Blacksmith's Legacy bondage story | chain, locked gag, cuffs, brank

Awkwardly Frances bent down yet again to wipe her mouth on the towel she had managed to drape over the chair back. Her jaw ached abominably... it was high time the gag was removed but, even had she been able to reach it with her hands, she had no means of dealing with the lock that held it at the back of her head.

What did that bastard think he was doing? She must have been like this for several hours. The dusk drawing in showed that. The absurd weight of chains on her body was trouble enough but this ball gag, the constant drooling, the weight of the brank, the thirst and, not least, the growing demand for food ...

She had managed to stretch from the uttermost reach of the chain to hook the Chair with her foot and thus was able to sit in relative comfort. Relative that is to standing. He had gone truly berserk, really evil, utterly cruel in restraining her. She had experienced bondage before in many of its varied forms but this...?

The brank he had dropped over her head was locked with a steel band around Her throat and there was another steel band locked around her forehead. The ballgag was threaded on a rod, like a bridle-bit, that seemed to be an integral part of the beastly device but, once drawn tightly into place, she believed it too had been locked. The brank carried also two large shields, like a horse's blinkers, which restricted her field of view.

Her hands she could separate by barely ten-to-twelve inches as dictated by the chain that linked the leather-padded cuffs that were locked on her wrists. That, in itself, was not particularly restrictive but it was rendered so by the other chain which passed behind her and which linked the two padded cuffs locked on to her upper arms just above the elbows. The centre of that chain was locked to a ring at her back in the centre of the steel girdle that fitted snugly around her waist and which was held thereby yet another padlock. Two short chains linked either side of this girdle also to the elbow cuffs.

From each wrist cuff, there depended another length of chain that limited the distance between her hands and her ankles and, in their turn, her ankle cuffs were linked by a hobble chain perhaps a little more than twelve inches long. It was this last that had made difficult the task of dragging the chair to her. But then, clearly, he had never intended to make life easy for her?

Apart from the hobble chain she was loaded with linked cuffs just below the knees and above the calf muscles; these served little purpose except to add to the weight of iron. The heaviest single item apart from the brank was the collar locked around her neck and vying for room with the throat band of the brank. To it was locked one end of a massive over-kill chain that tethered her within eight feet of the wall.

Yet other, totally unnecessary, chains he had added which ran from each side of the collar to her wrist manacles. Another connected the back of the collar to the centre of the hobble chain via the ring at the back of the girdle and it considerably hampered any attempt to bend down. There was no need at all to add the traditional iron ball, which dragged from her right ankle... she could barely move even without it.

Part of her agony was the long heavy skirt and its underlying three petticoats which were almost impossible to lift with hands confined like this. It was absolutely IM-possible for her to deal with her underclothes and the time had long passed when the matter of a loo break had become urgent. The loo was completely beyond reach and, unless he returned soon, a messy accident was scheduled.

As she bent again to wipe the drool from her mouth the clanking of her ironmongery did not mask the sound of a key in the front-door lock. Without that pitiless gag, she might have rounded on him to vent the resentment of the last tormenting hours. But the gag gave her time to think of the consequences of berating one who was in total control and who had abandoned her in such cruel fashion.

As the kitchen door opened she knew a moment of fear ... it was not him. She could only stand there, helpless and defenceless, fearful of what might portend. Perhaps his face showed some surprise but, as he crossed the kitchen and examined her chains, it was difficult to know if his surprise lay in finding the captive or perhaps in the excessive manner of her bonds.

He moved across to the work-surface and rummaged in the contents of the bondage box then returned to her side. She was surprised when he fumbled at the back of her head and then released the gag; it was not locked after all but that information would have been useless to her. "I expect you could use a drink," he said.

"Thanks. And I desperately need to visit the loo."

"Afraid you'll have to accept my help. No keys."

During that brief exchange he had taken a glass from the table and filled it from the tap. Then he transferred his attention to the wall end of her tethering chain: "Well, at least that's not a padlock. A shackle I can undo."

After, as he led her back into the kitchen, hope flared briefly: "Can you get me out of these, please?"

He shook his head vigorously: "Not often such a chance comes anyone's way... let alone mine. Without keys you're not going anywhere under your own steam. Then, after I've put this back in your mouth, you won't have any say in matters either. Hmmm?"

She was too stunned to make any immediate reply and then, with the gag resting between his hands: "Open wide!" Whether driven by surprise or simply the hopelessness of her predicament she didn't know but she obediently opened her mouth and allowed this newcomer to render her silent once again.

He re-shackled her to the wall and then left the room. He was back in a few minutes with a large leather travelling trunk on a sack barrow. "Not the most elegant mode of transport, I'm afraid, but you will appreciate the difficulty of transporting you through the streets of a metropolis in your present condition?"

He returned to the wall shackle but suddenly turned back to her: "Sorry. I might have explained things to you. Your captor popped out for something or other but managed to get himself run over by a man on a bicycle. Yes, incongruous it may sound but then perhaps he was thinking about the package he had left behind? Broke his arm, cracked two ribs and was unconscious for about ten minutes. As a consequence he is stuck in hospital for observation. Got a message to me but couldn't tell me too much about you with the nurses all around. I fancy he didn't have much stomach either for lengthy explanations. Which must be part of the reason he failed to give me your keys."

He took the trunk off the barrow, laid it on the floor and threw back the lid. "You can't be left here alone - been too long already - and I can't stay here with you so ... you'll just have to come home with me. If he objects to me pinching his booty perhaps it will teach him to keep his mind on matters to hand? For myself I'm looking forward to a great weekend although ... I can understand if you don't share my enthusiasm. Nothing to say...? Oh well... "

He suddenly dropped on to one knee, spread wide his arms and burst into song (with apologies, no doubt, to Gilbert and Sullivan):

"A Kidnapper bold am I. I'll put you in my dungeon. There you'll stay until at least the cowowowowows return… Maybe next week or next mo-onnnnth...

Can't remember the damned words!"

More than a little astonished she watched him release her once more from the wall and shuffled behind as he led her to the trunk; it would have been pointless to fight him. He pressed gently on the backs of her knees while with pressure on her shoulder he forced her to kneel. Then, with a length of cord which he produced from somewhere, he shortened the chain from neck to hobble and lashed her ankle-cuffs to the collar in a tie halfway between hogtie and frogtie. Then he lifted her and deposited her within the trunk. Lastly he lifted the iron ball and placed it tenderly beside her.

"No keys is a good excuse? Don't think I could resist the temptation anyway. You're mine for the duration, I'm afraid and duration means..." A grin of sorts spread across his face but, in her state bordering on anxiety, she couldn't decide whether he was sympathising or gloating. "Won't be long," he promised as he closed the lid and she felt herself tilted up and loaded on to the barrow.

She thought, ruefully: 'At least he's gentleman enough to remember which end is my head.' But she was surprised later to recall that she had no longer been afraid of him.

She was trundled away and loaded, first one end and then the other, into what she presumed was a car-boot. A couple of heavy bumps probably signalled that the sack-barrow had joined her. Soon after that an engine fired-up and it became only too obvious that they were motoring.

Bound like that and shut in a leather trunk of unforgiving hardness is not a mode of travel to be recommended even though it only lasted about twenty minutes. But their destination it was not. She found herself in open country and he was but transferring her to the back seat ... or rather to the foot-well behind the front seats. It was a little more comfortable there, if gratitude was appropriate, but she could do nothing but grin and bear it. On this trip she was only cargo, to be hefted and shifted, hauled and hidden... just as long as she continued to breathe there was nothing else to be considered.

He'd covered her with a rug and they had driven on for a time with her buried in her aches and pains, with grunts and groans and frantic calls that disappeared behind her gag and were rendered inaudible over the engine and tyre noises. All that she could recall of that drive was the conviction that they were travelling through open country and had long left any semblance of town or village.

At long last the car slowed and executed a tight right turn after which she heard distinctly the sound of gravel crunching under their tyres. They stopped and the engine was turned off. Her new captor left the vehicle and she could only lie there and await his convenience in the silence of the night. When after some little time he returned he opened a door and lifted her out and her chains jangled on the bodywork. He used a wheelbarrow to take his new luggage within and she realised that, during his absence, he had been opening the house and preparing for her.

It had seemed a large house and was isolated because the only lights she could see were those streaming from within. He sat her in a large armchair and removed the gag. Her jaw was stiff and painful as she worked it. "Did you really have to put that thing in my mouth"

"You know what they say... or do you? Without a gag... it ain't bondage."

"I thought bondage was supposed to be a voluntary business. This wasn't my idea and it certainly wasn't yours. What gives you...?"

He took hold of the ball gag and shook it gently: "You want it back? Remember... with the blacksmith's handiwork that you're carrying you are in no position to lay down the law. At the moment all decisions are mine. And you too are mine."

She was too tired and uncomfortable to argue the point. Because there was Absolutely nothing she could do about it ... perhaps it would be best...

"That's better," he said. "Now, can I offer you a drink? Tea? Coffee? Something stronger... be it wine or whatever. The bar is well stocked. And what about something to eat?"

"A glass of wine would be very welcome. And... thank you... I haven't eaten all day although... like this..."

"Don't worry about it. All adds to the gaiety of the nation. It will give me the greatest of pleasures, madame..." And he made a deep old-fashioned bow, "... to feed you from my own hand. 'Tis not often I have such company."

"Don't tell me they never come back!"

He nodded thoughtfully: "I fail to see how even my undoubted genius can get much-needed food into that very attractive mouth when it has a dirty great ball jammed in it. Now cultivate your manners my helpless one," and, with a huge grin, he departed presumably for the kitchen.

She drank the last of her wine and waited patiently while he washed her face and removed the napkin that he had tied around her neck. "A strange household this, "she ventured.

"How so?"

"Can't be so many places where the captive slave sits at ease while the Master takes care of all the chores."

"Ah, I see. You seek to barter for your freedom? No. Oh no. I take pity on you now, damsel, because you have had a long hard and unfortunate day. Tomorrow... tomorrow you will start to earn your freedom."

For some reason, which she did not quite understand, a little shiver ran up her spine. Perhaps it was the reminder that she was completely...

"But first things first." He interrupted her thoughts: "That thing on your head looks heavy. I don't think you can be left to sleep with it in place. Discomfort is but a slave's lot; a death in the family is the Master's loss."

He crossed to the door, reached through the opening and came back with a small pair of bolt cutters. There came a sharp pull on the throat strap accompanied by a loud "Crack!" followed by a similar action against her forehead and he peeled away the brank. "You could have used those before," she accused.

"What would have been the point?" She was speechless.

"But," he continued and pursed his lips as though involved with a weighty decision: "Removal of the devilish device has released your tongue, I fear. But don't despair. I have a gadget that exactly matches your present ensemble."

He left her untethered but they both knew she was not going anywhere. On his return he was carrying a ball-gag but unlike any she had seen before. Not a strap to be seen; the complicated harness was made entirely of small-link polished chain. It was pointless to fight him and he quickly put her tongue out of action once more and encased her head and face in a spider-like web of chains. He used a total of three small padlocks to secure it and then, with the bolt cutters, he removed the locks that chained her wrists to her ankles.

He laid aside his cutters, seized her chain leash and led her from the room. Their jingling journey ended in what was obviously the kitchen - a gorgeous room with a low ceiling and heavy curved beams that must, in their origins, have been carved for the ribs of a ship. He reached up and hooked her chain over something attached to one of the beams but, fettered as she was, she could not hope to reach it.

"Someone," he said in pontifical tones, "has to wash up. So ... get busy slave!"

While she did not object to the task as such, she very much objected to the style of its assignment. Unable to express herself, either in word or act, she stamped her foot in impotent rage. The only practical result was a discordant jangle.

He turned back, turned an ear and cupped his hand around it: "'Tis truly said that actions speak louder than words. And your actions... WOW! What might you do... how you would excel in ringing-in a New Year?"

For a few moments she wound-up in preparation for that explosion to end all explosions but then, as the absurdity of her position was reinforced by yet more jangling noises, she suddenly burst into laughter. Well! It WOULD have been laughter but for the damned ball stuck behind her teeth and she perforce descended into a series of giggles that erupted through her being like gigantic burps from the depths of a dark woodland pool.

Perhaps that was the moment that she first realised this man did not represent any threat to her. He was playing a game, enjoying himself at her expense, leading her on while he systematically relieved her of the bondage. With that realisation there came a change in spirit; this was a game that she could enjoy too. With the wrist to ankle chains gone she had some movement restored to her hands and she thought of throwing something at him but the chain that still passed behind her back from elbow to elbow would spoil her aim.

She had just about finished the task when she felt something tugging on her waist belt. She had not heard him enter the kitchen but he was there and he was removing the chain that linked her elbow cuffs via that belt. It restored a degree of freedom to her hands but her elbows still remained linked to the waist belt. "Thought it best for my crockery," he grinned.

He led her back to the room in which he had first seated her and left her collar-chain draped over the back of the chair; she believed he hadn't secured it. "It's unfortunate for you," he began while setting about once more removing the gag, "that I have long fantasised over holding a woman captive in chains. Seem to have been dreaming about it since ever I can remember. And now... well..."

"That makes you a D.Y.M.," she interrupted.

"D.Y.M.?"

"A dirty YOUNG man."

"You seem woefully unaware of the respect due from slave to master. Now, there is a television documentary program that I particularly wish to see and will NOT brook any interruption. So..." He went behind her chair and, without warning, she found a large white cloth being pressed against her mouth. At first she clamped her jaw shut but then, thinking of the shackles in which she was still bound, she relented and opened up to be promptly gagged again. However, this was much more comfortable than the one she had worn all day.

"There's a few minutes yet," he offered; "need a loo break?"

She nodded and he helped her up, led her to a well-appointed lavatory and back. With her again seated he manhandled the chair and it tilted slightly back at the same time extending a footrest. He used a length of rope to tie her feet down to the rest and then turned on the television program. She never discovered what it was all about because she fell into a sound sleep.

She roused to find the room silent and the television receiver turned off. He was cutting the iron ball from her ankle. "The wheelbarrow is not a suitable vehicle with which to negotiate stairs," he explained "and since I will have to carry you... the more of this ballast we can shed the better."

She wanted to suggest that removal of the leg-irons, at least, would enable her to negotiate the stairs with her own legs but he had not removed the gag. All she produced was a series of sounds that were: "Why do women always want to talk with their mouths closed?" he asked plaintively.

Again there was an obvious answer but she was unable to deliver it.

"I do believe," he scolded, "that you nurse a desire to deny me the pleasure of carrying my helpless maiden clasped closely to my bosom. Umm... perhaps I forget... you are the one with the bosom?"

What could she say ... with her mouth blocked?

"Never fear," he whispered as they ascended: "I don't always take unfair advantages. Tonight you sleep solo in a cold, cold bed. You will be accompanied by cold, cold chains and tomorrow, if you can make enough noise, I promise that you shall have the gag back."