Part Three (conclusion)

I walk slowly into the room. The floor is covered with that knobbly rubber that you sometimes see in workshops and there’s a drain in the centre. I guess things must get messy down here sometimes. I turn and watch myself in the mirrored wall as I cross the room. The next wall has items of furniture lined up along it, but this is not the sort of furniture you’d sit on to watch television. These are heavy looking pieces of wooden engineering, festooned with straps, buckles and leather padding. I can feel myself shudder slightly as I walk past each piece and imagine its purpose.

 

Along the next wall there are three metal cages, and these really put the willies up me. I can sort-of cope with idea of being strapped to one of those bits of furniture for a spanking and then a good fucking, but the cages seem to imply that the ‘victim’ doesn’t get to go home afterwards, and that’s a whole lot scarier. The first cage is about a meter cube, the sort of thing dog owners put in the back of their cars. Rather cramped for a human dog though. Next to it stands a tall, thin cage, perhaps only a square foot on the floor, but a good six feet high. Comfy enough to stand in, but maybe not for hours and hours on end. The third cage is making my spine tingle. It’s actually shaped like a person, an upright sarcophagus of metal bands and the way it bulges at the chest shows clearly which sex it’s intended for. I move on quickly from it to escape the dark thoughts it generates, and examine the dungeon’s last wall.

 

Wall number four has the door through which I entered and in which Edward is now standing, ominously blocking the way out.

 

“And here was me feeling stupid for thinking something like this might be down here,” I say, trying to sound cool and casual.

 

“First instincts are often correct,” he replies.

 

“And no less than three doors between here and your hallway.”

 

“It’s a quiet street. Wouldn’t want to upset the neighbours.”

 

“Very considerate of you.”

 

As if sensing my disquiet, Edward moves from the door and takes up a less threatening position over by the furniture, leaving the exit clear. Like I’m really going to outrun him up those stairs in these boots and with my thighs chained together, but I appreciate the gesture and continue my inspection of his dungeon.

 

The last wall is fitted with glass fronted cabinets. The first one is full of straps and chains and handcuffs. All pretty standard stuff for a dungeon I would imagine. The next cabinet is also easy to understand. Dildos, lots of them. And I’m a big girl now, I can recognise a butt plug when I see one, or even several of them. Vibrators too, a selection that seemingly guarantees something for everyone, and I’m a little embarrassed to see a pink Rabbit identical to the one I keep in my bedside table at home.

 

Cabinet number three has got whips in it. And canes, and riding crops, and wooden things that look a little like kitchen chopping boards, but a delicately carved picture on one them reveals its true purpose. Apparently it’s for whacking a woman’s arse with. Such joy.

 

The final cabinet has me confused for a moment until I realise that the brightly coloured, shiny balls are in fact gags. The giveaway is the mannequin head that proudly sits in the centre of the cabinet with a harness of black straps around it which holds one of those coloured balls, in this case a bright red one, right over the head’s mouth.

 

“I see you’ve found the centrepiece of my collection,” says Edward from his vantage point over by the opposite wall. “That is the actual gag worn by Bruce Willis in Pulp Fiction. I saw it in an auction and as it’s the only time I’ve seen a gag like that in a mainstream Hollywood movie I thought I’d chuck in a bid. Of course I’d rather it had been worn by a lady but you can’t have everything.”

 

“Bruce Willis eh?” I say with mock enthusiasm. “A celebrity dungeon then.”

 

“Only one celebrity here at the moment.”

 

“Ahh, you smooth romantic. Always a compliment for the lady eh?”

 

I complete my perusal of Edward’s gag collection. There are some truly horrendous looking things that I can’t imagine having in my mouth. But then I suppose if my arse is being whacked with one of those wooden paddle things then I’d need something pretty robust to keep me quiet. I can feel my bum cheeks flinch at the thought.

 

In the centre of the ceiling I notice a drum of wire which dangles down to a trapeze-like thing. It seems out of place in this impeccably neat and tidy dungeon, hanging just a few feet off the floor like it hasn’t been tidied away. I start to wander over to it.

 

“So how many ladies have you invited down here then Edward?” I ask as I reach the trapeze.

 

“Err, before you, six.”

 

“Six? And where are they now? I assume they’re not buried under the floor.”

 

“Well you know. Ladies come and ladies go. It doesn’t always work out does it.”

 

“Indeed it doesn’t.” I start to examine the trapeze. It has a leather cuff at each end. It’s pretty obvious what it’s for. “So tell me about the six.”

 

“Well, there was Monica. She screamed when she saw this and disappeared up the stairs as fast as her shoes would carry her. Which wasn’t actually all that fast because they were very sexy shoes. And then there was Jane. Jane slapped me across the face, called me a sick pervert and walked calmly up the stairs. I wasn’t surprised. She wore flat shoes. Women who wear flat shoes have no sense of fun.”

 

“A controversial view, but perhaps correct.”

 

I’m toying idly with the cuff at one end of the trapeze. It has a metal ring around the outside with what looks like a lock.

 

“That’s two, what about the other four?”

 

“Erm, Emily. Emily was cool. She just said it wasn’t her thing. It broke my heart because I really was in love with her. I still see her now and again, but just as friends. She’s going out with an investment banker now. They’re even more boring than accountants. Then there was Sandra. She gave it a go but I could tell she wasn’t into it. You can’t really fake enjoyment of something like this. We did have some good, but ultimately boring vanilla sex upstairs in the bedroom though.”

 

“Vanilla sex? An interesting term. I suppose the hot and spicy is what happens in here.”

 

The trapeze’s cuffs are soft and padded on the inside. They actually feel rather luxurious. But then I suppose they’d have to be if you’re going to be hanging from them.

 

“So that makes four. Two to go.”

 

“Yes. Jane number two and Joselyn. Ah but we three made such sweet music down here.”

 

“You three? What, at the same time?”

 

“Indeed. They came as a twin pack.”

 

“But not here now though.”

 

“Unfortunately not. The light that burns twice as bright…”

 

“Burns half as long.”

 

“I was thinking more like, goes out with a bang.”

 

“I see.”

 

“The thing is though Claire, every one of those ladies, I pretty much knew exactly how they would react to all this before I even opened the door under the stairs, but you… I really have no idea about you. You are an intriguing mystery to me.”

 

“I’m a mystery am I?”

 

“You are.”

 

There is a loud click and I look down at my right wrist which is now locked into the trapeze’s cuff.

 

“Oops.”

 

“Oops indeed Claire. Are you solving the mystery?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Edward walks over to me and examines my imprisoned wrist.

 

“I promised no funny business.”

 

“You did. I release you from your promise.”

 

Edward takes my left hand and removes my watch. He fastens my wrist into the trapeze’s other cuff.

 

“Aren’t we supposed to agree a safeword or something?” I ask.

 

“I don’t believe in safewords. What’s the point in all this stuff if you can just ask for it to stop? It’s like a chastity belt with no lock. And true ecstasy lies beyond that which can be voluntarily endured.”

 

“Oh God.”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll look after you. Sweet music, not thrash metal.”

 

“Sweet music I think I can cope with.”

 

 

oOo

 

 

Edward presses a button on what looks like some sort of remote control in his hand. The whirring of an electric motor starts above my head and the trapeze begins to rise towards the ceiling taking my arms with it. My hands rise above my head and my arms straighten and then begin to stretch as my weight lifts from my feet. But before I’m lifted off the floor the motor stops. Edward looks at me with an evil smile and takes the dangling tail of my chain belt in his hand.

 

“A clever accessory,” he says. “Does anyone in your office know what was really making the jingling noise?”

 

I don’t answer. It seems I’ve gone into a sort of silent mode. I just look at him and at the helpless woman in the mirror, and I let the lust flow through me. The time for conversation has passed.

 

My belt leaves me, followed by my boots and then my skirt. As each item of clothing goes I can feel the moment getting closer. The moment of exactly what I’m not quite sure, but I have no doubt what its effect is going to be. A pair of scissors slices away at my top and it is pulled off me and dropped on the floor. A hundred and twenty quid from Miss Selfridge and I’d only worn it twice. The thin shoulder straps of my slip get the same treatment and the white silk slides down my body and pools on the floor around my feet. My stockings are soon gone and the scissors make short work of my Victoria’s Secret bra. The woman in the mirror is naked, except for her strange metal knickers.

 

Edward waves the chastity belt’s keys in front of my face.

 

“You ready for this?” he asks calmly.

 

What a stupid fucking question. Of course I’m ready. I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready for anything in my entire life. But of course I don’t say anything. I just let out a little moan and try to hold myself together while I half dangle and half stand there, shaking and shivering, but not because I’m cold. The anticipation is driving me mad. I wonder if I’ll cum as soon as I feel fresh air around my fanny.

 

Edward walks round behind me. I feel him fiddling with the lock. He pulls at it and suddenly the incessant pressure that has been eating into my bum cleavage for four days disappears. The relief is incredible and it spreads down past my arsehole and through my crotch. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything quite so wonderful. A few moments later my waist suddenly screams with joy as the unrelenting tightness around it releases. I let go of a long gasp as the rubber backing of the waistband is slowly peeled out of the groove in my abdomen and to my relief I manage to hold myself in check as the crotch plate departs from my fanny. Edward lowers the whole contraption down my legs, sliding the thigh bands over my knees and feet. I’m free of thing. He places it to one side on the floor. The thing that had looked so elegant and erotic when it was around me now appears ungainly and ugly. Without a woman’s body inside it, it has become nothing more than a pile of bent pieces of metal.

 

“How does that feel?” asks Edward.

 

Again I don’t answer. To tell him just how magnificent it feels would be a waste of words. I just moan and stare at the wasp-waisted woman in the mirror. Is that really me?

 

Edward reaches down and starts to finger me. He rubs at my labia and his fingers slip inside me with little resistance. His thumb caresses my clit and milks the lust from it.

 

“And how does that feel?” he asks again, but of course he knows the answer.

 

“Mmmmmmmmm.”

 

“But I don’t think you’re quite ready yet,” he says, and much to my dismay he withdraws his hand.

 

Edward heads off to his glass cabinets and returns with two bundles of rope. They are soon tied to my ankles and run to eyes on the wall on either side of me. When he tightens the ropes my ankles are pulled apart. Further and further until I am lewdly spread. Four days of hobbling around, unable to spread my legs at all, and now this. And as my legs are spread, my vestigial contact with the floor is removed and my full weight comes onto my arms. The cuffs tighten around my wrists and my shoulders take the strain while my toes search in vain for something to perch on. When it feels like my thighs are going to burst Edward stops tightening the ropes and ties them off. He returns to stand in front of me as I squirm and wriggle and try to come to terms with the strain through my body.

 

And then he shows it to me. He reaches into his jogging pants and pulls out his cock. That same beautiful cock I had on Friday night. The strain in my thighs and shoulders fades into the background as my brain focuses on that lovely cock. He rubs it against my pubic mound. It feels fantastic, but it’s not really where I want it. I try to move, try to lift myself onto that cock but I can’t. My legs have nothing to push against and my arms, similarly spread apart by the trapeze, do not have the strength to lift me. I doubt I’ve ever wanted a cock so much and been so close to the joy it can bring, but also so utterly helpless to achieve it.

 

There’s the whirring noise above me again and I am slowly raised up higher by the winch. Up I go and Edward’s cock slowly slides down my mound until I’m high enough and it slips under my crotch, brushing against my clit as it does so and making me gasp. And then the winch reverses, lowering me down onto that thing that is waiting below me. Down I go, being slowly and effortlessly impaled on the way. The winch stops when our faces are level and he is all inside me. For a few moments nothing happens and then he kisses me tenderly on the lips. The unexpected gesture of affection takes me by surprise in this scene of brutal domination but it is a short-lived moment. After a pause just long enough for a little confusion to take hold in me, he goes to work, fucking me like a demented madman. Despite the ankle ropes I start to swing about helplessly but he grabs hold of my arse cheeks to hold me in place and continues relentlessly. As my mind starts to slip away I wonder briefly if it’s only Edward-sex that feels like this, or if all tied-up sex feels this good. Perhaps I should never have sex again unless I’m well and truly trussed up first. It’s the last semi-intelligent thought I have before my brain closes down any non-primeval functions. Nothing matters except being as fucked it’s possible to be. I join in as much as I can in my helpless state, tightening myself around him and bucking my hips in time with his thrusts, each one driving me closer.

 

But suddenly he stops. He pulls himself out of me and calmly walks away just as I am about to cum. I can’t believe it. How the fuck can he be so calm when I’m in a state of total oblivion. It’s all I can do to prevent myself screaming for him to come back. He’s rummaging in his cabinets and when he does come back to me he’s got something in his hands, something that makes me angry. It’s a vibrator. He’s going to finish me off with a fucking vibrator. Bastard! I don’t want a fucking vibrator, I want that cock. It’s not like it’s gone soft or anything, he’s just denying me. Come on, finish what you started you bastard.

 

He kneels in front of me and the vibrator starts to buzz loudly. I scream at him with my eyes but I manage to keep myself from talking and telling him what a complete twat he is. And then the vibrator touches my clit. It’s like a bomb going off down there. It reacts violently with my anger and I start to cum almost immediately. I feel his fingers sliding into me as the vibrator continues to drive away any last vestiges of self-control. I am lost to the animal inside.

 

 

oOo

 

 

A lot of women might talk about ’coming down’ after a sexual climax, but this is the first time I’ve experienced it literally. My ankles are untied and the winch lowers me until I can stand comfortably on the floor, albeit with my hands still high above my head. Edward has put himself away in his jogging pants and now has a cigarette on the go. He offers me a draw and I gratefully accept. I’m not a regular smoker, at least not of tobacco. It’s a filthy and disgusting habit but sometimes it just hits the spot.

 

“You’re a bastard,” I say quietly as I exhale the smoke.

 

“I know.”

 

“Why couldn’t you finish me properly?”

 

“Because it’s your first time. And if we sample all the chocolates too quickly then there’s nothing left in the box to look forward to.”

 

“You’re still a bastard.”

 

“And besides, the night is still young. Perhaps its climax has not yet been reached and I need to save myself for later.”

 

“Hah. A presumptuous bastard.”

 

“A hungry bastard. I need some food. Wanna stay for dinner?”

 

“Depends, does the sex slave have to do the cooking?”

 

“No, I’ll cook. You can just be beautiful and sexy.”

 

“So a patronising, presumptuous bastard. But okay, I’ll stay.”

 

Edward rummages in one of his cabinets and returns with a metal something. It’s a straight bar, a little over a foot long. It has a couple of clamp-like things at one end and a large ring at the other. He fiddles with some sort of screw and the ring opens into two half circles. With no explanation he places the open ring about my neck and clamps it shut with the screw thing, leaving the bar hanging down my back. I don’t seem to get a choice in this and there’s not much I can do to resist with my hands still locked in the trapeze above my head. And so I just stand quietly and let it happen. I’m thinking about the women who have been in this room before me, how two thirds of them said ‘no’ and how I’m apparently a mystery, which makes perfect sense really because I’m a mystery to myself at the moment. I have no idea what I’m doing, but it feels exciting and it’s stirring something deep down inside me. Perhaps it might be just a little bit dangerous too, although I’m absolutely sure that if I demanded an end to it then Edward would oblige. But that would really would be the end. There would be no more him and me, at least nothing beyond our professional arrangement, and I’m not ready for that. I came here to get that key so I could take back control of my life and yet I seem to have surrendered completely, and I’m rather enjoying it. I’ve had one thumping orgasm so far, who knows what delights lie ahead. I’m game to be sex slave, for now.

 

Edward reaches up and releases my right wrist from the trapeze but there’s no freedom for my arm. He holds it tightly and draws it down and round behind my back. I feel something close around my wrist and there’s a metallic clicking sound. Edward withdraws his hands but mine stays held in place, fastened to the end of that bar.

 

“Since you haven’t got your belt on, we need to make sure those hands can’t get into any mischief,” he says cheerily as he repeats the process with my left arm.

 

I pull at my arms which are now folded snugly up behind my shoulders. I can’t really move them of course, only claw at the air behind me with my fingers. I don’t get long to examine my new situation though. Edward clips a length of chain to the front of my collar and I’m led towards the door like a dog on a lead.

 

“Woof Woof,” I say glumly, to try to show my distain without actually resisting.

 

Edward doesn’t answer and leads me silently through his office and up the stairs. After four days with my thighs chained together, suddenly having them free and able to climb stairs normally feels distinctly odd. By the time we reach the kitchen I’m feeling not just odd, but horny too. There is an unexplainable delight in being chained up and led around someone’s house naked.

 

There is a breakfast bar in Edward’s kitchen with high stools on either side. He pulls one out and gestures for me to sit. I wiggle my bum onto the stool and get myself settled while a glass of wine is poured and set down on the bar in front of me. I look at him and try to say something with my eyes like ‘Yeah, and what am I supposed to do with that?’, but he is way ahead of me, producing a long straw for me to drink through. Wine through a straw, just so classy, but wine nonetheless and actually rather good wine. I sit and suck up the wine in little bursts and watch while Edward cooks like a TV chef. He’s all slick and smooth and quick, but only because he’s already got stuff prepared. It seems like it’s a stir-fry with rice and it’s soon sitting on a large plate in front of me. Edward takes up position on a stool on the opposite side of the bar. He digs a fork into the food and offers it to me. My God, I’m going to be fed like a baby. And while I’m naked and chained up. This night is getting weirder and weirder.

 

The food tastes surprisingly excellent. I hadn’t realised just how hungry I was until I started eating. And as the meal goes on I find I am increasingly becoming hungry for something that is not food. The air is charged with a sexual energy that seems to grow as every forkful is offered and taken with increasing innuendo. I’m having oral sex with a fork and washing its load down with wine through a straw. I’m quite convinced that as soon as the meal is over I’m going to be on the receiving end of some incredible bondage sex, and it might even come before the meal is finished. I’m hornier than hell itself, and he must be too. Just throw down the fork man and let me get my mouth around something even tastier. The tiled floor looks like it will be hard on the knees but I’m game for a sausage flavour pudding.

 

But it turns out that I’m wrong and my ego takes a bit of a tumble. The meal is gone and despite my internal inferno and best efforts to be irresistible, Edward gets up, clears the dishes into the washer and calmly pours cold water over my inflamed passions.

 

“I fancy watching a film,” he calmly announces.

 

“A film?” I ask incredulously.

 

“Yes. I like a mindless movie in the evenings. Helps me unwind after a stressful day.”

 

“You were in my office for most of today. Am I that stressful?”

 

“You have been the most stressful thing in my life for the last few days. I was really worried I had done something terrible to you, but tonight I see that I was right after all. You are all the woman I thought you would be.”

 

“Oh well, it’s just so good to know I have come up to your expectations. Or should that be down to your expectations.”

 

“Up. Definitely up.”

 

“Well in that case, if I’m so much of a woman can’t we skip the movie and cut straight to the sex?”

 

“We could, but you’re forgetting something.”

 

“Which is…?”

 

“You’re the sex slave. You don’t get to decide when you have sex.”

 

“Shouldn’t the job of a sex slave be to have sex and not to watch movies?”

 

“Possibly, but you’re only an apprentice sex slave at the moment. You need to learn patience and restraint and that you only get sex when you have earned it.”

 

“I’m not earning it now?” I tug obviously at my secured arms and the effort makes my breasts jiggle. “What more can I do to be sexy for you?”

 

“You can show your complete and total submission. You can show that you are no longer Claire, the strong and independent business woman. When you are here in this house you are Claire, the obedient slave whose only purpose is to please her master. And if you do this well then you will receive your reward.”

 

“And if I do it badly?”

 

“Then you will receive a different kind of reward.”

 

“Don’t tell me, let me guess. The wooden paddle thingy and then a night in one of those cages.”

 

“You’re a quick learner.”

 

“Okay Master, if you would like to watch a film then I would consider it a privilege to be allowed to watch it with you.”

 

“Careful with fake respect there Slave.”

 

“Oh, sorry Master.”

 

“Right then, let’s adjourn to the living room and see what’s streaming.”

 

Edward reaches over the breakfast bar and takes hold of the chain leash still dangling from my collar. He gives it a quick tug and I extract myself from the stool. As I stand and start to follow Edward towards the door I notice to my shame the shiny, wet stain on the smooth white plastic surface of the stool. I am a complete slut. And as I walk across the hard tiled floor I mourn the lost opportunity to torture my knees on it while I kneel and pleasure my master. A slut, through and through. I feel ashamed, humiliated and totally, totally horny.

 

In the living room my humiliation reaches new levels. Edward leads me to the sofa and then places a plastic bag on one side of it.

 

“I can wipe the stools in the kitchen but you’re not leaving stains on my sofa,” he says, gesturing for me to sit down.

 

Wishing the floor would open up and swallow me I lower myself onto the bag which makes a plasticy crackle as I do so. Edward sits down next to me. It seems I’m going to watch the film with my arms still fixed up behind me. I hope it’s a short film because it’s getting really uncomfortable. If I try to relax then the weight of my arms pulls the collar back and my throat is squeezed most unpleasantly, but the muscles in my arms are getting really tired from the effort of holding them up, and the unnatural position is placing an aching strain on my shoulders. I think that’s the idea though. I’m not locked up like this to stop me running away, I’m locked up like this to make me uncomfortable, to make me have to endure because the only alternative is to beg to be released and thus fail at the game. It’s a test and I have no intention of failing. But my heart sinks as Edward selects his film from the thousands available on demand. Peter Jackson’s King Kong. I’ve seen it before and it goes on for hours. Edward is such a bastard.

 

“I suppose a nice short Rom-com is out of the question?” I ask forlornly.

 

“I fancy this,” he replies curtly. “Sit quietly and watch. If you make a fuss I’ll gag you.”

 

He’ll gag me? Fucking hell. I think about all those things in that cabinet in the basement and they make me shiver. I am definitely not ready for them yet. Maybe I never will be. He wants me quiet, well I’m going to obey. I lean back and rest my arms on the cushion behind me. I let it take their weight and manage to relax a little without the collar threatening to throttle me. I wonder which will defeat me first, the burning pain in my arms or the burning desire in my fanny.

 

The menu on the TV screen offers the choice of theatrical or extended versions of the film. To my dismay Edward chooses the extended version and as I sit quietly through a long, boring preamble in New York I realise just how long this film is. I just want to get through it. Cut to the monsters, the final showdown on the Empire State Building and then, if I’m still awake and haven’t seized up completely, and if I still have the will to live, I’ll hopefully be getting a dam good fucking. The film gets a bit more interesting as the ship arrives at the island and my interest perks up considerably as Naomi Watts is abducted, tied up and lowered over a chasm, hanging from her arms just like I was a little over two hours ago. Of course I wasn’t being offered for ritual sacrifice to a giant ape, only to a giant cock, but I share a new understanding of Naomi’s terror and helplessness as I watch intently, wondering just how much she’s really acting there.

 

Suddenly Edward pauses the film and announces that it might be too scary for me from this point. He reaches over to me and I get a fleeting glimpse of that blindfold I wore three days ago before it is pulled over my head and I am plunged into darkness. The film’s soundtrack resumes and I have to just sit here, silent, blind, shackled, and on a plastic bag to prevent my uncontrollable arousal from soiling his sofa. I never saw this coming when I came round to this house tonight.

 

Of course I don’t have to just sit here. I do have a choice. I could make a fuss and end up gagged, but beyond that I could make a real fuss and he’d send me home. No blindfold, no metal shackles and no chastity belt. But no fucking either. And no answer to the question of why I’ve let it go this far. Without the visuals of the film I have no distraction from the feelings within. The pain in my shoulders competes with other, more primeval feelings in an escalating arms race for supremacy. And coming up on the rails is a new feeling; I need to pee.

 

It’s obvious that I’m not going to be able to hold it until the end of the film which seems like it’s going to last into next year. At a seemingly quiet point, I think it’s where Naomi is juggling on the mountain with Kong, I decide to act.

 

“Edward?” I say quietly.

 

“You’re asking for a gag,” he replies coldly.

 

“It just that I need the toilet.”

 

“Well you know where it is.”

 

And that’s it? That’s all he’s giving me? Yes I know where it is, I used it on Saturday, but how the fuck…? Blindfolded and shackled like this? It’s a test of course. A test not only of my ingenuity but also of just how much humiliation and degradation I can take. But perhaps managing on my own is rather less humiliating than having him lead me to the loo and watching while I do my business. Just as on Saturday I consider taking my revenge by peeing all over his fancy sofa, but I still can’t bring myself to do it. I know the door is off to my right, then along the hall, past the stairs and the toilet is on the right. I can do this.

 

And so without saying a word I throw myself forward and manage to stand up, but straight away I fall into a pit of shame as the plastic bag I was sitting on comes with me. As I fight back the tears and ponder how to get it off, Edward apparently gives me some much needed assistance. I feel the bag being pulled from me and the pit of shame deepens. I have to get out of here.

 

I’m trying to remember how the room looked when I came in. It might be just five normal paces to the door but I can’t do them in my current state. Unable to even hold out my hands to feel for obstacles, I can only shuffle forward in what I hope is the right direction while feeling the carpet with my toes. After what seems a major hiking expedition my toes and nipples simultaneously find a wall. I have apparently missed the door. As my toes explore the skirting board I wonder whether it’s left or right. There’s no help coming from the sofa so I guess at right. I shuffle sideways along the wall until I come to something. The corner of the room. Fuck. Back I go, rather hoping there’s an expensive and very fragile ornament in my way. But there isn’t and I find the door. It’s ajar. I push it open and venture out into the hall.

 

Now away from Edward I don’t feel so humiliated and try to convince myself that I’m on a little adventure. I feel my way sideways down the hall, running my hands along the wall behind me. I feel the wood panelling and the secret door to the basement and all that is down there. Then there’s the gap where the stairs are, then more wall and a door. The toilet door if I remember right, but it’s shut. I lift my foot and explore the handle. Of course in an old Victorian house it has to be a round one that can’t be pressed with a foot. I have to turn and crouch down and get it with my hands behind my back. I almost fall backwards as I twist the knob and the door swings back, but recover my balance and turn to find out if I’ve got the right room. It occurs to me that Edward might have followed me and could be watching all this, and so after my toes find a toilet I turn and push the door closed. Now at least I’ve got my own little space to take stock. The toilet seat is annoyingly down and it takes a fair amount of foot dexterity to get it up but eventually it’s done and I can sit and relieve the pressure in my bladder. If only I could relieve the pressure in my arms so easily.

 

After I’m done I sit for a while and think about how dirty I feel. So far tonight I’ve been comprehensively fucked, vibed to a thumping climax, and forced to sit on a sweaty plastic bag for over an hour in a state of extreme arousal. I don’t think I’ve ever needed a bath quite so badly. Even a wipe with a bit of loo paper would be an improvement but alas, with my hands shackled half way up my back it seems I’m remaining dirty for the time being. I sigh and sit back against the wall behind the toilet but there’s something in the way. Edward’s house is done out with lots of period features and I seem to remember from the last time I used this loo that it’s one of those old fashioned things with a high level cistern and a pipe running down the wall to the pan. It’s this pipe that I’m leaning against and there is something, perhaps a clamp behind my head. If a rub against it I can catch the elastic strap of the blindfold on it and I reckon I could easily pull it off.

 

And I wonder exactly why I don’t do just that. Of course he could just put it right back on me, but would it not be a little victory over him? Perhaps I’d get one of those wooden paddle things across my arse for such cheeky disobedience but it’s not the thought of that that is putting me off. It’s the thought that it would not actually be a victory at all. This whole thing is a challenge of submission. He’s tempting me all the time to chicken out, to beg for release so I can go home like a sensible little girl, and I can’t bear the thought of failing.

 

But it’s wrong. The whole thing is so wrong. This is the twenty-first century and I’m a modern, equal and independent woman. I shouldn’t be debasing myself like this. I can feel the spirits of the suffragettes and sixty years’ worth of feminists all glaring at me, enraged that I am throwing away all that they fought so hard to achieve. But hold on a minute, I run a multi-million pound company which I started fifteen years ago from scratch. Thirty-six people have jobs because of me. Fuck you feminists, I’ve done my bit for the cause. Can’t a girl have a man abuse her once in a while without feeling guilty about it? Tonight I’m on holiday and I’m going to enjoy myself and hopefully get fucked again. And the spirits of the suffragettes? Well they’re all dead so fuck ‘em. I’m doing this.

 

I get up off the toilet and feel my way carefully back to the living room. The sofa is a somewhat more elusive target than the door was, but I get some help in the form of a couple of grudgingly given words of guidance from Edward. I resume my seat on the plastic bag and my part in the unfolding play. For one night only, Claire Hetherington stars as the perfect sex slave. But I wonder if it is really going to be for one night only. I push aside the thought that no one knows where I am tonight and that those other six ladies might actually be buried under the basement floor. I try not to listen to the sinister voice in the back of my head and instead focus on the soundtrack of the film and try to work out how long I’ve still to endure this for. It seems like Naomi has just been prized away from Kong and is about to be the bait for his capture. Plenty more still to come then.

 

So now I have a new feeling. In amongst the aching pain, the arousal, the anticipation, the humiliation and even confusion comes…. Boredom. It makes me think about what it might be like to spend a night in one of those cages downstairs, unable to get comfy enough to sleep and just enduring uncomfortable nothingness while the hours tick featurelessly by. At least I have the soundtrack of the film to tell me how long I’ve got to go before… Well I don’t really know what will happen. I’m assuming I’m going to get a reward in the shape of the fucking of a lifetime but I suppose there’s no guarantee of that. Perhaps he’ll just release me and send me home. Or perhaps I’ll end up actually spending the night in a cage. But he’s going to want me to come back for more. I have to leave here having had a good experience and be hungry for more, don’t I? Or is he such a bastard that once he’s conquered a woman he has no further interest in her? Perhaps I need to do more than just pass his test, perhaps I need to go for extra credit. Perhaps I need to inflame his desire for me so much that his smug self-control breaks down and he has to give me what I am craving. Perhaps it’s not a test, perhaps it’s a contest. Well I don’t like to lose at contests.

 

“Edward?” I ask loudly enough to cut through the din of screaming and shooting.

 

“You’re asking to be gagged. I won’t tell you again.”

 

“Well it’s just… Bruce Willis’s gag. It’s a bit wasted down in the basement where no one can see it, don’t you think?”

 

The film’s soundtrack suddenly goes silent and I feel Edward get up off the sofa. I hear him walk across the room and his footsteps on the wooden hall floor. Then nothing. Fucking hell, I hope I can do this. Shouldn’t kick a hornet’s nest unless you can handle stings. Just think about winning. Just think about him desiring me more than I desire him. Think about the fact that I am apparently the one in control here. Is he not off in the basement right now because I made him go there? Am I not the one who has just decided to be gagged thereby forcing him to oblige me? He thinks he’s in charge but I’m just using him for my own sexual gratification. Oh God, I can hear him coming back.

 

“Stand up,” he barks curtly.

 

I obey without a word. The plastic bag mercifully stays on the sofa. He takes hold of me and turns me round.

 

“Open.”

 

I guess that means my mouth. Any last words Claire? No? Okay, let’s tread where a major movie star has trodden before me.

 

I open my mouth as wide as I can and it is immediately invaded by a huge-feeling intruder. The ball feels strange, slightly soft and rubbery yet with a smooth, shiny-feeling surface. Before I can come to terms with it I feel straps pull tight around my head. My lips are pulled back at the sides and tighten around the ball, pushing it deeper into my mouth. In just a few seconds it’s done. I’m gagged and guided back to my seat on the plastic bag. The film’s soundtrack resumes and I start to explore my new bondage accessory.

 

Any satisfaction from having scored my extra credit is soon tempered by the new discomfort of the gag. It is a truly horrible thing to wear and it’s not long before it eclipses the pain in my arms and shoulders. I try to push it out but it’s hopeless. The straps are tight and my tongue is no match for them. It seems I just have to find a way to endure, but it’s harder than enduring the ordeal inflicted on my arms. The rubbery tasting ball is making me salivate and with my mouth full and my tongue all but immobilised it is almost impossible to swallow. The saliva builds up in my mouth and seeps out past the gag. It bubbles and gurgles if I try to breathe past the ball and I can soon feel it dribbling down my chin. It is truly infuriating to have something on your face and not be able to wipe it off. I wonder if Bruce Willis really did wear this gag and I wonder how long it took to film that scene. I wonder if they took it off him between takes. I wonder if it’s ever been cleaned since.

 

With nothing more than some occasional, quiet spluttering and moaning I sit quietly and submissively as the film returns to New York. Kong is chained up and so am I. Kong is abused at the whim of his captor, and so am I. Kong is in love, but I’m going to reserve judgement on that for now. Kong breaks free of his chains and escapes, yeah well I’m not a forty foot gorilla. The soundtrack of the rampage through the streets plays out while my drool starts to dribble onto my breasts. Then we’re into that soppy bit on the frozen lake where Naomi is out in a skimpy evening gown and isn’t freezing her tits off. Suddenly I feel the chain hanging down between my own tits lift away and start to tug gently at my collar. It guides me up off the sofa and turns me round. The straps of my gag are released and the ball is pulled from my mouth. As I try to get my jaw to move again the chain pulls me downwards. I crouch and then kneel and the chain urges me forward. I think I know what’s coming next.

 

I feel it on my nose first. And smell it too. It slips onto my lips. I open my mouth and welcome a new intruder.

 

“Keep it hard till the end of the film,” Edward says curtly. “If you make it cum then you’ll get whipped. If you let it go soft then you’ll get whipped.”

 

Jesus, what kind of instruction is that? Not too much and not too little, and I get whipped if I get it wrong? And how long has this sodding film still got to go? There’s all the stuff with the Empire State Building and the planes still to come. I can feel my arse quivering at the prospect of being whipped and what that might feel like. I have to get this right.

 

I’ve sucked cock plenty of times before and I suppose I’m reasonably okay at it. I’ve certainly had no complaints, but although I’m quite happy to swallow what’s left behind afterwards I’m not one of those women who can swallow the whole thing down and nestle my nose in his pubes. Do women like that even exist outside of porno movies? If it goes too far in then I’m retching and spluttering most unsexily, or perhaps sexily if that’s what he likes. I go to work on Edward, conscious that I mustn’t go too quickly if my arse is to survive this night. I blindly lick at it, suck it a bit and squeeze it with my lips trying to judge if it’s getting soft or not. Around me I can hear the sound of planes and machine guns. Come on, die you fucking persistent gorilla, let me escape with my arse cheeks intact. As I work away I realise that Edward seems to be naked and I wonder when he stripped off. Did he do it when I was at the loo or when he went for the gag? Has he really got all this planned so far ahead?

 

I feel Edward’s hand at the back of my head. Its fingers twist into my hair and take a firm hold. He starts to rock my head back and forth, forcing me onto him. I can feel outrage building inside me. He’s taken control and he’s going to make himself cum and then it’ll be my fault and I’ll get whipped. Bastard! But that’s not what happens. He pauses just for a moment and then he thrusts my head forward and his cock right to the back of my mouth. I retch and cough and it’s all I can do to keep my dinner inside me. He waits for me to recover and then resumes his shallow fucking of my mouth before pausing again. This time I’m a bit more prepared but the deep thrust still sees me spluttering and coughing. I can feel more of my drool running off my chin and dripping onto my breasts. The cycle repeats again. Shallow fucking, pause and thrust. My God, he’s training me!

 

Lost in my black world of oral abuse I’ve lost track of the film, but suddenly I hear the words ‘Beauty killed the beast’, and I realise that I’ve survived. The film is over and he’s still hard as nails. He has a final, extra deep thrust into my throat and then pulls himself out of me.

 

“Not bad,” he says coldly. “I think there’s hope you might make a decent cock sucker one day.”

 

I’m not sure whether to answer with a ‘Thank you, Master’ or a ‘Fuck off, arrogant twat’ but neither is actually possible until the retching subsides. By that time the chain is pulling on the collar and I’m being led from the room. Along the hallway we go and then up the stairs. That’s a relief. Downstairs lies the cabinet of whips and stuff. Soon I’m lying face down on his bed, pillows are stuffed under my tummy to lift my arse up and I think about how unfair this is. It seems I’m going to be whipped even though I succeeded. He didn’t cum and I kept him hard to the end of the film.

 

But it’s not actually a whipping I receive. Edward climbs on top of me and delivers the most wonderful fucking imaginable. There is no talking, no pausing, no whipping, no abuse, just a long, long, continuous fucking. He slows down now and then to keep me, and probably himself from climaxing too quickly and draws it out until we both hit the buffers together. Tonight Kong got to the top of a skyscraper, but I get to go way higher than that. I am a slut, a slave, a bondage junkie, a cock sucking S+M bitch, all of those, and tomorrow I will be asking, and begging if necessary, to be locked up again in that chastity belt to keep me fresh until my master desires to abuse me again. Isn’t life just absolutely marvellous?

 

 

oOo

 

 

It’s half past seven on a Friday evening. The office is empty. Everyone’s gone home except for Julia who’s still tinkering about the place somewhere. I’m sat by the open window of my office with a desk fan optimistically attempting to blow the smoke from my joint out into the London evening haze. The stock market floatation has gone through pretty much as planned, the company I started is now mainly owned by anonymous fund managers, my tax bill gave the nation the funds for its new hospital, or perhaps a couple of cruise missiles if it prefers, and I am now a millionaire thirty-two and a half times over. Not bad for an East End girl who started out with nothing, and surely worthy of a little marijuana. And besides, when Julia comes in to say goodnight we’re going to have a conversation for which I need to be at least a little bit stoned.

 

I finished with Edward last week. The light that burns twice as bright burns half as long, and we two burned brighter than the sun. I wonder if he’s showing another woman around his dungeon right now and telling her of the seven who went before, and how Jane number two and Jocelyn made sweet music together, but the greatest and most magnificent symphonies of all were sung by the lovely Claire. Our tempestuous sexual relationship lasted for two months, one week and three days, and during the whole of that time I was either locked in the chastity belt or done up in bondage so that I couldn’t touch myself. And surprisingly I came to rather like it. Although the belt itself is horribly uncomfortable and worryingly unhygienic, the feeling of being controlled and frustrated kept me constantly horny and when release came at Edward’s skilful doing it was always earth shattering. But I need a little more than just amazing sex, bondage, discipline and punishment in my love life. I actually need a little love too and that was sadly lacking between Edward and me. We have parted as friends though, and I think he can continue to whip my accounts into shape, but that’s all he’s going to get of mine to whip from now on.

 

I still have my chastity belt. It’s a parting gift from Edward and I have worn it every day since we broke up, but it doesn’t work any more. And that’s because he also gave me the keys. Now I can take it off when it becomes unbearably uncomfortable or if I want to walk to the shops without my legs hobbled, or even if I just fancy a bit of masturbation. Without someone to hold the keys and exercise their control, the belt just becomes an awfully uncomfortable pair of knickers. I need to find another someone, but it would have to be a very special someone. Someone I can trust completely, someone who can love me, and someone who can give me earth shattering release after they’ve unlocked my goodies. Or that someone might refuse to unlock my goodies, perhaps because I wasn’t smart enough at work, or because I called them a twat, or because my heels weren’t high enough, or because my oral technique wasn’t quite up to scratch, or because no reason at all other than to frustrate me. Someone like that would not be easy to find but I have a nearly perfect candidate in mind. I just need to rearrange my sexuality a little and pluck up the courage to ask.

 

I take another long draw on my dubiously rolled cigarette and let its effect seep into me. The door opens and Julia clip-clops into the office wearing those shoes that she won from me in that little challenge, although actually I think I won because I really enjoyed my month of watching her tiptoeing about in them. But she obviously really does like them because here they are again.

 

Julia is a very feminine lesbian. She wears my ex-shoes well and her legs rise out of them looking long and shapely. She’s got curves up top too, although I wish she’d wear her hair a bit longer. Maybe I can convince her to grow it once I’m her slave. It’s been a little while since she has shown any sexual interest in me but I’m pretty sure it’s because she’s accepted that I will never break free of my ‘veneer of conformity’ as she calls it, rather than because she’s lost the hots for me. Well my veneer of conformity was well and truly shattered the night King Kong played on Edward’s telly. I’ve learned a lot about myself since then. I’ve learned that however well I think I know myself and who I am, there’s a complete stranger lurking inside me and I’ve no idea what that stranger will make of stuff until I try it. I’m never again going to judge anything, until I’ve sampled it. And that includes Julia.

 

I’ve got a fool-proof plan to seduce her. Now that I’m a zillionaire and now that I no longer own my company I’m going to step back and just be an executive director. And my last act as the dictatorial boss will be to make Julia the new chief exec. She’ll get a salary that would enable her to keep a slave in the basement dungeon of her own detached house in a leafy suburb if she chooses to do so, and while she’s still feeling eternally grateful I will offer myself to her as her lover and slave. How will she be able to refuse? Unfair and manipulative of me? Perhaps, but I’m sure she will suitably punish me for it at a later date.

 

Julia walks elegantly across the office. She waves her hand in front of her face at the smell of my joint and tutts as she looks up and sees the Sellotape I have wrapped around the smoke alarm. I imagine her commanding me to worship her vagina with my tongue and abusing my arse with a strap-on through the hole in my chastity belt. Oh yes, I think I can make this work. But I wonder if she really does have bottles of dye at home on standby to transform my hair into some sort of lesbian or bi-sexual Pride beacon as soon as I surrender myself to her. I wonder how I’d feel about that, but I suppose I shouldn’t get any say in the matter if I am truly to be her slave. She reaches the window and draws up a chair. I offer her my joint and she accepts.

 

“It’s from the corner newsagent at the end of Berwick Street,” I say as Julia takes a long draw. “Ask him for some of his ‘Special Oooh’.”

 

“Special Oooh,” she replies, looking at the joint. “I could do with some of that in my life.”

 

“Yeah well, hold on to that thought. I might just have some for you….”