And The Kitchen Sink Snare Solo Pdf Viewer 3,4/5 7653votes
And The Kitchen Sink Snare Solo Pdf Viewer

Outstanding Pretty Good Average/OK Could be Better Hated It Author's Note: Deep in the heart of rural Suffolk sits a secluded mansion house; the subject of numerous rumours and tales of strange goings-on. Into this environment, three women are drawn. They have never met, but their paths are destined to converge, and their lives become inextricably entangled with.The Secrets of Shackleton Grange. Chapter 1 - Cathy The Cat Burglar Cathy scaled the perimeter wall and momentarily sat atop the high brick structure. Her eyes swiftly scanned the landscape in front of her; no trace of guard dogs roaming the overgrown lawns, no sign of security personnel or movement sensitive lighting. In fact, aside from the wall and the securely locked wrought iron gates, there was very little sign of there being any preventative measures having been put in place to deter trespassers from getting into the grounds.

And The Kitchen Sink Snare Solo Pdf Viewer

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Her gaze drifted further afield, towards the mansion house about one hundred yards in front of her. The rambling old building, with its Tudor architecture, had seen better days, but was still quite impressive, even when viewed in twilight. How many rooms were there?

There must be at least a hundred, Cathy guessed, taking into account the towers that rose at each corner above the main body of the building. Although not visible from this angle, Cathy knew - having cased the joint carefully over the past few weeks - that the house was actually built in the shape of a U, with the two arms, or wings, creating a vast courtyard at the rear. Adjacent to this, a number of outhouses, including a stable block, had been added at a later date. Set in more than a hundred acres of mainly wooded countryside, deep in the heart of rural Suffolk and more than a mile from the nearest village, Shackleton Grange retained an air of mystery about it. At one time the rural retreat of an aristocrat or lord of the realm, the present owners kept themselves to themselves and were rarely seen, even by the local populace. In fact, no one really seemed to know who lived here.

But whoever they were, they must be extremely rich, Cathy reasoned, to be able to have bought, and then maintain, such a vast estate. And it was this wealth that had acted as an incentive for her coming here tonight. The tree lined driveway up to the house could be seen away to Cathy's left, which gave way to a circular gravel-covered forecourt just in front of the main entrance, with a long disused fountain as its centrepiece, plus several ancient statues seemingly standing on sentry duty before the heavy wooden doorway.

In the moonlight, these appeared grotesque and ghostlike. The only lights in the building emanated from two ground floor windows on the far left hand side of the house.

All other windows, both at this level and on the three storeys above, were merely black rectangles against a slightly lighter background of stone. For some reason Cathy shivered. It wasn't as if the night was cold; in fact the air still retained much of the sun's heat from what had been a pleasant late spring day. So why the involuntary shudder? It couldn't be that she was nervous about breaking into country houses under the cover of darkness.

After all, she'd done it often enough. Shrugging off this strange, fleeting sensation, Cathy returned her attention to the task in hand; namely to get into the building, acquire whatever valuables she could lay her hands on, then take her leave before anyone realised that she had ever been on the premises. Dropping the eight feet or so to the ground, Cathy rolled over and quickly sprung to her feet. She looked left and right, but detected no movement in the bushes and shrubs other than that caused by the slight breeze.

Ahead of her was a wide, unbroken vista of long grass, which she would have to negotiate to reach her goal. With no cover to shield her from the view of anyone who happened to look out of one of the numerous windows directly in front of her, Cathy knew that this part of her plan was the most dangerous.

Swiftly, the lithe twenty four year old sprinted across the uneven terrain, until she was once more sheltered from the moon's illumination in the shadows of the walls that towered above her. As always on her missions to relieve the rich of their wealth, Cathy was attired in her best cat burglar outfit. This consisted of a snugly fitting black spandex cat-suit, footed and gloved, which formed a skin-tight covering from her neck downwards. A hood of the same hue and material completely covered her head, except for the small apertures cut out for her eyes, nostrils and mouth. Around her waist, Cathy wore a stout leather belt, into which she could lodge her torch and some of the smaller of her house-breaking tools. Also of leather were the flat soled, knee length boots that she wore. The only other accessory to this all black ensemble was the rucksack she carried, which not only held the tools of her trade, but also served as a convenient carrier for the jewellery, silverware, cash and various other items of value which she habitually acquired on such ventures.

For several seconds, Cathy remained motionless in the lee of the wall; staring upwards and watching for any lights or movement in the windows above. The fact that all was still, drew her to the conclusion that she had not been spotted thus far in her journey.

Taking the small torch from her belt, she shone this up at the darkened panes above her, until she thought she spied a gap between glass and frame in the corner of one first-storey window; a mere sliver which suggested that this particular casement hadn't been closed properly. Without hesitation, she began to look for a way to scale the walls up to this potential point of entry. It didn't take long to locate what she sought; a stout drainage pipe that disappeared into the darkness above her only a few feet to the right of her intended goal. Giving the ancient structure a thorough examination, to ensure that it was sturdy enough to take her weight, Cathy began to climb with the agility of the creature that gave its name to her profession - the cat. The clinging nature of her garments was of vital importance in this respect, as any clothing that could snag and tear in a situation like this would have been both a hindrance and a danger. Within seconds, Cathy had reached the level of the first floor, and had begun inching her way horizontally across the face of the wall; dicing with death as she attempted to find foot and handholds in the crumbling brickwork.

After a minute or two of intense concentration, however, she reached the window that she'd singled out as being her best chance to effect an entrance. And to her great satisfaction, she discovered that she'd been correct in her prognosis; the window had been left slightly ajar, and could easily be opened without the need to defer to her vast array of blades and picks that she normally needed to gain access. Being of great vintage, the hinges on the window squeaked loudly as Cathy slowly pulled it open. For a second or two, she held her breath, listening intently in case this disturbance of the clear night air had alerted someone to her presence on this precarious ledge.

No sound reached her spandex covered ears, however; either from within the building, or from the hushed gardens below. Now that she was so close to the window, Cathy deduced that the opening was actually not quite as large as she'd initially assumed when viewed from below. However, being slim and flexible, she began by inserting her arms into the slender gap, before pulling herself upwards and wriggling her way through the tight aperture with a minimum of fuss. Once inside, Cathy shone the thin beam of the torch around what was clearly a bedroom. The fact that a half unpacked suitcase lay open on the floor, with clothes and various other items strewn haphazardly around, led her to the conclusion that this was probably a guest room.

Of the visitor, however, there was no sign. Cathy quickly checked the wardrobe, the chest of drawers and the bedside cabinet. All were empty.

Following a quick rummage through the contents of the suitcase, and finding nothing of any real value, she decided that she was wasting her time in this room, and that richer pickings were surely to be had elsewhere in the house. The door creaked alarmingly as Cathy cautiously opened it far enough to stick her head out and make a quick reconnaissance of the corridor that led off in both directions as far as the eye could see into the murky unlit gloom. Still no sound of human presence reached her ears, which was always a good sign. So which way now, left or right? For no particular reason, Cathy chose left.

Cautiously trying the handle of the first door she encountered on her right, Cathy discovered this room to be locked. So was the second door along, as well as the one directly opposite on the other side of the passage. She was just considering whether she had perhaps made the wrong decision in coming in this direction, when a very faint disturbance of the otherwise deathly still surroundings reached her ears. Cathy froze and listened.

For several seconds there was only silence, and she was beginning to think that she had been hearing things. But suddenly there it was again; a low 'mmph' noise which suggested that someone was straining in frustration in their endeavour to achieve some task that was beyond their capabilities. Several more seconds elapsed, before the performance was replicated, only this time it sounded more like a long drawn out groan, as if someone was in pain or distress. And it was this latest outburst which allowed Cathy to pinpoint the source of the sound as coming from the next room along on the right from where she stood.

Cathy had several dos and don'ts which she always abided by when she was on a job, and one of them was not to get too curious about, or involved in, matters that didn't concern her. However, this strange noise had her intrigued. Placing her ear close to the door, she waited for the sound to be repeated. She didn't have long to wait, as the low wailing seemed to come now at regular intervals. Cathy reached for the handle, then baulked at the idea of trying to enter. Whoever or whatever was responsible for the commotion within, it was none of her business.

But on the other hand, what if someone was in trouble - ill or injured perhaps - and really did need help? Cathy pushed down on the handle, finding this door to be unopenable, just like all the others. However, the illuminating finger of light from her torch caught a glint of something metallic just below her fingers, and she realised immediately that there was a key in the lock. Another stifled groan, this one louder than those that had preceded it, reverberated around the otherwise still corridor, just as Cathy turned the key and - with some trepidation - slowly pushed the door open. She found the interior shrouded in a cloak of darkness.

Quickly scanning the torch beam around the walls, Cathy discovered that this room, like the one through which she'd entered the house, was also furnished as a bedroom; the total lack of light being a consequence of the blackout curtains that had been drawn shut across the window. She quickly deduced, however, that there was no one visible in the room.

So where did the sounds originate from exactly? The next outburst left Cathy in no doubt as to its source; a stout oak- panelled wardrobe that stood against the wall on the left hand side of the room. Swinging the torch beam in this direction, Cathy began to approach. Is anyone there?' For a brief moment, her whispered words seemed to bring the whimpering sound to an abrupt halt. But then it started up again, this time with more gusto, and coincided with the sound of dull thuds, as if someone was kicking against the wood of the wardrobe door in an effort to get out.

Once again, Cathy hesitated. What on earth had she stumbled upon here? Should she investigate, to find out exactly what was going on? Or should she -as her gut instinct was telling her - leave now; get out of the building before she became embroiled in something that she hadn't bargained for? But what if whoever was in that wardrobe really was in mortal danger?

Although she was a burglar, who made her living from stealing other peoples' possessions, deep down Cathy considered herself a decent human being, who would do anything to come to the aid of someone in need of assistance. The light from the torch revealed a small key sticking out from the wardrobe door, which Cathy gingerly turned, not daring to contemplate what she might find. It seemed almost mandatory that every hinge on every door in this ancient house creaked on being opened, and this one proved to be no exception. The upper part of the enclosed space, where clothes would normally be hung, was devoid of garments, but immediately Cathy's attention was drawn to the floor area. And there, tightly packed into the confined space at her feet, sat a young woman who squinted into the unfamiliar brightness of the torch beam. Open mouthed, Cathy surveyed the scene before her.

The woman, probably around her own age, was clearly bound tightly with numerous lengths of rope. Dressed in what looked like a skin-tight latex cat-suit, her ankles, knees and thighs all had coils of stringently tied cords wrapped and cinched around them. Her body was also encircled in a strict latticework of brutally secured ropes that dug deeply into her outfit and served to highlight her breasts. Only the uppermost parts of her arms were visible, but it was apparent, from the manner in which her shoulders were pulled backwards with the rest of her arms shielded from view behind her back, that her wrists must also have succumbed to some form of restraint.

The lower half of her face was smothered in broad strips of grey duct tape, which seemed to have been wound around her head several times. And it was obvious, from the startled sounds that now emanated from behind this layer of sealant, that her mouth must also be packed with some form of gagging material. Having accustomed herself to the piercing glare of the light, the woman gazed upwards at her discoverer, wide eyed and with a look of bewilderment on her face; which, at the time, Cathy assumed to be a response to the spandex covering of her own facial features. ( link opens in new window ) Cathy's mind was reeling. Who was this girl?

Why was she being kept like this? Were the people responsible for her kidnapping still around? All three questions were soon to be answered. 'Well well, what have we here?' The sound of the woman's voice corresponded with the overhead light suddenly illuminating the room. Cathy spun around to see a red leather cat-suited figure standing in the doorway; legs apart, arms akimbo. Behind her, in the still dimly lit corridor, other shadowy figures could be seen loitering.

The woman - probably in her early thirties, tall and slim, with long brunette hair - moved two further steps into the room. She stared at Cathy for a second or two, before turning to address her cohorts, who had by now filed in behind her.

'It looks like we have an intruder on the premise girls. Isn't that fortuitous?' Cathy could now see that there were three other woman behind the speaker, all of whom were dressed from neck to toe in skin-tight outfits fashioned from latex.

Each of the three wore a snugly fitting leather hood over her head, with an opening at the top through which a plume of hair cascaded. There was also an opening for each eye, plus a breathing aperture at the nostrils. No outlet was evident in the region of the mouth, however. High heeled, knee-length leather boots adorned their feet and legs. One of the trio wore a jet black outfit that had been polished to a shine and adhered to every curve of her figure. A mane of red hair gushed forth from the top of her hood.

The next was attired in a metallic silver cat-suit, equally tight fitting; her raven-black hair in stark contrast to her costume. The third, whose blonde locks spilt from her hood and tumbled half way down her back, wore a second skin of shocking pink that shimmered in the light every time she moved. The first woman - obviously the leader of the pack - slowly made her way forwards, and Cathy noticed a slight smile on her face.

It was not a smile that radiated any great warmth, however, but seemed to be the cunning or devious expression of someone who had just unexpectedly happened upon a situation that could now be used to her advantage. 'So, not only do you break into my house, but then you start to interfere with my other guests? That calls for some form of punishment, don't you think girls?' To Cathy's amazement, muffled mumbling sounds issued forth from behind the leather hoods, and it was suddenly obvious that the three assistants had stuffing packed into their mouths to inhibit coherent speech. Although none of them were bound in any way, Cathy noticed a small padlock in the neck region of each of the hoods, and realised that taking the hoods off was not an option open to these three females at present. The noises they did make, however, seemed to answer their leader's question in the affirmative. 'What about you, Chantelle?

Do you think that your would-be rescuer here should be subject to disciplinary measures of some description?' Chantelle - the woman in the wardrobe - nodded, although Cathy wasn't sure that this was because she really meant it, or whether she thought this was the answer that was expected of her, and the one that would cause her the least grief. 'So, I think we're all agreed then.' The woman turned to her companions. 'You know what to do girls. Cathy, who had been rooted to the spot since her discovery here, was suddenly spurred into action by the sight of the three hooded women - all taller than herself - coming towards her. With her passage to the door blocked, she darted towards the only other possible exit.

Unfortunately, she was dismayed to find that her intended escape via the window was not feasible, as the tearing back of the curtains revealed an impassable barrier of sturdy steel bars between herself and the glass panes. From behind her, she heard the group's leader laugh harshly.

'It's no good, you can't get out of here. If you want my advice, the best thing you can do is give up and accept your fate.' The three women were upon her now, one grabbing her by the shoulders, another grasping her around the waist, whilst the third went for her legs.

Despite her failure to comply with the woman's recommendation - her desperate attempts to kick out and fend off her three assailants, plus her unheeded demand to 'get your hands off me!' , having no effect whatsoever - within no more than ten seconds she found herself being wrestled to the floor and the belt around her waist being unbuckled and discarded.

Due to the frantic nature of her bid to stay out of the clutches of these women, it wasn't until Cathy had been well and truly overpowered and was lying prostrate on the floor, with two of the women holding her there, that it became apparent exactly what was in store for her now. She had noticed when they'd first entered the room, that the one of the women - the redhead whose super-tight shiny black outfit glistened in the light - carried a garment of some description in her hands, but at the time its precise size and purpose had seemed of little importance.

Now however, from her prone position, she watched as this garment was unfurled to its full extent. It was, she could tell, made of soft black leather and had long sleeves. But what alerted her to the true nature of this item of clothing, were the straps and buckles that hung loosely from the area of the sleeves where the wrist openings should have been. And there were several more straps too, attached to various other strategic areas of the garment.

Cathy had seen pictures of similar apparel before and was in no doubt now what this contraption was: a straitjacket. And it was clear that she was to be the intended model for this piece of kit in the near future. Cathy's struggles ratcheted up a notch at the sight of this article of restraint. But the women had her exactly where they wanted her, and a quick, painful yank of her arm high up behind her back, left no doubt that resistance was futile.

As the woman holding the jacket came towards her, the other two manoeuvred her into a position from which they could easily force her unwilling arms into the waiting cul-de-sacs of black leather. As they went about their task, the leader began once more to speak.

'Where are my manners? I really should have introduced myself.

My name is Dolores Devlin, and I am the owner of this establishment. From now on you will address me as Mistress Dolores, or just Mistress. I expect you're wondering what's going on here; why my servants here are dressed the way they are; why they're wearing those hoods etc. Well let me explain.' She paced across the room, never taking her eyes off the still wriggling Cathy, whose arms had now been successfully inserted into the sleeves. Whilst two of the women each held onto a now encased wrist, the other pulled the main body of the straitjacket around Cathy's torso and began securing the straps at her back.

'.Shackleton Grange is home to the 'Bound And Totally Helpless' society, or BATH for short. It's an organisation that I started about six years ago and is for the benefit of women who love either being tied up, or tying up others.

I hold regular events here throughout the year, and you - my dear little thief - just happened to break into my home on the day that we're commencing one of our residential 'Bondage Convention' weekends.' Cathy winced as the straps were pulled extra tightly and buckled to prevent the removal of the restrictive leather sheath from which she could no longer extricate herself. There were at least four straps at her back, from her neck down to her waist, and each had been pulled so tightly that she had no chance of breaking free. But the silent women hadn't yet finished with her. Cathy squealed as another strap, attached to the hem at the back of the jacket, was fed between her legs, pulled up as high as it would go into her crotch, then secured to its corresponding buckle on her lower abdomen.

All the while, this Dolores character kept up her monologue. 'Fortunately for us - and unfortunately for you - we came in at just the right time and caught you in the act.' Her pacing of the room had brought her over to the wardrobe, where the helplessly bound Chantelle still sat, watching the unfolding drama in wide eyed wonderment. 'You see, Chantelle here has been a naughty girl. She said she wanted to get an early night and didn't feel like joining in with the festivities that are currently taking place downstairs. So I thought to myself 'if Chantelle wants an early night, then let's make sure it's one she won't forget in a hurry'.

And that's the reason she's here; to teach her that non-participation is not an option when you come to Shackleton Grange. We were just about to change her into the straitjacket for the night, but now that we've found another purpose for it, I guess she'll have to make do with the handcuffs and ropes she's already enjoying.' Without warning, Dolores slammed the wardrobe door shut and swiftly turned the key in the lock.

A surprised and stifled whimper could briefly be heard coming from the now sealed cupboard, before Chantelle - presumably realising that any form of dissent was futile - lapsed into resigned silence. But Cathy had enough problems of her own to keep her occupied right now, without concerning herself with the welfare of others. Forcefully, the two women holding on to the sleeves of the straitjacket pulled Cathy's arms across her chest, threading her hands through a short looping strap attached to the front of the constraining outfit just below her breasts.

Once both arms had been inserted through the snugly fitting gap, the helpless burglar-turned- captive found her arms being pulled tightly around to her back, where she could feel the straps being secured as tautly as her captors could get them. Cathy shrieked and tried everything within her now limited powers to free herself, but her ability to move her arms had been severely curtailed, and the fact that three pairs of hands still held her down meant that she was rooted to this particular spot on the floor. Having locked the wardrobe, Dolores now gave her full attention to her latest prisoner. Kneeling down beside the still wriggling figure, she placed her hand on Cathy's left thigh and began stroking the tight spandex. 'I see that your attire is well suited to the sort of weekend we have planned here.

Some of the girls downstairs actually favour spandex cat-suits over latex, leather or PVC, so you won't look at all out of place, especially now that you're all trussed up in that jacket. The hood looks good too, but it will have to go I'm afraid, as I'm intrigued to find out what you look like under that disguise.' At this prompt, one of Dolores' assistants began to pull the spandex covering from Cathy's hood. Despite Cathy's verbal protests, within seconds the clinging material had been removed, allowing her long flowing black hair to cascade in a tangled mass around her shoulders. 'Ah, you are a pretty little thing, aren't you? I'm sure that you'll be a most welcome addition to our little gathering.'

( link opens in new window ) Dolores took her hand away from Cathy's leg and leaned forward. She reached out and gently grasped Cathy's chin. 'What's your name honey? As someone who was habitually on the wrong side of the law, Cathy was used to giving false names. But the fact that she found herself in a situation that she had no control over was making her extremely nervous, and this manifested itself in a moment of hesitation, before she unconvincingly blurted out 'Jane'.

Anger flashed in Dolores' dark eyes, and it was evident straightaway that this answer hadn't been believed. Cathy suddenly found the grip on her chin tighten and sharp fingernails dig deeply into her flesh, as simultaneously one of the other women grabbed her hair and pulled violently. Don't give me any bullshit girl. Now tell me your real name, or I'll have no other option than to use force to the get the truth out of you.'

' names Cathy.' The tremor in her voice must have convinced her tormentor-in- chief that she was now telling the truth, as the hand loosened its grip on her jaw, which was also a signal for her hair to be released.

'Well Cathy, nice to make your acquaintance. Now that you're here, we're going to have a lot of fun together. But first, I'll take you downstairs to meet the rest of the girls. I'm sure they'll be delighted to know that we have a new playmate joining us for the weekend.'

At the realisation that she wasn't going to be released any time soon, Cathy pulled on her restraints, in a desperate attempt to somehow free herself from the tight confines of the straitjacket. 'Let me go at once! You can't just keep me here!

This is kidnapping!' A slight smile played at the corner of Dolores' lips. Yes, you're right. But remember, we didn't invite you here. You came of your own accord.

And on top of that, you broke the law by entering my property without permission. So I don't think you can really complain too much. You're guilty of breaking and entering, while I'm guilty of kidnapping. I think that makes us equal, don't you?' The three other women were helping the severely handicapped burglar to her feet now, and Cathy's fear as to exactly what they were going to do to her could be contained no longer. SOMEBODY HELP ME!' Her shrieks for assistance were both loud and piercing, but didn't seem to bother Dolores in any way.

'Scream all you like darling, no one can hear least no one that's willing or able to come to your rescue. You know that we're out in the wilds here, and that there's very little chance of anyone else being in the vicinity.'

She smiled her devious smile once again at the straitjacketed and spandex clad figure writhing and twisting in the grasp of the three hooded servants. 'But even so, all that caterwauling and howling is going to get on my nerves if it's allowed to continue.' She turned to her assistants. 'I think you know what's required here, don't you girls?' It seemed that the triumvirate were indeed precisely attuned to their leader's thoughts, as without further ado a ball-gag was produced, which was swiftly and unceremoniously thrust into Cathy's mouth; one woman pinching her nose, another holding her head steady, whilst the third inserted the large rubber ball into the cavity behind her teeth.

Within seconds, the strap had been secured at the rear of her head. Cathy continued to scream, but now her calls for someone to come to her aid were incomprehensible, with the volume level severely impaired. 'That's much better. Now let's go, we've left our other guests unattended for far too long already.'

With Dolores leading the way, Cathy found herself being pushed and womanhandled out of the room and into the dimly lit passageway. After fifty yards or so, the party reached a spiral staircase that led to a well lit lobby below; the main entrance to the house, Cathy deduced. As she was being jostled and persuaded to descend, Cathy looked up at the paintings hanging from the walls above. Unlike most stately homes that she'd ever been in, these weren't the usual ancient, weathered portraits of former owners of the house, captured sitting staunchly upright in period clothing. Instead these works of art were of a far more recent vintage, and depicted women in almost every conceivable bondage position imaginable. The majority were clad in skin-tight rubber or leather, and most wore gags, blindfolds or hoods to accompany their strict ropes, chains or other restraints.

All those whose facial features could be seen, seemed to have smiles on their faces, as if they were enjoying their enforced captivity. As they neared the foot of the stairs, Dolores turned and noticed Cathy staring upwards at the unusual canvases.

'A few of my satisfied customers' was her only remark. As the convoy took a turn to the right, Cathy found herself being bundled down another long corridor. As they traversed this winding route, the sound of people talking - far off at first, but then gradually increasing in volume - reached her ears. The voices all seemed to be female, and were interspersed with laughter and the occasional shriek. These didn't appear to be screams of fear or distress, however, but seemed more like squeals of delight or excitement.

Intermingled with the talk and the playful yelps, there was another sound that seemed to drone and murmur in the background. But it wasn't until the party reached an open doorway, and Cathy was able to view the assembled company for the first time, that she realised that this low hum and wordless mumble was due to the fact that, of all the women present - of which there must have been between twenty and thirty - at least fifty percent were gagged in some way or other, and that it was their utterances that were responsible for this muffled undertone.

The women - most of whom looked to be in their twenties or early thirties - seemed to be in pairs, with one member of each couplet being ensnared in some form of strict, seemingly inescapable bondage. Hog-ties, frog-ties, ball-ties, chair-ties and strappados were all in evidence, with rope, handcuffs, straps and tape in great abundance. One woman had even been mummified, wrapped from head to toe in grey duct tape, whilst at least two others had their arms encased in leather bondage sleeves that had been laced up behind them so strictly that their elbows almost touched. Without exception, all the women present - whether rigged or rigger - wore skin-tight outfits of latex, spandex, leather or PVC, just as Dolores had already hinted.

As the five woman procession entered the room - originally a ballroom by the looks of it - the hubbub gradually decreased as the women desisted from their tasks and gave their attention to the newcomers. 'Ladies, we have an unexpected visitor who's agreed to join our little gathering for the weekend. Her name is Cathy, and tomorrow she'll be participating in our planned activities. I'm sure you'll all want to make her feel most welcome here.' Cathy took advantage of her moment in the spotlight to try to make her true feelings about being held captive known, reasoning that at least one of the assembled females must - she hoped - have some element of decency in her, and be willing to stand up and voice her objections to keeping unwilling participants imprisoned here. But unfortunately, she was out of luck on this score.

Either they didn't care about such things, or - more likely - they assumed that she was a willing contributor to their strange little games, and that her struggles were all just an act. 'Anyway, ladies, back to work now. Make sure that all your knots are secure, and you haven't given your sub any 'wiggle room'.

And don't forget the old adage: 'If it's not tight, it's not right'.' Turning back towards the door, she added, 'We're going to put Cathy to bed for the night now, but we'll be back in a few minutes time, when I'll be inspecting your handiwork.' And with this, Cathy found herself being bundled out of the room and encouraged to walk down yet another dark corridor. After a few minutes, Dolores, who was once more leading the way, stopped by a heavy wooden door. Pulling the ancient, creaking structure open, Cathy gazed in horror at the narrow staircase that disappeared downwards into the blackness before her. She quickly realised that, as she'd entered the building by a first floor window, and had since already descended one flight of stairs, that whatever lay at the bottom of these stone steps must be below ground level; a cellar or - the word made her shudder with fright - a dungeon. Digging her heels in as best she could, Cathy fought for all she was worth in her endeavour to stop herself being taken into this subterranean chamber.

But of course, her parlous state ensured that she had no chance of success, and within seconds she found herself being marched brusquely down into the bowels of the earth. The dim and totally inadequate overhead lights being switched on revealed a labyrinth of tunnels comparable with the maze of corridors above ground. Wooden doors, with small barred windows situated at eye level, could be seen on both sides of the dim passage as it disappeared into the gloom ahead. Their journey along this dank, dark corridor was short, however, as Dolores stopped by, then began to unlock, the first door they came to on the left.

It took two of Dolores' underlings to slowly pull the stubbornly resistant ancient slab of oak open, leaving just one woman standing guard over their captive for a brief spell. With this task finally completed, the Mistress beckoned for Cathy to enter the unlit interior. It was at this precise moment, that for a second or two, the hands of the woman standing behind her eased their grip on Cathy's shoulders, and she suddenly realised that, for the first time since they'd left the bedroom, that nobody was holding her. Whether this was simply a lapse in concentration on the part of her guard, or a deliberate ploy to see what action her captive might attempt, was not known.

But the thought of being cooped up in this underground jail was just too terrifying to contemplate, and Cathy knew that she had to make use of what was probably the last opportunity she would be given to escape before being locked in this tiny room. Although the odds were stacked against her, with her arms of little use, Cathy suddenly bolted in the direction of the stairs.

She only managed three yards or so, however, before a pair of hands grabbed her around the waist, followed by two more that grasped her shoulders and feet, before transporting her still writhing form back to where Dolores stood, impassively watching. 'Did you really think you could escape from me, Cathy? If you did, you're a bigger fool than I thought you were. How were you going to get up those steps, out of the house, through the grounds and climb over the gate with your arms trapped in that straitjacket?

You weren't really thinking clearly, were you? Well, disobedience like that has to be punished.'

She addressed her assistants once again. 'Tie her legs, and make sure that she can't get them loose.' From seemingly out of nowhere, each woman produced a length of rope. Within seconds, Cathy found herself being eased down onto the dirty stone floor and relieved of her boots, after which, the women began in unison to bind her legs tightly together; at her ankles and both just above and just below her knees. The tight cords bit into her flesh through the spandex, and caused Cathy to wince audibly as each bond was cinched and knotted. 'There, that should stop you moving around.' The women dragged Cathy into the tight confines of the prison cell.

'Thanks girls, you can go back upstairs and entertain our other guests now. I'll finish off down here.' And with that, the three nameless latex-clad females began their journey back up to ground level, leaving Dolores and her trembling bound detainee alone. Once the clatter of high heels had faded to nothing, the Mistress once more turned her attention to Cathy. 'Well, this has been a night I won't forget in a hurry. And I'm absolutely certain that you won't either.

Just to let you know, the cellar is basically soundproof; however much you shout and scream, there's no way you'll ever be heard.That's not to say that I have any intention of removing that gag, of course. That stays in place. Just for humiliation purposes.' Dolores knelt down beside the powerless woman at her feet, and Cathy noticed for the first time that she had something in her hands.

'I thought that hood you were wearing earlier suited you, so I've got a replacement here that you can have. Not quite the same as yours though, as this one.well, you'll soon see how this one differs.' ( link opens in new window ) As she spoke these words, Dolores brought the black object towards her captive's face.

Cathy shook her head and begged for leniency, but her pleas were ignored, and within seconds the tightly fitting item of headwear had been pulled down over the top of her head and across her face. It was obvious from the smell, that this hood, unlike her own, was manufactured from soft leather, And it also quickly became apparent that there were no holes cut out for either mouth or eyes in this latest addition to her bondage attire. Mercifully, there were two small holes situated in the vicinity of the nose area, and she was relieved to find that Dolores paid particular attention to aligning these with her nostrils. With the all-encompassing, sensory-depriving cover pulled down as far as her neck, she felt two hands smoothing the fabric down, before the whole thing tightened around her skull. Her squeal of protest was ignored, however, and soon she felt the area around her throat became taut, as the Mistress buckled and secured the whole contraption in place. Satisfied that her victim couldn't remove her new headgear, Dolores patted Cathy on the head.

'There, isn't that a nicer, more comfortable hood than the one you came here in?' Her rhetorical question was met with a long, drawn out moan of despair from within the now immovable leather casing.

'Right, it's time I got back to my guests. We'll decide your fate in the morning.' The slamming of the cell door, the turning of the key in the lock, and the slowly waning click of high heels on echoing stone, signalled to Cathy that she was now alone. Any hopes that she might have entertained of being able to squeeze and wriggle her way out of the straitjacket, however, - now that she wasn't under constant scrutiny - were quashed in an instant. The buckles at her back had all been fastened as tightly as the fabric would allow, and the leather hugged and compressed her entire body from hips to neck. The collar of the jacket was tight to her flesh and stymied her efforts to manoeuvre her shoulders into a position from which she could slip them free. The strap across her chest prevented the movement of her arms away from her body, and therefore thwarted her efforts to extricate her arms from the enclosed sleeves, no matter how much she squirmed and stretched.

The crotch strap hindered her desperate struggles to pull the whole constricting monstrosity upwards over her head. And just to add insult to injury, Cathy's valiant attempts at releasing her legs fared no better, as the ropes dug in and refused to relinquish their stranglehold.

Cathy shrieked as loudly as she could in frustration and despair. How was she ever going to get out of this mess? They couldn't keep her here forever, could they?

Both questions were unanswerable, although Cathy hoped and prayed that the answer to the latter was in the negative. But if this Mistress Dolores woman did decided not to release her, then who was going to come looking for her? Who knew where she had been intending to go tonight?

And who would ever think of searching for her here? These three questions all had the same simple answer: Nobody. Despite a desperate urge to find a way out or make contact with the outside world, there was nothing for it but to lie there on the cold stone floor and wait for her fate to be decided for her.

Chapter 2 -Kangaroo Court (added: 2016/09/12) To say that Cathy's mind was in a state of turbulence would have been an understatement. With her future a complete unknown, the stricken woman spent a sleepless night on the hard, uncomfortable floor of her cell, with little to take her mind off the grave situation she found herself in. In all her years of breaking and entering, she had had a few close shaves. Once or twice, the owner of the property that she had been targeting had almost caught her in the act. Once she had even been chased by an irate, shotgun wielding elderly gentleman, whose valuables she had just managed to liberate. But each time, her feline like agility and speed had been sufficient to get her out of a fix.

Even when, on two occasions, the police had arrived whilst she was still at the 'scene of the crime', she'd still managed to slip away and avoid capture. This time, however, there was no getting away. Although she knew that being arrested would probably result in her being given a custodial sentence - especially if the numerous other offences she'd committed could be linked to her and taken into consideration - she began to wonder whether this might actually be a more preferable outcome than the one looming large before her now.

Cathy's extended stay in solitary confinement dragged on and on, until it seemed to her that it must be well into Saturday morning by now. She was just beginning to think that maybe she'd been forgotten about, when the sound of approaching heels reached her leather encased ears.

The key turning in the lock and the jarring sound of the reluctantly opening door were followed by the sensation of several pairs of hands working to free the ropes on her legs, after which she found herself being hoisted up into a standing position. But if Cathy thought these actions were the precursor to the removal of either the hood or the straitjacket, she was to be bitterly disappointed. In fact, her bonds were about to increase again. For a second or two, a clinking sound that could only be made by links of a metal chain brushing against each other reached her ears, before she felt something being attached to the collar region of her hood.

Suddenly, without warning, her neck was yanked violently, and she had no alternative but to move forward. After having spent so long tightly bound, her legs had developed the intense tingling sensation of pins and needles, which only seemed to intensify as the circulation began to return. And this lack of feeling in her limbs was the catalyst that caused her to stumble and almost fall, as she was urged impatiently to keep up with the brisk pace set by her unseen captors. The journey along the subterranean passage was made in silence, and soon the escorts and their prisoner were climbing the steep stone steps back up to ground level. The fact that no one had spoken to her, led Cathy to the assumption that Dolores was not amongst the party that had come to retrieve her from her place of incarceration, and this was soon confirmed when a clamour of voices became apparent from somewhere ahead of them, one of which she recognised as her host.

A moment or two later, their progress came to a brief halt and the sound of an opening door coincided with the volume levels suddenly rising. But then, as she was encouraged to march forwards again, these voices abruptly ceased; indicating to Cathy that it was probably her entrance that had instigated this sudden lull in proceedings. Although she was blind, Cathy sensed that there were a lot of people present now, and that all had their eyes fixed firmly upon her. After a few seconds, this uneasy silence was broken, as Dolores' voice boomed out, addressing her congregation.

'Right ladies, this court is now in session. Those of you able to sit, please do so.' As these words echoed around the room, Cathy felt the pressure around her temples begin to ease and the strap around her neck loosen, before the soft leather began to ride up over her face. As her eyesight returned, she squinted into the unfamiliar glare of the light, desperately trying to take in her surroundings, but finding herself temporarily blinded after so long in pitch blackness.

When her vision finally returned to some semblance of normality, she was able to ascertain that she was in an oak-panelled room with a high ceiling, from which hung two large crystal chandeliers. Directly in front of her, sitting behind an old, ornately carved oak table, was Dolores. Her attire was similar in cut and design to that worn the previous evening, only now the cat-suit was black and had been polished to such an extent that it glistened in the bright morning light that streamed in through the windows directly behind her. Immediately to Cathy's left and right, two of the women who had fetched her from her night-time quarters stood in close attendance, and when Cathy half turned - to see if there was any avenue of escape open to her - she encountered the third woman directly at her back. Just as on her previous meeting with them, their heads were immersed in the same restrictive hoods. None of this really surprised Cathy too much, but what drew her attention now was the scene on the left hand side of the room. For here was assembled a group of women, all bound in different ways that made use of a huge variety of techniques and materials.

In fact, as Cathy looked up and down the line of trussed up females, she realised that none bar the pair at the far end of the line seemed to be bound in the same manner. Some were sitting on upright chairs - indeed some were actually bound to these stout items of furniture. Others were lying prone on the floor due to the nature of their bonds. Another of the helpless young females was forced to stand; her arms having been bound behind her back, then suspended in the air by means of a taut rope attached to the ceiling.

With her arms stretched to their limits and her high-heeled boots barely able to touch the floor, she had no option but to remain bent forwards at all times. A quick calculation told Cathy that there were twelve bound and helpless women in this line-up. All were gagged in some way, with many having their eyesight inhibited either by hood or blindfold. Those whose eyes were still in working order seemed to gaze around the room in wide eyed impotence. Directly behind each of these unfortunate enslaved creatures, stood a second woman. This group, however, were unbound, although many still wore hoods or masks that hid their faces, save for the eyes, nose and mouth. These women, Cathy quickly deduced, were the ones responsible for the unenviable condition of the bound group.

Some carried whips or riding crops in their hands, whilst others had handcuffs or ball-gags hanging from the leather belts that seemed obligatory alongside the skin-tight cat-suit that each wore. All twelve of this group glared menacingly at Cathy, who shivered uncontrollably as a direct consequence of their cold, steely scrutiny. After a minute or so of silence, Dolores stood up and turned to address the assembled company. 'Ladies of the jury, we are here today to try the defendant standing before you, who goes by the name of Cathy.' She paced around to the front of the table and began slowly walking along the line of women, and it was clear straightaway that it was the bound section of her audience that her words were being directed towards. 'The case is a simple one, and should take only a few seconds of contemplation before each of you comes to a correct and just verdict.'

She reached the end of the line, turned around and stared directly at Cathy, who up to now had been listening in stunned silence. 'The charge is this. That on the night of Friday 20th May 2016, at around the hour of ten in the evening, the aforementioned Cathy did unlawfully enter the premises of Shackleton Grange, with the intention to obtain and remove items of value from the said property.' She turned once more to the 'twelve good women and true' and paced back down the line once more, her high heels echoing on the polished wooden flooring. 'Now ladies of the jury, the question that you are being asked to adjudicate on is this: Is the defendant who stands before you now, guilty or not guilty of this crime? Bear in mind when you make your decision however, that the accused was caught red-handed in one of the bedrooms of this house, having entered through an unsecured first floor window. Also please take into account that she had upon her person at this time, a rucksack containing the items that you are about to be shown.'

She beckoned towards one of the women at Cathy's side, who duly retrieved the rucksack and handed it to Dolores. Opening the zipper, the Mistress - who seemed to have assumed the role of both prosecutor and judge - tipped the contents out onto the floor. Cathy watched with rising dismay as her hacksaw blades, screwdrivers, pliers, wire-cutters, penknives and other building-entering paraphernalia noisily spread themselves out in front of the jury. When the ringing echo from this commotion died away, Dolores continued. 'So ladies, the evidence before you is plain to see.

Now I shall ask you each in turn to give your verdict. Is Cathy guilty of breaking into this house illegally? I realise that you're all - how shall I put it? - slightly impaired in your capacity to articulate your thoughts at the moment. But a simple yes or no, or even just a nod or shake of the head, will suffice.' ( link opens in new window ) She turned to the girl on the far left hand side of the line.

'You can start us off Megan. Is she guilty?' Megan, who had been lashed securely to her chair with numerous plastic cable-ties, and whose mouth and lower head were plastered in a sea of grey duct tape, made a muffled, inconclusive sound from behind her gag. The fact that she simultaneously nodded her head vigorously, however, left no one in any doubt that this was a vote in favour of Cathy's guilt. As she watched in horror at the evolving situation in front of her, Cathy began to move uneasily from foot to foot, as if getting ready to flee as soon as the opportunity presented itself. The three guards, however, obviously sensed her plans and moved in closer.

The helpless woman felt a hand being placed on either shoulder, and another pressed into her back between her shoulder blades, leaving her in no doubt that she wouldn't get very far at all if she contemplated making a dash for freedom. Dolores, however, was oblivious to this activity. 'Good, that's one guilty vote. Now we'll move onto.well, whoever this is behind that hood. What's your verdict Number Two?' The unidentifiable 'Number Two', whose head was encased in an all-covering, sight restricting black latex hood, lay prone on the floor. Her whole body was enclosed in a tightly fitting black darlex sleep-sack, with several strictly secured leather straps placed strategically along the length of her body, from ankle to chest.

At first, she didn't respond; seemingly unaware that it was she that Dolores was addressing her question towards. A slight nudge in the back from the boot of her latex clad rigger, however, spurred her into action. The voice that emanated from behind the hood was muffled and faint, but there could be no doubt as to the two syllable word she uttered: 'Guilty'. Dolores turned briefly to face Cathy and flashed her that cold smile. 'That's two votes against you already Cathy.

Not looking good, is it?' Cathy's emotions now got the better of her. Not only was her trepidation in regard to their intentions - once they'd all passed their verdicts - causing her to tremble violently, but coupled with this was a rising sense of anger at the injustice of this 'kangaroo court'. The women of the jury were all bound and helpless, and were hardly going to go against the verdict that Mistress Dolores sought.

The consequences of doing so - of going against what was expected of them - had probably already been spelt out before her arrival in the makeshift courtroom. So this whole trial was obviously just for show; a complete travesty of justice, in fact. Screaming into her gag, Cathy tried to enlighten the court as to her objections to the proceedings, the main thrust of which boiled down to her opinion that a trial like this was weighted against her - as well as being illegal - and that they had no right to hold her here against her will. And - much as she hated the thought of being arrested - if they thought she'd broken the law, then why didn't they simply hand her over to the police and let them handle the matter? These were the basic themes that she tried to get across to this all female gathering, although she doubted whether much of her diatribe had actually been understood. But whether through incomprehension or indifference, her outburst went unheeded. Instead, Dolores sauntered slowly over to where she stood.

As she approached, Cathy's desire for flight increased to a point where it was almost uncontrollable. But being hemmed in on three sides by the vigilant attendants, she knew that an escape attempt was doomed to failure. Leaning in close to Cathy's fear-etched face, the Mistress whispered menacingly.

'If you continue to interrupt these proceedings with your groundless objections, then I will have no alternative but to hold you in contempt of court, have you removed from the room, and continue to try you in absentia. And believe me, that will make things even worse for you than they already are. Do I make myself clear?' As she uttered these words, the woman at her back tugged sharply on her hair, whilst the two on either side gripped her shoulders painfully. Cathy shuddered, but managed to control the rising urge to scream. 'Good, now perhaps we can continue.'

Strolling back to the centre of the room, Dolores turned her attention to the third woman in the line. 'Alison, please now give your verdict: guilty or not guilty?'

Like all of the women here, Alison was dressed in a figure-hugging outfit. Like her neighbour, she too lay on the floor, although the nature of her bondage was quite different. With wrists and ankles bound with ropes, she had then been subjected to a severe hog-tie, with her hands almost touching her feet and her elbows bound in close proximity to one another. Any urge she might have had to tamper with the knots that kept her in such a hideous looking posture, had been negated by the application of layers of grey duct tape around her hands, thus removing the use of her fingers.

From her position face down on the floor, the woman lifted her head and simply pronounced the word 'guilty' through the cleave gag that had been inserted between her teeth. And so it went on. The chair-tied, tights-encased blonde with the inflatable gag; the handcuffed and blindfolded brunette; the strappado - bound woman with the leather hood; the ball-bound girl curled up on the floor with her head touching her knees and her feet in close proximity to her rear; the leather single-sleeved female with the muzzle gag and posture collar; the taped and completely mummified young lady; the chained and chair-tied creature with her head swathed in multi-layered cling-film.

All gave their verdicts, and all were of one mind: Guilty as charged. With ten votes cast, and with the overall verdict in no doubt, Dolores turned to the final two women in the line. In her severely distressed and agitated state, Cathy had until now not noticed the similarity between the last two members of the jury. But now, as Dolores began addressing them collectively rather than individually, she noticed that they were actually identical twins. Not only that, but both wore exactly the same attire; black spandex cat-suits almost indistinguishable from her own. 'And finally we come to our two newcomers, Jasmine and Jade.

I do hope you're enjoying your first visit to Shackleton Grange. Firstly Jasmine, how do you find the defendant, guilty or not guilty?' As well as the similarity of her looks and clothing, Jasmine was also bound in similar fashion to her sister; each having been lashed to the chair with copious amounts of rope. Their hands remained invisible behind their backs, but as each shifted in their seat, the soft clink of metal gave away the fact that they both wore handcuffs. Both had circuit after clinging circuit of duct tape wound unmercilessly around the lower part of their faces and heads, and when they spoke, it was evident that this unbroken grey mass was a deterrent to the removal of some kind of gagging material that filled their mouths. Notwithstanding the muffling effect that this engendered, the answers given by both were unequivocal.

Not unexpectedly, they were in complete accord with their fellow jurors. With a smug smile on her face, as if she had known all along that the outcome was a foregone conclusion, Dolores turned and walked to her seat behind the oak table. Sitting down, she gazed for several seconds at Cathy, as if contemplating the most appropriate action to take, before delivering her summing up speech. 'Well now Cathy, as you've heard, the verdict is unanimous.

You have been found, by a jury of your peers, to be guilty of the charge for which you were being tried; namely that you entered this house unlawfully with the intention of stealing from me and my guests. It therefore now befalls me to pass sentence on you.' She paused, as much for dramatic effect it seemed, as anything else.

'Cathy, offences of this sort are viewed in this courtroom as being of a most severe nature, and are punishable by a penalty to match the gravity of the crime. I therefore sentence you to a custodial sentence of not less than three months.'

Cathy wailed into her gag and tried to break free from the clutches of the three women who held her in check, but to no avail. Dolores ignored this latest outburst and continued. 'During this period of incarceration, you will be held in restraint at all times, twenty four hours a day. There is no provision for parole, nor any possibility of time off for good behaviour. However, any attempt to escape, or in any way disobey orders or try to hinder the application of any of the various forms of bondage that you are going to be subjected to, will be viewed in a very dim light, and further time will be added to your sentence accordingly.'

She addressed the three guards. 'Take her away girls. You know what to do.' Cathy found herself being turned around to face the door that led out of the room to.where?

Back to the cellar, perhaps? The thought of being once more entombed in some dingy underground cell, or left hooded and sightless in some sort of solitary confinement for the foreseeable future, sent Cathy into hysterics. Digging her heels in, she resisted all attempts to drag and haul her out of the room, whilst simultaneously straining to break free from the tightly restrictive straitjacket. The room they were in at the moment was light and airy, and despite the fact that not one of the women present had been even remotely sympathetic to her plight, the notion of being in some well lit room with other human beings around, seemed to be infinitely preferable to spending the next three months in some lonely inescapable dungeon.

Unfortunately, her circumstances were such that there was no way in the world that her quest to stay put could succeed, and within seconds she was being hauled bodily towards the exit. From somewhere behind her, Dolores' voice sounded once again. 'Oh dear Cathy, you didn't listen to a word I said, did you? So just to make sure you understand the terms and conditions under which you're being held, I'll spell things out for you again. Any disobedience or attempts to escape are subject to additional time being added to your stay here. And this pathetic show of insolence has just put an extra week onto your sentence.

So that's three months and one week that you'll now be spending here as my guest. Now perhaps you'll see the error of your ways and realise that compliance with the rules and regulations is in your best interests.' Contrary to what Cathy was expecting, the trio of hooded women hustled and cajoled their unwilling captive, not in the direction of the underground cells, but instead dragged and harried her towards the grand staircase that she'd seen last night.

Their journey upwards didn't stop at the first floor, however, as Cathy found herself being coaxed up a further, less ornate stairway that took them upwards another two floors. After traipsing along another long and poorly illuminated passageway, the procession finally halted outside one of the numerous identical closed doors. One of Cathy's guards - the fountain of red hair that sprayed from the apex of her hood contrasting starkly with her shiny black all-covering attire - produced a bunch of keys, searched for a few seconds for the one she needed, then inserted this into the lock. The opening of the door revealed a small, windowless box room swathed in darkness.

And the flicking of the switch to turn on the unshaded light bulb, made the view within no less enticing. The room - no more than twelve feet square - was devoid of furniture or adornment of any kind, save for what appeared to be a sheet of black rubber stretched across a sturdy metal frame -approximately seven feet long by five wide - attached to which was what looked like a small vacuum cleaner.

Bundling their hesitant detainee into the room, everything suddenly went black for Cathy, as without warning the now familiar leather hood was swiftly pulled down over her head, causing a scream of shock and dismay to force its way past the ball-gag that had by now filled her oral cavity for more than twelve hours. With the leather tightened to form a second skin across her face, Cathy felt the strap around her throat pull taut, before a faint clicking sound that she couldn't immediately identify reached her now encased ears. The hood, she was soon to discover, was only to be a temporary measure, however, and the reason for its utilisation was soon to become apparent. ( link opens in new window ) As if to offset the application of this one item of restraint, to her great surprise, the fearful and trembling young prisoner suddenly felt the straps of the straitjacket begin to loosen, and within seconds she was able to uncross her arms and wriggle out of the loop that had held them across her chest all night. The strap that had been digging deeply into her crotch also slackened, as did the buckles on her back, and within no more than a minute, the leather jacket was being pulled away from her body and her arms extricated from the sleeves.

Automatically, Cathy's hands reached up to her neck, in an effort to remove the vision depriving cover from her head. Her fingers, though, instantly encountered the small padlock that had been applied to prohibit the removal of the hood. Seconds later, the ability to remove the headgear became irrelevant, however, as she found her arms being grabbed and twisted behind her back. The application of the cord around her wrists was both swift and effective, and left her in no doubt that getting her hands free from the painfully tight rope was not a feasible option. Her heart pounding with trepidation, Cathy felt more ropes being added around her ankles and knees. But then, to her surprise, she heard a clicking sound, as the padlock at her throat was released, and moments later, the soft but clinging leather casing loosened and she found the hood lifting up over her mouth, nose and eyes, before being completely removed. She had been in the hood for no more than a few minutes, and it was clear now that this had only been applied to keep her out of mischief whilst the straightjacket was being exchanged for the more conventional rope bondage.

Cathy shook her head, as her hair fell across her face. Without the use of her hands she found it difficult to remove the tangled strands from her eyes, but one of the women obliged by pulling the unkempt mane back and tying it into a ponytail. As this was being seen to, the sound of approaching heels in the corridor outside pre-empted the appearance of Dolores in the open doorway.

'Ah, I see my girls have nearly finished getting you ready for bed. I know how hard that cellar floor must have been for you last night, and I'm guessing that you probably didn't get a wink of sleep, what with the excitement of yesterday evening still so vivid in your memory. So now I'm going to give you the chance to relax for a few hours.' As she was speaking, one of the other women - the one in the bright pink figure-hugging latex cat-suit and matching hood - was releasing the zipper at one end of the expanse of stretched latex, and Cathy realised for the first time that there was another sheet beneath the uppermost layer. Or in other words, this contrivance took the form of a sheath or envelope. And it was obvious at once exactly what it was that these women intended to enclose within this restrictive sachet. As her feet were eased between the clinging layers of rubber, Cathy once more begged and pleaded for this whole nightmare to be brought to an end.

Through her gag, she heard herself whimpering about how she didn't mind in the slightest whether Dolores called the police and had her charged with breaking and entering, burglary or whatever other crime she might have been guilty of. But this appeal for clemency merely caused Dolores to laugh harshly. Paano Mag Download Ng Movie Sa Iphone.

And even her servants, whose mouths were gagged and clearly unable to register joy, mirth, or even a smile, betrayed, by the glint in their eyes, that they too found this an amusing concept. 'What, call the cops and tell them that we caught you breaking in last night, but somehow forgot to inform them until now, after more than twelve hours have elapsed? I don't think so, do you Cathy?

No, it's far too late for that now. And besides, who needs the law of the land to intervene, when the 'Grand Court of Shackleton Grange' has already tried you and passed sentence?'

By now, the three attendants had forced Cathy's unwilling body into the figure hugging sheath. As her head was being immersed under the upper sheet, she made one final effort to halt the process of complete encasement, but found that, with three pairs of hands holding her down, she was powerless to derail them in their endeavours.

Ensuring that she was positioned correctly, one of the women placed the latex cover over Cathy's face and swiftly aligned two previously unnoticed short rubber tubes, which protruded from the otherwise unbroken shiny black sheeting, over her nose. Cathy now heard the opening being zipped shut above her, sealing her inside, whilst simultaneously the two tubes were pushed vigorously into her nostrils. Dolores' voice, now slightly muffled, once more filled the air.

'Make sure those tubes are sealed around the edges girls. We wouldn't want any air getting in would we? That would spoil the whole effect.' No sooner had the Mistress of the House finished speaking, than a roaring sound filled the space around Cathy's bound and helpless frame, and she felt the latex around her body and legs begin to constrict. It didn't take her long to work out that the air was now being sucked out from between the rubber folds in which she lay. Second after second, the sensation of the rubber that enveloped her shrinking and tightening, corresponded with her attempts to struggle becoming less and less effective, until she felt as if she was being crushed alive.

Finally the drone of the suction pump ceased. Tentatively, Cathy tried to move her legs, but found that even shifting a fraction of an inch in any direction was now almost impossible. Nor did her attempts to roll her body over to either the left or the right fare any better. The latex that now adhered like a second skin to her face, contracted around her jaw and made the ball-gag behind her teeth even more uncomfortable than it had been previously. With all but the slightest of motions being curtailed, Cathy felt as if she had become immersed in a sea of treacle or a pot of glue, or maybe a giant spider's web. It was akin, she thought grimly, to being in a state of suspended animation.

'Okay girls, let's make sure she's nice and snug in there.' Suddenly, Cathy felt several pairs of hands gliding over her face, her breasts, her lower abdomen and her legs. Each of the hands seemed to be smoothing down the now drum-like latex package; stroking and fondling with gentle motions, as they sought to locate any air pockets left within the hermetically sealed enclosure. Or was there actually another agenda? For as the fingers made their way ever so placidly over her body, Cathy suddenly realised that a strange sensation was coming over her.

She squealed and moaned, but these were not cries born of pain or suffering, but had their genesis in the utter surprise that hit her, as these calm, caressing hands triggered what could only be described as the first stirrings of sexual arousal; causing her to sense a warm wet patch begin to manifest on the tight spandex of her crotch area. Cathy's mind was in a state of turmoil, and her senses even more so. What the hell was happening here? Were they doing this deliberately to tease and tantalise her? Or was it merely a by-product of their desire to ensure that every last bubble of air was smoothed out? This question would have to remain unanswered for the time being, however, as this momentary trip into a parallel universe of pleasure proved to be short-lived. 'That's enough for now girls.

We wouldn't want her to get too excited by all this attention we've been lavishing on her, would we?' The hands were suddenly removed from her body. 'Hmm, not bad, but I think there's still a bit too much air in there.

Let's make things a bit tighter for her, shall we girls?' Seconds later, the whirring of the suction device once again reverberated through the stretch fabric that surrounded her. Almost at once, Cathy felt the already ultra-tight rubber contract still further, and her state of immobility reached a point where she felt as if her very bones would be crushed if this went on much longer. Mercifully, however, this second stint of air removal lasted only ten seconds or so and abruptly came to a halt with the cessation of the machine's droning noise.

In the ensuing silence, Cathy found that her exploratory attempts to move any part of her anatomy, by even the most miniscule fraction of an inch, now met with complete failure. Fortunately, the tubes running from her nose allowed her to take air into her lungs, although the flipside of this was that the very effort of breathing caused pain in her chest, such was the compacted nature of her newly acquired bondage. The pressure on her face too, was almost unbearable, with no way to release the tension on her eye lids, nose, mouth, temples and cheeks. 'Right Cathy, try to get some sleep now. This afternoon we've got an equestrian event planned, which I'm sure you'll enjoy taking part in. As a matter of fact, I think you'll probably be the star attraction.'

And with this, Cathy heard a shuffling of heels, as the four women exited the room. The inevitable closing and locking of the door quickly followed. Now left to her own devices, Cathy struggled forlornly for a minute or two, but with no great expectation of success. Her whole being felt crushed within the air-tight packaging, and any attempted movement seemed to compound the ultra-stringent nature of her incarceration.

Reluctantly, she gave up; the events of the morning still spinning wildly in her head. They couldn't really keep her here all that time, could they?

But deep down, something told her that the threat to keep her trussed up here for - what would it be? - fourteen weeks or so, was deadly serious. How many days did that add up to? Fourteen times seven - she did a quick mental calculation - equated to ninety eight days and nights. And the worst thing about it was that she'd been here less than twenty four hours so far.

And that had been far too long for her liking! Multiplying this one hundredfold was something that she didn't even want to contemplate. And it might not even end there, she realised gloomily. The enthusiastic way in which Dolores had added an extra week to her sentence suggested that, unless she behaved like the complete model prisoner, then further days or weeks would be added at every opportunity. And the recognition of this possibility caused the vacuum packed female to wish she'd never even heard of Shackleton Grange, let alone decided to rob the place.

But self-pity was never going to be the answer. Trying to put the serious nature of her plight to the back of her mind, Cathy gave herself a stern talking to. She had to remain positive, she tried to convince herself. Okay, so they were going to keep her tied up for the majority of the time, but there had to be times - she hoped - when she was let out of her secure bonds for a while, even if only for a few seconds. And it would be at times like this that she would have to be alert, assess the situation in an instant, and take whatever opportunity to escape presented itself. These moments would come she managed to convince herself. After all, they'd already moved her once from the cellar to this upstairs room, and it seemed she was going to be moved again this afternoon.

And this train of thought brought her around to pondering on the cryptic remark Dolores had left her with this morning. What exactly did she mean by an 'equestrian event'? Surely they weren't going to expect her to ride a horse whilst tied up, were they? In the course of doing her homework on the best way of breaking into the house over the past few weeks, Cathy had noticed the stable block, although never had there been any sign of horses. So the nature of this event would have to remain a mystery just for now. All would no doubt be revealed this afternoon, although Cathy couldn't stifle a shiver of apprehension at the unknown nature of exactly what might be in store for her. Chapter 3 - Horse Play (added: 2016/10/20) After what seemed like several hours, during which Cathy had no option but to remain in immovable stasis, the sound of several sets of feet approaching slowly but surely built in volume, until they sounded as if they were just outside the door.

The turning of the key in the lock, then the creaking of the ancient wood, was swiftly followed by the unmistakable tones of Dolores' voice permeating through the layers of latex. ( link opens in new window ) 'Hello Cathy. Hope you got some sleep and are feeling nice and refreshed for the challenge this afternoon. You look so contented and relaxed in there, that it seems a shame to disturb you. However, I promised you a day at the races, and I wouldn't want to disappoint you by excluding you from the proceedings.'

As she spoke, a pair of hands moved slowly across her breasts. 'You really are tightly encased in there still, aren't you sweetie? It looks like this bed really is airtight.' She addressed the other women. 'Feel how firm this latex has stayed girls. You wouldn't get anything as tight and unforgiving as this with any other form of bondage.'

Almost immediately, three more pairs of hands began exploring the contours of Cathy's latex enveloped body and limbs; massaging and kneading her flesh softly and tenderly. Cathy was in a dilemma now.

Part of her wanted to shy away from the intrusive fingers that seemed to be crawling like insects all over her. But on the other hand, the strange and not unpleasant sensations that she'd experienced the last time the hands had wended their way across her helpless form, made her curious as to the nature of this phenomenon, and keen to explore further.

But the extreme compression of her hermetically sealed capsule meant that she could hardly move a muscle of course; either to repel or embrace this latest contact. And as before, Dolores called a halt to proceedings almost as soon as they'd begun. 'Okay girls, let's get her out of the bed and ready for the main event of the weekend, which I know she's looking forward to almost as much as we are.' As if turned off by a switch, the hands ceased their rhythmic stroking. A few more seconds elapsed, before the rasping sound of the sealed zipper, just above her head, coincided with a sudden inrush of air, as the clinging latex sheets suddenly released their vice-like grip on every part of her body instantaneously. The unexpected nature of this semi-release, made Cathy gasp. Then, once the realisation that she was now able to wriggle and squirm with relative ease hit her, she began to fight against the still stringent ropes that had been redundant during her time in vacuum packed limbo, but now reminded her that her limbs were bound, and that she was still a long way short of her longed for freedom.

But these embryonic struggles were quickly stifled at birth, as Dolores' three servants, colleagues or slaves - Cathy hadn't yet worked out exactly what their status was, or indeed whether their presence here was voluntary or enforced - pulled the breathing tubes out from her nostrils, removed the now limp latex sheet from her head and began extracting her from the sheath. As soon as she had been pulled from the unorthodox bedding, however, she was immediately set upon by the silent trio, and she found her already securely tied arms being inserted into another form of restraint; this latest affront to her liberty taking the form of a black leather single sleeve arm-binder, which was duly laced tightly so that her elbows almost touched, before being strapped around her shoulders to eradicate any chance of it slipping off. As this was taking place, Dolores simply stood back against the wall, never once taking her eyes off the proceedings. Only once the sleeve had been applied and its effectiveness checked, did she speak again. 'So Cathy, I hope you're feeling energetic, because there's quite a bit of physical exertion involved for you in this afternoon's activity. But first I suppose we should let you have a refreshment break.

After all, we must keep you fit and healthy for the challenges ahead.' As if on cue, Cathy felt the buckle at the back of her neck loosen, and seconds later the ball that had been constantly embedded in her mouth since last night was being coaxed from behind her teeth. Cathy took several deep breaths and gingerly worked her stiff and extremely tender jaw muscles up and down. She was relieved to be liberated from the agony that this speech inhibitor inflicted, but was certain that this was only a temporary reprieve. However, her attempt to speak - in an effort to once again plead for her freedom - met with dismal failure, as her voice came out merely as a hoarse whisper.

Until now, she hadn't realised just how parched her throat had become. Mercifully, this particular anguish was soon to be remedied, as a bottle of mineral water was held to her lips, and she was allowed the luxury of drinking the cool, refreshing liquid at her own pace. Having quenched her raging thirst, Cathy found a bowl of some indeterminate mashed up foodstuff being brought into close proximity to her mouth, before a spoonful of the unappetising concoction was offered to her lips.

Cathy baulked at the idea of allowing even a morsel of this foul smelling delicacy to enter her mouth, but this resistance was immediately noticed and commented upon. 'Cathy, my dear, your refusal to eat when food is offered is most definitely not in your best interests.

If you shun the cuisine presented to you now, then I'll have to assume that you won't be interested in any further refreshment for the next few days. And going on hunger strike will result in a lot of unnecessary suffering being inflicted on you. So eat up, there's a good girl.'

With great reluctance, Cathy opened her mouth a mere fraction of an inch and allowed the woman holding the spoon to shovel some of the food in. It tasted like cold salty porridge and almost immediately she felt her stomach turn. Somehow or other, she forced herself to swallow the disgusting fare.

'There, isn't that good? Much better for you than all that junk food that people eat nowadays. I'll keep you on basic rations for a day or two, just to show my displeasure at you breaking into my home. But then, if you're very good and don't cause me any problems, maybe we'll see about getting you something a bit more palatable to eat. ' A second spoonful was tendered, and Cathy tried not to think about the vile flavour as she attempted to get through this hideous ordeal as quickly as she possibly could. Thankfully, after four mouthfuls, Dolores put a halt to the proceedings; seemingly now bored with watching Cathy's pitiful efforts to get the almost inedible meal down her throat.

'That will do for now. We wouldn't want you to get indigestion, seeing as how you're going to be doing quite a bit of running around in a short while, would we?' Cathy, who felt as if she was going to be sick any moment now, tried to take her mind off the rising nausea by concentrating on exactly what Dolores and her team had planned for her now.

It obviously involved exercise, although the equine theme still didn't make any sense to her. That is, until she looked down at the floor. For there, in a pile by the door, her eyes came to rest on an array of items that instantly enlightened her as to her captors' intentions. The horse tack - the leather and metal all polished to a shine - was instantly identifiable to Cathy, as she'd taken riding lessons as a child. But it was obvious straightaway, as the women began to get the bridle, harness and various other accessories ready for use, that these were not designed to fit the body of a real horse or pony, but had been crafted for a human being; or more precisely, the female form. 'Right girls, let's get our little friend here tacked up and ready for action.'

Immediately, the three faithful assistants jumped at their Mistress's beck and call. Whilst two of the hooded beauties held her still, the third placed the bridle around Cathy's head.

'No, please, I can't take any more of this!!' Her pitiful plea, accompanied by vigorous shaking of her head in an effort to evade this latest restraint, did her no good.

The strong leather straps - both vertical and horizontal - were eased around Cathy's head from top to bottom and from back to front. But what caused her the most distress was the attached metal bit, which was forced as far back into her mouth as it would go. With this in place, all the leather straps were pulled so tightly that Cathy felt that her whole head was being compressed.

Her cheeks, her temples, the bridge of her nose and her jaw all fell victim to the extreme pressure that the securing of this tortuous headstall created, with the final strap being tightly fastened around her throat. And with her jaw now firmly shut, the removal of the bit became impossible and she found that she had no alternative than to bite down on the unforgiving metal bar. There were reins attached to this implement of cranial torture also, but although these hung loosely at her breasts for the time being, Cathy knew instinctively that at some point a use would be found for them that she would no doubt find distasteful. The young woman's metamorphosis into a pony-girl, however, didn't end with this headwear.

For no sooner had the bridle been tested to ensure it wouldn't slip or come loose, than the next piece of leather apparatus was being readied for her. This consisted of a harness, which fitted securely around her upper torso and shoulders, criss-crossed her breasts, and was then made fast around her waist.

Metal rings of varying sizes hung from the straps at strategic locations; in readiness, Cathy solemnly guessed, for other attachments or bindings. Another strap, hanging from the front of the now secured leather ligature, quickly found its way between her legs and was pulled so tightly that Cathy involuntarily squealed at the sudden upward pressure into her crotch. Once her riggers had satisfied themselves that this had been stretched to its limits, it was securely buckled to the straps at her back.

With the leather latticework now woven around her, Dolores' minions set to work on attiring their captive's feet. But rather than the boots Cathy had arrived here in, a different pair were now set before her. Like those she favoured when she was on a house breaking assignment, these were of black leather and reached up to just below the knee. Unlike her own, however, the replacements had high heels; so high, in fact, that Cathy was sure that she would never be able to walk in them. But her opinions were of little interest to the Mistress and her three loyal attendants, and despite her attempted words of protest, she soon found her spandex clad legs being shod in the unfamiliar footwear. Not only were the heels of a height that she'd never encountered before, the boots also seemed to be one size too small; pinching her toes and compressing her feet painfully when she put her weight down on them. Just to add insult to injury, a set of legs-cuffs was produced; two sturdy bracelets with a connecting chain of about ten inches or so.

And these were duly placed around her now booted ankles. All this time, Dolores had been quietly watching the unfolding transformation; a smile of satisfaction etched smugly on her face. Now that the work was complete, however, she broke her silence. 'Well Cathy, my fine young filly, I'm guessing that you're now beginning to get the picture as to what's on the cards for you today. It will be interesting to see whether you turn out to be a thoroughbred or a carthorse, although with your sleek physique and slender legs, I'm guessing you'll probably prove to be the former. Those boots may take a little while to get accustomed to, but I'm sure you'll soon get the hang of them. I do hope so anyway, as if you fall, you could easily injure yourself.

I'm sure that won't happen though.' She looked Cathy up and down for a brief period, before walking slowly around her captive.

Idly, she grabbed Cathy's ponytail and examined it for a few seconds. 'Hmm, not bad, but I think another couple of accessories would be in order.' Cathy had no idea what this meant, but Dolores' henchwomen clearly comprehended exactly what their leader was alluding to, as almost at once one of them passed her two plumes of long black hair. Fixing one to the strap that ran across the top of her skull, so that the artificial tresses cascaded down the back of her head, she then quickly set to work fixing the second to the strapping at the small of her back. 'There, that looks better. Whoever heard of a horse without a tail and a mane?' Now satisfied that her prisoner's appearance was acceptably horse-like, Dolores turned towards the door.

'Come on girls. Let's lead our budding 'Red Rum' to the parade ring. I'm sure she's dying to meet her fellow competitors.'

One of the underlings grabbed the reins and, without warning, Cathy found herself being coerced into action. Momentarily forgetting that the ankle chain would severely restrict the length of stride she was now capable of, she immediately faltered and almost fell before she'd even taken two steps. With her arms encased in the bondage-sleeve, she had no way of stopping her descent, and felt certain that she was about to crash headlong to the floor. But thankfully, one of the women seemed alert to the possibility of this type of accident, and averted the crisis by grabbing Cathy's tumbling torso before she hit the ground. Being pulled back onto her feet without ceremony, the helpless prisoner found the reins once more being jerked forwards, and she had no option but to move in that direction, albeit with shorter, more carefully considered steps on this occasion. ( link opens in new window ) Along endless corridors and down precariously steep stairways, the harnessed and hobbled young female was led, until finally, the procession reached a door that led outside.

This wasn't the grand entrance lobby at the front of the house, however, but a small back door that took them into the courtyard at the rear of the mansion; enclosed on three sides by the 'U' design formed by the wings of the building. The afternoon was bright and sunny, with a slight breeze rustling the young leaves on the trees which all but surrounded Shackleton Grange. Birds sang and bees buzzed in the warm air, but the ambience of a pleasant spring afternoon was lost on Cathy, as the party made their way towards the stable block, situated one hundred yards or so away from the main house.

At first, the paved nature of the courtyard made the going relatively easy, even though the extremely high heels and the ankle-cuffs made the journey something of a nightmare for Cathy, as every step had to be consciously thought about and executed with precision if she wanted to avoid stumbling again. As they approached the outbuildings, however, the smooth nature of the terrain gave way to an uneven tract of gravel, which made the task of staying upright even more hazardous. Luckily, her guards seemed aware of her limitations, and allowed her the time she needed to negotiate the difficult ground at her own pace, and kept in close attendance to ensure that she stayed upright. As they neared the main entrance to the stables, the sound of activity and female voices grew louder, and it was no surprise to Cathy that, as they entered, the other women from this morning's courtroom fiasco came into view. What did shock Cathy, though, was the nature of the goings-on that greeted her. The building consisted of several partitioned stalls on either side, and in each booth there stood one of the submissive women that had passed judgement on her.

They were all still dressed in their tightly fitting cat-suits, with their feet now ensconced in high heeled leather boots. All were still bound to an inescapable degree, but unlike the last time she'd encountered them, when the method of bondage had differed between one captive and the next, now the style and quality of the restraints were of a more uniform nature.

In fact, as she was led past each stall in turn, it occurred to Cathy that they were all rigged in exactly the same manner; with arm-binder, bridle and harness, their ankles in leg irons and with a bit for a gag. In other words, they were all rigged up in identical bondage to herself. Dolores must have noticed Cathy's wide-eyed disbelief at the scene before her. 'What were you expecting to find here exactly? As well as the harnessed and bridled beauties, another woman was also present in each stall; clearly the personal stable girl responsible for the welfare of her own pony. And it was impossible to miss the fact that each of these females carried a riding crop in her hand.

Clapping her hands with an air of authority, Dolores sought to silence the general buzz of activity. 'Okay ladies, if everyone's ready we'll get the meeting started. You'll notice that Cathy has now joined us, and I'm sure that we'll all have a lot of fun at this afternoon's session. It's time to take the hobble off your mare's legs and lead her out into the parade ring.' The stable girls began to remove the shackles from the legs of their charges, and one by one they filed out of the relatively dark recesses of the building into the daylight. Cathy watched, as the tight spandex, PVC, leather or latex suits glistened and shimmered as the sunlight caught each in turn.

But her attention was quickly averted, as one of Dolores' personal servants released her own ankle bracelets, whilst a second gave a quick tug on the reins to let her know that she needed to follow the procession back out into the open air. Dolores had already made her way outside, and was again giving out instructions. 'Okay, just walk your pony around the courtyard in a clockwise direction for now. Make sure she keeps her head up and doesn't drag her feet.' Bringing up the rear of this strange caravan, Cathy found that two of the women now backed off, leaving her in the sole charge of the redhead in the skin-tight, highly polished, black latex cat-suit. Ensuring that she walked at the same pace as her keeper, Cathy soon found that the pull on the reins remained at a bearable level, and she was beginning to think that this was an easy enough activity, when all of a sudden, after they'd completed their second circuit of the courtyard, Dolores gave her next command. 'Right ladies, get your pony to increase her gait to a trot now.

Use your crops if necessary.' Without warning, Cathy felt a sharp stinging pane searing through her left thigh. She squealed, but for several seconds failed to up her pace to the required speed.

Another, even louder thwacking sound coincided with yet more pain coursing through her leg, and she realised that the other ponies had all now made significant ground on her. Despite the burning agony of the crop's lashes, Cathy began to up the tempo to a jog, with her handler keeping pace beside her. Even so, the woman decided that another dose of the leather whip was in order; this time slightly higher, across her buttocks. Cathy yelped again and inadvertently changed course slightly. And this involuntary deviation from the stipulated path was the only incentive needed for a fourth blow being administered. Cathy found herself biting hard on the bit, in an effort to take her mind away from the torture that this series of whacks to her legs and posterior had inflicted.

If her outfit had been of leather or rubber, she thought despondently, maybe the pain might not have been quite so intense. The relatively light-weight spandex, however, had been of little protection in this respect. From across the paddock, Dolores' voice boomed.

'Come on Cathy, you're lagging behind. You know what happens to naughty young fillies that can't stand the pace, don't you?' She waited a second or two, before answering her own question. 'They get locked up in the stables overnight without food or water.' Cathy felt the tears flowing down her cheeks as she tried to make up the ground to the group of other women in front of her.

Just as she thought that she'd achieved this goal, however, Dolores decided that it was again time for a change of tactics. 'Right, that's good girls. Now let's up the tempo again. Let's see how good your pony is at a canter.' Immediately, the line of pony-girls in front of her increased the rapidity of their stride, until they were all almost running, with their stable girls jogging alongside. Once again Cathy, who was feeling weak through lack of food and exhausted from having had no sleep last night, found herself being left behind. The inevitable slap of leather on spandex followed almost instantly.

From somewhere inside her, she managed to summon up the reserves of energy needed to put on a spurt, which thankfully ensured that no further encouragement of this kind was forthcoming. After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality only probably amounted to another two minutes or so, Dolores called the circling convoy of horses and their trainers to a halt. 'Right ladies, that's enough for now. Let your pony rest for a few minutes. I must say that the standard overall was extremely high. The only exception being that old nag at the back. Looks like we'll have to give you some extra training to get you into shape, doesn't it Cathy?'

At the cessation of the enforced parade, Cathy, along with all the other ponies, found herself being led back into the stables where, once inside her own stall, she was left momentarily unattended. Feeling dizzy and nauseous, she dropped to her knees. Breathing hard, her heart beating rapidly and with the tears still streaming down her face, she found her focus blurring, and it was all she could do to stop herself collapsing onto the mat of straw bedding that littered the floor.

Although she knew that it was futile, she found herself trying to slip her arms out of the bondage sleeve that held them in such close proximity to each other. As she did so, however, she sensed someone kneel down beside her. Even before she turned her head, the voice that whispered in her ear was instantly recognisable as that of Dolores.

'Not trying to break free are you? Do you really want me to have to discipline you in front of all the other ponies? Now be a good girl and behave yourself.or else!' Cathy shuddered at the softly spoken yet chillingly unambiguous warning. Then, with slightly less malice, Dolores gave her one final piece of advice, before standing up and walking back out into the sunlight.

'If I were you, I'd use the next few minutes wisely, to get your breath back and conserve your energies for the next event.' For a minute or two, Cathy kept her head down and tried to compose herself. What else could they possibly have in store for her? When would this whole nightmare come to an end? But her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone approaching. Looking up, she noticed Dolores' silver-suited henchwoman standing over her. But what really caught her eye was the pair of boots that she was carrying, which looked vaguely familiar to her, although it took a second or two longer for the truth to register.

Yes, these were indeed her own boots! Lifting Cathy back to her feet, the woman grabbed the reins and looped these around a sturdy railing, so that her neck was tethered only inches away from the wooden pole. Cathy suddenly felt a hand grab her left leg and pull her foot up behind her, and seconds later the undersized boot began to slowly slide down her calf. The tight fit made this a laborious process, but after much pulling and wrenching, the stubborn boot finally released its grip and hit the floor with a dull thud. With her right foot soon succumbing to the same process, for a brief period Cathy stood with nothing but the moulded feet of her spandex cat-suit between her and the carpet of straw. But within a matter of seconds, each leg in turn was once more forcibly bent backwards, as she experienced the sensation of her own boots gliding over her foot and up her shin.

After the pain of the alien, cramped foot apparel, the familiarity of her own boots comforted not only her aching toes and arches, but also served to calm her mind to a certain degree, as the threat of falling and injuring herself - during whatever task she was about to be set - now receded somewhat. And it was soon apparent that this was Dolores' reason for the change of foot attire also. The reins being released from their mooring post, Cathy found herself once more being led from her stall. At the main stable door, Dolores stood watching as her team of pony-girls made their way back into the open air.

She caught Cathy's eye. 'You didn't really think that we were going to make you race in those heels, did you? No, they were just for the dressage event.

If we'd let you all go cavorting around like that on the uneven terrain of the racecourse, we'd have lots of ponies with broken ankles by the time we'd finished.' Cathy looked at the other girls as they were marshalled by their handlers out into the warm afternoon sun. She noticed that they too had relinquished their high heels, and were now also shod in sensible footwear.

For a minute of two, the harnessed and bridled beauties, with their artificial manes and tails dancing in the soft breeze, were left milling around in a small group by the stable door, under the watchful eyes of Dolores and two of her helpers, whilst the other stable girls momentarily disappeared. Cathy's gaze strayed from the group, however, desperately hoping for a sign that some member of the general public - anyone from the outside world, in fact - was within range to observe what was happening and would choose to investigate. But the house was surrounded by trees and high walls, with no view possible from the road outside. She looked into the clear blue ether, hoping that a helicopter or light aircraft might just happen to be flying at low altitude over Shackleton Grange, and that the pilot might take note of the strange events taking place below and become suspicious. But the sky was devoid of Saturday afternoon aviators and their flying machines, and as had been the case since yesterday evening, luck seemed to have deserted her when it came to potential saviours appearing on the scene.

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