There’s an Ancient Greek story about how the hunter Actaeon spied on the bath of the Goddess Artemis, the virgin huntress. She turned him into a stag and his own dogs ate him.
Moral of the story: Don’t spy on naked virgin goddesses.
But there’s something more than that. For all the mysogyny of the Greeks, this story relfects some of the awe and primal fear that some men feel in the presence of naked women, let alone sexually engaging ones.
Maybe it’s an echo of adolescence. There the gap between here and there - where “there” is in bed with a naked woman - seemed insurmountable. Maybe some of us fetished that and ended up chaste?
Male chastity replicates Artemis and Actaeon, except instead of growing horns, the caged male is trapped in horniness. His dogs don’t eat him, but his frustration gnaws away at him. Once you’re locked in chastity, the “crime” of looking becomes self punishing.
The hellish thing is that it feels right.
And do it long enough, and there’s an almost religious urge to avert your eyes. I remember one time when Xena was masturbating, she had — to her amusement — to actually order me to watch her.
People talk about putting the magic back into their relationship. For some of us, male chastity can do just that, but it’s a very dark magic.
So here, in Fall in Chastity, courtesy of the Artemis Corporation, David is about to experience his own Actaeon moment. Unlike the unfortunate hunter, though, David gets to do more than just look. I’m not sure he’d agree that that’s an improvement though…
Fall in Chastity — Chapter 5
"Oh My God! You did paint me."
David turned from contemplating his completed landscape while he cleaned the paint off his hands with baby wipes.
The black-haired woman had obviously come back along the path that ran down the middle of headland from Seal Point and through the trees skirting the bay. Now she was stomping closer against the wind, a vision of knitted earth tones with her long plaid skirt plastered to the curves of her legs. Unlike earlier, her big hair was under control so that it merely bloomed around her head. Her eyes were as large as they had seemed when she yelled at him from the beach, but close to, they were also unbelievably dark. Her make up was smudged as if she'd been crying.
Suddenly he was very aware of his collar. Somehow it made him feel like a sticky fingered boy caught with his hands down his trousers. "Look," he said. "I'm really sorry. I was pretty much rage painting and but then you were the perfect composition and I haven't finished anything in months and you can have it if you---."
Her eyes widened. "Oh."
She was staring past him at the painting.
When she'd settled on Seal Point, wild hair blowing in the breeze, he'd given up on the bay with her blundering all over the sand. Instead, he'd turned over the canvas board and tried to capture her in her solitude, seals in the background, dark waters beckoning. The work had... flowed like it had not for nearly a year.
"Oh," she repeated. "Can I post a picture to my feed?"
The anger had gone. Now she just seemed transfixed. Did she look like that when she had an orgasm?
David's legs quivered. He needed to away from her. This was not good. Dreaming of RedRunner was bad enough.
The girl --- woman, she had to be thirty --- brandished her phone. "May I? What's your name?"
David shrugged. "I'm David Morgan."
"As in Dunmorgan?" She didn't seem to know who he was, but she tapped away and there was a ping.
"The place was originally Dun Morrigan, after the scary Celtic Goddess."
"Scary Celtic Goddess?" She laughed. "Sounds like Shona --- my friend. She held out a hand. "I'm Heather." She made it sound as if she it should be The Heather.
David shook her hand without taking the bait. Her pale fingers were marble cold. A tendril of desire coiled into his groin. "Can I offer you a cocoa?"
Heather's generous lips curved into a grin that promised a secret wickedness. "I'm not supposed to but..."
Her phone pinged. Then pinged again. And again.
She stared down at it, ignoring David.
"Is it supposed to do that?" he said, more sharply than he intended.
Heather looked up. "They're likes. They are all likes." Her eyes flashed bright. Their gazes locked. She grabbed his collar and kissed him and she was suddenly so very familiar with strands of hair escaping from her black tresses, panda eyes from smudged make-up that hid pores and blemishes and it was as if they'd always been lovers as if he'd spent his years in this place, not alone, but in her company...
She pulled back. "Oh my god! I've no idea what came over me. I'm so sorry..."
David got his arms around her sweater-wrapped waist, crushed her thighs to the caged knot of his groin, her breasts to his chest. He pressed into her soft lips. Their tongues met and slithered together amongst their teeth, like seals amongst undersea rocks.
The phone chirruped merrily. Heather mewled into his mouth. She ran her fingers through his hair.
His penis strained against its bars, prickled, then went beyond pain and became a throbbing vortex of hopeless desire that he could never, ever escape.
He twisted away. "Jesus! No!"
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