Chapter 02: Professional Commitment
Sue could feel soft heat and see a red glow though her eyelids. She could imagine the sound of waves as if waking up on the beach, completely at peace and satisfied. After a while the stark silence of the side room drew her from her bliss, she started to remember her situation and slowly opened her eyes. The radiant heat spread over her evenly from the suspended heater. Sue immediately wondered how long she had been laying there and her usual media inspired fears of sunburn and skin damage flashed through her thoughts, the thing probably emitted UV. She thought she turned it off, but was starting to doubt everything after her ordeal. Regardless, she was glad it was on now and the low setting felt just right. The rest of her body started to awake up as well. She gradually felt the total penetration and relentless stretch of the overly large phallus return to her awareness. The cradling of the chair was still reassuring somehow. The solid stone matched her shape like an embrace. She thought she could just lay there forever basking in the satisfaction and warmth, snuggling with circumstances.
As other parts of her body continued to report into her awareness, she remembered the gag, the helplessness of her position and the unavoidable contractions of her vaginal walls fighting the metallic invader. Her sense of self-preservation started to return, and she knew she needed to find a way out of her predicament. She doubted she could take another session like the last one should the chair start up again. She fought down a brief flash of panic and ignored the lingering doubt that she hold herself together much longer. Now that she wasn't getting her brains fucked out, she could think clearly and explore her options so slowly started to feel around for a way to escape. There had to be something she missed. She would have been tempted to scream for help, despite the embarrassment of being found in her condition, if it were possible, but the numbing effect of the gag had completely silenced her vocal chords. The gag definitely left a strongly medicinal, almost herbal, aftertaste throughout her mouth that reminded her of a cough remedy.
To her surprise, she found that the arms of the chair were back in an upright position somehow; she also could feel the crate under her feet again. She checked again out disbelief. Yes, the wood was there. How was it possible? The door was locked. She didn't care right now. In relief, she leaned back as she let one last flush of contentment roll over her only for it to be interrupted by another involuntary contraction between her legs. With a slow, difficult push up she cleared the phallus and slowly stood up on the crate, her arms trembling with exertion. The relief from the relentless stretch was intense, and her vaginal walls slowly returning to normal was semi-orgasmic all by itself, but she couldn't enjoy the feeling. She was suddenly fighting for breath and struggling to keep her balance. It was almost impossible to breathe around the gag ball and breathing through her nose was just not enough. After a couple minutes, though, she was able to steady herself in the high-heels and calm down. She didn't want to go through that again so resolved to take things slowly.
She stepped off the crate with extreme care. Without her glasses, the floor was a blur. She turned to look back at the chair as dozens of questions started to come to mind. Her scientific mind was reasserting itself, but it would have to wait. With a sense of professional detachment, she carefully walked over to the table which held her keys and methodically worked through them one at a time to unlock the gag.
Jaw aches promised to get worse even with the numbness caused by mysterious Nuymean rubber gag. At the same time, the cold air of the museum climate control was quickly draining the warmth from her naked body. The result created an immediate sense of urgency which promised future desperation. With fumbling fingers, she still could not find the last key to the all-important strap at the back of her head. She had to have tried every key at least twice. Then, with a calmness she would not have thought possible, she remembered the other keys back in her office. She must have missed one when putting together her key ring.
Without options, she simply moved on to getting dressed and pulled her clingy polyester undershirt on, leaving her bra aside. Modesty, covering her nipples, and pushing what little she had into position wasn't a priority right now. Next was the sweater and warmth. She couldn't remember the last time her nipples were hard enough to poke up so obscenely.
She drifted back to thinking warmly about the chair and let her hands stray to her crotch absent-mindedly, accompanied by some familiar and well-practiced fondling. Apparently there was no damage, but there was definitely some soreness.
The expected worry about getting caught while gagged and the guilt of putting herself in such danger for sake of her own lust didn't seem so important right now. For a moment during the ordeal, a moment long enough for a lifetime, she felt like she might die on the chair hanging naked on her stuffed sex. A complete acceptance and submission to her potential fate burnt through her. Any feelings of self-doubt and direction were gone, insignificant compared to what could have happened.
A complete wave of blissful well-being washed over her leaving behind a lingering sense of satisfaction that was beyond description; but, nevertheless, penetrated her mind as much as any man could ever penetrate her sex. She couldn't help but feel that something more significant than sexual possession had happened to her. The constant noise of background stress in her life was simply gone. Her worries about appearance, finding dates, rationalizing her life to her family and friends, the mess in her apartment and even the troubles with her landlord seemed to fade to trivial silliness. Even thoughts that she was almost trapped on the chair seemed inconsequential. She knew that there was something else to this feeling beyond the physical experience so yet more questions went onto her mental list. It was more than a feeling of coming down from a high. Instead, it was more like a feeling of being cured of something. Her problems had somehow been fucked out of her.
She returned to reality when the realization that she was standing comfortably in the high heels struck. Clearly something had changed. They seemed to fit perfectly like she had been wearing them for years. How did the arms on the chair retract and return? Her scientific mind cried out in outrage at the lack of explanation. A crust of her own juices and dried lube, baked on by the heater, was an embarrassing reminder of her animal abandon on the chair. How so much had come out of her made her feel like a complete slut. Still, the unexplained nagged more than any thoughts of embarrassment. She started to look at the chair with the full mental focus of a scientist seeing a new revelation. Aside from the personal experience, she had a whole new set of discoveries to explore.
Priority and focus.
She reached down to pull off the heels so that she could put on her jeans, balancing like a flamingo. Even with a good tug, the left one didn't budge. She reset her balance and tried again, but didn't even feel the slightest slip of the shoe on her foot. Getting worried, she urgently sat down on the folding chair beside the desk ignoring the cold vinyl against her naked skin. Lifting her right foot, she stared in disbelief. The ankle strap was on. The flat metal ends were completely gone and the woven metal looked like one continuous smooth strap of golden lusterite. She could not feel any catch or release. Her mind raced. How had they closed? How would she get them off?
Her sense of detachment was vanishing rapidly to be replaced by a frantic urge. She pulled fruitlessly at the shoe again and again. Of course, the other one was exactly the same way. She doubled her frustration trying to pull it free, regardless. She was completely overtaken by a feeling of shocked disbelief which slowly faded to a sinking despair. She fought once again to get her breathing under control. The frustration of effort at pulling somehow aroused her which made her even more frustrated. She clenched her fists then tried to scream in frustration with no affect whatsoever.
She pulled her panties up over the shoes with no problem, but her jeans simply could not fit. She gave up in aggravation and again attempted to scream fruitlessly. The shoes had her beat. The legs of her jeans could not clear the heels. She thought about cutting them off to make shorts, but there was nothing sharp enough in the side room. She would have been heartbroken to ruin her favorite jeans anyway, but now had no way to cover herself. She was even more upset when she noticed how horny the frustration had made her. It was humiliating. She felt like her body was betraying her.
She wished that she hadn't indulged in her own little secret at the mall when she bought the panties. She had felt sexy and flirtatious at the time. The bold floral print of pinks and reds with kisses against the bright white silky fabric seemed to almost glow in the dark against her drab sweater--nothing quite like unnatural fluorescent lighting.
There was nothing to wipe herself off with. Anyone who saw her might see the crusty trails on her legs and follow the trail upwards to the source. The baked on lust would not be removed easily. She could feel her arousal growing with the risk of being discovered. The frustration of the shoes was still there like a nagging itch she couldn't scratch. The weight of the metal was also starting to become worrisome. The damn things were heavy! Her nipples were still hard enough to peek up again through the sweater in reminder of her lingering arousal and the aftermath of her experience. Her breath was getting heavy against the gag again.
OK, calm down, relax.
The heels were a lot taller than she would normally wear--which was typically only during special occasions to begin with--and could already feel her arches straining. She would probably break her neck if she tried to run across the blurry floor. Once again she cursed her poor eyesight and wished she hadn't left her glasses in her office. She unlocked the door from the inside and cracked it enough to look down the hall. The brightly lit passage would leave nowhere to hide. The gag might draw more attention than her panties, but she had her doubts. She reminded herself to stay calm; it was the probably 4 o'clock in the morning after all.
Grabbing her jeans and bra, she folded them neatly out of habit then she started to walk, taking short steps, carefully down the hall towards her office. The cross-hatching on the bottom of the shoes was surprisingly grippy. She tried to keep the clicking from the heels to a minimum. The slightly metallic sound against the tile floor seemed to echo resoundingly as if to announce to anyone who might be around, "Look at the half naked slut who fucked herself so much that she's covered in her own sex juice."
