|The Secrets of Shackleton Grange|
|by Steve Spandex|
|email@example.com | Forum Feedback|
|© Copyright 2016 - Steve Spandex - Used by permission|
|Storycodes: F+/ff; captives; latex; spandex; catsuits; force; bond; chairtie; restraints; blinkers; gag; drugged; video; conditioning; enslavement; cons/nc; X||
|The Secrets of Shackleton Grange 20: The Training Room - Revisited Steve Spandex F+/ff; captives; latex; spandex; catsuits; force; bond; chairtie; restraints; blinkers; gag; drugged; video; conditioning; enslavement; cons/nc; X|
|story continued from part 19
Chapter 20: The Training Room - Revisited
Monday morning saw Cathy visiting the room with the three TV screens and high backed metal chairs for the second time. In contrast to her first, accidental, foray into this windowless chamber, however, the room was now bathed in bright light, with the three seats unoccupied - their attached straps hanging loosely from the rigid arms, legs and backs - and the screens merely lifeless grey rectangles against the backdrop of the featureless walls. The headphones lay discarded on the chairs; silent... at least for the time being.
Having spent the past twenty four hours in solitary, sensory deprived isolation, with only one short break for food, water and a change of bondage position – on this occasion her hog-tied status being relinquished for a slightly less harrowing period handcuffed and bound inside a darlex sleep-sack, which was then secured with multiple straps along the length of her body - Cathy welcomed and dreaded in equal measure, the intervention of the latex attired figure who came to release her that morning.
The removal of the stifling hood that had been an ever-present hindrance to both sight and sound ever since her incarceration in the dungeon, revealed that her carer/guard on this occasion was the pink-suited Electra, whose long blonde hair spouted from the pinnacle of her hood, and cascaded in wild abandon down to her shoulders.
Being pulled out of the tightly fitting sheath, which had clung to every inch of her being for the past twelve hours or so, took several minutes, as the compressing fabric seemed reluctant to relax the grip it had established on its prey. Soon, however, Cathy’s spandex cat-suited body and limbs emerged from the too-small packaging that had acted as a heat trap, resulting in her becoming extremely hot and uncomfortable.
Still handcuffed, but with her legs freed from their rope restraints, Cathy was led, by the collar and chain that had been attached around her neck, from her subterranean cell up to a first floor bathroom, where she was again briefly hooded before being allowed the luxury of taking a shower and being given a fresh spandex cat-suit to wear. Then, with her hands bound behind her back once more – this time with soft but unyielding rope – she found herself being led down to the kitchen, where breakfast was served; two slices of buttered bread and a glass of orange juice hardly constituting a great culinary experience, but at that point, after so long deprived of either liquid or solid sustenance, Cathy was grateful for whatever crumbs or dregs were offered to her. Having partaken of this meagre fare, a hard rubber ball was stuffed unceremoniously into her mouth, and the attached straps pulled tightly around her head and fastened, thus ensuring that spitting the jawing-achingly large obstruction out again was never on the cards.
It was only a short journey from the relatively reassuring domestic scene of the manor house kitchen, to the alien environment of that bleak and informal training room that she had stumbled upon a few days ago. Having entered the room, Cathy was prompted to stand in one corner, before the collar and chain that Electra had used to lead her charge to this location was removed. With her tasks now completed, the pink suited figure moved away and stood, sentry like, by the open doorway; continually watching Cathy like a hawk, in case her prisoner should feel the urge to make an ill-advised dash for the exit.
A minute or so elapsed, with Electra staring menacingly at Cathy, before a commotion in the corridor outside preceded the arrival of Bethany, led by the silver suited Sapphire. Manoeuvring her captive into the opposite corner to that occupied by her fellow detainee, it was clear to Cathy straightaway that Bethany was bound and gagged in similar fashion to herself. In an action replay of Cathy’s arrival minutes earlier, Bethany’s collar was now removed, before Sapphire backed off to stand next to her silent colleague at the door.
The two prisoners gazed wide-eyed at each other across the floor. Communication was possible only with eyes, but it was obvious to Cathy that Bethany was glad to see her fellow captive, although there was a great deal of apprehension evident regarding the ordeal they were about to be put through. Cathy shared her partner-in-bondage’s concerns one hundred percent, but had no answers to the unspoken yet clearly asked question “how are we going to stop this process?” Their subliminal conversation, however, was soon interrupted by the arrival of a third pair of females in the room. Dolores led the way, closely followed by her third slave girl, Crystal, who shut the door behind them and stood in line next to her mute cohorts. Pacing the room, Dolores, first approached Cathy. Checking her prisoner’s bonds and gag, she nodded her approval with a smirk of satisfaction etched on her face, then strolled at a leisurely gait over to where Bethany stood and repeated her inspection. Only once she had returned to a position midway between her two captives did she finally break her silence.
“Well ladies, I hope you’re all relaxed and ready for Phase One in the process of transforming you into subservient slave girls with no minds of your own. As you’ll have no doubt worked out, I’ve changed my mind about keeping you here for a set period of time, as I lost count days ago how long your sentences were supposed to last, seeing as how your antics kept ensuring that I had to increase the punishment every five minutes. So instead I’ve decided to use you as part of a business transaction. As I told you the other day, your destiny is to become compliant, submissive serving wenches like my three faithful girls here.”
Dolores turned briefly and gestured towards the three unmoving figures by the door, whose gaze never wavered, and who showed no recognition that their Mistress was in any way eluding to them.
“What I didn’t tell you is that, once I’ve moulded you into this state of mental submission, I’m going to be selling you on to people with similar interests to my own.”
Bethany squealed at this latest revelation and, in her agitation, took a few steps towards the door. Now, however, Sapphire snapped instantly out of her state of torpor, and was quick to quell any brewing dissent by laying a firm hand on the would-be escapee’s shoulder. Dolores waited until she was sure that this uprising had been nipped in the bud, then looked across at Cathy, as if trying to gauge whether her other prisoner was likely to follow suit in becoming rebellious. When Cathy showed no signs of doing so - due more to a deep fear of reprisals rather than any acceptance of her revealed fate – the Mistress continued.
“You see, there’s a vast network of masters and mistresses all over the world who will pay a good price for girls like yourselves, who’ve stupidly got themselves captured and simply can’t be allowed back into society for one reason or another. There’s a huge market for women like you in the Far East, as well as Russia, the US and South America. Even here in Europe, there’s a thriving industry in young women who’ve ‘disappeared’ from the outside world, and now spend their days in slavery and their nights in oh-so-tight bondage. At a guess, I would say there must be a thousand or more like you in England alone.”
Dolores paused for a few seconds, letting this information sink in.
“Anyway, I’m sure you’re both fed up with listening to me, and are champing at the bit to get started with your training regime. Firstly, we need to get you seated and comfortable. Then we’ll give you a little something to get you all nice and relaxed, before leaving you to watch a few videos which I’m sure you’ll find both enlightening and enjoyable.”
She turned to her three waiting latex-suited servants.
“Okay girls, let’s get my guests ready for their first session. I think we better deal with Bethany first, seeing as how she’s the one getting a bit fidgety.”
As one, Dolores’ three employees moved towards the now cowering figure in the skin-tight spandex cat-suit, who automatically took two steps backwards. She would have taken more, had the corner of the room not penned her in and left her trapped. Sapphire was the first to grab the whimpering captive’s left shoulder and pull her back into the centre of the room, before leading her towards the closest of the three chairs.
Sitting their wriggling prisoner down, Sapphire quickly unbound her wrists. But if Bethany had any thoughts of trying to escape in the seconds which followed, these were immediately quashed, as Crystal and Electra stepped forward and forced her limbs down to lie flat on the chair’s metal armrests; holding them firmly in place whilst Sapphire applied and secured the broad leather straps in the area of her wrists and just below her elbows. Her upper arms fared no better either, with these being secured to the back of the chair just above the elbow and beneath her armpits. With all restraints buckled and tested for efficiency, the three tireless females moved on to their captive’s lower limbs, once again using the attached strips of shiny black leather to firmly fix her legs to those of the chair at the ankles and knees. Further straps soon followed across her thighs and lower abdomen, designed to ensure that she and the chair’s seat would remain as one inseparable item for the foreseeable future.
And Bethany’s woes didn’t end there, as the belts that had moments before hung limply from the chair’s high back, were wound tightly around her waist, chest and shoulders, to make certain that she would remain rigidly attached to this stout and immovable item of furniture. With her body and limbs now in the grip of these inescapable fetters, a collar was secured around her neck, which was also attached to the back of the chair, so that she was unable to move her head more than an inch or two in any direction. Cathy watched as the three latex-skinned handmaidens backed away from their newly created work of art, and she saw the look of dismay on Bethany’s face, as she tried and failed to move from her latest mooring post. But Cathy was given little time to wonder about the stringency of her fellow captive’s state, for she soon found herself experiencing firsthand the exact same procedure that Bethany had just undergone.
Having been unceremoniously forced onto the hard metal seat, Cathy’s hands found release from their rope bonds, but within seconds discovered themselves tightly strapped to the horizontal arms of the chair. Each strap bit deeply into the stretch fabric of her shiny, clinging garment, and the pressure on her muscles increased substantially until the unforgiving leather could tighten no further; the sealing of the buckles confirming the strict hold that each bond now had over her. And then her legs were treated in a similarly stringent manner, ensuring that any movement of her limbs was now impossible. Now powerless to resist, Cathy’s state worsened by the second, as more strapping found its way around her body, from shoulder to thighs; each leather ligature being found to be as restrictive and unforgiving as the last. Finally, with her neck collared and tethered, the heartless trio stepped away, leaving her to test her newly acquired accessories.
Stretching her fingers, Cathy tried to reach backwards and grasp the leather strap that constricted painfully around her right wrist. But the severe nature of the binding meant that, although only a tantalising fraction of an inch from successfully touching it with her outstretched nail, the bond remained frustratingly elusive. The straps across her chest, she soon discovered, had also been secured with such force, that the very act of taking air into her lungs was now a painful process, as the strict leather belts bit deeply into her ribs.
But she was given very little time to dwell on niceties such as breathing, for Dolores was again addressing her two now immobilised victims. Although Cathy had been preoccupied with her increasingly dire predicament whilst the strapping procedure had been in full swing, the Mistress had clearly not been standing idly by as her minions toiled. For Cathy noticed that she now held two small plastic cups in her hands, and within these see-through vessels a bright green potion could be seen gently swirling from side to side.
“Right now ladies, I hope that you’re sitting comfortably. Before I turn the screens on and leave you to enjoy the movie that we have planned for you today, I thought you might like to partake of a little liquid refreshment.”
She beckoned to her patiently waiting servants.
“Okay girls, you can take their gags out now.”
The eager to please trio wasted no time in obeying their Mistress’ latest command, as Sapphire and Crystal stepped forward and unbuckled the straps on Bethany’s and Cathy’s ball-gags respectively, while Electra took one of the cups from Dolores and stood waiting beside her boss until the rubber impediments had been removed from the two seated females. As Cathy exercised her aching jaw, she watched Dolores walk in Bethany’s direction, whilst the pink suit loomed ever larger in her direction. As the small disposable cup made its way to within an inch of her lips, Dolores delivered a warning, should either of her captives decide that they weren’t thirsty.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, one way or another, this liquid is going to be swallowed by both of you. Now we can either do this the easy way, like good little girls, or, if you resist, we can do it the hard way. But before you make up your minds on which course you’d like to take, let me remind you that the hard way will undoubtedly involve someone getting hurt... and I can guarantee that it won’t be me or my servants that are yelling out in anguish as this medicine slips slowly but surely down your throats.”
A squeal of distress issued forth from Bethany’s mouth at this point, and she flinched somewhat as the potion was proffered to her. But although trembling and tearful, her quivering mouth reluctantly opened as the cup was tilted and the contents began to flow. Cathy, too, felt the flimsy vessel touch her lower lip, at which point a vile scent assaulted her nostrils. But although the thought of imbibing this strange brew held no appeal whatsoever, she knew that resistance was futile, and closed her eyes as the cold, thick fluid began to roll over her tongue. This macabre cocktail, it soon turned out, had a strange, sickly sweet flavour to it, and left a burning aftertaste which lingered for several minutes on the palate. By the time this had dissipated somewhat, however, it was replaced by the more familiar, although equally undesirable tang of stale hosiery, as a pair of rolled up tights were bundled into her mouth, and the instantly recognizable rasping sound of tape being ripped away from a spool preceded the sealing of her lips. But being gagged once more soon proved to be the least of her worries.
By the time that both she and Bethany had been silenced again, Cathy noticed a weird sensation begin to course through her. Starting in the region of her abdomen, this odd, unnerving feeling gradually spread in every direction throughout her being, until it reached the extremities of her fingers and toes. It began as a tingling, numbing sensation, which soon turned into a frightening paralysis that seemed to lay waste to her muscles and joints, as all movement became at first difficult, then almost impossible. And this state of powerlessness rapidly spread to her head, and the numbness that had afflicted the rest of her body gradually seemed to dull her mind and made her feel light headed. Her eyes and ears, however, seemed immune to this undesirable and otherwise all encompassing sense of debilitation.
As this worrying loss of bodily control steadily strengthened its grip, Cathy felt something being wrapped tightly around her temples, and although her thought processes were becoming hazy, the realisation hit her that her skull was being strapped to the back of the chair, so that she couldn’t turn to left or right, or – probably of more importance given her deteriorating mental state – allow her head to fall forwards. And attached to this latest strap, there appeared to be some sort of leather flaps that protruded outwards on either side of her face, which acted like a horse’s blinkers and resulted in her field of vision being limited to a small sector of the room directly in front of her. Through the fog in her brain, Cathy heard Dolores speaking once more, this time the voice came from behind and in the direction of the only exit from the room.
“Right ladies, I’ll leave you in peace now. Enjoy the entertainment.”
The final words of this parting speech were, however, muffled to the point of incoherence, as the headphones, which she had witnessed the three slaves wearing the other day, were placed over her ears.
Cathy tried to view her fellow captive’s plight, in order to gauge whether Bethany was undergoing the same breakdown of her faculties as she was experiencing herself, but the combination of the drugs, the excruciatingly tight leather band across her forehead, and the tunnel vision inducing blinkers, made this unviable. And a second or two after the headphones had been applied, the visibility in the room deteriorated dramatically, as the turning off of the overhead light plunged everything into darkness, and made seeing anything at all unfeasible. This state of gazing into a dense ocean of blackness, however, lasted only thirty seconds or so, before the screen in front of Cathy – the only one of the three now within her line of sight - flickered and blinked into life.
For a few seconds there was nothing visible but a sea of static, but then the image of a woman suddenly sprang into being. Dressed in a skin-tight latex cat-suit and high heeled leather boots, all in black, and with long wavy brunette hair cascading around her shoulders, the pale skin of her face was offset by bright ruby red lips and dark eye make-up. In her befuddled state, it took Cathy a second or two to recognise that this was indeed their captor, Dolores, on the screen. But if she needed confirmation of this fact, suddenly, through the headphones, the unmistakeable voice of the Mistress crackled into life, and Cathy watched spellbound as the lips of the woman on the screen moved in time to the words being broadcast into her ears.
For several minutes, Dolores spoke clearly and precisely to her audience, informing them of what they were about to witness - namely bondage, bondage and more bondage - and offering assurances that the viewer would, by the end of the course, be excited by the prospect of being trussed up for the rest of her life. Having advised those watching to sit back, relax and enjoy the show, her grinning image faded slowly from the screen, to be replaced by that of a woman unknown to Cathy, who was dressed in figure hugging spandex and had been bound with vicious severity into a strict ball-tie, from which it was clear immediately that there was no way of escape. Far from being in any way distressed or upset by her circumstances, however, the female’s writhing and struggling seemed to owe more to a desire to enhance her enjoyment of the situation, rather than from any wish to free herself; a rope that ran in taut fashion between her legs being worked rhythmically and frantically until, after two or three minutes, she threw back her head and moaned with pleasure through the wadding in her mouth.
Once she had relaxed and was lying motionlessly on the floor, the sequence ended, only to be replaced by that of another unknown female in a different although equally stringent state of bondage. And soon, she too had worked herself up into a state of ecstasy; on this occasion through the help of a second, unbound female, who stroked and caressed her arching and reeling body, until the desired effect had been achieved. And although Dolores was no longer visible on the giant plasma screen on which these vignettes of bondage heaven were being played out, her voice still reverberated in Cathy’s ears, as messages aimed at brainwashing her into believing how great a life of eternal bondage could be, were continually assaulting her drugged and disorientated brain. With monotonous regularity, the sequence of whispered sound-bites infiltrated the listener’s subconscious, before the looped recording started once more at the beginning; so that - after three or four repeat performances - Cathy knew exactly what was coming next and could, if she’d been capable of speech, have recited the softly spoken messages in unison with Dolores.
But trying to block this indoctrinating voice from her mind, or close her eyes to the hypnotic images that danced before her, seemed impossible in the chemically induced stupor that made all rational decision making unsustainable. Despite the logical part of her brain – the small fraction of it that was still capable of functioning normally - telling her to find something – anything – that would distract her from this insane notion about bondage equating with normality, Cathy found herself unable to detach her senses from the aural and visual stimuli that seemed to permeate every corner of her psyche. In fact, as the minutes rolled on, and more women appeared on screen, wriggling and writhing until they achieved the bondage equivalent of nirvana, she realised that resistance to the constant sensory bombardment was beyond her, and reluctantly allowed her bemused and befuddled mind to simply assimilate the information on offer, like a sponge absorbs water.
Unlike Cathy, Bethany had never entered the training room before today, and was therefore both awestruck and terrified by the sights that greeted her. The high backed metal chairs with their bases riveted to the floor; the myriad straps that hung lifelessly yet menacingly from every conceivable strut, joint and angle of these immovable items of furniture; the giant screens that took up most of one wall; all conspired to make Bethany shiver in dismay at the scene before her. But what really freaked her out was the small table in one corner of the room, upon which stood a plethora of small bottles and vials containing a stunning array of different pills and liquid concoctions. The sight of this collection of medicines conjured up images of a laboratory, and the realisation that she was probably going to be the guinea pig in a scientific experiment of some description, caused an icy shiver to rip through her entire being.
Once seated, strapped and subdued, Bethany found herself with little choice but to drink the horrid mixture that was offered up to her lips. Soon the effects of this potion began to weave their wicked spell on her senses, and she found herself slipping into a mental void from which there was no return. Notwithstanding this sense of helplessness, and although her limbs felt as if they were now made of lead, Bethany attempted to fight the oncoming mesmeric state by gripping the arms of the chair and commanding every muscle, tendon and sinew in her slim frame to obey the order from her brain to remain alert and under control. But the drugs proved far too powerful an adversary, and as the application of the headphones and blinkers focused her concentration down a straight and narrow pathway, she found herself giving in to a power far beyond that of her own will.
As the bound women on the screen began to cavort in their restraints, however, Bethany soon felt her revulsion fade somewhat, and found herself becoming more and more excited by the moving images, and the hopes and wishes they stirred. For hadn’t she come to this place in the first instance to experience something just like the emotions being evoked before her very eyes at this moment? She tried to wipe these thoughts from her mind, as the grim news that Dolores had imparted only minutes earlier should have been sufficient to keep her occupied with the unpleasant nature of her threatened future, and therefore alleviate any frivolous thoughts and desires she might entertain of being kept bound and gagged for the sheer joy of it. But she simply couldn’t help herself.
Although a lifetime spent as a slave with no will of her own was anathema to her in the extreme, the delight that she’d always experienced whilst watching bondage videos in the privacy of her own home, and the need to become that struggling, squirming female in the tight and totally inescapable shackles and fetters, was overwhelming and outweighed all other considerations. In a way, this was probably some kind of subconscious safety valve, allowing her to escape momentarily into a fantasy world where bondage was a thing of great beauty - to be desired, nurtured and cherished - and so block out the contemplation of any nasty or evil scenarios that might be looming large on the horizon, and thus threatening to send her into a downward spiral of misery and despair.
But at that moment, Bethany had neither the motive nor the will to scrutinise the whys and wherefores of her mental processes and how her mind might be coping with the evolving situation, but instead threw herself headlong into the blissful state that watching a performance such as the one being broadcast for her now never failed to elicit. Although in a state of near paralysis due to the powerful relaxant, from somewhere Bethany found the energy needed to thrust her pelvis forward in time with the female on the screen, as the latter reached her climax. Unfortunately for her, the lack of a crotch rope on this occasion meant that she remained frustrated in her bold attempt to emulate the screen actress as she writhed in ecstasy. This, however, failed to discourage Bethany from her intended although seemingly unobtainable goal, and as one televisual sequence faded out and another began, she found herself trying even harder than before to get herself off, until she was groaning so loudly into her gag and shaking the metal chair with such force, that she was sure that Cathy, - unsighted yet only a few feet away - must have been able to hear her, even with the headphones and the subliminal messages to quell incoming sound.
Dolores’ library of bondage films must have been of an extensive nature. That was the only thing Cathy could deduce, as episode followed relentless episode in the seemingly never ending line of videos that were, for both herself and Bethany, compulsive viewing. Just when she thought that every conceivable position and method of bondage had been shown to her today, the next sequence would surprise and shock her with new twists and turns that she had never even contemplated. Some of the locations for the short dramas that flashed before her fascinated yet fearful eyes, Cathy could recognise from her time here as being filmed in various parts of the mansion – Dolores’ idea of ‘home movies’. Others, however, seemed to have been shot elsewhere - locations unknown - and suggested that the Mistress was a collector as well as a producer of this type of kinky porn. How long would she and Bethany be forced to endure this specially laid on show? And how long would it be before the drugs wore off and she could regain command of her senses? This state of not being in control of her own body and mind didn’t seem to be diminishing, even after what must have been several hours.
But was Dolores’ master-plan working? Was the fact that she had been forced to watch pictures of women helplessly squirming in every imaginable method of shackled imprisonment making her any more willing to remain in similarly inescapable circumstances for eternity? She didn’t think so, although she had to admit, as time wore on, that she did find the antics of the fettered beauties on the screen fascinating. But that was probably due to the fact that there was nothing else to take her mind off the steady stream of images that she was powerless to disregard. And the voices in her head - so soothing and persuasive - kept up their droning monotony, until they became mere background noise... at least on the conscious level.
How it was affecting her on a deeper plane, she had no idea. But the thing that worried Cathy, even through the chemically induced fog that clouded her thought processes, was what the result would be over the course of days, weeks or even months, if she was forced to suffer this kind of sensory assault on a regular basis? After all, it seemed to have had the desired effect on Dolores’ three servants, so why would it not work on Bethany and herself? And more importantly, how could she prepare and defend herself against becoming a submissive, brain-dead zombie just like them?
Whether it was because her powers of reason weren’t working at optimum levels at present, or because there really was no way to halt this horrific process that she and Bethany found themselves sliding headlong into, these questions failed to reveal credible answers that Cathy was in any way comfortable with.
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story continued in part 21
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