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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


An Introduction

VO Stories

Miss Malcahy's Detention
Nine and a Half Hours

The Weight Loss

I Sign A Contract

The Convict

The Convict/My Prison Folder


A Caning By Miss Spiteful
Always On The Bare
A Visit To Greenwich
At My Lady's Pleasure
Ball Shackle Story
I Met Claire In A Coffee Shop
Judicial Bastinado
Kevin's Poem
Long Weekend
Long Weekend Conclusion
My Visit
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

The Bossy Bank Women

A Judicial Punishment

The Valkyrie

Episode 1


The Vision
The Agreement
First Blood



Long Weekend

As usual on a Friday when we had nothing else better to do, Benjamin, Harvey, and I sat at a table in the Royal Oak with a pint of beer each and an assortment of finger food.. We didn’t go there to meet women.  Rather, we would sit and digest the week’s global events and try to solve them. Our current hot topics: cabinet reshuffles and the declining value of our houses.

Seated at a nearby table were four women. Like us, they didn’t look as if they were there to meet members of the opposite sex, because they seemed to be more interested in copies of a document that one of them handed out to the others. Planning a trip perhaps, or was it work related?

When one of the women got up and headed for the loo, I noticed she was wearing black PVC trousers, tight and shiny. As she passed our table she seemed to make eye contact with me. I mentioned this to my friends.

“It’s your imagination, Duncan,” Harvey said. “She’s too blonde and beautiful for you, lad.”

I laughed at the put-down.  We did it to each other all the time, but I could tell he fancied her, too. She was the most attractive of the four, if your taste was for Swedish-looking models. The others would turn a guy on if he liked the dirty-girl look. I had a fantasy that I would find a woman who combined many qualities, including dominatrix and a taste in kinky clothes.

The blonde continued to glance over at our table during the evening, and she’d always return my smile.

When the four women left at closing time, Ms. Shiny Trousers walked right by me.  As she did so, she dropped a beer mat into my lap. On it she’d written “Andrea” and a phone number. She paused by the exit, looked over at me and raised her eyebrows. I held up the beer mat and nodded.

* * * *

I phoned Andrea and invited her for dinner on the Friday of the upcoming long weekend.  I was surprised when she insisted on picking me up at my house. “I know you’ll offer to pay the bill,” she said. “So it’s the least I can do.”

I told her where I lived.

“I’ll be there at seven,” she said.

I’d booked a table at an expensive but trendy restaurant. The sort of place where a woman could wear kinky clothes and not look out of place. She arrived on time but much to my disappointment wore a conventional ochre woolen skirt, cream blouse and a brown suede bomber jacket. Her clothes looked expensive rather than risqué, but then I hadn’t told her where we were going.

Turned out she actually was a model.  “I work abroad mostly,” she said.

“Oh,” I replied. I’m sure I sounded disappointed.

“But I’m hoping to get an assignment in London next.”


“What sports do you play?” she asked. “You’re slimmer than most men I’ve dated.”

“Football in the winter, bike racing in the summer.”

“That explains it. I like fit men, especially good looking ones.”

“Thanks,” I said, in my best modest tone of voice. I wasn’t so crass as to comment on what I liked in women, so I switched to something more cerebral, the frigging collapse of the economy. She claimed it didn’t affect her but played a skilful devil’s advocate opposing my stance, which was slamming greedy bankers, upon whom I laid all the blame.

After the meal she invited me back for coffee.  “On one condition,” she said. “When we’re a mile from my house you have to wear a blindfold. My housemates don’t want everyone to know where we live.”

“The three other women in the pub?” I asked.

“Yes. We all stick to the rule.”

“How long before you waive it?”

“Depends, but not until we trust a man.”

I decided not to probe further. It intrigued me that a woman would find it necessary to employ such in-depth security. “Of course I agree to the condition,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere rather than bemused.

Reaching her car, she fished a blindfold out of her handbag and gave it to me. It was the type that airlines now expected one to pay for.

We headed off, and after ten minutes she asked me to don the blindfold. Since it was dark and her car had tinted windows I didn’t feel like an idiot, but nonetheless slunk low in my seat.

Five minutes later I could hear the echo of the engine’s exhaust that meant we must be entering a garage. Then I heard the whirr of an automatic door mechanism.

“Okay, you can take the blindfold off now.”

We went through the back of the garage into the lobby. The house seemed fairly bare of anything personal, and the furniture was cheap generic stuff, more like what one would expect in a house occupied by university students.

I followed Andrea into the kitchen.

“Go and sit in the living room,” she said, pointing. “That door.”

I found it and sat down on some DIY furniture. Picking up a woman’s magazine from the coffee table I settled down to read an article entitled How Men Can Tell You’re Faking It.  It had some new information for me, mainly because, like most men, I thought my girlfriends never needed to fake it.

Andrea appeared with the coffee just as I’d started reading Does He Know Where Your G-Spot Is?

She handed me a mug and then proceeded to tell me about her modelling job in Milan. I don’t remember her voice being particularly soporific or the subject boring, but I had a hard time keeping my eyes open.

* * * *

When I woke I was lying naked face down on a bed. It seemed quite narrow, more like a massage table and felt soft and slippery as though it had been covered in polyurethane. My face poked though a hole in the table that these beds incorporate to make the face-down position more comfortable for the customer.

I had to make these deductions blind, because someone had placed a hood on my head, one with a sewn-in ball gag, but no eyeholes. The hood, which had a latex smell, had a slot allowing me to breathe through my nose.

I’d been tied me to the bed with what felt like PVC tape. My hands were bound behind me, and my ankles to the corners of the bed. More tape held my chest tightly to the bed, making it impossible to move anything but my head and neck.

I could feel that there was another, larger hole in the bed beneath my crotch. My penis and balls fitted into it, hanging down and reminding me that I needed to pee.

Funny how the need to pee was uppermost in my mind rather than more obvious questions like, what the hell is going on, where exactly am I, and what time is it?

Someone must have been in the room watching me, for straightaway that person came over and whacked me hard on the bum with what felt like a leather strap. “Finally you’re awake.” It was a female voice but not Andrea’s. She sounded annoyed at the delay in my waking up.

I made a muffled attempt to say something, but it came out as, “Onna Hee.”

“You want to pee?”

I nodded my head.

With no sight, the smallest sounds have to fill-in the picture of what’s happening. I heard the woman coming closer then a dull thud as something hit the floor. “Okay, off you go,” she said.

I peed into the bucket, or whatever it was. Phew, what a relief.

“I’ll be back later, so don’t go away,” the woman said. A humorous statement, delivered without the inflexion that might indicate she was joking.

For some reason I thought she meant she’d be returning shortly but hours passed before I felt a draft of air signalling the opening of the door.

This time the woman had company. I could tell because they immediately started to discuss me. “Nice body,” one woman said.

“And that bum will prove a nice target for your cane,” a second woman said.

Their voices were different enough that I could separate them, and I decided to label them Ingrid and Jane for no other reason than their accents were similar to an Ingrid and a Jane I knew.

Then there was a third voice. Bossy I called her, because my female boss at work tended to be the bossy type. Bossy clearly was in charge here. “Do you have your checklists ladies,” she said.

Checklists? I wondered if these were the three women with Andrea in the pub, and the checklist was what they’d been discussing. Yes, well done. Not that my brilliance helped much.

“Well, Duncan,” Bossy said. “You’re probably wondering what you’re doing here?”

She paused, so I nodded. Yes, I was definitely wondering.

“This is a hobby for us, really. We want to find a way of extracting information and are experimenting with sensory deprivation. And deprivation of movement, which is also very effective. You presented yourself as a useful subject.”

Guinea Pig, you mean. But what information could I have that would possibly be of any use to them?  And was verifiable?

Bossy appeared to read my thoughts. “The thing about getting information under duress is that the subject will say anything to make the interrogation stop.  Of course, we need to know the information is correct. But more of that later. My associates will begin the softening up process right now. Actually, it’s already begun, with your current restrictive demise.”

Right! I’ve been tied up like this for hours and I’m starting to get hungry and thirsty. “Orta,” I mumbled.

“Water?” Bossy asked. “I’ll let these ladies decide when you get some. I’ll be back in a while.”

I heard a door close, but could still hear movement in the room.  Ingrid and Jane?

“She wants us to soften him up,” Jane said, confirming that I was right about them staying behind.

Soften up?

“You do it,” Ingrid said.

Do what?

But I didn’t have to wait long for the answer as a short swish gave me only a millisecond to brace for a stroke on my behind from what felt like a cane.

I hadn’t been caned before. It had been banned before I entered grammar school, but our more sadistic teachers were always telling us about how they’d been disciplined with the cane and how effective it was.  They mentioned it so frequently that I’m sure they missed being able to administer that kind of corporal punishment.

Jane followed up with a second, third and fourth. They stung but only had the effect of giving me an erection.  Wow, this is nice.

“Two more,” Ingrid said. “Six is enough.”

Jane stuck to the plan and completed the final two.  “Okay you can give him something to drink now.”

I heard the door close and guessed that Ingrid and I were now alone.

She removed the ball gag. “Thanks, Ingrid,” I said.

“That’s not my name but you can use it if you like. I’ve got some water and milk. I’ll give you the water first.”

She placed a drinking straw in my mouth, and I siphoned up about half a litre. It took a few minutes. “Enough?” she asked.

“Yup. For now.”

“You’ll not be getting anything to eat while you’re with us, so I added sugar to the milk to give you some energy.  You’re going to need it.”

Another straw found its way between my lips and I started sucking again. This wasn’t the best position in which to consume liquids but I managed the two drinks without choking on them or spitting any out. Ah, I felt better already. Sort of.

“The gag is going back in now,” Ingrid said, placing the ball in my mouth and tightening the straps more tightly than before.

She hadn’t removed the hood so I still hadn’t seen my captor, the one who seemed most concerned about my welfare.

I returned to my analysis of the various scenarios that might be playing out. What plans did they have to extract the information?  The rack?  Hang on! I hadn’t heard the door close. Ingrid was still in the room.

I felt fingers on my arse, rubbing cream into it.

“Savlon,” Ingrid said. “Your bum is red and there are more thrashings to come. Unless of course you give us what we want.”

She continued for a minute with the cream then said, “Would you like me to masturbate you.”

Would I, indeed?

I nodded.

“Ha! Just kidding.  Teasing is part of the softening up process.  I’ll be off now.  The bucket is still in place if you want to pee.”

Before she left I could feel her putting headphones on me. They must have been noise-cancelling ones, because I never heard her leave.

And I never heard them return either, or hear the swish of the cane. Whoever was flogging me this time was more adept and stronger than Jane had been. I knew it had to be Bossy.

At twelve strokes, she stopped. I felt really sore this time, but the erection soon returned.

Now someone was taking off the headphones.

“That’s just a taste,” Bossy said. “We need to know the PIN for your debit card.”

They hadn’t removed the gag so I assumed they weren’t expecting the answer straightaway.

I could feel the headphones being replaced. They wanted me to sweat over their demand. Very clever.

This game was starting to get serious. Should I just give the PIN to them in the hope they’d let me go? No, I was quite enjoying this. And besides, the card gave them access to my interest bearing savings account.  Currently, I had accumulated £50,000 for some renovation work on the house. But it would take a while to drain the account because of the £500 daily limit.

But what if it’s not a game? Are they going to take some cash out of my account every day until it’s all gone? Then dispose of me?

* * * *

Bound, gagged, blindfolded, and with my hearing cut off, meant that time had become impossible to measure. I thought of counting my pulse, which had an at-rest rate of about sixty. After reaching three thousand, or approximately fifty minutes, I gave up.

I hadn’t felt the need to sleep, so I assumed I’d been drugged Friday night by means of Andrea’s coffee and had woken early Saturday morning. I reasoned that if they let me go tomorrow night, I’d have holiday Monday to recover before work on Tuesday.

But what about Benjamin and Harvey? We’d planned to go to the Royal Oak for lunch on Sunday. Perhaps I could spin them a yarn using Andrea as the excuse.

The three women eventually returned and restored my ability to hear and speak.

“The PIN?”

 I gave them an erroneous number. The ATM would swallow the card on the third wrong try in a week, so after two more attempts, I would have thwarted their sensory deprivation experiment. And hence won the game.

An hour or so later they were back. They’d had enough time for one of them to discover my “error.”

“Some exceptional punishment is due,” Bossy said.  “You must think we’re playing games.”

Yes, I thought we were.

There followed a few minutes of silence punctuated by whispered conversation that I could not hear well enough to comprehend.

“Okay,” Bossy said. “We’ve decided to give you one more chance. But first…”

I was waiting for her to complete the sentence when I felt a bag being pulled over my head and held tightly under my chin. It was soft and crackled like polythene. They’d given me no warning so I’d not had time to inhale.

She held the bag in place for about a minute, although it seemed longer. When she removed it I had to replenish my lungs through my nose, which was now starting to become blocked. I breathed so hard and so fast I snorted snot. But at least my nose was now clear, and my lungs full of oxygen.

“And again,” Bossy said.

Jane must be holding the bag, I thought, clinging to my theory that Ingrid was the nice one of the trio.

The trouble with this method of torture is that the recipient’s lungs get accustomed to the maltreatment and become more efficient at storing oxygen between the asphyxiations. After four or five of these, I found the process to be sexually arousing. Play the game, Duncan.  I grunted, hoping it indicated pain and despair.

“Remove the gag.”

“Okay, you win,” I said, and gave them another number.

“If it’s not correct we’ll leave the plastic bag on your head,” Bossy said.

Jane and Ingrid laughed. “I’ll go down to the bank,” Jane said.

“No, wait until the morning. We’ll give him some overnight torture then, in the morning, ask him if the number is the right one. Got that, Duncan?”

I nodded then realized I wasn’t gagged. “I just want to get out of here,” I said, hoping to sound compliant and helpless.

The door closed. Hmm, the gag and headphones are still off.

“Time for another drink,” Ingrid said. “Last one before we put you to bed.”

She gave me more milk and water, but still no food. Oddly enough my hunger had subsided. Adrenaline releases extra glucose into the blood, and my adrenaline level was through the roof.

After the drink, I asked, “How is the sensory deprivation experiment going?”

“No questions,” she replied, and to make the point, replaced the gag and headphones. I couldn’t tell when she’d departed.

When they did come back, things moved rapidly. They untied my legs, removed the tape around my chest and swung my legs over the bed. I felt my feet touch the floor but was so numb from having been immobilized all day, I immediately collapsed in a heap.

Two of them lifted me to my feet and removed the headphones, gag, and surprisingly the hood. I could now see my jailors.

Well, not quite, for all three women wore Halloween masks. They also wore matching black PVC raincoats. The choice of attire seemed to also protect their identity for the garments were a size too large and hung loosely on them, concealing their figures. Except their height, of course, which, I guessed, ranged from 5-9 to 5-11. They could have been Andrea’s three friends in the pub, but I wasn’t sure.

This was also my first view of my jail. The white-walled twelve-foot-square room’s only other furniture was a standard sized single bed. With its metal frame it looked the ideal design for bondage games. Matching the massage table it, too, was covered in shiny black polyurethane.

The only other features of the room were three built-in closets, the largest occupying one whole wall.

“Your bedroom is over here,” Bossy said, pointing to the smallest closet. She opened the door to reveal an enclosure I estimated to be six feet high, two feet deep and two feet wide. A chain about three feet long had been padlocked to a bracket screwed into the top of the closet.

“In you go.”

I felt a prod in the back and, since my hands were still tied, I had no choice but to comply. Jane wound the free end of the chain around my neck and secured it to itself with a padlock. I must have looked like a condemned man standing on the gallows, naked.

Ingrid came over with the ablutions bucket and placed it between my feet. “You should be able to squat enough to have a poop if you want to.”

I didn’t want to. I hadn’t eaten anything for twenty-four hours and was fairly certain that in starvation-mode the intestines retain food in order to extract the maximum sustenance from it.

Jane pushed me again and shut me in. Darkness returned. But almost immediately she slid open a one-foot square panel built into the door at waist height. “Turn around.”

With my back facing the door my hands were accessible to her. She snipped the tape with a pair of scissors, freeing my hands.

“The chain is to discourage you from falling asleep,” Bossy said. “So try not to masturbate. It’ll make you tired.” She laughed at her little joke, and the others followed suit. “Tomorrow will decide your fate.”

The panel closed and I heard them leave the room.

But not all of them, Ingrid had stayed behind. “Can you hear me through the door,” she said.


“Just wanted to save you some from unnecessary pain and discomfort.”


“They’re not after your money. They just want to break your will. It’s fun for them.”

I noticed she’d said “they” distancing herself from her two friends. I wondered if I could believe her. In an interrogation there’s always someone playing the good guy. From her behaviour so far I deduced that this role had been assigned to her.

“Thanks for the advice.”

“Sorry I can’t give you any food. Must go now.”

* * * *

I spent the night leaning as far back as I could and did actually have three short naps without choking on the chain. I’d managed less sleep on some overnight transatlantic flights, so I didn’t feel completely wasted.

While awake, I oscillated between thinking about the erotic nature of this game and the scary side of it. Although scary can also be exciting., I decided.

I was awake when the panel slid up and the light entered my tiny prison. “Put your hands through the opening,” Jane said

I turned around.

“No, in front of you.”

I stuck my hands out and she locked handcuffs onto them. She opened the door and released the noose.

“Step out.”

All of them were masked again and wearing their sexy raincoats.

“Secure him,” Bossy said, standing with her hands on her hips.

“On the bed,” Jane said. “The other one, this time. Lie on the sleeping bag.”

The bed had six-inch blocks under legs at the head end, and on the polyurethane covered mattress they’d laid out a black PVC bag that looked like the kind used to transport dead bodies. Except that D-rings had been sewn into it, eight on each side

The bag had a half-length zip from the waist up, so I had to squirm my legs into the bottom end. Now what?

Ingrid came over and placed a different kind of gag in my mouth. It had the same kind of straps holding it firmly in place but resembled a scuba mouthpiece with a three-inch long, half-inch diameter, rubber tube through which to breathe. It seemed to be an improvement over yesterday’s gag.

“So the PIN is eight-nine-one-two.” Bossy said. “Nod if I have the correct number.”

I nodded.

“Good. Zip him up.”

Ingrid pulled the zip up to my neck while Jane placed a PVC hood over my head. The breathing tube poked through a hole in the front of the hood. She then zipped-up the hood from the top of my head down to the back of my neck.

Once again I was sightless, but could breathe through my mouth instead of my nose. I considered it preferable.

“Hold it,” Bossy said. “He can play with himself like that.”

I couldn’t see who unzipped the bag and fitted me with a collar. Whoever it was then lifted my wrists up across my chest and secured them to the collar with what felt like a short chain and small padlock. She zipped me up again.

The purpose of the D-rings now came into play as I felt the bag being pulled towards both sides of the bed, clamping me into place. Finally they tied something around the bag at my ankles, restricting my last degree of freedom.

“I’m off to the ATM now,” Jane said. “Here are your headphones.”

I returned to the silent, sightless, speechless and helpless world. To say I felt vulnerable is putting it mildly, but, as before, those thoughts were soon overcome by the excitement of the game and my enormous erection.

One sense from which I hadn’t been deprived was that of smell. Even though the hood covered my nose, I could still faintly smell Jane’s hair conditioner when she had been close to me while chaining my hands to the collar. So I sensed the women’s return when I detected the strong aroma of cooked bacon.

Evidently they wanted my company for breakfast. Something they confirmed after the headphones were removed.

“We’ve set up a table and chairs here, Duncan, so we can eat while we discuss your predicament,” Bossy said. “Tell him what we’re having.”

This command must have been directed at Ingrid. “Bacon and eggs with mushrooms and tomatoes. There’s also toast and a choice of jam or marmalade. To drink, we have coffee and orange juice.”

“You could have joined us if you’d given us the correct code,” Bossy said. “You have one more shot at it. Another wrong number and the ATM will probably swallow your card. That’ll mean we lose the game.”

The tone of her voice didn’t echo disappointment. More like eagerness to go on to the next phase. What would that be? Cutting my throat?  I didn’t seriously think so.

“Is the smell of all this food bothering you?” Jane asked.

Yes. Hunger pangs had returned, but was offset by the excitement that this was yet another form of torture. I wiggled about on the bed to show them my tormented state, and wondered if they’d be fooled by the gesture. They made audible no response.

“Put the headphones back,” Bossy said. “I’ll give him eight hours to remember the PIN.”

Back in my silent world, I pondered what they might do after the eight hours was up, but came up with nothing that didn’t excite me.

* * * *

Hours later when the bacon smell had disappeared, or I had got used to it, I felt the headphones being removed.

“I can give you something to drink,” Ingrid said. “Same as yesterday, okay?”

I nodded.

Drinking was going to be more tricky on my back, and Ingrid must have realized this. “Put your tongue over the breathing hole and use it as a tap to let a little in. Then put your tongue back over the hole while you swallow.”

For her part she dribbled in the water, and later milk, a few cubic centimeters at a time. She continued the process and would stop every few minutes and ask if I’d had enough. I kept shaking my head. Eight hours was a long time after having starved all the previous day.

“All gone,” she said, but didn’t put the headphones back over my ears. “Want to do a deal?” she asked.

I nodded, more for her to explain rather than agree.

“I’ll give you a blow job if you give me the correct number for your card. I was kidding before about masturbating you, but not this time.  And one other thing, the lady who gives all of the orders is a dominatrix.”

What a surprise.

“She’ll take five hundred pounds as your payment for this weekend. We all know you’re enjoying it.  She wants you as a regular customer, so she doesn’t want to piss you off, and that’s a good rate.

So that was it. I knew that a good dominatrix will always push the limits. Bossy and her crew were evidently expert at it.

“Even though I can’t see your face, I can tell you’re thinking about it,” she said.

Yes, I am. It was very tempting. I felt and heard her unzip the bag. Her hand lightly stroked my penis.

“Is it a deal?”

I nodded.

“Okay, I mustn’t take your gag tube out so I’m going to ask each number in turn. First number. Is it one?”

I shook my head, and she continued until eight, when I nodded. Through this tedious process I revealed the four-digit number to her.

“I’ve written down eight-seven-six-one. Is that correct?”

I nodded again. Too late, I wondered if she kidding about the blow job? No, she wasn’t. I felt her mouth take me, and she performed the deed.

Wow, that was nice.

She zipped me up again and, just before putting the headphones back, said, “You’ll have to pee in the bag. That’s why the head of the bed is raised.”

She gave a chuckle, patted me in the groin area then everything went quiet.

* * * *

When Ingrid had offered it, I’d deliberately drunk as much as I could. Peeing in the bag was preferable to dehydration. And anyway, the pee drained to the bottom. My legs were merely damp, and only my feet were wet.

This minor discomfort did not prevent me catching up on sleep lost the previous night, so it seemed like only minutes before I had company again.

“He’s asleep,” Jane said.

I had been, but the removal of the headphones woke me up. I felt someone shake me. “Wakey, wakey,” Bossy said. “I have some good news. The PIN for your debit card was correct. You succumbed to our techniques and we win.”

I guess they had won. Very clever of them, really.

“We’ve withdrawn five hundred to cover expenses so far, and tomorrow we’ll do the same for another overnight stay.”

In that case I want to make a demand of my own. I managed to squeak out, “Eeee.”

“Eat?  You want something to eat?”

I nodded.

“No, because then you’d need to poop and make a real mess. We’ll stick to the liquids.”

Yes, well from their point of view that was probably a good idea. Overnight, I’d only managed to pee into the bucket.

“He had quite a lot to drink earlier,” Ingrid said. “He doesn’t need anymore.”

“Excellent,” Bossy said. “Now the bad news, Duncan.”

Bad news? I felt butterflies entering my empty stomach.

“We noticed from the ATM receipt slip that you have rather a lot of money in your savings account. Discussing this, we came to the conclusion that we should keep you for a longer stay. As you can imagine, this presents problems. We’ll be needing this room for other clients, so we have to move you.”

They didn’t replace the headphones so I heard Bossy giving the instructions.

“Untie the body bag from the bed.”

When that was complete I heard her say, “Lift,” and they transferred me onto what felt like a blanket on the floor. They dragged it across the floor, but only a few feet.

From the geometry of the room, I figured they were putting me in one of the larger closets. Perhaps it had a foot locker at the bottom of it. This seemed to be the case, because Bossy said “lift” again.

They lifted me off the blanket. As they lowered me I could feel my feet touch the end of something solid and my shoulders brushed against the sides of what must have been a wooden box. I guessed the dimensions of my new prison to be similar to that of a coffin. A lid slammed and I heard a click which sounded like a padlock closing. Is a lock necessary? I thought. I can’t even get out of the bag, and my hands are handcuffed to the collar.

I presumed my new home had air holes in it, for I heard Jane say, “See you tomorrow.” She closed the closet door with a slam.

See you tomorrow? That would be Monday and meant no more to drink for me today? On the plus side, I probably wouldn’t be peeing much. The horizontal position of the coffin meant that the former contents of my bladder were right up my back. But the liquid helped keep me cool because it was stifling in there.

I slept on an off and might have felt rested but dehydration had given me a crashing headache. Not a moment too soon, the closet door opened.

“Good morning, Duncan,” Ingrid said.

Ah, it was Ingrid. That means I’ll get some care and attention.

“The others are here with me. We want to explain what’s been going on.”

I thought I knew.

“This was a unique game for us. We can only do it once. Torture you to death, I mean.”

Very amusing. Ingrid had turned into a bad-guy.

“The debit card was a bonus. We’ll use it until the police find your body. Oh, and I should mention that we disguise ourselves when we’re collecting the cash. Those security cameras would catch us otherwise. So we don’t think we’ll end up in prison for your murder.”

Ingrid sounded very calm, and made me wonder how long they intended prolonging this game of theirs.

“Why are we telling you this?” Bossy asked, taking over the commentary. “It’s the final torture, of course. The lid of this box has an airtight rubber seal. So when we tape over the air-holes, you’ll have only the air that’s inside. Should last long enough for you to figure out how clever we’ve been. Here goes.”

I could hear tape being unwound from a roll.

I stuck to my belief that this was all part of the same charade. But this was getting a bit dangerous. With me sealed inside, how would they know how much air the coffin contained?  So how long would they wait before opening the lid?

“That’s done,” Bossy said. “We’ll keep the closet door open so we can watch you trying to get out.”

Then something that sounded heavy dropped onto the lid. I listened, hoping to hear what they were doing?

Silence. They were obviously waiting to be entertained.

I tried to lift my knees trying to push the lid open. Nope. Next, I tried to use my head as a lever. No chance there, either. It was a locked coffin for Christ’s sake.

It had been a mistake to try to escape using brute force. The ten minutes of effort caused me to use up the available oxygen much more quickly. In desperation and panic I hammered my forehead against the lid. Was that what they wanted?

I stopped hammering. Silence. More oxygen wasted.


Yes, okay, got it. Try to locate the air holes.

I figured they’d be close to my nose and mouth, which meant arching my back so I could search for them. More strenuous effort, and more sweat. The loss of fluids had made my headache worse, now registering 7.5 on the Richter scale.

Even though my hands were handcuffed to the collar and a layer of PVC intervened, I found an air-hole and used its edges to poke a hole in the body-bag. Good, I was past the PVC and could put my finger through the air-hole. That’s when I felt the heavy object directly over the tape.  I tried to move it, tricky with only my forefinger.

Too late, I realized I was losing consciousness.

To continue this story, click Long Weekend Conclusion

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