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Deeper Into Privacy

She followed him through the pantry to the elevator and watched him punch the call button with trance-like detachment. The doors opened immediately for obviously the cabin had been waiting for them. They entered and ascended to the top floor. The high-ceilinged room they arrived in was probably even bigger than the pantry and kitchen below put together. At first glance it appeared to be an ordinary, if exceedingly well-equipped workshop with crates stacked along the inner wall, further on giving way to storage cabinets and shelves where all kinds of neatly laid out tools vied for space with cans of paint and stacks of brushes. Most of the floor was taken up by workbenches and bulky machinery, that, judging from its sleek lines and attached computer terminals, would do a dedicated machine shop proud. However, totally out of place in such an environment was the massive, clinical looking, rubber and steel contraption resembling a gynaecological chair; this sitting incongruously among all the other equipment. It gave the whole ensemble a deeply sinister note that became even more pronounced when she noticed the numerous, strategically mounted straps that would make it quite impossible for the chair’s occupant to move a muscle, let alone escape its confines.

Luckily, Joanna had no time to dwell excessively on the likely applications of the chair that made these precautions necessary for the insistent pull on her collar urged her on to the far end of the room where she had to wait for her host to open a massive metal door. This led into a wide and quite long, windowless passageway, blocked at the far end by another door identical to the one they had just passed through. Both side walls were hung with close-packed photographs and paintings, with the occasional bronze sculpture on a pedestal interspersed at irregular intervals.

Stephen stopped in front of the first picture; a large black and white portrait of a nude woman. She was quite stunning, standing upright in front of the camera with a cool, self-assured expression, as if daring the viewer to comment on her nakedness.

“I met Susan about two years ago. At the time, she had just finished her degree in history of art and worked as an unpaid trainee for some art magazine. She wanted to do an interview with me, but in the end it was me interviewing her. It turned out we had a lot in common.”

He smiled, as if recalling a fond memory. Meanwhile, Joanna experienced an unfamiliar emotion she reluctantly identified as jealousy.

“However, I convinced her to stay on as my model and muse and together we embarked on a venture whose stations you see documented here.”

He gestured at the pictures covering most of the corridor’s walls. Following his hand movement, she turned her head and studied the photograph on the opposite wall. It showed Susan kneeling on the floor in front of Stephen, her head lowered with arms held before her in supplication, ready to receive a collar very much like the one Joanna was wearing now.

Was this woman’s history a preview of her own fate should she give in to her deepest desires?

The thought electrified her, breaking the spell of detached compliancy that had enthralled her since the collar had been fastened around her neck. A wave of sexually tinged excitement urged her onward, to find out what thrilling future lay ahead of her if she was to follow the example of her newly-revealed soulmate. She took a few quick steps until her leash snapped tight and stopped her short.

“Not so fast.” Stephen chuckled and began reeling her in like a fish on the hook. Smiling, she put up a token resistance to his irresistible pull and when she ended up standing close to him again, she was flushed and breathing hard from more than just exertion.

Perforce, she made her way down the corridor at a much more sedately pace, with Stephen leading the way and pointing out particularly momentous stations in his and Susan’s quest to create the perfect slave. It was a mind-blowing journey into a fantasy she had thought no one would dare to bring to life.

“She wanted to wear a visible mark of her slavery. I was happy to comply.”

He indicated a framed drawing of a deceptively complex pattern which she recognized after a while as a highly stylised ‘S’. Apparently, it was the draft for the two inch high, black tattoo on her left thigh that a proud looking Susan now presented to the camera on the accompanying photograph.

“It’s very pretty.” Joanna’s voice held a wistful note that was not lost on Stephen.

“I designed it especially for Susan as a present. For you, I’ll do a new design.”

His confident assumption she would agree to have a slave’s mark tattooed on her unblemished skin sparked a flash of anger, but her protest died stillborn when the simultaneous spike of irrefutable arousal forced her to accept that he was probably correct. The realisation came as a shock for her and she quickly distracted herself by wondering how much such a tattoo would be worth to an art collector. Before she could expand on her fantasy of being auctioned off at Sotheby’s someday, a tug on her collar interrupted her daydreaming.

They progressed further down the corridor, past numerous pictures that showed Susan in various states of bondage. At first she was mostly restrained with rope or leather straps, but later heavy shackles made from shiny metal became predominant. What did not change though was the character of the bondage she had to endure: everything looked extremely tight, the arduous positions requiring a gymnast’s flexibility from her body, and more often than not, Susan’s plight was aggravated by large-sized gags or even hoods encasing her entire head. Despite their blatant nature, some of the depicted scenes seemed utterly familiar to Joanna; obviously they had inspired or been inspired by the paintings that had fascinated her for so long.

An Incredible Array

Stephen stopped in front of another large-sized portrait depicting an uncharacteristically anxious looking Susan.

“Here, I have replaced her first collar by a permanent steel one.”

As a matter of fact, the photo showed an obviously custom fitted, shiny metal band, snugly encircling her slender neck, with substantial rings at the front, sides and supposedly the back, leaving no doubt as to its purpose.

“What do you mean by permanent?” Joanna asked, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer.

“Permanent as in forever. It has no lock. Once it was fastened around her neck it cannot ever be removed. I designed the mechanism myself to make utterly sure of that. Of course, one could try to cut the collar off, but I seriously doubt the wearer would enjoy the experience.”

With the significance of the heavy machinery they had passed on their way finally dawning on her, Joanna had no doubt at all about the accuracy of his claim. Unconcerned by her shocked expression, Stephen continued in the same level voice.

“We also fitted her wrists and ankles with cuffs of the same type. They make keeping her restrained so much more convenient.”

Joanna’s mouth went dry. An undercurrent of terror crept into her arousal, perversely making it all the more poignant. Unbidden, the fantasy of having the same thing done to her rose within her, stoking the fire in her loins. She experienced a feeling akin to vertigo and desperately tried to get her balance back.

“I can’t believe Susan agreed to all this.”

“But she did, both beforehand and after the fact. I could prod her along for a while, nudge her over a particular hurdle, but that only went so far. In the end, she had to go all the way on her own. See for yourself.”

He gestured for her to precede him to the next picture, staying back to give her the space to study it on her own. In the photograph, Susan had turned her back to the viewer, the camera peering over her blurred left shoulder, focusing on her face’s reflection in the small mirror she held in her right hand. Her expressive eyes were wide open and pooled with tears, staring horrified at the barbarous device adorning her straight nose. It took Joanna a while to interpret what she was seeing.

Apparently, a sturdy steel rod had somehow been run through Susan’s nose, completely transfixing both wings and her septum. Over its outer ends, the arms of a massive, slightly-bellied, U-shaped shackle had been clamped so that the lower third of her nose was outlined in gleaming metal. The shackle’s apex was level with her upper lip and within its confines Joanna spotted a second U, this one emerging from high up within Susan’s nostrils, obviously also anchored by the nose-piercing shaft.

Hard to believe that Susan endured this of her own volition! Unthinkable that she herself would ever put up with being disfigured in such a manner!

Yet, even as Joanna shied away from the thought intellectually, her body’s contrary response betrayed her. This was when the backlash set in: a delayed reaction to the emotional strain she had been subjected to in the course of this remarkable night. Terrified by the newly awakened sexual drives that threatened to consume her, Joanna retreated as far as her leash allowed, straining in mindless panic against the chains that held her captive.

Suddenly, there was a hard yank on her leash and she stumbled forward into the waiting arms of Stephen. He hugged her squirming body tight and, murmuring soothing words into her ear, waited patiently for her struggles to subside. When she regained her composure at last, Joanna raised her tear-streaked face to meet his sympathetic, knowing eyes. Her inner turmoil dwindled away under his rock-steady regard and all of a sudden, Joanna no longer felt restrained by his unrelenting embrace, but secure and protected. Likewise, the cuffs and collar she had fought like mad only moments before, no longer seemed to bind her, but instead to deliver her from her agonizing, inner conflict. The last tension left her body and she snuggled against Stephen, closing her eyes and offering him her lips for a kiss, but to her dismay he let go of her instead.

“You’re OK?”

She nodded silently and looked away, ashamed by her display of hysterics. Stephen continued, a faint trace of disappointment colouring his voice.

“It’s been an eventful evening. Perhaps I’ve asked too much of you, too fast. Would you prefer to go home?”

“No, I’m fine now.”

“It won’t get any prettier, I’m afraid. Susan and I have come a long way together.”

“Please, I want to see this through. I need to see this through!”

“As you wish.”

Permanent, Punitive Jewellery

They resumed their tour down the corridor.

Stephen took up his role as guide again and provided her with explanations and additional information not readily apparent from the photos alone while Joanna tried to see beyond his plain words, imagining what consequences they entailed for Susan. With respect to the pictures, she found herself focusing most of her attention on Susan’s expressions, hunting for an insight into the soul of this brave woman whom she felt so akin to, one who had chosen to follow such an extraordinary path.

“Her nose shackles come in very handy to control her occasional impetuosity. You probably didn’t notice it, but there are grommets in the holes so her flesh won’t tear, even under substantial stress.”

To illustrate his point, Stephen called her attention to a photo that showed a very unhappy looking Susan, balancing on the tip of her toes, her lithe body stretched tight by a spring-mounted chain connecting her nose to the ceiling.

“Fortunately, Susan’s a very resilient young woman and all of her piercings healed without any complications. After the initial success with her nose rings there was, of course, no question that she was to be pierced and ringed in other places as well. At first, Susan hated each of these additions to her body with a passion, but since she had to concede their usefulness, our arrangement left her no choice but to consent. Eventually she became reconciled to her new look and I’m glad to report she’s quite fond of her ‘jewellery’ now.”

The following set of prints would have looked right at home hanging in a piercing salon to advertise its operator’s astonishing prowess, were it not for the model’s manifest unwillingness to undergo the depicted procedures. Taking Stephen’s disdain for merely decorative jewellery and evident preference for industrial strength, utilitarian, albeit elegant designs into account, Joanna was not in the least surprised to see Susan shunning the role of contented client. While the massive U-shackles in her eyeleted earlobes and their slightly smaller twins at the tips of her ears might yet be considered a bold fashion statement, the array of tiny, steel-rimmed holes dotting her flesh, a few millimetres above and below her upper and lower lips was a lot harder to explain that way. Especially when they were employed - as shown in one picture - to lace Susan’s mouth shut. The large metal grommet through the tip of her tongue paled in comparison to this bizarre, nonetheless strangely erotic sight, Joanna concluded with an involuntary shudder. However, this last item seemed to complete the inventory of additions to Susan’s head, since the subsequent photos documented even further extensive modifications to her body. Large diameter, surgical steel tubes had been run horizontally through the firm flesh of her breasts, their flared ends inseparably fused flush with the outer rim of the wide, conical nipple shields they anchored in place. Except for an opening at their apexes, each shiny cone covered not only the aureoles, but also a centimetre wide stripe of skin around them. Susan’s nipples had been pulled through the shields’ narrow apertures and secured in this awkwardly-tensioned state by rings of greater diameter that had been pierced vertically through their bases. Adding insult to injury, the steel tubes through her flesh also played host to the shafts of substantial, freely swinging U-shackles! The entire mechanical assembly at the tip of each breast reminded a thoroughly appalled Joanna of miniature door knockers. Stephen helpfully provided her with further details she would rather not have been privy to.

“There’s more to her breast restraints than meets the eye, Joanna. For example, there are a number of grooves around the edges of the nipple shields’ central openings. Why? Simple: this way, when I twist her nipple rings, the grooves will arrest them in this position! Quite unpleasant I’ve been given to understand. I’ve also created spacers I can use to stretch her nipples a little more. They’re basically small washers with a slot to accommodate the nipple ring, but they’re grooved like the shields and moreover magnetic, so they can easily be mounted or stacked together. The system’s simple but has proven to be very effective.”

Joanna sucked in her breath in a sympathetic reaction, trying to imagine what Susan must experience when she was thus ‘modified’ even further. Attempting to stem the flow of unsettling revelations, she turned away and feigned interest in another picture. However, she was granted no respite, for only new horrors were unveiled.

The next image showed Susan strapped tightly into the chair-like contraption they had passed earlier. Susan’s eyes were pressed tightly shut, tears trickling down her cheeks. Her legs were splayed wide to grant the viewer unrestricted access to her private parts; these festooned with a glittering array of metal. Stephen’s relentless explanations robbed Joanna of any chance to shy away from what she was seeing.

“Piercings turned out to be the solution for another problem as well for they finally provided me with a reliable means to control her sexuality. We experimented with conventional chastity belts, but Susan had become quite proficient at circumventing those. There’s little she can’t accomplish when sufficiently motivated.”

With the last sentence, a hint of true affection crept into his carefully neutral voice. Despite herself and all she had seen so far, Joanna suffered another pang of jealousy. She stole a quick glance at Stephen and was surprised to see an expression bittersweet melancholy on his face. A moment later, he deliberately smoothed his features and took up his lecture again.

“It’s entirely plausible that males are evolutionary primed to strive for control of their females’ sexuality, trying to ensure they actually are the biological fathers of the children they’re supposed to help bring up. Consequently, patriarchal societies tend to invent all kinds of often unsavoury means to this end, generally disguised as sacred traditions commanded by divine revelation. I prefer to avoid such delusions. However, since sexual slavery is what this is all about, it was crucial to establish control over Susan as a sexual being as well, to be able to grant or to withhold pleasure at will. I’m happy to say I succeeded.”

Being confronted with the results, Joanna was not sure whether she really preferred Stephen’s sophisticated sadism over the institutionalized brutality of primitive, patriarchal societies, although she had to concede that he at least did not practice his art on unwilling parties.

“As you can see here, we inserted metal grommets into her labia; six on each side. They form the basic matrix to which Susan’s vaginal dilator is mounted.”

The picture he indicated showed a contrivance looking like the distant cousin of a miniature steel bear trap, with each of its jaws replaced by a double set of closely spaced, concentric, slightly curved metal bows. At both ends, the flexible, spring steel bows were joined together in what appeared to be intricate hinges

“Her labia have been clamped between the inner and outer brackets of the dilator’s arms and permanently secured by cross bolts through the grommets. The arms can be locked open or closed at any angle, so I can either distend her sex or close it up completely, as I feel is required. The outer bows also provide anchor points for additional hardware, such as the crotch piece of a chastity belt that can’t be beaten.”

Stephen pointed out a snapshot of a crestfallen Susan contemplating the obviously impenetrable nature of her shiny new steel briefs. Clearly, she was not particularly enthused by Stephen’s taste in lingerie.

“While this took care of her vagina, there was still her clitoris to consider. This I had pierced crosswise and equipped with another U-shackle earlier. Now, I also fitted a small metal cap over it that is held in place by the shackle’s shaft. Again quite simple, but very effective.”

During his extensive explanations, they had strolled further down the corridor. The pictures she had passed reminded Joanna more and more of the murals found in some Christian churches that used to bring biblical stories of suffering and transfiguration home to the illiterate masses. She could not help wondering what kind of Golgotha waited for her behind the door at the passageway’s end, looming larger with every step she took.

Would there be any kind of resurrection for her from behind it? Willy-nilly she would soon find out, since Stephen took the lead again, striding towards it and firmly dragging on her leash.

The final stretch of corridor was sparsely decorated with only a scattering of detailed drawings, but this time without any photos accompanying them. Blueprints for the future evolution of Susan’s slavery, Joanna hypothesised, but she had little opportunity to verify her theory by more than superficial glances.

One drawing had Susan’s head surrounded by a complicated network of broad, interlocking steel straps that closely conformed to its contours and apparently were anchored directly into her flesh and perhaps the underlying bone. Another one had her head replaced by a metal ellipsoid, unblemished except for an assortment of ports and sockets located in front of where her mouth should be. With her head locked into the contraption, poor Susan would not even be able to see!