The Price of Luxury bondage story | chains, fear, escape

I moved the sun-lounger further back under the sunscreen canopy, checked that the cooler was filled with lemonade and settled myself to enjoy the view. It had taken quite a while to find that view and so I make a real effort to enjoy it as much - and as often - as possible. And that, these days, adds up to a heck of a lot of enjoyment. After all there is very little that I really HAVE to do!

The very comfortable bank-balance I now command has provided this delightful villa which, in turn, commands my equally-delightful view together with the hand-picked servants that I need to do all the work. It also provides the bodyguard which Mallory considers necessary, my secretary, my cars and whatever else that I consider desirable to make up for those months of ...?

Dreamily I lay back and compared this enduring bright sunshine, which graces my plethora of dancing flowers, with the gloom of my previous quarters. Not that they were ever dark. No. It was the associations which, in retrospect, made them seem so. The lack of a future, the prescribed existence which had led to boredom, the very unfairness of it all ... it had been so hard to forgive. Resentment had coloured my life completely and at first that resentment had but grown as the days passed into weeks and months.

Now, perhaps, I could forgive him but at that time I would have provided him with any kind of mischief that my unused mind could invent. And what could I say of him now? It had been a most selfish and inconsiderate act and yet he had always dealt fairly and squarely with me. Right from the beginning he had laid out his intentions and never once strayed from them.

That first day, when I had woken in something of a haze to find my ankles confined in a rigid steel gyve and my arms strapped uselessly into that straightjacket, what could I have felt but fear? As I struggled to free myself fear had risen near to panic and finally gave way to tears. Then he had appeared to sit beside me and talk in that gentle voice. There was no need to fear an old man such as he appeared to be but he had not made any effort to free me and slowly it had become clear that he was indeed my captor.

He had made neither effort nor promise to free me but simply sat there trying with voice alone to calm and to reassure me. Slowly my attention wandered from that useless stream of information as I attempted to reconstruct the events that had led up to this situation. It quickly became obvious that my mind was devoid of any scrap of memory about that descent into captivity. Yes. I had moved into that new flat and supervised the installation of my miserable bits of furniture; I had indeed taken great care with my books - the one true possession that then remained to me.

Then I had unpacked the bottle of champagne! It had lain forgotten faithfully awaiting the time to celebrate ... nought but unfaithfulness ... ? Then I recalled that I had not eaten all that day and that, foolishly, I had drunk the entire bottle on an empty stomach. I remembered nothing else ... except that it was not my usual habit to indulge in alcohol!

"You seem somewhat distracted. Perhaps you are feeling better now?"

Startled I had returned to the old man. "You are quieter now." It was a statement.

"Er, yes. I AM ... er ... feeling better. Perhaps you would untie this thing for me?"

"No. I regret that is not possible. You see I'm not the man I used to be and, free of restraints, you would almost certainly best me."

"What do you ... ? You can't keep me like this for ever. Sooner or later you're going to have to release me. Why am I tied up anyway? And WHERE am I?"

"Well ... for one thing ... it might teach you the folly of drinking yourself into a state of drunken stupor."

"If I was in that state it's no business of yours. I was in my own house and not causing trouble for anyone."

"I have to disagree with you on that score. You were in MY house but out of your room and trying to have an argument with the wall. Fortunately for us all you and I were the sole residents at the time. You tried to hit me with an empty bottle, you missed and passed out on the floor."

To argue with him was out of the question because I simply did not remember: "But why am I tied up like this. Did you do it? And ... hey ... I've no clothes on!"

"Again, not quite true. You still retain what I believe are called underclothes or lingerie? Whatever you normally wear over that is still in your room where you dropped them."

"A gentleman would have put me back in my room and left me to sleep it off."

"True , but I do not lay claim to being a gentlemen. You see, all my life I have dreamed ... fantasised ... if you like ... about holding a young woman such as yourself as a captive. I ought to be ashamed of myself I suppose but I always imagined I was a corsair or pirate captain or ancient warrior who kept a girl as booty. Of course, she would want to run away and so I would have to keep her permanently in restraints.

"You see once in my youth I declared myself ardently ... yes, very ardently ... to the lass of my dreams but she rejected me and did so most unkindly and with ridicule. I had to face the fact that, to take her by force, was simply not possible in this day and age. She destroyed my confidence and ever since I have dealt with women only in my dreams.

"And now, when I'm a man of means and in possession of my own house, comes a young girl - a very presentable young girl if I may say so - who is lying unconscious on my floor all but naked. Nobody knows of her presence here and, from what I have learned, she has neither friends nor relatives who might miss her. Do you see the temptation? Were you conscious I could not even have attempted an abduction.

"They tell me that the wisdom of the ages declares opportunity to come only once. I seized it ... and here you are."

With all the sarcasm I could muster: "I suppose you just happened to find the straightjacket falling off a high forgotten shelf?"

He had leaned back in his chair and emitted a great belly-rolling chuckle. "Touche, my dear. No, it has been my one concession to my dreams. I often schemed that one day I might be able to ... : then came the day that you got drunk at the wrong time, in the wrong place, did the wrong thing ... and this is where it has landed you."

"All right then. A dirty old man has got me into a straightjacket without my clothes and there's not a lot I can do about it. Have your fun and pay for it later. But how long is this going to last?"

"Oh. I'm afraid that there is not a time-line. No fixed time at all. In fact I have no plans at all to release you. You will ... "

"You're mad," I burst in: "There's no way you can hold me here indefinitely. Suppose I get ill. And there's things that happen every month to women ... Just how do you propose to cope?”

"Well, there you have me. I must confess that I had not thought through such details. This prank must boarder on the unwise I suppose but there... it's done and...”

Again I interrupted him: "UNWISE? Lunatic is nearer the mark. And what ... ? Look, don't take this personally, but what the hell does someone your age expect from someone like me. Especially if you keep me parcelled up in this traightjacket?"

He was looking at me with distinct amusement: "I suppose it is natural for young women when kidnapped to expect to be ravaged. But I assure you that you are in no such danger from me. To me you are ... bless me ... I'm not quite sure what you are ... in modern parlance I suppose you are best described as a Barbie Doll, a plaything, a toy ... better still an amusement."

"You're somewhat lacking in the flattery department." Strangely my fear had subsided although I was still in severe restraint. "But none of this answers my first two questions: where am I and for how long?"

"You are still in my house in a small area that exists, for some reason all unknown, below the level of my cellars. As a result it is completely soundproof. Your second question cannot be answered I'm afraid. You see my Doctors have declared that I have only a few months to live. The thing that has long prevented me from putting this room to use for my fantasy was the fear of retribution; there are only two ways out of such a situation namely I would have to release you and face a long talk with policemen or ... and I could never do this ... you would have to die. "

I have no idea at all how long we remained silent and just looking at each other. For my part the emotion was all fear ... horrid fear. I have since learned that his thoughts were more along the line of total repugnance ... he would have found it easier to fly with feathers to the moon that to harm me. That last sentence of his triggered an understanding in us both of a relationship that was, to say the least, very strange.

"I don't think I like you," I said slowly. "You mean to keep me here as a captive, a prisoner, a slave ... until Death puts you beyond the reach of the Law."

The expression on his face changed in a way that defies description. I truly believe he had not, in his mind, taken the matter beyond capturing me and holding me against my will. Later he was to remark that there was little point in holding me except against my will; yes, he understood about the rules of consensual bondage but to struggle against such restraint could hardly be real? The whole point of his life-long fantasy was that I should genuinely try for freedom. He wanted me to try and escape. His long-cherished battle had been abruptly created, without time to consider it, and now there was no going back. For years he had been planning in meticulous detail the handling of his prisoner and now, for better or worse, he had to test his theories.

I drew my knees up to my chest and kicked out but he hardly flinched. "I am out of kicking range," he said mildly. "But think of the consequences should you succeed in taking me out. You are locked in an unknown cellar, soundproof, in an escape-proof jacket and with your feet locked together. In truth, I am your lifeline. Struggle, fight as much as you like ... I will bear you no ill will ... but do take care not to seriously injure this old fool who has nothing whatever to lose. Eh?"

Was that a flash of anger? Despair? The closest I could get to scratching out his eyes? What he said was true and clearly I needed to be careful. I simmered down and began to calculate my chances. At present they were nil. My best bet had to be to conserve my strength, try to build my fitness even in restraints, wait until that opportunity arrived. As the old basket had mentioned it was said that opportunity lacked a twin.

And so began an ordeal that turned into a twin fantasy. Daft? Yes, but without doubt I did begin to enjoy the sensation of being helpless - totally helpless. Equally without doubt it would have been another matter had I continued to believe that I was in danger. Slowly I came to know that he meant what he said ... I was his living dolly, his toy, under his control ... and yet without danger. At first I could not believe that but rapidly it asserted its own truth. What might I have done had I succeeded in any of my escape attempts I truly do not know. He never gave me the slightest chance of success.

His first act was to get me out of that straightjacket and into the restraints that were to be my constant companions. He had prepared five long chains, light but too strong for me. They were anchored to separate points on the wall; one connected to the iron collar he locked around my neck and the remaining four terminated on cuffs that locked around each of my wrists and ankles. These were attached one at a time as he carefully slipped me out of the jacket. I've often wondered how many hours he spent planning that operation ... it went without a hitch from his point of view.

I was never again free of that wall. What ever he had planned for any day he brought with him only the keys that were necessary. Several times I saw a chance to make a try but always I was faced with the sheer fact that, no matter the degree of success I could achieve, I would always have ended "up that wall”! He would bring me my clothing for that day - or maybe days - release my hands and then leave me to eat my breakfast and dress. Later he would return and then perhaps he would replace the chains ... but then again perhaps he would not. He might leave off the long chains and simply leave me in handcuffs and a hobble but during those times - admittedly short – that damned neck chain always remained. Sometimes he brought me normal clothing, invariably expensive and always in the best of taste. And sometimes he brought a costume that could only be described as bizarre. For all his age and apparent lack of libido there was no doubt he had a thing about slave girls. I still blush when I think of his most outlandish ideas. Why did I not object? What would have been the point? Anyway, as I have already said, eventually I DID get into the act. We were like two kids playing a game.

Slowly my thoughts drifted toward a wish for a man. In truth it became a positive need, a wish that might have shocked me in my previous existence. It was while indulging in such mental and physical masturbation that I awoke to the fact that I was thirsty. Water I had in abundance from the washbasin tap but a long satisfying draught brought forth the most astonishing burp that seemed to erupt from my deepest bowel. I was hungry!

Now that was a new experience. He had never before left me to get hungry. Indeed he looked after me - tended me – as might a hen with a newly hatched chick. I assume that he came to me when all his tenants were out for the day or all in bed for the night but the only clock I possessed was his regular daily visits with food, clothing and proposals for changing my bondage. I had not the slightest idea how long had elapsed since his last visit and I began to get alarmed.

I dozed on the bed, slept fitfully, drank water and fretted. At last came the noise of his key in the door. I suppose locking the door and carrying away the key was all part of his fantasy, of holding me prisoner, locked up and helpless. Certainly, while I was chained five times to a wall there was little point to locking the door but there it was and so too was the matter of trying to escape? Then indeed my mind leapt into high gear; suppose it was not him?

I was seized by an extraordinary panic; my last costume, his slave-girl creation all floaty transparent veils, was draped across the chair and I was dressed in a most beautiful satin floor-length nightgown with a luxurious negligee to go over it. I could not change until he released the chains. For the first time in my life I was shy? My only refuge was the bed and, with a wild clinking of chains, there I fled.

There seemed to be some difficulty with the lock but eventually the door creaked slowly open and a man, not the old one, stood uncertainly in the opening. In his left hand he carried both a torch and a leather briefcase but, even without such accoutrements, he could not have been other than a solicitor. "Miss Meldrow?’ he inquired.

I don't know what I expected him to say but that mild acceptance of what the door revealed to him seemed even more bizarre than the antics of my jailer and I sought, though in vain, for a reply be it tart or friendly or just in greeting.

He held out a small bunch of keys: "I am Mr. Mallory, solicitor to Mr. ... er ... the LATE Mr. Somers. I regret the delay in coming to your assistance but I did not receive the poor man's letter and instructions until this morning. I trust you have not suffered as a result? But, dear me, this is a most extraordinary circumstance. I must confess that, at first, I thought he was joking with me but it seemed incumbent on me to ... er ..."

"Well," I said and my vice was more than just a bit husky: "Explanations I hardly need but, if those are the keys to these chains ...?”

"My dear lady. Pray forgive me but ... well you see ... it isn't every day that a man in my position is called upon to rescue a lady from her bed."

"This lady is also very hungry," I interposed.

"Yes. I understood as much and so I took the liberty of delaying my visit just a short while while I started some food for you in the kitchen."

I held out my hands in my most grandiloquent gesture: "That makes you my favourite solicitor for today. If you would be so kind as to give me a few seconds - at most - to make myself decent I can show you how to deal with a hot breakfast."

That was the manner in which I returned to the world, unwashed and in an expensive bedroom getup. I didn't care and Mr. Mallory is far too experienced and professional to notice such a small matter. As I ate at the kitchen table he seated himself opposite me and begged permission to help himself to a cup of coffee. "Good heavens, you don't need my permission. 'Tis I who am in YOUR debt. But tell me, please, what has happened to the old man. Despite everything I have to confess I have developed some friendly feelings for him. If nothing else he is - was – a gentleman throughout."

"I am relieved to hear you say that. He was suffering with a terminal illness and died almost on cue as foretold by his doctors. He says in his letter that, finding himself beyond the Law, he succumbed to temptation and performed an act that, in reality, was not so bad as it might appear. After all, he adds, “She is well paid for her time."

That hit me like a blow in the stomach; I sprayed toast and marmalade all over the table; it was excellent marmalade too. "Well paid... ?” I could only fume.

"Perhaps I put that rather clumsily. You see he has named you in his will as sole beneficiary. My dear girl ... you are not only the owner of this house and all that goes with it but you also command a considerable fortune."

I completely forgot the marmalade; only for that moment however – nothing but Cooper's is allowed these days within my establishment. Like a blind one I groped for the coffee cup but with the wrong hand. Mr. Mallory adroitly slid it into my grasp and sat back to wait my convenience. My stomach abandoned its resting-place between my feet and climbed slowly back to its properly appointed place. "Would you mind saying that again, please."

"It is true," he said gently: "Mr. Somers has no living relatives and you are now a most enviable young lady."

"That old one must have trusted you ... completely." I gulped for air: "Perhaps, if you please, you would continue to look after his ... er, my ... affairs. I can have no better introduction to you than I have received this morning."

"It will be more than a pleasure particularly as you seem to bear no animosity toward him. Apart from our professional ... Remarkable. But now, if you have finished eating, may I suggest that you make use of YOUR bathroom, get dressed and I will start you off on your new life. There is a great deal that we must do."

That morning marked a complete change in my life but it was not the end of this tale. I removed the chains and shackles from that underground room and packed them in a small crate to remind me of my benefactor. Yes. I DID have a certain sneaky feeling about them but nothing would ever persuade me once more to put them on my person.

Sitting there on my sun-lounger and watching the blue-blue sea, I was fingering them, lifting them so that they gave voice with that familiar jingling sound, when my bodyguard Stella surprised me. Her curiosity was natural, of course, but I soon detected an odd undercurrent of excitement about her. Challenged she admitted that she found bondage something of a turn on but NOT, she emphasised, while she was responsible for my safety.

With whom had she practiced it in the past? She had a girl friend; in fact she was a fellow bodyguard but of course, since they had both qualified professionally, they had been obliged to put an end to their games. It was at that moment that it hit me, a blinding flash of understanding, the something that had seemed always to set Stella apart. She didn't dislike men but she had no time for them. They did not interest her. In that instant my reservations about her vanished and I began to value her company. A few days later a casual enquiry elicited the information that Mira was "between jobs" and I suggested, as tactfully as possible, that I could easily afford two bodyguards.

So we became a menage a trois. I have two very-professional guardians who have become two very-close friends. They play their games but always one is on duty. Every day they work out and practice their art ... they have declared me to be a most apt pupil. So now you know why this lovely villa is known to us as Angels' Retreat?