My First Chastity Store Visit
I had no idea where Mistress was taking me when she told me to get in the car. Her tone was clipped, and I knew better than to ask questions. The drive felt longer than it was, every mile tightening the knot in my stomach.
When we arrived, I realized it wasn’t an ordinary shop—it was discreet, its windows dark, the name on the sign simple but foreboding. Inside, the air smelled faintly of leather and cold metal. A few young women stood behind the counter, their dark lipstick and smudged eyeliner giving them an unmistakably gothic edge. Their laughter hushed when we entered, replaced by sly grins.
Mistress leaned in close to one of them, whispering with a conspiratorial smile, while her hand rested firmly at the back of my neck. I couldn’t hear what she said, but I could see the girl’s eyes dart toward me, her grin widening as she nodded. My ears burned. I knew I was the subject of their amusement.
The goth clerk led me toward a narrow dressing area. Instead of proper rooms, there were flimsy curtains that barely hid anything. She tugged it closed, but left a gap wide enough to remind me I wasn’t really hidden. With an expectant look, she gestured for me to undress. My throat was dry, but I obeyed.
When she returned, she wasn’t alone—another clerk followed her in, and both of them carried a small notebook and a tape measure. They didn’t ask permission, and Mistress wasn’t there to protect me even if I wanted her to. They spoke in hushed tones, their voices dripping with mockery as they worked, writing down numbers and giggling. Every laugh pierced through me, reminding me how little control I had.
“Tiny,” one of them murmured, loud enough for me to hear. They exchanged looks that made my face burn with shame. The curtain fluttered open slightly, as if they wanted anyone passing by to catch a glimpse. My humiliation wasn’t private—it was a performance.
One by one, they returned with various cages, some gleaming steel, others inverted shapes that felt alien in my hands. They locked each onto me, stepping back to admire their work, tilting their heads like artists judging a half-finished painting.
“This one makes you look more like a girl,” one said with a smirk.
“Or less like anything at all,” added the other.
Mistress returned then, her arms folded, watching me squirm as the clerks teased. She didn’t intervene. She only smiled with satisfaction, as though my shame was exactly what she had planned for me all along.
In that moment, I understood: this wasn’t just shopping. This was training. And the store, the girls, the cages—they were all tools in her hands to shape me into what she wanted.
The Second Stage of My Training
I thought the worst was over once the cages had been fitted. But Mistress wasn’t done with me—not even close.
The two goth clerks, clearly emboldened by Mistress’s approving smile, began circling me like predators who had found easy prey. The curtain was drawn open now, no pretense of privacy, and the shop floor stretched out in full view. I felt exposed, trembling, the thin metal of the cage weighing far more than it should.
“Don’t hide,” Mistress said sharply when I instinctively tried to cover myself. “Stand up straight. Let them see.”
Her command rooted me in place. The clerks exchanged grins before one tugged at my arm. “Come on,” she said in a singsong voice, leading me out into the open. The shop wasn’t crowded, but there were a few other women browsing—each of them raising an eyebrow as I stumbled forward, blushing furiously, the faint clink of metal betraying my situation.
They paraded me past glass cases lined with cages, collars, and straps. One clerk held up an especially delicate device—so small it looked more decorative than functional. “This one would be perfect,” she teased. “He doesn’t need more room than this, does he?” The laughter that followed made me shrink inside myself, but Mistress’s gaze was unwavering.
The other clerk decided to “test” how well I handled humiliation. She instructed me to stand on a small platform near the counter as if I were a mannequin. I obeyed, trembling, as she narrated loudly to the room about my “training.” Every word made my body heat up with embarrassment, yet the thrill of being under Mistress’s complete control kept me frozen in place.
When I dared to glance toward Mistress, I saw her nodding in satisfaction, lips curled in a smile that was equal parts pride and cruelty. She was enjoying every second of my downfall.
Finally, Mistress stepped forward. She whispered something to the clerks I couldn’t hear, and their faces lit up with wicked delight. One of them pulled out her phone and asked sweetly, “Mind if we keep a little souvenir?”
Mistress didn’t answer immediately. She let the silence hang heavy, forcing me to feel the anticipation, the dread, the surrender. Then she simply said:
“Go ahead.”
The flash of the phone lit up my shame as the girls posed me in different cages, laughing at each awkward angle. My humiliation was complete, but so was Mistress’s lesson. She had shown me that I belonged entirely to her—not just in private, but wherever she decided.
And deep inside, I knew this was only the beginning.
The Rules Begin
The drive home was silent except for the faint rattle of the cage beneath my clothes. Mistress didn’t speak, and that silence was worse than any scolding. Every stoplight, every glance from another driver, made me hyperaware that I was locked, controlled, and utterly helpless.
When we arrived, she led me inside without a word. Only when the door shut did she finally turn to me, her eyes sharp and calculating.
“Strip,” she said simply.
I obeyed, trembling as I peeled away each layer until I was naked again, the small gleam of the cage betraying my new condition. Mistress circled me like she owned me—because she did.
“You humiliated yourself well today,” she said, her voice cool and commanding. “But that was just the beginning. From now on, you live by my rules.”
She produced a small notebook, the same one the clerk had scribbled measurements into. She had clearly taken it from them on her way out, and now it was mine—my “training book.” She began writing down rules as she spoke, each word sinking into me like a brand.
- The cage stays on unless Mistress removes it.
- You will kneel when spoken to about your training.
- Every morning, you will present yourself for inspection.
- Any complaint or attempt to touch yourself will result in punishment.
Her tone left no room for doubt—these weren’t suggestions, they were laws.
Once the rules were written, she had me kneel before her. She tilted my chin up, her smile soft but merciless. “You’ll thank me one day,” she whispered, “for making you into exactly what you’re meant to be.”
The memory of the goth clerks, their laughter, their phones snapping pictures, flooded back. My humiliation was complete… but so was my surrender. Mistress had broken something in me today, only to reshape it into obedience.
As I knelt there, caged and vulnerable, I understood that the store was not just an outing—it was the doorway to a new life. And Mistress had only just stepped me through it.