Daddy was absolutely livid when he collected me from the Police Station. Daddy’s lawyer made the charges go away but Daddy made it very clear that there would be consequences and a girl can’t exactly argue when her Daddy controls the purse strings.
Daddy was absolutely livid when he collected me from the Police Station. Daddy’s lawyer made the charges go away but Daddy made it very clear that there would be consequences and a girl can’t exactly argue when her Daddy controls the purse strings.
That was why I obediently rang the doorbell of a large but otherwise nonde*********** house in Mayfair. The highly polished front door was opened by a woman about ten years my senior. She had short brown hair and was dressed in black – baggy, military style trousers and a sweatshirt with heavy black boots. She was not a large woman but she moved with that confidence which signals someone who can look after herself.
I gave my name and she stood aside so that I could enter. We went through an opulent entrance hall and into a room which came as a shock. It was a total contrast to the entrance in that it was pretty bare. There were blinds drawn over the windows although enough daylight seeped through so that we could see. The walls were painted green and there were three very cheap wooden chairs and a small wooden table. There was a low wooden cupboard against the wall with two doors like one which our cook had used to store things in the kitchen.
I may as well call the woman Ms Black. She explained my situation to me.
“We are a small and very discreet private company which provides special services for wealthy clients – specifically wealthy parents who do not wish their family name to be dragged through the courts but who, equally, do not wish their progeny to escape the consequences of their actions.
“Your being here indicates that you have promised your parent or guardian that you will abide by all of our rules for as long as it is deemed necessary for you to be bound to our terms. We are now at the very last point where you may simply turn around and leave. If you voluntarily choose to submit to our regime we will expect total compliance and failure to provide that will result in the cancellation of our contract with your guardian who will then impose on you his own penalty which will probably result in a very large reduction in your income and therefore your lifestyle. Do you understand this and do you voluntarily agree to comply with our regime?”
I think she was using the word “voluntary” in her own special way but I really had no choice. I mumbled a Yes and she made me repeat it just so that all was clear.
“You need to remove all jewelry and any hair clips, slides or similar items and place them on the table.”
Despite her being not much taller than me she somehow seemed to tower over me and I did not like the way that her eyes were so fixed upon me. It was very dehumanizing to comply with her order but my hair was soon hanging completely free and I felt naked without my watch, rings and necklace. If only that had been the end of it.
“Please remove all your clothing and fold it neatly in a single pile on the table.”
Surely she was just testing me to see what I would do. I asked her what she meant – OK, I know that sounds stupid but it is what I said.
“My instruction was clear and so was my earlier explanation of the consequences of any dissent. I am going to do you a favor and forget that you just dissented but, in your own interests, you need to comply very swiftly.”
She was talking like a robot. She had definitely worked in some official position because all officials learn that technique. The purpose is to let you know that you are totally helpless and there is nothing which you can do or say which will deflect them from following their procedure. She was almost certainly a dyke but she was not a man so I undressed in as businesslike a way as I could; that left me feeling unnaturally cold and extremely vulnerable with my hands doing their best to provide essential cover.
Ms Black told me to turn all the way around which I did under her gaze. She then opened one of the cabinet doors and I saw a pile of pale grey folded clothing. My jailor took out the top item which proved to be a cheap tracksuit with trousers and top folded one inside the other; she placed it on the table and told me to get dressed.
I was grateful to have some clothing and decided that it would be unwise to ask for underwear. I have never used a tracksuit as pajamas but I believe that is not uncommon. The fabric was cheap and devoid of any logos or branding. I would have welcomed some shoes.
Ms Black now took a pair of shiny, chrome handcuffs from a pocket and, sharply, demanded that I hold my hands in front of me. This was not my first time in handcuffs as the police had cuffed my hands behind me so very recently, before loading me into their car for my terrifying drive to the Police Station. I tried to console myself that hands cuffed in front was a small mercy for which I could be grateful.
“Sit up on the table.”
What was she going to do now? I sat on the table with my bare feet dangling and I watched her take a pair of what were obviously leg shackles from the cupboard. I was horrified as I silently watched her shackle my ankles. I had seen this in American movies and even news reports on the US courts but never imagined I would actually encounter such a medieval device.
“On your feet and through the door.”
She followed me through a door, not the one we had come in by, which took us into a narrow passageway between what I imagine had once been pantries. All the wooden side doors had a small square aperture at eye height. She opened one door and indicated that I should enter the cell which is what it turned out to be. The walls were painted dark grey and the room was about six feet square and windowless; all it contained were an old fashioned iron bedframe bearing a blue plastic mattress (probably bought from a camping shop), a plastic bucket and a toilet roll. There was a plastic water bottle on the bed.
“How long will I be in….?”
She shut the door and I heard the click of the lock. My only light was the electric light in the passageway coming in through the hole in the door. I sat on the slippery mattress and could not help looking at the bucket whose purpose was all too obvious. Very soon, I got tired of sitting up and lay prone on the mattress which made a sort of plasticky creaking sound with every slight movement. My hands cuffed together in front of me meant that I had to keep them in an awkward and uncomfortable position and cuffs and leg irons between them meant that I jingled when I moved.
I was even more miserable than I had been back in my police cell because then I knew that Daddy and his lawyer were riding to my rescue. In my present position there would be no rescue and it was my own Daddy who was, indirectly, forcing my discomfort upon me.
At intervals the face of Ms Black would appear in the glassless window in the door and briefly stare silently at me. I very quickly lost all sense of time and, with nothing to do, I was soon overcome with boredom. With my hands in the position that they were, they, of their own accord, wormed their way down the front of my elasticated trousers as I sought what comfort I could. At one point, I was rubbing away quite vigorously as Ms Black made one of her spying visits at the door. It felt like being caught by your mum in your bedroom at home.
I was definitely there for many hours with no food at all and I took gulps from the water bottle, just tap water, more or less for something to do. In his list of complaints against me, Daddy had made it very clear that, had I gone to court, I would probably have faced five years in jail. I tried to imagine five years in a cell but, in prison, I would presumably have been getting out of the cell to eat and exercise. And I would probably not be alone but that could be a false blessing – how would I cope with a cellmate who was perhaps violent or maybe even a killer? And would it just be one cellmate? With bunks, there could be three cellmates all preying on sheltered, innocent me.
Eventually the water bottle was almost empty and my need to pee was becoming irresistible. I really did not want to use that bucket and had hoped that I may be out of the cell before it became necessary but I suspected that I was deliberately being kept in the cell so that I had to humiliate myself in that way by dropping my trousers and squatting over the bucket. After that, I had to endure the stink of my own urine as it filled the cell.
I was dozing when I was awoken by the sound of the key in the lock. Ms Black strode into the cell and curtly ordered me to sit on the bed with my feet up on the bed in front of me. I obeyed and she removed my shackles before telling me to stand up with my arms in the air. She stood behind me and, in an instant, had grabbed both sides of my waistband and yanked my trousers down leaving me exposed.
“Step out!”
Feeling extremely vulnerable and humiliated, I kicked off my trousers and stood still for her to bend down and reattach the shackles. Her head was a few inches from my pussy.
“Pick up the bucket and come with me.”
I stood aghast. She wanted me to go out into the passageway with most of my assets on open display and I had no idea of who may be out there. But her stance made it plain that she was not open to debate so, miserably, I picked up the bucket and allowed her to escort to me a lavatory where I disposed of the contents and washed out the bucket under a tap. She then pointed along the corridor and followed closely behind me as I did a sort of penguin walk which was all I could manage in my shackles.
When we reached a particular door she ordered me to stop and she knocked on the door; a definitely male voice bade us enter. Ms Black opened the door and stood back for me to go first. I stopped dead as soon as I was in the room and Black actually walked into my back pushing me forward.
He was aged in his forties with a smart, short haircut. He was clean shaven and you might almost say baby-faced – like Tony Blair used to be. He wore casual trousers in a sort of beige and a white shirt with one of those modern lightweight jackets which was unfastened.
He was standing between a tall X frame with leather cuffs attached and a lower piece of furniture which could only be a whipping block, not that I had seen one before.
He addressed me by name in perfect, cultured English and explained that the state would have taken five years to punish me but it was much better for me if they could cram five years into a few hours spread over a limited time span. He made it sound so reasonable. Mr No Name waved a hand towards the block and nodded at Ms Black who grabbed me by the forearm and pushed towards the horrible looking item.
I was supposed to be compliant but my instincts apparently did not know that so I froze. My feet would not move and my head was shaking from side to side.
She again used that well practice voice of command and increased her pressure on my arm.
“Get yourself over that block right now.”
The woodwork was cold against my lower belly as Ms Black knelt at the front of the block and dragged on my cuffed hands so that I slid forward. She removed my handcuffs and began strapping my wrists into the leather cuffs on the back of the block.
Now that I was face down and helpless, it was easy for her to remove my shackles and cuff each ankle to the side of the whipping block. I was stretched as far as I could go and my labia felt extremely vulnerable and exposed. My binding was completed by the application of a wide leather strap over my back which forced my body down against the woodwork and flattened my boobs beneath me. My hair hung over my eyes so all I could see was a view of the floorboards about two feet in front of me.
With my somewhat restricted field of vision, I did not see him pick up the cane but I did feel it rest very gently across both buttocks. He deliberately increased my tension level by stroking the cane back and forth and by applying light taps which caused me to cry out, not in pain, but in fear of what was bound to come.
And then the cane lifted off and I heard it swish through the air before it struck with excruciating force. It was my natural reaction to buck at the pain but I could not move an inch so all I did was to pull against the straps. He did not pause between strokes; they lashed down again and again and I was squealing so hard that my throat hurt. I could feel tears gushing down my face as I somehow managed to sob and scream at the same time. Snot was tickling my face as it ran from my nose and I saw silver strings going down to the floor. There was no possibility of counting; the strokes merged into one long agony and each one ratchetted up the pain level until I was certain that I could not bear one more stroke and yet they just kept landing on and on.
I have no idea how long it lasted but I guess it was bound to end at some point. When the strokes stopped landing my ass still kept hurting just as if it were still being hit and then every nerve ending fired off again as I felt a hot hand between my legs. He (I suppose it was him and not her) was not at all gentle and the fingers dug into my flesh as he groped my softest parts and then began to invade inside me with the side of the hand rubbing my sensitive clitty and provoking the obvious reaction. Apart from anything else, he was really messing with my mind in that I was still in pain and now primitive pleasure was being added to the mix. The two conflicting emotions almost crashed my whole hard drive and I was aware that I was groaning like a lover even though I hated being so roughly handled. It would be nice if I could give some really de***********ive English but the whole thing was just bloody ghastly!
I felt my ankles released from their leather cuffs and then something cold and metallic was against my left leg and sliding upwards. I felt hands at my legs and probing between my body and the rear of the block. I made a little involuntary squeal as metal pressed right between my legs, around my waist and across my buttocks and there was a slight click.
The strap over my back came away and Ms Black bent down and freed my wrists and told me to stand up which proved to be a very slow and awkward process with every muscle in my body complaining after my caning. When I was finally upright and resting one hand on the block for support, I was horrified to see that I had a narrow chain locked around my waist. It was being dragged downwards at the front by another chain of the same silver metal going down and between my legs where a small grill was against my vagina and being dragged inwards by the tension on the chain. It was a bit like a thong but, instead of a single chain at the rear, it had two chains coming off the grill and up over my cheeks to connect to the waist chain. The waist chain was resting on the top of my pelvis so there was no way of pulling it down and off. Bending and looking underneath myself where nice girls don’t look, I realized that the grill would permit liquid to flow out of me but was in fact a chastity belt preventing myself or anyone else from accessing my opening. The whole thing was secured by a small padlock against the small of my back. Ms Black supplied an explanation.
“Your father felt that your sexual exploits were involving you with some people likely to pull you from the straight and narrow so, as you see, such things will not be possible for a while. You will notice that the plate underneath has slightly rounded edges for comfort and you will be able to use panty liners when needed just as normal. We do have a version with very tiny spikes which are too small to pierce the skin but just sharp enough to cause a little discomfort.”
I asked how long I would be in the horrid thing and she spoke as if we were discussing a simple bandage or wrist support.
“Well, let’s try it for a week to see how it goes. We’ll book you in to come and see us the same time next week. You can get dressed now and go back to your lodgings and we’ll see you next week.”
My clothes were on a table set against the wall and I dressed under her eyes still aching and stinging and pondering a whole week without so much as a touch. What was I going to tell Alec?