...denying. I had always admired his work – his dedication, his eye for detail, his passion for pushing boundaries.

When he’d suggested I try on one of the featured "avant-garde" outfits for the event, I thought it was an opportunity to stand out, to be part of something extraordinary. And so, I agreed.

In the dimly lit backstage area of the gallery, Professor Eldridge presented the metallic ensemble with an air of reverence. The outfit glistened under the soft light, intricate and mesmerizing. He began by gently affixing the nipple piercings, ornamental and delicate, and covered them with the locking mechanisms of the chastity bra, guiding the cold, reflective cups over my bare breasts and securing them with precision. Despite the initial discomfort, his reassuring voice and commanding presence had a calming effect, persuading me to trust him entirely.

Next came the chastity belt, more complex than I had anticipated, but every bit as dazzling as the bra. Before snapping the belt into place, he inserted what he called “stabilizers” – the vibrating dildo and plug. I squirmed slightly at their presence but didn't resist. His constant reassurances rang in my ears, drowning out any doubts I might have had.

The weight of the outfit settled heavily on my body, both physically and emotionally, as the Professor clasped the belt, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing through the room.

With everything locked in place, I felt an odd fusion of excitement and trepidation. The Professor began to orchestrate the photoshoot, positioning me perfectly under the lights and capturing my every angle with precision. I felt like a work of art, an embodiment of his vision, though unaware of the true nature of my newfound adornments.

It wasn't until the photoshoot was nearly done that I felt the first shock – a sudden, jarring jolt radiating from the piercings on my nipples. My eyes widened in shock, my body involuntarily jerking, I reached for my nipples only to be blocked by the bra, preventing me access as another shock hit me. I looked at the Professor, confusion and betrayal flooding my expression.

"Eldridge, what—?" I began, voice trembling.

With a serenely sinister smile, he held up a small remote. “You're mine now. Every part of you,” he stated calmly, pressing another button to activate the vibrations within me. A reluctant moan escaped my lips as shocks and vibrations overwhelmed my senses, the realization of my predicament sinking in.

He stepped closer, his tone turning low and commanding. “You’re no longer a mere student or assistant, but my toy, my slave… My work of art.”

Despite the terror coursing through me, I knew defiance would be met with punishment. The device's shocks were cruelly effective, the vibrations merciless. Professor Eldridge guided me to the floor, his voice too soothing for the horror his words carried.

“Crawl,” he commanded.

On shaky hands and knees, I obeyed, inching toward a small, cold metal cage that sat ominously in the corner. My breath hitched as I approached the door. Once inside, I felt utterly dehumanized, an art piece imprisoned within a cage. He locked it with a finality that sent shivers through my existence.

"Disobedience will not be tolerated," he said, his finger hovering over the remote's buttons. A demonstration of his control sent another shock coursing through me, my body convulsing against the unyielding bars.

“You belong to me now,” he whispered. “And soon enough, you'll accept it.”

In the dim silence of the cage, surrounded by the sterile environment of the gallery, the full weight of my situation engulfed me. My world had narrowed to the brutal realization of my new existence – one of subjugation, control, and the will of a man I had once revered.

As the lights of the gallery gradually dimmed with the closing of the event, the Professor left, the remote clutched in his hand. My mind raced with thoughts of escape, defiance, and eventually, cold acceptance. The cage's grip was as unyielding as the locks that held my restraints.

In the stillness of the night, I vowed to fight against the unbearable constraints with every ounce of strength I had, even if the struggle seemed insurmountable. Somehow, I would reclaim my freedom, but until then, I was at the mercy of the man who held the key.

Kinks: Stockholm Syndrome, gaslighting, manipulation, positive and negative reinforcement, unaware, training, submissive, bondage, slavery, dubcon, tricked. More kinks and my limits on my page