The chastity belt

Despite the doctor’s advice, you decide to go with the chastity belt. You can’t afford the tax penalty, but the other options sound too **** for you.

When the nurse brings it into the room, you almost back out right then. No wonder why most women change their minds. You’d been picturing the sleek metal and silicone belts you see online. Instead, the government issue belt is made of some kind-of fancy fiberglass and nanotech blend that the nurse cheerfully informs you is resistant to all forms of tampering and cannot be removed without the correct passcodes.

Following her directions, you strip out of your pants and underwear. You burn red in embarrassment as she shaves your pussy and applies a depilatory cream. She waits until she is rinsing you off to inform you that, thanks to the cream, you will never be growing pubic hair again.

You're patted dry and too soon the nurse is expertly guiding you into the belt. It’s thick and bulky and you realize in horror there is no way to hide it under your clothing. Everyone is going to know. Worse, the white coloring makes it resemble a plastic diaper more than a chastity belt. What are people going to think?

Caught up in your dread over the belt, you don’t realize that the nurse isn’t done until the first set of bands have been locked around your thighs and she is working a second set onto your legs just above your knees.

“What are those for?” you question her.

“The government has found some women are so flexible they can spread their legs wide enough to get underneath the belt. Since then, leg bands and bars to keep your legs together are a mandatory part of the chastity belt,” she explains, not pausing her work.

“I guess that makes sense—“ you catch sight of the bars as the nurse begins attaching the first one. “How the hell am I suppose to walk with those?!”

The nurse giggles, “They rotate where they attach at your legs. Most women figure out how to walk pretty quickly. You will have to swing your hips a lot more, and I’m told stairs are a bitch but you’ll figure it out. The clinic has even started providing a free skirt to women who come wearing pants. You won’t be able to wear them anymore.”

She clicks the last lock into place and hands you a bundle of fabric. It turns out to be a seafoam green mini-skirt. It doesn’t match your peach-colored top at all and it is barely long enough to cover your new belt, but you don’t have another option. Unable to raise your legs, you are **** to bend over and awkwardly pull the ugly garment into place, self-consciously tugging down the hem.

As you expected, the bulk makes it quite obvious that you are wearing a something underneath it, but you can’t help but try to keep it hidden as much as you can. The walk back through the busy lobby and crowded streets to your apartment is longer than ever.