Chapters A Holsom Women's Social Chapter 1
Cherry tentatively sank the tips of her seven inch pleasers into the lush carpet of Mrs. Drestin’s sitting room floor. She secretly hoped that in the coming hours she would be permitted to remove the horrible things. They were too small, which made walking anywhere a painful chore, and she so longed to feel the soft teal fabric on her aching arches. Wishful thinking, of course. She hadn’t been more than a few minutes total without heels since she was a little girl. It would hardly do to remove the painful pleasers without a replacement pair at the ready. She was among sophisticated company, after all.
An invitation to the local “Women’s Social” had caught Cherry by complete surprise. Newly married, she’d spent the last few months chained to her marital bed. The adjoining rooms in her husband’s home were a mystery to her, the neighborhood beyond even more so. She had no idea how Mrs. Drestin had managed to learn of her existence, or what strange power the woman must wield that could compel Francis to release Cherry for the afternoon. Whatever the circumstances, she was glad of them. She loved Francis deeply, but the days had grown so lonely since he had returned to work. If nothing else, she hoped to find a group of other young women to chatter with as she had done in school.
Now was the time, as those happy school-time memories had begun to fade. In the short time since their first meeting, thoughts of Francis had already outgrown the available space in her mind. She could recall her past life if she cared to, of course, but even during long hours alone it rarely occurred to her to daydream of anything other than her husband. Again and again, she ran through every word he’d ever spoken to her, every possible hint he’d ever made as to how she might better please him. It had been just over four months since she first caught his eye and already her mind was stuffed full of Francis. There simply wasn’t much room for thinking about anything else. She had been quite satisfied with that, until recently.
At first, meditating on Francis’ desires had been more than enough to keep her occupied during the long days she spent alone in the bedroom. A short chain tethered her to the bedpost, allowing her only just enough slack to stand at the foot of the bed. There was a treadmill there, for exercise. She had passed the early days of her married life, once the honeymoon had ended and Francis’ work began to pull him away, trotting out the miles and imagining how she might please him when he returned. But his visits already grew more and more erratic. He still slept in their bed occasionally, holding her in the way she so relished, but he must have had another bed elsewhere which was unknown to her. Some nights, when he had finished, he left her again, breathless and eager for praise, without a word. Other nights she never saw him at all. Loneliness had been gnawing at Cherry, and Mrs. Drestin’s invitation was a welcome distraction from her husband’s worrisome disinterest.
The message had popped into her vision the previous morning, a little pink envelope hovering in the corner of her eye. At first, she’d been rather startled. Cooped up as she had been, the miniature displays embedded within her contact lenses had gone mostly unused. She’d had so much to get used to since the wedding, like the removal of her arms and modifications to her intimate areas, that she’d forgotten all about the lenses she’d worn since childhood. As such, she was woefully out of practice with their controls. It was only with great difficulty that she was able to focus her mind on the tiny envelope, but finally the signal was strong enough to register. It popped open with a spray of virtual confetti, before elegant pink script flowed out to fill her vision.
To the wife of Mr. Francis Crane,
You are formally invited to join myself, and several other Holsom ladies of good standing at this Sunday’s “Women’s Social”. The event will be hosted at the home of my husband, Dr. Harold Drestin. Further directions have been included in your invitation. I look forward to making your acquaintance.
Sincerely, Mrs. Julia Drestin, wife of Dr. Harold Drestin, MD.
The message winked out of existence as soon as Cherry had finished reading it, but a concentrated thought brought it back into view. The prospect of a Women’s Social was enough to get her buzzing with excitement. She’d had no contact with other women since before the wedding. Francis had maids, of course, but they were retirees, locked in a skin of black latex and not really women anymore. She’d long since abandoned any attempt to communicate with them. They applied her makeup and fixed her hair with a fine attention to detail, prosthetic hands moving with mechanical precision, but their smooth black shells totally obliterated any features or expression. There was no trace of the women they had been before retirement. Cherry didn’t even know how to tell one from another. Perhaps it was always the same retiree, or perhaps it was different from one day to the next. Hardly the makings of companionship.
Francis came to her late that night, and she made it a point to request his permission to attend the Social. At first, he had been in no mood to listen. Even as she spoke he was prodding at her lips with his cock, amusing himself by cutting off her words. Cherry finally had to relent, and accept his thrust into her throat. When the semen spewed a few minutes later she tried again to sputter out her request, but ended up in a coughing fit. She was worried he would leave her there before she had the chance to ask him clearly, but he was more patient with his passions sated. She had no hands of her own, so he helpfully wiped away the cum she coughed up and let her lick it from his finger. When she had gotten everything down smoothly, she was finally able to get the words out. He just told her he would consider it, that he loved her, and then he patted her head before leaving the room. He hadn’t spent the night in their bed for nearly a week.
He must have decided to allow it, though, because the next morning a maid unhooked her thin silver leash from his bed and led her into the closet to be dressed. That alone was thrilling, it had been so long since she’d worn clothes. The cocktail dress it selected fit snugly on her form, stretching to accommodate the curves of her breasts. Cherry couldn’t help but giggle. Her boobs had been free ever since her wedding dress and she had forgotten the familiar tightness of fabric trying to contain their enormity. They had been a gift from her prom date, the year before. Her giggles faded into a frown. She couldn’t remember the boy’s name.
The maid replaced her ‘sleeping shoes’, a relatively comfortable pair of four inch pumps, with the too-small seven inch plastic pleasers that would be torturing her feet just a few hours later. Her golden hair was woven into a towering beehive, which was a standard style for her on any normal day. What was definitely special were the jewels adorning the necklaces draped across her cleavage, as well as the dangling earrings threaded through her ears. Her bland silver collar was replaced by a diamond studded circlet. Even her tongue-studs were swapped for polished gemstones. Those could be seen when she spoke, Cherry figured. Her other intimate piercings, hidden by the dress, were left plain. It made her feel warm that Francis wanted to demonstrate his care for her by ornamenting her for others to see.
Her makeup was unchanged from the seductive ensemble that had long since started to feel like a second skin. Creamy foundation, contoured to accentuate her high cheek bones and shrink an already tiny nose into an unobtrusive button, sitting atop plush lips that had been lacquered with pale pink gloss. Her baby-blue colored contact lenses were slightly wider than her natural irises, combining with her fluttering, mascara-coated lashes to give Cherry the wide-eyed stare of a doll.
It had all been more than enough to drive Francis wild, not that long ago. She winced, realizing that she was about to make her first public appearance as his wife, with him in absentia. How did Mrs. Drestin know Cherry existed? The wedding had been a private affair, attended only by the necessary parties: her father, to give her away, Francis, to receive her, and an accountant to finalize the sale. Francis’ previous wife had not even been present to give Cherry her blessing with a kiss, much to her disappointment. And since then she’d seen no one but Francis. Perhaps the accountant was Mr. Drestin? she wondered. But no, the invitation had labeled him a doctor. She smiled. Francis must have spoken of her to his friends. It was the only explanation.
Leaving the bedroom promised a special thrill, but Cherry was ultimately disappointed. Her contacts sprung to life the moment the door was opened, rendering her world an amorphous blur. The lenses could selectively censor anything her owner decided was unfit for his girl to see, just as the tiny speakers implanted in her ears could blast her with muzak to drown out anything he considered vulgar. She was disheartened to discover that even the hallways of her husband’s home were too obscene for her fragile, feminine mind.
The maid’s insistent tugging on her leash led Cherry through the artificial fog, and soon she was outside the house. She knew because the muzak kicked in the moment they passed through the front door. It seemed there were too many disturbing noises which might unsettle her, out of doors, but even her censors couldn’t block the warmth of the sun on her skin.
A laugh bubbled up from deep within her. Somehow, she had not realized how much she missed the sun. Her giggling never reached her own ears though, blocked by the sound of an oppressively boring piano. Cherry felt herself frown. How was she supposed to socialize if she couldn’t see or hear?
Francis seemed to be unusually strict in this regard. As a child, she had been completely blocked many times when out and about. A young girl’s mind is even more delicate than a woman’s, and a simple stroll held many potentially traumatizing sights. But as she had gotten older her father had relaxed the restrictions. Before the wedding, the only time she would be censored this thoroughly was during Intermissions, when all the girls in a certain area were completely blocked at once for one reason or another. And everyone knew not to move an inch during an Intermission.
Which is why it felt so strange to be walking now, despite the total isolation. She knew they had already traveled quite a distance; far more short, mincing steps than Cherry knew how to count. She trusted that the maid would never lead her anywhere other than where Francis had instructed, but as time went on it slowly dawned on her that she really had no way of knowing for sure that the Drestin residence was her destination. Francis hadn’t given permission to her directly, and the maid obviously couldn’t speak, so no one had actually told her that she was going to the Social. The fancy outfit and all the jewelry had convinced her she was headed somewhere rather posh, but that left any number of possibilities. Of course, it seemed too much of a coincidence that the first time she left the bedroom in months would be to go somewhere other than an event she had been invited to on that very day. It would be cruel to get her hopes up like this if she was only going for a promenade. Francis wasn’t cruel. A little less affectionate lately than she wished, perhaps, but he wouldn’t dangle something special just to take it away.
Suddenly the sun was gone from her skin and even if she couldn’t hear the sound, she could feel the sharp clacking of her heels against a stone floor. Then the tugging on her leash was gone, too, and she was left standing still with nothing to occupy her mind but the pain in her feet.
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