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A CHANGE OF HEART
THE DAY AFTER: JUNE 10, 1997; TUESDAY
She turned in her bed and burrowed among the pillows ... the sun was peeping in through the window and that was her alarm clock this season. But a few moments wouldn't matter and so she squirmed and cuddled against the satiny pillow.
It had been a nice party yesterday. They'd talked about Sartre and CAD programs and sex and war and got a little high. It was a wonderful thing to have good friends. Not really friends actually, but colleagues and acquaintances. And then that ice cream was a great way to finish off. No calories. None. Not one! At least that is what the label said, though Andrew Pickering claimed that it was just dishonest advertising.
Slight headache though. Never had one normally, although she remembered waking up with a migraine several times in the last few weeks. Must have drunk more than usual ... or maybe the ice cream ... ummm. She dozed off till the sun climbed a few inches and shone again on her face.
Wriggled away from it again, but a sense of duty, never far below her hedonic surface, made her turn around and lay back. Definitely a hangover. She squinted painfully at the light and moaned, then pulled the pillow over her eyes and rubbed against its soft surface.
"Mmmm!!" Wriggled to get the bed cover from uncomfortable parts of her body. Wriggled some more. Dug a hand and pulled the sheet free. What?
There was something knobby under her back. Not her sheet. That was to the side. Come to think of it, something poked her in the buttocks and small of the back too. And something - a pillow - was pushed against her breasts. Felt good actually.
"Mmmmff!?" she said. After which she decided to reluctantly explore her discomfort. Careful not to disturb the delightful equilibrium atop her chest - one light pillow, that! - she carefully burrowed a hand under her shoulder blade and stopped.
No wonder she had a hangover. She must have drunk a heck of a lot more than she remembered. That bothered her no end. She was not prone to uncontrolled behaviour, and not remembering!
There was a smooth band under her shoulder blade. A bra! She had not even undressed properly. Umm. And where was her nightie? She explored more briskly, now that the pillow had been shown to be a bra. What??!
Claire sat up bolt upright and then collapsed in a pathetic moan. The world came apart in bright, jagged glass fragments that howled atonally and pricked her all over.
“Some hangover!” thought she, then sat up, very carefully. "That's better." Then she remembered why she’d sat up, and gasped. Carefully, very carefully, very, very reluctantly, hoping not to see what she felt, she looked down.
Something black. Leather? A leather bra? But it had felt ... Reached a hand and stroked the black. No, not leather! Some kind of metal. Matte finish. Very expensive looking, she thought absently. The band was also metal. So were the rings.
The rings! Around her nipples. She felt them. Pressing gently against the ring about her left nipple - felt very good. It was very flat and very smooth and silky, but undeniably made of metal.
Claire's breasts were very sensitive and she often masturbated to orgasm by just touching them, and these rings seemed to amplify all of their sensation capabilities. She lost herself in pleasure while pressing and stroking the rings and the nipple flesh imprisoned by them, then squeezed her breasts. Amazingly that was possible, but did not make sense. If she could move them, then could she take the bra thing off?
“Dosen’t matter.” she thought fuzzily. “Ohhhh ...”
She collapsed back onto the bed and continued to stroke and pleasure herself until she climaxed.
Panting, she continued to another climax, then another. It had never been this intense. Her clitoris felt on fire ... a glorious heat! Slowly, she came back to earth and the question that had occurred to her before. She pushed against the wires(?) that held the rings in place and they moved easily, but at the base of each of her breasts was a solid ribbon of metal that encircled them and then went about her back. She could not see any flange or joint. Curious! How could it have gone on?
Decisively ignoring her headache, Claire got out of bed and went to her study, then got out the magnifying glass she used to read the ridiculous print of her old engineering handbooks. Thank god they were digitizing them now. You needed to be Superman with X-ray vision to read the specs on the chips in those books! Ah, there. Adjusted the magnifier and looked. So! A matte surface, yes. And made of incredibly tiny and well fit together links. Beautiful! Some part of her mind was quite complimented that whoever had put this on her hadn't gone for a cheap item. This had put someone back a pretty penny! She continued to study her metal bra, slowly becoming aware of something very wrong - well, even more wrong. Wiggled her butt. A very nice butt it was, too. Who could have put this on her, she wondered? Someone who knew her measurements. Someone who could get into her apartment. Well, actually that was probably no big deal for a halfway clever person. She could have done it herself. Just pretend to be a busybody and people gave you anything! Someone with a lot of nerve ... and a good deal of class. She stroked the beautiful construct that caged her breast’s, then all the things at the back of her mind clicked together.
"What the fuck!!" she cried.
Looking beyond the fascinating bra she could see panties. Metal panties! Panties, hell! A chastity belt was what it was! But how the hell could she not have noticed it? I mean, something that tightly encircled her butt and ... and actually going between her legs and ... what the hell was it doing there?
Half an hour later found Claire stirring stiffly, fully awakened from her daze. She shivered convulsively and sniffled a little, then padded into her bedroom and got to dressing gown. The speaker alarm which had been set for a half an hour after her normal waking time just as a precaution, was mumbling about traffic.
"Fuck! I'm late! Oh, damn!" She rushed into the bath and turned on the hot shower then adjusted the nozzle for a needle spray. "Oooh!"
She soaped herself rapidly and somehow managed to ignore the peculiar things her scrubbing hand was discovering. Yes it went between her legs. 'It' was two chains or bands and sat like a cork in her labia! And ... and an anal ring! As if she were an animal! She could not feel any joints. No breaks. It was all smooth, matte finish, and felt oppressively permanent. The coffee maker whistled its summons.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" mumbled our heroine, as she stumbled out of the shower and ran to the cabinet and threw on a few clothes. No time to think. She had to get to work. Bill wanted those project assessments by nine. "Oh, damn!" she cried in tears as she cracked a beautifully manicured nail.
Her normal bra felt strange on top of the metal one beneath, and the panties were totally impractical! But she threw them on anyway and then her outer clothes. She worn those slacks last week ... no those were too pink ... no not those! Oh damn, damn, why couldn't she think? Grabbed the first clothes and got into them. She looked like a hag. Shadows around her eyes. Went to the kitchen and grabbed a cup of coffee and gulped it down. No time for breakfast! She poured herself a cup of orange juice and drank it down somehow. It froze her throat. She hated ice cold juice. Everything was wrong today.
The elevator took eternity to come and then there were dozens of noisy people wanting to get off on every floor. "Come on!" she screamed silently. "I need to get to the office!" She pressed her legs together nervously and abruptly released them - that reminded her of her other problems ... those she did not want to deal with now. Who knew, maybe this was all a dream? Yes, it is a dream. In a dream she would quite like this to happen she thought. She relaxed and watched the silly people get on and off. The problem with living on the twenty-eighth floor of anything is that there are twenty eight floors of people wanting to do perverse things she thought.
At last the basement. The car, a sleek BMW. Her symbol of yuppie-dom achieved. She giggled remembering the day she'd showed off her car to her mother. Mom was totally scandalized and, having come to the US from England and had been poor, to her it was a total waste. How could you explain that money wasn't to be made for its own sake but for using? Sadly, she thought about the stroke that took her parent away a year ago. Not too much grief, she hadn't really been close to her mother. It was her father who had been close. Who had pushed her into being an engineer.
"Make the best use of your mind you can!" he'd kept saying.
Although she fondly remembered his bemusement at how lovely she had turned out. “It had caused problems.” she thought. Her mother had been a rather plain looking woman, and not too affectionate, and when this glorious, intelligent, lovely child of his grew up, he simply didn't know how to handle it. Hopefully an enjoyable bemusement, she wished. She still thought the accident should not have happened when the dynamite had blown up, even though the stuff was supposed to be inactive. A good way to go though, not lingering on like Adam’s father. That man was totally senile, and yet still lived on and on. If she weren't thoroughly turned off by Adam's other flaws, she may have even felt sorry for him.
The traffic was manageable, thank God for little mercies. Only ten minutes late, she flew into her office and acknowledged a frantic semaphore from Penny.
“I'm coming!” she thought, “Don't rush me, I've got enough problems already!”
Grabbed her dossier and went on into bill's office. Looking into a mirror in her office along the way. Looking like a hag ...
Bill Manning ... A heavyset, middle-aged man with lowering eyebrows. Scared the hell out of his subordinates, without any real cause. He was actually known to be a fair boss, but his staccato inquisitions always left Claire wrung out and it was no different today. He wanted to know if the projects were doable ... if they could be done if there was a labour strike ... if the parts needed had alternate suppliers ... if the market could take the product, if, if, if ... Claire’s head was throbbing by the time she got out of his office, loaded with work.
"And get back to me tomorrow on this! It needs quick action if we're going to turn a profit on it. Hitachi is reputed to be producing a chip that will make the whole thing obsolete!"
Gulp down an aspirin. She laid her head on her hands and counted sheep. The project needed her attention. And in the afternoon, she had to attend that workshop about changing business conditions in Mexico. Who cared about Mexico anyway? So they passed a law liberalizing their trade policy. They've been doing that for ages and nothing ever really changed. But, she had to attend or Kelly Lyndon would put one more black mark against her record. Why ‘supervisor’ she wanted to know. And why today??
Sighing, Claire got down to work. Projects didn't get done by moping over them. Got to stop thinking about private matters. Didn't do any good ... she burst into tears and quietly sobbed for a while, then dried her tears and went back to work. Lunch was a hurried affair spent talking about an assembly line problem. Fabrication was in a panic. Fabrication was always in a panic.
"You look real nice today, Claire." A voice by her side.
Turned and saw Anna. Anna was a secretary in another office ... all the secretaries always considered the female engineers as peers while the men were both looked up to and treated as incompetent boys. In some ways it was enjoyable, as that level was a lot more sociable, but usually it was a pain in the neck. You needed proper distance to function ... and you didn't get that by having Anna comment on her clothes and nail polish!
"Oh, hi!" she said grumpily, then wondered how Anna could say what she did. She could see the circles under her eyes.
"That’s a nice shirt you have on" Anna continued.
Claire wildly wondered how to end the conversation, then suddenly paid attention.
"Shows off your shape much better than your normal stuff".
Oho! What the hell was she wearing anyway? It was the cream, no it was the beige shirt with double row of buttons ... she thought it was actually a little loose. It must be the damned, fucking wire bra pushing her boobs out so everyone could see them. She glowered at the blameless news-terminal as it burped out further panic news about the chip-set that had too much cadmium in it. Why was that a problem wondered an abstract part of her mind. Another brooded over the problem of avoiding notice this afternoon. Another part ... no that part was busy not thinking at all, for if it did think, she would go to pieces. Control.
“Little pooped today." commented a colleague. "Actually that makes her look even better. Anna, Sweet, can't you tell us the secret of how to conquer the heart of the valkyrie?"
"Claire is too busy making it in her career.” Anna laughed and replied, “One day she'll wake up and and realize that there's more to life."
“It's to be hoped I'm there when this happens. Although with my luck ..." replied a grumpy admirer. "Fat chance! If our ice cream thawed out, do you think she's going to notice any of us, boyo? She'll probably fall for Bill, the galactic hero."
"Bill is fat, old, and is an obnoxious old devil to boot!"
"So what? He's her boss, sees her every day, and I've actually heard him tell her she did a good job once. Have you ever got that from him? See? He's sweet on her."
"Yes, but is she sweet on him? I mean, his idea of a nice gift would probably be the blue print of an early IC!"
The afternoon was as bad as she feared. Aspirins fuelled the way. She was seeing double while she drove back home. God, if she could get back to the apartment, she was going to bomb for the next twelve hours. The project ... whispered an evil corner of her mind.
“Damn the project!” she thought. With her headache she'd probably contract with Hitachi to supply them the chips they needed. And then have to answer why the shipments were being held up by a foot dragging supplier ...
Strange. After all that, home looked just like it always did. She collapsed in a sofa and sipped a little champagne. A bath ... then bed. No. She needed to eat or she would not recover. The thought of food was nauseous. Bread, she decided. Something she could not throw up on. And some Chinese tea.
She ate, and went to have her bath. Almost didn't notice the warm spray as she was lost in a migraine haze. Dried herself and went and sleep.
JUNE 11, 1997, WEDNESDAY
Claire woke up gradually.
"It looks like there won't be any more rain this year, and the drought situation is as bad as ever."
She moaned and burrowed into pillows until she didn't have to hear. WHY did they talk about such things in the morning? Sing songs. Babble. Instead, they give the news. As if we need the news to kill all the joy in life before we're even properly awake! Mmm. Nice. The satiny feel of the pillow against her face was soo good. And the nice warm bed cover. She wiggled a shoulder against the sheet; a nice shaggy feel.
Some time later .... shaggy feel? What the ...
Claire sat upright and immediately cringed, waiting for the demons of migrant hailstorms to smite her. Nothing. She raised a head cautiously. Well. That's a relief anyway. Umm? That's a relief period! No conditionals about it. Then she looked down. That is not my bedspread!
She ran her fingers through the lovely soft sheet; artificial mink she diagnosed. The mink was protected, so genetic cloning produced the ethical mink fur. She had heard of such - guaranteed not to be hot even in warm weather. Cost the devil though. And she did not own one!
With a gasp, Claire remembered yesterday. Wildly she flung off the cover and examined herself. They were still there. The bra. The chastity belt, and now this bedspread. This was too much! She looked around. Things were different. There was a lovely set of matched cushions lying on the futon she had in her room. They hadn't been there the day before. At least she didn't remember them although it was possible that she was too ... well too distracted to remember. Absently she gathered up the mink fur in her hands and held it against her cheek as she considered. So. Not cheap. Not cheap at all. Whoever had done this was willing to pay for quality goods. She shivered as she remembered admiring the workmanship of the bra. Mmmm. She jumped up.
"I am not going to let him do this to me!" she raged to herself. Charged with resolution she walked up to the telephone and picked it up ... chewed her lip. Well ... call the police ... "Inspector, someone put me in a chastity belt. It happened yesterday but I was too busy to call you. Yes and he has been in my apartment and left things! See that mink fur? What? Yes it is very expensive. Do I object? Of course I object! What do I want to do? Well I want out ..."
Claire sat down on the futon. That wasn't going to work, and she was damned if she would let some smirking policeman have her bend over while he examined just how the belt locked about her. Or policewoman either! That time when the police raided the Coral Garden the policeman was very nice and had agreed that they were probably not involved with the nasty racket the place was a front for. But the policewomen ... they'd pinched and poked her and one called her a screw. Apparently latest slang for prostitute. Where did they get these words?
What she needed was a ... a locksmith! With a sinking sensation Claire remembered the fancy workmanship of the bra. She had the feeling that this was a high tech toy. SHE would probably be more capable of solving the lock than any locksmith, except she was the one locked in it ...
Well! Nothing to it but to try. Maybe lock-smithing had gone high tech too! But it had to be a female locksmith. And anyway, how the hell did one ask for a woman ... I want a lock broken into ... Do you have a woman?... Why? Well I just want a woman locksmith! Well, she could try ... then again ... knew what she was doing. She was mortally certain he had bugged the apartment. He. A rich mother fucker A dirty old sugar daddy ...except not much sugar about him! He ... she?
Claire sat up at this thought. Could a woman be responsible? She knew she was very attractive to lesbian women. Almost more so than to men, although she herself had no inclinations that way. She was pretty much a conventional girl, sexually. Woman. Not a girl anymore - be twenty eight soon!
She looked thoughtfully at the bra and the belt and wondered. Even today, not many women entered the engineering disciplines, and she fancied that her bra and belt were custom manufactured at great expense. She felt it in her guts. There simply was no reason for the intricate workmanship to make a metal bra. What was wrong with a flange and a lock after all? Surely from all she had read, it would be more satisfactory to have a lock prominently present. "No." she thought, "it was probably a man after all. A damned rich and smart one though."
She shivered, a delightfully tingly feeling of goose bumps. Whoever did this was probably as clever as her. And he knew what he wanted, but she bounced up indignantly. We'll see about that! She knew what she was going to do; she was going to see Sally.
Sally Mathews was Claire's gynecologist and a good friend. Not an intimate friend ... Claire just didn't tend to have those, being so wrapped up as she was with work. Work. She had no time to call Sally now. Have to do it later. She must hurry. She went into the bathroom and the shower was hot and delicious. The metal stung as she the jet struck her breasts near the nipple. Ouch! Oooh! She had no time. She scrambled out of the bath and remembered about hygiene. Good thing she was going to see Sally anyway. The menstrual would be a hell of a problem with the belt in place. Have to figure out a way of coping.
She stopped. No. That was not the way to think. She was not going to cope with a damned chastity belt! She was going to get rid of it! Must keep that in mind. A cold feeling settled down on her, but she resolutely ignored it and got ready. What to wear? Damn the bra. If she was looking like Dolly Parton in that loose beige top, then most of her clothes were out. She had to buy new clothes. These would be fine when she wanted to show off her boobs, but they wouldn't do for now, not at all. There, she was doing it again! Rather than buying new clothes she was going to get the damned thing off!! Close to tears, she jerked a loose pullover from the closet and put it on. Now it wouldn't matter that she'd had the equivalent of substantial silicone implants.
Another hurried breakfast. Another commute. Another late arrival. She must be careful or Bill would notice. He did not tolerate slackers. He came in an hour earlier than everyone else and saw no reason why they couldn't at least arrive when they were supposed to.
Work went apace and by lunchtime she had worked out the things Bill wanted to fix before going ahead. Feeling a warm glow of achievement, Claire went down to the cafeteria. Fabrication was in a panic. Again. Too little cadmium.
"I thought they had too much cadmium?"
"Well, you know how it is. Can't please them no matter what we do."
"What's with the sweater, kid? It's boiling outside."
"Oh, I felt a cold coming on." vaguely.
Met Bill in the afternoon. He was very pleased with the project and actually said “good work"
Claire finished up her report and started catching up on routine ... damn, it was getting late. Must leave now if she wanted to get home in time for dinner. She fled to the car and joined the great unwashed in their daily lemming run from the office to the condo. She could cook a dinner today and there was a ready-made pie she could make ...
The radio was on when she entered the apartment. Damn silly thing turned on and off in a temperamental fashion. Once it had woken her up at two in the morning. Apparently the time signal from the radio station was being interfered with. Something was wrong. She stopped and looked around carefully. Something was in the oven. No, that wasn't it. Damn it, that was part of it. But ... she spun around, half afraid, half hoping to see someone. Nothing. Her mysterious captor had done something again and the smell of the pie in the oven - how did he know I wanted to make a pie? "Must have bugged the car as well." she thought distractedly, "and I must have been talking aloud." The phone! Was there something wrong with the phone? Had he disabled it? She shook herself and took a deep breath. She worked some ten hours at the office from where she could call anyone in the world. No point doing things to the phone.
Claire continued to look around, bothered by some anomaly. Then she realized. The drapes. The pattern. Intertwining chains ... she caught hold of the curtain to tear it to shreds then stopped and let go with a sigh. No point taking it out on the poor cloth. Not poor cloth at all! It even smelled good, of thyme. They made them that way now. If you were willing to pay enough, then they sold cloth that slowly broke down, emitting these scents. And seems they last for decades too. Very expensive. Of course.
She was tired. This was too much to take. She would phone Sally now, and damn him if he heard her.
"Sally? This is Claire. I need to see you urgently! Call me back when you can. Maybe an appointment tomorrow? Bye." She put down the phone and slowly got up to have dinner.
The oven contained a pie and other goodies. There was also a bottle of wine on the side board! She started convulsively, then picked up it up, opened it and slowly poured it out. She wondered if it was drugged, then decided it didn't matter. What more could the monster do to her? She had already come to the conclusion that he had no intention of raping her. This was a weird kind of seduction, and an interesting one too, except that she took extreme objection to not having the key to her metallic underwear.
JUNE 12, 1997, THURSDAY
"Thursday commute ..." muttered the radio.
Claire woke and then froze. She did not want to know what new shock was in store for her. She lay very still listening, although for what, she had no idea. Were there anklets on her now? Or a collar? She shivered and began to cry. Why couldn't he just take her out to dinner or something. If only she could see him, she thought. He might be a hunchback for all she knew.
She fantasized a gloriously handsome, virile, super intelligent man, and had the most intense orgasms ever, as the extra sensitivity of her breasts and clitoris made her almost too sensitive. She hadn't gotten beyond the point where she was dressed in this translucent burgundy slip and of course the metallurgy, and was looking appealingly up at him when he made a masterful demand and she couldn't handle it anymore and immediately climaxed.
Got up. Good heavens! No new pets! No new chains or brands? The bed looked just like it did last night. The man must be running out of steam! Cheered up considerably, Claire showered and got ready. This evening she normally went for aerobics. That was out of course. Ethel would know immediately. She cringed at the thought. Ethel Kaplan was a nice woman, but she had the sensitivity of a rhinoceros. She would probably strip Claire naked in front of everyone just to see what lay underneath! And anyway, she needed a new dress to handle her changed 'panty lines'.
The phone rang. It was Sally. An appointment at ten. Yes she could make it. She rang up the office and told them doctor's appointment and how she would come in late. How late? She didn't know. Bill wanted to see her? Well, tell him 1PM. That gave her three hours with Sally. If they couldn't do something in three hours ... she did not complete the thought.
They couldn't do anything in three hours.
Mostly they argued. Sally wanted to call the police. Claire did not want to hear another word about that. She mentioned female locksmiths instead, and sally looked dubious. They agreed to give it a try, though sally kept prodding Claire to go to the cops.
”Look Sal!” Claire said in exasperation, “What will the cops do? Either they catch the guy or they don't, right? And if they don't catch him, they’re going to call a locksmith. We might as well do it ourselves, and save me the total embarrassment of explaining that I woke up in chains, and no, I don't read GOR novels!”
“But if they catch him ...”
“Well, if they catch him, then they’re going to get him for assault and throw him in the can then toss the key away. And, well I want this thing off, but I don't want to send him to twenty years prison for it! He just bought me a mink comforter worth a year's salary! I mean ... I don't know what I am saying, but the police are out!”
Sally looked at her narrowly but subsided. Claire could see that she was thinking thoughts. Like maybe Claire knew who'd done it. Let her. She, Claire, didn't know who'd done it, but she had the very uneasy feeling that the police would not do any better than she would at getting the thing off. This was too fancy. There were other reasons too, but she squashed them before she had to think about those.
The locksmith was a real loss. She was an enormous, middle aged woman, with a perpetual smile that consisted of jiggling rolls of flesh. Claire wondered if she could actually do anything, and seeing her doubt, the woman casually unlocked the doctor's safe. Claire swallowed her doubts and hoped for the best.
“Maxine's the name, ladies. I can open any lock you need to have opened. So what's with this special problem that needs a lady locksmith?”
When she heard what was needed, she gave a hoot.
“Girl, the way ain't to get out of the damn belt! What you gotta do is wiggle your hips till his mind clear dribbles away, and then you lead him by the nose wherever you wants!” She added, “My folks, they use these things whatchamacall'm chastity belts lots. Got a lot of jealous men. Mostly the ones who can't get it up! And I tell you, it make for great sex! Turn them on, it does! And the poor darlings, they can keep it up all the night through, they can. Aphrodisiac, that's what it is.”
The woman babbled happily on about chastity belts until Claire took off her clothes, then she stopped talking. She walked around her and as Claire predicted, she had her get down on hand and knees so she could examine it all, then she looked at the bra.
“Where's the bloody lock?”
It went downhill from there. It had to. The locksmith gave up on lock picking. Then she tried to cut through the metal and failed utterly. Whatever the metal was, it was enormously hard. Diamond couldn't scratch it. Of course diamond was no longer the hardest thing around, but locksmiths certainly didn't have access to the harder stuff. Sally got and tried her surgical drill ... five seconds of that and Claire was threatening her with a scalpel unless she desisted. Not that it had made a dent, but the vibrations had been so intense that she had nearly passed out with the pain.
After an inconclusive session, Claire left refusing to discuss it further.
“But Claire, the police ...”
“Leave the police out of it!”
“But if not ...”
Claire left before she could complete that question. She didn't have an answer, and preferred not to face the question.
The rest of the week passed in a haze of work and overwork. The weekend found Claire gorging on food to forget her troubles and binging on work when that didn't help. The new week came as an exquisite relief and she plunged back into the fray.
Sometime during that weekend, she went to a clothing store she frequented occasionally. Her mistake. Of course they remembered her. Everyone remembered her. Especially women. The saleswoman at the counter welcomed her with open arms. And took out all the clothes that only women with superb features and willowy figures could wear.
“Umm, I would like some loose clothes”.
The woman looked at her with wildly surmising eyes.
“We have an excellent set of pregnancy clothes ...” she offered. Her eyes seemed to bore right through Claire's backbone.
“Err, I just want some looser outfits.” Claire smiled weakly.
“But ... but ...” the woman spluttered. She actually turned somewhat sullen at the insistence that her beautiful customer wanted to look poorly clothed and had the temerity to come to her shoppe for that!
Claire managed to crawl out with a handful of loose clothing. She knew that they were probably looser than what she wanted, but what these would solve the problem - one problem. Anyway, she thought optimistically, the monster might stock my closet with the right sizes after he sees these! This thought cheered her up so much that she went and splurged on an ice cream. She was vaguely aware that she was eating to avoid facing her problems, but was too insecure to do anything to combat that.
JUNE 17, 1997, TUESDAY
Claire woke up and stretched.
The nipple ring pressed against the sensitive part of her breast and she was immediately aroused. she stroked herself erotically, and quickly climaxed. She used to enjoy masturbating slowly, watching herself. But nowadays it tended to be a quickie, huddled under the blankets. It was more intense ... but actually less fun.
She had her shower and, robe around herself, she came out into her bedroom. And stopped. The monster had struck again. The phone was there. The curtains were there. The books were there. The futon was still a futon. The walls; the walls. More precisely one corner. A pair of full length mirrors now adorned that corner. And there was a mirror on the floor.
“How could he do this and not wake me up?” she wailed in her mind. Obviously the answer lay in some sleeping pill or other - dozens of them nowadays, which were essentially trace less. She went up to the mirrors. They were actually not fixed to the wall. Rather attached to each other. So. A portable mirror system. What for?
She nibbled her lip as she looked at the mirrors and after a while, she realized what they were for. They were for looking at herself. The monster had some twisted reason obviously, but it was sure to be a clever one. She sighed and looked at her reflection. She was looking tired, she thought. The robe slipped from her body and Claire looked at herself critically. Now she could see what the monster must have seen. She's putting on weight in unseemly places. In fact, she thought, the poor chastity belt was struggling now against the onslaught of flesh. All those binges. All that ice-cream.
“Aerobics.” she said aloud. “I need aerobics.” but,“You ... you monster you! You put these things on me and I cannot go in a leotard, without bulging in suspicious directions! It’s all your fault!” She burst into tears and dove back into bed to console herself. After a while, she got up and looked at herself again. Aerobics. She went to the phone and dialled up the directory to find another gym. One which was expensive. And then looked up at the ceiling why the ceiling? Does he live upstairs? and shouted.
”Well if you want me to slim down, you better get me in this gym! I'll be damned if I go to some hole in the corner place!”
Well, off to work. At least work wasn't a problem. She had done all the things she had to do and actually had a free hour or two. Curious, in the afternoon, she phoned up the gym and asked for a reservation. Gave her name and half expected the answer.
“Your sessions are already paid for, Ms Fairchild.” So the monster did respond to her, even if he hid from her face. Somehow that was an enormous relief. Yet ... obviously he cared. Else he wouldn't have done the things he did. Cared for her as ... as a valuable possession?
She drove home and looked in her closet and as expected, there was a new set of tights for her class. She put it on curiously. Interesting! The design seemed to make the belt and bra invisible. She sat down slowly. This wasn't the product of an engineering mind. Neither were most of the things he’d bought for her. She wondered, yes she wondered. Maybe he had those who were capable of making such selections? A hot wave of jealousy washed through her. Whatever her names for him, she always assumed that this was an intimate bond, even if a weird one. Now ... she was furious. She was probably one woman in a harem!
Aerobics left her tender in unmentionable places.
“Vaseline, you idiot!” she muttered to herself as she winced her way to the bathroom. ”Aerobics and chastity belts don't mix. Heard that, you monster?” she abruptly called up to the ceiling.
The next day was exquisitely painful. On the one hand the pleasant feeling of muscles that had been exercised, and on the other hand the very tender sensations of her butt. After her bath though, she spent a while examining herself in the mirrors. The bottom one let her see the difficult to see areas. She could see the belt fitting neatly between the labial lips.
“Just like a bit in a horse's mouth!” she muttered indignantly. And the anal ring. It all looked so delicate. And yet, she knew, it was made of an unbelievably strong material. Of course that came back to the question, did he have a way to unlock the damned thing? He must or it was all pointless. And if he did, could she puzzle it out? There was no obvious place for a key though. Squatting there, she realized that she really did need to lose weight. She practically bulged about the belt all over. Oh well, Vaseline before the session next time! Then she might have orgasms instead, which was far preferable!
Thursday came and with it, a visit to Sally. The doctor looked disapproving, but examined her and told her with a little surprise that she looked fine.
“How much does it get in your way?” she asked.
“Actually it doesn't get in the way at all.” answered Claire, “Except of course, hygiene ...”
“And what are you doing to get rid of it?”
“Nothing.” Sally was aghast and piqued at the same time. Claire repeated, “Nothing at all.”
Tuesdays and Fridays were the aerobics days. Vaseline therapy apparently did the trick, or Claire was getting the hang of things. Or even that part of the anatomy learns to cope. Probably the latter. She was only mildly sore after the session. Felt virtuous - damn it, that was a lousy word. She was in the position of having virtue thrust upon her. She into the shower and had a good scrub. The hygiene problems of a belt made a good excuse to play with herself in the shower, and she had begun to really enjoy herself these days. Had to watch the water bill though! Never mind, the monster would pay!
She explored herself in front of the mirror and imagined the excess flesh evaporating under the onslaught of an elevated pulse rate. Leaving her trim and lovely ... as lovely as the belt itself. Claire stroked herself slowly as she watched her body in the mirror. She used to watch herself, but never in a mirror. This was kinky! Especially the bottom view. She plopped herself on the futon and continued, artistically draping herself so she could continue to watch her swelling clitoris. Of course the futon was ideally placed for this. He must have thought this scenario in his devious mind when he placed the mirrors. Then again, if it wasn't she would probably have indulged in a little interior decoration. Twisty little man. Who are you? And more germane! What do you look like? She could put a shape on his mind by now. A tasty shape it was too. Tough, pouting; too domineering. All very well to say the things are beautiful, but if that is his idea of pleasing a lady friend, he needed a little civilizing. Then again, maybe that locksmith had a point.
“Do you have trouble getting it up, darling monster?”she called up to the ceiling. “Is that what the belt is for?” Suddenly disgusted, she got up. Probably masturbating himself watching her ... pleasure herself. Damned if she would be pawed over, even by remote viewing!
A restlessness filled Claire when the weekend dawned and so she got out her hiking gear then set out for the hills. There was a climb today, according to the calendar. Good to work off some of her sloth. She stomped over hill and under dale and was wiped out by the time she got back. Fun though. It wasn't until she got back that she remembered her belt. Hmm. Didn't have any problem. Good.
A long soak would do her good. Started the water running. Got rid of the sweaty clothes and climbed in. Oooh! This was life. A warm soak after a long hike. She soaked ...
The water was cool when she woke up. Brrr! Jumped out and drained the tub. Turned on the hot shower and warmed up. Must drink something hot if she wanted to avoid catching a cold. Went into the kitchen. There was a hot mug of herbal tea on the kitchen table! The vapour was lazily curling up, it must have just been made.
“Thank you!” she said and hoped for a reply, any reply. The sound of her voice speaking to an empty room sounded insane, and she blushed. Oh well, so she was going nuts. In addition to everything else.
It was very mediocre tea. Very cheering fact too. Monster was not inhumanly perfect. He obviously was a lousy cook. Still, the thought was what counted.
Sunday was indeed sun day for Claire. To curl up on the patio and do a good imitation of a lizard. Bad for health they say, all that sun. But with these screens that filtered out all the cosmic rays and stuff it couldn't be that bad. Anyway, a Sunday wasn't complete without a bask. Did he have a camera trained this way, she wondered hazily. If so, lets give him a nice view. She snoozed.
Damn metal! She should have known better than to sunbathe with a couple of chains wrapped around her! She dived into the shower and squealed in relief. One's delicate parts did not need to get special attention from the sun's heat!
Tuesday was gym day. She got up and stretched. Yesterday had been hell. Her period had come, and she made a visit to Sally to see if she was going to have problems. No problems, the doctor reported.
“It’s quite well constructed.” Sally said approvingly. “Just be finicky and you'll be fine.”
All very well for her to say! But she was edgy and her breasts were pressing against the confining metal and everything was extra sensitive. Not uncomfortable actually, but how could you work when you could feel something brushing against your nipples every time you breathed? At least she didn’t get big mood swings during this time.
She was looking a lot better now. Back to looking like she did when she first got the belt. Still needed to lose some weight though, then it would look perfect. She admired the contrast of the dull black chains and her fair skin and her silky red pubic hair.
“Thank God he didn’t choose pink!” she thought.
Wednesday had a surprise. She woke up to find some changes. A couple of lovely lamps. Period pieces, those. Contrasted delightfully with the decor. She admired the change for a while and then the notion that had been nudging underneath flowered. That kinky mind was up to something. What? The lamps would ... actually they would not light up the room very well. Maybe he was just lousy at interior decoration? No. He had excellent taste, witness the cushions. What would they light well? Umm. Ummmm! They would light up the futon plus mirror set quite well indeed. So! The man wanted a sex show now! Grrrr!
Actually not. On the table, she found a very fancy camera. And the pieces of a stand. Why on the table? Why not set it up in the room? And anyway, what was he asking, no, telling her to do? The camera took holographic stills: the kind you could then manipulate and see the woman from your personal perverted orientation. So the lamps were special indeed! She had read of these things, that you could now get holographic colour film, but that it took special lighting.
Claire put it aside and went to work. Work was proving to be productive and she was in a good mood. Luxuriated in her new sense of a fit body ... but one decorated in metal! The monster had indeed come up with a quality line of perfectly fitting clothing. She was sure he'd had some expert advice. He couldn’t be a super engineer and have a super sense of interior decorating and know women’s fashions and still be a human male. But, he was male. She was sure of that by now. No woman would have lasted so long - she would have had to touch her possession ... and stroke it and murmur to it. It took a man to stand apart as Pygmalion and admire his Galatea. But she didn’t want to share him with other women! He was hers!
That evening, she bathed and undressed carefully. Adorned in her most fetching and tasty negligee, she set up the camera and then began to play with herself. As far as she could find, there was no way for her to set a delay on the thing. Ergo, leave it to the monster to figure out something. He almost certainly had a remote button beside him as he slavered, and she quite liked the idea of him slavering over his pet possession. Let him decide when to click. She arched sensually and erotically showing off her body. She pouted and tried to mock struggle out of her bonds. Made love to her stuffed gorilla! There, let him be jealous! And had a positively glorious time being shamelessly exhibitionist. And when she looked, six frames had been shot. Interesting. Curious, she waited for the things to develop and tried to see what they showed. Without the machine, of course, you couldn’t project the images, but she could see the images in the special lighting ... ohhh! That was ... ulp! That better not be made public! Well, she hoped that the ogre was happy.
Come morning, Claire hopped sharply out of bed and went running to the kitchen. The photographs were gone! He had taken them. And ... on the table, fresh, so fresh you could see the dew drops on it, was a crimson rosebud. Her breath caught as she stopped short at this. Approached the flower bud warily, so warily. Gently picked it up, sniffed. It had a smell even. This was a flower grown in a garden, not bought at a florist. It was so beautiful. She considered where to wear it ... then knew where. Carefully, between her breasts, she slid the flower into a small socket that might have been made for this. Damn tricky monster! she thought unsurprised. He thought of everything.
And then she was weeping. And flung herself at the table and covered it with kisses, everywhere his hand must have touched, to pick up the film to place the flower. Finally she subsided on the floor, leaning against a chair.
She did not know where this was going. She did not know who her master was. She did not know if she would even be his only lover. But she was his. That was not to be denied. Whatever he asked her to do, she would. She was his possession, his adoring slave ...
THIS IS PAGE ELEVEN OF THE FICTION SECTION
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