Self Chastity Stories Novels & Stories

Not ever, she repeated to herself. For as long as she remembered, she has guarded her chastity carefully. It's not that she was keeping it for marriage or following the latest celebrity trend, like the purity rings that the Jonas brothers once used to wear. It's just that she's never felt the need to jump into bed with the next man who expressed sexual interest in her. And being best friends with the world's greatest man-whore, the lurid tales of his various sex-capades have made it a turn-off for her to go down a similar road as he did.

And I wanted to be punished: Perhaps that, more than anything else. I began reading erotic BDSM stories. For a while this seemed to be enough. It allowed me to escape my life, if only for short periods of time. Erotic BDSM stories were challenging to find in my small town and soon found myself searching sites on the internet. This opened up a whole new world: Before I knew it, I was placing ads on personals sites, trying to make my dream a reality. Initially the responses were just crude. Even the ones I decided to contact, seemed a little beyond what I was looking for: Cruel men, perhaps dangerous too. Finally I received a response from Tony.

The abandoned chapel reeked of mildew, old incense, and forgotten sanctity. It was a full moon and the night could be an evidence to that, painting fractured crucifixes and crumbling saints in sickly silver. Elara, 23-year-old repressed theology student, knelt in the center of the desecrated altar, her white nightgown already damp with nervous sweat. Her long auburn hair cascaded down her back, framing a heart-shaped face with wide hazel eyes and full, trembling lips. Beneath the thin fabric, her full breasts rose and fell rapidly, pink nipples stiff from the cold night air and forbidden excitement.

, those were her exact words. Meanwhile, I sat with my legs outstretched, my robe pulled up, and my dick out. I rubbed my pre-cum over the head, but it wasn’t enough lubrication. Without a second thought, I grabbed the jar of holy oil I had carried with me to bless, uncorked it with one hand, and poured it directly over myself. My eyes rolled to the back of my head. Candy didn’t stop talking. I came hard into my hands right as she described how fast she was going to ride me. My breathing was ragged, my head completely disoriented, when I finally asked, “Are you done confessing your sins for the week, Candy?”

I crossed my ankles, pressed my thighs together under the hem of my dress, and tried to pretend like it hadn’t happened. Being celibate—by force, definitely not a choice—was really screwing with my brain. We fell into our rhythm immediately. Zach launched into his spot-on impression of Dr. Hargrove, our ancient Economics professor, and I snorted so hard whiskey nearly came out my nose. It was easy, comfortable and safe. And God, I was so tired of safe. At thirty-one, after blowing out those ridiculous number candles on my last birthday while they sang off-key and sandwiched me in a double hug, I’d finally admitted the truth to myself: safe wasn’t enough for me anymore.

“Relax, Ciara. Just obey me and be free. You’re going to like it. I promise.” My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my clit. Blackmail. Guilt. Arousal. They twisted together until I couldn’t tell which was which. “Teach me,” he said softly. “Show me everything you’ve been doing with him.” So I did. I knelt on the cold stone floor exactly like I had for Father Chris. My hands shook as I opened the repentance book to the next chapter. My voice trembled as I started reading: “I renounce the sin of lust… I reject every impure touch that pulls me from grace…”

My gasped echoed in the car. “That’s for walking away from me tonight,” He said, whipping the belt across my ass again. “And this,” Another strike, harder this time. “...is for letting another man look at what is mine.” Tears pricked my eyes, but my body betrayed me. My wetness grew, slipping down to my thighs. “You’ll love this cock,” He growled, sliding his cock against my wet entrance. “Tell me you love being used like a dirty slut.” Shame filled me, but I parted my lips. “I love being used like a dirty slut.”

The affair had been fleeting, a moment of passion that had ignited a fire within her. It had been wrong, dangerous, and utterly unforgettable. She closed her eyes, her fingers still tracing the surface of her desk, and whispered, "Worth it," the words a testament to the thrill of the forbidden and the enduring power of that one night. The memory of his touch, the warmth of his breath on her neck, and the intensity of their secret remained forever etched in her heart. …. Chloe closed the diary halfway, her fingers trembling slightly. Three stories in, three women, three voices, and each one so vivid it felt like she had lived them herself. She swallowed hard, staring at the ink that carried a

three times in two weeks. Rachel, twenty-eight, who'd brought her husband for "erectile dysfunction therapy" and now came alone twice a week. Elena, twenty-five, whose boyfriend couldn't make her squirt....but Dr. Stone could, and now she was addicted to the sensation. They all knew why they were there. All knew what happened behind that closed office door. All knew they couldn't stop coming back. One by one, they were called in. One by one, they were thoroughly fucked.

Always telling me not to disgrace her and my father. But as I grew older, it got harder to live by. I cried, fasted and begged God to take the spirit of lust away but it didn't work. Sometimes I knelt on the floor praying until they bled, fasted till my stomach hurt. It only got worse. Every night when I tried to sleep it came with full force and I was too weak to resist. I knew it was a sin to touch yourself, I've heard it multiple times at church and from my parents.