It’s not the most pleasant topic to discuss, but I’d love to tap into the collective wisdom of this wonderfully diverse group here.
Some context: A few months before turning sixty, my wife of twenty-eight years asked what gift I wanted for such a big milestone. For many years, I had urged her to give chastity and other non-vanilla activities a shot. “Not really her thing,” she would say. But I’d found this site just a couple of months prior to the birthday question. It felt like fate. My wish was simple: be placed in chastity. She had been worried about my work stress, especially since my recent promotion brought more responsibility. I suggested that serving as her chaste husband would help me cope with the pressure and wouldn’t require much effort from her. Surprisingly, she agreed to try it out. She took to it naturally—nothing wild or crazy—but she loved teasing me while I was locked up and really enjoyed watching me strain against the cage.
Since going through menopause twelve years ago, my wife’s libido had dropped significantly; she only wanted one or two orgasms a month. After a couple of weeks of being teased in chastity, her sex drive suddenly exploded. On one lazy Saturday afternoon, within thirty minutes, she reached four separate orgasm peaks, each more intense than the last. Having her become my Key holding Queen was far more enjoyable than either of us expected.
I had also lost sixty pounds over the previous eight months. Caged erections started coming fast and furious under my wife’s touch. Life felt perfect. Then came my annual physical: the doctor noted that my PSA levels had more than doubled in a year. She advised seeing an Urologist right away. I did, and nothing unusual was felt during the prostate exam (though I did enjoy the massage). Note to self: buy a butt plug that massages the prostate while cleaning the house. He recommended a biopsy out of caution.
A week later, the call came. Unfortunately, six of the twelve biopsy samples were positive for prostate cancer. Your Gleason score is 9 out of 10, indicating aggressive and advanced disease requiring immediate treatment. Living in Phoenix means we have access to three excellent cancer centers due to our large retired population, so I sought a second opinion. More scans followed, leading to another “sorry to inform you” conversation—this one worse than the first. It’s stage 4 prostate cancer that has metastasized to at least one lymph node and bone.
We shifted from retirement planning to end-of-life planning. Statistics suggest an eighteen-month to five-year outlook. I feel great, having lost weight and exercising daily. How did this happen? Initial treatment is Antiandrogen therapy with a three-month dose of Lupron injections. For those not Googling it: essentially chemical castration. And the cancer threatening my life is called “Castrate Resistant.” If you’ve read stories about men being drugged, kidnapped, and waking up with breasts and no male genitalia, that’s how I felt three weeks into treatment. One morning I woke up to find my previously non-existent man boobs had become full, firm breasts (I was overweight before). My penis shrank by at least 50% and rarely achieves an erection again. Testicles shrunk about 25%, feeling as firm as avocados that are two weeks past ripe. The neural connection between my brain/nipples and penis disappeared. Pink is now my favorite color.
My Queen just shut down. Her desire for physical intimacy vanished; she abdicated her throne. I waited a couple of months to bring up the topic of putting me back on it. “I’ll think about it” was all she said. She had books and articles on her dresser that she planned to read before my diagnosis but never touched them. Now, four months have passed since we got the bad news. My desire and need for her as Queen again is stronger than ever. We’ve discussed it, but she can’t bring herself to restart.
I apologize for the long story leading up to my request for assistance. For me, the fun of chastity lies in the teasing and restrictions on my cock and balls—the uncertainty of when I might earn a release. The cages I have are no longer enough options. Besides serving my Queen or perhaps cross-dressing, what other creative things can I enjoy alone and with her?
The most important thing to me now is helping my wife become my Queen again. She keeps saying she’s thinking about it and will start reading the books and stories soon. Two months after our first discussion, everything remains exactly where we left it on the dresser.
It may be that I must simply accept my fate; she may never desire to be my Queen again, but I can live with that. When we started dating, I told her she was every man’s fantasy—but one man’s dream come true—and she has proven me right for twenty-eight wonderful years. With luck and science, maybe I have more time. But I’d like to try once more. If she decides it’s a non-starter, then I’ll give this up cold turkey, like an addict.
Thanks for reading. Writing helped, except now I’m crying like a little girl—another side effect of Lupron.