Oubliette | woman, girls, gag, display | free bondage stories

I sat there without the need to wonder how I had got into that mess. Indeed my thoughts were concerned much more urgently on how I was to get out of it. Basically my problem was boredom. I had a goodly inheritance but I lacked any of the skills that would have given me entrance to an interesting job. Seeking thrills therefore I turned to burglary.

That doesn't mean I'm a petty thief. Something else I lack is the need to steal. I broke into places that afforded a challenge, places which said quite plainly: "You're Not Wanted Here - Keep Out." I was attracted also to places that might provide some interest; fashion collections, for example, or exhibits being prepared for public showing but which, until the chosen date, declare: 'Keep Your Thieving Eyes Off!'

That particular place just happened to look interesting. To start with it was obviously old; red brick with an interesting tiled-roof profile and many outhouses. There was too a complex that, very obviously, had once been a stables and coach-house but now modified into - what? It was surrounded by extensive grounds which would provide cover should I need to stage a getaway - you can't always guarantee to spot burglar alarms - and it was sufficiently removed from any town that the police were unlikely to get there before I had left there!

Hence I spied it out, selected a likely breach and went a-looking. It was indeed a lovely old house - just the place I wished I had. Looking after it and restoring it would have kept me from the pursuit of aimless burglary. It seemed that nobody was at home and so I spent nearly an hour roaming its pleasures.

Then I went for a look at the renovated stable-block. And that proved to be VERY interesting. But what the heck were they doing in there? The ground floor seemed to be sealed against an alien invasion - someone like me? - but I eventually found a roof-light that, with a little cat-like activity, eventually landed me inside. Thus it was that I came to search it from the roof down.

Much of what I found was incomprehensible. Strange devices even if not on strange banners. And then, on the ground floor, using my knowledge of hidden entrances to things like cellars, I struck gold. Not a bad job of disguise but it must have been contrived by an amateur. It took but two minutes to open the panel and there was the combination lock.

My curiosity was now at fever pitch. I didn't want to steal their treasures but just to look at things I was not supposed to look at. It wasn't a difficult job - how on earth had they stayed robber free? When I tugged on the handle that door swung slowly just as massive vault doors are depicted on cinema screens. Seconds later I was looking with incredulity at a dimly lit room that could only be a collector's squirrels' nest.

It was a goodly room approximately square and lined on all four walls - apart from three doors - with glass-fronted cabinets ... but there was something strange about them. I approached those directly opposite as I had entered and shone my torch on the one in the centre. That was the moment when first I wished that I had not. My first reaction was that I wanted out of there.

It now showed as a glass tank, full of water, in which small bubbles constantly ascended. That wasn't so strange of course - I had simply entered a private aquarium. It was the object which I could see lying in the bottom of the tank that scared me. It was a young woman. In fact it was a naked young woman - naked but for a cascade of hair with which she was seeking to preserve her modesty.

I moved to the next tank and found a similar result - just a different girl! In fact I quickly established that all the tanks bar one held girl exhibits. But, if they were underwater, then they must be dead? Then the girl I was looking at moved. No doubt that she was alive and was trying to signal information to me. Only then did I notice that her waving arms were without hands; they seemed to end in something that looked like boxing gloves. One sure way to render a woman helpless, I thought.

I moved back to other tanks and soon realised that all the girls wore similar mittens and that their feet also were cocooned. I began to gather my wits; I must either do something to mount a rescue operation or, at the very least, discover from them what the devil was going on. The water with its bubbles was puzzling; it must be some kind of trick tank? But who puts young girls on display in glass tanks - and why?

There were two other doors apart from the one by which I had entered. The first proved to be locked but the second door yielded me a small aluminium ladder that seemed ideal for reaching the top of the tanks and that surely was not a coincidence? Within seconds I was on top and beginning to explore to find a way of entry. The lighting was even poorer on top of those displays than it was in the main part of the room and I started to crawl around.

The first intimation of trouble was a slight giddiness - as though a small earthquake had struck. I reached forward to maintain control and, abruptly, the tank top went away from me. I looked around for a handhold, or anything solid that would help me back on to my feet, but the place was as smooth as the proverbial baby's nether regions. With devastating suddenness the surface to which I was clinging capsized completely and I was pitched head first into the tank beneath.

Training comes in useful in situations like that and I managed to pitch on my outstretched hands to turn the fall into a forward roll from whence I rolled out unharmed. It would have made little immediate difference had I broken my neck! I found myself in the empty tank and I could only watch with mesmerised gaze as the surface which had just disowned me clattered back into the horizontal position. I had blundered into a trap. The trap had now closed and freedom was some nine feet above me. I was imprisoned in a glass room filled with a strange light but without a single object, protusion or any device which might help me to regain the top of my tank.

An examination of the walls provided one explanation of interest. They were double panes of very thick glass - no doubt with large marine animals in mind - and the gap between was filled with water. It was through that two-inch sheet of aqua that the bubbles were rising to provide the illusion of a mermaid collection. But...?

Between myself and the next adjacent tanks there were four layers of glass and two sheets of water which helped not at all in examining my fellow captives and the extraordinary things they were wearing on their hands and feet. For a short while I wandered around and around my goldfish bowl but it was certain that there was nothing to do but sit down and await developments. No doubt someone would arrive soon carrying ants' eggs.

Eventually it occurred to me that glass could be broken. Was that the reason these captives had their hands and feet immobilised? But a determined assault on my prison walls quickly disillusioned me; those tanks were not for strife. In fact they weren't even made of glass!

How long I sat there I have no idea because it didn't occur to me to look at my watch. I was dozing when the place was flooded with light and a man and a woman approached my tank. I couldn't hear what they were saying; after all I was in a double-glazed room and bubbles were hissing away quietly - but not quiet enough. The man went away and almost immediately there was a whirring-humming noise and the top of my prison began to slide away. He re-appeared bearing my ladder, leaned it against the tank, ascended and then called the woman to join him. Then they lowered the ladder in to the tank and began to climb down; I waited trying to put together a reasonable story.

They weren't interested in stories. The man came straight to me, caught my right arm in a vice-like grip, twisted it and forced me down on to my face. While he held me with my hands between my shoulder-blades the woman locked them into handcuffs. When they had finished with my hands he transferred his attention to my legs, doubling them up behind me. The woman removed my shoes and socks, locked my feet in a similar manner and connected the two sets of cuffs with a pair of long-chain cuffs. I wasn't hog-tied but she had effectively written finis to my martial-arts skills.. When he let go of me I found that I was unable to straighten my legs and it was difficult to rise to my feet let alone put up any sort of fight.

During this brief spell of enforced acquiescence I exercised my tongue on their behalf and they responded with a ball-gag. Not a big one by any means and my mouth was only loosely filled with a whiffle ball. I didn't need to ask what they did with the padlock but, shackled in that manner, I did feel it was a belt-and-braces precaution?

"Now," said the male half of my foe: "we seem to have achieved a little silence and so we can talk. Correction - I will talk while YOU listen." I didn't argue the point.

"You weren't invited here tonight - you broke in - and as a consequence you have seen something that you should not have seen. You failed to understand that this place only SEEMS to be unguarded. You are too fine a specimen to be destroyed and so you must join our collection. Every now and again these tanks are filled with water and so I hope you can swim? You have yet to experience the spectacle that young women provide when they are swimming for dear life itself. In your case, of course, you have a handicap?"

If he was trying to frighten me let it be recorded that he did a damn fine job.

He continued: "For now you have a lesson to learn. You will wear that gag for the first week with relief only for food and water. By that time you must be ready to keep that tongue of yours from wagging or maybe I will put a clamp on it. Tomorrow we will relieve you of all that unnecessary clothing but, for tonight ... I hope you are able to sleep in reasonable discomfort." With which pious pronouncement they loosened the gag but left it hanging around my neck, ascended the ladder, pulled it up behind them and removed both themselves and the ladder. Shortly came the whirring noise again and the lid slid back over my display cabinet. Their last act was to extinguish those lights and they left me feeling very sorry for myself.

Just how long I lay there is a matter for speculation - I dozed fitfully until the lights came on again. Into the room outside came mine two hosts and they led a contingent of male voyeurs who quite clearly, even through the screen of bubbles, were deriving the very devil of a kick from wandering around the room examining the marine exhibits. It seemed to me that the girl in the adjacent display had risen to her feet and was gesturing to them but, seen through two bubble screens, I couldn't be sure.

I received a distinct impression that I came in for especial interest. Perhaps it was because I was the only dry-land exhibit? Perhaps it was the fact that I was immobilised in cuffs? Was it the ball hanging like a threat under my chin? Perhaps I was different in that I was clothed? Who can fathom the mind of a leering wanker - viewed through a wall of self-raising bubbles?

Eventually they were all shepherded out and the lights once again were extinguished. Later the scenario was repeated but the group of voyeurs were clearly not the same and this time a woman was included in their number. I was beginning to get the idea; we were being used as a peep show. Dirty old men, dirty middle-aged men and dirty young men - and some perfectly respectable women - were paying money to view captive girls on display like specimens in a museum. Mermaids Rest? Then came a chilling thought as I remembered his reference to young women swimming for their lives. For an extra-large premium these libido-wanting zombies could watch the girls in water-filled tanks swimming round and round looking for a way out. But I was shackled! And steel shackles were as good as anchors!

We gave four shows that night and then ... when the lights came up again only the man and the woman appeared. The tank tops were withdrawn, the bubbles ceased, the ladder produced and the man busied himself extracting the girls one by one. As each one reached the floor the woman set about releasing them from their bondage mittens. The girls congregated around my tank and seemed to evince a mixture of amusement, curiousity, from one or two perhaps a hint of sympathy but there seemed no movement whatever toward my rescue. Eventually they went off in the direction of the locked room, donned a variety of coats or dressing gowns according, it seemed, to personal taste and disappeared through the entrance door.

I waited with some impatience for my release but, to my dismay, it wasn't to be. The last two - the man and the woman - simply gave me an earnest inspection and then followed the liberated girls. The bubbles recommenced their eternal flight toward heaven and began once again to sing their hissing song of hate; the lights yet again dimmed to little more than an eerie glow.

Clearly those girls were in on the business, willing captives, part of the floor show. Me? I was captured for real and was to stay chained in my glass case. How could I refrain from wondering at the future programme? Lonely, in semi-darkness, helpless and crippled in steel restraints and with a ball-gag reminder constantly probing my throat, a whole string of scenarios passed through my increasingly stressed mind. And not least was the recurring thought of that tank rapidly filling with water while I lay helplessly weighed down to the bottom?

For a reason that will for ever remain a mystery it never occurred to me during those hours that the man had declared I would remain gagged except for meal breaks and yet he had released the gag before leaving. He deserves full marks for his understanding of the human mind, with its imagination and fears. He had sought to punish me for my effrontery in breaking in to his premises and, with the weapons so ready to his hand, he had coupled low-level lighting with a constantly moving background and unceasing noise to cause my own guilt to wreak havoc on my senses. It was a masterly but devilishly skillful demonstration.

At the time I was NOT happy to accept that he was winning! By the time he returned and extracted me from that fish-tank I was almost a gibbering idiot. Never have I reduced myself to such a frightened jelly.

He released the hamper chain and carried me up the ladder over his shoulder. I was afraid to plead that he did not replace the gag but he left it where it had tormented me for so long. Away from that chamber he carried me to a part of the house that I had not discovered in my intrusion and, in a luxurious lounge, he handed me into the care of the woman and a half dozen girls some of whom I was able to recognise.

Then matters changed dramatically. Where before I had been bound, gagged and abandoned in a showcase now I was petted, pampered and surrounded by warmth and sympathy. Still kept in handcuffs and leg restraints I was undressed, soaked in a warm bath of bubbles, shampooed, dried, powdered and wrapped in a large towel. I became a little afraid that I was to become a pet but, at that time, I cared little; the contrast with my former frame of mind was too great.

Abruptly silence fell on the room and I realised that the man had returned. It was evident that he was regarded with much respect. As I was to discover this was the Master of the House and his word was law. To many it would be regarded perhaps as a den of iniquity but I was to learn what love can truly be and the meaning of being in a family, cherished and guarded against all evils.

Yes, they make their living - WE make their living - by providing the cheap thrills that members of society cannot get elsewhere. For myself a monetary return is not necessary but I have found a lifestyle that gives purpose to my formerly aimless existence. My punishment continued, as he had said, for a week but the gag threat only materialised for an hour at a time throughout that period with long breaks between. But I stayed in the cuffs for several weeks and, indeed, came to like the feeling of being under control.

Not by any means are the clients of this house of dubious pleasures restricted to men. Many are women, well-heeled jezebels who wear on their faces a feral look, which proclaims their desire to possess the specimens from these showcases. Looking from within at those faces without I am grateful for the glass-walled tank in which I am sheltered.

Every cloud has a silver lining the pundits do assure us. My coming introduced a new novelty feature suggested by the interest generated in my first-day display of dry girlie-in-restraint. The lounge has been equipped with two glass-like tanks some six feet by 2-feet square and in each of these there is a constant display of a nymph in bondage. They are always locked because the house rule is "You may look but not touch." There is something... no, cosy is not the word ... in being there in full view, to lie completely helpless in rope or steel or leather and to know that nevertheless you are safe from the sadistic designs they would practice on you.

Requests we get by the dozen and the Master will allow some of them but his girls are sacrosanct. Each session of any kind requires the "victim's" agreement before it is enacted. That is what makes us a happy house, indeed.