Desired Deep Slavery

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The First Steps

The next week Alexandra had a detailed set of my measurements taken by a local seamstress, and these, I assume, were forwarded to her contacts to have the various articles of my new clothing as well as the other equipment created. I was also taken to her doctor for a complete physical, then to her dentist and oral surgeon, where my dental work was brought completely up to date as well as having full impressions made of my mouth and teeth. Of course, I didn’t question any of these procedures, being confident in the reasons for them, or so I thought at the time. She also arranged appointments for me at the local aesthetics salon, and three times a week for the month that followed, she drove me there and waited while they did their work. My hair was permanently removed by means of the newest laser technique, and all of it came off: legs, pubic area, armpits, and body hair. After each session, I felt that I had been changed more and more into her possession, for the evidence of my vulnerability was reinforced by my growing lack of hair. On my fifth visit, they began removing the hair from my head in a graduated process Alexandra had specified; beginning at the nape of my neck, and eradicating it in 5 cm wide swathes, progressing forward from the nape of my neck, over the skull with each ensuing visit. After the fourth appointment for this portion of hair removal, Alexandra took me to a wig shop and had me fitted with a human hair wig. It was the only hair I’d ever have from then on, but would not be worn once we’d moved to the new house.

The last hair to be removed from my head was the band remaining at the front of my skull, and all of my eyebrows and eyelashes. That day was to be a long one and so she delivered me to the salon at 10:00, then ran other errands for the remainder, while I suffered the misery and depersonalization of becoming utterly bald. When she picked me up that evening my face looked almost sexless and my head and face hurt with a dull, burning itch. My eyes were still swollen, red from the tears of having the hair lasered, then plucked from my flesh, and when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror after they were done, I discovered that I looked even younger than my 19 years with it removed. The salon gave me some soothing ointments after each session, but it was more than the innocuous treatment it seemed. The cream contained a hormonal component that acted to kill the roots of the hair also, although I was never told about that.

Two days later, again early in the morning, Alexandra took me to yet another local salon and there I was first pierced then fitted with nearly the full complement of my new body jewellery; although there were still a considerable number of pieces yet to be locked into my flesh, as I found to my dismay much later.

It too was a long, stressful, and painful process, taking most of the day to complete, and again she picked me up at the shop at 5:00 in the afternoon. I could barely walk, so intense were the sensations from the new metal fastened between my legs. Even though no one could see what had been fastened into my body under my skirt, all of it was embarrassing and humiliating, and I waited as long as I dared before leaving the shop’s doorway to dart across the wide sidewalk to her van.

I emerged from the salon with my head bent and gloved right hand held over my lower face while I scurried quickly to the vehicle and climbed in. Still looking down, I pulled the seat belt around myself and locked it, then spent a moment brushing the long, snug leather skirt down over my knees and tightly-booted legs. She had insisted that when in public I wear only laced up, platform-soled thigh boots, complete with a 10 cm heel, these acting to both enhance my sensation of restriction and inhibit any rapid movement. When I at last raised my head, tears of embarrassment and humiliation still trickled down my cheeks and the reason for most of these was the heavy, steel U shackle hanging from out of my nostrils onto my upper lip and its attendant 50 cm light and gleaming chain. As well my nose bore two small rings at the ends of the shaft that fully transfixed my nose. The arrangement was a permanent one, and I knew just from the amount of time and the complexity of it being fastened: to say nothing of the pain I’d suffered while it was affixed in my flesh. The piercer had had some considerable difficulty mounting this particular piece in my nose, for the cross-piercing was high up and had been made through the cartilage, rather than the fleshy part of my septum. The worst thing about this piece though, was the 50 cm long, thin but strong chain that swung from the shackle, its last link welded closed around it. I sat with head bent, shivering and staring down along the length of chain until she wordlessly reached over and grasped the dangling links gently, then tugged. I couldn’t stop my wail of misery and humiliation and my hands rose automatically to try and remove hers from the awful tether.

“Aarrrhhhh! Please!”

“Put your hands in your lap, Julia!” she snapped. “You are forbidden to touch this chain, or to try to remove it! You will address me as ‘Mistress’ from now on!”

My hands dropped to my leather-covered lap and I kept my head bent, staring at the potent, fine, yet sturdy tether that could so easily be used to control me. A few seconds later she released it to swing freely from my nose, tugging weightily with every movement of my head. I sat quietly, still sniffling with humiliation.

Upon signing the Ownership Document, Alexandra required from that point on that I always dress in distinctly feminine attire, insisting on either skirts or dresses. To ensure that I did, one night she took all of my slacks and pants and burned them in the fire place while I watched. She also ordered that I was to henceforward wear heels of some sort, and although initially reluctant, I had no choice in the matter. My pre-slavery, regular undergarments were also destroyed in the hungry flames, then, the day following, she had taken me to a local lingerie shop to be completely refitted in garments she deemed more appropriate to my new station in life. I’d never worn a firmly-controlling, under-wired bra to this point for it was a garment style and design I’d shunned with distaste, despite being well endowed. Actually I really didn’t need to wear a bra at all, having all the resilience and beauty of my youth, however, she told me that I was being prepared for the control I would soon find myself under. The strict, almost clinical foundation garments she’d selected for me were anything but sexy or attractive. She’d also demanded that I wear compressing, support type stockings all of the time: not pantyhose, and these were to be held up by means of ‘institutional’ appearing garter belts, as compared to the frilly and lacy ones I’d first selected. In addition, covering the garter belt, she insisted I wear a very tight, long-legged panty girdle with the stockings gartered to it also! Needless to say, I was unhappy with the ensemble and the constant, oppressive control it exerted on my body, but despite my moaning about having to wear the whole enveloping, controlling harness, her requirements and commands could not be ignored. The confining foundation garments were, in effect, only very mild training for what was to come.

That evening after my extended appointment at the piercing salon, I now wore just as permanent and substantial shackles under my inner clothing as the one embedded in my nose! All were set deeply into my flesh, and had been actually been welded closed! That part of the process had been the most frightening to me in a couple of ways and I’d almost bolted then and there. The electrode had been attached to the first piece, then the technician had fitted me with a blindfold and cautioned that I was not to look at the point where the weld was to be made. I heard the machine’s hum suddenly deepen, then had come a sizzling crackling that seemed to go on forever, but in reality lasted for perhaps two seconds. My nose shackle grew very warm for a moment, then the noise died away almost instantly. I was told to remain still and it happened again on the other side. The remainder of my ‘jewellery’ was similarly dealt with: very quickly and efficiently, then a much longer time was spent grinding and polishing the welds to a mirror finish. The second reason for my terror was the realization that indeed the equipment now fitted to me had become absolutely irremovable.

My new adornments consisted of thick, dull finished, stainless steel U-shackles, deeply inset into the bases of the n*****s, seven in each of my labia, one through my c******s and one in each of my ear lobes. All were very plain with no decorative presence at all, for they had a purpose other than adornment, as I knew from the detailed descriptions she’d written in the Contract.

Occasionally, I shifted position on the seat, whimpering quietly while trying to accommodate myself to the cruel steel devices that had been affixed in my crotch. Oh God, they were incredible and awful! Every time I tensed the muscles of my lower belly against the constriction of the girdle, I felt their uncomfortable and disconcerting tug and pull. Alexandra didn’t interrupt my tumultuous thoughts, but just drove sedately home, quietly humming with happiness. The thing between my legs was the most trying article I had to bear. It consisted of a wide, thick, steel ‘donut’ mounted on and into my body by the seven piercings through each of my outer labia. Alexandra had informed me that this device had been locked into my flesh to constantly remind me of my vulnerability, my status of being owned, and of my very femininity. Once it had been fitted, it kept my vaginal opening dilated embarrassingly, even though hidden and contained under the tight panty girdle.

The ‘donut’ was a sandwich of two smooth steel ovals: my flesh being the filling between the inner and outer layers and held in place, both inside the vaginal lips and outside them by means of the aforementioned thick pins passing through each labia. These rose from the outward facing, flattened surface of the inner ‘donut’ piece within my v****a, through the holes punched in the flesh, then slipped into matching receiver holes on the flat, inner surface of the exterior part of the sandwich. Once placed, the metal ovals had been pressed together until separated by only four mm, compressing my flesh uncomfortably; this to the point that sensitizing blood kept them in a state of constant swollen, sensitive arousal. The notched ends of the pins had locked themselves into the undersized holes and become virtually non-removable, thus keeping my compressed and inflamed flesh secured. She’d had this particular piece created the week before, then delivered to the salon yesterday, and for the moment I wore it with only a temporary cap locked into the six cm diameter, central, circular aperture.

After her demonstration and reprimand, I said nothing more during the drive back to the box-filled house; only sitting in my seat and continuing to snuffle quietly with embarrassment and the residual pain from my many other piercings. I didn’t look out the window at the passing scenery but kept my head bent, so that other drivers wouldn’t see the humiliating leash to my nose.