Two years earlier: Exploration#

Back at home, Mara quickly realized how much she needed to adjust to life with the iGuardian. The device’s constant grip on her body left little room for error, and she soon understood that even the simplest movements could become uncomfortable if she did them wrong.

During the week she was fitted with the device, Philippe hosted a formal dinner. Mara’s task was to make sure the household staff prepared everything perfectly. She moved carefully through the grand hallway, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Any time she shifted her weight the wrong way, the iGuardian’s inserts pressed uncomfortably against her insides, reminding her to maintain the proper posture: hips straight, chest out, shoulders back.

If she slouched or moved too much against the device, she received a correction. The iGuardian seemed to be learning, adjusting its responses to achieve more with less.

When she entered the dining room, she found the staff setting the table. The soft rustle of her skirt was the only sound as she approached. The staff looked up and curtsied respectfully.

Mara began to inspect the table settings. When she leaned forward slightly to check the alignment of the silverware, she failed to push her back far enough, and the inserts made themselves felt as her hips slipped out of line. She quickly corrected her posture, pressing her hips back into the exaggerated pose the iGuardian demanded. The shoulder braces forced her chest out even farther, reminding her not to bend the wrong way. Every movement became a balancing act she had to master, as if she were learning to stand, walk, and move all over again while maintaining the proper line.

She signed her approval to Claire, the head of staff, her hands moving gracefully despite the strain. Claire nodded and returned to her work. Mara hesitated, feeling the relentless pressure of the corset around her torso and the pull in her back. The fact that she could not bend or slouch without triggering a correction frustrated her. To cope, she straightened herself even more and focused on her breathing. She relied on her ballet and yoga training to hold the posture.

The real challenge came when she had to sit.

As she approached the Victorian chair at the head of the table, she lowered herself with care. Almost immediately, discomfort flared as her weight pressed against the crotch piece of the iGuardian. The pressure pushed the inserts deeper into her, filling her almost to the point of pain. At the same time the corset body was forced upward, compressing her ribs and pushing the breast covers uncomfortably into her chest. The neck corset, in turn, pressed into her chin and the back of her neck.

Mara quickly realized that she could not sit like that. She shifted forward and balanced on the edge of the seat, placing her weight on her thighs rather than directly on her crotch. The discomfort eased slightly, and she could breathe more freely. She folded her gloved hands in her lap, her knees pressed together by the underskirt. The position was difficult, but it forced her into a composed, deeply feminine pose that matched the Victorian dress perfectly.

When Philippe entered the room, his gaze settled on Mara at once. He paused, taking in the careful posture she was maintaining.

“Mara, is everything ready for the guests?” he asked.

Without turning or shifting, Mara signed, Yes, Sir. Everything prepared as you instructed.

Philippe came closer, his eyes scanning the table before returning to her rigid form. He noticed how she balanced herself on the edge of the chair, how carefully she held the line of her body.

“Good,” he said, appraising her. “I like what the iGuardian does for your posture. It suits you.”

Mara signed back, Thank you, Sir, though her hands trembled slightly as she struggled to maintain the position. The strain of holding herself so rigidly, together with the pressure from the device, was almost overwhelming. Even so, she forced herself to remain still, breathing shallowly inside the tight corset and mask.

Later that evening, Mara sat beside Philippe, her posture as rigid as the women’s chair she was locked into. The chair had a narrow seat, and its backrest had arms that slotted into the iGuardian between her shoulder blades and at the small of her back through narrow slits in her dress. Once seated, she was locked in place and held there until someone released her by pressing a button at the top of the chair, far out of her reach. The heavy folds of her Victorian-style dress cascaded around her, hiding the mechanics of both the chair and the device.

Across the table, diplomats engaged in lively conversation about matters of state and trade while servants moved efficiently around them, serving dinner. The rich aromas of the meal filled the air, but Mara could not partake in the same way. Her nourishment came through the feed port in her mask.

A maid approached her silently and attached an elegantly designed bag to the feed port. It was filled with nutrient liquid, part of a new technology meant to ensure wards received their sustenance in a controlled and sanitary way. From the outside the arrangement looked modest, almost refined, but Mara knew better.

When the maid activated the flow, the feed gag inside Mara’s mouth slowly filled and expanded, extending deep into her throat. Eventually it filled completely, forcing nutrient liquid down her throat before shrinking slightly and beginning again. The sensation was foreign and deeply uncomfortable, the gag pressing against the back of her mouth while the liquid came in pulses that demanded full concentration. Mara had to time every swallow carefully, suppressing the reflex that threatened to overwhelm her each time it came.

Her hands, folded neatly in her lap, trembled slightly as she focused on the mechanical work of swallowing. Humiliation burned in her, even though the whole procedure remained hidden beneath the mask and bonnet. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Philippe in calm conversation with the diplomat beside him. His voice carried across the table, effortless and authoritative.

“This feed-bag arrangement is quite advantageous,” Philippe explained, his tone almost conversational. “It allows precise control over Mara’s intake, ensuring she receives exactly the nutrients she needs without the mess or unpredictability of conventional eating. Everything is logged: calories, vitamins, minerals. It is much healthier for her, and it allows me to provide the care expected of a guardian.”

The diplomat nodded with interest.

“Remarkable. I had heard of such systems, but I had not seen one in use until now. The technology must be a real advantage in ensuring proper care.”

“Indeed,” Philippe agreed. “It is a seamless way to manage Mara’s health. She does not need to worry about overindulgence or nutritional deficiency, and I can monitor her well-being closely. It is part of my responsibility to keep her in the best possible condition. And it is convenient for her as well. It keeps her modest at all times, removing the need to unmask in public or deal with the inconvenience of a privacy cabin.”

Mara kept her attention on the rhythm of the gag. Each time it released another portion of nutrient liquid, she braced herself and swallowed quickly, trying to avoid the liquid pooling in her mouth and interfering with her breathing. Her throat worked mechanically. The taste was bland and faintly salty, nothing like the rich food being served to everyone else.

Despite the humiliation, she knew she had to maintain her composure. Her role was to sit quietly, hands folded, posture perfect, and endure the feeding process with the same grace and submission expected of her in every other part of her life. The discomfort, the control, the loss of even this simple autonomy, all of it reminded her of her place.

Philippe turned slightly toward her and rested a hand affectionately on the back of her chair.

“Mara is adapting well to this new system,” he continued, addressing the diplomat but speaking as much for Mara’s benefit. “It is a matter of training, really. Teaching her body to accept and process nourishment this way. She has made excellent progress.”

The diplomat smiled approvingly.

“You are doing an admirable job, Philippe. It is clear she is in very good hands.”

Mara kept her eyes fixed forward, her breathing steady and controlled. She swallowed again as another pulse of nutrient slid down her throat, forcing herself to concentrate on the rhythm and routine of it.

Much later that evening, after the dinner was over and the guests had gone, Mara finally lay in bed with her body encased in the rigid shell of the iGuardian. It was her first night experiencing the full extent of the device’s restrictions, and every sensation felt new and unsettling. Philippe had undressed her down to mask, gloves, stockings, and boots, while the corset, neck corset, and shoulder braces had been relaxed for the night.

He attached restraints to her legs, locking them apart by about a meter, and connected a restraint and charging cable to the attachment point between her shoulder blades.

“There,” he said quietly. “You should be able to rest comfortably now, but you will always remain aware of your boundaries.”

Mara could only lie still while Philippe finished his adjustments.

When he stepped back, satisfied with his work, he gave her a brief nod.

“Good night, Mara. Rest well.”

Good night, Sir, Mara signed, her hands moving slowly.

Left alone in the darkness, she explored the iGuardian with her gloved hands, trying to familiarize herself with its contours. Her fingers traced the hard lines of the breast covers and the smooth unyielding surface of the crotch cover. But the moment her touch lingered too near those areas, a searing pain shot through her from the electrodes embedded inside the device. The correction was sharp and immediate, a brutal reminder not to test the limits of her chastity.

Gasping silently, Mara jerked her hands away. The lesson was clear. Any attempt to touch herself, even unintentionally, would be met with consequences. Chastity was not merely expected. It was enforced.

She learned to keep her hands far from the restricted areas, every movement measured to avoid another correction.

The hours of the night stretched on, each one another lesson in stillness and restraint. The tension in her body never fully eased. The constant pressure of the iGuardian and the restraints kept her on edge even in sleep.

When morning came, the device automatically released Mara from its nighttime restraints. The back restraint unclipped with a soft click, and the ankle restraints retracted, allowing her to move again, though the iGuardian remained firmly in place.

Mara sat up carefully, a task made difficult by the rigid shell that prevented any easy bending or twisting. She had to shift her legs to the side and use her arms to push herself upright. At the edge of the bed she used both hands to ease the pressure from the crotch cover. Though the corset had been loosened for the night, getting out of bed still required her full attention.

The moment she stood, the corset, braces, and neck support automatically tightened into their daytime settings. The sudden adjustment almost threw her off balance. Dressing herself was even harder now in the iGuardian than it had been before, but Mara still tried to do it alone, clinging to the little independence it allowed.

She dressed quickly, putting on the Yoyah Sheengzoh and a Victorian-style dressing gown over her gloves, stockings, and boots. Once that part of the morning was done, she went to the kitchen to prepare Philippe’s tea. Every movement was cautious, because any mistake might trigger another correction. Balancing the tray, she walked carefully down the hallway, posture as perfect as the device demanded, until she reached Philippe’s study.

He was already seated at his desk, reading through a stack of documents. Mara paused, steadying herself before she moved forward. With both hands full of the tray, she could not sign, so she approached silently.

Philippe glanced up, a slight smile touching his mouth.

“Good morning, Mara. You may serve the tea.”

Mara positioned herself beside the table, moving with care. She already knew how crucial it was to maintain the proper posture at all times. The iGuardian was unforgiving in its expectations.

She bent at the knees while keeping her back upright and managed to set the cup down without triggering a correction. The relief was brief, but it brought a small measure of satisfaction.

Philippe observed her closely.

“You are improving,” he said with approval. “Who would have thought that all you needed was structure and a little discipline?”

Her hands finally free, Mara signed back, Thank you, Sir, and good morning to you too.

Inside, she felt the familiar mixture of frustration and resignation. Every movement took so much effort, so much attention, that even the simplest tasks left her tired. Still, she knew she had no choice but to continue, to adapt to these new restrictions until they became second nature.

As she stepped back and waited for Philippe’s next instruction, she reminded herself of what she had learned so far. The iGuardian was not just a device. It was her life now, dictating every aspect of her existence. If she meant to survive inside it, she would have to find some kind of peace in the stillness and in the careful deliberate movements it demanded.

And so Mara began to learn, each day another lesson in the restraint, submission, and formality her role required.