This is a print version of story Locked Up - Part One by murphysd2004 from

Locked Up - Part One

Locked Up - Part One

One of the frustrations of a long-time relationship is the unexpected change in dynamics that suddenly shuts a guy out of sex. To this day, I have no earthly idea of why. I tried talking about it, being frustrated and angry, and even going to see a counselor. Nothing really worked. I became more and more frustrated and angry.

Out of the blue, she began paying attention to her appearance. I had my suspicions, but no proof. She was now beginning to tease me sexually, and being disrespectful. I didn’t know where this came from or why.

She had just begun to wear a girdle again on a daily basis. She said she was tired of her stomach sticking out. Truth be told, she did have a little stomach, but for a 42 year-old woman she still had a spectacular body. There were those legs that didn’t quit, and breasts that would make most men lose control. She had shoulder length brown hair, and piercing brown eyes. Her only downside as a person was that she tended to have a mean streak.

Over her control-top pantyhose, she began to wear a variety of girdles. Each one tighter than the other. One of the benefits of her wearing a girdle was the fact that it turns me on so much, and she knew it. She loved to tease me with it.

She would be sure to put on her pantyhose and girdle in front of me, and then softly run her hands over her body. She knew that it would make me wet my pants. I would reach for her, and then she’d pull away, telling me that me that she was in a hurry to get to work. During the day, she would call me, e-mail, and text message me to tell me how tight her girdle was, and how it was turning her on. She even e-mailed me that when she went into the ladies room, and was so turned on that she had to touch herself until she was near orgasm, and then stop. It was torture for me.

Once she got home it was even worse. She would tell me how tight her girdle was, that she could barely breathe. She could hardly wait to get it off. She would take her girdle off and touch herself through the crotch of her pantyhose, telling me how wet she was. She would go on to tell me that she had one particular girdle that fit in such a way that it would press her pantyhose into her, such that she could rock her hips and give herself an orgasm. All without touching herself.

All I wanted to do was touch her; run my hands up the her nyloned thighs; touch her through her underwear until she was frantic with desire. She just loved to tease me without putting out. Many times, she would protest when I touched her.

I would listen to her masturbate in the shower or in bed, until she convulsed in orgasm. I would confront her about it, and she would ignore me. I was tired of waiting, and tired of doing without. Honestly, I was madder than hell. I began to formulate ideas. Several came to mind. Some of these ideas would either make or break our marriage.

First: I went to work in my basement shop. I took her newest and tightest girdle, a black one-piece, bra and long leg panty girdle. The “convenience” slit in the crotch of the girdle would do her no good because she would be wearing pantyhose underneath. Thus, she had to get completely undressed to go to the bathroom. The girdle had a zipper in the back so it could be removed for her to go to the bathroom. I installed a small hasp on the zipper which I would lock without her knowing it.

All I needed to do now was to bide my time until she wore it. I didn’t have to wait long. A couple of days later, I watched her as she sat on the side of the bed, and sliding her tan control-top pantyhose up her legs. I watched as she wriggle into them, and smooth them out. She faced me, and pushed her palm into her crotch. She then proceeded to put on the one-piece bra/girdle. I could tell that it was seriously tight. I walked over to her, and without her being aware, I affixed the small lock to the small hasp on the girdle’s zipper. She was stuck in her underwear, but she just didn’t know it yet. She put on her conservative professional dress, and classic 4" heels. Out the door she went.

About 10:30 that morning, my office phone rang. “What did you do to my girdle?” she yelled, “there’s a lock on the zipper, and I can’t get it off. I have to pee.”

“Really,” I replied. “Guess you’ll just have to wait until you get home.”

“Get over here right this instant, and unlock me.” she demanded.

“Gee, I’d love to, but I’m really busy right now, and I can’t get away until later in the day.” The next thing I heard was the phone slamming in my ear. She’d call back.

Sure enough, in another 10 minutes, my phone rang again. This time she was sweet. “Please, come to my office, and unlock my girdle. I have to pee so badly.” Her office was on the other side of the city, and it would take me a good half-hour or more to get there. She knew that. She just wasn’t frantic enough yet. This time I slammed the phone down on her ear.

Five minutes later, she called again. This time, not only was she sweet, she was pleading. “Please, darling, I have to pee so very badly. I’m going to pee in my pants if don’t get my girdle off. Please meet me at home. I really don’t want to pee in my pants at the office.” Finally, I relented. “Ok, I’ll meet you at home right now.”

I can imagine her in the car. Driving with one hand, while the other is clamped between her clenched together legs, biting her lip, and bouncing up and down in her seat. She arrived at home about five minutes before I did. She had already removed her dress. I found her standing with her hands clamped between her legs, and her legs crossed over her hands. She was doing a little dance on her high heels. When I walked into the house, she yelled, “where is the fucking key?” It was difficult to suppress my smile.

That wasn’t a nice way to talk to somebody who had interrupted his day to come home to help her. “You don’t get the key until I have my say.”

“Just give me the fucking key.” she repeated. Now I was pissed... pissed but prepared. Before she could react, I took her wrists and bound them behind her with plastic flex cuffs. “Now will you listen?” I growled.

She began to cry, and pull at the handcuffs. Realizing that she had no way out, she said that she would listen. While I explained my frustration to her, my hand reached into the slit of her girdle and began rubbing her clit through her pantyhose. Her hose was wet with her arousal, and she was pressing herself into my hand. I pulled my hand away. No orgasm for her, just yet. She moaned, and twisted her legs around each other. I took the key from my key ring, and unlocked the hasp on her girdle. “Ok, go pee,” I said.

With her thighs pressed together, and her hands still firmly bound behind her, she ran into the master bathroom without any clear plan as to how she was going to get her underwear off. “Please, please help me. I’ll do anything,” she shouted from the bathroom.

I walked into the bathroom. “How do I know that if I unlock you, you’ll not just go back to teasing me again?” She kissed me with a passion she had not shown in years. “I’ve been trying to get you to get me to submit.” she said. “Punish me, darling,” she cooed, “but first get me out of this girdle. Hurry, hurry.”

She then moved suddenly and quickly. She nearly knocked me over to get into the shower. “Oh, God, I can’t hold it one more second.” she said, as she stood in the shower with her legs spread. The wetness began to spread through her girdle, down her nylons. When she finally stopped peeing, her expression of relief was obvious.

She stepped out of the shower, asked me to get her out of her soaked underwear, and give her an orgasm.

“Not so fast. Your girdle stays on. Get on your knees. I’m going to tell you about the new rules for you.”

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