Silver Lining

This cannot be happening.

I mean, yeah, I know I consented to it and was excited about it when it came, and sorta kinda asked for it and still don’t really wanna stop. But still.

I may be having doubts about whether this is actually sustainable for me. How long can I keep this up?

A tight cinch around my wait snaps me out of my own head, but I still can’t tear my eyes away from the mirror. His fingers tuck along the edges to make sure it isn’t too tight, but also tight enough – neither of us trust me not to try to wiggle out of it, after all. After a few last adjustments and position refinements, he finally stands back up and lets out a labored breath.

“Alright, that’s that. How does it feel?”

The chatity belt’s shining stainless steel plating doesn’t actually speak to its comfort – it wears much easier than I expected it to. That’s thanks in part to the black silicate lining it, sealing against my skin snugly. I imagine it would be difficult to evensneak a finger under the edge, but I’m not about to try now. Holes in the plating allow air to kiss my labia and will allow me to use the restroom when I need to, but they’re deceptive, disguising the panel that keeps a thick pussy plug stuffed inside of me. Another plug fills my asshole, no smaller than its partner, and together, the pressure from them making me ache in both the best and worst ways.

“Is it pinching anywhere? Any pulling?”

All that thinking about the feeling of this damn piece of scrap, and yet I still hadn’t answered my dom.

“No, Sir,” I mumble, “It’s…”

“…It’s…?”

“…It’s fine.”

“Mm-hm,” he returns the unconvincing look on my face with his own skeptical glare, “You’ll get used to it.”

“…Guess I have to,” I pout. Turning around, I check out the damage left by the spanking I got earlier, winning at the way the wooden hairbrush had deepened the bruises I was still nursed from last weekend’s play party. From this angle, it’sAlso painfully obvious just how far the straw on this thing cuts up my ass, leaving me with a constant wedgie sensing. God, trying to resist the subconscious urge to pick it is going to drive me crazy – I see a vision of myself trying to pull at it and only succeeding in shifting the plugs inside me. Fuck, if I do that at work… I’ll have to be so, so careful not to moan…

Two hands lay on my shoulders and turn me back around to face myself in the mirror. I realize that my face looks like a sad puppy, so I quickly twist it into something more soured.

“How long are you going to be wearing this belt, Sugar?” he asks. So typical of him, to force me to read off my own sentence…

“One week, Sir.”

“And why am I keeping you in a chatity belt all week?”

That Sudden notion of ownership makes me shiver with delight, but trying to drum up the words to answer him turns this right back into a punishment.

“Because… I… I overdid it with the soap last night, Sir.”

“How so?” Oh, fuck this bastard, asking for details like he doesn’t already know.

“…I pushed it into my pussy and scrubbed my clip with it. A lot.”

“Are you allowed to do that?”

“No, Sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because it could damage my pussy, Sir.”

“Whose pussy?” His grip tightens, and I withdraw.

“…Your pussy, Sir.”

“That’s right. It’s fine to keep things clean – to a reasonable degree – but you know very well what happens when you overdo it. You get a cold rinse that stings more than the spanking that follows it, right?”

“…Yes, Sir.”

“And do you enjoy that?”

“No, Sir.” I don’t have to hold back that answer in the slightest.

“Knowing how much it made you scream and cry last night, I would say not,” he growls. From the bed, he picks up the hairbrush again, and before I can even whimper, he wraps his arm around my waist and bends me over, holding me still while he delivers six sharp strikes from the oval-shaped menace. I sketch from the pain, clenching around the plugs inside of me.

“For the rest of this week, you will not be touching anything down there. The only times that belt is coming off is once per evening so I can clean it – and you, since I obviously can’t trust you to do it yourself anymore. And as long as it’s off, you’ll be holding a nice soapy enema in your ass and a bar of soap in your mouth. We’ll see just how much you like it by the end of the week, won’t we?”

“…Yes, Sir.” My stomach is already churning at the mere thought, and the regret drips off me in beads of sweat. The prospect of getting distributed like that every night for the rest of the week is both terrifying and titilling.

“And aside from that, you’ll be sleeping, going to work, exercising, and serving me – all in that belt.” He takes my chin in his hand and drags it to face him as he leans in. My blood ices as his lips curl into a damning smile.

“I don’t know about you… butI think this is going to be fun.”

I don’t know what to think yet… But whether I survive this week without exploding or not… I can’t shake the feeling that it won’t be all bad.