I know, I know, but…

Home > Stories > Victim

Victim

September 18th, 2009 Other Author Leave a comment Go to comments

Hello there! If you are new here, you might want to subscribe to the RSS feed for updates on this topic.

I wish to emphasize that I did not write this, it was on SweetChastity.com and has since vanished. I am posting it here to preserve this story. Please do not credit me at all for this story.

Victim
By DX
Copyrighted 10/2002

I remember their innocent, dough boy faces, so arrogant, so confident, as they stood before the judge, the jury, wearing suits too big for them-making them look younger than they were, making them look like children standing against a backdrop of a cadre of bullet proof lawyers. They were rich, stupid rich, and Daddy’s money was going to get them out of this like it had rescued them in the past. All I had was a harried, overworked prosecutor who was armed with only truth.

She was horribly outgunned.

They jury of eight women and four men found the boys, those mischievous little scamps, guilty of Criminal Misconduct and Trespassing. It was all just youthful shenanigans, a little prank, a Huck Finn adventure. That’s what those little imps did, nothing more than end of semester fun.

Not rape. Not Aggravated Sexual Assault in the First Degree. Not Breaking and Entering.

Nothing like that at all. Just a little funnin’ that’s all. The bruises, the scars, that was only enthusiastic love making. If fact, I should be happy that they don’t charge me with improper use of tax payer’s money for making everyone waste their time with my petty problem.

I did come close to getting arrested that day when I stood up and screamed bloody murder. I called them every name in the book at the top of my lungs. I ranted for almost a minute before the bailiff stepped toward me.

“Today, I have been raped again.” I said and stormed out of the courtroom. I did the therapy thing. Counseling, group sessions, drugs, intoxicating, mind draining drugs, on the long road to recovery. I did role playing, self defense classes, meditation, and spent hours in my ‘Happy Place’.

The nightmare was still the same. The last week of the semester, and I, the studious sophomore in her dorm room getting the last scrapes of knowledge into her head while three drunk seniors slip past the lame security, jimmy the downstairs door, bribe the Resident Grad Student with a six pack of beer, then search three rooms until they found a girl, me, and ignoring her pleas of mercy, raped her. In my dream, I watch like a ghost, standing over them as they take her vaginally, orally, anally, they grope her breasts like dough balls so hard they bruise.

I no longer felt safe. I barricaded myself in my dorm room at night. My room mate was understanding in that respect but it was a pain in the ass moving the heavy dresser back and forth. I finally moved to an apartment off campus and put a bank vault of locks on the door. I still didn’t feel safe.

I had been putting myself through college. I couldn’t afford to go elsewhere. They, my rapists, had already been thrown out of every college in the state. They finished their sentences, some measly hours of community service and returned to campus like celebrities.

In no time at all it was I who was the villain. I failed to fight back enough was the first rumor. Soon I was the harlot, who seduced the innocent boys and then cried rape to extort their wealthy daddies for money.

I ignored the rumors. I tried to ignore the rumors. Every day I felt the pangs, the barbs. Every day I felt raped all over again. When I saw them on campus, passed them in the halls, I felt their eyes mocking me, laughing at me, committing their crime again and again. I only looked away with shame and fear.

In the minds of everyone, it only confirmed that I was the bad guy.

Until during one of my group therapy sessions, I met a woman who had a Chasti-Permalock.

“It is the penultimate protection!” She said as she hiked up her skirt and showed me the shimmering plate of gold. “I leave the key in a very safe place.” She was so happy. “I have my life back. I have control over the fear and feelings of violation.” I went to the website and ordered mine.

Five pieces. I wanted them crude and brutal. I didn’t jewelry fashion accessories, I wanted them to look as secure and impenetrable as I wanted to feel. Public displays of chastity. Patterns of rivets adorned them looking like an iron clad battleship.

First came the panty. A full coverage panty that slipped easily up my legs and settled nicely around my loins. I didn’t get any of the plugs, or other insertions, relying on the nanites to permanently bond the indestructible underwear to my body. The little robots would surgically seal me closed. A wide band strapped across my breasts tightly. The gag, a circular disk covered my mouth. Nasal plugs insured un-interruptible breathing, but also allowed me to take my fluids and nutrition. Finally, for no reason, an armored plate covered my belly button.

Unlike my friend, my chastities did not come with a key. They would never come off. It wasn’t an easy decision. I liked sex, but I had to feel safe. Images of someone finding my key haunted me. There were options that it could be coded to open on certain conditions, or stimulate me to orgasm when ever I wanted, but I rejected them. I didn’t want the idea of some ghost rapist attacking me, living in my shorts. I wanted total lock down. Not even a pee hole. The nanites would also effectimize my body so that all my wastes would be extruded during my normal perspiration.

As I felt the chastities lock down, anchoring themselves through skin and into bone, for the first time in a long time, I felt safe. Within hours the nanites were working their magic on my body, surgically altering my insides, reinforcing my chastity, locking me within a mobile, unescapable prison.

I felt so free! I went back to class with my head raised, defiant, happy that I was finally safe. On warm days I went to class rearing only hot pants, leaving my armored breasts for all to see. Sometimes, I laid naked on the Green, spread out on a blanket, soaking up the sun. My chastities were my only clothes.

Without saying a word, I had shrugged off the rumors and proved that I had been raped and who the real villains were. To see me was a demonstration of who was the victim. When I saw my rapists on campus, I could now match their stare unflinchingly, making them turn away. Slowly they fell from flavor as the fickle mood of the students change. They were thrown out of the frat houses, left off of invite lists, snubbed and ostracized. For shallow cretins, it was a fate worse than death. One of them was found dead in his dorm room. He hung himself with an electric cord, a confession written in his hand pinned to his shirt. The other two fadded away in shame and left college just short of graduation. I’ve not heard of them since.

I had a new popularity. I knew it was because many felt guilty for out casting me in the first place, but I soon made real friends. One in particular. Alex, a handsome, intelligent man who I was smitten with instantly. As our paths crossed ever frequently, I admit I was going out of my way to make sure that happened, I wondered if there could be love for a chastised woman. I found out one night as we walked along the boardwalk, he took me in his arms and held me. He kissed my gag, and although I felt nothing on the outside, I felt enlivened on the inside, touched by his tenderness.

We became an item. I felt he wanted me for me and not as a sexual object. We even slept together, cuddled like spoons.

I wanted him. My chastities did nothing to curb my sexual appetite. I had used my self discipline to keep it at bay, but felling his warmth beside me, hearing his heartbeat, I was over whelmed. One night, I snuggled up to him, caressing his wooly chest, his flat, hard tummy, his curvy mons, gently curling my finger in the dark scruff of hair.

I felt the velvet skin of his manhood as it roused. Soft, smooth and silky, responding to my touch. I slowly petted him, my fingers like feathers. I could feel the pulse of his body quicken as a moan escaped him. I took my time, ignoring his pleas for release. I was in control and it felt great. I savored his plight, his pleasure, and when I finally let him come, I felt a tinge of his orgasm in me.

I enjoyed this intimate contact almost as much as he did. I contacted Chasti-Permalock. I didn’t want to give up my Chastities. I enjoyed being secure. My sexual denial was a sweet and sour mix of frustration and bliss. I strangely enjoyed the trembling energies within me, but I wanted to do something for him. Something that we would share. However, I didn’t want to be penetrated.

I didn’t want my wall of titanium breached. It was this safety wall that gave me the strength and confidence to be that close to another human being in the first place.

The solution was there. The Chasti-Gauntlet. It was a glove like accessory that formed a self lubricated sheath which provides the perfect, ultimate hand job. I would be able to prolong his agony/ecstacy indefinitely and still maintain my shield.

There was, however, a sacrifice. I would give up my hand. It bonds with my hand, forming a delicate pussy made to fit him exclusively. When I rub my knuckles against his cock, the inner walls of my pussy hand would lubricate. Then I could slowly slide the tight clench of my hand over him. By sliding my hand and wriggling my fingers, I could provide him with unbelievable pleasure.

I hid it with the bouquet on our wedding day and surprised him on our wedding night.

Thanks to the Chasti-Permalock company, I have my confidence back and control of my life again. Through restraint I have found freedom. Through Judgement, Justice. And by shutting myself away, opened my heart.

Series NavigationMaruko’s ConspiracyChasti-Permalock R&D Report

Mini-Biography: This is an account that can be used to denote a story written by someone who is not a member of this site. Please remember that the original author (as noted in the story) retains their copyright and it should not be reposted without gaining their permission. No one on this site authored this story.