Thesis

Chapter 18: Elementary String Theory

Course 8 / Day 22: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Ylena: Fifty's last session with me seemed to make a deep impression. Of all those on this intake, she seems to lose herself more completely in beatings than any of the others. She continues to show a willingness to follow her chosen path and to gain as many experiences as she can during her stay.

Jenny's Recollections.

I suppose I should have expected it. Thinking back it’s surprising that there hasn’t been any of it up until now.

Ylena and Jo appear outside the cells. We’re all waiting there for the assignment of the day’s duties. Ylena and Jo are talking quietly, pointing first to the cell next door to mine and then to one of the others further down the line. I can’t hear them. Then Ylena takes out a single dice and tosses it up. Jo laughs and nods. Ylena throws the dice across the table and the two of them peer at it.

At once Jo turns to my cell and says, “You are the lucky one, Fifty. Come with us.”

She opens my cell door, clips a leash to my nose ring and I follow her and Ylena up to the gym.

“Tell me, Fifty,” Ylena begins. “Have you had experience of bondage?”

“Da, Gaspazha,” I reply. “A few times.”

“Not simple tying, just a knot or two. I mean real bondage? So you are quite immobile? Locked in the grip of ropes?”

I can see that what Gaspazha has in mind is more stringent than anything I’ve experienced before. I shake my head. “Nyet, Gaspazha. Not like that.” 

Ylena smiles. “Good,” she says. “So, this is a new experience for you and some learning for Jo. She wishes to see what can be done and I, I am an expert, a nawashi.” Ylena evidently isn’t waiting for me to agree or accept her suggestion. She probably won’t be concerned that I haven’t the faintest idea what a ‘nawashi’ is either. “Now, moi slooga,” she goes on. “Over there you see those ropes. Bring them here, the brown ones. Lay them out neatly on the table.”

The ropes are in hanks on a series of hooks on one wall of the gym. They have been coiled neatly and arranged by diameter and length. They are in several colours; white, red, blue and a natural brown colour.

There are four hanks of brown rope. They are quite thin, perhaps only half an inch or so in diameter. I lay them out on the table.

“No, slooga, not like that. Lay them two on each side of the table the short ones nearer me, The long ones beneath them. In two lines.”

I do as she says, putting them in place as neatly as I can.  Precision seems to be important.

Ylena smiles. “Good, slooga. I am pleased the dice chose you. You take care with things.” I feel proud; pleased that such a small act has attracted my Gaspazha’s praise. “Now lay down between the two lines of rope. On your face. Hands by your sides.”

I climb up onto the table. It is the last instruction she gives me, for the rest of the time her remarks are addressed to Jo.

“Shibari is not only concerned with immobilising the subject but also with the aesthetic result of the rope applied. We do not only bind but we aim to make the binding look pleasing and the form adopted by the subject as a result of the binding should be  pleasing too. For me I also believe that we should seek to deliver the subject up to a state of detachment from the self; to a point where they are absorbed in the sensation of being bound at the expense of all else. This we do by intricate and exquisitely tight rope work. It is tradition to use the natural rope and that is what I will use now. I like the colours though.” She nods across to the other hanks of rope.

“I see,” says Jo.

“Yes, Three good colours. Like the Russian flag,” Ylena says with a smile. “It makes a good look but for now we will follow tradition. See, we will start with the ankles and feet.”

Ylena goes to work. I feel her draw a length of rope around one of my ankles. She winds it around the other; taking a number of turns and drawing both together immovably. She is taking great care to lay the rope precisely, so that each turn fits snugly against its neighbour. Although I cannot see what she is doing I can sense the neatness of her efforts. She takes more turns of the rope under the arches of my feet. Then I feel her pull my big toes together. A single loop of rope is sufficient to lock them in place. It is a curious sensation; my ankles and feet completely fixed but the rest of me still free and able to move, though without a word from my Gaspazha, I don’t.

“So now, the wrists,” I hear Ylena say. She binds my wrists with my palms back to back, she threads a strand around the base of each of my fingers finishing off with a knot that holds my thumbs together. With my wrists tied so, my forearms are tensed and begin to ache almost at once.

“Please help,” Ylena says to Jo, Together the two of them bring me to a sitting position. “Now we make a karada, a rope dress.” Ylena begins weaving rope around my body, across around and between my tits, fixing my arms to my sides. She positions the knots exactly, ensuring they sit symmetrically and the each length of rope is tensioned so that it pulls equally on the others. She works her way down my body until finally she pulls the rope between my legs. She looks at it carefully and then withdraws it and ties three lumpy knots, close to one another, in the rope. She puts it back and then pulls it taut. As she ties it off to the rope around my wrists, I feel the knots slip between my moistening labial lips and know that for every movement of my arms I will be rewarded with the sensation of the knots sliding across my sex.

“There are many traditional designs,” says Ylena. “You can try them. Like a recipe book. I like to do this, too.” She takes another length of rope and ties a large knot in its centre. She eases the knot into my mouth as a gag and then fastens the rope behind my head before joining it to the rope around my wrists in such a way that my head is pulled back and I am looking at the ceiling.

“Ah,” says Jo, “and now you can see the karada better. I think I begin to understand.”

“Exactly. This is the difference between simple shibari and kinbaku-bi, the aesthetic and erotic result. See how the rope remains tight across the body. The skill is in getting the tension just right. Now we try gyaku-ebi.” Ylena moves me carefully and firmly so that I am laying on my tummy again.

“Gyaku-ebi?”

“I think when you see it you will say it is a hog-tie, but this is a very traditional kinbaku tie.” Ylena continues with more rope. To me it certainly feels like a hog-tie as my ankles are drawn back towards my wrists. “With careful design of the harness, you can suspend the slave, tsuri.” I give a groan from behind my gag. The idea of hanging naked cocooned in ropes does not appeal at all. “But I think this is too much for my little m-jo on her first time.”

I agree with her. Ylena and Jo leave me on the table while they go over to the other side of the gym. I can see that Jo and Ylena are discussing the various lengths of rope and their colours and the challenge of working only with the traditional 7 metre lengths of rope, the importance of using only those knots that were traditionally used with hemp or linen ropes. They are, of course, completely unconcerned about my comfort. Locked in the harness of rope, each of my muscles begins to call out in discomfort. The only way that I can achieve any relief is to focus on each in turn trying to ease the tension from the rope by tensing one or other muscle.

The gymnasium disappears for me. I don’t even feel the table really. It’s as if I am suspended but suspended in some formless void where I can only feel the touch of the rope and the pain in my muscles and joints. Nothing else is significant, except the rub of the rope across my crotch.

I am suddenly aware that Ylena and Jo are watching me and I have no idea of how long I have been like this and how long they have been watching as I twist and strain within my, what did Ylena call it? Oh, yes, my karada Somehow I find that even more arousing.

Ylena looks across at me as I wriggle in the rope harness. “You see how she reacts to the ropes?”

Jo replies. “It’s very effective.”

“Let me show you some others,” Ylean says. “I have a book over here.”

I give a gagged squeal of concern as the two of them leave me again. I’m perched helplessly on the table while they go off to the other side of the room, standing with their backs to me and peering at Ylena’s book. I’m worried about falling off, trying not to move more than I have to. Somehow the more I try to stay still the more I feel aware of the rope across my crotch. The slightest twitch of my body seems to pull on the rope and drag the knots across my labia. I’m getting wetter as I get more aroused and the combination of the effects of the rope and my situation soon have me panting into my gag and twitching more to pull the crotch rope against myself. Suddenly I know that I can’t stop myself. My body falls into a crashing orgasm, my thighs and belly flex against the table in response and I try to keep myself from falling off. I give a whimpering cry, distorted by the rope gag as the waves of sensation crash over me.

The sound attracts Ylena’s attention. She and Jo turn towards me. Ylena is smiling. I feel humiliated, strung up like this and laying on the table like some scientific specimen. And Ylena’s technique worked of course. She must be feeling very pleased with herself. Suddenly I’m angry with myself and angry with her.

Ylena lays a hand gently on my head. I try to shake it free. “Hush, little m-jo,” she says. “Enjoy yourself. It’s not your fault. This is the power of the rope. Now let me free you.”

She begins to unfasten the ropes. It seems to take even longer than when she was tying me. As each length of rope is removed she coils it carefully and hangs it back in place on its hook on the wall. Eventually I am freed. The gentleness with which she has treated me as she untied me has taken away my anger. Or maybe it’s just the relaxed feeling I always have after an orgasm. “You wear the karada well, m-jo,” she says.

“Perhaps I’ll practice on her,” Jo says.

“It is the best way,” Ylena says. “Only through practice can you know how the ropes will follow the body and how the body will follow the ropes.”

Jo nods. I can see she thinks it is a good idea. I don’t think I’ll have much opportunity to disagree.   

   

Chapter 19: Sex And The Single Girl

Course 8 / Day 26: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Jo: The shibari demonstration that Ylena provided gave us the chance to explore Fifty’s response to bondage. In common with her other reactions she was quick to sink herself in the experience and further shibari sessions could be beneficial. Overnight surveillance has also shown Jenny helps herself off to sleep by masturbation. It is probably time to start helping her to explore her sexual boundaries and the idea of being the sexual property of her Master or Mistress,

Jenny's Recollections.

It is after breakfast that Jo takes me to one side. She takes me up to where I can make my weekly exchange of e-mails. I’d almost forgotten that it was time to do this again. This time, I decide to drop a note to Angela - it’s inconsequential stuff, but I feel obliged to say something. There are a couple of chatty mails from Joe. His trip seems to be having all the usual problems that he tells me about, but he seems happy enough. I send him an e-mail in reply. I finish well within my fifteen minutes limit and look up towards Jo.

“All done?” she asks. I nod. “I hope you find this helpful. We think it helps to have some link back to the rest of the world.   We know it can be a bit of a pressure-cooker in here. You need a little time to de-stress.”

I don’t say anything, but it doesn’t really feel like de-stressing to me. Whenever I think about the world back at the university and home, I’m just confronted by the extraordinary difference between my life there and my life here and that feels pretty stressful to me. Mind you, I’m supposed to be thinking about stress, aren’t I?    

Jo begins again, “Fifty, before you start today's work, we need to talk,” she says. I'm puzzled. Normally, Jo waits until the end of the day before we have a discussion on what has gone on and how I'm feeling. Why didn't she talk about whatever it is last night?

Jo tells me to stand and then sits herself down. She logs in with a different ID and starts up a new programme on the computer.

“I want to show you something,” Jo presses a key on the laptop. A media player window opens and a video starts to play. It looks like it’s been shot in one of the cells, shot from high up, near the .... Oh, goodness! I realise that it's my cell; that it's me in the bed in the middle of the picture. I think of the little red light that blinks in the ceiling of my cell when they put the lights out. “I'm sure you remember my telling you that we keep participants under observation from time to time,” Jo says, “just to ensure your well-being.”

I bite my lip and shake my head. I know what's coming next.

The girl in the video pushes back the blanket from her bed. It's clear that she has her hands between her legs. She's naked; how could it not be?  I know that it's me, but it's like watching someone else. The girl arches her back, pushing her crotch forward against her hands. It's worse, the camera zooms in, the girl's hands and her crotch fill the screen.  Jo moves the mouse and the sound comes on, too. “Ylena, Ylena, Ylena,” I am repeating over and over again. And then, “Joe, Joe, Joe.” The girl in the picture gives a whimper. She, I mean I, obviously comes and then lays back exhausted.

“It's not like you think,” I start. I'm embarrassed, but I'm also angry that they've been filming me surreptitiously.

“Isn't it? Why not?”

“Because 'Jo', isn't you. It's my husband. It's 'Joe' I'm saying, not 'Jo'. Look in my file, you'll see.”

“And what was I thinking? You said, 'It's not what you think.' I wondered what it was that you thought that I thought.”

“I, I, I,” and suddenly I realise that I don't have the slightest idea. I suppose I expected Jo to disapprove in some way. To feel that I shouldn't be doing what I was doing. And, I've felt exactly the same way about Joe too; assuming that he was making judgements about me, guessing what he feels, when actually I don't really know, because I've never really asked him.

“Look,” said Jo with concern, “we are very anxious to make sure that nothing prevents you from achieving the goals you set yourself when you came here. We know that it’s possible for sexual urges to be heightened by the situation here and we want to be sure that you have every opportunity to act out any fantasies that you have as part of the programme. There really shouldn't be a need for secretive sexual activity.”

“Oh,” I say. “I see.” I'm anxious for the conversation to end as quickly as possible.

“And if you must, Fifty, remember it's 'Mistress Ylena' and 'Mistress Josephine' just to be on the safe side.” Jo is smiling in a friendly way.

“I said it wasn't you, it was my husband.”

“OK, that's fine, Fifty.” I'm not sure if she believes me, or not. I'm not sure if I believe me, or not. “But, we still need to talk about this. In your application form, when you were asked if you were prepared to be involved in sexual contact with your fellow participants, you said 'possibly'. I just wanted to check whether your views had changed since you got here?”

“Changed?”

“Yes. Whether you had come to the conclusion that you definitely were prepared for such interactions, or whether you had decided that you weren't, or whether you still wanted to keep an open mind? We won't do anything that conflicts with your responses on the application form, you know that. But equally, we wouldn't want you to miss out on experiences, because of a decision that you made earlier that needs to be updated in the light of experience.” 

“I don't know, Mistress,” I say, biting my lip. That's certainly true. I'd forgotten about the application form. I filled it in so long ago, or so it seems now.  I guess I owe it to the research to experience this, though.  It's true that I have been fantasising about sex with the other participants and the staff - and Joe, of course. I haven't been with a woman since I married Joe, well since I broke up with Angela, but it's hard not to look at Ylena or Carrie or Charlotte without going weak at the knees. But, I want to do these things with Joe, I've always wanted to do these things with Joe. It's just that somehow I couldn't ask, or he wouldn't listen or, well, I don't really know. And, there's something about Gerry too, I could just imagine myself.....

“Fifty?” Jo interrupts my daydreaming. I jerk my attention back to her questions.

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Your mind seemed to have wandered off. I don't need an answer now, but I did want to give you the chance to reconsider your choice. All right?”

“Yes, Mistress.” I make my decision. I have to say 'yes' for the sake of the research, I tell myself, and for Joe and me. Maybe, if I work this out of my system we can find a way back? Or, maybe I can work out how to get us both to where we're both happy. “I've thought about it and I think you should change that answer to 'yes'. Definitely.”

“If you are sure, Fifty,” Jo says, caringly.

I nod. “Yes,” I say, “quite sure.”

“In which case, there needs to be a change of behaviour. No more masturbating!”

I'm surprised by this, but I know I have to accept what Jo says. “No Mistress.”

“Unless of course, you are specifically directed to by one of the staff. You will carry out any such sexual acts with the other slaves as you are directed. You will make your mouth, vagina and arse available, as required. You are the sexual property of your owners and you will behave as such. Do you understand?”

Jo says this so gently, smiling as she carefully enunciates the words. It sounds so reasonable and so natural. I am almost ashamed I held back when I made my original application. But, sexual property? Well, yes I, suppose that makes sense, a slave is property after all. My arse? I hadn't thought about that? I've never... Well no, never. Apart from when Ylena did that with the electrical probe. Oh! I hadn't even thought about that before.

“I said, did you understand, Fifty?”

“Yes. Yes, Mistress.”

Jo turns back to her computer. “All right, Fifty. I've updated your file on the system. The staff will be aware of the change in your profile.” 

“Thank you, Mistress Josephine,” I hear myself saying.

“That's all right, Fifty. We want to make sure that you get everything you can out of your stay with us. Now, what is planned for you today?”

“I have to see Gerry, Mistress. He wants to check that I am shaving my head correctly. And then, there's domestic duties and... “

“All right, Fifty. Off you go.”

I make my way up to Gerry's room. He's not there when I arrive, so I sit myself down in the chair to wait. Minutes later, I hear his laughing voice in the corridor and jump up out of my seat. It would never do to be sitting down when he came in.

“Hey, honey!” He exclaims when he comes through the door. “If it ain't my white Diallo! I may have two of you ladies to shave, but you sure have the cutest scalp.”

I smile, pleased to be complimented.

“Here to have your daily smooth 'n shine?”

“Yes, Gerry,”  I say.

“You getting used to it now??? That tan stuff working out?”

I nod. Gerry turns to his lap top. I know that the staff always check the files before they start a session, but this time I know what he's going to see. He doesn't say anything about that though, he just says, “Hop up on the chair honey. Let's get this done.”

I get back onto the chair.   He swings me around and tips me back. He picks up his electric razor and there's a whirring sound behind me. There's hardly any stubble on my head, but Gerry insists I get the once over every day. Heaven knows how I'll explain it when I get home. “So, how are you settling in? Did you enjoy the garden party? Didn't you look cute with the straps across your scalp.”

I hardly get the chance to answer. Gerry's chatter is as effective at keeping me quiet as the muzzle was. I'm barely paying attention.

“... and you've owned up to feeling just a bit sexy, I see.”

Now I'm paying attention.

“Well, that's pretty honest by my book. The way you move, you're every bit as sensual as Miss Ramatoulaye, believe me! So you should get the fun of it. Sex is the greatest game. You're not too bad looking, you know. For a whitey.” I feel him reach down and brush the ring in my right nipple. “You'll have a lot of fun, believe me.” He continues to stroke my ring gently. The teasing sensation convinces me that he is right. I give a quiet whimper.

He leaves the ring be and turns his attention to my head again. “Now, I ain't got no time to play with you - more's the pity – but, we'd better make sure your scalp doesn't dry out.” He's rubbing some moisturiser in – it feels as sexy as when he was playing with my nipple ring.

“They got you working out yet?”

At first I think this is some sexual innuendo, but then I realise he's talking about body building again. I nod my head.

“I think that’s a really good idea. You'll be surprised how much you can achieve with just an hour or so a day. I'll have a word with Jo and talk about how you are getting on. When your muscles start to stand out, you’re going to look even better than you do now. And, they’ll help your stamina. Gonna need that now you've put yourself on the sexual carousel.”

I hadn't thought I was putting myself on any ’carousel’ - surely he is teasing me, anyway? But, maybe I’ve misjudged things again. Gerry tells me I can go. I have housekeeping to do.

I get as far as the corridor outside some of the staff offices. I see George's back as I pass the door of one. I've only just gone by his office when I hear him call me to a halt. “Fifty!”

I stop and turn back to his room. “Yes sir,” I respond, wondering how he knew I was there.

He gets up from his desk and walks over towards me. “I see that you've changed your status on sexual behaviours.” I see that he's got the RFID Tracker window open on the screen of his PC, explaining how he knew I was passing by.

He's not really asking a question, but I reply anyway. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” he says. “You can help out with one of your colleagues. Follow me.” He sets off down the corridor. I have to scurry to keep up with him. He leads the way into a room where Carrie is standing waiting submissively with her hands behind her back and her head bowed.

“Right, Fifty-two,” George says to Carrie. “We'll try again now, but with Fifty here. Do you think you can do any better?”

“I'll try, Sir,” Carrie responds. She doesn't sound very convinced.

“Well, then,” says George, “you'd better start.”

Carrie looks across at me shyly. “I'm sorry about this,” she says in an embarrassed tone. I'm puzzled by her words. She takes me by the hand and leads me to one wall. There's a ring set up above head height. Carrie points to it and lifts my arm. I understand that she wants me to reach up for the ring and I do as she indicates. She takes my wrists and fastens the clips on my wrist, cuffs together, so that they are linked to the ring.

George is standing watching carefully. “Good,” he says, “go on.”

Carrie responds. “You know how difficult this is.”

“Of course. That's not important. The only important thing is that you do as you are told. You are owned. You are property. You do as you are told. In this, as in everything else.”

“But, I've never..”

“I know. That's why I'm asking you to do it. If it were easy, it wouldn't be worth doing. Would it?”

Carrie shakes her head disconsolately. I'm standing there feeling a little foolish. My hands are up over my head and my arms are aching already. I watch as Carrie walks across towards me. She's wearing the grey sweat top and short skirt that all the slaves that weren't dumb enough to get their clothing instructions wrong are required to wear. I take some comfort from the fact that her auburn curls were shaved the same day that my hair was taken off. She's still as bald as I am. As she gets to my side, she drops to her knees and turns to look at George.

He folds his arms. Waiting.

Carrie reaches out with one hand, stroking my ankle and I realise what it is that George has told her to do. As she runs her hand up my leg and on to the soft skin on the inside of my thigh, I wriggle a little. “Hey! What is this?” I call out redundantly.

Neither George nor Carrie show any signs of being interested in what I have to say.

Carrie uses her hands to part my thighs. Angela did something similar to me once. She tied my wrists to the head rail and kept me there for hours playing with me. Now Carrie's fingers are playing with my crotch. Running her hands across my belly, probing with her fingers between my moistening lips as I respond to her touch, aroused by the combination of her touch, my helplessness and George's dispassionate, appraising stare.

“Is she getting wet,” George asks without concern for my sensibilities.

“Yes, Sir,” Carrie replies. Her fingers probe deeper and bring a soft “Oh!” from me.

“Good,” says George. “You're doing better than this morning. Continue.”

I look down. Carrie is pushing my legs apart with her hands. She moves her head towards my crotch. I see only her smooth, hairless scalp but I feel her tongue beginning to probe at my sex. As she licks and probes with her tongue, I feel myself react, pushing my hips forward to press my crotch against her face arching my legs to lift myself up towards the ring that holds my wrists above my head.

George is looking on in approval as Carrie’s efforts bear fruit. I whimper as her tongue pushes deep inside me and then flicks back to skip across my clit. Carrie reaches up and grasps my buttocks, one in each hand, pulling me to her as you might press a peeled fig to your mouth. Each touch of Carries tongue, the prick of her finger nails against my buttocks, the heat of her head between my thighs, all serve to lift me towards an orgasm.

I'm standing on tiptoe now, my upper body writhing as Carrie busies herself between my legs.,  My breathing is catching as the sensations well up from my crotch. 

George claps his hands. “Enough!” he calls and immediately Carrie backs away from me. I give an involuntary cry, desperate at being so close to coming and yet deprived of the touch that was driving me. “And you, keep quiet, Fifty.”

Carrie gets to her feet, a quiet smile on her face. I can tell she knows that has done what was required of her - although I have my own concerns!

“Well done, Fifty-Two,” says George. “That was a much better effort. It wasn't so bad was it?”

Carrie, clasps her hands together in front of her. She looks across shyly towards me. “No,” she says. “Not at all.”

“All right,” says George. “You'd better get on. We should have got this far in your earlier session, so don't waste time now.” Carrie nods and leaves while George turns to me. He reaches up and frees my wrists from the ring. As he does so, my knees buckle and I slide down the wall to the floor, still panting slightly from being so close to orgasm. He looks down at me. “And, you'd better bring yourself off, I suppose. You won't be any use to anyone until you do.” He sees me hesitate. “Do it,” he orders. “Your sexual activity is our property, so do as you are told!”

And so, grateful for his permission, embarrassed by my response to Carrie's attentions and humiliated to be masturbating as he watches, I set to work with my own fingers to bring myself release.

George watches with interested amusement until I’ve finished. I know I like to be the centre of attention sometimes, but I don’t enjoy the way he seems to be watching every move, grinning as the waves of orgasms crash over me and leave me catching my breath, propped against the wall of the room.  “OK,” he says. “That’s enough fun for now. You’d better get on with … What are you supposed to be doing, Fifty?”

“Domestic duties, Sir,” I pant. “I should be in the kitchens.”

“Well, if you’re fixing some food you’d better get down there. Make sure you wash those fingers though. They look a bit sticky to me.”

I’m shocked by this and humiliated. Somehow, everything builds up inside me, all of the tensions and extraordinary experiences of the last few days boil over. I burst into tears, sobbing at his callous indifference to my embarrassment. “You can’t say that! You just can’t! It’s disgusting. It’s just… just … not … not .. fair!”

“Fifty,” George is crouching down beside me, lifting my chin up with his hand, looking straight into my eyes and speaking quietly and firmly. “I can say that. I know you’re just starting with this, but you’ll listen to it and you’ll learn to take it. If you think that a few crude remarks is the worst that can happen to you here, you’re going to be disappointed. You know that don’t you? All right?”

I’m still upset, but inside I know that he’s right. I’ve put myself here after all. I do what I can to pull  myself together. Of course, he’s right. I nod. “Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.” I say.

“Very well. Now, off you go.”

Work in the kitchen takes up an hour, or so, and then there’s cleaning and laundry to do. We’re all kept pretty busy and there’s not much chance to talk to one another as we scurry around at our various tasks.

It was as we were finishing our evening meal that Jo came across to our table. “Fifty, Fifty-two,” Carrie and I looked up. “For Useful Time this evening, you’ll both report to George, please.”

Useful Time! We’ve spent all day working. I’d been hoping we might have the evening off, but it seems like it isn’t to be. 

Carrie and I get to out feet, exchanging glances that share our concern about what awaits us. Jo tells us to turn around and put our hands behind our backs. She fastens my wrist cuffs together and goes to do the same for Carrie. As she grips her wrists, Carrie tries to struggle free, yelling, “No, please, I’ve had enough.” She almost breaks away from Jo. I’m astonished, it’s the first time that I’ve seen anyone do anything other than accept the treatment handed out to them. It never occurred to me that I could do otherwise.

Jo spins Carrie around. “Be quiet Fifty-two!” she is very firm.

“No!” Carrie calls, defiantly, “No! It’s too much, I can’t cope. I can’t! I can’t”

I watch as Jo nods to Celia, who’s sitting at the other end of the room. Carrie is becoming hysterical. Jo grabs her by the arms as she goes on calling, “No!” Jo puts her hand to either side of Carrie’s head holding it tightly. “Hush,” she says, insistently, “hush!”

I see Celia come up behind her, she pulls a bit gag across Carrie’s mouth and buckles it tightly. It only upsets Carrie further, inevitably. She’s shaking her head to try to dislodge the gag without any success.

Celia grabs me and pulls me away. Jo puts her arms around Carrie and pulls her close. “Shh,” she says calmly. “It’s all right. Don’t worry. Relax. Take a breath. Sometimes, it gets too much. We know. Just relax. It’s all right. We’ll take care of you.” Her voice has an almost hypnotic quality. I can see Carrie calming. Jo is holding her close, stroking her neck and scalp and saying, “There. There. It’s all right.”

“Gnngh,” Carrie whimpers quietly over the rubber bar across her mouth. “Hhngh.” I can see the tenseness, flowing from her as Jo’s calming manner takes effect.

“Come, now,” Jo says firmly. “It’s all right, but you must come now.” Celia hands Jo a pair of leashes. Jo clips one to Carrie’s collar and one to mine. “Come now. Come,” she says to Carrie pulling gently on her leash. She tightens the slack on mine. We both follow her.

“Hhng,” Carrie whimpers again as Jo leads us from the dining room. Carrie and I exchange glances. Her eyes are filled with tears, but whether they are in regret at her current circumstance, her rebellion or her submission, I cannot tell.

We follow Jo along the corridor. She’s not taking us to George’s office, but to the accommodation block. I’ve been up here a few times on domestic duties. Each of the staff has one of the  small suites; a bedroom, bathroom, sitting room cum study. Inward Bound must use them for the people on their management training courses. She takes us into George’s. It’s the same as any of the others I’ve been to. Maybe not quite as tidy. Perhaps, that’s what we’re here for; as far as I can tell “Useful Time” mostly means “Slaving For The Faculty Time.”

Jo has a few quiet words with George as we wait by the door, but then she leaves. I can see Carrie is distressed by Jo’s departure, but she still doesn’t say anything. George sits on his couch, looking up at us. He’s obviously considering what to do in the light of Carrie’s concern. He beckons to her and signals for her to kneel beside him.

“Are you all right now, Fifty-two?” he asks. “You know we want you to be happy here, don’t you?”

“Hhng,” Carrie nods. From the way she looks at George, I can tell she is happier now and I suddenly realise it isn’t that she was told she was coming here that was the trouble. It was that she was coming here with me.

“Well,” George goes on, “you have to know that you must do as you are told. And, you know that you have to stretch yourself, don’t you? Are you ready to stretch yourself for me?”

“Hngh,” Carrie nods again; slowly this time.

“Good,” says George. Suddenly, I’m thinking, hey, does this ‘stretching’ involve me? And, if so, why isn’t anyone asking me how I feel about it. Then George gets up and starts to lead Carrie towards his bedroom. Her eyes have widened considerably. “Wait there,” he says to me.

Surely, I’m not expected to stand here and listen while he has his way with her. Anyway, I didn’t think that the staff were supposed to have sexual contact with the slaves. But, it’s only a few minutes before he comes back out of the bedroom.

“Now you, Fifty,” he says taking hold of my leash. He takes me in the same direction as Carrie. When we get into the room I see that she has been laid out on George’s bed. She is still gagged, her wrists are fastened to the bed’s head rail. George turns to me. “You had the benefit of this young lady's attentions earlier,” he says. “Now it’s your chance to return the favour.”

I’m not sure that I want this privilege, but equally, I don’t think I’m being given the choice. George leads me to the foot of the bed and has me kneel there. He sits down on the bed beside Carrie. She has clamped her legs firmly together from thigh to ankle. George shakes his head, putting one hand on her knee and sliding it upwards towards the hem of her skirt. Carrie grunts through her gag angered by his attentions.  “Come on, Fifty-two, open up, or I'll strap your ankles to a spreader bar,” he says, ignoring her protests and pushing her thighs apart. “You should enjoy it anyway, you'll be getting the attentions of an expert cunnilinguist. She spent a lot of time pleasuring her Mistress before she came here. So, if you're going to have a woman go down on you for the first time, you couldn't get a better.”

As he says that, I'm puzzled for a moment and then I think back to the application form I filled in when I first approached Inward Bound. Maybe, I'd gone a bit over the top describing the extent of my relationship with Angela. I mean, yes it was a dom-sub relationship, with me in the sub role, but it wasn't very physical, if you know what I mean. Angela was more into mental domination than anything physical, really and there hadn't been much sexual contact between us. She'd just be happy to have me sit at her feet, while she read a book and played with my hair. Sometimes, she let me massage her feet.  But, if I tried to stroke her while sitting at her feet, she'd tap my hand away, saying “bad slave!”. The first time we went to a munch, she was so quiet that everyone thought I was the top. It was only when she told me not to be so excitable and called me back to her side like some naughty child that the others there realised what the relationship actually was. I did say on my form that I had a lot of experience of oral sex. Thinking about it, that was probably an exaggeration. And, that my Mistress had forced me to pleasure her with my wrists chained,. that was certainly an exaggeration. I mean, she did tie me up a few times and once we went to a fetish fair with one of my wrists chained to a ring on her belt. I'd loved it, following her around like a puppy, but she kept forgetting I was attached to her and she'd wander off without warning.

I guess it would be misleading to call it a BDSM relationship, really. In some ways it was almost platonic. Really just a Domme and a sub in a relationship together, more than anything heavier. Certainly there was nothing like the sort of BDSM involvement that I could imagine now.

But don't think it was any the less a relationship based on dominance and submission for that. Angela very much wanted to have me under her control. It's just that apart from once or twice, it didn't involve much in the way of bondage or beatings, or even sex.

Anyway, now I'm going to have to demonstrate that I am at least competent with my tongue. I can just imagine the consequences for being caught out having lied on my form.

Carrie parts her thighs with a compliant whimper., George takes my leash and pulls me forward, guiding my head between them. In spite of Carrie's protests, she's evidently excited by the situation; her lips are warm and moist and musky smelling. I press my lips against hers, kissing and sucking focussing on doing to her what in my fantasies I would love to have done to me. Only, Joe never does. Maybe he would, if I asked him? Carrie responds with enthusiasm, pushing back as she braces herself against the head rail; her reaction drives my own.

“Very good,” I hear George say. “You two certainly know how to have fun.”

I run my tongue along each of her lips in turn. Carrie feels my tongue stud, hard against her labia. That brings an excited reaction. I respond by running my tongue up towards her clit. Carrie's gagged grunts get louder.

As my stud flicks across her clit, she pushes her hips forward pressing her crotch against my face. I'm delighted to be getting such a reaction. My pleasure drives hers. Carrie squeezes her thighs together trapping my head, stopping me from lifting away from her.  Carrie lifts her feet and plants them on my shoulders, she's tugging at the chains that hold her to the bed head and moaning louder as my tongue slides back and forth. I am hardly able to catch my breath with my face jammed up hard against her crotch, unable to move with the weight of her feet on my back and my wrists fixed together. Carrie bucks again thrusting forward with her hips and I give a muffled “oomph!” in return. Carrie's close to orgasm now, when all of a sudden her legs are prised apart and George drags me away. “That will do for now,” he says.

“Uhhhh!” I mutter as I reluctantly climb off the bed, panting and desperately aroused. Carrie's yelping in her gag, pressing her thighs together as she tries to bring herself to climax. George firmly moves her legs apart and cuffs her ankles to the bed rail so that she cannot close her thighs. She's yelping in frustration at the source of her pleasure being removed.

Slowly her gasping eases, her moans quieten and she becomes silent, her violent thrashing around calms and she is laying still. George sits down beside her on the bed and unfastens her gag. The first thing she says, as the rubber bar swings clear of her mouth, is, “Thank you, Sir.” And I'm thinking hey, how about some thanks this way, too!

“You see,” George says to her. “You can trust me to stretch you, Fifty-two and I think you've still got a lot further to go.”

I want to say that it was a stretch for me, too, but that would mean I'd have to admit I'd been less than honest on my form! Maybe I should have been more honest. Maybe I should have been more honest with Angela about what I wanted. Maybe I need to be more honest with Joe, too.

George unfastens Carrie from the bed and we are both led back to our cells; Carrie with a far away look in her eye, almost bumping into the walls as, we follow George along the corridors. Myself, with an aching absence in my crotch and face that feels bright pink, as though it's been locked in a vice.

I'm put back in my cell and the bars close and the shutters come down. The lights go out. I'm so aroused by the evening's events that my hands slide towards my crotch under the blanket. Then, I open my eyes and I'm looking at the little red light blinking in the ceiling of my cell. I'm not going to do that with them watching, even though I am burning with frustration. Sleep? It’s a long time coming…

     

Chapter 20: The Problem With Research

Course 8 / Day 27: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Jo: I conducted an informal progress review with Fifty this pm. I'm pleased overall with her progress. After worries early on as to how well she would respond to obedience training (given her initial presentation when she started the course), I consider that those issues need no longer give concern. Fifty appears comfortable (or at least acquiesces) with the regime and her expectations from the course seem to be being met. HOWEVER: I wish to raise the question of her motivation for joining the course, which may not have been entirely recreational. See attached transcript from an extract of the review meeting.   

Jenny's Recollections:

It's Usefulness Time, the day's training sessions are completed. Earlier, Jo decided that she would practice some of the lessons she learned about shibari from Ylena. My arms still carry the pressure marks from the rope. Ylena stopped by as Jo was finishing and nodded her approval. “Soon I think you will wear the colours of the Russian flag for me, slooga,” she says to me.

Now I am kneeling beside Mistress Jo's chair holding a tray with jug of water and a glass.

“How was your training today, Fifty?” Jo asks.

“I did my best, Mistress,” I respond, trying, and not quite succeeding, to suppress a smile, because things did not go too well; I have quite a lot to learn about which plants in the flower beds are actually weeds and which are not.  Jo must have heard about this faux pas, because she narrows one eye slightly as she takes the glass from the tray and sips from it before returning it to its position. Flippant comments are clearly out of place tonight

“I wanted to talk with you about how you feel you are progressing; how you feel about your stay here.”

“I'm very happy, Mistress,” I reply.

“You can call me Jo, for now.”

“I'm very happy – Jo – really I am.” It is beginning to feel quite strange to use someone's proper name.  A bit like being back at school and being asked by one of the teachers to call them by their first name. I am almost more used to being called  “Fifty” or “slave”  than I am to being Jenny. Funny – how strange that sounds ......

“In your application you said that you wanted to 'find out if this type of sexual trip is as exciting in reality as it is in my head'. Is that working out for you?”

I nod. “Yes, Jo,” I say. “More than I expected. Some of it is hard. Well, a lot of it, really. Even my fantasies hadn't got into some of the things that I have been doing here and...” I notice that Jo is peering at me from beneath arched eyebrows and realise that I have let my self sit back on my haunches. She grins as she sees that I have recognised my mistake and kneel up again.   

“This doesn't come easy to you, does it?”

“No, Jo. In my real life, I'm very used to thinking for myself. I have to be very independent and self sufficient.”

“That's not something we encourage here. You will have had quite a culture shock. Here you have to try to think what is that we want of you.”

“I know. Well, the, er, how should I put it? The change of lifestyle? That’s what I wanted to explore..”

“So remind me what you did, what you do? In real life?”

“In real life? It’s funny: in many ways what I am doing now seems more like real life. Officially, I’m described as a Research Student. I work in a university. My post has me lecturing, giving tutorials to the students and researching. And, being run ragged. The popular idea of university life is people drifting along rivers in punts past wonderful medieval colleges and occasionally doing a bit of work. In fact, it often feels more like being a slave chasing all these different goals. Priorities always shifting. Everything needed at once. And, I’m married and with my husband away quite a bit, that can be difficult, too. So, being here with one thing to do at once and being told exactly what to do – is really wonderful, for a change at least!

“Well, that’s definitely not the reply I was expecting! So what’s your research area?”

“You'd find it interesting,” I say. I'm always pleased to talk about my work. Most of the time people just glaze over and while I've been here the only intellectual stimulus has been trying to keep track of everything for the paper I'm going to write when I get back.

Pleased to be asked about my work, I spill out more than I should say, really. “It's psychology. Mainly looking at people's reactions under stress. How increased stress affects judgement; whether the complexity of the stresses alters  their combined impact on the individual; whether interpersonal relationships add to or reduce stress; what the impact of stress on sexual desire is; how much the environment contributes to psychological stress; that sort of thing.”

“Well, you'll see plenty of that here. This would be an ideal laboratory for that sort of …investigation.” Jo is looking at me with a quizzical expression.

Blast! What have I said?  It's best practice in psychological research to be discreet with your subjects about the questions you are really interested in. It's supposed to help them give honest answers. The Inward Bound people are my “sample” and I have let the cat out of the bag. Blast! Blast!  I try to recover the situation:

“No, No. This is very different. Nothing like everyday life. You couldn't compare this with people's normal stresses. Even if you thought that there were similarities.” Oh no, that's even worse. It sounds like I've been thinking about it. She looks like she doesn't believe a word I'm saying. I'm not sure what to do next. Perhaps diversionary tactics; “Would you like some more water, Mistress?” It’s feeble, but it’s the best I can do.

“No, thank you, Fifty,” she says. I notice she doesn't ask me to call her 'Jo' again and she brings the discussion to a rather abrupt close. “We always ask at these review sessions, if you wish to end your participation, but I'm guessing that you don't?”

I shake my head.

“Good. Well that will do for now. This is still your Usefulness Time, isn't it?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I say.

“Well go, and tidy my room, Fifty. And, when you've finished return to your cell for lock in.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I say again getting to my feet and bowing my head as I have been taught. 

It doesn't take long to tidy Jo's room, but I know that I have to have everything placed perfectly. She treats me fairly, but she won't overlook any mistakes and I don't want the demerits. With luck, she'll forget about our conversation. I hope.

As I put the last of Jo’s things away in her room, George appears. “Have you finished, Fifty?” he asks.

“Yes, Sir,” I say respectfully. George seems preoccupied.

“Hmm. Good. Well I have a further task for you. Come with me.”

I follow him down to a small room. He opens the door. Inside, Judy is standing, waiting.

“Here, you are, Nineteen,” he announces to Judy. “Here is the treat I promised you.”

Judy smiles, evidently in anticipation.

“Can I have her with her wrists cuffed behind her, please Sir?” Judy asks. I’m disconcerted. I’m used to being discussed this way by the staff at Inward Bound, but not by the other slaves.

“Of course,” says George, gripping my wrists gently, but firmly and fastening my cuffs together. I don’t struggle, naturally, but I do give him a puzzled look. “You’ve already shown your skills, Fifty,” he says. “Nineteen here has earned a treat. You are to serve her for an hour, or so. Do just as she says. As if I, or one of the other staff, were telling you to. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir, but…” I begin.

“No, Fifty, no buts. Do as Nineteen orders. I’ll return to collect you in due course.”

As he is about to leave, Judy lays back on the couch that stretches along one wall of the room. “Come here, slave,” she says, beckoning me.

I really don’t feel that this is right. She is a slave, just like me. She shouldn’t be giving me orders.

“Come here,” she says, more insistently, “come here and kneel.”

“Do as you are told, Fifty,” George says. He watches as I reluctantly approach the couch and kneel beside it. He nods with approval, as I stay still allowing Judy to play gently with my nipple rings. “Good,” he says, “keep that up.” And he leaves the two of us.

“What’s going on?” I say as soon as he has gone.

“Silence, slave,” Judy orders, placing a finger on my lips to reinforce her point. She is evidently enjoying her newly given powers. “You heard what was said. You are my reward. You are to serve me. I asked for you especially.” After they way that she groped me the first time that I was take to see Ylena, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. “Now, use your mouth on my feet. Kiss them!”

She waves me away towards the end of the couch with a gesture of disdain. It seems very unfair, but I suppose that I must do as I am told and besides with my wrists cuffed behind me, I don’t feel that I have much choice. I set to work following Judy’s orders kissing her feet and ankles, licking with my tongue between her toes. Judy certainly seems to find it arousing and her arousal contributes to mine. She leans forward to hold me by the back of the neck and guides my head up her calves, to her knees and the inside of her thighs, all the time insisting that I continue to kiss her. legs. ,

Finally, she draws my head between her legs. “Use your tongue, slave,” she commands. “Use your tongue.” I do as she tells me, aroused by her smell and taste and my sense of powerlessness -  captive and obedient, the slave of a slave. Judy grips my head tightly between her thighs as my tongue licks and probes at her sex, her responses telling me that my every move is having its effect. Each time my tongue slips across the moist folds of flesh her hips press upwards, pushing back into my face. With her thighs pressing together I find it harder to catch my breath but I can’t do other than go on. As her excitement builds, my own mounts. As her hip thrusts grow in intensity the flicks of my tongue become more fevered. What else should a slave be doing?  

Delighted by my efforts, Judy decides to return the compliment. Ordering me onto my back on the couch and laying alongside me, she starts to fondle my breasts with one hand, while the other buries itself between my thighs. With my wrists cuffed, I can’t prevent her doing as she will and she is obviously delighting in teasing me. She traces a finger nail around my right nipple, not touching any other part of me for a while. She takes her hand away. She starts to kiss my neck again not touching me anywhere else. My eyes are shut. I’m not really sure about time any more. All I know is the feel of her touch on my body and now her fingers are burrowing between my thighs, parting my cunt and slipping over my clit. Every move drives my arousal up so that when she moves her hands away, I quake as much when she ceases her touching as I do when she starts.

As I almost reach orgasm, she interrupts me again to move my tongue down to her sex, giggling at my groan of frustration, and then giving a mewing cry as my actions push her over the edge.

It is, as she lays back, panting, that George returns.

“You seem to have enjoyed your treat, Nineteen,” he says.

Judy laying back on the couch with a dreamy look on her face gives a simple, “Mmmm.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have to bring play time to an end,” he says as he unfastens my wrist cuffs, “but it’s time for you to go back to your cells – in a way. Come with me, both of you.”

We are both taken back to Judy’s cell.

“Right Nineteen: lay down please, legs apart,” George instructs.

Judy complies but with a quizzical frown forming on her face.

“And you Fifty: climb on top of Nineteen facing the other way.”

I kneel over Judy, looking down at her crotch as she lays beneath me looking up at mine. George connects my wrists to Judy’s ankles and Judy’s wrists to my ankles, using short leather straps run between the rings on our wrist and ankle cuffs. He smiles. “As a special treat, you two may now have as many orgasms and you wish – but you will have to work carefully together!”

The straps are quite short. Long enough for mouths to connect to pussies but not long enough to permit much freedom of movement.

It’s clear that this development is not entirely welcome to Judy! She obviously doesn’t welcome this return to being as much of a slave as I am. I can almost sense that she is scowling at George but she doesn’t say anything.

“We shall be watching you both and expect to see you both work hard for each other: clear Nineteen?”

“Yes, … Sir,” Judy replies to George a little reluctantly. The pause between the “yes” and the Sir” tells me that she still has the sulky look on her face.

“Off you go then!”

George stays until I begin to feel Judy’s tongue on my lips and of course I repay the compliment to Judy.  Satisfied we are both working as directed George leaves, locking the cell behind him, closing the shutter and switching off the light.

We both know that if we pause there will be demerits and canings. We have to go on as we were told. It feels like it’s going to be a long night …

We keep at one another for what seems like several hours, both enjoying several orgasms. As we are in one another’s hands, so to speak, we each push the other along much harder than we might in normal circumstances (whatever that might be).

Suddenly the lights go up and Charlotte pads into our cell:

“I’m sorry to ruin your nights entertainment both of you , but Fifty has another engagement, and Nineteen – you look as if you can use some sleep at last”

We stop. I’m disappointed but perhaps relieved that our exertions are over – but what’s this about another engagement for me?

Charlotte undoes the straps and I climb down a little awkwardly from Judy’s bed. Judy smiles back at me in a predatory way, as if to say “and I’m not half finished with you.” I hope she’s not given the chance.

Charlotte clips a lead to my collar, locks Judy in again and guides me back to my own cell.

By my bed stands a large wedge of foam, shaped to fit someone who might lay over it. It’s covered with some sort of black cloth but has anchoring rings at each corner.

First Charlotte coats a gold coloured very phallic looking dildo with a lubricating jelly and silently hands it to me. There’s no doubt about what I’m expected to do with it. Thanks to Judy’s past efforts, it slides right inside me oh so easily, leaving me feeling pleasantly filled.

Charlotte motions me to lay down on my front.

I am left with my legs spread and my bum up in the air, very exposed.

More straps! She gently but firmly secures me. I feel her lubricating my bud. She probes me with a gloved finger. I open. She replaces the finger with something which feels just like the anal electrode Ylena used on me.

“Fifty: lift yourself,” she orders.

I obey.

She passes a rubber strap around my waist and another over my pussy and my bud. Both straps get tightened. There is no hope of expelling either of the intruders filling me. She peels off her gloves and starts to connect wires to the butt plug and the dildo. Then she crouches beside me;

“You will enjoy this, Fifty. These plugs are connected to the power unit – the one Ylena used on you. The power unit is controlled by this laptop – see? Here?”

“Yes Mistress,” I reply nervously.

“Ummm. Well, let’s just say its going to hold your attention for the rest of the night. Oh and there’s a surprise feature you will find out about soon. Night night!”

With that, Charlotte plants a kiss on my shoulder leaves, locking me alone in my cell to await developments. I do not have to wait long. Current begins to flow through me, across my already sexually excited tissues.

First the dildo tickling, peppery, stinging.

Then the butt plug throbbing, pulsing.

Then the two of them together.

Then one at a time.

Slowly building. Slowly fading. Building quickly. Fading slowly.

I cannot help myself: I begin to moan: first softly then louder. I try to pull away from the wedge, but I am held fast. And then both intruders pulse, throb and sting together: I cry out in surprise. They repeat stronger. I cry louder. They reply stronger still! That’s the surprise! They must in part be triggered by the noises I am making and the laptop’s programme has been written to make sure I make as much noise as possible! I try my hardest to breath quietly through the sensory barrage. Gradually, excruciatingly slowly I manage to bring the situation under control. The stimulation begins to decay ….. Sleep begins steel into my brain … I relax … then both intruders burst into life once more. I gasp. The microphone hears me and feeds more power through me. I moan, cry gasp and cry again. The system responds implacably. I am now riding a wild horse! Tossing on rough sea!  With the greatest of efforts I regain control. Sleep is once more casting its cloak over me when the anal electrode starts to pulse and my sphincter responds: I feel I am obscenely fucking myself with the electric butt plug as the dildo starts again to tease and tickle. I cry out again against the exquisite torment of fatigue and frustration – and I instantly begin to pay the price for my insolence! The night wears on but oh so slowly …….

© Copyright Freddie Clegg & Phil Lane 2008

All rights reserved.  Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.

E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com  

Web Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/

All characters  & organisations fictitious

Acknowledgements

Phil & Freddie would like to acknowledge the help given by the editors in creating the final version of this tale. Many thanks to Dennis, Peter, Red & Rohanna for their input, corrections and suggestions. If there are any typos, punctuation mistakes, inconsistencies or continuity errors left in Thesis then they are Phil’s and Freddie’s fault!