Vanishing Act 11
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from Vanishing Act 10)
8
8
Vanishing Act
Chapter Eleven
8
That week was not one of the more pleasant weeks in my experience at
Chez Ash. The builders arrived the day following the inspection and
commenced ripping the upstairs area apart. Ash was at work, and was
obviously well aware that I was potentially able to try to attract the
attention of the newcomers. That was the theory, anyway. And
it wasn’t going to happen. Aside from the fact that there was enough
noise going on with the renovation such that any moan or squeak that emanated
from my person would be lost in the general din, Ash made very sure that
I was in no position to contribute to the noise levels themselves.
My previous experience of being bound to the post was the forerunner of a series of such trials, but had only lasted a couple of hours. Ash evidently found it appropriate to vary my positions if only just for a change, but they were harsh in that they lasted a whole day and invariably totally immobilised me. As for the first one, I was at least thankful that I did not have to suffer the clamps, clips and inserts that Ash was so fond of, and thus my direct pain level was lowered. But the endless hours of being bound in one position unable to move took their toll on me, both physically and mentally.
My first day was in some ways a relatively easy one in that I was bound on my back on the bed, spreadeagled. It was not a particularly imaginative position, but it was very effective. My wrists and ankles received leather cuffs which were tightly anchored to the four corners of the bed. Not content with this, further straps were placed around my thighs just above my knees, and these were similarly secured with cords to the bed frame. Ropes were likewise attached to my steel waist belt on each side, and I knew it was going to be a long day. But at that stage I did not know how quiet.
Ash pulled a rubber bathing cap over my hair before stuffing a rubber ball in my mouth. It was not as large as some I had experienced, and I could almost close my mouth over it. When I did, my tongue was effectively silenced, and this was ensured by the multiple turns of silver duct tape he wound around my head, drawing my jaw shut and covering my mouth. I had expected this. What I had not expected was the gas mask he produced at that point. It was bizarre, but I soon saw his logic. It was made of rubber and fitted snugly over my head, being pulled tight with a number of straps at the back. Not content with that, he sealed the edges with more duct tape. I was starting to panic at that point, for it had suddenly become rather claustrophobic in the gloomy world beneath the mask. The eye plates seemed to be tinted and the smell of the rubber filled my nostrils. Both my hearing and sight had been substantially reduced now, and my senses were being dominated by the rasping of my breath and the distant thudding of the blood in my ears.
I was aware of the breathing tube leading out from the mask, but I had
not seen it connected to anything.
“Can you hear me, Jan?” came Ash’s distant voice. I nodded as
best I could. “Good. Let me just explain something. This
nice fashion accessory you’re wearing is designed to reduce any noise you
may make through that pretty nose of yours. There is another way
to do that, of course, but it tends to be rather permanent.” He chuckled.
“There are two tubes leading to your mask, each with a simple flap at the
junction. One is the inlet, the other is the outlet for your air.
There is thus no danger of rebreathing stale air. In simple terms,
the use of this tube will stifle the moaning and carrying on that you are
prone to indulge in. Understand?” I nodded again. “Let’s
give it a little test, shall we?” There was a piercing pain as he
pinched my nipple hard and twisted it fiercely. I tried to jerk,
but the only part of me I could move was my head, the rest of my body being
immovably secured to the bed. I yowled behind the tape, but the only
noise I could manage came through my nose, to reverberate inside my mask.
“Very good, Jan. But I want you to really try hard.” A double
pinch this time – fingernails biting into the very tip of each nipple.
I stiffened as though an electric shock was passed through my body, but
again all movement was restrained, except for a rolling of my head.
Again I made a nasal yowl inside the mask, which obviously hardly carried
into the room.
“Excellent.” Ash was evidently really pleased with himself. Predictably
my head was then the last thing to be secured, as further ropes were attached
to the steel collar about my neck and two final cords were tied to the
top straps on the mask and tethered to the bed head.
“See you tonight, Jan. Behave yourself.”
* * *
For some reason Ash had left the light on, but beneath the mask and behind the dark lenses I could dimly make out the floor joists above me that formed the extent of my visible world. I could turn my head only a small amount, and could not lift it at all. The rest of my body was totally immovable save my feet and hands.
I could hear the men walking about above, but the sound was indistinct. There was intermittent banging and crashing, which I presumed was the removal of existing cupboards and other fittings. Beneath the rubber and duct tape I could not distinguish voices, and the initial feeble moans I managed clearly went nowhere. I thought about these men – symbols of outside normality – going about their work unaware of the prisoner lying bound to the bed in the room below, silenced and unable to communicate by other than wishful thoughts.
I presumed Ash had removed the anchor wire down the hallway. That might have been hard to explain away, otherwise. My mind went over and over the connecting tongue of steel inside the housing, and how and when I might cut through it. The thought excited and petrified me. Ash would kill me if I got caught.
The lack of stimulation in my world had the inevitable consequence of sending me into subspace, then to sleep. I awoke intermittently, usually through some overly loud noise, such as some of the rubbish being tossed into a dumpster from the front balcony. Then I would doze again, only to awake with an ache usually in my shoulders or hips, caused by the unnatural spread of my limbs and their lack of movement. It was painful and uncomfortable, but there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. If Ash was killed in a car crash, I would probably die here, through dehydration or starvation. Much as I would have liked to see such a fate befall my captor, I knew I was still dependent on him for my own wellbeing.
I awoke to silence, and I could only guess that the men had done a day’s work. Ash would soon be home to free me A long time seemed to pass before I heard the door open and sensed the presence of my jailor. My release did not come immediately – not until Ash had taken advantage of my widely spread legs and exposed sex, first using his fingers until my loins became uncontrollably wet, then thrusting into me with a vigour I could do nothing to counter. I closed my eyes and let him pump away, the weight of him on top of my own tied and spreadeagled body only drawing everything tighter. I was panting and moaning now under the tape and the mask, partly from the pain of the stretching in my restraints and partly – I admit – from the arousal between my legs. I confess to climaxing, even under such circumstances. I could not help myself and saw no point in fighting it. It did nothing to alter my feelings of loathing towards Ash, nor did it lessen my desire for revenge. I told myself I could at least gain some small element of satisfaction out of the indignity I was being forced into. It was difficult in a way, for I could barely move under the strictures of the ropes and with Ash on top, but I eventually came, gasping and panting under the rubber mask and straining against my bonds.
Ash went away to change, the bastard, while I was left just lying there. Eventually he came back with dinner and released my hands, chaining my collar to the bed with a long length of chain, then leaving me to free the rest of my bonds as he turned the lights out and left. I was terribly stiff and ached all over. I undid the ropes attached to the gas mask straps and gradually worked my way down my body undoing the straps and finally freeing my ankles. By the time I had unwound the duct tape from my head my dinner was luke warm, but I was ravenous as usual. I went to sleep that night wondering how hard this week was going to be and how long I would have to endure this treatment.
* * *
The presence of the builders, far from being a relief from the monotony of solitary confinement and offering a chance to make my presence known, was in fact the opposite. Gone was at least the freedom to walk about my cell, and so too was the potential for escape from the hallway anchor wire. Instead, I was forced to endure a series of tight bindings that left me immovable for twelve hours at a time. At the end of that time my muscles would be screaming for relief, which was more than I was capable of, for the gagging and the gas mask became the normal routine.
On what I now recognised as Tuesday, I found myself sitting cross-legged and bound to the post, my head taped securely and all of me unable to move. Ash seemed to see the requirement to keep me under control as a challenge to his ingenuity in providing a variety of immobilising positions that were sustainable through the day. Wednesday saw me in a facedown letter ‘T’ ‘spreadeagle’ on the bed, my head through the frame at the foot of the bed, and my arms bound along it. The straps on the gas mask were tied back to the frame, supporting my head, but it was sill terribly uncomfortable for my neck after a few hours.
By Thursday Ash thought I needed some more variety, and I found myself standing, my hands crossed and bound behind me and my ankles spread and secured to a bar and thence to eyebolts in the concrete. Under my armpits and above my breasts was a thick strap, which was attached to a rope to a pulley overhead, to stop me falling over. Simple, but very effective. This time it was my legs which were complaining by the time he released me. His comment that such isometric exercises should be good for my muscles did nothing to improve my humour.
Friday saw me lying on my side on the bed, bent over with my wrists bound to my ankles and my elbows to my knees, with of course my body well tied to the bed to stop any other movement. Friday was pain-in-the-back day. I was not at all impressed – less so when he told me they had at least three more days work the following week. I had also mistakenly looked forward to a relatively free weekend, and my antagonism to Ash and his builders worsened as the crew worked a half-day. I found myself tied to that hated post again for the duration of Saturday morning, this time with my knees drawn up under my chin and my wrists bound in front of my ankles. Each day Ash took advantage of my helplessness to screw me, either normally or in the arse, depending on my accessibility. I came to realise the pattern and to spend the day dreading the vulnerability of my bottom.
I suppose it could be interpreted as remorse on Ash’s part for my suffering during the week that I obtained an hour of liberty on both Saturday and Sunday, albeit chained to the clothesline, but at least not by my nipples on these occasions. He explained that there was no point in tidying up inside since the painters were in the middle of their work in some rooms while the kitchen was half-finished. I could do nothing more than study further my surroundings and consider my options for a way out.
I looked at the fence line again. Along the rear boundary there was a gateway in the mesh fence that I had not noticed before. It was made of pipe with a mesh infill, and was partly covered by a rampant bougainvillea. I wondered if it was locked. There seemed to be a break in the undergrowth beyond it, and I wondered if there was a path leading into the bush reserve. A short distance beyond the fence the first of a large grove of tall eucalypts towered over the lower level trees. Maybe this was somewhere I could take refuge.
Ash obviously had no plans for me that weekend – I think he was too busy sorting out his new décor and refurbishment. I was returned to my cell with no explanation or conversation being deemed necessary. My reward for compliance was being able to watch a video and to at least walk about in my cell. With the use of ropes and tape that Ash had employed of late, I had not had my wrist and ankle chains on for a week or so, which at least was a small mercy. I tried to take comfort in these small things and hoped it would continue. As it was I still wore the steel collar around my neck, to which the chain was locked, and the steel belt at my waist. Neither of these looked like they would be coming off in the near future.
* * *
Tuesday found me lying on my back on the bed like a corpse, my wrists bound to the opposite elbows underneath me, and my body secured to the bed at various points after my legs had been tied together at ankles and above and below the knees. Tuesday there was some sort of major event upstairs. There was much clumping and thumping up the front stairs and I hazarded a guess that whatever new kitchen fittings Ash had ordered were being delivered and installed. There were other thumps, too, which could have been rolls of carpet being dropped, followed by banging that might have been the fitting of the carpet. And it was all being paid for with my money! The thought made me furious, and I squirmed in my bindings, snorting in vain under the layers of tape over my mouth.
Wednesday was quieter. There seemed to be fewer people and less banging about. Ash was not yet running out of ideas as I spent my day in a half-spreadeagle, my wrists bound to the top corners of the bed while I was bent at the waist, my ankles in a spreader bar above me. By the time Ash returned my feet had gone to sleep, as I had done several times during the day, and the predictable fuck was strange with my lower extremities barely able to be felt.
The rest of the week was almost back to its boring normality, with me left chained to the post, with the house to myself. I read the thriller Ash had left me, for the second time, all the while wondering what opportunity might now exist in the newly refurbished interior above me. Clearly I had lost any chance of communicating with the workmen – Ash had made very sure of that. It was now on my own shoulders to escape from this life of slavery which seemed to stretch out endlessly ahead of me.
* * *
By the time Saturday came around I was nervous with anticipation. I didn’t know what was going to happen but I had been mentally preparing myself for a positive action if and when the time arose. Would Ash still use the hallway anchor wire? Would there be a change of routine now? I didn’t know. The thought of rebellion in any form scared the hell out of me. I had received too many brutal beatings not to understand what would befall me if I got it wrong and fouled up. Whatever had happened to me in the past would probably be nothing to what Ash would devise as a punishment for such a flagrant act as trying to escape.
Saturday morning was warm and pleasant when Ash led me out of the dungeon. He had still not bothered with the previous wrist and ankle chain configuration, explaining that I had some proper cleaning to do today and that he expected all surfaces to be reached. That said, the steel ankle cuffs were still locked on, linked by a half metre hobble chain, the mid-point of which was in turn connected to the front of my waist belt with another chain. And whatever he might have thought of the practicalities of reaching high places, he was not past locking on the stainless steel crotch strap with its two fixed inserts. I had not experienced them for two weeks and the fullness that accompanied them was strange and unsettling.
The inside of the kitchen had been transformed since my previous visit. A new bench and sink, cupboards and floor vinyl made an enormous difference, although the table and chairs and the small windows detracted from the end result. Throughout the house was a new Berber carpet and the walls and ceiling were freshly painted. Everything smelt of paint and carpet – a not unpleasant combination that gave a newness to the finished look, despite the old furniture.
As I followed Ash down the hall my heart leapt as I saw that he had re-fixed the anchor wire through the carpet at each end of the hall. Once again one end of the retractable steel wire was locked to my collar and I was directed to my work – mainly cleaning up after the builders. There was plaster dust everywhere and the carpet, though new, needed a good vacuum cleaning.
I resolved to make a break if I possibly could, my expectation being that Ash would sit down to watch some sport on television during the afternoon. In the meantime I busied myself in the kitchen, removing the pots, pans and crockery before cleaning the new cupboard shelves. Ash had evidently put the stuff away on dusty shelves on the expectation that Slave Jan would be coming in to clean up after the event. It gave me the perfect excuse to clean out the kitchen drawers at the same time and to find a pair of heavy scissors that I hoped would cut through the tongue of the retractable tape where it was connected to the wire.
The time seemed to go incredibly slowly. Ash wandered in and out of the kitchen, fixing himself lunch but not offering me anything. I was almost used to it now. My stomach had shrunk and I had lost a few kilos with the stress and lack of food, but being in the presence of food that I was not allowed to touch made things that much harder. It also strengthened my resolve.
I had finished the kitchen and was in the process of dusting the dining room when I heard the television turned on. I waited until Ash seemed settled and returned to the kitchen where I extracted the scissors from the drawer. The blood was pounding in my ears as I crouched with my back to the entrance to the hall. I could sense my hands starting to tremble as I pulled the wire out of its housing until it would go no further and the retaining tongue of thin steel poked out. I gripped the scissors and squeezed the blades over the steel. It bent and folded between the blades, and when I prised them open again the tape had bent at right angle, with only a small nick at the edge. If Ash saw the result of my effort he would know at once what I had done.
I tried again, this time working the tape high up into the jaws of the scissors and gripping them hard to give a tight shearing surface. The jaws of the scissors bit into the steel tape, jammed, then sheared through it with a sharp snap. I froze. I cast a glance over my shoulder, petrified at the thought of seeing Ash standing there glaring down at me. But the hallway was empty.
I scrabbled about to gather up the seven metres of wire that seemed to have a life of its own and be everywhere at once. I tiptoed across to the backdoor and let myself out, cursing the clink of my chains as I went down the stairs to the little lobby outside the door to my dungeon. I was so scared I almost forgot to breathe as I let myself out the door at the bottom of the steps. Every second I was expecting a shout to come, followed by footsteps pounding after me.
I hurried to the side gate in the wooden fence but to my dismay it was locked. Scurrying back around the house I turned the corner on the opposite side to find my way blocked by a similar wooden fence without even a gate. It was as tall as I was, with pointed tops to the palings, and I knew I wasn’t going to get over it. My only chance was the gate in the mesh fence at the bottom of the garden.
I crossed the lawn with a clinking of chains that seemed inordinately loud in the warm afternoon. Inside me the dildo and butt plug moved about disconcertingly. I reached the gate and tried it, then noticing the chain locked around the gate rail and the fence post. But this situation was a tad easier, for the gate was only chest high and I could climb up the mesh. I was about to climb the gate when the dreaded shout came from the house. As if my heart wasn’t going fast enough, it now doubled its rate as I panicked in my efforts, my feet getting tangled in the hobble chain as I started to work my way up the gate. I could not swing my leading leg over easily until I was lying down along the top rail, resting on the steel crotch strap that pushed the dildo further inside. At that point I fell awkwardly on the ground on the other side, trailing the wire still connected to my collar and giving the butt plug a sharp push.
The slam of the door at the foot of the stairs was followed by shouted curses and threats from Ash as he started across the lawn. I grabbed the wire and ran, stumbling along a narrow track through the undergrowth as best I could with the chain catching on branches and weeds. My feet hurt on sticks and thorns but I was barely aware of this. Several times I stumbled as my surroundings became denser on each side of the path. I knew I couldn’t hope to stay ahead of Ash, and I thought I heard a crash not too far behind as he cleared the gate. I was desperate and took the only action I could think of.
Stepping off to the left of the track in the midst of the grove of tall eucalypts I had seen from the garden, I wrapped the loose end of my neck wire around the base of a small tree and crossed over the path again, wrapping the wire again around a root before crouching behind the trunk of a gum. Without thinking I picked up one of the many dead branches that littered the ground, just as there was a pounding along the track behind me.
I crouched, terrified out of my mind as the running came closer. I knew I would only get one chance at this, and I tightened the trip wire as I thought my pursuer was almost on top of me. The wire was fine enough to be almost invisible, and Ash caught one foot in it while travelling at full tilt. He went sprawling, trailing the wire which tore out the root between me and the path, and jerking me towards him. I went with the movement, swinging the broken branch with a fury I would not have thought myself capable of.
Ash had fallen half on his side and he looked up just in time to see me swinging the branch at him. He raised his right arm to deflect the branch which caught him hard on the elbow, eliciting a cry of pain from him. His arm appeared to go limp as he rolled away to try to avoid my next blow. I knew I could not let up – I had to keep at him and not give him a moment to collect himself. The second blow landed on the side of his head, all but knocking him senseless. He was lying there, groaning when my branch struck his head again, and he went quiet.
I stood there, gasping for breath, my head ringing and my chest heaving, the blood pounding in my ears. I was shaking all over from fear and exertion, while adrenalin coursed through my body. I had not anticipated a situation like this. I had envisioned escaping and somehow running out into the street to flag down a passing car or pedestrian. I had not seen myself crouching over an unconscious man in the middle of the bush. I had no idea where the path led or which was the direction to head to even find the road.
I must have squatted there for five minutes, my head down, striving to regain control of my faculties. It dawned on me to check Ash’s pulse. I had at least not killed him, and he showed signs of stirring. I searched his pockets and came up with the small bunch of keys I knew he carried for my express benefit. With stuttering fingers I found the key that unlocked the steel cuffs on my ankles and the chain at my waist. Without really thinking I tried one cuff on Ash’s wrist and found it an adequate fit. I locked it on and pulled the wrist across his back as far as it would go. I reckoned the chain was just long enough to pass underneath him so I could then cuff the opposite wrist.
I was right, and before I realised it, Ash was chained up extremely securely, and the tables were suddenly turned. I unlocked the wire from my collar and sat down against the trunk of the tree I had hidden behind, letting my heartbeat slowly subside. The situation had become abruptly different – like nothing I had expected, and now I had to decide what to do with my ex-captor. I elected to take things a bit at a time, as Ash began to groan and slowly shake his head. He turned and glared at me as a trickle of blood ran down his right temple.
“You bitch – I think you’ve broken my arm! Now what do you think
you’re going to do?” he snarled.
“I-I don’t know yet,” I said, finding my throat dry. “I think
you’ll keep while I decide what ought to be done.”
“Undo these cuffs now and I’ll be lenient on you,” he demanded.
“Yeah, right,” I sneered back. “You’re a man of your word and
you have a real good track record. Get up, you shit!” I stood
up and prodded him with my branch. He took a long time before eventually
struggling to his feet. His expression was black as he attempted
to stare me down.
“You want this stick up your arse or a whack on that arm of yours?”
I asked, with a confidence I really didn’t feel.
Glowering, he turned and walked unsteadily back up the path until
we reached the gate. I checked the keys and found one that fitted
the padlock, ushering my new captive through then across the lawn.
I took him into the dungeon and locked a short chain around his neck, then
locking the loose end around the post.
“See ya,” I told him, as I turned for the door. My statement brought forth a torrent of abuse which I admit finally got to me. I opened the cabinet which used to fill me with such dread, and took out a ball and a roll of duct tape. Within two minutes Ash was silent and blind, the ball securely taped in his mouth, with his eyes also covered with the tape. It was a messy-looking job, and I knew I could have made it tidier, but right then I did not care.
I slammed the door behind me as I left the dungeon, the keys still clutched in my hand, and made my way upstairs. I was still shaky and at this stage was almost running on autopilot. In the bathroom I removed the crotch strap and savoured the luxury of the first hot shower I had experienced in almost three months. Then, as I stood in the shower I began to cry. I couldn’t explain it other than the overwhelming release from the stress and terror that had lain with me for so long. I now knew there was an end in sight, although it was beyond me at that stage to even consider what that might be. All I knew was that I was out of that dungeon and the monster who had imprisoned me there was now my victim.
I sat in the shower until the water ran cold. I sobbed my heart
out in a kind of cathartic reaction, I guess. I could now let my
feelings out without having to retain my strength for further unknown horrors
still to come – horrors that had seemed to stretch out indefinitely ahead
of me at one stage, when I had become Ash’s plaything, hung from ropes
in his private domain. He had abused me to the extent that I had
almost come to accept it, but now I found that I could not wash the unclean
feeling away. Something had changed within me that could not be changed
back.
What was I to do with my life – or the absence of one – now?
updated: 26.06.02
story continues in Vanishing Act 12
o0o