top of a black plastic bag. I decided to read the letter first:

Hello Gelding,

I hope you enjoyed reading your diary, that you have been writing for the last few months. Over the last few weeks, when you became more and more emotionally unstable and guilt-ridden by your conscience. I was so worried about your health, that I even told my therapist several times. He told me to focus on my recovery from the rape first, and still does not understand, why I declined filing a report with the police. But being the good housewife I am, I really believed in our marriage, you know - that's also why I couldn't tell any doctor of your self-hate. Every judge in this country would understand that and believe me. Alex, who helped me out tremendously by getting your signatures on some of these pages, while you were mindlessly signing other contracts would testify the same. Even my therapist could show written proof of me worrying about your sanity over the last months.

I am not even sure, if you really still crave revenge. It has been some time, since you lost your source of testosterone anyway and the water in the canisters was not clean, I added a generous dosing of HRT meds, just a little bit of Valium and a mild hallucinogen, to make the transition easier and quicker. There is a last test for you, whether you really deserve to be set free, and a decision you have to make. The test is either easy or hard, depending on how much you love and know me. In the black plastic bag, are twelve worn panties, individually sealed in a plastic bag after orgasm. One of them is mine, ten are from several of your affairs, that Alex managed to track down and ask for a favor and the last one is from Alex. Each bag has a number written on it, if you find mine, slip the empty bag with the correct number under the main basement door. If you put the correct number there, we will open the door, we will check the door every once in a while, since you're not going anywhere. It is „we" because Alex moved in with us and is the new stallion in this house now.

The final choice you have to make is the following: You can either leave this house, get a divorce and find some locksmith to open the chastity belt you are wearing. As long as you leave peacefully and I get 80% of the money, nobody will ever find your diary or find out about the rape-incident.

Or you can stay in this house as a gelding. People will think you are living the dream, having two hot women in your house and a successful career on the outside. Since the purpose of a gelding is working only anyway, this is fine for us, as long as you also do the housework. Mind, that we will make sure, that you never have any orgasm again. Furthermore, what we do to your body or soul will be of no concern to you, we demand total obedience. In return - assuming good behaviour - you will get the privilege to bring us to an orgasm with you tongue or suck Alex' stallion strap-on.

If you want to leave, just pass the test. If you want to stay, though, there is a locking titanium collar on the bottom of the box, to which only we have the key. Put it on and close the lock to seal the deal.

Choose wisely, Gelding.

Love, Mare Margery

P.S. As an added bonus, if you find Alex' thong correctly you may put it on and get an additional reward, a first impression of whats in store for you.

What I had read in that letter took a while to sink in.

They drugged me, made me castrate myself and now they have the guts to ask me, whether I wanted to stay with them as their gelding and even allow them to commit further cruelties.

I should be incredibly mad, but somehow I just couldn't. I had lost my balls already, nothing would bring them back. I couldn't get revenge if I didn't want to go to jail for rape.

With an upcoming divorce I probably couldn't continue my demanding job and would have to start over at a lower position.

But it was even more than that: When I was carrying these sandbags around I had felt happy. I had liked the hard manual labour, since it gave my existence a purpose. I wasn't entirely sure if I could find that on my own anymore. Moreover, it became clear to me, that I was really fond of following her orders, it boiled my otherwise so complicated life down to a simple one, it was a clear goal to work towards to, and she had proved her word was reliable so far. And finally, I can't deny this: I really yearned for the smell and taste of her nectar, even when dried, since it made my body react warm and fuzzy.

I dawned to me, that every piece of my male stallion ego was destroyed. My dick, encased in metal probably even useless when free by now, my balls completely gone and even my mind revolved around being given orders, craving to give sexual attention and doing work.

I started to cry, and I can't remember for how long I was sitting there crying. My tears had dissolved some of the paint on the letter and blurred the lines. I really was an emotional mess, my nose was blocked, saliva running out of my gagged mouth.

Reaching inside the box, my hands found the collar. It was sturdy, but surprisingly light. The surface was brushed skillfully, giving it a nice satin finish. There was something engraved: „Proud Gelding - Serving by choice to achieve true freedom". After reading the sentence, I teared up again, but it was different this time. The engraving allowed me to reflect and brought brought light and clarity into my mixed-up mind: My need to obey my wife and work was not a defeat or a weakness. It was the strength to express my real needs outside of the norms of society where men always compete against each other over income, jobs, number of sexual partners and even phallus-length. It was my mind beginning to understand, that exactly this was my way out of the hamster wheel, that male competitive society was. This battle of male ego which, at that fateful day, made me rape Margery was nothing to be proud of.

I put the collar around my neck and shut it closed. It closed with a mild clicking sound and could not be easily opened anymore. My hands followed the warm titanium ring that now circled my neck. The quality of the craftsmanship was amazing, I couldn't even find the seam where the lock closed with my fingertips.

If you are still wondering, whether I found the thong, that belonged to my wife, I can assure you, that this „test" was the easiest of them all. Especially after I had followed her advice and smelled her for the last couple of days. I even found one which smelled totally unknown to me and decided to try my luck at guessing it was Alex'.

Again, it seemed to pay off, to listen to her, further reinforcing me, that I made the correct choice. I put her thong into my mouth, took the empty bag number five and slipped it under the main basement door.


It felt like an eternity before the door finally opened, Alex and my wife were there and smiling when they saw me wearing the collar, the pink frilly thong in my mouth and a black lacy thong over my chastity cage. Also, I was kneeling in front of the door, since I thought that was the appropriate way to await them. They ordered me to use the garden room's hose to clean up completely again and then follow them. When we entered their living room, my wife was still smiling at me and told me:

We just need a few more things taken care of, don't worry, everything will be fine, the arrangements took us a day, so we decided to open the door later.

They led me to their garage and opened the trunk of my wife's Escalade. It was equipped with a metal box, usually used for safely transporting dogs, but looking too small for me.

Get in, we need to take a little trip.

I squeezed into the box on all fours, couldn't even more a centimeter when Alex managed to close and lock the gate. I tried to settle inside the box, but was ordered to stay still.

I shrieked, when I noticed her pushing the lubed up stallion-dick into my ass. Sure, it hurt at first, but after a while it felt not only pleasant but even better. I wanted her to continue, maybe I could even cum that way. That was the moment, when she removed the dildo without a warning. I was shaking, wanting more stimulation to finally get an orgasm after all that had happened. Alex came to the front of the cage and explained:

A chaste gelding may achieve an orgasm by just prostate stimulation. But we all agreed, that your orgasms are off limits forever. I showed your diary to a friend of mine, who happens to be a MD but, due to some issues with her past, works as a vet only. She accepted your written plea to have your prostate gland removed. She told us that she has high respect for your choice, and that the removal is a common procedure to remove prostate cancer, so it barely has any risks for you. While you are sedated, her husband, who works at a piercing parlor will remove your chastity belt and replace it with a rather small titanium tube, that he will weld to your piercing. You signed all the paperwork for it already, about six weeks ago in the office. He even told me that he had worked on some spring-loaded string mechanism that will cut off the penis completely, of one should ever try to remove the tube. I am totally unsure whether he will bring that thing, though. We will just have to find out.

I was complaining, that I didn't even know there was a chance for orgasms from that, but probably only murmuring left the gag. My wife then told me:

Ending up exactly like, this in this box, today, is a direct result of your choices. This last near-orgasm experience was the first part of the reward for finding out Alex' thong correctly. I really think you enjoyed that last bit of sexual excitement. I told you to choose wisely and really hope that you can be happy without any for yourself in the future. There's no turning back now and deep down you know: it's just the right thing to do. To make it easier for you, I will give you the second part of your reward now, and if you are a good gelding: maybe even more when we get home. We still have a two weeks of holidays left and we prepared a room in the basement for you, your own stable.

She lifted her skirt and pulled down her thong. After forming a ball out of it, she rubbed along her glistening godly pussy in front of my face before handing it to Alex. She also used compressed fabric of Marge's underwear to gather some of her heavenly nectar from between her legs intermingling both juices. She removed the old thong from my mouth and stuffed the new one with their combined juices into my mouth.

My anger was immediately gone, this was exactly where I belonged now: below the feet of these two heavenly creatures. I inhaled through my mouth and their aromas together put my mind into total bliss, I couldn't be happier with any amount of coke, hookers or money, this was my sweet-space, my safe haven, my home.

The End
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