Chapter 1: Cathy the Cat Burglar
Cathy scaled the perimeter wall and momentarily sat atop the high brick structure. Her eyes swiftly scanned the landscape in front of her; no trace of guard dogs roaming the overgrown lawns, no sign of security personnel or movement sensitive lighting. In fact, aside from the wall and the securely locked wrought iron gates, there was very little sign of there being any preventative measures having been put in place to deter trespassers from getting into the grounds. Her gaze drifted further afield, towards the mansion house about one hundred yards in front of her. The rambling old building, with its Tudor architecture, had seen better days, but was still quite impressive, even when viewed in twilight. How many rooms were there? There must be at least a hundred, Cathy guessed, taking into account the towers that rose at each corner above the main body of the building.
Although not visible from this angle, Cathy knew – having cased the joint carefully over the past few weeks – that the house was actually built in the shape of a U, with the two arms, or wings, creating a vast courtyard at the rear. Adjacent to this, a number of outhouses, including a stable block, had been added at a later date. Set in more than a hundred acres of mainly wooded countryside, deep in the heart of rural Suffolk and more than a mile from the nearest village, Shackleton Grange retained an air of mystery about it. At one time the rural retreat of an aristocrat or lord of the realm, the present owners kept themselves to themselves and were rarely seen, even by the local populace. In fact, no one really seemed to know who lived here. But whoever they were, they must be extremely rich, Cathy reasoned, to be able to have bought, and then maintain, such a vast estate. And it was this wealth that had acted as an incentive for her coming here tonight.
The tree lined driveway up to the house could be seen away to Cathy’s left, which gave way to a circular gravel-covered forecourt just in front of the main entrance, with a long disused fountain as its centrepiece, plus several ancient statues seemingly standing on sentry duty before the heavy wooden doorway. In the moonlight, these appeared grotesque and ghostlike. The only lights in the building emanated from two ground floor windows on the far left hand side of the house. All other windows, both at this level and on the three storeys above, were merely black rectangles against a slightly lighter background of stone.
For some reason Cathy shivered. It wasn’t as if the night was cold; in fact the air still retained much of the sun’s heat from what had been a pleasant late spring day. So why the involuntary shudder? It couldn’t be that she was nervous about breaking into country houses under the cover of darkness. After all, she’d done it often enough. Shrugging off this strange, fleeting sensation, Cathy returned her attention to the task in hand; namely to get into the building, acquire whatever valuables she could lay her hands on, then take her leave before anyone realised that she had ever been on the premises.
Dropping the eight feet or so to the ground, Cathy rolled over and quickly sprung to her feet. She looked left and right, but detected no movement in the bushes and shrubs other than that caused by the slight breeze. Ahead of her was a wide, unbroken vista of long grass, which she would have to negotiate to reach her goal. With no cover to shield her from the view of anyone who happened to look out of one of the numerous windows directly in front of her, Cathy knew that this part of her plan was the most dangerous. Swiftly, the lithe twenty four year old sprinted across the uneven terrain, until she was once more sheltered from the moon’s illumination in the shadows of the walls that towered above her.
As always on her missions to relieve the rich of their wealth, Cathy was attired in her best cat burglar outfit. This consisted of a snugly fitting black spandex cat-suit, footed and gloved, which formed a skin-tight covering from her neck downwards. A hood of the same hue and material completely covered her head, except for the small apertures cut out for her eyes, nostrils and mouth. Around her waist, Cathy wore a stout leather belt, into which she could lodge her torch and some of the smaller of her house-breaking tools. Also of leather were the flat soled, knee length boots that she wore. The only other accessory to this all black ensemble was the rucksack she carried, which not only held the tools of her trade, but also served as a convenient carrier for the jewellery, silverware, cash and various other items of value which she habitually acquired on such ventures.
For several seconds, Cathy remained motionless in the lee of the wall; staring upwards and watching for any lights or movement in the windows above. The fact that all was still, drew her to the conclusion that she had not been spotted thus far in her journey. Taking the small torch from her belt, she shone this up at the darkened panes above her, until she thought she spied a gap between glass and frame in the corner of one first-storey window; a mere sliver which suggested that this particular casement hadn’t been closed properly. Without hesitation, she began to look for a way to scale the walls up to this potential point of entry. It didn’t take long to locate what she sought; a stout drainage pipe that disappeared into the darkness above her only a few feet to the right of her intended goal. Giving the ancient structure a thorough examination, to ensure that it was sturdy enough to take her weight, Cathy began to climb with the agility of the creature that gave its name to her profession – the cat. The clinging nature of her garments was of vital importance in this respect, as any clothing that could snag and tear in a situation like this would have been both a hindrance and a danger.
Within seconds, Cathy had reached the level of the first floor, and had begun inching her way horizontally across the face of the wall; dicing with death as she attempted to find foot and handholds in the crumbling brickwork. After a minute or two of intense concentration, however, she reached the window that she’d singled out as being her best chance to effect an entrance. And to her great satisfaction, she discovered that she’d been correct in her prognosis; the window had been left slightly ajar, and could easily be opened without the need to defer to her vast array of blades and picks that she normally needed to gain access.
Being of great vintage, the hinges on the window squeaked loudly as Cathy slowly pulled it open. For a second or two, she held her breath, listening intently in case this disturbance of the clear night air had alerted someone to her presence on this precarious ledge. No sound reached her spandex covered ears, however; either from within the building, or from the hushed gardens below.
Now that she was so close to the window, Cathy deduced that the opening was actually not quite as large as she’d initially assumed when viewed from below. However, being slim and flexible, she began by inserting her arms into the slender gap, before pulling herself upwards and wriggling her way through the tight aperture with a minimum of fuss.
Once inside, Cathy shone the thin beam of the torch around what was clearly a bedroom. The fact that a half unpacked suitcase lay open on the floor, with clothes and various other items strewn haphazardly around, led her to the conclusion that this was probably a guest room. Of the visitor, however, there was no sign. Cathy quickly checked the wardrobe, the chest of drawers and the bedside cabinet. All were empty. Following a quick rummage through the contents of the suitcase, and finding nothing of any real value, she decided that she was wasting her time in this room, and that richer pickings were surely to be had elsewhere in the house.
The door creaked alarmingly as Cathy cautiously opened it far enough to stick her head out and make a quick reconnaissance of the corridor that led off in both directions as far as the eye could see into the murky unlit gloom. Still no sound of human presence reached her ears, which was always a good sign. So which way now, left or right? For no particular reason, Cathy chose left.
Cautiously trying the handle of the first door she encountered on her right, Cathy discovered this room to be locked. So was the second door along, as well as the one directly opposite on the other side of the passage. She was just considering whether she had perhaps made the wrong decision in coming in this direction, when a very faint disturbance of the otherwise deathly still surroundings reached her ears. Cathy froze and listened. For several seconds there was only silence, and she was beginning to think that she had been hearing things. But suddenly there it was again; a low ‘mmph’ noise which suggested that someone was straining in frustration in their endeavour to achieve some task that was beyond their capabilities. Several more seconds elapsed, before the performance was replicated, only this time it sounded more like a long drawn out groan, as if someone was in pain or distress. And it was this latest outburst which allowed Cathy to pinpoint the source of the sound as coming from the next room along on the right from where she stood.
Cathy had several dos and don’ts which she always abided by when she was on a job, and one of them was not to get too curious about, or involved in, matters that didn’t concern her. However, this strange noise had her intrigued. Placing her ear close to the door, she waited for the sound to be repeated. She didn’t have long to wait, as the low wailing seemed to come now at regular intervals. Cathy reached for the handle, then baulked at the idea of trying to enter. Whoever or whatever was responsible for the commotion within, it was none of her business. But on the other hand, what if someone was in trouble – ill or injured perhaps – and really did need help? Cathy pushed down on the handle, finding this door to be unopenable, just like all the others. However, the illuminating finger of light from her torch caught a glint of something metallic just below her fingers, and she realised immediately that there was a key in the lock.
Another stifled groan, this one louder than those that had preceded it, reverberated around the otherwise still corridor, just as Cathy turned the key and - with some trepidation - slowly pushed the door open. She found the interior shrouded in a cloak of darkness. Quickly scanning the torch beam around the walls, Cathy discovered that this room, like the one through which she’d entered the house, was also furnished as a bedroom; the total lack of light being a consequence of the blackout curtains that had been drawn shut across the window. She quickly deduced, however, that there was no one visible in the room. So where did the sounds originate from exactly?
The next outburst left Cathy in no doubt as to its source; a stout oak- panelled wardrobe that stood against the wall on the left hand side of the room. Swinging the torch beam in this direction, Cathy began to approach.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
For a brief moment, her whispered words seemed to bring the whimpering sound to an abrupt halt. But then it started up again, this time with more gusto, and coincided with the sound of dull thuds, as if someone was kicking against the wood of the wardrobe door in an effort to get out. Once again, Cathy hesitated. What on earth had she stumbled upon here? Should she investigate, to find out exactly what was going on? Or should she -as her gut instinct was telling her - leave now; get out of the building before she became embroiled in something that she hadn’t bargained for? But what if whoever was in that wardrobe really was in mortal danger? Although she was a burglar, who made her living from stealing other peoples’ possessions, deep down Cathy considered herself a decent human being, who would do anything to come to the aid of someone in need of assistance.
The light from the torch revealed a small key sticking out from the wardrobe door, which Cathy gingerly turned, not daring to contemplate what she might find. It seemed almost mandatory that every hinge on every door in this ancient house creaked on being opened, and this one proved to be no exception. The upper part of the enclosed space, where clothes would normally be hung, was devoid of garments, but immediately Cathy’s attention was drawn to the floor area. And there, tightly packed into the confined space at her feet, sat a young woman who squinted into the unfamiliar brightness of the torch beam.
Open mouthed, Cathy surveyed the scene before her. The woman, probably around her own age, was clearly bound tightly with numerous lengths of rope. Dressed in what looked like a skin-tight latex cat-suit, her ankles, knees and thighs all had coils of stringently tied cords wrapped and cinched around them. Her body was also encircled in a strict latticework of brutally secured ropes that dug deeply into her outfit and served to highlight her breasts. Only the uppermost parts of her arms were visible, but it was apparent, from the manner in which her shoulders were pulled backwards with the rest of her arms shielded from view behind her back, that her wrists must also have succumbed to some form of restraint.
The lower half of her face was smothered in broad strips of grey duct tape, which seemed to have been wound around her head several times. And it was obvious, from the startled sounds that now emanated from behind this layer of sealant, that her mouth must also be packed with some form of gagging material. Having accustomed herself to the piercing glare of the light, the woman gazed upwards at her discoverer, wide eyed and with a look of bewilderment on her face; which, at the time, Cathy assumed to be a response to the spandex covering of her own facial features.
Cathy’s mind was reeling. Who was this girl? Why was she being kept like this? Were the people responsible for her kidnapping still around? All three questions were soon to be answered.
****
“Well well, what have we here?”
The sound of the woman’s voice corresponded with the overhead light suddenly illuminating the room. Cathy spun around to see a red leather cat-suited figure standing in the doorway; legs apart, arms akimbo. Behind her, in the still dimly lit corridor, other shadowy figures could be seen loitering. The woman – probably in her early thirties, tall and slim, with long brunette hair – moved two further steps into the room. She stared at Cathy for a second or two, before turning to address her cohorts, who had by now filed in behind her.
“It looks like we have an intruder on the premise girls. Isn’t that fortuitous?”
Cathy could now see that there were three other woman behind the speaker, all of whom were dressed from neck to toe in skin-tight outfits fashioned from latex. Each of the three wore a snugly fitting leather hood over her head, with an opening at the top through which a plume of hair cascaded. There was also an opening for each eye, plus a breathing aperture at the nostrils. No outlet was evident in the region of the mouth, however. High heeled, knee-length leather boots adorned their feet and legs.
One of the trio wore a jet black outfit that had been polished to a shine and adhered to every curve of her figure. A mane of red hair gushed forth from the top of her hood. The next was attired in a metallic silver cat-suit, equally tight fitting; her raven-black hair in stark contrast to her costume. The third, whose blonde locks spilt from her hood and tumbled half way down her back, wore a second skin of shocking pink that shimmered in the light every time she moved.
The first woman - obviously the leader of the pack – slowly made her way forwards, and Cathy noticed a slight smile on her face. It was not a smile that radiated any great warmth, however, but seemed to be the cunning or devious expression of someone who had just unexpectedly happened upon a situation that could now be used to her advantage.
“So, not only do you break into my house, but then you start to interfere with my other guests? That calls for some form of punishment, don’t you think girls?”
To Cathy’s amazement, muffled mumbling sounds issued forth from behind the leather hoods, and it was suddenly obvious that the three assistants had stuffing packed into their mouths to inhibit coherent speech. Although none of them were bound in any way, Cathy noticed a small padlock in the neck region of each of the hoods, and realised that taking the hoods off was not an option open to these three females at present. The noises they did make, however, seemed to answer their leader’s question in the affirmative.
“What about you, Chantelle? Do you think that your would-be rescuer here should be subject to disciplinary measures of some description?”
Chantelle – the woman in the wardrobe – nodded, although Cathy wasn’t sure that this was because she really meant it, or whether she thought this was the answer that was expected of her, and the one that would cause her the least grief.
“So, I think we’re all agreed then.”
The woman turned to her companions.
“You know what to do girls. Go get her!”
Cathy, who had been rooted to the spot since her discovery here, was suddenly spurred into action by the sight of the three hooded women – all taller than herself – coming towards her. With her passage to the door blocked, she darted towards the only other possible exit. Unfortunately, she was dismayed to find that her intended escape via the window was not feasible, as the tearing back of the curtains revealed an impassable barrier of sturdy steel bars between herself and the glass panes. From behind her, she heard the group’s leader laugh harshly.
“It’s no good, you can’t get out of here. If you want my advice, the best thing you can do is give up and accept your fate.”
The three women were upon her now, one grabbing her by the shoulders, another grasping her around the waist, whilst the third went for her legs. Despite her failure to comply with the woman’s recommendation - her desperate attempts to kick out and fend off her three assailants, plus her unheeded demand to ‘get your hands off me!’, having no effect whatsoever - within no more than ten seconds she found herself being wrestled to the floor and the belt around her waist being unbuckled and discarded.
Due to the frantic nature of her bid to stay out of the clutches of these women, it wasn’t until Cathy had been well and truly overpowered and was lying prostrate on the floor, with two of the women holding her there, that it became apparent exactly what was in store for her now. She had noticed when they’d first entered the room, that the one of the women – the redhead whose super-tight shiny black outfit glistened in the light – carried a garment of some description in her hands, but at the time its precise size and purpose had seemed of little importance. Now however, from her prone position, she watched as this garment was unfurled to its full extent. It was, she could tell, made of soft black leather and had long sleeves. But what alerted her to the true nature of this item of clothing, were the straps and buckles that hung loosely from the area of the sleeves where the wrist openings should have been. And there were several more straps too, attached to various other strategic areas of the garment. Cathy had seen pictures of similar apparel before and was in no doubt now what this contraption was: a straitjacket. And it was clear that she was to be the intended model for this piece of kit in the near future.
Cathy’s struggles ratcheted up a notch at the sight of this article of restraint. But the women had her exactly where they wanted her, and a quick, painful yank of her arm high up behind her back, left no doubt that resistance was futile. As the woman holding the jacket came towards her, the other two manoeuvred her into a position from which they could easily force her unwilling arms into the waiting cul-de-sacs of black leather. As they went about their task, the leader began once more to speak.
“Where are my manners? I really should have introduced myself. My name is Dolores Devlin, and I am the owner of this establishment. From now on you will address me as Mistress Dolores, or just Mistress. I expect you’re wondering what’s going on here; why my servants here are dressed the way they are; why they’re wearing those hoods etc. Well let me explain...”
She paced across the room, never taking her eyes off the still wriggling Cathy, whose arms had now been successfully inserted into the sleeves. Whilst two of the women each held onto a now encased wrist, the other pulled the main body of the straitjacket around Cathy’s torso and began securing the straps at her back.
“...Shackleton Grange is home to the ‘Bound And Totally Helpless’ society, or BATH for short. It’s an organisation that I started about six years ago and is for the benefit of women who love either being tied up, or tying up others. I hold regular events here throughout the year, and you - my dear little thief - just happened to break into my home on the day that we’re commencing one of our residential ‘Bondage Convention’ weekends.”
Cathy winced as the straps were pulled extra tightly and buckled to prevent the removal of the restrictive leather sheath from which she could no longer extricate herself. There were at least four straps at her back, from her neck down to her waist, and each had been pulled so tightly that she had no chance of breaking free. But the silent women hadn’t yet finished with her. Cathy squealed as another strap, attached to the hem at the back of the jacket, was fed between her legs, pulled up as high as it would go into her crotch, then secured to its corresponding buckle on her lower abdomen. All the while, this Dolores character kept up her monologue.
“Fortunately for us – and unfortunately for you – we came in at just the right time and caught you in the act.”
Her pacing of the room had brought her over to the wardrobe, where the helplessly bound Chantelle still sat, watching the unfolding drama in wide eyed wonderment.
“You see, Chantelle here has been a naughty girl. She said she wanted to get an early night and didn’t feel like joining in with the festivities that are currently taking place downstairs. So I thought to myself ‘if Chantelle wants an early night, then let’s make sure it’s one she won’t forget in a hurry’. And that’s the reason she’s here; to teach her that non-participation is not an option when you come to Shackleton Grange. We were just about to change her into the straitjacket for the night, but now that we’ve found another purpose for it, I guess she’ll have to make do with the handcuffs and ropes she’s already enjoying.”
Without warning, Dolores slammed the wardrobe door shut and swiftly turned the key in the lock. A surprised and stifled whimper could briefly be heard coming from the now sealed cupboard, before Chantelle – presumably realising that any form of dissent was futile – lapsed into resigned silence.
But Cathy had enough problems of her own to keep her occupied right now, without concerning herself with the welfare of others. Forcefully, the two women holding on to the sleeves of the straitjacket pulled Cathy’s arms across her chest, threading her hands through a short looping strap attached to the front of the constraining outfit just below her breasts. Once both arms had been inserted through the snugly fitting gap, the helpless burglar-turned- captive found her arms being pulled tightly around to her back, where she could feel the straps being secured as tautly as her captors could get them. Cathy shrieked and tried everything within her now limited powers to free herself, but her ability to move her arms had been severely curtailed, and the fact that three pairs of hands still held her down meant that she was rooted to this particular spot on the floor.
Having locked the wardrobe, Dolores now gave her full attention to her latest prisoner. Kneeling down beside the still wriggling figure, she placed her hand on Cathy’s left thigh and began stroking the tight spandex.
“I see that your attire is well suited to the sort of weekend we have planned here. Some of the girls downstairs actually favour spandex cat-suits over latex, leather or PVC, so you won’t look at all out of place, especially now that you’re all trussed up in that jacket. The hood looks good too, but it will have to go I’m afraid, as I’m intrigued to find out what you look like under that disguise.”
At this prompt, one of Dolores’ assistants began to pull the spandex covering from Cathy’s hood. Despite Cathy’s verbal protests, within seconds the clinging material had been removed, allowing her long flowing black hair to cascade in a tangled mass around her shoulders.
“Ah, you are a pretty little thing, aren’t you? I’m sure that you’ll be a most welcome addition to our little gathering.”
Dolores took her hand away from Cathy’s leg and leaned forward. She reached out and gently grasped Cathy’s chin.
“What’s your name honey?
As someone who was habitually on the wrong side of the law, Cathy was used to giving false names. But the fact that she found herself in a situation that she had no control over was making her extremely nervous, and this manifested itself in a moment of hesitation, before she unconvincingly blurted out “Jane”.
Anger flashed in Dolores’ dark eyes, and it was evident straightaway that this answer hadn’t been believed. Cathy suddenly found the grip on her chin tighten and sharp fingernails dig deeply into her flesh, as simultaneously one of the other women grabbed her hair and pulled violently.
“Jane? Don’t give me any bullshit girl. Now tell me your real name, or I’ll have no other option than to use force to the get the truth out of you.”
“Cathy....my names Cathy.”
The tremor in her voice must have convinced her tormentor-in- chief that she was now telling the truth, as the hand loosened its grip on her jaw, which was also a signal for her hair to be released.
“Well Cathy, nice to make your acquaintance. Now that you’re here, we’re going to have a lot of fun together. But first, I’ll take you downstairs to meet the rest of the girls. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to know that we have a new playmate joining us for the weekend.”
At the realisation that she wasn’t going to be released any time soon, Cathy pulled on her restraints, in a desperate attempt to somehow free herself from the tight confines of the straitjacket.
“Let me go at once! You can’t just keep me here! This is kidnapping!”
A slight smile played at the corner of Dolores’ lips.
“Kidnapping? Yes, you’re right. But remember, we didn’t invite you here. You came of your own accord. And on top of that, you broke the law by entering my property without permission. So I don’t think you can really complain too much. You’re guilty of breaking and entering, while I’m guilty of kidnapping. I think that makes us equal, don’t you?”
The three other women were helping the severely handicapped burglar to her feet now, and Cathy’s fear as to exactly what they were going to do to her could be contained no longer.
“HELP!.... SOMEBODY HELP ME!”
Her shrieks for assistance were both loud and piercing, but didn’t seem to bother Dolores in any way.
“Scream all you like darling, no one can hear you.... at least no one that’s willing or able to come to your rescue. You know that we’re out in the wilds here, and that there’s very little chance of anyone else being in the vicinity.”
She smiled her devious smile once again at the straitjacketed and spandex clad figure writhing and twisting in the grasp of the three hooded servants.
“But even so, all that caterwauling and howling is going to get on my nerves if it’s allowed to continue.”
She turned to her assistants.
“I think you know what’s required here, don’t you girls?”
It seemed that the triumvirate were indeed precisely attuned to their leader’s thoughts, as without further ado a ball-gag was produced, which was swiftly and unceremoniously thrust into Cathy’s mouth; one woman pinching her nose, another holding her head steady, whilst the third inserted the large rubber ball into the cavity behind her teeth. Within seconds, the strap had been secured at the rear of her head. Cathy continued to scream, but now her calls for someone to come to her aid were incomprehensible, with the volume level severely impaired.
“That’s much better. Now let’s go, we’ve left our other guests unattended for far too long already.”
****
With Dolores leading the way, Cathy found herself being pushed and womanhandled out of the room and into the dimly lit passageway. After fifty yards or so, the party reached a spiral staircase that led to a well lit lobby below; the main entrance to the house, Cathy deduced. As she was being jostled and persuaded to descend, Cathy looked up at the paintings hanging from the walls above. Unlike most stately homes that she’d ever been in, these weren’t the usual ancient, weathered portraits of former owners of the house, captured sitting staunchly upright in period clothing. Instead these works of art were of a far more recent vintage, and depicted women in almost every conceivable bondage position imaginable. The majority were clad in skin-tight rubber or leather, and most wore gags, blindfolds or hoods to accompany their strict ropes, chains or other restraints. All those whose facial features could be seen, seemed to have smiles on their faces, as if they were enjoying their enforced captivity. As they neared the foot of the stairs, Dolores turned and noticed Cathy staring upwards at the unusual canvases.
“A few of my satisfied customers” was her only remark.
As the convoy took a turn to the right, Cathy found herself being bundled down another long corridor. As they traversed this winding route, the sound of people talking – far off at first, but then gradually increasing in volume – reached her ears. The voices all seemed to be female, and were interspersed with laughter and the occasional shriek. These didn’t appear to be screams of fear or distress, however, but seemed more like squeals of delight or excitement. Intermingled with the talk and the playful yelps, there was another sound that seemed to drone and murmur in the background. But it wasn’t until the party reached an open doorway, and Cathy was able to view the assembled company for the first time, that she realised that this low hum and wordless mumble was due to the fact that, of all the women present – of which there must have been between twenty and thirty - at least fifty percent were gagged in some way or other, and that it was their utterances that were responsible for this muffled undertone.
The women – most of whom looked to be in their twenties or early thirties – seemed to be in pairs, with one member of each couplet being ensnared in some form of strict, seemingly inescapable bondage. Hog-ties, frog-ties, ball-ties, chair-ties and strappados were all in evidence, with rope, handcuffs, straps and tape in great abundance. One woman had even been mummified, wrapped from head to toe in grey duct tape, whilst at least two others had their arms encased in leather bondage sleeves that had been laced up behind them so strictly that their elbows almost touched. Without exception, all the women present – whether rigged or rigger – wore skin-tight outfits of latex, spandex, leather or PVC, just as Dolores had already hinted.
As the five woman procession entered the room – originally a ballroom by the looks of it – the hubbub gradually decreased as the women desisted from their tasks and gave their attention to the newcomers.
“Ladies, we have an unexpected visitor who’s agreed to join our little gathering for the weekend. Her name is Cathy, and tomorrow she’ll be participating in our planned activities. I’m sure you’ll all want to make her feel most welcome here.”
Cathy took advantage of her moment in the spotlight to try to make her true feelings about being held captive known, reasoning that at least one of the assembled females must – she hoped – have some element of decency in her, and be willing to stand up and voice her objections to keeping unwilling participants imprisoned here. But unfortunately, she was out of luck on this score. Either they didn’t care about such things, or - more likely – they assumed that she was a willing contributor to their strange little games, and that her struggles were all just an act.
“Anyway, ladies, back to work now. Make sure that all your knots are secure, and you haven’t given your sub any ‘wiggle room’. And don’t forget the old adage: ‘If it’s not tight, it’s not right’.”
Turning back towards the door, she added, “We’re going to put Cathy to bed for the night now, but we’ll be back in a few minutes time, when I’ll be inspecting your handiwork.”
And with this, Cathy found herself being bundled out of the room and encouraged to walk down yet another dark corridor. After a few minutes, Dolores, who was once more leading the way, stopped by a heavy wooden door. Pulling the ancient, creaking structure open, Cathy gazed in horror at the narrow staircase that disappeared downwards into the blackness before her. She quickly realised that, as she’d entered the building by a first floor window, and had since already descended one flight of stairs, that whatever lay at the bottom of these stone steps must be below ground level; a cellar or – the word made her shudder with fright – a dungeon.
Digging her heels in as best she could, Cathy fought for all she was worth in her endeavour to stop herself being taken into this subterranean chamber. But of course, her parlous state ensured that she had no chance of success, and within seconds she found herself being marched brusquely down into the bowels of the earth.
The dim and totally inadequate overhead lights being switched on revealed a labyrinth of tunnels comparable with the maze of corridors above ground. Wooden doors, with small barred windows situated at eye level, could be seen on both sides of the dim passage as it disappeared into the gloom ahead. Their journey along this dank, dark corridor was short, however, as Dolores stopped by, then began to unlock, the first door they came to on the left. It took two of Dolores’ underlings to slowly pull the stubbornly resistant ancient slab of oak open, leaving just one woman standing guard over their captive for a brief spell. With this task finally completed, the Mistress beckoned for Cathy to enter the unlit interior.
It was at this precise moment, that for a second or two, the hands of the woman standing behind her eased their grip on Cathy’s shoulders, and she suddenly realised that, for the first time since they’d left the bedroom, that nobody was holding her. Whether this was simply a lapse in concentration on the part of her guard, or a deliberate ploy to see what action her captive might attempt, was not known. But the thought of being cooped up in this underground jail was just too terrifying to contemplate, and Cathy knew that she had to make use of what was probably the last opportunity she would be given to escape before being locked in this tiny room. Although the odds were stacked against her, with her arms of little use, Cathy suddenly bolted in the direction of the stairs. She only managed three yards or so, however, before a pair of hands grabbed her around the waist, followed by two more that grasped her shoulders and feet, before transporting her still writhing form back to where Dolores stood, impassively watching.
“Did you really think you could escape from me, Cathy? If you did, you’re a bigger fool than I thought you were. How were you going to get up those steps, out of the house, through the grounds and climb over the gate with your arms trapped in that straitjacket? You weren’t really thinking clearly, were you? Well, disobedience like that has to be punished.”
She addressed her assistants once again.
“Tie her legs, and make sure that she can’t get them loose.”
From seemingly out of nowhere, each woman produced a length of rope. Within seconds, Cathy found herself being eased down onto the dirty stone floor and relieved of her boots, after which, the women began in unison to bind her legs tightly together; at her ankles and both just above and just below her knees. The tight cords bit into her flesh through the spandex, and caused Cathy to wince audibly as each bond was cinched and knotted.
“There, that should stop you moving around.”
The women dragged Cathy into the tight confines of the prison cell.
“Thanks girls, you can go back upstairs and entertain our other guests now. I’ll finish off down here.”
And with that, the three nameless latex-clad females began their journey back up to ground level, leaving Dolores and her trembling bound detainee alone. Once the clatter of high heels had faded to nothing, the Mistress once more turned her attention to Cathy.
“Well, this has been a night I won’t forget in a hurry. And I’m absolutely certain that you won’t either. Just to let you know, the cellar is basically soundproof; however much you shout and scream, there’s no way you’ll ever be heard... That’s not to say that I have any intention of removing that gag, of course. That stays in place... just for humiliation purposes.”
Dolores knelt down beside the powerless woman at her feet, and Cathy noticed for the first time that she had something in her hands.
“I thought that hood you were wearing earlier suited you, so I’ve got a replacement here that you can have. Not quite the same as yours though, as this one... well, you’ll soon see how this one differs.”
As she spoke these words, Dolores brought the black object towards her captive’s face. Cathy shook her head and begged for leniency, but her pleas were ignored, and within seconds the tightly fitting item of headwear had been pulled down over the top of her head and across her face. It was obvious from the smell, that this hood, unlike her own, was manufactured from soft leather, And it also quickly became apparent that there were no holes cut out for either mouth or eyes in this latest addition to her bondage attire. Mercifully, there were two small holes situated in the vicinity of the nose area, and she was relieved to find that Dolores paid particular attention to aligning these with her nostrils. With the all-encompassing, sensory-depriving cover pulled down as far as her neck, she felt two hands smoothing the fabric down, before the whole thing tightened around her skull. Her squeal of protest was ignored, however, and soon she felt the area around her throat became taut, as the Mistress buckled and secured the whole contraption in place. Satisfied that her victim couldn’t remove her new headgear, Dolores patted Cathy on the head.
“There, isn’t that a nicer, more comfortable hood than the one you came here in?”
Her rhetorical question was met with a long, drawn out moan of despair from within the now immovable leather casing.
“Right, it’s time I got back to my guests. We’ll decide your fate in the morning.”
****
The slamming of the cell door, the turning of the key in the lock, and the slowly waning click of high heels on echoing stone, signalled to Cathy that she was now alone. Any hopes that she might have entertained of being able to squeeze and wriggle her way out of the straitjacket, however, - now that she wasn’t under constant scrutiny - were quashed in an instant. The buckles at her back had all been fastened as tightly as the fabric would allow, and the leather hugged and compressed her entire body from hips to neck. The collar of the jacket was tight to her flesh and stymied her efforts to manoeuvre her shoulders into a position from which she could slip them free. The strap across her chest prevented the movement of her arms away from her body, and therefore thwarted her efforts to extricate her arms from the enclosed sleeves, no matter how much she squirmed and stretched. The crotch strap hindered her desperate struggles to pull the whole constricting monstrosity upwards over her head. And just to add insult to injury, Cathy’s valiant attempts at releasing her legs fared no better, as the ropes dug in and refused to relinquish their stranglehold.
Cathy shrieked as loudly as she could in frustration and despair. How was she ever going to get out of this mess? They couldn’t keep her here forever, could they? Both questions were unanswerable, although Cathy hoped and prayed that the answer to the latter was in the negative.
But if this Mistress Dolores woman did decided not to release her, then who was going to come looking for her? Who knew where she had been intending to go tonight? And who would ever think of searching for her here? These three questions all had the same simple answer: Nobody.
Despite a desperate urge to find a way out or make contact with the outside world, there was nothing for it but to lie there on the cold stone floor and wait for her fate to be decided for her.
You can also leave feedback & comments for this story on the Plaza Forum
02.10.16
story continues in The Secrets of Shackleton Grange 2
o0o