|The Secrets of Shackleton Grange|
|by Steve Spandex|
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|© Copyright 2016 - Steve Spandex - Used by permission|
|Storycodes: F/f; FFF/f; F+/ff; captive; bond; hood; spandex; catsuit; chairtie; gag; wrap; freezer; entomb; cold; bench; chain; fire; torment; hogtie; chest; encase; display; cell; tape; cocoon; crotchrope; mast; climax; cons/nc; XX||
|The Secrets of Shackleton Grange 9: Fire & Ice Steve Spandex F/f; FFF/f; F+/ff; captive; bond; hood; spandex; catsuit; chairtie; gag; wrap; freezer; entomb; cold; bench; chain; fire; torment; hogtie; chest; encase; display; cell; tape; cocoon; crotchrope; mast; climax; cons/nc; XX|
|story continued from part eight
Chapter 9: Fire & Ice
For Cathy, the last twenty four hours or so had been a rollercoaster ride that had risen skywards and plunged the absolute depths between both ends of the emotional spectrum.
Having found a strange yet satisfying sexual fulfilment through Dolores’ efforts on Sunday night, she’d slept well for the first time since her capture, and had woken only when a sound from close at hand disturbed her slumbers. The memory of that brief but enlightening encounter was still fresh in her memory, as was Dolores’ assertion that Cathy would - given a few days - begin to enjoy her time spent in inescapable bondage. But was that true? Could she really learn to love the sensation of not being able to move of her own volition? Whilst the experience of last night did indeed shine brightly in her memory, it was no more than a solitary lighthouse beacon on an otherwise unlit stretch of desolate rocky shoreline.
The noise that woke her was muffled by the hood that seemed to constrict tightly around her head, but there was no mistaking that it was of human origin. Someone was moving around the bed and, although no one spoke, Cathy instinctively received the impression that there was more than one person present. And so it proved when, moments later, the pressure around her face began to ease, as the straps of the hood were unbuckled and the lacing slackened to the point where the stifling leather contrivance could be pulled up her over her chin, her nose, her eyes, before finally coming away from her head; her sweat-soaked hair flopping lifelessly onto the soft bedding.
Cathy’s blurred vision could at first make out very little detail of the moving shapes in front of her, although she observed three indistinct blobs moving around the bed, one black, one whitish-silver, with the other - in contrast to these neutral tones - a vivid pink. As her eyes gradually adjusted to the bright morning light, the fuzzy shapes gradually sharpened into the outlines of Dolores’ three faithful, yet almost zombie-like servants. All were gazing down at her through the small eye-holes in their closely fitting hoods. Even with most of their features obliterated, Cathy knew that their countenance was not of a friendly nature. As she watched, the silver-suited female leant forward - her latex covered breasts nearly touching Cathy’s nose – and released the padlock that had secured her neck chain to the headboard all night. And this was followed seconds later by the unlocking of the chain at the other end of the bed.
Now simply hand and ankle cuffed, Cathy bent her knees and tried to roll over onto her side, after so long stretched out in the same position. Her three jailers had other ideas, however, and swiftly pulled her into a sitting position and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Deftly, one of the trio knelt down and released the shackles from her ankles. Then the tape, which had formed a seemingly permanent bond to her cheeks, chin and lips, began to be unravelled, layer after layer, until the final, excruciatingly painful circuit was stripped unceremoniously from her tender flesh. The now familiar tang of the tights, which had been stuffed into her mouth since yesterday, lessened slightly as they were prised from behind her teeth. Gingerly, Cathy worked her jaw up and down a few times, finding the pain that this action produced gradually subsiding as her facial muscles relaxed somewhat.
She gazed around at the three faces that stared back at her. None showed even the merest hint of compassion, nor seemed to comprehend the grief she was being forced to endure. Their current undertaking was, Cathy realised, simply a job that they had been tasked with, and she was the raw material with which they had to work; as if they had been given a target to produce a certain end-product –i.e. a bound and gagged female - and the hopes and fears, wishes and anxieties of the unwilling subject of their labours could be dismissed as irrelevant, just so long as the project reached satisfactory completion.
However, there was one positive point to be taken at this time, and this was that Dolores was nowhere to be seen. Was she lurking close at hand, waiting for Cathy to make a mistake so that she could be punished once more? She had no evidence that this was the case. So maybe the Mistress of the House had entrusted full responsibility to the faithful threesome. Although in no way daring to anticipate any positive response, Cathy decided that now was the right time to try to appeal to their better natures. After all, how many opportunities would there be where she found herself ungagged and with Dolores out of earshot?
“Look girls, this has gone too far. Okay, I know I shouldn’t have broken in, but can’t you see that keeping me tied up day-in, day-out just isn’t on? It’s cruel and inhumane, and it’s going to get you all into a lot of trouble, surely you must realise that. How would you feel in my position?”
But any faint glimmer of hope she may have entertained, that this plea would prick her guards’ consciences and encourage them to help her escape, was soon dashed. In fact, she realised with hindsight, that this impromptu speech may have had a detrimental effect in relation to the way she was soon to be treated.
Showing no inclination to communicate verbally through the tight leather that covered their mouths, the three automatons pulled Cathy roughly to her feet and she felt the chain around her neck being jerked hard, to inform her that she was to follow wherever they led.
And where they led was down the main stairway - with its portraits of happily bound women gazing down, as if mocking her - into a vast kitchen area that she hadn’t been in before. There she was forcibly obliged to sit on an upright chair at an old rustic kitchen table. Draping Cathy’s arms over the back of this chair, the three worked as one to ensure their guest remained stationary. It can’t have taken more than a minute or so, but by the end of this short period of time, Cathy had been bound tightly and efficiently to the sturdy item of furniture from ankles to chest. This state of inertia, however, lasted only a few minutes, while Cathy was given water to quench her thirst, then buttered bread – slightly stale tasting – for breakfast.
With the refreshments over, fearing that she was about to be gagged once again, Cathy made another emotional plea to the silent trio, in the hope that her persistence might eventually strike a chord.
“Come on girls, I know you’re as much prisoners here as I am. Why don’t you let me out of this and we’ll all escape together. I’m sure you must know of some way out.”
If her last appeal had been ignored, however, this one seemed to enrage the group, and Cathy soon found her circumstances deteriorating rapidly. Firstly, her mouth was once more filled; although this time, instead of the stuffing and tape, she found herself encumbered with a large rubber ball with attached straps, which were quickly secured at the rear of her head so that spitting the oral obstruction out was now impossible. But this was just a preliminary act preceding the main event, and within seconds Cathy was given some insight as to how her day was about to unfold. And it wasn’t exactly how she would have chosen to spend her time.
Releasing their prey from the chair, although leaving her ankles and knees tightly bound and her hands still cuffed, Cathy found herself being held in an upright stance by the pink suited woman, whilst the other two, slowly and meticulously, began wrapping her in layer after layer of transparent cling-film. Starting at the ankles and working their way upwards, the silver clad female created circuit after circuit of tightly stretched wrap around Cathy’s already bound limbs, whilst the woman in the shiny black outfit followed up by smoothing the whole thing down to make sure it remained wrinkle free and tight as a drum. After what must have been four or five orbits of her lower legs, the wrapping process moved steadily upwards, until it crossed her thighs, her lower abdomen and her waist.
Naturally, when they reached the level where her hands hung in their shackles behind her, these too were incorporated into the slowly forming parcel, so that her arms remained bonded to her back with no provision for movement away from her body or from side to side. Soon the fragile yet severely movement limiting casing reached her neck, at which point the course of the wrapping process altered, so that the last few circuits were wound diagonally across her breasts down to the waist, then up her back and over her shoulder, only for the whole process to be repeated over and over again in criss-cross fashion around her body. Once satisfied that she was immersed in an unbreakable cocoon several layers deep, her three assailants stood back – leaving her teetering precariously on her toes for several seconds – to admire their handiwork.
But if Cathy thought that the worst was now over, she was in for a nasty shock. For now they were upon her again, manoeuvring her across the kitchen floor, slowly but insistently easing her in the direction of what looked like a white metal container around six feet in length, three feet in width and around the same in depth. In her confusion, Cathy failed to correctly identify this object until the lid was pull opened to reveal an empty space within. But what caused her to scream like she’d never screamed before, was the sight of thick ice encrusted on all four walls of the interior. What she’d at first thought of as merely a secure storage box of some description, now turned out to be a chest freezer. From the wafts of dry ice that escaped into the significantly warmer atmosphere as the lid was lifted, it was clear that this was plugged in and in good working order. And it was also obvious that this was to be her next – possibly even final – destination.
All Cathy’s howls of anguish and appeals for leniency went unheeded. Nor did her physical attempts to avoid being laid inside this frost-filled coffin, amount to anything other than token gestures of defiance. Tipping her up and placing the terrified woman horizontally into the narrow gap, she could do nothing but gaze with wide, horror-filled eyes at the three heartless bitches who stood over her. But this view lasted merely a second or two, as without warning the lid suddenly crashed down; plunging the interior into darkness. Above her lengthy wail of despair, she vaguely heard a clicking sound, which suggested some form of locking mechanism had been activated. And this assumption was backed up by the fact that, as she thrust her mummified legs upwards and began frantically kicking at the roof of her tomb, it failed to yield even a fraction of an inch.
Within seconds of her incarceration, Cathy began shivering violently. And it wasn’t just the below freezing temperature in the cabinet that caused this involuntary shuddering, but also the knowledge that - should she be left here for any significant amount of time - she would soon be dead. Was the freezer airtight? In some ways that might have been a blessing, as she figured that suffocation might well be a quicker way to go than slow death through hypothermia. Even so, her instinct for survival was strong, and she realised that she had to keep moving, in order to stave off the biting cold that threatened to freeze her blood. Pounding on the sides of the sealed container, Cathy tried to keep her body and brain from succumbing to the Arctic-like conditions, until she finally had to give up through exhaustion. Just as she felt that all hope of ever getting out of this alive had passed, however, a clicking sound resonated through her frigid tomb and suddenly light streamed in from above. Seconds later, she found herself being lifted upwards, as the same three figures that had laid her to rest, now resurrected her from what had appeared to be an early, icy grave.
With the three women holding her upright, Cathy was ‘hopped’ across the kitchen floor and down a short stretch of corridor into the parlour that she and Dolores had used the previous evening for their little chat. The tightly wrapped cling-film around Cathy’s body crackled as the particles of ice that had formed within began to melt. How long had she been in the freezer? It seemed like an eternity, although in reality had probably been no more than ten minutes.
The room was in virtually darkness, the heavy curtains still drawn across to obscure the daylight. But there was one source of illumination, however; a raging orange glow from the open hearth. The fire had been recently lit, with logs piled high and crackling loudly as the flames lapped hungrily around them. As Cathy was being led to within a few feet of the blaze, she noticed that the room had been rearranged slightly since the previous evening. In place of the chairs where she and Dolores had sat facing each across a low coffee table, on the rug in front of the fire there was now a low wooden bench, seven or eight feet in length, but only a foot or so wide, standing on sturdy legs about two feet from the ground. And it was towards this narrow item of furniture that Cathy now found herself being guided.
Being forced to lay face down on the bench, Cathy heard a soft rattling sound issuing from the other side of the room. She turned her head just in time to see the silver cat-suited member of the triumvirate walking back towards her with several lengths of chain in her hands. As the realisation of what was about to occur suddenly hit her, Cathy tried to stand, but only ended up rolling over onto her side and tumbling the short distance onto the fireside rug. She immediately felt two pairs of hands roughly pick her up and place her back in her former position, and within seconds, the first chain had wended its way around her waist and was being passed under the bench and bought back around to its staring position.
Twice more this encircling procedure ensued, before the whole thing was pulled as tight as the unyielding links would allow. The sound of a padlock clicking shut soon put paid to any thoughts of leaving the thick wooden plank that she was forced to stare directly at. Three further metal fetters soon followed; the first around her shoulders, another on her thighs, with the third being positioned at her ankles. The chains bit cruelly into the cling-film packaging, as Cathy attempted to wriggle and squirm out of her newly acquired shackles. But the constricting wrap and the unforgiving metal coils meant that she was there to stay. And worse was to follow only seconds later.
Cathy craned her head upwards as a flash of pink latex appeared before her, and a split second later both ends of the bench could be felt being lifted into the air. The transportation process lasted no more than a second or two, however, as the sturdy wooden pew was placed only a few feet from its starting position. Even without turning her head to gaze at the nearby fireplace, Cathy could tell from the sudden increase in heat, that she was now within inches of the deep orange flames and crackling logs which spat hostile sparks upwards and outwards at alarmingly regular intervals. With the same callous disregard for her welfare as they’d shown in the kitchen, the heartless women now took their leave; Cathy turning her head and watching as three skin-tight latex derrières disappeared from the room.
Whilst it was a relief to no longer be shivering with cold, the sudden intensity of the heating up process was an equal, if not worse source of anguish. The links of the chains, being good thermal conductors, heated up to scorching levels within a minute, whilst the tightly constricting cling-film trapped the heat and caused the temperature within to rise to an unbearable intensity in next to no time. Cathy squealed and squirmed in her helplessness, but failed to propel the solid wooden bench away from the source of her discomfort. She felt her face reddening, and the sweat inside her cocoon begin to build. Would this heating process make the cling-film loosen? It didn’t seem to have that effect, as her body and limbs remained tightly compacted in the uncompromising casing.
Just as she was beginning to think that she was going to overheat and spontaneously combust, however, the return of the three servants signalled a further change in circumstance for the now extremely hot and bothered captive. Moving her a few feet away from the direct influence of the conflagration, Cathy noticed that all three wore gloves to handle the untouchably hot chains and padlocks as they went about parting her from the now very warm bench. Cathy’s emotions at this point were a mixture of relief and fear; relief to be out of the intense heat, but fear of what was in store for her next. And the answer to this question was soon forthcoming: more of the same.
Hauling her back to the kitchen, Cathy noticed the open chest freezer looming large in front of her. She screamed and begged to not once more be subjected to the sub-zero conditions that she’d so recently had to endure. But her protests fell – as she knew they would – on deaf ears. And seconds later the familiar frost coated walls were staring her in the face... followed by a blackness akin to an Antarctic winter’s night.
The extreme change of temperature, from overbearing heat to biting cold, was a shock to the system that caused Cathy to once again try everything in her powers to get out of the icebox. But she knew that her tormentors would return only when they were good and ready, not at her beck and call. The only comfort she could draw from the situation was that – hopefully - this stint in the freezing hellhole would, like her previous experience, only last a few minutes.
And so it proved. But of course there was to be no respite in her see-sawing session of extreme torture. Upon release from the freezer, she was immediately manoeuvred back into the parlour and chained in close proximity to the fire once again; more logs having been thrown onto the blaze in the interim period.
And so it went on; ten minutes or so of intense heat, followed by a further ten of extreme cold. Cathy lost count of the number of times she was forced to hop on her bound feet from kitchen to parlour and back again; each time her pleas for a cessation of this barbaric treatment becoming more animated, and on each occasion being ignored. When was this nightmare going to end? She even found herself hoping and praying that Dolores would turn up to put a stop to the devious antics of her servants, who seemed to be completely out of control. And after what seemed like several hours, her prayers were finally answered.
Dolores strutted into the kitchen just as Cathy was being readied for another stint in the freezer cabinet. She wore a long black leather coat that reached to her knees over her usual leather cat-suit. In her hands were a set of car keys.
“Well, well, well. I go out shopping for a couple of hours and all hell breaks loose.”
Cathy whimpered into her gag, hoping that the three women were about to be given a severe telling-off for their treatment of her. But when she looked at Dolores, she observed that her host was smiling.
“That’s enough for now girls. I’ll take care of Cathy for a while.”
Without hesitation, the cat-suited trio exited the room, leaving Cathy sitting precariously on the edge of the freezer chest. Behind her, drafts of cold air wafted up onto her back, soothing the scorching heat that had recently built up inside the transparent wrappings, yet also threatening a return to the icy interior at any moment.
Dolores walked across the room and gazed out of the kitchen window for a few seconds. Finally, still facing into the sun, she broke her silence.
“So Cathy, what did you do to warrant the ‘ice and fire’ treatment from my staff? You must have really angered them somehow. My guess is that you asked them to help you escape from here. That usually gets them in a rage. Is that what happened?”
She turned and glared long and hard at Cathy, who shifted nervously on the cusp of the icebox.
“Well girl, I asked you a question? Did you or did you not ask for their help in getting away from here?”
Cathy realised that to lie would do her no good, and that Dolores really already knew the answer anyway. Meekly she nodded and allowed a hushed “aha” to force its way past her gag.
Dolores strolled slowly back across the tiled floor to where her prisoner sat. She sighed in exasperation.
“Well at least you’re being honest darling. But I’m afraid that you’re going to suffer double punishment for your troubles.”
The Mistress pulled Cathy up onto her feet. Even so, Dolores was still several inches taller than her opponent, and looked down her nose at her.
“You see, not only have my girls done exactly the right thing in torturing you for this ridiculous talk of escape, but now I’m going to have to give you yet another lesson in obedience.”
She turned her head and shouted towards the door that led into the passageway beyond.
“Girls, come and make sure that Cathy has an afternoon she won’t forget in a hurry. I suggest that maybe she’d like to luxuriate in a strict hog-tie for a few hours.”
Immediately, the faithful three reappeared in the entrance; as if they’d been hovering just outside all the time, knowing that they would soon be called into action once more. Cathy began to weep at the realisation that her endless nightmare was set to continue. But as she was being led away, Dolores called after her.
“Don’t worry Cathy, I’ve got a special cameo role for you to play at my ‘Bondage for Beginners’ class tonight. That should give you something to look forward to.”
Cathy found herself in a room she hadn’t been in before. In fact, you could hardly call it a room at all, more a windowless storage cupboard. But it was big enough to take a large wooden trunk that stood with its lid gaping open in the centre of the otherwise empty space, as if awaiting her arrival. But although Cathy knew that her ultimate destiny was to be placed inside this strongly built chest, her guards had a few modifying touches to add to her bondage prior to entombment.
Firstly, the cling-film that still held her in such constricting circumstances - despite the extremes of temperature to which it had been exposed - was now clearly shown to be superfluous to requirements, and was quickly and efficiently cut away by the silver-clad female. The scissors she used for this operation were long and razor sharp by the looks of them, and Cathy winced as they crossed her breasts, sheared rapidly over her abdomen, and made their rapier-like incision down the front of her legs. With the transparent casing now gone, the relatively cool air of the storeroom washed over Cathy’s spandex-clad form, and she realised now just how hot and sweaty the fire had made her; the tightly fitting garment adhering to her skin even more than usual with its damp, sticky embrace. But she was given very little time to ponder the state of her clothing, as almost immediately the handcuffs were replaced by coils of tightly wound rope that bit deeply into her flesh and made her pine for the relative comfort of the steel bracelets. Her focus of attention was soon distracted from her wrist bonds, however, as the reluctant captive was womanhandled to the floor and the binding process continued apace.
Being forced to lie on her stomach, Cathy soon found her feet being forced up behind her until they touched her bound and useless hands. The next thing she knew, more rope was being coiled around the cinch in her ankle bond, then connected to the cord that bit into her wrists. For a second or two the uncaring pairs of hands released their grip on her at this point, but any hope she may have entertained that her bonds could in some way be relinquished, were soon shown to be mere wishful thinking, as Cathy now found her wrists and ankles conjoined by their shared fetter. Bond followed bond in quick succession now, as her elbows and now arched torso were subjected to a vast array of different tying styles and techniques, involving more rope, chains with padlocks and duct tape; the latter seemingly an especially favoured medium of the three tireless riggers, with the final flourish being a thick cocooning layer around her hands and fingers. With their victim now well and truly subdued, a change of gag was called for; the drool soaked ball being replaced by the now familiar stuff gag and encircling tape. Right on cue, as the enthusiastic threesome came to the end of the immobilising process, Dolores appeared in the doorway.
“My, you do look good all wrapped up in those bonds Cathy. How does it feel to be the guinea pig for my girls’experiments? You have to admit, they’re pretty good at their job.”
‘Good’ was not exactly the first word that sprang into Cathy’s mind when she contemplated the situation she found herself in right now. With her limbs trapped in the most unnatural of poses, and her whole body restrained with a severity she’d never before encountered, she rocked from side to side on the floor, in an effort to find a more comfortable position. But alas, this was an unattainable goal, as she was incapable of building up enough momentum in her rolling motion to tip herself over. Dolores merely laughed at these pitiful attempts at repositioning.
“You know something Cathy? Trying to move around out here is way too dangerous for me to allow you to continue. After all, I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself before tonight’s little event. So I think, for your own safety, it’s time we consigned you to a more secure and safe location.”
Without any further instruction being given, the silent sidekicks grabbed Cathy by the legs, shoulders and arms, and in no more than three seconds had lifted her up and placed her face down inside the musty smelling trunk.
“Okay Cathy, you’re brief stint in the spotlight is scheduled for around ten o’clock tonight. That gives you nine hours or so to rest and ready yourself for your big moment. I’d try to relax if I were you, as those bonds look so tight, that too much movement will cause a lot of friction and a great deal of distress if you’re not careful.”
She was about to turn and leave, when something else seemed to suddenly occur to her.
“Oh and by the way Cathy, I shall expect absolute obedience when your time comes this evening. And if you’re really good and don’t act up, I may even consider reducing your sentence by a day or two. So, none of those struggling and screaming shenanigans that you’re so prone to, is that clear?”
The question was obviously rhetorical, as she didn’t wait for a response, but simply added, “Don’t worry, there are a couple of tiny air holes drilled into the side of the trunk, so you shouldn’t suffocate. So until tonight Cathy, I’ll bid you farewell.”
Without warning, the lid of the trunk slammed down above her head. The sound of rattling chains was followed by several padlocks clicking shut, informing the now darkness-enveloped Cathy that this was to be her resting place for the foreseeable future.
To say that the next few hours were agony for Cathy, would be one of the greatest understatements of all time – both from a physical and psychological standpoint. Wedged in the severely restrictive box, unable to move from side to side, she resigned herself to yet another lengthy stretch in solitary confinement. Struggling only exacerbated the situation, so from an early stage Cathy made a conscious effort not to move. No sound entered her cramped prison, and the atmosphere inside soon became stuffy and humid, never letting the still sweat-saturated cat-suit dry out. The only good point was that the temperature was now constant and not prone to the severe fluctuations of earlier. But there was no way she could sleep in these conditions, and although she wore no hood or blindfold, she received very few visual stimuli to steer her mind away from her predicament. She tried to think about her life outside, and what she would do when she did – eventually - get out of here. But the strict bondage was a constant reminder that her chances of interacting with the world beyond the high boundary walls of Shackleton Grange were slim, to say the least, and she found the thoughts of home and the memories of happier times too upsetting to bear.
So what else was there to occupy her mind through the long, slow hours? Well there was that strange experience of last night, when all of a sudden being tied up hadn’t seemed quite such a bad thing after all. Okay, Cathy had heard of bondage being used for sexual gratification before, but she’d never paid it much heed, as it was simply something that had never held any appeal for her. But perhaps Dolores was right. Maybe she would find herself enjoying the experience of being tied up after a few more days. If she behaved herself, then perhaps last night’s little performance would be repeated. Maybe she would...
Cathy shook herself out of this foolish reverie and chastised herself for entertaining such an obscene notion! How could she even begin to think such a thing? She was being kept here against her will, and nothing, not even the most intense orgasm in the world, would ever stop her from seeking release from her imprisonment at the earliest opportunity. Stay alert and bide your time, she told herself for what seemed like the thousandth time. The chance to escape would arise, and when it did she would be ready... at least that was the theory.
Finally, with her whole body aching profusely from the severe hog-tie, and her limbs stretched almost beyond the point of endurance, Cathy heard a door open somewhere close at hand. She was expecting – and indeed hoping - that the lid of her makeshift coffin was about to be unlocked at this point, but instead she felt the trunk rock slightly, before the sensation of being lifted into the air caused her to let out a stifled gasp of surprise. Seconds later, the constant jolting and jiggling from side to side informed her that she was on the move, but where was she being taken? Surely this must have something to do with the cryptic remark Dolores had made about a role in her bondage class tonight, but what this meant exactly, Cathy had been given no clue.
All of a sudden, the heavy crate slanted downwards at an angle at the front, and its helpless human cargo found herself being flung in that direction, so that her head met the wooden wall of her tomb. But this descent of the stairs, although bumpy, lasted only a few seconds, before level ground was once more attained, and the journey itself soon came to an abrupt halt, with the trunk coming to rest on the floor with a loud thump which reverberated around Cathy’s mobile detention centre. Dolores’ voice could now be heard, and she seemed to be addressing her audience with an air of authority. Although her words were blocked out somewhat by the sound of the locks just above Cathy’s head rattling, she was sure she heard Dolores waxing lyrical over the joys of ultra-tight bondage. And as if to prove her point - in an almost ‘here’s one I prepared earlier’ moment - the lid above Cathy’s head creaked open and light poured into the confined space.
Cathy awkwardly turned her face up towards the source of the illumination. Once her eyes adjusted to the brilliance, her focus sharpened to reveal a number of women peering down at her, as if she were an exhibit in a museum... or maybe at a freak show. There was a collective intake of breath as they set eyes upon her, and the gasps and startled ‘ooohs’ of surprise suggested they had no idea what they were about to behold. Unlike the women that she’d met at the Bondage Convention weekend, these females seemed to be, on average, younger and more innocent looking; as if they were less accustomed to the ethos and culture of Shackleton Grange.
But this was a good sign, as far as Cathy was concerned, as surely at least one of these women must see that she was in extreme discomfort and take pity on her. Groaning and struggling for all she was worth, Cathy tried to win the sympathy of the gathered women, who, when she looked more closely, all seemed to be wearing figure-hugging attire. But if she thought that her attempt to convey the message that she wasn’t exactly here of her own free will would meet with success, then she was to be bitterly disappointed, as Dolores began her prepared spiel, intended to give the impression that this was all just a game. Cathy shrieked as loudly as she could, but her gagged outcry was no match for the calm and confident manner in which Dolores reassured the assembled group that nothing untoward was going on.
And seconds later, even her ability to appeal with her terror-filled eyes was removed, as the lid once again slammed into place. Just prior to the light being extinguished, however, she caught the eye of a blonde girl, who looked on open mouthed at the unfolding scene before her. Cathy made one final attempt at soliciting help from the stunned woman, and she hoped that her sad, fearful expression and deliberately pitiful cries might strike a chord in a woman who looked to be around her own age.
Whether her efforts had worked or had all been in vain, Cathy had no way of knowing at that moment. What she did know, however, was that there was no mass protest by the assemblage, which suggested that the majority of them, at least, had been taken in by Dolores’ deception.
Cathy found her confining casket being once more lifted and moved. This time, however, the journey was of only a few yards, and she soon found herself once more stationary. The voices of the women she’d just been introduced to could still be heard from not far away, and it was clear, as the high heels gradually began to pass by close at hand, accompanied by parting “goodnight” shouts, that the majority of the group were leaving. After maybe fifteen minutes of this, however, the general tumult died down, and the house seemed to return to its usual state of quietude. So had she been successful in her endeavours to enlist help? As the minutes passed and no sound of police sirens reached her ears, her hopes faded. And within a few minutes, Cathy also had the rekindled wrath of Dolores to deal with.
As the lid of the chest once more opened, Cathy stared up at her three now familiar adversaries, who wasted no time in hauling her out of the box and releasing her from the worst of the hog-tie’s tape, chains and cords, whilst leaving wrists still bound and gag untouched. But the discarded ropes were not redundant for long, for as soon as the knots had loosened enough to allow her jailers to slip the bonds from her legs, they immediately found new employment in fashioning a rope harness around the arms and torso of their misery-racked victim. The relinquishing of the leg ropes was no sign of reprieve for her lower limbs either, as swiftly a pair of metal ankle cuffs were fitted, the connecting chain of which gave her very little room for manoeuvre. As was usually the case in such situations, Dolores seemed to sense the precise moment that her minions would finish their allotted tasks, and reappeared in the hallway. She was not pleased.
The tirade of insults and threats that followed were delivered with such venom and anger that Cathy was left in no doubt that she was about to be subjected to yet another night of severe torment. She found herself cowering, as the Mistress ranted on for several minutes, until the level of verbal maltreatment became such that Cathy’s mind seemed to shut out the constant stream of abuse; a sort of subconscious defence mechanism against the violent outpourings of her seriously enraged captor. Once Dolores had finally calmed down, Cathy found herself being led away to the cellars, where she was subjected to the ultimate in ball-tie mummification, which ensured that every inch of her being was sealed beneath multiple layers of duct tape.
Every inch, that is, except for her head, which instead succumbed to claustrophobic encasement in a black leather hood which, when laced up tightly, hugged the contours of the wearer’s face. With no slit for either eyes or mouth, and with padding in the vicinity of her ears, Cathy’s descent into further sensorily deprived hell was once more complete, and would undoubtedly remain so well into tomorrow. Or so she had assumed.
The unexpected visitation during the night had come as a complete shock to Cathy, although the fact that someone had actually taken heed of her earlier plea for assistance was the first bit of good fortune to come her way since her incarceration had begun. (How long had it been now, three days or four? Being kept in darkness for all but the most fleeting of periods, made gauging the passage of time a somewhat inaccurate science).
But the fact that this other woman - who had introduced herself as Bethany – had been caught in the act of releasing her, and was also now in Dolores’ clutches, meant that the ray of hope that had briefly flared when her would-be liberator had removed her hood and gag, had once again been extinguished. And now here the two of them were, taped together from neck to toe, with intertwining crotch ropes that caused friction every time either one of them moved.
Perhaps this Bethany character was a plant, to see how she reacted and to report back to Dolores on any further escape attempts she might be contemplating. And this notion became stronger as, in response to her own squirming attempts to free herself, Bethany had started to rhythmically jerk herself off, suggesting that she was enjoying this whole episode. But, after only a minute or two, it occurred to Cathy that the expertly placed crotch rope was rubbing frantically into her with every move that her counterpart made, and that she too was becoming weirdly excited by their strange wriggling duet. So much so, that within seconds of Bethany reaching the pinnacle of sexual ecstasy, Cathy also found herself delighting in one of the most wonderful orgasms she’d ever experienced.
So who was Bethany?
Fellow prisoner or infiltrator brought in to spy on her activities?
There was no possibility of answers being found whilst the two of them were mummified and bound, gagged and hooded to the degree in which they found themselves at the moment. Tomorrow all would be revealed, Cathy surmised, as she heard the soft rhythmic breathing of her closely strapped partner, informing her that Bethany was now asleep. And despite the fact that she was lying on her side, unable to move, on a cold stone floor in a basement cell, Cathy too soon drifted away into the realms of Morpheus.
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Story continued in Part 10
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