Sue woke comfortably on a twin bed, tucked in under warm blankets like a child--at least it seemed that tender at first. Slowly awareness started to creep back in her mind. She remembered being in the stocks last. Oh, yes, her ass was sore, but that was just the first hint of the sensations her body started to report as the fog of waking up cleared from her mind. She was definitely not a morning person. Drawing her attention the most was the constriction all over her midsection. She was wearing something leather and remembered them mentioning a corset. Damn it's tight. No--more than that--it's really fucking tight. How had she slept in this thing? She wasn't sure how it was fastened, but there was sure to be some tight laces somewhere.
Her sore ass didn't appreciate her attempts to move. The covers put up a fight as she untucked the sheets. They must have been afraid she would fall out of bed. As she struggled to free her legs, the movement caused a new set of sensations, and she froze. She reached down to find something tight and hard over her crotch, and it was pulled deep into her ass crack. Oh...fuck! There was something round and wider right over her anus. Not comfortable at all! As she fidgeted, she felt the lusterite phallus inside shift. Shit! That too? Oh! She had to admit it was quite an arousing wake-up call.
Tentatively exploring under the covers, she kept finding more and more metal. Some kind of plate completely covered most of her pussy. Second, a fist-sized lump of metal that felt like a round padlock was attached low, right over her clit. All of this was overwhelming enough, but what was most maddening was the way it turned her on. The very idea of the phallus being locked inside her was seriously thrilling. How could this level of discomfort possibly be so exciting?
Sitting up was tricky. The feeling of the metal around her crotch as she struggled wasn't something she was going to forget anytime soon--especially they way the rounded metal strip between her ass cheeks sank in even deeper. She tried to calm herself as she tossed aside the remaining covers and stood up slowly. What could they have been thinking? Did they really think she would wear this getup? Despite the corset and metal over her sex, her bare breasts and fully exposed legs still gave her a feeling of nakedness.
Once standing, she couldn't help but notice that her feet were not sore at all even after being trapped in the high heels overnight. It was unnatural and suspicious, especially considering how little she had worn heels in the past. She could not understand how her body could adapt so quickly like that, but she was clearly getting use to them--not like she had a choice now anyways. Thinking about it further, she also realized that the lusterite inside her should also have bothered her more, especially given the weight. Clearly something was at work beyond her understanding of biology.
The smell of the corset hit her suddenly. Part well-tanned leather, part dive bar, part marijuana, and part sweaty gym towel was the best way to describe it--complete with bonus traces of slutty perfume and cigarette smoke. The people who put together the fetish display that Charlie and Martin "borrowed" the corset from definitely used authentic sources. Where did they get this thing, some backstreet whorehouse or perhaps the Hell's Angels' thrift shop? She would have to find out how it was stored. The technique had obviously preserved it well. The tightness was a little better once she was standing, but the corset still felt two sizes too small. Yeah, no fucking way. She tried to take it off but couldn't feel any hooks, zippers or laces to undo it even after feeling around methodically, must be some trick to it. The more she thought about how they were treating her, the angrier she got.
She noticed some blurry objects on the nearby table. Thank God! Her glasses and a half-cold bottle of water. Someone had done a good job straightening the frame of her glasses. What a relief to be able to see again! Oh, there was a note too, and the book! Maggie's book. Coming to the annex to find it seemed like a week ago. She was thinking of Maggie now as another woman who was on the same quest and not the esteemed Dr. Barnes she originally envisioned. Maggie was much more human now.
Sue cracked open the water and drank down half the bottle. She was hungry too, but one thing at a time. She didn't recognize the handwriting. It looked male for some reason. The note said that Cindy went to get her some clothes and that she should see Maya--wrong, in so many ways, starting with Cindy picking out clothes for her. Why they would want her to see Maya was odd as well. Maya did more than just take care of the displays and the cosmetics of the mannequins, but how was she involved in this? She did not like how rapidly knowledge of her "private studies" was getting out. Way too many people knew far too much for her peace of mind.
Why did they leave her alone? Regardless, she was trapped here for now it seemed. She wasn't about to go out into the museum looking for Maya without clothes, especially since she would be on camera the second she left the annex. An old phone was still on the wall near the counter, but it had no dial tone. Hopefully someone would show up soon. Otherwise, she'd be raiding the fetish display looking for something to wear among the leather, spandex and rubber.
The metal directly over her pussy was hard to get a good look at without a mirror. She couldn't lean forward much with her most of her midriff all cinched up tight. It was some kind of old steel; she could feel rivets. The big round padlock over her clit hung down low. Not as low as a guy's balls, but that's what it seemed like to her--like someone had bolted a big steel ballsack on her. The round industrial lock would be more at home on the trailer of a semi-truck than on a chastity belt.
She was in a small suite with all the essentials including a kitchenette, shower, bathroom, bed, table and a few minimal pieces of furniture. Everything had a 1970s college dorm quality and was mostly designed for function above all else. The room looked recently and hastily cleaned. She could see the swirls from a cleaning rag everywhere. The bedding was fairly fresh. She had soap, towels and what appeared to be a new mini-fridge. They were obviously intending for her to stay here. What would the museum director think of that? She was suspicious of their intentions, but she put it out of her mind for now. She would stick to her plan. That uncomfortable word, faith, came to mind, so close to the other word she rarely used, hope. Trust of the gods. Trust in the gods.
The bathroom door was partially open. A reflection suggested a full-length mirror on its back, so she took a couple steps towards it--of course she had to look at herself--and was immediately reacquainted with the phallus inside her, locked inside her. For a moment, the sensation of penetration took over. The thick girth of the metal cock filled her while her vaginal muscles reflexively fought to stabilize the weight of the lusterite as she moved. Lustful stimulation was an immediate result. She now knew it was more than a simple matter of discomfort: she must free herself of the belt. The constant strain of the weight and the teasing, combined with the inability to relieve either one, was not a long-term option she could even think about.
Pulling the door open wider, Sue caught her first complete look at her accessories in the mirror. She immediately noticed how different she looked with her waist forced to a roughly hour-glass shape. She felt sexy and saw herself in a new, perhaps, hypersexual way. The hour-glass shape must be hardwired into women as well as men. She couldn't remember ever thinking of herself as a fetish object before except as a wild fantasy. Now she saw the hint of a woman beyond her most optimistic self-image, but she still knew all the flaws: big nose, dorky glasses, flat ass, under-size breasts...yes, back to reality.
Regardless, her reasoning begged the question of how much that reality truly mattered. If a man was fucking you, his weight pressing down on you, cock in cunt, did he care about an extra few inches around your waist any longer? Or how big your nose is? Biological selection based on appearance was only part of the equation was it not? How did a great fuck affect evolution? If a woman had a reputation for being loose, would she be selected more? Of course she would. If she was a great fuck, was she more likely to produce offspring? Of course. Sue decided she would start to refuse society's definition of sexuality and would start to define her own, like the Nuymeans.
History showed that perceptions of beauty and sexual tastes were mental and cultural, not just biological. A moment looking at renaissance marbles and older definitions of beauty was proof that those definitions can change. What did she think about herself now? She really didn't know anymore, but behind the steel over her pussy, her body was as eager to pass on her genetic code as any slut could ever be. She had to find a way to free herself.
She examined the corset first. The leather was heavy and stiff but felt super soft to the touch. The combination of luxurious sensuality and shape-forming restriction was artistic to her. She appreciated it. Still, the constant compression was oppressive. Turning to examine the back, she felt a sudden flush of emotion: anger leading the way, closely followed by frustration and then a contrasting feeling of total lust. The laces were not visible, covered by a locked flap. A flexible rod was threaded through the flap, sort of like a hinge pin. The small padlock holding the flap was some kind of high security affair, the keyhole was obviously not typical. The lock also looked brand new. She couldn't get a really good look at the flap mechanism since she already was twisting her body to its limits to see that much. The waistband of the chastity belt was also closed over the corset. Even if she could unlock the corset flap, she wasn't likely to get it open without first removing the belt. She had to face facts: the corset wasn't coming off anytime soon.
She turned her attention to the belt. The forged and hammered metal was clearly ancient and well-crafted with an age appropriate patina, rather than rust. She knew it was much more than that just something turned out by a village blacksmith, instead, it was a masterpiece of its day. The metal appeared to be Ulfberht steel; the same steel that was used to make some of the best viking swords. She had seen a paper on the subject a year or two ago. Researchers were still arguing over the formula used. The belt would date to 800 to 1200 AD without a doubt. In the center of the waistband, she could see one of the variations of the +vlfberh+t mark as born on those swords. This belt appeared to be a special project from an armorer or sword-maker of legendary prowess, quite likely.
The heavy metal waistband was over 2 inches wide and ridiculously thick, almost a half inch. Looking all around in the mirror, she could not see how the waist belt was held closed. Apparently the vertical crotch piece also acted as a hasp of some kind. It ran from the front of the belt down over her pussy and up between her ass checks to the back. She would need to see the belt disassembled to completely understand how the parts interconnected.
The vertical band was so wide in front that she felt like a hubcap was riveted over her sex; a slight dome in the middle prevented her clit from touching anything. She tried getting a finger under the edge, and could get underneath a little, but there was was no way she could reach her clit or gain relief from the weight of the metal dick inside her. All she managed to do was to hurt her fingers.
The band narrowed as it went between her legs but was still too wide for comfort; she could feel the edge of the plate on the insides of her upper thighs when she walked. As near as she could tell, her labia were pressed closed by an inner, split band underneath the perforated lower section of the front shield. It seemed to be part of the same band which narrowed as it extended up her ass crack. A section of the band was flared unpleasantly wide at her anus to leave room for a defecation hole--and to annoy her constantly.
Sue pulled at the industrial padlock in frustration. She would have liked to have seen the original version. Not all of the ancient padlocks were large affairs. By the time the Vikings were making them, most were smaller than the monstrosity she was wearing. Still, they must have located the lock where they did so that it could hidden under a skirt. She pulled at the lock again...out of ideas. She didn't think bolt cutters would be enough to get her out of the belt.
In the end, she was frustrated and horny from the efforts to free herself. Looking more closely, she saw Nordic runes on the faceplate. She wasn't an expert in runes, but it seemed to be something like "Property of Kjar"--great, just great, a chastity belt with a Viking seal of approval.
She stared at the mirror with a sense of disbelief at the woman looking back. The prim and proper academian that composed her self-identity most of her life, what she thought of as her true self, was slipping away. The woman in the mirror was both her and not her: a sexual display and a woman locked up, chest forever marked. How did it all happen so fast? She still needed that former self, the scholarly, cautious self which would record the results and write the publications, the self that needed to be the objective observer, the self which would keep her safe and in control. She must not be lost in this process.
Could the scientist observer still be objective as the subject of their own experiment? Perhaps that was a pitfall of participant archaeology. Too late either way, the experiment was well underway. Ahead of her was a path that was undeniable, and equally unavoidable. She was starting to believe this accidental destiny to become a Nuymean priestess was perhaps her one great moment in life. Like Achilles, she must choose to pay the price of glory or accept safe obscurity. She would also chose glory, but her heels would be her asset and not her weakness. All doubt was gone. The person in the mirror, horny and adventuresome, was her; not a new her, but a discovered self that had been there all along, a sexual being previously denied. A self that was learning to enjoy and cherish sexuality and not try to hide and deny it because of some culturally programmed guilt and sense of identity.
A week ago, she would have chosen the safe but obscure path, sneaking off with her vibrator while dreaming of something more. Now everything was different. Her experiences on the chair, in the sex maiden and in the bastard-maker stocks were truly life changing--it was the acceptance. The acceptance that comes from going to such extremes, even facing death in the process, and being reminded of life's priorities. Yes, acceptance was the missing piece of her mental puzzle. Reality was not what she wanted it to be. Reality is a perception of current events. She was a part of a much more interconnected world than she previously would have acknowledged. She had gone beyond participant archaeology. Now her own life was the experiment. At least she wasn't in this alone anymore, even if far too many people knew what she was up to...and had seen her naked.
She turned from the mirror thinking about what she would do next while waiting. She had seen other live-in suites like this one in older parts of the museum, usually reused for some other purpose. Back in the day, a curator could stay right in the museum, immersed in their work. This one seems to have been left intact or perhaps remodeled decades ago. A couple of large windows looked down on the main floor containing the "Herstory" exhibit. Daylight poured through the frosted glass windows high on the opposite wall. She had lost all sense of time lately, but knew she must have slept a long time. She easily located the sex maiden and the bastard maker stocks. They looked like nothing had even happened despite the profound moments she had there. No one was in sight and the lights had been turned back off. She looked all around and did not see her bag or her clothes anywhere from the window.
She could use something to eat and some washing up while she waited. Checking around, she quickly found breakfast had been left for her. The coffee maker was a good place to start. Exactly 3 packets of fake sugar, and 2 small fat-free single-serving creamer cups were left for her. She found a small package of cereal for the main course. In the fridge was a small cup of cut strawberries, a half-pint of skim milk and a low-fat vanilla yogurt. None of it was what she wanted, but it was all stuff she could stand to eat since she had to. She was hungry enough to eat anything at this point. Some bacon and eggs as part of an otherwise hearty breakfast was more of what she had in mind. The food selection looked carefully planned. Someone was putting her on a diet.
She took her time nursing her food. The coffee was disappointing, but still fit the bill. She started looking at Maggie's book, being careful to keep it clear of stray breakfast damage. A few of the Nuymean glyphs were a bit of a guess. She really needed to get a computer down here, but most of it made sense.
The next step for her, complete with accompanying glyph tattoo, was an elaborate ritual of rebirth--the glyph could also mean transformation perhaps. She would need quite an assortment of the liquids and herbal solutions which Maggie had prepared. Now it made sense why Maggie had been so meticulous with them, but a lot of the ritual was left unexplained. Beyond the spoken parts of the ritual, the book said little more than how to arrange the items on a large stone circle matching the one here in the annex. She didn't need the hundred or more pages of instructions on how to build the circle itself or the instructions on how to prepare the herbs. Once invoking the gods and speaking of her own devotion, commitment and sincerity, she was to lock herself in the holds to wait, more or less. No clue about what would happen to her after that was to be found anywhere in the book. Still, she trusted the process--it felt right deep down in her bones. Shit. She had to get moving. The whole thing needed to be done on the winter solstice. The first day of winter was only four days away!
Breakfast was a lot more filling than she thought until she realized that the corset was having an effect on the size of her stomach and her bowels. The coffee was having an affect on her bladder too. She tried waiting, but soon had no choice. She was going to find out just how it felt to relieve herself in a chastity belt. The thought that she was probably the first woman to do so in this belt in over 800 years didn't make this experiment in participant archaeology any more attractive. She was going to kill those guys when she caught up with them. This was not funny.