Seinfeld

You find yourself lying face-down in an apartment, naked, your genitals feeling particularly cold. You raise your head to see a woman kneeling in front of you, dressed in tight leather, like she’s just stepped off a ‘90s Rolling Stone cover.

“I’m Mistress Elaine,” she tells you, “and you’re my new pet project... You’re my new pet... You’re mine.”

She smiles, her finger stroking her necklace. You see a key hanging there, and then look down at your crotch, see the chastity device encasing your genitals.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m in charge now. That’s why you’ll get to call me Mistress Elaine. I’m mistress of your domain. You’re in that device for at least a week, although don’t worry, I’ll entertain you in the meantime. I can be such a tease.”

You start complaining, begging her to let you out, but she cuts you off.

“Yada, yada, yada. It’s no big deal. It’s nothing, literally, and you’ll have to get used to nothing. You really should be thanking me, but instead you complain, making a show about nothing.”

She stands up, and starts undoing her studded belt. “You deserve to be punished for all that noise you’re making, and every time you make another sound I’ll add another week to your chastity sentence.”

She pulls off her belt, and stretches it, studs on the outside.

“Now, hush, hush, don’t make a sound,” she says, as she climbs on top of you, wielding the belt in her hand. “There’s a reason I call this my chastity belt.”

She brings the belt hard down on your flesh.