Vanishing Act 9
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from Vanishing Act 8)
8
8
Vanishing Act
Chapter Nine
8
Contrary to my expectations Ash lived up to his word with the television
– well, sort of. I was not permitted to see anything direct. He would
only let me view videos he had recorded himself from free-to-air television.
In doing this he either only watched the ABC and SBS, or else that was
all he could receive. In fact I suspected he gave me these programs
because there were no advertisements or unexpected newsbreaks that he had
to look out for. He seemed very careful about isolating me from any
changes in the outside world – a fact which scared me when I thought of
the longer term implications. I ended up watching period dramas and
foreign films, although I was more than content with these little luxuries.
What I did not appreciate was the depression that would result when these treats were withheld, for whatever reason. He had begun to create a further, more subtle dependency, a conditioning that I found hard to fight. There had been the initial punishment regime, then small carrots which could be withdrawn at any time. He had shortened my neck chain so that I could not reach the television, where he normally put the remote. On one instance he forgot and left the remote on the bed, enabling me to watch the movie twice. My punishment was first a flogging then time in the dark with no book and no television. It made me feel about six years old as I cried when my little pleasures were taken away.
I have no idea how much time passed until the morning (?) he breezed in and announced I could go outside. I was taken aback and my heart leapt at the prospect. No more had been said about it since I had first tentatively raised the question. But once again, it was not all gain for Jan. As was Ash’s tradition, I was to be used again for unwilling sex. I could not resist, of course, and I did my utmost to conceal any positive reaction to the treatment he meted out. But sometimes this was not easy. I had been used in this manner perhaps two dozen or more times since my capture. One more made no difference, but the detrimental effect was lessened each time and I found myself responding more and more. It worried me that my body was willing while my mind rejected the concept totally.
This time he made me kneel in my usual chains under a pulley from which hung a short horizontal steel bar. I wound up with the soft rubber ball and the discipline helmet again, which seemed to be almost de rigueur for the fashion-conscious captives in this part of the world. Then the chain links on my wrist cuffs were locked to the bar and I felt myself start to go up in the world as he cranked the hand winch. The chains from my wrists to my ankles tightened as I started to be lifted off the ground. My feet rose up behind my buttocks as the chain slid through the hip links. My wrists we not high – a comfortable height above my head but not stretched out before the chain was taut and my ankles were hard up against my hips. I continued rising upward, hanging forwards slightly with my wrists above and behind my head. Then I stopped. It was not an entirely uncomfortable position, with my weight primarily on my ankles but supported by my arms as much as I could.
I swung there in my darkened world, wondering how long he would make me stay like that. Without warning I was suddenly spinning and swinging on the pulley rope. It was an unnerving feeling in the darkness beneath the hood. I gripped the bar to which my wrists were chained and held on – not that there was any danger of my getting loose. I mmmphed my protest from behind the rubber filling my mouth and held there by the leather of the helmet, but to no avail. I began to feel dizzy and had a terrible vision of trying to throw up with my mouth blocked by the ball. That was when I was abruptly gripped by strong hands and held still. My head was still reeling as Ash’s hands began to rove over my body. He was standing behind me, his arms encircling me and playing with my breasts, stroking them and caressing them until my nipples became hard, before pinching and twisting them until I cried out through the gag. Then his fingers were down in my crotch, kneading and exploring, ferreting their way into my private place and working a spell that I could not fight. I squirmed on my chains and my breath became faster and uneven as my body started to give uncontrollable spasms of pleasure. I could feel the tension start to build up and I found myself unconsciously trying to thrust against the probing fingers as they undermined all my resolution to be strong and resist such advances.
One hand came between my legs from behind, cupping my sex and pulling it firmly backwards, the fingers playing a vibrato against my clitoris. I shuddered as a wave of pleasure slid upwards and a groan escaped from my throat. Somewhere in the centre of my loins a tidal force was starting to build up and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. I was panting now, preparing myself for the onslaught when suddenly the fingers were gone, and instead the hands were gripping me by the thighs.
I was pulled backwards, my legs parting against the nakedness of Ash’s body. But it was not my pussy that was to receive the coup de grace that I realised I desired so desperately. Ash penetrated my butt hole, causing me to cry out with the unexpected pain. I had not been prepared for this, nor had my anal muscles. He was well-lubed but I needed to consciously relax myself. The contrast between anticipation and reality was stark, and I hung there as he plunged back and forth inside me, his arms now wrapped about my upper body and gripping my nipples as anchor points.
This was Ash at his subtle best, teasing to appoint of frustration and expectation, then denying me and having his own, totally opposite way. It hurt, despite my best efforts, and was made more painful by Ash’s ministrations on my breasts. He finally came, thrusting hard inside me and trapping my body in a bear hug that all but left me winded. I could hear his harsh panting in my ears as he spent himself then roughly exited, leaving me defiled and hanging in my chains. This, it seemed, was to be the price I was paying to experience the world outside.
* * *
Despite yet another event to add to the list of humiliations I was being subjected to, with the mental notes being added to in my head, I was excited with the expectation of being able to go outside. Childishly excited, you might say, as though by an outing to the beach or the movies. Simple things now seemed to take on unrealistic significance in my life. In the back of my mind this distortion of reality worried me, but I knew I had to remain focussed on finding some method of escape, and the only way to do this was to remain obedient and look for the unguarded moment.
Ash returned perhaps an hour after fucking me in the arse. I was still hooded and gagged, with the hood locked to my steel collar. I heard the door open and raised my head from where I had been lying on the mattress where he’d finally left me, curled up in a ball, trying to shut out the painful experience I had just undergone.
“Come, Jan,” said the cheerful voice. “It’s time for your exercise.” I swung my legs off the edge of the bed and stood up, waiting for instructions. “Before you go outside, you should put some suntan cream on – it’s quite warm today. We don’t want that lovely skin of yours getting all red and sore, do we.” He laughed. “That would take away all my fun.” A pause. “Or perhaps it would add to it What do you think?” I shook my head vehemently but made no sound. “Very well, well be sun-smart. You have your hat already. Slap on some cream, but you’ll have to do without a shirt.” Again, the sniggering. A small tube was placed in my hand. “I’ll do your back, Jan – you can do the rest. Gee, I’m so good to you.”
The cream was cold on my back and shoulders. When Ash’s hands had finished their work, completed with a few gratuitous smearing strokes across my breasts, I was left to complete the job. I did this as best I could given my restraints, which meant squatting down so that I could reach all parts of my body. I had never sunbathed naked – this was going to be another first, I thought grimly. I stood up and felt the click of a lead attached to the front D-ring on my collar. Apprehensively I followed the tug.
I walked gingerly. Being blind and gagged was bad enough, but being unable to stretch my arms out in front made it all the more scary. I scraped the doorframe in passing through, then went only a few steps further before there was obviously another – exterior – door. I felt the breeze through it and, following Ash’s directions, I stepped down from the concrete slab on to a rougher surface which I took to be a path. A few paces beyond this I was standing on grass with the sun warming my skin and the faint wind making the hairs ruffle on my arms.
I felt more confident on the grass, although I had no idea what might
exist for me to fall over or walk into. There were no more instructions
and I simply followed the pull on the lead, trusting in my jailor to let
me know if there was some obstacle ahead of me.
“Sit here for a minute, Jan,” the voice commanded. I did so,
kneeling on the grass, which appeared to be relatively long.
Obviously it was not getting mown often. I savoured the feel of it and listened for the sounds of civilisation. Somewhere in the distance I could hear occasional cars on a road, but other than that the world was silent save for the sounds of nature – the wind, a few crows and other birds. I made out the screech of a lorikeet as it winged overhead. Somewhere nearby a kookaburra appeared to be laughing at my predicament. But it still felt so glorious to be outside. The scent of grass overcame the ever-present smell of the leather helmet to the extent that I almost forgot the chains on my wrists and ankles.
“Let’s be clear about why you’re here, Jan,” said a voice beside my
head. I hadn’t heard Ash approach on the grass. “It’s for exercise,
not for leisure. Things are now ready for you. Stand up!”
God, I thought. What was he hatching for me now? I followed
the tug on the lead for a few metres then he stopped me. I was then
pulled forward just enough to make contact with the cold steel of a post
set in the ground.
“Know what that is?” I shook my head. “Yes you do, Jan –
don’t be dense. It’s a Hills hoist – your standard Aussie clothesline,
that every backyard has. Oh, but of course – I forgot, you’re English.
You’ve nearly lost your accent – did you realise that?” Again he
laughed. Very funny, I thought. You’ll keep.
“The clothesline rotates, Jan. Normally with just the wind.
But in this instance I’ve fitted a small electric motor at the top of the
pole, just under the horizontal arms above you. When I turn it on,
the arms will rotate like a capstan. Not fast, you understand, but consistently.
They will provide you with the motivation for your exercise, mainly because
you’ll be attached to one of them
”
Oh shit, I thought, my mind leaping ahead but still not appreciating what it all meant. He drew me away from the central pole and stopped me obviously under one of the ends of the four arms. The lead was removed from my collar but was followed moments later by a biting pain in my left nipple as a large steel clip latched on to it. My right one was similarly secured seconds afterwards. I whined into the ball filling my mouth. Then there was the faint sound of a motor and a tug on my breasts. I moved in the direction of the pull and found myself slowly walking around in a big circle, following the tireless rotation of the clothesline. The bastard! I would have to keep this up unless I wanted my nips pulled off, for the clips were painful and I knew they would not slip off without major pain and suffering. To make matters worse, the clothesline was situated on a slight slope, which meant I had to speed up on the downward side as the cord holding the clips was stretched tighter because of the greater distance from the bar.
“See you in a while, Jan,” was the cheery farewell.
Yes, you will keep, I thought through gritted teeth. I’ll save
something very special for you, Mr Ash.
* * *
I plodded round and round the clothesline for what seemed like an afternoon. There was no let up to the pain in my nipples other than the decrease into a dull ache as long as I kept slightly ahead of the pull of the cords. After some difficulty I finally got my direction right and managed to maintain a constant anti-clockwise gait. The diameter of the clothesline was big enough so that I didn’t get dizzy, but it still required some degree of concentration.
The afternoon – I had decided that it was indeed after noon – was warm and muggy. I was hungry, for I had not eaten since what I guessed had been breakfast. The sweat rolled down my body as I trudged around like a donkey threshing wheat or working a well. Except that the donkey would normally be pulling a load. In this case I was the load being pulled. In the leather-encased sweatbox that was my head, perspiration ran into and stung my eyes and I was becoming very thirsty and dehydrated. At some stage during my ordeal I must have slipped into my subspace realm, where the pain finally faded and I became detached from reality, placing one foot after the other in an unthinking and uncomprehending movement.
At some stage I began to stumble – initially infrequently but soon more often. With each faltering the clips pulled fiercely at my nipples and I was jerked out of my torpid state by the pain. For the umpteenth time I tried to get my hands on the clips, but the need to keep walking kept my wrists firmly pulled down to my hips. If only I could have stopped I would have raised a leg long enough to get some slack to reach the hated steel jaws, but I did not have even a second’s respite from the onward movement.
Whether Ash was watching and saw my tired, more frequent stumbling I don’t know. I only know that suddenly I had caught up with the cords towing me and they were against my head and over my shoulders. I halted, realising I was woozy and almost ready to faint. Hands removed the clips none to gently and I could not help but emit a muffled scream from the pain as the blood returned. I was led back to the house and found myself in my prison again, with the hood unlocked from around my neck. I had barely the strength to remove it and extract the ball from my mouth then totter to the shower where I drank my fill and let the water cool what I knew would be very sore flesh, despite the preventative measures of the suntan cream.
Dinner was waiting for me – cold pasta and two bananas which I wolfed down, before falling exhausted on the bed. I wondered if going outside was all it was cracked up to be
* * *
It was the next day, as near as I could judge from the meals and Ash’s change of clothing, when he suggested another outside visit. I must have looked unhappy, and I was, for my nipples were still painful and tender from the workout they had received the previous day. I was also very stiff from the unaccustomed exercise. I did not want another repetition of the same treatment, but I didn’t dare voice an objection. That probably would have guaranteed I would receive it, with interest.
“Relax, Jan, you’ll enjoy the day – clear skies and the sounds of nature. You have to suffer to enjoy things – you know that. For every treat there has to be a sacrifice, and of course vice versa. Those are the rules.” By that logic, and after what I had just endured, I reckoned I was due some pleasure, and my spirits perked up somewhat. That optimistic outlook died somewhat when Ash picked up the leather discipline helmet hanging from the tap in the shower. I had washed it after use, since it was soaked with my perspiration. He tossed it over to me, followed by the sponge ball. “Get dressed, Jan,” he ordered, grinning. I knew it was all part of his plan, getting me to deprive myself of sight and sound - part of his gradual dehumanisation and domination of my will to resist. Resignedly I worked the ball into my mouth and pulled the hood over my head. It was still damp and felt cool against my skin. I could not do it up and had to turn my back to him as he pulled the laces tight down the back before covering the knot with the locking flap.
“Very good. Now, here’s the cream – it’s a sunny day again. Don’t want you to be a cancer victim, do we.” The tube was placed in my hand and I duly squatted and began to rub it over my legs, working my way over as much of my body as I could reach – my legs, buttocks, torso arms and breasts and some of my shoulders.
Contrary to my expectations from the previous outing, the suntan cream had done its job and I was not a mass of tenderised flesh. In this instance, I was almost complete when something struck me as odd. By the time I reached my breasts and shoulders I noticed the smell of the ointment seemed different – not the normal suntan cream smell I had noticed the day before. It was just as I finished that I started to feel the slight tingling sensation starting on my legs.
“We have a makeover to do before we go outside today,” Ash announced, pushing me gently backwards so that I sat on the edge of the bed. “Legs spread!” I did so, wondering what he meant, and not being surprised when the spreader bar was locked in place, with the leather ankle cuffs just below the steel ones connected to my wrist chains. With the spreader fully extended in place I could bend my knees very little, so it had the indirect but very effective result that my hands remained tethered to my hip rings.
Around then not only were my legs starting to tingle but my backside
was beginning to burn where I was sitting on it. I suddenly had the
feeling that I had not smeared suntan lotion on my body. Ash pulled
me to my feet.
“Let me do your back and shoulders now.”
I whined at him, shaking my head and mmmphing a muffled protest.
“Stop complaining, girl. You’ll thank me for this when the sun
is out.” He began rubbing my back between the waist and shoulders
where I had been unable to reach. I tried to shake him off, grunting
and mewing behind the ball lodged in my mouth and held in place by the
leather mask.
“What? What are you saying girl?”
“Mmmnnph! Nnp! Nphhmn!” I explained vainly.
“Ohhhh
Have I given you the wrong cream?” Something in Ash’s
unconvincing rhetorical question told me he had known exactly what he had
given me. “Oh dear. You’re right.” This after he had
coincidentally just finished the job. “I’m sorry, Jan , but we seem
to have just given you a very thorough muscle-toning rub with Finalgon,
not Coppertone
”
“Hhhnn??!” I exclaimed, not believing my ears. Shit! Finalgon was about
the strongest, most potent liniment-type ointment I had come across in
my years as a nurse. It burned like fire and was normally used sparingly
on ‘affected parts’. I had just covered my whole body with it!
“Nnnnn!” I wailed into the mouth-filling ball.
“Well, it’ll do your muscles good,” Ash smirked. “You’ll probably need it after all the exercise you did yesterday. First there are some things I need to do. Stand still!” I did so, but the irritating spreading warmth over my skin was starting to make itself felt already. My wondering what Ash was up to was quickly answered when he seized a handful of my hair, where it protruded beyond the neck collar of the discipline helmets, and promptly cut it off. In a matter of seconds my hair lost fifteen centimetres, trimmed back to the bottom of the leather.
“This was getting in the way, Jan. You need a more upmarket image,
I think – something a little sophisticated. Now for the remainder.”
Again I was pushed on to the bed. This time with my legs held by
the spreader bar I fell helplessly on my back. He picked up the bar
and dragged me wholly on to the mattress so that my torso was parallel
with and close to the edge.
I did not know what he was up to, nor was I enlightened at all when,
moments later some sort of plastic sheet was laid over the top of my thighs
and my stomach. There followed the sound of snipping and I realised
that my crotch had been exposed through the plastic like one being prepared
for surgery. I whined in dread – God, what was he going to do to
me now?
His intentions soon became apparent. He had placed the plastic
there merely to protect himself from the Finalgon now about to cause me
what I knew would be a lot of discomfort, to put it mildly. It seemed
he was in fact intent on shaving my pussy. While I had never done
this myself, I considered I could live with it, providing it did not lead
to anything more sinister.
I tried to lie still while he cut away the main part of my little thatch
with scissors, then spread what I assumed was a depilatory cream over the
stubble. It wasn’t long before my nakedness had been enhanced and
despite my initial acceptance of it, the psychological aspect somehow depressed
me further. Again, it was all part of his plan, I knew. But
however many times I told myself this, and however many times I recognised
it for what it was, this did not seem to make it any the less effective
in subliminally undermining my will to resist.
As I lay there during the process I could feel the Finalgon starting
to take effect on my back, buttocks and on the backs of my legs.
Finalgon has a nasty habit of increasing its effect as the skin heats up,
kind of like a vicious circle. The skin pressed against the mattress
warmed quickly, and with it the sensation of burning, like the worst case
of sunburn you can imagine. I groaned behind the ball. At length
Ash finished his work and washed down my pussy, wiping it clean of hair.
The cold water felt good, for I knew the skin around it would be red and
inflamed where I had endeavoured to protect it with ‘suntan’ cream.
I felt Ash remove himself from where he was leaning over me on the
bed. His hand briefly stroked my now naked pussy, toying with it
fleetingly. But I think he sensed my plight in that no matter what
he did the Finalgon would outweigh any potential arousal he might seek
to conjure up, and the exploration ceased.
“Change of plan, my dear,” he announced. “Probably best if you don’t
go outside today, in your condition. I’ll leave two keys in here
– one for your helmet and one for the cuffs on the spreader bar.
They’ll be on the floor somewhere. Find them, and you can make yourself
rather more comfortable. It will give you something to pass the time
doing.”
I heard a couple of faint tinkles, like steel on concrete, before the
door closed with its ominous finality.
Bastard, I thought. Bastard bastard bastard! I was willing to
bet he’d planned this from scratch. Our Ash was too methodical to
be spontaneous.
I lay there for some minutes, thinking about my plight, but the burning was starting to become really intense on all surfaces resting on the plastic of the mattress, where the heat was being trapped. The rest of my skin was now becoming hot, with my nipples in particular hurting as though they had been clamped.
I tested the fixing on the spreader bar. There was little slack
in the cuffs – barely enough to allow me to turn my ankles slightly.
They were more widely spread than I had experienced in the past, and were
already starting to be pretty uncomfortable, stretching the insides of
my thighs and straining my hip joint. I worked my way to the edge
of the bed. It was amazing how restricted the bar made leg movement
and hence my body as a whole. I reasoned I would have to end up sitting
on the floor. Either on my front or my back was going to be very
uncomfortable. I opted for the latter as the less bad of the two
and worked my way until my heels were on the floor, before gingerly sliding
over the edge. The fact that the bed was bolted to the floor at least
stopped it sliding backwards away from me, and I slid none too gently to
land on my rump on the concrete. It was cool against the burning
in my buttocks, but I guessed my movements were soon going to change all
that.
I confirmed with some experimentation that I could barely bend my knees
at all in the sitting position, so wide were my legs apart. But by
hunching my shoulders and bending my head down I could just create enough
slack in the chains to be able to reach the lock on the hood. It
was going to be a long morning, I realised.
And it was. I tried to do a systematic coverage of the room, going first around the walls, keeping one foot against them as I worked my way backwards using my hands and my elbows. The Finalgon had really taken hold now, and my whole body seemed to be on fire. My skin was burning up – especially the areas now in contact with the floor, not to mention my nipples and the fringes of my newly shaved pussy. Over and above this was the ache in my hips and legs where they were stretched wide, and the load on my wrists and elbows as I moved only inch by inch with the little slack I could conjure from the chains. I was panting and moaning continuously with the pain from the Finalgon. I knew it would probably do me no harm, but that was really precious little comfort under the circumstances.
As I strained with the movement, so I sweated as well, and of course as my skin temperature rose so too did the effect of the Finalgon, and the vicious cycle increased. I completed a circuit of the room, identifying my position with reference to the toilet and the bed, but encountered no keys. I lay on my back, my breathing hoarse and my blood pounding in my ears. I was frustrated and in agony from the ointment, but I knew I had to continue unless I wanted to be like this all day, or all night – or however long Ash wanted me to suffer. If I could only find that key I knew I could get into the shower and actually use the cold water to my benefit, for once.
I started to tire. I suspected Ash was playing games with the heating again. I began having to lie back more often as I progressed, and each time it became hard to sit up again. My buttocks seemed to be white hot, like the worst case of sunburn imaginable, made more excruciating as I dragged myself across the floor inch by inch. At one stage I became disoriented and ended up against my bed again, in tears at my failure. I tried again, but it was perhaps ten minutes before I felt the clink of a key under one leg. I manoeuvred myself until I could reach it with my hand and picked it up. I curled myself forward until I could just reach the lock at my throat, fiddling with it and praying it was the right key. It wasn’t. It had to be the key to the ankle cuffs – always assuming it wasn’t a phoney key left by Ash just to goad me. Nothing he did surprised me any more.
Reaching the ankle cuff was an act of contortion that left the muscles of my arms, legs and chest verging on cramp. I bent my legs as much as I could – which was pretty limited – and then did a cross between a sit-up and a sideways bend, forcing my right ankle and wrist towards each other. The lock was on the outside of my ankle, and after some fiddling about by feel, the key slid into the lock and it clicked open. The relief was tangible and I slumped back for ten seconds. That was as long as it took for my burning skin to remind me of its predicament, forcing me to again assume the position and unbuckle the strap on my right ankle.
Freeing that one ankle essentially freed my whole body. I could now sit up, bend my legs, and have plenty of slack in my chains to undo the other ankle with the same key. I could have scrabbled around on my hands and knees looking for the key to my collar, but I was by now whimpering to myself continuously with the pain from the ointment and I was desperate to get under the shower. I did not care that I was still hooded and gagged – I simply wanted relief from the fire on my flesh.
I stood under the shower not caring if the leather helmet got wet, just savouring the coolness of the water as it flowed over my body. I lathered up as much as I could tolerate and endeavoured to wash off the remaining ointment. Hot water would have made a better job of it, but that would have been a catch-22 situation of course. Always assuming I even had hot water, that is. I stayed there for maybe half an hour before finally getting out and making a more reasoned search of the room for the second key. I found it, under the chair, and proceeded to remove the discipline helmet with another wave of relief. Ash had even left the lights on this time, and I could view myself in the full-length mirror bolted to the wall behind the sheet of perspex.
My skin was red and inflamed-looking over the whole of my body save my head. My hair, now cut to just above the shoulder was predictably damp and straggly. I returned to the shower to wash it and further cool my skin. It was to become the pattern for that day.
* * *
The burning heat lasted most of the day, so strong was the Finalgon. During the night I occasionally awoke with the persistent but dulled fire on some parts of my skin. Some of the ointment had remained on the plastic covering the mattress, and with a huge effort I had managed to turn the mattress over so as not to make further contact with any residue. Nevertheless, wherever my skin touched the plastic, and natural body heat was trapped, so too did the last remnants of that terrible ointment make themselves felt.
Ash had appeared late (I reckoned) with dinner. I had noticed a more regular pattern in his visits of late, which was confirmed by the time I had been outside. Then it had been afternoon, and it had fitted with the meals I had been receiving. I got fed only twice a day, I estimated – morning and evening. The morning fare was usually fruit and bread – maybe with jam or vegemite if I was lucky, while ‘dinner’ comprised pasta or some sort of stew which I ate with a spoon. It was not haute cuisine, that was for sure, and my reflection indicated – not surprisingly - that I had lost considerable weight.
Dinner in this instance was shepherds pie with peas and beans – both obviously out of a packet. Accompanying them was a video. Ash said nothing, just opened the door and shoved the tray in before leaving. I still wore the collar chain attached to the post and it was currently at such a length that I had to lie on the floor and stretch out my arm to where the tray was placed inside the door. I guess that was Ash’s little reminder of my vulnerability, and that whatever concessions he offered, they were just that, and able to be withdrawn at the slightest transgression on my part or the merest whim on his.
The video was nothing special – a Czech film he had recorded on SBS – but it was a luxury for me to be able to curl up on the bed and lose myself in the outside world, forgetting my trials and torments and the uncertain future that I faced.
* * *
Ash was apologetic the next day – tongue in cheek, that is.
“What happened with the ointment was most regrettable,” he explained.
“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He paused. “Unless
of course you disobey me or cause any sort of trouble.” His voice
was steely and matched the coldness of his eyes. “The memory is obviously
fresh in your mind Jan. You realise that I am doing what is best
for you, and that you must understand that privileges have to be earned
– they are not yours of right. Can you imagine yesterday’s treatment
supplemented with a flogging? Then another application of the Finalgon?
Just think about that. Think about clamps on your nipples after they
have been massaged with Finalgon
Think about your behaviour again.
Bear the possible consequences in mind and consider whether you would be
strong enough to withstand them.”
“Would you like to go outside today, Jan?”
“Will it hurt, sir?” I asked fearfully, and after the last two days
my fear was very real. I did not trust Ash one iota. Every
so-called concession he made came at a price, and I was not sure whether
I still had some more instalments on this little jaunt.
“No, Jan, you’ve earned this one. An hour in the sun – take your
book and the suntan cream – the real stuff. I’m not a monster, you
know.” He grinned, but my return smile I knew was faint and tremulous.
I scarcely dared to believe what was happening – I was going to get
my first sight of the outside world in what must have been over a month
now. I had estimated my period of captivity as being close to five
weeks, as near as I could, judging from the patterns in Ash’s behaviour,
his clothes, the food, and anything else I could use for benchmarking my
incarceration.
The day was hot and humid, the temperature probably around thirty degrees,
typical of Brisbane in February. Ash had locked a chain to my collar
and locked the other end of it around the trunk of a jacaranda tree that
dominated the back yard before he returned to the house. I sat in
the shade, too excited to read, eager to understand my surroundings and
to try to work out where I was and to identify any possibility for escape.
My immediate reaction was at once positive and negative. There did not seem to be any totally insurmountable fences or walls bordering the place, but some looked pretty difficult if I had to scale them chained as I was. The back lawn was large – perhaps twenty metres by forty, sloping gently away from the house. The garden was predominantly along the boundary of the lawn, with a number of mature gum trees also defining the perimeter, behind which a wire mesh fence maybe a metre and a half high was visible. Beyond that there just seemed to be more bush. There were no signs of other houses where the inhabitants might be able to see or hear me – but I should have expected that. Good old Ash wasn’t going to let me out to put on a show for the neighbours, that was for sure.
While I was disappointed at the lack of habitation, I was heartened at the bush surrounding the place. It looked like Ash’s place backed on to some sort of reserve or forest park. I could see hills which were not too distant – maybe a kilometre away – and there was no sign of development there. I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that I was on an acreage property somewhere out to the west of Brisbane.
The house itself was a pretty ordinary thing – it looked like it had been moved here and installed on steel posts to provide for the blockwork room underneath that was now my home. Of timber with a rusty corrugated iron roof, the house was one of those nineteen fifties efforts that were remarkable only for their small windows and general lack of imagination. I guessed it might have been a state house now relocated – the kind you can pick up for fifty or sixty grand from the yard where they advertise them, delivered to your land. It could do with a coat of paint, but was otherwise unremarkable. I could only see the back and one side. A set of enclosed stairs ran down the back wall into a small lobby which had an external door giving on to the back lawn. This lobby also contained the door to my dungeon, I had just found out, the key to which Ash kept on his key ring.
I spent the hour just gazing about the garden, not even opening my book.
The grass was quite long and matched the state of the rest of the garden
– overgrown and unkempt. It was warm and pleasant in the shade of
the jacaranda, and even the chains on my body were forgotten as I eagerly
took in the garden vista, memorising the layout and the location of each
tree, the clothesline, the pathway, the fence, and the bush beyond.
On the side of the house that was visible to me was a timber fence about
my height, running at right angles from the front corner of the house to
the side boundary, effectively cutting off the back yard from any prying
eyes. Adjacent to the house there was a timber gate in the fence, which
I had no doubt was locked. I doubted that I could climb the fence
in my chained state, never mind the fact that I would have to free myself
of my neck chain before I could even think that far ahead. Suddenly
there appeared to be hope in my life, as long as I didn’t blow it.
My resolve strengthened to be the most demure and subservient slave possible,
while in the deepest recesses of my mind I planned my escape.
updated: 26.06.02
story continues in Vanishing Act 10
o0o