I was alone for the first time in nearly as long as memory would stretch. My new friends, or handlers, or tormentors, one might more aptly call them, were loading the truck with things to take to the party. I was of no use in that regard: my hands were useless, handcuffed behind my back, just as they'd been since just after I set foot on this crazy island.
I remembered my husband's voice: "Go sailing with the boys. You'll have fun." Yeah, famous last words, for sure. I couldn't help but blame him as I sat there bound, breasts bared, swollen nipples, with nothing on my naked body in this strange house but a belt around my waist. The belt served no other purpose than to secure the narrow band of leather that pressed down from its front into my pussy and around to make the wedgy of all wedgies until it fastened, locked, at the back. I shifted my weight to try to relieve the pressure on my clit, but in so doing it only pressed harder against my anus. 'Thank god for small favors,' I smiled to myself, marveling at my ability to keep a sense of humor in light of everything that had happened this day.
As I sat there, I thought about how I ended up naked on the boat, then again in the antique shop in Avalon. I tugged on my handcuffs as I remembered the feeling I had when I first felt the cold metal against my wrists, bent over the display case like a criminal, my bare bottom waving shamefully in the air. I must say, the policeman's first negative reaction to my public nudity sure did transform quickly into, well, whatever this is.
My mind's eye then jumped to the very beginning of this strange saga that brought me to this island of chastity belt fetishists and body modification enthusiasts. I saw the excited face of my husband, Marc, as he undressed me last Sunday evening in front of those two eighteen-year-old boys, Sam and Jake. That was the opening of Pandora's box. As I sat at dinner with Sam, Jake and my husband, they dressed and I naked, I wondered if things would ever be the same again. As I basked in their adulation, I wondered if I wanted them to be. Carried away by something I still struggled to comprehend, I allowed myself to become trapped in the logic that having shown myself nude to Sam and Jake, I owed the same favor to someone else, then another. Marc and the boys convinced me that I had debts to pay, and my nudity was the currency. The debts always mounted quicker than I could settle them, and I made one promise after the other to placate them, until one morning Sam made the whole process easier by simply attaching that damned anklet. The inscription, "Anything, No limits, Anytime, I promise," sealed my fate.
Now Sam and Jake have set sail for the mainland without me, and I have been entrusted to Peter, the officer who handcuffed me, his simpleton sister, Gina, who tortured me (God, I want to kill her), and their friends, Susan and Jess. They know all about the anklet and my allegiance to it; Sam told Peter about it just after my "arrest," then Marc called and had a long talk with Peter and Gina comparing their lives on Catalina with my scantily-clad adventures in Newport Beach. His emergency trip to New York meant he couldn't come get me. Marc's admonition on the phone, "Be good and keep your promises," rang in my ear. 'Yeah, he's off to New York on business and I sit here naked on Catalina Island,' I fumed to myself. 'Peter will no doubt be calling him, giving him a blow by blow account of my adventures, just as Sam always does,' I concluded. "I love to think of you naked with the boys and others, and it's exciting to hear about it," Marc confessed to me on Monday night. "Do you hate me for that?" he asked as he made that puppy-dog face that can make me do anything. So, I went sailing with the boys.
As I continued to squirm against the pressure of the belt, I remembered one painful humiliation after the other since we moved into our ocean-view apartment four days ago. I thought about how my landlord threatened to throw us out of our beautiful new home, because she caught me on the balcony in just a tiny towel, and how only my accepting a spanking prevented eviction. Of course, I only wore that towel to please Marc. 'So she spanks me, and then I do something else scantily clad for Marc, she finds out, and then she spanks me again,' I complained to myself. 'I can't tell Marc about her, she forbids it, nor can I tell her about Marc, whom I'm protecting. No, I have to accept all the consequences,' I reasoned. 'Well, at least my sojourn on Catalina has gotten me off that merry-go-round, for awhile, anyway,' I smiled happily to myself. I wondered what would happen, though, if I didn't make it back to the mainland for my session with her hairbrush in the morning. 'Will that finally be the end? Will she kick us out of the apartment? Or will she just spank me even more? Oh, God!' I cringed.
So, I sat there and asked myself question after question until I came to the biggest one of all, the heart of the matter: do I love Marc enough to go through what I go through for him? Only a positive answer would bolster my courage to keep my promises both to him and the medallion hanging around my ankle. I wondered if other women suffer for their men as I do...
"Alright, we got it all figured out," Susan beamed as she breezed into the room, her long nipples making her t-shirt project from her torso like twin peaks. Peter, Jess and Gina followed. "We have a plan to get you to the party, in your handcuffs, with no one ever thinking to question why. Peter's little foible with the lost key will never come up - his reputation on the force is safe." She punched Peter playfully on the shoulder.
"It was my idea, too!" interjected Gina. "I'm the one who said I wished it was me in fetters, not her." She pointed at me and in so doing raised the hem of her short summer shift to her crotch. I glimpsed the portion of her chastity belt that appeared from between the bottom of her pussy lips then disappeared up her butt crack. It dripped with moisture.
"Well, I still think it's a bit far-fetched," Peter shook his head, "but if you want to try, okay by me. At least Marc thinks it will be fun."
"You talked to Marc?" I lit up.
"Yeah, he called to check on you one more time before he had to turn off his cell. He's just taking off for New York."
"What did you tell him?"
"Well, that you're doing just fine, of course. He was happy to hear that you're adjusting to the belt, and he liked Jess' suggestion that we get you custom fitted tomorrow. After all, you can't wear Gina's hand-me-downs forever."
"He talked to Jess, too?" I stammered as I looked at Jess with bug eyes. "I've known you, Jess, for twenty minutes and already you're talking on the phone with my husband?" I gave Jess a puzzled look.
"Everybody had a turn. Susan say's he's got a sexy voice." Jess looked teasingly at her.
"I wanted to talk to him..." The words choked from my throat.
"There just wasn't time after I got through answering all his questions and describing everything to him. He sure does like a lot of details!"
"Yes, I know..." My voice trailed off. "He likes to hear all about it..."
"He wanted to know if your nipples were still stretched longer than before, but I had to tell him we had a lot more work to do before that happens, huh?" It was Gina who responded and she looked to Peter to agree with her.
"Well, your session this afternoon was a jumpstart on that process, that's for sure."
Just hearing them talk about it brought back the pain in my nipples. I jumped at the memory of what that simple child did to me, hanging me on that pole, attaching clamps and weights to my nipples and clitoris. I shivered visibly and tested my bonds, just in case I could at last free myself to wring her pretty little neck.
"How much weight did you use, Gina?" Jess asked with the same matter-of-factness one might use about the amount of salt in the soup.
"The same Peter uses on me, the very same." She replied in her defense.
"It was her first time, though, remember, so it was too much," Peter said.
Susan sat beside me on the couch, took my right breast in her hand and examined my nipple. She rolled the nipple gently with the other hand, then pulled. I winced, then she pulled a little harder. When I yelped, she released her grip. "Well, no damage was done," she pronounced with gravity, like a doctor examining a wound. "Mine are often in worse shape when Jess gets done. He has his program, you know."
"Hey, it's not my fault," Jess laughed. "You're the one who wants to win 'most improved,' tonight. That's why we've been on this accelerated schedule the last few months."
