Hannah: Syndicate Slave - Enslavement

 

Hannah had managed to reduce the number of purely formal approaches by hiding behind a large plate of prawn toasts, but now she realised that one of the pseudo-constables had appeared before her, shirt bulging with breasts that were probably a little larger than her own. She carried the standard accessories; a pair of ordinary handcuffs, a truncheon, a whistle and a very non-standard whip, coiled tightly and hooked onto her waistband. Disappointingly, she wore a wedding ring, but Hannah consoled herself with the thought that a one-night stand, or a one-weekend stand, would be a useful learning experience. She found the woman very sexy, with a roundish face and slightly pouting lips, and no visible make-up. She was wearing a friendly smile. 'You're Hannah, I take it', she said, glancing at the dangling handcuff. 'Our hostess gathered a few of us lone rangers and gave us assignments. My job is to make sure that you aren't lonely and neglected. I must say I've had less agreeable ones.' She went on without giving Hannah the chance to get a word in edgeways. 'That loose cuff looks very untidy, just hanging there. You might accidentally hit someone with it or hurt yourself. Let me tidy it up for you.'

Without a moment's hesitation she took Hannah by the shoulders and turned her around, and ran her hands down her arms, drawing them together and, with a very practiced technique, snapping the loose cuff over her right wrist. Hannah had been rendered helpless without a by-your-leave, in a few seconds, and she had not even noticed what had happened to the rest of her prawn toast. What would she do if I said I needed to pee? she thought, and nearly burst into nervous laughter, wondering whether everyone in the room was watching her surreptitiously. Perhaps it was just routine for these people, and indeed, she caught a glimpse of one of the other novices being led away, hands roped behind her back, by one of the 'forest rangers'. She almost let her attention drift from what her new friend (if that's what she was) was saying. 'My name is Jezebel, or at least, that's what you can call me. If your name really is Hannah, you're a rare bird here. I think we'll go for a stroll on the terrace, it's getting stuffy in here. It's a warm evening and the outside lights come on when it gets too dark.' She pulled on one of the bifold doors and opened it just enough for them to slip out, and as they stood facing the rose beds, she pulled a leather lead and dog collar from a trouser pocket. 'I'll just put this on you. I know this place, and it wouldn't be good if we got separated in the darker areas.' It was accomplished in no time at all, and she led the way forward, chattering all the time. 'There's only a few out at the moment, but in June and July the roses are glorious. They have one of those 'open for charity' weekends, and it's well worth coming. They have one in spring for the camellias and rhododendrons, but they're over now, but a few azaleas are still flowering, I see. They walked right through the rose garden and onto a gravel path into the shrubbery, which was almost pitch dark now. Hannah had still not spoken a word to Jezebel, but had allowed herself to be locked in handcuffs and led to this lonely place without any attempt at protest or resistance. What sort of a person was this make-believe policewoman? Honest people don't usually use pseudonyms, and if they do, 'Jezebel' is probably not what they would choose. What if she gets her kicks out of strangling strangers? She knew there were very few people outdoors with them. In the rose garden she had seen, right on the far side, a couple on a seat talking earnestly together. Now, on their left, was a small clearing that revealed them to be on a terrace overlooking the surrounding countryside, with the river gleaming below. An ornate metal bench held a couple who were kissing passionately, hands all over one another's bodies. Both glanced over when they heard the rustle of shoes on gravel, but showed no interest in Hannah's predicament. 'That's a shame', said Jezebel quietly as they plunged on into the bushes. 'I was hoping to use that seat. It's a very romantic spot, and you can see the lights of Preston, and if the breeze is in the right direction, you can hear the hum of the traffic on the M6.'

Hannah knew that if the time was right, almost anywhere could seem romantic, but she thought that the M6 was always going to be an outlier. She was just about to say so, but somehow, her timing seemed to be off. Jezebel, apparently fearing that she would stumble in the almost total darkness, hooked their arms together and resumed her prattling. 'I like this area. I live near Garstang, which used to be a nothing sort of place once, between Preston and Lancaster. Now it's a thriving hub for visitors, with lots of good restaurants and tea rooms. This will do, and it's still relatively light here.'

'This' was an area of climbing shrubs, mostly clematis, growing over wrought-iron frames, with plenty of open space and a wooden shelter with a bench that looked much more comfortable than the favoured one. Jezebel didn't lead her there immediately. They were still arm-in-arm, and Hannah now felt very vulnerable so close to her, and so completely under her control. It would be pitch dark very soon, and there was no sign of the promised lights. Suddenly Jezebel stopped, turned to her and asked: 'What would you do, Hannah, if I stuck my tongue into your ear?'

Startled by the question, Hannah almost came back with the obvious. Have you ever pulled with that line, even once? She realised, however, that it must be easier when the target was in bondage, and quickly thought of something more playful. 'I would depend on whether it tickles, Jezebel. I'd advise pushing it in hard and fast, not flicking it around in the entrance.'

'Good advice, with a fairly general application. Here goes.'

For some reason, Hannah had not realised that she was going to do it right away, and she gasped as she felt the wet tongue. She managed to avoid pulling away, although it did tickle her a bit before she leant towards Jezebel to get it more firmly in contact. Then it writhed and twisted, and Jezebel's hands came up and held her head still. To Hannah it felt weird, and was a very strange way to start a relationship. The tongue itself was warm- almost hot- but as it moved rapidly around the lobe, thrusting in and out of the canal, the moisture evaporated, and then it felt cold. She had never experienced anything like it before: boyfriends had done it only for brief moments, as a joke, and she had quickly pushed them away. Jezebel's behaviour was a reminder of her helplessness. Cuffed and alone with her in the darkness, she was at her disposal, and she couldn't help pulling and twisting her wrists, as if to reassure herself that there was nothing she could do to avoid the probing tongue. In fact, there were people who could have heard her scream, but would they have taken any notice? The real truth was that she did not, in her heart of hearts, want to be rescued. The evening was not quite what she expected, but at least something was happening.

'There, that wasn't too bad, was it?' asked Jezebel, doubtless rhetorically, as she pulled away. She turned Hannah to face her and kissed her on the forehead. 'In for a penny', she murmured, and, holding her head again, brought their lips together. This was something more predictable, and Hannah had rehearsed her first lesbian kiss in her mind, albeit without the bondage. Whatever it felt like, she was going to relax, keep her lips soft and flexible, and not pull back or push strongly forward. Some of that helped, but with her head in a firm grip she her options were limited. As with the ear-tonguing there was no tentative or gentle introduction, and it was full-French from the very beginning. Although Jezebel was energetic, Hannah found it a softer, more sensuous experience than being kissed by a fully-aroused male, although she might have wished for a more gradual approach. It felt better the longer it went on, as she realised that Jezebel, despite her want of subtlety, was genuinely passionate, panting into her mouth with her chest heaving. They were about the same height- five-six- so neither was strained by standing on tiptoe or bending her knees or neck. After the initial assault and a brief separation, she initiated a much gentler, longer kiss, sealing their lips together and rocking her head slowly to maintain friction. Their tongues twisted against one another, but not as forcefully as before, and it was during that period that Hannah became really aroused, accepting that her decision to seek lesbian sex had been the right one. She also began to understand the effects that restraints had on her. If she had been free, her hands would, by then, have been feeling Jezebel's breasts, but the handcuffs kept that in the realm of her imagination, something that might be permitted in the future. That was both frustrating and exciting, especially in view of the vulnerability of her own. Of that, Jezebel was obstinately refusing to take advantage. Her hands were all over Hannah's face and neck, shoulders, arms and waist, but were touching nothing 'private'. Finally, Hannah managed to pull back far enough to speak. 'Fuck me', she gasped, as it was not a time for mincing words. 'I want to get my tongue inside you, and I want your fingers in my holes.'

It was an approach that had always worked with men, but then she had always been able to follow her words with actions. 'Don't give me orders, girl', replied Jezebel, much to her surprise 'You'll get what I think is good for you, and I'll take what I want from you. Come over here.'

'Over here' was a thatched wooden shelter just to one side, with a bench that looked much more comfortable than the wrought-iron version they had passed on the way. It even had waterproof cushions on the seat and back, and they sat side-by-side with Jezebel on the left, guiding Hannah down. The latter found that her cuffs fitted between the seat and the back, so the metal was not pushed into her flesh. As she leant back Jezebel turned and leant over her, resuming the kissing but also fiddling with the neckline of her dress. 'The zip's at the back', whispered Hannah when she had the chance, but then suddenly realized that her lover had produced, from her capacious pockets, a small but stout-looking pair of scissors. She straddled Hannah then, and after making a tiny nick in the fabric, ripped the dress open from the top to the waist. There was another line of defence, as Hannah was wearing a bra. Before she could respond it was cut apart between the cups, which was unnecessarily destructive, for it was held together by two buttons. Hannah's breasts were free, and sagged just a little, still maintaining a good shape with the nipples pointing directly at their rescuer. For Hannah the sudden stripping was both exciting and terrifying. 'How . . . How can I go back like this?', she stammered. 'There's no way I can make myself decent.'