Chapter 10: Master Ricardo

“We want one that she can wear all day, every day”, Jutta said to Master Ricardo.

“Of course. All our chastity belts are custom made.” Ricardo said with clear pride in his voice. We are in Belgium. If rumours are true, he was a true master in his trade. Like Rembrandt was a master painter, or..., I don’t know..., a master chocolatier. We are in Belgium and these people know to make their chocolate. Only the best Instrument makers with years of experience, skill and craftsmanship, with formal training and apprenticeship, can call themselves a master instrument maker. Ricardo could not make a cello, but his peers considered him to be the best in chastity belts. In a way, he was also an instrument maker, with my pussy as his raw material.

“Anyone can make a steel cover around a cock. The simplicity of a male chastity belt mirrors the uncomplicated nature of men. To make a belt for a complicated woman that needs to wear it all day, that’s where you need Ricardo.” I translated his French into German. Jutta did not speak a word of French. Similar to many individuals of Belgian descent, Ricardo was probably capable of comprehending and potentially even speaking Dutch or German. His determined commitment to using only French was annoying.

“Please tell him that I have the utmost faith in his craftsmanship and that I trust him to make a belt for you, a belt that will symbolise your loyalty to me and will keep you faithful.” Jutta instructed.

“It will take a day, so perhaps the mistress wants to go shopping in La Louvière?” Ricardo said. I translated.

“What is the French word for slut?”, my mistress asked me.

“Souillon, mistress.”

“Good. Tell him I will stay with my souillon for the rest of the day.” With cheeks burning with shame, I told him that.

“I did not hear the word souillon, slut.”

“Je resterai avec mon souillon pour le reste de la journée,” I translated this time literally.

Ricardo just nodded. Demeaning language was his trade’s jargon. Payment was required before we could proceed any further. More accurately, I had to pay up front. From my own bank account. Like a washing machine or a car, his goods came with a two-year guarantee. While I prefer not to specify the sum, I can tell you without reservation that the expense was completely unreasonable and shockingly high. We proceeded to his workshop in the back. It reminded me at once of the tattoo parlour where Helga and I got our labia rings. What’s the fascination with these guys that they should have a gynecologist’s examination chair in their workspace? One thing that was really different was that Ricardo had a lot of tools. Three walls filled with all kinds of impressive looking tools. Koen would gladly kill for the amount of tools neatly displayed on the wall. Ricardo turned the heating knob to turn it up a bit.

“Undress, souillon. You can keep the top on.” I took off my skirt and thong. My nipples were burning holes in my tight top. I hope I would not get too wet in front of this very round and overweight guy.

“You can also tell her to take her top off, you know. She’s used to being completely naked.” My mistress said.

“J’ai peur que ça ne fasse que me distraire. En plus, seules les bites bien dures m’excitent.”

“What did he say?”

“It will only district him. Only hard cocks turn him on.” I translated.

“Oh.” For the first time I saw a little blush on my mistress’ cheeks. He measured, with a tape measure that looked very much like one a tailor would use, my bottom at every conceivable height and drew lines on my skin with a pen as if I were a mannequin. He drew circles on my buttock, first left than the other. With a sliding calliper, he mapped my pussy. My pussy lips, the length, the width, the thickness, or lack thereof. The length of my perineum. Ricardo opened a little box, and he presented the contents of it to my mistress. The box was quite lovely; it was made of walnut wood and the inside was lined with a rich red velvet. Normal people would save their string of pearls or some other heirloom jewellery in such a box. Not this guy. Five steel, shiny buttplugs from small to XXL.

“What kind of plug is she used to?” The motherfucker asked.

“This one.” Jutta said with no hesitation, pointing at the biggest one of the lot.

“Would you be so kind to plug it in for me? Several tubes of lube are behind you.” Only those that are familiar with a buttplug - and praise your guardian angel if you lack that particular experience - know that the pleasure of wearing a plug comes some time after you have inserted it. It also takes considerable strength from the invader to get it past the sphincter muscle. Especially if it’s as strong as mine. So Jutta took her time loosening me up and get that monster in. Ricardo stood by, keeping his nose near my buttocks, showing his determination not to miss a single thing. At the broadest point, the point when you are in pain and waiting for the relief that monster dick is sliding into place at that point, Ricardo yelled, “Stop!”

Like the obedient slave Jutta also was, she stopped at once. I felt his bloody calliper against my butt, measuring how wide my ass could stretch. It felt like 10 centimetres. Finally mistress gave it the last little push the monster needed to slide into my second fuckhole. Sweat was on my forehead.

“You are sure you want this made of calfskin leather, instead of steel?” Ricardo asked Jutta.

“Tell him I am sure. Black leather.” Jutta confirmed. With a few adjustments to the gynaecologist chair, Ricardo changed it into a kind of examination table. He removed the part from the table where my butt would rest, so it was a kind of hanging in the air. To make sure I wouldn’t move, he strapped me to the bench tightly. This is what it must feel like to be strapped to a bed in a psychiatric hospital. Big wide straps over you, and zero centimetre of freedom of movement. I kind of freaked out when he got on one of those moving boards that my garage mechanic uses to look under my car to have a good look at my butt. I felt his pudgy fingers all over my butt, rubbing the cleft between my buttocks.

Jutta sat in the only, more or less comfortable, chair. I was lying there as if I was a piece of meat in the slaughterhouse. Not being able to move. Ricardo was humming a tune above my pussy now, completely absorbed by the task at hand. I felt leather against my skin. It felt good. No. It felt preposterous good. In an effort to pass the time and stave off boredom, Jutta occupied herself by perusing a magazine. She quoted out loud funny parts from Vanity Fair. Lying there, the smell of leather and oily tools filled my nostrils, and I lost all sense of time.

“I am hungry. Let us skip an hour for lunch, shall we?” Ricardo said suddenly. I translated.

“Good idea.” Jutta agreed. I was freed from my bonds and dressed again. I relished the feeling of the thong against my pussy. The soft silk felt wonderful against my skin, and a thought crossed my mind that this might be the last time, for I don’t know how long, that I would be so fortunate to enjoy this luxurious sensation.

We found a little but nice restaurant about ten minutes from master Ricardo’s shop. After we ordered, Jutta touched my hand.

“Perhaps you would have felt better had Koen joined you instead of me?”

“No, mistress.”

“Why not? It is still possible to have some alone time with him; don’t forget that.”

Conveniently, lunch was served. It was important that I delivered my message with precision and honesty. “Locking my pussy, mistress for a month, a year or forever, is a good thing mistress. I am a souillon. You would think, given my many years with Koen, that he knows me intimately, but in the short time I have known you, my beautiful mistress, you’ve somehow managed to see through me with remarkable clarity. Perhaps it would be painful for Koen to realise he should have locked me up years ago. I wanted to shield him from that pain.”