This is a story about power and control; it is the kind of control that is often dreamed of, but seldom realised in real life This is also the tale of a dream that came true for some, but became a living nightmare of reality for many others.

To begin, may I ask a question of you male readers and some of you female readers too, for that matter? How would you like to possess a female companion, one who would always be totally obedient to you without question? A lady who would do anything you ask and who would unhesitatingly call you Master, if you so desired? One whose entire existence is dominated by a compulsive desire to please and serve you in every way possible? I’m talking about a virtual slave girl, a female figure from the Arabian Nights, a slave-like woman who would happily live naked, or wear chains for you, if it made you happy. This would be a woman who would gladly have you ‘throw a leg over’ whenever you became driven by the urge and not make you feel like a Saturday Night rapist. Now, I’m sure no independent, emancipated, 21St Century modern woman would even remotely consider applying for the position, but the question is, will that ideal male-orientated relationship ever be achieved? And if so, how could it be done - and by whom?

No? Impossible you say? Out of the question? You may be right, but then again, maybe not. Before you dismiss the whole idea as preposterous, I would urge you to reserve your judgement and join me now, whilst I reveal to you the amazing tale of ‘SCARAB


Chapter One - Karla


During the time of the ancient Egyptian civilisation, an important species of scarab beetle known as the Tumblebug was widely regarded as sacred. It was also looked upon as a symbol of immortality. In those far off days, various items of jewellery were fashioned around the image of that beetle, including brooches, amulets, rings and pendants, many of which often contained precious stones. Such jewellery became collectively known as ‘Scarabs’, decorative beetle-shaped items, which were mostly worn on clothing and sometimes directly on the body. Whilst it is true that today similar jewellery is still available, the Scarab to which you will shortly be introduced bears little resemblance to the original in either design or function.

Our Scarab, the one you will read about in these pages, is an ultra-modern device designed to exercise almost total behavioural control over the human female. It does this by the judicious use of up-to-date radio and electronic technology, combined with the very latest achievements in the field of metallurgy, which allows the device to be remotely controlled and to be ‘worn’ almost indefinitely. As you will shortly see, the quotation marks used around the word ‘worn’ are quite justified. In this case the use of the verb ‘to wear’ conveys an entirely different and sinister meaning.

The original idea of the Scarab occurred to me some time ago after discussing the pros and cons of chastity belts with a lady friend. Whilst Karla was not entirely against the idea of them in basic principle, she felt the sheer impracticability of wearing heavy uncomfortable objects would surely defeat the purpose. She believed nobody could endure that experience for long and, after all, wasn’t long-term utilisation the whole idea? With that I totally agreed. Having seen some of the monstrosities women have been asked to wear over the years, I considered their practicability was certainly in question; however, I felt there was still a place for the CB, provided something more generally acceptable could be devised.

Due to my engineering background I always consider that all problems have a solution and this one was no exception. I felt, given sufficient time, I could come up with a design that would be more than acceptable and could sell quite well. Half jokingly I asked Karla, “What if I could engineer something comfortable and practical? Would you help me develop it by providing access to the female genitalia upon which to base the design?” After a shriek and a tirade of amazingly profane language, even for a lady, she stormed off. ‘Oh well,’ I thought, ‘I guess the answer’s in the negative,’ and put the idea aside, for the time being at least. 

Several days later I answered a phone call from that very same lady. She must have cooled down by then, as she jokingly said to me, “Ok smarty pants, listen up. If you can come up with some earth shattering new hi-tech chastity device that works, then I’ll let you fiddle about with me down there, but only if it doesn’t hurt and only if nobody else hears about it.” I was dumbfounded. The ball was now in my court. I thanked her profusely and got down to some really serious thinking.

The problem of design is never difficult, what is difficult is the creation of an entirely new concept, and that was the problem. I had promised an entirely new, earth-shattering breakthrough, but so far I had achieved nothing at all. In desperation I resorted to an old ruse I recalled from my student days. If all else fails, and you can’t work something out, ask your subconscious mind for the answer and then sleep on it. It used to work for me when I was an undergraduate, why shouldn’t it work now?

That night I went to sleep in absolute confidence of being able to reach new heights. I awoke the following morning in total despair. The foolproof scheme of my youth had failed me. All I had dreamed about that night were beetles, horrible little oblong crawly critters that obviously had absolutely nothing to do with my problem.

Adding to my frustration was the thought of not soon being able to invite my beautiful and tantalisingly cooperative lady friend over for a “fitting”. Though I was prepared to be thoroughly professional with her I was still ‘bustin’a gut’ for the experience. I knew what the fitting entailed, and I knew damn well how much I was going to enjoy it. The way things were going I might never get to enjoy the many delights that I could as yet only imagine.

Then it hit me; what fitting? I needed measurements, didn’t I? Yes of course. My heart raced as I reached for the phone.

Karla was at home and yes she could come over that evening. She said, “What would you like me to wear?”

I replied, “Oh, something loose would be suitable.”

With that she said, “OK, see you about seven,” and hung up the phone.

The prospect of having Karla over for drinks (and things} always excited me, but this was entirely different. In this situation I had no previous experience. Sure we had been lovers on and off for quite a while, but this was a completely different deal. I mean, what does one say to a lady to open the conversation in such circumstances? I was still contemplating that problem when the doorbell rang.

Karla is the tall blond German type, with legs up to her armpits, well, up to her more than amply proportioned Teutonic tits at least. She has long blond hair that reaches down to the small of her back, whenever she chooses to let it down, that is. She only does so on special occasions. On that particular occasion her hair hung long and free, with just a ribbon to stop it blowing about. Her silken trousers were designer cut to display her trim athletic figure and her jacket was buttoned up just enough to accentuate her stunning cleavage. As I opened the door her delightful perfume wafted over me. Try as I might I simply wasn’t able to think of a damn thing to say.

With ease and confidence she swept into the room, smiling at my obvious embarrassment. “Come on David,” she said. “It’s not like you to be stuck for words. What would you like me to do?”

I collected my wits and replied, “Well Karla, I think we ought to sit down and have a drink first, then I’ll explain to you in detail what has to be done.”

“That’s fine by me,” she said cheekily. “Can’t wait for those details.”

A couple of stiff drinks later I regained my composure and broached the subject. Tonight was for measurements and I had set up my computer and special hand scanner for the purpose. I explained I needed detailed plotting of her genitals and would be able to record this material on floppy disk to use in the final design phase.

She nodded approvingly and then said with a smile, “OK then, do I have to sit on the computer or something?”

Straining to keep my composure, I said, “Karla, do you still want to help out with this project, or are you simply having fun at my expense?”

She looked hurt for an instant, then bounced back with, “No David, I know if you put your mind to something it could be a winner. I came to help and I will, but first I want you sign this?”

She presented a simple contractual agreement stating that she would be considered an equal partner in the production and development of the new chastity device that I was working on. I looked up in surprise to hear her say, “It’s my ass, baby; if this thing of yours turns out to be any good I want a piece of the action too, get the picture?”

Yes, I got the picture and what else could I do anyway?  I signed the contract and got down to business.

“Karla, you know roughly what I have to do tonight, so if you are serious, please be kind enough to get yourself ready.” In response she determinedly rose to her feet and kicked off her shoes. Then, fixing me with her gaze, she ever so slowly and carefully drew down her beautifully tailored silken pants inch by breathless inch, pausing at her mound for just a moment to titillate before continuing on to reveal her pure white nakedness beneath. “Shall I take off my top, too?” she said, with a wicked smile.

‘Why not?’ I thought. But for some unexplainable moronic reason blurted out, “No, er, that won’t be necessary.”

Leading Karla to my bedroom, I positioned her in a kneeling position face down on the side of the bed, placed my hands on her soft supple skin and spread her legs wide apart. Then I folded her knees up a little further and packed a pillow under her belly to help her keep balance and maintain position. I knew it would be difficult for her to remain in that position for any length of time, so I suggested I tie her legs.

“Kinky,” she chuckled, but didn’t complain.

I tied a length of rope around one knee, passed it under the bed and brought it up on the other side where I attached it to her other knee. I was then able to firmly draw on the rope, forcing her legs wide apart until she begged me to stop. With her legs firmly secured she surprised me with, “Do yah wanna tie my hands too? I might get violent.” I know I should not have done so but couldn’t resist the temptation. God, I’m only human. I drew her arms around behind her, folded her wrists together and bound them tightly with another rope that just ‘happened’ to be nearby. Soon she was firmly fastened hand and foot, perched helpless, face down on the mattress with her bottom up in the air; legs tucked up on each side of her belly and knees pulled cruelly apart by the rope. Her sex was forced wide-open, giving easy access for my purpose. She could hardly move a muscle and to be held in that position so firmly must have been painful. I stood back and admired my handiwork. It was the most beautiful sight I had seen for a long long time.

With my scanner I traced the shape and contours of her genitals, steadying my hand against the soft yielding flesh of her inner thigh. Firstly I traced around the vulva, paying special attention to that upper area where the clitoris and clitoral hood are situated. I needed very accurate mapping of that special spot. Then the outer labia, followed by the labia minora were carefully traced. With my face so close to her genitals I could smell that strange faint mustiness of womanly flesh one senses during cunnilingus. It was a scent I had not previously enjoyed with Karla. I thought, “Perhaps when the scanning is complete I could get my tongue and ...?  Then again, perhaps not.”

With all those files recorded I ran the disk through my computer to confirm the necessary details were complete. It was all there in perfect detail, so I had no further need to keep Karla helplessly bound on the bed. I went back and asked if she was OK. She said she was a bit stiff and sore and was looking forward to being released. Shamelessly I told her the disk had not turned out terribly well and I would need to do it all again. She said she wanted to be untied but I refused, explaining that she couldn’t be allowed to move, as it would spoil some of the good tracings I already had. I’m sure she knew I was lying, but she didn’t complain any further, being resigned to her fate. After all, what else could she do?

I then went through the entire procedure again, taking special care not to miss anything. At least that’s what I told her. Once again I breathed in her sexual aroma, fantasising that my tongue had been transformed into a paintbrush and was creating the masterpiece I beheld before me.

“Ooooooh, that feels different,” she said, trying to arch her hips towards me in sexual reflex. I slowly brought my tongue up to her awakening clitoris and gently circled it. I thought she deserved some pleasure for her efforts and for me it was no great imposition. For Karla the exercise had become a painful one, with the rope biting deep into her soft white flesh, but as can often be the case I think the pain accentuated her pleasure. For me it had been pure heaven, so it was only fair she should share a little bit of that heaven too. I sucked and nibbled her clit just a little bit more, this time for her enjoyment. Sometimes I can be such a considerate sod!

Finally, when I had all I needed in the way of images - and satisfaction - I undid her legs and helped her to stand up. “What about my hands?” she yelped.

“Oh, they were your idea, do you want them undone too?” I said, with an evil grin.

“Bastard,” she hissed

I slowly and regretfully untied her hands and promptly received a solid smack across the face, which I no doubt deserved. “Bastard, for a minute there I thought you were going to rape me or something.” Then slyly she whispered, “You could have, you know. Tied up like that I couldn’t have stopped you and nobody would have known. What’s the matter with you, don’t you like krauts?”

In the next few minutes I found myself back in familiar territory, only this time I was using a different instrument, one that did not paint masterpieces or take tracings.