The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“And that concludes the reasons why the current socio-economic structure favours the status quo and the continued restraints that limit the ability of women to achieve parity. It is only by moving away from the male engendered view of femininity and image pandering that we can progress in a natural manner.” So saying, Chris Dawson, MCom (hon) unplugged her laptop from the lecture hall’s projection system and closed it up before sliding it in to its case. Of only average height and build, Chris achieved an imposing presence by her countenance, an immaculately professional suit that lacked only a tie to be totally masculine, short hair and no make-up. She had even taken to wearing glasses even though she did not need them.

“Are you saying,” a voice piped up from somewhere near the back of the lecture theatre, “that women don’t want to be attractive?”

Chris looked up and tried to determine who had been foolish enough to speak out but the questioner had enough wisdom not to announce their presence. It had been a male voice but despite the content of her lectures, Chris’s course was part of business studies and had near equal numbers of male and female students. Of course at the beginning of the year it had been eighty percent male and Chris was proud of the fact that she had weeded out so many.

“Attractive is by its very definition something desired,” she said slowly, hoping her target would reveal themselves, “What women don’t want is to pander to the male perception that requires soft colours, an idealised and impossible to achieve body shape, impractical clothing. All this detracts from a woman’s ability.”

No luck. None of the male students stuck their neck out and even the female students seemed to be covering for the person. Chris dismissed it, she wasn’t petty and vindictive. The lecture now being officially over the students filed out while Chris packed up the rest of her equipment. The room was soon empty and she set off for her office to continue her research before her next lecture in two hours time. On her brief trip across the campus she had ample opportunity to validate her beliefs, far too many young women wearing skirts or tight jeans, too much emphasis on their face and figure.

Entering the business studies building she was just in time to hear the tail end of a conversation between one of her colleagues and someone she vaguely recognised from the school of science—’ ... Gender Studies wouldn’t have her, she’s far too butch!” Their sudden silence when they saw her confirmed who it was they were talking about but Chris didn’t care, it was their weakness not hers.

“Mr Crowe,” she nodded to the lecturer who had the office next to hers, “Professor,” to the other man. Titles were important if they were earned and as much as she had taken an instant dislike to the man she did have to respect his qualifications. Both men muttered something polite in return and didn’t resume their hallway conversation until she was out of sight.

In her small and very functional office Chris put her laptop to one side, closed the door so that she would not be disturbed by any of her students, not that many ever called on her, and sat down at her desk. It took her several minutes to get in to her work, the comment about being too butch was playing on her mind.

There was a knock on her door and Chris responded with a terse “Who is it?”

“Just me,” the quiet feminine voice of the school secretary was barely audible through the door.

“Come in, Marilyn,” Chris replied, and as the petite blond woman stepped in to the office, Chris added, “And what have I told you about saying ‘Just me’?” You are a person with all the same rights to respect as everyone else around here.”

“Um, yes of course.” Marilyn said in the same demure voice. For most purposes she was a bright and outgoing person, quite capable of dealing with difficult students and even more difficult lecturers but Chris Dawson intimidated her. That she was probably the closest thing to a friend to the woman made matters worse. “I just wanted to let you know the costumes for the play have arrived. I’ve got your parcel at the reception desk if you want to pick it up before you leave.”

“Marilyn, do try to be more assertive.” Chris said with what she believed was an encouraging smile. “The parcel has arrived and I am to collect it from reception, much more to the point. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll see you at the rehearsal then?”

Marilyn nodded and retreated from Chris’s office. Chris failed to notice how Marilyn scurried away, thoughts of the play had taken her mind off the butch comment. Chris was a keen member of the local dramatics society, it gave her an outside interest and she enjoyed directing. This time however Diane had come up with a play she wanted to try and Chris wasn’t such an egotist that she wasn’t willing to let someone else take over for one play. She was curious as to what play had been chosen, Diane was being very mysterious about it, even going so far as to order the costumes herself. It briefly occurred to Chris that Diane was married to the science lecturer she had passed in the hall but she dismissed the thought and set about her work.

Chris looked at the clothes spread out over her bed in disbelief. The blouse with puffed sleeves, the calf length skirt, the stockings, the bundle of petticoats, the high heeled pumps, the wig, all that was bad enough, but a girdle! What of earth could Diane be thinking? Pulling out her cell-phone she hit the speed dial. Diane barely managed to say hello before Chris launched into her.

“Diane, what the hell is going on? The costume you’ve arranged for me, its ludicrous!”

“But Chris,” Diane sounded nervous even through the static, “The play’s set in the Fifties, the costumes have to be authentic.”

Chris couldn’t argue with that, if the genre was Fifties Americana then that was how they would have to appear on stage. “All right, I suppose the clothes are relevant, but the girdle isn’t necessary ...”

“Chris, aren’t you the one who always insists that we get fully into the role? You made us all wear wooden sandals when we did that Japanese tragedy, and we had to wear woollen stockings for the Medieval piece, and Karyn had to cut off her hair when you chose her to play the cancer patient. Besides, the girdle will show how restricted women were back then.”

Chris felt very much that she had been hoist on her own petard. “I’ll ... think about it,” she countered, “Good bye.” Closing her phone she looked again at the girdle and her lip curled in disgust. There was no way she was going to wear such a contraption. Yet at the same time she felt a pang of guilt at the thought of letting the others down.

Maybe it wouldn’t fit, that would solve her problem especially if she didn’t tell Diane until it was too late to replace it. It did look too small for her. Only one way to find out. Undressing, she carefully laid her own clothes to one side and reached down for the undergarment she had barely dared look at. It was white, made of a heavy elasticised material with a satin diamond over the abdomen and was almost a full body suit complete with half length leggings.

Wrinkling her nose, Chris set about trying to pull the girdle on, not an easy task as she hadn’t worn anything other than basic cotton underwear since she was a child. Memories of ruffled panties and lacy singlets caused her to shudder. Steeling herself, she carefully arched her foot and guided it in through the top opening of the girdle and down through the sleeve like legging. She stopped as the material clung to her calf and bending over so that she could stand on that leg she slipped her other foot into the other tube. She felt reasonably certain that there was no way she was going to be able to draw the garment up to her hips and that gave her some satisfaction.

But much to her surprise the material continued to feel tight but the girdle slid all the way up until the gusset was pressing against her crotch. Annoyed, Chris pulled up the edges higher and higher, over her hips, past her waist, until the semi-rigid cups were over her breasts and she could slip the thin straps over her shoulders. From there it took some plucking and twisting to remove the stray wrinkles and it was done. Turning to face her wall mirror she couldn’t believe what she saw, her lean body was encased in a glossy white second skin from just above her knees to her chest.

It felt strange, and it concerned Chris that it wasn’t necessarily an unpleasant strangeness. Every move she made now, whether it was walking or bending met with resistance, she actually had to actively think about it. She also had to discard her excuse and looked back to the other clothing in the hope that there might be another way out.

Not wanting to put up with it for any longer, Chris took hold of the shoulder straps, and felt a tingle from the girdle. Her first thought was that it was just static electricity, and then her eyes glazed over and her mind went blank.

Chris awoke to find herself staring in to the window of a dress shop at three passively feminine mannequins decked out in summer frocks. And from her partial reflection in the glass Chris saw that she was wearing the full costume from the play including the wig while an unaccustomed tightness around her stomach, hips and upper legs told her she was still wearing the girdle. Panicked, Chris moved to flee and stumbled because of the high heels she was wearing.

She had to use the store window to steady herself and as she stood there not daring to move, having never worn high heels before, she realised that people were looking at her. In a puffed blouse and a long skirt belled out by layers of petticoats she stood out as an anachronism that was bound to draw attention. Her face reddened and Chris wasn’t sure if she was more scared or embarrassed, she hated having people staring at her like this as though she was no more than one the mannequins in the window behind her. What had caused her to be this silly? To put on her costume and then go window shopping for dresses of all things!

And her mind went blank again.

This time when she awoke she was inside the dress shop, in her hands a slinky sleeveless dress that she had apparently just pulled off the rack in front of her. Chris was well beyond confused now and didn’t try to figure out how she had gotten to where she was. Instead she decided that she would at least avoid her mistake from last time and attempted to lift her leg to shake off the high heeled shoes she was perched on.

Her leg refused to move! Chris could swivel her head and move her arms but she couldn’t move her leg to rid herself of the offending shoes. Putting the dress she was holding to one side, she tried to bend down to pull the shoes off with her hands, but found she couldn’t bend over either. She was so scared at this point that only her pride kept her from calling for help. Then she noticed that one of her legs had moved forward slightly to keep her balance. Experimenting she found she could move her legs to walk but still couldn’t do anything that might make the shoes fall off.

Well if she could walk, she could go home. With that in mind she began to walk towards the exit when she happened to pass a mirror and her reflection reminded her of how she was dressed. ‘My god!’ she thought, ‘I look like a fifties housewife!’ There was no way she was going home like this, she was just going to have to buy some new clothes and change. Turning, she attempted to move towards the jeans section only to have her legs betray her again by refusing to move in that direction but allowing her free movement back towards the dresses.

She still knew she should ask for help but what would she say? That she didn’t want to be dressed like this, that some outside force was making her? Who would believe her. But she wasn’t beaten yet, catching a shop assistant’s attention, she asked the girl to bring her a pair of jeans and a sweat shirt in her size.

Chris’s eyes flashed open and she found herself in a curtained changing room facing a mirror. The old fashioned blouse and skirt were gone but in their place she was wearing a bright pink sleeveless sheath dress with a high collar. She looked ... well she looked pretty, and she hated it.

Pulling back the curtain she startled the shop assistant who was waiting just outside. “What the hell is this?” Chris demanded, “I told you to get me jeans and a sweatshirt!”

“And ... and you changed your mind,” the girl stammered in fear, totally unprepared for such a violent outburst.

“What?!”

“You called me back and chose that dress instead. I think it looks really nice on you,” the girl added in an attempt to appease the angry woman.

Chris was ready to explode, to lay into the girl until it struck her that she wasn’t sure of her actions at the moment and the girl was probably telling the truth. Hating the feeling of uncertainty, Chris took several deep breaths to regain her composure. “Okay. I’m sorry. Now would you please bring me the jeans and sweat shirt I originally asked for?”

The girl smiled nervously and trotted away to comply. Chris moved back in to the cubicle and drew the curtain closed. She didn’t want to be seen looking like this, she even avoided looking in the mirror. What was happening to her? Why was she having these black outs and doing strange things so abhorrent to her values? The tightness around her lower body focused her thoughts.

The girdle! It had to be something to do with the restrictive undergarment since she was no longer wearing anything else of the costume except for the wig and shoes. It had stopped her taking off the shoes, it had stopped her from walking over to the jeans ...

“... ight, not much we can do with it luv,” the voice that brought Chris out of her trance was broad and a touch nasal. As her vision and other senses focussed Chris took in her new surroundings from the neon plastic fixtures to the smell of peroxide. She was seated and draped in a plastic cloak, staring at her own reflection in a wall sized mirror. From beside her a young woman with teased blond hair and far too much make up carried on talking, “Can see why you got a wig, absolute shocker of a haircut.”

Chris’s eyes widened in fear. She had blacked out again and now she was in some sleazy beauty parlour. Already her face had been smeared with bright lipstick, eyeshadow and mascara that combined with her short hair to give her a bizarrely androgynous look.

“Don’t panic, hon,” the girl said, misinterpreting Chris’s expression, “It’s not hopeless. We can go for something punkish, y’know slick it back and perhaps blond with a pink tint? Or I could do something more current with your wig. Maybe you would like to try on some of ours, we’ve got a great selection.”

Chris’s hands went to rip away the cloak, to flee from this travesty of male imposed values ...

Something was pulling on Chris’s neck, a strange weight on her head that seemed to trail down her back forcing her to tense her neck to prevent her head being pulled backward. And she realised she was outside, on the street walking past shops. The wobble to her walk and the pinching on her toes told her she was still wearing the high heels, the firmness around her waist had to be the girdle and the coolness on her arms and lower legs could only be the areas of flesh exposed by the pink dress. But what was on her head?

A shop window provided the answer, it was her hair! Or at least the wig she was wearing, long platinum blond tresses that fell all the way to her waist! She couldn’t believe how it shaped her heavily made-up face, flowed over her shoulders, she could only think of the male-pandering shampoo ads, of being a model. She hated herself for being beautiful, and tried so hard to deny what she was feeling, the softness that threatened to overwhelm her.

That was it, she had to go to the police, to tell them ... to tell them what? Rationally, how would she react to someone claiming they were being forced to make themselves attractive? No, she couldn’t go through with that. She would go home instead, but first the wig was coming off ...

Chris stopped what she was trying to do and the greyness faded. She was still on the street in the same place and very little time seemed to have passed. She thought about removing the wig again and the greyness washed in from around the edges of her consciousness. She let her hands drop and the grey was gone. ‘Okay,’ she thought, ‘I can’t remove the wig, or change my clothes but whatever’s affecting me doesn’t seem to be stopping me going home.’

That didn’t prove so easy to accomplish, for although she maintained control of her thoughts and actions, Chris struggled to walk in the small steps the heels, girdle and dress required. As such she found herself adopting a hip wiggling trot that made her feel like a total bimbo, and the amount of lewd male attention she received enhanced that impression. By the time she got back to her apartment she never wanted to be seen in public again.

A bright stream of morning sunlight woke Chris from her uneasy slumber. Bizarre images flooded her mind, all half remembered like a dream. She was lying on top of her bed, the covers still in place and a partial warmth drew her attention to her torso.

The girdle! She was still wearing it. That explained everything, it was all a dream. She had put on the girdle last night and the pressure on her chest and stomach had caused her to pass out. Starved of oxygen she had been delirious and imagined the whole thing.

Immensely relieved, Chris struggled to get up, the strong elasticity of the girdle fighting her all the way. If nothing else, she decided, she now had a much better idea of the torture women put themselves through. Looking around her tidy bedroom she couldn’t see the clothes she had been wearing the previous day, or the costume for the play which was a bit strange but she shrugged it off. Then she opened her closet.

It was empty!

And not just her closet, her drawers, her laundry basket were all empty, the only clothes in the entire place was the girdle she was currently wearing. There was absolutely nothing else she could wear other than the sheets from the bed.

Chris staggered back, wanting this to just be part of the dream but unable to convince herself, unable to wake herself. And she was still wearing that damnable girdle! Nothing gentle this time, she clawed at the fabric, trying to rip it from her body, clawed for several minutes. That she didn’t black out again made her feel that she was being mocked, that the girdle knew she couldn’t damage the heavy, rubberised material. She began to hate it, not just as an affront to women, not just as the garment that was binding her, but as an entity in itself.

Looking through a window at a beautiful young woman with her long blond hair, pink crewneck sweater, pink sheen miniskirt. So pretty, if perhaps just a bit slim, slightly larger breasts and she would be so ...

Levels of ingrained habit shocked Chris back to reality, how could she think of a woman needing larger breasts, how could she think of a woman in terms of pretty, how could ... how could she think of herself that way as she finally realised that she was looking at her own reflection in the mirror.

It had happened again, but this time there was to be a new element. Before Chris could even think about ripping off her latest attire she noticed movement about her chest, specifically at the small mounds that were her breasts under the tight sweater. To her astonishment the twin mounds began to swell, to grow outwards as though she was gaining in cup sizes as she watched. She could feel it wasn’t actually her breasts getting bigger, it was just the cups of the girdle but that didn’t stop her from squealing in dismay. Within moments she had a substantial bust, the sweater stretched over well shaped mounds with the hint of a bra line and nipples.

Then more swelling, around her hips this time. Nowhere near as much, just enough to actually give her a figure, a noticeable waist between her hips and chest. Chris wanted to run away and hide, to not see herself looking like this. And what hurt most was that she didn’t hate it, she couldn’t deny that the woman reflected in the mirror was beautiful, that she found the image beautiful.

Chris decided she had to think of other things, to see if anything else in her flat had been altered. She left her bedroom half expecting the lounge to be denuded of furnishings or the kitchen cupboards to be emptied out, but neither was the case. Other than the fact that all her clothing was gone, her apartment appeared untouched.

As she moved around checking in drawers, opening cabinets, Chris became disturbed at how comfortable she was feeling. She hadn’t attempted to remove the clothes this time, sure that it would just cause another black out. She couldn’t risk it, not with where she could end up—another dress shop, a bar, some sleazy nightclub. Looking like this with no control over her actions! Better to endure the clothes.

She had to avoid reflective surfaces too, they tended to catch her eye, draw her into looking at her reflection, liking her reflection. She didn’t want to look like this, she didn’t want to like it. She wanted her old clothes, her old shape back. Her power clothes, her stand against male engendered roles, the unfairness of it all.

Chris hunted through her apartment trying to find clues, evidence of the other person who had invaded her home. They had to be observing her somehow, keeping track of her, stopping her from taking off the girdle. She pulled down books, scrutinised her light fixtures, even turned her television around so that it faced the wall. Nothing.

A knocking on the door caused Chris to freeze like a deer caught in headlights. She didn’t want to be seen like this, a big titted bimbo. Then strangely she began to feel curiosity and a nagging need to know who was at the door as the knocking resumed with more urgency. Perhaps it was someone who could help her she tried to rationalise as she tottered over in the ludicrously high heels. As she reached for the door handle she could suddenly smell pizza and guessed who the knocker was, but it was too late to stop herself.

Sure enough when she opened the door there was a gangly teenage boy in an ill fitting uniform awkwardly holding a pizza box. The look of boredom was quickly replaced by a crude leer as he took in her image and for a moment Chris was revolted and angry, and then against her best efforts, against her entire force of will she felt something else. Suddenly her entire body was trembling, her nipples had stiffened, her cunt lips were swelling, she was becoming aroused!

The pizza delivery boy was startled as the woman before him suddenly clutched her ample breasts through her tight sweater and moaned aloud. Even with his relative inexperience he could tell she was sexually excited and he began to think all his wet dreams had come true. Not seeing much point in being subtle he put down the pizza box, the bulge in his pants evident and he licked his lips in anticipation.

Chris’s hands had clawed their way under her sweater, groping at the enlarged cups over her breasts and frustrating her as she couldn’t stimulate them directly. Hiking up her skirt didn’t achieve much more because even the most vigorous rubbing of her groin could barely be felt through the heavy rubberised material. It was driving the boy in front of her wild of course, he just couldn’t figure out what he should do.

A new feeling hit Chris, nearly an orgasm but not quite. She needed something more for release and she was shocked when she saw that she was staring at the boy’s groin. But the more she stared the stronger the pleasure got until she caved in, falling to her knees and ripping open his trousers. He staggered back a step in surprise but Chris didn’t let him retreat any further, her hands already wrapped around his erection. Her mind briefly conceived revulsion as she was hit with a desire to taste something salty and knew what the nearest source was.

She was saved from any further humiliation by the boy’s excitement, his erect cock being handled by a woman for the first time, he exploded shooting spurts of cum over Chris’s sweater. And Chris came too, a crashing orgasm that caused her to slump to one side in the doorway, her body heaving as it tried to recover. The boy, thoroughly confused, chose to flee at that point, tucking in his cock as he ran.

Minutes passed and Chris could only be thankful that no-one had gone past while she sat there recovering. Still breathing hard and feeling totally ashamed of herself, she ignored the pizza on the ground and locked herself back in to her apartment. She was still splattered with the boys cum and she wanted to at least strip off the sweater but whatever force was controlling her wouldn’t let her. So she was forced to spend the next hour doing her best to ignore it.

And then she was elsewhere again. For a moment she thought she was in darkness then she realised that she was staring at the back of a curtain in a dimly lit room. In fact it seemed to be a stage, something she was more than familiar with and from the noises beyond the curtain it sounded like the audience was already in place and waiting. Before she could think any further the curtains parted and a spotlight shone directly onto her, dazzling Chris for a moment as the compere announced, “And now contestant number eleven, Chrissie, who is going to sing a golden oldie for us.”

Chris froze, she couldn’t sing, had never bothered trying to learn, it was too frivolous to waste time on. And now she found herself on a night club stage in front of over a hundred expectant people waiting for her to start. She barely noticed what she was wearing this time, black leggings, skin hugging white blouse with bow tie and waist coat. And high heels of course, which she discovered as she panicked and tried to run off the stage. Stumbling, she toppled to the hard wooden floor to scattered laughter from the audience. It just spurred her on and half crawling, half running she fled into the wings. Behind her she could hear more laughter and some jeers, and worst of all the compere defending her to the audience with talk of stage fright and first times.

She staggered further back into the backstage and into a small lounge which hosted a dozen or so people that she took to be the other contestants by their variety of dress and demeanour. They already seemed to know that she had failed to perform and there was a mixture of sympathy and smug looks, both of which upset Chris even more and she continued her unsteady flight towards the exit. Stumbling into a dimly lit alley outside the building she had her first chance to take stock of her situation.

She was dressed in thin body hugging clothing made all the more disconcerting with the artificial curves the girdle gave her, she was lost in a less than pleasant area and she didn’t have any money or identification on her. She might hope to flag down a cop, explain at least part of her problem and get home but with her black outs she wanted to see if there was another option first. Perhaps if she got to the street proper she might know where in town she was. She took a step and her foot went sideways, nearly spraining her ankle. Why did she always find herself in high heels? She almost regretted now never having learnt to walk in them.

More hopeful and desperate than anything else, she reached down to remove the offending shoes and was more than a little surprised when she managed to do it. Standing there in the damp alleyway in stocking feet she could only look at the four inch spike heels on the pumps in her hands. How had she managed to take them off this time and never before? Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth she tossed them to one side and carefully made her way out of the alley, avoiding the broken glass and other litter.

Emerging from the alley it took Chris only a moment to work out that she was downtown, not the worst area but a long way from home. There were people around, mostly in groups out for the evening and Chris wondered if she dared approach any of them dressed as she was to ask for a lift home. Then hearing what sounded like someone saying her name she turned in that direction, for a brief moment thought she recognised someone in a group of people at the front of the night club she had just fled, and everything went black.

This time it was light, daylight, early morning by the chill in the air and the smell of dew on the grass, joggers and people on their way to work populated the nearby path. She was sitting down, probably on a wooden bench by the cold hardness against her bottom, pressed down even harder by the weight on her stomach. Steeling herself for whatever bizarre costume she might be wearing this time, she was still shocked to see the huge swell of her stomach concealing her thighs. It took her several stunned moments to work it out, the weight, the expansion of her belly, she gave every appearance of being heavily pregnant!

Surprisingly not even for a moment did she consider that she might actually be pregnant, not even with the blackouts and the perverse situations she had found herself in. A quick feel confirmed that she was still wearing the girdle and that the bulge was nothing more than a fluid filled sack, the sort of prop used to simulate pregnancy. Chris also noticed that she was more conservatively dressed this time, wearing a simple floral print maternity dress and for once flat soled shoes, albeit very feminine ones.

She was still wondering what motive was behind this change when a woman with a toddler in a push chair approached the bench and sat down beside her. With casual ease the stranger leant over and patted Chris’s faux tummy,

“When’s it due?”

And to her bewilderment Chris felt ... pride. Followed shortly by a desperate need for acceptance and found herself replying “Any time now” rather than revealing the truth. Why did that lie make her feel so good, so content and happy? And the feeling just got stronger as she chatted with the woman, talk of tiredness and cravings, of awaiting the day yet having regrets that it would soon be over.

That woman eventually moved on but other passersby smiled and said hello to her, her seeming condition being an excuse for the normally introverted city dwellers to be friendly towards a complete stranger. And it all felt so good, so comfortable to Chris that it took her nearly an hour to focus her will power enough to get moving. For once she didn’t have to fight the shoes and she intended to make the most of that, even if the forward pulling weight on her stomach forced her to take smaller, almost waddling steps. The park wasn’t far from her apartment and even encumbered she made it back in less than twenty minutes. Fortunately the door wasn’t locked because she still didn’t have any of her personal possessions on her.

Inside she slammed the door shut, quickly checked that she was alone and then started to unbutton the dress so that she could rid herself of the sac. Chris got as far as the third button when she was hit by a wave of nausea. She staggered for a moment, then bit down the bile and tried to carry on. A second wave hit her, much harder and hands flying to her mouth Chris had to rush unsteadily to the bathroom, just making it before throwing up in to the toilet bowl. Weakness forced her down to her knees as she continued to retch. She tried to tell herself that there was no reason for this, that she wasn’t really pregnant and that it was the wrong time of the pregnancy anyway, but her body refused to listen. When the blackness came this time it was a relief.

Chris’s eyes flashed open and she found herself in a suburban lounge. The first thing she noticed was that she was naked except for the girdle and heels, the second that she recognised the room she was in—it belonged to Diane and ... her husband the electronics professor! Now she knew who was behind her humiliation.

A moment later, as if to confirm it, the self-same professor entered the room with a note pad computer. Rather than leering or gloating, he seemed engrossed in whatever was on the small screen.

“You bastard! You fucking bastard!” Chris screamed at him. The harshness and volume made him jump but his gaze only briefly flicked in her direction before he went back to his handheld. She wanted to hit him but while she could move her head and swing her arms, her body from the waist down was being held rigid by the girdle.

“I should have known you were responsible, you sick little worm!” Chris continued to rant, even more upset by his calm distraction. “You can’t cope with the concept of a strong woman, a valid role model for feminism. This is all your doing, turning me into a perverted sex slave!”

“Actually,” a soft woman’s voice came from behind Chris, “While the technology was developed by my husband, everything that has happened to you has been my doing. I doubt my husband has any sexual inclinations at all and if he does then they are probably homosexual.”

Chris craned her head around in surprise, and could only stare in open mouthed amazement as Diane moved around in front of her. This wasn’t the sensibly dressed middle class housewife she was used to seeing at the drama society meetings, this was a confident looking woman in a sexually elegant black dress. Diane seated herself on the couch in front of Chris, crossing her legs so that the dress parted at the split to reveal her shapely legs clad in their sheer black stockings.

“You see my husband came up with the prototype of the gadget you’re currently wearing as a means of controlling violent criminals. It is actually two devices, the first is a newly developed material that can be made to go rigid in parts or as a whole. That’s what’s preventing you from moving your legs at the moment, you could probably move your legs below the knee but in those heels you’d just fall over.”

“The second aspect is a self implanting micro-processor that wires itself into your nervous system via the spinal column. This takes time of course if you don’t want to risk injuring the recipient.”

“That was a stroke of genius on Diane’s part,” her husband commented from where he had positioned himself behind Chris, “The unit needs to be held firmly against the small of the back for several days. Reinforcing a body shaper girdle with my rigidiser material as a delivery device would never have occurred to me.”

“Thank you, dear,” Diane said in what sounded like a motherly voice to Chris before returning to her clear instructive tones. “My husband hadn’t thought through all the consequences of course. He intended the ‘rigidiser material’ to be made into clothing that wouldn’t be as uncomfortable or restrictive as hand cuffs but with a push of a button could either slow down or totally immobilise the wearer. Much more humane, and effective, than most restraints. The processor is even more amazing, with it just pressed against the skin near the spinal column it can read the emotions of the person and cause momentary lapses of consciousness. If the criminal thinks of doing something violent he’ll black out instead. Fully wired in, as yours is, it can directly implant sensations into the person, cause them to feel cold, or hungry, or ...” Diane trailed off with an evil smile as she picked up a small device that looked like a television remote.

Chris stared at her in stunned disbelief, and then squeaked in fear and surprise as she felt herself becoming aroused.

“Not now, if you please darling,” Diane’s husband said as Chris’s breathing became irregular, “I’m trying to do a download from the core unit.” And just as suddenly the sensations ceased and Chris was back to being slightly angry and very scared.

“Sorry dear, I thought you were finished.” Diane remarked casually and put aside the remote. “Well since we have some time before I can play with you, I might as well do the arch villain bit and reveal all the workings of my evil plot. We had to keep you under observation at all times of course, so I had your apartment wired ...”

“You couldn’t have!” Chris burst out, “I searched everywhere.”

“For what?” Diane responded with a mocking smile, “For video cameras and microphones in the flowers? A modern camera only needs a pinhole sized lens. We had every room in your apartment covered. And when you went out? Well I think that was the best production our drama club has ever put on. You were so wrapped up in yourself that you didn’t recognise any of them. We guided you around town while you were ‘greyed-out’, Marilyn even mimicked your voice when you were in the changing room of the first shop.”

Tears began to well in Chris’s eyes as she realised the enormity of the plot against her. “You mean, the whole drama club helped you do this to me?”

“Yes, I had to be circumspect about sounding people out and most were sceptical about my husband’s inventions at first, but it was all of us.”

“Why?” was all Chris could think to say.

“Because, Chris, you are a bitch! And I don’t mean that in anything approaching a nice way. You push people around, you humiliate them while pretending that you’re doing it for their own good, you’re a small minded little prude. You destroyed Rachel’s marriage with your insistence that oral sex was an aspect of male domination, and you certainly haven’t helped any of our relationships.”

“Remember Maria?” Diane went on, “Nice girl, just moved in to town and joined the drama club to make friends. You took away her part because she was pregnant.”

“She kept forgetting her lines,” Chris fired back, trying to regain some confidence by justifying her action.

“Some women have memory lapses when they’re pregnant. I mean its not like we were doing a West End show. And Tony, one of the few guys to ever show an interest in dramatics and you treated him like dirt. You rode him at every opportunity, made him responsible for every perceived injustice in the world. No wonder he got stage fright and froze on his first night, he was already a nervous wreck. Oh, and just in case you missed it, Karyn didn’t appreciate having to wear a wig for six months.”

Chris was still in shocked silence when Diane’s husband finished whatever he had been doing and wandered around still engrossed in his handheld.

“You were right, darling,” he commented, “The spinal interface control unit is far too dangerous to release to the general public. It could easily be misused to control innocent people. The rigidiser material is a great success though, I’m sure I’ll have no trouble selling it to law enforcement agencies. Well I’m finished so you can carry on playing with your toy now.”

“Thank you dear,” Diane replied, “I can think of another market for clothes made out of your material, and I’m sure Chris will help me promote it.” Chris began to openly sob as she took in the expression on Diane’s face, and then all her fears faded away as ripples of orgasmic pleasure tripped through her body and mind.

Chris stood motionless in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a ring of men and women who were regarding her curiously. She was no longer wearing the girdle, she didn’t have to as the control unit was deeply imbedded into her flesh, but for this demonstration Diane had dressed her in an even more restrictive garment, a full body suit of the special material.

“Now as you can see,” Diane was saying, “with this remote I can restrict part or all of my lovely assistant’s movements. At the moment I have only the lower half locked, please show them Chrissie.”

Chris complied, moving her arms, head and upper body before showing that she couldn’t move her legs at all. A more sceptical member of her audience stepped forward and tried to bend her knee to no avail.

“If Chrissie would assume a spread-eagled stance,” Diane continued, pushing the button to give Chris full movement long enough for her to obey before causing the entire outfit to become rigid, “We have instant bondage.” There was an appreciative murmur from the men and women.

“The material can be coloured, I imagine black, red and white will be the most popular. Now if you’re satisfied with the demonstration I suggest you prepare your cheque books.” Diane said as she released Chris. “Then you can set about retooling your factories for what I predict is going to be the hottest item on the fetish scene this year.”

Another murmur of approval went around the men and woman as they shuffled away to think over the price. Diane considered giving Chris a quick burst of pleasure as a reward but decided against it, her toy seemed to be distracted.

Chris was indeed deep in thought, she thought of her old life, of the self assured but shallow woman, she thought of her recent experience as a bimbo performing for the amusement of her friends and associates, she thought of where Diane said she would take her, into a life of being a sexual plaything. She thought of how cold and sterile her life had been. She thought of humiliation tinged with sexual arousal. She thought of pleasure and pretty clothes and not having to think too hard.

Chris slipped away into the darkness leaving a happy Chrissie to prance off after her mistress.