Ihbat

Ihbat

Chapter 1

My name is Ihbat. That has not always been my name. But it is my name now. That is my name. This is my task. My task is to set down on paper the history of my life. Or at least the history of the life of Ihbat. Nothing matters before that person came into existence. And so, with the help of Allah, I shall begin, and thus fulfill the task that it has been commanded I fulfill.

Ihbat came into existence thirteen years three months and five days ago. He, I, awoke on a bed in a beautiful room. It was a room decorated in a style that I was unfamiliar with. A style of the East, of the Orient. Fine rugs covered the floors, Arabic inscriptions made in gold leaf glittered behind their frames on the walls, and silken cushions were scattered on the huge bed on which I lay. There were no windows, but light was not absent, coming instead from a crenellated skylight. It was a beautiful place.

But I, Ihbat, (even though I didn’t know it at the time), was in no position to enjoy the beauty. Instead I was puzzled, confused, scared. I had not been in this place when I had fallen asleep. In fact, I had never been in this place before. Nor anywhere like it. Nor had I fallen asleep. What had I been doing? I’d been at school… no, not school. I’d finished school already. I was on my way home from school. Yes, that was it. Walking back from school. No, not walking, riding. Riding my bicycle back through the olive groves to my parents house. Then I felt a pain, just a little one, like an insect bite. A bite on my leg. Then I felt dreary. I stopped my bike, rubbed my eyes. The dreariness increased. Then I passed out.

Then I passed out and now I awoke. In a strange room. An Eastern room. Or at least one that appeared to be Eastern. I don’t know to this day where that room, or indeed that whole institution was. It could have been anywhere I suppose, from Timbuktu to Tokyo. But it was Arabian in character and ownership.

After some time I got up and looked around. There beside my bed was a teapot and a glass. I was thirsty, so I poured myself a drink. Besides the pop was an envelope. It had my name – my former name – on the front. I opened it. Inside was a letter. I read it.

Al-Ihbat,

Welcome to your new school. Medrassah Purdah. That is the name of this school. From now on you will be learning and living here. Forget your old school and forget your family. Forget your former life in all its entirety. It will be easier for you that way. You must adapt now and begin your new life. The life of al-Ihbat. When you feel ready to embark upon that new path, ring the bell.

And that was it. I was confused. What did it all mean? Who was al-Ihbat? I? I looked across at the table. There was a silver bell. I rang it. Silence. Then, after a minute or so, the wooden door to that sumptuous room was opened and somebody walked in.

 

Chapter 2

It was a woman. Or at least I assumed so. I didn’t know for sure. I didn’t know because she was covered completely with veils. Black cloth shrouded here entire body. Well, all of it aside from her eyes. They, and only they were left free. I looked at them. They were definitely a woman’s eyes. A beautiful woman in fact. And I was a man who took an interest in such women. Underneath the silken sheets, something hardened.

“Al-Ihbat, I am Fatima,” she said. She spoke Greek. I was surprised. “I am to be your maid here. May I call you Ihbat for short. It would be easier.”

“You may call me what you want,” said I, “but I am no lhba whatever. My name is Nikos.”

“No, Ihbat,” corrected she. “Your name was Nikos. Now it is Ihbat.”

“Oh.” I was confused. “Where am I?”

“Medrassah Purdah,” she replied, “The School of Purdah.”

I didn’t comprehend. “But…”

A gloved hand appeared from under her veils and was raised up in front of her face as a gesture for me to be silent. “Come!” said she.

As always, when a woman beckoned, I came.

I got up from the bed, wrapping a sheet around me to hide my nakedness. “You don’t need that,” said she, and with a flick of her gloved hand, whisked it away. My standing member was plain for her to see. I know not what her reaction was though. It is hard to gauge the reactions of someone that you can’t see.

I followed her to a side room. In it was a bath, full of steaming perfumed water. “Get in,” said she.

I did as I was bid. Then she began to undress. She removed her black shrouds. Underneath was, as I’d imagined, a fair maiden. No, that is not true, she was far lovelier than I’d imagined. Her dusky tanned skin completed her dark eyes and long brown hair. And her curvaceous figure was enough to make any man…

And beneath those veils she wore but a tiny white bikini.

“I will be attending to your bathing every day,” she said, climbing in with me. Let me rub your back.” I couldn’t believe this. This was not real, it was a dream, a fantasy. She moved lower down, towards that aching rod. “Christ!” thought I. She touched it, slowly moved her smooth hands up and down the shaft and then…

Clink, click. To this day I can’t believe it.

She’d grabbed my hands and twisted them behind my back, fastening them together with a pair of golden handcuffs. Before I knew what was happening, the same had been done to my ankles. I was bound and helpless!

“Sorry, about that Ihbat,” she said, standing up and getting out of the bath. “Now, get out and let me sort you out.”

I was more confused than ever. It had been so erotic, so steamy, and now…

I stood in the middle of the floor and she approached with something. It was golden. “What is it?” I asked.

“Shhh..” she replied, grasping my cock again. So, it was all part of her game. She like tying people up. I played along and let her stroke it. I re-entered the world of pleasure. She was an expert, she knew how to make a man… oww, arrgh, click, click.

What was she doing? She grabbed hold of it, wrenched it back and then placed the golden object over the top and fastened it into place. What was it?

“Now that is out of the way,” she said, we can get started.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Getting you ready, as I will everyday.”

“But what is this?”

“That is a chastity belt. It keeps that irksome little member of yours out of harm’s way.” Now come!” She had picked up something else golden.

“No! No!” said I, backing away. But restrained by my wrists and ankles there was little that I could do. It was a collar. She fastened it around my neck and locked it shut. Then she picked up and a gag and moved to place it in my mouth. I shut that orifice firmly, but she simply squeezed my nostrils until I had to open up to breathe and then that too was put in place and secured. I was helpless, restrained and silent.

And confused.

“Now, back to the bedroom and I shall explain all,” said she. I meekly followed. I had no choice. She sat me down on the bed and then sat down besides me, stroking me provocatively, causing immense discomfort lower down where my cock, unable to achieve an erection, struggled in its golden prison.

“As the letter stated,” said the Goddess, “You are now Ihbat, and what’s more a student at this school, the School of Purdah. You shall learn soon enough what Purdah is, and what your role and future are to be. In the meantime all you need to know is the following. I am your maid, and I will do anything you bid. Anything that is, except remove your cuffs, ankle chain and chastity belt. They you will be wearing 24 hours of the day, 7 days of the week. The gag you will wear whenever you step out of this room. Inside this room, if you behave, you need not wear it. The reasons behind these restraints will soon become apparent.”

“Now, this room is yours. It is where you will live and spend all your time whilst not in classes or at prayer. In it is all that you need; books to read, a toilet to relieve yourself, a bath to relax in, a bed to sleep upon, tea to drink. Meals will also be served in here at set times. I will serve them to you and I will feed you as it is obvious that with your hands behind your back you will be unable to do so yourself. I will also clean your bottom everytime that you have been to the toilet for a… Number Two. For the other toilet visits, you will of course, sit on the bowl. With your little penis restrained so, standing up to urinate is of course an impossibility.”

“Now, I will move onto what happens when outside of the room. Everytime that you step outside of the room you are required to wear this.” She reached under the bed and pulled out a garment, a mass of cloth. “I shall now wear it to demonstrate how you will look and how to put it on.” She put the cloth over her head and it unfolded all around her. It covered her completely, including her face. Over that face there was a grille of embroidered thread. There was also embroidery – flowery designs – down the front of the garment, and on the top which was shaped a little like a Muslim’s skullcap. The back billowed out as it was pleated. The garment was made of heavy-looking black material. The embroidery was in gold. The garment was beautiful, yet frightening. It covered all the body, leaving no trace of who was underneath. Even behind the grille there was no evidence of the maid’s facial features. It looked encumbering and hot. “It’s called a burqa,” she said. Her voice was considerably muffled by the material. She was hardly audible. “They wear them in Pakistan and Afghanistan.”

Fatima took off the burqa and her lovely figure was revealed once more. “Within this room you will wear these. She picked out another garment from under the bed. This was white and voluminous. They were a pair of trousers… of types. She gestured for me to stand and put them on. They were specially designed so that they fitted over my bonds. They were fastened at the waist with an extremely tight belt that left me breathless, and round the ankles below the cuffs, where they were gathered and tied with ribbons. They contained a lot of material and ballooned out around me. The outside was cotton, but inside they were silk and the smooth cloth brushed against my legs and caused my imprisoned desire to heighten. Inbetween the silk and the cotton there was obviously a lot more cloth, that caused the trousers to be huge in size. As I sat down I felt like a girl on her wedding day, wearing one of those wide white puffy dresses.

“And on top you wear this.” She produced a cotton shirt, that like the trousers was also voluminous, and also line with silk. She fitted it around my torso. It had no arm holes and was fastened by ribbons  at the neck, just below the collar and the waist. Down the front, like the burqa, it was embroidered.

“Now the burqa,” she said. That awe-inspiring dress was placed over my head, the inbuilt skull cap fitting perfectly. Behind the grille I noticed that a piece of thick black cloth had been stitched, that being the reason why all traces of Fatima’s facial features had been eradicated. Also eradicated was most of my sight. With the burqa over my face, only dark outlines remained. It was hot and the material clung to my face irritatingly.

“A final precaution,” said she who held all the power, and to my surprise, she fastened the burqa to the collar by means of several hooks inside that formidable garment. “Now, we can guarantee that you won’t be removing it,” she said. And she was right! Even with the use of my arms I could not have taken the thing off. I was completely imprisoned within the cloth! She smoothed the rest of the burqa over me and adjusted it so that it looked right. The pleats billowed out behind me. “Now finally, you slippers,” she said, “so that your feet are as silent as your mouth.” A pair of embroidered velvet slippers were placed on my feet.

“Stand up!” commanded she.

And so I stood, a sweaty, restrained and enveloped figure, anonymous and silent to the outside world.

“Good,” commented my maid. “”Now wait whilst I get dressed again and then I’ll take you to your lessons.”

 

Chapter 3

And so I walked out of that door, following the black veiled Fatima. Well, walked is not really the word, more like shuffled as the overpowering garments and short ankle chain, (eight centimetres is all I have ever been allowed), permitted little walking. And so I shuffled silently, save for the rustling of material, down countless corridors until I entered a room.

I couldn’t see a lot of the room of course. I couldn’t see a lot of anything. With the cloth and grille covering my eyes, the world was dark and indistinct. Even today I have not grown accustomed to that. Taking away clear, distinct sight was perhaps the worst thing that they ever did to me. Well, maybe…

But I could make out that this was a classroom, of sorts. Veiled in a manner similar to Fatima was a woman, obviously the teacher. Sat on the floor all around her, dressed in the same burqas as I had been forced to don, were the students. All were, like I, silent.

“This is the new student, Aisha,” said Fatima. “Ihbat. Don’t worry, Ihbat has no problems with English.”

“Good, welcome Ihbat,” said the teacher. “Sit down, we are about to start today’s lesson. This class is Purdah Study. Everyday we look into different aspects of how we live in Purdah and listen to real-life stories. I lecture you and you listen. Obviously, you do not ask questions or write anything, as you, like all the first year students here, are unable to do so. Now, today we will hear the tale of Noor, a young lady living in Britain, though separate from British Society.”

The teacher took out a book and started to read from it.

‘My name is Noor, and I am 22 years old. Ever since I left school I have been living in Purdah. As all of you knows basically what that means, I won’t go into that aspect of things. Instead I will describe my daily life. I wake up each morning for prayer in my bedroom. I sleep dressed in padded mittens and a burqa which covers me completely. Every evening, before I go to bed, my father ties the end of it together, (it was made deliberately long for me). This way any non-mahram male who might chance into my room by accident is prevented from having a fit of fitna and being tempted by my curvaceous form. What’s more, tied so and wearing the mittens, I cannot get out of the burqa so that the temptation to free myself is taken away. The temptation to pleasure myself in an un-Islamic way is also eradicated. However, I can walk in the burqa, and more importantly pray.

I stay in the burqa until my mother comes in and frees me. I then relieve myself and bathe, before dressing for the day. I am required to veil fully, including several layers of eye veils, every time that I leave the room. My dress is as follows:-

Tight shoulder length gloves in black.

Thick stockings in black.

Turkish trousers and a closed shirt.

A tight headcovering that leaves only my mouth and eyes free.

When I have put these on, I eat.

Then comes the next stage.

A thick floor-length black dress. A head covering and face veil of thick black material that leaves only my eyes free.

Thick fingerless mittens.

Then over this, a floor length abayah.

Triple faceveils including eye veils.

Two pairs of thick black socks.

Finally, an afghan burqa with face mesh.

This is my day’s clothing. Father, (it is he who insists that I live in Purdah), has stipulated these as mandatory for outside of my room. Most days, I go downstairs and sit with my mother and sisters in the living room. We sit on the floor and are silent if men are in the house, as Father believes that a woman’s voice is awrah, that is it is forbidden as it tempts men. We sit in attendance of him. We are forbidden to watch the television as it only shows the work of the devil, though this I don’t mind as to be honest, I can see very little anyway underneath all my veils. I am also very hot as even though Britain is a cold country, Father keeps the heating constantly on as he misses the heat of Pakistan. We do not complain about this of course.

It is sometimes asked how I use the toilet. The truth is, we wear nappies to stop any accidents, but I have trained myself sufficiently so that I rarely have accidents.

The routine only changes when I go outdoors. Then my nappy is removed and I am forced to don a chastity belt for my own protection. A chain is also attached to my ankles, and my hands are also cuffed to the sides of my body, held beside the chastity belt. My mouth is gagged so that I am not tempted to say something and thus tempt men with my young female voice.

We go out once a week around the town centre. Father accompanies us, and takes us out to show us the British women and how evil their lifestyle is. He points out girls wearing short skirts and mini tops, talking loudly to all and sundry, bearing their cleavages and legs, and teaches on how evil that is and how we will never be allowed such freedoms.

This is my life in Purdah, where I am kept hidden and pure until I am married. Father has already chosen a husband for me, a man in Pakistan who is a scholar and sixty years old. He believes firmly in Purdah and Islam. I will be his third wife.

Thank you for listening to my story and thank Allah for all of his beautiful creations and mercy.’

And that my students,” added the teacher, “is a perfect example of a life in Purdah.”

The lesson continued for another hour or so. All the time the teacher kept pointing out examples of how women living in Purdah, (which I learnt meant seclusion from men), should avoid tempting menfolk around them. To be honest, I found it all rather strange. The thought of that young girl, whom I imagined to be beautiful and ripe for picking, living controlled and enclosed like that made me feel hot, and my imprisoned manhood struggled hopelessly within its prison. I tried on several occasions to bring my hands round to my front and slip them into the belt, but I could not do it and even if I had, the belt was so tight, that I doubt I could have got a baby’s finger inside it, let alone the hand of a fully-grown man. The idea of her wearing a nappy like a baby, also increased my frustration, as did the thought of her being shown weekly the freedoms that she could never enjoy. Consequently, because of all this, and the layers of cloth that covered me, a soon grew very hot and sticky and my body was drenched in sweat. Looking around at the fidgets of some of the other students, I guessed that they were undergoing the same thing.

To divert my mind away from such thoughts, I set to wondering as to why was I being subjected to all this, being covered up like Noor, and told the lives of Middle-Eastern women. I could not figure it out. That I, a 17 year-old Greek boy, with a libido equal of any of my countrymen, a manly chest and may I say, handsome set of male equipment, with a respectable history of seductions behind him, should be trussed up and covered like an Arabian maiden…? It was all very strange.

 

Chapter 4

The lessons didn’t end with Purdah study. Next we were subjected to Islam, then two hours of Arabic, and after that some English. By the end of the day I was exhausted and drenched, and my cock painfully ached for release. ‘That,’ thought I, ‘I can get tonight in bed.’

However, when time to return to my room came, and Fatima stripped me of my clothes and bathed me, I was surprised to discover that the only bondage that she removed was my gag. The cuff and chastity belt stayed on, and after bathing she fed me some falafels, couscous and tea.

“Fatima,” I said, being relieved at being able to speak, (though she’d only given me the right, so long as I promised not to ask any questions about my predicament, nor make a fuss), “were you telling the truth when you said that I was your Master and you would do whatever I wanted?”

“Of course,” she replied with a smile.

“Right then,” I said, gazing at that gorgeous beauty, who was again stripped down to a bikini. “Will you kiss me?”

“No problem,” she replied, and pecked me on the cheek.

“No, I mean properly.”

“Are you sure that you want that?”

Have a stunning, bikini clad whore kiss me on command. Of course I was sure! “Yes,” I said.

Then that hot fox, put her lips to mine and we engaged in what was the best kissing of my life. That vixen obviously knew what she was doing, and as her tongue did things that I could not believe a tongue could do, my cock sprang to life, pressing painfully against the walls of it’s golden prison cell.

“I can do more than that,” she said, freeing herself, and starting to caress my body with her hands, her long nails causing waves of rapture. She moved lower down, caressed my ass and inside my legs. My manhood was on fire!

“Free me! Free me!” I cried.

“Sorry, Ihbat, you know I can’t do that, now, lick my pussy!”

And to my astonishment, she whipped off her bikini bottoms and thrust her wet pussy in my face. I licked it the best I could and her warms juices flowed into my face.

“That’s good! That’s good!” she cried, climaxing, and drawing herself away.

“Free me, Fatima! I can’t stand this!” I cried.

But she heeded me not, and instead, pulled out another burqa. Time to sleep my little trussed up stallion,” she said, and place the burqa over my head. I soon discovered it was like the one that Noor was forced to wear, overly long but unlike where Noor’s father tied it shut, this one was zipped. I was in a burqa sleeping bag!

“Night, Ihbat,” said Fatima.

“Don’t leave!” I cried.

“Ok, then,” said she, I’ll sleep by you.

And then that hot chick laid down beside me and snuggled up to me. Seeing her curves and feeling them and the warmth of her body next to mine sent me mad with desire.

“Release me! Release me!” I cried.

“You want more?” she asked, before adding, “So do I. But like that you can’t pleasure me. Don’t worry, I’ll do it myself!” And at that she started fingering herself and groaning in ecstasy.

My frustration was unbearable, but of course, I had to bear it. It was a very long time before I managed to sleep that night.

 

Chapter 5

The weeks and months that following were spent in a very strict routine. Everyday I was woken by Fatima, released from my sleeping burqa, washed, fed, and dressed. And then I studied all day long. The lessons were boring, pointless and the same; a solid diet of Purdah Study, Arabic, English and Islam. The last one irked me the most. Islam is of course the backward faith of the Turkish animals who raped our Greek homeland for centuries. Why should I study it? It was inferior to my Orthodox Christianity, the One True Faith. Everytime the teacher rambled away on the words of the Prophet I wanted to scream out loud. But of course, gagged and restrained as I was, I could never have done so, so instead I sat and listened in disgust.

It was the latter subject that also got me thinking as to why this was happening to me. Why kidnap a young Greek boy and tutor him in the practices of the Eastern religion and how they keep their women. Such a life as I led could not have come cheaply, so why? I wondered at first if it was not a plot of the Turkish dogs to dishonour yet another heroic Greek, but on reflection I guessed that it was perhaps not. Then I wondered if it was not all planned by Fatima, who just played at being a maid, but instead was in fact the woman behind it all, and who craved for a handsome young man like myself to be constantly at her service, licking her out with my tongue. But then I rethought. If it had been her, then she would surely have had a taste of my cock by now, for that no girl can resist, yet every night she would refuse to unlock me whilst she performed.

And boy how did she perform! She was a nymph, like one of the Sirens of yore. Her lithe body wrapped around mine, and she was true to her word. Whatever I asked save for the releasing of my restraints, she did willingly. I saw her finger herself in so many ways, she attached a dildo to my chastity belt and fucked herself with that, she licked my ass, drank my piss, and then made me do the same. It was heavenly, incredible and yet… not once did I climax. Every minute of every day I was mad with desire, yet never did I achieve it. My life was a hell of frustration. In the end I realised that all the things she was doing only made it more uncomfortable for me, and I asked her to stop, but even then, just the sight of her, or the image of her in my mind as I sat sweltering in my cocoon during those long tedious hours of Islam and Arabic, it drove me wild.

And so it carried on, a life of frustrated hell. And confusion, for of course I was still entirely ignorant of why this was happening to me, who was behind it all, and what was going to happen in the future. Those weren’t the only things that annoyed me as well. Another was my physical shape. I, like most of my race, had always been a typical Adonis since puberty, and had long prided myself on my well-toned body. All these months of enforced inactivity had caused, I noted to my disgust, a certain flabbiness, particularly around my chest and buttocks, and wearing silk everyday also seemed to have the strange effect of softening my skin. This bothered me as I knew that I would need my strength when the moment to escape presented itself. With everyday that passed, I hated by silken feminine bonds even more.

Then, after I had been at Medrassah Purdah for around six months, something happened. After the day’s lessons, one Thursday I was called into the office of the Headmistress. Never before had I seen her, or been called. Fatima surprisingly ungagged me before leading me down some corridors to some large wooden doors which she proceeded to knock upon before leaving me. A minute or so later, a voice from within called “Enter!” in Arabic, (I had, by that stage, a basic command of the tongue), and so I pushed my body against the wood. It opened and I entered a large room with several bird cages in which canaries twittered and a fountain gurgled in the centre. By the fountain, on a rug, was a woman, shrouded in a red burqa with golden embroidery. “Sit, Ihbat,” commanded she. I did as I was bid.

“Ihbat,” she started. “You have been commanded here today as a congratulation. Today the first stage of your schooling here has come to an end. You are ready to enter the next level. Do you have anything to say?”

I had of course a thousand things to say. “Why? Why am I here?”

“The reason behind you being here will soon be made clear to you. Basically you were chosen because you filled the requirements of the owners of the school.”

“What requirements?”

“Physical requirements. Your body seemed the right shape.”

My body! Did they perhaps need me as some sort of sex slave? I was as perfect as a male could be after all. And that would explain why Fatima had been assigned to tease me. “Who are the owners of the school?”

“This school is owned and financed by three organisations. The first is the Islamic Association, the second the IPO and the third the SFVI.”

“What do those initials stand for?”

“You will find out over the next year. Your next level of study includes studying the history and aims of our three owner organisations.”

“How long will I stay here?”

“Until you are married.”

“But how can I get married if I don’t have the chance to meet anyone to marry.”

“We will find you a spouse.”

“What if I don’t like them?”

“That is of no concern.”

“But which woman wants a man dressed up in veils who can only talk about Islam and Purdah?”

“No woman wants such a spouse.”

“Then how will you find me a wife?”

“Ihbat, have you not guessed yet? We will be finding you no wife. We will be finding you a husband. Have you not noticed the changes in your body? Every day for the last six months. Fatima has been feeding you with food and drink laced with hormone pills. She reports that your skin is now soft and feminine, your buttocks rounded and budding breasts are starting to appear. Ihbat, we are turning you into a woman, a woman of Purdah, a woman of Islam.”

A woman! I couldn’t believe it! But I was a man! A strong man! A Greek man! I would be no woman! What she described, why it sounded like homosexuality, I hated Gays, sick creatures, puffs! “You will not change me into any woman!” I cried. “I am a Son of Alexander the Great!”

“You were a Son of Alexander the Great,” corrected the Headmistress. “You are now a Daughter of the Prophet. Now you can either accept that gracefully and submissively as a woman should, or we will impose it by force!”

“I am a Greek!” I cried. “I will never surrender to an Eastern Barbarian!”

And I didn’t. And they did what they promised. Back in the room, Fatima replaced my gag with a different one that had a small hole in the middle. This gag was never taken out and I was fed through a tube that was pushed through the hole and down my throat. The hormones were obviously increased in quantity now as well, as the speed of the changes got faster, and daily I watched in horror as small breasts appeared on my chest, breasts with nipples that Fatima used to pinch and caress, sending waves of pleasure through my being.

The breasts weren’t the only new part of my life. Every morning, after my bath, my handcuffs and ankle cuffs were fastened to rings, one hanging from the ceiling and the other embedded in the floor and I was shaved all over until the only hair left was on the top of my head. Then, on my face, make-up was applied, long false eyelashes attached to my eyes and false eyebrows stencilled in. My hair, which was now quit long, was conditioned and combed daily, and often styled. When I saw myself in the mirror I realised with dread that I was now an attractive looking young lady, the sort whom I used to chase after, and only the pain of unfulfilled desire in my loins was left to show that I was really a male.

My lessons also changed now. The English was dropped, as was Purdah Study, (we had more or less exhausted the subject anyway). The Islam and Arabic remained but they were joined by some new subjects; Study of the Medrassah Purdah Founders, Dance, Sexual Techniques and Deportment. The last three were taught in my room by Fatima as they required my burqa and veils being removed. In deportment I was taught how to walk and sit in a seductive manner, in Dance how to do the belly dance and other Eastern moves and in Sexual Technique, well… I prefer to forget about that. When I first heard that I would be studying sex I was excited. So, at long last I was to be released from that hateful golden girdle, I thought. But of course, it was not to be. Instead most classes involved Fatima wearing a huge rubber dildo which I was forced to suck upon, whilst she pointed out what was right and wrong with my technique and paddling me for my mistakes. Other times we looking into French kissing, and different sexual techniques, where for the first time I had the humiliating experience of having something shoved into my anus, that being Fatima with the large strap-on. In fact, I was forced to wear a dildo in my ass everyday from then on, (“So you get used to the feeling”), something that was always a hateful reminder of my humiliation and subjection, and did not help with the old frustration, since as my back passage was now caressed every minute of every day by a large intruder, my cock was now even more alert than previously.

The dildo was not the only new addition to my daily wardrobe either. Every morning I was forced to don a kind of glove that held both my arms together behind my back in a painful position. This was kept on throughout my lessons causing my arms to be dead at the end. When I misbehaved Fatima also kept it on throughout the night, which was even worse as it prevented me from sleeping on my back, and of course, was not comfortable anyway.

The lessons on the Study of the Medrassah Purdah Founders turned out to be interesting. The school it seems was built fifty years ago under the auspices and with the finances of three organisations. The Islamic Organisation was an international group based in Saudi Arabia that promoted Islam and Islamic values. IPO stood for International Purdah Organisation, a multi-national, multi-faith society that promoted Purdah as a way of life for all women, and whose eventual aim was to keep every woman at home and under the command of her husband or father. The SFVI was a little strange. The initials stand for the Society for the Furtherment of the Venus Ideal, and it was founded in 1842 by one Wilhelm van Wettering, a rich Dutchman who lived in the East Indies. He kept his wife and concubines forever in a state of bondage where the use of their arms was restricted. Apparently he had got the idea from his father-in-law, one Jacob van Hessel who had been to Italy to see the treasures of antiquity. This Dutchman had apparently been so awe-inspired by the beauty of the Venus de Milo that he had had a copy made, and this he presented to his son-in-law upon his marriage upon his marriage to his daughter, Gabrielle van Hessel. Van Wettering too, it appears, was transfixed by the Venus Ideal and so proceeded to turn his new wife into one, using a corset designed by van Hessel, a corset, that held the wearers arms crossed behind her back in such a manner so that they appeared to be amputated. The Venus Corset is what he named it. Others – rich and perverted men who van Wettering invited to banquets and orgies at his mansions in the Netherlands and Borneo soon became transfixed by the image of the armless and helpless female, and so it was that the Society for the Furtherment of the Venus Ideal was born; a society that promotes and indeed stipulates that the arms of the wives of its members must at all times be rendered useless and bound. Knowing that such organisations were behind the strange institution where I was held, and that I was being transformed into a woman at the will of one or all of them filled me with a dread that made me shiver.

 

Chapter 6

I studied in such a manner for a further year. By the end of my time I had become a fully fledged female with tantalising curves and feminine graces. Well, a female aside from my imprisoned cock and the male fire that still burned constantly in my heart.

It was soon after my 19th birthday, when I was again summoned to the Headmistresses Office.

“The time for you to leave this school will soon be upon us,” she said. “Your studies have been completed. You are mentally ready for marriage.”

“Then have you found me someone?” I asked.

“We have not looked yet,” she continued. “I said that you are mentally ready, but Ihbat, you are not physically prepared yet.”

“But I am fully a woman now,” I said in a vehmenous tone. “Except for my manhood.”

“Fully a woman yes, but not a woman sufficient enough for our clients. Do you want some tea, Ihbat?”

“No,” I said. “Fatima has just given me some.”

“That is right, I commanded her to. In a minute or two you will start feeling drowsy. There was a strong draught in that tea. You are going on a trip, Ihbat.”

“What?! Draught? Why? Where?” But already the drug was taking over. I fell to the floor with a slump.

I awoke in a hospital bed, wearing nothing. I tried to get up, but realised that my hands and feet were tied down. I instinctively thought about my crotch, but it wasn’t painful. I looked down. I couldn’t see genitals! I couldn’t see them, not because they weren’t there, but because something else obscured my view. Two large silicone footballs that heaved with every breath. “I’ve been given a tit job!” I exclaimed to myself.

“And not just a tit job,” said Fatima who was stood behind me. “All your body hair has been removed through electrolysis, including that surrounding your little friend.”

“My… is that…?”

“Oh, he is still there, as encased as ever, in his little gaol. He’s not as big and male these days, the hormones have taken their toll, but he still works. Not that you’ll have the opportunity to find that out though.”

“Oh Christ!”

“Stop that Ihbat! You’re a Muslim now, remember. Yes, your new titties are quite something aren’t they. Even better than the ones the school gave me. I’m rather jealous!” And at that she started playing with my new nipples. The caress of her long nails sent ripples of pleasure through my body. New tits, more buttock fat, some nice fat collagen lips, permanent eyebrows, and non-removable long eye lashes. My dear Ihbat, you look like a little doll, a fuck toy worthy of a prince. Well, perhaps you will get a prince after all, though you’ll be no mere fuck toy, but a fully-fledged wife.

Married to a man. Being fucked by a man, like a homosexual freak. The thought was too mortifying for words.

“I think I’ll have a play with your new love toys,” continued the maid, caressing those huge, firm mounds. The old, awful frustrating returned with a vengeance as her wonderful hands grasped my new appendages.

I was released from the hospital that day and taken back to the school where my normal regime was re-established. One day however, instead of leading me to my lessons, Fatima instead took me to a large photo studio and stripped me of all my clothes barring the chastity belt. Then, to my horror, a man appeared.

Strange as this sounds, I felt awful. For so long had I been completely covered up in the presence of anyone, let alone a man, (this was the first man that I had seen since Nikos became Ihbat actually), that I felt naked, unprotected and weak.

“But, Fatima,” I protested, (my voice box had also been altered in the hospital and there was no way of telling now that I had ever been a man), “Purdah states that I must be covered in front of men.”

“I know, but this is an exception. We have to make sure that you get a good husband.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that a man must see what he is about to marry before he actually does so, and then once he has chosen, hide that jewel off from the rest of the world. So we have to make sure that when he sees you first, it is in the best possible light.”

What she meant by the ‘best possible light’ was having me dress up in all manner of outfits and photographing me. There were wedding and cocktail dresses, bikinis, jeans that were put on wet and then dried so that they were so tight I could hardly move my legs, a Victorian gown complete with excruciatingly tight corset that took an hour and two fainting fits to put on, some oriental dresses such as a kimono and ao dai, short skirts, pencil skirts, an Arabian Nights outfit, uniforms, (army, air hostess, schoolgirl), baby girl dresses and even some shots where clothes were not required. All in all, it could have been viewed as a pleasant experience for most women, but for me I just felt awful. Apart from the feeling of vulnerability caused by being without my veil, for the first time ever I was put on display as what I had actually been turned into; a hot chick for some guy to play with at his whim. Plus of course, the modelling session also brought home the realisation that I was soon going to be passed onto a man, a man who would violate me and control me. A man much like whom I used to be and still was inside. To say that the thought of being forced to suck, or take a cock up my ass terrified me, is the understatement of the year.

Following the model shoot it was back to normal, though without the lessons. Daily I was entombed within my mound of cloth, and daily did Fatima bring me to the brink of unbelievable ecstasy, but not once did I ever hurdle that insurmountable fence.

Then, a fortnight later I was summoned for the third and final time to the Headmistress’s Office. “Ihbat, I hope you have enjoyed your time with us. I am pleased to say that I have found you a satisfactory student. Here is a souvenir of your time at Medrassah Purdah.” The souvenir, which I perused when back in my room was a large book. On the cover was a photograph of me in the school uniform burqa. Inside were some quotes from the Purdah philosophy that I’d had drummed into me, and so photos of me at my lessons. Then there was a variety of pictures of Fatima in all manners of dress and position, to remind me of the girl that I never could have. And lastly there was a selection of images from my photo shoot, a selection that, it must be said, horrified me as to my eyes I really did look sexy and ready to be raped.

“And now, the news,” she continued. “We’ve found you a husband. You’ll be married in five days time.”

 

Chapter 7

I was lain on a huge, sumptuous king size bed. My only clothing was a harem outfit, such as one would expect Scheherazade to be donned, with a gauze veil, silken Turkish trousers and a tiny top covering my (distressingly) un-tiny breasts. Of yes, and a thick collar of gold with ‘Ihbat, the Property of bin-Husseini and Allah alone’ inscribed in Arabic. And from that collar, a chain that attached me to the bedstead.

After my final meeting with the Headmistress I had returned to my room and had been ensconced by Fatima in a sort of leather cocoon which I knew, (from my studies), was a common way in which members of all three founding organisations used to transport their Purdah-living wives, as of course it guaranteed that no prying eyes could see them, and what’s more, (due to a face mask), that the person trapped within could see no one, thus ensuring absolute safety and the elimination of all opportunities for temptation.

Being put into such a garment was unpleasant to say the least. Apparently, it has already been described in one text, written about one of the wives of the SFVI and deemed by many to be fiction, so I need not go into too many details, except to say that it was uncomfortably hot, that within it I was unable to do anything – move a muscle, see, hear – except breathe, and that the merciless lacing at the waist, the elongated laced neck and the tight headcovering made even that activity difficult. Thankfully, it was only a few minutes before the sleeping drugs kicked in.

And when I awoke I was on this bed, dressed in my traditional sleeping burqa. I lay there for several hours until two maids came in, fully veiled including their eyes. I knew however from their low voices that Fatima was not one of them. They stripped me, took me to a bathing room, handcuffed my wrists to a ring hanging from the ceiling and fully prepared me. I was washed thoroughly, my hair also, and then that was braided. Make-up was expertly applied to my face, my nails decorated and my hands hennaed. My whole body was perfumed. My chastity belt was even removed but they showed no surprise at the presence of my cock and balls, (the former immediately springing to life, and only losing its virility when one of the maids doused it in cold water), and instead just concentrating on making certain that every part of my genitals was spotlessly clean and perfumed. Then to my horror, a hot needle was produced, and a gag shoved into my mouth, and they proceeded to pierce my ears and nipples and foreskin, (the latter two operations being excruciatingly painful), whilst I cried into my gag. That done, golden rings were place through all my piercings.

Then, my chastity belt was replaced, and my hands released from the ceiling and cuffed to the belt instead. The gag was left in and I was dressed, firstly in the harem outfit that I have already described and afterwards in three full body veils and a glorious red velvet burqa with gold embroidery. Unfortunately, the burqa had a piece of black cloth sewn behind the grille and I was now completely blind.

Following this I was led out by the maids, over a distance that I could not determine until I entered a room. There the marriage ceremony took place, to a man that I could not see. I heard a room full of people, but I just stood there, blinded, restrained and ignorant for several hours until someone led me away and back to the bedroom, where I was stripped of my burqa and body veils, freshened up, the collar, (my wedding ring I later learnt), attached and locked onto my neck and chained to the bed.

And it is there that you find me waiting, waiting for my husband to have his way with me. A man named Ahmed bin-Husseini they tell me.

 

Chapter 8

Ahmed bin-Husseini came several hours later. He smiled when he saw me and started to kiss me and caress my lithe body. He disgusted me and I tried to wrench myself away, but of course it was impossible. Then he turned me over onto my front, lubricated my anus, (which to be fair did not need a lot of lubricating as after all my training with dildos it was more than big enough to accommodate his little thing), and shoved his throbbing penis into it.

It did not take him long and afterwards I was required to clean off his manhood with my tongue. It was disgusting and I almost wretched. Then he gave me a drink and within moments I found myself paralysed, (such a draught is also described in the story I mentioned earlier concerning Araksia, a SFVI wife. It is common practice to initiate Society Wives into their new life under its influence).

“Now my dear sweet Ihbat, a gift from Allah in Heaven. It is time for me to show you how you will live. As your training at Medrassah Purdah will have told you, you are now the wife, the property of a member of one of three societies, the Islamic Organisation, the International Purdah Organisation and the Society for the Furtherment of the Venus Ideal. Well my love, I may tell you that I am a member of two of them, the latter two. I am of course a Muslim as well, as are you, but by marrying someone who is till technically a man, then I violate religious laws and so cannot be part of their society. That however, is immaterial. You are now a Society Wife and that means that you will be living under the twin pillars of Purdah, which of course you already know all about, and as a Venus.

And with that he produced the garment that I had heard so much about and dreaded with all my heart – the Venus Corset. My body, now paralysed entirely, (barring the mouth, which was now whimpering and crying for mercy), was easily maneuvered by my new husband, and my arms, crossed behind me at the top of my back, and then my whole torso encased in that fearsome piece of corsetry. He laced it with a passion and my life was squeezed out of me. “Forty centimetres is the sat I set for my ladies,” he exclaimed.

This done, after he had finished panting with exertion, he took me again, excited as he was by the shape and helplessness created by the Venus Corset. By now I had recovered most of my bodily movements, (as the draught is not strong), but of course I was still entirely at his mercy, and indeed the thrashing of my legs seemed only to excite him further.

“You will be wearing this 23 hours a day, 7 days a week he explained, with only an hour’s bathing as rest. Then, your wrists will be handcuffed together and strapped to the ceiling ring as they were this morning. Your chastity belt will also stay on, I have no interest in your cock, and indeed only kept it there to remind you of your humiliation and to keep you from being able to climax. You will be required to be fully veiled everywhere outside of your room as you were in the school, and outside of the Wives’ Quarters, you will be gagged as I am a Muslim and believe the female voice to be awrah.

Everyday you will be required to sit in attendance of me for five hours whilst I entertain friends or attend to business. Otherwise your time is your own, except when I require servicing.

Other things, let me think. Oh yes, your toilet visits will be replaced by a daily enema, and you shall be sharing a room with my second wife, Lina. That is all, I am tired now and need to sleep. Goodnight.”

 

Chapter 9

I slept with him that night, but the following morning, after another humiliating bout of anal sex, I was escorted to my new room, bathed, clothed and fed by my maid, who like Fatima stripped down to her underwear to see to my needs, and like Fatima was incredibly sexy, though she – Jay was her name – was Thai, not Arabian, and unlike Fatima was interested in playing no sex games, attending to me with an indifference that I found almost as excruciating.

Then, whilst I was eating, the door opened and a figure wearing a beautiful green burqa walked in. The burqa and other veils were removed and I met Lina.

Lina was of course beautiful. Bin-Hussein only selected beautiful women and he had the power and money to select only the very best. But it was not her beauty that captivated me, but her personality and smile. Once undressed down to a chastity belt and Venus Corset she sat down besides me and smiled. “Are you Ihbat?” she asked. “I’m so glad that you’ve come. I was so lonely here with only the maids and other wives for company, (and I don’t much get on with them I’m afraid). I do so hope we can become friends.”

And we did. For the first time since my kidnapping, here was someone who liked me, was friendly towards me and did not want to play unfulfillable sex games with me. She smiled and laughed and we talked daily for hours on every topic under the sun. However, I’m afraid that whenever I saw her laughing brown eyes, long dark hair and smiling mouth, I felt pangs of desire even stronger than I ever had with Fatima or anyone else. The fact was, that I was in love with her, and she with me, (she didn’t know that I was man, but confessed one night in tears that she had always preferred women.

After that we kissed and stroked each other with our legs and intermingled our still-free lower bodies in bed every night, but of course, not once could we do what lovers want to, and now even more than ever the frustration was killing me.

And so that became my life. Everyday I awoke besides my love, a love whom I could never have, was showered and prepared by the maids, (including the humiliating experience of an enema, something which I haven’t got used to to this day), and then shrouded in a mass of heavy cloth until I was stifled and almost blind and then forced with my love to walk to bin-Husseini’s chamber where we sat, his four wives on a carpet in silence whilst he conducted business, smoked his hookah or laughed and played with friends. Then, when it was time for the midday nap, he would summon one of us to pleasure him, (normally orally), whilst the rest were sent home. Whenever Lina was called I felt so jealous that another man was enjoying her that my heart burned, and when I was called I felt dread and disgust at having to service one of my own sex.

In the afternoons we would sit in the Wives’ Quarter with the other wives, (Aisha and Sham, though later on Sham disappeared as she was the eldest and bin-Husseini was bored of her, and replaced by Scheherazade, an Iranian). Like Lina, they interested me little, I found them haughty and boring, though I have to admit that it was there that I learnt the allure of the veil. Previously I’d never understood why some men find veils sexy, yet there I grasped it. Sat beside this women, talking to her and hearing her beautiful voice, knowing that she was a lady on a par with Helen of Troy, but unable to see anything of her features, my imagination went into overdrive, knowing that she was so near, yet so far, so perfect and yet so unattainable. I was always glad to return to my chamber but then seeing my Lina in there in all her loveliness, well… no stress was relieved.

So we spent our days gossiping, listening to songbirds, drinking Arabian tea, and admiring each others clothes, whilst at night, at erratic times we were summoned to pleasure our Husband and Master, in all manner of strange and unpleasant ways.

And all the time of course, clad in a Venus Corset. An uncomfortable garment that left my waist tiny and my arms dead, and I forever helpless and unable to do the simplest things like open a door or hold my beloved Lina.

My life as such continued in such a way for just under a decade until the charms of youth slowly started to fade.

 

Chapter 10

Then one day I was summoned to bin-Husseini and after I had milked him with my mouth, he told me.

“I have divorced you,” he said. “Your charms are fading and you have started to bore me. I have a new She-Male wife being prepared at Medrassah Purdah. You are to be remarried.”

“Thank you Master,” I said.

He didn’t tell me who my new husband was to be, but manys the tear that was shed as Lina and I knew that we were to be separated forever. Two days later, I was prepared as I had been for my marriage to bin-Husseini and ensconced in blinding burqas married in another Islamic ceremony.

Then I was returned to my chamber and enclosed in my travelling cocoon before being sent to sleep.

I awoke clad in a burqa, my Venus Corset on, and a key – the key to my chastity belt!- hung around my neck. I sat and waited.

Two hours later, the door opened. A burqa-clad figure walked in. ‘A maid,’ thought I.

The figure stopped and wiggled. It lay on the floor and then stood up. It was removing its burqa. After a while I helped, and the figure was free.

“Lina!” exclaimed I.

“Ihbat!” exclaimed my love.

“But…”

“But…”

We laughed.

“I was told that I would find my husband waiting in here.”

“And I was told that my wife would be coming.”

“Then you must be… but you’re a…”

“No,” said I. “They transformed me. I still have a…”

“Then we are husband and wife! Bin-Husseini has a heart after all! He tired of us and so he put us together so that we may at least have some happiness.”

I couldn’t believe it. “The key… to my belt, it’s around my neck.”

“Mine too.”

I took off hers with my mouth and opened up those precious realms.

“Now your turn!” she said, using her mouth to take off that precious golden key. She moved down to my lower regions and fitted it to the keyhole. It would not however, turn.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t get it to turn.”

Then a terrible but familiar laughter filled the room. It came from a loudspeaker on the wall.

“Ladies! You are free of me,” said bin-Husseini. “You are married to each other and now live in your own little palace, all paid for by I. However, I could not leave you without one little joke. Ihbat, I had your belt soldered shut whilst you were sleeping. It can never be opened. You will forever live up to your name.” He laughed once more and then the loudspeaker was turned off.

“Live up to my name?” I said. “What does he mean?”

“Ihbat, have you never realised?”

“Realised what?”

“Ihbat. It’s Arabic for frustrated. You are al-Ihbat. The Frustrated One. That was their plan all along. You will never receive any sexual satisfaction.”

FINIS

Copyright © 2004, Dave Potter

 

 

 

The Sad, Sad Tale Of Araksia Manuelyan

The Sad, Sad Tale Of Araksia Manuelyan

Copyright © 2004, Dave Potter

araksia

In the Shadow of Mount Ararat

Far out to the East, way beyond where the Berlin Wall once stood, onwards, past the lands of the South Slavs and the Bosphorous where the Turk sits proudly between Europe and Asia. Beyond there, and the vast expanse of water known as the Black Sea, lies a land. It is a small land, a land of mountains, a beautiful land, and an ancient land. And besides that land is one of the greatest and most ancient of all the world’s mountains. It is the mountain where Noah’s ark rested after the Great Flood and the mountain that has been holy ever since. It is Mount Ararat and in the shadow of Mount Ararat lies a city, a small city, of concrete blocks and domed churches. It is the city of Erevan, the capital of that land, the Land of Armenia. And in that city beneath that mountain there is a grey apartment block, a block most similar to countless others found across the vast expanse of what was once known as the Socialist World. And in the bottom of that block is a small internet cafeé and at one of the computers in that cafeé is a girl.

She is a pretty girl, with long dark wavy hair, large dark eyes, a well-proportioned bosom and a curvaceous posterior. She is well-mannered, intelligent and hard-working. She is a typical daughter of Armenia.

She is Araksia.

But what is Araksia doing in that internet cafeé, staring at a computer screen on a brilliant sunny day such as this? Why, she is doing what alas, so many of her contemporaries are doing, looking for love, opportunity and a life beyond the boundaries of her humble homeland by the medium of that miracle of the modern-world, the internet. She is chatting. Not actually chatting of course, but cyber-chatting. To a man. A man named KevCali. Well, that is not his name of course. His real name is Kevork. She knows this because she asked him. He is Kevork and therefore he too is an Armenian. This pleased her. She never thought that she would be so lucky as to find a fellow Armenian there. But where is there? Look at his handle – Cali. Why yes indeed, California, America, the dream world of the movies! Kevork in California, although she has never met him, he is the man that she is trying to marry.

She smiles. But why? Why, she has reason to indeed. For KevCali, who she has now been chatting to for several months, has just stated his intentions. He too is looking to wed. And he is coming to Erevan.

The very next week.

Leaving on a jet plane

She could not believe her luck? How many girls get someone like this handed to them on a plate? He was a gift from Heaven! How many times had she thanked God in the church for this?

From the moment that she met him coming through the immigration she knew that he was for her. He was young for starters. Much younger than she’d imagined he’d be. Most of the men that went on http://www.lovearmenia.com were old, with paunches and receding hairlines. Yet he turned out to be but twenty-six, only six years older than herself, and what’s more, rather handsome, muscular and well-toned. That was not all however, he had dress sense. Oh yes, so it wasn’t standard, no blue jeans and a tight T-Shirt like most of the gallants on the Erevanian  streets, but in his immaculate white suit, he looked, well… if only James Bond had been an Armenian…

He lived in California, near LA. His parents had moved to the States as children, escaping the onrush of the Russian Civil War. His grandfather had done well, in gold and jewellry and then his father too. Kevork, what did he do? Nothing much really? He made money playing around on the Stock Market, but for most of the time he read books, wrote poetry, (oh, an artist!), and enjoyed life. Was he financially secure? As financially secure as any twenty-six year old with fifty million dollars in the bank is.

It was arranged quickly. She loved him ravishingly and he heaped praise on her. ‘Will you marry me?’ he asked on bended knee. She said yes in an instant and they went back to his hotel room and made love. My! What sex that was, he was as stylish and different in bed as out of it. “None of that standard stuff, my darling,” he said, producing a pair of golden handcuffs. She’d never been restrained before and entered into the game with glee. The experience was out of this world. Looking back now, she shudders at where it was to lead to.

“There is only one small matter my dear,” he said, when they were talking the next day.

“What?”

“In LA, in the States where I live, we have a tradition. Oh, I don’t like to bring it up, but…”

“Whatever is it?”

“Well it seems like I’m trying to kill the romance but I’m not, it’s for both of our good…”

“What?”

“We always insist on a marriage contract. If you wish to marry me, I would like you to sign this.”

The document was not large, and Araksia perused it in detail. It was legal stuff mostly. In case of divorce… Actually the terms were rather generous to her she thought. In case of divorce where none of the clauses of the contract had been broken, she would be entitled to fifty per cent of his estate – twenty-five million dollars! But what were the clauses – no adultery, no living apart for more than a year, the usual. But wait, here’s one that was not standard. ‘You are to wear whatever garments Kevork Manuelyan insists whilst whilst on his property. However, after putting on the garments for five minutes, if you are not comfortable with them, you can remove them yourself with no detriment to your legal position.’

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Oh that, well to be honest, I like women wearing kinky underwear, but sometimes you girls are a bit shy…”

Araksia grinned. She was wearing a thong at that moment that he’d bought her. He’d complemented her on her ass several times already, (she had always thought it a little large but he liked that, ‘The Armenian girl’ he’d said, is ‘The Asian Lass with the Latin Ass’), so she was wearing skin tight jeans on top that had been a struggle to get on.

“Plus there is a serious side to it as well. I am an important man and renowned for my dress sense. I was worried about my wife letting me down by wearing unsuitable clothes. Therefore I get to choose, but as I wrote there, if you don’t like what I choose, you can take ‘em off.”

“That’s sounds fair enough,” she said.

Two days later they signed the contract in front of an Advocate. The day following that they were married in a simple ceremony at the Registry Office. Araksia Sarkisyan became Araksia Manuelyan. Her ageing parents were overjoyed, delighted that she’d married one of their kind, and a rich and well-mannered young man to boot.

The night before they were due to leave, Kevork presented her with a box. “My darling Araksia,” he said. “This is a small leaving present from me. I would be honoured if you’d wear it tomorrow.”

She looked at him a little confused and opened it. Inside was a beautiful corset, exquisitely made, and covered in blue silk.

“It’s b-b-beautiful,” she stammered, “but…”

“But?”

“But I’ve never worn a corset before?”

“My love, you should try. They make you look fantastic and elegant. If you like it I have a suit made for you to wear over the top on the flight.”

“But how do I put it on?”

“Let me show you now.” He got out the garment and fastened it around her waist, hooking up the busk. The corset had cups for her breasts and once fastened felt quite tight, pleasant and snug. “now for the lacing!” said Kevork. He went to her rear and started to pull on the strings. She felt the stays contract. “Oh my God!” she said.

“Don’t you like it?”

“I don’t know, well, it’s different, my breathing…”

“Just a little more,” he said. He tightened until her chest was beginning to heave and then tied the laces off.

“Wow!” she said, “This really does do something for me!”

“I told you it would. Will you wear them tomorrow or not?”

“Well, I don’t have much choice do I, the contract and all?”

“That’s only in my house, our house my love.”

“I will wear them anyway, to please you. I kinda like them anyway.”

“Good, then wear them now, and these!” He got out the handcuffs and grabbed her wrists, fixing them together behind her back. “Now my Asian Lass with the Latin Ass, let’s fuck like rabbits!”

And so they did. And not just once.

It was a tired Araksia Manuelyan that said goodbye to her family and left for a new life and new world the following morning.

And a corsetted one.

Home Sweet Home

The plane started it’s descent and Araksia stared out of the window. Down below was a land of sunshine, palms trees, wide highways with huge cars travelling on them, and luxurious villas. It was not the real world, she thought, but instead a dream. A dream that was hers for the living.

Once they were through the customs they headed out to where a black stretch limousine was stood parked. “Get in,” said Kevork.

“Why? This… it’s yours?”

“Ours my love,” he corrected.

Once inside he poured a drink from a cabinet in front of them. Outside the world of the movies passed by. “To us my dear!” he said, handing her a bubbling glass of champagne.”

“To us!” They kissed.

“How do you feel so far?” he asked.

“Well, it’s all, it’s all so big, and different, and new. I don’t know. The only thing is, you tightened this corset up a little too much, it’s killing me. I can’t wait to take it off.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be taking it off soon enough.” He grinned. “And the rest of your clothes!”

She smiled sheepishly. Hmm… that she was looking forward to.

The journey to the mansion took about an hour. An hour of palm-lined highways with millionaire’s homes on the hills behind. Then, they turned off into a drive themselves. The drive of her new home! It was huge, unbelievable. A white castle almost, in the Spanish style, surrounded by manicured lawns and palms.

“Home sweet home!” declared Kevork, as the chauffeur opened the door for him. He got out and helped Araksia. “I’ll show you round later, come on inside… to the bedroom.”

Stood on the steps by the doorway were two pretty Asian girls, dressed in elegant flowing silk. “Araksia, these are Linh and Hoang. They’re our two maids. They’re Vietnamese and don’t speak English, but I’m sure you’ll get on fine. Hoang is assigned to you.” The two girls bowed and smiled. They were ravishingly beautiful and if Araksia weren’t so sure of Kevork’s love for her then she’d have thought he’d employed them for other reasons aside from their housekeeping abilities…

“Their gowns, they’re so elegant!” she exclaimed.

“They’re ao dais, the Vietnamese traditional dress. Beautiful aren’t they? I insist that they wear nothing else. I can have some made for you if you wish?”

“Ooo! If you can!”

“Of course my love. Come! Let’s go!”

He took her by the hand and hurried her down endless corridors into a large white room with French Windows. In it’s centre was a vast, king size bed, also in white. “Our Chamber of Love!” he declared. “Now let’s get you out of those clothes and freshened up!” He stripped his young wife and led her to an en suite bathroom where hot water gushed out of a shower. He then proceeded to do the same, but they didn’t stay in that shower for long. Within ten minutes they were both gasping and panting on the bed, before finally collapsing in ecstasy and exhaustion.

“I’ll ring for a drink,” said Kevork.

He did so and within a minute Linh appeared carrying two classes our fruit juice.

“Here you are my dear,” said Kevork, handing Araksia one.

She gulped the juice down in one.

Within a minute she was fast asleep.

Good Morning Sunshine

‘It is all just a dream! A wonderful, glorious dream! Too good to be true!’

Araksia opened her eyes. No! It is true! She is there, in that sumptuous room. Her handsome, wonderful, marvellous husband by her side, gazing into her large dark eyes. She moves to hold him, to hug him, to kiss him. To let him know just how much she loves him. But wait, she can’t move. She tries to shift her body. No! Move her arms. Cannot! Why? What is happening? She opens her mouth and screams. “Kevork! Kevork! I can’t move! Help me! Something’s happened!” He smiles. Smiles? That’s a strange reaction. “What’s happening!”

“Welcome back to the world, my dear. I trust you slept well?”

“But Kevork, I can’t move, I can’t…”

“I know my love, I know.” He knows? Don’t worry, it’s only temporary.” He kisses her. Temporary? What does he mean? “It’s a precaution my dear, a necessary precaution.” Precaution? What the hell is happening here? “In the juice that you drank… It was drugged. A substance that immobilises the entire body, leaves you paralysed. Well, temporarily paralysed, for an hour or two…”

Paralysed? Why? What? She screams.

“Paralysed except for the mouth that is. But we can soon fix that.” He pushes something into her mouth and buckles it behind her head. It is a gag! She is gagged? But why? What is happening? Help me! She sobs.

“Ahh… now you’re quiet I can at last explain to you. Now where was I… oh yes, the drug. The drug will wear off soon. It paralyses you. I don’t like using such methods of course, I am sure this will be the first and last time, but it is unfortunately necessary. Sadly… inexplicably, many women tend to go hysterical and try to escape when their new life is outlined to them.”

She stops crying and he dabs her eyes. What is he on about?

“Yes, their new life. You see my love, my darling wife, I am afraid that I wasn’t entirely honest with you when we were in Erevan. No, that is wrong, I was entirely honest. I did however omit some things. These are what I shall now outline to you.” He smiled. He seemed to be enjoying the experience. “Yes, for you see I belong to a Society. What we are called and how many we are does not matter to you. All that you need to know is that the members of our Society all share two things in common. Firstly, that we are rich. You have to be very rich to join as our activities consume a lot of money. That’s number one. And number two is that we all hold very fixed views on how our women, or at least our wives should be looked after.”

Looked after? What does he mean?

“Yes, we all hold these views and these views are what I shall now outline to you, because you, as my wife, will be required to live according to them. But what are those views I see your eyes asking? Well, they are as follows.

Firstly, as you know, there is a belief, currently prevalent in much of the West, that women are equal to men, and that a marriage is a union of two equals. This is of course entirely false. History shows us that a husband and wife have two very separate and strict roles. The husband is the breadwinner. He looks after his wife and provides for all her needs. She does not want for anything. But at the same time, he is the boss, his will takes precedence in all matters inside and outside of the home. That is his role, thus that is my role. Your role is, as I said before, quite different. The wife’s role is to be a mother and, if the household is poor, to cook and look after her husband and children within the home. She is also there to provide her hard-working breadwinner with sexual pleasure in the bedchamber whenever he wants it. In rich households however, such as ours, where there are servants to do the housework, such as Linh and Hoang, then she need not work and indeed is not allowed to work, any work in fact, of any kind. Her sole purpose then is to bring pleasure to her husband’s life, through sex of course, but also by looking pretty and satisfying all of his desires. She is, as it were, a doll, not needing to do or to think anything, but just to be – to be pretty, sexy and ready to satisfy her husband and master whenever he wants. She is, his accessory.”

Araksia could not believe what she was hearing? Was this man serious? Surely he was joking? She, as a Soviet citizen was a liberated woman, and from all that she’d heard, the West was more so. Yet this sounded like something from the Dark Ages!

“Now, as I can see from the expression in your beautiful eyes, you are somewhat shocked by these views and perhaps do not agree with them. That is of course, immaterial. As you are married to me, you have to agree with them. However, even so, even with a marriage certificate signed and all these ground rules laid down, many women – alas, infected by that disease known as Feminism – feel the need to rebel. Now rebellion is of course wrong, and thus should be punished. There are men who do such, using the means of caning, or paddling or such. I however, am not one of them. Hitting people is violence and I can tell you now, I am a man who abhors violence. No I, and all the members of our Society, are against violence in all its forms. We are however, for obedience. But how do we achieve obedience without violence? Why my love, the answer is simple. We eliminate the opportunities for our wives to be disobedient. But how do we do that?  Do we lock them up in little cells? Why of course not? Such tactics are from the Mediaeval Times, not our Enlightened Days. No, we do nothing of the sort. Instead we just insist that our wives where certain garments, or even just one particular garment, which, if worn eliminates those opportunities for disobedience.”

Araksia looked confused. And petrified.

“You don’t understand my love, why then I shall explain further. Think of the human body. To do anything, what do we need. We need all of it of course, but some parts are more important than others. For example the eyes. They are important. If we cannot see, then how can we do anything? But wait, no. We can do things without sight, look at the blind and the marvellous things that they achieve. Why, they are remarkable people indeed, I’ve always admired the blind. And our ears too, now they too are superfluous. And our mouths? Well, you seem to be getting along quite well without your at the moment, though of course, the mouth has many uses… No, I don’t wish to deprive you of the use of any of these, nor even of your legs. Quite frankly would I want to do anything with your legs, they are just perfect as they are, as is you wonderful ass too… No, your legs are safe my love, but, your arms… He took those now flacid and useless appendages in his hands. What can you do without these my dear, eh? Why, very little, very little indeed. A person without arms is dependent on those around her for everything. That is why my dear, something has to be done about these.”

Araksia gazed at him in horror.

“Hoang! Linh!” he called. The two pretty Vietnamese girls came in straight away. They must have been waiting outside Araksia thought. “Now my love,” Kevork continued, “as I said before, Hoang here is to be your maid. You will be reliant on her… and me… for everything. Don’t worry though, you won’t get to know her. She, and lovely Linh here don’t speak a word of English, let alone Armenian and Russian. We used to have Filipinos you know, a very pleasant race, and their ladies, why their butts can almost rival yours. But, they’re so good at English, they learn from infancy I believe, so they talk too much, and get to know our Society Wives too well, sometimes they mistakenly become friends and try to help them. But we’ve learnt, no such problems with the Vietnamese, they seem absolutely impervious to the English tongue or indeed any language but their own, which is full of screeches and whistles – quite fascinating to listen to. Of course their butts aren’t up to Filipino – or Armenian – standards, nor the breasts, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers, can they? No, fear not, you will not be becoming friendly with Linh or Hoang. Their duties instead will be to dress you every morning and… no, we’ll stick to the dressing first. Yes, they will dress you as you will be unable to do so yourself. Everyday I expect you immaculately turned out, in an evening dress, coiffured, made up, nice long lashes, that sort of thing. And wearing what will become your new best friend, the Venus.”

Venus?

“The Venus, a name taken from the Venus de Milo, you know, the statue without arms. And why is it called such, because this Venus makes you appears much the same. Hoang! Linh! Let’s show Mrs. Manuelyan her new Venus. The two maids lifted her limp body up and carried it to a side room which turned out to be a dressing room. “All your garments are in here,” said Kevork, showing her a vast wardrobe full of dresses. They then proceeded to pull out a strange white garment. It looked a little like the corset that she’d worn the previous day, but contained two major differences, firstly that it was longer, reaching up to her  neck, and secondly that it contained no openings for her arms!

The two Asian girls fiddled with the garment whilst Kevork held her. Then Linh came up and crossed Araksia’s arms behind her at the top of her back. Then Hoang fitted the garment around her and fastened up the hooks at the front. It was already very tight and constricting. Then Linh started pulled the laces at the back. The Venus corset contracted, and contracted. Very soon, even without the drugs in her system, Araksia realised that she would be completely immobile from her waist to her neck. Hoang then attacked the waist lacings. Like with the corset, it became difficult to breathe and then nigh on impossible. But unlike the corset her breasts could not surge up and down in the Venus as there was no place for them to go. What’s more, her efforts to respirate were not helped by the fact that this garment, contraption, call it what you will also had a very high neck that was also laced and caused her to hold her head high. Once they tied the laces off, she felt like a rigid helpless doll. Which is after all, just what she was.

“Perfect! Declared Kevork. “You look stunning. Now I can show you the true genius of the Venus corset, look!” He took her over to the mirror. “With it fully tightened, your arms crossed against your back like that, how does it appears?” She looked. She was shocked. Tightened as it was it appeared as if she had no arms at all, and never had. Where they were, compressed against her back, why you couldn’t tell. She looked like one of those mannequins in shop windows. She wanted to cry but was too shocked to. “Now, I must do something which I didn’t have chance to earlier. Hoang! Linh! Di ve phong nho.” The maids nodded and left. Then to Araksia’s surprise and dismay, her husband whipped off his shorts, turned her over, draped her over a chair and started thrusting his erect penis into her huge and virgin ass. The pain was unbearable and tears streamed down her cheeks. What the hell had happened to her?

Here Comes The Bride

Within fifteen minutes Linh and Hoang were back in the room. The movement was starting to come back into Araksia’s body and she found that she could wiggle her toes a little and a few minutes later, flex her knees, though nothing above them of course! After Kevork had finished he’d sat her down and the Asian girls had set to work on her face and legs, giving the latter a thorough hair removal and the former a complete makeover, with Kevork removing her gag so long as she promised not to make a din. The there was her long black hair which was curled into sausage like ringlets. By the time that was finished, Araksia found that she was able to stand. “Now my love, Hoang here is about to introduce you to another of your new daily routines, the enema.”

Araksia had no idea what word meant and she said as such to Kevork.

“An enema, well, let me explain. As you know, we all, both ladies and gentlemen, are required by nature to visit the bathroom several times daily, at irregular times at that, to do well, what we must. This contraption however eliminates the need for those visits to the bathroom. It is used once daily and that is that, no more toilet!”

This sounded strange. “But, how? How does it work? And why? What is wrong with going to the toilet? Going to the toilet has nothing to do with being a submissive obedient wife. It’s…”

“Oh yes my sweetheart, I know, I know. To be honest with you, the enema, well, it’s got nothing to do with our Society and stuff. It’s my own little idea, my tiny contribution to your new lifestyle as it were. You see the thing is, as you said, going to the toilet, why, it’s a natural thing, everyone does it. You however, as my wife, are not to be like everyone. You are special, so you should live in a special, and what’s more, an entirely artificial manner. I love artificiality, don’t you? Dolls are artificial. They smile, play, do whatever you want, when you want. And you my precious, are my little doll, to hold, kiss and fuck whenever I want.”

‘Oh my God!’ she thought. ‘This guy is seriously sick!’

“And how is it administered? Why, through that charming ass of yours of course. Hoang! Den!” Now see, she sticks the pipe in here,” (Araksia groaned), “flicks this switch here, and your insides are filled with water. The, once filled, they will be sucked out again. Clean, hygienic and totally artificial! Clever, eh?” That particular enema, with her husband and the two Vietnamese girls stood in attendance, was possibly the most humiliating experience of her entire existence. Even today, she winces at the thought of it.

“So my dear? Do you feel better now? Emptier, cleaner?” She said nothing. Her mind was in shock. “Oh, you are adjusting to all of this jolly well, better than I expected. Now, where were  we. Oh yes, enema done. Artificial you see, and that’s not the only part of your life that will be. Your meals also. I have a nutritional compound which Hoang will prepare for you daily. It tastes of nothing, is artificial as well. That will be your new food. Well, unless I decide, as a little treat, to feed you something else, when I want to. But don’t worry, the compound is healthy, has all the vitamins and such that you need. I should like to feed it to you now, but time is running short. You are not dressed yet. Hoang, oi! Ao cuoi!”

Not dressed? Time is running out? For what?

The answer was not long in coming. Hoang reappeared carrying a dress. A white dress. A wedding dress.  A sheath of white silk that once fitted clung to her like a glove, (Oh, to be able to wear gloves!). It was long with a train of two metres or so and it was tight, and when she viewed herself in the mirror, she could see that it made her look beautiful. She was like a fairytale princess. Well, a princess without any arms…

Hoang proceeded to fit some dainty white shoes on her feet. They had incredibly high heels and she had to lean on Kevork for balance. “Ten centimetres, my love,” he said by way of explanation.

She managed to find her voice. “But why?” she said.

“Why? For we are going to get married, my darling! Well, not really. We really are married anyway, that in Armenia was real, and we have a contract, a contract that allows me to dress you how I please, to prove it. However, none of my friends were present in Erevan, and it was awfully basic wasn’t it? So now we’ve the big party! Come!”

And with that he led her out of the room, down a corridor to some large white double doors. “Are you ready?” he asked. She said nothing and moved not. Hoang and Linh, who were obviously to act as her bridesmaids nodded and picked up the train. The music started and the doors opened, and her husband leading her, down the aisle she walked, through a room packed full of people, the men all in smart suits and the women all exquisitely dressed, and armless. It was like a strange, hallucinatory dream, nay, a nightmare. A sort of priest read the service but she took none of it in and remembers nothing. Not of the ‘I do’ which Kevork said on her behalf anyway, (‘She does’), nor of the fitting of a golden ring around her neck, (well, they couldn’t put one on her finger now, could they?), with a leash attached, nor of the huge cocktail party afterwards. No, to this day all that she remembers following the opening of those white doors and the procession down the aisle is of her husband’s repeated rapes of her that evening in their oh-so-sumptuous bedchamber.

The Hum-Drum Pattern of Daily Existence

The days and weeks that followed that mortifying and expensive wedding passed by like a bad, monotonous dream. Her life from Day One assumed a very definite routine. In the mornings she awoke clad in her Sleeping Venus. The Sleeping Venus, which Kevork introduced her to on the evening following that of their wedding night, (for the wedding itself he couldn’t be bothered with changing her attire, his desire had been so overwhelming), differed from her everyday Venus, or ‘Foundation Venus’ as he termed it, in that it was shorter, leaving her private areas entirely free, was a little less tight, (which was a relief), and had two cut-outs for her breast, cut-outs that it must be said were a little on the small side, causing her already fine tits to balloon out to an incredible size, and causing her husband to caress them almost as much as he did her equally impressive ass. So, she awoke in the Sleeping Venus and usually he took her there and then in the morning.

After this initial bout of unwanted exersize she was escorted by Hoang to her dressing chamber where she was released from her Sleeping Venus and whilst her arms were still sleeping, put into handcuffs that were attached to a golden chain that dangled from the ceiling. Then Hoang  herself would undress down to a skimpy bikini, and wash her charge thoroughly, before shaving her entire body below the neck. She would then dry her and apply her make-up and sort out her hair, which was at the time long and straight, before getting the day’s Foundation Venus out of the wardrobe, releasing Araksia, and transferring her straight into another state of bondage. Once the Venus was fully laced  and tightened, (Kevork, a lover of small waists, insisted on a circumference of fifty centimetres), she would then head over to the wardrobe and pick out the dress that Kevork had chosen for her that day, and of course the shoes that matched. Every day, without fail, she was required to wear an evening dress, virtually always quite difficult to wear due to a high collar a clinging shape that emphasized her considerable derriere, and often with high heels to complement it.

Once fully dressed and her marital ring and leash reattached over the collar of the dress, she was led out to her Relaxation Room, a vast chamber decorated in the minimalist style that Kevork had set aside for her enjoyment. There she could sit on one of the high and somewhat uncomfortable chairs whilst Hoang held a book open for her to read or order a drink, (only fruit juice allowed though – women in Kevork’s society were denied the pleasures of alcohol), from the metallic bar where Linh served. Music was allowed, but no TV, save for at ten in the morning when the Armenian news appeared on a screen, broadcast live from Erevan. That half-hour she lived for, as the rest of her day was dull, monotonous and boring. No interests or hobbies were allowed to her, let alone her being able to follow her previous profession, (an armless secretary is a bit useless after all), as, as Kevork had explained before, a woman in his society was nothing more than a pretty doll whose only purpose was to provide pleasure for her husband and at some later date become a mother. So there she sat, ‘out of arm’s way’ as Kevork joked, day after day, immobile, frustrated and getting more and more bored and lonely as each minute passed.

“You look sad, my dear,” Kevork said in bed one night after sex. “What’s the matter?”

What’s the matter? How could he ask such a question? Would it not be better to ask, what is not the matter?

“I am lonely,” she replied.

“You have me.”

“I have no girls to talk to.”

“What about Linh and Hoang?”

“Girls in my… situation.”

“Fair enough, we can go and visit some of my friends who are also married.”

“Can we?” (Oh for a change of scene, and some new faces!)

“Yes of course, no, wait… sorry, no can do.”

No? Then why bring it up? Cruel, cruel man!

“Why not?”

“Why not? Because of our contract. As you remember, we signed a marriage contract, entitling me to dress you how I saw fit.”

“But you said I could remove the clothes if I wanted!”

“And you can! If you choose to!”

“Then take this blasted Venus off me then!”

“No, sorry. The contract says the YOU can remove them, no one else. And, oh dear, it seems like you don’t have that ability, so it looks like the Venus is staying. Don’t worry my sweet, everything that I am doing is entirely legal.”

“No it’s not. You’re torturing me, hurting me, abusing me…”

“No, not at all. Have I hit you once? No. Have I forced you to have sex with a man other than your husband? No. Have I done anything that isn’t in the contract that YOU signed? No. And instead, I have provided you will expensive clothes, a nice house, a life of luxury. No Araksia, as you well no, everything that I have done is entirely legal. However, it wouldn’t be if we were to leave the house. Remember, the contract is only valid on my property.”

“But I so want to meet someone new! To go somewhere!”

“No can do, sorry… unless…”

“Unless?

“Unless you sign a new document, in addition to the contract, stipulating that all the terms of the original contract are valid off my property and perhaps a few more as well…”

“A few more?”

“Mandatory daily blow-job for your husband, permission to enlarge body parts according to my whims…”

“Never!”

“Fair enough then, no trips out.”

Araksia Manuelyan held out for over a month. However, one evening, sat drinking fruit juice in her relaxation room, she could take it no longer. “I’ll sign!” she screamed.

Kevork was brought immediately.

“I’ll sign,” said repeated, “but on one condition.”

“What?”

“That it is written in the contract that I can eat proper food everyday, and that we leave this house at least once a week, and that I can watch TV.”

“Sorry my love, I can’t stand girls who are always watching soaps and quiz shows. No TV, and proper food on Sundays, our Holy Day only.”

She held out another week.

Then, on the following Sunday, she was taken to Kevork’s office, released from her Venus and for the first time in over two months, her hand held something, a pen. She shakily signed her name before being ensconced within the leather once more.

“Jolly good!” said Kevork, once the lawyer and maids had left. He whipped out his throbbing penis. “I’ll have a celebratory blowjob I think, as in the terms of our contract.” Araksia sucked his aching rod hard, but not for long. Within a couple of minutes she was enjoying the first nourishment other than her compound for over two months. “Thank you, my dear. You have obviously practiced that before. And to show you that I mean it, I have decided. We will travel to my mate Rob Steinwald’s house tonight!”

Packing for the Journey

Kevork called the maids and both Hoang and Linh appeared. “Toi va voa toi dang di nha Rob,” he explained. The maid’s nodded and Linh took Araksia by her chain and led her to the dressing room. ‘They’re probably going to put me into something more easy to wear for the journey,’ she thought, (at that moment she was clad in a skin tight silver silk dress, dripping with diamonds, and with twelve centimetre high heels in celebration of the signing). However, when she entered the room, she was surprised to discover what appeared to by a large, human-sized rubber doll lying on the floor.

Hoang stripped her of her shoes and dress and tied her hair back in a ponytail which she proceeded to wrap around the top of her head and then secured by means of a hairnet. Then to her surprise – and horror – instead of releasing her from the Foundation Venus, she was led over to the doll which Linh opened up using buttons, to reveal a hollow inside. This was no doll, Araksia realised, but instead a tight rubber cocoon, and the maid’s gestures showed that she was to occupy it’s interior! “No! No! No!” she said, shaking her head in fear, but Linh just grabbed her and pushed her roughly inside whilst Hoang started buttoning up the front, all the way until she was completed enclosed within it’s rubber confines, the only access to the outside world being her face.

“My dear, how do you like your new travelling cocoon?” It was Kevork. He had just entered the room and was wearing his usual grin on his face.

“What are you doing?” she cried, tears flowing from her eyes.

“Why, my love, I forgot to tell you. Our Society, whilst it does permit our ladies to travel outside of their homes, it does not allow them to do so freely. After all, you might bring harm to yourselves, or more importantly, bring harm to us. How do you think the world would react to seeing a horde of armless beauties such as yourself? No, it is necessary that you, like all precious gems, be kept hidden, and safe. And that’s where this travelling cocoon comes in. You see in this ahem, how shall we call it… garment, perhaps? Well, anyway, in this cocoon I am able to transport you wherever I want to. Firstly you are placed inside such as now, and then these lovely ladies, (he signalled to the two maids), lace you up, just as they do with your Venus Corsets.” And then, as if to proved this, Araksia was turned over onto her face, and the two Vietnamese girls proceeded to tighten up lacing that ran all the way from her toes, (which incidentally, the cocoon forced into a rather uncomfortable en pointe position), to her crown, compressing every part of her body so that not a muscle could be moved and so that her head ached from the pressure. The whole process took, Araksia estimated, twenty minutes or so. “Now,” Kevork continued, “we come to a part in the preparations that will differ from time to time. When you go on a long journey, we will insert be inserting a breathing mask and nutrient supply over you mouth at this point, and perhaps some drugs to relax you and help you cope with the ups and downs of the journey. Rob’s house though, is but a few miles away, so today, you’ll be happy to learn, we won’t be bothering with any of that, and instead we’ll just be using this,” (he stuffed a pear gag in her mouth), “to stop any unnecessary noise coming from the boot of the car,” and this, before we put you into your travelling case.” He gestured to a large padded suitcase that Linh was taking out of the wardrobe. The ‘this’ that he’d mentioned was a mask which Hoang now produced, a pottery mask of a pretty doll with features not dissimilar from those of the Asian maid. It was beautiful, yet wholly artificial, which Araksia guessed, was why Kevork liked it. This he fastened over her exposed face. She realised that inside it was padded and had no openings save for two miniscule breathing holes. Now she was blinded, but it wouldn’t have mattered much if she weren’t as she soon felt herself being placed in the padded case and this being zipped up. Then she heard male voices, the gardeners most probably, and felt herself being lifted and carried out before being dumped somewhere. An engine started and she jolted. For how long they travelled she knew not. In her cocoon time had no meaning, though it cannot have been long. Then she felt herself being carried out and heard Rob talking to another man. Her mask was removed.

“Araksia, this is Rob Steinwald, an old friend of mine.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” a youngish man, quite handsome in fact, though with a face that betrayed his depravity, replied. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”

She was then carried by two servants through to a large bedroom done in pastel. To her surprise though, she was not undressed, and it was only when Rob arrived six hours later that she was released from her sweltering prison and laced into her usual Sleeping Venus, so that he could enjoy his nightly pleasure before falling asleep exhausted.

Sunbathing by the Pool

That morning Araksia was awaken by Kevork nuzzling himself against her face. “Good morning, my darling! Did you sleep well in this strange bed?”

‘As well as can be expected,’ thought the girl, though to be fair, she had slept no differently that she always did. The lump in her back still irritated her – it always would – but no more than usual. Certainly the change in surroundings hadn’t affected anything.

“My dear,” he continued. “You’ll be making a new friend today, Tatyana, Rob’s charming wife.”

‘A new friend! Oh for a real friend!’ thought Araksia. Someone whom she could share her plight with.

“Tatyana?” she asked.

“Yes, my friend Rob’s married, a charming girl. They met much the same way as we did my dear. There was one time of day when I wished I’d captured her for myself, but these days I know that I ended up the luckier one of the two.” He kissed her on the cheek. She felt, as she always did at that time in the morning, sick. “Come on my love!” Picking her up by the torso he hoisted her onto his now erect and throbbing penis and started bouncing her up and down, clasping onto her compressed waist. The rape didn’t last long. “My God, Araksia, you look so stunning in that Sleeping Venus. It does it for me everytime. Now, I’ll get Hoang to prepare you.”

He rang the bell and the lithe Asian entered holding what looked like another Sleeping Venus. Araksia looked puzzled and Kevork caught her look. “No my dear, you are not going back to sleep. I thought today that you should enjoy a bit of this Californian sunshine. You’re going sunbathing. Tatyana loves to bath and so you can go and join her.”

“But? But? How can I? I mean, wearing the Venus? I mean, well, isn’t the point of sunbathing to get brown, and well, doesn’t that cover… too much?”

“My darling, you are right, that is why I am not having you put into a Sleeping Venus or a Foundation Venus, but instead, a Bathing Venus, which holds your arms, not high up, at the top of your back, but instead, lower down, crossed against the small of your back. This of course would look stupid underneath a gown, as held in such a way, the arms cannot be compressed into an almost unseen shape, nor can a tiny waist be achieved, but it does mean that we can cut the top of your suit lower, exposing the tops of you delightful breasts and shoulders. And of course, as the legs are left free and the garment incorporates a thong, then whilst we will be denied the pleasure of see your exquisite waist, your long pins and gorgeous buttocks will still be on show for our amusement.”

Araksia, even though she had only been with Kevork for several months now, was already virtually immune to these outbursts. That she was little more than a doll to be admired by him and his cronies, she had already fully realised.

Hoang led her away to the dressing room adjacent to the guest bedroom and untied her Sleeping Venus. As always, her arms were numb and useless once released and as always Huang used this opportunity to handcuff her wrists together and then attach them to a chain suspended from the ceiling so that the Armenian was immobile whilst the pretty Vietnamese girl washed her body and hair and shaved her thoroughly before rinsing her off. She then released the arms and uncuffed them before crossing them in the small of Araksia’s back and fastening the new Bathing Venus around her.

This new garment, she was pleased to discover, was not so uncomfortable as her normal Foundation Venus, or even the Sleeping Venus. Not that it was comfortable mind, no garment that restricts the use of one’s arms and renders the wearer absolutely helpless can ever be described as ‘comfortable’ but this one did possess several advantages. Firstly, the fact that the arms were contained crossed over in the small of her back she found less irksome and constraining, but also, because they were contained there, there was virtually no waists constriction at all, with the garment containing only light lacing, just enough to halt any movement of the arms, and for the first time in months – since her arrival in America in fact – she found that she was able to breathe deeply. This, to the poor girl, seemed at the time, like a gift from Heaven.

Once dressed, and her hair combed out, and her silver lead attached, she left the dressing room, barefoot, and re-entered the bedroom. “My dear, you look gorgeous!” exclaimed Kevork, who was still in bed and looked as if he’d just been enjoying seconds with Linh, who was sheepishly fiddling around with his breakfast tray. “Yes, this garment suits you indeed, although your breasts, alas don’t heave as they do when in your Sleeping Venus. Oh, well, we can’t have everything, can we now? And at least your beautiful ass is on display for all to see.” He got up and slapped that oft-mentioned part of her anatomy, which, at that particular moment Araksia was more aware of as usual, it feeling naked with only the thong of the Bathing Venus to cover it.

“Hoang dear, Chi Ara Sia di Chi Ta Ta Ya Na, hieu khong?”

“Hieu.” The Vietnamese girl nodded, took Araksia’s lead and led her out, through the white corridors of Rob’s mansion and out into the blazing heat of the Pacific, into a garden, in which was located a large blue pool. Rob, she could see was splashing about in the pool, and besides it, sat on a sun lounger was a woman.

As she approached Araksia was able to make out the woman better. Kevork had been right when he’d said that Tatyana was a looker. She was. With long dark hair reaching down past her shoulders, and a slim, yet curvaceous body, dreamy brown eyes and a finely-chiselled Slavic face, she was any man’s dream. It was not of these however, that caught Araksia’s attention. Instead she was transfixed by the young lady’s clothing. Tatyana Steinwald was wearing naught but a tiny, two-piece bikini!

“Ah! Araksia! Good morning!” Rob waved and swam to the edge of the pool, where using his muscley arms, he hoisted himself out of the water, (‘Oh! To be able to hoist myself out of a pool!’ thought Araksia), and dripping, made his way over to her, kissing her on the cheek and his hand, she found in horror, straying towards her buttocks. “Araksia, meet my charming wife, Tatyana.”

The bikini-clad beauty rose and walked over to them. Wearing only a bikini! Where was the restriction? Surely all the women of the Society Men, (well barring the maids), were restricted? Araksia was still in shock!

“My darling, this is Araksia, Kevork’s new wife.”

“Glad to meet you,” said the girl with a soft Slavic accent, but she did not hold out her hand. “Araksia, will you come and bathe with me, so we can talk?”

Then she turned and Araksia saw why Rob allowed her – ordered her most probably – to wear only a bikini. Whilst from the front she appeared totally free, once viewed from behind her restriction was all too evident; her arms were pinned together behind her back and held, side-by-side, palms touching in a long single glove, made of black leather, (black to match the bikini, she later learnt), laced up tightly. She was restrained if not more so than Araksia herself!

Araksia followed her over and lay down on an adjacent lounger. Tatyana, she noted, could not lie down, her arms pinned behind her so, so she sort-of semi-sat, supported by cushions.

“My dear,” said in a low voice. “You are Armenian, no?”

“Yes.”

“Good, then you speak Russian?”

“I-I do. Why, are you Russian?”

“No, I am Bulgarian, but we learnt it in school; under the communists we had to. Rob however, doesn’t speak it. Can we talk in Russian?”

“That’s fine by me.”

The Bulgarian smiled. “Araksia, I’m so happy that you’ve come. I heard your tale, how Kevork tricked you, how you thought you come to the Land of Milk and Honey. It’s almost identical to my own, I regret the day I ever replied to Rob’s email on Lovematch.com, I truly do. Oh, Araksia, the life, here, living like this…” Tears began to well in her eyes.

“I know Tatyana, I know.” She wanted to comfort the girl, to stroke her hair or wipe the tears away from her eyes. But of course with no arms, such basic human reactions were not possible.

“I too…” she said.

“They’re monsters,” continued Tatyana, “absolute monsters. To keep women like this, as helpless playthings. Fuck toys almost! And yet he seemed so sweet…” Her voice trailed off. “Do you know, before I was here, I was a scientist, a Masters in Chemistry. ‘You will never see another lab nor mix another potion in you life,’ he said to me. I am not allowed to work, to do anything. Just sit here and look pretty and helpless!”

“Me too, my lot is the same, exactly.”

“But at least you are allowed a Venus.”

Araksia had of course never viewed her Venus as a blessing before, but seeing Tatyana’s garb, she wondered. She decided to ask further. “Does Rob not allow you a Venus then?”

“No, never. Says it is not elegant enough. He says that arms should be seen not hidden, but of course they should be rendered useless. Plus the Venus, well, by and large it appeals to men who are into corsetry, due to the waist lacings, but Rob’s not into that. Not that I haven’t worn corsets of course. At last year’s Victorian Ball I was forced into the tiniest little wasp waist and the hugest crinoline imaginable, but the mono-glove still stayed.”

“The mono-glove?”

“Yes, this that I’m wearing now. I always have to wear then, well, ninety-nine per cent of the time at any rate. They’re dreadfully uncomfortable…”

“How exactly?”

“Well you see, my arms are forced together, palms touching, and then the glove is laced up over then. In a Venus you can wiggle your fingers and such like, but in a mono-glove, you are completely immobile, plus it wrenches your shoulders back. Mine feel like they are constantly on fire.”

“That sounds awful! But… well… it does look more elegant than this Bathing Venus.”

“Yes, that’s not the most becoming of garments, though what would I give to wear one? They’re so comfortable I’ve heard.”

“Well, yes… But, not much good for a tan. You’ve a lovely even tan, but I’ll be half white by the end of today.”

“Well, I can ask, if you want, I can lend you a mono-glove tomorrow.”

“We will be bathing again tomorrow?”

“We will be sun-bathing together all week. Rob is allowing no other form of recreation.”

“Oh.”

So they did just that. Araksia lay and sweltered in the sun all day, talking to Bulgarian Tatyana who turned out to be a delightful girl and with whom she shared much in common. At the end of the day though, when Huang was lacing her into her Sleeping Venus and administering her enema, she was dismayed to find that her body was by and large white, aside from her breasts, shoulders and legs. She mentioned the mono-glove and bikini to Rob in bed and he assented immediately. “My dear, I am so glad that you are beginning to enjoy this restriction. I shall inform Huang tomorrow. You have a lovely tiny black bikini that will match Tatyana’s and I’m sure we can find a nice tight mono-glove to complement it.

The next morning Araksia felt positively naked and unhindered as she walked out to the pool in her bikini and mono-glove. After an hour or so of lying there though, she began to have second thoughts. Her arms were dead and her shoulders – as Tatyana had said they would be – on fire! “My God!” she gasped, “How can you stand this daily?”

“I can’t,” Tatyana replied distantly in a defeated tone. “But I have to.”

Not only was the pain greater with the mono-glove, but also relaxing was far more difficult to. As she’d noted immediately, with her arms behind her she was unable to lie on her back as she liked, but to lie on her front or sides, she found that she had to ask a maid to turn her as she was unable to do so herself, and when lying on her front, her arms stuck embarrassingly up into the air like a flagpole. And all day long the sun beat down causing drowsiness, tiredness and irritability. She looked longingly at the blue pool in front of them.

“Tatyana, can we not take a dip in the pool? To cool off.”

“No, Araksia. Rob doesn’t allow it. Says that it is too dangerous as if we stumbled and fell we are not able to pick ourselves up again and we would drown.”

“Oh, what a shame!”

“But, there is one way that we could though…”

“Though…?”

“Though it’s not that pleasant.”

“Nothing in this life is. What is it?”

“The Star…”

“The Star?”

“Yes my dear, The Star! Do you wish to try it?” Both girls looked up with a start. Standing over them was Kevork, who could of course understand their conversation in Russian. “Rob! The girls want to try relaxing in a Star apiece!”

“Do they? Jolly good, I shall get the maids to fix two up for after lunch.”

After lunch in the conservatory where Kevork fed her shrimps which she did not like, Araksia found Hoang waiting to lead her back to the pool. Once there however, she was shocked to find two large, five-pointed stars made out of what looked like gold lying on the lawn. Then she was even more surprised when Huang proceeded to remove the irksome mono-glove from her arms leaving her entirely free for a split second before leading her over to one of the stars where she was ordered to lie, her legs and arms outstretched along four of the points. Cuffs were then attached to her wrists and ankles and neck and then the extremities pulled until she was stretched, unable to move a muscle across the golden star, the hot metal burning her back and buttocks a little. She turned her head and found Tatyana, as resigned as ever, being fastened to the other one.

“This my darling, is The Star,” Kevork announced, a unique device that enables you to achieve an even tan all over your body, and enjoy the pool, without getting into danger or mischief.”

Then to Araksia’s horror, three male servants lifted the huge and heavy contraption up, with her on it, and placed it on the pool. “Stop! Stop!” she screamed. “I’ll sink!”

“Don’t worry Araksia,” said Rob who was also viewing the events. “You won’t sink. There are polystyrene floats under the star. You’ll just bob there, the water lapping against you body. And of course, it’ll keep the metal cooler so you won’t be burnt so much on the butt.”

And he was right, she did just bob there, for the rest of the day, staring into space, motionless. And this was worse than the mono-glove or Bathing Venus, as Tatyana bobbed away to the other end of the pool where she was too far away to talk to, and so once again, Araksia was alone and helpless. Her sufferings could not get worse she thought. And at least she could revert to the mono-glove the next day.

But of course, Araksia is not a lady whose sufferings tend to ease, and getting out of the Star proved to be far more difficult than getting into it. That evening the servants lifted her out of the water and instead of releasing her, instead carried her to the bedroom floor where Kevork took her forcefully with her spread-eagled and defenceless like that, before leaving her to sleep in the same position, crying into the night.

And the following day, after being released, washed and having her enema administered, Araksia found that she was fastened back onto that hateful contraption this time, face downwards with Kevork giving the simple explanation, now we need to make the other side just as brown.

And she wasn’t allowed back into any other sort of clothing until it was time to leave at the end of the week.

A Bike Ride

Araksia felt groggy when she was released from her travelling cocoon back at Chez Manuelyan. Much to her annoyance, Kevork had left her in it overnight, (preferring to sleep with Linh for a change she suspected), though was eager enough for his usual morning session despite her dirty and disorientated state. Once that was finished however, she was sent to Hoang to be prepared for the day in the usual manner, her enema being administered and her daily feeling of the tasteless compound being undertaken whilst she was still encased with the Sleeping Venus that Kevork had hurriedly laced her into.

After that though, she was more than surprised to discover that events did not then take their usual course, for whilst she was chained to the chain hanging from the ceiling and washed and shaved thoroughly, afterwards, instead of a Foundation Venus and evening dress being produced, tight-fitting leggings and a sports top were fitted onto her body, and instead of a Venus, instead a long pole was produced. This pole was fitted across her shoulders, her arms draped over it, and then handcuffed to the ends, so once her dressing was completed, she felt like Christ on the cross with her arms outstretched and of course, as per usual, entirely useless.

Kevork grinned as she re-entered the bedroom, having to walk in sideways due to the width of her outstretched arms. “My dear,” he said, “that suit certainly does show off your many, not inconsiderable, assets indeed.”

‘Why am I not wearing a Venus?” she asked.

“Why? Because look!” He walked over to her and grabbed her ass. “Your ass, as I have often said in the past, is remarkable, it truly is, but this morning I noticed that it is somewhat softer, and flabbier than usual. Now I am a man who appreciates a large ass as you know, but not a soft shapeless one. I like toned muscles Araksia, but yours… too many days spent lolling by the pool and relaxing around the house! But fear not, you will be getting fit once more! Come!”

Hoang led her by the leash down the corridor to a room that she had not been allowed to enter previously. It was empty save for an exersize bike sat in the middle and an ominous-looking pair of golden chains hanging down from the ceiling.

“Your fitness room, my love!” declared her lawfully-wedded husband.

Hoang led her over to the exersize bike which she proceeded to sit on. Then the two chains were attached to either end of the pole and the slack taken out of them. “Great!” said Kevork. “Now I shall explain. “From now on, twice weekly, you will be spending considerable time in this room. You will be expected, every day that you spend in here, to cycle forty kilometres – Look, we have a little device that measures how far you’ve travelled here –  and that is all. You come in, are attached and cycle. Once completed, a bell will sound and Hoang will enter, release you and give you a drink of water should you require one, and help you back to the dressing room for bathing and a change of clothes. Ok, my sweet, bye bye.” He kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her ass and then departed, as did the two Vietnamese and she was sat there alone. What was she to do? Cycle? Well, there was nothing else to do, and she knew that she wouldn’t be leaving until her forty kilos were completed, so off she went. It was a hellish experience. After fifteen, her muscles, used to lying unused after her month or so’s existence as a lady of luxury, were killing her, as were her arms, forced into a position that they were not accustomed to and that would hardly have ever been comfortable even if they were. And there was no respite from that position. All that she could do was stretch her legs out, that was all. After thirty kilos she felt like she would die, yet still she kept on – she had to. By the time that the bell rang, poor Araksia Manuelyan was half-unconscious and had to be carried over the shoulder of the maid back to the dressing room. For the rest of that day, she sat motionless and exhausted in her relaxation room, her mind blank.

The following day however, both she and Kevork noticed, that her muscles had become a lot more toned and much as she hated doing so, she had to admit that she felt considerably healthier.

A Present for the Birthday Girl

The trip to Rob Steinwald’s had obviously had an effect on Kevork as afterwards he became far more inventive and introduced much greater variety in Araksia’s clothing and manner of restriction than he had before. Previously she had worn an evening dress over a Foundation Venus everyday, but now she never knew what she was going to get. Some days he would decree a Foundation Venus with tight trousers, others a mono-glove, min-shorts and boob tube. The evening dresses still played a major role of course, but not always with a Venus. Now, he had some made that were to be worn with a mono-glove and others involving the Snake and the Wave, two new, (and incidentally rather welcome), forms of restriction that had entered Araksia’s life.

The Snake was called so, as wearing it, Araksia’s arms looked a little like that said reptile. Sometimes worn behind her back and sometimes in front, it encased her arms in one long tube, a little perhaps, like a muff in the days of yore, only in the Snake the hands were not removable. This Araksia enjoyed as it allowed her the use of her shoulders and on the days when it was decreed, she gained infinite pleasure from lifting her bound-together arms up and down and using those oft immobile muscles.

The Wave was more peculiar though equally pleasing. This peculiar form of restriction bound her wrists together with her shoulders, a strap going under the armpit and around the wrist, leaving the arm folded and immobile, and the hands pointing upwards. Incorporated within a dress, it looked strange, her shoulders ending in a flounce of ruffles or a ballooning sleeve similar to those popular in the 1830s, but out of the tops of those sleeves, two free hands poked out, looking as if they were waving, (hence the name). Having her hands free as such, (though often encased in tight gloves), was a blessing for our beleaguered Armenian girl, more that compensating for the pain on the elbow muscles that this unique form of bondage caused.

Overall, Araksia was pleased with these changes in her restricted lifestyle. They gave some variety to the monotony and boredom of her tightly controlled and restricted existence, and what’s more, it had to be said that she enjoyed how some of the clothes made her look, coupled with the fantastic new figure that she was achieving due to her regular sessions on the exersize bike.

In fact, by Araksian standards, her life was now rather full and jolly indeed. Since the visit to Rob Steinwald’s, Rob had kept his promise and taken her out regularly, to the mansions of many of his friends, friends who often were married to girls in a similar position to her own. To be honest none of them she got on with as she had with Tatyana, some she absolutely detested in fact, such as Maria, a Filipino girl who was married to Jake. Previously she had been the maid to his wife, but had gotten so close with her master that he’d divorced his old spouse, (although she had quickly been remarried to another Society member), and married him, knowing full well the restriction that marrying a Society Man who inflict on her life. Contrary to rebelling against this however, she instead entered it with a gusto, often thinking up new and inventive forms of restriction, (the Star had been her doing apparently), and her latest request, which her husband was purportedly mulling over, was to go to hospital and have her arms amputated! Even more surprisingly, she was not the only girl who revelled in the restriction and actually enjoyed it, though it must be said that Society Members tended not to encourage this, as tying someone up is always less fun if they are actually asking you to do it.

Araksia also began to realise that by Society standards, Kevork was not that bad at all either. Ok, he was sick, and had a bit with the maids, she knew, but compared to Ruud, the Dutch corset freak who kept his wife, a Brazilian named Katerina who sported huge false tits, squeezed in at 36 centimetres night and day, or even Rob who had Tatyana sleep in a cocoon that rendered her blind, deaf and dumb for the night every Saturday and Wednesday, (whilst he enjoyed his Colombian maids), Kevork really was quite middle-of-the-road.

And so it is that one sunny June day we find Araksia sat in her Relaxation Room, dressed in a Foundation Venus and an armless sky blue silk Vietnamese ao dai, (remember, Kevork had promised her one), with Hoang holding a magazine open before her eyes, when Kevork burst in, a huge grin upon his face.

“My dear!” he announced. “It’s ready! Will you please follow me to the dressing room. Your going on a trip out!”

“Ready? What’s ready? What trip?” She was confused. He had mentioned no trip previously.

“Araksia! Araksia! What date is it today?”

“The twenty-first of June I think…”

“Actually, it’s the twenty-second, and do you know what will be happening exactly a month from today?”

Araksia shook her head.

“You do not! But my darling, you should! Why, is not the twenty-second of July your birthday?” The twenty-second. Of course it was. In her misery though, such happy thoughts as birthdays had gotten swept away by the ill wind. “Yes indeed, my sweet, your own birthday. And what’s more, not only is it your birthday, but also, by chance, this year on the twenty-second, is to be held one of, nay, the main event of the Society’s annual calendar: The Victorian Ball!”

“The Victorian Ball?”

“Yes my love, why what a night that is! All us men dress up in cravats and dinner jackets and all you ladies are clad in the most gorgeous gowns and crinolines imaginable, and we journey to an old castle in Hungary, (it’s cheap to hire you see), and all night long we swirl around the dance floor to the strains of the Blue Danube and such.” Araksia had to admit that this sounded rather fun. However, since the Society was involved, she was sure that there had to be some sort of catch.

“So where are we going now then?” she asked.

“Now? Why, as it’s your birthday, you will be needing a present. And this year, as it is the first of our happy married life, I am paying for something extra special. However, it will take time to prepare. That is why we have to start now.”

“But what is it?”

“My sweet, sweet Araksia! Aren’t birthday presents meant to be surprises?”

She was led to the dressing room and encased, as expected, in the travelling cocoon. However, to her surprise, once fully laced up and enclosed, Hoang approached her with a glass of tea, motioning for her to drink.

“What’s this?” she asked in surprise.

“A sleeping draught,” replied Kevork. “Drink it, you’ll be needing it.”

What could she do but oblige? Any fight that had been in her had been beaten out long ago. She swallowed. A minute later she was dead to the world.

When Araksia Manuelyan came to she felt groggy and her head ached. She felt like she had been asleep not for hours, but for much long – days or weeks. She felt dirty and disorientated. She also noticed a nagging ache on her torso. She looked around her and found to her surprise that she was exactly where she had been when she’d last been conscious. Or at least but a metre or two away, lying in her own bed. Why prepare her for travelling if she were not going anywhere?

It was then that she realised that she was no longer in the cocoon, but instead clad only in a mono-glove and extremely tight under breast corset. The upper part of her torso was bandaged. What the hell had happened? She lay there for around an hour until Hoang entered. Seeing that her mistress was awake, she disappeared once more and came back a moment or two later with Araksia’s husband. Kevork smiled, came over to his wife and sat her up.

“What’s happened?” she asked quietly.

“My dear, your birthday present!” he declared and then to her surprise he started unwrapping the bandages that covered her chest area. Once done he motioned for her to look. She started in surprise. Her tits, never small, had now ballooned in size. They were easily 36DD now. They looked like the tits of a cartoon character, not the breasts of a real girl. “My love,” he said, “Happy Birthday! How did you like your new silicone tits?”

The Belle of the Ball

Getting over the shock of the two fake footballs fastened to her chest took Araksia longer than she’d expected. She was mortified by them, and hated them and would have beaten them to a pulp had she of course the ability to do so. But as we know, she did not, so instead, daily they sat there, teasing her, and Kevork who loved nothing more than to play with those gigantic love toys.

However, gigantic breasts were not the only new woe to enter our beleaguered Armenian’s restricted existence. The Victorian Ball, whilst something that she was looking forward to, was also something that required much preparation, as the Society insisted that it’s members, (and of course their wives), try to be as authentic as possible. And of course, being authentic as regards the Victorians, meant obtaining a waistline of absolutely tiny proportions, and to do so meant a period of sustained tight-lacing. Kevork of course had always been a man who had admired the effects of the corset on a woman, particularly as he was excited by the curvaceous beauty with wide hips and large tits, but a minute waist, and as such he had always insisted that Araksia’s Foundation and Sleeping Venuses be laced to a waist circumference of fifty centimetres. Whilst he would have liked to see her with a much tinier waist than that, Kevork explained that he had read much on the subject of tight-lacing and he had learnt that waists of less than forty centimetres require constant corset usage and actually deform the figure so that the wearer cannot live without her stays, (such as was the case with Katerina), and should she be without them her figure would appear unnatural and in fact, quite displeasing to the eye. Kevork went on to explain that whilst corset did attract his eye, he also loved seeing his beautiful wife in other garments from time to time, such as boob tubes and bikinis and so it was that he dared not push her below fifty for extended periods of time.

The Victorian Ball however was an exception, and for this momentous occasion the Armenian had stipulated that his wife be laced to a size of no more than forty centimetres, a size which to Araksia’s ears sounded incredibly small, and could only be achieved through a month or so of wearing unbelievably tight and uncomfortable stays both night and day. So it was that her tight-lacing regime was begun, each month the maids squeezing her torso until she could no longer breathe, and causing her new enormous breasts to heave mercilessly all day long. How many times she fainted during that tortuous period, she knew not, but everyday, as she felt the laces squeezing the very life out of her she felt like breaking down into floods of tears.

Now of course, whilst authenticity was very much insisted on for the event, this being a Society gathering, there was to be no attempt at realistically recreating the fact that Victorian women had full use of their arms. Araksia however, thought that it was perhaps worth pointing this little hypocrisy out to Kevork one day when he was waxing lyrical about her latest waist reduction, (she was by now down to forty-two centimetres and each further reduction was almost impossible). To her surprise though, when she pointed out that no matter how minute her waist was, she would never look the part wearing either a mono-glove, a Foundation Venus or even the Wave, he thought for a moment and then proceeded to agree with her. Then to her further surprise, he said, “Perhaps we can introduce something new, change the rules a bit this year.”

A fortnight before the great event, Kevork introduced Araksia to the gown that she would be wearing. It was one of cream satin, incorporating a vast billowing crinoline which she guessed would measure over two metres in width, (“Though fear not, my love,” Kevork had said, “You will be wearing heels of fifteen centimetres and stride impeders at the knee, and a skin tight leather petticoat, so your strides will be pleasingly miniscule, like your waist”), with puff sleeves, red roses all over and to her absolute astonishment, free arms. It was truly beautiful, a gown fit for Cinderella and though she would have preferred to have chosen herself, she had to admit that Kevork had done a good job.

“But the arms?” she’d questioned.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he’d replied.

A week before, she was packed into her travelling cocoon, and a catheter and feeding apparatus inserted which implied a long journey, zipped up in her case and flown together with her husband to Hungary. When she awoke they were in a beautiful Victorian bedchamber which was presumably, (judging from the antiquity of the building), in the castle that he’d mentioned, and boasted a fine view of some ornamental gardens with the Blue Danube rolling by outside. “My dear, this where you’ll be staying,” announced Kevork as he administered to her a ‘Welcome to Hungary’ session of unwanted sexual congress, and he was right. For the entire week – a week of unbelievable corsetting and continual preparations for the big day, she was not let out of that room.

The day before Kevork announced that she was to be laced into her ball corset ready, and she was hung from the lacing trapeze whilst the two sexy Hungarian maids, (Hoang and Linh had been given leave to visit their families in Vietnam), squeezed her waist into it’s now almost impossible girth and caused her tits to balloon out so that they were level with her shoulders. Then, when she was released, Kevork, (who as always, was surveying the goings on with pleasure), announced, “And now your gloves!” and to her surprise, instead of having her arms restrained as she had had every single day since arriving in California, she was led over to a dressing table and a pair of tight leather kid gloves that had been placed in stretchers overnight, were forced onto her hands. They fitting of these shoulder-length items of apparel took well over fifteen minutes for each on and once one and all the creases worked out, her hands were squeezed mercilessly, and virtually immobile. But of course, ‘virtually immobile’, was to poor Araksia, the same as ‘Free as the Wind’ is to us, and it was with glee that she moved her aching shoulder muscles up and down and flexed her wrists and fingers the fraction of a centimetre that the gloves would allow.

“And now, we must give the gloves a covering,” said Kevork, “to ensure that they keep their texture,” and the two Hungarian maids then started pasting the surface of those beautiful gloves with some sort of grey liquid. “Whatever is this for?” thought Araksia, noting that the covering did nothing for the appearance of the gloves. She soon found out. Within a couple of minutes, the liquid had dried out and had dried out completely solid. She could no longer move a muscle! Her hope and joy completely dissolved. So she was to be as immobile for the Ball as she always was. But Kevork it seemed, had not finished. The Hungarian maids then produced two life-size, dainty porcelain hands, cast in two parts, which they then proceeded to fit over her now solid arms, and glue together. “Perfect!” declared Kevork, once they’d set. “My little China Doll!’ He kissed her on the cheek and caressed her tits and ass. “Now you see why we had to lace you into the corset today. We could never have hung you from the lacing bar with these delightful dolly arms on!”

That night Araksia could not sleep. The tightness of her Ball Corset was excruciating and the blankets wouldn’t lie on her as her two solid arms stuck up in the air, outstretched, as if she was asking for someone to hold her and take her, (an invitation that Kevork had of course taken up already). In the morning though, things were better. She was administered her enema and given her compound and then the fitting began. Forcing her tiny high-heeled shoes onto her feet and learning to walk in those beautiful yet painful works of art took some time, but nothing compared to the erection of her crinoline, placing and smoothing out of her fifteen petticoats and then the fitting of that oh-so-beautiful dress, and the fixing of the hundreds of roses onto it. Then came her hair, done in a charming collection of sausage curls and her mark insisting on her usual long lashes, despite the fact that they were apparently not very Victorian. By five though, she was ready, and it was a proud man that led his charming wife down the hallway to the vast ballroom.

And what a night that was! The ladies swirled round, most wearing mono-gloves with their corsets. All admired her appearance and Kevork’s ingenuity with her arms and when Kevork even allowed her a glass or two of champagne, (which went straight to her head due to the over tight corset and fact that she had not partaken in the consumption of liquor for over six months), she almost forgot her woeful life, awful predicament and heartless husband and for an hour or two imagined herself really to be the Cinderella of every girl’s fantasy. And when she was presented with the Belle of the Ball Award at the end of the night the Birthday Girl even kissed her husband of her own free will as he received the trophy on her behalf.

Reality however, returned with a gusto that night, as that same husband demanded painful anal sex, and the dreams of a princess dissolved back into the reality of being a millionaire’s fuck toy as she buried her head into the crisp white pillow.

East is East and West is West…

Life after the Victorian Ball continued in it’s normal hum-drum manner for Araksia Manuelyan. After the event, for several months, she revelled in the double glory of being the official Annual Victorian Belle and also for being the human guinea pig for Kevork’s new form of bondage, (he had specially hired a chemist to mix a paste for him that would dry so quickly and effectively), a form of restriction that was very soon christened ‘stoning’ as the unlucky wearer was literally turned to stone. To celebrate this new-found fame that had been brought to the Manuelyan household, Kevork organised a huge party, of a new type entirely – namely a Statue Party, where all the women of the Society were dressed in tight-fitting catsuits and then painted all over in the paste, which once hardened, rendered them exactly like statues. They were then place out in the Manuelyan grounds for guests to admire and pop peanuts or fresh strawberries into their mouths if they so desired. Thus it was that our poor Armenian spent a grand total of twenty-four hours stood out on her patio, (placed next to Tatyana Steinwald thankfully), waiting until morning until their husbands could be bothered to move them. It was not a pleasant experience to say the least.

Her time in the limelight however, was soon eclipsed when it came to the time of Jake and Maria’s party when the hostess appeared wearing what appeared to be a very tight Foundation Venus, it which no trace of her folded arms were visible.

“Oh, it’s not tight at all,” she explained when Tatyana and Araksia congratulated her on it. “I’ve had my arms amputated as a birthday present by Jake. It’s great.” She paused and smiled.

‘That girl truly is sick,’ thought Araksia. “Oh,” the Filipina added as an afterthought. “And thank you and Kevork for introducing us all to stoning. “Do you know, Jake has me stoned every Thursday and Friday all day long. Well, except for my mouth and pussy of course. He needs those to move.”

‘Some people are beyond help,’ thought Araksia sadly.

But aside from her stoning fame and the seemingly endless round of parties that they went to, nothing new or of note entered Araksia Manuelyan’s monotonous existence, which was spent most bored out of her mind in the Relaxation Room or being screwed by her husband.

Nothing that is until one night in November that Araksia will never forget so long as she lives.

Her and Kevork were lying in bed, he playing with her nipples, (which he’d just had pierced, much to her disgust and discomfort), when the telephone rang. Her husband answered and at once sounded worried. “No! Seriously? How could she? What are we to do? The Plan? Right! Ok! Orders from the Council eh? I’m onto it. Be ready by six.”

He put down the receiver and looked agitated.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“Rob,” he replied.

“Bad news?” she asked.

“Very bad. Come on my love, we’re leaving!”

“Leaving? Where? Why?”

“Araksia, I have no time to answer your fucking questions. We are leaving and that’s that! Now get going, quickly. You’ll find out everything in time.”

Then he virtually dragged her into the dressing chamber calling out “Hoang!” and “Linh!” as he went.

The two Vietnamese maids arrived in their lingerie, looking half asleep. He rapped out some commands to them in the native tongue and they woke up suddenly and started pulling Araksia’s travelling cocoon out of the wardrobe. So, she was going on a journey then. But to where? She was not to learn, as Kevork then left, assumedly to make his own preparations, but by the fact that the maids inserted her catheter, feeding mask and a vast quantity of tranquiliser, she knew, just before she dropped off, that it was likely to be a long trip.

Araksia awoke to find herself in a large sumptuous bed chamber. A fan whirred lazily overhead and a canary twittered in a cage. She looked around her. The windows were in the Oriental style and beautiful carpets adorned the floors and walls. It seemed like she had entered a Sultan’s Palace. ‘Hopefully not as a member of his Harem,’ she thought, unfazed – little shocked our Armenian these days –  though to be honest, even being a Harem Slave would not be any worse than what she was already used to.

A figure clad in white veils gestured for her to get up. Araksia examined her, but all she could see was the eyes. She knew those eyes though. It was Hoang. ‘Some things never change,’ she thought, wondering what new game or whim of Kevork’s this was.

Hoang took her to a dressing room where she was prepared as usual by the Vietnamese girl who was quick to take off all her Arabic clothing with a sigh. Then, tightly laced into a Foundation Venus and unusually gagged but then, once released, to her surprise, instead of an evening dress or skimpy clothing, an abayah and set of veils was brought for her, covering her entirely, even more so than with Hoang as cloth, several layers of it in fact, was placed over her eyes, so much so that she could only make out the dimmest outlines of things. Then, once prepared as an Arabic maiden, she was led out of the dressing room and the bedchamber and down countless corridors to a vast hall. And in that hall were sat hundreds of other veiled women, all silent and motionless like herself. Hoang motioned for her to sit. As always, she did as she was bid. The Hoang left.

About ten minutes later, two men walked onto a stage at the front of the hall. One was a Westerner, the other an Arab, dressed in the garb of his people. Araksia couldn’t be sure, (as she could hardly see anything through her thick veils), but she suspected that she’d seen both of them before at Society gatherings. Then the Westerner began to speak.

“Ladies of the Society. Welcome to your new home! Should you be wondering where you are at present, let me inform you that we are currently all lodged in the home of this kind man stood beside me, Sheik Mohammed al-Saud. Yes ladies, we are in Saudi Arabia and what’s more, this is where we, or at least you, will be staying.”

This announcement caused gasps amongst the cloth-draped audience.

“Our move here has been made necessary by the terrible actions of one of your sisters, Mrs. Tatyana Steinwald. On the 5th November of this year, under unusual circumstances, she managed to stray from the grounds of her husband’s house and run to a nearby police station, where she unfortunately told the authorities of her lifestyle with us. These scandalous actions caused the government of the United States to start looking into our activities, with a view to destroying our way of life. Luckily for us all though Ladies, we had foreseen such a possibility and planned accordingly. The LA Police Chief is one of us, and he stalled the investigations and gave us warning to leave. That is why you have all been escorted here to Saudi Arabia where each of your husbands owns a home. Here you will now be living, far from the reach of the American Government and the evil liberal ideas that have poisoned that country.

Sheik Mohammed’s only condition on giving us leave to live in his country was that we all convert to the Islamic Faith. This we have done on paper only. But by converting it has enabled our Society to have the government of Saudi Arabia on our side. They have stated that they do not object to our mode of life and in fact will support it. In Saudi Arabia, a women is the vassal of her husband at all times and in all places. What’s more, she is not allowed to work. We support and share these Saudi values. On top of that, our conversion to Islam has the added benefit of allowing each of our male members to marry four times, an option I hope many will take up, so Ladies, behave unless you want to lose your protector.

Ladies, these are the new facts in your life. Learn to live by them. You will be veiled at all times outside of your husband’s or other member’s homes. Veiled as now. Otherwise, life will continue just as before.

So, now I will leave you to be placed in travelling cocoons and to journey to your new homes. Enjoy your life in Saudi Arabia oh beloved, armless Venuses of the Society.”

And so that was that. Tatyana had escaped! How? Oh to do the same! But what would happen if Rob caught up with her. Araksia shuddered for her friend’s sake and prayed a silent prayer. Then she turned to her own predicament. She was now a Muslim and would be living in Saudi Arabia, that vast desert prison for women. Well, would it be any worse than California had been? She doubted it. Hoang tapped her on the shoulder and silently she got up and left, ready to be packed for the journey to Kevork’s new mansion in the desert.

A Desert Princess

Life for Araksia in Saudi Arabia turned out to be not altogether too different from how it had been in California. Daily she was confined to a huge mansion in a stifling hot climate wearing beautiful yet restrictive clothes. True the style was a bit different now, with Turkish rugs and Ottoman latticing adorning her new relaxation room, in place of the minimalist furnishings of the Californian one, but such changes in scenery were only surface deep. In fact, the only real change brought upon her life by their move to Arabia was the introduction of veiling which now became a regular and most irksome extra burden for our poor Armenian to deal with. Saudi custom dictates, (or so Kevork said to Araksia), that its women be hidden from view at all times so as not to sexually excite males, and so it was that whenever she left her quarters, (i.e. her bedroom, dressing room and relaxation room), she was required to veil fully, which meant over her eyes as well as the rest of her body. And when Kevork said ‘fully’, he meant it, her never having less than three layers of cloth covering her face, (“just to be sure that your charms are not seen by the gardeners and menservants”), reducing her vision to virtually nothing. And so it was that yet another of life’s pleasures – that of unrestricted sight – was taken from her and all her time spent away from her room was time spent in virtual darkness with only the barest outlines of things being perceptible. And on top of that, being covered in a mound of cloth is of course hot too, and at the end of every trip out of her quarters Araksia was hot sticky, sweaty and very very flustered. Such are the trials that our new Desert Princess had to endure.

Of course one exception to the veiling rule was Society gatherings and parties where Society Men still wanted to show off their trophies and admire the restricted, armless female form as much as ever. These, even more than in California were a blessing to Araksia, even though she no longer had her best friend to talk to, Tatyana having disappeared as we know and never been seen or talked of again. One gathering though, at the palace of Paolo Olivetti, an Italian Member of the Society, she was milling around clad in an extremely tight and uncomfortable corset with mono-glove with twelve centimetre heels when she came across a woman stood in a corner looking most uncomfortable with her mono-glove and crying her eyes out. Worried, and, (as she had not seen this lady before), suspecting that she may be new and unused to the Society’s restrictive way of life, she went over to ask what was the matter. To her surprise the lady, when she answered, her breasts heaving due to the tightness of her corset, answered in a way that Araksia did not expect.

She had a male voice!

“Who are you?” asked our concerned Armenian.

“I am… Fatima al-Steinwald, the new wife of Rob Steinwald…but…”

“But?”

“But I wasn’t always.”

“Who were you then?”

“Ivan Kovachev.”

Kovachev. That name rang a bell. “Are you, perhaps in any way related to…”

“… to Tatyana Kovachev, or Tatyana Steinwald as she is now?”
”She is my best friend.”

“She is my sister.”

Araksia couldn’t believe it. Tatyana’s brother – or sister perhaps! What was he/she doing here. She asked and Fatima or Ivan told her his/her sad tale.

“When Tatyana left, causing the Society so many problems – she escaped by hitting her maid who by accident hadn’t secured her properly to her ceiling chain, and then running out of the house and gardens – Rob vowed revenge on her. However, she had gone into hiding, in Brazil we believe, where no one knew where she was or could touch her. So what did that evil bastard do instead? Kidnapped a member of her family – me, and brought me to live as his wife. Except of course that I am, or was, a man. So, he’s having me changed. The process isn’t finished yet, I’ve got these huge breasts as you can see, and I’m on hormones, but the, well… tackle is still there. I believe he intends to leave my, erm… cock, as a reminder of what I once was, just whip the balls off. That’s when my voice will change. Not that that will change anything for Rob. That sicko nightly enjoys taking me up the ass as much as he enjoyed raping my sister. I can’t bear it!”

“Oh my God! I know, Fatima… Ivan. But that is our lot here. You have to. But what about Tatyana?”

“She is safe now. But Rob has sent a message saying that for every six months that she does not give herself up, he will kidnap and forcibly sex change one male member of her family or a close male friend. And if she tops herself, then he will do the same. That’s why I’m crying. She got in touch today. He is leaving for Brazil tomorrow to collect her. I fear for my sister, Araksia.”

“Well, that’s sad, and I would fear for anyone in his clutches too. But at least you will be free.”

“Oh no, I’m married to him now. And that’s forever. But at least I will have my sister around.”

Araksia shuddered and thanked the Lord that she had not been blessed with any brothers.

A Mother’s Heart

It is thirty-five years to the day since Araksia al-Manuelyan arrived in the country that is now her home – Saudi Arabia. Her beauty and charms faded long ago, as did any hope that she might have had for a happy life, but her body, thanks to her regular exersize sessions, is in better shape that most fifty-five year-olds. Her arms these days, she imagines, even if they were to be released from their bondage, would be useless, the muscles atrophied after so many years of lying unused. Nowadays the first wife of Kevork al-Manuelyan just sits and waits, without emotion. There is nothing else for her to do.

It was a year or so after her arrival in the desert kingdom when she noticed her position starting to become eroded. Linh, the foxy maid whom she knew that he husband had long been shagging, emerged one birthday with the traditional Society Birthday Present – a pair of huge silicone breasts. They looked stupid on the lightly-built Asian but Kevork didn’t seem to mind. After that, and after he had some extra fat pumped into her ass, he spent more and more time with his maid, and less with his wife.

But it was Nguyen Linh who eventually replaced Araksia. He never married her and after three years of sleeping with her nightly, as he had with Araksia, he got bored and sent her packing back to her village with fifty thousand dollars, (with which they say she built a rather nice house). He got new maids in, Filipino this time, (they had no opportunity to complain or help the trapped wives under the Draconian Laws of the Saudis), but it was never to be a maid who ousted our Armenian. Three years after her arrival, Araksia got pregnant. This surprised her, as she knew that previously she’d always had the pill included in her compound. As soon as the baby, a son whom they named Hacho, was born, Kevork ‘went shopping’ as he termed it, to his homeland. A month later he returned with a new nineteen year-old bride, the fair Anoush.

At first the newcomer was wary of Araksia, seeing her as a threat, but over time their shared experiences and Armenian background brought them together as sisters in suffering. Araksia was pleased that he’d acquired a new love toy anyway. It kept him away from her bed. Nonetheless, he still visited from time to time, and within a year her second child, a girl named Lucina. Having to bring up a girl child in such an environment was the hardest thing that Araksia had had to bear yet. How many nights had she wept endlessly over the plight of her beloved daughter? And with her arms restricted so, she was never of course, even allowed to hold her child. From the moment of her initial binding at the age of puberty her daughter’s existence had been even more narrow, restricted and miserable than her own. Hacho had every freedom that he could want. At eighteen he was already seducing unwilling yet defenceless Society Maidens, and at twenty he was married for the first time, a big-assed Colombian hostess whom his father had bought for him to teach him the ways of love. Love he called it. That sick man did not know what true love was.

But today is perhaps the saddest day of all. As soon as she had turned, Kevork had decreed that Lucina was to start dating. Dating with a view towards marriage. But dating under Society rules was not like dating elsewhere. Lucina was clad in a tight Foundation Venus and stoned whilst interested males milled around drinking cocktails and admiring her. Then, those interested, contacted Kevork and were allowed to take the poor girl out. How many times had Araksia seen those leery perverts arrive at their mansion and take her beloved by the leash for a night of ‘dating’. (Though no sex was allowed, from twelve years on she had been forced to wear a chastity belt).

And the conclusion of those nights of dating? Why today? The great and glorious wedding of Lucina al-Manuelyan, daughter of Kevork al-Manuelyan. A wedding presided over by that man and his new Armenian wife, Ohana, an eighteen-year old beauty from Erevan. But Araksia, as the one whom had borne the bride had also been graciously invited. So there she sits, veiled in cloth, hardly able to see the proceedings, not wanting to see the proceedings, gagged to stop any embarrassing outbursts, and laced to forty-five inches in a Foundation Venus. Yes there she sits and watches as Kevork gives away his only daughter. Gives his daughter away to an old friend of his, a man whom has already driven his first wife to the grave, and enslaved her brother, turning him into his second wife. The man who is known to make his ladies sleep in a sleeping cocoon and has recently expressed an interest in amputation as was pioneered by Maria the Crazy Filipina.

“Lucina al-Manuelyan. Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the minister asks.

“She does,” replied Kevork, smiling at his friend.

“And Rob al-Steinwald. Do you take this girl to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do,” says he.

Araksia, feels like dying and sinking into the ground that very moment.

But as we know, she will be living on this terrible earth for many more painful and empty years to come.

And her daughter Lucina, for many more after that.

FINIS

 

Alison becomes a Lady of Leisure: Chapter 14

Chapter 13

Chapter 14 – Happily Ever After

A month after their return from London, Katie walked down the aisle with Sam at St. Mary’s Church, Bowdon and became the new Mrs. Stephen Williamson. It was the social event of the year as Stephen was the heir to one of the biggest cotton concerns in the country and she was the perfect bride, with an awe-inspiring waist, elegance and grace and a face that could have graced fashion magazines. Following the wedding they went away on honeymoon to the South of France and when they returned they moved into a newly-built mansion near to Stockport.

Their marital home was the talk of all society as it was designed by a top architect and featured all the fashionable touches. There was a pool like at the spa where Mrs. Williamson could relax and a sauna, (the hot room of wood), but whilst not there she had an entire wing to herself which was fitted with a new invention gaining in popularity amongst fashionable circles.

With the reverse prayer being de rigeur now amongst the great and the good, it was hard to see how much further ladies could go to demonstrate their wealth and elegance, until Princess Beatrice, about tenth in line to the throne, had a sort of slide rail system fitted to her quarters. This was like a railway laid around the ceiling to which a wire was attached which was then secured to the Lady of Leisure. The idea was initially that it prevented her from falling and hurting herself as she walked, (being unable to put out their arms to cushion a fall, several Ladies of Leisure had seriously hurt themselves), but then developed into yet another means of fashionable and elegant restraint. The idea was that a husband could decree which areas his wife, (or daughter), may or may not venture and also, using electronic programming, could also set pre-arranged routes. So for example, a father feeling that his teenage daughter was growing too fat, could programme that the wire force her to walk around the room continually for an hour or more in order to lose weight. Naturally, such a device was something that Katie was not going to be without.

To her surprise though, soon afterwards, Alison discovered one being fitted to her quarters. Sam had seen the one that Stephen designed and decided that his wife would not have less than her sister. So now her movements were even more restricted and, whenever he needed her presence to relieve his tensions orally, she would find herself being led into his study by the silent, uncaring wire. Her own thoughts and wants were now meaningless.

And so there we find her, sat in her chair in her retiring room, staring out across the lawn upon which rain is lashing down. The music on the gramophone has finished but Natalie has not been in to replace it. She sees less and less of Natalie these days who does not need to worry if her mistress is safe now that there is the slide wire and also a camera so she can check upon her. If gossip is to be believed, her lady’s maid spends her time playing cards and carrying on an illicit liaison with the head gardener.

With nothing else to do, she occupies her mind with thoughts on just how her life has changed over the past year. She realises that this was the day, exactly one year before when Samuel Withenshaw first gathered up the courage to ask her out. She had accepted him on her terms and had later accepted his proposal of marriage because she loved him. Looking back though, she wonders, was she right to do so. In the unbelievable year that has followed she has risen from being a humble waitress having to eke out a living to support herself and her sister, to one of the wealthiest and most esteemed ladies in the district. Her husband is now the second most important manager at Williamson’s Mill and she has made friends with some of the finest ladies in the land. She is invited to balls and garden parties and she is clad in gowns that cost her what was several months’ wages before. Furthermore, she has secured a marriage beyond all expectations for her sister, a marriage which Katie herself is happy in and which will leave their children heirs to one of the greatest fortunes in the north-west. Everyone tells her how lucky and blessed she is.

Yet at what cost have these gains come? Now she is elegant and beautiful, a living fashion plate, yet that fashion and privilege has also reduced her to a state of absolute dependency and helplessness. She can no longer feed herself or use a toilet; her life is restricted so that she may not even walk around her own house at will, and indeed requires assistance with such simple acts as sitting and climbing steps. And 24 hours a day, seven days a week her body reminds her of her new elegant and exalted status, from her stretched and constricted neck which leaves her gasping for breath, to her enormous cartoon breasts which heave up and down as her lungs gasp for air, to her minuscule waist as hard as iron, to her padded bottom plugged with an oversized replica of a male penis, to her intimate areas, shorn of hair, plugged, trimmed back and ringed, to her feet, forced en pointe so that she can only mince along at the slowest of speeds. Yes, her entire body reminds her of this, but no part so more as her arms, totally unusable for almost a year, at present dead until Natalie comes to massage them back into life.

She swallows, feeling the rubber gag fill her mouth and fidgets on her chair causing the plugs in her anus and slit to move. Her nipple rings are also tugged and ripples of pleasure flow through her. Automatically her mind turns to what it always turns to these days: sex. She longs for it constantly, being denied all other forms of pleasure.

Then she feels another pull, on the harness around her bound arms and collar. She is being lifted up out of her chair. She glances at the clock: Ten past three. Yes, she knows what it is; it happens around this time everyday now. Sam has an urge and she, as his elegant accessory, has a duty to satisfy it.

Slowly and carefully she minces her way towards her husband’s study.

Because as a Lady of Leisure she is given everything in the world except the ability to exercise a will of her own.

FINIS

Alison becomes a Lady of Leisure: Chapter 13

Chapter 12

Chapter 13 – A Letter Arrives

“Ma’am, Mr. Withenshaw requires your presence in his study.”

Alison let the maid assist her in rising and then minced her way through the corridors to her husband’s study. Once inside, the maid sat her down and then Sam ordered her out and shout the door.

“What is it?” she asked.

“This letter,” he replied, “which arrived special delivery this morning. I think you can guess what it is.”

She could, they had both been expecting it. It was a formal proposal of marriage for Miss Katherine Knight from Master Stephen Williamson.

“I shall accept of course,” said Sam.

Alison nodded as much as her neck corset would allow. There was no sensible reason to refuse: he was above her in station, the son of a close friend and the two obviously liked one another. Nonetheless, Alison felt a little sad. For the rest of her life Katie would become an elegant, often mute, entirely helpless fashion mannequin, an elaborate accessory to her husband. She knew that the prospect of this would please her sister but, deep down, she always wanted something more for her… and herself.

“He lists his demands,” continued Sam. “Financially he is understanding, he knows our station and so has only demanded a dowry of £5,000. He has said that he will house her and care for her. And the enhancements are no too extreme either…”

“Enhancements?”

“Why yes, of course. You know as well as I that all Ladies of Leisure undergo enhancements prior to marriage as stipulated by their fiancés.”

“Yes, I suppose so, I’d just, well, never thought about it.”

“Well, think now. He is demanding 40F breasts, some slight enhancements to the lips and buttock enlargements, although these too are minor. All in all, nothing too expensive.”

‘Nothing too expensive!’ But what would she look like afterwards with two silicon footballs affixed to her chest? Like all Ladies of Leisure of course: fake. Yet another symbol of their wealth and dependency on their males.

“I shall make a booking for the women’s hospital in a month or so’s time in order that they may heal before the wedding. I should like you to accompany her, in case of any misapprehensions she may have.”

“I quite understand.”

“Alison, I am so proud of you, you know? Since your parents’ deaths you’ve been like a second mother to Katie and brought her up well. It is entirely a credit to you that she has become a Lady of Leisure and is making such a good marriage.”

The official engagement took place at a garden party held on the lawn of Mostyn House the following Sunday. All their friends and Altrincham high society was invited and Stephen went down on one knee in front of Katie. She blushed and nodded as she was unable to answer being securely gagged, and the whole of the male contingent of the gathering clapped. Then Stephen presented Sam with the traditional engagement gift – an ivory replica of his penis for her to wear in her bottom to give a foretaste of the pleasures of marriage – and a list of his demands. After that Katie withdrew to have the gift inserted and when she returned blushing deeply, the males clapped heartily again and Stephen planted a large kiss on her gagged lips.

The wedding was set for August so that the reception could be held in the grounds and the appointment for the enhancements was made at the end of July. On the fateful day Alison and Katie boarded the train at Stockport for the long journey down to London. Not wishing to take any chances, this made the travelling costumes with rubber underwear get brought out again and, in the event, it was needed, as the train was delayed near Rugby and Alison could not hold herself in any longer. By the time she alighted at Euston, her pee was swishing about her bottom uncomfortably.

They took a taxi to Great Ormond Street Hospital for Women, the premier enhancement hospital in the country, and were ushered into the consulting room of Dr. Bunyan, the surgeon who would be conducting the operation. He brought up an electronic image of Katie at present and how she would look after the work on her body. Alison privately thought the over-large, perfectly round and buoyant breasts would look a little ridiculous, but Katie was most pleased.

“And that is your sister, Mrs. Withenshaw, now for you,” said the doctor.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You are also to have some enhancements made, are you not?”

“No, not at all, doctor. I am already married and we chose not to have such work done at my engagement.”

“Oh really, is that the truth?”

“Well, almost. To be perfectly honest, we had not the money in those days; I was working at the time and not a Lady of Leisure, and so it was never a possibility.”

“I see,” said the doctor with a smile. “Well, I must say that you have a most loving and caring husband, because the instructions – and the cheque – sent to me by Mr. Withenshaw indicate that he feels most remiss at not having to be able to provide you with what you deserve at the time of your betrothal and so he has decided to make good that omission and, as a special present for the care and support you have provided for your lovely sister here over the years, you too are to be enhanced. Now, the details he has asked me to keep as a surprise from you, but I know you shall love your new look.”

“But Dr. Bunyan, I…”

But even as she spoke, Alison’s eyelids began to get heavy.

“The tea,” said the good doctor, “it was laced with a sleeping drug. When you awake both you and your sister shall be new women entirely…”

Then the world went black.

When she awoke, Alison did not feel particularly new, but she did feel groggy. She drifted in and out of consciousness a few times before finally coming to her senses properly. She looked down at her chest and saw two mounds underneath the bedsheets. They were huge!

An hour later she was up and examining her enhancements in the mirror. Sam’s gift may have been well-intentioned but it was not what she would have chosen. Jutting out from her chest, where previously her humble 32B breasts had sat, were now two enormous balloons of female flesh. Each was topped by an enormous nipple, easily the size of her thumb and, to her alarm, both nipples had been pierced and a pair of large golden rings permanently inserted through them.

The nurse demonstrated her new breasts’ new sensations. She massaged them and pressed them but rather than sagging, they simply bounced back into position, defying gravity completely. Then, as she caressed the nipples, ripples of pleasure flooded through Alison’s body. The nurse explain how the nerves had been altered to enhance the feeling of touch and that it may be possible for Alison to achieve orgasm now purely through the massaging of her nipples. She then went on to explain that the rings were there to prevent them from bouncing out of low-cut gowns as they could be fastened to matching rings now stitched onto the top of her stays.

Below the titanic breasts, her figure dived down into an impossible hourglass before widening again to the hips which had been enhanced along with the buttocks at the back so that they jutted out provocatively. Her most intimate area had also not escaped attentions, with her outer beauty lips having been cut back to reveal her moist slit all the more, the whole area treated with lasers to prevent hair regrowth and then her beauty bud being pierced and a golden ring inserted through that also. “You shall find this enhancement most exciting,” explained the nurse as she started to tug and twist the ring sending intense ripples of pleasure through Alison’s body. “Normally the clitoris is not in an aroused state, but the piercing and ring ensure that it stays in that state permanently which will be most exciting for you and the ring can cause incredible sexual joy for you although, I must warn you now, that some husband’s do also use them for punishment purposes. I believe your sister has had similar jewellery attached.

Once she had recovered fully from the operations, Alison spent a few days in hospital learning how to manage their new breasts. The problem was their weight thrust her entire body forward which meant that she had to change how she walked, leaning back more which presented them even more lewdly. In addition to this, the rings attached to rings on her new corsets tugged and twisted whenever she moved caused great excitement when she didn’t always want it. Katie was exactly the same, though she seemed less perturbed by it, perhaps because she had been a more willing patient. To Alison though, these huge humps of femininity, along with the ring through her beauty bud merely made her all the more conscious, every time she moved or glanced down as to how she was slowly being turned into some sort of gorgeous sexual object whose sole purpose was to please her husband and reflect his wealth and status. When they rode home on the train, everyone staring at hers and Katie’s mighty melons as they waited on the platform at Euston, she felt so self-conscious she would have loved to have draped a shroud over herself. Back at the house though, Sam’s reaction was quite different and she had not stepped through the door an hour when Natalie had undressed her and she was chained to their bed, her husband eagerly burying his face into her new fun bags as he pumped away merrily below.

Chapter 14

Alison becomes a Lady of Leisure: Chapter 12

Chapter 11

Chapter 12 – Wedding Bells

A month after that heavenly holiday, it was Hope’s wedding itself. That morning both girls were woken up at five, two hours earlier than usual, in order to begin the preparations. They were to be bridesmaids of course, but Hope had selected gowns for her bridesmaids that were more demanding than anything either girl had even contemplated wearing before. The waists were a staggering fourteen inches but, more than that, they incorporated perfectly vertical stems of four inches that were picked out by a wide silver filigree belt which went over them and could only be screwed shut at the requisite fourteen inches.

The night before Natalie had decided that Alison’s night stays should be laced an inch tighter than usual which was a real trial and not entirely helpful as she had struggled to sleep with the intense constriction, although it must be said that Sam had really appreciated the new measurement when attending to his marital duties and had made a worrying hint about it becoming something of a more permanent arrangement. Nonetheless, in the morning, it did give them a head start and when she was hung from her trapeze, Alison got down to fifteen and a half inches quite easily. After that though it became a real trial, for although the waist size was not too extreme, achieving it with the long stem was. Just above fifteen she blacked out and after being revived by smelling salts, was given an hour to acclimatise herself before another lacing bout which ended in a blackout at fourteen and three quarters. And so it continued until the stays were finally closed at around 11 in the morning at which point, light-headed and blacking out again as she was released from the trapeze and her weight transferred itself onto her feet, now squeezed into en pointe boots, she lay down for an hour to recover before the dress itself could be fitted.

That dress was a gorgeous confection in rose-coloured silk with fresh flowers pinned onto it and topped off by the glorious silver filigree belt, the fitting of which caused her to faint away once again as it was deliberately shaped to be longer front to back than across the sides giving the optical illusion of a waist even smaller than it really was, although to achieve that illusion caused, naturally, more pain and suffering.

Having briefed Natalie of her plans well in advance, after her enema mid-morning, Alison had been fitted with the very largest of her bottom plugs which was a full three inches in circumference. She had worn this before of course, (although it must be said that initially Natalie had said two inches was all that would be required), but with the extra pressure on her waist, it seemed to make the insertion even more difficult and Alison felt so full down below that it really bothered her.

That was not the only thing that bothered her either. The dress that Hope had chosen was extremely low cut and so there was an issue of what to do with Alison’s heaving breasts which were now pushed up level with her shoulders due to the fact that, so squeezed was she, they had nowhere else to go. To solve it Natalie tied cotton threads around the nipples and then attached these to rings set into the gown so that the nipples were only just hidden and most of her bosom was brazenly on display. This shaming fact however, was nothing to the surges of pain and pleasure she felt every time that she breathed and her breasts tugged mercilessly on the nipples and indeed, for the first hour or so after they had been fastened in that way, Alison found it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

Whilst she was coming to terms with this, the servants fussed around coiffuring her hair and applying her make-up whilst Natalie also fitted a magnificent silver filigree collar which matched the belt and hid a strict neck corset before inserting her gag and inflating it fully. Finally though, completely immobile and all her orifices stuffed to the maximum, the leash was attached to her collar and she was led out of the room to her waiting husband.

The wedding itself was a severe trial and Alison did not know how she managed to survive it without fainting, although Hope was even more inspiring as her waist had been squeezed to a mind-blowing thirteen and a half inches with a five inch stem which, according to Emma, had only been achieved by lacing down steadily over a twenty-four hour period.

Following the ceremony itself there was the reception where she managed only four mouthfuls of the glorious meal presented before her, and then in the evening after a much-needed rest period, it was the ball. Then, as with the Finkelsteins’ ball, Katie had disappeared into the garden with Stephen which much angered Alison as she’d had stern words with her younger sister afterwards about wanton behaviour – warnings that the brazen teen had obviously not heeded at all – and then Sam had tugged on her leash and suggested they do likewise, to which she had pointedly refused declaring that if he could wait, she had a far greater treat planned for him that evening.

Excited by this mysterious prospect, they had bade their farewells to the happy couple soon afterwards and returned to Mostyn House where Alison had gone upstairs with Natalie whilst Sam treated himself to a stiff port and cigar. Once upstairs she had been stripped of all her clothing saving for the incredible corset which she knew her husband would appreciate, her collar and leash, gag and the restriction around her reverse prayer arms. Then she had been lain on the bed by Natalie, face down with a huge bolster underneath her stomach so that her bottom was raised to a manageable height for her husband. After that the mammoth plug was removed and her gaping hole massaged by the fingers of her maid with scented oils. Then she waited.

Sam entered soon afterwards and declared himself most surprised and pleased at the developments. He whipped out his member which was already rock solid and approached her from behind. She felt his hands caressing her breasts which hung down beneath her and groaned into her gag as he played with her nipples and then the tip of his tool brushed her oh-so-sensitive clitoris. But tonight that was not to be where that member was headed, and instead she felt it pressing against her bottom hole which, despite its stretching, still resisted the intruder. “No! No! NO!” she screamed into her gag, but no words could be made out and instead she felt the mighty weapon push past her sphincter and enter her very being. Never before had she felt so mastered, so absolutely owned, so helpless and so dominated. Slowly but surely, Sam slid his tool in and out, taking his time and massaging her breasts all the while. Then, just as she thought it was over, he withdrew, not wishing to rush the experience, waiting a moment whilst caressing her tiny waist, before then re-entering and starting it all again. Three times this happened but on the third he could contain his ecstasy no longer and he erupted deep within her, a sensation that Alison felt only briefly before she fainted right away in pleasure, exhaustion and absolute submission.

Now she truly understood what it meant to be a Lady of Leisure.

Chapter 13

Alison becomes a Lady of Leisure: Chapter 11

Chapter 10

Chapter 11 – Hens’ Holiday

At the start of May Alison was most surprised to discover a letter waiting on her breakfast table one morning. Unable to do anything herself, she had the maid open it and read it and to her delight it was from Emma Williamson stating that due to Hope’s upcoming marriage, it had been decided to hold a “Hen Party” and as such both Alison and Katie were invited to a week away in Paris.

Both girls were extremely excited as neither had been overseas before and both knew that Paris is rumoured to be one of the most elegant cities on earth even if the fashions there are far more liberal than those of Britain.

When the day came though a month later, there were some unexpected elements to Alison’s dressing. After she had been laced using the trapeze, she had her usual morning enema but then, to her surprise, catheters were fitted into her pee hole and anus. “What is the meaning of this?” she asked in shock, to which the maid replied, “Special preparations for travelling, ma’am, as access to a toilet is impossible until we arrive in the hotel.”

After the catheters, a thick pair of rubber pants was fitted over her bottom, then another and then yet another. These were all quite baggy and made her hips appear incredibly large, as if she possessed what is crudely referred to as a “bubble butt”. Then came the usual enormous bustle, but unlike normal, this was much heavier as it seemed to have some sort of tank inside it which the catheter tubes were attached to. Then, she was dressed as normal in a forest green travelling dress with fur trims and an elegant hat with a thick veil over the front which almost blinded Alison. Finally the ensemble was finished off by a dark grey fur-lined mantle.

The two girls were driven to the mainline railway station at Stockport where the Williamson ladies were waiting. They all nodded at one another and were then shown into their private compartment where, once seated, their gags were removed so that they could talk. They then set off, the servants and luggage in the next compartment, chattering excitedly about the upcoming trip when Alison began to feel full, probably as a result of all the tea that she had drunk at breakfast. Immediately she knew that she had to let go and that was why she had been dressed in the way that she had, but something about her felt ashamed to empty herself into her underwear in public so she held it in with the pressure slowly growing.

But then, somewhere past Rugby, as the clocks struck twelve, something most unexpected happened. There was a slight whirring in her bustle and cold water started shooting into her bottom, the shock causing her to let flow with pee. Nervously she looked across at the others and from their shifting in their seats, she could tell that the same was happening to them all. Naturally, all the girls were too refined and elegant to mention it but the conversation stopped as all tried to concentrate on the sensations down below. Her bottom filled up quickly and the pressure became intense and then it stopped. The water stayed there until slight cramps began. Then it gushed out to Alison’s great relief. Once it was all finished she looked across at Emma who smiled. “I feel much cleaner all of a sudden,” said Mrs. Williamson before returning to the topic of French wines.

Alison emptied her bowels several times on that journey and received two more enemas. But then the trip was a long one: three and a half hours to London, a cab across the capital, then another hour and a half to Dover, then the crossing before a further five hours ride to the French capital. It was evening by the time they got there and thankfully the hotel was by the Gare du Nord so they could book straight in.

Immediately Alison was stripped and bathed and then dressed in an evening dress of fine red silk. They went out for a beautiful meal and then returned to the hotel where, Alison was surprised to discover, she was sharing a room with Chastity Williamson at the latter’s request. Both ladies were stripped down to corsets and drawers and a monoglove and then put into the King Size bed with each other. And as soon as the maid had extinguished the light, Chastity snuggled up to her friend and whispered, “This is my favourite part of the holiday!” and put her lips to Alison’s. She was initially shocked and, several months ago she would have drawn away, but the experiences in Laydon’s and at the spa had taught her that for Ladies of Leisure, Sapphic pleasures are not taboo as with most women. Although not a lesbian, she reciprocated the kiss and soon found herself in Heaven as her tongue explored the young virgin’s mouth.

But then Chastity withdrew and shuffled herself round so that her face was by Alison’s crotch. To her astonishment she found the young girl nuzzling through her drawers to her most intimate area and then slowly start licking and sucking. The pleasure was exquisite and soon Alison began groaning in ecstasy. “Now you do me,” whispered Chastity and so Alison put her face into Chastity’s crotch and began exploring her love channel with her tongue, the young girls juices exciting her even further. Within minutes both passed out from the most incredible sexual experience that either had ever encountered and when she came round again, Alison was pleased to discover that Chastity was ready for round two.

And so the holiday went on. By day they visited the famous sights like the Eiffel Tower and Versailles, in the evenings they watched the opera or theatre, their rarely-free hands clapping daintily at the moving performances and at night they immersed themselves in Sapphic bliss.

At the end of the week, as she was trussed up in rubber again, Alison did not want to return home.

Chapter 12

Alison becomes a Lady of Leisure: Chapter 10

Chapter 9

Chapter 10 – The Ball

Life as Ladies of Leisure continued for both Katie and Alison as the weeks passed by. Katie loved it, Alison far less so, although even she had to admit when she thought about it, that there was a certain degree to which one could get used to anything. Not that she did think about such things much, mind. Indeed, it seemed these days that all that did occupy her mind was sexual titillation and hardly a moment went by when the objects inserted in both her front and rear holes did not remind her of how sensitive those areas were.

With regards to the plug now permanently inserted in her bottom hole, this was reminding her more and more now, since she was steadily moving through the set and the plugs were now large indeed, causing her to feel permanently full down there. She often wondered what congress in that way would feel like – would she enjoy it or not? – but Natalie deemed it still not being wise to attempt it yet and besides, her maid reminded her, would it not be best to save such a special event for a special occasion? Alison agreed and so made plans to surprise her husband on the night following Hope’s wedding when she would have been making him extra excited all day by wearing the gorgeous bridesmaid’s gown.

Now that both sisters were true Ladies of Leisure, they found that they were invited over to the Williamsons’ house all the more and introduced to many more Society Ladies. Most of them lived just as they did although some adopted some even more extreme practices. Take for example Mrs. Sara Finkelstein, wife of a prominent millowner, who was always plugged as they were but whose husband programmed her front plug to vibrate whenever he was thinking of her. Mrs. Finkelstein would be sat on a chair drinking tea with the rest of them when suddenly she would start panting and her maid, even attentive and highly professional, would mop her brow. Then, without a word, Mrs. Finkelstein would pass out. The maid would ensure that she did not fall, and then after a minute or two revive her mistress with smelling salts. The most amazing thing about all this though was that Mrs. Finkelstein never once spoke or made a noise, but just continued as if nothing had happened. Indeed, when the panting and sweating started, she would continue with the same facial expression as before, still nodding at the right places in the conversations and so often Alison was unaware that anything was up until the poor lady fainted right away. The first time it happened both she and Katie found the entire episode most confusing but Emma explained to them afterwards what the matter was and said that Sara had gone to one of the premier ladies’ colleges in the north where girls were taught to not betray any sign of the excitement they were undergoing in their facial expressions.

Another strange character was Mrs. Emily Braithwaite, wife of a hat manufacturer in Stockport. She was a Lady of Leisure like all the others, with perfect reverse prayer at all times, but what distinguished her were the immense size of her breasts. Each was easily twice as big as her head and they heaved mightily with every breath as she laced to a staggering 14 inches with a stem of several inches, an unbelievable size achieved, Emma said, through an operation which had removed some her lower ribs. Her waist was almost non-existent and then her breasts were unmissable, perfect globes of feminine flesh. Alison wondered how she managed she monsters and was even more surprised when she learnt that before her marriage Emily had been a rather plain girl with a famously flat chest. Now she was anything but plain, with blonde hair, huge blue doll-like eyes and enormous pouting lips. Emma explained that her husband fancied himself as something of an artist and had chosen Emily specifically for her plainness, using her as a blank canvas as it were, upon which he could create his masterpiece. The effects of the mammoth-titted, wasp-waisted doll in front of them certainly were striking, all the more so because another of her enhancements had been a slight shortening of the tongue which left Emily speaking with a babyish lisp, but Alison would have struggled to call the finished work a “masterpiece”.

As they continued to visit the Williamsons, Katie and Stephen Williamson spent more and more time together. He always seemed to pop home from work when she was about and managed to manoeuvre himself near to her when sitting in the room, watching her breasts rise and fall as the others talked. One day he asked if he may take her for a constitutional around the grounds as she was looking somewhat flustered to which Alison agreed seeing no reason why not to and the young couple were away for an inordinately long time and when they returned Alison was certain that her sister’s gag had been removed and then replaced. After that, these constitutional walks became a regular occurrence with Stephen even turning up at their own home some evenings to partake in them. Not that Alison minded of course, since Katie obviously enjoyed them and Stephen seemed to be an upright young man and besides, with her chastity belt locked on, what harm could befall Katie?

Things came to a head though at the Finkelstein’s Ball held in honour of Reuben’s birthday at the start of April. It was one of the social events of the year and gave Katie and Alison a chance to wear their gorgeous ball gowns which left their fingers tantalisingly free. Of course, wearing it was also a trial since it required a waist an inch smaller than usual, but after several faints Alison managed to squeeze herself into it and ride to the ball light-headed and panting for breath.

Once there though, it was magical. The Finkelsteins’ mansion in Alderley Edge was ablaze with fairy lights and a string ensemble played whilst the couples whirled around the ballroom like heavenly mirages. Alison felt on top of the world as Sam held her firmly around her miniscule waist and then entwined his fingers in her, fingers which were rarely so free even if they still were pinioned behind her back and brushing her neck. She glanced across and noticed Katie doing much the same with Stephen before the latter then took hold of her silver leash and guided his belle outside into the dark garden. Thinking that it would be romantic to kiss her husband in the same fashion in amongst the shrubs, Alison whispered in Sam’s ear that they too should retire outside to which he smiled and took hold of her leash also. He led her carefully onto the terrace and then down the steps and onto the lawn. Crossing the dark lawn, they made for the shrubbery when Alison heard some strange noises, rather like groaning and gasping and then, to her horror, she spied Stephen Williamson stood against a tree with her sister knelt before him sucking his tool vigorously whilst he groaned in ecstasy. They weren’t kissing at all! Instead they were being far more intimate… and crude!. She gave a gasp of shock but no one heard as at that very moment Stephen exploded into Katie’s waiting and eager mouth. As he helped her sister up, Alison was transfixed by the sight of her sister’s exultant face with white goo dripping from her rosebud mouth.

Leading her on, Sam found his own tree and then, with a smile of delight, unfastened his own fly and pushed on her shoulder so that she was knelt in front of him. “Shall we follow their example, darling?” he asked as he slowly inserted his stiff member.

Chapter 11

Alison becomes a Lady of Leisure: Chapter 9

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 – A Heavenly Day

They had agreed not to leave the house or meet with the Williamsons again until they had both achieved reverse prayer, since with their new status it would perhaps not be fitting to do abroad with it half-achieved and they both wished to demonstrate just how hard they had been working to attain the same exalted lifestyle as their new friends. Reverse prayer is achieved when the elbows meet and Katie managed this after two weeks. For Alison it took a further four days but eventually they were ready and the Williamsons were contacted and it was agreed to go out shopping together in Manchester for new gowns suitable for their new level of bondage and status. Thus it was that they awoke early that Wednesday and instead of staying half naked until lunch, both put on their walking gowns supplemented not by a monoglove this time but instead a temporary glove in white leather that Natalie had ordered from a staymaker’s that kept the arms in the reverse prayer position. They then were picked up by the car with the three Williamson ladies already on board and whisked off to the city centre. Naturally, none of them offered Katie and Alison any compliments on their new-found elegance as all were securely gagged, but all three nodded in admiration and even Alison felt a little proud inside.

The car deposited them at the doors of Kendal & Milne and the four ladies minced inside and were helped to the ladies wear section. New stays were ordered for Katie as well as neck corsets but then they came on to the main object of their visit: dresses incorporating the reverse prayer posture.

Once again Alison was shown through to a private area by fawning assistants who helped her maid to strip her down and then fit the new underwear which, of course, included a corset that could lace down tighter than her previous one and which caused her to pass out when still a couple of inches from closing. Then came the reverse prayer ensemble which came in several parts. The first were the initial restraints, i.e. cuffs for the elbows and wrists. Then the lower part of the pouch in white leather which covered the two bound arms as one up to the wrists. This had lacing along the back which squeezed them together tightly, moulding them as one unit. Alison wondered why the hands were left free, but this was then explained by the assistant who described how ball dresses or those worn for the theatre and opera now kept the hands free so that they could be seen by admirers and tiny ladylike claps could be made to show appreciation for performers. Also, ardent lovers often liked to intertwine fingers during the dances. Thus, Alison was now fitted for two ball gowns, one in ivory with exquisite embroidery and the second in a pale purple.

After this the final part of the reverse prayer ensemble for normal use was fitted: a glove for both hands with separate fingers and stiffened with steel to prevent any movement whatsoever. Then came the selecting of the day dresses, ten in total including one in satin with a tartan print which she decided to wear for the rest of the day. Suitably attired and extremely elegant, she was now fit to re-enter society where her friends and similarly-restrained sister all declared themselves most pleased with the results.

Dining at the Midland again, Alison used the opportunity of being ungagged to ask if they would be visiting Laydon’s again. “Well, we could,” said Emma, “although I was thinking, as a special treat to celebrate yours and Emma’s entry into the life of the Lady of Leisure, that instead we have the driver take us to the Dunham Massey Spa.”

“Ooh mummy! Can we really?” squealed Chastity.

“The Dunham Massey Spa? Where is that?”

“Not far from our house but it is the most heavenly place ever. It is a place to relax and unwind and, from what I recall from my reverse prayer training, is something that you’ll both need more than anything.”

“Well, I don’t know since it’s all new to me, but you’re the expert so, if you recommend it, then I’m game!”

“Jolly good.”

The Dunham Massey Spa was an extensive complex housed in a former stately home where the family had left no heirs and so a hotel chain had taken it over. Part of it was an hotel but part was an area for ladies of distinction and breeding to relax. They all entered and were given their own personal assistant as at Laydon’s. Each was guided to their own changing room where their clothes were removed and their arms massaged until the blood began to flow again.

Next an enema was administered, this one, like at Laydon’s, offered with a choice of fragrant soaps, Alison choosing rose essence, before her plug was reinserted. Then, she was taken to the shower, her arms fastened to a ceiling chain, rinsed all over and a new corset fitted, this time in rubber and not quite as tight as the usual stays. It was also shorter, not covering the breasts which were left free and bouncing. Alison’s arms were then laced into a monoglove, also in rubber and rubber pants were fitted over her hips. Finally her hair was braided into a long ponytail and mules with heels of several inches placed on her feet. Finally a collar with chain was fastened around her neck and she was led out of the room by the maid.

The first stop was an incredibly hot room made entirely out of wood where a stove belched out heat. Called a sauna, this caused her to sweat profusely all over. After ten minutes or so in there, she was taken to a pool of cold water before then re-entering the sauna. Then she was given a massage by her assistant who concentrated on her legs, bottom, back and breasts, easing out all the knots and pains. It was sheer heaven! After that a strange item was added to her ensemble. It looked like one of those huge ruffs worn in Elizabethan days and was secured around her neck, but this ruff was made of plastic and full of air. Then she was led to a pool of warm water into which she entered and her chain was tied to a post along with the chains of the others. It was absolutely heavenly as the pool was deep and so she was literally floating in the warm soothing water whilst the inflated ruff kept her head dry and afloat.

“So what do you think?” asked Chastity.

“This must be what Heaven is like,” replied Katie. “Thank you so much for bringing us!”

“Yes, thank you,” added Alison who, for once, agreed entirely with her sister.

There they floated and engaged in small talk.

“I see that you’re wearing a chastity belt,” said Hope to Katie.

“Yes, my sister’s insistence,” said Katie glaring at Alison.

“I thought it for her own good, what with strange male servants about. If a man got near her there is no way she could fend him off.”

“You are such a thoughtful guardian,” said Emma. “I never insisted on it for my girls but then maybe I was taking an excessive risk. Katie, you should be glad that your sister cares for you so.”

One thing that Alison had noticed in the sauna, particularly as they were so free to bounce about, was how impressive Emma’s breasts were; large and firm, particularly considering her age.

“I couldn’t help admiring your breasts earlier,” she remarked. “Were they enhanced for your marriage?”

“Yes, although I have had further work done on them. My Uriah has always admired large breasts – mine were quite humble like Hope’s here before our marriage – and it was one of the preconditions. Indeed, Hope is to have hers done soon as part of her wedding preparations.”

“Yes I am, and I’m quite excited although a bit nervous. My fiancé wants them very large, 40GG which sounds intimidating but if it pleases him then it is for the best.”

“I should love to have enlargements myself,” commented Katie, whose breasts were already far from unimpressive, “although that depends on my fiancé I suppose.”

“Indeed it does,” commented Alison, “if we manage to find a man that’ll have you!”

“I shouldn’t be surprised if we haven’t already,” giggled Chastity.

“Yes, our brother has talked about little else. He can’t wait to see you at dinner this evening!”

“Did Samuel never insist on you having your breasts improved?” asked Emma.

“No, never, although our circumstances were different then. However, I am not sure if I should like it.”

“It is not about whether you like it, but him. Remember, your body is his possession, not yours.”

All ladies nodded gravely at that.

“I think it’s time to leave now,” said Emma, “and enjoy the next course!”

And that next course turned out to be most enjoyable indeed. Each was taken to a separate room, their ruffs and pants removed, a gag inserted and a hood fitted over their heads. With hers on, Alison couldn’t see or hear a thing, the only holes being two small ones over her nostrils. Then she was led to a bed where she lay down with a hole in the padded surface to accommodate her bound arms. Then her ankles were cuffed to the bed itself and another strap fastened around her neck. After that it began.

Firstly, it was light, almost imperceptible. A slight tickling with a feather. Then there was blowing, then the feather again. Then came something more, fingers clad in satin gloves caressing and manipulating her beauty bud. Soon she was bucking and groaning with pleasure as the expert assistant brought her to the verge of climax and then took her away again. After several times she allowed her to explode with ecstasy before inserting a dissolving pessary as had been the case at Laydon’s. After that the hood and other items were removed and she was redressed in all her finery before having her make-up touched up and being led to the others in the lounge where each was presented with a glass of champagne which went straight to their heads.

That evening they had dinner at the Williamsons’ home. Stephen was there and he couldn’t take his eyes off Katie whilst Sam was all over his wife, her new reverse prayer gowns really being to his taste. And so the day ended with two excited young ladies in bed. Alison had all her dreams fulfilled with a husband who couldn’t contain himself with excitement at her new bondage but for Katie on the other hand, who’d been denied the arousal that the others had enjoyed in the spa, had only more frustration and instead could only dream of the day when her spouse, (who in her dreams already had Stephen Williamson’s face), was doing everything to her that Sam was doing to Alison.

Chapter 10

Alison becomes a Lady of Leisure: Chapter 8

Chapter 7

Chapter 8 – Life as a Lady of Leisure

That evening at dinner, Sam was most attentive of both his wife and her sister and also the new governess who dined with them as is the custom. Afterwards, they retired to the drawing room and chatted until at around eight he decreed that they all should be heading for bed. Alison went up the stairs and Natalie stripped her of her clothes and then massaged her arms before leading her into the bathroom which was equipped only with a shower. In there she had her arms attached to a chain hanging from the ceiling and then the maid turned the water on until she was wet and then rubbed soap all over her. Then, to her astonishment, after being rinsed, she was dried and waxing strips were brought out. They were placed on her legs and around her most intimate areas. When they were ripped off the pain was excruciating but Alison had to admit that the results, once the redness had subsided, were worth it.

Her arms were then restrained again, this time in a simple binder that kept them behind her back, wrist to elbow and her night corset was fitted. This was shorter than her day one and left her breasts free. Natalie made some comment about their small size, (although Alison had always considered them to be nicely shaped and quite standard), and having a word with her husband and then left. Very soon afterwards Sam came, eager to enjoy his wife. He was most excited by her tightly-laced middle and bound arms and even more so when she described some of the training that she had been undertaking, demonstrating the plug in her bottom. He agreed that it was still too tight now but would be excited to try this new form of congress later on. Then, she knelt before him, took his member in her mouth and pleasured him orally as she had done with Miss Everdeen’s rubber replica. Sam grew greatly excited by this and by the end was holding her face to his crotch so that she could hardly breathe before exploding into the back of her throat. The taste was salty and quite disgusting, but Miss Everdeen had warned her of this and told her that it would be most remiss to do anything but swallow the seed. Certainly, despite the fact that she felt like retching, this seemed to please Sam all the more and before long they were at it again, only this time in a more conventional fashion. Finally they relaxed and talked, he expressing his joy at their new high-status lifestyle and also the fact that Stephen Williamson seemed to be most attracted to Katie.

The next day followed the last in so many ways. After waking, (when Alison provided Sam with a wake-up pleasuring as recommended by Miss Everdeen), her arms were released and massaged, she underwent an enema and then a shower. Then there was a paltry breakfast of yoghurt which filled her completely after a couple of bites, and then the dreaded reverse prayer training again. This lasted until lunch when she met with Katie who was most indignant about the chastity belt, (and Miss Everdeen didn’t look over the moon either), before more reverse prayer training. Nonetheless, by then she had reduced the gap between her elbows to six inches and her waist was 21. This would be a long slog but she was moving forward.

That afternoon, unlike the day before, there was no session with Miss Everdeen who, after all, was paid to educate Katie and not Alison, but Natalie did provide a pleasant surprise in the form of the imitation rubber penis which she carefully inserted into her mistress’ front hole with the words, “Pleasure is not just for the men.” Then she was left, this time with Beethoven, her chair positioned so that she could look out over the manicured grounds of Mostyn House.

And as she sat there she thought. Thought about just how much her life had changed over the previous three months. Only a short time ago she would have been at the tearooms, serving cake and coffee to customers, a lowly waitress it is true, but paying her own way in the world and with every kind of freedom imaginable save financial. Now what was she? Elegant, fragile, helpless and highly exalted in a society that honours such things. She could do nothing for herself and her waist, neck, feet and arms constantly reminded her of her new status. So too did her bottom and front hole… but in a most different way. Back then she thought about paying the bills, putting food on the table and the well-being and future of Katie. Now what did she think about? Certainly none of those things for the bills were paid, she couldn’t even eat the food that was given to her and Katie’s future was brighter than it had ever been – why, the way things were going and she could end up the spouse of the heir to Williamsons’; at the very worse she could find employment as a companion for a Lady of Leisure a role which, given the rumours that surround such companions, Alison was sure that Katie would be cut out for.

So, if not thinking of those things, what thoughts did fill her mind? She sat and felt the intrusions in her crotch and bottom and grew moist and her mind drifted to the bedroom. That was it: sex! All she thought about now was sex! Her mind was occupied with it all day long for there was nothing else to occupy it save the miserable thought of pain associated with her restrictions. That was what Ladies of Leisure thrived on: pain and sex! She spent all her day imagining what would happen when Sam came home… or on her next visit to Laydon’s. Was that healthy? Healthy or not, it was her reality. But the frustrating part was that, unlike before, she could think of sex all day, but she was powerless to do anything about it. How she would have liked to sneak her fingers down there and wriggle those plugs about or caress her beauty bud. Or what about have Natalie do it… or Miss Everdeen? Yet whilst she could think about it, she could achieve nothing; orgasm was what she dreamt about but could not bring on. She sighed deeply and tried to think of something else, but what else was there? The tightness of her stays? The next gown she would buy? How her arms would look when she finally achieved reverse prayer? She brought up an image in her mind’s eye of Hope Williamson and her elegant reverse prayer yet soon that image transformed into something else. Rather than sitting in the drawing room, she had Hope had minced upstairs and were lying on the bed. Their gowns had, somehow, been removed and they were naked save for their corsets and arm bondage. Hope put her face to her crotch and she to Hope’s and then she began licking. As she imagined she felt the plug in her bottom and the other in her love tunnel and her breasts began to heave. Then the world went black and the next thing she knew was Natalie and one of the maids bringing her round with smelling salts.

“What on earth are they turning me into?” she whispered to herself in horror after they had left.

Chapter 9

Alison becomes a Lady of Leisure: Chapter 7

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 – Receiving an Education

Natalie returned just before twelve when she released her mistress’ arms and started to massage them backwards and forwards so that the blood could flow freely again. “This is necessary ma’am,” she explained, “to stop atrophying. I massaged Miss Hope’s arms three or four times daily.” Then, just as they were beginning to feel normal again, a monoglove was produced and they were laced into it straight away. Prior to that morning, Alison had hated her monoglove with a passion but, after the ordeal of reverse prayer training, it felt almost like a blessing.

She was then dressed in her day dress of deep turquoise covered with floral embroidery with an underskirt of black and fawn stripes. The monoglove had a cover of turquoise which matched it exactly and thus suitably attired, she minced down to lunch.

Lunch was a small plate of cucumber sandwiches washed down with sparkling Buxton water. As Sam was at the mill, only Alison and Katie were present. Her sister, of course, had not yet gone shopping for Lady of Leisure gowns and so was wearing one of her usual day dresses but with a white leather monoglove laced over her arms. She smiled when her sister minced in and they both sat down to eat.

Both sisters were full after nibbling only one of the four sandwiches provided and then, after the serving maid had held up their water to drink, they retired to the ladies’ sitting room to relax, as much as one could in such restrictive attire. Unlike Alison, Katie was, predictably, most pleased with developments. “Yes, I’ll admit that the training for the reverse prayer position is gruelling and I do admit to crying out on several occasions, but don’t you think that it is worth it to appear so absolutely elegantly helpless?”

“No I do not!” retorted her elder sister.

“Oh Alice, you are such a bore! You’re a real lady now, lucky thing, and you really should start acting like one! Oh how I wish I was in your position; I wonder if I shall ever find a man who can keep me in such a wonderfully elegant and fragile state. I do so hope I can complete my training and acquire a new dress that is suitable before we visit the Williamsons at home again.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I wish for Master Stephen only to see me in such a state.”

“Aha! So you have your eye on him now, do you?”

“Of course I do, silly! He’s so dashing and witty… and so rich!”

Following an hour of relaxing and digestion, both ladies again returned to their bedrooms where their gowns and monogloves were removed and the reverse prayer training begun again. It was no less painful this time, although Natalie did announce that she had managed to reduce the gap by three tenths of an inch.

Just as she was about to fit the gag, Alison asked if they could talk. She’d realised that she would get the most out of things if she did not appear so obstructionist and to do this, she needed to talk.

“My sister, Natalie, what is her regime to be?”

“Why, the same as yours ma’am, though whilst you are allowed to relax, she is receiving lessons.”

“Indeed, and on what?”

“Well, I am unsure exactly as that is the domain of Miss Everdeen.”

“I understand. Well, once you have prepared me fully, instead of relaxation, I should like you to bring Miss Everdeen here to me. I wish to discuss Katie’s syllabus with her. My sister is excused from lessons this afternoon and she may listen to Holst instead.”

“As you wish, ma’am.”

As she had decreed, Miss Everdeen was brought to her shortly. Alison looked at the buxom temptress before her and wondered. “Please explain Katie’s syllabus to me,” she commanded.

“Well ma’am, this morning I assessed her learning so far. She does not appear to be particularly academic it is true but she has a good grounding in crafts and domestic duties, though for a Lady of Leisure, these are not essential. She is entirely untutored however, on the art of serving a spouse.”

“That is because she is a virgin, Miss Everdeen.”

“Indeed ma’am, as are Miss Hope and Miss Chastity, but there is still much that can be taught without compromising that sacred position. The education of Ladies of Leisure which I am trained and experienced in focusses largely on being cultured and ladylike and serving one’s husband. You see ma’am, whilst outwardly all Ladies of Leisure observe strict decorum, inside they are taught to bring their men to ecstasy. We shall be looking at oral pleasuring in the coming weeks and also enlarging her rectum…”

“The thought!”

“Ma’am, this is the norm for Ladies of Leisure. Inserting pessaries and plugs began at an early age for both Miss Hope and Miss Chastity so that their husband may take pleasure there later and now that Miss Hope is engaged, she wears a replica of her fiancé’s member in her bottom hole at all times: it is the traditional engagement gift.”

These words shocked Alison yet also made certain things make sense. The episode at Laydon’s which had left a deep impression on her mind, she now saw as part of a general scheme of sexual initiation. She recalled being brought to ecstatic climax there and shuddered in pleasure.

“Yes, I understand this but I am concerned that Miss Katherine will come to enjoy sexual episodes too much – she is a highly-strung young lady you see – and this may lead her to seek them elsewhere, through masturbation perhaps…?”

“But how can she with her arms restrained at all times?”

“In bed?”

“No fears there, ma’am, Miss Simpson has already outlined the strict nightly routine that she has in mind for Katie.”

“Good, then make it strict! But what if she were to tempt servants… or young men?”

“Well, many maidens wear a chastity belt. Miss Hope nor Miss Chastity ever did but they were ever watched…”

“…and neither of them is as likely to turn into a wanton as Miss Katherine is. No, if you are to educate her in such a fashion, I demand that she wear a chastity belt at all times; one that prevents any sexual gratification whatsoever.”

“Yes ma’am, I see. I shall send Miss Braithwaite out to purchase one.”

“Do it immediately! Now, I, like my sister, have also suffered from a lack of education in pleasuring a spouse and so this afternoon, I should like you to teach me a little, in order that I may understand her course of study all the better if you understand me.” The two ladies looked at one another. Miss Everdeen certainly did understand her.

So it was that, that particular afternoon, whilst her arms were on fire, time passed more enjoyably than in the morning. Her skirts were hitched up and a plug inserted into her rectum. It was painful at first, getting it past the sphincter muscles, and Alison did feel kind of bloated and full, but she had to admit that there was a kind of pleasure and excitement to it and Miss Everdeen assured her that, if she followed a proper course of stretching, then accommodating her husband’s member there would not be a problem and could become quite pleasurable indeed.

Then Alison knelt by the bed and the governess divested herself of her dress and produced a strange belt which she fitted around her hips. On the front of the belt was a large, rubber replica of a male penis. Alison had never serviced Sam in this fashion before, (although he had asked her to on their honeymoon), and found it most strange when the governess started to thrust it in and out of her ungagged mouth, giving advice and criticism on her performance. She wasn’t sure if she enjoyed it but she was sure that Sam would. Whatever the case, it was better than sitting there immobile, listening to a gramophone record.

Around five Miss Everdeen left and Miss Simpson returned. To her surprise, she asked Alison if she was feeling full below and when Alison mentioned the plug she stated that she was not referring to that but instead needing the toilet. Alison had used the toilet early in the morning back in her old home and she had to admit that she was close to needing it again. “Indeed ma’am, I thought as much,” said Natalie. “The normal routine shall be first thing in the morning and then last thing at night, but sometimes an afternoon session may also be necessary.” Alison wondered what she meant but when she saw a rubber mat being laid out and bottle with tubes being wheeled out on a trolley then she realised. Hadn’t the assistant at Laydon’s said that enemas were the norm for Ladies of Leisure? “Shall I be receiving enemas everyday or just occasionally?” she asked.

“Oh yes, ma’am, everyday. There is no toilet for females in this house.”

“I see. And what about rectal stretching. As you can see, I have discussed this with Miss Everdeen and have been plugged this afternoon.”

“It can be arranged ma’am. I have a set of plugs for the purpose. They start with a one inch circumference like the one that you have just worn and increase by half-inch intervals up to three inches. Two inches though is usually sufficient.”

And so, after she was flushed out internally this time, (the experience was far less pleasurable than at Laydon’s as only standard cleansing fluids were used), a one-inch plug was inserted into her and she was laced into her monoglove and day dress again ready for dinner. Before Natalie gagged her however, Alison had one more instruction. “Natalie, I have insisted that my sister wears a chastity belt at all times. Can you ensure that I have the key the moment that it is locked on and what is more, in solidarity and for her own good, I demand that Miss Everdeen wears one as well.”

Chapter 8