Full Chastity Belt Male Novels & Stories

When I'm having a meal with my family at home, I find out that my childhood sweetheart, Melanie Johnson, has given up on an opportunity to get promoted and transferred to the military base in the north for the sake of my cousin, Wilson Chandler. "Wilson's competence is only good enough for him to study at a local college in town. It so happens that Mrs. Holland is in poor health as well. I've already applied for a local college for you. We shall stay in this town together." My mom adds, "That's right. I did promise your uncle that I'll take good care of Wilson, so you need to help me take care of him too. You should just give up on Valmore College—it's useless for you anyway. When you marry Melanie in the future, you'll have to follow her to whichever military district she's going to." Before I can even speak up, Wilson's eyes redden instantly, making him look very aggrieved. "This is my fault for being a total loser. My parents aren't here anymore, not to mention I'm the reason why Charlie can't attend his dream college. Why don't you all just leave and do whatever you want? I'm fine being alone." The moment Wilson starts playing the pity card, both my mom and Melanie panic instantly and start doing their best to comfort him. Meanwhile, I return to my room quietly and withdrew the application that Melanie helped me submit. Luckily, I manage to apply to Valmore College one second before the submission deadline ends. Honestly speaking, I intend to study at Valmore College not just because I can be closer to Melanie in terms of distance, but I also want to watch the snow with her there. I want us to walk together in the snow till our heads turn white from the flakes, signifying the longevity in our relationship. But now, the person standing next to me as I watch the snowfall doesn't matter to me anymore. It's just that I need to watch the snowfall no matter what.

In the first year after marrying Victoria Kingsley, I choose to celebrate the holidays with her in her childhood home. At dinner, my mother-in-law suddenly claims that she's lost her gold bracelet. That's when Victoria's childhood friend, Jonathan Zane, points at me. "You must be the one who stole the bracelet! After all, you've been a serial pickpocket since you were young!" Everyone turns to stare at me, their gazes unkind. I thought Jonathan must have mistaken me for another person, so I tell everyone that I never stole the bracelet. But Jonathan continues confidently, "You were punished for stealing from others in high school all the time! Not to mention, I saw you at the police station last month! There's no way I'd have gotten the wrong guy!" Then, Jonathan lays down the details including the time, location, as well as the clothes I was wearing that day. All I feel is mixed feelings at the moment. The thing is, I was at the police station because I needed to obtain some evidence. After all, I'd already joined the judiciary a long time ago. Last month, I was even promoted to the presiding district court judge.

"Hubby, kiss me. I miss you so much. When are you coming home?" Out of nowhere, I received a text. The sender was the cold, untouchable CEO who was currently scolding us in a meeting, Veronica Starling. What shocked me even more was the timestamp on the message. It was sent five years in the future.

When news of my arranged fiancee's death arrived, I didn't cry or make a scene. Instead, I quickly reclaimed her shares and had the death certificate issued. I did it because I've been reborn. In my past life, Dad was worried that women would eye my fortune as the heir to the wealthiest family. So, he arranged for me to marry one of three women he personally picked. I chose the most outstanding one, Monica Harris, and married her. However, just three days after our wedding, she died suddenly. Heartbroken, I was persuaded by the remaining two women to give up on marriage and remain single for life. At 80 years old, when I returned to our special place in Sunmere Valley to reminisce, I saw Monica. She should have been dead for 60 years! She stood beside Liam Rogers, my driver who'd gone missing decades ago, surrounded by their children and grandchildren, living a picture-perfect life. I realized I'd been deceived my entire life. The shock sent my blood pressure soaring, and I died of a stroke on the spot. When I opened my eyes again, I was transported back to the day I died. This time, I'm going to find out exactly how someone who's supposedly dead keeps on living.

Here's a piece of advice—do not catch the eye of those pretty salesgirls who sell supplements. You have no idea the things they'll do to close a deal. I become a yummy slice of cake in their eyes; they all want a bite of me. I'm faced with the seduction and allure of countless beauties, but it doesn't make me happy at all.

I got a security job in an upscale neighborhood.  One day, I got a call from a resident.  “I think there’s been a break-in.”  I rushed to the scene. Instead of an intruder, I was greeted by a beautiful woman in barely anything.  She held me and pleaded, “I’m scared. Can you stay with me?”

From the time I could count coins, my parents hammered one lesson home—if a boy did not start saving young, he would never have enough to win himself a wife. They opened a bank account in my name, vowing that money would only ever flow in, never out. And so, every birthday bill and crumpled allowance found a home in that card. I kept funneling every hard-earned paycheck into that same old account even after I moved to the city to chase my own future. At that point, that habit was done more out of reflex than reason. However, I was blindsided by acute kidney failure after years of working myself to the bone. Suddenly, that money was not just savings—it was my lifeline. My dad's voice trembled on the phone. He claimed he had forgotten the password and urged me to just take out an online loan for now. I hauled myself to the bank, my feet still shaky from my dialysis treatment. I clutched my ID, determined to file a loss report and reset the password myself. The teller's words froze me in place. "Sir, this account was emptied six months ago." Panic surged through me. I demanded a full printout of every transaction. The statement of the most recent transfer glared up at me from the paper, stating, "Wedding fund for our precious daughter, Natalia Callahan, plus the down payment for her luxury car."

It was the holiday season and I was on my way home when the traffic on the highway came to a standstill. Suddenly, a Maybach came speeding down the emergency lane and slammed right into my car. The driver jumped out and started yelling, jabbing his finger in my face. “Are you blind?! Don’t you know cars turning should yield to those going straight?” I frowned. “My car broke down and this is where I’m supposed to be. You’re the one who broke the traffic laws, yet you’re blaming me for this?” “Traffic laws?” he scoffed, full of arrogance. “I’m the law in Jacksboro City. That Volkswagen piece of junk you’re driving is not even worth one of my Maybach’s tires!” Then he pulled out a baseball bat and smashed it down on my car. He even threatened to break my legs and demanded compensation. I sneered. “Sure, this may be a Volkswagen… but why don’t you take a closer look at the special clearance permit on the windshield?”

During a surgical procedure to remove the skin tag from my private part, I accidentally exposed my "manhood." Since then, I've noticed quite a few young nurses sneaking glances my way. Still, none have been as daring as her, showing up at my door in the dead of night.

I'm a special kind of courier. Instead of packages, I transport beautiful women. I drop them off at designated locations and pick them up afterward. Each round trip earns me a thousand dollars. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that my crush would climb into my car one day. What's more, she'd brought my sister along, saying they wanted to make some quick money together.