The Secrets of Shackleton Grange 12: The Training Room

by Steve Spandex

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© Copyright 2017 - Steve Spandex - Used by permission

Storycodes: FF/ff; captives; bond; hoods; straitjackets; chairtie; escape; discovery; F/f+; spandex; drug; cond; mind-control; slaves; cons/nc; X

(story continues from )

Chapter 12: The Training Room

Cathy shut her eyes, curled up into as tight a ball as she could manage, took one last deep breath and prepared herself for the searing pain which she knew couldn’t be more than a microsecond or two away. And sure enough, she felt something strike her left arm and resigned herself to the fact that the spandex cat-suit, which offered next to no protection, was about to be ripped into by either Fang’s dagger-like teeth or his equally effective claws. She could hear and smell the dog’s breath only inches from her head. But something didn’t seem quite right here.

For instead of the growling, snarling cacophony that the fiendish beast had been making every time she’d had the misfortune to get within a few yards of him, there now came a whining, almost pathetic sound only an inch or two from her face, and no more than a second or so later, she felt something touch the hood in the vicinity of her forehead. But to her surprise, instead of the razor sharp teeth incising deeply into her skull, she experienced the sensation of something slithering over the drum-tight leather. The sensation on her sleeve also seemed to be of something gently nudging her.

Tentatively, Cathy opened her eyes and raised her head just enough to take in the view directly in front of her. To her amazement, in place of the anticipated bared teeth and raised hackles, she came face to face with a creature barely recognisable in temperament from the vicious beast of earlier. In place of the malicious hellhound that she’d encountered before, there now stood a tail wagging, affectionate family pet that thrust its snout as close as possible to her face and sniffed the leather head covering, before once again giving her cheek a lick with his saliva-lashed tongue. The pressure on her arm was now seen to be Fang's softly placed paw, as if in greeting, or maybe as an invitation to play. Cathy stared in relief and disbelief at the change that had come over the animal, as, having inspected this strangely motionless plaything, he began to lose interest and turned his attention to the other similar looking object only a few feet away.

Fang’s tail smacked her left arm as he passed by, and seconds later Cathy watched as the now shining example of mans’ best friend gave Bethany the same slobbering welcome as he had just meted out to her. But why the sudden change from seemingly crazed predator to playful pup?

“It seems that Fang has taken quite a shine to you both. It’s a good job that his bark is worse than his bite!”

Unnoticed by Cathy, Dolores had sauntered over to within a foot or so of where she sat. Towering over her prisoners, she gazed down and smiled smugly.

“You see, Penny has taught Fang to react to various command words, and “kill” is just one of them. The trouble is, he’s not that good with understanding the English language. To him, “kill” is a trigger word that he associates with being friendly and playful. As soon as anyone utters it, he becomes a happy, docile doggy who’s willing to let you tickle his tummy. At the moment, he’s probably wondering why you’re not getting up and running around with him, making a fuss of him and throwing sticks for him to retrieve. Because he’s been let off the leash, he can’t understand why you haven’t been too. Of course, unfortunately for him – and for you – that’s not going to happen I’m afraid.”

Fang had now stopped licking Bethany’s face and was standing a few feet away, looking back at the two shackled maidens, as if imploring them to come and have some fun frolicking about on the lawn.

Dolores bent down and commenced untying Cathy’s ankles. Taking hold of the chain that still hung from her collar, to ensure she didn’t attempt to run away, she then moved across to where Bethany sat and proceeded to release her legs also. With both her captives now capable of standing, she pulled them to their feet.

Fang had by now become bored of waiting for his would-be playmates to get up and follow him, and had stalked off to sniff around the hedges and flower beds. However, a whistle and call from Penelope soon had him rushing back to his mistress, where the leash was once more secured to his collar.

“Well, I’ll be off now Dolores. Thanks very much for lunch. It was great to see you again, and such a delight chasing your latest recruits through the woods. I haven’t had such fun since the time that you were putting Electra, Sapphire and Crystal through their initial training routine. I’m sure Fang had a wonderful time too.”

As if to add his confirmation of this, Fang barked and wagged his tail vigorously. As the woman in the police outfit sauntered away towards the front of the house, Dolores called after her.

“Bye Penny. We should do this sort of thing more often.”


Electra, Sapphire and Crystal?

Cathy had already heard Dolores refer to her pink-suited minion as Electra, so it didn’t take a great leap of logic to deduce that Sapphire and Crystal must be the names of her other two zombie-like slaves. But what had Penelope meant about their ‘initial training routine’? Had they at one time been put through something similar to the events of today? Had they, in fact, been kidnapped by Dolores at some time in the past and held against their wills, until such time as they had been conditioned to accept their lot and willingly remain here to wait on Dolores hand and foot? And if this was indeed how their presence here could be explained, how had this indoctrination been achieved?

As she and Bethany were dragged by their leashes back into the dark passageways of Shackleton Grange, Cathy pondered upon these questions, but could come up with no definitive answers. And another conundrum that suddenly occurred to her now, as she and Bethany were led up the main flight of stairs to the first floor, was where, exactly, were those three subservient women right now? As Dolores had earlier asked rhetorically, why get your hands dirty when you have servants to do the menial tasks for you? Yet now, as they traipsed down yet another featureless, ill-lit corridor, it seemed that Dolores was - temporarily at least - on her own in handling her two less than satisfied house guests.

After a few minutes, Dolores and her two manacled prisoners arrived at their destination; another nondescript door with no hint of what could be lying in wait on the other side.

Having unlocked the door, Dolores yanked the chains hard to encourage Bethany and Cathy to follow her into the room beyond. Initially in complete darkness, the dim light from the corridor revealed that there was a window away to the left, although this was obscured by drawn blackout curtains. The switching on of the light, however, revealed a room devoid of furnishings save for two upright, high-backed chairs. Over the backs of both, Cathy could see that black leather items of clothing had been neatly laid out. And from the straps that hung from strategic points on these garments, she instantly recognised them as straitjackets similar to the one she’d been forced into wearing on her first night of captivity; only a few days in the past, yet now seeming like a lifetime ago.

“It must become quite tiresome, having your wrists bound or handcuffed behind your back the whole time. So, as a sort of reward for being such good sports in our games today, I’ve decided that you need a little variety in your bondage. These straitjackets, as I’m sure Cathy will attest, are basically snug and comfortable, yet inescapable.”

As she spoke, Dolores pushed Cathy into one corner of the room, before setting to work releasing Bethany from her current manacled state and rigging her out in the restrictive apparel. Of course, as always, Dolores made certain that her captive had no means of escape during the tricky interim period where she would be free of her bonds for a short while, by removing her leather hood prior to unlocking the cuffs and replacing it with the more sensory depriving one without eye slits. For a brief moment during the change of headgear, Bethany’s long blonde hair cascaded down - like a dammed stream that had suddenly burst its banks – before Dolores neatly pulled the straggled mass back into a ponytail and applied the replacement hood. Cathy watched from only feet away as Bethany’s face momentarily appeared; the grey duct tape still firmly pressed to the pale skin of her cheeks and mouth despite the rigours of the day’s events. Locking this all-covering sight inhibitor in place at the neck with a small but sturdy padlock, Dolores could then begin to release the shackles from the wrists of the now eyeless female, safe in the knowledge that the hood couldn’t be removed by force alone.

Cathy shifted uneasily from foot to foot as she watched the slow process of her fellow inmate being suited up in the black leather contraption and the straps wrapped brutally tightly around her. As this was taking place, Dolores began to explain the reasons for having put her two kidnap victims through this morning’s harrowing chase through the woods.

“I expect you’re wondering exactly why we inflicted that ordeal on you today, aren’t you? After all, if I really had simply wanted to give you some fresh air and exercise, then I could have just had you walked around the quadrant a couple of times.”

She looked at Cathy, that devilish smile engraved on her face.

“Well the answer, my dears, is a simple one ...Boredom.”

She buckled the crotch strap on Bethany’s straitjacket with such cruel force that the hooded woman squealed into her gags.

“You see, Tuesdays are always a bit of a slow day really, as there’s no bondage class tonight, and my staff are all involved in their ‘Weekly Training and Reprogramming Session’ all afternoon and evening. So what’s a girl to do, but amuse herself any way she can? And that’s why I called my old friend Penelope over; so that we could watch you panic in the face of your perceived death at the hands of her wonderful pet pooch.”

Bethany’s jacket was now strapped and buckled to Dolores’ satisfaction it appeared, and she eased the once again helpless woman down onto one of the chairs, before removing the claustrophobic headwear.

“So ‘The Hunt’ as we call it, was purely and simply a way for me to pass the time of day. Wasn’t it kind of me to include you in my leisure plans?”

She laughed coldly, whilst pulling the now loosened hood from Bethany’s head; allowing her hair to once more fall about her shoulders. Moving close to her victim’s still blinking eyes, Dolores’ smirk metamorphosized slowly into a broad yet humourless smile.

“Sadistic bitch, aren’t I”

Although both captives had been thinking along similar lines, neither gave any indication that they were in agreement with Dolores’ self analysis, for fear of retribution.


Such was Dolores’ expertise with all things rope related, that tying Bethany’s legs together at the knees and ankles was something she could have done with her eyes closed, and the process took no more than a minute to complete. With Bethany no longer in a position to flee the scene, the Mistress turned her attention to her second prisoner.

All the while that Dolores had been modifying Bethany’s restraints, Cathy had kept one eye on the door that led back into the corridor. For some reason, Dolores hadn’t closed this after they’d entered the room. This seemed totally out of character for the usually security minded Mistress, and Cathy found herself wondering if this had been done to try to entice her to make an escape bid that was almost certain to fail – in order to hand out further punishment - or whether this really was a lapse in concentration. But knowing that any attempt to reach this exit was doomed to end in failure, Cathy had resisted the urge to try to slip away without her tormentor-in-chief noticing.

Having gone through the process of having the sight restricting leather hood pulled over her head and securely locked, her arms had been released from their shackles for only a few seconds, during which time Cathy rubbed her tender wrists and winced at the pain that even this gentle action produced. Almost immediately, however, she found her arms being inserted into the sleeves of the straitjacket, and seconds later her fingers encountered cul-de-sacs of soft yet unyielding leather. For a minute or more, her arms were allowed to hang freely at her sides, as she felt the straps being tightened to their ultimate limits and the buckles being secured in at least four different locations along the length of her spine. Then her arms were forcibly threaded through the unbreakable strap situated on the jacket’s front, before being pulled with force across her chest.

Immediately the straps that hung from the fingertip end of the sleeves were pulled mercilessly tightly behind her, and buckled in place, ensuring that her arms remained immobilised until further notice. The strap at her neck almost choked her as Dolores forced it that extra fraction of an inch to cut into her throat. Then the crotch strap was pulled harshly through her legs from back to front and reunited with its counterpart on her stomach. Double checking that all the straps were as constrictive as possible – and further tightening any that weren’t up to standard – Dolores was finally satisfied that her second convict was now in no position to disrobe herself from her new outfit, however much she contorted her arms and body. Thus reassured, Dolores unlocked the padlock at Cathy’s neck and eased the hood upwards until it cleared the top of her head.

The return of Cathy’s vision showed her that Bethany still sat motionlessly on the chair by the window. Motionless, that is, apart from her eyes, which were wide and expressive, as if eager to convey a message to her cellmate. And that message, as Bethany’s eyes beckoned towards the door, then back to Cathy, seemed to suggest that she was of the opinion that Cathy should be thinking of making her move in the direction of the exit. But how could this be achieved with Dolores lavishing her full attention on her at that moment? And in a minute or two it would be impossible, as Cathy found herself being manoeuvred towards the second chair, where Dolores was soon going to bind her legs with the two lengths of rope she carried in her right hand. Suddenly, however, the meaning of Bethany’s furtive gestures became clear to her.

As Cathy was being urged to take her place in the unoccupied chair, she noticed Bethany’s bound body lunge forward and land with a heavy thud on the uncarpeted floorboards. Dolores, who had her back to the plummeting woman at that moment, turned with a start and released her grip on Cathy’s shoulder. In a split second, Cathy figured out that this fall from the chair was no accident. Nor was it a sign that Bethany had fainted or in any way been suddenly taken ill. This was, in fact, what her fellow detainee had been alluding to with her eye contact. It was a diversion tactic to allow Cathy to make her escape. But how far would she get in her restrained state? Not far seemed to be the obvious answer, and for a millisecond Cathy got cold feet and thought better of making a move. But then the adrenalin kicked in and she remembered that she’d vowed to herself that she had to take whatever opportunity she could to extricate herself from this ongoing nightmare, whenever it presented itself.

And that time had just arrived. With Dolores now preoccupied with her fallen prisoner, Cathy lifted herself from the chair as stealthily as she could and tiptoed gingerly towards the door, only five feet or so away. She should have known by now, however, that no piece of timber within the ancient structure of Shackleton Grange could have any pressure applied to it without some form of squeak, creak or other telltale sound emanating from it, and the first board that she put her weight down on was no exception to this rule. Immediately, Dolores turned from her crouched position over the prone and seemingly unconscious figure on the floor. However, as she stood in preparation to halt Cathy’s escape bid, Bethany sprung into action. Swinging her bound legs upwards at the precise moment that Dolores was halfway to her feet, her aim was perfect, and her soles slammed like a battering ram with as much force as she could muster into her opponent’s abdomen.

With a low groan of pain, Dolores fell forward, doubled up in agony and seemingly winded. Cathy glanced quickly at the fallen Mistress, then darted for the door, a muffled note of encouragement from Bethany’s gagged mouth ringing in her ears as she started down the permanently twilit corridor in the direction from which they’d approached only minutes earlier.

Halting momentarily by the stairwell, Cathy stole a peek over her shoulder, dreading the sight of Dolores bearing down on her only yards away. But the corridor was empty. Bethany must have done more to temporarily incapacitate Dolores than she’d at first realised.

Taking the marble stairs one at a time, Cathy descended as swiftly as she dared; her anxiety to get as far away from Dolores as possible offset by her inability to grasp the handrail. At her side, the portraits of the women in their varying states of bondage seemed to glare at her disapprovingly, as if not comprehending her need to get out of a situation which they found so intriguing and delightful.

Reaching the bottom without incident, Cathy stopped for a few seconds, unsure of which direction to take. Should she aim for the front door, only a few yards away? She soon discarded this option, as she was certain that it would be impossible to open in her straitjacketed state. Maybe she should look for another less obvious exit? Or perhaps - the idea suddenly came to her - she could find a telephone and somehow manage to dial 999. But where was the nearest phone located in this house? In all her time being dragged from room to room, she couldn’t ever remember seeing any evidence of such a thing anywhere.

A sudden noise from overhead diverted her attention away from such matters and made her concentrate all her efforts for the time being into avoiding recapture. The sound was of heavy running footsteps, and they appeared to be getting louder. And then she heard the voice, and a chill ran up her spine. Undeniably that of Dolores, the tone was one of extreme anger and the words were shrieked at high volume - whether due to rage or pain, she couldn’t tell - and obviously intended for her benefit.


Blindly, Cathy began running along a corridor that took her past numerous closed doors; pulling and tugging on her trapped arms as she went, in the hope that she might somehow have developed Houdini-like powers all of a sudden. Success on this front eluded her, however.

Luckily, the three servants seemed to have vanished. What was it Dolores had said? Something about them being on a ‘Weekly Training and Reprogramming Session’, whatever that might be. And quite frankly, Cathy didn’t care what it was, provided that it meant there were three less people around to stifle her bid for freedom. But what was she to do now? Regardless of the fact that Dolores seemed to be her only adversary at the moment, this would count for nothing if she failed to either get out of the house or found some way to contact the outside world. For now, she decided that making sure Dolores didn’t catch her would have to be her primary goal. What happened after that, she would have to simply play by ear.

After a few yards, Cathy spied what she was looking for. Unlike the other wooden doors in this seemingly endless passageway, one a few yards along on the left seemed to have been left ajar, and through the narrow opening, Cathy could make out some sort of subdued flickering light emanating from within. The exact nature of this random wavering illumination – one moment bright, the next dull, and forever changing in contrast and hue – was a mystery to her at that moment. But her need to find a hiding place and therefore buy more time to figure out a plan of campaign, meant that she was drawn towards this strange glow like a moth to a flame.

The aperture between door and frame turned out to be only three inches or so wide, once Cathy reached it. However, inserting her foot into the gap allowed her to slowly push on the wooden panel, until it had opened sufficiently to allow her to squeeze through. Once inside, Cathy’s first priority was to reduce this opening back to the state she’d found it. This of course caused the obligatory creaking sound, which made Cathy freeze in fear and listen for the sound of approaching footsteps. Tentatively, she peeped out of the slim gap, dreading the sound of approaching heels. But after a few seconds, when silence still prevailed in the corridor, she breathed a sigh of relief into her gag. For the time being, she seemed to have thrown Dolores off the trail.


But where was she exactly? As she surveyed the scene in the passageway outside, the room’s light source still seemed to be flickering behind her, and now a very faint, almost inaudible murmuring sound reached Cathy’s ears, as if in aural accompaniment to the visual display. It sounded as if someone was whispering from far away, in indistinct and therefore indecipherably low tones.

Turning to face the room’s interior, Cathy encountered a strange twilight world. With no windows in evidence, and no central overhead source of light to alleviate the gloom, it became obvious now that the irregularly flashing lights that had first drawn her here were actually given off by three large television screens, set in a line along one wall of the otherwise darkened chamber. In front of these, and partially blocking them, Cathy could see three high-backed metal chairs that stood facing the screens at a distance of approximately ten feet. To one side of the room was a table – the only other item of furniture visible – and on this could be seen several bottles of what looked like pills or medication. The faint noise was still in evidence, and this babbling, unintelligible sound appeared to have its genesis in the general direction of the three chairs.

From her position, Cathy could only view the rear of these, and the poor lighting conditions, coupled with the high backs, precluded her from telling whether these seats were occupied, although from the fact that the televisions were active, she figured that they most probably were. Hesitantly, she moved forwards.

As she approached, the moving pictures on the screens came into view, and the images portrayed stopped Cathy in her tracks, although from her time here she should perhaps have had some inkling of what was being aired. For there, on the large HD monitors, with the same silent scenario being re-enacted on all three screens, was the image of a woman who had been bound so tightly and securely that escape was obviously never within her powers. This unidentified woman - gagged, hooded and wearing skin-tight shiny clothing of some description – appeared to be struggling and writhing against the bonds that refused to release their grasp on her limbs and body. All this thrashing and bucking around, however, was not, on closer inspection, meant to evoke a desperate fight for freedom. On the contrary, when viewed for only a few seconds, it was obvious that the star of this show was in actual fact completely at ease with the state she found herself in. In fact, as Cathy gazed at the images before her, it became clear that she was enjoying herself, and what had first appeared to be a battle to break free, was actually a performance designed to enhance the pleasure she could generate from the tight crotch rope, which her struggling movements were intended to heighten.

Momentarily transfixed by the moving images before her, Cathy watched as the woman appeared to writhe in ecstasy as she masturbated for the camera, finally relaxing and allowing her body to go limp on the bed on which this whole scenario was being played out; luxuriating in the memory of her recent exertions. Suddenly the scene changed, and another woman appeared on screen, hogtied and squirming around on the floor of what appeared to be a cellar or basement room. With her long brown hair braided into a pigtail, then tied and knotted to the cord at her ankles, she too was struggling against the stringent cords that bit deeply into her flesh and held her severely bowed body in a posture which allowed no respite from the tension of the bindings that pulled her head backwards, with her hands and feet forced to remain in close proximity to each other. As with her predecessor, however, she also gave the impression that everything was rosy in her world, and her sparkling eyes suggested that she too would soon be enjoying a wonderfully intense orgasm.

Although both horrified and intrigued by this compelling performance, after a minute or two Cathy managed to avert her eyes from the screens and shake herself free from the state of shock that had fleetingly threatened to overwhelm her. She must keep her focus, she sternly lectured herself, and not get distracted by the images that relentlessly attempted to entrap her in their web. Tentatively, Cathy stepped towards the nearest of the chairs, in order to confirm exactly who it was that this display of bondage propaganda was being aimed at.

Three chairs, three servants; it didn’t take a mathematical genius to work out exactly who the likely residents of these seats might be. Even so, as she peered around the back of the chair, Cathy gasped, as her eyes fell on the motionless figure of Dolores’ silver-suited slave.

The woman was sitting upright on the metal seat, her arms on the rests that jutted out in front of her on either side, her calves tight against the front legs of the chair. In the dim light, it took Cathy a second or two to work out that this unnaturally formal posture was not one that the woman would necessarily have chosen to relax in, but was instead of an enforced nature due to the bonds that held her in place. With wide leather straps secured and buckled tightly around her ankles and the lower reaches of the chair’s legs, Cathy could now see that this item of furniture was in fact riveted to the floor and therefore immovable from the spot. Just below her knees, similar straps had also been applied, to further ensure that her legs and those of the chair would remain inseparable. More strapping had also been fixed around her thighs, welding them to the seat, whilst others wound their way around her waist, just below and just above her breasts, and across her shoulders, to guarantee that her torso and the back of the chair stayed conjoined as one entity.

And as would be expected, this unfortunate female’s upper limbs hadn’t escaped the attention of the ever thorough Dolores, as they also exhibited the results of the strapping process, with leather ligatures stringently fastened around her arms in several places. Her head and neck, too, had succumbed to the immobilising procedure, with a collar around her neck tethering her to the chair’s back, whilst a strap around her hooded forehead also connected her skull to the metal structure; the purpose of which seemed to be to prohibit movement of the head to either left or right. From a point on either side of her head, stiff flaps of leather two or three inches square, protruded from this strap, acting as sight excluding appendages or blinkers.

In other words, she had no way of averting her gaze from directly in front of her, where the screen in her line of vision continued to broadcast its message of bondage induced bliss. Over the spot where her ears were hidden by the leather hood, what looked like ear protectors – as worn by workmen on building sites – had been fitted; presumably to keep the woman in a world of silence.

All this would have made Cathy’s jaw drop, if her gag didn’t preclude such a thing. But what really shocked her was the glazed look in the eyes that peered out from the familiar facial covering of this poor creature. For instead of alert, intelligent visual organs, Cathy could see that this woman’s were dull, glazed over and heavily lidded, as if on the verge of sleep...or maybe drugged! In fact, the woman seemed to have no perception of the figure now watching her from only a couple of feet away. If her hands had been available to her, Cathy would have shaken the woman, to try to bring her out of the trance that she seemed to be experiencing. But with her arms held in a secure wrap around her body, all she could do was nudge the chair arm, in the hope that this would break the spell. This failed to elicit even a blink of the eyes from the catatonic female, however, who continued to gaze ahead at the still struggling bound beauty on the plasma screen.

Having failed to get any sort of response from the silver-suited member of Dolores’ team, Cathy looked down the line of identical chairs, and as expected, she saw that these were occupied by the other two servants who had been vital in the Mistress’ plans to keep her in such misery for the past few days; the black-clad redhead furthest away from where she stood, the blonde in the pink outfit in between her two colleagues. All had been lashed to their respective seats in similar fashion, and all seemed oblivious to Cathy’s presence in the room. Each was glued to the flashing images on the screen directly in front of her.

Cathy found her mind working overtime trying to figure out exactly what was going on here. She quickly deduced that this was all some kind of brainwashing exercise, and for the first time she began to understand why this triumvirate were always so submissive and subservient. A quick glance at the bottles of pills on the side table convinced her that they had been drugged prior to being strapped to the chairs, as it presumably made the indoctrination process far easier if their minds were numbed by chemical substances. Now Dolores’ talk of a ‘Weekly Training and Reprogramming Session’ all began to fit into place; they obviously needed this ‘top up’ course to keep them from reverting to their former, free-willed, selves.

But that still left the strange murmuring noises. Cathy had spent the last few minutes so engrossed in the visual aspects of her discovery, that this droning hum had temporarily been relegated to the periphery of her thoughts. But it was still there, constantly burbling away in the background. And now that she focussed her attention once more on this odd disturbance of the otherwise silent room, she realised that it emanated from somewhere close to the head of the nearest of the trio of almost comatose females. Then it suddenly hit her. What she’d thought were ear protectors to block sound, were in fact headphones which were transmitting messages into the hapless women’s brains to complement the video experience.

Cathy would have loved to have been able to rip these listening devices off the silver-suited figure’s head and find out exactly what was being transmitted into her dulled and therefore gullible brain, but the straitjacket made this unfeasible. All she could do was place her ear as close to the woman’s head as possible, in order to try to make sense of the whispered monologue.

It took a few seconds for her hearing to adjust to the low volume of the burbling sound that seeped from the tightly fitting padded headphones, but once she had become attuned to the soft tones, she could clearly make out the unmistakable voice of Dolores conveying her manipulative communiqué to the zombie-like slave girls. Much of the actual wordage was too indistinct to make out, but every so often, a word or phrase would register loud and clear. “The restraint of prisoners must be maintained at all times” was one of the longer sentences that she deciphered. “Bondage is a natural state of being” was another. “Eternal bondage”, “Bondage is good for you”, “Ropes must always be tight and secure”, “The Mistress must be obeyed at all times”; these were some of the random passages that Cathy began to grasp as she became familiar with the low volume subliminal address. And after a few minutes, she heard a repeat of one of the earlier soundbites, which inferred that the message was on a loop; playing the same thing over and over again in repetitive monotony, in order to drill Dolores’ ideology into the deep subconscious minds of her programmed attendants.

It was becoming obvious to Cathy that the only way to reverse this mind control regime that Dolores was reigning over, was to in some way bring the helplessly befuddled trio out of their stupors and bring them back to the reality of the situation; namely that what Dolores was doing was manipulative and evil, and needed to be brought to an end. But without her hands to release the three strapped and enslaved females, she had no way of attaining this goal. Nor did she have the means to relieve them of the headphones in the hope that this would break the spell, as her best efforts to lean over and knock the ear pieces away from the woman’s face with her shoulder proved impossible; the headset seemingly immovably strapped to her head. Would she have any better luck with the other two servants?

Cathy passed in front of the silver-suited figure and made her way over towards the woman in pink, who appeared to have no more comprehension of the world around her than her colleague. As she did so, however, she glanced at the spellbound female she had just left, and noticed that, as she crossed in front of the screen, the momentary obscuring of the visual stimuli caused the woman’s eyes to frown fleetingly, as if she wasn’t quite sure why her viewing pleasure had been interrupted. So that must be the key to bringing them out of their dreamlike states. Cut off the visual source and you could, maybe, at least hinder the intake of this hateful propaganda for a time. Cathy decided to experiment with this train of thought. Standing directly in the line of sight between the silver clad woman and her monitor, Cathy waited to see if she noticed a change in the demeanour of the drugged and stupefied captive.

For a second or two, nothing much happened. But then, she noticed the fingers on each of the woman’s hands – until now held lifelessly limp – began to twitch and stretch. And this corresponded with a movement of the hooded figures eyes; no longer fixed straight ahead, but now gazing around, her pupils flicking from side to side and up and down, as if trying to work out where she was and how she got here. Still groggy, she began to flex her muscles, but of course found herself hopelessly restrained by the brutally efficient strapping. So it was working! Cathy knew that after months – or possibly years – of weekly sessions like this, she was hardly going to turn this woman against her boss in such a short space of time. But if she could maybe plant the seed of revolution in this clearly confused and unwilling conscript, then at least that would be a starting point. And why attempt to turn just one of these slaves against their Mistress, when all three could maybe be persuaded to mutiny en masse?

With her ambitions growing by the second, and her mind working so fast that she was getting ahead of herself with this grand scheme of how to topple Mistress Dolores’ evil empire, Cathy failed to recognise the signs - from the slow creak of a door close at hand - that there was now a fifth person in the room. Her first inkling that this was the case, therefore, was when Dolores’ angry tones cut through the dull monotonous drone of her own voice through the headphones.

“Just what do you think you’re doing in here?”

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