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AN UNORTHODOX LIFE
Chapters 3 & 4
- Rescued -
At least another two hours had passed before the mechanical whirr of the retracting steel bolts announced the imminent opening of my cell’s vault-like door. Fortunately, the mental exercises had allowed me to get my initial panic under control, so I have had the leisure to contemplate ways in which to get back at my husband for again subjecting me to this particular kind of ordeal. This was not an easy proposition, given how the deck is stacked against me. At least I have been able to come up with one or two appropriately scathing remarks I would relish taunting him with, should the opportunity present itself. That qualifier is significant, unfortunately. My current gag incorporates a feeding tube that can be worn safely, although uncomfortably, for extended periods of time, sometimes weeks in length. I have had the misfortune to verify this for myself on various past occasions when I could not keep my sharp tongue under control. Regardless, in case the gag is removed, I will almost certainly feel compelled to deliver my clever insults to him, consequences be damned.
I have been a victim of this strange compulsion all my life, being constitutionally incapable of keeping up appearances just for convention’s sake, or of refraining from showing my contempt for the complex and contradictory rules that govern under which specific set of circumstances it is sometimes deemed socially acceptable to call a lie a lie. Of course, this tendency has brought me grief in more instances than I care to admit. In former times, my beauty normally shielded me from the worst of the consequences; the predominantly male victims of my unflattering, but impeccably accurate analysis having to swallow their pride in hope of retaining my favour.
This tactic never worked with my Master, unfortunately. As a supposedly intelligent woman, I should have recognized this and been able to adapt my behaviour accordingly, but instead, what I actually managed to do was to focus his attention quite thoroughly on the essential intermediary (always a bad idea with him) and nowadays I am quite proud of my hard-earned achievement of learning to speak politely. He had begun by restraining my tongue. The three, large diameter, steel eyelets irrevocably affixed in it (situated at the corners of an imaginary triangle pointing towards the tip at first so severely impeded and distorted my speech patterns that for a while I despaired of ever being able to talk intelligibly again. I must still concentrate on articulating my words carefully, but can generally get my message across. After all, having to repeat an insult several times before it is understood just won’t do.
The overhead lights turned on automatically and I had to blink rapidly to accommodate to their brightness, then I heard swift footsteps approaching, until at last He entered my field of vision. I felt a vast relief to see him and not George coming to my rescue, but it was almost instantly replaced by an equally strong feeling of alarm, bringing my previous fantasies of petty revenge to an ignoble end. A casual observer probably would have noticed nothing out of the ordinary, but my husband’s inner turmoil betrayed itself to me by minute telltales. To me, deeply attuned to his moods as I am, for the power he holds over my fate, his overly-controlled motions and carefully schooled, neutral expression practically screamed of his tension and inner agitation.
Without delay he bent down and methodically began to release me from the various chains holding me prone on my sunken sleeping mat. After seemingly endless minutes, he drew upon the front ring of my collar to help me to a sitting position and I immediately twisted around to present him with my helplessly chained arms and hands. Uncharacteristically obliging, he loosened the chain connecting them to my collar, and without being prompted further, also opened the lock at the nape of my neck. This loosened the wide strap that until now had pressed my gag’s outer shield and chin cup into intimate contact with my lower face. I turned towards him again and he quickly freed my nose shackle from its fitting on the shield, at long last allowing my jaw to yield to the insistent pressure exerted by the gag pad wedged into my mouth. Although I need not chew when fed my liquefied diet through the gag’s feeding tube, my jaw muscles nevertheless got plenty of exercise because of my perpetual struggle to bite down hard enough on the resilient pad to ease the very unpleasant strain on my nose.
A long, slender specialized key is necessary to release the cross-bolts that securely lock my tongue into its pocket within the high density rubber of the gag pad. My Master inserted it through a small slit beneath the feeding socket of the gag, and after a minute of patient manipulation, a series of muted clicks announced his success.
I complied as best as I could to his command, dreading the unpleasant but unavoidable next step in the complicated process of freeing me from my incredibly efficient and punishing gag. Carefully, my Master bent the semi-rigid, still-snug face cup away from my cheeks, then insinuated his fingers into the gap to pry out the inner shield resting between my cheeks, teeth and gums. With it out of the way, he was ready to insert the forceps he uses to clamp down hard on the pad, compressing its bulk enough so he can slowly extricate it from my painfully-stretched mouth. I retched helplessly from the unpleasant sensations generated by the trailing feeding tube, when its slick corrugated surface irritated the back of my throat while it was drawn from deep within my body.
Finally, the whole horrid, punishing device had been removed and with now unbridled moaning, I forced my jaw and tongue through their restored full range of motion, hoping to bring them back into working condition a little faster. In the meantime, my husband busied himself with cleaning the gag, then washing his hands at the cell’s basin. When he was finished, he returned to sit next to me, holding a cup of water to my lips and I drank greedily from it, as fast as his slow tilting of the cup allowed. Left to my own devices I would have drowned the whole thing in one big swallow, but with my wrist cuffs still joined behind my back, I had little choice but to abide by his superior judgment.
“Want another cup?”
“No, th-thanks.” I croaked in a hoarse whisper. My anxiety to find out what was going on took precedence over mere bodily needs.
“Sorry about the delay, Slave. Something came up last night and I had to make a visit, then couldn’t get away. However, you seem to have held together a lot better this time.”
“The exercises actually helped,” I petulantly confirmed his observation. “but it wasn’t pleasant laying here in the dark and wondering what might have happened to you.” When he did not answer, I opted for a direct approach. “What’s up? What’s wrong?”
He shifted uncomfortably beside me, then sighed.
“Anne is dead. She took Euthanal, which Maren had provided her with from the clinic’s supplies. She called me to say goodbye and of course I rushed over to her place, but with Euthanal there’s nothing you can do. At least she passed away peacefully, without pain, as she’s always wanted. Afterwards I stayed and talked to Maren. Damn, what a mess!”
“I’m so sorry." I whispered. "I know how much you cared for her.” The trite remark was all I could think of. I had briefly made Anne Jordan’s acquaintance almost four years ago, when we could both still participate in public life, at a party to celebrate my husband’s (then only my latest prospect) appointment to head of the renowned Von Wenk Clinic. I remembered her open and fun-loving manner, more befitting a debutante than the ultra-affluent, forty-seven year old widow of an industrial magnate. Naturally, she had been a charter member of high society and had graced every major social event with her presence.
What had changed all this, in her case, was the onset of a severe and chronic form of photo-allergy, a rare and cruel condition that made her virtually a prisoner of her own house, and, even worse, of everlasting darkness. The shortest exposure to the sun or other strong sources of light caused her skin to redden and blister, then afterwards it would take days for the allergic reaction to dissipate. Anne had not been able to leave her home for the past eighteen months, relying on my husband and Maren, her personal nurse and - despite her youth - confidante, to attend to her medical needs and keep track of her worldly affairs.
“You haven’t heard the worst of it yet.,” he continued after a short pause. “Before she passed away she revealed to us that her testament stipulates that the larger part of her fortune is to be endowed for funding research into cures for chronic forms of photo-allergy, with Maren and me acting as trustees.“
“What’s the problem with that? Sounds like a wonderful idea to me!”
“Think again." He looked at me pityingly. "Her dear relatives may have written her off years ago, but they certainly aren’t prepared to write off her money as well. They won’t take this laying down. It takes no special powers of prophesy to feel confident that they will muster all and any means at their disposal to contest the will. Unfortunately we are in a very vulnerable position.”
“What are you getting at?”Understanding began to dawn for me.
“Just look at the facts!” He exclaimed and began to count the pivotal points on the fingertips of his left hand, unconsciously imitating some fictitious Master detective. “First: Maren and I are the only persons Anne has had personal contact with for more than a year. Second: the Euthanal was taken from my supplies. Third: Maren at least abetted Anne’s suicide, if not more. Fourth: her last will puts Maren and me in charge of a vast fortune. Fifth: equally ominous, my own wife has not been seen for quite a while. How does that sound to you now?”
“So, you suggest they will claim that Maren and you found out about the testament and killed Anne to get at her fortune, making it look like a suicide? That’s insane! Nobody – not even you – would commit a crime so glaringly obvious and hope to get away with it! And just where do I fit into this little scenario of yours?”
“As another of my victims, of course. Perhaps you'd discovered my devious plan and didn’t want to go along with it; threatening to blow the whistle on me? Or perhaps I’d become Maren’s lover, to make her do my bidding and you had objected a tad too strongly for my peace of mind? I’m sure even you can think of a dozen other at least superficially convincing theories.”
“All of which would be debunked as soon as I testified. That is …” For a moment I had forgotten my situation, being completely absorbed by the looming disaster. With a shudder, I twisted against the suddenly no longer comforting embrace of my irremovable restraints.
“Except that you can’t testify.” my husband calmly pointed out. “Your public appearance would get me convicted faster than anything else I can think of! And, if you foolishly insisted on exculpating me in your testimony, I guarantee that you’d find yourself in a locked ward for the rest of your life, or until you are deemed ‘healed’, whatever that means. As this would be a very high profile case, my esteemed colleagues from the psychiatry department would certainly love to make a textbook case of you. And last but not least, George and Fran would also be drawn into it.”
“Can’t the testament be disappeared?” I ventured. “With no money to gain, none of her relatives will ask the first question about her death.”
“Unfortunately it’s been deposited with a notary. Much as it galls me to admit it, this would have been the preferred solution, even if the money would be wasted on Anne’s greedy relatives. Alas, that’s academic now.”
“Exactly, damn! Now you know why I have reason to be a little peeved. We blew it. Or no, I blew it. If I’d resisted your wishes and not given in to my own urges, we could have weathered this crisis, but as it stands now …” He glanced at me obliquely. “The best thing would have been if Anne had made the endowment while she still lived, or if she hadn’t killed herself at all.”
“Yes, of course. No need to reiterate the obvious … Wait! Who knows about her death yet?” A daring idea began to coalesce in my mind.
“So far, only us three. I asked Maren not to tell anyone else.”
“Nobody knows yet? What if we didn’t tell anybody else? Anne has been living hidden from public view for years now, and we can conceivably hold up the illusion with nobody the wiser.”
“Some public appearances might still be unavoidable.” my Master objected. “Especially if we wanted the endowment to be enacted or have the testament changed. Then there’s the question of her corpse. It would be kind of redundant, leading to all kinds of awkward questions when it turned up.”
“You’re head of a big clinic where dozens of people die each month, nearly all of them from natural causes; and so you should be able to make a body disappear.”
“That’s far easier said than done. Despite your impudent insinuations, I wouldn’t know how to pull it off. On the other hand, if I had a name to attach to the body, I could have it cremated after only a perfunctory examination, without too many questions being asked.”
“What if we pretend that I had died instead of her?” I heard myself asking, my tongue once more overtaking my brain.
“You’d do this willingly?" he replied a little too fast for his display of surprise to be entirely convincing. "Give up your own identity and be officially declared dead, just so you can step into the shoes of an unfortunate woman forever banned from daylight? Of course, that would be the ideal solution for our difficulties.”
I realized I’d been had.
“You can scratch the play-acting! That’s what you wanted me to do all along, isn’t it?” I was annoyed as hell with him for this little trap, and even more so with myself for stepping right into it.
“You’re right, of course.” At least he had the decency to look a little ashamed. “But I wanted you to arrive at the inevitable conclusion by yourself. If you see a better alternative, I’ll be happy to hear it, but so far, this looks like our best shot to come out of this mess more or less intact.”
“In my case,” I declared somewhat grumpily, “rather less intact, considering that I’ll be officially declared dead. No doubt you plan to be a merry widower and since you have it worked out already, you may as well tell me the details of your plan now.” I answered hotly, not yet ready to forgive him his little game.
“Your wish is my command.” He replied in an amused tone, tolerating my insolence for the moment. “I suppose you’ll loose control of your car, which should sound reasonable enough for anyone who knows how you drive. I’m sure George can engineer some convincing pyrotechnics to go along with the crash, then being your only living relative, I’ll have the sad duty of identifying your charred remains. By the way, through some strange coincidence, your dental records will match Anne’s so closely that one might be justified saying they are identical.” He actually smirked.
“Of course I’ll be devastated and try to come to terms with my loss by taking some weeks off, but during this time Anne will suffer a serious relapse and be in need of constant medical attention. My old practice upstairs has all the necessary facilities and so it’ll be reasonable that she and Maren temporarily move in, so we can give each other mutual support in our hours of need.
"It’s quite touching, don’t you agree? Over time, the arrangement will prove useful and eventually become a permanent one. Consequently it has been necessary to tell Maren about us, and she’s agreed to help me take care of you.”
“Maren knows about all this?” Disbelieving, I indicated my restraints and my cell with a shake of my bald head.
“Naturally. I had to convince her that the charade I plan is really necessary and actually the lesser of two evils. She was reluctant at first, but fortunately saw the light when I pointed out how her own dubious role in Anne’s death would look like from a prosecutor’s perspective.”
“How did she take it? I mean, it sounds pretty wild; you keeping your wife as a permanent slave and holding her prisoner in a secret dungeon under your house.” I felt my cheeks heat with embarrassment when I stated the ludicrous, but nevertheless true facts of my existence.
“Well, I didn’t tell her all the details right away. I suppose it was quite a shock, but after a while she realized I wasn’t joking and began believing me. Besides, it explains a lot of things she’s wondered about, among them why I've never introduced you to each other. She trusts me implicitly and so didn’t doubt that you’d consented to it all, and have been a willing participant. Coincidentally, I gathered from the ensuing discussion that she’s not completely ignorant of our lifestyle and may have a certain interest in the BD/SM world herself.”
Somehow, I felt quite incapable of duplicating my husband’s obvious enthusiasm.
“Wonderful! What was her age again? Twenty-five? And she’s a natural blonde to boot? Will I be invited to your wedding, or do I just get a card?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s twenty-six and of Swedish descent, yes, but that’s completely beside the point. She is a trained nurse and knows what to do in an emergency. You can’t deny that what happened today illustrates how necessary it is to have someone beside myself to look after you.”
“What if I decline to play my assigned part in this little melodrama of yours?”
“Sorry. As long as you can’t come up with a convincing alternative, that’s not an option.” My Master’s mood turned from playful to serious. “Moreover, so far, your only part in my so-called melodrama consists of being dead. As the role of the corpse is already filled by poor Anne, this amounts to not being seen in public, something you’ve excelled at lately.” His calm gaze held my glare. “Do you really want to destroy all of our lives out of unfounded and childish jealousy?”
“No, I suppose not.” I sighed. “As always, Master, you only have everybody’s best interest in mind.”
“Indeed, although it might not always be apparent to some.” He answered smoothly, choosing not to respond to my frustrated sarcasm in kind. “Which reminds me. You’re due for your exercise session on the rowing machine. I’ll settle you in, but then I have to run again. There are dozens of things to organize to make this thing fly.”
“Oh no!” I silently wailed but I knew better than to protest against the impending ordeal.
- Afterlife -
I purportedly died in the early hours of the following day, and first learned of this when my Master entered the cell late that evening to prepare me for the night, bringing with him the evening paper. My fatal accident merited but a short notice in the local news, under the heading Miscellaneous; squeezed in between an article discussing the revised garbage collection schedule and the latest tidbits from some obscure celebrity's love life. Despite myself and the plans we had made, I was a little aggrieved at having passed away without making a bigger splash.
“Were is the anguished public outcry? Where are the mourning masses?” Even my husband looked remarkably composed, if a little strained.
“How did it go?” I asked brightly to cover my disappointment and the mounting disquiet I felt as the reality of the utter annihilation of the last tenuous links to my former life outside of this cell slowly sank in.
“Everything went according to plan,” he sighed wearily. “although it's been a grueling day. To identify what little was left of poor Anne, as your remains, was a lot more unsettling than I imagined it would be. I think I realized just then how easily something like this could have happened to you in reality.” He shrugged. “Of course that only made my appearance more convincing, and I received a lot of sympathy and deeply sincere condolences. There will be an investigation into probable causes of the accident, but George assures me that no sign of tampering will be detectable. As for the autopsy; I can guarantee it will turn up nothing unexpected.”
“So, I'm officially dead now. That’ll take some getting used to! It's really the weirdest of feelings.” Sometimes I manage to imitate my Master’s knack for understatement quite convincingly.
“After all the hassle of the last days, I feel we both desperately need to relieve some strain.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “I'm sure that’ll also help you to settle in a little faster. I'd love to try out a perversion I read about recently in a psychiatric journal. How about it? Are you up to a little necrophilia?”
With a happy cry, I melted into his waiting arms, straining to achieve full body contact, despite the unwelcome resistance that my rigid breast cups offered to any such endeavour. Nevertheless, the long-missed snuggling up against his lean body proved most satisfying, and smiling invitingly if a little smugly, I offered my trembling lips to his. After endless minutes of hungry and passionate kissing with my steel-endowed tongue meeting his in an intricate dance of exploration, he reluctantly disengaged, only to grab the thin but sturdy chain that always remained attached to my nose shackle. He then uncompromisingly led me to my sunken sleeping platform for it was high time to fasten me to my rubber bed for the eagerly-anticipated, upcoming delights. First though, I had to wait for him to free me from the long chains that had held me a leashed prisoner all day.
My Master had finally returned the previous night to release me from the rowing machine on which I had spent endless hours, working out under the merciless supervision of the uncaring and cruelly programmed computer. It was always single-mindedly concerned with eliciting target performance levels, and accomplished this goal through the judicious application of electric shocks to the most sensitive parts of my anatomy.
Apparently in an act of mercy, he chose not to chain me to my bed as usual and instead had opted for the generous set of restraints I currently wore. These were of course complemented, as always, by the heavy chain leash connecting the back ring of my collar to its anchor point at the head of my bed. It was a constant tethering offering the same level of security I had to endure at all times, even when sleeping! I had suspected even then that things were coming to a head, but as explanation for his largesse, he volunteered only that he presumably would be too busy to pay the customary morning visit to free me. Although my disquieting suspicions had obviously been well-founded, for the moment my mind was occupied with things far more palatable and engaging.
After a few moments my limbs were freed of their encumbering chains, but never of their cuffs, and so I knew this happy state of affairs was not going to last. Following the nightly routine, and for once accepting its inevitability without protest, I twisted my arms around behind my back, then brought them up high between my shoulder blades, a normally difficult manoeuvre, but one now one relatively easy for me to accomplish, thanks to long practice. With a small, lock my Master joined the inner rings of my wrist cuffs, then pulled them even higher to connect to the extremely short length of chain dangling from the collar's back ring, mounted there specifically for this purpose. When he did this, I couldn’t help the small grunt of pain, but it was ignored, as usual.
“Lay down, Slave!!”
I sank obediently to my knees beside the sleeping platform and shifted my bottom onto the shiny black surface, then wriggled to its centre. Stretching out my legs for balance, I used my well-developed abdominal muscles to lower myself onto the moulded, rubber mattress, then slowly lay back until my folded-up arms were swallowed by the recess provided for them. My bald head came to rest within the so-called pillow for this had a formed depression for my head and this held it immobile. The middle of the depression was bisected by a shallow groove, waiting to accommodate my leash. By applying a light tension, he kept the heavy chain aligned within the groove, then quickly locked its shortened length to the anchor point so I could no longer sit up. Quickly moving to the foot of the platform, he grasped my left ankle and stretched my leg off to the side where it was fastened to a waiting chain, then my right leg was quickly secured in the same manner.
When I had first been fitted with all of my cuffs, collar and chastity equipment, my Master had also required that each of my toes be encircled with a wide, thick, snugly-clamped rings and of course none of them could be removed once fitted. On their undersides, the toe rings had small loops with yet other small and sturdy rings dangling from them, thus allowing a variety of means of fastening, and at the same time making me always uncomfortably aware that even the smallest portions of my limbs was controlled. Master slipped a curved bar through the underside toe rings of my right foot, then took the short, fine-linked, but strong little chain from under my middle toe and pulled down very strongly until my foot was held in an ‘en pointe’ configuration. The lock clicked closed so that my foot’s posture could not be eased and a moment later my other foot was held in the same manner.
His eyes roamed appreciatively over my helpless, spread-eagled body while he slowly pulled the gold chain around his neck from within his shirt, then took out the magnetic key to the few, well-chosen, removable parts of my imprisoning, metal body harness. I gasped involuntarily when this object of my countless, frustrated fantasies entered my sight, and my eyes minutely tracked its progress on its way to a rendezvous with the integrated lock of my chastity belt. Another shudder wracked my body when the locking pins of the crotch shield were released from their fastenings within the waist cinch, then a wide gap immediately sprang open and the constant pressure on my private parts was at long last relieved ... for the first time in more than a month! The key had to be used a second time on the crotch piece itself in order to unlock the latching pins that were secured through the grommets embedded deep in the flesh of my labia and clitoris before he was able to prize the impenetrable shield away from my body, exposing my crotch and its retreating invaders.
“If only Pavlov could see this!” my husband chuckled, indicating the larger phallus, glistening with a thick coating of my juices. Bad sportsmanship on his part, since I was panting too hard to think of a clever retort to this taunt.
Thankfully, he dropped the subject and focused his attention on my upper body next. There, he had to use his magic key once again to unlock the breast cups from their supporting harness, then to release the tensioning pins forced through the curving metal tunnels running horizontally through the bases of my nipples. As was his habit of late, he softly blew on the revealed twin mounds of firm, stretched flesh and with unflagging fascination, he observed the reaction this provoked. Obviously, there was something deeply engrossing for him in my involuntary gasps, violent jerking and the goose bumps that quickly sprang up all over my body.
“You know, there are moments - instants only, mind you - when I'd give everything to trade places with you.” His cool voice held a hint of ironic regret when he finally spoke.
“Uh-huh.” I could only utter a non-committal gasp in response to his surprising revelation. There are now moments - becoming more frequent now, when I would jump at the chance to be free of my oppressive and unbearably constant, limiting and humiliating restraints.
Our next hours were spent in intense love making, fit to celebrate my strictly private resurrection from the dead. He started by playing with my breasts; stroking, pinching, pulling and squeezing my pierced nipples until my nerves jangled in time with his deft manipulations, alternately stimulating the pleasure and pain centres in my brain. Soon the varying sensations soon became indistinguishable, indiscriminately feeding the raging fire of my arousal. Then, he concentrated on my nether regions; applying the same devious tactics to my genitals, always careful to limit his rubbing, pinching and stretching to an extent that kept me constantly on the brink, without actually allowing me to cross the line to a premature release from the unbearable sexual tension. He continued his cruel games until every fiber of my mind and body was stretched to the breaking point and I screamed and wept frantically and unashamedly with my nerves vibrating from the stress. When he finally entered me; his mouth and hands simultaneously pulling and twisting the steel shackles through my nipples and clitoris, I came and came and came, my conscious mind evaporating in orgasmic overload.
For an indeterminable time afterwards we lay silently next to each other in spent abandon, his arm and leg comfortably draped over my stretched-out, still-trembling body.
“I suppose I must have gone to Heaven, after all.” I sighed contentedly, still luxuriating in the afterglow of multiple orgasms, struggling fitfully against my chains.
“Then it's time to get you back to Earth,” He rumbled, stirring slowly, an awakening beast. “or this other place that temptresses like you so rightfully should be kept in.”
Sensing his momentary willingness to be swayed, I pressed my advantage. It's possible to strike a sultry pose while stringently bound, if you’ve had some practice and an appreciative audience.
“Won’t you join me there? When we were married, you promised to follow me everywhere I go?" Watching for his reaction from under lowered lids, I added in a husky voice, I'll make it worth your while!”
“Ah, there's no rest for the wicked.” He grinned wryly, then began teasing and torturing me once more.
Considerably later when the waves of incredible pleasure suffusing my body began to ebb slowly away, I opened my eyes and found my husband sitting beside me. His chin rested on his arms, folded above his knees and he was observing me with the abstracted air of someone not having been invited to a splendid party, but trying hard not to mind it.
When he saw that I was re-emerging from my private universe, he smiled and crouched down to kiss me on the brow before determinedly getting up and collecting then putting on the clothes he’d strewn around my bed. I was able to follow his motions with my eyes only, thanks to my head being held firmly and deeply in its depression by the tightly fastened back-of-the-neck leash chain, but still I languished before him in complete relaxation. Shrugging on his shirt, apparently inconvenienced the darkening bite marks that showed on his left shoulder, caused him to wince and throw me a reproachful look.
“My! What sharp little teeth you have!”
“The better to bite you with!” I replied lazily, baring my teeth in a vampire-like grimace.
“And I thought I got to play the big bad wolf!” he grinned. “I suppose I'd better fit you with a muzzle then!”
I was shaken out of my complacency when I saw him retrieve my thoroughly-hated feeding gag.
“Oh no! Please, Master! I don't want to wear that horrid thing! Not after tonight! Please!"
“Do you promise to be a good slave?" He hesitated and searched my face. “Will you spare me your usual theatrics and verbal abuse when I fasten your breast cups and the chastity belt shield again?”
I bit my lip, but the inescapable threat of that awful rubber and steel contraption dangling from his hand demanded immediate and unconditional surrender.
“Yes, yes! I promise! I’ll be good!”
“All right.” He said laying the gag aside and picking up the chastity shield instead. “Try to relax.”
“Some advice!” I thought miserably, but was nevertheless glad to have retained the treasured privilege of speech, although not the right to exercise it indiscriminately. I closed my eyes and focused my attention on something simple and harmless. “What would the world look like if lying caused physical pain? Would politicians routinely be tested for pain killers, like athletes for doping? Would masochists therefore ascend to power and become the new ruling class? Maybe I could take advantage of my high pain tolerance and pursue a career in marketing or public relations?”
That train of thought came to a screeching halt when the advance elements of the twin invading forces commenced their two-pronged assault on the nether provinces of my body. My rash promise limited my resistance to ineffectual grunting through clenched teeth while the territory the invaders had withdrawn from only short hours before was quickly recaptured. After some judicious manoeuvring by the enemy warlord, I was once more beset by the two implacable occupying forces, then a series of reverberating clicks irrevocably confirmed their conquest. A few moments later, the war was lost for good when a swift mopping-up action also spelled the end of my breast’s short period of freedom and prosperity. Utterly defeated I unclenched my teeth and once more attempted to get used to the unpleasant sensations of my intimate, inescapable disciplinary hardware.
“OK! Now it's time for your muzzle!” he said picking up the Feeding Gag then grinning happily at me while he brought it close to my face.
“But … but, you promised not to gag me!” I wailed and my eyes popped open in protest. “I’ve been good! Please!!!"
“Where do you get these absurd notions?” He chuckled and shook his head. “I never promised a thing! Your gagging was merely postponed. Now, be quiet and behave! You were very brave earlier. Don't disappoint me now.”
“You …” I noticed the steely glint in his eyes and closed my mouth with a snap. Judging from his sardonic expression, I quickly concluded that irate protests would not serve my purpose and so decided to take a different route. With some difficulty I curbed my temper and meekly played along with his requirement, although I registered with grim satisfaction that blood had begun to stain his shirt at the shoulder.
To fit me with the gag, he had to temporarily release my leash from the bed's anchor point, then help me to a sitting position with a finger hooked through the front restraint ring of my high collar. He brought up the horrid device and when the gag's slick feeding tube touched my artfully trembling lips, I sighed deeply, but opened my mouth resignedly to accept it. I stared up at him with a tearful, heart-rending, high-intensity, pleading look. The intolerable way he cheerfully ignored my fine display of angelic suffering made me seethe, but regrettably he cut short my foreseeable temper tantrum by the simple expedient of grabbing my nose leash and pulling harshly on it, bringing real tears to my eyes. The feeding tube went to the back of my mouth, then, while I retched from the intrusion, it was forced into my throat, slowly and irrevocably descending my oesophagus until its end resided within my heaving stomach. He spent the next couple of minutes, carefully positioning the inner flap between my cheeks and teeth and gum then, a few minutes after that, my jaws were once more stretched to the limit around the massive gag pad, it at the same time firmly compressed by the tight straps encircling my head and securely locked.
“See? Done already! Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Nnnrrghmmm!” My angry, gag-strangled objections were reduced to mere pitiful howls through my steel-infused nose. Unlike me, my Master apparently considered this a highly satisfying outcome and listened with a display of appreciative delight.
“Yes, that's much better! Amazing! You sound almost civil now, but it's time to connect your nasal jewellery to your gag.Bite down hard and hold it!”
I truly hated this part of the gagging process for it left me in constant pain from ny stretched nose, but nevertheless, I bit down hard on the slightly compressible gag pad. His skilled fingers grasped my pendant nose shackle, then brought it down to the front locking fitting on the front of my lower face covering, but it wasn't far enough.
I clenched my jaw muscles even more with effort, then heard the soft click of the shackle snapping into it its fitting. Slowly, I relaxed my bite on the compressible pad, but was instantly rewarded with a horrid painful drag on my nose. I quickly bit down again with a desperate need to stop the awful discomfort and stared up at his implacable face with tears beginning to trail from my eyes and down my compressed, thickly rubber-covered cheeks.
He chuckled, but it was interrupted by a mighty yawn.
“I think it’s time for me to call it a day. Lay back so I can re-fasten your leash. Very good! That's my girl!” He patted my bald head condescendingly before moving to my feet.
“Hold still while I free your legs. Yes, that’s it, flex them a little if you like. OK! That's enough! Now, be a good girl and bring them together so I can join your ankle cuffs. Good! Very nice. OK, I just have to connect your toe tensioning chains again. Relax your feet. So! There, that's it! You're ready for the night."
Loath to entertain him with futile attempts to resist, I remained passive throughout his manipulations of my restraints, for I was not yet ready to admit to another defeat in our constant contest of wills. When he had at last chained me down to his satisfaction, he then tried to capture my eyes. I averted my gaze indignantly, but, undaunted, he crouched beside my stretched-out body once more and began to gently fondle the accessible parts, all the while whispering “I love you.” repeatedly into my ear.
Always a great believer in expediency, he used the lowest means to achieve his ends, and even though I was well aware of his tactics, I still couldn’t help myself, and after a few moments I relented enough to glance up at him. That was a mistake, since his steady eyes instantly captured my own, compelling me to give up all subterfuge and wordlessly confirm my loving submission to his will. A knowing smile played over his lips while he nodded his understanding and acceptance, then he got up and swept me a gallant bow.
“It has been a most pleasurable evening, Milady, in all respects! I bid you a good night!” He winked at me then walked to my cell's massive door, only to pause when he reached it. “By the way, I’ve promised Maren that she will be able to visit you tomorrow. Sleep tight, Little One!”
He disappeared through the thick, steel-encased opening and with a low rumble, the massive door closed behind him and I was left alone to contemplate Maren's impending visit. Hopefully, during the coming long night, I’d dream of the joyful events of this past, most memorable day. When the massive bolts had slid fully into their steel recesses in the door's frame, the lights of the cell gradually faded to black, leaving me entombed in a depthless darkness, uncannily befitting my new situation of being recently deceased.
I shuddered willfully against the chains keeping me flat and virtually motionless, surging as much as I could against their tensioned lengths, but only the subtle noise of their links rubbing against each other broke the deep, encompassing silence. These, and the small misery-laden moans that hissed from my impaled nose were swallowed up immediately, returning me to the full awareness of just how vast and uncompromising my life of slavery had become.
I had no choice but to sleep and was soon taken into the arms of Morpheus on my unending and terrifying journey to yet another day as his totally enslaved wife.
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