Part Two (of three)
It’s Monday morning, day three of being trapped in a chastity belt, and I’m grumpy and irritable. I haven’t slept well for two nights and I feel like I’m being slowly garrotted at the waist. I wouldn’t be surprised if I separated into two halves and my legs and bum wandered off to into the sunrise on their own. Is this what the ladies of yesteryear felt like in their tightly laced corsets? At least they had the luxury of fabric and whalebone, I’ve got cold, hard metal to deal with.
I got through Sunday by skulking around my flat in a bath robe and talking to no one. I kept expecting a smug message from Edward saying the police hadn’t turned up yet and asking when he could expect to be arrested. Bastard. But all things considered the day wasn’t too bad really. I’d got over Saturday’s failure to cut myself free and resigned myself to a humiliating encounter with Edward on Tuesday. I did the toilet without too much trauma and even managed number twos. The crotch plate flares out wide around my arsehole and has a large round cutout there which allows things to pass almost unhindered. When I look in the mirror my cheeks are pushed apart and the little hole is framed neatly in the centre of the cutout. It seems lewdly exposed and beckoning. It looks like I’m begging to be sodomised.
I did a fair bit of examining myself in the mirror yesterday. I found it had the strange effect of lifting my spirits when they got low. I hate to admit it, but the thing is unquestionably sexy in a strange and bizarre sort of way, and I do look rather amazing in it. If I’d put it on myself I reckon I would feel very cool and alluring in it, sort of like a forbidden fruit, tantalising but unavailable. I can imagine a scene where some young buck thinks he’s seduced me and got me back to his love den only to find himself defeated by an impenetrable steel barrier, and me calmly asking what he’s prepared to do for the key. But I soon worked out that it wasn’t a good idea to work myself up thinking sexy thoughts. There’s no way to get any release. At one point I was severely tempted to push a vibrator up my exposed bum, such was my frustrated state. I’d like to think it was a sense of shame and dignity that stopped me, but in truth it was more to do with the lack of a bottle of lube.
The other thing I did a lot of yesterday was searching the internet. Chastity belts are apparently quite a thing, and not just for the ladies. There are complete websites devoted to them and I even found a forum which advised against buying cheap Chinese mass-produced belts and to stick to reputable brands with evocative names like Neosteel and Access Denied. It all sounded like very big business and made me wonder just how many other women might be locked up in these things. Next time I was crammed into a crowded tube train, how many chastity belts would be riding along with me? And were all these ladies locked up by jealous, controlling partners or did they lock themselves up to feel safe and secure, or did they just get off on it? It made me think that when it comes to human sexuality, there is no such thing as normal.
And now I have to work out how I’m going to manage work today. I could just take the easy option and work at home. It’s my company and I can choose to do what I like, but there’s so much I need to be in the office for, including a meeting this afternoon with Edward. If I don’t show then he’ll know why and it will be more defeat. If I can’t get free of his contraption then I should at least show it is not stopping me getting on with my life. I have to go in, I just need to find the best way to manage things.
I looked at lots of chastity belts on the web yesterday and most of them seemed to be festooned with clasps and padlocks and other lumpy bits that would show like a mountain range under anything but the thickest or hideously baggiest of clothes. My belt is mercifully rather different. It is smooth and devoid of lumpy padlocks. The crotch part and the waistband appear to be one piece of metal. They come together at the front with no discernable joint. At the back they join with something of a bulge which I assume to be the lock as it has a couple of keyhole-like slots in it. The thigh bands are just a simple metal rings. There are no fastenings or padlocks on them and they appear to be permanently joined to the little chain that links them. There are no suspender-like chains running down the outside of my thighs as shown in many pictures on the web. It’s all very smooth and easy to hide, and so most of my wardrobe is still available to me, with the exception of any kind of trousers of course.
My problem is not going to be hiding the belt, it’s going to be hiding the restriction it places on my legs. While I can just about walk normally along the flat, any kind of step or stairs has me hobbling slowly sideways. I could explain this by wearing a tight skirt but I haven’t got one tight enough to be believable, at least not one that’s suitable for the office. I think I could get away with wearing some challenging looking heels to justify my cautious walking and if that fails then I’ll feign an injury of some kind, like I twisted my knee and it’s making me walk funny. Another problem is the sound the thigh chain makes as it continually pulls tight when I walk. Chink, chink, chink wherever I go, but I think I have a solution for this. I’ve got a belt that’s made up of metal rings, like a fancy chain, and it fastens by sliding through itself and leaving a tail of rings hanging down my front. It swings about when I walk and will justify the metallic chinking noise. At least I hope so.
And so looking seriously curvy with my constricted waist and sporting a simple black dress, a gold chain belt, hold-up stockings and four and a half inch stilettos I’m off to work and I’m treating myself to a cab even though I balk at the ninety quid fare. It is surprising that I still feel the need to be thrifty even though I’m about to become a multi-millionaire. One of the reasons I’ve seen so much of Edward recently is because we’re preparing to float my company on the stock exchange and if it all goes as expected I will become a very wealthy woman. I will be able buy half a street’s worth of detached houses with gardens in Hammersmith just like Edward’s, and it’s why I will have to think very carefully about firing his rotten arse. It’s not a good time to be changing accountants. Dating rule number two: never go out with anyone from work. Stupid Claire. Just stupid.
My company is in an old building and is spread over three floors with of course, steep staircases between them and no lift, but I make it to the relative safety of my office without serious incident. It seems my overly smart appearance attracts more attention than my limited mobility. My PA, Julia is in love with my shoes and I mischievously tell her she can have them, but only if she wears them to work every day for a month. She is apparently giving it some serious consideration. Julia is a lovely lesbian lady who has been with me since I started this company. She stuck with me through the lean early years, even when I couldn’t pay her, probably because of the huge crush she used to have on me. Nowadays she accepts that I can’t love her the way she needs and we’re just good friends, but that doesn’t stop her trying to seduce me at raucous parties with varying degrees of success dependent upon my level of intoxication. I have woken up in her bed on several occasions and she says she keeps bottles of pink and blue hair dye ready for me for the day I cast off my veneer of conformity. If there’s one person I would confide in about my metallic problem it would be Julia, but I think I’ll avoid stirring up her latent sexual desires right at this moment, and just keep things to myself for now. The morning passes with me burying myself deeply into work to keep my mind off this afternoon’s meeting. I should fire him. I know I should. Just as soon as he walks through the door. But there is the little issue of a key to consider, not to mention my future fortune.
After lunch he walks into my office with sickening punctuality and behaves completely professionally, as if the weekend had never happened. The presence of Julia prevents any talk of anything not work related and it’s only when she goes out to get coffees that the enormous elephant in the room can be discussed.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yes, I’m fine thanks.”
“Good.”
“I don’t suppose Royal Mail delivered anything today?”
“Afraid not. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow then.”
“No problem.”
And that is all that’s said on the subject. Julia returns and it’s back to the tortuous minefield of my tax situation following the floatation. It seems I have a choice; play it straight and I could personally fund a medium sized hospital, or play it devious and fund just a small one. Apparently if I want to play it dirty then I can fund almost nothing at all and still not break the law. This is why people pay accountants so much and presumably why mine can afford to spend a considerable sum on the thing I’m wearing right now. I didn’t find one like it on the web but I’ll bet it wasn’t cheap. Well I don’t actually mind funding a hospital with my tax bill, as long it’s not too big a hospital. We eventually wrap up the discussion and it’s a relief when Edward leaves. But tomorrow morning there is a meeting with the auditors and he’ll be back for that. And he had better bring a sodding key with him.
oOo
Monday evening, and I’m spending the greater part of it in the bath, reflecting on the day, and there isn’t really that much to complain about. I’ve spent the afternoon discussing how insanely rich I’m about to become, I’ve been complimented on my appearance all through the day, and it seems like even my waist is starting to come to terms with the boa constrictor that’s still locked around it. I can feel the warm water has penetrated under the belt and under its crotch shield and I’m feeling almost clean, but I’m resisting getting out of the bath because I know I’ll be feeling damp and soggy down below for ages afterwards. It’s hard to get a towel where you can’t even get your fingers. Perhaps if I point a hairdryer at that little pee hole it will manage to dry me in there. Perhaps if I strut around in front of the mirror for long enough I’ll decide that I’m hot enough to boil the wetness away from under the belt. On second thoughts that might just produce more wetness. This metal contraption is a truly awful thing, but I can’t deny the way I feel when I look at myself in it. And to then be unable to even touch myself, it all makes an uncomfortably heady cocktail.
oOo
Tuesday. Release day, hopefully. And as yesterday I did black, today I’m going for a browner look. A beige high-necked and rather clingy top, a cream skirt and brown boots equipped of course with suitable heels to mask the real reason for my limited mobility. With the same chain-like belt as yesterday to cover the clinky noise I’m off to work and once again I’m treating myself to a ride. This time I’m more organised and my Uber costs me less than half of yesterday’s black cab fare. On the way I’m thinking that the rest of the scruffs in my office should smarten up too. We should have some suits and ties and more skirts and heels to raise self-esteem and boost productivity. But then I think about other companies that had dress codes and got into trouble over them. Can’t ask women to wear skirts these days. Sexist. And as for heels, just don’t go there.
But the first thing that happens in the office is Julia says she’ll have my shoes and will wear them for a month. My mischievous little bluff has cost me a hundred and eighty quid’s worth of shoes, but at least I’ll get to watch her hobbling around the office for a month. The boss’s office is apparently going smart, perhaps the minions will be inspired and follow. You can always hope.
The meeting with the auditors is really boring. They’re just confirming what I already know about my company. I keep looking at Edward, trying to catch his eye so he can give me some little sign that he has the goods, but he keeps ignoring me. It’s not until coffee break that I manage to get him to one side for a whispered private word.
“Well?” I ask impatiently.
“Well what?” he replies, infuriatingly feigning ignorance.
“You know dam well what. Did it come?”
“Oh that. Err, yes. Postman brought it this morning.”
“And?”
“And… it’s on my desk at home.”
“What? It’s no sodding use there is it.”
“Well what were you expecting Claire? For me to bring it here? That wouldn’t have been very professional.”
“Sod being professional. I want that key.”
“And what were you thinking you would do if I had brought it? Nip discreetly off to the toilet for a moment?”
“Well yes. Pretty much exactly that.”
“And then what? You were planning to just leave the belt in the toilet or carry it back to your office? It’s not a pair of knickers Claire. You can’t fold it up and stuff it in your handbag.”
“Well I err… I could hide it in a shopping bag.”
“And stick it on the floor behind your desk for the rest of the day I suppose. A little risky don’t you think?”
“A little gossip keeps an office thriving.”
“Even if it’s gossip about you? Come by the house after work and I’ll unlock you.”
“Yeah? And what exactly will be your pervvy price for unlocking me?”
“No price. No catch. No funny business. I promise. I’m a kinky pervert, but I’m not a monster Claire. If you don’t want to play the game then I won’t try to force you.”
“You forced me into this belt.”
“I didn’t force you. You fitted into it very nicely. And it was only for a couple of days.”
“Four days Edward. Four fucking days if I have to wait till tonight.”
“Okay, four days. But can’t you say they were at least a little bit fun?”
“Now let me see. Four days of being almost cut in half. Four days of not being able to wash properly. Four days of not being able to walk, or climb stairs, or sit comfortably. No, I don’t think it was a little bit fun at all.”
“Ah well in that case I’m really sorry. I misjudged you Claire and I apologise. Come round tonight and we’ll end it.”
“No funny business?”
“No funny business. I promise.”
“Straight after work then. Seven o’clock.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“You better be.”
“And can I ask if you’re looking for another accountant?”
“I haven’t decided yet. We’ll see what happens tonight first.”
“So I might not be closing your files then.”
“We’ll see what happens tonight.”
oOo
It’s almost half past seven when I get to Edward’s house. I’m nervous and I’m not at all sure how to play this. A big part of me wants to just go in hard, demand the key and when I get it, leave immediately, go home and unlock the belt myself. But there is a nagging doubt about this policy. How hard can it be to unlock a chastity belt? Presumably not hard at all if one has the key, but my belt is not like any I’ve seen on the web. There are no simple and obvious padlocks, there is only that bulge at the back with the slots in it which I only assume to be the lock, but it doesn’t look like any lock I’ve ever seen before. And it’s behind my back. I can only see it in a mirror and it’s awkward to do anything with. What if I can’t work it out? What if I can’t unlock it? Would I then have to come grovelling back to Edward for help?
A slightly safer option might be to get the key and then head for Edward’s bathroom where I could get some privacy and get myself free. I’ve got a pair of knickers in my handbag so I won’t have to go home commando under my skirt, and if I run into problems then it’s a lot easier to ask for help if I’m still in his house. But it doesn’t register quite the same level of contempt and outrage as storming out the door as soon as I have the key in my hand.
But there’s a possible problem with both of these options which is the uncomfortable thought that I don’t actually want it all to end in such a harsh and angry manner. I’ve been thinking about what Edward said this morning in the office, about how he was sorry and how he had misjudged me. I should of course be incandescent with rage that he would arrogantly judge me to be the kind of woman who would enjoy such an experience. Do I really give off those kind of signals? And yet, if I can put my anger and my feelings of violation aside, it was at least a little bit fun. I rather enjoyed my naughty secret in the office and I did feel sexy when I stood by the mirror at home. And if Edward genuinely is sorry and I can find it in myself to forgive him, then all the things that made me go out with him in the first place, do they not still apply? Maybe more so now I know how fantastic he is in bed. I really wouldn’t mind at all being tied to his bed now and then if the reward is what I experienced last Friday night. I think I’ll just play this evening as it comes. If he’s an arrogant prick then I’ll take the key and leave. If he’s not then perhaps I might give him a second chance.
He answers the doorbell promptly and invites me into the kitchen. He’s obviously been home for a while because he’s ditched his work suit for a t-shirt and jogging pants and there’s a half empty wineglass on the worktop.
“Can I offer you something, glass of wine, coffee, tea?” he asks politely.
“Yes, you can offer me a key,” is my terse reply.
“Ah yes. The keys. They’re downstairs, on my office desk with the rest of the post.”
“Downstairs? Aren’t we already downstairs?”
“Downstairs in the basement. All these old Victorian houses round here have got basements. I had an office put in mine when the renovation was done. Come, let’s get your keys.”
Edward heads out into the hall and beckons me to follow. Cautiously I tag along. In the side of his staircase is a door. It’s not exactly a secret door, but you wouldn’t notice it in the wood panelling if you weren’t looking. He’s opened it and disappeared through it. I stop at the door and peer nervously into the small space beyond. There’s a staircase going down. It’s quite steep and narrow.
Oh Christ, he’s got a fucking dungeon down there. A torture chamber or something. Don’t go down there. Just don’t. Oh come on Claire. This is twenty-first century Hammersmith, no one has a dungeon in their basement. Do they? I peer down the stairs. There’s an open door at the bottom and a brightly lit room beyond with beige carpet tiles on the little bit of floor I can see. It doesn’t look like the entrance to a dungeon but I don’t want to go down there.
“These stairs look a bit steep for someone whose thighs are chained together,” I call to him. It’s a good excuse for not going down.
“They’re no steeper than the stairs to the bedroom,” drifts back the reply.
Dammit. He obviously wants me to go down. It’s a dungeon, I just know it is, and fuck knows what’ll happen to me down there. But I don’t want him to think I’m scared of him. And my key is down there. The quicker I get it, the quicker I can be back in control. It’s not a fucking dungeon Claire, it’s just his office.
Slowly and nervously I climb sideways down the stairs. Halfway down it occurs to me that I can’t run back up quickly if I need to, but I can see more of the floor beyond the door below me. More beige tiles and is that the bottom of a filing cabinet? I continue down and through the door and into…….. Edward’s office. It’s a perfectly normal office with cupboards, filing cabinets and a big desk. And now I feel really stupid. A dungeon Claire? Get a grip woman.
Edward is standing behind his desk. He looks up at me as I enter the office and picks up a Jiffy bag.
“Your keys,” he says, offering me the Jiffy.
“Thanks,” I reply cautiously as I take the small, padded envelope from him. “I assume it goes in the thing at the back?”
“Yes, there’s two keys. Push one into each of the slots at the same time and the crotch strap should come free. It might take a bit of wiggling but once it’s out the waistband will open and you’ll be able to take the whole thing off.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. You can do it right now if you like. There’s a stationary cupboard over there you can use if you want some privacy, and you can call me if you need any help.”
He gestures to a door in the wall to my left.
“A walk-in stationary cupboard?” I ask in surprise.
“Accountants use a lot of paper,” he replies with a smirk.
I think carefully for a moment. I have the key. I could just leave. Or I could use his cupboard and be free of the belt right now. He’s not going to barge in and rape me or anything like that, and if I can’t get the belt unlocked then he’s available to help. It’s not like he hasn’t already seen what I’ve got underneath. Decision time. I’d prefer his bathroom with a lockable door, but sod it, a stationary cupboard will do. My waist is screaming with joy at the mere prospect of release. I open the Jiffy and take out two very strange looking keys.
“Not very dignified, getting undressed in a stationary cupboard,” I say suspiciously.
“Standard practice in offices all over the land,” he replies with another smirk.
“I suppose. Never been tempted myself. So, both keys at the same time?”
“Yep. In the slots on the lock behind you. If it doesn’t work try swapping the keys around. They’re not the same.”
“Okay. And you’ll come and help if I need you?”
“Of course.”
“And ONLY if I need you.”
“Understood.”
Slowly I open the cupboard door and step inside. It’s dark but I find a light switch just inside the door. There’s a humming noise and fluorescent tubes start to flicker, flashing me glimpses of the inside of the cupboard, before revealing it in constant, harsh light. Any worries I had that there might not be enough space in a cupboard for me to undress and manoeuvre myself out the belt are quickly gone. The space is absolutely huge. But then I realise that one wall is covered with a big mirror and it’s only really half the size. It’s still big though. A couple of cars would fit in here with plenty of space to spare. But there are of course no cars in Edward’s dungeon. And that’s exactly what it is, a dungeon. It doesn’t look very medieval with its smooth, white painted walls and lightly varnished tongue-and-groove wooden ceiling, but it’s a dungeon nonetheless. Emptied of its ‘furnishing’ it would probably pass as a gym or a dance practice studio with its mirrored wall, but equipped the way it is, it is definitely, unquestionably a dungeon. And I’ve walked right into it.
A strange sort of calmness comes over me. I should be terrified and running for my life but actually I feel a little relieved. I was thinking I was becoming paranoid imagining there was going to be a dungeon down here, but here it is and I am vindicated. As soon as he mentioned a basement I knew deep down what was going to be in it. And now that I see it I feel almost smug. I judged him right. He’s a weirdo.
Third and final part is here: