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**************** A   C H A N G E   O F   H E A R T ****************
 
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   h)          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   h)          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   h)          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.    h)         ԌTear 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    h)         Ԍmissed 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    h)         Ԍthe 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. 
    h)          ԌShe 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   h)          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   h)	          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 ... 
    h)
          ԌShe 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   h)          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.   h)          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    h)
         Ԍexpensive 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   h)          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    h)         Ԍout 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   h)          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   h)          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    h)         Ԍjust 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   h)          _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   h)          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   h)          ... 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    h)         Ԍartistically 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   h)          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.    h)          Ԍ 
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 ... 
    h)          Ԍ**************** T H E    E N D **************** 
