SUBMISSIVE TRADE

by Nosbert

* * *

CHAPTER SIX - Little Black Book

We arrived back at the ‘Old Gamekeeper’s Cottage’ late on the Monday night. We’d travelled by train from London to Birmingham, collected my car from in front of Sandy’s block of flats and driven straight home. I was grateful my car still had four wheels and not been vandalised. As for Sandy I’d only managed to speak to her on the phone. She told me she was stopping in Birmingham for at least another week until her mother felt a little better.

Afterwards, Tuesday passed without incident, and that despite Anthea having me all to herself. I did just enough to keep her satisfied and I think in doing so discovered the perfect compromise. You keep her tied to the bed all day and just turn up at meal times to spoon feed her. This then gives you enough free time to cut the lawn and weed around the rose beds. I wish I’d thought of it before.

Anyway, Wednesday morning came and Bruce and Jenny arrived. They reckoned they’d managed to see all of Wales in just five days, including that place which I won’t spell again, and they’d even spent an evening in a BDSM club somewhere in Cardiff.

Bruce had found the address in that little black book of his. He showed me the page. He’d written a number nine alongside the address. Apparently he had given the club a nine out of ten rating. He told me a nine was pretty good and suggested that Anthea and myself should try it sometime. I was sceptical, but not surprisingly Anthea thought it to be a good idea.

Another thing that happened that day; I got my road atlas back. Bruce thanked me for lending it to him and said it proved very useful. When I looked at the pages I was horrified. I know the pages had already been scribbled on before I said Bruce could take it: Unfortunately that was all part of his route planning. But now the actual route taken had been superimposed over the top of all that scribble; along, I must add, with a lot of other lines that either zigzagged over mountain tops or drifted out to sea for a few miles. I decided the first chance I got I would get a new road atlas.

Anyway, by mid-afternoon on that particular Wednesday, after all talk of Wales, and after Bruce and Jenny’s amazing dungeon adventures had been totally exhausted, we found ourselves looking for something else to occupy our time: And I don’t have to remind you, where Bruce is concerned, whatever it was we were planning, a certain element of that game had to include BDSM.

Now I want you to think back to the very beginning of this story. The weather then was scorching hot and we were enjoying a heat wave. Well let me tell you it didn’t last. Nothing does in Britain, and by the following Wednesday we were in the midst of a torrential downpour. Black foreboding clouds filled the skies, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed all about us.

Bruce and myself were looking out of the window at the torrents of rain belting down outside and wondering what to do next. At this particular point in time Anthea and Jenny were stood behind us discussing girlie things and not particularly interested in the weather outside.

Anyway, I broke the silence.

“I guess another game of Cowgirls and Indians is out then?” I surmised to Bruce.

Bruce nodded his head.

“Sure looks like it Sport,” he confirmed.

“What we going to do then Bruce?” I asked whilst stood in a dreamlike state.

To be truthful I was more concerned about my garden. By now I had a raging stream running down my garden path and threatening to take my rose bushes with it.

From behind us, Anthea, bless her, and someone never wanting to miss a golden opportunity for sex and bondage, broke in to our conversation.

“I’ve got an idea,” she piped up. “I’ve got a game we can play.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head slowly from side to side. She must have had one ear on our conversation and another listening to Jenny. That’s something else she’s good at - overhearing someone else’s conversation and bursting in - and I thought back to the time when she listened in on mine and Bruce’s conversation regarding Hendry’s club. I guess fate took a hand that day. If it hadn’t been for Anthea’s flapping lugholes, then I’d have never visited Hendry’s and I wouldn’t still be worrying about poor old Fatima. I tried to clear my head and put all that behind me. I told myself to forget Fatima: It was none of my concern.

Bruce and myself turned away from the window to face Anthea. I held my breath in eager anticipation.

Anthea was beaming. I could see that she had already got a little game organised and was only waiting for the right opportunity to announce what she had in mind.

“I bought something when I went shopping in London, and I think it will be ideal to play a little game with,” she informed us.

I thought back and recalled something that had happened a couple of days before. Whilst in London, on Anthea’s return to our hotel room, she did mention that she’d bought something especially for me, and told me it was a secret until Bruce returned from Wales. Well I never did get round to finding out what it was. I think Anthea side tracked me deliberately by taking off all her clothes.

Anyway, I was curious and wanted to find out more.

“It’s upstairs in my bedroom… I’ll go and get it,” Anthea informed us.

As Anthea scooted off up the stairs, I looked to Bruce and then Jenny. They both looked at me and I shrugged my shoulders. I think we were all wondering what this was all about.

Anthea returned within a matter of seconds. She had positively raced up and down the stairs. On her return she held something in her hand, but whatever it was, it could not be seen. It was still in a paper bag. She opened up the bag and put a hand inside. I guess we all waited with baited breath.

“De dum!” she said as she held up the contents in one hand.

I remember staring and wondering if I’d missed the point here, but Bruce knew exactly what the object was and how it could be put to excellent use.

I didn’t know at the time, but in one of our quieter moments when Bruce was here last, this very object had been discussed, along with the many variations of a game that could be played using it. Apparently Anthea had spotted this in a shop window whilst out shopping last Monday, seized the opportunity, and went straight inside and bought it.

Now I guess I’m keeping you in suspense here, so here’s what I saw. Anthea, with a radiant beam all across her face was holding up cash box. But this was a very special sort of cash box. This one didn’t have a key. Instead it was opened by a combination lock.

“That’s just fantastic Sheila!” oozed Bruce as he recognised the object held in her hand, “where did you get it from?”

Anthea smiled.

“From a little shop in London,” she told him.

“Well it’s just what we’ve been looking for, isn’t it Jenny?” he asked.

Jenny nodded her head. She never spoke much, but on this occasion she did.

“Bruce read about them once in a bondage magazine, and we’ve been looking for one ever since,” she informed us.

I think Anthea was pleased the most.

“You can have this when you go Bruce,” Anthea told him. “It’s yours as a present.”

If Anthea was pleased, I think I was disappointed. Anthea had told me it was a present for me. But I kept my silence. Basically I still didn’t know what it could be used for other than keep money inside; and I was thinking too; perhaps I was better off without it anyway. If I ever kept money in it, then the girls would be at it and I’d be broke.

Bruce took the cash box and eyed it all over. It was black and what I would call a medium sized cash box. There was nothing special about it except for the locking mechanism. Instead of a keyhole, there were four rotating barrels on the side that made up the combination.

“Where’s the combination Sheila?” asked Bruce.

Anthea showed him a folded tag attached to the handle on the top.

“It’s printed inside here,” she told him.

Bruce averted his eyes.

“Don’t let me see it Sheila,” he said and handing the cash box back to Anthea. He then added: “What I want you to do Sheila is take the tag off and keep it away from us… we men mustn’t see it… I then want you and Jenny to memorise the number… and please don’t forget it… that will ruin the game.”

The two girls nodded their heads. I think the instructions were simple enough, even I understood them. Anthea removed the tag, then shielding it in her hands she showed it to Jenny.

Having done that, Bruce then turned to me.

“Now Sport, this is what we have to do,” he told me.

I was all ears. Bruce’s games were always good, so I just let him get on with it.

“We get two pieces of paper and write down a prize each… I write down what you’ll get from me if you win… and you write down what I’ll get from you if I win,” he explained. He then asked: “Do you understand all that Sport?”

I nodded my head. At least I think I understood.

“But we don’t know what the prize is?” I asked and needing clarification on that point.

Bruce smiled and nodded his head.

“That’s it Sport,” he confirmed, “neither of us will know what we’ve won until we open the box.”

I was a bit clearer now, but I think my next question must have sounded a little naïve.

“How do we get to open the box then?” I asked.

I could see a look of despair in Bruce’s eyes before he quickly explained.

“That’s what the game’s all about Sport,” he told me. “We’re going to play a little game of interrogation… ideal for indoors when the weather’s like this… this is what we do then… we swap partners… I take Anthea and you take Jenny… we then go to separate rooms and we try to get the combination out of them… whenever they give us a number… and it doesn’t have to be the right number… we must come down to this room and try the combination… then whoever opens the box first wins… If you win then you get my prize… If I win, then I get yours… it’s as simple as that Sport!”

I nodded my head. It really was simple and I really did understand. To win Bruce’s prize I had to get the combination out of Jenny before he did the same with Anthea. It was a race against each other, and the best man would win.

I was not too sure about the interrogation part though, but this was my first opportunity to be alone in a room with Jenny, so at least I was looking forward to that. But just to make certain I’d understood the rules correctly I asked for confirmation. I didn’t want to go beyond the limits and get disqualified, or accused of cheating.

“Does that mean… well… within reason anyway… that we can do anything we like to the girls in order to extract the combination from them?” I asked.

Bruce smiled and nodded his head.

“Anything you think fit Sport… you can do whatever it takes to extract a confession… and don’t forget this is race against the clock… it’s me against you Sport… and may the best man win!”

I nodded my head. I think the rules were pretty clear. He did say anything goes. So, having sorted that little lot out, I rubbed my hands together to show some eagerness, though inside of me there was still a slight feeling of trepidation.

“Right, when do we start?” I asked.

Bruce looked about the room.

“As soon as you’ve found us a piece of paper each Sport,… and we’ve written down our prizes,” he informed me.

It was Anthea that obliged. She was quicker off the mark than me. I think she ripped two pages out of my telephone note book, which I wasn’t too bothered about. The fewer people’s numbers I knew the better. She was careful anyway and tore out the Q’s and Z’s which were blank. Thoughtfully she’d brought two pens with her too.

I took my sheet of paper and the pen - I had the Q’s - and went away in a corner.

“How expensive?” I asked Bruce before committing myself to losing a fortune.

“No, nothing too dear Sport, and not money, just a little present to remember each other by,” Bruce responded.

I could see that Bruce was busy writing something down on his piece of paper. For myself I was going to write ten pounds down, but Bruce had put a squash to that. For a moment I was stumped and I looked about the room for inspiration. I then spotted the road atlas defiled by Bruce and had an idea. Bruce and Jenny were off to Scotland next and I had a Scottish Road Atlas complete with an extensive list of campsites somewhere in my bookshelf. I thought it to be the perfect gift, and he could scribble all over it as much as he liked.

Quickly I wrote down he words; ‘Scottish Road Atlas’, and folded up my piece of paper.

We then ceremoniously placed our folded up pieces of paper inside the cash box, closed the lid and spun the barrels around. It was now locked and only the two girls knew the combination. The game seemed so simple and would certainly occupy our time whilst the thunder rumbled about us.

“Are you ready then Sport?” asked Bruce.

I nodded my head.

“I’m ready,” I confirmed.

The cash box was then ceremoniously placed on the low coffee table in front of the inglenook fire.

“Then Sport, let the game begin… and may the best man win,” said Bruce and rubbing his hands together.

I could see that Bruce was probably more eager than me to get the game started. I think secretly he wanted to be alone with Anthea. I don’t think he needed to have gone to all this bother. If he’d have said, he could just have had her, and I know Anthea would not have objected. But anyway, we all knew where we now stood, and everybody seemed quite happy with the arrangements.

Bruce grabbed Anthea by the wrist and began to drag her off up the stairs. I remember standing there and looking upwards as Bruce hauled Anthea into her own bedroom and slammed the door.

* * *

I found myself alone in the lounge with Jenny and suddenly I felt uncomfortable. To be truthful my heart was not into playing this little game.

I turned to Jenny and gave a nervous smile.

“I guess we’d better get our own act together then?” I said to her.

Jenny held out her arms and put her wrists together.

“Hadn’t you better handcuff me, or something?” she asked.

I looked around the room. There was nothing down here in the lounge. All our S&M gear was upstairs in the bedrooms. I considered what best to do under the circumstances. Anthea had all the best equipment in her own bedroom anyway. I was starting to think there was a conspiracy here. I would not have put it past Bruce and Anthea to have contrived something like this between them.

I considered my best options. Basically there was either my own bedroom or Sandy’s, and I had nothing in mine except maybe a left behind whip or a cane. So there was really no choice in the matter. My mind had been made up for me.

“We’d best go upstairs and use Sandy’s room,” I told Jenny, “We’ll start our little interrogation game from in there.”

Jenny seemed a bit pissed off at being stuck with an amateur. But she agreed and we walked up the stairs together, and in silence may I add.

As we reached the top of the stairs the noises coming from Anthea’s room suggested that Bruce was already giving her the full treatment. It sounded very much like a cane swishing through the air and landing on a very exposed backside. But as expected Anthea wasn’t complaining. I didn’t think she would be at this stage. It was far too early in the game. In fact I considered myself already to be the winner, provided I could get my act together and think what to do to make Jenny talk.

Sandy’s room was next to mine. I pushed the door open and let Jenny walk in first.

Now I must explain my feelings here, and they were mixed. On the plus side I was delighted to have Jenny all to myself. I’d toyed with her twice before, once in Barcelona when we first met, and then when I tied her to the apple tree in my garden. However neither occasion really amounted to much, and Bruce had always been around to oversee operations, so I guess I was limited in what I could and could not do.

On the down side, the thought of getting physical to the point where I had to inflict pain to extract information left me feeling a little distraught. Don’t get me wrong here, I would do what was necessary for the sake of playing out our little game. The last thing I wanted was to be called a killjoy. But interrogation to me was a battle of wits and not brutality. And I should know. You don’t spend a lifetime in the police force conducting interviews with criminals without learning a few techniques, believe me.

Having focused my mind, I decided to stop being nice and be forceful with my actions. At least that didn’t physically hurt Jenny and fell in line with the role I was meant to be playing.

I looked about the room. Sandy always kept her bedroom a lot tidier than Anthea and I knew that she stored all her BDSM equipment in a chest at the foot of the bed. I lifted the lid and looked inside. It was mainly full chains and leather cuffs, along with a few nipple clamps and such like. I also spotted a small pile of handcuffs. There must have been about half a dozen of them placed down one side of the chest.

I extracted four handcuffs and held them up for Jenny to see. She was looking out the window at the time and I do believe the rain was stopping. But I didn’t let that distract me and I got straight down to business.

“Right Jenny, take off all your clothes and lie down on the bed,” I told her.

Jenny turned round from the window and saw me standing there with four sets of handcuffs in my hands.

She gave a little smile.

“We’re ready to start then are we?” she asked.

I nodded my head and rattled the handcuffs.

“We’re ready,” I confirmed.

I guess Jenny was keener than I was to get started and immediately set about removing her clothes. I was thinking this was wrong and shouldn’t I be forcefully stripping her myself? But on seeing that this was not necessary, I stepped to one side and let her get on with it.

I must admit it was my turn to look out the window whilst I waited. The rain had stopped and the sun was peeking through, and steam was rising from the terrace below. Sandy’s room looked out of the back of the house and I could see the two apple trees where we’d played our little game of Cowgirls and Indians. I still held fond memories of the day when I tied Jenny to the tree. I was wondering if it would be possible to go outside again and repeat the experience? At least I didn’t think there was anything in the rules to stop me. However, away on the horizon I could see more dark clouds looming over the tops of the distance Welsh Hills, so I resigned myself to stopping indoors.

I heard Jenny’s voice from behind, so I turned away from the window.

“I’m ready now,” she said.

I looked round to see a naked Jenny standing at the foot of the bed. She’d piled all her clothes up neatly on chair.

I gave a little nod of approval. I remembered those tits of hers. They were big and firm, but nowhere near the size of Fatima’s. But all the same the sight was certainly appealing.

“Right, up on the bed then,” I said to her, “and spread out your arms and legs, I’m going to handcuff you to the bed.”

Jenny bounced on the bed and rocked the springs, she then settled down in an ‘X’ position and waited. I then went round the bed with the handcuffs and secured her wrists and ankles to the four corner posts.

And that was it really. Part one of my master plan was complete, the trouble was I didn’t have a part two or three, or for that matter any other plan at all.

For inspiration I moved to the chest and delved inside. I found a blindfold and a ball-gag. I considered their use then discarded the ball-gag. If I was going to make her talk then that item was a bit irrelevant. This left me with just the blindfold in my hands. For want of something better to do I moved to the top of the bed, wrapped the elastic behind Jenny’s head and pulled the blindfold down over her eyes.

“That’s so that you don’t see what’s coming until it hits you!” I told her in my most menacing voice.

I then wondered what it was I was threatening her with?

I returned to the chest at the foot of the bed. I was thinking; surely there was something else in here I could use?

There wasn’t really, so my thoughts returned to something I’d seen earlier. There were nipple clamps and weights in there, there was also a sizeable length of strong cord. I took from the chest everything I considered I needed and began to unravel the cord. At the same time I looked up to the ceiling. Being an old cottage we had beams, we also had hooks, I think mainly for hanging lanterns on in the days before electricity.

I think I went about this clumsily, or at least with little finesse. I presented the clamps to the nipples and released them so that they gripped the flesh tightly. I then threaded the cord through two loops on the end of the clamps. After that I passed the rest of the cord up and over a hook in the beam above the bed.

With the cord in my hand I gave a little downward tug. I watched the flesh around the nipples stretch upwards and pull tight before speaking to Jenny.

“I hope that hurts,… and I hope it hurts badly,” I told her, “because that’s just a foretaste of what you’re going to get if you don’t give me that combination.”

“Do your worst… you’ll get nothing from me,” Jenny said defiantly.

I knew then I was in deep trouble.

I selected four weights. There was nothing on them to suggest how heavy they weighed, but they weren’t very big, and at a guess I’d say about one pound each. After Jenny’s remarks I scoured the box and found two more, but that was all.

I was planning to add them one at a time and increase the tension slowly, but I tied all six together, added them to the cord, and let them go. They certainly had an impact. At least they made Jenny breathe in sharply and grit her teeth, and when I looked at her tits, they were stretched a little further than by hand.

I sat down beside her on the edge of the bed. I then put one hand between her legs and began to run a finger up and down her crack. With my other hand I took a firm grip of the downward cord and added a little more to the tension.

“I’ll keep adding weights until you give me the combination,” I threatened. “So why don’t you save yourself a lot of trouble and tell me now?”

I was expecting a number. It might not have been the right number, but it was a chance for me to go away for while and give her some respite.

“Piss off,” she replied and sounding most unladylike.

I now realised that my task was not going to be easy and I was in deep trouble.

I looked around for more weights but couldn’t see anything offhand. I then had an idea. There was another hook further along the beam, and beneath that was an armchair at the side of the bed. I stood up, moved the cord along so that it now ran over two hooks before pulling down on the weights. There was also a fair length of cord left over. I tied the loose end of the cord around the back of the armchair and lifted it up at the back so that tilted forward on its two front legs.

A combination of the weight of the armchair, plus the six lead weights made a dramatic difference to the shape of Jenny’s tits. They were now like cones pulled sharply to a point. I could see that it was really hurting by the way she clenched her jaws and breathed in sharply between gritted teeth.

I moved back to the bed and asked: “Well, are you going to tell me now?… Give me a combination and I’ll reduce some of the weight.”

Jenny nodded her head and hissed: “All right… I’ll tell you.”

“What is it then?” I asked.

“One… three… five… seven,” she told me.

Now I knew immediately that that wasn’t the correct combination, but the rules were, that once given a number you had to go downstairs and check it out. So that’s what I did.

Before leaving the room I did as promised and untied the armchair. However, I did leave the six weights attached to the cord. I then went down the stairs.

As much to commiserate rather than celebrate I poured myself a large glass of whisky before trudging over to the low table in front of the fire.

I set the combination tumblers to one-three-five-seven and pressed a button on the side.

And you guessed it!

Nothing happened.

The box remained closed.

I knocked back my whisky and poured myself another.

As you can imagine, at this stage I was totally pissed off.

* * *

About ten minutes later and a third glass of whisky consumed, I trudged slowly back up the stairs with my head down and feeling more than a little dejected.

I was a loser and I knew it. I had a sneaky feeling the combination Jenny had given me was wrong even before I went downstairs, but that still didn’t make matters any better. I considered myself a failure and resigned myself to the fact. I knew that if I was going to win this game, then I had to start getting brutal. I didn’t like it, but I considered there to be no alternative.

I called in the bathroom on the way. The whisky was working its way through. The upstairs toilet is opposite the door to Sandy’s room and faced out on the back of the cottage.

I guess this was where the inspiration came to me. They say lots of people get bright ideas whilst lying in the bath. Well I wasn’t actually in the bath, but I think the same principle applies here.

The first thing I saw as I walked into the bathroom was a spider in the bath, and knowing Anthea’s aversions to all things with eight legs, I quickly swilled the thing down the plug hole. Then as I stood pissing down the loo I happened to look up and glance out of the window at the apple trees at the foot of my garden. It was at this point a brainwave struck me. I recalled that Jenny too had a phobia. In her case she hated bees and all things that buzzed.

Suddenly I had an idea. I think I missed the pan as I swung around looking for a suitable jar or container to catch a bee in.

I didn’t find anything in the bathroom, so went down to the kitchen. I found an empty coffee jar in the peddle bin and decided that would have to do. I then went outside.

The rain had stopped, or at least it was just spotting. But everywhere was dull and damp. I trudged across the wet lawn to my rose bushes and looked around; and would you believe it! There wasn’t a bee in sight. Everywhere was still and quiet. I then heard a distant rumble and looked to the skies. The spots were getting bigger and we were about to have another cloud burst.

Quickly I scuttled off back indoors, and just in time may I add. As I slammed the door behind me lightning flashed, thunder roared and the heavens opened. Suddenly everywhere went dark and I switched on the light. And that is when I heard it. A buzzing noise droning loudly from the kitchen. Quickly I entered the kitchen and closed the door behind me.

Imaging my feelings when I spotted the culprit. It wasn’t a bee but a massive bluebottle. It was trying to find a way out and kept crashing against the window. I looked to the empty coffee jar in my hands and decided a bluebottle it would have to be then. At least it made a buzzing noise, and if I kept Jenny blindfolded then she wouldn’t get to see it. I just hoped that it would sound like the real thing enough to scare her.

Well I did manage to catch the thing in the end, but not before I’d smashed a couple of wine glasses on the drainer and spilled a vase of flowers on the window ledge. Kneeling up on the sink, I finally pinned the open jar against the window and trapped the bluebottle inside. I then delicately slid the lid beneath and sealed the jar. With my prize captured and the lid screwed down tight, I shook the jar to see if the thing would buzz, and thankfully it duly obliged.

Now I was ready.

With a spring to my step and coffee jar in my hand, I returned to the foot of the stairs. I was about to bound up when I heard a door opening. I froze for a moment wondering what Bruce was up to? Then I heard a door close and caught sight of Bruce returning to Anthea’s room. The thing was, he’d just visited my room. For the life of me I couldn’t think what he wanted.

Anyway, as Anthea’s door closed I bounded up the stairs and entered Sandy’s room. Jenny remained just how I’d left her; her naked body spreadeagled and handcuffed to the four corners of the bed, and those nipple clamps and weights still tugging hard at her breasts.

I moved across the room and sat down beside her. I looked to my pet bluebottle. At the time it seemed content enough just to run round the inside of the jar.

Now, to be quite honest with you, I didn’t really know how to approach this - even in the Police Force threatening suspects with bees wasn’t exactly a recognised procedure - but I decided a slow build-up to be best. I wanted Jenny to gradually come around to the fact that I had a bee in a jar, and if she didn’t tell me the combination, then I might just let it loose on her.

I removed a clamp from a nipple and gave a sharp twist, and making sure it was hard enough for it to hurt.

“You gave me a load of crap,” I told her.

“Did I?” replied Jenny and sounding a little sarcastic.

I removed the other clamp and let the weights fall onto the armchair alongside the bed. I then gave her other nipple an even harder twist.

“I don’t want anymore crap from you young lady… I want the real thing this time,” I informed her.

I could see Jenny smirking beneath the blindfold.

“So what you going to do about it tough guy?… tickle my crack with a feather?” she sneered.

I was learning fast. Jenny could be hard when she wanted too. I guess living with Bruce had conditioned her to the harsher aspects of the game.

“No, but it could be your crack that suffers the most,” I told her as I traced a lone finger up between her legs.

I then moved my hand to her left breast.

“Or it could be this tit here,… or maybe this other one over here,… I think I’ll let you choose,” I said as I moved my hand from left to right.

I think I had her puzzled if nothing else.

“What you going to do then wise guy?” she asked with a touch of defiance.

But I knew I had her. Already there was a touch of uncertainty creeping into her voice.

“I’d said I’d let you choose,… so what’s it going to be then sweetheart?… your left tit… your right tit… or is it going to be straight up your crack?” I asked.

Jenny gave the matter some thought.

“I don’t know what you mean?” she answered eventually.

I could see my little ruse was working. I knew she was confused. The worst thing is not knowing what it is you’re meant to be deciding upon.

“Just choose… what’s it going to be then?… you decide, then I’ll tell you,” I said.

Jenny turned defiant. Again something not unexpected at this point in an interrogation.

“Then I don’t choose anything,” she snarled and turned her head away.

I gave a little cackle. I wanted her to think I was enjoying this. I returned my hand to between her legs and ran a finger up an down her juicy wet slit.

“Then I’ll just have to choose for you… and I choose this point right here,” I said and pushing the tip of my index finger hard against her clitoris. “I’m sorry it had to come to this sweetheart,… but don’t say I didn’t warn you?”

Jenny was building up her resistance in readiness, I could see that. She was still thinking this was a game and something she could live with.

“I’ve got something here for you… something I don’t think you’ll like,” I said as I moved the jar to an ear.

I let the jar touch an ear so that she could feel it. I then gave it a little shake; and my pet bluebottle duly obliged. It started to buzz wildly inside the jar.

“Guess what I’ve got in here?” I teased.

Jenny screamed.

I must admit I wasn’t expecting it: Or at least not that sudden or that loudly.

I whisked the jar away and tried to calm her down.

“It’s all right… he’s in a jar and won’t hurt you… but I could let him out if you refuse to give me that combination,” I suggested.

Jenny was breathing heavily. It was obvious she was shaken.

“Don’t let that thing loose on me… please don’t let it loose… I hate them,” she said frantically.

I moved the jar to between her legs and thrust the lid against her crack.

“The lid’s on at the moment… but I could quite easily take it off and hold it here,” I told her, “it all depends on whether I’m going to get that combination or not.”

I think Jenny submitted right there and then. She’d made up her mind she was having no more of this. I guess this was pushing cruelty beyond its limits.

“I’ll tell you… I’ll tell you… just don’t take that lid off,… please don’t let it loose,” she said with quivering voice.

I relented.

“Just give me the combination to the cash box, and I promise you this thing stays in the jar… but I warn you… get it wrong and I’ll be straight back up here and giving it a nice dark little hole to buzz around in… so what’s it going to be then sweetheart?… the combination or a stinging honey pot? Don’t say I didn’t warn you of the consequences should you get it wrong.”

“Okay… Okay… I’ll tell you… It’s two-one-four-seven… honestly it is… now take that thing away… I don’t want it in this room,” she bleated.

I smiled and snatched up the jar from between her legs.

“I’m taking this with me… but I warn you… if that box doesn’t open then I’ll be straight back… and boy, after I’ve shook him up a bit… I bet he’s going to be really wild!” I told her.

I left Jenny sobbing, and I was thinking what a cruel bastard I was.

* * *

I went downstairs with Jenny’s fresh combination of two-one-four-seven implanted in my brain.

Let me tell you I was totally optimistic on this occasion. You get to know when a person’s telling the truth. It’s in the sound of the voice and the willingness to share that secret with you. I know Jenny was scared rigid, but I could detect a certain element of genuineness in the way she bleated out the number. I was going to add eye contact, hand gestures, arm movements and mannerisms to my list of tell tale signs, but obviously these are virtually none existent when you’re blindfolded and tied to a bed. But all the same I had a positive feeling about this new set of numbers and my spirits were high.

I was optimistic too that I was ahead of the game. I’d not heard Bruce come down the stairs once, which I considered a good sign. As expected Anthea was sticking it out to the bitter end. I wondered if she was doing it for my sake, then I thought no, never! Where bondage and pain were concerned, and when it came to Anthea, then only Anthea mattered. She was a master of hanging on in there to the bitter end. I should know, I’d not managed to break her yet in the four months I’d known her. In a way I felt sorry for Bruce for having to choose Anthea and not Jenny.

Once in the lounge I bided my time. Possibly savouring the moment, but I don’t know why. I could have easily been given the wrong number and have to start all over again. But I doubted it.

I poured myself a large shot of whisky from the drinks cabinet, left my friendly pet bluebottle in the jar beside the whisky bottle, then moved on over to the coffee table. I took a few sips as I crossed the floor.

My new number was two-one-four-seven. I rolled the barrels round slowly, first the two, then the one, then the four, and finally the seven. I then pressed the button by the side of the barrels and the lid flew open. I must admit I was a little surprised by the strength of the spring and I guess I must have jumped back a little. But I soon got over the shock and suddenly I was elated. It’s a feeling I can’t describe. I was a winner and I wanted the whole world to know.

“The box has opened!… I‘ve opened the box!” I yelled and did a little dance on the carpet in front of the fire.

Then it dawned on me; there was no one around to hear me. I told myself to calm down, then like the victor taking the spoils, I delved my hand into the box and took out the two folded pieces of paper.

I found the sheet with the letter ‘Z’ on the top and slowly opened it out.

I smiled when I read what I had won.

The note read; ‘Little black book’.

With the sheet of paper in my hand I marched quickly up the stairs, knocked on Anthea’s bedroom door, then entered before anyone answered.

Anthea was naked and suspended by the wrists to a beam that crossed the centre of the bedroom. Her feet were off the ground and held apart by a spreader bar. There was also a rope that went round her waist, down between her buttocks, then up the front and over a hook in the ceiling. Two of my exercise weights were tied to the end of the rope and pulling tightly against her crotch. They were 5kg weights making 10kg in total. (1kg is approx. 2.2lbs, I think!)

I smiled. At least I now knew what Bruce had gone into my room for. It was to get a couple of my exercise weights. The only thing I didn’t understand was; Anthea must have told him where those weights were, and knowing her probably suggested their eventual use.

Anyway, if you think the sight of seeing Anthea all trussed up the way she was, was pretty awful, then you should have seen Bruce! He was naked except for wearing two items. He was wearing Anthea’s bra and panties. Furthermore, in his hands he held two candles; one in each hand; a blue one and a red one.

I must admit I laughed. I just couldn’t help it.

Anyway I stopped Bruce dead in his tracks. Anthea was about to get a stream of red hot red wax poured all over her left nipple when I burst into the room.

I held up the piece of paper.

“I think you owe me one little black book,” I told him with delight.

Bruce was obviously startled by my sudden entry and turned to me with mouth agape. Anthea got the red hot wax anyway as the candle tipped over. The wax then dripped down onto Bruce’s bare foot and he jumped back as if someone scalded.

Still hopping about on one foot he quickly pulled himself together.

“Good on me old Cobber,” he called and blew out the candles.

What surprised me was that he didn’t seemed embarrassed by his dress sense one little bit.

He came up to me and threw his arms about me.

“I guess the best man won then Sport!” he remarked as he patted me hard on the back several times.

I nodded my head and tried to catch my breath..

The only thing I was wondering now was; what was I going to do with his little black book now that I’d won it?

* * *

Later that evening, and after a candlelit meal - candlelit because when the storm returned, lightning knocked out our power cables, and a salad because we couldn’t cook anything - we sat down around a blazing fire to celebrate the end of a very fine day with a drink or two. I had whisky, Bruce stuck to cans of lager, and the girls shared a bottle of red wine.

We’d already had a laugh about the bee - I’d let the bluebottle go when no one was looking, and never actually let on - and Jenny had finally come round to seeing the funny side of it all.

After a bit more chat, the time came for the official handing over ceremony of the little black book. But first Bruce wanted to make a copy of three numbers from the book.

“There’s three clubs in Scotland in here and I want to make a copy of them before I hand it over,” Bruce told me.

I understood and let him get on with it.

Early tomorrow morning Bruce and Jenny were off to Scotland on the last leg of their European tour and we didn’t expect to see them again. They had plans to return directly to London, sell their campervan, then, in a couple of weeks time, board a plane for Australia. They’d arrived in early March, now it was early August, and in their own words, had spent a brilliant six months away from home and made a lot of friends. I for one was sad to see them go and I think Anthea was too.

I handed Bruce a proper piece of paper this time and he began to write down the names and telephone numbers of the three Scottish BDSM Clubs. Because it was dark and I could see that he was having trouble reading, I leant forward and held a candle close to him. I then watched him write down a telephone number.

Then suddenly something clicked inside my brain. Bruce had written down a number that started 01382. Suddenly I recalled where I’d seen that number before. It was the same number as on that torn off note pad I saw back at number forty-three Oberon Drive in Wimbledon.

“Where’s that?” I asked and referring to the telephone number he’d just written on his sheet of paper.

Bruce looked to the name and address in his little black book.

“Dundee,” he told me. “This one’s in Dundee.”

I suddenly came to a snap decision.

“Bruce, we’re coming with you to Scotland tomorrow,” I told him. “I can’t bear the thought of you having all that fun without me.”

Bruce grinned from ear to ear.

“Good on yer Sport!” he said and held up his can of lager.

We made a toast with a chink of my whisky glass against his can of lager, and it was all settled.

Tomorrow we were off to Scotland together.

The decision to go was as quick and as simple as that.

* * *

End of Chapter Six