Unknown to me, some weeks previously, Thomas had already taken a sample of the type and thickness of the material to Michael, and he’d made allowances for the thickness in the manufacture of my restraints.  Nothing had been left to chance.  Two hours later, after my hair had been cut, I felt nearly naked, but over the ensuing week, I soon got used to the new style and actually began to like the lack of care that came with it.

We returned to the house where Thomas revealed another secret; one I wasn’t sure I liked at all.  As soon as we were inside, he ordered me to get undressed and follow him to the kitchen, then once there; he reached into the broom closet and pulled out a length of chain.  I was told to turn my back then felt the cold, steel links trail up across my flushed skin.  There was a loud click at the back of my neck, and he told me that, from now on, I would always be leashed while inside the house, and if he felt like it, I would also be cuffed.  Hearing this, I shivered with a delicious sensation of deepening captivity while he left me standing there for a moment and went to his study, returning with the pairs of now-separated heavy-duty cuffs, each with a short chain dangling from it.  I automatically held out my hands and he quickly closed the smaller pair around my wrists, then, taking two heavy locks from his pocket, fastened the free ends of their chains to the side rings of my chastity belt.  That wasn’t all though, for he knelt before me and clasped the heavy, snug shackles around my ankles, then joined their short lengths of chain with a third lock.  All were quite tight, but I soon got used to the sensation of restriction, and from then on, I was never without them while in the house, and many times even had to wear them when we went out.  When this happened, my cuffs were always hidden by concealing clothing.

A week later, we returned to the dive shop and immediately went to its back room where I was handed the newly modified suit.  Once we were alone in the dressing room, Thomas ordered me to get undressed and remain still while he unlocked and removed my chastity belt.  Once I’d taken it off, he handed me a large bottle of oily liquid and told me to rub it all over my body and neck.  I did as he ordered, finding the liquid to be extremely slippery, and all the time he watched closely.  I pushed my feet into the suit’s legs, and its unlined interior felt funny, but this time, it slid easily over my feet and up my legs, thanks to the slick stuff I’d covered myself with.  I slopped more of the lubricant onto my body, and the suit slipped on easily while I pulled it up, blushing red from the sensation and knowledge that the insides of my upper thighs, my buttocks, and my sex were framed and so visibly displayed in the wide aperture at my crotch.  It felt so strange!  Next, I leant forward and slipped my hands into the sleeves and down them into the attached gloves, then slowly straightened until its torso slipped up and over my shoulders.  The tough material gradually settled into place, tightening slightly while I shrugged to get the upper portion to fit more closely and with a blush, I felt my full breasts being compressed, bulging somewhat through the two undersized holes for them.  They didn’t hurt, but the compression, like a bra that is too tight, was uncomfortable.  For the moment, the helmet hung down in front, then Thomas unlocked my collar and ordered me to pull the helmet up over my head and face.  I obeyed, and my face emerged through the aperture for it at the front, also distinctly framed by its reinforced edging.  He ordered me to stand still, then moved close behind and slowly pulled the zipper closed from the crown of my head to the base of my spine and I faintly heard a small click.  I was surprised by how much of the everyday sounds the suit’s helmet eliminated and felt as though I was partially deaf!  Thomas had had another addition made to the helmet so that now there was a double thickness layer of sound insulation incorporated into its sides, over and around my ears!  He quickly passed the (until now slightly loose) collar around my neck, locking it in place once more so that I felt its width clasping my throat with increased authority and shuddered from the sensation.

Once the suit was completely closed up, it formed very snugly to my body and he came around then stood before me, smiling happily.  I was told to stand still and he reached up to gently clamp my right nipple, then slowly pulled my compressed breast out through the hole.  It hurt when he grasped the tender flesh, then even more when he applied a gentle tension and I could not stop the small yelp and whine I made.  However, he continued gently tugging until the fleshy mound had slid all the way through, and the suit settled even more closely onto my rib cage around the now gently constricted base of my breast.

He repeated the process on the other side, and a moment later, I felt an even brighter flush of red cover my face, feeling how my breasts were now so blatantly displayed, bouncing, and jiggling with every breath I took!  That wasn’t all I felt though!  The holes he’d had cut were too small for the diameter of my breasts at their base, and each aperture was designed with a narrow but thick, thick, rubber collar!  These, of course, immediately tried to resume their original size, garrotting my flesh gently so that my breasts slowly began to swell with sensitising blood, turning a deeper pink in colour and making my nipples stand out in rampant arousal, demanding attention.  I became totally and completely aware of myself as a female, for there was no way to avoid it.

Thomas stood back and inspected me, then ordered me to stand still while he re-applied the waistband of my chastity belt.  It was even tighter than usual, thanks to the thickness of the suit, but soon, it too was firmly secured.  Because of the compression of the suit and the effect it was having on my breasts, I was already wet with arousal when he ordered me to spread my legs and he immediately brought the crotch shield forward between my thighs then up over my lower belly.  It was cold and I shuddered uncontrollably with sensation when he pressed it tighter over my quaking loins, shutting my eyes when the tamper proof lock clicked closed.  Around the rapidly warming steel covering, my slightly bulged and exposed flesh felt very vulnerable and I could feel the shield’s edges pressing lightly into the sensitive skin of my upper thighs.

He said he wanted to see how my mask looked and so I stood still while he joined the ends of the strong, nylon zipper under my chin then carefully pulled the rubber shield up over my face.  In seconds, the zippers on either side had been drawn up then across my forehead to the middle and I both heard and felt another soft click!  The sensation of the thick, obscuring rubber, both pressing itself onto and completely covering my face was quite unpleasant!  Too, I knew it would also hide any expression I made, acting very strongly to depersonalise me and I didn’t like that one bit.  The mask quickly began to feel sticky and even more uncomfortable, but no matter how I twitched my facial muscles I couldn’t avoid the sensations.  However, the zipper had been locked closed, and I was unable to pull the awful thing off or away from my skin.  I’d just have to get used to it.

Thomas handed over my leather skirt and silk blouse and I sat down to put them on, wondering what was going to happen next.  I desperately wanted to wear a bra to at least limit the embarrassing bobbling of my breasts, but he didn’t offer to return it and so I quickly buttoned the blouse to cover myself.  Even though it was now hidden beneath the concealment of the cloying rubber mask my face was flushed red once more.  The skin around my eyes and mouth was all that could be seen, for even my hands were fully gloved by the suit.  It felt very strange!  Next, I put on my shoes, a pair of Converse Runners, and the suit’s extra padding felt weird at first.

Thomas left the dressing room for a moment but quickly returned with a full, head covering, motorcycle helmet of the kind with the chin cover and drop-down face shield.  That wasn’t all, for in his other hand he carried a thing I’d begun to hate with a passion: a harness gag with blow-up mouth filler.  He silently held up the mouth balloon and I unwillingly opened for it, then he slipped the straps around my rubber-encased head and rapidly tightened the whole network.  I felt that he was unnecessarily harsh with his adjustments, but soon, the un-inflated balloon was held securely within my mouth.  Seconds later, he attached the filler bulb and its hose to the fitting on the wide strap that covered the whole of my lower face, then with a half dozen quick squeezes, made the bladder within swell into a hard firmness.  I almost retched, feeling my tongue immobilized on the floor of my mouth, but he knew how far I could be pushed and gave the bulb yet another squeeze!  A small, whistling moan was all that could be heard when I tried to protest, but then I looked at the helmet.  The shield was up, and I saw that it was tinted a deep grey, supposedly to reduce the sun’s glare for the wearer, but I was absurdly glad because it would conceal the fact that I wore the dive suit and was now most thoroughly masked and gagged.

He slipped it over my head and tightened the strap under my chin, making it even more difficult for me to open my mouth, even if I wasn’t already wearing the harness gag.  When he dropped the facial shield, I heard another small click and knew I be unable to raise it on my own.  Next, he handed over my light leather jacket and I slipped it on.  He zipped it closed right up to my chin under the helmet’s bottom edge then buckled it snugly over my steel collar.  I was deeply embarrassed at being gagged in public, by the strange underclothing I wore, and the knowledge that my breasts were bouncing freely on the front of my body, but anyone who looked at me would have just assumed I was a motorcyclist ready for a run on her bike.  That was his intent.

Once he was happy with the way I was dressed, we left the shop and walked hand-in-hand along the street to his car.  I was terribly conscious of myself and how I looked, but none of the people we passed even stared.  I looked perfectly normal!  Once in the car, Thomas provided my next surprise.  He said he’d already made the arrangements with Michael, and today I was to have my nipples pierced and fitted with shackles that could not be easily removed.  I gasped with surprise then growing arousal, for I’d always wanted to have it done, but had never gotten up the nerve.  Now, there was no choice, and it was going to happen!  I shivered in my seat, hunching myself against the restriction of my new dungeon suit, feeling even more vulnerable when my swollen and sensitive breasts rubbed against each other, with my nipples sliding against the slick fabric of my blouse whenever I took a breath or exhaled.

Three quarters of an hour later, we’d returned to Thomas’ home and gone inside.   He immediately instructed me to remove all of the clothes I could, but didn’t release me from the helmet, nor did he raise its visor.  A moment later, he’d locked my house leash chain to the back of my collar and cuffed my hands securely to the side rings of my chastity belt, then fitted my ankle shackles and short hobble chain.   Both sets of cuffs fastened more tightly than usual, having to sink into the cushioning of the suit, and so I felt their restriction even more intensely than ever before.  He left me standing in the kitchen, saying he’d be back a little later with Michael then the door closed behind him.  My leash was long enough that I could reach the back door, but it would not permit me to go outside, nor could I get near the front door, and so I was confined to the ground floor of the house, waiting nervously for what was soon to be done to me.  There was another chain upstairs that was just as restricting, and of course, the leash in the small cell in the basement, but by now I had grown used to being limited by them.

               This is the story of Sabrina Wheeler, who has through her young life dreamed of being imprisoned, made a captive, and forced to submit to a powerful master.  She meets her ideal Master in Thomas, who takes her to his home where he builds a dungeon to cage her.  Together, they design a “dungeon suit” made of latex, chains, a helmet and a chastity device. 

What is interesting about this novel is that it does not have the feel of fantasy at all, and Sabrina, the chained captive, discovers that perhaps the real life is not as thrilling as her fantasy was.  Like most submissives, at times she fights against her captivity; at other times, she revels in the thrilling excitement of being completely in the control of another.  She is terrorized by her life as a convict, yet she deliberately disobeys the junctures of her Master, thereby bringing more stringent punishments upon herself.

            Although there are a number of sexual scenes, sex is not really at the core of this huge book.  It is a probing analysis of what it truly means to be a captive without personality, without a will, a chained convict for life.  This isn’t the kind of book to be lightly skimmed over, but rather to be pondered.  It is as thought-provoking as it is realistic.