Vanishing Act

VANISHING  ACT

By

Richard Alexander



All comments welcome to bilboes@hotmail.com

Vanishing Act

Prologue

I snapped awake in an instant.  It was one of those rare moments when the body,
aware of an unseen danger, seems to rise to the height of alertness in a
fraction of a second.

In that fraction of a second I knew there was someone else in the room, before I
had even opened my eyes and found myself blinded by the beam of a torch.  Time
seemed to slow, and I caught a harsh intake of breath and the smell of
cigarettes on clothing.  But however slowly time seemed to pass, I found myself
unable to react against this unknown enemy until a rough hand pressing down a
strip of tape over my mouth stung me into a response.  By that time, the man -
for I knew at once that my assailant was a male - was on top of me, pinning my
body under the bedclothes.

I reacted without thinking at this point, feeling the pressure of his knees on
the blankets and my arms.  I tried to buck him off with my lower body and legs,
but the bedclothes held me back, making my efforts feeble and ineffective.  As I
did this, I began to feel the effect of the tape over my mouth, for neither
could I scream or gasp for air.  Struggling to move my arms, legs or torso, I
could put up little resistance other than to make wild 'hmmming' noises through
my nose, all the while shaking my head and struggling as best I could under the
bedclothes.

I was terrified, to say the least.  I was not able to rationalise who this was
and why it was happening to me.  Burglary, rape and murder were words that
flashed through my brain, and each spurred me to a greater frenzy of thrashing
about and trying to heave the weight off my body, but to no avail.  Breathing
only through my nose starved me of the air I needed to fight off this intruder. 
He said nothing, but I could hear his own heavy breathing as he fought to subdue
me.  The torch kept flashing in my eyes - he was obviously wearing it on a
headband - until a hand gripped my hair and another piece of tape was slapped
over my eyes.

This blindness panicked me even further, and I must have paused, to try to
gather my wits at that point.  The momentary respite was all he needed, for a
second later my head was on the receiving end of more duct tape, this time wound
around and around, over eyes, over mouth, then vertically around my chin and
head.  It was no clinical job, encompassing hair, ears and all, but it was tight
and very scary and at once I knew I was in real trouble, for I was not going to
get the tape off in a hurry. 

Then my head was released.  I was making pitiful moans now, realising the sudden
deterioration in my circumstances and the fact that I was not going to fight off
this man, blindfolded and gagged as securely as I was.  I was now pleading, I
realised - if the pitiful whimpering escaping through my nose could be classed
as such.

There was a further pause at that point.  I could hear the man panting and the
blood pounding in my ears.  We both halted our struggles, trying to regroup and
gain some form of composure.  My attacker had still not said anything, which
scared me as much as anything.  I could smell his breath  - stale cigarettes,
which made me recoil, to the extent I that I could.

Then he eased himself off me, and once again I went wild, bucking and flailing
under the blanket, trying to get my hands free so that I could go on the attack,
but he was too quick for me.  In a mess of sheet and nightshirt I was rolled
over and he was again on top.  This time my taped head was buried in the pillow,
making me forget all else in an effort to continue breathing.

The next steps, I now realise, were entirely predictable, and looking back I
know that the battle had already been lost.  I had no hope from this point, and
the dragging down of the bedclothes and the handcuffing of my wrists behind me
were but a formality.  I knew there was nothing I could do, and that there was
no choice but to submit to whatever this person had in store for me.  Further
fighting was only going to get me hurt.  Unconsciously I knew I had no choice
but to bide my time and look for an opportunity, a moment in which to escape or
flee.

The blankets were then pulled off fully, and I felt the cool night air on the
backs of my legs.  The man rolled me over again, on to my manacled wrists,
ignoring the whine of pain I made, then swung my bare legs over the edge of the
bed such that I was sitting up, my head wrapped in tape in what was now my own
private world.

He stood me up, smoothing down the maroon satin nightshirt I wore.  His hands
ran roughly over my body, kneading my breasts through the soft material and
toying with my nipples.  I was aghast when they hardened up, feeling my body
betray me in a way I did not expect.  I had experienced bondage before, of
course, and I make no bones about it being a turn on, but those circumstances
had been different - a controlled environment where rules existed and a
'safeword' could bring things to an end.  That had all been many months ago in
Sydney, before I had cut my ties and moved north to the sunnier climes of
Brisbane.  Nobody here knew my 'safeword'.  A desperate, hopeful humming of 
'happy birthday' through my nose only got me a slap on the face.  It did not
really hurt, through all the tape, but it shocked me into silence.

I stood there, feeling the reaction starting to set in.  I was shaking like a
leaf, my wrists making little rattling noises in the handcuffs.  Suddenly the
room appeared to have become very cold.  The roving hands had stopped and I did
not know where he was or what was happening.  I turned my head, trying to locate
the sound of movement, but all was silent save the continued pounding of blood
in my ears and my own ragged breathing.  I could still smell the stale
cigarettes.  He was near me, I knew.

"Urghh?"  I ventured.  A slap on the face.  My ears rang.  He was standing in
front of me.

"Shut up, you little slut!" a voice hissed in my ear.  It was deep and sharp,
filled with menace.  I jumped, so sudden and unexpected were the words.  The
voice was like nobody I knew, destroying the remote possibility that someone
from a distant relationship had somehow tracked me here to play some sort of
cruel joke.  I would never mistake this voice again, I knew at that point, so
much was it now etched into my brain with those few words.

Pressure came with fingers grasping my nipples through the satin, pulling me
downwards.  Blindly I obeyed, sinking to my knees with trepidation.  Strong
hands grasped my shoulders and laid me face down on the carpet.  The same hands
quickly bound my ankles tightly with some sort of cord and rolled me on to my
back.  I felt the cold touch of the steel bed leg against my thigh before my
ankles were abruptly hoisted into the air and the ankle rope was tied to the top
of the bedframe at one corner.  The bedframe itself is wrought iron, with waist
high frames at the head and foot.  I now found myself bent at the waist, with
the lower part of my body naked as my nightshirt slipped back to my waist.

My sexual vulnerability really came home to me at that point.  My face burned
under the tape, in part no doubt with the blood rushing to my head, but in part
also due to my awareness of being exposed in front of my assailant, who now slid
his hand down my thighs to the triangle of soft hair.  I squirmed and whimpered. 
Was he going to rape me there and then?  Did he have a knife?

Then came the soft tread of footsteps on the carpet and the bedroom door opening
and closing, and I knew I was alone.

I lay there for perhaps ten minutes, unable to stop trembling.  I had never been
so terrified in my life.  The thought of what might lie ahead gave me no
comfort, the unknown nature of it playing havoc with my imagination.  My feet
were starting to go numb under the painful tension induced by the weight of my
legs hanging from the rope tied to the bed frame.  I tried to ease myself into a
less stressed position, but it didn't seem to make any difference.  I wondered
how long he was going to leave me like this? How could I attract someone?  Where
was the phone?  How would I ever reach it.  And Jesus, I was going to the States
tomorrow!

It was odd how something as totally illogical as missing a flight popped into my
head.  Here I was in a potentially life-threatening situation and I was worried
about upsetting my travel plans.  I squirmed on to my stomach, my breasts
crushed against the floor, then tried to arch my back sufficiently to get my
hands up towards the ankle ropes, but they came nowhere near.  On to my back
again, panic adding a desperate impetus to my contortions as I tried to pull my
body weight upwards, resting on my shoulders and bending my knees in an effort
to get my hands close to the knots.  The room was now hot, what with my
exertions, and I could feel the sweat trickling through the maze of tape around
my head with my inverted position.

Then he was back.   I was pushed down smartly and my ankles caught with a jerk. 
I cried into the tape, but it came out as a muted nasal whine.  Then my ankles
were undone and I was hauled to my feet.  Standing in my dark world I felt more
duct tape go around the material of my nightshirt above my right elbow, before
it was drawn hard against the left one, after which more turns of tape locked
the elbows hard against each other.  Then the handcuffs came off and my wrists
were taped palm to palm - tape which then enveloped my hands and fingers right
to their tips.  God I had never had my arms bound so immovably before.

This man was obviously the duct tape king, for there was more tape around my
body, above and below my breasts, welding my arms immovably to my torso,
followed by further bands tethering my wrists against my buttocks.

Without a word I was pushed on to my knees again, and then laid face-down.  My
legs were bent at the knee and more of that dreadful tape was wound around the
length of each thigh, wrapping my lower leg, ankle and foot hard against it. 
After five minutes I was virtually unable to move, save to open and close my
bent, bound legs, which I decided was not a good idea.

There was a fait squeaking sound, like that of a rusty trolley wheel.  I was
lifted bodily and placed face down on to some sort of board.  One end of it came
to just under my chin, while the other end appeared to end just beyond my bent
knees.  It was barely as wide as my body, and predictably enough more tape came
out, enveloping my body and crushing it to the board.  I finally lost it at this
point as my immobility hit home to me, and I began to scream again. 

Of course it wasn't exactly going to wake up the neighbourhood.  My jaw was
bound tightly closed and my mouth was sealed very effectively.  All I could do
was make as much noise through my nose as I could, kind of like a loud
discordant humming.

"Urrrnnh!  Urrrnhh! Urrngh!"

It was really not a bright idea, and that was what he told me, right after he
had smoothed a piece of tape over my nostrils.

I went berserk at that point, shaking my head and trying to throw my body about,
but the former was the only part I could get to move.  I strained to breathe in,
or to blow the tape off, but it was futile, and I knew I was suffocating.  I was
barely aware that I was making faint peeping noises that even the tape couldn't
cover, but that was the least of my problems.  My lungs were on fire and I knew
I was going to die.  So this was what it was like, I thought desperately.  God,
what a way to go, to die trussed up in a bedroom at the hands of a madman...

Then came a glimmer of hope, the merest whisper of air dragged greedily into my
lungs as the sharp point of a knife pierced the tape over each nostril.

"You can do it the hard way," the voice hissed, "or the easy way.  It's your
choice, Jan.  What's it to be?"  The knife gave a small twist and I felt the
coldness of steel against my nose, as more glorious air rushed into my lungs.  I
was snorting and gasping so much the implication of the fact that he knew who I
was almost passed me. 

"Are we going to behave?" said the voice again.  Desperate, exhausted, I nodded.
"I'm quite prepared to seal one or both, again.  You really don't want that, do
you, girl?"  Miserably, I shook my head.

Whether it was that movement that brought on the next act, or whether it was all
part of the master plan, I don't know, but I then felt some sort of frame, like
one of those handles on a small pull-along suitcase, positioned either side of
my head, with a bar alongside each temple.  The inevitable tape secured my last
movable body part and I realised moments later that the comparison with a
pull-along suitcase was indeed apt, for I discovered that there were wheels at
the bottom of the board as I was tilted at an angle and towed behind my captor. 
Oh no, I thought, realising that the stairs outside my bedroom lay ahead.

I was petrified as I became nearly horizontal and descended the stairs behind
him with a series of thumps that shook me to the core.  I could do nothing but
endure it, of course, and I became conscious of the fact that we were now in the
closed in area under the house where my car was parked.  There came the familiar
grating of the latticework door and then a faint breeze rippled across the few
bits of me not covered in tape.  I suspected another vehicle would be parked in
the drive, and I was not wrong.  I heard what sounded like a van door opening,
and I was hauled up a ramp into the interior.  Several ropes were fastened
across my body until the trolley and I were immovably secured inside the van. 
He placed another piece of tape over one nostril and I momentarily panicked
again. But then the door closed and we were on our way...where?

The trip seemed to take forever, like we were doing a tour of Brisbane.  There
obviously wasn't much traffic at this time, which I presumed to be in the early
hours of the morning.  I tried to focus my mind on opportunities to escape, like
the possibility of being pulled over for a random breath test, but even had that
happened, I could not make enough movement or sound to attract any attention, of
that I was sure.  Breathing only through one nostril forced me to relax and take
measured breaths as calmly as I could.  I did not feel calm at all.  I was shit
scared as to what was going to happen to me.  The physical limits of my
situation were also starting to make themselves felt, with cramps starting to
manifest in my shoulders, arms and legs.  Each bump transmitted itself through
the floor of the van into my body.  I was sure I felt the successive thumps of
the expansion joints of the Storey Bridge - or was it the Riverside Expressway? 
Where was he taking me?

At length we were there.  The engine stopped and in my dark, rigid prison I felt
my stomach begin to churn again.  The doors of the van opened, my trolley was
untethered and I was wheeled down the ramp like a piece of luggage.  There were
several bumps up steps, then the sound of a door opening, then closing after we
had entered the room it served. I was pulled some distance into the room then
lowered to the floor, where the tape binding me to the trolley was cut and that
over my nostril removed.  I heaved a sigh of relief, but my position was no less
strained.  I was picked up at this point and deposited on my side on a hard bed. 
I involuntarily bent into a foetal position, just to ease my limbs, but this
really made little difference, so tautly was I bound.  I whined through the
tape.

"Get used to it Jan," came the voice, speaking softly next to my ear. "This is
your new home.  You are going to be here a long time, during which you will
learn to cooperate with me and provide me with everything I ask for.  If you do
this, maybe you will survive.  If not, well... " He paused, his deep voice full
of implied menace.  "I'll leave you now.  Plenty of time to get to know each
other.  Relax and enjoy your bonds for a few hours.  I need some sleep."

Which was how I came to be in my new home.

Chapter One

My name is Jan Sherwood.

I'm thirty-four.  I'm a nurse.  No, I was a nurse.  My occupation was now
prisoner, kidnappee, hostage, captive, slave, call it what you will.

I shall describe myself.  I could walk across to the full-length mirror that was
fixed to one wall.  It was covered by a piece of perspex, just in case I got any
ideas about breaking the glass and slashing my wrists.  I could stand in front
of the mirror and observe the reflected figure.

I am naked.  This was my normal form of 'dress', if you could call it such.  I
believed some or all of my clothes might be stored upstairs, but I did not
really know this.  Nakedness was my normal state of being - naked of body, naked
of mind and naked of soul.  I had long since passed the stage of embarrassment,
such have been the indignities and humiliations that I had had to bear in that
dungeon.

I had lost weight.  I stood at 180 centimetres tall.  My hair was an auburn
colour, but I had seen the first faint hints of grey appearing at my temples in
the weeks I had been kept prisoner.  Such was the price that was being extracted
from me, although physically a grey hair or two was the least of my torments. 
At least I'd been allowed shampoo and conditioner and a hairbrush to keep some
element of shine to my locks.  My hair sat on my shoulders.  He had cut it once
since I had been there, which perhaps told me that maybe three months had passed
since my incarceration. 

My eyes are a grey green colour.  In the right light you could sometimes see
little hints of gold in the iris.  My cheeks were now slightly sunken, showing
my cheekbones as more prominent than they used to be.  I never thought of myself
having the thin model look, but that's where I appeared to be heading.  The
puffiness that surrounded my eyes when I first arrived here was gone.  That was
the result of a lot of crying and not much sleep.  Nowadays I seemed to have
overcome those obstacles - it's amazing how the body adjusts.  Meanwhile the
little lines were appearing at the corners of my eyes, but they're not laughter
lines...

My body was lean.  I was never overweight, but what little surplus flesh I had,
had been shed under the cruel punishments and the forced isometric exercises I
had endured.  My food intake had varied, depending on his mood.  I had gone two
days without food in one instance, wondering if he had suffered an accident, but
it turned out he had merely been visiting his mate and had decided I was not a
high priority.  The weight I had shed made my breasts seem bigger than I
remembered.  I was now so much more aware of my own body than before - aware of
size and proportion, of colour and skin changes.  When you're locked in a
7-metre by 7-metre cell with no clothes, no company, and only a mirror for a
diversion, you tended to notice these things. 

I knew every inch of my body in a new way, now, as did he.  It seems every inch
had at one time felt the sting of the cat or the sharp crack of the riding crop,
or the tightness of securing ropes.  I knew the sensation of my own weight and
how it tugged on strapped and suspended wrists or ankles.  As I said, my breasts
appeared bigger.  While not over-large, they were big enough for him to bind
with rope such that they bulged and protruded in a way that delighted him but
caused me only more pain and discomfort, magnified many times if he decided to
hang clamps and weights off my nipples.

You could almost see my ribs, but not quite.  My stomach was still firm as it
sloped down to where the downy triangle of hair used to be.  I suppose I should
thank him for the exercises I had undertaken that have tightened my abs.  If
only I had not been bound in such severe positions during the sessions, it could
almost have been as tolerable as a hard gym workout.  But it wasn't. 

And of course he shaved me.  Being the way nature intended was clearly not to
his liking, and my pussy had to have its little mop of hair removed.  I'm sure
this was yet another part of his debasement program.

My thighs and calves were toned and muscled, which is not surprising,
considering the amount of time I had spent either squatting, hogtied, or
attached to a spreader bar on tiptoes.  All these positions amounted to
strenuous isometric exercises, but with a significant incentive to maintain
them.  The incentive was usually a whip, leading to a beating that would leave
me bruised and marked.

Predictably, my tan was long gone and my skin had become deathly pale in the
absence of sun.  I was still trying to persuade him to let me see the light of
day and to get some vitamin E, even just for a short while, on whatever terms he
wished to specify.  My resolve was growing, not weakening, I had decided, and
using my mind to outwit him remained my focus.

I said that I was naked.  Naked except for my chains, of course.  They rattled
when I walked, but I had nearly become used to them.  Let me describe my
ensemble.  Around my neck was a stainless steel collar which he must have had
made especially for me.  It was about the width of two fingers and was riveted
on - quite light and comfortable, but very strong.  The edges were slightly
rolled so that it did not cut into my neck with just enough clearance to get a
finger between my neck and the metal.  On the front there was a U-shaped fitting
to which a chain could be locked when it pleased him.  It could almost have been
pretty, were it not for what it had come to symbolise, and such was clearly his
intention.

Around my waist was a larger version of the collar, slightly wider and with a
U-fitting on each hip supporting a steel ring the diameter of a fifty cent
piece.  Again this accessory was riveted in place and was snug, provided I
didn't put on any weight, not that there was much danger of that.

I wore steel cuffs on my ankles and wrists, faced on the insides with a thin
layer of dense foam - the kind that sleeping mats for campers are made from. 
The cuffs could be locked in place and usually remained so until he decided that
maybe ropes or straps would be more appropriate, so that Jan could be made much
more uncomfortable. 

The cuffs were all in place now, as I stood looking at myself in the mirror. 
Additionally, a thin chain connected my right ankle to my right wrist, and an
identical one connected my left ankle and wrist.  These chains ran through the
rings on my waist belt at each hip.  When I stood straight, the chains pulled
taut such that my wrists were pulled in against the rings and I looked like a
gunfighter waiting to draw.  If I wanted to scratch my nose I had to bend one
leg upward to give me enough slack for the attached wrist.  It was a devious
configuration.  It forced me to eat either cross-legged or kneeling.  I had to
wash my hair or clean my teeth the same way.  Again, all part of the slave
culture.  Additionally, with a single padlock he could lock both wrist cuffs to
my collar and leave me unable to do anything except waddle about the room in a
crouched position.  It was no wonder my leg muscles had toned up.

I should also describe my room.  It was a converted double garage underneath his
house.  It had been entirely lined with a newly constructed concrete block wall. 
Anyone opening the garage roller door would be greeted with this blank blockwork
wall immediately inside the door.  To all intents and purposes it was
soundproof.  When the properties of the exterior wall were added to the
sound-deadening qualities of the blockwork, the room was silent, with the only
sounds being those of its inhabitant - me.  I could heard him when he was at
home, for the timber joists were exposed above me and some of the rooms above
appeared to be uncarpeted.  I had got to know the creaks of the floorboards and
the sound of footsteps and all the small noises that indicated the workings of a
house.

My room had a double bed, a shower and a toilet.  In the middle of the room
there was a steel post supporting a steel bearer under the overhead floor
joists.  This post was one of his favourite anchor points when I was to be
tormented.  I had grown to fear it, if one can do so of an inanimate object.

You entered the room through a door in the corner.  Central on the opposite wall
is the double bed, iron framed and bolted to the concrete floor and set slightly
away from the wall.  There was about a metre and a half between the foot of the
bed and the steel post.  To the left of the bed, in the corner  was the small
shower.  Next to that was the toilet.

The only other objects to break up the room were a steel chair bolted to the
floor near the corner diagonally opposite the shower, and a wall mounted steel
cupboard next to the door.  This cupboard was locked, and contained the many and
varied instruments of torture that I had experienced in my time there.  The
perspex covered mirror was mounted on the wall next to the steel chair, so I
could sit there and do my hair, or alternatively watch my expression of pain as
I was subjected to the sting of the lash while bound to the chair.

Looking around the room, some faded oil stains on the bare concrete floor were
visible, but the concrete block walls remain pristine.  I thought about trying
to make marks for the days of my incarceration, but I had no idea of the passing
of time, since I could not see daylight.  Even the food he brought me seemed to
be randomly delivered and appeared to be whatever he found handy, rather than
any form of breakfast, lunch or dinner.

Dangling from the exposed joists were several pulleys and a chain block,
attached to which I had spent many unpleasant hours.  Under the cold glare of
the fluorescent lights it was a grey and depressing place, filled with memories
of pain and humiliation.  The lights were turned on and off in a seemingly
random manner.  Sometimes it was like I was in pitch darkness for twenty-four
hours, then the next session was only a quarter of that.  It continued to
disorient me and disrupt my sleep patterns - not that I really had such a thing
any more.  It was obviously intended to lower my morale and will to resist.  And
it worked, in an insidious and stealthy way.

So that is where I was.  But I must tell you about the beginning of it all, and
how I came to be held captive in this dungeon...

Chapter Two

I was born in Guildford, in Surrey, England.  I grew up there and went to the
University of Essex.  So much for my youth in a nutshell.  I have no bothers or
sisters, and, as of two years ago, I have no parents.  They were both killed in
a horrific pileup on the M4.  That was without a doubt the most terrible time of
my life - or until this nightmare began.  All I wanted to do was get away from
England, leave all the memories behind me and make a fresh start. 

At that point my relationship with my boyfriend Peter was on the rocks and it
did not take a major decision to sell up and leave.  I put the family home in
the hands of our solicitor and eventually left Mother England.  I had made
enquiries about Australia and had established that I complied with the 'wanted
occupation' criteria.  Armed with a work permit I finally made it to Sydney
after a long detour through India, China and South East Asia.  A lot of things
happened to me on the way, of course, but they are not relevant here.  Suffice
to say I arrived in Sydney somewhat more together than I had started, and eager
to settle down to some sort of normal routine.

I had a series of positions as a relieving nurse manager in both private
practice and in a couple of hospitals.  I rented a small terraced house by
myself in Balmain, and got used to the modern world again by immersing myself in
my work.

I was not yet ready for a new relationship.  I guess my colleagues thought of me
as a stand-offish Pom, but it didn't bother me.  The scars of the break-up with
Peter and the death of my parents were still too close to the surface.  Sure
there was the odd date, but the enthusiasm and chemistry wasn't there and
nothing developed.

A legacy from my 2-year relationship with Peter, however, was the direction my
sexuality had taken.  It had been Peter who had introduced me to the world of
bondage as a submissive, and it was under this spell that I had fallen.  It
wasn't that I missed Peter as a person - for he could be such a jerk - it was
what I experienced at his hands that stayed in my memory.

I bought a computer and inevitably through the email usage and occasional net
surfing I found myself at Alt.com.  I had never really taken to the net - I
always thought it to be a guy thing which didn't excite me.  While Peter could
spend hours surfing, I failed to see the attraction.  Only after he slowly
inducted me into the mysteries of a bondage relationship did I deign to take an
interest in the downloads he was obtaining.  That was when he first showed me
Alt.com.  And of course it was shortly after that that my world fell apart.

I have to admit I did daydream about it through Asia.  There is nothing like an
uncomfortable bus ride to get the mind wandering into other worlds.  I had
experienced some relatively mild bondage at Peter's hands and it excited me, but
I had been left in a tantalising limbo after our blazing row that ended it all. 
It was like some Promised Land had been shown to me, and then the bridge leading
there had collapsed.  Then, with my parents' deaths the whole vision had
evaporated.

But later, in my quiet little room in Short Street, Balmain, with its distant
vista of the Harbour Bridge, the old memories had surfaced.  I had scanned
eagerly through the Alt.com profiles and felt the old excitement of the
forbidden or unknown fruit.  I looked at the weird and bizarre options provided
for people to list as their interests.  Some of them I barely understood.  I was
like a moth to a flame, dancing close, mesmerised but scared of where it would
lead.  One heard so many things about disastrous meetings via the net.

Needless to say I finally plucked up enough courage to put my own profile up.

"GentleJan" I called myself.  It didn't seem so off the mark.  Then came all the
categories to fill in.  I have to say I agonised over some of these.  I thought
of Peter and the hours I had lain tied to his bed, blindfolded, while he drove
me crazy with probing fingers and devices I could not see but could certainly
feel.  Here, however, was a whole new world - ideas I had not even considered
and which at once both scared and excited me.  There were all these people out
there who were into this stuff.  Filling in the form took some time...

"Looking For:" The first part on the drop-down menu was easy - a man.  For what? 
No, I couldn't suggest he call round to tie me up.  It was something that would
have to happen very slowly over the course of time. "Erotic email exchange"
would do for a starter.  I would see where that led.

"Activities enjoyed": This was starting to get hard. "Bondage, domination,
dildoes, leather, latex, chains, toys, vibrators".  As I scanned through the
categories I felt myself blush.  Was I really baring my soul in this way to the
world outside? Plenty of others were doing it too, I thought, justifying the
whole thing to myself.  It was like being naked in a nudist camp - sort of. 
Except that it was all new and strange to me.  Yet I couldn't stifle the urge to
go down this road, so much did it excite me.  I decided to limit my "activities"
at this stage, given the vast and bewildering choice offered.

"I think about the alternative lifestyle..." Once a day, I decided.  Sometimes
it was more.  After today I knew it was going to be more.

"Role": Submissive.  No difficulty there.

"Sexual Orientation": Straight

"Dress": Casual.  No, I didn't fit the punk or gothic or gay image.  That was
easy, too.

"Demeanour":  Passive.

"Social Orientation":  Where did I lie? Liberal?  Moderate?  I didn't even care
about politics.  'Prefer not to say.'

"Practise Safe Sex": Yes

That was the hard stuff over. 

"Gender": Female.

"Born on": 17 January 1966

"Height": 5'10"  (Good old Americans - still living in the sixties with imperial
measurements...)

"Body Type": Slim

"Hair Colour": Brown

"Hair Length": Medium

"Pubic Hair": Trimmed.  (Wow, this really was getting down to the nitty gritty.)

"Eye Colour": Green.

"Glasses/Contacts": None

"Body Decorations": Earrings

"Bra Size": (Oh, really!)  36C

"Profession": Medical.

"Religion": None.

"Education": Undergraduate Degree

"Smoking/Drinking": Non-smoker/light social drinker

"Lives In": Sydney

"Speaks": English

So there it was.  Jan Sherwood's personality and desires reduced to a few short
one-liners.  Well, that really wasn't so hard, I thought. 

The really hard part was the few lines about me and what I was looking for.  I
was looking for a relationship, but not something that I just leapt into.  I had
heard too many bad stories about the weirdos out there in cyberland. 

I wrote: "If you're between 25 and 40, it's a good start.  If you don't smoke,
understand what a woman wants and don't have an ego problem, you may be still in
with a chance.  You need a modicum of intelligence and a sense of humour, and
you need to be experienced in B & D."  (This makes me sound like a pro, doesn't
it, I thought.)  "I'm looking for honesty, consideration and respect before
anything goes further.  You will have to demonstrate all these things before you
have a chance of meeting me for any relationship. If you still think you fit the
bill, you may email me."

This didn't sound at all like me.  It had strong overtones of confidence and
certainty that I didn't feel, but better that way than begging to be taken
advantage of.

Now the act of pushing the 'send' button awaited me, like some kind of
irrevocable turning point in life - an act that could not be undone. To click on
'send' was so easy... There.  The die was cast now.  Nothing to do but sit back
and wait.

*   *   *

It didn't take more than a couple of days before I realised the Pandora's box
that I'd opened.  Thank goodness I hadn't put a photo on the profile as well. 
Marrieds, singles, young, old - anything male with a pulse had responded, it
seemed.  Half of them I could see were incapable of reading what I'd written,
much less understanding it.  Everybody seemed to think it was a free-for-all and
that they all had a chance.  There followed in the ensuing weeks various
exchanges, not all of them pleasant.  I am not an aggressive person, and took
the coward's way out by not replying to as many of the non-conforming ones as I
could.  There were of course the persistent ones, who couldn't take a hint, and
these guys had to have it spelt out for them.  Eventually I took my profile
down, before I ended up spending half my day trying to satisfy raging male
hormones through out the eastern seaboard.

I wound up continuing with three Doms - two in Sydney and one in Brisbane.  I
don't know why I picked the latter.  It wasn't as if I had any intention of
moving out of Sydney, and thus any sort of face to face relationship wasn't
really going to happen, but the guy sounded nice.  He wrote well, had a good
sense of humour and seemed to know what he was talking about.  His name was Ash,
and I found myself opening up to him more, particularly in the light of what was
happening on the Sydney front.  Of the two Sydney Doms, after a period of
correspondence, I finally arranged to meet Antonio. 

Antonio was your typical hunk.  I might almost have called him handsome, if I
went for guys like that.  He was about my age, tall - maybe four inches taller
than me - and bulky with it.  Wide shoulders and a solid body - the sort of body
that looks as though it has seen the inside of a steroid bottle.  Black hair and
brown eyes that betrayed his Italian ancestry, even if his name hadn't already. 
He gave the impression of power and strength, not least through his big hands
which wrapped around mine as if they belonged to a doll.  Antonio smiled easily
and we talked for a long time over coffee at a Darling Harbour cafe, but I could
not help distil the feeling that there was something not quite right about him -
that there was something he was not telling me.

Graham, on the other hand, was quite different. Probably pushing fifty, he was
quiet with an air of amused calm about him.  He had a moustache, greying like
his hair, but his eyes were kind and warm.  He gave the impression that there
was little in the world that could faze him, that he was prepared to bestow his
affection on me by gentle subjugation, and that he would respect my limits.

Predictably enough Antonio got the elbow, and I continued to correspond with
Graham on an almost daily basis, along with Ash in Brisbane.  Ash I found was
someone I could open up to about my assessment of Graham without worrying about
competing interests, because I had already made it clear to Ash that this was to
be a long distance relationship only.  He was happy with that, and gradually I
came to see him as, well, not exactly a mentor, but one with whom I could share
the goings on in my life (such as they were) and get some unbiased feedback.

I was still playing it slowly, and Graham appeared to be in no rush to get me
hanging from the rafters or bound to the bed, and I liked that. But inevitably I
knew I had to take the plunge.  Graham pushed me gently, and finally it was
decision time.  We had talked of all manner of things, not least scenarios I
would like to explore, and so the time came to decide to go with Graham.

I had discussed the matter by email with Ash, who advised me to go to Graham's
place.  This seemed to make sense in one way, in that I had no 'equipment' at my
house, nor - despite Graham's apparently amiable exterior, did I want him to
know where I lived at that time.  I was not prepared to do that until
considerably more water had gone under the proverbial bridge. Ash obviously
sensed my wariness and gave me his mobile phone number. I promised to call him
every hour after a certain time.  He was my 'safe', my backup in case things
went wrong.

I prepared myself for my foray into this strange world.  What did one wear on a
bondage date?  I had no idea.  I chose a fawn-coloured dress that showed off my
figure but flowed loosely around my bare knees.  A pair of strappy sandals
completed the outfit.  What should I do to my hair?  What would be done with my
hair?  At length I pulled it to each side and pinned it with clips.  I eyed
myself in the mirror, smoothing the dress over my still firm stomach.  Yes, Jan,
not bad, I thought.  Not bad for thirty-four.  You'll do.

I had never actually spoken to Ash before, but I wanted to make contact before I
arrived at Graham's place over the bridge in Cremorne. I phoned Ash as I drove
down Victoria Road towards the city.

"Hello?"  The voice was mellow.

"Is that Ash?"

"Yes."

"Ash, this is Jan.  Hi." 

"Jan!" There seemed to be new warmth in the voice. "This is a pleasure.  How are
you?  Where are you?"

"In the car, on my way to see Graham."

"Ah."

"I want you to be my insurance.  Is that okay?"

"Sure.  First, tell me what's the address that you're going to?"

"It's 16 Brierley Street, Cremorne."

"Is that his house?"

"I assume so."

"And you're due when?"

"In about forty minutes."

"All right.  Now here's what to do. " I liked the sound of Ash.  He seemed to be
like his email - practical, warm, no-nonsense.  Taking command, I guess. "You
must ring me every hour on the hour until you leave.  A few minutes either side
is okay, since it may not be convenient at the time.  If you don't ring, I'll
ring you at ten minutes past the hour.  I assume you're taking your mobile?"

"Yes."

"Then give me the number."  I did so. "Good.  Now when you ring you can tell me
everything's fine - assuming it is.  If it's not, and you're scared and feel
you're in trouble, tell me 'pleasant dreams' before you hang up. That's your
emergency code.  If you say that, I'll call the cops.  Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Listen Jan, what we're talking about here is part of the deal when a new sub
does her first session - and sometimes for subsequent ones too.  It's not a sign
of distrust, just a safety precaution.  If your Dom is as experienced as he
appears to be, he will take it in his stride. He won't be offended.  It's all
part of the game."  A pause, then:

"You must be nervous."  It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes." My throat seemed to have gone dry.

"Sure you want to go through with this?"

"No, but yes - if that makes sense. It probably doesn't.  It's a new start I
have to make." I tried to laugh it off. "Any final advice for the condemned?"

The response was calm but serious. "Jan, I haven't met you face to face, but I
have a fair idea of who you are from your emails.  This is a great thing you're
doing - I recognise the courage it takes.  But it's something to be taken
seriously.  This guy could be inept - or worse.  Either way you could get hurt.
You've met him, so I assume he passes first muster.  I don't want to put you off
something I hope you're going to enjoy - just remember that.  That's ultimately
the purpose of it all. 

"Now, have you talked about limits?" he asked.

"You mean...?"

"What you like to do, what you can take, what he likes to do."

"Sort of."

"And you're comfortable with that?"

"I... maybe not."

"Why?  Because he hasn't really spelt out what he wants yet?  Am I right?  He's
given you a spiel about training and stuff.  Look Jan, you may be a sub, but
before you put that mindset into place you have to know what you're going to be
asked to do.  If he tells you to jump out the window, you're not going to do it,
are you?"

"Of course not."

"Good.  A slave might, but not a subbie.  Just remember the game stops when you
leave his house, which you will be doing.  Don't let him get too much inside
your mind.  Stay focussed on what's happening and you may get to Sub space."

"Sub space?"

"That's where subbies go when they're being pushed to their limits."  I could
almost hear the smile in his voice as he said that. "It's a subbie thing - don't
ask me to explain it.  It's a kind of subbie Nirvana, I think - a higher astral
plain.  You'll have to tell me if you get there.

"And don't forget your safeword for your Dom.  I assume you have one?"

"Yes - I hum 'Happy Birthday'."  There was a laugh from the other end. 

"I like that.  No doubt you can do that even with something stuffed in your
mouth."

"Uh-huh."  I didn't tell him I had bought a rubber ball at the local pet shop
and threaded it on a dog collar from the same place.  Yes, even with that wedged
behind my teeth I could get out a recognisable version of 'Happy Birthday'." 
That was the same day I had been to the hardware store and bought some rope and
plastic cable ties.  Armed with these I had slipped my wrists through multiple
loops of rope and used a plastic tie to cinch the ropes.  The only way I could
undo myself was to cut the rope or tie, and after a few panicky moments I had
done it relatively easily.

That was the start of a weekend where I stayed that way, bound hand and foot and
gagged with tape, until the ice holding the pair of scissors secured to a high
cupboard handle had finally melted.  It had taken a long time, but the thoughts
I had had in that time left me hot, wet and frustrated.  It was an eye-opener
for me and convinced me that I was doing the right thing.

Now I was going to let someone else do it to me.

"Uh, Ash, look, I'm almost there.  Thanks for your help - I really mean it. 
We'll talk in an hour -yes?"

""Sure.  Take care of yourself."  Then the phone clicked and he was gone.

*   *   *

The house was a brick and plaster two-storey affair with an attached garage on
the right hand side.  It had probably been built in the fifties, and as such was
nothing startling architecturally.  But it looked neat and presentable with a
well-kept garden, and given the desirability of the area, I knew Graham was
definitely not hard up.  That was confirmed by the Audi parked under the carport
outside the garage.

Graham was his charming self and I hoped my nervousness was not betraying me. 
My hands seemed to be shaking, although when I held them out to examine them as
he prepared a drink, they gave no outward sign of the tremors I felt inside.

The interior of the house was cool and comfortable, with dark panelling and
ornate plaster cornices.  We sat in the living room for a short while, chatting. 
Graham was obviously doing his best to put me at ease, and the vodka and orange
certainly helped as well.  I could have gone a second one, but he didn't offer
one, probably detecting (rightly) that I would start to go silly with too much
alcohol.

"Are you ready to go?" he finally asked.

"Yes," I said, swallowing.  This was it.  I picked up my handbag and followed
him through the kitchen to a side door, which I guessed led to the garage.  So
this was where it all happened.  He turned on the light and I let my eyes rove
over the various pulleys and frames that occupied the double car space.  I felt
the butterflies go mad in my stomach, but it was as much excitement as
nervousness.

"Now you can see what's in the arsenal," Graham said with a wry smile.  He was
wearing jeans and a white tee shirt with some Chinese characters on it, which
made him look considerably younger than the last time I had seen him, when he
had been dressed in a thoroughly respectable business suit.  "Is there anything
here you don't think you can handle?"

I looked about at the whips, floggers and paddles hanging in their appointed
places on the wall.  There were several gags in different harness configurations
and a considerable assortment of ropes and chains and cuffs.

"I - I don't want to be whipped," I eventually blurted.

"That's fine," he said encouragingly.  "We may change your mind in due course,
but there's no hurry.  I'll make sure you're comfortable with each stage.  You
remember your safeword?"

"I'll hum 'Happy Birthday'."

"And you don't even need to know the words," he murmured, half to himself. "All
right, take off your dress."

"What?"

"I'm hardly going to do much to you in that state, Miss." His tone was abruptly
firm, his eyes sterner. "Now do as you're told." 

Something in his voice cut right through me and I lowered my eyes to avoid
meeting his, at once occupying myself with the buttons down the front of my
dress.  I was suddenly too far gone to retreat now.  Somewhere in the last
minute my brain had made a decision that was irrevocable, and I knew I had to do
what he said.  The dress dropped to the floor.  I stood there in my bra and
pants while he moved behind me.  I started to turn round.

"No.  Stay as you are.  You will now do only as I say, when I say it.  Do you
understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes sir!"

"Yes - sir."  I hear the falter in my voice.  Could I really go through with
this?

"Tell me Jan," he said in a serious tone, "when I show you this, what do you
think of it?"  He held up a collar in front of me.  It was maybe 4 centimetres
wide, made of heavy black patent leather.  "What does it mean to you?"  My mind
was momentarily blank.  "Just say the first thing that comes into your head. 
Like those word association tests.  Now... collar."

"Slave".

"Good.  Anything else?"

"Uh...belonging...security...I don't know sir..."

"Very good Jan.  I am impressed.  Would you like to try it on?"

"Yes sir."

The strong fingers looped the leather about my throat and I caught my breath as
the loose end slipped through the buckle and closed snugly about my neck.  It
felt nice, somehow... Kind of comforting.  I could not believe I was thinking
like this.  I felt my loins become moist as I stood there while he waited behind
me, out of view.

"The collar is a very symbolic accessory, Jan.  It is representative of your
being totally under my control, to do as I command without hesitation." He
paused, as if to let the words sink in.  "But it is also symbolic of a trusting
relationship.  Do you trust me, Jan?"

"Yes sir," I said without a thought.

I felt the movement of air as he came up and stood directly behind me.  The room
was still enough that I could hear my breathing and the rustle of his clothes. 
Then a soft leather blindfold descended and my world became dark as he buckled
it behind my head. I sensed a feeling of power, as if at that moment I had
yielded to something that it was now beyond my power to resist.

I stood there, aware of his movement as he slowly walked around me.  I knew he
was studying me, assessing me, appraising both my mental and physical abilities
and capacities.  No doubt he had done it with dozens of women who had come to
this garage before me.  Those dozens had no doubt been bound, chained, gagged,
whipped and tormented to whatever extremes they could endure, be they the
heights of pain, sexual frustration or sexual pleasure.  Before I lost my sight
I had noted that where the garage roller door should be there was just a blank
wall.  Clearly the garage had been converted for this reason alone -
soundproofing was evidently a must.

He was in front of me now.  I could almost feel his breath on my face.  His
hands rested on my shoulders then gripped me momentarily by the biceps, before
running gently down my arms.  My skin tingled at his touch and I could feel my
nipples growing hard.  Damn.  Why did our bodies always give us away like that? 
Then his fingers were undoing the front clasp of my bra.  It fell away from my
body, and my perfidious nipples betrayed me entirely.  His fingers touched them
lightly then gripped them and twisted them until I gritted my teeth.

"Very good, my dear," he murmured.  "Very nice, too, I might add.  How do you
think they would look with a couple of clamps on them?"  I said nothing.  The
thought scared me, but excited me, too.  I wanted it, but didn't want it. "I
asked you a question, my dear.  I expect an answer."  The voice was hard and
crisp. "Well?"

"I - I don't know sir."

"I think we may just find out tonight... Would you like that?"

"Uh... yes," I blurted without thinking.

"What?"  There was a sharp smack of his hand on my rump.

"Yes sir."

"Good.  Now hold out your hands."

So this was it.  I was getting tied.  I felt the soft cotton sashcord wind maybe
ten times about my wrists, drawing them firmly but not over-tightly together. 
Then there were a couple of cinches around the whole lot that left them rigidly
linked.  I was propelled gently a few steps forward where moments later I heard
the sound of what must have been a hand winch obviously winding a cable that was
going to haul my arms above me. 

Sure enough, my arms rose up and I found myself centring myself under the
suspending rope.  The clicking of the winch stopped just as I felt myself start
to stretch to the point where my heels began to lift off the ground.  Then came
the soft sound of Graham's sneakers as he walked across to me.  My heart was
pounding and my breathing was fast and shallow.

Then his hands were on me again, caressing my body and doing nothing to slow my
heart rate.

"You have a very nice figure, Jan," he told me.  "Do you work out?"

"Yes sir."

"Of course you do," he said, as though I hadn't answered.  His hand brushed
across my stomach and slid down inside my knickers.  Jesus.  I suddenly realised
it was not just my nipples that were betraying me.  "I think these must go. 
Don't you agree, Jan?"

"Uh... yes sir."  Did I really?  Yes, I think I did.  I knew where it was
leading, and suddenly I wanted it to go down that path.

Then I was naked save my sandals, which I lost moments later.  The loss of my
two-inch heels made the rope holding my arms tighter and I found myself standing
on the balls of my feet with my heels off the ground.  Then it was more of the
hands - just a gentle touch, roving here and there with the lightness of a
feather which made me squirm. 

There was a pause, then the suspension rope unwound a fraction and my arms
lowered slightly. 

"I think we need full access to everything, my dear.  Are you in agreement?"

I wasn't sure what he meant, but I said "yes sir" in spite of myself.

His intentions were clear moments later when a leather cuff was buckled snugly
about my left ankle.  It was attached to a spreader bar which forced my feet
apart before the opposite cuff was secured to my right ankle.  Then it was
tension on the suspension rope and poor Jan was being stretched on her tiptoes
again - and I mean reeeelly stretched.  My breathing was ragged now - I realised
I was breathing through my mouth.  It was a combination of my total
helplessness, the tautness of the position, and those hands again.  This time
his fingers were into my crotch, twining amongst my pubic hair and delving into
my private place. 

It had been a long time since anybody's fingers but my own had ventured into
that territory, and I had forgotten what it was like.  Of course everything was
heightened by the lead-up to my current predicament, and I gasped uncontrollably
as he provoked a particularly sensitive spot.

"Ohhh - shit!" I moaned softly, half to myself, and somewhat louder than I meant
to.

"What?"

"Nothing - sir," I whispered.

"You said 'shit', girl.  What kind of talk is that?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

"So you will be, my dear.  I'll not have that sort of language in my presence.
You realise what this means?"

"No, sir."

"Oh come, girl, are you dense as well as rude?  You commit a crime and what
happens?"

"You get punished?"  I ventured unhappily.

"Correct.  You must learn to conduct yourself with the appropriate decorum as
befits a young lady.  We must think of something appropriate." My heart sank. 
He was going to get those clamps, I was sure of it.  I just wished he would go
back to what he was doing.  That's when the ringing started.  What was it?  Then
I realised it was my mobile phone in my handbag, somewhere nearby on the floor.

The ringing stopped.

"Hello? Yes, she's here.  One moment."  The phone was pressed against my ear. 
With an effort I focussed on reality.

"Hello?"

"Jan?  It's Ash.  You didn't call.  You okay?"

"Yes, sure.  Sorry.  Just a bit tied up at the moment."

"Very funny.  And not original, I hate to tell you.  All right, I won't bother
you any more.  Want me to call back in an hour?"

"Yes, if you would.  Thank you, Ash.  Goodbye."

"'Bye Jan.  Behave yourself."

A bit late for that now, I thought ruefully.

"Sorry sir," I said.

"That's quite all right my dear.  I understand your concerns and I have no
problem with them.  It will be better for you in one way, in that at least it
will give you a break every hour or so - is that your time interval?"

"Yes sir."

"Good.  Whether that break will be from something unpleasant, or something
overwhelmingly pleasurable, we will have to see.  But I believe the direction
was going down the road of the former, wasn't it." 

"Yes sir."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning I was going to be punished, sir."

"Absolutely right.  And why?"

"Because I was rude, sir?"

"Right again, my dear."

He was silent for perhaps a minute.  I stood there, feeling my body start to
tremble.  I did not know what to expect, and the tension in my arms, legs and
body was starting to exacerbate my fears.  Then I heard steps again, and I knew
he was in front of me.  His hands were again running over my breasts, causing my
heart to race as he flicked and teased my rock hard nipples.  I swallowed
another moan that threatened to rise in my throat, but it was to no point when
the sharp pain erupted in each nipple as he released some sort of metal clamp on
to each.

I had sort of expected it, but the reality of the pain overwhelmed the warm glow
of pleasure I was starting to build up to under his questing fingers.  All that
abruptly disappeared in the immediacy of the fire in my breasts.

"Ow! Ow! Oh shit! Sir! I'm sorry! Please take them off!  I'll be good!"  As a
resolute slave under torture I was pretty pathetic.  I was ready to plead and
whine and promise anything just to get them off.  I was not used to them, that
was for sure, but I had a suspicion my immediate wishes were not going to be
respected.  This was confirmed when I felt something against my mouth.  In
mid-protest he slipped in the ball gag.

It was made of hard rubber, and was not so big that I couldn't deal with it.  I
suspect he had a lot worse gags of that type available, but I was wholly
preoccupied with the thing now wedged behind my teeth and buckled tightly behind
my neck.  As a diversion from the pain in my nipples, I fought the invader in my
mouth, trying to chew on it or push it out with my tongue, but I made no
progress whatsoever.  I shook my head despairingly and made futile nasal moaning
noises.  Now I couldn't even express my pleasure or pain properly, nor could I
communicate with him except in the direst circumstances, when my 'happy
birthday' routine might save me.

It all suddenly became scary, and I realised how totally under his control I
was.  I was his plaything to torment and torture as he saw fit.  Another phone
call from Ash was an hour away.  Even assuming he called the cops, how long
would they take to get here?  I panicked at that point, flinging myself against
the ropes holding my wrists and the cuffs securing my ankles.  It was all pretty
futile. I swung about, spinning a bit as one foot left the floor, but I knew I
could not escape.  I was irrevocably captured, and all actions subsequent to
this moment were going to be responses to outside events, not of my own
volition. 

Perhaps I could have started humming at that moment.  Maybe I just wanted a
physical test of my bonds, as a final nail in my own metaphorical coffin, to
establish once and for all in my mind that I really was a prisoner to my own
desires - whatever they may be.

Graham let me have my little outburst.  After a minute all the fight went out of
me and I stood meekly whimpering.  The pain in my nipples - momentarily
increased by my efforts, now appeared to be slowly settling into a dull pain.

"Are we finished with our little tantrum?"  Graham's rhetorical question sounded
calm and unfazed.  A hand cupped my chin and a finger wiped away a line of drool
that had dribbled from around the ball in my mouth.  "Relax, my dear.  Things
could be worse.  They may well get worse, in fact.  But they may get better as
well.  Importantly, there is no escape now.  You may as well relax and go with
the flow."

*   *   *

And that was how I finally accepted my position and my role.  The evening
progressed in a series of somewhat contorted positions, all of which were
accompanied by various torments of the pleasurable or painful kind.  I had my
buttocks paddled - obviously a stage or two down from the whip and the riding
crop, but I could cope with that.  The clamps of course eventually came off my
nipples, only to be replaced a couple of more times as my frustration reached
new heights.  Graham was a master of driving me to the brink and bringing me
down to earth with a thump through the application of some painful element of
persuasion.  All of this was, of course, interrupted by Ash two more times.  By
that stage I was almost past caring, so frustrated was I at what was happening. 
Perhaps my impatience came out, and I'm sure I wasn't the most diplomatic of
call recipients.  But Ash was true to his word and continued to call.

When came the inevitable time for Graham to partake of some physical pleasure
himself, I almost cried with relief.  He had let me climax a couple of times
prior to the final performance, but this had been a long time in coming.  I was
bent at right angles over a padded horse, my ankles and wrists strapped to the
base.  Suffice to say I could not move a muscle.  I had had a couple of changes
of gag in the hours - however many they had been - that I had been kept
prisoner, and now wore several strips of tape over my mouth, over which a
discipline hood had been drawn and laced closed down the back of my head. 

My world was still dark and muffled.  The sweat had poured off my body as I
strained and moaned in response to the teasing and testing Graham had put me
through.

 "Are you ready for the real thing now?" he finally asked.  I nodded my head as
emphatically as I could with it hanging between my downward-stretched arms.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded again, moaning my acceptance.  God I was so horny and frustrated I
could not believe myself.  I had never considered myself to be highly sexed or
demanding, but I had never experienced this sort of build up before.  Vibrators,
clamps and manual stimulation had never come in this intensity before, and I had
always been able to bail out if it all became too much.  I had been helpless to
resist for hours, now, and I was nearing the end of my strength.  But God, I
wanted 'the real thing' before the session ended.

I have to say Graham was not a disappointment, although being brutally frank,
almost anything would have pushed me over the edge at that point.  When he drove
into me from behind, slipping between my stretched and spread legs, I exploded
almost instantly, jerking and moaning to the little extent that I could.  Of
course Graham wasn't satisfied with that, and it took another couple of
performances from me before he shuddered and convulsed inside me.  By this time,
with my head down, I was seeing stars and the blood was pounding incessantly in
my ears, mixed with my nasal moaning that must also have been continuous.

Then it was over.  There was a tug on each wrist as the ropes were undone and a
voice said:  "That's it, Jan.  It's over.  You may go home now.  You did well. 
You may see yourself out through the side door."

And that was it.  I barely understood what he was telling me.  The release of
the tension on my arms was so wonderful.  I slowly straightened up, lifting my
sweat-drenched body away from the leather of the horse.  I managed to find and
undo the knot at the back of the hood and worked it off my head, then pulled
away the tape from my mouth. I was still seeing flashes of light, but the noise
in my ears lessened with my standing erect.  With difficulty I managed to free
my ankles and stepped away from the horse.  How long was it since I had first
had those cords wrapped around my wrists?

Graham was gone.  The door into the house was locked when I tried it.  I didn't
care - I was past any analysis of what anything signified at that point.  On a
bench was a bottle of water which I drank greedily.  I put on my dress without
bothering with my underwear.  The perspiration soaked into the soft cotton
material but the night outside was warm and there was no danger of getting a
chill.

I moved slowly, as though in a dream.  My head was a mass of thoughts and my
body a myriad of sensations, many of which were in conflict and few of which
made any sense.  I sat in the car under the streetlight for perhaps ten minutes,
just letting everything settle down and allowing my heart to regain its normal
rate.  I was just about to drive off when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Jan, it's Ash.  Am I to assume you have survived, since you're answering in
person now?"

"Uh - yes.  I guess."

"You guess?"

"Yes, I survived.  I'm just about to go home.  Shit, I feel absolutely shagged. 
I was, in fact."

"Good?"

"Ash - you have no idea.  In fact I had no idea until tonight.  It's opened a
new door for me."

"I'm glad. You sounded a bit out of it at one stage."

"I probably was.  If I said anything rude - I'm sorry."

"That's okay.  I'm pleased you had a good time."

"Thanks.  Look, I just need to collect my thoughts for a bit.  I'll email you
tomorrow.  Okay?"

"Sure.  Sleep well."

"No problem there."  I laughed shakily.  "'Night."

*   *   *

Chapter Three

The relationship with Graham carried on from there.  I guess that evening was
"the hook" - the bait that dragged me in to the point where I couldn't fight my
own desires.  I went to Graham's place a number of times after that.  Each time
things got a little more severe.  The positions became more stringent, the
clamps more frequent, and the paddling turned to a flogging which turned to a
whipping.  But I couldn't help myself. 

I learnt how to kneel beside him, how to mix his drink, and I even cooked
several meals for him.  These things were to a large extent incidental to the
bondage, however.  I put up with them because they were a forerunner to the main
event, the thought of which usually made me wet long before Graham started on
me.  I think it was the expectation and the uncertainty, tempered with the
knowledge that whatever happened I would walk out at the end of the session,
even though I would be helpless to resist until that point.

There was no point in getting Ash to phone in every hour.  This merely destroyed
my focus and interrupted the flow of the session.  The sessions themselves,
while becoming harder for me, were no less in intensity than I had experienced
on the first evening.  However Graham himself seemed to be becoming more distant
- and less forgiving.  I felt that he had been easy on me the first time, but
his patience was markedly less now, and any deviation from his rules was
punished.  And despite my whippings I still came back for more, and still
emerged exhausted but fulfilled in a way I would not have thought possible a
year previously.

Graham's attitude did not allow me to get closer to him.  There was no sharing
of thoughts and emotions, nor the initial warmth that I had found in our first
meetings.  My fondness for Graham waned, but I still couldn't wean myself from
the punishment he handed out to me - or the pleasure.

All this time I continued to email Ash, and he leant me moral support and
guidance, for which I was thankful.  At the same time I was searching for a more
permanent job than the temporary positions I had filled since arriving in
Sydney.  It was during the course of such job-hunting that I was interviewed by
a partner for a medical practice in Brisbane.  The interview took place after a
seminar in Sydney where I had met him.  I had never been to Brisbane, but the
offer that followed the interview was an attractive one, and they gave me two
days to think it over.  That was the day before I had another appointment with
Graham, and I told him over the phone what I was thinking of doing.  In
hindsight I recognise now that it might not have been a tactically astute thing
to do.

*   *   *

Graham did not mention the possibility of my moving to Brisbane - at least not
in our initial contact that night.  But I could sense there was a change in him. 
I knew better than to ask questions.  He appeared moody and uncommunicative.
There were no pleasantries, just a brief greeting.

"Go to the garage, undress, and lock your gag and collar on."

Yes sir," I said meekly, going through my periodic routine of hating myself the
way I carried on sometimes.

I entered the garage, with it's by now familiar smells of leather, wood and sex. 
My collar was on the floor, attached by a six-inch chain to an eyebolt set in an
exposed patch of the concrete floor in the corner.  What was this all about, I
wondered?  It was a departure from our usual routine.  Beside the collar was a
red ball gag on a matching strap.  Two padlocks lay on the concrete.

I slipped off my dress and sandals.  I no longer wore underwear to these
sessions.  I had decided it was superfluous, what with me getting excited enough
before I arrived, and then not having the strength to be bothered dressing
properly when I left.

I worked the ball into my mouth and behind my teeth, then pulled the strap
behind my head.  This had become part of our routine, part of my training I
guess.  The act of making me gag myself was perhaps designed to humiliate me
just that tad more.  I at least had the luxury of making sure the thing sat
properly, but not of leaving it loose.  I had done that once and had had a nasty
attack of the riding crops as a consequence.  I had plaited my hair into a
single rope to keep it clear of the strap and make such buckling exercises a bit
easier.  The pin of the buckle slipped easily into the customary hole and I
clicked the lock home through the next hole and the D-ring.  It sent a shiver
down my spine every time I felt a padlock close.  It excited me with the
finality and helplessness of what was about to happen and over which I had no
control.

Then I turned to the collar.  I checked the room, but there were no other
collars lying about and I knew this was the one I had used in the past.  The
difference was the fact that it was chained to the eyebolt in the corner.  I
knew there was no mistake, and crawling on to my knees I managed to get the
collar buckled up and locked with the second padlock.  In that position my nose
was almost touching the ground and my head could be rested against the two
adjoining brick walls.  It was not a comfortable position, for the concrete
beneath the carpet was cold, and I felt immensely vulnerable with my bum either
resting on my calves or raised in the air.

Even though I was not blindfolded I could see very little from my position in
the corner.  Graham did not appear within a few minutes and my first feelings of
unease began to reappear.  Time is a very relative thing in bondage, I had
discovered.  In sensory-deprived situations ten minutes can seem like an hour
without a reference point.  Perhaps half an hour had passed and there was still
no Graham.  Then I heard the front door close in the distance, and faint steps
culminating in a car door opening and closing beyond the front wall of the
garage.  It was Graham getting into his Audi.  The engine started and he drove
off. 

Jesus, I thought, suddenly panicky.  What was going on?  All sorts of bizarre
ideas raced through my brain.  He was on his way to the airport, leaving me here
for the night - or days...  He was on his way to pick up some mates to come and
take advantage of me... He had set light to the house for insurance purposes...
Now I knew I was behaving stupidly.  All my scientific training with its
analytical basis of observation and deduction suddenly seemed to go out the
window.  I struggled with my bonds, tugging at the collar with all my might, but
it was immovable, and try as I might I could not dislodge the gag.  I moaned
piteously and managed not to cry only through delving into my recesses of
self-control.  I finally convinced myself that Graham was playing his mind games
again, letting my thoughts conjure up these very images that were so
disconcerting for me. 

It was perhaps half an hour later that the car returned and I let the sense of
relief flood over me.  I was starting to shiver from the cold of the concrete. 
I had had to alternate the cramped kneeling position with lying down, which was
less restricted, but even colder.  Then the door opened and Graham entered the
room.

"Still here?" her asked unnecessarily.

"Epph ur," I intoned as best I could around the ball in my mouth.

"Excellent.  You've coped well."  There came the faint footsteps on the carpet
and I knew he was behind me.  I was kneeling again at this stage when he roughly
grabbed my wrists and pulled them together, crossed, behind my back.

"I think we need these out of the way before we go on," he told me.  The removal
of my hands from where they had been helping support my weight up front put
extra stain on my back, and I shuffled my knees closer to my chin to spread the
load less unevenly.  I felt the familiar sensation of the cotton ropes being
wrapped securely around my wrists, melding one to the other.  I always found the
crossed-wrist position more hurtful if I dared to move, for they seemed to offer
less scope for arm movement.  A couple of minutes later my wrists were secured
rigidly at right angles to each other.  I knew there were a couple of tails, or
trailing ends, floating about, as they periodically brushed my buttocks.  The
tails were there for a purpose, however, for no sooner had he tied my wrists
than the tails were obviously threaded through an eyebolt higher up the wall,
and my arms began to get hauled up behind me, rotating at the shoulder. 
Predictably my head went down until it was pressed against the small patch of
exposed concrete next to the eyebolt in the floor. 

I groaned and protested as he pulled on the rope and pain seemed to fill my arms
and back.  I raised my rump in an effort to lessen the angle between arms and
back.  That was when he stopped and tied off the rope at the eyebolt.  His next
point of attention was my ankles, which he proceeded to work further apart
before tying them to some sort of short pole.  My legs were nearly at right
angles, parallel with the two walls forming the corner.  I was starting to get
really uncomfortable now - or so I thought.

Up until now Graham had always stayed away from my arse, other than to give me a
flogging on a fairly regular basis.  Now, it seemed, he was preoccupied with
things more penetrative.  It was a decided turn for the worse which I did not
like.   I had never had anal sex - possibly the prospect had never appealed to
me, for they say it is something that really has to be experienced to be fully
appreciated.  There was no doubt in my mind that this was not the time and place
as Graham inserted first a nozzle load of lubricant then his finger in my back
passage.

I moaned and tried to shake my head.  I wasn't going to give him the
satisfaction of my safeword just yet, but hoped he would tire of this avenue. 

Alas it didn't seem like it was going to happen, as two fingers then continued
their exploration.  They withdrew only to be replaced by something rather more
artificial, and I realised I was about to be the recipient of a buttplug.  No,
Graham, please - not this, I thought, as the first sharp pain came with the
penetration.

"Relax, Jan," came the voice.  "Don't clench your muscles - it will only hurt
all the more.  This is going to happen one way or the other.  Your little
butthole is going to be reamed very thoroughly, you slut!"

This was a new tone in Graham's voice - sharp and abusive, and suddenly I was
afraid.  Something was happening - something had made him angry, and then I knew
it was the remark I had made about maybe going to Brisbane. 

There came another sharp pain from my anus as he thrust the plug in further,
then withdrew and pushed again.  The pain was awful, but I willed myself to
relax my muscles as much as I could.  It felt like my sphincter was going to
split, even though I knew from my work what a marvellously flexible muscle or
group of muscles it was.  There was a sudden spasm of pain and then I knew it
was fully inside me, filling me in a strange sensation as the pain eased. 

Things stopped at that point for a short while.  I was conscious of Graham's
presence, and me with my arms and arse in the air, the latter no doubt sporting
the base of a plug for the world to see.

"So you're off to Brisbane, eh," came the voice.  "Off to your other phone Dom." 
I remembered I had told him about Ash in Brisbane.  Was that what this was all
about, I wondered?  Was it a jealousy thing?  I tried to say that I hadn't even
made up my mind to accept the job, but other than a few nasal pleadings I didn't
get very far. That was when the first cane stroke fell.

I screamed into the rubber ball.

"Nnnnnn!"

I had experienced the paddles and floggers from Graham before, and didn't mind
them, in my own private fantasy world.  But this pain was so far beyond anything
like that.  It seared across my taut bare buttocks like a welding rod.  He
struck me again, the smack of the cane preceded by a fearful swishing as he made
several air shots that made me cringe, as much as I could.

With the fall of the second blow I went wild, jerking frantically at my bonds
and making desperate 'mmmph!' noises around the rubber ball wedged behind my
teeth.  I started on 'happy birthday' - humming for all I was worth.

The third blow fell, criss-crossing the previous two.  My bottom was on fire and
I was absolutely helpless.  There was a pause, as though he was lining me up,
and a fourth strike landed, not so hard, but vertically, straight down my crack
on to the base of the butt plug.  I almost left the ground, forgetting my
rendition as happy birthday dissolved into incoherent pleadings for mercy. 

Tears were streaming down my face as the fifth stroke cut into my flesh.  I felt
the joints in my shoulders revolt as I tugged hard on the bonds holding my arms
up high.  My neck hurt where I tugged in terror against my chain and collar. 
What was this monster going to do to me?

The sixth stroke saw me almost pass out with the pain.  I had visions of my
flesh raw and bloody, and knew I could not take much more.  I was snivelling and
crying and grovelling in a jumbled nasal rendering of happy birthday again, when
he finally stopped.

"That was six of the best, my dear," Graham announced.  "You don't expect to go
to Brisbane without some sort of souvenir, do you?"  I could hear the cold sneer
in his voice.  "A little something to remember your Master by?  To remember your
submission?"

I was sobbing almost uncontrollably now - something that is very difficult to do
when your mouth is stuffed full.  My nose was getting blocked and in desperation
I just blew, not caring the mess I looked.

He let me carry on for another ten minutes, as the searing agony died to a
slightly less fierce burning.  Then he released my arms and collar from the
eyebolts, and untied the pole from my ankles.

"Come, my dear, on your feet."  He helped me up with a consideration that was
not matched by the expression in his eyes as he wiped the mess of tears and
other outpourings from my face.  "There, that's better," he said with a smile. 
But it was a cold smile - one that sent a shiver down my spine.

I tried again, my 'happy birthday' interspersed with snuffles and whimpers.

"Oh no," he said, shaking his head with an expression of amused tolerance.  "You
will be going nowhere, my dear.  Not for quite a while, until I decide that you
have atoned for your presumption that you can walk away without so much as a 'by
your leave'.  You forget your role in this relationship.  You forget that there
are certain fundamental things that require consultation.  You do not walk away
from me and expect me to accept it without some input into the decision.  That
input I am about to provide you with, tonight."

I tried to struggle, not really knowing what I was doing, but he gripped me by
the shoulders and forced me over to a low vaulting horse.  Again the tails on my
wrist bonds were pulled over a beam above, and I found myself bent over the
horse, helpless.  With my body leaning on the black padded top, my ankles were
lifted and I was slid so that I lay face down on the horse, my wrists still in
the air above me.  My ankles and knees were then bound tightly with more coils
of white cotton sashcord, after which the tails attached to my ankle ropes were
threaded through my wrist bonds.  I found myself in a hogtie which suddenly
became more acute as he hoisted my wrists higher towards the ceiling.

I moaned as my back bent into a bow and my shoulders were again stressed with
the angle of my arms.  My breasts lifted clear of the leather and I whined in a
futile plea for mercy.

"Is there something you wish to tell me, my dear?" Graham asked, in the tone a
priest might use in a confessional.

"Mmnnn..." I moaned, nodding my head in misery.

"Would you like that ball out of your mouth?"

I nodded again.  Unbelieving, I felt his fingers undo the lock at the back of my
neck and then the strap come undone.  With a none-too-gentle movement he popped
the ball out of my mouth.

"Oh God, Graham - let me go - please!  Whatever I said, I didn't mean-"

That was as far as I got before he grabbed my plait and jerked my head back.  I
gasped with the pain, my mouth opening just in time for his fingers to insert a
leather-bound metal ring between my jaws, which was strapped in place.  My mouth
was held open, allowing me to make bizarre sounds of protest from my throat,
none of which made much sense, but at least I made myself heard.

Of course that didn't last long.  Moments later a stopper of some sort was
screwed into the ring, effectively silencing me in the same way that the ball
had.  This form of gag, however, with the rigid ring, was far more strained and
uncomfortable for my jaws.  But not content with this, he then tied a short rope
to my plait which was in turn attached to my wrist bonds.  I moaned in despair,
now unable to move any part of my body, so tautly was I strung out.

"How long do you think you can manage that position?" he asked, his face inches
from mine.  "Perhaps you'll be repentant in the morning?  Yes?"

"Nnnnn!  Nnnnn!" I whined in despair.

"But we need something to focus your mind on your transgressions, n'est ce pas?
I think these nice little clamps on your nips will do the job."

I screwed my eyes shut as the jaws closed on my tender nipples.  More nasal
sounds escaped me as the biting pain seared through my tender flesh.  I
screamed, after a fashion, but it really didn't amount to much.  The clamps were
joined by a short length of chain, the mid-point of which was hung over the end
of the horse.  My eyes widened when I saw the lead weight the size of a golf
ball that he lowered towards the chain.  I shook my head as much as I was able,
making plaintive mewing noises, which turned into stifled screams as the weight
came on to my nipples.  Tears flowed again, coursing down my cheeks while I lay
there, trapped in a web of hopelessness as my tormentor turned and left the
room, turning out the light and closing the door with a brutal finality.

*   *   *

It was at that stage that I knew all hope had gone.  My misery was complete,
plunged into black despair in the darkness.  My body was bent like a bow, every
joint screaming for release - my neck, my back, shoulders, arms and legs.  My
nipples were on fire and my backside still burned from the caning.  I lost
myself in time and a morass of self-pity, subsiding into a distant world of
suffering.  Was this the sub-space that Ash had talked about?  I tried to focus
on things that would take me away from my pain.  Sweat ran down my back and
between my breasts, in the closeness of the room, pooling on the leather of the
padded top to the horse.  I lost track of time, not believing that I could be
here all night.  I was utterly at Graham's mercy, unable to move or resist until
this other human being decided to end my torture.  I could not believe how wrong
I had been about this man - how off-beam my character assessment had been. 
There was now no doubt in my mind that I was in serious trouble and the fleeting
thought crossed my mind that I might not survive the night.

The idea sent shivers down my spine and left a horrid feeling in the pit of my
stomach.  Desperately I fought off the rising panic and confined the terrible
thought to the dark depths of my mind where it belonged.  No, Graham was not
capable of such a thing - not murder.  Maybe only serious deformity or
mutilation, my mind came back.

I was lost in my world when the lights came on again.  Disoriented, I looked up
at the figure now standing before me.

"Are we prepared to submit?"

"Urr," I mewed piteously.

"Good."  He untied my plait from the rope.  I groaned as my neck was released
from the tension.  Next came the plug from the ring gag, leaving me gasping and
uttering throaty noises of relief.

"Don't get too used to that," he said.  "I have something else for you,
instead."  That was when I realised the whole set-up he had planned.  The horse
was exactly the right height for it, I found, as he unzipped his trousers and
produced his dick in front of my face.  I had no real chance to protest - not
that I could.  Happy birthday was not top of the hot one hundred in this place. 
He fitted snugly through the ring gag and forced himself deep into my mouth. 

I was no stranger to oral sex with Graham, but I had always had the option in
the past - or at least I had maintained that illusion in my own mind, anyway. 
Now, here I was hogtied on a bench and forced to give this man a blowjob.  There
wasn't a choice in this case, and I resigned myself to the inevitable.

He kept me at it for maybe fifteen minutes, stopping and withdrawing every so
often.  The movement placed more tension on my limbs and exacerbated the pain in
my nipples, but again, there was nothing I could do to resist.  My eyes were
stinging with perspiration as a result of my concentrated efforts to please my
captor and to keep the agony in my body at bay.  I could not understand what he
was doing when he finally pulled out without climaxing and let go of my plait
allowing my head to slump forward.  I was coughing and gasping at this point,
not knowing what was coming next.

A blindfold was coming next.  I should have guessed it was the one little
pleasure I had not experienced at that point.  This one was a black silk scarf
that wound around my head three times before it was knotted tightly and I was in
darkness again.

The relief when he undid the tails of my wrists and ankles was palpable.  I was
so exhausted from the hogtie I had endured that I could do nothing more than lie
quivering on the horse.   But releasing me from the bow had the unfortunate side
effect of lowering my upper body squarely onto my breasts with those terrible
jaws on my nipples.  I moaned and cried out - an act which only prompted the
insertion of the plug back in my ring gag.  My jaw was really aching now - a
fact with which I was unable to acquaint my captor, who was in any case busy
untying my ankles.

For a moment - a very brief one - I almost thought my torment was at an end as
he hauled me to my feet and the weight came back on my nipples.  I squealed with
a series of gasping noises through my nose at the terrible pain.  Of course it
made no difference whatsoever, for Graham was wholly intent on what he was next
going to do to me.  I felt myself positioned on a spot, although in relation to
what I could not tell.  My legs were parted and I underwent the familiar
stretching that came with the spreader bar cuffed to my ankles. 

Then it was my arms again, up in the air, with my head going down.  Up and up
went my arms while my head was forced down.  He paused momentarily to walk me
forward a couple of tiny steps, to feel my head bump into a post I knew to be in
the middle of the room.  That's when I saw his plan as he pulled my wrists that
last distance and bound them to the post.  My arms were now vertically against
the post, upwards, as were my shoulders and head, downwards.  Another rope bound
my elbows together and to the post while I begged in muted tones to be set free,
promising I would never do anything he didn't approve of.

I was now absolutely immobile again, my legs spread wide and the rest of my body
held rigidly against the post, with my bottom about as vulnerable as it could
possibly get.  I was still conscious of the butt plug in place and I was
petrified of what might be next on his list of tortures. 

There was the sound of a riding crop or something like it, slashing through the
air.  God, no, Graham! Please! I moaned desperately, but my words came out only
as a series of  "Nnnnm!" s. 

Thwack!  A slash across the buttocks.  I screamed into the gag, shaking my head
as much as I could and trying to hop from one foot to the other.  Thwack again,
on the base of the buttplug. I went wild with a continuous "Nnnnnnnnmmmm!"  My
eyes were streaming beneath the scarf and I was lost in a purgatory which
appeared to have no end.  Then there were hands groping over my doubled up body
and fondling my breasts as the weights hung from them.  My screaming had now
merged into a continuous series of nasal keenings.

He entered me at that point, driving between my legs and forcing me against the
post as he pumped hard and fast.  Predictably, after what I had done to him from
my hogtie, it did not take too much to make him climax, though through the red
haze of pain I was conscious of him trying to hold back the inevitable.  He was
clearly wanting to make me suffer just that little bit more.

His orgasm sent shudders through me, reinforced as it was by the thrusting of
his body against the buttplug and the pain from the tender flesh on my buttocks. 
And then he was out.  There was no suggestion of any climax on my part - I could
not even have contemplated such a thing.  It was true that he had taught me that
a climax could be heightened with a little pain in the nipples or a mild
paddling beforehand, but this was a quantum leap from those times.  I was left
there, trembling in the darkness, stretched more than I could bear, until I
heard the clink of chain.  I wept further, dreading what he was no about to do
to me with chains.

I felt the chain wrapped around my waist and padlocked just below my navel.  The
loose end was then pulled none too gently between my legs and padlocked in the
small of my back.  A third padlock evidently somehow secured my buttplug to what
was an uncomfortable crotch chain.  My arms were released at that point and I
was allowed to stand up.  I felt my wrists undone.  Was this the end?

"Stand still!" his voice hissed in my ear.  "You will not move until you hear
the door shut.  You will then hear it lock.  You may then leave by the outside
door.  If you dare to knock on the inner door or to do anything other than leave
directly, you will spend the rest of the night hanging inverted from the beam
overhead while I whip your breasts and pussy.  Do I make myself absolutely
clear?"

I nodded, still sobbing uncontrollably.

"I am taking your dress as a souvenir.  Come looking for it and as I said, you
will be hanging upside down from the roof with triple weights tied to your tits. 
Don't go looking for the keys to the locks, either.  They'll go in the rubbish
tomorrow.  You can keep the locks, chain and plug as your own souvenir from me. 
Now go home.  I never want to see you again, you little slut!"

I was left alone, still standing, legs apart, gagged and blindfolded, quivering
like jelly as the emotional reaction set in.  There came the sound of a slamming
door and the key turned in the lock.  I raised my arms slowly and worked the
silk scarf off.  My arms were stiff from the long period pulled behind me and my
shoulder joints ached.  The room was in pitch darkness.  Not a chink of light
came under either of the doors, and I worked entirely by feel.

I eased the nipple clips off very, very slowly, letting the blood gradually
return to my nips, but that didn't stop me crying with the pain.  Tears were
running freely now, unhindered by the thought of what lay ahead, and prompted by
the fact that my torment was over.  I undid the gag strap behind my head and
prised the terrible ring out from between my jaws, again sobbing with relief and
working my mouth to get some feeling of normality back into it.  I had undone
the ankle cuffs and freed myself from the awful spreader bar before the
implications of my situation really dawned on me. 

I was naked, with a crotch strap and buttplug chained in place.  Jesus.  I felt
my way along the outer wall to the side door and opened it.  The night was warm
and the perspiration slowly began to dry on my body.  I paused for a moment in
the doorway, letting the dim glow of the city night percolate into the dungeon. 
Eventually my eyes became adjusted to the light and I could just make out the
outlines of some of the furniture.  Leaving the door open I searched the room as
best I could and found my shoulder bag with the car keys inside it, and my
sandals.  I looked around for anything I could use to cover my nudity, but there
was nothing.  Graham had made very sure of that.

At that point I sat down in the doorway and wept again, so wretched did I feel. 
I had been betrayed, beaten, raped and humiliated.  Even now, his legacy was
still with me in the form of the buttplug chained in place. He had not screwed
me in the arse, deeming me unworthy of this.  Rather, he had arranged for an
artificial device to do it instead, to leave me suffering and degraded.  Life
had reached an absolute nadir for me, and I could not think straight.

I don't know how long I sat there in my self-pity and misery, before I finally
got it together sufficiently to consider the practicalities of my predicament. 
I knew I had to get to my car and I had to get home.  After I had done that I
could think about how to get the chain off.  In the meantime I had to drive
across Sydney Harbour Bridge naked, such an act being part of the denouement in
the Degradation of Jan Sherwood.

It was, I guessed, nearly eleven o'clock.  My car was parked outside Graham's
place near a streetlight.  I skulked behind his Audi under the carport,
listening for signs of anybody walking their dog or doing a late night jog, but
the street was silent.  The lights were out in Graham's house, but I wondered if
he was watching from a window.  Maybe.  Or maybe I was not considered worthy of
his time any more.

I pulled out my keys and scuttled across the grass verge to my car, fumbling
with the lock and then letting myself in.  The interior light came on
automatically, and despite all the times I had blessed such an innovation, this
time I cursed it.  Sitting down in the drivers seat drove the buttplug home most
uncomfortably, and there seemed nothing I could do to ease the unpleasant
feeling of fullness it gave me.  I let my fingers briefly explore the connection
between chain and plug, establishing that there was a small eyebolt in the plug
through which a padlock connected to the chain.

The interior light went out.  I reached into the back seat and found a small
hand towel which I had kept for previous, less traumatic episodes, where again I
had arrived hot and sweaty.  I towelled myself down and draped the towel as best
I could under the seat belt and over my breasts.  Then I started the engine and
drove away. 

It was probably the longest drive of my life.  My head was buzzing with a mad
confusion of thoughts, while my naked body continued to shake such that I had to
grip the steering wheel hard to keep my hands steady.  The act of driving
focussed my mind sufficiently to push my experience into the background. I drove
through the back streets as much as I could, avoiding traffic lights and any
chance that I would have to stop beside a vehicle whose driver could look down
on my nakedness.  Fortunately, no such incident occurred, and I arrived home
just on midnight by the clock in the car.

My street in Balmain was notorious for its lack of parking, and frequently I had
been obliged to walk a hundred metres or more from the nearest parking space. 
It was also devoid of trees and any other sort of cover that a naked woman could
utilise.  I knew the only choice I had was to double-park for long enough to get
inside and cover myself up.

I drove down the street slowly, passing my house and noting the lack of lights
in the neighbouring buildings.  There appeared to be nobody about when I
returned and double-parked.  Taking a deep breath, and again checking that
nobody was around, I slid out of the car, scampered across the footpath and up
the steps to the front door, forgetting the automatic external light that came
on and lit me up for the entire world to see.  For several long moments I
panicked, scrabbling for my keys, dropping them, then finally getting the door
open.  Once inside, with the door closed behind me, my breath rasping in my
ears, I struggled not to break down again.  Sniffling and wiping my eyes I
pulled on a pair of jeans and a teeshirt and returned to park my car further
down the road.

On my return to the safety of my house I stripped and stood for a long time in
the shower, letting the hot water run over me.  It was there that I finally
broke down and cried again, sitting in the corner of the shower with my head
against the tiles.  Even here, in the security of my private refuge, my
humiliation was unfinished, with Graham's parting gift still chained immovably
inside me.  The Degradation of Jan Sherwood was complete.

*   *   *

Chapter Four

You don't have to be Albert Einstein to conclude that the preceding events were
what swayed me in my decision to move to Brisbane.  The thought of leaving
Graham and the horrible memories of that night were just too appealing, all
wrapped up in a new start with a permanent job.

But all that came later, of course.  Before that I had to wake up wondering
where I was and why I felt so uncomfortable.  Then the recollection came
flooding back of my night at Graham's, and the reason for the chain around my
waist and between my legs.  There were more tears before I called work and told
them I would be a little late.  The lateness was of course the time taken to go
to the local hardware store and buy a pair of bolt cutters of adequate capacity
to rid myself of the chains.

Then there was the phone call to Brisbane, the finalisation of arrangements, and
six weeks later I had relocated.  It was another couple of months before I
bought my new house.  The job was working out well and I felt comfortable enough
in my new hometown to decide to buy, rather than rent.  The legacy from my
parents was finally put to good use and at the age of 34 I became a
mortgage-free house-owner.

I liked Brisbane.  It didn't have the pretensions of Sydney, nor the number of
people, and the size was such that you could get out of the city easily -
provided it wasn't at rush hour.  I bought a house in Taringa, not far from my
work.  The house was fifteen years old, and like many houses in Queensland
possessed an enormous balcony designed for indoor-outdoor living.  It was here I
hung a hammock and installed a barbecue, and the area became the focal point for
my relaxation.  There was enough of a garden for me to take an interest in -
some palms and a jacaranda tree and a heap of giant ginger plants standing twice
as tall as I did - but nothing that required too much maintenance.  In amongst
all this was a small swimming pool that I knew I would live in over the long
summer months.

I loved the Brisbane winter too, the end of which I experienced when I arrived. 
The days were crisp, cool and dry - with just enough chill to warrant a jumper
on my early morning walks to the park where I did several circuits before
returning home for half an hour of Tai Chi on the balcony.  This, I decided, was
where I wanted to be.

The job proved pretty typical, but the practice was thriving and the people were
nice.  I began to slip into a routine that consciously avoided social contacts,
for I knew it was going to take a long time before I could trust people again. 
B & D was definitely out, I decided.  I still emailed Ash on a regular basis,
but I couldn't bring myself to explain what had happened to me in Sydney.  He
knew I had moved to Brisbane, but despite his gentle questions, I was not
prepared to start a relationship nor meet him.  I wanted to do things in my own
time and he seemed to be understanding of this.  I spoke to him a couple of
times, on the mobile, but by and large we kept in touch by email, letting each
other know the small inconsequential things we did as part of our daily lives.

Ash knew something had happened, although I never gave him details, wishing
instead to push the memory of that terrible night as far as possible into that
part of my mind where things were not readily accessible.  Ash at least had
enough sense not to pursue that line once he cottoned on that I had undergone
somewhat of a lifestyle change.  Sometimes our emails would touch on the B & D
scene but I was still going through a period of confusion in my feelings towards
men in general, never mind whether I wanted some sort of bondage relationship
with one of them in particular.  I still found it hard to accept that I had
mis-read Graham so badly, and that beneath his charming exterior was someone -
or some thing - that I had missed totally, and that this person had done the
appalling things to me against my wishes.  The possibility of making some sort
of complaint to the police never entered my mind. Even if I could somehow prove
that the bondage that I had willingly entered into - that I had actually locked
on myself - had all been a mistake, I doubted that there was any chance of
proving my objection to what had subsequently happened.  And the thought of
having the details painted across the Sydney tabloids was more horrific than
what I had actually experienced and now wanted to forget.  No, in this case I
was pragmatic enough to recognise that this was a time when principles took a
back seat to getting on with life.

And life did go on.  The opportunity arose to attend a conference in Seattle
which I jumped at, even though it meant paying a large chunk of the airfare
myself.  Amongst the subjects for discussion were some around which I had based
my thesis at University, and I began to gear myself up for this exciting turn of
events, even though it was still three months away. 

That was when I got my first little surprise.

*   *   *

The first email was an anonymous e-card.  It was like one that you can order up
through various web sites, except that the content was a departure from the
ordinary birthday or Christmas cards.  It was unsigned and contained no message. 
It showed a picture of a naked woman, her back to the observer, viewed through
an arched and barred window that looked vaguely Spanish or Middle Eastern.  The
woman had dark hair and although she was slightly turned towards the window, her
face and breasts were not visible through the bars.  Her arms were behind her,
and her wrists might have been tied, were they visible beneath a few sprays of
pink climbing roses intertwining with the bars.

It was quite an arty - not to say suggestive - card, and it unsettled me with
its overtones of captivity, not to mention the fact that there was no indication
who it was from or what its purpose was.  I was going to delete it, but decided
not to, just because I rather liked it.

Two days later another email arrived.  This one looked like an ordinary email of
the junky spam type that sometimes find their way through the ISP's network.

From: MdeS @ BandD.com. au

Subject: Submissives wanted

Need some direction in your life?  Need some obedience training?  Do you like to
struggle futilely against an overwhelming urge, inescapable desires and tightly
confining ropes?

You know you want to give in.  You know you want to feel that cord on your
wrists and ankles, those chains about your body, that inability to articulate. 
Respond and submit now.

I stared at the email, trying to work out where it had come from.  It looked
like the typical spam mailing thing that clutters up the lines, advertising teen
sex and hot chicks.  But this was so specific it unsettled me.  I had not really
thought about this side of my life for some time.  I was still endeavouring to
put my Sydney experience behind me, and what with the new job, the new house,
moving and all manner of other lifestyle changes, B & D had receded into the
background.  I had not heard from Ash for a week or so, and even his emails had
slipped into more everyday conversations about daily events.  Now the whole
thing suddenly came roaring back, and the feel of ropes binding my ankles and
wrists became vividly real again.

And yes, I confess, it did send a little tingle up my spine when I thought of it
outside the context of that last fateful night in Graham's dungeon.  But was
this a coincidence?  How could I find out if this was spam mail?  I didn't know. 
I deleted it, making the assumption that it was junk and that the deletion would
be the end of it.

The following evening I sat down at the computer to check my emails.  It was a
warm balmy evening and the doors to the balcony were open, letting a gentle
breeze take the edge off the start of the summer humidity.  It was nearly
Christmas and the temperature had reached the balmy high twenties.

There was another email from MdeS.

This time there was a photo.  It showed a woman kneeling on a white sheepskin. 
She was in her twenties, blonde and gorgeous with a figure most women would die
for - breasts that were her own and a waistline to go with them.  She was naked
and bound with black leather straps in a kind of harness that wrapped around her
body, pinioning her arms.  Her wrists were behind her, presumably strapped in
the same manner.  Her legs were secured with more straps at the ankles and above
the knees.  A complex head harness of black straps secured a bright red rubber
ball in her mouth.  A tiny ribbon of saliva was hanging from one corner of her
mouth as she looked up at someone out of the picture.  Her eyes were brown and
wide - an expression not of fear, but of...worship?  Longing? Anticipation?  I
couldn't tell, but I confess the photo stirred me.

The photo was of high quality, and as I scrolled it down it showed every detail
of the bound woman.  The photo was probably twice the size of my screen and I
could see a tiny mole on the otherwise unblemished skin.  Then I saw the
message.

"Wouldn't you like to try this, Jan?"

I nearly freaked at that point.  This was no spam mail.  Somebody had got my
email address and was targeting me.

I looked up, distracted by the drapes rustling in the night wind.  I walked
across and closed the french doors, looking out on the street as I did so.  I
felt suddenly terribly vulnerable, as though I had seen someone peering in at my
window.  My private place of refuge was all at once not so private and not so
safe.

There was only one person I could think of who might be doing this, and that was
Ash.  Since leaving Sydney I had changed Internet Service Providers and had a
new email address.  My foray into alt.com had ended and I had left my Sydney
life behind.  Which only left Ash who knew my current email and who understood
my secret B & D desires. 

I didn't know what to do - whether to challenge Ash outright or to reply through
the MdeS address.   Did not like confrontations and opted for the latter.  I
wanted to be sure before I challenged Ash, and didn't know how to go about that. 
My message was short and to the point.  Any further emails from this source
would be deleted without being opened.  If there were any further developments
the police would be called.

For three days nothing happened.  I went about my business, my early morning
runs, or shopping at the supermarket as though nothing had happened.  But I was
uneasy, still.  It was like unresolved business, when something needs to be done
but it is beyond your power to take the action necessary.  It was like walking a
snow-clad valley, wondering if there was an avalanche lurking on the mountain
above you, waiting for the trigger that would send it hurtling down.

Then came another email, to which I gave the deletion treatment.  Further emails
followed for nearly a week, one per day, all of which got deleted.  I heard
nothing from Ash during this period, and did not contact him.  I was coping -
albeit in a frustrated and unnerved manner, until I opened one of the emails by
mistake, clicking on the 'open' option instead of the 'delete'.  It was a video
clip, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

It was again high quality and in fine detail.  This one was not an Australian
setting.  Clearly the sender had down-loaded it from a European website, which I
guess told me something, namely that it was not a video the sender had taken
himself (for I had no doubt that this person was a male.)  The subject was a
woman in a dungeon, and it looked like a real dungeon, not one of your phoney
brick veneer jobs.  These stone walls were old and weathered.  The place looked
like it was open to the sky somehow, judging from the light and the moss growing
in cracks and crevices in the stonework.  The camera panned briefly and I saw
that the woman was imprisoned within the ruins of what must have been an old
castle.  Part of the walls had been destroyed, but the majority of the four
walls of the room still stood, albeit with no roof.

The first shot was from outside, zooming in through the rusting bars of a heavy
vertical grille that served as a window.  Beyond, in the stone prison, was the
woman.  I recognised her as the one in the photo that had previously been
emailed.  I watched, fascinated by her predicament and unable to bring myself to
turn off the clip.

She was naked, save for what must have been some very expensive hardware from a
metal fabricator, and this was one lady who was not going to get loose in a
hurry.  The shot stopped at this point and began again inside the cell and much
closer to the prisoner, doing a slow shot beginning at her feet and panning
upwards.

The woman was barefoot with her ankles secured in stainless steel cuffs bolted
shut.  Between her legs was a steel pole about 5 centimetres in diameter
obviously cast in concrete in the ground.  I could see little more than this at
first, in the close-up of her feet, except that each ankle fetter was attached
by a very short chain - only a few links - horizontally to the pole.  There were
no locks to be seen.  The cuffs appeared to be permanently fixed to the chains,
which were in turn attached to the pole.  The only way of release was to unbolt
the cuffs themselves, it appeared.

The camera moved upward, following the pole.  I noticed the woman was on tiptoes
momentarily, as though stretched for a few seconds, then lowered.  I saw the
reason for this as the pole merged into a huge stainless steel dildo that
disappeared into her pussy, the base of it appearing and vanishing as she raised
and lowered herself on her toes.  The plot was becoming clearer, I thought.

Around her waist was a stainless steel band, about as wide as my hand.  At each
side a wrist was secured to the band by a single link attaching a steel manacle
to a U-shaped lug on the steel belt.  Her wrist cuffs, like those on her ankles,
and the belt itself, were bolted in place, and looked to fit very snugly.  Her
hands, with their black-painted nails, were clenching and unclenching,
fluttering about trying to go somewhere, but their range of movement was minimal
in their steel cuffs.  Clearly the restraints had been made to deliberately
allow some movement, whereas they could have been made much more rigid.  Perhaps
this was simply a mind game, allowing just that smidgen of freedom...

Continuing upward I saw that her breasts had been clamped by steel bands, one
vertically about each base.  These had the effect of making them bulge like
small balloons and must have been very uncomfortable.  These bands were linked
between the breasts and were further held in place by another steel band about
her body, like some sort of bizarre bra.  Not content with this confinement,
however, the master metalworker had installed small circular clamps on the
woman's bulging nipples.  These must have gone on first, I marvelled, for the
nipples were hard and distended, trapped by the clamps which encircled them like
tiny thumb screws, leaving the very tips protruding like the red buds of a
silver flower.

Predictably, the clamps were joined by a short length of delicate small-linked
chain, which was centrally linked to another chain, which disappeared upwards
out of the picture.  The camera continued in the same direction, leading up to
the gag the prisoner wore.  It was not unlike a leather head harness except that
again it was all in stainless steel, with a horizontal band around at forehead
level, and another running from the back of the neck over the top of the mass of
blonde hair, down to the nose, where it divided and crossed each cheek to meet
the mouth-cover.  There was nothing to be seen of what packing might be filling
the poor creature's mouth, for the whole of her lower face was concealed beneath
a steel mask which extended below her chin to cover he entire lower jaw.  This
mask was secured with a further band behind her neck.

On the front of the mask, just where the mouth would normally be, was another
U-lug, to which was locked a fine chain, again disappearing upwards.  The
woman's head was tilted upwards, looking quite strained, and made moreso as she
lowered herself with each movement of her feet.

The camera finished the shot, tilting upwards to an old timber beam high above. 
It looked like a remnant of an upper floor long since decayed.  Hanging from it
was a small pulley, over which the chain from the gag passed, before descending
to attach to the nipple clamps.  The woman could ease the pressure on her neck
and nipples as she stood on tiptoes, but to get relief for her feet she was
obliged to lower herself to the full penetration of the dildo, which at the same
time pulled on her face mask and nipples.  No doubt at the same time it gave her
nice feelings in the crotch, as well, I thought.

The captive was making small moaning noises as she raised and lowered herself. 
Those stunning brown eyes that had been so powerful in the previous photo were
closed, and she was clearly lost in some other place.  Sub-space, I wondered? 
Raising, lowering, raising lowering, her pace quickening slightly and her
breathing doing likewise.  The picture turned fuzzy and faded as the clip came
to an end.  I clicked back to the email itself.  There was just one line:

You know you want this, don't you, Jan.

I sat there for a long while, looking at the message.  Then, as though it had a
life of its own, my hand double clicked on the video again and I saw the impaled
woman straining on the pole.  I realised my own nipples had hardened at the
thought of what she must have been feeling and that realisation jerked me back
to the present.  Whatever else I thought about the artistic merits of the video
and the predicament of the prisoner, the fact remained that I was
being...stalked by someone, albeit electronically.  But if this was going on
now, what was the next step?  He would no doubt know I had opened this email
with a notification to that effect and there was nothing I could do to alter
that.

I saved the video clip but deleted the email.  I don't know why. There was just
something about that video that aroused me.  I went to bed that night with my
mind filled with all manner of images and thoughts - excitement, fear,
uncertainty, trepidation - all mixed up and interfering with each other.  I did
not fall asleep until the small hours, but still awoke at my usual time of five
thirty.

The memory of the previous night was still with me as I did my run to the park. 
It was a small area of land, edged by a pathway alongside the Brisbane River. 
In one corner there were some swings and a seesaw, and at a quarter to six on
most mornings the place was deserted.

Like most people, I had a routine of a morning.  It began with a gentle jog to
the park where I would do my stretches on a bench, then I would take the river
path on a circuitous route back to my house. It was a pleasant start to the day,
waking me up gently and allowing my mind to gradually come to grips with the
world.  The riverside was always peaceful and it set me in the mood for my
balcony Tai Chi.

This particular morning I was still overcoming the after-effects of the emailed
video clip.  I resolved that I would be more careful about opening emails and
that anything of that nature would be deleted unopened.  With this decision
made, I decided to put last night behind me.  I was not going to let a few weird
emails spoil my life.

There was a light dampness on the grass, the legacy of a brief overnight shower. 
I made a slow circuit of the park and headed for the bench to do my stretches. 

A large buff-coloured envelope was on the seat with m name typed on a sticky
label on the outside. 

I froze in shock, looking around for someone who might have left it, but there
was no other person in view.  Gingerly, as though it might contain a bomb, I
picked up the envelope.  It was heavy, and something clinked inside.  I looked
about me again, then tore it open.  Inside was a pair of handcuffs, together
with the keys.  A single piece of card contained the words:

Try them on - they're your size.

Hurriedly, almost guiltily, I stuffed the envelope into the pocket of my track
pants, my mind reeling from the implications of this discovery.  My exercises
forgotten, I headed for the river path and made my way home almost unaware of my
surroundings. 

The situation had taken a whole new turn.  Somebody was watching me.  Somebody
somehow had found out where I lived.  They knew my routine.  They must have been
there, in the park, that morning, ahead of me, for the envelope was only
slightly damp on the back.  It had not been rained on.  They knew I came to the
park every morning, which meant they knew my routine and no doubt my address.  I
shivered and looked over my shoulder along the path, but there was nobody there. 
I was starting to get the feeling I was being watched.

Opening the email the previous night had no doubt sent the notification to the
sender that Jan Sherwood was looking at the video, and was obviously getting in
the mood for the next stage of the plan, which I had just encountered.  The
scary part was not just that this person knew my routine and address, but that
some sort of a 'plan' existed.  I had the unnerving feeling that this was not
just the random work of a crank but the next step in a calculated scheme
designed to... what?  Where was this leading?  That was the terrifying thought. 
I was heading into some sort of spiders web that I could see no obvious purpose
behind.

I wondered if this was one of our clients.  In the medical business I met a lot
of people and in the course of treatment we inevitably talked. Over a series of
visits I would get to know a little about them, and they a little about me.  In
the latter case I tried to keep my life relatively private, but I had always
found that hard.  I might talk about my house, or the up-coming conference in
Seattle.  Christmas was almost here and holidays were always a good topic for
discussion.  Not that I was having any this year.  I was the newby in the
practice, and not having any commitments like relatives or close friends, I had
volunteered to be on call for emergencies.  There was never any shortage of
people doing silly things over the holiday break.  And in any case, what with my
three-week study break to Seattle in early January, I could not really afford
time off over Christmas.

So was this somebody I had attended, someone to whom I had talked just a bit too
much?  Mentally I flipped through the list of prospects, but identified nobody
out of the ordinary.  And in any case, how could they possibly know about my
fascination with B & D?  That was certainly something I hadn't unloaded in a
curtained cubicle with the rest of the practice in earshot.

My deliberations kept bringing me back to Ash.  He was the only one who knew of
my predilection, although he did not know my address, nor were the emails
obviously from his address, although that would have been easy enough to get
round.  I resolved to raise the matter with him that night.

My mind was not on my work that day.  Patients (I could still not get past
thinking of them as such, even in this politically correct world) commented that
I seemed preoccupied.  I made up some lame excuses.

The incident in the park had suddenly made me very paranoid.  Everywhere I was
looking for hidden meanings in what people said or the way they looked at me.  I
drove home that evening looking in my rear view mirror for anyone following me,
and I even cruised round the block checking parked cars for suspicious
characters.  To say I was nervous would have been a pretty big understatement.

Entering the house now gave me the creeps, not because I didn't feel at home,
but because I felt vulnerable in my home.  I checked all the locks on the doors
and windows, even looking under the beds.  That was how badly it had got to me. 
Ordinarily I liked living by myself.  Now I wished I had a flatmate or someone
to share the load.  Yes, I'm sure I would get a lot of takers in my present
situation, I thought.  They'd be queuing up to share a house with the target of
a stalker - not.

That evening I sat down at my desk.  The buff envelope was on top where I had
left it on my return that morning.  I pulled out the cuffs and examined them,
together with the piece of card.  Both the envelope and card were obviously the
products of a computer printer, and I would never learn anything that way.  The
handcuffs looked a cheap pair, not that I was any expert.  The wrist pieces were
joined by a single link of chain which did not look especially strong and was
not even fully welded.  I looked closely at it and suspected that it had been
prised apart and possibly further links removed, to make the two manacles closer
together. 

I closed the catches and examined how they worked.  Graham had used them on me a
couple of times but I had never had the chance to look at them close up.  Next
to each keyhole was a tiny lever that stopped the ratchet closing too tightly, I
discovered.  I locked and unlocked them several times but didn't try them on. 
Something about them both excited and frightened me.

I emailed Ash, explaining what was happening and asking if he knew anything
about it.  I did it as diplomatically as I could and awaited his reply.  I had
turned my mobile off, for I did not want to get into a direct conversation with
him that might become some sort of confrontation.  First I wanted to see what he
had to say in print.

Suffice to say, Ash was all concern.  He flatly denied anything to do with any
part of the whole business and asked if there was anything he could do to help. 
Did I want to meet him somewhere? Had I considered going to the police? Did I
want to talk about it to a friendly face?

Maybe I did - a problem shared and all that.  But I had not met Ash as yet, and
I wasn't ready for another relationship, especially a week before Christmas and
in these circumstances. One issue at a time was enough for me.  I did not want
my head racing with further assessments of people and whether they were right
for me and where was it all going to lead... No, I'd get through this by myself.

Satisfied with this line, I compromised with Ash and said I would email him each
night, just to keep him informed of any developments.   He said he was flying
north to Cairns for a week, leaving in two days time, but I could still contact
him by email or mobile if an emergency arose.  With that resolution, I checked
the doors and windows again and went to bed, but did not sleep well.

*   *   *

Nothing happened for the next three nights, then the emails started again, but I
deleted them without opening.  It was now Thursday, with Christmas Day being the
coming Monday.  I had found the handcuffs on the previous Monday morning, and
had not dared go to the park since then, for fear that there might be something
else for me to find, or perhaps somebody in person waiting for me.  On the
Thursday morning I contented myself with Tai Chi on my balcony as the sun came
up.  It was relaxing and I felt content in absorbing myself in at least this
part of my routine.  The first of the emails had come the previous night, but I
felt confident in my correspondence with Ash that I was dealing with the
problem, albeit in my own way.  Ash urged me to go to the police, but there was
no way I could face the embarrassment that would accompany such a move.  I was
starting to feel the problem would die a death if I could only ignore it.

Friday was the last workday before we officially shut for Christmas, although I
would still be doing some admin the next morning.  It was a long day, but
brightened by a few drinks after work.  We exchanged our 'Secret Santa' gifts
before I headed home.  The shops were still open on the last full shopping day
before Christmas.  My shopping requirements were almost non-existent.  I was not
religious, nor had I any family to worry about.  Christmas was a pretty simple
affair for me - a non-event, in fact.  I had usually been happy to do the
on-call roster or the triple time shift whenever there was a need.  My Christmas
this year was going to centre around some good videos, the pool, and preparing
for the trip to Seattle, the flight departing on the second of January in the
new year.

It was with these visions in my head that I stopped at the video store and
picked out three movies that would hold my interest.  I drove home and collected
my mail from the letterbox.  There were the usual bills and a small package
about the size of a compact disc.  It was wrapped in Christmas paper, with my
name on the front, and it had been hand delivered.  I felt a sinking feeling in
the pit of my stomach.  A part of my mind told me irrelevantly that although I
had been in my house nearly three months, I had never had anybody come to visit
me.  I knew this wasn't the beginning of a new friendship.

Once more I found myself looking around.  The sun had set and now it was dark
and frightening.  The bushes and trees in my front garden took on looming and
ominous shapes.  A flying fox screeched in a nearby mango tree, making me jump
as I hurried up the front steps, swearing softly under my breath, as if such
profanities would give me courage.

I slammed the door behind me, my heart pounding.  I knew the present was another
'gift' from my 'admirer', and I could not shake off the conviction that I was
being watched as I had collected my mail.  Once again I did a search of the
house and checked all the doors and windows.  Everything was as I had left it. 
I opened the french doors to the balcony and went outside, leaving all the
lights off.  I let my eyes get used to the darkness and peered out at the
street.  There were some cars parked on the road, but I recognised them as being
regulars.  The streetlights did their job reasonably well, and all appeared
silent and normal.  A flying fox screeched again, making goose bumps pop up on
my arms.  I returned inside, locking the doors behind me.

I did not open the wrapped present until late that evening.  I checked my emails
first, deleting one from MdeS and reading one from Ash.  He said Cairns was in
the midst of a tropical downpour, being well into their wet season, but he was
looking forward to Christmas with his folks.  I was meanwhile looking toward my
own trip, and the departure date would not come around fast enough, as far as I
was concerned. 

The emails out of the way, I felt myself drawn to the wrapped gift.  It had been
prepared neatly and I tore open the Santa Claus paper with a deep feeling of
foreboding.  I perhaps should have seen it coming.  It was clearly variations on
a theme, and the nipple clips were the next stage in this person's bid to lure
me into subservience, it seemed.

They were small devices, about the size of the top joint of my thumb, and were
joined by a short section of chromed chain.  They opened to reveal tiny
serrations around the edges with a pink insert inside that obviously took some
of the pressure off the teeth by providing a greater area to spread the pressure
of the jaws.  I tested them experimentally on the web of skin between my thumb
and forefinger.  They did not seem too bad.  I had worn clips at Graham's place,
of course, and the recollection made me shudder, but these were a different
type, and I was sure it was in fact the association with Graham that was the
real problem.  I wondered how these would feel and could not resist unbuttoning
my blouse and undoing the front clip of my bra.  I don't know whether it was the
cold air, but with the very thought of those clips I found my nipples hardening
with an unexpected pleasurable feeling of anticipation.  Gently I released the
clips on to the ends of the nipples, swallowing as much of them as I could to
spread the pressure.  I closed my eyes with as the jaws gripped my flesh.  It
was not as severe as I expected, and sent a tingling sensation throughout my
body. 

I wondered how long I could stand the dull pain that began to resonate from the
buds trapped in the pincers.  I picked up the handcuffs and keys and on impulse
tossed the keys into the spare bedroom, not looking at where they fell.  Pulling
the maroon silk scarf from found my neck I bound it around my head, covering my
eyes, then clicked the handcuffs over my wrists behind my back.  The ratcheting
sound carried a finality that at once thrilled and frightened me.  I was now
trapped in my spontaneous improvisation until I could find those keys...  I was
now a kidnap victim, desperate to escape.  The thought made my loins abruptly
wet.  I could hardly believe myself.

The situation was at once exciting and scary.  In the darkness I became
disoriented and confused until I had bumped into the dining table and worked out
where things were.  Thus more at ease, I found myself distracted by the intense
feeling in my crotch and searched about for something to press against to
satisfy myself.  Surprisingly, however, there was nothing really at the right
height that I could gain purchase on. 

I worked my way along the wall until I found the door of the spare room and
tried rubbing myself against the doorframe.  I couldn't believe how excited I
had become, and the realisation of what I was doing and how I was behaving made
me blush.  The idea of the doorframe was not a good one, however, for my
thrusting like a cat in heat against the frame only pressed on the chain between
the clips as well, giving me decidedly more pain than pleasure.

Leaving that preoccupation, I entered the spare room.  Only then did I realise
that my quest for release might not be so easy.  I was not sure if the keys had
landed on the bed or the carpet.  I tried the double bed first, shuffling across
to where I thought it to be, only to find it somewhat nearer that I anticipated,
as I bumped my shins and lurched forward, unable to cushion my fall.  I landed
on my front, crying out as my weight landed on the nipple clips.  Piercing pain
shot through my nipples, and suddenly my little pretend game was not so
sensuous.  My nips were now starting to throb as I squirmed on to my side and
managed to sit up.  The cuffs had somehow ratcheted tighter in the fall and they
now hurt my wrists, adding to my uncomfortable feeling that I might have made a
serious mistake.  I tried to reach around and up to the blindfold, but could get
nowhere near.  I tried for the clips, but the cuffs had tightened too much and
hurt as I tried to stretch my fingers towards where I knew the jaws were firmly
clamped on my right nipple. 

With a rising sense of panic I felt around on the bedspread, trying to stay calm
and carry out a methodical search.  Then I heard it  - the reassuring clink of
keys.  Except that the sound was that of keys falling, and I knew they had
fallen down behind the bedhead, against the wall.  My heart sank.  The bed was
too heavy to shift with my wrists cuffed painfully behind me.  My only option
was to slide under the bed to retrieve the keys - and I knew there was not much
room under there.

I eased myself into a sitting position on the carpet and managed to slide my
legs under the bed.  I touched the keys but could not extract them with my
stockinged feet.  I swore with frustration, not sure how to tackle the problem. 
In the end I could see no choice but to roll on to my stomach and worm my way
under the bed.  It was not a move I looked forward to, and I was right.  As the
fire shot through my nipples I cursed myself for my stupidity.  The pain was
intense and I felt the tears start to flow.  I was promising myself I would
never do anything like this again as I squirmed and wriggled under the bed,
feeling the friction of the carpet on my breasts and the pull on the clips as my
full weight dragged on them.  It seemed an interminable time before I felt the
cold metal of the keys touch my right breast and then managed to work my way to
a point where I could grab the keys with my fingers. 

I thought the hard part was over, but in the cramped confines under the bed I
could not get the key in the lock.  Sniffling with relief, but still with a
sinking feeling that this could be more serious than I realised, I worked my way
out the other side of the bed, biting my lip with the pain from the clips. 
Sobbing, I finally sat up to take the weight off my boobs, then got to my feet. 

I had not thought much about how the cuffs went on, nor which side the keyhole
was on and which way it was oriented.  Gentle exploring revealed that the
keyholes were both on the side away from my fingers.  Desperately I twisted my
wrists and fiddled with the keys after remembering to slide the 'stop' lever to
the position I thought was 'off'.  It took maybe five minutes of increasingly
desperate manoeuvring before I finally got the key into one of the holes, then
managed to turn it after several fraught attempts.  The ratchet released and my
wrist was free.  I wept more, but this time with relief.  All thought of sexual
excitement had long gone as I removed the other cuff then gently eased the clips
off my poor suffering nipples, moaning through gritted teeth as I did so and the
blood returned to them.  I knew at that point that I had learned my lesson.  I
wondered if the person who had left the clips and the handcuffs could have had
any idea of what I would do with them...

*   *   *

  Christmas Day arrived.  I treated myself to a delicious meal of seafood plus a
nice bottle of chardonnay.  It was not exactly your English traditional
Christmas fare but I rather liked the informal Aussie approach of barbeques and
salad at lunchtime - or the flexibility to have it in the evening if the day was
too hot.  Meanwhile there was time to spend lolling in the pool then watching a
video.  Regrettably my assessment of the video had not been too good and because
of the wine, the warmth of the day and the slow plot, I fell asleep for a couple
of hours on the couch.

It was just starting to get dark when I awoke.  For a moment I was disoriented,
before slowly getting my senses together.  For some reason I had the feeling
that something unusual had woken me.  I listened, but the house was silent, save
for the gentle swish of the overhead fan stirring the air.  I could not dispel
the sensation that something was not right and I went to the front door. 
Opening it, I saw at once why my nerve ends had been aroused.  On the floor of
the porch was another Christmas gift, wrapped identically to the last one.

I snatched it up, casting a quick glance around.  The neighbourhood was quiet
save for the shouts of some kids with their new bikes.  I closed the door
quickly and leant against it, breathing heavily.  Whoever this was, he had been
outside my front door while I slept, and the thought frightened the hell out of
me.  This was starting to get decidedly scary.

I looked down at what was obviously a shallow box the size of a chocolate box,
wrapped in the same Santa Claus paper as the last present.  I shook it
hesitantly but there was no clue as to what it contained.  Not wanting to
prolong the suspense, I tore the paper away and opened the plain box.  Inside
was a sealed envelope, on top of which was a black leather collar.

I was momentarily stunned.  I don't know what I had expected, but a collar was
not on my list.  Somehow the symbolism of it came like a blow, particularly in
light of the way I had always worn one at Graham's place.  He had explained what
it meant to both a Dom and a Sub, and how important it was as a symbol of the
relationship.

This collar was wide and of patent leather with double pins in the buckle.  Just
back from the buckle was a U-shaped chrome lug over which the loose end could
fit like a hasp and staple to be locked in place with a padlock.  It was
beautifully made, I had to admit.  I slumped on the couch and ripped open the
envelope.

The message was typed in a large bold gothic font.  It read:

I, Jan Elizabeth Sherwood, of my own will and accord

do hereby promise and swear

that I present myself here uninfluenced

by any mercenary or unworthy motives,

to be decorated by my Master with a training collar

to be worn around my neck.

I likewise pledge that I am willing

to follow my Master's instructions.

I do this without fear or rashness,

and will steadily persevere through the training

as long as W/we both feel it's the correct thing

for the two of U/us.

I, Jan Elizabeth Sherwood, will kneel in Your presence my Master

and freely and willingly and offer my neck

for You to place around it

Your symbol in the form of a training collar.

I promise to always meet You at the door with a hug and a kiss,

and then Iwill wait silently till You are seated

before I will fetch my collar and

kneel beside You in order for You to place it around my neck.

I promise act as a true and lawful sub.

I promise to obey Your instructions

so long as they will not cause injury tomyself or others.

I promise to always respect You

and to respect those You respect.

I promise that I will not do anything willingly

that may contravene Your instructions.

I promise that You will always be the first to hear

of my thoughts and aspirations concerning

all things connected with this relationship."



It was followed by a single line:

"You know this is what you want, Jan."

My hands started to shake.  I stood up and paced the length of the room several
times.  This person was out to have me become his submissive.  I assumed it was
a 'he' - somehow the concept of a Domme doing this to me did not ring true. 
Maybe Ash was right - maybe it was time to ring the police and get them
involved.  But somehow I couldn't bring myself to do it, to expose myself to all
the questions, the insinuations and the lewd innuendoes that would no doubt come
with any investigation.  There was a reason behind these veiled threats which I
couldn't hide.

And yet were they really threats?  Graham - for all his cruelty in finally
dismissing me - and Ash, had explained to me the philosophy behind the true D/s
relationship.  This was the one that went beyond the D/s scene only, that went
beyond mere sexual pleasure or the desire for erotic or masochistic pain, into
the psychological realms of total submission.  This was what was called a power
exchange - a 24-hour a day, seven days a week total commitment to the lifestyle. 

It was not something I had ever sought.  For all my enjoyment of the submissive
role I had a life to lead, and this did not include devoting myself twenty-four
hours a day to a Dom.  I was too much a realist to think such a thing would ever
work for me, nor did I desire it.  I valued my freedom once the scene had
finished.  Which was, of course, not to say that did didn't enjoy my trips off
into sub-space and the fantasies that transpired in my head in the process. 
Graham had shown me how these could be negotiated and the needs of each party
could be identified on a checklist and exchanged, with a view to making the
encounter more rewarding.

But this was not what was happening here.  This was something far more sinister. 
Call it stalking, call it hounding, hunting, shadowing, whatever.  I was being
watched and followed and it made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

*   *   *

The next few days were nerve-wracking.  The emails stopped as suddenly as they
began and things went quiet.  In some ways this was more unnerving.  It was like
not knowing what was going to happen next when you were standing, bound and
blindfolded, unable to see what your captor intended for you.  I found myself
more on edge, every sound in the house after dark making me jump.  I emailed Ash
what had happened.  He still thought I should get the police involved, but I
resisted that approach.  He said he had decided to see in the New Year in Cairns
with his folks, and wished me luck on my trip to the States.  And of course this
could not come around fast enough.  I worked on the days between Christmas and
New Year, this helping to distract my mind from the events of Christmas Day.  I
shopped for a few things I would need on my trip and for the hundredth time
checked my tickets and passport and repacked my bags.

New Year came and went.  I have to confess I slept through it.  I couldn't
really be bothered - an approach I viewed ruefully as a sign of impending old
age.  Then it was only one sleep to go, and the excitement began to grow.  It
was some time since I had travelled overseas, and I was due a good holiday.  A
few days in Los Angeles and then on to Seattle.  This was going to be fun.

That was the night of my capture.

*   *   *

Chapter Five

That was the point at which my captivity began - an unknown period bound on the
bed.  I can't adequately describe the welter of thoughts running riot in my head
at that time.  My world had been turned upside down in the space of an hour.  I
was due to fly to Seattle.  This thought kept intruding, totally illogically,
amongst the others.  It didn't seem to matter that I had been taken prisoner and
lay bound and helpless for an unknown purpose, with possibly my life in the
balance, but my stupid brain kept reminding me of what was going to be a missed
flight.

After a short while my arms began to ache with the strain of being pulled back
and pinioned rigidly.  My shoulders hurt with the tension in my arms, and the
circulation began to make my hands and feet tingle.  I squirmed around but this
only seemed to make matters worse, putting more pressure on my bound limbs. 

At one stage I developed a snuffle, I guess from the attempts at tears that had
welled uncontrollably behind the tape still binding my head.  I had panicked
momentarily until I decided to blow my nose as best as I could.  I was past
caring about any mess I made.  I had a headache from the tightness of the tape
wrapped around it and I was alone, miserable and frightened.

Who was this person?  His voice had sounded English - possibly a London accent,
but not quite.  There was something in the inflection that suggested a phoney
accent.  What did he want with me? How long was he going to keep me?  Was this
for money or something more sinister?  There could be no money involved, I
decided.  I had no relatives who would pay any ransom, and any money I had
possessed as a result of my parents had gone on the house.  I was not a target
for wealth, I decided.  Which only left sex or some other perverted motive.

I felt myself trembling and my breath came in stuttering little pants as the
shock of what had happened slowly sank home.  I realised with a horrible feeling
in the pit of my stomach that nobody would come looking for me for maybe three
weeks.  I was to have been away from work for at least that time.  I presumed
the airlines and the conference organisers would just put me down as a no-show. 
I had done all the organising from home, so any attempts to contact me would be
met with an unanswered phone.

Alarm bells were starting to go off in a big way, at the same time as the
coincidence of the whole thing was frantically banging on my reasoning cells,
shouting that there was more to this than met the eye, and metaphorically waving
something that I could not quite grasp.  What was I missing here?  I struggled
to think straight, but the pain of my bonds made it hard to concentrate as the
circulation slowly dwindled in my arms and my muscles protested.

It was warm in the room and my attempts to flop from resting on my right side to
my left side left me sweating under the tape.  I could feel the perspiration
soaking into the satin of my nightshirt and trickling in little rivulets down my
neck.  I felt my mind start to wander and things began to go a bit muzzy.  I
knew I was not concentrating and was missing something important...

Despite the stringency of my position I must have dozed.

*   *   *

He came back into the room.  I jerked back to the present at the sound of his
voice.  It was different, and I knew my captor. 

It was Ash.

"How are we feeling, Jan?"  He sounded casual and matter of fact, like a doctor
visiting a patient.  I squirmed and mewed as much as I could beneath the layers
of tape.  Suddenly a whole clump of the jigsaw fell in place.  Ash was the only
one in whom I had confided my submissive tendency, and of course he had helped
me with Graham.  The timing of my abduction was obviously no coincidence, for
Ash knew of my intending trip. 

That realisation scared me again.  I knew that he was aware of the three clear
weeks that he had before anybody started asking questions.  My thoughts went
racing in all directions at a thousand miles an hour, but all I could do was
whine plaintively.

His hands were on my body, then.  I felt the cold steel of a knife as it slit
the tape holding my calves against the backs of my thighs, and I groaned as I
could finally straighten my legs.  He peeled the tape away fastidiously before
allowing me to sit up on the edge of the bed.  I felt momentarily light headed
after having lain prone for so long, and must have swayed forward, for his hands
caught me by the shoulders.

"Okay?" he asked.  I was amazed at the conciliatory tone in his voice.  It was
as though he was helping me in a perfectly normal situation, like having dropped
a parcel in a shopping mall.  I recovered my balance and sat there.

"Jan, I'm going to undo some of the tape.  I don't want any trouble from you, or
you'll wind up in a far worse situation than you can possibly imagine.  You will
behave.  Do you understand?  Nod for me if you do."  I bent my head forward,
having no choice.

He rolled me on to my stomach again, and I felt the tape slowly cut away from my
arms below the elbows.  I flexed my fingers but had little movement beyond that,
with the elbows themselves still firmly bound.  But I was not to be freed just
like that.  It was merely a change, not a removal of my bonds.  Several turns of
cord were wrapped around each wrist and knotted separately.  Obviously there
were two tails attached to these, for as I was allowed to sit up again I felt
the two pieces of rope pulled around my body to be tied in front.

The rest of the tape then came off my upper arms and from around my body.  Ash
was apparently incapable of doing this without groping my breasts and tweaking
my nipples in the process, it seemed, but I was so pleased to have the tightness
removed from my body that I barely noticed.

With the last of the tape removed he pulled on the two ropes encircling my body,
and I found out exactly how I had been secured as my arms were pulled into a
kind of straightjacket tie behind me, my left wrist touching my right elbow and
vice versa. I made more whining noises, not that these made any difference.

Now Ash turned his attention to my head.  This was more painful, as the tape was
firmly stuck to my hair.  I suppose I complained rather too much as the tape
came away and I got the impression that Ash didn't suffer fools gladly.  I
received a sudden slap on the face.  His tone had changed dramatically.

"Shut up, damn you!  Would you like me to leave it on?  Well?"  Miserably I
shook my head.  There was more cutting and pulling and I gritted my teeth as it
came away as a mass of tape probably in the shape of my head.  That still left
the individual strips he had first placed over my mouth and eyes.

With the removal of the tape the sweat poured down my face in the rivulets that
had accumulated underneath.  I felt it dripping off my chin on to my nightshirt. 
My hair was wet and plastered down.  I could smell my own sweat and an overtone
of fear mingled with it.

"Stand up!"  Ash ordered.  He seemed to be stopping short of finally removing
the last pieces of tape. I did as I was told, and was guided across the room, my
feet experiencing the coldness of bare concrete as I did so.  I was backed
against some sort of a chair.  I felt the metal frame against the back of my
knees and sat down.  The chair did not move with my arrival and I quickly
established it was somehow bolted to the floor.  It seemed to be a basic chair
of the type you often find in conferences - padded seat and back on a steel
frame.  The rope connecting my wrists was loosened enough for my arms to slide
behind the back of the chair before the cord was retied at navel level.  Things
were still passable until a wide leather strap was buckled around me, just below
my breasts, pinning me to the chair.  Ash grunted as he pulled the thing tight
and fastened the buckle.  Then some sort of leather cuff was secured on each
ankle, which then got pulled backwards to be tethered to the rear of the frame,
so that my feet were off the ground.  When a second strap was buckled tightly
across my thighs I thought the extent of my confinement had been reached.  But
this man had not quite finished with me as a rope was run from the left rear leg
of the chair, over my right shoulder, around my throat and down to the right
leg.  He pulled it just tight enough so that my head was forced to stay in an
erect position.

There came a silence and I could feel his eyes on me, gauging and appraising my
bound form.  The sound of another chair followed, grating on the bare concrete.

"Yes, very nice," he said, sounding pleased.  "You make a wonderful exhibit,
Jan.  Quite stunning.  I expect you're wondering why I've brought you here.  Or
maybe you've worked out a few things in the process.  Smart girl like you...  Of
course you have.  Well then, let's start at the beginning, shall we?  Are we
comfortable?  I hope so.  You have been placed in that position so that you can
focus properly on what I am about to tell you.  It is very important that you
understand fully the nature of your captivity, the purpose of it, and most
importantly, the absolute nature of it.  Simply put, you will not leave here
until I decide.  If ever.  Is that clear?"

I made no movement.

"I said, is that clear?!"  His voice changed suddenly from a calm, reasoned tone
to a shout and there was a swish in the air, followed by a biting pain across my
left breast where it was confined by the satin of my nightshirt.  I cried out in
pain behind the tape and nodded my head as much as I was able with the rope
about my throat, which was really very little.

He was all smoothness and warmth in the next breath.

"Good, good, Jan.  I'm glad we understand each other.  Today I am only going to
tell you a little of the story.  I will tell you more tomorrow, perhaps,
depending on how adept a student you prove to be. 

"As you have probably guessed, Jan, my name is Ash.  Yes, he to whom you have
confided your doubts and desires for the past six months.  I know a lot about
you now.  It's a shame you have to miss your holiday, but that is a problem that
doesn't concern you, as I may explain in more detail tomorrow - or some time
later.  The important thing is that you are now here in Ash's dungeon, which is
now your home for the foreseeable future.  It sounds a little melodramatic,
doesn't it - the word 'dungeon'." He chuckled. "There are no rats.  There is no
moss on the walls with initials carved in it from previous inhabitants.  Sound
proofed and constructed to world's best practice, haha. In due course I will let
you study it more closely, and from less restrictive confinement.  But make no
mistake, you will remain under restraint for as long as I consider necessary,
until you bend to my will completely.

"The reason you have been brought here, Jan, is both experimental and for my
personal gain.  It is experimental in the sense that you have in effect been
condemned to a life as a slave - my slave.  You will remain confined here while
your training takes place.  One day, when you have demonstrated your complete
and total submission to my will, you may be permitted some small degree of
freedom.  Oh yes I know - it all sounds over the top and a bit mad professor,
but this is the twenty first century, Jan.  Strange things happen the world over
every day.  People go missing and are never found...

"In the meantime, you will obey me without hesitation.  I know what you're
thinking.  The whole business of Domination/submission - this is not at all what
I told you, is it.  No, there's none of that consensual crap here.  None of the
loving relationships stuff and the gift of total trust in the power exchange. 
This is simple and basic.  I am in total control of you.  You will eat only when
I decide.  You will sleep when I decide.  You will go for a shit when I decide!" 
His voice rose an octave.  "Am I getting through to you, Jan Sherwood?"

 I nodded, abruptly feeling my body start to tremble as much as it was able in
my confinement.  The room at once seemed to go from hot to cold at the import of
his words.  The guy was a psychopath.  A certifiable mental case.  A part of my
mind went into denial, telling me it was all a mistake and that this was really
just a cruel joke, and in a minute he would let me go free and take me to the
airport in time to catch my plane.

"In short, Jan, your very life is dependent on me.  I can leave you chained up
here to die of starvation.  Or thirst.  It would be a long and lingering
process.  Or there would be other ways that would be much quicker and less
painful.  The point I am making is that while a Master is responsible for the
welfare of his slave, if that slave fails to perform, the welfare will suffer. 
Disobedience will be punished.  It will be severe.  Do you understand, Jan?"

Another nod.

"Good.  We will get to your training in due course.  My final point for the
moment is that you may dismiss all hope from your mind of any form of escape. 
If you so much as think of it, I will know, and you will regret it in the most
agonising way.  We are not playing at master and slave, here.  This will be a
scientific experiment, to determine just what it takes to break your will.  I
will document this in the most methodical manner.  White mice in cages are passe
in my world.  Only by dealing with people can you understand what makes them
tick.

"And just to put an end to your wondering, Jan, it wasn't hard to track down
your new address.  I have a friend in Telstra who has access to all sorts of
goodies on the computer lists of names and addresses.  You changed everything
else, Jan, when you left Sydney, but you kept your old mobile number. It was a
simple matter to trace the change of address against it.  Then I could keep a
close eye on you. I couldn't believe my luck when you moved up here to Brisbane.
And of course all that stuff about me being in Cairns was a fabrication - but
you've guessed that already, haven't you.  A mobile phone and an email address
mean nothing about the owner's whereabouts, as you've now realised.  Isn't
technology wonderful?

"And I'm sorry you have to miss your holiday.  You won't be missed, of course. 
I'll sort that out.  I wish I could go in your place - I'd really like an
overseas trip.  Do you know, I've never been outside Australia?  Don't even have
a passport.  Yet you've travelled all over the world.  A little bit inequitable,
don't you think, Jan? But of course what goes around, comes around, and to all
intents and purposes you've had your little fling, and now it's my turn."

There was the sound of the other chair rasping on the floor as he stood up.

"I must say, Jan, you are much more attractive than I had imagined when I first
spoke to you in Sydney.  Funny how you form a picture of someone in your mind,
and often it's totally false.  What do you think I look like, Jan?" 

I felt the closeness of his person, the rustle of clothes and the smell of
cigarettes. I shook my head in despair.  I had formed some sort of vague notion
of dark hair and a warm, strong attractive personality.  Boy, had I got that
part wrong.  There was no warmth in his voice now as he moved around behind me.

"Never mind.  You will find out all in good time. I am going to leave you now,
Jan.  I want you to focus on four things while I am gone. 

"Firstly, there is no escape. 

"Secondly, you will do exactly what I say, without hesitation. 

"Thirdly, any resistance or disobedience will be punished severely.  You will
sit and ponder on these three points as though your life depends on it, because
maybe it does. 

"The fourth point is something to look forward to.  Tomorrow your training
begins.  It will start with a thorough flogging and whipping that will leave you
in pain from head to toe, Jan.  This will simply be necessary to lay down a
baseline, to show who really is the master, and who is the worthless slave.  It
is to expose your limits and to demonstrate my power, Jan.  It will be very
unpleasant for you, but absolutely necessary.  It will leave you scarred
mentally and physically and will be an experience you will never forget as long
as you live or as long as you remain here, whichever ends first.

"Like a visit to the dentist there is a natural fear that comes with the
anticipation of pain, and it is important that you experience this as well. 
That is why I am telling you that you will experience the full horror of the
clamps on all parts of your body, the weights on the clamps, and the whips,
crops and floggers that will lay waste to the most intimate parts of your body,
and you will experience pain the like of which you have never imagined
possible." 

Ash explained this with such matter-of-fact calm, as one might explain how to
change a car tyre.  I could not believe what I was hearing, and the manner in
which he told me sent shivers down my spine and left a hollow dead feeling in
the pit of my stomach.

There was the departing tread of footsteps on the concrete then a heavy door
closing.  It sounded as though it was made of steel, and it shut with a hollow
booming sound that echoed momentarily with a horrible finality.

I sat there in my misery.  I tried to cry, but the tape over my eyes made this
impossible.  Instead they seemed only to sting and my nose began to run instead. 
I could do nothing to stop this as the mucus ran down over the tape covering my
mouth and dripped on to my chest.  I struggled and jerked hard against the ropes
and straps holding me, but it was utterly futile.  Everything was tied too well
and all buckles were out of reach.  The chair was definitely bolted to the
floor, for it gave not an inch.  I moaned and tried to scream behind the tape in
a panic of frustration and mounting terror that I might not emerge from this
predicament alive.  The deep foreboding fear that had been lurking in my
innermost depths now rose to the surface.  This was not some sort of joke that
would burst upon me and everything would be made good.  I had been kidnapped for
some intention that I still did not understand.  I wanted to sob, but even that
outlet was denied me.  Instead I could only moan and mew in despair.

*   *   *

I lost track of time again.  The position I had been secured in was not
unbearable.  I suspect it had been deliberately intended as such so that my
discomfort did not distract me from thoughts of my future.  I may have nodded
off once or twice, but the pressure of the rope around my windpipe brought me
back to reality with a start each time.  And each time the same reality left me
with that cold clamminess of fear gripping my body.  I listened for the door,
dreading its opening.  I wanted to pee by now.  I had no idea whether it was
morning or afternoon, but I was becoming increasingly desperate to relieve
myself.  I was hungry, too, but only in the way that my stomach was empty, as
distinct from actually having an appetite.  How much longer?  I felt like a
prisoner on death row waiting for the tramp of the warders' feet, as the escort
would come to take him to the execution chamber.

Sitting in the silence unnerved me.  The only sounds I could hear were movements
from upstairs on the floor above.  No sounds from outside seemed able to
penetrate my prison.  I tried to reason what that would mean.  We were on some
sort of acreage, with large grounds that would shield the house from traffic
noise and prying eyes?  Maybe the soundproofing was just too good and there was
still a road quite near...

Why was he doing this to me?  Despite what he said about the master and slave
thing, I was sure there was something more to it than this.  He had hinted that
he was only telling me part of the story at this stage.  He had talked about
personal gain.  What could he hope to get from me?  Was it sexual?  So far he
had refrained from taking obvious advantage of me.  But he had described what
lay before me, and the thought scared me silly.  The guy was obviously a control
freak into sadism in some sort of major way.  Or was he playing games with me -
letting my mind work overtime in visualising what lay ahead?  Surely he would
not go through with such horrors?  I began to shake again, eventually overcoming
it only with a major focus on my body.

My desperation to urinate was a spur that kept me from dozing further.  Whatever
else happened I could not bear the thought of disgracing myself.  I was
terrified of what he might do to me.  When the key finally turned in the lock
and the door swung open with a faint creak I turned my head and moaned
pitifully, squirming as best I could in my bonds.

There came the footsteps again and the cigarette smell.

"How are we doing, Jan?" said the voice beside my ear.  It seemed calm and easy,
and it was this casualness that scared me the most.  "Are we hungry?  I'll bet
we are.  I bet you're dying for a piss as well."  Thank God!  I nodded
emphatically.

"Well Jan, here's your first quandary.  I have here your meal.  It's in a glass
and it comes with a straw.  Just like a thickshake - very nutritious.  But you
have to make a decision - you can go for a leak now, and miss out on your meal
or drink it now and wait fifteen minutes before you get to relieve yourself." 
He chuckled.  He seemed to find the situation genuinely humorous.  "So which is
it to be, Jan?  One nod for drink now, two nods for a pee and no food."   I
thought for a moment.  My desperation should not be replaced by starvation, I
knew.  I had no idea what lay ahead of me, and my practical mind told me I had
to keep up my strength.  I nodded once.

"A good decision, Jan.  You still have your wits about you, I see.  I wonder how
you'll be thinking after twenty or thirty hours without proper sleep and after a
sustained flogging.  Something to really think about, isn't it."  I was now
conscious of his breathing close in front of me, and then his hands were on my
head, one gripping me by the jaw while something pointed pressed into the tape
across my mouth.  My lips felt the cold touch of steel as a pointed screwdriver
or something similar made a small hole through the gag.  Moments later a straw
was thrust through this penetration and I sucked greedily.  The liquid was
indeed the consistency of a thickshake, but tasted bland.  I did not know how
much was in the glass, nor how long he would let me drink, so I went as fast as
I could, ignoring my protesting bladder.  The liquid filled my stomach and after
a minute or two I concluded it was a large glass I had been given.  It seemed to
go on forever.  I tried to pull away, but one hand held me by the back of my
head. 

"You will stop drinking when I tell you to stop, my dear," he ordered.  I
continued, feeling my stomach fill until finally there was a slurping noise that
indicated the end of the process.  "Good girl."  He was almost complimentary,
talking the way one would to a small child.  The straw was taken out and another
piece of tape was pressed over the small hole remaining.  Again I felt the
pressure on my bladder and could not help a plaintive whine.  He ignored me and
began to play with my hair, running his fingers through it in what seemed to be
almost a thoughtful manner.

"I've seen you with a plait before, Jan.  It suits you.  I think we'll give you
one now.  It will make an excellent anchor point."  Anchor point?  God, what was
he going to do to me?  The strong hands began to twist through my hair and I
felt the roots being tugged methodically into a plait, but it was on top of my
head, not at the back, where I normally had it.  I did not like where this was
leading.

It took him perhaps ten minutes to do it.  He had clearly done it before and
knew what he wanted.  The ends were tied off somehow and my hair was then
tightly stretched across my scalp into this single top plait that now flopped
against the back of my head.

"It's time for a change of blindfold, Jan.  That tape is a bit inconvenient for
long term, I think.  We want something a little more comfortable."  Comfortable?  
This was the first time he had expressed any concern remotely connected with my
comfort.  Already I had him picked as someone who did nothing without a good
reason - someone with agendas and motives.  I had decided also that Jan's
comfort did not rank highly on any of those lists.

"I am going to pull the tape off, Jan, and if you so much as flutter an eyelid,
I will have you hanging by your plait.  Nod if you understand."  His voice was
icy, all of a sudden, and there was no mistaking the intention behind his
statement.  I believed him absolutely, and I nodded.

First one piece of tape, then the other, was pulled clear of my eyelids.  I kept
them closed, despite the temptation to sneak a look at my prison.  There was
precious little time for this, for some form of harness or hood was pulled into
place over my head.  It seemed to be made of thick rubber, and had holes for my
ears, the plait and my nose.  It stopped just below my nose, the edge running
around under my ears to the nape of my neck.  Soft padding was pressed hard
against my eyes, but it was definitely more comfortable than the tape.  A strap
was buckled under my chin and I thought I detected the click of a tiny padlock.

With no further explanation he untied the knot at my navel that secured my arms
in the straightjacket position, and with relief I let them drop, only to have
them captured again and bound together, palm to palm in front, with the trailing
ropes encircling my wrists further before being cinched off, leaving them
rigidly secured.  There followed the release of the straps securing me to the
chair and the ropes attached to my ankle cuffs. 

"Stand up," he ordered.  I did so, and he led me across the room until I felt
the cold touch of a toilet bowl against my legs.  He turned me about and thrust
a roll of toilet paper into my hands.  "You have five minutes," he said
brusquely.

I sat down gingerly, establishing that the toilet had no seat, that I was
sitting directly on the porcelain.  I knew he was watching, but my need was so
urgent that I didn't care.  I had no way of knowing when I might next have the
opportunity, and resolved to make the most of any such chance. 

With difficulty I worked the hem of my nightshirt up with my bound hands, then
let nature take its course with little encouragement needed.  For the first time
since my capture I felt better, albeit in a small way.  I began to be more aware
of my surroundings and to start to consider the possibility of escape.

He gave me little opportunity for this the moment I had finished my ablutions. 
I was dragged unceremoniously across the room and my bound wrists were secured
to some sort of pulley rope, for at once there was the sound of a ratchet and my
arms began to rise.  They touched the cold metal of a post in front of me, and
my hands briefly explored a circular steel post, maybe fifteen centimetres in
diameter, that must have been some sort of support column for the house above. 
As my hands rose above my head I moved forward until I touched the steel post
with my nose.  I don't know what I expected to learn from this.  It simply
seemed a small piece of information that might one day form part of a larger
jigsaw that I needed to understand in order to escape.

The ratchet noise stopped, with my hands a little above my head.  I was not
fully stretched out, and wondered at this.  My curiosity was addressed moments
later when a rope was tied to each of my ankle cuffs.  Oh shit, I thought - what
was he doing?

I was quickly enlightened as he nudged my feet apart and backward, at the same
time pulling on the ropes attached to them.  I found my ankles widely spread and
suddenly with tension on the rope tethering my wrists as I was moved backwards
away from the post.  I saw at once what he was up to and my heart sank.  His
next sentence confirmed this, and also left me wondering what grander scheme he
had planned.

"I'm leaving you, now, Jan.  I shall be gone maybe three or four hours.  I have
to pay another visit to your house.  Time is of the essence, you see.  There are
things to do, concerning which you will be advised in due course.  In the
meantime, you may practice your yoga or your isometrics or whatever you see most
befitting to your present circumstances."  And then he was gone, with the
terrible sound of the door closing.

*   *   *

The position I found myself in was tolerable for a short time, after which it
became more and more painful as my muscles began to weaken.  As a nurse I knew
what was happening to my body.  My arms were raised above and forward of me,
meaning that my back and legs had to counter the tendency for me to tip forward. 
I could not put too much weight on the rope, as that would only exacerbate the
situation.  My legs were spread and the ropes attached to my ankles were tied to
anchor points somewhere behind me, maybe at 45 degrees to the line between my
feet.  My calves and thighs were likewise under strain because of the spread,
but also because of the load on my arms.

I could not tell the passage of time.  I guessed that half an hour had gone, by
which time things had started to get very uncomfortable and I could feel the
muscles in my back and legs beginning to protest.  I could not fully straighten
my back or lean backwards any further, because my arms were now at full stretch. 
It was all I could do to stop toppling forward as my strength began to weaken. 
The sinews were beginning to knot along the backs of my calves as I desperately
considered my options.  If I did fall forward, what would my position be?  How
far away from the post was I?  I might gain some relief, or would I make the
situation worse?  Could I recover, back to my present situation?  I doubted it. 
Any attempt to thrust myself back upright, unless judged exactly, would
inevitably bring me up short on the wrist rope, which would pull me forward
again. 

I could feel my strength failing.  If I went forward, what if my feet slipped
out?  I would end up hanging by my wrists.  My hands were already numb from the
bonds and from being held up above my head.  I was starting to become really
desperate and scared.  I would never keep this up for four hours!

As the pain grew in my back I began to cry again.  This time, under the hood and
the eye padding, the tears found their way out, unlike with the terrible tape. 
The foam eye pads became saturated and my eyes stung, but I felt the wetness
trickle down my cheeks.

At length I could sustain the tension no longer, and with my heart in my mouth I
slowly toppled forward, desperately trying to maintain my footing, my hands
spread as wide as they could, as though trying to catch a cricket ball.  They
collided with the pole after a very short distance, maybe only six inches, and I
gripped it desperately, trying to make sure I stopped my momentum at that point
and did not slip past it.  My heart was beating wildly and I was panting hard
through my nose. 

I forced myself to relax and examined my new position.  It took some of the
pressure off my back, since my forearms were now touching the pole over their
full length and could take some of the weight, but I was now leaning forward on
my legs, and from being flat on my feet I was now resting on the balls of them,
the cuffs taut on my ankles.

More time passed, and the drag on my arms and legs became intolerable.  My back,
previously straining not to bend forward, now sagged under the weight of my
body.  My tears had stopped after my forward movement, so relieved was I at
pulling it off, but as the new strains on my muscles took their toll, I could
not help but let the mood of self pity take hold of me. 

I wondered what Ash was up to.  Focussing on this took me away from my torment,
at least briefly.  What was he doing in my house?  Was he robbing it?  Where did
that fit in with my kidnapping?  So far, despite my being tied and helpless, he
had not attempted to sexually molest me.  I had a feeling that this was still to
come, that it was on his agenda, but at a time that suited him.  You did not go
to all this trouble to kidnap a woman and torture her without some element of
sexual punishment coming into the picture.  However much I dreaded such a turn
of events, I was realistic enough to expect this.  Ash had been too into the
bondage scene not to exploit this, if the advice he had given me in Sydney was
anything to go by.

Everything he had done to date, the whole planning of my abduction, from the
tracking down of my address from the phone company to the leaving of presents,
the mind games, the watching, and now the deliberately debilitating bondage
torment all showed a calculating mind that had a goal to be achieved.  It was
this likelihood that scared me most of all.  I did not know how much pain I
could tolerate.  I had never been in a situation where I had had to cope with
physical pain in any major way.  My life had been free of stays in hospital, of
broken limbs or major accidents or diseases.  I had no idea what my limits were
and what I could withstand.  I only knew that any chance I had of survival was
going to depend on my willpower being greater than his.  Likewise, any chance I
had for escape would depend on my ability to outthink him, to spot the weak
link, the thing that he had overlooked.

All these thoughts passed though my head in a random manner as I hung
disconsolately against the post, feeling my strength ebbing slowly.  My elbows
had slowly spread, letting me rest the rubber encasing my forehead against the
steel column.  My back ached and I could feel little runnels of sweat slide down
my legs.  My feet were in grave danger of cramping, as were my calves.  I knew
the first signs from my time playing netball, and the thought of this brought
more trepidation to my mind.  My feet began to slip, little by little as the
concrete became wet with sweat.  Every so often I would have to drag my foot
forward to the limit of its tether as the load came down more heavily on my
arms. 

My hands had long since lost their feeling and I was now starting to whimper to
myself with the strain on all my muscles.  I was keening a tuneless,
self-pitying dirge, sniffling as the tears of pain slipped down my cheeks, when
the door finally clanged open.

He said nothing at first and seemed to pause, for perhaps a minute, watching my
struggle, then he undid the ropes attached to the post, and I thought I heard
him chuckle under his breath.  He pulled me backwards until I was finally able
to stand up straight and to lower my arms.  Delivered from the intense strain my
body began to shake again and my knees went wobbly.  I could still not sit down
to rest my quivering legs, but any relief was blessed.  I realised I was still
keening softly and stopped, not wanting to give him any more comfort.

"You've done well, Jan," said the voice.  "Not bad for a first time.  Mind you,
I must stress that this is only the beginning.  I'm going to break you - you
need to understand that.  There is no other outcome possible here."  Again, the
calm matter-of-fact tone sent shivers up my spine.  "But now it's late.  I want
to get some sleep.  Unfortunately, that is something you will not be doing.  I
like a good ten-hour sleep.  What about you?"  I hung my head but made no sound. 
"It's irrelevant, anyway, he said dismissively. "Now we have to prepare you for
bed."

He said no more for a short time and I could hear him moving about the room. 
Then my nightshirt was lifted and a nozzle was inserted in my rectum, delivering
a cold squirt of what I presumed was lubricant.  Oh no, I groaned, please, not
that!  There followed the cold penetration of some form of butt plug.  It was
not as big as the one Graham had used, but I still squirmed and tried
instinctively to reject it.  My rebellion was punished by a sharp pinch on my
left nipple, which made me squeal behind the tape.

"I'd behave, if I were you, Jan," said the voice curtly.  "Relax and let it in -
or I will force it anyway."

I saw reason and let the horrid thing slide into place.  My pussy was next - the
first time he had ventured into that area, and I felt intensely vulnerable as
some sort of dildo slid coldly inside me here on a further slime of lubricant. A
belt was placed around my waist under the nightshirt and buckled behind me, with
a wide crotch strap connected from front to back and buckled tightly there as
well.  It seemed my implants were not going to be readily expelled.  I could
feel some sort of weights hanging from the belt.  They seemed to be like huge
padlocks, one at each hip and one in the small of my back.  The metal was cold
and bulky against my flesh.  I wondered anxiously what such enormous locks could
possibly be for, and why they were covered by the nightshirt.

The ropes connected to my ankle cuffs were undone at this point and I was at
last able to draw my feet together to relieve the awful tension in my thighs. 
It would have felt marvellous had the awful unknown expectation of what was to
come next been hanging over me. 

I was walked several paces and made to sit on the edge of a bed.  There appeared
to be no bedclothes, just a foam mattress that felt as though the original
plastic covering had not yet been removed.  There was a click at my feet as my
ankle cuffs were locked together. 

"Put out your hands," I was ordered.  I did so, sightlessly holding them out in
front of me, my fingers steepled in the attitude of prayer.  If I had been
religious I would have been well into my repertoire of prayers by that stage,
but I knew there was no future there.  There came the tight constriction of duct
tape as it wound around my fingers and hands down to the wrists and over the
rope wrapped around them.  My arms had become now locked into a kind of diving
position, as though I was about to leap off the edge of the pool.  My fingers
and hands had become rigid under the tape, and I realised abruptly how my
movements were about to be curtailed.  This was something quite different from
what I had just gone through.

He looped a rope around my neck in what felt like a noose and pulled my head
forward so that it was a handspan above my knees, then tied the loose end of the
rope to my ankle cuffs.

"You're almost ready, Jan.  But before I complete your ensemble for the night I
thought I'd fill you in on a few things you may wish to consider.  Firstly, I am
about to tape a pair of industrial earmuffs over your pretty head, which is why
I am telling you this now, since you are about to become deaf, as well as dumb
and blind.  Inside the earmuffs are speakers, just like you have on your Walkman
that you like to use when you go running.  Yes, I've watched you.  These
speakers are connected to a tape, which is connected to a timer.  It's like a
Walkman, but really won't have a lot for you to listen to - just enough to stop
you nodding off, yes? 

"Something else which might also help you in this regard is this.  What do the
following have in common: furniture vans, used car salesmen, ATM's, computers
and real estate?  I'll leave you to think about this little riddle.  Maybe
tomorrow I'll help you work out the answer."

While I was still struggling to grasp the meaning of his words the earmuffs were
clamped on my head and secured immovably in place with metres of tape
horizontally and vertically around my head.  I felt a cable slipped down the
back of my nightshirt and I was tipped forward briefly while he pulled up the
rear of it.  There was more tape, this time around my waist, pulling what felt
like a knot of cables into the small of my back, and clearly that wasn't going
to be moved in a hurry.  But there was another cable or cord I could feel,
nestling against the crotch strap and seeming to run up to my waist where it was
taped next to the Walkman in the small of my back.  I whined timorously,
startled at how loud my voice sounded with all extraneous noise suddenly
filtered out.  That was the point when I was pushed backward on to the bed and
left alone with my thoughts.

*   *   *

Chapter Six

I thought I detected the vibration of the door closing behind him, but my world
was now different without my sense of hearing.  I was left to explore my new
predicament as best I could, lying on the plastic-covered mattress.  It did not
take me long to discover that while my new attitude was not as stringent as the
earlier position I had been in, it was imbued with subtleties I had not
appreciated. 

I found out my first problem when I reflexively tried to straighten my legs,
only to feel the connecting rope suddenly tighten about my throat.  I panicked
momentarily, but the knot was relatively loose and slipped out again as I pulled
my ankles in.  The rope ran inside the triangle formed with my bound arms, and
even though I could get my hands up to my throat, to my head, my gag, my
blindfold and the muffs, the totality of the bindings on my fingers and hands
left me quite helpless.  I was absolutely unable to do anything with my hands,
even though I could move them about.  I was at once frustrated and upset.  I
could not believe there was no play in my fingers, but they might as well have
been set in concrete, so effective was the tape binding them.

My next conclusion was why the padlocks were on the belt.  It was nothing to do
with securing me.  They were simply big and bulky enough to make it impossibly
uncomfortable to lie on my side for anything more than a few minutes.  Lying on
my back was just about an impossibility anyway, given my neck-to-ankles
connection, but Ash was evidently Mr Methodical and liked to be certain his prey
was not about to find a weak link.

I tried to fiddle with the belts, but my hands were useless, and any other
attempts to expel the devices embedded inside me proved useless.  I slumped on
my side, already feeling hot from my exertions.  But my side proved
uncomfortable with the lock on my hip, so after much struggle I managed to get
on my knees, rather in the attitude of a Muslim at prayer.  There was that
religious thing again!  I wondered if there really was a God, or were these
similes just popping out of my brain to mock me?  What sort of God would let
this happen to me, I asked myself, but met with no intelligible answer.

On my knees on the mattress I felt almost in control.  I could squirm my way
around a little bit, for there was slackness in the ankle cuffs.  I came across
the cables leading from the knot in the small of my back.  They went to the foot
of the bed where they appeared to be tied to the steel frame before disappearing
off somewhere else in the room.  They seemed to serve a dual purpose in
confining me to the bed and providing some sort of electrical connection.  It
was this latter part that scared me, for I was not so stupid as to not expect
what was likely to happen.

But time passed, and nothing eventuated.  I thought about the riddle that Ash
had posed, about computers and used car salesmen and ATM's.  What else was
there?  Furniture vans and real estate?  No, I didn't get it.  I began to get
warm as I thought about it, and realised he must have turned the heating up.  I
tugged on the cables, trying to budge the one knotted in the small of my back or
the one tied to the bed, but without success.  Even though I could touch the
knots on the bed frame with my taped hands, I could do nothing with them, other
than to beat against them in frustration.

It got warmer and I retired to my praying position, with my head just touching
the top of the bed frame at the foot of the bed.  Sometime soon after that I
must have dozed, for I awoke with a start to the sound of my mobile phone
ringing.  For a moment I was totally confused - confused by the familiar sound I
knew so well, and confused by the restrictions on my movement, then also my
speech and sight.  I wondered where I was, then the awful reality came back to
me, and I realised the ringing I could hear was through the speakers inside the
ear protectors.  As I came to my senses I also concluded that Ash must have
recorded the particular ring of my mobile.  It was nothing special - not one of
those pretentious musical tunes people insist on using, but it was distinctive
and I knew it as my own.  It was not a coincidence.  The ringing stopped, and I
collected my thoughts.

So Ash had stolen my phone, no doubt when he was rifling through my house.  The
thought of that at once annoyed and frightened me further - the knowledge that
my house was open to his whim, that he could come and go and take anything he
wanted.  But it was more than this - it was the thought of him exploring through
my belongings and doing whatever he wanted there.  Why this should have bothered
me so much, considering the situation I was in, I don't know.  My mind was not
terribly logical at that moment.

My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shock in my rectum that left me panting
noisily as I at first tried to straighten out then curled into a foetal position
on my side.  It lasted only a fraction of a second but it was horribly painful,
sending my legs momentarily into spasm.  The rope tightened on my neck briefly
before I could control my limbs enough to loosen it again.  By that time I was
making moaning noises behind the tape, like the kind a little kid makes when it
is all out of tears and a lack of breath catches up with it - a kind of gasp,
pant and moan mixed into a succession of small grunts.

I trembled from the shock for several minutes.  I did not know how often I was
going to get this treatment, nor did I know how long I could withstand it, nor
even whether I had a choice.  The room became suddenly freezing, as though the
air conditioning had been turned way up, and I began to shake further, but this
time from the cold.  The sweat soaking my nightshirt was damp and chill and my
keening beneath the tape was an unconscious reaction as I squirmed about trying
to stay warm.  I was starting to appreciate the vulnerability of my position in
this dungeon, at the mercy of these technological torture devices.

Maybe fifteen minutes passed, and the temperature slowly came back to normal. 
My exertions subsided and I was nearly ready to nod off again when the sound of
the mobile phone in my ears jarred me fully alert.  I crouched on the mattress,
waiting for what might next happen, waiting for the terrible pain up my bottom. 
The minutes ticked by.

When it came it seemed worse than before, possibly because I was waiting for it
and had amplified it in my own mind.  I jerked and cried out beneath the tape
over my mouth, then I was on my side again, making pathetic noises to the world,
half numb with the shock and letting the tears flow beneath the thick padding
under the rubber helmet.  After this the temperature resumed its upward cycle
and I lay there, letting the pounding of my heart and the blood throbbing in my
ears slowly subside as I began to sweat again.  The satin clung to my body and I
could feel the plastic wet and slippery beneath me.  How long would I have to
endure this, I wondered?

The next time the phone rang I was almost dozing again.  I snapped awake with a
despairing moan and tried to steel myself for the shock.  Several minutes
elapsed before I finally felt not the violent jolt of the plug up my rear
passage, but the subtle vibrations of the vibrator lodged in my pussy.

This was something I hadn't expected, and I had tried to push to the back of my
mind the thought that I could possibly expect an electrical shock in this
location.  But this was totally unforeseen.  The vibrations began at a low
frequency and hovered there for several minutes, then gradually began to
increase.  Despite what I had experienced maybe fifteen minutes previously, I
began to become aroused by the insistent buzzing.  I tried to squirm around to
make myself more accessible, then tried to get my taped hands down there to help
it along its way, but the fact that they were taped in a sticking out position
with the ankle/neck rope inside them, meant that I could not get my hands near
my crotch with any degree of satisfaction at all. I had no choice but to let
nature take its course.

The frequency built up steadily and my breathing began to come faster and more
raggedly as I let the vibrations do their thing.  I found myself grinding my
hips, trying to bring myself to a climax, ignoring all the pain I had been
through up until that moment.  Ignoring, too, any semblance of embarrassment or
dignity that I might have conceivably have retained.  The abrupt halting of
these wonderful feelings, followed by another jolt in my bottom left me in a
confused welter of sensations of pain, despair and frustration.  This man was
clearly skilled at reading women's reactions and needs.  The sudden deprivation
of an anticipated orgasm left me in tears of vexation, never mind the pain of
the way it had ceased.  Such was to be the pattern for my first full night of
captivity.

*   *   *

It doesn't take a lot of imagination to understand the fact that it was the
longest night of my life.  The interminable cycle of electrical stimulation -
pain and pleasure - mixed with changes in temperature within the room left me
sleepless and exhausted, which was obviously the intention.  In the back of my
mind I knew that if I ever survived what he intended for me, I would never again
be able to listen to this particular ringing of a mobile phone without reacting
by the resurrection of experiences that were being deeply instilled into my
psyche.  The very act of linking my own phone with the pain/pleasure was
particularly insidious, I thought, and anyone who could be that devious was to
be feared, I knew.

I lost all concept of time - how long it was between jolts and buzzings I could
not tell, nor how many cycles I underwent.  I sweated in the heat - perspiration
that froze as the temperature then plummeted and I shivered and tried to warm
myself.  Sometimes I nearly dozed, but always to awaken with the ringing of the
phone. My ability to think clearly began to fade as exhaustion over took me.  I
was living in a kind of limbo world of harsh sensory input that left me
whimpering and shaking uncontrollably.  My world was dark and silent, the
silence broken only by the feared phone ringing and the sound of my own muffled
cries.  So this was what it was like to go insane, a part of my mind told me...

*   *   *

Ash reappeared at some time - I have no idea when.  My thought patterns were
making no sense.  The tape holding the earmuffs was cut away and the protectors
were removed.  The rope was untied from my neck and ankles and the latter were
released.  Finally, for the first time, the tape was removed from my mouth and
the rubber helmet was pulled from my head.

Following the hours of darkness and silence, and considering my state of sleep
deprivation, it seemed as though I was overwhelmed by senses all at once.  Now I
could head the squeak of the plastic on the bed, the shuffle of his shoes on the
concrete floor.  My mouth was dry and my lips felt swollen and puffy.  I could
smell the stale odour of perspiration on my body and knew I must look a total
wreck.  For a while I just lay there, oblivious to the uncomfortable intrusion
of the padlock under my left side.  I did not want to open my eyes, I just
wanted to sleep.  I just wanted to be left alone.  I would have given anything
for a few hours sleep.  I finally opened my eyes to bright overhead lights and
finally looked at this person who had done these things to me.

He pulled my legs off the bed and forced me to sit up.  I stared at him.  He had
brown hair to below his ears and a neatly-trimmed beard and moustache.  His face
was unlined such that it made his age hard to establish.  He could have been
anywhere between late twenties to possibly forty.  There was a possible grey
hair or two in the beard but nothing else to give a hint.  His eyes were a kind
of steely grey colour and they scared me with their coldness.  The thin lips
smiled at me, but there was no warmth in the expression.

He was tall and slim, dressed in jeans and a long sleeved shirt.  Despite his
slender frame there was a feeling of strength that came out of it.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I croaked.

"I think you know very well, Jan.  At least as far as the immediate future is
concerned.  Did you solve the riddle I asked you to?"

"What?"

He shook me by the shoulders.  "Come on, now, Jan.  Pay attention.  I asked you
what furniture vans, used car salesmen, computers, ATM's and real estate all had
in common.  Well?"

"I don't know," I said tiredly.  "Look, please let me go.  What do you want with
me?  You can't hold me to ransom - I'm not rich...  I have no rich parents...  I
don't understand why you're doing this..."

"Ah, but you will, Jan." His voice was suddenly enthusiastic, as though trying
to convert me to a new religion.  "Shortly you'll understand everything.  But
first you'll need to be inducted, as I call it.  You will learn the answer to
the riddle.  I'm sorry you couldn't manage it  - I had expected a bit more
imagination from you.  I told you what was going to happen to you, didn't I?  It
was no joke, believe me."

"Please don't hurt me..." I said, the tears starting to flow freely for the
first time since I had had my sight restored.  "I'll do anything you want,
really."

"Indeed you will, my dear, but it won't be just the words you're offering now. 
The offer will be made with your whole body and soul.  It will be made without
thinking, without looking for something in return, without a thought.  It will
be instinctive, reactive, unconditional.  That is why you must be made to suffer
first."

Something snapped in me at that moment.  I don't know if it was fear or what,
but I swung my still taped arms at him sufficiently to knock him off balance
from where he squatted in front of me and lunged towards the door, only to be
brought up with a sudden jerk by the cord still attached to my waist.  The
abrupt pull made me stagger and he caught me by the arm, hauling me roughly back
to the bed and throwing me face down.

"You see, Jan?  You promise all manner of things, but beneath you're like any
woman - lying, conniving, plotting your own agenda."  His voice was steely and
ruthless and scared the hell out of me.  Amidst my tears I tried to turn and
face him but he was straddled across my body, pinning my secured wrists against
my chest underneath me.  I squirmed and began screaming - nothing really
coherent save every foul invective I could think of.  My mind was not thinking
clearly and it probably wasn't surprising when a red rubber ball on a strap was
worked into my mouth, stopping my abuse mid-stream.  He buckled the leather
strap excruciatingly tightly behind my neck, locking my jaw in a wide-open
position with the rubber smothering my tongue and rendering my complaints into a
series of nasal moans.

"Not a smart move, Jan.  This is why I have to punish you - to show you once and
for all who is in charge here - to leave you in absolutely no doubt."

My show of rebellion died as quickly as it had surfaced and I was sniffling and
snuffling into the gag in a most undignified manner.  I tried to wipe my face
with the taped steeple that was my hands, but it was pretty ineffective.  I
could only lie there as he pulled a spreader bar from under the bed and fastened
wide, heavy leather cuffs around my ankles which were locked to the bar.  It
held my ankles perhaps 80 centimetres apart - not so extreme as to be
uncomfortable, just immobilising. 

Then he was on me again and I saw the flash of steel in front of my face.  The
sight of the wicked-looking knife made me plead and scream into the gag,
struggling uselessly against his weight.  For a moment I thought he was going to
cut my throat when he pulled my head back by my plait.  I let forth as loud a
wail as I could through my nose but it didn't amount to much.  Then came the
tearing as the steel slid smoothly through the satin of my nightgown and a
minute later the last of the material was pulled away from my naked body.

He stayed sitting in the small of my back and made me put out my hands in front
of me.  The knife took care of the tape around my hands, letting me again have
the freedom to wriggle my fingers.  Then the rope too was removed from my
wrists, but only long enough for him to pull them behind me and bind them
palm-to-palm.  Oh sure, I tried to struggle in that brief instant, but with his
weight on my back and my legs braced apart by the spreader bar I really couldn't
manage it.  And the gag, too - this terrible ball that stretched my jaws and
stifled my tongue - had a psychological effect that I had not counted on when it
came to any form of resistance.

With me properly secured, I felt the locks removed from the hip positions on my
belt which still remained in place.  Next to be removed were the cables trailing
from the implants from my rectum and pussy, followed by the invaders themselves
and the crotch and waist straps.  The removal of the vibrator left me feeling
strangely empty, while with the butt plug I was warned to clench my cheeks
during the process.  I did so desperately, petrified of disgracing myself and
bringing further punishment upon myself.  He extracted the plug far from gently,
and the brief flash of pain made me close my eyes and groan beneath the ball in
my mouth.

Ash hauled me back on to my unsteady feet then made me kneel awkwardly on a rug,
finally lying me down on my back.  This done, he dragged me across the concrete
floor to the middle of the room, my legs spread wide.  I just lay there while he
loosed some sort of pulley from what I saw were many such attachments mounted on
the various exposed joists above.

It was my first chance to view my prison, and it scared me profoundly.  The
walls were of grey concrete block save for the one entry door, while the exposed
joists were lined in between with what looked like plywood - presumably as some
sort of sound proofing.  At intervals along various beams were big eyebolts or
pulleys with ropes through them, neatly tied off out of the way.  I saw the bed,
with its iron frame bolted to the floor and plastic covered mattress. About a
metre and a half in front of the bed was the steel post to which I had been
previously secured, which obviously formed part of the house supports.  To the
left of the bed was the toilet, then a shower in the corner.  Momentarily the
thought of a shower gave me hope - of exactly what, I am not sure - maybe some
sort of easing of my restraints and the delivery of a minimal comforting
experience such as a hot shower.  Then it dawned on me that it also meant a
long-term stay...Nearby was the chair to which I had first been secured, again
bolted to the floor. 

I watched with a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach as my captor pulled
down a thin steel cable from a roof-mounted chain block.  He attached a loose
chain to the ends of my spreader bar then locked the end of the cable to the
middle of the chain.  I moaned in protest as he moved to the side of the room
and began to turn a handle attached to a winch.  There was a rapid clicking
sound as the winch ratchet clacked over the toothed wheel and the cable began to
tighten, lifting the bar and my feet off the floor.  I spluttered through the
gag but it made not the slightest difference to his focussed look as he watched
the lower half of my body rise off the floor.  I bent at the waist, but the
raising continued and shortly I had only my shoulders and the back of my head in
contact with the ground.

At this point he stopped his winding and came to stand over me.  I felt
intensely vulnerable - possibly more so than at any stage to date.  Up until
that time I had at least had my nightshirt to cover my modesty.  This was now
gone, along with inserts, straps, ropes and tape that had protected my private
parts.  Now I was fully exposed, my legs secured wide apart.

He stood looking down at me for a few seconds, then stooped and grasped my plait
and pulled my head clear of the floor.  I chewed the rubber ball, trying to grit
my teeth with the pain, but it was not as bad as I had expected.  He pulled me
horizontally then spun me about the axis of my body so that suddenly I was
facing the floor, me head held by my plait only a hand span above the concrete. 
He lowered me again and I found myself awkwardly positioned with my cheek
pressed against the cold floor while he fiddled with my bound wrists.   All of a
sudden they, too, were going up in the air, almost straight above me.  At once
the strain came on to my arms like a strappado, except that it was not quite so
acute an angle.  Nevertheless it was taking part of my bodyweight and I mewed in
discomfort as the strain came on my arms and my head and shoulders were lifted
from the floor. 

He continued to pull my arms upwards until I was about waist height off the
floor.  I was now rapidly becoming really scared - terrified at my vulnerability
but also at the potential for something to break and for me to smash my head on
the concrete.  I struggled the little I could and pleaded through the gag as my
body bent into a sort of suspended half-hogtie, half-strappado.  Ash's response
was to grab my plait and complete the job, pulling my head back and securing my
hair to a further unseen rope hanging from above.  He gave me a push so I swung
from side to side.  I moaned in fear from beneath the gag.

He paced slowly around where I hung, as though studying my tautly strung body. 
At one stage he stopped beside me and let his hand slide smoothly down the
inside of my thigh and rove through the patch of hair in my crotch.  I struggled
the little I could, given my situation.  His hand slid under my stomach and up
to where my breasts hung free beneath me, defenceless.  I could not see him,
since he was outside my vision range forced on me by the way my head was held
fast.  The fingers stroked my nipples and I felt them harden.  I hated the way
they did that.  He squeezed one, then the other between his finger tips, the
nails biting into them.  I moaned and squirmed feebly.  Then the fingers were
roving back below my waist.

"You're wet, you little slut!" he said. Surely it must have been the remains of
the lubricant.  I could not believe it, nor could not make out the tone of his
voice.   He was in front of me now, walking across to the cabinet screwed to the
wall.  It had two doors and was the height of a person by about a metre wide. 
He unlocked it and swung open the doors to display the contents.

"Nice little arsenal, don't you think, Jan?"  Why did these people insist on
calling their tools an 'arsenal'? I wondered illogically.  Then the truth of
what I was looking at hit home.  There were all manner of whips, canes, leather
implements, dildoes, gags, harnesses, plugs, clips and so on hung up or piled on
the shelves within the cabinet.  I rolled my eyes in fear as he selected a
whippy-looking riding crop - the kind with the little flap on the end.  He bent
it through a hundred and eighty degrees and let it spring back before turning to
me with a cold look in his eyes.  He walked purposefully across the floor before
disappearing beyond my peripheral vision.  Then he stopped, as did my heart. 
Time seemed to freeze for a moment before the first stroke fell across my right
buttock.

"Nnnnnmmmph!" I screamed into the ball filling my mouth.  I squirmed and
struggled within my ropes but ended up merely swaying from side to side.  Crack!
Across the left buttock! "Nnnnnnnnnph!" again.  Three times more against each
cheek.  I wailed in misery, my tongue trapped beneath the rubber.  But this was
just the warm up - and that was just starting.  The tip of the crop caught first
one nipple then the other, as I jerked and cried.  Then he was between my legs,
massaging and probing in an action that suddenly stirred a multitude of
unexpected feelings.   I tried to resist the warmth that began to spread when
abruptly the warmth turned to fire as the crop caught first my rear passage and
then squarely across my pussy.

I went berserk as best I could within my confines writhing and screaming
incoherently into the gag, jerking about like a puppet.  This was the pattern
for the next half hour, at the end of which I hung limply, the sweat streaming
from my body, a high continuous keening coming from behind the rubber embedded
deeply in my mouth that silenced all coherent pleadings and cries for mercy.

*   *   *

I lost count of the floggings I received that day.  I was hung by the wrists, by
the ankles or bent over a wide belt like a swing, my wrists chained to my
ankles.  All the while I remained gagged, my muted pleading stifled by all
manner of devious mouth-filling devices.  He used weights on my nipples and on
the lips of my pussy.  I knew at that point I was going to die.

I thought the end would never come - either when every inch of my body had
received its final beating, or when loss of consciousness would finally overtake
me.  The latter never happened, despite the agonies of the flesh I underwent. 
He at last lowered me from my suspension of that moment and hauled me to the
shower.  My gag was removed and I was left lying on the tiles in the glass box,
my aching wrists manacled behind me while cold water sluiced over my body. 
Every pore seemed to cry out and I lay groaning and crying for a long time
before I realised her had left the room.  With difficulty I staggered to my feet
and turned the water off before stumbling out of the shower.  There was no towel
or anything else to dry myself against.  I finally collapsed on the bed, all
cried out, but making a throaty keening sound that I was barely conscious of.  I
closed my eyes and curled into a foetal position, wishing the nightmare would
end.  I was trembling from the cold, the lack of sleep and lack of food.  He had
made me drink several times during the torture session, but my body was starting
to retreat within itself as the temperature began to drop. 

I couldn't stop shaking; my teeth chattered and I found that despite my
exhaustion I could not fall asleep.  I had no idea if it was midday or midnight. 
When he returned maybe an hour later with some bread and water I was still
trembling.

He sat me up on the bed.  I cringed in fear from him.  He held his face a hand
span in front of mine.  I could smell the stale cigarettes on his breath as he
spoke.  His voice was serious and intense.

"Do you now see what I have the power to do to you, Jan?"  He was almost kindly
in his explanation, as though trying to get through to a pet that did not
comprehend what it had done wrong.  "Do you understand that I can leave you
suspended day and night, or starve you until you faint with hunger? Well?"

"Y-yes s-sir," I stammered, petrified that another session was about to start.

"Good.  Yes, very good.  Do you think you have learned your lesson?"

"Y-yes sir."

"You will do anything I command, at the risk of another flogging like the one
you have had today?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Are you prepared to answer some questions now?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. How many bank accounts do you have, Jan?"

"What?" I stared at him.  The question had come out of left field.  I had no
idea where he had been heading.  My penalty for the response was a slap across
the side of the head that made my ears ring.

"How many bank accounts do you have?"

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry please don't hit me again!" I cried, cowering
like a frightened animal. "I've got two - no, three..."

"Details?"

"Uh - a cheque account, a credit card one and a term deposit..."

"Very good, Jan."  He smiled - an expression that stopped short of his eyes.  "I
knew that.  I've gone through your records.  What I want is your PIN number. 
What is it?"

"I - uh - 534496..." I gabbled without thinking.  Not - given the time to react
logically - that I would have done anything else under the circumstances.

"Ex-cellent, Jan."  He seemed genuinely pleased.  He retrieved a notebook from
his back pocket and wrote the number down, while I hung my head and the tears
again rolled down my cheeks.

"Have you figured out the riddle yet Jan?  Real estate and used cars and ATM's? 
I am going to be kind to you just this once.  I'm going to tell you the answer. 
What all these things have in common is that they all relate to your
possessions.  You remember we have discussed these things by email?  You'll be
surprised how much I know about you.  To cut a longer story short, what is going
to happen to you, my dear, is that you are going to disappear - to vanish.  I am
going to sell off your house, your car, your furniture, all your possessions,
and to clean out your bank account.  You will cease to exist as a person."  He
paused, as the onus of what he was saying sank in.  "You will have nothing
whatsoever in this world.  No money, no clothes, no credit cards, no
identification.  You will be certified dead and buried."

I felt a cold knot in the pit of my stomach and stared at him in disbelief.

"And you may even get to experience that as well.  I just haven't decided
yet..."

*   *   *

Chapter Seven

I had many hours from that point to reflect on my circumstances.  He left me
alone again, this time stanäing, my hands at the level of my mouth, my wrists
cuffed and locked together and attached to a chain hanging from the ceiling.  A
spreader bar spread my ankles apart.

By comparison with the extremes I had recently experienced the position was
mild.  I was neither blindfolded nor gagged, and by way of a treat he hung a
small basket of food in front of me, perhaps a metre away at shoulder height. 
In it were some bread and fruit and a bottle of water.  Of course nothing was
easy where Ash was concerned.  He left me there, having shown me the contents,
turning the lights out as he exited.

I was desperately hungry, but couldn't reach the basket with my hands.  The only
thing I could eventually do was to back towards it and start it swinging using
my head or shoulders.  In the darkness the basket swung randomly, hitting me
unexpectedly a number of times before I could finally catch it with my hands. 
What with the arc of the swing and the arc in which I could move my hands, the
basket was around head height when I captured it.  Removing and consuming the
contents took perhaps an hour, so scared was I of dropping some food and wasting
the potential nutrition.  I had to let go of the basket a number of times in
order to eat a piece of fruit with both hands or to drink some of the water.

For a while this immediate distraction occupied my thoughts until eventually the
basket was empty and I stood there in the darkness.  My thoughts turned to Ash's
words and what I was faced with, and I saw the methodology in his plan.  It
terrified me, even though I did not know the details.  It also angered me, and
for that spur I was grateful.  His arrogance in the taking and disposing of my
house, my car and all my possessions brought me back from the pain that still
left my body sore and aching from the beating I had received.  I was overwhelmed
by a mixture of despair and outrage that this was happening to me.  The fact of
my immediate predicament and the beating I had suffered somehow took on a lesser
importance than the violation of my house and possessions.  How dare he!

But as the hours passed the effect of my punishment caught up with my.  My flesh
was sore all over, striped and striated as it was from the lash and the cane.  I
had been weakened by the lack of sleep and the tortuous positions into which I
had been suspended, and now the subtlety of my present stance began to take its
toll as my legs slowly began to tremble, forced as they were into a rigid
triangle by the spreader bar.  I was able to bend at the knees somewhat to ease
the stance, but I could only lower myself as far as the suspension chain holding
my wrists would let me, which was not enough to actually kneel.  Hanging on the
chain itself was not at all pleasant.

I wondered how he was going to sell off my possessions.  I wondered what was
going to happen to me.  Countless black and depressing thoughts floated through
my increasingly disoriented brain.  At some stage I must have fallen asleep on
my feet then fallen forward, jerking myself awake on my chains.  The aches
through my body had magnified and the pain in my legs was becoming unbearable as
I desperately flexed them as much as I could.  The heat must have been turned up
again, for I sweated as I strained.  The food was all gone and I had drunk the
water.  I was not thinking at all straight and began to hallucinate on the verge
of consciousness, as if I had a virus.  I think I was groaning and talking to
myself by the time he returned.  My leg muscles were screaming for release and I
collapsed in a tear-stained mess as the lights were switched on and eventually
my ankles were freed from the terrible bar, and my still-cuffed wrists were
unlocked from the overhead chain.

Ash looked down on me as I lay sobbing on the cold concrete.

"I have something I want you to sign," he told me brusquely.  "Come on - on your
feet."  He hauled me up by the arm and across to the chair bolted to the floor. 
On it was some sort of document comprising several sheets of typing.  He made me
kneel in front of the chair and thrust a pen into my cuffed right hand.  "If you
would be so kind as to sign on the proverbial dotted line at the bottom..." It
was an order, not a request.

"W-what is it?"  I stammered, not focussing clearly on the printed words.

The answer to my question was a savage slash across my exposed back with a cat
of nine tails that I had not seen him pick up.  I screamed at the pain on my
already acutely tender and sensitive skin.

"Would you like some more?" he demanded fiercely.  I shook my head miserably,
the heat of the slash burning into my back.  I was conscious of his arm raised
again and I desperately scribbled my signature on the line at the bottom of the
page, ahead of the expected blow.  It didn't come.  Instead the voice said: 
"Now put you initials on the next pages on the places marked with a cross."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach I did as I was ordered.  As I
signed again on the last page and put down the pen I saw the words "Power of
Attorney" at the top.

"Thanks Jan - you've just given me power of attorney over all your assets.  Not
that such is really necessary, since officially you will be dead very shortly. 
It just makes things a bit easier for me." He smiled - a self-satisfied
expression that send a chill down my spine.

Then he turned and pulled a long envelope from his pocket.  "I have another
document here." He opened the end of the envelope and extracted the papers from
within.  They were of heavy parchment folded once lengthwise, and I knew at once
they were more legal papers.  He placed them on the chair beside me.  "Sign at
the pencilled crosses," he ordered.

I stared at the words 'Last Will and Testament' in heavy gothic print across the
top.  I could not believe this.  Two brutal slashes with the cat across my
shoulder blades made the point and I struggled, weeping, to make a legible
signature where the pencilled crosses indicated.  My tears made it hard to read
the writing - not that I had time - and stained the paper where they fell.

 In a minute it was all over and Ash hauled me to my feet again by my plait,
dragging me squealing and protesting back to the bed.  With a few deft moves he
had my hands cuffed behind me and my ankles cuffed together.  He turned and
stalked off towards the door, collecting the papers on the way.  He paused in
the doorway.

 "Your food is by the door here," he said.  "Make it last.  I may be out for
some time..." With that the lights went out and the door slammed with a deathly
clang, followed by the solid click of the well-oiled lock.  Distantly I thought
I head the sound of a car door and an engine start, but so effective was the
soundproofing that I was not even sure of that.

What had I done?  I had given this bastard power of attorney... He could now
sell off all my possessions - my house, my car - everything I owned...  The
picture now became graphically clear - or so I thought.  But my mind was not
working properly.  Even though I was bound hand and foot, the fact that my
restraints were locked leather cuffs made it slightly less stringent and I was
at very least grateful for this small mercy.  I did not understand what he meant
by being gone for some time and I did not care.  I was simply so tired and pain
wracked that I merely wanted to curl up and die.  I lay on the plastic-covered
bed and eventually fell asleep.  I was all cried out and my body could not
sustain the stress any longer.  I was past caring what was happening beyond this
room, beyond my own torment-filled world.

*   *   *

I have no idea how long I slept or how long Ash was gone.  At one stage I awoke
and used the toilet and the shower, albeit in the dark and from a sitting
position.  I was now sufficiently compos mentis to realise that there was in
fact a hot tap in the shower - but also that there was no water in it.  I found
the food in a basket by the door and dragged it laboriously back to the bed, the
only place I could sit that didn't chill me.  The room temperature appeared
reasonably even now, and I suspected that Ash was not home or had no need to
play mind games with me to quite the same extent.  I was ravenous and very
thirsty.  I had not realised how dehydrated I had become.  This time, however,
there was no water in a bottle for me.  My only option was to drink from the
shower, and I thus ended up getting a wash whether I wanted it or not.  The food
comprised more bread and fruit.  I ate some - not without difficulty with my
hands cuffed behind me and in the absolute darkness that was my prison - and
slept some more.

In my waking moments I cursed myself for having given in so easily to his
demand, but I knew in my heart of hearts that I could not have resisted.  The
thought of another beating and more sleep deprivation was enough to convince me
I would have given in at some stage anyway.  The longer I tried to resist the
more pain I would have had to endure, and to what end? He would ultimately get
his way in the end.  I knew I had no choice but to make it as quick and
minimally damaging to me as I could.

Nevertheless as I lay in the darkness, I steeled myself to be strong and I
resolved that somehow I would get my revenge on this scumbag.

*   *   *

It was at least a day later when Ash returned.  I had realised the fact that I
could at least tell one day from the previous by the fact that the guy changed
his clothes - like any human being.  I began to look for patterns in his
clothing and over time I started to work out patterns, but that was not for a
couple of weeks.  Initially I concluded that he must be on holiday, since it was
now in the New Year period and there appeared to be no pattern to his choice of
clothes or his comings and goings.  In regard to the former he was casual
without being slovenly, but at an early stage I began to spot the change of
business shirt that identified one day from the next.

His reappearance in this instance was welcomed if only to have my wrists
released from behind my back.  While they had not been tightly bound, I was
unused to such restraint for such a period and my shoulders and arms ached from
the restriction they had endured.  That was over and above all the raw and
tender areas of my skin that had suffered from the lash and the cane.  It was
almost a relief to find myself stretched tautly into a Y-shape with my wrists
pulled high on two separate ropes towards the rafters.  I was standing on
tiptoes, my ankles still cuffed, and he had strapped another of his favourite
ball gags into my mouth, before undoing the plait in my hair.  I wondered what
he was up to - the mere contemplation of which filled me with dread.

But he seemed to be in a good mood.  He was dressed in this instance in a suit -
the first time I had seen him attired this way.  His hair was slicked back and
he looked quite presentable, in a vaguely sleazy way.  I wondered what was going
on as I teetered there, trying not to put too much weight on my arms and not
being very successful.  He sat down on the chair and watched me for a minute.

"Do you know where I've been today, Jan?"  I shook my head, wondering where this
was going.  "I've been and talked to your partners - you know, Pat and Peter and
Nicole."

What? What was he doing?

"Yes, I thought that would get your attention.  They were very upset when I told
them about you.  I suppose I should tell you the story as well."  He chuckled,
then his expression turned grave.  "You see, I work for Collins and Forde.  We
are lawyers who often have to deal with deaths and all the complications that
these entail."  He stood up and began to pace slowly up and down the room,
talking as though to someone other than me.  "As you know, Jan was scheduled to
attend a conference in Seattle, with a few days in Los Angeles first.  It was in
LA that the accident occurred and she was killed instantly by a hit and run
driver near her hotel in Anaheim.  Terrible thing - terrible..." He shook his
head as though hardly able to believe what he was saying.  "I have been notified
by the local police who were advised by the LA police.  I should explain that I
am executor for Jan's will and I hold power of attorney over her assets.  I
haven't known her long - only six months or so, since I looked after the
purchase of her house - but I found her a most likeable person.  I'm sure this
must come as a terrible shock to you - as it did to me - at an age when we
really don't think about death.  I have to offer my deepest sympathy to you, who
have worked with Jan. 

"It is always difficult at times like this to grasp the realities of such a
situation as this, but there are the inevitable formalities that will have to be
dealt with..." He stopped and stared at the floor, as though struggling to
contain his grief.

Then he looked at me and grinned.  "Your back-pay and other earnings will go
into the Collins and Forde Trust Account by the end of the week," he said
triumphantly. 

I stared at him, disbelieving.

"Nnnnnnnuhh!" I wailed into the gag, shaking my head and feeling utter despair
overwhelm me at the thought of my colleagues taken in and conned by this
arsehole.  I wept with frustration at the pain and helplessness that came
crashing down on me like a tidal wave.  I think it was at that moment that I
realised Ash had a plan that he intended to carry through, and that nothing was
beyond him. 

"Oh yes, Jan.  They have my mobile number if they need to contact me.  I told
them I was based in Sydney since I had helped you down there first - which was
where we had met.  I had made the flight up here to clear up your affairs as
best as I could in a limited time.  Wheels are in motion, my dear.  The
juggernaut is rolling and there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop it. You
should also know -" He stopped as there was a ringing sound of a mobile phone,
as though on cue.  "I wonder who this will be?" he murmured with half to
himself, a smug tone to his voice.

"Ashley Forde....  Ah yes, hello Jason.  You've checked it out?  All the papers
in order?  Good.  Look, yes I have considered your offer and I am prepared to
accept it.  Shall I see you this afternoon?  Excellent.  Bye."

"Another little part of the jigsaw, my dear Jan."  He walked across and stood in
front of me, smiling.  "That was the nice used car salesman, who will give me a
very good price for your VW Golf.  You have looked after it well and it shows. 
Aren't you pleased?"

I guess I just lost it at that point.  My frustration and despair turned to
momentary, unthinking anger, and I wanted to lash out at this man. 
Unfortunately the only parts of my body I could move were my legs, though they
were still cuffed at the ankles.  I say unfortunately, because I was not really
thinking what I was doing, nor what the consequences might be.  Instinctively I
pulled on the ropes holding my arms and jack-knifed my legs at him.  He was
standing perhaps two paces away, and though I caught him off guard and gave him
a soft kick in the stomach, he simply laughed at me while I mmphed at him in
gagged fury and swung impotently from the ropes, my toes scraping the floor.

"Tsk, Jan," he said, tut-tutting the way one would to a recalcitrant child. 
"You need to have a reality check my dear.  Point one, this is going to happen.
There is nothing you can do to prevent it.  You car will be sold this afternoon. 
You salary is already taken care of.  I have spoken to an estate agent and an
auction company, and very soon your possessions will be sold off as a deceased
estate, followed thereafter by your house.  It is all going as per plan, and
will continue to do so.  Your trying to kick me will achieve nothing, except to
demonstrate to me that I have not yet succeeded in properly training you.  You
should know by now that disobedience gets punished in this room."

He walked over to the cabinet, opened it, then paused, deciding which implement
to use.  My stomach turned over as he selected a riding crop.  It was bound in
leather with a pointed leather flap at the end.  Ash was smiling as he came back
to me, slapping the device meaningfully against his leg.  I shook my head in
fear, pleading 'no' as best I could beneath the rubber ball silencing my tongue. 
The sound came out as a nasal whine.

"Oh yes, Jan.  You must remain accountable for your actions.  What you did was
unforgivable.  A slave does not attack her master.  A slave must understand
unconditional obedience - clearly a point I have not demonstrated adequately. 
So not only have you carried out this unspeakable act, you have implied that I
am a poor teacher, unable to properly get my ideas into your pretty head.  My
methods are obviously insufficiently motivating..." He smiled at me - an
expression that made me tremble.  I was crying again, snuffling and making
unintelligible animal noises that would have begged forgiveness if they could
have been understood.  I briefly wondered if the actual pain I was about to
experience could be worse than the terror I felt looking at the crop in his
hand.  I tried to back away, but the ropes on my wrists left little room for
movement.

He circled me, drawing on my fear and laughing at the way my body shook in
anticipation of the bite of the crop.  Except that when the stroke came I was in
no way really prepared for it.  He caught me three times in quick succession
across the buttocks while I yowled into my gag and strained forward in a futile
attempt to distance myself from the evil weapon.  Then he was round the front
and my breasts took two strokes each.  I was now on the verge of
hyperventilating, drawing ragged gasps through my nose, in between trying to
make as much noise as possible.  When he stopped in front of me and slowly drew
the crop up between my legs I froze in horror.  

"Nnnnn!  Nnnn!  Nnnn!"  I pleaded desperately, shaking my head and trying to
convey my message through my own tears.  His expression was detached and
clinical, as one might have in dissecting an insect for research.  The crop was
momentarily replaced by his hand stroking my pussy as though preparing it for
attack.  When the blow came I nearly fainted from the pain, going berserk in my
bonds.  I screamed into the gag and tried to go foetal by lifting up my legs
even though I was suspended from the ceiling. 

I won't go into the details of the remainder of the beating.  I thought it would
never end, and when he finally attached another cord to my ankles and pulled my
feet backwards from under me I thought he had finally finished as I wound up
stretched out nearly horizontal, staring at the concrete floor.  My hair, now
loose, was damp and straggly, hanging below me.  On the floor was a pool of
dampness that was partly sweat and partly drool from my efforts to cry out
around the rubber ball wedged behind my teeth.

I could not see what was happening behind me, other than the pair of feet
standing beyond my own. When the slash fell across my soles I jerked and
struggled like a puppet, but to no result.  My feet received a series of such
strokes as I cried and wailed and the tears dropped in a puddle beneath me.  The
beating of my feet was almost the final act of my torturer for the session.  His
parting gift was something I could obviously savour and think about in his
absence - a clothes peg on each nipple and one on each of my pussy lips, all
connected with string on which a lead ball the size of a ping pong ball was
suspended.

I was keening continuously with the pain by this time and barely understood him
as he squatted casually beside my head.

"Do we think we have learned our lesson now, Jan?"  I moaned and nodded in my
misery. "We are prepared to remain obedient and to not act impetuously?"  More
nodding and piteous whining.  "Good.  I think by the time I come back you will
have fully understood what it will take to save yourself this unnecessary
inconvenience.  I shall be gone several hours.  I have a car to deliver and will
then need to visit the bank.  I'm sure you understand that I'm a busy man..."

I barely heard the closing of the door over my own desolate sobs.



*   *   *

Chapter Eight

Ash was exactly right in that whatever secret agendas I might have, I knew they
would have to stay secret.  Which meant absolute obedience.  I came to that
conclusion very quickly as the pain in the various parts of my body went on and
one.  The load on my wrists stretched my arms and after the first hour made my
shoulders seem like they were about to be torn apart at the sockets.  My neck
ached with the need to constantly lift my head so as to keep my nose clear of
the drool that leaked around the rubber ball, and to allow passage for the tears
that regularly rolled down my cheeks.  My ankles likewise bore the burden of my
weight, but the pain there subsided into something relatively bearable compared
to the fire that burned in the soles of my feet.

But these limb torments were as nothing to the one that pulled at my poor
nipples and the lips of my pussy due to the terrible lead ball supported by all
four clamps.  I could see the instrument of my torture hanging beneath my
stomach, whenever I let my head drop - a reminder from Ash of the folly of
disobeying the person who held such power over my life. 

I alternated my tears with a whimpering keening sound, eventually focussing on a
spot on the concrete floor such that the pain began to recede.  Whether this was
real or not I don't know.  I tried to concentrate on this spot to the exclusion
of all other things, to take myself into Subspace where the pain would lessen
and my body would cease to be the receptor of such sensations.  It was like
trying to empty your head of all thoughts - something I had always found
difficult.  This time I think I managed it, and I found myself in a strange
twilight world where Jan Sherwood ceased to exist and my surroundings dissolved
into a haze of nebulous shapes and sensations.  The silence was broken only by
the ragged sound of my breathing, interspersed with snuffling and inhaling as I
sought to clear my nose. 

Time had stopped, as had my thought processes, when the steel door swung open
again and Ash returned to survey my form slumped in the suspension ropes in the
centre of the room. 

The return of an outside influence brought me back to reality with a physical
jolt, much like those strange spasms that you occasionally get when you're
almost asleep.  The nature of it brought the pain flooding back and I knew I
could not return to Subspace again.  I cried piteously, moaning and drooling
further.

"And how are we now, Jan?"  A moaned response.  "Have we learned our lesson?"
Pathetic nodding of head.  He stood beside me and stretched out his foot, the
toe of his shoe flicking the lead weight hanging half a metre below my stomach. 
My moans went up an octave as the renewed pain shot through my tortured nipples
and pussy.  There followed a light touch on the still smarting soles of my feet. 
I jerked and tried to writhe within my bonds but the strain in my extended limbs
was too great to do more than shudder. 

"I am now thirteen thousand five hundred dollars richer, and your car has a new
home," he said smugly.  "Life is good, I think."  I made no response.  Then the
weighted ball was unhooked and I momentarily came alive, howling behind the
rubber ball wedged in my mouth, as the blood flowed back into my tormented
flesh.

He let my feet down first, but I could barely stand, so painful were they.  They
remained cuffed and locked together while he unhooked my wrists and cuffed these
together behind me.  I was light-headed and could make not the slightest
resistance as he picked me up in his arms and carried me to the bed, dumping me
in a heap before removing the gag from my mouth.  Then I was in darkness again
as he left, the door closing with the sound that I knew would remain with me in
my nightmares for the rest of my life.

*   *   *

Some hours passed before he returned to feed me, this time with some thick stew. 
It was the first hot food I had received since my capture, and I confess it
tasted pretty good.  I suspected it was out of a tin, but I wasn't going to
complain as he fed me sitting on the edge of the bed.  He was obviously in a
good mood.  He showed me the cheque he had received for the sale of my car to a
dealer and chatted boyishly about the sale, but I said nothing.  I tried not to
look at him, not trusting myself and terrified of what might happen to me if he
misinterpreted my expression or the tone of my voice.

My dinner over, he stood up and paced the room for a short while.

"The auction of the house is set for next week, Jan.  Just thought you might be
interested.  All reports from the real estate people suggest there is a lot of
interest.  They're doing a bit of a publicity blitz.  There will be a nice
colour photo in the newspapers over the weekend and fliers will be going out.  I
think we'll get a good price." He stopped and turned to stare at me. "That is, I
will get a good price."  He grinned.  "There's no doubt about you, Jan - you're
changing my life - absolutely for the better, I must hasten to explain," he
added with a short laugh.  "There is one element of it that we have not yet
contemplated, however, have we."

I knew what was coming next.

"We've established the parameters of our relationship, Jan.  You now know your
place in the order of this world - or so I fervently hope.  Is that the case?"

"Yes, sir," I whispered, staring at my feet.

"I really and truly hope so.  I would not want to have the trouble of giving you
another beating like this morning... It would be so upsetting for me to think
that I'd failed again.  Any punishment you have received so far would be a
fraction of what you would receive if I had to go through that process again. Do
I make myself understood, Jan?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are we sure?"

"Yes sir."

"Good.  Lie back on the bed." 

I did as I was commanded, my cuffed wrists trapped under me.  He positioned me
with my stiff-cuffed feet near the frame at the foot of the bed then wandered
across to the cabinet beside the door.  From inside the cabinet he produced
several lengths of rope and a roll of silver duct tape.  I groaned inwardly at
this last item, for the recollection of the first hours I had suffered here,
bound immovably with the hated tape, was still fresh in my memory, along with
other memories I would never have considered possible.

The cuffs came off my right ankle which was soon taped securely to my right
thigh.  My left ankle was bound similarly and I found myself with my knees in
the air aware of how vulnerable I was becoming.  This was obviously Ash's
intention, for one length of rope was threaded through behind my right knee and
both ends tied to the right side of the bed.  Moments later my vulnerability was
confirmed as the same treatment was meted out to my left leg and I lay there,
spread and scared.  His hands worked the third rope through the wrist cuffs
underneath me then pulled them hard towards the foot of the bed.  With my knees
tethered as they were, my only option was to slide towards the foot of the bed
while my legs were pulled in the opposite direction, exposing my buttocks in a
way that left me in no doubt what was going to happen.

Ash walked to the cabinet again.  My breath was coming faster now, and when I
saw him return with a paddle and a small bullwhip I began to shake
uncontrollably.  He stood beside the bed and looked down at me.  I didn't trust
myself to speak, but implored him with my eyes, which now leaked tears of
self-pity.  I began to sob quietly.

"Now, Jan, you need to understand what is going to happen to you.  Life is not
all bad if you do your part."  He held up the bullwhip.  It had a thick
leather-bound handle and a tail perhaps a metre long, wrapped around the handle. 
He held it in front of my face.

"Lick it!  Good girl.  Now kiss it!"  I did so.  I could smell the strong smell
of leather and sweat.  "Now open wide..."

The wrapped handle was abruptly jammed between my teeth.  I spluttered
involuntarily.  His voice was abruptly slow and cold with his next words.  "If
you let go of that, I will use it on you.  Make no mistake."

"We are now going to get to know each other a little better, Jan - in the
biblical sense."

Even though I knew it was coming - that it was inevitable - the shock was still
there.  Despite all the torture and humiliation I had suffered to date, the
penetration of my person by objects, the abuse of my sex by whipping and
clipping, this was the coup de grace - the rape of Jan Sherlock by her captor.

I closed my eyes at this point, letting the tears run silently from the corners
down my temples.  I thought I had mentally prepared myself for this, but I was
wrong.  I had known that Ash would not stop at financially ruining me.  That had
obviously been the first priority - striking while the iron was hot.  The sexual
side had been inevitable, but I had subconsciously held on to a slim hope that
it might not happen, and now my denial had caught up with me.  My experience
with Graham in his Sydney dungeon had been exciting and stimulating in all sorts
of ways - until the final night.  This time the nightmare just continued.  I
considered that my situation could really become no worse, however.  I had to
accept what was to come as being at least better than a beating.  I resolved to
make the situation work for me - to channel my anger and determination into
getting even.  What this latest outrage did was to up the revenge stakes a
notch.  One day, the time would come, the opportunity would appear...

 I was expecting to feel him enter me but what happened next was a surprise. 
There was a resounding smack as a paddle caught me squarely across the right
cheek.  I gasped, nearly letting the whip fall from my mouth.  Then a searing
pain across the other cheek.  Six on each side with the paddle, then a further
six on the inside of my thighs with the short-handled flogger.  I was yowling
and crying by this time - the whip in my mouth was nowhere near as effective in
silencing me as the ball gag, and was obviously not intended to be.  The finale
was a trio of strokes vertically down my pussy that saw me writhing and chewing
on the leather handle jammed in my mouth at the terrible pain between my legs.

I lay there whimpering as the barrage of blows ceased.  I dared not open my eyes
for fear of seeing him preparing to unleash some new horror upon me.  The
unexpectedness of the beating and the pain it had caused had totally driven the
thought of sexual penetration from my mind, and with it the mental preparation
for such final ignominy.  I was still gasping and wishing the pain would go away
when his fingers slipped inside me.

"You're wet, you little slut!" he declared with a triumphant tone.  "I knew it. 
You'll enjoy this."

The suddenness of his entry startled me again, together with the ease with which
he slid inside.  I gathered at once that he was reasonably well endowed, and
despite the beating I was also well lubricated with my own juices.  I was
momentarily astonished at this - a part of my brain identifying the fact and
with it the strange feelings I had not expected within my loins under such
circumstances.  In Sydney Graham had beaten me once on the pussy - admittedly
nothing as painful as this, but certainly enough to get the blood flowing.  When
he entered me that time it seemed as though every moment had been amplified and
the sensations heightened.

This time I knew the flogging had been too brutal, that it could not possibly
enhance what was to be a trial unwished for.  I tried to ignore the stale smell
of cigarettes that still clung to Ash.  How appropriate a name, I thought
ironically.  The smell would stay with me, I knew, reminiscent of that first
night of terror when I had been blindfolded and captured in my own bedroom. 
Smell was such a powerful emotion I doubted I would ever be able to shake myself
free of the feelings this would conjure up.

I was aware that Ash was now naked - his flesh warm against the tender sweaty
surface of my own.  He thrust into me, but had only done so a few times when I
suddenly felt a rising tide in my loins that I could not control.  I could not
believe what was happening and that I could be as out of control as this.  What
had he done to me?  The heat intensified and a great wave surged within me,
leaving me gurgling and panting through the handle still clenched in my mouth. 
My eyes were screwed shut as the pleasure tide roared through my limbs leaving
my hands clenching in their cuffs beneath me and my legs straining to close on
the being impaling me between them. 

But it was an incredible sensation of pleasure - a stark, unbelievable contrast
to the pain that had so recently swamped my poor body.  Despite my principles
and my determination to resist I found myself powerless, and surrendered my last
vestiges of will to the onrush.  I was aware that somewhere distantly someone
was making a kind of gargling cry that went on and on. 

Eventually it dawned on me that I was the one making the noise, as I slowly came
back to earth.  Ash had briefly paused to let the climax take hold, but was
clearly far from done himself.  He hammered away at me for another fifteen
minutes, and again, despite my best intentions I lost a further battle, this
time of a lesser severity, but which combined with his own climax to leave us
both panting and soaked in perspiration.  All thought of the beating was now
lost from my mind, which had gone beyond logic by this stage.  I was exhausted
from the sustained suspension, the beatings and the climactic attention I had
just received.  I just wanted to collapse, to roll into a little ball and send
the world away for a long time...

*   *   *

I guess that day marked a watershed in my captivity.  It was the first of many
times in which I was used by Ash for his personal pleasure.  Invariably in each
of these instances I was bound in a helpless and exposed position - something he
delighted in doing, not least because any so-called foreplay usually consisted
of a flogging for yours truly.  I was unable to resist, and usually unable to
protest.

It was a watershed also in that I came to the unavoidable, unexpected and
somewhat difficult-to-accept conclusion that the flogging actually served to
enhance the subsequent coupling.  I discovered that the mixture of pain and
pleasure took me to new heights which I had neither experienced nor expected.  I
was bewildered by this, since I still loathed Ash and what he was doing to me. 
The conflict in my own mind left me confused and - I reluctantly admit - less
determined in my resolve to overcome my situation no matter what.  There were
issues of sexuality which I had not expected or even known to exist, and which I
had no avenue for discussion with anyone.  Depression closed in on me and for a
long time things got worse.  The Stockholm Syndrome, where hostages make friends
with their captors, seemed a possibility for a while, although the appearance of
Ash always left me uncertain because of his unpredictability.  I could be bound
in a stringent position and receive a beating, which might or might not be
followed by intercourse.  Or I might simply be left there, with no explanation. 
I half-looked forward to his visits, however, if only for a break in the
routine, for the boredom was getting to me.  In a way this was the worst aspect
of my captivity.

Once or twice I tried to engage him in conversation, but each time I wound up
with weights hanging from my nipples and pussy lips, bound in a terrible
position for having disobeyed my code of conduct.  All the remainder of the time
I was kept  - at very least - with my hands cuffed behind me and my ankles
cuffed and locked together. 

After perhaps ten days had passed, Ash entered the room to announce that the
auction had taken place and that my house had sold for  two hundred and twenty
nine thousand dollars.  Even after the real estate people had had their cut, Ash
would be left with a healthy profit.  The news only served to depress me
further, as did the announcement that the auction of all my belongings would
take place in two days time. 

On this particular visit he brought with him a cardboard carton, which he put on
the floor next to the bed, where I sat.

"I've brought you a present, my dear," he told me lightly.  "I do hope you like
it.  It will make your life a little more comfortable down here."  He opened the
flaps with a flourish and I looked down to see a jumble of stainless steel
strips and chains.  My heart sank.  It was another of his devious schemes, I
knew, which would inevitably end up with me in some awful position having
horrible things done to me.

That said, I could not help my interest piquing as he extracted what turned out
to be a 'belt' from the mess of chains and fastened it around my waist.  It
fitted perfectly.  It was about four centimetres wide and made in a single piece
of stainless steel, perhaps three millimetres thick.  By pulling the ends apart
he was able to slip it sideways on me then rotate it so that the ends joined
over my navel.  Here there was a rebate at each end so that they overlapped
without any increase in thickness, and through the middle of these overlaps he
inserted two rivets, snapping them off with a riveting tool.  I didn't know how
the belt could then be removed.   On each hip there was a small D-shaped
projection through which there was a small ring, about three centimetres in
diameter. There were further such D-projections in the centre at back and front,
but without the rings.

 I watched curiously as he then fitted stainless steel cuffs to my ankles. 
These were hinged, with an inner lining of dense foam that made the cuff fit
snugly against my skin.  Unlike the belt, these cuffs locked in place with a
small padlock on the outside of my leg and had a D-ring on the inside -
obviously for hobbling purposes.

The same operation took place on my wrists, with the metal cuffs soon locked
into place.  The last piece of equipment turned out to be a collar.  Devoid of
lining, it was riveted into place like the waist belt.  Like the belt it had
four small D rings on it.  I didn't like to consider the possibilities here. 
Then the thin stainless chains came out, and before I was even free of the
leather cuffs, I saw the chains locked on to each ankle cuff, run through the
hip rings and then connected to the wrist cuffs.  A long length of chain locked
to the back of my collar and was then attached to the post in the centre of the
room.  The leather cuffs then came off and I was told to stand.  I did so with a
rattle of hardware and found my wrists drawn snugly in to the hip rings as I
straightened up.  That was when I realised that to move my hands above my waist
I had to bend my knees somehow, whether it was by raising my leg, or by
squatting or kneeling.  Ash was immensely pleased with himself.

"Like them?"

"They're very... pretty... sir," I said at last.

"Suits you," he said.  "But Jan you must remember that everything good has to be
earned.  These chains offer you so much more freedom, without taking away your
basic restraint.  You should first understand what can be done with them. 
Kneel."

With these ominous words I did as I was commanded, and waited while he locked a
few links between my wrist cuffs, then attached this short length of chain to
the front D-ring on my collar.  He stepped back to admire his work.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed, looking down at where I knelt, my hands cupped either
side of my jaw as though I was just resting my head in them.  "Remember this
position.  It's what happens to slaves who are disobedient."  And with that he
turned and departed, leaving a host of thoughts racing through my mind. 

The most immediate was what freedom of movement did I have?  I thought initially
things might not be too bad, until I tried to stand and found myself bent at
waist and knees in a most uncomfortable position.  I could walk about the room
in this contorted manner, a bit like a chicken strutting its stuff, but not
being able to straighten my legs or arms was going to be distinctly unpleasant. 
I found I could only get on to the bed with some difficulty, but at least once
there I could lie on my side or sit cross-legged.

Another, different thought popped into my mind.  The fact that Ash was near to
completing his objective in selling off all my assets could have meant he had no
further use for me.  Instead he had just spent what must have been a
considerable amount in getting these customised restraints made.  This told me I
was here for the long term - whatever that might mean.  He had mentioned
something about a study or experiment when I had first arrived, but in my pain
and exhaustion and fear I had not taken it in.  Was this part of it?

I had been released from the more stringent bondage, and ultimately I surmised I
would have more freedom of movement.  Would I have enough to somehow overpower
Ash?   I suspected not - not in the present form of restraint, anyhow.  Any such
attempt would have to be based on the premise that the keys to the chain
securing me to the post were either on Ash's person or in the cabinet.  I did
not want to take the chance of overcoming Ash and finding I was still trapped
here with the only option being to let Ash fetch the key.  Somehow that would
not work, I reckoned.

The realisation that there was some sort of long term purpose to my captivity
left me struggling with mixed emotions.  There was relief that such a future
existed, but the thought of this captivity stretching out interminably filled me
with trepidation and despondency - feelings that lay heavily with me over the
next day or so.  Life in my dungeon did not get any easier, even though my hands
were no longer cuffed behind me and my ankles were not joined.  I could not
straighten up and my back and legs began to ache as a result.  Ash delivered
food in a bowl on the floor - usually some sort of stew or pasta - designed
obviously to make it difficult to eat without the use of my hands except in a
very limited way.  I managed the task kneeling beside the bed with the bowl
sitting on the edge.  Drinking was still a problem and inevitably I got wet and
cold.  I found I could not quite reach the shower taps with my hands in my
crouching state, but I could still raise one foot high enough to turn the tap on
with my toes.  This process was cumbersome and chilling and further depressed my
spirits.

I guessed that nearly two days passed before he came back to release the chains
from where they were locked to my collar.  I was pathetically grateful for the
release, for the restraint had been much harder than I had expected.  Although
not as stringent as some of the things I had endured, the long time I had been
forced into the crouch and the unknown duration I was faced with all took their
toll on me.  I became like a pet awaiting its master for the lifting of a
punishment that had been imposed for no reason.

The release - as usual - did not come without payment, as Ash stuffed a ball gag
in my mouth, roped my elbows to each edge of the bed and gave my buttocks and
pussy a thorough flogging, before fucking me thoroughly.  I had discovered in
the course of these sessions that he at least wore a condom.  Again, this lent
credence to my theory that I was to be held for a long time - long enough so
that complications like pregnancies were to be avoided by all parties.  That was
some small relief to me, although a pregnancy would have been welcomed if it
meant my escape from captivity.  But somehow that would have been both unlikely
and unexpected, I decided.

After he had satisfied himself Ash unlocked my hands from my collar and I
stretched out on the bed, luxuriating inwardly at the relief it gave my muscles. 
Ash was grinning again, and I knew something else had transpired. 

"Isn't it amazing what you accumulate over time," he said. "Until you come to
insure something, you don't realise how much money you've sunk into material
things.  I think the same applies to auctions.  Of course, Jan, the good thing
about your possessions was that they were all so new.  You'd bought the house
then furnished it really well.  No junk for you.  That inheritance certainly set
you up nicely." He paused and cupped his hand under my chin as I knelt on the
bed.  "Nearly fifteen grand worth.  I think this calls for a celebration.  I'm
feeling extremely magnanimous, Jan. I will grant you a favour - a 'boon' they
used to call it.  It must be reasonable, and within my power to grant.  As long
as you don't expect something silly like release," he smirked.

I paused for a moment.  It was the first real concession I had got from him. Was
this a sign of an easing of my restrictions?  How daring should I be?  I did not
want to upset him by being over ambitious and ending up with nothing - or worse,
ending up being punished for being impertinent.

"Please sir - I'd like something to read.  A book? A big book?"

He smiled at me, and for a moment there almost seemed to be warmth in his smile.

"That's very good, Jan.  Very reasonable.  Yes, I guess you must be getting a
little bored down here.  I will see what I can do to alleviate that.  Yes, you
may have a book, and I will consider the thought behind your request."

Then he was gone.

*   *  *

I had established in the meantime that in my relatively unrestrained state I
could nearly reach the door while standing up.  Tracing a circle around the post
I could almost reach every corner of the room if I laid down and stretched out
my legs.  Such were the tedious things I occupied my mind with.  I could now
circle the post continuously as a form of exercise, which at least was a bonus
for me.  I counted how many circuits I did before I got tired, using this as a
benchmark to try and maintain some sort of regime.

The book appeared with the next meal.  Both were shoved inside the door without
Ash entering the room.  Then the door clanged shut and I was left standing in
the darkness, cursing myself for not stipulating some form of light to read by. 
Of recent times the light provision had been intermittent - on some sort of
timer I suspected, although I found it difficult to detect any pattern without a
watch.  My sleeping was probably to a pattern although I couldn't detect one
here, either.  I just slept when I felt like it.

I felt around and picked up the book and the plate of food, retreating to sit on
my bed.  The book was a paperback, maybe an inch thick.  I wondered where it had
come from.  I wondered what Ash would read...

It seemed like a day before the lights came on again.  I should have guessed
that Ash would prolong the darkness just to frustrate me.  It was like the three
wishes given out by the genie, the end result being that they are used
thoughtlessly for no net gain by the recipient.  Ash was obviously thinking the
same way.  On his next visit he asked would I like the light on for a while, to
which I eagerly agreed.  I looked at the book and saw it was a Wilbur Smith
novel. My heart leapt in anticipation of the simple act of finally being able to
read, to escape in my mind from the depressing surroundings of my captivity. 

Perhaps I was too transparent in my expectation, for my captor took equal
delight at pulling a soft leather discipline helmet from his pocket and
flourishing it in front of me.

"Oh no, sir, please! Let me read..." I cried like a child.  I could not believe
myself and how desperate I had become for some sort of intellectual stimulation

It was a plea I made without thinking - another mistake.  Not only was I going
to get the helmet, but because of my little outburst I was going to have a gag
to go with it.  Disconsolately I opened my mouth to let him work a soft rubber
ball behind my teeth before the black leather blotted out the light as the laces
were pulled tight down the back of my head and the reinforcing straps were
locked at the base of my neck.

"I'll leave the light on, shall I?" he whispered next to my ear before there was
the heavy clang as the door shut.

*   *   *

It must have been perhaps half a day later when I got my sight and speech back. 
When I finally got to read, however, it was only with my hands now chained
together behind my back.  With every change of restraint Ash was insistently
emphasising how dependent I was on him, and how little he need do to make my
life uncomfortable in the extreme.  Having my cuffs locked with a short chain
through the D-ring at the rear of my belt was in many ways more difficult than
when I simply had leather cuffs on.  I was again unable to fully straighten my
legs, although this was not so severe as when my hands had been linked to my
collar.  This time, however, feeding was really messy, and my hands were not as
mobile as the previous position, being secured to the belt.  Again, he left me
for probably a day like this, but it was a day to blissfully savour the joy or
the written word again, to transport myself to another country and the
adventures on African shores. 

I sat cross-legged on the bed, the book held open under my feet.  I tried
turning the pages with my toes but usually ended up having to turn right round
to use my hands.  By this time I had got used to the belt and the metal cuffs
with their foam linings, which turned out to be moderately comfortable.

About halfway through the book Ash turned up to release my hands from the belt. 
He was again in a good mood, flourishing a cheque from the sale of the house. 

"I think we need to make things a little more interesting and comfortable for
you, Jan.  What do you think?"

"I'd like that, sir."

He appeared to be half thinking out loud.  "Maybe we should put a television set
down here.  Yes, that would be good.  Is there something else you'd like,
maybe?"

I really thought at this stage that I was making progress, that my gradual
approach was working.  "Could I go outside, sir? Just for a while?"  I didn't
know what my chances were here.  I didn't know what the practicalities were,
whether he would even consider it, whether it was realistic, or what it would
lead me into, but whatever the difficulties, it had to make for a change from my
present condition and the pathway to some chance of escape. I still had no idea
what he intended for me in the long term.  I wondered if I could insinuate
myself into doing some housework - something which might also allow me some sort
of opportunity to get away.

"Go outside?" His response left me uncertain whether it would even be
considered, or whether it might cause great offence.  I felt like Oliver Twist
asking for more gruel.  Here I had just been offered the holy grail of captivity
- a television set - and I now wanted to go outside.  What was I thinking? 
"Hmmmn.  All right Jan - I'll think about that one.  One thing at a time, eh?" 
He smiled at me.  I didn't know what was behind those eyes that left me worried
as to where it was all leading.

*   *   *

The TV arrived the next day, by my reckoning.  It was one of those ones with an
integrated video player, which surprised me.  Ash evidently wanted to do the
installation with me securely out of action, and his idea in this instance was
to have me kneeling in the middle of the bed facing the head, while a rope was
looped around each chain between my wrist and the hip ring.  Pulling these out
to each side drew my ankles hard up to my hips, spreading my legs at the same
time, and pulling my wrists out to the sides of the bed.  It was extraordinarily
simple but very effective.  Of course not content with merely securing my limbs,
it seemed that I was to be fully plugged as well.  I was made to bow forward
while a large butt plug was inserted.  It was well-lubed, but still big enough
to make me gasp and groan as it finally slid home.  Then came the vibrator
inside my pussy.  Neither of these events were strange to me by now.  What was
different, however, was the semi-circular stainless steel strip which he
produced at that point, which I realised moments later was a crotch strap.  It
fitted over the D-rings on the front and back of my belt, snugly holding the
devices inside me.  I quickly concluded there was no way I would be able to
extract them past this strap, even with the use of my hands.

His last focus was my head.  It was the same soft rubber ball I had experienced
under the discipline helmet, this time held in place with numerous turns of
silver duct tape around my head over the top of a rubber swimcap.  He pulled the
tape first horizontally then wrapped it vertically under my chin, finishing with
a couple of turns over my eyes.  I could hear him moving about behind me,
getting things out of the cabinet and obviously preparing for what I was sure
would be my next ordeal.

I experimented with the crotch strap and the inserts, but they were well and
truly embedded for the duration of whatever I was now to experience.  Moving my
vaginal and anal muscles around them only served to create sensations that I did
not want to exhibit in front of Ash.

He went away for a while, leaving me kneeling in my darkened, silent world, my
arms pulled out tautly to the sides.  It was not the most unpleasant of
positions I had been in, though I was far from enjoying it.  My wriggling about
and trying to ease things eventually resulted in my falling forward on my face,
bringing my arms down flat on the mattress.  It was a better position, easing
the strain on my arms and shoulders.  I may even have dozed in this state until
a searing pain bit through my consciousness as a crop smacked across the exposed
sole of my right foot.  I screamed beneath the tape as a second blow fell on the
left one.  Six strokes on each foot was my punishment for departing from the set
position, something Ash told me would not happen for quite a while in the near
future.

He undid the ropes on my chains and hauled me to my feet, steering me away from
the bed until my back was against the dreaded steel post.  I was made to kneel,
the cold steel pressed against my spine and the back of my thighs, my calves
horizontal on either side of the post. He locked the cuffs of my wrists together
behind the post, then proceeded to wind more turns of the duct tape around my
head and the post, securing the two immovably.  This done, the tape and pads
over my eyes were removed.

I blinked in the light, suddenly discovering that my eyes were the only things I
could move above my shoulders.  Even below this point, the fact that my head was
fixed rigidly meant any body movement was extremely limited. It was evident that
no further bindings would be required for me.  Ash stood up from where he had
been squatting in front of me, and I saw the television set on a small trolley a
little over a metre away.  Uh-huh, I thought.  Watching the television was not
to be an optional activity.  It was going to be total focus.  Maybe I would die
by the death of a thousand electron beams, I thought grimly.

Ash wasted no time on formalities, nor did he suggest how long the program was
that I would be watching.  I established very quickly that it was a video,
however.  The good news was that there would be no advertisements.  This was
also the bad news, for it was good old fashioned, uninterrupted porn on a
four-hour tape (as I later found out).  Ash switched it on then bent to turn on
the vibrators in my rectum and pussy, before he left without a backward glance,
turning out the light as he did so.  With the television obscuring all other
features of the darkened room, and me barely able to move a muscle, I had little
choice to go along with it.  Even shutting my eyes could not exclude the sound
effects, and the bastard had evidently turned up the volume, just to make sure I
could hear through the layers of tape around my head.

It was clear he knew what would happen.  I even knew it myself, in my heart, and
no matter how I tried to concentrate on other things, my nipples hardened and
warm sensations began to spread from my loins.  And of course what should be the
first event on the session but my friend stainless steel lady, that he had sent
by email to my computer...how long ago was that?  But here she was, as though
time meant nothing, still impaled on her pole, the chain stretched over the beam
in the castle while she approached orgasm in spectacular fashion.

The following scenes did nothing to make life easier for me.  To say bondage was
a theme would be somewhat of an understatement.  Bondage was the focus, and I
lost track of how many women climaxed in the course of the tape, some with male
assistance, some with female help, some with artificial help and some through
various painful and contorted circumstances.  Somewhere along the way I lost the
plot as well.  The vibrators drove me to a point where I couldn't resist.  With
little encouragement I was soon gyrating to my own music - as much as I was
able, that is.  Ash had thought this one through again, and the fact that I
could firstly move so little and secondly had nothing to press against left me
frustrated for a long time as I struggled to work out how to counter his devious
methodology.

 I finally managed to get my fingers hooked beneath the crotch strap, between
the post and my bottom.  It was strained and awkward, but it gave me just enough
to move the front vibrator against.

When I finally climaxed it was again difficult as I lost my grip on the strap
and struggled vainly against the tape holding my head to the post and stifling
my cries.  The shudders subsided through my body, leaving my legs trembling in
the wake, but there was no letup from the mechanical intruders nor the sensory
input from the video.  The moans from the participants merged with my own as
time stretched out and the second of what was obviously going to be a protracted
series of orgasms began to slowly work its way to the surface...  

 I lost track of when the video stopped.  Somewhere in the four hours the
batteries died on the vibrators and I exhausted myself struggling firstly trying
to achieve orgasm and then to stop the waves that followed.  Some women have
trouble achieving orgasm, while some I know appear able to climax merely by
squeezing their thighs together.  I don't know which end of the spectrum is the
most desirable, but I know my own body's behaviour.  While the first climax may
take some effort, once I am there any subsequent climaxes follow like a wheel
rolling downhill.  This instance proved to be an example where the natural
momentum took me away at a speed which kept up with the impetus from the
vibrators and the video.  I had never experienced anything like this before. 
Graham had toyed with me and had driven me wild, but had always ceased when my
exhaustion had shown through.

In this instance I had no choice and there was nobody to release me from this
continuity of arousal.  The sweat poured off me and I became faint from the
exertion.  The strain on my back and neck from fighting the tape holding my head
to the post was there in the background, but was repeatedly swamped by the
climactic waves surging from my loins.  I did not know how much of it I could
take, not that I had any control over the matter.  At length my senses seemed to
merge, as, with my eyes screwed shut my own cries and moans behind the tape
combined with those on the video tape, and I lost track of which noises were
mine and which were other protagonists. 

By the time the tape finally clicked to a stop the batteries in the vibrators
had run down and I hung there in the darkness, my breasts heaving and my thighs
trembling uncontrollably, my body streaming with sweat.  I was moaning and
panting, my mind still filled with a myriad of colours and flashes that bore no
relation to my predicament or my location. I was off in some faraway place where
reality and tangibility did not exist.  It was a strange subspace planet of
noise and smell and sound and indescribable feeling, but devoid of form and
life.  My head was buzzing and I felt an overwhelming mix of exhaustion,
satiation, elation and a sensation of being beyond caring.

When the lights snapped on I was only dimly aware of Ash sitting in a chair
beyond the television.  I had no idea how long he had been there watching me,
nor did I care.  I was wrapped in my own little world and would have fallen face
down on the concrete when he cut the tape binding my head to the post, had he
not supported me.  I was barely conscious of being carried back to the bed,
deposited there and having the remainder of the tape cut away.  Then the lights
were off again, and I slept... 

*   *   *

Chapter Nine

Contrary to my expectations Ash lived up to his word with the television - well,
sort of. I was not permitted to see anything direct.  He would only let me view
videos he had recorded himself from free-to-air television.  In doing this he
either only watched the ABC and SBS, or else that was all he could receive.  In
fact I suspected he gave me these programs because there were no advertisements
or unexpected newsbreaks that he had to look out for.  He seemed very careful
about isolating me from any changes in the outside world - a fact which scared
me when I thought of the longer term implications.  I ended up watching period
dramas and foreign films, although I was more than content with these little
luxuries.

What I did not appreciate was the depression that would result when these treats
were withheld, for whatever reason.  He had begun to create a further, more
subtle dependency, a conditioning that I found hard to fight.  There had been
the initial punishment regime, then small carrots which could be withdrawn at
any time.  He had shortened my neck chain so that I could not reach the
television, where he normally put the remote.  On one instance he forgot and
left the remote on the bed, enabling me to watch the movie twice.  My punishment
was first a flogging then time in the dark with no book and no television.  It
made me feel about six years old as I cried when my little pleasures were taken
away.

I have no idea how much time passed until the morning (?) he breezed in and
announced I could go outside.  I was taken aback and my heart leapt at the
prospect.  No more had been said about it since I had first tentatively raised
the question.  But once again, it was not all gain for Jan.  As was Ash's
tradition, I was to be used again for unwilling sex.  I could not resist, of
course, and I did my utmost to conceal any positive reaction to the treatment he
meted out.  But sometimes this was not easy.  I had been used in this manner
perhaps two dozen or more times since my capture.  One more made no difference,
but the detrimental effect was lessened each time and I found myself responding
more and more.  It worried me that my body was willing while my mind rejected
the concept totally.

This time he made me kneel in my usual chains under a pulley from which hung a
short horizontal steel bar.  I wound up with the soft rubber ball and the
discipline helmet again, which seemed to be almost de rigueur for the
fashion-conscious captives in this part of the world.  Then the chain links on
my wrist cuffs were locked to the bar and I felt myself start to go up in the
world as he cranked the hand winch.  The chains from my wrists to my ankles
tightened as I started to be lifted off the ground.  My feet rose up behind my
buttocks as the chain slid through the hip links.  My wrists we not high - a
comfortable height above my head but not stretched out before the chain was taut
and my ankles were hard up against my hips.  I continued rising upward, hanging
forwards slightly with my wrists above and behind my head.  Then I stopped.  It
was not an entirely uncomfortable position, with my weight primarily on my
ankles but supported by my arms as much as I could.

I swung there in my darkened world, wondering how long he would make me stay
like that.  Without warning I was suddenly spinning and swinging on the pulley
rope.  It was an unnerving feeling in the darkness beneath the hood.  I gripped
the bar to which my wrists were chained and held on - not that there was any
danger of my getting loose.  I mmmphed my protest from behind the rubber filling
my mouth and held there by the leather of the helmet, but to no avail.  I began
to feel dizzy and had a terrible vision of trying to throw up with my mouth
blocked by the ball. That was when I was abruptly gripped by strong hands and
held still.  My head was still reeling as Ash's hands began to rove over my
body.  He was standing behind me, his arms encircling me and playing with my
breasts, stroking them and caressing them until my nipples became hard, before
pinching and twisting them until I cried out through the gag.  Then his fingers
were down in my crotch, kneading and exploring, ferreting their way into my
private place and working a spell that I could not fight.  I squirmed on my
chains and my breath became faster and uneven as my body started to give
uncontrollable spasms of pleasure.  I could feel the tension start to build up
and I found myself unconsciously trying to thrust against the probing fingers as
they undermined all my resolution to be strong and resist such advances. 

One hand came between my legs from behind, cupping my sex and pulling it firmly
backwards, the fingers playing a vibrato against my clitoris.  I shuddered as a
wave of pleasure slid upwards and a groan escaped from my throat.  Somewhere in
the centre of my loins a tidal force was starting to build up and there was
nothing I could do to prevent it.  I was panting now, preparing myself for the
onslaught when suddenly the fingers were gone, and instead the hands were
gripping me by the thighs.

I was pulled backwards, my legs parting against the nakedness of Ash's body. 
But it was not my pussy that was to receive the coup de grace that I realised I
desired so desperately.  Ash penetrated my butt hole, causing me to cry out with
the unexpected pain.  I had not been prepared for this, nor had my anal muscles. 
He was well-lubed but I needed to consciously relax myself.  The contrast
between anticipation and reality was stark, and I hung there as he plunged back
and forth inside me, his arms now wrapped about my upper body and gripping my
nipples as anchor points.

This was Ash at his subtle best, teasing to appoint of frustration and
expectation, then denying me and having his own, totally opposite way.  It hurt,
despite my best efforts, and was made more painful by Ash's ministrations on my
breasts.  He finally came, thrusting hard inside me and trapping my body in a
bear hug that all but left me winded.  I could hear his harsh panting in my ears
as he spent himself then roughly exited, leaving me defiled and hanging in my
chains.  This, it seemed, was to be the price I was paying to experience the
world outside.

*   *   *

Despite yet another event to add to the list of humiliations I was being
subjected to, with the mental notes being added to in my head, I was excited
with the expectation of being able to go outside.  Childishly excited, you might
say, as though by an outing to the beach or the movies.  Simple things now
seemed to take on unrealistic significance in my life.  In the back of my mind
this distortion of reality worried me, but I knew I had to remain focussed on
finding some method of escape, and the only way to do this was to remain
obedient and look for the unguarded moment.

Ash returned perhaps an hour after fucking me in the arse.  I was still hooded
and gagged, with the hood locked to my steel collar.  I heard the door open and
raised my head from where I had been lying on the mattress where he'd finally
left me, curled up in a ball, trying to shut out the painful experience I had
just undergone.

"Come, Jan," said the cheerful voice.  "It's time for your exercise."  I swung
my legs off the edge of the bed and stood up, waiting for instructions.  "Before
you go outside, you should put some suntan cream on - it's quite warm today.  We
don't want that lovely skin of yours getting all red and sore, do we." He
laughed. "That would take away all my fun." A pause. "Or perhaps it would add to
it... What do you think?"  I shook my head vehemently but made no sound.  "Very
well, well be sun-smart. You have your hat already.  Slap on some cream, but
you'll have to do without a shirt."  Again, the sniggering.  A small tube was
placed in my hand.  "I'll do your back, Jan - you can do the rest. Gee, I'm so
good to you."

The cream was cold on my back and shoulders.  When Ash's hands had finished
their work, completed with a few gratuitous smearing strokes across my breasts,
I was left to complete the job.  I did this as best I could given my restraints,
which meant squatting down so that I could reach all parts of my body.  I had
never sunbathed naked - this was going to be another first, I thought grimly.  I
stood up and felt the click of a lead attached to the front D-ring on my collar. 
Apprehensively I followed the tug.

I walked gingerly.  Being blind and gagged was bad enough, but being unable to
stretch my arms out in front made it all the more scary.  I scraped the
doorframe in passing through, then went only a few steps further before there
was obviously another - exterior - door.  I felt the breeze through it and,
following Ash's directions, I stepped down from the concrete slab on to a
rougher surface which I took to be a path.  A few paces beyond this I was
standing on grass with the sun warming my skin and the faint wind making the
hairs ruffle on my arms.

I felt more confident on the grass, although I had no idea what might exist for
me to fall over or walk into.  There were no more instructions and I simply
followed the pull on the lead, trusting in my jailor to let me know if there was
some obstacle ahead of me.

"Sit here for a minute, Jan," the voice commanded.  I did so, kneeling on the
grass, which appeared to be relatively long.  Obviously it was not getting mown
often.  I savoured the feel of it and listened for the sounds of civilisation. 
Somewhere in the distance I could hear occasional cars on a road, but other than
that the world was silent save for the sounds of nature - the wind, a few crows
and other birds.  I made out the screech of a lorikeet as it winged overhead. 
Somewhere nearby a kookaburra appeared to be laughing at my predicament.  But it
still felt so glorious to be outside.  The scent of grass overcame the
ever-present smell of the leather helmet to the extent that I almost forgot the
chains on my wrists and ankles.

"Let's be clear about why you're here, Jan," said a voice beside my head.  I
hadn't heard Ash approach on the grass.  "It's for exercise, not for leisure. 
Things are now ready for you.  Stand up!"

God, I thought.  What was he hatching for me now?  I followed the tug on the
lead for a few metres then he stopped me.  I was then pulled forward just enough
to make contact with the cold steel of a post set in the ground.

"Know what that is?"  I shook my head.  "Yes you do, Jan - don't be dense.  It's
a Hills hoist - your standard Aussie clothesline, that every backyard has.  Oh,
but of course - I forgot, you're English.  You've nearly lost your accent - did
you realise that?"  Again he laughed.  Very funny, I thought.  You'll keep.

"The clothesline rotates, Jan.  Normally with just the wind.  But in this
instance I've fitted a small electric motor at the top of the pole, just under
the horizontal arms above you.  When I turn it on, the arms will rotate like a
capstan. Not fast, you understand, but consistently.  They will provide you with
the motivation for your exercise, mainly because you'll be attached to one of
them..."

Oh shit, I thought, my mind leaping ahead but still not appreciating what it all
meant.  He drew me away from the central pole and stopped me obviously under one
of the ends of the four arms.  The lead was removed from my collar but was
followed moments later by a biting pain in my left nipple as a large steel clip
latched on to it.  My right one was similarly secured seconds afterwards.  I
whined into the ball filling my mouth.  Then there was the faint sound of a
motor and a tug on my breasts.  I moved in the direction of the pull and found
myself slowly walking around in a big circle, following the tireless rotation of
the clothesline.  The bastard!  I would have to keep this up unless I wanted my
nips pulled off, for the clips were painful and I knew they would not slip off
without major pain and suffering.  To make matters worse, the clothesline was
situated on a slight slope, which meant I had to speed up on the downward side
as the cord holding the clips was stretched tighter because of the greater
distance from the bar.

"See you in a while, Jan," was the cheery farewell. 

Yes, you will keep, I thought through gritted teeth.  I'll save something very
special for you, Mr Ash.

*   *   *

I plodded round and round the clothesline for what seemed like an afternoon. 
There was no let up to the pain in my nipples other than the decrease into a
dull ache as long as I kept slightly ahead of the pull of the cords.  After some
difficulty I finally got my direction right and managed to maintain a constant
anti-clockwise gait.  The diameter of the clothesline was big enough so that I
didn't get dizzy, but it still required some degree of concentration. 

The afternoon - I had decided that it was indeed after noon - was warm and
muggy.  I was hungry, for I had not eaten since what I guessed had been
breakfast.  The sweat rolled down my body as I trudged around like a donkey
threshing wheat or working a well.  Except that the donkey would normally be
pulling a load.  In this case I was the load being pulled.  In the
leather-encased sweatbox that was my head, perspiration ran into and stung my
eyes and I was becoming very thirsty and dehydrated.  At some stage during my
ordeal I must have slipped into my subspace realm, where the pain finally faded
and I became detached from reality, placing one foot after the other in an
unthinking and uncomprehending movement.

At some stage I began to stumble - initially infrequently but soon more often. 
With each faltering the clips pulled fiercely at my nipples and I was jerked out
of my torpid state by the pain.  For the umpteenth time I tried to get my hands
on the clips, but the need to keep walking kept my wrists firmly pulled down to
my hips.  If only I could have stopped I would have raised a leg long enough to
get some slack to reach the hated steel jaws, but I did not have even a second's
respite from the onward movement.

Whether Ash was watching and saw my tired, more frequent stumbling I don't know. 
I only know that suddenly I had caught up with the cords towing me and they were
against my head and over my shoulders.  I halted, realising I was woozy and
almost ready to faint.  Hands removed the clips none to gently and I could not
help but emit a muffled scream from the pain as the blood returned.  I was led
back to the house and found myself in my prison again, with the hood unlocked
from around my neck.  I had barely the strength to remove it and extract the
ball from my mouth then totter to the shower where I drank my fill and let the
water cool what I knew would be very sore flesh, despite the preventative
measures of the suntan cream.  Dinner was waiting for me - cold pasta and two
bananas which I wolfed down, before falling exhausted on the bed.  I wondered if
going outside was all it was cracked up to be...

*   *   *

It was the next day, as near as I could judge from the meals and Ash's change of
clothing, when he suggested another outside visit.  I must have looked unhappy,
and I was, for my nipples were still painful and tender from the workout they
had received the previous day.  I was also very stiff from the unaccustomed
exercise.  I did not want another repetition of the same treatment, but I didn't
dare voice an objection.  That probably would have guaranteed I would receive
it, with interest.

"Relax, Jan, you'll enjoy the day - clear skies and the sounds of nature.  You
have to suffer to enjoy things - you know that.  For every treat there has to be
a sacrifice, and of course vice versa.  Those are the rules."  By that logic,
and after what I had just endured, I reckoned I was due some pleasure, and my
spirits perked up somewhat.  That optimistic outlook died somewhat when Ash
picked up the leather discipline helmet hanging from the tap in the shower.  I
had washed it after use, since it was soaked with my perspiration.  He tossed it
over to me, followed by the sponge ball.  "Get dressed, Jan," he ordered,
grinning.  I knew it was all part of his plan, getting me to deprive myself of
sight and sound - part of his gradual dehumanisation and domination of my will
to resist.  Resignedly I worked the ball into my mouth and pulled the hood over
my head.  It was still damp and felt cool against my skin.  I could not do it up
and had to turn my back to him as he pulled the laces tight down the back before
covering the knot with the locking flap.

"Very good.  Now, here's the cream - it's a sunny day again.  Don't want you to
be a cancer victim, do we."  The tube was placed in my hand and I duly squatted
and began to rub it over my legs, working my way over as much of my body as I
could reach - my legs, buttocks, torso arms and breasts and some of my
shoulders.

Contrary to my expectations from the previous outing, the suntan cream had done
its job and I was not a mass of tenderised flesh.  In this instance, I was
almost complete when something struck me as odd.  By the time I reached my
breasts and shoulders I noticed the smell of the ointment seemed different - not
the normal suntan cream smell I had noticed the day before.  It was just as I
finished that I started to feel the slight tingling sensation starting on my
legs.

"We have a makeover to do before we go outside today," Ash announced, pushing me
gently backwards so that I sat on the edge of the bed.  "Legs spread!"  I did
so, wondering what he meant, and not being surprised when the spreader bar was
locked in place, with the leather ankle cuffs just below the steel ones
connected to my wrist chains. With the spreader fully extended in place I could
bend my knees very little, so it had the indirect but very effective result that
my hands remained tethered to my hip rings.

Around then not only were my legs starting to tingle but my backside was
beginning to burn where I was sitting on it.  I suddenly had the feeling that I
had not smeared suntan lotion on my body.  Ash pulled me to my feet.

"Let me do your back and shoulders now." 

I whined at him, shaking my head and mmmphing a muffled protest.

"Stop complaining, girl.  You'll thank me for this when the sun is out."  He
began rubbing my back between the waist and shoulders where I had been unable to
reach.  I tried to shake him off, grunting and mewing behind the ball lodged in
my mouth and held in place by the leather mask.

"What?  What are you saying girl?"

"Mmmnnph! Nnp! Nphhmn!" I explained vainly.

"Ohhhh... Have I given you the wrong cream?"  Something in Ash's unconvincing
rhetorical question told me he had known exactly what he had given me.  "Oh
dear.  You're right."  This after he had coincidentally just finished the job. 
"I'm sorry, Jan , but we seem to have just given you a very thorough
muscle-toning rub with Finalgon, not Coppertone..."

"Hhhnn??!" I exclaimed, not believing my ears. Shit! Finalgon was about the
strongest, most potent liniment-type ointment I had come across in my years as a
nurse.  It burned like fire and was normally used sparingly on 'affected parts'. 
I had just covered my whole body with it!

"Nnnnn!" I wailed into the mouth-filling ball.

"Well, it'll do your muscles good," Ash smirked.  "You'll probably need it after
all the exercise you did yesterday.  First there are some things I need to do. 
Stand still!"  I did so, but the irritating spreading warmth over my skin was
starting to make itself felt already.  My wondering what Ash was up to was
quickly answered when he seized a handful of my hair, where it protruded beyond
the neck collar of the discipline helmets, and promptly cut it off.  In a matter
of seconds my hair lost fifteen centimetres, trimmed back to the bottom of the
leather.

"This was getting in the way, Jan.  You need a more upmarket image, I think -
something a little sophisticated. Now for the remainder."  Again I was pushed on
to the bed.  This time with my legs held by the spreader bar I fell helplessly
on my back.  He picked up the bar and dragged me wholly on to the mattress so
that my torso was parallel with and close to the edge.

I did not know what he was up to, nor was I enlightened at all when, moments
later some sort of plastic sheet was laid over the top of my thighs and my
stomach.  There followed the sound of snipping and I realised that my crotch had
been exposed through the plastic like one being prepared for surgery.  I whined
in dread - God, what was he going to do to me now?

His intentions soon became apparent.  He had placed the plastic there merely to
protect himself from the Finalgon now about to cause me what I knew would be a
lot of discomfort, to put it mildly.  It seemed he was in fact intent on shaving
my pussy.  While I had never done this myself, I considered I could live with
it, providing it did not lead to anything more sinister.

I tried to lie still while he cut away the main part of my little thatch with
scissors, then spread what I assumed was a depilatory cream over the stubble. 
It wasn't long before my nakedness had been enhanced and despite my initial
acceptance of it, the psychological aspect somehow depressed me further.  Again,
it was all part of his plan, I knew.  But however many times I told myself this,
and however many times I recognised it for what it was, this did not seem to
make it any the less effective in subliminally undermining my will to resist.

As I lay there during the process I could feel the Finalgon starting to take
effect on my back, buttocks and on the backs of my legs.  Finalgon has a nasty
habit of increasing its effect as the skin heats up, kind of like a vicious
circle.  The skin pressed against the mattress warmed quickly, and with it the
sensation of burning, like the worst case of sunburn you can imagine.  I groaned
behind the ball.  At length Ash finished his work and washed down my pussy,
wiping it clean of hair.  The cold water felt good, for I knew the skin around
it would be red and inflamed where I had endeavoured to protect it with 'suntan'
cream.

I felt Ash remove himself from where he was leaning over me on the bed.  His
hand briefly stroked my now naked pussy, toying with it fleetingly.  But I think
he sensed my plight in that no matter what he did the Finalgon would outweigh
any potential arousal he might seek to conjure up, and the exploration ceased.

"Change of plan, my dear," he announced. "Probably best if you don't go outside
today, in your condition.  I'll leave two keys in here - one for your helmet and
one for the cuffs on the spreader bar.  They'll be on the floor somewhere.  Find
them, and you can make yourself rather more comfortable.  It will give you
something to pass the time doing."

I heard a couple of faint tinkles, like steel on concrete, before the door
closed with its ominous finality.

Bastard, I thought. Bastard bastard bastard!  I was willing to bet he'd planned
this from scratch.  Our Ash was too methodical to be spontaneous.

I lay there for some minutes, thinking about my plight, but the burning was
starting to become really intense on all surfaces resting on the plastic of the
mattress, where the heat was being trapped.  The rest of my skin was now
becoming hot, with my nipples in particular hurting as though they had been
clamped. 

I tested the fixing on the spreader bar.  There was little slack in the cuffs -
barely enough to allow me to turn my ankles slightly.  They were more widely
spread than I had experienced in the past, and were already starting to be
pretty uncomfortable, stretching the insides of my thighs and straining my hip
joint.  I worked my way to the edge of the bed.  It was amazing how restricted
the bar made leg movement and hence my body as a whole.  I reasoned I would have
to end up sitting on the floor.  Either on my front or my back was going to be
very uncomfortable.  I opted for the latter as the less bad of the two and
worked my way until my heels were on the floor, before gingerly sliding over the
edge.  The fact that the bed was bolted to the floor at least stopped it sliding
backwards away from me, and I slid none too gently to land on my rump on the
concrete.  It was cool against the burning in my buttocks, but I guessed my
movements were soon going to change all that.

I confirmed with some experimentation that I could barely bend my knees at all
in the sitting position, so wide were my legs apart.  But by hunching my
shoulders and bending my head down I could just create enough slack in the
chains to be able to reach the lock on the hood.  It was going to be a long
morning, I realised.

And it was.  I tried to do a systematic coverage of the room, going first around
the walls, keeping one foot against them as I worked my way backwards using my
hands and my elbows.  The Finalgon had really taken hold now, and my whole body
seemed to be on fire.  My skin was burning up - especially the areas now in
contact with the floor, not to mention my nipples and the fringes of my newly
shaved pussy.  Over and above this was the ache in my hips and legs where they
were stretched wide, and the load on my wrists and elbows as I moved only inch
by inch with the little slack I could conjure from the chains.  I was panting
and moaning continuously with the pain from the Finalgon.  I knew it would
probably do me no harm, but that was really precious little comfort under the
circumstances. 

As I strained with the movement, so I sweated as well, and of course as my skin
temperature rose so too did the effect of the Finalgon, and the vicious cycle
increased.  I completed a circuit of the room, identifying my position with
reference to the toilet and the bed, but encountered no keys.  I lay on my back,
my breathing hoarse and my blood pounding in my ears.  I was frustrated and in
agony from the ointment, but I knew I had to continue unless I wanted to be like
this all day, or all night - or however long Ash wanted me to suffer.  If I
could only find that key I knew I could get into the shower and actually use the
cold water to my benefit, for once.

I started to tire.  I suspected Ash was playing games with the heating again.  I
began having to lie back more often as I progressed, and each time it became
hard to sit up again.  My buttocks seemed to be white hot, like the worst case
of sunburn imaginable, made more excruciating as I dragged myself across the
floor inch by inch.  At one stage I became disoriented and ended up against my
bed again, in tears at my failure.  I tried again, but it was perhaps ten
minutes before I felt the clink of a key under one leg.  I manoeuvred myself
until I could reach it with my hand and picked it up.  I curled myself forward
until I could just reach the lock at my throat, fiddling with it and praying it
was the right key.  It wasn't.  It had to be the key to the ankle cuffs - always
assuming it wasn't a phoney key left by Ash just to goad me.  Nothing he did
surprised me any more. 

Reaching the ankle cuff was an act of contortion that left the muscles of my
arms, legs and chest verging on cramp.  I bent my legs as much as I could -
which was pretty limited - and then did a cross between a sit-up and a sideways
bend, forcing my right ankle and wrist towards each other.  The lock was on the
outside of my ankle, and after some fiddling about by feel, the key slid into
the lock and it clicked open.  The relief was tangible and I slumped back for
ten seconds.  That was as long as it took for my burning skin to remind me of
its predicament, forcing me to again assume the position and unbuckle the strap
on my right ankle. 

Freeing that one ankle essentially freed my whole body.  I could now sit up,
bend my legs, and have plenty of slack in my chains to undo the other ankle with
the same key.  I could have scrabbled around on my hands and knees looking for
the key to my collar, but I was by now whimpering to myself continuously with
the pain from the ointment and I was desperate to get under the shower.  I did
not care that I was still hooded and gagged - I simply wanted relief from the
fire on my flesh.

I stood under the shower not caring if the leather helmet got wet, just
savouring the coolness of the water as it flowed over my body.  I lathered up as
much as I could tolerate and endeavoured to wash off the remaining ointment. 
Hot water would have made a better job of it, but that would have been a
catch-22 situation of course.  Always assuming I even had hot water, that is.  I
stayed there for maybe half an hour before finally getting out and making a more
reasoned search of the room for the second key.  I found it, under the chair,
and proceeded to remove the discipline helmet with another wave of relief.  Ash
had even left the lights on this time, and I could view myself in the
full-length mirror bolted to the wall behind the sheet of perspex.  My skin was
red and inflamed-looking over the whole of my body save my head.  My hair, now
cut to just above the shoulder was predictably damp and straggly.  I returned to
the shower to wash it and further cool my skin.  It was to become the pattern
for that day.

*   *   *

The burning heat lasted most of the day, so strong was the Finalgon.  During the
night I occasionally awoke with the persistent but dulled fire on some parts of
my skin.  Some of the ointment had remained on the plastic covering the
mattress, and with a huge effort I had managed to turn the mattress over so as
not to make further contact with any residue.  Nevertheless, wherever my skin
touched the plastic, and natural body heat was trapped, so too did the last
remnants of that terrible ointment make themselves felt.

Ash had appeared late (I reckoned) with dinner.  I had noticed a more regular
pattern in his visits of late, which was confirmed by the time I had been
outside.  Then it had been afternoon, and it had fitted with the meals I had
been receiving.  I got fed only twice a day, I estimated - morning and evening. 
The morning fare was usually fruit and bread - maybe with jam or vegemite if I
was lucky, while 'dinner' comprised pasta or some sort of stew which I ate with
a spoon.  It was not haute cuisine, that was for sure, and my reflection
indicated - not surprisingly - that I had lost considerable weight.

Dinner in this instance was shepherds pie with peas and beans - both obviously
out of a packet.  Accompanying them was a video.  Ash said nothing, just opened
the door and shoved the tray in before leaving.  I still wore the collar chain
attached to the post and it was currently at such a length that I had to lie on
the floor and stretch out my arm to where the tray was placed inside the door. 
I guess that was Ash's little reminder of my vulnerability, and that whatever
concessions he offered, they were just that, and able to be withdrawn at the
slightest transgression on my part or the merest whim on his.

The video was nothing special - a Czech film he had recorded on SBS - but it was
a luxury for me to be able to curl up on the bed and lose myself in the outside
world, forgetting my trials and torments and the uncertain future that I faced.

*   *   *

Ash was apologetic the next day - tongue in cheek, that is.

"What happened with the ointment was most regrettable," he explained.  "I'll
make sure it doesn't happen again."  He paused.  "Unless of course you disobey
me or cause any sort of trouble."  His voice was steely and matched the coldness
of his eyes.  "The memory is obviously fresh in your mind Jan.  You realise that
I am doing what is best for you, and that you must understand that privileges
have to be earned - they are not yours of right.  Can you imagine yesterday's
treatment supplemented with a flogging?  Then another application of the
Finalgon?  Just think about that.  Think about clamps on your nipples after they
have been massaged with Finalgon...  Think about your behaviour again.  Bear the
possible consequences in mind and consider whether you would be strong enough to
withstand them."

"Would you like to go outside today, Jan?"

"Will it hurt, sir?" I asked fearfully, and after the last two days my fear was
very real.  I did not trust Ash one iota.  Every so-called concession he made
came at a price, and I was not sure whether I still had some more instalments on
this little jaunt.

"No, Jan, you've earned this one.  An hour in the sun - take your book and the
suntan cream - the real stuff.  I'm not a monster, you know."  He grinned, but
my return smile I knew was faint and tremulous. 

I scarcely dared to believe what was happening - I was going to get my first
sight of the outside world in what must have been over a month now.  I had
estimated my period of captivity as being close to five weeks, as near as I
could, judging from the patterns in Ash's behaviour, his clothes, the food, and
anything else I could use for benchmarking my incarceration.

The day was hot and humid, the temperature probably around thirty degrees,
typical of Brisbane in February.  Ash had locked a chain to my collar and locked
the other end of it around the trunk of a jacaranda tree that dominated the back
yard before he returned to the house.  I sat in the shade, too excited to read,
eager to understand my surroundings and to try to work out where I was and to
identify any possibility for escape.

My immediate reaction was at once positive and negative.  There did not seem to
be any totally insurmountable fences or walls bordering the place, but some
looked pretty difficult if I had to scale them chained as I was.  The back lawn
was large - perhaps twenty metres by forty, sloping gently away from the house. 
The garden was predominantly along the boundary of the lawn, with a number of
mature gum trees also defining the perimeter, behind which a wire mesh fence
maybe a metre and a half high was visible.  Beyond that there just seemed to be
more bush.  There were no signs of other houses where the inhabitants might be
able to see or hear me - but I should have expected that.  Good old Ash wasn't
going to let me out to put on a show for the neighbours, that was for sure.

While I was disappointed at the lack of habitation, I was heartened at the bush
surrounding the place.  It looked like Ash's place backed on to some sort of
reserve or forest park.  I could see hills which were not too distant - maybe a
kilometre away - and there was no sign of development there.  I was rapidly
coming to the conclusion that I was on an acreage property somewhere out to the
west of Brisbane. 

The house itself was a pretty ordinary thing - it looked like it had been moved
here and installed on steel posts to provide for the blockwork room underneath
that was now my home.  Of timber with a rusty corrugated iron roof, the house
was one of those nineteen fifties efforts that were remarkable only for their
small windows and general lack of imagination.  I guessed it might have been a
state house now relocated - the kind you can pick up for fifty or sixty grand
from the yard where they advertise them, delivered to your land.  It could do
with a coat of paint, but was otherwise unremarkable.  I could only see the back
and one side.  A set of enclosed stairs ran down the back wall into a small
lobby which had an external door giving on to the back lawn.  This lobby also
contained the door to my dungeon, I had just found out, the key to which Ash
kept on his key ring.

I spent the hour just gazing about the garden, not even opening my book. The
grass was quite long and matched the state of the rest of the garden - overgrown
and unkempt.  It was warm and pleasant in the shade of the jacaranda, and even
the chains on my body were forgotten as I eagerly took in the garden vista,
memorising the layout and the location of each tree, the clothesline, the
pathway, the fence, and the bush beyond.  On the side of the house that was
visible to me was a timber fence about my height, running at right angles from
the front corner of the house to the side boundary, effectively cutting off the
back yard from any prying eyes. Adjacent to the house there was a timber gate in
the fence, which I had no doubt was locked.  I doubted that I could climb the
fence in my chained state, never mind the fact that I would have to free myself
of my neck chain before I could even think that far ahead.  Suddenly there
appeared to be hope in my life, as long as I didn't blow it.  My resolve
strengthened to be the most demure and subservient slave possible, while in the
deepest recesses of my mind I planned my escape.

*   *   *

Chapter Ten

My foray outside proved uneventful, contrary to my more pessimistic
expectations.  Then life became dreary again.  Up until that time Ash had seemed
to be at home on a random basis.  He explained that he had used up his holidays
in order to get me settled in and to deal with of the various asset disposals he
had to undertake.  I gathered my day outside was a Sunday, for the next five
days were spent in my dungeon, locked up with a book and occasionally a video,
if he could be bothered recording something for me.

Life was pretty boring, without a doubt.  I had my usual breakfast and dinner,
and would have had precious little else to occupy myself with if Ash hadn't
decided I needed a bit of stimulation in his absence. Which was why I ended up
with my wrist cuffs locked behind me.  This in itself was no big deal, but with
Ash every small matter was part of a greater whole.

To this end I had the stainless steel crotch strap locked on me again, with, of
course, the vibrating butt plug and the vibrator switched on at breakfast time. 
But Ash, predictably, was not content with the status quo as it had been
previously.  This time, I found out, the two intruders were screwed to the steel
strap, linking the movements of all three pieces.  I also discovered that on the
outside of the strap, between my legs and midway between the two devices was a
steel U-lug to which Ash locked a chain connected to each ankle.  The end result
of this was that when I walked, the movement of my ankles, forwards and
backwards tugged on the strap, which in turn made my inserts move inside me. 
Which in turn gave me a sore arse but made my loins squirm and convulse whenever
I had to move too much.  This, in truth, wasn't necessary, but then, even
sitting still made me horny as hell, and I really couldn't access my crotch with
my hands behind me, which left me with little option other than to walk about my
dungeon in order to bring myself to a climax. 

But even this was hard work, for in locking my cuffs together behind my back,
and in locking on the strap-to-ankles chain, I could no longer straighten my
legs properly, leaving me walking in a half-squat, or at very least with a
pronounced stoop.  In short, it was exceedingly hard work, and one that left my
knees and thighs aching from the stooping, never mind from the inevitable
rubbing against the bed frame that I ended up doing.  Invariably I ended up
sweating and cursing as I struggled to climax, then crying out unashamedly as
the spasms rising from my crotch overwhelmed any semblance of control I had
left.  My strength decreased in proportion to the number of times I climaxed,
and once I had achieved the first one, I rapidly fell prey to further orgasms. 
By a hypothetical lunchtime I was ready to sleep, oblivious to the occasional
stirrings (real or artificial) within my pussy and arse. 

On Ash's return I was allowed to remove the strap for the night, and
surprisingly Ash did not demand sex.  Perhaps if he had been planning such, I
would not have suffered my daytime treatment.

Thus was the pattern for that week, and I desperately hoped for a change on the
weekend, for I found the saying that you could have too much of a good thing to
be palpably true, given my inability to resist the unending stimulation from the
vibrators over the course of a morning.

Came Saturday and the same routine was repeated, although this time Ash did not
fasten my cuffs behind me, nor did he turn the vibrators on.  While I knew
something new was coming, and I welcomed the change, I did not like the thought
of another of Ash's demonic tricks.

This time I was oiled up and taken outside straight after breakfast, my crotch
strap in place and connected to my ankles, but with just enough slack so that I
could walk upright.  My cuffs were not joined and I could walk almost normally,
but I quailed at the sight of the clothesline with the clips hanging on a cord
from the end of one of the horizontal arms.

"N-no sir, please..." I whispered as he drew me towards the line by the chain
clipped to my collar.

"What?"  His voice was sharp as he stopped and turned towards me.  "What did you
say?"

I shook my head, staring at the ground.  He jerked me across to where the cord
hung from the bar.  "By rights you should be gagged as a result of that," he
commented, as he unclipped the chain from my collar and fastened the two metal
clamps on my nipples.  I gasped with the sudden pain, biting my lip to stop
crying out.  "But I think it might be more fun not to, this time."  He bent down
and switched on the small motor that started the clothesline rotating.  There
was a sharp tug on my nipples and I began walking, round and round.  How long
was I going to have to endure this time, I wondered?

Once again I decided that the decision by Ash not to gag me was not a spur of
the moment whim.  He knew perfectly well what I was going to suffer, and he told
me so in no uncertain terms.

"There are two things you must do, Jan.  The first thing is that you must stay
silent.  The second thing is a negative - you must not climax.  I will assist
you in this because I'm in a generous mood, by not turning your little friends
on.  I suspect, however, that knowing you, simply walking around with them
moving about inside you will prove difficult to resist.  If of course you do
climax, and are somewhat vocal about it in the process, you can expect to be
treading that circle for a long time.  Or at least until I think of something
more appropriate.  As things stand - again, because I am so generous, I'll allow
you twenty minutes for your walk."

With those directions, Ash disappeared around the side of the house and returned
with a folding director's chair and a newspaper under his arm.  With studied
concentration he set up the chair beside the pole supporting the clothesline and
settled down to read the paper.

It was another lovely morning.  Good old Queensland - beautiful one day, perfect
the next.  Or so the tourist blurbs would have had us believe.  Right then I was
thinking my day was decidedly less than perfect.  The electric motor driving the
thing that towed me endlessly around by my nipples was silent enough so that if
I so much as squeaked Ash would hear me.  And the pain in the aforementioned
nipples was enough to make me more than squeak.  At least I could see, however,
counting my blessings that I wasn't disoriented like my previous brush with the
torture.  To offset that, however, I had disturbing sensations arising from my
loins that I tried hard to ignore, thinking of anything but sex, and in
desperation for once focussing on the pain in my breasts as a refuge from the
warm fuzzies that were occurring down below.  Somehow I felt the pain was more
controllable than the pleasure, as I slowly worked myself into the kind of fugue
state that I had managed in the course of my previous visits to Sub Space.

I must have managed it this time as well, for I was miles away when the motor
stopped abruptly and I caught up with the clips on the rope and jerked myself to
a painful halt.

"Very good, Jan," Ash said, coming over and unfastening the clips.  I groaned
and panted with the sudden pain, screwing my eyes shut and gritting my teeth as
I tried to blot it out until it subsided to a tolerable level.  Then it was the
lead clipped to my collar again and I was following Ash to the house and into
the little enclosed lobby at the rear that led to my dungeon. 

But this time we passed the door to my room, instead ascending the wooden steps
to the floor above.  I was startled, and for a moment I forgot the sensations in
my crotch as I wondered what was in store for me upstairs. 

In my mind's eye I had a mental picture of the layout above, not least because
of where I could see waste pipes poking through the floor above my room.  I
reckoned I knew where the shower, toilet and kitchen were, and where Ash's
bedroom was from the walking about.  It was a house pretty well devoid of
architectural merit - as was frequently the case with structures from the
forties and fifties.  Small windows and not a great appreciation of sun or view
were the usual features, although in this case, since it had been relocated from
some other location, I could hardly apportion the blame on the original
designer.

The backdoor opened into the kitchen with a closed door to the right, which I
reckoned was the laundry.  Directly opposite the backdoor was a hallway, at the
end of which I could see the front door.  The hall was dark and gloomy, with
several doors opening off it, all of which were closed.

"Welcome to my abode," said Ash with a flourish.  I looked about the kitchen. 
To say it needed work was a euphemism.  The linoleum on the floor was brittle
and scarred from many kitchen disasters, and was coming away in parts to reveal
the floorboards underneath.  The cupboards were ancient and in that terribly
dated fifties style with exposed hinges and handles.  To say the place also
needed a clean was similarly a dramatic understatement.  If this was where my
meals had been coming from, it was a wonder I had not succumbed to some
mysterious ailment.  Dishes were piled in the sink and rubbish seemed to be
everywhere.  I could see why he had the windows open as well.  I followed him
into the hallway. 

He opened each door in turn and showed me, down the left hand side the dining
room, a study and the living room at the front of the house.  Opposite this was
his bedroom, complete with unmade king sized bed.  Next to it was another room,
which probably had once been a bedroom in a previous life.  Now it was a
workshop, with a workbench and a heap of tools scattered about.  He closed the
door as we exited into the hall again and locked it with the keys on his belt. 
The last door was the bathroom, and then we were back in the kitchen.

"So, what do you think, Jan?"

"Nice, sir," I mumbled.

"But not as nice as yours was, of course," he said with a grin.  "I'm going to
do it up, you see.  I like it out here, but the house really does need some
upgrading - which you're paying for, of course, Jan.  I have a builder coming on
Monday to look at refurbishing everything - kitchen and bathroom particularly,
but a repaint and new floor coverings as well.  Exciting, yes?"

"Yes, sir," I agreed trying not to sound enthusiastic, although my heart was
leaping at the thought of other people coming to the house and the possibilities
this left for possible escape.

"But of course I wouldn't want them to see it like this, so I'm getting someone
in to do the cleaning."  I should have seen it coming.  Nobody would touch the
cleaning aspect except for an exorbitant amount and only providing they had good
health cover. "You've volunteered for the job."

"Thank you sir," I said meekly.  It did not thrill me at all, but the break from
the tedium of being locked up down below meant I would do anything, particularly
if it meant the possibility of escape, or at least the chance to identify a
future opportunity.

"Sit down, Jan," Ash said, indicating the stained vinyl-covered tubular steel
chair next to the matching kitchen table.  I perched myself gingerly on the
chair, my skin crawling at the contact with the grease and dirt, while at the
same time the steel crotch strap forced the inserts deeper inside me.  I
squirmed uncomfortably and looked up to see Ash's face a hand span away from my
own.

"I will only tell you this once, Jan.  You are being given this job as a reward
for your good behaviour." His voice went steely.  "If you so much as even think
about trying anything silly, you will be sorrier that you can imagine.  Picture
yourself suspended upside down with weights on you nipples and pussy, with those
nice toys inside you coated with Finalgon.  That is after you've been scrubbed
from head to toe with it and received a thorough flogging before the second
application.  How does thirty strokes with the cane sound, after all that?  Is
that what you want?  Do you want to suffer this for days at a time, deprived of
speech, sight and hearing, not to mention movement and probably food?  Is there
anything I have left out?  I'm sure I could think up something, probably
involving electricity...  Am I making myself clear, Jan?"  He cupped his hand
under my chin and forced me to stare into those chilling grey eyes.  I was
trembling.

"Yes - s-sir."

"It would be your worst nightmare, Jan.  Worse than anything that you have
experienced so far.  Let me tell you it just isn't worth it.  I know what you
might do, and believe me you won't find any knives or other instruments of
destruction here.  They're locked away.  The phone is in the workshop, so forget
triple zero.  And my workshop is locked and stays that way.  Everything else
gets cleaned properly.  And don't count on slipping out the back door when I'm
not looking.  Let me show you something else."

He opened a drawer and extracted what looked like a large builder's tape
measure.  But instead of the tape being pulled out, a fine wire emerged from the
case when he pulled it. 

"Stainless steel wire, Jan, only a two millimetres thick, but nothing you'll cut
without a grinder, an oxy torch or a lot of hard sawing with a hacksaw.  Spring
loaded into the old tape case - seven metres of it.  The end you see has this
crimped loop - here."  He held it up in front of my face.  "I can lock this to
your collar like so."  He removed the lead and I felt the sure click of a lock
securing the fine wire to my collar.  "The case itself now gets locked here," he
said, walking towards the hallway, the wire unspooling as he did so.  I watched
as he squatted down and fitted a large padlock through a hole in the case then
drew it down to the floor.  I followed his movement and saw a small U-bolt
screwed into the kitchen floor just inside the doorway.  To this was locked
another wire which disappeared down the hallway.

"This wire is fixed to another U-bolt just inside the front door, Jan.  It is
also only two millimetres thick, but probably strong enough to tow a car with,
if I wanted to.  The tape case is locked to it, which at once gives you the
freedom to go up and down the hallway, while your collar wire gives you a
further seven metres in any direction - enough to go into all the rooms and do a
proper cleaning job.  Pretty neat, huh?  Strong, but unobtrusive.  Of course I
shall remove it before the builder comes. In the meantime, you have work to do."

He showed me a box of cleaning materials under the sink and a packet of garbage
bags on the floor, before leaving me to my task my ears still ringing with the
dreadful fate that awaited me if I strayed from the path he had laid out for me.

*   *   *

Despite his dire warning, my mind could not help but look for anything that
might help me escape.  Anything I found, however, would be unless it could get
me out of the confinement by the steel wire.  Other than cutting the wire, I
would need a large screwdriver to remove what were pretty big screws securing
the U-bolt to the floor, and I wasn't even sure I had the strength for such a
task.

It took me most of that day just to get the kitchen in some form of orderly
state.  I found an apron hanging behind the door - one of those pvc barbeque
ones that every home seems to attract at some stage.  This one had cats all over
it, and was the first form of clothing I had worn for many weeks.  I found a
pair of rubber gloves under the sink, and between these and the apron I hoped to
protect some of my body from the various cleaning agents I was obliged to use.

The hours passed quickly with work to do, but that was not to say temptation did
not come my way, despite Ash's intentions.  In fact it was temptation of a
different sort from that contemplated by him.  True to his word, the cutlery was
in a locked drawer, and there was precious little else I could use to do any
damage with.  The temptation came from the fridge and the cupboards, which, for
all their dust and dirt, nevertheless still contained food.  Despite my being
gainfully employed, it was apparent I was still only going to get my regular two
meals a day.  Having to look at tubs of ice cream, blocks of cheese and bottles
of coke increased the empty feeling that seemed to grow the longer I worked.  I
plucked up enough courage to drink a glass of water from the tap while I was in
the process of washing up, but even in doing that I was terrified that Ash would
see me and object to it.  The thought of getting caught sneaking a biscuit or a
piece of cheese was too awful to contemplate.

Another temptation was to stop and look at the newspapers that were stacked up
in one corner.  I used some of them to wrap rubbish and others I simply piled
into a garbage bag pending instructions, but all the while I was looking at
dates on the papers for the most recent I could find.  I scared myself as the
numbers reached March 5th.  My God, I had been captive for at least two months!

Given that I was now experiencing a weekend, and this was Monday's paper, I
figured it was now Saturday 10th March. How was this possible?   I was now
determined to use my new knowledge and the apparent easing of my restrictions
into some sort of routine, to keep a record of my captivity.  Exactly who would
ever get to see it I wasn't sure and that was something I didn't really want to
think about.

Ash spent most of the day either in his study or his workshop.  By the time I
had cleared the rubbish from the kitchen, done a major washing up and had then
cleaned the floor, it was well into the afternoon.  Ordinarily I would have been
finished in half the time, but the chains limiting my hand movements were
frustrating in the extreme.  I ended up kneeling on a stool to do the washing
up, and climbing on and off one to put dishes away in some of the higher
cupboards.  Cleaning tables and benches left me standing on one leg, the other
raised in ridiculous fashion as I wiped down a surface.  More than once I turned
to find Ash standing in the doorway smiling at my discomfort.  It was not a warm
smile.  It was the smile of one who intends worse fates to lie ahead. 

As a result of all this climbing on and off stools and leg-raising, I suppose it
was inevitable that my inserts would rub me up the wrong way, so to speak.  They
moved about inside in a way that both frustrated and excited me, and eventually
I had to get on to my knees with a bucket of water and a scrubbing brush, to go
through the act of washing the floor, while managing to grit my teeth as an
orgasm finally burst forth.  I rocked back and forwards on my scrubbing brush,
panting and squeezing my legs together, trying to remain silent and to block out
the roaring of blood in my ears.  Three times it happened within the space of an
hour, and what with that, the unaccustomed activity level and the lack of food,
I felt the first faintness assault me when I stood up.  I was still scared that
Ash would catch me, flushed and aroused, and I dared not think where that might
lead.

I finally finished the kitchen - as much as I could reach, anyway.  I moved into
the laundry opposite and was starting in here when Ash wandered into the kitchen
and started rattling around in the cupboards.  I poked my head around the door
and he beckoned to me.

"Time to earn your keep Jan.  I assume you can cook? "

"Yes sir."

"Well cook something out of that.  Use whatever you want if it will mean
something passable.  Okay?"

"What about cooking implements, sir?"

He unlocked the drawer containing the cutlery. 

"I still don't trust you, Jan.  Take off that apron.  No hiding places for sharp
knives.  You will wash all implements and replace them in this drawer before
serving dinner, save for those knives and forks needed to eat with.  You will
serve dinner to me on a tray in the living room within an hour, and you will
wait beside me while I eat.  You will eat only if and when I tell you.  Do you
understand?"

"Yes sir."

He left, and I marvelled at my luck.  I saw it as a chance to gain favour and to
further reinforce my subservience until the right time came. I removed the apron
and busied myself with dinner.  He had left out a plate of minced meat, which I
turned into a cottage pie and eventually served up with grilled cheese on top. 
The hardest part was carrying the hot bowl, which I could only manage on a tray
in a half crouch, petrified that I would spill some of the hot food on my
unprotected body.

Ash was sitting on the couch, enjoying my waddle into the room as I tried not to
trip up on the thin wire attached to my collar that was spooling out after me. 
Ash took the tray from me and pointed to the floor.  I knelt beside him and
waited passively as he ate.  I should have put some weedkiller in it, I thought
rebelliously as he turned up the cricket game that was on the television and
pointedly ignored me.

He finished the meal without a word of comment and concentrated on the game,
motioning me in front of him with a couple of snaps of his fingers, so that he
could stretch out his feet on my exposed back.  Strangely enough it was this
move that in a way riled me almost more than all the indignities that he had
inflicted on me so far.  At least under those circumstances I had at least been
treated as a human being - albeit a slave - but the idea of existing purely as a
piece of furniture, not even to be talked to - or at - left me fuming.  But of
course there was nothing I could do, not chained and secured to the anchor wire,
and not with dire threats hanging over my head if I flouted this newfound
"freedom" from the dungeon.

The game ended, but not the way Ash obviously wanted.  Australia was beaten and
that was clearly not a satisfactory outcome for Ash.  He turned the TV off and
made me kneel on a cushion seat from a large armchair, placed on the floor.  He
produced two padlocks from his pocket and locked my left wrist cuff to my left
ankle cuff and then did the same for the right ones.  This left me with my head
hard down on the cushion and my arse in the air, and I did not like where it was
going at all.  He removed the crotch strap, together with its accompanying
intruders, in a manner that was swift and clinical.  It felt strange after
having contained these devices for the whole day to suddenly be emptied of them. 

Ash's idea of foreplay - as so often seemed to be the case - was to give my
bottom a thorough spanking, first with his hands, then with a belt.  I could not
help myself, and the tears began to flow, nor could I prevent small whimpers
escaping through my gritted teeth as I ground my face into the cushion.  Several
times Ash's belt flicked between my legs and I fought to stifle the yowls from
the pain that exploded from my crotch.  Ash's answer to this was to take the
belt and wrap it twice around my head, passing through my mouth, before buckling
it tightly behind my neck, leaving me drooling and slurping uncontrollably.

He was in a savage mood, and I got a thorough screwing that had a ferocity that
scared hell out of me.  First I got it in front, then he finally came in a
painful arse-reaming exercise that could barely qualify as anything other than
an animalistic rutting.  And all the while he said nothing, other than to grunt
as he thrust into me before climaxing in a sudden frenzy.

He withdrew and left me there, pushing me on to my side before leaving the room
and turning the lights out.  I heard him go into the bathroom and the sound of a
shower.  God, what I wouldn't have done for a hot shower, both after what I had
just gone through, but also because I had not had one for over two months.

I lay there trying to get myself as comfortable as I could, for perhaps two
hours while he moved about the house.  He was in one of his uncommunicative
moods, eventually returning and unlocking my wrists and ankles but leaving the
belt in my mouth obviously just to spite me.  The wire was unlocked from my neck
and I was given a plastic container of the remainder of the meal, which I took
downstairs with me.  He pushed me into my dungeon without a word and slammed the
door, leaving me in darkness to remove the belt and eat my food, before falling
on my bed and crying myself into an exhausted sleep.

*   *   *

Sunday was almost a repeat of the previous day, except this time I was spared
the torment of the clothesline.  I suppose I had in fact got off lightly the
previous evening, given the temper Ash was in.  On this particular day, after
breakfast, I was again secured to the hallway anchor wire and made to clean all
the rooms except the workshop.

Again I had the steel crotch strap locked on, with the butt plug and dildo
securely inserted inside me.  I was to later find that my restricted movements
in vacuuming, requiring me to bend constantly at the knees to give myself enough
arm movement, subtly worked the inserts around in a way that again forced me to
find a place away from Ash to reach a climax as quietly as I could.  Ash's idea
of variations on a theme in this case was to chain the vacuum cleaner to the
U-lug on the strap between my legs on a metre of chain.  This inevitably meant
unexpected tugs at the strap and the devices inside me, which proved most
disconcerting.

I passed the day dusting and wiping everything I could reach, while taking the
opportunity to have a good look around the house.  Predictably it was about six
months since the place had last been cleaned, and I got the decided impression
that Ash was somewhat of a slob.  Having dusted and vacuumed the place, I was
shown the washing machine and drier and directed to the clothesbasket, not to
mention the clothes strewn around the place in various rooms.  Which was how I
ended up ironing most of Ash's wardrobe late in the evening after having again
made dinner.  I could see the potential for my becoming some sort of full-time
maid here, and much as I hated the idea, it was at least preferable to the
endless incarceration downstairs, and it at least offered some hope for escape.

It was this latter idea that was foremost in my thoughts when at one stage in my
cleaning routine, in Ash's bedroom at the front of the house, I was trying to
get the vacuum cleaner into the furthest corner of the room.  It was at this
point that I was at the furthest point from the anchor wire in the hall, and in
the process of cleaning the corner, my head jerked back as I reached the limit
of the spooling wire attached to my collar.  I noticed that when I retreated
from the room, the wire failed to retract into the tape housing.  I squatted in
the hallway and studied the small case locked to the anchor wire and saw how Ash
had fastened the neck wire.  From the housing a small tongue or strip of
flexible steel, like that of the tape measure, protruded maybe a centimetre or
so.  The stainless steel wire had been looped through a hole in the steel and
then crimped to itself.  The steel tongue was obviously part of the retraction
spring mechanism, but somehow it had become jammed.  I fiddled with it, trying
to make it retract.  That was when Ash caught me.

He was furious.  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"The w-wire..." I stammered.  "It got stuck when I reached the f-far corner in
your room... I was trying to make it go back in..."

He glared at me, suspicion in his eyes, then looked at the device attached to
the anchor wire.  He made me return to the extreme point of the wire to verify
that such was the case, and eventually seemed satisfied.  I was trembling with
fear and desperate to show my innocence.  He fixed the retraction mechanism and
made the wire rewind, and finally appeared satisfied that I had not done
anything untoward, but just to make a point he forced me to wear small plastic
nipple clips for the rest of the afternoon.  I recognised them as being weights
that were normally clipped to the edges of tablecloths for outdoor or picnic
situations.  They were of white plastic with small weights in the shape of
strawberries hanging from them.  Ash appeared delighted with the way they hung
from my nipples and swung about when I moved.  I did not think it at all amusing
and had to put up with the dull ache in my nips for the rest of the afternoon.

But all through my trials - including a repeat screwing on the cushion in the
living room - until I was returned to my dungeon that evening, my mind was
preoccupied with that connection between the neck wire and the steel tongue
protruding from the tape case.  I had seen metal measuring tapes break before,
and the tongue in that casing was no different from the tape itself.  I reckoned
a decent pair of scissors might even be able to cut through it.  Suddenly I was
filled with real hope - hope that there was an end to this enslavement I was
being forced into.

*   *   *

I found it hard to sleep that night, my mind hairing off at various tangents as
I tried to still my excitement - and my fear.  Dominant in my mind was the
thought of what would happen to me if I failed in my attempt.  If I escaped,
Ash's life would be in tatters when I got to the authorities.  If I didn't, my
life would not be worth continuing with.

Ash was in a good mood the next morning, I guess because the builder was coming
to do a measure up and inspection. Regrettably, the presence of another person
upstairs - the first time it had happened since I had been captured - meant
trouble for me.  That was how I ended up bound to the post again.  The chains
had been removed from my wrists and ankles - presumably so I didn't start
clanking them against the steel post - and my hands crossed and bound in front. 
A large strap joined my elbows behind the post, securing me to it very
effectively and immobilising my arms save a possible fluttering of the hands. 
Further straps went around the post and my body at waist level and below my
breasts, while Ash used about a hundred metres of cord to bind my legs tightly
together before tying them to the post.  Then it was discipline helmet time. 
Expanding plugs went into my ears, then a firm but slightly squishy rubber ball
was forced behind my teeth before the leather hood enveloped my head and
everything went black.  He did not do it up completely at the back, instead
using multiple turns of tape to meld my head firmly to the column. 

"Wiggle for me, Jan," he commanded in my ear.  I tried, pretty unsuccessfully. 
Smack! The flogger struck my right breast.  I jerked with the unexpected pain
and struggled as best I could, whimpering into the rubber ball.  His hands
tightened the belts a notch, and then he was gone.

I guess I stayed there in that position for the morning.  I thought I heard
multiple footsteps at some time, but my hearing was fuzzy under the tape, the
hood and the plugs.  The minimalist nasal whining I was capable of would not go
far, I knew.  I was sure it would be unable to be heard upstairs.  If it was I
had no doubt Ash would explain it away as a dog or something, and I could be
sure of some very unpleasant consequences when the builder had left.  My only
consolation was that in an effort to keep me quiet Ash had not stuffed me full
of vibrators or plugs, nor was I obliged to wear clamps on any susceptible part
of my body.  It was thus a long, drawn out day, where I finally caught up with
some of my lost sleep from the night before.  It was to be the beginning of a
number of such periods as the builders began their work - work which at once
gave me hope and left me in despair as I was to be secured immovably and
silently while my possible saviours began their work only metres above me.

*   *   *

Chapter Eleven

That week was not one of the more pleasant weeks in my experience at Chez Ash. 
The builders arrived the day following the inspection and commenced ripping the
upstairs area apart.  Ash was at work, and was obviously well aware that I was
potentially able to try to attract the attention of the newcomers.  That was the
theory, anyway.  And it wasn't going to happen.  Aside from the fact that there
was enough noise going on with the renovation such that any moan or squeak that
emanated from my person would be lost in the general din, Ash made very sure
that I was in no position to contribute to the noise levels themselves.

My previous experience of being bound to the post was the forerunner of a series
of such trials, but had only lasted a couple of hours.  Ash evidently found it
appropriate to vary my positions if only just for a change, but they were harsh
in that they lasted a whole day and invariably totally immobilised me.  As for
the first one, I was at least thankful that I did not have to suffer the clamps,
clips and inserts that Ash was so fond of, and thus my direct pain level was
lowered.  But the endless hours of being bound in one position unable to move
took their toll on me, both physically and mentally. 

My first day was in some ways a relatively easy one in that I was bound on my
back on the bed, spreadeagled.  It was not a particularly imaginative position,
but it was very effective.  My wrists and ankles received leather cuffs which
were tightly anchored to the four corners of the bed.  Not content with this,
further straps were placed around my thighs just above my knees, and these were
similarly secured with cords to the bed frame.  Ropes were likewise attached to
my steel waist belt on each side, and I knew it was going to be a long day.  But
at that stage I did not know how quiet. 

Ash pulled a rubber bathing cap over my hair before stuffing a rubber ball in my
mouth.  It was not as large as some I had experienced, and I could almost close
my mouth over it.  When I did, my tongue was effectively silenced, and this was
ensured by the multiple turns of silver duct tape he wound around my head,
drawing my jaw shut and covering my mouth.  I had expected this.  What I had not
expected was the gas mask he produced at that point.  It was bizarre, but I soon
saw his logic.  It was made of rubber and fitted snugly over my head, being
pulled tight with a number of straps at the back.  Not content with that, he
sealed the edges with more duct tape.  I was starting to panic at that point,
for it had suddenly become rather claustrophobic in the gloomy world beneath the
mask.  The eye plates seemed to be tinted and the smell of the rubber filled my
nostrils.  Both my hearing and sight had been substantially reduced now, and my
senses were being dominated by the rasping of my breath and the distant thudding
of the blood in my ears.

I was aware of the breathing tube leading out from the mask, but I had not seen
it connected to anything.

"Can you hear me, Jan?" came Ash's distant voice.  I nodded as best I could. 
"Good.  Let me just explain something.  This nice fashion accessory you're
wearing is designed to reduce any noise you may make through that pretty nose of
yours.  There is another way to do that, of course, but it tends to be rather
permanent." He chuckled.  "There are two tubes leading to your mask, each with a
simple flap at the junction.  One is the inlet, the other is the outlet for your
air.  There is thus no danger of rebreathing stale air.  In simple terms, the
use of this tube will stifle the moaning and carrying on that you are prone to
indulge in.  Understand?"  I nodded again.  "Let's give it a little test, shall
we?"  There was a piercing pain as he pinched my nipple hard and twisted it
fiercely.  I tried to jerk, but the only part of me I could move was my head,
the rest of my body being immovably secured to the bed.  I yowled behind the
tape, but the only noise I could manage came through my nose, to reverberate
inside my mask.

"Very good, Jan.  But I want you to really try hard."  A double pinch this time
- fingernails biting into the very tip of each nipple.  I stiffened as though an
electric shock was passed through my body, but again all movement was
restrained, except for a rolling of my head.  Again I made a nasal yowl inside
the mask, which obviously hardly carried into the room.

"Excellent." Ash was evidently really pleased with himself.  Predictably my head
was then the last thing to be secured, as further ropes were attached to the
steel collar about my neck and two final cords were tied to the top straps on
the mask and tethered to the bed head. 

"See you tonight, Jan.  Behave yourself."

*   *   *

For some reason Ash had left the light on, but beneath the mask and behind the
dark lenses I could dimly make out the floor joists above me that formed the
extent of my visible world.  I could turn my head only a small amount, and could
not lift it at all.  The rest of my body was totally immovable save my feet and
hands.

I could hear the men walking about above, but the sound was indistinct.  There
was intermittent banging and crashing, which I presumed was the removal of
existing cupboards and other fittings.  Beneath the rubber and duct tape I could
not distinguish voices, and the initial feeble moans I managed clearly went
nowhere.  I thought about these men - symbols of outside normality - going about
their work unaware of the prisoner lying bound to the bed in the room below,
silenced and unable to communicate by other than wishful thoughts.

I presumed Ash had removed the anchor wire down the hallway.  That might have
been hard to explain away, otherwise.  My mind went over and over the connecting
tongue of steel inside the housing, and how and when I might cut through it. 
The thought excited and petrified me.  Ash would kill me if I got caught.

The lack of stimulation in my world had the inevitable consequence of sending me
into subspace, then to sleep.  I awoke intermittently, usually through some
overly loud noise, such as some of the rubbish being tossed into a dumpster from
the front balcony.  Then I would doze again, only to awake with an ache usually
in my shoulders or hips, caused by the unnatural spread of my limbs and their
lack of movement.  It was painful and uncomfortable, but there was absolutely
nothing I could do about it.  If Ash was killed in a car crash, I would probably
die here, through dehydration or starvation.  Much as I would have liked to see
such a fate befall my captor, I knew I was still dependent on him for my own
wellbeing.

I awoke to silence, and I could only guess that the men had done a day's work. 
Ash would soon be home to free me...  A long time seemed to pass before I heard
the door open and sensed the presence of my jailor.  My release did not come
immediately - not until Ash had taken advantage of my widely spread legs and
exposed sex, first using his fingers until my loins became uncontrollably wet,
then thrusting into me with a vigour I could do nothing to counter.  I closed my
eyes and let him pump away, the weight of him on top of my own tied and
spreadeagled body only drawing everything tighter.  I was panting and moaning
now under the tape and the mask, partly from the pain of the stretching in my
restraints and partly - I admit - from the arousal between my legs.  I confess
to climaxing, even under such circumstances.  I could not help myself and saw no
point in fighting it.  It did nothing to alter my feelings of loathing towards
Ash, nor did it lessen my desire for revenge.  I told myself I could at least
gain some small element of satisfaction out of the indignity I was being forced
into.  It was difficult in a way, for I could barely move under the strictures
of the ropes and with Ash on top, but I eventually came, gasping and panting
under the rubber mask and straining against my bonds.

Ash went away to change, the bastard, while I was left just lying there. 
Eventually he came back with dinner and released my hands, chaining my collar to
the bed with a long length of chain, then leaving me to free the rest of my
bonds as he turned the lights out and left.  I was terribly stiff and ached all
over.  I undid the ropes attached to the gas mask straps and gradually worked my
way down my body undoing the straps and finally freeing my ankles.  By the time
I had unwound the duct tape from my head my dinner was luke warm, but I was
ravenous as usual.  I went to sleep that night wondering how hard this week was
going to be and how long I would have to endure this treatment.

*   *   *

The presence of the builders, far from being a relief from the monotony of
solitary confinement and offering a chance to make my presence known, was in
fact the opposite.  Gone was at least the freedom to walk about my cell, and so
too was the potential for escape from the hallway anchor wire.  Instead, I was
forced to endure a series of tight bindings that left me immovable for twelve
hours at a time.  At the end of that time my muscles would be screaming for
relief, which was more than I was capable of, for the gagging and the gas mask
became the normal routine.

On what I now recognised as Tuesday, I found myself sitting cross-legged and
bound to the post, my head taped securely and all of me unable to move.  Ash
seemed to see the requirement to keep me under control as a challenge to his
ingenuity in providing a variety of immobilising positions that were sustainable
through the day.  Wednesday saw me in a facedown letter 'T' 'spreadeagle' on the
bed, my head through the frame at the foot of the bed, and my arms bound along
it.  The straps on the gas mask were tied back to the frame, supporting my head,
but it was sill terribly uncomfortable for my neck after a few hours.

By Thursday Ash thought I needed some more variety, and I found myself standing,
my hands crossed and bound behind me and my ankles spread and secured to a bar
and thence to eyebolts in the concrete.  Under my armpits and above my breasts
was a thick strap, which was attached to a rope to a pulley overhead, to stop me
falling over.  Simple, but very effective.  This time it was my legs which were
complaining by the time he released me.  His comment that such isometric
exercises should be good for my muscles did nothing to improve my humour.

Friday saw me lying on my side on the bed, bent over with my wrists bound to my
ankles and my elbows to my knees, with of course my body well tied to the bed to
stop any other movement.  Friday was pain-in-the-back day.  I was not at all
impressed - less so when he told me they had at least three more days work the
following week.  I had also mistakenly looked forward to a relatively free
weekend, and my antagonism to Ash and his builders worsened as the crew worked a
half-day. I found myself tied to that hated post again for the duration of
Saturday morning, this time with my knees drawn up under my chin and my wrists
bound in front of my ankles.  Each day Ash took advantage of my helplessness to
screw me, either normally or in the arse, depending on my accessibility.  I came
to realise the pattern and to spend the day dreading the vulnerability of my
bottom.  

I suppose it could be interpreted as remorse on Ash's part for my suffering
during the week that I obtained an hour of liberty on both Saturday and Sunday,
albeit chained to the clothesline, but at least not by my nipples on these
occasions.  He explained that there was no point in tidying up inside since the
painters were in the middle of their work in some rooms while the kitchen was
half-finished. I could do nothing more than study further my surroundings and
consider my options for a way out.

I looked at the fence line again.  Along the rear boundary there was a gateway
in the mesh fence that I had not noticed before.  It was made of pipe with a
mesh infill, and was partly covered by a rampant bougainvillea.  I wondered if
it was locked.  There seemed to be a break in the undergrowth beyond it, and I
wondered if there was a path leading into the bush reserve.  A short distance
beyond the fence the first of a large grove of tall eucalypts towered over the
lower level trees.  Maybe this was somewhere I could take refuge.

Ash obviously had no plans for me that weekend - I think he was too busy sorting
out his new decor and refurbishment.  I was returned to my cell with no
explanation or conversation being deemed necessary.  My reward for compliance
was being able to watch a video and to at least walk about in my cell.  With the
use of ropes and tape that Ash had employed of late, I had not had my wrist and
ankle chains on for a week or so, which at least was a small mercy.  I tried to
take comfort in these small things and hoped it would continue.  As it was I
still wore the steel collar around my neck, to which the chain was locked, and
the steel belt at my waist.  Neither of these looked like they would be coming
off in the near future.

*   *   *

Monday came and went as I spent the day bound immovably to the chair in my cell. 
It was perhaps the least uncomfortable position I had been subjected to in that
I could at least move my head - at least that was the theory.  The fact was that
if I moved it too much the inlet tube to the gas mask would constrict, for Ash
had cleverly fastened it to the lower part of the chair, and my air supply would
abruptly be cut off.  It scared the hell out of me the first time it happened
until I realised what he had done.  Just for variety he had also turned the
lights off, leaving me in a black world with only the sound of my own breathing
for company until the workmen arrived.  The noise seemed to have subsided now,
and this was the way it was to be for the next two days.

Tuesday found me lying on my back on the bed like a corpse, my wrists bound to
the opposite elbows underneath me, and my body secured to the bed at various
points after my legs had been tied together at ankles and above and below the
knees.  Tuesday there was some sort of major event upstairs.  There was much
clumping and thumping up the front stairs and I hazarded a guess that whatever
new kitchen fittings Ash had ordered were being delivered and installed.  There
were other thumps, too, which could have been rolls of carpet being dropped,
followed by banging that might have been the fitting of the carpet.  And it was
all being paid for with my money!  The thought made me furious, and I squirmed
in my bindings, snorting in vain under the layers of tape over my mouth.

Wednesday was quieter.  There seemed to be fewer people and less banging about. 
Ash was not yet running out of ideas as I spent my day in a half-spreadeagle, my
wrists bound to the top corners of the bed while I was bent at the waist, my
ankles in a spreader bar above me.  By the time Ash returned my feet had gone to
sleep, as I had done several times during the day, and the predictable fuck was
strange with my lower extremities barely able to be felt. 

The rest of the week was almost back to its boring normality, with me left
chained to the post, with the house to myself.  I read the thriller Ash had left
me, for the second time, all the while wondering what opportunity might now
exist in the newly refurbished interior above me.  Clearly I had lost any chance
of communicating with the workmen - Ash had made very sure of that.  It was now
on my own shoulders to escape from this life of slavery which seemed to stretch
out endlessly ahead of me.

*   *   *

By the time Saturday came around I was nervous with anticipation.  I didn't know
what was going to happen but I had been mentally preparing myself for a positive
action if and when the time arose.  Would Ash still use the hallway anchor wire? 
Would there be a change of routine now?  I didn't know.  The thought of
rebellion in any form scared the hell out of me.  I had received too many brutal
beatings not to understand what would befall me if I got it wrong and fouled up. 
Whatever had happened to me in the past would probably be nothing to what Ash
would devise as a punishment for such a flagrant act as trying to escape.

Saturday morning was warm and pleasant when Ash led me out of the dungeon.  He
had still not bothered with the previous wrist and ankle chain configuration,
explaining that I had some proper cleaning to do today and that he expected all
surfaces to be reached.  That said, the steel ankle cuffs were still locked on,
linked by a half metre hobble chain, the mid-point of which was in turn
connected to the front of my waist belt with another chain.  And whatever he
might have thought of the practicalities of reaching high places, he was not
past locking on the stainless steel crotch strap with its two fixed inserts.  I
had not experienced them for two weeks and the fullness that accompanied them
was strange and unsettling.

The inside of the kitchen had been transformed since my previous visit.  A new
bench and sink, cupboards and floor vinyl made an enormous difference, although
the table and chairs and the small windows detracted from the end result. 
Throughout the house was a new Berber carpet and the walls and ceiling were
freshly painted.  Everything smelt of paint and carpet - a not unpleasant
combination that gave a newness to the finished look, despite the old furniture.

As I followed Ash down the hall my heart leapt as I saw that he had re-fixed the
anchor wire through the carpet at each end of the hall.  Once again one end of
the retractable steel wire was locked to my collar and I was directed to my work
- mainly cleaning up after the builders.  There was plaster dust everywhere and
the carpet, though new, needed a good vacuum cleaning.

I resolved to make a break if I possibly could, my expectation being that Ash
would sit down to watch some sport on television during the afternoon. In the
meantime I busied myself in the kitchen, removing the pots, pans and crockery
before cleaning the new cupboard shelves.  Ash had evidently put the stuff away
on dusty shelves on the expectation that Slave Jan would be coming in to clean
up after the event.  It gave me the perfect excuse to clean out the kitchen
drawers at the same time and to find a pair of heavy scissors that I hoped would
cut through the tongue of the retractable tape where it was connected to the
wire.

The time seemed to go incredibly slowly.  Ash wandered in and out of the
kitchen, fixing himself lunch but not offering me anything.  I was almost used
to it now.  My stomach had shrunk and I had lost a few kilos with the stress and
lack of food, but being in the presence of food that I was not allowed to touch
made things that much harder.  It also strengthened my resolve.

I had finished the kitchen and was in the process of dusting the dining room
when I heard the television turned on.  I waited until Ash seemed settled and
returned to the kitchen where I extracted the scissors from the drawer.  The
blood was pounding in my ears as I crouched with my back to the entrance to the
hall.  I could sense my hands starting to tremble as I pulled the wire out of
its housing until it would go no further and the retaining tongue of thin steel
poked out.  I gripped the scissors and squeezed the blades over the steel.  It
bent and folded between the blades, and when I prised them open again the tape
had bent at right angle, with only a small nick at the edge.  If Ash saw the
result of my effort he would know at once what I had done.

I tried again, this time working the tape high up into the jaws of the scissors
and gripping them hard to give a tight shearing surface.  The jaws of the
scissors bit into the steel tape, jammed, then sheared through it with a sharp
snap. I froze. I cast a glance over my shoulder, petrified at the thought of
seeing Ash standing there glaring down at me.  But the hallway was empty.

I scrabbled about to gather up the seven metres of wire that seemed to have a
life of its own and be everywhere at once.  I tiptoed across to the backdoor and
let myself out, cursing the clink of my chains as I went down the stairs to the
little lobby outside the door to my dungeon.  I was so scared I almost forgot to
breathe as I let myself out the door at the bottom of the steps.  Every second I
was expecting a shout to come, followed by footsteps pounding after me.

I hurried to the side gate in the wooden fence but to my dismay it was locked. 
Scurrying back around the house I turned the corner on the opposite side to find
my way blocked by a similar wooden fence without even a gate.  It was as tall as
I was, with pointed tops to the palings, and I knew I wasn't going to get over
it.  My only chance was the gate in the mesh fence at the bottom of the garden. 

I crossed the lawn with a clinking of chains that seemed inordinately loud in
the warm afternoon.  Inside me the dildo and butt plug moved about
disconcertingly.  I reached the gate and tried it, then noticing the chain
locked around the gate rail and the fence post.  But this situation was a tad
easier, for the gate was only chest high and I could climb up the mesh.  I was
about to climb the gate when the dreaded shout came from the house.  As if my
heart wasn't going fast enough, it now doubled its rate as I panicked in my
efforts, my feet getting tangled in the hobble chain as I started to work my way
up the gate.  I could not swing my leading leg over easily until I was lying
down along the top rail, resting on the steel crotch strap that pushed the dildo
further inside. At that point I fell awkwardly on the ground on the other side,
trailing the wire still connected to my collar and giving the butt plug a sharp
push.

The slam of the door at the foot of the stairs was followed by shouted curses
and threats from Ash as he started across the lawn.  I grabbed the wire and ran,
stumbling along a narrow track through the undergrowth as best I could with the
chain catching on branches and weeds.  My feet hurt on sticks and thorns but I
was barely aware of this.  Several times I stumbled as my surroundings became
denser on each side of the path.  I knew I couldn't hope to stay ahead of Ash,
and I thought I heard a crash not too far behind as he cleared the gate.  I was
desperate and took the only action I could think of.

Stepping off to the left of the track in the midst of the grove of tall
eucalypts I had seen from the garden, I wrapped the loose end of my neck wire
around the base of a small tree and crossed over the path again, wrapping the
wire again around a root before crouching behind the trunk of a gum.  Without
thinking I picked up one of the many dead branches that littered the ground,
just as there was a pounding along the track behind me. 

I crouched, terrified out of my mind as the running came closer.  I knew I would
only get one chance at this, and I tightened the trip wire as I thought my
pursuer was almost on top of me.  The wire was fine enough to be almost
invisible, and Ash caught one foot in it while travelling at full tilt.  He went
sprawling, trailing the wire which tore out the root between me and the path,
and jerking me towards him.  I went with the movement, swinging the broken
branch with a fury I would not have thought myself capable of.

Ash had fallen half on his side and he looked up just in time to see me swinging
the branch at him.  He raised his right arm to deflect the branch which caught
him hard on the elbow, eliciting a cry of pain from him.  His arm appeared to go
limp as he rolled away to try to avoid my next blow.  I knew I could not let up
- I had to keep at him and not give him a moment to collect himself.  The second
blow landed on the side of his head, all but knocking him senseless.  He was
lying there, groaning when my branch struck his head again, and he went quiet. 

I stood there, gasping for breath, my head ringing and my chest heaving, the
blood pounding in my ears.  I was shaking all over from fear and exertion, while
adrenalin coursed through my body.  I had not anticipated a situation like this. 
I had envisioned escaping and somehow running out into the street to flag down a
passing car or pedestrian.  I had not seen myself crouching over an unconscious
man in the middle of the bush.  I had no idea where the path led or which was
the direction to head to even find the road.

I must have squatted there for five minutes, my head down, striving to regain
control of my faculties.  It dawned on me to check Ash's pulse.  I had at least
not killed him, and he showed signs of stirring.  I searched his pockets and
came up with the small bunch of keys I knew he carried for my express benefit. 
With stuttering fingers I found the key that unlocked the steel cuffs on my
ankles and the chain at my waist.  Without really thinking I tried one cuff on
Ash's wrist and found it an adequate fit.  I locked it on and pulled the wrist
across his back as far as it would go.  I reckoned the chain was just long
enough to pass underneath him so I could then cuff the opposite wrist. 

I was right, and before I realised it, Ash was chained up extremely securely,
and the tables were suddenly turned.  I unlocked the wire from my collar and sat
down against the trunk of the tree I had hidden behind, letting my heartbeat
slowly subside.  The situation had become abruptly different - like nothing I
had expected, and now I had to decide what to do with my ex-captor.  I elected
to take things a bit at a time, as Ash began to groan and slowly shake his head. 
He turned and glared at me as a trickle of blood ran down his right temple.

"You bitch - I think you've broken my arm!  Now what do you think you're going
to do?" he snarled. 

"I-I don't know yet," I said, finding my throat dry.  "I think you'll keep while
I decide what ought to be done."

"Undo these cuffs now and I'll be lenient on you," he demanded.

"Yeah, right," I sneered back.  "You're a man of your word and you have a real
good track record.  Get up, you shit!"  I stood up and prodded him with my
branch.  He took a long time before eventually struggling to his feet.  His
expression was black as he attempted to stare me down.

"You want this stick up your arse or a whack on that arm of yours?" I asked,
with a confidence I really didn't feel.

 Glowering, he turned and walked unsteadily back up the path until we reached
the gate.  I checked the keys and found one that fitted the padlock, ushering my
new captive through then across the lawn.  I took him into the dungeon and
locked a short chain around his neck, then locking the loose end around the
post.

"See ya," I told him, as I turned for the door.  My statement brought forth a
torrent of abuse which I admit finally got to me.  I opened the cabinet which
used to fill me with such dread, and took out a ball and a roll of duct tape. 
Within two minutes Ash was silent and blind, the ball securely taped in his
mouth, with his eyes also covered with the tape.  It was a messy-looking job,
and I knew I could have made it tidier, but right then I did not care.  

I slammed the door behind me as I left the dungeon, the keys still clutched in
my hand, and made my way upstairs.  I was still shaky and at this stage was
almost running on autopilot.  In the bathroom I removed the crotch strap and
savoured the luxury of the first hot shower I had experienced in almost three
months.  Then, as I stood in the shower I began to cry.  I couldn't explain it
other than the overwhelming release from the stress and terror that had lain
with me for so long.  I now knew there was an end in sight, although it was
beyond me at that stage to even consider what that might be. All I knew was that
I was out of that dungeon and the monster who had imprisoned me there was now my
victim. 

I sat in the shower until the water ran cold.  I sobbed my heart out in a kind
of cathartic reaction, I guess.  I could now let my feelings out without having
to retain my strength for further unknown horrors still to come - horrors that
had seemed to stretch out indefinitely ahead of me at one stage, when I had
become Ash's plaything, hung from ropes in his private domain.  He had abused me
to the extent that I had almost come to accept it, but now I found that I could
not wash the unclean feeling away.  Something had changed within me that could
not be changed back.

What was I to do with my life - or the absence of one - now?

*   *  *

Chapter Twelve

Wearing one of Ash's shirts and a pair of jeans with the cuffs turned up, I sat
in the kitchen eating frozen pizza.  The very sensation of wearing clothes after
such a time without them was strange, as was the act of eating in the middle of
the day.  As I ate, I scribbled down some ideas as they came to me.  Thoughts
and options were rattling around my brain and I knew I would have to sleep on
things before I could gain a clear idea as to my best path forward.

I was faced with at least one immutable fact - I was a non-person.  I had no
money, no documents, no assets.  Any attempt to alter this would involve the
authorities and would be messy and prolonged.  It would also involve
explanations, the media (what a story they would have!) and the courts.  It
would involve reliving the whole terrible experience with the end result being a
lot of trauma and a notoriety that I did not want, whatever the outcome for Ash. 
It would also probably mean a few years in jail for him, but after parole for
good behaviour he would be out to pull the stunt on someone else.

I decided I did not want to be a part of such a process, and I considered my
captor should pay for what he did to me in a more tangible way, although I did
not yet know what this might be.  Except that I was going to be doing the
punishing. 

It was complicated, and I needed time to think.  I also needed more basic things
- like clothes, and to know where I was in Brisbane.  And above all I needed
money.

I searched Ash's room and in his wallet found $125 plus a couple of credit
cards.  I would need to know his PIN, but that could wait.  I had experienced
that process already.  Further rummaging found several invoices in the study. 
Ashley Edwards.  So that was his surname.  The invoices also contained the
address. 

In a carport next to the wall of my dungeon there was a late model Saab, which I
suspected my money had purchased.  Inside it was a street map, from which I
established exactly where the house was located.  The house backed on to
Bunyaville State Forest Park, in the north west of Brisbane, far enough out for
reasonable sized 'acreages' to merge with the fringes of suburbia.  Knowing my
whereabouts was somehow comforting, bringing an edge of normality back to my
previously very small world.  From there it was easy to find the nearest Kmart
and to exercise my driving skills again.

Before I went I stuck my head into the dungeon.  Ash was sitting leaning against
the post, his tape-swathed head lifting at the sound of the door.

"I'm going now," I told him.  "You'd better hope nothing happens to me while I'm
out, if you don't want to die of starvation.  Or maybe it would be better for
you if I didn't come back," I added maliciously.  "Think about it."  And I
slammed the door.

*   *   *

Driving was also a novelty.  So was doing it without a licence or any form of
ID.  It was Saturday afternoon and the place was packed.  I picked out two tee
shirts, a skirt, a pair of shorts, some underwear, and a pair of sandals and had
not much change for my trouble.  Adding to my list of novel experiences was
being amongst people again.  Under Ash's shirt I still wore the steel belt, and
although that was hidden, the one at my throat was not.  It was concealed by my
hair from behind and I buttoned up the shirt collar, but glimpses of it still
showed.  Everyone was far too busy to notice a slightly ostentatious neck
ornament, however, and I returned home with my new clothes, and the anticipation
of wearing them.  I was also starting to plan things for Ash.

I was starting to feel decidedly better, and after a decent meal that evening I
settled down to watch some television.  I had found a control panel in his
workshop that obviously controlled the air conditioning in the dungeon, and I
promptly turned up the heating.  The bastard was going to sweat in more ways
than one.  He would also be hungry in the morning...

*   *   *

I slept surprisingly well in Ash's bed that night after a good meal and half a
bottle of wine.  It went straight to my head and had the desired effect of
making me sleepy.  Going to sleep was like a great weight being lifted from my
shoulders in that even though I now faced a complex series of decisions, the
worst was over and, absolved of my sins, I was now in control. 

Over breakfast the next morning I worked out what I had to do to get Ash where I
wanted him.  It was a physical thing as much as anything, for I knew I was no
match for him in regard to strength, and he was suddenly much more motivated,
for he had everything to lose now.  I knew I had to stay physically clear of him
as much as possible, or to make it clear that by attacking me he would gain
nothing but potentially lose a lot.  In this process I wrote down my plan step
by step, for I looked on Ash as a dangerous and unpredictable animal that could
not be trusted for a moment and which had to be made to understand who was in
control.

Before visiting my captive I spent a brief time perusing Ash's financial records
and poking about on his computer.  I discovered his workplace details and his
salary records and mentally began to work on a suitable accident or illness that
he was to suffer which would account from an absence from work for an as-yet
undetermined period.  I looked at his bank statements and saw the cheques that
had gone in as a result of selling my car, house and furniture.  No, I would not
get mad, but I would very definitely get even with Mr Edwards.

The room was warm and muggy when I entered it.  Ash was still propped against
the post and stirred at the sound of the door.  I ignored the whining coming
from under the tape and opened the cabinet beside the door.  This time I took
more stock of the contents - the discipline helmet, the gags, chains, floggers,
dildoes and butt plugs, tape, rope and the assortment of locks.  I experimented
with these for a little while, establishing how many keys there were for which
locks.  Satisfied, I turned my attention to the prisoner chained to the post.

I helped him to his feet, then taking a pair of scissors from the pocket of my
skirt I cut away his clothes, article by article, until he stood naked.  With a
short length of hobble chain I locked his ankles together, and only then did I
cut away the tape from his head.  His hair stuck to the tape but I had no qualms
about pulling it off, to the accompaniment of complaints from behind the ball in
his mouth, until I finally removed that.

He swore at me.  I let him have his say, then eyeballed him with a confidence I
did not feel, for he had a knack of being intimidating even in such
circumstances.

"Are you hungry, Ash?" I asked.

"Yes."

I walked across to the door and lifted the cover off a plate.  Steam arose from
the bacon, eggs and sausages, and the smell of them wafted through the room. 
Ash looked sullen but could not help licking his lips.  His face was drawn and
lined from being under the tape, while his hair was matted and sweaty.  He was
not a pretty sight.

"Ash, this time I am going to make things very clear to you.  Firstly, you
should think very carefully before trying anything against me.  If you do so,
and I get away, I will not come back.  Not ever.  I will walk out of here and
leave you chained to the post and you can gnaw your own arm off if you get
hungry.  If you try holding me or twisting my arm or any little sadistic
pleasure you might think of, it will do you no good.  Those keys on the bottom
shelf of the cabinet are the ones fitting your neck and feet chains.  You can
kill me and the result will still be the same.  You'll starve to death in sight
of those keys but you won't be able to get to them.  Not a nice way to go.  Are
you with me so far?"

"Yes."

"I have a name, Ash."

"Yes, Jan."

"In short, you can be certain I will have some form of insurance, and if you put
one foot wrong that insurance will be invoked.  Cooperate and you will suffer
less.  You will still suffer, but not in any way you can imagine."  I looked at
him closely as I said this, and thought I detected a glimmer of fear in his
eyes.  The predicament he was in was starting to come home to him.  He did not
know if and when I was going to call the authorities, and not calling them meant
I had something else in store - something which could give him no cause for
comfort, I was sure.

"I want your PIN number for the savings account, Ash."

"What?"

"You heard.  I want your PIN and your phone banking account number and your
password."

"Fuck you."

"You already have, Ash, you bastard," I hissed, angry now.  I spun on my heel.
"I'll return tomorrow morning, but your breakfast will be cold by then.  I don't
have time for this."

I was turning the door handle when he called out.

"Wait - wait!  Look - I'm sorry.  Okay, you win.  Let's be reasonable.  Let's do
a deal.  How much do you want?" His voice was suddenly conciliatory.

"I've told you what I want.  I want what is in your bank accounts and in fact
should be in mine.  And I want the codes to get it.  Now."  I started opening
the door.

"All right - all right..."  He appeared to sag, his head lowering as he reeled
off the numbers and I wrote them on the back of my hand with a pen.  I had not
expected it to be this easy.

I returned to him and stood in front of him.

"I'm going to rechain you to the bed, and I'm going to chain your hands in front
of you.  You will do exactly as I say.  Remember the keys in the cabinet?"

"Yes," he muttered.

"Good".

I locked one end of a long length of chain about his neck and the other end to
the bed frame.  This would allow him to reach the shower and toilet, for it was
the same chain that had secured my neck collar for many weeks.  Then I unlocked
the chain from one of the steel wrist cuffs that had once held my ankles.  He
slowly brought his hands around to the front.  My heart was thumping wildly as I
thought that if he was going to attack me it would be now, never mind the logic
of what I had just explained to him.  I strove to control my inner trembling as
I removed the chain totally before locking the cuffs directly to each other.  I
stepped back.

"Very good, Ash. You've learned well.  As a reward you get to eat breakfast. And
you also get to unlock that short neck chain with this key," I said, picking up
one of the keys from the cabinet and dropping it on his plate of food.  I kicked
the tray over to him and gathered up the clothes I had cut off him, before
leaving without a backward glance. That was Ash taken care of for the day.

*   *   *

I spent the rest of the day going through the house and all the cupboards.  Ash
may have been a slob about the house, but he was an organised slob.  In his
workshop and study the records were meticulous - bills paid and documents filed. 
I found two boxes of B/D magazines and videos, and briefly checked out the
zipped disks he had downloaded from the net.  His favourite websites were all
bookmarked, with his life and interests made very clear.  But what scared me was
the box of polaroids I found in the locked drawer of his desk.  Some were of me,
suspended from the ceiling or bound to that terrible post, but some were of
another girl, in similar terrible bondage.  It was the first time I had
considered that I might not have been the only victim of Ash, although there was
always the possibility that she liked having these things done to her.  Maybe
she was simply a willing sub.

But somehow I didn't think so.  Something in my gut - something in her look of
terror in one of the close-ups - told me she was there against her will.  She
was blonde and attractive - possibly in her late twenties, although she may have
looked older after the treatment she had received from Ash.  I resolved to find
out who she was and what had happened to her.

I went through Ash's financial records one by one and checked the various
accounts he had set up.  In the back of his address book I found what I now knew
to be the codes he had given me, slightly disguised with false contacts.  Ash
had a savings account, a cheque account, a mortgage that was almost paid off on
the house and a couple of term deposit accounts.  It was in these that I
discovered most of the money from my assets - less probably thirty grand for the
Saab.  I reckoned he had not yet paid for the house refurbishment - that bill
would be still to come, and regrettably for the builder I was not going to pay
for it.  SEP - Somebody Else's Problem.  They could take it up with Ash or they
could take up the carpet, but I guessed I would have a few weeks before that
became an issue.

The major find that started me thinking was the discovery of Ash's birth
certificate.  Ashley Edwards - plain and simple.  No other names.  A unisex
name, in fact.  I pulled out his credit cards again as the germ of an idea began
to form.  I copied his signature.  It was not a particularly flamboyant one. 
Rather, it was one I reckoned I could mimic with a little practice.  After fifty
odd attempts I thought I was close enough to pass all but the closest of
scrutiny.  I wondered what else I could get away with in his name...

I mulled over the issue of funds and decided that at the very least I needed
some extra cash and elected to go for a drive.  I visited an Automatic Teller
Machine and found how easy it was to come away a thousand dollars richer thanks
to Ash's PIN.  It was a relief to get final confirmation that he had been
telling me the truth, even after I had checked his account balances over the
phone.  I treated myself with a visit to town and some more clothes, shopping in
the Queen Street Mall like just another of the unconcerned shoppers, buying
amongst other things a scarf to hide the steel collar I still wore.  I bought a
dress - a size smaller than I used to wear - and nervously signed for it against
Ash's Visa card.  The assistant glanced at the signature and handed the card
back to me with a nod of thanks.  I was almost starting to enjoy myself while I
decided on my future.

*   *   *

That week I saw little of Ash as I put my plan into action.  Ash was kept in the
dark, literally - just as he had done to me.  He received two meals a day, but
at varying hours.  One day I would give him breakfast at 5 am and dinner at
11pm, and the next it might be 10am and 4 pm.  Each time I dressed in a
nondescript track suit and the meals were the same - bread and fruit - with no
hint of whether it was breakfast or dinner.  Ash could drink out of the shower,
just as I had done, and be bored - and worried - just as I had been. 

He tried to engage me in conversation, to ask what was going to happen.  I just
smiled enigmatically as I shoved the tray across the floor to him before turning
off the lights in spite of his pleas not to.  I was content to let his own mind
do my work for me - at least to start with.

In the interim, I tried to figure out how to remove my collar and belt.  I
focussed first on the latter, because at least it was visible and I could see
what I was doing.  I tried sawing and filing and was even considering using
Ash's electric grinder, but the noise of the thing and it's unwieldy nature
scared me.  I finally figured out the possibility of drilling out the rivets,
since I reasoned they would be a bit softer than the stainless steel.  This
proved to be the case, but the operation was scary in the extreme.  I managed to
work a thin piece of steel sheet between my skin and the joint in the belt.  The
sheet came from an oven tray which I had cut up with a pair of tin snips.  Only
then was I confident enough that if I slipped with the drill I would not
puncture myself in the stomach. 

The drill was reasonably controllable, however, and I managed to ream out the
rivets without too much problem.  The collar about my neck was a different
matter, however, and it took me a long time before I finally prised the thing
off without having drilled through my carotid artery.

*   *   *

First thing on Monday morning I phoned Ash's work.  I was a friend of his
calling from Sydney I told his boss. Ash has been in a motor accident while
visiting me and was in hospital with a cracked vertebra and a broken jaw.  It
would be at least a month before he was fit to return to Brisbane and possibly
another couple of weeks before he was back at work.  Was this okay?  The man was
understanding and assured me there was no problem.  Ash was a valued employee
and the company had generous health benefits. 

Later that morning saw me at the driver's licensing centre, neatly dressed with
my story of my licence having been stolen.  I passed over Ash's birth
certificate, a credit card and an electricity bill that had Ash's name and
address on it.  Shortly thereafter I walked out with my photo on a drivers
licence against Ash's name.  My heart was beating wildly, but it was a different
feel this time.  Instead of the dread and terror it had recently signalled, now
it was excitement. I was astonished at how easy it had been. 

I followed this with a visit to the local photographic shop where I had some
passport photos taken.  All in all I didn't look too bad, considering what I had
been through.  The thought that was driving me was a remark I remembered Ash
making long ago - bemoaning the fact that he had never been overseas.  I
reasoned that he would not therefore have a passport, and my searches of the
house appeared to confirm this.  I had done some research on the net and had
identified what I needed to obtain an Australian passport.  Obtaining my drivers
licence with its photo was the key, and having done so, I could now front up
with my birth certificate and a couple of credit cards to go with the licence. 
I collected a passport application form at the post office and returned home to
fill it in, again delving into Ash's records to get family and other details as
much in line with my new identity as possible.  Things were happening so fast I
fretted that I was overlooking something.

The man in the passport office at the Department of Trade and Foreign Affairs
was understanding when I told him that a relative was gravely ill in England and
that I needed to return there urgently.  For what amounted to double the cost of
the passport he could have a new one ready the next day.  I was impressed. 
These people were true public servants - able to move mountains if the price was
right.

Back at the house I made several more phone calls and invaded Ash's bank records
with the same means.  By the end of the week I had met with the local bank
manager and negotiated a line of credit against the house mortgage that was
almost paid off.  It was not the branch where Ash normally did his banking, my
excuse being that it was near a new branch of my work that was just starting up.
The loans officer was a nice woman who noted that the mortgage had been paid off
very quickly and that I had a good savings record.  I dreaded to think how Ash
had managed to pay off his house so quickly.  Something told me such payments
were not the result of legitimate enterprises.  I told the woman I was planning
further extensions to the house and needed the money on call as and when needed.

As I walked out of the bank I exulted again.  If I could swing this and clear
out Ash's accounts, I would be ahead by over fifty-five grand, after I had taken
back what was rightfully mine.  It would be small compensation for what I had
been through, but it would be something.

The latter half of the week was spent lining up the sale of the Saab and
purchasing items I would need to take care of my late tormentor.  On Friday I
paid visits to two  GP's.  To each I explained that I was a nurse visiting from
England where my fiance had recently been killed just a day before our wedding,
and I told how I was having trouble sleeping at night.  I felt guilty as hell at
the dark shadows I had smudged under my eyes by rubbing my skin with paper which
I had heavily shaded with an HB pencil.  I felt worse spinning this story to
these people, but each gave me a seven-day supply of sleeping pills, for which I
paid cash, avoiding any paperwork.  By Saturday I was ready.

*   *   *

The Tomazepam which I had asked for from the doctors came in liquid-filled
capsules.  I slit open and emptied four of these into the cold pasta that I made
for Ash's morning meal.  It was the second pasta meal in a row for him, and I
did not think he would detect the presence of the drug.  An hour after the meal
he was snoring peacefully on the bed.

My preparations had involved several visits over the preceding couple of days to
a big hardware store, a chemist, a medical supplier and a travel agent.  I had
driven 50 kilometres to the satellite town of Ipswich to the south where I had
made my purchases.  It was here I had also visited the GP's for I did not want
to leave any trail close to Ash's house where someone might remember my visit
when the proverbial finally hit the fan, as I had decided it would.

I worked steadily, unchaining Ash's and wrists, while shortening the chain on
his neck and locking it to the bed head.  Once again the keys were stored in the
cabinet.  It was probably an unnecessary precaution, but I was prepared to take
no chances.  I took several pieces of four by one timber and worked them
lengthwise under the length of Ash's torso, then supporting these on several
cross bearers so that Ash's body was a handspan above the bed.  I did the same
thing with his legs, spreading them wide and supporting them two timbers running
their length and held up on blocks.  Likewise, Ash's head was propped up on a
couple of blocks, while his arms flopped beside his body.

I took several lengths of torn sheet and tied Ash's arms snugly against his body
before mixing up the first of five buckets of plaster I was to get through that
day.  It was not the normal way you would apply a full body cast.  There was no
cotton wool padding to go on first and the plaster did not take the form of
special plaster impregnated bandages.  My application was a mixture of raw
plaster of paris, some wet sheets torn into wide strips, and halfway through I
applied a wrapping of fine chicken wire mesh.  There would be no cracking of
this plaster, and it would not be fun when it came off.  The raw plaster would
embed the hair and give Ash the worst depilation imaginable.  My day of Finalgon
would be nothing compared to the removal of this plaster.

With his legs on blocks, I was able to thoroughly wrap each limb over the entire
length, including the lengths of timber, which acted as splints.  I fitted a
spreader bar when I had finished the plaster on his ankles, embedding it into
the plaster and then slapping a bit more on top and a few pieces of wire to make
sure.

Ash's body was not quite so easy.  I could still wrap most of it with bandages,
fitting these between the supporting blocks and wrapping them round his torso. 
The chicken mesh was cut and fitted likewise, and the stiff plaster clung to
this well.  I smoothed it over and pushed it into the cracks between the timbers
and his body, stopping at his neck and leaving his crotch, hands and feet free. 
I wanted to see some part move to gauge any reactions taking place.

The operation had taken me most of the morning, and as the plaster began to
solidify on my own hands and arms I collected up my things and left my prisoner
to sleep off the pills like a great white mummy.

*   *   *

I was back next morning to find him awake and cursing loudly at me.  I told him
that was not a very smart thing to do, and that he was not in a position to do
any of the things he was threatening.  More specifically I told him that if he
wanted to eat again and not lie in his own shit for a week he'd better behave. 
And of course at the mention of that he decided that the subject of bodily
wastes was very relevant in that he wanted to pee badly.

I rigged a sling under his body and hoisted him more upright using a ladder to
reach the block and tackle that was permanently fixed above the bed.  With the
multiple-wheeled pullies I was able to lift him relatively easily, but the
process was still awkward.  The use of a bedpan may have been a first for Ash
but it wasn't for me.  He protested even more when I let him down to lie on his
stomach. I cushioned his head with pillows then fitted a surgical collar to his
neck to support his head while I plastered his back and listened to him whine
and complain, demanding to know what I thought I was doing.  After a while his
demands changed to wheedling queries and then pleadings as I remained silent. 
There was no doubt he was seriously worried, especially when I suggested to him
that plaster was not very buoyant.

He stayed that way for the rest of the day and night as the plaster set.  I fed
him with a diet supplement in the form of a milk shake type of drink.  It was
all he would be getting from now on.

Monday morning came and I gave him his 'breakfast' through a straw.  He was
clearly getting uncomfortable already, and I knew the plaster would start to
itch and pull hairs with small movements of his body.  That was when I
flourished the polaroids in front of him.

"Who is she, Ash?" I asked quietly, shoving the photos of the blonde girl under
his nose.

"Nobody.  A girl I knew."

"A girl you knew on intimate terms, I would suggest."

"Yeah."

"Her name?"

"Wendy."

"Wendy what?"

"Wendy Thompson."

"And she was in this position because...?"

"She - she was a subbie who used to come around sometimes."

"So where is she now?"

"She moved to Sydney."

"Why do I think you're lying, Ash?"

"I'm not lying!" he declared indignantly.

"Ash, you have kidnapped me, beaten me, raped me, kept me against my will,
stolen from me... Why do I think that lying to me wouldn't present a problem to
you?"  He was silent.  "I'm going to give you one last chance.  I will be back
in half an hour.  If you do not tell me the truth, you'll have an experience
that will be at least as unpleasant as anything you ever did to me.  Do I make
myself clear?"  He said nothing and I left.

Upstairs on his computer I did some net searching.  I had the feeling that Ash
may have at least told part of the truth, for any lie will always hold up better
if it is a distortion of the truth rather than a complete fabrication.  Not
being a Queenslander the name Wendy Thompson meant nothing to me.  Maybe that
was what Ash had hoped.  I had to stop myself trembling when I came across the
story of a Wendy Thompson who had gone missing from Noosa, north of Brisbane,
two years previously.  Her bank account had been cleaned out shortly after she
had won a major prize in Lotto.  No trace of her had ever been found.  I stared
at the torment in the gagged face of the girl bound to the same post I had
experienced and the hairs stood up at the back of my neck against the cold steel
of the collar still imprisoning me...

*   *   *

"Ash, what I'm going to do now is to get you to tell me the truth.  At least in
part.  The other part is because I will enjoy doing it.  Tell me what happened
to Wendy Thompson.  Where is she?"

"I told you!  She went to Sydney."

"And never told her parents?  That wasn't the kind of girl she was.  Not at all
in keeping with her family values.  I've read all about her, Ash.  Last
chance..."

"Get fucked."

That was not a good approach, I decided, just before I started working the
well-lubricated butt plug into Ash's hole.  He resisted.

"Not a good idea, Ash.  This is going in whether you want it or not.  It will
only be worse for you if you resist."  He cursed me under his breath and
obviously saw my point, for his buttocks at once relaxed in the little area of
his crotch and arse that remained deliberately unplastered.  The plug was a
sizeable one, and I could hear his breathing increase as I worked it in.  He
began to groan as the widest point finally slid home past his sphincter muscles. 
That's when I told him that the plug had been lubricated with Finalgon. 

"You have a minute to tell me the truth before your arse will begin to burn like
you have never known possible.  The heat will spark the Finalgon and you'll have
to endure this for hours."

Ash gasped and began to plead.  I suspect he could start to feel the first
pricks of it already.

"Just tell me the truth," I told him coldly.  He was starting to sweat, his face
flushed as he stared at the bed, held rigid by the neck brace.  "Okay - I'm
going!"

"No -wait!  She's - she's dead.  It was an accident!  She choked on a noose!  I
didn't do it deliberately!"

"No, but I'll bet she suffered the pain, the humiliation and the trauma that you
inflicted on me first."

"She was a sub!  She liked it!"

"I'm a sub, but I draw the line at rape, theft, and imprisonment.  Is that what
she had received too?"

"Yes... Oh shit - it's starting to hurt!"

"And what did you do with the body?"

"She's buried out the back, in the garden near the gate."

"You bastard!  That was what you'd have planned for me, isn't it!

"No!  No, I swear it isn't!"

"Liar!  What did you intend for me?"

"I was going to let you be my slave..."

"Oh shit, how generous of you!  I don't think so, somehow.  You're a slimeball
that doesn't deserve the title of human."  I ripped off a strip of duct tape and
placed it between his butt cheeks, pressing it firmly in place, then worked a
ball gag into his mouth as he tried to swear at me.  His eyes were bulging now
and he looked panic-stricken as I buckled the strap behind his neck as he had
done to me so many times.

As a final gift I gave his dick and balls a thorough massage with more Finalgon
and left him alone in the dark.

*   *   *

I went up stairs and sat at the computer, staring sightlessly at the screen.  My
horror had turned to cold, furious determination that Ash was a blot on the face
of the earth - something that should not be allowed to live.  But I did not want
to stoop to his level.  What he was suffering at the moment had been a means to
an end, to obtain the information.  That I had let the torture continue was a
reaction to the shocking news he had given me.  Over and above the thought that
I had been in the hands of a murderer for three months was the thought that I
could have ended up the same way, as victim number two, buried at the back of
his garden, once he considered my usefulness at an end, the money gone, and his
lusting for younger flesh took over.  He had already performed a vanishing act
on me.  Now I was going to perform one of my own.

It was with trepidation that I took a shovel and walked out to the back garden. 
I inspected the area adjacent to the gate in the rear fence, over which I had
fled in a panic only a week before.  How things had changed since then.  I poked
and prodded in what I thought was an obvious spot, clear of the large trees
lining the perimeter, next to the edge of the lawn.  There was a soft spot here,
where the damp earth turned over easily under the cover of a few flowers and
weeds.  I turned further sods and suddenly impacted against something harder.  I
dug more carefully and saw the white of a bone that I recognised as the sternum
of a rib cage.  I stopped digging and sat down on the grass, staring at the pile
of dirt I had excavated and coming to grips that this was the last resting place
of the lovely blonde girl I had seen tormented in Ash's polaroids.  She had been
laid to rest under the trees, her passing unheralded, unsung, unknown to all who
had loved her.  I hugged my knees and cried, silently, heedless of the gorgeous
day around me. 

*   *   *

My discovery crystallised the final stage of my plan for Ash.  Until that point
I had been hesitant that in going down that road I would be dragging myself down
to his level.  Now I was convinced that my plan was morally and ethically right,
and I knew the strengthened resolve I now had would be needed.

I let Ash suffer for the rest of the day, visiting him only once.  He had
obviously been crying a lot and I entered the dungeon to the sound of a low
keening coming from the white figure face down on the bed.  I walked over to the
bed and squatted level with his head.  His eyes were bulging and his face was
red as he moaned and spluttered behind the rubber ball strapped in his mouth. 
Runnels of drool hung from his lips as he pleaded incoherently with me.

"I've found her," I said quietly.  "I'll bet you never took any notice of her
pleadings, just as you never did of mine.  You're scum, Ash."  Then I walked
out.

That afternoon I visited the bank and did some more shopping before dropping off
the Saab to the used car dealer in return for a healthy cheque.  Returning to
the house I worked to my list, crossing off things I had to do, such as cutting
Ash's credit cards in half.  That was after I had bought a full wardrobe,
luggage and some easily portable jewellery with them, to the extent that the
card limits would allow.

With my preparations made I slept fitfully that night, for the anticipation of
what lay before me left me apprehensive and nervous.

*   *   *

I awoke early and took the materials I needed down to the dungeon.  Ash was
again pleading for release, but I knew the effects of the Finalgon would have
long worn off.  I removed the plug and checked his rear passage.  He did not
seem to have suffered any lasting damage.  After letting him pee into the
bedpan, I rigged up a plastic bottle suspended from a pulley and proceeded to
give him an enema, flushing the waste into the pan while he moaned behind the
gag which I still had not removed.  It was not the largest in his cabinet, but
he had been wearing it for nearly twenty-four hours. 

I completed the enema then hoisted him up with the block and tackle sufficiently
to rotate him, like a giant clockwork key, before lowering him to the bed on his
back, on the cross timbers supporting him above the mattress.  Only then did I
undo the strap behind his neck and remove the ball from his mouth.

There was no mistaking the desperation and fear in his voice now. 

"What are you going to do to me?" he pleaded.  "Please let me go!  I'll do
anything you want!  If it's money, I can arrange some, no problem."

"Too late for that, Ash.  All taken care of."

"What do you mean?"

"Never you mind.  Now listen to me very closely.  I debated whether to tell you
about this.  What is about to happen to you will happen either the easy way or
the hard way."  He turned white at my words, obviously still with the
recollection of the fiery pain of the Finalgon still fresh in his mind.  "Maybe
not so painful, but somewhat more significant in terms of the rest of your life. 
I am going to give you something to drink now, Ash.  It is a mixture of your
favourite whisky, some sedatives and some pain killers.  It will help with the
pain and trauma."

"W-what are you going to do to me?'  His pallor had now turned a sickly shade of
grey.

"I can tell you, or not tell you.  The choice is yours.  Either way you're going
to wake up and find it done."

"Jesus! Just tell me!" he croaked hoarsely.

"Do you know what a bilateral orchidectomy is?"

"A what?"

I spoke slowly and coldly.  "I am going to give you a bilateral orchidectomy,
Ash.  In short, I am going to remove your balls, so that you will never have the
desire or the ability to again commit the kind of acts you did against Wendy and
myself."

"No!  You can't!"

"I can, you shit, and there's not a thing you can do to stop me.  And I can do
it with a wire, tightened round your scrotum, a bit more each day, until they
turn black and drop off, or I can do it surgically, removing them from their sac
and sewing you up afterwards.  Either choice can be done with or without
anaesthetic - or as much as I can manage."

Tears were now sliding from the corners of Ash's eyes, but the neck brace kept
him from turning his head.  "Then what?" he whispered.

"I'm still thinking about that," I lied.  "You won't die, though - of that you
can be certain.  I know what I'm doing."  Another lie.  "Whatever happens,
you're going to pay.  Consider me the grim reaper, Ash.  Today is judgement day. 
Now are you going to drink this and cooperate?"

I held glass with a straw to his lips and let him suck greedily.  Under normal
circumstances he would probably have gone for a stiff drink anyway.  Under such
a situation he didn't need much encouragement.  He had eaten and drunk nothing
for the last 24 hours, and had been cleaned out internally.  The full tumbler of
whisky with its additives of crushed codeine tablets and some more sleeping
tablet extracts worked quickly, and by the time I had set up a small tray with
some instruments, plus a decent light from a portable desk lamp, Ash had gone
under. 

I shaved his crotch and got out the surgical instruments I had purchased at the
medical supplier.  Just in case, I shaved Ash's face of the new beard growth and
then taped over his mouth with duct tape.  I did not want the distraction of him
waking up in the middle of the procedure. 

I swabbed the area with iodine and settled down to do the incision and removal. 
I had seen the procedure done a couple of times - once on a guy with testicular
and once on a guy who no longer wished to be one.  Sarah, his name was.

I worked slowly and carefully, and eventually sewed up the last incision.  Ash
had sort of come to, but was incoherent and only moaning softly.  I doubted he
was aware of what was happening to him.  I cleaned him up and then myself,
disposing of all the waste from the operation in a plastic bag.  This went into
the rubbish bin which I knew was due to be collected the next morning.  I toyed
with the idea of leaving Ash's parts in a jar for posterity, but my heart wasn't
in it.  My final act in the dungeon was to leave the polaroids of Wendy on the
mattress beside Ash, along with a note making reference to the back yard and
Ash's new nursing requirements.  This time I left the key in the door.

*   *   *

The taxi took me to the domestic airport where I made the brief phone call to
the ambulance service, concerning a man who had had an accident in the basement
at Ash's address.  I hung up before the call could be traced, I hoped, then
back-tracked to the international terminal.

The Closer Economic Relationship between Australia and New Zealand allows
citizens to work in both countries with the minimum of paperwork.  Touching down
in Auckland with a new passport and several sizeable bank cheques in my new
luggage was to be the denouement of my own vanishing act.



THE END

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