The Chastity Suit

Part 8

Sharon climbed into bed and switched the light of. It felt so strange to get into bed while wearing the suit! She'd removed the T-shirt and for a moment she'd searched for the bra-strap before realizing what she was doing. She'd stayed up late because of her long sleep in the afternoon. As she lay on her side she stared at the clock and sighed. It was just past two but she wasn't tired. She'd spent most of the evening lying quietly in front of the TV, too scared to move. Every breath, every heartbeat reminded her of the suit. Moving her arm to adjust the channel it would rub against the smooth surface of the suit. Scratching her head would press her ribs against the tight fabric. Adjusting the position of her legs would stir her belly. Rolling over when her side went numb was sheer torture. 

She'd never felt so alive, so intensely aware of her body. She'd realized that the human body was continually sending signals to the brain, whether it was listening or not. Under normal circumstances the sub-conscious would filter and block these messages until just the most important messages reached the conscious brain. The problem was that the sexual urge seemed to remove this barrier. Her conscious brain was bombarded by a continuous stream of information, everything from the pressure of one foot on top of another, to the rushing of blood in her ears. Her whole body was talking to her all the time, her sexual organs shouting the loudest of all. Just because she'd gone to bed didn't mean it stopped. She could feel her warm thighs touching each other, so she rolled onto her stomach. She felt the domes of the suit press into her chest, so she rolled onto her back. She could feel the hard strip molded over her spine, so she rolled onto her side again. Another problem was that she often masturbated before drifting off to sleep. She desperately wished she could do so now, but all she could do was sigh.

 She rubbed her eyes and felt her arm brush against the suit. She tried to curl up into the fetus position and the wire bit into her anus. She stretched out and the dome bit deeper into her fork. She sighed in frustration and felt her rib cage press against the suit. Even when she wasn't moving she couldn't escape. Her sex and nipples gently throbbed, the volume growing and growing until she thought she would go stark raving mad. 

She jumped out of bed and stormed into the bathroom. She opened the cold water tap in the shower full blast and stepped inside. Her breath was taken away as the cold water hit her and for a precious few moments she forgot completely about the suit. It didn't last long. Soon she realized that the suit was rapidly cooling down. Even with her eyes closed she could feel every inch of the cool surface. She stood in the shower for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Her body told her that the cold shower had been a mistake. Who knew a freezing cold wire rubbing over your anus could be so erotic? She quickly got out of the shower and dried herself off. As she jumped back into bed she felt the last little droplets of trapped water find their way out and seep into the linen. Her body began to do strange things to her. Besides the fact that the cold wire had put her right back to square one other things were now happening. 

The suit was taking much longer to heat up than it did to cool down. She could feel every inch of suit clearly, except over her nipples and sex? Her sexual organs felt like burning beacons of light, stranded on islands in a deep ocean. How could it be that her sex and nipples could be so hot, practically radiating heat, while the rest of her body was cool? Suddenly she knew why none of the rubbing and scratching had worked - the suit wasn't touching her there! She tried to imagine how the suit looked under that smooth surface. Her breasts would be encased in two large domes, swelling and thickening as it rose over her flesh. By the time it reached her nipples the walls of the domes would be almost half an inch thick. Inside these domes would be two small pockets, drilled to just below the surface. In it her nipples would sit, alone and isolated. No matter how she scratched and squirmed, her nipples would never feel any sensation. Her sex would sit in the same kind of pocket, molded precisely so that it would allow a fractions of an inch between her aching flesh and the inside surface of the dome. The thought was so discouraging she started crying all over again.