AMY
‘Maybe we should go on one of those property shows on TV,’ I groan in frustration, flinging the pile of estate agents’ brochures down on the floor.
‘What, and tell them we’re looking for something with period character and a few sturdy beams to suspend you from?’ answers Rob, all innocence as he scans through another brochure. I feel the familiar twinge deep inside me, discovering a few moments later that I’ve unconsciously crossed my hands in my lap. Heavens, I’m addicted…
Since we returned from holiday, we’ve been so taken up with house hunting and catching up with work that our new-found kinky games have taken a back seat. It’s not like I need to play every day – far from it. But the anticipation is starting to drive me crazy.
I curl up next to Rob on the sofa and put my head on his shoulder. It’s as if he can read my mind. He puts down the brochure and strokes my hair.
‘Poor Amy, are you feeling neglected?’ he teases me. I snort in indignation and climb on top of him.
When we’re both half naked, he catches my eye and says, ‘Nothing kinky tonight, my darling. I want your imagination all fired up for tomorrow.’
‘Why?’ I ask, ‘have you found a house?’ We’ve seen so many, I’m despairing of ever finding the perfect one.
‘Maybe,’ he replies enigmatically, ‘maybe.’
I punish his reticence by pushing him onto his back on the floor and sliding him into me, moving slowly in the way I know drives him crazy. By the time he flips me off and takes me harder, we’re both more than ready to come.
*************
The next morning, we dress up like proper adults looking for a house (estate agents are a judgemental lot) and set out in the car whilst the morning sun is still rising. It’s a drive of about an hour, round the outskirts of the city to a point on the far side which turns out to be a pretty village still within commuting distance of work. Without faltering, Rob steers the car down a narrow lane and pulls up in front of a large, rambling cottage.
‘Have you been here before?’ I ask suspiciously.
‘Maybe,’ he replies, infuriatingly. I know that he’s seen the house before and is looking forward to enjoying my reaction.
I climb from the car, pull on my sun hat and take my first proper view of the house.
‘Oh my word,’ I gasp, taking in the size of the cottage and the isolated location, surrounding by fields and old oaks. ‘Can we afford something like this?’
‘The inside needs a little work,’ Rob replies. ‘If we get our hands dirty, we can buy it and renovate it within budget. Come and see.’ He takes me hand and leads me up to the door, where a young man with a clipboard and fancy sports car greets us. Estate agents. Not my favourite bunch of people.
He’s right about the renovation. Inside, the cottage shows ample signs of long neglect. The tile floors are filthy and a damp smell pervades the air.
The young estate agent reads something from his clipboard. ‘The surveyor’s report says the basic structure is sound and all that’s needed is some cosmetic improvement,’ he says.
It’s more a country dwelling than a genuine cottage, going by the size. The rooms are spacious and – across the ceiling of all the rooms – thick, wooden beams catch my eye.
Again using his most innocent voice, Rob asks the man if the beams are original and still strong.
‘Yes, they are load-bearing beams,’ he replied, oblivious to the way Rob squeezes my hand.
‘Very nice,’ I murmur, and stand closer to Rob.
We tour the rest of the house, ending up in the large master bedroom with its sweeping bay window and old furniture – an iron bedstead and a large, mahogany window seat with lid which, the estate agent informs us, have been left with the property.
Rob lifts the lid of the window seat and inspects the inside, a large rectangular space. ‘Still sound,’ he says. ‘All it needs is a facelift and a bit of polish.’
In his best estate agent tone, the man says, ‘You’ll be surprised how much you can store in there. It’s an elegant yet practical feature.’
Rob flashes him a grin which makes him jump a little. ‘I’m sure I will be surprised,’ he says mysteriously. ‘Won’t you, Amy?’
I can only nod my agreement.
I force myself to concentrate on practicalities – assessing the house, judging its value, imagining what it would look like when it’s renovated – till the end of the tour. We’re about to step outside when the estate agent recalls something he’s forgotten to show us.
‘Show yourselves around,’ he tells us. ‘I’m a little claustrophobic.’
We descend a wooden staircase into a cool, dry basement lined with stone. A single window high on one wall lets light in.
I walk around, fingering the walls, trying to look calm and collected. Rob watches me, till I come round to where he is standing. Swiftly, he takes my hands and raises them above my head, pressing me against the wall as I release a long pent-up sigh. He kisses me, hard, and I return his passion.
‘Like it?’ he whispers in the twilight of the basement.
‘Love it,’ I breathe back.
ROB
I had found the house quite by accident and now Amy has seen it and given her approval I was happy.
My life was busy and one of the reasons for letting Amy write so much of our story down is that I had been working with the builders to complete the cellar and modernise the kitchen. The house was roughly finished and as Amy was about to complete her exams I had been nominated to do the organising for the move. So decorators and kitchen fitters, plumbers and joiners all tried my patience and made me prematurely grey and also broke. I had done the cellar out myself with just a little help from the joiner and a bricklayer and a local blacksmith. He didn't seem phased by the things I had asked him to make though I don’t think Amy would go out much in the village if she knew who made it.
Old Ted just grinned at my order and asked how big the doors in to the cellar were.
Still, soon the house was ready and I had shown the upstairs to my very soon to be wife. I was pleased that she approved of the kitchen and as she had picked the colours for the rooms she didn't crib them. Overall she was happy, but not so happy that I wouldn’t show her the cellar. That would have to wait until we moved in. I even turned down the offer of a blow job for just a peep inside. God, I am strong willed, I think on the way home.
Amy had packed and hidden all the stuff we had bought from America into a load of tea chests, and as with all the other stuff it’s sat waiting for the removal van. On our last night in the old house we got a Chinese takeaway and just made a soft gentle love on the mattress that was left. Two people in a single sleeping bag was hot, but fun.
AMY
We’re down to the last few hours we’ll spend in our old house. Exhausted from packing, we’ve finally stowed everything in tea crates, wrapped in newspaper and bubble wrap. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and scan the room.
‘I think we’re done,’ I announce with relief, wandering around to check. Rob stands up from where he’s been nailing shut a box of books.
‘Thank god!’ he sighs.
‘Oh, wait…’ I pause as I spot an empty tea crate standing in one corner. ‘I thought we had just enough of these. What have we forgotten to pack? Dammit, the movers will be here in a minute!’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,’ Rob says, climbing over boxes to get to me. Still puzzled, I look up at his face. There’s a subdued expression of mischief spread across it.
‘What?’ I demand, starting to back away from him, but I come up against
the crate and can’t go any further.
ROB
Amy had often expressed a desire to be crated and carried and I as I have borrowed my exec’s big Volvo XC 90 for the move it seems like the perfect time. So having read the packaging web sites I had prepared the plan in my mind.
The open case stood on the floor. I had drilled it on the sides and found a box of those polystyrene lumps that most things come packed with now.
I point at the toilet. “GO NOW!” Amy looks at me and shudders. That look crossing her face: I am getting to know it and realise although she looks scared, that “Okay, push me!” look is there.
She comes back and has stripped off her jeans and stuff and is naked. A little presumptuous but saves me telling her too.
I show her the crate. It’s just a normal large crate. Like a large tea chest but stronger. “Turn round”, I say. She does as asked and I hold out the ball gag harness and push it against her lips. And buckle all the straps tight. I glance at my watch and smile. “Soon your transport will arrive.”
She looks round at me. I open my large carry-on bag pulling out stuff. Her eyes go wide at the equipment that falls out.
I smile a evil smile and pick up the leather waist harness and, holding it out, bow to her. She steps into it and waits while I lube up the two dildos attached to the crotch piece. Then Amy sort of widens her stance and I pull upwards, until the triangle of leather is tight to her pubis and I strap the belt tight round her waist, after asking her to breathe in. Thick cuffs added to wrists, arms, thighs and ankles, plus a collar and a blindfold.
Bending her down I attach her ankles to her thighs and cross lock them. I then clip her wrists and elbows together, behind her back.
Feeding a belt between her thighs, I hold it tight, putting my knee into her back to crush her forward on to her knees. I buckle it tight, take her collar and thread a cord through its ring. I pull it tight to her ankles and pull her into the perfect ball tie.
Of course she needs to be able to breathe, so I strap a anaesthetic-style mask over her face, covering her nose. The stiff tube that runs from it is long enough to reach to a hole I have drilled in the side of the crate, and strong enough not to be squeezed shut by the polystyrene.
I pick her up and, reaching between her legs, switch the twin vibes on and lower her into the box.
Then comes the polystyrene bits and then the lid. It clamps into place. Then I wait. I wonder what's going through my partner’s mind in there.
As soon as the blokes turn up I point them to the crate and they put it on a sack truck and wheel it down the path to the car. Humping it into the back of the car, I drop them a tenner and we throw some more of the stuff we had said that Amy didn't want to risk going in the van.
I leave them to fill their truck with other crates and drive off into the morning sun.
I look back at the crate in the mirror of my car and smile.
AMY
Although we’d talked about this a couple of times, I didn’t think he’d actually go through with it. All the time he’s pulling my body into a tight little ball, and binding me securely, I still don’t really believe he’s going to do what it looks like he is.
He placed the gag and blindfold on me early, so I haven’t been able to speak or to see his expression since the first cuffs went on. He just goes on packing me tightly, squeezing me into the smallest possible space, ignoring my moans and groans as my body strains into position and my pussy starts to burn with desire.
As he stands up to fetch what turns out to be some kind of face mask, ball-tied as I am I rolled helplessly onto one side on the floor, feeling like nothing more than an object awaiting delivery.
When he’s lifted me inside the crate, the polystyrene nuggets come pouring in on top of me till they cover me completely. I panic for a moment about breathing, then realise air is still coming easily through whatever it is that’s covering my face. I guess the other end is sticking out into fresh air somewhere.
As the dull thunks of the clamps closing round the lid vibrate through the crate, the polystyrene is pressed more tightly around me, impeding all movement, dulling all sound, holding me tight in its embrace.
I guess this is for real, then, I think as minutes tick by and nothing happens. I’m not getting out of this till the new house. Imagining myself being driven with the rest of our furniture and other belongings across the miles to our new home, I start to quiver inside, feeling the walls of the crate closing around me, feeling entirely isolated – objectified – and horny as hell. But the low setting of the vibrators inside me, pressing me from the inside as the polystyrene and straps press me from the outside, means I’m driven into a torturous pre-orgasmic state with no release in sight.
I hear muffled voices faintly from outside the crate, then my heart jumps as something thuds against the side of the crate and I feel myself being tipped slightly sideways. I panic as my sense of balance goes, but I settle down again soon, realised I’m being wheeled out of the house and down the garden path by person or persons unknown. As the sack truck bumps down the steps and rumbles along the concrete, I picture the big removal van, and moan quietly to myself.
I realise later, of course, that Rob hasn’t entrusted me to the removal men. He’s had me placed in his car and will drive me himself. But I don’t know this as I feel myself being hefted up into some kind of vehicle, surrounded by more boxes, and hear the door slam and engine fire.
As the hour long journey begins, I find myself drifting away. Tiny, teasing little orgasms hit me in waves, but only leave me wanting more. I think about where Rob might be. Is he following the removal van in his car? Is he back at the house, leaving me to be delivered by the removal men? Of course, he’s only a few feet away, driving the car I am in, but I’m not aware of this. I start to fantasise about being sent to the wrong place, locked in storage or placed on the mail train to Scotland. For all I know, anything could be happening.
When we finally arrive and my crate is lifted down onto what I presume is the driveway of our new house, I hear voices again, a little more clearly this time. I hear Rob and the removal men discussing the unloading. Strains of their conversation filter through to me. Rob is explaining which boxes he’ll want to unpack first, and which can wait. My crate is picked up quickly and wheeled into the house. I start to think maybe I’m due for release, but I’m wrong – very wrong. More bumping down stairs, with lots of grunts and shouts… I realise I can only be being taken down into the cellar, that secret place Rob has hidden from me till now. Because I have no idea what’s down there, it becomes a mysterious, frightening place in my mind.
My crate is placed on the floor, and footsteps and voices retreat up the stairs. ‘I’ll deal with that one when I’m finished with the rest,’ I think I hear. ‘Let’s make a start unloading the van.’ Then the door closes heavily, and the metal clanking of the old fashioned lock is almost drowned out as I scream into the gag and buck in my bonds in my compacted little space, riding an immense climax.
ROB
It’s a lovely day, with the new paint smell as I enter the door to the house. We have come home.
Admittedly my beloved should have been clasped in my arms as we cross the threshold but she was sort of. I had hold of the sack barrow’s handles.
Dropping her on the cellar floor I show the removal chaps where to put everything. And then I make a couple of cocktails with loads of ice and tell the chaps I will bring them coffee in a bit. I go back down into the cellar. “To unpack stuff…”
The box is still where I left it. Go figure eh, I think and unfasten the top clamp. Lifting the lid, the polystyrene is uniform and you wouldn’t guess that a naked and tightly bound woman is under it.
I tip the crate onto its side then all the way over and lift it off the white form. She is covered in the small beads and as I lift the mask off her face I am worried. Her face is blank, sweaty. But as she looks up at me she looks so happy. Weird!
I slowly unbuckle and ease Amy apart. The groans and moans are stilled by the gag luckily.
I open her mouth and pull the ball out and help her move her jaw.
Slowly she unwinds. I have covered all the things I had installed so as I hand her one of the glasses I lift it in salute and smile at her. “To us.”
She smiles and sips at it.
“Okay, I have to go upstairs now so I am going to have to leave you here as you don’t have anything to wear. Walk this way!” I walk her into the corner. Now this I couldn’t hide.
A cell with bars all round. Not large, just enough room for Amy to sit down, well if that’s what I intend for her.
I stand with her in the cell and lock her neck in the steel collar and her wrists into the cuffs that where all chained to the wall.
She looks at me and I smile.
“See you in a bit,” I say. I move back to her and kiss her lips and the marks on her face from the gag harness.
Rubbing her nipples and inserting a finger into her I gently kiss her lips again, and then, getting her just on the point of coming, I walk out and lock the cell door.
“Hold that thought,” I say and whistle as I walk up the steps.
Looking back I see her standing there and think how lovely she is.
AMY
As I watch Rob leave, I stand naked in my cell, cuffed hands holding onto the bars. Our eyes meet as he turns on the stairs, and then he’s gone.
The gentle clanking of the chains that hold me to the wall is doing strange things to my mind. I investigate my prison, discovering metal bars firmly cemented into the ground, a door with a heavy duty lock, and sturdy metal rings implanted in the walls, to which I am attached. The metal collar round my neck is loose, but not so loose I can pull my head free. It sits heavily round me, closed with a padlock. The metal cuffs are also genuine medieval style – no padding, just cold metal against my skin.
Instinctively I drop my hands towards my clitoris, but discover they won’t go low enough. By standing on tip toe and lifting one leg in a very inelegant way, I can just reach myself, but it’s not enough to bring myself to climax. Rob knows me well enough to know I can’t yet restrain myself, so he has to do it for me. I wonder about the day when he’ll train me to obey him even without physical impediments – because I’m sure that day will come. I shiver, thinking how extreme it seems – but still look forward to it.
With nothing else to entertain me, I gaze round the cellar. Lots has changed since I last saw it, but I can’t see anything clearly – various large objects are draped with dust sheets. The cell is the only thing visible.
Impatient by nature, I mentally bang my head against the bars, desperate to see what treats and nightmares lie underneath the anonymous sheets. But I have a long time to wait. It’s hours before Rob returns, and the sunlight that comes through the one, very high window is fading.
I sit down on the floor of the cell, finding my collar chain is long enough to allow me to sit up right against the wall. My hands, though, are raised above my head to hip height. I grasp the chains with my hands to help ease the pressure on my wrists, and drift off into a hazy state. As twilight approaches, the cellar darkens, and so does that space in my mind that’s brought me to this place.
ROB
“Okay lads, cheers.” I stuff twenty quid in each of their hands and wave them good bye.
They haven’t done a bad job and as I wander through the house I am pleased that Amy won’t have much to do. She will be too tired, I hope.
I smile to myself and unlock the cellar door.
Trotting down the stairs, I walk up to the bars and see she is off in subbie space again so I unzip my now very hard erection and offer it to her through the bars. Amy just bows her head and opens her mouth and licks the end before slowly taking as much as she can without gagging. I try not to moan too loud as the chains clink as she moves her body to make me slide in and out of her mouth.
Soon, way too soon I orgasm and she swallows the lot.
Now we have both booked the week off to move so I wasn’t to bothered about rushing. So I go get my chair and sit by the cage reading a book, fully aware that my beloved one hasn’t orgasmed for ages.
Amy just keeps looking at me as if willing me to do something.
I do: I go up stairs and put some cheese and toast under the grill.
I do four slices and carry two down to the cellar, which I notice is a little chilly as the light slowly fades.
Opening the door I point out that she should eat. She does so and we chat before I open her cuffs.
Walking back upstairs Amy looks at me as if I have short changed her.
“You have forgotten haven’t you?”
She looks at me quizzically.
“Your sister and her husband are coming tonight for a meal; remember you invited them!”
I grin at her dawning comprehension.
“I could have just put two chairs by the cell door and we could have chatted all night but I don’t think your sister would really have enjoyed it.”
AMY
Rob returns an hour later to dress me for the evening. I try remonstrating with him, begging him to allow me at least a quickie to calm my frustration before the family arrives, but he just grins at me.
‘Amy, you’ve persuaded me to place you under my control, so now that I’m keeping you there you really shouldn’t complain.’ He kisses my forehead tenderly as he releases me from the cage and the cuffs.
‘But Rob,’ I wheedle, pressing against him and feeling his erection hard against my hip. He takes me in his arms and kisses me so passionately I think I’ve won. But no – as I gasp for breath, he takes me by the hand and leads me not to the bedroom but to the bathroom, where he gestures for me to shower and wash my hair in preparation for dinner. He’s already cleaned up after heaving heavy boxes around all day.
As the shower cubicle steams up around me and the water drenches my hair, a disobedient idea comes into my head. With one hand rubbing shampoo into my hair, I let the other slide between my legs and try, very silently, to bring myself to orgasm. The adrenaline of knowing I could be caught any moment adds to my excitement.
Rob is waiting outside the cubicle, probably to stop me doing just this. As a preliminary climax courses through me – not enough, not enough, but something – he jerks open the door and catches me in the act.
Never a good liar, I can’t hide it from him. And from his expression I think he wanted to catch me in flagrante. Now he can punish me…
‘Amy!’ he scolds, pulling me dripping wet from the shower and across the bathroom floor. I squirm in his grasp but he’s determined. He sits down on the closed lid of the toilet, bends me over his knee and holds me there with his left arm. With his right, he starts to spank me.
Feeling his hand coming down on me, red-hot, the first few times, I struggle to free myself but am soon overcome by the sensations. He’s murmuring under his breath, telling me how disobedient I am and how he’s going to make sure I learn my lesson. Slowly, I subside, lying across his lap, my groin pressed against his knee so that every spank presses me harder against him, stimulating me over and over again. The sounds echo round the tiled bathroom.
My bottom is on fire, but still it reaches up to receive the next contact from his hand. I’m breathing hard, poised on the watershed between pain and pleasure, feeling the heat spread to my clitoris as I grind against his knee. I’m moaning in pleasure as I reach a hand tentatively towards his cock, grasping hold as well as I can through the cloth of his trousers. We come together, me squirming and shouting as he spanks me harder and harder through my orgasm, he emitting a low groan as he stains his trousers.
Slowly, stiffly, we stand up and I look shyly up into his eyes.
‘I told you not to come,’ he says, trying to be serious but the light in his eyes tells me we’ve just become that little bit closer.
‘Sorry,’ I murmur, giving him a slight smile. He shakes his head and pushes me back to the shower.
‘At least you’ll be punished all through dinner tonight, sitting on those hard chairs,’ he teases as he wanders out of the room.
01.06.06
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