Chapter 28: Tying Up a Few Loose Ends
A surreal atmosphere hung over the ancient mansion house that Tuesday morning. As the rising sun did its best to burn off the early morning mist which lifted in slowly swirling wisps from Shackleton Grange’s dew-laden lawns, Cathy and Saskia sat watching from their seats in the vast bay window. Both had eaten a good breakfast, prepared by the three docile and accommodating servants, and now sat back sipping lapsang souchong from Dolores’ best china, as what appeared to be the genesis of a fine Suffolk spring day unfurled before their eyes.
In all honesty, neither had managed to sleep much last night. But unlike the past few days, when what little slumber they’d managed to grab had been fitful and fear-ridden, last night’s disturbed shut-eye could be put down to reasons of an entirely different nature. In fact, just before dawn, Cathy had come downstairs from the bedroom she’d commandeered as her own, only to find Saskia sitting alone with her thoughts in the parlour, watching as darkness gave way to daylight. The two had then talked for what seemed like hours, fine-tuning the way that they envisioned the BATH society being governed from now on. Remarkably, given their different backgrounds and lines of business, their ideas dovetailed extremely well.
After a while they’d been joined by Bethany, who had also been having difficulty sleeping, what with the events of the past twenty four hours or so still buzzing around in her head. After the class last night, she’d reluctantly allowed Cathy and Saskia to untie her bonds. Not that she hadn’t tried to persuade the duo that she would be fine left all trussed up throughout the hours of darkness though. In fact, she’d done everything within her powers to stop the release programme from taking place; using reason to put her case for being left as she was, and when that failed, trying to evade her would-be liberators by hopping on her bound feet around the room to avoid the inevitable.
But in the end, once caught, she had to concede that Saskia was correct in her assertion that she’d had enough excitement for one day, and that she would be able to rest and recuperate better if she wasn’t fettered and incapable of movement. She had, as it was explained to her, been bound almost continually for a week, and having a period of time when her limbs weren’t lashed securely together would be good for her circulation, as well as her general wellbeing. So she’d finally given in, but only after receiving assurances from her new friends that they would once again bind and render her helpless first thing in the morning. And now she was going to make sure that they kept this part of the deal.
Prior to coming downstairs to the parlour, Bethany had been on the hunt to find the best bonds available for her forthcoming readmission into the world of secure helplessness. She hadn’t needed to look far, of course, as almost everywhere you looked in Shackleton Grange, ropes, handcuffs, sheaths and a huge variety of other materials for this very purpose were to be encountered. Picking out an enticing, escape-proof single-sleeve bondage mitten with lacing and straps attached, together with a multitude of ropes and other items chosen for their restraining qualities, she’d laid these down on the coffee table at which Saskia and Cathy sat, and requested - no, demanded in fact - that her arms be encased in this slim cul-de-sac of soft, pliable leather without delay.
Saskia and Cathy had been deep in conversation when Bethany first presented herself, and they had been loath to break the thread of their discussions simply to indulge the merinthophilic tendencies of the third member of their group. After all, their main purpose was to keep Dolores, not a member of their own little clique, in detention. But a deal was a deal. And besides, as Saskia got to work, she realised, as well as being good practice for her emerging skills, that with every tug she made on the laces as they tightened to their limits, she was getting more and more zealous in her efforts. Tying Bethany’s legs in four places along their length, from thighs to ankles, Saskia sat the now helpless yet happy woman down on the carpet by the window. Although she’d asked – indeed pleaded – for a gag to complete her ensemble, Saskia had decided that, for the time being at any rate, Bethany would be disappointed in this respect. Her reasoning being that the three of them, not just herself and Cathy, needed to thrash out their plan of campaign this morning, and for this she needed more than simply muffled grunts and the nodding or shaking of a head, to ensure that they were all in complete agreement with regard to how their pact was going to pan out.
****
Saskia was finding her new role as head of the household both daunting and exciting. She had been wrestling with the dilemma of how to juggle her occupation in the outside world alongside this new found ‘hobby’ without the one impinging on the other, and had finally come up with a plan which she was satisfied with in regard to how this double-life could be conducted. It would require the cooperation of her two fellow business partners, however.
What she proposed, as they sat around the low table that sunny morning, was that they would basically leave the day to day running of the mansion up to the three servants, and return to their lives in the outside world. Twice a day, however, one or other of the trio would return to Shackleton Grange, check up on Dolores, feed her, see to her needs and replenish her bonds, before leaving her in a different, despicable, and most definitely inescapable state of captivity once again.
Both Bethany and Cathy had voiced initial reservations about this scheme, feeling that, left to their own devices, it would only be a matter to time before the brainwashed minions would fall under their former Mistress’ spell once more. If or when that happened, it was pointed out to Saskia, then it would only be a matter of time before they found themselves ambushed and back in captivity, especially as the scheme she was espousing involved only one of the team turning up at the house at any given time, except when there was a class or bondage party in the offing. Saskia, however, seemed unfazed by these concerns and tried to calm her cohorts’ fears with regard to the servants’ loyalties.
“You’ve seen how they react. They’re total zombies and too far gone to truly understand the nature of what’s going on here. Provided that we ensure Dolores remains gagged and locked in a secure location when we’re not here, they’ll have no reason to go anywhere near her. We alone will have access to Dolores, and they can deal with the housework and day to day menial tasks of keeping the place in order. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”
Although not entirely convinced, both Cathy and Bethany, against their better judgement, decided to give their self-appointed leader the benefit of the doubt - Saskia could be very persuasive when she wanted to be. And this show of compliance from her supposedly equal partners, only served to heighten Saskia’s sense of being the commander-in-chief of this strange alliance; which all served to bolster her ego, and give her a sense of power that she’d never known before. It was a feeling, however, that she was extremely comfortable with, and the thoughts of how she was going to be the one calling all the shots when it came to running the BATH society was exciting her to the point of arousal.
Already, her mind was full of a multitude of ideas pertaining to different methods of bondage and torture that they could subject Dolores too. And it wasn’t just their former captor that Saskia was looking forward to tormenting. For last night’s class, along with the bondage party that she’d attended, had given her some insight into the number of women who came here simply because they enjoyed being tied up to the tightest possible degree. And this newly discovered dominant nature - so long dormant yet now beginning to blossom – was causing strange yet wonderful sensations to surge through her. So much so, that in her mind she envisioned a day when she would be in a position similar to that recently vacated by Dolores.
As a journalist, the urge to break this blockbuster story regarding the clandestine activities that had been going on at Shackleton Grange was strong. But she found the desire to make a name for herself in the newspaper world being overridden by an even greater yearning. Put bluntly, Saskia was keen to enhance her budding sadistic tendencies at all costs. Maybe eventually, when she’d established her own reputation on the fetish scene, she could consider giving up her day job and becoming a fulltime Bondage Mistress. That was the dream, although she couldn’t admit this at the moment... not even to herself.
The road ahead, of course, would be paved with many uncertainties, with a host of pitfalls visible on the horizon, and even more difficult questions that she was unwilling to even contemplate, due to the impossibility of satisfactory answers being forthcoming. The most pressing of these questions, of course, was how long could they maintain this state of affairs? How long would it be before Dolores’ disappearance caused someone to start enquiring into her whereabouts?
When this happened, the whole venture could - indeed probably would - come crashing down around their ears. Would they - ironically - be the ones arrested and charged with kidnapping? They had been held against their wills themselves, of course, but it was doubtful that the police and law courts would see this ‘tit-for-tat’ action as an acceptable excuse, as taking the law into your own hands was always frowned upon.
But this was all in the future, and Saskia refused to look too far ahead. She had the bit between her teeth now, and no such trivial concerns were going to stop her enjoying this new kinky obsession with bondage while the going was good.
****
By contrast, Cathy’s take on things was far less certain. As someone habitually on the wrong side of the law, she had no qualms about the whole kidnapping thing. But for her, the imprisonment of Dolores was a short term arrangement that could last no more than a week or two at best. Her plan, which she had every intention of keeping a secret from her two accomplices, was to use Shackleton Grange to her own advantage, as a bolt-hole in which she could hide away from the forces of law and order.
But a more enticing reason for staying was the prospect of spiriting away as many of the valuable ornaments, trinkets, paintings, antiques and pieces of exquisite jewellery as she could, which seemed to fill almost every nook and cranny of this grand establishment. She could, she estimated, make a small fortune for herself with the sale of these goods to her contacts in the underworld. And, of course, the proposal by Saskia that they split the proceeds they made from the classes and other events that were on the agenda, was also an incentive to stay and make some easy money.
But Cathy’s continued involvement in this unorthodox business venture was not purely for material gain. For she also wanted Dolores punished for keeping her tied up and putting her through innumerable stressful, fear-filled challenges and trials. But unlike Saskia, whose sadism seemed to know no bounds, there was also another side to Cathy’s experiences that somewhat softened her judgement on what should become of Dolores. For hadn’t she, on several occasions, encountered another, much more pleasurable aspect to this whole thing called bondage?
During her time here, she’d undergone some wonderful, albeit fleeting, sexually enlightening incidents, which had shown her just how glorious being restrained and totally helpless could be under the right circumstances. But how did she tell the others of these thoughts and desires?
Unlike Bethany, who had been having bondage fantasies for years, Cathy was a newcomer to this whole scene, and she hadn’t yet found the right moment to broach this embarrassing issue with Saskia, and request that she too be tied up. She chided herself for this cowardice, but knew that at some point in the not too distant future, the opportunity would arise when she’d pluck up the courage to let her true feelings on the subject out of the bag. Until that moment arrived, however, she would just have to be patient and bide her time.
****
In similar vein to Cathy, Bethany wanted to experience those wonderful moments when being bound, gagged and blindfolded became such a joy that she wished that the experience would never end, and that she could be left tied up forever.
Unlike Cathy, however, she had no reason to put any limit on the amount of time for keeping Dolores tied up. This was not merely from a punishment perspective either, although there was a part of her that wanted Dolores to suffer for her crimes. But her true ambitions were one hundred percent self-centred; her train of thought being that, whilst Dolores was their prisoner, then they would continue to run the BATH society, and whilst this situation was ongoing, she could indulge her passion for being tied up in on a regular basis.
Conversely, if the BATH society ceased operating, she would be back where she’d started prior to coming here; with no one willing to bind her, and with a major, needle-in-a-haystack search to find someone else who was on her wavelength. She knew only too well how it would seem strange to the others, after being held against her will for the best part of a week, that she could so quickly regain her thirst and zeal for bondage. But there was a world of difference between enforced long term slavery and the sort of consensual, short term sessions of restraint which she had a craving for. Or put another way, one bad experience was never going to outweigh and negate several years of unfulfilled desires and dreams.
Also, in stark contrast to Cathy, and indeed to Saskia, Bethany had no interest in monetary gain from the profits made from these bondage classes and parties that were being tentatively mooted. The experience of being bound was reward enough for her, and in fact she was prepared to pay her fare to and from London on a twice or thrice weekly basis, just to be involved. Or another idea that sprung into her head, and to which she was giving much careful and serious consideration, was of actually quitting her job in the city and moving to rural Suffolk, just so that she could be on the doorstep for such forbidden delights as those on offer in this rambling old house. Such was her desire to be involved in what she saw as a once in a lifetime opportunity, that she was willing to uproot herself from friends and family, and thus go through with this life-changing upheaval, in order to immerse herself totally in this weird yet wonderful scenario. Whatever it took, Bethany was determined that she wasn’t going to miss out on all the fun.
****
And so, after an hour or two of debate, the trio’s pact was finalised. Saskia and Cathy would take it in turns to be on hand to deal with Dolores’ needs on a twice daily basis – once in the morning and then again early in the evening. The classes would continue to be three evenings a week, at which both Cathy and Saskia would be present. Bethany, living further away, would commute to Suffolk at least twice a week on these nights. All three would make it their duty to be here for the parties that took place most Saturdays, and for the monthly weekend conventions. Dolores would be wheeled in to make special guest appearances on selected occasions, when it was felt appropriate, although how they would explain her change of circumstances at these events hadn’t yet been decided. Any enquiries as to her whereabouts at other times would be dealt with as and when they arose, but would more often than not be explained away by excuses such as she’d been called away on urgent business, illness in the family, or variations on these themes.
With these initial details agreed, the trio were on the point of calling their meeting to a close, when the parlour door opened and in marched Sapphire, Crystal and Electra in single file. All moved gracefully over to the fireplace, where they turned and stood with their backs to the smouldering remains of a fire they themselves had built earlier at Saskia’s insistence.
“Well girls, have you done as I asked?”
Saskia’s question was met with a synchronised nod of the head from each of the emotionless trio.
“Good. We’ll be along to inspect your work shortly. In the meantime, there’s plenty of housework such as dusting and cleaning that needs to be done.”
Without blinking, the servants retraced their route to the door, and within seconds were out of sight. Cathy and Bethany looked at each other for several seconds, uncomprehending. Finally Cathy spoke.
“What was that all about?”
Saskia had a sly grin etched on her face as she began her explanation, albeit in slightly cryptic fashion.
“I took the liberty of asking them if they’d remove Dolores from her night time accommodation and get her ready for inspection.”
Cathy gasped with horror.
“You left them alone with Dolores!?”
Saskia remained calm and collected, however.
“Don’t worry, I forbade them to remove her gag under any circumstances. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”
Rising from her chair, Saskia walked around the table, her spandex outfit shimmering in the sun’s now potent rays. Bending down, she began to untie Bethany’s legs.
“And besides, if we’re going to leave the servants here alone with Dolores, we’ve got to learn to trust them. From what I’ve seen they appear to have become accustomed to me giving the orders now. So provided that we’re careful, we shouldn’t need to be concerned about Dolores inveigling her way back into their good books. They’re automatons remember. Once you tell them to do something, they do it without question. So, as long as Dolores can’t speak to countermand our instructions, everything should be fine.”
Hoisting Bethany to her feet, Saskia motioned the still arm-sheathed woman towards the door, before turning back to Cathy.
“If I’m wrong, then we’re walking into a trap and we’ll be overpowered at any moment. But I’m convinced that isn’t the case. Now follow me and I’ll prove to you that I’m correct.”
****
The trip from the sunny, spacious parlour on the ground floor, to the cramped, airless space of the attic, involved a circuitous journey up many flights of stairs and long, ill-lit corridors. Finally, the threesome arrived at the final few steps that led up to a room that had the appearance of being seldom visited, and utilised only as a storage area for items that were not needed in the foreseeable future. And this, in effect, was the exact purpose that Saskia had in mind right now. Helping the willingly bound Bethany up the winding stairs, at last the three girls stood amidst the general clutter on bare, dusty floorboards which creaked at the slightest movement that any of them made. Although the surrounding space was shrouded in semi-darkness, above their heads, ancient wooden beams could be seen sloping at forty five degree angles on either side to form a pitched roof high above their heads. But why had Saskia brought them here? Cathy was on the point of asking this very question, when a muffled squeal cut through the silence from somewhere above and to the right of them, accompanied by a violent rattling of the wooden skeletal frame of this, the highest interior point of Shackleton Grange. At this precise moment, Saskia flicked the light-switch to reveal the cause of the commotion.
“Now, now Dolores, I’d be a bit careful how much you move around up there. Some of these beams look a bit rotten to me, and falling from that height could result in some quite nasty injuries.”
Cathy and Bethany followed their leader’s gaze up into the roof’s apex, where they encountered the intended recipient of Saskia’s cautionary warning. It was clear now that the servants had, indeed, obeyed the orders given to them. For there, suspended in stretched out, spread-eagle style high above them was the deposed Mistress. Now dressed in a leopard-skin print spandex cat-suit that seemed too small for her, Dolores didn’t appear to be taking the slightest heed of the advice given, but struggled as hard as she could from her vantage point overhead.
Holding her back, however, were a myriad of tight straps that held her wrists and forearms to the vertical struts high above her head. More broad leather belts held her shoulders and torso to the timbers, whilst her outstretched, open legs had also succumbed to a similar fate, being tightly secured at her ankles, calves, knees and thighs. From the stout belt that she wore around her waist, another strap ran at a ninety degree angle down over her abdomen to disappear between her legs.
This, like every other leather fetter that the servants had so diligently encumbered her with, was secured so tightly that it dug deeply into her spandex-clad flesh. From the waist belt also, a rope had been attached, but unlike every other bond she wore, this seemed at first sight to serve no purpose, but merely drooped in a loose arc across to the beams on the other side of the windowless loft, where the ends had been looped around a post, to dangle limply towards the floor.
Dolores’ head was encased in a snugly fitting hood of polished black leather, the only facial openings being situated at the nostrils and eyes, with a vent on top to allow a plume of tousled hair to spring forth. From the sounds that she made, however, it was clear that her mouth was also packed to capacity with some form of gagging material, which efficiently scrambled her attempted threats, curses and pleas into something incomprehensible and meaningless.
Saskia looked at Cathy and Bethany with a smile of satisfaction on her face.
“You see girls, there’s no need to worry about the servants’ loyalties. I told them that they weren’t to remove Dolores’ gag under any circumstances, and they’ve complied. As you know, they’re very thorough when it comes to ensuring their subject can’t escape. I don’t think Dolores has a hope in hell of getting out of that.”
She turned to the helpless ex-dominatrix, who seemed to hover above them like some ghostly apparition.
“So Dolores, it’s almost time for the three of us to return to the outside world. You do remember the outside world I presume? It’s that place where the sun shines and you can feel the breeze in your hair. Where people roam around freely and aren’t hampered in their ability to move by multiple ropes, straps and other restraints. It’s the place that you tried to prevent any of us ever seeing again... and it’s the place that’s soon going to be just a distant memory for you!”
The realisation that she was to be abandoned caused the suspended woman to struggle violently against the straps that held her, but it was clear that her chances of engineering a successful escape were less than zero. Saskia allowed this intense but brief tussle to run its course, before continuing.
“Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be relieved to hear that there are two pieces of good news for you...
She paused, as if building up to some momentous revelation.
“... Firstly, that we’ll be back this evening to take the Intermediate Bondage Class in your absence. And when we do, we’ll make sure that you’re fed and watered, given a nice clean outfit, and then bound up again in some other interesting and extremely devious way.”
As she spoke, Saskia made her way across to where the rope that was attached to Dolores’ waist belt hung. Grasping this with her left hand, she unwound it from the makeshift mooring post, before absentmindedly toying with it for a few seconds.
“And the other thing that you’ll enjoy is this little set-up that we’ve arranged for you. I know how you like to get off while you’re tied up, so we’ve rigged this rope to at least make your time here a little bit less dull and boring.”
Without warning, she yanked hard on the rope. Immediately, the slack in the arc was removed as the cord stretched tautly to its limits. Cathy and Bethany watched as the belt around Dolores’ waist jerked upwards an inch or two, in turn pulling the strap that ran between her legs - which was already digging deeply into her crotch – higher than ever. At this, Dolores’ whole body seemed to stiffen, and a sound that was part groan of anguish and part moan of pleasure filled the musty air.
But Saskia hadn’t yet finished manipulating the rope, and as the others watched, and Dolores’ eyes widened to the point where they looked as if they were about to burst through the slits of her facial mask, she began jerking the rope back and forth at what was at first a slow, gently tempo, but gradually built up into a rhythmic crescendo of short sharp jolts, each of which saw Dolores twitching and thrusting in her outstretched helplessness.
As the seconds wore on and Dolores’s juddering dance attuned itself to the cadence set up by Saskia, the short gasps that at first issued from behind the leather hood every time the strap bit, gradually metamorphosized into long, drawn out moans, which in turn gave way to a soft purring of satisfaction as she reached her climax.
Saskia, realising that her work was done, allowed the rope to slacken and slap back against the beam.
“You see Dolores, we could have just left you hanging there all day with nothing to break the monotony. But unlike you, we’re considerate enough to take others’ feelings and wellbeing into consideration. Kind aren’t we?”
As this rhetorical question hung in the air, Saskia began manoeuvring a large wooden crate from its resting place in one corner, into a position directly beneath her now sated and heavily breathing captive. Grabbing the rope again, she climbed onto the box, so that her face and Dolores’ were almost at the same height. Getting as close to the masking leather hood as she could, Saskia delivered her next surprise.
“So Dolores, I bet you’d enjoy being able to get yourself off whenever you felt the urge, wouldn’t you? After all, it’s going to be a long day if you’re just hanging there with nothing to take your mind off the severity of the situation you find yourself in.”
She paused to let this sink in.
“Well, never let it be said that we don’t go out of our way to make life as pleasurable as possible for you.”
Dolores watched in her impotence as Saskia reached up and tossed the loose end of the rope over a nearby sturdy wooden girder.
“There you go. Whenever the mood takes you, you can grab the rope and jerk yourself off to your heart’s content.”
Dolores instinctively reached out in the direction of the still swinging cord, but as Saskia had intended, the ends were just a fraction of an inch from the tips of her long, stretching fingers, and try as she might, there was no way she could reach that final miniscule distance to touch, let alone grasp, the tantalisingly near-but-yet-so-far trailing rope.
Smiling devilishly at the frustrated woman’s efforts, Saskia jumped down from her perch and pushed the box back into its corner.
“Oh dear, can’t you quite reach it? Well if we leave you here long enough, your fingernails will grow that extra millimetre or two, and you’ll be able to work yourself up into a frenzy whenever you want. But until then, I guess you’re going to have to make do with the memory of how good that strap feels inside you.”
She turned to Cathy and Bethany, who had been watching the unfolding drama in silence for several minutes now.
“Come on girls, let’s get out of here and leave Dolores in peace.”
****
As the three women in their identical black spandex outfits headed for the door, Dolores made one final plea for clemency. But it was all to no avail, as deep down she must have already known it would be. That didn’t stop her from wailing into her gag with as much force as she could muster, however. But the light being switched off and the door slamming shut and then being locked and bolted, informed her that she was once again condemned to a long stretch in solitary confinement.
Twisting and turning, writhing and wriggling, she fought a desperate but ultimately losing battle to release herself from the straps that held her in place. But she’d trained her servants well – too well, in fact – and their efficiency and attention to detail ensured that every avenue of escape had been apprehended in advance and shut off.
The day had started off with what Dolores had hoped would be a breakthrough in her bid to regain her rightful place as head of the household. Having been peeled and stripped from the layers of bondage that she’d spent a hot, uncomfortable and seemingly endless night encased within, she was heartened to find that it was her three faithful slaves that had come to attend to her needs, with no sign of the upstarts who had usurped her authority and forced her to become a prisoner in her own mansion.
But as it turned out, all her muffled attempts at bringing her once obedient minions back into line were stymied by the fact that at no stage in the unbinding and rebinding routine was her gag removed. Nor did an opportunity present itself to rip the tape from her face and extract the rolled up tights that filled her oral cavity. And the reason for her inability to perform this act, even once her hands were free of all restraints, was that the three latex-clad hand-maidens abided by the rule that Dolores had always drummed into them when changing a subject’s bonds; namely that the head must always be enclosed in a tight fitting, all-covering leather hood, which was then padlocked securely at the neck, prior to releasing the captive’s hands from their ropes, handcuffs or other fetters.
Dolores had fought like a dervish to remove the hood as soon as the tape around her wrists had been painfully ripped away. But Crystal, Sapphire and Electra had never wavered from their quest for an instant, and within seconds the wriggling, kicking woman had been stripped of the tights she wore, and her limbs and body forcibly inserted into the spandex cat-suit which, once her sight was returned to her, turned out to be her leopard print number. Before this revelation was forthcoming, however, she found herself being marched vigorously, still in blindness, through the corridors and up the stairways of her home, until their mystery destination was reached.
Quickly, and with a minimum of fuss, the robotic trio had stretched their former leader’s arms and legs out, and begun strapping her to some wooden construction, so that her feet couldn’t touch the ground and her stretching fingers were unable to reach either the bonds that held her in this position, or indeed anything else. Only once her torso had also succumbed to similarly stringent restrictions, were the eyeholes on the claustrophobic hood finally peeled opened. The return of her sight delivered the message that she was in one of Shackleton Grange’s many attic rooms, and that the wooden binding posts at her back were in fact the rafters of the building. Although old and prone to creaking and groaning, they had held the very structure of the uppermost section of the house together for many a long year, and were never likely to yield and break simply because some female had been lashed to them, however desperate for freedom that woman might be.
And then, after the departure of the three turncoats and the resultant short period of solitary darkness, had come the visitation from her three foes, at which point the twin revelations that they were leaving the house, and that there was a source of comfort close at hand, were offered to her. The former had filled her with dread, but had been countered only a minute or two later by the knowledge that she had some means of escaping - emotionally if not physically - from a future that seemed to consist of nothing but interminable bondage and imprisonment.
But having been teased by those wonderful, indescribable sensations that ripped like lightning through her entire being, to find that, instead of a readymade, freely available antidote to the gloom and despair of a long spell of immobility, she was going to be frustrated in her efforts to replicate the performance without assistance, was just too much to bear, and her cries, as the trio exited the loft and prepared to leave the building, were as much a plea for a relocation of the pleasure inducing rope, as they were for release from her bonds.
But of course, her muffled words fell on unhearing ears, and the last things she witnessed were the rears of three spandex-clad young women making for the exit.
And then darkness fell... both physically and metaphorically.
****
The warm spring breeze blew gently through the hair of the three liberated and joyous women as they made their way down the driveway towards Shackleton Grange’s main gates. Having been cooped up for days on end, the sensation of walking freely and without hindrance did wonders for all three of them, and even Bethany, now reluctantly devoid of all bonds, could appreciate the glory of this fine, sunlit day. Birds sang merrily from their perches high in the trees, butterflies flitted and danced in the morning sun, and bees buzzed around the freely growing hedges and borders.
In her hand, Cathy carried a small remote control device that she’d discovered in the house, which opened and shut the gates. A backward glance would have shown the mansion basking in a grandeur unique to British stately homes. With the glorious weather, the whole place seemed to radiate an aura of calm and peace in a tranquil rural setting, and offered no clue as to the dark secrets concealed within. Only the three women now taking their leave knew the true nature of what lay behind those ancient walls... and they had vowed to tell no one.
All three still wore the only clothes available to them; the now familiar spandex cat-suits that had been standard attire throughout their residence here. Cathy had arrived thus attired, but for both Bethany and Saskia, being out in public in skin-tight clothing would be a new experience. But having searched high and low throughout the house, neither had been able to locate the whereabouts of the clothes that they’d arrived in.
The servants, when asked, had seemed at a loss as to what had become of their personal possessions, and it was obvious that asking Dolores would get them nowhere. So they were left with little option but to depart wearing the clothes that had been chosen for them. Each had, however, ‘borrowed’ a coat or cloak to hide the figure-hugging stretch material outfits which would have had the young males gawping with delight and the rest of society gazing in disgust.
Another problem had been how to get back to Ipswich. Saskia had informed Cathy about the fate of her car, so there seemed little option but to either call for a taxi or catch a train from the same station at which two out of the three had arrived. After some debate, they’d decided on the latter, as they wanted as few people to know where they’d been as possible, and having a taxi turn up at this out-of-the-way place would be a memorable event for the driver, especially given the way his fee paying customers were dressed at the moment. Turning up at a quiet, little used station, on the other hand, assured them of a greater degree of anonymity.
The fare for this journey was sourced from the cash tin in Dolores’ office which, although not exactly containing a fortune, would cover the expenses needed until they arrived back to Saskia’s apartment. This was the destination that they’d agreed upon, where they could find refreshment and a change of clothes – Saskia having kindly agreed to lend her fellow ex-cellmates some of her gear until other arrangements could be made. Then they would have a few hours to rest and relax before making the return journey to the scene of their recent ordeal, in order to officiate at tonight’s bondage class.
So far, everything seemed to be falling into place. But there was one conundrum that all three would have no option but to deal with, if not straightaway, then within the near future. Namely, how could they explain away where they’d been since vanishing, seemingly into thin air?
For Saskia at least, there was a relatively straightforward answer. As she’d only been gone since Saturday, with that day and the next being her days off work, she would have little problem explaining her disappearance. Monday might be slightly more difficult to explain to her boss, but she’d think of something no doubt. To friends and family, she would simply say that she’d had to go away, as she’d been working on an undercover story... which wasn’t altogether untrue.
For Cathy too, being on the wrong side of the law, and thus leading a life whereby she was sometimes forced to go to ground for days on end in order to avoid the police catching up with her, there would be little explanation required. If asked why her car had been found abandoned and burnt out, she would claim it had been – ironically for a thief - stolen. Any further questions would be answered with her usual response in such situations: “No comment”.
It was really only Bethany, therefore, who was going to have any real explaining to do on a grand scale. But she was confident that she’d think of something. Perhaps the fact that she was stressed out and needed to get away on her own for a few days to clear her head would suffice. There would, no doubt, still be a whole host of awkward questions aimed at her from a variety of sources; her parents, employers, friends and the police, to name just a few. But she was sure that she could fend off all prying parties, and eventually the quest to find out where she’d been would quieten down and die. Her excitement at the knowledge that, if they kept their planned project at Shackleton Grange a secret, she would be able to live out her bondage fantasies to the full, was incentive enough not to let anyone know where she’d really been and what had happened to her.
****
By now, Cathy, Saskia and Bethany had reached the grand wrought iron gates that both barred their exit from the grounds of Shackleton Grange, and also kept the population at large in ignorance of what had occurred there in the past – and indeed what was projected to take place in the coming days and weeks ahead. As the gates creaked slowly closed behind them, all three stood for a few seconds looking back down the long, forbidding driveway, each wondering what the future had in store, not only for themselves, but for the Mistress of Shackleton Grange in her safe and secure haven.
Only time would tell.
Epilogue
A sense of peace now rests over Shackleton Grange. The three mute retainers go about their daily chores with a minimum of fuss, making sure that everything is ready for the classes that take place three times a week, and the parties that are thrown in the grand hall at weekends.
But no, maybe everything within the walls of Shackleton Grange isn’t quite as tranquil as it at first might appear. For on windless nights, a strange, plaintive sound echoes around the ancient turrets and chimneys, rattles the windows and reverberates through the antiquated floorboards. If anyone was around to hear these mournful appeals, they might just be able to make out the muffled cries of a woman, whose desperate, anguished voice emanates from somewhere within the depths of the timeless structure, to fill the subterranean tunnels, labyrinth of corridors, myriad rooms and poorly lit alcoves with its strangely ghostlike lament.
“Help me!..This is my house and you can’t keep me here!.. Please let me out!.. I’M SORRY!!”
The End
(Or is it?)
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03.04.18