Trisha – Finding My Way Chapter 7: Epilogue

by Pat Kole

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© Copyright 2008 - Pat Kole - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f; D/s; bond; chastity; electroplay; corset; training; bodymod; toys; cons; X

(story continues from )

Disclaimer: Thanks to Feline and JD, without whose help the story would not have come out as smoothly as you see it.
All websites referenced in the story are imaginary URLs based on real websites.

Chapter 7: Epilogue

The business card dropped in my armbinder pocket was from Gail Hernandez, an electronics consultant. I’m happy to say we’ve been together for about a year now.

Moving out from Dave’s was an interesting experience. When it was time for a goodbye, Linda gave me a loving hug. Dave looked at Linda. “Handshake?” He asked. Only after she agreed did he shake my hand. It remains the only time he ever touched me.

From the very beginning, there was no doubt that Gail was in control. We are a cauldron of Mistress-Slave, Mentor-student and lovers at the same time. The first lifestyle change was for me to be fitted for a chastity belt. I didn’t understand why, as I don’t want to have sex with anyone else, and I’m not a habitual masturbator. Gail explained that it’s all about control and commitment. I complied.

Having to ask someone to ask someone to lock away your genitalia is a quite humbling experience. Standing naked as my crotch area was measured made me fully understand my place.

Finally the belt arrived. We each examined the gleaming stainless steel panties. A coating of black rubber on the inside would add somewhat to the comfort, but they surely would not bend like cotton. Gail attached a box to the waistband in back, and then Gail went about the business of putting it on me. She wrapped the waistband around me, and hooked the sides together with a post. It fit snug around my waist.

I spread my legs for the crotch piece. Gail eased a thin metal probe up my butt. It was connected to a cable that ran from the back of the belt down between my butt-cheeks, widening out into a panel that covered the lips of my sex with a perforated panel. This plate attached up to the post connecting the waist together, and it was all locked in place.

Gail explained, “I’ve told you this belt is about control. The box that I added is a melding of the technologies of a GPS unit and the zapper from a dog collar. I can thus know where you are, and if you are mis-behaving, you will be given a corrective zap. We each know it’s for your own good.

“I know you are an alcoholic, and I think that this is an appropriate time to remedy that situation. I have copied the locations of bars and liquor stores into this system, so if you enter them, you will be given a shock as a reminder that I don’t approve. If you remain, the shocks will of course continue. The GPS isn’t accurate to the inch, so I don’t suggest going within arm’s reach of the wall of one of these places. I know that together, we can make you into a better woman.”

I’ve been locked in the belt almost all the time since then. Gail also has a remote with variable settings for “training and instructive purposes”. If I start forgetting to call people “Sir” or “Madam”, I may be reminded to be more polite. It has given her the ability to make the most polite requests, but with the implied edge of “or else” to ensure I will graciously accede.

We have found that the power settings on the belt can be quite low and still give the same instructive push. The surprise and inescapability of the equivalent of rubbing my feet on the carpet and touching a metal object tells me to change my ways to what Gail wants or I will get more forceful instruction. With such a silently persuasive argument, I quickly change my ways. While at the time I wasn’t fully convinced that the corrective zap of the belt was for my own good, I have since found that it is true. I have dried out, and I’m far more polite than I had been. Even people I meet tend to view me more positively than before I met Gail.

Gail says the key is kept in a decorative lantern over the guest bed. It’s attached to some kind of a transceiver. Gail says the default setting is to zap me badly if it comes within six feet of the belt. I’m always careful not to stray too close while vacuuming in there.

I don’t want to make it sound like Gail is a cruel woman, for she is not. The corrective measures are always for instruction, never for her enjoyment. At times, she has locked a remote controlled butterfly vibrator with me inside the belt. She drives me absolutely crazy with lust. I’ve clawed at the belt, tugged, and tried to squirm my fingers under it in the throes of passion. I’ve pushed, rubbed and thrust my crotch against the kitchen counter, hoping to achieve orgasm. Gail always remains in control. When she decides that I’ve earned an orgasm, I can finally explode into a hormonal crescendo.

There are also wonderful times between us – walks on the beach, dinner at local restaurants, mind-blowing orgasms, and treasured cuddles afterwards. She has introduced me to all of her friends, who have become my friends as well. I’m finally accepted as part of a group who understands it’s OK to love another woman.

One night with the vibrator, Gail put earplugs in my ears, headphones on over that, blindfolded me, and warned me not to touch them as the vibrations started. Your mind plays tricks on you in times like that. Did I hear something? Or is that hint of a muffled sound only in my head?

That faded into the distance as the vibrations slowly started, ramping me up for a fun night of love making before suddenly stopping, leaving me shaking and thrusting in mid-air, pleading to be allowed sexual release. After being brought to be brink three times, Gail finally removed the blindfold. Her friends Linda and Sue were on the couch smiling at me, playing with the remote control. I was a sea of conflicting emotions - shock of seeing them mixed with shame of my wanton behavior, sexual excitement crashed into confusion. It became clearer when the vibrations ramped way up, and Gail sweetly said “Orgasm dear.” My body started shaking as the orgasm crashed over me, sending me sprawling to the floor and spreading out through every limb. The world outside ceased to exist as the three women enjoyed the show.

Since then, all of our close friends know about my belt, but are discrete enough not to blurt it out in the wrong situations. Some have seen it. A few are even considering getting one of their own. Different people, having different styles, and it’s all good.

A few months later, Gail decided that I should “feminize” and wear high heels. As she worked and I was still between jobs, we discussed how to prevent “cheating” when she wasn’t home. Wearing flat shoes all day for 5 days per week just wouldn’t do. We considered locking on the shoes, or figuring out a way to tie wearing heels into the belt. In the end, we agreed it would be best if they became medically required – if I couldn’t stand with my feet flat, then I would be sure to put on heels to walk around.

We started by convincing one of our friends to put a plexiglass cast on each of my feet, holding them in an on-pointe position. These bright pink casts stayed on for 3 months, stretching some muscles, and atrophying others into a shorter length. We told neighbors and family that I was recovering after some hamstring surgery. They generally nodded as if they understood. The questions they asked were more about my well-being than my “condition”, so I could honestly tell even the most vanilla folks about what was going on. Due to the “rigid socks”, I couldn’t stand, walk or even use crutches. Gail was loving, pushing my wheelchair around getting things that I couldn’t reach. When she looked at the casts, she smiled. She knew what I was going through, and knew I was doing it for her. Her smile made all of the hardship worthwhile.

By the time casts finally came off, Gail had gotten rid of all my shoes under 4”. I would have to re-learn how to walk, and it would be done in heels. Gail patiently gave me pointers on technique as I re-gained my strength and endurance.

I now wear trainers at night to keep my feet on-pointe. They are a pair of rigid padded metal strips that follow the sides of my leg from shin to instep. One padded strap connects the two over my shin. Another padded strap connects them over the top of my extended foot. These are permanently attached to the metal framing strips. There is also a heel cup made from sneakers I previously wore to pull my heel in-line. This is the strap I use to put on and remove the trainers. Gail locks it in place as she feels necessary, almost always removing them in the morning. A few mornings she has left them on. As I can’t come close to walking in them, she gave me kneepads and I spent the day crawling around the house. Not being able to stand reminds me who is in charge in the relationship, and has me treasure the small things in life, like walking.

Gail’s training has made me more like her. I am now more confident when dealing with people. I teach ballroom dancing one night per week, and I have a part-time job as a receptionist at an orthodontic practice.

One morning Gail unlocked the crotch piece of the belt. Under her direction, I gave myself an enema. She then slowly slid a butt-plug into by rear. I know the plug claims to be a “medium”, but as it is going in, feeling larger and larger, I thought that “telephone pole” was a more appropriate name. It felt so huge in there! Gail locked the belt on over it, and explained why.

“I know your desk at work is a mess. This looks bad on both of us. The plug will stay in until your desk is cleaner. Otherwise I may have to tell your boss about your belt, maybe give him a copy of the remote control. The plug will also teach you to sit more lady-like instead of plopping down like you do.” I didn’t ask how she knew about my desk. I figure a client’s parent or a co-worker tipped her off, and I had no idea who.

I got to work, and it was a clear priority through the day to clean that desk. I never realized how much of my day was up and down. Stand, file the client’s records, and sit down on the plug. Stand, pull a record, put it outside of the room for their visit, and return to sit down on the plug.
By the end of the day my desk gleamed so much I think open heart surgery could have been done there. I sent a picture to Gail just to be sure she knew. I was also sitting in a much tightly controlled manner, paying attention to how I did so.

One morning, Gail announced that she was going to instruct me in proper posture. I wasn’t aware this was something that could be taught, and was quite interested in what she would say. The first thing she did was to show me a brand new corset she purchased for me. It was a beautiful green and black brocade design split by a considerable number of stay supports. It would cover me from just above my hips to over my bust with straps over the shoulders. After putting on an undershirt, she laced it on me. I loved the feel, it was like a constant hug that nipped in my waist like no diet ever could. It also made sure I had good posture, my spine was now quite rigid. I walked around a bit, and got used to the feel. After about half an hour, Gail snugged it up some, and the constrained feeling returned.

Gail told me to rest my chin on the top of a cabinet. As I stood there, chin proudly propped up, Gail set about french braiding my hair. I love the feel of her hands peeling my tresses up from my scalp, and carefully weaving them. I smiled and relaxed. With my chin propped up and corset supporting my torso, I found that I didn’t slump like I normally would. As the braid reached the corset laces, I felt Gail weaving the braid through the laces until it finally terminated about halfway down the corset.

When she announced she was done, I stepped back from the cabinet. I found that I couldn’t turn my head significantly, and lowering it was stopped by my own hair. I could look up without a problem, but other than that, my back would be straight, and my chin constrained to be held as proudly as Gail normally walked for the day. I dressed as normal over the corset so nobody else would be any the wiser of my instructional garment.

That day was quite tough to re-learn everything from how to sit to how to eat. To see Gail’s smiling face made it all worthwhile. The next morning, I got up, and I realized that I was not standing as straight as I was the day before. I asked Gail to lace me back in, and re-braid my hair to hold me the way that she wanted. She gave me a loving smile, happy to see her student so interested in learning, and laced me back in. Gail got up early every morning for a week to lace me in and lovingly braid my hair into the corset before work.

While grocery shopping, or on days that I worked, I noticed that others responded to my confidence, poise and grace with the same respect that I once viewed in Gail with awe. Now that I generally hold that posture without thought, we are now in “maintenance mode” of my being laced every Saturday.

I am the Ying to Gail’s Yang, there can be no mentor without an apprentice, no Mistress without a slave, no teacher without a student. The equal inequality works well for us. I am so thankful that Gail has seen fit to recreate me in her own image. We are now engaged to be married, something we can thankfully do in California. Dave gave us the rubber leotard I’ve worn as a bridal gift. Gail has insisted that she will handle all details about the wedding dresses and bridesmaids outfits. I’m sure my gown will be a formidable structured garment, not to be messed with. I look forward to whatever constraints it imposes, and to whatever else Gail chooses to teach me. I trust her, I love her, and I finally feel welcome and home.

The End

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