textfiles/sex/EROTICA/C/claire.txt

Archive-name: Bondage/claire.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Change of Heart, A


The day after - June 10th, 1997 <tuesday> 
***************************************** 

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 <never far below her 
hedonic surface> 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 <which she set for a half an hour 
after her normal waking time, just as a precaution> was mumbling about 
traffic. "Fuck! I'm late. Oh, damn!" She rushed into the bath and turned 
on the hot shower. Adjusted the nozzle for a needle spray. "Oooh!" 
Soaped herself rapidly and almost <somehow> 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 <that was what they 
called it, the accident that could not have happened> 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 <wednesday> 

Claire woke up gradually. "It looks like there won't be any more rain 
this year, and the drought situation is as bad as ever." She moaned and 
burrowed into pillows 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. 

<some time later> .... 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 <bra and belt> were custom manufactured at 
great expense. She felt it in her guts. There simply was no reason for 
the intricate workmanship to make a metal bra. What was wrong with a 
flange and 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." "<vaguely> 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> 

"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 
<claire> 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 <tuesday> 

Claire woke up and stretched. The nipple ring pressed against the 
sensitive part of her breast and she was immediately aroused. she 
stroked herself erotically, and 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 <why the ceiling? Does he live 
upstairs?> and shouted, "Well if you want me to slim down, you better 
get me in this gym. I'll be damned if I go to some hole in the corner 
place!" 

Well. 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 <with a little surprise> 
that she looked fine. "How much does it get in your way?" she asked. 
"Actually it doesn't get in the way at all" answered claire, "Except 
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 <more germane!> 
what do you look like. She could put a shape on his mind by now. A tasty 
shape it was too. Though <pouting> 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 <and 
hoped for a reply, _any_ reply>. The sound of her voice speaking to an 
empty room sounded insane, and she blushed. Oh well, so she was going 
nuts. In addition to everything else. 

It was very mediocre tea. Very cheering fact too. Monster was not 
inhumanly perfect. He obviously was a lousy cook. Still the thought was 
what counted. 

Sunday was indeed sun day for claire. To curl up on the patio and do a 
good imitation of a lizard. Bad for health they say, all that sun. But 
with these screens that filtered out all the cosmic rays and stuff it 
couldn't be that bad. Anyway, a sunday wasn't complete without a bask. 
Did he have a camera trained this way, she wondered hazily. If so lets 
give him a nice view. She artistically posed in a provocative pose 
<provocative, that is, if the camera was where she expected it to be> 
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 <no, telling> 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 
<decorated in metal!>. 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 <un>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 <she quite liked the idea of him slavering> over his pet 
possession. Let him decide when to click. 

She arched sensually and erotically showing off her body. She pouted and 
tried to mock struggle out of her bonds. Made love to her stuffed 
gorilla <there! let him be jealous!> And had a positively glorious time 
being shamelessly exhibitionist. And when she looked, six frames had 
been shot. Interesting. Curious, she waited for the things to develop 
and tried to see what they showed. Without the machine, ofcourse, you 
couldn't project the images, but she could see the images in the special 
lighting ... ohhh! that was <ulp!> that better not be made public! Well, 
she hoped that the ogre was happy. 

Come morning, Claire hopped 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 ... 

**************** T H E   E N D **************** 
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