Special Order

By Scott

Would she divorce me? That was a very real concern as I contemplated making the purchase from the Chastity Permalock Corporation. It would be a very special order, one which would utilize their nanite technology, but quite different their “normal” Chastilock purchases. I had spent hours on the phone working out the details with their technical services department, and they assured me that what I had in mind was quite possible.

She looks curiously at the sheer, pretty, black stockings. She’s accustomed to the classic back-seamed style with the reinforced “Cuban” heels and toes, but there’s something odd about the texture, lack of stretch and even the weight of these hose. She slides them gracefully up her long, curvy legs, and takes her time straightening the seams as I watch, nervous and intent.

Marie, my wife, is a tall, pretty woman with dark hair and hazel eyes. She has long legs with slender ankles and is nicely height/weight proportionate at 5’8″ and 140 pounds. My only laments with her body are her “B” cup breasts and a not-too-tiny 28″ waist. Small complaints, but she has steadfastly refused all my offers of breast augmentation, and exercise does not reduce her natural waist size. I love her very much; She happily plays at being my “fetish girl”, wearing bondage attire and having both her clit hood and her lovely, long, pink nipples pierced with heavy 10 gauge rings for my enjoyment. It took eight (very expensive!) laser hair removal appointments, but her pussy is now permanently shaven, and in a weak moment she consented to being tatooed directly above it; She is now neatly and indelibly labeled “SLAVE” to anyone who should be so lucky as to see her in the nude.

The stockings are now in place, their tops falling only half an inch short of Marie’s shaven and pierced sex. Moving only inches upward, my eyes linger, pleased, at the bit of permanent ink that labels her forever as “SLAVE”. I take great delight in occasionally making her blushingly show off her tatoo to others.

I sighed deeply as I picked up the phone and dialed; She would just have to forgive me, and learn to like what the Chastilock devices would make her become. During our twelve years of marriage, she has learned to enjoy spankings, nipple clamps, bondage and the public humiliation of wearing very short skirts, nylons, five-inch-plus high heels and tight little tops that show her nipple rings and the chain that hangs between them. I know she can learn to make do with what I’ve ordered. I hope. The young lady at the Chastilock corporation answers, and I give her the special order reference number as well as that of my credit card.

This won’t be cheap, but what price can you put on perfection?

She sits down on the edge of the bed, smiling at me mischievously. She knows exactly what effect she’s having on me as she reaches for the shoes, and dangles them by their thin little ankle straps. They are classic, black patent perfection itself, atop a pencil thin, six inch stiletto heel. The fit is perfect, snug throughout the toe boxes and heels, the inner sole maintaining firm contact with the length of her high arches.

The four weeks’ wait for the packages were agonizing. Sometimes I would be able to put it out of my mind, but sometimes, usually at night, my mind would race with the possibilities of what was to come. I would not get to sleep until the sun was threatening to begin another day. I was simultaneously anxious and sexually charged. Marie, unaware of the source of my angst, was a little bit worried about me. I couldn’t tell her, or even allow myself to hint around about the items that were coming for her, she’s a very bright woman and I could easily divulge too much.

Marie stands for the first time in her new high heels; “Hmmm!” she says, appreciatively, noting the flawless fit and finish.

Unbidden, she walks back and forth for me, careful to keep her knees straight and her posture perfect as her bottom swings invitingly. “Slut!” I say playfully, “Yes I am, Master.” she responds in her best bedroom voice. Kissing her neck and shoulders, I hold the new corset open for her, and she backs willingly into it. Her long nails interfere, and I have to fasten the stiff busk closures. I marvel at the stiffness and amount of boning; this corset feels nearly rigid! She’s never really cared for extra tight corsetry, so the lacing will bring protests, I’m sure. Not as much as what’s to come later, however!

The boxes from Chastilock finally arrived, and I inspected their contents at length. I was delighted, as each item surpassed my expectations and even my hopes! I suppose, when you’re dealing in lifetime commitment, that this attention to quality and detail has to be the norm, not the exception. I hid the items away in the bedroom, and set about creating a mood. Happily, it was Friday, and we would have the weekend for things to develop.

The four inch gap at the back of Marie’s new corset closes slowly as I work the tension of the laces up down, top to bottom and back. The cut of the heavy, lustrous, black garment is functional and sexy all at once; at it’s top, it lifts and brings together her breasts with quarter cups, offering no coverage for her long, pierced nipples. This tapers with the ribs to the narrow area at the waist, which has a distinct “stovepipe” section, forcing Marie’s middle into a narrow, tubular shape for three inches. Moving down, the corset flares dramatically to cover her hip bones, extending below them some three inches.

Marie was surprised when I announced our dinner plans; “Dress up nice, I’m taking you out! No, you can’t just wear your work clothes, I only go out to dinner with girls who are nicely tarted up, now go change, and don’t even think about wearing panties!” Some grumbling later, she was dressed in a scandalously short, black pleated skirt and a tissue-thin gold lame’ top, through which her erect nipples daggered impertinently. The skirt concealed a leather garter belt with it’s six suspenders attached to a pair of sheer, tan, seamed stockings. My little tart was well up on her toes in a pair of six-inch heeled black patent sandals with tight little ankle straps. Marie grouses and complains about being made to wear these outfits (especially the shoes) out in public, but when I slip an errant finger beneath her skirt, I always find her to be quite exited!

Marie loathed the fact that her stocking tops and suspender tabs were showing, and hated me for taking away the cloth napkin that she was using to cover them. We were seated in the center of the restaurant (at my request to the hostess), and all who passed by were getting a nice show. She continued to pull ineffectually at the hem of her too-short skirt, but to no avail. She was to remain on display, a human centerpiece for the restaurant. We finished a bottle of wine with dinner, and shared coffee and a light dessert. We were both worked up and ready to play when we get home; While I drove, my hand had been busy on her perky nipples and my finger had been slipping and sliding around and in her smooth wet sex, making her squirm and moan in her seat. As always, the humiliation of being a slave slut on display had gotten her very hot!

After a protracted struggle, the corset’s edges finally meet, and I zip the cover flap closed, concealing the laces. Marie is uncomfortable in it’s grip, but she’s trying to be a good sport and keeps her protesting to a minimum. I enjoy that she is reduced to taking small breaths, and that the corsets’ heavy boning is causing her to arch, displaying her breasts and ass like an exotic dancer would. I set to work, attaching the eight black suspender tabs to Marie’s new stocking tops. Their seams have stayed arrow straight.

“Almost done” I say, “lift up your hair.” Marie complies, and I have to use both hands to hold open the hingeless, springy metal collar to encircle her neck. It is an inch and a quarter wide, and it’s shape and contour are an exact, snug fit to Marie’s thin neck.

The collar has no visible locking mechanism, only interlocking tabs and slots on it’s closure. A heavy, one-inch diameter leash ring hangs demurely at it’s front, leaving no question as to the meaning of this collar.

“I’ve bought you a new outfit, slave girl.” “I was wondering what all this attention was about. I hope you didn’t spend our life’s savings!” “Oh, it was quite expensive, but wait till you see the quality. You’ll have all of this forever, I’m sure.” I had arranged most of the Chastilock items on the bed, secreting a few away for later. What I had laid out looked innocuous enough, and mewling in frustration, my horny partner impatiently stripped out of her alluring dinner outfit. She wanted to cut right to the making love part of our evening, not struggle into a new corset, collar, stockings and heels!

I lay her corseted form back down on the bed. “Into your cuffs,” I command, and she eagerly fastens her wrists into the steel handcuffs that are permanently bolted to the head of the bed. I tweak and pull on her nipples, then slip a pair of new, shiny chrome nipple covers onto her teats. They are conically shaped, springy metal devices that I have to hold open to apply, then allow to snap shut behind her nipple rings, holding each nipple painfully stretched. She bites her lip in agonized ecstacy as I tug her nipple rings’ connecting chain. I pat her inner thigh. “Spread. Wider!” I command, and pull her by the ankles down the bed until her arms are pulled taut above her head. Two-inch wide leather ankle cuffs on short chains make quick work of pulling her legs far apart. I undress casually, making her wait. She writhes on the bed, and moans playfully for me to hurry up! Nude, I slip between her stockinged thighs and begin to lick her shaven mons teasingly, slipping a finger into her greedy slit. I patiently work her up to the verge of orgasm, ignoring her pleas for my aching cock, then I stop.

“Nooo! Come back! What’re you doing? Master?!” I smile at her writhing form, and quickly produce the first of the items I had concealed away; It is five inches long, highly polished, chrome in appearance, and it’s shape shows it to be an anal plug. “You know where this goes, don’t you?” I ask teasingly. “Arrgh! Master, please, I’m so close!” “If you want to cum tonight, you’re going to have to beg for this before I’ll continue.” I’m already greasing the chrome device for easy insertion. She has worn anal plugs many times, and, like anal sex, they aren’t her favorite. She’s so heated up tonight though, that she caves and says “Please Master, put it in my ass?” She even manages a somewhat convincing tone. The plug’s not too thick, and it only takes a few moments to work it into her tight bottom. Then I am atop and in her. We thrash and grind, and I can feel myself bumping against the hard plug in her ass through her inner wall.

She climaxes very quickly, and then again within moments. As for myself, I have to think of unpleasant things to keep from letting go too quickly. I manage to hold out until she cums, shaking and thrashing her head back and forth, for a third time. I can’t hold back any longer, and as she climaxes, so do I. It’s all I can do to keep my resolve, as my desire ebbs. She looks perplexed that I haven’t began to release her from the bed to clean herself up as I normally would. Instead, I bring out the last item that I had held back. Like the anal plug, it has a brilliant chrome finish but is slightly larger. It’s destination is obvious to Marie, who protests “No, please, I’m worn out. I’ll try it next time okay? And will you take these stretchers off my nipples? They’re pretty severe.” “Nope,” I reply, “I want to see you in the whole package. Make this slippery for me.” I hold it to her mouth, and she makes a face, but obediently, she sticks out her tongue. I make her lick and slurp at the chrome phallus for a good minute, then I gently work it well up into her used, oozing pussy.

At that moment, I produced the last item: The remote control. Marie looked at it, baffled by it’s meaning. “I love you,” I said, and pushed the small, green “start” button. Marie drew a sharp gasp, “Hey! Oww! That stings! Honey? What did you do?!” I sat next to her spread-eagled form and said “I bought you some lingerie and heels that’ll never wear out. Try to relax. I bet you feel kind of sleepy, don’t you?” “What are you talking about?” Her voice was frantic but slurred, and I could hear the sleep in it as the powerful tranquilizers released by the nanites took swift effect. Ten seconds later, she was sound asleep, so I unlocked her wrists and ankles and arranged her on her side of the bed.

Marie slept for a full twenty hours, while the nanites worked tirelessly. As she slept, the anal and vaginal plugs swelled and anchored themselves permanently in their hot, dark holes. The joint at the back of the formed metal collar seemed to melt together and disappear, and the collar itself tightened slightly becoming one with Marie’s pretty throat. Likewise, the corset has joined itself permanently to Marie’s body; The cover flap and the laces under it are long gone, absorbed by the nanites, leaving no hint of a seam in the material. Inside her body, the microscopic machines have been hard at work reshaping and redistributing Marie’s torso.

The corset has drawn severely inward, it’s three-inch long “pipestem” well on it’s way to the eighteen inch diameter I have specified. The eight black garters now lay welded to the white skin of Marie’s hips and upper thighs, where they are forever attached to her now-permanent, classic seamed stockings, with their “Cuban” styled heels. Pedicures are a thing of the past, now that the glossy, black patent, six-inch heeled stilettos with their sexy little ankle straps are now utterly irremovable.

Marie awoke, totally rested, thirsty and ravenous, late Saturday afternoon. “About time you got up, you sleep-farmer!” I chided. I had been sitting, reading next to her for many hours, waiting. She blinked sleepily, and started to sit up and roll off the bed. “I had the weirdest dream- Ohmigawd!” She stared down at her breasts, which had grown out to a nice, projecting, double “F”cup size.

The now-permanent, chrome nipple stretchers were doing yeoman’s duty, holding Marie’s formerly pink, now dark red teats extended a full inch and a half out from the firm white melons of her breasts. She touched the right nipple, gingerly. Her nipples ached (they would from now on) but touching them was pure pleasure, akin to stroking her throbbing sex. She jerked her hand away, startled, then gently put it back. Her other hand quickly found her left breast, and she whimpered with the intensity of the pleasure. She stared at me, panting, gently touching her nipples, then without a word made a stumbling, stiletto-heeled dash to the bathroom.

I was ready with the remote control, and as Marie plopped down on the toilet, I pressed the button to allow her clit cover to slide back, allowing her to pee unobstructed. The clit cover was equipped with thin slits to allow urination, but I wanted to try to ease her into her situation. As soon as she’d peed and wiped, Marie was on up on her high-heeled feet, making odd noises at the bathroom mirror. Not accepting what she saw there, she dashed to the full-length bedroom mirror, where she stood speechless. I took the opportunity to jump in with some explanations: “First of all, don’t freak out. It won’t do either of us any good. Your tits really are that big now, permanently.” I could make them continue to grow if I wished, but I didn’t think that now was the time to complicate things with that bit of information. I continued: “Your waist is at about twenty inches around now, and it’s still reducing. It’ll stop at eighteen inches, and that’s where it’ll always stay, no matter what you eat or whether or not you exercise.” Marie had been looking like she might either faint or take a swing at me, but this news raised an eyebrow. “That’s right, no more watching what you eat, have all the ice cream and cheesecake you can stand. Your metabolism is now artificially controlled, but I’ll get back to that.” “I don’t want this. I want all this stuff off of me and out of me, now!” Marie demanded. In a fit of temper, she tried to pull first the vaginal, then the anal plug out, to no avail. Her voice, normally low for a woman, grew high and shrill, “Dammit, this isn’t funny!, get this stuff off of me!” She stomped her pretty foot for emphasis. “I can’t,” I said. It’s all physically bonded to your body. It’s utterly permanent, even the manufacturer can’t get it off you.” “So how are we supposed to have sex, and how do I go to the bathroom?!” She gestured angrily at graceful chrome plate that covered her pussy. “The plugs are two piece, a permanent outer sleeve and a removable inner plug. I simply punch a code into this remote control, and the inner plug, front or rear, comes out so that we can make love. As far as going to the bathroom goes, again, your body has had some radical changes.” “What, I don’t poop anymore?” Marie asked sarcastically. I smiled. “Actually, no, you don’t. Your body is chock-full of tiny machines that are constantly cleaning and reprocessing waste matter into usable material for your body. Anything extra gets mixed in with your urine, so be sure to drink lots of water from now on.” Marie digested this for a few seconds, then her face clouded over again.

“Look,” she said angrily, “I don’t care how f-ing wonderful all this stuff is, I still want it all off! You had no right to do this to me! I suppose these are permanent too?” she gestured at her shiny black stiletto pumps and nylons, and I nodded. “Goddamn it! I can’t go out like this, I and I sure can’t go to work! You better figure out how to get me back to normal-” I was holding the remote control, in a meaningful way, with a small smile curling the corners of my mouth. “Wait,” she said frantically, knowing what my look meant, “What are you going to do? Aaahhhhh! Ohhhh god, stop-stop-stop Oh-Ohhh, Mmmmm, Yes! Oooo!” I had pushed the “pleasure, level 4 (on a scale of 10!) button, and we were both enjoying the reaction. My feisty slave-slut’s clit cover was back in place, and her nipple stretchers were activated as well as the front and rear plugs inside her. Additionally, the nanites had attached themselves to the pain and pleasure centers of Marie’s brain, and she was not only aroused, she was suffused with feelings of joy, love, desire and a sense of well-being. The logical, thinking areas of her brain were unaffected, and they fought like hell to make sense of the irrational but wonderful feelings that coursed through her. She fell onto the bed, hips thrusting, trying to touch her inaccessible clit and pulling at the exposed tips of her nipples. After the third powerful orgasm in as many minutes, she began to beg.

Oh-okay, please-ahhh! Please, stop! I- ahhh! I’ll be reasonable-oooo! I pressed the “quit function” button, and she collapsed, flat on her back, sweating profusely. “It’s not without it’s certain appeals, is it?” I teased. “I- (pant) didn’t know it could do that!” “That, my precious little sex object, was only a low setting on the pleasure side.” “There’s a pain side?” “Yes, a “punishment” side, and, I can combine the two as well.” Marie groaned. “Now, get your sweaty little slut self up out of that bed and make us some dinner while I give you the whole show-and-tell of your new fashion statement”.

While she prepared the evening’s meal, I sat at the kitchen counter. “It takes about an hour for the nanites to complete, but I can make change any part of your outfit any color I want; Leopard print heels, white corset, tan stockings, anything. That way, we can change you around for work and appearances with friends and family. “Can you make the heels lower, or my boobs get smaller?” “No, and I already told you that about your tits. I can make your shoes change, all the way up to a ballet-toe, and back down again, but they won’t go any lower than the six inches high that they are now. One of their neat tricks is that they can combine with your stockings to become skin-tight boots, from ankle high all the way up to thigh high. I was fiddling with the buttons while I told her this; Pleasure, level 1, “Hmmm? Ooo, nice! ” Nipple punishment, level 2, “Ow! Hey!” and an hour later, she was complaining about how hard the ballet-toe, thigh high boots were to walk in, and why wouldn’t I let her sit down? She did confess that she liked the hot pink color that the corset and boots had become.

We had dinner, wine, and wondrous sex that night. I enjoyed her mouth, cunt and anus, in that order, and for the first time she truly enjoyed the anal sex. She was uncomfortable with the fact that her lower openings now stayed open after I had enjoyed them, waiting to receive the inner parts of the permanent plugs. Unlike standard Chastilock designs which eliminate all feeling for the wearer during sex, Marie’s Chastilocks were specifically designed to heighten the stimulus, and would keep her uncomfortably aroused at all other times. My sweet Marie was now a nymphomaniac fetish object, unable to reach orgasm by herself or with anyone but me. I gave her a long, stern warning, as well as a short demonstration about why slave girls shouldn’t attempt to touch the remote control; It first causes a sharp warning jolt of pain in her nipples, anus and cunt, and if she were to persist in her foolishness, a three-minute long program of protracted agony, complete with waves of nausea, takes place. Losing a remote isn’t a real worry either; The Chasti-Permalock corporation sent me three of them, and I can always order more.

Morning came, and with it much more griping and even a few rare tears about how she didn’t look “professional” in a metal collar, six inch heels, and sporting new, huge, gravity-defying breasts with enormously erect, obviously ringed, nipples. She also complained about how she couldn’t concentrate or even walk without an obscene hip swing, due to the corset and the thick, permanent plugs in her tight cunt and ass. As an aside, Marie now found herself constantly touching her nipples; It was additively pleasurable to do so, and they throbbed with a permanent, low-level ache whenever her hands strayed away.

She dressed for work (a white-collar office professional) in one of the few items of her wardrobe that still fit, a tan, just-above-theknee, long sleeve knit dress. Over her previous b-cupped shape it had been flattering, but nothing remarkable. Over her 40″-18″- 36″ figure with the double “F” cup breasts, it was breathtaking. I tinkered with the remote control, and made her six-inch high stilettos match the color of the stretchy tan dress. Despite her objections, I left her seamed hose black. I like black.

This is either the whole story of Marie and I, or merely part one; More depends on how well it’s received by the Sweet Chastity readership, and upon the ideas they might send me regarding situations and additional devices my poor, sweet, sexy Marie might experience.

-Scott