Page 64 of Make Me Scream

“Today we’re going to experiment with sensory deprivation,” says Lane. “Not in a tank with a bath of saltwater, but in this sarcophagus. You’re not here to relax, you’re here to be alone with your thoughts. Are you claustrophobic?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He slips off the open padlocks and raises the box’s lid. It looks heavy, even for Lane. Thankfully, thick padding lines the interior, with an extra bump at the end to serve as a pillow. It won’t be as roomy, but it should be more comfortable than a hard surface.

“You see this, Gwen?” he says, pointing to a large tablet built into the underside of the lid. “I want you to experience silence and darkness. But, if you feel inspired, this has apps for drawing and writing. You’ll find a stylus built into the side of the device. It also has a microphone which will remain on at all times if you need to be let out. You can adjust the brightness, but that is all. You cannot use it to go online, play music or otherwise distract yourself. I will be able to see and hear you through the device’s camera, and if you draw or write, I’ll see that too.”

My smile gets bigger with each word. I must be crazy to be so excited; I want nothing more than to get in that box and get started.

“Close your eyes, and wait here. I have one last thing for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

He disappears only for a moment. When he returns, I hear clinking metal in rhythm with his footsteps.

“Open your eyes.”

Lane holds what looks like a pair of panties made of metal. With the twist of a key, the crotch partially detaches from the belt.

“What the hell is that?”

“There are two things I don’t want you to do while you’re in there: fall asleep, or pleasure yourself. This will ensure you don’t do either.”

He takes from his pants pocket a slim, metal cylinder and attaches it to a slot in the crotch piece.

My head swims when I realize what he intends; I could almost faint.

“I’m going to… wear that… with…”

“Put it on.”

This is absolutely insane, which means — of course — that my pussy already creams at the very idea. The toy is going to remain locked inside me, but I won’t be able to touch it, remove it or anything.

It’s going to drive me fucking crazy.

I slip the belt around my waist and lock it into place. Lane hands me a miniature padlock to fasten around interlocking pieces, ensuring they can’t be separated. For the crotch piece, I line the toy up to my sodden lips and gently slide it in until the entire contraption rests flush against my skin. After one more lock, the device is complete.

Lane shows me the key, then hangs it from a small hook outside the sarcophagus.

“How does that feel, pet?”

Twisting my hips, I take a few steps, back and forth. Just like the ass plug and the rope, I feel the toy with every motion — except now I can’t do anything about it. There’s no taking this off without Lane’s permission. The metal belt hugs the small of my waist; I can’t slide my way out of it, and the fit is so tight I can’t even slip my pinky between the metal and my skin.

“Snug, sir.”

“Yes,” he says, taking out his phone. “A proper chastity belt would be custom designed to fit your body. If this session proves fruitful, I’ll have one made. Until then, this one fits well enough to be worn for a few hours, instead of days, weeks or even longer.”

Days? Weeks? He can’t be serious.

“Now, if I see you dozing off, I’ll do this.”

Lane taps his phone, and a sharp sensation of heat flashes inside me. It doesn’t hurt, but I definitely felt something.

“That was a warning. If it doesn’t wake you, I’ll do this.”

He presses the screen again, and the toy releases a shock inside my core. Yelping, I double over, clutching the belt.

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