GEETWO STORIES - PAGE 021

ALTAR EGO

By

Geetwo

writergeetwo@googlemail.com

Inspired by the Art of PowertPC

Ever since realising that she was beautiful and that her beauty gave her advantages that less-attractive women couldn’t hope to enjoy, Deanna had always considered herself to be ‘special’ and far better than ordinary, common people ... especially the many young men who competed unsuccessfully to be the first to get her into bed and enjoy the pleasures of her slim, full-breasted body.

Believing in her own superiority, she was intrigued to be approached by the famous artist and when he asked if she would be interested in becoming the inspiration and model for his newest, cutting-edge project in living art, she was thrilled and delighted, feeling that the praise, honour and adulation she would receive as his artistic muse was no more than her natural right.

It was something of a shock to her to learn that he wanted to make her a Bondage Goddess with her own High Altar, but when he explained that she would represent the ultimate woman, beautiful, soft, vulnerable, desirable ... yet forever unattainable and pure, the stuff of dreams and fantasies that could never be fulfilled ... the thought of being so clearly set apart and above the everyday world only served to confirm her opinion of her own exceptional qualities and reinforce her view that she was fully deserving of the unique role he had in mind for her.

During the course of the next months, she discovered just how demanding and uncomfortable the process of creating a genuine masterpiece could be. The perfectionist artist created a crushingly tight steel harness, chastity belt and rigid manacles that bound her body and limbs so securely that she could barely wriggle ... then modified and adjusted each piece until her only freedom was a slight side-to-side movement of her head.

With the first part of his work completed, she watched from the comfort of an armchair as he made the High Altar on which she would be installed for her public exhibition and when this too was done, it was she who suggested that it would be a good idea to have a trial run.

Locked into her incredibly restrictive bondage costume, she shivered with excitement as his strong arms lifted then placed her on her knees on the altar, then tightened the chains from the thick steel bar between her legs over her thighs to remove any possibility of her closing her wide-spread limbs. Next, he unhurriedly locked heavier chains from the vertical post behind her to the rear of her collar and chastity belt, tethering and reducing her freedom still further. When he produced a large ball-gag from his pocket, she licked her lips nervously, wishing she hadn’t agreed to his insistent demand that she be silenced.

However, it was far too late for argument or second thoughts and as the gag was pushed between her unresisting jaws and the metal straps tightened, she gulped in mixed arousal and dismay, knowing she was no longer capable of any form of resistance.

Gazing across the room at the mirror on the far wall, she stared at her helplessly-chained body, her mind racing at the thought of how easy it would be for him to capture her offered breasts and force her to respond to his touch whether she wished it or not. With her sex imprisoned behind the impenetrable steel shield of the chastity belt, there was no way that she, or even he, could alleviate the growing sexual heat that swirled in her belly. When she began to realise just how completely she had surrendered all control of her body and her life to him, her eyes widened in alarm to the fierce, ever-growing need that swept through her.

To her horror and shame, she felt her nipples stiffen to aching rigidity and her sex grow wet with the juices of her excitement. Her face flushed red as the artist chuckled at the unmistakable evidence of her desire and he nodded calmly, informing her that she was displaying exactly the image and responses he had envisaged and set out to create. Deanna gasped and shuddered in her bonds, her imagination running wild at the thought of her all-too-obvious sexual passion being exhibited for the inspection and pleasure of anyone who cared to attend his gallery.
Shaking her head from side-to-side as much as her collar and tethering chains would permit, she tried to explain that she had changed her mind and no longer wanted to be the Bondage Goddess he had made her, but her gag was much too effective. He answered her muffled protests by tightening the cruel metal straps still further until she could only whimper softly; eyes widened to the stunning thought that perhaps he had no intention of setting her free or of letting her go back on her agreement to be his model.

It was only when he fetched his metal-working gear and began the final stage of her transformation, that the full horror of her plight crashed into her spinning brain ...

With each seam of her harness and manacles carefully welded closed, it was impossible for her to be released without serious injury and when she saw him turn the torch flame on the only key to her chastity belt and melt it into a lump of misshapen metal, she screamed in despairing anguish, realising that she had just been deprived of any possibility of relieving her sexual passions. Now, she would be forever unattainable, her desire and need forever unassuaged; her sexual heat kept contained and seething within her body. She realized that he intended to keep her forever chained, frustrated and helpless, the object of lusts and fantasies that could never be fulfilled. The last act in the creation of his masterpiece was to fit a thick, padded blindfold over her pleading eyes and as she was plunged into impenetrable blackness, she shuddered helplessly, knowing her fate was sealed and that she would never be freed.

Her breasts quivered wildly, his touch sending lightning-bolts of devastating arousal spearing through her while he toyed with her engorged nipples, but even as she squealed shrilly, he took his hands from her and chuckled cruelly, telling her in a loud voice, but faint to her, that her frantic responses and desperate desire to come would simply emphasise the power of his work and ensure his pre-eminent position as the greatest artist of his age. She would be his greatest triumph and living proof of his artistic mastery, the culmination of every critic’s secret dreams and longings; her defenceless vulnerability and total captivity the ultimate example of the frailty of civilisation’s boundaries and of man’s unquenchable drive to control and subjugate the female for his sexual pleasure.

But unfortunately, of course, he told her calmly, his vision of her as the pure, unsullied sex-object of every male fantasy, precluded him from ever allowing her to reach orgasm, for to do so would be to destroy the very basis and ethos of his creative efforts. Countless millions of women across the world already knew the exquisite pleasure of orgasm and millions more could and would share that experience and knowledge, but she would not. As she had always believed and wished, she was indeed special and was not to be like those other more common women.

For her, exhibited on her “High Altar” there would be endless arousal, endless frustration and endless, unbearable sexual heat and need. She was the Bondage Goddess and far above such things ... at least, for the time being.

Perhaps, he chuckled, at some distant point in her future, when he found the inspiration to surpass even this, the finest achievement of his artistic career, he might consider freeing her from the altar and allowing her to serve him, but if that ever happened, she would do it in her harness and chains as a totally obedient and utterly submissive sex-slave, devoted solely to his pleasure and satisfaction ...

She didn’t want to believe he could be so ruthless and planned to inflict such dreadful torment upon her, but even as she tried to deny his horrifying words and strained furiously against her implacable steel bonds, she knew her struggles were in vain. She was condemned to weeks and months, or even years, of helpless captivity and humiliating exposure as a piece of living art.

None of the thousands of people who would see her would ever suspect that hers was not a willing subjugation. The artist had a world-wide reputation and was highly respected as a leader and innovator in his field, his work gracing many of the most well-known and prestigious galleries and his fame and notoriety was such that he would never be questioned or criticised. As she came to understand that there was to be no escape or rescue for her, her belly kicked with frightening power to the realisation that the only possible way out of her terrible situation was the slim hope that he would eventually permit her to become his permanent, full-time sex-slave.

Her belly kicked again and her breasts quivered to the waves of super-heated arousal that stormed through her body and she was forced to surrender to the inevitability of her inescapable fate. Deanna knew that although her public persona would be that of the untouchable Bondage Goddess, to her captor and herself, she would always in reality be his Bondage Slave In Need. She would never for a single second be allowed to recover the control and direction over her body and life that his collar, harness and chains had taken from her.

Goddess or slave, the title would make no difference to her absolute subjugation and as she embarked on her new career she could only pray that renewed inspiration would strike her captor sooner rather than later and bring to an end the torment of her enforced and unwanted chastity ... although not, she was now chillingly certain, the end of her bondage servitude as his lifelong slave ...