She slipped a hand into her panties and rubbed with desire the triangle of steel that covered her pussy. A steel plate over her lips hung from the steel belt thanks to a pair of thin chains. A third chain joined the triangle of steel to the back of the belt. On the inside it had a layer of a silken-like material. As it was rather thin and light it could be worn under noral clothes. Also there was no padlock, but a slot in the front of  the belt to insert the key.

She had set for herself a goal of two weeks. It wasn't ideal. With full control over her keys and no stimulation to tease her, it would be too easy. But the belt was new, she was just trying it out. She would develop more elaborate games later.

The symposium would begin in ten minutes. A pair of historians had found the cage where the legendary witch Marmara died in agony, and had gathered in an hotel a good bunch of one hundred plus specialists to present their discovery in public.

Outside the window the first snowflakes of winter were falling. Joanne picked a sweater that would cover both the leather collar and the shiny waist band of the chastity belt that sometimes showed up over the hem of her jeans. She had to get going.

The assembly hall of the hotel was quite crowded, as the meeting had been more succesfull than the expected. She choose randomly a chair. From where she was she could see many men and women wearing wedding rings on their hands, flirting with those who not, and with each other. As she was one of the youngest a couple of men asked her out but she would remain chaste that day with or without a plaque of steel on her pussy.

Reasonably late, the two investigators, Peter and Marion Carver, a couple, started the talk. On the stage there was a large table and of top of it an object covered with a thick sheet. The iron cage, Joanne presumably. They explained in detail their two year investigation in western Europe, including the reason for that much effort. Supposedly the cage was cursed. In the fourth ruined castle they excavated they found the thing, at last. With the right amount of theatricality they removed the sheet. Joanne and many other took pictures with their phones. She would use them to write the report later. Looking at her phone she noticed, to her astonishment, that the iron hadn't rusted.

-At last, a bit of fun. According to the legend you can hear Marmara's voice when you are inside the cage and someone closes the padlock. Any volunteer to test that out?- Marion asked the attendees, at the end of the talk. Many laughed. A pair of them raised hesitangtly their hands.

-Me! Please!- Joanne stood and walked to the stage. If she was going to be the only chaste person that night, she would, at least, enjoy a bit more of bondage before going to bed. Also she wanted to check that mysterious absense of rust. Those who had lifted their hands pretended to rearrange their hair or their jackets.

It was true, the iron hadn't rusted. Peter helped her in. The cage was about one meter and half long, and no more than a foot and a half tall and wide. All its faces were pure iron except the frontal one, a heavy barred gate that opened upwards. On the edge of the base, in the middle, there was a melted ring, that matched the one on the gate. She got in and had to bend her knees to fit. Next to her crown and between her feet there were a pair of eyebolts melted on the quare shaped walls. Marion used a padlock to link the two rings and close the gate. Peter started to talk about the curse. Joanne closed her eyes for a moment.

When she opened them she saw nothing. She was nearly immobile, chains rattled whenever she moved. Something metallic and heavy surrounded her face. It was cold everywhere. She was dissoriented. Marmara knew exactly what was going on.

-Who are you?- The witch asked.

-Who am I? Who are you?- At that very moment Joanne realized that she wasn't using her mouth to talk. She had no mouth, in fact. Her consciousness had entered Marmara's body.

-Let me show you my memories.

Despite having no proof the judge had been condemned her for life. She was carried to her cell covered in ropes, where she saw nothing more than cold stone and a rectangular cage on the floor. A pair of blacksmiths were waiting there. Iron supposedly would weaken her powers but she had no powers to be weakened.

First of all they stripped her naked. Then fitted the iron mask. The front half was a single piece that covered all her face except a big hole for her mouth. It was forged in such a way that resembled a human face. The back half was divided in two halves that met on her nape, where a strong padlock kept it locked shut. Then came the collar. From it, at her back, a chain hunt to just below her breasts where it parted in two. A pair of heavy cuffs encircled her wrists and another pair her upper arms. Through rings on the cuffs passed the two chains, which met at the end of another short chain that hung from the collar on her front, where a padlock closed them three together. This way her arms were pinned to her sides, while her hands met in front below her chest.

Between her ankles they fitted a pair of shackles with a single link of chain between them. A padlock kept it fixed to the eyebolt melted on her wall of the cage. From that same link a long chain ran up to the front of a heavy belt around her waist, but not long enough to let her stretch her legs. Placing a thick wad of wool between her legs, they made sure that a tiny part of it entered into her ass and pussy, which tickled her in a non entirely unpleasant way. Over the wool they fitted and U shaped piece of iron than was padlocked to the front and rear of the belt. At last they added a last chain to her collar and linked it to the other eyebolt inside the cage.

Somehow they had managed to ensure that she would be always uncomfortable. The blacksmiths, and the guards that had carried her there left, leaving the priest alone. He muttered a prayer, knelt next to her head and lifted the lower half of his tunic. To Marmara's desmay he shoved his flaccid dich into her mouth. She did nothing, so he rubbed his penis all around her mouth. A pair of minutes later he still hadn't accomplished an erection so he withdrew and driven by the humilliation he kicked her on the stomach, locked the cage's gate and left, also locking the cell's thick wooden door.

Twice a day, somebody, whose face Marmara couldn't know, opened the door of the cell and put a dish of something inside the cage just next to her face. She didn't know what was that, but it tasted like humid bread and dry meat.

From that moment on the days became blurry. From time to time the priest came back, again muttered a prayer, again his penis failed to reach an erection and again he discharged his anger where it didn't belong.

Two weeks after her imprisonment a group of guards came to her cell. Supposedly they were there to change her diaper and clean her a bit, but before replacing the crotch band they took advantage of the situation. Opening the padlock that kept her hobble attached to the eyebolt melted on the wall, they spread her knees as far as possible and raped her in turns. She tried to fight but chained as she was and so weak due to her meager menu, there wasn't much she could do. Two of them were rough and fast but the general numbness of her body after so much time nearly immobile dulled the pain. The third was slower and she could have some enjoyment despite the humiliation, but he didn't last enough for her to reach the peak. It wasn't painful, at least. Two weeks later happened mostly the same.

-How much?- Asked Joanne.

-I died after a year of constant suffering, cold, hunger, darkness and oblivion.

-And your corpse? I mean, there were no bones.

-It turns out that I was actually a witch after all, but I had no control. My last involuntary spell was turning my body into energy.

-That sucks.- Joanne made a pause. The darkness and silence were overwhelming and she had been there only ten minutes.- It's terrible.

-Terrible? No, makes sense. I'm a witch. I'm evil.

-Shut up. You are not evil.

-No?

-No.

-No?- Marmara asked again after giving it a thought.

-No.

-Then..., I shouldn't be here.

-You should be free. You didn't hurt anybody. You are the victim.

-I shouldn't be here.

-No, you shouldn't.

-I shouldn't...- After all those centuries, Marmara made a decision.

-No, you...- Joanne's sentence was interrumpted when she found herself back in the hotel's assembly hall, inside the still locked cage, in front of her fellow historians. It had passed ony a few seconds.

-Eh..., hello?- Marion asked. She seemed surprised for some reason.- You are back.- She opened the padlock.

-Back?- Joanne got out of the cage and stretched her muscles.- Where should I be?

-Right!- Peter intervened.- Where should she be?- She asked her wife. Joanne didn't like the attitude of those two, but she was too stunned because of her hallucinogenic trip to focus on anything else. She went back to her chair, although, before leaving the stage, she heard Marion say somehing like “But the cage was closed...”. She didn't pay attention, she just grabbed her stuff and left.

Once in her bedroom, she would have fingered herself but the chastity belt wouldn't let her. As unpleasant as Marmara's fate was, it was perfectly linked to Joanne's sexual fetishes. The trip had been more fun than she would ever admit. Marmara had been trapped for months. Not only in chastity but chained and nearly immobile. Too much for Joanne, but it would still fuel her fantasies in the future.

She started to write the report that she would send to the magazine where she worked. Knowing Marmara's perspective, assuming that hadn't been just a delusion, would enrich her article. About an hour later she was awakened by an angry fist on her bedroom's door.

-What have you done!?- Asked Marion as soon as Joanne opened the door.

-What?

-The cage. It doesn't work anymore!- Peter was equally angry.

-What?

-Don't play fool, missy!- Marion yelled.

-You don't understand. This would have made us rich!- Peter explained.

Joanne could have said many things, all of them pretty offensive, but she just closed the door and told them to fuck off. She had no time to lose with that kind of people. They intended to do business with Marmara's pain, the assholes. She went back to the bed to finish her report.

-Thank you.- The completely naked ghost of Marmara, surrounded by an aura of bluish dim light was laying on the bed next to her.

-You're welcome...- Joanne replied thoughtlessly, before realizing the absurdity.- What the hell!?- She jumped out of the bed.

-You can see me! Nobody could. We can talk! Please talk with me.- Marmara held one of Joanne's hands between hers. She could feel her hand, but Joanne only felt a slight touch of cold air.

-Yeah... Why not...?- Why not, indeed.