The Secrets of Shackleton Grange

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 22 (v.1) - Dolores' Little Secret

Submitted: April 23, 2017

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Submitted: April 23, 2017



Dolores entered her spacious boudoir and closed the door behind her. To ensure that she received no uninvited visitors for the next hour or two, she secured it with the small key that protruded from the lock, before testing the handle to ensure that it was no longer capable of being opened. Not that this was a particular concern to her, as neither her three servants, nor the equal number of reluctant house guests that currently resided here, should have had any way of making it to the entrance of her own private apartment. 

But Dolores wanted to make certain. After all, what she was about to do was a secret known only to herself. Not even her three trusted ladies-in-waiting had any inkling of what she got up to every now and then in the privacy of her own quarters, and she was keen to ensure that it stayed that way.

Dolores walked across to the large French windows that offered a sweeping vista of the grounds of her mansion, and beyond this, the rolling countryside of east Suffolk in all its hazy mid-morning splendour. It was a beautiful late spring day, and the room felt stuffy and unaired, so to alleviate this Dolores turned the key in the lock and pushed one half of the window open a few inches. Turning away, however, she was careful to ensure that she pulled the heavy curtains across to shut out the light, as creating an atmospheric environment was an essential part of the routine that she was about to embark on. 

Dolores smiled to herself as she turned on the bedside lamp. The thought of Cathy and Bethany languishing in their tight bonds in the Training Room, whilst they were fed a constant stream of bondage videos and subliminal messages designed to infiltrate their brains and make them understand how wonderful their lives could be if they just stopped resisting and accepted their fate, sent a shiver of pleasure tingling up her spine. And even better than that was the realisation that she had another, equally tied and trapped young female prisoner in her clutches, who would be providing her with much needed entertainment during the course of the coming week. In fact, this latest arrival was currently ensconced only a few feet away in the next room. And the knowledge that Saskia was only the thickness of a wall from her made the thrill of this morning’s quest even greater, as the thought that her captive was so near, yet completely oblivious to her antics, sent goose-pumps of delight surging throughout her body. For wasn’t part of the thrill the knowledge that others were in the immediate vicinity, yet unaware of the strange goings-on so close at hand?

But it wasn’t only her house guests that were currently in a state of helplessness. Her servants, too, had succumbed to their Mistress’ sadistic streak today, as Dolores had decided that, just to be on the safe side, she would make certain that they too were unable to pry into the strange scenario which their boss was about to become embroiled in. To this end, she’d devised a new and, to her, ingenious method of ensuring that they remained where she’d left them, with no chance of escaping and ruining her plans.

So, of the seven women currently resident at Shackleton Grange, six of them were currently in tight, inescapable bondage; gagged, shackled and without hope of release until Dolores made the decision to show them some mercy.And soon, six would become seven.


Sauntering across the room, Dolores approached one of the room’s three vast wardrobes. Opening the door, she gazed in to the depths of the dark space. The other two wardrobes held the clothes worn when she needed to show her respectable ‘lady of the manor’ face to the world; outfits that she dressed up in when leaving the grounds to venture out in public. But this particular closet – the largest of the three - was where she kept her everyday wear; the clothes that she habitually poured herself into when she was at home; indeed, the clothes she wore through choice and was most comfortable in. Peering in at the rows of neatly regimented garments, her eyes fell upon the stunning array of cat-suits that she always favoured. Some of leather, others manufactured from latex, PVC or spandex, the majority in black, although with the occasional brightly coloured number thrown in for good measure. Dolores ran her hand slowly over the contrasting fabrics and sighed, blissfully. The mere feel of the material on the tips of her fingers sent shockwaves of delight through her, as the memories of how magnificent each constricting garment felt when she wore it welled up in her mind. For a minute or more she stroked any individual item that took her fancy, remembering specific incidents or special times she’d had whilst this particular cat-suit had been clinging to every curve of her body.

 But after a few moments of recalled bliss, Dolores shook herself out of this reverie. Time was passing, and the longer she dithered here, the less quality time she would have to pursue her intended course of action this morning. Settling on a black latex number that glistened, as if wet, in the glow of the bedside light, she pulled this from the line of loosely hanging fetish-wear and took it over to the four poster bed. Sitting down on the counterpane, Dolores swiftly pulled the high heeled leather boots from her feet, then began disrobing from the leather one-piece outfit that she’d put on earlier this morning. The removal of this tightly fitting suit was not a quick process, as the tight, clinging hide only reluctantly glided in a downward direction over her body and legs, until finally it lay in a heap on the carpet. Picking this up and throwing it over the back of a nearby chair, the now naked woman walked across the room and pulled open a drawer in her dressing table. This revealed an untidy stash of more pairs of tights than could be easily counted; like the cat-suits, nearly all in black, with just the occasional coloured or patterned pair visible. Picking out a plain, 40 denier pair from amidst the chaos, Dolores closed the drawer again and headed back to the bed. Pulling the tights on was the easy bit, and within seconds the waistband snapped against the skin of her abdomen as her fingers released their grasp on the mesh. Getting the rubber cat-suit on proved a slightly more lengthy task, however, as inching the too small article of clothing up her legs and thighs, then over her hips, whilst ensuring that any wrinkles were ironed out as she went along, proved a strenuous activity that lasted several minutes. But it was worth it as far as Dolores was concerned, and when finished, and she could study herself in the full length mirror on the wardrobe door, she felt a shudder of indescribable happiness shoot through her, as the image it revealed showed off her shapely figure and long slim legs to maximum effect.

But getting dressed was only a preliminary exercise. For Dolores the fun was only now about to start. Kneeling down and reaching into the bottom right hand corner of the wardrobe, Dolores pulled out an old suitcase.  Battered, scratched and almost bursting at the seams, this ancient luggage transporter had seen better days, and seemed to be on the verge of completely falling to pieces. But it wasn’t the container itself but the contents that were of interest to Dolores now, as she hurriedly placed it on the bed and clicked the two catches back, before pulling the lid upwards. The opening revealed a vast array of what could be considered the tools of the trade for the bondage obsessed Mistress, namely ropes, gags, handcuffs, hoods and straps; all neatly lined up and arranged ready for use at a moment’s notice. Dolores was used to dealing with such items on a regular basis, but notwithstanding the everyday nature of the bonds and fetters laid out before her, a sense of awe overcame her as she gazed upon her secret stash of equipment, and she felt her heart pounding hard in her chest with the excitement of it all. For these ropes were not intended for the limbs of her three captives, nor even her ever submissive servant girls. No, these ropes and other bonds were special, and had been kept apart from all the other bondage paraphernalia that was stored in almost every other room of the house.  And the reason for this secrecy? Because these particular ligatures were reserved for the personal use of Dolores, and Dolores alone.

Not only did nobody else have any inkling that this cache of bonds and shackles existed, but not another soul knew of Dolores’ little secret, namely that, when time allowed – which was all too infrequently as far as she was concerned – she loved to tie herself up.


From an early age, Dolores had always thought of herself as the dominant partner in her bondage relationships. And this was reflected in her current position as Mistress of the BATH society and absolute ruler of Shackleton Grange. She loved tying the women who came to her classes, parties and weekend events, and she loved to watch her guests tie and be tied. Never once had she put herself forward to play the submissive role during any of these activities, because to do so would be to show weakness, and she could never allow herself to be thought of as weak or not in control. And ninety nine percent of the time she was fine with this arrangement, as her sadistic side shone through, and she revelled in the fact that she had total power over her victims, be they guests, her three obligingly docile servants, or anyone who happened to get caught snooping around on her property, or poking their nose into affairs that didn’t concern them.  The latter class of bondage fodder were, of course, now in abundance, and Dolores smiled to herself as she thought of the complete control she had over her three helpless and quite frankly terrified victims. It served them right for trespassing.

But how did it feel to be tied up? What exactly did the women who succumbed to the strict states of imprisonment that she so gleefully saddled them with, experience as they tried to escape? What were their emotions as they either revelled in their helplessness, or desperately tried to get away? How did the inability to move feel? What was it like to have tight ropes, chains or other fetters digging deeply into your flesh and refusing to yield? For years, Dolores had asked herself these questions, but her dominant nature had always precluded answers being found.

But then one day, a few years back now, Dolores’ inquisitive nature got the better of her. Bored of simply asking herself the same questions over and over again, she resolved to find out what the fuss was all about.  After all, there were many women out there who seemed quite happy to submit to her binding skills, some of whom came back again and again to repeat the experience, so she figured that there must be something in this that fascinated them. But how was she to obtain this knowledge? Not wanting to be seen to give in and become the property of some other dominant female, there appeared to be only one other alternative open to her: self bondage.

So Dolores had begun to dabble in tying herself up; first just with ropes, then progressing to chains, gags, hoods and handcuffs. And the more she experimented – although she hated to admit it, even to herself – the more she grew to like the sensation that being trapped and unable to move freely brought into play. She still saw herself as predominantly one who liked to take command, rather than lose control and surrender to another’s will, and she would never, ever – she made a solemn promise to herself – allow her fascination with the other side of things be known to another living soul. But the fact remained that, every now and then, Dolores felt a strong and irresistible urge to tie herself up in situations that bordered on, but never totally crossed the line of, inescapability.


And today just happened to be one of those days.  Having ensured that all other residents of the house were wrapped and trapped, tied and denied, Dolores retired to her private apartment to indulge herself in strict bondage for a few hours. There had to be an element or two of danger in the scenario she planned to entrap herself in, as this kept the pulse racing and the adrenalin flowing due to the unanswerable question, namely:  Will I be able to get out of this or not? To date, the answer had always been yes, notwithstanding the fact that there had been a few close calls where she’d nearly crossed the boundary of no return. But that was all part of the fun. Although what she’d do if she really did find herself in a situation that she couldn’t break free from, she had no idea.  But concerns such as these were heavily outweighed by her eagerness to mimic the severe states of bondage that she normally reserved for others.

Setting out several coiled up lengths of rope in a neat row on the bed, Dolores did a quick estimate of how many she would be requiring to complete the network of bonds that she was intent on hampering her limbs and body with today. A ball-gag, a leather eye-binder and a set of shining steel handcuffs also found themselves being laid out for use, before the case and the remainder of its contents were hurriedly removed and laid on the floor. Everything was nearly ready for the Mistress to transform herself into the very opposite of the image that she normally portrayed to the world. But first there were just a couple of preliminaries that needed to be taken care of before the first rope was tied.  Taking a piece of string from her bedside table, Dolores pulled the key from its resting place in the lock of one of the steel  bracelets and threaded the slim but strong thread through the bow and knotted it so that it couldn’t slip off. Standing on the yielding mattress, she now reached up and looped the string over the vertical wooden rail that ran the full length of the bed and linked the posts at head and footboard to each other at a height of seven feet or so. Tying the ends together, she let the string and its captive key dangle down towards the bed. Stepping down, she assessed the distance between bedding and key as being around four feet. That would mean, once her bondage was complete, she would have no way of reaching this vital component in her bid for freedom without somehow cutting the string. To this end, she placed a pair of surgical scissors on her bedside table. These she would be able to reach, but not without some difficulty.

Now satisfied that everything was in order, Dolores sat with her feet up on the counterpane, took the first piece of her soft white rope and unfurled it. Finding the mid-point, she doubled the cord then placed her ankles as close to each other as she could. Winding the twin strands once around the thinnest section of her legs, she threaded the ends through the bight and created reverse tension, before pulling back in the opposite direction until the rope dug into the latex outfit to a degree where she knew that she wouldn’t be able to wriggle her feet out again. Wrapping the remaining length several more time around her ankles, Dolores deftly cinched and knotted the ends, so that there was no chance of the latter working itself free, however violent her struggles.

Taking another rope, she repeated this same procedure to the letter, only this time at a point just below her bent knees. A third bond soon joined its matching counterparts just above the joint, whilst a fourth wended its way around her thighs.  For a minute or so, Dolores pulled and strained, trying to discover if her legs could be parted in any way. The answer to this question was a resounding ‘no’, and with a smile of satisfaction, the semi-bound woman moved on to the rest of her anatomy.

Using the same doubling technique as those used on her legs, Dolores wound the next length of rope around her waist and, once reverse tension had been attained, pulled the rope down through her legs and brought the ends up behind her back, before blindly looping these over the extremely tight makeshift belt and reversing the journey back to its starting point close to her navel. Securing the knot that fastened this bond in place involved the section of cord between her thighs being wrenched upwards as high as it would go, and this action brought an unsolicited purring noise from the Mistress’ mouth, as she felt both latex and ligature dig deeply into the most tender and sensitive sector of her anatomy. But she wasn’t ready yet to unleash the full, awe-inspiring force that the flexing of this, the answer to all her fantasies and desires, could ignite. For she was as yet still able to speak, see and - more importantly - move her arms.

With trembling fingers, Dolores quickly but diligently created a latticework of ropes around her shoulders and upper torso, pulling each as tight as she could, so that they cut into the latex below and above her breasts.  These criss-crossing threads had no real restraining powers as such, but served to highlight these, her most attractive her opinion. And of course, with particular strands strategically placed across her nipples, the friction created would simply add to and enhance the pleasure being generated further down.  Dolores shuddered in excitement at the thought of what was soon to come. Almost ready now; just a couple more accessories needed to maximise the ecstasy which would be hers for the taking in a few minutes time.

Next came her noise restrictor; a large but soft rubber ball that fitted snugly into the cavity behind her teeth, as if it had been made to measure, with the two attached straps being pulled around to the back of her neck and buckled so that they would neither slip nor allow the ball to be spat out.  Two inches higher, a leather sleep-mask, placed in such a position as to block out all light and tied tightly to avoid it riding up, found its way around her head.

And now it was time for the pièce de résistance; the final part of the jigsaw that would find her – to all intents and purposes – in the same boat as her servants and least theoretically. Feeling around on the bed, Dolores’ fingers soon encountered the now keyless handcuffs. Inserting her left wrist into one of the manacles, Dolores sighed with satisfaction as she pushed the arm down to meet with its counterpart. A staccato sound briefly filled the otherwise silent room, which coincided with the cold metal contracting onto her flesh until it encircled her arm to the point where slipping her hand out again became unfeasible. Now it was time for the interesting part.

Laying herself face down on the bed, Dolores bent her legs up behind her as far as she was able.  Reaching behind her back until her hands and feet were in close proximity to each other, she passed the unused bracelet over her ankle bond, before grabbing it with her other hand. With all four limbs now stretched to their limits, Dolores fumbled around for several seconds, her free hand grasping the still vacant bracelet, as if jealous of its partner and eager to feel that same sense of restriction. With one hand out of action, getting the second into position, then completing the circle, was quite a tricky operation. But after a few seconds, the connection was made and a repeat of the clicking sound of only a minute or so ago once more rent the still air.  

Now strictly hog-tied, Dolores tried to pull her hands apart, but found – as she had expected, and indeed hoped  – that this simple task was beyond her. And this caused a muffled murmur of elation to seep through the ball in her mouth.  She briefly considered the option of continuing along these lines, and working herself up to fever pitch with her struggles, but decided to postpone this pleasurable activity for a while. Although keen to experience the tumultuous seismic shock that this form of exercise always aroused in her, she knew there was no great rush, and that she could relax and simply enjoy her helpless state for the time being; leaving the physical exertions until later, when her passions would overtake her and she would attempt to scale the highest heights of blissful rapture.

For now though, Dolores allowed her limbs and body to sink into the luxurious padding beneath her. Her mind, however, remained active, and the contemplation of her situation, with a few of her wildest fantasies thrown in for good measure, served to keep her on a mental high more extraordinary than anything obtainable through the use of drugs.  The knowledge that her hands were trapped behind her back, that she was incapable of sitting up, and could only roll over onto her side with great difficulty, caused a lightning bolt of glee to instantly rip through her. And the fact that the key – the only way out of this whole predicament – couldn’t be reached in her present state, and that she would have to cut her ankle bond before she had even the remotest chance of getting into a position where she was capable of stretching high enough to grasp and release it, only made the feeling of helplessness a hundred times more acute. Of course, cutting the cord was only feasible if she had something sharp to sever it with. And the only thing available that could be utilised for this purpose was the pair of scissor on the bedside table; so close and yet – in her present condition – so far away. But manoeuvring herself into a position close to where the scissors lay was only part of the problem. The fact that the blindfold had left her in a world of darkness, meant that locating first the table, then the blades, was never going to be an easy quest. She knew roughly in which direction the table lay, but what if she misjudged her awkward, squirming journey and fell off the side of the plush bed and onto the hard floor below? Or even if she did manage to get into a position where her outstretched fingers were positioned correctly to allow her to reach over and grasp the scissors, what were the chances that, in her clumsiness, she might knock them onto the floor, where she would never be capable of retrieving them? The fact that she was gagged made calling for assistance out of the question, but this was of little relevance anyway, when she considered that everyone else in the house was tied up as tight, if not tighter, than herself, which meant that no one would be coming to her aid.

But far from in any way worrying or frightening Dolores, these potential pitfalls produced quite the opposite effect. In fact, the uncertainty of whether she would or wouldn’t be able to fashion an escape from this conundrum of her own making, only served to make her feel vibrant and alive. For wouldn’t bondage be a bit dull without that constant nagging fear being present in the back of her mind? Surely she wasn’t the only one who enjoyed brinkwomanship of this nature?


The contemplation of her own plight eventually brought her thought processes back to the six other women who were currently languishing in similar straits to her own.  How were their minds reacting to the predicaments they found themselves in right now? Okay three of them were programmed to endure such extended periods of bondage, and were therefore not really able to experience the same levels of emotion that she and her other guests were going through. And two more of them had just begun their journeys down this long path into slavery, and were currently under the influence of some quite powerful drugs designed to render them mentally pliable and easily manipulated. But that left Saskia, the journalist and would-be detective, who was sitting bound to a chair, unsure of exactly what her fate would be - even in the short term - as Dolores had deliberately been cryptic in revealing her plans for this afternoon. What was going through her mind just now?  Panic? Fear? Desperation?  Whatever her emotional state, Dolores was certain that Saskia would be doing everything within her powers to get loose from her bonds at that precise moment. And this thought caused another ripple of excitement to infiltrate every extremity of her body, and she found herself envying her latest captive, even to the extent that she wanted to become Saskia at that moment, just to find out what was going on in her brain.  And what better way to do this than to struggle as if her life depended on it?

For several minutes, Dolores did a good impression of someone desperately trying to free herself from a perilous situation.  But it was all simply an act, of course, as the thought of getting out of her bonds so soon after trussing herself up was the furthest thing from her mind at that precise moment.  As the minutes wore on, so the intensity of her ritualistic struggles increased. And these were soon being accompanied by long, drawn out moans and groans, which issued without conscious bidding from behind the stuffing in her mouth. Working herself up into a frenzy, her movements took on a more regular, rhythmic tempo, as her breasts pushed downwards onto the bedding and caused the rope that ran across her nipples to rub against the latex of her suit, which in turn chaffed against her delicate flesh. Up until now, she’d held her hands in tight fists, such were her concentration levels. But now, as the urge to up the ante still further overcame her, she stretched out the fingers on her right hand and grasped the rope that ran down her butt crack and through her legs with such taut precision. Tugging on this meticulously tightened cord in time with the cadence of her upper body, the combination of these actions finally saw her arching her back, throwing back her head and letting forth a cry of utter delight into the empty bedroom, as a patch of the latex between her legs suddenly became warm and damp. Her climax was a thing of such beauty that for a few minutes Dolores continued to pull vigorously with all the energy left in her body, in an effort to prolong the great vibes that seemed to have invaded her entire being. Eventually, however, tired and exhausted, she was forced to concede that the moment had past and that she needed to relax, in order to bask in the afterglow of her wondrous experience. She could, she consoled herself, put on a repeat performance in half an hour or so, once she’d recharged her batteries and recovered the strength necessary to again make the mattress springs squeak, the bed frame creak and the whole room - so it seemed – to quiver and vibrate.

Having sunk her head as deep as she could into the pillow, Dolores lay still, breathing heavily; shattered but content. She had no intention of sleeping at this point, as she wanted to keep the memory of what had just occurred fresh in her mind, so that she could prolong the moment indefinitely. However, this strenuous, energy sapping performance had taken more out of her than she realised, and soon she found her eyelids becoming heavier and heavier. For several minutes she tried to fight the fatigue; both physically, by reconvening her struggles; and mentally by attempting to concentrate on her current situation and that of her housemates. But these attempts to do battle against the inevitable forces of slumber lasted no more than a few seconds at a time, and on each occasion she found herself reverting back to her former state of inertia and drowsiness. How long it actually took her to lose consciousness, she wasn’t sure. But after what can only have been a few minutes, Dolores knew no more, and although her body and limbs remained bound and handcuffed, her mind could fly free, to dream of a world where bondage was both the norm and compulsory.


If Dolores had very little idea how long it took her to fall asleep, then the time that she spent in the land of nod was just as unknowable. But what was immediately clear to her - once she recalled where she was and why she couldn’t see, speak or move - was that she’d woken with a start. What could have caused this sudden leap from the world of fantasy back to reality? For some reason, the notion came upon her that a noise of some description had brought about this unwelcome interruption of her nap, although what could have caused this was a mystery. Maybe it was the curtains fluttering in the breeze, or the cooing of one of the many doves or pigeons that seemed to find the balcony outside her window an agreeable place to perch. But for some reason, Dolores got the impression that it was something other than these mundane sounds that had awakened her. And, although she had no grounds for this notion, the thought entered her head that something was not quite as it should have been in her private sanctuary. In fact, as she lay still, listening intently, the impression that she wasn’t alone, and that someone was watching her from close quarters, grew more powerful as the seconds ticked by. But that was absurd. No one could possibly be in the room with her now...could they?

Even so, this feeling of unease continued to gain momentum, until she found herself turning her head to one side and letting a muffled “who’s there?” issue from behind her gag. For a second or two there was only silence,  and she was just on the point of sighing with relief and castigating herself for being so stupid, when a noise - to her right and very close at hand – made her ears prick up and a shiver rush down her spine. Unlike those spasms of earlier, however, these involuntary tremors owed nothing to pleasure, but instead stemmed from a rampant fear that suddenly took hold of her. She was just about to attempt to roll over to face the direction from which this sound had emanated, however, when the bedding close to her suddenly dipped down, and a second later the blindfold was being ripped away from her head with some force.

It took a second or two for her eyes to adjust to the comparative brightness of the bedroom after the blackness she had become accustomed to, but when she did, the sight that greeted her caused her to blink in disbelief, and a spontaneous squeak of surprise to spring forth from her lips. This just couldn’t be happening. Surely she must still be dreaming...although the fact that everything else about the situation appeared so lifelike, informed her that this was most definitely not an illusion or hallucination.

For there, leaning over her, only a few inches from her face, was Saskia. In one hand she held a pair of scissors, whilst in the other a small key, to which was attached a loosely hanging piece of string maybe five or six inches in length, could be seen. On her face, Dolores detected a gloating smile of satisfaction.

“Well now Dolores. It looks like there’s been a shift in the balance of power, doesn’t it?”

Although she knew they were otherwise detained at that moment, Dolores found herself screaming for her three latex-clad servants to come to her aid. Her hope was that, with her assailant oblivious to her underlings’ current state of incapacity, she might take fright and flee; fearing suddenly being outnumbered three to one. But if Saskia did have any such reservations, then she kept them well hidden. In fact, as Dolores gazed up from her prone position, it occurred to her that Saskia was quite enjoying this sudden discovery of supremacy that she had over the Mistress. 

“You know something Dolores? I don’t think anybody’s going to be able to hear you. I already checked the door and I know it’s locked from the inside, which leads me to believe that you didn’t want anyone to know about your sad little solitary game. So nobody’s going to suddenly come rushing to your rescue.”

At this, Dolores pulled hard and long on the handcuffs and lunged upwards as she tried in vain to free herself from bonds that she herself had pronounced unbreakable not that long ago. Saskia laughed.

“Do you really think you’re going to get out of that without the key?”

Dolores could have decided at this point to plead for mercy, in an attempt to appeal to Saskia’s better nature. But being so used to getting her own way without the need to ask, she chose a different course of action. But far from having Saskia cowering with fear and meekly complying with her demands that she be set free immediately or face the dire consequences, Dolores’ outburst simply antagonised her adversary, who appeared to be enjoying this whole debacle more and more as the minutes went by.

“I’m sorry Dolores, but I can’t really understand what you’re saying. Is this what you’re after?”

Playfully, Saskia sat down on the edge of the bed and dangled the key from its severed length of string, only an inch or so from her enemy’s eyes. She seemed to interpret Dolores’ lunge towards this as a ‘yes’.

“Okay, if you want it, come and get it.”

Slowly, Saskia rose from the bed and sauntered nonchalantly across the room, maintaining eye contact as she went and still swinging the key provocatively where Dolores could see it. Reaching up, she placed it on top of one of the wardrobes.

“There you go. If you can reach it, you can have it. Otherwise it looks like you might be here to stay for a while, doesn’t it?”

She was just about to return back towards her now violently struggling former captor, when she realised that the wardrobe door was slightly ajar. What it was that caught her attention exactly, she wasn’t sure; maybe it was the shine of the well polished leather or latex, or the shimmer of spandex as the light from the window seeped through the tiny gap. Whatever the case, Saskia seemed compelled to open the door a bit wider. But it wasn’t the regimented line of cat-suits that held her attention for more than a few seconds, nor the equally well maintained line of high heeled boots that stood on the floor beneath. For as soon as the closet’s limited interior was revealed to her, Saskia knew that this space could be put to better use.

Quickly emptying every item of footwear out onto the carpet, Saskia peered into the semi darkened cavern, as if trying to gauge whether the space provided by this clearout was fit for the purpose she had in mind. Seemingly satisfied that it was, she walked slowly back to where Dolores still flung herself around in helpless desperation. For the first time, what could only be interpreted as a whimpered appeal for leniency issued from her, up until now, demanding mouth.  But Saskia was single-minded in her aim and paid this no attention. Leaning down, she rummaged briefly in Dolores’ suitcase, before finding what she was looking for.

Dolores screamed with despair as she saw her leather, eyeless and mouthless hood being straightened out and made ready for use. She’d worn this on several of her self-bondage missions, and knew it to be a tight fit around her skull when fully laced up. She also recalled that it resulted in an experience in total sensory deprivation, what with the padding around the area of the ears and the lack of apertures, save for those at the nostrils. Her protests went unheeded, however, as Saskia skilfully pulled the leather down over the shaking head of the remonstrating woman, as if she’d had years of practice and was an expert in such matters. With the hood in place, Dolores suddenly felt a tightness around her jaw, her cheeks, her temples and the bridge of her nose, as she envisioned Saskia wrenching the laces taut and securing them. But her continued objections to this latest affront to her authority proved futile, as the extra layer across her mouth enhanced the gag, and meant that her verbal complaints became ever more incomprehensible.

But worse was to follow for the dominatrix-turned-submissive, for seconds later, she felt her arms being grabbed and her elbows forced together, before the latter were treated to a lasso of rope which constricted painfully and was soon cinched and knotted to ensure that there was no way it would come loose, no matter how hard she twisted and turned in her fury.

“So Dolores, how does it feel now that the tables have turned? Not quite so self-assured now, are you?”

Dolores let out a wail, both of discontent and fury. But it cut no ice with Saskia, who was clearly relishing the power she now wielded, and was intent on teaching her erstwhile captor a lesson she wouldn’t forget – or indeed get out of – in a hurry.

Dolores felt Saskia’s hands grasp her upper arms and drag her slowly across the bedding. Once the edge was reached, however, she suddenly felt her head tip forwards, and for a split second she experienced a dizzying sensation as she plunged downwards. The descent to the floor was only a couple of feet however, and her rendezvous with the carpet was softened by the fact that Saskia still held her at the shoulders.  Now she found herself once more being dragged in her hog-tied helplessness across the plush rug that spanned the area between bed and wardrobe. The ropes around her breasts rubbed against her nipples as they had when she’d been getting herself off earlier, only now, the uncertainty of her future made this a painful rather than a pleasurable process. The journey, of course, was of short duration, and Dolores had already guessed her destination and the fate that the now zealous Saskia had in store for her.

 Lifting the screaming bundle that was Dolores into the sturdy wooden cupboard proved a difficult operation for Saskia, as her opponent put up a fierce show of resistance and tried everything within her severely restricted powers to hinder her impending entombment. But Saskia now had the bit between her teeth, and wasn’t going to be stopped by the fact that her captive was bucking and writhing in her agitation and rage. Curses promising revenge also proved no deterrent, and after a few seconds, Saskia had her prisoner where she wanted her.  The door slamming shut soon informed Dolores that she was now incarcerated within the confines of her own antique furniture. Almost imperceptibly, due to the wailing and banging that emanated from the now severely chastened Mistress, a key turned in the lock.

For a minute or two, Dolores kept up her passionate fight against what she perceived as her false imprisonment. But at last, with her energy levels depleted, she was forced to take a breather. And it seemed that Saskia had been awaiting this lull in proceedings, before announcing her departure.

“Right Dolores, I’m off to find out what you’ve done with Cathy and Bethany. But don’t worry, we’ll be back later, when a decision will be made about what we’re going to do with you. Until then, I hope you now begin to appreciate what it feels like to be tied up without hope of escape or rescue...I do so hope that you’re enjoying the whole experience!”

© Copyright 2019 Steve Spandex. All rights reserved.


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