The Cell

Part two

. . . if she weren't manacled to the wall.

She looked round over each shoulder for the dozenth time. Still plain, white paint on the brick walls, grey vinyl tiles on the floor, the immovable bars and bed. Nothing happening, nowhere to go and no-one else about. All she could do was stand by the wall and wait for a reprieve.

Her legs ached. Ridiculous! She could spend all day on her feet without a twinge. Ah, but moving around. She stretched out her right leg and rested her foot on the edge of the bed; not warm or comfortable, but it pulled the latex knickers in an interesting new way.

"You're supposed to endure, not enjoy being here", she thought, and put her foot back on the floor, peeping over her shoulder through the bars in case she was being watched.

She shifted her weight sideways from foot to foot. The feeling of the rubber knickers pulling taut alternately across each buttock was nice, but the movement hardly amounted to exercise.

She slowed to a halt and bowed her head. She was here to be caged and restrained, and that was that. Might as well just wait it out . . .

A while later the door down the corridor opened loudly in the stillness. She jumped, startled out of her reverie. A woman in black jeans and burgundy sweatshirt approached and slotted a key into the door. The new lock clicked sharply, echoing round the painted walls.

The woman stepped in to the cell and reached up to the ring, deftly releasing the padlock and catching it in one smooth motion - the confinement was over. She lowered her arms to her side and followed the woman out into the corridor, heading back into the warmth of the living room/punishment area, unfastening the wrist cuffs as she walked.

Inside she strode to her favourite chair and sat down, and began unzipping her boots. The other woman went to a low, padded bondage bench and perched on the edge, saying "So, how was it?"

"Cold and dreary" she replied. "But I had to know what it was like to be in there, before putting him in it."

The woman in jeans nodded, smiling at the thought that the notion of trying something on oneself before subjecting others to it was as widely known as it was rarely practised. "So how long will you leave him in there for?"

"Oh, hours at a time. It's horrible - I'm sure he'll love it." She pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and picked up the jacket. "I'll see you out. Thanks for being my 'gaoler' - I know it's not really your thing."

The woman pouted briefly then confessed: "That wasn't quite half an hour. I should have left you longer, but I got bored."