Settling for Frustration


Settling for Frustration
It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Chastity has a funny way of messing with the male mind. Of redefining sex, and his sexuality. Of making him desire things that he never thought he would find arousing.

This occurred to him as he sucked the filth off the fat, discolored, putrid, calloused soles of an unattractive, middle-aged woman in exchange for her letting him do so. Months ago, she would have repulsed him sexually, and a glance at her feet in this state would have left him indifferent or disgusted.

Now, having his face as close to them as possible was the driving focus of his desires. Slurping the dirt and stench off them, as he grew painfully hard in his steel cage – the force tugging on the piercing that passed through the slit of his penis. Chastity had reprogrammed him; redefined what he was willing to accept as “sex,” and lowered his standards for attractiveness to their rock-bottom, inevitable conclusion. A petty caricature of real men’s sex lives. Chastity was the great motivation for sexual settling.

Flecks of caked-on sweat and dirt from her soles found its way into his nostrils. His repressed revulsion from this manifested itself in a twisted, perverted way into titillation and lust; he fixated on the hypnotic wrinkles of her feet as she contorted them into a more comfortable position over his nose, trapping it between her toes and digging in for a tighter grip. The flexing undulations were mesmerizing.

She knew the position of power she was in over him, as she slowly continued to frustrate him with her scent. She silently filled his mind with thoughts of what it would be like to actually come for the first time in memory; to spew his load across her rough, dry feet, and watch the semen settle into the crevices of her cracked, wrinkly soles. To drink it up from them, laced with the intoxicating aroma of the filth she’d tracked in during the day. She didn’t have to speak a word of this. She knew his inability to squirt would lead his mind along those lines, with enough time, frustration, and “stimulation.”

Of course, he’d never get to come. The pull of the chastity cage against his cock was the closest thing to penetration he’d ever be experiencing again, and the numbing cold of steel around his shaft prevented any approach to the edge of orgasm. He looked up, over the crinkled, calloused toes he licked and sucked. Across the short, stubby distance to the top of her varicose legs. Past her hairy cunt, belly rolls, and sagging tits, to the knowing smirk that shone across her face. A jab of frustration shot down the squished length of his penis. He felt a drip work its way out.

Chastity made this all hot as fuck. This was fucking now, he was sure of it. He resumed cleaning the slime from in between the toes of this fat old woman with greater enthusiasm. Chastity had reconditioned him to need this. Another drip forced its way out, and he felt his prostate shiver.

This wasn’t supposed to be how he lost it.

This wasn’t supposed to be who he lost it to.

The shame turned him on more.

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