Shackles

Part 3 – Hard Labour Catherine grunted as she hefted another sodding river stone into the wooden cart. Lia hadn’t been joking when she warned there would be hard labour today. For the past few hours, Catherine sweated and toiled under the summer sun, loading large rocks from a pile laying beside a decaying stone wall. It wasn’t some magnificent castle wall, though. No, the small old structure she had willingly been held prisoner in by the younger German woman didn’t have grandiose stone ramparts. Outside of the gatehouse, the walls were actually wooden, in fact. A reproduction of what had once been there. ...

“Hey Momo, are you ready for the party at Sasame’s tomorrow night?” Rika asked me from her desk which sat next to mine. I nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. It was our last Halloween in high school, and we were all eager to make it one to remember. “What are you guys planning to wear?” I asked, knowing that the choice of costume was a crucial decision for any high school event. ...

‘Section 15.18 The Submissive agrees to service or be sexually used by any person or persons of the Dominant’s choosing. Such encounters may include participation of multiple people at a time if that so pleases the Dominant. The Submissive will be bound, restrained and blindfolded during these encounters and this is by the Submissive’s expressed request and consent. _The Submissive explicitly grants his permission to be sexually used and abused by those individuals invited by the Dominant to take part in the activities with the Submissive, and furthermore, the Submissive grants his permission for those individuals to complete such acts on the Submissive while the Submissive is bound, restrained and/or blindfolded.* ...

6 - A public(ish) burial Over the next few months, Liz and Mike got to help with putting Jenny in various boxes and burying her on a number of occasions. She did some more of the sex club events where she went into the floor display box, sometimes with the shackles and other times without. Without shackles, it left her able to play with her pussy while others danced and watched and she would inevitably bring herself off several times during the hour, while those occasions with the shackles usually meant she had a vibrator stuck in her pussy for the entire time, sometimes managing to come just from the situation as the vibe was usually only set on low. The one time they left the vibe on high power she almost blacked out with the number of orgasms she had and had to be picked up and carried away from the box at the end of her hour. She couldn’t monopolise the box though, as pretty much every month saw several other people that wanted to spend time in there as well. The whole concept had been a great success and the bingo machine was called into play quite regularly to ensure fairness. ...

A Day Like Any Other* The date was for a Saturday afternoon lunch to try out a new Asian restaurant. This was their third time out together, after the first two ended well. Leo Teller had come across the opening announcement in the weekly local junk mail flier, and thought it might be a novel experience for his new social companion. He still wasn’t sure what to make of her. Tina, short for Christina as she usually introduced herself, was something of an enigma. They worked for the same company, he in Engineering, she in Purchasing, which often brought them together for meetings. She was definitely good at her job, which was apparent when he all too often had to field tough questions on component costs. At first he thought she might be challenging him because she didn’t care for his brusque style, yet he had to admit her figures merited discussion. Once he justified the additional cost she didn’t pursue it further, so clearly it was business not hostility for motivation. ...

As I walk into my garage I hold out the lamp and peer into the darkness that crowds round its feeble light. The whole garage smells of oil and petrol and paraffin. A faint whiff of perfume lingers in the air, not a smell I get in here as it’s not really a woman’s place. Old Mrs Duffin from the farm came down with her van now and again but she smelt of cows and horses. ...

Part 3 Chapter 16 Natalie The next day brought new challenges. When she saw the breakfast set up in front of them, she couldn’t help but be amazed. Trixie made an effort to try everything at least once. The sausages and stewed tomatoes tasted very good to her, but when she was offered tippers, she went on strike. “Today I have to spend most of my time talking to my asset managers about some things,” Antje explained. “I’ve asked Frank to drive you around London a bit and show you the main sights. I can’t say exactly how long that will take me, but when I’m done, I’ll call Frank and you can pick me up.” ...

The Plan She had planned it all very carefully. The time, the location, weather, equipment, even the phase of the moon for light; everything was perfect. Now she faced the one last decision to put her plan into action, the final moment at which she could stop, back out, and change her mind. Little did she realize how a simple weekend outing would turn into an adventure that profoundly changed her life. ...

How It Came To Be “Is it true, Paula? You came here, to the Center, by choice?” The question came from Trina, the most recent addition to the circle of friends. The two women had something in common. Katrina, Trina for short, had also started her life at the Center as a willing if uninformed participant. The dinner conversation had turned to early days at the Center, a safe topic since they weren’t in the secure area. Paula and Big Mike, her master, were the earliest arrivals at the Center among the group sitting around the table. Paula looked a question at Big Mike, silently seeking permission to answer. ...

Center Express Trina, short for Katerina, stole a glance at the guard sitting next to her. He seemed to be bored; that was understandable considering how many times he must have traveled this road. Bored but always alert, she noticed when he sat up in swift reaction to her sidelong peek. On the job as well, as Trina discovered when he reached behind her back to check on the handcuffs. ...

Sandra and Bill liked to tie each other up. They were also into self-bondage. They were very careful. Only one of them did it at any one time. They HAD heard about cases, where both parties had died or suffered heavily, because they had not taken the proper precautions. This was Tuesday - and Sandra was free the whole day. ‘Free’ might not be the proper word; because of her reduced hours at work she had promised to do the entire house cleaning. ...

No, I should not have kicked Dusty. That was definitely a mistake. The pivotal one in a chain of mistakes that has led to my current predicament. Come to think of it, disaster usually rests on supposedly inconsequential events whose combined consequences one fails to anticipate. Sure enough, it had all started pretty normal – normal for me, that is, although other people might beg to differ – with a weekend self-bondage session. ...

Continues from part five 6. Chloe’s True Master Chloe reached into her robe pocket and realized she had forgotten her key in her apartment. The deadbolt wasn’t locked, but the doorknob locked automatically when it closed. Exasperated, Chloe went back downstairs and rang the bell to Don’s apartment. Chloe waited a couple of minutes and then rang again, still no response. One of her neighbors came by and she explained that she had accidentally gotten locked out of her apartment. Finally, after the third ring, Don came to the door in his robe. ...

“30 girls in the last two months Alex, that we know of!” Kara can’t help but look at her sister again, hoping for a different answer. Turning away and shaking her head, Alex moves towards the door. “They were all human Kara, it’s horrible yes, but it’s a matter for the police or FBI, not the DEO.” As Alex finishes putting on her jacket and grabs the door she doesn’t react to Kara’s last plea. “Well I never put a limit on who I’d protect, so I’m going to investigate and find out what’s happening.” ...

Continues from part one M/F, MF, anal, reluctant, sex, bond, cuffs, chain, corset, crotchrope, bed-tie, bodymod, reluctant, shackles, hood, insert, toys, captive, kidnap, revenge, transported, sen-dep, After Anna realised that she was alone and being transported somewhere, she bent down and attempted to remove the hood. She found the zip and began opening it. The zip kept stopping where her hair was trapped and so opening the hood took her a few minutes. ...

Danny was a married man with a young son who had given up his job as mechanic after his father passed suddenly. He had inherited his parent’s farm in Suffolk England and they had turned their hand to farming. At twenty seven years old they were more than capable but as their son started school, Danny’s wife took a part time job during the day in the local town. There was an up and coming crop and he needed some temporary helpers so he put the word out in the community and hired five casual workers who he knew weren’t in the UK legally and would only accept cash. ...

Continues from part two Part 3 I hung from my wrists in the darkness as my legs just couldn’t support me. My body felt completely drained and for the first time I shivered; not from fear or excitement but because I was actually cold. My body was soaked with sweat which had beaded and was now running down my body, it tickled a little bit as it ran down between my shoulder blades; made even more enjoyable by the fact that there was nothing I could do to stop it. My front was even wetter because of the drool from my tortured mouth. The bridle kept my jaw in a constant state of discomfort but what was worse was this unending stream of drool running down my chest, over my stomach and pussy, before finally dripping off and mixing with the puddle between my legs. ...

story continues from Part One Part 2 Caroline Grey sits and looks out over the river Ouse. The warmth of her apartment comforts her as she glances up at the clock for the tenth time that hour. Looking down by her feet she sees the small bag she had packed for the weekend that is about to begin in fifteen minutes. That is if she decides to go through with it. ...

WARNING! This story is only for adults over the age of 18 and contains Strong Sexual Content. It is intended as a work of fiction for ADULTS only, and the author does not in any way condone similar behavior. If you are under the age or 18 or reside in a state, nation, or planet that prohibits such behavior, stop reading immediately!!! Archiving permitted, reposting is permitted; but only if you include this statement of limitation of use and notify the author by e-mail. The author forbids you to make, distribute, or sell multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format. However, individual readers may make single copies of the story for their own, non-commercial use. ...

Where are you? I don’t know who you are or what you look like, it’s your decision if I ever know. I’ve been waiting. All alone in this old nondescript farmhouse. There is no sound here, no busy streets or bustling sidewalks, no noisy highways or crowded commuter trains, no intrusion or interruption. Rather, only a light breeze that jostles the leaves of the sycamore trees that dot the acreage into a peaceful organic white-noise, and an occasional creak from the empty abandoned hay barn, long devoid of everything except weathered slats and a single cast iron block and tackle hanging low from the main beam. ...

My life partner, Angie, pointed it out to me; I would have missed it, because it was in part of the paper I do not read. “What do you reckon to this?” she said as she handed the paper to me and tapped the page in the area she thought might be of interest. “You are always saying you a looking for a challenge.” I focused on the page I had been handed and quickly found the item Angie was bringing to my attention. The small ad read, ‘John Franklin challenges any aspiring escapologists to escape from the ‘Death Cage’ in under five minutes. Successful challengers will receive £1000.’ And a contact phone number. Naturally, I was intrigued, so I rang the number and left a message. That evening I received an email in response, which was odd as I had only left my name, phone number and the fact that I was interested in the ‘Death Cage’ challenge. I opened the attached documentation and discovered the nature of the challenge and the safety procedures that were being put in place. The final paragraph seemed a bit odd. It simply stated, ‘If you succeed you get £1000; if you fail you get to experience magic and what your companion has experienced throughout the challenge.’ I showed the pdf to Angie to ask what she reckoned. Her assessment was, “Handcuffs behind your back, 20 seconds, no 30 seconds, because you’ll need to release both hands; neck shackle, another twenty seconds; two sets of leg shackles, 40 seconds and the cage’s padlock another thirty seconds. I make that 2 minutes. Add that on again for being underwater makes 4 minutes; so five minutes sounds do-able. Admittedly, you can only hold your breath for 3 minutes, but they’ll be providing an air-hose, so that shouldn’t be a big deal. I reckon, if you can handle the pressure of doing this for a live audience and this John Franklin character, you should go for it.” Between us we agreed that it was worth taking this challenge to the next stage, which was emailing for further details and contracts. The next evening these details arrived, but I had spent most of the day in the tank in the summer house in the garden practicing getting out of handcuffs behind my back underwater. I had even improvised an arrangement so that it would be more like the planned arrangement for the ‘Death Cage’ The details confirmed the details of the escape and the safety arrangements and the contractual obligations on both me and the John Franklin’s people. Their obligations seemed to be to provide all the equipment required at the appointed time and place, to have all the safety arrangements in place and to provide the payment if I succeed or get me out if I fail. My obligations seemed to be to turn up at the appointed place and time (at their expense), try my best to succeed at the challenge and to bring a companion with me to see fair play. There were two things that gave me slight concern; the first was they said they would be offering more challenge on the day, for more reward; and the second was they insisted I name my companion and that they sign the contract with me. The contract made clear that the extra part to the challenge was entirely optional, I guessed this would allow them to add some element of drama into the stunt; not only would I succeed or not, but would I be up for the extra challenge? I assumed the bit about naming my companion was so that they could prepare the extra paperwork, but it turned out to be more than that. After careful consideration, we signed contracts and began negotiations about times and places. We even researched who John Franklin was; it turned out that he was a small-time magician who had landed himself a series of six half hour programs and hoped to use these as stepping stones in his magical career, but he was not being entirely selfish, because he was allocating a small amount of time on each show to a specialist performer to show their stuff. I was soon booked as the specialist performer, with Angie as my companion, for his first recording, which by this stage was six weeks away. Those six weeks were a blur; when I was not working my day job or sleeping, I was in the tank practicing with the specified hand-cuffs and padlocks. The practice was paying off, I had the handcuffs, neck-shackle and leg restraints off in under three and a half minutes and the padlock to the lid of the cage should be no trouble. The day of the challenge dawned and we travelled to the studios where the stunt was going to be recorded and got there mid-morning; the show was going to be recorded live that evening. The remainder of the morning was spent being introduced to the crew that would be supervising my escape and checking over the equipment. Then John Franklin took us out to lunch. Once the meal was ordered, he asked, “How do you envision this escape of yours going?” Naturally, I had expected some question along those lines, so I had an answer. “I’ve practiced so that I can do it in under four minutes, but as I can see the clock from inside the tank, I’ll add to the drama, by taking my time I can be out a few seconds before the five minutes is up.” “I thought you’d say something like that, which is why we added the extra challenge option to the contract. What we want is a genuine ‘Will they make it?’ situation, rather than a ‘Can they time it right?’ one.” “I, sort of, expected that was the reasoning, but if I don’t like the extra challenge aspect, I know I don’t have to accept.” “Exactly,” he confirmed. “The paperwork says that with extra challenge comes extra reward; so make your offer and we’ll consider it.” I deliberately included Angie, because she has a better idea of what I can and cannot do, especially on top of all I was already prepared for, and also because I know she worries and it makes her feel better to have her say. “Firstly, let me say you don’t have to make a decision immediately,” he began. “We’ll show you the extra equipment this afternoon and you announce what you decide at show time.” “That’s fair.” It would have been an instant ‘No!’ if I did not get to check the equipment or I was being pressed for an instant decision. “The extra challenge comes in three parts; part one is a lid on the tank, part two is your lovely companion, Angie,” he smiled at her, “shackled to the lid on the tank and part three would be withdrawal of the air hose partway through. Part one would gain you an extra thirty seconds of performance time. Part two would gain you an extra minute, because you’d need to release Angie before you could get out. And for item three we would have to work out when to remove the hose, but on the plus side, we would supply oxygen enriched air to compensate for you not being able to hyperventilate beforehand.” “So, those are the extra challenges. And the rewards?” “Well, if you accept any part of the extras we’ll pay you your original £1000 and £1000 per part you accept, plus another grand if you accept all three and we’ll double it if you succeed. So you could make as much as 10000.” “Ok, so the rewards are not insubstantial.” At this point, his mobile phone went off. He looked apologetic, but still checked it. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. A friend has arrived, late as usual, and I’ve got to teach her how to act when I pass the buzzsaw through her middle.” He rose from the table and we began to rise to follow him. “No, don’t worry, you don’t need to come; I’ll make sure your meal is paid for, while I get something to take away and I’ll get someone to send a taxi to get you back to the studio. Enjoy your meal and I’m sure you have lots to discuss.” Then he caught my eye and he said, “And remember if you fail, you’ll experience magic and what your lovely companion has experienced throughout the escape.” Immediately and without a backward glance he rushed to do what he had to do and was lost from sight. I was slightly stunned, by his last remark; I certainly was not planning on failing, possibly not succeeding in time, but not failing; and reminding one of the possibility is not what one professional does to another professional. The food arrived and we ate, but it did not get the attention it probably deserved, because we were talking about the extra challenges. To my surprise, Angie seemed in favour of the lid on the tank, because the extra time it would take was less than the extra time it gave. She even seemed to be neutral about the removal of the air hose, but most resistant to being attached to the lid of the tank, which I put down to her innate shyness, rather than any concern that I might not be able to release her in order to release myself. The entire result of our talk was we would have to inspect the extra stuff before we could make a decision. At the end of the meal we left and found a taxi waiting, which got us back to the studio about the same time the crew got back from their canteen lunch. They showed us the lid for the tank, which hinged and would be held down by three padlocks, with holes in so that the padlocks could be reached. Then they showed us how the air hose withdrawal would work; there was a remote release mechanism between the actual hose and the mouthpiece which with the addition of the pumped air would produce a dramatic flurry of extra bubbles when it broke free. And finally they showed us the bars mounted on the ends of the tank that Angie could be shackled to; she would be attached to the ends of the bars away from the access holes in the tank lid, but cuffs can easily be slid along bars allowing access through the access hole for the side padlocks (hence Houdini’s remark that sometimes the challenge is keeping the restraints on until the escape starts). When we had the privacy we agreed that the lid would be a great addition and the air hose thing would be OK, as it added drama, as long as they did not do it more than two minutes before the end. Angie was most resistant to being an extra obstacle in my release; eventually she admitted she worried when I was involved in an escape and she coped by not watching and having faith in my abilities, but this would force her to confront the process of me escaping, which she knew I delayed from suspense purposes. It took me a while, but I convinced her that being more involved was the worth the extra four thousand it would gain us; I even promised her a weekend away together with part of the extra money. Once we had decided, I went to find John Franklin to relay our decision to take on the entire extra challenge. I found him talking to a very shaken-looking woman about his age (mid-twenties), who judging by her mascara had been crying a lot. I was about to convey what we had decided, when he said, “Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know until the show, but let Ben know so he can make sure the gear is ready, then get to costume and make up so that you and Angie look the part.” It took me about ten minutes to find Ben, the floor manager, and let him know what equipment would be needed. He also gave me directions on how to get to the costume department. I went back to our dressing room and we went to costume. Costume for me was simple; a swim suit in an intense blue with a couple of black lines and a fluffy white bathrobe. Costuming Angie was not anywhere near as simple; they wanted a sexy damsel-in-distress look, but Angie’s natural modesty complicated this, along with the requirement that wrists and ankles should be free of clothes so that it was clear that she was restrained and not to get in the way of my efforts to release her. In the end, she was outfitted with a white calf-length dress with a deep neckline, short sleeves and a slit up to mid-thigh, under this was a tight body-suit, which did wonders for her waist and cleavage and finally a pair of white strappy mid-height heels. She was accessorised with a necklace of what looked like pearls and matching earrings. Then it was on to make-up, where the bare minimum was done with me; foundation, eyeliner and a whole can of hair-lacquer to hold my short hair in place. Angie got the works; her fingernails and toenails were painted, fake tan was applied to all visible areas of skin, her face was made-up to match the sexy damsel-in-distress image they seemed to have in mind for Angie, much emphasis on eyes and lips and then they added more curl to her already curly hair, primarily to make sure it did not end up with it in the way. As we were leaving for a light canteen snack before the show, the head make-up lady, told Angie not to cry, because her the eye make-up would instantly turn her into a panda. The period before the show was uneventful, although I did notice some admiring glances for Angie, which I did not mention, in case it would make her reconsider her part in the stunt. At the appointed time, we were called to the wings and watched John Franklin perform the buzzsaw illusion. The woman I had seen earlier was lain on the travelling table, on top of a piece of wood that had just been sawn to show the reality of the buzzsaw, and the table travelled under the saw with the blade splitting the wood under her and appearing to pass through her bared midriff. She seemed a lot less upset than earlier, but she still eyed the rotating blade with a nervousness, which I wondered whether showed how good an actor she was or embodied a genuine uncertainty as to the outcome of having it appear to pass through her. Naturally she survived her ordeal, but seemed awed by what had happened and relieved it was over. Now it was our turn. John Franklin introduced us as people he had known for a while (which was true if five minutes in a restaurant counted). We went on and he explained the basic concept of the escape. “We suggested some additions to this escape, did you decide to go with then?” he asked. Noting that he was being vague, I paused, to give the editors a chance to ramp up the tension, before being vague right back. “Yes, we decided that we’d go with all of them, but Angie isn’t particularly happy about her part.” “Quite understandable; being an obstacle in your partner’s escape would make anyone nervous,” he commented. Then we got down to the business at hand, while John Franklin provided commentary to cover what would be, to the observer, the dull part of the procedure. First I knelt on the grid that was the base of the cage and clamps were placed over my calves and ankles held in place with padlocks, then I bent down and a collar was put round my neck and padlocked to a short chain attached to the floor of the cage. The sides of the cage were folded up and pinned in place and the top of the cage slotted into place, hinged down and the padlock put in place. The final part of me being locked into the death cage was me putting my wrists near the lid and Ben closing the handcuffs round my wrists with the chain between over the central bar of the cage’s lid, thus holding my wrists up from my back and straining my shoulders a bit. In this cramped and uncomfortable position, I was fed the air hose while two bars were attached to the cage. Four large men took an end of a bar each and lifted the entire assembly and a young lady took charge of my air supply. As soon as I was over the tank I gave a thumbs up to indicate I was ok and ready to proceed. Carefully the men lowered me into the water, while the young lady stage hand clipped the hose into position on the hinge side of the tank. The water was icy cold, which was good, because the body’s natural reaction is to restrict blood supply to the peripheral parts of the body and so preserving more oxygen for fuelling the core bodily functions, effective lowering your metabolism; the downside being that your hands go numb before too long, which is not ideal if you require them to be dexterous and sensitive. As the air began to pump with the sweet tang of added oxygen I looked up to check I could still see the clock; I could, so I made another thumbs up gesture to show I was happy to continue. The final stages of the preparations I did not see, because my view was confined to looking through the cage and the clear Plexiglas walls of the tank at the studio floor and the legs of the crew doing their jobs. First came the rush of additional cold as they poured two buckets of additional water into the tank to convince the audience I was truly submerged, this was accompanied by some muted thuds as the other two crewmen fitted and closed the tank’s lid, then the air-hose lady attached the padlocks to hold it down. More water-muffled knocks and bangs followed telling me that Angie was being shackled to the bars on top of the tank. I spent this time to remember my planned sequence of escape and generally calm my nerves, by breathing deeply to increase the oxygen in my system. A tap on the end of the tank told me that all was ready and as I wanted to get on with it I made the agreed double thumbs up to show I was ready. I glimpsed Ben’s face and then his hand holding out three fingers; the countdown had begun and I was already moving my lockpicking tool from where I had it palmed to the tips of my fingers. One of Ben’s fingers folded away, then another and finally the entire hand was taken out of my sight; the escape had begun. To aid my concentration I closed my eyes and took a moment to concentrate on the planned sequence of the escape, then I began the dramatic thrashing about; given my constrained position it was not much, but is served to cover the fact I was using the pick to release the handcuffs. Ten seconds can seem like an eternity, but it took me that long to find the key hole in my cuff, partly because Ben had put the cuffs on my wrists so that the hole I was looking for was on the wrong side. A quick check confirmed it would be easier to transfer the pick and release the other wrist first so that’s what I did. With one cuff released, I opened my eyes to check the time on the clock, while I transferred the pick back to the now uncuffed hand; forty-three seconds; where has all that time gone, I am usually out of the first cuff in about twenty five seconds. I put it down to the minor problem with the orientation of the cuff and possibly nerves, and took another deep breathe from the air hose. I closed my eyes again and tackled the other cuff. With the picking hand free it is not to long before the second hand is free. Another time check, One minute nineteen seconds; I think I must have missed something, but I still had a little over five minutes for eight padlocks and four more sets of cuffs, but now I could work with both hands and the strain between my shoulder blades had eased. I moved to start on the neck shackle, but noticed a camera through the glass of the tank and paused to give a smile, which I hoped said, ‘I am doing ok, but not as ok as I had hoped,’ and a brief thumbs up, before continuing to release myself from the bottom of the cage. I grabbed the padlock holding the neck shackle to the chain in my left hand and fitted the pick into the keyhole. A few jiggles and it was open but I bumped my elbow on the side of the tank and accidentally snapped it back shut. Rats! A little more circumspectly, I released the neck padlock again. The original plan had been to remove the collar once it was released, despite this seeming to be unnecessary, but it would fill time to make the escape seem more life and death at the end without me floating about doing nothing. I decided with the two mistakes that had already been made that it would be a waste of time, so I just skooched back a bit to get easier access to the last four padlocks holding me to the cage. While I reached for the first of these I looked at the time again. Two minutes and thirteen seconds! I knew I had lost a bit of time but that seemed a lot. Was I missing something? Was there too much added oxygen? I’d heard that an excess of added oxygen can impair your faculties, like being drunk, but surely they would not do that. ‘Concentrate!’ I told myself. I went to work on the padlocks holding my legs to floor of the cage. I soon had both my calves free and the shackles open so I could sit back even further to make it easier to reach the ankle shackles. I decided on another time check in the hope that I could calm myself a bit by seeing that I had made back some of the time I had lost. As I looked up the clock ticked over to three minutes; good, but not great, I had not lost any further time, but not gained any either. As I leaned back and worked on my ankle restraints, I closed my eyes once more. Another bump of an elbow on the side of the cage reminded me that I should be more careful to avoid needing to pick these locks twice. The first padlock fell away, so onto the second, but where was it? A feel about told me that in my thrashing about it had changed position and was jammed under my buttock. I changed position and repositioned the lock so that I could pick it. Once I had it in my grasp it fell away with a few deft movements of the pick I still had in my hand. ‘Stay calm!’ only four locks on the lids and the cuffs restraining Angie to go. Another look at the time, which I was rapidly feeling was becoming the enemy. Three minutes fifty-two seconds! ‘Surely it can’t have taken that long.’ I felt the edge of panic, so I paused to just breathe the enriched air which I knew I would be losing in another minute. I turned on my side and felt the hinge of the neck shackle catch on one of the bars of the cage; maybe not removing it had been a bad idea after all. I looked towards the audience, feeling certain that they could see me; I could not see them, or even the cameras, because it seemed my movements had splashed water through the holes in the lid and water was running down the outside of the tank. I looked up and saw that the skirt of Angie’s dress was soaked and the added weight had pulled on the rest it opening up the slit to show more leg than she would be comfortable with. ‘I bet she looks good,’ I thought. ‘Don’t get distracted!’ I admonished myself, ‘Focus!’ My hand found the padlock securing the cage shut and it was soon open and removed to join the other five padlocks on the tank floor. Another change of position and I could reach through the access hole in the lid of the tank between Angie’s ankles. Reaching through, I snagged the lock and positioned it so I could quickly have it undone once I had changed hands. As I changed hands the neck shackle once again bumped against the cage’s bars, causing a small loss of precious momentum. Nonetheless, I reached through and the lock fell open at my touch and I unhooked it and tossed it away. I took another look at the timer to find out how soon I was going to lose my air supply; I did not want to be surprised by the sudden flurry of bubbles when the air hose broke away at the agreed time of five minutes and three seconds. The clock showed four minutes and fifty-five. While I reached for the second lid padlock I counted in my head to be ready; I had reached six when I felt the change in the texture of the water and shortly after a light thump on my back as the air-hose snaked its way out of the tank. I spat out the now useless mouth piece and grimaced for the camera I knew would be watching for a reaction. I had hoped to already be releasing Angie at this point. The second padlock was soon thrown away and I was reaching for the third; the one between Angie’s restrained wrists. This was positioned and unlocked in a matter of another ten seconds. Time was getting tight. I had just over a minute to release four cuffs and get out of the tank. I considered changing the plan again; the fine print said I had to release Angie’s wrists before her ankles, so she could not get off the tank lid and open it for me before she was properly released. I was thinking about unlocking her ankles first and taking whatever penalty was due, but Angie already had slid one wrist to where I could get to it. I decided that rather than cause Angie more concern by changing the plan, I would have to proceed as planned. Angie was shaking with nerves which made the fiddly job of releasing the first cuff a little trickier, but it was soon done and another wrist presented. While I was liberating Angie’s other wrist, I saw something happening out of the corner of my eye. Between us and the cameras John Franklin and Ben were holding up a deep red cloth. Even before I had finished the cuff I was working on I had a last glimpse of the timer; it showed six minute and two seconds. Then as the cuff opened, the cloth settled over the tank; I was now in darkness. I mentally cursed John Franklin and crew for cheating as I turned inside the cage to release Angie’s ankles which I knew she would have in position for me, despite the added distraction. I reached through and instantly found the cuff on her left ankle. I began to hear, muffled by the water the beeps that indicated the last ten seconds. Then I dropped my pick; the coldness of the water had taken its toll at last. As I heard the electronic beeps countdown the final seconds of the challenge, I was groping for the dropped picking-tool. I was resigned to failing the challenge, but there would be very little to do to rescue me, just finish releasing Angie’s legs and open the lids. I would have acquitted myself well and if it had not been for several avoidable mistakes I could well have succeeded. The final beep seemed so much louder than the previous nine. I realised my head had gone swimmy for a moment. Things were different from what they were a moment ago; I was out of the water, but still under the cloth. Instinct told me that I was now on the lid of the tank and that I should get off. I rolled off onto the floor in the direction of the audience; there was a hush that seemed to ask, ‘What is going to happen now?’ I struggled from the folds of the cloth to see what was going on. And was greeted with a small cheer, which suddenly stopped as they noticed something that I had not yet. I turned and looked at the tank, expecting to see both lids open, but they were both shut. How had I got out without opening the lids? Then I noticed the lids were once again padlocked. Then the key thing I had missed hit me; inside the cage in the tank full of water was Angie, shackled exactly as I had been. “Get her out of there!” I yelled, but the crew were already rushing toward the tank, with keys and lifting bars in hand. I felt the urge to rush forward and help, but realised that I would only be in the way; I felt so helpless. Angie was desperately trying to move to release herself, but all these constrained movements contrived to do was cause her hair and skirt to float about her. As the padlocks holding the lid of the tank were released, I was hoping Angie had not breathed in any water when she unexpectedly found herself underwater. I hoped she was not drowning while I watched totally impotent to help her in any way. Much to my relief, the lid slammed open and the four men who had lowered me into that tank of cold water, began to attach the bars to the lid of the cage. At this point I suddenly wished that the lid was locked, because if it was loose the whole cage would jam in the tank and delay the time when my Angie would be able to breathe again. I took half a step toward the tank, thinking I would check, but then John Franklin took hold of me and said, “There’s nothing you can do, rely on them to do their jobs and don’t interfere.” It took a huge effort of will to take that totally correct advice. When the men had hoisted the cage from the tank, I took what I realised was the first breathe since my yell, my head seemed to have a dull ache. As the cage touched the floor, John Franklin let go of my arm and I rushed to see that Angie was alright. She was breathing heavily with her hair plastered to her face and the skirt clinging to her legs. It took the crew nearly a minute to release Angie and she stumbled into my arms; during this time I took a little time to bless the foresight of the costume department for making Angie wear the body suit under the dress or she would have been rather more exposed than she thought. The air hose lady came up with two white fluffy dressing gowns and we were bustled off stage. Once in our dressing room, I had time to consider what had occurred. While I felt my failure to escape in the allotted time was my fault, Angie ending up lock and shackled in the cage underwater was entirely down to John Franklin and his team and all the worse for not let us know it was a possible scenario. I was becoming angry, but could not think what to do about it. Eventually, getting dry and changing into our own clothes became the priority. Finally I asked Angie, “What happened?” “I don’t quite know. I saw you drop the pick in the dim light under the cloth they flung over us as the beeping from the timer started, I was about to reach forward and put it in your hand, when just before the final beep, I took a very deep breath and was suddenly in the water with my neck and shins shackled to the base of the cage. I’ve never been so frightened. At least I had the presence of mind to hold my breath until they rescued me; I never realised it was so hard.” “Me?” I said, “I’ve never felt so helpless; wanting to help you, but being totally unable to, in fact if I had got any closer I would probably have delayed them getting you out, which feels doubly helpless.” “That’s kind of how I feel, every time you are doing any remotely dangerous escape. You know, trying to help would probably worse than standing back and hoping.” “I guess that’s what Franklin meant when he said something about me feeling what you feel while I escape. And if you believe in magic that swimmy feeling in my head when it happen must have been it. I guess we were kind of warned, but very obliquely. He’d better have a good explanation or I’ll not be answerable for my actions. Make that a very, verrrry good explanation.” We sat and wondered if we could get a cup of tea, while the adrenalin subsided. About ten minutes later. John Franklin knock on the door and entered. Before he could open his mouth, I said, “This had better be good, because we are not happy and if we don’t leave happy, we’ll be suing you for breach of contract for as much as we can get.” His smile faltered for maybe half a second, while considered what line would best keep him and his reputation from being dragging through the mud. “What a performance! You certainly earned your ten grand.” For a moment, I wondered what he was talking about, so I asked aggressively. “You were marvellous,” he said. “I auditioned some professionals, but they had nothing on you. They were too smooth to make the illusion look credible. But you with the couple of fumbles made it look truly death-defying and you were incredibly fast; if we hadn’t tweaked the timer to run fifty percent faster, you’d have been out long before the time limit and the magic couldn’t have happened.” For a moment part of my brain did the maths. I had got to the point I had got to in a few seconds over four minutes even with all the extra obstacles and recovering the pick and undoing the last of Angie’s shackles would not have taken the whole of the final minute of the original challenge. I was mentally patting myself on the back, when another part of my mind reminded me that my failure to finish in the allotted time was not my beef with Mr Franklin, but the fact he had tried to drown Angie. “Now I understand why you say I earned the money, but what about what happened next? Angie was completely unprepared for her dunking, possibly near drowning.” I looked at Angie for confirmation and support; she looked sheepish instead. “I wasn’t totally unprepared, but I had been warned I would end up in the water.” “When?” I challenged. “When I rang my cousin John to congratulate him on getting his TV deal. I wished him well and expressed some disappointment that I was failing to let you know how stressful your ‘hobby’ was for me. He suggested that he could help, if I was prepared to seem in danger and arrange that you get involved. He called the illusion ‘The Drowning Pool’; it took me some time to find it, ‘coz there’s a band called the same thing that gets the top hits when I searched on YouTube, but once I understood the concept it seemed like the only way to make you see how bad it makes me feel to be helpless while you escape.” “You’re right!” I admitted, “I’ve been selfish in not considering how you feel when I do my thing. I’ll give it up, if you ask me to.” “Before today I’d have said, ‘Yes, please give up escapology.’ But having been in the spotlight and properly the centre of attention, rather than just someone who came along with you. I have some idea of the buzz you get from it. I want to join you in escaping; you can train me. I’ll probably never be as good as you, but together we could be better than anyone.” John interjected, “You are the best amateur I have ever seen.” “Do you really mean that?” I asked looking at Angie, she nodded. “You know I love you?” She nodded again; she seemed almost at the point of tears. “Angie, will you marry me?” She closed the two paces between us, said, “Of course, I will, Brenda!” and we hugged until we were out of breath.

Silent Street is one of the ancient thoroughfares in the town of Ipswich in Suffolk, England. No one knows for certain how the name came about, but one theory is that, during an outbreak of plague in 1665, the death toll amongst the residents of this street was particularly high, and thereafter the area fell ‘silent’. The story below, however, gives a more modern twist as to why the name might be apt! ...

story continued from part one Part 2 My mind wandered as I knelt in my bondage; I had played with self-bondage before but never to the point where I couldn’t release myself in moment’s notice and never with any chance of been discovered. But now I had leaped without thinking into situation that I realised was ridiculously dangerous. I didn’t know Elif at all and here I was butt naked in inescapable bondage awaiting punishment. How could I be so stupid? How could I let my curiosity override my basic common sense? ...

Chris Carter opens the door their kitchen. “Alice I’m home!” he calls putting his lunch sack on the table. The silence of his house is not unusual. His wife’s car is parked outside so she should be about somewhere. Unless she had walked to the village shop or the pub, he hoped not the pub as she had a worrying drink habit. She didn’t get pissed often but when she did her mouth often got her into deep trouble, but now with all the shit that was flying around since the discovery of the dumped chemicals that had leaked into the local river, Alice’s dads disgrace was really eating into her. ...

The Abusive Irritation Finally Ends. So, let me introduce myself, I am Gabriella. I am the epitome of a well to do modern lady. My wardrobe is full of designer clothing, I have access to every exclusive spa and gym. I drive a hot little sports car which is replaced like clockwork every year. So why am I writing this, well I wanted to share a little story about how everything is not always as it seems. The grass is not always greener. ...

story continues from chapter three Chapter 4: My Role Play Slave Four weeks before my cast was scheduled to come off, Carly arrived for her scheduled visit. As always, I was looking forward to seeing her. I was concerned that her visits would come to an end very soon. I was delighted when she suggested we have a “Cast Off” party. She explained when a cruise ship was departing the port; the passengers often had a cast off party and we could have one as well. ...

Judy had been working the site alone since she had uncovered it a year ago. She had originally not wanted to say anything in case it turned into just another old farmhouse. When she found the remnants of what appeared to be a medieval dungeon she kept it quiet not wanting to share the discovery. Judy had already uncovered many torture devices cleaning each making them like new becoming more fascinated by the restraints and evil devices each day. Judy had applied the heavy collar and the ankle manacles to herself after finding them buried with their keys and restoring them. The feel of the heavy steel around her neck and the limitations the manacles put on her while she moved around the site excited her in a way she had never felt before. ...

Betrayal: Bondage Trap Part 1 It’s a beautiful warm mid summers day in a quiet secluded parkland, trees all around me providing shade. I look around only to see trees, open spaces and a drive path just ahead of me that passes me from left to right that has a large shelter on the left side with park benches in it and a car park on it’s left side. The right side of the drive path leads out of my view, is the exit to this area leads to the main road. A walking trail passes from behind me on the left of me about 5 meters away which leads to the drive path and directly to the shelter with the benches in it. ...

story continued from chapter three Chapter 4: A Day in the Country After being purely a sex object for Krissy and her three girlfriends, I had all the sex I wanted for a few days. When all the girls left my house in the wee hours of the morning, I untied Richard and he and I slept into most of the next day. It wasn’t until the following weekend that I suggested we take a drive out into the country. I had put a shovel and some bondage toys in the trunk of my car in preparation for my plan. ...

Part 1 A week of chaperoning a class of high school kids around a bunch of museums and art gallery in Istanbul; what could be easier. Especially with the fact that this was a History trip and I’m a PE teacher, so all I had to do was make sure we didn’t leave any kids behind. So, for the past 3 days all I had been doing was counting to 24, after 3 other teachers had counted to 24. I was dying of boredom and to make matters worse we were staying in a Hotel in Arnavutkoy, miles away from the centre of Istanbul. So, my evenings were filled with unruly teenagers with nothing to do and the endless droning of the history / art faculty debating some pointless topic from the day’s events. All I could think was ‘Welcome to Hell’. 3 days down 4 to go. ...

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I am your magician for the evening,” the guy on the small stage announced. “Most of the evening I shall be doing small tricks for people at their tables, but if anyone wants to see or volunteer for any of the well known stage illusions or even request something that has not been seen, you will find small note pads on your tables; just write me a note and hand it to your waitress and I’ll see if I can oblige. I hope to do two or three items of magic on this stage for all this evening.” ...

Kara had been working nonstop for over three months the only times she had to indulge her passion for bondage she had been too tired to do more than lock her wrists and ankles together. She had continued to lace her corsets on but as each day passed she became less motivated to lace them until the last few weeks she had worn only the ones she could zip or buckle closed. They were snug but never as tight as she preferred and her normal high heeled shoes had started getting lower. The project had been completed and she had the next week off and she planned to use it wisely. The gear she had ordered was waiting for her at the lake house she hoped, she had already packed a small bag of bondage toys and vibrators she had planned to use when she got to the small house. Kara planned to lace her smallest corset on and lock her steepest high heels on tonight, the keys should be waiting for her at the lake house if the mail had gotten there. ...

So my guy and I have this thing about (occasionally) doing things that could really get us in trouble - gives life some excitement. This is one of those stories. My guy and I regularly chat about our sex life, and if we have any cravings, fantasies that we want to live out, things like that. It had been a few months since we did any “dangerous” bondage activities, and honestly I missed it. Don’t get me wrong, I get tied up on a very regular basis, and I absolutely love it. But there’s something about the thrill, however small it may be, of getting caught that can totally bring it up a notch. ...

Don’t trust him. Chapter 1. “He is sweet!” Anna whispered to her best friend Helen. Helen looked across at the retreating back of a shortish man wandering off. Helen had a slight history with the man and wouldn’t call him sweet. Dangerous maybe a fun nice guy but once he got to know you he was scary. They had only spent a couple of weeks as a couple but she had enjoyed it and would have had a longer relationship if he had wanted her to. But she didn’t dislike him that much considering he had decided to end it. So he must be something like sweet as she didn’t normally like her ex’s. ...

story continues from part one Part 2: The Jailbreak In the morning the sheriff and the town’s mayor visited me in my cell, I having been provided a course wool blanket that I had kicked off after I discovered it’s rough texture and my abused backside didn’t get along well. The ferocity of my punishment made me feel quite warm anyway, like a sunburn, and I slept on my belly to try to find the maximum comfort all things considered. The sheriff had let me shower off in the jail’s open shower stall before putting me up for the night in my cell, and it was there that I removed the sadistic but wonderful little balls that I had been given as a consolation prize by my one time professor and temporary executioner. ...

story continues from part one Day 2 The cell door opened with a creak. It would take a much louder noise to awaken her after the day she had yesterday. She had fallen asleep quickly despite the considerable pain she had been in. Once asleep she hadn’t moved a muscle. “Wake up Ms. Thompson.” Mr. Carson said No reaction she was still sound asleep. “Ms. Thompson, wake up!” he nearly shouted “Or you’ll get another day.” ...

I made a big mistake, a BIG mistake. I thought it would be over quicker and so it would be easier. Wrong. How hard could it be? Oh my God! I had eight more days and after one day, actually 8 hours, I thought I was going to die. Let me explain… In 2033 the crime rate was sky high. The prisons were overflowing. So a law was passed that gave convicted criminals a choice, do much longer time than in the past or do much shorter time in a correctional facility where you would be punished during your sentence. The punishment was in keeping with your crime. For example, my crime was perjury; I was to be punished for speaking falsely so I was to be punished by being gagged. You don’t even want to know the punishment for prostitution, holy shit. Anyway I chose the punishment facility; I figured how hard could a gag be? This is my story of my first day. ...

Author’s note: This is the first story I’ve shared with anyone, I welcome advice and criticism. Help me make the next installment of this series better! Chapter 1: The Beginning A month away from spring break, and Malinda Swanson was already counting the days. She gave it her best, but this year’s students were especially unteachable, and she didn’t want to wait any longer for her well-deserved vacation. Thanks to advances in cybertech and virtual reality, she had another option. A VR system that would let you create an avatar in a diverse fantasy setting, and the avatar would explore the virtual world while you were offline. Just log in a few days later, and you would “remember” everything your other self experienced. ...

story continued from part two Part 3. Chapter 1. He had to check. To see whether the ghosts had done their magic or not. Only James had felt guilty at not having told Heather that he’d made imprints of the keys before tossing the originals down the vent. That’d had been the worst part of the whole thing for him. The symbolism of throwing those keys away thus imprisoning her for all time. So now six months after he’d attended her ‘funeral,’ along with his parents in Ft William, he was actually going to see if her body needed to be disposed of. It was a hot October afternoon and he’d packed a picnic, planning to… well hoping to share it with her. Arriving at Claggan his heart was already pounding, the same way it always did on sighting the ruin, but as today he was going inside this was different and in a way he didn’t know whether to continue. If she was dead, then so be it, but if Heather really was alive… that might cause more problems for both of them. He had enough to deal with at the moment already. Most times he’d just driven past on his way to the peatbeds. Only the first, the occasion when all three of the family had been present to witness James scattering the ‘ashes’ Kelvin had provided did his parents see just how much he’d thought of Miss McCreadie. They’d arrived back from Aberdeen the night before the funeral, not even knowing she’d ‘died’. Only his devastated face greeting them had silenced the pair. June’s plan to show him the delightful pictures of their newest arrival were halted. The three had travelled to Ft William for the service and only then, talking to Janice did Kelvin find out from the concocted story they’d agreed on that Heather had ‘died’ in James’ arms the week before. He pledged right then to look after the lad as best he could during the following months. His boy had been grief-stricken at first but used time to work off his sorrow and the farm would prosper as a result. The photo of Miss McCreadie taken by him up the tower at Claggan Castle during that first magical holiday then made an appearance in his bedroom. Anytime he needed space away from the farm he would tell the others he was off to visit ‘Heather’s place’ Today he was going to see if she was really there! Parking up he grabbed torches and stuff then went downstairs, pleased to see the place was as he’d expected. Even the manacle room was intact, though he knew where the keys were for those ones. Spraying oil onto the hatch chain James hauled up on it. The massive lump slowly rising up to the side. James quietly eased the two wedges into place to support it then nervously approached the first of the locked doors. Sliding the key into the lock he prayed it’d work, sighing with relief as it clicked and so the bolts followed and James went through, doing the same to the second door and finally he stood outside Heather’s cell. Sniffing the air and relieved there was no smell of decaying corpse. He looked through the bars, the candles burning as before and he saw… Chapter 2. Ever since those keys had rattled down the pipe Heather McCreadie had prayed like never before for something to happen. The first night being the worst as the ghosts never came for her. She’d felt really grim, stomach cramping, lungs burning her alive and at one point Heather begged for something to take her away from this before passing out. So was surprised to wake later with only a slight pain running through her body. Had they been after all? With no sense of time Heather worked on ‘sleeps,’ using a nail and scratching lines into the wall above her bed. Like in cartoons of prisoners ticking off the ‘days-til-release’. Though the thought that she’d never leave here had driven Miss McCreadie into hysterics at one point on her seventh period of ‘wake’ as she called it. Smashing her fists into the wall, tugging the restraining bolt there then trying to get the chain off her collar. But James’ handiwork was too good so another ‘day of despair’ began for the girl. By ‘wake’ ten she no longer ached, in fact Heather felt quite good. Starting to realise she was putting some weight on again. If only she’d got James to leave her sandwiches or something else instead of just biscuits and cake. “Guess he assumes I’ll be dead by now instead of almost cured!” she grumbled. “I wonder what my ‘funeral’ was like?” a faint grin in the darkness of her humour. The ghosts came for her days later as she lay there. Though at first Heather thought she was dreaming as her blanket drew back and the dress came up. Looking down however she saw it really moving and she smiled as it got to work. Minutes later she was squealing in ecstasy as it brought her off into one hell of an orgasm. So maybe things weren’t so bad if this kept happening. Occasionally she’d lose it and tug at her chains but the girl had eventually resigned herself to her situation. So she lived on regardless, doing limited twisting and bending exercises because of the wrist cuffs, shuffling up and down the cell but the girl couldn’t complain. She was the one who’d asked James to put her down here, if ONLY he hadn’t obeyed her last request and toss the keys down the vent. He’d assured Heather they were the only ones and she believed that to be true as he’d promised never to lie to her. Her current ‘day’ dream continued, hearing quiet footsteps in the corridor and the squeak of a bolt at her cell door, then the lock clicked so she smiled and opened her eyes to see… A FACE AT THE BARS! Heather scrambled off the bed, her eyes widening as the door creaked open and James slowly walked in. Stunned she was alive, and looking like the first day he’d seen her last year. That beautiful face back to normal, paler in the candlelight, but currently with a look of utter shock on it. “Hello honey, I’m back,” he said as she gaped. “JAMES!” she squealed, bursting into tears and he came closer, wrapping the girl in his arms. Thrilled she was all right and he savoured the feelings he’d thought he’d never have again. Their lips meeting for a kiss then he ruffled her hair. They stayed like that for ages before she gently pushed him away and sat down on her bed. “The keys you put down the vent, you said those were the only ones, how did you get in?” she said at last, a note of what to him sounded like annoyance or accusation in her voice. He looked surprised at her tone, then realised she was naturally struggling to comprehend what was happening. “Well… at the time they were,” he said, looking a little sheepish. “But I didn’t say I’d made imprints into clay beforehand, then had new ones made. So I didn’t lie, just… bent the truth somewhat,” and she smiled a little as he carried on. “I had to know one way or another about you. Heather love, I cared so much for you and now I know you’re alive I’ll promise I always will. Besides you are looking rather good today.” Heather smiled at that, lifting her legs up and showing him she was still manacled as before. “Yeah, it’s been a struggle. But my ghostly friends eventually did their stuff… so it appears I’m cured… or at least in remission or whatever it’s called. No aches or pains anywhere,” she said and looked down at her wrists. “However buddy I’d be a lot better if you took these off please, or at least cut the link,” Heather asked, waving arms indicating the chain between them, the same for her legs. “Going to the bucket is bloody difficult, especially in this dress. I nearly tipped the damn thing over one day overbalancing.” He grinned at her and she looked pained at first, then smiled as he said he’d cut them. How he’d get the actual cuffs off her limbs would have to be worked out. Somehow he’d get her next door into the workshop. But how to do it while she was still chained to the wall as he knew the ’link’ to the castle must not be broken… and that began to worry him. Did Heather realise this yet? Heather waited nervously as James went to fetch his bolt-cutters, happy that soon she’d be able to get outside and her body tingled with anticipation. He returned, telling her to sit down so he could start with her ankles. “Why? Fancy having a little… once I can open them wide enough?” she chuckled and he went red. “No, well maybe later once I know you’re OK,” he replied, telling her to be patient. James positioned himself and snipped through the second loop from the manacle itself. The first would need to remain intact for the snaplocks. Another snip and the chain dropped away with a clatter. Heather raised one leg on its own, then the other before standing up. “Nice, now do my wrists so I can give you a great BIG bearhug.” He did so, letting the link that’d bound her fall away and Heather groaned, as she was able to flex both shoulders’ independently. Swinging her arms for a moment. “C’mer,” she giggled and wrapped herself around, hugging him tight, both of them starting to cry as they held on. After a while of this they dried up, James wiping away her tears before she sat down and held the chain by her collar. “Last one,” she grinned, that fading on seeing him place the boltcutters on the bed well away from where they should be heading. James looked painfully at her then shook his head. “I’m sorry love. But I cannot do that one, if I cut it love, you’ll probably die and… I’m not prepared to risk that,” he said at last. Heather McCreadie was stunned into silence. Her mouth flapping open in disbelief. “But you MUST!” she finally squealed, tugging the chain, staring at him, her eyes wider than he’d ever seen before. The girl getting to her feet and going to the wall. Placing both hands near the bolt and pulling as best she could, begging him to do the last cut then take her home to Braemore. James had to stop her, grabbing the lassie and spinning Heather around, forcing her against the stonework, holding both wrists high above her head and pressing himself against her. Unfortunately he was not used to dealing with pretty girls in dresses, thinking the restrictive length of her outfit would stop any kicking. Forgetting that Heather’s ankles were free and she made him pay. A well-placed knee missed his crown jewels by a fraction, bouncing off his thigh but still making James wince. “That’s enough missy, settle down,” he snapped as she tried that again, really struggling and crying but helpless in his grip. She tried a different tack, attempting a head-butt that only just missed and he lost control. Quickly letting go of an arm he slapped Heather’s face as hard as he’d do with errant livestock. The blow stunned her but did the trick. A flaming imprint of his fingers on her cheek and she stopped struggling, but James was not in the mood to cease. Dragging Heather to the bed and throwing her on, then he mounted her and pinned the girl down, his face inches from hers. “Now stop it, or I’m gonna leave you, understand?” he barked, “Down here, alone, afraid, locked in your collar, the doors and hatch secured and me gone for ever. Do you want that, or shall I try to help you?” he said. The last bit quieter as he could see how terrified she’d become. Heather’s tearstained face looked up at him but knowing he was right was still devastating for her when she’d thought it’d soon be over. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as he let go, getting off and allowing her to sit up then embrace him. “But you must see… it’s been such a nightmare down here… I didn’t want to continue living. Yes I was alone and afraid, so please don’t taunt me!” her voice getting angry again. However seeing him starting to glare at her she moderated the tone, afraid he’d abandon her after all. “I… at one point I really wanted to die and be done with it,” she said but stopped on seeing him stiffen. His hands gripped hers tight enough to hurt but Heather was amazed when he started to cry instead. “Please love, please never say that, after what I’ve just been through,” he wept and now it was her turn to hold on as he then told the girl something that appalled her. “Barely a fortnight ago I had to attend two more funerals. My best friends Gary and Martin. Both of them fellow farming mates’ killed in a tractor crash on the Ullapool road a week or so before. Drunk-driving trucker ploughed headfirst into them. I was following with Kelvin and saw the whole thing. We rushed to help but once there saw it was hopeless and we needed proper cutting gear rather than trying ourselves. Running back to ours to phone for the rescue guys we were fifty yards away when the whole lot blew up.” Heather gasped at that, clutching his hands as the guy trembled. Hearing those screams echoing again in his head as people died in agony. “Imagine how you’d have felt losing Janice and one of the others and seeing it happen?” he continued. “Now I know you’re alive love, then I… I can try to save you when I couldn’t rescue my friends. Will that do? I’m promising you now Heather that I’ll do my best to make life here more comfortable. But you in turn must realise that you simply cannot leave… ever. Remember, according to records you’re officially dead anyway. These ghosts here have given you a wonderful second chance that my Gaz and Marz will never get, OK?” Both of them were now in tears and he apologised for losing his rag and she nodded, stroking his face, kissing him tenderly as he simmered down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” James man enough to accept what she said, cuddling her body until she’d settled. Chapter 3. To change the subject Heather asked about Jenna’s baby, remembering she’d been due. Astonished to find the young Hollie Louise was nearly six months old. Her eyes watered at the fact she’d never be able to have a child herself, also shocked at how long she’d already been incarcerated here and it shook her up, James stroking to calm her again with a kiss for good measure. “Louise, that’s nice. It was… well is my middle name too,” she said softly. James nodded. “I know, Jen asked me to suggest one and rather than being too corny or obvious, I said Louise instead, they liked it so H-L she became. Think Kelvin and June are aware of my reasoning, and they don’t mind. But what they’d say if they knew I was here talking to the real ‘Lou’ I dread to think.” They both chuckled at that. James also saying that Jen had finally decided to clear out her wardrobes, purging at Braemore and her place in Aberdeen. “Four bloody great bags of gear going to charity shops or the dump. Do you want any of them before I junk the rest?” She agreed and he said he’d bring the whole lot next weekend for her to rummage through. “I think your ’naughty nightie’ is in there!” he grinned and Heather blushed SO red. There were some spare blankets at home he’d fetch as well. The guy wasn’t sure how cold it’d get down here. Heather saying so far the temperature seemed to remain constant and was comfortable enough but she’d appreciate extra protection. However he did warn her that there may be the odd time due to bad weather when he’d have to miss a couple of visits. The last few winters hadn’t been that bad for snowfall but she needed to be prepared. “Well I got through the first six months alright. So we’ll see about that when it comes.” Getting a rub as James knew how hard this was for her. He announced plans to ‘chain-up’ the corridor thus it would allow Heather to move around her floor. She could use snaplocks on those loose loops of the manacles and get from room to room without breaking the ’link’. Though having realised what this might mean she paused and asked him to do the whole place instead! “There’s plenty of chain lengths still next door, isn’t there?” James went into the workshop and looked at the racks, measuring lengths with his eyes. She was right and as he was a member of the Mountain Rescue team now he had a whole box of climbing snaplocks in the jeep. So he came back and told her, seeing Heather’s eyes light up. “It’d mean I could even go… upstairs… beyond the hatch, couldn’t I?” she said, nervously hoping… “Yep. I’ve got no problem with that. Do you good to get some daylight love,” he replied and she rushed forward and gave him a hug. Over the next two hours he did a great job. Banging spikes into walls and affixing cables to them. Returning to Heather and saying it was all done as she’d asked. There was enough slack for them to overlap so she could clip one ankle to the next length before undoing the first but now she could get to the main door. “But you MUST check before moving on. This is so important honey, I wouldn’t want to lose you now,” he said and she nodded, getting a reassuring kiss. The closest one stretched from the first corridor barrier right into her cell though James warned her each length weighed a lot. “Keep me exercised then,” she grinned, holding the snaplock. Heather clipped it to her leg and checked it was secure, showing James the little tab was across. Then he came close with the boltcutters and she held the neckchain, allowing him to pause, then snip the loop. “Oh goodness that’s better!” Miss McCreadie exclaimed as the weight dropped off and she could relax, letting the chain go with a clatter as it fell to the floor. “Yep, I’m fine. No dizziness love” she said having paused to see. James smiled as he fitted a snaplock to the end, saying as these shouldn’t undo she’d be OK. But put the ankle one on as well when sleeping ‘just in case’ one came off. Heather agreed before giving him a kiss of thanks. Then heading for the door, nervously peering out of the cell before stepping into the corridor. She didn’t bother teasing James by locking him in but paced herself to the staircase, managing not to trip over on the chain, though the drag was considerable as he’d warned. Arriving at the bottom she looked up, feeling a breeze on her face but didn’t go further despite the next length from above being there ready for her. James came up behind, sliding hands round her waist. “You going on up?” he asked, surprised when Heather said no. “Guess I’m scared, OK?” and that got her a kiss and stroke before they went back to her room and sat on the bed for another cuddle. “So what do the ghosts do to you now you’re OK?” he asked. Fascinated at her reply about the sexual side, seeing her eyes close and a warm smile at the memories. Opening in amazement when he asked would the ghosts do the same for him? “Hardly likely James, for a start you’re not chained to the wall by any means, no collar or manacles.” He sat there mulling things over. “If I mounted a new one and chain near to yours. Then did my wrists and legs, I wonder?” He got up and went next door, seeing what was left, then returned carrying a whole lot of stuff that was dumped on the bed. Even asking her permission before knocking the spike in. James felt foolish, as an idea of wearing restraints just to see how Heather felt seemed ridiculous. But he’d issued the challenge and Miss McCreadie was accepting it. The girl however also said he’d ’look so sweet all dolled up in a frock’ and that made him splutter as she pointed to her outfit. “No I didn’t mean that as well,” but she said no. “The only way they’ll do it is if you’re wearing the dress and lying down, remember there should be a second in the casket. Go and fetch it and we’ll see.” The guy went upstairs to the casket and opened it. Dragging out the two grey dresses then finding the last at the bottom. Rolling it up and returning downstairs to see her grinning broadly at him. So the fact Heather was needling him made things worse as she examined it closely. “Yep, I think you’ll fit” She held it open and he took it off her, trying to remember how she did things. Planting one foot into the middle, then the other before lifting the front bit up; surprised at how heavy it was. “Not bad,” she chuckled as he got the robe to his waist, then reached an arm deep down into the sleeve before she helped James do the other and shrug himself into it. It was a better fit than he thought, snug round the arms as the girl went around the back and started doing the hooks-and-eyes, telling him to breath in a bit as it was hard to do him up. “You’ve put a little timber on, yes?” and James admitted he had. “Too much breakfast at home. Even June’s been on at me,” he chuckled. Heather smiling, “Yeah, toast, it’d make a change from cake and biscuits, even choccy ones,” and they both laughed at that. ...

story continued from part one Part 2. Chapter 1 The ghosts had tormented Heather to the most wonderful orgasms and she lay exhausted on the bed after the last cleaning session. She had no idea of the time now. It felt like she’d been here ages yet her water supply had hardly been touched. The girl sure she’d finished one of the bottles. But they were both full, so was her biscuit box and that was curious knowing she’d eaten all the choccy ones within hours of the hatch going down. Even her waste bucket didn’t smell though clearly she’d used it, the level of antiseptic not changed from when James had filled it. She jumped on hearing the chain start to rush, knowing James had returned, and for a moment she was disappointed that he’d come to free her. Eventually the doors clattered open and he was there. Dressed as usual, carrying a clear bag containing what looked like the dress she’d worn yesterday. Coming close as she got up, the pair embracing, Heather trying not to cry as his lips met hers. This night had been so special and now freedom… if she wanted it. She paused when James asked her, then to his relief she nodded. For a moment he had a daft idea that she’d ‘gone’ in the head and wanted to remain here for longer. But she began to strip off the dress, folding it up then getting into the modern stuff he’d brought. Finally stepping into the heels and saying she’d like to go ‘home’. He didn’t offer to bind her, and they held hands all the way to the jeep. That evening lying in James’ bed having had a refreshing bath, the girl again wearing Jen’s nightie she told him what had happened. The ghosts had come for her, thus proving the theory about the spirits. “It was fun, I’ll be a little sore for ages but I was right though. Strangely it’s given me a lot of energy too. Sounds silly but I feel my batteries had been running down the last few months, now I’m fine again.” He smiled in the darkness and asked her just how much energy she had, the fact she could ‘hear’ him smiling at the loaded question was enough and her hands reached for his shorts. “Enough to give you a shock matey,” she grinned as their lips met, his hands easing the dress up. It was a very tearful Heather McCreadie who bid James goodbye next morning. She knew time was passing and she had to get home to Ft William, though they promised to keep in touch. Kelvin and June arrived the following evening and found the lad busy in the yard, though he seemed a little distracted. But as he’d been alone for the last week since Heather and the other couple had gone they left him to it. That night he was in the office when Kelvin said Heather was on the telephone. He managed to control his emotions as he came in quickly to speak to her, that lovely voice echoing down the line, the girl saying she’d safely arrived back in Ft William and thanking him for what he’d done. Kelvin overheard him wishing her well, the old lad grinning in the kitchen as June chided him for being nosy. “Hmmm, nice lass that Heather,” he said when James came into the room. He saw his son pause, then grin and go red before turning away. Kelvin knew… you couldn’t hide that sort of stuff from your father and before bedtime he came to see his lad. Having done a walkround of the farm and not able to find fault anywhere. James was making a good job of this. But he did want answers. Coming in to the office where the youngster was busy with paperwork. Placing a coffee cup on James’ desk. “How long?” he asked, the lad freezing for a moment. “Heather left yesterday morning, and yes, we did, alright?” was his reply, turning to see his dad smiling at the boy’s discomfort. Not cruelly, but knowing all the same. “Good lad, if you’d lied to me I’d have kicked your ass off of the farm. I’m damn proud of what you do here,” he said, giving the youngster a warm hug. As he left the room… “And yes James, she’s welcome back anytime,” he said, the boy had a grin on his face at that. “Does mum know?” was a reply and Kelvin nodded. “Yes, she knew straight away, even before the phone call came,” and the boy looked puzzled. Dad smiled now, “Heather has a penchant for chocolate biscuits and there was half a pack in the larder, now there aren’t any. I know you don’t like them… so there.” And return Heather would, months later in September. Chapter 2. Somehow the girl knowing that June and Kelvin were away on holiday in Spain, the first time they’d left Scotland for years. James was working in the yard when he saw a familiar figure coming down the drive, pack on its back, those slim but firm legs and a tired but oh so cheeky smile as she got closer. Dropping his toolbox he rushed up and greeted her. Kissing Heather, rubbing Heather, thrilled Heather was once more in his arms. Interrupted by the sheepdog sticking its’ wet nose between them. “Gerroff you silly bitch,” he said as they both laughed. Heather squealing as he then spoke to the dog! Giving the animal a shove to one side so he could hold the girl again. She too was pleased to see him and their chat that night was of… how they’d missed each other. Most holiday romances are just that and until today they’d only occasionally spoken on the phone. Both were just too busy with work. But now… He made dinner while she sorted her washing out and had a bath for the first time in three days, the girl planning to be here all week and some of the next. But once they’d dined and were sitting on the sofa cuddling she also told James something that alarmed him. Despite her outward appearance Heather was very ill and that was why she’d come. “Since that night in Claggan that I’d said recharged my batteries I’d been OK, until three months ago when I collapsed without warning. I just get so tired, really listless and sometimes I just cannot feel the urge to do anything. Yet this week I’ve been OK travelling up here on the coach, and today I managed to walk right from Ullapool to Braemore. Eleven miles with full backpack. So damn frustrating when it happens. I still work at the shop with the other girls but the medics are baffled when I can do things one day yet not the next. They know there is something wrong with my innards because of the bloodwork figures but the other tests prove nothing. So I hoped, James, that having come here to be with you…” “That you’d let me spend another night locked downstairs in the castle. See if that helps.” James stared at her, the girl looking back, eyes pleading with him not to deny her the chance. Smiling when he nodded, breaking down in tears and they came for a hug and kiss. “Not tonight though?” he asked and she grinned, not resisting as he placed both hands on her waist, easing Heather towards the bedroom. A wonderful night of gentle sex followed and by the end of it he’d promised to help Miss McCreadie do anything she could. Next morning he began preparations while she slept on. Nipping over to Dornoch and buying a single sized bed. No way was he going to leave her lying on an old straw one again. This was taken straight to Claggan and installed, pleased the place was exactly as found. More food and water, plus the bucket were placed where they’d been before. Returning home to see Heather in the yard dressed as normal, playing with the sheepdog. She beamed on seeing him and they kissed and hugged. The girl pleased to hear what he’d done up at Claggan. “OK then, we’ll go up there tomorrow. I’m feeling good again today so we’ll do some work, if you want?” The pair did so, Heather able to drive the tractor again, though once past lunchtime the girl said she was tiring rapidly and could she go in. He took her back to the house, leaving her in the lounge on the sofa wrapped in blankets. James amazed at how quickly she’d deteriorated. “See, that’s how annoying it is for me too,” she murmured as a coffee cup was handed over. James looked into her eyes and saw how dull they’d become and he was appalled. He said little else, except a gentle scold at the fact this could have happened yesterday during her walk to get here. She did have a SOS pendant given to her by the hospital. If she’d collapsed anywhere in the UK all Heather had to do was to press the red button on the front. This would activate a GPS alarm and somehow the emergency people could find her. “It’s designed for pensioners,” she shrugged sadly, “but I don’t think I’m going to get that old.” So now told her off for being morbid, the girl nodding ruefully, getting a hug and kiss at the end as an apology. They didn’t make love that night, though she did ‘borrow’ Jen’s nightie and the couple faded away together. Next day she was tired first thing, though she cooked their meals and did some housework, remaining inside until it was time for them to go to the castle. She didn’t ask to be bound, nor did he insist and before long they were there. Seeing Heather’s eyes light up as she stepped through the doorway, a pat of the stonework as they went downstairs. He said little as he helped Heather dress, then securing the collar and manacles till she was done. They had a long kiss then he left, doing the doors, quietly sealing the hatch up and leaving Miss McCreadie to the ghosts, the guy praying they’d do something to help her. ...

story continued from part three Part 4. Chapter 1. It had been a long a bitter winter for Heather McCreadie even though she was safely underground. The girl woke after every ‘sleep’ praying this would be the day he’d come to see her. Even a shouted word or two down the vent pipe would be a start but all she’d endured was silence. Heather sighed and dressed herself, wearing what was still her favorite of Jenna’s outfits now it seemed to be getting warmer again. The black thigh length one, adding the high heels that she had got used to over the years. The ghosts ensuring that little of her stuff wore out once replaced in the wardrobe. Now she slipped next door for a drink and her breakfast. This of sliced bread and… well today it would be honey as she’d had jam yesterday. A look in the other jar and yes, the level was back to the top. She sat down and not for the first time recently Heather McCreadie began to cry. The tears flowing as she remembered the fine summer days, especially those of last year. When James had brought her up beyond the hatch and she’d discovered the castle hall had been turned into a dining room. A table and two chairs with champagne and a picnic feast. It’d been lovely to sit in fresh air and eat though she did wonder what the occasion had been for. Trying to be happy on discovering this was her five-year anniversary took a monumental effort. Even James realised he’d made a mistake as her face crumpled. At one point he thought she was going back down, unable to face it but as usual Heather proved her fighting spirit as she finally smiled. “Yeah, but as I’ve said it’s better than the alternative! Get the wine open pet.” Going through with the meal… and what followed downstairs afterwards. Now she’d just be happy to hear his voice as it felt like months rather than weeks since he’d left with her screams ringing in his ears. That had been traumatic enough for her, as she’d become used to the limited freedom he’d allowed her. With the front access door locked Heather now had the run of the castle during the summer months. He’d even created a studio upstairs in the tower for the girl to sit and do her drawings. But the last two visits had not gone well, and when James hadn’t returned having forced her below stairs after the second it somehow worried Heather that maybe he’d abandoned her after all! The first of the two he’d arrived but seemed a little distracted, plus the weather hadn’t helped. Heavy rain and a bit windy and he’d apologised saying he was busy and couldn’t stop long after all. They’d planned a whole day and now it’d been spoiled, James saying that there was a chance of some very bad storms coming through the area in the next few days. “This is nothing love to what they’re forcasting,” explaining that the remains of a bad hurricane were crossing the Atlantic and due to hit the whole of Scotland head on. While this happened a few times a year, this particular hurricane had caused devastation on the Eastern seaboard of the States and Canada. Many people had died despite warnings and now it was coming this way. “Well Claggan’s probably survived worse,” she quipped. Only for James to scowl at her. “Yeah, but for those of us up top it’s not so easy to deal with.” Which might be a little harsh on Heather but she paused then apologised for being flippant. He gave her a cuddle and did the same, but told her she should spend the next couple of days packing up the tower studio please. The girl dreading the winter to come as it might mean she’d… have to remain under the hatch for up to four months. She’d agreed to do that, got a hug then started after he’d gone. Emptying the cupboards and carrying the lightest of the chairs and stowing them in the manacle room. But the weather didn’t let up and the wind got so bad she was not able to get the heavier bits down the slippery staircase. So when James returned, this time in a really wound up state they had the first row in years. “Bloody hell love, I did ask for everything to come down, and all the way too. Not the manacle room but in there!” he said pointing to the first of the rooms by the hatch staircase. Now Heather knew he’d said no such thing and protested. It wasn’t her fault and he hadn’t told her. “Right well come on,” he urged, leaving her behind while he went to the tower letting Heather move the bits downstairs from the manacle room. Unfortunately she tried to do this wearing heels. He found her tottering slowly along the corridor, almost falling over as she changed the snaplocks and James lost his temper. Snapping at her to hurry up and get into sensible footwear. “What’s the hurry love?” Heather asked having changed into sneakers. The girl alarmed on finding out that the storm wasn’t decreasing as expected. This would be the first direct hit of a hurricane for over a century. “I’ve got a lot on my plate so don’t need to worry about you as well. There’s even talk they’re gonna start evacuating parts of the Western Isles, Oban and Ft William in the next twenty-four hours. Any low-lying coastal bits are in danger. I’ve got a whole bloody farm to sort out, plus Wally needs help. Now get moving!” he barked, slapping her backside none too gently. That was too much for her and instead of going faster Heather petulantly began to slow down. It took him a few trips to realise she was playing up despite his repeated urging, seeing her unpacking boxes rather than shifting the next lot and took action. Catching her bending down he grabbed hold of Heather’s arms and snaplocked both wrists behind her back. She screamed at him to stop but the lad threw the girl over his shoulder then carried her into the bedroom and dropped Heather on the bed, holding her one-handed as she tried to resist. Grabbing the chain from the wall with the other he wound it round the frame a few times till only a short length remained then attached it to her collar. Removing the other one off her leg as she tried to kick him. He smirked telling her to stop struggling then secured her ankles together. Leaving her lying there unable to even sit upright. “THAT’S for misbehaving! You had enough warnings. If you shut up wailing missy I might free you before I have to leave. Got it?” That did break through her rage at what he’d done and Heather just lay there sobbing as he walked out of the room. Slamming and bolting that door too. All she heard over the next hour or maybe more was him moving stuff around, up and downstairs until he returned and came in. Seeing her distraught and helpless, her eyes red with tears. She didn’t even flinch when her wrists were freed then her legs. Miss McCreadie waited till he’d put the chain onto her ankle then freed her neck and got up. Ignoring his outstretched arms offering an apologetic hug then walking past him to go and use the toilet. “OK, suit yourself lassie,” he said shortly. Heather didn’t reply and left him standing there. Coming back she made a half-hearted attempt to apologise. Stopping when James said this time he’d have to put the hatch down on her. “No,” she replied, her face paling by the second. “I’m honestly sorry for playing up, I just didn’t think. Please don’t… just lock the corridor and the front one instead. What if it floods down here? If only the first door is done then I might be able to break it down or… well…just… don’t leave me down here,” she whispered clutching his arm. But he wasn’t in the mood and refused. “Sorry but I cannot risk it Heather. The drains are perfectly adequate. Now I need to go.” Then turned and walked out without offering her a kiss. Quickly she followed, changing snaplocks but he was faster. Passing the passagway door and flinging it shut in her face. She screamed at James not to do it but the echo of the bang drowned her voice. The bolts were slid across then a key secured her inside as she continued begging him not to leave. Instead he passed through the manacle keys and told her to remove her wrist and ankle cuffs. Heather paused and he said if she didn’t hurry up then they’d remain on her limbs. Now the girl complied, unlocking each but instead of passing them one at a time she gathered the four and stuffed them through the bars together then bounced the key off his head as he’d bent down to pick them up! “You don’t care about me anymore,” she wailed as he came up, eyes blazing with anger. He couldn’t understand why she was doing this. Didn’t she realise the danger he was in? The drive back to Braemore was going to be treacherous enough and he could feel the stronger breeze even down here. “Perhaps I care too much,” he retorted and turned away. Ignoring her banging both fists on the door as again she pleaded not to be locked downstairs. Calling him a bastard and other rude names as he hurried upward trying not to cry. He couldn’t help it as her voice taunted him so he let the chain run freely instead of through his hands. Cutting off the hysterical last screams as it slammed down on the girl he still loved whatever she did or said. James cried all the way home, only the fact it was pouring with rain as he did the gate did he manage to disguise this once drying off in the kitchen. June was concerned but he fobbed her off saying one of the gates had slammed on his fingers. Showing her the marks actually caused by punching Claggans’ walls in a rage on the way out. Ordering the castle ghosts to look after his beloved Heather… or else. Chapter 2. That was the last time he’d visited and she was convinced it had been her fault after all. She spent so many hours over the next few days just sobbing, praying to the ghosts. Even they seemed to leave her alone and at one point for the first week the boxes didn’t refill themselves and Heather had to start a rationing plan. Candles too burned until she was down to the very last one. That night she went to bed and prayed that whenever he did return that she’d do anything he desired. Next morning Heather awoke, just the one candle barely alight with an inch to go, flickering in the breeze that seemed very strong considering where she was. But she could see the others had regrown and quickly she lit them, sobbing with thanks as things got brighter. Once dressed she went next door, checking the boxes and her heart surged to see they were full again! Since then she’d prayed every day for James and his family. Today Heather did the washing up then was about to head into her sitting room when a familiar sound reached her. Moments later she was delighted as the hatch chain began to run, squeaking slightly as it obviously hadn’t been oiled for ages. The girl trembled and reached for the corridor chain, almost forgetting how to clip it on her collar. “It’s been that long dammit,” she growled, her emotions all over the place but trying to put a happy face on as footsteps came slowly downstairs. Not the usual hurry however and he looked through the bars to see her standing there. “All secured?” he asked and Heather was shocked. Not even a flicker of emotion or recognition and despite this she nodded. He couldn’t still be angry after last time? The door was unlocked and bolts drawn back then he pushed it open. James walked slowly back into her life yet STILL he showed little, carrying a couple of bags of stuff to add to her supplies. He brushed past and went into the kitchen, dumping them on the table, hearing Heather’s heels clicking behind him as she followed. “James, love… is something wrong?” she asked, shuddering when he froze. The guy turning towards her then he almost seemed to collapse. She rushed forward and caught him, easing the guy over to the bench and got James sitting down. “Ouf…” he said, his breathing a little ragged and Heather’s heart gave a jump… as she’d once been that way herself. Surely he wasn’t… ill? He looked up into her beautiful face, his own trying not to show the pain, but she knew. Taking his ice-cold hands into her own. “James, is it… that?” she whispered and he nodded as she sat alongside. “Yeah,” he said, feeling her shaking as it struck home. “I got the results yesterday. Even Kelvin doesn’t know yet, nor does mum. She’s been over with Jen for a fortnight, but coming home tonight, our lassie popped out another rug-rat a week ago.” And that was a surprise, as Heather didn’t know his sister had been pregnant. Normally he kept Miss McCreadie up to date on family stuff and that surely would have been told. So how long was it since his last distressing visit? “I’m sorry it’s been so long Heather. In fact I’d better level with you right now, but we’ll do it next door in… your bedroom please,” he said, gripping tight. They went and sat down and the tale emerged. Heather McCreadie managed not to faint on finding out it was summer… the FOLLOWING year! “It’s been that long?” and he nodded. Yep, eight months actually and its now July. Going on to say that ‘up-top’ they’d just endured the worst weather for decades. “Possibly you honey, were the safest person in Scotland down here. Especially during that October hurricane.” She nodded, clutching his hands and immediately apologised for what she’d said back then. “Yeah, I must do the same for what I did to you, I kicked myself for days afterwards. Guess the ghosts gave you some grief?” She nodded wryly and their lips met for a long kiss and they both wept as the couple held each other tight. She was appalled to hear about the damage across the country. Four hundred dead, many thousands injured and property damage running into billions. “We lost the roof off the large barn and another was written off… the small one where I found you,” he said, the girl blushing on remembering that night. He did too but apart from that they were sheltered in the valley and had escaped the worst. “Poor Wally however has lost everything. Thank goodness I was able to rescue him as his place was exposed out on the hilltop. We’d moved his stock into our spare barn so the animals made it but I had to drag him away at the end, he didn’t want to leave. Just as well I did because the farmhouse… just vanished, only the floor-base remains. He’s staying with us now. Lives in Jen’s room till his insurance pays up. He was supposed to retire years ago leaving the place… to wee Martin, my mate who died in the crash in 2006? Now we’re not sure what’s gonna happen to him.” Heather sat there fiddling with her dress as the tale continued. “I’m so glad I’d altered the vent system so your air came from the new one inside the castle walls. The pipe outside would surely have been well under the umpteen-foot drifts that have blanketed the high moors. I screwed it shut or you would have had white stuff blowing out of there, coulda made a snowman on yer carpet,” he chuckled wryly knowing Heather loved snowballing. They’d had a session in Ft William with the other girls after their ’engagement walk’. “It started days after the hurricane. That’s why I didn’t come back, we were too busy with Wally and rescuing others. Even now there’s still a lot that hasn’t melted. Never seen snow lying here in July for Petes sake.” She did mention that at one time she’d needed to block the original hole up, the first time it’d seemed painfully cold blowing down despite the top being shut. Needing to wear the old dress over her normal clothing AND use all the spare blankets. James replying,“it hit –28C not ten miles from here, guess it was that night. I really panicked, worrying ‘bout you.” She tried to smile. “Thanks, sorry but I really cursed you that time. But please honey… what’s up with you now then?” He paused and she trembled as a painfully familiar story emerged. Pains, aches, tiredness coming and going after Christmas. James couldn’t afford time off the farm and dared not say anything to his folks. “Pride go’eth before the fall? Then I did big time out in the yard two months ago. Wally was there and said I just stopped, got out of the jeep and went down like a sack of feed. He thought I’d had a heart attack, think it nearly gave him one too!” he quipped, trying to cheer Heather up though he guessed she knew what was coming. “So I was carted off to Inverness. Spent a week being prodded and probed in places too uncomfortable to mention in polite company. They found nothing. Bloodwork showed zip according to them. But I wasn’t convinced. So once back at Braemore I spoke to your Dr Chalmers, you remember her love?” Heather nodded. “Yeah Lucy was… is great…and?” “She drove all the way to see me. You didn’t know she was ex MOD?” and Heather looked amazed. “Well she is, and she tested for various contaminants having remembered me… and came up trumps. Only it’s something that hasn’t been known here… since WW2. That’s why your cancer got missed. Now… it’s my turn. I’ve got the same bloody problem you had… and she’s warned me we’ve gotta keep it secret. If it gets out, then the whole of this part of Scotlands’ in deep trouble,” he said at last. Heather gasped, surely he couldn’t be serious. “It’s not infectious, but Lucy will have to answer some very awkward questions if or when it worsens. Like how she and I know each other. The fact she knew you. She’s sure MOD would find that out too easily if I went back to hospital, so…it looks like… I’m going to have… to well, leave and go die quietly somewhere instead.” Miss McCreadie burst into tears, thinking that maybe it’d been Claggan that had poisoned both of them instead of saving her. “But James… you can’t do that!” she said, gripping tight in case he left straight away. The thought he’d lock her down here permanently was too horrible to contemplate. These last eight months had been hard enough. Knowing he’d NEVER return… no chance and she waited a few minutes before speaking. Chapter 3. “Well I’ve got an idea. Daft as it sounds but I need you to think carefully before you refuse,” she said after a long thought. “It’s a multi-part thing” and she asked the following… A. Was Lucy aware Heather was still alive, had she asked James what had really happened to her? B. If not, would she believe James if he told her the truth, bringing Dr Chalmers to see for herself? C. Would she, to avoid implicating herself again… cover up James own disappearance? D. If she agreed, was James… prepared to come and live here at Claggan full time? E. Would Kelvin and June go along with this having discovered Heather was still alive? “Well you certainly have thought this out. How long?” he asked. Not surprised Heather had wondered right from day1 whether her illness had been caused by what she’d done. “Guess I’ve had time to mull it over honey,” she said and a smile touched his lips. “But it’s too late to worry about it now. I guess if I took this chain off, I’ll be dead within minutes.” she replied, touching the snaplock on her collar and for a moment James thought she’d undo it. “No!” he barked, making her jump as she hadn’t meant to get that close. He apologised, she said nothing but looked puzzled when James reached into the other bag and pulled out her wrist cuffs. Asking her to put them on and she paused, surely this was hardly the time to start playing games. “Please Heather, just do it,” he sighed unlocking them. She shrugged and applied each one, securing them then returning the keys after repeating this for her ankles. Maybe I’m going upstairs, she thought, though as James was dressed in a heavy jacket and trousers with boots too she wasn’t sure. He’d said it was summer up there… Once done he ordered her to wriggle across the bed and allow him to snaplock her down. “James love, surely this can wait…?” Heather said but was unprepared when he took her arms then started pushing the girl down. “Alright… I’ll do it. Just WAIT A MOMENT!” she snapped, for the first time in ages becoming scared of him again. Heather now shuddered as she lay back. The ‘snip’ of each one binding her to the bed was not pleasant today and she was worried at what was happening. That more so once he’d spread-eagled her, as James then produced material, swiftly hands grabbing her jaw and applying the gag, forcing it deep into her mouth, muffling squeals as Miss McCreadie naturally began begging him not to… ...

Jim’s room had no windows. It was a small room with naked walls, and a cold, hard floor. Jim had been awake for a while now, though he could never be certain how long it had really been. The only light emanated from the small gap under the only door and to Jim’s eyes, it was bright, almost blinding. It made him very nearly certain that it was daytime already. ...

One summer night not too long ago, I endulged myself in a self bondage session in my back yard. As I do this very often, I was very experienced and had become over confident in my kinky habit. Normally I would plan my session and test that everything goes to plan, hopefully, and then proceed to actually lock myself into my predicament. You should know, every story I post on here is 100% true unless stated otherwise. This is one of those true stories I have to tell that I almost didn’t get to tell. ...

Part I March 29-2017 There are times in one’s life, that a simple decision to take a much-needed trip turns out to be more than one asks for. That doesn’t mean that the original intention of taking that trip was ill advised, or that the measurement after the fact is nothing more than playing a Monday Morning Quarter Back after the Sundays Game, it just gives one the ability to Ponder Life’s Destiny and Life’s Meaning. ...

Hi I’m Ali, I’m 21 and I’ve just finishing an apprenticeship (not going to say where or what I’m studying just in case someone figures out this is me). I’m 5ft 4 inches, I’m a skinny little redhead with very pale skin. Everyone calls me cute or adorable (it’s really annoying). And I love been restrained and tormented. I think a little bit of back story is needed at this point. I discovered my fondness for BDSM whilst on a family holiday in France. It’s one of those holidays where your parents stuff you in the back of a small car with your siblings and drive hundreds of miles in blistering heat with no air con (torture – but not the good kind). So we drove through France, I had just turned 18 and on either side of me are my 2 bickering brothers aged 10 and 12 (don’t ask me why my parent waited so long between me and them). ...

One summer night not too long ago, I endulged myself in a self bondage session in my back yard. As I do this very often, I was very experienced and had become over confident in my kinky habit. Normally I would plan my session and test that everything goes to plan, hopefully, and then proceed to actually lock myself into my predicament. You should know, every story I post on here is 100% true unless stated otherwise. This is one of those true stories I have to tell that I almost didn’t get to tell. ...

I woke up with a start, trying to move my hands I realised they were cuffed behind me, the stainless steel manacles were digging into my wrists from the tension of the chain coming from my manacled ankles. The back of my neck was sore from the 2” wide stainless steel collar that encircled it, not helped by the chain that was attaching me to the wall only 12” away. I was lying on my side, the only position in which I had been able to get anyway like comfortable, my legs ached, bent as they were towards my hands. ...

Amelia Ryder was an imposing woman. She was all of five foot six inches tall with the confidence of a marine corp drill Sargent. Her long blond hair hung in a single pony tail as she sat in a rose colored silk dress. Everything about this woman said power and control despite her one handicap. Miss Ryder had been born blind. They had met the day before when she had walked into the social clubs public space and asked to speak to the management. “What is it that you want from this?” Thomas asked. “I’ve listened to audio books about bondage and helpless women but it’s not the same as actually seeing it. In my case I have to touch it, feel it, to understand what it is. I hear the sounds but I don’t know why the sounds are being made or what is causing it”. “Is it the bondage you are curious about or BDSM?” “It’s mostly the bondage but the other does fascinate me. I know that bondage is part of BDSM but I don’t understand how it differs. " “Bondage is just that”, Thomas said, “someone tied up and helpless. For many people this is enough. The simple explanation is that BDSM is what you do once you have them bound and helpless. I can arrange a closed session with a few girls for you tomorrow if you would like”. “That would be wonderful”, Amelia said. The appointment was set. Today Miss Ryder entered tapping her cane and wearing a baby blue dress and sandals. Thomas led her to a table with three other women sitting there. ...

I am a simple man with a few credentials in my life. But the most important one is that I was born on the right place, which put me on the right side. The one that won the war, a war that split the world into two groups. Those of us who still walk the earth free, and those who are slaves, with virtually no rights. After the war was over I got a job as a guard at the first human milk factory that was created, shortly after. The pay wasn’t much, but it was an easy job and I had plenty of time to hang out during it. So I thought I would start a diary of my experiences at the factory. Below, are some of the entries. ...

(story continues from Beta 2: Spencer) Part 3: Belladonna Sciori “What you’re proposing is treason, don’t you realize that?” Seated to one side of the large table, Bella watched quietly as Spencer considered his reply. As she waited for him to speak, she thought about the path that had brought them here. They had spent, altogether, five days at Spencer’s cabin, resting and preparing themselves for the first step in his grand plan. After leaving, they had spent the next month and a half moving from town to town within the province. At each town, Spencer had spoken with the leaders, directing each to meet here. ...

The old hospital was dark. The faint aroma of antiseptic cleaners still lingered in the stale air. This disused four story, plus basement, facility was going to be my next self bondage venue. A little back ground info just to set the stage for you. I live in rural Canada. In the small town in which I reside stands the above mentioned hospital. Here, the government owns an operates the regional health districts which over see the medical facilities in their area. The hospital in my town was closed two years ago in a politically motivated “stream lining” of the health care system. The bad news is we have to drive fifteen miles to the neighboring town for a hospital. The good news, for me anyway, is that I was hired to be caretaker \ watchman of the mothballed building. This means I have the keys and the right to enter and move around the empty building and grounds. ...

WARNING Do NOT try this at home, the story is presented here as a fantasy only, to attempt this in real life may result in injury or death . The man shifted in the cramped car seat. The car was parked on a sparsely populated street, pulled into the shadows of trees lining the street. He checked his watch. The object of his stakeout should be home soon. His cell phone rang and he answered. “Jeff here, boss,” he said, listening to the man on the other end. “He should be here shortly. I’ll have him all wrapped up and out of here in about half an hour.” He listened again. “Yes, as usual, you will get proof I’ve got him and that he won’t be causing any problems for you anymore.” He smiled as he listened more. “That’s why you hire me boss. I always get my man.” He ended the call as a car was approaching from the opposite end of the street. Jeff pulled out his binoculars and saw it was the car he was waiting for. He watched as it pulled into the driveway and a man got out. He smiled as he thought about what was about to begin. ...

The man shifted in the cramped car seat. The car was parked on a sparsely populated street, pulled into the shadows of trees lining the street. He checked his watch. The object of his stakeout should be home soon. His cell phone rang and he answered. “Jeff here, boss,” he said, listening to the man on the other end. “He should be here shortly. I’ll have him all wrapped up and out of here in about half an hour.” He listened again. “Yes, as usual, you will get proof I’ve got him and that he won’t be causing any problems for you anymore.” He smiled as he listened more. “That’s why you hire me boss. I always get my man.” He ended the call as a car was approaching from the opposite end of the street. Jeff pulled out his binoculars and saw it was the car he was waiting for. He watched as it pulled into the driveway and a man got out. He smiled as he thought about what was about to begin. ...

Harry walked into his storage room, actually the 3rd bedroom of his sprawling one-story house in a suburban neighborhood. The room was sparsely furnished, containing only an antique divan and a small desk. A step ladder and several moving storage boxes were piled in one corner. He leaned over the desk and ran his finger down an open calendar to the month of April. His finger stopped on a Saturday in the middle of the month. The note “OUT 3” and “OUT 5” were scrawled on that day. Harry glanced at his watch and said, “Today.” ...

There had already been weeks of planning gone into the village fete, with two weeks left to go, Vicki returned home from the planning meeting. Always looking for a way to play in public, which is one of her biggest turn-ons. The fete was to be held on the village green. As with some small villages in the UK the old village stocks and whipping post was still there. Vicki was involved in the restoration project of them a few years ago, a sort of focal point for the village, a glimpse of how things use to be. They were perfectly functional, in fact although they looked like they had been there over two hundred years, they were re-built using modern materials and the latest technology which meant they were totally secure and much stronger than they were before the restoration. ...

I was a student at a west coast university some years ago, with several changes in major and not really expecting ever to graduate. My way was paid in full, and I saw no reason to hurry to get out in the “real world” and get a job, and all that get up early garbage I saw some of my friends doing. My present major was political science, and the only reason I chose that was it looked easier than my last major. Despite the easy nature of my latest chosen field, I found myself falling below the GPA level that guaranteed my free ride, but fortunately I wasn’t alone. ...

Part 1. Heather McCreadie sighed as the ruined castle loomed closer. This unexpected storm had thwarted her plans for a good walk today and it was raining hard enough that she’d decided to take shelter and ride it out. Coming inside and dumping her rucksack by the door. Obviously she was alone, thirty miles north west of Inverness on a long walk to Ullapool. But now she needed to let the mountain rescue people in the closest town know she was safely in cover. A check on her map for the co-ordinates of Claggan Castle and she sent the text and her intentions to stay here overnight. She had a week’s worth of food; full water bottles topped up an hour ago, a tent and so on. Her phone bleeped and she read the kind acknowledgement from that hunk ‘Geoff’ whom she’d spoken to when sorting her route and contact times. If only he’d been single she sighed, having remembered the wedding ring on his finger. Shutting off the phone to save the batteries though she did have spares too. Despite the rain it was warm enough for her to strip to shirt and shorts, August can be cooler but not this year, with records tumbling every month it appeared. But at least with the storm it kept the midges away and she quickly doused herself in ‘Off’ in case any of the buggers had also taken shelter and wanted to torment a tourist while the clouds passed by. She replaced her walking boots with the light canvas sneakers and decided to explore. Claggan Castle was a disappointment as she went from room to room on the upper floor, sheltering in doorways as the roof had long ago fallen in. So she returned to the ground floor and had a drink before attempting the staircase into the darkness below. Torchlight showed there was little here, every room was just a dusty space, the rough stone flooring thankfully dry and she wondered whether to sleep in one tonight. There was no draught so why not? One of the last two rooms on this floor was examined, there was another staircase that led below but no way was she going down again, also it seemed to have a hatch partway down. This chamber had tiny gaps in the walls where daylight shone through as she remembered the castle was built on a slope just below the summit of the hill. So despite being one floor down from the main hall there was still illumination on this side and the girl marvelled at the design. Also it was thankfully away from the wind. Heather gasped on seeing a few old manacles hanging from chains at various places, more on the floor about two feet apart underneath each of the upper sets. “Well I never,” she gasped gently kicking one with her shoe, the faint ‘clink’ of chain making her shudder. She’d never tried ‘bondage’ herself but didn’t mind reading about it on sites. She was becoming an avid reader of these now and hoped the girls she lived with in Ft William wouldn’t find out. But no way had she allowed anyone to actually tie her up. Mainly because she’d been too embarrassed to ask either of the guys she’d dated in the past. Her hands reached up to one of the loops and gave it a prod, seeing it swing slightly under her touch. Then she tried to ease the thing apart but no surprise it was jammed. Well having been like this for a couple of centuries she’d hardly have expected less. Out of curiosity she tried all the lower ones, amazed on actually getting two of them to open. Her heart hammered as she pushed one closed again, the metal snapping shut but thankfully Heather did not have her fingers in the way. So now she reached for the higher ones, but only got one to move a little until she tried the last pair, ironically above the only floor ones that still worked. Heather’s eyes widened as she, with difficulty and a lot of effort had both of the manacles open, then snapping shut again and it made her tremble inside. She reached up and held both at the same time but didn’t dare close them round her limbs. But still imagined herself helplessly chained to the wall waiting to be…well whatever people had done in old times. Tonight’s’ session in her sleeping bag was going to be interesting. Miss McCreadie left the room and went into the last, pleased there was natural light here too, but she was surprised to see this one had an old casket set into a recess next to the fireplace. The other rooms had the same but this was the first to have been occupied. She paused then decided this had to be examined and with a lot of effort dragged the box out into the middle. A latch was eased aside and she flipped the lid up, managing not to choke as a cloud of dust came off the top. The casket was half-full of greyish material and Heather wondered whether…yes. She lifted up the first one and discovered it appeared to be the remains of some sort of robe or dress. Quite heavy material and a little smelly of course, in bad condition but not surprising considering how long it’d lain there. Miss McCreadie held it against herself, the hem just skimming the floor. Laying it to one side her torch showed there to be a couple more and these too were examined by torchlight. The last appeared to have a pattern on it and was of a higher quality fabric and considerably better condition than the other two. It thankfully didn’t smell either, though it was a lot heavier thanks to having an inner skirt. She smiled and carried the robe out of the room and back to where her rucksack was. The light here much better, Heather impressed at the find, laying it out on her camping mat. A simple stylised black cross was the main motif on the dark grey bodice, more black trim around the edges of the collar, cuffs and the hem itself and Heather wondered what it had symbolised. Again wishing she’d listened to her teachers more at school. But something about this made her pause and wonder… Would it fit her? Surely women in the 1800’s were of smaller stature and build, but Heather wasn’t exactly Amazonian. She’d been one of the smaller girls at school so was normally not picked for any of the sporting teams unless the skippers’ were desperate, instead preferring the individual athletic events. Miss McCreadie stripped naked then reached for the robe. It had hooks and eyes up the back, at least two dozen and Heather groaned, knowing she’d not be able to do them all up. A few would surely do so nervously she stepped into the heavy dress and drew it up around her waist. Impressed that her hips did indeed go in, so she carried on. Easing first one, then the other arm into the sleeves, then raising the front to cover her breasts. It was a little rough against her skin but she didn’t care. Heather was delighted as she got the top hooks secured behind her neck and a couple below that too. Reaching down behind her back then tried to get a few more from her waist upwards. Heather was so flexible and carried on till she was amazed to get them all done. It could have been made for her and the lass was thrilled. A pause to set her camera on the casket lid and snap a few photos on the timer. Posing for her lens then checking the screen and it looked great. She wandered about, the dress doing it’s best to trip her up, as Heather had never worn anything like this before but persevered. Moving her rucksack downstairs into one of the other rooms where it was dark but quite warm. Looking outside it was raining just as hard but as she didn’t intend changing plans Heather could remain here and…play? Heather McCreadie walked back into the room where the manacles were. Wondering if she had the courage to try one on. Standing up against the wall and reaching up till she held one in her right hand then shuffled across and grabbed the other. The effect was amazing and she knew it had to be done. She got them both opened then let one go and nervously placed her wrist in the other. Pausing a long while then easing it…SNAP. She gasped as it gripped her limb, the lassie almost fainting on the spot, realising that she’d actually manacled herself to the wall! Standing there for a while then getting the thing open again and freeing her wrist. Sighing as the strain on her shoulder was reduced. Heather shuddered then looked down at her feet, seeing the other cuffs either side of her. Another intake of breath then she bent down and did her left ankle. A pause and she opened her legs as far as the dress would allow then just managed to get the other one secured. Leaning against the wall Miss McCreadie looked above, seeing the manacles either side and smiled. “Well you got this far,” and reached up and grabbed both with some difficulty, as they seemed higher up. Then she realised that with her legs apart it was her that was lower. But she still managed to get her wrists inside with fingers now gripping the fronts. Tapping them lightly against the walls but the cuffs wouldn’t close. So she paused then did it much harder and this time it worked fine. The two manacles snapped around her wrists and she gasped again. The feelings were incredible and Heather closed her eyes at what she’d just done. Now chained by ALL FOUR limbs to a remote castle wall! Heather began to moan, imagining hands running over her dress, fingers reaching for her breasts, sighing as someone began to play with her nipples that were now straining against the bodice. Tremors rushed through her body and more hands began to lift her robe up! Her eyes snapped open at that and she looked down, but of course there was nobody here… However her dress WAS moving of its’ own accord! Now bunching to around her waist and Heather squealed in shock… only for an invisible hand to clamp itself over her mouth, holding her firmly as she naturally began to struggle. More fingers running over her legs… all heading north and Miss McCreadie bucked violently against the wall as she felt one begin to slide into where it matters most. She tugged hard on the cuffs; her hands straining against the cold metal and at one point she thought one was about to give way. But the invisible fingers began to run in and out and she shuddered, flushing too on feeling herself start to get wet! Just when Heather was thinking she’d get to orgasm the fingers withdrew, her dress flopped down and she was left groaning in disappointment! What a tease her imagination had been to her and a smiling Miss McCreadie relaxed in her bonds, trying to tug one wrist free without hurting too much. Trouble being the last time she’d really had to strain with both hands to get one open. Now with her wrists a couple of feet apart and no way of closing the gap because of her legs like that, it started to dawn on Heather that maybe she had a problem here and really was stuck! The thought terrified her, but the shame of getting herself into this was equally damaging and Heather tugged harder on the cuffs now. Really digging painfully into her hands now, then she squealed as one suddenly snapped open, almost throwing her off balance. She paused, breathing heavily and sighed, reaching up and after a few minutes of straining the other flicked open too. Heather almost sobbed with relief; cursing herself for stupidity and having got her breath back bent down to start… Miss McCreadie screamed when the invisible hands grabbed her arms and torso, pushing her back hard against the wall, wrists being slapped into the cuffs again and them snapping around. Her face held firm. Muffling the wails as her dress began to rise and once round the waist she felt something entering …and this time it definitely wasn’t a finger! Easing itself into her and of a size that normally she’d have appreciated seeing the hunk that possesses it… but NOT now despite what she’d thought earlier. It began… in and out, really working her over, and though she tried to resist her body couldn’t take that much of this. Heather began groaning again as the rhythm increased and she started moving to match it, gripping as best she could until the inevitable happened. Crashing over her like a wave and Heather screamed into the hand holding her jaw before passing out. Coming to later on Heather groaned as the headache surged through her. Lying in her sleeping bag, two ‘nightlight’ candles burning on the floor nearby. THAT made her sit up and after popping some painkillers with water Miss McCreadie flicked on the torch. Seeing her rucksack where she’d left it and that was baffling, as somehow she’d changed rooms too, as there were no manacles in here. Heather wriggled out of her bag, using the torch to examine her wrists and ankles. Stunned to see no signs of bruising at all. The way she’d tugged her arms there surely should be some marks…but no. Also she was dressed in normal 21st century clothing with no sign of that dress. So had she dreamt the whole thing up? But it was a little chilly now so Heather got back into her bag and minutes later dozed off again. Up bright and early next morning Heather McCreadie cooked herself breakfast on the little stove then packed it away. A last look round and no surprise found herself back in the dungeon, though she still did not intend to go downstairs to the next level because of the blockage. Those cuffs hung there and she shuddered, wondering whether to try… “No chance!” she grinned and turned away. Peeking next door she saw the box where the dress had come from, in the recess as expected. A closer look and it appeared as if it’d never been touched, a faint layer of dust on top. Having sent her planning text Heather departed Claggan Castle, her mind churning at the thought of those cuffs and that dress. Why she couldn’t shake it off she didn’t know. Perhaps rather than reading a story she ought to write one and contribute it! All that day as she tramped across the countryside Heather could almost hear the clank of chains in time with her footsteps! At one point convinced she heard horses thundering past, their riders urging the animals onward. So she was mightily relieved to get to the village at Braemore, the place where she’d rejoin the A835 to Ullapool. Her farmhouse bed and breakfast a hundred yards short of the road itself where traffic was hurrying to get to the port before the last boat left. A footpath followed this course but half a mile parallel, so she’d do the last 11 miles in peace before her ferry left at 3pm on Monday, the girl having decided to do a circular walk tomorrow and stay here again if there was room. Checking in with the farmer’s wife, June showing Heather to her room then offering tea and some rather delicious cakes which the girl found hard to resist after a strenuous day’s trekking. The owner himself, Kelvin joining the pair later on, saying their son, James would be home from the market soon but would not be meeting up with them yet. The tractor had a flat tyre so he’d need to repair it before nightfall. Miss McCreadie was able to get some washing done in the sink, having a dig into the top of her rucksack where dirties were kept separate from the rest. They chatted on while the girl did her stuff, pleased that the visitor wasn’t one of those that just stayed in their room rather than interact with them. Also the room was available for the two days and Kelvin suggested a walking route that could easily be done in a few hours. Checking Heather’s map and seeing the girl had the newest version that had only been out a couple of weeks. “Nice to see some youngsters know what they’re doing. City kids have no idea!” he grumbled. The girl smiling as she cleaned one of her pairs of boots, rewaxing them at the same time. June impressed the slightly built Heather was able to carry such a load as she held the bag briefly. The youngster explaining, “My father was a Regimental Sergeant Major in the Paras’ he used to carry eighty pound packs all the time. When I went trekking with him, he always trained me to ‘earn your keep young missy. Don’t carry what ye dinna want!” he’d say as we’d set off for another fifty plus mile weekend. But they kept me fit I can tell you and my current trips still do. No need to pay silly prices to go to a gym.” A wistful smile at the old man and her mum, sadly two years gone now, she missed them so badly. The elders nodded Kelvin now knowing why she was so well prepared. Heather found the phone signal here was poor so used their landline to call Dornoch to let them know she was safely off the high moors, then a second to Stornoway, to her friend Mary, the lass she was visiting on Monday. However she found out from Mary’s mum that the girl was going down with a bad cold and would be unlikely to want to go hiking later on. She’d call Heather at the farm tomorrow and let her know whether to come over. “OK, thanks for the advice, bye.” June commiserated with her when Heather said a call might be for her Sunday evening. Miss McCreadie pleased that at least she hadn’t paid for the ferry tickets yet. “I’ll do the circular walk tomorrow, stop here with you then we’ll see.” They thought that good advice and Kelvin suggested a few paths around Ullapool that Heather could do if she got stuck there. Once tea was cleared away she finished the washing and hung it up, leaving the kitchen and wandered about the farm, seeing a jeep arriving and what could only be described as ‘Young farmer HUNK!’ emerging from the battered old vehicle. Coming over to see whom this pretty blonde thing was leaning against a wall with a small camera snapping the scenery nearby. Greeting her cautiously, because his hands were covered in muck as he apologised, his eyes roaming over the rather tight T-shirt and shorts displayed there. Not a voluptuous figure but more athletic than he’d seen for a while, Athena tennis poster girl maybe. However that face was easily stored away in the memory box as one of the better ones to have stayed recently. Even more of a smile on later finding out she’d be here all day tomorrow too! Heather couldn’t help blushing then told him the good news about the tractor, surprising the lad on an offer to assist if he wanted? “Nothing else to do so why not. I can handle a spanner thanks.” Well… another chance to closely eye up that body was easily going to be accepted and they headed for the barn. It took them two hours to get the wheel sorted and do some other stuff, seeing Heather appeared happy to help doing whatever was needed. She just seemed to be one of those kind people rarely seen these days. Both got thoroughly dirty but laughed about it, high fiving the other as June called the pair in for supper. James and Heather quickly rushing through showers and at least the farm had plenty of hot water for them both! ...

Do you really want to know what went on behind “The Gates of Hell?” I sent the request through his publicist and spokesperson like I did every year figuring that the worst that could happen was that he would once again say “No!” Much to my surprise, however, this year when the publicist called back, rather than a polite refusal, he instead said, “Mr. Summerfield has agreed to see you.” ...

(story continues from Sisterly Curator) Part 2 After what seemed like an eternity and falling asleep several times, there was a brief buzz swiftly followed by the lights flickering into life. A few more seconds and I could hear the door being unlocked. Jade walked over to me calmly, unclipped the chains, and helped me up into a sitting position. “What time is it?” my voice cracked and croaked. “It’s about 7:30” she said calmly. ...

As some of the readers will know I am an avid fan of Ebay! God only knows what the hell will turn up on there! Living in the UK there is a strong fetish scene, but a lot of the equipment is cheap mass market junk, made for teenagers to play bondage or dress up, not really up to anything more serious than that. However from time to time something turns up on Ebay that is of good quality. It is these finds that I love. This story is an example of this and turned out to be a lot more! I found an advert on Ebay for “3 Pairs of Handcuffs 1 Key” I was about to go back to the search when the picture caught my eye, it was quite fuzzy but the key to these handcuffs was clearly a proper Smith and Wesson Type, with the pin at the top to engage the double lock. ...

“It’s a relatively simple spell,” she said. She was dressed simply in a plain grey dress, no tights or stocking and low heels, despite this her 5’ 6”height and the voluptuous shape of her body made her very desirable. She was a witch who had imprisoned in a cellar beneath my house for nearly 400 years. It all started when I bought this Elizabethan house, it was almost derelict and I worked on it for 2 years to restore back to its original state. I had inherited a large sum from my parents and at 40 years of age could retire and do almost anything I want to. ...

Janice’s desk phone rang. By the pattern of the warbling tone she could tell it was an outside line. “Evening Herald, Janice Long speaking.” “Miss Long, my name is Carol Winston. I’m Samuel Bidwell’s secretary. Mr. Bidwell is very unhappy about your story in today’s paper. And he wants to remind you that this is 1983, not 1883. The days when a newspaper could libel people with impunity are long past.” ...

My name is Jessie. I am five foot four inches tall, sandy blonde hair, and icy blue eyes. I am slightly overweight, but I have never had any complaints about that. I love bondage. The whole idea of giving up control to someone who knows how to push all the right buttons. There is no one to date who knows what they are doing. So I do for myself. My house, yes I own my home along with the bank, has a cool old stone basement. Lets just say its perfectly gloomy for a dungeon. The basement has several small rooms that were probably for cold storage of food many years ago. Now they are just empty cold rooms. The dirt floor is perfect. ...

A Halloween Special 2012 Tale What better way to celebrate Halloween than at a pirate-themed party on an island that was rumored to be haunted? That was the theory. Claire’s problems began when she went to pick out a costume. The guys had it easy. There were lots of pirate costumes available. They could get anything from a historic pirate outfit to a Captain Jack Sparrow costume. There were a lot of pirate costumes available for girls, too but they were all “sexy pirate”. “Captain Hooker” was more like it. ...

Part 1 It wasn’t a case of getting above herself, but Fiona Mackie believed she was becoming a very good bondage model. She simply loved it and having sent a few portfolios of her tied across her bed by a boyfriend she’d once dated, out on the internet, soon found that there were some seriously good photographers. Within a year she was able to pick and choose her work from a select group of guys and one gal. ...

“I’m glad we got to spend some time together” she said “Even though it is never enough.” She waited to hear him say something that resembled agreement. They got out of her car to enjoy one more hug before he must leave. He held her close, kissing the top of her head, since he was so very tall. “I’ll miss you” he said sadly. “Oh, you will not miss me as much as you think” she laughed. ...

(story continues from The Great Marvolo Part 2) Part 3 Author’s Note: Thanks to Jennifer Harrison for her assistance, and for letting me read her great-great grandmother’s diary. The next morning Max and I were up at dawn. I was allowed to wear the same baggy housemaid’s dress, and after I performed a hurried toilet we adjourned to the kitchen. He locked the chain to my collar and I fixed a meager breakfast from the food still remaining in the larder. Karl was not around, and when I asked Max where he was I got an evasive answer. When I finished the cleanup Max released me from my tether and took me into the main room. ...

Whenever I think back to that day, I wonder how it could have been done differently. We could have gone a little faster, or perhaps stuck to going through the shadows instead, using the stealth course. So many different variables, so many possible outcomes. But inevitably, I get depressed and moody, thinking about what might have been. I can’t help it, though. I have lots of time to think. My name is ID682, though I was given the nickname, ‘Kitt’ by my fellow slaves, due to my love of cats. I used to be a slave, though I guess I still am. Only now I’m less then a slave. I’m a prisoner, serving a life sentence. Perhaps a little background is in order. I was born in a country where slavery was still legal, though by most standards, slaves are treated well. We’re given plenty of time to rest and pursue some minor activities while in service, and while we’re given lots of work to do, it isn’t strenuous. We aren’t whipped, or given any other form of barbaric and inhumane punishment. At least, not most of the time. You see, there are only a few crimes that automatically earn you the strictest punishment, and the greatest of all these crimes is assaulting your master, and his (or her) family. No other crime committed by a slave is punished so harshly. It happened about ten years ago, if I remember correctly (you must understand, I’m given no calendars, or indications of what date it is during my incarceration). Some of my fellow slaves had devised an escape plan to try and break free of the manor where we lived. Escape attempts by slaves were rare, though they do happen. Because I was one of the quieter slaves, who didn’t make a fuss or bring any attention to myself, they considered me trustworthy. Truth be told, their plan was excellent. Disable the building’s security system, then sneak out in the dead of night, head for the coast, and sail away from the country, to one where we could be free. I wanted to be free, and here was my chance. So I took it and joined with them. It was the perfect plan. But things went horribly wrong. The night of our escape, our master and her family went out into the huge garden that made up the backyard of the manor, seeking to have a late night party. We should have waited and tried again, but too much had been invested. We had to try. So we disabled the security system as planned, and cut the power, then made our way into the garden, heading for the fences. Things didn’t work out as we had planned. We were spotted. We panicked, and though I ran, my fellow slaves attacked our master and her family, trying to put her down. But it was too late, and master managed to summon her security forces. We were captured, our escape foiled. And as we were put in cuffs and locked in the dungeon, we all realized that, because of what we had done, we would never know freedom. We were right. The trial began the next day. We were brought into the meeting room, where our master, her family, her slaves, and everyone who lived in the manor attended. My fellow slaves and I, chained to the floor and gagged, were given no defense, no lawyers to argue our case. Everyone knew what had happened. Our master first told everyone the facts of the crime, and that we had attempted to escape. While that itself would get a harsh punishment, the fact that we had attacked her and her family was so serious that we had earned the harshest possible punishment for ourselves. In only a few minutes, our fates were decided. My fellow escapees, the ones who had planned the attack, were clearly beyond redemption or rehabilitation, for they had planned this for a long time, and had calculated everything before hand. Had they included attacking our master in their plans? I don’t think so, and think that it was only done out of panic. But it didn’t matter now. My fellow slaves, due to their actions, were sentenced to be buried alive, entombed forever to prevent any chance of escape as long as they lived. Upon hearing their fate, my fellow slaves broke down in tears, but, gagged as they were, could not protest. My fate however, was to be different. My master noted that I was the only one who had run, rather then attack her. Thus, I was innocent of the worst crime a slave could commit. But I had still attempted to escape, and I had aided those who had attacked her. Thus, I still had committed a crime, and needed to be punished. But due to my quiet nature, and lack of a disciplinary record, she would show me mercy. Thus, my punishment was given. I was given a life sentence in the dungeons, to be restrained for the rest of my life, and never to be freed. Like my fellow slaves, I cried upon hearing my fate, my tears streaming over the thick gag plugged into my mouth. There were to be no appeals, no second chances. Our sentences were final, and could not be revoked. With a bang of the gavel, our fates were sealed. And not one to waste time, master carried out our sentences immediately. We went out back, where other slaves dug three graves. Coffins were built, and my fellow slaves were forced into rubber body gloves. Restraint belts were wrapped around their waists, and one time use handcuffs locked their wrists to the belt, as one time use cuffs were locked around their ankles, forever restraining them. Their gags were left on as they were forced into the coffins and tied down, removing their ability to move. I watched their panicked faces as the lids were put on and nailed down. Due to their gags, I was spared from hearing their screams as the coffins were lowered into the earth, then covered with dirt and soil, burying them. Simple headstones were erected, though there was no date of death on them. We would never know how long they lasted within their graves. With their punishment underway, it was now time for mine. I was marched into the mansion and into the dungeons, where I was taken to a cell that had been prepared for me. And it was there that I saw how I was to be restrained for the rest of my life, for a thick leather sleepsack was waiting for me. Knowing that it was useless to resist, and that doing so would only bring further punishment, I did not resist as I was put into the sack, my arms and legs going into the internal sleeves. The back was zipped up, and then laced shut, squeezing the sack around my body, compressing and holding it. I was taken and put onto the bunk, where leather straps were applied to me, tying me down, so I wouldn’t roll off onto the floor. And with that, master looked at me, disappointed. I had such potential, she told me, but that it was too late to undo her decision. This sentence was final. She left, and closed the cell door behind her, locking it, and leaving me in my new home. *** I don’t know how long ago that was. Time goes slowly here, in this cell, and with no clocks or calendars, I can only guess how much time has passed since my punishment began. I spend my days here in the cell, locked into this sleepsack. I have never been let out since my punishment began, and wear it twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, but then again, perhaps that isn’t the most accurate statement. I am released for cleaning and hygienic reasons, but I am never awake for those moments, for I am sedated. I sleep, and when I awake, I am still in the dungeon, still in the sack, which has been cleaned, as well as me. I am gagged twenty four hours a day as well, with a giant muzzle permanently strapped to my face, a thick gag shoved into my mouth and into my throat, which is how I am fed, with tubes and liquid nourishment given to me, as well as water. A thick collar is wrapped about my neck, embroidered with the words, ‘LIFE,’ signifying my status as a prisoner. It sounds like a horrible way to live, but while my master may be strict, she is not cruel. She allows my fellow slaves to visit me in my cell, and though I cannot talk to them, they stay with me, and are allowed to stroke and cuddle with me, giving me companionship. Occasionally, my beloved cats are brought in, and spend the day with me, and I enjoy their company, even though I cannot hold them. To keep me occupied, Master has a piece of restraint added to me every day. Some days I will be blindfolded, and on others a hood is slipped over my head. Sometimes she shackles my ankles to the bed, and sometimes she dangles me from the ceiling. Every day is different, the variety keeping me occupied, if nothing else, trying to adjust to my situation. Sometimes, on rare occasions, a television will be brought to my cell, and I am allowed to watch a film or television show. I love those moments, as well when my fellow slaves come down with a book to read to me. But even with these small favors, this is still a punishment. I am locked in here for life, and will never, ever leave. I do not have the freedom of movement my fellow slaves have, and my entire body is locked away. Aside from cuddling, I am not allowed to have any pleasures of the flesh, except that, if I continue on good behavior, I will be allowed to have one orgasm every decade or so. A very good incentive indeed. There are days where I am calm and collected, and there are days when I cry and weep over what I have lost, knowing that my entire world is a standard size prison cell. There is a small window near the ceiling, where a little sunlight comes in from the outside. I can look out it, and see the sky, and the clouds, and know that this is all I will ever see of the outside world again. Sometimes, I wonder if this is all really an act of mercy. I am alive, but it is a life of restraint, of no freedoms. I will be kept this way until the day I die, for that is my sentence, and my punishment. My fellow slaves, the ones who were buried so long ago, they are gone. Sometimes I wonder if they were the lucky ones. Their punishment was horrible, but it was brief. Mine is stretched out, on and on, for decades to come. I can’t help but wonder if I’m the unlucky one.

(story continues from The Tales of Sir Dwayne 3: The Offer) The Tales of Sir Dwayne - 4: The Lady Is Trained “What troubles you, Dwayne?” Dwayne, not Sir Dwayne, he noted. The whore (nee Lady Birgit) sat next to him wearing good clothes. Not the finery she was accustomed to, but not the whore’s ragged dress, either. Sitting next to him on the bench, not kneeling, chained at his feet as in the past. ...

“And what,” Sara asked, “is that?” Grinning, Scott held up what looked like a thick-walled tube with fleshy flanges on each end. “This,” he said proudly, “is my newest invention.” “What exactly does it do? And remember, I have to leave for work soon, so keep it short, please.” “This little gem,” Scott replied, “is about to make your day very interesting.” Sara sighed. She loved Scott with all her heart, but some of his ideas were, to put it mildly, crazy. Still, she knew she couldn’t tell him no. ...

My name is Patty. I’m a security guard at the local museum, and this is what I do for a living. Every morning I wake up at seven and take a shower. Breakfast is next, followed by getting dressed. Slacks, shirt, uniform. I get in the car and drive to work, clock in, and get my gear. Then, at nine, I start my rounds, going through the museum a floor at a time. At five, I help close the building and head home. Dinner, a movie, whatever I feel like doing at the time, and then to bed at ten. I’ve been doing this for ten years. Sounds boring, but it’s not. Why? I’m in charge of the two living mummies interred here. ...

Sue checked that she had everything she would need. This was going to be her toughest ever challenge, and she knew she had only two days to succeed. After that, it didn’t bear thinking about. She had booked the cottage in the middle of nowhere deliberately. There were no neighbours, no street lights, and the roads were hardly more than dirt tracks that had seen few cars in a long time. ...

“Faster Maggot!” the voice boomed over the loud speaker. Sarah picked up another rock and loaded it onto the cart beside her. The crack of a whip sounded off in the distance encouraging her to continue her work at a brisk pace. As long as it was not her back getting the whip, she felt somewhat safe. Sarah picked up the handle of the cart and began to pull it as fast has her shackled bare feet would allow. This was her lot in life for the next thirty days. The judge had sentenced her to hard labor for her wrong doings. ...

continued from part 1 Part 2 The questions about her situation four people could answer. These being the owners of the ‘Western Approaches Society’ a secret organisation that few people apart from their many customers for custom built bondage furniture knew about. So imagine Barry McIvor’s surprise when their company secretary, Moira, had told her boss a week ago that she’d discovered an amazing girl right here on the island, showing them Jesse’s diary. “To think that pretty lassie assumed that I could earn enough running the B&B rather than what we do here, nor the boat to keep you and the boys solvent. It was bloody hard not to show I knew exactly what she was doing. Just managed to bluff it. Honestly, kids these days are so gullible. But Barry, she alone found the cage, tested it… and to be honest I think she’s got the sort of attitude we could do something with. She’s got one heck of an imagination too. No way are your standard cages anything like the old one Graham had in the Smithy. If I’d known it, and all the other stuff was there then we could have got the Society some serious cash. The average ‘dom’ would love something like this. Billy pet, how’s she doing in there?” ...

continued from part 1 Part 2 The questions about her situation four people could answer. These being the owners of the ‘Western Approaches Society’ a secret organisation that few people apart from their many customers for custom built bondage furniture knew about. So imagine Barry McIvor’s surprise when their company secretary, Moira, had told her boss a week ago that she’d discovered an amazing girl right here on the island, showing them Jesse’s diary. “To think that pretty lassie assumed that I could earn enough running the B&B rather than what we do here, nor the boat to keep you and the boys solvent. It was bloody hard not to show I knew exactly what she was doing. Just managed to bluff it. Honestly, kids these days are so gullible. But Barry, she alone found the cage, tested it… and to be honest I think she’s got the sort of attitude we could do something with. She’s got one heck of an imagination too. No way are your standard cages anything like the old one Graham had in the Smithy. If I’d known it, and all the other stuff was there then we could have got the Society some serious cash. The average ‘dom’ would love something like this. Billy pet, how’s she doing in there?” ...

“Eighteen!” You wait impatiently for the family servant to enter. Once he does, you notice that from his body language, he isn’t in a very good mood. Beneath the PVC bodysuit, his shoulders are slumped over, as his head. But with it encased inside a steel helmet, you can’t actually see his face and know what he looks like. But you, quite frankly, don’t care. You have other things to worry about. “Is my appointment for dinner set yet?” Eighteen Twenty Five (your family calls him eighteen for short), shakes his head. “You idiot!” You yell. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to reserve seats this late? Cheryl and I are never going to get there in time!” Furious, you stomp to your feet, walk over, and slam a steel paddle across his buttocks. He flinches, probably yelling, but that permanently installed gag silences him. Pulling out a pair of handcuffs, you yank his arms behind his back and cuff them in place, making sure the cuffs dig into his wrists ever so slightly. He’ll have all day to think about his impotence. “Get out of my sight.” Eighteen submissively leaves. You wonder just what the hell is wrong with him. You were looking forward to that dinner with your best friend tonight, but it appears that things are going to have to be rescheduled. Growling, you gather your car keys and lipstick. Even if Eighteen is feeling down, he doesn’t have any right to sulk. His masters expect him to carry out their every wish, no matter how he feels. Besides, whatever he did before becoming a domestic servant for life was no doubt awful. He earned this job, and he has no right to complain. Your cell phone rings. You hope its Cheryl, but groan when you see your father’s number on the display screen. “What is it daddy? I’m very busy right now.” “Samantha, where are you?!” “At home, but I’m about to go get my nails done.” “No you’re not! You need to be over here right now! The hearing is going to begin in an hour!” Confused, you glance at the calendar. Oh yes, the sentencing part of your trial is set for today. In between scheduling perm appointments, shopping sprees, and girl’s night outs, you had forgotten. But seeing it now, you groan again. No doubt that high strung judge is going to give you community service. The thought of walking around on the side of highways, getting your nails dirty is enough to give you shudders. “Can’t you pull some strings daddy? I have a lot to do today.” “Samantha McClintock!” Your father’s voice is enraged, and it’s enough to make you stop. You’ve never heard him this angry. “I’ve already pulled enough favors to make the courts as lenient as I can, and this is how you thank me? Your trial is going to end today, and you have to be here! Or God help me, I will not bail you out again! Is that understood?!” You’re strongly tempted to just blow it off, but if daddy is this angry now, how much more angry would he be if you were late? Sighing, you roll your eyes. “All right daddy. I’ll be right over.” “You’d better be.” You hang up before he can unleash another lecture about responsibility and consequences. You’re in no mood to hear any more of those. You get dressed, pulling on your fanciest, most expensive clothes, dressing up. If you’re going to be stuck in some dinky courtroom for the next few hours, you might as well make a fashion statement. No doubt bright colors and heavy makeup would go against the dress code, but you don’t care. After all, you have daddy on hand to bail you out if things get really bad. Putting on a fur coat, you call out, “Eighteen!” Eighteen walked into the room. He’s still slumped over, but there’s a hesitation in his movements. No doubt he’s afraid of whatever you’re going to be demanding of him. “I have an appointment at the courthouse,” You walk over, unlock his chains. “Drive me there.” *** The drive itself takes longer then expected, due to heavy traffic. You look at all the other cars, see that half of them are being driven by other domestic servants, all dressed in many different ways, but all wear the same helmets that completely enclose their heads, making it impossible to see who they are. You wonder if perhaps they’re driving slowly on purpose, just to irritate their masters. “Eighteen, hurry up! We’re going to be late!” Eighteen nods, tries to drive faster. But he can’t do much with the traffic as thick as it is. Glancing at your expensive wrist watch, you’re annoyed to see that you have just twenty minutes to get there, and the court is at least half an hour away. “Eighteen, I don’t care what you have to do, get us through this traffic! I don’t care if you have to drive over other people’s cars, just do it!” Eighteen hesitates. No doubt he’s fearful of what could happen if he speeds up and get caught, but you’re not in the mood to care. You have an appointment to get to, and by god, you’re going to make it. You unbuckle your seat belt and scramble to the front of the limo. “Out of the seat eighteen! You’re too slow to drive!” You barely give him enough time to unbuckle his seat belt before you shove him aside, grab the wheel, and gun the engine. The limo takes off, slamming into cars and shoving them aside. Almost immediately, horns blare, but you ignore them. More important matters are at stake! “Idiot!” You yell to one car that refuses to get out of the way. In defiance, you hit him in the trunk, finally getting enough room to squeeze past. Reaching the off ramp, you cut off a few slower drivers and press onwards, ignoring the horns and the yelled obscenities. They’re all beneath you anyway. It takes some more frantic driving, as well as a few ignored red lights, but you finally reach the court, park, and get out, straightening your coat and hat. You can’t afford to look unfashionable or dirty. That would be just wrong. “Stay here,” You tell Eighteen, locking the car. You walk to the building and head inside, ignoring the stares of the building’s occupants. All that matters right now is that damn court and getting this over with. You pull out your PDA and look at the calendar, hoping that whatever community service you’re given doesn’t interfere with all your parties and important events. You finally reach the courtroom and walk in. The judge is there, along with your parents, and a few guards. They all look unhappy to see you. Glancing at the clock, you see why. Despite your frantic driving, you’re still ten minutes late. “Sorry,” you say in your most chipper voice. “Sorry everyone. Traffic was so bad, I like, thought I would never get here!” Your father is almost red, seeing what you’re dressed in. But he can shove it for all you care. After all, he raised his voice against you! “Samantha McClintock, please step forward,” the judge says. She doesn’t sound happy. You walk out and stand before the judge, wondering how long this is going to take. “Can we hurry this up?” You ask. “I’ve got a hair appointment in an hour.” The judge glares at you. “Young lady, do you even realize the magnitude of why you’re here? You’re on your third strike.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Listen, can you go ahead and give me my community service? I’d rather not be here.” The judge pulls out a stack of papers. You groan. No doubt she’s going to try and intimidate you by reading how grave the implications of this are. “Samantha McClintock, twenty five years old, daughter of famed billionaire Jon McClintock, and already you have a long history of run ins with the law. Numerous citations of disorderly conduct, appearances in public while drunk, resisting arrest, being rude to law enforcement officials, and numerous speeding tickets.” You roll your eyes. So what if you’ve gotten into some trouble? It’s all in the name of having a good time, after all. “It appears to me that you have no respect for authority, or the law. And…Mrs. McClintock, will you please pay attention!” You glance up from your little mirror, putting away the lipstick. “Yeah, what?” “Young lady, I can have you arrested in contempt of court. Now pay attention, or I’ll put you in jail for a month, is that clear?” You roll your eyes, making sure she can see you do it. “Fine.” The judge glares at you. “It’s clear to me that, by all appearances, you’re a spoiled little brat who deserves what’s coming to her. Now, with the three strikes law in effect, I could have you put away for twenty five years to life.” “For some traffic tickets?! Come on lady!” “I am referring to your drunk driving records. You’ve injured many people, and so far your father’s lawyers have managed to keep you out of jail.” You smile. “But not this time. Now, this is your last chance, because if you get another felony or another strike, you’re going to prison for a very long time. For this period, I will give you five hundred hours of community service, to be spent picking up trash along freeways and highways. This case is…” She’s about to bring the gavel down when an officer runs in the court. “Yes?” The officer glares at you. “We’ve gotten reports that that woman’s limo sped through traffic and caused some serious injuries. And we have the video camera footage to prove it.” The judge glares at you. “Hey, like, I had to get here, otherwise I was going to be late,” you say. “So I had to speed up a bit.” The judge shakes her head. “I pity you Samantha. I think your father’s money has gone to your head. You think you can do whatever you want and get away with it. But not this time. You’ve proven that you just don’t care about society’s laws or rules. And if you will not abide by our rules, then society will kick you out. Because of the three strikes law, I hereby sentence you to life in prison with no possibility of parole.” She bangs the gavel. “This court is adjured.” Your knees buckle, and your heart stops for a few moments. Life in prison? Maybe you didn’t hear her right. Maybe your ears are clogged with wax, because there’s no way she could have just sentenced you to spend the rest of your life behind bars. The sight of the guards coming towards you, ready for a fight, only confirms that this is really happening. “Get your hands off me!” You scream, trying to knock them away. “Get off me!” But they easily overpower you, and drag you away from the podium, and towards a small door near the back, the one that guards drag defendants through when they’re heading for prison. Your parents are sobbing, both stunned at what’s just happened. You yell out at them for help, begging them to come and get you out of here. But it seems that, for once, your daddy’s deep pockets can’t help you. Then they’re gone, as you’re shoved through the door. The other side is a world you’ve never known. It’s cold and bare, with white walls and no decorations, with only the flimsiest, most bare furnishings. You can hear weeping and sobbing from behind some the doors in this hallway, but you’re too startled to really pay attention. The shock is insulating you from the reality of what’s happening, but even then, you can barely operate, and the guards have to practically drag you around. You’re taken to a side room, which one of the guards unlocks. It’s bare inside, save for a few benches and a few O rings bolted to the floor. The door is locked behind you all. “Strip down,” one of the guards says. “Excuse me? No way in hell!” You spit. “Strip down, or we will force you to.” “You can’t do anything!” You yell. “My daddy will get you all! I know my rights!” “Missy, you don’t have any rights now. And your father can’t help you. Now strip.” You spit at the guards. “Fuck you!” They come at you, start yanking your clothes off. You struggle, scream, try to bite them, even moreso when they yank off all your fancy clothes, toss your purse across the room, careless of the expensive phone and perfume inside. The beautiful shirt and dress you’ve been so proud of, is casually torn off like tissue paper, leaving you naked. “Damn you!” You scream. They take a dark blue jumpsuit and force you into it, zipping it shut. “Now we can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” the chief guard says. “It’s your choice honey. We can use handcuffs, but if you resist, we’ll have to use tighter restraints. Even though the four of them are holding you down, you don’t give a damn about what they’re saying. You want to bite them. One of the guards leans too close, and you do exactly that. “All right, get the jacket and a muzzle,” the chief guard says. “We’ve got a biter.” A straightjacket, thick and white, is brought in. Upon seeing it, you go utterly ballistic. The cold, hard reality of your helplessness hammers home as it’s forced around your body, your arms going into the closed sleeves. Your upper body is forced up, and then your arms are grabbed and forced into a loop on your chest, then buckled down tightly behind you. You frantically struggle, thrashing your arms even as the straps are tightened down, and the crotch straps threaded through your groin. “No, no, no no!” You scream. It’s the last words you give before a muzzle is produced with a built in gag. It’s forced into your mouth, going over your tongue and to the very back of your throat. As it’s tightened around the back of your head, you try to scream, but the muzzle and gag work together to plug your mouth. Leg cuffs are latched around your ankles, so as to stop your struggles. You’re lifted to your feet and forced out of the cell, the remains of your former life lying in tatters on the floor. You struggle against the jacket, fighting it, but it mercilessly holds you, containing your body effortlessly. You can barely walk as it is. When you reach the end of the hallway, the double doors are opened, and a large prison van is waiting, other restrained prisoners being put on board. “No!” You try to scream. “No, this isn’t fair! This isn’t fair!” Nobody can hear you. And they wouldn’t care if they could. You’re marched up to the bus, then put onboard, forced into a seat, and chains shackle you to the floor of the bus. The bus drives away from the court, taking you away. *** The ride to prison is the most terrifying ride you’ve ever taken. You’re trapped in your seat, unable to move, unable to have any say in what’s happening. You can’t even talk. You no longer struggle against the hold of the jacket and the cuffs. You’re too emotionally drained to do so. The scenery outside the windows change from the towers of the city, to the houses of the suburbs, and then the hills and flat plains of the desert. The heat inside the bus begins to rise, and your thick jacket doesn’t make things any easier. You want to ask for water, for anything to quench your rising thirst, but you can only mumble with the thick gag. The bus turns a corner, and you see your new home…a giant, concrete prison that stands in the center of the desert. It looks like hell on earth. You sweat, shaking as the bus passes through the multiple gates, before being swallowed up into the complex. As the bus comes to a stop, guards file into the bus, unlatching your fellow prisoners from the seats and escorting them off. You’re the last one. When they unlatch the chains holding you to the floor, you try to kick them. While emotionally drained, you’re still angry enough to fight, no matter how useless it is. The guards don’t take kindly to that. You can’t hit them, considering that your ankles are shackled together, and to punish you, they handle you roughly as you’re forced off the bus. Entering through several checkpoints, you hear distant shouts and yells. The air reeks of despair and helplessness. Ahead of you, the other prisoners are being sent through X-rays, strip searched, and then being issued prison uniforms. The thought of being stripped naked and having a complete stranger grope your most private parts makes you shudder with disgust. But after you pass through the X-ray, the guards direct you away from the others and through a side door. Despite your fear, your pounding heart slows. You’re curious about what’s happening. You’re taken into what looks like an operating room. And before you can try to figure out what’s going on, your gag and muzzle is removed, only to be immediately replaced with a clear mask held over your mouth and nose. “What are you doing you bastards?!” You yell. “Watch it, she’s a bitter,” A guard says. “Turn up the gas.” “Let me go! Let me…go…le…” Your protests are silenced as a sudden, unstoppable fatigue slips over you. Legs buckling, you helplessly fall to the floor, unable to stand. You hit hard, unable to use your arms to stop your fall. It hurts, but the pain quickly vanishes as you’re overcome with darkness and silence. *** When you wake, things are different. Blinking, you look around. You’re in a cell. Your jumpsuit is gone, as is your straitjacket. For that alone, you’re relieved. In their place are cuffs around your ankles, a belt around your waist, with your cuffed hands locked to them. Thankfully, you’re not naked, nor are there any signs that you’ve been taken advantage of. You’re wearing a skin tight body suit, but the fabric is unfamiliar to you. It’s like spandex, only heavier, yet tighter. You try to stand. With your arms restrained, it’s difficult. As you try to rise, a pounding headache slams into you. There’s a mirror on one side of the wall. Glancing at it, you see a bandage on your head, which no longer has any hair. “My hair!” You shriek. You beautiful, beautiful hair, which you’ve spent hours keeping clean and pretty (thanks to hundreds of dollars from daddy’s pocket), is now gone. “You bastards! What did you do to my hair!” “Shut up lady!” An unseen voice says. “No! I won’t! Why did you take my hair?!” A bored guard comes up to the door of your cell. “Because you’re not supposed to have any. Now shut up, or I’ll have you gagged and jacketed again, only the jacket’s twice as tight as before.” “You can’t do that!” He smiles. “Lady, you got no rights no more. I can do anything I want to you, and nobody’s going to care. I could put you in solitary, blindfolded, for ten years, and nobody would question it. You want that?” You go silent. “Didn’t think so. Now shut your pot hole, and stay quiet.” He walks away, leaving you in your cell. The next several hours go by torturously slow. With no clock to tell you the time, and no windows to hint where the sun is, you’re stuck in the room with nothing to do, and with no idea on how you can possibly adapt to this. Lying on your bunk, you try to think back to what you know about prison. Given your privileged upbringing, it’s not much. You know that since the crime waves the mid century, the system in place is harsher on those who commit crimes. Parole is virtually unheard of. Prisoners spend almost all of their time in restraints while behind bars. A few end up as indentured servants for life, like eighteen at home. Looking down at your shackles, you’re terrified at the idea of wearing them for the rest of your life. But then again, is that really going to happen? Your daddy is surely doing everything he can to get you out. His billions will get you out of here, and you can go home, and forget about this horrible place. But what if that doesn’t work? The thought is only brief, but horrifying. If daddy can’t get you out of here, then you really will be stuck here…for life. Life…to stay here for the rest of your life until you die. The thought terrifies you. *** Time passes slowly. You sleep a few times, but for the most part, you have no idea how long you stay in the cell. It could be several hours, or several days. Others are brought in, getting their own cells across the hall from you, and like you, they’re dressed in the bodysuits, and chained up in a similar fashion. It appears that for whatever reason, whoever is in charge is waiting until there are a sufficient number of you before moving on. Finally, after one last individual is brought in, guards enter the hall, three to each door. You watch as the cell door slides open, but you don’t try to fight. The restraints alone that make impossible, but you can’t fight your way past three guards. So, biting your lip you let them grab your shoulders and march you out of the cell. You’re marched down the hall and out, into what appears to be a classroom…only this room has desks that are bolted to the floor, and there are no decorations, only harsh lights hanging from the ceiling. You’re taken to a desk, where several belts are strapped across your body, lashing you to the chair. You bite your lip as the belts are tightened, vowing that no matter what it takes, you’ll make these guards pay for this indignity. When you’re lashed down, as are your fellow inmates, the guards go the side of the room and wait. The door opens a short time later, and a man walks in. He’s dressed in a fancy uniform, and regards all of you. You can’t help but notice that he’s carrying a briefcase at his side. “I am the warden of this facility,” he says. “And I’m here to tell you that you are all no longer people. You are criminals, the scum and trash of society.” He puts the briefcase on the desk. “You are all here because of your criminal actions, and all of you have been given life sentences. But because our prison system is ever evolving, and ever adapting to protect the citizens of this country from the filth in the streets, you are all the latest volunteers for an experiment.” “You might as well not even bother,” you say. The warden looks at you. “And why is that?” “Because whatever it is, my father’s going to find out about it, and he’ll take care of you.” The threat however, doesn’t intimidate the warden. To your amazement, he actually smiles. “A little daddy’s girl, aren’t we? Missy, your father can’t help you anymore. You’re never going to see him again. You’re here for life, and there is no escaping it. So just accept it.” “Accept it? Accept it?! I’m only twenty five! I can’t be here for life! That’s unfair!” “Society putting up with you for as long as it did is unfair.” “You bastard! I won’t…” “You won’t do a thing, except comply with our orders. Do so, and you will be rewarded. Fail to do so, and you will be punished.” He opens the briefcase. “When you were all brought here, you were put under using anesthesia. The next thing you knew, you woke up in your cells. During that time you were asleep, our surgical team here did a minor operation on your brain, and implanted a small stimulator deep inside it.” He holds up a remote control. “Normally, each device is controlled separately, but they can also be linked together, so that one remote can control several at once. These implants control both the pleasure…” He presses a button, and you suddenly feel euphoric. Pleasure flows through you, overtaking every essence of your being, making you moan involuntarily, shaking and shuddering against your restraints, your body going out of control. Then, a second later, it stops. You go still, immediately disappointed, wanting the pleasure to come back. “And the pain receptors of your brain.” The man presses another button on the remote, and a second later your body suddenly goes taut with pain. Your nerves scream as fire seems to sear them, and it feels like knives begin jabbing you. You scream, thrashing in your restraints, your voice joining the howls of the others as they writhe in agony. A moment later, and it stops. Panting, wheezing, you look up at the warden, and the remote he’s holding. “We have learned that no matter how hard we try, we cannot create a system that rehabilitates all people. But we did discover that we can modify an individual via pleasure and pain, the two most basic senses of the human mind. The concept is very simple. You do as you are told, and you will be rewarded.” He presses a green button, and the wonderful feeling of euphoria comes back. But it only lasts for a moment, before the high wears off, and you’re left in your chair, feeling horribly neutral. “Disobey, and you will be punished.” He touches the red button ever so slightly, and a jolt of pain goes through you. But it’s over before you can even flinch. “This system works on everyone, no matter their deposition, personality, or individual willpower. Drug dealers, murderers, child rapists, all are helpless before the powers of bliss and despair. They can fight, and hold off as long as they can, but it is inevitable that they eventually become putty that we can shape as we please.” He looks at all of you. “While you all will serve out your life sentences here, you will do so as part of this program, for we want to see exactly how far we can go with it. Just how much can we do when reprogramming someone? We will find out with all of you. Some of you will be programmed to act like dogs. Others will be trained to enjoy being used as a punching bag. Others…” He looks right at you. “Will be programmed to accept staying locked up and isolated with no human contact, where even the slightest whimper will bring pain.” “Bullshit!” You cry out. “That’s bullshit! This is evil! You’re evil!” “My, my, you’re a feisty one. But all animals can be tamed, even the brats and brutes of the world.” “I’m not an animal! I’m not!” “Your behavior suggests otherwise.” “Damn you! Damn…” He holds up the controller and presses the red button. Pain surges through you. You scream and thrash, trying to escape it, but there is no escape. The burning hot pain claws and rips into every inch of your body. It lasts for thirty agonizing seconds. When it finally subsides, you collapse into the restraints, unable to hold yourself up. You can’t even look up as the man looks to the other inmates. “A prime example of what you will all go through. You will all know pain and pleasure as we program you. Obey the rules, follow orders, and you will know pleasure. Those who resist, and who break the rules…Well, you’re only just hurting yourself.” You can barely look up at him as the man puts the remote back in the briefcase. “Prepare them.” *** No sooner does the warden leave then you start to fight, struggling as the guards undo the belts holding you down. With the cuffs, you can’t do anything, but you still struggle, refusing to accept your fate. The idea of what they’re going to do with you is too terrifying, too horrible to think. Reprogramming? They’re going to warp your mind, turn you into a zombie. You wail as they drag you out of the room. You’re taken, along with all the others, to what looks like a large surgical room with dozens of tables. Upon each table is a black leather sleep sack with many belts, straps, and buckles. You realize what’s going to happen, but there’s nothing you can do about it. The guards take you to one of the tables and pick you up, forcing you down onto it, and holding you there as they take the sleep sack and unfold it. The inside has internal sleeves for your arms and legs, meaning that once you’re in it, and it’s closed, you’ll be completely helpless and at their mercy. “No!” You scream as your ankles are released from the cuffs, and then forced into the sack. “No, no, no!” With your legs in place, the guards go for your wrists. They’re unlocked from the cuffs, and the belt taken off your waist. Before you can punch them, or rake their faces, they grab hold of your arms. Even with adrenaline flowing through you, you can’t resist them as they force your arms down, and slid them into the sleeves of the sack. You can only watch as they pull the zipper down the length of the sack, closing it, and tightening it around your body. When it’s put in place at your throat, the guards then take the straps sewn into the sack and buckle them together, cinching them down, and tightening the sack even further, compressing it around you. “No! Let me out!” You struggle and squirm, but the sack holds you tightly, refusing to give. “Let me go!” Your yells are met by the guards smug grins, and the weeping and sobbing of your fellow lifers. You look down at yourself and continue to struggle, unable to believe that this is happening, that your body is locked inside this sleep sack, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing you can do to get out. You’re so focused on the sack that you don’t see the guards pulling out a thick muzzle, and a matching hood. “Wait.” You turn at hearing the voice. It’s the warden, and he walks up to you. His eyes drift over your tightly restrained form, admiring your helplessness, the fact that he can do whatever he wants, and you’re helpless to stop him. “I’d like to talk this one before you do that.” Only then do you look up and see the hood and muzzle, your heart skipping a beat. How much worse can this possibly get? “You know, eventually, after we train you all to do what we want, you’ll eventually be shipped off to brothels,” the warden says. “A far better way to serve society as part of your punishment. Now, you’ll be going there as well, but first, you’re going to do something for me.” “Screw you!” You shout. The main raises the remote, and your anger is tempered by fear. “You’re learning quickly,” he says. “Now, I can’t stand rich, spoiled brats like you. You don’t care about anyone but yourself, and I think that earns you some extra punishment on top of your sentence. But then again, I’m something of a gambling man. I like wagers, so I’d like to offer you one.” You glare at him. “I’ll make you a deal. I have a cell phone with me that I can use to call your father. If you can convince him to pull some strings, then you’ll go to the brothel for the rest of your life, like all the rest.” “Why the hell would I want to do that?” “Because if he doesn’t help you, I transfer you to the private cell block, where special inmates are kept. You’ll be trained to be my little love toy, programmed to accept whatever I put into you without hesitation…as well as being kept in isolation for weeks, if not months, or even years at a time, with virtually no human contact.” He smiles as he rubs the remote. “Such a delicious idea, no? Of course, you’d be sent to the brothels eventually, after I program you to be totally docile and obedient.” He takes out the phone. “Now, what’s your daddy’s number?” It’s an impossible choice. The consequences of what happens if your father refuses to help are too severe to contemplate. That, and knowing that if you refuse, the warden can just take you to the private block anyway means you’re in a loose - loose situation. There really is no choice. You tell him the number. And as he dials, you try to keep up a brave face, but inside, you’re squirming. After all, Daddy loves you. He’ll get you out of this. He’s always stepped in to get you out of a tight spot. There’s no reason to believe he won’t do the same here. With the numbers dialed, the warden holds the phone up to your ear. As it rings, you look over, see your fellow lifers getting the hoods and muzzled strapped on, then carried away to god knows where. Your stomach turns. The phone clicks as it’s picked up. “Hello?” Hope surges through you. “Daddy! It’s me!” There’s no reply. “Daddy? It’s me!” This time there’s a reply, but it’s slow and cautious. “Samantha?” “Daddy, I need your help! These people, they’re doing terrible things to me! You have to get me out of here!” Your daddy waits for several seconds before replying. “Samantha, I’m not helping you.” It’s a moment before you can speak. “What?” “Samantha, you’ve always counted on me to bail you out. But I won’t. Not this time.” “Daddy…” “I won’t bail you out. Do you really think you can get away with this?” “But you have money! You can make it work!” “Money can’t buy anything. I wish it brought me a daughter who wasn’t a spoiled brat.” Your mouth goes dry as you stare at the phone, suddenly unable to speak. “I’m done with you Samantha. I’m so sick and tired of you relying on me for everything. I’m done. Accept your punishment and be a woman, not a crybaby.” He pauses. “I love you Samantha, but I won’t help you. Goodbye.” The line goes dead. You stare at the phone for the longest time, before the warden pulls it away. “Too bad,” he says. “Looks like I win the bet.” He leans in closely. “Your daddy has abandoned you. He’s gone. He’s never coming back. And you’re now alone, in a world that doesn’t care about you.” The guards move towards you with the hood and the muzzle. “Your old life is gone. The rich, spoiled brat is no more. Now you’re nothing.” He presses a finger onto your sack. “You’re mine.” Turning, the warden walks away. “Take her to the private block when you’re done,” he tells the guards. “I’m going to start training her tonight.” You can only stare numbly at the ceiling. You don’t resist as the guards take the muzzle and force it into your mouth, then buckle it behind your head, silencing you. This is the rest of your life. In this sack, in a cell, in a brothel. No more parties. No more fine food and restaurants. No more clothes shopping, no nail polish or fancy fell phones. The only thing you have to look forward to now is constant confinement and restraint, bare cells and bars, and the knowledge that you will never, ever be released. This is a life sentence. As the hood is brought over your head, you sob. Then the hood is on, and is locked in place. And everything is dark. ...

Authors note: This is a very dangerous and stupid thing to do in real life, please be careful what your fantasy life leads you to, in reality. Remember safety first, so be careful always and enjoy. S M Ackerman. Coal Faced. I suppose there must be the obligatory who am I bit! I am tall, slim, blond, gorgeous, sexy, attractive, irresistible and female!!! No I’m only kidding! I am female, and I suppose reasonably attractive, being slightly built, but with little but cute chest. I have nice long wavy hair and longish legs. I hope that will do, so to my story. ...

It was very stormy as the boat crossed towards the Western Isles. On board Jesse Haig was looking forward to a month cycling and camping the length of the Scottish islands. A stunning young woman of twenty-two years old, almost Viking in appearance. Think of Hagar’s daughter and you’d get the idea. Thick wavy golden blonde hair, long legs and an athletic body to die for and she’d attracted her fair share of attention since she’d blossomed. Even today while booking her ticket the seller had almost drooled over her. Still a body like hers was a rare sight up here and he’d only been human after all. ...

It was very stormy as the boat crossed towards the Western Isles. On board Jesse Haig was looking forward to a month cycling and camping the length of the Scottish islands. A stunning young woman of twenty-two years old, almost Viking in appearance. Think of Hagar’s daughter and you’d get the idea. Thick wavy golden blonde hair, long legs and an athletic body to die for and she’d attracted her fair share of attention since she’d blossomed. Even today while booking her ticket the seller had almost drooled over her. Still a body like hers was a rare sight up here and he’d only been human after all. ...

Friday evening finally arrived and Sarah couldn’t wait to slough off the stresses of the long week behind her. She looked forward to the first quiet evening alone in weeks; her friends were cast to the four winds with obligations of their own, as well as her parents, enjoying the first day of their vacation. She hadn’t had a boyfriend in some months and was getting accustomed to her sexual liberty, which is why tonight sounded like such a good idea for a little naughty play time. After a quick trip to the bathroom, Sarah peeled off her clothes and enjoyed those first seconds when her naked skin seemed to breathe easier, unconstrained by the elastic and wire of her undergarments. Her clothes lay in an unceremonious heap in front of the hamper and she ran her hands over 36D breasts and hips as if clearing away the last vestiges of the office. She wondered for a moment what her office mates would think if they saw her do what she was planning to do to herself in the next few minutes. Her stomach did a little somersault as the thought freaked her out and aroused her at the same time. Maybe she had been alone too long. Sarah decided it would prudent to make a quick circuit of her apartment and check the curtains and door locks, and of course the stove, even though she hadn’t cooked all day. It made her feel better to check. As she made her inspection, the sound of her bare feet padding along the hard wood floors echoed in her ears, raising her arousal level a touch. She despised shoes and only wore them because everyone else in the world didn’t have the common decency to just simply carpet everything. Oh well, one day they’ll all get it. She always tried to wear as little shoe as possible and would go to work in her thinnest flip-flops if she could. How else could she show off her shapely feet with the fresh pedicure, the new clear polish shining at the tips of her toes? No matter, though, as her impending imprisonment would soon deny her the comfort of clothes, let alone shoes. Tonight, Sarah decided, she would be naked, as a proper prisoner really should be. What jailer would offer criminals such pleasures as covering while enduring confinement? Surely she would not be spared. The thought got her off track and she rested a hand on the wall while she regained her balance, a little flush ran through her. If she didn’t want to pop her cork before play time, she had to get back to business. As she closed the last curtain, she caught a glimpse of pale skin in the hall mirror. Shoulder length dark, cropped hair caressed the top of her shoulders and hazel eyes glared back at her momentarily. Then her gaze dropped to take in the details of the full, supple breasts she viewed in the mirror. She looked at them as if perhaps she had stolen a glance at some other woman’s breasts and admired them lustily. She reached her arms over head and crossed her wrists behind her head, and with a sultry move, gave her hips a little twist. The movement of her body gave her gorgeous soft tits a little sway from side to side and she felt enraptured by their movements as if they had decided to try and tease her on their own. She didn’t know whether to thank Heaven, genetics or perhaps some eros-driven, lightning throwing, shadowy immortal who blessed her only to later pluck her and take her at his whim, but she had quite a voluptuous figure. Again the idea of her plans came front and center into her mind, and she fought off the butterflies. Whatever the source of her curves, she was going to punish her body for being so sexy. She took one more quick glance at her breasts, her nipples starting the harden, thinking she had special plans for those beauties. She took hard, fast steps back to the bedroom, throwing her hips to and fro, making her tits dance and bounce in all directions. She scooped up the luscious orbs in her hands and kneaded them between her fingers, wresting them under control. Her mind again envisioned the jailer, a medieval man-at-arms with crags and wrinkles in his face and rough hewn hands squeezing them mercilessly. She was to be imprisoned, and properly restrained to punish her for her crimes. From the deep, black corner of the closet came her private toy chest, a vault of naughty delights she enjoyed when the time was right. Her bondage would be simple, but restrictive, and if she wanted to escape, she would have to endure a self-imposed torture. Without a moments hesitation, the silver Fury leg shackles with the 12" chain came out of the box and were instinctively snapped around both of her delicate ankles. In fact, it was only after the second bracelet had ratcheted shut as tightly as it would go did Sarah even consider where the keys were. After a quick rummage, she plucked them from the bottom of the box and placed them on the nightstand, easy to pick up, for now, she thought. She admired her shackled feet in the cold steel, alternately pointing her toes in a hard arch and then throwing her legs as wide as she could to relish the feeling of the chain snapping her legs at a hard 12 inches. She wondered to herself why didn’t she wear these more often? Around the house, while watching TV or cleaning? Note to self for later; keep the shackles handy. After the initial rush of the ankle bondage started to wear off, she plucked a neatly wound coil of thin rope from the box. As Sarah unwound the loops, the ends of the rope made a satisfying thud against the floor. Once fully unraveled, she double the rope over evenly, making sure the ends stayed an equal length. When she was left with a small loop in her hand and a new jumble of rope at her feet, she wrapped the doubled rope around the top of her chest, pulling the long ends through the bend, twisting the loop around her body and cinching the rope until two tight cords of rope encircled her chest just above her breasts and the two long ends pulled against the bend behind her back. Keep the tension strong, she wrapped the rope in the opposite direction, running the ends through the new loop in the middle of her back and taking up the slack until two tight cords bit slightly into her skin under her breasts. Her breathing accentuated the grip of the rope-work, and she used this a gauge to keep the tightness even while she threaded the remainder of the long ends through the solid loops in the middle of her back and brought the long ends to the back of her head where she split them, one over each shoulder, and then brought them back together as she ran them under the two pairs of taught rope compressing her chest. Carefully keeping the tension, she wrapped the long ends around the two pairs and when she made one full wrap around them, Sarah pulled the rope tight. The high and low rope came together between her tits in a firm cinch that quickly made her breasts compress where they met her chest and engorge. Her tits were suddenly very full feeling and the skin pulled tight. Her nipples showed their approval. Soon enough my lovelies, she thought. The jailer was feeling particularly cruel tonight. Sarah wrapped the end of the rope a few more times around the middle of the cinch and brought the separate ends over her shoulders and around the back of her neck. She tied the ends in a simple knot and pulled, keeping the tension. Her breasts heaved up and she applied a simple bow to keep them in place. Some of her more expensive bras didn’t give the the lift and separation this simple rig did. Hmmm… how would it look under a shirt? Later, she thought. The jailer felt a crotch rope was in order. Why not watch the prisoner squirm? Sarah wondered if a dildo or one of her little vibrators would be appropriate. No, again no such pleasure for this slut. She’s probably in prison for prostitution, or adultery, why give her any satisfaction? Another coil of thin rope was taken from the box, and like the breast rope started with a doubled length of cord wrapped around her waist and threaded through the bend. The rope burned a little as she pulled it tighter and tighter while centering the bend over the top of her ass. She didn’t get to see as much of her ass as her sexy twins, but she admired its fullness just the same and gave herself a firm whack on the right buttock. She was rewarded with a tasty little delayed sting in her cheek and the pleasure of a titillating jiggle that gave her pussy just a little play. No more of that if I want to get this going, she thought. Again keeping the tension with one hand against the bend in the rope, she reach between her legs and snagged the two dangling ends with two fingers. Once in hand, she pulled the two ends up and under the pair of tight cords just above her mound and took up the slack. She gave each butt cheek a little adjustment to let the rope slide right up into the crack of her ass. With a little more pulling, she could feel rough hemp twine she was using slip in between her pussy lips. Her pussy moistened just a little against the dry rope and it felt as if her labia were gripping the rope themselves. With another tug to give everything a frustrating tightness, she pulled down on the ends of the rope in front of her, pulling her sinister belt into an alluring V-shape, like a bikini. Every little movement was reminder not to move. Catching her breath, Sarah sent the two long ends of the rope back between her legs and scooped them up behind her. Keeping the tightness at cruel levels, she passed the two ends of the rope, one to each hand, around the back of her legs, just under her buttocks and wrapped the single lengths around the tops of her thighs, creating tight loops that gave her ass the same bulging taught sensation as her breasts. Sarah only wrapped the rope once to let the cord bite into her. Pulling the ends tight, she wrapped the ends around to the front and tied the remainder of the ends into a tight knot joining the intersection of her rope bikini. The ends hung down and brushed against her thighs, almost annoying. Good. An involuntary little gasp erupted from Sarah’s throat and it actually startled her a bit. Time to fix that, she thought. Another reach into the box produced a web of thin leather straps with a red rubber ball secured amongst them. As if ordered, Sarah slipped the ball between her lips and forced it between her teeth. As her jaw relaxed into position, she felt how her mouth closed very little and the ball filled the gape of jaw quite tightly. The straps were pulled over her hair and she laughed a little to herself as she realized how the head harness was already well fitted from her last foray. She buckled the strap at the back of her head and pulled the chin straps a notch tighter. The ball suddenly felt as much a part of her head as her tongue or her nose, over which a tight strap met with a single ring that pulled another strap tightly down on her head. She groaned into the gag, as if ordering it to leave, but little more that a grunt at the back of her throat could be heard. And by whom? The gag remained, unrelenting, and no one else would hear her cries. A pair of Fury handcuffs emerged from the box, a matched set to the restraints clinking on her ankles, and Sarah carefully hung them around the intersection the crotch rope made over her ass. The cuffs were pulled up under her waist rope and on either side of the rope emerging from her ass, placed so they could not be pulled one way or the other (unless she wanted cut herself in half. The rope felt like it was half way there already). She sidled her hips from side to side, the crotch rope digging and stroking with each twist. Her breasts shimmied very little this time as the rope that enveloped them pulled them tight and immobile. Her chained feet took tentative steps, each one accompanied by the bite of rope and a tingle of excitement. The handcuffs hanging on her ass bounced and jingled with a little slap with each step she took. The two final items she plucked from the box were a small Velcro cable strap with a plastic loop and a favorite little jewel that she had forsaken for quite some time. Sarah had experimented with and enjoyed, to varying degrees, all sorts of nipple clamps. But hands down, the clover clamps were her favorite. And tonight she would reintroduce herself to them in grand style. They were to be the centerpiece of her bondage, the linchpin from which, if she could not escape, she would be helpless for a long time. She had, during previous self-imposed predicaments, fastened her limbs to various immovable, ensnaring anchor points. But tonight, the jailer was feeling particularly clever and sadistic. She stepped slowly into her bathroom, the final stretch toward her prison. She caught a sudden glance of herself in the mirror. Not at once did she think this silly or dangerous. She felt incredibly aroused, and every curve she relished earlier in the hallway mirror was infinitely more sexy wrapped in tight rope or ringed with metal shackles. Sarah’s heart and stomach were in full flutter, and the bathroom mirror got a full show as she gave all of her trussing a good test to see how well it was enveloping her soft delicate flesh. Her tits barely moved and her crotch rope seemed to find new uncharted depths. The whole rig was maddening, and all Sarah wanted to do was reach under the crotch rope and break the tension, but alas it was too late. Her sentenced had been handed down, the jailer had prepped her incarceration and no governor was calling to grant her a stay of “execution.” She turned and faced her cell, the slim unimposing shower stall that had greeted her first thing every morning. For all the showers she had taken in there, she could never full understand what the little bar embedded in the shower wall was for. Chest height, only an inch or so of clearance from the wall. It was convenient to hang onto for balance occasionally and before she switched to a bath sponge, was suitable for her washcloth. The frosted glass door was a nice touch, and it always closed with a satisfying click. Tonight, that would be the sound of her cage door. Sarah stepped over the threshold of the shower door, and her feet immediately found the cold remnants of her wash this morning. Little puddles all over the floor made her prison that much less inviting (or more?) and the chain of her shackles clacked loudly against the hard plastic of the stall floor. The sound was a constant reminder of her restraints, and the thought that others outside of her cell might hear the noise unsettled her. Again, no matter, there was nothing she could do about it. And what if a fellow apartment dweller came to investigate the sound? What would they find? Sarah suddenly wished she knew her neighbors a little better. The door closed behind her with that satisfying click, as if the door seal that kept water from leaking out of the shower was also sealing her in. Her breath was long and heavy through her nose and the tight coils around her chest continued to constrict. Sarah took the short Velcro cable strap and caught the chain of the clamps within it and then wrapped it around the short bar embedded in the stall wall. The strap ran through the plastic loop on one end and then doubled over on itself to form a strong, tight ring around the bar. She gave the clamps a firm tug and realized how strong Velcro was, the strap did not move. Taking a moment to work a little courage, Sarah centered the the clamps between the strap. With a trembling hand, she leaned in close to the wall and slipped her right nipple between the open jaw of the clamp. She gently released the mechanism and the clamp went from closing around her nipple to squeezing to trying to make the two halves of the jaw touch. God these things are tight, she thought. She made quick work of her left nipple before she chickened out, and with a gentle hand, gave both short chains a quick pull to seal the deal. The clamps dug in and the direct connection she imagined she had from her nipples to her clit kicked in. A dampness was definitely forming between her legs, and a raw sensation against the crotch rope was quickly becoming noticeable. The rush of the pressure on her delicate tips forced a gasp in her throat, and she put her hands against the wall to steady herself. A few tears ran from her eyes as the sexy rush became the sharp ache she was looking for. She came back to earth and realized how close she would have to stand to the wall, even her toes were practically touching the wall. This was going to be precarious. The jailer was growing impatient. The prisoner was nearly fully restrained and ready for her stay. With inelegant gruffness, Sarah’s wrists were swung behind her back, forced into the cuffs, and the cold steel ratchets were clasped shut around them. She gave the the cuffs a test and the pull against her pussy felt very sure. Sarah considered what she just did. The key to those cuffs was a room away, close enough. All she had to do was free herself from the clamps, whose continuous pressure on her nipples seemed to grow more intense every second. A little wave of fear ran through her and she instinctively tried to reach around to free herself from the wall. Her rope work was solid and she rewarded herself with another hard dig against her pussy. A gasp tried to escape through her gag and for the first time tonight, the “mmmph” it created scared her. No one would hear her cries. And no one was coming to rescue her. If Sarah was going to escape, she was going to have endure the torture she imagined for herself. She would have to pull her nipples out of the clamps that tightened the more she pulled or she would be trapped; naked, bound and helpless. ...

continues from part one Part Two The last orgasm took it’s toll and Sarah slumped forward against the wall, mashing her bound breasts against the wall, her nipples still throbbing. As the the waves ebbed, she tried again to grind her pussy into submission and pique its interest, but exhaustion was setting in too quickly and her head became dizzy. Without opening her eyes, she did her best to plant the balls of her feet into a position that would support her while leaning without a lot of effort, but the floor of the shower stall was now quick slick, and her momentary toe holds would quickly give out as her feet would start to slide slowly out from under her. It was becoming an exercise just to keep her legs under her. She had often masturbated right before bed and found a quick rub to be the thing to get her tired and off to dreamland. Now, Sarah had just experienced her third orgasm in succession, and the fatigue that was setting in was overwhelming. She felt as if she would black out. Her knees began to tremble and the power to hold herself against the wall was quickly flowing away. She had to act. With one defiant try, she arched her back slightly and rocked herself away from the cold plastic. Her sway back was abruptly stopped as her tits reached full extension and the chain of the clamps snapped taut. The sensation she experienced with that move was far worse than anything she felt prior to her ecstasy as the surge of adrenaline and dopamine had since subsided. The sudden jolt brought Sarah out of her stupor and an involuntary scream died as a grunt in her throat as the gag continued to keep her silent. The bite of the clamps seemed to escalate with each muffled breath as the pain in her nipples reached heretofore unknown levels. The coils of rope began to rub her raw above and below, as did the cuffs on her wrists and ankles, but the clamps delivered agony an order of magnitude beyond these as the sensation wavered between a fiery sting and a constant, intense ache. She instinctively attempted to bring her arms to the front again and slip the cursed things off, but her wrists, now overly sensitive as they pressed against their snug metal rings, reminder her that there was a specific order to be followed here. Sarah glanced down again at her little captors and fresh warm saliva spilled onto her tits; the lusty, animalistic rush the drooling gave her earlier quickly becoming a humiliating mess she wished she could stop. The clamps stared back at her with a shining silvery wink, unmoved at all from their starting position, as dug in as before. Any remnant of the pleasure she felt a few minutes before was gone, and the real pain she was feeling in her limbs and her stomach, the sticky cold sensation of her natural dew drying on her skin, capped with the sight and agony of her nipples inextricably sealed in the clamps came to a head, and big tears welled up in Sarah’s eyes as sobs arrived uncontrollably in her throat, the sound of them muffled by the gag wedged in her aching jaw only making her feel worse. The tears ran down her cheeks and quickly mingled with the damp glaze on her tits. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the wall, again assuming the balancing dance that the lean incurred. Her chest throbbed and heaved with stuttered gasps as she cried harder, tears streaming from her cheeks directly to the shower floor, landing with hollow little thuds in the silence, broken only by her whimpering. Her watery eyes peered down at her nipples, and the fluttering in her stomach that powered her arousal earlier had returned, accompanied by the sense of hopelessness that drove her fantasy. But this time it came from a feeling of panic and dread. What was she going to do? Even if Sarah had any courage left to pull against her restraints (which was long gone), it didn’t matter if they would not budge from their duty. These clamps seemed as inescapable as her handcuffs or shackles; unyielding, permanent without their keys. The last thought made her stomach do a full flip-flop and the queasy sensation only added to her helplessness. Her eyes welled up again, and just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, a new realization dawned on her. The intense force of her orgasms had been replaced by a slowly building pressure in her bladder. Sarah had to pee. At first, it didn’t seem to be imminent, but her deep sobs had pushed her closer to the edge and the urge to relieve herself, while not immediate, was now constant. She told herself she would not think about it, but that soon became an exercise in futility. The harder she though about it, the more acute the sensation became. She even gave the nipple clamps a good yank to try and distract herself. The shock of pain helped momentarily, but the gasp she produced only added another notch on the pressure gauge. She wondered if she could somehow break or shred her crotch rope with the handcuff chain to try and give herself more movement, but she quickly realized that everything was well beyond that point; her wrists were too far chapped to struggle with, the crotch rope was too soaked through with sweat to tear and shred and if she pulled on it anymore, she would probably just squeeze the urine right out of her. She began to moderate her breathing, slowing it down to try and relax. The clamps kept challenging her calm and any zen she tried to attain met with some distraction. She shifted her weight and brought her feet together, hoping to somehow reinforce the dam. The metal shackles on her ankles clanked against each other and she stood stone still, focusing all of her effort. But her new stance proved flawed as she found she lost her balance faster, and it was only with a quick shift of her feet to a wider stance that she was able to head off the imminent nipple yanking. The chain snapped taut, but only just as she just caught herself, and a high pitched squeak bounced off of the inside of her gag. Legs again spread for balance, Sarah marked time by how much everything hurt now as opposed to some time ago. She had no idea what time it was nor how long she stood in her self-imposed prison. She wondered how much more she could take of this, but quickly shook the thought off as it raised her panic level. There was no end here. She couldn’t imagine dying like this, but how could she go on? This was torture, slow and methodical, and she realized she would probably go crazy before anything else. The thought lingered in her head a moment and the wave of hopelessness she batted down before swelled back up in full force, and tears ran down her cheeks and tits as sobs once again caused her body to convulse uncontrollably. Her stomach had a full stone it it and the movement only highlighted the tenderness of the skin under her bondage. Worse yet, this round of sobs finally force the bladder issue front and center and Sarah felt as if she would burst if she didn’t let it go. Despite every indignity she forced upon herself this night, she winced at the thought of relieving herself in this manner. She never dared considered urinating a part of her sex life, it was something you did after sex, after the knots came loose and the gag popped out, part of the pleasure of release. She could never have imagined being trapped in her own bondage rigging, desperate to relieve herself. But then again she never imagined being trapped quite like this before. Her head turned slightly from side to side and she realized she WAS in a shower, a room with a dedicated floor drain. Where else would a civilized person do such a thing? Then again, what civilized person would be naked, bound, chained, gagged and clamped of their own accord? She pushed these quandaries out of her head and slowed her breathing. She relaxed as much as she could. The stream would simply hit the wall and flow down into the drain, simple. Once she got passed this little obstacle, she could get on with the real problems at hand. Her body relaxed and the first trickle dripped forth. Within a few moments, the trickle became a torrent. But the neat little stream she imagined didn’t take into account the tight cords of rope wrapped around her cunt and legs, forming a web that stood directly in the path of the flow. Urine surged out, sputtering and splattering against the crotch rope, and a spray of warm, acrid secretion gushed out in all directions like a fire sprinkler. A deluge of hot liquid streamed down her legs and pooled around her shackled feet, now covered in a fine mist. Sarah shouted into her gag, as if ordering her bladder to stop out loud. She tried to hold it in and stop the flow, but the urge was too great and she found herself out of control of yet another part of her body. For a moment, the indignity was outmatched by the warm, tingly sense of relief that she so desperately sought and a satisfied hum formed in her throat. The stream seemed to flow for minutes and the bottom of the shower was awash in a pale yellow film that seeped its way to the drain. But the damage was done, and she snapped back to reality as she realized she was soaked from crotch to toe, her legs raw and wet, small drops of urine rolled down her ankles sneaking past the shackles. In fact, she realized, she was soaked top to bottom, her hair was damp with sweat, her face and chest coated in tears and saliva, lubricant and urine from the waist down. She was a mess and her degradation and despair hit a new low. The shower floor was slick and her various effluence commingled into a slimy, unavoidable puddle under her bare feet. She was standing in a toilet and it started to smell that way too. While trying to ease the pressure on her wrists, it occurred to Sarah that to get the key to release herself, she would have to track the “milk” of her travails across her floors and carpets into the bedroom to the nightstand. The thought made her a little angry and she wondered for a moment if she could shower herself off while still bound, another first. While considering the options, her right foot slipped a little from its purchase and she found herself growling into her gag once again, tears flowing from the corners of her clenched eyes, as the clamps, still firmly gripping her tender skin, applied their talents as she slipped down. ...

As college exams were over and most folk would be away on vacation we decided that there would be no UniTies Bondage Club meeting in December. So I organised for some of the girls to come round to my place for the evening for a few pre-Christmas drinks and to indulge in a few tie-up games. Everyone was to bring along as much rope and bondage gear as they could manage – added what I already had that should be enough to keep us entertained for quite a few hours. ...

A Halloween Special 2009 Tale About a mile outside town, set alone atop a wooded hill, stood a haunted house. Everyone knew it was haunted, just as everyone knew that people had gone there before and never been seen again. Nobody actually knew anyone who had vanished there, but everyone knew it had happened. Which is why Gwen’s friends were shocked when she announced that she was going to “set the place up” for some friends visiting from out of town. ...

I had long been a devotee of self-bondage, lacking anyone who would indulge me in the fetish - - for free, that is. (Sure, I could go to a “pro” but I never felt they were in it for the fun rather than the money.) I had bought myself all sorts of toys and used them at home, and, occassionally elsewhere. One that I was particularly proud of was a full set of steel manacles; I bought these from a vendor at a Renaissaince Faire. Swords and armor were his main bill of fare, but I did see a steel collar and so asked him about manacles. He took me into his back room and showed me his work area, and said that this would be no problem for him to make. I told him what I wanted and he took measurements, and told me to come back the next day for the finished product. The next day, I went into the back room and he put them on me, and it was wonderful! So much so that I had an orgasm then and there. He told me that his girlfriend, who worked at the Faire was pretty kinky, and if I wanted to wait until she finished working in three hours, she would lead me around and then out to my car. I couldn’t refuse that, but decided instead to take off the manacles and walk around the Faire, and then return. ...

(story continues from Medieval Dungeon Party Part 3: His Highly-Strung Lordship) Part 4: Trouble for a Little Plucker In medieval times troubadours enlivened many a feast and we had one complete with lute to enliven our Medieval Dungeon Party. However ‘A Wandering Minstrel I’ played once or even twice is acceptable – but sung off-key over and over again accompanied by the plucking of the strings of an out-of-tune lute soon wears down even the hardiest of souls. So it was no surprise that it was not long before others at the party ganged up on our troubadour and he got his come-uppance. Read on. ...

story continues from part two Love through the ages - Part Three Based on an original idea by Wrappers Delight Moss continued onwards down the tunnel, her small flashlight lighting the way. This tunnel was larger then the one she had been crawling through only minutes ago with Jan. She had to pause a moment to wipe the tears that gently ran down her cheek. Looking up, she continued onwards down the tunnel. It had to come out somewhere. She tried to think about what to do after that. This whole operation had gone completely out of control. ...

This story was based of a series of pictures at a Yahoo group (which has, predictably, been deleted), where a woman was locked in a body cage, never to be released. As usual, any comments or critiques are always welcomed. Be warned that this is a grim story, with a not-too-happy ending. “Will you forgive me, my Pharaoh?” “Why should I?” The supreme ruler of all Egypt glared at his queen. “You have betrayed me, violated our sacred vows, and you have destroyed my trust. Why should I forgive you?” ...

Well, it was what I expected, but even more than I expected! I had some time off with pay - - nice, eh? - - so I decided it was time to fulfill a fantasy of going to various cities and participating in bondage nights or dungeon groups. But I first had to show them that I was not one of the “yuppie watchers” but fully into the scene. I had long dreamed of having a complete set of steel manacles and now was the time to act. I found someone a few hours away on the internet who made them, and rather than do it by mail, I wrote and asked if I could come over there and have him measure me and make the manacles while I was there. He said yes, and we made an appointment. ...

The story below came about after I was burgled a week ago, fortunately I had for once remembered to set the alarm before I left, and the police arrived before the dear little turd managed to make his get away with a video recorder, DVD plus a few other thing’s including a pair of leg irons that I must admit took a little explaining to the officer who took my statement, I think I convinced him that I had collected them as a curiosity to hang on the wall, Any way I thought up this story as perhaps my way of dealing with the criminal types, Or do you think I was too hard on him. I wish to thank my friend john for allowing me to try some of the idea’s in this story on him to see if they really worked Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr they did ...

First of all I got dressed for the occasion. Since it was fall and cool, I put on black opaque pantyhose, a black satin mini skirt, and a dark silk jersey turtle-neck top. For shoes, I chose a pair of four-inch high heeled pumps. These had instep straps that would ensure that they would not slip off as I walked. I then drove over across town after sundown and put the keys to my handcuffs and to my legcuffs in a film can and put them at the base of a tree that could be easily identified in the dark. This tree was at the edge of a park. ...

Rebecca sat, leaning against the cold, concrete wall, naked, an iron ring on her wrist, scabby, red rivulets of blood running down her breast. Daniel’s coming! She couldn’t tell is he was hungry or not. Having a ready meal, he was seldom hungry. But she could usually tell if he was. Same way she could tell when he was around. She wasn’t a vampire, had no craving for blood. But since he’d fed on her all these days? weeks?, she’d developed a sense of these things. Perhaps it was backwash. A little bit of him in her. ...

It was very stormy as the boat crossed towards the Western Isles. On board Jesse Haig was looking forward to a month cycling and camping the length of the Scottish islands. A stunning young woman of twenty-two years old, almost Viking in appearance. Think of Hagar’s daughter and you’d get the idea. Thick wavy golden blonde hair, long legs and an athletic body to die for and she’d attracted her fair share of attention since she’d blossomed. Even today while booking her ticket the seller had almost drooled over her. Still a body like hers was a rare sight up here and he’d only been human after all. ...

(story continues from Jesse in Jeopardy) Part 2 The questions about her situation four people could answer. These being the owners of the ‘Western Approaches Society’ a secret organisation that few people apart from their many customers for custom built bondage furniture knew about. So imagine Barry McIvor’s surprise when their company secretary, Moira, had told her boss a week ago that she’d discovered an amazing girl right here on the island, showing them Jesse’s diary. “To think that pretty lassie assumed that I could earn enough running the B&B rather than what we do here, nor the boat to keep you and the boys solvent. It was bloody hard not to show I knew exactly what she was doing. Just managed to bluff it. Honestly, kids these days are so gullible. But Barry, she alone found the cage, tested it… and to be honest I think she’s got the sort of attitude we could do something with. She’s got one heck of an imagination too. No way are your standard cages anything like the old one Graham had in the Smithy. If I’d known it, and all the other stuff was there then we could have got the Society some serious cash. The average ‘dom’ would love something like this. Billy pet, how’s she doing in there?” ...

(story continues from Kira) Part Two “Beautiful, isn’t it?” “Yes, Your Majesty, it is.” Darin frowned. “Your Majesty? So should I call you General?” Kira glanced toward him. “What?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, my mind wasn’t here. And yes, it is very beautiful.” The two rode together through a lightly forested area. Between the trees, wildflowers were in full bloom, filling the air with their color and scent. This ride had been Darin’s idea. Now, looking over at his companion, he wondered if even this scenery could help. ...

Homo erectus H. erectus existed between 1.8 million and 300,000 years ago. Like habilis, the face has protruding jaws with large molars, no chin, thick brow ridges, and a long low skull, with a brain size varying between 750 and 1225 cc. Early erectus specimens average about 900 cc, while late ones have an average of about 1100 cc (Leakey 1994). The skeleton is more robust than those of modern humans, implying greater strength. Body proportions vary; the Turkana Boy is tall and slender (though still extraordinarily strong), like modern humans from the same area, while the few limb bones found of Peking Man indicate a shorter, sturdier build. Study of the Turkana Boy skeleton indicates that erectus may have been more efficient at walking than modern humans, whose skeletons have had to adapt to allow for the birth of larger-brained infants (Willis 1989). Homo habilis and all the australopithecines are found only in Africa, but erectus was wide-ranging, and has been found in Africa, Asia, and Europe. There is evidence that erectus probably used fire, and their stone tools are more sophisticated than those of habilis. ...

Part 1: Punishment for a Sinful Wench I’ve written before about some of the events that we organised in our small private bondage club. When I wrote about our Low Cost Bondage Night I mentioned that earlier we’d had a Medieval Bondage Night. Well Don has convinced me that I should tell you all something about what went on during that memorable evening. I really think that he’s biased, as he and the rest of the menfolk are very proud of the medieval bondage devices they had built for the occasion and think they deserve a mention on the World Wide Web. But the main reason I’m writing this is because it may give some of you out there a few ideas for scenes you can play out. I apologise for concentrating on what happened to me on that night but I promise to write more about a few of the other goings on sometime soon. ...

It had been a slow day at work, but not unusual for a Friday, as people tend to leave any IT problems on Friday afternoon until Monday. Today had been particularly slow at the office. I had given the guys an early afternoon at 16:30 so they had an extra hour for their weekend, and was sat alone in the office just in case a customer phoned in late. I checked my e-mail one last time before closing down the PC’s and doing the rounds, shutting windows and blinds, closing the office doors, quick tidy up of the work bench and then off out the main door setting the alarm and locking the main door. This weekend was a long one as the Monday following was a bank holiday, for which we are closed. I double checked the main door and walked to the car. On the way I heard my phone ping telling me I had a text message. ...

(story continues from The Bones In The Dungeon) Part 2 As a young man Henry had read the book many times, but never the last page as a note inside the cover had warned his great uncle not to do so himself. He had snuck the book away from it’s hiding place and read it often enough that he knew the lusty story start to end, and it had fueled many fantasies back in the day. He thought he had grown out of those desires when he matured, but he always wondered if the magic of the book was as real as his great uncle had feared. ...

(story continues from The Bones In The Dungeon) Part 3 Beth and I hung breast to breast in the chains, and I was shocked to hear both heavy dungeon doors slam and the heavy oak draw bars drop into place trapping us inside and Henry out, even if he hadn’t left the keys in my cell door. We knew from past experiences that the spirits of the castle could close and lock doors anytime they wanted, and usually in a playful way, but this didn’t feel playful to me. ...

(story continues from The Coincidence 3: A Friend) Part Four Chapter 14: Third Wheel The girls had decided to meet next weekend on Saturday evening, and hang out on Sunday as well. Rebecca left this time with her clothes and their keys, saying that she might go to a bar with Richard on Friday, but promising to drive home separately from him to avoid what Tracy called “funny business”. Tracy wondered how Rebecca would lace herself into a corset, but figured that Rebecca would manage something, or just wear one of her catsuits instead. ...

(story continues from The Great Marvolo) Part 2 Author’s Note: Thanks to Jennifer Harrison for her assistance, and for letting me read her great-great grandmother’s diary. When I heard the Inspector say, “You are under arrest” I was momentarily shocked into immobility. Then I jumped to my feet, but before I could move the policeman pulled my arms behind my back and the Inspector locked handcuffs on my wrists. As I was dragged to the door I shouted, “I’m innocent! You must believe that, Lady Agnes!” Then I was hustled outside and down the corridor. If she replied I did not hear her. ...

story continued from chapter two part 2 Chapter II: Married Bliss, Part 3 Author’s note: In the first ‘Perils’ story Rachel’s last name is Browne, so her father’s last name should have been Browne. Instead of referring to my story notes I relied on memory, which never ends well for me, and referred to Rachel’s father as Mr. Meadows in ‘Perils II’. Because it was only mentioned once in the first story, the last name of Rachel and her father will be Meadows. I apologize for any confusion. ...

(story continues from The Secrets of Shackleton Grange 9) Chapter 10: The Hunt Bethany’s return to consciousness coincided with a ripping sound that seemed to have its origins very close at hand. Opening her eyes seemed to make no difference to the overall blackness that pervaded her vision and, not yet fully awake, forgetting the circumstances under which she’d fallen asleep, she panicked momentarily before the memory of where she was suddenly kicked in. The warm body of Cathy pressed hard against her torso, abdomen and legs, and any small movement that she inadvertently made, told her that the stringent crotch rope was still in situ and, judging by the ever so slight but also very real first awakenings of arousal that this engendered, ready to work its magic once more. ...

(story continues from The Secrets of Shackleton Grange 10) Chapter 11: Strung Up, Bogged Down and Hung Out to Dry Bethany reluctantly hobbled away from Cathy as swiftly as her leg-irons would allow, taking the narrow but well defined pathway deeper into the woods. Still shell-shocked from the events of the past twelve hours or so, and with the recent revelation that she was now being held against her will at Shackleton Grange only just beginning to sink in, she had been loath to leave her only ally, but knew that it made sense for them to split up and go their separate ways. ...

(story continues from The Stories of Bound Friends) Part 2: Andrea and the FetFair There is an old saying that you can’t unring a bell. It may be a cliche, but it also happened to be true. For Andrea that bell had been rung two nights ago. She had discovered a side of her she didn’t know existed. A kinky side. And even as the cheap beer flowed and the music pumped in her house full of guests, she found it hard to keep her mind from wandering back there. It was her own party, but she was finding it hard to get into. None of the guys were particularly attractive and few of them she knew since none of them went to her (all girls) school. ...

(story continues from The Stories of Bound Friends 16: Megan and the Benefits of Trust) story continued from part two Part 2.1: Andrea and the FetFair After what seemed like an endless maze of poorly lit hallways, 1461 finally saw signs of life. There were some very bright lights coming in from around the corner, partly illuminating maybe four women dressed as she was separated by several feet. From what little light she had, she could see their neck chains were attached to a small runners on a railing above. Her own handler attached her chain to a similar device several feet behind the last girl. ...

(story continues from The Stories of Bound Friends 2: Andrea and the FetFair) story continued from part two Part 3: Andrea and the Changing Friendship Some people just can’t help but over think, Andrea was not one of those. She was by no means dumb, but she was very good at being able to take things exactly as they appear. This meant that while others might begin to deeply question their decision to start engaging in regular BDSM play sessions with her long time friend Lea, she didn’t. She didn’t see it changing her friendship, she didn’t see it as a change to her sense of self, she saw it for what she felt the face value was. She felt she had a new need (or more accurately a better understanding of an already existing one), this arrangement seemed to satisfy it. She enjoyed it, and it seemed Lea enjoyed it too. That’s as complicated as she felt it needed to be. As she saw it nothing else had to change. ...

The Tales of Sir Dwayne - Kidnap! Lady Birgit, bound to the tree, blindfolded with rough cloth, listened to the muffled squeals of her handmaid and the sound of receding hooves. It was quiet for a long time. She tugged at her bonds to no effect. Then there was a sound - a horse approaching. The sounds of a rider dismounting, walking toward her. She held her breath, too frightened to speak. Had they come back for her? ...

(story continues from The Tales of Sir Dwayne) The Tales of Sir Dwayne - The Lark Dwayne, startled, felt the nick of a blade at his throat. He froze. “What say you that we should relieve you of the whore?” “What say you that I should relieve you of your balls!” Sir Dwayne snarled. That brought a surprised look, then both men burst out laughing. “And how will you accomplish this feat, good knight, with no sword? Will you chew them off?” ...

(story continues from The Tales of Sir Dwayne 2: The Lark) The Tales of Sir Dwayne - 3: The Offer She offered an honor. He honored her offer. And it is was on her and off her all night! Dwayne smiled at the thought. The whore, nee Lady Brigit, trailed along behind, half stumbling, her tattered dress dirtier. It had been a long day; a long, dusty walk. She’d stop a moment, only to be pulled along by her bound wrists. A long, dusty, boring day. And he was in need. He had had no release the prior night. Having the whore had put him into a mind where release was a given. ...

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = Convicted of terrorism, Vicki is sentenced to penal slavery Vicki, a young woman who works for a large department store, figures out a way to bypass the electronic return tags on expensive dresses sold by the store where she works . This allows her to buy dresses on a Friday, wear them to events over the weekend, and return them on Monday. ...

(story continues from Twelve Days a Slave) = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = Convicted of terrorism, Vicki is sentenced to penal slavery Vicki, a young woman who works for a large department store, figures out a way to bypass the electronic return tags on expensive dresses sold by the store where she works . This allows her to buy dresses on a Friday, wear them to events over the weekend, and return them on Monday. ...