Ten to One bondage story | chains, dungeon, cuffs, gag

Dot's Opening Gambit

In reality it was a silly business. As might be expected, it began in a silly conversation after a celebration dinner which, by and large, was a flop.

It was to have been our third celebration get-together and, where seven of us girls had turned up, only one male - the nerdish Anthony - had been willing to give up either football on the telly or the latest attempt to get a nice young lady nude and into bed. Alas poor Anthony, he in the horn-rimmed glasses, came in for a lot of ribbing and caustic repudiation as must be expected in such a heavily-biased gathering. But he showed a true - and unexpected - spirit in the way he took it all on the chin while his mouth, beneath those heavy specs, remained smiling easily.

It was to be several weeks however before I recalled that, where we virtuous seven were making free with the wine bottles, our Nerd was imbibing but very little and so was keeping his wits about him. Which, it has to be said, be it intentional or otherwise was a sensible course in that gathering of predatory heathens.

How did we get on to the subject of the superior sex? Does it matter? Opinions, many completely daft and illogical, were hurled around the table the while our tame nerd sat in observant silence with that vestige of a smile playing over his lips. That was until Deirdre challenged him:

"Hey! There's one of the decadent drones amongst us. Haven't you an opinion on this Tony? Don't the male species need to be defended?"

Antony's smile broadened showing that he was not put out either by the attack on himself nor that on his peers. "On the contrary," he said easily; "There's much to be said on both sides. You're looking for an answer to a non-question."

"Oh, my God. The intellectual answer."

He turned toward Shelley: "No. Not intellectual but I admit to being thoughtful. In general I think women are admirable but veer toward extremes. They are either bloody good at what they undertake or bloody awful whereas the general mass of men are but mediocre."

"Traitor."

"If telling the truth is traitorous ... I can only agree with you."

"You obviously don't count yourself among the "general mass"?"

"Well now, you ... you're in a position to pontificate on this. How many men do you know who could run a household - washing, washing-up, shopping, cleaning, etc - look after two or three kids, get them up in the mornings, wash and feed them before getting them off to school, getting them back home again and feed them, as well as preparing the evening meal in time for their spouse's homecoming and even then be good and reasonable company through the evening ... and all while six months pregnant?"

His headlong charge set off a deafening silence until Meg said: "But how many women do you know who could take-down a hundred-sixty pound man."

"Meaning you're on my side? Surely we have to acknowledge that each sex has its attributes and a given place in society?"

"You're over-looking most of the other factors. It's not as simple as all that."

"Well, OK. Think about this one. Women can be relied on to make a decision; in their role of family controller they have been obliged to do so down through the ages. If Time proves that it was a bad decision, then they are quite happy to profit from the lesson and make a new decision. Men, on the other hand, are mortally afraid of making a bad decision which could make them look a twat to their contemporaries. They seek shelter in numbers and so form a committee and try to talk any problem out of existence. Compare the way Maggie Thatcher dealt with the menace of the General Belgrano, that Argie ship in the Falklands War ... men would still be in committee to this day trying to talk it out of fuel."

This unexpected championing of women's prowess took the gathering by surprise. "So," said tiny Sophie, "you would prefer to work for a woman rather than a man?"

"In a general sense yes but it must depend on specifics. Not all women are good at managing ... and only a few men are."

"So how many women would you equate to one man?"

"How much cheese would you expect to find in a ham sandwich?"

"What the hell'sh that shupposed to mean?"

"It could mean, Megan, that you have drunk just a little more than your limit."

"Now you're gettin' in...in...shulting."

"You don't go a hundred and sixty pounds, Anthony. Just how many women d'you reckon it would take to best you?"

"That must depend on the women; how big, how skilled, how trained in fighting techniques, how good at planning and how good at reacting off the cuff to a situation as it develops."

"Wouldn't it depend also on how big, strong and clever you are yourself?"

"Of course."

"Let'sh put it to tesht. Reckon to beat any of ush ... here?"

"Well you are all, every one of you, on the small size. Any of you trained in martial arts?"

"Don' think sho. You trained, Ant'ny?"

"As a matter of fact ... yes."

"Oh-oh. Big bad warrior type. Bet he couldn't deal with all sheven of ush all ... shtogether. What shay girls? Shall we bash him with handbags?"

The Nerd's First Reply

In truth it was indeed a rash undertaking. Small though all but one of them may have been I doubted that even I could have stood up to a combined onslaught from all seven at once. Maybe there were enough of them to get in each other's way but I would be obliged to use minimum force - even less - for it would not do for any of them to get hurt. On the other hand, should I take a knock or two, that would certainly be a matter for mirth.

The commitment had been made and so I had little choice but to go through with it or...? It would have to be played like a game of chess - all about tactics. The only possible strategy was to divide and conquer. Somehow I had to separate them out, pick off the stragglers one by one until the odds became more even. Better still, perhaps, until the odds were entirely in my favour.

As the one challenged I had chosen the venue - my place in the country. That took them by surprise but not as much as I hoped it would become. It's not pretentious but it stands in about eight or nine acres largely wooded and surrounded on all sides with similar terrain. Ideal for playing the sort of game I needed if I was to win this contest namely the capture in bondage of seven females. The wager was that, if I won, they would be mine for a week; should I lose ... well, I had no intention of doing so.

The end game would be well worthwhile - for me - but I had to get home and dry before such enjoyment would be forthcoming. A little luck came my way in that the first weekend that we could all get together was just over three weeks away and I was going to need every minute of it to prepare.

If films are to be believed, it is easy for cowboys to cut one cow or bullock from a herd but I could hardly ride in there swinging a lariat. True I had the necessary skill resulting from a misspent youth but it would only succeed once and then the whole herd would be on my neck! My mind turned longingly on giant rat traps; girl-sized cages with spring-triggered gates but it was impracticable - no, in three weeks it was impossible.

I shelved the problems of capture to concentrate on the resulting need to contain. Could I succeed in taking them one at a time, I would need to hold six, or maybe seven, girls out of the way until they were all under lock and key. The solution to that was relatively obvious and it was the main reason for my choice of hunting ground. Way above the house, and more or less buried in the woods, was a mysterious structure whose origins we had never discovered. Essentially it was a concrete tank which at first we had assumed to be a reservoir that had been abandoned when piped water became available.

On consideration however my Father had concluded that it was an unlikely story mainly because it had a one-piece reinforced-concrete lid; without access how would you clean it? There were two pipes that pierced a wall just under the roof; one could have been a water inlet but, for an outlet, you would expect the other to be about a foot above the floor? Another wall was pierced to make a doorway and that was fitted with a substantial door. As was once said in Wonderland: "Curiouser and curiouser."

After its discovery Father had planned to make it into a store-room-cum-workshop. He laid on water and a power cable using one of the pipe entries and then, with the aid of a jackhammer, he sunk a series of ragbolts into the walls at three levels and roughly thirty-inch intervals with the intention of erecting shelves and partitions. At that point he became seriously ill and died; his plans, all in his head, died with him.

We called it many names: the Icehouse, the Tank, Dad's folly...! As I stood inside and looked around I knew that it was the ideal basis for my maidens' pen. I had anchor points along the walls, others protruding from the floor, power, a water feed. Buried in the ground it benefited from an equable atmosphere that would be easy to heat. Above all it was remarkably dry; just provide a carpet and it would be ... well ... habitable ?

With a job, a small inheritance and only myself to please, I had funds aplenty and I spent freely - and no doubt unwisely - to bring about a long cherished fantasy: two lines of slave girls helpless in chains and awaiting my fancy. No, there weren't any sexual designs probably because I have a great regard for the feminine sex and forced-submission was not at all to my liking. If a woman comes to me it has to be of her volition. But that is not to say that I wouldn't - indeed I did - enjoy the sight of womanhood struggling for a freedom that she had willingly forfeited?

Seven sets plus one extra just in case. One for luck? I purchased extra hardware to complete eight each of handcuffs, of long-chain cuffs that would leave the hands separated by about fifteen inches, leg-irons that would limit stride to a ten-inch shuffle, belly chains and padlocks, gags with locks, steel collars with more locks and five-foot chains to serve as either leashes or tethers. There were many other thoughts but I was aware already of over-kill and turned my attention to tools of capture.

Then there was work to be done on the tank; I purchased and laid a large secondhand carpet and set to work on it with the steam cleaner. A second shopping spree became necessary to provide eight sleeping bags, a couple of washbasins and other toilet necessities. A pump-it-out loo cost me dearly in time to install. Never did a dungeon sport such comforts which I doubted very much would be truly appreciated by my prospective lodgers. Finally the ragbolts in the walls had to be adapted as securing points for chains. At last, with four days to go, the job was mostly completed but I was close to exhaustion.

Four days to go and very tired I still had to formulate a plan to get them into the seraglio and I began to regret the folly of it all. But, standing in the middle of the tank and looking at my handiwork, the chains inspired imaginative thoughts of the bodies soon to be protesting in them and my resolve strengthened.

I had spent odd hours wandering through my woods and had begun to hatch a plot to separate and trap my intended victims. But so much depended on ... would they arrive in ones, twos ... perhaps altogether? That last was unlikely but best not considered. I went about the construction of simple traps with secondary traps to cover the first and set at strategic points. Only Time would tell!

The balloon was set to rise on the Saturday morning and late Friday evening I made a round of inspection. Satisfied, I was making my way back to the House when one of my traps was sprung ... there came a crash followed by a girlish shriek. It wasn't difficult to pinpoint the spot and, taking care not to step into one myself, I hurried there. It was no accidental trigger by a stray animal - I had caught a real live girl.

Hanging by one ankle she was endeavouring to shed a rucksack but, a little to my surprise, she did not follow up on that first yelp of surprise.

"What are you doing to my tree?"

I was answered by a contralto voice, very pleasant to hear, very quiet, controlled: "To hell with your tree; what's it doing to ME?"

"It's dangling you. The other two methods of entrapment, namely strangling and mangling, are a bit messy especially should it be desirable to use the catch. I would introduce you but under the circumstances, and being unaware of your identity, what can I say except 'This is my Triffid'. It has been especially trained as a female-trespasser trap."

"What does it do to males of that ilk?"

"It has yet to catch one but it's supposed to chuck them right back to whence they came."

"Well, I claim femininity so what happens next?"

"Fortunately for you it's late in the day and I've already fed it. That being so, it will release you into my keeping. But first I must secure you in proper manner and then you will be confined to my dungeon."

"That's all very well for your Triffid but I haven't eaten yet. Usually, when I drop in on someone, they at least offer hospitality."

"Full marks for cheekiness although it would seem that you've dropped ... um ... not so much IN as UP? Let's start at the proper place ... who are you and why were you sneaking around my garden?"

"Hmm. I've seen a few gardens in my life but never one so big as this and certainly never one that pulled my leg."

"It will pull a bit less if I help you off with that pack." Ready primed for the next day I had handcuffs in my pocket: "I asked who?"

"I'm Claire. I'm doing a cross-country walk ... that's my compass hanging down there. I came to a fence and went over it but nobody told me about the friendly reception committee."

"Well now, as it happens, I'm expecting some friends tomorrow for a get together. I have a spare place. If you'd care to take it, then I'll offer you the full hospitality of the establishment."

"If that includes a cup of tea or even a glass of wine ... I'll take it. But please ... do something before I have one leg longer than the other."

I stepped up to her and halted her slow spin. Then, catching her right hand, I slipped the cuffs on to her wrist and seconds later she was securely cuffed behind.

"What the hell...?"

"Fear not," I said, " 'tis but the hospitality that you accepted. Did I fail to mention you would be stepping into a weekend bondage competition? Hang on there just a moment ... " and I nipped into the bushes where I had gear ready stashed.

Claire's Introduction

Yes. You might say that my introduction to Tony was a shade unconventional. Oddly I was never at all afraid. Looking back on it it's hardly usual to arrive at a place where you are not expected - as it were - and then to find yourself hoisted into a tree by one leg. I suppose had it happened while walking in public woods I might have been, shall we say, alarmed but my worst fear was along the lines of some kid's trick.

He helped me get rid of the backpack and then, with a matter-of-fact attitude, calmly handcuffed me behind my back. He took-off into the bushes to return within seconds with more of the same, or so I thought at first, but they proved to be leg-irons with which he linked my ankles before finally lowering me to the ground. He helped me to my feet, lifted my pack and, with "This way!" simply walked off and left me.

That was when I discovered what he had done; at my first step I simply dived into the ground because my ankles were limited to a separation of about ten inches and my hands and arms had essentially disappeared. I won't repeat here what I called him but he came hurrying to my side and lifted me back on to my feet with apologies so profuse that I was reduced to laughter.

"Forgot about the hobble ... " he began but I cut him short.

"A short hobble chain AND my hands locked behind me ... what do you think I am ... a frog? A kangaroo? Do you greet all guests in this way?"

He grinned ... a bit sheepishly I thought: "Put it down to excitement. I've no experience in hosting ladies or, for that matter, hoisting them ... let alone taking prisoners."

"Should that surprise me?"

"To judge by the objections, the threats, the tears, the pleadings ... you are no stranger to bondage?"

"But that's because you promised me a cup of tea."

"And tea you shall have. But, please, try and stay on your feet; I can't take you to hospital in chains ... if only because the nurses may be allergic to steel."

That was how, cuffed and hobbled and with Tony hanging on to my arm, I came first into his house. If the house was remarkable it was nothing compared to the week that was to follow. He claimed to have no experience in playing host to ladies or in holding prisoners but he certainly had every intention of making up for lost time.

He left me on a kitchen chair to watch the kettle as it got excited about tea but was soon back bearing more metalwork. First came a neat band about an inch wide which he closed around my neck and then secured it with one of the smallest padlocks I have ever seen. Then, with a larger lock, he secured a length of chain to the collar: "Would you be afraid I may escape?"

"You've no chance at all," he replied, "which is why I can now give you back the use of your hands."

His next offering was a pair of long-chain handcuffs, which he locked on to my wrists before releasing the first pair. "Step over the chain if you want to feed yourself with tea."

Thus my first introductory meal "chez Tony", albeit a light meal, was taken in chains - about eighteen inches between my wrists, ten inches for the hobble and with a steel collar locked around my neck with five feet or more of chain attached as a leash. By now you must have guessed that I was not a stranger to bondage. As we drank tea and consumed some fancy cakes he explained the nature of the venture which had lead to my capture.

"Actually," he said with a mouthful of cake, "I could use your services for tonight. A sort of test run - a bit of practice. But, you're the boss. If you want ... just say ... and of course ... I'll let you go at once."

He gave me a long and hard look, then: "Understand this is just a bit of fun. You may be imprisoned in inescapable steel ... you've already proved the workability of one of my traps ... but it stops there. No, er, hanky-panky."

I felt myself colouring. "Foolish, perhaps, but it hadn't occurred to me that there might be danger in this. And that's meant as a compliment. But, er ... um ... I have as yet to find accommodation for the night."

"I see." You could almost see the wheels turning behind those horn-rimmed specs. "There is a bed ready for you out in the maiden store but you might find it a bit spooky out there all alone. For tonight, if you wish, you can have the spare room but tomorrow ... its out to the dungeon where you'll soon meet the others ... I ... er ... hope!"

I saw opportunity: "If I'm to spend the weekend like this and among other chained specimens ... I could be of use to you? A spy in the enemy camp? A decoy perhaps?"

It was clear that idea appealed to him but almost immediately his brow wrinkled: "Hardly fair. This is supposed to be a contest of one against seven; your help would exactly halve the agreed odds?"

"But they have now increased to one in eight."

"But you've been taken already. That's why you must either go through with it or leave first thing in the morning. After all ... you know a lot about my preparations and could pile on the odds against."

"I'd not do any such thing. I keep my word."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to put you down. In fact ... shamed to say ... " and he started to colour: "it's really that I want to keep you just as you are. Sporting chains. Between your hands and your feet. And seeing that I'm in the driving seat if you stay it's the spare room tonight and a weekend of slavery."

Nerd's Middle Game

The next day, strangely enough, dawned bright and early and it was a magnificent morning. I began to believe that Nature had come on to my side and was intent on showing my little estate at its very best. The consequences of it being otherwise was not considered at that moment; one of those dark and dreary days with overcast skies, pouring rain, driving winds ... could have spelt only disaster.

Up early I spent about fifteen minutes outside in contemplation of the day that was to come. Then it was that I truly appreciated that a plan of campaign ... I had not. So much depended on the imponderables and I was going to be forced to play it off the cuff.

All days, whether good or bad, must for me start with breakfast. I went upstairs, released Claire from her bed and one hand from the cuffs and then secured her in the bathroom: "Brekky in twenty minutes!" Being of the male form I, of course, forgot that she would wish for clothes and so, with a feeling of regret, had perforce to return her to the bedroom for a decent period. Soon she appeared downstairs clad in a T-shirt and jangling her cuffs at me: "Can't make myself decent unless you take off the leg-irons ... 'less maybe ... you're planning a weekend of naked joy?"

I was getting the idea that his was no meekly innocent wench and that perhaps it was best I kept her in restraint? With her hands once again cuffed and one leg freed I sent her back up to cover her intimate parts. We had a pleasant ... nay, a merry ... breakfast at the end of which my newly-acquired slave volunteered to wash-up while I took the opportunity to visit the tank for a couple of last-minute jobs. I was on the way back when I heard the sound of a car crunching up to the house.

Not only was Claire an unexpected guest but Claire-in-chains would have given away too much and I sprinted for the front door. I was in time to see Megan stagger out of her mini and look around in an apparent daze - or haze? "Another night on the booze?"

"My dear Tony. You have such an elegant way of saying 'Welcome'. But, yes. I was partying last night and, in fact, decided to come straight on and catch up on my sleep when I got here. So this is chez Tony - as you put it? Impressive. Very!"

"Naughty of you to drive while under the influence and even more naughty to do it while tired. Come, I'll show you where you will be sleeping. Get cleaned up and I'll provide some coffee."

"Dear boy. They do call you 'nerd' but I will testify to your civilised take on life."

I accepted the compliment, took her bag and led off ... in a high state of nervousness. Very shortly, I knew, she might be changing her view of my civilised character. It didn't take very long at that. She stood stock still as she surveyed the sleeping quarters and then, apparently speechless, started to wriggle out of her coat. Then did Tony-the-nerd strike. 'Tis said that opportunity knocks but once and I was not one to ignore a chance especially when the odds are stacked against me. She was standing with her arms behind her caught in the coat-sleeves and I had but to whip the handcuffs from my pocket...

"Beauty of Merciless Domination - Realless FemDom Art"

"What in... Hey ... let me go!"

I finished removing the jacket for her and then tightened the cuffs. "If it's any consolation you're not the first to come into my parlour. I'll take them off in a jiffy but first ... " I pushed her up to the wall at the head of her bed and fitted her neck with a nice little collar that just happened to be waiting there.

The click of the padlock was drowned by her scream of fury: "That's not fair. We haven't started yet."

"For you, my dear Megan, it has just finished. Now let me get those cuffs and you can make yourself comfortable while I fetch you some brekky."

It was while on my way back to the house that the idea struck me. "One down ... six to go," I said to Claire. But I've been thinking about your offer. You can't help me take them but you could make life easier for us all if you became slave keeper? Keep them fed, watered and generally cared-for? Be my slave-girls' slave-girl ... nurse-maid?"

"You may be the nerd she named you but, Tony, you are undoubtedly a most wicked nerd. An example of audacious nerdacious nerdiness. But ... I'll agree if I can keep my room and be spared your concrete seraglio."

"But you are in chains." I rubbed my hands together: "You are completely in my power - well almost completely - and you can't be allowed to make conditions."

"How true. How true," she sighed. "But mistake me not - those are my conditions."

"Six more examples of the plaguey sex are about to descend on me and this is not the time for argument. I agree ... but remember that tomorrow is another day! Now, there is already a member of that same sex chained to the wall in the dungeon and she is in need of breakfast - not to mention release. She may demand freedom as much as she likes ... demanding is not limited ... but I am not going to relinquish the keys. She is there for the duration so go do your best for her."

Claire jangled her chains: "What do I do about these? She can hardly miss them."

"Do they need explaining? She's got one of her own and SHE came here for a specific purpose. Imagination, dear woman. Imagination can work all sorts of wonders - except with locks?"

Then came that noise again. Ye Gods. It was raining women! Beside Megan's car I beheld a door open to put forth the diminutive Sophie; yes, should be easy. But, almost as at a given signal, two more doors gave me pause ... Sophie had a bodyguard of two!

"Hi, Tony. Gorgeous place. Hope you don't mind ... I brought two friends along with me. They came unexpectedly and I couldn't just walk out on them."

"Well, they are just a bit bigger than yourself. Don't tell me that they're into marshal arts? You have rather tilted the odds?"

"Silly boy. No, they couldn't punch a rice pudding between them."

"But I haven't got any rice pudding. Did you think to bring some?"

"I'll ignore that. This is Ethel and the longer one is Muriel."

We shook hands: "Such a wonderful spot," said Muriel: "How big is it?"

Opportunity again: "It's supposed to be about nine acres," I said, "but walking in those woods it seems much larger. Walk up that path there ... stretch your legs after that drive ... and you come into further woods which aren't mine but the boundary isn't marked. A gentleman's agreement."

"Not a bad idea. You don't mind?"

"Of course not. Enjoy yourselves."

But Muriel alone shared that curiosity and went off alone. I picked up a couple of cases: "Then I'll show you first where you'll be sleeping; freshen up and then there's coffee and things on the go."

Lady luck seemed with me that morning. Sophie, shouldering a backpack, walked to my right while her larger friend trailed slightly to my left. I walked up the path toward the snare that had caught Claire but kept well to the right. Alas Ethel managed to get past the rope but I had more hope with the net I'd set to cover it. A gasp, a short squeal of surprise, a crash as a heavy weight fell to the ground and Ethel was curled up in a steadily-tightening net bag.

"Quickly!" I grabbed Sophie's arm and urged her toward the dungeon. Startled out of her wits she ran with me and was soon standing beside Megan wearing a neat collar of her own. "I'll leave Megan to explain ... got to rescue Ethel."

I lied. I left Ethel where she was while, armed with the lasso, I went to find Muriel. That lady sure appreciates the country but she had absolutely zero woodcraft. I found her with my ears, lay in ambush on the edge of a clearing and was soon leading her with arms trapped to her sides and with wrists bound behind. A little resentful ... yes. But a good sport. Fifteen minutes later I reported a tally of four to my new kennel maid who, after presenting me with a much needed cup of coffee, departed with a tray of breakfast to sympathise with her fellow captives. No! She had not the slightest idea as to where I stashed the keys.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon passed with much the same ease. True, Jody gave me bit of a fright when she turned into the approach just as Deirdre was extricating bags from the boot of her car. I was trying to think up a reason why, with six cars parked in a row, there was no sign of the occupants when I heard the crunch of tyres. Not a time for niceties? With a lock on Deirdre's right wrist I clamped on the cuffs, jerked her around and, while she was still thinking about a suitable protest, I had her hands cuffed behind. One hand under her backside to provide lift and she went headfirst into her own boot. Of course I dropped the door on her - not much point in the exercise else - and she began to think of all sorts of things to say. Jody, at the other end of the line, switched off her engine just as I turned up the volume on Deirdre's taste in thumping-bass music. Yes it was indeed a most ungentlemanly act but, as one says, it was timed to a frazzle..

But ... the tally had become six ... four to go!

I think it was Dot who entered the lists at number-7. I had been running an experimental kidnap on Claire with a large hessian sack once used for sugar-beet pulp - I think. It proved to be quite useful to subdue an unwilling maiden but the exercise was interrupted when Dot's beloved but aged jalopy belched an indignant backfire as she killed the ignition. When I arrived outside to greet her, sack in hand, I found her bent deeply into the dark hole which she had opened up in its rear end ... thus exposing mainly her own rear end! There should not be a need to describe the action that followed which terminated with Dot's entry into the dungeon with her objections severely hampered by folds of hessian and a leather strap.

Seven down ... plus Claire ... two to go. But ... did not that make ten? I had purchased restraints only for eight! Claire proposed some improvisation with chains but they were needed if I was to achieve that fantasy of a coffle! Eight into ten is possible of course to the mathematician but eight sets of handcuffs cannot possibly deal with a ten-girl coffle. Then again, Claire was not part of the original deal and so I could legitimately claim only nine captives? A bit of a cheat but then needs must when ... ?

Now, in truth, the crisis had been caused by Sophie and so perhaps she should be the one to suffer? I remembered that, at the back of the garage's standard heap of jumble, there was a packet of plastic cable ties and none has been known to deny that they make excellent handcuffs. Thus equipped I cuffed her hands to one of her ankles and so released a collar to secure number nine. Sleeping arrangements were now somewhat jumbled but time enough to settle that when I had them all secured.

Deirdre and Shelley followed. I must for ever be grateful to them for the sporting way in which they arrived singly each, of course, driving her own car. I could be accused of cheating in that I started before any pre-arranged starting-gun was sounded but then they were guilty of over-confidence? With the odds heavily in their favour, and even after the effects of the wine had evaporated, it never occurred to any of them that a timetable had not been set.

The last one was ridiculously easy. Shelley telephoned to say she had broken down and I played the gallant host and sallied forth to collect her. Arrived chez-Tony I led her directly to the dungeon and there, as she stood thunderstruck at the sight of eight clamouring young ladies chained to a wall ... I made her also a free gift of jewellery.

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There was some dissension but the majority vote went in my favour. With the help of my dungeon mistress, and the promise of dinner, we arranged them in the form of a coffle, each one handcuffed behind and with leg-irons. There was still a difficulty in that, although I had bought one extra set of restraints, I had not foreseen Sophie's two companions and my coffle required nine sets. But we had the plastic ties, seven remaining long-chain cuffs and several spare padlocks and the job was soon done.

At that point Megan began to feel thirsty and demanded a glass of wine. On second thoughts she felt that at least two would be necessary to compensate for the long day spent chained by the neck to an unsympathetic wall. Claire solved that with a ball-gag which, it must be admitted, greatly moistened Megan's mouth but failed entirely to raise her spirits. Then, in the spirit of fairness but mostly because it pleased me to do so, I added Claire to the back of the line of captives.

Thus, suitably enslaved, all ten were conducted to the dining room. My favourite fantasy had been to arrange them in a double-coffle five long and cross-linked two abreast but, lacking sufficient of the metal stuff and because hunger pains were stressing the dimension of Time, I had to give up on the super-coffle.

End Game by Sophie

As the smallest in that gathering, I have to admit that Anthony's game of coffle-'em hit me the hardest. Chained fore and aft to people who are taller than yourself, who possess longer legs and more weight ... well, why spell it out? Let's be honest about it; when we accepted the challenge we none of us expected Tony to make good on his boast. We were naive on two counts: even if we lost to him it only involved a longer than usual bondage session and, with seven of us, we should be able to mount an escape? Secondly, of course, we failed to set some ground rules; we assumed that, if we arrived on Friday, then the fun and games would begin when the company was assembled or, if not, then early Saturday. Wrong! We under-estimated him. Tony picked us off one by one as we arrived and stashed us in his underground bunker chained by the neck. For me it turned into plastic ties but, in truth, the contest never got to be more than one-on-one - absolutely foolish odds,

No, I didn't exactly plan to tilt the odds even further by taking along Ethel and Muriel. They did indeed turn up unexpectedly but yes, I extended the invitation with more than a trace of malice aforethought. So I, at least, deserved what came to me. Claire was the surprise for us although it was difficult to decide on which side she was playing. We gathered later that she had arrived by accident, even earlier than we, and had decided to stay for the party. Moreover Tony had turned-down her offer to act as undercover agent and had insisted that for her it had to be all or nothing at all. Later he recruited her to look after us in bondage which probably explained the fact that she appeared to constantly change sides?

He tagged Claire on to the end of the coffle when he took us on a tour of the grounds which if nothing else showed that he was enjoying the situation even if we had doubts. Then he asked for a volunteer to help Claire complete the arrangements for dinner. Megan, suffering for her aggressive mouth, was left to splutter behind her gag and it was Muriel who nodded vigorously. He detached Claire with Muriel, who happened to be the end of the line, but left them attached to each other. He then removed all their other restraints before sending them off to the kitchen. Then he linked the front of the coffle to its rear end and abandoned us in a closed circle around a substantial tree. Indignation reined all around but there was absolutely nothing that we could do about it. Tony was establishing who was in charge and we could but stand and wait.

We ate dinner in similar manner linked in a semicircle around the table. Tony removed the collars but put small chains around our waists to which he attached the coffle chains. Tony, Claire and Muriel were seated in the gap and those two were kept busy jumping up and down between eating and ferrying stuff from the kitchen. With the meal ended, and everyone again feeling the effects of the wine, he hobbled Claire with a long chain that passed behind a radiator and sent two others to clear and wash the dishes. I don't recall their names who but can ever forget that Megan had to be threatened again with the ball-gag? In many ways that might be construed one of the benefits of that weekend - perhaps of bondage?

The room was warm, the wine was heady and conversation lapsed. The dishwashers returned and Tony re-attached them to his coffle and then made the rounds restoring collars. He detached Muriel from Claire, added her once again at the coffle's end and then announced it was time for bed. Surprisingly nobody demurred - which has to be a compliment to Claire's cooking. We filed obediently back through the woods to the dungeon, were re-attached to the wall, all the restaints were removed except - and none noticed until next morning - the hobbles and he bade us good night. I did wonder - vaguely - why Claire had been left shackled to the radiator but it was not of consequence and I was asleep in seconds.

End Game by Tony

When I got back to the house Claire was still sitting by the radiator - a matter not unconnected with the reluctance of her legs to move away from it

"Now, " I said, "there is a little matter of attempted blackmail."

At first she seemed a trifle surprised but then: "How could I care for your fantasy women if I was chained up alongside them?"

"As a slavegirl you must do as you are told. It's not for you to lay down conditions."

"Not a slave ... abductee. I'm being forcibly restrained. It was you who named me slave-keeper. Slavegirl's slavegirl is what you said and then nursemaid?"

"No matter how you play with words. How do you propose to get out of this?"

"Out of what?"

How about a demonstration." I closed with her and, with her feet hobbled around the radiator, there is little credit to be claimed from the fact that ten minutes later she lay face down in a hogtie and gurgling around a ball gag. I set her up on the table, ran a rope from her ankles right round the table and back to her ankles thus ensuring she would not fall off, and settled in the armchair to watch the show. I'd given her enough slack to encourage an escape attempt but there was little chance she could accomplish one.

She gave me a jolly good performance for twenty minutes until I moved into the kitchen to make some coffee. While it was heating I returned to take out the gag and found her quiet, apparently having given up: "Had enough?"

"Yes please. What the hell has got into you? Or ... perhaps I'm supposed to say ... something like 'Sorry Master? Did I squirm well enough to earn forgiveness?" But the grin completely denied the submission.

"You, " I said, "are a wicked deceptive girl. An unrepentent cheeky wench who does not understand captivity. Tomorrow I propose to send the others home but you ... you shall stay for a week of horrible torture. Horrible, horrible, indeed truly horrendous torture." It seemed she was not at all concerned.

"What," I asked, "is your safe-word?"

"We have yet to agree one."

"So. You understand the meaning of safe-word yet you entered into this bondage game without negotiating such a word?"

"As I recall I was not given the chance. I was hung by one leg and given an ultimatum."

"It was your decision to stay for the party. Without a safe-word I fear that you are all mine. Mine for as long as I choose. You have absolutely zero get-out options."

"Not at all, I ... " but I admitted (near) defeat by ramming back the ball gag. Then I untied her from the table and carried her up to my bedroom.

No, no, no. Not at all. There was nothing she could do about it. There was nothing she tried to do about it. Not a peep, neither a wriggle nor a squirm did she evince. In fact she behaved in what you COULD construe as a most unladylike manner. But, undeniably, she did it in an exquisitely exciting manner.

Next morning, when I awoke, she was there beside me neatly packaged in rope and eyeing me with large round eyes. The impish grin was still there as was the tongue still in rapid-fire with repartee. It simply would not do. I lifted the ball from around her neck, strapped it back into her mouth and took her to the bathroom. Back on my nest I started the bedside coffee maker and then removed the ball-gag. Immediately: "Coffee is a brilliant idea but no use whatever with that damned ball stuck in my mouth."

"Slave-girls, particularly helpless slavegirls, do not express such opinions. Rather are they anxious to express gratitude for such as is granted them ... when it is granted them ... when they have been given permission to express such gratitude. Now wench ... mend thy ways else I shall sew together those luscious lips and be forced to feed you through an ear."

Her eyebrows rose to her hair-line: "My all-glorious master, controller of my world, light of my life, giver of my voice, lover above all lovers ... at times you can be such a pompous ass that..." At this rate we were going to wear out that long suffering gag.

Now there was a tactic I had discovered on the Internet and which I had long desired to try out. What better time than when I had a helpless captive that feared not retribution but who nevertheless needed to know the true reality of HELPLESS-ness. Lifting her to the floor I pushed her down to kneel and then pushed her knees apart enabling me to cross her ankles behind.

Bind the ankles - no matter how gently - with one end of a rope and then take the other end under her rump to be secured to her wrists. It looked innocuous enough and, indeed, my lady seemed to be somewhat scornful of the arrangement. With my right hand between her shoulder-blades I applied forward pressure and she tilted over on to her knees with her feet rising off the floor. I continued the pressure and, as she continued to lean, so she passed the balance point and I needs must use my left hand to ensure a gentle descent for her face. It needed not encouragement from me for her to turn her face to the left and land on the right cheek.

It was then I think that scorn turned to dismay. Standing like a three-legged stool she had contact with the carpet only on her knees and her right cheek. Her hands and fingers writhed uselessly in thin air; he feet and toes writhed uselessly in thin air. With zero leverage she had no choice but to stay there. Every ten minutes I lifted her head and turned her on to the other cheek; it prevented injury but rubbed in the fact of her complete helplessness. Total control was for Anthony-the-nerd.

After half an hour I removed the gag and enquired solicitously if she needed help. "That must be the silliest question ever put to me!"

"Do I detect a hint that my slave-girl has decided to behave? To keep that tongue of hers inside the mouth without a plug in th' 'ole? In short ... is she prepared to concede defeat? Of course, if you like that position, I can easily arrange for you to keep it for, say, a couple of hours. Days if you'd prefer."

There was nothing but silence. Undoubtedly that cheeky twinkle had gone from the eyes that watched me so steadily but ... not by any means was I looking at a broken woman. "Give in? Concede defeat?"

Another period of silence and then that lovely voice, low, soft, very distinctly said: "Bastard."

All that was quite a few years ago. Today my old house no longer broods amongst its trees and bushes but is alive with the sounds of racing happy children. The annual get together, which it still hosts, sadly has fewer ladies than on that first occasion but numbers have been restored by males who are named husbands. Most of those bring their own chains, cuffs and collars which are kept out of sight until the children are sleeping soundly. Not as difficult as it may seem because now that dungeon is a kids' playroom just as the woods are a superb adventure playground.

In fact the place could be called in all its aspects ... a playground. And my beautiful Claire? When we are alone she still wears those chains. Ostensibly she does that for me but who would doubt that she stills enjoys the feeling of being under control.