|The Secrets of Shackleton Grange|
|by Steve Spandex|
|email@example.com | Forum Feedback|
|© Copyright 2017 - Steve Spandex - Used by permission|
|Storycodes: Solo-F; reporter; newspaper; caught; F+/f; latex; catsuits; drugged; captive; force; bond; harness; gag; hood; party; cage; display; discovery; cons/nc; X||
|The Secrets of Shackleton Grange 17: The Party Steve Spandex Solo-F; reporter; newspaper; caught; F+/f; latex; catsuits; drugged; captive; force; bond; harness; gag; hood; party; cage; display; discovery; cons/nc; X|
|story continued from part 16
Chapter 17: The Party
A short series of slaps to the face was the catalyst that brought Saskia back into consciousness. These blows weren’t particularly hard, but they had the desired effect of forcing her to open her eyes and stare groggily at the person responsible for this assault upon her cheeks. As her eyes regained their focus, they made contact with those of another female only a few inches in front of her. These eyes, however, were about the only feature visible in a face otherwise covered from neck to crown of the head in a vivid pink hood which appeared almost glued to the contours of the wearer’s face. Saskia also received the impression that she was staring upwards at this woman, as if she were laid out on the floor, or maybe a bed. Behind the masked woman, another woman could be viewed, standing only feet away and looking down on the scene before her. She was wearing a bright red cat-suit that was moulded to every curve of her body, and the sight of this vision in crimson brought back to Saskia where she was and what she was doing here, although the exact circumstances of how she’d fallen asleep were a bit hazy.
“Well, Saskia, it looks like we used exactly the right dose of that drug in your tea for our purposes; just enough to knock you out while we got you all kitted out, but not too much so that you’d miss the party. I know you’ll feel a little disorientated for a few minutes, but that will soon pass.”
Saskia tried to sit up, but for some reason her arms didn’t seem to want to follow the instructions sent by her brain. She deduced very quickly, however, that she was no longer in the clothes that she’d been wearing when she arrived at Shackleton Grange. In their place, she seemed to be wearing a figure embracing garment of some description that compressed and constricted her body and limbs, from her ankles up to her neck and down to her wrists. Craning her neck upwards from her horizontal position, and looking down her body, she noticed the outfit was in black, and it quickly became apparent that she had been poured into a latex cat-suit; probably similar to that worn by everyone else she’d so far encountered in this strange house.
But it wasn’t the clothing that she’d been dressed up in whilst she slept that really concerned her now, but the accessories that went with it. For it now became clear that the reason for her arms refusing to function, was that they were pulled tightly behind her back and had then been ensconced in what felt like a single narrow tube of soft yet durable leather, which made it impossible to separate one limb from the other. Even her hands and fingers seemed to have been encased within this debilitating mitten, and at regular intervals up her arms she could feel pressure points, where some agent had been applied to keep them pinned together. Saskia pulled and strained as hard as she could, but quickly realised that she was trapped, and that the tightness that she felt around her wrists, elbows and upper arms was caused by straps used to ensure she couldn’t slip her hands free. And if this wasn’t bad enough, more straps - or what amounted to a body harness, in fact - had been placed around her torso, in order to lash her arms tightly against her back. And just to add insult to injury, it seemed, from the pressure being exerted around her ankles, knees and thighs, that her legs had fared no better than her upper regions when it came to the restraining process.
Twisting and turning in her new found helplessness proved an utterly futile pursuit, and quickly informed her that release was not within her grasp. By now, the pink suited figure had backed away and left the room, leaving only Dolores standing directly in front of Saskia’s prone form; legs apart and hands on hips, a mocking smile etched on her face. Saskia gazed up at her tormentor with wide, disbelieving eyes.
“What have you done to me? Where are my clothes? Let me out of this!”
Dolores sighed and knelt down beside her.
“Well my little amateur detective, it’s like this. You seemed so keen to discover what goes on at Shackleton Grange, that I thought I’d make this a night you won’t forget in a hurry. You see, there’s a world of difference between spectating and actually taking part. You might get some idea of what we do and why we do it if you simply stand on the sidelines and watch others enjoying themselves, but that’s only really informative on an academic level. To get a real insight into bondage - to experience it physically, mentally and emotionally, or perhaps, if you’re lucky, spiritually even - you need to get hands-on and live the lifestyle for a while. So I’ve decided to let you sample the delights for yourself. Hence the outfit and the rather fetching restraints my servants have put you in. You’re very honoured you know. Not many people outside my circle of friends and customers get to witness what you’ll get a chance to experience firsthand tonight.”
Saskia simply couldn’t believe what she was hearing. But as Dolores stood up and walked towards the door, she began bucking and struggling for all she was worth. Okay, so she’d been intrigued to a certain degree as to what all this bondage malarkey was about, but never for a moment had she actually entertained the notion of taking part in any of these perverted activities... especially not from a position of vulnerability where things were completely beyond her control, as they now seemed to be.
As Dolores reached the exit, she turned and, seeing Saskia’s frenzied endeavours, smiled once again.
“I can assure you that all that struggling will come to nothing, and simply tire you out. Just relax and let yourself be engulfed by the sheer enjoyment of your captivity. You never know, you might even grow to like it. I do hope so, as I’m expecting a good write up in your paper. Unfortunately, you won’t be in a position to take down any notes this evening. But I’m sure the night’s events will remain vivid in your memory for many years to come.”
She turned to leave.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and greet my other guests. My girls will finish getting you ready and bring you along to join the party in a short while. I’ll see you later.”
With the Mistress now departed, Saskia was left to her own devices for a few moments, prior to the three servant girls that she’d encountered earlier filing back into the room. During this brief period of solitude, she was able to more closely scrutinise the nature of her attire and the efficiency of the bondage that she’d been subjected to. She now realised that she was lying on soft bedding, with her arms sunk deeply into the pliable mattress beneath her. The rest of the room was sparsely furnished, with only a chair and small bedside table in evidence. Away to her left, heavy curtains had been drawn across the only window, shutting out any natural light; the only illumination being provided by an overhead, unshaded light bulb of low wattage.
Saskia sat up as best she could; not easy with her arms pinioned to her back and the surface on which she lay being so supple and yielding. When she did manage to position herself so that she could gaze down towards her feet, she was greeted by the sight of a shiny black one piece outfit which clung faithfully to the outline of her body and legs. Gazing at her toes, she noticed that these too were enclosed in the same tightly clinging fabric, informing her that the cat-suit was footed.
Over this second skin, however, a network of stringently secured straps encircled and zigzagged their way across her breasts and stomach, culminating in a strategically placed strip of leather that disappeared between her legs and dug deeply into her crotch whenever she made even the slightest movement. Further down, her lower limbs had also fallen foul of this devious plot to ensure she didn’t try to leave, as she counted no less than five severely taut straps ringing her legs from the tops of her thighs, down to her ankles.
Still somewhat groggy from her drug-induced slumbers, Saskia struggled to clear her mind and make sense of this whole situation. It just had to be a joke, right? This Dolores woman had caught her sneaking around her property, had heard her tale of missing women, and had decided to have a joke at her expense. In a few minutes she would walk back through that door, untie her and they’d all have a good laugh at how they’d duped the reporter into thinking that something sinister was taking place here. Or at worst, she would indeed be wheeled out at this party and made fun of by those present, then released once the festivities came to a close.
But what if this wasn’t the case? What if she had been right all along and there really was some truth to the kidnapping theory? She was investigating the disappearance of two women, but had she just inadvertently become statistic number three? The realisation that this could be a possibility caused Saskia to redouble her efforts to free herself from the severely restrictive straps and bondage mitten that held her in check. But as she should already have known, this was never going to meet with any success, and after only a few seconds she resigned herself to the fact that her only way out of this mess was with outside assistance.
So if escape was impossible, then her best bet, she figured, was to try to talk her way out. In other words, negotiate her release. Ideally, it would have been best to reason with Dolores. But as she was no longer around to seek an audience with, her subordinates would have to suffice instead. As if on cue, the three strolled back into the room just as this plan was forming in her head. The snag was that, with the latex masks covering their mouths, they were probably incapable of conversing in the normal manner. But even so, when Saskia began to recite her hastily prepared speech aimed at obtaining an early end to her captivity, they seemed oblivious, or maybe simply unmoved, by her heartfelt plea for leniency. But worse than this, the fact that she could speak and they couldn’t seemed to offend them, and the actions that followed put paid to any future opportunity Saskia might have had of using reason to extricate herself from a situation that was getting more worrying by the second.
At first, Saskia had no conception of what the soft rubber ball was for. Even as one of the mute attendants held this up to within inches of her face, the fact that she was still concentrating all her efforts on convincing the trio to undo the straps and free her arms, consequently meant that she failed to recognise exactly where this spongy sphere was destined to end up. So it wasn’t until the ball actually touched her lips and was thrust into her still speaking mouth, that the penny dropped, and she realised that their mission was to silence her. Once aware of their goal, Saskia resisted as best she could, by clamping her mouth shut and shaking her head from side to side, in an effort to dissuade them from completing their task. But three against one was never good odds, especially when the one was bound and unable to move freely, and within seconds her jaw had been forced open, the tightly squeezed ball rammed into the cavity behind her teeth and her mouth forcibly held shut. With the orb now re-expanded to fill the available space and her tongue pinned to the floor of her mouth, any thoughts of meaningful communication were immediately nullified.
Even so, the women were nothing if not thorough, and whilst two of them held her head still, the third began placing something over her face. The smell of rubber filled Saskia’s nostrils, and everything went dark. Briefly, she assumed that she was being suffocated and panic set in. But after no more than a second or two, her vision returned, as did the ability to breathe through her nostrils. Initially the area around her mouth also seemed to remain free from the taut material that compressed hard against her facial muscles. But this potential outlet, through which she still had hopes of ridding herself of the foul tasting rubber ball, was soon closed off by the drawing of a zip fastener from left to right across her lower face, thus sealing her lips. With her hair being pulled backwards, the claustrophobic head covering was stretched to its limits around her head, and seconds later the sensation of fingers tightening the laces at the back of her skull coincided with the pressure around her temples, cheeks and jaw becoming ever more acute. Saskia screamed for all she was worth, but the ball, plus the layer of latex stretched across her mouth, ensured that the sound which filtered through registered at only a fraction of the decibel level she’d intended. Nor were her words, as she demanded to be released at once, recognisable as any kind of coherent speech.
Saskia’s situation seemed to be getting worse by the minute, and the application of the gag made the hope that this was all just part of a game recede rapidly from her mind. However, for a few seconds now, the actions of the three servant girls gave her some cause for optimism that her ordeal was indeed about to end, although ultimately this was to prove a false dawn.
Pulling the helplessly bound and frightened young journalist up into a sitting position and swinging her trussed legs over the side of the bed, Saskia was overjoyed to watch as the three worked in unison to release the painfully tight strapping that kept her limbs welded together from thigh to ankle. But unfortunately, this brief ray of light in an otherwise extremely bleak state of affairs, was soon shown to be only a brief respite. For the removal of her leg restraints proved to be merely a temporary measure; a necessity whilst this unholy trinity continued their preparations for getting their charge all dolled up and ready for her entrance to the party.
The knee length leather boots into which her feet were now being crammed, fitted even more snugly once they had been securely laced up from calf to ankle. But what blew Saskia’s mind about this alien footwear, was the height of the heels. At around seven or eight inches long, she had never encountered anything so hideously daunting in all her life, and she was certain straight away that walking in these potentially dangerous monstrosities was going to be a nightmare. And so it proved once her three attendants had pulled her to her feet, although the addition of metal cuffs that locked firmly around her ankles and were connected to one another by a stout chain of no more than six inches in length, didn’t exactly help matters in this regard. With her feet almost at right angles to the floor, Saskia teetered and wobbled precariously on these thin stiletto blades, although she took some comfort from the fact that she had three ladies-in-waiting to ensure she didn’t take a nasty tumble. One of the trio was now busy fixing the final addition to her already myriad array of bonds; a leather collar that buckled tightly around her neck, to which was attached a metal chain leash around two feet long. Once this had been fitted, a sharp tug in the region of her throat informed Saskia that she was now being required to move.
Taking tiny steps, not only due to the hobbling effect of the short chain which prohibited a longer stride, but also for fear of twisting an ankle or falling flat on her face, Saskia found herself being led out of the small bedroom and into a narrow, gloomy corridor. From somewhere in the distance, she could now vaguely hear the persistent throb and thump of bass and drums penetrating the walls and floors of this ancient mansion. And as they walked on at a snail’s pace, the music gradually increased in volume, until the entire building seemed to shake and vibrate to the rhythm. The trek that Saskia was now being forced to undertake was not, in truth, a particularly long one, and under normal conditions would probably have been completed in no more than a minute or two. But in her restrained and unsteady state, it seemed to take forever. With her three guards now showing no signs of offering support should she stumble, Saskia’s every step had to be taken with great care and attention. The constant pull on her neck as she was encouraged to keep moving, plus the perilous heels that threatened to give way at any second, meant that she was forced to walk with an unnatural forward stoop for the duration of the journey.
After what seemed like an eternity, the corridor gave way into a marble floored foyer, from which many doors led off on all sides. All were shut save for one, and it was from this direction that the now very loud music emanated. Through the open double doorway, Saskia could see lights flashing in time to the beat. And at the entrance to this vast ballroom stood Dolores, welcoming her guests as they made their way inside. Having just exchanged pleasantries with two women in black spandex outfits, one of whom had her wrists handcuffed behind her back whilst her colleague carried a leather whip, Dolores excused herself and sauntered over to where Saskia still swayed uneasily on her unfamiliar matchstick thin heels. Over the throbbing rhythm, the hostess offered her greetings.
“Ah Saskia, glad you could join us. I must say you do look delightful all suited and booted up like that. I hope that arm-binder is to your liking. Much more comfortable to spend the evening in than rope or handcuffs, wouldn’t you agree?”
She stretched out her hand and ran it slowly across Saskia’s latex covered breasts, causing a shiver to course up the latter’s spine, but a short laugh to spring from the throat of the former.
“Well, do go inside and enjoy yourself. There are plenty of girls here just dying to meet you. Nearly everyone’s dressed up in similar fashion to yourself tonight, and at least fifty percent of them are in some kind of restraint, so you shouldn’t feel too out of place.”
Dolores stood aside and motioned for Saskia to proceed through the doorway, beyond which could be seen a multitude of women in skin-tight costumes and tight bondage. As Saskia was urged forward by her handlers, Dolores delivered one final cryptic remark.
“Oh, I almost forgot. As our guest of honour tonight, I’ve got a little surprise for you later on.”
Entering the closely packed melee, Saskia looked around in wide eyed astonishment at the assembled crowd. There must have been somewhere in the region of two hundred people packed into the room; all females by the looks of it. Strobe lights flashed out across the gathered throng and a disco glitter-ball overhead sent out fractured shafts of coloured light in every conceivable direction; immersing the mass of bodies in a strange kaleidoscope of ever changing tinted patterns. Along one wall, on white clothed tables, a lavish buffet had been laid out, whilst on the opposite side of the room, a bar had been set up, serving alcoholic beverages to the guests.
But as Dolores had already hinted, many of the assembled multitude were incapable of taking in liquid refreshment, as gags of every possible description were in evidence in half of these women’s mouths, and many wore hoods that masked their lower faces or strapping that held their jaws shut. But even if their mouths had been capable of imbibing the free flowing drinks, they would have found holding a glass to their lips impossible, as every one of the silenced women also bore the results of stringent, secure and inescapable bonds that held their arms in check; in most cases behind their backs, except for the few wearing straitjackets – either canvas or leather - whose arms were held across their chests.
But for each of these tied, manacled, trussed and shackled women, there seemed to be a companion who remained unfettered, and who offered her full attention to her bound partner. Many of these couples were dancing to the endless sounds blasting from giant speakers at the far end of the room; the dominant member of the duo ensuring that her companion stayed upright. Others stood around at the periphery of the room, mingling and conversing with other couples. There seemed to be a great deal of hands-on action in evidence, with many of the submissive partners having their bodies stroked, caressed and fondled, or in some cases teased and tormented or even tortured, by those whose hands were free to do such things. And when she gazed around the room, Saskia could see that, far from shying away from these advances, the submissive member of each team appeared to be visibly enjoying the attention she was receiving, or in many cases actively encouraging it. Not only that, but the relationships seemed somewhat fluid, with many of the unbound women willingly allowing others to touch and tantalise their partner. In fact, after a few minutes, Saskia realised that partner swapping was occurring on a regular basis, with only very few of those present remaining with the person with whom they’d initially entered the room.
Still under guard from Dolores’s silver suited helper, Saskia stood on the sidelines watching the unfamiliar antics going on around her for several minutes, as the music pounded and the ever moving horde bobbed and weaved around the room in a perpetually moving random procession of frisky females. It seemed to the watching reporter to be a free-for-all, where anything goes. The one common denominator, aside from the fact that all present were female, was the dress code, which appeared to be figure hugging, contour clinging second skins of latex, spandex, PVC or leather. And the claustrophobic nature of the closely packed partygoers, meant that these swarming skin-tight bodies were becoming ever more sweat soaked in the increasing heat given off by so many excited, writhing young women.
“So Saskia, how are you enjoying the party so far?”
In her bewilderment at the strange events taking place only feet away, together with the throb of the music, Saskia hadn’t been conscious of Dolores’ approach. Now, however, her shouted words were just audible over the endless pulsating beat.
“You seem a little overawed by the nature of what you’re witnessing at the moment, but don’t worry, you’ll soon get used to the way things happen at my parties. As you can see though, everybody’s enjoying themselves... and the evening’s only really just begun. You’ll see in a few hours time that this is nothing compared to the mayhem once the drink and adrenalin really get flowing.”
Momentarily, Dolores turned to hail one of her passing guests, who was leading another bound, gagged and blindfolded female by a chain attached to her neck. Having briefly exchanged pleasantries with the pair, she turned back to Saskia.
“Anyway, I think it’s about time I introduced you to all my friends. After all, if you’re going to be writing a favourable article about us, I want everyone to know who you are, so they can better interact with you. So I’ve arranged a special place for you to observe the proceedings from this evening, where you’ll be able to see everything that’s going on, and all the ladies here will be able to strut their stuff in front of you. Think of it as a bit like having the best seat at Wembley or the Royal Albert Hall.”
Dolores took Saskia by the arm and began leading her across the crowded room. As they manoeuvred between the ever moving throng towards the far end of the ballroom, Saskia noticed for the first time, three cages suspended above the dancing and socialising masses. It soon became obvious that two of these metal barred constructions – which were tubular in shape and measured around six feet in height, with a horizontal diameter of approximately four feet - were each occupied by a cat-suited and bound woman. The third, however – the central one – remained empty. Hanging from the ceiling at approximately five feet above floor level, it was clear that the females who had been ensconced inside these metal prisons were there for the duration of the night, for the purpose of being ogled at, like caged animals in a zoo. One of the women was lying prone on the floor of her cage, unable to stand due to the severe hog-tie that she’d been bound in. Dressed in what looked like a shiny spandex one-piece outfit, her head was more or less invisible beneath a tightly fitting leather hood, although she had been allowed the luxury of watching the proceedings taking place below her through a single slit in the otherwise all-covering headwear that exposed her nose and eyes. The second female was similarly attired, but had been bound upright to a metal pole within her incarceration chamber, so that she was forced to remain in a rigidly vertical stance, gazing out over the festivities taking place only a yard or two away.
Three cages, one unoccupied. It didn’t take Saskia long to suss out who the third of these elevated coops was intended for. As they drew nearer, she watched as the empty pen was lowered by means of a chain and pulley. A signal from Dolores in the direction of the female DJ bought the music to an abrupt halt, just as the cage reached the floor. At that point, a single spotlight fell upon the Mistress and all heads turned in her direction as she began addressing the gathered hordes.
“Welcome, ladies, to the latest BATH night party. I hope you’re all getting in the mood for some serious bondage adventures. As always, feel free – if that’s the right word – to experiment and hone your bondage techniques on whoever you want. And remember, ‘if it isn’t tight, it isn’t right’ ”
An appreciative murmur rippled around the congregation at this point, during which Dolores paused until the hubbub died down.
“But tonight ladies, we are honoured to have a very special guest with us.”
She took Saskia by the shoulder and urged her into the spotlight.
“This is Saskia, a journalist for some local newspaper or other.”
Once again, a low rumble of voices could be heard from all around the room, only this time the sound was of a more disgruntled – or maybe even hostile - nature. Dolores, however, attempted to pacify the gathering.
“I know that we in the bondage community always get bad press, but Saskia here assures me that she’s going to write a well balanced piece on our activities. And you never know, she might even end up as a convert to the cause. So I want you to make her feel welcome and show her just how much fun parties at Shackleton Grange can be.”
As she was speaking, a noise from behind made Saskia turn her head. What she saw was the black suited member of Dolores’ staff removing the padlock from a small door in the empty cage and pulling it wide open.
“Anyway ladies, I’m sure you’re fed up with hearing me talk. SO LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!!”
A cheer rose all around as the music once more began to pound and echo around the cavernous room in which the bondage loving females were assembled. At this moment Saskia felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see the woman who had opened the cage door urging her in the direction of the metal pen. For a second or two, she resisted; self conscious about being put on show, and increasingly worried about the manner in which events were unfolding. Just how long was she going to have to stay trussed up and locked in this steel prison? And when the party was over, what would become of her then? Would she simply be released and told to go away and write her article? Or was there something else of a more sinister nature in the offing? Her momentary show of defiance, however, was soon nipped in the bud by the arrival on the scene of the other two servant girls, who promptly shoved her towards the entrance to the barred enclosure.
The door to the cage was small – less than three feet high – and therefore Saskia had to stoop to gain entry. This was achieved with encouragement from her three minders, who, although not inflicting pain on their guest, made it clear by their actions that refusal to take heed of their prompting would not be tolerated. No sooner had the heel of Saskia’s trailing boot crossed the threshold of this oversized birdcage, than the sound of the door slamming shut was followed by the click of the securing padlock. Immediately, the threesome backed away, and seconds later Saskia experienced the sensation of the cage rising slowly into the air. Looking out, she gazed at the merrymakers below, some of whom were watching her ascent with amusement etched on their faces, as if they sensed her discomfort and embarrassment. Or maybe they knew something she didn’t.
As her mobile place of confinement rose higher, Saskia’s attention was drawn in the direction of the cage away to her left, only three or four feet away. As her line of vision and that of her hog-tied neighbour briefly synchronised, Saskia gazed into the eyes of the hooded girl. Unlike the other girls here, she seemed restless and uneasy in her bonds, and her eyes gave away the fact that she was not entirely delighted with the situation she found herself in.
Then, in a flash, recognition registered in Saskia’s mind, although for several seconds she couldn’t quite place where she’d seen this woman before. Then it hit her. Suddenly, the picture from the newspaper of the missing Londoner, Bethany, appeared vividly in her mind’s eye. For a few seconds she didn’t believe the evidence of her own eyes, but as her cage came to a grinding halt, she gazed down at the prone woman in the next cage, who was staring back at her, as if beseeching her for help. Now Saskia was certain. Although she could only see the area around this severely bound girl’s eyes, and despite the fact that in the photo she had been smiling, whereas now she appeared anything but happy, Saskia knew that she’d solved the mystery regarding what had become of the vanished woman. And by deduction, if this was Bethany, then the chances were that the occupant of the other cage was Cathy, whose burnt out car had been found not far from here.
But, of course, this discovery was not something that Saskia could feel triumphant about at present. For if these two women were being held here against their will, it seemed likely that Dolores had just completed her hat-trick by securing a third unwilling captive. This thought caused Saskia to struggle against her bonds for half a minute or more, but the futility of this energy sapping exercise soon became clear, and she noticed below her that many of the gathered females were now watching her performance with great delight. Did all the attendees of tonight’s bash know that Dolores kidnapped and kept certain women here under duress? Or were most of them oblivious to this fact, assuming that any show of defiance or cry for assistance was merely role play? Saskia suspected the latter. Despondently, she bent her knees, sank to the floor of her cage and gazed out at the revelry taking place all around her.
As the night progressed and the alcohol flowed, so the antics of the party-goers grew ever more outrageous, with more and more rope finding its way around those already bound, and even some of the free, supposedly dominant women discovering themselves bound and handcuffed after a while. Some couples switched roles midway through the evening, and partner swapping continued on a regular basis. After several hours, Saskia lost count of the number of women she saw being brought to orgasm by the means of crotch ropes and groping hands; many writhing on the ground in their enforced ecstasy. And all the while, the constant rhythm pounded and the bars of the cages vibrated in time to the heavy beat.
For much of the time, Saskia found herself ignored; the frolicking females having more pressing matters on their minds. At times though, a group of women would surround the cage and a hand would sneak its way through the bars, to briefly prod or stroke the tight latex cat-suited figure within. This unwanted attention had Saskia attempting to shrink away into a corner, although being circular, the cage offered no real hiding place from the prying fingers.
Once or twice, a curious reveller would approach and pull on the tightly secured strapping that held Saskia in check. “Ooh, it really is ultra-tight” she heard one girl comment to her companion during a brief lull in the music, after she’d given the straps around Saskia’s lashed torso a thorough examination. Both giggled drunkenly as they wended their way back through the ever more riotously alcohol-fuelled rabble that filled the dance floor.
But it wasn’t just those free to hold a glass that were getting drunk tonight, for every so often, Saskia would observe one of the bound females have her gag removed for a brief period, in order that alcoholic beverage of one description or another could be poured into her willing mouth. At one stage, a bottle of champagne was opened only a few feet from her suspended prison; the cork rocketing in her direction at lightning speed. Luckily, this projectile hit the bar of her cage and ricocheted back into the crowd, but this was followed by a stream of fizzing liquid that hit her face and upper body like a tsunami. Saskia was temporarily blinded by this unexpected shower, but after much blinking and eye rolling, she was able to focus on a wall of faces laughing and giggling at her discomfort.
But this wasn’t the only drink that was to come her way that night. As the party began to wind down in what must have been the early hours of Sunday morning, and the crowd in the auditorium slowly started to thin, Saskia suddenly felt the cage in which she’d sat helplessly all evening begin to descend. Once landed, the pink-suited servant girl appeared, heading directly towards Saskia’s place of captivity. In her hand she carried a bottle. Saskia watched as the woman took a small key and unlocked the padlock to her enclosure, before opening the door and stepping into the barred confines. Kneeling down, the girl showed no emotion in her eyes as she pulled back the zip from across Saskia’s mouth, then grabbed the small portion of the gagging ball that was visible between her teeth and deftly began the extraction process.
Saskia gasped as the rubber obstruction finally cleared her lips. Exercising her aching jaw momentarily, she was about to start begging for– or perhaps demanding – release from her fetters, when she noticed her latex clad attendant unscrew the top from the bottle. This close up view showed that the liquid within was a clear yellowy-brown colour, and she instantly recognised the label as one of the better known brands of Scotch whisky sold in supermarkets. She guessed straightaway what was to come, but her verbal protest lasted less than a second, as the bottle was placed close to her lips and tipped up to encourage the spirit to stream into her mouth. Saskia detested whisky at the best of times, so having it forced down her throat was never going to be an experience to relish.
Unfortunately for her however, her personal attendant seemed to know exactly how to ensure that she took in the flowing liquid, by holding the bottle in one hand and her victim’s nose with the other. Saskia began to thrash wildly as the burning liquid hit her throat and caused her to choke. But with her limbs out of commission, she was powerless to stop the gushing river of 40% proof alcohol making its way into her system. Her drinks provider seemed to know precisely how to maximise the intake of the intoxicating liquor, by pausing the stream every few seconds in order for Saskia to catch her breath, before resuming the task of getting her prey as drunk as possible in a short space of time.
Mercifully, after what seemed like ages, but was probably no more than a minute, Dolores’ servant seemed satisfied that Saskia had partaken of a sufficient quantity for inebriation purposes. As the top was put back on the bottle and the latter placed to one side on the floor of the cage, Saskia could see, although her vision was already becoming blurry, that what had been a full bottle a short time ago, was now more than half empty. As her vision began to swim and the room appeared to revolve, Saskia could only look on as the soft ball with its now familiar tang was stuffed unceremoniously back into her mouth. Quickly, the rasping sound of the zip told her that her mouth was once again sealed.
Bleary eyed and feeling nauseous, Saskia watched in complete impotence as the woman backed out of the cage and relocked it. The room was spinning at breakneck speed now, making the already moving light reflected off the rotating disco ball mutate into surreal shapes that seemed to solidify then evaporate before her now heavily lidded eyes. People were still moving around the dance floor, and shouts and screams of joy still cut through the monotonous beat that seemed to have gone on forever. Saskia tried her best to focus on these activities, determined as she was to remain conscious. But the copious intake of alcohol had taken its toll, and gradually her eyes began to close and the sounds around her distorted and finally faded away to nothing.
When Saskia regained consciousness, all was quiet. Sunshine poured in through the tall windows of the ballroom, which suggested that it was now mid morning, if not later. Forgetting where she was, she tried to stand, but found herself still encumbered by the single sleeve and the severe straps that had been her constant companions for more than twelve hours now. As she tried to alter her position, the cage began to rock, a consequence of her metal prison cell having been once again hoisted up to swing freely five feet or more in the air. Looking down to either side, she noticed the other two cages resting on the wooden floor. Both had their doors open, with their former occupants nowhere to be seen. In fact, as Saskia’s still sore eyes surveyed the rest of the room, she realised that she was completely alone in the vast hall, the double doors of which were shut.
Saskia’s head pounded and thumped with the after effects of the whisky. With her mouth and throat feeling parched and dry she was desperate to rehydrate herself, but knew that this wasn’t an option unless she could summon assistance. Tentatively she tried to vocalise her discontent at the fact that she was still bound and gagged, but the pathetic croak that filtered through the ball and the thick covering of latex that sealed her mouth, would hardly have been heard ten feet away, let alone through the walls of the room in which she had been abandoned.
So what was going to happen now? Part of her wanted to believe that Dolores would be as good as her word and allow her to leave, in order to write up her thoughts and feelings on last night’s astonishing orgy of bondage. But deep down she knew that this was unlikely to happen. Especially as she now had evidence that Bethany, the missing woman from London, was being held captive here, and that Dolores’ denial that she kidnapped and held young women against their will was nothing but a lie.
So how was she to extricate herself from this unenviable predicament? With escape out of the question, it seemed her only real chance lay in being rescued. But by whom, exactly? She’d told no-one she was coming here, which at the time had seemed a good idea, as everyone would, no doubt, have tried to dissuade her from undertaking what they would consider a foolish – not to mention dangerous - mission. Now, however, the fact that nobody knew where she’d gone was seen to be a grave error of judgement on her part. How long would it be before she was reported missing?
Probably at least not until tomorrow morning, and even then, the fact that she hadn’t turned up at the office would be unlikely to cause alarm bells to ring straight away, as she had been known to work from home on occasion. And even when her disappearance did finally register – with her boss, her work colleagues, her friends or relatives – they would have no reason to immediately think she’d been kidnapped, and even less idea of where she was being held. The bleak nature of her plight suddenly hit home with a vengeance, and she found herself writhing around her compact prison, desperately trying to achieve a freedom which she knew was beyond her means. Augmenting her fruitless struggles with muted attention seeking squeals, Saskia worked herself up into a frenzy, even though her splitting head and aching limbs cried out for rest and silence to aid her recovery.
But then she heard a sound, faint at first, but gradually increasing in volume until she could recognise the slow, methodical rhythm of high heels walking across uncarpeted flooring. All of a sudden, this clicking sound ceased and the doors were flung open. The dreaded figure of Dolores stood in the now open doorway, dressed in a tightly moulded black leather cat-suit with matching belt and knee length boots.
“Well well, if it isn’t our intrepid reporter-cum-detective. So glad you could hang around to enjoy my little get-together last night. Sorry about the enforced binge drinking session, but I needed to make certain you didn’t cause too much commotion whilst my guests slept. They’ve all gone home now, most of them a bit the worse for wear, but all saying how much they enjoyed the evening. I do hope that you enjoyed yourself too, and found the whole experience enlightening.”
Slowly, she walked towards the caged female, the sharp pulse of her heels echoing around the high ceiling.
“But of course the big question is...”
She reached the cage and gave it a gentle shove, so that it began to swing from side to side.
“...what are we going to do with you now?”
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story continued in part 18
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