Laysan
Arousal and the Locks Paradox
(here) - recently
Though it was somewhere deep in the middle of the night and my world was dark and silent, sleep refused to find me. Certainly, I calmed after a while, resigned within my cage and shackles, mute and blind.
Paty would not make me wear this gag for the rest of my life. No way.
Many thoughts and feelings fought within me as I lay waiting. On one hand I was angry that I had been returned to Purgatory without any explanation of the terms of my confinement. On the other hand, Paty had assured me that she loved me and that made my heart swell. Oh! I longed like never before to be held in her arms. I needed her comfort like nothing I ever remember. But, here I was - in Purgatory.
Additionally, I found that I needed to come to terms with a sensation within me that developed a stronger grasp than I would have thought possible under the circumstances. Basically, and to a degree that I found somewhat troubling, I found myself really, really horny.
It is indisputably true that I have a bit of a fetish for bondage. When I fantasize, sometimes those dreams include extreme forms of bondage. I don't know why, but imaginary scenarios in which I am placed into some form of hard metal restraint make my body respond as well or more as the caress of a soft lover. Indeed, if the restraint is inescapable, or more accurately, somehow permanent, my level of arousal is amplified.
I know that this mechanism - these feelings - are the key to my happiness at being Paty's slave. That is why I love to be naked and chained. But, I am no fool. Permanent bondage is just a fantasy. My chains give me access to a greater freedom than any other lifestyle could in this world. That may be a difficult concept to understand. But, I am convinced that it is true.
I can imagine a cave and within the darkness, perhaps, I am chained to the wall. Maybe there is no key or the chain cannot be broken. I can imagine that I am sentenced to live in the darkness all alone feeding off water dripping from overhead and mosses growing on the floor. This simple fantasy and just a little friction can launch me into a very pleasant orgasm within minutes.
Or even more strange... If I masturbate about being unable to masturbate - maybe I'm restrained in some manner or I’m wearing an impenetrable chastity belt - I can double to velocity of my descent into sexual nirvana.
Let me explain that I love the outdoors. I love the feel of the ocean breeze on my skin, the smell of evergreens in a mountain forest, the taste of cold grapes on a dusty desert trail. Those things are freedoms and I look forward to them at every chance. I would never do anything that would prevent me from experiencing those things again. At least, I don't think I would.
Sometimes when I fantasize about something so extreme, the thoughts that once lifted me in ecstasy seem embarrassingly foolish after the fuzzy, phasey feeling of an orgasm has dripped away. So, as I lay in my cage and in my chains, I was afraid to itch my hunger for stimulation. I did not want the orgasm that was looking for me. I was afraid that if it captured me then afterwards, faced with the reality of the theft of my voice, I might slip into a depression as dark as the space beneath my blindfold.
A thought that scared me even more, though, was that maybe I would NOT sink, but rather I would crave more and more restrictions. Extreme restrictions. Permanent restrictions.
Up to the point in my life when I made my commitment to Paty, I had avoided this desire for anything permanent to restrict or modify me. Nothing has been locked on me that cannot be easily removed with the proper tools. I don't even dabble in body modifications like tattoos. (Though, sometimes I consider electrolysis to rid myself of pesky pubic hairs.) I’d never even pierced anything other than my ears. But, now, here I was, lying in a cage with a gag that is connected to a stud in my tongue - a gag that is anchored to my teeth, constrained by some complicated array of tools which access that lock through the holes left by the removal of my permanent teeth. And, as I lay here I thinking about it, I could feel my sexual desire surging around within my soul.
Could it be that achieving a certain comfort results in the abandonment of a million possibilities? What if I became comfortable with permanent bondage? What if I found that I really do desire it in some way? Would I sacrifice the possibility of exploring mountains and deserts and oceans and breezes in exchange for the comfort of small metal cages and chains?
I could not think about this any more. I had to do something to let the sexual feelings safely absorb back into me. I started counting. When that got boring, I started over, except I counted by threes.
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