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MAREN
I spent the next day in nervous anticipation of the first person to ever visit me in my cell apart from my master and occasionally George and Fran. Although I was certainly ready to see a new face after having been kept in almost complete isolation for more than two years, I nevertheless dreaded the upcoming encounter with Maren. Of course, the mere thought of having my state of arguably self-inflicted, abject slavery, along with its numerous bodily manifestations displayed to another woman was deeply humiliating and embarrassing, but even more disturbing was the knowledge that my master obviously fully intended to put her in charge of me during the times he was absent. It was one thing to give up control over your fate to someone you love and know you can trust, but something else entirely to be delivered into the hands of someone you had not even met.
“Therefore you’ll be meeting today. Trust me, you two will get along just fine.” My husband had tried to reassure me when I’d expressed these concerns to him in the morning, while at the same time leaving no doubt that he was not prepared to put his decision up for a vote. At least he had freed me from the hated gag. It would have been unbearable to be presented to Maren while still wearing it, reduced to the level of an utterly disciplined and mute animal. It was bad enough that my arms were fastened in their harsh back prayer training position; I suspected that despite his predictions of instant cordiality between Maren and me, my master wanted to preclude any possibility of accidents involving a length of chain wound tightly around her delicate throat. On occasion I have come to deeply regret all the effort I had in former times put into cultivating my image as dangerously willful femme fatale.
My dread made it hard for me to focus on the romance novel I was trying to read. Normally I got deeply engrossed when allowed the leisure to indulge in this treasured activity, but today even the escapist pleasures provided by the antics of improbably noble males and exquisitely impassioned females could not hold my attention. This had nothing to do with the aggravating problem of turning over the pages without the use of my hands because through long practice I had become quite dexterous with my feet and toes. Books set in a small typeface still posed a challenge, as they forced me to shift incessantly back and forth between a position allowing me to make out the words, and another suitable for turning over the pages. My husband considered these cumbersome gymnastics actually beneficial, as they purportedly reduced the risk of developing postural deformities, and so made sure my library contained an inordinate proportion of small print volumes. At one point he had even tried to make me read lightface tomes on taxation law, figuring I could become a cheaper alternative to his tax advisor, but when neither threats of severe torture nor promises of unprecedented sexual rewards could break my intransigent resistance, he reluctantly gave up on this idea.
After seemingly interminable hours spent restlessly in nervous anticipation of the upcoming encounter, I was actually glad when the door to my cell finally swung open and my master strode through the opening, followed quickly by Maren. At the first sound of the door’s imminent opening I had quickly gotten to my feet and awaited them, standing at the maximum range of my leash, some two meters from the door, trying to project an air of calmness that I did not actually feel.
My first impression of Maren was one of angelic beauty and innocence, which goes to show that first appearances can be deceiving. Her long, curly blond hair framed a pixie face and contrasted nicely with the dark blue blouse she wore, complemented by tight fitting beige jeans and comfortable black sneakers. I was about a full head taller than her, although she arguably offset this advantage with a more athletic built. Her skin was quite pale, but that only served to enhance the striking effect of her luminous green eyes, which darted quickly around my cell before they focused on me. Her apprehensive smile slipped then, and her lips formed a soundless, wide O, revealing regular white teeth, as the details of my appearance registered. With impeccable timing my husband stepped in before the ensuing silence could degrade from awkward to downright embarrassing.
“Maren, may I introduce you to my wife? My dear, meet Maren!”
Jolted out of her petrifaction, Maren mumbled something incomprehensible and held out her hand in an automatic gesture, only to snatch it back as if burned when she realized her mistake. Seeing her blush, I decided to play nice and treated her to a welcoming and almost natural smile.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Maren. This all must seem mighty strange to you, however, as you can imagine, it’s been ages since I last saw a new face, so please forgive me if I should sound a little inquisitive. I’d like to know everything about you; your experiences, how you met poor Anne and what you think of your role in my husband’s scheme …” I had to catch my breath, but plowed on before she had a chance to regain her balance sufficiently to interrupt me. “Conversely, I feel you already ought to know me quite well, with everything my husband must have told you about me.”
“Actually, I realized just now that he hasn’t told me even half of the story.” Maren sent an exasperated look in my master’s direction, which was deflected with a bland smile. She took a deep breath and visibly got a grip on her emotions. Blithely ignoring my attempt to draw her out, she took her time to look me over thoroughly, taking in the details of my predicament with obvious fascination.
“I probably wouldn’t have believed it anyway… So let’s get this straight. You volunteered for all this? To be kept chained in this cell and to have these”, she gestured briskly at my metal endowed body before continuing, “…these shackles fastened into your body and face?”
“Uh…” Surprised by her sudden intensity, I hesitated and glanced towards my husband. ”Was this my chance to enlist an ally and win some control over my fate again?”
“Yes, yes and yes. She’s asked for all of it. I’ll show you the recordings later.” My husband confirmed in my place, stepping close to me and laying an arm around me possessively. Despite myself I felt my traitorous body relax against his.
Maren gave him a dubious look, but when I made no move to dispute his claim she seemed to accept his statement reluctantly. I reckoned my chance to plead my case with her would slip away if I did not speak up.
“It’s true, I’ve wanted it done at the time, but now …”
“Now, we’ve all passed the point of no return.” My husband finished for me, catching Maren’s eye. “Whether by choice or circumstance, we’re all in this together now. We all have to abide by our past decisions and stand by their consequences, even if they go beyond what we originally envisioned. These shackles and restraints are quite permanent. They literally cannot be removed, regardless of what one might fancy now.” He gave my shoulders a reassuring squeeze and went on talking to Maren. “Believe me, I know my wife. She is a true submissive at heart and to be dominated in this seemingly harsh manner is what she needs. When we first met she was the classic rebel without cause, hell-bent on a course of self destruction. Barely 24, she’d gone through more relationships than I care to know about, she’d just been expelled from university for having an affair with a professor and his wife simultaneously. And on top of everything, she was on the verge of becoming a drug addict. In short, she’s never learned not to abandon herself to an impulse. Medically speaking, my wife quite probably suffers from a hyperactivity of the limbic system.” He delivered his synopsis of my deficiencies matter-of-fact, as if to underline his scientific impartiality.
“And the good doctor knows how to make the most of this condition.” Maren acknowledged his little speech with an arched eyebrow and turned to me again. “However, do you concur with the diagnosis?”
“I was bored then.” I answered defensively.
“But you don’t agree with the therapy?”
I squirmed. “Alright, I am a submissive. I’m not ashamed of it. My husband has shown me my true self and I’ve found contentment and enormous strength by finally confronting it. I know these chains demonstrate his love for me as surely as they show my devotion to him, and I bask in the feeling of protection and security this knowledge brings me. I crave my master’s sometimes harsh attentions and I’m proud to be his treasured possession.” I allowed the desperation which had slowly but inexorably grown since my official demise to color my voice, pleading with both of them now.
“Despite all that, finding myself abandoned in this cell wears me down. I was able to endure it when I thought this was nothing more than an elaborate game, or rather a transitional arrangement to prepare me for my proper role as your wife and slave. But now that I’ve been declared dead, I realize I might be stuck in here forever! You can’t imagine what it’s like to be locked up down here day after day, banned from the sun and immobilized with chains, lying down alone at night. I don’t want to rot in this cell! I’d rather be dead! I need to get out … to see the sky and breathe fresh air! Please master, let me out and live in the house at your side again!”
My admission and desperate plea seemed to resonate in some dark, barely explored depths of Maren’s personality, for her gaze turned inward, concentrating on some private inner vistas and her breath quickened, while she unconsciously licked her lips. After a few seconds her eyes focused on me again and she staggered, as if looking down an abyss she experienced an attack of vertigo. With an apparent effort, she pulled away from the brink and some unsympathetic resolve hardened her features.
“No, I probably can’t imagine what it’s like, but given my association with Anne I’ve got a better idea than most. Whereas she was the hapless victim of a cruel disease, you did all this to yourself and for your own selfish reasons, so don’t you dare to try tapping into my feelings of guilt over her death. By your own admission your fate is now for your master to decide.”
“I didn’t … AHHRR!” I did not get any further, as my husband, who up to this moment had seemed susceptible to my entreaties, choose this moment to grab my nose chain and pull hard. He increased the tension until I looked up to him with brimming eyes.
“I’ve had it! You made your point, and so now I’ll make mine. You will stay down here as long as I please. I’ve yet to see a change in your attitude that impresses me enough to reconsider. This ploy you tried to pull just now amply demonstrates your sly obstinacy, and if you feel inconvenienced by my choice for your placement … well that’s just too bad, because frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. I’ve gone to considerable lengths to make sure it’s safe for you to stay in this cell indefinitely, and stay here you will if I say so. But don’t worry; at least you won’t feel abandoned and lonely much longer, for Maren will see to that, although no doubt you’ll soon wish you’d never have complained about it in the first place.”
“But I … AHHRR! Please! Oh please?” My ill-advised attempt to protest my innocence was cut short by another deliberate, harsh tug on my nose chain, bringing fresh tears of pain and humiliation to my eyes. Paradoxically I’ve never been less convincing than when telling the truth, as my husband’s implacable anger proved to me once again. “Why did everybody insist on ascribing ulterior motives to me all the time?”
“Kindly keep quiet now, or I’ll give Maren a first hand demonstration of how effective a well designed gag can be!”
“I think I can understand the advantages of silencing her. She’s certainly got a silver tongue.” Maren chimed in, an appreciative light in her eyes. “I mean that quite literally, also. What’s that metal I see flashing in her mouth? A tongue stud?”
“Something far more substantial, I’m afraid. Open your mouth and show her!”
Since he still maintained a strong tension on my nose leash, disobeying my master’s command was not an option. Besides, at least I got to stick my tongue out at Maren.
“See? I’ve punched three holes through it and mounted permanent eyelets in the resultant wounds. Now, her regular gag incorporates a pouch for her tongue, complete with locking cross bolts that make sure it stays were it belongs and doesn’t wiggle around unnecessarily. Of course, the eyelets also provide me with a range of other options: I can easily chain her by her tongue to the floor or the ceiling, or lock it to other parts of her body. Having your own tongue between your legs apparently isn’t much fun at all.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so either. May I examine her other restraints?”
Maren did not even look at me, acknowledging my master’s supreme authority. I wasn’t entirely sure how and why it had happened, but in the course of a few minutes I’d obviously been demoted in her eyes from most-favored fellow human being … to livestock.
“Go ahead.” He replied and with a negligent gesture signaled his acquiescence to her request. With a barely suppressed shudder, I braced myself for the impending indignity. Gingerly at first, but with fast-growing confidence she turned my head to and fro within the limits set by my high collar, getting a good look at the hardware mounted in my nose, then abruptly brought me to my knees by grabbing the U-shackle and experimentally twisting it sideways.
My own miserable sobbing sounded very loud in my ears while my master helped me to my feet again. Since Maren looked both appalled and contrite, my husband settled for a mild rebuke.
“Careful. You don’t want to damage her! The nose shackle is sturdy enough alright, but with her arms bound like that she might easily overbalance and fall. Always keep in mind that she’s quite helpless and that her jewelry isn’t just pretty. It let’s you exert real authority.”
She acknowledged the admonishment with a grave nod and under his now watchful eyes, resumed her inspection. I could not help flinching from her touch, although she’d obviously taken my master’s warning to heart and no further accidents occurred.
Not a single detail of my elaborate harness seemed to escape Maren’s attention and my master was kept busy explaining its more arcane features to her. She probed the tightness of my collar by trying to squeeze a finger under its rim (hopeless!) and studied how it compelled me to hold my head erect. Next, she checked the tension of the chain connecting my wrist and thumb cuffs to its backside ring and commented on the way this bondage forced my elbows together. She lauded the ingenious construction of the breast armor and admired how my abdominal muscles flexed beneath the constriction of the chastity belt, then listened with horrified fascination to the detailed description of its inner workings. I drew the uncomfortable conclusion that my numerous piercings and the way they meshed with my restraints intrigued her the most.
Throughout this degrading inspection, Maren and my master inexorably discussed how each single piece of equipment fitted into the greater context of my entire ensemble and the numerous ways it alone could be used to control and punish me. When they were finally finished going over me and my bondage I was in a state of psychic exhaustion with tears of dread and humiliation running freely down my cheeks. Temporarily spared from their immediate attention, I sank to the floor and pressed my feverish brow against the welcome coolness of the wall. Getting to know Maren, or rather getting her to know me (intimately!) had turned into an unexpectedly traumatic experience. Her total disregard for my discomfort and obvious glee at thinking up new ways to make me suffer boded ill for my future. It was not mindless brutality for she was clearly too intelligent for this pointed lack of empathy to be a natural trait. Instead, I assumed she’d made a conscious decision that this kind of treatment was my just reward for being what I was: a submissive. In an attempt to regain my badly shaken confidence, I closed my eyes and concentrated on an inner mantra, relegating their ongoing conversation to a remote corner of my mind, barely more than a background noise. Meanwhile, they went through the rest of my cell, my master pointing out its salient features to his fascinated audience.
“This cell is under constant surveillance by some very sophisticated machinery. Those are cameras up in the corners, and that innocuous round thing hanging from the ceiling is a high sensitivity microphone. With it I can easily hear the proverbial pin drop. It’s most useful to monitor her breathing patterns. Coupled with the electrodes incorporated in her collar, chastity belt and breast harness, I can actually get more detailed information about her condition than if she was in intensive care.”
“What about the cameras? They look kind of bulky.”
“They’re multi-spectral, covering the entire visible and infrared spectrum. With their thermal imaging capabilities I can see her blush, even in complete darkness.” He smirked. “I can even see her getting into heat.”
“I always believed that to be a figure of speech only, but never mind. You’ve shown me so many amazing things already I’ll take your word for it.”
“You don’t have to. I keep backups of the more memorable recordings. Once she figured she could … But I digress. The sensors in the irremovable parts of her bondage are radio powered and what little energy they need is transmitted to them with the microwave pulse used to read them out. It’s basically the same principle that’s behind the RFID tags in the supermarket. All the telemetry data is channeled to a central server and processed there. It constantly monitors my slave’s vital signs and alerts me if they cross the thresholds I’ve specified. I can control almost every aspect of the cell’s automation and fully control her from any computer terminal or cell phone.”
"What kind of automation are you talking about?"
"Apart from the ordinary stuff like regulating the temperature, ventilation, lights and so on, there are also the more interesting ‘subjugation’ capabilities of my slave’s equipment. Some of the plugs I can mount in her belt’s crotch piece dish out anything from pleasurable impulses to severe electrical shocks. They’re most useful to motivate her during the exercise periods. You doubtlessly realize how important it is for my slave to work out regularly in order to keep healthy and in shape. Unfortunately, she sometimes lacks this insight and so I had to think of reliable means to ensure that she doesn’t slacken her efforts while exercising. Here, let me show you!”
Judging from the sounds, he was unlocking the big storage cabinet across the room, where all “my toys” as he persistently, but incorrectly called them, were kept. First, the denotation “toys” improperly trivialized the metal, leather or rubber gear that filled row upon row, and second, if anything, they were with a few noted exceptions his toys. Despite myself I had to look, re-familiarizing myself with some of my dearest adversaries. I immediately picked out my old black leather hood, the one I’d bought myself shortly after moving in with my master, hanging at its place of honour between the complementary armbinder and ankle cuffs. I had spent the occasional evening mute, deafened and sightless in their tight embrace. Feeling the bite of the uncompromising metal restraints ensnaring my body nowadays I experienced a flash of bittersweet nostalgia.
Maren’s starry-eyed expression, as she took in the cabinet’s contents, forcibly reminded me of a kid’s in a candy store, although she frowned whenever she encountered a device whose purpose eluded her. My master was kind enough to fill the gaps in her education, taking a wicked delight in the incredulous reactions some of his explanations evoked.
“You can’t be serious!”
“I am. That’s where it goes.”
Maren involuntarily clenched her thighs and her hands moved protectively to her crotch. From my huddled position I could not see what kind of device had engendered this reaction, but I was loath to get acquainted with it first hand and so decided not to risk unwelcome attention by going over and elbowing my way to the front. Instead, I remained as quiet and inconspicuous as possible. Not every piece biding its time in this cabinet of horrors had made an appearance yet in the bizarre melodrama that my life had become, and in my considered opinion there was little to be gained by rushing their debut. Thankfully, my tactic of keeping a low profile paid off and after some further treasure-hunting my husband at last remembered his original intention and pulled out a well-worn drawer. Not that its contents were particularly comforting, but at least I was deeply familiar with them. Arranged in individual trays lined with black velvet reminiscent of a jewellery box the implements of my intimate torture were displayed; a variety of big black phalli of every form and description, all dotted with bright silvery spots.
“These are the plug I mentioned earlier. The left one is a smaller copy of the one currently filling her vagina. As you can see, its surface is dotted with electrical contacts that can be individually energized. Depending on the activation pattern, it’s possible to generate almost any sensation imaginable; fondling, rubbing, itching, burning, you name it.”
“Stop your sales pitch, you already convinced me! Can I buy one?”
“Sorry,” he chuckled, “they’re not for sale. I had them built by George, as is the case with most of what you see around here. Maybe you can persuade him to make one for you too; you’ll meet him at the funeral. I don't know how he plans to manage it, but he wants to bring his wife along as well. I think you'll find Fran very interesting. She's quite literally got a lot in common with my own wife.”
“Fran will be free to attend my funeral?” I blurted out. “While I’ve been buried in this damned cell for months?”
My master’s cold stare instantly made me regret my rash outburst.
“Ah! Thanks for interrupting us, dear. You’re right. We’ve neglected you far too long! Maren, what do you think? Would you like to try your hand at gagging my slave?”
“Definitely!” She watched my dismayed expression with obvious glee before carefully considering the plethora of gags on display in the cabinet.
“Let me see … How about this one?” Maren held up a large, butterfly pump gag for my inspection; this fastened to an elaborate head harness. I refused to rise to her bait, but my widened eyes and flared nostrils provided all the encouragement she needed.
“Yes, this one it is.”
“An excellent choice!” My master seconded. “I’ll be happy to assist you, of course.”
“Please no!” I wailed. “You’ve no idea how uncomfortable …” My pleading’s only reward was the sardonic grin that spread over her features and I shut my mouth with an audible click. I resolved not to humiliate myself any further with useless whining. I remained stoically passive while she handled me, following my master’s instructions on how to best force the gag’s tripartite bladder into my mouth then lock its numerous straps uncomfortably tight around my head.
“Now, you have to pump it up. You can determine the appropriate pressure by checking the tension of her cheeks. If you overshoot you can release air through this valve.”
Touching her left hand to my face, she squeezed the rubber bulb in her right hand several times and I felt the bladder in my mouth expand, slowly but implacably prising my jaw ever further apart, pressing my lips against the gag’s shield and forcing my cheeks to bulge outward. At the same time the straps encircling my head tightened painfully, trying to embed themselves into my skin and the mounting pressure crushed my tongue against the floor of my mouth, yet still she kept pumping. My master moved to intervene, but she restrained him with a raised hand, holding my gaze while she gave the bulb another squeeze. The straining muscles of my jaw were on fire! The pain became unbearable.
“Nnnrrgh!”
“OK, that last squeeze was probably a little much.” Maren conceded and let a generous amount of air escape through the valve, reducing the strain from agonizing to merely uncomfortable. Now that she had pierced my armour of equanimity she could be gracious on her own terms. The bulb and its tube were disconnected from the socket on the gag’s facial shield and she turned to my husband with a smug smile.
“You wanted to tell me something?”
He had to clear his throat before he answered.
“It’s moot now. I’ll set her up for an exercise period on the treadmill and then show you the rest of the house and your future rooms.”
“Fine by me. Let’s get to it!”
I attempted to shrink back against the wall but as always my nose leash made short work of any resistance. Reluctantly following its insistent tension I was led to the metal contraption occupying a corner of my cell. The conventional treadmill at its core had been upgraded almost beyond recognition. A metal framework of interlocking bars was arched high over the central belt, a number of spring-mounted chains and helix cables with bulky connectors at their ends dangling from it.
“You know the routine. Don’t make me wait.”
With a heartfelt but stillborn sigh I stepped onto the belt, suppressing a shiver when the cold metal of the suspended chains slid over my naked body. I positioned myself beneath the arch and waited patiently for my master to tether me to it. With practised efficiency he pulled on the carefully-measured chains until he could fasten them to the side rings of my collar, then others to the side rings on the chest band of my breast harness, these leading down to the side rings of my chastity belt. As his coup de grace he locked my nose leash to a spring-mounted ring above me and adjusted the tension until I was no longer able to lower my head and had to face straight ahead. He stepped back and invited Maren to study the manner in which my body was now secured to the metal framework. From the edge of my field of vision I saw her appraising the arrangement of chains.
“I think I get it; the tethers keep her in place and hold her up in case she stumbles, whereas the springs are necessary to absorb the jolts while she runs. But what’s preventing her from resting in her restraints and just letting her feet drag?”
“Glad you asked.” He grinned happily. “For one thing, the pull on her nose might become a tad uncomfortable on the long run, but short term encouragement is also provided, through the electrodes I spoke of earlier. In fact, I’ll make the required connections right now.”
He grabbed the longest of helix cables and knelt before me. Immediately I felt the familiar jerk when its connector engaged the socket on my crotch strap. The procedure was repeated two more times when he connected the cables for my breast cups. Fortunately, the gag Maren had picked did not incorporate the capability to deliver electrical shocks to my tongue and so I was spared at least that particularly nasty ordeal … this time.
“The cables are attached to the control box you see over there, which in turn is slaved to the main server. The computer controls all aspects of her training, always keeping her heart beat in the optimal range. George’s company actually sells a simplified version of the treadmill on the market, of course without the, ah, motivational upgrades. I forgot to bring my laptop, so to activate the exercise program we’ll have to go to my study. We can watch her run on the monitor and have some wine while we discuss things.”
“Alright!” Maren assented then positioned herself directly in front of me, looking me straight in the eye, her words mocking my initial greeting. “It’s indeed been a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I learned a great deal today and I’m sure we’ll get on with each other very well. Don’t worry, I promise to take good care of you. For now, I wish you an entertaining evening. Au revoir.”
She turned and joined my master, waiting for her at the cell’s door. A minute later I was alone once more, a cold lump forming in my stomach.