Chapters 5 & 6


- Maren -

I spent the next two weeks in silenced, nervous anticipation of the first person to ever visit me in my cell, apart from my Master, and occasionally George and Fran. Although I was certainly ready to see a new face after having been kept in almost complete isolation for more than two years, I nevertheless dreaded the upcoming encounter with Maren.

The mere thought of having my state of arguably self-inflicted, abject slavery, along with its numerous bodily manifestations displayed to another, but free, woman was deeply humiliating and embarrassing. Even more disturbing was the knowledge that my Master obviously intended to put her in charge of me during the times he was absent. It was one thing to give up control over your fate to someone you love and know you can trust, but something else entirely to be delivered into the hands of a person you had not even met.

Finally, one morning after he'd released me from my sleeping chains, then my awful feeding gag, he made his announcement.

“You’ll be meeting Maren today. Trust me, you two will get along just fine.” My husband had tried to reassure me when I’d expressed these concerns to him in the morning. At the same time he left no doubt that he was not prepared to put his decision up for a vote, but at least he had freed me from the hated gag.

It would have been unbearable to be presented to Maren while still wearing it, reduced to the level of an utterly disciplined and mute animal. It was bad enough that my arms remained fastened in their harsh back prayer training position. I suspected that, despite his predictions of instant cordiality between Maren and me, my Master wanted to preclude any possibility of accidents involving a length of chain wound tightly around her delicate throat. On occasion I have come to deeply regret all of the effort I had in former times put into cultivating my image as dangerously willful femme fatale.

My dread made it hard for me to focus on the romance novel I was trying to read. Normally I got deeply engrossed when allowed me the leisure to indulge in this treasured activity, but today even the escapist pleasures provided by the antics of improbably noble males and exquisitely impassioned females could not hold my attention. This had nothing to do with the aggravating problem of turning the pages without the use of my hands, because, through long practice, I had become quite dexterous with my feet and toes. Books set in a small typeface still posed a challenge, as they forced me to shift incessantly back and forth between a position allowing me to make out the words, and another suitable for turning over the pages.

My husband considered these cumbersome gymnastics actually beneficial, as they purportedly reduced the risk of developing postural deformities, and so he’ had made sure my library contained an inordinate proportion of small print volumes. At one point he had even tried to make me read lightface tomes on taxation law, figuring I could become a cheaper alternative to his tax advisor, but when neither of his threats of severe torture nor promises of unprecedented sexual rewards could break my intransigent resistance, he reluctantly gave up on this idea.

After seemingly interminable hours spent restlessly in nervous anticipation of the upcoming encounter, I was actually glad when the door to my cell finally swung open and my Master strode through the opening, followed slowly by Maren. At the first sound of the door’s imminent opening I had quickly gotten to my feet and awaited them, standing at the maximum range of my leash with it looping back to its wall ring above my bed. I was kept some two meters from the door, but tried to project an air of calmness I did not truly feel.

My first impression of Maren was one of angelic beauty and innocence, which goes to show that first appearances can be deceiving. Her long, curly blond hair framed a pixie face and contrasted nicely with the dark blue blouse she wore, this complemented by tight fitting, beige jeans and comfortable black sneakers. I was about a full head taller than her, although she arguably offset this advantage with a more athletic build. Her skin was quite pale, but that only served to enhance the striking effect of her luminous green eyes, which darted quickly around my cell before they focused on me. As the details of my appearance registered, her apprehensive smile slipped and her lips formed a soundless, wide O, revealing regular white teeth. With impeccable timing my husband stepped in before the ensuing silence could degrade from awkward to downright embarrassing.

“Maren, may I introduce you to my wife? My dear, meet Maren!”

Jolted out of her petrifaction, Maren mumbled something incomprehensible and held out her hand in an automatic gesture, only to snatch it back as if burned, when she realized her mistake. Seeing her blush, I decided to play nice and treated her to a welcoming and almost natural smile, despite the rings in my lips.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Maren. This all," I twisted slowly at the end of my leash, gesturing as best I could around the cell, "must seem extremely strange to you. However, as you can imagine, it’s been ages since I last saw a new face, so please forgive me if I should sound a little inquisitive.

"I’d like to know everything about you!" I babbled brightly. "Your experiences, how you met poor Anne, and of course what you think of your role in my husband’s scheme." I had to catch my breath, but plowed on before she had a chance to regain her balance sufficiently to interrupt me. “Conversely, I feel you already ought to know me quite well, with everything my husband must have told you about me.”

Maren sent an exasperated look in my Master’s direction, but it was deflected with a bland smile.

“Actually, I realized just now that he hasn’t told me even half of the story.” She stated, taking a deep breath and visibly getting a grip on herself. Then, blithely ignoring my attempt to draw her out, she took her time to inspect me thoroughly, taking in the entirety of the details of my predicament with obvious fascination.

“I probably wouldn’t have believed it anyway. So let’s get this straight. You volunteered for all this? To be kept chained in this cell and to have these...” she gestured briskly at my metal-endowed body before continuing, “...these shackles and other things fastened into your body and face?”

“Uh...” Surprised by her sudden intensity, I hesitated and glanced towards my husband. ”Was this my chance to enlist an ally and win some control over my fate again?” I wondered to myself, but my husband spoke before I could say anything.

“Yes, yes and yes. She asked, then begged for all of it. If you wish, I’ll show you the recordings later.” My husband confirmed, stepping close to me and laying an arm possessively around my shoulders. Despite myself I felt my traitorous body relax against his.

Maren gave him a dubious look, but when I made no move to dispute his claim, she seemed to accept his statement. I reckoned my chance to plead my case with her would slip away if I did not speak up.

“It’s true. I wanted it done at the time, but now ...”

“Now, we’ve all passed the point of no return.” My husband finished for me, catching Maren’s eye. “Whether by choice or circumstance, we’re all in this together. We all now have to abide by our past decisions and stand by their consequences, even if they go beyond what we originally envisioned.

"My wife's jewellery and restraints are quite permanent, Maren. Quite literally, they cannot be removed, regardless of what tools and implements are available.” He gave my shoulders a reassuring squeeze then continued.

“Believe me, I know my wife. She is a true submissive at heart and to be dominated in this seemingly harsh manner is what she needs. When we first met she was the classic rebel without cause, hell-bent on a course of self-destruction. At barely 24, she’d gone through more relationships than I care to know about. She’d just been expelled from university for having an affair with a professor and his wife simultaneously, and on top of everything else, she was on the verge of becoming a drug addict.

"In short, she’s never learned not to abandon herself to an impulse. Medically speaking, my wife quite probably suffers from a hyperactivity of the limbic system.” He delivered his synopsis of my deficiencies matter-of-factly, as if to underline his scientific impartiality.

“And the good doctor knew how to make the most of this condition?” Maren acknowledged his little speech with an arched eyebrow and turned to me again. “However, do you concur with the diagnosis?”

“I was bored then.” I answered defensively, a flush making my cheeks redden with embarrassment at his unforgiving analysis.

“But you don’t agree with the therapy?” she persisted.

I squirmed sullenly, remaining silent and looking down as much as my collar permitted, but then spoke.

“Alright, I am a submissive. I’m not ashamed of it. My husband has shown me my true self and I’ve found contentment and enormous strength by finally confronting it. I know that my chains demonstrate his love for me as surely as they show my devotion to him, and, I bask in the feeling of protection and security this knowledge brings me. I crave my Master’s sometimes harsh attentions and I’m proud to be his treasured possession.” I allowed the desperation which had slowly but inexorably grown since my official demise to colour my voice, pleading with both of them now.

“Despite all that, being abandoned in this cell wears me down. I was able to endure it when I thought this was nothing more than an elaborate game, or rather a transitional arrangement to prepare me for my proper role as a wife and slave. But now that I’ve been declared dead, I'd come to realize that I might be stuck in here forever!

"You can’t imagine what it’s like to be so totally locked up down here day after day, banned from the sun and laying alone every night, fully immobilized by my chains! I don’t want to rot in this cell! I’d rather be dead! I need to get out ... to see the sky and breathe fresh air! Please Master! Please let me out to live upstairs in the house and at your side again!”

My admission and desperate plea seemed to resonate in some dark, barely explored depths of Maren’s personality. Her gaze turned inward, concentrating on some private vistas, then her breath quickened and she unconsciously licked her lips. After a few seconds her eyes focused on me once more and she staggered a little as if looking down an abyss, having experienced an attack of vertigo. With an obvious effort, she pulled away from the brink and an unsympathetic resolve hardened her features.

“No, I probably can’t imagine what it’s like. However, given my association with Anne, I’ve got a better idea than most. Whereas she was the hapless victim of a cruel disease, you did all this to yourself for your own selfish reason. So, don’t you dare to try tapping into my feelings of guilt over her death. By your own admission, your fate is now for your Master to decide.”

“I didn’t ... AHHRR!”

I did not get any further. My husband, who up to this moment had seemed susceptible to my entreaties, grasped my nose leash chain and jerked hard, then increased the tension until I looked up into his hard eyes; my own leaking tears of pain while he maintained the tension.

“I’ve had it!" he grated harshly. "You've made your point, so now I’ll make mine.

"You will stay down here for as long as I desire. I’ve yet to see a change in your attitude that impresses me enough to reconsider that decision. The ploy you tried to pull just now amply demonstrates your sly obstinacy, and if you feel inconvenienced by my choice for your placement ... Well that’s just too bad, because frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn anymore about how you feel about your restraints, jewellery or being kept in here.

"I’ve gone to considerable lengths to make sure it’s very safe for you to be confined in this cell indefinitely, and stay here you will. That being the new situation, you needn't worry for you won’t feel abandoned or lonely much longer. Maren will see to that! You’ll soon wish you’d never have complained about it in the first place.”

“But I ... AHHRR! PLEASE! OH PLEASE?” My ill-advised attempt to protest my innocence was cut short by another deliberate, harsh tug on my nose leash, bringing fresh tears of pain and humiliation to my eyes. Paradoxically, I’ve never been less convincing than when telling the truth, as my husband’s implacable anger proved to me once again. “Why did everybody insist on ascribing ulterior motives to me all the time?” I wailed to myself.

“Kindly keep quiet now, or I’ll give Maren a first-hand demonstration of how effective a well-designed gag can be.”

“I think I can understand the advantages of silencing her." Maren chimed in, an appreciative light in her eyes. "She’s certainly got a silver tongue. I mean that quite literally, also. What’s that metal I see flashing in her mouth? A tongue stud?”

“Something far more substantial and effective." my Master grinned at her, then turned to me again. "Open your mouth and show your jewellery!”

He still maintained a strong tension on my nose leash, and so disobeying my Master’s command was not an option. Besides, at least I got to stick my tongue out at Maren.

“As you can see there have been three holes punched through it and permanently mounted grommets were locked into the resultant wounds. All of her gags incorporate a pocket for her tongue, and inside these are locking cross-bolts that make sure her tongue stays were it belongs. She cannot wiggle it, and if she attempts to move her tongue, even unconsciously, she suffers. Of course, those eyelets also provide me with a range of other options: I can easily chain her by her tongue to the floor or the ceiling, or lock it to other parts of her body. Having your own tongue between your legs apparently isn’t much fun at all.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so either. May I examine her other restraints?” Maren did not even look at me, acknowledging my Master’s supreme authority.

I wasn’t entirely sure how and why it had happened, but in the space of just a few minutes I’d obviously been demoted in her eyes from most-favored fellow human being ... to livestock!

“Go ahead.” He replied a negligent gesture, signaling his acquiescence to her request.

With a barely suppressed shudder, I braced myself for the impending indignities. Gingerly at first, but with fast-growing confidence, Maren turned my head to and fro within the limits set by my high collar, getting a good look at the hardware mounted in my nose, then abruptly she brought me to my knees by grabbing the U-shackle and experimentally twisting it sideways! My miserable scream then continuing sobbing sounded very loud in my ears while my Master helped me to my feet again. Maren looked both appalled and contrite and my husband settled for a mild rebuke.

“Careful. You don’t want to damage her. Her nose shackle is sturdy enough to suspend her by, but with her arms bound like that, she might easily overbalance and fall. Always keep in mind that she’s utterly helpless and that her jewellery isn’t just pretty, but intended to be functional restraint pieces, and so they give you real authority.”

She acknowledged the admonishment with a grave nod, then under his now watchful eyes, resumed her inspection. I could not help flinching away from her touch, although she’d obviously taken my Master’s warning to heart and no further accidents occurred.

Not a single detail of my elaborate harness escaped Maren’s attention and my Master was kept busy explaining its more arcane features to her. She probed the tightness of my collar by trying to squeeze a finger between it and my neck (hopeless!) and studied how it compelled me to hold my head erect. Next, she checked the tension of the chain connecting my wrist and thumb cuffs to its backside ring and commented on the way this bondage forced my elbows together. She lauded the ingenious construction of the breast armor and admired how my abdominal muscles flexed beneath the constriction of the chastity belt, then listened with horrified fascination to the detailed description of its inner workings. I drew the uncomfortable conclusion that my numerous piercings and the way they meshed with my restraints intrigued her the most.

Throughout this degrading inspection, they inexorably discussed how each single piece of equipment fitted into the greater context of my entire ensemble and the numerous ways it alone could be used to control and punish me. When they were finally finished going over me and my bondage, I was in a state of psychic exhaustion with tears of dread and humiliation running freely down my cheeks while I sobbed quietly, standing there in deep humiliation in front of them: a leashed and utterly helpless Slave.

Temporarily spared from their immediate attention, I sank to the floor and pressed my feverish brow against the welcome coolness of the floor. Getting to know Maren, or rather getting her to know me (intimately!), had turned into an unexpectedly traumatic experience. Her total disregard for my discomfort and obvious glee at thinking up new ways to make me suffer, boded ill for my future. It was not mindless brutality, for she was clearly too intelligent for this pointed lack of empathy to be a natural trait. Instead, I assumed she’d made a conscious decision that this kind of treatment was my just reward for being what I was: a submissive.

In an attempt to regain my badly shaken confidence, I closed my eyes and concentrated on an inner mantra, relegating their ongoing conversation to a remote corner of my mind, barely more than a background noise. Meanwhile, they went through the rest of my cell, with my Master pointing out its salient features to his fascinated audience.

“This cell is kept under constant surveillance by some very sophisticated machinery. Those are cameras up in the corners, and that innocuous round thing hanging from the ceiling is a highly sensitive microphone. With it I can easily hear a proverbial pin drop. It’s most useful to monitor her breathing patterns, and coupled with the electrodes incorporated in her collar, chastity belt and breast harness, I can actually get more detailed information about her condition than if she was in intensive care.”

“What about the cameras? They look kind of bulky.”

“They’re multi-spectral, covering the entire visible and infrared spectrum. With their thermal imaging capabilities I can see her blush, even in complete darkness.” He smirked. “I can even see her getting into heat.”

“I always believed that to be a only a figure of speech, but never mind. You’ve shown me so many amazing things already that I’ll take your word for it.”

“You don’t have to. I keep backups of the more memorable recordings. Once she figured she could … but I digress. The sensors in the irremovable parts of her bondage are radio-powered and what little energy they need is transmitted to them with the microwave pulse used to read them out. It’s basically the same principle that’s behind the RFID tags in the supermarket. All the telemetry data is channeled to a central server and processed there. It constantly monitors the slave’s vital signs and alerts me if they cross the thresholds I’ve specified. I can control every aspect of the cell’s automation and fully control her from any computer terminal or cell phone, from anywhere in the world.”

"What kind of automation are you talking about?"

"Apart from the ordinary stuff like regulating temperature, ventilation, lights, and so on, there are also the more interesting ‘subjugation’ capabilities of the slave’s equipment. The plugs I have mounted in her belt’s crotch piece can be made to dish out anything from pleasurable impulses to severe electro-shock.

"They’re most useful in motivating her during her required exercise periods. You doubtlessly realize how important it is for the slave to work out regularly, in order to keep healthy and in shape. Unfortunately, she sometimes lacks this insight and so I had to think of reliable means to ensure that she doesn’t slacken her efforts while doing her work-outs. Here, let me show you.”

Judging from the sounds, he was unlocking the big storage cabinet across the room, where all my "toys” were kept, as he persistently but incorrectly called them. First, the denotation “toys” improperly trivialized the metal, leather or rubber horrors that filled the cabinets row upon row. Second, if anything, they were, with a few noted exceptions, his toys, but I had to suffer their depredations! Despite myself, I had to look, re-familiarizing myself with some of my most inimical adversaries. I immediately picked out my old black leather hood, the one I’d bought myself shortly after moving in with him, hanging at its place of honour between the complementary arm binder and ankle cuffs. I'd spent the occasional evening mute, deafened and sightless in their tight embrace, but now I always felt the bite of the uncompromising metal restraints ensnaring my body and I experienced a flash of bittersweet nostalgia.

As she took in the cabinet’s contents, Maren’s starry-eyed expression forcibly reminded me of a child's in a candy store, although she frowned whenever she encountered a device whose purpose eluded her. My Master was kind enough to fill the gaps in her education, taking a wicked delight in the incredulous reactions some of his explanations evoked.

“You can’t be serious!

“I am. That’s where it goes.”

Maren's thighs clenched involuntarily and her hands moved protectively to her crotch. From my huddled position I could not see what kind of device had engendered this reaction, but I was loath to get acquainted with it first-hand and so decided not to risk unwelcome attention by going over and elbowing my way to the front. Instead, I remained as quiet and inconspicuous as possible, for not every piece biding its time in this cabinet of horrors had made an appearance yet in the bizarre melodrama that my life had become. In my considered opinion, there was little to be gained by hastening their debut.

Thankfully, my tactic of keeping a low profile paid off and after some further treasure-hunting my husband at last remembered his original intention and he pulled out a well-worn drawer. Not that its contents were particularly comforting, but at least I was deeply familiar with them. Arranged in individual trays lined with black velvet, reminiscent of a jewellery box, the implements of my intimate torture were displayed; a variety of huge black phalli of every form and description, all dotted with bright silvery, one cm wide strips and dots.

“These are the plugs I mentioned earlier. The left one is a smaller copy of the one currently filling her vagina. As you can see, its surface is covered with electrical contacts that can be individually energized. Depending on the activation pattern, it’s possible to generate almost any sensation imaginable; fondling, rubbing, itching, burning, contractions both strong and weak ... you name it.”

“Stop your sales pitch. You've already convinced me! Can I buy one?”

“Sorry but they’re not for sale." he chuckled. "I had them built by George, as is the case with most of what you see here. Maybe you can persuade him to make one for you too. You'll meet him at the funeral in a couple of days. I don't know how he'll manage it, but he plans to bring his wife along as well and I think you'll find Fran to be very interesting. She's got a lot in common with my own wife ... quite literally.”

“Fran will be free to attend my funeral?” I blurted out. “While I’m to be kept buried in this damned cell?”

My Master’s cold stare instantly made me regret my rash outburst.

“Ah! Thank you for interrupting us, my dear. You’re right. We have neglected you far too long! Maren, what do you think? Would you like to try your hand at gagging the slave?”

“Definitely!” She watched my dismayed expression with obvious glee before carefully considering the plethora of gags on display in the cabinet.

“Let me see ... How about this one?” Maren held up a large, butterfly pump gag for my inspection; this fastened to an elaborate head harness. I refused to rise to her bait, but my widened eyes and flared nostrils provided all the encouragement she needed.

“Yes, this one it is.”

“An excellent choice!” My Master seconded. “I’ll be happy to assist you, of course.”

“Please no!” I wailed. “You’ve no idea how uncomfortab ....” My pleading’s only reward was the sardonic grin that spread over her features and I shut my mouth with an audible click. I resolved not to humiliate myself any further with useless whining and so remained stoically passive while she handled me, following my Master’s instructions on how to best force the gag’s tripartite bladder into my mouth, then lock its numerous straps uncomfortably tight around my bald skull.

“Now, you have to pump it up. You can determine the appropriate pressure by checking the tension of her cheeks. If you overshoot you can release air through this valve.”

Touching her left hand to my face, she squeezed the rubber bulb in her right hand several times and I felt the bladder in my mouth expand, slowly and implacably prizing my jaw ever further apart, pressing my lips against the gag’s shield and forcing my cheeks to bulge outward. At the same time, the straps encircling my head tightened painfully, trying to embed themselves into my skin and inside my mouth, the ever-expanding bladder crushed my tongue against the floor of my mouth, yet still she kept pumping! My Master moved to intervene, but she restrained him with a raised hand, holding my gaze while she gave the bulb yet another squeeze! The straining muscles of my jaw were on fire! The pain became unbearable and I tried screaming for her to stop.


“OK, that last squeeze was probably a little much.” Maren conceded and let a small amount of air escape through the valve, reducing the strain from agonizing to only distinctly uncomfortable. Now that she had pierced my armour of equanimity, she could be gracious on her own terms. The bulb and its tube were disconnected from the socket on the gag’s facial shield and she turned to my husband with a smug smile.

“You wanted to tell me something?”

He had to clear his throat before he answered.

“It’s moot now. I’ll set her up for an exercise period on the treadmill, then show you the rest of the house and your rooms.”

“Fine by me. Let’s get to it!”

I attempted to shrink back against the wall but but as always, my nose leash made short work of any resistance I may have tried. Unable to resist its insistent, painful tension, I was led to the metal contraption occupying a corner of my cell. This was a conventional treadmill at its core, but it had been upgraded almost beyond recognition. A metal framework arched high over the central belt, this adorned by a number of spring-mounted chains and helix cables with bulky connectors at their ends.

“You know the routine! Don’t make me wait!” my husband snapped harshly, scaring me even more with his sudden coldness of purpose.

With a heartfelt but stillborn sigh, I stepped up onto the belt, suppressing a shiver when the cold metal of the suspended chains slid over my naked body, then positioned myself beneath the arch and waited patiently for my Master to tether me to it. With practiced efficiency he pulled on the carefully-measured chains until they could be fastened to the side rings of my collar, then others to the side rings on the chest band of my upper body harness, these leading down to the side rings of my chastity belt. For his coup de grace he locked my nose leash to a spring-mounted ring above and adjusted the tension until I was no longer able to lower my head and had to face straight ahead. He stepped back and invited Maren to study the manner in which my body was now secured to the metal frame. From the edge of my field of vision I saw her appraising the arrangement of chains.

“I think I get it. The tethers keep her in place and hold her up in case she stumbles, whereas the springs are necessary to absorb the jolts while she runs. But what’s preventing her from resting in her restraints and just letting her feet drag?”

“Glad you asked!” He grinned happily. “For one thing, the pull on her nose will become very uncomfortable and then quite painful, but short term encouragement is also provided through the electrodes I spoke of earlier. In fact, I’ll make the required connections right now.”

He grabbed the longest of helix cables and knelt before me. Immediately I felt the familiar vibration when its connector securely engaged the socket on my crotch strap, then the procedure was repeated twice more when he connected cables to the apexes my breast cups. Fortunately, the gag Maren had picked did not incorporate the capability to deliver electrical shocks to my tongue and so I was at least spared that particularly nasty ordeal ... this time.

“The cables are connected to the control box you see over there, and that in turn is slaved to the main server. The computer controls all aspects of her training, always keeping her heart rate in the optimal range. George’s company actually sells a simplified version of the treadmill, but of course without the, ah, motivational upgrades. I forgot to bring my laptop, so we’ll have to go to my study in order to activate her exercise program, then we can watch her on the monitor and enjoy some wine while we discuss the other matters.”

“Excellent!” Maren assented, then positioned herself directly in front, looking me straight in the eye, her words mocking my initial greeting. “It’s indeed been my pleasure to finally make your acquaintance! I've learned a great deal today and I’m sure we’ll get on with each other very well.

"Don’t worry, I promise to take good care of you my dear, but for now, I wish you an entertaining evening! Au revoir.”

She turned and joined my Master, waiting for her at the cell’s door. A minute later I was alone once more, a vast, cold, fearful lump forming in my stomach.


- Fun With Fran -

I was not permitted the leisure to dwell extensively on bleak visions of my future under Maren’s thumb before more immediate concerns grabbed my attention.

Some moments later, with a soft electronic sound, the treadmill’s control panel lit up and its belt started to move; smoothly picking up speed until I was forced into a fast walk, the chains and springs of my tethers clinking merrily and in counterpoint to the thudding of my naked feet on the belt’s resilient surface. As always, the nasal leash proved the most bothersome of my many encumbrances. Its erratic jerking at the sensitive tissue of my nostrils and septum was not exactly painful, thanks to the embedded, wide-flanged grommets, but it was nevertheless irritating as Hell!

Despite my Master’s claims to the contrary, I was not averse to exercising per se and in fact, I’d have loved to run through a lush forest with its varying landscape entertaining my eyes and the rich smells invigorating my body. Instead though, my environment was comprised of only a brilliantly lit, stark black, tiled room with sinister chromed equipment bolted to the floor. The mild breeze coming from the ventilation grille had a decidedly clinical tang rather than those of an unbridled natural setting.

Even my most serious efforts would get me exactly nowhere and so it was small wonder that I had little enthusiasm for this kind of workout. “Would I ever get the chance to feel green grass below my bare feet again?” I wondered with a frantic pang of poignant despair.

About ten minutes later, the computer deemed my muscles sufficiently warmed up for the next stage and the belt accelerated, forcing me to run in earnest to keep up the pace. My breathing became increasingly laboured and the act of drawing in enough oxygen solely through my encumbered nose turned into an unanticipated challenge. I was slowly, but inexorably getting out of breath. My regular gag for this kind of workout incorporated a breathing tube and I suddenly realized that I could easily be driven into a faint when the computer, unaware of the changed circumstances, forced me through my usual, strenuous exercise pattern! This thought provoked an involuntary flash of panic, causing me to miss a step and I stumbled, falling helplessly forward until the tethers took up my weight and I oscillated crazily in the harness of my restraints, in part supported by my abused nose, stretched painfully towards its leash’s overhead fastening!

My fall was an occurrence that had been anticipated in the machine’s meticulous training programme and thus associated with a specific set of instructions. The computer instantly shut down the treadmill’s motor and simultaneously activated the electrodes deeply embedded within my loins, sending powerful and agonizing, disciplinary pulses of electricity into my nether regions! I shrieked mindlessly into my gag while my thighs clenched spasmodically and my fingers clawed frantically up behind my back, but of course with futility at the end of the chain to the back ring of my collar that kept my arms folded in place.

Intermittently, my poor, garroted and inflated breasts were also subjected to the same horrid abuse, adding their own voices to the carefully orchestrated symphony of torture. The shocks ranged erratically over the whole spectrum of pain: being stabbing or pulsing, or replaced by a burning sensation, stinging, or a mind-altering twitching and curdling agony. No sensation lasted long enough for me to get used to it, and therefore created a mind-numbing ordeal.

“AAAHH-OOOWWW!!!! AAAAGGGG!!! EEEYYYAAAHHGG!!!!! MMMAAARRRGGGHHH!" I screamed insensibly, unable to stop myself, but my gag-muffled howls and shrieks only reverberated loudly inside my mind! Unable to get myself under control, I twisted and writhed in mid-air like a marionette played by an evil puppeteer in his death throes. “What a sorry spectacle I must make of myself!”

The unbidden image of Maren sitting on the couch, sipping wine with my husband and gleefully watching me suffer, filled me with a flood of rage and shame that temporarily surpassed and overrode even the pain of my electrical torment.

Thankfully, some moments, or an eternity later, the shocks subsided. This signified the end of the punishment for my misstep and meant that my training was to resume shortly. Still shaking and sobbing heavily, I struggled to my feet, for I knew that if I failed to comply with the machine’s uncompromising warning and the short respite that the programming had granted me, the torture would recommence with a vengeance. As soon as the reduced load on my tethers convinced the computer that I was standing again, the belt once more began to accelerate and my so-called ‘training’ resumed.

My earlier panic turned out to be unfounded and I completed the balance of my exercise period without further incidents. Either my Master or the computer had recognized my breathing handicap and compensated for it by shifting the emphasis of my workout from performance to endurance. Hence, from then on whenever I got seriously winded, the treadmill slowed to a leisurely walk until I had caught my breath, then accelerated once again; starting a new round of the vicious cycle.

Of course, I had needed longer and longer breaks to recover, and when at long last the belt stopped and an electronic chime announced the end of my training, I was panting heavily; drenched in sweat and ready to collapse on the spot; kept swaying on my feet only by the nose leash’s promise of instant retribution for this kind of transgression. Fortunately, I did not have to endure much longer. Indeed my sweat had barely begun to dry in the ventilation’s warm breeze when the door to my cell opened and my Master strode into my field of vision.

With great relief I noted he had come to my rescue alone, for I was deeply wary of the outcome of another confrontation with Maren. He quickly released me from my tethers and despite all I’d had to suffer at his hands on this fateful day, I felt intensely grateful and almost consoled when he picked up my quivering form and carried me in his strong arms to my simple hygiene zone. Located in the corner across from the cell’s entrance, a toilet, small basin and wall-mounted shower head vied for the limited space allotted to them by the clear Perspex splash guard that partitioned the zone off from the rest of the room. The drain at its centre represented the lowest point of my prison’s gently sloping floor: a neat arrangement that also greatly helped to relieve the issue of keeping my tiled cell clean.

He set me down gently, then from each side, pulled up a short length of chain and and locked them to it so that I was held centred in the shower stall. With another lock he joined my feet together, only then releasing my arms from their stringent bondage.

“Mmmmmhh.” I moaned with a heart-felt sigh rendered barely audible by the rubber bladder still occupying my oral cavity, greeting this longed for opportunity to lower my leaden arms at last. My husband spent a few, deeply-appreciated moments to expertly knead some life back into my abused arms and shoulders before turning to the equally welcome task of freeing me of the gag.

“I noticed the breathing problem you developed.” he informed me while fumbling with the numerous straps of the head harness. “Fortunately, the computer recognized it too and reacted adequately, but I don’t think that’s a satisfactory long-term solution. To address the basic issue instead of just the symptoms, I’ll buy a respirator and integrate it with the rest of your exercise equipment. That will be a lot safer and give me better control over all aspects of your life, including training and controllability.”

I had severe reservations about the benefits of his plan, but remained silent while he released the last of the harness’s many buckles, letting its web of straps dangle from the inflated bladder still wedged into my mouth. Pushing it out with my trapped tongue alone immediately proved to be pointless, but my subsequent attempts to extract its massive bulk using my still weak hands fared no better. Before I could come to harm in my increasingly frantic struggle, he intervened, effortlessly pushing down my raised arms.

“Stop that! Be reasonable. The gag has to be deflated first!”

Willy-nilly, I waited indignantly while he hunted down the gag’s bulb, reconnected it to the socket on the face shield, then let the captured air escape through its valve. At long last he pried the bladder’s remaining bulk from my mouth.

“Aahh! Oh, thank you, Master!” I whispered gratefully.

“You’re welcome. Now, be quiet! I don’t want to hear a single word while I get you cleaned up and ready for bed!”

“But I nee-mmhh …”

I was rudely interrupted by an iron hand clamped over my mouth. My husband expertly assumed the expression of a suffering saint.

“What part exactly of ‘I don’t want to hear a single word!’ was incomprehensible to you? Your continual complaining would impress me much more if you obeyed my commands, even once in a while! Maren is certainly correct! I have been far too lenient with you in the past.”

I stiffened at the mention of her name. He noticed my flared nostrils and grinned at me.

“She’s been quite cocky, hasn’t she? I’ve got to admit though that she surprised even me back there! Looks like the days you’ve routinely manipulated me to do your bidding are finally over!”

He let me stew on this for a moment then continued in a more serious tone.

“In the end, I believe things will work out fine. Right now, I guess she’s overcompensating for what she perceives as a lack of experience with our lifestyle. But, she’s acting on borrowed authority and she knows it. However, that being said, I expect you to obey her as you would me.” He caught my eye. “Can do?”

I was far from sharing his confidence, but a wave of bone-deep weariness made me relent for the moment and I nodded weakly instead of trying to voice my doubts. Kind of hard to do with his hand still clamped tightly over my mouth. “Another time.” I promised myself.

He returned my nod solemnly and finally took his hand away.

“Good! Now let’s get you showered. You’re badly in need of it, to be honest.”

I made a rude gesture at him that he chose to ignore while he divested himself of his clothes. For the next half hour we luxuriated together in the shower’s spray of hot water. He applied liberal amounts of soothing shower gel to my body, gently massaging it into every accessible pore of my skin, even unlocking my breast and crotch covers in the process. Despite my weariness, the manipulations of his deft fingers quickly brought me to a shattering orgasm, then later, after he’d finished rubbing me down, I clung to him in desperate need, but he was completely unmoved by my silent tears. He simply pried my arms loose then incarcerated my private parts in their steel prisons once more. He made me brush my teeth and a few minutes later I was once again helplessly stretched out and chained on my sleeping mat, ready to suffer through another night of lonely longing. Despite my misgivings I fell asleep quickly, claimed by physical and emotional exhaustion.

When my husband came to my cell for his evening visit some days later, he wore a very formal, three piece black suit with a dark gray shirt and black silk tie, as befitted a mourning widower. The strange mixture of chagrin and grim amusement was less in tune with his assumed role.

“I’ve just come from your funeral and its aftermath. That had to be one of the most bizarre events in my life!” he exclaimed, propelled through the room by his inner agitation. He pointed an accusing finger at me. “That’s just like you, turning your own funeral into a farce!”

I considered his accusation to be highly unfair, since neither had I wanted to be buried in the first place, nor was my actual role in the proceedings (although it was nominally the pivotal one) more than marginal. In fact, up to now I had not even known that the burial had been scheduled for today, and for the moment I instinctively shied away from contemplating what it signified for me. Unfortunately, I was once again incapacitated by my customary feeding gag, unable to remind him of these salient facts. At least he recognized the complete non sequitur from my bewildered expression and relented enough to offer an explanation.

“You know, I’d planned your funeral ceremony to be a very private and quiet event. Just family and closest friends, although some of my colleagues also choose to attend. What I didn’t account for was the parade of old lovers and discarded spouses you left in your wake! They had to be the most unlikely assortment of individuals imaginable in a graveyard!” He shook his head in annoyance. “And, they were out in force, milling about at the fringes, apparently wary of me and the official guests, as well as each other, but some seemed genuinely stricken. Others appeared more determined to make sure you wouldn’t return from the dead to haunt them again. The worst group, mostly women, can only be described as shamelessly gloating. And none of them had seen you in years! It was all very embarrassing and Maren was most upset about it.”

His description of the event left me with mingled feelings. I was pleasantly consoled by the evidence that despite my earlier mortification, my alleged death had not gone completely unnoticed and that I had obviously made a lasting impression on the lives I’d touched. I preferred to think that those who remembered me fondly substantially outnumbered the others who still harboured hard feelings about me. But now, to all of them I was dead and buried and I could not help feeling quite awful! Moreover, the way my husband sided with Maren, as if I was somehow at fault for the violation of her sensibilities, set my teeth on edge, then to add injury to insult, his next remark sent a chill down my spine.

“I think one of these days we will need to talk about your past in a little more detail.”

This boded ill for me. Taking the adage of “What a husband doesn’t know won’t hurt his wife.” to heart, I had been deliberately vague about certain less virtuous episodes of my life before I’d met him, and been, albeit forcibly, reformed. Now, I’d need to make up some pretty solid legends about the reason behind the generous severance pay after my short foray into the corporate world as a simple intern. I had a feeling that an explanation of hard, hard work just would not fly.

“However, afterwards George and Fran joined us for a private tribute to Anne, and that seemed to calm Maren down a little. By the way, you should have seen Fran! George was quite ingenious in choosing her attire and with just a cloak, wig, hat, and dark veil, he managed to conceal most of her restraints. Everyone assumed she was weighed down with grief and commended on the way George kept propping her up. If only they knew!” he chuckled. “Maren has gone with them, for he insisted on showing her his workshop. They’ll all drop by for a visit soon, so let’s get you ready to greet our guests.”

I welcomed his announcement with genuine enthusiasm, as I hadn’t seen Fran for quite some time and was eager to meet her again. We understood each other on a level so deep that only women who have gone through the same mind-bending experiences together could. Hopefully, we would have the opportunity to discuss recent developments and ease our mutual plight, at least temporarily, by sharing it. I’d also encounter Maren again, but some things just could not be helped.

Getting ready for the upcoming visit entailed being freed from the hated gag and another, very welcome bout in the cell’s hygiene zone, unfortunately this time without the additional boon of sexual gratification. Instead, after rubbing me down with a rough towel, my Master distributed scented oil all over my body, then massaged it into my skin, a highly sensual experience that left me erotically supercharged, but due to my locked-up state, with no chance to relieve the sexual tension.

He had barely finished when a signal from his pager indicated that our visitors had arrived at the front door and he pressed the button that unlocked it.

“You better behave while I let our guests in.”

He hurriedly put on his clothes again, detached my tethers from the back of my collar, freed my hobble from the floor ring and left to greet our guests. Of course, despite his admonition, my hands flew to my crotch as soon as the cell’s door had closed behind him. So far, I’d never managed to achieve enough stimulation to reach orgasm, but I’d never been a person to be daunted by mere impossibilities when I really wanted something. Besides, my hands were completely free for once! Maybe if I twisted my body just so and pressed with my hands here and there …

Some minutes and a broken toothbrush later, the opening door forced me to abandon my efforts and admit to yet another defeat by my heartlessly efficient chastity harness. I closed my eyes in bitter frustration. When my husband reviewed the recordings of these minutes, he would no doubt be treated to some of the most astonishing contortions in the history of gymnastics. “Perhaps he’d even consider contacting the Chinese State Circus on my behalf?”

“Hello again!”

With a mental sigh I opened my eyes to find that Maren had entered my cell, alone. This time she wore a long black skirt with a matching blouse and elegant, high heeled boots. I tried to peer around her into the passageway leading into my secret cell, but the others were nowhere to be seen. Apparently she was some kind of advance party and I wondered briefly what was delaying the main force. Maren strutted over to me, her heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor, and I was hard-pressed not to shrink back from her embrace.

“Hello Maren.” I greeted her demurely, unsettled by her unexpected display of cordiality. Holding me at arms length, she beamed at me.

“Your funeral was just splendid! So many old friends of yours showed up to commiserate with your husband. I’m so sorry you missed it.” Her eyes glittered as she added, “This time.” under her breath.

I blinked at her suddenly vicious tone, but before I had time to react she drew me close again and held me tight, whispering urgently into my ear.

“Do you remember Adrian Adler? I was just thrilled to recognize my former fiance at your funeral. Well, my dear, your days of ruining other people’s life are certainly over. I’ll make very sure of that!”

She let me go abruptly and sent me reeling away from her then without another glance turned back toward the entrance while I tried to regain my physical and mental balance. Adrian had been sweet, and for a while I'd indulgently responded to his advances, but had tired of him quickly. Now, I desperately tried to recall if he’d ever mentioned having a psychopathic girlfriend. “Damn! It just had to be Maren!”

Clanking noises emanated from the long passageway to my dungeon, gradually growing louder and louder, then George appeared in the doorway, slowly walking backwards and dragging something along on a chain he grasped in his right hand. The sight of what obviously had to be Fran diverted me completely from my dark brooding over Maren’s threat.

Fran shared my fate of having been afflicted (or “adorned”, as my husband liked to put it) with a set of permanent cuffs, and so I was not in the least surprised to see a chained, but otherwise naked young woman being led into my cell on a leash. What did startle me though was that, where Fran’s head should have been, a small ovoid made from the same shining metal as our cuffs sat on her shoulders instead!

Except for a strong ring at its crown and an oblong, horizontally-oriented oval section on the lower front it was completely smooth and shone with a mirror finish. The lower front oval plate had numerous, complicated-looking ports and sockets in the general area where I assumed her mouth to be, and at the bottom, the helmet ended in a thick, circular tube that enclosed her neck, blended into her high steel collar. From the absence of anything resembling vision ports, as well as her halting and insecure steps, it was a foregone conclusion that Fran had been entirely deprived of her eyesight and when she didn’t react to my horrified exclamation, I immediately realized that she couldn’t hear anything either!

My husband brought up the rear of this bizarre procession, inducing the cell’s massive door to close after him while George led Fran to the middle of the room. There, he moved behind his trembling prisoner, grabbed her by the shoulders and made her kneel by the simple expedient of pushing his knees into the hollows of hers. When he had thus forced her to the ground and attached her leash to a convenient floor ring, he got up again and greeted me casually.

“Ciao, Bella! Long time no see.”

I had to tear my eyes away from where poor Fran knelt on the floor, motionless except for the occasional twitching of her arms when she tugged at the lock fastening her gleaming wrist cuffs to the back ring of her steel chastity belt. Despite his demonstrative nonchalance, I could see that George was quite anxious to explain the latest fruit of his misguided ingenuity to me. Maren and my husband had both taken up a relaxed posture and looked on tolerantly; apparently having already been treated to the same presentation.

“OK George, I’ll bite.” I said with some sarcasm and worry, “What’s that contraption you’ve locked around poor Fran’s head?”

“It’s my latest invention!” he bubbled happily. “This is the prototype for what I refer to as a USD. That’s the designator for Ultimate Sensory Deprivation, or more succinctly put, an Ultimate Subjugation Device.”

He made a dramatic pause, giving me time to fully appreciate the import of his words.

“That’s awfully nice.” I said, obliging his enthusiasm, but with more venom creeping in. “Could you please remove it now? I’d like to talk to Fran.”

He was about to launch into his rehearsed speech when my words registered. For a second he stood with his mouth open, then closed it with an audible click while his complexion turned an interesting shade of red. My husband started to cough and turned his back to us, shoulders shaking. Maren, on the other hand, was not amused and stared at me coldly, obviously chalking up another point against me. Bother. My husband cleared his throat and faced us again.

“Sorry.” He sent me a quelling look that I parried with an unrepentant grin.

Although still smarting from his humiliation, George had recovered enough of his composure to answer my request in clipped tones.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, my dear. It’s designed to be a permanent part of her restraint ensemble.”

I was shocked out of my complacency about my petty triumph and stared at him in open-mouthed horror when the words were uttered. Maren and my Master looked equally startled.

“But you said only the temporary locks were engaged!” She burst out, while my husband nodded vigorously in confirmation.

“Right! The permanent locking bolts aren’t engaged ... yet.” George conceded calmly. “To prevent accidents, the procedure to activate them is quite involved.”

He stole a glance at me and bent over the kneeling and quivering Fran.

“To do it, you have to turn the collar portion clockwise until the markings on its circumference are properly aligned with the corresponding ones on the helmet portion of the USD. Only now is the safety pin accessible through the aperture at the collar’s bottom and can be removed.”

He quickly pulled a short, flexible rod from the aperture at the back of the helmet and continued without pause. “The collar can now be turned in the other direction until you feel a resistance. This is the first stoppage you have to overcome.”

He twisted the collar a few degrees more and was rewarded with a soft click. Fran, who up to this point had been passively enduring his manipulations, began to struggle wildly, although the nature of her restraints forbade any chance to resist him effectively. My husband was the first to find his voice again.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

George did not bother to answer, but rotated the collar through another minute arc. The second click could clearly be he heard, even over the din Fran’s desperate struggles generated. For a moment she redoubled her efforts, then became very still. George fixed me with a malicious grin. Although I stood nearest to him I would never reach him in time.

“George, please don’t…” My plea was cut short by the third click, then a volley of fainter clicks that followed.

“And that’s that!” he stated smugly. “All good things come in three's.”

George let go of Fran and she collapsed limply on the floor, her ovoid encased head bouncing on the tiles while her body shook with sobs no one would ever again hear. All the while her hands and arms jerked frantically against their cuffs and chains, then she slowly subsided in decreasing desperation.

For a moment I stood transfixed by the enormity of what had just been done to Fran and my own shame for having provoked it. Next, I was overcome by a white hot rage! A scream tore itself from my throat and I propelled myself in George’s direction. He was totally taken by surprise and had no time to brace himself, so we both went down in a heap of flailing limbs and I pummeled him as best I could; at one time even succeeding in driving my knee very forcefully up into his groin.

Unfortunately, before I could repeat this feat, my husband was upon me, ruthlessly jerking on my leash until I nearly choked, dragging me off him. I had to let go of George, who madly scrambled away on his bottom until he reached the wall, where he levered himself up on his elbows and stared at me, blood oozing from his nose. He looked satisfyingly battered. At long last all the forced exercise and workouts had done me some good.

My Master was very pale and his hand, grasping my leash, shook slightly. Maren managed to look appalled and fascinated at the same time, then went over to George and knelt beside him, using her handkerchief to staunch the flow of blood from his nose.

Fran was, of course, completely oblivious to what had just transpired. Her more violent tremors had ceased and now, she lay on her side with her legs drawn tight up to her body in an embryonic posture to reveal the tight wide steel strap clasped over her crotch. The unsettling sight of the impenetrable, sealed metal encasement locked around her head made it difficult for me to think coherently.

“How must she feel, unable to see, hear, speak or even smell?” The horrified thought twisted through my mind.

I crept over to her and gently touched her shoulders, but not knowing that it was me, she shrank from my touch. I caressed her tenderly, then turned her body towards me as far as her restraints would allow and took her in my arms. Fran pressed herself against me, obviously needing the reassurance of another woman with the last sense she still had at her command and I felt her quivering slowly subside, for apparently my presence gave her some solace. Then, her shoulders began to shake with violent sobbing and she collapsed against me.

“What have you done?” My master’s voice was deceptively calm when he confronted George.

“What do you think I did? I love Fran, for God’s sake! If you’d bothered to pay attention to what I said earlier, you’d remember that the helmet is just a prototype. Unlike the finished product, there’s nothing truly final about locking it ... at this point. I’ve tested the mechanism multiple times already, and I have all the tools necessary, back in my workshop, to disengage the locking mechanisms and release Fran from the USD.”

His words had me riding an emotional roller coaster. Anger and bleak despair were replaced by sudden hope, followed by immense relief, which immediately gave way to anger again. “Had all this been George’s sick idea of a practical joke?” I felt like kicking him in the groin all over again and judging from his expression, my husband appeared to entertain similar fantasies.

“Why doesn’t Fran seem to be aware of this little detail?” he asked.

“Well, I thought I’d pointed it out to her. Maybe she didn’t choose to listen.” He glanced uncomfortably at her huddled, shaking form, shuddering like a newly-born colt in my arms and sighed. “I guess I went a too far.”

For the first time he sounded more contrite than petulant, but his remorse abruptly turned into anger and he pointed an accusing finger at me.

“But! Speaking of going too far, your slave is totally out of line! If you’re righteous search for the guilty also extends to your own household, you will have to look no further than at the end of that leash you hold in your hand.”

“Indeed.” my Master responded coldly. “Don’t worry! She’ll be punished very severely. Maren and I will see to that.” he promised George solemnly.

“She will suffer. You can count on me!” Maren affirmed with an anticipatory gleam in her eye.

“I guess that will have to do. I’m sorry I can’t hang around and enjoy the spectacle, but I need to take Fran to my workshop now.”

Supported by Maren, George got stiffly to his feet and leaned against the wall while she took care of disconnecting Fran’s collar leash from the floor ring. I reluctantly released her from my tight embrace and let Maren help her to her feet then lead her to the cell’s door where they were joined by George and my Master. While they waited for the door to open, George turned around and shot me a venomous look.

“You have no idea of the devices Fran was required to accept before I affixed the outer covering of her USD. She wept and screamed a lot while I prepared her, so was probably not paying full attention as I mentioned earlier.

“She has become used to and complacent about most of her special equipment, but, the devices she had to accept before I closed the USD seemed to distress her quite severely, as was their intent.

“Not only does the USD control or remove all of her primary senses, but just by their mere presence, being affixed to her flesh, as well as being inserted into it, she is kept in a perpetual state of awareness of her bondage and controllability. Apparently, she quite dislikes this newest device. It will soon to become a permanent part of her ensemble.

“At any rate, I’m quite confident I can finalize the design for the USD now. I’ve decided to use your head’s measurements for the first fully functional unit.”

“An excellent idea!” Maren exulted and even my Master nodded, albeit reluctantly.

Minutes later I was still numbly staring at the inside of the vault-like door to my cell where it had closed behind them.

CHPTRS: 1 & 2 --- CHPTRS: 3 & 4 --- CHPTR: 7 --- CHPTR: 8 - PT 1 --- CHPTR: 8 - PT 2