The Faithful Widow

No-one thought she was over sixty! Even if it was only by a few months!

Patricia was never surprised when men held the door for her!

She had that air of beauty of the first supermodel, Lauren Hutton, although she was not a traditional beauty by any means. Her hair was a myriad of natural blonde colours that even the best hairdressers could never mimic. It was matched by beautifully clear, soft skin that was almost unlined and the slim body of a woman many years younger. But it had been only a few weeks before and she had run a five kilometre race for charity in less than twenty five minutes. And she'd been annoyed that she had not done better! But she had smiled when she realised that she had raised the highest amount for cancer relief in the firm of expensive City lawyers, where she was one of the more senior partners! She'd also beaten her secretary, who was half her age, by a full five minutes.

As ever she was immaculately dressed!

Patricia wore her habitual uniform of a dark blue Armani suit over a white blouse, with moderately high-heels from Ferragamo and a back-pack handbag from Longchamp to match the colour of the suit. Her nails were polished a discrete, deep red and she wore the correct amount of make-up for a woman of forty!

She never wore black! But then she had been a widow for nearly a dozen years. To her black was for mourning. And that meant the death and funeral of her dear Clive, who she still worshipped totally and would never allow herself to forget! At least she still had her four daughters and ten grand-children, to enhance that memory.

***

Underneath the Armani suit everything was not as it seemed!

Her relationship with Clive had been very strong and very sexual. Even as he lay weak whilst the chemotherapy was fighting the bowel cancer that eventually killed him, he still found ways to make sure that her body and inner mind were not neglected, but fully satisfied. In all the just over twenty-five years of their marriage, they had experimented with many facets of human sexuality. Or at least those that involved a man and woman in an intense relationship. She still laughed when times were dark, about some of the things they had done and of the places where they had made love. And probably shouldn't have!

Clive had loved her to be corsetted. Years ago, it had not been fashionable and she had had difficulty getting one that fitted her properly and with a degree of comfort. It was ironic, that now he was gone and she had more money than she could sensibly spend, she could indulge herself in the best. She didn't corset herself everyday, but as today was special, she had laced herself into a dark blue corset. It was not that tight, in that it only reduced her naturally slim waist by a few inches, but it did mean she had to wear one of the suits with the more tailored waist. The jacket of the suit was deliberately short, so that her trim waist was obvious to everybody who saw her as she walked to the lift.

The corset had been made specially for her. It was an exquisite creation of silk and steel that reached from her bust to her hips. She almost felt that some days, she needed the corset's tight embrace to keep her faithful to Clive's enduring memory. Not today though! She was wearing it for her own pleasure. She had chosen this one, as it supported her breasts but left her nipples exposed, and the six suspenders kept the very sheer stockings she always wore, smooth without the hint of a wrinkle.

The corset was the only underwear she wore. It was another way that Clive enforced his invisible hold on her mind. One afternoon, when all of the girls were at school, they'd been making love fully-clothed with her bent over the kitchen table. Her skirt was raised high up her back, with her tights and knickers at her ankles. As they finished, he declared that her underwear was getting in the way and slowing him down, so would she not wear anything in future. She rarely did after that and almost to prove her love, she had burnt most of the offending garments in the garden that afternoon. She had also added the few pairs of trousers and shorts she owned, which she never again wore in Clive's presence. Now, they were not even part of her wardrobe!

Patricia remembered that day and smiled as she rode in the lift to the tenth floor. Everybody thought she was being her usual friendly self, but she was bringing back all the other things she'd done because Clive had mildly complained that she was difficult to enter. Her heels since had always been at the correct level of about seven centimetres, so that she was at the height that fitted him best and gave her the strongest pressure and ultimately orgasms when he entered. As the years passed, she always made sure that her skirts were easily removed, folded or lifted out of the way, as she didn't want them damaged, creased or soiled. Finally, she had shaved and plucked all the hair from her body in a total act of submission to Clive's principle, that he should be allowed to take her anywhere and at any time. Given of course the usual common decencies!

***

Her large office was all dark wood, chrome and leather and it befitted the senior partner she was very well. It looked out over the City, with St. Paul's and the river running towards Westminster in full view. The sun was glinting off the London Eye in the distance, as this was one of the first proper days of summer, despite being nearly August.

As Patricia entered, she removed her jacket and put it on a hanger behind the door. She then turned and returned through her secretary's office to the corridor, where she went to the wash-room to fix her make-up. She was alone in the room and after she'd finished, she stood and looked at herself in the mirror. She smiled as she attempted to compress her waist further and realised it was as tight as she could be for work. She laughed at what she was doing. Almost behaving like a teenager dressed to the nines on her first date. She giggled. She arched her back and thrust her breasts forward with her hands behind her. She was not large-breasted, but the corset exaggerated them. She liked that. It was so much better than surgery and Clive would never have let her do anything like that!

By thrusting herself forward, she also wanted to make sure that no-one would be able to see her unencumbered nipples, through the thick cotton blouse. She did however undo another button, so that she showed a little more cleavage, but she was still very demure and hardly risque. She pressed the fabric down around her nipples to check that she was dressed as to her status. She also wanted to make sure that the gold rings in her nipples, which matched those in her ears could not be seen!

The piercings had been her fortieth birthday present from Clive.

She'd wondered why she had been given what looked like two sets of gold and diamond earrings with slightly different fittings. The only reason she could think was that Clive was making a point about her carelessness, as she already possesed several single earrings. It was only that night when they were preparing to go to the theatre at their hotel in London, that the truth became known. Clive had just laced her into a new, very tight and extremely special corset. Her breasts were pushed up with the nipples exposed and she was standing in just the corset, stockings and heels, when the bell to the room rang. She froze, but Clive assured her that it was nothing. He then produced a high-backed chair and asked her to sit. She obeyed him as she usually did! He then blindfolded her, before asking whoever was at the door to enter. She stayed calm despite the feel of the anaesthetic spray on her right nipple and it was only when she felt the needle did she wince. She now knew why there were four earrings!

She always wore something in her nipples, as she knew it was what Clive would have wanted. In fact, over the couple of years he fought the cancer, he'd told her, that whatever happened she was to live her own life. But he'd like her to live to some or perhaps all of the principles, he'd insisted on! She tried her best and always matched her ear and nipple rings.

Patricia wondered sometimes whether she needed to be so discrete! She'd been staying at the Grande Bretagne hotel, whilst working in Athens. She loved swimming and every evening after work she and a much younger colleague used to swim together in the rooftop pool before dinner. He had been surprised that his boss didn't wear the modest swimwear expected of someone of her age and that it revealed an intricate tattoo across her lower back. The tattoo had been another present from Clive. But he was most surprised, when as she emerged from the water, the top of her bikini slipped giving him full view of the same gold and diamond rings she was now wearing. His comment about matching ears and nipples meant he had seen all. She just smiled back!

But how many others in the firm had he told?

***

Today was a David day!

She would work normally until about twelve, then she would have a two hour lunch with her brother-in-law, David, before returning for the afternoon. After work they would go to the theatre, perhaps another meal and then they would spend the night in bed in her flat in the Barbican. Both would relieve all of their frustrations.

It was a strange situation, but one that had come out with the partial, or if not full encouragement of David's wife and her elder sister, Sarah!

At about the time of Clive's death, Sarah was diagnosed with MS. At first it was thought that Sarah would be not badly affected, at least for some years. But within three or four years, she needed almost full-time care and was confined for long periods to a wheel-chair. Then one Christmas, whilst Patricia was pushing her along the sea-front close to their home in Thorpe Bay, Sarah asked if she had found someone to take Clive's place. Patricia, as she always did, said that no-one could replace Clive, but that she did miss the physical side of things. She then told how David, felt the same and to put it mildly wasn't having a very good time. So it was suggested that once a month, Patricia invite David up to London and they see a show and have a meal. Nothing more was said by Sarah, but Patricia knew that her big sister could be kind, sympathetic, bossy, manipulative and certainly meant a lot more.

And so the David days had started with a visit to Chicago at the Apollo on the Strand.

Although because of the guilt they both felt, it could not be said that they completed the arrangement with any haste!

***

'Hello! Pat!' Few called her Pat but her secretary, Mary, was one of them. It was a habit that had started, when Mary had invited her boss to her hen weekend in Paris. Patricia was just too long for that sort of orgy of food, drink and titilation! 'Nothing too much this morning! You're lunching with David, aren't you?' Her smile said that she knew more!

'Yes! And stop smirking!' She took a few papers as Mary handed them to her. 'Have I still got the conference about the Davies case this afternoon?'

'You have!' Mary smiled again. 'So you had better have only the one drink at lunchtime!'

'You're as bad as my daughters!' Patricia giggled back. 'They try to make me live like an old maid!'

'But, I'm the same age as they are. There's also this!' She handed over another sheet. 'The Lord Chancellor's Department wants you to be on a Domestic Violence Review Committee. They also want the firm to sponsor it and could we host it here! The first meeting will be mid-October!'

'Tell them. Yes! Yes! And yes, we can host it. Can you organise it? And take the minutes!'

Patricia's eyes strayed to Mary's desk and hastily the secretary closed a magazine, that had been lying under the papers. 'What were you reading?' She picked up the magazine and thumbed through it.

Mary took it back and showed her boss a serious article about chastity belts, why women wore them and who made them do it. 'I've read this article and I'm just so surprised at what people get up to.'

'I think they are rather a minority taste!' For no particular reason she picked up the magazine and added it to her pile of papers. 'But, I must say, that I've come across a couple of cases, where people wore them. But usually it was the men! And very submissive ones at that!'

***

Patricia hadn't added that Clive had locked her into such a device several times.

But then that had been in fun! And only for a few hours! She was now thumbing through the article and noticed that all the belts shown were in stainless steel, whereas her's had only been leather. She smiled as she noticed that the technology seemed to have improved. But to what ends!

By eleven Patricia had gone through the papers, checked all her e-mails, phoned a couple of clients and a QC, and all importantly, she had booked a restaurant for lunch. She also decided against dinner after the theatre and provided a list of shopping for Mary at the local M and S. She would treat David to a indoor pic-nic! She would start off in her underwear and progress from there!

She kept returning to the thought of the chastity belt! Her mind would not leave the thought of it alone. Where was the leather one she had worn those years ago for Clive? But where was all the other leather straps he used to restrain her? Perhaps they had disappeared when she had moved to the Barbican. She smiled as she realised that most of the packing and unpacking had been done by her daughters. So how would a mother, phone up each daughter in turn and ask if she has got her mother's chastity belt and a collection of severe restraints?

She returned to the article and read it in detail this time. She had to admit that the thought of wearing a steel device turned her on. No sex! No fiddling! No self satisfaction! She knew that if Clive was still here, by now she'd have been in steel, when he was away. He'd always complained about her habits and this would put an end to them!

***

David brought the two coffees to the table in the Starbucks just outside Liverpool Street station. 'Thank you! Last night was fabulous. Wicked! Disgusting even!' He paused. 'Do you feel guilty?' He certainly looked it.

'No!' Patricia felt unfaithful to Clive, but she didn't feel guilty. 'Clive told me to enjoy myself before he died. I didn't until we started our liason.'

'Is it dangerous?' David grinned.

'No! Sarah very gently pushed us together and I deeply love my sister. We've been close all our lives.' She smiled to herself, as she knew he wasn't the only man, they had both slept with. But that was before either Clive or David came into their lives.

'You're so different though!' He paused as if what he was going to say would embarrass Patricia. 'She's the wife, mother and perhaps a prude. You're the first two, but you're a fantastic lover instead. Do you have no limits or boundaries? Some would call you a tart or a whore!'

'I prefer courtesan!'

'This may be our last meeting for some time!' Patricia knew that Sarah was getting closer to the end. 'Sarah is not well and I don't think I can leave her! Certainly not overnight!'

'No matter!' She knew what her sister's response would be. 'I'll just have to create new games to entice you to London. Or failling that I know of a really crap hotel in Southend! Each suite has a jacuzzi and a mirrored ceiling!'

***

A week later everything about work had changed!

The Sheffield office was in crisis, as the solicitor who dealt with most of the expensive divorces of South Yorkshire had decided to defect, taking two of his team and most his clients with him. Patricia, who knew little about anything north of Cambridge, let alone Sheffield was asked, or rather ordered, to deputise. It was the posting from hell!

But then she had not been asked to be on the Lord Chancellor's Committee because she was a hack lawyer. She had been asked because she was one rung up from the best. And also because when the law failed, she could use bucketfulls of feminine charm to extricate herself from a large hole. It only took about a fortnight before she had turned things round. But it did mean she would be staying in the city for at least a further month.

It had now become very routine in Sheffield and her mind was drifting towards other things.

She remembered the article in the magazine and seemed to remember references to Sheffield. But then this seemed logical, as wasn't the city the historic centre of the steel industry. Searching the Internet gave her a company and an address. Perhaps a steel belt to add spice to her physical relationship with David and to stop her pleasuring herself would add another facet to her sexuality!

A day later and it was almost a repeat of the scene in the hotel when her nipples were pierced. Except this time, she was in control, but she was still dressed the same. Albeit with a dressing gown over the top to preserve her modesty. She was impressed with the manner of her would-be restrainer and decided that rather than one belt, perhaps she needed two. One to wear wiithout a corset. And one to wear when her waist was severely reduced. She also added a lockable collar with Property of Clive inscribed on it!

Everything was delivered, checked and adjusted for a perfect fit, before she left Sheffield at the end of September.

***

It was going to be a busy week!

The first meeting of the Committee was going to be on Thursday and from past experience and the CV's of the other members, Patricia knew it would not be a bundle of laughs. But at least the day before was going to be a long-awaited David day. To put it frankly, she admitted to herself that she needed some proper sex! And hopefully lots of it!

As she dressed that Monday morning, she wondered whether she should wear the belt over her corset. She had done it twice already the previous week and had found it brought her nicely to the boil. So she felt another day would be worth the discomfort. Not that it was that bad, but it could be a bit messy when she went to the toilet. It would be good practice for Wednesday, when she would definitely wear it for David.

But how would David take it? And perhaps it would be wrong for her to have the key! So she took the decision, that she would use a courier to send him the keys to the belt and the collar. It would mean wearing her armour until Wednesday, and that might be challenging. But so what! If it got too much she could always retrieve the spares from the company safe! She added a strong note, that he must bring the keys. But she didn't say what they unlocked!

***

Wednesday had been a disaster. Because Sarah's carer was ill and could not come, it meant that David had to cry off! He would definitely come on Friday but if he couldn't, then Patricia would take the train to Southend on Saturday. Her determination meant that she would not take the easy way of retrieving the second set of keys.

So Thursday found Patricia in her office, still in her belt and collar, under the Armani. This time though it was a lighter blue, as she knew that everyone else would be in a dull black and as always she wanted to stand out!

As she was still in Monday's corset, she wondered whether she was less than fragrant. Mary had made a comment about wearing a high-necked cashmere sweater every day of the week so far. She also remarked about how she liked her wide belt with the heavy buckle, that Patricia had bought to hide all trace of the steel underneath. Did Mary suspect anything? If she did she kept quiet, although she did know from the weekend in Paris, that her boss wasn't the normal high-profile divorce lawyer under her immaculate suits.

***

Formalities over and the eight women and two men were all sitting at a large polished table in the firm's most sumptuous conference room. Patricia had been right about the make-up of the committee. Most were very dull and apart from Mary, who had followed her boss's lead and dressed in red, everyone else was sombre and dark-suited. Even the two senior policewomen weren't in uniform, which would have livened things up a bit! Pauline, one of Patricia's old adversaries from the Lord Chancellor's Department, who was perhaps ten years younger, but dressed at least that amount older, rose to give the opening address to set the tone of the committee's investigations. Patricia passed a note to Mary, who was sitting to her right, asking when she felt Pauline had last had an orgasm. She also added that she was the sort of prude, who washed her underwear in the dark. Mary just about held back her laugh

'Ladies and gentlemen.' The dull tones had started and Patricia started to glaze over, as she had heard all of this before. 'We are here to address all of the manifestations of domestic violence against women and children. And in a few number of cases, men. ...'

Patricia made a note to herself, that Pauline was at last acknowledging the statistics that showed that violence wasn't all one way.

'...But violence isn't as rare as you think. How many here have been hit by their partners?...' Pauline's question was rhetorical and she didn't expect or get an answer. But Patricia, smiled as she remembered how several times Clive had tied her down and caned her for some trivial mistake, accident or misdemeanour. She'd also reciprocated just as many times. They'd argued that it was better to do something like that, rather than let something simmer destructively in the background. It was so different to the terrible violence that she knew many of her clients were subjected to.

'...There is also the more subtler forms of violence. Take men, who insist their partners dress in particular ways.' Pauline droned on. 'You'd think that women had stopped being made to wear corsets and other degrading clothes years ago! But look at these pictures!' Patricia expected some soft porn, but Pauline held up some of the latest Paris fashions from Vogue. Only a whore would wear anything as tight, revealing and degrading as this! Men get at women to do their bidding in many ways...' Patricia noted that she had now scored two out of two!

'...And why do women wear stockings? Because they are forced by men and the male-dominated media...' Patricia noted that the policewoman to Pauline's right put her hand to her mouth to hide a smirk. She also exchanged looks with Mary, who she knew often wore the dreaded instruments of male oppression. Or male attraction! Three out of three! She now had started drawing five bar gates on her notes to keep the score.

'...With deference to Mrs. Patel.' She acknowledged the Indian lady sitting next to Pauline. 'Some of the clothes worn by some ethnic minorities are there to suppress women. Why would any woman wear the burka by choice?' Mrs. Patel said nothing, but raised her eye-brow to Patricia. They knew each other quite well and had talked about this before, when Patricia had gone to Iran some years before to discuss child abduction. Although she hadn't needed to, she'd worn a burka in Iran, so that she could move freely around Teheran. She wouldn't have wanted to wear it every day, but it had been strangly uplifting. Even the male colleague, who accompanied her, told her he found her strangely sexy. She added to her score.

'...I do think that male dress designers are very much to blame.' Pauline was still in full flow and was now promoting her theory that dress design was anti-woman. 'Why do women wear some of these clothes?' She held up a picture of Britney Spears. 'Popstars like her and Kylie Minogue are there to appeal to the base male instincts! And they are indoctrinating another generation of girls to be submissive and take it from men!...' Patricia laughed as she remembered the firm's charity Christmas party, where she had gone as a blue corsetted showgirl, based on the diminutive Australian, complete with a nineteen inch waist, sequins, fishnet tights, very high heels and an enormous feathered head dress! That made a perfect five!

'...Is it right too!' She was still pointing at the picture. 'That she sets the example of bearing her midriff and then suffering the pain of having her navel pierced. I'm told that some women now have their nipples pierced. How degrading is that?' Patricia felt it might be, but she was still proud of her nipples and their jewellery. The score kept rising.

'...Before I finish with how women are made to dress.' She held up a picture of a typical bride in a strapless, tightly waisted, long white dress. 'We'll look at that major instrument of male oppression. The marriage ceremony!...' Patricia, thought this was getting out of hand. She looked at a very beautiful and extremely happy bride. She herself had been more demure when she had married, but then it had been the nineteen sixties. But she had been corsetted, veiled and she had promised to obey. Did that count as one, two or three points? She decided on a fair two as all her four daughters had married in corsets with bare shoulders! And it had been their mother who'd tightened all the laces!

'...I'll turn now to everyday male attitudes to women.' Pauline had still not been interrupted. 'I'll leave out work-place attitudes, as we're only discussing domestic situations here. 'Many religious minorites discourage their wives from doing such important things as driving a car...' She even scored that one. She'd married young and as Clive had always driven, she could see no point. Now she could afford taxis, when the train or bus was inconvenient. '...They're also expected to clean the house and cook at all times...' Clive couldn't boil an egg. She crossed through the second gate.

'...Lastly, I'll turn to pornography and what it encourages.' She held up a men's magazine, showing a double page spread of girls wearing black underwear, stockings and stilettos in seductive poses. 'Why would a woman degrade herself like this?' Patricia had enjoyed the time, when the very same magazine, had done a spread on attractive older women. She was in her early fifties, when she had been asked by the publisher, if she would pose in a couple of revealing evening dresses. She had insisted on being masked and bewigged to hide her identity, and showed nothing more than stocking tops and a lot of cleavage, except in one almost notorious picture. She was photographed standing with her back to the camera with her hands at the back of the head, wearing long black gloves, a very tightly-laced black corset, black sheer knickers, black seamed stockings with elaborate lace tops and very high black stiletto heels. She still had some of the letters from admirers. Several included proposals of marriage, as she was billed in the magazine as 'The Beautiful Widow'. The picture and another taken from the front showing her pierced breasts, were both hanging in the toilet of her flat in the Barbican. She started another gate.

'...And that is only the tame stuff!' She held up another picture. 'Tattoos!' Patricia scored. 'Bondage!' The picture was tame compared to some of the things she'd done with Clive. Another score. 'Piercing and the shaving of private parts!' Patricia felt that Pauline was repeating herself, but scored one for the lack of body hair. 'And then we have this?' Pauline was holding the same women's magazine that Mary had been reading. She completed the third gate.

Then she laughed uncontrollably!