That night for many an hour I found that I could not sleep. What was van Hessel up to? Why have a pair of wooden, (and one presumes expensively made), hands and arms for a girl who already has perfectly good limbs. And if she does possess such limbs, then where were they when I kissed her? My mind was a muddle as to why, what and where…
But at eleven sharp the following day I was stood outside the coffin-like church of my hometown, feeling fresh, excited and curious. Two minutes later van Hessel, his wife and their ward came into sight, rounding the corner of the street that leads to their canalside home. It took them however, a full five minutes to walk the fifty metres or so across to the church steps where I was stood. I was intrigued. Had my father’s friend replaced her feet with wooden replicas also? Or perhaps she was hobbled? But why do that to a lady?
By the time they arrived the chests of both Mrs. and Miss van Hessel were heaving up and down at a great rate, as if they had just run a marathon.
“Good morning Wilhelm!” cried van Hessel.
“Good morning Sir, and you too ladies,” replied I, bowing to the latter.
“Would you care to escort young Miss van Hessel on her morning stroll, Wilhelm, whilst I attend to my good wife.”
“I would be honoured sir,” said I, turning to the younger lady. She was dressed today in a fine purple walking outfit, with an elaborate bonnet, her face covered by a lace veil. Her sleeves were as ever, of the Beret time, large and voluminous, but this time they encased real arms, as I saw the gloved appendages that protruded from them squirm a little. The ends of those arms however ended, as fashion dictated, in an elegant matching purple muff.
“Miss Gabrielle,” I said, “How are you on this sunny morn?”
The lady did not answer, which I considered a little rude, but knowing how she was against her step-father’s match-making attempts, I considered it perhaps understandable. ‘I shall make the wench love me,’ thought I.
“Your arm, Miss,” I said.
She lifted it up and I slipped my hand through. The limb was warm and soft, and undoubtedly real.
Thus we started on our stroll. Miss van Hessel walked at an incredibly slow pace, taking steps of no more than ten centimetres at a time.
“Why do you walk so slowly?” asked I.
Again she was silent. Too haughty to speak, the arrogant little miss! ‘Hmm,’ I thought, ‘you need the training of a good husband.’ A man such as myself of course.
To be truthful though, her tiny steps I minded not, as walking with this divine creature was a pleasure. The curve of her minute waist, and the heaving of her breasts caused joy in my heart and a somewhat different reaction lower down. When no one was looking, I wheedled my hand in further and grasped that waist. Gabrielle gave a little gasp of surprise but again said naught. I heeded the haughty wench not but instead pressed harder. It made no difference. That waist, so small, was as hard as iron. Probably was iron actually, as I’m sure whalebone could not have produced such an extreme yet alluring shape.
We circled the House of God and then started back to van Hessel’s house. Covering the half a kilometre or so that we walked took an age, almost an hour I reckoned, but it was an hour of sheer pleasure for myself I shall admit. At the door I made to leave, but van Hessel stopped me. “Nay, nay Wilhelm, wait a second. You must kiss my niece goodbye.”
I felt the female body next to mine shudder, but I minded not. Instead I leant over, lifted her fine veil, and planted a fine kiss upon her ruby red lips.
Or at least that is what I intended to do. Instead, what happened is a felt my lips meet, not hers, but instead a piece of leather! I drew back in surprise and studied her fair visage. A visage that was only partially visible. Then I realised why she had not spoken to me all morning. Her mouth had been securely gagged the whole time. Her eyes looked pleadingly at me, and I have to admit that I realised the speech impeder suited her. I turned to van Hessel for an explanation and he grinned. “Van Wettering, why don’t you and I head to a tavern for a beer. There is something that I wish to talk to you about.”
Of all the taverns in Zierikzee, der Vlinder is perhaps the finest. It is situated in one of the many small streets leading off from the bustling harbour, and beyond its stout wooden door is to be found an atmosphere of Dutch congeniality, some fine beers and more importantly, the comeliest serving wenches in town. Wenches who have been known to provide the customer with more than just beer. It was to this haven of pleasure that van Hessel and I retired, he going up to the proprietor and asking if we could please hire the private backroom, to which that fine gentleman of course assented. Sat in their, which a glass of the finest Netherlandish brew apiece in front of us, we began to talk.
“Wilhelm, before I start,” said he, “I need ask you a question?”
“What be it, Sir?” replied I.
“Young Miss Gabrielle. Does she please you?”
“Then, should I consent, would you be willing to consider her as a wife?”
I thought. Of course I would, but only if she were fully-limbed and of course, still a maiden. “Well Sir, I would, only if she is what she appears to be.”
“And what does she appear to you?”
“A normal, healthy, beautiful virgin.”
“Then you have no fears. She is all of those. So, I ask thee again, would you consider my ward as your wife? For if you say yes, then we can continue, but if no, then we must to part now.”
“I consider her.”
“Right. That is good. Because ever since I set eyes on you young sir, I have considered you. I know you and your rakish ways. They disgust some, but they appeal to I. As I said before, a woman needs controlling. However, many a young man does not realise this, and their young wives get the better of them and soon enough they are a man no longer, but instead a snivelling hen-picked louse.”
“Aye Sir, I have seen it to often, and it disgusts me.”
“I also. We have had many a suitor coming to our door after Miss Gabrielle’s hand. After all, she is a handsome wench, no denying. But she is also a strong-minded lass, and one who could damage a man. Before she came into our care her upbringing had been quite shocking. My brother was one of those hen-pecked mice. His wife a shocking tramp. They believed in freedoms for women. That whore went around with a waist as broad as a barrel, not a corset ever in sight, considering herself the equal of my sibling. And the child was brought up the same, as a tom boy, sailing on a boat in trousers and shirt, travelling around the country with them, talking to any gallant that came along. She could have had her maidenhood picked by a man such as yourself at any time, had she been but a little older. Thankfully, the Lord intervened. Killed off those two pathetic excuses for parents and sent her into the arms of myself and my wife. So it was that we set about turning her into a lady.”
“Well, it was no easy task. First there was the corset, such as she had never worn, why how she screamed and threw tantrums. Thrice she ran away, but thrice did I catch the little Jezebel. Well, thought I, this is not to last. We need control, we need discipline. We need to beat this sultry bint into a ladylike submission. Luckily for her, I was a man with experience in such matters.”
“Aye lad, experience. Now this is a tale I have never told a soul since it happened, and by God Wilhelm, if thou tellest any, even thy father, then there shall be hell to play, be thee in Batavia or Zierikzee, I shall find thee!”
“I will tell none.”
“Good. My wife, a comely lass when younger. I noted it, that’s why I married her. Problem was others noted it also. Including a friend of mine, one van den Ouden. First he visited for dinner, and that whore starts winking at him. Next he’s coming for coffee in the day. Then I learn that the unthinkable happens.”
“Aye, that! Well, what was a man to do? I tell you what, punish both the bastards, that’s what! So I gets him a job on a ship of a mate of mine. That young fox was out of work at the time, so I helps him as a mate. On a ship bound for Spain. Well, when they was out in the Bay of Biscay, which a seafaring man such as yourself, knows is renowned for its storms, a big wave comes and sweeps him overboard, God Rest His Soul. A wave known as I, Ha! Ha!”
“So that left only the wench. I thought to kill her also, but no, that wouldna do. She likes sex so much, well, then she can be denied it thought I. So I gets a goldsmith friend of mine to fashion a chastity belt, which one night I proceeds to fit around her coming privates and then solder shut. Permanent! Ha! No more playing around for you my love! She could pleasure me with her mouth, and should I require more, well, you’ve seen my servants have you not? Ever wondered why she was childless?”
“But why stop at restricting only her cunt, I thought. No, why not indeed? Well, first was the easy one, the waist. I subjected that to a lacing regime unseen in those times, until it would get no smaller. And then I moved to her feet, containing them in the tiniest foots imaginable, and with heels so high that she could barely stand. And just to make sure, I added a little chain between each ankle. Eight centimetre steps, that’s all I’ve ever allowed her.”
“Why is why she walks so slowly?”
“Aye, and the girl too!”
“She is subjected to the same regime?”
“Oh no lad, with her I’ve improved and refined it. I had to. She is more rebellious that my own wife and partner. Besides, it’s always fun to develop new tactics, eh?”
“Well, I wouldna know but all that you’ve described, it sounds…”
“Exciting, eh? Makes the male member wake up and ask for his breakfast?”
“Well, lad, I will talk no longer. Come back to my house and you shall see for yourself.”
Back at van Hessel’s house, we saw not the ladies, but instead he escorted me to his study. Once we were safely inside and the door locked, he spoke. “Now lad, no servant is ever allowed in here and you shall find out why. In the olden times this was the house of a smuggling ancestor of mine. Well, those who bend the law need to take precautions and he was no exception. Look at this.” Then he went over to the bookcase and took one of the books out. Behind it was a handle. He turned the handle and the case opened. Behind it I was shocked to find a narrow passage. We entered.
The passage was no long, and after a few metres we stopped. “We need go no further,” said van Hessel. “The tunnel leads to the sea, but I have no need for that. I only require here. Look!” There was a small peep-hole in the wall.
“There?” asked I.
“Put your eye to it,” said he.
I did as was bid and gasped. It was a spyhole into the dressing chamber of Miss Gabrielle. And that fair lady was in there, hanging from a lacing trapeze and whimpering. The comely maid was pulling her laces.
“Stop! Stop!” cried she.
“Nay lass, shut thee up! I have said before, the Master has stipulated thirty and five centimetres today and that is what I shall attain or my life will not be worth living.”
“But it’s too tight.. too tight!” moaned my prospective wife.
The maid paid no attention, but instead gave one last tug and tied off.
Then she disappeared out of sight and returned carrying a pair of boots. But these were no normal footwear, what boots they were. Why the unfortunate wearer would be forced to stand on tip-toes with them like a ballerina. The girl was released from the bar and lain on the bed. Then the boots were forced onto her feet causing more whimpers and pleas.
“Not the ballet boots, Greta!”
“Master’s orders again.”
It took an age for the boots to be secured, but I enjoyed every moment. The sight of this helpless, beautiful girl, forced into such extreme clothing against her will, her ample breasts heaving all the while and the rounded mounds of her buttocks quivering. “What is that around her privates?” whispered I, noticing a flash of gold.
“The chastity belt,” whispered back van Hessel. I had one made for her as soon as she started bleeding.”
“The same as your wife’s.”
“Nay, better. This one has rounded mounds of rubber within, that caress her all day long, causing a tension that can never be released.” I knew the feeling. My own member was extremely tense at that moment and had it not been for the presence of my father’s friend I’d have had no hesitation in relieving it there and then.
“Now your arms Gabrielle,” said the maid.
Then to my surprise, she took the white arms of my object of desire and folded them, so that the hand touched the shoulder and then using a leather pouch fastened them in that position. Then the wooden arms that I had been shown earlier were produced and cleverly fitted over the pouch, so that it appeared that they were her real arms. Of course this did not look real though, as her folded arms had a much greater bulk than normal. But then when the dress, a beautiful creation in green silk was produced, I realised the true genius of van Hessel. The huge Beret sleeves of current vogue ballooned out around her shoulders and upper arm and so completely disguised the folded arms. The wooden replacements, once gloved, looked like the real thing!
“How glad I was when that fashion came about,” whispered van Hessel. Before I used to sew the arms to the main dress or cuff them to her waist, but this is far better.”
“But why do it, to the arms?”
“Because I lady without arms is entirely helpless, entirely dependent, entirely at our mercy.” We both chuckled at this undoubtedly true statement. Gabrielle’s dressing was now complete. She stood, an angel of loveliness in the room, before the maid led her downstairs. Any normal observer would not realise how she could hardly move a muscle. They left the room and van Hessel spoke in a normal voice.
“Today for the walk, her arms were locked inside that muff. I have many forms of restriction that I use. You shall be introduced to them in time. Now, you know my secrets, I ask you firmly, once and for all, will you marry Gabrielle?”
Knowing what I did. Having a chance to be able to play with such a doll for life? Of course, I would. “Aye Sir,” I replied.
“Then Wilhelm, why not join your future bride for coffee and ask her yourself?”
In the drawing room there was only I and Miss Gabrielle. She was of course unaware that I had been in the house for some time and that I had seen her preparations, so I decided to play a little game with her.
“Miss Gabrielle, did you enjoy our little stroll this morning?” I enquired.
“Oh yes, Sir,” answered she. “It was most pleasant.”
“You answer surprises me,” continued I, suppressing a grin. “For how could anyone enjoy a walk when gagged as you were.”
“Oh, I am used to it.” Then she stopped, seeming to regret what she had said.
“Used to it! You are punished often Miss?”
“No, I’m not punished often. I behave…”
“Then whyever were you gagged so?”
“Do you not know?”
“I cannot fathom any other explanation except that you had been disobedient, rebellious…”
“No Sir, it is my Step-Father. Mr. van Hessel, well… he likes his women to be… restrained.”
“Really?” I feigned astonishment though inside I was ready to erupt with laughter. “In what way?”
“Oh many Sir, but, I should not talk of such things…”
“It is none of your business Sir, it is of no account to you.”
“But there Miss, you are wrong. Have you not guessed?”
“Guessed my feelings towards you?”
“Aye Miss Gabrielle. I look for a wife and well, I would like to think that Heaven has placed one in my path…”
“Oh Mr. van Wettering!”
Her bosom began surging but I am sure that the greater tension was within my own breast. What a lark this was!
“But I fear that you despise me. You keep secrets from me, run out when I am here…”
“Oh no Sir, no, it’s just that…”
“My mode of life is so strange… Has not my step-father explained?”
“The restrictions, restraints?”
“So what my dear, so what is you are gagged, and your corset is laced rather tightly. What difference does that make to me?”
“It goes further?”
“Yesterday Sir, did you not feel my arm…”
“Why yes, it was a little cold and hard. You are sick?”
(Oh how I was struggling to control myself whilst this poor girl sat believing that I was ignorant of her situation, and indeed perhaps, a possible saviour. I could last no longer, I took out my handkerchief and coughed into it).
“Oh Sir, are you alright?”
“I fear you may have passed your sickness onto me.”
“No Sir, I have not, I am not sick.”
“Then what then?”
“Feel my arm again, Sir.”
“I should prefer to feel your lips.”
“No Sir, my arm.”
I touched the wooden limb and its hardness and falsity excited me. Knowing that she was helpless, her own perfectly good arm folded uselessly in that balloon sleeve excited me beyond measure.
“It is false!” I said in a shocked voice. “You have a wooden arm!”
“So that is your worry. My dear sweet Gabrielle, I shall love you fully limbed or otherwise, do not fear!” Then I did what I had long wished to do. My hands grabbed her waist and completely encircled it, fingers touching at the back whilst I fastened my lips to hers.
She gave a gasp of pleasure. My manhood, unbeknown to her, exploded in its prison.
“My dear sweet gorgeous Gabrielle! Maimed or not, I shall always love you, please be mine!”
“No Sir, you misunderstand. I am not maimed, I am full-bodied.”
“But the wooden limb?”
“My own limbs exist…”
“Folded in my sleeve. Feel.”
I felt. How exciting it was, I had never experienced anything so erotic as this trussed up helpless and innocent young virgin.
“My God!” exclaimed I.
She looked sad.
“Does it hurt?”
“My arm goes dead after a while. And when released it aches.”
“He does that to you?”
“Yes, Sir. He demands I be kept in this way, like an animal, forever chained, restrained, a prisoner. Unable to do the simplest things for myself. Dependent on him and his will, everyday and every night. It is a living hell for me, please please help me Sir, set me free, let me escape from him!”
“I will, I will,” replied I getting excited once more. “I shall marry you my love!”
“Aye sweet Gabrielle, I shall.”
“Oh Mr. van Wettering!” And at that the helpless maid fell into my arms, smattered my face with her kisses, before passing out due to the excitement and tightness of her corset, whilst I disguised my uncontrollable laughter as tears of joy.
That evening I was again in der Vlinder’s private back room, with van Hessel across the table from me and a pint of beer in front.
“So my lad,” said he, “are you entirely sure about accepting Gabrielle as your wife?”
“Sir,” replied I, “I have never been so surer of anything in my life.” And I spoke the truth. For whilst I had seen other wenches as comely if not more so than Miss van Hessel, and undoubtedly more virile and creative in bed, (for she as a virgin was completely inexperienced and trussed up so, I doubted that she could be very athletic also), there was something about this girl that captivated me, enthralled me, obsessed me. All that day following my visit to the van Hessel house, my mind could think of nothing else; of seeing her restricted like that, her arms rendered helpless, her feet squeezed into those tiny yet delightful boots that made the simple art of walking near on an impossibility, her waist corsetted into nothing, and all against her wishes. And the fact that I had watched it all and she knew nothing of it, she thought that I was as ignorant of it all as the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker! And how she had told me afterwards, pleaded with me to help her out of her situation, given herself to me believing that I was to be her saviour. No, of all that I had witnessed, that confession, hearing the words of the discomfort that she suffered and of the hope that she saw in me, that was the most erotically stimulating of all. I had not left my bedroom for three hours straight and my manhood was as tired a native coolie after a days work in the rubber plantation.
“But Mr. van Hessel,” I continued, “I want to continue this in my way, if you don’t mind.”
“What way is that, Wilhelm?”
“Well, as you know, I enjoyed coffee with your niece this afternoon and whilst there I embarked upon a little game with her. I chastised her for hating me, for running away. I asked what bad thing had she done to render such a punishment as being gagged. Well, what could she do but deny it. It was a quandary you see, on one hand I would think of her as disobedient and no lady, or on the other she gives you away. So, she told me about the restriction and I pretended to be shocked. I asked her to describe more, and I must say Sir, it was most exciting hearing it come from her own mouth. She asked me to feel her wooden limbs and her bound arms, and then Sir, implored me to help her. ‘Marry me and free me!’ It was most amusing.”
“Oh dear Wilhelm, it sounds so. I doubt that I, should I have been a man of your age, would have been able to control myself, Ha! Ha! What a lark, Sir!”
“Indeed, indeed. Anyway, so now she knows that I am interested in marriage, and that I know about her bondage. What she does not know however, is about our close relationship, that you are in on it all, and what’s more, she thinks that I am to be her saviour. Sir, I like that situation, and I should be pleased if it could continue. In fact, I would like you to appear almost against the marriage, whilst I will play up the role of the Knight in Shining Armour. What do you say to it?”
“Why Wilhelm, I assent. It is a lark true, but it also serves my purpose. For the fact is, I was worried that she would object to whomever I chose and perhaps cause a raucous in the church or whatever on the wedding day when of course her arms cannot be bound. In this way, I have the opportunity of sending the bint to the altar as meek as a lamb and still guaranteeing that she is treated in the manner that I see fit afterwards. Or at least I hope that she will be?”
“Whatever do you mean, Sir?”
“What I mean is that once married, I wish her present lifestyle to continue, so that she may never bad-mouth I and my wife nor come back to haunt us. Be you in the Indies or Duiveland, I wish her to be kept as now, helpless and bound.”
“Oh Sir, you need not fear on that account. I would not be interested in marrying the wench were she kept as a normal lass. I don’t want her for her money, nor her mind, nor even for the times that we shall spend between the bedcovers, for I can get that elsewhere and no doubt with ladies of a much more experienced nature. What’s more, getting that elsewhere is something that I intend to continue doing – I fear that I loathe to give up my brown-skinned tropical beauties – and with a bound and immobile wife, that should not prove a problem.
“Well then Sir, we are agreed in all. We shall continue as you say, but also I have some stipulations of my own. If you are to keep her as I do, you have much more to learn. You need to know about her various forms of restraint, as I have more methods than just a gag and ballooning sleeves. You will learn about them and at the same time will continue to win her confidence. Then, a month or so hence, I shall lead my niece to the altar to become Mrs. Wilhelm van Wettering. Agreed?”
And at that we both clinked glasses and downed our beverages.
And thus it continued in such a manner. Daily I would visit Miss Gabrielle, sit in that drawing room with its ticking clock and lace-laden table and drink coffee whilst she described to me the horrors that she was put through.
“But at least you rest at night my dear sweet Gaby,” said I.
“Oh no, Will, not even then. For that monster has decreed that I sleep in a sleeping bag.”
“A bag. ‘Tis made of leather and laced like a corset. It covers all of me, from my head to my feet, the only opening being for my nose and mouth. And it is tight and hot and I lie in it immobile until I am woken by my maids.”
“How awful!” exclaimed I.
That evening I journeyed down the tunnel and set my eye to the spyhole. There I watched as that heavenly creature was stripped of her clothing and left wearing only her chastity belt. Then another corset was put onto her, except that this one, unlike her daytime ones, had cut-outs for her breasts which ballooned out as if presenting themselves for a waiting man, (oh later on, I knew who that man would be!), and amazingly had no holes for the arms, those beleaguered appendages being crossed over at the top of her back, thus rendering her absolutely dependent on those around her. Then the Sleeping Bag was produced, a huge leather sack which she was placed into, and which was then laced tight all around her, displaying each and every one of her delightful feminine curves to perfection, and of course allowing her not to move a muscle, in fact to do naught but breath. I couldn’t wait any longer, and as van Hessel had not joined me that evening, I whipped out the bishop and jacked one off there and then. To think of her in that cocoon, so helpless… and the heat! To be encased wholly in leather on this sultry summer’s eve. Oh how much more she would suffer when in Batavia where even naked the heat is unbearable.
Returning to the study I asked van Hessel about the armless corset.
“It’s called a Venus Corset,” said he, “after the armless Venus de Milo. Mrs. van Hessel is always laced into one at night and that way she cannot object to me caressing her fine breasts and placing my manhood where it should be placed.” The thought of doing the same to Gabrielle excited me further.
“Let’s take a closer look,” said van Hessel, and together we tiptoed into the girl’s room. I was careful not to make a sound, but van Hessel shook his head. “You need not bother,” he said in a normal voice. The Sleeping Bag has built in ear plugs. She is as deaf as she is blind, completely oblivious to the world around her.”
It was fascinating seeing her entombed like that up close, her breasts rising and falling dramatically beneath the leather. “I do so like her large bosom and buttocks,” I commented to van Hessel.
“It comes from the corsetting,” he explained. “Before she was quite a plain girl, nothing of note in either place. But the corset restricts any fatty growth around the waist, but of course the fat must go somewhere – and we do control her diet to make sure that she puts some weight on, though not enough to make her obese – and thus it is that we get this pleasingly rotund derriere, and those handsome breasts.”
I was amazed by the ingenuity of this man, and the fact that even what she ate was controlled and restricted. It was all so artificial. Like she was a toy, not a human being. And long may it continue of course!
Whilst in the room, van Hessel also took me over to Gabrielle’s wardrobe to show me the many modes of restriction that his niece was subjected to. There were cocoon suits, punishment corsets that lasted to her knees, stride impeders, countless pairs of shoes with ridiculously high heels, ankle chains, a joug, shoulder braces, neck corsets, (“She always wears one underneath her high collars or scarf,”) which forced the poor girl to hold her head up high and much more. This unusual collection excited me no end, especially when one considered that the owner was sleeping in the very same room, oblivious of what was going on around her.
“Would you like to try some on?” asked van Hessel.
“I don’t think that most will fit,” I said.
“Most no, corsets are out of the question, but you can try these.” He held out the stride impeders. They were two golden rings connected by a thick loop of rubber. I placed them around my knees and tried to walk. My stride was limited to almost naught and tottering across just the room took an age. “Now imagine wearing those along with a tight corset, neck corset, bound arms, and ballet boots.” I tried to imagine and it was a pleasant imagine that was conjured up in my mind. Being breathless and restricted so…
I tried on several more items of Gabrielle’s apparel. The ankle chain was interesting, the effect slightly different to the more flexible stride impeders, and the full hood was scary, to be so at the mercy of all. I knew that that was one thing that she would be making a lot of use of after her marriage! I also tried her arm bindings and wooden limbs. The effect of that was strange, yet exciting. Again it was the helplessness that did it for me, but also the artificiality added to matters. I mentioned this to van Hessel and he agreed. “I like it too,” said that fine gent. “That is why I have her and Mrs. van Hessel dress up as dolls on odd occasions. I have had dolly faces made out of porcelain for them, through which there are two pin holes that they can view the proceedings, well a little of them, through. Indeed, I have several masks, look!”
I did so and was most interested. Several of the masks were of the typical Virginal Doll look, but several more portrayed an Oriental visage. “A relic of my travels,” explained van Hessel. “I sometimes miss those Oriental ladies, especially the beauties of Annam, Tonkin and the Empires of China and Japan. Well, on my last voyage I bought some costumes from all those places and afterwards I had these masks and some hair pieces made. Now and again, when the mood takes me, I dress Mrs. van Hessel or Greta the servant, up in a kimono or cheoung sam and have her mince around the house with this mask and an elaborate oriental hairpiece on.”
Now that sounded something! “But what of the small feet?” asked I, remembering the tales that I had heard regarding foot-binding in China, a practice that I had never come across but had always sounded intriguing.
“Well Wilhelm, I do not bind feet, as although it produces an extremely pleasant shape and a beautifully unstable walk, the stench is quite horrid. But of course, both my wife, and Gabrielle’s feet have been forced into tiny boots from an early age so they are not large and what’s more, with Gabrielle… no I shall let her tell you about her feet. But they are small and en pointe, so the effect is not too dissimilar to that of foot-binding.”
I tried a mask on. The porcelain admitted no air barring through the tiny breathing holes, and fitted closely so that within a moment I was sweaty and flustered. What’s more it contained a built-in wooden protrusion for the mouth which rendered speech and impossibility. To walk around all day wearing that…
“And now Sir, what do you think of this?”
Van Hessel pulled out a long leather sheath. “Put it on!” said he.
It turned out that this garment was a glove, a glove that fitted over both arms and held them tight together behind the back. I tried it on. It took a while to fit as it was rather tight, but once on, and laced, held my arms mercilessly in that position. Within a few minutes I felt them starting to deaden.
“Gabrielle wears this?” I asked in amazement.
“Why yes, every afternoon, when visitors are not admitted.”
‘By the Good Lord above!’ thought I. To wear such a garment daily!
“I should love to see her in it,” said I.
“Forget your hat and call round tomorrow at two for it,” suggested van Hessel.
I did just as he suggested and the following afternoon found myself sat with my fiancee in the drawing room, her with her arms pinioned behind her and an embarrassed look upon her face.
“Whatever are you wearing?” exclaimed I in mock astonishment.
“My mono-glove. He forces me to wear it every afternoon.”
“Is it uncomfortable?”
“Very. My arms are dead and my shoulders are on fire.” Of course I knew all of this from my own brief experience in the glove, but hearing it come from her innocent lips made it all the more exciting.
Another day I took up the lead that van Hessel had given me and asked about her feet.
“Is it those boots that make you walk so unstably?” I enquired.
“Partially,” said she.
“What do you mean, ‘partially’,” I asked.
“He has done other things to my feet.”
“I was forced to have an operation… when I first came here… he said that small feet were ladylike and mine were to be as small as possibly.”
“What did they do?”
“The surgeon, he removed by smallest toe on each foot, and also sections of my other toes and forced my big toe into a point.”
“That sounds painful.”
“Oh no, it wasn’t. It was all very professionally done, under anathesea and such. But the problem is, we are given five toes on each foot for a reason. I, with only four cannot balance well, I often stumble and fall.”
“That’s monsterous!” declared I, inwardly impressed at van Hessel’s idea. “Can I see your feet, please?” I added.
My Gaby daintily lifted the hem of her voluminous skirts and poked a foot out. It was tiny, unbelievably so. I was sent into raptures of delight, though of course I tried not to display this. Instead I changed the subject.
“We will marry soon,” said I.
“I fear he will object,” she replied. “This morning he was moaning about you at breakfast.” So, van Hessel was playing his part well, I thought. Jolly good!
Daily I visited the beleaguered Gabrielle, and daily she trusted me more. One day I even had a mock disagreement with van Hessel and then the next a mock making-up, before finally we had a mock grudging acceptance by him of my proposal of marriage. It was all so delightful, all the artificiality, her trust and his deception. Daily she told me of her restraints and nightly he demonstrated them and explained how to keep that gem that was soon to be mine.
And then, a month from the night when I’d watched her sleep, I was stood in Zierikzee’s great church whilst my bride, her arms unhindered for the first time in years, tottered down the aisle on the arm of van Hessel.
“Who gives this girl away?” asked the Man of God.
“I do,” said van Hessel, (no truer words ever were spoken, she had had no say in it all).
“Do you accept this man to be your Master?” asked the Pastor.
And with the document signed, the jewel was mine!
But the real pleasure cam later that day. I had been enjoying the feast with my friends whilst Gabrielle had been taken to the room several hours previously to be prepared for her wedding night. Eventually, at Eleven I could bear it no longer and headed upstairs to enjoy my new toy. Opening the door to my chamber I was confronted by one of the most enchanting sights that a man can see. Leaning against the wall was one of the most beautiful girls in all of the Netherlands, her body tightly-cocooned in a finely-made leather body corset that forced her toes into an en pointe position, her waist into miniscule dimensions and her arms behind her, leaving only her head and her hair done in beautiful ringlets free. Around her ankles, waist and neck were tied three large red bows and over the gag in her mouth was a large red rosette. Here was my present waiting to be unwrapped!
I went over to her and lifted her onto the bed, and took the rosette covered gag out of her mouth.
“Oh Wilhelm!” she cried, “I have waited so long for you! Get me out of this hateful cocoon, I wish to make love to my husband!”
“Later,” spake I.
“Do you not know the wedding tradition of the van Wetterings?” I asked.
“Why before we enjoy normal congress, the woman must first pleasure her spouse using her mouth.”
And at that I shut her up by thrusting my throbbing bishop into her only free orifice, whilst she stayed as trussed up and helpless as ever before.
It is a typical sultry hot tropical eve in the Isle of Kalimantan. Besides the vast rubber plantation that he owns, Mr. Wilhelm van Wettering, once of the Dutch East India Company, now as his own Lord and Master, has built a huge white mansion in the Dutch style. And in that mansion, in the master bedroom her lies, nay, not lies but sits, his back against the fine teak headboard whilst he bounces a fair maiden on his unquenchable manhood. A pretty girl, with silky skin and her arms forced behind her in a black leather mono-glove. Who is she? His wife? His mistress? Nay, she is none of those. For that said wife, the fair Gabrielle of Zierikzee lies to the left of the two lovers, bound up in a tight sleeping cocoon, blinded and deafened by that awesome garment. And his mistress, the beautiful Fatima, a child of Batavia and one of the fairest maidens in the Indies, why she lies to their right, also bound up in a leather cocoon, her fine proportions picked out by the material, oblivious to all around her. And so the girl in the mono-glove, who is she?
Oh no one, just some comely village girl that this millionaire Raja of the Indies has picked up for the night to enjoy as is his whim.