Ghost bondage story | collar, chains, castle

Sarah stared in horrified disbelief. Her every instinct urged her to get out of there. She would have run the one-minute mile but was powerless to move.

They had come to this old castle on one of those package theme holidays. In keeping with the atmosphere of the place, visitors were allowed to enter only if they wore medieval costumes. If you could not supply your own, then the proprietors had ample supplies to suit any shape or size. As well as clothing, everything was of its time; the furniture, the furnishings, the food, the utensils even to the rare items of pottery ware which were to be found secluded in their discreet cupboards in each bedroom. Of course, the general water supply and sewerage arrangements were up to date but they had been carefully disguised.

The evening of their arrival had been devoted to a tour of the ancient building and, for Sarah and Jeremy, the dungeons deep beneath and amid the solid stone foundations had been of especial interest. The housekeeper, Miss Challenger, who conducted the tour had apparently held her position ever since her youth and was a rich source of facts, myths, fantasies and folk tales which had become woven around the structure.

Their fascination with bondage games was elevated to a pitch of high excitement as they toured the forbidding torture chamber and its associated cells. As Sarah surveyed the imposing arrays of chains, cuffs, collars, clamps and engines, he could only wonder about the prisoners of old who must have languished in those gloomy and dank chambers.

After much persuasion, the housekeeper had finally agreed to let Jeremy take several photographs of Sarah locked into some of those restraints but in Arabella's cell, she had stubbornly refused all requests for her to wear the neck collar that was attached to the wall by a heavy chain. It was locked in the closed position and Miss Challenger strenuously denied that anyone held a key. They had been obliged to settle for the two massive wrist shackles which prevented her from bringing her hands together and which allowed them no further than two feet from the wall. Similar shackles had been locked around her ankles and, for a brief interval, she had known a feeling of helpless despair. When finally she had been released Jeremy took several different shots of the complete set and she knew that he intended to manipulate the pictures on his computer so as to put the collar around her neck.

The place was named after a lady of old who had refused the advances of the Castle keeper, a very wicked and lecherous Sir Oswald Wyncheley. At his orders, she had been kidnapped and incarcerated in that cell and locked into those very same irons. The favoured story was that, enraged by her refusal to submit, he had visited her in the cell and attempted to ravish her but she had seized the dagger from his belt and plunged it into his leg. Had she not been chained to the wall she might well have made her escape but, in fearful rage, he had strangled her with his bare hands.

Inevitably, of course, the tale had given rise to its ghost story and it was said that Arabella's ghost haunted the castle dungeons. With equal inevitability, none could be found to give a first-hand description either of the lady herself or of the route her ghost was wont to follow in her nocturnal perambulations. The castle, its dungeons and its lore failed equally in the perennial question of why ghosts reputedly prefer to walk at night?

The story, the cell, its manacles and its unfortunate prisoner had captivated Sarah and had begun to dominate her holiday.

"Jeremy! We must get down there and use those restraints again. All of them."

At first Jeremy would hear nothing of it but, finally, she had prevailed.

Late at night, they had made their way to Arabella's cell and there, clad in her medieval dress, she had been locked into the full set of chains.

Jeremy had been reluctant to leave her there but she had waxed so vitriolic that, offended, he'd finally returned to their bedroom where, he was chastened later to recall, he fell asleep.

It was but a few minutes after Jeremy's departure that Sarah had begun to have second thoughts. At first she had known only intense excitement as she tested her chains and found that she was indeed held helplessly to the wall. But they had not thought to bring two torches on the escapade and Jeremy had needed the one to find his way back. Thus Sarah found herself not only unable to move but also trying in vain to pierce the darkness with which she was surrounded.

And that darkness soon began to amplify the sounds of which, up to that moment, she had been completely unaware. There was a strange moaning as the wind swept through some distant part of the structure although the air around her was very still. There was a constant drip-drop as water went about its perennial task of infiltrating places where it was never intended to go. There were too several scurrying noises, which she quickly associated with… rats? She had not seen any of the furry beasts nor seen any signs of them but... when light had been available she had not thought to look! Now that she could only hear...? And hearing them, or fancying that she could hear them, was more horrifying that watching furry bundles scurrying around.

Unknowingly she had raised her hand to her mouth only to have it jerked to a stop at least six inches short. The jangle of the chain sounded, to her straining ears, like a whole chime of church bells falling from their belfry. It was only that forceful realisation of her neck restraint that brought the recollection of Miss Challenger's declaration that nobody held a key to the collar. It had been lying on the ground and opened when Jeremy lifted it and placed it around her neck?

"This," she scolded herself, "is pure nonsense. This is the twentieth century even if you are wearing period clothes and are chained in a medieval dungeon. The chains are supposed to be authentic... and probably they are... why indeed should they wear out? ...there is nothing to fear. Surely, even if ghosts are for real, they're not of this world and so can't harm me?"

Such rational argument helped to get her nerves under control and she'd settled down to endure her imprisonment until someone should come to release her. She had long wanted to experience the real nature of being helpless and alone without there being any possibility of escape. Here was the ideal opportunity. Jeremy would come eventually but meanwhile, as did prisoners of old, she just had to make the best of her discomfort.

It was after perhaps an hour of this waiting that she began to feel cold.

Very cold.

She had tried to sleep but their second mistake lay in not bringing a blanket. Fortunately her period costume was heavy and voluminous but, if she was not mistaken, this was a different sort of coldness to that which had been creeping up on her?

She became aware that the stygian darkness had lessened; she could now discern the outlines of the stone blocks that formed the walls. It must be that the moon was rising because it had to be still too early for the dawn. As she glanced around looking for the crack through which the moonbeam entered it occurred to her that her prison was deep underground. Neither moon nor sun had ever penetrated to that place.

She turned her gaze toward the door and it was then that the first sign of panic arose. Clearly surrounded by a halo of opalescent light was the figure of a woman.

She was dressed in the same medieval fashion as Sarah and, like Sarah, she had long luxuriant but disarrayed hair. Her mouth was open as though screaming and she held her hands behind her. She advanced toward the chained girl in a curious jerky manner and Sarah realised that she was being propelled forcibly from behind and that her hands were pinioned in the small of her back.

She advanced to a position close beside Sarah and then abruptly collapsed to the floor as though thrown down. For a few moments she struggled as with some unseen assailant while, in her turn, Sarah struggled to release herself from her own fetters and flee the place. The chains which held her however, though undoubtedly very old, still possessed the strength to restrain an elephant.

As she abandoned the attempt and looked up once more so her attention became riveted on a second figure. The luminescent figure of a man was approaching and from his hand there dangled a length of silken cord with a tassel at each end. In his belt he carried a dagger in an ornate sheath and her thoughts flew at once to Miss Challenger and her story of the imprisoned maiden. This was the ghost of her attacker and he was approaching Sarah.

No! He must be re-enacting his attempted rape on Arabella... but, looking to her left, the weirdly glowing figure of Arabella was no longer to be seen. Sir Oswald's ghost was coming toward herself!

She screamed her fear and her need for help but not a sound did she make. Fear had gagged her with more efficiency that any physical presence in her mouth. As with any bad dream she was unable to move, unable to cry out. The iron cuffs bit into her wrists and ankles and the heavy collar ground against her collarbone. The fetters held her in a relentless grip. Just so must Arabella have struggled?

The figure reached her and stretched his cord beside her face. Then nature gave her the release she needed and she slipped into unconsciousness.

"Who? Where...?" Sarah stared uncomprehendingly into the face of Miss Challenger.

"Thank God you're all right. I don't... " She left the sentence unfinished.

As Sarah struggled to a sitting position, she found that she had been lying full length on the huge refectory table in the dining hall. "How did...? What am I doing here?"

"I was hoping you would explain that. I heard, or thought I heard, a woman scream and I found you laid out here?"

"I had a bad dream but... "

"A bad dream, was it? Then what's this?" She raised Sarah's left arm and pointed to the angry weal around her wrist. "And look at your other arm. And don't leave out your ankles."

Sarah gazed fearfully at the tell-tale bruises but was unwilling to acknowledge the undeniable truth.

Miss Challenger went on accusingly: "You were in the dungeon. Arabella's cell, weren't you? And that mark around your neck... you little fool! Didn't I make it clear that you were not to put that collar around your neck?"

"But... "

"You can thank your guardian angel that I had those shackles moved. Had he connected with you... had he succeeded... he would not have moved you back here. But he'll not be fooled twice."

"He? But... surely you don't believe all those stories about ghosts?"

"Tell me. How did you manage to put the collar around your neck? I keep it locked. The only key stays always in my possession."

"We found it open. I don't understand..."

"Listen to me, you little idiot. And listen good. Thirty-three years ago - almost to the day - I sought the same sort of thrill. Had myself chained up down there and they all thought it very funny to go off and leave me like that. I don't need to tell you what it felt like, in the dark, hardly able to move?

"He brought Arabella to me, same as I reckon he brought her to you tonight Her hands were tied behind her. He forced her into the cell and threw her down into my lap. I don't know what happened after that because I fainted. When I recovered I was still helplessly chained but it felt... somehow... I don't know. I've never known. But I can tell you that I felt I would never leave this place.

"When they came for me I was strangely calm and I lied... said nothing had happened... all old wives' tales. But WE know differently... you and I... both... yes?"

She threw back the hood of her dressing gown. "Look at me Sarah."

"No," Sarah whispered, "How can it be? It was you I saw down there."

"No. It wasn't me. I told you that he strangled her with his hands? In fact, as I'm sure you now know, he did it with the silk cord of her nightgown. In death, her face was so distorted that he has always used that of another young girl... someone like me. For thirty-three years, I've been that damned ghost's slave and this night he meant to replace me with you."

"Why don't you go away?"

"I've tried twice. I don't believe he can cause me any physical harm but he does – very definitely does - prevent me from leaving. Never mind how. The important thing for you is to wake your man, pack just as quickly as you can and get the hell out of this place. AND NEVER COME BACK!"

Sarah gazed at the woman wondering if the ghost story had driven her out of her mind. Then: "Are you two married?"

"Er... no. We're together but we don't really want to get married."

"If there's one thing his-nibs is likely to respect it's the marriage vows. Get married and STAY AWAY FROM HERE."

She helped Sarah off the table. "When you get to your room look in the mirror and compare the mark on your neck with this on mine. Mine is permanent and here..." She pulled up her sleeves to reveal angry weals on each wrist. "If that doesn't convince you, then I can't save you."

As they were walking to the car, Jeremy asked, "Sarah, why are you walking like that?"

"Well... I feel that I have to. It feels like I'm still in those cuffs. When I hold my hands behind like this, it feels more like rope around them. Perhaps ... if we just paid a quick visit back to that dungeon... I might... you know... like the way they send pilots back up after they have crashed their plane...?"

"Not on your Nelly, my girl. Put them in front and keep them there. We've surely had enough of this place... enough to last a life time?"

"But I would like to be sure that I'm not actually afraid to go down there again."

Jeremy shucked the rucksack that he was carrying on his back and extracted from it two pairs of standard steel handcuffs. "Time," he said firmly, "for a little serious bondage... and this is NOT a game. Hands in front."

He cuffed her and shepherded her into the passenger seat then used the other set to secure her ankle to the ring he had installed below her seat.

"Please Jeremy. Let me go just the once. I need to be sure that I'm not afraid."

"No more visits to that place," he said. "I prefer you in the flesh. Once we're clear of this place ... outside old Oswald's one-time jurisdiction... I'll let you loose. Meantime... while we're at it... might as well make sure... will you... be so kind as to... marry me? With or without the handcuffs. Your choice."