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Over the past two days, they have lasered my body hair again. It was not as unpleasant as it was on the first occasion – mainly because there seemed less to do. There was some small relief because the ordeal was less protracted but there was still the accompanying sadness. I had to face the fact that I could never again be the person I once was. Never again would I have little downy hairs on my arms and legs which turned golden when they caught the light of a sunny afternoon; no public hair to shave or not to shave just as I wished and no hair on my head to cut or grow or style or colour or comb or even scratch. But, more than sadness, there was again the feeling of intimate violation, when I had to kneel on the operating table and spread my buttocks with my own hands, to give access for the destruction of even the little hairs around my anus so that there would be nothing left.
I was taken back to my cell afterwards, my skin feeling bruised sunburned. They allowed me a little time to myself to rest. In the circumstances, after all that’s happened to me, sexual interest, sexual tensions and sexual feelings should be the very last thing on my mind. But perhaps that is all that I have left to me? Perhaps sexual feeling is something I can create and enjoy in my own mind, private to me, secret from them.
The feelings of sexual arousal torment me more and more. I have to do something about it. I have to hide it from them but I have to find some relief, even if there really is nowhere to hide.
When my work is over, as soon as I’m back in my cell, as soon as the door is locked and the lights have faded and I am alone, I lay on the mattress with my legs spread wide and bring myself off. I am so horny that it does not take long thank goodness, because I don’t know when they’ll be back. At first there’s the sense of relief and I lick my fingers to clean up, taking delight in the taste and the smell of something I have done for me.
As the release of orgasm fades, I’m astonished at my own behaviour. When the feelings began, I brought myself off secretly at night, when I thought they might not be able to see. But the desire for release just grew and grew. Now I do it whenever I’m alone. I just can’t help myself and I don’t care what they see ……
I’m alone in my cell, lost in my sexual dreams, eyes closed. I suddenly sense that someone is behind me! I feel a tap on my shoulder - it’s Neena and Andrei. Damn! I had been so wrapped up in my fantasies I did not hear then come in. Neena has tapped me on the shoulder with her crop: my eyes jerk open and there they are: both of them looking down at me and laughing. Neena is slowly shaking her head, as if she is disappointed in me, or perhaps to say; ‘now you didn’t think you could have secrets from me, did you?’ I suppose that I must have put on quite a show.
I stop immediately and they motion me to stand up. My reverie is replaced with foreboding. I’m sure I’m going to be punished. I’m sure I’m not supposed to be “enjoying myself” ……..
Andrei takes my arms behind my back and handcuffs them. I don’t resist. There’s no point, I would not win anyway. He stands holding my arms, keeping me upright. Neena bends down and straps my ankles to a metal bar – a leg spreader. My ankles aren’t held very far apart, just far enough to stop me bringing my legs together.
She gets up and opens the bag she brought in with her.
I start to squirm – this is going to be it. This is my punishment coming. They are going to hurt me with something. The man holds me all the tighter. Despite all the bodybuilding, I have done, he is much stronger than I am.
The girl opens the bag and brings out, what? She holds it up towards me smiling. It’s a chastity belt; shiny, silver and black. If I was not where I am, I might find it interesting but now it’s not interesting at all, because they are taking yet more away from me. The only thing I have left for myself.
I struggle and struggle: I don’t want even these very little pleasures taken from me, things I can still do for myself without having to wait for them or wait for their agenda or wait to earn favours. But of course that’s why they are doing this.
“Why? Why?” I shout.
“Because your body is ours and you are not using it properly”, she replies
“Your body? It is my body! You can force me to work for you but my body is mine. It’s me!”
I am pleading with her. Pleading for them to let me alone, to have some small thing for myself, but Neena is implacable. She just repeats their logic. I am trying to find a sentence to counter it but I cannot take hold of one, wherever I look in my mind, her voice comes to me: firm, reasonable, logical, inescapable.
“Rabinya, your body is ours. That is what it means to be a slave. You are owned. We own you. Your body, your mind, your strength, your talents, your abilities to give pleasure and to experience pleasure …”
“But what is left for me?”
“For you?”
“Yes: me!”
“Why nothing, of course! You are wholly owned. There is nothing left for you. The moment I took you, all your claims to your body and mind, thoughts and actions transferred to your new Owner. Your training shows you what this means, helps you to understand and will bring you to complete acceptance. Quite soon now, I expect, you will completely understand that you have nothing. You are nothing. Your life is to live for your Owners. Here is another lesson. Your Owners are now taking your sexual pleasures from you, because they do not belong to you anymore. They are for others. For your Owners.”
I am held tight whilst the waist strap of the belt is wrapped around me and connected: it feels hard, smooth, cold, unyielding. I can smell Neena’s perfume as wraps her arms around me, encircling my waist with the belt. Her perfume is sweet and pungent and intoxicatingly erotic. She must have worn it on purpose; exciting me with a perfume and simultaneously taking away my ability to enjoy my own body, to consummate the desire she is deliberately inflaming.
Then she spreads some cream around my pussy. On each side of my labia. Around my clit. Under the clit hood. Then she brings the crotch strap up between my legs and connects it to the waist band. I can feel it, from the waist band at the rear, between my buttocks, across my anus as a thin round smooth curved bar and then as a wider plate across my perineum, my vagina, mons and abdomen, passing up to the waist band at the front. The strap is cold and seems to follow the contours of my body perfectly, clamped firmly against my crotch. She locks the catch shut. There is a very solid final ‘click’.
Andrei releases my arms and steps back.
Neena smiles broadly, then runs her hand over her own crotch then winks, shaking the keys at me and then pocketing them ostentatiously. She releases me from the spreader bar and Andrei unfastens my handcuffs.
“Our body is now safe from damage and unauthorised stimulation. Just two practical details which you have to know. You can pee through the drain holes and the front of the belt but I expect you to rinse afterwards, to keep yourself and the belt spotlessly clean and polished, to keep it looking at its very best. You will be proud to wear the belt. Next, the crotch plate is locked at the front and secured at the back by the bar over your anus. It will not interfere in any way with your work in the dacha or in the gymnasium – but the bar crosses your anus, so you will have to ask permission to have a dump. The bar can be released for that particular natural function and it will be relocked at once after you have finished.
The pair of them turn away and leave me alone once more, leaving me locked up alone in my cell. I pound my fists on the wall: angry, dismayed, frustrated, defeated. Yet again, defeated. I feel intimately violated: physically and spiritually. Neena’s words sting and burn. To exist just for the use of others, my “Owners” who have no proper claim beyond their strength, resources and circumstances. The arrogance behind Neena’s statements really does leave me breathless and I stand there, panting
As soon as they have gone, my hands fly down to the crotch piece but the fit is perfect.
I try to get my fingers beneath the metal edges but there is no space and no give. Whichever way I bend or turn, the fit is quite simply perfection. I beat on the front plate but there is no sensation – apart from a tickling from my skin around my labia and my clit: it must be coming from the cream she spread on me before locking me up. I squeeze my legs together against the plate but there is no relief at all.
Finally I collapse down on the floor and scream and scream and beat my hands on the floor in anger at the humiliation of it all, but the sexual torment in my mind and the itching from my intimate parts continues, unabated.
It’s late, sometime after Neena and Vyera’s encounter and her introduction to the chastity belt. Anatoly and Sveta are relaxing in the sitting room of their Moscow apartment, enjoying coffee, brandy and the effects of a good dinner.
“Anatoly; just come and see this,” Sveta says as she slides her laptop across the coffee table towards her husband, “Neena has just emailed this to me.”
He leans forward and watches the video of Vyera in her cell. She is now wearing her chastity belt, firmly locked into it. It seems as if Sveta’s predictions that Vyera would be “boiling” are coming true. Sveta is grinning as the video unfolds.
Vyera kneels on the floor trying to wrestle with the belt as she hears the sound of her cell door unlocking. She stops and looks up towards the door. Neena enters Vyera’s cell and stands looking down on her. Vyera stares at her for a moment, as if wrestling with her own intentions. She crawls over to Neena, kissing the toe caps of Neena’s boots, pushing her bum up into the air.
Anatoly begins to feel an itch in his groin: he knows what he would do if he was Neena. Presently, Vyera looks up at Neena in a pleading way and nods towards her crop. Neena laughs out loud, saying; “surely you don’t, do you?”
Vyera’s command of the language does not go that far but she makes quite clear that yes, she definitely does. Perhaps, muses Anatoly, we can rely too much on precision in language and forget that one often does not need words to convey meaning, even some quite unusual meanings!
Vyera leans forward, kisses the tip of Neena’s crop, and presents her bum.
Neena stands to one side and begins to stripe Vera’s buttocks counting the strokes as she carefully and gently and artfully applies them.
As the heat builds in her bum, Vyera wiggles and squeezes her thighs.
After five strokes Neena stops, gazing at Vyera, her head on one side.
Vyera looks up and pleads with her eyes for more.
Neena smiles and lays on another ten stripes, harder this time.
Vyera wiggles and squeezes her way through, her breathing getting heavier as her “ordeal” progresses, except it does not look like an ordeal to either the participants, or to the watchers.
Neena stops.
Vyera pleads.
Neena starts again, much more briskly and is rewarded by Vyera pushing her bum out more and more, greedily drinking the sensation. She is turning a lovely colour. Even though her skin is really deeply tanned, the thin red hyperaemic welts are easy to see and start to form a magnificent pattern.
Suddenly Anatoly’s concentration is interrupted by the sensation of Sveta’s hand on his crotch, gripping his erect penis through his trousers.
“Aha! So now I know what I have to do with you tonight Anatoly Sergeivitch! Except you are going to feel the strap and the cane.” Sveta is evidently pleased that her husband has responded as he has. “And,” she says, “I think, as Vyera enjoys punishment so much, I shall have her spanked regularly, too. As a little reward for hard work. It seems as if this will be a more creative way for her to relieve her sexual tension than just masturbating on her own. It’s a shame not to allow slaves some pleasure, don’t you think?”
Anatoly knows the delights that can be had from a skilful balancing of pleasure and pain. He knows the power of favours given or withheld as much as punishments administered or remitted. He turns to his wife. “Just as long as we get to take our pleasures too,” he says.
That phrase, the seemingly innocent ‘just as long as we get to take our pleasures too’
trips Sveta up in her anticipations. Sex as pleasure. Yes, there was a time when sex was a completely wonderful, intoxicating pleasure, until an unexpected pregnancy lead to the horror of accusation followed by pain and afterwards, by shame. Sveta’s ambitions for the evening begin to wilt in the harsh winds of her memories. Shame. Guilt. Deceit. Why does this slave bring it back so? It’s a question Sveta does not really need to ask. She knows. Jennifer McEwan, now known as Vyera Kuznetsova was born on the Sveta’s due date. The day when Sveta and Anatoly’s first child was to be born. The child that Popova made Sveta sacrifice, for the Motherland.
© Phil Lane & Freddie Clegg 2011
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