The click of the lock that first day had felt surreal. Eric still remembered the way it settled around his waist like an anchor, the weight pressing into his hips, the bar snug between his legs. "Behind Barz" indeed—it was like something out of a correctional facility, not a bedroom.
For the first few days, his body fought it. Sleep was restless. Morning erections woke him with sharp, biting pressure against the steel. At night, David would trace a hand over the waistband while Eric winced with frustration.
“You’ll get used to it,” David said softly each time Eric squirmed. “Your body will learn your place.”
And Eric did adjust. Slowly. His hips ached less after a week, his skin toughened where steel kissed nightly. Every routine—showering, sitting at his desk, even grocery shopping—became infused with awareness of the belt. Privacy was gone; the lock turned his body into David’s claim.
By week three, the chastity belt was simply there, always—a presence like gravity. At work, he caught himself shifting in his chair, reminded again and again that he couldn’t so much as touch himself. At the gym, the bar peeked faintly under his clothing, invisible to others but known all too well to him.
At night, frustration turned to ritual. Eric whining, then begging, then finally collapsing into David’s chest, denied and comforted at once.
“I hate this.”
“You love this.”
Silence. The kind of silence that meant David was right.
He noticed other subtle changes, too. His attention sharpened. Small touches meant more. He found himself hanging on David’s approval, craving the praise he received for endurance. Desire had transformed into obedience.
After a month, something began to shift. The complaints grew quieter. He stopped asking, “When will you unlock me?” Instead, he asked things like:
“Would you ever make me wear this longer?”
“What happens if we lose the key?”
“Do you trust me enough to keep me really locked?”
David always answered gently, but ambiguously. The seed was planted. A whispered part of Eric didn’t want freedom anymore. He wanted resolution.
One evening, David returned home and placed a small tube of blue threadlocker on the table.
Eric’s stomach dropped. He’d read about it on chastity forums—men who sealed belts permanently, some who regretted it, some who called it the ultimate liberation from choice. He’d never believed David would go that far.
“You already know what this means,” David said simply.
Eric’s mouth was dry. “We agreed… just temporary.”
“And it was,” David replied. “Now it’s something more. You’ve lived this for weeks. You understand it. And now, I’m taking away your ability to choose anymore. That burden’s mine.”
Eric shook his head, part fear, part instinct. “That’s… forever.”
David only nodded. “Yes. Forever.”
The lock was opened only briefly. Eric stared at the belt resting around his waist, his skin marked by its shape, realizing how naked he would feel without it. David worked slowly, methodically, coating the screw threads with the permanent adhesive.
Eric’s heart pounded in his throat. “Ten minutes? That’s all?”
“Ten minutes until you never have to think about the choice again,” David said. His voice was calm, steady—the voice Eric had leaned on the past two months.
When the lock clicked closed, it felt deeper than the first day. This time, the sound wasn’t temporary. It was a sentence being read out, a vow spoken without his consent but with his complicity.
Eric trembled as David held him. The key went into a drawer. The seconds ticked, each one carrying him further from freedom.
And then it was done—the lock no longer just a lock, but part of the steel itself. Final.
That night, Eric lay in bed wide awake. Every nerve felt restless, every thought circling the permanence now clamped around him. Fear caged him, yes—but so did another truth that sent chills down his back.
Relief. For the first time, there was no bargaining, no calendar counting, no wondering when. The choice was over. There was only surrender.
David’s hand rested heavy on his chest as he whispered, “You’re mine. Always.”
Eric closed his eyes, the belt unyielding against his body.
And despite the terror in his chest, he exhaled—steady, almost calm. Because at last, he belonged.
The next morning, Eric woke up groggy, his whole body still buzzing with the realization of what had happened the night before. He reached down out of habit — and of course, the steel waistband pressed firm against his hand. There was no “jingle” of a lock to tug at anymore; the lock was now part of the belt itself, sealed in place.
It felt heavier somehow, not just with steel, but with finality.
His stomach twisted. He hadn’t agreed. And yet… he hadn’t stopped David either.
When he walked into the kitchen, David greeted him warmly, setting a cup of coffee in front of him like nothing extraordinary had happened.
“You’re quiet,” David observed.
Eric sipped the coffee, staring at the steam. “…It’s real. It’s never coming off.”
David didn’t flinch. He placed a hand on Eric’s. “That’s exactly right. You’re free of deciding now. And you’re mine in every way.”
Eric felt a wave of fear and relief crash together inside him. He wanted to argue. But instead, he just muttered softly: “I don’t know what to feel.”
David squeezed his hand. “That’s normal. But the choice is gone now. Time will take care of the rest.”
The first week was the hardest. Eric’s mind cycled constantly: It’s permanent. It’s permanent. It’s PERMANENT. At work, during his commute, while brushing his teeth — the thought inserted itself everywhere. He couldn’t comfort himself with I’ll get free eventually. Now, each night ended in the same steel embrace, with no countdown ticking away.
But slowly, oddly, the panic dulled. He noticed that he stopped asking David for release — there was no point. The conversation itself became extinct. And once it vanished, so did half the tension.
In its place grew something else: a strange stability. His body adjusted again, his skin softened under the belt’s pressure, and his mind began pacing itself. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel restless. He felt… contained.
One night a couple of weeks later, Eric was sitting on the couch when David slid in beside him, resting a hand low on the steel waistband.
“No begging tonight?” David teased gently.
Eric swallowed. He shook his head. “What’s the point? You made sure of that.” His voice was flat—but beneath the words, there was no venom, only a quiet resignation.
David smiled softly and leaned in. “Exactly. Now you’re mine, not because you’re waiting for release, but because there is no release. This is about realizing you never needed it anymore.”
Eric shivered. For the first time, the words didn’t spark panic. They sparked something else—a deep, quiet loyalty that felt heavier than lust.
Two months after the permanent sealing, Eric stood staring at himself in the mirror. The waistband of the Behind Barz belt circled him as though it had grown into his body. It was as much a part of him now as his own skin. He realized he couldn’t picture himself without it anymore—the thought felt jarring, unnatural.
When David came into the room, Eric looked at him through the reflection. “It’s strange. I thought being sealed would destroy me. But I’ve… settled. This feels like me now. Like it’s who I was supposed to be.”
David nodded. “That’s the power of permanence. Once the struggle ends, you can finally embrace what you are.”
Eric turned, letting David’s hand rest gently against the cold steel. For the first time, Eric didn’t flinch.
Instead, he leaned in closer, whispering:
“…I belong to you.”
And unlike the first day, he didn’t say it with resistance. He said it with absolute certainty.
