Controlling Christine, Book One

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

Breakfast And Exploration

John

“Sit there on the stool, Christine.” I indicated one of the two tall stools under the high counter.

“Okay,” she agreed, seeming to have recovered somewhat from the demonstration upstairs and walked carefully over to it, her house leash trailing out from beneath her hair at the back of her neck.

I busied myself preparing our coffee, watching her closely while she pulled out her stool and got ready to perch. She was in for another surprise and I waited expectantly to see her reaction.

She began to settle onto the hard surface, then stopped, a shocked look making her open her mouth in an O of surprise and distress.

“I can’t sit down wearing this stuff, Master!” she wailed, starting to rise again.

“Sit!” I commanded firmly, staring at her intently.

“Oooohhh!” she pouted, slowly allowing her full weight to settle on the hard wooden seat of the stool. “I can feel those things pressing against me inside!”

“Are they hurting you?” I asked.

“W-w-well ... not really,” she said . “They just feel awful strange and uncomfortable. And the bar is pulling at my lip rings and it makes me feel all bound up!”

“Well,” I replied with a smile of satisfaction, “that’s the general idea.”

“It’s diabolical, Master! How am I going to be able to walk and sit without anyone knowing! And everyone will hear my bells!”

“Oh, I’m sure that you’ll manage.” I soothed. “Now, drink your coffee, it’s almost time to go.”

With little gasps of discomfort and embarrassment she slowly settled down and drank from the steaming cup, her cuffed wrists and hands twisting occasionally against one another with semi-rebellion while she contemplated her coming day. When the coffee was done, we left the house accompanied by her muffled chiming bells and hidden chains. She climbed gingerly and red-faced into the mini-van, feeling the multitude of concealed restrictions to her freedom of movement continue to exert their influence. A minute later we were out of the garage and into the big wide world.

In three quarters of an hour we were in the centre of the main downtown shopping district and I pulled into a parking garage. The whole trip in had been without a word from her while she sat beside me, staring quietly out the window, thinking about what she was going to do. She sat rigidly erect, thanks to the hidden constriction of her corset and shoulder brace and I occasionally sneaked looks at her profile while we drove, admiring and lusting after the proud thrust of her bra and chain-captured breasts. I knew she was uncomfortable and scared of how she was going to spend her day, but I wanted Christine to experience the feeling of being in hidden bondage in public. There were more experiences of this type planned for her once she was fitted with the next pieces of her equipment. When the car stopped she turned to me, fear trembling her voice.

“M-M-Master? Must I do this?” she whispered ashen-faced when she looked at me.

“You must.” I stated, staring into her wide green eyes.

“Could I ... could I have a jacket, please, before I get out?”

“Nope! What you’re wearing is all that you’re allowed.” I stated. “And you’re not permitted to buy anything to cover yourself with, during the day, either. It’s warm enough that you won’t need a jacket or sweater. Besides, you’ll always be under observation. So don’t try, okay?”

“O-okay,” she snuffled, trying to arouse my sympathy. “May I get out now?”

“Yes, you may Slave Girl.” I smiled and unlocked her seat belts then tenderly kissed her trembling lips. “Have a fun time! I’ll see you about six or so right here. Love ya, Babe.”

I popped the door lock and she slid slowly out onto the concrete sidewalk, her restricting four inch boot heels tapping on the pavement when she walked away from the van. The door thunked shut and I stared briefly at her while she stood there looking forlorn, the strap from her large purse draped over her shoulder. Beneath her almost sheer double-layered blouse I could barely see the lines of her chains and undergarments, then I gave the van some gas and zoomed up the ramp to the ticket booth and back into the traffic. In the rear-view mirror I caught a last glimpse of her waving at me while I turned into the street. I knew she’d be safe for as I’d told her, she’d be kept under a tight but unobtrusive surveillance all day.

Christine

After John and the van disappeared, I stood for long moments, trying to build up my courage to begin my day in public (yet hidden) bondage. At last, I decided that I could no longer stay in the gray concrete skeleton of the parking garage and tried to saunter casually out onto the street to join the crowds of shoppers and office workers. I felt as though every eye was evaluating me while I strutted carefully along and my cheeks flamed with embarrassment when low wolf whistles followed me. As a woman, I was used to being constantly stared at, but this was awful! The damned corset had squeezed my waist to negligible proportions and in combination with the shoulder brace and half cup bra, I must have presented quite a sight. I couldn’t wander along as I’d hoped to, but had to strut, despite wanting to sink into the cracks of the sidewalk. Adding to my embarrassment, the muffled chiming of the bells hidden within the opaque envelope of my skirt betokened my bound state, sounding to my ears like Big Ben tolling. I hoped desperately that the golden chains under my blouse were unnoticed by the people I passed and that the rattling of my heavier reminder chains was not audible either, in vain though. The wide street was busy with the usual crowds and at first I didn’t really notice how windy the day was.

Suddenly, when I started across the first intersection of a street that led down to the harbour, the fitful breezes off the water, together with the vortices generated by the high office towers caught at my skirt. The light suede abruptly began billowing around my hips and flapping against my legs, threatening to balloon up around my body with the every playful current! I gasped with a suppressed half-shriek of surprise and discomfort when the hidden chains connecting the skirt to my body began to tug and vibrate erratically then tried to keep walking naturally with some sort of dignity, fighting to keep my whipping garment under control, but it was no use! The gusts enveloping me couldn’t be avoided! At one moment they pulsed wildly under the skirt’s hem, threatening to blow it up over my head and the next, flattened it against the fronts of my legs and sent the skirt streaming out behind, only held in place by the thrumming length of chain to my c******s! Already, though I didn’t know it, my dangling bells, reminder chains and the ones to my skirt had been spotted by a man behind me, leaving him staring in stunned disbelief while he walked right into a sign post.

Very nearly in tears from the unstoppable teasing and distractingly uncomfortable tugs on the semi-hidden chains, I fled along the sidewalk, desperate to escape the wind and the uncaring, amused, and for the most part unknowing stares that followed me. In short moments I was in a panic of frustrated pain/pleasure from what was happening, completely unable to escape the depredations of the wind. The women passers-by, those not wearing skirts themselves, smiled in rueful sympathy at my struggles while I frantically tried to hold down the billowing and flapping garment, staring around in glassy-eyed, frightened vulnerability and embarrassment. The men, of course, just enjoyed the free show, having no conception of the frustrations and fear of having to wear a full skirt in windy conditions.

At last I spotted what appeared to be a haven of safety and slipped into a ‘high end’ ladies fashion store to escape the tormenting effects of the unpredictable gusts. Trembling with relief, I slowly walked the aisles, gradually regaining my composure, but then a sales lady came to haunt me.

“Good morning, Miss,” she greeted me, taking in my costume with an appraising glance. “Can I help you with anything?”

“N-no. Thank you.” I murmured, edging away with embarrassment while her eyes seemed to penetrate right through the outer layers of my clothing.

“Are you sure? We have a wonderful sale on now for the Fall Season,” she persisted, moving a little closer, staring intently at my arms and my partially visible wrist cuffs and reminder chains.

“Q-quite sure. Thank you.”

“Very well, Miss,” she acknowledged, her eyes moving to the front of my blouse and the outlines of the n****e rings and chains within my uncomfortable bra.

She had treated me with deference, obviously impressed by the quality and cut of my clothing, but her eyes missed nothing, seeming to be X-ray vision capable. I knew she’d seen my restraints and the outline of my collar under the scarf and so I reluctantly fled, back out onto the windy street, there to fight my battle against my hidden bondage and the tormenting winds all over again.

The ache of the corset and shoulder brace slowly began to worsen as time passed and although I moved along trying to appear as normal as possible, my costume and carriage were guaranteed to attract attention. I became the centre of a sea of staring male eyes wherever I went. There was no respite until I at last found a very posh and quiet restaurant and walked as quickly as I could manage into the dimly-lit interior for a long quiet lunch. I was just finishing when someone tapped me on the shoulder, almost sending me through the roof with surprised fear.

“Why, Christine!” said the sexy low voice of my friend Danielle, “What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you since you met John a couple of months ago! Antonia and I thought that you’d dropped off the edge of the Earth, or been kidnapped by a rich Arabian oil Sheik, or something equally as bizarre.”

“Oh! Jesus, Danielle!!! You scared the hell out of me!” I whispered at her, blushing when I noticed her evaluating glances. “H-how are you and Antonia these days?”

She slipped around the table and sat down opposite me. As most women do, she gave me the once-over, her eyes widening somewhat while she took in my costume.

“About the same as ever,” she said quietly, “How about you and your new-found man?”

“I’m certainly finding it, uh, different!” I replied vaguely, hoping desperately that she’d go away.

“Looks like you’ve got a live one all right, Christine!” she said, leaning in a little. “Did he get you all the stuff you’re wearing?”

“Well,” I admitted cautiously, “Yes, he did. A-a-and a whole bunch of other things, too.”

“Do tell!” she drawled. “Is that a choker you’re wearing under the scarf? If I were you, I’d want to show it off!”

“Y-y-yes,” I said, blushing. “But, I didn’t want to flash it too much, so I put the scarf on, because I have ... I mean I wanted to wear it.” I stumbled along lamely.

“You certainly have improved your figure, Christine,” she complimented, then added, “And I guess you must be pretty concerned about your posture. I can see that you’re wearing one of those old-fashioned shoulder brace things!”

“Well,” I said slowly, “since I met John, I’ve gone on quite a regimen of exercise and figure-training to get into shape. He’s really helped me along with some special outfits.”

“I’ll say!” she laughed with a low chuckle. “Looks like you’re taking up belly dancing too!”

“Oh?” I asked, curious as to why she’d said that, but in reality knowing exactly.

“Yes, dear. That must be it! I knew there was a reason why you look so slim and why you’re sitting so erectly! You know,” she said secretively, leaning towards me, “I can just make out the bangles on your wrists and those chains going up the sleeves of your blouse. I can also see that the ones from your second set of ear rings go into the collar of your blouse and then down to who knows where?” she said with a sly inquiring smile.

“That’s right, Danielle.” I grasped desperately at the excuse she’d unwittingly presented me with. “I’m taking some special, er, lessons to help keep me in shape. What you see are just parts of the costume that I wear all the time. I forget they’re even there, you see.”

“Those ear rings, Christine,” she said , still staring intently at me, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them arranged like that before! Their connecting arrangement is really quite unique,” she pressed on with her dissection, somehow scenting blood, or worse, embarrassment.

“Uh, Danielle, I must go.” I cut her off, hoping to escape somehow.

“Oh, sit down Christine! What’s the big hurry?”

I thought furiously. How was I going to fob her off with some excuse that she couldn’t possibly tag along on?

“Well, I have a lawyer’s appointment in ten minutes over in the Bental Building, and I really must be going.”

“Oh,” she smiled disarmingly, seemingly a little miffed that I was eluding her, “if one must, one must I suppose. See you soon then! Au revoir.”

I caught the waiter’s eye then stood and strutted to the podium to settle my bill. In two minutes I was out the door and back into the rising wind, fighting once more against the wild billowings and flappings of my skirt and the insidious, unavoidable effects they had on my hidden chains. Very shortly I was almost in tears again, unable to escape or control what was being done to me by my own clothing.

I fled back to the shopping district and lost myself in the bustling crowds for the rest of the afternoon, fearful of having my bound state revealed, or of meeting another friend from my previous life. I had to guard constantly against snagging my skirt, becoming more than a little paranoid about it.

Hours later and thoroughly exhausted, I waited patiently until my Master pulled the van in to the curb where I’d stepped out so long ago. He opened the door and not worrying that my leg chains and dangling bells would be revealed when I got in, I gratefully climbed up then settled onto my impaled behind, happy to finally be away from the wind and the torturing it had given me.

John

She climbed carefully inside and pulled the door closed after arranging her skirt. I fed a little gas to the engine and drove out of the garage, looking for an open parking slot while she fumbled with her special seat belts. All were made of a woven wire mesh, covered with a thick, black neoprene rubber. The wide lap one clamped over her hips and lower belly, clipping to her steel under-belt, if its rings were exposed, and two slightly narrower straps passed down over her shoulders from the high seat back and locked to the heavy lap-strap buckle, centred over her abdomen. Two others came from the seat back, under her arms and clipped to the sides of the shoulder straps, pulling her tightly against the back rest. The last strap, when it was used, would come up between her legs and fasten to the underside of the buckle, but this time I left it loose. They were all connected a moment after she’d sat down, holding her immovably in the seat, my prisoner.

I found a parking spot a couple of minutes later, pulled in and left the engine idling, then turned to face her.

“How was your day?” I asked, pulling open the drawer under my seat and lifting out her chain leash.

“I was so embarrassed, Master,” she sniffled, eying the swinging loops of steel links nervously. “I-I-I think everyone knew I was belled and chained!”

“Oh come, come honey! Who’d know?”

“Everyone who looked at me knew there was something different!” she grumbled.

“Well, not to worry, dear. You’ll never see most of them again anyway.”

“I suppose so,” she muttered then smiled tremulously while I untangled her leash.

“Anyhow, it’s time to fasten you for the trip home.” I stated. “Can’t have you floating around unleashed anymore today, now can I?”

“Master?” she asked plaintively, “Don’t I ever get to walk around without being on a leash or bound?”

“No, Christine, you don’t. Ever. You’re always going to be under some type of positive control, so you might as well get used to it.”

“T-t-that’s what I thought,” she mumbled, almost in tears when I confirmed her state.

“Give me your hands, dear. It’s time.”

Without a word she lifted them and I leaned over and undid the long cuffs of her blouse. They fell away to reveal the thick, shiny steel clamped around her finely-boned wrists, their light chains looping back up into the opened sleeves.

“Keep holding them out.” I ordered, then reached up to her neck and removed her scarf. When it came off, her collar was fully revealed, the heavy ring in its swivel fitting at the front presented to me for instant use.

On the sidewalk, just ahead of the van, a man stopped and casually glanced at the little tableau being played out inside. I didn’t notice him while I concentrated on locking up my love and he stared in fascination at the woman being chained and fitted with a sturdy leash.

Out of his sight, I picked up a heavy brass-cased lock and slipped it through the two inner rings of her wrist cuffs, fed the end link of the chain onto the shackle, then brought the entire assembly up under her chin. I spent a moment adjusting the lock, fitting it through the ring on her collar while she sat passively, then I snapped it closed. Her small twitching hands and fingers now had to spread on either side of her face and her elbows and upper arms were kept pressed against her pushed-out breasts, semi-covering them. She tried to turn and look at me, but the combination of her restraining belts, the corset/shoulder brace and her hidden chains held her immobile, the heavy leash chain hanging down between her arms and imprisoned yet still available breasts. I couldn’t resist her helplessness and reached over, fondling and squeezing each presented globe of her femininity. She struggled futilely to avoid my hands, as much as her fastenings would permit, but in reality, she was completely vulnerable and seemed to enjoy the struggling, my teasing caresses and command of her body.

“Ohhh! Oh, please, Master!” she gasped when my fingers clamped into the filmy material of her blouse, through the thin covering of the bra cup and grasped her left n****e ring. I tugged lightly on it while she tried to writhe away from me, “Please, Master!! Please stop! Ouch! That hurts! Oooohhhh!! Ooouuuchh!”

“That’s another lesson in the use of your rings, Christine.” I smiled, watching her heaving chest while she gasped tremulously and recovered herself.

“M-Master? Please, do I have to sit up like this? Everyone can see my chains and leash!”

“Oh, all right.” I laughed. “Hold still while I tilt you back.”

“Thank you, Master,” she sighed with relief. I reached over and touched the lever that controlled the seat back and it slowly settled until she lay almost flat beside me.

“Well, Christine, since you won’t be visible from the street, I think you should be gagged for the trip home too then, don’t you?”

“Oh please, Master!” she whimpered, struggling against the locked seat belts and trying to sit up. “Please don’t make me wear the gag? I really hate it.”

“All the more reason for you to get used to wearing it My sweet,” I said pulling her silencer from the drawer under my seat.

“Please? Please! I really don’t want to wear it!” she began to weep while I prepared to put it on her.

“Open!” I ordered unsympathetically. She was beginning to learn now of her true destiny as a totally controllable Slave Girl.

“I hate it! I hate it!” she wailed, but opened her mouth dutifully. “AArrghh-mmpphhgg,” was all she managed while I pushed the squeezed-down mouth pad between her teeth and let it expand to its normal size inside her mouth.

“Now! That’s better, isn’t it?” I asked, leaning over and pulling the chin-cup snugly into place against her lower face.

She gave me a look of utter helplessness, her luminous green eyes brimming with tears of discomfort while staring up at me. I disregarded them and brushed her hair away from the sides of her face, then fitted the wide securing straps under her ears and around the back of her neck.

“Turn your head to the side as much as you can.”

She complied and I lifted her head then grasped the end of the gag’s inner strap and threaded it. The narrow stricture slipped easily through its locking buckle and I pulled it tight. Within the chin-cup, it dragged the gag-pad even further back between her teeth and more deeply into her mouth. Her legs kicked spasmodically under her skirt in silenced protest while it seated fully, making her hidden reminder chains rattle and clash. It was time to fasten the wide over-strap. This was passed around her face, sinking deeply into her soft cheeks, then I clamped its edges together at the nape of her neck and the locks snapped closed, sealing her into the brank. Her eyes fluttered closed, squeezing a pair of tears from their corners while she lay beside me.

I sat up and reached over to the front of her skirt, searching for the chain and ring to her c**t hood. Finding it took a little while, then I tugged gently, pulling out the slack. Her eyes popped open and her head shook wildly against her ear-ring fastenings when I put more tension on it, then a keening wail of distress whistled from her flared nostrils while she writhed and jerked frantically against her seat belts attempting to lift her hips to ease the strain. I knew she was trying to beg me to stop, but I had other plans for the drive home. In a second I’d clipped the free end of her tensioned c******s chain to a swinging weight under the dash, while beneath the skirt her legs continued to tremble and thrash as a result of the dragging sensation on her most sensitive flesh. To prevent her from closing her legs on this chain I took a short spreader bar and strapped it between her legs above the knees and we were ready for the drive home.

I slipped the van into gear, then moved out into the afternoon’s heavy traffic. As usual, it was a zoo trying to get out of the downtown area and we seemed to hit every red light and snarl. The stop-and-go driving, both on the street and the freeway, was a hassle to drive in, but, for Christine, bound, gagged and tensioned beside me, it must have been something entirely different than the frustrations I went through driving in the heavy traffic. With the sudden stops and starts, the swinging weight under the dash tugged on her c**t chain, and I could tell from her gasps and whines at each light or sudden slowing that it was having a substantial effect. Occasionally while I drove along, I reached over and fondled her breasts and soon she was writhing helplessly beside me, whining and panting pitiably within her locked-on silencer.