Author's Note: All Catherine wanted, after a hard day's work, was to get home and have a nice hot bath.
But instead her cab ride home turned into a nightmare from which there seemed to be no escape, and soon she was forced to reconsider exactly where 'home' might be.
The fact that the taxi took only five minutes to arrive from the time she'd phoned and requested it, should probably have warned Catherine that everything wasn't quite as it should be. However, although the cab company's receptionist had informed her that there would be a wait of around half an hour before a car would be available, Catherine thought nothing of the early appearance of her means of transport; being merely grateful that she would be getting home earlier than she'd assumed, and anxious to get a hot bath and something to eat after a busy day at the studio.
She was ten minutes or so into the journey, however, when it began to dawn on her that all might not be exactly as it appeared to be, and that something was definitely not right. The first few minutes of the ride had seemed uneventful, with Catherine concentrating on reading the scripts for the next day's show that she was due to present on the TV shopping channel that she worked for. A quick glance up from her papers, however, revealed a scene unknown to her.
Having taken this journey on numerous occasions before, she knew by now every corner and turn, every roundabout and set of traffic lights, on what should have been a half an hour or so trip to her apartment. Studying the view from the back seat of the cab, however, revealed a street scene that she didn't recognise. It took a few seconds for her brain to register that something was wrong, but even then the thought that this was anything but an honest mistake didn't immediately dawn on her. She was tired after a hard day under the studio lights, and her first thought was that her eyes were playing tricks on her, and that her brain was confused and momentarily misidentifying familiar streets and shops, thus temporarily disorientating her. Then, when after a few seconds the vista didn't suddenly reveal familiar landmarks, her thoughts turned to the driver. Did he know a different way to her home; one that she herself was oblivious to? Or had he misheard the address she'd given, and was now innocently transporting her to the wrong location?
Catherine taped on the see-through Perspex barrier that separated the front of the cab from her seat in the back.
"Excuse me. I think you're going in the wrong direction. Where are you taking me?"
She received no reply, although when she glanced up into his rear-view mirror, she noticed that he was looking directly back at her; the lack of emotion etched on his face causing Catherine to shiver involuntarily. She knocked on the screen again, only this time with more force, the staccato nature of the raps and the hint of anxiety in her voice betraying the nervousness that was beginning to manifest itself.
"Stop the car. You're going the wrong way."
Even this failed to elicit any response from the seemingly oblivious driver. But as it happened, just at that moment the car was forced to pull up at a set of traffic lights. Immediately the vehicle came to a standstill, Catherine reacted. Grabbing the door handle, she wrenched this as hard as she could, simultaneously pushing with force on the door. But for some reason it refused to open. She tried again, but the result remained the same. Sliding across to the offside door, she tried for a third time to exit the stationary vehicle. No joy on this side either. Still hoping that this was all some misunderstanding, and that he'd locked the doors for her own protection rather than some more sinister reason, she hammered on the strengthened Perspex partition.
"Excuse me. I want to get out of the car. Could you unlock the door please? I'll pay you for your wasted trip."
As she spoke, the lights changed to green and the car quickly accelerated away from the junction. There was still no evidence that the driver was paying any heed to her request, or even that he'd heard her.
By now Catherine was beginning to get frantic. Where was he taking her? What was going on here exactly? How did she put an end to a situation that was threatening to get out of control?
Her phone! Of course! Catherine fumbled around in her bag until she located her mobile. The brightly illuminated screen, however, informed her straight away that she was receiving no signal for outgoing calls, and therefore communication with a potential saviour through this medium was untenable. In frustration Catherine threw the phone down on the seat beside her. Was this just a bad area for reception, or had her abductor - for that was how she was beginning to perceive the driver of this seemingly bogus taxi - somehow blocked the signal? She had no way of knowing, but realised that, if phoning for assistance was a non starter, then she would simply have to revert to more physical methods to fashion her escape.
She tried the door again, even though the car was now going at considerable speed. Banging with her fists on the screen that separated her from the front of the cab, Catherine could no longer contain her panic.
"Hey, what are you doing? Let me out of here! If this is some sort of joke, then it's not very funny."
Gazing out into the night, Catherine desperately scoured the nearly deserted street in search of someone who might be able to help her; somebody she could in some way reveal her distress to, in order that they might come to her aid. The view outside was still of an area unfamiliar to Catherine, which, judging by the boarded up shop-fronts and graffiti-strewn walls, with dark alleyways running off the ill-lit streets, seemed to be in a rundown part of town. Despite the steady traffic, there appeared to be no pedestrians around tonight. And those members of the public in vehicles were too immersed in negotiating the traffic to notice a frantic female trying to exit a moving taxi. But just as she was beginning to despair, another junction with traffic lights was reached, and this time a car pulled up right beside the one Catherine so desperately wished to get out of. It was now or never; she just had to alert the unsuspecting occupant of this other vehicle to her plight. Beating on the window, Catherine began waving her arms in order to get the driver's attention. Unfortunately, he seemed distracted by something on his phone at that moment, and failed to heed the fact that there was a damsel in distress only a couple of yards away from where he sat. And after two or three seconds of this futile attempt at attention seeking, Catherine's despair deepened, as her fake chauffeur seemed to cotton on to what she was trying to do.
In a flash the bogus cab driver flicked a switch on his dashboard, and immediately Catherine found herself shut off in a world of darkness as heavy metal shutters crashed down all around her, blocking off the two side windows at the rear of the car, as well as the back windscreen. Another sheet of steel directly in front of the now nearly hysterical woman also crashed into place at the exact same moment, blocking off her view to the front of the cab, and in effect sealing her into a windowless container from which there was no escape.
Catherine screamed for all she was worth, banging in vain on the sturdy steel panelling that had cut her off from the outside world. Kidnapped! The word kept running around in her head. Must get out of here! This was her only conviction at that moment. But how, when all the exits had been sealed and every channel of communication with the rest of humanity had been blocked off?
What's going to happen to me? This was the foremost question running through the stricken woman's mind as the car sped onwards. And at least in this regard she was soon to receive an answer. Albeit one pertaining only to the immediate future.
After what must have been five minutes or so since she had been sealed within her moving prison, the vehicle slowed down and came to a halt. Seconds later, the sound of heavy doors being opened filled the air, before the car moved slowly forwards again, passed over what sounded like a metal ramp or threshold, and once more came to a halt. With the shutting off of the engine, the sound of the driver disembarking from the cab was followed by a minute or more of silence from outside. Needless to say, Catherine soon decided to fill this aural void by letting anyone within earshot know of her unhappiness at the way she'd been taken captive against her will and her continued confinement. If there was anyone still out there to hear her, however, their sentiments on her plight appeared to be less than sympathetic, as the help she so desperately craved failed to materialise.
But suddenly Catherine became aware that her demands and pleas to be released were no longer the only sounds in what had become a very lonely tomb. For at that moment, a soft hissing sound reached her ears, which seemed to increase in volume as the seconds ticked by. And although unable to see anything in the darkness, Catherine got the impression that this sound had something to do with the fact that breathing was becoming difficult, and that her head was beginning to spin. It had to be gas of some description being pumped into the car! Was she being killed; poisoned by carbon-monoxide or some such noxious substance? If this thought had the effect of upping her efforts to get out of the car, the consequence of inhaling the incoming odourless gas that now immersed her had exactly the opposite effect, and within seconds Catherine knew no more; her body slumped across the back seat of the car, her mind having drifted away into a world of its own.
When Catherine regained consciousness, she at first had no recollection of her abduction and no idea where she was. But as the memory of her enforced trip in the locked car began to return, her thoughts were superseded by other, far more pressing concerns. For example, why couldn't she move? Why was everything in darkness? Why, when she tried to call out, did only muffled sounds emanate from her mouth? As her brain gradually clicked into gear, and more sensory images began to flood her mind, the realisation that something was desperately wrong began to take hold.
Catherine found herself lying face down on what seemed to be a wooden floor. Her arms had forcibly been pulled together behind her back and were held there by some unbreakable packing agent that felt like a tight leather sheath which enveloped her limbs from the shoulders downwards. And this tight tunnel of uncompromising fabric seemed to also cover her hands, which had obviously been deliberately clenched into fists prior to her arms being inserted within the constraining cul-de-sac; the upshot being that Catherine was unable to stretch her hands or fingers out to their full capacity. Pressure around her wrists and elbows also suggested that some form of restraint -straps or belts maybe? - had been secured around these areas, in order to enhance the restrictive properties of the durable sleeve. More straps, it seemed, also circled her upper arms and torso, ensuring that she had no way of moving the former away from the latter.
But it wasn't just her upper limbs that had fallen victim to this strict binding regime. Her legs too had been brought up behind her as far as they would go, with her feet now strictly and steadfastly bound in close proximity to her wrists. As with her arms, pressure around the knees, thighs and ankles all hinted at stringent strapping holding one limb to the other. 'Hog-tied!' Catherine wasn't sure where she'd heard the term before, but something told her that this epithet aptly summed up her situation at the moment.
Catherine began struggling to get free from the many bonds that encumbered her, but found that it was almost impossible to move. Attempting to slide across the floor - either left or right, forwards or backwards - proved an exhausting pastime, and after a few minutes, with only minimal progress having been made, she gave up. Where was she trying to get to anyway? She was in complete darkness and had no idea in which direction an exit might be located - if indeed such an escape route even existed. And the reason she couldn't get her bearings visually wasn't simply down to the fact that the room was in darkness. No, the blackness that stared back at her stemmed from far more sinister circumstances than simply a lack of illumination in the room. For it had become obvious that something extremely tight and stubbornly immovable had been pulled over her head and strapped, laced or in some way locked in place, ensuring that it refused to yield its grip on the flesh of her face and neck. And this strange covering, it seemed, not only obscured her eyes and kept her sightless, but also sealed her mouth and acted as a deterrent to the removal of some large piece of vile tasting fabric that had been stuffed into the cavity behind her teeth, hence her inability to vocalise with any clarity or volume. Although all was silent around her, the pressure around her ears also suggested that incoming sound would similarly by muffled to the same extent as any outgoing utterances she chose to make. It seemed from the smell pervading her nostrils, that this hood - for that was what it had to be - was manufactured from soft leather, and it was with some relief that Catherine realised that her breathing was unimpaired by this otherwise all-covering head-casing, which implied that there must at least be nasal apertures to allow the intake of air. But that seemed to be the only plus point as far as the hapless female was concerned, as the rest of the cranial sheath seemed devoid of openings or means of removing it.
But her extreme bonds and restraints weren't the only adjustments/additions to her attire since the ill-fated cab ride. For as well as the straps and leather encumbrances that held her in check, Catherine also realised that she was no longer wearing the blouse, skirt, tights and shoes she'd been brought here in. Instead her limbs and whole body seemed to have been packed snugly into a long sleeved skin-tight suit that covered her from ankles to neck. And although unable to view this one-piece outfit, Catherine was certain that she knew the nature of this garment, as she'd come across something similar once before; not that long ago, in fact. There was no mistaking it, from the sensation against her skin and the squeaking sound it made every time she moved, Catherine knew that she was encased in a figure hugging cat-suit made from finest latex.
And the reason she knew this? Well, as a matter of fact, she and some of her acquaintances and work colleagues had not long ago been cajoled into attending what a friend of a friend had called a 'fetish-wear party'. Catherine had agreed to go along, just out of curiosity, to see what this was all about. And what she discovered was a real eye opener. For on offer to purchase were all manner of whips, chains, restraints and strange instruments of torture which the more kinky members of the audience thought absolutely essential and awe-inspiring, but which simply left Catherine cold. But as well as the accessories mentioned above, certain garments were also on sale, mainly fashioned from either leather or latex. And it was one of the latex rubber cat-suits that the hostess of this weird gathering had persuaded Catherine to try on. Why she'd been picked as one of the guinea pigs to strut her stuff in this unconventional outfit, Catherine wasn't entirely sure, although she guessed that the woman running the show had taken a bit of a shine to her. "Go on" she'd coaxed "you'll never know how wonderful these outfits feel against your skin unless you try them on."
With some reluctance, and not a little self-consciousness, Catherine had squeezed herself into a black rubber cat-suit, which fitted where it touched and highlighted her curves and figure to a degree where nothing was left to the imagination. And she had to admit that the outfit was extremely comfortable, although the embarrassment of having to parade in front of so many people, both strangers and companions, made her sigh with relief once she was out of the public eye and struggling to slip out of the clinging garment.
And it was the sensation of this material on her skin now, which brought about memories of that night. But although the suit she'd modelled on that occasion was a snug fit, if anything the costume she wore now was even more extreme in its figure hugging properties, compressing as it did every square inch of her helpless body; although this could also have been a consequence of the stringently secured straps which supplemented and enhanced the feeling of being compacted by the rubber fabric. Who could have done this to her?
Catherine did her best to scream for assistance, but she knew that there was very little chance of anyone rushing to her aid. And in this respect she was proved correct, although her stifled, pathetically inadequate outburst did result in someone visiting her lonely prison. But it quickly became apparent that the person who arrived to check on what all the commotion was about had little inclination to heed her pleas for release.
A door - somewhere directly in front of where she lay - creaked slowly open, followed by a sound that Catherine recognised as high heeled shoes clicking on the wooden floor only inches from her head. Immediately the footsteps seemed to begin circling her, as if checking her out from every available angle. Catherine waited for the new arrival to speak, but when after half a minute or so - and two or three circuits of her helplessly bound form - no attempt at communication had been forthcoming, she decided that there was nothing for it but to break the ice herself. The gag, however, made coherent speech a rather difficult and clumsy prospect.
"Who are you? What do you want from me?"
There followed an interlude of several seconds, during which time Catherine wondered whether her muffled enquiries had been comprehensible. But just as she was about to try again, her visitor chose to break her silence, and it was clear that Catherine's questions had indeed been understood.
"Welcome Catherine. I think you already know who I am. As for what I want from you, I think it's probably a case of what you need from me that's of more relevance."
This last cryptic remark made no sense to the trapped and frightened woman, and although the voice did have a slightly familiar ring to it, Catherine was left racking her brain in an effort to remember where she'd encountered this woman before. But for now her thoughts were on far more serious matters, such as getting out of this whole sorry mess that she'd become unwillingly embroiled in. Once more her stifled cries for help seeped feebly through her gag.
"Please untie me! I want to go home!!"
Despite the suppressed nature of the message, the woman seemed to get the general gist of Catherine's plea. Her reply, however, offered the stricken woman very little comfort.
"Home? But Catherine, from now on this is your home."
Part 2 (added: 2020/11/09)
“This is your home”!!! The phrase that her slowly pacing captor had uttered with such carefree abandon kept repeating over and over in Catherine’s head, and drove an already desperately unhappy woman into a state of hysterics. Pulling as hard as she could on her bonds, Catherine found herself screaming uncontrollably into her gag, as the enormity of the situation hit her like a sledgehammer. The fact that she made no headway in her search for release, of course, spoke volumes about how thoroughly efficient the preparation and application of her bonds had been; her captor or captors ensuring that, when sheer panic did set in – as they’d obviously realised it would – all avenues of escape had been shut off.
Catherine had been in a state of terrified shock up to now, but the news that this place – wherever it might be – was to be her new residence, brought the grim reality of her circumstances into full focus. Home: The word had a finality about it; a permanence which suggested that she was here to stay...possibly forever. Or put simply, that she might never again be allowed to relinquish her status as a captive. But if her mystery kidnapper was in any way sympathetic to Catherine’s pleas, she failed to show it. For despite her bound and clearly petrified victim begging for mercy and appealing for freedom, the voice reaching Catherine’s ears betrayed no emotion as she began to explain her plans for the coming days.
“Why all the screaming and crying Catherine? The impression I got was that you enjoy tight bondage, so this should be right up your street. Or maybe you’re repressing your true feelings on the subject. No matter. If you’re not already enamoured by the sensation of being held in tight restraint 24/7, you’ll soon grow to appreciate what it feels like after a few days, I’m sure. And once you do, you’ll wonder how you managed to survive all these years without that wonderful feeling which only strict and inescapable bondage can create.”
The clicking heels stopped close to Catherine’s leather encased head.
“Or am I reading the signs wrong? Perhaps this show of resistance is just role play? If it is, you’re very good at it, I must say.”
Catherine thought she detected a hint of amusement in the woman’s voice, as she wriggled and tugged at her infuriatingly unyielding bonds; attempting at the same time to assure her kidnapper that this certainly wasn’t play-acting and that she really had no desire to stay trussed up this way a moment longer. Once again, however, her beseeching appeals fell on deaf ears.
“So now that you’re mine, I thought we could experiment to find out the limits of your bondage endurance. And if you really are genuine in your desire to leave now, I can assure you that, once you’ve been here a while, and you’ve experienced a few bondage techniques and taken part in some of the games and assignments which I’ve devised, you’ll be more than content to stay here indefinitely.”
This reiteration of her evil intentions had Catherine screaming out her objections, stating firmly and forcefully that this would never be the case. But the woman’s self-belief seemed to be such that it manifested itself in a confidence bordering on arrogance, in the complete certainty that her methods were the one true path to enlightenment.
“I know that it’s difficult to get your head around at the moment Catherine, but I’m certain that soon you’ll change your point of view. And when you do, these screams of distress will be transformed into squeals of gratitude for introducing you to a new, exciting way of life. When that happens, the last thing you’ll be craving is to be set free. You’re in denial at the moment Ms Huntley, but it won’t be long before you see the light...figuratively speaking, of course.”
It was as she spoke these words that the clicking heels recommenced their pacing. Only now it seemed that they were moving away from Catherine, in the direction from which they had originally arrived. And it soon became apparent that those retreating footsteps heralded the woman’s departure.
“Anyway Catherine, that’s all in the future. For now I’m going to grant you a few hours of solitude, to enable you to get better acquainted with your attire and those wonderful restraints. Then when I return we’ll begin your initiation process. Until then, try to get some rest.”
And with that, the closing of a door and the turning of a key signalled the end of this very one sided conversation, and left Catherine yelling and bellowing with all her might that this was inhumane, and that she demanded to be released immediately. But it was no good. Her captor had gone, and her cries simply echoed around the room which, it seemed, was to be her prison cell for at least the foreseeable future.
Catherine did everything within her powers to free herself from the leather sheaths and straps that held her in check. But unfortunately for her, she had been left very little ‘wiggle room’, and she found propelling herself across the floor a tiresome, energy-sapping activity. Even changing position and flopping onto her side proved impossible. And with the claustrophobic hood refusing to budge even a fraction of an inch, no matter how much she rubbed her head against the floor, Catherine felt that her whole world had collapsed and that she had descended into hell.
How long she languished there she wasn’t entirely sure, although it seemed, to the fearful and powerless woman, to be many a long hour. Finally, however, she heard the key turning in the lock. In her deluded state, she initially decided that this must be the cavalry come to save her; some knight in shining armour come to pluck this damsel in distress from the clutches of the evil witch who had incarcerated her. But of course, this was merely wishful thinking, and the sound of the woman’s voice – so familiar yet annoyingly impossible to identify – brought Catherine crashing back down to earth with a depressing bump.
“Catherine! So nice of you to have hung around all this time. I expect you’re eagerly anticipating what’s in store for you now, aren’t you?”
Despite knowing that all efforts at negotiation were useless, Catherine tried to reason with her captor; attempting to transmit the information that, if she was released now, she promised not to call the police or tell anyone at all about being held against her will. The woman, however, was unmoved by this stab at diplomacy.
“Oh dear Catherine. You still haven’t quite taken on board the fact that you’re here to stay, have you?”
This latest restating of the permanence of her situation acted as the final straw which caused Catherine to scream hysterically.
“WHO ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”
There followed the sound of squeaking latex close to Catherine’s face, and when the woman spoke again, her voice seemed so close that Catherine guessed that her captor was either kneeling or sitting down beside her.
“You really have no idea who I am, do you Catherine? Perhaps this will refresh your memory.”
Catherine felt fingers gently unbuckling a strap located around her neck, followed by the loosening of the strictly fitting leather from her face and head. For a second or two she concluded that the woman must have at last come to her senses, and that this was the start of the release process. But any brief moment of optimism was quickly shown to be a fantasy construct of her subconscious mind; a chimera or will-o'-the-wisp phenomenon which soon faded once the hood was removed and her eyes adjusted to the relative brilliance of a single bulb of low wattage after her extended sojourn in blackness.
The first sight that greeted her, as her eyes refocused, was of something black and shiny only inches from her face. And within a second or two, this image began to move, and the helpless woman averted her gaze upwards; no easy operation given the severe movement limitations imposed by her bonds. What she saw shocked here. For there, crouching right in front of her, was the form of a slim woman clothed in skin-tight latex from the neck downwards; much like the outfit she was being forced to wear, she guessed. High heeled leather boots with multiple straps, buckles and zips adorned her legs almost to the knee. But what really made Catherine gasp with surprise, and not a little fear, was the recognition of the face that peered down at her; an evil smile bursting from ruby red lips which, when parted, revealed a set of brilliant white teeth. All of a sudden the reason that the voice had sounded familiar was brought home to her. Those deep brown – almost black – eyes; that pale complexion offset by long flocking locks of jet-black hair which cascaded around her shoulders. It just couldn’t be! But it was!
Catherine squirmed in her bonds as she tried to move away from the woman who had been hosting that kinky fetish-wear party that she’d attended; the same one who had persuaded her to try on, then model for the assembled masses, a latex cat-suit similar – if not identical – to the one she now found herself forcibly rigged out in. What did she call herself? Mistress Angela or something of the kind.
“Now do you remember me Catherine, my darling? That’s right, I’m the one that caught you examining the merchandise with fascination at my little fetish-wear soirée. I’m the one who persuaded you to pour yourself into that cat-suit and parade in front of everyone. You seemed to quite enjoy yourself, I recall.”
The events of that evening now came flooding back to Catherine – only too vividly. She remembered that, although the items which reminded her of medieval instruments of torture were alien to her, she had handled some of the merchandise – with detached fascination - such as a pair of handcuffs and a contraption that was labelled as a ‘single sleeve arm binder’. And as she did so, she’d noticed that the woman running the show was watching her with a knowing smile on her face. Catherine had immediately placed the items back on the display rack once she realised that she was being scrutinised; a flush of embarrassment coming over her. She didn’t want anyone to think that she was in any way interested in such perverse forms of entertainment. But it appeared this was exactly what had happened. And that the person who saw her inspecting the metal restraints and leather ligatures had not only misread the situation, but also turned out to be a total psychopath! It was the same unhinged woman who now stretched out a hand towards Catherine’s face, her long black-painted fingernails flitting before Catherine’s wide, terrified eyes. Gently she lifted her prisoner’s chin and fixed her with a steely stare.
“I saw how you pretended to be embarrassed by the cat-suits and other paraphernalia that were on display. And I know you acted coyly and feigned disinterested in the handcuffs and leather restraints. But I could see right through that little charade. And what I saw was a woman who was fascinated beyond belief with the concept of bondage and latex clothing. But you wouldn’t admit it then ...even to yourself, I suppose. So I’ve been forced to take these extraordinary measures to help you discover your true self. Hopefully you’ll soon see the light and come to appreciate what you’ve been missing all your life.”
Catherine shook her head vigorously and tried to impart the message that this simply wasn’t the case, and that she entertained no desire – either now or in the past – to cross the threshold into this strange world of restraint and rubber. And seconds later it was to become easier to convey her thoughts on the matter, as the woman’s fingers strayed up to her captive’s lips and began to draw the tightly packed wad of material from her mouth. But if Catherine thought that this gesture was made in order to more clearly listen to and consider her appeal for clemency, then she was once more going to experience bitter frustration.
With the obstruction removed, Catherine was able to identify the nature of the gag as a pair of black tights, which her subjugator held up before her.
“Recognise these Catherine? These are the tights you were wearing when you arrived here. You’ll be having no use for them in the traditional sense anymore, as your legs will be encased in tight latex from now on - much more hardwearing and durable than these flimsy things.”
The Mistress seemed to be getting into her stride now; enjoying the sound of her own voice and relishing the mental anguish her words were causing.
“But I don’t like seeing things going to waste. After all, nowadays we’re being told that we need to recycle everything we can to save the planet. So I think you’ll agree that I’m being a responsible citizen by reusing your redundant hosiery as a makeshift gag. When scrunched up into a ball, they’re just about the right size to fill your mouth, and their sound stifling properties are extremely efficient when used in tandem with the hood, wouldn’t you agree?”
Catherine listened to the woman’s views on the tights and her environmental concerns in a state of stunned silence for a few seconds, becoming increasingly despondent as the monologue from her opposite number became ever more smug and sneering in its nature. But now, in the short pause following this rhetorical question, she found that she could contain her anger and fear no more.
“Look, all I want is to be set free and allowed to leave here. What right do you have to hold me like this? You’re deluded if you think I want to be here. Kidnapping is a very serious offence, and you’re going to be in so much trouble when I eventually get out of here.”
A short, mocking burst of laughter issued from the Mistress’ mouth, as she once again applied her hand to Catherine’s chin and forced her helpless victim to look upwards into her eyes. On this occasion, however, the grip was much tighter, with the fingernails biting deeply and painfully into her flesh. When she spoke again, there was a hint of rage in her voice which had not been there before.
“Get out of here? And how exactly are you going to do that? You think you can escape, perhaps? Well let me assure you that there is no way in the world you can get free on your own. After all, you’ve been struggling for hours. But where has it got you? Absolutely nowhere.”
The grip on her face tightened still further, causing Catherine to squeal in agony.
“And if you think someone is going to just stumble upon you by chance and come to your rescue, I need to inform you that this place is secure and virtually impenetrable. Believe me, no one will ever think of looking for you in here. And the whole building is basically soundproof, so there is absolutely no point in trying to raise the alarm by screeching and wailing.”
Another grief-ridden scream of dread forced its way from Catherine’s throat, as the Mistress continued to pile more verbal misery onto her squirming prey.
“Of course, you’re probably thinking that the driver who ferried you here might have a conscience and end up spilling the beans. Well sorry to disappoint you, but he’s been very well paid for his troubles, and I have no doubt that he’ll keep his mouth shut.”
Suddenly Mistress Angela sighed, seemingly bored with discussing such matters. Her anger had by now all but subsided, and she appeared eager to concentrate on future events rather than concern herself with such trivia as her captive’s pathetic attempts at negotiating for her freedom.
“Anyway, let’s not dwell on the past. All we need worry about now is your future Catherine. Believe me, soon you’ll have no interest in your past life, and be totally committed to your new existence here as my bondage slave. We’ll start your initiation process in a few minutes. But first, I’m sure that you’d welcome a bit of liquid refreshment after having those well-worn tights stuffed in your mouth all night.”
From somewhere, the Mistress produced a bottle of mineral water. Holding it with one hand, she carefully lifted Catherine’s head up into a position from which she could sip the cool liquid. The water was a godsend to the parched woman, but this welcome break for rehydration lasted only a few seconds, before the bottle was teasingly removed again.
“That’s enough for now. We don’t want you peeing in your nice clean latex outfit, do we?”
Catherine was about to tell her abductor that it was a bit late for worrying about such things, but the reinsertion of the rolled up tights into her mouth stopped her in full flow. Shaking her head and begging for the inevitable regagging process to be cancelled had no effect, as first the tights, then the form-fitting leather hood were reinstated in their former positions, leaving Catherine once again mute and blind.
But despite this return into darkness, Catherine soon received signals which renewed her optimism. For almost immediately after her head-sheath had been secured, the Mistress’ fingers began to tinker with the strap that connected her ankles to her hands, and seconds later she was able to stretch her legs out to their full extent, as she was liberated from the vicious hog-tie. And better still, the straps that held her legs in check also started to loosen and fall away in turn; starting at her thighs, and gradually working down to the bonds at her knees and ankles.
But if Catherine thought that this release process was to be repeated with the restraints that trammelled her arms and torso, then she was to be desperately disappointed; her arms remaining in their single sleeve, with the belts binding her shoulders, elbow and wrists to her body still as stringently secured as ever. For it soon became obvious, once she had been pulled to her feet, that the release of her legs was simply a means to allow her to walk. But where were they headed? What hideous torments awaited her when they arrived at this unknown destination? To the muffled enquiry “Where are you taking me?” her captor was not forthcoming, however, instead simply grasping her by the shoulder and urging her forwards.
On extremely stiff and wobbly legs, Catherine was forced onwards, the latex of her costume compacting each leg as she moved and highlighting just how tight the cat-suit really was. Mercifully, the journey was not a long one, and she received the impression of leaving the chamber she’d been confined in and traversing a short corridor or hallway, before entering another room. The surface beneath her feet remained the same throughout, however; the rough wood suggesting bare floorboards.
Once arrived at their destination, Catherine found herself being manoeuvred to a specific location, before being gently eased down into a sitting position; the softness of the surface leading her to believe that this resting place was a bed with a soft mattress. For a few seconds she was left sitting upright, but suddenly her ankles were grabbed and the strict strapping that had bound her for all those hours made its reappearance. Catherine tried to resist the retying of her legs, but she was in no position to call the shots, and within no more than a minute the straps – four in number – were once again prohibiting her from using her lower limbs.
“Right, let’s get you settled and comfortable.”
As these words – the first the Mistress had uttered since the relocation process had commenced – echoed around the room, Catherine found her feet being lifted upwards, and before she knew what was happening, she was lying flat out and face up on the bed. Without thinking, she wriggled in her bonds, trying to get herself into a position where arms weren’t squashed painfully beneath her. Whether this was interpreted as a show of defiance that had to be eradicated, or whether the Mistress had already decided upon her course of action, would remain a moot point. All Catherine knew was that, almost immediately, her squirming motion was abruptly halted by the addition of two further bonds to the not inconsiderable array she already wore. Firstly, her feet were grabbed, and the sound of a clinking chain accompanied the wrapping of this metal fetter around, not only her ankles, but the railings at the foot of the bed as well. A clicking sound informed her that this latest affront to her liberty had been padlocked in place; a circumstance confirmed when she attempted – and failed – to move her feet more than an inch or two in any direction. And just to add insult to injury, a second chain, this one attached to a leather collar which was now being wrapped around her neck, was yanked upwards above her head and attached to the railings at the other end of the bed. Thus, when Catherine attempted to move, she found it impossible to bend her legs, sit up, or in any way move from the prone, stretched out position which she currently occupied.
She was given little time to ponder the nature of her new situation however, as events were unfolding rapidly now. All of a sudden, Catherine experienced a slackening of the belt across her chest which held her upper arms to her torso. A second or two later, the sensation of fingertips working at something close to her throat was followed by the sound of a zip being opened on the front of her latex outfit, which corresponded with an inrush of cooler air streaming across her upper body.
Catherine screamed, as the realisation that her breasts were now laid bare hit home. The Mistress, however, seemed more than pleased with the view on offer.
“Wow, look at those babies. For someone in their forties you have a great pair of tits Catherine. A woman ten years younger than you would be proud of those. Now let’s get those nipples nice and hard, shall we?”
Almost as soon as the last word had been spoken, Catherine found herself squealing and wriggling in her helplessness, as cold hands grabbed both of her breasts and began gently caressing the tender region around the areolas. But wait, what was this strange sensation that suddenly began to flow through her? As her screams turned to gasps of surprise, against all logic Catherine found her nipples stiffen and stand to attention, and she experienced a chill rushing through her that owed nothing to the coldness of the probing fingers, nor the fear that had, until recently, been her over-riding emotion. No, this was something different. For, although she was loath to acknowledge it, there was definitely something oddly fascinating and – dare she admit it? – devilishly exciting about the way her body reacted to this sensory prompt. Catherine squirmed some more, only now this, and the accompanying sound filtering through her gag, owed their genesis to a weird sense of pleasure, rather than the dread and despair of only a moment ago. Her mind whirled at this unexpected turn of events. Intrigued by the sensations coursing through her, the rational part of her brain informed her that she should be repulsed by these strange feelings. But if she assumed that this was the only shock in store for her, she was soon to be hit with a second, even more powerful, bombshell.
After a minute or two, the teasing hands ceased working their devious magic on Catherine’s flesh, and complete silence ensued for a short period, as she awaited the Mistress’ next move with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Then the sound of a zip being either fastened or undone briefly broke the uneasy stillness, followed almost straightaway by a sound that she interpreted as one of the Mistress’ boots being discarded and clattering onto the wooden flooring. But why would she be taking off her footwear? The answer was swift in coming and earth-shattering in its effect on Catherine’s already confused mind and disorientated body.
Abruptly, with no warning given, Catherine experienced the sensation of something being eased into the narrow gap between her tightly strapped thighs. It took her maybe five seconds or so to comprehend what was going on, but as the mystery object gradually worked its way upwards into her unsuspecting crotch, the recognition that this intruding item was a human hand suddenly hit her.
No, wait a second, not a hand but a foot; seemingly, by the soft swishing sound it made against the latex suit, clad in either tights or stockings. Too stunned to react to this intrusion of the most intimate section of her anatomy, Catherine felt the Mistress wiggle her toes as she continued to push upwards, before beginning a rhythmic gliding motion, focused upon the shocked woman’s most sensitive region. Catherine gasped and tried to cry out, but as the slow jerking movements increased in intensity, the most wonderful sensation rushed through her whole body and she found herself bucking in time to the tantalising toes that seemed to be getting more intimate by the second. There was no going back now, even if she’d wanted – or been capable of – putting a halt to this simulation of the sexual act, and within seconds, Catherine experienced the most powerful, beautiful, earth-shattering orgasm that she’d had in years – if ever. Moaning with unadulterated delight, Catherine thrust herself upwards as high above the bed as her bonds would allow, and found herself begging her captor for more. But within seconds she felt the foot retract - its work done – and, with her energies spent, she fell back onto the mattress, breathing heavily. As if in a daze, she heard the Mistress retrieve her boot and zip it back up again.
“Well Catherine, I assume from the noises you were making that this little demonstration of what fun you can have when you’re bound and gagged was to your liking...”
She didn’t wait for an answer of any kind before continuing.
“...But unfortunately, I can’t be here twenty four hours a day to service your insatiable cravings...”
She paused, as if, having broadcast this piece of devastating news, she was about to counter it with a satisfactory remedy to the problem.
“...Don’t worry though. I’m going to arrange the next best thing for you.”
As the Mistress spoke, Catherine became aware of something being fastened to the strap on her stomach which secured her arms to her back. For a second she couldn’t make out what was happening, until suddenly she felt the woman’s fingers on her abdomen, and experienced something being threaded between her legs; another strap it seemed – as if she wasn’t already encumbered enough with such things! Catherine was given no time to assess the reason for this addition to her bonds, however, for as soon as this action had been completed, she found herself being rolled over onto her stomach. Now face down, without warning the newly acquired strap suddenly tightened and wrenched upwards into her still tender pussy, before being secured in some way to the wrist area of her single sleeve mitten. With the conclusion of this task, the Mistress wrestled her bemused captive back into her previous upwards facing position.
“There, that will give you something to occupy yourself when I’m not around. All you need to do is give a little pull on that strap whenever you get bored or feel the urge to get yourself off.”
Catherine heard footsteps slowly moving away from the bed.
“And once you realise how much fun you can have with just a quick jerk of your hands, I’m certain that you won’t be hankering after your old life anymore. You’ll wonder how you ever survived this long without the wonders of bondage to enrich your existence. Within a day or so, you’ll be begging me to keep you tied up for all eternity.”
Catherine heard a door creaking as the Mistress bade her farewell.
“Anyway, I must be off now. I’ll leave you to your own devices for a few hours. Have fun experimenting with that crotch strap Catherine. I’m sure you’ll have a fabulous time getting acquainted with the joys it can provide you with when utilised correctly.”
And with these words still echoing around the room, the door slammed shut and a key turned in the lock.
For probably an hour or so, Catherine lay motionless in her utter helplessness, trying to stop her mind from spinning as she sought to take on board the momentous emotional upheaval that had recently engulfed her. She was still a prisoner, and the outlook for release appeared as bleak as it had ever been since her abduction. So why was she no longer desperate to get away? Well, simply because now there was another matter to contemplate; a new set of data that needed to be factored into the equation, which at the moment she was struggling to come to terms with. And the dilemma was that, for some unfathomable reason, after the recent episode that had seen her undergo a sexual awakening of epic proportions, she found herself no longer craving a return to her life in the outside world. Catherine tried to shrug these strange feelings off, but for some reason they simply wouldn’t go away. Surely though, this was one off; a unique experience that couldn’t and wouldn’t be replicated. But what was it Mistress Angela had advised her to do?
Tentatively, Catherine shifted the position of her hands, and found, to her astonishment and great joy, that as the strap wrenched upwards and became ultra-taut - even through the second skin of latex that she wore - the first tingling of sexual arousal shot through her. Could this really be happening again? There was only one way to find out.
Wrenching and jerking her wrists as hard as her bonds would permit, Catherine worked herself up into a frenzy, and within less than a minute reaped the rewards of her endeavours with a second explosive orgasm that sent waves of ecstasy surging through her. This was just too good to be true! Suddenly being in a state of restraint didn’t seem such a bad thing. In fact, if anything, the fact that she was bound, hooded and completely helpless seemed to enhance and add to the general feeling of well-being that now overwhelmed her.
Now she understood the wisdom of the philosophy which the Mistress was trying to impart to her. And it was becoming increasingly apparent that her captor was absolutely right. Maybe being in a state of perpetual bondage really wasn’t such a bad lifestyle choice after all.
Catherine relaxed after her energy sapping exploits and rested on the bed in a state of blissful contentment. Maybe after a few days of constant bondage and sensory deprivation, she thought to herself, her views on the matter would change, and she’d once more yearn for her freedom.
But for the time being she was quite content to remain a prisoner; to go with the flow and see what other perverse yet oddly enticing revelations the Mistress might have in her repertoire.