The Curator Ch. 02

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."

She cursed under her breath when she found her office door locked. Finally fumbling for the right key, feeling like a whore coming home from a bad night, she gave one last look down the hall before ducking inside. She didn't think anyone saw her and locked the door behind her.

Sue pulled open the drawer with all of the spare keys and started to work, after sitting down to rest her aching feet. The relief when she finally felt the right key turn was almost as great as the relief from pulling the mouth cover off and prying out the rubber ball. She tried to work her jaw for a few minutes, but it refused to move and her tongue was completely numb. She tried to talk, but still couldn't make a sound. As feeling returned, the aches were sharp at first, but diminished to a dull sore feeling. She took half a dozen deep breaths and told herself that she wouldn't take breathing normally for granted again. The herbal numbing effect of the gag was completely unexpected, score one for participant archaeology.

Covering herself was next. She scanned the room thinking and looking for an idea. Thank all the Nuymean gods, she found her neglected gym bag. She slowly worked her black Lycra tights over the heels and up her legs, careful not to snag them. She bought them for spinning classes and thought they were a good mix of conservative coverage, function and "look at my ass, I'm advertising...but I'm not a slut." Now she was starting to have serious doubts about the slut part. Even though she was a bit chunky, she considered her legs and rear her best features. Her buns were as good as anyone else she saw at the gym even if she was battling muffin top. With the sweater pulled down onto her hips as far as it would stretch, the combination did look a little like something the thinner, fashionable women might wear. It would seem odd for her typical geek style and get looks, but it would pass for now.

She was about to head towards the side room to re-examine the chair when she caught sight of herself in the Victorian standing mirror she had borrowed from "not suitable for display" storage. She loved the lewd little cherubs carved into the dark wood frame. She might not be very attractive, but still liked to take stock before heading out. The high heels did seem to do a little something for her posture. She noticed a faint tan starting from the light and knew she was right about the UV. It didn't look half bad. She saw the flatness of her chest and immediately started to pull off her sweater and undershirt to put her bra back on. She hated the necessity, but loved the help it provided. Nothing like the Wonderbra! She would do what she could with what she had. The discomfort was secondary. Besides, it just felt unnatural for the twins to be hangin' loose.

As she started to settle her breasts into the bra cups, trying to find that compromise between presentation and comfort, she turned back to the mirror. How could she have not seen that before? In the mid-range of her chest between her neck and cleavage, centered exactly, was a black symbol. She grabbed her glasses for a closer look. It was clearly a Nuymean hieroglyph a little over two and a half inches long. It was crisp and clear like a well done tattoo. What the fuck? How is that possible? It was huge!

The mark was an intriguing combination of the Nuymean symbols for "trust" and "gods." The meaning could be either "trust in the gods" or "the trust of the gods." The Nuymean language was not precise in the meaning. Even the usage of the word "trust" was suspect and had implications of its own.

All the questions she had about the events in the room were now compounded by an order of magnitude. She felt the skin over the mark and could not detect anything abnormal except the mark itself. She rubbed at it and clearly it would not be easily removed and was in all likelihood permanent. There was not the slightest smudge. It was in the skin and not on the skin, without sign of a needle mark.

With the mark, she felt labeled somehow, but how and for what purpose? Instead of concern, the sense of peace and contentment she felt earlier seemed to have a hint of a name now. She was worth labeling like she was part of something. She knew now, without a doubt, that there was a purpose to her life. She knew the mark was something very significant. Despite a slight euphoria, Sue returned to the feeling of arousal and frustration--finally working the bra into position while balancing in the irremovable heels. Was the mark some sort of recognition? It seemed to be so, but for what?

As she kept thinking about the questions in her mind and what had happened, going over and over the details, she tried again to remove the heels as a logical action. The frustration and implications of them magnified her flush of arousal like it was lying in wait to be rekindled. She had to do something for relief. She should probably wait for the numbness in her face to fade anyways. At least she could get a weak grunting sound out now. She unlocked her special drawer--the one where she kept her well-used vibrator and little-used toy collection. She spent a lot more time at work than at home--nothing like the privacy of your own office.

Her mind kept replaying the helpless feeling of being stuck on the chair while forced to endure the relentless stimulation of the phallus. The helplessness contributed to the amazing orgasms more than she would have ever guessed before experiencing it. Score two for participant archaeology. The vibrator wand would be the opposite giving complete control over her own level stimulation. It simply didn't fill the nagging desire she was feeling. She wanted something like that helpless feeling again. She needed more...adventure.

She dug through the drawer and found the packaged silicone squid. Her friend Steph had given it to her for her birthday, mostly as a joke--or so she thought. She was always going on about how single women need to address their needs and how sexual desires were a natural part of being a woman. Sue hadn't taken her all that seriously. Now she was changing her tune. The box said it was a Streetwalker Squid Stimulator Deluxe with Partner Play. She read the description and realized it was a serious sex toy and not a gag gift. Steph had really meant it.

The squid had a remote control and long life lithium batteries. Small "tentacles" hung down from a tapered oblong head. On the outside edge were the largest tentacles. They had small suction cup-like nubs that looked like they could grip the vaginal walls. On the inside, several shorter fine tentacles hung down longer, maybe for decoration. In the middle, up under the tentacles was a mounting lug that matched a long insertion rod.

The quick reference picture on the back showed inserting the squid using the rod and then pulling out the release knob at the opposite end. Afterwards, a different tool shaped more like surgical tongs was used to grip the lug. It would grab the lug and then a rod could be slid upwards to re-engage the squid so that it could be pulled out. It seemed pretty elaborate, but had a gynecological instrument-like quality to it that left her believing it was well thought out. The box guaranteed that if used properly the squid would never slip out even if jogging or swimming. The remote had a complex variety of settings with some kind of microprocessor control.

She had a sudden whim to insert the squid while going back down to the side room to investigate what happened. It wasn't much more than a fancy bullet vibrator with an electronic control by the looks of it. She could leave the remote control in her office so wouldn't be able to stop the stimulation. The whole idea of being a bit out-of-control pushed her over the edge and instantly she started to rip open the plastic wrap on the outside of the box. She tossed aside the usual booklet of warnings, disclaimers and instructions in 16 languages. She always got a smirk out of the requisite for novelty use only markings--lawyers, bastards. Probably quite a few had one of these too.

She pulled down her gym tights and panties then squeezed the enclosed sample lube package over the soft silicone of the squid. She was already turned on and probably didn't need it, but thought better safe than sorry. The pink silicone had a fleshy texture that made it seem remotely life-like. The sample lube was really thick compared to normal and clung to the squid well. She spread her nether lips to keep as much lube as possible on the squid as she slid it into her entrance.

Sue steadily pushed the rod upwards until she found what seemed like a natural position deep inside, just short of her cervix. She knew this position would spread the vibration all through her sex and give her a slow building effect. She found it hard to come without stimulation on her clit, but she knew that a purely vaginal orgasm would be powerful and strong when it finally did hit. She inserted the sample lube packet next to the insertion rod and squeezed the last of the lube in behind the squid before releasing her labia to help hold it all in.