A Different Reality: Part 2

Part 1

 

Chapter 3

He stood at the back of the room in the doorway and surveyed the scene before him. Standing in the centre of the room, with her back to him, was the Miss Updike. Her long, ebony sausage curls cascaded down her back and onto her shoulders, bobbing about with every movement, while her waist had never looked finer, the harsh lacing regime of the academy causing it to dive down into an elegant, narrow stem. The sky-blue evening dress that she wore was exquisite and the blue ribbons and pearls in her hair merely complimented it. He strode into the room and, when he was just behind her shoulder and could smell her perfume, announced in a quiet voice, “Miss Suzanna, how delightful to see you again!” She spun around, and her visage faced his. Casting his eye over her snow-white skin, her large, dark eyes and her inviting rosebud lips, he felt that she truly had become the vision of feminine perfection. Her lips though, when they parted, merely uttered one accusatory word, “You!” before she slumped into a faint and he caught her in his arms.


The acrid smell of the salts revived her, and she found herself lying on the couch being fanned by two maids. She glanced about her and her eyes fixed on the male who had addressed her moments before. There was no doubt about it: it was he. She knew him. Seeing her revitalised, the doctor smiled and said, “Miss Suzanna, it is so good to have you back again. Seeing me seems to have given you a shock and yet it is only a month since I went away. But then I forget; Doctor Lowe explained that you are suffering from a bout of amnesia. I must have surprised you, please, let me apologise.”

“Doctor Potter has been most concerned about you,” added Madam Rossiter. “And you should thank him; he caught you as you fell.”

“That is not Doctor Potter,” said Suzie, defiant. “He is Dave Potter. I know him.”

“Of course, you do, and my first name is David,” replied the doctor. “I have been a friend of this institution for many years. We have met many times.”

“No, not here! You’re lying! They’re all lying! I know you from there, the other place. We met there; you were a client of our company. You wanted to date me; we did go out, but you were dull and sexist, so I dumped you.”

“Oh dear,” declared Doctor Lowe mournfully, “the delusions have returned!”


The following morning, she was summoned to Madam Rossiter’s office and her gag removed. The two doctors were sitting there, and they were eager to talk about her “delusions”.

“Tell me about this other life that you imagine you lived,” said Doctor Lowe.

“I’m not imagining it; I did live it. He knows; he was there!” She would have pointed at Doctor Potter at this point but, of course, trammelled as her arms were inside her ballooning gigot sleeves, she could not.

Potter smiled as if sympathetic and then said, “Tell me, Miss Suzanna, what role did I play in this other life?”

“You know full well which role.”

“Yes, yes, but please, for the benefit of Doctor Lowe here, please explain it to us.”

“I was… I am an HR manager at Dovegate Financial Services. Dave Potter here is one of our clients. He came to the company for an event we held to encourage clients to invest in one of our new products. We shared some glasses of champagne together and he asked me out on a date. We dated a few times but did not gel. To be honest, I found you a bit sexist and dull, so I broke it off, as you well know Mr. Potter!”

“Hmm… this is very interesting,” said Lowe. “It seems, David, that our patient here has included you in her fantasy world, but it is some sort of mirror image of the real Doctor Potter.” Suzie would have objected to this, but her maid, who was standing behind her, had replaced her gag. “Yes indeed, in her hyper-liberated fantasy world, you are sexist and misogynistic whereas in reality, you are the most liberal man I’ve come across. Why, you even advocate married women being allowed to speak with males other than their husbands or fathers. Remarkable! But which psychological processes are causing this, do you think?”

“I’m unsure Obadiah, but I believe that Miss Suzanna’s case requires some extra attention. If she does not mind, I should like to talk with her further.”

“Miss Suzanna has no objections whatsoever,” replied Lowe, not consulting her at all.


From that day, Doctor David Potter became a regular feature in her life and, to be honest, she welcomed it. She would be taken out of those interminably boring sessions on wifely deportment, or relaxation times spent staring into space, and walked to his office where her gag would be removed, and he would talk to her about her other life (as he termed it), taking notes all the time. At first all she could talk about was that how he knew anyway since he was part of it and it was probably him that had brought her here (wherever here was) but, with time, she cooled and began to talk about it as if it were another time and place. He seemed especially interested in whether anyone else from her present reality had also inhabited her past and, since no one else had, why she was focussing on him. In all honesty, she did not know. He had been there then, and he was there now and that was all there was to it. He would smile as if full of psychological wisdom and she would be reminded of how patronising the old Dave Potter could be in the other life, again one of the reasons why she’d dumped him. This Dave Potter though, whilst undoubtedly a misogynist and patronising, was different. After all, everyone was misogynistic in this world and everybody patronised her or just plain ignored her, seeing her more as a pretty doll or feminine accessory to the room than a living breathing human being. This Dave Potter at least acknowledged her humanity and for that, she warmed to him, even if his presence confused her at the core of her being.


A couple of weeks after their first meeting – or at least, their first meeting in this stage of this reality – Doctor Potter suggested that he and Miss Suzanna take a walk in the grounds. Her maid smiled at this as if something special was implied but Suzie merely groaned behind her gag. Walking was a trial in the boots that she was forced to wear. As the weeks passed, the heels slowly got higher and she was now perched almost on tiptoe, teetering on fifteen-centimetre heels. Worse still, her maid had shown her the end goal: a pair of boots called en-pointe which forced the wearer to walk on their toes like a ballet dancer. They looked terrifying.

Not only were the boots a trial, but her costume made her feel vulnerable in other ways. Unable to use her arms for balance, she was petrified of falling over and so required a maid to hold her at all times, whilst the slight physical exertion coupled with her excruciatingly tight corset meant that within seconds she was panting for air and her breasts surged up and down embarrassingly. And then, to top it all (literally) whenever she left the building, she was required to wear a ridiculous bonnet with a long rim that caused her vision to be like looking through a tunnel except that, at the end of this tunnel, a thick veil was hung which reduced everything to a whitey-grey blur.

Taking hold of one of her faux arms in one hand and putting his other firmly around her waist, Doctor Potter guided Suzie out of the building and along the treacherous gravel paths that surrounded the lawns. Several times they had to stop for her to regain her breath but then, at the summer house in the shrubbery, he helped her to sit and then, much to her surprise and pleasure, flipped back the veil to give her a better view of her surroundings.

“Miss Suzanna,” he began, “I’ve brought you out here today because I want to have a special chat out of the earshot of both Madam Rossiter and Doctor Lowe. No, do not fear, I do not wish to say anything improper; but what I will say is rather eccentric. Do you know much of the world of science, Miss Suzanna?”

Suzie, who had got a double A* in her GCSE Science exams in that other reality, nodded her head.

“Excellent. Then do you know anything of dark matter?”

This time she had to shake her head.

“Well that is not to be a matter for surprise since this is a complicated subject indeed and women’s minds can easily be confused… or at least that is what my colleague Doctor Lowe insists. But to continue, dark matter is matter that exists, but we cannot detect it. Scientists know that it exists because they have done some incredibly complicated equations which prove that it is there, but it is just not detectable. Now, and you need not worry your pretty little head about this too much – and may I say how radiant you are looking this morning, Miss Suzanna? – this dark matter has caused much debate, conjecture and theorising amongst the scientific community and one theory that has come to the fore is that of parallel universes; that is to say that here, now, there is another universe that exists but we are just unaware of it. Now many – including Doctor Lowe – pooh pooh this theory, but I for one think it has merits and that is why your particular case intrigues me. You tell me that you believe this other life you have lived to be real and I believe you, but how can it have been? Unless that is, you were living in a parallel universe as this other Suzanna Lowe and then somehow, you crossed over to this reality. Does that make sense to you?”

Suzie nodded enthusiastically. This meant that she was not lying. It was an explanation that bore out her witness!

“Of course, there are many issues with the theory, namely how come you managed to cross over when no one else seems to have been able to do so and what has happened to the Miss Suzanna Updike who lived here – is she now in your other reality? And why did I appear in both worlds and what is it that is drawing us together? Many questions indeed. Anyway, I have a proposal to make. I am going to offer to Doctor Lowe and Madam Rossiter that you move into my house in order that I may explore those questions further. Do not fear, your training will not be affected and there shall be no improper behaviour, but how does that sound to you?”

In the old reality, that parallel universe in which she had once lived, Suzie would have been horrified by the thought of moving in with the patronising and sexist Dave Potter. But in this reality, the silent, restrained and modest Lady of Leisure Suzanna Updike merely nodded her assent with joy.

 

Chapter 4

Life changed considerably for Suzie when she moved to Doctor Potter’s house and, generally, it was for the better. Before she left the academy though, she had an unpleasant surprise. The morning before she moved out, after her morning bathing and toilette, she found herself being fitted with a strange new device. It was like a pair of underpants except that it was made out of metal and had a grille at the front through which liquids could pass through. Her maid explained that it was a chastity belt and would help ensure her womanly purity should the good doctor – who was a single man after all – be unable to control himself when confronted by her immense beauty. The inherent sexism in it all appalled her a little, but she had to admit that, trammelled as she was, she would be unable to resist any male advances, welcome or otherwise.

The chastity belt though, created problems of its own. For some reason, inside it there were a series of rubber nubs that caressed her sex continually, causing her desire to rise yet not providing any relief. To be honest, ever since she had woken up that awful morning in her sleeping sack, she had longed to touch her womanly parts and relieve her pent-up longing – being corseted and restrained only seemed to heighten it – but this brought things to an entirely new level.

Dave Potter’s house was a large dwelling some distance across town from the academy. Suzie couldn’t say how far exactly as the veil and bonnet that she’d worn for the journey had effectively blindfolded her, but she had not been in the taxi for long. In it she had her own room that was well-appointed and, most pleasingly, her regime was relaxed somewhat. Although her arms were almost continually restrained, Potter encouraged conversation at mealtimes and would often invite her to sit in the garden with him wearing not a bonnet with a veil, but instead a sunhat which was far less restrictive. Furthermore, every evening, as part of her treatment, he allowed her to have her arms freed and she would write a diary talking of her experiences in that other reality and how she felt about this new reality that she found herself in. In this she would talk about her memories from that other existence, perhaps in a parallel universe, perhaps merely in her head, and how they made living her current life more difficult. Every day Potter would read these entries and he declared that they were undoubtedly helping her to come to terms with the mental and psychological issues that she was battling. He also, patiently and slowly, explained to her, that while these delusions may seem superficially pleasing to her, in the long term she would always be happier in her current lifestyle as medical research had proved that women’s brains are wired up differently to those of menfolk and that they are patently unsuited to taking on positions of responsibility and power.

However, along with these positive developments, there were also some that were less welcome. One came on the orders of Madam Rossiter who said that there was a new fashion in arm restraint that was becoming popular and she thought that Miss Suzanna would benefit from achieving it. This was called reverse prayer and it involved having her hands palm-to-palm together as if in prayer but behind her back, brushing her neck. This position was said to improve both posture and piety, but it was awfully difficult to achieve since, once the palm-to-palm aspect had been managed, the elbows were then slowly – and painfully – drawn together. It transpired that Suzie spent much of her time restrained in this fashion – six hours per day – and she was glad indeed when her aching arms were released and laced back into their gigot sleeves.

The other change was more disconcerting than negative. After a week of treatment, Doctor Potter suggested that, in order to help her adapt to her new reality better and separate the two realities in her mind, she adopt a new name and be Suzanna no longer, but instead someone else. She could not object as she was firmly gagged and her arms locked into the agonising reverse prayer formation at the time, but the good doctor decreed that she would now be called Claudine after the character in the Colette novels (whom she’d never heard of) and so Claudine she was and to celebrate, she embroidered herself a new gag panel with Claudine Updike emblazoned upon it, surrounded by pink roses. Which was all well and good except that now the old, independent Suzie seemed even more of a distant figure, separate from the pampered feminine accessory that she had now become.

But life was not bad, and, despite his patronising airs, Claudine found herself strangely attracted to Dave Potter in a way that the old Suzie Updike never had been. Perhaps because he was the only man she ever saw, perhaps because her sex was constantly being titillated by the chastity belt or perhaps because there was some genuine attraction she could not say, but she found herself waking up in her sleeping sack after dreaming passionate and improper dreams about him whilst, as he sat talking to her in the garden, she imagined them both undressing and engaging in wild and wanton sex.

Nor too was the attraction purely one-way for about a month after her arrival in his house, a month where the tell-tale glances and subtle comments had grown daily in number, the two were out in the garden as evening was beginning and the sky had turned orange and Doctor Potter remarked on how beautiful it all was, before then adding that it was not so beautiful as her and, before she knew it, he had leaned over, removed her gag and was kissing her passionately, a kiss which she returned.


The following morning, dressed in her reverse-prayer configuration and securely gagged, she was led to Doctor Potter’s office. He saw her as she entered and bade her sit before sending the maid away. “It looks as if you are praying for forgiveness,” he said smiling weakly and indicating her restrained arms. She did not reply as she could not, so he continued: “Last night we transgressed grossly, both of us, though particularly me. You are a woman and thus weak of mind and body, but I was in a position of responsibility and I should not have done that. I am sorry. Unfortunately, though, sorry is not enough. Having transgressed thus, it is now inappropriate for you to stay under my roof. I am not to be trusted and you are a temptation too great for any man to resist. So, you must return to the academy.”

At these words she shook her head, but the doctor did not seem to notice. Instead, he continued: “However, there is another option. My feelings for you which I expressed so inappropriately yesterday evening were genuine and I think… nay, hope, that the fact that you responded so eagerly, that they are reciprocated. Therefore, I have a question to ask: Claudine Updike, will you marry me? That way we can sate those feelings legally and correctly whilst living together more fully and not being wrenched apart by the conventions of this world?”

Marry Dave Potter, the very man whom she had rejected in another world not so long ago. And yet, what better option did she have? Who else had shown her any understanding? And whoever she chose, she would still be treated as a lady of leisure, a pretty feminine accessory with no purpose in life beyond reflecting her spouse’s wealth and trumpeting her dependence and helplessness?


Claudine Updike did return to the academy that evening, but it was so that she could be prepared for her wedding in a month’s time rather than in disgrace for her transgressions. The other students as well as her maid and Madam Rossiter who overjoyed for her and started planning her gown and giving her wifely instructions on everything from after-dinner conversation (when possible) to affairs of the night (husbands appreciate it if you wake them every morning by sucking on their tool. An accomplished wife can achieve the waking and the eruption of seed simultaneously).

Even exhortations to perform oral sex however, were nothing compared to the shock of what Madam Rossiter had to announce the following day.

“Your fiancé has provided me with his list of modifications. Now, I appreciate that this is what sent you over the edge last time, but these are far less severe, rather mild in my opinion.”

Claudine hadn’t got a clue what she was referring to, but during their free conversation that evening, Petronella explained: “All men specify modifications that they want performing on their spouses before marriage. It is so that they can personalise us, make us unique and partially designed by them. It is a great honour!”

A great honour it may have been, but that evening as she lay sweating in her sleeping sack, Claudine’s mind tossed over the implications of what she had been told. She was to have her body, her very being, physically altered for the pleasure of a man. Her breasts, which she had never regarded as being overly small, were to be pumped full of silicon or something purely to please her fiancé and she, the owner of those breasts, had no say in the matter. As she lay there in the clammy darkness, the old Suzie reasserted herself over the new Claudine and she resisted both mentally and physically, tossing and writhing, fighting to get out. But the strong leather of the sack held firm as it was designed to do and, eventually, sometime in the dark hours, she passed away exhausted and drenched in sweat, all resistance having proved futile.

The following day when she was dressed in her finest outdoor gown incorporating the reverse-prayer configuration (declared de rigueur up until her wedding by Madam Rossiter) and taken to the hospital. There, she was shown into a consulting room and a male doctor explained her forthcoming modifications to her. More humiliating than that, without asking her, he reached forward, opened up her dress and then loosened the top of her stays, taking out her breasts, squeezing and fondling them mos inappropriately. Claudine would have resisted but her costume trammelled her completely and she was still exhausted from the exertions of the night and so she just sat passively and listened like a dutiful maiden should do. The doctor explained that 300cc implants were to be added to each breast, taking out examples of said implants and demonstrating what her new, huge tits would look like. And, as if this were not bad enough, he then proceeded to state that her lips would also be collagen enhanced. Finally, the doctor noted with surprise that no work was being done on her bottom, but then ended with the humiliating line, “Although it is excessively large without work, so I suppose none is necessary.” An hour later she was put under anaesthesia and her world went black. When she awoke, her lips were plumped and puffy whilst her breasts had been replaced by two heavy, large spherical balls of flesh that defied gravity. Everyone pronounced them to be great improvements although she was far from sure. When she saw herself in the mirror, the old Suzie from that other world seemed further away than ever, unrecognisable almost, and in her place a beautiful doll with unnatural proportions named Claudine stood looking back. She shivered.

Following that day Claudine’s life became a bleary whirl of wedding preparations. She was measured and remeasured for her gown and her corseting regime intensified in order for her to achieve the seemingly impossible measurement of 45cm for her wedding day. This led to her feeling continually weak and on the verge of fainting or, as Madam Rossiter termed it, “delightfully fragile and feminine”. Coupled with the strictures of her costume, she was also subjected to endless lessons on the duty of being a wife. Since she would be living as a Lady of Leisure and thus unable to cook and clean for her husband (who could afford maids to do such things), her lessons consisted solely of making conversation with him (which largely seemed to be how to praise him and caress his ego continually) and how to satisfy him sexually which the emphasis being purely on the latter. Madam Rossiter explained that there were two kinds of wife: a pleasure wife and a breeding wife, the former existing solely to bring her husband sexual pleasure and the latter to bear his children. “Most men keep their spouses as pleasure wives during their youthful years, before then allowing them to graduate on to the honour of breeding,” she explained, “although some older gentlemen with heirs already may marry a younger wife purely to give them pleasure in their old age. But whatever the case, pleasure or breeding, what you need to understand is that your bedtime performance is now central to your entire existance.”

Now Claudine was a virgin as all unmarried girls should be, but, perversely, the Suzie of her delusions, was quite sexually experienced and, somehow, these false memories kept crowding in during the lessons which, coupled with the titillating effect of her chastity belt and the fact that the same belt ensured she could gain son relief, made her feel constantly aroused and horny. Oral sex, as promised, was a major factor from the beginning, with it being made clear that this form of satisfaction would be one that she would be providing regularly for her husband. Most embarrassingly, Madam Rossiter had Cecille, one of the maids, brought into the lessons and stripped down to her underwear, before having a replica of a male tool strapped around her. Claudine then had to kneel in front of the passive maid and suck on this faux member, while Madame Rossiter critiqued her performance. It was highly embarrassing, and shame-making and she felt like curling up and dying the first time it took place. Equally embarrassing was that, at the end of every meal, in honour of the fact that she was soon to be married, she was forced to drink a small cup of “spouse’s port”, a salty, sticky liquid which Claudine recognised from her days as Suzie as being male semen. She had to imbue this in front of the others, swallowing every last drop and then licking out the cup, after everything else and no liquid was allowed afterwards so that the delicious tastes of the meals were always eradicated by the disgusting salty semen which stayed in her mouth for hours afterwards. It was horrible, but what made it worse was how the other students kept asking her what it was like and Petronella was even so bold as to whisper to her to keep a little on her tongue and then later, when they were relaxing, she would kiss her deeply so that she too could receive a harbinger of the “joys awaiting her with marriage”.

The French kissing was another aspect of her training and, to be honest, was the most pleasant of all. In her heart of hearts, Claudine – well, Suzie – had always quite liked women as much as men, and now, as part of her training to satisfy Doctor Potter after marriage, she was made to practise her kissing techniques with the other students. Every afternoon, their gags were removed, and she was made to lean into Petronella, Henrietta or Clarissa (Carmelita had got married and left while Claudine had been at the good doctor’s home and these two newcomers were her fellow students now) and let their tongues explore each other’s mouths. It was a heavenly feeling, particularly with the young Clarissa whom Claudine found she was developing a bit of a crush on, but alas, while it aroused and excited her, her restrained arms and locked away sex meant that no release was possible and so she went to bed every night her head filled with visions of lesbian lust and no way of alleviating it. It was like being taken to the swimming pool every day but never being allowed to dive in.

But diving she soon would be, for the days ticked by and, a month after she returned to Madam Rossiter’s, Claudine found herself released from her sleeping sack at the ungodly hour of five. She was thoroughly showered and shaved down below before then beginning the slow process of dressing her for her nuptials. The stays could not be laced down to the agonising size of 45cm in one go and so it was done in stages, each one causing her to faint right away. Whilst that was happening, her feet were laced into beautiful but precariously white-leather, knee-high en-pointe boots while her arms were twisted into the now too-familiar reverse prayer configuration. Eventually, her enormous new breasts surging up and down for air, her tottering about, shifting her weight from one tortured set of toes to the other, the vast white gown was lowered over her, her curls reset for a final time and then veil after veil pulled down over her face until finally, blinded completely and entirely helpless, she was led away to church to become Mrs. David Potter.

Epilogue

Six months later

Dave Potter watches on the video screen as his wife is prepared for their nightly congress. He outlined to her on their first day that he wishes to use her as a pleasure wife first before letting her become a breeding wife as he is in no rush to have children and they should both enjoy their youth whilst they still have it. Certainly, he is enjoying it, although for her, he is less certain.

He instructed the maid that he wished to use her bottom this evening. Her wonderfully large and peachy buttocks were what very first attracted him to her at that party at Dovegate Financial Services almost a year earlier. He’d always had a thing for a bubble butt and Suzie Updike had one to die for. He’d sworn then that he would have her and had been most put out when she’d rejected him.

Dave had been an aficionado of the Lady of Leisure ideal for almost ten years, after having read stories about it on the internet. He’d assumed them to all be fiction but then had received an anonymous email one day talking about an exclusive secret society of rich men that aims to make the ideal a reality. The email included links to pictures and videos of ladies living – or being forced to live – the Lady of Leisure ideal. He was curious and wished to learn more and so replied. Around a week later a meeting was set up with William Mogg, one of the elders of the society who explained more. He stated that they had been formed some ten years before after several gentlemen had declared – and explored – their fantasies over brandy one evening. Initial test subjects (Romanian apparently) had been procured from the black market and, after some success, the Society for the Advancement of the Lady of Leisure Ideal had been established. They had then purchased a large swathe of land on New Zealand’s South Island and there they had proceeded to gather their ladies of leisure in a utopian community named Deportment. Dave had joined the society straightaway but had visited Deportment frequently but had never seriously considered forcing one of his own girlfriends into the Lady of Leisure ideal. But then when Suzie Updike had rejected him then he knew that it was time for his fantasies to be realised.

He’d invented the alternative reality/ amnesia thing out of a sense of playful cruelty, even though it wasn’t easy to achieve (erasing that ankle tattoo had taken an expert several weeks). He knew that she would be suffering, doubting her own sanity and longing for what she had lost yet could never prove had existed, but then that was only right and proper. After all, she had rejected him and so deserved to suffer. He’d watched with glee as the haughty HR ice queen had been reduced to an ornamental doll and then lavished every moment when she lived in his house and he pumped all her food full of strong aphrodisiacs and yet allowed her no sexual release. It was little wonder that she’d agreed to marriage with a man she had recently hated and sentenced herself to a lifetime as a restrained Victorian doll. Then he had let his imagination run wild. He’d fallen in love with Suzie Updike but now he could create something even better, an idealised version of her with a prettier name, more kissable lips and far, far, far superior breasts that acted as his pillow on all those nights when he wasn’t using her magnificent buttocks for the same purpose. Indeed, the only thing that had not needed altering at all was that wonderful arse but even that he improved, ordering it to be filled permanently with a little ivory plug decorated with a diamond on the end that twinkled at him whenever he gazed upon it. Indeed, the only time it was ever removed was when that arse was being prepared to be plundered… like now.

Dave knew that she hated the anal sex; that she found it humiliating and unsatisfying. But he also knew that she had come to accept that she was merely his accessory these days with no mind of her own and no say over her life. She had reached a kind of impasse now, an acceptance and resignation and so Dave was thinking about upping the ante, perhaps leaving a photograph from that other reality lying around or making a comment that could hint that he knew the truth too. That would bring back the mental torment and doubts. If done carefully, it could be exquisite.

He watched as the maid supported her wonderfully corseted waist of 45cm by stacking pillows beneath it so that her beautiful bottom was on full display whilst her breasts ballooned below her, squashing themselves against the bed. The camera also picked up her groans, made from behind her mouth gagged with the words ‘Property of Doctor David Potter’ that she herself had embroidered straight after their marriage. It was a delightful scene and he was ready to make the most of it. He got up from his seat and made his way happily to the marital bedchamber.

FINIS

Copyright © 2019, Dave Potter

Die thrakische Göttin

Die thrakische Göttin

von Dave Potter

English version: The Thracian Goddess

Diana Filkova seufzte. Nicht mehr lange muss sie es ertragen und alles wird in Ordnung sein.

Sie lebte mit ihrem Partner, dem zwanzig Jahre älteren Senior Mark Vogel zusammen. Sie sind seit zwei Jahren ein Paar, seit sie ihn bei einem von ihrer Universität organisierten Empfang für angehende Historiker getroffen hatte. Zu dieser Zeit war sie auf der Suche nach einem Sommerpraktikum und es hatte einfach bei ihnen geklickt. Er war attraktiv, lustig, charmant und von absolut einladendem Wesen. Auch bot er ihr einen Job an.

“Ich bin Techniker, aber ich habe schon lange eine Leidenschaft für Geschichte. Ich lebe auf der griechischen Insel Draxos und sponsere dort die Ausgrabung einer altgriechischen Tempelanlage. Du scheinst genau die Art von Mädchen zu sein, die wir vor Ort gebrauchen könnten. Bist du interessiert?”

Interessiert? Natürlich war sie das! Den Lohn, den er ihr anbot, war exorbitant im Vergleich zu dem, was sie in Bulgarien bekommen konnte, und diese Anstellung würde ihren Lebenslauf verbessern und ihre Karrierchancen vergolden. Also nahm sie an und unterschrieb beim Abendessen. An diesem Abend unterschrieb sie leichtsinnig auch noch eine ganze Menge mehr.

Sie liebte Mark natürlich nicht. Er war alt genug, um ihr Vater zu sein! Aber er war in Ordnung, es war mit ihm auszukommen, extrem großzügig mit seinem Geld und sie hatte keinen Freund, wie er es war. Außerdem lebte er in einer riesigen, luxuriösen Villa auf einer Privat-Insel direkt vor der Küste von Draxos, mit einer kompletten Spa-Einrichtung, einem Swimmingpool und Terrasse mit herrlichem Blick auf die Ägäis.

Ihr Plan war einfach: Bei ihm bleiben, bis sie die Uni beendet hatte, alle Geschenke und Geld,das er ihr gab, sammeln und dann, wenn sie ihren Abschluss gemacht hatte, alles zu verwenden, um für ihren MA zu bezahlen,den sie sich sonst nie hätte leisten können.

Sie hatte sich im September zum MA angemeldet. Nicht, dass sie es Mark gesagt hätte; schließlich, warum die Feiertage allein verbringen? Nein, sie würde ihm nächste Woche eine Notiz hinterlassen, nachdem sie ihn verlassen hatte.

Nur manchmal wünschte sie sich, dass die Tage viel schneller voranschreiten würden. Er fing an, sie zu langweilen, und seine Tatzen an ihrem Körper im Bett waren nur noch lästig. Außerdem konnte er manchmal ganz besessen von einer Idee werden, wie zum Beispiel heute. Er hatte darauf bestanden, dass sie nach Athen fliegen, um einzukaufen. Aber es war nicht die Art von Shopping, die sie genoss, sondern es ging um den Kauf von Haushaltsdekorationen. Gähn! Dennoch müssen wohl seine Bedürfnisse berücksichtigt werden.

Als sie in der Stadt ankamen, nahmen sie ein Taxi zum Studio eines Giorgos Hatziastros, einem Töpfer von Rang, der anscheinend ein Freund von Markus war.

“Er hat in der Vergangenheit für mich gearbeitet und es war immer auf höchstem Niveau”, sagte Mark. Diana schaute gelangweilt aus dem Fenster.

Im Studio begrüßten sich die beiden Männer wie lange vermisste Brüder. Mark stellte dann Diana vor und machte zu ihrer Überraschung eine Ankündigung:

“Ich möchte meinem Liebling etwas ganz Besonderes kaufen, nicht nur das übliche Schmuckstück, sondern etwas von künstlerischem und finanziellem Wert, um unsere tiefe Liebe zueinander zu symbolisieren. Sie bildet sich zur Archäologin aus und so dachte ich mir, warum soll nicht Giorgos ihr einem einzigartigen, personalisierten Topf in der altgriechischen Tradition machen?”

Bei diesen Worten schmolz Dianas Herz. Bei der Antwort von Giorgos ging es fast in den Overdrive.

“Das ist in Ordnung, natürlich mein Freund, aber sie sind nicht billig. Mein altgriechisches Werk beginnt bei 10.000 Euro pro Stück.”

10.000 Euro! Das waren die gesamten Kosten für die MA!

“Der Preis ist kein Faktor, sondern nur die Qualität. Wie du sehen kannst, ist sie meine griechische Göttin und warum also nicht eine griechische Vase aus ihr machen.”

“Vergib mir, dass ich dir widersprochen habe”, sagte Giorgos, “aber ich spüre, dass die junge Dame keine Griechin ist. Vielleicht auf dem Balkan, aber griechisch, nein.”

“Das stimmt, ich bin Bulgarin aus Plovdiv.”

“Dann darf ich einen Vorschlag machen. Da die Dame keine Griechin ist, ist vielleicht eine griechische Vase unangebracht, aber Sie sind Bulgarin, ja, und die Bulgaren sind die Nachkommen, sagen einige, der alten Thraker, ein ebenso zivilisiertes Volk. Warum also nicht stattdessen ein Design im thrakischen Stil ausprobieren?”

Diese Worte veranlassten Diana, diesen Mann umso mehr zu mögen. Die meisten Griechen verachten ihre nördlichen Nachbarn, aber er sah ihren alten Ruhm und ihre gegenwärtige Armut.

“Das wäre wunderbar!” antwortete sie.

Sie betrachteten einige Entwürfe und arbeiteten etwas aus, basierend auf einem Topfdesign aus schwarz bemalter Keramik mit Blattgoldmotiven. Diese erzählten die Geschichte eines alten thrakischen Königs, aber Giorgos schlug vor, sie in die Geschichte der Zauberin “Thrakien” zu verwandeln, der Gründerin der alten Zivilisation, die als Tochter des Ozeans und Schwester Europas gilt.

“Und wir werden ihr dein Gesicht geben, damit du wirklich wie eine mythische Göttin aussiehst, die das Herz meines Freundes mit ihrem Zauber verzaubert hat”, fügte der Töpfer hinzu.

Nach dem Besuch beim Töpfer brachte Mark sie dann zu einem angesehenen Schneider, der ein ganz besonderes Outfit für sie anfertigte, zeitgenössisch, aber auf der Grundlage alter thrakischer Mode, alles fließende Kleider, die sich auf ihrer Haut prächtig anfühlten. Dann brachte er sie zum größten Haarstylisten der Stadt, der ihr Haar – vorher ein einfacher Pferdeschwanz – wie das einer thrakischen Adligen herrichtete.

 So, wie eine Göttin aussehend, wie Mark glaubte, dinierten sie in einem feinen Restaurant, bevor sie sich für einen Liebeskuss in ihr Fünf-Sterne-Hotel zurückzogen. Obwohl Mark im Bett langweilig war, weil er sich ein wenig schuldig für die bevorstehende Täuschung fühlte, ließ Diana ihn mit ihr tun, was immer er wollte. In dieser Nacht schien er sich übermäßig viel Zeit zu nehmen, um ihre Beine zu streicheln und ihren wohlgeformten Arsch zu streicheln.

Und als sie mit dem Liebesspiel fertig waren, bestellten sie Wein, und nachdem sie ihr Glas ausgetrunken hatte, fiel Diana in einen tiefen, zufriedenen Schlaf.


Als sie erwachte, wusste Diana, dass etwas nicht stimmte. Sie öffnete die Augen, aber es kam kein Licht herein. Nicht einmal ein Spalt. Und als sie versuchte, sich zu bewegen, reagierte ihr Körper irgendwie nicht. Sie wollte schreien, aber sie erkannte, dass etwas – es fühlte sich an wie eine Art Stange – in ihrem Mund steckte, und alles, was herauskam, war eine mmphf. Langsam gewann die Angst die Oberhand.

Dann, aus der Dunkelheit heraus, kam eine beruhigende Stimme. “Guten Morgen, Liebling. Ich hoffe, du hast gut geschlafen.”

Es war Mark. Sie stöhnte wieder und er sprach noch einmal. “Du versuchst zu sprechen, oder? Nun, das ist jetzt nicht möglich, da du einen Knebel im Mund hast. Ich werde ihn bald entfernen, aber zuerst lasse ich dich an einen besseren Ort bringen.

Und sie fühlte, wie sie sich bewegte. Ihr Körper, der völlig reaktionslos war, wurde angehoben und getragen. Doch sie fühlte nicht, dass irgendwelche Hände sie berührten. Es war seltsam. Tatsächlich fühlte sie sich irgendwie eingeschlossen. Aber nicht alles von ihr. Sie konnte den Wind auf ihrem Gesicht, ihren Brüsten und ihrem Geschlechtsteil spüren. Der Rest wurde jedoch irgendwie bedeckt.

Sie wurde hingestellt und sie fühlte, wie Mark sich ihr näherte. Er küsste sie leicht auf ihre Stirn und tat dann etwas an ihren Augen. Sofort kam Licht herein. Sie blinzelte und ihre Augen stellten sich darauf ein. Sie saß auf dem Balkon ihres Hauses in Draxos, auf dem sie auf das blaue Wasser der Ägäis blickte. Es war keine Wolke in Sicht und in der Ferne konnte sie das weiße Dreieck des Segels einer Yacht erkennen.

“Die Ursache für deine Blindheit waren dies”, sagte Mark. Er hielt ein Paar Kontaktlinsen in der Handfläche. Sie waren total schwarz. Jeder, der sie trägt wäre blind . Aber wozu….?

“Ich habe ein paar Änderungen vorgenommen”, sagte er lächelnd. Und dann drehte er sie um, um sie vor einen Spiegel in voller Länge zu stellen. Was sie sah, betäubte sie fast. Noch immer lächelnd, nahm er ihr den Knebel aus dem Mund, der sich als groß und penisförmig erwies.

“Was zum Teufel hast du mit mir gemacht?”, schrie sie.

“Ich habe dir eine Brustvergrößerungspendiert, wie versprochen”, antwortete er.

Mark erinnerte sie an die von ihr erwähnte Brustkorrektur. Diana mochte ihre Titten, aber sie waren ziemlich klein und ein wenig schlaff. Doch jetzt waren sie zwei pralle Kugeln, die auf ihrer Brust ragten. Oder zumindest, von dort, wo ihre Brust hätte sein sollen.

Oh ja, die Brustvergrößerung war das geringste ihrer Probleme.

Sie war in dem Topf, den sie in Auftrag gegeben hatten. Ja, das ist richtig: Eingehüllt in diese Vase, ihr Kopf ragte aus der Oberseite und ihre Brüste drückten sich aus zwei Fenstern auf der Vorderseite, während es darunter ein weiteres, kleineres Fenster gab, durch das ihre entblößte Muschi und ihr Anus zu sehen waren.

“Ich habe die Brüste machen lassen, nachdem du eingelocht wurdest. Ich denke, sie sehen besser aus als je zuvor, obwohl es mir leid tut, wenn die Passform jetzt ein wenig eng sein sollte”, fuhr Mark fort und sprach weiterhin über ihre gewaltigen Titten.

“Vergiss meine Brüste! Was hast du mit dem Rest von mir gemacht? Warum kann ich meine Arme und Beine nicht fühlen oder bewegen?”

“Oh, weil sie nicht mehr da sind. Sie waren die ersten Dinge, die der Chirurg entfernt hat. Dann schnitt er dich auf und entfernte die nicht vitalen Organe und alle deine Knochen außer der Wirbelsäule. Deine gesamte Körpergröße ist jetzt mit deinem Kopf vergleichbar, so dass du dich schön eng in deinen Topf einfügen kannst. Gefällt es dir, wie es geworden ist? Giorgos hat gute Arbeit geleistet, nicht wahr?”

Diana stand unter Schock. “Aber… warum? Warum bin ich in einem Topf?”

“Weil ich glaube, dass Frauen in ihnen hübscher aussehen. Außerdem ist es viel unwahrscheinlicher, dass Topfmädchen ihre zukünftigen Ehepartner verlassen.” Er sah sie ernst an. “Ich kenne deine Pläne und Absichten. Ich war dein Sugar-Daddy, nützlich, um für deinen bevorstehenden MA zu bezahlen. Nicht, dass du das jetzt noch schaffen würdest; denn was nützt eine Archäologin ohne Gliedmaßen? Nein, ich hätte dich nie eingetopft, wenn du mir treu geblieben wärst. Aber komm schon, Diana, hast du wirklich geglaubt, dass ein Typ, der in der Technik arbeitet, sich nicht in deine E-Mails und sozialen Medien hackt?”

“Wie kannst du es wagen! Ich werde….”

“Du wirst ruhig bleiben”, antwortete er und setzte ihr den Knebel wieder ein. Es gab absolut nichts, was sie tun konnte, um ihn aufzuhalten. Dann nahm er zu ihrem Entsetzen die Kontaktlinsen wieder auf und setzte sie ihr wieder ein. Ihre Welt tauchte in Schwärze. Zum Schweigen gebracht, geblendet und unbeweglich. Es war wie ihr Abstieg in die Hölle.

“Lass mich dir sagen, wie das funktioniert”, fuhr Marks Stimme fort. “Du bist jetzt mein Potgirl, meine thrakische Göttin. Du musst hier für den Rest deiner Tage leben und deine Zeit in entspanntem Luxus auf dem Balkon oder in einem Zimmer verbringen. Du wirst von deinem Dienstmädchen versorgt werden. Ein großer Vorteil des heutigen Lebens in Griechenland ist der stetige Zustrom illegaler Einwanderer. Das Mädchen, das ich für dich habe, ist Sudanese. Sie spricht kein Wort Englisch und kann nicht weglaufen. Sie wird sich um deine Bedürfnisse kümmern, außer um die wichtigsten….”

Er schwieg und sie fühlte, wie sein Finger über ihre Brustwarzen streichten und dann ihren Kitzler berührte. Sie erschauderte vor Entsetzen und Freude. “Nämlich deine sexuellen Bedürfnisse. Du bist immer noch meine Freundin, wir haben uns nie getrennt. Ich werde weiterhin dein Partner sein und dir vielleicht eines Tages sogar meine Hand für die Ehe reichen. Wir könnten sogar Kinder haben, weil ich deine Eier gerettet habe; alles, was wir brauchen, ist ein williger Ersatz und, wie gesagt, ein stetiger Strom von Migranten…. Aber du musst bei all dem bereit sein. Ich werde mich dir nie aufdrängen, noch werde ich missbräuchliche Sprache oder Verhaltensweisen von dir ertragen. Deshalb bist du jetzt geknebelt und geblendet. Wenn du dich schlecht benimmst, wirst du das eine oder andere ertragen müssen. Wenn du in meine Zunge beißt, wenn wir uns küssen, oder in meinen Schwanz, wenn du mir einen Blowjob gibst, dann werden die Linsen für Monate drin sein, Ohrstöpsel auch. Aber benimm dich, paar dich mit mir, unterhalte dich mit mir, und du wirst belohnt werden und nicht nur mit Sex. Es kann hier draußen auf dieser Insel ziemlich einsam werden, aber ich habe Freunde mit Partnern, Potgirls wie du. Tatsächlich wünscht Giorgos verzweifelt seine Frau Melissa mitzunehmen. Das kann deine erste Belohnung für gutes Verhalten sein. Denkt darüber nach, meine thrakische Göttin.”

Und mit diesen Worten ließ er sie dort zurück, leere Augen, die ins nichts starrten, Mund geknebelt, sie war jetzt nichts weiter als eine elegante Haushaltsdekoration in der Luxusvilla von Mark Vogel.

Als seine Schritte in der Ferne verklangen, erkannte Diana, dass sie viel Zeit zum nachdenken hatte, um sich anzupassen. Dicke Tränen fielen von ihren Augen über ihren Topf. Sie liefen wie Regentropfen über die glänzende Oberfläche, bis sie auf ihren hervorstehenden Brüsten trockneten.

A Different Reality: Part 1

A Different Reality

by Dave Potter

Chapter 1

Darkness. Pitch-black. That was all there was when she woke up. She opened her eyes, but no light streamed in. she tried to move but found that she was restrained somehow. All over. Her body seemed encased somehow, squeezing in on all sides. Something was seriously wrong. She screamed but only a groan came out. There was something lodged in her mouth. She screamed again and tried to move. She could wiggle about a bit but that was all. It was as if she had been buried alive. Had she been buried alive? No! She could not die here, now! She was young, with her whole life ahead of her. She screamed and wiggled again. She carried on doing it for dear life. And then, out of the black, light streamed in and she was reborn.

“Miss Suzanna, what are you doing screaming and creating a disturbance like that. It is most unladylike. Madam will be displeased.”

Suzanna. Who on earth called her Suzanna? She hadn’t been called that since she was a child by her great aunt. Normally it was Suzie or just Suze. Suzanna. She didn’t recognise the voice either. As her eyes adjusted to the light she saw a figure leaning over her. She was dressed in a maid’s outfit and she didn’t recognise her at all. But she was smiling, and she laid a cool flannel on Suzie’s forehead. “Now, now, Miss Suzanna, did you have a bad dream…?”

The maid released her from the cocoon that had enclosed her. Looking down, she saw that she had been tightly laced into a large, black leather bag the size of a slumbering human. Her body was covered in sweat from her confinement, but that was not all. A large gag was stuffed into her mouth and a white cotton shift covered her body. Around her middle, squeezing her tightly, was a corset. A corset?! WTF??!!

When her hands were free she fumbled at the gag that was filling her mouth. Seeing her desire, the maid helped. When it was removed her jaw ached from being forced open wide so long. Her throat was dry but she spoke anyway. “Where am I? What is happening?”

“You’re in your bed at home at Madam Rossiter’s Academy, Miss Updike,” replied the maid.

“You know my name? Who are you? How do you know me? What’s happening? What is this place?” Her eyes darted wildly from side to side. The maid, however, merely looked on her with concern and pity.

“Oh dear, Miss Suzanna, I fear the events of last evening may have left a damaging effect on your mind. I must inform Madam Rossiter. She may have to call for Doctor Lowe.”

“What do you mean, the events of last evening?”

But the maid was gone, leaving her all alone and confused.


She returned with another figure. It was a middle-aged woman dressed in a large, frilly, Victorian-style dress with ridiculously large puff sleeves all in a deep red. She had a stern look on her face and came straight up to the confused Suzie who was sitting on the bed still in a daze.

“The servant tells me that you seem to be somewhat disorientated Miss Suzanna. Please, I do not have the time for this sort of immature joking about and I shall punish you…”

“Who are you?”

“What?”

“Who are you and what am I doing here? I need to return… home. I need to go home; I have things to do and…”

“I told you ma’am, she’s all confused and befuddled and…”

“Yes, yes, Sykes, I can see that. Now, let me handle this. Miss Suzanna, do you honestly not know who I am?”

“Of course not. I’ve never seen you before in my life. How do you know my name anyway…?”

“Miss Suzanna, I am Madam Rossiter, your teacher…”

“Teacher? Whoever you are, I am twenty-five and certainly not at school anymore. I am a businesswoman, not a student and I have things to do, I…”

“Twenty-five? Miss Suzanna, last night was your twenty-first birthday. It was also the night when Lord Roehampton proposed to you. Surely you must recall Lord Roehampton…?”

“Are you mad? My life is not like some episode of Pride & Prejudice. I don’t know any lords and nor has anyone proposed to me of late.” She stopped herself. Actually, there was one guy who would have done; he was besotted with her, but she’d given him the boot a month back. “I don’t have time for this, get me out of here, wherever the fuck it is and back to…”

“Miss Suzanna, your language!”

“Get me home, bitch! Is that language enough for you?!”

“But Miss Suzanna, you are home! This school is your home these days.”

“And you’re mad as a hatter. How can this be my home? I’m a twenty-five-year-old HR executive, not Elizabeth bloody Bennett.”

“Miss Suzanna, desist! I have no idea who this Miss Bennett is that you refer to, but I do know that, judging by the current evidence, if anyone around here is mad, it is not me but you. Think about it! You are lying in your bed in my establishment where you were put to sleep by your maid last night, wearing the clothing that I provided, as you have done for the previous two years. You suffered a shock last night, that much I grant you and it has obviously unbalanced your mind, but one thing is clear is that, if madness is to be blamed, which individual would you point the finger at as being the victim?”

And, sitting there on that bed surrounded by all these extras from an Austen drama, wearing a corset herself, she could not find a suitable answer.

 

Chapter 2

Her name is Miss Suzanna Updike and she is twenty-one years old. She is currently living in Madam Rossiter’s Academy for Orphaned Young Ladies. She is an orphan because her parents died five years ago in an horrific house fire. That bit she really struggled to believe but then they showed her photographs to prove it.

Being of prime marital age and still a virgin (again, this was proved to her in a humiliating test performed by Doctor Lowe), she is a ripe candidate for marriage. Prior to the evening before the morning when she woke up having completely lost her memory, she had been courting a certain Lord Roehampton. At a soiree arranged in honour of her birthday by the academy, he had proposed to her. She had neither accepted nor rejected the proposal, seemingly overwhelmed by it. Madam Rossiter had taken her to one side and strongly urged her to accept since Lord Roehampton, despite his advanced years, was an excellent match and was extremely wealthy. She had never shown any enthusiasm towards his romantic advances but, conversely, had never been the rebellious type either so, silently, she had acquiesced. This had pleased His Lordship immensely and so he had removed her gag to kiss her passionately, an experience which, according to Petronella, one of the other orphans, she had endured passively. Then, His Lordship, emboldened by achieving his dream, had brought out a document that he had had made. It detailed all the modifications that he would be blessing her with after marriage and included computer-generated images of her future look. Apparently, even according to Madam Rossiter, these were “a trifle extreme” and, upon seeing the pictures of her form blessed with enormous lips and breasts three times larger than her head, she had flipped, shouted and screamed at her fiancé in a most unladylike way and then attempted to run away from the party – an impossibility, of course, in her fashionable attire – and so, having failed in that course of action, had fainted on the spot. Horrified and appalled, Lord Roehampton had declared the engagement terminated despite Madam Rossiter’s finest efforts and so, when she did come around with the help of smelling salts, Miss Suzanna was bundled off to bed straightaway, her night and prospects ruined by her unladylike behaviour. It simply couldn’t get worse.

Except that it did. Because in the morning she woke up with no recollection of her life. The mental stress had erased her brain.

That, on its own, was bad enough, but for Suzie, it got worse. What was most painful was that, instead of her life being a blank slate, ready to be refilled by her teacher and companions, instead she had very vivid memories of a totally different life entirely. In that reality, she also Suzanna Updike, but she was twenty-five instead of twenty-two and she was no virgin. Nor too was she an orphan or a student in some weird ladies’ academy, but instead she was the HR manager in a financial company of some reputation. She was an intelligent, independent and resourceful young woman who, being blessed with good looks (although she had always been a tad embarrassed about her large bottom) had no shortage of male admirers. Admirers that she usually batted away disinterestedly.

How come these “memories” of a life that, according to all those around her and the evidence that was laid before her, never existed, filled her head? And not just that; they were so vivid and real. She could not believe that they were false and so, instead, merely thought that they had kidnapped her somehow and were lying to her to make her accept this new reality. Yet whenever she’d thought of something that would prove the truth of her memories, she was defeated. Like when she remembered the tattoo that she’d had done on her left-hand ankle. Madam Rossiter assured her that a real lady would never dream of having something so uncouth as a tattoo, so they rolled down her stocking to reveal the ankle and, lo and behold, there was no tattoo nor trace of there ever being one.

Yet the memories seemed so real and while they filled her head, adjusting was almost impossible. The problem was that in the reality she thought she’d inhabited, she had been a working woman, independent financially, mentally and physically. In this weird world she now found herself in though, all those freedoms had gone, and, in their place, she found herself as dependent on others as a young child.

To start with, she had no money whatsoever. Ok, so that was a lie. She actually possessed millions, left to her by her late parents as their only child. But being a female, she was deemed to be irresponsible and so the funds were held in a trust administered by Doctor Lowe on behalf of Madam Rossiter. They were used to pay for her schooling and purchase items of clothing decreed by her teacher. Suzie herself had no say in any of it.

And then mentally. She was continually told that, as a young lady, her mind was easily confused, easily led, unstable. Every day she faced a barrage of propaganda regarding ladylike behaviour and the appropriate conduct of a wife. She had little opportunity to contest it and no opportunity to get away.

For the third of her limitations, the physical, was the most trying of all. In Madam Rossiter’s Academy, she was being trained to become was called a ‘Lady of Leisure’, a lady of importance who trumpets her station by being physically restrained at all times and thus largely helpless and dependent on others, namely servants.

Sitting on the couch, Suzie takes stock of all those restrictions currently curtailing her body. She is dressed in a beautiful Victorian-style gown of cream silk printed with a pattern of tiny red roses. With some fifteen petticoats supporting the wide skirts, that alone is restrictive enough, but by far its most noticeable aspect is the tiny waist, achieved by twenty-four-hour corseting or “tight-lacing” as Madam Rossiter refers to it. What this means is that she is always short of breath, always feeling weak and light-headed, never hungry and always, always aware of the crushing presence around her middle.

Subconsciously, Suzie tries to move her hands to her middle to try and relieve some of that awful pressure, but then is sharply reminded of how impossible this now is. Her gown, like that of Madam Rossiter and all ladies of fashion, incorporates two ridiculous ballooning puff sleeves (called ‘gigot’ apparently), out of which the lower part of her arms and hands – gloved in appropriate cream leather of course – protrude. The sleeves actually have an internal steel framework construction to achieve the ballooning look, but that is not the worst of them for in fact, the gloved hands that protrude from them are not her real hands at all, but instead handmade wooden replicas! Instead, to trumpet her helplessness, her real arms and hands are folded up inside the sleeves, hand-to-shoulder, elbows firmly bent, making them entirely useless. When her maid first tried to do this to her, shocked, she rebelled, but help was procured, and she was restrained. Wearing such an arrangement, she is almost entirely helpless, having to be fed her meals like a baby and being unable to do such simple tasks as open a door or even stand unaided (for wearing such encumbering clothes, one would need some support). Instead, for this active and independent woman to do anything, absolutely anything, she has to call on her maid for support.

Except that even that is impossible now, for lodged in her mouth and buckled firmly behind her head is a large gag fronted by a panel on which, in pretty embroidery, it says ‘Silence is golden’. At most all she can do is grunt and groan, but since that is frowned upon in this insane place, instead Suzie just stays silent and still, fearing the punishment that may come from breaking one of the myriad and ridiculous rules that plague this place.

Nor are the arm restraints, the corset and the gag the only restraints that this lady of leisure is forced to endure. Her feet have been forced into a ridiculous pair of white leather boots with heels of ten centimetres and her stocking-covered ankles are linked by a sturdy chain of twenty centimetres “to ensure ladylike gait”. No one can see these of course, nor can they see the most humiliating item of her attire. This is not a restraint but instead a large adult nappy. She only wears it as a precaution: when she has to go, undressing for the toilet is no speedy process and being gagged and trammelled, if there is no servant present, she often struggles to make her needs known. Thus far, it has not been necessary, but the mere thought of a free-willed and independent young businesswoman (for in her mind, she still views herself thus, even though she knows the memories cannot be real) having to wear attire designed for infants or geriatrics, is humiliating to the core of her being.

She glances across at her companions, Petronella and Carmelita and then at the clock. It is ten to three. At three the maids will come and take them all away. In the sanctity of their bedrooms they will be offered the opportunity to use the toilet (Suzie never refuses for fear of having to actually utilise those adult nappies) and then their arms are unbound and the gloved, real appendages are fed into the dress sleeves. With the ridiculous gigot, brachial movement is still extremely limited, but the two hours between three and five, providing there are no visitors, are reserved for “ladylike crafts”. In practice, this means embroidering things, so far gags. She is given a gag with a front panel which she is then expected to embroider in accordance with the instructions propped up on a stand before her. Sometimes it is a pattern, sometimes a picture such as roses or foiliage, but more often than not it is a phrase. The one in her mouth at present says ‘Silence is golden’ and she has embroidered that on a couple of gags already, it being by far the most popular. But there are others. Sometimes it is ‘Property of…’ and then a name. Always a man’s name. Many husbands like their wives to wear such a gag. But there has also been ‘Females should be seen and not heard’, ‘God blesses a quiet house’ or perhaps the Biblical ‘Let your women keep silence in the churches: for it is not permitted unto them to speak’. It is humiliating in a way, but far less dull that merely sitting there silent and helpless.

And at the academy one is always silent or helpless or both. Usually both, but, for an hour before bed she is allowed to converse with her fellow students. Her arms are restrained for this of course (after all, they are not needed), this time not in the gigot sleeves but instead a single glove that fastens them behind the back, palm-to-palm. It is painful and totally demobilising but said to improve posture. Whatever. Trammelled thus, she can get to know her fellow sufferers, except that they, not being plagued by false memories, revel in their situation and feel great pity for those lowly women who go around broad-waisted, ungagged and with free arms. Their lives are narrow and dull; both have never left the town and look forward only to marriage and a chance to wear the latest fashions. Still, it breaks the monotony.

The door opens, and, to her surprise, Madam Rossiter enters. Suzie is surprised. She glances at the clock; still five minutes to three and, besides, their teacher never comes to change their attire. Why is she here? The mystery is soon revealed.

“Girls, I have news for you. Ladylike Crafts is cancelled for today as we have guests coming for dinner. Doctor Lowe is joining us, and he has invited Carmelita’s fiancé, Mr. Macauley, and his medical colleague, Doctor Potter, who has recently returned from a professional trip overseas. Therefore, you shall all be changing into your finest evening dresses to mark the occasion.”

Although sad that she wouldn’t get the opportunity to use her hands freely, Suzie was happy at this announcement. Visitors! Surely that should break the monotony a little!

Part 2

The Goddess Provides, Officially: Chapter 9 & Epilogue

Chapters 7-8

Seni_Pot_Cover

Chapter 9

Chaos reigned in the Ankhkhaf house! Meryetamun Ankhkhaf fainted, and from her daughter Heni’s mouth erupted an awful sound, something between a scream and a wail and, when she had done that, she lunged for her potted sister and had to be restrained by her father. Lord Nebet turned on his son and bellowed, “Hapu! I demand an explanation!” whilst Teo clapped her hands in glee and hugged her mistress.

It was a full ten minutes before things calmed down.

When they did, the talk was sober and serious.

“Hapu, it is not possible. She is a potgirl! You cannot marry a potgirl!”

“Why not, Father? Lots of men in noble families have potwives. Your own grandfather on your father’s side had two, as did Mother’s dad.”

“Yes, but that is different.They were potted after marriage, after childbirth. Senisonbe here has already undergone the procedure.”

And she is promised to the temple,” added Unasankh Ankhkhaf, “and that is a sacred vow that we cannot renege on.”

“And you both promised to honour my proposal if I made it.”

“To Hentmereb, Hapuneseb, I promised to honour your proposal to Hentmereb!”

“But sir, I never mentioned Hentmereb. I merely promised to propose to your daughter, Miss Ankhkhaf. That could be Heni or Seni.”

“He has a point, Unasankh,” said Lord Nebet, “although, promise or not, I cannot allow it. The fact is Hapu, you are our only child and the Nebets are an ancient and noble line. I require you to produce an heir and, charming though Miss Seni may be, she is clearly unable to do so. Therefore, I must veto this union on those grounds alone.”

“But Father, if that is your only objection, then you should have no fear! Miss Senisonbe could produce an heir for me. When we were talking, she explained that, as part of the potisation process, the eggs in her ovaries were removed and frozen for future fertilisation as, in the temple of Isis, the semen of the priests is matched with the eggs of the temple potgirls and surrogate mothers – young pious poor girls who want to attain favour with the goddess – birth them before giving them to the temple. They become the next generation of priests. So why not, instead of a priest, my seed could be used and, providing we can find a suitable surrogate, our children can be birthed?”

“I’ll act as a surrogate for my beloved mistress,” shouted out Teo, before remembering her place and shutting up again.

Hapu looked at his father as if to say, ‘Well then?’ and Lord Nebet shrugged. “If that is the case, then… then I have no objections. Potisation is an ancient and noble Egyptian custom and, if my son and the girl are happy, and if you too Unasankh, have no objections about marrying a daughter into the Nebet clan, then why should I stand in your way?”

“Lord Nebet, I am honoured to have a daughter be considered worthy to become a Nebet, but what of the Temple of Holy Isis? I made a sacred vow and that cannot be broken.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that, Unasankh; I know the head priest at that temple well and, between you and me, if we grease his palm enough, he’ll find a way around the vow. Indeed, I’ve heard of it before; if one daughter cannot make it for whatever reason, then they’re always happen to accept another.”

“Noooooo!!” cried Heni and her mother in unison, collapsing on the floor together.

But Unasankh Ankhkhaf was a changed man. He had a daughter marrying into the Nebet family, he could see the joy on her face, and he could still retain his pious standing in the temple. “Although I must admit that this is something of a surprise and unexpected turn of events, Hapuneseb Nebet, I accept your proposal to my daughter and, Senisonbe, I will allow you to wed.”


The torches flickered and the smell of frankincense wafted through the balmy night air. The sound of ululating womenfolk drew louder and louder until it stopped and a knock sounded on the great, carved door.

“Enter!” ordered Hapuneseb, heir to the noble and ancient house of Nebet.

The door opened and a pair of servants entered, carrying a veiled object on a silver tray between them. They laid it down on the carved wooden table at the end of the bed, bowed, and then departed, carefully closing the great wooden door behind them.

When they had gone, Hapuneseb walked over to the object and, carefully removed the embroidered piece of white silk that covered it.

In doing so he revealed a beautiful potgirl, with large chocolate-coloured eyes and the most captivating smile this side of the Sinai Desert.

Smiling, he bent down and carefully lifted her up and carried her into the bed itself. Then he removed his silken wedding robes to reveal his rampant member. Sitting down on the bed, he opened his legs wide and then picked up to potgirl and, lovingly kissed her on the lips. She reciprocated and groaned in bliss. Then, carefully, he positioned his tool over the aperture in the clay that revealed her womanly channel and said, “Seni, my darling wife, I love you with all my heart!”

“Officially?” she asked him with a grin in-between her panting.

“Officially,” he replied, before lowering himself deep within her.

Epilogue – Scenes from a Marriage

Hapu lay on the bed, his baby daughter cradled in his arms. Beside them stood his wife in her pot, the look in her eyes full of maternal bliss.

Nefertiry – or Nefi for short – had been born safely only three days before. Created from Seni’s egg fertilised with Hapu’s seed and then transferred inside the womb of Teo, she had enjoyed an easy birth and the hospital had given the all-clear for her to leave the premises and enter the family home. Teo was breastfeeding her and taking care of most of her needs just as a real mother would, although they made sure that the baby spent most of her time with her biological mother who happily sang her lullabies to help her sleep. In the meantime, a new maid had been hired to see to Seni’s needs to give the exhausted Teo a break.

After Nefi had drifted off, Hapu lifted his eyes to those of his beloved wife and smiled. She smiled back and then whispered, “Darling, we need to talk.”

“What is it?”

“What are we to do about Teo? She has done so much for us; how can we ever repay her?”

“She has not asked for any repayment and she tells me that she is perfectly happy.”

“She tells me the same, Hapu, but I know that she is lying. I am a woman after all. She has needs, we all do, and little Nefi here has awoken them.”

“Needs?”

“Sexual needs. Maternal needs. Like I said, she is a woman, and an attractive one at that.”

Hapu had noticed the same thing, of course, but he had wisely never mentioned it. It does not do to mention to your wife that you are transfixed by the shape of her maid’s arse, particularly when she does not have an arse of her own.

“She should marry then. She has had plenty of suitors and we would provide a suitable dowry.”

“She will not. I ordered her to and she refused. Our family took her in as a young girl; we played together as children, and she has made a vow dedicating her life to looking after me. She never agreed with me undergoing potisation; it really upset her, and she promised that she would always be by my side. I have told her that she should not feel beholden but she is stubborn. She will not marry, no matter who comes knocking.”

“Then there is nothing we can do.”

“But there is something, Hapu.”

“What?”

His wife looked at him, her eyes tracing every inch of the body that she loved so much, and she smiled. “You,” she whispered softly.

“Me?”

“You’re a man, and men, like women, have needs. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your eyes following her around the room, fixing on her bum or breasts. Like I said earlier, she’s an attractive woman, and men want an attractive woman to hold and caress.”

“Darling, there is only one woman in my life… or at least, there was until little Nefi here came along! And I love her because she has come from you. You, Seni, you are the one I love, with all my heart, the only one I have ever and will ever love.”

“I know that darling, but…”

“But nothing! If I’d have wanted a full-bodied girl to squeeze and caress then I’d have married your sister! You satisfy my needs, completely and totally. I need nobody else.”

“Hapu, you are many things, but a good liar is not one of them. Yes, you love me totally, I know that and always will; yes, you will always be mine. That is why I am comfortable suggesting such a thing! But that doesn’t mean that you don’t dream of a full-bodied girl from time to time. A breast to cup or buttock to stroke.”

“When I stroke the curves of your pot then I imagine…”

“Imagine no longer, Hapu, do not fantasise, live! Lie with Teo when she is ready again; satisfy her needs and give her a child. Reward her for her service to us and show her that you… we, care.”

“I couldn’t! I’d feel guilty, I’d… to go behind your back…”

“Hapu, I don’t have a back and, besides, you wouldn’t be. I would there too, in the bed with you both. Kissing your lips as you satisfied her.”

Hapu imagined the scene and, involuntarily, his member stiffened. Seni glanced down and smiled. “Do it for me, Hapu; that’s an order.”


For a number of months now, Hapu had noticed an uneasiness with his potwife whenever they talked or lay together. It was as if something was on her mind and so, one evening after congress, when she was lying alongside him in their bed, he asked her straight what it was that was bothering her.

“It is my sister. I feel guilty. She would never have had to undergo potisation if it weren’t for my actions and, I fear she must hate me for it. After all, she wanted to marry so much – or at least, to enjoy some of the benefits of marrying – and, whatever her faults, potisation is never easy. I want to speak with her and, if possible, to beg her forgiveness. She took the place in the temple that should have been mine and yet I know she was never of a religious bent. I fear that place is not suitable for her.”

“But you know that visiting temple potgirls is prohibited… if  I had known back then, not even family! No. Their job is to pray for us and to do that, they must be cut off from the world.”

“Yes, that is true, and I would never have asked before. But the fact is that their guardian can request to see them – I learned this when I was being prepared for temple life – and ever since Papa passed away so suddenly, then you became her guardian and thus can see her.”

“Even so, that is me, not you.”

“But we have money and even in Isis temples, I am sure that money can unlock some doors that otherwise would be closed, remember what your father did for mine. That temple receives a sizeable income from both the Ankhkhaf and Nebet families and they wouldn’t want to lose some of that.”

“Well, if it mean so much to you, darling, we shall go there on the morrow.”


And so, the very next morning, Hapu did carry his potwife up the steps to the esteemed Isis temple. And, once there, he requested a meeting with the high priest who, after initially refusing and stating that such a meeting would be “impossible”, then discovered, with the lubrication of a sizeable donation to the new wing that was currently being planned for a further forty potgirls, that there was in fact a loophole in the law that allowed a temple potgirl to meet with, not only their guardian but also other females so long as they too have undergone potisation.

Twenty minutes later, Heni was carried into the private chamber that the priest had found for them. There, before two smoking incense burners, she was carefully set down by the temple attendant who promptly left the three alone.

Heni looked far better than Seni had expected. She had worried about her sister being depressed and this showing in her face and demeanour. She had anticipated a torrent of abuse or even a refusal to meet with the woman and man who had caused her life to be transformed from that of a free, able-bodied young noblewoman, to an immobile, dependent religious ornament. However, to her surprise, Heni’s skin seemed to glow in the lamplight and her expression was a happy one.

“It is so good to see you sister and brother-in-law!” she exclaimed once the attendant had gone. “You really have left it too long! Please, give me a kiss.”

Hapu picked up his wife and carried her over, angling her pot so that the two sisters could embrace. Then, after putting her down again, he too kissed Heni and, to his surprise and shock, he found that as he did so, her tongue entered his mouth and explored it a little more than was proper. He withdrew and she winked at him.

“Not what you expected, eh?”

“Not quite,” replied Seni, who was both surprised and a little concerned. Had the temple sent her sister round the bend?

“You expected me to be cursing you – both of you – for putting me in here, and by that I mean in this pot and this place. You expected me to hate you, Hapu, for rejecting me and choosing her, whilst you, Seni, dearest sis, for condemning me to a life which, as you know better than anyone, is far from easy.”

“Heni, I never meant for you to be hurt, I…”

“Shhh, leave it. I bear you no ill will… either of you. True, I did find it hard, especially the potisation. Why would anyone ever want to have half their body chopped off and be entombed within a vase for the rest of their lives, unable to do the slightest thing for oneself? True, I have heard that there are some pretty messed up individuals who do want it, some sort of weird fetish or something, but, trust me, I was never one of them. Yeah, your names were mud for many weeks with me, and I was pretty low, let me tell you. I mean, my whole future had been taken from me and I was being transformed into some pious ornament whose only function is to pray endlessly until she leaves this world, after which she’ll be reborn in the next, just as helpless and miserable. However, after I arrived here, well, my outlook changed.”

“It did?” the couple said in tandem.

“Yeah, it did. This place wasn’t what I expected. In all honesty, I don’t think it would have suited you at all, Seni.”

“But I was always the more religious one of us.”

“Religion ain’t got nothing to do with it, sis.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“Look, which goddess is this temple dedicated to?”

“Isis, of course.”

“And what are her attributes?”

“Well, she’s the mother goddess, the sky goddess, fertility, magic, and miracles…”

“Precisely, fertility and magic. Which means, well, depending on how you translate it, that this place is the place to come for a bit of magic or a miracle. And how the priests translate that is, well, how priests translate these things everywhere: in the way that brings in the most profit for the temple.”

“Heni, how can you say such things? That’s blasphemous!”

“Seni, I’m a temple potgirl; I can say whatever the hell I want and I say them because I live here and I know what goes on. Before I came, I thought it would all be a lifetime of standing on a shelf and reciting prayers like you did in the shrine room for all those months. However, the reality is very different indeed.”

“In what way?”

“Isis enables miracles, right, through the medium of her potgirls. And fertility is all about sex, right again? So, how does this place make its money? Basically, men – and a few women – come here to copulate with the potgirls. We’re like a holy brothel. They pay a handsome sum and then take one of us into a chamber like this one – indeed, I was in this very room only yesterday with the High Judge – and they give us a damn good spiritual probing. Men love it; a lot seem to have a potgirl fetish, the helplessness of us appeals I suppose, and so there is no shortage of takers. Plus, with a temple potgirl, not only is there no risk of pregnancy, but it is also a blessing, not a sin. See a whore and the world judges; screw a temple potgirl and you receive great boons. And not only you, us too.”

“What are you saying? This is outrageous!”

“Seni, you prude, calm down! The fact is, I have always liked men. I longed to feel a penis inside me but all that stupid no sex before marriage crap prevented it. I was horny as hell, Hapu you remember. Now though, I get as much cock as I like, all the time! On average five times a day; at festival times it can be double or triple that. I get to be probed right in the spirit constantly and I absolutely love it. Rather than sitting around dreaming of it at home, today I am living it. Of course, I wish I still had arms and legs and that, some of these acolytes have no sense of rhythm, but one can’t have everything. The fact is Hapu, if we’re honest, me and you would never have worked; you were looking for true love; I’m just wanton. But you fucked up, you know, big boy, you fucked up big time.”

“How?”

“Well, if you’d have married me, then we could have screwed as often as we liked, full-bodied, which would have been something, and with Seni as a temple potgirl, you could have taken her as much as you wanted too. But this way, while you can still enjoy us both to your heart’s content (so long as you pay the temple fee, of course) it will only ever be as potgirls. You lose out; never mind.”

Seni was incredulous. “So, it’s all about sex. All you think about is sex?”

“Not all, darling sis. A lot, yes, but not all. The fact is that we’re a community here. Men are all well and good for fucking, but I wouldn’t want to have to live with them and talk to them all day long, particularly if it were just the one. But here, there are forty of us, and, every evening after closing, aside from the one that the high priest chooses, we are all placed in a circle where we can chat, share gossip and compare each other’s news. You get to find out a hell of a lot in here you know; all the rich and powerful come in. I bet you didn’t know that the Pharaoh has just forced his former favourite concubine Isetnofret – yes, the same one who turned him against Queen Merytaten-tasherit – to undergo potisation, because he suspected her of having an affair with one of his top generals. They weren’t, of course; the general was seeing another of his concubines though, but that is by the by. Old Isetnofret now sits on a shelf, her cunt locked off and inaccessible, next to the very queen she betrayed. Yes indeed, we find out everything and never go to sleep unsated. I hardly have time to pray…”

heni


When they had left and were back in their bedroom at home, Hapu looked at his potwife and said, “So, what do you make of all that?”

Seni smiled. “Not what I expected at all, but I’m glad she’s not angry with us. She seems happy, which is what matters.”

“I suppose so, although it is not what I anticipated either. Still, at least it sort-of brings a close to the tale of how we got together.”

“Yes, it does, and, because of that, I think we should celebrate.”

“Celebrate? How?”

“Fuck me like a temple potgirl, big boy! Fuck me like you’re going to get myriad blessings at the end of it!”

“But I already have, my darling, I already have,” he replied, laughing as he slipped his rigid member into her hopelessly exposed slit and met her lips with his own.

Seni_Pot_Hands

The Goddess Provides, Officially: Chapters 7-8

Seni_Pot_Cover

Chapters 5-6

Chapter 7

The following morning, Hapu arrived later than he usually did and then struggled to stay awake while Heni sat talking with him.

“What is it with you today?” she asked at last. “Am I really so boring that you need to close your eyes when I tell you about my new gown?”

“No, no,” said Hapu in-between yawns. “I don’t know what it is. I went to bed a little later than usual last night but maybe I’m coming down with something or it could be the weather. I always get tired easily when it is muggy like this.”

“Maybe. My sister couldn’t stay awake this morning at breakfast either. She said the same thing. However, she’s got an excuse; she’s a potgirl after all so her body is more sensitive to the temperature. You, on the other hand, should be more resilient.”

“Seni is tired too?”

“Yes, so you won’t be able to invite her to play Monopoly with us today and then side with her once again so that I lose.”

“To be honest, I don’t think I could stay awake for a whole game of Monopoly.”

“I know. Maybe I’m being too hard on you. Why don’t you put your head on my lap and have a little snooze… no, don’t resist, we’ll be married soon and we can do this every night…”


Hapu did actually doze off on Heni’s lap as she stroked his hair, the first act of real intimacy that he had allowed and one that had made her suspect that a proposal must surely be coming soon. When he woke up though, he made his excuses and returned home where he then slept for several hours, waking up as the sun was starting to set in the west. He then had several excruciating hours of waiting until the time when all the Ankhkhaf household retired, before dressing in black once again and making his way over the garden wall, across to the banana palm, up its trunk and in through the window. This time, when he came in, Seni was already wide awake, her dark eyes sparkling in the flickering candlelight. They did not kiss on the lips, only the forehead as friends should, although, once again, those kisses lingered far longer than was appropriate for a purely platonic relationship.

They fell into talking about Seni’s future in the temple. She told him about the training that she had received, that all potgirls were expected to memorise lengthy prayers and repeat them on behalf of the devotees who would come and leave generous donations for the priests. She told him about the room that she had visited where the potgirls lived, the ornately-carved stone shelf on which the vases with their human occupants stood. And as she spoke, tears welled in her eyes and she struggled to get her words out.

“Seni, what’s the matter? Why are you crying?”

“Oh Hapu,” she wept, “when I think of it… it is too terrible. I know that it is my fate, my destiny and a great, great honour, but I do not want to go there, I really don’t. To think of spending my life just standing on a shelf repeating prayers ad infinitum, with no friends, no family, no joy, no sunshine, no…”

She broke down completely and her head started to convulse as the tears flowed down her face. Without thinking, Hapu when over to her and hugged her tightly. “Don’t worry my dearest friend, it will be alright, I promise you, I’ll do something, I don’t know what but something…”

But she did not hear and instead merely cried in his arms, her tears wetting his shoulder as they soaked into his tunic.

Eventually, they dried up, the sniffling stopped and Seni whispered, “I’m alright now, truly I am. I just need to pray to the goddess more. Thank you, thank you so much, you’ve been a great help, you’re a wonderful friend, you truly are.”

Hapu stepped back and, taking out a handkerchief, wiped the tears from the young potgirl’s face. He smiled at her and she smiled back. And then, a look of absolute horror passed over her face.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

Seni darted her eyes to the right and he turned. No word of explanation was needed.


“I’ve been standing there for a full five minutes,” said Teo, Seni’s maid and dearest companion. “I couldn’t bear to break up your embrace, no matter how wrong it may be.”

“How did you know?” asked Seni. “You normally sleep at this time.”

“Hmm, let me think. Ever since he started coming to this house, there’s been a distinct change in you. A good one, it is true, but a change nonetheless. Before you were despondent and sad; now you seem full of the joys of spring. And then this morning you struggle to wake up and spend most of the day dozing, whilst he arrives at the door looking like the walking dead and spending half the day snoring on your sister’s lap? Then I realised what was going on. Then I knew that, despite your piety, what was causing the change in outlook was not excitement at your imminent entry into the temple when that trollope gets married.”

“Teo! I’ve told you before; she’s my sister! You shouldn’t say things like that!”

“A true sister would look after you and love you better, but she only cares about herself. You too young man, you Casanova! One Ankhkhaf daughter is not enough for you; you want to seduce both of them!”

“It’s not like that, I…”

“I know exactly what you are! I’ve heard of men like you; men with an obscene fascination for potgirls. Will you have the same done to her sister once you’ve wed her? Not that it’d be a bad thing mind, it might bring that cow down a peg or two, but I’ll not have you hurting my mistress, no, that I will not! Coming in here so you can kiss and do worse to a totally defenceless and innocent young potgirl, you…”

“Teo, it is not like that at all!” whispered Seni. “As you are my dearest friend, believe me! Hapu has had ample opportunity to do whatever he wants to me multiple times and he has acted the gentleman throughout. Apart from anything, I think he is too shy to molest a girl, that is one of the reasons why he is such an absolute darling, but there are many more. He is kind, caring, he listens to me and he knows exactly what to say!”

“By Holy Mother Isis, this is worse than I thought! You are in love, Miss Seni, you are totally besotted with him!”

“No! No! We’re not in love, we’re just friends!”

“Yes, Miss Teo, just friends!”

“Just friends my arse! I can see it in your eyes… and his. By Ra! You do not even realise it yourselves, but you are smitten, the pair of you! That is so terrible, so awful… and yet… yet so wonderful at the same time! Oh Miss Seni, this changes everything! I am so happy for you, you who deserve joy more than anyone and who has continually been afflicted by hardships! This is marvellous news, I feel like dancing with joy, I…”

“Shh! You’ll wake the others!”

Teo quietened down immediately and nodded her head. “No, we can’t have that; it would solve nothing. I came here today to expose you and get you banished from this house, but seeing the joy in my mistress’s eyes, I cannot do that now. How this will end I can’t say, probably in tears, but I shall not be the one to force the hand of fate. However, you need to promise me, Mr. Nebet, that you will not mistreat nor do ill by my mistress, for if you do, I shall hunt you down and kill you, honestly I shall, for she is my life and…”

“Miss Teo, I promise, I promise! Have no fear, I could never do ill to her, she is too precious to me.”

“Very well, and promise me one more thing too.”

“What is that?”

“That you shall not marry Miss Heni. You do not love her and she does not… can not love you, and if you two were together whilst Miss Seni spent her life in the temple alone, then it would break her heart. And I would have to kill you, did I mention that?”

“Teo, you cannot expect Hapu to…” Seni interjected, but Hapu was resolved.

“No, I promise. I shall not wed Heni, but I need to keep up the courtship as it is the only thing that allows us to be together.”

Teo nodded and then approached to kiss her mistress on the cheek. “Go girl,” she whispered, smiling, “seek happy nights for happy days!” and then, with a passing glance at Hapu, she left them all alone.

In the candlelight, Hapu gazed at Seni and Seni gazed at Hapu. “We’re not smitten are we?” he said.

“Not at all. Just friends.”

“Just friends.”

“Officially.”

“Officially.”

And then, he leaned his head in towards hers and, cradling the back of her hair with his hand, pressed his lips against her. Again, their mouths opened and their tongues explored one another intimately. This time though, she did not withdraw.

Chapter 8

And so Hapu entered a period of absolute bliss. By day he would visit one Ankhkhaf sister, pretend to court her and be interested in her, whilst at night he would creep into the room of the other and they would talk for hours with the connivance of her maid. They would talk and they would kiss but they never did any more, even though Hapu’s rod ached to do so and, the moment he got into his bed, he would bring himself to ecstasy within seconds, the image of Seni’s heavenly face hovering before him in his mind’s eye.

Some days, Heni would agree to Seni being brought down to join them and she would stand there in her pot whilst they drank tea or played a game and, whenever Heni’s back was turned, she would wink at Hapu and they would both smile at the secret that they shared.

But even though the period was like a perfect summer’s day, over it hung a cloud. At the back of both of their minds was the awareness that it was only temporary, that it could not last and that the ending would be cruel, for it would mean Hapu unable to visit the Ankhkhaf residence and, after Heni’s marriage, Seni being sentenced to this life and the afterlife in the gloomy confines of the Isis temple.

And then, one day most unexpectedly, the clouds broke and the rain gushed down in torrents.


Bleary-eyed, Hapu knocked on the door of the Ankhkhaf residence. As usual, a servant let him in and showed him to the sitting room. As usual, Heni was sitting there waiting for him, a smile on her face, wearing a revealing and expensive gown. Unlike usual, next to her sat her dad and, next to Mr. Ankhkhaf sat someone else.

“Good morning, Hapuneseb,” said Unasankh Ankhkhaf.

“Good morning, Hapu,” said his own father.

“Dad… err… Mr. Ankhkhaf… g-g-good morning.”

“Please sit, Hapuneseb,” continued Unasankh Ankhkhaf. “Now, I know that seeing us here today is not what you expected; instead you were looking forward to more time together with my daughter Hentmereb here. However, that is why we need to talk with you today.”

“Yes Hapu. You’ve been courting with Miss Ankhkhaf for more than a month now and, if you continue visiting this house without making a marriage proposal, then it will become questionable in terms of propriety and people will begin to talk. Now I know that you have always been a trifle shy around young ladies, but a month is more than enough to know if you are attracted or not and, what is more, the festival of Sokar is almost upon us, recognised since ancient times as the ideal time for a a wedding to take place. So, I must ask you to make a decision, son, and, I must say, Miss Ankhkhaf is certainly a charming and well-bred lady whom, if I were your age, I would not hesitate to propose to.”

“Lord Nebet, you are too kind!”

“Well, Hapu?”

Hapu sat there. He looked from his father to Heni, from Heni to her father and from Mr. Ankhkhaf back to his dad. This was the moment of truth; this was when it would all end, when the greatest friendship of his life would be destroyed and only an abyss of misery could be seen before him. He had promised never to marry Heni – a girl whom he would have stopped seeing after the first day under normal circumstances – and he would keep that promise, but to do so would mean that his name would be mud to the Ankhkhaf family and that Heni would marry someone else and Seni would be taken from him into the temple forever. He pictured his beloved, entombed in her pot on that dark and dusty shelf amongst all the others, chanting prayers for all eternity, that joyful smile and sparkling eyes dimming with a crushing and hellish life. No! No, he could not let that happen! Yet what could he do? One couldn’t marry a potgirl after all, could one… could one?

He turned to Unasankh Ankhkhaf. “Sir, if I am to understand you correctly, you desire me to marry your daughter?”

“Nothing would make me happier, Hapuneseb.”

“And Father, if I am to understand you correctly; you do not want me to leave this house today without proposing first to Miss Ankhkhaf.”

“That is correct, Hapu.”

“So be it. I shall do it, but under one condition. I would like the whole family gathered here as I do it.”

“That is a strange request, but I shall honour it, Hapuneseb.” Unasankh Ankhkhaf clicked his fingers and the servant waiting by the door came over. “Man! Bring my wife here and also Miss Senisonbe!”

“Yes sir.”

Around a minute later, Mrs. Ankhkhaf came into the room and, a confused look upon her face, sat down on the couch beside her daughter. Soon after that, Teo entered carrying Seni in her pot. She laid her down carefully on the small table by the couch and then stood back looking as bemused as the lady of the house. Hapu stood up and addressed the room:

“Today my father and Mr. Ankhkhaf have asked me if I am prepared to marry Miss Ankhkhaf and that, if she accepts, they will too. I am willing to marry her. Therefore, I have brought you all here so that you may witness my proposal and her response.”

Then, turning to the small table by the couch, he went down on one knee and said quietly yet firmly, “Senisonbe Ankhkhaf, do you agree to become my lawfully wedded wife?”

Seni’s eyes lit up. “I do,” she replied, tears of joy running down her face.

 

Chapter 9 & Epilogue

The Goddess Provides, Officially: Chapters 5-6

Seni_Pot_Cover

Chapters 3-4

Chapter 5

Hapu continued to visit the Ankhkhaf house every day, causing his mother and father to start making preparations on the quiet. He would usually ask to play a game and get Heni to include her potted sister, but as the elder sibling was now starting to get a little jealous – and was expecting a little more intimate time with her lover – she would often think of reasons not to include her and Hapu knew that he had to be careful so he did not push the matter. He did, however, always manage to see her, if only fleetingly, making sure that he drank lots of tea so that, after an hour or so, he was in need of the toilet. Ducking into the shrine room after one such visit – and after being denied Seni’s presence in the sitting room for three straight days – he kissed his friend on the forehead and then whispered to her, “This is awful! I really want to see you but she keeps making excuses.”

“She’s getting suspicious, Hapu. We’ll have to stop meeting.”

“But that would be awful! You’re the dearest female friend I’ve ever had and the thought of coming here and not seeing you is too terrible to contemplate. Isn’t there another way?”

Seni closed her chocolate-coloured eyes for a moment so that it looked as if she were asleep. Then a wide smile spread across her face and she opened them again. “I’ve got it! The window in the shrine room is left open every night by Teo so a breeze flows through and I don’t overheat. If you climb over the back wall into the garden, then it is right above the banana palms. Climb the one underneath it and sneak in. No one is awake between eleven and seven, and this room is on the opposite side of the house to all the bedrooms so, as long as we are quiet, we can talk to our hearts content!”

“Really?! Then I shall come, tonight! I cannot wait!”

“Me too!”

Hapu left and returned to his fiancee with a smile spread across his face. “I suppose you want to play a game again,” she said with a sulky pout on hers.

“Not at all. I was thinking that maybe a stroll around the garden might be in order, if you’d like to, of course.”

“Like to? I’d love it! I know some nice bushes that we could sneak behind where no one can see us and I can tickle you rotten… or more…”

And so they did go for a walk around the garden although, curiously, whilst Heni did manage to lure Hapu behind the bushes briefly, he seemed to be far more interested sitting on the very public bench by the fountain that overlooks the banana palms….


That night, dressed in black like a robber, Hapu used his climbing skills to scale the two meters or so up the wall surrounding the Ankhkhaf residence and then descend down into the moonlit garden. He silently made his way along the paths, keeping to the shadows, before heading for the large banana palm beneath the open window. He climbed the tree as quietly as he could and then squeezed himself through the narrow aperture. He was in the corridor leading to the shrine room. On tiptoes he crept down and opened the door. Inside, the candles on the shrine provided a faint, warm light and the smell of incense hung in the air. On her shelf stood Seni in her pot. Her eyes were closed and her breathing deep. Well, deep for a potgirl. He crept up to her and whispered her name. Immediately, those beautiful eyes opened and that perfect smile spread across her face. “You came!” she whispered in delight.

Chapter 6

Hapu left the shrine room as the sun was beginning to peep its sacred face over the eastern horizon. He did not want to depart, then or ever, but above the hushed sounds of their two voices, Seni heard a bird sing its song. “It is the lark!” she whispered. “Morning is here; you must go now!”

“No, no, it is the nightingale,” Hapu replied, but he knew and, after a promise to do the same again the following night, he was gone before any of the household members were awake.

They talked about everything, all those questions that had been burning in Hapu’s brain ever since he had met this captivating potgirl. Why had she been potted? What was it like? How did she feel? Did she regret it? What was her future? Patiently, she answered them all and, in return, he told her the answers to all her queries about his life.

She had undergone potisation only six months previously, although had known for years that it would probably be her fate. “It is customary for families of standing like mine to pot a daughter and send her to the Temple of Isis. It guarantees good luck, standing and respect. The only question for our house was which one of us would have the honour.”

“I understand that. If I had had a sister, she may well have undergone potisation too; as it was, I am the only child. But why you? Why not Heni?”

“Do you want the official reasons or the real ones?”

“I’ll have all of them,” replied Hapu, who simply liked listening to Seni talk far more than what she talked about.

“Well, officially, it is because I am the younger sister, thus of a slightly lower status than Heni which can count during marital negotiations. On top of that though, I have always been the more pious and responsible and so I was deemed more suited to the role.”

“That’s the story I heard from her, but that’s terrible! Like you are being punished for being a better person than she!”

“Officially potisation is an honour, not a punishment. People respect me more because of it and Heni is jealous of me, not the other way round… officially.”

“Officially.”

“Indeed. But there were other factors at play here, never openly stated, but far more influential. The first was that our father had two wives; my mother and Heni’s mother. And Heni’s mum, Aunt Meryetamun, is both the first wife and, crucially, still alive. My mum died giving birth to me.”

“Oh, Seni!” cried Hapu, trying to imagine what life would be like as a child without a mum. “Our goddess Shai has dealt you a rough hand…”

“Shhh! Keep your voice down; we don’t want them waking up. Yes, I suppose I have, although never having had a mum, I’ve never missed her, although countless times I have imagined what it would be like. Aunt Meryetamun was never bad with me; indeed, we get on very well, but she naturally favours Heni and when the potisation issue came to the table, there was no one to argue my side or, officially, to push for giving the great honour to Heni. So, that was one unacknowledged reason, but there is also another: Heni has always been the pretty one and it is well-known that a pretty face can attract a good husband. So, Papa made the choice, and I got the great honour while Heni got you.”

“Well, you’re wrong on two counts there: firstly, I’m not engaged to Heni yet and, secondly, you’re far prettier than she is!”

“And you’re full of lies, Hapu! I know I’m the plain one; Heni is gorgeous; she has a beautiful face and a tempting, curvy figure. Now, I don’t even have a figure, but when I did it was nothing special, just straight up and down, whilst my face is just everyday and normal.”

“Well, I must prefer everyday and normal girls then.”

They looked at one another with the unsaid allegation that he had just transgressed an unseen red line into a dangerous place. “And, to continue what I was saying, Heni has got you. After all, why would you keep on visiting here every single day if you were not thinking of marriage? If you did not propose now, then it would be most irregular and could cause both of you great shame and loss of face.”

Silence fell upon the room and this time Hapu did not transgress the boundary. Instead, he changed the subject: “So, tell me what it was like, being potted I mean?”

“The short answer is that there is not much to tell. I had the process explained to me in detail beforehand, so I can give you a medical explanation – what is removed, how infection is avoided, how the pot is fitted and so on – but, in all honesty, I saw nothing of it first-hand. I remember the great ceremony in the Isis temple where I shall later live, the incense, the chanting, the fine robes and headdress that I had to wear which made me feel like Queen Merytaten-tasherit. And then, I remember going to the inner sanctum and drinking the sacred tea, but after that, I naturally blacked out. My sleep was dreamless – some girls have vivid visions and dreams, but I can’t recall any – and when I woke up, I was like this. The tea did not keep me drugged, of course, that was done in the hospital over the week or so that I was out cold. When I awoke I had already been taken home and so when I opened my eyes I saw the view before me now: this shrine room. Unlike some girls I had no complications,so I just had to adjust to my new state; not the easiest thing in the world, but I’d had training which helped a little.”

“Heni mentioned that. She still has to undergo it she says. Something about having her arms immobilised behind her back.”

“Yes, and she absolutely hates it! Since the age of twelve, our arms were trained to accept the monoglove, a kind of leather sleeve that keeps them immobile behind your back – very soon they deaden and you can’t even feel them. It is seen as essential for future potgirls, as it gets you used to not being able to use them, and so become dependent on others to feed you and help you with the toilet and turn the pages in a book, and so on. It was embarrassing at first, but as all girls of standing undergo it, I didn’t mind that much. It was normal. And for those girls who are not destined for a vase, then it is said to improve posture which it probably does since it makes you thrust your breasts out and keep your back arched. Preferable for marriage, I’d say. But has she mentioned the legbinders?”

Hapu just shook his head.

“Oh, those were similar leather pouches that restrained my legs. Each leg was folded back on itself and then laced tightly into its own leather pouch. Wearing them, I could do nothing with my legs save open and close them for toilet purposes. I was usually put in a stand with two holes for each pouch that could be wheeled about by Teo. Straight after my potisation was announced, I started spending more and more time in them until, by the end, I was never out of them and could hardly remember what it was like to have legs to walk around with. Heni was meant to wear them too, to help her empathise with my situation and to encourage discipline – young ladies are not meant to wander about at will, ‘they may get into trouble’ as we were told – but she soon wheedled out of it through some heavy doe-eyed pleading. Anyway, due to that training, when I did eventually wake up as a fully-fledged potgirl, whilst it was still an almighty change to get used to, I was somewhat prepared.”

“So what is it like, living in a pot?”

“Good and bad, I suppose. The biggest problem is boredom. You can’t do anything, nothing at all, for yourself. My neck is even stiffened. I mean, I can look around, but not like before… of course half of looking is turning your chest, which is now rooted in here. If I sneeze I cannot even wipe my nose. That was a massive thing during my training – being unable to scratch itches was hell early on, especially under the binders – but you get used to it; it is part of the spiritual dimension of potisation. Unable to solve the problem yourself, like a meditating monk, you work out ways of blocking it from your mind. That works well with itches, although with snot its harder. But Teo comes around regularly to wipe my face.”

“You’ve mentioned Teo several times; is she your maid?”

“Yes, and much more. Teo is my handmaiden but also my best friend in all the world. We are like sisters: far more so, I am afraid to say, then I am with Heni. It is not that Heni and I do not get on, but instead that Teo understands me far better. I could never see her as a mere servant, she is the most beautiful and wonderful person alive! Our family took her in as a young girl and we played together as children. She has made a vow dedicating her life to looking after me and she never agreed with me undergoing potisation; it really upset her. We share everything.”

“Have you told her about my visits?”

Seni looked to one side. “No, not that. Not yet. She may try to stop it. She would fear that we may get too attached as friends and that would both poison my relationship with my sister – Heni can be prone to jealousy, I’m afraid – and cause me too much hurt when I enter the temple.”

“Why? Couldn’t I still visit you there?”

“Visit, maybe, but only as a devotee I imagine; brief and in public. We could never get to know one another like this, intimately and alone.”

Again, silence descended on the room as something unspeakable had almost been said. This time it was Seni who changed the subject:

“I was telling you about what it is like; well, the helplessness, yes, but worse than that is the boredom. I mean, what is there to do all day but just stand here? And I say ‘stand’ almost in jest! I am beholden to my sister or father or aunt to order me moved or included in family activities. I have religious programmes to occupy me, and my prayers, but one can only pray so much. That is why I enjoy your company, Hapu; it is such a refreshing change!”

“So, that’s all I am? A change from religious indoctrination?”

“No, I didn’t mean that. Even if I wasn’t potted and could walk about and do things for myself, I would still love your company. You’re the first guy I’ve ever met – not that I’ve known many in this way – who can talk to a girl on her level, who is interested in her life and does not try to dictate everything. You’re really sweet and special.”

“As are you, Seni, as are you. Even though we’ve only just met, I feel like you’re my best friend.”

“I know, it’s weird isn’t it?And yet I feel exactly the same. I’ll hate it when we can no longer talk like this, although I do hope you’ll still visit me in the temple, even if it is only to offer supplications.”

“Of course I will, although you do realise that you are providing me with every incentive I need to delay marrying your sister.”

“I know.” They giggled together as the candles on the altar flickered.

“Carry on with your tale, please.”

“So, there is the boredom and the helplessness, but those I did anticipate and was trained for. What my training did not prepare me for though, was the overheating. Covered and contained as I am, I can no longer control my body temperature easily, and so I quickly become overheated in the daytime. That is why I am usually left in here as it is the coolest room in the house, open only slightly to the shaded side, but even then Teo has to come around regularly to flannel my face with a cold cloth. It is really hard, the heat, being unable to even cool myself down.”

“Are you hot now?”

“Feel for yourself.”

He put his hand on her cheek. It was slightly warm. “Seems ok.”

“Try the other cheek,” she whispered, gazing into his eyes.

Hapu put his other hand up and then moved his face forward until he was only centimetres away from hers. “What about your lips? Are they warmer or cooler than the rest of you?”

“I can’t tell, try them too.”

He leaned forward and placed his own lips on hers. No cheeks or foreheads, lips. They met and their mouths opened involuntarily. Before they knew it, their tongues were intermingling. Then she jerked her head backwards, only as far as she could manage, but enough.

“What is it?” he asked, shocked.

“You are due to marry my sister and I will enter the temple,” she replied coolly, a tear trickling down her cheek.

They sat for a while in silence as the tear dried in the balmy night.

 

Chapters 7-8

The Goddess Provides, Officially: Chapters 3-4

Seni_Pot_Cover

Chapters 1-2

Chapter 3

Hapu knocked on the large and ornately decorated wooden door of the Ankhkhaf residence. A servant answered. “I’ve come to see Miss Ankhkhaf,” he announced.

“Step inside please, Noble Mr.Nebet,” the servant replied.

Despite his earlier assertions to the goddess, Hapu had not returned to the sitting room and announced that he would not be visiting Miss Heni any further. Instead, he went back, his face aglow and indulged in another hour of conversation, giggling and the embarrassing antics of the elder Ankhkhaf sister who continually sidled up close to him, leaned over so he could catch a good view of her half-exposed breasts peeping out of her tight, white gown, and other such supposedly seductive moves. Indeed, now Hapu even enjoyed it a little. Perversely, her sister’s soothing words and smile setting him at ease in the company of one young female, seemed to have translated to this other, less subtle one too.

And at the end, he announced that he would be honoured to spend more time with Miss Ankhkhaf as he found her delightful and would love to get to know her better.

And that evening, he said exactly the same to his parents, who smiled like they had not smiled at him in a very long time.

To none of them though, did he mention which Ankhkhaf sister it was that he wished to spend more time with and would like to get to know better.

That night though, he lay awake in his bed, thinking about her, recalling every detail of her perfect face, from that winning smile to those sparkling eyes. As he did, his member grew hard and his hand strayed down towards it. As it did though, he wondered; could a potgirl even do… that. I mean, one required certain body parts and she did not have a body. On the other hand though, presumably potgirls needed to make wastes like the rest of us and he had noticed a small aperture in Seni’s pot towards the bottom, that had been modestly covered with a tiny curtain of white silk. Did that mean then that she could?

Thinking about it, for some inexplicable reason, excited him further. As he lay there on his bed, he imagined a life whereby what he was doing that minute would not be possible; indeed, nothing would be possible. A life where all you could do was stand there on a shelf, only able to move your head, and not much at that! You could remember what it was like to have a body and move about, but that was no longer possible. You would be totally reliant on servants for everything, from feeding you to wiping your bottom, from moving about to simply having a wash. It was beyond terrible to imagine and yet, at the same time, it weirdly excited him, giving his ministrations an intensity to them which he had never before experienced in his life until, recalling Seni’s perfume and her soft kiss on his forehead, he exploded with an orgasm so intense that he was left a panting wreck at the end.

Yes, he needed to see that girl again.


And so the very next morning, he went round to the Ankhkhaf residence immediately after breakfast.

Heni, when she joined him in the sitting room, was wearing a far less stylish and revealing dress than the previous afternoon. She was also wearing far less makeup and jewellery. Most noticeable of all though, was the fact that she was continually massaging her arms and rolling her shoulders as if something were up with them.

“Hapu, darling, I never expected to see you so soon!” she said, kissing him on the forehead after he had done the same to her.

“I enjoyed yesterday so much, I couldn’t wait to return,” he replied, truthfully.

“As did I, but you’ve caught me off guard. If you’d have given me advance warning I could have prettified myself for you.”

“You are more than pretty enough as it is,” he replied.

“Oh, you say the sweetest things!” she exclaimed, brushing his thigh with her olive-skinned hand before abruptly withdrawing it as a twinge of pain shot across her face.

“Are you alright? You seem in pain! If I have inconvenienced you then I can withdraw and return on a more suitable occasion.”

“Oh no, not at all. It is just that I have posture training in the mornings and my arms have only just been released and so they are still achy and full of twinges. In half an hour or so they will be back to normal and I’ll be able to tickle you to your heart’s content.”

She smiled wickedly and he grimaced inwardly. The thought of being tickled by Hentmereb Ankhkhaf was both exciting and terrifying at the same time. He needed to change the subject.

“What do you mean by posture training?”

“I can tell that you don’t have a sister! All of us ladies of standing undergo it. We have our arms laced behind us, palm-to-palm, elbow-to-elbow, in a single leather sleeve. Even our fingers have their own separate pouches so that we can’t even bend them. Most ladies commit a couple hours but I spend four hours every morning like that.”

The thought, like her sister Seni’s immobility within her vase, excited Hapu and he felt his member stiffen beneath his cloak. “But why?” he asked.

“Two reasons: one for posture. It forces our shoulders back and chest out so that we naturally walk, stand and sit with a more elegant and ladylike pose. Such things please you men I suppose. And then it is seen as preparation for potisation as it gets you used to being in a helpless and dependent state.”

“Potisation?!”

“Not for me, silly, how can I marry you if I am potted? But families like ours always send one daughter to the temple as a potgirl to look after our spiritual well-being or something. To be honest, I’ve told Mamma and Papa that I shouldn’t have to undergo posture training anymore since my posture is flawless as it is, and my sister is the one in our family who was chosen to be the Ankhkhaf temple potgirl. And since she was potted several months ago, then what’s the point in me still enduring such a silly regime?”

“Your sister was potted?”

“Yeah, like I said, a few months back.”

“Why did they choose her and not you?”

“Well, I’m not exactly what you’d call the pious sort, if you know what I mean, whereas she was always a good little girl.” At these words, Heni gave a naughty wink. “Plus, I guess that I was always the pretty one, so it makes sense to leave me unpotted, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, you are very pretty so… maybe.”

Excited beyond measure at this conversation, his rod like iron beneath his cloak, Hapu stood up and said, “Excuse me, I need to use the toilet. I have slight bug I am afraid; I’ve been going… uhm… continually. So, why don’t I go know and give… given your arms time to recover from their… training…?”

“Oh Hapu darling, you are so considerate! I’ll be waiting for you when you return, waiting to tickle you!”

He ran.

Seni’s shrine room was bathed in light this time when he entered. She was standing on her shelf, a small TV monitor before her, playing some sort of religious programme. She looked up the moment that he stepped through the door and a look of both joy and shock passed across her face.

“Hapu! You’re back so soon! What a surprise!”

“I told you that I wanted us to become friends, so here I am.”

She frowned and looked a trifle embarrassed and, in an instant, Hapu saw why. The silk curtain maintaining her modesty had been removed displaying her intimate parts to the entire room. Worse still, beneath them stood a small brass dish half-full of an almost transparent liquid.

“You have caught me unawares,” she said, blushing. “This is highly embarrassing.”

“I… I…I am so sorry; I can go, I…”

“No! Don’t go! Please! It is embarrassing but I love your company. Besides, if you are to get to know a potgirl, then I suppose you must be warned that some things are a little embarrassing.”

“I suppose so, I mean, I did wonder about how… but then that’s not really appropriate to talk about and so…”

“Nonsense! If we are to become friends, why not get to know such things about one another? I just hadn’t anticipated things becoming this… intimate… so quickly. Actually, I hadn’t anticipated you actually returning to see me again. After all, why would anyone want to come and spend time with a boring old potgirl who can do nothing for herself?”

Seni’s face turned glum and Hapu felt sorry for her. “What do you mean, ‘boring old potgirl’? You’re not old and you’re definitely not boring; in fact, you’re the most exciting girl I’ve ever met in my life!”

She brightened up slightly. “Well, you’re just saying that.”

“No, not at all; you’re really cool, Seni. All the other girls I meet make me feel awkward and embarrassed but around you I can relax. Well, normally I can, aside from… you know…”

She laughed. “Oh Hapu, you’re such a gentleman! But thank you, what you’ve said means a lot, although you shouldn’t have said it at all.”

“Whyever not?”

“Because you’re meant to be marrying my sister; how would she feel if she heard you saying that I am the ‘most exciting’ girl you’ve ever met whilst she makes you feel awkward and embarrassed?”

“Well, she probably wouldn’t like it but, the thing is…” He leaned in towards her, so close that he could smell her delightful perfume again, and then whispered in her ear, “… it is true.”

“I can believe it is. She is a bit of a maneater who would make most guys feel awkward and embarrassed. She’s a tiger! Grrrr!”

With those words and the funny grimace on her face, both started laughing and laughing, until tears began to roll down Seni’s perfect cheeks.

When they calmed down, the potgirl said, “About down below, I’ll explain; I’ve just had my breakfast. As part of the potisation surgery, I’ve had half of my stomach and half of my bladder removed. I can’t keep stuff inside me for very long. It goes in and then, almost immediately, out again. My diet is largely liquid – I don’t need much these days to keep me going – and so, pretty soon it dribbles out and I can’t do much to control it anymore… side-effects, I guess. That’s why Teo always puts my little dish in front of me in the mornings, so it can tinkle out whilst I endure this frightfully boring series of programmes on the attributes of our beloved goddess.”

Hapu turned to the TV that was babbling on in the background. “Yes, it does sound rather dry.”

“All part of the preparation process for entering the temple, I’m afraid. I need to know all about the deity I’ll be serving.”

“When do you enter the temple?” Hapu asked, a worrying thought that he may not be able to visit this fantastic girl for much longer.

“Oh that depends,” Seni replied.

“On what?”

“On you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. I’m the younger daughter you see, and you know our culture: the younger cannot marry before the elder has wed. Well, obviously, I won’t be marrying anyone in the normal sense of the word, but my entering the temple is viewed as a sort-of marriage, ‘a union for all eternity to Holy Isis’, or that’s what they parrot at me. But it can’t happen until Heni gets married, an event which, at the present moment in time, seems to depend on you more than anyone else.”

“Oh, I see. But when you are in the temple, then will we still be able to be friends?”

“I don’t know. Can a temple potgirl receive visitors from the laity? Maybe she can, maybe not. To be honest, I’ve never asked. I never believed that I would have someone actually interested in seeing me before.” A tear escaped, dribbled down her cheek, and this time it was not one of mirth. Instinctively, Hapu reached forward and wiped it off with his finger. Seni smiled. “You need to go now,” she whispered.

“I know,” he replied, “although I don’t want to. I want to spend all day with you.”

“Me too, but we can’t.”

“I’ll think of something.”

“You try.”

He stood up to leave. “Bye!” he said.

“Wait!” she replied.

“What?”

“A goodbye kiss… as friends…?”

“Of course.”

He leaned over to kiss her on the forehead but then, on an impulse, moved his face lower and planted one on her cheek where, moments before, the tear had lingered. Seni gasped. “Let me return the favour,” she whispered. Hapu turned his cheek to her mouth and felt her lips touch it and linger for a full second longer than is usual between friends.

Chapter 4

Back in the sitting room with Heni, all Hapu could think about was her potted sister alone in the shrine room, so close and yet sequestered. Heni had changed into a far more revealing dress, and her arms seemed to have recovered from their bondage now, for she was using them to touch him as if by accident and play casually with her hair or stroke her legs so as to bring attention to what she saw as her assets. Finding her conversation a little dull, but not wanting to leave the Ankhkhaf residence, he suggested that they do something.

“We could go for a walk in the grounds?” she suggested.

Hapu had a mental image of Heni grabbing him, leading him behind a bush and subjecting him to tickling or something worse. “No,” he replied, “it is too hot out at present. Why don’t we play a game or something? What about chess or sheshbesh?”

“I’m rubbish at chess and not much better at sheshbesh. Why not just snuggle up here and…”

“No, it would not be seemly. If your mother were to enter, it could cause you to get told off and I wouldn’t want that. Why not Monopoly? Everyone can play that!”

“Monopoly would be more fun I suppose, but it’s no good; Monopoly is best when you have three or four people but there is only the two of us.”

“Can’t you get someone else? A servant perhaps?”

“I wouldn’t dream of playing with a servant! What a silly idea, Hapu! No, there’s no one else. Let’s just…”

“Didn’t you say you had a sister? Why not let her play with us?”

“Seni? But she’s a potgirl! How can a potgirl play Monopoly?”

“Quite easily if we throw the dice and move the pieces for her. It’s not like cards where you have to keep your hand hidden and potgirls have minds just as good as anyone else’s.”

“You wouldn’t like Seni; she’s really intellectual and dull. It would be better if…”

“No, no, if she is your sister, Heni, then we should include her! And I am sure I would like her very much. Besides, if I am to enter this family, it makes sense that I get to know some of the other members as well. After all, if we did end up together, she would be my sister too.”

Faced with such an argument, Heni could not help but agree, so she reluctantly rang for a maid to bring her sister.

It was a rather surprised but glad Senisonbe Ankhkhaf who was carried into the sitting room several minutes later by her maid. Hapu noticed with a smile that she now had her private parts modestly covered up again and her make-up and hair had been touched up. He pretended not to recognise her at all and Seni, to her credit, played her part equally well.

“Hapu, this is my little sister Senisonbe,” announced Heni.

“An honour to make your acquaintance, Miss Senisonbe,” replied Hapu with a bow.

“Please, sir, call me Seni.”

“And Seni, this is Hapu, the guy I was telling you all about.”

“And he is everything you said, Heni, and more. Why, if I still had arms and legs, I’d walk right over there this minute and try and grab him off you.”

“Well, no danger of that happening, is there? Hapu here wants to play Monopoly and I thought you’d like to join us.”

“That would be marvellous. You must have told him how much I enjoy playing games. Can I be the serpent?”

“If you like.”

“And I will shake the dice for you, Seni.”

“That is most kind of you, Hapu,” she replied with her heart-melting smile.

The hour that followed was one of the most enjoyable in Hapu’s entire life. It was obvious that, despite their shortness with one another, there was a deep and genuine affection between the two sisters, though he could not help but reflect on the fact that, time and time again, when comparing the two, Seni always came out on top. She was kinder, cleverer, funnier and prettier. The only thing that Heni could trump her on was sexier, but then that is easy when your competition doesn’t even have a body.

One thing that was also clear is that the two, like so many siblings, were also intensely competitive. Although she threw better, Heni made several bad choices with regards to buying property – who throws away a chance at the greens yet she landed on Ramses II Street and did not buy it! – and so, after a good hour and a half, it was a stalemate, as neither could finish off the other. Hapu, on the other hand, who had thrown terribly all game, was well behind and could never hope to win and so, after yet another ill-fated move, he throw his hands up and declared, “I’m outta here! It’s between you two ladies now!”

“But what about your properties?” asked Heni.

“You may buy them when you land on them.”

“Well, I’m on Seti I Avenue, so I’ll have that right away,” interjected Seni.

“You can’t do that! You were on it already and…”

“Yes she can, I’m the banker. That’s 350 pounds please!”

“Wait! She can’t!”

“She can and she will, sis! Brilliant! Now we can really have a fight to the death.”

Which they did, but after a stormy half an hour had passed, it became clear that only one girl was going to win and it wasn’t the one with arms. In frustration, Heni threw the board up in the air, scattering the pieces and said, “You win then, but only through cheating! I would have triumphed otherwise! Hapu, you are mean; you only did that to spite me! You should be on my side, not hers!”

Chapters 5-6

The Goddess Provides, Officially: Chapters 1-2

The Goddess Provides, Officially

Author’s note: This potgirl story is set in the same alternative Egypt as my earlier tale, The Gift Offering. I recommend reading that first as it provides an introduction to the reality in which Hapu, Heni, Seni and all the others live.

Once again, thanks to Cafterhomme for extensive editing and suggestions.

DP

Chapter 1

Hapu took a deep breath. The room was quiet and dark; just what he needed. He needed time to think, to get his head straight, to sort-out a suitable course of action.

Why was it always like this? Most of his friends enjoyed courting young ladies and looked forward to their dates. They boasted of the girl’s wit or looks – more often the looks – and what an impressive dowry they would receive should they agree to marry them. But then, most of his friends did not have parents powerful Nebet clan.

“No, it is wrong to blame Mother and Father,” he says to himself in a low voice. I am to blame, not them. They only want me to be happy and to find a suitable girl who can carry on the noble Nebet line. It is me who can’t cope with the courting and the girls that they find for me.”

He thinks he hears a noise and looks up and around. But there is no one there; this room is empty, some sort of household shrine room to Isis. There’s nothing in it; just the altar to the goddess, quotes from scripture on the walls and a vase on a shelf. Or at least, it looks like a vase, though in this light one cannot tell. The flickering shadow before the holy statue doesn’t illuminate much. He is safe. He turns to the goddess whose sanctuary this is and implores her to help him:

“Holy Isis, what should I do? What is up with me? With some men it is because they do not find girls attractive; they prefer a young boy to share their bed. But I am not like that; I do find them attractive. Well, most of them. That one father arranged for me to court two weeks ago was pretty awful, but most of them are sexy; they inflame my loins and I do confess to thinking of them when I am in bed at night with my manhood in my hand. This one especially. Her name is Heni – you know that of course, I am sorry for being so silly – but, she is really sexy. She has an amazing figure, a lovely bum and her face is nice, beautiful dark eyes that I feel I could dive right into. But even so, even though in one way I’d love to kiss her and learn to do the sex thing with her, on the other hand… aargh! She is too much; they are all too much, but she is especially so. All of these girls, they like the sound of their own voice; it is like they want to control me. I have only met this Heni today and she is already throwing herself at me. She tells me that she thinks I’m cute and puts her hand in mine and speaks of love, but how can we be in love? I mean, come on, we have only just met and I know that she’s lying because I’m not half as good looking as most of the lads in school, nor as charming or charismatic or whatever it is that girls like. I am just boring old me and I know that she is all enthusiastic because she knows that if we marry she will enter the nobility and bear children with an ancient name, not to mention come into great wealth. She is doing her duty I suppose, as am I, but I don’t want duty, I want love, someone who wants me for who I am, rather than my name and fortune. And I want a girl who does not try to control all the conversation, who is not so in-your-face all the time. Heni is nice I daresay, she is probably lovely, but she is too much, way too much for me. With her I’d have no freedom in life! Oh, I will have to tell them that, but how? It is so hard; I don’t want to hurt her feelings, or that of her parents and then what about Mother and Father. Father said to me that his patience is running out and that if I don’t choose a bride soon, then he will choose one for me and not give me an option. And what if he chooses an absolutely dragon who’s even bossier than Heni but ugly to boot? Oh, Holy Isis, what should I do? Guide me onto the right path and please, do it quick, because I told them I’d popped out to the toilet and if I don’t return to the main chamber soon, they’ll wonder what has happened to me and might even come looking! Help me, sacred goddess, I implore you!”

And as he finished his monologue and silence began to take over, from behind him a female voice said softly, “Don’t be so hard on Heni; she’s bossy it’s true, but she has a good heart. And don’t be so hard on yourself too; you really are quite cute even if you don’t believe it yourself.”

Chapter 2

It was a girl. A girl around his age with jet black braided hair cut into a stylish bob, captivating dark eyes and a beautiful smile. On her head she wore a hooded cobra golden circlet signifying nobility whilst below her head… well, below her head she was not there. Or at least, she couldn’t be seen. Instead, there was only an ornate ceramic vase. She was a potgirl.

Seni_Pot_Cover

“What? You… I’m… err, I… didn’t realise… I thought I was alone… I disturbed you miss, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s not problem at all. I was actually bored out of my mind just standing here in the dark. This is meant to be my contemplation and prayer hour, but I often just drift off. I’ve never been much good at praying I suppose, which is a bit of a bummer considering my future career. You coming in here and having a chat with our goddess rather made my day! By the way, Senisonbe Ankhkhaf at your service. I’d shake your hand but obviously I can’t.”

“I, err, I said things that were meant to be private; oh, I didn’t mean to and… and Senisonbe Ankhkhaf did you say? If your name is Ankhkhaf then you must be…”

“…Heni’s little sister? Yep, that’s me! Much littler than her in fact. Well, these days I am. And you, I assume, are Hapuneseb Nebet?”

“You know my name?”

“I’ve heard of little else these past few days. My sister and parents felt very honoured that a Nebet would consider courting an Ankhkhaf. They’re desperate for you to agree to marry her.”

“They are? Oh dear, I mean, she’s lovely and everything but… oh, this is terrible! You heard everything and now… please Senisonbe, forgive me and…”

“Shh! Don’t you worry, I won’t breathe a word to anyone.”

“Thank you, thank you so much, Senisonbe!”

“Nonsense, friends confide in each other! And I’d like to think we could be friends. And by the way, why so formal, Noble Mister Hapuneseb Nebet? I’m Seni to my friends.”

Hapu looked at this smiling, bubbly potgirl. Just seeing her face made him feel better. Could he be friends with her? He would like nothing more! This was the first girl that he’d ever met whom he’d been able to have a conversation with where he didn’t feel ashamed, awkward or terribly embarrassed. Why, he was actually enjoying her company! “I’d like that too… Seni, I’d like that very much!”

“Excellent! Now, as I said already, we’d normally shake on something like that, but, as you can see, well… so instead, would you mind kissing me to seal our new friendship?”

“Kissing you?! But that would be…!”

“Not on the lips, silly, on the forehead. I’d come over to you, but…”

“No, no! I quite understand. I’ll come over to you.” He got up, walked over to her and stood next to her, his face level with hers due to the height of the shelf that her pot was resting on. As he did, he took in the vase that she was encased within: the creamy colour of the clay, the ceramic neckpiece around the top, the elegant handles on either side. Then he moved his eyes upwards to confront the head that emerged from the top, the seal between the two so tight that he doubted he could get a fingertip in there. Although only a head, it was one of the most beautiful that he had ever set his eyes upon, from those lively brown eyes, to the smooth cheeks, perfect rosebud lips and elegant neck emerging from the vase that imprisoned it. He leaned forward and planted a light peck on her forehead. As he did, he breathed in and smelt the seductive aroma of her perfume, his body tingling with a hitherto unknown feeling as he did so. He withdrew, looking at her eyes and smiled but when she glanced back at him, he felt embarrassed and turned aside.

“Not so quick! We have only half-sealed the bargain,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“I have to kiss your forehead now. Bend down please; I can’t do this myself.”

“Oh, I… err… yes, of course.”

And so Hapu bent his head before her own, taking in her feminine aroma once more and then, whilst staring at her pot, felt a pair of lips lightly kiss his forehead. Although the touch was light, never before in all his twenty-years in this life, had he felt so happy and so excited to be with another human being. He withdrew and looked at her, drinking in her captivating smile and enchanting eyes once again.

“I do hope that our friendship will be a long and close one,” she said. “I get so lonely here sometimes and it would mean a great deal to me if you could come round and see me from time to time. You’re a lovely young man, you know. However, I want you out of my room this very instant!”

“Why?” asked Hapu, shocked at Seni’s sudden change of tone.

“Because you have some courting to get back to and you have tarried too long in here. If you don’t leave now, not only will you get in trouble, but I’ll probably get a telling off as well and I don’t want that, particularly if it meant we were stopped from seeing one another.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. That would be awful, but I do want to see you again soon, I really do. I hope we meet again. Bye Seni!”

And so he left, pausing at the door to drink in a last look at those eyes and that joyful smile before turning on his heels and making his way back to his potential bride-to-be.

 

Chapters 3-4

The Thracian Goddess

The Thracian Goddess

thracian princess diana

Vulcan has kindly translated this tale into German: Die thrakische Göttin

 

Diana Filkova sighed. Not long now. Just bear with it and all will be ok.

She was with her partner, the twenty-years-her-senior Mark Vogel. They’d been an item for two years now, ever since she met him at a reception for prospective historians organised by her university. She was looking for a summer placement at the time and they had just clicked. He was handsome, funny, charming and absolutely loaded. He also offered her a job. “My job is in tech, but I’ve long had a passion for history. I live on the Greek Island of Draxos and I’m sponsoring a dig there of an ancient Greek temple complex. You seem like just the sort of girl we could do with on-site. Are you interested?”

Interested? Of course she was! The wages he were offering were exorbitant compared with what she could get in Bulgaria and the opportunity sounded like a golden one to improve her CV. So, she signed up and, at dinner that night, also signed up to a whole lot more.

She didn’t love Mark, of course. Why, he was old enough to be her dad! But he was ok to get along with, extremely generous with his cash and, besides, she didn’t have a boyfriend as it was. Plus he lived in a vast, luxurious mansion on a private island just off the coast of Draxos, with full spa facilities, a swimming pool and balconies affording gorgeous views of the Aegean. Her plan was a simple one: stay with him until she’d finished uni, saving all the gifts and fancies he gave her and then, when she graduated, use all of them to pay for her MA, something she could never afford otherwise.

The MA that she’d signed up for that coming September. Not that she’d told Mark of course; after all, why waste the holidays alone? No, she would tell him next week in a note after she had left.

But sometimes she wished that the days would roll on by far quicker than they did. He was beginning to bore her and his pawing at her body in bed was now annoying. Plus, he could get so obsessive about things; like today for example. He had insisted that they jet over to Athens to do some shopping. But it wasn’t the kind of shopping that she enjoyed, instead it was about buying household decorations. Yawn! Still, needs must.

When they arrived in the city, they took a taxi to the studio of one Yiorgos Hatziastros, a potter of some renown who was, apparently, a friend of Mark’s. “He’s done work for me in the past and it’s always been of the highest standard,” said Mark. Diana looked out of the window.

At the studio, the two men greeted one another like long-lost brothers. Mark then introduced Diana and, to her surprise, made an announcement: “I want to buy my darling something really special, not just the usual trinket, but something of artistic as well as monetary value, to symbolise our deep love for one another. She is training to become an archaeologist and so I thought, why not have Yiorgos make me a unique, personalised pot in the Ancient Greek tradition?”

At these words Diana’s heart melted. At the reply from Yiorgos, it nearly went into overdrive.

“That is fine, of course my friend, but they do not come cheap. My Ancient Greek-style work starts at 10,000 euros a piece.”

10,000 euros! That was the entire cost of the MA!

“The price is not a factor, only the quality. As you can see, she is my Greek goddess and so why not make her a Greek vase.”

“Forgive me for contradicting you,” said Yiorgos, “but I sense that the young lady is not Greek. Balkan, maybe, but Greek, no.”

“That is right, I am Bulgarian, from Plovdiv.”

“Then may I make a suggestion. Since the lady is not Greek, maybe a Greek vase is inappropriate, but you are Bulgarian, yes, and the Bulgarians are the descendents, some say, of the Ancient Thracians, an equally civilised people. So why not try a Thracian-style design instead?”

Those words caused Diana to like this man all the more. Most Greeks are disparaging about their northern neighbours, but he saw their ancient glory as well as their current poverty.

“That would be marvellous!” she replied.

They looked at some designs and worked something out, based on a pot design of black-painted ceramics with gold leaf images. The ones on the example told the story of an ancient Thracian king, but Yiorgos suggested they change them to the story of the sorceress ‘Thrace’, founder of the ancient civilisation, who was said to be daughter of Oceanus and sister to Europa. “And we will give her your face for you truly look like a mythical goddess who has entrapped my friend’s heart with your sorcery!” added the potter.

thracian princess pot

After the visit to the potter, Mark then took her to an upmarket tailor who proceeded to make a very special outfit for her, contemporary but based on ancient Thracian fashion, all flowing gowns that felt sumptuous on her skin. Then he took her to the city’s greatest stylist who made up her hair – previously in a plain ponytail – like an ancient Thracian noblewoman. Thus, looking like the goddess that Mark believed she was, they dined at a fine restaurant before retiring back to their five star hotel for a bout of lovemaking. Although bored of Mark in bed, after he had been so generous – and feeling a little guilty for her forthcoming deception – Diana let him do whatever he wanted with her and that night he seemed to take an inordinate amount of time caressing her legs and fondling her shapely ass.

And when they had finished the lovemaking, they ordered wine and, after drinking her glass, Diana fell into a deep, contented sleep.


—–

When she awoke, Diana knew that something was wrong. She opened her eyes but no light entered. Not even a chink. And, when she tried to move, her body somehow did not respond. She cried out but that realised that something – it felt like a rod of some sort – was lodged in her mouth, and all that came out was an mmphf. Fear took over.

Then, out of the darkness, came a soothing voice. “Good morning, darling. I trust you slept well.”

It was Mark. She mmphfed again and he spoke once more. “You are trying to speak, no? Well, that is not possible now as there is a gag in your mouth. I shall remove it soon, but first let me move you somewhere better.

And she felt herself being moved. Her body, totally unresponsive, was lifted and carried. Yet she never felt any hands touch her. Indeed, she felt somehow enclosed, or encased. It was weird. Not all of her though. She could feel the wind on her face and her breasts and her private parts. The rest though, was somehow covered up.

She was placed down and she felt Mark draw near. He kissed her lightly on her forehead and then did something to her eyes. Immediately the light rushed in. She blinked and adjusted herself. She was sitting on the balcony of their house in Draxos that overlooked the blue waters of the Aegean. There was not a cloud in sight and in the distance she could make out the white triangle of a yacht’s sail.

“The cause of the blindness was these,” said Mark. He was holding a pair of contact lenses in the palm of his hand. They were totally black. Anyone wearing them would have no sight whatsoever. But why…?

“I’ve made a few changes,” he said, smiling. And then he turned her around to face a full-length mirror. What was reflected back at her stunned her completely. Still smiling, he took out the gag, which transpired to be both large and penis-shaped.

“What the fuck have you done to me?” she cried.

“I gave you a boob job like I promised,” he replied.

Mark HAD mentioned a boob job before. Diana liked her tits but they were rather small and a little saggy. They were neither now, instead two bulging orbs projected from her chest. Or at least, from where her chest should have been.

Oh yes, the boob job was the least of her problems.

She was in the pot that they had commissioned. Yes, that is right: encased within the vase, her head sticking out of the top and her boobs squeezed out of two windows on the front while, down below them, there was another, smaller window, through which her denuded pussy and anus could be seen.

“I had the boobs done after you were potted. I think they look better than way although I’m sorry if the fit is now a bit tight,” Mark continued, still talking about her bloody tits.

“Forget my boobs! What have you done to the rest of me? Why can’t I feel or move my arms and legs?”

“Oh, because they aren’t there anymore. They were the first things that the surgeon removed. Then he cut you open and removed the non-vital organs and all your bones save for the spine. Your entire body size is now comparable to your head, hence you being able to fit so snugly into your pot. Do you like how it has come out? Yiorgos has done a fine job, don’t you think?”

Diana was in shock. “But… why? Why am I in a pot?”

“Because I believe women look prettier in them. Plus, potted girls are far less likely to leave their future spouses.” He looked at her gravely. “I know your plans and intentions. I was your sugar daddy, useful to pay for your forthcoming MA. Not that you’ll be able to do that now, of course; after all, what use is an archaeologist with no limbs? No, I would never have potted you had you stayed true and faithful. But come on, Diana, did you really expect a guy who works in tech not to hack into your emails and social media?”

“How dare you! I’ll…”

“You’ll stay quiet,” he replied and replaced the gag. There was absolutely nothing she could do to stop him. Then, to her horror, he picked up the contact lenses once again and refitted them. Her world plunged into blackness. Silenced, blinded and immobile. It was like a descent into hell.

“Let me tell you how this works,” continued Mark’s voice. “You are now my potgirl, my Thracian goddess. You will live here for the rest of your days, spending your time in leisured luxury relaxing on the balcony or in a room. You will be cared for by your maid. A great advantage about living in Greece these days is the steady flow of illegal migrants. The girl I’ve got for you is Sudanese. She doesn’t speak a word of English and can’t run off. She will see to your every need save for that most important one…”

His voice trailed off and she felt a finger trace over her nipples and then touch her clit. She shuddered in both horror and delight. “Your sexual needs. You are still my girlfriend after all; we never broke up. I will continue to be your partner and may even offer you my hand in marriage one day. Why, we could even have kids as I’ve saved your eggs; all we require is a willing surrogate and, like I said, with a steady flow of migrants… However, you need to be willing in all this. I will never force myself upon you, nor will I endure abusive language or behaviour. That’s why you’re gagged and blinded now. If you misbehave, you will wear one or the other. If you bite my tongue when we’re kissing, or my cock when you’re giving me a blow job, then the lenses will be in for months, ear plugs too. But behave, woo me, couple with me, chat with me, and you can be rewarded and not just with sex. It can get quite lonely out here on this island, but I have friends with partners, potgirls like yourself. Indeed, Yiorgos is desperate to bring his wife Melissa around. That can be your first reward for good behaviour. Think about it, my Thracian goddess.”

And with those words he left her there, blank eyes staring into nothing, mouth gagged, naught more than an elegant household decoration in the luxury mansion of Mark Vogel.

As his footsteps faded into the distance, Diana realised that she had a lot of thinking and adjusting to do. Fat tears fell from her eyes onto her pot, running down the shiny surface like raindrops until they soaked into her protruding breasts.

Gabrielle van Hessel: Part 3

Part 2

PART THREE

Chapter 1

That evening I was again in der Vlinder’s private back room, with van Hessel across the table from me and a pint of beer in front.

“So my lad,” said he, “are you entirely sure about accepting Gabrielle as your wife?”

“Sir,” replied I, “I have never been so surer of anything in my life.” And I spoke the truth. For whilst I had seen other wenches as comely if not more so than Miss van Hessel, and undoubtedly more virile and creative in bed, (for she as a virgin was completely inexperienced and trussed up so, I doubted that she could be very athletic also), there was something about this girl that captivated me, enthralled me, obsessed me. All that day following my visit to the van Hessel house, my mind could think of nothing else; of seeing her restricted like that, her arms rendered helpless, her feet squeezed into those tiny yet delightful boots that made the simple art of walking near on an impossibility, her waist corsetted into nothing, and all against her wishes. And the fact that I had watched it all and she knew nothing of it, she thought that I was as ignorant of it all as the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker! And how she had told me afterwards, pleaded with me to help her out of her situation, given herself to me believing that I was to be her saviour. No, of all that I had witnessed, that confession, hearing the words of the discomfort that she suffered and of the hope that she saw in me, that was the most erotically stimulating of all. I had not left my bedroom for three hours straight and my manhood was as tired a native coolie after a days work in the rubber plantation.

“But Mr. van Hessel,” I continued, “I want to continue this in my way, if you don’t mind.”

“What way is that, Wilhelm?”

“Well, as you know, I enjoyed coffee with your niece this afternoon and whilst there I embarked upon a little game with her. I chastised her for hating me, for running away. I asked what bad thing had she done to render such a punishment as being gagged. Well, what could she do but deny it. It was a quandary you see, on one hand I would think of her as disobedient and no lady, or on the other she gives you away. So, she told me about the restriction and I pretended to be shocked. I asked her to describe more, and I must say Sir, it was most exciting hearing it come from her own mouth. She asked me to feel her wooden limbs and her bound arms, and then Sir, implored me to help her. ‘Marry me and free me!’ It was most amusing.”

“Oh dear Wilhelm, it sounds so. I doubt that I, should I have been a man of your age, would have been able to control myself, Ha! Ha! What a lark, Sir!”

“Indeed, indeed. Anyway, so now she knows that I am interested in marriage, and that I know about her bondage. What she does not know however, is about our close relationship, that you are in on it all, and what’s more, she thinks that I am to be her saviour. Sir, I like that situation, and I should be pleased if it could continue. In fact, I would like you to appear almost against the marriage, whilst I will play up the role of the Knight in Shining Armour. What do you say to it?”

“Why Wilhelm, I assent. It is a lark true, but it also serves my purpose. For the fact is, I was worried that she would object to whomever I chose and perhaps cause a raucous in the church or whatever on the wedding day when of course her arms cannot be bound. In this way, I have the opportunity of sending the bint to the altar as meek as a lamb and still guaranteeing that she is treated in the manner that I see fit afterwards. Or at least I hope that she will be?”

“Whatever do you mean, Sir?”

“What I mean is that once married, I wish her present lifestyle to continue, so that she may never bad-mouth I and my wife nor come back to haunt us. Be you in the Indies or Duiveland, I wish her to be kept as now, helpless and bound.”

“Oh Sir, you need not fear on that account. I would not be interested in marrying the wench were she kept as a normal lass. I don’t want her for her money, nor her mind, nor even for the times that we shall spend between the bedcovers, for I can get that elsewhere and no doubt with ladies of a much more experienced nature. What’s more, getting  that elsewhere is something that I intend to continue doing – I fear that I loathe to give up my brown-skinned tropical beauties – and with a bound and immobile wife, that should not prove a problem.

“Well then Sir, we are agreed in all. We shall continue as you say, but also I have some stipulations of my own. If you are to keep her as I do, you have much more to learn. You need to know about her various forms of restraint, as I have more methods than just a gag and ballooning sleeves. You will learn about them and at the same time will continue to win her confidence. Then, a month or so hence, I shall lead my niece to the altar to become Mrs. Wilhelm van Wettering. Agreed?”

“Agreed!”

And at that we both clinked glasses and downed our beverages.

Chapter 2

And thus it continued in such a manner. Daily I would visit Miss Gabrielle, sit in that drawing room with its ticking clock and lace-laden table and drink coffee whilst she described to me the horrors that she was put through.

“But at least you rest at night my dear sweet Gaby,” said I.

“Oh no, Will, not even then. For that monster has decreed that I sleep in a sleeping bag.”

“A what?”

“A bag. ‘Tis made of leather and laced like a corset. It covers all of me, from my head to my feet, the only opening being for my nose and mouth. And it is tight and hot and I lie in it immobile until I am woken by my maids.”

“How awful!” exclaimed I.

That evening I journeyed down the tunnel and set my eye to the spyhole. There I watched as that heavenly creature was stripped of her clothing and left wearing only her chastity belt. Then another corset was put onto her, except that this one, unlike her daytime ones, had cut-outs for her breasts which ballooned out as if presenting themselves for a waiting man, (oh later on, I knew who that man would be!), and amazingly had no holes for the arms, those beleaguered appendages being crossed over at the top of her back, thus rendering her absolutely dependent on those around her. Then the Sleeping Bag was produced, a huge leather sack which she was placed into, and which was then laced tight all around her, displaying each and every one of her delightful feminine curves to perfection, and of course allowing her not to move a muscle, in fact to do naught but breath. I couldn’t wait any longer, and as van Hessel had not joined me that evening, I whipped out the bishop and jacked one off there and then. To think of her in that cocoon, so helpless… and the heat! To be encased wholly in leather on this sultry summer’s eve. Oh how much more she would suffer when in Batavia where even naked the heat is unbearable.

Returning to the study I asked van Hessel about the armless corset.

“It’s called a Venus Corset,” said he, “after the armless Venus de Milo. Mrs. van Hessel is always laced into one at night and that way she cannot object to me caressing her fine breasts and placing my manhood where it should be placed.” The thought of doing the same to Gabrielle excited me further.

“Let’s take a closer look,” said van Hessel, and together we tiptoed into the girl’s room. I was careful not to make a sound, but van Hessel shook his head. “You need not bother,” he said in a normal voice. The Sleeping Bag has built in ear plugs. She is as deaf as she is blind, completely oblivious to the world around her.”

It was fascinating seeing her entombed like that up close, her breasts rising and falling dramatically beneath the leather. “I do so like her large bosom and buttocks,” I commented to van Hessel.

“It comes from the corsetting,” he explained. “Before she was quite a plain girl, nothing of note in either place. But the corset restricts any fatty growth around the waist, but of course the fat must go somewhere – and we do control her diet to make sure that she puts some weight on, though not enough to make her obese –  and thus it is that we get this pleasingly rotund derriere, and those handsome breasts.”

I was amazed by the ingenuity of this man, and the fact that even what she ate was controlled and restricted. It was all so artificial. Like she was a toy, not a human being. And long may it continue of course!

Whilst in the room, van Hessel also took me over to Gabrielle’s wardrobe to show me the many modes of restriction that his niece was subjected to. There were cocoon suits, punishment corsets that lasted to her knees, stride impeders, countless pairs of shoes with ridiculously high heels, ankle chains, a joug, shoulder braces, neck corsets, (“She always wears one underneath her high collars or scarf,”) which forced the poor girl to hold her head up high and much more. This unusual collection excited me no end, especially when one considered that the owner was sleeping in the very same room, oblivious of what was going on around her.

“Would you like to try some on?” asked van Hessel.

“I don’t think that most will fit,” I said.

“Most no, corsets are out of the question, but you can try these.” He held out the stride impeders. They were two golden rings connected by a thick loop of rubber. I placed them around my knees and tried to walk. My stride was limited to almost naught and tottering across just the room took an age. “Now imagine wearing those along with a tight corset, neck corset, bound arms, and ballet boots.” I tried to imagine and it was a pleasant imagine that was conjured up in my mind. Being breathless and restricted so…

I tried on several more items of Gabrielle’s apparel. The ankle chain was interesting, the effect slightly different to the more flexible stride impeders, and the full hood was scary, to be so at the mercy of all. I knew that that was one thing that she would be making a lot of use of after her marriage! I also tried her arm bindings and wooden limbs. The effect of that was strange, yet exciting. Again it was the helplessness that did it for me, but also the artificiality added to matters. I mentioned this to van Hessel and he agreed. “I like it too,” said that fine gent. “That is why I have her and Mrs. van Hessel dress up as dolls  on odd occasions. I have had dolly faces made out of porcelain for them, through which there are two pin holes that they can view the proceedings, well a little of them, through. Indeed, I have several masks, look!”

I did so and was most interested. Several of the masks were of the typical Virginal Doll look, but several more portrayed an Oriental visage. “A relic of my travels,” explained van Hessel. “I sometimes miss those Oriental ladies, especially the beauties of Annam, Tonkin and the Empires of China and Japan. Well, on my last voyage I bought some costumes from all those places and afterwards I had these masks and some hair pieces made. Now and again, when the mood takes me, I dress Mrs. van Hessel or Greta the servant, up in a kimono or cheoung sam and have her mince around the house with this mask and an elaborate oriental hairpiece on.”

Now that sounded something! “But what of the small feet?” asked I, remembering the tales that I had heard regarding foot-binding in China, a practice that I had never come across but had always sounded intriguing.

“Well Wilhelm, I do not bind feet, as although it produces an extremely pleasant shape and a beautifully unstable walk, the stench is quite horrid. But of course, both my wife, and Gabrielle’s feet have been forced into tiny boots from an early age so they are not large and what’s more, with Gabrielle… no I shall let her tell you about her feet. But they are small and en pointe, so the effect is not too dissimilar to that of foot-binding.”

I tried a mask on. The porcelain admitted no air barring through the tiny breathing holes, and fitted closely so that within a moment I was sweaty and flustered. What’s more it contained a built-in wooden protrusion for the mouth which rendered speech and impossibility. To walk around all day wearing that…

“And now Sir, what do you think of this?”

Van Hessel pulled out a long leather sheath. “Put it on!” said he.

It turned out that this garment was a glove, a glove that fitted over both arms and held them tight together behind the back. I tried it on. It took a while to fit as it was rather tight, but once on, and laced, held my arms mercilessly in that position. Within a few minutes I felt them starting to deaden.

“Gabrielle wears this?” I asked in amazement.

“Why yes, every afternoon, when visitors are not admitted.”

‘By the Good Lord above!’ thought I. To wear such a garment daily!

“I should love to see her in it,” said I.

“Forget your hat and call round tomorrow at two for it,” suggested van Hessel.

Chapter 3

I did just as he suggested and the following afternoon found myself sat with my fiancee in the drawing room, her with her arms pinioned behind her and an embarrassed look upon her face.

“Whatever are you wearing?” exclaimed I in mock astonishment.

“My mono-glove. He forces me to wear it every afternoon.”

“Is it uncomfortable?”

“Very. My arms are dead and my shoulders are on fire.” Of course I knew all of this from my own brief experience in the glove, but hearing it come from her innocent lips made it all the more exciting.

Another day I took up the lead that van Hessel had given me and asked about her feet.

“Is it those boots that make you walk so unstably?” I enquired.

“Partially,” said she.

“What do you mean, ‘partially’,” I asked.

“He has done other things to my feet.”

“Like what?”

“I was forced to have an operation… when I first came here… he said that small feet were ladylike and mine were to be as small as possibly.”

“What did they do?”

“The surgeon, he removed by smallest toe on each foot, and also sections of my other toes and forced my big toe into a point.”

“That sounds painful.”

“Oh no, it wasn’t. It was all very professionally done, under anathesea and such. But the problem is, we are given five toes on each foot for a reason. I, with only four cannot balance well, I often stumble and fall.”

“That’s monsterous!” declared I, inwardly impressed at van Hessel’s idea. “Can I see your feet, please?” I added.

My Gaby daintily lifted the hem of her voluminous skirts and poked a foot out. It was tiny, unbelievably so. I was sent into raptures of delight, though of course I tried not to display this. Instead I changed the subject.

“We will marry soon,” said I.

“I fear he will object,” she replied. “This morning he was moaning about you at breakfast.” So, van Hessel was playing his part well, I thought. Jolly good!

Daily I visited the beleaguered Gabrielle, and daily she trusted me more. One day I even had a mock disagreement with van Hessel and then the next a mock making-up, before finally we had a mock grudging acceptance by him of my proposal of marriage. It was all so delightful, all the artificiality, her trust and his deception. Daily she told me of her restraints and nightly he demonstrated them and explained how to keep that gem that was soon to be mine.

And then, a month from the night when I’d watched her sleep, I was stood in Zierikzee’s great church whilst my bride, her arms unhindered for the first time in years, tottered down the aisle on the arm of van Hessel.

“Who gives this girl away?” asked the Man of God.

“I do,” said van Hessel, (no truer words ever were spoken, she had had no say in it all).

“Do you accept this man to be your Master?” asked the Pastor.

She did.

And with the document signed, the jewel was mine!

But the real pleasure cam later that day. I had been enjoying the feast with my friends whilst Gabrielle had been taken to the room several hours previously to be prepared for her wedding night. Eventually, at Eleven I could bear it no longer and headed upstairs to enjoy my new toy. Opening the door to my chamber I was confronted by one of the most enchanting sights that a man can see. Leaning against the wall was one of the most beautiful girls in all of the Netherlands, her body tightly-cocooned in a finely-made leather body corset that forced her toes into an en pointe position, her waist into miniscule dimensions and her arms behind her, leaving only her head and her hair done in beautiful ringlets free. Around her ankles, waist and neck were tied three large red bows and over the gag in her mouth was a large red rosette. Here was my present waiting to be unwrapped!

I went over to her and lifted her onto the bed, and took the rosette covered gag out of her mouth.

“Oh Wilhelm!” she cried, “I have waited so long for you! Get me out of this hateful cocoon, I wish to make love to my husband!”

“Later,” spake I.

“Later?”

“Do you not know the wedding tradition of the van Wetterings?” I asked.

“Nay.”

“Why before we enjoy normal congress, the woman must first pleasure her spouse using her mouth.”

“Really?”

“Aye.”

And at that I shut her up by thrusting my throbbing bishop into her only free orifice, whilst she stayed as trussed up and helpless as ever before.

EPILOGUE

It is a typical sultry hot tropical eve in the Isle of Kalimantan. Besides the vast rubber plantation that he owns, Mr. Wilhelm van Wettering, once of the Dutch East India Company, now as his own Lord and Master, has built a huge white mansion in the Dutch style. And in that mansion, in the master bedroom her lies, nay, not lies but sits, his back against the fine teak headboard whilst he bounces a fair maiden on his unquenchable manhood. A pretty girl, with silky skin and her arms forced behind her in a black leather mono-glove. Who is she? His wife? His mistress? Nay, she is none of those. For that said wife, the fair Gabrielle of Zierikzee lies to the left of the two lovers, bound up in a tight sleeping cocoon, blinded and deafened by that awesome garment. And his mistress, the beautiful Fatima, a child of Batavia and one of the fairest maidens in the Indies, why she lies to their right, also bound up in a leather cocoon, her fine proportions picked out by the material, oblivious to all around her. And so the girl in the mono-glove, who is she?

Oh no one, just some comely village girl that this millionaire Raja of the Indies has picked up for the night to enjoy as is his whim.