My Guitar Lesson

Authors Note: This story contains themes of male submission, male chastity, and mild physical discipline. If you are uncomfortable with these themes or simply don't enjoy them, please seek a different story to read. While pictures are mentioned, no pictures will be posted with this story on this site due to restrictions on content. This is my first attempt at erotic fiction and I welcome all constructive feedback.

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"You have crossed the line now slave," her text said. "You have reached the point of becoming distracting to your Queen while she is trying to work. Punishment forthcoming."

Feeling my heart race and my breath start to get shallow, I quickly wrote back apologizing. I knew it wouldn't help, but I truly hadn't meant to be a distraction. I just hadn't been able to resist sending a couple of notes to her telling her how incredibly horny I was and how incredibly sexy she was.

The reason I was so desperately horny was we had finally found a chastity device that fit properly and could be worn long term without chafing or cleaning issues. It also was completely inescapable without a bolt cutter.

She had already kept me denied for a full three weeks, when for the very first time ever she had locked up my cock and taken the keys out of town. It seemed so much more absolute than having her keep them in her purse and tell me no. She would be gone for eight days and the trip to and from the airport was eye opening. I was as hard as I could get nearly the entire time, and had leaked a wet spot in my jeans by the time I got home.

We both loved each other and while it was a game we played, I took no seriously. If she said no, I remained locked, and if she ordered me into the cage, I put it on. Still, this felt very different somehow.

While she hadn't been gone even twenty four hours when I sent the second email, I had spent a very large portion of that time testing the limits of my chastity device. Being made of stainless steel, it didn't seem to care, but I did. I was wondering how I would last seven more days, much less the two additional weeks I knew awaited me once she returned.

Every time I wondered this I was reminded that I would last because I had no choice. My Queen had locked up my cock and taken the keys with her. This of course only made me try to get hard again.

As the hours passed, I tried to focus on my tasks to distract myself. I had proposed a list of "chores" that I could do to make her life easier and allow her to focus on her work. Some were simple household tasks, some were ways to make me more attractive to her, such as language lessons or working out. By far her favorite of my tasks was the weekly manicure and pedicure I gave her wearing nothing but my cage cuffs and collar.

This arrangement allowed me to give things I might do for her anyway a sexual spin and to indulge some of my submissive fantasies, and it gave her the benefit of more free time to focus on her career. While it also gave her the potential to take a great deal of control over my behavior, mostly she got her kicks from seeing how aroused it made me, and from having the free time.

As part of our agreement I needed to complete all of my tasks satisfactorily or I could be disciplined. So doing my tasks served a second function besides distracting me from wondering how she intended to punish me for disturbing her.

Of course completing my tasks was no guarantee I would be released on schedule. We both clearly understood that as Queen, she had the right to make break and change rules as she saw fit. I never knew whimsy could be erotic until one day she ordered me to put the long pin in my cage, "just because" she liked watching me squirm. Pressing her nearly naked body against me she kissed me deeply until I was bent almost double as the pin dug into my attempted erection. Stepping back to admire her handiwork she gave me a heart stopping smile and walked out of the room with a chuckle.

I had just finishing half an hour of Spanish instruction and slipped off my shirt. I was heading to the shower when I heard an incoming message. The sound of the alert told me that it was from my Queen, not my regular email, and again I felt my pulse ramping up.

Sitting down with my computer I was already testing the limits of my cage by the time I got the email open. By the time I finished reading her instructions my cock was surging against the hard steel bars and I was almost lightheaded my heart was beating so fast.

Ordered to acknowledge that I understood her instructions and then carry them out, I couldn't believe what she wanted me to do.

Part of her instructions required me to get my guitar, a set of nipple clamps, the camera, and practice my scales. I was to do this naked except for the nipple clamps and my cage, and I was to photograph myself while doing this. While this would be somewhat painful, embarrassing, difficult to concentrate, and would leave my nipples very sensitive, it was the second part of her instructions that shocked me.

"Once you have perfected your scales at 8 different tempos, you will then write a story about the experience, start a blog and post your story with a picture showing the guitar and nipple clamps."

My Queen had a truly lovely face framed by brunette hair. Her slim delicate body was built to make you ache for her and she worked hard to make sure it stayed firm and fit. As smart and talented as she was beautiful, I had always thought I was lucky to be with her. Reminding myself how hard my cock was pressing against its cage, how much I loved the taste and feel of her, and how often I had pleaded with her to push me past my limits I quickly typed my response.

"I hear and obey," I sent back feeling a rush of nerves at the thought.

Standing up I let my jeans slide to the ground. I set out the guitar, set up the metronome and camera, and deciding that my Queen had not instructed otherwise, lowered the blinds. Stalling for a few minutes, I rationalized that I didn't have to show my face in the pictures. Realizing I was only getting more nervous I made myself move.

I quickly moved to the bedroom to retrieve the nipple clamps. Putting them in place I felt the familiar, arousing, and painful bite. Feeling my engorged cock mirror the gentle sway of the chain between the clamps with each step, I returned to the living room and picked up the guitar.

I had never taken lessons or applied any discipline to my practice before. Additionally I had just resumed playing after years and I was very rusty. Now sitting on the bench, trying to find the appropriate position for the clips and the guitar both, I saw the camera staring at me. Suppressing the shiver of arousal and embarrassment that raced through me I started the metronome.

Wanting to give myself a chance to succeed, I only set the starting point at 60 bpm (beats per minute). This didn't work out very well.

When I did play what I did best was play what I knew, and play it fast. While I had learned scales ages ago they had only been an occasional speed drill and I struggled to maintain the slow tempo. Very distracted by the nipple clamps, and very aware that I was now leaking pre-cum from my caged cock onto the floor, it took me many tries to sound each note cleanly and correctly at the same volume.

By the time I also finished a "perfect" scale at 65 bpm, I had to pause. Taking off the nipple clamps I groaned as the blood rushed back. Massaging my tender nipples gently I continued to make small noises somewhere between pleasure and pain as my cock regained its enthusiasm.

Bracing myself I put the clip back on my right nipple, rotating it 90 degrees. Moaning again as it slid slightly pinching close to the tip, I tried to put the clip on my left nipple as well. It also slipped and came free giving me a nasty pinch and making me yelp. Realizing I was now sweating slightly and the lotion I had put on in the morning was causing the problem I went to the bathroom and washed both nipples. This elicited more soft whimpers and my cage was soon filled to the bursting point again.

Trying again after drying myself off, I got both clips firmly seated and returned to my seat. Picking up the camera remote, I set the timer for ten second intervals and grabbed my guitar. Carefully draping the chain across the top of the guitar, I could feel myself tremble as I pressed the shutter button and began to play.

Click. Mistake.

Click. Mistake.

Am I really going to have to publish these pictures? Mistake.

I couldn't stop thinking of how slutty I must look with my cage showing below and the clover clamps decorating the top of the guitar. The thought that I was supposed to voluntarily display myself like this kept me leaking on the floor and squirming as I fumbled my way through both 70 and 75 bpm.

Pausing again, I knew it should get easier as the tempo increased. I also knew that I should rotate the nipple clamps again. By the time I finished restoring blood flow and re-clamping myself I was aching with arousal and quietly begging my far distant Queen for release. From the nipple clips. From my cage. From my punishment.

Forcing myself to bear down and concentrate I played 80 bpm quite cleanly on the second try, but struggled a bit at 85. Taking a few more pictures at 90 and 95 bpm, I managed both of them fairly cleanly as well with only a few repetitions required for each to get them right.

Not sure how rigorous my Queen intended the interpretation of "perfectly" I gave myself a passing grade permitting minimal string noise, fret buzz, and volume variation.

Gasping in relief and then pain as I quickly unfastened the nipple clamps I gently massaged my nipples again. Heading into the shower, I did quite a bit more moaning and wishing my Queen was here to unlock me. After thoroughly scrubbing myself and applying lotion to my securely locked cock and hyper-sensitive nipples I returned to the living room to finish my punishment and write this account.

The only task left was to convince myself I really do have to obey my Queen's instruction to post this online. If you are reading this, I have. The idea of remaining locked in my cage for even longer than the next three weeks makes a strong argument for obedience.

The swelling in my cage makes a strong argument for why I had so often baited her with the idea of putting me on display. I found the idea of being displayed as the horny submissive slut I was scary, but very arousing. Making me display myself was a delightfully diabolical twist worthy of my Queen's devious mind.

Hopefully she will be pleased by my effort to accept her discipline and forgive me for my transgression. If not, I'm sure I will hear about it...and you may too if she decides publishing my story is to be part of my future punishments.