Experiment 22

She drove the car slowly along the rutted track, keeping in a low gear, wincing occasionally as it jolted and lurched; sitting down with the chastity belt on and the plugs in place was not a comfortable experience, and driving a car even less so. At the end of the track, just short of the canal bank, it widened into a small cleared area, where vehicles could be conveniently turned or parked; she spun the car so that it was facing back towards home, then reversed off onto the parking space. She stopped the engine, and drew a long breath; God, did she really want to do this ? Yes; she did. What if it went wrong ? What if someone saw her ? What if …….

No, that was it. She had made her mind up. All that planning and preparation – and expense; no, she was not going to stop now, not when she was so close. She realised she was trembling, but she pushed the button for the tailgate release and heard the click of the latch, then climbed cautiously out of the seat, closing and locking the doors. It was not easy to walk in the high-heeled boots, especially on soft ground – she would have to watch out for that - although her practice walks all round the area hadn't been too difficult. She opened the back of the car, and looked over the equipment. Time ….. quarter to eleven. A little after she had wanted, but then putting the belt on had taken longer than expected. She shrugged off the towelling bathrobe she was wearing, threw it into the back seat, then reached in to the car and pulled out a spreader bar. Bending down, she locked each end onto the cuffs already padlocked around her ankles.

At last, the weather forecast looked like it might be OK. She came up here at least every other weekend to look after the place, but it was frustrating to be forced into working inside when she had so many other plans. Still, she had almost finished sorting out her Uncle's stuff; mouldering clothes, old newspapers, bits of agricultural junk everywhere. The old, dark furniture was almost all gone, and the house seemed new and bright and clean. But she thanked him for the books, and all the other bits and pieces he had so meticulously saved over the years. None of it would have been possible without the amazing collection of tools in the neat little workshop, or the meticulously bound and filed copies of magazines. So they had been spared from disposal, and still sat tidily on the home-made planking shelves in the spare bedroom that had served him as a library. Sometimes, in life, things just happen …. and then you have to seize the opportunity.

Next, the chains; one pair from her ankles, through the loop in the small of her back on the belt's waistband, then up behind her back; and the other set between the cuffs above her knees. Good. She took a few experimental steps backwards and forwards; awkward, certainly, but manageable. How she would be after the quarter-mile walk back through the woods would be …. Intriguing. Right, legs mostly done ….. now the backpack. She lifted it carefully from the car and put her arms through the padded straps; then four snap-hooks to fix it to the chest harness. She tugged on each one to make sure it was secure, then felt behind her for the length of cord attached to the activation plug. Awkwardly, because of the spreader bar, she squatted and attached the free end of the cord to the car's towhitch, then fumbled between her legs to grasp the thin tube and cables dangling from the crotch of the chastity belt.

Now she wasn't sitting any more, the plugs weren't anything like as uncomfortable, especially as she was so turned on – she could feel the juices oozing down the tops of her thighs – and she was starting to twitch slightly inside every time one of the plugs shifted position. It took a tremendous effort of will not to grab the little lever sticking out of the slot and wiggle the vibrator backwards and forwards ….. but it she did that, she'd just want to give up as soon as she'd had the first orgasm, and she WAS going to go through with this …..

It had been at least fifteen years since she had seen Uncle Mark. After the divorce she had rarely seen her father, though ironically rather more of his family – and her paternal grandmother had been a regular, and welcome, visitor to their small flat until she was twelve. She hadn't gone to the old lady's funeral; her mother would have had to take her, and that might have brought back too many bitter memories. Granny Alex had always been kindly and solicitous, as if by her efforts she could somehow wipe out the pain and hurt of her son's adultery, and her mother had understood, and let her be part of their life – a part from which her father had been forever banished by his misdeeds.

And then suddenly the letter, a fat, legal envelope of expensive heavy cream-coloured paper, flopping unexpectedly onto her doormat one grey Saturday morning last Autumn. It looked worrying, and she hesitated for some seconds before opening it – then sat staring in shock at her good fortune. A country lawyer's headed notepaper …. "Will of the late Mark Harold Edderson ….. niece of the deceased …… surviving relatives listed in order of succession …. Bequests thereto….. residue of the Estate……… executor's submission for Probate ….. attached schedule of Real property and chattels …… property known as Merrow Lodge ….. contact us at your earliest convenience to discuss………."

The long, tedious drive North a few days later, and the spartan, bright, surprisingly modern office over a shoe shop in the main street. Bulging manila envelopes, documents to read through, to sign, to initial, to be witnessed. A large, untidy bunch of keys; a hastily sketched map on a sheet of scrap paper; and she had taken the first step on the road to ownership.

She connected the cables first, then removed the cap from the twist-lock connector on the catheter and plugged it into the dangling tube. Nothing …… good. It shouldn't activate until the cord was pulled. Finally, she clipped the loop on the other dangling cord from the back pack to the eyelet in the centre of the spreader bar. 

Slowly, she stood up, then from the right side of the pack guided a thicker tube to the soft rubber cap held firmly against her right nipple by the chest harness. She pushed it over the barbed connector, then repeated the procedure for the other nipple cup. The collar took only a few seconds; she had remembered to tie up her hair so she had easy access to the back of her neck. Then she lifted the steel scold's bridle out of the car. 

Originally, the gag had been a large red rubber ball with a thin steel tube running down the centre – but she had replaced that with a lifelike silicone-rubber dildo, through the length of which she had drilled a matching hole so that it slid tightly over the tube. Some experimentation, and a few uncomfortable moments, had eventually produced the exactly correct length – long enough to completely fill her mouth, but just fractionally too short to trigger her gag reflex. She found it amusing how realistic it felt when it was in place – the firm, yielding rubber was just the right texture – only the taste was missing. Parting her lips, she slid the dildo into her mouth and hinged the straps of the brank round her head, hearing them click together. Gripping the gag with her teeth, she reached behind her head with both hands and guided the strips of metal so that they clicked together over the staple on its next-to-smallest setting – the tightest she could stand for any length of time. Now, what was next ….

Down the long winding lane from the main road, under the arched brick railway bridge – more of a tunnel, really – and then swing right and over the sluggish brown water of the drainage channel on the narrow stone bridge. It had hardly changed; the squat, brown- brick house with its red tile roof, the clutter of low outbuildings, the woods beyond. "It's of no agricultural value – there isn't enough land to be economic – but you might get a very good price for it as a second home, even this far from the city. There is a valuation on the fifth page, from a reliable local agent, detailing the work required to renovate it and bring it up to modern standards……"

But the moment she set eyes on it, she knew she would be keeping it, at least for a while. The rest of the legacy would allow her to do that; and this place – quiet, private, secluded, nestling in its own little patch of woodland – would at last give her the chance to live out a fantasy that had haunted her since her early teenage years.

"The problem is really the railway. As you know, the property is wedge shaped, with the house at the tip of the wedge; the railway cuts it off on the long side, and the drainage channel and canal on the other two. The only access in or out is the narrow stone bridge over the drain, and since it's of historic interest there's no way it can be modified or removed to make way for something that can take large vehicles, and there's no other route in or out, unless you bought a right of way from the adjoining landowner. The bridge can take a car, or a van , or at most a small tractor and trailer – and that's it."

No neighbours. Formidable barriers on all three sides; dense birch woodland; not overlooked. No footpaths, for no-one walked here – beyond the borders, there was nothing but flat, dull farmland, with wide grey skies most of the year. No paths along this side of the drain, or the railway – where trains hardly ever ran anyway; and screened by foliage from enquiring eyes.

It was perfect.

She attached the last tube from the backpack by plugging it into the hole in the front of the gag. She sucked hard, and was rewarded with a faint hiss from behind her. Getting on well …… the rod and weight, the mittens, the chains to the collar, and the visor. The visor. Was that really a good idea ? She didn't want it to be too quick, or too easy …. But then again, the visor ? But it had been OK in the barn; awkward, but not disastrous. It would certainly cause  a lot of problems ….. but that was the idea. No, maybe she should leave off the visor this time. After all, she would have enough problems with the rest of the equipment – blocking most of her forward vision was probably just a bit too much – for a first run, anyway. Especially out here in the woods. Should she or shouldn't she …. ? Well, leave that for a moment. The visor could be the next to last thing. She dropped a plastic sheet onto the ground, and placed the remaining items on to it – then she delicately placed the car keys into the exact centre of the now empty cargo space, closed the tailgate and clicked it shut.

There; she was committed. No way back  - except to walk …

This was her space. Away from the city, she could do whatever she wanted ….. including living out some very dark fantasies. On her first weekend, she found a large number of lengths of chain and fittings in one of the sheds, and spent a happy evening playing with them, wrapping them round her body in various ways. The workshop yielded several spraycans of assorted oils and cleaners, abrasive paper, steel wool, and some wire brushes, and soon their dull glint was revealed from under the thin layer of corrosion. After that she had more than enough chains and straps to restrain herself in a plethora of different ways; she would sleep in the chains, or try to do the housework, naked and with her wrists and ankles shackled together. It was unbelievably erotic; she masturbated incessantly, and had fantasies about a man breaking into the house at night and making love to her while she writhed helplessly in the chains that held her. It would not be rape; she would only be too delighted to welcome him into her house, her bed, and between her legs.

But the most compelling fantasies remained the ones where she was forced to struggle to escape while wearing a heavy, oppressive, restrictive harness – and when she finally did try it, shuffling though the undergrowth clad only in a thin canvas smock, chained hand and foot, terrified of being seen, the effects were overwhelming. Her wrists were padlocked behind her back; she could not masturbate – but halfway back, she was so aroused she could hardly walk, and moments later a shattering orgasm brought her to her knees. It took her an age to get back to the house, the rough material rubbing maddeningly on her erect nipples, and free herself; the first touch of her fingers was enough to bring her to another climax that left her slumped helpless on the floor. 

She attached the free end of the rod to the hole in the small lever protruding from the belt's crotch slot, taking care not to foul the cable or the catheter,  and positioned the heavy iron ball between her knees. Such a simple idea, and yet so very effective; to take the weight of the ball, she had to keep her thighs splayed apart – if she did not, the weight of the ball would pull on the rod and the lever, hinging the dildo forwards with more and more force until stimulation changed to discomfort and then finally pain, especially when her bladder was full. If she knelt down, the rod drove upwards, and the dildo hinged backwards, pressing against the large anal plug; and when she walked – a slow, cautious waddle replacing her normal elegant stride – the rod ensured that every movement of her legs was faithfully and remorselessly converted into incessant squirming within her, as the vibrator obediently rocked and twisted. Once its motors were powered on, the combined sensations were quite capable of immobilising her before very many seconds had passed.

Musing on this, she carefully hooked the staple of a padlock through the centre ring of the knee chain and  the loop on the ball, then gathered in the other two chains from the ankle cuffs and looped them through as well, checking they ran freely, finally snapping the padlock shut. There; legs done, collar next. She felt behind her neck and clipped the short chain on the rear of the collar to the padlock at the back of her scold's bridle. Now, her head was held up, and she could barely move it from side to side either. She took the long chains that were passed though the loop in the back of the waistbelt behind the backpack, and up to the collar, through its rear ring, and finally locked them onto the bridle; the hooks snapped into place. That would stop her bending forward when she was standing.

Now, just the mittens and the visor …. The visor. Dammit, why not ? She clipped the visor onto its hinge bracket on the browband of the bridle,  leaving it swung up and back, and picked up the first of the mittens. This was the tricky part; she locked the short chains from the waistbelt onto the elbow cuffs of the mittens, then the chains from the ball to the wrist straps. Cautiously, she slid her hands and arms into the mittens, working her fingers down to the tips. Kneeling, there was just enough play in the wrist chains for her to pat shut the locks on her wrists and forearms; and that was it. She was secure … and helpless.

It was pure luck that she decided to browse the old magazines before she threw them out; pages of information on the basics of electricity and electronics. And to her surprise, it wasn’t actually that hard, especially as most of the functions she wanted – timers and latches - were, to her surprise, available as pre-designed modules from hobbyist catalogs – they weren't even expensive. She ruined a couple of inexpensive kits during her learning process, but after a few weekends of practice in the little workshop, her soldering was perfectly acceptable. There were a few other components and devices, but the Internet proved very useful; a baby-needs shop in the local town yielded a breast pump and a supply of cups, and local builders merchants supplied a profusion of chains and padlocks. The village saddlery was visited for leather straps, and a number of useful clips and snaps, unquestioningly supplied at very reasonable prices, and ripe for adaptation for her specific needs. The only special items had been the chastity belt, the bridle, and the mittens – she already had the knee-length boots.

It all came together surprisingly quickly, and after some frustrating afternoons and one or two late nights in the workshop the backpack was ready for testing. To her immense satisfaction, it worked perfectly from the first, although she was inclined to attribute that to beginner's luck. Three systems, all independent of one another, all very simple – simple was best. The stimulation system – she called it the "Rewarder"; whenever the pack was moved, it stared a timer, which applied power the vibrating dildo and turned on the breast pump to suck on her nipples. Its opposite she thought of as the "Persuader" – if she stayed still for more than fifteen seconds, or the pack was tilted more than thirty degrees from vertical -  then an electronic stimming unit would give her some very painful shocks in some sensitive places, and keep doing it until she was vertical and started moving again … which would meant that the stimulator would immediately come on again. And the piss machine – a bag of saline in a sealed box, that emptied through a catheter into her bladder if she ever knelt down; to stop the agony, she would have to stand up, then suck hard on the dildo in her mouth to evacuate the box – the bag would re-inflate under the vacuum, allowing her to empty her bladder again. It was simple, foolproof - and excruciating. Just what she wanted.

She stayed kneeling for a long time – she was not sure how long – making small, careful movements and exploring the new sensations. Slowly, she conducted a mental survey of her body; the dull ache already starting in her calves and thighs; the warm, tight feeling of the mittens; the thin, warm thread of the catheter, and smooth fullness of the anal plug and vibrator - she could feel the domed head pressing against her cervix, and the soft moistness of the cups on her nipples. Her jaw already ached slightly from the gag in her mouth, and there was a gentle but insistent pressure on the front of her neck from the collar. She was ready …. Time to start.

Judging her balance carefully, she spread her thighs slightly wider until she felt the tension on her knee cuffs, then slowly started to ease herself back onto the balls of her feet. It was easy enough – she had practised – and a moment later she had risen smoothly upright, back straight, thighs splayed to support the weight of the ball, knees slightly bent. She could feel the chains tugging gently, keeping her in this awkward stance – she knew from experience that any attempt to stand straight would snatch her head back, half strangling her, and that bringing her legs together would allow the ball to fall, pulling on the rod and jiggling the dildo – not that that would be so bad ….

She moved her thighs slightly in and out, and felt the head of the dildo stroke gently back and forward. It felt very good … but there was better to come. All she had to do was walk forward until the rope tied to the tow-hitch went tight, and pulled the plug out of the socket in the backpack. The contacts would close, connecting up the battery, and at the same time the clip would pull off the valve of the piss machine – then, only the tension in the elastic cord down to her spreader bar would be keeping it from opening. Which way ? Back along the path would be best to start with. Gingerly, she swung her right foot forward …. Wiggle, wiggle went the dildo …. A half step with the left foot …… wiggle, jiggle, wiggle …….keep going …..she was going to climax soon …. A bit further …. And then suddenly……click.  

The vibrator had looked ridiculous, comical even, nestling on a moulded white plastic sheet in the gaudy cardboard box, adorned with extravagant claims for its effectiveness. But it had been the nearest to what she guessed was  the right size for her requirements. The chastity belt was quite different – a superb piece of craftsmanship in polished steel, and a surprisingly comfortable fit. As she had expected, the "triple action vibro-stimulator" had been a disappointment; it was reasonably anatomically accurate, as advertised,  and when she turned it on it obediently buzzed and vibrated as the bulbous head moved slowly backwards and forwards, and the "super stimulating pearls" in their silicone rubber sleeve on the shaft moved round and round; but a shortcut to a climax it certainly wasn't – for her, at least. But once she managed to fix it into the slot in the base of the belt, everything changed; somehow, being so firmly held inside her, the effect was magnified more than she had imagined, to her immense satisfaction. As the months past, and she added to her stock of equipment, so the duration of her "experiments" became longer and longer, the set-ups more and more elaborate; and the inevitable orgasms, carefully delayed by limiting the extent of the stimulation, proportionately more overwhelming, tempting her on to sample the delights which might be had from taking her fantasies all the way to their conclusion.

For a moment, nothing happened. Had she heard it or not ? Was it working ? It would be very annoying if she had gone to all this trouble only to have it fail ….. it had worked every time on test, but it would be typical for it to go wrong the first time she used it for real. She waddled forward another half pace, then heard another faint click, and the buzzing started. She felt the vibrator start to squirm backwards and forwards, massaging her cervix, the nodules on the thick shaft rippling insistently at the base of her vagina, causing her to tense involuntarily -  which of course merely magnified the sensation. As her pelvic floor muscles tightened, she became even more aware of the butt plug keeping her anus stretched open. Moments later, as the breast pump whirred, she felt the insistent suction on her nipples that she found so unbearably stimulating. Her whole body seemed to be filling up with a pinkish-white warmth, blocking out everything, blurring her vision, leaching away any ability to think, to move, to act.

She stood, trembling, luxuriating in the sensations surging through her body, drifting away into a fog of pleasure. But as suddenly as they had started, the sensations stopped, and the fog began to fade. Disappointed, she moved her thighs in and out, raising and lowering the ball and the rod, feeling the vibrator moving, starting to recapture the fading ecstasy ….. when the jolt of electric current from the shock system hit her. She had stopped too long, and the Persuader had activated. She gasped – it really, REALLY hurt, and suddenly she didn't feel at all close to orgasm any more. As she bit hard on the gag, and her limbs tensed, she felt the chains that held her snap tight, dragging her head back; her vagina, anus and breasts were still tingling painfully from the shock.

She had to move – she had about two seconds before it punished her again. She lurched forward, trying to relax her stance to relive the tension on the bridle, and as her head came forward again the visor swung suddenly downward on it hinge and clicked into place. Great; now she couldn't see forwards, only a thin sliver to each side; and because of the chain at the back of her neck, she couldn't turn her head without half-choking herself. Concentrate ! Remember the tests ….. zigzag, walk in a curving path so that you can see each bit of the way ahead in short sections ….. Oh God, the Rewarder had come on again ……. Got to walk …… walk or be punished ……..

"You lucky bitch ! How come he left the place to you ?"

"Guilt, I think"

"Guilt ? Why ?"

"My Dad ran out on my Mum and me when I was a little kid, he went off with his pretty blonde secretary. His family were totally horrified – it was a real big thing back then, and divorce wasn't as easy as it was now. His parents practically disowned him, in fact I don't think his father ever spoke more than two words to him between then and the day he died. They were wonderful to Mum, helped out with money, and looking after me so she could go out and get a job, so actually my childhood was pretty good – I just didn't have a Dad. And Uncle Mark took it very badly – Dad was older than him, and Mark had always looked up to him – then he went and did that, and suddenly his hero was a villain. We used to go to them for holidays, and Mark would never hear of us paying for anything – he spent the whole time taking us out in his car for treats. I used to enjoy those holidays so much; Uncle Mark in a way was the Dad I never had, and I suppose that I was the daughter they never had. I don't think Auntie Sylv could have children, but it was one of those things that was never talked about. I think she had had a miscarriage, and that was it – doctors weren't as good back then.  Anyway, after I went off to college I sort of lost touch, apart from Christmas and Birthday cards. I feel very bad about that …. I remember Mum telling me that Auntie Silv had died, and that she had been up to see Uncle Mark, but I was too busy, you know ? I really should have made the time. That was six or seven years ago. Then Mum died, and I lost touch more and more with the family."

"And your Dad ?"

"Oh, he's still going. It was a real shock to see him at Mum's funeral. I hadn't seen him for a long time, and he was old and white-haired and wrinkly, and quite short …. I always remember him as being so tall, and fair haired, and handsome, with twinkly blue eyes, always laughing. And he brought Megan – that was so funny, because I talked to her quite a lot, no one else would – and she's such a really nice person, you know ? I think in other circumstances we could have been really good friends. It was so sad. I don't know who Merrow Lodge would have gone to – my Dad, I think – if Uncle Mark hadn't made that will. But I don't think he wanted Dad to have it; he was still angry and ashamed after all those years – so, he left it to me."

"Step…… breathe …… wiggle, buzz, suck, suck, wiggle …… oh Jesus …… got to keep going ……breathe slowly …… damn this visor, which way ? I'm going to go off the track …… no, that's OK…… ruts ahead…….. small steps ……. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, that's good …….  Ahhh….. going to come …….yes …… mustn't stop ………. Mmmmmmmmhhhhhh…….. turn left, I'm near the edge of the track …….. Ohhhhh …… OOOOOH …… MMMMMMM …… YEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHH ……… Ahhhhhhh …… Ahhh ….. Oh, that was good ……. Rest a moment ….. get my breath …… jjust a few moments……. Legs won't work……. Got to rest……… FUCK ! Fucking Hell, that hurt ! Got to move …… left, left …… that's it ……. MMMMmhhhhhh, damn that thing, oh Christ, get it out of me ! ….. I want a shit …….. I really really need a shit……. I knew that plug was too big, whatever made me want to stick something like that up my arse, I must be mad ……… keep knees apart …… got to keep going ……Oh, I'm tired…….. where's the edge of the track …… there …… I wonder if I can reach the cable, pull it off maybe …… at least stop the fucking vibrator……."

"AH ! SHIT ! …… no, that's no good, just pulls on the ball, can't lift my hands when I'm standing ….. if I knelt down, maybe I could reach …… but the piss machine would get me …… edge of the track again …….. which way ? Left …… Oh God, I'm going to come again ……. Mustn't stop too long ……. If I kneel down, I'll have about a count of twelve before I have to stand up and move again …… maybe I can fool it by rocking ….. never tried that ……. I could stand the piss machine for ten seconds, surely, then suck it out ….. suck …… oh, my tits ……. Oh …… OH ……..coming again……. Must'n squeeze……. Mustn't ……. Ah …..No…… No… Yes …… YES…….. YES………. MMMMMMMMMHHHHHHEEEEEEE ………… Oh…… Oh God …….. get moving before it stings ….. try not to squeeze ….. makes it worse …… try to relax, just keep moving …… which way now……… right ……… SHITshitSHIT, bloody ruts, nearly went over then …….. come ON, you stupid cow, keep going …… turn ……… OK …… this is a nice level bit, I could try kneeling down here……. Get to the centre ….. just a couple more steps…… got to give it a try, can't stand much more of this ………"

One of the few pieces of furniture she had kept was a beautiful antique wardrobe in figured, polished walnut. Not exceptionally valuable, but it suited the room, even with the modern pine bedstead and the bright flowery curtains at the small window. Like the Long case clock in the parlour – she still thought of it as the parlour – it was a discreet, understated connection to a past full of pleasant memories. And on the inside of a door, it held a beautiful mirror, a little spotted with age here and there but still perfectly useable. She had considered having it re-slivered, but the valuer had advised her that the piece would probably keep its value better in as close to original condition as possible, leaving a future buyer to decide on what restoration they might wish to perform; if she really needed a new mirror, then she should remove and carefully store the old one and just fix a modern replacement in its place. 

In the end she had left it alone. She didn't need it very often – there was a good face mirror in the modernised bathroom, and another on the dressing table – and never regretted leaving it untouched, as she grew used to its minor blemishes. But it gave her one of the biggest shocks of her life when she saw herself in full harness for the first time, only a few weeks before. She had finally assembled all the parts she wanted, bringing the collar with her when she drove up late on the Friday evening. She had not felt inclined to do anything that night – she was too tired, after a busy week, horrendous traffic leaving the city, and a long demanding journey down unlit country roads– and she contented herself with a couple of gin-and-tonics in a hot bath, then straight to bed. But next morning she woke early from the brilliant sunshine streaming through the open curtains, and excitement surged as she remembered what she had planned for the day.

She had wolfed a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee at the kitchen sink, watching through the window as small birds hopped and fluttered over the frosty lawn, then scurried upstairs and carried the large plastic crate from the spare room into her bedroom. No hurry, she had it all worked out. She had printed out a checklist and instructions. First, the boots; then to the bathroom to thread in the catheter and put on the belt with vibrator and plug. The anal plug was always a struggle, but she was always so turned on that the vibrator slid straight in. Then the chest harness and the nipple cups. Half an hour for the lot….. and then she was standing in the centre of the bedroom floor, plucking up courage to move forward and pull the string which would turn on the backpack. But first ….. she had purposely left the wardrobe door open, and she waddled across the floor to see for the first time what she looked like. When she did, she nearly had an orgasm right there. Even with the backpack switched off, few small movements of her thighs were quite enough to do the rest ……

She wiggled her shoulders from side to side, and to her relief the vibrator kept running. That meant she was triggering the motion sensor, which meant she wouldn't get a shock. Ok, so whenever she felt the vibrator stop, all she would have to do was remember to wiggle her shoulders. She could do that. Now, if she knelt down, there should be enough slack on the wrist chains to let her reach behind her back and try to undo the connectors on the base of the backpack. Of course, she would have to put up with the discomfort in her bladder, but then again she'd had to hold it before, many times – she could remember taxi journeys home after having too much to drink which had been pure agony, where she had just barely made it indoors before having to relieve herself. Sure, she could cope …… all right, on three ….. one, two ….. three.

Keeping her back straight, she flexed her hips and knees, descending first to a squatting position, then to kneeling on the ground. She exhaled sharply as the ball hit the ground and the vibrator slewed hard backwards against her anal plug, as her rectum spasmed again in a futile attempt to expel it. The vibrator wiggled to a stop – count of ten, then wiggle shoulders. Now, where were those connectors ? Hissing noise….. that was air leaking into the piss machine tank. Didn't feel too bad so far, but the anal plug was bloody uncomfortable. Reach up with the right hand…… mmmm, funny cold feeling inside – that would be the saline ….. now, in the centre of the base ……damn. The elbow chain had gone tight –can't move my arm away from my body enough to reach the base of the pack with her hand. Maybe the other hand ….. eight ….. nine …..ten …… shake shoulders ……. OOOOOOOhhhhhhhhh, that is BAD, a full bladder and the vibrator twitching away is just unbearable ……need to pee SO BADLY ……..need to shit ….. don't tense up, don't tense up, it'll stop soon …….. that's it ……. Still need to pee ….. and shit…….really need to pee …… really, REALLY need to pee …and shit as well….must try to relax…… It's still getting worse……how can it be getting worse ? Don't tense up …… DON'T TENSE UP…….. how many seconds ? Better shake ….. can't stand the vibrator though …… AAAAAAAAAAARRRGGGGHHHHH OhmyGodOhmyGOD I'm BURSTING, got to stand up, Ah…. Got to get up, got to stand up, got to got to got to….

Whimpering, she lurched to her feet, sucking frantically at the gag to try to relieve the unbearable pressures surging between her legs. As the chains snapped tight, the vibrator buzzed on again, and the whimpering became a muffled scream. No more kneeling, that was for sure. She staggered off down the track, her throat convulsing as she sucked on the gag, her mittened hands hanging limply by her sides, all thought of escape banished. She had been too clever; she had thought of everything. There was no way to get free other than by using the key dangling from the string in the barn. All she could do was go on. 

This weekend might be the one. Warm for the end of March, promising warmer as well. Too soon in the year for nasty biting insects in the woods. Dry, too – the tracks and paths wouldn't be muddy. Warm – but warm enough ? Warm enough to be outside with no clothes on ? It would soon get very cold if there was any wind. What if it rained ? She could wear the canvas smock over her harness, it wouldn't make any difference ….. but there was something so very very special about being naked. Could tomorrow be the day ? Everything was ready; four packs of saline and a dozen catheters in the wardrobe; all the harness prepared and tested. There were plenty of fresh batteries in the kitchen cupboard  - the backpack would run for at least eight hours on a set of new alkaline cells. What if it went wrong ? What if someone called and found her chained up in the woods ? What would people say ??? What if she fell ? It would be days before anyone missed her, she could die out there of something went wrong. It was a stupid idea. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And she was going to do it anyway.

The weather was holding up. At midnight, she turned on the little kitchen TV to catch the last forecast – and it was still good. In the bedroom, she had the window open, and a warm breeze wafted in. She took a long time to get to sleep, tossing and turning, like a child hoping Christmas Day will come soon. Eventually, she got up and made a hot drink, lit a couple of scented candles on the dressing table, and sat up in bed sipping it, trying to clear her mind, reciting the self-hypnosis mantras that had helped her to stop smoking. She was not aware of the drowsiness stealing over her; without any warning, she fell asleep

Jerking and twitching like an amateurishly-operated marionette, she staggered along the track, almost incapable of rational thought. She had lost all track of time, falling into an inescapable, demoralising pattern of an uncontrollable orgasm bringing her lurching to a halt, legs shaking and twitching, followed by squawks of pain as the shock machine drove her onwards again every time she tried to rest. She sucked continuously and mechanically on the dildo in her mouth, for twice she had stumbled and ended up kneeling down suddenly, only to struggle upwards, squealing in anguish through the gag, as the invading fluid inexorably stretched her tortured bladder, and the vibrator tipped backwards, pushed by the rod, adding to the pressure in her rectum; now, her semi-delirious mind could only grasp that sucking sometimes reduced the pain, so she must keep sucking. How far had she gone ? There were few landmarks to guide her, only featureless woodland and bushes on each side – vaguely, she realised that her decision to stay on the track, even though it was a longer route, had been the right one, for had she strayed off it into the woods she would have been hopelessly lost within minutes, half-blinded as she was by the visor. She was making progress, she knew it. She just had to keep going; her limbs were aching, and she was sweating profusely, her cheeks streaked with tears. She was becoming more and more desperate to avoid the terrible punishments of the electric shocks and the piss machine, as her weary body became ever more sore and irritated. She longed to stop, to end the relentless stimulation of the vibrator and plug, the delicious torment of the nipple cups, but even that was preferable to the shocks …… she must be getting close. And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something, something she thought she recognised. Swaying and sobbing, she waddled round to bring it more into view, then stopped, frozen in horror as cold dread welled up inside her. She did not notice the vibrator cease its twitching, but merely stood stock-still, trying to make sense of what she was seeing out of the corner of her eye. The car. The bloody car ….. she was back at the car. Somehow, sometime, during one of those excruciating moments on her knees, as she struggled desperately to regain her feet and her balance, she had lost track of which way to turn – and turned the wrong way. All that time, all that effort – for nothing. She would have to start again. She was already exhausted. And exactly on cue, a violent shock coursed through her. Her knees buckled, and she slumped to the ground, her flailing arms merely adding to her pain as the attached chains tugged on the ball, jerking the rod down and sending the vibrator hard forward against the back of her bladder, already filling with fluid despite her frenzied, useless sucking. The shock machine fired again ….. and again …… and again …… but the slumped, kneeling figure by the car made no attempt to rise, nor made any sound, but merely jerked convulsively with every succeeding pulse of current.

Brilliant, warm sunshine, birds singing in the trees in the orchard. Having gone to sleep late she had slept late, but no matter. Normally fastidious, she did not bother to shower or wash, merely using the toilet and washing her hands. Breakfast was a small glass of orange juice – she was too excited and nervous for anything else – then back upstairs to get ready. She put on the boots and ankle cuffs, the belt and plugs, then the chest harness and nipple cups, finally pulling her bath robe over the top; the rest of the equipment she carried down to the kitchen in the plastic crate, where she fitted a bag of saline into its box and flushed a little through the sterile tube before plugging the end and clipping the airtight lid firmly onto the container. She sensed a need to urinate – the orange juice had gone through her system fast – and amused herself by draining her catheter into an old jug, intrigued by the unfamiliar sensation of emptying it gave her. Batteries in the backpack; test … OK. Activation plug with thin rope in its socket, and the whole thing into the crate. Across to the barn to put the key in place on the string, then to the car; equipment in the back, start the engine, and off to begin her adventure.

It was mid-afternoon before a strange, jerky, almost robotic figure slowly made its way round the bend in the track and into sight of the house. Every movement seemed to be a tremendous effort, the feet hardly lifting at each short, uncertain step. Through the gateway, slowly across the cobbled yard, halting now and again for some seconds, chest heaving, to moan and twitch - before suddenly convulsing and squealing a few moments later, then lurching onwards in a curiously random serpentine path. Across the yard, through the doorway into the barn, and out of sight – not that there was anyone to see. And inside, a curious, pathetic ritual commenced, the figure wandering seemingly aimlessly about the empty, dusty floor before finally bumping into a single key hooked onto a thick string tied over a rafter – triggering a despairing mewing, and the clumsy, frantic fumbling of the chained, gloved and useless hands as the wearer strove again and again to fit the key into the awkward keyhole on her wrist.

Sometimes she struggled to detach it from the heavy, J-shaped steel snap hook, trying to work by touch, despite the fact that that sense was almost denied to her. The torment was exquisitely designed; If she was standing, she could not raise her arms enough to manipulate the key, for as she did so she also pulled on the restraining chains from her wrists to her ankles through the loop between her knees, so that the ball between her legs swung and bounced, sending her off writhing and twitching on several more random circuits of the floor, until she found the key once again. If she knelt, she could raise her hands - but could not reach up far enough to touch the key and guide it into the lock, for her pinioned arms were still below the level of the hook – and inevitably, after a few moments, she would once again struggle to her feet, her head thrown back, and resume her shuffling traverse of the room, the unmistakeable sounds of distress alternating with muffled moans of ecstasy, her pelvis pumping backwards and forwards as she clanked helplessly onward, lost in her tiny, half-blind world of pleasure and pain.

The harness worked, just as she had intended but also in ways that she had never anticipated, for now her reactions to it had quickly become so ingrained and automatic that her conscious mind could no longer override the conditioning she had imposed on herself. Only the memory that this task was in some way a part of her programmed activity drove her to continue, for she had long ago lost the capacity for anything approaching rational thought; when, now and again, she struggled to regain control, the vengeful backpack would shock her back into obedient movement. She knew that of she could control herself long enough to get the key she could soon be free, for she had achieved it before – but then, she had been wearing the harness for only a few minutes ……..

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The sun was nearly setting by the time she finally emerged from the barn. Her movements were very slow and deliberate, and every few steps, she would pause, breathing heavily, and lean on a wall for support, like a drunk. She was still wearing most of the harness; the spreader bar was free at one end and trailed behind making a scraping noise at each step, and though the ball between her knees was gone the rod still dangled from the crotch of the chastity belt. The mittens dangled behind her, underneath the backpack, whose connections were mostly still in place, with the scold's bridle hung over the top at the back, dangling by its chain and tube. Slowly, painfully, she made her way across the yard and through the back door of the house. A long pause, and then a light clicked on in the kitchen; after another long interval, as the shadows lengthened in the orchard, and the woods filled up with soft blue twilight, a light went on upstairs, and the faint sound of a radio wafted out of the open bedroom window.

"…. in the local area. And looking at the weather, well, the good news from the forecasters is that Sunday is shaping up to be another fine, dry sunny day, just like today….."

10.04.04