A Tale of The Settlement
by Graham

This is a short story about The Settlement. If you want to read more, there are longer e-books available (“The Settlement” and “The Settlement 2: Under Attack”) available from www.bdsmbooks.com . This story gives a good flavour of what is in the longer works.

Lucy rested her shoulders on the windowsill, her head out in the fresh air. She did not, however, give much thought to the view before her – the pathway between two lines of single storey, block-built apartments – because her consciousness was entirely taken up by the way Scott was fucking her. His hands on her hips, he eased his more than ample equipment slowly in and out of her cunt, alternately filling her till she felt she would explode and leaving her emptier than she could possibly imagine. When he pushed in, she gasped; when he pulled out, she tried to follow him, but his strong hands on her flesh prevented any such idea.

The experience had been going on a good while now, and though Lucy was more aroused than she had ever thought possible, the man was not working fast enough for her to come, and she really had no idea when, or even if, he might let her. Frustrated, she pulled anxiously at the steel cuffs that held her hands at her back, causing the short link of metal that joined their wrist rings to clink. She was not seriously trying to free herself: she was far too familiar with the bonds ever to imagine that escaping their clasp was a possibility. It was just that the struggles were, somehow, a natural reaction to her predicament.

Scott – a tall, muscled, dark haired man, considerably older than Lucy’s twenty-three years, noticed the girl’s pulling at her cuffs and watched, amused, for a while. It was a nice, inspiring reminder of her helplessness. It did not, however, cause him to vary his activity one bit. He continued with his slow, deep pumping. He was not in a rush.

Moving a hand from her hip, Scott brushed away the girl’s tousled locks of dark gold hair, so that he could observe another of her bonds – the bright metal collar on her neck. It was about five centimetres wide, and from this angle he could see the thin crack that indicated where it was hinged, the actual hinges being buried inside it, for added security. It was just a standard woman’s collar, of the sort that all the females in The Settlement wore permanently locked about their neck, but it was, the man thought, another very beautiful reminder of who was who in this community.

Scott put his hand back on Lucy’s hip and gripped, pulling her back onto him a bit, eliciting a new gasp from her. She tried to twist onto one shoulder, looking back at him, her big brown eyes dreamy. “Oh, God, please, Sir,” she whispered.

* * *

Anne-Louise stood on the hillock known as the Lower Watch Post, and gazed out across the ravaged countryside. She had only been in The Settlement about a week, and she was having trouble coming to terms with it. Now, at last, she had found this deserted outpost and space to think.

She looked into the distance, where once, before environmental disaster had ravaged the world, there had been a civilization. A civilization in which she had grown up, and qualified as a school teacher, had found a man, and had looked forward to making a life. Then came the droughts and the earthquake, and a decade of loss and struggling by, until it seemed that at last there was nothing left, nowhere to go. And then she had found this place – a refuge, apparently, of peace and safety in a destroyed landscape. A place with water, food and purpose, and a community prepared to share it. But a place with strange customs and rules, by which, it seemed, she had to abide.

She looked down at herself, trying to imagine what she would look like to others. She was completely nude: she had been told in no uncertain terms that from now on, she would always remain naked, just like all the other women in the community. This place, they said, was a place where women were cared for and protected, where men would always look out for them, but that care, demanded, in return, proper respect, and no woman could show proper respect for men unless she was nude.

Of course it was embarrassing: she was heading towards forty, curvy and saggy in places, and certainly not used to displaying herself. But it was, she had to admit, less embarrassing than she had supposed at first, mainly perhaps because all the women were the same. Certainly there was no problem in terms of comfort: it was always hot now, so there was never a need for clothing from that point of view, and the men themselves wore very little, usually just shorts and T shirts.

Was she really nude, Anne-Louise thought again to herself? There were always her chains. Perhaps they counted. They were, after all, a sort of uniform worn by all the women in this place. She twisted at her cuffs that held her hands together behind her back, feeling the closeness of their grip on her wrists. Her ankles were similarly ringed with steel, and joined by forty centimetres of chain, and the ensemble was completed by the metal collar locked securely about her neck. The chains were necessary, it had been explained, for her safety: keeping her in chains made it so much easier for the men to look after her. No doubt it did, she thought.

Tossing her long, dark hair from her face – her handcuffs completely prevented her brushing it aside – Anne Louise turned her attention to the two metre long chain that was padlocked to the front of her collar. It depended between her exposed breasts, and, brushing her thigh on its way, dropped to the point where it was fastened to the girl-rail.

Of all the weirdness that had confronted the woman over the last few days, The Settlement’s girl-rail system was, Anne-Louise thought, by far the most shocking. She tried to remember how it had been explained to her. Steel conduits, five centimetre square sections, with a one centimetre slot in the top, were laid in the ground, immovably fastened down to concrete blocks. Steel balls ran in the conduits, small enough to pass freely along them, but too big to come through the slot in the top. To the steel balls were welded the ends of the two metre long chains, which, after passing up through the slot, were padlocked to the women’s collars. The women, herself included, were thus fastened to the girl-rails in such a way that they could never get free of them, but they could move around wherever the rails were laid.

It was, Anne-Louise had to admit, an ingenious system, perfectly suited to keeping large numbers of women with total security. The rails went everywhere, or at least everywhere that The Settlement’s leadership considered safe for females to go – even up here, to this deserted outpost – so there was no reason ever to unlock any neck chains. The Settlement’s female residents simply stayed confined to the girl-rails, having all the freedom they needed to live their lives, whilst being completely prevented from ever leaving the community, or from accessing areas beyond the girl-rails, such as the stores where clothing, tools or the keys to their chains were stored. It was very convenient, at least as far as those responsible for female security were concerned.

* * *

After the sex, Scott politely asked if he could remove Lucy’s handcuffs: a girl had to put them on when ordered, but no one could make her take them off unless she wanted – they were, after all, provided for her protection. But Lucy was quick to agree, so Scott took the handcuff key from around his neck and freed her wrists.

After enjoying a shower in Scott’s bathroom, the naked blonde pottered, tidying and fixing them a snack. The man sat with his feet up, watching her, enjoying the sight of her glorious body and the musical sound her bonds made as she moved. Lucy wore her chains very easily, which was not surprising, as she had had them over five years, ever since coming through to The Settlement’s main campus from the family compound, when she reached the age of eighteen. After all that time, her limited stride and constant confinement to the girl-rails were absolutely second-nature to her, something she thought of only in now very occasional moments of frustration, and whilst she was glad enough to be allowed out of her handcuffs for a couple of hours a day, even they made relatively little impact on her. The community, was, after all, well geared up to meeting the needs of handcuffed females, all the girls were in the same boat, and there was always someone to help you do things you could not manage for yourself.

Of her permanent nudity, Lucy also thought very little. It was not as if she had experience of anything else. Having grown to adulthood in The Settlement, she had no memory of ever seeing adult women clothed.

* * *

Anne-Louise stared out again over the landscape. The thing was, however weird and difficult it was here, where else was there to go? All the remaining towns and cities were stripped bare of anything useable, and the populations that had clung on in them for the last years were dead, or dying. No crops grew now, no animals worth the name moved. There was nothing to eat, no shelter, no safety. At least here there was a working farm, with an irrigation system, fresh food, clean beds, hot showers. All that had to be worth some sacrifices. Was it worth living like the women here? Like this? Nude and in chains?

Unable to come to any conclusion, the woman turned and headed down the path. It was surprisingly easy, she thought, to move. She had expected both the fetters and the neck chain to be a serious impediment, but in fact neither gave much trouble. Not that you could forget they were there: the fetters rattled merrily, and if you tried to take a stride longer than they allowed, they asserted their presence with a harsh metallic clink. But if you worked with them, accepting their restraint, they were fine, and after the first two days, the action came to Anne-Louise quite naturally, almost as if she had been born to it. Her neck chain was the same: it was always there, jingling, rubbing against her body, making its presence known, but it slid in its conduit quite easily, and it was only when she forgot herself and tried to step beyond the range the bond permitted that she was reminded, in no uncertain terms, just how helplessly she was confined to the girl-rails.

* * *

“Well, 168, any news from the Women’s Quarters?” Scott called Lucy by her number, women’s names generally not being used by the men.

The girl smiled and wriggled. She was on Scott’s knee now, sitting cross ways, her back, with his right arm beneath it, leaning against the arm of his chair, her legs over the other one. She tried to get his other hand, which was gently stroking the inside of her thigh, to go a bit higher, but she only had force of will to do this: since there was no more housework needing attention, her hands had been restored to their accustomed position, securely manacled behind her back.

Giving up trying to get Scott to touch her pussy, Lucy focused on trying to enjoy having her inner thigh stroked for its own sake. Scott repeated his question: “any news?”

“There is another new girl, Sir, Number 400.” It had been quite common a bit back, but new arrivals were rare now: there was almost no one left alive outside, it seemed.

“Young or old, dark or fair?” asked the man.

“Dark. Your sort of age, Sir. She used to be a teacher. Sir, please fuck me again.”

The man moved his finger very slowly across the young blonde’s pussy lips, feeling her tense and shudder as he did so. He grabbed her neck chain: it ran away from him, down to the girl-rail, but he pulled it back, letting its coldness run over Lucy’s abdomen, before taking one of its links between his finger and thumb and easing it gently into her slit. She gasped again.

It was fun, Scott thought, playing Number 168 like this, but he found his thoughts wandering, nevertheless. For some reason, he thought of the old days, before The Settlement, and of the dark girl that had been his back then. She had been a teacher too. But she was long lost.

He cleared his mind of the memory, instead staring at the blonde triangle before him. “Do my shorts, please, 168,” he commanded.

* * *

Lucy was unsurprised, and in truth only a little disappointed, to find herself back in the Women’s Quarters. She had not expected the dalliance with Scott to be long-lasting, and she had managed to make the most of it while it had gone on: she had been thoroughly seen to at least twenty times over the last six days.

The naked blonde smiled winningly at the doorman as he closed the barred screen behind her, imprisoning her in the quarters. She hoped that Scott’s attentions would last her for a while, but inwardly she knew they would not. She seemed always to be horny, and by the morning she would be desperate for some more stimulation. She sighed inwardly: she would probably have to manage for a while all the same: there were only so many men to go around, and the community’s principle of respect naturally prevented her indulging in any DIY in that respect, still less letting another female touch her: to The Settlement’s way of thinking, girl parts were reserved strictly for male attention. Lucy twisted her hands in the steel that confined them. At least she had her handcuffs to help her with that rule. She would, she knew, find it very difficult to resist temptation if her hands had not been chained so that they could not come near the front of her body.

Turning to face the sunny atrium of the quarters – recently redeveloped to provide increased accommodation for the growing number of female residents – Lucy was disturbed by a sob. Her eyes came to rest on a forlorn looking figure, standing against the high concrete wall, a few metres away from the barred doors.

Number 168 went over to investigate: “Oh, Hey, what’s the matter? It’s 400, isn’t it? You’re new. Are you having trouble?”

Anne-Louise looked up, still fazed by the other girl’s appearance, even though she was dressed – or undressed – exactly the same as herself. “Yes,” she sobbed. “Yes. 400. Call me Anne-Louise, please. I hate being a number.”

Lucy went closer. She could not, of course, give the brunette a hug, but she stretched her arms to the side and pressed a finger against the older woman’s hip. “Hey,” said Lucy, “Tell Lucy all about it.”

“Sorry,” said Anne-Louise, choking back her tears. “I just don’t know what to do. It’s that man.” She nodded towards the door, and the doorman in his office. “He won’t let me have my handcuffs off. I’ve always had them off for dinner before and I don’t know how to manage, now.”

“Oh! Is that all?” Lucy smiled. “You don’t want to bother about that. Come on, let me help. Let’s see him, first.”

“Howard, Sir,” said Lucy, when the two women had approached the bars, “Number 400 here wants to know why you won’t let her have her hands free for dinner anymore.”

“Well, 168.” The man came to the other side of the bars and looked Lucy’s naked form frankly up and down. “She’s had them undone this morning already. Haven’t you, 400?”

Anne-Louise nodded sadly.

“I know we can be generous with new girls, but it’s been six days now,” said the man. “Time to get used to the system. Once a day only.”

“Fair enough, Sir,” said Lucy, accepting this without question. She turned towards the older woman. “Come on, I’ll teach you what you need to know.”

As they followed the girl-rail across the atrium, Anne-Louise tugged this way and that at her wrist restraints, pulling them as far as they would go either side, and up the middle of her back. She could get her hands to either hip, but no further than that. “So we are only allowed our cuffs undone once per day?” she asked, when she felt calm enough to speak.

“Well,” said Lucy, “the truth is we aren’t really allowed them undone at all. Women in The Settlement are supposed to stay handcuffed, that is what the rules say, and having our hands free at any stage is a privilege, not a right. So we can never really complain.”

“Oh.” Anne-Louise did not know how to react to this information. She gave a last, violent, and futile tug. “There must be something we can do, some way to get them off ourselves!” It seems so stupid, she thought, to be rendered so helpless by something so simple as a couple of rings of steel.

Lucy giggled, twisting at her own cuffs. She looked at her companion: “Don’t be silly, of course there isn’t. Only men can remove them.”

The two women approached the far end of the atrium, where a kitchen and dining area took up the whole of the width of the garden. It was walled on three sides by solid stone blocks, and on the fourth, that facing them, by close-set steel bars, decorated by climbing plants. It was rather pretty. Inside was a range of kitchen units against the left hand wall, with the rest of the room given over to tables – low tables, of what might once have been thought of as an oriental style, so that one could eat from them by kneeling rather than using a chair.

Dinner was just about to be served. There were naked women milling all over the place, about ten of them, doing the meal preparation, with their hands freed from their restraints, the remaining fifty or so being confined, just like Anne-Louise and Lucy, in the standard way for Settlement girls. Most of these were standing chatting, or beginning to position themselves by the tables, where some of the cooking team beginning to deliver bowls of food. It looked, Anne-Louise thought, for all the world like some kind of party – except that there were no men, and the women were all naked and helplessly chained. Not, the brunette noted, that any of them seemed to be particularly concerned about their nudity and shackles: they seemed to accept their situation quite casually. It had been like that with pretty well all the women she had met since her arrival here a few days before, and she still found it very strange indeed.

“Come on,” said Lucy, “let’s get a place at that table over there.” She led Anne-Louise deftly around the grid of girl-rails that criss-crossed the room, to a table were several girls of an age with Lucy were already kneeling.

“But how?” Anne-Louise asked anxiously, “am I going to eat in handcuffs? How can I do it?”

“It really is easy,” said Lucy. “Stop worrying. Watch.”

At that moment a steaming bowl had been placed in front of the blonde, and another one for Anne-Louise. Lucy wasted no time: she tossed her hair behind her shoulders and, balancing carefully on her knees, bent forward. She dipped her face to the bowl and took in her teeth a morsel of vegetable. She chewed, swallowed, and smiled. “Handcuff food!” she said. “Just get your hair out of the way and be careful your neck chain doesn’t upset the bowl.”

Anne-Louise looked. It was true that the food was neatly chopped into bite-size pieces, and though there was a sauce, it was only enough to give moisture, it would not be very messy. She leaned forward and then stopped: “But it’s so humiliating!” she exclaimed, “having to eat like animals.” She pulled once more at her handcuffs, which, not unnaturally, remained totally indifferent to her manipulations, continuing to imprison her wrists with perfect security.

“We’re not eating like animals,” said another girl, on Anne-Louise’s left, looking up from her bowl. “We’re eating like women. Being chained doesn’t make us animals.”

“But don’t you hate it?” asked Anne-Louise. “Every minute of it?”

“Hate it? Of course not,” answered the girl. “Why would I hate it?”

Anne-Louise could not think of a response to that, so (since she was hungry) she tried to forget everything and take some of the food. She managed better than she had thought, though she still managed to get more of the sauce on her face than her neighbours. But it was tasty and filling, and at last she knelt back, feeling better.

“See,” said Lucy, “I told you you’d manage. No need to be frightened of it.”

“Yes,” said the older woman. “Thanks. But all the same, I bet the men never eat like that.”

“Of course they don’t,” said the other neighbour, who was a willowy, auburn-haired beauty, “They don’t have to wear chains.”

“So why do we then?” asked Anne-Louise. “Why do we have to be shackled?”

“You know why,” said the willowy girl. “For safety. Women need to be protected. It wouldn’t be safe just to let us run round loose.”

“I was outside,” said Anne-Louise. “I ‘ran round loose’ as you put it, for years.”

“And were you safe?” the girl asked.

Anne-Louise thought. She had survived, just, but in truth she could hardly say she had felt safe. She had certainly never slept easily, and she had been beaten and raped more than once. Neither had she had plentiful food, like here. She thought, but Lucy saved her from answering: “We’re too young to have seen outside, aren’t we, Helen? We grew up here, and when we were eighteen we got our chains. That’s just how it is for all the girls now.”

“Surely, we could escape,” said Anne-Louise. “There are enough of us. We could overpower the men and get the keys to our chains?”

“Why on earth would we want to do that?” asked the auburn-haired Helen. “We need the men to look after us. But even if we did want to, we definitely couldn’t. The security is far too tight.”

“Helen’s right,” said Lucy. “They teach us this kind of thing in our last year of school. We might get some handcuff keys, but the others are all kept away from the girl-rails. Even if we killed all the men, we would still never be able to unlock our chains. And there’s certainly no way we can break them or slip out of them. There is no ‘escape’ as you put it. There just isn’t.”

* * *

It took Scott a long time to find the photos. He had not thought about them for a good while, and in any case they were supposed to be well hidden. Photos of the old world – especially if they had women in them – were not encouraged in The Settlement. No-one thought it made any sense to give the growing number of girls, who had no experience of any life other than one of nudity and chains, any reason to think that there might once have been an alternative, however much it had failed as a civilization.

At last, however, he found the album, and sat for a tearful hour, considering what was gone. There she was, his girl – an old school picnic photo, of her with her first ever class of kids – happy seven year olds, in a park. Her dark eyes, her long dark hair, her beautiful womanly figure. He tried to picture what she would be like fifteen years older – a little heavier perhaps, but still beautiful. Except how could she not be dead? Everyone else was, unless they were here within The Settlement’s boundaries.

* * *

Anne-Louise had to admit that her sleeping place was the most comfortable and secure she could remember for a very long time. She shared an airy cage with two other girls, and a fourth bed as yet unclaimed. It was about five metres square, stone built on three sides, and like the dining hall, separated from the atrium of the Women’s Quarters by a screen of steel bars with a sliding, barred door. This stood open most of the day, though from the night to the morning bells it was securely locked closed, imprisoning the cage’s occupants within. Unless they were with a man, The Settlement required its females to be behind bars during the hours of darkness.

The arrangement of the bars allowed enough fresh air to circulate to keep the place reasonably cool, even on the hottest of nights. The beds were arranged down the sides, and were basic but comfortable, and each had a little cabinet where the girls could keep such of their personal effects had survived. Anne-Louise had a couple of books and some old letters, as well as her hairbrush and a mirror. Her treasured picture of her long lost man was still secreted in her old diary. Her pocket knife and the two screwdrivers that had served her well over the years had been taken from her, as of course had all her clothing, and the photographs of her mother and sister seemed to have gone astray, but The Settlement seemed to have no problem about her keeping the other things.

The cage had its own ensuite facilities – a toilet, hand basin and a shower placed against the back wall. Neither of these was in any way screened, which Anne-Louise had found distracting at first, but that was the way it was with all the women’s facilities: privacy was not an option.

Lastly, but not unimportantly, the room was equipped with sufficient girl-rails to allow four helplessly neck chained women to move around freely, without getting their bonds tangled up. The first few nights she had been in the community, one of Anne-Louise’s cage-mates had been away, spending the time with a man, leaving her only company that of an introverted twenty-year old, who had not been particularly welcoming or helpful. But now it seemed that that girl had been moved to duties that required her to sleep in one of the other women’s buildings around the campus, whilst the first one had returned from her nights of passion. This woman was a platinum blonde, with shoulder length hair, pale skin and grey eyes. She was a rather statuesque girl, though with goddess like curves at breast, backside and thigh. She was called Andrea, or Number 64 to the men, and she was, it seemed, disposed to be friendly to the new girl. So, Anne-Louise spent a pleasant hour before sleep hearing about Andrea’s passionate few days, and then in the morning she was drawn into helping her, and then being helped, through shower, teeth cleaning and hair brushing: both women’s hands, remaining, of course, securely shackled behind their backs, as was an absolute requirement at night.

After their ablutions, the two girls knelt by the bars of the cage - it was still locked, for it was early – and let the sun dry them.

“Gosh,” said Anne-Louise, surprised at herself. “I did all that without really thinking about my chains, and without wishing I could get out of them the whole time.” Though now, having been reminded, she found herself giving a little pull at her wrist cuffs.

“Good,” smiled Andrea. “It shows you are settling in. You’ll soon get used to the life here, handcuffs and all.”

“That’s what amazes me most, I think,” said the brunette. “How everyone seems so relaxed about it all. Why don’t girls try and escape?”

“Where to?” answered Andrea. “You’ve been outside. Do you really want to go back there?”

“No,” responded Anne-Louise, thoughtfully. “No, but neither do I particularly see the need to spend the rest of my life in chains. Or naked, for that matter.”

“Well, that’s just how it is here,” said Andrea. “It works, as a community. We have friendship, stability, security, peace, food, everything we need. And as you’ve just seen, our chains aren’t a problem to us, because there are always plenty of others to help. They’re not uncomfortable, and the girl-rails give us lots of freedom. So if our bonds keep us safer, why worry?”

It was true, Anne-Louise acknowledged, that her chains were not uncomfortable. Provided you didn’t struggle against them, they felt pleasantly snug, like a metal embrace. But still, they were chains: “Surely, you must sometimes want to get out of them? Use your hands, run, get away from the girl-rails?” she exclaimed.

“Oh Mother Earth, of course. Sometimes. It can be really frustrating. I am sure most of us have spent days and days struggling over the years. But our chains are very well designed.” The blonde woman gave a resigned looking smile. “Think of them as a sign of how much you are valued and cared for.”

“Right,” said Anne-Louise, still not convinced. “And what about nudity then?”

“Well the way to understand that,” said Andrea, this time smiling with more conviction, “is to meet some men. A bit of practice and you’ll soon see how natural it is to be naked.”

* * *

It took Scott a lot of thinking to decide to go to the party: he was far from his usual self, musing on how things were and how they might have been, had the world not ended. But in the end, he decided to go. It was an annual event now, a reception at the women’s pool, and one of the few occasions when (other than as maintenance staff or something similar) men got to go to this women-only area.

He swapped into a clean T-shirt and his good shorts and headed out.

* * *

“I’m really not sure about this,” muttered Anne-Louise, to her companions. She was with Lucy and Andrea, and they were queuing for the chain check on the way out of the quarters to the pool party.

“Why?” asked the older blonde.

“Well, I’m naked!” said Anne-Louise, rather obviously.

“Duh!” smiled the equally naked Lucy. “You look gorgeous!”

She did, too – all three of them did. They had carefully styled each other’s hair, applied some of The Settlement’s patent herbal mascara and had given their chains a good polish with fruit juice. And notwithstanding her reticence at showing off her body, Anne-Louise had to believe them. Somehow, she had admitted to herself, as she had looked in the mirror in her cage, the bright rings of steel that encircled her limbs and neck, and the shining chain that ran down the front of her body to the girl-rails, did seem to set off her curves to perfection. Her eyes stood out too – she had no idea how Lucy had done it, working behind her with cuffed hands, but she had. And it was difficult to feel naked when everyone else was the same…

Until she met the men. The chain-check was the first ordeal, for girls coming out of their quarters were invariably given at least a brief inspection to prove that all their bonds were properly locked in place and were free from any signs of tampering or anything else untoward. The man that did it was polite and efficient: he took no liberties with the naked females to whom he was attending, but nor was he shy of touching and manipulating them to the extent that he felt necessary to do his job. And Anne-Louise was amazed to find the experience, when she came to the front of the line, surprisingly sexy. The man was young and good looking, his touch firm, and she was reminded how helpless and exposed she was. He could have done whatever he wanted with her – but he didn’t.

And then at the pool, there were many more of them, standing chatting, holding drinks for girls who, in this as in all the women only areas, were all required to remain firmly handcuffed.

“Hi, Sir,” said Andrea, smiling sweetly at a fair-haired man about her own age. “Number 400, this is Marcus, you know…”

“Ah, yes,” said the brunette, stopping, remembering to do as she had been shown and spread her legs as wide as her leg irons would allow – the respectful way to stand for a man. Marcus was the man Andrea had told her all about the other night. He asked Anne-Louise how she was doing, looking her in they eye – though also enjoying a thorough survey of the rest of her. She felt the sweat pricking beneath her collar, but she managed to answer politely.

“Number 168!” said Scott, coming up behind the three girls. He put his hand on the young blonde’s flank, noticing in passing the long dark hair of the woman beside her.

Lucy turned, smiling. “Hi, Sir!” she exclaimed. “This is the new girl, Number 400, I was telling you.”

For the first time in fifteen years, Anne-Louise’s eyes met Scott’s.

* * *

Andrea, walking past on the way to Marcus’ apartment, smiled at Anne-Louise as the latter leant on Scott’s windowsill, but she did not expect an answer. It took an awful lot of fucking to make up for fifteen years’ separation, and the expression on Number 400’s face was quite enough to tell the blonde woman that the process was still firmly under way.

For her part, Anne-Louise did not even notice her cage-mate passing. She had too much else to occupy her. She wiggled her hips from side to side, feeling her man’s strong hands holding her, and she pulled back and forward, encouraging him to burrow deeper with his cock. Her hands pulled this way and that against her handcuffs, enjoying the feeling of restraint, sometimes, in between gasps, wondering if Scott would unlock them soon, sometimes hoping he wouldn’t.

The End