The Tale of the Christkind

The Tale of the Christkind



In German lore, the Christkind or Christmas Angel leaves presents under the tree on Christmas Eve.

The Christkind was originally introduced in the 16th century by religious reformer Martin Luther; Until then, it was always Saint Nicholas who brought gifts on Dec. 6. But as Protestants can’t have saints, Luther needed a new Christmas tradition for his followers. Luther wanted to move the gift-giving away from the Catholic holiday on Dec. 6. So he reinvented the tradition for Protestants by moving it to Christmas Eve and making the Christkind – really, the baby Jesus – the person who brought the gifts.

It was under the rule of the National Socialists that the image of today’s Christkind was ultimately anchored in the collective German mind. They built on Nuremberg’s tradition of producing tinsel angels, and in 1933, had a young girl in an angel costume open the city’s Christmas Market for the first time. After the second World War, Nuremberg’s tinsel angels became simply the Nuremberg Christkind, and the figures were sold nation-wide.[1]

My name is Kirsten Vogel and I am a normal, everyday, blonde hair, affianced, working German girl in her mid-twenties. Normal in every way that is, except one. For I have a secret. A terrible, traumatic secret. A secret that only my fiancé and I know anything about. That secret I shall now tell to you, if you will be so kind as to listen.

Six years ago I was eighteen. I had just finished school and was looking forward to university. I worked on the weekends in a supermarket and I lived with my mum and dad. I was just a normal, happy-go-lucky German teenager from the city of Bremen.

And then, it happened.


I was just a normal, happy-go-lucky German teenager

I had been to the city centre to a nightclub with some girlfriends. As usual, at the end of the evening, I took a taxi back to my parents’ house. The driver was friendly. We chatted about the rail fares and he mentioned that he was a Werder fan. The night was cold as it was February and in my thin party dress I was chilled to the bone. He offered me a coffee from the flask on the seat beside him and I gratefully accepted. Within a minute my head started to spin and then my world went black.

I woke up sometime later. I can’t say exactly how long later, though I am sure it was no longer than twenty-four hours after I had been sat in that taxi. When I woke up however, I was in no taxi, nor in my own bedroom. Instead I was lain on a huge, four-poster bed with thick blankets covering me. When I opened my eyes I could see that the room in which I was in was huge also, and old. The wood pannelling and gothic windows suggested a castle of some antiquity. Confused I go up and walked to the window of tiny diamond panes. Outside were majestic gardens. This was no ordinary castle, but instead more a palace. But what was I doing there? What had happened? I walked over to the door but it was locked. Then, beside my bed I noticed a cord. ‘Pull for assistance’ read the notice. I pulled and waited.

A minute or so later I heard a key being turned in the lock and the great wooden door to that great wooden chamber opened. Through it walked a woman. She was dressed like a maid from the time of Bismarck, stiff black and white and a frilly cap perched atop her head. By her bone structure I guessed her not to be a German. When she spoke, this guess was confirmed. “Welcome Miss Vogel. I trust that you have slept well.” Her German was heavily accented. Some accent from the East, Czech or Polish perhaps? I confirmed that I had slept well and asked her where I was. “Miss, I cannot tell you anything at this time. Partly because I am not allowed to and partly because I do not know fully myself. However, I have been instructed to prepare you.”

Prepare me? Prepare me for what? I asked her both of those questions.

“To dress you, Miss,” she said by way of an explanation.

I was not dressed at that time. When I had woken I had discovered, to by dismay, that I was wearing only my panties and a T-shirt. Why, I do not know.

“I am to dress you in this, Miss,” she said. She held up a garment. A white garment. It looked strange and I took it in my hands. It was a corset! A corset of white silk with bones running its length. How mysterious.

“I do not wear a corset” I said, noting for the first time that she did.

“I have been instructed to make you wear it,” she replied.

“But I am not going to wear it,” I countered.

“Fair enough,” said she, and then she made to leave.

“Wait a moment!” I said. “Where are you going? I need you to tell me some things. Where are my clothes? Why am I here? I am hungry too! Where is here? I need to know!”

“Miss Vogel. I can tell you nothing and give you nothing until you are dressed. And you said that you will not be dressed, so therefore I have no work to do here.”

“What? Do you mean, until I am clad in that corset, I can learn nothing?”

“Yes Miss. Nor go anywhere. I have been instructed not to let you out of this room until you are wearing your stays.”

“What if I force my way past you?” I asked.

“You cannot, Miss. Look!” I walked with her to the door. In the doorway, standing with his arms folded was a very burly-looking man, also, I guessed, an East European. “He will stop you,” the maid explained.

I decided to be a fighter. “Fair enough,” I said. “You may go.”

And so, she went.

Ten hours later my resolve gave way. My stomach ached with hunger and I was tired of pacing around that infernal room. It contained nothing save the bed, the table besides the bed and four huge wardrobes that filled one wall. I tried the wardrobes but they were all locked shut. Frustrated and at the end of my tether, I rang the bell and the maid came again. “Are you ready now?” asked she. Dejectedly, I nodded to confirm that I was. “Come this way,” she said, motioning with her hand. We walked to the wardrobe. “Now hold this knob,” she instructed. “It will help. I have been instructed to lace you to 64 cm. Your normal waist is 74cm so this will be a reduction of 10.” All this meant nothing to me. I took off the T-shirt and grasped the large wooden knob and she fastened the corset around me. I had often wondered when watching costume dramas what it would be like to wear such a garment. Now I would find out.

The maid noiselessly buttoned the busk and then started threading the laces. After a couple of minutes she started to pull. Immediately I felt my middle constricting. “Breathe out,” she instructed. I did so and the garment tightened more. Then she pulled again. The constriction began to felt dangerous. Breathing was becoming difficult and I began to be afraid.

“Stop! Stop!” I said. “It is suffocating me!”

“Nonsense, Miss, you are quite safe. Four more centimetres to go.” She pulled again and again. I began to feel light-headed.

“Stop!” I pleaded again. This time she did as I asked. She took out a tape-measure and circled my waist with it. “64cm,” she confirmed, very good.” She tied the laces off in a double knot. I clutched at my sides. They were as hard as rock. I made to sit down and then found that bending was impossible. “The corset forces you to keep your back straight, Miss,” she explained. I sat down keeping my back straight. It was easier. “One more thing,” continued the maid. She took out a belt of shiny bronze with filigree engravings and fastened it around my tiny new waist with a click.

“Why?” I asked.

“To prevent you from undoing your laces,” explained she. I tried to out. She was right! It was impossible to get to the knot that she had tied. This corset was locked on me!

“Now can you explain?” I asked.

“Yes certainly,” replied she. “Firstly, I shall introduce myself. My name is Božena. I come from Slovakia and I am your maid. Anything that you require, it is my job to provide.”

“Are we in Slovakia now?” I asked.

“No Miss,” she replied. “You are still in Germany. I do not know the name of this castle, nor its exact location, but we are somewhere in the South.”

“Why am I here?”

“Ms. Schmitz will explain that later.”

“Who brought me here?”

“Ms. Schmitz will explain that later.”

“Who is Ms. Schmitz?”

“Ms. Schmitz is your trainer. You shall meet her a fortnight from now. She is busy at the moment.”

“Trainer? Trainer in what?”

“That is for Ms. Schmitz to explain. All I know is that by the time that you meet her, you waist must be no larger than 60cm.”

“Why am I being forced to wear a corset?”

“Again, that is for Ms. Schmitz to explain.”

It was obvious that I would not be getting far with Božena, so I left it at that and returned to more pressing matters. “Can I have something to eat, please?”

“Certainly,” she replied. “I shall bring it to you now.”

She left the room and returned a minute later carrying a tray. On it was a small salad, a couple of slices of bread and a glass of orange juice. I tucked into it ravenously. It was good but I soon felt full. I realised that the corset prevented me from eating a lot as it squeezed my stomach into nothing. ‘At least I won’t be getting fat,’ I thought.

When I had finished I turned once again to the Slovakian. “Can I go out of the room now?” I asked.

“Certainly,” said she. “Now dressed you have complete freedom of the castle and grounds.”

I realised however, that clad in only a corset and panties, I could not go very far. “Do you have any clothes for me to wear?” I asked.

“Certainly,” said Božena. She went over to the first of the wardrobes and unlocked it. “Take your pick,” she continued. “All these clothes are for your use. I shall go now as you do not need me to help you dress in these. Please feel free to go wherever you want. If you go out of this room and turn left and then take the first door on your left, you will find that it leads to a balcony. There is a nice view from there. If you wish to get to the grounds, then continue down the corridor that runs past this room, descend the stairs and then turn left. Goodbye Miss Vogel.”

“Goodbye Božena.”

She left once more.

I looked in the wardrobe. It was absolutely full of clothes. Fashionable, modern clothes. Jeans, blouses, T-shirts, tops. You name it, they were there. I selected a pair of blue jeans, a T-shirt and a sweater. I then picked out a thick coat with a fur hood, figuring that it looked mighty cold out there. I then looked for some footwear. There were about twenty different pairs of shoes and boots in a variety of styles. Strangely however, all had heels of about five cm. I never normally wore heels, except for special occasions that was, and I felt strange putting them on. I selected a pair of thick, ankle-length boots and put them on. Thus dressed, I then walked out of the room.

The East European heavy was not there. No one was there. I did as Božena suggested and took the first left. As she had said it would, it led out onto a balcony. I walked out onto the balcony and the cold winter air chilled my bones. It did indeed command a fine view. The gardens of this castle were magnificent, laid out in a symmetrical way with pruned box hedges and trees. In the distance I could see forest and mountains. We were indeed in the South. I heard a noise, human voices. I looked down and saw twelve figures doing exercises on the lawn. They were watched over by three other figures. One was the heavy who had been stood outside my room. Another was a similar burly Slav but the third was a women with blonde hair. She was shouting instructions and the exercising dozen were following them. All those exercising were female. I couldn’t be sure as they were several hundred metres away, but all looked East European, and all were corsetted. It was very strange. I decided to walk out to them and take a closer look.


I walked out onto the balcony and the cold air chilled my bones

I remembered Božena’s instructions and walked back in to the corridor and then continued down it until I got to the staircase that she had mentioned. Walking down the stairs in my new corset and high heels proved to be a rather strange experience, my corset keeping me upright whilst the heels threw me forward and I must admit to being quite unsteady and clutching at the oak bannister for balance. Soon enough however, I was down and soon after that, I was out in the gardens.

A sharp wind whistled through the stalks of the lifeless flowers and the bare branches of the trees and I hugged myself as I strolled through those grounds. In summer I could imagine them to be spectacular when the blooms were out, but even in winter they had a sort of melancholy charm to them. I made my way to the lawn where that queer corsetted twelve had been practicing, but when I got there I found, to my surprise and dismay, that the place was deserted. They had obviously returned to wherever it was that they had come from.

Not only was that lawn deserted but indeed the entire place. I walked for kilometres, exploring every bit of those fine grounds, past the ornamental pond, through the box hedges, the orchard and the glasshouses, and not a soul was to be seen. The castle, when looked at from outside was a huge Gothic pile with Bavarian traits. I was now sure beyond all doubt that Božena had been telling the truth when she’d said that we were now in Southern Germany.

But where in Southern Germany exactly?

After about an hour evening started to draw in so I returned to my room and pulled the cord. Božena appeared with dinner, again light and yet again quite filling. She then left and I settled down in my huge bed for the night.

Have you ever worn, or had to wear, a corset? It is a most curious experience and in some ways quite pleasant and even erotic. At night however, (and to my astonishment, the Slovakian had said that I was to wear it through the night as well as the day), it is simply plain annoying. That first evening I slept perhaps two or three hours at most. All through the dark hours it nagged and irritated me, restricting my breath and making lying down somewhat uncomfortable. Later on things improved somewhat, but that was much later. For the first month or so, sleeping was nothing more than an irritating, uncomfortable yet necessary chore.

For the first month I said. Yes indeed, for my stay in that castle was not a short one. But… I am getting ahead of myself. Instead of months, let us talk instead of weeks and in particular those first two weeks before I met the fabled Ms. Schmitz. After that first day things followed a definite routine. Every morning I was woken by Božena at nine, unlaced from my corset and taken to the bathroom which was across the corridor and was always waiting, steaming hot, for me. After a soak of thirty minutes or so, I returned to the bedroom and was laced up for the day by the maid before being served breakfast. Then, I was left alone until twelve. I spent the time wandering about the castle and grounds.

Although the Slovakian had said that I had free run of the castle, I soon learnt that that statement was not entirely true. Day after day did I explore that place and try countless doors, almost all of which were locked. On occasions I heard the sounds of human voices behind the doors, but never did I see another soul save my maid. I never saw the corsetted, exercising girls either, or the musclemen that guarded them. Instead it was just me. On the second I discovered that one of the great old doors opened into a library with literally thousands of books. After that I spent most of my time in their reading the great classics of world literature.

On the fifth day of my stay however, something of great note happened which I shall now relate. That day was a little brighter than most and so after lunch at twelve I decided to go out for a stroll. I was walking by the glasshouses when, to my astonishment, around the corner came someone else and we very nearly bumped into one another.

It was a boy.

A boy almost the same age as myself.

“Hello,” I said, as I related before, most surprised.

“Hello,” replied he, also surprised. He smiled. “My name is Dieter,” he continued. “I’d shake your hand of course, but as you can see, I can’t.”

I looked at him. I clearly could see. He was dressed in a thick coat like mine, but unlike me, he didn’t appear to have any arms!

“Don’t you have any arms?” I asked, rather stupidly.

“Oh no,” replied this Dieter, “I have them alright, but I can’t use them. Undo my coat and take a look for yourself.”

I did as he suggested. Underneath that coat he did indeed have arms, but they were folded behind his back and kept in that position by a tightly laced and locked leather sleeve. “But… why…?” I asked, now even more astonished.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows?” he said. “But they insisted on it.”

“Who are ‘they’?”

“Them that run this place.”

“Don’t you know who they are either?”


That conversation having run itself out, we stood there in silence. Then realising how rude I’d been, I introduced myself. “My name is Kirsten,” I said.

“I know,” he replied. “Everyone here knows about you.”

“Do they?” The astonishment kept on growing.

“Yes, they do,” he confirmed. “It’s awful how they just abducted you like that, but what can you do?”

“Weren’t you abducted?” I asked.

“No. I signed up for this.”

“Signed up!?”

“Yes, signed up, though I didn’t know fully what I was getting myself into at the time.”

“Can you tell me about it?” I asked.

“Sure,” he replied. And so he told me everything.

His name was Dieter Müller and he was a second-year art student at the University of Bonn. He enjoyed university and was good at what he did, but alas, money was always a problem. Then he saw an advert in the university paper.


At the time he fancied working anywhere in any way for generous renumeration, and so he applied. He was given an interview by a middle-aged man in a grey suit in an office in the centre of town. The man said that the job would require him to take a year and a half out of university, but paid 200,000 euros and provided free accommodation. Holidays were also generous. At such an incredible sum, Dieter naturally agreed. He was told to wait as they had hundreds of other applicants. He waited and six weeks later, received a phone call. He was the man that they wanted the voice on the end of the line said and would he come back to that office at twelve noon the following day.

He went to the office and the same man wearing the same grey suit explained it all to him. The position was an unusual one. He would be required to live on site, a castle in Bavaria. All his clothes, meals and accommodation would be provided, but there were two catches. The first was that he could tell no one, not even his family what he was really doing and where he was. And the second…

The enterprise, the man had said, was connected to the fetish community. His job, he was told, would be to help train fetish models from Eastern Europe. He himself would not be subject to any restrictions or punishments, save that he would not be allowed the use of his hands. A single sleeve, identical to the one that he now wore, was then produced. ‘You will be wearing one of these at all times,’ the man had said.

All this of course sounded rather strange, but Dieter had always had a taste for adventure and inklings towards the fetish world. Training models sounded quite intriguing and exciting besides. ‘Will there be any chance to…?’ he had started to enquire. ‘Plenty,’ the man had confirmed. He had signed up straight away and told his parents that he was going backpacking to South East Asia for a year.

At the end of the university term he had returned to that office for a third time and the same man clad in the same suit had given him a coffee to drink. Then, like myself, he had passed out and woken up some time later on a bed in the castle. His arms had been encased in the sleeve when he woke. That was six months ago and he had not left the castle since. His every need was attended to him by a maid, a Slovakian named Eva who fed, washed and dressed him. Then, everyday he was sent to work with the models. Of these models there were twelve in total. All were, like the maids and bodyguards, from Slovakia, and all were incredibly beautiful. In the mornings he helped the Mistress, the fabled Ms. Schmitz, teach them German and in the afternoons, he taught them other stuff.

“What other stuff?” I asked.

“Well…” He was apprehensive. “They are learning to be fetish models as I said before, so I help them in various ways. I judge their appearances and help with technique…”

“Sexual technique…?”

“Well, erm…”

“Go on…”

“Well, yes. That’s my job. They give me blowjobs and such like and I instruct them on how to do it better. I also give them normal… and anal sex.”

“So basically, you’re paid to fuck beautiful women?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it so bluntly as that, but… yes.”

“Bet that’s like a dream come true, eh?”

“It is rather.”

I looked at him. He was well-built and healthy and his bone structure was good. He had wavy blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He was really quite handsome. I could see why they’d chosen him.

“Tell me more about these girls,” I said. “I saw them once, doing aerobics on the lawn.”

“They’re all from Slovakia as I said before, and they’re all between 18 and 25. They came here of their own accord. They knew full well what they were getting themselves into. Some of them were prostitutes before, I’m sure, but most were just normal girls. ‘They’ promised them German passports and 50,000 euros each if they come here for training for eighteen months and then complete a year of service in the house of some pervert. I train them all, except one. Her Master is apparently going to be no Master, but a Mistress, so Ms. Schmitz trains her in technique. She prefers it that way anyway. She is a lesbian.”

“So am I the only one here who was brought by force then?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“But why? Where do I fit into all of this? What do I have to do with a fetish ring?”

“Kirsten, I don’t know, honestly. They told me nothing about you, save that the Angel had arrived and that her name was Kirsten Vogel, that she was 18, pretty, and that they were sure I should get to meet you soon.”

“The Angel…?”

“Don’t ask me, I’ve as much idea as you have.”

So I didn’t ask. Instead we just walked around the grounds together and arranged to meet up in the library the following day at six. From that day on we met up in the library at six everyday. I got to like Dieter. He was zany and funny. I should have liked to have seen some of his art. I began to look forward to our time together. Other than that though, life followed its same easy, boring routine. At the end of the first week, Božena tightened my corset up another 2cm and on the fourteenth day she reduced two more. “You shall meet Ms. Schmitz today,” the maid had said that morning. She is coming here after lunch.

And true to form, at one o’clock, after I had finished my omelette and salad and Božena had departed, the door opened and the long-awaited Ms. Schmitz walked into my room.

In all my life, I can truly say that I have never seen anyone who looked even close to what my Ms. Schmitz looked like. She was a medium-sized woman of, I would imagine, around thirty-five years of age, with long blonde hair and large blue eyes. It was what she wore however, that caught my attention. On her two feet were tight, knee-high, leather boots, laced to the utmost like a corset and with incredible heels of at least 15cm that caused her to stand on the very tips of her toes like a ballet dancer. Around her hips she wore a skirt of ruffled black satin. Above that was a corset, longer and more fearsome than my own, like the boots, also of black leather and laced tightly. Under the corset she wore a white blouse, and around her neck some sort of incredible collar of leather, laced like a corset and easily 12cm in height, so that it forced her chin up and her neck into a solid black tube! She was incredible, like a living doll. And her waist! It was so tightly laced and I was sure that my two hands could circle it entirely.


She was incredible, like a living doll. And her waist! It was so tightly laced and I was sure that my two hands could circle it entirely

“Miss Vogel, good afternoon,” she said. “My name is Ms. Schmitz. I am to be your trainer. Before we start however, I must make something very clear. You have been kidnapped.”

I was surprised that she was so open and blatant about it.

“Sit down please.”

I did as she bid.

“Now, look at these photographs. Do you recognise any of the people in them?”

I looked. There were twelve in all. All bar one showed men, middle-aged men, plump and self-confident. Most of the faces I did not recognise, but three of them were familiar. “This one,” I said, pointing at the fourth of the images, “I know this face. He’s in the government isn’t he? The Foreign Minister perhaps? And this one here. I’ve seen him in the papers although I don’t know who he is. Some businessman I think? And this one… Isn’t he in parliament too?”

“Miss Vogel, you are entirely correct on all counts. That man there is indeed in the government, and yes, he currently holds the position of Foreign Minister. He is the most powerful person in the SDP in fact, even more so than the Chancellor, although he keeps that latter fact quiet. And yes, that man there is also in the government, in the Opposition. He is one of the most senior figures in the Christian Democrats. Some have tipped him to be the next Chancellor. And the man that you said that you recognised from the papers. He is indeed a businessman. The head of AGPA, the manufacturers of magnetic film, Germany’s largest corporation. Those are the ones that you know, now here are the ones that you didn’t.” She then proceeded to list what sounded like a role call of the most important people in the Republic. There was the director of the car company BMV, the owner of a major Bundesliga club and the country’s largest gambling concern, a dairy magnate from the former Democratic Republic who had been a member of the politburo over a decade ago, the director of the largest pharmaceutical concern in the land, a major figure from the police, the Chairman of the country’s largest bank, the leader of the Green Party, the director of the airline Luftkanza, a notable General and an Admiral of the Fleet.

“These people, Miss Vogel, are the people that kidnapped you. Why do I tell you this? Why do I give you the names of those who have committed such a heinous crime against your liberty you think? Look at them. You can see how powerful they are. These people are the people that run Germany. Without them, our fair nation would crumble into dust. You can accuse all you like but they shall never be brought to justice. I tell you all of this so that you can get such ideas out of your mind. Do you understand?”

I was shocked, stunned. They were so important, so influential. Pillars of the Community. I couldn’t take it all in. I stayed silent. The corsetted woman continued.

“Miss Vogel. These people have kidnapped you for a purpose. They need you to perform a task for them. A very great task. A task that you will probably find distasteful and yet will fulfill nonetheless. And a task that will require a certain amount of training before you can complete it. That, Miss, is where I come in. My job is to train you.”

Task? Train? What?

“How do you know that, if I find it distasteful, I shall fulfill it nonetheless?” I asked.

“Because twenty years ago my dear, I found it distasteful and fulfilled it,” replied she.

Twenty years ago? But what was this task that she had fulfilled? Had this been going on for twenty years?

“Sit down Miss, and I shall explain further. Twenty years ago, like you, I was a normal German teenager. Then, one day, just like you, I woke up to find myself here in this castle. I went through what you have been through and what you will go through. I was trained in a tradition that dates all the way back to 1936 when certain members of the National Socialist Party formed the Council of Twelve, the modern-day council being the people in the photographs that I have just shown you. This twelve, ever since ’36 have run Germany. Through war and peace, good times and bad, they have steered the ship. They are, as it were, our unofficial government. However, there is also a darker side to their activities, and that darker side I am afraid Miss Vogel, is what you are going to have to discover.

As I said before, they have kidnapped you for a purpose. However, before you can do what they want you to do, I have to train you. When I was kidnapped, I had a body much like yours. Eight months later, I looked much the same, albeit younger and prettier, as I do now. Eight months from now, your body shall look like mine.”

I gazed at her astonishing curves and minute waist and my heart was filled with terror.

“Eight months from now, Miss Vogel, you shall be wearing this.” Then, from underneath the chair, she pulled out a black leather corset. I stared at it in disbelief. The corset was fearsome. It maintained its shape without anyone inside it and the waist was as minute as that of the lady who held it in her hand.


The corset was fearsome. It maintained its shape without anyone inside it and the waist was as minute as that of the lady who held it in her hand

“But how shall I ever fit inside that?” I asked in disbelief.

“With my training you shall,” replied the living doll.

Then something inside of me snapped. “No! No! No! Get away from me! You freak! You’re a freak and you’re not coming near me! Go! Go! Goooo!!!”

But of course it was not good and I knew it. My position was hopeless. Within a minute I had burst into tears and the strange lady had her arms around me and was comforting me as best she could. “I know it’s hard my dear, I know. I have been there myself. I remember it like it was yesterday. But this is the cross that we have to bear my angel. Be brave and you shall see it through. Trust me and work with me and everything will be alright.”

She dabbed my eyes with a handkerchief. “Why me?” I asked.

“There is no particular reason,” said she. “They picked you and that is that.”

“Will they hurt me?”

“Not if you play their game. If you play, instead of hurting, they will reward you.”

“What is their ‘game’?” I was recovering by this time.

“They want you to play a special role, in a play as it were. They want you to become something.”

“And I have to wear that corset to play the role I suppose?”

“Indeed, and more besides. Tomorrow we shall start the training and you shall be fitted with more than just a new corset.”

“Will I be made to wear all that you are wearing? The collar, boots and  so on?”

“The collar, no, but the boots, yes. And other things besides. I shall introduce them all to you in due course.”

“Playing this role. Will I be required to… have sex like those Slovakian girls do?”

“I can see that you have been talking to young Dieter. First of all, let me tell you, you are not like those Slovakian girls. Your role is a very different one to theirs. However, as for the having sex… you shall not be forced to do so, but… it will be an option. An option that you will be strongly urged to take.”

“And what if I refuse?”

“Then you refuse. Do you have anymore questions?”

“No. Except… when I’m training… will Dieter be a part?”

“Sometimes, yes, if you wish. Now, I have to leave. Tell Božena that I am most pleased to see that she has got you down to the required 60cm. I shall see you tomorrow at nine when we commence our training. Goodbye Miss Vogel.”

“Goodbye Ms. Schmitz.”

And her high-heeled boots clip-clapped out of the room.

The following morning at nine, as promised, she was there. Her outfit was the same as the preceding day save that this time she wore no blouse, long leather gloves, and a pink mini-skirt. She let Božena take me for a bath and was stood waiting when I returned fresh and clean. Beside her was something new that workmen had obviously installed whilst I had been soaking. It hung from the ceiling and looked like a circus trapeze.


Her outfit was the same as the preceding day save that this time she wore no blouse, long leather gloves, and a pink mini-skirt.

“Meet your new best friend, Miss Vogel,” said the living doll. “This is a lacing bar. Come over to it and place your hands here.” I walked over to the contraption and grabbed hold of the bar. There were two leather loops attached to it and my wrists were secured in these. Then, using some sort of remote control device, she caused the thing to rise up slowly until only the tips of my toes touched the floor. “For truly effective lacing,” she explained, “a lacing bar is essential. The waist, when stretched, can be laced far smaller than using normal methods. However, before we start talking about corsets, I must fix you with the first of your new items of apparel.”

She walked over to the second wardrobe which had hitherto always been locked and opened it. Out of it she took a white box. She walked back over to me and opened the box. Inside were a pair of shiny stainless steel underpants. “A chastity belt,” she explained. “Mandatory from now on. I am sorry Miss Vogel, but they do not like you either having sex with unauthorised men and women or pleasuring yourself.”

“I do not pleasure myself!” I retorted, outraged at such a suggestion.

“Then this will be no burden for you then,” replied she.

She clicked the belt around my private parts and tightened it until it was snug.

“It is perfectly hygienic,” she continued, “and you shall have no problem using the toilet with it on. Now, the blouse and corset.”

She walked back over to that second wardrobe and brought out a white blouse identical to the one that she had worn the previous day and ominously, a black leather corset. She fitted the blouse onto me from behind and I discovered, to my surprise, that the sleeves were specially designed so that they could be fitted whilst one was attached to the lacing bar by having zips along their entire length. When that was done, she then got out the corset which was longer and heavier than my previous stays but nonetheless, still nothing compared to those that she wore.

“This corset shall bring you down to 50cm,” she said. 50cm! I couldn’t believe it. I already felt incredibly constricted at 60. How was I to cope. “Unfortunately for you, you will find these stays much more difficult to wear than your previous corset. It is the length you see. And the fact that they ensure a conical shape such as I sport at the moment. A conical shape is far more difficult to achieve than a wasp waist. Do you have any questions, Miss Vogel?”

I shook my head.

“Then we shall begin. Karel, come in please!”

The door opened and the Slovakian heavy walked in, up to me and then behind me. He then grasped my laces and started to pull. Immediately the constriction was incredible as, like she said, the length was greater and my breast and pelvis were forced into an unnatural shape as well as my waist. I groaned but nonetheless he continued to pull. I began to feel dizzy and started to beg him to stop. However he heeded not and carried on pulling. He pulled once more and the dizziness increased. Then my world went black.

I was revived by a pungent spell. “These are smelling salts,” said the voice of Ms. Schmitz. “In the old days ladies used them when lacing.” I however, cared not.

“It’s too tight! It’s too tight!” I cried.

“Nonsense, my dear. Listen, you’ve done very well. You’re down to sixty already with only one fainting and you didn’t complain half as much as some of the girls that I’ve had to train.”

“Sixty! But wasn’t that my measurement before? This feels so much tighter!”

“I know it does. It’s the design as I said before, the conical shape. You see, this type of corset is called the ‘S-Kurve’ or, in French, the ‘droit devant’ It is named so because the lady who is wearing it is given a figure whereby the waist is pushed forward so that a straight front results. Below the navel, the lower front of the corset is curved backwards, so that the lady is forced to move her buttocks outward. Furthermore, it also holds the shoulders backwards, which make the breasts more pronounced. This makes this corset line even more attractive and indeed some men are particularly fond of the accentuated backside.”

All these explanations sounded so scientific… and kinky. I said nothing and let her continue.

“The history of this type of corset is actually quite interesting. Initially the straight front corset was introduced to make it easier for women to wear a corset, in practice, this shape causes a very severe impact on the spine, which is forced to be sharply curved inwards at the waist. Therefore, the training to obtain this shape is very demanding and often painful in the back.”

“It bends my spine! But surely that is dangerous? Please, Ms. Shmitz, take it off me! I don’t want to end up deformed!”

“Fear not Miss Vogel, we are not aiming to deform your body here. Worn over long periods, then yes, you would end up deformed, but you shall be alright. After all, unless you choose otherwise, you shall be wearing S-Kurve corsets for less than a year.”

This woman, if nothing else, certainly knew her stuff. “Tell me more about how this S-Kurve works, please,” I asked.

“Certainly. Well you see, how it differs from the normal wasp waist corset, such as the white one that you were wearing before, is that in a wasp-waist the spine keeps its original shape, and the support to the body is achieved by the collaboration of the muscles and the corset around the spine. You are constricted, yes, but the spine can still do its job.  In the case of the S-Kurve, however, the support to the upper body must be provided entirely by the corset, because the spine, in its deformed shape, can not contribute anymore, and the muscles cannot do too much without a spine.  Consequently, the shape of the corset must be perfect and the corset must be sufficiently stiff as well. And as you can see, this corset is perfect in shape and sufficiently stiff.”

Although I was beginning to accustom myself to the tightness, I still knew full well that what she was saying was entirely true. “How come it is so stiff?” I asked, fascinated with the science behind this new and dreadful part of my life.

“Well, it is made of 1.6 mm thick leather, and has three 1.6 mm thick steel front stays, and 0.6 mm thick stays at all other locations. Just for information: the 1.6 mm stays are 19 times stiffer than the 0.6 mm ones.

The 1.6 mm stays come from the orthopedic industry. They are bent and distorted to give the corset the overall shape that is prescribed by the shape of the individual pieces. The corset has leather lining on the location of the stays and fabric lining at all other places. It is all-in-all, a formidable garment. All the corsets that you will be wearing from now on will be constructed in the same manner, including the final one which I showed you yesterday. All that differs in them is the waist size. This one will, as I said before, bring you down to 50cm. Once that target is achieved you shall be broken into your next one.”

“And what will that bring me down to?”


43cm! It was unbelievable, impossible! “And that is not final?” I asked.

“No, that is not final. Once at 43cm you will be broken into the stays that I showed to you yesterday.”

“And they will bring me down to…?”

“They will bring you down 38cm.”

38cm! I tried to imagine such a size in my head. It sounded minute.

As if reading my thoughts, Ms. Schmitz said, “If you want to know what 38cm will look like, look at my waist.”

Look at her waist! She had no waist! And I too would be in the same boat! I was filled with terror… and… an inexplicable sense of excitement. “Will you let me down from this trapeze now, please?” I asked. “My arms are beginning to ache.”

“No, not quite yet Miss Vogel,” replied the woman with the 38cm waist. “I have something else to fit first.”

She walked back over to that second wardrobe and came back holding two items of black leather. They were instantly recognisable as boots. Boots with incredibly high heels.

“Your first pair of proper boots, my dear. From now on, these, like your corset, will be a mandatory part of your daily attire.” She picked up my left leg and started to fit the first boot. It took a long time as the thing reached up to my knee and was laced throughout its entire length. Once laced tight my lower leg felt rigid and solid. There was no bend in the ankle at all. Worse than that however, my foot was forced down into an unnatural angle.

“How high are these heels?” I asked as she started the fit the right-hand boot.

“8cm,” replied she.

“But how can I walk in such footwear?” I protested.

“You shall learn,” was all that she replied.

Once both were fitted I was declared ready to be lowered from the lacing bar. Ms. Schmitz picked up her remote and warned as she pressed the button, “Be careful Miss Vogel, the constriction will increase on both your feet and around your waist as soon as your weight is transferred to the floor.”

She was not wrong either! As soon as that weight was transferred, I wished immediately to be back up in the air. The pressure was incredible and I would have fallen had my wrists not still been attached to the bar. Quickly and professionally, Ms. Schmitz unlocked the cuffs and then took two broad straps from the back of the corset and fastened them over my shoulders. This latest trammellation was not at all pleasant and it seemed to restrict my breathing even further, but I said naught. Then, my trainer led me over to my bed and laid me on my back on it. This made things easier, but even so, I still found breathing almost impossible. The problem was that my muscles, squeezed and entrapped as they were, would not work. I mentioned this to her.

“Don’t worry my dear, this is normal,” she replied. “Let me explain how it all works fully. The tiny upper body of this corset makes your breathing like that of the ladies in the nineteenth century and thus you have to get used to this technique of breathing, which solely takes place from the upper part of the chest. Diaphragm breathing, that is in the normal fashion, using the lower muscles is stopped almost entirely. Now, not only is your diaphragm breathing stopped, but you shall also notice that it is now absolutely impossible for you to bend your body. Of course, wearing your white corset, the bending was much restricted, but the S-Kurve stops it entirely. In fact what happens is that your body has the same whether you are lying, sitting or standing.”

I looked at her stood erect over me and realised that yes, her body shape was exactly the same as mine was lain on the bed. “But how can I sit in this thing of I cannot bend?” I asked, confused.

“Learning to sit is something that will come later in your training and, believe me, it is not that easy to do, but basically, what happens is that you must learn to do all the movement with your legs and hips. You do not sit as it were, but more perch. Look.” She then demonstrated, sitting, or, as she said, more ‘perching’ on the edge of the bed. I noticed that the body shape, as she had said, stayed exactly the same.

“What are the straps over my shoulders for?” I asked, having noticed that these latest additions irksomely pressed down on me at all times, even when lying.

“Well, the shoulder straps are their basically, to give you a more feminine appearance You see when the upper body is considerably compressed such as yours is now, the shoulders tend to go up, in order to give the lady more space to breath. Mother Nature helps out this way, but the view of risen shoulders above a tight corset, is not particularly beautiful. The neck looks shorter, and the entire figure looks less ladylike.

Thus, it is that we have shoulder straps to hold the shoulders down and backwards. They are not comfortable to wear, I know, but it is just a matter of getting used to them.

When you wear your corsets, the shoulders straps are on all the time. However, sleeping with the shoulder straps in the ‘day’ is quite impossible, and thus they shall be loosened during the night.”

That concession to comfort hardly gave me any piece of mind. I had sort-of guessed that I would be wearing this new torture instrument through the night as well as the day, but the confirmation of it still sent shudders down my spine, (or at least, what was left of that spine).

“Would you like to see how you look now?”

I nodded ascent and held out my arms so that she could pull me up as I could not rise unassisted myself. Then together, I holding her gloved hands firmly for balance we walked, or perhaps I should say ‘tottered’ out of the bedroom and into the bathroom next door where there was a full-length mirror. Walking in this new and fearsome attire was indeed a strange experience. The corset and shoulder straps held my body completely erect whilst the high-heeled boots threw my body forward and caused my steps to be most unsteady. I indeed stumbled several times on that short journey and would have fallen had not Ms. Schmitz been there to save me. What was also strange about walking in my new and trammelled state, was how quickly I got out-of-breath. Even the smallest movement now seemed to take all of my energy and due to being forced to breathe entirely using my upper body, my breasts, though not large, appeared now almost huge and rose and fell at an astonishing rate.

When we got to that mirror however, I can honestly say that it was all worth it. Well… perhaps. As I gazed at the fantastic womanly figure stood facing me clad in black leather, I had to blink twice before I realised that it was me. I looked stunning, a world away from the average, ordinary, everyday Bremen student that I was accustomed to seeing every morning in the mirror.

“Impressive, eh?” said my trainer.

I nodded, unable to form any words, so out-of-breath was I.

I turned around and noticed that my bottom now protruded out on quite an accentuated manner. Knowing how men get excited about the female backside, this made me feel incredibly sexy.

“Most ladies would not like the idea of being encapsulated like this,” I heard my trainer say, “But some people are different, and a few people just love it! It is just a matter of personal taste. Looking at you, I am wondering if I have found one of the few…?”

I said nothing. I was still extremely angry at how I had been brought to that place against my will and forced into those ridiculous clothes. And yet… yet something about them did excite me.

“Let’s get back to the bedroom,” said Ms. Schmitz.

I spent the rest of that day lying on my back on the bed. Ms. Schmitz said that I would need a few more days to get used to my new attire and she was right. Just the simple act of breathing was difficult enough. The only change came when I needed to use the toilet. Then I shuffled over to the edge of the bed and rang for Božena who helped me to the bathroom. She also came in several hours later with dinner, only a salad and yet more than enough to fill me entirely. The new corset allowed virtually no room at all for food.

The following day was the same, and the day after that. I lay on my bed all morning after breakfast until lunch and then at one Ms. Schmitz would come in and we would walk around the room together. Then I would lie on my back until dinnertime and then again until morning. At night I got virtually no sleep on that first night, but gradually the situation improved until by the end of my first week in the S-Kurve I was managing about five hours per night.

Worse than the lack of sleep however, was the loneliness and boredom. There was no chance of meeting up with Dieter in the library and I had no books to read. I longed to be able to walk in the beautiful ground as I had done during my days in the white satin corset. On the third day I asked my trainer if we could go outside. I was not pleased with the answer that I received.

“No. Categorically, no. Or at least, not until I am satisfied that you have reached a sufficient point in your training.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, most confused.

“When I have seen that you can walk, unassisted, in a ladylike manner in your new corset, then you will not be allowed outside, or indeed beyond here and the bathroom.”

“So when do we begin training then?” I asked.

“If you feel ready, then now,” replied she.

“I feel ready,” said I.

And so we began, although I wished that we hadn’t for it was tedious and irksome stuff indeed. For hour after hour did Ms. Schmitz have me walk around that room, showing me how to place my feet, move my hips, keep my head upright and much more. For three days did we do that and at the end of each day I was exhausted. Then, on the fourth day, I was allowed to walk up and down the corridor. After two days of that she declared herself delighted with my progress.

“So can I go outside now?” I asked.

“No, Miss Vogel, you are still not ready. However, I may be able to grant some other wish that you might have…”

I thought. “Well, I am rather bored when you are not here. Could I have some books brought to me from the library?”

“Certainly. Just tell Božena which ones you want and she shall bring them to you.”

“And… well… I am rather lonely here too. Would it be possible for someone to visit me in the evenings for a chat and to give me some company?”

“Anyone in particular…?”

“Well… perhaps Dieter if he is not too busy with the Slovakians…?”

“I thought as much. I think you’ve got a crush on our armless servant, Miss Vogel.”

“Oh no, it’s nothing like that. It’s purely platonic and I just fancy some company, that’s all.”

Whatever you say, whatever you say…”

“Well, can he come?”

“Of course, I’ll send him over after dinner.”

“My, Kirsten! You look hot!”

“Are you sure? After all, how can I compare to all those gorgeous Slovakian fetish models?”

He was silent for a moment. “That’s just work, Kirsten,” he said.

I don’t know why, but I was feeling cantankerous. Perhaps it was the corset sapping all my energy and restricting my movements? Or perhaps not. As I said, I don’t know. “So, do you mean to say that you don’t enjoy it when they suck you off? Or perhaps they haven’t serviced you today and you’re feeling on edge?”

“Look Kirsten, I didn’t come here to be abused. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again these past few day and now all you do is abuse me. I’m off.”

He stood up and made to go. “No! No! Wait! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. It’s just that well…” I never finished that sentence. As I told you before, I didn’t know why I was feeling that way.

“Ok, ok,” he said, sitting down again. “I guess you’ve been through a lot. And that thing, and those boots must be awfully difficult to wear. I’m sorry too.”

We sat in silence for a minute or so.

“You’ve met Ms. Schmitz then,” he said eventually. “What do you think of her?”

I told him what I thought, and of all my experiences over the past week. I told him about the lacing and the walking, the inability to sleep or eat properly, or even to bend and sit without assistance. After I’d told him all that I began to cry and he comforted me. I would have loved him to hold me in his arms, but naturally, that was not possible, so instead I buried my face in his chest and sobbed, “What’s going on? What’s all this about? Why is this happening to me?” Of course, he had no answers to my questions, but the crying made me feel better, and after I had finished we talked about the books that we had read and of paintings that we liked. He then assured me that, once Ms. Schmitz allowed me to, he would go on long walks with me around the castle grounds. It was 10pm by the time he left and that evening I felt like I had some quality of life again and I slept better than I had done since arriving at that place. Perhaps Ms. Schmitz had been right when she had said that I had developed a crush on Dieter.


My life then developed into a strict routine that lasted for several months, until Spring was in full flow in fact. Daily I would be taught in deportment by Ms. Schmitz. My progress was excruciatingly slow but I did progress. Two days after meeting for Dieter again, I was allowed to attempt the staircase. This was especially difficult as my pushed-up bosom made seeing where I was going an impossibility and my high-heeled boots, finding the steps hard, but slowly I managed to walk up and down them, a first just walk and then to do so gracefully. After that it was sitting, another previously simple task made difficult by my new attire, and like the walking and the stairs, first I learnt how to sit and then how to do so elegantly. All the while, my corset kept on being reduced until by the onset of April I was at 53cm and by the middle of that month, Ms. Schmitz started talking about breaking me into the next pair of stays, the pair that would bring me down to an incredibly small 43cm. And then after that… still an incredible five more to go! In the meantime, outside of training time, I lived a relaxed and ordered life. In the mornings I read books from the library and lazed about in my room and the evenings I spent with Dieter, sitting and talking or strolling around in those fantastic gardens.

When I was eventually allowed to go outside I soon realised why Ms. Schmitz had been so strong in insisting that I did not do so until I was ready, for as I discovered on my first few steps in the fresh air, walking on gravel in high-heeled boots, is a far more difficult matter than on a wooden floor and had not Božena been with us to steady me, I would have fallen before I had walked ten metres. However, that, like everything else had a knack to it and it was a knack that I very soon learnt and after a month or two I found that I could stroll about on the gravel almost as easily as I could do indoors, although of course, with my limited breathing and small steps, I could go nowhere near the distance that I had managed whilst virtually unfettered in my white corset. At the time I only longed to be released of the restrictions I then lived under. Little did I know what was to come.

It was Dieter however, that kept me going during those times. Ms. Schmitz, I must admit to liking in a strange kind of way, but she always remained somewhat distant from me as perhaps was only proper considering her position as my mentor and teacher. Dieter however was in the same (or at least a very similar) boat to me and we soon became fast friends if not more. I was careful not to mention the Slovakian girls to him for several months, but one evening in April I could not help myself and whilst we were walking by the ornamental pond I said to him, “Excuse me for mentioning this, Dieter, as I know you didn’t like it when I did so last time, but I want to know; with the Slovakian girls, what sort of well… relationships do you have with them?”

I almost regretted saying it as soon as I had opened my mouth, but I should have known better. “Physically or emotionally?” he asked.

“Both,” I replied.

“Well, physically, we’re intimate of course. It’s my job after all. We have sex, we lie together, they caress me and do the most amazing things to all parts of my body, things that I didn’t know that a woman could do. But that’s what they’re learning you see. They’re being sold as sex toys for a year long period, but not just any sex toys, but the very very best. They are learning how to pleasure a man so that he cannot take anymore, and I am their guinea pig.”

“And emotionally?”

“Emotionally, well, you probably won’t believe this but well, we’re as distant as can be. You see, the thing is, it’s my job and it’s their jobs and we’re all being well paid for it, but it is, stupid as this might sound, strictly professional, and so yes, we do every kid of kinky and sexual act under the sun, and yes, we all enjoy doing it I’m sure, but well, there’s no love in it. It’s just like going on a rollercoaster at a funfair. You love the act and it doesn’t matter who you sit beside.”

I wanted to say that in my mind there was a very big difference between riding a rollercoaster and riding a Slovakian sex slave, but I kept quiet.

“And besides,” he continued, “there are other types of distance between us as well. One is cultural. Their German is shaky at best and besides, they were brought up in a different society to that which we were brought up in. And I don’t just mean a Slovakia-Germany thing, but more, well… they chose, physically chose, to become sex toys, to screw unknown men for money, and well, that’s something that’s, well, hard to respect, don’t you think?”

“But you chose a job where you were required to screw unknown beautiful women,” I pointed out.

“Yes, but that’s different…”


“Well, because I’m a man.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Well men, all men, and don’t let anyone tell you differently, whenever they speak to a woman, or at least a woman under forty, have only one thought at the back of their mind, and that is ‘I wonder what she would be like to fuck?’. It doesn’t mean they love them, it’s just, well… men have a need.”

“And is that what you thought when you first met me?”

“Well, you’re under forty aren’t you and, please take this as a compliment by the way, you are hot, particularly in the corset and boots and the way they make you walk.”

I smiled. I should have been angry at him for his impudence and chauvinism, but the truth was, well, I liked being told that I was sexy and what’s more, the only thought at the back of my mind was how much I would have liked to fuck him. Three and a half months without sexual satisfaction after all, takes its toll on a girl as well as a boy.

“Besides,” he continued, “going back to the Slovakians, I know that this sounds like a horrible thing to say, but at times I almost struggle to think of them as human. After all, they live more like animals.”

“What on Earth do you mean?”

“They sleep, not only laced into corsets, but these things called Venus Corsets, whereby they have their arms folded against the smalls of their backs and thus look as if they were born armless. And then they are laced into tight sleeping sacks which caused them to be deaf and blind as they have only three openings, for the mouth, nose and arse.”

“The arse! Why the arse?”

“So they can take a leak and when they do, it runs through tube into the mouth of the one lying next to them.”

“They drink each other’s piss! Urrgh! How gross!”

“And that’s not all. They spend every afternoon trussed up in some kind of extreme bondage; a hog-tie, or stretched out like a star on some frame, or weights hanging from their pierced nipples.”

“That’s terrible! How can they stand it?”

“I don’t know, but the thing is, they love it. Some of them, when they’re released for dinner even beg for more. As I said, they’re more like animals than humans and how can one form a close emotional relationship with people who beg to drink piss or be rendered immobile?”

I agreed entirely, it was just too weird. And yet… yet some of that stuff did sound quite exciting. Not the weights on the nipples or piss drinking, but being trussed up so…

And when I returned to my room I asked Božena to take me to the bathroom so I could see how I looked when I walked in my new, ladylike fashion.

And I felt quite proud when I saw how unbelievably sexy my new protruding bottom, swinging hips and heaving bosom appeared.

But anyway, to return to my tale, yes, I was beginning to form quite an attachment to Dieter and was at times rather jealous of those hog-tied, piss-drinking Slovakian fuck toys. But that is by the by, and now I shall proceed. As I said before, my life had entered into a sort-of routine, but on April the 29th all of that changed.

“Miss Vogel!” It was Ms. Schmitz and she was in my bedroom earlier than usual. “Today is a big day for you and I need to talk to you properly before we begin it. Today you see, I have decided to break you into your new corset and to enter into the third phase of your training. However, before I do so I must warn you that things will not be quite so easy from now on and you will have some decision-making to do first.”

Not so easy! And what exactly had been easy about the preceding few months I wondered. I was soon to learn of course.

“What decision-making?” I asked.

“I have a question to put to you and I need you to think carefully about the answer, for it is very important that you do. And that question, my dear, is, will you consider the possibility at all that you would be willing to sleep with another human being and enjoin in sexual intercourse with them as part of your role here? That is the question but before you answer it, let me tell you some details. First of all, it is not definite that you shall ever have to sleep with anyone. It is but a possibility, but it is one that you must consider. Secondly, if you consent now, it does not mean that you cannot refuse later on. Even if you think that there is only a one per cent chance of you saying yes, then you should consent now. I am asking this question purely for purposes of developing your training regime, that is all. Basically, the only girls who might refuse now – and not one has ever refused yet – is that you might be saving your virginity until marriage. And thirdly I perhaps should mention that when I say sex, I mean sex. I do not include violence or bondage in the question. You can forget Dieter’s tales of the Slovakians. As I said before, you are a different case entirely. Now, will you consider the possibility or not?”

I sat and thought. Of course I was initially disposed to say ‘No’ in the strongest of terms, but something held me back. Primarily, it was probably Ms. Schmitz’s insistence that to accept now did not necessarily mean that I would have to go through with the act later on, but also, there was something else. The fact is, as I said before, after almost four months without sex, I desperately wanted it. With whom and in what way I cared little, but to put it bluntly, I needed a shag. Looking back, I wonder if I had not had some sort of mild aphrodisiac put into my food and drink, but I cannot be sure. After all, wearing such clothes as I was wearing everyday, and living in such a weird and perverted manner was enough to make anyone horny. There was more than that though. Sexual training would inevitably require a man and which man could they choose but Dieter? And was there any man on Earth who I wanted to be with more than him? Of course there wasn’t.

“Yes,” I said tentatively.

“Good,” replied Ms. Schmitz. “And now that is sorted, let’s get you to the lacing bar and put this new corset on.” I did as she asked and was soon cuffed and hoisted in the air. Then, for the first time since my arrival, the third wardrobe was opened and my new corset brought out.

To be fair, the fitting of the new corset was a bit of a let down. I’d expected the experience to be difficult, but in fact, it felt just the same as my old one, since, after all it was the same, just smaller in the waist, though on that first fitting I was laced only to my normal 50cm. It was after the corset however, that the excitement started, for once fully laced and tied off, Ms. Schmitz went back to the third wardrobe and brought out the next items in my new, tougher stage of training.

They were boots. Long, knee-high leather boots, laced for their entire length. And they were high-heeled boots, but not 8cm heels like my previous pair. No, these were another matter entirely.

“15cm,” said my trainer by way of an explanation.

15cm! I almost fainted on the spot! The boots were levered on and laced with some difficulty and then I was lowered down. Walking in those new contraptions was a different matter entirely. I was forced almost onto my tiptoes and the pressure was incredible. I squealed with the pain and almost fell immediately. Eventually I recovered but found that my sexy, ladylike walk had disappeared and my movements were now reduced to an unwieldy totter. Like with the time before, Ms. Schmitz led me to the bed, but this time I perched, not lay. My trainer then went back to the wardrobe and brought out the next items of apparel.

They were gloves.

Not ordinary gloves, but thick, shiny gloves of black leather that reached up to the armpits and were laced for their entire length. I said nothing as she began to fit them. They were tight, incredibly so, but they were also very sexy. Once she’d laced them up I found that I could hardly bend at the wrist or elbow and my fingers were virtually immobile. My arms looked and moved like the arms of the Christmas fairy. And I felt unbelievably good about it. As you can probably guess, by now the perverted nature of that whole enterprise in the Bavarian castle was beginning to take its toll on me and I was actually looking forward in some respects to each further restriction.

In some respects that is.

Learning to walk in my new boots and use my arms whilst clad in those sexy gloves took two months. At first I was like a new-born babe and stumbled and fell with every step, but slowly I became accustomed to the new shape of my footwear and the way that they forced me to walk. The gloves were equally difficult. Even the simplest things, such as pulling the cord to summon Božena or holding my book in front of me were now difficult and acts such as holding a pencil were virtually impossible. I slowly had to learn not to rely on my arms as support when descending and ascending the stairs as if I did, nine times out of ten they would slip on the polished wooden bannister and I would tumble down and end up helpless and covered in bruises.

Progress was also being made with the corset, though the waist reduction came more slowly and with more difficulty than previously. Every time even a half-centimetre was taken off my waist I ended up fainting on the bar and being revived by the dreaded smelling salts whose smell haunts my nose still. Nonetheless, by the end of June my waist measured an incredible 45cm and looked something else.

My waist and deportment were not the only things that were progressing however, for outside of training time, my intimacy with Dieter also grew. In May he told me that he loved me and I him and we both kissed by the ornamental pond and a week later I told him that I wanted to enjoy with him what the Slovakians enjoyed. Full sex however, was impossible, due to my irksome chastity belt, so instead one evening I lay him on the bed and then sucked him off. This intimacy pleased us both, but of course did not help me in my quest for release, (his release after all, being of little importance since he was granted it several times daily whether he wanted it or not). A fortnight later, whilst we were lain on the bed, I mentioned this and he came up with an astonishing suggestion.

“Well, not all your holes are protected by that belt,” he said.

“Whatever do you mean?” I asked.

“There’s always the back-passage…”

I was mortified, astonished at his audacity and furious. I ordered him out of the room as quick as I could and vowed never to mention, let alone enjoy, intimate relations with Dieter Müller again. However, over the week that followed I got to thinking about quite how anal sex would feel and what it would be like to have his tool inside me in that place. Eventually, after a week and a half of agonising with myself, I said to him, “Ok, let’s do it. You can enter my arse.”

“Enter your arse, eh? Sorry darling, but that’s impossible.”

After all the build-up and now that! “Why?” I asked. “I thought you wanted it.”

“Oh I do, Kirsten, believe me I do, but a man can’t just shove his todger into a lady’s arse, you know. And particularly not a lady who wears corsets such as yours.”

“And whyever not?”

“Because your arse, or at least the hole is far too small, and the pressure from the corset makes it even smaller. My old man would never fit in there.”

“Then what can I do?”

“Ask Ms. Schmitz for a pessarie.”

I didn’t know what a pessarie was, but I asked the following day nonetheless. “That’s a good idea, my dear,” she replied, “a most healthy suggestion considering the pressure on your passage. I shall get one right away.” She then disappeared, click-clacking out of the room and returned a few minutes later with Božena. “Right now Miss Vogel,” she said. “Please bend as much as you can.”

Puzzled I did as she bid and then watched in horror as the maid pulled out a large plastic cylinder, the size of a large male penis and started coating it in lubricant. “What’s that?” I asked in horror.

“The pessarie of course,” replied Ms. Schmitz. “Now Božena dear, in it goes.”

And then with a thrust, a turn or two and a long loud groan from me, the cylinder was thrust up my back-passage. Once fully in and I was standing again I felt most full, bloated and uncomfortable.

“Jolly good,” said Ms. Schmitz. “I was planning to introduce this much later in your training, but this way we can now proceed to an even larger model in a few months time.”

Even larger! I felt like I wanted to die!

Dieter didn’t however. He was most pleased with the new addition and after a week or so of my bottom getting used to the new intruder we were both enjoying sex in the only way open to us, much to his satisfaction, though less so to mine.

The pessarie was not the only new addition to my life. Indeed, after the fitting of the new boots and corset, Ms. Schmitz began on a steady succession of adding new items of restriction. First up was a pair of cuff and then a chain of 10cm that ran between my ankles, causing my strides to be more ladylike and my walk consequently, much slower. Then came a wide leather strap just above the knees and the reduction of the chain to a mere 8cm. My steps were now no longer steps, but mere minces and my walks in the grounds now limited to the lawns. The ornamental pond and glasshouses were simply too far away.

It didn’t stop there either. The next part of my body to be restricted were my elbows which were brought behind my back, cuffs attached and then a chain of about twenty centimetres fastened between the two cuffs. “This will help your posture, my dear,” Ms. Schmitz had explained. “I was tempted to introduce a collar such as mine as your head sags when you walk, but I shall leave that for now and just implement this which will keep your shoulders back and your body upright. However, if you do not rectify your sagging head yourself, then trust me, I shall introduce a collar.”

You may be sure that my head was held high from that day onwards!

The elbow chain however, stayed at it was indeed most irksome. Naturally, my elbows did not want to stay forced behind my back and ached at first, but they soon got used to the position and that ceased to be a problem. What continued to be a problem however, was doing such everyday acts as holding a book to read or eating my dinner, and these problems only became more acute as Ms. Schmitz started to progressively shorten the chain. The only blessing was that I was forced to wear that infernal restraint only for six hours each day, three in the morning and three in the evening.

When the chain was down to a mere 3cm however, and my elbows were almost touching, most activities became almost impossible and so I spoke to my trainer about this. To my surprise however, she only agreed and said, “Fear not Miss Vogel, tomorrow matters will change.” Quite what that was meant to mean, at the time I had no clue. Naturally, I was soon to find out.

The following morning, after being laced and restrained as usual, I waited for the elbow cuffs to be attached, which, of course they were, although this time I noticed with some intrepidation that the chain between them was but a centimetre in length if that. After she had finished fitting that however, to my surprise, my trainer then returned to the wardrobe and brought out another item, this time another glove of long black leather. Unlike my other gloves however, I could see that this one was quite different, for it was plainly designed to hold both the arms together as one and render the wearer absolutely helpless. “It’s called a monoglove,” Ms. Schmitz explained, “and your elbow chain was introduced with the sole purpose of making you able to wear it. The monoglove has long been a toy used in BDSM games, though it’s sometimes called a single glove instead. As you can see, it holds your arms together rigidly so that not a muscle can be moved. Normally monogloves, such as this are made out of leather, although other materials can be used, and often, like this one, they have supporting straps that go around the neck. I shall not pretend to you that this will be easy to wear. Particularly after a few hours it causes great strain on the shoulder muscles, but it will do wonders for your posture. Nowadays, instead of the chain, you shall be wearing this every morning and evening.”


“It’s called a monoglove,” Ms. Schmitz explained

Wearing such a garment certainly felt strange. By that time of course, after months of the elbow chain, I was quite used to having my arms restrained behind my back, but this monoglove was something else. With the chain, although my arms were forced back and I was unable to do many things, I still had a lot of movement and could grasp things, move my arms, bend by wrists and so on. Encapsulated in the glove however, my arms were absolutely immobile. Even my fingers couldn’t bend, forced as they were against their opposite numbers from the other hand and I was now entirely helpless.

“But what am I to do?” I asked, confused. “Ms. Schmitz, I cannot do anything now! How can I read, or hold the bannister or even go to the toilet by myself?”

“Obviously, Miss Vogel,” she replied, “you cannot. Whilst wearing the monoglove, Božena shall be attending you at all times. We have a desk ready for you to prop your books upon and when you need the page turning, you must ask her. She shall also accompany you on all walks to ensure that you do not fall and also on trips to the toilet and yes, before you ask, she shall wipe your bottom.”

So, I had been reduced to an entirely helpless doll, dependent upon my maid for everything!

You may be wondering of course, what I thought of all this, why I did not rebel more or try and escape my predicament. The question is indeed a valid one and the answer, even I am not sure of. Partially of course, there was the fact that the more restrained I was, the more difficult any rebellion was. Coupled with that, there was also the fact that I knew full well that there were powerful forces behind my kidnapping and present predicament, and any escape, even if successful, could only have resulted in dire consequences for myself. Then of course, I was by that time deeply in love with Dieter, and the thought of being parted from him, even if that meant being free of all my restraints, filled me with sadness. There was however, a fourth factor as well. Whilst I did not ask to be, or even enjoy being restrained, and indeed often did I cry into Dieter’s chest about my travails, I must admit to a strange liking, excitement or perhaps I should say fascination with my restraints. In a perverted kind of way, I got excited about being restrained and felt horny about being so helpless and doll-like. I cannot explain it fully to you as you have not been there, but all I can say is that the nature of that place and my whole weird life within it was wearing off on me.

The biggest shock however, was still to come.

It was a morning in the middle of July and my waist was now 43½cm in diametre and almost ready for the fourth and final corset. I had been taken for a short walk in the grounds by Božena wearing my monogloves and other restraints as was customary by that time and was quite exhausted as I mounted the stairs and then tottered down the corridor to my room. When I opened the door however, I got such a shock that I fainted on the spot and had to be caught by my maid from falling to the floor. When I was revived by the smelling salts I discovered that the cause of my shock was still there.

Sat on my bed, entirely naked save for a fetish discipline helmet and single sleeve which restrained his arms was Dieter. I knew it was him without being able to see a single feature of his face. After all, when you’re in love with somebody you get to know their entire body.

Stood beside him was Ms. Schmitz. “Don’t worry, Miss Vogel. He can neither see or hear us. He doesn’t not know where he is or who you are.”

“But what is he doing here?” I asked. “Surely he should be working now?”

“He is working Miss Vogel. He is here to train you. You assented to sexual training and so here it is. You are going to give him a hand job and he is going to tell you what you are doing right and wrong.”

And strangely enough, that is what happened. I sat beside my boyfriend and started jerking him off and he, from behind the helmet, gave businesslike instructions. “No Miss, you are caressing the wrong part. Caressing the stem brings nothing, caress the head… That’s better. However, you are moving your hand too fast and grasping too hard. That is not arousing, only annoying and at times painful,” and so on and so forth. I for one never realised that there was such and art to exciting a man and when he eventually came into my gloved hand with a gasp I must admit to feeling quite proud.

From that day on a session with Dieter became part of my daily routine and I soon learnt all the arts of not only giving hand jobs, but also oral sex, and I quite wondered as to how he’d ever achieved relief before, so bad had my previous technique been. I for one, in a perverse kind of way, (and by that time I was quite perverted), really enjoyed those sessions. After all, I was in love with the guy anyway, and the fact that he didn’t know that it was his girlfriend who was jacking or sucking him off everyday made it all the more exciting. It was my little secret and I often smiled when he told me about his day’s work, knowing that half the Slovakian girls that he was talking about were actually me! The only drawback was of course that my chastity belt still prevented me from having proper sex and achieving release and my that time I was dying for intercourse and would have done it with anyone at any time. I had half hoped that my sexual training would include me having the belt removed but alas, it was not to be and I remained incredibly frustrated.

And then at last, on the first of August, the big day came. My old corset was removed and the fourth and final pair of stays brought out and fitted around my torso. We reduced to the now-customary 43cm slowly and then Ms. Schmitz announced that ‘to celebrate the occasion’ I should have another full centimetre removed. I fainted twice during that session of further lacing and when conscious, I lay on the floor trying to recover after the strenuous lacing session, gasping for breath like a floundered fish. When the tape measure was passed round my waist however, and the figure ‘42cm’ read out I felt as proud as punch.


I lay on the floor trying to recover after the strenuous lacing session.

Once that was done and I had fully recovered (or at least recovered as much as a girl can when laced to 42cm in an S-Kurve corset) to my surprise, Ms. Schmitz sat me on the bed and spoke the following words:

“Miss Vogel, I am proud of you, I really am. In all my years of doing this job, not once have I dealt with a girl so co-operative and determined to succeed as you have been. You are a credit to yourself and your nation and I am proud to say that, two months ahead of schedule, your training is now complete. Well done.”

I beamed and she smiled back. Then, she continued.

“So, as I said before, your training is now complete and that means that we can relax things a little. When I said it is complete however, I did not mean to say that your current regime will be halted entirely, as I am afraid it will not. You will be staying with us for another four months yet and during that time I am sorry to inform you, but the lacing will continue and you shall be brought down another 4cm to that magical 38. Furthermore, you shall still be required to wear your chastity belt, ankle chain and boots at all times. The rest however, shall be relaxed. Your monoglove I wish you to wear from time to time just so that you stay in practice, and so how does an hour every evening before you go to bed sound, my dear?”

How did it sound!? After six hours daily of such torture it sounded like positive freedom! “Thank you, Ms. Schmitz,” I said.

“That’s alright, my dear. Now, that’s not all that’s going to change in your routine. It has also been decided to change the garments and your image. After all, what’s the point in corsetting your waist away so that you look beautiful, when you don’t have clothes to sufficiently show that waist and your own natural beauty off? From now on Miss Vogel, you’ll be wearing these.”

And then she got up, went over to that previously locked fourth and final wardrobe, turned the key in the lock and threw it open. Inside it was filled with absolutely gorgeous gowns, such as they wear in those costume dramas on television, all made of the finest fabrics with lace and other adornments.

“I’m to wear those!?” I asked in amazement.

“Yes, my dear, you’re to look like a princess from now on. This castle dates from the 18th century you know, and so all those dresses are based on designs from that time. Go on, pick the one that you wish to wear today.”

I went over and looked through them. There were dozens and all were gorgeous. Eventually however, I picked out a pretty yellow day dress which, along with the countless petticoats that it required, was laced onto me by Božena and Ms. Schmitz.

“It’s beautiful!” I exclaimed when I saw myself in the bathroom mirror.

“Oh no, Miss Vogel, you’re far from complete yet,” warned my trainer with a smile.

“After all, a lady needs to have her hair and make-up done, does she not?”

That was true and yet in all my time at the castle I had entirely forgotten about such things, never having any make-up applied and my hair always being brushed out straight or put into a simple ponytail. Božena sat me down and started curling my hair into ringlets and arranging it in a style suitable for the dress that I was wearing, whilst Ms. Schmitz attacked my face, plucking my eyebrows almost bare and applying powder, lipstick and false eyelashes. It was an hour later before they had finished, but when I looked at myself again in the mirror, I realised that it had been entirely worth. I truly did look the princess! It was like a dream come true.

“May I take a stroll in the grounds now, Ms. Schmitz?” I asked.

“Of course, my dear, your time is your own. However, if you do so, don’t forget to wear your gloves and hat!” And then she handed me a pretty pair of white silken gloves to go over my leather ones and a large straw hat. I put on the gloves, had Božena tie the hat ribbon under my chin, (for wearing slippery silken gloves over my tight, thick leather ones meant that I could grip nothing and my hands were virtually useless), and minced off down the stairs and into the grounds.

On the lawn I met Dieter. He bowed and announced, “Milady, what a pleasure to see you here.” I blushed becomingly and then kissed him. My joy was now complete and I was the happiest girl in all of Germany as I strolled round that beautiful place in my pretty yellow dress and straw hat, my beau by my side.


I was the happiest girl in all of Germany as I strolled round that beautiful place in my pretty yellow dress and straw hat

And from that day on, my life was indeed most pleasant. Daily I dressed in gowns fit for the set of Les Liasions Dangereus and lived like a princess. Of course, the lacing still continued, by now every quarter of a centimetre causing immense pain and effort and so tight was my corset that I had even started fainting during normal daily activities, just like the ladies did in the days of old. By the onset of November however, I had reached the hallowed 38cm and my corset was at last finally closed. And of course, I still had to wear the irksome pessarie at all times, and the monoglove for an hour every evening although I must admit, particularly in the case of the latter, that I actually quite enjoyed this form of perverted restriction and even looked forward to it.

Wearing such beautiful gowns of course, also caused new problems to arise. I had to learn the art of managing countless petticoats and visiting the toilet whilst encumbered with so much cloth, plus much time was now spent in hairstyling and applying make-up, but to be fair I minded not and apart from the continuing frustration of a lack of sexual release I was a most contented girl, although I must admit that I often puzzled as to why all this had happened to me and what it was all leading towards. Ms. Schmitz had mentioned four more months back in August which meant that something was due to happen around Christmas or New Year time. The big question however, was, what?

Then, on the 1st December, the onset of Advent, I learnt it all.

It was the evening and I was sat, my arms restrained in the monoglove, a copy of Musil’s ‘A Man Without Qualities’ propped open on the desk in front of me, Božena silently turning the pages, when Ms. Schmitz walked in and quietly asked the maid to leave. She did so and then my trainer carefully undid my restraint.

“Miss Vogel,” said she. “We have to talk.”

I nodded for her to continue.

“Almost a year ago, you were brought to this place by underhand means for a purpose that so far has remained a mystery to you. Tonight I shall reveal what that purpose is, for the task which you are to fulfill is to be fulfilled in the very near future.”

Something stirred in my breast, fear or excitement, I am unsure which.

“Miss Vogel, I shall start by giving you a little history lesson. In the 16th century the famous religious reformer, Martin Luther, broke away from the Catholic Church and its traditions and became the world’s first Protestant. As we all know, millions soon followed him. When forming his new faith he made many changes to the accepted, Roman version of Christianity. One of them was that he did away with the revering of saints and that of course included St. Nicholas. However, without a St. Nicholas, who was to give presents to the little children at Christmastime? Naturally someone was needed, so Luther invented a new character, the Christmas Angel or Christkind. Ever since, German children have been brought up to believe that a kindly angel comes down from Heaven and gives them presents on Christmas Eve.”

I nodded. Indeed, as a child, I had believed this too.

“In the city of Nuremberg, for centuries they produced tinsel models of angels that were sold in the markets during Advent. This was but a local tradition but under the rule of the National Socialists that image of the Christkind became anchored in the collective German mind. They built on Nuremberg’s tradition of producing tinsel angels, and in 1933, had a teenage girl in an angel costume open the city’s Christmas Market for the first time. Since then the city has chosen a 17 or 18 pretty girl to open the market every year.”

“I know,” I answered. “I went once with my family.”

“Now, as I told you before, you were kidnapped by a group of twelve very important and influential individuals and that that group first assembled during the time of the National Socialists, or to be more precise, in 1936. They got together to further the interests of Germany. At the time they were all fervent, patriotic members of the National Socialist Party, but over the years they changed, particularly when it became clear that Hitler was on a path to self-destruction and then later when the war was lost and the political climate changed dramatically. Through all times however, from 1936 to this day, in war and peace, it has been that group, not the parliament or army or anything else, that has steered the course of the German nation or to be more blunt, has run the country. They are a committee assembled to rule, and rule is what they do.

However, like all organisations, there is play as well as work, and I am afraid that power usually attracts some of the most unsavourary of characters. During that first Christmas Market in 1936, two members of the Twelve happened to be present, and both commented on how comely the Nuremberg Christkind was, and so that evening they had here kidnapped and both raped the poor lass repeatedly before making her disappear forever into the abyss of Dachau.

I am pleased to say however, that over the years, whilst the perversion has remained, they have improved their tactics somewhat. The fact is Miss Vogel, that you were brought here this year and trained in the manner that you have been trained in order to perform the role of this year’s Christkind at the annual Christmas Banquet of the Twelve here in this castle. You shall dress up in the angel costume and welcome those powerful figures; you shall entertain them throughout the meal, and then, like a true Christkind, you shall give them their presents.”


“Yes, presents, or to be more precise, the twelve Slovakians. 18 months before they took a trip to Slovakia and picked the girls that pleased them most from the hundreds of applicants. These girls were then brought here and trained in the perversions which their particular Master or Mistress most prefers. After the banquet they shall stay in their owner’s home for the period of a year, after which they are free, rich and holders of German nationality. Then, the following year, now slaves will be presented to the Twelve by a new Christkind.”

“And is give out presents all that I have to do?”

“Well, yes… and no. Technically, yes. The Twelve are kinder these days and if you wish to do no more, then you shall be required to do no more. However, if you are willing to do more, then you shall be handsomely rewarded for your efforts.”


“Yes, let me explain. You have been absent for a year. No one knows where you have been and who kidnapped you except for your parents who received a visitor from the Twelve who told them all and impressed on them the influence of his organisation. They know that you are safe and although worried, are not frantic. They have told your friends that you have gone backpacking in South East Asia I believe. But I digress… You have been absent for a year and that year has been a year without any pay. However, if you are willing, you can make up for that on the night of the banquet. The custom is that the Twelve hold a lottery and the winner is granted the right to spend the night with that year’s Christkind, or in other words, you. Now, if you will look at this form, then you will see how handsomely the Twelve are prepared to reward you for your service.”

I looked at the proffered paper. It read:-

We, the Twelve undertake to pay the 2005 Christkind the following amounts for assenting to the following acts.


Sleeping with the winning member                                   €100,000

Having normal sex with the winning member               €1,000,000

Having anal sex with the winning member                    €1,230,000

Providing oral sex for the winning member                    €560,000

Acquiescing to wearing a monoglove during the night spent with member  €834,000

Drinking the urine of the winning member                     €1,983,000

Acquiescing to wearing a ring-gag during the night spent with member      €134,000

Acquiescing to wearing a discipline helmet during the night, etc.         €876,000

Kissing the winning member                                                    €52,000

I was astonished and yet excited. By each line there was a box for me to tick if I agreed or not. But what would I agree to. Some of those things were pretty disgusting and yet reading about them all turned me on. And so much money at stake too…

Ms. Schmitz handed me and pen and almost to my own surprise, I slowly but surely ticked them all. My trainer smiled. “You’ve been a good student, Miss Vogel,” she said, before adding. “Oh, and by the way, they tip extremely generously.”

It was eleven o’clock on the morning of the 24th December. I had been woken by Božena at six and bathed, before the lacing into my corset began. That took almost an hour and the usual couple of fainting fits before it was fully closed, and then my boots, new ones for the occasion and with actual en pointe ballet heels, were fitted, the lacing of each one taking a full fifteen minutes. Then came the gloves and after that I was taken to a chair to sit down whilst my hair and make-up were attended to.

The make-up of the Christkind was most severe with a thick coat of powder, pink lip gloss and my eyebrows plucked entirely and new ones drawn on in a higher position so that I appeared eternally surprised.

If the make-up was severe however, the hairstyle was worse. My blonde hair, which was quite long by this time, was bleached an even blonder blonde and then curled in the most ridiculous perm so that it looked almost artificial. When I looked at myself in the mirror, it was not Kirsten Vogel that I saw, but instead some brainless, vacant bimbo.

After the styling was complete, it was time to don the costume. The Christkind has to wear a most ridiculous outfit indeed, a long white and silver dress, adorned with large golden stars and requiring ten petticoats to fill it out and then over that a long, pleated cape of gold. White silken gloves were then drawn onto my hands and finally, to top it all off, the heavy, tall crown was placed on my head. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw some fantasy fairy-tale fuck toy staring brainlessly back.

It was not Kirsten Vogel that I saw, but instead some brainless, vacant bimbo

That done, I left the room, mincing slowly down the stairs, virtually immobile and very unsteady in the en pointe boots, into a photo studio that had been arranged for the occasion where we spent over an hour photographing the 2005 Christkind from every angle imaginable.

Then, there was a short break before I was taken to the main entrance to welcome the guests. I had to stand there for almost an hour unaided whilst the Twelve arrived, and my feet were on fire for the entire period. Member after member turned up in their limousines and I had to welcome each one with a kiss, whilst they fondled my backside and surging breasts annoyingly.


I had to stand there for almost an hour unaided whilst the Twelve arrived

Then we all retired to the drawing room where it was my job to keep them entertained. And I soon learnt what being entertained meant. I was forced to sit on the lap of Mr. Baier the AGPA chief whilst he fondled me and licked my neck before going over to Mr. Wolf of BMV and treating him to a hand job, the results of which formed by breakfast that morning. After he had enjoyed that particular service they all wanted it, except Ms. Becker of the Christian Democrats who preferred to French kiss.

That ordeal lasted four hours and then it was declared that the festivities should begin. We all went into the large gothic dining room and the Twelve dined whilst I tottered around the table filling their wine glasses and they watched a display of live lesbian sex performed by two of the Slovakians on the table.

Then it was back to the drawing room for the presents. I, as the Christmas Angel, stood by the huge tree and kissed each member as he or she collected the package that was lying for them underneath that tree. Each package was enormous and when opened a Slovakian mummified in a leather body sack was revealed. The Slovakians were left trammelled however for what was undoubtedly the highlight – for them that is, not I – of the evening, namely the drawing of the lottery to see whom would be spending the night with the Christkind.

I cannot say that I was particularly bothered as to who I would be sleeping with that night, for none of the men were particularly attractive or interesting and all were middle-aged. The one thing I was sure about however, was that I did not want Ms. Becker as the thought of copulating with one of my own sex made me feel quite sick and so I was praying inwardly, ‘Not the woman, not the woman,’ as Gen. Schröder of the Army was given the honour of drawing and he came up to me, patted me on the bottom and drew out the slip of paper from the gold sack that I was holding.

“Mathias Baier,”  he announced, quite dejected that he was not to be having the honour. So, I was to spend the night with the obese AGPA chief who was now making his way over to me, leering excitedly.

Soon after that we all retired, the members with their new Slovakians and I with Mr. Baier, (his Slovakian was left unwanted and still entombed in leather by the tree). We entered his princely chamber and he started kissing me. ‘Oh well, that’s €50,000,’ I thought as I tasted the red wine and roast goose in his saliva. He on the other hand, was far too excited to care what I thought. He really was like a big child and he kept repeating over and over again, ‘I’m going to fuck the Christmas Angel! I’m going to fuck the Christmas Angel!’ I however, minded not, for unappealing though he was, I needed sex. I am sure looking back that I had been fed some strong aphrodisiac that day as never before had I so wanted sex like that. He lay me on the bed, tossed my skirts over my head, unlocked the chastity belt and then, yesssssssssssssssss!!! He was in, screaming ‘I’m fucking the Christmas Angel! I’m fucking the Christmas Angel!’

It did not take long, but of course, he was not over. After all, had I not acquiesced to the lot? After finishing I sucked him clean and then left him strip me of my costume till only my corset and boots remained, and he was circling my waist with his hands and muttering, ‘The Christmas Angel’s waist is so tiny!’ Then I let him lace me into the monoglove and put the ring-gag in my mouth, before he removed my pessarie and started on my arse, screaming, ‘The Christmas Angel is getting it up the arse by Baier the King of Christmas!’ I listened not and instead just imagined that it was my dear Dieter who was taking his pleasure.

After that however, Mr. Baier declared himself spent and his face was certainly red and flustered, so we showered together and then he lay down for the night, fitting a discipline helmet over my head that rendered me deaf and blind and then fitting his flaccid penis into the mouth opening and ordering me to give him a blowjob before then releaving himself of the calls of nature into my mouth afterwards. It was disgusting, truly horrible, and yet I swallowed and smiled. After all, would I not be free soon and well-paid for my efforts?

Several hours and one more blowjob later, my arms dead from being forced into the monoglove for so long I eventually fell asleep, a Christmas Angel exhausted from giving out so many presents.

I could sense the light even before I opened my eyes. When I eventually did so I found that I was in a white room, lain on a white bed. Baier was gone and my bondage was gone. In fact I was naked save for a white corset similar to the one that I had worn when first arriving at the castle. Light streamed in from a nearby window. I walked over to the window and looked out. The cityscape of central Berlin was stretched out below me. I was in a high-class apartment in some city centre tower block.

I walked back to the bed and then sat down. To my right was a white door. I got up, went over to it, opened it and walked through. I found myself in a white kitchen with a big white table in the centre. On the table was a laptop computer. It was switched on. I went over to it and looked at the screen. On it was a message. I read the message.


You are now free to go about your life once again. The payment for your efforts is in the envelope beside this computer. The apartment that you are now in is yours. It is your tip for a job well done. Your parents know your location and should be with you within an hour or two. In the meantime, if you open the door to your left you shall find a pleasant surprise. One final thing. Ms. Schmitz advises you to keep the corset on for sometime until your body gets adjusted to living without being tightlaced. She also wishes you the best of luck.

The Twelve

I picked up the envelope beside the computer. In it was a lottery ticket, that was all. I then walked over to the door that they had mentioned and opened. It led into another bedroom. Lying on the bed in the middle of the room still sound asleep was Dieter Müller.

I walked over to my love and lay beside him. He stirred and opened his eyes. “Good morning, darling,” I said.

“I asked to be left with you,” he replied. “Are you alright.”

“Quite fine,” I said truthfully.

“Shall we go out for breakfast then?” he asked.

“Later,” I replied. “There’s something more important that we need to do first.”

He smiled as I took off my clothes and let his tool slide into me. It was a happy ending to a long and strange journey.


The lottery ticket in the envelope was of course the winning ticket in the 6 aus 49 Superzahl. The winnings amounted to €6,769,000 exactly. I met my parents that day and they were overjoyed to see that I was safe and sound, though horrified to hear of my experiences, (even though I gave them a much watered-down account). I decided to stay wearing the corset as I had learnt to enjoy the tightness that it provided and besides, my new fiancé, Dieter Müller liked to see me tightly-laced. Some of the first purchases we made with the jackpot money were some en pointe leather boots, a monoglove and a pair of thick leather gloves. In the privacy of our apartment we sometimes remember our Christkind experience in a unique and private way.

It is seven years exactly since I became the Christmas Angel. I am now a university graduate, as is my Dieter and we are due to be married next Spring. In the meantime we have Christmas to celebrate and this year we are doing what we do every year.

We are going to the Nuremberg Market to watch the Christkind open the show.


[1] Adapted from an article on Deutsche Welle.

3 thoughts on “The Tale of the Christkind

  1. I seem to recall another story somewhere, sometime with a similar, if not the same, title. From memory this tale is much different though.


  2. Nye, I wrote this story years ago and it may have been posted on LISA, I forget. So, it may be this that you remember or it may be another although what other I cannot imagine. Hope you liked it whatever the case.


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