|The Secrets of Shackleton Grange|
|by Steve Spandex|
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|© Copyright 2016 - Steve Spandex - Used by permission|
|Storycodes: F/f; F/fff; captive; bond; hood; shower; punish; spandex; catsuit; chairtie; gag; collar; chain; spreadeagle; bagged; susp; mast; climax; cons/reluct; X||
|The Secrets of Shackleton Grange 5 Steve Spandex F/f; F/fff; captive; bond; hood; shower; punish; spandex; catsuit; chairtie; gag; collar; chain; spreadeagle; bagged; susp; mast; climax; cons/reluct; X|
|story continued from part four
“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 motives 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 beginnings 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.
To be continued...
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Story to be continued in Part 6
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