Archive-name: Bondage/claire.txt

Archive-author: 

Archive-title: Change of Heart, A





The day after - June 10th, 1997  

***************************************** 



She turned in her bed and burrowed among the pillows ... the sun was 

peeping in through the window and that was her alarum clock this season. 

But a few moments wouldn't matter. Squirmed and cuddled against a satiny 

pillow. 



It had been a nice party yesterday. They had talked about Sartre and CAD 

programs and sex and war and got a little high. It was a wonderful thing 

to have good friends. Not really friends actually, but colleagues and 

acquaintances. And then that icecream was a great way to finish off. No 

calories. None. Not one! Atleast that is what the label said, though 

Andrew pickering claimed that it was just dishonest advertising. 



Slight headache though. Never had one normally, though she remembered 

waking up with a migrane several times in the last few weeks. Must have 

drunk more than usual ... or maybe the icecream ... ummm. She dozed off 

till the sun climbed a few inches and shone again on her face. "Ngggh!" 

Wriggled away from it again, but a sense of duty  made her turn around and lie back. Definitely a 

hangover. She squinted painfully at the light and moaned. Pulled her 

pillow over her eyes and rubbed against its soft surface. "Mmmm!!". 

Wriggled to get the bedcover from uncomfortable parts of her body. 

Wriggled some more. Dug a hand and pulled the sheet free. What? 



There was something knobbly under her back. Not her sheet. That was to 

the side. Come to think of it, something poked her in the buttocks and 

small of the back too. And something - a pillow - was pushed against her 

breasts. Felt good actually. "Mmmmff!?" she said. After which profound 

comment, decided to reluctantly explore the discomfort. Careful not to 

disturb the delightful equilibrium atop her chest - one light pillow, 

that! - she carefully burrowed a hand under her shoulder blade. And 

stopped. 



No wonder she had a hangover. She must have drunk a heck of a lot more 

than she remembered. That bothered the young woman no end. She was not 

prone to uncontrolled behaviour. And not remembering! 



There was a smooth band under her shoulder blade. A bra! She had not 

even undressed properly. Umm. And where was her nightie? Explored more 

briskly upstairs now that the pillow had been shown to be a brassiere. 

WHAT??! 



Claire sat up bolt upright and then collapsed in a pathetic moan. The 

world came apart in bright jagged glass fragments that howled atonally 

and pricked her all over. Some hangover, thought she. Sat up, very 

carefully. "That's better." Then remembered why she sat up, and gasped. 

Carefully, very carefully, very, very reluctantly, hoping not to see 

what she felt, she looked down. 



Something black. Leather? A leather bra? But it had felt ... Reached a 

hand and stroked the black. No not leather! Some kind of metal. Matte 

finish. Very expensive looking, she thought absently. The band was also 

metal. So was the ring. 



The rings. Around her nipple. She felt them. Pressing gently against the 

ring about her left nipple - felt very good. It was very flat and VERY 

smooth and silky. But undeniably made of metal. 



Claire's breasts were very sensitive. She often masturbated to orgasm by 

just touching them. And these rings seemed to amplify all that 

sensation. She lost herself in pleasure as she pressed and stroked the 

rings and her nipples imprisoned by them. Squeezed the breasts. 

Amazingly that was possible. That did not make sense. If she could move 

them, then she could take it off ...? Did not matter she thought 

fuzzily. Ohhhh ... 



She collapsed back on the bed and continued to stroke and pleasure 

herself. And then she climaxed. "Oh ... ngggggh! Eeeee!" squealed the 

soprano. Panting, she continued to climax another time, then another. It 

had NEVER been this intense. Her clitoris felt on fire, a glorious heat! 

Slowly she came back down to earth, and the question that had occurred 

to her before. She pushed against the wires(?) that held the rings in 

place. They moved easily. But at the base of the breasts was a solid 

ribbon of metal! That encircled her breasts and went about her back. She 

could not see any flange or anything. Curious! How could it have gone 

on? 



Decisively ignoring her headache, claire got out of bed and went to her 

study. Got out the microscope she used to read the ridiculous print of 

her old engineering handbooks. Thankgod they were digitizing them 

nowadays. You needed to be superman with X-ray vision to read the specs 

on the chips in those books! Ah, there. Adjusted the microscope and 

looked. So. A matte surface, yes. And made of incredibly tiny and well 

fit together little links. Beautiful! Some part of her mind was quite 

complimented that whoever had put this on her hadn't gone for a cheap 

item. This put someone back a pretty penny ... she continued to study 

the metal bra slowly aware of something very wrong - well even MORE 

wrong. Wiggled her butt. A very nice butt it was, too. Who could have 

put this on her, she wondered? Someone who knew her measurements. 

Someone who could get into her apartment. Well, actually that was 

probably no big deal for a halfway clever person. She could have done it 

herself. Just pretend to be a busybody and people gave you _anything_! 

Someone with a lot of nerve ... and a good deal of class ... she stroked 

the beautiful construct caging her breasts pensively. 



Then all the things at the back of her mind clicked together. "What the 

fuck!!" she cried. Looking beyond the fascinating bra she could see 

panties. Metal panties. Panties, hell. A chastity belt was what it was. 

But how the hell could she not have noticed it? I mean, something that 

is tightly encircling her butt and ... and actually going between her 

legs and and WHAT THE HELL WAS IT DOING THERE? 



Half an hour later found claire stirring stiffly from her daze. She 

shivered convulsively and sniffled a little. Padded into her bedroom and 

got a dressing gown. The speaker alarm  was mumbling about 

traffic. "Fuck! I'm late. Oh, damn!" She rushed into the bath and turned 

on the hot shower. Adjusted the nozzle for a needle spray. "Oooh!" 

Soaped herself rapidly and almost  ignored the peculiar things 

her scrubbing hand was discovering. Yes it went between her legs. 'It' 

was two chains or bands. It actually sat like a cork in her labia! And 

and an anal ring. As if she were an animal! She could not feel any 

joints. Any breaks. It was all smooth matte finish and felt oppressively 

permanent. 



The coffee maker whistled its summons. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" mumbled our 

heroine, as she stumbled out of the shower and ran to the cabinet and 

threw on a few clothes. No time to think. She had to get to work. Bill 

wanted those project assessments by nine. "Oh, damn" she cried in tears 

as she cracked a beautifully manicured nail. The bra felt strange on top 

of another bra, and the panties were totally impractical! But she threw 

them on anyway and her outer clothes. She wore those slacks last week, 

no those were too pink, no not those, oh damn, damn, why couldn't she 

think? Grabbed the first clothes and got into them. She looked like a 

hag. Shadows around her eyes. Tear streaks. Desperately patted powder. 

That would have to do. Fled to the kitchen and grabbed a cup of coffee 

and gulped it down. No time for breakfast! She poured herself a cup of 

orange juice and drank it down somehow. It froze her throat. She HATED 

ice cold juice. Everything was wrong today. 



The elevator took eternity to come. There were dozens of noisy people 

wanting to get off on every floor. Come on, she screamed silently. I 

need to get to the office. She pressed her legs together nervously and 

abruptly released them - that reminded her of her other problems and 

those she did not want to deal with now ... who knew maybe this was all 

a dream. Yes, it is a dream. In a dream she would quite like this to 

happen she thought. Relaxed and watched the silly people get on and off. 

The problem with living on the twenty eighth floor of anything is that 

there are twenty eight floors of people wanting to do perverse things 

she thought. 



Atlast the basement. The car, a sleek BMW. Her symbol of yuppiedom 

achieved. She giggled remembering the day she showed her car off to her 

mother. Mom was totally scandalized. She had come to the US from england 

and had been poor. To her it was a total waste. How could you explain 

that money wasn't to be made for its own sake but for using? Sadly 

thought about the stroke that took her parent away a year ago. Not too 

much grief, she hadn't really been close to her mother. It was her 

father who had been close. Who had pushed her into being an engineer. 

"Make the best use of your mind you can" he would keep saying. Though 

she remembered fondly his bemusement at how lovely she had turned out. 

It had caused problems, she thought. Her mother had been a rather plain 

looking woman, and not too affectionate. And when this glorious 

intelligent lovely child of his grew up, he simply didn't know how to 

handle it. Hopefully an enjoyable bemusement, she wished. She still 

missed him, when he died on that freak accident  when the blasting 

dynamite blew up even though the stuff was supposed to be inactive. A 

good way to go though, not lingering on like adam's father. That man was 

totally senile, and still lived on. If she weren't thoroughly turned off 

by adam's other flaws, she would even feel sorry for him. 



The traffic was manageable, thank god for little mercies. Only ten 

minutes late. She flew into her office and acknowledged a frantic 

semaphore from penny. I'm coming! she thought, don't rush me, I've had 

enough problems already. Grabbed her dossier and went on into bill's 

office. Looking into a mirror in her office along the way. Looking like 

a hag ... 



Bill Manning. A heavyset middleaged man, with lowering eyebrows. Scared 

the hell out of his subordinates, without any real cause. He was 

actually known to be a fair boss, but his staccato inquisitions left 

claire wrung out always. It was no different today. He wanted to know if 

the projects were doable, if they could be done if there was a labour 

strike, if the parts needed had alternate suppliers, if the market could 

take the product, if, if, if ... claire's head was throbbing by the time 

she got out of his office, loaded with work. "And get back to me 

tomorrow on this! It needs quick action if we are to turn a profit on 

it. Hitachi is reputed to be producing a chip that will make the whole 

thing obsolete!" 



Gulp down an aspirin. She laid her head on her hands and counted sheep. 

The project needed her attention. And in the afternoon, she had to 

attend that workshop about changing business conditions in mexico - who 

CARED about mexico anyway? So they passed a law liberalizing their trade 

policy. They've been doing that for ages, and nothing ever really 

changed. But she had to attend or Kelly Lyndon would put one more black 

mark against her record. Why the hell she needed to know international 

financing to be a project supervisor she wanted to know. And why today?? 



Sighing claire got down to work. Projects didn't get done by moping over 

them. Got to stop thinking about private matters. Didn't do any good ... 

she burst into tears and quietly sobbed for a while. Then dried her 

tears and went to work. Lunch was a hurried affair spent talking about 

an assembly line problem; fabrication was in a panic. Fabrication was 

ALWAYS in a panic. "You look real nice today, claire". A voice by her 

side. Turned and saw Anna. Anna was a secretary in another office ... 

all the secretaries always considered the female engineers as peers 

while the men were both looked up to and treated as incompetent boys. In 

some ways it was enjoyable, as that level was a lot more sociable, but 

usually it was a pain in the neck. You needed proper distance to 

function ... and you didn't get that by having Anna comment on her 

clothes and nail polish! "Oh, hi!" she said grumpily. Then wondered how 

Anna could say what she did. She could see the circles under her eyes. 

"That is a nice shirt you have on" Anna continued. Claire wildly 

wondered how to end the conversation. Then suddenly paid attention. 

"Shows off your shape much better than your normal stuff". Oho! What the 

hell was she wearing anyway? It was the cream, no it was the beige shirt 

with double row of buttons ... she thought it was actually a little 

loose. It must be the damned, fucking wire bra pushing her boobs out so 

everyone could see them. She glowered at the blameless news-terminal as 

it burped out further panic news about the chipset that had too much 

cadmium in it. Why was that a problem wondered an abstract part of her 

mind. Another brooded over the problem of avoiding notice this 

afternoon. Another part ... no that part was busy not thinking at all, 

for if it DID think, she would go to pieces. Control. She abruptly got 

up and murmured a plea of work and fled. "She looks a little pooped 

today" commented a colleague. "Actually that makes her look even better. 

Anna, sweet, can't you tell us the secret of how to conquer the heart of 

the valkyrie?" Anna laughed and replied, "Claire is too busy making it 

in her career. One day she will wake up and and realise that there is 

more to life." "It's to be hoped I'm there when this happens. Though 

with my luck ..." replied a grumpy admirer. "Fat chance! If our ice 

queen thawed out, you think she is going to notice any of us, boyo? 

She'll probably fall for Bill the galactic hero." "Bill is fat, old, and 

is an obnoxious old devil to boot!" "So what? He's her boss, sees her 

every day, and I have actually heard him tell her she did a good job 

once. Have you ever got that from him? See? He's sweet on her." "Yes, 

but is _she_ sweet on him? I mean, his idea of a nice gift would 

probably be the blue print of an early IC!" 



Afternoon was as bad as she feared. Asprins fueled the way. She was 

seeing double as she drove back. God, if she could get back to the 

apartment, she would bomb for the next twelve hours. The project ... 

whispered an evil corner of her mind. Damn the project she thought. With 

her headache she would probably contract with hitachi to supply them the 

chips they needed. And then have to answer why the shipments were being 

held up by a footdragging supplier ... 



Strange. After all that, home looked just like it always did. She 

collapsed in a sofa and sipped a little champaigne. A bath ... then bed. 

No. She needed to eat or she would not recover. The thought of food was 

nauseous. Bread, she decided. Something she could not throw up on. And 

some chinese tea. 



She ate, and went to have her bath. Almost didn't notice the warm spray 

as she was lost in a migrane haze. Dried herself and went and collapsed 

into sleep. 



================================================================

June 11th 1997  



Claire woke up gradually. "It looks like there won't be any more rain 

this year, and the drought situation is as bad as ever." She moaned and 

burrowed into pillows till she didn't have to hear. WHY did they talk 

about such things in the morning? Sing songs. Babble. Instead they give 

the news. As if we need the news to kill all the joy in life before we 

are even properly awake! Mmm. Nice. The satiny feel of the pillow 

against her face was soo good. And the nice warm bedcover. She wiggled a 

shoulder against the sheet; a nice shaggy feel. 



 .... shaggy feel? What the ... 



Claire sat upright and immediately cringed waiting for the demons of 

migrane hellstorms to smite her. Nothing. She raised a head cautiously. 

Well. That is a relief anyway. Umm? That is a relief period! No 

conditionals about it. Then she looked down. THAT IS NOT MY BEDSPREAD! 



She ran her fingers through the lovely soft sheet; artificial mink she 

diagnosed. The mink was protected, so genetic cloning produced the 

ethical mink fur. She had heard of such - guaranteed even not to be hot 

in warm weather. Cost the devil though. AND SHE DID NOT OWN ONE! 



With a gasp, claire remembered yesterday. Wildly she flung off the cover 

and examined herself. They were still there. The bra. The chastity belt. 

And now this bedspread. This was too much! She looked around. Things 

were different. There was a lovely set of matched cushions lying on the 

fouton she had in her room. They weren't there the day before. Atleast 

she didn't remember them, though it was possible that she was too ... 

well too distracted to remember. Absently she gathered up the mink fur 

in her hands and rubbed a cheek against it as she considered. So. Not 

cheap. Not cheap at all. Whoever had done this was willing to pay for 

quality goods. She shivered as she remembered admiring the workmanship 

of the bra. Mmmm. 



She jumped up. I AM NOT GOING TO LET HIM DO THIS TO ME! Charged with 

resolution she walked up to the telephone and picked it up ... chewed 

her lip. Well ... call the police ... inspector someone put me in a 

chastity belt. It happened yesterday but I was too busy to call you. Yes 

and he has been in my apartment and left THINGS ... see that mink fur? 

What? Yes it is very expensive. Do I object? OfCOURSE I object! What do 

I want to do? Well I want out ... 



Claire sat down on the fouton. That wasn't going to work, and she was 

damned if she would let some smirking policeman have her bend over while 

he examined just how the belt locked about her. Or policewoman either! 

That time when the police raided the _coral garden_. The policeman was 

very nice and agreed that they were probably not involved with the nasty 

racket that the place was a front for. But the policewomen ... they 

pinched and poked her and one called her a _skrie_. Apparently latest 

slang for prostitute. Where they get these words ... 



What she needed was a ... a locksmith ... with a sinking sensation 

Claire remembered the fancy workmanship of the bra. She had the feeling 

that this was a high tech toy. SHE would probably be more capable of 

solving the lock than any locksmith. Except she was locked in it ... 



Well! Nothing to it but to try. Maybe locksmithing had gone hightech 

too! But it had to be a _female_ locksmith. And anyway, how the hell did 

one ask for a woman ... I want a lock broken into ... do you have a 

woman? ... why? well I just want a woman locksmith! Well, she could 

TRY ... then again ... She slowly put down the phone and thought some 

more. Whoever did this surely knew what she was doing. She was mortally 

certain he had bugged the apartment. He. A rich motherfucker. A dirty 

old sugar daddy ... except not much sugar about him! He ... she? 



Claire sat up at this thought. Could a woman be responsible? She was 

very attractive to lesbian women she knew. Almost _more_ so than to men, 

though she herself had no inclinations that way. She was pretty much a 

conventional girl sexually. Woman. Not a girl anymore - be twenty eight 

soon! 



She looked thoughtfully at the bra and the belt. She wondered. Even 

today, not many women entered the engineering disciplines. And she 

fancied that THESE items  were custom manufactured at 

great expense. She felt it in her guts. There simply was no reason for 

the intricate workmanship to make a metal bra. What was wrong with a 

flange and lock after all? Surely from all she had read, it would be 

more satisfactory to have a lock prominantly present. No ... she thought 

that it was probably a man after all. A damn rich smart one though. 



She shivered, a delightfully tingly feeling of goosebumps. Whoever did 

this was probably as clever as her. And he knew what he wanted ... but 

she bounced up indignantly, WE'LL SEE ABOUT THAT! She knew what she was 

going to do; she was going to see sally. 



Sally Mathews was Claire's gynacoelogist. And a good friend. Not an 

intimate friend ... claire just didn't tend to have those, being so 

wrapped up as she was with work. Work. She had no time to call sally 

now. Have to do it later. She must hurry ... she went into the bath. The 

shower was hot and delicious. The metal stung as she the jet struck her 

breasts near the nipple. Ouch! Oooh! She had no time ... she scrambled 

out of the bath and remembered about hygene. Good thing she was going to 

see sally anyway. The menstrual bleeding would be a hell of a problem 

with that belt in place. Have to figure out a way of coping. 



She stopped. No. That was not the way to think. She was not going to 

cope with a chastity belt. She was going to get rid of it! Must keep 

that in mind. A cold feeling settled down on her but she resolutely 

ignored it and got ready. What to wear? Damn the bra. If she was looking 

like dolly parton in that loose beige then most of her clothes were OUT. 

She had to buy new clothes. These would be fine when she wanted to show 

off her boobs, but they wouldn't do for now, not at all. There, she was 

doing it again! Rather than buying new clothes she was going to get this 

thing OFF!! Close to tears she jerked a loose pullover from the closet 

and put it on. Now it wouldn't matter that she had the equivalent of a 

silicone implant! 



Another hurried breakfast. Another commute. Another late arrival. She 

must be careful or bill will notice. He did not tolerate slackers. _He_ 

came an hour earlier than everyone else and saw no reason why they 

couldn't atleast arrive when they were supposed to. 



Work went apace. By lunchtime she had worked out the things bill wanted 

to fix before going ahead. Feeling a warm glow of achievement, claire 

went down to the cafetaria. Fabrication was in a panic. Again. Too 

little cadmium. "I thought they had too MUCH cadmium?" "Well, you know 

how it is. Can't please them no matter what we do." "What's with the 

sweater, kid? It is boiling outside." " Oh, I felt a cold 

coming on." 



Met bill in the afternoon. He was very pleased with the project. He 

actually said "good work" ... claire finished up her report and started 

catching up on routine ... damn, it was getting late. Must leave now if 

she wanted to get home in time for dinner. She fled to the car and 

joined the great unwashed in their dialy lemming run from the office to 

the condo. Atleast she could cook a dinner today. There was a ready made 

pie she could make ... 



The radio was on when she entered the apartment. Damn silly thing turned 

on and off in temperamental fashion. Once it had woken her up at two in 

the morning ... Apparently the time signal from the radio station was 

being interfered with ... something was wrong ... she stopped. Looked 

around carefully. Something was in the oven. No, that wasn't it. Damn 

it, that WAS part of it. But ... she spun around half afraid, half 

hoping to SEE someone. Nothing. Her mysterious captor had done something 

again; and the smell of the pie in the oven -- HOW DID HE KNOW I WANTED 

TO MAKE A PIE? Must have bugged the car as well she thought distractedly 

and I must have been talking aloud. The phone! Was there something wrong 

with the phone? Had he disabled it? She shook herself and took a deep 

breath. She worked some ten hours at the office from where she could 

call anyone in the world. No point doing things to the phone. 



She continued to look around, bothered by some anomaly. Then she 

realised. The drapes. The pattern. Intertwining chains ... she caught 

hold of the curtain to tear it to shreds then stopped. Let go with a 

sigh. No point taking it out on the poor cloth. Not poor cloth at all. 

It even _smelled_ good, of thyme. They made them that way now. If you 

were willing to pay enough, then they sold cloth that slowly broke down 

emitting these scents. And seems they last for decades too. Very 

expensive. Of course. 



She was tired. This was too much to take. She would phone Sally now, and 

damn him if he heard her. "Sally? This is claire" "I need to see you 

urgently" "Call me back when you can. Maybe an appointment tomorrow? 

Bye." She put down the phone and slowly got up to have dinner. 



The oven contained a pie, and other goodies. There was also a bottle of 

expensive wine, and a goblet. The bottle was half empty. Claire shivered 

convulsively, then picked up it up. Slowly poured it out. She wondered 

if it was drugged. Then decided it didn't matter. What more could the 

monster do to her? She had already come to the conclusion that he had no 

intention of raping her. This was a wierd kind of seduction, and an 

interesting one too, except that she took extreme objection to not 

having the key to her metallic underwear. 



================================================================

June 12th 1997  



"Thursday commute ..." muttered the radio. Claire woke and then froze. 

She did not WANT to know what new shock was in store for her. She lay 

very still listening with her ears, though for what, she had no idea. 

Were there anklets on her now? Or a collar? She shivered and began to 

cry. Why couldn't he just take her out to dinner or something. If only 

she could see him, she thought. He might be a hunchback for all she 

knew. 



She fantasized a gloriously handsome, virile, super intelligent man and 

had the most intense orgasms ever, as the extra sensitivity of her 

breasts and clitoris make her almost too sensitive. She hadn't gotten 

beyond the point where she is dressed in this translucent burgundy slip 

and ofcourse the cutlery, and is looking appealingly up at him and he 

makes a masterful demand and she couldn't handle it anymore and 

immediately climaxed. 



Got up. Good heavens! No new pets! No new chains or brands. The bed 

looked just like it did last night. The man must be running out of 

steam! Cheered up considerably claire showered and got ready. This 

evening she normally went for aerobics. That was out ofcourse. Ethel 

would know immediately. She cringed at the thought. Ethel kaplan was a 

nice woman, but she had the sensitivity of a rhinocerous. She would 

probably strip claire naked in front of everyone just to see what lay 

underneath! And anyway, she needed a new dress to handle changed 'panty 

lines' ... 



The phone rang. It was sally. An appointment at ten. Yes she could make 

it. She rang up the office and told them doctor's appointment and how 

she would come in late. How late? She didn't know. Bill wanted to see 

her? Well tell him 1PM. That gave her three hours with sally. If they 

couldn't do something in three hours, ... she did not complete that 

thought. 



**************************************************************** 



They couldn't do anything in three hours. 



Mostly they argued. Sally wanted to call the police. Claire did not want 

to hear another word about that. She mentioned female locksmiths 

instead, and sally looked dubious. They agreed to give it a try, though 

sally kept prodding claire to go to the cops. Claire said in 

exasperation, "Look Sal, what will the cops do? Either they catch the 

guy or they don't, right? And if they don't catch him, THEY are going to 

call a locksmith. We might as well do it ourselves, and save me the 

total embarrassment of explaining that I woke up in chains, and no I 

don't read GOR novels!" "But if they catch him ..." "Well, if they catch 

him, then they are going to get him for assault and toss him in the can 

and toss the key away. And, well I want this thing off, but I don't want 

to send him to twenty years prison for it! He just bought me a mink 

comforter worth a year's salary! I mean ... I don't know what I am 

saying, but the police are out!" 



Sally looked at her narrowly but subsided. Claire could see that she was 

THINKING THOUGHTS. Like maybe claire knew who done it. Let her. She 

 didn't know who done it, but she had the very uneasy feeling 

that the police would not do any better than she would at getting the 

thing off. This was out of their class. They could handle crude stuff. 

This was getting fancy, too fancy. There were other reasons too, but she 

squashed them before she had to think about those. 



The locksmith was the _real_ loss. She was an enormous middleaged woman, 

with a perpetual smile that consisted of jiggling rolls of flesh. Claire 

wondered if she could actually do anything, and seeing her doubt, the 

woman casually unlocked the doctor's safe. Claire swallowed her doubts 

and hoped for the best. "Maxine's the name, ladies. I can open any lock 

you need to have opened. So what's with this special problem that needs 

a lady locksmith?" 



When she heard what was needed, she gave a hoot. "Girl, the way ain't to 

get out of the dam' belt! What you gotta do is wiggle your hips till his 

mind clear dribbles away and then you lead him by the nose wherever you 

wants!" She added, "My folks, they use these things whatchamacall'm 

chastity belts lots. Got a lot of jealous men. Mostly the ones who can't 

get it up! And I tell you, it make for great sex! Turn them on, it does! 

And the poor darlings, they can keep it up all the night through, they 

can. Aphrodisiac, that's what it is." 



The woman babbled happily on about chastity belts till Claire took off 

her clothes. Then she stopped talking. She walked around her. As Claire 

predicted, she had her get down on hand and knees so she could examine 

it all. Then she looked at the bra. Then she asked, "Where's the bloody 

lock?" 



It went downhill from there. It had to. The locksmith gave up on 

lockpicking. Then she tried to cut through the metal and failed utterly. 

Whatever the metal was, it was enormously hard. Diamond, couldn't 

scratch it. Ofcourse diamond was no longer the hardest thing around, but 

locksmiths certainly didn't have access to the harder stuff. Sally got a 

bright idea and tried her surgical drill ... five seconds of that and 

claire was threatening her with a scalpal unless she desisted. Not that 

it had made a dent. But the vibrations had been so intense that she had 

nearly passed out with the pain. 



After an inconclusive session, claire left refusing to discuss it 

further. "But claire, the police ..." "Leave the police out of it!" "But 

if not the cops ..." Claire left before she could complete that 

question. She did not have an answer, and prefered not to face the 

question. 



**************************************************************** 



The rest of the week passed in a haze of work and overwork. The weekend 

found claire gorging on food to forget her troubles and binging on work 

when that didn't help. The new week came as an exquisite relief and she 

plunged back into the fray. 



Sometime during that weekend, she went to a clothing store she 

frequented occassionally. Her mistake. Ofcourse they remembered her. 

Everyone remembered her. Especially women. The saleswoman at the counter 

welcomed her with open arms. And took out all the clothes that only 

women with superb features and willowy figures could wear. "Umm, I would 

like some loose clothes". The woman looked at her with wildly surmising 

eyes. "We have an EXCELLENT set of pregnancy clothes ..." she offered. 

Her eyes seemed to bore right through Claire's backbone. "Err, I just 

want some loose outfits," Claire smiled weakly. "But ... but ..." the 

woman spluttered. She actually turned somewhat sullen at the insistence 

that her beautiful customer wanted to look poorly clothed and had the 

temerity to come to HER shoppe for that! 



Claire managed to crawl out with a handful of loose clothing. She knew 

that they were probably _looser_ than what she wanted, but what the 

hell. Atleast these would solve the problem - one problem. ANYWAY, she 

thought optimistically, THE MONSTER MIGHT STOCK MY CLOSET WITH THE RIGHT 

SIZES AFTER HE SEES THESE! This thought cheered her up so much that she 

went and splurged on an icecream. She was vaguely aware that she was 

eating to avoid facing her problems, but was too insecure to do anything 

to combat that. 



============================================ 17th june, 1997  



Claire woke up and stretched. The nipple ring pressed against the 

sensitive part of her breast and she was immediately aroused. she 

stroked herself erotically, and climaxed. She used to enjoy masturbating 

slowly, watching herself. But nowadays it tended to be a quickie, 

huddled under the blankets. It was more intense ... but actually less 

fun. 



She had her shower and, robe around herself, she came out into her 

bedroom. And stopped. The monster had struck again. The phone was there. 

The curtains were there. The books were there. The fouton was still a 

fouton. The walls; the walls. More precisely one corner. A pair of full 

length mirrors now adorned that corner. AND there was a mirror on the 

floor. HOW COULD HE DO THIS AND I NOT WAKE UP? she wailed in her mind. 

Obviously the answer lay in some sleeping pill or other - dozens of them 

nowadays, which were essentially traceless. She went up to the mirrors. 

They were actually NOT fixed to the wall. Rather attached to each other. 

So. A portable mirror system. What for? 



She nibbled a lip as she looked at the mirrors. After a while, she 

realised what they were for. They were for looking at herself. The 

monster had some twisted reason obviously, but it was sure to be a 

clever one. She sighed and looked at her reflection. She was looking 

tired, she thought. But that was just the work. Her hair was rather 

untidy. She usually kept better care of it than this. The robe slipped 

from her body. She looked at herself critically. Now she could see what 

the monster must have seen. She was putting on weight in unseemly 

places. Infact, she thought, the poor chastity belt was struggling now 

against the onslaught of flesh. All those binges. All that ice-cream. 



"Aerobics" she said aloud. "I need aerobics". But "You ... you monster 

you! You put these things on me and I cannot go in a leotard without 

bulging in suspicious directions! It is all your fault!" She burst into 

tears and dived back into bed to console herself. After a while, she got 

up and looked at herself again. Aerobics. She went to the phone and 

dialed up the directory and found another gym. One which was expensive. 

And then looked up at the ceiling  and shouted, "Well if you want me to slim down, you better 

get me in this gym. I'll be damned if I go to some hole in the corner 

place!" 



Well. To work. Atleast work wasn't a problem. She had done all the 

things she had to do. Actually had a free hour or two. Curious, in the 

afternoon, she phoned up that gym and asked for a reservation. Gave her 

name. Half expected the answer, "Your sessions are already paid for, Ms 

Fairchild." So the monster DID respond to her, even if he hid from her 

face. Somehow that was an enormous relief. Yet ... obviously he cared. 

Else he wouldn't have done the things he did. Cared for her as ... as a 

valuable possession? 



She drove home and looked in her closet. As expected, there was a new 

set of tights for her class. She put it on curiously. Interesting! The 

design seemed to make the belt and bra invisible. She sat down slowly. 

This wasn't the product of an engineering mind. Neither were most of the 

things he had bought for her. She wondered, yes she wondered. Maybe he 

had other_ women? Who were capable of making such selections? A hot wave 

of jealousy washed through her. Whatever her names for him, she always 

assumed that this was an intimate bond, even if a wierd one. Now ... she 

was furious. She was probably one woman in a harem! 



Aerobics left her tender in unmentionable places. "Vaseline, you idiot!" 

she muttered to herself as she winced her way to the bathroom. "Aerobics 

and chastity belts don't mix. Heard that, you monster?" she abruptly 

called up to the ceiling. 



The next day was exquisitely painful. On the one hand the pleasant 

feeling of muscles that had been exercised, and on the other hand the 

very tender sensations of her butt. After her bath though, she spent a 

while examining herself in the mirrors. The bottom one let her see the 

difficult to see areas. She could see the belt fitting neatly between 

the labial lips. "Just like a bit in a horse's mouth" she muttered 

indignantly. And the anal ring. It all looked so delicate. And yet, she 

knew, it was made of an unbelievably strong material. Ofcourse that came 

back to the question, did HE have a way to unlock the damned thing? He 

must or it was all pointless. And if he did, could she puzzle it 

out ...? There was no obvious place for a key though. Squatting there, 

she realised that she really did need to lose weight. She practically 

bulged about the belt all over. Oh well, vaseline before the session 

next time! Then she might have orgasms instead, which was far 

preferable! 



Thursday came and with it, a visit to Sally. The doctor looked 

disapproving, but examined her and told her  

that she looked fine. "How much does it get in your way?" she asked. 

"Actually it doesn't get in the way at all" answered claire, "Except 

ofcourse, hygene ..." "And what are you doing to get rid of it?" 

"Nothing" Sally was aghast and piqued at the same time. Claire repeated, 

"Nothing at all ..." 



Tuesdays and fridays were the aerobics days. Vaseline therapy apparently 

did the trick. Or Claire was getting the hang of things. Or even that 

part of the anatomy learns to cope. Probably the latter. She was only 

mildly sore after the session. Felt virtuous - damn it, that was a lousy 

word. She was in the position of having virtue thrust upon her. She 

stamped in annoyed fashion into the shower and had a good scrub. The 

hygene problems of a belt made a good excuse to play with herself in the 

shower, and she had begun to really enjoy herself these days. Had to 

watch the water bill though! Never mind, the monster would pay! 



She explored herself in front of the mirror and imagined the excess 

flesh evaporating under the onslaught of an elevated pulse rate. Leaving 

her trim and lovely ... as lovely as the belt itself. Claire stroked 

herself slowly as she watched her body in the mirror. She used to watch 

herself, but never in a mirror. This was kinky! Especially the bottom 

view. She plopped herself on the fouton and continued, artistically 

draping herself so she could continue to watch her swelling clitoris. 

Ofcourse the fouton was ideally placed for this. He must have thought 

this scenario in his devious mind when he placed the mirrors. Then 

again, if it wasn't she would probably have indulged in a little 

interior decoration. Twisty little man. Who are you? And  

what do you look like. She could put a shape on his mind by now. A tasty 

shape it was too. Though  too domineering. All very well to say 

the things are beautiful, but if that is his idea of pleasing a 

ladyfriend, he needed a little civilizing. Then again, maybe that 

locksmith had a point. "Do you have trouble getting it up, darling 

monster?" she called up to the ceiling. "Is that what the belt is for?" 

Suddenly disgusted, she got up. Probably masturbating himself watching 

his ... slave ... pleasure herself. Damned if she would be pawed over 

even by remote viewing! 



A restlessness filled Claire as the weekend dawned. She got out her 

hiking gear and set out for the hills. There was a climb today, 

according to the calendar. Good to work off some of her sloth. She 

stomped over hill and under dale and was wiped out by the time she got 

back. Fun though. Wasn't till she got back that she remembered her belt. 

Hmm. Didn't have any problem. Good. 



A long soak would do her good. Started the water running. Got rid of the 

sweaty clothes and got in. Oooh! This was life. A warm soak after a long 

hike. She soaked ... 



The water was cool when she woke up. Brrr! Jumped out and drained the 

tub. Turned on the hot shower and warmed up. Must drink something hot if 

she wanted to avoid catching a cold. Went into the kitchen. There was a 

hot mug of herbal tea on the kitchen table. The vapour was lazily 

curling up, it must have just been made ... "Thank you!" she said . The sound of her voice speaking to an 

empty room sounded insane, and she blushed. Oh well, so she was going 

nuts. In addition to everything else. 



It was very mediocre tea. Very cheering fact too. Monster was not 

inhumanly perfect. He obviously was a lousy cook. Still the thought was 

what counted. 



Sunday was indeed sun day for claire. To curl up on the patio and do a 

good imitation of a lizard. Bad for health they say, all that sun. But 

with these screens that filtered out all the cosmic rays and stuff it 

couldn't be that bad. Anyway, a sunday wasn't complete without a bask. 

Did he have a camera trained this way, she wondered hazily. If so lets 

give him a nice view. She artistically posed in a provocative pose 

 

and snoozed. 



Damn metal. She should have known better than to sunbathe with a couple 

of chains wrapped around her! She dived into the shower and squealed in 

relief. One's delicate parts did not need to get special attention from 

the sun's heat! 



================================================================ 



Tuesday was gym day. She got up and stretched. Yesterday was hell. Her 

period had come, and she made a visit to sally to see if she was going 

to have problems. No problems, the doctor reported. "It is quite well 

constructed" sally said approvingly. "Just be finicky and you will be 

fine." All very well for her to say. But she was edgy and her breasts 

were pressing against the confining metal and everything was extra 

sensitive. Not uncomfortable actually. But how could you work when you 

could feel something brushing against your nipples everytime you 

breathed? Atleast she did the simple stuff. And atleast she didn't get 

big mood swings during this time. 



She was looking a lot better now. Back to looking like she did when she 

first got the belt. Still needed to lose some. Then it would look 

perfect. She admired the contrast of the dull black chains and her fair 

skin and her silky red pubic hair. THANK GOD HE DIDN'T CHOOSE PINK! she 

thought. 



Wednesday had a surprise. She woke up to find some changes. A couple of 

_lovely_ lamps. Period pieces, those. Contrasted delightfully with the 

decor. She admired the change for a while and then the notion that had 

been nudging underneath flowered. That kinky mind was upto something. 

What? The lamps would ... actually they would _not_ light up the room 

very well. Maybe he was just lousy at interior decoration? No. He had 

excellent taste, witness the cushions. What _would_ they light well? 

Umm. Ummmm! They would light up the fouton plus mirror set quite well 

indeed. So! The man wanted a sex show now! Grrrr! 



Actually not. On the table, she found a very fancy camera. And pieces of 

a stand. Why on the table? Why not set it up in the room? And anyway, 

what was he asking  her to do? Camera took holographic 

stills. The kind you could then manipulate and see the woman from your 

personal perverted orientation. So the lamps were special indeed! She 

had read of these things, that you could now get holographic color film, 

but that it took special lighting. 



Claire put it aside and went to work. Work was proving to be productive. 

And she was in a good mood. Luxuriated in her new sense of a fit body 

. The monster had indeed come up with a quality 

line of perfectly fitting clothing. She was sure he had some expert 

advice. He couldn't be a super engineer and have a super sense of 

interior decorating and know women's fashions and still be a human male. 

But he was male. She was sure of that by now. No woman would have lasted 

so long - she would have had to touch her possession and stroke it and 

murmur to it. It took a man to stand apart as pygmalion and admire his 

galatea. But she didn't want to share him with other women! He was hers! 



That evening, she bathed and dressed carefully. Adorned in her most 

fetching and tasty neglige, she set up the camera and then began to play 

with herself. As far as she could find, there was no way for her to set 

a delay on the thing. Ergo, leave it to the monster to figure out 

something. He almost certainly had a remote button beside him as he 

slavered  over his pet 

possession. Let him decide when to click. 



She arched sensually and erotically showing off her body. She pouted and 

tried to mock struggle out of her bonds. Made love to her stuffed 

gorilla  And had a positively glorious time 

being shamelessly exhibitionist. And when she looked, six frames had 

been shot. Interesting. Curious, she waited for the things to develop 

and tried to see what they showed. Without the machine, ofcourse, you 

couldn't project the images, but she could see the images in the special 

lighting ... ohhh! that was  that better not be made public! Well, 

she hoped that the ogre was happy. 



Come morning, Claire hopped chirpily out of bed and went running to the 

kitchen. The photographs were gone! He had taken them. And ... on the 

table, fresh, so fresh you could see the dew drops on it, was a crimson 

rosebud. Her breath caught as she stopped short at this. Approached the 

flowerbud warily, so warily. Gently picked it up, sniffed. It had a 

smell even. This was a flower grown in a garden, not bought at a 

florist. It was so beautiful. She considered where to wear it ... then 

knew where. Carefully, between her breasts, she slid the flower into a 

small socket that might have been made for this. DAMN TRICKY MONSTER she 

thought unsurprised. He thought of everything. 



And then she was weeping. And flung herself at the table and covered it 

with kisses, everywhere his hand must have touched, to pick up the film 

to place the flower. Finally she subsided on the floor, leaning against 

a chair. 



She did not know where this was going. She did not know who her master 

was. She did not know if she would even be his only lover. But she was 

his. That was not to be denied. Whatever he asked her to do, she would. 

She was his possession, his adoring slave ... 



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