Agony Aunt (11 page)

By way of reply Victoria shivered slightly and let out a little ‘ummmmh’, which could have been agreement or just a sigh of pleasure. She lowered her skirt as Harriet turned to let them out of the cubicle. Another woman entering at the same moment gave them a very queer look, but Harriet paid her no attention. Victoria blushed and looked away as she was led out with her elbow firmly in Harriet’s grasp.

The two women left the restaurant and went to the bus stop. Harriet considered and then rejected the idea of making Victoria wait longer by going shopping. It might be interesting to watch her restraining herself in public all afternoon, but that would take up too much time. Besides, Rachel was waiting.

All through the bus ride home Harriet was conscious of Victoria’s little squirmings and shiftings on the seat. At one point she raised her hand to her breasts, stopping just before she touched herself when she remembered they were in public. Harriet imagined her nipples were erect and in contact with the sharp prickers sewn into her bra. Her obvious agitation made Harriet smile to herself.

They got off and walked the short distance to Harriet’s house. Victoria was becoming more flushed in the face as she felt the dildo shifting inside her, and she was breathing raggedly by the time Harriet let them into the house. As Harriet closed the door Victoria gave a loud gasp. Harriet looked at her just in time to see her swaying on her feet. Victoria staggered over to the hall table and held on to the edge as if she were afraid of falling. She made a strangled squealing sound as she surrendered to the orgasm she had been suppressing all the way home. Her knees buckled suddenly, and for a moment Harriet thought she would fall down. But Victoria held on and remained on her feet.

Harriet finished locking the door, before taking a riding crop from the umbrella stand. Placing herself behind Victoria, she struck her squarely across the bottom. The force of the blow drove the breath from Victoria’s lungs in a hoarse groan which was definitely not a sign of pain. Victoria bent over the table, resting her vulva against the edge and thrusting her bottom into the air. She shifted her grip so that she was holding on to the far edge. In that position she ground herself against the edge of the table, shuddering and groaning.

Harriet lifted Victoria’s skirt above her wildly gyrating hips before resuming with the riding crop. She lashed Victoria’s bottom and the backs of her thighs methodically while the other woman moaned and shuddered, lost to everything except her climaxes. It seemed as if Harriet was beating them out of her with the crop. This was the sort of thing that aroused her most quickly, and it was why she kept coming back to Harriet, who knew best how to administer the treatment.

The series of orgasms went on until Victoria was forced to let go of the table. She slid down until she was kneeling on the floor. Her skirt was still hiked around her hips and her face was wet with sweat and tears. Slowly she collapsed further, drawing herself into a heap on the floor. Harriet stood over her, panting lightly from her efforts. She too was flushed, and the rapid rise and fall of her breasts made her look most desirable. But there was no one there to appreciate how she looked.

Gradually Victoria’s shudders ceased. She raised herself until she could sit with her back against the wall. Harriet wondered how she could bear to sit on her bottom so soon after the beating she had just received, but Victoria didn’t seem to mind. She seemed to thrive on pain.

At length she said, ‘God, it seems I’ve been waiting for that for ages. You do know how to draw things out. Help me get up, please.’ She held up her hand to Harriet.

Harriet helped her get to her feet, steering her towards the basement. She had planned on taking Victoria straight to the cellar as soon as they got home because Rachel was still waiting upstairs, but she hadn’t been able to deny Victoria when she saw how urgent her need had become.

Victoria noticed where they were heading, and she knew from experience what was waiting for her down those stairs. With a slight tremor in her voice Victoria said, ‘I see this is going to be a heavy session.’ She didn’t look frightened however, but still excited. She watched as Harriet unlocked the door leading to her basement workshop.

Harriet was thinking that she had better get upstairs as quickly as possible to release Rachel. She imagined that the young woman would be wanting to go to the toilet rather badly by now. Victoria could wait for a bit.

‘Go on down,’ she commanded. ‘Take off everything except your stockings and suspenders and your bra. You know where everything is. I’ll be along in a minute.’ She locked the door behind Victoria. Even if the other woman didn’t do as she was told, she still couldn’t escape. And she knew that Harriet took a dim view of people who didn’t do as they were told.

Harriet hung up her coat and went upstairs. She peered at Rachel through the two-way mirror in her bedroom, but she was much as she had been several hours ago. The disordered bedspread suggested that she had been moving about quite a bit, but she was still securely bound in her straitjacket. She looked as if she could wait for a few more minutes.

Harriet went quietly back down the stairs and unlocked the cellar door. Victoria was standing in the centre of the basement workshop admiring the collection of handcuffs, ropes, whips and gags in the cupboards. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. She was clearly excited by what she knew was coming. She had followed Harriet’s instructions and was wearing nothing but her stockings and suspenders and the leather bra. Her legs looked stunning, Harriet noted with a twinge of envy, and her stockings gave off glossy highlights as she turned to face Harriet. The bra flattered Victoria’s breasts while allowing her to suffer for it.

Harriet said nothing, collecting rope from her store in a businesslike manner and summoning Victoria to her side with a gesture. She tied Victoria’s wrists securely in front of her and then led her over to one of several hooks that were fixed in the ceiling. Taking the rope’s end that trailed downward, Harriet tied it to Victoria’s wrists. Victoria was flushed with excitement, her breasts heaving and her breathing deep and shuddery. Harriet pulled on the rope, hoisting Victoria’s arms above her head. She tied the rope off when Victoria was stretched tautly, leaving her feet solidly on the floor. She stood for a moment admiring her handiwork.

‘There’s something starkly beautiful about a naked woman strung up and in the grip of sexual tension,’ she observed to no one in particular. To Victoria she said, ‘Aren’t you glad I didn’t let you wear yourself out at the restaurant? Now you can look forward to the rest of the day’s activity. You think about that while I nip up to see how my other charge is doing.’ Victoria didn’t look worn out, but she definitely looked a bit frazzled after the wild scene in the hallway. She would be all the better for a short rest.

Upstairs, Harriet went into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. She collected the coffee cups from the table and piled them in the sink for Victoria to do later. She knew that Victoria enjoyed doing the housework in chains, and Harriet intended to give her a lot to do, as
she
didn’t particularly like such chores. And it would fill up the time agreeably enough for both of them. Then she went up to deal with Rachel.

She unlocked the door to the guest room and went in as quietly as possible. The effect when she touched Rachel’s shoulder was electric. The young woman laced inside the leather straitjacket jerked wildly and let out a small scream as she woke up. She tried to move away but couldn’t.

Rachel looked frightened and disorientated, and Harriet bent to reassure her. ‘Relax, dear. It’s only me.’

The taut bow of Rachel’s body relaxed. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You really startled me.’

Harriet set about freeing her from her restraints. Rachel’s hair was damp and matted, moulded close to her head by the sweat from her exertions.

‘Can you roll over on to your back?’ Harriet helped Rachel to turn over. ‘You look as if you’re still sane to me, so I guess I can safely let you loose.’ She was unbuckling the straps at Rachel’s knees and ankles as she spoke. Then she unstrapped her arms before helping the young woman to sit up on the side of the bed, and fished the laces out of the collar so that she could undo the back of the jacket. As she shucked the tight leather sheath off Rachel’s body, Harriet could see that she had sweated inside it. Her body was damp and pink, with lines in her skin where the stitched seams had pressed into her flesh. If nothing else Rachel had been very active. Last of all, Harriet helped her remove the dildoes that plugged her two entrances. They were quite warm after being inside her for so long.

Rachel tried to stretch her stiff limbs. ‘I can barely move,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know I’d be so stiff.’ She didn’t say that as a complaint. It was merely a statement of fact.

‘That usually happens to people who’ve been tied up in one position for long periods. It’ll pass. You sit there and unwind while I go fetch you a glass of water. Don’t try to stand up just yet. You might fall.’ Harriet left the young woman sitting on the bed and went to the bathroom. She brought a chamber pot and a glass of water back with her.

When she saw the pot Rachel said, ‘How did you know? I’m bursting for a pee. I almost wet myself the last time I came.’

‘Part of the game, dear,’ Harriet told her. ‘I’ve been through this many times with both men and women. When you think you can stand I’ll help you with the pot. Unless you’d rather try for the toilet.’

‘The pot, please,’ Rachel said. ‘ I don’t think I can hold myself long enough to walk to the bathroom.’

She sounded anxious, so Harriet helped her to stand beside the bed. ‘Hold on to the bedpost so you don’t fall. That’s the idea. Now spread your legs and just let go whenever you want to.’ Harriet held the pot between Rachel’s legs just above her knees. Nothing happened.

‘I can’t!’ Rachel wailed in a tight, distressed tone. Every line in her body was tense as she fought to relieve herself. ‘It hurts!’

‘Relax. It’ll come.’ As she spoke Harriet reached for the glass of water. She poured a small amount of it down Rachel’s belly. She jumped at the touch of the cold water, and as it ran through her pubic hair and down her legs she finally relaxed. Harriet had to use both hands to steady the rapidly filling pot. As she waited for Rachel to finish, she hummed a few bars of ‘The Day That The Rains Came Down’ to herself. At last the flood was over. Harriet set the pot down and spoke to Rachel. ‘That feels better, doesn’t it? Almost as good as another orgasm, some people say.’

Rachel merely nodded, looking relieved. She was bending her knees and flexing her cramped shoulder muscles. She let go of the bedpost and managed to keep her balance.

Harriet judged she would be all right, so she picked up the full chamber pot and headed for the bathroom. From the doorway she said, ‘Come along after me when you’re ready and get your clothes. You might want to take a shower after your exercises. Take your time. Come down when you’re done and we can have a cup of coffee and a little chat.’

Harriet was sitting at the kitchen table with her second cup of coffee when Rachel entered, the damp leather straitjacket carefully folded in her hands. She looked tired but happy. Her hair was wet and she had washed off her make-up in the shower, but she still looked attractive. Yes, Harriet said to herself with a tinge of envy, there’s nothing like being on the right side of 30. ‘You look positively radiant,’ she told Rachel. ‘Come sit down and pour yourself a coffee. If you’d like something stronger let me know.’

‘A coffee would be just fine,’ Rachel said. She pulled out a chair and sat down across from Harriet. She held the cup with both hands as if she wasn’t sure of her body’s cooperation.

Harriet thought Rachel looked a little apprehensive, as if she were still embarrassed about what she had done. ‘Well, what do you think of B&D now that you’ve tried it?’

Rachel added a thoughtful look to her embarrassed one. She looked as if she was on the verge of clamming up, but at length she began to speak. ‘I wonder if my nan – Deborah, I mean – ever had as many orgasms as I did this afternoon. If she did, she must have been even happier than I thought. I don’t think I’ve ever come so often, not even with Jeff, even though he’s certainly thoughtful and thorough. The orgasms seemed to feed off one another, so that once I got started I thought I’d never stop.’ Rachel said this with a serious look. ‘But,’ and here she allowed herself a smile, ‘I didn’t really want to stop.’ She reddened, as if she had let slip something she would rather have kept to herself, but she had said it now. There was no point in holding back. The words came easier after that admission.

Harriet said nothing about having watched the action through the two-way mirror. She thought it best for Rachel to tell the story in her own way.

‘After you’d left me I couldn’t think of anything except how helpless I was. I mean, I couldn’t do anything, tied up in that straitjacket. I could feel the leather pressing on every part of my body, an unyielding pressure, and I loved it. Then I began to think of the dildoes, and that turned me on as well. I could feel them inside whenever I made the slightest move, sliding and shifting and pressing against me, inside me, especially the one in my anus. I’ve never had anything like that up there.’

Rachel took a sip of her coffee and put the cup down once again. Harriet was afraid that she would stop talking, but she waited silently.

Rachel resumed without further prompting. ‘I wish I’d been able to talk to Deborah about this. I think she would have understood. Just as you do,’ she added after a pause. ‘Anyway, there I was, trussed up and helpless and alone in a strange house, and it all turned me on. I tried to escape, not really believing I could, or even that I wanted to. And the realisation that I couldn’t get free was frightening at first. Then I realised that there was nothing really to fear. No one knew where I was, so no one was likely to find me. And the doors were all locked. And I felt warm and drowsy, and somehow safe, trussed up in the straitjacket. As if no one could find me or get at me. Of course it wouldn’t do for anyone to find me like that, but I wasn’t worried by the idea then.’