Obeisance: Chapter 7

Obeisance

by J T and Nye

Chapter 6

 Chapter 7

Training Day

It was not quite dawn when Abby shut off the alarm. Sighing heavily, she crawled out of bed as she braced herself to take on Carolyn’s first training session. Mindful of her new owner’s concern over Carolyn’s lack of preparation for her trip to the Harrell Clinic, she hurried to the bathroom, and said a silent prayer of thanks that her new owner graciously unlocked the valves as she fixed the evacuation hoses to her chastity belt. As the machine did its work, Abby pulled her hair into a ponytail and secured it with one of Carolyn’s old hair ties she found discarded behind a half filled trash bin. After disconnecting the evacuation hoses she turned to face the mirror and studied herself.

Pale, emaciated, blemished with the marks of her last whipping still evident on her back and thighs, and nearing thirty, she had to admit she wasn’t much of a prize. What’s worse, she was in desperate need of her owner’s permission to take a hot shower followed with a long hot soak in the tub to try and clean out the sticky bits of grit and filth that crept in under her belt while she was mucking out the stables in preparation for the polo semi-finals at The Retreat.

Setting all that aside, she couldn’t help but wonder why her new owner believed she was the right girl to prepare and train this spoiled and entitled heiress he had assigned into her care. While Abby didn’t have anything against him, he didn’t seem to be a particularly bright, practical, or sensible enough person to make such a decision. If there was anything remotely positive to say about him at all, it was that he seemed to be a fairly affable guy who just had the good fortune to be born into a family with too much money. And now, for some reason she was still struggling to understand, it seemed that he ended up caring for a rich, spoiled, and somewhat troubled heiress, and now he was overwhelmed. But if things got tough, if her charge fought back, would he actually allow her to do what was necessary to fulfill the tasks he had assigned to her? For the moment there was no way to really know the answer to that question. In the meantime however, she had a nagging feeling it was going to be a very long and tough day.

By the time Robert poured his first cup of coffee, Carolyn had been in training for over an hour, laboring to master the keyed commands Abby issued through Carolyn’s universal controller. The controller was a fierce device which, when applied skillfully, could render the most obstinate ward or rebellious inmate fully tractable in less than an hour. In Carolyn’s case, due to her earnest desire to learn and obey, it took less than five minutes for Abby to have the girl reasonably responsive to her commands.

At Robert’s request, Abby voiced her commands as she keyed the pulse commands through the controller. “Turn right,” she ordered.

Abby glanced at her owner as he perched on the back of the couch, sipped his coffee, and watched Carolyn execute a half turn and curtsy crisply and without hesitation. After her owner smiled and gave a brief nod of approval, she picked up the pace and ordered her charge to rise, back up, sit, kneel, and finally, stand at attention in quick succession.

As he watched Carolyn struggle to perform while blinded, deafened and gagged in her formidable penitentiary hood, tightly bound in her strict reformatory straitjacket, and shackled with the same narrow set of hobbles Abby wore when she first arrived at the apartment, it seemed to Robert that many of the commands were unreasonable, as they appeared to be impossible to fully and properly execute. However, Abby explained, that was exactly the point. Even when precise obedience was physically difficult, it was important for Carolyn to know, with perfect clarity, that full compliance was not only expected of her, but that it was necessary for her to continue her struggle to carry out any order, no matter how onerous, until the command was either rescinded or countermanded by a new order.

“Sir, from what I’ve been able to gather, Carolyn’s greatest obstacles in achieving the kind of unconditional compliance and absolute obedience expected of every properly trained level one girl, is her stubborn willfulness and her belief in those things she holds to be true and dear.

“In order to survive the kind of official scrutiny her father warned you to expect and prepare for, your ward must mentally and physically accept the fact that she is not permitted to form, hold, or express an opinion, nor can she examine, evaluate or disregard any order given by her legal guardian or designated authority,” Abby explained as they watched Carolyn kneel, then when ordered to do so, struggle to her feet.

“How do you think she is doing Sir?” she asked, anxious that her owner might not be fully satisfied with her efforts.

Though Robert was shaken and somewhat appalled by the arduous, though necessary training Carolyn was undergoing, it didn’t diminish his appreciation of Abby’s hard work. He placed his empty coffee cup on the end table, walked over to Carolyn’s new drill instructor, and gave her a warm hug and gently kissed the top of her head. “You’re doing a wonderful job,” he replied.

To suggest that Abby was stunned and thrilled by her new owner’s physical and verbal expression of approval, such an assumption would fail to adequately portray the full impact this trivial bit of praise had upon her. Beginning with her first arrest, and her subsequent demotion to less than the status of a shabby footstool, experience taught her that any hint of official affirmation, encouragement, or commendation was vigorously frowned upon and routinely crushed. Absolute, unquestioned obedience to every command, no matter how capricious, was the only correct response demanded from any immurated chattel, according to every reformatory authority she had ever served, suffered and labored under. In fact, Abby couldn’t recall a time when she ever felt the warmth of a compliment of any kind since that horrible morning ten years before when she was suddenly and brutally arrested, and her life fell apart.

But bolstered by Robert’s gentle kindness and praise, a glimmer of hope began to scrape against the hardened shell she had built, layer by layer, over many years out of despair, depression, and suppressed anger. It began to dawn on Abby that this new place, and this new owner, just might offer her a unique opportunity to move up the ladder to a slightly better level of hell. If her new home even came close to what she had been praying and hoping for, she promised herself that she would redouble her efforts and prove to her owner that she was clearly the perfect and indispensable slave he needed. She would relentlessly condition and train Carolyn into the perfectly drilled, perfectly compliant and perfectly submissive immurated fiancée and future wife he commanded her to create.

But there was a question, a dilemma, that troubled her. How should she properly respond to her new owner’s generous gesture of praise and extraordinary benevolence? Should she fall to the floor and kiss his feet? That was the obligatory response at the reformatory when her flogging was reduced from fifty to forty lashes, or when her time in the pillory after a horsewhipping was reduced by an hour.

However, what if the whispers she heard in the darkest corridors of the reformatory were true? Could it actually be true that in a private home, while serving under the boot of a private owner, a more intimate response such as an oral caress, or an act of sexual or anal penetration, was expected? Her new owner did own her key and her controller after all. And her old overseer, Miss Martin, did tell him, while she was standing next to them, that the title he held certified that he had full rights to every part of her, and that he could do anything he pleased to her.

And yet her new owner’s comportment offered no suggestion that he expected anything of the sort. It was all very confusing. Finally she decided to risk a beating and acknowledged his praise with a simple, “Thank you Sir,” then held her breath and waited for fire to rain down upon her.

“You’re quite welcome,” he casually responded as he gently squeezed her shoulder. “Oh, and as soon as you reach a good stopping point, there are a few things I need to go over with you. In the meantime, I’ll be in my office.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Abby curtsied with a perfectly executed ‘Yes Sir,’ and quickly ordered Carolyn into some heel locks near the kitchen door. After confirming Carolyn’s boots were well secured with a couple of strategically placed kicks, she checked her charge’s straitjacket for any signs of play that may have resulted from the strain and exertion of the early morning drills. Just to be certain everything was up to snuff, she tightened Carolyn’s crotch strap one more notch, ensuring that everything exceeded reformatory standards, then briefly plugged her charge’s breathing tubes with her fingertips to stifle an unauthorized groan as Carolyn’s belt shifted out of alignment and punished her. Satisfied her charge was well parked, Abby took a moment in front of the hall mirror to check herself. Though her hair and uniform were as neat as she could make them with what she had available to her, she despaired over her sallow complexion, the product of having been confined in damp, dark cell blocks for most of the last few years, and subsisting on a poor diet for too long. Lacking the benefit of makeup, she pinched and rubbed her cheeks in an unsuccessful attempt to gain some color before surrendering to the realities of her general appearance and hurried to Robert’s office.

                                                                        * * *

Glancing up from the task of sifting through a handful of envelopes, Robert studied the tall thin girl waiting silently in the office doorway. She stood at attention, her arms properly behind her back, palms out, and in accordance with strict reformatory protocol, eyes cast downward. “I see you’re well trained,” he observed. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you would know anything about finance as well,” he groused as he tossed the bills and financial statements in the ‘to do” tray and threw the junk mail in the trash.

With a soft grunt he motioned her in, pointed to a guest chair in front of his desk, and waited patiently as she carefully approached the chair and, after a fleeting moment’s hesitation, carefully sat down. “Abby, I have a dinner engagement at Tom Stewart’s home this evening,” he said. “Since Carrie’s quite obviously out of the picture, and I have no desire to go alone, I’m assigning you to be my dinner companion tonight.”

“Now since the only clothing you have is that ridiculous and rather dingy Retreat uniform, I guess we need to try and find you a reasonably appropriate outfit for you to wear tonight. I don’t have a firm start time for the dinner yet, but I imagine it will begin around eight, so we need to find you something now.”

Stunned by his command that she accompany him as his dinner companion at the private home of her former owner, Abby did her best to control her jitters as she replied, “Yes Sir, of course. I am honored.”

“Good. So stand up and let’s go find you an outfit,” he said as he took her hand and walked her to Carolyn’s dressing suite. “I doubt most of Carolyn’s clothes will fit you. You’re almost as tall as me and even in her ballet heels she barely reaches my chin. Also, her waist is smaller than yours, probably due to her years of working out, strict dieting, and rigorous tight lacing, and she’s also a little bit larger in the bust area.”

Robert backed up a couple of paces and studied her closely. “Turn around for me slowly,” he commanded as he studied her frame. “I’d say you’re built a lot like a ballerina I dated a few years ago while I was bumming around Europe. She was tall and skinny, just like you. Mostly arms and legs, with a small bust, narrow hips, and very fit. Or in your case, maybe not so fit, just undernourished.

“So I’m thinking some of Carrie’s late mother’s old clothes might do. She would have been a half head shorter than you but everything else looks about the same. For some reason Carrie kept a number of the couture dresses her late mother picked up during her travels, and a few others from the modeling jobs she did either as a lark or as a favor to her designer friends. Carrie keeps them in this walk-in closet over here. These drawers are Carrie’s as well, though I hesitate to guess what’s in them. Most likely her unmentionables and stuff. Look through everything, and if you can work past her mother’s occasional lapse towards the wildly inappropriate colors and patterns that were all the rage when her mother was a bit younger than you are now. Maybe you can find something you can work with,” he explained as he worked his way through the closet and showed her an especially egregious example of pre-plot couture barbarism.

“Anyway, like I said, see if you can find something suitable for the dinner tonight. And while you’re at it, try and find something severe and conservative to wear for our visit to the Harrell Clinic. And don’t forget about shoes. In the closet over here you’ll find lots and lots of shoes and boots. From the looks of things most of them are high heels or ballet boots, and many, but not all of them, lock. To meet current regulations, you’ll need to pick shoes that lock, so be sure you have the key to whatever you find to wear. Hopefully you can find something that fits well enough for now.”

Abby curtsied. “Yes Sir, I obey. Sir, how would you like me to wear my hair?”

Robert suppressed the temptation to say that he really didn’t care, and it was entirely up to her how she chose to style her hair. However, Abby was meticulously conditioned to expect and require specific instructions before acting. To act any other way would be considered a brazen act of willfulness, or worse, an unpardonable sin. So, if he were to order her to make a judgment call without firm guidance and circumscribed boundaries, he risked leaving her feeling abandoned, unsure, perhaps even panic-stricken. He couldn’t take the chance of injuring her like that.

“Well, let’s see. Let’s begin at the beginning,” he replied. “As I’ve already noted, you’re blessed with a tall slender body. Your skin is quite pale. You have light blue eyes and slightly longer than shoulder length, naturally straight, very light blonde hair.” He paused and studied her as he walked around her a couple of times. “Hold your hair up. Yeah, with your long slender neck your hair needs to be up. And, as a bonus, wearing your hair up will help to show off your nicely shaped, but fairly grungy, control collar as well.

“Okay, here are your orders. During day-to-day life in and around the apartment wear your hair in a neat bun. If, after I’ve lived with it for a while, I decide I don’t like how it looks, I’ll tell you and we’ll come up with something else.

“Now, when we go out in public for ordinary, everyday stuff; doing things like going to the doctor, shopping, dining at everyday restaurants, visiting friends and such, you’ll need something a bit nicer but nothing really formal. On those occasions I want you to wear your hair in a French twist, but not one of those messy ones you sometimes see sloppy waitresses wearing at cut-rate diners. You’ll be in my company, so it needs to be neat and professional. As a matter of fact, because your appearance reflects on me, everything about your presentation and conduct must be clean, neat and professional at all times. Now, if we’re going to an elegant event, say to the theater, to a formal dinner, or to a club of some sort, you’ll wear your hair up in a more elegant style. Just exactly what that means, I really can’t say right now, but we’ll address that issue later when the occasion arises. Who knows, maybe by then Carrie will be available to help us with some ideas of her own.”

He paused and studied her a bit more before adding, more or less in jest, “But then again, considering Carrie’s jealous nature, she may just decide to shave your head instead. Questions?”

“Yes Sir. Do you want me to wear makeup?”

“Ah, makeup. Sure. Use Carolyn’s. You need it more than she does. As a matter of fact, feel free to use anything on, in, or near Carolyn’s dressing table that you feel you need to make yourself presentable. But try to be subtle with the makeup. We don’t want you to look like a vulgar painted lady after all.”

He paused, and tried to think of anything he might have missed. “Oh yes, the bathroom. You have full use of her bathroom. As I believe you’re already aware, I unlocked your evacuation valves yesterday so that you can personally take care of that sort of business whenever you need to. Also, there are new toothbrushes and other toiletries, as well as towels, luffas, and other such necessities in the bathroom cabinets. Use them.

The intensity with which she listened to every word he spoke, and the military precision of her curtsy when he finished speaking, was something Robert found to be reassuring and comforting; and yet, in a peculiar way, a bit disconcerting as well. However unlikely it might be, her intense focus seemed to suggest that she had a particular agenda in mind that went beyond simple obedience. But as to what that agenda could possibly be, he couldn’t imagine.

“Well, in addition to getting ready for this evening, keep working with Carrie,” he added. “I have an appointment at the Harrell clinic this afternoon, but I should be back in plenty of time to get ready for our dinner at Tom’s. Now have I missed anything?”

“Yes Sir. I noticed that all of the dresses and skirts I’ve seen so far have very small waists, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to fit in a few of them if I can find the right kind of corset. Do you want me to begin daily tightlacing in the same manner Miss Carolyn’s been corseting Sir?”

Robert was about to tell her no, that it wouldn’t be necessary. But, if Abby were to become a part of his household for any period of time she would need to fit in. Besides, if the two trained together, it might blunt Carrie’s jealous inclinations and help them to bond. Or, at the very least, it might encourage a little friendly competition. Stranger things have happened.

Besides, he noted, he just ordered Abby to always present herself in a neat and professional manner. What could be more elegant and professional than a trim, well corseted female waist? Not only should she properly tight-lace, but she would soon need an appropriate and properly tailored wardrobe of her own as well.

“Yeah, do that, Abby,” he finally replied. “If you’re going to remain here, serving me and caring for Carrie, it’s important that you present yourself, and serve us, as a properly attired and full member of my household. If, after you’ve cleaned up and found something to wear for tonight, if you can find a corset that fits well enough for now, begin your waist training this afternoon.

He paused, then cradled her chin with his hand, and smiled. “Tell you what,” he said, “when I have time, perhaps even next week, I’ll take you shopping for your own wardrobe, including, of course, all the shoes, unmentionables, and everything else you’ll need to go with your new clothes.” Unless I miss my guess, that should be a new and interesting experience for both of us.”

            Chapter 8 “Hopes and Plans”

Obeisance: Chapter 6

Obeisance

by J T and Nye

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

A Trip to The 3^rd Avenue Retreat and Polo Club

As soon as Robert entered his apartment the ghastly feelings of distress, helplessness, and indignation began again to well up within him. As he approached the door to Carolyn’s utility room, he paused, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then crept in. Apart from a yellow boxed message on the computer screen requesting an elevation of her correction levels, everything appeared unchanged. Robert tapped the ‘accept’ button then headed to the kitchen to prepare Carolyn’s next liquid meal.

Before pulling the blender jar from the drying rack he checked the kitchen phone and found two new messages. The first message was from Colin O’Leary, telling him that complications would most likely make it necessary for him to take an extended stay in Haldenford. Robert had to smile at that. It was typical Colin. Gruff and to the point. The man certainly had a knack for brevity.

The second message was from her father. The message was curt, cryptic, yet somehow still to the point. It was too soon to know what happened to Bridget’s family, he said. But the problem seemed larger than the disappearance of just one family. He also stressed how much he sincerely hoped Robert was holding firm to his promise to maintain an active and very firm hand over his daughter’s situation, and her conduct, because he had it on good authority that the affairs of a number of prominent families, including the Morris and Fletcher families, were about to face great deal more official scrutiny and harassment.

Neither message contained contact information, which meant that neither of the men expected a return call. Not sure what to do with the information, Robert turned his attention to the more pressing matter of feeding his fiancee.

As the blender churned the green liquid his gut roiled with guilt and anxiety. Guilt for playing a role in Carolyn’s confinement and anxiety over the awful role he promised to play in the future. He took a deep breath and again reminded himself to stay strong for Carolyn. But remaining strong did nothing to belie the fact that he desperately missed her and longed for her reassurance that she actually did approve of the things he was doing for and to her.

He missed their eating together as they squabbled over silly questions such as whether pizza from Gino’s met their fairly lax definition of fine cuisine, (yes, but only with the right toppings). He also missed the thrilling times they enjoyed after they locked the door, pulled the drapes, and took turns secretly reading aloud passages from the forbidden and banned books Carolyn swiped from her father’s library while feasting on Gino’s pizza and tumblers of Chianti wine.

And how could he ever forget the hours they wasted scarfing down buttered popcorn while drinking White Russians and savagely critiquing the latest crop of video farces, often depicting duplicitous servants and handsome locksmiths conspiring to liberate unhappily locked-up virgins. Or when they would brutally appraise the latest version of the romance story involving enraptured young lovers’ puckish attempts to purloin the beautiful young maiden’s chastity belt key, and never quite managing to find a way to consummate things as they were foiled in their efforts to elope to some faraway land and live happily ever after. But in the end, in every story, all the schemers, villains and rebellious girls were foiled, captured, or rescued, and made to pay for their crimes by the ever vigilant and always virtuous moral defenders of rectitude, purity, chastity, and family values – the brave and stalwart law enforcement officers of the Bureau of Female Affairs.

On a more personal note, he especially missed holding her, breathing in the faint traces of her perfume as they commiserated over their mutual frustrations while gradually drifting off to sleep.

Yes, he bitterly conceded, as he funneled the watery glop into the feeding bottle, he did agree to honor her request that the primary key to her chastity belt would only be made available to him on their wedding night. But with all the dark turns that had happened since he made that pledge to her, he was beginning to question the wisdom of sticking to that promise. After all, when he was finally awarded full legal guardianship over her, he also acquired full legal rights to both her master and fiancee keys as well as every bit of the territory they protected.

So, was indulging her silly fantasy of a fake virginal wedding worth all the nonsense? Was it worth all the aggravation and the damage that her plans and dreams were doing to their relationship?

Then he sighed and thought of how much he enjoyed Carolyn’s romantic quirks. There was her assertion that since the two of them had never had the opportunity to enjoy sexual intercourse together, they actually were virgins, at least to each other, so a white wedding gown was absolutely appropriate.  And then there was her very specific and extremely peculiar wedding details, including the reverse prayer binding and the septum wedding ring, things she had been dreaming of for the last ten years. In the end he had to concede that, if only to make her dreams come true, it was worth it.

Food bottle in hand he returned to Carolyn’s utility room. After lightly touching her shoulder to announce his presence, she lurched into a kind of furious struggle against her restraints. He placed his hand on her chest and gently pressed down, hoping the pressure would calm her. But it only seemed to rile her even more.

He felt certain that if he tried to feed her in her agitated state she would likely choke, so short of releasing her which, at least for now, seemed out of the question, he could only see two options. He could either walk away and prolong her fast, or he could follow Bridget’s written advice and calm her down with the blunt instrument of correction. It had been almost twenty-four hours since she had last been fed, and he had only watered her once since her feeding. He felt it would be wise to at least get fluids into her, and since the bottle of reformatory food was mostly water, it seemed the best course of action was to feed her the green stuff.

He switched on her controller and, after reviewing a page from Bridget’s notes, boosted the correction level and fired off a series of three second bursts. Soon her struggling stopped. He positioned her feeding tube and snapped on the food bottle. This time she refrained from blowing air bubbles into the bottle and gulped down her food until the bottle was empty. Relieved that she had taken it all without further fuss, and somehow managed not to choke while feeding, he switched off the correction routine, disconnected the food bottle, darkened the room, and returned the empty to the kitchen.

Robert paced nervously around the apartment. He couldn’t stay in. The apartment just felt too closed, stale, and depressing. He thought about taking in an afternoon jog around the neighborhood, but a run just didn’t feel right. He finally decided the best course of action would be to go to The 3^rd Avenue Retreat, perhaps engage a trainer, and spar a few rounds. He grabbed his coat.

                                                                        * * *

When Robert walked into the packed entrance of The 3^rd Avenue Retreat and Polo Club he was surprised to find that he didn’t recognize a single person there. The place was packed with the kind of fresh young faces that made him wonder if perhaps The Retreat might have somehow become the locus of some fad, or new novelty event, rather than the familiar and friendly neighborhood joint he happened to enjoy from time to time. After being tussled about for a bit by the raucous crowd, a tall perky blonde, in her late twenties and dressed in the snug, tightlaced and hobbled blue uniform of The Retreat, approached him.

“Excuse me Sir, do you have your membership card?” she asked.

“Membership card? No. Until now, I’ve always just walked in.”

“I’m sorry Sir, but we’re not allowing anyone in who’s not a member. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Well, I just came by to see a close friend who works here. Is Tom Stewart available by any chance?”

“You mean the owner, Mister Stewart?”

“Yes, that’s right. He’s a good friend of mine.”

The girl tensed as she glanced about, but didn’t find what she was looking for. “I’m sorry Sir, but I’m afraid you’ll need to speak to my supervisor. Please wait here while I get her.”

A few minutes later the girl returned with a woman in her early thirties, of average height with thick, chestnut brown hair meticulously pinned up under a brimless, blue pillbox cap with gold trim that matched her tightly corseted, form fitting, navy blue Retreat uniform dress perfectly. As she approached Robert she held out her hand and gave him a warm, firm handshake. “Good afternoon, my name is Sara Martin. I’m the senior supervisor here at The 3^rd Avenue Retreat and Polo Club. I understand you’re looking for Mister Stewart?”

“Yes I am, Miss Martin. Tom’s an old friend. I was hoping to see him this afternoon.”

“Yes Sir. Unfortunately Mister Stewart isn’t available. Perhaps I could give him a message and a way to contact you?”

Robert was about to say forget it and walk out, but he was really hoping to see his friend. “Yes, thank you. That would be fine. My name is Robert Morris…” He paused and began searching his pockets for his card with his contact information on it. He never bothered to memorize his telephone number because he didn’t see the point. He never called himself.

“Excuse me Sir, you said your name is Robert Morris?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

She paused and took a moment to study his face. “Say, you’re the amateur boxer in that photo on his office wall, aren’t you? Mister Steward made a point of pointing your photo out to me. He said you’re his silent partner.”

“Yeah. Do you know when he might be available? I could come back later if that would be more convenient.”

At that point Sara Martin turned to the slightly younger uniformed girl and said, “Pay attention Abby, this gentleman’s name is Mister Robert Morris. If you have any regard for that permanently collared neck of yours, next to Mister Stewart, this man is your lord and master. Are we clear on that?”

“Yes Miss Martin,” Abby replied as she curtsied. She then turned to directly face Robert and again curtsied. “Please forgive me Mister Morris. I was ignorant and unaware. I’m at your service for as long as you require me.”

Not quite sure how to respond to what had just transpired, he simply replied, “Thank you Miss Abby,” before returning to Sara Martin and again asked if she had any idea when Tom might be available.

“I’m sorry Sir, I’ve just radioed your query and expect a reply very soon. Perhaps you’d like to follow me and wait in the VIP lounge.”

“Thank you, I’d appreciate that. Tell me, how’s it possible for you and your female staff to speak in this crowded madhouse? I would think the authorities would be all over this like an angry pit bull tearing into a feisty kitten.”

“Yes Sir,” Sara Martin replied as she hobble-walked Robert to the VIP lounge with Abby in tow. “We’re testing out a new AI system that wirelessly controls our implanted curbs based on the needs of our clients. Under this new system we’re permitted to speak to males if the situation falls within both the management guidelines and the AI software perimeters. Of course we’re never permitted to speak to another female unless, as in the case of Abby and myself, a supervisor-subordinate situation is present and verbal instructions are deemed essential. And, of course everything we say is monitored, recorded, and graded for errors.”

“Under this new system, what happens when a girl blunders and misspeaks?”

Sara Martin paused her walking, turned to Robert, lightly fingered her control collar, and spoke quietly.  “Sir, I would be delighted to have the opportunity to try and answer all your questions regarding management and policy procedures, but in deference to the female congregation laws and regulations, I ask that you to permit me to delay any further conversation until we’re inside the VIP room. It’s just a few more steps from here.”

The VIP room was just about what he expected. Before the expansion and conversion the space served as a free weights and workout room. Now it sported several comfortable seating areas, a beverage bar, a number of muted large flat panel screens tuned to various sports channels, a private men’s restroom and most importantly to Robert, relative quiet. Except for the staff and himself, the room appeared empty.

“Well, it seems that The Retreat doesn’t attract many VIP’s,” Robert joked as his new personal attendant curtsied and waited for instruction.

“No Sir,” Sara Martin replied, “Though we do encounter a number of customers who believe themselves to be VIP’s, most applicants requesting VIP access are denied. Mister Stewart believes that the more strategically selective he is, the more attention and business he will get. I’m delighted to report, the strategy seems to be working quite well. Also, one of the reasons for the unusually large crowd on the main floor and grounds today is because this week we’re hosting the polo finals.”

“I assume you mean the regional semi-finals.”

“Yes Sir. Thank you for correcting me. Oh, excuse me Sir, I’ve just been informed Mister Stewart has arrived at the facility. He’ll see you shortly. With your permission I’ll go and greet him and tell him where you are.”

“Thank you Miss Martin, that’ll be fine.”

As she hurried off as quickly as her hobbled condition allowed, Robert turned to his solicitous attendant and said, “Abby, please get me a beer.”

“Of course Sir. What kind would you like? Or if you prefer, I can provide you with a menu.”

“Any local lager on tap will be fine.”

As Abby curtsied and hurried off Robert could see Tom entering the lounge. Robert hurried to his friend, shook hands and shared a quick, masculine embrace.

Tom was the first to speak. “Well, from what I can gather, when you finally decide to grace us with your presence after a fairly long, and well noted absence, alarm bells suddenly go nuts all over the place. Well, what the hell. You’re looking reasonably passable, and it’s really good to see you again. I understand you have something urgent to talk to me about?”

Robert groaned and shook his head. “I’m sorry Tom. I think I may have caused a bit of a kerfuffle without meaning to.” Robert briefly explained what happened during his arrival and ended by asking, “Tom, can you see a way clear sometime so we can have a private talk? I really could use an outside perspective on a couple of things and you’re pretty good at helping me to see things clearly.”

Tom shrugged. “Sure, I’ll be glad to. Oh, Abby’s waiting with your beer. But I’m a little hurt that you haven’t mentioned how you like this new conversion. On the surface it seems like a waste of space, turning a workout room into a fancy cocktail lounge and betting parlor. But with the re-introduction of legal electronic sports betting and casino nights, well I think you can appreciate why I took the risk. Oh, and by the way, your beer is on the house.”

As he accepted the beer from Abby, he nodded and replied, “It’s nice, and it makes a lot of sense. Your supervisor mentioned how you’ve boosted attendance by playing the exclusivity game. Was that your wife’s idea?”

Tom grinned sheepishly and nodded, “Yeah, of course it was. And to be honest, so was this. Joanne’s the brains behind most of our marketing strategies, but please keep that to yourself. The last thing Joanne needs is more grief from the Public Order nut-jobs. Since the last time you saw her the gentlemen from the BFA slapped a control collar on her for just doing her damn job. Now she can’t be more that one hundred meters from her controller, and I have to keep that damn controller on or near me at all times. So the bottom line is that I have to keep tabs on her and keep her close, or she gets punished. It drives her nuts and, as you can imagine, I catch the fury. And that’s not the worst of it, but don’t get me started on the rest of the crap that new collar of hers has put us through. I just don’t have the time right now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But sure, of course I’ll keep everything you say to myself. I never discuss our business with outsiders. But to be frank, what really caught my attention is the new wireless implant curbing system you’ve installed. How on earth did you get the BFA to go along with it?”

“Thanks. But you want to know something? The curbing system isn’t really my doing. The government approached me with it. As far as I can tell, it’s part of a larger pilot project they’re running. They said they wanted to install a prototype system in a controlled commercial setting. In exchange, they guaranteed me that there would be no citations of any kind during the length of the study and they would pay for everything.”

“To be honest Tom, I’m kind of surprised you took them up on it. Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me that some of the most dangerous words in the English language are ‘I’m from the government and I’m here to help you’?”

“Yeah, and I still maintain it’s the gospel truth. But, after a lot of thought, I’ve come to the conclusion that even though the authorities freely admit that we’re one of the best managed places around, we were still getting dinged with one or two violations a month. So I figured what the hell, lets give ourselves a break and see what happens.

“And you know what? So far it seems to be working out okay. So far this pilot project has allowed us to get rid of the hassle of staff curbs so the girls can push more product. Better yet, if it works out the way most of us hope, we’ll soon be able to serve any female fitted with an implant curb system a drink without her having to put up with the hassle of wearing a big cumbersome gag and being forced to drink through one of those awful feeding tubes. Just think, wives will be able to sit beside their husbands, in full compliance with the female congregation laws, and enjoy having a drink in a normal way. Joanne figures that change alone should at least double The Retreat’s annual liquor sales. I’ve got several members already bugging me about when and where they can get the implant curbs installed in their wives, wards, and daughters.”

Robert nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. In fact, right now I have a feeling that Carrie would love to swap out what she’s wearing for one of these implant things.”

“How is she? Carrie, I mean. You usually come in together.”

“That’s something I wanted to talk to you about. At present she’s locked up in strict confinement. So basically it’s just me trying to care for Carrie while she’s stuck in a terrible situation.”

“And you still don’t have your own staff?”

“No, I never got around to it. Once I finally received her guardianship a few weeks ago, I just borrowed Colin and Bridget from her father to help with Carrie’s moving in with me. But a couple of days ago they had to take off on an emergency, so I’m trying to care for Carrie by myself and it’s become a bit of a mess.

“Which reminds me of another reason I wanted to see you. I got a message from Carrie’s father. He told me that I should make sure that everything’s in perfect order because there’s about to be a tremendous amount of official scrutiny and harassment piled on anything and everything related to the Morris or Fletcher households and businesses.”

“And I assume that would include your silent stake in my business?”

Robert nodded.

“Look,” Tom continued, “I’ve got a million questions churning in my head and no time for any of them. Tell you what, why don’t you come over to my house for dinner? I’m sure Joanne would love to see you, and I’m sure she’d love for you to commiserate with her about that new punishment collar she’s stuck with. How about tomorrow night? Tonight’s impossible because of – well, all this polo tournament stuff.”

“Thanks, I’d love to.”

“Oh, and Robert, you’re breaking my heart about trying to do it all alone. Why don’t you take Abby with you and make use of her for a while, at least until you get your household back to normal. She’s one of those surplus reformatory girls we bought on the cheap from the BFA to ease a staff shortage. And I know she’s no Carolyn, or even Bridget, and at twenty-nine she’s about ten years past her prime and too old to charm most of the punters around here, but for a reformatory wretch she’s shown herself to be fairly capable and honest and could prove to be a lot of help to you. Besides, because you’re a silent partner in this place you already own a part of her, so there’s very little paperwork involved. Just sign a couple of documents on the way out. Legally all you’re doing is moving her from one work place to another, and the title change just lets the authorities know that the responsibility for her in terms of compliance and so forth has shifted from The Retreat facility to you.”

“Thanks Tom, that makes a lot of sense. I’ll take her. I really can use the help. And you’ve been a great help too. Really, I mean it. I’m not sure what I’d do without your backing when I need it.”

“Ah, sure, no problem. Seriously, get out of here. I need to get back to work. The front desk will help you with Abby.”

                                                                        * * *

Sara Martin was waiting for Robert at the front desk. “I understand you’re taking Abby away from this delightful wonderland of battling polo horses, casino gaming, excessive drinking, and other dubious forms of masculine pursuits,” she said with a smile and a twinkle in her eye. “And to think, I’ve just now got her trained up to The 3^rd Avenue Retreat standards.”

Robert rolled his eyes in appreciation of her little joke. “Yeah, I’m sure. But at least she’ll be out of your hair, for a little while anyway.”

“Well, before you leave I’ll need you to sign a couple of forms we’ve already filled out for you. As soon as you sign them, the forms will be sent electronically to the BFA for approval. In this case the process should be so automatic humans won’t even see it. Assuming there’s no glitch, the transaction and approval will be recorded and your title document will be sent back here ready for printing in a matter of minutes. Oh, and in case you were wondering, The Retreat will cover the cost of the title transfer. It’s easier and quicker that way.”

After Robert signed his name a couple of times the documents were scanned and sent to the BFA. True to Sara’s prediction, a few minutes later copies of the approved forms and Abby’s title came back ready for printing. “Well, this all looks good. If you’ll please wait a couple of minutes longer I’ll print your title to Abby and get you her owner’s packet.

As he waited for Sara’s return, Robert took the time to look over Abby. Her pale blue eyes expressed neither excitement nor despair. She simply stood with her arms resting at her sides waiting for her next orders.

Walking as quickly as she could in her tightlaced hourglass corset, her uniform’s built-in hobble, and her towering heels, Sara Martin arrived back at the front desk slightly out of breath with a letter sized manila envelope in hand. “Here’s her packet. Okay, before anything else, let’s get someone up here to gag and restrain this girl before she takes one step outside our door,” she barked to one of the staff standing nearby.

She watched as the assistant signaled that the process of getting Abby curbed and bound was underway.  Sara nodded her approval.  “Good then. Well, everything’s ready to go,” she said as she opened the envelope and spilled three items onto the desk top. “First, here is your original title to C66744. Of course, you don’t have to use her immuration number if you don’t want to. As her new owner, you’re free to rename her anything you like, or you can just keep calling her Abby if you prefer. Next, here’s Abby’s controller. We’ll retain the duplicate for safekeeping. Last is a key to Abby’s chastity belt. Again, we’ll hang on to the duplicate just in case something should happen to your copy. There’s no key to her control collar because it’s meant to be permanent. As owner of an immurated number, you have full access to her and are free to use her anyway you like. Now, do you understand how to keep Abby’s control appliances, in this instance her belt and control collar, fully charged and in good working order?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Excellent. And do you understand the similarities and differences between the rights of a guardian and the rights of a property owner Mister Morris?”

“Yes, I do. Those topics were well covered in more than one of the classes I was recently required to take.”

Sara smiled, “Wonderful!” she exclaimed as she collected the items, put them back in the envelope, clasped it shut and handed it to Robert. “Well Mister Morris, I hope you have a wonderful rest of the day and I hope to see you again soon. Good afternoon!”

With that, Sara Martin turned and hurried into the crowd of polo semi-final attendees filling the public rooms and hallways of The 3^rd Avenue Retreat and Polo Club.

                                                                        * * *

Robert and his new property slowly and quietly walked the several blocks back to his apartment building. He, heading to a place once filled with bright joy, but now increasingly darkened by sorrow and melancholy. She? Who could know. Tightly gagged into silence and tightly restrained in a high security reverse cradle armbinder as well as a narrow set of fetters, she seemed to give no indication of caring what might happen or where her fate might lie.

As they stopped on the sidewalk in front of the entrance canopy of his luxury apartment building, he said, “Abby, for the time being at least, this is your new home. It’s called the Fremont, and our place is up there, on the top floor.” After she nodded that she understood, they turned off the sidewalk and on to the walkway. After pausing very briefly for the lobby attendant to open the door and nod his welcome, the owner and his new property entered the building and headed for the elevator.

“Well, here we are, home sweet home,” Robert said, with more than a pinch of sarcasm, as he tossed his keys into a bronze bowl placed on the top of the foyer credenza for just that purpose, and ushered the bound and gagged Abby into her new home. “Well, I guess I should first get you out of these things and then we’ll have some food and drink and talk a little.”

He began with her armbinder jacket. Unaware that he needed to shut off the armbinder security mechanism and release the reverse cradle buckles before unbuckling the front, he made a mess of it before he thought to remove Abby’s gag so she could verbally walk him through the process of releasing her from her bindings.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” he asked her. Receiving no response, it gradually dawned on him that it wasn’t her place to ascertain such things and she was simply waiting for instruction. “Okay, I can do this,” he told himself.

“You and I are going to the kitchen where I’m going to teach you how to prepare a snack for the two of us,” he said. “The kitchen is that way. Now go and I’ll follow.”

As they sat at the kitchen table munching on whatever he could scrounge up, mostly bread, cheese and several varieties of smoked meats washed down with a reasonably good Merlot, he quizzed her on her background. He quickly learned that she was far less broken, and seemed to have retained a lot more of her intelligence, than many of the girls who passed through the state reformatory system. “To survive I learned to play stupid but eager to please,” she told him between hurried bites of food. “Most of the guards are not that bright, and fairly lazy, so as long as I was seen as timid, harmless, and quick to obey, they usually turned their eyes to louder and more pressing matters.”

“Can I assume that you’re familiar with reformatory restraint and control systems? Applying them as well as wearing them?”

“Yes Sir, I am.”

“Good. Then let’s talk about Carrie.”

Robert spent the next couple of hours sketching out Carolyn’s history. He began with their history as childhood friends, the details of her incarceration and how they later reunited after her release from Westminster Academy. From there he spoke of his time serving as her caretaker, the transition into a formal courting couple under the watchful eye of a courting prefect as he struggled to earn their engagement license.  The rest of the story was fairly simple: his assumption of her guardianship, the events at the country estate, and the worrying issue of getting Carolyn prepared to go to the Harrell Clinic.

He also showed her Bridget’s extensive notes and described the frustrations he encountered while trying to carry out her instructions. “You see,” he said with a touch of anger mixed with sadness, “I haven’t even been able to get her fully back into that reformatory jacket or hobble skirt after I released her from the damn things. I thought I had to remove everything around her middle so I could hook up her evacuation hoses and such, but now I’m not so sure it was necessary to do all that and I think I just made a mess of it. I’m also a bit worried about how taking her to the Harrell Clinic will go.”

Robert waited for her to say something, say anything, but Abby remained seated and silent. Then it suddenly dawned on him what was going on and he cringed with embarrassment. “Abby, for this to work we’re going to have to work as a team. So I’m going to give you some direct orders.

“First, when we talk in private, engage with me as though we’re two pre-plot friends having a normal conversation.

“Second, once you get to know the routine around here, you will take the initiative and handle any routine task you know needs doing without waiting for me to order you to do it.

“Third, I’m ordering you to freely offer suggestions and advice when you believe I might benefit from them.

“And finally, when you see something you can do to help me, just do it and fill me in later. Do you understand what I’m ordering you to do?”

Abby rose from her chair, stepped forward until she was standing in front of him, curtsied deeply, and replied, “Yes Sir, I understand and I obey.”

“Good, this just may work out. Now let me introduce you to Carrie.”

After the one sided introduction to Carolyn, Robert returned to his office and tried to distract himself by shuffling through piles of mail as he tried to push aside the unsettling questions surrounding the wisdom of bringing another woman into his apartment.

Meanwhile, Abby carefully examined everything she could find related to Carolyn by pouring over her monitoring and educational readings, her discipline and educational software, her restraints, and her clothing. She even found her way into Carolyn’s still packed boxes of contraband, filled with all sorts of delicious things, now forbidden to females, and took note of the books Carolyn most likely relished, the video programs she enjoyed, and the music she favored. Having spent some time doing this, she finally felt reasonably satisfied that she understood enough about her new charge to fulfill her orders. It was now time to have a real conversation with her new owner.

Chapter 7 “Training Day”

Spare II: Innocentia

This story is a sequel to Spare I: Lucas.

Innocentia felt the low buzzing in her anus and gradually left the dream she was having in which she was running around in the fields near her grandmother’s house as a child once again. As she adjusted herself back to reality, the contrast between her life then and now became apparent. Then she had been outdoors and free to go where she liked; now she is in a grand house and her hands strapped together behind her back. Then she had been a child, as innocent as her name suggests; now she is an adult and fully aware of the secrets of adulthood. Then she had been single and unencumbered. Now she is a married woman, tied both to a husband but also to a master and mistress. And then she had been equal to her favourite sister Olivia. Now, the latter is a fully legal woman whereas she is a spare.

She glances across at that beloved sister and mistress, her unencumbered arms entwined in those of her husband. She does not like Marcus Mizore but she realises that it could have been worse. She, like Olivia (for the two still confine in one another despite the gulf between them in status) sees him as an oaf and a bully with a mild touch of sadism in his character. Not an unusual trait in Pabarazian men it is true, and certainly not in those of the Mizore clan, but unpleasant, nonetheless. Conversely though, he is also, to put it most bluntly, rather thick. And thick men, although dull conversationalists, can be manipulated far more easily than wily ones. Something that Olivia takes every advantage of.

She then turns over and gazes at her own husband. Like Innocentia, he is naked save for his armbinder and chastity belt. Like her, he too is stirring, woken by the vibrating alarm in his bottom hole. She is glad that they married her to him; compared to his brother he is kind and intelligent. Momentarily, she silently lambastes the system that promotes the idiot and pushes down the clever man, but then brushes such a revolutionary thought away and leans forward to kiss Lucas on the lips.

They linger in their embrace for a few seconds before withdrawing and silently whispering “I love you!” to each other. Then they hear the noise from beyond the door and so get into their positions, Innocentia manoeuvring herself over her brother-in-law’s flaccid cock, whilst Lucas positions himself over Olivia’s pussy. Despite the fact that it means they get an extra two-hours in bed, Innocentia finds bed-warming duties some of the most irksome that she has to perform as a spare within the Mizore-Bukur clan mansion, but her job is to accept, not question.

The buzzing in her rectum intensifies and so she starts to suck and lick, Marcus’s rod slowly stiffening in response to the stimulation and his entry into the waking world. Out of the corner of her ear she hears Olivia beginning to moan and knows that her husband is also fulfilling his duty. She feels slightly jealous that it is her pussy that is getting his attentions and not her own, but then again ejects such rebellious thoughts from her mind using the technique that was drummed into her in spare school.

Marcus wakens and she quickens her pace. He grabs her hair and forces her on him further, the scent of his crotch filling her nostrils. She does her duty as she was trained to and then, just as he becomes fully hard, he pushes her away, rolls over and mounts his wife. In the harshness of his movements both Innocentia and Lucas tumble off the bed. She is now surrounded by all the other spares, clad in their gorgeous blue and pink costumes, each one kneeling in silent prayer and adoration towards their master and mistress. She and Lucas adopt a similar position despite their nakedness, except that, unlike the clasped hands of the others, hers and her husband’s remain restrained behind them.

It does not take long before Marcus spurts his load into her elder sister and Innocentia, along with all the other spares, prays silently for a conception. As she does, she notices the weight in her breasts and the drops of milk forming on the pierced teats.

Marcus sits up, clicks his fingers, and indicates for her and other of the spares to come over to him. Her younger sister Adelina engulfs his softening cock in his mouth, licking it clean, whilst she offers up her breasts. He grabs the left one and sucks some of the life-giving milk from it before, when sated, climbing out of the bed, and walking to the bathroom.

Olivia, whose sex is being licked clean by Lucas, soon follows and the rest of the spares file out silently whilst she and her husband are led by their maids to their own toilet and dressing.

---

An hour later we find Innocentia sitting in a quiet room with pictures of teddy bears and rainbows adorning the walls. Due to her missing the dressing session this morning because of her being assigned to bedwarmer duties, she has been allowed to don a more relaxed outfit for the morning and perform the role of nursemaid.

By “more relaxed” though, I mean by spare standards. Her corset is still laced tightly, and she still wears a crinoline several metres across which supports a fine sky-blue gown. But this gown is far plainer than the usual and the sleeves allow more brachial use whilst the stays, unusually, are underbust giving easy access to her large, enhanced breasts. Attached to one of these is Carlos, the first spare of the next generation, who is suckling her teat contentedly whilst, on the floor in front of her, Carlos’s elder brother and sister – named in traditional fashion, after their mother and father – play with Lego. They wear the normal clothes of any child, but Innocentia knows that it will be different for Carlos who, from the moment he is weaned, will be dressed in miniature versions of adult spare outfits, cementing in his mind his place in the hierarchy from an early age.

This troubles Innocentia somewhat, as it is yet another sign of the strictness of the Mizore clan as opposed to the Bukurs. When she was a child, she dressed like Olivia and played with her. It was only after puberty that she was marked as different and initiated into her future role as a spare. Talking to her husband and the other Mizore spares however, she learnt that things were very different in the Mizore mansion. From their earliest days they were dressed differently, educated differently and kept apart from their elders. That is why her husband has such little natural affection for his brother, instead the only emotion seeming to be a distant awe and fear. It has also resulted in her finding the Mizore spare females to be dim-witted and dull – how else could they be if denied a proper education and childhood? Conversely though, unlike her, they seem more comfortable in their roles and do not keep on having the rebellious thoughts that she has to continually sideline.

Or at least, they do not admit to having them.

Nursemaid duties are important for the spare females and, since they are denied the opportunity to become mothers in their own right, most love the time spent in the nursery with a baby suckling on their breast and children playing joyfully at their feet. Not that it is all good mind. Prior to the birth of baby Olivia, Innocentia, like all the female spares, was put on a course of hormone tablets so that her already large and unwieldy breasts – one of the marriage conditions from Marcus was that all Bukur female spares have their breasts enlarged to match their Mizore counterparts – started to ache, grow further and then leak milk. But these drugs also caused mood changes and made her broody for the child she could never have. This meant that all aunts could become nursemaids to their new niece or nephew but, of course, even the hungriest baby cannot drink the milk of a dozen adult spares and so a new ritual was added to her life: daily expressions where milk was drained from her udders, bottled, and then given to the children of the poor of Begati as an act of charity. Once a week, she and the other spares must go in their finery to the town hall and dispense their milk to the filthy and impoverished mothers of the slums. The trip out is nice but the act she finds somehow humiliating as, within earshot, the poor and unwashed refer to her and her sisters spares as “milking cows” and “udder girls”.

Still, having little Carlos suckling from her makes it worth it, although she is less keen on her brother-in-law’s propensity to suckle on the teats of his spare sisters-in-law (and sisters!), something that her father would never have countenanced in the Bukur house, God rest his soul.

She looks down at the little face so contently suckling her and smiles, thinking of the life he has to come, but then her musings are broken by the sound of a bell and the presence of her maids. It is time for her own lunch now, and to get changed ready for her sister’s afternoon high society gathering in the garden.

---

Doing business in Pabarazian high society bears many similarities to doing business elsewhere, but there are also some crucial differences. First and foremost, unlike in many parts of the world, men and women – or at least, the eldest born – have achieved a degree of parity that most feminists can only dream of. Female business leaders are taken seriously and, in Begati, none more so than Olivia Bukur who, most of those in the know acknowledge, both entered her marriage with greater finances than her husband and who, also, has the superior brain of the two.

Another difference is that the real business is often done in relaxed, informal settings. Meetings in the office are all well and good when dealing with underlings, but the real deals are closed behind high walls and guarded doors in the homes of the elite. After all, what better way to show off their wealth than entertaining guests with their opulently-attired spares in attendance?

So it is that we find Innocentia in the rambling gardens of the Mizore-Bukur mansion along with her mistress, several other important Pabarazian business leaders and, of course, all the other Mizore-Bukur spares.

Since we last saw her, Innocentia has changed her outfit. Gone is the plain gown befitting a nursery and in its place her stays have been tightened a centimetre or three and a vast confection of blue satin and silk adorned with flowers, lace and embroidery has been fitted over the huge crinoline that she wears. She now stands silent and motionless behind her mistress, flanked by alternate female spares in pink and blue gowns. Olivia, on the other hand, is wearing naught more than a classic black one-piece swimsuit which shows off her toned and tanned figure.

Sitting across the table from her is Isabella Permeti, owner of the Lezhe Group of tech companies, Manuel Kukes, the head of Pabarazia’s main telecommunications giant and one Vladimir Serebryakov, a Russian investor of dubious ethics but great wealth. They are discussing the possibility of closing a deal around entering the Russian mobile market. But before they start, there is small talk.

“Is your husband not joining us today, Olivia?” asks Kukes.

“Oh no, his sister, you know the one who works out in the colonies, has returned for a visit.”

“The not-quite-spare?” enquires Isabella.

“That’s the one. Short hair and a grimace that could sink a battleship.”

“Yes, I heard they are petrified of her in Dep Lam!”

The party laugh. Persephone Mizore is well-known in high Pabarazian society for her masculine ways and preference for female lovers, particularly lithe Deplamian girls. A spare male, dressed in a pink, rose-covered version of a Tudor costume pours them all drinks before retiring.

“What about her husband?” asks the Russian.

“He is with them too. She has gone shooting; it is something they have in common, being a most masculine pursuit.”

More laughter.

“Do not fear though, I am more than qualified to close this deal; I have Marcus’s full confidence. Shall we begin.”

And so, they do, talking shop whilst shielded from the sun’s harsh glare by a large parasol. The fully-covered spares, however, have no such relief and, despite their bonnets which do at least shield their faces, they are sweating profusely. Even so, they do not move and instead fulfil their roles dutifully. Innocentia, however, does commit one small rebellion, letting her eyes dart first to the left, then right, then to the floor.

To her left is her sister-in-law Anna who seems to be coping alright. Teresa on her right, on the other hand, looks like she is struggling and Innocentia wonders if she will make it. Even so, the majority of her pity is reserved for the four canines kneeling patiently at the feet of the dealmakers.

The deal is done, and they shake on it. The spare brings more drinks and then Olivia declares that it is hot and suggests they all have a dip in the pool. The others, who are also in swimwear, declare the idea to be a capital one and rise. As they do, Teresa finally succumbs to the heat and passes out. She does not fall though due to the unusual nature of her dress.

Unknown to the visitors, the standing spares are not really standing at all. Instead, their legs are strapped heel to bottom, and they are fitted into a frame which means they can be wheeled about freely. Although Innocentia notices Teresa’s plight, the visitors do not, for there is hardly any change. The frame and the rod inserted under the corset keep her upright whilst the neck corset – hidden from view by elaborate jewellery ensures that even her neck does not sag.

Even poor Teresa does not attract Innocentia’s attention though, so much as the four dogs which now paddle dutifully behind the businesspeople to the pool, beside which they will wait patiently in the full glare.

For those dogs – two pink and two blue – are the star attraction at Olivia’s gatherings. Inside those heavy, furry suits are men, sweating profusely, struggling to maintain consciousness. And Olivia’s thoughts go particularly to the one following the Russian.

For that is her poor husband, Lucas.

She hears the splashes as the elders jump into the pool and a momentary pang of anger and jealousy wells up in her despite her best efforts to suppress it. Oh, how she would like to wear only a swimsuit and paddle freely in the cool water instead of being condemned to spend her entire life as some sort of weird ornamental doll purely because of the order in which she was born!

Her thoughts begin to run away on her but then she is distracted from them by the sight of her brother-in-law Matteus mincing up to the poolside in his high heels and elaborate breeches and handing his mistress a notice. Straightaway, Innocentia senses that something is wrong because her elder sister drops the paper into the water and utters the most blood-curdling cry of anguish.

It is some seconds before order is restored. Innocentia cannot hear exactly what is said, but the others seem to be comforting her elder sister. Then they all climb out of the pool and exit hurriedly, tears streaming-down Olivia’s face. As she passes her, Olivia glances momentarily at her favourite spare sister and Innocentia realises that whatever has happened, it is serious.

Some two or three minutes later the servants come out and wheel the female spares back into the house whilst one of the maids attaches leads to the dogs and leads them back too into the welcome cool of the indoors.

---

It is some two hours later that we see our spares again. Once more, they have undergone an outfit change, but this is one that none were expecting. One of the things that Innocentia most dislikes about the customs of the Mizores is the insistence in the marriage contract by Marcus of colour-coding their spares. In her youth, the spares in her parents’ mansion were dressed in all manner of colours and fashions. Always elaborate, of course, always displaying the Bukur wealth to its maximum, naturally, but inventive and distinct. Not so the Mizores. In line with their traditions, Marcus had insisted that all spares match one another save for specific exceptions (like the doggy suits) and that all Mizore spares must wear only pink and all Bukur only blue as those are the family colours. How often had she dreamt of donning a different shade, perhaps pastel yellow or violet, or maybe even silver or gold? Well, her wish had been fulfilled now, although not in the manner or shade that she either expected or desired.

Innocentia is now clad in a gown of black. Its silhouette – with the billowing inflated sleeves and skirts – is much like that of all her other dresses, but unlike them this is plain with no flowers, embroidery or even a lace collar. The tight leather gloves that cover her hands are equally ebony whilst a large tunnel bonnet which allows her only limited sight – and even that is obscured by a chiffon veil at the opening – adorns her head.

And although she cannot see him, Innocentia knows that her husband who stands beside her is also clad in black.

The colour of death.

But whose?

Her sister appears before them all dressed in a tiny black number that would be suitable for a 1920s cocktail party. She dabs at her eyes and then addresses the spares in her care.

“Dearest brothers and sisters, I have received the most awful news imaginable. Your beloved master has been killed this afternoon. He was on a hunting trip with his almost-spare sister and my almost-spare brother, and they were hit by accidental bullets from another hunter. All lost a lot of blood and we hoped they could be saved, but it was not so. As such, I am declaring a period of mourning in the Mizore-Bukur household and so you shall be wearing only black for the next six months. I will allow you all to retire to your rooms with your spouses now to lament on the loss for the rest of the day. God be with you all, my beloved family.”

The wails and laments that arose from the usually-silent spares was overwhelming, but one of them did not cry. Innocentia had detested her brother-in-law even before he had forced himself on her whilst Olivia was pregnant with Carlos, and the subsequent rapes and sexual usage had done nothing to change her mind. He was an oaf, a bully and an idiot. Of course, no one deserves to die like that, but she will not miss him, nor too his lesbian sister who had also forced herself onto the female spares. True, her military eldest brother she would mourn, but even he was rather dull. No, with these deaths the suppressed rebel in her sensed something. An opportunity for a better life perhaps?

She returned to their marital chamber with Lucas and the two held one another tight. Innocentia noticed that he too did not cry and so she decided to take the initiative. Slowly she started to remove her clothing and then undo that of her husband.

“Darling, what on earth are you doing! It is not Friday! The rules say…”

“Shh, my beloved. The one who made the rules is gone and no one has forbidden this…”

“But it is disrespectful, it is wrong…”

She did not desist though and, when she released him from his breeches, his rod was strong and eager. She stroked it with her hand, and he groaned before leaning in and passionately embracing her. Like the sinful rebel she was, she mounted him and started a rhythmic ride towards paradise.

Some time later they lay naked in one another’s arms, the deaths forgotten and the pleasure foremost. Then a knock came on the door and her senior maid entered. “Madame, please come with me.”

“But I am undressed, I…”

“It does not matter. Come now, the mistress’s orders.”

Dutifully, she followed, walking naked down the silent empty corridors of their home.

Olivia was waiting for her in the master bedroom. When she saw her elder sister, Innocentia opened up her arms and embraced her. The two hugged silently for some time before they broke off. Olivia wiped the tears from her eyes and then stroked her little sister’s face. “From the scent on you, it seems you’ve been breaking the Friday-only rule,” she whispered.

Innocentia cast her eyes down to the floor. “I’m sorry, it’s just that, well… I know it’s wrong… we know it’s wrong, but it has been so long, and we were…”

“Shhh!” said Olivia, putting her finger to her favourite sister’s lips. “I imagine that most of the spares in the family are busy getting it on right now and good on ’em! The old rules no longer apply, things are going to change… for the better.”

Innocentia looked up and stared at her sister in the eyes. The two siblings examined each other’s souls and then the spare said, “An accident?”

Olivia shrugged. “They’ll never prove otherwise.”

“But what about Alexandro and Persephone? Why them too?”

“I’ve always hated the dyke bitch and he would have blabbed so that he could take over instead. It is regrettable.”

“But you were always the real boss anyway! You ran the business; Marcus was just an accessory.”

“True, but I found him intolerable. His ridiculing me by using my sisters to suck him off or lick him clean even though I asked him not to. His stupid rules and his petty acts of sadism like the dog costumes and the time when he dressed you all up as cagebirds.”

“But we are spares! Our duty is…”

“Shhh! You are more to me than any spare. You are my baby sister, my soulmate. Besides, it was not just that. Last month he took up again with that servant bitch he was shagging before marriage, the fucking whore!”

“But all men have whores. You had the Thing before you wed. Remember the fun we had with it back in the old days before you were forced to get rid of it!”

“Get rid?! You think I actually did that? Oh no, I still have it. It’s in a flat in the city. I use it several times a week and despite having no arms or legs, it’s a far better shag than Marcus ever was. It’s not got the superiority complex of an eldest.”

“So why then? You can’t blame Marcus if you yourself…”

“No, it was Carlos. He was my first spare and, seeing his innocent little face and hearing Marcus’s cruel plans for him – our own son! – I knew that I could not give birth to another. Children, yes, but not spares. But Marcus was pressuring, and society demands. However, as a widow I shall respect my late husband’s memory and never marry – or give birth – again. And whilst Carlos shall be a spare, he shall be a happier one than if his father were alive. As will you, and Lucas and all the others. A spare you must always be, not even I can change that, but a better life will be yours.”

And with those words the two sisters clasped each other tight and snuggled up together on the bed as equals, just as they had when they were children.

Written 07-08/02/2024

Copyright © 2024, Dave Potter

Obeisance: Chapter 5

Obeisance

by J T and Nye

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

A Meeting with Mrs. Harrell

When Robert woke he was shocked to find it was nearly noon. Feeling derelict in his duty to Carolyn, he threw on a robe and rushed to the utility room. A quick check of her monitoring equipment showed all positive numbers except for the indicators covering her educational routines. After accepting the recommended changes, Robert watered Carolyn but decided to wait until later to feed her. Perhaps if she felt a bit peckish, he wouldn’t be forced to again employ Bridget’s correction technique to encourage her to drink the green stuff.

Back in his office, Robert thumbed through his card file and found the business card Carolyn’s former beau gave him at the gallery gala. After recalling the sorts of modifications Steven delighted in describing having had done to his most recent acquisition, such as adopting the current fad of fixing her feet to her towering heels with permanently implanted decorative fasteners, and installing embedded anchor points into her frame, the idea of tampering with Carolyn’s septum preyed on him. Although he had seen plenty of instances of radical body upgrades and modifications during his wayward travels and wanderings through the major urban centers of Western and Central Europe a half decade before, for some reason this time it felt very wrong to him. Still, his oath to Carolyn was sacred and he would see it through.

Robert held the vellum card printed in embossed black lettering by its edges and studied it.  The card simply read Dr. Stan Harrell and listed a telephone number. There was nothing on the simple, elegant card to suggest the nature of services Doctor Harrell provided. However, the card’s luxurious simplicity implied an acceptable level of discretion and exclusivity.

And yet, he worried. What if Carrie ended up hating her septum ring? What if she ended up hating him for failing to check her imprudent impulses, for permitting her rash and unwise desires to cause her harm? Wasn’t he, in his role as her legal guardian and fiance, obligated to be the grown-up that protects her from harm, even from her own reckless inclinations and cravings?

Still, he reminded himself, he made her a promise, and he would never break a promise to her if he could help it. Besides, he reasoned, while the grommet may prove to be an enduring fixture that might eventually serve as a potent reminder of her youthful and unwise impulses, the ring itself could always be removed with no lasting harm, and Carolyn’s appearance would revert to what it was before the procedure.

Robert took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and called the number. A preliminary consultation was made for two-fifteen that afternoon. A quick call to Malcolm confirmed a car would be ready.

Malcolm was familiar with the address. “The Harrell Clinic sits in the middle of a fashionable medical complex in the best part of our lovely town of Bent Forks,” he explained as they wound their way through a canopy of quiet tree-lined boulevards and elegantly appointed side streets. “We’re talking pretty expensive dirt here, though since the plot even this neighborhood has taken a slight hit here and there if you know where to look,” he added. “Best of all for you though, the clinic’s not far from where you live.”

The medical building had a boutique quality to it. The building’s bronze and teak Art Deco entryway, separated from the road by lush landscaping, complimented the whole of the building’s exterior. Once inside, Robert found the Art Deco theme carried forward into the reception area. The visitor’s seating lounge consisted of a matching pair of comfortable overstuffed leather couches arranged on either side of an elegant white marble and sculpted bronze coffee table. Centered against the opposite wall from the guest seating was a matching reception desk staffed by a young woman wearing a fashionable but properly restrictive dress and sporting a very distinctive and strikingly prominent septum ring that just rested against the top of her upper lip and was encrusted with small shiny nubs that seemed to nearly, but not quite, overwhelm the natural beauty of her blunt black bangs, pale, almost translucent skin, prominent cheekbones, and striking, pale blue eyes.

When he gave the girl his name she nodded and tapped something into a tablet. Robert barely had time to thank the girl when a willowy, elegant woman in her late thirties, dressed in a tight, conservative skirt suit reminiscent of any number of form fitting outfits featured in 1950s Vogue magazine photo spreads by Irving Penn, or perhaps Cecil Beaton, approached and, to his great surprise, greeted him with a soft welcoming voice.

“Mister Robert Morris? Hello, I’m Doctor Lindsey Harrell,” she announced as she offered her hand. “Welcome to the Harrell Clinic. Will you please follow me?”

Surprised by her ability to speak without restriction and, other than her tightly corseted hourglass waist, her apparent lack of restraints, he briefly shook her hand then followed her down a short hallway to her office.

Her office decor was sparse but expensive; evocative of the once popular mid-twentieth century Scandinavian style. A large minimalist table, fashioned from a thick slab of polished black slate resting on a pair of simple unadorned ash pedestals, dominated the room. Opposite her table were two overstuffed leather easy chairs arranged on either side of a round slate topped coffee table. Three of the walls were furnished in light ash paneling and decorated with a trio of early twentieth century modernist paintings by an artist he thought he recognized but couldn’t quite place. The fourth wall however, was an impressive picture window wall and door system made of clear, interlocking glass panels which looked out onto a lush, private walled garden.

“Please have a seat. Would you like some tea, coffee, water? Or perhaps something a little stronger? We offer a well stocked bar for our special clients.”

After Robert politely declined any refreshment she placed a thin binder on the coffee table and settled into the chair opposite him. “Well, good afternoon Mister Morris. Thank you for your interest in the Harrell Clinic. This binder contains a wealth of useful information about the elite products and personal services we are pleased to provide our highly valued clients. I do encourage you to carefully read through the information provided in this binder before committing yourself to any of our products or services.”

As he thanked her, Robert studied the tall, slender woman. Her fine, auburn hair, styled into an immaculately shaped chin-length bouffant flip, framed her heart shaped face and emerald green eyes. The overall effect struck him as both lovely and graceful in a way that seemed to capture the western ideal of feminine beauty of a much earlier era.

“Is everything okay Mister Morris? I can’t help but notice that you seem to be staring at me.”

“You’re a female,” he said; not in an accusatory or hostile manner, but rather as one simply stating an improbable, unexpected, yet objective fact.

“Yes, I am. I have been all my life,” she replied. “Thank you for noticing.”

Robert chuckled. “What I mean is, how’s this possible? Don’t the female control laws…?” he managed to ask before faltering.

“And now that it’s illegal for a woman to publicly speak and function without severe restrictions, how can I freely sit here and speak to you? How is it possible for me to practice as a board certified surgeon?”

“Well, the questions are reasonable.”

She smiled and nodded. “I get asked this a lot. And I agree, under the current state of affairs your questions are quite reasonable. And the simple answer is, the reasons I’m allowed to continue practicing medicine are numerous, rather complicated, and quite personal. But the main thing that should concern you is that I operate quite legally, and I’m very good at what I do. In fact, at the risk of sounding immodest, I’m among the best in my field. However, if you would prefer a male surgeon to address your needs, I can provide you the names of a couple of excellent male physicians.”

“No, your gender doesn’t bother me. I’m just surprised you weren’t demoted to medical orderly like a good friend of mine who was a family physician before the plot.”

The doctor grimaced then nodded. “Yes. Sadly we all lost friends and a great deal of extraordinary talent during the purges.”

Unsure how to respond, Robert simply nodded.

“But as terrible as those early days were, there’s nothing any of us can do about it now.”

She paused, clasped her hands together, and placed them in her lap. “Well then, perhaps the best thing to do is to work with what we now have. So in that spirit, I feel I must ask, am I still in the running to serve as your physician?”

“Yes, of course.”

A stillness fell with a silence that seemed to stretch into minutes. Finally, the doctor broke the impasse.  “Mister Morris, there seems to be something else on your mind. Whatever it is, please go ahead and say it. Whatever it is I promise I won’t be offended. In fact, I’m fairly certain I’ve heard it before.”

“Oh, sorry. I couldn’t help but notice your unusual style. Don’t get me wrong, it’s extremely attractive and you’re very pretty wearing it. But to be honest, it is a bit old fashioned, maybe from around the middle of the twentieth century, if I remember my old movies correctly.”

The doctor smiled and her cheeks reddened slightly. “You are quite correct, and thank you Sir. I’m glad you like it. And kudos to you for recognizing the era. History’s a subject that’s being relentlessly suppressed and supplanted with an abundance of propaganda and indoctrination.

“Occasionally I’ll get some teasing about my taste being a little odd and perhaps a bit kitschy, but to be honest it’s the only style my husband allows me to wear. I guess you could say he has a thing for antiquated styles and fashions, as perhaps you can tell from the decor of the clinic as well,” she replied as her fingertips lightly brushed her hair and patted up the ends of her flip.

“Well, I think it’s very continental and quite elegant.”

She simply smiled, nodded, and waited for him to continue.

“But anyway, I’m here to see about getting my fiancee fitted with a septum ring. Which reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask about the unusual septum ring your receptionist is wearing.”

The doctor smiled and nodded, “Yes, that pendant is quite an attention getter, isn’t it? Melissa’s demonstrating a new training model called the Corona. It’s proven to be a popular choice, in part because the ring has a couple of interesting features. Would you like to see how it works and how effective it is? I think it might be a fun and informative way to introduce you to some of the offerings we provide here at the Harrell Clinic.”

She drew a tablet from the side pocket of her chair and tapped on it. “Melissa will be joining us in a couple of minutes. She just needs to get someone to cover the desk.”

“Will I be meeting Doctor Stan Harrell today as well?” he asked.

“Well, no. Stan’s my husband. As I mentioned, he’s the one who ordered me to dress in this retro Dior outfit, if that means anything to you,” she added. While it’s true that he’s a doctor and owns this practice, he’s not a medical doctor. He holds a doctorate in economics,” she replied as though that answered everything that needed to be said.

Robert was about to ask a follow up question when there was a soft knock on the door and the receptionist entered. With a subtle hand signal from the doctor the girl stepped in front of Robert, knelt, and raised her face so he could get a better look at the unusual device. “Please feel free to touch her ring. Don’t worry, the little nubs won’t hurt you, they’re only there for her benefit. You see, the Corona and the other models in our Training Ring collection are designed to encourage reluctant wearers to fully accept and respect the authority of their rings, while effectively discouraging the wearers from making any attempt to manipulate or remove the rings themselves.”

Much to Melissa’s apparent alarm, Robert hooked the ring with his index finger and gave it a little tug. The girl did her best to suppress a gasp as she struggled to follow the motion of his hand. “It’s interesting, the nubby texture feels more granular than sharp.”

“Would you like to see how a leash works in conjunction with the Corona ring?”

“Certainly, if it’s no trouble.”

“I sincerely doubt that any request from a prominent individual such as yourself would ever be a problem Mister Morris,” she replied as she touched a wooden panel door in the wall next to her chair and a drawer quietly slid open. Reaching in, she pulled out a leash with a snap connector on one end and what appeared to be a thin plastic strip just in front of the looped end.

“Here you go. Just snap this end to her ring and the controls will light up on the grip end of the leash. The controls are simple. As you can see, there are five touch sensitive buttons labeled Off, On, Reward, Correct, and Punish. Just below the buttons is a small but effective sliding intensity control. Simply touching the ‘On’ button will activate the default setting which is usually enough to ensure full compliance and absolute obedience without being overpowering. The default intensity setting is, as usual with all government compliant devices, five on a scale of one to ten. Here, walk her around the office.”

Robert stood up and pulled on the leash. With a faint gasp the girl leapt up off the floor. “Seems quite effective,” he observed.

“It is. But, if I may, here’s a hint that may be useful. A brisk, quick tug rather than a continuous hard pull is usually much more effective. Quick tugs are active commands that usually ensures responsive obedience. A continuous pull sends a steady stream of correction signals and it’s generally interpreted as either punishment or a sloppy command that can quickly overwhelm your charge.”

Robert tried the tugging technique and immediately saw the advantage and wisdom of her advice. “I’m curious though, how can a septum ring provide a reward? Does it tickle her nose when I touch the reward button?”

The doctor laughed. “No, not at all. But before I go into how she’s rewarded, and in the spirit of this being a short, and hopefully entertaining tutorial, I believe it’s useful to first explain that Melissa’s purity and virtue is is protected in a manner that is commonly referred to as ‘double chaste’. Beneath her chastity belt both sides of her labia and clit hood are lined with reinforced interconnected rings and implanted sensors which are then sealed shut with a flexible locking shield.

This inner chastity apparatus is identical to the chastity devices most middle-class and lower-class females who’ve been ordered into chastity are now wearing. It’s not as secure as a proper belt of course, but the state’s official position is that in the majority of cases the ring and shield system works well enough, it’s reasonably tamper resistant, and it does serve the useful purpose of providing protection services at a much lower cost than a proper belt.”

She paused for a moment, frowned, then continued, “As you may have guessed, I’m not a fan of that cheap sort of chastity appliance. In my experience, in the face of an aggressive action, the system is too insecure and provides too many opportunities for a determined, unruly transgressor to self-indulge in moral corruption and bodily perversion. On occasion, we at the Harrell Clinic are called upon to treat and repair a few of the more tragic cases that have come to the authorities attention, and I can attest that it’s a terrible thing to witness and to try and service the unfortunate results of such dreadful calamities.

“But back to Melissa. Because the Harrell Clinic dress code clearly specifies that every female working in the clinic must present herself as a model of rectitude and wear a proper chastity belt, and because the ring and shield chastity device was designed to never be removed without mutilating the wearer, Melissa’s now double chaste. Also, the septum ring she’s wearing is synchronized with both her proper chastity belt and her old system. Go ahead, press the reward button and watch what happens.”

The effect was immediate. Melissa gasped with delight as her legs quivered and nearly buckled while her arms flailed about in a futile attempt to grab hold of something solid.

“Now try the correction button,” she suggested.

As he switched to the correction button, the girl promptly hopped, drew a sharp breath, then quickly straightened to attention.

“Would you care to try the punish button?” she asked.

Robert shook his head. “I think I’ve seen enough punishment to last quite a while. Do all your septum rings connect with chastity belts? I guess what I’m trying to ask is, will Carrie’s ring will synchronize with her belt?”

“Of course. Every item we offer here at the Harrell Clinic is designed to synchronize with every other control device a girl might wear; rings, chastity belts, control collars, you name it. As I mentioned earlier, we only offer the finest products available, and would never consider anything else.”

“Oh, right. I guess that makes sense. So how do I get Melissa to move?”

“Simply tug her leash.”

Robert tugged, and Melissa immediately turned to face him. “One last question though. Why do the little silver nubs on her septum ring effect her but not me?”

“Are you familiar with micro implants?”

“I guess. Sort of. Carrie mentioned that while she was receiving one of her belt upgrades, she overheard the technicians talking about inserting implants into her outer labia. Though she’s never been allowed to see the results, or find out anything more about them, she thinks they put them in her to discourage her, or anyone, or anything else from reaching under the belt.”

“Carolyn’s quite correct. And the nubs work on the same principle. Just think of each of the little nubs on Melissa’s septum ring as tiny versions of Carolyn’s implants and you’ll sort of have a simplified, though not completely accurate, version of the right idea.”

“I’ve noticed she hasn’t said a word. Are you sure she doesn’t mind serving as a demo model?”

“Oh, Melissa doesn’t mind at all. She’s just quiet because I’ve silenced her through her curb implants. And as to how she feels about serving as a demo model, to be honest it’s never occurred to me to ask. The female congregation laws are very firm about females chit-chatting with each other after all. However, I imagine that compared to the daily tedium of her receptionist duties, she probably enjoys the change.

“But, let’s be frank. It really shouldn’t matter if she minds or not, should it? You see, she’s one of the street urchin, level one girls the clinic picked up at a BFA surplus sale a few months ago. So compared to what her life was like on the streets, or in the reformatory, or what she’d most likely be doing now if we hadn’t purchased the wretched creature, her life here at the clinic is really quite agreeable.”

“The BFA. That’s the Bureau of Female Affairs.”

“Yes, that’s right. At the clinic we call her Melissa because the overwhelming majority of our clients lean heavily towards the conservative side of the spectrum and are more comfortable using a name instead of a number. But actually, she’s simply number E77974. Are you done with her now?”

Robert nodded. “Yes, I think so,” he replied as he unsnapped the leash and handed it to the doctor. Now I guess it’s time to talk about Carrie.”

“Yes. Of course. By all means. Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to drink?” she asked as she dismissed the girl and saw her out of the office.

“No. I’m fine thank you.”

“Then please have a seat and tell me, what do you want for Carolyn? Do you want her to wear a septum ring for the purpose of publicly marking her as belonging to you? Or are you having this done because you anticipate a further tightening of the public morality and female congregation laws and are seeking another level of control? Both reasons are perfectly valid of course, and one reason does not exclude the other.”

Robert sighed as he felt a twinge of distress over the idea of exerting more control over Carolyn. “Well then, both reasons I guess. “Also neither, or maybe something else. I may be a heretic for saying so, but if I had my way Carrie would never live another day in bondage for as long as she lives.”

Robert glanced at the doctor, noted her stunned expression, then quickly added, “But I’m acutely aware that such an option for a level one girl no longer exists. And I know it’s my legal obligation to see that she is properly restrained and fully compliant in accordance with every female control law and regulation. So, the reality being what it is, here I am.”

The doctor remained silent as he gathered his thoughts. “Oh yeah, the septum ring. Believe it or not, it’s actually Carrie who wants this done. I’m the one who’s really uncomfortable about the whole idea of doing it. But she made me promise I’d see it done because a septum ring will play a very important part in our wedding ceremony.”

The doctor frowned. “My hunch tells me that there’s a bit more to this story.”

Robert sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I guess there is. Not that it makes much sense to me. You see, the idea came to her long before we reconnected after the plot. And to be honest I kinda think I’m sort of fulfilling a role in a scenario that’s been playing out in her head for a long, long time.”

Robert looked up at the doctor and was greeted with a look of severe skepticism.

“Yeah, I know that sounds kinda harsh. But… well, she’s been holding onto this idea for nearly ten years. That’s when she and lots and lots of other girls were sent to labor camps and tasked with inventing various restraint devices and techniques for the new government. To assist her with her tasks she was given a lot of research materials including books on Roman practices, the Spanish inquisition, Chinese practices, and even some old bondage books and magazines to study and copy. For some reason one of the books really resonated with her. The story involved a bride who was bound in a reverse prayer restraint for her wedding, and because her fingers were unavailable due to her bondage, her wedding ring was modified into a septum ring. For some reason she’s really taken that story to heart, and now she dreams of having a septum ring serve as her own wedding ring.”

“I see. Well that’s clear enough.”

Robert chuckled. “Well doctor, I’m glad you think so.”

The doctor smiled and nodded. “I actually do. By the way, please feel free to call me Lynn.”

Robert nodded and shrugged. “Sure, and call me Robert.”

“Thank you Robert, It will be an honor. But anyway, I believe Carolyn’s referring to a rather infamous story called Bound in Leather by a man who went by the name of John Willie.

“Oh, and if you’re like me and enjoy ribald trivia, here’s something. In some vulgar circles, willie is a slang term for penis. I guess the artist had a rather self-effacing sense of humor.”

She waited in vain for a reaction. “Nothing? Not even a smile? I thought that was rather good.”

Robert shrugged then attempted to console her with a smile. “Sorry.”

“Oh. Well, it was worth a shot. But anyway, I’ve had several other clients who’ve mentioned the story to me. However, I found it’s often the groom, or the bride’s parents, who are enchanted by the idea of having the bride wearing a permanent training septum ring such as Melissa’s Corona, or even a more substantial model called Starburst. This is especially true if it’s an arranged marriage involving a reluctant bride, and there’s a substantial bride price involved, as is often the case among many of the more wealthy, close-knit extended families.

“Can you think of anything else that may have influenced her desire for a septum ring?”

Robert massaged his forehead and tried to think of anything he might have forgotten. “Right now that’s all I can think of.”

“That’s fine, Robert. We’re about out of time anyway. But before you go, I must ask you, as a favor to Carolyn and yourself, please read through the information provided in the binder, especially the section covering the implant suite. I believe an implant suite may provide a good and humane alternative to many of the restraints you’ve indicated you dislike so much. Then, if you’re agreeable, when you return tomorrow maybe we can work up a plan for Carolyn and possibly even schedule her procedure.”

Chapter 6 “A Trip To The 3^rd Avenue Retreat and Polo Club”

Spare I: Lucas

Lucas

(with respects to Prince Harry!)

Lucas Mizore sighs as the junior maid pulls on the laces that are slowly strangling him and, for the millioneth time, laments the fact that he was born into an elite family in the Kingdom of Pabarazia.

Or at least, that he was a born a fourth son in an elite family in the Kingdom of Pabarazia.

Pabarazian culture and tradition may seem strange to our ears but there what I am about to describe is considered entirely normal and natural. In the great families, in order to avoid squabbles and feuds over inheritance and legacy, it is decreed that only the eldest son or daughter may inherit. When there is only one sex of offspring, then it is the eldest that receives all. If there are boys and girls, then the eldest receive half each.

In that way at least, they are aware of equality.

And don’t even ask about transgenderism or a third sex. Such things aren’t even considered polite to whisper about although, for reasons that will soon become clear, any biological male born into a wealthy Pabarazian family with feminine tendencies might not be too unhappy.

Unless they are the eldest son of course.

But I digress.

So, the eldest inherit and, ideally, wed another inheritor, keeping family concerns and estates together for generation after generation. But what of the younger siblings? Well, some families stop after one, of course. It keeps things simpler and cheaper when all is said and done. But many  mothers love to have a lot of babies and, besides, multiple children are seen as a status symbol in Pabarazian society so, for every eldest child, there are often several younger ones or, as they are informally known, spares.

People like Lucas.

For the second-born, there is hope. Elder brothers or sisters can always die when all is said and done, and there are worthwhile careers that pay well enough to create a new life away from family money. The army, the diplomatic service, the clergy and, of course, positions in the colonies are all dominated by second sons and daughters. The not-quite-spares.

Alas, Lucas, is not one of them.

No, he is a fourth-born, and like third-, fifth- and so on, he is a true spare. And their lot is quite different.

For the spares literally, under Pabarazian Law are property of their parents and then, after the death of the patriarch or matriarch, their eldest siblings. They cannot own property, have their own career or live a life of their own choosing. They exist to reflect the glory of the eldest, more like trophies or ornaments than people. Remember how I said that multiple-children was a symbol of wealth for high-born Pabarazians? Well, they are because it is the elder sibling’s duty to keep their younger brothers and sisters. The sight of a family party with numerous spares on display is the clearest indication of wealth and power imaginable in the eyes of an upstanding Pabarazian.

And so, not only must they be kept, but they must also be displayed in the most sumptuous and ostentatious manner possible.

Hence Lucas’s sighs and laments.

His parents are one of the two wealthiest families in the city of Begati and they like to display that wealth at any opportunity.

And so, the Mizore spares are the most lavishly displayed in the city.

Every morning Lucas is woken a full two hours before his brother, Marcus, who will inherit the Mizore fortune. He awakens in the large dormitory that he shares with his six spare siblings and is unfastened from the bed – there is an almost hysterical fear of spares touching themselves in Pabarazian society and so all have their hands safely chained out of reach of their genitals – by his two personal maids, and then led to the bathroom where he is toileted showered alongside his brothers. They are then all fed their breakfasts before the dressing begins.

To our eyes his costume is extreme, comical even, certainly eccentric. To Pabarazian eyes it is classy and one that lesser families wish they could clad their spares in.

It is all in white because Lucas, like all unmarried spares, is a virgin and will remain so unless Marcus allows him sexual release after marriage which is most unlikely as it could result in children. It starts with a shift that reaches his waist over which his rigid stays are laced. These squeeze his middle into an inverted cone only 50cm at the waist causing him to be short of breath at all times. Attached to the bottom of the stays are suspenders which keep up the satin stocking which reach up to his thighs. Caressing his waxed legs, they cause his long-unmilked tool to stiffen but the maid pays it no attention for she is a professional. Then he is bent over, and the junior maid lubricates his bottom hole before the senior maid pops in the small silver plug embossed with the Mizore coat of arms.

Next come his breaches. These are made of white satin and covered with fine embroidery, but their pretty appearance belies a utilitarian structure. He steps into them, and the junior maid pulls them up whilst the senior maid then takes his rod ring and carefully guides it through the sheath.

A note of explanation is perhaps required for us foreign observers.

Upon reaching maturity, every spare undergoes a piercing and ringing ceremony, after which a grand party is held to symbolise their entry into adult life. For the girls, this means rings through each ear, each nipple, and the clitoris. For boys it is the same except that the clit ring is substituted for one through the foreskin. It is this rod ring that the experienced maid now takes and guides through the sheath of satin built into the breaches, before clipping it to the integrated clasp at the end. This makes no difference to the rod, which is rock hard with her gloved touch, but which starts to go flaccid again once the stiff doublet jacket is fitted and laced up behind him by the junior maid.

Attentions then turn to his head. The senior maid curls his hair into the fashionable ringlets which bounce down to his ears whilst the junior maid applies his make-up – a layer of powder, false lashes and then some lipstick which she has to work around the lisp ring.

Again, an explanation is required.

In the Mizore and certain other families, as well as the standard piercings, there is also an additional ring through the end of the tongue and the lower lip, attaching the two together causing the spare to lisp and speak like a baby which is seen as extremely fashionable. When they are not gagged that is, which, in Lucas’s case, is rare.

After this, attention turns to his neck which is how we find him at the start of this tale. He is sighing because they have fitted the neck corset and are busy lacing the 10cm-deep instrument of torture into a rigid tube, strangling him and causing his breaths to become ragged.

When laced off, the enormous collar, protruding all around him by a metre is fitted so that all his lower field of vision is excluded.

Then comes the jaunty cap with a feather, pinned into his hair which has now set rigid due to the excessive amount of spray that the junior maid coated it with.

And then the kid gloves, tight and unyielding, covered by the slippery satin gloves so that his motor control is minimal.

And then the shoes, which their enormous white roses on the vamp and 10cm Louis heels.

After that, the maids bring out items which would seem most unexpected to us, the uninitiated, but do not raise an eyebrow in Pabarazia. These are pumps similar to that one may use for a bicycle tyre.

The senior maid busies herself with the sleeves, pumping first the left and then the right so that they balloon out above the elbow, severely limiting Lucas’s brachial movement.

The junior maid however, works on the breeches, pumping away until they begin to expand and expand, from being baggy and small to quite taut and wide.

And as they inflate, the built-in sheath lengthens and Lucas feels the familiar tug on his penis until, by the time she has finished, the rod ring is pulling it to full length even when flaccid.

The maids busy themselves fitting an enormous bow at the back, garters with white roses on around each leg just above the knee and then various rings on his fingers. Perfume is then liberally applied all over.

Finally, clad in white and drenched in wealth and scent, he is declared ready and, along with the other spare brothers, he troops out of the male spare dressing room. In the corridor, he meets his sisters dressed in their wide, white gowns with ballooning sleeves, again, all in virginal white. He lines up beside Katerina and together they walk to their elder brother Marcus’s bedchamber.

And with each step, the torture starts. The plug in his bottom wiggles and titillates whilst, as his legs move, his cock moves in the satin sheath, brushing against the cloth, teasing, and arousing but never enough for completion.

His brother is lying in his huge bed with Julia, the concubine given to him by their father when he came of age. She is beautiful with her naked curves, smooth skin, and long ebony hair and, as with every morning, Lucas grows hard with unquenchable desire, cursing his luck not to have been born the eldest and to be able to enjoy such pleasures.

The spares encircle the bed and then kneel in attendance. After a minute or so, the alarm rings and their brother and master sleepily awakens. Often he just kisses and caresses Julia before heading off to the bathroom, but today is more passionate and, as the spares gaze at the deep pile bedroom carpet, they must listen to the couple making love.

The desire he feels is overwhelming and Lucas curses his brother. As Marcus ejaculates into the servant though, Lucas almost feels a surge of pity. This will be the lovers’ final tryst, for today Marcus is getting engaged and Julia will be sent away. Lucas knows that the two have a genuine affection for one another and so it will be hard for Marcus.

After the sated lovers have gone to the shower together, the spares are retired to the Spare Room where their gags are fitted and they sit elegantly whilst music plays. At lunchtime, they are fed but then they are lined up in the hall for the engagement party is to take place.

Marcus is marrying Olivia, the eldest daughter and sole heir of Begati’s other great family, the Bukurs. They arrive on time at two and the Mizore parents greet their Bukur counterparts and then present their son to Olivia. The two bow to one another and then kiss, at which point all clap. Then they are led between the waiting spares to the Great Hall. The spares, who have been ordered to only look straight ahead, catch a glimpse of the happy couple and, yes, Lucas thinks, Olivia is as pretty as they say.

The couple are followed by the Bukur spares who process, boy-girl behind them. Finally, the Mizore spares follow. In the Great Hall the happy couple sit side-by-side, flanked by their parents. But then comes the bit that Lucas has been waiting for.

“Friends and future in-laws,” declares Miguel Mizore, “it is a happy occasion indeed when today we announce the impending union of our two great houses to create a single clan unrivalled in Begati and beyond. The wedding of my beloved Marcus with the beautiful Olivia shall be the talk of the Kingdom of Pabarazia. But we are especially fortunate in that, on the same day, all our children shall be getting wed. Our daughter Persephone, who is on colonial service in Dep Lam will be returning to wed Alexandro who is serving with the Imperial Army. And, by chance or coincidence, we have the same number of sons and daughters so all our spares may also be matched and may be able to glorify the Mizore-Bukur names until they pass from this life.”

These words elicited loud cheers, but Lucas didn’t hear them. Instead, he waited. Soon, a maid led him to a corner of the room where a girl stood. She was dressed in an ostentatious white dress, with a billowing skirt, ballooning sleeves and an enormous flower girl collar (called so because the face of the girl within resembles a delicate flower surrounded by petals.

Lucas gazed at that face, his heart beating. She was pretty! She smiled and that smile warmed his heart! The woman that they had chosen for him seemed nice! Of course, it was a pity that they could never lie together as Marcus had done with Julia and would do with Olivia but at least they could talk and hold hands.

“Hello,” he lisped. “I’m Lucas. It is so nice to meet you.”

“I’m Innocentia,” she replied, his tongue similarly limited. “I’m happy to meet you too. I was so nervous about today.”

“Me too! But, well… I needn’t have been. You are lovely!”

She blushed. “I am nothing of the sort, I merely reflect my sister’s glory, but it is kind of you to say so.”

“I meant it. I’d love to hug you but…” He lifted his arms to show how little movement he had.

She laughed and did the same with her own. “We’d never get close enough with me in this dress and, besides, my arms are as useless as yours.”

“Well, I can imagine it, just as I shall have to imagine the other things I would like to happen.”

She gave him a look of false horror and then said, “What do you mean, imagine?”

“Well, we are spares. They do not allow us to be as man and wife are for firsts.”

“So, they haven’t told you?”

“Told me what?”

“Olivia and I are close. She invites me to her bed sometimes. When I told her that I wanted a husband whom I could be with properly, she promised to make it a condition. Your family have agreed to allow all Mizore-Bukur spare couples to lie together and couple once a week on a Saturday.”

“What?! But… it is impossible! We could have offspring and then…”

“Oh no, they are sterilising us all first. But isn’t it wonderful?!” She reached forward with her hand and he leant forward as much as his costume would allow and their gloved fingers clasped. “You and I, together, naked… I cannot wait!” she whispered excitedly.

And nor could Lucas for he exploded into his satin sheath. He knew that the maids would discover and paddle him for the misdemeanour, but he did not care. After all, promised to this wonderful girl Innocentia, he was the happiest spare in the entire Kingdom of Pabarazia!

Spare II: Innocentia

Thanks to Michelle Bound for help with the images

Inspired by this picture by suzie1192000

Written 07/02/2024

Copyright © 2024, Dave Potter

Obeisance: Chapter 4

Obeisance

by J T and Nye

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Back Home Again

The farewells were hurried and emotionally fraught.

Bridget grieved as she hugged a thoroughly bound, hooded, deafened and silenced Carolyn. “I’ve installed all the useful restraints I had available Sir. I also made a list of everything I did, and wrote a few instructions for her immediate care and left it on her dresser,” Bridget told Robert as she continued to hug Carolyn as though she were terrified of losing her forever. “Also, on the dresser, I left you detailed instructions regarding Carolyn’s long-term care. You know, for after she’s home.”

She paused for a moment to see if she had forgotten anything. “Oh, and Sir, I made a list of the most important restraints she must wear while she’s at home. Also, I made another list of other, stricter restraints she must wear when you take her out in public,” she added as she patted Robert’s arm. “Sir, please I beg you. You will promise to follow the instructions fully, and with care, won’t you?”

Robert nodded and promised the devoted maid that he would absolutely follow everything she had written and wished them good luck with sorting out the problems in Haldenford.

Armed with that assurance, Bridget found the strength to release Carolyn and give Robert a brief but warm hug. “Thank you Sir. We hope my family’s troubles turn out to be less than suggested so that we can return soon. But as for Carolyn, it’s true that I love her like a daughter. But I’m not blind. I know there are times she can be a stubborn and willful brat, just as her father says. But I also know that she’s also one of the sweetest, kindest, most loving and well-meaning girls I’ve ever known. Just always remember, no matter her mood she loves you dearly, and if you remain firm with her I am certain that, in the end, all will be well.

“So please, take good care of her. And don’t be afraid to be strict with her. You know she hates it when you’re too soft, don’t you Sir? Leaving her to fend for herself makes her feel adrift. It leaves her feeling as though she’s a small boat in stormy waters, tossing and roiling and in desperate need of your strength, guidance and protection.”

As Robert nodded and gently stroked Bridget’s cheek, he replied, “I promise. I’ll be very loving and very firm with her, just as you ask.”

Just before she stepped into the car Bridget leaned into him and whispered, “Colin has informed me that I too will be punished for dressing inappropriately. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Robert wasn’t quite sure how to answer what he hoped was a rhetorical question. Was she happy about some imminent punishment? Or was she simply thrilled to be the recipient of Colin’s heightened concern for her well-being after almost eight years of marriage? It was hard to know with Bridget. Perhaps it was a bit of both. Robert hugged her one more time, patted her back, and replied, “Yes, Colin is a fine man. I know he loves and cares for you deeply.”

Not quite sure what to do next, Robert turned towards the cottage when Colin approached. “Excuse me sir. Bridget just reminded me that I need to give you something very important before we leave. I know that I was supposed to hold onto it until your wedding day. But now, of course, everything’s changed.”

“What? What is it Colin? Are you talking about the master key to Carrie’s chastity belt?”

“Oh, good heavens. No sir. That remains with her father. I’m afraid you’ll have to negotiate that rather delicate matter with him at some later date.”

“What is it then?”

“It’s her controller sir. Ever since she began as a student at Westminster Academy, I’ve had the responsibility and privilege of overseeing the routine matters associated with Miss Carolyn’s care and discipline, as well as the obligation for the care and maintenance of her controller. As I’m sure you’re aware, given Miss Carolyn’s propensity for indulging her rather mercurial temper, these duties regrettably included utilizing the judicious use of the cane, the paddle, and especially during those times we were in public, her controller.

“However, because I must leave, it’s now necessary for you, as her guardian, to assume these solemn responsibilities. Here is her controller sir. The electronic transfer has been made, and you’re now free to use it.

“Yeah, okay. Thanks. I guess.”

“If I may sir, and please forgive me if I’m out of order for what I’m about to say, but we’re both men of the world. As men of the world, we have personally witnessed many instances of controllers, in conjunction with other devices, being misused in the service of sport or malice. From the living statues adorning the High Commissioner’s great pleasure gardens to the notorious fighting pits in the abandoned railroad stockyards south of town, there are plenty of places to point to and say the system is corrupt and the universal controller is an enabler of this corruption. So I do understand your dislike of this important tool.

“But please keep in mind that the controller is simply a tool and that, in your hands, Carolyn’s controller can also be used for good. It can not only be used to punish, it can also reward her and give her a great deal of pleasure. And given all her training, I know from experience that it really does help keep her feeling safe, protected, cared for, and yes, even loved.

“And don’t forget, if it’s used regularly, conscientiously, and properly, its internal logs provide evidence to the authorities that she’s properly controlled and supervised, and that she adheres to all the rules and regulations mandated by the state. This will also help keep her safe.

“Sir, I’m quite certain you won’t use Carolyn’s controller thoughtlessly or capriciously. However, I’m less certain that you’ll find it in your heart to use it to control and discipline her when the need arises. Please sir, for Carolyn’s well being and safety, promise me you won’t hesitate to use it when it becomes necessary to do so. In these increasingly difficult times it may be the only way to keep her safely in your home and out of the hands of the morality police and the regime’s rather disquieting court system and reformatories.”

                                                                        * * *

After he watched the Fletcher’s car clear the long driveway, turn onto the narrow rural road, and vanish from his sight, Robert grasped Carolyn’s guiding straps and led her back into the cottage. Deeply saddened by the awful turn of events, he took a moment to examine the devices Bridget had installed to prepare Carolyn for her return home.

The first thing that struck him was that Bridget had seen to it that Carolyn was gagged with her fiercest curb, actually the civilian version of the standard reformatory gag. He knew Carolyn was quite familiar with the device, having explained to him the gag’s functions in such detail that, though she never said so, he suspected she may have spent a significant amount time wearing one like it during her years at Westminster Academy.

Slowly, and with some hesitance, she told him that if he ever needed to punish her for scandalous or unladylike speech, egregiously speaking out of turn, or behaving as a shrew or a scold, this would be a highly effective gag to use. Using herself as a demonstration model she showed him how the flexible sleeve equipped with several studs embedded with retractable pins were designed to secure her tongue but still allowed her to swallow. She went on to describe how the gag, when activated through her controller, could effectively punish any significant sound she made. The gag also incorporated special feeding and breathing tubes, sized and positioned for long term wear.

Bridget’s instructions recommended that Robert keep her in the gag for at least forty eight hours, longer if Carolyn fussed, and that she should be fed the standard reformatory liquid diet twice a day.

The rest of her institutional restraints were equally formidable. A reformatory hood covered the rest of her head. Designed to blind, deafen and disorient, the hood could also provide instruction, educate, or entertain when enabled and activated to do so.

A heavy leather straitjacket, fitted with a built-in monitoring and discipline system, extended down to her waist, and attached to the locking chain mail waistband of an extremely restrictive and extensively boned hobble skirt that ended at her ankles and trammeled her ballet boots.

By this time, Robert was thoroughly depressed and appalled by the turn of events, and noting that Carolyn’s combined straitjacket and hobble skirt would make sitting extremely difficult, if not impossible, Robert shuffled her into the living room, picked her up, and carefully laid her face up on the couch. Satisfied that she was reasonably safe and comfortable, Robert went upstairs to finish packing. They were going home.

                                                                        * * *

As she waited for Robert’s return, Carolyn thought about the weekend’s events. She found her eagerly anticipated celebratory picnic excursion with Robert to be a tremendous success, and their first opportunity to have an extended period of legally sanctioned, intimate moments together, with no one else around, actually managed to surpass all her hopes and dreams. Robert proved himself to be as tender, attentive, and loving in private as he was impressive in his bearing and deportment in public. This was important, because their weekend together confirmed for her that his affability wasn’t simply a ruse, a Lothario’s contrivance, or cleverly fabricated facade so commonly found among the many mashers and dandies that had so relentlessly pursued her, and her fortune, ever since she was a college freshman.

And the evidence was everywhere. For instance, there was the delightful time they spent bouncing around the property in Malcolm’s old decrepit buggy, and how they worked as a team to figure out a way to bypass the restraints built into her hobble skirt so she could actually drive for the first time in nearly ten years! And also, how he finally agreed to play along with her, and even enjoy their silly yet important game of hide and seek. Not only were these all wonderful moments she would treasure for the rest of her life, but they confirmed for her that he was definitely good husband material. They fit well together as a mutually supportive couple. Even better, they laughed and enjoyed the same jokes, they shared many interests and points of view, that he actually enjoyed listening to her, and most remarkable of all, he valued her opinions. These were all attributes that were sadly lacking in any of the other officially certified and accredited suitors who had courted her since the beginning of the insurrection.

And yes, she had to admit, despite all his fine qualities, he was certainly not without his faults. It was true that Robert could behave like an exasperating child at times. In fact, he could be maddeningly self-absorbed and frustratingly unobliging to some of her most obvious hints, and even her explicit suggestions. But in spite of these minor faults she was certain, that in time, and with a touch of loving guidance which she was more than happy to provide, those annoying character flaws could easily be ironed out.

Besides, just thinking about the whole day filled with his kisses and his gentle warm hands, especially when, after a couple of hours of bouncing around in that silly little wreck of a buggy, the dear man finally surrendered to her hints and suggestions and at long last, with that sweet, boyish smile she loved so much, laid her out on the picnic blanket and drew that newly acquired fiancee key from his pants pocket and – well, how could he not be worth it when he could make her wet and squirm and dance her hips in such a delightful way, especially considering he had so little space to work with and he did so much with what he had.

Aroused by her wicked and libidinous memories, Carolyn’s chastity belt corrections kicked in, and for several minutes she was subjected to a rolling wave of torment that issued not only from her chastity belt, but also from her gag when she broke her silence and cried out. However, she was also surprised to find that being punished for overstepping the authorized bounds of arousal set by her chastity belt didn’t upset her in the least. On the contrary, it pleased her to know that she could privately endure something that would keep them both safe, out of trouble, and perhaps once they were finally married, even sexually content. If the gag had allowed it, she would have smiled.

                                                                        * * *

After loading the luggage into the trunk of the town car Malcolm left behind for him, and securing the cottage, the belvedere, and the rest of the estate’s outbuildings for an extended absence, Robert returned to Carolyn. Feeling that it would be cruel and irresponsible to leave the correction functions active while transporting her on poorly maintained rural roads, he pulled his newly acquired controller from his pocket and fumbled through the command menu until he figured out how to turn off her sensors. Satisfied he had done all he could to make her comfortable for the ride home, he carefully picked her up and carried her out to the car, laid her out on the back seat, and strapped her in.

As a relatively out of practice driver who didn’t relish sitting behind the wheel on public motorways, and one who much preferred to be driven by Malcolm whenever possible, Robert found the trip back, while dodging all the ruts, fallen branches, farm debris, and potholes of the blighted and neglected farm and county roads, to be challenging but manageable. The slow, careful drive gave him plenty of time to think. Even though he knew her father’s tongue-lashing was fully justified, it still bothered him that Carolyn had to be so severely restrained that he had to strap her down onto the back seat of the car rather than placing her into the slightly more comfortable Female Auto Carrier where she could at least sit upright while enjoying the distraction of a piped in entertainment program.

As the drive droned on he began to muse. What if the plot had never happened? How would things be different? Maybe, to celebrate their engagement, they might have jetted off on a European vacation in her father’s private jet, perhaps spending a month or two at his family’s Como estate. Or, perhaps they would have opted for something less extravagant and simply spent their time together camping and leisurely making love in a meadow somewhere or, if the weather proved inclement, they could take turns playing bondage and fantasy games in the belvedere’s master suite’s custom bed with its numerous, intriguing, and never really explained, embedded hitching rings.

He was also pretty sure that once their engagement celebration holiday was over, they would have spent plenty of time huddling together, talking about their upcoming nuptials, and debating the quality and merits on offer as they planned their extended honeymoon. Of course there would be all those silly but fun questions, such as whether it would be wiser to secure a private jet and deal with the inherent problems common to living in luxury hotels, or whether would be wiser to rent a private yacht and crew and spend a month or two cruising the Aegean islands. He smiled at the thought. If such freedoms were still possible, such topics would have probably been the source of some of their more interesting and passionate debates.

But whatever they’d be doing Robert was positive it would be without giving even the slightest consideration to the use of the mandated, institutional restraints Carrie was forced to wear and the Female Control and Congregation Laws she was required to observe.

And, most significantly, neither of them would have gotten so stinking drunk in the belvedere in a foolish attempt to blunt the frustration of being constantly hampered and blocked from having a normal, adult relationship of unrestrained intimacy and actual sexual intercourse. Of that he was absolutely sure.

Infuriated and exasperated by the thoughts of what could have been if only the world was as rational, tolerant, and fair as it surely must have been before the radicals turned everything upside down, Robert pounded the steering wheel as he tried to yell out his stress and rage. Suddenly a tire clipped a large rock half buried near the edge of the road and the car lurched towards the soft edge of a substantial gully. Stunned, Robert wrested the car back towards the center of the narrow road and slammed on the brakes. Gradually the shock of the near calamity began to ease and he turned and looked at the bound and well secured figure still laying on the car’s back seat, unmoved and apparently ignorant of what had just transpired. As the reality of just how much of a danger his bout of self-pity and rage had been to them both, he began to sicken. He clawed the door handle, threw open the car door, and half staggered, half tumbled to the ground as he grappled over whether to retch or pass out.

Slowly his stomach began to settle, his pulse eased, and his mind cleared enough to arrive at the conclusion that, if there was to be any hope for either of them, he would need to, as Carolyn’s father so recently reminded him during his drubbing at the kitchen table, grow the hell up and assume a grownup measure of responsibility for the both of them.

                                                                        * * *

As he drew closer to town the road gradually improved, in as much as the road widened slightly to a narrow two lane road with faint patches of a white dividing line still visible. Thankfully, the majority of debris was at least shoved off to the side of the road, and a few of the most egregious potholes were haphazardly patched with loose gravel or a salvaged mix of rubbish and roadbed material. Traffic was light, the route simple. Still, Robert felt a tangible sense of relief when he finally entered the city limits of the town of Bent Forks, turned off the main drag, and spotted the smart and elegant entrance canopy of Fremont Tower apartments just past a perpetually flashing red traffic light.

Turning a few meters just past the front entrance, he carefully pulled into the entry way of the private below ground car park, crawled his way past several parked cars and concrete pillars, and eased into his assigned parking spot.

The only person manning the front desk was a skinny, young, doorman sporting just the promise of a beard and a silver name tag that said “Jason” in black lettering. Before he could get a word out, the doorman greeted him by name.

“Do we know each other?”

“No sir, Mister Morris, I’m new here. But the building’s cameras are hooked up to the apartment directory. As soon as you drove onto the garage your name, picture, and apartment number popped up on my screen. What can I do for you?”

“Of course it did,” Robert muttered as he did his best to tamp down any suggestion of sarcasm regarding the ever present security cameras. “Well, I’ve got a few things to bring up from the car. There’s a tip in it for you if you’re willing to help me get my luggage, and my fiancee, up to my apartment. Are you available?”

“Certainly sir. Just let me just get someone down here to cover the desk while I assist you,” replied Jason, smiling at his sudden good fortune.

By the time the luggage, and his beloved Carolyn, were safely in the apartment Robert felt drained. After a brief internal debate as to what to do next, he decided the most pressing matter was to secure Carolyn for the night, attach her hoses, and feed her.

After strapping Carolyn to the service table in the utility room, Robert made his way to the kitchen and looked for the liquid food to feed her. The powdered formula and the feeding bottles were exactly where Bridget’s notes said they would be. All he needed to do was empty a packet of powder into the blender, add a liter of water, and blend the two ingredients. After pressing the button and mixing the rather unappealing stuff that reminded him of the allegedly wholesome kale drinks often favored by dieting coeds and some athletes during his college years, Robert grabbed a funnel, filled the special feeding bottle designed to connect with the gag’s feeding tube, screwed on the valve cap and returned to the utility room.

Upon reviewing Bridget’s notes, he decided to put off feeding her until after he addressed another important detail. He located the sanitary machine and identified the hoses he needed to plug into the evacuation valves of her chastity belt. After fumbling with the straps and locks of her restraints, and engaging in a pernicious bit of disassembly, he worked out how to plug the hoses into the belt’s rather finicky portals. Before activating the machine, he placed his hand on her corseted belly, as much to calm himself as to reassure her. As he turned on the machine he felt Carolyn tremble a bit as the machine opened her belt’s catheter and rectal valves, finally allowing her to eliminate her waste. He shuddered in empathy and sorrow.

After disengaging the hoses, Robert elevated her head and torso a bit by cranking up the front end of the service table before locating the feeding tube built into her gag. The process of attaching the bottle of liquid food to the socket of the feeding tube was simple enough, and moments later Carolyn began to struggle and blow bubbles into the food bottle as she attempted to reject the green watery glop. In her notes, Bridget suggested that this might happen and advised that the most effective response to food rejection was to boost the correction level up to eight, set it to deliver a patterned series of three second bursts, and leave the correction function engaged until all the food was consumed.

Robert was quite surprised, and found it rather disconcerting, to see such a sudden change in Carolyn’s behavior. What kind of correction does it take to produce such an immediate state of resignation and compliance, he wondered? As he watched Carolyn gulp down the last of what the reformatory system certified as nutritious food, he briefly considered smashing the machine he suspected actually delivered torture rather than encouragement and education.

Then, with his personal vow to ‘grow the hell up’ in mind, Robert dismissed the idea as a pleasant but silly fantasy that would serve no useful purpose. Instead, he took a breath, disconnected the empty bottle, set it aside, woke the computer, activated the instruction program Bridget recommended, bitterly cursed the fact that Carolyn wouldn’t be sharing his bed this night, or probably the next several nights, and switched off the light.

Chapter 5 “A Meeting With Mrs. Harrell”