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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 Story Of T

Arrival At The Institute

The Dominafuhrer

The New Recruit

The Sacred Feminine

The Sacred Feminine

Julia

An Introduction

VO Stories

Jenny
Miss Malcahy's Detention
Nine and a Half Hours

The Weight Loss
Programme

I Sign A Contract

The Convict

The Convict/My Prison Folder

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

Long Weekend - Conclusion

The moments before unconsciousness are memorably euphoric. I’d once had an operation to repair a rotator cuff torn in a skiing accident. The feeling of losing consciousness under a general anesthetic was just the same as the feeling I had now, buried alive, bound in Bossy’s box.

However, a noise interrupted my descent into oblivion. First a scraping sound, ending in a thud, I guessed the source to be the weight on the lid being pushed onto the floor. Then I heard the click of the lock and felt a sudden whoosh of air as the lid opened.

“Lift your head,” Ingrid said, and she undid the straps to the gag, unzipped the hood, and removed them both together.

I took in a massive breath of air, then looked into the blue eyes of my captor. She was prettier than I remembered her in the pub.

When the women had untied my bonds, I struggled out of the coffin, conscious that I stunk of sweat and urine.  The other two women were present, too.

The woman I’d named Bossy said, “Hi Duncan. Welcome back.”

She wore a black latex cat-suit that showed off her tall muscular figure. In her hand she held a cat o’ nine tails.

The woman I called Jane waved at me but said nothing. She sported a long skirt and bra in matching black polyurethane. Ingrid, on the other hand, wore a pale pink cotton dress and high heeled shoes. Not dressed for work?

As well as the three women, there were two others in the room. Two men, in the same degree of bondage that I had earlier been “enjoying.”

One was spread-eagled face-down on the iron framed bed, dressed only in black latex chaps and matching hood. The other resembled a mummy, but in plastic wrap rather than cotton bandages. The plastic wrap stopped at his neck, and his head covered with a leather hood. He’d been strapped face-up on the massage table.

Both were gagged and both wore the same kind of noise-cancelling headphones that had earlier deprived me of my hearing.  I assumed that neither of them knew what torture I’d just endured, but theirs appeared to be starting quite soon.

Bossy handed me her whip. It did indeed comprise nine “tails.” They were made of leather, and each tail had been knotted in three places along its length. I gave it back to her. “How many lashes are you going to give him?” I asked.

“As many as I like. He’s not going anywhere.” As a demonstration, she brought the whip down on his bare back of the man who lay face down. “He’ll go home red raw,” she said.

“What about the other bloke?”

“He’s mine,” Jane said. She went over to one of the closets, opened the door and fished out a pair of scissors from a drawer.

Blimey, what’s she going to do, cut it off?

Nothing so drastic. She snipped away at the plastic around his groin, freeing his penis, which popped up in the air.

“Some prolonged teasing,” she said.

Lucky him.

“I’d better get you cleaned up,” Ingrid said. “This way.”

As we left the room I noticed Bossy remove her victim’s gag. Clearly, she expected him to plead for mercy, at some point during his flogging.

I followed Ingrid to the bathroom. Inside, she’d placed a laundry basket containing my belongings. “Want to go for lunch after your shower?” she asked. “I’d like to have a chat.”

“What time is it?”

She smiled. “Lunch time.”

Nice. She has a sense of humour. “Yes, I’d love to.”

* * * *

We walked about a quarter of a mile to an Italian restaurant. “You’ll need lots of carbs after your ordeal,” Ingrid said. “I recommend you start with the fried calamari, and after that the chicken here is pretty good. Ask for a double helping.”

I could hardly wait. Now that all of my senses were fully restored, hunger seemed to have taken over as my main priority.

We sat down and ordered, Ingrid requesting a lunch that contained about a third the calories of mine.

“I hope we didn’t scare you too much, Duncan .”

“Stuffing me in the coffin did, but bloody hell, when I think about it now I get…”

“Hard. Yes, it has an equivalent effect on me, too.”

“Doing it or receiving it?”

“The latter, I’m a sub at Madame’s.”

We’d both ordered San Pellegrino water, a large one for me. She raised her glass. “To a couple of subs.”

A man and woman at an adjacent table must have heard her for they stared at us for a moment then the woman said something to her companion.

I lowered my voice. “The trouble with two subs is that they both want to be tied up.”

“They can take it in turns,” she replied.

I suddenly realized I wanted to get to know her better. I had taken a sudden liking to the auburn haired, blue-eyed Ingrid. But, hold it, that’s the imaginary name I gave her.

Still whispering, I said, “If we’re going to have this kind of conversation I should know your name.”

“Susan.”

The waiter appeared with Susan’s salad and my fried squid. I had a hard time not bolting it down, and I didn’t stop myself eating all of the bread, including Susan’s.

“Feel better now?” she asked.

“Infinitely,” I replied, hoping I’d not appeared to be too much of a pig.

She bent down, picked up her handbag and extracted an envelope. “This is yours. Madame wanted you to have it.”

I opened it and peered in. “The thousand pounds from my account?”

“Yes. We didn’t want to do anything illegal.”

I handed it back to her. “You three earned it, and I enjoyed myself.”

“Thanks.”

When the waiter had cleared our plates away, I asked, “What are their names?”

“Madame is Madame, and the other mistress is Karen.”

“I couldn’t see or hear what was going on most of the time, so tell me what actually happened over the weekend.”

The chicken fettuccini now sat in front of me. I tucked into it and let Susan begin her story.

“Andrea took you back to the living quarters at the dungeon. That was why you had to be blindfolded. Then she put sleeping pills in your coffee, which meant we had plenty of time to tie you up. Karen did most of it, while Madame and I held you in place on that table. Karen loves bondage and practices on me. We figured that since you were going to be tied up all day we’d best use that soft PVC tape. It’s pretty strong.”

“What time was it when I woke up from the sleeping pills?”

“About four o’clock Saturday morning. That’s about five hours from the time Karen had finished her handiwork. I’d put a pulse probe on your wrist and kept an eye on the readout. It’s one of those gadgets athletes use. Comes in handy in our line of work.”

“Was that you who whacked me with the strap?”

“It wasn’t hard, was it?”

“No.”

“Anyway, where was I?  Oh yes, after you’d relieved yourself, I went to bed until mid-morning when I returned to give you something to drink.”

“Oh, yeah, the drinks break came after Karen was let loose on me with six strokes of her cane.”

“Yeah, how was that? Did it hurt?”

“Not really. That was the turning point for me when I realized we were playing a game.”

“The Savlon I rubbed into your bum helped a bit after Madame’s turn to cane you. She has a strong arm, and I winced at every stroke.”

I started to get stomach cramps from eating too fast and slowed down. “Then came the demand for my PIN. I had some fun with that.”

“So did we. Madame had predicted you’d give us the wrong one. She was ecstatic. It meant you were proving to be a worthy adversary. But even so, we were surprised you managed such a long time in that state of bondage.”

We ate in silence for several minutes.

“Why did you chain me up in the closet?”

“To get the circulation in your body functioning properly again. Madame was proud of that noose around your neck. It meant we’d be giving you some sleep deprivation along with the sensory variety.”

“But I caught up with my sleep the following day when you tied me to the bed encased in that body bag.”

I finished the main course and the waiter returned to rattle off the desserts. I requested the chocolate cheesecake with chocolate sauce. Susan declined, but asked for coffee. “Me, too,” I said.

“Tying you up in the body bag was an example of more softening up. We thought we’d break you eating breakfast in your presence. You must have been starving by then.”

“I was, but the fact that you were torturing me with it somehow took my hunger pangs away.”

“Judging from how much you’re eating I can tell it wasn’t permanent. Do you remember what came next?”

“Yes, your offer of a blow job. Brilliant, even though I figured you were playing the good-cop in the trio. I regarded the release it gave me as a minor victory.”

She laughed. “That’s what we hoped. Great strategy, was it not?”

“Indeed, it was.”

The waiter arrived with the cheesecake, which I attacked straightaway, disposing of it in short order.

“What did you think of Madame?” Susan asked when I had finished the last mouthful.

“Very professional. What did she do before getting into this business?”

“Guess.”

“Psychologist?”

“Close. She has a Psych degree but her employer was MI5. She has worked on interrogation techniques, as an advisor not as an inquisitor.”

“So she wanted to put her ideas into practice?”

“Yup, that’s right. Clever isn’t she?”

It was a rhetorical question. I picked up my coffee cup and took a few sips. The caffeine in it was almost as pleasurable as the food I’d just eaten. “Why pick me?”

“Madame didn’t want to carry out the experiment on one of her regular clients. She thought they’d probably suss out what was going on. And not many of them are as fit as you are. We knew the three days would be pretty arduous, and she didn’t want to use someone who would wimp out after a few hours.”

“Changing the subject, is Madame okay with you having lunch with me?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Now if you asked me for a date, that would be a different matter. Madame has a rule that we mustn’t date the clients.”

“How can she stop you?”

“She can’t, but we’d be fired if she found out. I don’t have much in the way of GCSEs, so this is a good job for me.”

I suppose it is, I thought, and more or less recession proof. “Talking of dating, where does Andrea fit in here?”

“The woman who snared you? Oh, she’s an old school friend of Karen. Great girl, game for anything. The PVC trousers were her idea. You men…” She didn’t finish the sentence but laughed instead.

“And what were you discussing in the pub?”

“The torture scenarios. We’d spent an hour in the Royal Oak on the two previous Fridays before we homed in on you.”

“My lucky day, then.” I drained the rest of my coffee. “One last question before you get back to work. Why the coffin scenario, when the game appeared to be over?”

“It was on the original list, and Madame couldn’t resist it. Fun for her, but Karen and I were nervous about it.  And since you were already a captive audience…”

“It was fun for me, too.”

“You realized you were locked in a coffin?”

“Yes, but I assumed you knew how long the air would last.”

“We sort of did. In a test run, I acted as the guinea pig, but they didn’t tie me up, nor did they lock the lid. I lasted the same amount of time as you, but I wasn’t thrashing around using up precious oxygen.”

“I have bigger lungs,” I said.

“Maybe, but bound in that PVC body bag must have been extremely claustrophobic.”

“I was too aroused to worry about it. And as I mentioned, I’d guessed what was going on by them.”

She gave a chuckle as though she’d spotted I was lying, which I was.

Susan paid for the meal, using the cash from the envelope. She would be going south, back to the house to cater to clients who doubtless were making the most of the holiday Monday. I would be headed in the opposite direction, home.

As I turned to go north to the Underground station, Susan grabbed my arm. “When your bum has lost all those red marks, do you want to try our escapology course?  Madame thinks you’ll be a worthy candidate.”

“Okay.”

“As an added incentive, you can tie me up. If I escape or you don’t then Madame wants to … Well, you know what.”

“A caning?”

Susan laughed. “There’ll be no charge. We’ll take our expenses out of the thousand you’ve just given me. What do you want me to wear? Naked is not permitted.”

“Do you have a pair of those trousers Andrea wore in the pub?”

“Of course, and a matching top.”

She handed me her card, or rather Madame’s, and we parted company.

Escapology Training

I’d booked the session for a Friday night and, just in case Madame pulled a similar stunt to last time, told my friends I might go away for the weekend. They knew that “going away for the weekend” meant a possibility of an overnight stay with a new girlfriend.

Susan answered the door dressed as promised in a black PVC two-piece suit. She ushered me into the same room they’d used for my previous incarceration.

Madame joined us. “Strip!”

I did as I was told. She handed me six pieces of PVC tape, each about eight feet long.

“You will use these on Susan, and I will have the same number and length to use on you. The rule is you cannot tie her to anything, for example, the bed or a chair. And I will be bound by the same rule,” she said, smiling. “No pun intended.”

“Ready?” I asked Susan.

“Do your worst,” Susan replied. “But remember, I’m a sub. I get lots of practice extricating myself.”

Madame interrupted just as I was about to start. “Oh, by the way, if you’re going to tie her up on the floor, use that futon by the bed.”

I pulled the polyurethane covered futon into the center of the room. “Give me your right wrist,” I said.

Susan held it up and I tied the first strip of tape to it, the leaving equal length ends hanging down.

“Now the other one.”

I repeated the process then tied her hands together behind her back. I took the loose ends, in pairs, around the front of her and tied them at her belly button.

“Very good,” Madame said. “She can’t reach the knots.”

“Lie on the futon, Susan,” I said. “On your tummy.”

I hog-tied her legs, with two of the other tapes, leaving two I really didn’t know what to do with. Madame raised an eye-brow, so I used one to secure Susan’s ankles and wound the other around her wrists.

“There! Get out of that.”

“Not bad,” Madame said. “Now your turn.”

“I’ll be out in a jiff,” I said.

Madame laughed at my bravado. “When I said I’d use same number and length of restraint, I didn’t specify what the restraints would be made of.”

She went over to the supply closet and removed six lengths of sash cord. She also selected a rubber hood, one with an opening for the nose and another for mouth, plus it had eye-holes. She put it on me.

Madame followed the same first two steps that I had with Susan, but tied me tighter. The cord cut into my wrists making movement painful.

She used a third piece to make a collar, tying it at the front and then down to where the other knots were.

“On the floor, face down.”

I lay down on the hard linoleum-tiles. Instead of hog-tying my legs, she roped my right ankle to the back of my left knee. This immobilized me just as effectively as my knots had done to Susan, but my rear end was completely exposed. I thought I’d be able to reach the knot securing my ankle, but then she used the fifth piece of cord to pull my arms higher, looping this piece around the collar and tying that off where my foot and knee were tied. With that one in place, if I tried to search for the knots I’d choke myself.

“One piece left,” she said, tying it around my wrists, then to my foot and knee.

I didn’t see her fetch her cane but felt it fall gently on my bum. She tapped me a few times.

“Just some minor details I forgot,” Madame said. “Every half hour you’ll receive three with this until two hours are up. It’ll be an added incentive to escape. I would have preferred a longer session but I have someone else coming in after you. Oh, and if Susan escapes before I release you, you’ll get an immediate extra six strokes. You’ll also receive six on the last caning if I have to release you. Understand?”

“Yes, that’s pretty straightforward, Madame.”

She whacked me hard, just one stroke. “No sarcasm.”

Grabbing my arm, she spun me around so that I faced Susan’s waist.

“There. Now, you can monitor Susan’s progress.”

I noticed that she’d already slipped out of the extra bonds around her hands. I hadn’t tied them that tightly because I figured she’d have a hard time with the other bonds. Her fingers were free but what could she do now?

I watched as she put one hand down the waistband of her trousers. I realized why when she produced a small penknife that she must have hidden there.

“Careless of you not to search her beforehand,” Madame said. She bent down and parted the cheeks of my arse. “Nothing in there?”

“No. Check if you want.”

That comment earned me another stroke of her cane, and we hadn’t even started on her prescribed punishment yet.

Meanwhile, Susan had opened the knife and was sawing through the tape. It took her less than ten minutes, and she must have been soaked in sweat in her PVC suit. I groaned when her hands suddenly sprung free. Five more minutes and she was up and putting a foot on my back. “How’s it going, Duncan ?”

“You cheated.”

Another whack. “You slipped up,” Madame said. “Proves you’re not as smart as this young lady. I’ll count that one as the first of the six you get for not being able to keep Susan fettered.

I’m sure she enjoyed every one of the remaining five. She certainly knew how to wield that thing. But as with my previous visit, once the caning stopped, euphoria swept over me. However, I knew the feeling wouldn’t last long. The first half hour caning loomed.

* * * *

“Two minutes to go, Houdini,” Madame said. “Susan is already on her way to the shower, and you could have joined her if you’d managed to extricate yourself.”

“Not much chance of that,” I replied. “Can I plead for mercy?”

“Do you want to beg me to untie you?”

“No, because that’s what you want. Isn’t it?”

She laughed but did not reply, except to deliver the next whack.

“One,” I said. I wasn’t having her sneak in an extra stroke. Not that I could do much about it. She seemed very inventive when it came to additional punishment.

“Two.” Yow, that hurt, but I kept quiet.

After the third one she said, “I might as well have gagged you for all the sound I’m getting out of you. I think that’s what I’ll do.

She went over to the closet and retrieved a ball-gag. “Any last words before I silence you?”

I shook my head.

I had to suffer in silence through the next two beatings. Susan did not reappear to apply Savlon to my throbbing bum.

As a way of easing the pain and getting the circulation going, I tensed my gluts, then relaxed them. I repeated this over and over again. It seemed to help.

Only half an hour to go. Actually less, because Madame would have to allocate some time to untie me. Must play havoc with her nails.

When she returned she removed the gag.

“Now the final double dose,” she said. “Next time you visit me you’ll be on our preferred customer list. I only grant this privilege to my special clients. You’ll get a twenty-percent discount. Now are you ready?”

“Yes, but how’s my bum looking?”

“I’ve seen worse.”

The first stroke seemed to land on a spot devoid of skin. I wished she hadn’t taken the gag out. “One.” My count came out as a screech.

“Yes, that hurt didn’t it? But it’s fun for me.”

“Two.”

“I can’t decide which I prefer, tying you up or caning you.”

“Three. Why can’t you decide?” I asked, mainly to divert my brain from the pain.

“Well, I love to bind a strong lad like you. Slowly you realize that you have less and less freedom, while I gain more and more power over you. Some men completely freak out when they’re tied up. And lots are claustrophobic, so they don’t like being gagged and blindfolded. That’s why I wanted to perform that “bound and gagged in a coffin” scenario on your last visit. The ultimate high for me.”

“Four,” I yelped, through gritted teeth. “And the caning?”

“I enjoy it when my victim doesn’t scream the place down. If he does, I usually terminate the session.”

“Five.” Only one to go. “How do I rate?”

“Ha! Fishing for compliments are we?”

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay. The faux pas gets you an extra stroke. But to answer your question, I enjoy a challenge. You proved you’re a worthy opponent at the first session, and now you’ve confirmed my judgment.”

“Six.”

“Last one. I’ll go lower to avoid all the other marks.”

“Seven.” The cane landed at the top of my thigh.

Almost immediately, she started untying me, and performed the task as expertly as she had the binding.

Before leaving the room she said, “I know you’re hooked, so I’ll be dreaming up something new for your next visit.”

Trouble was, she was right. She’d brought out a latent need in me. Dating would be tricky after Madame.

End

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