Author Topic: The Secrets of Shackleton Grange  (Read 10494 times)

Offline Steve Spandex

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Re: The Secrets of Shackleton Grange
« Reply #15 on: May 22, 2017, 05:48:45 PM »
Chapter 3 - Horse Play

After what seemed like several hours, during which Cathy had no option but to remain in immovable stasis, the sound of several sets of feet approaching slowly but surely built in volume, until they sounded as if they were just outside the door. The turning of the key in the lock, then the creaking of the ancient wood, was swiftly followed by the unmistakable tones of Dolores’ voice permeating through the layers of latex.

“Hello Cathy. Hope you got some sleep and are feeling nice and refreshed for the challenge this afternoon. You look so contented and relaxed in there, that it seems a shame to disturb you. However, I promised you a day at the races, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint you by excluding you from the proceedings.”

As she spoke, a pair of hands moved slowly across her breasts.

“You really are tightly encased in there still, aren’t you sweetie? It looks like this bed really is airtight.”

She addressed the other women.

“Feel how firm this latex has stayed girls. You wouldn’t get anything as tight and unforgiving as this with any other form of bondage.”

Almost immediately, three more pairs of hands began exploring the contours of Cathy’s latex enveloped body and limbs; massaging and kneading her flesh softly and tenderly.

Cathy was in a dilemma now. Part of her wanted to shy away from the intrusive fingers that seemed to be crawling like insects all over her. But on the other hand, the strange and not unpleasant sensations that she’d experienced the last time the hands had wended their way across her helpless form, made her curious as to the nature of this phenomenon, and keen to explore further. But the extreme compression of her hermetically sealed capsule meant that she could hardly move a muscle of course; either to repel or embrace this latest contact.  And as before, Dolores called a halt to proceedings almost as soon as they’d begun. 

“Okay girls, let’s get her out of the bed and ready for the main event of the weekend, which I know she’s looking forward to almost as much as we are.”

As if turned off by a switch, the hands ceased their rhythmic stroking. A few more seconds elapsed, before the rasping sound of the sealed zipper, just above her head, coincided with a sudden inrush of air, as the clinging latex sheets suddenly released their vice-like grip on every part of her body instantaneously. The unexpected nature of this semi-release, made Cathy gasp. Then, once the realisation that she was now able to wriggle and squirm with relative ease hit her, she began to fight against the still stringent ropes that had been redundant during her time in vacuum packed limbo, but now reminded her that her limbs were bound, and that she was still a long way short of her longed for freedom.

But these embryonic struggles were quickly stifled at birth, as Dolores’ three servants, colleagues or slaves - Cathy hadn’t yet worked out exactly what their status was, or indeed whether their presence here was voluntary or enforced – pulled the breathing tubes out from her nostrils, removed the now limp latex sheet from her head and began extracting her from the sheath.

As soon as she had been pulled from the unorthodox bedding, however, she was immediately set upon by the silent trio, and she found her already securely tied arms being inserted into another form of restraint; this latest affront to her liberty taking the form of a black leather single sleeve arm-binder, which was duly laced tightly so that her elbows almost touched, before being strapped around her shoulders to eradicate any chance of it slipping off.  As this was taking place, Dolores simply stood back against the wall, never once taking her eyes off the proceedings. Only once the sleeve had been applied and its effectiveness checked, did she speak again.

“So Cathy, I hope you’re feeling energetic, because there’s quite a bit of physical exertion involved for you in this afternoon’s activity. But first I suppose we should let you have a refreshment break. After all, we must keep you fit and healthy for the challenges ahead.”

As if on cue, Cathy felt the buckle at the back of her neck loosen, and seconds later the ball that had been constantly embedded in her mouth since last night was being coaxed from behind her teeth. Cathy took several deep breaths and gingerly worked her stiff and extremely tender jaw muscles up and down. She was relieved to be liberated from the agony that this speech inhibitor inflicted, but was certain that this was only a temporary reprieve. However, her attempt to speak – in an effort to once again plead for her freedom – met with dismal failure, as her voice came out merely as a hoarse whisper. Until now, she hadn’t realised just how parched her throat had become. Mercifully, this particular anguish was soon to be remedied, as a bottle of mineral water was held to her lips, and she was allowed the luxury of drinking the cool, refreshing liquid at her own pace.

Having quenched her raging thirst, Cathy found a bowl of some indeterminate mashed up foodstuff being brought into close proximity to her mouth, before a spoonful of the unappetising concoction was offered to her lips. Cathy baulked at the idea of allowing even a morsel of this foul smelling delicacy to enter her mouth, but this resistance was immediately noticed and commented upon.

“Cathy, my dear, your refusal to eat when food is offered is most definitely not in your best interests. If you shun the cuisine presented to you now, then I’ll have to assume that you won’t be interested in any further refreshment for the next few days.  And going on hunger strike will result in a lot of unnecessary suffering being inflicted on you. So eat up, there’s a good girl.”

With great reluctance, Cathy opened her mouth a mere fraction of an inch and allowed the woman holding the spoon to shovel some of the food in. It tasted like cold salty porridge and almost immediately she felt her stomach turn. Somehow or other, she forced herself to swallow the disgusting fare.

“There, isn’t that good? Much better for you than all that junk food that people eat nowadays. I’ll keep you on basic rations for a day or two, just to show my displeasure at you breaking into my home. But then, if you’re very good and don’t cause me any problems, maybe we’ll see about getting you something a bit more palatable to eat. ”

A second spoonful was tendered, and Cathy tried not to think about the vile flavour as she attempted to get through this hideous ordeal as quickly as she possibly could. Thankfully, after four mouthfuls, Dolores put a halt to the proceedings; seemingly now bored with watching Cathy’s pitiful efforts to get the almost inedible meal down her throat.

“That will do for now. We wouldn’t want you to get indigestion, seeing as how you’re going to be doing quite a bit of running around in a short while, would we?”

Cathy, who felt as if she was going to be sick any moment now, tried to take her mind off the rising nausea by concentrating on exactly what Dolores and her team had planned for her next. It obviously involved exercise, although the equine theme still didn’t make any sense to her. That is, until she looked down at the floor. For there, in a pile by the door, her eyes came to rest on an array of items that instantly enlightened her as to her captors’ intentions.

The horse tack - the leather and metal all polished to a shine - was instantly identifiable to Cathy, as she’d taken riding lessons as a child.  But it was obvious straightaway, as the women began to get the bridle, harness and various other accessories ready for use, that these were not designed to fit the body of a real horse or pony, but had been crafted for a human being; or more precisely, the female form.

“Right girls, let’s get our little friend here tacked up and ready for action.”

Immediately, the three faithful assistants jumped at their Mistress’s beck and call.  Whilst two of the hooded beauties held her still, the third placed the bridle around Cathy’s head.

“No, please, I can’t take any more of this!!”

Her pitiful plea, accompanied by vigorous shaking of her head in an effort to evade this latest restraint, did her no good. The strong leather straps – both vertical and horizontal - were eased around Cathy’s head from top to bottom and from back to front.  But what caused her the most distress was the attached metal bit, which was forced as far back into her mouth as it would go. With this in place, all the leather straps were pulled so tightly that Cathy felt that her whole head was being compressed. Her cheeks, her temples, the bridge of her nose and her jaw all fell victim to the extreme pressure that the securing of this tortuous headstall created, with the final strap being tightly fastened around her throat. And with her jaw now firmly shut, the removal of the bit became impossible and she found that she had no alternative than to bite down on the unforgiving metal bar. There were reins attached to this implement of cranial torture also, but although these hung loosely at her breasts for the time being, Cathy knew instinctively that at some point a use would be found for them that she would no doubt find distasteful.

The young woman’s metamorphosis into a pony-girl, however, didn’t end with this headwear. For no sooner had the bridle been tested to ensure it wouldn’t slip or come loose, than the next piece of leather apparatus was being readied for her. This consisted of a harness, which fitted securely around her upper torso and shoulders, criss-crossed her breasts, and was then made fast around her waist. Metal rings of varying sizes hung from the straps at strategic locations; in readiness, Cathy solemnly guessed, for other attachments or bindings. Another strap, hanging from the front of the now secured leather ligature, quickly found its way between her legs and was pulled so tightly that Cathy involuntarily squealed at the sudden upward pressure into her crotch. Once her riggers had satisfied themselves that this had been stretched to its limits, it was securely buckled to the straps at her back.

With the leather latticework now woven around her, Dolores’ minions set to work on attiring their captive’s feet. But rather than the boots Cathy had arrived here in, a different pair were now set before her. Like those she favoured when she was on a house breaking assignment, these were of black leather and reached up to just below the knee. Unlike her own, however, the replacements had high heels; so high, in fact, that Cathy was sure that she would never be able to walk in them. But her opinions were of little interest to the Mistress and her three loyal attendants, and despite her attempted words of protest, she soon found her spandex clad legs being shod in the unfamiliar footwear. Not only were the heels of a height that she’d never encountered before, the boots also seemed to be one size too small; pinching her toes and compressing her feet painfully when she put her weight down on them. Just to add insult to injury, a set of legs-cuffs was produced; two sturdy bracelets with a connecting chain of about ten inches or so. And these were duly placed around her now booted ankles.

All this time, Dolores had been quietly watching the unfolding transformation; a smile of satisfaction etched smugly on her face. Now that the work was complete, however, she broke her silence.

“Well Cathy, my fine young filly, I’m guessing that you’re now beginning to get the picture as to what’s on the cards for you today. It will be interesting to see whether you turn out to be a thoroughbred or a carthorse, although with your sleek physique and slender legs, I’m guessing you’ll probably prove to be the former. Those boots may take a little while to get accustomed to, but I’m sure you’ll soon get the hang of them. I do hope so anyway, as if you fall, you could easily injure yourself... I’m sure that won’t happen though.”

She looked Cathy up and down for a brief period, before walking slowly around her captive.  Idly, she grabbed Cathy’s ponytail and examined it for a few seconds.

“Hmm, not bad, but I think another couple of accessories would be in order.”

Cathy had no idea what this meant, but Dolores’ henchwomen clearly comprehended exactly what their leader was alluding to, as almost at once one of them passed her two plumes of long black hair. Fixing one to the strap that ran across the top of her skull, so that the artificial tresses cascaded down the back of her head, she then quickly set to work fixing the second to the strapping at the small of her back.

“There, that looks better. Whoever heard of a horse without a tail and a mane?”

Now satisfied that her prisoner’s appearance was acceptably horse-like, Dolores turned towards the door.

“Come on girls. Let’s lead our budding ‘Red Rum’ to the parade ring. I’m sure she’s dying to meet her fellow competitors.”

One of the underlings grabbed the reins and, without warning, Cathy found herself being coerced into action. Momentarily forgetting that the ankle chain would severely restrict the length of stride she was now capable of, she immediately faltered and almost fell before she’d even taken two steps. With her arms encased in the bondage-sleeve, she had no way of stopping her descent, and felt certain that she was about to crash headlong to the floor. But thankfully, one of the women seemed alert to the possibility of this type of accident, and averted the crisis by grabbing Cathy’s tumbling torso before she hit the ground.  Being pulled back onto her feet without ceremony, the helpless prisoner found the reins once more being jerked forwards, and she had no option but to move in that direction, albeit with shorter, more carefully considered steps on this occasion.


Along endless corridors and down precariously steep stairways, the harnessed and hobbled young female was led, until finally, the procession reached a door that led outside. This wasn’t the grand entrance lobby at the front of the house, however, but a small back door that took them into the courtyard at the rear of the mansion; enclosed on three sides by the ‘U’ design formed by the wings of the building. The afternoon was bright and sunny, with a slight breeze rustling the young leaves on the trees which all but surrounded Shackleton Grange. Birds sang and bees buzzed in the warm air, but the ambience of a pleasant spring afternoon was lost on Cathy, as the party made their way towards the stable block, situated one hundred yards or so away from the main house.

At first, the paved nature of the courtyard made the going relatively easy, even though the extremely high heels and the ankle-cuffs made the journey something of a nightmare for Cathy, as every step had to be consciously thought about and executed with precision if she wanted to avoid stumbling again.  As they approached the outbuildings, however, the smooth nature of the terrain gave way to an uneven tract of gravel, which made the task of staying upright even more hazardous. Luckily, her guards seemed aware of her limitations, and allowed her the time she needed to negotiate the difficult ground at her own pace; keeping in close attendance to ensure that she stayed upright.

As they neared the main entrance to the stables, the sound of activity and female voices grew louder, and it was no surprise to Cathy that, as they entered, the other women from this morning’s courtroom fiasco came into view. What did shock Cathy, though, was the nature of the goings-on that greeted her. The building consisted of several partitioned stalls on either side, and in each booth there stood one of the submissive women that had passed judgement on her. They were all still dressed in their tightly fitting cat-suits, with their feet now ensconced in high heeled leather boots. All were still bound to an inescapable degree, but unlike the last time she’d encountered them, when the method of bondage had differed between one captive and the next, now the style and quality of the restraints were of a more uniform nature. In fact, as she was led past each stall in turn, it occurred to Cathy that they were all rigged in exactly the same manner; with arm-binder, bridle and harness, their ankles in leg irons and with a bit for a gag. In other words, they were all rigged up in identical bondage to herself.  Dolores must have noticed Cathy’s wide-eyed disbelief at the scene before her.

“What were you expecting to find here exactly? Shergar?”

As well as the harnessed and bridled beauties, another woman was also present in each stall; clearly the personal stable girl responsible for the welfare of her own pony. And it was impossible to miss the fact that each of these females carried a riding crop in her hand.

Clapping her hands with an air of authority, Dolores sought to silence the general buzz of activity.

“Okay ladies, if everyone’s ready we’ll get the meeting started. You’ll notice that Cathy has now joined us, and I’m sure that we’ll all have a lot of fun at this afternoon’s session. It’s time to take the hobble off your mare’s legs and lead her out into the parade ring.”

The stable girls began to remove the shackles from the legs of their charges, and one by one they filed out of the relatively dark recesses of the building into the daylight.  Cathy watched, as the tight spandex, PVC, leather or latex suits glistened and shimmered as the sunlight caught each in turn. But her attention was quickly averted, as one of Dolores’ personal servants released her own ankle bracelets, whilst a second gave a quick tug on the reins to let her know that she needed to follow the procession back out into the open air. Dolores had already made her way outside, and was again giving out instructions.

“Okay, just walk your pony around the courtyard in a clockwise direction for now. Make sure she keeps her head up and doesn’t drag her feet.”

Bringing up the rear of this strange caravan, Cathy found that two of the women now backed off, leaving her in the sole charge of the redhead in the skin-tight, highly polished, black latex cat-suit. Ensuring that she walked at the same pace as her keeper, Cathy soon found that the pull on the reins remained at a bearable level, and she was beginning to think that this was an easy enough activity, when all of a sudden, after they’d completed their second circuit of the courtyard, Dolores gave her next command.

“Right ladies, get your pony to increase her gait to a trot now. Use your crops if necessary.”

Without warning, Cathy felt a sharp stinging pain searing through her left thigh. She squealed, but for several seconds failed to up her pace to the required speed. Another, even louder thwacking sound coincided with yet more pain coursing through her leg, and she realised that the other ponies had all now made significant ground on her. Despite the burning agony of the crop’s lashes, Cathy began to up the tempo to a jog, with her handler keeping pace beside her. Even so, the woman decided that another dose of the leather whip was in order; this time slightly higher, across her buttocks. Cathy yelped again and inadvertently changed course slightly.  And this involuntary deviation from the stipulated path was the only incentive needed for a fourth blow being administered. Cathy found herself biting hard on the bit, in an effort to take her mind away from the torture that this series of whacks to her legs and posterior had inflicted.  If her outfit had been of leather or rubber, she thought despondently, maybe the pain might not have been quite so intense. The relatively light-weight spandex, however, had been of little protection in this respect.

From across the paddock, Dolores’ voice boomed.

“Come on Cathy, you’re lagging behind. You know what happens to naughty young fillies that can’t stand the pace, don’t you?”

She waited a second or two, before answering her own question.

“They get locked up in the stables overnight without food or water.”

Cathy felt the tears flowing down her cheeks as she tried to make up the ground to the group of other women in front of her. Just as she thought that she’d achieved this goal, however, Dolores decided that it was again time for a change of tactics.

“Right, that’s good girls. Now let’s up the tempo again. Let’s see how good your pony is at a canter.”

Immediately, the line of pony-girls in front of her increased the rapidity of their stride, until they were all almost running, with their stable girls jogging alongside. Once again Cathy, who was feeling weak through lack of food and exhausted from having had no sleep last night, found herself being left behind. The inevitable slap of leather on spandex followed almost instantly. From somewhere inside her, she managed to summon up the reserves of energy needed to put on a spurt, which thankfully ensured that no further encouragement of this kind was forthcoming.

After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality only probably amounted to another two minutes or so, Dolores called the circling convoy of horses and their trainers to a halt.

“Right ladies, that’s enough for now. Let your pony rest for a few minutes. I must say that the standard overall was extremely high. The only exception being that old nag at the back. Looks like we’ll have to give you some extra training to get you into shape, doesn’t it Cathy?”

At the cessation of the enforced parade, Cathy, along with all the other ponies, found herself being led back into the stables where, once inside her own stall, she was left momentarily unattended. Feeling dizzy and nauseous, she dropped to her knees.  Breathing hard, her heart beating rapidly and with the tears still streaming down her face, she found her focus blurring, and it was all she could do to stop herself collapsing onto the mat of straw bedding that littered the floor. Although she knew that it was futile, she found herself trying to slip her arms out of the bondage sleeve that held them in such close proximity to each other. As she did so, however, she sensed someone kneel down beside her. Even before she turned her head, the voice that whispered in her ear was instantly recognisable as that of Dolores.

“Not trying to break free are you? Do you really want me to have to discipline you in front of all the other ponies? Now be a good girl and behave yourself...or else!”

Cathy shuddered at the softly spoken yet chillingly unambiguous warning.  Then, with slightly less malice, Dolores gave her one final piece of advice, before standing up and walking back out into the sunlight.

“If I were you, I’d use the next few minutes wisely, to get your breath back and conserve your energies for the next event.”


For a minute or two, Cathy kept her head down and tried to compose herself. What else could they possibly have in store for her? When would this whole nightmare come to an end? But her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone approaching. Looking up, she noticed Dolores’ silver-suited henchwoman standing over her. But what really caught her eye was the pair of boots that she was carrying, which looked vaguely familiar to her, although it took a second or two longer for the truth to register. Yes, these were indeed her own boots!

Lifting Cathy back to her feet, the woman grabbed the reins and looped these around a sturdy railing, so that her neck was tethered only inches away from the wooden pole. Cathy suddenly felt a hand grab her left leg and pull her foot up behind her, and seconds later the undersized boot began to slowly slide down her calf. The tight fit made this a laborious process, but after much pulling and wrenching, the stubborn boot finally released its grip and hit the floor with a dull thud. With her right foot soon succumbing to the same process, for a brief period Cathy stood with nothing but the moulded feet of her spandex cat-suit between her and the carpet of straw. But within a matter of seconds, each leg in turn was once more forcibly bent backwards, as she experienced the sensation of her own boots gliding over her foot and up her shin. After the pain of the alien, cramped foot apparel, the familiarity of her own boots comforted not only her aching toes and arches, but also served to calm her mind to a certain degree, as the threat of falling and injuring herself - during whatever task she was about to be set - now receded somewhat. And it was soon apparent that this was Dolores’ reason for the change of foot attire also.

The reins being released from their mooring post, Cathy found herself once more being led from her stall. At the main stable door, Dolores stood watching as her team of pony-girls made their way back into the open air. She caught Cathy’s eye.

“You didn’t really think that we were going to make you race in those heels, did you? No, they were just for the dressage event. If we’d let you all go cavorting around like that on the uneven terrain of the racecourse, we’d have lots of ponies with broken ankles by the time we’d finished.”

Cathy looked at the other girls as they were marshalled by their handlers out into the warm afternoon sun. She noticed that they too had relinquished their high heels, and were now also shod in sensible footwear.

For a minute of two, the harnessed and bridled beauties, with their artificial manes and tails dancing in the soft breeze, were left milling around in a small group by the stable door, under the watchful eyes of Dolores and two of her helpers, whilst the other stable girls momentarily disappeared. Cathy’s gaze strayed from the group, however, desperately hoping for a sign that some member of the general public – anyone from the outside world, in fact – was within range to observe what was happening and would choose to investigate. But the house was surrounded by trees and high walls, with no view possible from the road outside. She looked into the clear blue ether, hoping  that a helicopter or light aircraft might just happen to be flying at low altitude over Shackleton Grange, and that the pilot might take note of the strange events taking place below and become suspicious. But the sky was devoid of Saturday afternoon aviators and their flying machines, and as had been the case since yesterday evening, luck seemed to have deserted her when it came to potential saviours appearing on the scene.

Her wistful thoughts of rescue were brought to an abrupt halt by a sound of what at first she thought was that of several bicycles being wheeled in her direction. Turning around, Cathy saw that each of the stable girls was pulling a strange two wheeled contraption in the direction of the cluster of pony-girls, the likes of which she had never encountered before.  The wheels, about two feet in diameter, were set parallel to each other about four feet apart and connected by a raised metal axle, on which was positioned a small seat. Two shafts, approximately six feet in length, protruded forward at right angles from either side of the axle. As she watched, each of the ponies submissively allowed their equerry to secure these shafts to the waist area of the harness that they wore.

Seeing Cathy’s bewilderment, Dolores was quick to explain the nature of these strange modes of transport.

“These are harness racing carts, sometimes known as a ‘sulky’. They’re designed for racing real horses, but I find that human ponies are much more fun.”

As always, Dolores’ faithful entourage were on hand to begin the process of hitching Cathy’s bound and helpless frame to one of the lightweight carts. Threading the shafts through two of the stout metal rings that until now had hung redundantly from the waist area of Cathy’s harness, these were soon fixed in place, before being tested to ensure that the coupling would remain steadfastly secure. The short reins that hung from her bridle were also unfastened and removed, only to be replaced by similar but longer leashes.

“Okay, let’s see you walk a few paces.”

To discourage hesitancy, one of the woman stepped menacingly towards Cathy, riding crop in hand. Tentatively putting one foot in front of the other, she was surprised how easy it was to pull the lightweight sulky along behind her.  After covering no more than ten yards, however, one of the women grabbed Cathy’s reins and led her back to her starting point. By now Dolores had sauntered off down the line of harnessed ponies, inspecting each as she went. Watching this, Cathy could see that none of the other bound females seemed in the least bit distressed or unhappy about the ordeal in which they were taking part. In fact, as she watched the stable girls attending to their trussed and tethered fillies, she could tell that they all seemed to be enjoying the attention that they were receiving. But of course, unlike herself, these women were here of their own volition, and would be going home after the weekend – indeed, they had come here knowing that they were going to be treated in this way. For Cathy, the knowledge that, for the foreseeable future, she had nothing more than day after day of unknown states of bondage, imprisonment and probably torture to look forward to, made the proceedings a lot less desirable.

Dolores had now reached the end of the line of bridled and bound beauties, and turned to address her captive audience.

“Right ladies, I know that you’re all chomping at the bit – if you’ll pardon the pun – to be off and running. As those of you that have been here before will know, the circuit you’ll be taking is around half a mile in length and goes though the wooded area, fords the stream, circles the house and arrives back here at the start. As the track isn’t wide enough for overtaking, the race will be run as a time-trial. The pony with the fastest time will enjoy an evening of bondage pampering, with silk scarves and all kinds of toys and devices aimed at stimulating both mind and body. The nag who comes in with the slowest time, however, will be subject to...”

She paused for a second and stared directly at Cathy,

“...well, let’s just say, this unfortunate mare will be unlikely to see the light of day for the rest of the weekend.”

Cathy shuddered inwardly as she contemplated the punishment for not completing the trial in reasonable time, and from somewhere she summoned the will and determination to make certain that she wasn’t the one that would be facing these unspecified, yet clearly unenviable, consequences.

“Okay then, time for the jockeys to take their positions.”

At this command, Cathy suddenly felt the cart behind her dip downwards, and within seconds she could feel the increased weight that she would be expected to pull. Turning her head and looking over her right shoulder, she saw, now seated in the sulky’s saddle, Dolores’ silver suited, black haired lackey.  She was only given a couple of seconds to gaze upon her driver, however, before an abrupt tug on the reins coincided with a sharp pain being inflicted on the left side of her mouth, as the metal bit jarred against her teeth and lips, forcing her to turn and face forwards once more.

“Right then, who wants to go first?...Cathy, how about showing the rest of the girls just how fast you can gallop?”

It was clear from Dolores’ tone, that this was an order not an option, and a second or two later, the snap of a cracking whip corresponded with a jab of excruciating pain burning Cathy’s already sore behind. With a stifled yelp of anguish, she lurched forward, only to find that, from a standing start, obtaining enough momentum to propel both trotting cart and driver was an extremely strenuous process. Another crack of the whip, however, was all the incentive she needed to summon up the necessary reserves of energy to ensure that the sulky began picking up speed.

With Dolores’ right-hand-woman navigating by the application of quick jolts on the reins, Cathy found herself being steered down a well worn dirt track towards a thickly wooded area, around one hundred yards away from their starting position.

Upon reaching the tree-line, the contrast between the bright sunshine and the relatively shadowy cover of the spinney was instantaneous, and it took Cathy’s eyes several seconds to become accustomed to the relative darkness of the sylvan environment.  The track on which they travelled, up to this point relatively smooth and even, now became far less so, with tree roots and pot-holes of varying sizes making the journey much more of an obstacle course than before. Dappled sunlight penetrated through the new spring leaves and splashed an ever changing mosaic of colour onto the rides and glades through which they passed.  Soft rustling sounds on the forest floor betrayed the presence of small woodland mammals; their afternoon foraging expeditions disrupted by the encroaching vehicle.  And the startled chirruping calls of songbirds warned others of their kind to beware the unwelcome intruders into this, until recently, peaceful haven.

After another hundred yards or so, Cathy began to falter. Her energies fading fast from the effort of drawing the cart and its passenger ever onwards, coupled with the fear of falling on the treacherous terrain, caused her to decrease her gait from a canter to a trot, then to a fast walk. Her jockey, however, had other ideas, and with merciless use of the whip drove the reluctant pony-girl ever onwards. As they reached a clearing and the track bent away to the left, Cathy caught a glimpse, through the dense trees, of the perimeter wall; that same obstacle which she had scaled less than twenty four hours ago in order to access the premises. The realisation dawned on her that just over that wall, only yards away from where she now worked in agony to entertain the bunch of sadists who had enslaved her, people totally oblivious to her plight could be going about their daily lives; people who would, if she could get some message out to them, come to her rescue and end this whole terrible ordeal. But she knew that screaming for help would do her no good, as undoubtedly the whip would almost immediately bite hard into the already tender soft tissue of her thighs and buttocks. But of more interest to her now – and more promising as a way out of this prison camp – was the sight of a small ivy-haloed archway, hewn out of the stone wall and filled by a heavy wooden gate.

The area leading to this potential gateway to freedom seemed overgrown, which suggested to Cathy that it had been unused for many years.  She’d actually come across this entrance/exit from the other side when she’d been on one of her scouting missions, and had found it locked and immovable. But that was from the outside. What if it could be opened from within?  She only glimpsed it through the dense trees for a brief moment, but knew that somehow or other she had to reach this potential way out. She briefly entertained the idea of deliberately overturning the sulky and then trying to make a bolt for freedom. But the chances of her being able to tip the buggy and its occupant over in her bound state seemed virtually impossible. And the fact that, even if she could muster the strength to flip the cart over, she would still be harnessed to the shafts and unable to release herself, meant that the dream died before it had fully formed in her head. She did, however, vow to herself that she would make a beeline for this point of exit if she was given even half a chance.

The crack of leather on spandex snapped her prematurely out of escape planning mode and made her once more focus all her efforts on getting to the finish of this increasingly exhausting jaunt.  As they reached a clearing, Cathy noticed that they were heading directly towards a stream. There seemed to be no bridge across this slow-running brook, nor further tracks branching off the one they were travelling. So what was to happen now? Cathy was assuming that she would be receiving an instruction to stop through means of a swift tug on the reins, but this was not forthcoming. Instead, a further lash across her tender derrière encouraged her to increase her pace.

Not daring to stop, lest such action incurred further punishment, and conscious that she had to make good time if she wasn’t to finish last in the trial, Cathy sped down the slight decline to the water’s edge at the nearest thing to a gallop that she could muster. Luckily the stream was only about six inches deep, but the resistance of the water slowed the cart down considerably upon entry. Fortunately, the momentum built up on descent of the bank, coupled with the narrowness of the meandering watercourse at this point, ensured that they made the far side without getting stuck midstream.

From there, the route took them up a slight incline, which Cathy, now fatigued beyond measure, found the most harrowing part of the whole race. Luckily, once the brow of the hill was reached, the going became relatively easier once more, and within seconds they had left the woods and were once more trotting out into the late afternoon sunshine. The rest of the journey, circumnavigating the main house, proved incident free, notwithstanding the fact that by the time they reached the other runners and riders at the finishing line, Cathy was on the point of collapse.

“Hmm, seven minutes, thirteen seconds. Not bad for a beginner. Maybe you were a racehorse in a former incarnation.”

This was Dolores’ only remark, as Cathy, still bound to the cart’s shafts, dropped to her knees.  On the cusp of unconsciousness, she heard Dolores’ voice - seemingly distorted and far away – giving orders for the next contestants to take their places on the starting line.  As her vision became ever more blurred, she felt her head slump towards the ground in what seemed like slow motion. Then there was only blackness.

There is no cure for Merinthophilia. Once you've got it, you're stuck with it for life.

Offline Steve Spandex

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Re: The Secrets of Shackleton Grange
« Reply #16 on: May 22, 2017, 05:55:17 PM »
Chapter 4 - The Crypt

When she came to, Cathy found herself lying in the recovery position on the grass. For a second or two she forgot where she was and tried to sit up. But immediately she discovered that her arms were still encased in the unforgiving leather sleeve, although, on the plus side, she was no longer lashed to the trotting cart, and the bit had been loosened to allow it to slip from her mouth. The harness was still fastened tightly around her torso however, and the bridle straps continued to bite deeply into her face and neck.  As the comprehension of where she was finally returned and her eyes were once more able to focus, she realised that there was a general hubbub of noise somewhere away to her right. Turning her head, she noticed most of the stable girls, plus Dolores and her three right- hand- women, all milling around a trotting cart that seemed to have overturned at a distance of around fifty yards from where she lay. It was obvious straightaway that one of the participants in the time trial had crashed, spilling her rider in the process. This was evidenced by the fact that the main group were now clustered around one of the women, who was gingerly getting to her feet; her hair dishevelled and her skin-tight suit covered in dust and dirt. The ponies, all still harnessed to their carts, stood around gazing on helplessly.

With some difficulty, due to both her bondage and her recent collapse, Cathy managed to get to her feet. She took a quick glance around. None of the other women seemed to be showing any interest in her; their attention focused instead on the accident and their fallen colleague. Although still groggy, Cathy knew that she might never get a better opportunity to make her escape. As stealthily as she could, she made a beeline for the wooded area, around one hundred yards away in the opposite direction from the crash site. As she ran, she half expected to hear a shout as the alarm was raised. But this failed to materialise. As she reached the trees, she momentarily paused and turned to look back in the direction that she had just come, hoping against hope that she wasn’t going to be greeted with the sight of Dolores and her cohorts charging in hot pursuit towards their escaped convict. But for once luck was on her side, as all eyes seemed to still be focused on the victim of the carting accident.

But how long would she have before someone noticed that she had fled the scene?  Probably not more than a minute or two at most. There was, she realised, no time to lose. Quickly darting into the cover of the trees, she set her course in the direction that she was sure she’d earlier glimpsed the door in the wall, which would – hopefully – lead her back into the outside world.

With her arms of no use to her, common sense told Cathy that her best chance of avoiding a potentially nasty fall would be to take the well used and comparatively level race track. But instead she left the path behind her and headed off into the undergrowth; figuring that should her disappearance be spotted sooner, rather than later, then at least she would be able to find refuge amongst the sea of ferns and tall grass that grew in tangled abundance amidst the closely packed trees.

If running in the open had been a trial, then it was nothing when compared to the going now that she was off the beaten track. Ploughing her way through the dense vegetation made a great deal of noise, as twigs snapped, leaves rustled and fallen branches and other forest floor detritus crunched underfoot. So far, however, she had been given no indication that a search party had been assembled to hunt her down.  The sun’s rays only rarely penetrated this deeply through the canopy above, and it was within this world of semi-darkness that Cathy blundered in her quest to locate that ancient doorway. Where was it? She stopped for a few seconds, both to get her bearings and to catch her breath. In the dim light, at first all she could make out through the gloom were trees and dense foliage in every direction. But then, she glimpsed something away to her left that looked too uniform in design to be of natural origin. She took a few steps forwards and realised at once that she was heading in the right direction. For there, only yards away, was the regular rectangular pattern of brickwork that she knew at once to be Shackleton Grange’s boundary wall.

Knowing that there could be unsuspecting members of the public only a short distance away, Cathy’s instincts told her that she should cry out for someone to come to her assistance. But she managed to control the urge to yell at the top of her voice at this time; figuring that this would be just as likely to attract the attention of Dolores and her team, as it was to summon these imaginary rescuers who quite possibly didn’t even exist, given the fact that the house was out in the middle of nowhere. And of course, scaling the wall was out of the question given her bondage. No, the only thing to do was stick to her original plan until she came across the ancient, neglected door.

Figuring that the exit must be away to her right, she began treading cautiously through the foliage beneath the towering ancient wall.  And within no more than two minutes, she spied what she was looking for: the gateway to her freedom. Or so she hoped.

As Cathy stood before the thick slab of weather-beaten wood, the first faint sound of a human voice reached her. Unfortunately, this came not from the other side of the wall, but from behind her, in the direction from which she knew her pursuers would descend upon her. There was no time to lose; she simply had to get that door open any way she could. On the right hand side of the gate, at a height of about three and a half feet from the ground, Cathy spied a handle and thumb actuated lever, in the style commonly known as a Suffolk Latch. On the left of the door, she noted with joy, the lack of visible hinges, which suggested that the door swung outwards, rather than inwards; a blessing, considering that pushing was much easier than pulling given the current state of her arms. Turning her back on the door, Cathy tried to operate this rusted fixture the only way she could, by pushing down on the lever with her mitten-enclosed hands.  It took several seconds of fumbling, but once she was sure that this aim had been achieved, she leant back and pushed her weight against the wood, hoping and praying that the door would swing open.

No such luck. She pushed again as hard as she could, desperately anticipating the moment when the heavy wooden obstruction would give way and allow her to make her escape.  This wished for scenario failed to materialise, however. With tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes, Cathy turned and gazed at the door. Why wouldn’t it open?  The mystery was soon solved.  For right at the top, only an inch or so below the doorway’s stone lintel, she encountered the reason for the door’s refusal to budge. Rusted and probably not released from its staple for many a year, she spied a bolt that kept trespassers from using this as a gateway onto the mansion’s grounds...and now acted to ensure that this despairing captive wasn’t going to use it as a means of leaving either.  If her hands had been free, Cathy could simply have reached up and – providing the whole thing hadn’t seized up and become unmovable - made her getaway. But whether this bar to her progress still functioned as it should was a moot point right now.  With her arms held in check behind her back, and her fingers encased in a mitten of tightly secured leather, there was no way she could reach up and test the efficiency of this hindrance to her freedom.

The voices were getting louder now, with Dolores barking out orders to all and sundry. Not all her words could be made out clearly, but one phrase that Cathy caught with crystal clarity made her shudder with renewed fear.

“That girl is in so much trouble when I get hold of her. I’ll chain her up and throw away the key.”

In her terror, Cathy smashed her foot as hard as she could several times into the stubbornly shut barrier in front of her. It wasn’t that she had any realistic hope of the gate suddenly miraculously giving way, but the notion of once more being caught and bound up for evermore in some dark and dingy hellhole was just too much to bear. Her kicks had very little effect, other than to make the door rattle and squeak on its hinges. But one unwelcome consequence that did stem directly from this dull but reasonably loud thudding of boot on timber, was that it alerted the hunting party to the precise whereabouts of their quarry.


“So, my little runaway, thought you could outsmart me did you?”

The voice that Cathy had dreaded hearing sent waves of panic rushing to every extremity of her body. She turned around and saw Dolores standing twenty yards from the gate; legs apart, arms akimbo, as was her wont. She was frowning and her hair was tousled and unkempt – a consequence of making her way through the dense undergrowth. Standing just behind her, on either side, Cathy could see her three ever-present dogsbodies, plus several of the stable girls. All stared menacingly at their cornered prey.

Cathy sunk to her knees and sobbed, as the realisation hit home that her bid for freedom had failed. Through her tears, she began begging pitifully for mercy.

“Please! You’ve had your fun with me. If you let me go now I swear I won’t tell anyone! Please, I’m begging you. LET ME GO!”

The hint of a smile forced its way into Dolores’ features, as she made her way forwards; motioning with her hands for her colleagues to keep their distance just for now. Approaching to within two feet of her cowering captive, she knelt down and looked her directly in the eyes. Forcing the bit back into Cathy’s mouth, she secured the strap tightly, tutting disappointedly as she did so.

“Cathy, Cathy, Cathy. Did you really think that I’d be so stupid as to leave an escape route open so that you could just leave without saying goodbye?  You really have underestimated me haven’t you?  Well now you’re going to have to pay the price for all this inconvenience you’ve put me and my guests through.”

Then adding as an afterthought,

“Oh and by the way, the two girls involved in the little accident you witnessed? Both pony and jockey are fine; a bit shaken up but no lasting damage...But thanks for asking.”

Standing up, she grabbed Cathy by the shoulders and pulled the still quivering female to her feet; her thoughts returning to the matter in hand.

“So, firstly, I’m going to have to increase your sentence. Let me see now, how much longer do you think this little misdemeanour is worth?”

She paused and pretended to weigh matters up for a few seconds, but it was obvious that this was just for show, and that her mind was already made up on this issue.

“Let’s say an extra month, shall we? That makes four months and one week by my reckoning.”

For a second or two, Dolores averted her eyes from Cathy and rallied her troops.

“Okay ladies, let’s make sure Cathy is all snugly locked up for the night, shall we?”

As the women advanced, she turned back to the softly weeping Cathy.

“I know just the place to keep naughty girls like you all safe and secure for twenty four hours or so. Don’t worry though, you won’t be alone.”


Being frogmarched by Dolores’ three ever faithful servants, whilst surrounded and closely monitored by the other women, Cathy found herself being taken deeper into the underbrush, until she had completely lost her bearings. Suddenly, through the maze of moss covered old growth timber and dense, tangled briars and brambles that grasped and tugged at her legs and occasionally stabbed through the spandex of her skin-tight outfit, Cathy caught a glimpse of a lichen encrusted granite and marble edifice that rose from the forest floor to a height of more than ten feet. Architecturally elegant, this domed structure was clearly of great age. And it was obvious, from the way the woodland flora had encroached and embraced the lower reaches of the solemn grey masonry, that it was several years since anyone had been out here.  Cathy’s panic rose to a state bordering on hysteria, as she was forcibly led around the periphery of this strange building. But to her surprise she found that there was no door or other point of entry visible in the tightly packed stonework. But why, if this wasn’t to be her place of confinement, had she been brought here?  And if she was to be entombed here, how was she to be interred? The answer to these questions was not long in coming.

As Dolores began to address her whimpering convict once again, Cathy watched in wide-eyed dismay as the three slaves located a large steel ring that was set in one of the blocks of stone, and slowly, with great effort and much straining of muscles, began to slide the solid slab out from its resting place.

“This mausoleum was established by the original owners of Shackleton Grange about five hundred years ago. For generations, it was the burial place of the lords and ladies of the manor, right up until the middle of the nineteenth century.”

The huge square of stone had now been removed, to reveal a black chasm that lead into the heart of this long forgotten crypt.

“So, as I said, you won’t be alone in there. Rumour has it that some of the – what shall we call them? – ‘residents’ of the tomb were murdered, or maybe committed suicide, and that their spirits aren’t at peace. Some say they’ve heard strange noises coming from within, or seen lights floating through the trees in this vicinity. Personally, I don’t believe in ghosts, and I’m sure you don’t either, do you Cathy? Either way, you can let me know tomorrow whether you have anybody from the netherworld come and visit you during the night.”

As several of the women forced her into a sitting position on the stone step that formed the base of the monument, Cathy screamed as loudly as she could, and once again tried to convince Dolores that she didn’t have to incarcerate her in this archaic tomb. She would, she promised, be good from now on and not attempt to escape again. It did her no good, of course. But it did highlight to Dolores and her crew the fact that the bit was very inefficient as a muffler of sound.  Measures to rectify this situation were soon put into place, however. 

Without being summoned to do so, one of the women stepped forward and, before Cathy knew what was happening, loosened the bridle momentarily and yanked the bit from between her teeth. In its place, a cavity filling piece of rolled up cloth was unceremoniously inserted; after which, the bridle was once again strapped tightly around her jaw to ensure the makeshift gag remained in-situ.  Whilst this was going on, several other women busied themselves by removing the boots from Cathy’s legs and strictly binding lengths of white rope at strategic intervals from ankles to thighs. Half-heartedly, Cathy wriggled and squirmed as her state of captivity once more worsened to a point where she could no longer stand, let alone contemplate running away.  As the binding process drew to a close, Cathy glanced up at Dolores, who had taken a step or two back to watch as her subjects finished their rigging duties.  Although tears blurred her vision, she was sure that she could discern a smile of satisfaction on the face of her principal tormentor.

“Okay girls, that should hold her. I know it’s only mid afternoon, but I think it’s time to put Cathy to rest for the night.”

On this command, several pairs of hands lifted Cathy up bodily and began to insert her into the space left open by the displaced block of stone.  As she was pushed head first into the narrow tunnel, Cathy made one final plea to be spared this latest in a long line of nightmarish ordeals. But to no avail. As her head made its way deeper into the echoing dark interior of the mausoleum, the tight passageway suddenly broadened out into a high ceilinged chamber. And as she was forced further into the bowels of this stone sepulchre, so the light from outside dimmed, until all that was left was a shaft of dusky luminance from the opening through which she’d just entered. As Cathy gazed around in terror at her new surroundings, she noticed, on either side of her, several crumbling stone sarcophagi, clearly the final resting places of the long dead lords and ladies of the manor.  This view of tonight’s accommodation, however, was short-lived, as the grating sound of the stone being manoeuvred back into its original position reached her ears, and the shadowy grey gloom promptly gave way to an unbroken vista of pitch blackness. It matched Cathy’s mood to a tee.


“Right ladies, let’s get back to our ponies, shall we? Let’s hope they haven’t all decided to run off as well.”

Dolores’ words – faintly heard, as if spoken from afar – were the last sounds Cathy heard before silence descended within her confining chamber of stone.  The urge to scream was overwhelming, but what good would it do her? Breathing deeply, to try to rein in a state of hysteria that was threatening to explode at any moment, Cathy tried to think rationally about her situation. As far as she could recall, the block of stone had simply been eased out to create the opening in the thick wall of the crypt. So if it could be pulled from the outside, then surely she should be able to push with her feet and remove it just as easily.

It was a logical theory. But of course the reality of the situation wasn’t that simple. For a start, now that she was in complete darkness, locating the exact spot where she’d made her entrance wouldn’t be an easy task. Secondly, it had taken three women to pull the stone out, and presumably as many to reinsert it into the gap. So could she reasonably expect to achieve this feat on her own? And, of course, the women who removed, then reinserted the stone hadn’t been bound hand and foot. Tentatively pushing at the wall with her spandex covered feet in the general area that she was sure the exit had to be situated, brought no cause for optimism that the cold block of stone was about to slide away any time soon.


Every hour that she spent in the sealed mausoleum of stone seemed to pass like a day to the helplessly bound and interred young cat burglar. With the bridle still strapped securely around her head, the harness likewise around her torso, her arms trammelled by the inescapable bondage sleeve, and her legs tethered with strict ropes, Cathy’s movements were limited to merely altering the position she was lying in every so often to make herself as comfortable as possible; not an easy task when the floor on which she languished was rock hard.

Very little sound penetrated through the walls of her tomb – no bird song or rustling of leaves, and most definitely no sound of human voices or activity. And if very little sound could penetrate the thick walls, then it seemed a logical conclusion that outgoing noise would be equally obliterated. The inside of the tomb was also deathly quiet; a condition which Cathy was more than happy with, seeing as how only rats and other small rodents -  or possibly troubled spirits of the dead - were likely to be sharing her accommodation that night. The blackness of the void into which her eyes stared was absolute and offered no chink of light, either physical or metaphorical, as to how, if Dolores didn’t return, she would ever get out of here alive. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be a problem with the supply of air reaching her, although the source of this life sustaining oxygen was a mystery to her.

Over and over again, Cathy replayed in her head the circumstances that had brought her to this sorry state of affairs. Her entry into the house, her capture, the straitjacket, the courtroom farce, the vacuum bed, the transformation into a human horse, the traumatic time-trial, and her so-close-but-yet-so-far escape bid; all were replayed and analysed by her troubled mind time and time again. But one question dominated her thought processes throughout: how was she going to get out of this mess?

Unfortunately, no answer was forthcoming.


After what seemed like several days, Cathy’s ears pricked up at the first sound of any relevance since this enforced period of confinement had begun.  Initially, after so long without aural stimulation, she wondered whether her senses were playing tricks on her. But then, the unmistakable grinding of stone again stone told her that, at last, the heavy obstruction blocking the exit was being slowly pulled back.

A shaft of very dim light suddenly sprang into being, which coincided with a blast of cooler air hitting her. Through the twilight, she watched as a pair of female hands reached into the opening, followed a second or two later by the head and shoulders of a woman she recognised as the blonde member of Dolores’ permanent ladies-in-waiting, still attired in her bright pink second skin, as she had been yesterday. The hood still covered her head, save for the area around her eyes and nose. Naturally, she made no effort to speak, but merely grabbed Cathy by her still bound ankles and began hauling her out of the stone chamber.

After a few seconds of being dragged inelegantly through the short tunnel, Cathy emerged feet first into the outside world. Immediately she noticed, from the fact that the woods were in twilight, that it was now late evening. As she’d been incarcerated in full daylight on the afternoon of the previous day, it became apparent that her time in solitary confinement had been much more than twenty four hours, and probably more like thirty. As she looked around, she observed three shadowy figures step forward from the gloom and join their pink-clad colleague, who was by now standing directly over Cathy’s prostrate form; the tightly fitting leather boots only inches from her face, as if making sure that any attempt at escape was instantly foiled.

One of the figures who stepped forward was clothed in closely fitting red leather, and even before Cathy had time to look up at her face, she knew that this was Dolores.

“Nice to see you again Cathy. I hope the ghosts and ghouls didn’t frighten you too much. Now perhaps you can see what happens to unruly girls who try to escape my clutches. I do hope that your time locked away in there has made you realise that being compliant and accepting your sentence with good grace will make life a lot less disagreeable for you than if you disobey the terms and conditions under which you’re being held.”

She motioned to her troops.

“Get her back to the house girls. I think she’s suffered enough out here for the time being.”

Cathy was expecting her legs to be untied, but instead two of the hooded women picked her up and carried her; one grabbing her feet, the other her shoulders. Soon they had cleared the trees and were traipsing across the deserted courtyard towards the house, the windows of which were all in darkness, bar one or two at ground level.  As they marched along, Dolores explained the absence of the other guests.

“My clients have all gone home now Cathy - we even let Chantelle out of the wardrobe eventually. That’s not an option for you though. They all had a great time either tying or being tied up. And now they’re back out in real world, with their jobs to go to tomorrow and all the trials and tribulations that are a part of modern life.  But they all said how invigorating their stay here had been, and most, if not all of them, will be back for more. That’s what happens when you get seriously embroiled in bondage – you find you really can’t live without it. You’ll be thinking along those lines too soon enough, I’m sure.”

Cathy made a strange moaning sound through her gag, which was supposed to communicate something to the effect that she was certain she would never actually enjoy being bound and gagged. But any faint whimpering sound that did manage to trouble the still night air was unintelligible, even to her.

“Oh, and by the way, if you‘re harbouring expectations of any of the ladies you encountered over the weekend raising the alarm regarding your continued imprisonment here, then I’m afraid you’re going to be extremely disappointed. They went away thinking that everything they saw - your entrance on Friday evening, the trial, the races, your escape bid – were all staged for their benefit. As far as they’re concerned, it was just role play and you were enjoying your bondage just as much as they were.”

By now the travelling party had reached the house and were entering through a small side door. Once inside, Dolores commanded her minions to convey their human cargo upstairs.

“Take her to the guest bathroom on the second floor, will you? Then you can call it a night. You’ve all done a really good job this weekend, so, as a reward, you can take the rest of the evening off.”

The three women showed no emotion, as obediently they began the task of transporting Cathy up a narrow staircase.  The corridors were ill-lit and the floorboards squeaked and groaned as the convoy made their upward journey.  Finally reaching their destination, one member of the mute triad unlocked one of the myriad of nondescript doors. As soon as the ancient wooden structure had swung open, her colleagues carried Cathy inside, before leaving their helpless captive standing precariously upright on the highly polished, tile covered floor. This room was better illuminated than the corridor outside, and as Cathy’s bound feet fought desperately to retain her balance, she noticed a shower cubicle in one corner, with a toilet and wash basin also in evidence. Her time teetering on the brink of an injurious plunge to the floor, however, lasted only a few seconds, as one of the women steadied her by grasping her shoulders, whilst another began undoing the straps on the bridle that had held her jaw in such tight constriction for well over a day. The gagging material was also jettisoned at this juncture, and was allowed to fall to the floor in a crumpled, saliva-saturated ball.

This remission from the bondage headwear was short-lived, however, for as soon as the pressure on her face eased with the loosening straps, the familiar leather hood that she’d worn on her first night here was brought into play again, and within seconds Cathy’s blindness returned. With the facial covering in place, the click of the padlock at her neck informed her that the hood was no longer removable without access to the key.

Cathy viewed the application of this sensory depriving cover with mixed feelings. For hadn’t they briefly sheathed her head in this same hood during the interim period when they’d removed the straitjacket, prior to vacuum packing her? If the locking of the hood around her face could be seen as a precursor to the removal of her bonds, then removal of the arm-binder and leg ropes should shortly follow, which would be a great relief to her stiff and aching limbs. On the other side of the coin, of course, was the knowledge that this respite for her fatigued arms and legs would be only fleeting, as other methods of bondage – as yet unknown – would undoubtedly follow within no more than a few minutes.

And this ultimately proved to be exactly the case, although there were other surprises in store for Cathy before her bonds were renewed.  Firstly, the rope bondage that had held her legs in such close proximity to each other was removed, followed by the unbuckling and stripping away of the tight harness that had bitten deeply into the spandex covered flesh of her body with such painful stringency for so long. A moment or two later, she experienced the sensation of the straps that held the arm-binder in place loosening, before the lacing was slowly unpicked, allowing her elbows more freedom than they’d been accustomed to for many a long hour.  The long redundant rope around her wrists was also unknotted and removed.

Her release from bondage, even though she realised that she was no closer to real freedom, was a liberating experience, and one that she’d been anticipating since the hood had been sealed around her head. But what happened next caught her totally unawares and caused her to scream in shock and surprise. For her next sensory experience - no more than a second or two after the last of her bonds had been detached -  was the awareness of a pair of hands grasping the stretch material of her cat-suit at the shoulders and immediately beginning to ease the tightly fitting material down over her breasts; disrobing her hands and arms in the process . As she made every effort to halt the woman in her endeavours to undress her - and indeed tried to reverse the process - she found two more sets of hands grab and hold her arms firmly in vice like grips, as the smooth, close fitting fabric slithered slowly past her hips and over her thighs. Within seconds they were pulling the soft material over her ankles, and Cathy’s feet now came into direct contact with the cold tiles.

Since her capture, the one crumb of comfort that had been left to the otherwise unfortunate thief, was that she had been allowed to remain in her skin-tight layer of clothing. During that first night of uncertainty in the straitjacket, and once more during her bleak experience of the crypt, the caress of the spandex against her skin had been a familiar and reassuring presence in an otherwise tense and desperately lonely time. Now, however, with her clothing removed, her nudity brought with it the feeling of increased vulnerability and insecurity. For a few seconds, there was only silence in the room, and Cathy envisioned the trio of subservient woman standing by and watching her. Covering her breasts with her left arm, and placing her right hand over her sex, she waited in trembling uncertainty as to what was about to occur next.

As if on cue, the sound of a pair of high heels traversing the corridor grew louder for several seconds, before the creaking of a door told Cathy that someone else had entered the room. And it was no surprise when the newcomer turned out to be Dolores.

“Hmm, very nice. Very nice indeed.”

The heels clicked on the tiled floor as she came across to where Cathy stood in trembling silence.  From very close to her leather-clad head, she heard Dolores say in a hushed voice.

“Now Cathy, I know that you and I got off on the wrong foot, what with you breaking into my house, then trying to escape. But now I think it’s time to call a truce, don’t you?

She waited a few seconds, as if expecting some response, but when none was forthcoming, she continued.

“So what I propose now is to show you what life here can be like if you play by the rules.  You may even find that I’m actually quite a nice person when you get to know me.”

Cathy heard her pace across the room.

 “So what I’ve got planned for this evening is to let you have a nice hot shower, then get you fed and watered, before we sit down in front of the fire and have a nice long chat. How does that sound to you?”

 The question was obviously a rhetorical one, as she waited no time for an answer before addressing her slaves once more.

“Right girls, just help me get her in the shower and you can call it a day.”

Cathy felt three pairs of hands usher her towards the shower cubicle. Once inside, the sound of the door sliding shut reached her ears. Outside, Dolores was in the process of dismissing her troops.

“You’ve all worked really hard this weekend - especially as we had this unexpected problem to deal with. I’ve got a special surprise treat for you, so go back to your quarters and I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

The sound of the three women’s heels filing out of the room was followed by their gradually fading footfalls echoing down the long, empty corridor. Dolores waited until the sound had died away, before turning once more to her naked captive. She pulled back the shower screen again, and forced a large bar of soap into Cathy’s hand, before once more shutting the door. Almost instantly, a torrent of lukewarm water cascaded down upon the unsuspecting inmate. It was the surprise as much as anything else that made her squeal, although the coldness of the water was also a major shock, and she felt goose-bumps break out all over her body; the chill making her nipples instantly stand erect.  Mercifully, within a few seconds, the water had heated up to a more agreeable temperature and she began to find the constant stream refreshing and invigorating. She only wished that the hood would be removed, not only so that she could see, but so that she could allow this surge of revitalising liquid to wash through her hair.

“Don’t just stand there. You’ve got soap and water, so make good use of them.”

Self-consciously, Cathy began to do as she was told. Although Dolores remained silent for several minutes, Cathy got the feeling that she was being watched at all times. The floor was becoming slippery from the constantly splattering water intermixing with soap lather, and in her blindness Cathy found herself leaning against one wall of the cubicle, to make sure she didn’t lose her footing. Having soaped herself all over from the neck down, she stood beneath the warm spray to rinse herself off.  As quickly as it had begun, however, the deluge suddenly ceased, followed a second or two later by the door once again opening. Dolores took the now depleted soap from Cathy’s hand.

“Turn around.”

Cathy must have hesitated, because the command was repeated, with a hint of menace this time. Doing as she was told, Cathy found her wrists being grabbed and roughly pulled behind her back.

“What are you going to do?”

Her query was muffled by the hood and ignored, although in reality it didn’t need a reply, as Cathy knew only too well what was about to befall her.  She wasn’t one hundred percent certain at the time exactly what it was that Dolores used to bind her wrists, but it didn’t feel like rope. It seemed to have the texture of a very thin strip of leather, which tightened to the point where it bit deeply into her flesh to the extent that she gasped involuntarily with anguish. With the knot secured, she immediately tried to pull her hands free, but found them securely trapped.  Being naked and soaking wet, with her nipples still standing to attention, Cathy felt her level of vulnerability rise to a new level.  What did Dolores have planned for her now? A hundred possibilities ran through her head at that moment, none of them particularly pleasant. But what actually transpired, turned out to be none of these feared options. Instead, to Cathy’s surprise, she felt first the straps, then the lacing on the hood slacken, and within seconds the wet leather was being pulled away from her head.  Cathy’s eyes immediately fell upon the form of her tormentor, standing in the small cubicle only a few inches away in her second skin of bright red leather. Automatically, Cathy tried to back away, but the cramped conditions meant that she almost instantly felt the wall at her back.  Dolores smiled, and for the first time this facial expression seemed to radiate a certain degree of warmth, as opposed to the sly, devious smirks that had been her forte up until now.

“Why are you shying away from me Cathy? I’m only trying to help you get cleaned up.”

Cathy noticed that Dolores had removed the detachable shower head from its wall bracket and now held it in her right hand. In her left was a bottle of shampoo. Briefly, she turned the water on and aimed it at Cathy’s straggly, rat-tailed locks, until they were soaked through. Then she applied shampoo to the tangled mass and began massaging it into her scalp. Stunned by this sudden show of gentleness and compassion, Cathy remained motionless; wondering all the time whether this was a genuine act of altruism, or merely the prelude to some form of punishment or torture. Thankfully, it turned out to be the former.  Dolores replaced the shower head in its bracket.

“Okay, I’m just going to get some fresh towels. Be a good girl and get all the shampoo out of your hair while I’m gone.”

Stepping out of the cubicle, she shut the screen door, before turning the water on once more, and it occurred to Cathy at this point that the controls were outside the cubicle; an unusual set up, it seemed. But then it dawned on her that this was intentional, and that this shower room had in the past probably played host to operations similar to the one now taking place. Or put another way, it was utilised for the washing of guests in various states of bondage, who were unable to turn the water on and off for themselves.

 Through the steam and the splattered Perspex screen, Cathy watched as Dolores exited the room, closing the bathroom door with the mandatory creaking of the hinges.

For a minute or two, Cathy allowed the torrent to flow through her now revitalised hair; feeling the warm torrent douse her troubled head with its soothing rain.  Soon, she knew, Dolores would be returning. But then what? Despite two days of captivity, plus the knowledge that being caught trying to escape would bring further woes to bear on her, Cathy’s spirit still desperately craved freedom. And she knew that, if this weekend was anything to go by, the chances of making a getaway would be few and far between. So any opportunity, however unlikely it might be to succeed, had to be seized and acted upon. It was obvious that she was to be bound for 99.9% of the time, and that for the other 0.1%, her head would undoubtedly be encased in the hood and locked at the neck. So being alone, with only her hands bound behind her back, was too good a chance to pass up.  Moreover, now that she knew that the other guests had vacated the premises, surely, with only Dolores and her three subservient wenches still around, she would have a far better chance of sneaking out undetected.

But of course, the obstacles to be overcome were still frighteningly daunting. Not only did she have to get out of the shower cubicle and then the bathroom with her hands bound behind her. But she had to navigate her way through the maze of corridors, find a door leading outside that wasn’t locked and bolted, then negotiate the grounds and somehow breach the high perimeter walls or security gate. And all whilst completely naked! But these concerns, whilst in the back of her mind, were of secondary concern to Cathy at the moment. Take one step at a time, she told herself. If things go wrong and you get caught, then so be it. But if she didn’t at least try to escape when the moment presented itself, she knew she would regret it.

Turning around, Cathy reached out with her tightly bound hands and grabbed the handle of the shower door. Her first two or three attempts to force it open ended in failure, but finally she managed to drag the sliding screen back just far enough to squeeze out of the tiny cubicle. The sudden chill, after the warm comfort of the shower, was a shock to the system, and this, coupled with the cold tiles beneath her feet, caused a shiver to race up her spine as she cautiously made her way across the room. The door that led into the corridor beyond was also shut, but Cathy immediately set to work trying to open this next obstacle. With wet hands, grasping the door knob proved tricky, and once again it took her several attempts to manoeuvre herself into a position where she could successfully get the stiff handle to budge. Her desperately clawing fingers finally triumphed, however, and she began the strenuous task of pulling the solid oak panel towards her. As always, the movement of this ancient wooden obstruction sent out its rasping alarm signal, as it reluctantly shifted the required distance to allow Cathy to slither through the gap.  Feeling elated that she had overcome these first hurdles, Cathy blundered out into the dimly lit corridor; ready to take on whoever or whatever stood in her path to freedom.

There is no cure for Merinthophilia. Once you've got it, you're stuck with it for life.

Offline Steve Spandex

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Re: The Secrets of Shackleton Grange
« Reply #17 on: May 22, 2017, 05:58:22 PM »
Chapter 5 - Conflicting Emotions

“Just where do you think you’re going young lady?”

Less than two yards away, leaning against the wall, stood Dolores. Cathy froze. In her single-minded quest to exit the bathroom, she had failed to look further ahead for any potential hazards that might be blocking her route. Dolores sighed, disappointedly.

“You really do like making life difficult for yourself, don’t you Cathy? I deliberately left you here all alone to see if you’d try something stupid, or whether you’d finally learnt that disobedience will always get you into trouble.  I was hoping it was the latter, but I now see that my trust in you is misplaced. Looks like you need another lesson in discipline.”

Cathy stood in frozen fear in the dimly illuminated corridor, water dripping from her hair and body onto the floor with soft plopping sounds that seemed to echo eerily during the momentary silence that followed Dolores’ threat.  Before she could even think of turning and fleeing down the corridor in the other direction, Dolores had lunged towards her and grasped her by the shoulder; her long talon-like nails biting deeply into her captive’s tender flesh.

“Let’s get you back into the shower, shall we? I don’t think you’ve quite rinsed all the soap off yet.”

Roughly hustling and pushing her reluctant house guest back into the bathroom, Cathy soon found herself back within the confining walls of the shower booth.  Too scared to even contemplate trying to resist, she could only watch in wide eyed horror as Dolores picked up the leather hood and, with an expertise that spoke of years of practice, swiftly pulled this over her prisoner’s head and strapped it in place. The now familiar rasp of the sliding door told Cathy that she was once again encapsulated in the confined space. And almost immediately, a rushing sound informed her that, within a split second, she would once more be getting a soaking.  This time, however, instead of the warm stream she’d so recently enjoyed, the jet of water that bounced off her shoulders then quickly drenched the rest of her body and legs, was freezing cold. Cathy shrieked with surprise as the icy cascade flowed relentlessly down upon her. Instinctively, she moved to one side, in an effort to avoid the worst of the frigid torrent that had numbed her entire being within seconds of its commencement. But every way she turned – no matter how close to the walls of this confining compartment she tried to huddle - there was no escape from the constant freezing downpour. Above the whooshing sound of the perpetually gushing inundation, Dolores’ words could just be made out.

“There you go Cathy. That usually has the desired effect of cooling down hot-headed young things that think they can outsmart me.  I’m just going to leave you there for a few minutes while I sort out the special treat that I’ve got planned for my three slaves. Don’t go away, I won’t be too long.”

And with that, the bathroom door could be heard shutting, and Cathy knew that she was once more alone.


Trying to force her way out of the increasingly arctic-like shower stall was, now that she could no longer see, a non starter. Crouching down on the floor and curling herself up into as small a ball as she could, Cathy shivered in one corner of the small space in which she was trapped; trying to ensure that her leather covered head took the brunt of the liquid onslaught that seemed, if anything, to be getting colder by the second. For what seemed like half an hour, but was probably in reality only around half that time, Cathy endured this nightmarish outpouring from the nozzle situated only a few inches above her head, yet entirely beyond her reach.

Just as the notion that she could die of hypothermia had begun to set in, Cathy heard the door to the bathroom creak open. To her great relief, seconds later the raging cascade of frostbite-inducing water slowly eased in intensity and finally ceased altogether.  Although the screen door was now sliding noisily back, Cathy remained huddled in the corner, shaking violently in her sub-zero hell.

“So my little jailbird, I hope that this experience has taught you a valuable lesson.  If you ever again get some insane notion in your head about trying to leave, just remember this little episode and realise that next time the punishment will be a hundred times worse.”

Cathy felt Dolores’ hand touch her shoulder. She was expecting to be roughly forced to her feet, but strangely this harsh treatment failed to materialise. Instead she found herself being eased gently into a standing position and, to her great delight, she felt her wrist bond loosen and fall away, before a warm towel was wrapped around her shoulders. Automatically, Cathy began massaging her sore wrists with fingers that felt like blocks of ice.

“Now dry yourself off darling and we’ll get you all warmed up again. Then we’ll get you something to eat.”

The harshness in Dolores’ voice had now dissipated, to be replaced with an almost friendly tone.  But this only made Cathy wary of her motives. Despite the hood that covered her captive’s features, however, Dolores must have sensed this unease and began to explain her reasoning for this abrupt change of policy.

“Don’t worry Cathy, I’ve decided that you’ve been punished enough for your misdemeanours. For the rest of the evening I’m going to give you a lesson in how pleasant your time here could be, if only you’d come to terms with your sentence and start acting like a model prisoner.”


Having rubbed herself down with the wonderfully soft and comforting towel, Cathy at last managed to get some warmth back into her body and limbs; her fingers and toes tingling as the feeling began to return to her extremities once more. Although still confined in a world of blackness, she sensed Dolores’ presence only a few feet away, and therefore endeavoured to keep as much of her anatomy covered at all times. So she was delighted when, having dried herself off from neck to toes, Dolores handed her a familiar textured garment and encouraged her to get dressed.

“It’s not actually your own cat-suit, as I’ve taken that away to be washed. But this one should fit you just as well. I thought that, as you arrived here in spandex, you’d probably like something similar to put on now.”

Cathy felt her way around the new one-piece costume, until she could make out which appendages were the arms and which the legs. She discovered at an early stage that, unlike her own outfit, this borrowed garment lacked built in feet and gloves; the material merely ending in cuffs at the wrist and stirrups at the ankle. But the fact that she could once more cover her nakedness was a source of great relief, and the reassuring sensation of the soft fabric gliding effortlessly up her legs with a barely audible swishing sound, seemed to engender a soothing calmness in her.Getting into figure hugging outfits such as this was second nature to Cathy, and even without her sight, she quickly coaxed the almost fluid material over her legs and torso up to her throat. This particular cat-suit, it seemed, was slightly smaller than her own and clung even more tightly to her curves than the one she’d arrived in forty eight hours or so ago. Once she’d smoothed out any wrinkles in the fabric – of which there were very few – she stood waiting, awkwardly and self-consciously, to see what the Mistress had planned for her next. The answer was not long in coming.

“Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

Cathy knew by now that there was no point disobeying this order, and that hesitation was not in her best interests. So reluctantly she complied. Within no more than ten seconds, she experienced the sensation of cold metal bracelets encircling both wrists, and it didn’t take a genius to fathom out that these rings of steel were conjoined, so that she was once more in a state of inescapable bondage. The one good thing about this, of course, was that the sight restricting hood could now be relinquished, as almost at once she felt the leather riding up over her face. As the water-heavy headwear cleared the top of her head, her lank, wet hair fell in matted strands around her face, obscuring her vision momentarily. Dolores was quickly on hand to sweep these away from her eyes, however. She was smiling.

“Come on Cathy, let’s go downstairs and find you something to eat. You must be starving.”


Along endless musty corridors and passageways with their cobweb filled nooks and crannies, past countless anonymous doorways and down gloomy spiral staircases, Dolores led her submissive convict; the collar and chain that she’d attached to Cathy’s neck just prior to exiting the bathroom ensuring that she didn’t stray far from their intended course.

Once at ground level, Dolores led the way into a room that Cathy had never seen before, which turned out to be a parlour, complete with log fire burning fiercely in the hearth.  Beckoning her internee to sit in a solid upright chair a few feet away from the crackling flames, Dolores began to secure her less than enthusiastic guest with lengths of soft white rope. Her ankles and knees were the first parts of her anatomy to succumb to the restrictive bindings, but once her lower limbs had been dealt with, Cathy found herself being lashed rigorously to the stout wooden piece of furniture from shoulders to thighs.  With the binding process complete, Dolores’ attention was briefly distracted, as she added another log to the fire, and Cathy took this fleeting opportunity to test these latest ligatures and knots. But she found that even the slightest movement was enough to make the chair creak. Without averting her sight from the now rampant blaze, Dolores scolded her for this act of defiance.

“I hope you’re not trying to break free Cathy, because that would be seen as gross misconduct. This is your final warning. Now stay perfectly still or your sentence will be increased again.”

Realising the hopelessness of her situation, Cathy desisted. But if she thought that this latest act of insubordination might bring about a change for the worse in the way she was to be treated, she was to be pleasantly surprised.

“Now Cathy, what can I get you to eat?”

Dolores walked across to the far side of the room and Cathy noticed for the first time a long table that still had the remains of a lavish spread of food laid out on silver platters.

“This is what’s left of the ‘farewell buffet’ I gave my weekend guests before they departed homewards. There’s still plenty left as you can see. So what would you like? We have smoked salmon sandwiches, caviar, pâté de foie gras, several different quiches and a wide variety of cheeses and cold meats. Then for dessert you can choose from lemon cheesecake, chocolate mousse or profiteroles. And how about a glass of champagne to wash it all down?”

She looked back across the room at Cathy; the flickering flames from the fire causing strange shapes and shadows to dance around the walls and across the high ceiling, giving Dolores’ features an almost fluid and ghostly quality in the dancing amber light.

“So what’s it to be Cathy? A little bit of everything, perhaps?”

Without waiting for an answer, Dolores picked a few items from the various salvers, and returned with the plate of epicurean delights to where the now motionless Cathy sat.

In truth, the food was passed its ‘best before’ date, having been left in the warm room for several hours. But Cathy didn’t mind too much, seeing as how, apart from the disgusting porridge she’d been force fed yesterday, she hadn’t eaten in over two days. The champagne, too, was flat, warm and passed its prime.  But for a parched throat such as Cathy’s, it was akin to a soothing balm of nectar. As Dolores patiently handfed her captive – not rushing her, or attempting to make her eat anything she didn’t like the look of – she expanded on her earlier explanation of the workings of her strange organisation known as BATH.

“Well Cathy, my Bondage Convention weekend was a great success... especially as we found a new plaything to keep us entertained, i.e. you!  We hold these celebrations of all things bondage once a month and you just happened to chance upon us at the right time... although I guess that you don’t see it quite that way at the moment. Don’t worry though, you’ll eventually come around to my way of thinking.”

She drained the last of the champagne from the bottle equally into two flutes, downed hers in one, then held the second glass to Cathy’s lips.

“Of course, the weekend conventions are not the only events that the Bound And Totally Helpless society organise. There are bondage evening classes three times a week; beginners on Mondays, intermediate on Wednesdays and advanced on Thursdays. When you become more acclimatised to life here, you can be one of the ‘guinea pigs’ for my students to try their skills on if you like.”

It was obvious that the “if you like” part of this statement was not actually open to debate.

“And then there are the bondage parties – or ‘BATH Nights’ as we call them - held every Saturday night on weeks when there’s no convention running. Lots of drink, food and dancing.... and strict bondage of course.  And I’d like to invite you along as my partner to the next one, this coming Saturday. I know that’s still six days away, but it’s something for you to look forward to! After all, you’re going to have plenty of time on your hands to reflect on the error of your ways and ponder over your future during the next few months, and a lot of it is going to be spent on your own in and in darkness. At least having the occasional light at the end of the tunnel should help keep your spirits up.”


Once Cathy had indicated that she had partaken sufficiently of the food on offer, Dolores wasted no time in ensuring that any future conversation would be a one way affair. Pushing what looked like a rolled up pair of tights into her mouth, she then preceded to seal this in place with numerous circuits of duct tape around her victim’s lower face and head.

For the next couple of hours, Cathy was subjected to a virtually continuous monologue; her own contributions being limited to a mere nod or shake of the head, or the occasional non-committal shrug of the shoulders, when prompted to respond. It was clear that Dolores liked the sound of her own voice, and having a captive audience was something that she relished.

Over the course of this lengthy address, Cathy learnt everything about Dolores; from her early attraction to bondage (“I was tying my friends up from the age of four, when I discovered an alternative use for a skipping rope.”), to her acquisition of Shackleton Grange (“I inherited this place from my great uncle Cornelius. It’s funny, but I never actually met the eccentric old fool. It seems that he didn’t get on with the rest of the family, so decided to donate the whole estate to me, just to spite them.”).  And all the time, Cathy sat there in silence, her mind preoccupied with one question and one question only:

Will I ever get out of this place?


After what seemed like an eternity, with the fire now reduced to smouldering grey embers, Dolores yawned and stretched in the armchair that she’d been ensconced in since she had started relating her life story. Somewhere in another room, a clock struck the hour, informing Cathy that it was now midnight.

“I think that’s enough reminiscing for one night, don’t you? It’s been nice talking to you Cathy. We must do this again some time.”

Dolores rose and strutted towards the chair-trussed female.

“But now, it’s about time to take you to your sleeping quarters and make sure you’re all snug and cosy for the night. We’ll continue our conversation tomorrow.”

Over the next minute or two, Dolores worked at unknotting, then relieving Cathy of her rope bondage. The handcuffs and gag remained in place, however, as did the collar and chain, which the Mistress now used to lead Cathy out of the warm parlour and into the much cooler labyrinth of dark corridors. After negotiating the flight of stairs in silence, it was only once they’d reached the landing that Dolores spoke again.

“Just before I show you to your accommodation, I’m going to have a quick look in on my three employees, just to make sure they’re not getting up to any mischief. It won’t take a minute.”

With Cathy in tow, Dolores veered off into a side passage, and soon stopped by the first door she came to. Unlocking and opening this, she stood aside to allow Cathy to peer in. Although the room was in darkness, the light from the corridor gave enough illumination for the handcuffed woman to see that the interior was unfurnished. In fact, there seemed to be nothing at all in this humid, windowless space.

Or was there?

What it was exactly that caused Cathy’s eyes to strain into the deepest, darkest corner of the room, she wasn’t certain; a slight movement perhaps? or maybe a muffled, barely audible sound of some description? Whatever it was, her attention became fixed upon an irregular shape that seemed to be floating above the floor and, as her eyes became more accustomed to the lighting conditions, she noticed it sway slightly from left to right, then back again. Suddenly, Dolores switched on the overhead light, and it became clear that this wasn’t one object, but three. Cathy gasped into her gag. For there, hanging from the ceiling, were Dolores’ assistants. Each had been ensconced in what seemed like a tightly fitting sheath of black spandex, around which straps had been tightly secured and buckled at strategic points. And it was evident, from the plumes of black, blonde and red hair that hung loosely from the bottom of each of these packages and swept across the dusty floor, that they had been hung upside down by their feet. Closer inspection revealed that this state of suspension had been achieved by securing a chain around the ankle area of each closely fitting body-bag, which had then been attached to metal rings embedded in the ceiling. Such was the closeness with which the upended trio had been left dangling, that even the slightest movement that any one of them made, resulted in all three involuntarily swinging and gyrating in the same direction. A few seconds scrutiny also informed Cathy that all three still wore hoods. But these were not the leather helmets that they had habitually sported since Cathy’s arrival here, as the ones that now covered their heads exhibited no sign of having an aperture through which the wearer could view her surroundings; the only opening visible being the gap between the laces through which the long flowing tresses hung. These hoods were, Cathy realised, similar, if not identical, to the one that she herself had been forced to wear at various times since her capture. And one thing that was blatantly obvious, as Cathy watched them bounce gently off one another, was that there was no way that the trussed up threesome could get themselves out of this predicament without assistance. And that assistance could only be provided by Dolores.

“Ah good, I see they’re all enjoying their night off. We’ll leave them to it, shall we Cathy?”

Cathy took one last look at the three women - huddled together like bats in a roost - as she was ushered out of the room.

“Now that’s what I call a suspended sentence.”

Dolores smiled at her own attempt at humour, as she slammed the door shut and once more turned the key in the lock.


The journey to the room that Dolores had allocated Cathy for the coming night took only a matter of seconds. Unlocking the door and shepherding her handcuffed detainee inside, Cathy found herself pleasantly surprised. For instead of the Spartan dungeon conditions that she had been anticipating, the room turned out to be of almost hotel standard in its decor and furnishings. The centrepiece was a king sized bed, complete with wrought iron head and foot railings. Cathy found herself being lead by the neck to the side of this lavish structure and coaxed to sit down on the edge. The bedding was plush and soft, and Cathy was sure that if she were to lie down on the luxurious mattress and rest her head on the equally inviting pillows, that she would be asleep within seconds. Dolores had a few more adjustments and surprises for her guest before this would be allowed to occur, however.

Lifting her convict’s feet up onto the bed, Dolores opened a drawer in the bedside table and produced what Cathy at first thought to be another pair of handcuffs. But it soon turned out that these weren’t intended for her wrists, but were actually shackles designed to hobble the wearer’s legs. The metal cut deeply into Cathy’s spandex cat-suit, as Dolores dexterously placed one cuff around each ankle; the accompanying quick-fire sound of the ratchets clicking into position, plus the short length of the connecting chain, leaving her in no doubt that she would now only be able to walk by taking tiny steps.

But even this was never going to be an option, of course. Taking hold of her victim’s legs, the Mistress quickly pulled her feet to within an inch or two of the foot of the bed. Retrieving  a short length of chain from the stock of such items that must have been stored by the bed for just such an occasion, she wound this around the connecting links of the ankle cuffs and padlocked both ends to the ornately crafted iron railings; leaving Cathy now tethered to this immovable piece of furniture. But still the shackling process had not been completed to Dolores’ high standards. Grabbing the chain that attached to the collar around her victim’s neck, Cathy found herself being gently pushed down into the bedclothes, so that she was now lying flat out on her back, with her arms embedded in the deep, plush hollow of the mattress. All of a sudden, Cathy felt the choker around her neck pull tight, as her whole body was wrenched back towards the top of the bed. Before she knew what was happening, Dolores had wrapped the end of the chain around the metal struts of the head board and secured this with another padlock. Cathy tried to sit up, but found that this was no longer possible, and that she would now have to remain in this prone, stretched out  position, without even enough leeway to allow her to bend her knees.  She looked up mournfully at Dolores, her eyes conveying the question that her mouth was incapable of asking: namely why are you continuing to treat me with such insensitivity and cruelty? But the enquiry was to remain unanswered, and within seconds Cathy could only watch and scream with dismay, as even this form to visual communication was lost to her.

The placement of the claustrophobic hood around her head was completed with the same ruthless enthusiasm that Dolores seemed to exhibit habitually, and Cathy gazed into the black leather void as the lacing was secured at the back of her head and the straps buckled across her face. In frustration and despair, she wriggled and writhed to show her displeasure at this return to a world of sensory deprived immobility; supplementing her struggles with half-hearted and severely muffled protests.

“I don’t know why you’re making all this fuss Cathy. After all, I’ve given you a nice soft bed to luxuriate on tonight. There’s no pleasing some people, is there?”

Cathy felt one side of the bed dip, as Dolores presumably sat down beside her.

“As I said earlier, you may not be enjoying your bondage at the moment, but you will eventually, I can promise you that.”

Cathy shook her head and tried to assure Dolores that this was never going to happen. And it seemed that the message got through.  Dolores sighed.

“No? Well maybe this will convince you that being all tied up and helpless can be a whole lot of fun.”

As Dolores uttered these words, Cathy felt one hand gently skim over her breasts, while the other plunged deeply between her legs and began stroking rhythmically.

Cathy’s initial scream sprang from a sense of complete helplessness and impotence. But as the gently moving hands slowly worked their way over her immobilised form, the realisation hit her that, far from in any way being an undesirable experience, she was actually beginning to enjoy – or even become aroused by – this soothing, rubbing motion.  She remembered the strange incident of the other day in the vac bed, when the hint of sexual arousal had begun to course through her ... and it seemed to be happening again right now. But whereas on that previous occasion the hands had merely teased and tantalized her, on this occasion Dolores continued to stroke and caress, fondle and massage in all the right places until, within seconds, Cathy’s shrieks of dismay had given way to soft moans of pleasure. This was so weird...yet so very wonderful too!  How could a situation as bleak and horrific as the one she found herself in, suddenly become so desirable? Cathy tried to stem this surge of sexual excitement that was progressively becoming more acute, but found herself powerless to hold back the tidal wave that threatened to engulf her. Within no more than a couple of minutes she had reached her climax, her whole body straining against the unyielding chains that held her down.  Then, with her energies spent, she relaxed and groaned contentedly into her gag, her body sinking deeply into the plush bedding.

Dolores’ hands continued to trace the contours of her body for a few more minutes, until she was sure that Cathy was as relaxed as she could possibly be under the circumstances.

“Get some sleep now my angel and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Cathy barely heard the door closing or the key turning in the lock, her mind reeling with the joy of sexual fulfilment that had come upon her so unexpectedly.

And within minutes she had fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep.

There is no cure for Merinthophilia. Once you've got it, you're stuck with it for life.

Offline Steve Spandex

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Re: The Secrets of Shackleton Grange
« Reply #18 on: May 22, 2017, 06:01:30 PM »
Chapter 6 - Bethany the Novice

Bethany leant back in her seat and gazed out at the rolling Suffolk countrywide. The gently undulating fields, the farmhouses, the picturesque villages with their ‘Suffolk Pink’ cottages, and the occasional windmill, all flashed by in the late afternoon sunshine. But despite the views on offer, the pleasant scenery failed to make much impression on the twenty two year old, as her distracted mind wandered elsewhere.

Having taken the mainline train from London Liverpool Street up to Ipswich, Bethany had then boarded a branch line train that had transported her deep into the timeless realm of rural East Anglia.  In search of….what exactly? Herself? Her deepest desires perhaps? Although she’d set out on this quest  full of enthusiasm and with a clear goal in sight, now that her date with destiny was getting ever closer, her mind was in turmoil, with doubts creeping in as to whether she could actually go through with this venture.

The train slowed and came to a juddering halt beside a tiny platform. The sign showed that they had reached Tuddenham St Peter, a small village of around three hundred souls, according to the internet research that Bethany had undertaken prior to embarking on her trip. This was the end of the line as far as she was concerned.  Her final destination was, she knew, situated around a mile or so outside of this quaint backwater settlement, but her online enquiries had also ascertained that there was no bus service between the station and her journey’s end, and with no taxi rank in evidence, she resigned herself to the fact that she would have to walk the rest of the way.

But which road did she need to take? She cursed herself for having failed to take note of the precise directions required to reach her targeted terminus, as she’d assumed that it would be signposted. But upon leaving the deserted platform, with its tiny waiting room equally devoid of humanity, she found no clues as to which direction she needed to take in order to reach her destination: Shackleton Grange.

A car engine briefly broke the peaceful silence of the warm day, which led Bethany to the conclusion that the village centre might not be too far away in the direction of this tranquillity disturbing commotion. Walking down the short lane with its one storey ‘picture postcard’ thatched cottages on either side, she soon found herself in what must pass for the main or high street, although the almost deserted thoroughfare was hardly a hive of bustling activity. To her left, she could see an expanse of grass with weathered wooden benches and the occasional litter bin, suggesting that this was the Village Green. A sign atop a tall wooden post, pronounced the name of the village in paint-peeling letters beneath an ancient coat of arms. The road out of the village meandered away towards a panorama of open fields and dense woodlands that showed no further signs of habitation in this direction. So Bethany turned to the right, where the street curved in a slight arc, straddled on both sides by small wooden-beamed buildings with their upstairs leaded windows encroaching in overhanging incongruity towards the narrow road. Aside from an elderly woman sweeping her front step, there was no sign that this was anything but a ghost town. But on the other side of the road, at a distance of no more than fifty yards, Bethany spied a sign announcing that the adjacent building housed the village general store and post office.

A bell jangled noisily as Bethany opened the door to the shop, with its narrow aisles of over-stacked shelves containing everything for the village dweller. At the rear of the shop, behind a counter, stood an elderly woman busily counting coins that she’d extracted from an ancient looking cash register. She looked up as the slim blonde woman approached, her mouth smiling but her eyes betraying the fact that strangers were treated with suspicion in this part of the world.  By way of greeting, she offered a terse

“Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

“Oh hello, I’m after some directions. Could you tell me how I get to Shackleton Grange please?”

At the mention of the only mansion house in the parish, the woman’s mouth became tense and the smile faded away, as her mistrust of outsiders seemed to harden. Through thick glasses, her pale, watery eyes looked Bethany up and down, with the unasked question “What business would you have in a place like that?” etched on her face. For a second or two, she gazed over her visitor’s shoulder, as if deciding whether to dignify the request with an answer or not.  But then, slowly, she began to impart her evident knowledge of the district.

“Shackleton Grange you say?  Well now, you’ll need to turn right when you leave the shop, then right again at the church. You then follow the road for about half a mile until you reach a crossroads. Turn left and keep going. After another half a mile or so, you’ll come to a wooded area enclosed behind a high wall, one side of which runs parallel with the road. Follow that and you’ll reach the main entrance to Shackleton Grange. You can’t miss it.”

An uneasy silence ensued for a few seconds, during which the woman seemingly opened her mouth to speak again on two separate occasions, then decided that she’d said enough already. As Bethany thanked her for her time and turned to leave the shop, however, the woman once again found her voice.  This time her tone was less harsh.

“Be careful my dear.  Rumour has it that there are strange goings-on out there. If I were you I’d steer well clear of that place altogether.”

The words sent a shiver down Bethany’s spine, but she resisted the urge to turn and again make visual contact with the speaker. The bell once more broke the uneasy silence as she exited the stuffy confines of the store and emerged back into the sunlight.


Bethany encountered no one as she made her way out of the village, before passing the ancient church with its dirt encrusted stained glass windows, its overgrown churchyard, gnarled yew trees and crumbling tombstones. By now, the sun had dipped behind a bank of cloud that seemed to be approaching from the west, and the breeze, which had seemed warm and pleasant just minutes before, now took on a chill as its intensity increased with the impending rainstorm. The footpath soon petered out, and Bethany upped her pace as she walked along the bank that divided the tarmac from a shallow drainage ditch, which in turn gave way to open fields; some planted with swaying crops, others from which wary sheep looked up from their grazing to stare at the passing city girl. Approaching the crossroads, Bethany tried to remember the old woman’s directions. Had she said to go left or right at the junction? She needn’t have worried, however, as a four-way signpost, faded and leaning slightly to one side, pointed one rusted metal finger to the left; the faded  letters  which spelt out the words ‘Shackleton Grange’ only just visible through accumulated decades of grime.

Bethany took the indicated single track side road. On the horizon now she could see a thickly wooded area beyond the fields, and as she got closer, she noticed the high wall which obscured the view of all but the tops of the trees. Reaching the juncture where one length of wall ran parallel to the road, whilst the other veered at right angles across a trackless overgrown field, she realised that this red brick structure rose way above her head, probably to a height of around eight feet, and that it was therefore impossible to view the lay of the land beyond. A faded wooden sign affixed to the ancient brickwork read ‘Private Property. Keep Out’. For some reason, the impression of a prison’s perimeter wall crossed her mind; a restricted area that no one could break into... and, more significantly, from which anyone trapped within could not escape.

As the stiffening breeze rose to a cacophony in the increasingly agitated upper branches of the trees, Bethany shuddered as this unwanted intrusive thought entered her head. She was here of her own freewill, she reminded herself, and could leave at any time she wanted. So why was the thought of entering these secluded grounds threatening to overwhelm her with the urge to flee? She glanced back in the direction she’d just come. She was a mile or so from the village, and the prospects of rain grew stronger by the minute. If she turned back now, she would be soaked to the skin by the time she reached shelter. Dismissing her fears, Bethany hurried along the ever narrowing road beside the shielding wall, and within no more than two or three minutes she spied a break in the brickwork, through which the landscape within could be viewed. The imposing double gates that blocked this gap in the otherwise monotonous boundary wall were ornate and ancient looking; boasting an intricate latticework of vertical and diagonal metal struts that curved into a flamboyant crescent at the summit. On each side of the gate, a coat of arms had been incorporated into the overall design of the railings, whilst at the top, in elaborate lettering, the name ‘Shackleton Grange’ arched across from pillar to pillar.

Tentatively – as if she was almost expecting to receive an electric shock when she touched them – Bethany tried to enter by pushing at the solid wrought iron structure. Although there was no visible padlock or chain in evidence, the cold metal refused to budge. On closer inspection, however, she noticed a small silver-coloured metal box, only a few inches square, set at a height of five feet from the ground and attached to one of the solid stone posts to which the gates were hinged. This small panel, unlike the archaic wall and gates, was of a more recent vintage and looked to have been kept polished and clean. There was a small grille in the centre of the shiny metal plate, with a pushbutton beneath. The words ‘Please Press for Assistance’ were inscribed alongside.

With her hand visibly shaking, Bethany gently pushed the button. For a second or two there was only silence, and she was just pondering whether to try again, when a crackling sound - similar to the burst of static issued by a radio in a thunderstorm - suddenly emanated from the grille, followed by a woman’s voice.

“Hello, how can I help you?”

Bethany jumped with a start as the metallic sounding voice shattered the peace of the country lane, and for several seconds she hesitated, not knowing exactly what to say...or indeed if she should say anything at all. The voice, slightly impatient this time, broke the silence again.

“Hello? Who’s there? Please state your business.”

Finally finding her voice, Bethany bent in close to the grille and self-consciously began to stammer,

“Oh, hello... my name’s Bethany, and I’m... here for the...”

Although she knew that there was nobody around, she quickly glanced up and down the empty lane, before lowering her voice to little more than a whisper and, with her face feeling hot and flushed, in embarrassed tones uttered the words

“...Bondage for Beginners class.”


Ever since she could remember, Bethany had always harboured an interest in being tied up. What it was exactly that made the thought of having her arms and legs restrained to the point where escape became impossible, she had no idea. But it was an undeniable fact that the very idea of being bound and kept that way had become the Holy Grail for the shy young woman. The trouble was, she had yet to find anyone on her wavelength to complement her vision and share this lifestyle. Being a bit of an introvert, expressing her desires to another soul had proved a hurdle that she had failed to overcome. So her secret had remained hidden...up until now.

 From her teens up until the present day, Bethany’s only experience of being bound and gagged had been during solo ventures in the privacy of her bedroom – originally in the family home, but now that she had flown the nest, in the sanctuary of her own flat. And the more she experimented with this unorthodox sideline, the more she knew that this was a hobby that she really, desperately wanted to pursue to its ultimate limits. 

Since gaining her independence, Bethany had begun accumulating a wide variety of bondage equipment that she used on herself at every opportunity. Ropes, handcuffs, chains, tape, gags of varying descriptions and efficiencies, blindfolds, hoods; all had been purchased and experimented with at various times. And as time went by, her experiments in binding herself almost to the point of no return had turned her fantasies into an addictive obsession.

The problem was, though, that it simply wasn’t enough. As her knowledge of what could and couldn’t be achieved on her own grew, so did her frustration with the limitations of this kind of solitary pastime. What she needed now was to find like-minded people to help her live out her dreams to the full. The snag was that she had no idea of how to find people whose fascination with the subject gelled with her own. After all, it wasn’t the easiest of subjects to broach, was it, even with close friends?  Much less so with strangers.

For a year or two now, this dilemma had been a recurring theme to which there seemed no satisfactory solution. She’d taken out subscriptions with various fetish magazines, some of which had ‘contacts’ sections in them. The big stumbling block, however, was how could she be sure which of these anonymous suitors were genuine? Who could she trust? Much as she would have loved to take the plunge, Bethany’s naturally shy, reticent manner had always made her baulk at the thought of actually trying to make a connection with any of these potential soul-mates, however tempting their pitch might seem. There were some weirdoes out there, she knew that, so how could she know whether she was getting into something that she might later regret?  Or maybe not be able to get out of again? The prospect of being kidnapped, sold into slavery - or even worse - was a constant fear that prevented her from realising her cherished ambitions.  And as time passed, her frustration grew and grew.  Would she ever be able to get beyond this impasse? She was beginning to think that her bondage dreams would forever remain unfulfilled.

Until, one day, less than a week ago, she’d come across an intriguing advertisement in one of the magazines. Unlike the sleazy personal ads that made up the bulk of this section, this one leapt out of the page at her.

Are you female and looking for a new bondage experience?

Want to learn new techniques and positions?

Then why not try the Bound And Totally Helpless (BATH) society?

Situated in Suffolk (the world’s bondage capital), BATH runs weekly courses in bondage for both the Sub and the Dom.

Whatever your level of experience, whether novice or long-standing bondage devotee, BATH. is the place for you. Come along to Shackleton Grange where you’ll learn new skills, make new friends and discover the wonders of all things bondage.

There was an email address and a phone number below for the potential applicant to get in touch, in order to acquire more information, such as times of courses, costs etc.

What it was exactly about this particular notice that stood out from all the others, Bethany wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the stylish, professional way in which it was presented. Or perhaps it had something to do with the photo image of the handcuffed, bound and gagged young blonde woman used as the ad’s header. Bethany could definitely relate to that, and found herself fantasising that this was her. But whatever the reason, she found herself spellbound and instantly hooked, and she vowed there and then that she would most definitely have to check this out.

The mistake she made was to put off contacting the organisation until the following day, as by then the doubts had started to creep in. Was she doing the right thing? Would she be out of place amongst these people? Was it all a rip off? Suffolk was quite a way to travel, after all. What if it was a trap? What if they tied her up and then wouldn’t let her go? Funnily enough, this latter misgiving turned out to be the one that actually swayed her to ring the number; as it dawned on her that – subconsciously at any rate– she was actually quite aroused by the notion of being kidnapped and held in tight restraints.

And so, taking a deep breath, and with hands all atremble, she had dialled the number; figuring that phoning was a better way to keep her identity secret should she have a change of heart. After all, the only thing she would need to do, - if she didn’t like the sound of the person on the other end of the line - would be to put down the phone; whereas responding electronically would give away her email address, which could elicit a stream of unwanted correspondence.

The phone was answered after three or four rings, although to Bethany the time between pressing the final digit and the sound of a female voice answering, seemed like an eternity.

“Hello, Shackleton Grange.”

Although she had rehearsed exactly what she planned to say, for some reason this prepared speech seemed to go out of the window as soon as it was her turn to talk, and for a second or two, she found herself tongue tied. The voice on the other end of the line sounded again.

“Hello, you’ve reached Shackleton Grange, how can I help you?”

“Oh, hello, my name’s  er...Bethany and er... I was wondering...I mean I’d like to...well what I’m trying to say is...”

Realising that she was talking incoherent gibberish, she took another deep breath and cleared her throat.

“...I’d like to book a place in one of your classes please.”

The words came out in a rush, as if getting rid of them from her mouth removed some unpleasant taste that they’d been harbouring.  The woman, however, seemed to understand.

“You sound very apprehensive, my dear...which is quite understandable. A lot of people have a problem with talking openly about their desires and secret passions. My name’s Dolores and I run the classes personally, and I can assure you that there’s nothing to worry about. If you decide to join one of our groups, you’ll find that you’re amongst friends. Now which programme would you like to book on? I’m guessing we’re talking about the beginners’ course, are we?”

Bethany indicated that this was indeed the case.

“Good. Beginners’ class is held each Monday from seven o’clock. Now, what’s your preferred role?”

Bethany wasn’t sure she understood what she was being asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“What are you? Sub, Dom or Switch?”

Although Bethany was only really interested in being tied up herself, and despite still being slightly jumpy about this whole business, she had her wits sufficiently about her to reply that she was a Switch. This wasn’t strictly true, of course, but she figured that for self-bondage purposes, the knowledge of how to tie would be a bonus.

“Okay Bethany, let me look in the diary and see when we next have a vacancy...ah, yes, you’re in luck. We’ve had a cancellation for next week if that’s not too soon?”

Despite the short notice, Bethany felt a tingling sensation surge through her, and she realised that she was shaking somewhat. And not in a bad way either. Just the thought of meeting like-minded individuals and - more importantly - getting tied up by them, was causing her to become seriously aroused. As if in a dream, she heard herself say that she would be there this coming Monday.

“That’s excellent news. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed. Now, is there anything else you’d like to know?”

Bethany had a thousand and one questions spinning around in her head at this point, but managed to restrict herself to practical matters for the time being. Such as where, exactly, was Shackleton Grange? How much did the classes cost? Was she expected to pay now, or when she arrived? And, most importantly, how did she get there?

This Dolores woman answered all her questions and seemed to know the times of the trains off by heart. She was just saying how much she was looking forward to welcoming the new recruit into the fold on Monday, when Bethany suddenly had a thought. How was she supposed to get home again? After all, Dolores had informed her that the class didn’t finish until ten o’clock.

“Oh, and one last thing, are there any B&Bs in the village that I could stay at? I think I’ll be too late to catch the last train.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that Bethany, we have plenty of rooms here. You can stay the night and then get the train back in the morning.”


The remotely operated gates slowly juddered and clanked open, as the voice over the intercom - which Bethany recognised as that of the woman on the phone the other day - bade her come in and make her way up to the mansion’s main entrance. Once inside, Bethany gazed into the distance along a rutted and pot-holed avenue, flanked on both sides by tall, overhanging deciduous trees which gave the view ahead a tunnel-like appearance. And at the far end of this foliage enclosed channel, a large manor house could just be seen, its towers and turrets giving the impression of a medieval fortress or castle.

Bethany had gone no more than ten yards along this driveway, when a deep, resonating clanging sound from behind her, signalled that the gates had shut once more. An irrational fear that she was now trapped briefly gripped her and caused her heart to skip a beat. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed the last shaft of sunlight - before its source was eaten by the encroaching storm clouds - momentarily catch the metal of the now closed and –presumably – secured gates. With the disappearance of this last ray of friendly light, so too all hope of being allowed to leave of her own accord seemed to flee into the gathering gloom. Bethany shuddered, but continued onwards towards her destination. She was being foolish and irrational, she told herself; nothing untoward was going to happen to her here. And besides, the prize of being initiated into the world of strict bondage was too tempting an incentive to allow such unfounded nonsense to divert her from her intended goal. 

As the first low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, Bethany emerged from the cover of the trees onto a circular forecourt. Here, the until now rough driveway surface gave way to a smoother gravel finish, and forked away both left and right in semi-circular arcs that met again at the front door of the great house, which looked forbidding and desolate in the ever deepening twilight brought about by the imminent deluge. The centrepiece of the courtyard was a long disused fountain, its dried and cracked base soon to once again be filled by the inevitable cascade from the skies. For no particular reason, Bethany took the left hand path towards the marble pillared entrance now looming in front of her. Several stone statues, lichen encrusted and smoothed by centuries of wind and rain, stood in silent sentinel beside the path.

 As Bethany hurried on her way, anxious to beat the coming downpour, she at first failed to take much notice of these antiquated sculptures. But as she passed the third in the line, something swaying in the breeze close to the statue's outstretched hand, made her stop and take a closer look. The figure was that of a woman in a long flowing dress, her facial features long worn to nothing. But what had caught Bethany’s attention was the accessory that had been added to her arm. For there - one bracelet attached to the wrist whilst the other cavorted and clinked softly in the breeze – hung a pair of handcuffs; evidently, as the rust on them made clear, placed there some time ago. This sudden revelation caused Bethany to stop and pay closer attention to the other stone effigies, situated at regular intervals around the fountain.  Until now, it hadn’t occurred to her that all were modelled on the female form. But it was clear that each had been adorned with at least one restraint or bond.  One had what looked like a scarf adorning the lower part of her face, where the mouth would have been if erosion hadn’t taken its toll. This same figure, like her near neighbour, also had one hand outstretched, but unlike the handcuffs which her sculpted sister wore, this one’s wrist had been encircled with a short length of rope, the frayed ends of which now danced in the ever worsening weather. Another statue also had a scarf wrapped around her head, but this had been placed higher than her gagged sister-in-stone, and acted as a blindfold. Whilst a fourth figure – the one nearest to the entrance of the house - had what looked like a leather bondage hood – eyeless and with a rusted zip for a mouth – strapped around her head.

Far from freaking Bethany out, however, the sight of these strangely adorned figures made her pulse hasten. Surely this proved that the people who ran this BATH organisation had a sense of humour. And this realisation helped to ease her fears as she approached the door.


The first large drops of rain splattered with some force on the grey gravel driveway, as Bethany ran the last few yards of her journey, until she reached the cover of the entrance porch. Pulling on the sturdy old braided cord that hung beside the door produced a ringing of bells; seemingly far off in the interior of the house and barely audible over the noise of the raindrops and the low thud of the thunder.

After what must have been half a minute, and just as Bethany was beginning to contemplate ringing again, the heavy wooden door slowly began to swing open to reveal a large, high ceilinged entrance hall with a spiral staircase visible in the background. But the building’s interior was not what caught Bethany’s attention and made her gasp. For there, standing in the now open doorway, stood a woman in a metallic silver skin-tight cat-suit. High heeled, knee-length leather boots adorned her legs, but it was the head and face area that caused this involuntary yet audible intake of breath, as, from the neck upwards, the only features visible on this tall, slim female, were a pair of dark brown eyes that peered through two tiny slits on a tightly fitting hood of polished leather, identical in colour to the rest of her attire. A mane of jet black hair issued from an aperture at the apex of her head. The figure offered no spoken words of welcome, (indeed, with her mouth covered was this even possible?) but instead took one step to her left and gestured with her hand for Bethany to enter. Once she’d stepped over the threshold and taken two further steps into the cavernous hallway, the door slowly closed and slammed behind her.

In the awkward silence that followed, Bethany turned to the woman.

“ names Bethany...I’m here for tonight’s class.”

The woman’s eyes showed no sign of emotion as she simply took one step backwards, placed her hands behind her back and stood motionless by the door, as if having done her duty. Bethany was at a loss as to what her next move should be, although she was conscious that her gaze had remained almost constantly fixed on this woman in the figure hugging outfit since she’d first laid eyes on her. She imagined herself being attired in such a costume, and for some reason this notion caused a warm feeling to course through her.


“Welcome to Shackleton Grange.”

The voice that echoed around the spacious foyer came from behind and above Bethany’s position. Swiftly executing a one hundred and eighty degree turn, the new recruit swung around to face the source of this unexpected greeting.

“Hello. You must be Bethany.”

The woman, whose voice Bethany immediately recognised as belonging to the woman on the phone and the intercom, slowly made her way down the ornate staircase; the clicking of her heels on the polished marble gradually getting louder as she approached. Reaching the bottom step, she sauntered over to where the awestruck new arrival stood. She was dressed from head to toe in figure hugging black leather, with a broad leather belt encircling her waist and boots polished so thoroughly that they reflected back the image of their surroundings. Unlike the woman who had let her in, this woman wore no hood, which allowed her long brown wavy hair to flow around her shoulders.

“I’m Mistress Dolores. Welcome to my home. So glad you could make it. I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

She glanced at a grandfather clock that stood against the wall, ticking softly in the background.

“You’ve a bit early, my dear. None of the other pupils will arrive for an hour or so yet.  But that means there’s plenty of time for me to show you to your room, and for you to get settled in.”

Dolores smiled pleasantly which, Bethany guessed, was supposed to put her at ease. But there was something about the woman’s demeanour that made her blood run cold. What it was exactly, she wasn’t certain. But any misgivings were soon dismissed when she brought to mind exactly why she’d come here today.

Dolores turned and walked back towards the stairs, with her visitor following closely behind. Bethany’s jaw dropped as she gawped in awe at the artwork adorning the walls, of female slaves in every imaginable state of inescapable bondage.  Some were watercolours, whilst others seemed to be oil paintings. All had been mounted in ornate, gold painted wooden frames.  The thought of modelling for one of these pictures held a strange fascination for her, and she marvelled at the way these seemingly content women must have remained for considerable lengths of time in one position, to allow the artist to capture them in all their bound up glory.

As they ascended, the Mistress turned every few steps, as if checking on the progress of her guest.  She obviously associated Bethany’s silence with a sense of trepidation.

“You seem a bit nervous, my dear. Well you needn’t be. You’ll soon make friends with the other girls in the class.”

Bethany admitted that she was rather apprehensive about coming here today.

“In fact, I didn’t even tell anyone that I was coming here, just in case they tried to persuade me not to.”

As soon as this sentence had passed her lips, she knew that she’d made a potentially dangerous error. So now she’d given away the fact that nobody knew where she was. What if something happened to her now? As before, she tried to take her mind off such unwanted thoughts by concentrating on what she hoped would be a night to remember for all the right reasons.

 They had reached the landing by now, and Dolores began leading the way along a dimly lit passageway. After a few seconds of silence, she spoke once more.

 “Have you brought your own outfit to change into for this evening?”

Bethany wasn’t entirely sure that she understood the question. But, from her hesitation in answering, Dolores must have sensed this, and almost immediately explained.

“You’ll need a form-fitting outfit of some description for the class.”

As Bethany meekly confessed that she hadn’t realised that she needed any specific garb, Dolores came to a halt by one of the many closed doors that featured at regular intervals along the corridor. She gestured towards Bethany’s clothes. 

“Those won’t do at all. They’re much too baggy and cumbersome. The standard requirements in my classes are clothes without folds and creases. Skin-tight garments are the dress code here.”

She opened the door to the room and led the way inside.

“Not to worry if you haven’t brought anything suitable. I’ll send one of my servants along with something you can wear.”

She turned her attention to the room in which they now stood.

“Well, this will be your room for the night. I hope you find it comfortable. I’ll have some tea sent up if you like.”

Bethany indicated that tea would indeed be very welcome, at which point Dolores turned and walked towards the door.

“Right, make your way downstairs once you’ve changed and had your tea. Class starts in an hour’s time.”

And with that she was gone.

The room that Bethany had been allocated was most definitely of a higher standard than anything she could have expected in a guest house. The bed was soft and comfortable, with the decor tasteful and the facilities all to a high standard. There was an en-suite bathroom with pristine fixtures and fittings too. The only things that perturbed Bethany were the bars on the window, which once again brought to mind the notion of a jail. As she gazed out across the overgrown lawn, now being pummelled by sheeting rain, with the occasional streak of lightning and clap of thunder thrown in for good measure, there came a loud knock on the bedroom door, which temporarily distracted her from her reverie.

When Bethany pulled open the creaking timber, she encountered two women standing side by side in front of her; one of whom was the servant in the silver cat-suit who had greeted her – if silence can be classed as a greeting – at the front door. Her companion was similarly attired in snug latex, except that her outfit was in black, and the plume of hair that sprouted from her hood identified her as a redhead. Without waiting to be invited in, the masked and mute duo advanced into the room. The redhead carried a silver tray, on which there sat a teapot, cup and saucer, milk jug and sugar bowl, all of bone china. This she set down on the small coffee table in the centre of the room, whilst her colleague handed something to Bethany that she at first didn’t recognise. Swiftly and without fuss, their tasks completed, the pair exited the room and once again shut the door.

Bethany inspected the strange garment in her hands.  Having been a fitness and keep-fit enthusiast for a number of years, she soon sussed out, from the feel of the smooth, soft, stretch material, that this item of clothing was manufactured from spandex. Holding the garment up revealed sleeves and legs, from which she immediately drew the the conclusion that this was an all-covering cat-suit.

Bethany poured herself a cup of steaming tea from the pot and began her undressing routine by kicking off her shoes, before taking off her jeans and blouse. Was she supposed to keep her bra and panties on? She knew that the clinging nature of spandex would clearly highlight any garments she wore beneath, so decided that she would probably be better off without them. After all, the three women she’d encountered so far had all worn extremely tight costumes, and none had revealed any visible signs of underwear. So her decision was quickly made: naked apart from the borrowed cat-suit.

The soft swish of the wonderfully pliant material being eased up her legs and torso caused a strange thrill to briefly envelope Bethany’s entire being. This was weird, and something that she’d never experienced before. But once she’d squeezed herself into the clinging outfit - pulled the sleeves down to her wrists and the collar up to her neck, then smoothed out the few remaining wrinkles - she began to experiment by exercising her limbs, and she understood immediately the reason for this strange feeling. The fact that with every movement, no matter how small or insignificant, the velvety material caressed and brushed her skin in a tight but gentle embrace, made her realise that the wearing of clinging clothing was a form of bondage in its own right. Now, she thought with a shiver of anticipation, all she needed was to be tied with ropes, for the jigsaw of delight to be complete.

After drinking her tea, Bethany strutted around the room, deliberately shimmying and sashaying, to enhance the feel-good factor that this newly acquired fascination with spandex induced.  Admiring herself in the mirror that adorned the length of the wardrobe door, she placed her hands behind her back and imagined that she was already bound, and this action ratcheted up the sense of anticipation that she was already experiencing a further notch or two. All her earlier doubts and fears now seemed to melt away and dissolve to nothing, and she found herself feeling thankful for the day that she’d happened to chance upon BATH; an organisation which would, she was now sure, help give her the courage and confidence to nurture her bondage dreams and allow her to connect with her innermost desires.

When her watch told her that it was five to seven, Bethany slipped her shoes on and exited the bedroom. There was no one else to be seen or heard as she made her way down the eerily silent corridor, until she arrived at the top of the great stairway.  Now, as she stood for a few seconds, nervously yet excitedly contemplating the next few hours, she heard voices coming from the floor below, and guessed that her future classmates had by now turned up.

Making her way downstairs, Bethany could see, away to her left, a set of double doors standing open, beyond which there seemed to be a large, oak-panelled room. And it was from this direction that the sounds of female chatter seemed to emanate.

Taking a deep breath, Bethany made her way to the entrance. For a second or two she stopped just shy of the threshold. Her heart was beating fast and her hands were shaking.  “So this is it” she told herself, “the moment I’ve been waiting for all my life.”
« Last Edit: May 22, 2017, 06:04:57 PM by Steve Spandex »
There is no cure for Merinthophilia. Once you've got it, you're stuck with it for life.

Offline Steve Spandex

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Re: The Secrets of Shackleton Grange
« Reply #19 on: June 01, 2017, 06:23:16 PM »
Chapter 7 - An Evening of Discovery

As Bethany entered the room, the soft hubbub of conversation died down, and all heads turned in the direction of the newcomer. She paused and stood nervously looking around at the assembled women; numbering twelve, if the calculation gleaned from her swift glance around the room was accurate. All wore tightly fitting cat-suits of various materials, which showed off their long legs and shapely figures perfectly.  Eight of the women sat in two rows of chairs that had been laid out theatre-style in a semi circle. They sat giggling nervously and whispering to each other behind their hands, and shifted somewhat apprehensively in their seats. These, Bethany guessed, were her classmates.  The two mute and hooded servants that Bethany had already encountered, stood to one side, as if waiting for orders. And they had been joined by a third, similarly dressed female, whose outfit, in contrast to the neutral tones of the other two, was a bright vivid pink.  The final figure, who had been standing with her back to the door upon Bethany’s entrance, was Dolores. Sensing the new arrival’s presence, she turned and beckoned her to come forward.

“Ah Bethany, come in and join the others.”

She turned to her other pupils.

“Girls, this is Bethany. Like many of you, she’s new to this sort of thing and a bit nervous, so I hope you’ll all make her feel welcome.”

She waited for Bethany to sit down at the only chair in the semi-circle still unoccupied, next to a red-headed young woman in a leather outfit that was stretched so tightly about her, that it looked as if the seams would burst at any second.  The woman smiled pleasantly at her new neighbour, then averted her gaze back towards their teacher as the lesson began.

“Right, now that we’re all here, let me first of all welcome you to the Bondage for Beginners class.  For  those of you who haven’t attended sessions here before, which is the majority of you, the aim is to teach you the basics of tying, and to give you a feel of what it’s like to be tied. For the one or two of you who are repeat visitors, this will act as a refresher course.”

Without being summonsed, the three hooded women moved forward and took their places in front of three sturdy upright chairs that had been set out before the audience.

“Firstly, I’m going to show you a few simple but effective methods of tying your intended target’s wrists behind her back. Then I’ll let you all have a go at tying each other.”

The three women submissively sat down and placed their hands around the backs of the chairs.

For the next hour or so, Dolores demonstrated on her three –seemingly willing – employees, various methods designed to tie someone up so that they were incapable of escape. Each of the trio had their wrists bound in different ways, which Dolores explained the intricacies of as she went along. On occasion, she would go back and reiterate a point if one or other of the eagerly watching classmates asked a question or sought clarification of a particular hitch or binding. Once the models’ arms had been accounted for, the binding action shifted to the rest of their anatomies, as their legs and bodies were strictly and securely rendered helpless. And whilst  their freedom slowly but surely diminished, the triad sat impassively, as the ropes were coiled, tightened, cinched and knotted to ensure that they and their chair would remain inseparable partners for the foreseeable future.

And all this time, Bethany watched with a wealth of thoughts and conflicting emotions playing games with her mind and body. On the one hand, she was keen to learn as much as she could; to take everything in, so that she could use some of these techniques and ideas in her next self-bondage session. But on the other hand, she was getting impatient. Watching other people get tied up was all well and good from a learning perspective, but the reason she’d made a commitment to come here today was in order that she could be the one that succumbed to the tight and unforgiving ropes.

Finally, with her three assistants bound up tightly, Dolores decided that the time had come to allow her acolytes to get ‘hands on’.

“Okay ladies, time to put the techniques I’ve just shown you into practice. So I’d like you to get into groups of two – one Sub and one Dom in each pair, if possible.  There are plenty of ropes in the boxes situated at the side of the room.”

She pointed to her left, where five large storage containers sat on an oak table, next to several unused upright chairs.

“Each pair should take one of those boxes and find themselves a secluded corner of the room.  Concentrate on getting your Sub’s wrists bound first, then you can go on to tying their legs and binding them to one of those chairs.”

Bethany turned to her fellow classmates, but it became obvious straightaway that they had already paired up and made their decisions as to who was tying whom prior to her arrival. And with an odd number of candidates, it didn’t take a genius to work out that someone was going to end up without a partner. Dolores had already realised that this problem was going to raise its head, however, and was quickly on hand to offer her services.

“It looks like you’re ‘Bethany-no-mates’ doesn’t it? Not to worry, as you’re a Sub, you’ll have the pleasure of being tied up by me this evening.”


As if in a dream, Bethany stood up and followed Dolores to the table. By this point, the other girls had scattered to the four corners of the room, leaving one box and one chair unallocated. Grabbing the latter and turning it around so that she was standing behind the solid wooden item of furniture, Dolores motioned for her pupil to sit down. Doing as she was told, Bethany gazed at the other girls, as they began to bind their partner’s arms in one or other of the methods that they’d just been shown. And it was at this point that she realised that she was visibly shaking. She was given only a few seconds to observe the activities of the others, however, before she felt the sensation of a hand grab each of her wrists and gently but firmly pull her arms behind her back. The feel of the rope being looped around her wrists was almost instantaneous, as was the tightening of this first circuit of what was soon to become a securely wrapped and cinched bond, which was tied off somewhere  at the back of her wrists. Within thirty seconds, Bethany’s hands were, she knew instinctively, inescapably bound.

“There you go. That’s not too tight, is it?”

Bethany executed a quick twist of her wrists, and found the rope tight, but not uncomfortably so. As she tried to pull one wrist away from the other, the fact that this was impossible sent a thrill surging through her entire being, and she realised that this was one of the greatest moments of her life... so far. For the first time ever she was bound to the point of no escape, in a situation where she was completely at the mercy of someone else to set her free...or not, as the case may be!

“How does that feel?”

Bethany wanted to blurt out that it was wonderful, fantastic, brilliant, marvellous and a hundred more superlatives besides. But instead she found herself feeling embarrassed at her own enthusiasm, and merely looked away from Dolores – not daring to make eye contact, lest she blushed – and quietly answered,

“It’s fine.”

Even as she spoke, however, Dolores was already delving into the box of bonds.

“Good, now let’s take care of the rest of you, shall we?”

For the next few minutes, Bethany watched in awe as Dolores bound her ankles, her knees and her thighs, before using more rope than was strictly necessary in lashing her to the chair, from shoulder to foot.  Being the expert, she accomplished her bondage masterpiece far quicker than the less experienced girls in the room, and now safe in the knowledge that Bethany was going nowhere, went off to check on the progress of the others.

“I’m going to leave you here for just a little while darling. I know you like being tied up, so make the most of your time now. I’m sure you’ll find my bondage modus operandi to your liking.”


To say that Bethany was happy with her situation was an understatement.

The fact that she could now explore her newly found captivity without being constantly under scrutiny was an utter joy to her. Wriggling and fidgeting within the strict confines of her unbreakable ligatures was making Bethany feel hot; not just temperature-wise, but also sexually. So much so that when, after maybe fifteen minutes, Dolores once more turned her attention to her, the fact that she began immediately releasing the knots and uncoiling the cords that had become such welcome additions to her attire, was at first a cause of some dismay. She needn’t have worried too much, however, as this release process was merely an interim measure, before the binding process began again.

“Okay girls, let your Sub out of her bonds for a few minutes. Those of you who want to switch roles, please do so now. Then change partners and try one of the other techniques I showed you earlier. Don’t be afraid to ask for help or advice if you need it.”

As the riggers began to liberate their prisoners, Dolores turned once more to Bethany.

“I remember you said on the phone that you were a Switch, but the vibe I’m picking up from you is that that isn’t strictly true. Am I correct?”

Bethany rubbed her wrists and blushed, as she admitted that this was indeed the case. Dolores smiled.

“I thought so.  Don’t worry though, I’m sure one of the other ladies would be willing to try out her skills on you now.”

She called across the room to a tall, latex- clad brunette who had just finished untying her partner.

“Jessica, would you mind swapping with me and helping Bethany satiate her rampant desire for being trussed up?”

Jessica sashayed across the room, her outfit creating a swishing sound as her legs brushed against each other, and her bright red glistening lips breaking into a smile as she approached.

“Of course Mistress, I’d be delighted to be of assistance.”


For the next hour and a half, Bethany experienced the sheer joy of being tied repeatedly, as several of the Doms in the class took it in turns to outdo each other in their unofficial battle to show Mistress Dolores that they were her star pupil tonight. And to Bethany’s delight, the more practice they got, the better – i.e. tighter – each subsequent tie became.

So it was with some regret, that at around ten o’clock she heard Dolores call a halt to proceedings.

“Okay ladies, I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got time for today. If you’d like to untie your victim now and put all the ropes back in the boxes, we’ll call it a night.”

As the session wound down, each of the bound beauties was released from her restraints, including the reluctant Bethany. As this was going on, Dolores was releasing her three servants – who had been left tied for the past three hours without ever uttering a word or showing any sign of discontent with the way they were being treated.  Once they were free, Dolores gave some whispered order that Bethany failed to catch, and all three quickly left the room. They weren’t gone long, however.

“Just before you go girls, I expect you’re wondering about the ultimate goal of these lessons. In other words, if this is just a beginners’ class, then what do you learn about on the more advanced courses? Well just to whet your appetite, here’s a taster of the sort of thing you’ll either be achieving or enduring if you work your way through the whole curriculum.”

As Dolores’ final words echoed around the high ceiling, the three servant girls reappeared, collectively carrying a sturdy wooden trunk that, by the way they strained and staggered under its weight, seemed to be heavy.  Placing this in the centre of the floor, Dolores handed the red-headed, black cat-suited member of the trio a set of keys. Needing no further instruction, the obedient woman began unlocking the four padlocks that held this ancient sea-chest shut. Once all four had been removed, the other two assistants stepped forward and pulled back the lid.

Intrigued by what might be revealed, tonight’s pupils collectively moved closer, and Bethany was no exception. As the top of the container slid upwards, and the light from the chandelier above illuminated the cramped space within, a collective gasp of astonishment rippled around the room. For there, languishing face down, her legs forced upwards and her arms pulled up behind her back, was a woman who had so far not taken any part in the evening’s proceedings. Immediately obvious was the fact that this young female had been encumbered with chains, duct tape and what looked like a thousand feet of rope. Bethany had seen pictures of women in hog-ties in magazines, but she had never before seen anyone so completely and utterly contorted into such a strict, rigorously unforgiving elbow bound creation as this.  With her feet and hands touching, her fingers wrapped up securely in grey tape, her shoulders forced back due to the severity of the elbow tie, and the chains that held her whole body rigidly in check, this, Bethany thought, must be the ultimate in ruthless enslavement. And she found herself feeling envious, and wishing that she was the girl in the trunk.

However, this female, didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm. Craning her neck around to look up from her prone position at the faces peering down with curiosity at her, she let out a stifled moan through a thick layer of grey tape that encircled her head from just below her nose down to her neck. Blinking in the light, after the blackness of the chest, her eyes pleaded for help from the bewildered and speechless group that now gazed in upon her. After several seconds, she began to struggle, augmenting this with a series of grunts and groans that seemed to be imploring the watchers to help her out of this predicament. As her struggles became almost violent in their intensity, and her muffled calls took an increasingly urgent tone, the women gathered around the trunk began to shift uneasily, and murmured voices of concern could faintly be heard from the group. Dolores, however, was already anticipating this reaction.

“Don’t be alarmed girls. Cathy here loves being tied and gagged for hours on end. In fact, she can’t get enough of it. This ‘damsel-in-distress’ act that she’s putting on now is all for show. She says that it enhances her pleasure by playing the helpless heroine. The more she struggles, the more she gets out of it... so she tells me.”

She addressed her assistants.

“Okay, that’s enough for now. Wouldn’t want Cathy getting too excited with all this attention we’re showing her, would we?”

She bent down and spoke to the woman in the trunk.

“Goodnight Cathy. Sleep well and I’ll see you in the morning.”

The lid slammed shut over the hog-tied female, and immediately the trusted trio set to work resealing the locks, picking up their cargo and carrying it back out of the room. Even so, as they made their exit, thudding sounds emanated from within the box, accompanied by muffled calls for help. Dolores glanced around at her class, smiled and rolled her eyes.

“That’s Cathy for you. She just loves an audience to play to.”


With the ending of the lesson, the group of novices began to disperse. Whilst some left almost immediately, others stayed and chatted for a while; laughing and giggling and discussing the things they’d learnt during this evening’s class. Most seemed to leave still attired in their cat-suits, whilst a few went off to change back into their ‘everyday’ wear before departing.  After a few minutes, when the sound of tyres crunching over the gravel in the driveway had faded to nothing, Bethany found herself all alone in the great hall, still mesmerised and slightly shell-shocked by the whole event. Dolores, who had left the room briefly to see her clients to their cars, now returned.

“So Bethany, how did you enjoy your first visit to Shackleton Grange?  I do hope that you found the lesson tonight of interest to you.”

Bethany wanted desperately to request that Dolores bind her up again and keep her that way all night, but she was too shy to ask. Instead she meekly confirmed that she had indeed had a great time.

“Good. Well I hope you find the accommodation to your liking. I’ll get one of my servants to rustle up some breakfast for you before you leave in the morning.”

And with this offer, Dolores began turning the chandelier lights off in the oak-panelled room, as if hastening her one remaining pupil out. As Bethany exited into the grand foyer and made her way towards the stairs, she noticed the wooden box in which the bound woman was presumably still encased, lying on the floor to one side. The servant in the pink cat-suit stood over the now silent trunk, as if guarding it. She glared at Bethany as she noticed the latter looking in her direction. Bethany shivered, but bid the figure a “goodnight” as she passed. As expected, this parting expression of farewell was neither acknowledged nor returned.


Bethany floated on air up the spiralling marble staircase, her mind reliving the wonderful sensations of how it felt to be bound up so tightly that she simply couldn’t get free, even if she’d wanted to. In fact, the journey back to her room became a blur in her memory, with her head focused on much more important matters. She must, she thought to herself, remember to book for the next lesson before she left for home in the morning.  So preoccupied was she with the memory of the events of the past few hours, that it wasn’t until she was back in the bedroom that she realised that she’d climbed those stairs and walked the long corridor in bare feet;  apart from the stirrup straps beneath her instep.  She recalled now that Dolores had removed her shoes just prior to binding her ankles, and from that moment onwards, the whereabouts of her footwear had been of little importance to her. For a few seconds, Bethany contemplated whether to leave the missing shoes where they were until morning. But instead she decided to venture back downstairs to look for them now. Subconsciously at any rate, retrieving her shoes was not the only reason for wanting to leave the bedroom at this late hour, as Bethany was intrigued to explore this vast and seemingly almost deserted mansion, and the hunt for the shoes gave her an excuse for this jaunt. If she happened to stray into uncharted territory and was challenged as to her purpose in being there, she could always claim that she had gone looking for the missing footwear, but had become disorientated in the labyrinth of passages and stairways.

The floorboards seemed to creak louder, the harder she tried to tiptoe stealthily along the corridor back towards the main staircase. Aside from the grumbling timbers, however, the house seemed to be in silence, and Bethany began to wonder whether Dolores and her cronies had already retired for the night. But as she approached the grandiose stairway, she saw that lights still shone from the entrance hall below, and voices could be made out. Or, more correctly, Dolores’ voice could be heard, and from her tone she was clearly not happy with something. But as well as Dolores’ harsh words, another, seemingly subservient voice responded to the Mistress’s outburst, and it was clear to any bondage enthusiast that this second person was speaking through some form of gag. Was it one of her three servants that Dolores was berating? Bethany knew that, whatever was going on, it was none of her business, but she found herself unable to resist the urge to begin gingerly making her way down the stairs, in order to obtain a better vantage point. Taking three or four silent steps downwards, the curving nature of the stairs gave an excellent view of the brightly lit hallway. There, standing in a line to one side, their legs slightly apart and their hands placed behind their backs, stood the three servants in their skin-tight apparel. Dolores stood a few feet away with her back towards Bethany, and it was clear that her verbal tirade was still in full flow. But it wasn’t the motionless trio that were the brunt of this tidal wave of anger, but someone else, identity as yet unknown due to the fact that they were blocked from view by Dolores’ leather clad form.  The latter’s outburst continued apace.

“...more than three days you’ve been here now...three days!...and still you haven’t learnt a thing, have you? You still think that you can disobey my orders without being punished.”

She paused for a moment, during which a muffled moan of despair filled the cavernous hallway.

“I told you that if you behaved well tonight and acted as if you were quite content in your bondage, then I’d think about reducing your sentence by a day or two. But what do you go and do instead? You struggle and scream and try to find someone who’ll believe that you’re not here of your own volition; someone who’ll help you escape. Well bad luck, because I’ve got news for you Missy. Nobody believed you. Everyone things it was just an act! If you’re expecting the police to arrive at any moment now, you can forget it.”

Dolores’ anger was getting more intense by the second, and she was virtually screaming at her unseen victim by this stage, who in turn whimpered and groaned pitifully. After taking a deep breath, however, Dolores seemed to calm down somewhat, and when she resumed, her voice had a more considered tone to it.

“So let’s see then, shall we? How much do I add to your sentence for this latest in a long line of misdemeanours?”

She paused again, waiting for her words to the cowering creature still hidden from Bethany’s line of vision to sink in.

“As the addition of a day or two doesn’t seem to work as a deterrent, it looks like I’m going to have to stop going easy on you from now on. For tonight’s outburst, let’s say an extra four weeks shall we? Maybe that will put a stop to any future rebellious instincts you might be harbouring.”

Then she added, seemingly with great relish.

“Actually, I’ve lost track of the length of your sentence, seeing as how I have to add to it nearly every five minutes. Let’s just call it a nice round six months, shall we? From now on any disobedient behaviour, no matter how trivial, gets an extra month added. Is that okay with you?”

The long drawn out howl that filled the cavernous hallway in response to this, suggested that the recipient of this harsh ruling was most certainly not agreeable to the terms being offered to her. This was ignored by Dolores, however.

“At the rate you’re going darling, you’ll be an old woman by the time you leave here.”

Dolores laughed unsympathetically at this forecast, before turning towards her henchwomen.

“Take her down to the cellar and make sure she’s as uncomfortable as possible.”

The three women stepped forward as one and hauled the figure to her feet. Bethany gasped inwardly as her eyes fell upon the woman she’d earlier seen strictly bound in the trunk. Although no longer hog-tied, it was obvious that she was still as inescapably bound as before; her arms pulled so far behind her back that her shoulders almost looked as if they were about to dislocate from their sockets. Her face was still swathed in circuit after circuit of clinging duct tape, and her body was bound in a lattice of ropes that dug deeply into the black spandex of her outfit. Her long black hair, previously tied in a ponytail, now hung loose and unkempt around her shoulders. Her legs were now shorn of the tight ropes that had adorned them when Bethany had last viewed her, but in their place, a set of ankle cuffs had been fitted;  the connecting chain being of no more than three or four inches in length. This latter circumstance meant that her stride, as she was forcibly marched across the floor, was of an unnaturally short span, and that she was having difficulty keeping up with the pace expected by her escorts, who guided her towards a corridor that led off to the right.

Bethany sat motionless as she watched the procession cross the floor; frightened to move unless she inadvertently attracted the attention of one of Dolores’ retinue. After a few seconds, however, they had steered their prisoner into the passageway and disappeared from sight. As silently as she could, Bethany crept up the stairs again and made her way back to her room. She half expected to hear Dolores bounding up the stairs behind her, and turned several times to check that she wasn’t being followed. But on each occasion, the passageway behind her was empty.

Reaching the sanctuary of her allotted room, Bethany quickly locked the door. In a daze, she sat on the bed, not knowing what to make of the scene she’d just witnessed. Okay, she had taken Dolores at her word earlier, when she’d informed the class that this woman – what was her name now? Cathy wasn’t it? – was a willing actress in this demonstration of just how tight and inescapable bondage could be. But why continue the charade now, when there was no audience? Surely, the scene she’d just unwittingly been a spectator to was no game playing. And if this was true, then the events she’d just observed must be for real. Or put another way, Dolores really did keep people incarcerated against their will. And the gist of the overheard monologue suggested that these periods of captivity went on for months on end!!

So what was she to do about it? Retrieving her mobile phone from her bag, Bethany vowed to call the police straightaway and inform them of what she’d just seen. But then she hesitated. What if she’d got it wrong? Maybe this woman really did like to live the lifestyle of the helpless kidnap victim 24/7. And if that was the case, then calling the police could have far-reaching repercussions that would be detrimental to all concerned. For a start, it would mean that her first lesson here would also be her last, as she was sure Dolores wouldn’t take too kindly to having to explain the strange goings-on here to the cops, and she would find herself expelled. No, she had to be more certain that something of an illegal nature was going on here before she blew the whistle.

But how was she to go about obtaining incontrovertible evidence of wrong-doing? She could hardly come out and ask Dolores directly, could she? And the three servants would hardly be of much help, seeing as how they seemed to be eternally mute. No, there was only one thing for it. She would have to find the poor helpless creature herself, and hear it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.

This, of course, was easier said than done. For a start, she didn’t know where the woman was being held. And even if she found out, the chances were that she was locked in some dark prison cell to which there would be no easy access. And what if she was caught in the act? What exactly would Dolores and her accomplices do to her? Would she also find herself held captive and kept here indefinitely?  Although she lived and breathed tight bondage every second of the day, the prospect of being kept that way for months, or possibly years, was just a step too far...even for her.

However, after much self-deliberation, she realised that there was no other alternative. She would, she resolved, have to seek out this captive female and find out exactly what was going on here.  Looking at the screen of her mobile, she noticed that she was getting no signal here anyway. And this was the deciding factor that persuaded her to turn off the phone and place it back in her bag.

Bethany paced the floor of her room and gazed out through the bars that criss-crossed the window. The grounds were now in total darkness, and the only source of faint illumination, on this cloudy, starless night, originated from a few house lights in the village a mile or so away, viewed over the high perimeter wall of Shackleton Grange. Still in her borrowed costume, she sat down on the bed once again. Although it was getting late, she doubted whether, even if she were to lie down on the soft bed, she would be able to sleep, as her mind was working overtime trying to take in all that had happened to her in the past few hours. Her watch showed that it was just gone eleven o’clock. She was eager to set out on her mission now, but reined herself in with the knowledge that Dolores and her cohorts could still be around at the moment.  She would need to wait an hour or two, she decided, in the hope that everyone else in the house would be asleep by then.


Bethany spent most of her self imposed waiting period pacing the floor of the bedroom. She already knew in which direction the captive woman had been taken, but where she now resided was impossible to guess at. Nor did she have any real plan as to what to do when - or if – she happened to find her. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to locate her at all. Or perhaps she’d find a door from behind which muffled screams emanated, yet be unable to break in and discover exactly what was going on. These considerations, and many more besides, played on her mind as she waited impatiently until she thought the time was right.

At just gone one o’clock, Bethany slowly opened the door to her room. She had been itching to get this whole thing over and done with for what seemed like ages now, and she could wait no longer. The corridor outside her room was in complete darkness, but luckily Bethany always carried a small torch in her handbag, and this would now prove invaluable in her quest to locate the missing woman.


It is a strange phenomenon, but sounds at night always seem much louder than those made during daylight hours. And this journey proved no exception to the rule. Added to this was the fact that, as Bethany so desperately desired her passage through the house to be as silent as was humanly possible, the exact opposite transpired – at least to her mind - and every movement reverberated around the ancient timbers and plaster that much louder than it would have done under less stressful circumstances. The constant creak of ancient floorboards, plus a myriad of other noises that old houses seem to emit for no apparent reason, accompanied her careful, flash-lit journey along the corridor, until she reached the top of the stairs. At this point, Bethany was pleased to note that, unlike her previous abandoned excursion to reclaim her shoes, the vast space below was in complete darkness. Tiptoeing cautiously down, she made a beeline for the entrance to the passageway through which Dolores’ servants had last been seen coaxing their prisoner.  The floor of the corridor in which she now found herself consisted of bare flagstones, with plain grey walls rising on either side and disappearing into the pitch blackness ahead of her, which the torch’s feeble beam did very little to alleviate.  For the first fifty yards or so of her tentative journey, Bethany encountered no break in the monotony of the walls, floor, and what seemed to be an increasingly low ceiling. But then, to her left, she suddenly spied a solid wooden door. She hesitated. Should she carry on along the passageway, or see what secrets lurked behind the door?  For some reason, the thought of going ever further into the black tunnel didn’t hold much appeal, and she found herself, with very little anticipation of success, grasping the door handle and pulling it towards her. Miraculously, it began to open.

If Bethany had been loath to continue down the seemingly endless passageway, then the sight that greeted her on shining the torch into the now gaping doorway, was even less appetising. From where she stood on the threshold, a narrow spiral staircase fell steeply away into a black chasm before her; disappearing, it seemed, into the bowels of the earth.  But what swayed her into venturing down this worn and treacherous stairwell, was a very faint sound, only just on the edge of her hearing.  It could have been the wind murmuring through some unknown crevice in the building’s ancient structure somewhere. Maybe it was the sound of a mouse squeaking and scurrying in the black depths below. Or it could have been simply her imagination. But no, there it was again, and it sounded like none of these things. In fact, what it most closely resembled was the sound of someone crying mournfully into an extremely efficient gag; someone whose mouth was packed with fabric that couldn’t be removed without assistance.

Taking a deep breath, her heart pounding loudly in her chest, Bethany proceeded downwards with extreme caution. The torch beam highlighted damp, mildew-patched walls and a low cambered ceiling with water dripping intermittently onto the crumbling stone steps on which she trod. The feel of the cold, wet stone chilled her bare feet, and she wished now that she’d gone in search of her shoes prior to undertaking this trek into the netherworld hidden beneath Shackleton Grange.

But there was no going back now. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Bethany nervously shone the ever dimming beam out in front of her. All but the first few yards remained in impenetrable gloom, but she could make out that she was now in another passageway, with wooden doors on either side. So from where exactly had those strange muffled sounds emanated? For around thirty seconds or so, Bethany stood and listened for any clue as to the whereabouts of the originator of those pitiful cries. But there was only silence. Thinking she had made a mistake in coming this way, she was about to retreat up to ground level once more, when she heard it. Barely audible, yet distinct enough to be able to make out that this was the sound of a female in need of help.  Yet still she was unable to pinpoint the direction from which the low sound emanated.

“Hello, is anyone there? Where are you?”

Terrified of being heard by any of the other residents of the house, Bethany kept her voice as low as possible, although her whispered enquiries still echoed eerily around the stone-clad underground chamber. And seconds later, she realised that her words had reached their intended recipient, as a slightly stifled, single, drawn out note of despair rang out around the subterranean cavern. And it was coming from one of the rooms away to Bethany’s right.  Hurrying across to the door from behind which the outburst arose, Bethany could see now that the wooden obstruction had a small barred window – no more than four inches square – at around eye level. Shining her torch into the interior brought no enlightenment as to the source of the noises, as by now the batteries were fading fast. There was, Bethany therefore decided, no time to lose. She had to get the women out of here...and quickly. But how was she to enter a room that was surely locked? A quick tug on the handle proved that she had been correct in this assumption, but as her hand fumbled in the darkness, something cold and metallic just below brushed against the underside of her wrist. Shining the now severely diminished beam in the direction of this protruding object, Bethany’s vision fell on a rusted key poking from the lock. Clearly Dolores or her partners-in-crime hadn’t seen the need to remove it, as they‘d had no reason to think that anyone else would be snooping around in the cellar at the dead of night.

Bethany found that she could turn the key only with great difficulty, as if the room was reluctant to give up its secret hidden within. Nor was opening the heavy door an easy task, and it took the slim young woman both hands and all her strength to drag it inch by inch, until a gap big enough for her to slip through had been gained.  The first sweep of the faltering beam of light around the small windowless chamber revealed very little, and Bethany’s initial conclusion was that she had been mistaken, and that the room was empty. But as the dim light circled around the grim stone walls, she glimpsed something in one corner that made her go back and concentrate the beam on this particular nook of the room. And then she saw something that at first she assumed was a large inanimate ball of indeterminate origin and substance.  But then she saw it move! Only very slightly – almost imperceptibly, in fact - but still enough to convince her that this was not some trick of the light or optical illusion brought about by her extreme nervousness.  And the noise that accompanied this movement - a deep, low groan of anguish – told her that this was not some inert item, but in fact a living creature. Closer inspection soon revealed that the figure was human, and of the female persuasion. Was this Cathy?

The reason that there was still some doubt in Bethany’s mind as to the identity of the curled up woman before her, was that she was completely hidden from view, save for a fountain of black hair that sprayed out from the top of this human sphere. Most of the rest of her was enveloped within a cocoon of unbroken duct tape, which had been applied whilst her feet had been bent under her to meet her buttocks, and her head brought down to within a fraction of an inch of her knees. Now wrapped and trapped in this foetal posture, only her head had escaped the tightly circling tape, and this was encased in what appeared to be a black leather hood with no eye or mouth apertures.

Bethany knelt down besides the softly moaning woman and placed the waning torch on the floor so that it illuminated her strange discovery. Clearly the woman knew that someone was in the room, although she probably thought that one of her captors had returned to inflict more suffering on her – if that were even possible. Bethany therefore tried to assure her that she was here to help not harm.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”

A quick scan of the hood showed Bethany that it was of the type that laced up at the back. Gently, so as not to alarm the wearer, she began to loosen the restrictive headwear. It took only a minute or two before there was enough slack in the soft leather for her to pull the hood up and away, to reveal the fear filled eyes of Cathy, the woman she had briefly encountered earlier that evening. Below her nose, however, her face was swathed in grey tape identical to that which kept her limbs and body confined to a tight ball.  Bethany wasted no time in starting to unpeel the multilayered facial wrap. It took several minutes, as the tape was of good quality and excellent in its adhesive attributes, but at last the final, skin-bonded layer was reached; the removal of which seemed to cause  - based on her grimaced expression – much agony, notwithstanding the fact that Bethany used as little force as possible. With the tape gone, Bethany pulled a soggy ball of material – rolled up tights by the feel of them – from the woman's mouth. Cathy gasped and took in several deep breaths, before looking up at her potential saviour and blurting out her tale of woe in a quick-fire stream of semi-coherence; as if she needed to get her side of events out as soon as possible, before anyone could gag her again.

“Please, you’ve got to help me get away from here... Dolores is threatening to keep me here for months, and keeps on adding extra time on...I’ll never get out of here unless you help me... she keeps me tied up all the time...for hours on end...I know she’s told you I’m here willingly, but that’s a’ve got to believe me...I can’t take much more of this...I’ve been kept prisoner here for over three days now...”

Bethany tried to calm the clearly distressed woman down.

“Okay, I believe you. I’m not sure how I’ll get you out of the house, but we’ll find a way. Firstly though, I’m going to get you out of all that tape. My names Bethany by the way and...”

It was at this point that Bethany noticed that Cathy’s gaze had strayed to look over her shoulder, in the direction of the open door to the cell. She watched as the bound woman’s eyes widened with fear. At the precise second that she turned to see what had caught Cathy’s attention, there was a clicking sound and the darkness exploded into light. Momentarily blinded, Bethany shielded her eyes from the light bulb’s glare. But the initial realisation of exactly who it was that had entered the room, wasn’t attained through visual recognition, but was instead aurally received.

“So, I let you stay the night in my house and this is how you repay me, is it?”

Both the voice, and the silhouette now framed in the doorway, belonged undeniably to Dolores.

« Last Edit: June 01, 2017, 06:25:14 PM by Steve Spandex »
There is no cure for Merinthophilia. Once you've got it, you're stuck with it for life.

Offline Steve Spandex

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Re: The Secrets of Shackleton Grange
« Reply #20 on: June 14, 2017, 05:11:43 PM »
Chapter 8 - A Shared Experience

Dolores took two steps forward, her shadow looming large over the two figures hunched in the dark corner of the room; one entirely cocooned in duct tape, the other swathed only in fear. She bent over and grabbed the spandex neck of Bethany’s cat-suit, forcing her to stand up to her full height. From a distance of no more than six inches, she glared at her house guest, fury flashing in her dark eyes, although when she spoke, her words were those of someone calmly in control of the situation.

 “So, you thought you’d have a sneaky look around when you assumed we’d all be asleep did you? Well unfortunately for you, I always leave one of my team on guard as a sort of night watchwoman when I have visitors in the house, and she alerted me to your nocturnal wanderings.”

She sighed and let go of Bethany’s collar. Bending down, she picked up the soggy tights ball and offered it up to the lips of the cowering, helpless Cathy.

“Sorry you were disturbed darling. I’ll have the nasty lady removed and punished for interfering with your bondage. Now open wide...”

Although not wanting to leave the bound and helpless Cathy alone in the clutches of this evil woman, Bethany seized the opportunity given her by Dolores’ preoccupation with the replacing of her captive’s gag. Darting towards the open door, she envisaged dashing back up the stairs and putting as much distance between herself and Dolores as she could. She didn’t get far however. In fact, she didn’t even make it out of the tiny cell in which she’d made her discovery. Blocking the exit was a solid wall of latex, which Bethany, in her unthinking hurry to leave, crashed blindly into. The female figures, three in number, immediately grabbed various parts of Bethany’s anatomy and within no more than two seconds had her lying face down on the floor; her hands wrenched high up behind her back to stop her arms flailing wildly around, her feet held together to dissuade her from kicking out at her assailants. From her prone position, she turned her gaze upwards, to where Dolores was administering replacement tape around Cathy’s head, before placing the hood back and lacing it ultra-tightly, to avoid slippage. After satisfying herself that Cathy was now back to her former state of sensory deprivation, Dolores turned her full attention to Bethany.

“So, what are we going to do with you Bethany? It’s become apparent that I can’t trust you...”

Bethany tried with all her strength to wrestle herself free from the women who held her in check, but the odds of three against one were just too great for her to ever have even the remotest hope of success. If Dolores noticed this struggle for freedom, however, she paid it no heed.

“...and it seems to me that you’ve seen too much for me to just let you go.”

She came across to where Bethany lay and knelt down beside her head.

“So it’s fortunate that you enjoy being tied up so much, as I’m going to have to give you an extended course involving my full repertoire of binding techniques and procedures...You will let me know which you like best, won’t you?”

She smiled, but there was no humour evident in the snarl of sparkling white teeth that flashed across Bethany’s line of vision. She stood up again, and her next utterance was directed at her three faithful ladies-in-waiting.

“I think you know what’s required here girls. I believe it’s time this ‘beginner’ stepped up a grade or two.”

She paused momentarily, thinking.

“In fact, I’m sure that she’s ready to experience the full array of treatments offered at Shackleton Grange. And as she seemed to be so intrigued by Cathy’s method of bondage, then maybe she’d like to join her. So let’s show her what real bondage feels like, shall we?”


No sooner had the final word passed Dolores’ lips, than the process of relieving Bethany of her right to freedom of movement began in earnest. The three women had all clearly come prepared for this eventuality, for as soon as they were given the go-ahead, they began wrapping their latest victim’s limbs in the tight ropes each carried tucked into the broad leather belts which they habitually wore around their waists. Lying squashed on the floor, Bethany’s powers of resistance were extremely limited, and she was no match for the superior numbers and strength of her opponents. With her wrists bound tighter than they had ever been before, and her elbows trussed together so that they almost touched, Bethany fought to wriggle free from the ever increasing and brutally unyielding cords that were reducing her mobility by the second.

Her arms, of course, were not the only area of her body to receive the cruelly applied ropes. Whilst her elbows were being dealt with, she also felt something tighten drastically around her ankles, and within seconds the hands of her captors were no longer needed to hold her lower legs together. And as soon as the ability to use her feet to thwart this unforgiving onslaught had been completed, the next rope took its place just below her knees to further add to her woes, followed by another just above the joint, then a fourth high up on her thighs.

Even after her limbs had been secured from thigh to ankle, the three women kept up their relentless work schedule, by quickly thrusting a large wad of material into Bethany’s mouth. This was swiftly sealed in place, so that her lower face was soon an unbroken barrier of grey duct tape identical to Cathy’s. It was at the commencement of the next procedure that it dawned on Bethany that the objective here seemed to be to create a mirror image of her ball-tied fellow prisoner, as she found her head being forced down to her knees and her feet being drawn up behind her. Even as the tape was being readied for application, however, Dolores suddenly had a brainwave.

“No, wait a minute girls, I’ve got a better idea. Cut Cathy out of the tape will you? I think I know a way to teach both of them a valuable lesson.”

The three pairs of hands that had been preparing to tape Bethany up into a tight ball, suddenly released their grip and allowed her the freedom – if you could call it that – to wriggle around on the stone floor.  It did her no good of course, as she soon discovered that no amount of struggling and writhing would ever be sufficient to get her useless limbs free from their bonds.  Dolores watched this display of defiance for a few seconds, a slight smirk of amusement etched on her face, then gave her full attention to the rapidly emerging figure of Cathy – like a butterfly from its chrysalis -  as the tape was cut away to allow her relief from the tightly huddled pose she had been forced to endure. It soon became obvious to Bethany, however, that the tape was merely the outer layer of Cathy’s restraints, and that beneath this her limbs were encumbered by rope bondage similar in nature to that which she herself had recently been burdened with. But why were they letting her go?

Dolores glanced back at Bethany, and noticed her new detainee watching the unfolding scene with a look of confusion etched on her face.

“I expect you’re wondering what I’ve got planned for you, aren’t you? Well it’s quite simple really. You’ve obviously realised that I wasn’t exactly telling the truth when I said Cathy was here of her own volition. In fact, I can reveal now that this was a downright lie. You see Cathy decided, last Friday evening, to break into my home with the intention of stealing from me. Luckily we caught her in the act. As it happened, there was a weekend ‘Bondage Convention’ going on at the time, and it was democratically decided by all in attendance that Cathy should remain a prisoner here for a while as a punishment for her crimes. After all, if we’d called the police, they’d have just given her a slap on the wrist and let her go – free to rob innocent, law-abiding people like you and me again, as and when she pleased. If you ask me, my method of retribution is a far more effective way to discourage reoffending."

Cathy tried to remonstrate with her captor-in-chief at this point, but her muffled retort was unintelligible.  Dolores waited for the stymied objection to run its course, before picking up where she’d left off.

“So what I thought we’d do, now that my quota of prisoners has suddenly doubled, is to use you to help Cathy come to terms with her period of incarceration.  You see, Cathy has been here all weekend, and despite my threats and continual increasing of her sentence, she still doesn’t seem to be calming down and adapting to a life of unremitting bondage. If anything, she’s getting more rebellious by the day.”

As Dolores spoke, the tape shell that had once obscured Cathy’s entire body and limbs from view was finally relinquished in its entirety, leaving her simply rope-bound, and with the hood still firmly secured around her head. As Bethany had done only minutes earlier, she squirmed around on the floor in helpless frustration for a minute or more, then seemed to recognise the futility of such exploits and lapsed into inactivity; her breasts heaving as she caught her breath through the tiny slits in the leather mask, after her strenuous but ultimately unsuccessful escapological workout.

“Now being a bondage lover Bethany, you’ll be familiar with how good it feels to be bound up all tight and secure for long periods of time. But despite my best efforts, Cathy still hasn’t succumbed to the joys of this form of recreation just yet. She seems to be in complete denial about something that you and I know to be a matter of fact.”

She addressed Cathy now, whilst prodding her prone form in the thigh with the toe of her leather boot.

“Being awkward, stubborn and pigheaded, aren’t you darling? Well I’ve got a treat for you tonight.”

She turned back to Bethany.

“So what I’m proposing to do is have the pair of you tied up together, so that you can help educate Cathy in the finer points of bondage appreciation. I’ll add a few strategically placed ropes to help get you both in the mood, then leave you to your shared experience until morning. Hopefully, by then Cathy will be more compliant.”

Dolores walked the few steps across to where Bethany lay, knelt down beside her, and whispered so softly that neither Cathy, nor the three servants – now standing to one side awaiting further orders – could hear her.

“Of course Bethany, if you fail in your allotted task and she’s still defiant tomorrow, then I’ll have no alternative than to punish you as well.”


The three women hauled both Cathy and Bethany into the centre of the room and placed them on their knees, face to face, only a foot or two away from each other. Bethany watched with ever growing concern as an extra rope was produced and the mid-point quickly found. This doubled cord was then placed around Cathy’s waist, looped through the bight and pulled extremely tightly to cut into the spandex of her outfit. The ends were then threaded between her legs from front to back and yanked with some force upwards into her crotch, producing an involuntary squeal in the process.  Winding this latest rope around the one which bound her wrists, then looping it back through the circuit around her waist, the rope made its return journey back between her thighs and was once more pulled as taut as it would go. Finally, the ends were tied off to the rope on her stomach, well out of the reach of her outstretched fingers.

And then it was Bethany’s turn to suffer a similar fate. The rope bit deeply into her, causing a strangled gasp to issue from behind her gag; a sound brought on more by surprise than pain. However, this rope wasn’t immediately knotted off, but instead she found herself being inched ever closer to her co-captive, until their bodies were now touching, torso to torso.

Suddenly, Bethany felt the loose end of the rope being jerked forwards, and within seconds her abdomen and that of her bound partner were brought into extremely close proximity, before her crotch rope was intertwined with Cathy’s and dexterously tied off to the cord around her own waist; the silver suited servant who performed this task having to work in the almost nonexistent gap between the two now conjoined women’s bodies. Once this work was complete, Bethany tried to move, but found that to do so only caused the rope to dig deeper into her pussy. And what was more, every slight move made by her now inseparable partner-in-bondage, brought about a see-sawing chafing motion which caused a warm damp patch to slowly seep into the spandex of her cat-suit. And she was sure that these same sensations must also be reciprocal.

“Right girls, let’s make sure these two are nice and cosy, shall we?”

The two inch wide grey duct tape seemed to be in endless supply, as Dolores’ three subordinates commenced a process designed to mummify both Bethany and Cathy in one hermetically sealed tunnel of strongly bonding adhesive wrappings. Once their fate was sealed, the unbroken expanse of tape covered every square inch of their spandex clad forms from neck to toe, with only their two heads sticking out, face to face, at one end.  Bethany gazed at the feature hugging black hood that Cathy wore; so close to her face that she could smell the leather and feel Cathy’s exhaled breath - which came in short, frightened bursts - on the upper part of her face. Cathy let out a low moan, but this was severely muffled by her gag, and came out as a wordless cry of despair. Although Cathy was unable to see, Bethany deduced that she must be aware of what had just happened and who it was that she was now inseparably tethered to and encased with.

And it was no more than a few seconds later that Bethany received further insight into the black world that Cathy was being forced to inhabit, as a similar, if not identical hood was placed over the top of her own head and pulled across her protesting face. The smell of leather was much stronger now, and the blackness all encompassing, as Dolores’ lackeys aligned their latest captive’s nostrils with the two tiny slits, then began to tighten the hood to the point where Bethany felt that her whole face and head were being crushed. Now it was her turn to show dissent at the treatment she was receiving, although her words, like Cathy’s before her, were lost in the ball of material that filled her mouth.  As if from far away, she heard Dolores’ voice, barely audible through a padded area of foam built into the hood in the region that covered her ears. The Mistress’ words weren’t aimed at either of her two prisoners, however, but were instead directed at her troops.

“Right girls, now perhaps we can get a bit of uninterrupted sleep for a few hours. Let’s leave them to it, shall we?  Then in the morning I’ll decide exactly what’s to become of them.”

The faint sound of high heeled boots departing the scene reached Bethany’s ears, and moments later the door to the cell slammed shut and a key turned in the lock.


Bethany wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. As her mind tried to compute all the data that it had accumulated over the past few minutes, the dividing line between the real world and a fantasy parallel universe blurred until she no longer had any real conception of what was going on here.

Part of her brain kept telling her that this was, as Dolores had originally informed her class tonight, all part of a staged drama that Cathy was merely an actress in, and in which she herself had now suddenly found a starring role. If this was the case, and everything that had happened since she’d discovered Cathy in her prison cell was part of some kinky pantomime, then she could lay back and enjoy herself; safe in the knowledge that, when the final act drew to a conclusion and the curtain came down, both she and Cathy would be released. In other words, the whole set-up was just a bit of fun between a bunch of bondage loving women.  After all, surely this was what the BATH society was all about wasn’t it? If so, then she was more than happy to be a part of this weird drama into which she had so conveniently stumbled.

But what if this wasn’t the case? The nagging suspicion persisted that this was all too real, and that both she and Cathy were now being held as prisoners in this isolated house, without a hope in hell of breaking free or raising the alarm. After all, how would Dolores know for certain that her house guest would be curious enough to sneak out in the dead of night to seek out the woman she’d earlier seen in the trunk, if this was all being staged for her benefit? The more she thought about this, the less sense it made, and the more likely it appeared that she had walked into something that she was now powerless to get herself out of again. Cathy had certainly seemed terrified enough, once she’d been allowed to speak. And if she had been speaking the truth – which Dolores seemed to have confirmed – then that made Dolores a kidnapper, who would presumably take whatever steps necessary, no matter how drastic, to keep her activities a secret from the outside world.

But how could she know for sure exactly what was fact, and what was fiction? Bethany desperately craved some answers from her cocooned partner in this whole weird scenario, but her gag precluded her asking the questions in any intelligible format, and in turn Cathy’s filled mouth and tape sealed lips would be an insurmountable barrier to understanding any given responses.

So what was she to do? For the sake of her own sanity, she decided that she must hold onto the belief that this was all a game, and that tomorrow would find her walking free from Shackleton Grange, with or without Cathy. And to this end, she decided that she would try to enjoy her time here, under the assumption that this was the whole point of the exercise. She knew from the very first moment that their crotch ropes had been interwoven, that the slightest movement caused these rough cords to rub into her genital area. And she had also deduced that any regular or rhythmic motion soon caused the first stirrings of sexual arousal in her. And the fact that Cathy was still seemingly intent on struggling for all she was worth – whether in play or not – meant that these feelings were building in intensity by the second. So, why not join the party and have a bit of fun while the feeling persisted?

Thrusting her pelvis in time with Cathy’s frantic jerking abdomen soon caused a bolt of energy to rip through her and she moaned as long and loud as her gag would allow, as the sensation of the taut rope rubbed almost violently into her tender flesh. With both women now rocking and lurching in harmony, Bethany took only a minute or two to reach the most mind-blowingly wondrous climax that she had ever achieved in her life.  And it seemed now that Cathy was feeling the vibe of the moment just as intensely as herself, and wasn’t far behind in her countdown to ecstasy.  For a short while after both girls had reached fulfilment, the pressing of abdomen on gently undulating abdomen continued, as if neither wanted to be the one to bring this joyous experiment to an end. But with her energies now spent, Bethany found her momentum gradually declining, until she relaxed completely and let her body go limp; content now to simply bask in the afterglow of this improvised yet strangely coordinated act of sexual gratification. Lying side by side with her now motionless companion, she reassured herself with the thought that, if this wasn’t all just a game, then surely Cathy wouldn’t have attained those same heights of pleasure as she had.  And with that comforting conclusion in mind, Bethany felt her eyelids becoming heavy, and within minutes she had fallen into a deep, contented sleep.
« Last Edit: June 14, 2017, 05:14:05 PM by Steve Spandex »
There is no cure for Merinthophilia. Once you've got it, you're stuck with it for life.


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