Part 1

My 'sentence' begins as soon as I enter the house. It has been a long, hard week and normally I would pour myself a long drink and relax, but tonight is different – I have sentenced myself to two days in prison and it all starts right here. I have spent weeks preparing for and anticipating this evening and I am determined everything will be perfect.

As soon as I have locked the front door, I strip off my work suit – high heels, pencil skirt, chiffon blouse, sheer stockings, expensive underwear – and stand in the hall, naked. I pick up my favourite ball gag off the table and push it into my mouth, strapping it tightly in place. I love the ball gag, it is my favourite piece of bondage gear, it simultaneously puts me into a 'stress position' so I am always uncomfortable and always aware I am in bondage, plus it removes the capacity for free speech, making me feel more helpless. As soon as the clip locks in place I am committed – the key to the lock is safely hidden away, along with several others.

I move upstairs for the next phase of preparation and remove every scrap of make-up – prisoners are not allowed make-up. The next step is the one I have been dreading. My hair is long and black, reaching halfway down my back, I have always looked on it as one of my best features – but then, prisoners are not allowed long hair. I pick up my scissors and start hacking at it, watching as large chunks of hair fall to the floor. I hack it as short as I dare until it is no more than a close-cropped, boyish cut, while still hoping there will be enough hair left for my stylist to work with later in the week. I don't know what the prison attitude to pubic hair is, but mine is zero tolerance – I use the razor to ensure I am entirely hairless.

Now I move on to the butt plug. I have a new one, larger than I have had before, with a string of four spheres, each slightly larger than the previous one. I cover it in lubricant and push it up against my sphincter. It accepts the first sphere with relative ease. The second brings a grunt of discomfort from me, the third a cry of pain as it stretches me wide open before disappearing inside me. I squat down a little further, stretch my buttocks a little wider as I force the final sphere in with gasps and groans. I straighten up with difficulty, staying a little bow-legged and bent forward as I come to terms with the intruder. Next is the vibrator. This is a familiar favourite and it needs no lubricant – I am providing that naturally by now. I slide it up into my wet, receptive cunt until it completely fills me and its 'teaser' is parting my lips and resting against my already engorged clitoris. I take a few deep breaths as I try to stop myself climaxing immediately.

These toys are held in place by a chain, wrapped tightly around my waist and then passing between my thighs, front then back again, before I pull it as tight as it will go and padlock it in place. Again I have to pause and calm myself as the vibrator is pulled even deeper inside me. I switch it on, but it has a clever timer on it and I have set it on its lowest setting so that it only cuts in for a few seconds every couple of minutes, enticing me but never bringing me to orgasm. In this mode, the batteries will last for days, tormenting me.

Now I put on my prison 'uniform'. It is an orange boiler suit, made of a thick paper. I have modified it slightly – I have ripped the legs off at the knee and the arms at the elbow, as well as removing the Velcro fastening so it is open from the neck to the waist – and it is also a couple of sizes too small, so it is tight and uncomfortable all over my body.

Next are my restraints. Steel manacles go on my ankles, held together by eighteen inches of heavy chain; matching manacles on my wrists, also chained together; and a steel collar, four inches wide and half an inch thick, all padlocked in place, the keys hidden away. A thick chain runs from the collar via the chain between my wrists to my ankles and is just short enough to ensure I cannot stand upright but have to stoop submissively forward. I examine myself in the mirror and rub my crotch in appreciation of the sight before me. Now I am ready for my hard labour.

I shuffle downstairs and out into the garden at the back of the house. It is a warm muggy afternoon, with the sun still beating down strongly, and I immediately feel my skin prickling under the scratchy material. I have had forty bags of loam and fertiliser delivered to the back of the garden and my task is to take them to the house and empty them into the old coal cellar. I pick up the first bag with difficulty – it is heavier than I expect, the plastic bag is slippery and the chains make it more difficult – and shuffle back down the garden to where the chute to the coal cellar is, before dropping the bag. I pull at the bag until it rips open, spilling some of its contents on the ground. I have had the opening to the chute covered with iron bars, ostensibly to prevent access for burglars, but actually to turn the cellar into a prison cell. I tip the contents of the bag through the bars and down the chute. By the time I have finished, the boiler suit is already dirty and there are dark patches under my arms and between my legs. The vibrator is driving me mad with frustration as I stagger to my feet and shuffle back for the second bag. Only another thirty nine to go !

After five bags, I am dripping with sweat and covered in the black dirt, and my back is killing me. After ten bags, I am reduced to dragging them across the ground as I can't grip the plastic in my sweaty hands. After twenty bags, I am sure there is enough dirt in the cellar to do what I want to do, but I force myself to carry on anyway. And then it starts to rain. There is a huge thunderclap and then giant drops of rain start to fall, soon pounding down in a true summer cloudburst. At first it is a relief from the prickly heat and sweat, but I am soon soaked to the skin, with the paper suit clinging to me and holding the wet against me. I start to shiver and I continue to labour away as much to keep warm as to get the job done.

Eventually the rain eases to a constant drizzle as the sun goes down and the evening quickly draws in. Darkness falls before I have finished with the last bag and pushed all the dirt I have spilled down through the bars into the cellar. Now it is time to put myself in the prison.

I shuffle through the kitchen and down the cellar stairs, ignoring the trail of dirt I am leaving. Outside the door to the coal cellar are two electric sockets with timers, which are critical to the operation of this little adventure and I check them one last time. The first is a simple timer, which will come on for ten minutes every four hours. It is attached to a water pump, which is in turn attached to a shower head fitted in the coal cellar. This will deliver a soaking every time it comes on, ensuring a maximum of four hours sleep at any one time. The other is set up in a series of timers, which will only coincide once every 48 hours to actually deliver power. This is attached to an electromagnet which, when powered, will release the key I will need to free myself. I switch both sockets on and check the timers one last time.

I go into the coal cellar and lock the door shut behind me, before pushing the key under the door, out of my reach. The spare key is hanging from the ceiling above my head, out of my reach, limited as it is by the prison chains I am wearing. I am now trapped in here for the next two days, until the key is released. I look around at my prison cell. It is a small room, almost half the floor of which is already covered by the heap of soil I have tipped down the chute. The heap is a good four feet high. I set to work spreading it out across the whole room to make a dirt covering about two feet thick when I have finished. The only light in the room is moonlight coming through the iron bars over the small opening high up on the wall. Apart from the key hanging above and the shower head in the ceiling, the only other things in the room are a large cool box in one corner and a concrete block in the other corner. The cool box contains energy drinks, water and food which I will be able to force past the ball gag and keep myself from starving. I go over to the concrete block. It has a short chain attached to it and a very large padlock. I use the lock to attach the block to the chain from my collar. Now my movements are even more restricted – I can no longer stand up, for instance, as the block is too heavy for me to lift and the chain too short. In order to get to the cool box I will have to drag the dead weight with me as I crawl across the room. The key to this padlock is with all the others, so I will have to get to them before I am free of this millstone. I have no choice now but to sit and wait.

At that moment, the vibrator kicks in again and I writhe in the dirt, my hands at my crotch tearing at the sodden material to get at my cunt. Just as I rip through the paper the vibrator stops, leaving me on the edge yet again. Desperately I scrabble between my legs, trying to turn the tiny dial to another setting, one which will satisfy me, but the tight chain is in the way. After several minutes of frantic work, I manage to twist it and suddenly it is going at full power, making me squeal in shock. My back arches and my legs shoot forward in a violent spasm as I am finally pushed over the edge into a glorious climax. I grind my hips into the dirt as the climax just keeps on coming until it is almost painful. I try to turn the vibrator off again but it proves just as difficult as it was to turn on, plus my hands are shaking and I am finding it difficult to concentrate. By the time I finally switch it off, I am covered in sweat and I'm panting for breath around the obstruction of the ball gag. I lie there in the dirt exhausted, and drift off into a contented doze.

I am rudely awoken with a squeal as I am hit by a shockingly strong flow of ice cold water from above. The room is completely dark and I am disoriented at first before realising where I am – a prisoner in my own home ! A surprisingly large amount of water falls in ten minutes and, as well as soaking me to the skin, it turns the soil I am lying on into a thick, cloying mud into which I start to sink. After the water has stopped, I drag myself and the concrete block over to the wall and make a scratch mark on the bare cement rendering – I reckon that I can mark the passing of my prison term in four hour chunks every time the shower comes on. By the time I have made 12 marks on the wall the key should be ready to fall and I will be able to free myself. I rip the remnants of the sodden paper boiler suit from my body as it is just irritating my skin as well as holding the cold water against me, chilling me to the bone. I settle down for my next four hour stint, feeling suitably miserable and uncomfortable, just as I had expected and hoped.

The next time I am woken up by the shower, there is light streaming in through my prison bars. I make my mark on the wall and realise I am starving hungry, as well as having a dry throat, my chin being covered with drool. I drag myself over to the cool box and take out a drink bottle which has a straw in the lid so I can push it past the ball gag to get a drink. This works quite well, despite initial choking as I try to swallow. Eating anything is a much more difficult task. I try to force a banana into my mouth but can't make a big enough gap between my lips and teeth and the ball. Eventually I mash it up and manage to force some of it into my mouth and eventually swallow it, but it is a pathetically small amount of nourishment. This is one area I have not really thought through and I am quite worried about it. I top up with an energy drink and hope that will do, but the empty feeling in my stomach has not gone away and I sit with my back to the wall, vainly looking up at the key, hoping it will magically fall and miserably contemplating two days of growing hunger.

The room becomes hot and stuffy as the temperature outside rises and I realise that buying a mixture of loam and fertiliser was a mistake as the stench of horse dung becomes almost overpowering. It also attracts flies down into the dark fetid dungeon to add another torment as they crawl over my face and parched lips, lazily avoiding my waving hands. Steam rises from the mud all around me and the soporific atmosphere makes my head tip forward as I doze uncomfortably against the wall. I am once again shocked to full attention by the icy water raining down for a third time. When it has stopped, I reach down between my thighs and fiddle with the vibrator control until it suddenly bursts into life and I am distracted by its incessant stimulation until I reach another desperate orgasm. It keeps me coming, again and again as I try to switch it off. When it is finally silenced again, I start to sob to myself as I realise I am not even half way through this torment yet. I wonder if I have bitten off more than I can chew, but I know I have no choice, no means of escape, I am trapped here in this awful, stinking squalor until the key drops. I stare up at it forlornly, willing it to fall, but it does not move as the light gradually fades.

The night passes slowly, my listless dozing repeatedly interrupted by the sharp shock of the shower. When the light returns, I count the marks on the wall and see that I have reached seven, more than halfway. I am relieved, but realise a more pressing problem is the painful fullness of my bladder. I crawl over to a corner and relieve myself , the pee steaming and smelly as it squirts onto my thighs, diverted by the vibrator and the chains over my now aching cunt. I notice how much my anus is aching as well and before I can stop myself, an explosion of shit with the consistency of diarrhoea splatters out over my buttocks and dribbles down my thighs, smelling disgusting. Trying to stop myself from retching, I wipe myself with the remnants of the boiler suit and crawl away from the stinking mess, which is already covered in flies. When the shower turns on again, I stick my buttocks up towards it to try and clean them, but to little effect.

I manage to force a little more food into my mouth, but my stomach still growls angrily and is painfully empty. I wet my lips but they are cracked and painful. As the sun climbs higher and shines into my hell hole of a prison, the heat, smell and oppressive atmosphere become almost unbearable.

As I score off my tenth mark, I realise I have made a bit of a miscalculation, in that it will be dark when the key is due to fall and I won't see or hear it drop, so I may be stuck in here until the morning. As the light fades, I lie directly underneath the key, so that, when it does fall, it will hit my stomach or chest and I will be able to pick it up and finally free myself – just thinking about it brings a wave of desperate longing over me. I've 'enjoyed' the feeling of squalid imprisonment – or more accurately, I will enjoy it when it is over – but right now I have had enough. I make my twelfth mark on the wall as the last of the daylight fades – my sentence is nearly over, soon I will be free !

I am jolted awake in the night by the shower once again. I feel around for the key on my body and then in the dirt around me but, to my disappointment I find nothing. I decide it must have fallen and bounced off me out of my reach. Rather than risk burying it whilst scrabbling around, I decide, reluctantly, to wait until morning after all before getting out of here – my frustration level is high but I realise it is the only safe option. Trying to move around as little as possible, I lie back on my bed of mud and drift off to sleep again.

I wake with water hitting me yet again, and the first thing I see is the key. It is above me, still hanging way out of my reach ! My heart skips several beats – oh my God ! What is happening ? It must be a mistake, it can't still be up there ! It's way past 48 hours, my sentence is over, how can it still be up there ? I stare at it dumbly for ages, not willing to accept the evidence of my own eyes. At last I try to reach up for it, but I can't even straighten up while kneeling down, let alone stand and stretch up, which is what I would need to do. In a desperate panic, I grab the cool box and start throwing things from it to try and knock the key loose – empty bottles, full bottles, even an apple and a banana. Eventually I manage to catch it full on and it spins away, swinging on its string, but it doesn't ever look like it is going to drop. I fall onto the dirt, sobbing uncontrollably. I am trapped ! No way out ! I am going to die in here !

Suddenly, I hear a noise – a door slamming. What can it be ? And then I realise – it is Monday morning, it must be my cleaner arriving ! I am saved ! Okay, it would be excruciatingly embarrassing to be found in here, like this, but its sure better than staying locked up ! Gratefully, I call out at the top of my voice for attention. Hardly a sound comes out. My throat is so dry that I am just croaking and the ball gag easily muffles the noise. I take a quick swig of water and try again. It is a little better, but there is no way anyone would hear me unless they were stood right outside the door.

Desperately I look around for inspiration and see the cool box. I pick it up and drag myself to the door. Emptying the box, I now bang it on the door, while screaming at the top of my voice. One, two, three, bang, bang, bang ! Help ! Help ! Help ! The box makes a satisfyingly loud noise as it hits the wooden door. Bits start to fall off it, but I carry on regardless. She must hear this !

I stop and listen to see if she is coming downstairs to rescue me. I hear a new sound which it takes me a minute to recognise. It is the vacuum cleaner whirring away. Oh God, she is never going to hear me over that ! I slump down on the mud, defeated again, now waiting for a break in the noise, the point where she stops for a coffee, so I can try again. My feeling of relief has now been replaced by fear – what if she doesn't hear me ? I daren't think about it.

I realise the noise has stopped, has been stopped for several seconds but my befuddled brain hadn't registered it. I raise the cool box again, but just as I am about to bring it down, I hear another noise, easily recognised, a distinct – and loud – pop music beat. She has put the radio on now, and it sounds like it is at full volume ! I bang the box and scream at the top of my voice. The box finally smashes and I break down into sobs of frustration and despair.

It is hours before the blaring radio finally goes off. I have been dozing again and it takes me a few seconds to wake up and realise what has changed. I bang on the door with my bare fists and scream hysterically despite my throat being ripped and sore. But the noise I can make is weedy and pathetic and then, like a coffin lid shutting, I hear the front door slam. She has gone ! My last means of escape from this hell hole has left ! I am starving and all my food is either filthy or rotten. My water is running low, although there is always the shower. How long can a person live without food ? A week ? Two ? Maybe I will get another chance with Sasha, my Bulgarian cleaner ...

The shower soaks me again but I don't bother marking the wall – what's the point ? I am in despair and, to try and dispel my morbid thoughts, I switch on the vibrator and let it drive me mad, extracting orgasm after orgasm from my tortured, broken body until the batteries finally die. Now there is nothing except pain and suffering. I fall asleep and dream of my own death.

The day is punctuated only by the shower and the buzzing of the flies. I soil myself again, but cannot be bothered to clean myself up, instead just lying in my own filth. The night comes and the cooler air is a relief, but other than that nothing changes. I awake at dawn as the light seeps into the dungeon and by reflex look around at where the key is hanging.

It is gone. It takes a few seconds for this to register in my addled brain. It is no longer hanging from the ceiling ... that means it must have dropped ... that means it must be on the floor ... that means I ... can ... get free ! I crawl over to where it must be and look around, but see nothing. I claw at the wet mud, realising it could have sunk into it. For long minutes, I find nothing, my search becoming more and more frantic. I start to wail, feeling the panic rise inside me – it has disappeared forever ! My last hope gone !

And then I feel something, something hard, metal. I pull it out and I have in my hand the key. I start to cry tears of relief and joy. I crawl over to the door and put the key in the lock – it fits, it turns, the bolt slides back !

I turn the handle but it won't open. I pull frantically at the door but it doesn't move – it is still locked ! I tell myself to calm down, to breathe properly – the door is unlocked, but the pile of mud and dirt is keeping it shut. I begin digging out the mud and slurry to free it up and I am soon covered in sweat and flies. After ten minutes, the shower bursts into life and, to my dismay, starts to wash the mud back towards the door ! I try to stop it by lying down in front of it and wait for the water to stop. Eventually it does and, after some more hard digging, I manage to prise the door open and crawl through it. I collapse on the cold concrete, gasping in the cool, fresh air !

But I am not quite free. I drag myself and my concrete block up the stairs into the kitchen and outside into the garden. In what now seems like a very foolish move, I buried the many padlock keys in a box at the back of the garden and, once I have crawled and dragged myself up there, I have to scrabble at the earth with my broken nails until my fingers are raw and bleeding.

But eventually I retrieve the box and, one by one, remove my bonds. The greatest relief is to remove the butt plug, which releases a stream of diarrhoea from my sphincter, which is unable to close to prevent it. Next is the ball gag, and I cry out in pain as it pops out, my jaw aches like hell.

Once I am free, I lie on the grass for ages, feeling the cool breeze on my skin, breathing the clean fresh air. I finally manage to get up and go inside for food and water, followed by a very, very long shower.


Part 2 (added: 02/13/2010)

So, here I am again, several weeks later, heading back into my prison, undeterred by my near-disastrous adventure last time. As predicted, it all felt absolutely incredibly sexy in hindsight – once I had been well-fed and cleaned, had a couple of wines, it became a subject of many a wild masturbation session ! The danger I had put myself in just made it all the more sexy.

However, I have learned some lessons. I have left the spare key to the cellar with a note on the kitchen table for Sasha to come and rescue me if I am not around. I have also just planned a short session – only eight hours or so – if somewhat challenging and extreme.

I have got naked, put in my biggest ball gag – not locked in place this time, just in case – put on some wrist manacles and inserted a new device which stimulates my clitoris and G spot simultaneously, as well as having a vibrating butt plug. It is all powered off the mains as well, so no expiring batteries to worry about.

I have already dumped another 40 bags of dirt – no fertiliser this time – into the cellar, so there is almost four feet of soil on the floor now, lucky the cellar has quite a high ceiling. I have built a little wooden fence to keep the mud and dirt from the door so it can be opened without too much hassle as well – another lesson learned.

I am still using the timers to control various devices, but I don't have them plugged together in series this time, which is what I think went wrong last time.

I lock the cellar door. I clamber on to the dirt and attach the key to a length of string as well as the electromagnetic plate. The theory is that, when the key is released in about eight hours time, it will swing on the string over to where I am imprisoned and I can grab it and release myself. I then position myself directly under the shower head in the middle of the room and begin my preparations. First, I plug the combined vibrator and butt plug into the mains socket which is set to power up for roughly five minutes in every twenty. This may or may not be enough to give me an orgasm each time, we'll see.

Next, I strap a spreader bar to my ankles, forcing my legs wide apart – a good three feet, immediately making me feel my hamstrings stretching a little. Finally, I reach up above me for the cuffs hanging down on chains from the ceiling and lock one in place around each wrist. These can only be released by the key hanging across the room.

Now all I have to do is wait for either the shower to start up or the vibrator or both. The shower is set to run for ten minutes in every thirty, so I will get a thorough soaking which will either be a relief or horrible, depending on the weather. It is about 10 am on Sunday morning at the moment – my neighbours may be heading for church as I hang there, helplessly bound and gagged, oh my ! Ooh, I hope the vibrator starts soon, I am desperately horny !

In the event, the shower starts first and I gasp for breath as the ice-cold water rains down on me. Obviously I can't get away from it, despite my wriggling and writhing in its powerful stream. A couple of minutes later the vibrator starts its work and the writhing becomes rather more pronounced, accompanied by loud and ecstatic moans. I have no trouble at all reaching a climax in the five minutes and am a little disappointed when it stops as I was on my way to a second ! When the shower stops, I notice my feet have start to disappear into the wet mud now below me. I try to lift them out of the dirt but this is made more difficult by the spreader bar holding them apart. Eventually I manage to pull them free by hauling myself up using the chains to the wrist cuffs, but the effort makes me clench down on both the vibrator and the butt plug, reminding me – as if I need it – of just how large and intrusive they are.

My second orgasm arrives quickly when the vibrator starts up for the second time. Now I am sweating as the room heats up in the sun and I enjoy the return of the cold shower a few minutes later. My feet start to sink again and I feel myself being stretched as the immovable cuffs hold my arms above me and my legs are sucked down into the mud. I try to free myself again but it is too hard to get my feet completely out of the softened, wet earth and I have to leave them where they are.

The vibrator continues to bring me to a climax every time it switches on until I am exhausted and my cunt is aching. Meanwhile, each time the shower comes on, the dirt below me becomes a little more liquid and my feet sink a little further into the mud. I have lost any track of time as the vibrator manages to drive every coherent thought from my brain. At some point, I find myself hanging from the wrist cuffs, my arms stretched up above me to their full extent, making my shoulders start to ache, with little of my weight now supported by my legs. I am ready to finish this little adventure now, but a glance at the sunlight streaming through the bars indicates I have a few more hours to suffer yet.

The time passes slowly and I even start to doze off, despite the extreme stress position I am now in. But I am soon brought back to full alertness by the dousing of the shower and aroused by the incessant buzzing of the vibrator inside me. I look forlornly at the key but there is no movement.

As the light fades, I spend more and more time staring at the key. What if the same thing goes wrong as before ? But no, then I had 4 timers plugged in to each other and got it very wrong. Now I have only one timer and I know one timer works, as the constant drenching and exhausting overstimulation prove. It must be soon, I tell myself, I just need to 'hang around' a little longer.

When I finally see the key drop and swing towards me, it comes as a surprise, as well as a huge relief, as the light is starting to fade, my shoulders and thigh muscles are aching and my cunt is as sore as hell. The key clanks into the chains holding my wrists and spins on its string, just above my finger tips. As I reach up to get it, I have the first inkling of a problem – I can't reach it and, as I try and stretch up for it, all I manage to do is push my feet into the slurry a little further. With a growing sense of unease, I look down and try to get some kind of solid platform to stand on so I can reach up. Unease starts to turn to panic as I can hardly move my feet, let alone raise them. The mud is sucking around my ankles and, as I raise one foot, all that happens it the other foot goes a little deeper. I try desperately to reach, stretching every sinew from my ankles and calves to my fingertips but the key stays tantalisingly out of my grasp. The shower suddenly bursts into life and sprays into my upturned face, but it is no use – the key that was perfectly set up for me to get to and unlock the cuffs on my wrists is now as inaccessible as if it was in the kitchen. As if to mock me, the vibrator starts up inside me once again. I let out a howl of despair and drop my head in defeat.

I hang limply from the chains, shivering under the water as darkness falls outside. The vibrator no longer brings me to orgasm, I am too exhausted for that, but of course I cannot sleep with these things constantly tormenting me. I realise my only hope of escape now is Sasha and she will not arrive until 9 am at the earliest. I know it will be horrendously embarrassing to be discovered by her, but right now I am praying for that embarrassment.

The night drags on – it is cold, wet and painful. I maybe close my eyes but I don't sleep and I am becoming dizzy and disoriented with sleep deprivation. I watch with anxiety and frustration as the dawn light slowly grows and I imagine the clock ticking towards 9 am. I finally hear the door slam and breathe a sigh of relief.

I try to imagine what she is doing. Taking off her coat, hanging it up, going through to the kitchen ... Does she see the note immediately ? Oh God, I hope she doesn't start vacuuming before she sees it ! I hear the radio go on, then a delay, then the radio goes off – she must have read it ! A few more minutes, then a knock at the door ! I try to make a noise, but it is muffled and unintelligible. The key turns in the lock and the door opens. The look of shock on her face is almost comical and she lets out a string of Bulgarian, which is probably not to be repeated. I just look at her with pleading eyes and moan into the gag.

She recovers quite quickly and scrambles up on to the mud, not worrying about her trousers. She assesses the situation remarkably well and unties the key, then unlocks the cuffs. I fall to the ground, every inch of my body screaming in pain. Sasha unbuckles the ankle straps to remove the spreader bar, while I recover sufficiently to unplug the vibrator from the mains and remove the gag.

'Oh thank you so much !' I say to Sasha, 'You don't know how good that feels'.
'Miss, what happened to you ? Who did this ?' she asks in her thick Bulgarian accent, the concern in her voice clear.

'I'll explain it all upstairs, let's get out of here' I say, not wanting her to get a soaking from the shower. She puts an arm around me and helps me down from the dirt and then upstairs to the kitchen.

After a visit to the toilet to remove the vibrator and butt plug, a drink and something to eat, I can't put it off any longer, I have to explain to her.

'Sasha, I did this to myself', I say. Her mouth forms a perfect O.

'I ... have this ... unusual needs ... sexual ... basically I get off by tying myself up. I know its weird and its wrong, but no-one else is involved, no-one gets hurt, except me sometimes. No-one else needs to know ... please ? Our secret ?'

She doesn't say anything for an age. I can see her trying to come to terms with it, alternate looks of confusion, disbelief and disgust crossing her face. Eventually she speaks.

'You do all this ? To yourself ? And you like it ?' I nod shamefacedly at the appropriate moments. She falls silent again, before completely taking me by surprise.

'You want me tie you up ? You enjoy ?'

'What ?'

'You tie yourself up, get into trouble, maybe trapped long time, maybe die ! I tie you up, you enjoy, I let you go, no danger, no problem !'

I can't get my head around this new concept ! My Bulgarian cleaner is offering to tie me up ? This cannot be real !

'I know some people, they like all types of things. Kinky. We try, yes ? You no like, we stop. You like, we do some more. Go get all your ropes and chains and we play a little game'.

Not quite believing what I am doing, I go up to my bedroom, followed by Sasha encouraging me, and bring out my bag from the back of the wardrobe, the one full of ropes, chains, padlocks, handcuffs, gags and sex toys, and take it back down to the kitchen. Sasha takes it off me and rummages through it, emptying it onto the table. I am even more embarrassed than earlier now and I am wondering how to get out of this excruciating situation.

'Come on ! Stand up ! Put hands together behind back !' she says in a bright and cheerful tone which somehow brooks no refusal. For some reason I do as she says – maybe it is the commanding tone in her voice, maybe it is a subconscious desire to be submissive, I don't know. But I am standing, still naked, in my kitchen, still dirty and sweaty and exhausted from the day before – maybe that's it, exhaustion fogging my brain – and my wrists have been tied surprisingly tightly and effectively behind my back. She loops the rope around my elbows and starts to draw them together until they are touching. I gasp and finally find my voice.

'Sasha, please, stop ! I have to phone in to work !'

'We do that in a moment', she says, very assured, very much in control. She starts to wrap rope around my arms and body, above my breasts, below my breasts, crossing between them and wrapping around them until they are standing out and engorged, like two swollen, overripe melons. This breast bondage looks very professional to me, like pictures I have seen in magazines and on the Internet – does Sasha already know about these things, has she done this before ? She pushes me towards the kitchen table and makes me stand facing it, while she bends down and ties my ankle to the table leg. She grabs my other leg and drags it to the other side, forcing me to spread my legs, before tying the ankle tightly to the other table leg. I make another attempt to stop her.

'Sasha, please, I don't like this. Let me go !'

'I don't believe you' she says as she ties a rope around my neck, not too tight and not in a noose, more like a dog lead.

'Anyway', she says as she walks to the opposite end of the table, holding the other end of the rope, 'You're my prisoner now ! You don't get to decide anything any more'.

She pulls on the rope, forcing me to bend forward, until my swollen and sensitive breasts are squashed against the table beneath me. She ties the rope off to the end of the table, holding me down, and strolls nonchalantly around the kitchen. I watch as she gets something out of a drawer and walks towards me. I see she has a large wooden spoon in her hand.

'W-what are you doing ?' I stammer.

'You are a bad, bad girl, no ? What you have done, you should be ashamed of, yes ?' I nod my head dumbly.

'So, you need to be punished', she says in a matter of fact way. Before I can take this on board, she brings the spoon down hard across my buttocks and I let out a startled cry as much in surprise as pain. She hits me again, then again and again, whacking me as hard as she can and now I am crying out in genuine pain as the beating continues until tears are running down my cheeks.

I am relieved when she takes a break from hitting me, but then I see her pick up the phone.

'Now we call your work. Give me the number'

'Please' I beg, 'Let me call them'. She holds up the spoon.

'You want more beating ? No ? Give me the number !' I tell her my boss's number and she dials it.

'Hello ? I call for Miss Jennifer Harrison. She not well today, very sick, throwing up, fever, she not come in today. It is really bad, maybe she not come in for two, three days, maybe not this week. Okay, I let you know, thank you' She puts the phone down and smiles an evil smile at me. I can't believe what I just heard – I can't be off work for days, I have important projects on the go, they need me ! Slowly it dawns on me that maybe I should be worrying about what is going to be happening to me over the next few days rather than how work will cope. Sasha comes around behind me and leans over me, hissing into my ear.

'Now we have plenty time for our little games'. Suddenly she whips something over my head and I am plunged into darkness. I feel material against my face and guess it is some kind of cloth bag, maybe a pillow case. I open my mouth to scream but instead find a ball gag being forced into my mouth over the material and buckled in place, pulling the cloth tight across my face. She grabs the bag and pulls my head back, then I hear her voice close by my ear again.
'In my country, we know all about dealing with difficult people, especially rich little bitches like you'. As she says this, she pushes the end of the wooden spoon into my anus and waggles it about until I scream ineffectually into the gag. I am really scared now – I feel like I am helpless in the power of some kind of sadistic torturer !

She unties me from the table and leads me by the rope at my neck down the stairs into the cellar. She makes me clamber up on to the dirt of my prison floor and stand in the middle of the room, under the shower.

'Kneel', she orders and I obey meekly, understanding the consequences of disobedience. I feel her threading a rope down between my back and my bound arms, between my buttocks and thighs, across my cunt, up my stomach and under the ropes between my breasts. She pulls the rope tight, presumably it is tied to the hook above me, the rope drags across my bare pussy and she makes sure it runs between my labia so it is rubbing against my clitoris. The rope is coarse and she pulls it tight so it digs into the tender flesh between my legs.

'Comfortable ?' she asks in what sounds to me like a not-too-caring tone. I shake my head – there is no way this could be described as comfortable !

'Oh dear, maybe I make a bit more uncomfortable'.

I feel her grab my right breast and there is suddenly a biting pain in my nipple – she has put something on it, probably a clothes peg, and Jesus it hurts ! I get the same shooting pain from my left nipple as she applies another peg. Then she clamps them onto my areolas, then on the soft and already swollen and sensitive flesh of my breasts. I scream into the gag and try to squirm away from her but with the crotch rope holding me in place I have no chance.

'Comfortable now ?' she asks in a hard tone. I nod my head this time, despite the pain, having found out what shaking my head does !
'Oh, so if you are so comfortable, maybe I make a bit more uncomfortable'. I realise I can't win and now I fear what will happen next.

I feel her hands on my right ankle as she lifts my foot up and bends it up behind me, so my calf is hard up against the back of my thigh. She puts rope around my ankle and thigh, binding it tight, so now only my knee is touching the dirt. I squeal as she grabs my other foot and does the same – I am now trying to balance on my knees and I inevitably sway back and forth. As I do so, the crotch rope rubs across my sex, pulling tight and ripping at the tender flesh of my clitoris and open cunt, making me scream in pain again.

'I go now' I hear Sasha say, 'I have cleaning work to do'. I shake my head violently and shout into the gag, but I hear the door slam shut behind her. A moment later, the shower soaks me from above. The material over my face quickly becomes soaked and – oh my God, I am drowning ! Whenever I try to breathe in through my nose or mouth, I suck water out of the cloth which goes to the back of my throat and chokes me ! I cough and splutter and try to get more air as the panic rises, but this just makes the feeling of drowning worse ! This must be what waterboarding feels like ! I try to calm down and tell myself I am not actually drowning, it only feels like it, but I am terrified ! I put my head down to try and stop the water running down my face and it helps a little, but I lose my balance and rock forward onto the crotch rope which digs excruciatingly into my poor tortured cunt. I am in a nightmare of fear and pain with no idea when or even if I will be released.

Luckily the water is still on the timer and it stops after about ten minutes. But the same problem as before is now adding to my discomfort – my knees have started sinking into the mud, leaving more of my body weight supported only by the crotch rope, cutting into me in the most sensitive area. I hear a noise from upstairs and I am astonished to realise Sasha is now vacuuming ! As if I am going to complain about the dirt !

As the shower comes on again and again, soon all my weight is bearing down on the rope buried in my crotch as I fight to breathe. This nightmare goes on for hours, while upstairs I hear the happy pop music blaring out at top volume.

Eventually, I hear the cellar door open and Sasha is there alongside me.
'Comfortable now ?' she asks, with a harsh and humourless laugh. I say and do nothing – I don't want to annoy her. She takes the clothes pegs off my nipples and breasts, but this is a mixed blessing as the rush of blood back into the pinched flesh makes me scream in agony. Rather more welcome is the release of the crotch rope, even though it makes me tip forward and fall flat on my face in the wet mud. She unties my legs – another huge relief tinged with pain as the stiffness of my legs causes shooting pains – and finally removes the gag and whips off the hood.

'Oh, thank you, Sasha', I say as I gulp in great gasps of the fetid air. 'I don't think I could have stood another minutes of that ! I am really looking forward to a shower now – could you untie my arms please ?' I look up at her expectantly, but she does not look like she is in a co-operative mood.

'You not my boss down here, you know. Down here, you nothing but a prisoner. Prisoner don't get to say 'Oh please could you untie me now'. Prisoner stays in prison and suffers'. She grabs the rope still on my ankles and thighs and uses it to tie my legs together at the ankles and above the knee.

'Please, Sasha', I beg, 'I like tie up games but I need a break ! I need a shower and something to eat and drink !' In response, she slaps me hard across the cheek.

'Silence ! You not call me by my name down here ! Here I am only Mistress, understand?' I am shocked by her sudden venom.

'Yes' I say meekly.

'Yes, what ?' she shouts in my face.

'Yes ... Mistress' I manage to say.

'Better. Now, I have bring you food, and water, don't say I am cruel'. She points and on the other side of the cellar I see a bowl of water and a basket with chunks of bread in it.

'Bread and water, good prison food. Now, you rest up, maybe I come back tomorrow, we play some more'. And with that, she walks towards the door.

'Please ! Mistress ! Don't leave me ! I'll do anything ! I'll pay you ! Sasha !' But the door has shut, the key has turned, the front door has slammed behind her. I start to cry in self-pity – oh woe is me ! I am tied up and naked in a dirty, stinking dungeon with no hope of escape and no idea when or if I will be freed, with nothing but bread and water ... hang on a minute, isn't this exactly what I want ? Oh my God ! This is my perfect bondage scenario – helpless, tight bondage, no escape. I need to just get over the fact that this involves the cleaner – she actually is my jailor ! What did she say, 'maybe I come back tomorrow' ? I think about what I have just been through – my own bondage session, then Sasha tying me up, plus the spanking ... if only she had left me some means to bring myself off, I am so horny right now. I wriggle around in the dirt, but the ropes on my arms and legs are so tight, there is no way I can get my fingers to my hot little cunt. But then, prisoners aren't meant to enjoy it, are they ? Even the lack of a gag, which I would normally love, reinforces the fact that I can scream for help as much as I like, the only person likely to hear is my jailor and, as I have discovered, is likely to punish such indulgences.

I relax and lie back. My God, I admit to myself, I am a true submissive masochist and I have a Mistress ! I wonder what she will do to me tomorrow ? Or the next day ? Or for the rest of my life ... with these momentous thoughts running through my head, I fall sound asleep.

When I wake up I have no idea how long I have slept, but it is dark, except for the moonlight shining in on me. I feel very refreshed by my uninterrupted sleep but very hungry and thirsty. To get to the food and water, I have to squirm and wriggle across the dirt like a worm, but I love the struggle and the feel of it on my bare skin. Once over there, I see that the water in the bowl is dirty, with what look like potato peelings in it, but I am so thirsty I have no choice. I manage to get my head in the bowl and suck up some water, then I grab a piece of the bread between my teeth and wolf it down. I am not surprised to find the bread is stale – stale bread and dirty water for the prisoner, how appropriate. After that, I settle back and go to sleep again.

When I awake again, it is morning and I can hear noises upstairs. Sasha does not appear for ages – what is she doing ? Having breakfast, making coffee, dreaming up new tortures for me ? – but when she does appear, I get a shock. She is wearing a skin-tight black leather catsuit and spike-heeled boots. I had never really noticed before, but with her blond, flowing hair, full breasts, slim waist and wide hips, she is one sexy woman, every inch the dominatrix. She is carrying my bag of toys, which indicates there may be a tough session ahead for me.

She jumps up onto the dirt and comes over to me, not worrying about her heels sinking or the dirt messing up her boots. She unties my arms, which is a sweet relief as they have gone completely numb.

'Stand up. Put this on'. She hands me my head harness gag. I look at her questioningly.

'Don't make me force you. Put it on now !' I push the large ball behind my teeth, put the chin strap in place and buckle the main strap behind my head. Then I take the other straps up either side of my nose so they meet at my forehead, then over the top of my head to buckle behind.

'Give me your hands' she orders. I hold out my arms and she wraps rope tightly around my wrists before cinching it so there is no room for escape. Again, I wonder if she has done this before, the job is so professional. She leads me to the centre of the room and puts the rope over the hook in the ceiling, making me realise that, even taking into consideration the boots, she is considerably taller than me, something else I have never really noticed before. She pulls on the rope, dragging my arms up above my head, then walks over to the wall where there is a metal ring, through which she threads the rope. Now she plants one foot against the wall and hauls on the rope, making me cry out in surprise as I am lifted off the ground and left swinging by my wrists. She manages to get the rope tied off and then strolls back over to me. Her fingers lazily trace circles around my nipples and I notice how long and red her painted nails are. There is a smile on her lips as she looks me in the eye.

'So, you thought I was a nice, safe person to rely on if you were too stupid to get out of your little game, didn't you ? Well, do you think I am so nice now ?' As she says this, she takes my nipple between thumb and forefinger and squeezes hard, so hard I scream into the gag and tears are squeezed from my eyes.
'Do you think I am so safe now, bitch ?' she hisses with real venom, then deliberately gets as much saliva in her mouth as she can and spits in my face.
I swing from side to side on the end of the rope, as I struggle to just see if there is any looseness in the knots, but there is no way. I wipe the saliva off my face on my arm and wonder what on earth I am in for next – Sasha is just so full of surprises !

She takes something out of the bag and – oh my God, she has a genuine leather flogger in her hand ! I howl in fear at this new development, anticipating the pain and can't take my eyes off the thing as she strolls around me. Where the hell did that come from ? She flicks me with it, teasing, cruel, the leather fronds slapping lazily against my skin. And then she hits me, hard across the buttocks, the many straps slashing across me from waist to the top of my thighs. I shriek in genuine pain now as she whips the flogger back and forth, up and down my legs, buttocks and back. the tears are streaming down my face now as she moves on to work my front, lashing my thighs, stomach and even across my breasts. I screw up my eyes and try to just live with the pain, but each lash of the flogger sends fresh shocks through my body. I am twisting and turning on the rope, trying somehow to protect my most sensitive parts from attention but Sasha is deadly accurate, targeting my breasts, the front of my thighs and even my crotch. I am covered in sweat and, as well as Sasha's spit and my tears, there is my saliva and mucus from the muffled screams and gasps for air running down my face.

At last Sasha stops and I hang limply from the rope, head bowed in exhaustion. The next thing I know, she is tying rope to my ankles and my legs are being pulled up into the air, towards opposite corners of the room. I am now stretched out into a Y, hanging in mid-air on my back about four feet off the ground. With some difficulty I lift my head and see that Sasha has the yard brush in her hands and, as I watch in confusion and growing trepidation, she fits a condom over the end of the handle and smothers it in lubricant. No, no, no, I cry into the gag, you can't be planning to put that thing inside me ! I pull at the rope holding me, vainly hoping she has made a mistake in tying the knots and suddenly I will be able to get free, but it is futile. As she approaches with the broom outstretched towards me I shake my head violently and scream into the gag. I feel it touch me, nudging between my lips, pushing up against my dripping wet and eagerly receptive cunt. My head is back and my eyes shut tight as I scream in agony as she forces the huge girth of the broom handle inside me, pushing it deeper until there is nowhere for it to go. Now she starts to slowly work it back and forth, sliding it easily all the way out of me and then all the way back in. after only a couple of minutes I scream out in climax, my whole body jerking about like a puppet in the ropes, every muscle straining. But she carries on, speeding up, slowing down, twisting it around, changing the angle of entry, sliding it, thrusting it, until I am forced to a second screaming climax, which seems to just go on and on. At last I am totally exhausted and Sasha seems to sense it, finally withdrawing the pole.

But the respite is brief. I manage to lift my head to see what is happening and see Sasha lubricating the condom again. I let out a moan of despair and try to relax, knowing there is nothing I can do to stop her from violating me again. But then I feel the tip of the handle between my buttocks, pushing at my sphincter, and I scream and kick and struggle like mad – there is no way that thing is going to fit in there ! But she keeps on pushing and my sphincter stretches wider, I scream in pain now, but she keep on pushing. I have to try to relax my muscles or I'll rip in two, but it's so painful, it's almost impossible. Now I am trying to spread my cheeks wider and try to allow it in and unbelievably it is inside my poor, tortured anus ! She pushes it up inside me but I am just about ready to faint. I try to just ignore it but it isn't easy when you can feel your whole body seems full of wood ! At last she pulls it out and, inevitably, shit dribbles out over my cheeks and drips onto the dirt below.

Eventually she lets me down and I lie there, unresisting, as she first unties me and then, seemingly inevitably, places me in new bondage. This time she handcuffs my wrists and locks a ring gag in my mouth, then hands me a shovel.

'Dig !' she commands, 'Here !' I scrape away at the ground ineffectually until she whips me across the back and I frantically redouble my efforts until there is a hole right down to the concrete floor, about three feet deep. She takes the shovel from me, then puts more chain around my waist, so tight it feels like it is cutting me in half, then she puts handcuffs around my ankles and locks a chain between my wrists and ankles but threaded under the chain around my waist and between my legs. She pulls the chain short so that if I stretch out my legs, my hands are pinned to my stomach and if I reach up to my face, my feet are pulled up against my buttocks. As I lie there on the ground, helpless, she puts her foot against my side and pushes hard, rolling me over and into the hole !

I let out a scream as I slide down into the hole, coming to rest on my knees with my ass up in the air. She uses her foot to push it down, dragging the chain painfully between the lips of my cunt and trapping my arms beneath me. To my horror, she then starts to shovel dirt on top of me, burying me alive ! I struggle to get myself out of the hole or on top of the dirt but all I manage to do is raise my head until it is just at ground level. Meanwhile, my legs are already buried and she keeps piling in the soil until my body is also covered and only my head and neck are above ground ! She slaps the earth with the flat of the shovel, until the ground is compacted around me until I can hardly move.

I wail in absolute terror as she leaves the room, before returning a couple of minutes later with some bottles of water and another basket of bread, which she places on the ground on the opposite side of the cell. She comes across to me and bends down close, grabbing me by the hair and pulling my head back.

'I leave you now for a while, you enjoy your little game, no ?' I wail unintelligibly and try to shake my head, but I know there is no point, she is not going to release me. She smiles and slaps me gently on the cheek, before standing up and walking out of the cell once more. This time the door is slammed shut and locked and a few minutes later I hear the front door slam, then there is silence, all I can hear are the buzzing of flies and, somewhere in the distance, a lawnmower.

I try to get some kind of handle on my situation. It is Tuesday morning. Sasha is unlikely to return before this evening or possibly not today at all. So somehow I need to try and get myself out of this hole, literally. I run my tongue around the ring of the gag in my mouth and realise how cunningly cruel her choice has been. My throat is already sore and parched, but any saliva I have runs out of the ring and drools down my chin rather than keeping my throat moist. I need to get to the water and get a drink.

This proves to be a real problem. The way I am lying, my arms are useless, I'm hardly able to move them, and my legs are buried under the most dirt. All I can do is to try and stick my bum out, to try and wriggle around and loosen the earth around me. I am already exhausted and in pain from the torture I have already suffered and, for a long time, I just lie there, hopeless and helpless, trapped and miserable.

Eventually hunger and thirst drive me on. Like a child buried in the sand on the beach, I try to wriggle myself free. Very slowly, I manage to move my body, then my legs a little, making a space around me in the dirt. Hour after hour I squirm and wriggle to get free, the sweat pouring off my forehead and running into my eyes. I can taste the saltiness on my stretched lips. I keep having to shake my head as flies land on my face, crawling around, feeding of the minerals in my sweat, crawling into my gaping mouth. Darkness falls and I am still buried ! I guess there will be no release today.

At last I manage to get my shoulders free and, inch by inch, I wriggle like a worm until I am free of the dirt. Once my arms are free, I can make quicker progress, but at the expense of my poor tortured cunt as the chain rips across it like a saw, rubbing my clitoris raw.

Finally I am back on the surface, exhausted and in pain. I lie there unable to move despite my hunger and thirst, until dawn breaks through the bars above me. Slowly and painfully, I work my way over to the water and drink gratefully from one of the bottles, poking it through the ring of the gag. Having slaked my thirst, I realise how hungry I now am, but this presents a fresh problem. I cannot bring my jaws together because of the ring gag, so cannot chew the bread she has left me. In the end I soak it in water and push it to the back of my mouth, then manage to choke it down with some difficulty. Whatever else, I certainly feel imprisoned, humiliated, degraded. I don't think I can get any lower than I am right now.

I wake up to find that I have soiled myself, front and back – a new low. I can't bring myself to move away and I just lie there in my own filth, hoping that Sasha, my jailor, my mistress, will please come and release me !

But, as the sun fades away again, I am still here, in this squalor. I drink and try to eat, but it doesn't really assuage my raging hunger. I doze through the night and wake to another day in hell. What day is it ? Thursday ? I am losing track. I think about work, what must my boss be thinking ? It seems hotter today, less oxygen in the fetid air of the dungeon-like cellar, no breeze coming through the high opening. There is nothing to do but wait and listen. Surely she will come today ? I hear the slightest noises drifting into the cell hoping it is her, hoping it is release, but I hear nothing in the house itself. The day drifts by and on into night. I have vivid, nightmarish dreams in which I am buried alive, the dirt covering my face and filling my mouth; I am staked out, unable to move, while insects, spiders, worms, snakes crawl over me, burrowing into my skin, filling into my mouth, invading my anus and cunt. I wake up whimpering and sweating, clawing at my skin to get rid of the imaginary creatures. When I fall asleep again, my skin is being peeled from my body, exposing the raw flesh beneath. Again I awake in a sweat and I am too frightened to allow myself to go back to sleep.

Another day – Friday ? Please, God, let her come and release me ! I go to eat some bread but there is green mould on it. The water is tepid and disgusting, but I drink some of it. My stomach is painfully empty and the chain around my waist, which was cutting deeply into my skin, now has a little slack in it. Clearly this is quite effective as a diet plan ! The hours drag by, but there is no sound from upstairs, no rattle of keys. I am only taking sips of water now as I am on my last bottle and know I will be in even more desperate trouble if I dehydrate. Darkness arrives once more with no sign that I will ever be released.

When I wake up, I am rocking from side to side. Opening my eyes, I see a stilettoed boot pushing at my shoulder and I feel like weeping with relief as I see Sasha standing over me. I lie submissively as she unlocks my handcuffs and, joy of joys, she takes the ring gag from my aching jaws. I do not resist as she manacles my wrists and ankles, I just accept that I am to be kept chained.

'Okay, I give you parole from prison, yes ?' she says, helping me unsteadily to my feet.

'Thank you, mistress' I say with true gratitude.

'But you are still prisoner, no ? You try to escape, I punish you hard, yes ?'

'Yes mistress', I respond, head kept low in submission.

She leads me upstairs and into the kitchen.


'You want eat ?'

'Oh yes, please, mistress, I am starving !' I simper.

'Okay, get on all fours. Get down !' She points to the floor and I obediently get down on my hands and knees. She busies herself at the table, then puts a bowl down in front of me. The contents do not look very appetising – meaty chunks in a slimy gravy, which smells awful – and I look up at her uncertainly.

'Eat it, you bitch ! Or you can go back in your prison and go hungry !'

I put my finger in the bowl and scoop some of the stew up, smelling it suspiciously. It smells like ...

'No, not your fingers ! Eat it like a dog ! Like the bitch you are !' I feel her boot against the back of my neck and she forces my face down into the bowl until my nose is touching the slimy mess. I try to ignore the smell and bite down on one of the disgusting, rubbery chunks. I feel like throwing up, but it is the first 'real' food I have had in four or five days and I manage to keep it down and in the end I gobble it up greedily. When I am finished, I look up with gravy plastered on my chin and nose.

'Lick the bowl clean' she orders. I do so, accepting this new humiliation.

'Good. Okay, tomorrow you go to work'

I realise it must be Sunday and I must have completely lost track of time.

'First, you get cleaned up – you stink. Go take shower, now. Then I give you your orders'.

'Thank you, mistress' I say with genuine relief and gratitude, and scuttle off to the bathroom.

I luxuriate in the warm, caressing touch of the warm water and soap on my tortured body, trying to massage some of the aches and pains away. I am so relieved to be out of that terrible place and to be going back into work – though I have no idea what I am going to say about my absence, or how I will look people in the face. As I start to feel more human, I wonder what Sasha meant when she said she would give me orders.

I find her waiting for me in the bedroom when I finally emerge from the bathroom, clean and perfumed. She looks me up and down, appraising me. I feel very vulnerable and exposed under her steely gaze and cast my eyes down to the floor submissively.

'First you shave' she barks, 'You have stubble'. I guess she means my pubic area, which has started to grow back. she watches me as I scrape away any vestige of hair and she checks under my arms as well. She tells me I must shave every day and that, unless I keep the hair on my head short she will shave that off for me. I visualise that look, the prisoner-of-war chic, but know it would not go down well at work.

'Okay. Now, you wear this all the time, as reminder of your prisoner status' She holds up a thin silver chain and then approaches me with it. She puts it around my waist, then between my legs, looping around itself at the back and then back through, to be locked with a small but sturdy padlock at the front.

'When you are in the house, you always wear these chains' – she points to the manacles on my wrists and ankles – 'you can remove them when you are ready to leave the house but you must put them back on when you return, understand ?' I nod my head.

'In house, you wear no clothes. When you go out to work or to shopping, you wear no bra, no panties, no tights, no stockings, only dress, understand ?' Again I nod my head, more concerned with the prospect of being forced back into my prison than the consequences of these restrictions.

'Good. One last thing before I go. Kneel down !' I go down on my knees and she sits down on the bed in front of me. She hitches up her skirt and opens her legs wide, showing me her very hairy pussy.

'Pleasure me, slave' she orders, and grabs my hair, pulling my head between her thighs. I can smell the musky aroma of her sex as she forces my face up against her damp pubes and lies back on the bed, expectantly, demanding. I feel like I have no choice but to obey ad, tentatively at first, my tongue flicks out and starts to explore. It feels strange to say the least to run my tongue over a woman's clitoris and to delve into her vagina, deeper and deeper as I am rewarded by her moans and cries of pleasure. Her grip on my hair relaxes as she starts to lose herself in the experience and, far from shrinking back, I feel emboldened to lick harder and faster. I am a dutiful slave pleasuring her mistress, I tell myself, but as she becomes ever more animated and unable to control herself, I realise I am the one in control right now. I start to tease her, not allowing her to come, tickling her clitoris tantalisingly with the tip of my tongue. But then she grabs me again, impatient for her climax, and buries my nose into her luxurious mat of curly hair and screams at me to make her come ! I lick furiously now, eager to please my demanding mistress. Her thigh close around my head, blocking my ears and isolating me from the world, hardly able to see, hear or even breathe as she finally screams in orgasm and her back arches. I continue to use my tongue and lips but she pushes me away before curling up into a foetal position. I watch, fascinated, as her body twitches and spasms in the throes of her climax. I can feel how wet my face is with her come all over my nose and chin and I lick it eagerly. It is my first ever lesbian experience and I have to admit I enjoyed it !

Sasha gets up from the bed and pulls down her skirt, then leaves without speaking or looking at me. I hear the front door close and I am alone again, somehow free and not free. It is a strange and not unpleasant feeling.

I open my wardrobe to select something to wear tomorrow and I am surprised to find that all my trousers, jackets and long dress are missing, only blouses, short skirts and short dresses remain. I check my underwear drawers and find them empty – Sasha has removed or hidden everything she has banned me from wearing ! I also realise that my bag of sex toys and my secret stash of bondage magazines have gone too, leaving me with only my fingers and my fertile imagination to bring myself to a much-needed orgasm !

The next day is embarrassing in almost every way imaginable. It is raining hard and, with only a blouse and skirt on, I get soaked and my wet blouse clings to my bare breasts, making my nipples stand out like organ stops. This attracts a lot of stares on the bus and the tub, where I have to strap-hang, with people squashed up against me and those sitting down probably getting a great view up my skirt !

At work my boss seems suspicious of my absence but can't really say much as Sasha has kept him informed of my 'illness' during the week. But the office letch immediately notices my lack of a bra and points it out to everyone in the break room. I almost feel like flashing my shaved cunt at him and see if he has a heart attack. But I keep my head down and try to catch up with my work, which makes me late leaving and I don't get home until nearly 9 pm. When I get through the door, I take off my blouse and skirt and replace them with my 'slave chains', as I already think of them. When I go in the kitchen I find a note from Sasha, which I read with some trepidation:

Slave – I came to clean today but did not. It is now your job. Do it well, I will inspect tomorrow. Mistress

So, I smile ruefully to myself, I am now paying a cleaner who orders me to clean ! But I do it anyway, treating it as a necessary punishment. When I return the next day, I am dismayed to find dirt and mud through the house, as if workmen have been there, and another note:

Slave – Disgusting mess. Do it again or I punish you. Mistress

I clear up again but the next day it is even worse ! This time the note says:

Slave – Unacceptable. As punishment, tonight you sleep in garden shed. Mistress

Wondering what is going on, I clean yet again and then get a duvet and a pillow to take out to the shed – you may wonder that I obey this instruction even though I have no way of knowing whether Mistress will know, but if so you do not under stand the relationship between Mistress and slave. As I go outside, I notice that the opening to my cellar, through which I shovelled all that dirt, is covered by a piece of wood. When I go to investigate, I find that it is a hinged door, and it is padlocked shut. Mystified, I go back into the house and down to the cellar to investigate, and get the shock of my life. The rather flimsy door has been replaced by a much more sturdy-looking one, with heavy iron hinges, studs and handle. I go to open it but it is locked. There is a peephole in the door but it is covered by an iron plate which is padlocked shut. What is going on ? This explains all the mess – someone is working in my house while I am at work ! But why ? I can only guess this is something to do with my Mistress, but I have no idea what. Confused, I go back upstairs and out to the garden shed, where I pass a troubled night.

At last Friday arrives and I come home, wondering what will happen this weekend – somehow, I am sure it will not be a relaxing one for me ! I take off my clothes and put on my chains before going into the kitchen. Sasha is sitting at the table, dressed in her dominatrix catsuit, and she smiles coldly as I enter.

'I am glad to see you are obedient, slave. Get me a drink and make me some dinner'. I pour her the glass of wine I had been looking forward to, then cook the pasta dish I had been planning to eat. I then have to kneel on the floor as she eats it in a leisurely fashion, calling for more wine as she takes her time. When she has finished, I have to wash up the plates, despite the fact that the dishwasher could have been used, before she says:

'Have you noticed the work going on downstairs ? Would you like a closer look ?' I nod my head, knowing that this could be a bad idea but desperate to know what she has been doing down there. She leads me down to the cellar and takes out a large iron key for the door.

'I do not want to spoil the surprise' she says and ties a cloth over my eyes, blindfolding me. I hear the key turn in the heavy lock and the door creak as it swings open. The air feels fetid and stifling as she leads me into the centre of the room. The first thing I notice is that the dirt I covered the floor with has gone and Sasha's heels ring out on what feel like stone slabs beneath my feet. I feel her put something around one of my ankles then pull my feet apart and something around my other ankle, holding them wide apart. Then she pulls at the chain between my wrists and raises my arms above my head, where they are held. She forces a ball gag into my mouth, strapping it in tight. There is a whirring noise and my arms are pulled higher into the air, until they are stretched fully and I am on my toes and then I cry out as I am actually lifted off the floor.

'Welcome to your new playpen' Sasha says as she removes the blindfold. I look around me in a mixture of wonder, excitement and terror. The room has been transformed from an amateurish filthy prison cell into a very authentic medieval torture chamber. The floor has, as I thought, been flagged with stone, and the walls have been stripped back to the bare brick. Light flickers from two flaming torches set in iron brackets on the walls. I can see iron chains and manacles hanging from the walls, as well as a wooden case in which hang a range of whips, floggers and other equipment I cannot make out. In one corner, hanging from the ceiling, is something which looks like a see-through shower cubicle, while in another there appears to be some kind of animal cage. To one side of me is a large wooden table with brackets at either end, clearly for holding wrists and ankles, while on the other side is a large wooden frame with chains hanging from each corner. On the floor is what looks like a set of village stocks, but with the bracket to hold the ankles behind that to hold the head and arms. From the corner of my eye I can see something that looks like an upturned wooden Toblerone on a pole for which I cannot work out the purpose. All in all, it is a fearsome and frightening array of equipment with one aim in mind – to make my life hell !

'I hope you like it' Sasha says, smiling. 'My friends Sergei and Piotr built it all in the last week. I told them you would pay them for it – but maybe not in money. I said they could help us try out all their new equipment – I'm sure you don't mind'.

At that moment, two figures come through the door. Both are dressed in jeans and T-shirts, but that is where the similarity ends. One is tall and muscled, his chest seeming to stretch the material of the shirt to bursting point; the other is smaller and every visible inch of his body seems to be covered in coarse black hair, and his shirt is straining to confine his considerable beer belly. The short one – Sergei, I find out – is leering obscenely at me, whereas Piotr seems to be very serious and a little unsure of the situation. He exchanges words with Sasha in what I assume is Bulgarian before she walks towards me and removes the ball gag.

'Piotr does not believe you are here because you want. His English is not so good, but if you nod your head and tell him you are his slave, then he will understand'.

'But mistress, I am your slave' I protest.

'And I wish to give you to these men. Now do as you are told !' Swallowing hard, I nod my head and say 'Piotr, Sergei, I am your slave'. Sergei laughs and rubs his hands. Piotr seems to shrug as if to say, if this is what you want ... Sasha straps the ball gag back into my mouth and steps back. she says something to them in Bulgarian and then leaves the room, closing the door behind her. Suddenly I feel a lot less safe, alone in here with these complete strangers, one of whom looks pretty evil. I wonder if mistress has any control over them, any idea what they plan to do to me ...

The first thing they do is to unchain me, but I have no illusions that they are freeing me. They grab my arms and drag me to the stocks, forcing me down onto my knees. Piotr opens up the stocks and Sergei forces me down so that my head is in the central slot and my wrists on either side. They bring down the top half of the stocks and padlock it in place. The wood fits tightly around my neck and wrists, preventing any movement, let alone any chance for escape. I feel them putting my ankles in the rear stocks and locking it in place so I am unable to move my legs either.

Sergei comes around in front of me and his ugly smile unnerves me as he squats down and removes the gag from my mouth. He says something to me in his own language and laughs. For some reason, I suddenly start babbling.

'Oh please ! I am being held prisoner, against my will ! I am innocent, please, you have to believe me ! Please let me go, I will pay you very well ! I haven't done anything !' I'm not sure why I say this, I don't expect them to understand, I guess it is just part of my fantasy, I am playing the poor victim of some kind of kidnap, maybe, or police brutality. I am rather surprised when Sergei answers me in English.

'You are innocent ?' he says in his thick East European accent.

'Yes', I say a little less certainly, 'Please let me go !'

'Good !' he says with another leer, 'I like my fuck bunnies innocent !' With that, he forces a ring gag he has picked up from the table into my mouth, reducing any further words to desperate inarticulate moans. He stands up and I am now facing his groin. He unfastens his jeans and pulls them down to his knees, revealing stained Y fronts bulging with his erection. When he pulls them down, I can see and smell his cock inches from my face. The foreskin is pulled back and I can see flecks of dried semen on the purple head of his fat erection, the smell confirming the fact that this grossly overweight man does not shower as often as he should ! His cock is surprisingly long and thick – for some reason I thought it would be as physically underwhelming as the rest of his body – and it fills the ring of the gag as he slides it slowly into my mouth until he fills it, pushing it all the way to the back of my throat, cutting off my air supply as I try to suppress the urge to retch as my gag reflex kicks in, as well as from the smell assaulting my nostrils. He slides it all the way out again and saliva dribbles out of the ring and down my chin, while a long strand of drool continues to connect his cock to my lips, as if it were elastic which pulls him back and into my unresisting mouth again.

Meanwhile, behind me, I feel flesh against the backs of my thighs, fingers forcing my buttocks apart and roughly exploring my cunt and spreading it before – oh my God, if I thought the cock in my mouth was big, the one now entering me from behind feels enormous ! Once the head is in me, the shaft is quickly thrust in with no hesitation and Piotr starts a rapid and violent rhythm, his thighs slapping against my buttocks and forcing my shoulders to smack up against the wooden stocks. Sergei starts an opposite rhythm, driving his cock into my throat as I am being forced forward onto it from behind, making me choke as it goes into my throat. This violent thrusting at both ends soon has me on the edge of an orgasm which explodes inside me so quickly I am almost taken by surprise - it is the first time I have come before the man fucking me ! And there is no let up, it seems these two are quite experienced in keeping themselves from climaxing too quickly (unlike me) – I start to wonder if they are porn stars in their spare time, as well as builders and carpenters. I am approaching a second orgasm before suddenly Sergei cries out and my mouth is full of his come. He pulls his cock out while he is still spurting and it is all over my face, in my eyes and down my cheek, as well as dribbling out of the ring. I have to swallow a fair amount of it as well otherwise I cannot breathe. I am still being slapped against the stocks until Piotr finally reaches climax and spurts his hot semen all up my back and between my buttocks.

As Sergei moves away from in front of me, I see Sasha standing behind him. She comes over to me and squats down so she is face to come-covered face. There is a sudden flash and I see that she has my digital camera and is taking pictures of my shame ! I try to turn away from the camera but, of course, there is nothing I can do, except blush.

She walks around me, seemingly examining me, approving my helpless and submissive kneeling position. She goes to the wall and picks out a long cane, which she flexes threateningly as she comes back towards me. I can't see her as she walks around behind me, but I feel the sharp sting of the cane across my buttocks and squeal in surprise and pain. She continues to walk around, I can hear her heels clicking on the stone and I know the cane is going to strike me again, I just don't know when, which seems to make it much worse. Each time she hits me I squeal, more out of shock than pain, although after half a dozen swipes, I can feel my buttocks glowing.

She barks out an order and the two men release me from the stocks, then drag me to the wooden frame where they chain me up with my arms and legs held out in a spread-eagle. The two men stand back and watch as Sasha now chooses a leather flogger from the wall and approaches me with an evil smile. She lashes me repeatedly across the breasts, making me throw back my head and howl in pain. I twist and turn in my bondage, making the chains rattle against the frame, but there is no escaping the rain of blows. By the time she has finished, tears streak my face and I can see the red welt marks on my breasts and stomach, which are burning with pain, and my body is shiny with sweat.

Sasha releases a clip at the side of the wooden frame and I am suddenly swung through ninety degrees and hanging in mid-air on my back. she barks another unintelligible order at the two men and they come towards me, this time Piotr is in front of me and I am staring at his rampant erection and his ball sack close to my face. He slides it into my mouth through the ring gag and, with my throat now perfectly aligned and his cock being that much longer than Sergei's, I am forced to give him the full deep throat treatment – something I .have never experienced before. It proves to be somewhat frightening, feeling that I am being choked, as well as rather uncomfortable. I can also feel Sergei between my thighs and soon he is banging his cock into me with urgency and no thought for my comfort or pleasure, that's for sure. But, as before, the combination of the sensual stimulation of tight bondage, the psychological effect of feeling like I am being 'raped', and the sheer physical stimulation of being fucked hard soon make me come even as I am choking down on cock. Soon I am once again being sprayed with spunk as both men come all over me.

When the men move away from me, Sasha takes over – no rest for the wicked, eh ? She rotates the frame again and I am hanging upside down, trying to watch what she is doing. She goes to the table and then comes back towards me, carrying what I make out to be a lighted candle. I have no idea what she intends to do as she stands over me, so when the first drop of hot wax hits the inside of my thigh, I scream in shock as well as pain. She drips the burning wax down both thighs, inevitably and inexorably zeroing in on my upturned pussy. The engorged lips are first to be targeted and I scream as she drips the wax all over my tender labia. She liberally spreads the stuff between my buttocks as well as over my bare pussy but then, as if I hadn't already suffered enough, she spreads my lips wide open and exposes my clitoris to the infernal torture ! It is driving me mad with pain but however much I struggle there is no escape from the burning droplets.

When she has heard me scream enough, she spins me the right way up and gets her henchmen to release me, leaving me in a crumpled heap on the floor, curled up in a foetal position.

'I think you need cleaning up, you're a mess', she says, before giving more orders in Bulgarian. The two men grab me and wrap a heavy chain around my body, pinning my arms to my side, before pulling me to my feet and dragging me over to what I had thought was a shower cubicle and shoving me inside. It is made of clear perspex, is clearly watertight at the bottom and rises above to about eight feet off the ground. The door closes tight and is locked from the outside so I cannot escape. I look up and see there is a large pipe above me just as it starts to gush gallons of water onto my head. I am left gasping for air as the cold water rains down on me, but of greater concern is the speed with which the cubicle is filling. It is already up to my knees and now at my waist. I look through the clear plastic at Sasha's cruel smile as the water rises over my breasts and starts lapping around my neck. There is a large stopcock by the side of the cubicle and Sasha now reaches out and turns it, slowing the flow of water, but not stopping it. I am now on my toes and stretching to try to keep my mouth above the surface, now I am having to push myself off the bottom and NOW I am having to tread water just to stop it from flooding into my mouth through the ring gag and drowning me. Sasha finally turns the water off, but leaves me desperately kicking my legs to stay above the water.

Now the full implication of them chaining me up becomes clear. My legs become very tired very quickly as I try to support the extra weight of the iron chain around me. Trying to fight off blind panic, I realise I will have to go under some time, so I take a deep breath, try to plug the ring with my tongue to stop the water rushing down my throat, and stop kicking. I immediately sink, my feet settling on the bottom of the tank. I look out and see the three of them watching me, unmoving, uncaring. Sergei is smiling at me as I frantically try to signal to them that I am drowning here ! My lungs are at bursting point as I push off the bottom and kick my legs for the surface. As I make it, I am trying to get rid of the water from my mouth at the same time as I am taking another deep breath while trying not to sink. I don[t really manage it and, as I sink back down to the bottom, a stream of bubbles escapes from my mouth and is replaced by a mouthful of water. Frantically I push myself back up and try again, even less successfully and, as I go down for the third time, there is hardly any air in my lungs and I am starting to black out as I vainly struggle. Just as I feel my lungs are about to burst and I will black out, there is a sucking of water underneath me and my feet touch down whilst the water around me recedes. At last I can stand with my face out of the water and I cough and splutter as I try to take in much-needed oxygen. I mean against the side wall and gradually slide down it as the water which was supporting my weight disappears almost as rapidly as it arrived.

The door is opened and my limp body is dragged out.

'The boys have finished with you for now' Sasha tells me, 'So you can have a rest'. She barks an order and Sergei and Piotr drag me across the dungeon to the cage. They push me inside, having to fold my knees up by my head to cram me in, then padlock it shut.

'Do get a good night's sleep' Sasha says, 'I'm sure you will need your strength tomorrow' With that, the three of them turn their backs and, talking and laughing, they leave the cell, slamming the door behind them. They extinguish the torches as the go and, once the door is shut, it is pitch black and I can't even see the bars in front of my face. I hear the key turn in the lock and know that, once again, I am a helpless prisoner, totally at the mercy of my psychotic jailors, to be abused for their pleasure. Is this really my dream ? It is beginning to feel like a nightmare.