John watched as she became conscious. Feeling out her bondage. Recognizing that she was not home in her bed. The hands finding themselves manacled to a chain that fed through loops at her back and side. The belt locked on. The large ring at the middle of the chain making it impossible to slide her hands no more than a few inches at her side. A quick pull of the loop and her hands would be pulled to her side and made useless.
The corset tightly encircling her waist pushing up and barely covering her breasts. The wide stiff collar that was locked on. The small boxes at the front sides and back of the collar. The head harness that was locked on framing her face and head. Her blond hair pulled into a pony tail with a ring woven into it at is end. The ball gag hanging from the harness. Ready to be clipped in should the need arise.
The realization that a chastity belt with inserts was also about her waist. Intruding into her vagina and anus.
Her legs held apart by a spreader bar with three d-rings evenly spaced. Clipped to cuffs at each ankle those cuffs where locked on. Her feet in a very high heel shoe also locked on. A ballet boot that stopped at mid thigh. Its lacing replaced with steel cable and clamped together by a cable stay.
Her eyes. Nice blue eyes. Surveying the room. At twenty by twenty foot room with a steel door behind him and alcove where a toilet was to his right and wall safe to his left. Attaching points for chain and rope at the walls, ceiling, and floor recessed. Lights recessed into the walls and ceiling. A track recessed into the ceiling going in a circle with a chain leash dangling from it.
Her eyes saw him.
“Monique?” He asked.
“No. I am Monica. What going on? Let me go!” Trying to sit up but the spreader bar and lack of the use of her hands and arms made that impossible. Well at least she was not screaming. That was a good thing.
“I can't.” John showed the very same collar that she wore. “Only you can do that.”
“What. Wait. You're fucking with me. I can't even stand up. You did this.”
“No you did.”
“How did I do this? I have a job interview.”
“I do not know how much time we have. Let me tell you what Monique told me. I have to make you into her. I have to break you or we both die.”
“What the fuck are you saying?”
“I am John. That is all I was told to tell you. Listen. Please. Have you been having trouble sleeping? Getting or finding things moved about or any usual purchases.”
“Yes. How did you know?” answered Monica. “ I found some boxes hidden away. And money has been disappearing from my checking account. I changed my atm code a dozen times and the money still keeps going missing. My mail was just forwarded to some Post office box.”
John kneeled down and pushed her up into a sitting position. She did not struggle and her curiosity was evident on her face.
“Okay. That make sense. I hate to tell you this but you have a split personality. You see I met Monique about three month ago. We saw each other on and off. I am pre med. She was really into all the medical stuff and asked some odd questions like having multiple personalities. She or rather you was smoking hot. She was a bit kinky in bed. She never said much about her life but she was a wild cat. We always went to my place. Never yours. She said she had a roommate named Monica.”
“But I do not have a roommate.”
“Yeah. I see that ...Now.”
She squirmed a bit not liking the cold floor on her bare bottom. “So how am I supposed to free us.”
John pointed at the safe. “She knocked me out and some dragged my ass into here. Put this collar on me and waited for me to come to.”
“She told me her ‘roommate’ was another personality. She wanted to be the dominant one. She wanted to break you, make you into her. She knows about you but I guess you do not know about her. I wake up to see you lying on the ground like you are. She had taken some pill as I was waking up. She did not have much time to explain before the pill knocked her out.”
“What she told me is that these collars have a tracking system and small charge. If you leave this room. Or I get more than sixty feet from you. The charge goes off. It will blow a hole in our neck. The keys are in that safe. Only Monique knows the combination. If we try and force it. Or do the wrong combination. The acid caps inside will destroy the keys.”
“That door behind me is my room. It is smaller than yours. There is another door. Bigger and heavier that this one. It needs three keys needed to open it.”
“But I am not her. You and I are screwed.”
John sighed. “It gets worse. Monique left us thirty days of food and water. I don’t have a watch or clock. No cell phone. She even took my belt and shoes. All I've got is this t-shirt, some flip flops she left me and pants. I am to follow a list of things I am do to you and when. Some timed alarm goes off.”
“I am sorry. John. But I do not remember anything you are telling me.”
“You have too. I wrote my phone number on a napkin. The bar we met was called the Luv Shack. Do you remember?”
“Yes. But I threw it away. I did not know how it got in my purse. The number was illegible.”
“You have to be Monique. I am to call you that every time now. You have to be her or we die.”
A bell sounded.
“I am sorry. But I have to gag you now. You sleep if you can.”
“No. Please. I Mmmmfph...”
John buckled on the gag securing it tightly. She moaned and cried. Her eyes pleading with him. He cupped her chin. “It has to be this way. Unless you can think of a way out. We are going to die. My life is in your hands.”
He left her. Sliding the steel door closed and a heavy latch fell into place.
John sat down as the old bed creaked. On his nightstand was his list. So far so good.
His client would be pleased with his choice. He fiddled with the collar but knew from experience to just leave it alone. Would Monique/Monica relent. He hoped so.
For over four months he had been setting her up. She was ‘aware’ of the last three. The first month was locating and find one her client wanted. Blue eyes blonde hair about five-five to five ten.
Once the client approved the target a down payment was made. Never underage. He did have standards.
Once a down payment was made he began to put things in motion. Study her. Know her routine. Then slowly worm his way into her life. But not so she would know.
White slavery was a lucrative business and he excelled at personality conversions. Making the slave wanting to be a slave. It was time consuming but brilliant. Drug and beatings only got you so far. But if the slave has to be a slave if it is the only way to save her life. That opened doors to the mind for all sorts of possible ways.
He would data mine her phone. Bug the apartment. Leave subtle clues that someone else was there. Strange boxes of clothes squirreled away in remote location in the apartment. Money taken in cash to pay for such items. He would also drug the water supply and her food. Making sleep hard to come by. Little things that did not add up. Put doubt in her mind.
Then when the ‘event’ took place. Monica would be confronted with her here to an unknown double identity. She would have to conform to that identity. The added bonus was not only endangering her life but a complete kind and loving stranger she would have to rely on.
That stranger would be him. He would give her clues on how to perform and act. He would be more or less a prisoner as she was. He had to pay close attention to every detail. Not shave. Not shower. Oh a bottle water ‘sponge’ bath for her and him. She could fall in love with him. But that was something he could deal with.
Her life would be routine. So would his.
One hour of activity followed by two hours rest. Fed and watered twice per day. If they went on the idea that each feeding was three times per day. They would be wrong. So day thirty was actually much longer.
Their food and water had mild drugs. Ranging from antibiotics to estrogen.
Vibratory motors implanted in the belt and corset to bring her to edge of ecstasy.
The only thing he could do to her was remove the spreader bar and attach a hobble chain. He would pull the loop up on her wrist chain and attach it to her braided hair with a double snap hook. She must never see anything to give her hope.
Activities would be walking around with the overhead motor. Spanking. With increasing number of strikes each day. She had to say Monique at each blow. Or another was added.
The ballet boots would tire her. Weaken her while she was on her electric track. Only able to walk as in short step restricted by the hobble chain. Some never question the depth or how their alter egos managed to set this up. This torture cell.
Or just standing with the spreader bar, neck and head held by the overhead leash. Constant agony. Or bound in a hog tie. Anything to cause discomfort. John needed to break her down.
The things he could do where limited but had been enough. The chastity belt ensured that any satisfaction would not come from him. But the vibrators with in would tease and torture.
Hands could not slip the manacle. A leather and rubber gasket with along with a touch of surgical glue ensured that.
The first week was always the hardest. For both him and her. She could try to bang her head and do injury. But none where that suicidal. The day to day survival consumed them. Then slowly giving in to the crafted persona they thought they where.
Pain and pleasure where their constant friend. And then there would be John. Giving support and hints. Telling them or suggesting how their alter ego acted and behaved. They would want to be that person. The other self. For they believed that their freedom was some one else.
But as the days rolled by. Freedom did not matter. The mind so focused on what they became. Consumed by it. The old persona eroded away.
Soon they wanted to be what ever you wanted them to be. Some time ago. A number of WW II prisoner actually spoke for and defended their abusive guards. The Helsinki or Stockholm syndrome. Tell a person they are a dog every day and every hour. Sooner or later they might believe it. Monica was the source of the pain. Monica was keeping her in bondage. Monica needed Monique. Monique felt only pleasure. Monica was pain. Monique was freedom.
Once Monique was fully integrated and became the woman of any mans dreams. She was taken away. John was a forgotten memory. The new persona was slowly shown a photo of her new master and their master would free the new persona. Their new master was one they would adore and obey. Their mind was a sponge. John was a tool. A door way. Once they stepped through. There was no turning back.
Four month later
“What the hell is going on. Let me go. Who the hell is this Jasmine. I am Jamie.”
“Why the fuck not dickwad.”
“Because only you know the combination.”
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