The Teleport (sequel) | cage, chain, cuffs | free bondage stories

That minor heiress and my present favourite, Bessy Martindale, had been lying helpless in a steel hog-tie on her great four-poster bed for more than an hour. It was not difficult to guess that she was getting extremely uncomfortable because there are few things as unrelenting as three pairs of handcuffs; added to which the bright yellow ballgag that was plugging her mouth had been there for far too long. And again I had not the least idea how long she had been in that predicament before I had found her.

***

My original discovery of her had been when, in my role as he-with-knotted-fingers, I had dropped a heavy book on to the keyboard of Uncle Sherbert's machine. It had responded by locking the machine on to a lone horseman riding, somewhat recklessly, through open country. There was about the seat of that horseman something that intrigued me however and I zoomed in for a close-up. It was a girl! A girl moreover mounted on a stallion!

It is not usual for girls to choose such a mount and her manner of riding him showed a tendency to take risks; for that reason, and also because she aroused my interest, I kept the view locked on her.

She was not exactly a beauty; the nose was slightly overlong - but then so were her eyelashes? But then those eyelashes were trying to veil a pair of enormously large and dark eyes. She wore her hair long but length was the only discernible feature because it was tied back into a ponytail and that, in view of her steed's fleet performance, had to be a sensible precaution. Her eyes gave to me an impression of hardness but, riding that huge beast as though there was no tomorrow, she had need of utmost concentration.

I followed her for twenty-five minutes until she came to wrought-iron gates that obviously marked the entrance to an estate and through which she swung. The horse had received a good workout and showed a distinct shine on his coat but, even so, he displayed a remarkably amenable character as he dropped into a comfortable trot that made short work of a quarter-mile drive until they stopped at the entrance to a well-built stable.

She spent the next twenty minutes in caring for that formidable beast who seemed to regard her as a dear friend. Then she spent a few minutes first feeding and then petting the other two horses in her stable. The grey mare was a steady-looking beast more suited surely to a lady rider; the other I thought possibly was more used to working with the small carriage I spotted in the adjoining enclosure.

It was when she left the stables and, I presumed was walking to the house that I got my first real look at her because she was walking straight toward me. I made a mental note that I really MUST get down to mastering the "camera" controls.

I have written already that she was not a contender in any beauty contest but there was that certain... something...? That she was athletic and in good condition had been amply demonstrated by her seat in the saddle; such a wild ride was possible only to a skilled horseman. It showed now in her carriage, in the spring of her step and in the toss of her head as she swung that rope of hair out of her way. Yes, I was finding her intensely interesting.

Now I began to use Uncle H's assembly for a purpose he had most likely never envisaged. I zoomed around this lady's property and the immediate environs gathering information. Having ascertained her address, it was only a matter of effort and time to track her down. She was Elisabeth Martindale, aged 24 - one year my senior - orphaned by the death of her Father who had pined away following the death of her Mother. She had been left with a mini-mansion standing in its own secluded grounds and with enough in the kitty to maintain it and herself in any life-style she cherished.

It seemed we had something in common apart from a considerable inheritance... we both preferred to live alone most of the time. From time to time she entertained friends and threw parties but mostly she enjoyed her house, her property and her horses in a party of one. Housework, which she preferred not perform for herself, was farmed out to casual labour brought in for the purpose.

Of necessity, I spent some time garnering this information but, eventually returning home late one evening, I perceived a desire to see her again. I get a deal of pleasure out of doing things in the correct order and leaving the ultimate pleasure until last and so I prepared and ate a good dinner, then cleared away and loaded the crocks into the dishwasher before, carrying the half-empty wine bottle and my glass, I took myself down to the playroom.

As the monitor fired up, I thought with some arousal of the last time I had pried into her life. She had been alone and practising - foolishly - self-bondage with a couple of pair of steel handcuffs and a ball-gag. She had taken precautions against her eventual escape but to so indulge while alone in a large and isolated house with little, if any, expectation of a visitor perhaps matched her reckless ride on that mountainous horse at breakneck speed where nobody was likely to miss her should she fail to return?

The monitor came to life and I found myself looking at her dining room where she had usually taken her meals; she may have been a loner but kitchen eating was not for this lady. The room was empty. Perhaps she had repaired to the small lounge where she was in the habit of watching television? I was directing the viewer across the hall toward that room when I spied a man soft-footing it from the direction of the main staircase toward that same lounge. My first thoughts about a lover quickly faded because he was being cautious but not in any serious way; he gave me the impression that he had not the right to be there and yet had no serious fear of being caught.

I followed him into that lounge but found only the television receiver entertaining none but itself. If the television was on then ... somebody must have been watching? This man had not been the watcher because he now busied himself opening cabinets and drawers clearly searching. Even untidy men when in quest of some particular thing do not wreck a room as they go and this man was not taking care at all. He was a thief, a burglar and it is surely unusual for burglars to take a break to watch television? I reckoned the girl was in trouble and went in search of her.

The obvious place to look first was in the rooms with which I was most familiar and that, disgraceful though it may be, put her bedroom high on the list. Yes, unfortunately the ability to view without any chance of being caught led to compulsive voyeurism and I had begun to have some sympathy with Uncle H. Her bedroom was indeed where I found her, clad only in bra and panties and wrestling futilely with a pair of handcuffs that linked her wrists behind her, a second pair that linked her ankles and a third pair which linked her wrists to her ankles. She was in the middle of that huge and beautiful four-poster and was kept there by a chain that, padlocked around her neck, had its other end secured in some way to the headboard.

My immediate reaction, furious anger, was quickly replaced by fear. She was 150 miles from me and it would take me three to four hours to render assistance. The first and obvious solution - call her local police - quickly died. How could I explain my knowledge of her peril? They would want to know my identity and connection with her; true it was that I had nothing to hide... but my address would make my call seem like a hoax. For anyone, let alone Authority, to learn about Uncle H's little toy would set in motion a whole heap of problems especially when, inevitably, they encountered the cage room?

I switched the viewer back to the television room; he was on the point of moving on with a trail of chaos behind him and a small pile of selected items on the table. I reverted to angry mode and for several minutes railed against my helplessness as I vacillated between making that call to the police and just following him so that I could identify the rogue. After a while it occurred to me that the girl, helpless upstairs on her bed, was in a much graver danger than that of just losing her possessions. I recalled the small duffle bag that had been lying beside the bed; it must have contained the bondage equipment with which he had subdued her. If he had come so well prepared then burglary was not been his sole purpose? She had been watching television? Had he surprised her and taken her upstairs to her bedroom?

Why did it take so long for the solution to explode into my mind? Uncle Sherbert's machine had been - or maybe had not been - assembled for the purpose of spying on nubile young women. Yes, it was the ultimate in equipment for the voyeur and abductor but it could be used for other purposes.

I tracked down my rampaging burglar and locked the viewer on to him. Next I called up the excellent Atlas that Uncle H had installed in his devil's device and searched the west coast of northern Scotland. I fed in the co-ordinates and went to have a look at a remote beach that promised well. It was blowing like the devil up there and raining heavily and so I could not suppress my grin as I saved those co-ordinates.

The computer was still tracking my burglar friend and it was a matter of seconds only before he returned to my view. I zoomed in on him and, with happy anticipation, poised my finger over the ZAP button. Then I stopped. Out in the cage room, I switched-off the lights and then closed the shutters over the observation window. Now I was ready for revenge. A quick press of the ZAP button produced a most satisfying ejaculation; he was caged! To switch-in the SAVED co-ordinates and press the REV button was quicker almost than thought and then I jabbed the ZAP key again.

All was now quiet in the cage room. I went out and raised the lights... empty. Why hadn't I looked at the monitor? Why else had it been provided? Yes, I was looking at an extremely unhappy burglar but one who was no longer engaged in the trade of burglary. Four hundred miles away on a desolate Scottish beach and rapidly having his ardour cooled by drenching rain... I imagine that the captured girl who had been so quietly, if forcibly, awaiting his convenience was no longer on his terribly confused mind?

I had a sudden vision of myself as a knight in shining armour; I had the means to fight crime and injustice and to enjoy myself in the process. And it was a so much better use for Uncle H's brainchild than the spoliation of women.

WOMEN !

I was brought up short... a mere amateur I. At that very moment there was a young woman in real trouble; she was alone and helpless in a remote mansion and had already been in bondage for far too long. I had to get help to her - and quickly - but how? Zapping her burglar had removed her immediate risk from that "fate worse than..." but it had not removed the hazards of cramp, choking and suffocation that could result if she remained for much longer gagged in that hog-tie.

Uncle H's brainchild could send me to her... perhaps... but how to get back? At last my little grey cells began to kick in and I had the desire to kick myself. I sent the viewer back to her bedroom and focussed on the bed. Tighter still until the viewer was filled with the bound beauty. Up 'til then I had not regarded her as being in the beauty line but now, as I looked into those large and frightened eyes made all the darker by that yellow ball that forced her lips apart, I began to have very different feelings.

A ball-gag can be provocative especially when it sits in a particular face and that face carries an appeal. Drool cannot normally be deemed erotic but here, as it dripped from the corner of her mouth, it seemed to accentuate her helplessness and surely no person may claim existence as a male who is able to resist that.

With an abrupt jolt, I came-to again. Here I sat drooling over a drooling woman when I should have been doing that shining knight bit. All I had to do was bring the girl to me? I focussed the viewer carefully and reduced the depth of field; I didn't want to leave any of her behind and neither did I have any desire to fetch parts of her bed or her bedroom. I pressed LOCK and was just about to jab that ZAP button when, once again, I suffered a moment of sanity. She was secured to the bed by a chain locked around her neck.

If I tried to bring her alone what would happen to that chain? Would it be left behind? Would the entire chain come with her or only the bit visible on my monitor? Or would she come and the chain snap her neck? Quickly I brought up Uncle H's book of words but I should have known... he had never encountered a situation where he was about to abduct a woman who was chained by the neck?

In frustrated indecision I chewed viciously on my thumb. I had not suffered these doubts when dealing with the burglar but then ... he hadn't been under restraint and I was sufficiently indignant that I hadn't cared at all that he might arrive on the Scottish beach tuned in fifths. I zoomed out a little so as better to evaluate the problem and my eye fell on the chain where it crossed the bed from under her chin. Enlightenment came. Zap the middle of the chain and she was no longer connected.

I shunted the view across and zoomed in until the screen was filled with three links only; I reduced the depth of field still further until the cover under the chain was unfocussed. Lock. Zap. There, in the middle of my bed, was a fair representation of three links of chain. In the middle of her bed there lay a chain with a definite gap. I raced out to the cage in great excitement to retrieve the three links and found a bonus in the way of two small chunks of adjacent links that had been caught in the picture.

Back in my chair at the control desk I reset the viewer so as to concentrate on my bound Bessie and soberly considered the situation. I was unable to find any further problems and so faced only the final decision... to Zap... or not to Zap? BUT... if I did not zap, then I had to face the certainty of either her dying there alone or of revealing my toy. How great was the risk? There, in front of me, lay three apparently undamaged links from a chain. I reloaded from the memory the co-ordinates of that Scottish beach; he was staring up at very high cliffs in a manner I could only describe as dazed; he had not found a way up; he was obviously extremely miserable but otherwise he seemed fit enough. The girl was the one most at risk.

I switched back to that bedroom, zoomed back to my intended view, LOCK-ed it and took a deep breath. I pressed ZAP. Through the observation window I saw a hogtied girl struggling furiously in the centre of my bed and that in the corner of my cage. To judge by her efforts she had been considerably startled but, clearly, she was not harmed. Good for Uncle Sherbert!

It was sorely tempted to leave the steel-bondage expert on that Scottish beach but, in truth, I have stomach for neither execution nor murder. I redirected the viewer to the dormitory of a girl's residential school which I had discovered about a month before and focussed it in on a suitable empty place at the very end of a long table and then SAVED the co-ordinates. Now... back to the beach and seconds later a very-wet and very-cold burglar was staring in disbelief at his helplessly hogtied victim in a...? Before he was able to investigate further however he found himself on the very end of a long table in a dark room and from which he immediately tottered with a resounding crash which brought forth a variety of screams!

I considered, but only briefly, sending a pair or two of handcuffs for the benefit of the school authorities but, cold and wet though he may be, there was always the chance that he might put them to a different use. Apart from which he most certainly had explanations enough to tax the genius of even the most inventive liar?

I shut down the Transporter, if only on the grounds that together we had created enough damage for one night, and took myself out to the cage. It really was impossible to say whether those remarkable eyes looked upon me with fear or curiosity or puzzlement but, whatever she felt, it was surely not due to any fault on her part unless you blame her for settling down to watch television nonsense while all alone in a remote house that belonged only to herself?

I opened the conversation with what I must now admit was an imbecilic query: "Are you OK?" I had little cause to be surprised, and indeed today I am still not the slightest bit surprised, to have to record that she failed to make any answer. Thus I followed with: "Hang on a moment; I'll see what I can rustle up in the way of keys." I can't think of any excuse for why I failed to use the stale old cliche 'don't go away' except perhaps that the evening was definitely getting to be too much for me. I fetched several bunches of keys from Uncle H's bondage store but only on my return to the bedside did it occur to me that the gag could be removed with nothing more technical than my fingers.

She was gracious however and, as I eased it from her mouth in a cascade of saliva, she croaked out something that sounded very close to "Thank you". The obvious key in my bunch released the cuffs that held her hands to her feet and I helped her gently to straighten her legs. At last a sensible thought popped into my head and I rushed back to the control room to fetch the wine bottle and my glass; I lacked the means to wash it but I doubt if at that moment she was inclined to quibble.

I lifted and supported her with an arm about her shoulders while, with eyes closed, she sipped the wine. Then she lay back with a sigh of relief and opened her eyes. At last I was able to look into them for real. The questions, so easily foreseen, came in one long >broken and mixed-up stream of words: "Where am... who are yo'... you're not the... but what has... can you... please... take off these other cuffs?"

"The hogtie cuffs were a pretty standard set but these other two are some kind of specialist type. It will take me a little while to find keys that will match them. But you're not in any kind of danger now."

She was silent a moment with that round-eyed gaze fixed on my face. "But who are you? And how did you get me he'... where IS this place. And... and... a cage?"

"None of those questions are easy to answer ... you'd have difficulty in believing me if... but then... I suppose... you know enough to... " I floundered. If I'd had little choice in the action to take I certainly had not figured on trying to explain to her exactly how I had been able to rescue her. I feared that only the truth would suffice yet, should I return her to her home without any explanation and without a burglar to corroborate even the first part of her tale, would anyone believe her?

But then ... would she in reality be inclined to relate this weird experience...?

Where would that leave her? Where would that leave me? I wanted to see more of this woman but that was not possible if I just returned her and left her in uncertainty. I must either tell her the truth or drop out of her life completely. Well... at least I had to hand the means to convince her of my story.

I plunged ahead: "OK. I'll tell you but first let's get you into some clothes. Not that I don't appreciate you in what you've got but..." I was floundering again and fled to Uncle H's clothing store. I came up short in the first one because it contained all that transparent stuff. I had nothing whatever to complain about in that but, if I was to win this young lady's confidence, that was not the way to start?

The next room held the stock of dresses and it was there that the idea occurred to me. I selected a magnificent period gown; perhaps I should refer to it as a period-style gown because it clearly had not seen more than a few years. When I returned carrying it she looked more than a trifle taken aback: "Is that your idea of clothes? How long do you intend to keep me here?"

"I was hoping you would agree to stay a few days... at least... because there is a whole wardrobe full of these - every sort - and I could use a mannequin to display them for me."

"I can't stay. If you hold me here my horses will starve. I live alone and there isn't anyone else to care for them."

Then, at last, the Brain-box began to function; proof perhaps of that old adage 'Practice Makes Perfect'. "Your horse-boxes ... they have water laid on, I believe?"

"How do you know that?"

"I'll explain in a minute. Can they keep going for a while if I get hay to them?"

"Yes. But...?"

I rushed back to the control-room fired now with enthusiasm for my toy. I switched it all back on, explored her stables and directed the viewer to the hayloft. Seconds later a dumbfounded young lady was struggling in her cuffs to extricate herself from under a 60-lb bale of hay. Whoops!

"Sorry," I apologised; "Afraid I'm still a bit of a novice at this."

Under her direction, I divided the hay into the requisite portions and then delivered them to the equally startled horses; the remainder of the bale I sent back to the hayloft. Throughout this procedure she remained perfectly calm and I began to wonder if perhaps Uncle H had been before me. It took half-an-hour to release her from the wrist and ankle cuffs and for her to dress in my chosen costume. Her quiet acceptance of the situation and the manner in which she awaited the moment for explanations convinced me that this wild rider could be trusted with my secret. Indeed I was beginning to hold high hopes that she might even join me.

Hospitality must come first and she accepted my offer of refreshments. She even admitted the precaution of cuffing her to the bed while I prepared food and drink because I could not lock the cage except from the control desk? That was another matter that needed researching. I think that was the time when it first occurred to me that that control room was my Achilles' heel; if anyone gained access to it and learned how to operate the machine as I had done then I would be the one at peril! So I came to adopt the ancient policy of belt-and-braces-and-a-piece-of-string. She was cuffed to the bed - yes; nevertheless I went back to the control room, locked the cage, switched off and then, as I left, I locked the door after me. Now get out of that!

Upstairs in the kitchen I prepared a hasty meal but, as I loaded it on to a large tray, I began to doubt that I could navigate that steep and narrow stair carrying such a load. However my new toy was beginning to grow on me and an obvious solution soon presented. On a small table which I brought from the lounge I set out the meal and then, leaving it there in the kitchen, I returned to the cage room. Dressed in that magnificent gown and cuffed to the bed she was waiting calmly - what else was to be expected. I unlocked the control room, fired-up the box of tricks and used it to teleport the laden table to a position beside her.

"You seem to be practising magic," she began, "but I don't believe in it. Am I allowed to ask for an explanation?"

"Most of the women I've known so far would have been in hysterics by now. Yes, I've decided to explain and perhaps... I've hopes that you might care to join me in this little venture. But ... one step at a time, I think." I removed the cuffs holding her to the bed and invited her to the table. We both enjoyed that short meal... she because she was hungry and I because I was enjoying the chance to look at her. She was obviously aware of my attention but made no comment nor showed the slightest sign of embarrassment.

"When will it be necessary to feed the horses again?"

"Anytime before ten in the morning would do but they will need a bit of mucking out and also should be exercised. The big fellah in particular will get to be something of a handful if he doesn't run some of it off."

"If I send you back in the morning and leave you to make arrangements ... would you be willing to come back?"

She looked at me steadily: "And if I am not willing? It's not as though I'm a willing guest here."

"True. But then you are not a prisoner here either. If you wish to go back unconditionally you can go right here and now."

"Do I go back as I came ... naked and in chains?"

"If that's what you want. You enjoy bondage." I tried to make it partly a statement and partly a question.

"You promised me an explanation. And what about this dress I'm wearing?"

"That won't be a problem. Change when you get home and I'll collect the dress later."

"That still leaves my explanation. How did I get here? What happened to that man ... I thought ... just for a moment ... I thought he was here too?"

"Well, yes. He was here briefly but I'm afraid that he's now in a spot of bother. In the dormitory of a girls' school to be exact. Not hurt but you can probably guess his difficulty in explaining himself?"

"And...?"

"Look. You'll find it difficult enough to believe unless I tell you the whole story with a practical demonstration. I can't do that and then turn you loose. Bringing you here was not the brightest thing to do but, frankly, it was the only way I could dig you out of that mess without giving the game away and landing myself with some impossible explanations. Join me and I'll tell you. If you feel that you can't trust me ... then I shall have to break my promise and send you home with only a story so unlikely that you probably won't dare to recount it."

There was a short silence during which she regarded me with an unwavering stare. "I've already had some pretty convincing demonstrations," she said. "More than enough to whet my appetite for more. The question surely is ... can you trust me?"

I felt a great warm glow. This was the lady who rode wildly on an enormous stallion, who lived alone in an enormous house, who had survived a brutal attack and a threatened rape, for whom rescue could only be described as a bizarre experience. And she was sitting there, metaphorically speaking without a hair displaced, and discussing our future relationship. Could I trust her?

"That's easy," I replied. "Yes, I do believe that I can trust you. But in any event it's irrelevant. You haven't any idea of the location of this place, you don't know my name, you couldn't recognise this house if it fell on you. I can keep tabs on you and bring you here any time I wish while you lack even a starting point. Choose to go back and I promise that I'll not bother you again... unless you want me to watch out for burglars...?"

She began to laugh, quietly. "To judge by your performance so far you would make an excellent guardian angel. Yes. I agree. Tell me... as much as you wish... and I promise to keep your secret. It's been a short evening but... I have enjoyed it. I don't need to go back until feed-time in the morning so there's plenty of time for your explanation?"

I started by telling her about Uncle Herbert ... that is the Uncle H as I first knew him. I told the story much as I've set it out here except that I did not reveal the secret of access to the playroom. Neither did I reveal my pet name for my Uncle. I took her out of the cage and showed her the wardrobes with their costumes; on our return she looked around the cage room with some interest. "I regret to say," she offered, "that I agree with you. Your Uncle Herbert must have been seduced by his machine. BUT ... that doesn't mean necessarily that he abused it or used it to abuse women."

"Bless you for that. I honestly believe that the old fellow was incapable of hurting anybody. If we are right and he did kidnap women ... they would have enjoyed the experience ... equally they would never be able to tell tales without making themselves look ridiculous?"

"What is that door over there?"

"Ah!" I took her over there and opened it; she gave an audible gasp as the array of restraints was revealed and I remembered her session of self-bondage on which I had eavesdropped. This was undoubtedly a forceful lady ... but she also got a kick out of being forcibly ... but kindly ... restrained?

I took down a pair of cuffs with some two-feet of linking chain and had one of her wrists secured while she was still surveying it all. By the time she realised my purpose she had that chain depending between her wrists. "Hey! What's the idea?"

"I rescued you from the traditional 'fate worse than death'," I said; "in some cultures that would mean that you now belong to me. I don't know about your fantasies but those cuffs make mine complete. You remain my prisoner until you depart."

"And I was beginning to think you were a nice guy." But the smile on her face denied the words. "However. Nice or nasty I need the loo if this gown is not to suffer."

"Then I'll give you the demonstration as promised. Back inside there for a moment," and I pushed her into the cage and closed the door. "Sit on the bed."

I fired-up the machine again and started by sending the table back to the kitchen. Next I steered the viewer into the downstairs toilet, saved the co-ordinates, and then transferred Bessie cuffed and gowned complete.

I locked the cage in readiness for her return and then sent the viewer to monitor the outside of the loo door; for her, at this moment, reconnaissance could not be permitted. As she emerged I put her back into the cage and went out to speak to her. "Make your mind up time," I began. "Do you want to spend the night in your burgled and somewhat rumpled home or would you rather stay here?"

"You mean here... in this cage?"

"I do indeed. It's locked and will stay locked until breakfast time. Your choice."

"I will confess that, at this moment, I have no desire at all to return to that house in the dark. But neither do I want an amorous night."

"I wouldn't dream of taking you to MY bed while you are restrained without choice."

"You mean you're not going to...?"

"That's about it. While you're my captive ... you stay chained."

"But I can't undress like this."

"Indeed. I'll send you in some bedding but, if you stay, then you stay like that."

"That's real mean. You're not so much better than that burglar man."

"Oh, I'm a lot better. Your face is saying that you don't find the situation dismaying."

Abruptly she coloured. "That blush completes the picture. Bedding coming up." I went back into the control room and transferred a whole bed-full of blankets and sheets from the store cupboard upstairs, shut down and then locked the door behind me as I left. Yes, I know. Belt and braces.

"Goodnight!" She was examining her cuffs and failed to answer.

I sent her home the next morning. She was sleeping soundly when I entered the cage-room and remained so until I had switched-on the gear and transferred the breakfast table to her bedside. At first she wasn't quite sure... and then, when she discovered the handcuffs, she was first alarmed and then, I swear it, she was pleased. She started when I spoke: "You sleep well for a captive."

She stretched the chain between her wrists and then, with an impish smile: "I smell coffee."

We shared the breakfast and, for me, it was memorable. That gown was now a bit rumpled but, even so, with jingling manacles she made a great picture. "I'd look better if you didn't make me sleep in my clothes." It was my turn to flush; I had been staring.

However, she turned rebellious when she realised that I intended to send her home just as she was: "I can't feed and muck-out horses dressed like this ... even if I'm prepared to spoil this gown ... which I'm not."

Knowingly I imitated the Cheshire Cat. "A little sober reflection should make it clear who is in charge here? You will find that the burglar chappy made a bit of a mess in at least two of your rooms. I intend that you shall spend the first hour and a half straightening things out; for that task your present garb is admirable."

She shook her chain at me: "That is to remind you that it was I who rescued YOU. At the end of that time I'll send the key to your bedroom and then you can unlock yourself and change as you please.

"Then you'll be on your own until I call for you at seven o'clock. If you are wearing the gown and the cuffs ... I'll bring you back for dinner. If not ... then it will be goodbye."

"You don't offer me any choice?"

"None at all," I said cheerfully.

"You're taking a mean advantage of a helpless girl."

"Helpless? You?"

For answer she again parted her hands and jangled the chain. "You're wearing that precisely because I believe I need an advantage."

"You arrogant bas.... "

"Ah! Ah! You want an ankle chain as well?"

Just for that moment I thought she was about to burst and then, angel-like: "Yes, please."

"Just sit on the bed." At the control desk I made a quick sweep of the house but it seemed to be empty and so I transferred her to her bedroom. I watched for a couple of minutes to be sure that she was OK and then left.

I sent the breakfast table back upstairs, put the key to her cuffs on the bed and went to clean up the kitchen. Ninety minutes later I found that she had restored order to her television lounge and was waiting for me in the bedroom; I sent the key.

It was about an hour before the thought occurred to me and then I found her, clad sensibly in jeans and T-shirt, hard at work in the stables. An hour later still and she was returning from running that stallion again. I went upstairs to her bedroom and zapped the cuff-key and the gown; in their place I sent another gown and a set of ankle irons.

At seven o'clock, I half-hoped and half-believed that she would come although, to be fair, she could not have been blamed had she refused. I believed she was intelligent enough to have realised that I could take her any time I chose and so, were she to be waiting for me, it was a statement in itself?

The monitor fired up to reveal a picture that will remain with me forever. She was sitting in the exact middle of the bed dressed in the new gown and with her arms wrapped around her knees; she had taken considerable pains with her hair and had used make-up to devastating effect. The hem of the gown was pulled sedately back and showed clearly that she was handcuffed and hobbled.

So it all began. She has proved to have a very fertile mind in the use of this extraordinary machine. For example, when she mucks out her stables, she no longer has to wheelbarrow it away. It is never used now for abduction no matter how good the intentions - I don't possess Uncle Sherbert's smooth charm and winning ways - but Bessie can always find some good deed for it to perform. We spend our time hopping between our two establishments although I have to make the journey the hard way behind the wheel of a car. But then... you can't have everything... not even when you possess a wonder machine?

END

The Teleport 4 Part 3 Part 1