Writer

by

Karen Anne Summerfield

writing as

Cynetta Cynthia Cynclaire

© Dec 1999 Revised Nov 2001

_________________________________________________

I'm Annette Crawford, writer of fiction. I use the Net for both inspiration and research in my endeavors. I use email for these purposes too. Just as importantly, I use email to conduct my business corresponding with my editors and publishers and with many friends who provide more inspiration for my work, suggestions and constructive criticism.

I’m also a post-op transsexual, but hardly consider my past any longer. That I’m finally whole and a woman, is what is important in my life.

As a result of poor judgment, lack of good time management, past indiscretions and improper conduct on the Internet, as well as, my past email activities, I agreed to give up 'direct' access to both and turn control completely over to my partner, Connie. She accepted that both of these services were still very critical and essential to my continued and growing financial success in my chosen vocation. After much, in depth discussion and my acceptance of the fact that, as well as, helping me toward financial success, they could also be my ruination, I turned my control of both over to her, to manage and supervise.

"I think that the only way that we can do this is for your email to go through my computer first, in both directions. I'll read it and pass on all that is appropriate." That was Connie's solution.

"You mean that you are going to censor it." She did not dispute that.

"Look at me as a filter, better than any program to sort out the garbage." I knew she was correct.

"At least, I hope my filter can delete the Spam." I joked, knowing that Connie was acting in my best interests.

"I'm sure." She was cool. I'd elicited no smile or laugh.

"We'll network the computers, yours and mine and you email me over that. Incoming will be handled the same way. I'll read, correct and, more importantly, delete what is inappropriate." I was about to question how 'inappropriate' was being defined when she continued. "At least initially, I am not going to burden you by telling you what I've done with any email. We clear on this, Anne?"

"Yes. I admit my deadline on my book is getting quite close. I don't need that to fret about."

"We agree on that. Let's discuss the Net now then work into time management." I nodded for her to proceed.

"I bought a program, several programs actually, that will first pipe the connection through my computer and copy all activity to a drive. Anne, let me tell you, 'all' means exactly that. Every screen on every site you open will be there and reviewing it will be just like I'm looking at your monitor in real time. Every down load, all interactivities, etc. will be there for my review and further action, as required."

"What does that mean?" What she was telling me sounded ominous.

"It means that I hope you will discipline yourself to use the Internet constructively and not just as entertainment. No, I'm not saying that you can't use it for that, but you'll have to earn it by showing progress on your work and career. The more progress I see, the more free Internet time you may have. You do have that deadline still," Connie reminded.

"Yes. You don't need to tell me.

"Is there more?" I asked.

"Nothing more than I've told you has been loaded." Connie paused. "That does not say that it will not be, if necessary. Oh, I did say programs, not singular.

"My computer has been quite solidly 'fire walled' or whatever the correct buzzword is for secured. I doubt any, but the best can hack onto of it. If you try, I will know." Connie looked around my office before she continued.

"Would you agree that there are a lot of distractions here that divert your attention from writing, Annette?" I watched he eyes move from the TV, the entertainment center, over the many pictures and then out the large picture windows, one in each of two walls of my large home office. I'd often spend hours, just staring outside.

"It's relaxing and I think that way." She laughed.

"Daydream is more like it I'll bet and not thinking on your work.

"I'm getting hungry, let's go out and grab a pizza, my treat," She offered.

Discussions of my work ended and we began to chat about other thinks during the drive.

"I'm going to have a contractor in for a few days doing some remodeling in my rooms. We have a beautiful home, but one thing it lacks is closet space and I'm doing something about that and it starts tomorrow. I'll try to see that there isn't too much noise to disturb you, sweets.

"First thing is to build a storage area in the basement to make use of that vast wasteland and a work area. I'm also having an addition and that's first. You know how I've wanted a studio, well 'want' is turning into 'going to have', starting tomorrow." Connie is a successful illustrator and metal sculptor and has lacked both a real shop and studio since before we met.

Just as she had predicted, the contractors arrived with a few trucks and excavator as we ate breakfast the next morning. Connie left to consult with the foreman. After cleaning the kitchen I went to my office to work on my book.

Immediately apparent when I checked my email before settling down to work, was that there was none. That has not been the case for as far back as I can remember. It bothered me, remembering that my partner had informed me of her plan, I checked my computer and its systems to learn that her intentions to network them had already been completed and my modem was no longer installed - a network card occupied that slot.

Just as a test, I loaded Netscape and tried to log on. 'Access Denied’ came up on my screen. The forecast changes were in place. There was nothing I was going to do then to alter it. I began to work on my book.

Our house is a large ranch style with the shared rooms in the center; my wing is on one side and Connie's on the opposite. Just as predicted, I wasn't too disturbed by the noise and activity occurring adjacent to her wing.

"How'd your work go today, Anne?" Connie inquired as we ate supper.

"Good. I wrote almost seven thousand words and passed the halfway point. I'm going to do more before bed. I don't want to loose some thoughts." I had to admit, if only to myself, that not being able to surf and not feeling obligated to answering email had provided me with a few more hours to devote to my writing.

"Connie, I'm not bitching, did you block my email completely? There was none in my Inbox all day and that hasn't happened in a couple of years."

"No. I did not block it completely." She let that settle in before continuing. "I was busy with the men and started a project. I just haven't gotten around to checking your email." She ate what was on her fork. "Anne, I told you last night, you no longer have direct email access and that is that. End of discussion."

I should state that, at that point, I was dependent on Connie for a place to live as well as the utilities, though I provided our food and cleaned as minor compensation. I had a very moderate income to provide for myself (clothing, car, and entertainment), but not pay for an apartment and there was very little in my bank account to fall back on.

"How's your contractor doing?" I changed the subject, as I was not willing to risk a fight over this.

"Contractors, plural, there are three on site now," she grinned. "First day and one has more than half the excavation done already, should be pouring concrete day after tomorrow. The second crew is making good progress in the basement and my closets are just getting started. Still, it will probably be a few weeks, or longer, before I see the last of all of them.

"They're not bothering you, are they?

"No, I was just curious," I replied.

For the next five days I had no email and Connie had told me at breakfast that she had briefly checked, I did have a lot, but she had also decided that it would be Saturday afternoon before she got around to dealing with it.

"Work hard, show me real progress and you will get mail, Anne." I did and finished writing my current book. The real work still lay ahead - editing it!

Frequently, editing is both harder and takes me longer to do than the original work. I told her my progress over supper on Friday.

"Happy to tell you that I read your email. I deleted about half of it last night before going to bed. I've still got to filter the rest, but should finish by this afternoon, as the men aren't here." My head snapped up and she instantly glared. "No crap, girl! None! Much of went in the Delete bin was Spam and junk. The creeps you've bitched about got a reply and the rest, your friends... needs a good read and some censoring.

"Don't like it, move out. I'm paying for your connection and the electricity still." Connie's tone and demeanor was not one I was going to argue with. I remained silent. There was more.

No, I did not like it! Especially when she finally forwarded my mail about four that afternoon. Using a large, bold, red type, 'CENSORED' peppered the screen with every email I opened, even those from my closest friends. Not one of the nine emails that Connie had forwarded had at least one occurrence of its use.

The other thing that I did not like was the number of them. Discounting the Spam and jerks, I normally would have at least three times that number in my Inbox over that period of time.

I was in a foul mood when Connie called me for supper.

"Sit and listen to me and be forewarned, Anne, I'm not going to tolerate even one bitch about the email, the Internet or your computer." I stewed, but did as she told me. When Connie sat, she gave me a warm smile.

"Since you moved in, at my invitation, nine months ago, how much of your stuff have you sold?"

"One book and five short stories. I've completed three other books and nine more shorts, but they had yet to be taken up."

"And what is your total monthly income? Everything?" she asked.

"It averages about six hundred dollars a month, Connie."

"Right, and that is not even enough to rent a one room apartment, but it does let you live comfortably here, if I charge you nothing. That has changed, starting

"This week. With mortgage, taxes, utilities and maintenance, things you do not pay for, my house costs me about fourteen hundred dollars a month. You could not even pay half and you still have a car, clothes and food.

"It is pay back, rather payout time.

"You have a damn high potential to sell more, but it is only potential, as there has been far too much distractions in your comfortable life here. I'm removing those distractions and that is that. You are going to focus on what you do best and what you can do to improve your skills and efforts so you will do even better.

"Earlier, I gave you an alternative. Either accept the new conditions that you have to abide by or move out. Those are your only options."

"OK. You made that clear," I really didn't have many options. "Explain why you feel you need to censor my email, Connie?"

"I just told you. I'm removing distractions. After looking through them for almost a week and those you stored on your hard drive, more than half of your communications and so-called 'friends' have done nothing to inspire your work or help in anyway. They have done nothing, but waste your time - time that you should have spent writing.

"Before you ask, you have seen that all those I forwarded have had portions omitted - 'censored'. What I consider to be important has not been.

"Really Anne, quote 'It has been raining stair rods here in Weymouth for a week steady. I wonder if this is the coming of the second flood and if I should be constructing an ark, unquote. Tell me how that contributes one damn thing other than wasting time along with whatever you reply.

"Answer me?" Connie demanded.

"You are right." I had to concede the point, albeit begrudgingly.

Six weeks later I had sold the book I had the deadline for, along with two new shorts and had edited and rewritten segments of two that had not sold previously. I was doing better and with what Connie had done, I was concentrating on my writing that much more. My email friends had dwindled to only seven and they where the only ones that had ever really counted from the beginning.

In retrospect, there were still a lot of distractions to my work in my environment. It was very early on a Saturday morning when Connie tapped on my door while I was taking a bath. We've spent many nights in each other’s beds, so I'd nothing to hide.

"Come in. Good morning." Connie returned my greeting and sat on the closed toilet.

"I've given thought to the distractions still in your life which continue to prevent you from doing still better." We did have a long, honest talk just the night before. "Are you willing to try an experiment with me? I think you might really get a charge out of this, even is it doesn't help your writing, but my bet is that it will." I was ready to agree before she threw in the kicker. "I want you to try writing all dressed up pretty and in full bondage, Anne."

"You going to twist my arm and whip me to force me to agree." I quipped.

"I will if you ask," she grinned her reply. Yes, we are both kinky and into the scene. It had been weeks since we had last played.

"Great. I'm game!" With a huge grin, Connie stood.

"I'll lay out an outfit for you and dress you. I've a very big surprise to give you today. I'm very pleased that I've been able to keep it secret this long.

"Be sure you shave close." Connie handed me the razor and shaving cream. I did just that, removing my bush and making my pussy completely hairless before stepping from the tub. The sight of what she'd laid on my bed wet my slit.

"Connie, how am I going to concentrate wearing that?" It had been a while since I'd been dressed in latex."

"Well, you'll just have to figure that out, won't you?"

"Sure, but I won't be concentrating on writing."

"We'll see, Annette, we'll see." Her using my full name raised me higher toward my excitement. It was our signal that I was to go into my submissive role.

"Yes, Mistress." She began to fit me into my black catsuit.

"What sort of story are you working on at the moment, Annette?" Connie asked, as she dressed me.

"I just started it. It's a T girl maid theme - slave girl and master." I haven't stated that I write erotic, adult fantasy fiction. "The T girl was just hired and has put on her uniform for the first time, wondering just what the contract she signed really means.

"I'm kind of hung up at the moment though."

"Maybe, instead of what I was going to dress you in, I should have you in your maid's uniform? Maybe that will help you concentrate on just what the maid has gotten herself into?" We both giggled at her joke. "I'll lace you in nice and tight and you can do your makeup while I sort it out."

Connie laced up my black leather corset just as she said, tight! It had to be if I'd a chance of fitting into my PVC uniform. While I did my hair and makeup, she worked my patent ankle boots over my rubbered feet, laced them up snugly and locked them.

"Move your feet a little closer together, maid." I fully expected that ankle cuffs would be part of her entertainment and did as I was asked. With the black and white, abbreviated uniform on, Connie offered the shiny stretch gloves then worked their tops under the short, pouffed sleeves once I'd sheathed my arms.

"Stand." I did and felt her wrap a chain around my waist, "I'll remove these in a bit, but I'm sure it will stir your creative mood."

"It's stirring something else too," I joked as she positioned my right wrist tight to my twenty-inch waist and locked the cuff to keep it at my side.

"Left one," she motioned to my free hand. It too was secured. "Does the maid in your story wear a collar? Silly me I shouldn't even ask." Connie opened the drawer where I kept mine. "You want to pick?"

"You pick, please, Mistress?" She approached with a white leather posture collar that wasn't overly restrictive, being only three inches wide. Once it was laced and locked about my neck, Connie led me on a leash to the kitchen.

"I'm going to make another pot of coffee. You want me to feed you or not?"

"Just coffee please?" She took hold of my leash again and looped it over her wrist then started to make another pot.

"While that brews, I'll show you the new office I had built, just for you. Come." Connie was careful and steadied me to descend the stairs to the basement. She's worn six-inch heels and done it with only twelve inches of chain between her ankles too, she knows that it isn't easy. I was led to the recently constructed storage room.

"See anything unusual, here?" she asked. I looked around to see shelves packed with the stuff for the pool and patio, but nothing unexpected. "OK, turn around for a sec'." I was steered to face the door we had just come through. "No peeking - don't ruin my surprise."

"I won't." I heard a sharp click behind me, nothing further for a few seconds then two more sounds that were each different.

"OK." Connie tugged on my leash. One section of shelves had been swung out from the wall to reveal a set on stairs that went down about nine or ten feet. Beyond the landing at the bottom, a very heavy and thick door stood open to reveal blackness beyond. Just as on the stairs from the kitchen, Connie steadied me until I reached the doorway.

"Turn again, Annette. Stand still already." I was squirming my thighs and got a playful slap on my naked cheek to emphasize her command.

"OK, just stay there a sec'." Connie went back up to the storage room and disappeared from view for just a moment. When I saw her again she was wearing an elaborate mask that covered her eyes, adding mystery to our scene. She walked to the door above, closed it then turned out all the lights.

"These are night vision goggles and though you can't see a thing, Annette, the infrared lights allow me to see quite well." I heard her, now wearing heels, approach me. "Right here." my leash was tensioned to turn me and lead me in the next room. I guess I was led twelve feet turned to the right and lead another ten before I was turned around.

"Just a little bondage. Enjoying this, so far?" By the sound, its weight and then the snap of a lock, I knew that Connie had fastened another lock to the back of my collar.

"You know I am." In front, the leash guided me to my left and her hands moved my legs to spread to the limits of their hobble. Connie spent a few moments to gather and lift up the stiff and noisy, plastic petticoats under my uniform.

"Hold these up." The material was placed in my cuffed hands. I guessed what was coming next before it touched my cheeks, left bare by the cut out area of my catsuit. I laughed.

"Well, I know you said no distractions, but you've admitted to me that you are as distracted wearing yours when I lock it on for a party or clubbing, Connie."

"I know, but you must admit I'm trying to play nice."

"I wish we'd do that right now." It took a bit of fiddling and manipulating to get my lips into the slots in the crotch of my belt and that always excites me more. My chastity belt felt tighter and much heavier than I had remembered, but I passed this off, knowing I'd not worn it in almost six months and had gained about five pounds. She closed the lock in front, high on my belly.

"Keep your legs spread so I can fit the secondary shield." Secondary shield? My belt was just a party plaything! She fitted this and another lock snapped closed, lower than the first.

"Over here - almost done." She held me by my arm to guide me to sit on a hard, cold surface. Connie wrapped each wrist with another cuff and locked these. My ankles were moved to bend back up under what I was sitting on and locks closed to keep them there and spread to hold the ankle chain taut.

"When I undo your other handcuffs move your hand down to your thigh and keep it there, please?" I did exactly as she asked.

Connie's heels echoed off the walls in the, otherwise, dark silence as she moved away. The next sound I heard scared the hell out of me - loud, heavy steel crashing into solid steel and not bouncing off. I wanted to scream! My hands jerked up in reflex, but their chains snapped tight, just before they reached my head.

"Simmer down. I'll bring the lights up slowly, so you can adjust, Annette." I was shaking with deep terror. I feared that Connie was not playing any game. The first thing that I saw confirmed this. I was seated before a wall of steel bars, three or feet away.

Immediately in front, was a shelf of concrete with a keyboard and mouse on top and the short chains from my wrist cuffs fastened to separate rings on the front of the shelf. Connie moved to stand next to my large monitor on the other side of the bars.

"I'll leave you in your new accommodations, sweets, and be back in a bit. I think my coffee should be done by now." I just watched her move to open the door and close it without looking back. A few moments later I heard it lock.

With the exception of the floor, which was gray, I was in a white, concrete cube, about sixteen feet on each edge. A wall of floor to ceiling, steel bars created two rooms in the cube. I was in the larger one, which measured about eleven feet from the back wall to the bars. Centered in this area, nearer the barred door, were two vertical steel posts about three feet apart that rose from the floor to the high ceiling with chains hanging from each.

Further inspection was difficult. The combination of my corset, posture collar and the way my hands and ankles were chained prevented me from completing a survey, especially directly behind. I was seated to the left of center along the bars and apparently chained to the back wall, because, if I tried to lean forward, I was prevented from moving my head more than about ten or twelve inches before my collar prevented more.

I could just see what appeared to be another door, this of solid steel, in the left rear corner and near the bars along the same wall, a small, barred cage. It had a very heavy set of latches that were operated by a lever. It was open to reveal another room or passageway, across which a barred door was closed.

"Hi, I'm back." Connie called out cheerily as she entered, carrying a tray with the pot of coffee and her cup. This she set down on a nice table in front of the couch. "I'll talk to you awhile while I have my coffee and explain your situation, Annette." She walked to the other side of the table to sit on the red leather couch that was centered between two end tables, one of which appeared to be a small refrigerator.

"Starting this morning, dear, these are your complete living accommodations. I decided, so long as you refuse to pay me any rent, you are not entitled to park your ass and sprawl out where ever you wish."

"Connie, I haven't refused to pay rent!" I still thought that this might just be a game. "You know as well as I do, what my income is."

"Yes, Dear, I do. I'll rephrase my statement. See if this is easier to swallow." Connie paused to sip her coffee. "So long as you permit yourself to be distracted from your chosen work and fail to disciple yourself to apply your talents to earning a decent income so that you can pay your share, you will camp here and not anywhere else.

"I gave you a chance quite a few weeks ago to apply yourself and you failed. When I took away your direct email and Internet access, you should have realized then, that I was serious. I also told you that I could monitor all of your computer activities. I have been.

"If I subtract reading from the total time you have used your computer, as it is arguable that reading helps your writing, would you venture a guess what percent of your time you have spent writing and editing?" Connie's grin told me I did not want to hazard a guess.

"Obviously, it is not sufficient to cause you to believe I was working most of the time, Connie. I probably would say it was less than half."

"Correct. I'll not argue the details then.

"The situation you are in right now is this: you are in a brand new room with all the facilities necessary to provide for your needs. You have light, warmth, air, water and a place to eliminate your waste as well as a place to sleep, sit and work. That is your computer and monitor on this side of your bars. I even bought you a new mouse and keyboard.

"Your computer, however, has much of its former distractions removed. You still have your word processor and your email will be forwarded, as it has been recently. I know that you hated the fact that I had so heavily filtered the Internet with parental control software that you no longer used it when I permitted.

"That problem and annoyance has been eliminated. You will no longer have access." Connie poured another cup of coffee for herself.

"I won't be taking any of your money for food, supplies and clothing. I'll provide everything to see to your needs. Since you will no longer be selecting your own food, I'll explain everything that you will no longer have.

"You will not consume sugar, sweets or delicacies in any form, there will be no alcohol, tobacco or caffeine." Connie made a show of draining her coffee cup. I was addicted to coffee and wondered how I could survive without it.

"As you should have noticed by now, Annette, I've removed distractions from your life, along with any temptations that I have thought of, so far. If I discover that you are tempted to do things that I do not approve of, you can count on me taking whatever steps are necessary to remove them. You are here to work.

"For the next year," I stiffened, hearing that she even thought of keeping me like this a year. Connie laughed. "Oh yes, little prisoner, one solid year and one day and today does not count. For one year, you are to produce. You are sentenced to sell something, any stories that you have now or will write and the rate of one per month.

"If you sell nothing during any month, your sentence will be increased by that month. If you sell more than one thing, doesn't matter if it one more or one hundred more, your sentence will be reduced by one month, but never will it be less than one full year starting tomorrow morning at six AM. With me so far?" I nodded.

"Novels - you will sell one every three months. Failure to sell one during that time period will add three months to your sentence. Failure to sell one for six months your sentence will be increased by one year, on top of whatever it is at that time. Failure to sell one during an entire year will add ten years." Connie stood and walked over, close to the bars, to face me.

"I'm going to turn on your computer now and I want you to begin to write, Annette, I really do. I do not want you to be here any longer than one year, but do want you to know that I will not pardon you and I will not commute your sentence.

"I also want you to understand that any complaints, begging and back talk or nasty language will not be tolerated nor will any disobedience. I'm fully prepared to punish you as I see fit.

"Now, you have a lot of work to do. I will be back later to tend you." Connie smiled and walked to the door, but turned and came back to face me again.

"Dear, if you find this too uncomfortable to concentrate, I will make you so uncomfortable that you will be motivated to concentrate on nothing but your work. You have been warned." This time, Connie did leave. The outer door closed with a solid thump. I barely heard its latch bolts through its thickness then nothing.

No sound could penetrate the thick, imprisoning walls.

I did begin, opening up my word processor and loading the book I had been editing. Very quickly, I found that the chains securing my wrists, while allowing access to all of the keys and the mouse, they did not allow me access to very much else. They were less than five inches long I could manipulate every key and move the mouse, however the mouse was to be used only with my left hand and my right could not come close to touching it. I'm right handed.

The second tether that held me to the wall was from the back of my chastity belt. Its presence became known only after I tried to slide my naked cheeks forward on the concentrate bench. The chain was already stretched tight allowing me to move forward, less than an inch.

Finis

 

 

 

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© 2001 by Karen Anne Summerfield. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.