Celine's Seduction To Rubber E-Book

JG Leathers

• Herausgeber: pinkflamingo
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2008

Seitenzahl: 336

Beschreibung

Celine is a lovely blonde German girl who is twice caught indulging in exploratory sexmuch to her fathers horror. In order to eradicate these verboten behaviors, her father engages Frau Baxter, a strict English governess, to ensure that Celine strays no further. Celine is shocked to discover that her father has given the woman complete authority over her. Under Frau Baxters rigorous domination, Celine is forced to wear a bizarre suit made exclusively of rubber. At night, shell sleep bound to a bed with rubber sheets. While she resists the womans demands, her objections are summarily dismissed while the governess presses forward in her mission. As Celine enters into the strange world of rubber bondage and discipline, the transition is at first bearable. But with increasing restraints and new additions to her costume, her rubber world soon blossoms into complete captivity and deep enslavement. As much as she abhors what has been done to her, the rubber against her skin has the most uncommonly erotic effect on her body. And when Frau Baxter secures a rubber bladder in her mouth as a silencing device, she finds that a sexual stimulant too! Though she wants to escape the house and win back her freedom, Celine is curiously drawn to the experience that has now overtaken her life and the savage orgasms that besiege her body. As Celine is abandoned by her father to the womans devices, the governess is aided by Herr Wolff who will assist in Celines further transformation. Soon all her bodily functions, feeding, elimination and even breathing will be under the control of those who hold her captive. Once the rubber bondage is complete, shell be sold to a wealthy industrialist as a rubberized pet. Her new Master and his wife Leona believe that Celine has consented to her enslavement, and poor Celine, trapped in her rubber suit, has no way to divulge the truth.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Celine’s Seduction To Rubber

Original Story Idea by Baron von Ronsa

Full Story Creation by JG-Leathers

A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

Copyright © 2008, All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior written permission from the publisher.

For information contact:

Pink Flamingo Publications

www.pinkflamingo.com

P.O. Box 632  Richland, MI 49083 USA  Original Cover Art by YPVS

www.renderotica.com

Forward by JG-Leathers

This is but one story, originally in a much shorter form, written by my dear friend Ron Saggers, freely given to me as one of the many gifts of his creativity. Unfortunately for us all, he has now departed this plane of existence.

       He was generous and a gentleman in every sense of the word, and will be sadly missed by those of us fortunate enough to have been his friends. Ron and I shared a tremendous array of similar history and fetish interests, and enjoyed communicating frequently about them. We worked together on his full length story, The Consignment, which was eventually illustrated and published; a life long dream of his. I have endeavoured to continue this particular tale, “Celine’s Seduction To Rubber”, sadly left unfinished at Ron’s death, and hope that the reader will find it a seamless transition and logical evolution from his words into mine.

       I indeed miss Ron, his quixotic turn of mind and phrase, and his good humour. His loss is not only deeply felt by his surviving wife and family, but also by those of us fortunate enough to have been his friends and to have known him on a different and perhaps deeper level.

       Thank you, Ron, wherever you are, and whatever you may have become. I hope your fantasies have been fulfilled in full measure in your new life.

Celine’s Seduction To Rubber

Introduction

       This is the Story of Celine Vassen, told in her own words. What she relates, some will find impossible to believe. Others, who know how deep a fetish can go, how strong may be its hold, will understand that she could not have written these words if they were not true. Although the story is of what began during her seventeenth year, she first draws a pen picture of her life prior to that period.

Chapter One

Beginnings

       I was born in Hanover, Germany, and though my father was German, I had a French mother and lived my pre-teen years safe in the bosom of a loving family. Soon after my twelfth birthday my Mother was cruelly taken from us and during her short but painful illness I watched my father’s own health suffer too. It took him well over two years to come to terms with her death. I still have not.

       My only other female relative at that time was my paternal Grandmother. She though, was already over seventy years old, and could not realistically be called upon to assist my father in my upbringing. I learnt quickly that I would have to look after myself and him.

       I was made of stern stuff and matured quickly and from others, learnt those important things my Mother would have taught me had she lived, soon blossoming into a young woman and doing well with my education. And so I stayed on at school beyond the average leaving age; being in my final year when the change that warrants this story took place. One that was to have permanent and lasting consequences on my life.

       Some six months before this point in my tale, I had met a boy called Michael and our companionship grew steadily. My father approved of him and actively encouraged our friendship so that we visited each other’s homes on many occasions. It was on such a call, when he and I were studying for examinations, that we both sat upon the bed in my room, so that we might swap question and answer to help each other with our studies.

       I now freely admit that I had more than once felt a longing in my loins upon being so close to him, but was naively still unprepared for what happened next. His touch, at first innocent, soon turned to caress. The caress emboldened to insistence and before I knew it, his hand was moving from my thigh up to my virgin flower. I should have stopped him, and yes, should have stayed his searching hand, but I was eager to learn what might result from these attentions. In moments, our school work forgotten, he had worked his fingers into my pants and I shuddered, feeling them circle the moistening flesh of my labia.

       A moment later the heightening pleasure of this my first sexual encounter was to be dashed on the rocks of sorrow. The single knock upon the half-open door of my bedroom was like the knell of doom. Unaware of my current circumstances and not even guessing at what he would find, my father entered the room bearing a tray dressed with lemonade, glasses, and some cakes. I recall that these contents seemed to tumble gradually to the bedroom carpet, as though part of a film scene re-played in slow motion, when the tray fell from his hands. Without a word, he glared first at my would-be lover, then at me, before turning on his heel and slamming the bedroom door. I listened to his loud footsteps retreating down the hall.

Chapter Two

Lessons To Learn

       Thus I am brought to this fateful point in my life, where my story truly begins.

       After his discovery, my father would not see me for the rest of that day nor speak or listen to me for another five such days. Michael and I agreed it would be best that he should stay away for a while, and agreed not to see each other until the air had cleared. In the meantime I went on with my schooling and took care of the house as before. My father, being a writer of college text books, continued his work in solitude. In his study, the pounding keys of his typewriter continued to sound, but more and more came the harsh mechanical screech of the typewriter’s feed mechanism when another unfinished page was ripped savagely from the machine. The sounds of the paper being crumpled as it was consigned to the waste bin crackled in my ears, each added sheet weighing more heavily on my conscience.

       On the seventh day following the unfortunate bedroom encounter, I was again seated upon my bed trying to study for my next afternoon’s lessons, although this time alone. However, my thoughts kept drifting to other matters and my mind was not on my lessons, for Michael’s image appeared before me, floating above each page of text until once more I felt the wetness form upon and within my sex. I was sadly unable then to ignore the temptation of using my own soft fingers to caress my throbbing clitoris and swear to you, that this was the first time, other than that fateful day with Michael, that my body had known such caress! Sadly, oh so sadly, this was the very moment that my father chose to end his silence and distance from me. I did not heard him enter the room and was oblivious to his presence until the resounding slap of both his hands upon his face jolted me from my privacy. I turned to see his head bent in his scholar’s hands.

       “Oh Celine!!” he cried out in dismay, “What has become of you?! First, you let that … thatboy take advantage of your body; and now I find that even when alone you cannot be trusted to control your carnal desires!” As his arms dropped to his sides, his shoulders sagged and he shook his head, unable to understand what he had seen. “Now I am certain that the decision I have made is most surely the right one.”

       I expected to hear that I was to be punished, probably physically, for the first time in my life, but how could I hope to convince him that the two occasions on which he had caught me were the only ones? Surely what I had done could not be so bad? Other girls my age had experimented with sexual pleasure and one had even managed to fall pregnant by a younger boy. Naturally, the pair’s scholastic studies had ended abruptly thereby, but this was not my crime! I stood up before him with my head lowered, but remained silent.

       “I have decided to employ a Governess to look after you, Celine.”

       His words came as a total shock for I was a young adult and in less than a year would be seeking employment as such; beginning a new phase of my life.

       “B-but father!?” I stuttered, “A Governess? I am already seventeen! What use can a Governess be to me now?” I started to shake my head in disbelief. “Perhaps after Mother died such a step might have had some merit,” I continued, “but surely you would be wasting money to employ a teacher for me now?”

       “It is not your schoolwork that has brought this decision, Celine,” my father broke in. “I cannot stand by and see your morals sink into an abyss of your own making. This woman is held in high regard by my friend and fellow scholar, Johan Strang, whose foolish daughter Kristel brought a similar shame upon his house only a year ago.” He began now to pace back and forth before me, his head bowed and his hands joined behind his back.

       “Frau Baxter, your new Governess, is of English birth,” he continued. “She has held many such positions in her time, and will be arriving Friday next. You are to prepare the bedroom next to yours in time for her arrival.”

       So, not only was I to have a Governess, but a twenty-four hour a day, live-in chaperone! Was I not a young woman with the sexual needs of one my age? Had he failed to notice me growing up? This was very much an over-reaction by him I felt, but, I could see that his mind was set, for already the arrangements had been made. I was now held so low in his esteem that there would be little chance of arguing my case and so carried on as before, living the next days in dread anticipation of what Frau Baxter’s arrival would mean. Her quarters were prepared as instructed, but I took care to move in the largest furniture available in the other vacant rooms, hoping to make her small chamber appear less than welcoming. Naively, I dared to hope that she would reject the accommodation offered, and in so doing refuse the position. It was a relief that I had not been moved to this smaller room myself to make way for this new duenna.

       Frau Baxter arrived promptly at ten o’clock on the Friday morning, as she had written she would. I was dressed in my Sunday Best, and stood almost to attention beside my father to complete the welcoming committee. How can I best describe this woman? She was taller by far than I; her shoulders level with my father’s, and held her imposing form erect like a military man. Frau Baxter carried two suitcases; one grasped in her left hand and the other held effortlessly under that same arm. In her right hand she held a rolled umbrella and the letter containing my father’s offer of employment. She was dressed in a severe, grey, pin-striped, and tight-fitting suit that would have looked in place in any City office. On her head there jauntily sat a wide-brimmed, fawn-coloured hat with blue ribbon and matching feather.

       “Welcome, Frau Baxter!” my father beamed, bending at the waist as though encountering royalty. “I trust you had a pleasant journey?” he asked, stepping forward to take the suitcase she was lowering to the ground.

       “Yes. Indeed, Sir,” she answered, her words chopped short, not a syllable wasted, and spoken with the confidence of her stature. “I am pleased to meet you, Herr Vassen!”

       She placed letter and umbrella on the suitcase top and stretched out her right hand to my father. I could see he was taken aback by the strength of her exaggerated handshake and felt myself begin to wilt while absorbing the full extent of the woman’s imposing presence. She glanced sideways at me, but made no acknowledgement of my presence; nor did she seem to expect any greeting from me.

       “Show Frau Baxter to her room, Celine. I will bring up the bags.”

       I nodded acknowledgement of my father’s words and turned towards the stairs. The Governess followed me, pausing only to speak again to my father.

       “There are also two trunks which the taxi driver has now gone to collect from the Station Luggage Office. I will oversee their reception later,” she finished.

       I wondered where she would stow all this luggage in her small room, should she decide to stay.

       The door to her room opened easily and I stood aside, but she made no move to enter; only sticking her head inside and glancing quickly around.

       “Now, show me your room, young woman!”

       She stood back so that I could lead the way. Her sentence had not been a request, but rather an order and I was too overawed to disobey. Upon opening the door of my bedroom she stepped straight in and walked a full circle of it, peering penetratingly left and right, inspecting its every corner. She glanced at my oversize bed, towards me, then back to the bed. By now my father had reached the doorway and seeing us inside, lowered the two suitcases to the floor. Frau Baxter’s next words came like a thunderbolt to shatter my world. I had by now half-expected that she would request of my father a change of rooms and grew surer each minute that she wanted my own, but it was to be worse. Much worse.

       “I think,” she began, “it would be much better, if for the first few days at least, I shared this bedroom with your daughter.” I staggered back towards the doorway, but she continued relentlessly. “I suggest that we remove some of the superfluous furniture from this room, and replace this giant bed with two more reasonably sized.”

       I had expected her to take control of my days and knew that there would be many changes to my routine, but to have to share my room, and with this ... this middle-aged English woman?!

       “No father. No, please! I am happy to move to the smaller room if that is necessary, but I do not wish to share a room. There are ample spares. It is so unfair!” I pleaded. Frau Baxter stood stone-faced, seemingly unruffled by my outburst, but her eyes never left my father’s.

       “I assure you it will be for the best, Herr Vassen,” she said. Her lip now curled as though she was sharing with him a secret, one unheard by me.

       “I am sure you are right, Frau Baxter,” he answered. He was about to say more, but the Governess cut him off.

       “I will see to it after we have had some lunch, Sir,” she said. “Your daughter and I will manage the changes so that you need not be disturbed.”

       So it was that after Frau Baxter had been given a brief tour of the house and taken delivery of her two enormous trunks, we all sat down to a light lunch and some wine. She watched my every move at the table without comment and when the meal was over, turned to me.

       “Please leave us now. I have much to talk over with your father. You will spend the time stripping the linens from your bed in preparation for its removal.”

       I was struck speechless, and so meekly left the dining room and proceeded as ordered to my bedroom. After stripping off the blankets, sheets, and pillowcases, I sat on the edge of the bare mattress, chin in cupped hands to think over my predicament. It was now very doubtful that Michael and I would be allowed to see or even contact each other, and apparent that he would remain off limits, for the present at least. What other restrictions might this ogress impose upon me with the full consent and backing of my father?

       Frau Baxter appeared at my door some ten minutes later, minus her jacket and with the sleeves of her starched white blouse rolled neatly above her elbows. I rose from the bed and faced her.

       “I have had a nice chat with your father, Celine, and have persuaded him that for the next few days it would be advantageous for you to remain exclusively upstairs in my care.” I limply sat back down, wondering miserably what else my father had agreed to in my absence. “I have closely observed your attitude and behaviour since my arrival,” she continued, “including your manners at table. These observations, coupled with what your father has told me of your past sexual behaviour, make it imperative that I begin you upon a corrective course at once, and in great earnest.”

       So, I was to become a virtual prisoner in my own room. There was no school for me to attend until Tuesday next, and therefore no excuse to beg leave of this imposition until then; almost four days hence. Fear clutched my heart and I tried to dash past my captor, needing then to speak to my father alone. He had to be made to understand what he was doing to me. As I attemptedto brush past Frau Baxter, she stepped aside and I thought my way was open, but quick as a flash she turned on her heel and my right shoulder was held in a vice-like grip that stopped me in my tracks.

       My prison term had begun.

Chapter Three

Moving In

       For the next two hours I had to help my governess move bedding, furniture, carpet, and drapes from room to room. When these chores were finally over, my old bedroom had all but disappeared: taken over by the woman sent to torment me. Frau Baxter had changed her mind and taken my beloved wooden bed for her own while I was left with a narrow, metal-framed excuse. I stood with my back to the window and watched while she made-up hers with fresh linen then covered it with a quilted satin counterpane taken from one of her enormous travelling chests. These were now housed next door in what was to have been her bedroom.

       Although she seemed happy enough with the drapes we had fitted, she next took measurements of the single large window, then I was enlisted to help unpack her two suitcases, whilst she loaded the contents into the tallboy and wardrobe. When this was done, she turned to me once more.

       “Now Celine, I require that you to go to the bathroom, undress, and have a long shower. Mind that you scrub well! I will come for you when I am finished here and shall expect to find you antiseptically clean and ready for my inspection.”

       “And have you decided what clothes I am to wear?” I asked, foolishly attempting sarcasm.

       “You need take none of your clothes with you girl!” she snapped back. “I will bring your new ensemble when you have finished your ablutions.”

       New ‘ensemble’?

       My mind went blank then tried to imagine just what this might be. I recalled seeing a cartoon of prim French schoolgirls, marching in line behind theirGoverness, all dressed in matching uniforms of blue sailor suits, topped with broad straw ‘boater’ hats and the thought seemed at once laughable yet grave. Had my father decided on these new clothes, or would they be the choice of my new Governess, similar perhaps to her own severe style of dress?

       I did as ordered, showering then towelling myself dry. When finished, Frau Baxter still had not come to fetch me and I thought about returning to the room but decided against it. After a minute, then two, then five; at last the silence was broken by a strange rustling sound. My Governess came into the bathroom and at once I saw the source of the noise. Blinded, I would still have known what manner of material she carried draped across her forearms, for the pungent aroma of rubber at once filled the room. The towel that had been wrapped around my middle fell to the floor, leaving me tostand naked and open-mouthed, transfixed, while she laid the items over the chair back. The material squeaked as one shiny layer moved against another, but I still could not believe what I was seeing!

       Frau Baxter laid out the grey-coloured items and I caught the many facets of light that reflected from the gleaming surfaces as she held one of them up before me; something instantly recognisable, but could it be meant for me? It was a copy of a one piece suit I remembered from my childhood; a play suit for a two or three year old, but this garment was adult-sized; large enough for me, and I knew that I was destined to be its wearer.

       She closed upon me holding the suit high in one hand, pulling its long zip down with her other, and I tried to back away, but had nowhere to go. A mixture of fear and the threat of something new and unknown, yet also a stirring in my loins made me hesitate then. Slowly there also came a tingling on the surface of my skin and the aroma of the rubber assailed my senses so that I began to feel heady, giddy. Unexpectedly, she lifted the suit and threw it across her left shoulder while she advanced on my cowering form.

       “Let me look at you properly girl! Stand straight now!”

       I stood still while she circled me, allowing her to lift my arms and inspect beneath them. She returned to my front, and, using her left foot, spread my legs and tilted her head to inspect my delta! For the first time she touched me, tenderly, high upon my inner thigh. I expected a roughness; a coldness, but her finger was soft and warm. She let it trace a line up my left thigh, circling around the top of my outer labia, then down again to finish on my right thigh. Her finger was next angled so that her nail was on my skin rather than her finger tip, and drawn down to my knee. She watched my face as I took a sharp intake of breath. Was her touch a sexual caress, or merely a test of my reaction? I was not to find out that day.

       “Not bad Celine,” she granted me, stepping back. “Now, put your hands upon my shoulders and step into your underwear.” She swept the rubber garment down and held it open at knee height. I hesitated only to hear her voice sharpen, “Quickly now! We do not have all day, girl!”

       I lifted first one leg then the other, allowing her to pull the suit up to my waist. Small white clouds formed as the talcum which had coated the inner surface of the rubber garment was disturbed. When the gusset of the pants had reached my sex, the long legs covered me to just below the knee, where elasticised openings lightly gripped the tops of my shins. Other, heavier and widerbands held the garment snug to my upper thighs and around my waist. The ample rubber material between these fastenings billowed out, seeming to be gas-filled pockets.

       Frau Baxter next slipped my arms into the sleeves of the suit and I felt more of the tight elasticised bands at elbow and wrist draw the garment closely in to these joints. A moment later I felt and heard her draw the rear zip at the middle of my back up to the suit’s neck edging, stretching the elasticized seam at that point to match the other crimped openings and an almost electric tingling between my still-damp sex lips seemed to increase as the zip rose! When the fastener was drawn higher up my back, it also joined together a wide, formed inner band around my upper chest, forming a snug, bra-like strap! I could not understand how just the touch of this natural product could arouse me in a manner so similar to the touch of Michael’s boyishly soft fingertips had done.

       “There! That wasn’t too bad, was it child?” she asked. I did not expect she was waiting for reply, for she spun me around so I could look upon my reflection in the still partly steamed-up bathroom mirror. “Now! Put on this wrap and go back to the room,” she continued. “We don’t want you catching cold standing on these tiles, do we?” She pulled a heavy, grey rubber cape about my shoulders.

Chapter Four

My Dressing Continues

       I was certain she had noticed my reaction to the rubber cape when it brushed against my skin. The short journey to my room seemed to take an age, my body almost floating above the carpet. The cape, trailing behind me, caught the rush of air while we walked, creating a continuous whooshing sound, almost a whistlingand I shuddered for some strange reason at this unusual noise.

       Back in the bedroom, the smell of rubber was even more pronounced, pervading every corner with its pungency. Even with my senses aglow and my bond with reality slim, I noticed the changes that had taken place in my absence. My bed had now been made up, but not for me a feminine satin. My counterpane was of shining, white rubber and beneath its neatly turned back edge, was yet more rubber; a sharp contrast of black, but this time of dull texture and obviously quite thick. I had been granted but one pillow, and this too was sheathed in matching black.

       I approached the bed and felt the dark, forbidding sheets and pillow case to find that unlike the my new underwear, this rubber was indeed thick and difficult to draw in folds between my fingers.

       “Never mind that now Celine.” Frau Baxter took my wrist and drew me towards her side of the room. “We must finish your dressing before you can have some tea.” She led me to face her closed wardrobe. “Now, spread out your feet and lean forward like this.” She stood nearly a metre from the it and with her outstretched arms horizontal, leant against its door. I copied her action and when she had adjusted the position of my palms to be a little further apart, she bent to pick up something from her bed. The tell-tale smell introduced yet another rubber garment which was quickly passed around my middle. In the mirror set into the wardrobe’s door, I saw at once that it was a corset. I had known my mother to wear one on occasions, and my grandmother never left the house without she was wrapped in the embrace of her stays, but I had never seen the like of this, nor dreamt that I would ever be required to wear such a thing!

       It was bright red in colour and I noted it was in fact a laminate of rubber – almost as thick as a pencil – and some other unknown material which formed a lining for its inner surface. I closed my eyes for a moment, once more letting the aroma take over my senses while she drew the corset together behind my back. Its lower edge extended down to ride on my pelvis and its upper reached up tight under my armpits. My breasts, sheathed in the grey rubber of the undergarment, were lifted and sat firmly within rigid half cups on its front. Frau Baxter next wrapped a belt about my middle to hold it in position whilst she threaded and drew in its lacing from top to bottom. When this task was complete, she moved once again to the corset’s upper edge between my shoulder blades, and with harsh jerking motions, proceeded to pull the laces in even tighter. I stood silent and still until I felt that she had reached the bottom edge. She next removed the temporary belt and I assumed she was finished. How wrong I was! When I attempted to push away from the wardrobe and stand erect her hand pressed into the small of my back and forced me to resume my position.

       “Not yet girl!” she snapped, “I am not finished!” then continued. “The corset is only hanging on you Celine. What good do you think it would do if I left it so loose?” Here was another of her rhetorical questions. “By the time I have finished today, I expect to see a change in your figure and posture. Not much to be sure, for that will take time, but today I shall make a start on you my pretty one.”

       By the time Frau Baxter had tightened the laces a second time, I was fighting for each breath, but still she was not finished!

       “Stretch up, and draw in your chest and abdomen when I pull, Celine!” she ordered sharply.

       There was little room for me to do any such thing, but I made the attempt though, and with each try, another section of the lacing was drawn tighter. By the time she was at last satisfied, I could not even bear to push myself upright, so great was the strain on my spine. Frau Baxter pulled me back and stood alongside until she was sure I would not fall over. In the mirror’s reflection I marvelled at the change the corset had wrought. I could not move anything between my shoulders and thighs, for it enclosed and crushed my entire torso ... and she had said that this was only the beginning!

       The thing appeared, at first glance, to have been fashioned from one piece of the rubber laminate, but closer examination disproved that for I could see that faultless and almost invisible seams joined many separate pieces of the polished material. By attempting some movement I felt boning within its structure; metal that would bend slightly, but then quickly spring back to its original alignment. My abdominal and other muscles already ached at being forced into their new positions for where the garment held in my stomach, it pushed out my rear, almost forming a shelf behind my waist. My chest, conversely, was pushed forward withmy upper spine, which was now held ramrod straight and vertical to my now tiny waist and my whole torso resembled a giant hourglass that had been tilted at thirty degrees from the horizontal. The constricted middle of this hourglass, my waist, had undergone an unbelievable modification.

       “That is an excellent start, Celine. Sit down now at your desk and I will bring the tea.” She was smiling at my discomfort I believe.

       Frau Baxter turned on her heel and I heard her striding down the stairs. I carefully did as she had ordered; glad to be able to take the rest, but was forced to move slowly for it was as though the joints in my body had been locked. I wanted to test the size of my waist, but had no measuring tape to hand. The belt of a dress I had worn before my shower lay unnoticed beneath my dressing table, and so I eased it to my side with my toe, then managed to lean over enough to pick it up. I wrapped it around my now solid middle then threaded its end through the buckle, but being held so rigidly now by the corset, I was unable to see the extent of the decrease in my waist size and so marked the new location of the tightened buckle with my finger. I carefully removed the belt and lifted it to my eyes. I was astonished! Even with only this rough appraisal, it was obvious that my waist size had been cut by twenty-five percent. I had been proud of my sixty-four centimetre size, but even erring on the conservative, I calculated that this corset had subtracted sixteen cm or more from that! I reached round to the back gingerly and felt for the gap still open between the edges of my rubber prison and thankfully, there seemed to be less than a fingertip’s width of adjustment remaining.

       I heard what I thought was the rattle of crockery when Frau Baxter re-entered the room and turned my head slowly to find that instead, she was carrying a tray containing what looked like a large metal funnel and other strange objects. The tray was placed on her bed and I saw that she now wore a heavy, white, rubber apron. She took only one thing from the tray; a long, brown rubber tube, then, approaching me, began to stretch it between her hands. It was laid on the desk in front of me and from a pocket in the apron there came a small jar. This she opened, then dipped two fingers into the translucent cream it held and began coating the tube; spreading it evenly along virtually the whole length and taking care not to leave any part dry, save for seven or eight centimetres at one end. I shuddered to think what was coming next.

       “You need not be afraid, Celine,” she said. “You must learn that I will do nothing to permanently harm you. Everything is for your own good no matter how harsh or strange it may seem at the time.” I wanted to believe this woman. I needed to desperately, for my father had left me in her hands! “Now, I have decided,” she continued, “that because of your poor manners at table today, you will have to earn the right to be able to feed yourself. Until I feel that time has arrived, I shall assume the task. Now, tilt your chin back with your head high and open your mouth wide. I shall feed this tube into it and you must swallow it whilst I do! I warn you not to baulk, nor try to expel it once it has started the journey to your stomach.”

       It was as I suspected, although I had hoped, dearly hoped, that I might be wrong! The infernal rubber pipe was to remove from me the power to chew and swallow my own food and it would stop me from tasting what I consumed while at the same time rob me of the freedom to eat or refuse what I would. I began to slide along the bench of my desk for this was more than I could take. I had to get out of this room and reach the safety of my father’s arms! He could not be aware of what this woman was doing to me, and surely would not let it continue once he did.

       How wrong I was!

       Before I reached the end of the seat, unseen hands; strong male hands, grasped my arms and pinned me to it! My own father would hold me whilst this so-called Governess tubed me like a goose to be fattened for its liver! With one hand Frau Baxter took hold of my nose and whilst thus cutting off the air passage, used the purchase to lift my head up and back. I was powerless to stop her when she began to feed the slippery rubber hose relentlessly into my mouth and down my throat! My body’s automatic reaction to try and expel this foreign invader caused me to retch, and that immediately turned to a helpless, gargling scream, but I was quickly losing consciousness.

       The last thing I heard was my father’s voice.

       “Be strong my child!” he beseeched, “It is for your own good! I am sure it is for your own good!” I remember thinking as I passed out, that this woman must have cast some spell on him, making him echo her words! If he was in his own right mind, he could not believe that such a thing was for anything good whatsoever!

Chapter Five

Love’s Labours Won

       When I returned to awareness, the room was in darkness. I could not believe that I had been unconscious for so long, as it was mid-Summer and the nights did not draw in until long after ten pm. I still sat at my desk, but could barely move. It was certain that I had been restrained in some way, but I could not see how and felt physically sick, for the crush of the corset, instead of easing, had now become overwhelming.

       Suddenly, a bright shaft of light forced me to close my eyes. Behind my closed lids, the brightness held steady, and once more the room was flooded with the sun’s warming rays. I waited for a few moments before blinking my eyes open and getting once more accustomed to the light. Now, I could see that although Frau Baxter stood between me and the window, it was indeed still daytime.

       “That will be fine my man,” I heard her say. “When you see Herr Vassen at the door, he will pay you for the work.”

       She was talking to someone on the other side of the half-raised sash window and I then realised what had caused the darkness. I had woken just as new shutters had been put to the test and so here was the reason for the measurement of the window. Frau Baxter had seen to the employment of a workman to replace the long-rotted storm defences with new, solid, thick, wooden shutters.

       I heard a muffled reply to her instructions and after a short delay, ladders being noisily moved away from the half-balcony outside the window. More muffled voices filtered into the room from the area of the front door, then came the sound of a vehicle being driven away.

       Frau Baxter leant out of the window and tested that she could open and close the shutters with ease from the inside, then in the darkness I heard her shuffle back; ensuring that with their full closure they completely excluded all light. When she opened them once more I could not prevent a tickle in my nose from growing into a sneeze and was pleased to see her jump, startled by the sudden noise.

       “Ah! So the sleeper wakes,” she called. “I am sorry you missed your tea Celine, but then again you did not, if you see what I mean?” Whimsy? But my neither my mood or condition allowed me to enjoy her jokes. “Your father,” she continued, “also grew a little faint when you passed out, and so I made other arrangements to hold you in position to be fed.” Still speaking, she came behind me and began to wrestle with whatever held my arms at my sides and my body to the bench. These bindings fell to the floor then Frau Baxter returned to my front and continued. “It will soon be time to prepare you for bed and to this end I have another small surprise for you.” She beckoned me to stand, and I did with great difficulty. “Turn and face the wall now,” she continued, helping me to remain upright.