Home

Back to the Stories Page

Julia

An Introduction
Julia's Way
The Long Way
A Wee Drop
Virginity
Club Night
The Welcome

The Stories of Yvonne Sinclair

Alice And Anna
On The Beach
The Bisley Boy
Silk Stockings On A Ladder
A Merry Ferry Christmas
Stella and Fanny

The Sacred Feminine

The Sacred Feminine

The Dominafuhrer

The New Recruit

The Story Of T

Arrival At The Institute

VO Stories

Jenny
Miss Malcahy's Detention
Nine and a Half Hours

The Weight Loss
Programme

I Sign A Contract

The Convict

The Convict

Stories

65
A Caning By Miss Spiteful
Always On The Bare
A Visit To Greenwich
At My Lady's Pleasure
Ball Shackle Story
Charles
George
I Met Claire In A Coffee Shop
Judicial Bastinado
Kevin's Poem
Kim
Long Weekend
Long Weekend Conclusion
My Visit
Penitence
Plimsolls
Robin's Electrical Torture
Shoeshine Boy
Slave To The Cane
The Basement
The Colony
The Escape Artist
The Huntress Caning
The Language School
The Worm's View
Webb Encounters
Z

The Bossy Bank Women

A Judicial Punishment

The Valkyrie

Episode 1

Norseland

The Vision
The Agreement
First Blood

EXIT

EXIT THIS SITE

JULIA

A Wee Drop

Julia's house was, to say the least, a bit unusual. Standing in splendid isolation in an expensive leafy suburb it attracted little attention from the outside apart from the traditional envy of those passers by who couldn't afford to live there. Inside it was very different, with many changes made to Julia's own specifications. She was beginning to gain a reputation with the local builders for her strange requests, hence she had started using builders from outlying areas to avoid too much suspicion. Such had been the case with the removable banisters along the stairwell on one of her landings. It took some ingenuity to concoct a cover story to explain this request but it was done. The whole banister assembly could be taken down in sections which slotted into each other and into the wall and floor. When removed a sheer drop some ten or fifteen feet down to the foot of the stairs on the lower floor was left exposed.

Harold looked down into this void as he stood at its edge. A clock on the sidewall indicated ten am. A lot seemed to have happened since he awoke earlier and yet it was only ten. It was a long way to fall down the stairwell. But, even though he was right on the edge, he was not going to fall. He couldn't fall, he knew that, but he didn't know much else about what would happen.

Immediately below, at the foot of the stairs, was what looked like a very large tin bath or trough. Harold couldn't move his feet, indeed he couldn't move very much at all. The thick leather straps saw to that; one round each ankle and one round each wrist, securing him firmly to the large St Andrew's cross which stood at the edge of the stairwell. That had been another challenge for Julia's inventiveness, explaining to the builder why she needed the strong anchor points in the floor and ceiling to which the cross could be secured for such occasions as this.

When Harold looked straight ahead instead of down he saw, midway between him and the wall, a length of rope dangling from a hook in the ceiling, maybe four feet long, with a short length of single strand bare wire tied to its end. At the bottom of the wire was another hook. He could not imagine what all this was for, except that he knew Julia was displeased with him and that Julia's punishments, whilst not always swift, were always sure.

Julia appeared swishing in her golden cape and regarded the scene. The heavies, three large strong women in black leather who had forced Harold unwillingly into position and strapped him to the cross, seemed to have gone now. There were just the two of them. Cosy.

Opening a cupboard on the landing she extracted a large bucket. A length of rope, about six feet long, was tied to the middle of the handle, the other end of the rope remaining free. Leaning, very carefully, out over the stairwell and extending an arm whilst she steadied herself with the cross, she hung the handle of the empty bucket on the hook dangling from the ceiling, just beside the rope already tied to the handle. Harold could see part of the way down into the bucket; it looked empty but he couldn't be sure. With her arm still extended she reached for the rope dangling from the handle and carefully worked the rope through her one free hand until she was holding the free end.

She stood back from the edge, looking alternately at the rope she was holding and at Harold. She was smiling. Harold wasn't. "What fiendish thing is this?" he wondered to himself. If he only knew just how fiendish it was; but he would, soon enough. Far too soon.

Balancing herself cautiously, Julia leaned over in front of Harold and gently took his testicles into her free hand. Harold stared down fixedly as she looped the rope round his scrotum and carefully tied it in a secure double knot. The rope was snug but not tight round his skin, but the double knot allowed for no slippage and was very tight itself. When satisfied she gave the rope a sharp tug, just to make sure it couldn't slip off. Harold's screams filled the erstwhile silent house, then subsided after a while. He was now connected to the bucket by six feet of rope.

Julia left the landing, leaving Harold to contemplate this bizarre apparatus connected to his tenderest parts. He still couldn't imagine what she intended to do, except that it was bound to be pretty spectacular and at his very considerable expense. He could hear shuffling and scraping noises, they seemed to be coming closer. Soon Julia made another appearance, this time clutching the business end of a garden hose which was dripping slightly. She held it over the stairwell so the drips fell into the trough below with a tinkling sound. Taking care to aim the nozzle into the trough she adjusted the nozzle, with great precision, so that the water came out in very slow drips, about one drip a second. She then hung the hose over a series of wall hooks so that the nozzle was over the bucket. Drips now started falling into the bucket. Julia regarded her handiwork. It looked real good. She smiled in satisfaction.

"Now" she said to Harold "that piece of wire holding up the bucket is made of copper and has been selected to have a breaking strain equal to the weight of that bucket when about three-quarters full. That's three gallons of water. Thirty pounds weight. The breaking weight is very consistent, very reliable. But don't worry - when it breaks it can't fall far can it? About six feet, would you say?" Harold's blood ran cold. He was still aching quite badly from Julia's light tug on the rope. He looked, horrified, at the dripping water. How long would it take to drip three gallons? Half an hour? Three hours? All day? Longer? He visualised himself watching the water level slowly climbing, trying to forecast when it would happen. His face was a picture. Julia enjoyed pictures, especially pictures like this one. This was the time. The moment to savour. There's no hurry, nothing will happen quickly. Take the time, savour the moment. She drank it all in, smiling in utter delight at what she saw and anticipated. But she still knew more than Harold; he couldn't guess - and she wasn't going to tell him. Absolutely not!

She opened the cupboard again and took out a rubber-lined macintosh rainhood. This she placed over his head back to front so that the rubber lining completely covered his face. The rubber odour filled his nostrils, although he could still breathe. His vision was cut off far more effectively than with any more conventional blindfold. He felt Julia tying the drawstring at the back of his neck. He'd no longer have any idea of the state of the water in the bucket; he could just hear the drip, drip, drip in his blackness.

"Bye bye" Julia called as she left the landing by a door which led to another staircase. "I have some shopping to do. I may call round later. Have a good day".

* * *

Julia went shopping. She cut a dashing figure in her golden satin cape, looking distinctly less out of place in her yuppie town centre than it would have in the run down part of Peckham or Islington. No one knew what she wore under it. She never took it off - all that separated it from her skin was the smooth rubber lining inside. In the sunshine it became very hot inside and the strong smell of the rubber rose up from inside the collar and into her nostrils, intoxicating her. People would stare at her, she loved that and could stare anyone right out. Heads turned as she swished and crackled down the aisles in Sainsbury's, as she stood in the bus queue - she liked travelling in public - as she took lunch and, later, tea in a prim cafe. She could carry her bags either inside or outside the cape; she preferred them outside except when it was raining. Then she was faced with the challenge of getting the bags out from under the hem without lifting it far enough to expose her nakedness underneath. This was not completely possible and the operation called for great circumspection on her part. But she enjoyed these minor challenges. Things like this added greatly to her lifestyle; they lifted shopping, for example, out of the mundane into an exciting adventure that could, if she was not careful, all go wrong.

Today, though, she had more than the usual excitement on her mind. Not to be rushed she meandered through the arcades, window shopping, examining the exotic outfits in the seductive smelling leatherwear shops owned by swarthy Mediterranean types, pricing the Rolex watches in the high class jewellers and taking several cups of Earl Grey and Lapsang tea at various cosy but expensive English Tea Rooms.

Dusk fell. Julia was hungry and, although she had had plenty of tea and coffee, she had had very little to eat. So, at about 7 pm, she settled down to a goodly Chinese meal at an intimate little restaurant where she was well known. That gave her chance to visit the ladies' room where she could take off her cape for a moment and freshen up.

By the time she returned home it was after nine pm. She was in no hurry to return to see how Harold was making out and made herself a coffee, the Chinese meal having left her quite thirsty. In any case she enjoyed the wait, savouring the moment. Let him sweat a bit longer.

Eventually she went up to the landing. She untied the drawstring from the hood and removed it. It was wet with condensation. Harold's face was white and drained, he had black circles under his eyes and a terrified expression. He blinked in the light and looked incredulously in the direction of the bucket. It was still there, in front of him, full to the brim and overflowing, drip by drip, into the trough below. The ropes, and everything else, were still in place. Julia watched his expression, smiled, then laughed out loud, long and heartily.

When she eventually calmed down, she addressed Harold "There's one piece of information I forgot to give you. Wasn't I a silly girl? That piece of wire is not copper, it's steel and will support many bucketfuls of water before it ever breaks." She giggled. "Sorry I got that bit wrong"; she giggled again.

It took some time for this to sink into Harold's tired and confused brain. So many conflicting messages, so little sense, what should he believe? Then he realised that he had been had. Duped. Julia had put one over on him, and he had suffered unspeakable mental torture because of it. He was furious - no one ever put one over on him. The more he though about it the more incensed he became; it built up and up in his mind until he exploded "You Bitch". He spat out the B-word.

That was a mistake.

Glaring at him, Julia opened the cupboard, took a pair of scissors and cut the rope just above the wire. The thirty pounds of water didn't fall far; maybe about six feet. Plus a bit for stretching.

END


back to the top