The Curator Ch 14

Chapter 14: Property

Sue woke comfortably on a twin bed, tucked in under warm blankets like a child--at least it seemed that tender at first. Slowly awareness started to creep back in her mind. She remembered being in the stocks last. Oh, yes, her ass was sore, but that was just the first hint of the sensations her body was starting to report. Drawing her attention the most was the constriction all over her midsection. She was wearing something leather; she remembered them mentioning a corset now. The fog of waking up was clearing from her mind. Damn it's tight. No--more than that--it's really fucking tight. How did she sleep in this thing? She felt around, but there was no obvious way to undo it.

She started to swing her legs to get out of bed. Her ass was definitely sore. The covers put up a bit of a fight as she untucked the sheets. They must have been afraid she would fall out of bed. The movement caused a new set of sensations and she froze. Something tight and hard was over her crotch and it was pulled deep into her ass crack. Oh...fuck! There was something round and wide right over her anus splitting her crack wider, not comfortable at all! She started to reach down to touch it when she felt the lusterite phallus shift a little. Shit! That too?

Oh!

She had to admit it was quite an arousing wake-up call.

Her first touch reaching for her vulva was surprising. She found a huge mass of metal there. Some kind of plate completely covered most of her pussy. Second, a fist-sized lump of metal that felt like a round padlock was attached right over her clit. All of this was overwhelming enough, but what was most maddening was that it all was making her really horny. The very idea of being locked up while penetrated was suddenly seriously thrilling to her. How could this level of discomfort possibly be such a huge turn on?

Sitting up was a struggle. The feeling of the metal around her crotch as she sat up wasn't something she was going to forget anytime soon. She felt the metal between her ass cheeks sink in even deeper. She tried to calm herself as she tossed aside the remaining covers and stood up slowly. What could they have been thinking? Did they really think she would keep wearing this getup? Despite the corset and metal over her sex, her bare breasts and fully exposed legs still gave her a feeling of nakedness.

As she stood up, she couldn't help but notice that her feet were not sore at all even after being trapped in the high heels overnight. It was unnatural and suspicious. She could not understand how her body could adapt so quickly like that, but she must be getting use to them--not like she had a choice now anyways.

The smell of the corset hit her suddenly. Part well-tanned leather, part dive bar, part marijuana, and part sweaty gym towel was the best way to describe it, even faint traces of slutty perfume and cigarette smoke. The people who put together the fetish display that Charlie and Martin "borrowed" the corset from definitely used authentic sources. Where did they get this thing, some backstreet whorehouse or perhaps the Hell's Angels' thrift shop? She would have to find out how it was stored. The technique had obviously preserved it well. The tightness was a little better once she was standing but her breathing was definitely restricted. No way could she go around wearing this thing all the time. She needed to talk to them. She still couldn't feel any hooks, zippers or laces to undo it even after feeling around methodically.

She noticed some blurry objects on the nearby table. Thank God! Her glasses and a half-cold bottle of water. Someone had done a good job straightening the frame of her glasses. What a relief to be able to see again! Oh, there was a note too, and the book! Maggie's book. Coming to the annex to find it seemed like a week ago. She was thinking of her now as another woman who was on the same quest and not the esteemed Dr. Barnes she originally envisioned. Somehow she was human now.

Sue cracked open the water and started drinking it down. She was hungry too, but one thing at a time. She didn't recognize the handwriting. It looked male for some reason. The note said that Cindy went to get her some clothes and that she should see Maya--wrong in so many ways starting with "Why Cindy?" Not her first choice as someone to pick her clothes. Why was she left alone? Regardless, she was trapped here for now it seemed. Why they would want her to see Maya was odd. Maya did more than just take care of the displays and the cosmetics of the mannequins, but how was she involved in this? She did not like how rapidly knowledge of her "private studies" was getting out. Way too many people knew far too much for her peace of mind.

She wasn't about to go out into the museum looking for Maya without clothes, especially since she would be on camera the second she left the annex. An old phone was still on the wall near the counter, but it had no dial tone. Hopefully someone would show up soon. Otherwise, she'd be raiding the fetish display looking for something to wear amongst the leather, spandex and rubber.

The metal over her pussy was hard to get a good look at without a mirror. She couldn't lean forward much with her most of her midriff all cinched up tight. It was some kind of old steel; she could feel rivets. The big round padlock over her clit hung down low. Not as low as a guy's balls, but that's what it seemed like to her--like someone had bolted a big steel ballsack on her. The big round industrial lock would be more at home on the trailer of a semi-truck than on a chastity belt.

She was in a small suite with all the essentials including a kitchenette, shower, bathroom, bed, table and a few minimal pieces of furniture. Everything had a 1970s college dorm quality and was mostly designed for function above all else. The room looked recently and hastily cleaned. She could see the swirls from the cleaning rag everywhere. The bedding was fairly fresh. She had soap, towels and what appeared to be a new mini-fridge. They were obviously intending for her to stay here. What would the museum director think of that? She was suspicious of their intentions.

Trust in the gods.

She put it out of her mind for now.

The bathroom door was partially open. A reflection suggested a full-length mirror on its back. She took a couple steps towards it--of course she had to look at herself--and was immediately reacquainted with the phallus inside her. Locked inside her. For a moment, the sensation of penetration took over. The girth of the metal cock filled her while her vaginal muscles reflexively fought to stabilize the weight of the lusterite. Lustful stimulation was an immediate result. She now knew it was a simple matter of discomfort: she

must

free herself of the belt. Inaccessibility to her pleasure zone was not an option.

Pulling the door open further, Sue caught her first complete look at her 'accessories' in the mirror. She immediately noticed how different she looked with her waist forced to a roughly hour-glass shape. She felt sexy and saw herself in a new, perhaps, hypersexual way. The hour-glass shape must be hardwired into women as well as men. She couldn't remember ever thinking of herself as a fetish object before except as a fantasy. Now she was thrilled with the idea, but she knew the package wasn't complete: big nose, dorky glasses, flat ass, under-size breasts...yes, back to reality.

Regardless, her reasoning begged the question whether it truly mattered. If a man was fucking you, his weight pressing down on you, cock in cunt, did he care about an inch or two on your waist any longer? How big your nose is? Biological selection based on appearance was only part of the equation was it not? How did a great fuck affect evolution? If a woman had a reputation for being loose, would she be selected more? Of course she would. If she was a great fuck, was she more likely to produce offspring? Of course. Sue decided she would start to refuse society's definition of sexuality and would start to define her own like the Nuymeans.

History showed that perceptions of beauty and sexual tastes were mental and cultural, not just biological. A moment looking at renaissance marbles and older definitions of beauty was proof that those definitions can change. What did she think about herself now? She really didn't know anymore, but she was as willing to pass on her genetic code as any slut could ever be--behind the steel over her pussy. She had to find a way to free herself.

She examined the corset first. The leather was heavy and stiff but felt super soft to the touch. The combination of luxurious sensuality and shape-forming restriction was artistic to her. She appreciated it. Still, it was oppressive. She knew the constant compression would be torture sooner or later. Turning to examine the back, she felt a sudden flush of emotion: anger leading the way, closely followed by frustration and then a contrasting feeling of total lust. The laces were not visible. A locked flap covered them. A flexible rod was threaded through the flap sort of like a hinge pin. The small padlock was some kind of high security affair. The keyhole was obviously not typical and it was modern. She couldn't get a really good look since she already was twisting her body to its limits to see that much. The waistband of the chastity belt was also closed over the corset. Even if she could unlock the corset flap, she wasn't likely to get it open without first removing the belt. The corset wasn't coming off anytime soon.

She turned her attention to the belt. The forged and hammered metal was clearly ancient and well-crafted with an age appropriate patina, rather than rust. She knew it was much more than that just something turned out by a village blacksmith, instead a masterpiece of its time. The metal appeared to be Ulfberht steel; the same steel that was used to make some of the best viking swords. She had seen a paper on the subject a year or two ago. Researchers were still arguing over the formula. The belt would date to 800 to 1200 AD without a doubt. In the center of the waistband, she could see one of the variations of the

+vlfberh+t

mark as born on those swords. This belt appeared to be a special project from an armorer or sword-maker of legendary prowess, quite likely.

The heavy metal waistband was over 2 inches wide and ridiculously thick, about a half inch. She could not see how the waist belt was held closed. Apparently the vertical crotch cover also acted as a clasp of some kind. It ran from the front of the belt down over her sex and up between her ass checks to the back. She would need to see the belt disassembled to understand how the parts connected completely.

The vertical band was very wide in front. She felt like a hubcap was riveted over her sex; the slight dome in the middle prevented her clit from touching anything. She tried getting a finger under the edge. She could get underneath a little, but there was was no way she could reach her clit or gain relief from the weight of the metal dick inside her. All she managed to do was to hurt her fingers. Her crotch was crushed tightly as the band narrowed then extended up between her ass checks. Feeling around, she noticed a urination hole and remembered the defecation hole--neither of which she was looking forward to using. The metal flared around her anus unpleasantly. She wished the band was a little more narrow as it went between her legs. She could feel the edge of the plate on the insides of her legs a bit when she walked.

She pulled at the industrial padlock in frustration. She would liked to have seen the original version. Not all of the ancient padlocks were large affairs. By the time the Vikings were making them, most were smaller than the monstrosity she was wearing. Still, they must have located the hasp for the lock where they did so that it could hidden under a skirt. She pulled at the lock again...out of ideas. She had doubts about whether bolt cutters could even get her out of the belt.

In the end, she was just frustrated and horny from the efforts to free herself. Looking more closely, she saw Nordic runes on the faceplate. She wasn't an expert in runes, but it seemed to be something like "Property of Kjar"--great, just great, a chastity belt with a Viking seal of approval.

She stared at the mirror with a sense of disbelief at the woman looking back. The prim and proper academian that composed her self-identity most of her life, what she thought was her true self, was slipping away. The woman in the mirror was both her and not her: a sexual display and a woman locked up, forever marked on the chest. How did it all happen so fast? She still needed that former self, the former self which would record the results and write the publications, the self needed to be the objective observer, the self which would keep her safe and in control.

She

must not be lost in this process.

Could the scientist observer still be objective as the subject of their own experiment? Perhaps that was a pitfall of participant archaeology. Too late either way, the experiment was well underway. Ahead of her was a path that was undeniable, and equally unavoidable. She was starting to believe this accidental destiny to become a Nuymean priestess was perhaps her one great moment in life. Like Achilles, she must choose to pay the price of glory or accept obscurity. She would chose glory. All doubt was gone. The person in the mirror, horny and locked up, was her; not a new her, but a discovered self that had been there all along, a sexual being previously denied. A self that was learning to enjoy and cherish sex and not try to hide and deny it because of some culturally programmed guilt and sense of identity.

A week ago, she would have chosen the quiet and safe path. Now everything was different. Her experiences on the chair, in the sex maiden and in the bastard-maker stocks were truly life changing--it was the acceptance. The acceptance that comes from going to such extremes, even facing death in the process, reminded of life's priorities. Yes, acceptance was the missing piece of her mental puzzle. Reality was not what she

wanted

it to be. Reality is a perception of current events. She was a part of a much more interconnected world than she previously would have acknowledged. She had gone beyond participant archeology. Now her own life

was

the experiment. At least she wasn't in this alone anymore, even if far too many people knew what she was up to...and seen her naked.

She turned from the mirror thinking about what she would do next while waiting. She had seen other suites like this one in older parts of the museum, usually reused for some other purpose. Back in the day, a Curator could stay right in the museum, immersed in their work. This one seems to have been left intact or perhaps remodelled decades ago. A couple of large windows looked down on the main floor containing the "Herstory" exhibit. Daylight poured through the frosted glass windows high on the opposite wall. She had lost all sense of time lately, but knew she must have slept a long time. She easily located the sex maiden and the bastard maker stocks. They looked like nothing had even happened despite the profound moments she had there. No one was in sight and the lights had been turned back off. She looked all around and did not see her purse or her clothes anywhere from the window.

She could use something to eat and some washing up while she waited. Checking around, she quickly found breakfast had been left for her. The coffee maker was a good place to start. Exactly 3 packets of Splenda, or what she called "fake sugar," and 2 small fat-free single-serving creamer cups were left for her. She found a small package of cereal for the main course. In the fridge was a small cup of cut strawberries, a half-pint of skim milk and a low-fat vanilla yogurt. None of it was what she wanted, but it was all stuff she could stand to eat since she had to. She was hungry enough to eat anything at this point. Some bacon and eggs as part of an otherwise hearty breakfast was more of what she had in mind. The food selection looked carefully planned. Someone was putting her on a diet.

She took her time nursing her food. The coffee was disappointing, but still fit the bill. She started looking at Maggie's book, being careful to keep it clear of stray breakfast damage. A few of the Nuymean glyphs were a bit of a guess. She really needed to get a computer down here. Most of it made sense though.

The next step for her, and the next glyph she would be marked with by the looks of it, was an elaborate ritual of rebirth--the glyph could also mean transformation perhaps. She would need quite an assortment of the liquids and herbal solutions which Maggie had prepared. Now it made sense why Maggie had been so meticulous with them. A lot of the ritual was left unexplained. The book said little more than how to arrange the items on a large stone circle down matching the one here in the annex. She was then to lock herself in the holds and wait to see what happened more or less. No clue about what that would be was to be found anywhere in the book. Still, she trusted the process.

Shit.

She had to get moving. The whole thing needed to be done on the winter solstice. The first day of winter was only four days away!

Breakfast was a lot more filling than she thought until she realized that the corset was having an effect on the size of her stomach and her bowels. The coffee was having an affect on her bladder too. She tried waiting, but soon had no choice. She was going to find out just how it felt to relieve herself in a chastity belt. The thought that she was probably the first woman to do so in this belt in over 800 years didn't make this experiment in participant archaeology any more attractive. She was going to kill those guys when she caught up with them. This was not funny.