FUN WITH FRAN
I did not have the leisure to dwell extensively on bleak visions of my future under Maren’s thumb before more immediate concerns grabbed my attention. With a soft electronic sound, the treadmill’s control panel lit up and its belt started to move; smoothly picking up speed until I was forced into a trot, the chains and springs of my tethers tinkling and creaking in counterpoint to the thudding of my naked feet on the belt’s resilient surface. As always, the nasal leash proved the most bothersome of my many encumbrances. Its erratic jerking at the sensitive tissue of my nostrils and septum was not exactly painful, thanks to the embedded, wide flanged grommets, but it was nevertheless irritating as hell. Despite my Master’s claims to the contrary, I was not averse to exercising per se, in fact, I’d have loved to run through a lush forest with its varying landscape entertaining my eye and the rich smells invigorating my body. Instead my environment was comprised of a brilliantly lit, stark white, tiled room with sinister black and chrome equipment bolted to the floor and the mild breeze coming from the ventilation grille had a decidedly clinical tang. Even my most serious efforts would get me exactly nowhere and so it was small wonder I had little enthusiasm to spare for this kind of workout. “Would I ever get the chance to feel green grass below my bare feet again?” I wondered with a pang of poignant despair.
About ten minutes later, the computer deemed my muscles sufficiently warmed up for the next stage and the belt accelerated, forcing me to run in earnest to keep up with the pace. My breathing became increasingly laboured; the act of drawing in enough oxygen solely through my encumbered nose turning into an unanticipated challenge. I was getting slowly, but inexorably out of breath. My regular gag for this kind of workout incorporated a breathing tube and I suddenly realized that I might easily be driven into a faint when the computer, unaware of the changed circumstances, forced me through my usual, strenuous exercise pattern. This thought provoked an involuntary flash of panic, causing me to miss a step and I stumbled, falling helplessly forward until the tethers took up my weight and I oscillated in the harness of my restraints, in part supported by my abused nose, stretched painfully towards its leash’s overhead fastening.
My fall was an occurrence that had been anticipated in the training machine’s meticulous programming and thus associated with a specific set of instructions: The computer instantly shut down the treadmill’s motor and simultaneously activated the electrodes deeply embedded within my loins, sending powerful shocks of electricity into my nether regions! I shrieked like a banshee into my gag and my thighs clenched spasmodically, while my hands clawed frantically, but of course with futility, at the end of the chain to the back ring of my collar, holding my arms folded high up my back. Intermittently, my poor breasts were also subjected to the same horrid abuse, adding their own voices to this carefully orchestrated symphony of torture. The shocks ranged erratically over the whole spectrum of pain: stabbing, pulsing pain, perhaps replaced by burning pain or stinging pain, or a mind altering twitching and curdling agony. No sensation lasted long enough for me to get used to it and therefore created a mind-numbing ordeal.
“Aahh-ooww!” My gag-muffled howls reverberated loudly in my skull and unable to get myself under control, I twisted in midair like a marionette played by a puppeteer in his death throes. “What a sorry spectacle I must make of myself!”
The unbidden image of Maren sitting on the couch, sipping wine with my husband and gleefully watching me suffer filled me with a mixture of rage and shame that temporarily surpassed even my electrical torment.
Thankfully, some moments or an eternity later the shocks subsided abruptly. This signified the end of the punishment for my misstep and meant that my training was to resume shortly. Still shaking and sobbing heavily, I nevertheless struggled to my feet for I knew that if I failed to comply with the machine’s uncompromising request in the short respite it had granted me, the torture would recommence with a vengeance. As soon as the reduced load on my tethers convinced the computer that I was standing again, the belt began to accelerate once more and my so-called ‘training’ continued.
My earlier panic turned out to be unfounded and I completed the balance of my exercise without further incidents for either my Master or the computer had recognized my breathing handicap and compensated for it by shifting the emphasis of my workout from performance to endurance. Hence, from then on whenever I got seriously winded, the treadmill slowed to a leisurely walk until I had caught my breath, then accelerated once again; starting a new round of the vicious cycle. Of course, I had needed longer and longer breaks to recover, and when at long last the belt stopped and an electronic signal announced the end of my training, I was panting heavily; drenched in sweat and ready to collapse on the spot, but kept swaying on my feet only by the nose leash’s promise of instant retribution for this kind of transgression. Fortunately, I did not have to endure much longer, indeed my sweat had barely begun to dry in the ventilation’s warm breeze when the door to my cell opened and my Master strode into my field of vision. With great relief I noted he had come to my rescue alone, for I was deeply wary of the outcome of another confrontation with Maren. He quickly released me from my tethers and despite all I had to suffer at his hands on this fateful day, I felt intensely grateful and almost consoled when he picked up my quivering form and carried me in his strong arms to my simple hygiene zone. Located in the corner across from the cell’s entrance, a toilet, small basin and wall-mounted shower head vied for the limited space allotted to them by the clear Perspex splash guard that partitioned the zone off from the rest of the room. The drain at its centre represented the lowest point of my prison’s gently sloping floor, a neat arrangement that also greatly helped to relieve the issue of keeping my tiled cell clean.
On arrival, he set me down gently, pulled up a short length of my collar leash and locked it to a handy ring set into the wall a hand’s breadth below the shower head. With another lock he joined my feet together, only then releasing my arms from their stringent bondage.
“Mmhh!” I moaned with a heart-felt sigh rendered barely audible by the rubber bladder occupying my oral cavity, greeting this longed for opportunity to lower my leaden arms at last. My husband spent a few, deeply appreciated moments to expertly knead some life back into my abused arms and shoulders, before turning to the equally welcome task of freeing me of the gag.
“I noticed the breathing problem you developed.” he informed me while fumbling with the numerous straps of the head harness. “Fortunately, the computer recognised it too and reacted adequately, but I don’t think that’s a satisfactory long term solution. To address the basic issue instead of just symptoms, I’ll investigate buying a respirator and integrating it with the rest of your exercise equipment. That should be a lot safer and give me better control over that aspect of your training.”
I had my reservations about the benefits of his plan, but remained forcibly silent while he released the last of the harness’s many buckles, letting its web of straps dangle from the inflated bladder still wedged into my mouth. Pushing it out with my trapped tongue alone immediately proved to be pointless, but my subsequent attempts to extract its massive bulk using my still weak hands fared no better. Before I could come to harm in my increasingly frantic struggle, my Master intervened, effortlessly pushing down my raised arms.
“Stop that! Be reasonable, the gag has to be deflated first!”
Willy-nilly, I waited indignantly while he hunted down the gag’s bulb, reconnected it to the socket on the face shield and then let the captured air escape through its valve. At long last he pried the bladder’s remaining bulk from my mouth.
“Aahh! Thank you, Master!” I whispered gratefully.
“You’re welcome. Now, be quiet! I don’t want to hear a single word while I get you cleaned up and ready for bed!”
“But I nee-mmhh …”
I was rudely interrupted by an iron hand clamped over my mouth. My husband expertly assumed the expression of a suffering saint.
“What part exactly of ‘I don’t want to hear a single word!’ was incomprehensible to you? Your continual complaining would impress me much more if you obeyed my commands even once in a while! Maren is certainly correct! I have been far too lenient with you in the past.”
I stiffened at the mention of her name. He noticed my flared nostrils and grinned at me.
“She’s been quite cocky, hasn’t she? I’ve got to admit she surprised even me back there! Looks like the days you routinely manipulated me to do your bidding are finally over!”
He let me stew on this for a moment, then continued in a more serious tone.
“In the end, I believe things will work out fine. Right now, I guess she’s overcompensating for what she perceives as a lack of experience with our lifestyle. But, she’s acting on borrowed authority and she knows it. However! I also expect you to obey her as you’d obey me. Or rather better, come to think of it.” He added as an afterthought, before catching my eye. “Can do?”
I was far from sharing his confidence, but a wave of bone-deep weariness made me relent for the moment and I nodded weakly; instead of trying to voice my doubts. Kind of hard to do with a hand clamped tightly over my mouth. “Another time,” I promised myself.
He returned my nod solemnly and finally took his hand away.
“Good! Now let’s get you showered. You’re badly in need of it, to be honest.”
I made a rude gesture at him that he chose to ignore while he divested himself of his clothes. For the next half hour we luxuriated together in the shower’s spray of warm water. He applied a liberal amount of a soothing shower gel to my body, gently massaging it into every accessible pore of my skin, and even unlocking my breast and crotch covers in the process. Despite my weariness, the manipulations of his deft fingers quickly brought me to a shattering orgasm. Later, after he had finished rubbing me down, I clung to him in desperate need, but he was completely unmoved by my silent tears; simply prying my arms loose then incarcerating my private parts in their steel prisons once more. He made me brush my teeth and a few minutes later I was once again helplessly stretched out on my sleeping mat, ready to suffer through another night of lonely longing. But, despite my misgivings, I fell asleep quickly, claimed by my physical and emotional exhaustion.
When my husband came to my cell for his evening visit some days later, he wore a very formal three piece black suit with a dark gray shirt and a black silk tie, as befitted a mourning widower. The strange mixture of chagrin and grim amusement was less in tune with his assumed role.
“I just got away from your funeral and its aftermath. That has to be one of the most bizarre events in my life!” he exclaimed, propelled through the room by his inner agitation. He pointed an accusing finger at me. “That’s just like you, turning your own funeral into a farce!”
I considered his accusation to be highly unfair since neither had I wanted to be buried in the first place nor was my actual role in the proceedings (although it was nominally the pivotal one) more than marginal. In fact, up to now I had not even known that the burial had been scheduled for today and for the moment I instinctively shied away from contemplating what it signified for me. Unfortunately, I was once again incapacitated by my customary gag, unable to remind him of these salient facts. At least he recognized the complete non sequitur from my bewildered expression and relented enough to offer an explanation.
“You know, I’d planned this to be a very private and quiet event. Just family and closest friends, though some of my colleagues also choose to attend. What I didn’t account for was a parade of old lovers and discarded spouses you left in your wake! They had to be the most unlikely assortment of individuals imaginable in a graveyard!” He shook his head in annoyance. “They were out in force, milling about at the fringes, apparently wary of me and the official guests, as well as each other, but some seemed genuinely stricken. Others appeared more determined to make sure you wouldn’t return from the dead to haunt them again. The worst group, mostly women of course, can only be described as shamelessly gloating. And none of them had even seen you in years! It was all very embarrassing and Maren was most upset about it.”
His description of the event left me with mingled feelings. I was pleasantly consoled by the evidence that despite my earlier mortification, my alleged death had not gone completely unnoticed and I had obviously made a lasting impression on the lives I had touched. I preferred to think that those who remembered me fondly substantially outnumbered the others who still harbored hard feelings about me. But now, to all of them I was dead and buried and I could not help feeling that way myself! Moreover, the way my husband sided with Maren, as if I was somehow at fault for the violation of her sensibilities, set my teeth on edge, then to add injury to insult, his next remark sent a chill down my spine.
“I think one of these days we will need to talk about your past in a little more detail.”
This boded ill for me. Taking the adage of “What a husband doesn’t know won’t hurt his wife” to heart, I had been deliberately vague about certain less virtuous episodes of my life before I had met my Master and been, albeit forcibly, reformed. Now I’d need to make up some pretty solid legends, e. g. about the reason behind the generous severance pay after my short foray into the corporate world as a simple intern. I had a feeling that hard, hard work just would not fly.
“However, afterwards George and Fran joined us for a private tribute to Anne and that seemed to calm Maren down a little. By the way, you should have seen Fran! George was quite ingenious in choosing her attire. With just a cloak, wig, hat and dark veil he managed to conceal most of her restraints. Everyone assumed she was weighed down with grief and everybody commanded the way George kept propping her up. If only they knew!” He chuckled. “Maren has gone on with George and Fran, for he insisted on showing her his workshop. They’ll drop by for a visit later, so let’s get you ready to greet our guests.”
I welcomed his announcement with genuine enthusiasm for I hadn’t seen Fran for quite some time now and I was eager to meet her again. We understood each other on a level so deep that only women who had gone through the same mind-bending experiences together could have reached. Hopefully, we would have the opportunity to discuss recent developments and ease our mutual plight, at least temporarily, by sharing it. I’d also encounter Maren again, but some things just could not be helped.
Getting ready for the upcoming visit entailed being freed from the hated gag and another, very welcome bout in the cell’s hygiene zone, unfortunately this time without the additional boon of sexual gratification. Instead, this time after rubbing me down with a rough towel, my Master distributed scented oil all over my body which he then massaged into my skin, a highly sensual experience that left me erotically supercharged, but due to my locked up state with no chance to relieve the tension.
He had barely finished when a signal from his pager indicated that our visitors had arrived at the front door and pressed the bell.
“Damn! You better behave while I let our guests in.”
He hurriedly put on his clothes again, detached my tether from its temporary anchor point in the hygiene zone and left to greet our guests. Of course, despite his admonition my hands flew to my crotch as soon as the cell’s door had closed behind him. So far, I had never managed to achieve enough stimulation to orgasm, but I’ve never been a person to be daunted by mere impossibilities when I really wanted something. Besides, my hands were completely free for once! Maybe if I twisted my body just so and pressed with my hands here and there…
Some minutes and a broken toothbrush later the opening door forced me to abandon my efforts and admit to yet another defeat by my mercilessly efficient chastity harness. I closed my eyes in frustration. If my husband ever reviewed the recordings of these minutes, he would no doubt be treated to some of the most astonishing contortions in the history of gymnastics. “Perhaps he’d even consider contacting the Chinese State Circus on my behalf?”
“Hello again!”
With a mental sigh I opened my eyes again. Maren had entered my cell alone. This time she wore a long black skirt with a matching blouse and elegant, high heeled boots. I tried to peer around her into the passageway leading to my hideaway, but the others were nowhere to be seen. Apparently she was some kind of advance party and I wondered briefly what was delaying the main force. Maren strutted over to me, her heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor, and I was hard pressed not to shrink back from her embrace.
“Hello Maren.” I greeted her demurely, unsettled by her unexpected display of cordiality, while holding me at arms length, she beamed at me.
“Your funeral was just splendid! So many old friends of yours showed up to commiserate with your husband. I’m so sorry you missed it.” Her eyes glittered as she added, “This time.” under her breath.
I blinked at her suddenly vicious tone, but before I had time to react she drew me close again and held me tight, whispering urgently into my ear.
“Do you remember Adrian Adler? I was just thrilled to recognise my former fiancé at your funeral. Well, my dear, your days of ruining other people’s life are certainly over. I’ll make sure of that!”
Maren let me go abruptly and sent me reeling away from her. Without another glance she turned back towards the entrance, while I tried to regain my physical and mental balance. Adrian had been sweet and for a while I had indulgently responded to his advances, but I had tired of him quickly. Now, I desperately tried to recall if he’d ever mentioned having a psychopathic girlfriend. “Damn! It just had to be her!”
From the long passageway outside, clanking noises emanated, slowly growing louder and louder. George appeared in the doorway, slowly walking backwards and dragging something along on a chain he grasped in his right hand. The sight of what obviously had to be Fran diverted me completely from my dark brooding over Maren’s threat.
Fran shared my fate of having been afflicted (or “adorned”, as my husband liked to put it) with a set of permanent cuffs, and so I was not in the least surprised to see a chained, but otherwise naked young woman being led into my cell on a leash. What did startle me though was that, where Fran’s head should have been, a small ovoid made from the same shining metal as our cuffs sat on her shoulders instead! Except for a strong ring at its crown and an oblong, horizontally-oriented oval section on the lower front - this with numerous, complicated-looking ports and sockets - in the general area where I assumed her mouth to be, it was completely smooth. At the bottom, the helmet ended in a thick, circular tube that enclosed her neck just above her Adam’s apple. From the absence of anything resembling vision ports, as well as her halting and insecure steps, it was a foregone conclusion that Fran had been entirely deprived of her eyesight, and when she didn’t react to my horrified exclamation I realized that she couldn’t hear anything either!
My husband brought up the rear of this bizarre procession, inducing the cell’s massive door to close after him, while George led Fran to the middle of the room. There, he got behind her, grabbed her by the shoulders and made her kneel by the simple expedient of pushing his knees into the hollows of hers. When he had thus forced her to the ground and attached her leash to a convenient floor ring, he got up again and greeted me casually.
“Ciao Bella! Long time no see.”
I had to tear my eyes away from where Fran knelt on the floor, motionless except for the occasional twitching of her arms when she tugged at the lock fastening her wrist cuffs to the back ring of her steel belt. Despite his demonstrative nonchalance, I could see George was quite anxious to explain the latest fruit of his misguided ingenuity to me. Maren and my husband had both taken up a relaxed posture and looked on tolerantly; apparently they had been treated to the same presentation already.
“OK George, I’ll bite. What’s this contraption you locked around poor Fran’s head?”
“It’s my latest invention! The prototype for what I refer to as a USD. That’s short for Ultimate Sensory Deprivation, or more succinctly put, the Ultimate Subjugation Device.”
He made a dramatic pause, giving me time to fully appreciate the import of his words.
“That’s awfully nice. Could you please be a nice boy now and remove it? I want to talk to Fran.”
He was about to launch into his rehearsed speech when my words registered. For a second he stood with his mouth open, then closed it with an audible click while his complexion turned an interesting shade of red. My husband started to cough and turned his back to us, shoulders shaking. Maren, on the other hand, was not amused and stared at me coldly, obviously chalking up another point against me. Bother. My husband cleared his throat and faced us again.
“Sorry.” He sent me a quelling look that I parried with an unrepentant grin.
Although still smarting from his humiliation, George had recovered enough of his composure to answer my request in clipped tones.
“I’m afraid, but I can’t do that, dear. It’s designed to be permanent.”
I was shocked out of my complacency about my petty triumph and stared at him in open-mouthed horror. Maren and my Master looked equally startled.
“But you said only the temporary locks were engaged!” She burst out, while my husband nodded vigorously in confirmation.
“Right! The permanent locking bolts aren’t engaged … yet.” George conceded calmly. “To prevent accidents, the procedure to activate them is quite involved.”
He stole a glance at me and bent over the kneeling Fran.
“To do it, you have to turn the collar portion clockwise until the markings on its circumference are properly aligned with the corresponding ones on the helmet portion of the USD. Only now is the safety pin accessible through the aperture at the collar’s bottom and can be removed.”
He quickly pulled a long flexible rod from the aperture at back of the helmet and continued without pause. “You can now turn the collar in the other direction until you feel a resistance. This is the first stoppage you have to overcome.”
He twisted the collar a few degrees more and was rewarded with a loud click. Fran, who up to this point had been passively enduring his manipulations, began to struggle wildly, although the nature of her restraints forbad any chance to resist him effectively. My husband was the first to find his voice again.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
George did not bother to answer, but rotated the collar through another minute arc. The second click could clearly be he heard, even over the din Fran’s desperate struggles generated. For a moment she redoubled her efforts, then became very still. George fixed me with a malicious grin. Although I stood nearest to him I would never reach him in time.
“George, please don’t…” My plea was cut short by the third click and the volley of fainter clicks that followed it.
“And that’s that!” he stated smugly. “All good things come in threes.”
George let go of Fran and she collapsed limply on the floor, her body shaking with sobs no one would ever again hear.
For a moment I stood transfixed by the enormity of what had just been done to Fran and my own shame for having provoked it. Next, I was overcome by a white hot rage! A scream tore itself from my throat and I propelled myself in George’s direction. He was totally taken by surprise and had no time to brace himself, so we both went down in a heap of flailing limbs and I pummelled him as best I could; at one time even succeeding in driving my knee very forcefully up into his groin. Unfortunately, before I could repeat this feat, my husband was upon me, ruthlessly jerking on my leash until I nearly choked. I had to let go of George, who madly scrambled away on his bottom until he reached the wall, where he levered himself up on his elbows and stared at me, blood oozing from his nose. He looked satisfyingly battered; at long last, all the forced exercise and workouts had done me some good.
My Master was very pale and his hand that grasped my leash shook slightly. Maren managed to look appalled and fascinated at the same time, then went over to George and knelt beside him, using her handkerchief to staunch the flow of blood from his nose.
Fran, of course, was completely oblivious to what had just transpired. Her more violent tremors had ceased and now she lay on her side with her legs drawn tight to her body in an embryonic posture. The unsettling sight of the impenetrable, metal shell locked around her head made it difficult for me to think coherently.
How does she feel, unable to see, hear, speak or even smell? The horrified thought twisted through my mind.
I crept over to her and gently touched her shoulders, but at first she shrank from my touch, then she turned her body towards me as far as her restraints would allow and I took her in my arms. Fran pressed against me, obviously needing the reassurance of another human being’s presence with the last sense she still had at her command. I felt her quivering subside slowly, for apparently my presence gave her some solace.
“What have you done?” My master’s voice was deceptively calm when he confronted George.
“What do you think I did? I love Fran, for God’s sake! If you’d bothered to pay attention to what I said earlier, you’d remember that the helmet is just a prototype. Unlike the finished product, there’s nothing truly final about locking it, at this point. I’ve tested the mechanism multiple times already, and I have all the tools necessary, back in my workshop, to disengage the locking mechanism again and free her from the USD.”
His words had me riding an emotional roller coaster. Anger and bleak despair were replaced by sudden hope, followed by immense relief, which immediately gave way to anger again.
“Had all this been George’s sick idea of a practical joke?” I felt like kicking him in the groin all over again and judging from his expression, my husband appeared to entertain similar fantasies.
“Why doesn’t Fran seem to be aware of this little detail?”
“Well, I thought I’d pointed it out to her. Maybe she didn’t choose to listen either.”
He glanced uncomfortably at her huddled form, resting in my arms, and sighed.
“I guess I went a little too far this time.”
For the first time he sounded more contrite than petulant, but his remorse abruptly turned into anger and he pointed an accusing finger at me.
“But! Speaking of going too far, your slave is totally out of line. If you’re righteous search for the guilty also extends to your own household, you will have to look no further than at the end of the leash you hold in your hands.”
“Indeed.” My Master responded coldly. “Don’t worry! She’ll be punished severely, Maren and I will see to that.” My master promised him solemnly.
“She will suffer. You can count on me!” Maren affirmed with an anticipatory gleam in her eye.
“I guess that will have to do. I’m sorry I can’t hang around and enjoy the spectacle, but I need to take Fran to my workshop now.”
Supported by Maren, George got stiffly to his feet and leaned against the wall while she took care of disconnecting Fran’s collar leash from the floor ring. I reluctantly released her from my tight embrace and let Maren help her up, then lead her to the cell’s door, where they were joined by George and my Master. While they waited for the door to open, George turned around and shot me a venomous look.
“You have no idea of the devices Fran was required to accept before I affixed the outer covering of her USD. She wept and screamed a lot while I prepared her, and so was probably not paying full attention as I mentioned earlier. Unfortunately, she has become used to and complacent about most of her special equipment, but, the devices she had to accept before I closed the USD seemed to distress her quite severely, as was the intent.
By the way, I’m quite confident that I can finalize the design for the USD now and I’ve decided to use your head’s measures for the first fully functional unit.”
“An excellent idea!” Maren exulted and even my Master nodded, albeit reluctantly.
Minutes later I was still numbly staring at the door where it had closed behind them.