Dot's Island free porn video

DOT'S ISLAND

By Sailor861

Dorothy (Dot) Cochrane, 42, of Glasgow, Scotland, got out of bed this morning,showered, dried herself then strapped and locked her lubricated,10-in.-long,3-in.-diameter stainless-steel dildo deep inside her pussy, slipped into herthree-piece business suit and rushed off to work – annoyed.

As usual, the first, faint grey light of a cold March Monday morning felldimly on the Scottish industrial city skyline and Dot did not want to go toher dreary office job at McDonald's Shipyard – not one more day -- infact, she was desperately looking for a change. Or a good, hard fuck. The motherof three grown boys had never had one.

The heavy steel pressure inside her vagina would keep her company all daylong, she knew, and she would go home tonight after 6 p.m., if there was noovertime, have supper and quietly stroke her clit on the ratty living-roomcouch of her dingy, little one-bedroom flat until she was ready for bed. Shealways had difficulty reaching her orgasm, or "pop," as she called it, andshe hoped all that would soon change.

Dorothy Sarah Cochrane, "Dot" or "DS" to her friends, college-educated andexperienced, had worked at McDonald's yard for nearly 15 years as executivesecretary to the general manager. She was ready for a career move and was onthe hunt for the right job to move up and away from the claustrophobic drudgeryshe had toiled at faithfully since December 12, 1987.

Her dismal greystone apartment building, at 123 Peter Street, Glasgow, depressedher; the shipyard workers annoyed her; the perpetually melancholy, grey, grimyshipyard sickened her, and her job did not pay enough for the long hours sheput in, Monday - Friday, 8 am. to 6 p.m., and Saturday, 8 a.m. - 1 p.m.

"Fifteen years of this crap and I want out," Dot said, as she locked thecracked, grey-painted wood door to Apt. No. 2, her home, and strode out ofthe apartment building to her cold, little, rusty-white 1985 Ford Cortina withits clapped-out heater, battery and alternator.

She stepped into the car, relishing for a brief moment the sudden, deep thrustof "Mr. Steele," her intimate, stainless-steel friend, into the neck of hercervix, as she put the key in the ignition.

"RRR-rrr-rrr, click," the engine complained. "Rr-rr-r, click," it groundout again. "Click." Then nothing.

"Dammit to heck," Dot said, slamming her hand against the little steeringwheel. "I changed that battery last year and it's dead again. Fords; you canhear them rust 10 miles way. Fiddle!"

Dot Cochrane, a fit , 5-ft. 6-in., 125-pound brunette with a knockout 40D-27-38figure, had a sex life that bordered on nil since she left her husband in 2002.She and Graham Cochrane had had an active sex life during the first half oftheir 20-year marriage but she knew he had started running around on her whenhe began avoiding her sexual overtures for their regular Saturday night screw.

'Wham-bam, thank you, ma'am' was what she had put up with for most of hermarried life and when her divorce decree absolute came through in January 2003,she was glad for the opportunity to start over.

But starting over in her deadly-dull shipyard office meant finding anotherjob, maybe in a warmer climate, and she started scanning the Glasgow dailiesfor employment opportunities.

Slipping out of the car again, she gave the Ford a swift kick on the fenderand stomped back in to call a taxi to work that cold March morning. Cursingall Cortinas to their maker, Mrs. Cochrane arrived just after 8 a.m. to gothrough the weekend mail and check her in-basket.

She sat at her desk, the big, heavy, warm stainless-steel dildo nudging herinnards again, tight against the wire-reinforced, black-leather strap she hadpadlocked around her waist and through her legs this morning in the chastity-beltstyle she saw in her ex-hubbie's bondage mags stashed in his sock drawer lastfall.

One of the glossies, titled "Women in Steel," fascinated her the most aftershe discovered it while turfing his stuff into the street. Curious, never havingseen such a publication before, she flipped through the 61 pages of photos,text and drawings of shapely, young women in snug steel bondage, indoors andoutdoors, and set it aside. A week later, she ordered and paid for an eight-ouncesteel dildo (at a cost of 50 Scottish pounds) from an advertiser in the mag.and was pleasantly surprised when a plain brown package arrived in the postabout 10 days later.

Curious and excited, she took out the dildo and straps, arranged them onthe coffee table and examined and stroked the steel cock.

"This will keep me occupied during the work-week," she said, as she put hersex toys away, together with the bondage mag, in her dresser drawer. Sincethat day, she has gone to work every day with the dildo strapped and lockedinside her, enjoying the lusty feel of smooth steel penetration into her deepesterogenous zone.

"At least I don't have to talk to it in the morning," she had aloud one dayat work when the big intruder slipped more deeply into her, causing her togasp as she kneeled to pick up a paperclip.

Strapping in the solid, half-pound dildo was the first step in Dot's transformationwhich began in November 2003. By December 2003 she had trashed all 10 of herbras and became the "braless broad of the office," as her friend, Gail Penny,told her, letting her heavy, somewhat-pendulous jugs bounce, lurch and swayunderneath her trim, white blouse and jacket. Her nipples, dark-brown, longand nearly always erect after nursing three hungry infants 20 years ago, pokedhard through her blouse and jacket and she relished the thrill of her smoothsilk against the nubs.

Her bralessness, together with the long, thick gleaming-steel cock deep withinher, gave her a sexual "buzz" she hadn't felt since she was courted at collegeby Graham in the late-1970s.

She began to grin and grimace at the office in a way her co-workers had notseen for months, years. Usually quiet and reserved, she smiled only on paydaywhen she and co-worker pal, Gail, trooped off to a pub for a small shandy andScotch egg as a treat and to check out the "male meat," as Gail would say.

Today, though, Dot was ticked to tears: her crappy, little car and the five-poundtaxi fare put a mean glare in her grey Scottish eyes; her full, red lips drawninto a flat crease and snarly silence.

Today, she was a woman not to be trifled with but, by 10 a.m., her furrowedscowl had turned to that expression of relaxed contentment women recognizewhen they feel their hormones hard at work during arousal.

The dildo and her silky blouse were doing a sexy number on her body -- andshe knew it. She wondered whether she would "pop" at her desk before the lunchtimewhistle blew.

Gail, sitting behind her, saw the change in her co-worker's face and postureas Dot bustled around the cluttered, grimy office and came over to inquireif she was OK.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Gail," Dot replied evenly through clenched teeth. "I justhad a horny thought, that's all."

Gail, mother of two young boys, noticed the twin dark nubs of Dorothy's nipplespoking through the translucent material of her creamy silk blouse and noddedknowingly. She saw Dot was not wearing a bra again today.

"Yes, Dorothy, I know the feeling. When I was divorced three years ago allI could think of was when, where and how I would get laid again. Then I metHiram and things got back to normal. You know, he ties me up once in a while,Dot?"

"Oh, aye, that's the ticket," Dot replied crossly. "Just what I need, anothergoddam man. Not today, no thank you."

She winced as the heavy dildo moved more deeply into her as she crossed herknees under her desk.

"Ow, that hurt," Dot said aloud.

"Bump your knee?" Gail asked.

"Aye, this stupid old office chair an' this dumpy desk of mine; I'd loveto trash the whole lot and move somewhere sunny and warm; Africa, maybe. Hee-hee,a good screw in the desert; that's what I need."

With the GM absent, Gail went back to work as Dorothy continued typing outlast week's production reports and statements for the annual report, due fromthe printers March 31, 2004, end of the fiscal year. Dot noticed her dildomore today than she had in the past and wondered if she was getting her period.

Ah, she thought, four or five days without "Mr. Steele" looking around insidemy cunt. "Absence makes the hard grow fonder," she said aloud. Gail lookedup from her desk behind Dot's and smiled to herself. She wondered if Hiramwould be in the mood tonight.

At 12 noon, the century-old rooftop steam whistle gave its annoying, five-secondscream and Dot and Gail headed into the dingy, ill-lit lunchroom to devourtheir brown-bagged lunches, have a smoke and talk about their weekends, theirkids, the job and their husbands/boyfriends/lovers.

The grimy, boilersuited tradesmen, always there before they arrived, watchedcarefully as Gail preceded Dot into the dim, first-floor lunchroom, added tothe building in 1910, and waited quietly until Dot appeared in the doorway,her 40D breasts swaying gently under her blouse and jacket as she clacked herhigh-heeled way to a spot at the end of one of the long lunch tables. Dot'sbig steel dildo moved slightly as she walked and she smiled ever so lightlyto herself with the welcome, poking sensations. "Hi Dorothy; hi Gail," thesix burly men chorused. "Harya today? Gittin' lots? Lotsa work? Har, har, har."

"Gosh, this place depresses me," Dot said to Gail, as she bit into her staleSpam-and-mayo sandwich. "The men watch every move you make; the boss watchesyou like a hawk for any mistake you make and this December weather makes mewant to puke," she said glumly.

"Dorothy, you should really look for a new man, maybe, or a new job," Gailchirped. "Did you check the papers today?"

"Nay, tomorrow."

"Well, stop complainin' an' eat," Gail replied. "Here, it's already 10 after12 and we've got just 20 more minutes before back to th' grind." Yea, yea,I know," Dot groused as she munched her over-ripe apple and slurped her tepidtea.

"Gosh, what a depressing day."

By 6 p.m., Monday, December 8, 2003, Dorothy Sarah Cochrane was ready tocall it quits. "Mr. Steele," still snuggled deep inside her pussy, kept hermildly excited for the rest of the afternoon and she could not wait to getback to her couch and "finger myself to death," as she would say. The evening-shiftsteam whistle blew and Dorothy and Gail got up, put on their winter coats,scarves and boots and trudged outside into the dark, blustery Glaswegian night.Dorothy had to take another cab back to her dismal apartment – 10 poundsthis time! -- which really rankled her Scottish perspicacity.

Re-entering her first-floor flat, she undressed quickly, put on her long,sexy nightgown and left the 10-in. steel dildo still strapped inside her.

Too tired to turn on the telly, she fell asleep on the couch, only to wakeup at 5 a.m. to start another drudge at McDonald shipyard.

"Fifteen years there," she said to herself in the bathroom mirror after hershower, the big dildo still lock-strapped deeply inside her. "Ten more to pension;ach, I'll be 52 and worn out.

"By gollies, I am going to look for another job today," she decided, finishingup her makeup. She put on her best pale-blue blouse and light-grey skirt andjacket – sans bra and panties – and called for a cab, her littleCortina now a hump in a grimy snowbank.

"Ga-ah, what a city," she said as she spotted the little black cab with itsEast Indian driver coming down Peter Street. "Another day, another 85 pence,so, hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to work I go. Fiddle."

She donned her grey winter overcoat, stepped into her grey boots, feelingthe big steel-grey dildo rub gently against her G-spot and cervix at the sametime, winced and stepped out into the grey, -10-degree C. dawn.

"Everything's grey in this arfin' city," she told the driver. "Grey, grey,grey."

"Yesmiss,' the turbaned head replied in front of her. "It's December, youknow, and we will not see the sun again until April in all probability. Thatis the Scottish way, is not it? In Bongladeesh we . . . . "

"Aye, aye, aye, that's the Scottish weather aright," Dorothy interrupted,crossing her knees to generate another steely poke into her womb. A cold draughtfrom the partly-open driver's window caused her to change position and pullher overcoat more snugly around her knees and shoulders.

"Would you mind closing your window, driver, please?" Dorothy asked, gettingannoyed again.

"Yessmiss," he said.

They drove across Glasgow in silence, Dorothy sinking into deeper gloom unrelievedby the sensations of her heavy breasts swelling naked, soft and warm underher blouse, or that half-pound, milled-steel cylinder strapped deeply intoher moist recesses.

The cranes, buildings and docks of the grey, grimy shipyard loomed on theClyde River bank and Dorothy gloomed to herself again: "I'm a bloody slaveto that shipyard," she told no one. "McDonald's would chain me to that grottydesk of mine, throw away the key and not give me a second thought."

"Yessmiss," the driver said.

Dot paid the five-pound fare and got out of the backseat, her lower abdomengrowling darkly with hunger and sensations from her dildo.

Mmm, speaking of chains, she thought, as she walked to her second-floor deskat 7:50 a.m., I must look in that bondage mag for some ideas for me, or a boyfriend,if I ever find one. She thought she would dig it out of her dresser drawertonight after work and see how women look, consenting to being photographedin chains and gags, hoping their poses would give her some ideas. Graham, herex-, had spreadeagled Dorothy in bed only once 13 years ago, tying her anklesand wrists wide to the bedframe with stout, grey twine he'd brought home fromhis butcher shop. Screwing her for all of five minutes before he "popped" insideher, she was left frustrated, unsatisfied and annoyed. He had left her bound,helpless and spreadeagled, for an hour and she wanted more.

After lying beside her silently, Graham cut her cords and fell asleep. Dorothycould not have cared less if she ever had sex with this man -- or any other-- again.

Next night, July 10, 1990, though, she had her first bondage fantasy. . Shetossed and turned on the bed beside her snoring husband as the dream took shape:A big, dark and handsome man had followed her to work that morning, wrestledher to the ground and gagged her with an enormous white ballgag. She did notstruggle. Dressed in her usual business suit, Dot dreamed on, she could notcomplain or utter anything than a single, soft mmmppphhh as the man skilfullyhogtied her in thin, cotton cord .

Dot woke with a start as she realized she was in the sun-bathed parking lotof McDonald's Shipyard! The vivid, silent dream had left her perspiring, shakenand worried.

But that was then and this is now: at the 10 a.m. "stand easy," Dot was stilldaydreaming at her desk. She wanted to look at the girls' faces in her glossybondage mag as they posed this way and that, tugging at their chained wristsor pulling at their shackled ankles -- all for the camera – and the malelibido.

Six p.m. arrived slowly, inexorably, and Dorothy, who scarcely noticed thesolid-steel intruder in her loins this day, accepted Gail's offer of a driveback home. Back in Apt. No. 2, she went into her bedroom, undressed and slippedinto her long, grey nightgown, leaving the dildo inside a second night.

She dug out the lurid, red-covered glossy and started flipping through thepages as she made herself a pot of tea and a processed-cheese sandwich withgrey, moldy bread.

Page after page of nubile, young things chained 50 different ways – naked,dressed, gagged or with open, pleading mouths – all "fake, money-drivenand childish," she thought. Or were they?

'Ww-ow,' Dot said to herself; 'those knots and locks sure looked tight andsecure on the women's limbs'. Putting down her stale, tasteless sandwich, shestopped to examine closely one picture of a mature woman, "Terry," possiblyin her late 30s, who was chained at ankles with another, longer chain runningfrom her ankle links to be locked just above her hips.

Her wrists were shackled with heavy, 16-in. chains and she was harness-gagged,a big white ball propping her mouth wide open around her thin, stretched lips.

But the eyes behind the gag straps pressed into the lovely model's face lookedright at Dorothy. "Great Ovid's ghost, this woman looks like she's enjoyingherself! How? Why? She doesn't look bored, sad or in pain. She does not lookannoyed or aroused either. She looks content!" Dot said. "Hoot!" She put themag down and ate another meagre cheese sandwich and a "cuppa" tepid tea beforeretiring at 8 p.m.

Another cold, wintry night in Glasgow, 15 days before Christmas, and DorothyCochrane's mood was far from festive. She wanted to get laid! And the eyesof Terry, the bondage model, followed her into bed that night. Was Terry'sexpression contrived? Or real? She shook her head on her pillow as sleep eludedher.

Her nights were usually dreamless but this Tuesday night, with her warm,Steel dildo nestling gently against the neck of her womb, her dream began,the first of its kind since that 3D, full-color fantasy she had that night13 years ago:

Dorothy awoke with a start, hissing noisily through her nose only. She couldnot speak, her jaw ached and her wrists, hips and ankles felt heavy. She gotup and out of bed awkwardly and looked down at her naked, chained body in thegloom of the bedroom.

She shuffled her chained feet over to the cracked, dingy mirror, snappedon the little 40-watt bare bulb in her cramped bedroom and stared in disbelief:she, like the model Terry, had been harness-gagged and chained at wrist, waistand ankle by an unseen hand.

Her eyes looked like Terry's!! "MMMMppphhhh!" Dot wheezed as she shook herhead and looked again. She heard a clatter of locks from her head-harness'shasps. She did not look angry, frightened or annoyed. She looked content! How?Why?

"These chains are locked! This harness-looking thingy is locked, too!" Dorothydreamed on. Where are the darn keys? Her heart leaped as she heard a thunderousthump at her front door and everything instantly went black . . . .

Dorothy gasped, suddenly awake, her heart pounding, cool sweat moisteningher brow as her long, steel dildo reminded her once again of its lock-strappedpresence deep inside her womb. The grimy, little tin alarm clock, clackingaway on her cluttered night table, told her it was just 2:30 a.m.

"Whew, what a dream that was," Dot said. "Glad that didn't come true. Ohboy, but it was so-oo real! I felt I was that model." She got up, turned onthe single bulb, and found the keys to her dildo harness she had kept lockedaround her hips and between her legs. She reached under her long nightgown,unsnapped the two locks below her navel and in the small of her back, withdrewthe steel dildo with a moist schlup and a sigh and tookit into the bathroom. She wiped it down with alcohol and stroked some KY onit, readying her pal for his next intrusion in three hours.

She went back to bed and was suddenly asleep, her pussy feeling strangelyempty and alone.

Dorothy Sarah Cochrane, aged 42, had just begun to enter the world of steelbondage. And she didn't know it. Yet.

At 5:30 a.m., Wednesday, December 9, the alarm clattered its noisy way intoDorothy's sub-conscious and she dragged herself out of bed wearily.

"'Mr. Steele', where are you? Yoo-hoo?" she called out half-expectantly,stretching for a big yawn. She spotted the big steel dildo and its straps andlocks, just where she left them, on the dresser top, polished, cleaned, lubedand ready to go home.

Dorothy slipped out of her sexy nightgown and into the dismal, grey showerstall for a tepid – never hot -- bath. "That awful hot-water tank isbroken up again!" she cried, rinsing her voluptuous body from her lightly-scentedfeminine soap she had loved for so many years.

Dried, made-up and hair combed carefully around her attractive, pale face,she bent forward in front of her mirror, her 40D breasts pendulous, spreadher shapely legs wide and slipped her oily steel friend slickly back insideher vagina.

"Ahhhh," Dorothy sighed, holding it in tightly. She then arranged the strong,leather-covered steel-cored straps, attached to the three-inch-diameter dildobase, around her waist and through her crotch, drew the locks into the sturdy,little hasps and -- snick, snick – she was locked up again, chaste asthe scuzzy Scottish snow scudding in little siftings across her sill.

"There, ready for work again," she said as she stepped into her skirt, buttonedher blouse down over her soft, slightly-pendulous breasts, slipped on a clingycashmere pullover and stepped into her comfortable loafers. She manoeuvredher hips and thighs to ensure the dildo found its favorite haven, snug againsther Grafenberg spot on the upper inside of her pussy and deep inside, to itsfull, 10-in. length, nudging delightfully into her womb. She pressed the basein one more inch and smiled: "Ah, there it is, right there. "No heels for metoday, she said, looking down her bosomy front to her feet she could just see. "Theymake my boobs bobble around too much for those welders and fitters. To heckwith them."

Dot snapped off the dim, bare 40-watt bulb hanging from her bedroom ceilingand strode out to meet the day.

Wednesday started with yet another five-pound taxifare, prelude to anotherdismal day at the office, but at 10 a.m., she spotted a copy of The Times ofLondon on the general manager's desk when she took in the mid-week work reports.

Dorothy's dismal workaday life was about to change irrevocably "Let's havea dekko," she said, "'n' see if there's any jobs to be had so I can get clearof this shipyard and this city."

She swiped the big, flimsy paper off the GM's desk -- he wouldn't know anyway--and returned to her desk nearby, feeling the gentle, urgent push of the dildoinside her as she sat down in the old, grey swivel chair, her breasts lurchingsoftly under her sweater. She put on her glasses and began scanning the fineprint.

Hmm, typist wanted. Nay.

Hmm, clerk-typist wanted. Nope.

Secretary/clerk-typist wanted. Hmm. Maybe. Naw.

Flipping the big pages, a display ad, on page 15, close to the stocks andbonds quotations, caught her eye.

WANTED

Experienced executive secretary -- Needed urgently by a Central African oil-explorationcorporation listed with London Stock Exchange. Applicants must be British subjectsor Commonwealth citizens with college diploma and/or university degree in commerce,business or public affairs; 10 years' directly-related experience at corporate/business level; excellent communications, writing and presentation skills andproven, superior managerial, organizational and "trouble-shooting" abilities.Successful candidate will manage office staff of five, reporting to the chiefexecutive officer. Other related duties to be assigned, subject to operationalcommitments. Some overseas travel required. Salary range: 50,000 - 65,000 poundsper annum, depending on experience and background. Must be bondageable. Attractivecompany benefits: sick leave, medical/dental programs, profit-sharing and generouspension plans in place for the right candidate. Apply with three-page resumeand certified, true copy of passport to: Mr. Godfrey Smith, Esq., Chief, HumanResources and Administration, Benize Oil Corporation, 40 Sandy Street West,Bally, Benize, East Africa. (Tel. 044-666-2376; fax. 044-666-1154). Quote CompetitionNo. 05-2003. All applications must be received before Wednesday, December.24, 2003, 6 p.m., GMT.

{;-)BenizeOil We Are Here to Serve You

"Woo," Dorothy whistled, feeling her sensitive nipples erecting with excitementagainst her silk blouse. "Fifty to 65K a year for working in East Africa. Withtheir cost of living, this could be a swan. But isn't that silly? Look at thetypo in paragraph two; they mean bondable, surely."

She noted the competition closed three weeks today and she quickly told thegeneral manager she wanted to book some overtime tonight to refresh and polishher resume. She would also write the best covering letter ever, photocopy herpassport and arrange a courier delivery to Bally, Benize, East Africa.

She dug her passport out of her purse where she hid it for safekeeping, photocopiedit and got the company accountant downstairs to certify the true copy. Climbingthe stairs again to her second-floor desk, the dildo poking and turning atevery step, she resumed her day's duties: filing, typing, updating ledgers,taking Mr. McDonald's dictation and typing up business letters and internalreports.

She did not hear the 12 noon or 6 p.m. whistles, so intent was she to clearher desk and apply for this BenizeOil job.

By 10:30 p.m., 4½ hours after quitting time, she had done the bestjob she could on her resume – three pages long – and had draftedand redrafted three times her covering letter, spellchecking it over and overto make sure it was perfect. Finally satisfied, and horny with excitement,she dug out her stash of Classic Crest bond stationery, put it into the laserprinter and ran off her resume and one-page letter in 12-pt. Arial.

She put her documents and photocopy in a manilla folder and called a cab.Soon, she was home and a courier would pick it up first thing Thursday morning.

She scarcely felt her steel dildo, still locked deep inside her, that morningwhen the courier arrived, took delivery and sent it on its way to the DarkContinent.

Thursday and Friday sped by and, after a dull, quiet weekend, Dot was surprisedby a knock on her door at 7 a.m., Monday, December 15. Opening the door inher grey dressing gown, steel dildo still in its proper place all weekend,she saw the same, grey-haired courier with a special-delivery envelope postmarkedBenizeOil Corporation, Bally, Benize, East Africa.

"Yer signs 'ere, miss," he said. Dorothy penned her neat, feminine handwriting,returned the grey form to the man and closed the door, locking it firmly.

The letter, on classy bond stationery with colorful, odd logos, was fromMr. Godfrey Smith, Esq., Chief, Human Resources and Administration, BenizeOil Corporation, 40 Sandy Street West, Bally, Benize, East Africa, informingshe had been selected for interview at the BOC head office, Bally, on Monday,December 22, 2003, at 2 p.m., subject to her confirmation, and that electronictickets had been reserved for her at Prestwick Airport.

Would she please call to confirm the time and date?

"Oh, I most certainly will," Dorothy said to her grey wallpaper. She bookedoff sick, so excited was she about this potential job offer, and at the startof business, Benize time, dialled the number from the advertisement.

She got through straight away to Mr. Smith, a young, professional-soundingman with a rich, baritone voice, and confirmed the date and time. She rangoff and shouted "I'm off to Benize, East Africa, in just seven days' time.

"Oh, golly, I hope I get that job! A new life. A new start!"

Too true, dear reader.

But now it was coming up 7:30 and Dot knew she was going to be late. Shecalled her friend, Gail, at home and said she was not feeling well at all todayand would be in Wednesday.

Dot planned to buy the most expensive, tailored business suit she could findin the clothing stores in Glasgow West. At 8:30, dressed in wool sweater, blouse,jeans and P-coat, her dildo still locked in, its keys on her little, grey nightstand,she grabbed another cab and found the most expensive-looking women's designer-wearstore she could in the shopping district.

After two hours' combing through racks and racks and speaking to endlesssalesladies about blouses, jackets, skirts, hemlines, accessories and shoes,she settled on one: a super-wool, cream-colored, above-knee Versace pencilskirt with matching classic, single-breasted, vented jacket; designer-cut,Irish linen shirt with standup collar and gold bracelets, earrings and a slimpearl pendant for her neck.

Noticing for the first time that morning her persistent pal, Mr. Steele,the steel dildo inside her, she thought she should purchase a bra and settledon a light, off-white Victoria's Secret soft-cup 38D bra. She took her armfulof new clothing into the fitting stall and emerged, looking like a millionpounds – her flattering silhouette featured a curvy, 42-year-old womanin tailor-made skirt, jacket and blouse who would look good in any corporateboardroom.

Her locked-in steel dildo was furthest from her mind when she took her Visacard to the teller and paid for her purchases -- 512 Scottish pounds with VAT-- and told she could come back in two days for minor alterations to her jacketand skirt, if needed. No need; everything fit perfectly and snug, she toldthe clerk. Her personal chequing account stood at three pounds 50 pence butDorothy didn't care.

She took her shopping bags back home, tried the garments all on again, adjustedher skirt, shirt and jacket and looked at herself critically in the cracked,tarnished mirror. She was beginning to turn herself on, imagining African oilmenlooking at her tits in this smashing designer suit.

Checking her figure, she knew she had made the right choice and had it sentaway for dry-cleaning in preparation for the big day. Monday, December 22,2003, dawned cold, grey and snowy again in Glasgow but Dot was excited: shehad risen at 3 a.m. to take a taxi to Prestwick to catch her 5:30 a.m. flightto the sunny south.

Soon, she was en route to Benize, East Africa, and a destiny she had neverthought possible.

She had packed her dildo because she had planned to stay an extra two days,until Christmas eve, and return home to her dump in case she did not get thejob. Wearing jeans, sweatshirt and comfortable shoes for the five-hour trip,she was thrilled about her first overseas job interview.

At 12 noon (local), she landed at Bally Airport and stepped out into thebrilliant, hot African sunshine, squinting as she looked at the dusty air terminalbuilding and the gravel runway. A company car was waiting for her, after customsand baggage pickup, and she was whisked to a big, four-star hotel in downtownBenize, a few blocks away from the BOC head office.

Checking into her pleasant, airy bright room -- a far cry, she thought, fromthe grubby flat she had in lowertown Glasgow -- she undressed, showered inthe fanciest bathroom she had ever seen and, drying herself and towelling herhair, stepped into her new skirt, put on the new bra and slipped into her newshirt and jacket. The new bra did wonders for her figure, she noticed, nothaving worn one for months, but Dot was more comfortable without one and shewould take it off afterwards. She thought.

"No dildo this afternoon," she said, "but he will be waiting for me whenI get back."

Dressed to the tens, she stepped out, nervous but proud in conservative highheels, into the hallway to the elevator lobby and downstairs where the samedriver met her to take her to the job interview.

Dot's breasts swayed slightly inside her soft bra from her high-heeled, purposefulwalk and she hoped she would turn heads at the interview. Better them thanthose grimy dockyard maties back home, she thought.

Sitting in the backseat, she reached under her jacket discreetly, checkingthe driver's eyes in the rearview mirror, and gave her nipples a firm squeezeto ensure they were attractively erect and poking decorously through her whitelinen shirt and jacket for these oilmen. She gave them a second, harder squeeze,mmmppphhh, just to make sure, as the car braked to a stop in front of a glass-and-chrome,12-storey office tower that looked distinctly out of place in the dusty, rundownmain street of little Bally, Benize, East Africa.

"Oh boy, this is it," she sighed, as the driver helped her politely out ofthe backseat.

Dorothy was ushered into the mirrored elevator lobby, ascended to the 10thfloor and escorted into a mahogany-panelled, expensively-appointed boardroomwith a huge oval oak table and 16 executive chairs arranged neatly around theperimeter. Legal pads, pens and pencils were arranged and carafes of icewatersat by each spot. Four well-dressed, handsome Benizian men stood and came overto introduce themselves. Putting on her most charming smile, she shook handswith them all and tried to remember each name. Smith, Currie, ah, er, who werethe other two?

"Please have a seat, Miss Cochrane," Godfrey Smith said, in his pleasantbaritone voice his smile showing even, pearly-white teeth that contrasted brightlyagainst his mahogany face.

The other three, one of whom included the CEO, Arthur Currie, M.Eng., lookedon intently.

"We have reviewed and discussed in detail your resume and credentials, MissCochrane," Smith began. "We would now like to hear from you and how you relateyour background, educational achievements and work history to the advertisedjob requirements. You have 15 minutes. Please begin."

Dorothy Cochrane felt her sensitive nipples erecting again through her translucentbra as she leaned forward, engaged each man's watery, dark-brown eyes and gavethem every detail of her professional life and academic backgrounds she thoughtthey should know.

She was clear, crisp and precise as she put the best spin possible on her15 years of drudgery at McDonald's Shipyard, Clydeside, Glasgow.

At 12 minutes, 50 seconds, Arthur Currie spoke up:

"Miss Cochrane, you have travelled several thousand miles to tell us exactlywhat we wanted to know," he said in a steady, bass-baritone voice. Dot thoughthe was undressing her with his eyes. He was.

The handsome, 45-year-old, 6-ft., 200-pound African executive continued toaddress Dorothy's breasts and continued:

"We need a woman of your, ah, stature, background and experience to manageour office staff in head office; to problem-solve and work out human-resourcesissues that come to the fore in the oil-exploration business from time to time.

"As a man with more than 25 years' experience in oil, I believe you havea quick, sharp mind – you clearly are capable of 'thinking outside thebox' (Dot knew what that meant); you have an enviable corporate and industrialwork record and excellent credentials."

Dorothy was holding her breath, feeling her nipples harden with perfect timingagainst her blouse and jacket. "Mmm, thank you, boobs," she said to herself.

Currie continued: "Your performance reports are at consistent, 5/5 levelsand your superiors' endorsements are effuse in praise of your work habits,punctuality and ability to get the job done, often with deadline pressure.

"Would you therefore kindly excuse us while we make our final deliberations?"

"Thank you, Mr. Currie," Dot said quietly. She rose and walked purposefullyout of the big boardroom to the waiting area outside.

It would be the last time she would take free steps without hearing a chink, clink,shink of chain on her body for many, many years.

Dorothy Sarah Cochrane thought she was 20 years younger as she stepped nervouslyinto the airy, brightly-lit boardroom foyer. She took a chair, crossed herknees and hoped for the best. She missed the comforting caress of her big steeldildo.

Thirty-five minutes later, Godfrey Smith opened the big, double oak doorsto the boardroom and said solemnly: "Mrs. Cochrane, please step in."

Dot rose and walked as assertively erect as she could to hear the panel'sdecision.

The four men rose as one as she entered, their sign of corporate courtesyand goodwill, and sat down again after she took her seat across from them.The hot African sunshine gleamed blindingly on the tall windows of the boardroomand Dorothy had butterflies in her pussy as Mr. Currie began:

"Mrs. Cochrane, I apologize for my earlier misspeak about your marital status.This panel has listened carefully to your account of how you will relate yourqualifications to the incumbent position," he said to her breasts again. Hethen engaged her eyes and continued, a little louder: "Your background andeducational achievements; your career pattern, professional experiences andcredentials have all been assessed thoroughly, scored and judged. Our choiceis unanimous. "Subject to your acceptance, we are pleased to offer you theposition of executive secretary to the chief executive officer, myself, ata starting salary of 65,000 British pounds sterling. Do you accept?"

Dot swallowed hard: 65K was more than she would earn in five years at thatgrubby Glasgow shipyard. The price was right. "Mr. Currie and members of theboard, I am honored and delighted to accept your offer of employment. Thankyou. When do I start?"

Godfrey Smith, the human resources guy, spoke up: "You may start at the openof business, at 9 a.m., tomorrow, Wednesday, December 23, Mrs. Cochrane. Ifyou agree, the papers and contract for your employment and additional job requirementsare waiting for your signature at the table outside."

"Mr. Currie, sir, with your permission, I would like to adjourn this meetingand offer Mrs. Cochrane refreshments after she has perused and signed the officialpaperwork."

"This meeting is adjourned," Currie said in his finest judicial tone. "Thankyou, Mrs. Cochrane, and I look forward to a long association with you in chains."

Dot thought she had heard wrong.

"Pardon?" she asked. "In chains? Whatever do you mean?"

"Smith, show her the contract for her chains, please; I must go. I have anothermeeting in a half-hour. Good day, Mrs. Cochrane, I will see you in the forenoontomorrow."

Dot could not believe her ears. This was 2003, not 1603!!

Godfrey Smith, human resources administrator and expert metalworker, appearedat her side with three pages: two standard employment information data sheetsand the third a parchment original of her special contract. Dot reached forher glasses and quickly signed the employment info sheets, then took up thecontract with a shaky hand. It said:

CONTRACT FOR INDENTURED SERVICES

December 22, 2003

I, the undersigned, Dorothy Sarah Cochrane (DoB, November 20, 1961), of 123Peter Street, Apartment No. 2, Glasgow, Scotland, N4MB 4K2, being of soundmind and body, do hereby agree to have titanium-steel shackles rivetted and/orwelded to my ankles and joined by a 16-inch-long, 3/16ths-inch, oblong-linkedchain, the centre link of which is to be connected to my waist by a locked,60-inch-long, similar chain, for a period not to exceed one year, which ismy probationary term of employment with BenizeOil Corporation, Bally, Benize,East Africa. I further agree to have similar shackles rivetted and/or weldedto my wrists which will be connected by 12-inch, 3/16ths-inch, oblong-linkedchain and that a 1½-inch wide steel collar, complete with incorporatedhalf-link, will be permanently affixed to my neck, in accordance with the BenizianTribal Custom of 1603, that states: "White women in the employ of Beniziannationals, in the Free Nation of Benize, shall be chained and shackled forthe duration of their employment so named and shall forever release their employersof any damages, public or private liability or injury she may occur as theresult of her restraints.

"I hereby sign this contract, with free will and understanding, this date,to be chained in accordance with the aforementioned specifications, and foreverrelease BenizeOil Corporation, of 40 Sandy Street West, Bally, Benize, EastAfrica, of any damages, public or private liability or injury that may, orwill, occur as the result of wearing chains and shackles during my employmentas executive secretary to the chief executive officer, Mr. Arthur Currie, M.Eng.,B.Eng., Esq. Unauthorized removal of the restraints before the approved datewill result in immediate termination.

_________________________ (Mrs.) Dorothy Sarah Cochrane {;-) BenizeOil WeAre Here to Serve You

Dot at first could not believe her ears; now she could not believe her eyes. "Thisis a joke, isn't it, Mr. Smith?" she said, taking off her glasses to look athim incredulously. "This contract isn't legal. How could such a contract beenforced in the courts?"

"Mrs. Cochrane, please, let remind you are not in Great Britain today," hereplied. "You are free to leave as soon as you wish if you choose not to signand this will not be held against you in any way or form.

"But civil and contract laws in Benize have been, and continue to be, basedon ancient tribal customs that predate some of Great Britain's civil codes.I cannot tell you of the provenance, or rationale, of the Benizian tribal customof 1603 but I can tell you it has been upheld by Benizian supreme court decisionsas recently as February 2003. This was reported in the international pressand, naturally, caused outrage in certain human-rights organizations; however,your contract is still legal in this country only and we have not had officiallegal action brought to us in this respect.

"Legalities and the niceties of contract law are matters for barristers andcivil courts; we are an oil-exploration company and are living up to our country'semployment statutes, which we continue to do, in order to stay in business.I hope you understand."

Dot swallowed hard at this hard-nosed explanation and re-read the contracta second and third time.

"If it may influence your decision," Smith said smoothly, "BenizeOil is preparedto increase your per-annum salary to 75,000 British pounds sterling a yearif you agree to be chained thus for a period not to exceed 365 days and nights."

Dot thought: '75K; that's seven-years' salary at McDonald's and I would bechained for only one year'.

"Do they come off at the end of the year?" Dot asked anxiously.

"Only if you leave voluntarily, absent yourself without leave, are dismissedfor cause or try and have them removed before your probationary period is up,Mrs. Cochrane."

"Oh. In other words, if I sign this contract, I would be chained up untilI decide to leave?"

"That is correct," the handsome, 35-year-old executive told her.

"And my salary will be increased to 75,000 pounds sterling a year if I dosign?"

"That is correct. Part of the agreement stipulates that a bank account willbe established by you at the financial institution of your choice, either inBenize or in Scotland, and your salary will be deposited electronically onthe 27th day of each month. As well, a starting salary advance of 10,000 poundssterling has been authorized for you, provided you sign the contract."

"How much time do I have to think about this?"

"Mrs. Cochrane, please; we are an extremely busy office and I have otherclients and matters to attend. I do not wish to rush your judgment but thesooner you sign, or not, the better it will be for you and me."

Smith smiled gently and added quietly: "Dorothy, for Pete's sake, think ofthe salary and benefits. My wife, who is Welsh, was employed here in 2000 -2002 and wore her chains without complaint for the two years she was here inpayroll.

"In fact, she still wears them around the house, from time to time, and hastold me she does not mind them at all. "Considers them her African jewellery,she says," Godfrey said with a small chuckle.

"Oh my," Dot replied. " But I've never been chained, shackled or in troublewith the law ever before and I don't . . . . " Godfrey started to pick up thecontract off the table. Dot held onto it. "Just a sec., Mr. Smith, please giveme a minute."

"Fine, Mrs. Cochrane, one minute."

He looked at his watch and tapped his left index finger in time with thesweep of the second hand in his $3,500 Rolex Oyster wristwatch. Dorothy fretted.I'm in East Africa; I only have Gail as my friend; my boys are grown and goneto America an' I don't want to go back to McDonald's Shipyard ever again.

What do I have to lose? My dignity? In this big office? Probably not. Onthe street? Possibly. But didn't he say there are other white women here, orin town, who are chained up like I might be? They are paying me to agree tobe chained up for a year. Am I putting my avarice for financial gain aheadof my principles? Dorothy could not find the answer to that one as the secondsticked on.

"Time's up, Mrs. Cochrane," Smith said quietly.

"Mr. Smith," Dorothy said, looking at him squarely in the eye. "Chains willmake me look like a criminal, like a slave, like someone kept here againsther will."

"Let me assure you, Mrs. Cochrane, there are at least 10 other white womenin this building who wear chains every day, seven days a week, 365 days a year,without a word of complaint."

"There are?" Dorothy gulped.

"Yes, two are on this floor this afternoon, Betty and Joan, in payroll. Andnow, Mrs. Cochrane, will you sign or not?"

Dorothy blinked hard and said, with a pounding lump in he throat:

"Yes, Mr. Smith, I will sign."

"Very good," Godfrey Smith sighed, as he slid the one-page parchment documentback to her. Dot put on her glasses, sat up straight and put her neat femininesignature on the indicated spot.

"Thank you, Mrs. Cochrane; now if you will just wait here a moment I willget my tools and your chains."

Dot's heart was pounding when Godfrey left and re-emerged a few moments later,in black T-shirt and blue jeans, pushing a small cart with one long and twoshorter lengths of silver-grey chain, each connected to four sturdily-hinged,small-diameter titanium shackles; her collar; a small, oak-mounted anvil; sturdyhammer, a bag of rivets and a small, portable oxyacetylene welding apparatuswith asbestos cloths.

Dot closed her eyes as he placed the anvil at her feet with a heavy thumpin front of her leather-upholstered boardroom chair. She thought of that noisethat concluded her erotic dream a few days ago in her dingy Glasgow bedroom.

She could not believe this was happening. She closed her eyes.

"Please remove your shoes and place your left ankle on the anvil, Mrs. Cochrane." Shedid so without looking. She felt the cool clasp of titanium on her ankle forthe first time and heard him slide the rivet home through the twin flanges.

Clang, clang, bing. "That's one," Godfrey said, kneelingat her feet. "Now your right ankle, please."

Bing, bing, clang. "Done."

Opening her eyes, she watched as he attached the 60-inch chain to the centreof her ankle links with a special tool and held out her arm as he helped herto her feet while he passed the upper end snugly around her waist.

Snap! A sturdy lock secured her waist chain. She saw no key.

Dot felt the cool steel chain over her Versace skirt for the first time buthad not yet taken her first step.

Just one minute had passed.

"Please kneel for your handcuffs and collar," Godfrey said. Dot compliedand she was chained at wrists and had a collar rivetted on her neck in lessthan a minute. Her ears rang from the metallic blows just below her left ear.

"There, we're nearly done," Godfrey said. "Now, all I have to do is weldthe seams. Do not be alarmed; this damp asbestos cloth will prevent the flamefrom touching anything.

He slid a piece of the heavy, silver fabric around each of her ankles andwrists and taped them in place. He then adjusted valves on the gas tanks, puton his goggles and struck the torch. A hiss and a light pop preceded the yellow,then bright-blue flame and he knelt down with special welding rods to closepermanently her ankle shackles' seams. Dot could smell the acrid, metallicsmoke coming from her chains but said and felt nothing. She looked out thewindow as he continued.

"Please hold out your wrists; this will only take a minute," he said quietly.Dot complied and, soon, her handcuffs had bluish-black welds on the seams.

"Now, the collar." He slid a piece of asbestos under the back of her snugcollar and had it welded shut in 30 seconds.

Turning off the torch and removing his goggles, he turned to her and asked: "Howdo they feel? They have a combined weight of just six pounds, you know, andthere is a full-length mirror in the hallway outside should you wish to examinethem and your appearance."

Dorothy was silent as he helped her to her bare feet and she immediatelyfelt the cooling clasp and weight of titanium-alloy steel on her trim, whiteneck, wrists and ankles. Her first thought was: how on earth will I ever getmy skirt off? She could see a tailor because she did not want to ruin the bankaccount-draining, lovely cream skirt that fit her so stylishly. Smith replacedDot's high heels on her feet and encouraged her to take her first tentativestep, limited to 16 inches. She tripped and nearly fell, grasping the backof her chair with a clash of chain.

"This may be difficult," Mr. Smith," Dot said warily. "I've never walkedbefore in chains and this I will have to learn."

"This way, Dorothy; take your time, slow steps at first and I will show youthe mirror. You can assess your appearance for yourself."

Godfrey led her out of the room, a hand solicitously on her left forearm,and directed her to the huge mirrored wall by the bank of elevators.

Dot was appalled as she felt and heard the clink-shink ofher chains on the marble floor. Walking slowly on Mr. Smith's arm, they stoppedat the mirrored wall by the bank of elevators.

Dorothy was shocked by what she saw: there, looking back at her, was a trim,buxom, Versace business-suited brunette, pale from the Scottish winter andchained like a slave; yet looking attractive, serious and professional in hernew surroundings. Beside her stood a handsome African stud. She held her handcuffsat waist level and felt the snugness of the chain around her abdomen with theimplacable, stainless-steel lock resting on the front of her skirt just belownavel level.

She widened her stance to the full 16 inches her ankle chains allowed andfound the span was just slightly shorter than the pace allowed by her Versacepencil skirt.

"You are free to go back to your hotel room today if you choose, Dorothy;" Smithtold her, turning to collect his tools. "Please be back in the building onthe 10th floor to meet your staff tomorrow at 9 a.m. Your Benizian work permithas been approved. Thank you. Good day."

Dot Cochrane was incredulous. There she was, in less than eight hours, ahum-drum, workaday woman with a steel dildo locked into her pussy; now, a businesswoman,collared, chained and shackled in titanium steel, and in a Versace suit, lookingat herself in the executive suite of a wealthy oil exploration corporation.

She slowly pressed the elevator button with both hands and stepped in, herankle chains clattering loudly in the 10-person, mahogany-and-chrome elevatorcar. She shook her head in disbelief at the rapid chain of events that hadswept over here today.

Holding her wrists and forearms awkwardly in front of her, she descendedand walked with slow, measured steps out of the building, seeing her hotelseveral blocks away. She felt her breasts joggle with a different rhythm asshe took quick, 16-inch chained steps. It took her 25 minutes to walk six blocksand she was puffing with exertion when she got back to her hotel room.

She opened the door, sat on the bed and felt her handcuffs and leg shackleswith her fingers for the first time.

"Snug, yep," she said. "They're not coming off today or tomorrow. Maybe nextyear."

She flipped on the television and snapped it back off after scanning thesix color channels. All Benizian programs. "No 'Coronation Street' down here,I'll bet," she said. She lay back in her suite and fell into a deep, dreamlesssleep.

Hours later, she awoke with a start in her darkened room to find herselfnaked and under the covers, her skirt hanging immaculately over the chair bythe bed. Her lovely jacket, blouse and new bra were nowhere to be seen buttidy stacks of light halter, tank and tube tops, skirts and spaghetti-strappedlong and short sundresses waited on a rack by the door.

She rose, groggy and jetlagged, feeling the chains as she swung her legsout of bed and clinked over to the dark window to look onto the dusty, unlit,little main street.

She returned to her overnight bag, unpacked her housecoat and awkwardly drapedit round her shoulders as she looked for a clock. The small digital displayat her bedside told her it was 2:30:14 a.m., 23/12/03.

Wide awake, she emptied her two-days' supply of clothes, cosmetics and Mr.Steele, her 10-inch-long, 3-inch-diameter stainless-steel companion, onto thebed.

Feeling a new, sexy urge, she took a bath towel and polished and lubed thehalf-pound steel intruder carefully with her newly-chained hands. It had kepther company for the past several months, why not now? she reasoned.

Dorothy squatted by her bed, awkward in her chains, and slid the cool device,ever so gently, back into her waiting, moist vagina, snugging down the strapswith practised ease, despite her chained ankles and wrists, and snapped thetwo locks closed at the front and back of her dildo harness. The sturdy dildobelt rested just below her waist chain and the steel was once again deep insideher.

One of those skirts or dresses over there will cover most, if not all thisgear, she thought, as she patted her abdomen.

She waggled her hips to adjust the top convexity of the steel dildo againsther G-spot so the business end nestled hard against her cervix, 10 inches upinto her lower abdomen.

Ah-h, much better," she said finally, checking her chained, shackled, strappedand dildo-ed self in the big, elegant mirror. (Even today, the steel dildogives her a sense of relief from the day-to-day pressures at work in the sameway she used to unwind with a single-malt scotch and soda).

She thought she should call Gail in the shipyard's general office back inGlasgow in the morning. But for now, she wanted more sleep. Four hours later,she awoke more refreshed and clinked slowly, her breasts swaying with her alteredstride, to the telephone by the window.

Nude, chained and impaled, she sat down and, with clattering chains, dialledthe number she had given out over the phone so many times during the past 15years. 01-44-325-7803.

"Ouch," she said, as the dildo lurched inside. She patted her lower abdomenwith her chained hands, saying "Not so hard, Mr. Steele."

Brrring, brring , the call rang, with that irritatingScottish signal. "Good morning, McDonald's shipyard, Gail Penny speaking. Howmay I help you, please?"

"Gail, it's me, Dot. I'm in Bally, Benize, right now and you won't believewhat has happened!" Dorothy said.

"You got the job, gal?"

"Yes, with a salary of 75,000 quid a year! Seventy-fiveK, Gail; s'more thanI would make in seven years at McDonald's."

Dorothy held the receiver in both hands and Gail could hear a small rustleof chain against Dot's handset. "There's something else, Gail, and you're notgoing to believe this. I signed a special contract after the interview thatsaid I am to be chained up for one year while employed with this oil company." "Wha-a-a-at?"

"Yes, a perfectly legal contract that increases my salary from 65K to 75K,providing I agree to be chained at ankles, wrists and neck for the durationof my employment. They only will be removed if I quit or am fired."

"You didn't sign, did you, Dot?"

A pause: "Yes, I did."

"Oh, Dorothy, no. "When will they do it to you?"

"Gail, honey, I don't know how to tell you this but . . . I'm chained rightnow as I sit talking to you. My ankles are chained, a chain runs from themto my waist; there're handcuffs on my wrists and a steel collar on my neck.Titanium alloy, or something like that, and everything is rivetted and weldedon. The money they offered to me to be like this to satisfy some dumb, oldtribal custom, was too much to pass up."

Gail Penny's imagination was fired.

"Holy mackerels, Dorothy, you probably look like a prisoner or some kindof slave! You're a secretary!!

" Do they hurt?"

"Well, yes and no," Dot replied. "I was wearing that Versace business suitI showed you when this guy, Godfrey somebody, rivetted and welded all thissteel on me just after I signed that contract. Right in some big, gorgeousboardroom! Imagine!

"Well, after he turned off his welder, I looked at myself in the mirror and,well, eh, I don't look too bad. And no, they don't hurt at all; they just changethe way I walk, do things and stuff."

"Knowing you, Dot Cochrane, you probably look like some big-boobed glamourdoll in chains." Gail still could not believe what her best friend has justtold her.

Dorothy laughed at Gail's humor attempt.

"Yeah, well, I can't put a shirt on anymore and I sure as heck can't weara jacket. Don't need one here, though, the temp's about 40 degrees C. in theshade.

"What can you wear down there, Dot, if you're all chained up. You can't berunning around naked are you?" Gail asked.

"No, no; they've given me piles and piles of summery stuff; you know, halters,skirts, sundresses, that sort of thing," Dorothy answered, unaware that a lifeof enforced chained nudity lay just ahead. "They're nice but, hee-hee, certainlynot suited to the Scottish climate.

"What's it like in Glasgow?"

"Snowing and minus 10 degrees Celsius."

"Gotta go, Gail, call yer next week," Dot said, shivering as she rememberedall to well the cold, wet snow.

"Okay, Dorothy, take care; love yer, too. I'll put your letter of resignationin for you this afternoon."

"'Bye."

"'Bye-'bye." Dot rang off from her pal of 15 years -- would be the last conversationDot would have with Gail for more than a year – and tried to get usedto the clutch of chain on her body. The familiar, poking pressure of the steeldildo deep inside calmly, warmly turned her on as she looked out at the pedestrianson the street.

"There! Across the street and down the block! A white woman and she's chainedjust as I am!!. Wow, lookit how she walks. No problem there at all."

Dot clattered over to examine her Versace suit and saw that it had been re-stitchedup the side and was still wearable with a good pressing.

She then clinked her shuffling way to the neat piles of light, summer clothingthat had mysteriously appeared on a rack by the door while she was asleep andheld up a cute light halter top and denim knee-length skirt.

"These will have to do for now, I guess," she said, dropping them and headinginto the bathroom.

Looking around the expensively-appointed bath, she saw a huge mirror on herright, a marble-topped sink and counter with gold fixtures, a huge shower stallwith six, high- and low-pressure shower heads and tons of brilliant white towels – afar cry from her 40-watt-bulb-lit, rusty and grimy fixtures back home.

Dot stepped into the stall with a loud clash of her chains, closed the doorand turned the tap. Six high-pressure needle streams of hot water blasted herbody, front and back.

"Ye-oooww," she yelped. "That's hot. " She reached for the tap and adjustedthe flow, feeling the warm, soothing water jet against her body and chains,sensations she had never felt before.

Turning round and round, she thrilled to the new experience of a high-pressureshower bath, remembering her old, clangy shower stall in Glasgow that merelydribbled in the grey gloom. Her chains and shackles chattered merrily as sheshampooed her fine, mid-back-length brunette hair and she was happy.

Stepping out again, she took the biggest towel she could find and dried herselfand the chains and dildo harness.

Refreshed and relaxed, Dot sat on the edge of the bed, wriggled into a snug,knee-length jean skirt then awkwardly slipped the halter top over her headand under her arms. She sat down, ran her chained hands down to her feet, pulledthem up behind her and awkwardly did up the halter-top's strings in back. Herheavy, teardrop breasts bulged low and soft inside the snug, little top.

"I look like a friggin' 'bopper," she said, standing to look at herself inthe mirror, breasts swaying gently. "Well, if this is what they want me towear, so be it."

She heard her stomach growl and decided to go down to the dining room andsample some Benizian fare. Clinking and clattering down into the lobby, sheattracted only mild attention from hotel staff and guests. There were a fairlylarge number of chained, white businesswomen in Bally and they often did notrate a second look. But Dorothy turned heads as she strolled as casually asshe could in chains into the dining room.

She seated herself by a window, hoping desperately to see another white womanwalk by in chains.

She ordered a breakfast of smoked, steamed kippers, stewed tomatoes, blackbread and marmalade and Stilton cheese with ice-cold bottled water. Her tabwas being picked up by BenizeOil, she was informed.

Finished, she clinked back up to her room, touched up her makeup and shuffledher small steps back down into the hot sunlight of the December 23, 2003, morningin Bally, Benize, East Africa.

"This may not be as hard as it appears," she said aloud as she hobbled, clinkingand clattering, down the gravelled main street in her halter top and blue skirtto begin work at BenizeOil.

Her first day was a myriad of faces, names, places, people and paper andby the time 5 p.m. rolled around, she was exhausted again. She had been givenher own small office, on the 10th floor, near the boardroom and CEO's office,and was beginning to settle in when Mr. Currie, the CEO, stopped her in thehallway.

"Dorothy, I am giving the corporation extra Christmas leave this season;effective this afternoon you are on official, paid leave until Friday, January4, 2004, 10 days hence.

"There is some work you may have to do off Samoa in the new year and thetravel section is making arrangements for your flight to Papua New Guinea andonwards to Samoa.

"A fight broke out in one of our offshore oil rigs and the investigatorsrequire a secretary to set things up, coordinate with the police, arrange accommodationsand take notes, statements and affidavits. Will you go? "Yes, sir; of courseI will," Dot replied, in her most professional way. This was too good to betrue!!

"Very well, then, happy holidays, Dorothy. Might I add you look just splendidin chains? Have you worn them before? You appear to be such at ease in them."

No, sir; my first time."

"Good day."

"Good afternoon, sir; and thank you for everything." She raised her chainedhands to wave goodbye as she turned to leave the 10th floor and clatter backto her hotel room again.

It took her 20 minutes to walk the six blocks back to her hotel and, famished,she decided to have supper straight away, having skipped dinner.

She looked around and saw no other women in chains.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," said the black woman who appeared instantly at herside. "We have New York cut of charcoal-broiled sirloin; roast beef au jusand cold lobster platter as evening specials. Would you care to order?" "Yes,please," Dorothy said, holding the big menu between her chained hands. " I'llhave two lobsters, a glass of white wine and a small salad," she said witha smile.

"Thank you, ma'am. Might I add you look most attractive this afternoon."

"Thanks."

Dorothy's eyes arched as she saw her server was chained, too; although notas heavily as she was. The waitress turned and Dot saw a heavy chain danglingfrom under her uniform skirt swaying gently between her unchained legs. Thewoman strode toward the kitchen quietly and Dot's dildo dug into her firmly.

"Ah-h-h," she said as softly as she could. "That feels so-o good." Her winearrived and she sipped the delicious, dry bouquet of the cool white Bordeauxthat cleansed her palate for the North Atlantic crustacean she loved.

Two hours later, she was a little tipsy; she had ordered an entire bottleof Bordeaux for herself – to shell-a-brate, what else? – and waspleasantly full of lobster, salad and Black Forest cheesecake.

"Urp," she said quietly, patting her lips with a chained hand.

It had been a busy, rewarding day for the curvy Glaswegian secretary, dressedyouthfully and provocatively in halter top and conservative jean skirt forthe first time in her life. Nipples rampant under her thin top, she becameaware of heads turning toward her in the lobby and elevators. She had neverhad such attention in Glasgow and began to revel in her new appearance.

She went back up to her 6th floor suite to check out the nightlife in this "burg."

"Mmm, so far so good," she said, as she sat looking at the tourist brochuresand the empty little main street, bathed in the crimson-grey glows of a spectacularAfrican sunset.

Dot smiled to herself: the accommodation was first-rate, the meals were excellentand here she was, on paid special leave, with money rolling electronicallyinto her Bank of Scotland account, today and on the 27th of each month, foras long as she chose to wear chains, which were becoming more of a noveltythan actual bondage to her. And already, payroll had told her this morning,a 10,000-pound cash advance had been authorized and deposited. She giggledwhen she remembered looking at her three-pound balance just before she leftScotland a couple of days ago.

"All this -- and all I have to do is be chained up," she said, looking ather handcuffs and thinking she was well on her way to wealth and independence.Not quite.

She spent her last pre-Christmas leave getting her personal life in orderin Scotland and in Benize; she had formally resigned from McDonald's Shipyardand was now a full-time employee of BenizeOil Corp.

On the 26th, after a sumptuous brunch of Japanese sushi served by a different,harness-gagged black waitress in the dining room, she rented a sleek, new,red Mustang from the hotel's reservation desk, laughing at the memory of herclapped-out little Cortina now buried under a snowbank at home.

Outside, Dot slid easily into the driver's seat, dressed in the best halter,pencil skirt and sandals she could find in her new stash of clothing. Her bigsteel dildo pressed into its usual spots under her snug, grey skirt as shereached for the automatic gearshift, steering wheel and gas and brake pedals.

Her waist chain depended gracefully from under her hemline to her ankle chains;her titanium-steel alloy collar gleamed brightly in the hot African morningsunlight and her handcuff chains swayed and rattled joyfully as she startedup.

" Vrroooommm !!" and she was away, motoring into thedesert to see the sights. Driving along, she decided she would start wearingher locked-in dildo full-time – a perverse form of chastity, to be sure,she thought, given Africa high HIV/AIDS infection rate – "but somethingup there's better than nothing at all."

The warm draughts of air that gusted up her skirt titillated her thighs asshe sped into the desert, rocks flying each way.

She spent five hours touring around the countryside, stopping at a remotevillage, about 100 miles south of Bally, to look at a group of tribespeopleshe was told had forced each and every woman there to be ballgagged continuously,from age 17 to 65.

A tourist guide in Bally had told her this practice arose after the tribalchief was bitten on his privates by a young slavegirl while giving him theblowjob of his life sometime in the 1920s. Afterwards, the enraged chief hadordered that each and every woman's mouth would henceforth be fitted with atwo-inch-diameter hardwood ball tied in place by strong rawhide thongs.

In 1920, the storyteller said, removal became strictly prohibited and Dorothygasped when she was told if these women were seen with gag-free mouths in thepresence of white men or women, they either had their tongues surgically removedor were summarily put to death.

A total of 150 women in the little wood-and corrugated steel-shack communitywore ballgags, she was told.

"How do they eat, drink and speak? How do they communicate?" Dorothy askeda young man who stood beside her powerful sports car at the end of the settlement'sshort, little road.

"Fairly easy, ma'am. To drink, they just open their mouths really wide andpour the water down. Eating is a bit of a problem, though; most of 'em arecontent to eat poi , which looks like Scottish oatmeal.They finger it in and lick it off the sides of their gags.

Dot had never thought this would be possible – and it could or wouldnever happen to her. She thought.

"Talking? Well, I guess you can say they have developed their own dialectand sign language. Most all of our women can usually make each other out buttheir speech will sound a little effy to you."

"May I speak to one of them?" Dot asked, pointing with her chained handsto a group of topless, nipple-ringed and gagged young women chatting animatedlyaround the water pump.

"Sure, sure; step this way. There's Amina. She's nice. I think she's aboutto be sold, though."

Dot was introduced to Amina Allenby, great-granddaughter of a concubine ofthe famous First World War British general, and held out her chained righthand to greet her.

Amina looked at her, puzzled, but took her hand, shaking it timorously. Itsignalled the beginning of a lifelong relationship, complete with wedding,children and family home.

"Hello, my name is Dorothy Cochrane and I am from Glasgow, Scotland. Yourname is Amina, right?'

"Yeff," the attractive, 22-year-old slave said around her snug gag, tiedbehind her neck with a tight, narrow thong.

"How long have you been gagged like this?"

"Fife yeerf, I fink," Amina replied, trying to smile around the two-inch,light-brown wood sphere between her brilliantly white teeth.

"Fo how flong haf oo bin shained?"

"Och, just a few days now but I'm getting used to them," Dot said, liftingher cuffs for emphasis. "Tell me, how long does it take you to get used toyour, mmm, gag? Does it hurt?"

"Noo, iff duffn't hurff. Buff ish takkf munff ta get ooffed to."

"I love your hairdo," Dot said, changing the subject. "Is that a tribal customand are your nipple rings required by custom?"

"Fank ooo for complint," she said. "Mah ringf are uff mah choiffe an' m boffriendluff 'em."

"Mmm, I see; they are lovely. May I see?" Amina stepped closer and pulledher dark shoulders back, baring her lovely, youthful, 36C breasts with long,dark ,ringed nipples, for Dot's perusal. She had never seen anything like nipplerings before in dour, old Glasgow.

"Ms. Allenby, I have been thinking of having mine done. Is there someonehere that can do my nipples like yours?" She wondered what Gail would say whenshe talked to her in a few days.

"Yeff, I fink Gorge fill duff 'em; I sheck if oo wunt."

"That would be great."

Fifteen minutes later, Dorothy Cochrane's half-inch-long nipples, turgidwith excitement and red from the piercing procedure, had sturdy, two-inch-diametersteel rings pierced through each base. The five-minute procedure, inside adim, little shack down the road, had been painless:

Dorothy sat on a box while a 45-year-old black man swabbed her nipples witha natural African antiseptic/anesthetic solution. Then, with a long, 14-gaugesurgical needle, he deftly pierced each nipple through the lateral centres.Dot did not feel a thing as he blotted one small drop of blood on each nipple.She watched him as he inserted the thick, steel-grey rings through the fresh,pink slits and looked down at them as he closed each carefully with a big pairof forceps. George swabbed her nipples again with antiseptic. Dot stood upcausing her chains to clink lightly and reminding her of her new status.

"How much, George?" she said, allowing the man to do up her halter top afterwards. "Mygreat pleasure, ma'am," he replied. "No charge."

Dot thanked him and privately exalted in the warm tingle they imparted toher soft bosom.

Her nipples and rings poked jauntily through of the flimsy fabric of herAfrican halter top and she felt sexy and feminine as she clinked and clatteredin her handcuffs and leg irons toward her Mustang, her breasts bounding lightlyunder her thin top. Seeing Amina en route, she thanked the beautiful, youngslave woman, saved goodbye and slid easily into the driver's seat, feelingonce again the steely, deep penetration of her locked-in dildo.

Amina gazed in admiration at the cherry-red 'Stang as Dorothy drove off,chained, dildoed and, now, nipple-pierced, trailing a cloud of light-grey dust.Further bondage for her lovely body was furthest from her mind as she drovethe 100 miles back to Bally in one hour. Back in her hotel room just beforesunset, she checked the piercings the medicine man had done. Dot tore her halteroff and turned this way and that, looking at the curvature of her soft, heavybreasts she held up admiringly with chained hands.

Carefully, she pushed the steel rings through her long, stiff nipples, thrillingat the strange feeling that zapped through her breasts.

Satisfied with the workmanship and position of the rings, she undressed andcrawled into bed. Her big steel dildo gave Dorothy her first, ear-burning,eye-watering orgasm that night as she lay in bed, fingering her rings, chains,collar and dildo feverishly. Her warm female ejaculate from her gushing, G-spotorgasm trickled down her leg from under the dildo as she fell asleep at 1 a.m.

Saturday, December 27, 2003, dawned bright and hot again and she was awokenby a 9 a.m. call on her telephone.

"Mrs. Cochrane? Front desk here. There is a young woman here, Amina Allenby,who wishes to see you. Shall I send her up?"

"Yes, give me five minutes to get dressed."

At 9:15 a.m., Amina, dressed in a fashionable, ankle-length African wraparound,knocked shyly on Room No. 615.

Dorothy, dressed in another halter and conservative skirt, opened the doorand was shocked by what she saw. The 22-year-old African woman had a new, blackhead harness holding the hardwood ball in place in her mouth, framing her sad,sensual, dark eyes, high cheekbones and round chin tightly.

"Amina! Whatever happened to you? Come in, please! Tell me why you are wearingthat gear, ah, those things, on your head!!"

Amina looked at her, tried to smile shyly and sat in the big, comfortableeasy chair by the bed.

"Fank oo, ma'am," Amina replied with practised ease around a shy smile. "Fankoo fo feein' me fooday; I come to oo wif a biff-niff propoffiffin wif I kinexplain fff oo haf a few minuteff?"

"Yes, of course, my name is Dorothy," the secretary said, taken aback slightly. "Pleasecall me Dot, Amina."

"Yeff, Doff," the attractive, young black woman said, a slight smile curvingaround her gag. "Doff meanf flave in our tongue," Amina replied.

"I am a flave, defended fum a long line of flaves in Benive," she began. "Iam educated buff I don' haff a life at a fettlement where oo met me yefferday.

"Thiff new gag waff put on me affer I waff feen talkin' to yo'; I waffn'tfuppoffed to, you fee."

Dot nodded sadly.

"Dock, I about to be fent to a flavemarket in Foodan, norff-weff of here,an' I don' wanna co.

"Can oo pleafe he'p me? "

"How, Amina? I have no way of influencing your tribal customs and affairsand, you see, I may be mistaken for a slave myself," she said, holding herhands up, tugging at her strong chain.

"Whive wimmen in fiff country are neffer flaves, Dop. Fey are shained inaccordanz wif an anfient tribal cufftom fat iff clearly ouff of dave.

"Oo are noff a flave; I'm, and I'm about to be fold to flavers.

"Can oo buy me, af oo flave, Doff? Fat way I will efape a horrible fate."

Dorothy stood and clinked around behind Amina's chair. Holding her handcuffsat her waist, she examined the three sturdy steel locks that fastened Amina'shead harness behind her neck, atop her head and under her chin. "Amina, haveyou been beaten, tortured or maimed in any way? If so, you should go to theauthorities!"

"Ma'am, oh, forry, Doff; I haff no rightff inna judiffial fyftem fhatfoeffer.I am a flave and will be owned aff a chaffel, a belonging, by my buyer . .. who may be ooo?" Amina looked at Dorothy imploringly around her head harness.

Dorothy, in turn, sat and looked at Amina's calm, leather-framed eyes fora moment. She, too, did not look terribly concerned about her fate but shewas far from serene.

"Amina, when are you to be sold?"

Foo-morrowff!" A tear glistened at Dorothy's eye as Amina continued. "Affage 23, I am to be faned and fold to sa hiffest biddah in Foodan. I am 23 foo-morrowff.Pleafe, hep me, Doth." Dorothy, heartbroken at this 22-year-old's difficultexplanation, empathized with her new-found friend and said: "How much willit cost to buy you and free you from your indenture?"

"A fowfand Britifh powndff."

Ironically, Dot Cochrane, a free woman under Benizian law, had allowed herselfto be chained by choice, her shackles merely a useless, out-of-date formality;Amina, a slave, was, ironically, free, except for her head harness, but faceda lifetime in chains -- in a far-off land -- in less than 24 hours.

Dot, ever-decisive in crisis, was determined to help this poor, young thingin any way she could.

"Let me make some inquiries, Amina," Dot said. She quickly wrote down somequestions for the information desk, rang down and was told the local Bank ofBenize handled transactions for the sale of female slaves.

"You stay here, Amina; make yourself comfortable."

Dorothy grabbed her purse, clattered out into the hallway and down into thelobby to find the bank. Just three doors away, she clinked in rapidly, demandingto see the general manager.

Ten minutes later, after discussion, explanation and a series of quick phonecalls from the banker, Dorothy had written a 1,000-pound personal cheque, tobe drawn on her Bank of Scotland savings account in far-off Glasgow, and receiveda receipt from the Benizian financial institution stating formally she hadpurchased one female slave, Amina Allenby, aged 22 years, 364 days, for thesum of 1,000 British pounds sterling.

Dorothy thanked the man cordially, shook his hand with a clatter of linksand clinked and clashed as fast as she could back to the hotel room.

"Amina," Dot announced cheerfully from inside the doorway. "I have just purchasedyour way out of slavery. You are free to go."

Amina put her hands to her harnessed face and wept piteously:

"Doffy, I haf no plafe to go!" she cried. "Mah tribe haff exiled me -- fayare felling me an' I will become a freetperfon wiffout your he'p. May I fayhere for juff one day?"

"Amina, of course you can stay. Here, let me show you the bathroom. Wouldyou like to freshen up?" Amina snuffled away her tears and nodded her lovelyhead in affirmation. "It's just there," Dorothy said, pointing with a chainedwrist. "Take all the time you want."

Amina "fank"-ed her profusely and walked gracefully into the bathroom. Switchingon the light, Amina gasped; she had never seen such luxury. She had only seenpictures of deluxe shower stalls and the marble and gold fixtures throughoutdazzled her.

Amina disrobed and stepped into the shower stall, curiously fingering thetaps and temperature controls.

"Aaa-ccckkk!" she cried as a blast of cold water shot onto her back. "Fold!!Ga-ah!!" More adjustments later and she was enjoying a steamy, hot shower,front and back; the sensations of water slipping around the straps of her headharness gag distracting her as she turned this way and that in the steamingshower.

Fifteen minutes later, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a big, fluffytowel around her slim, 36C-24-36, 110-pound body.

She stepped out of the steamy room to dry her hair as Dorothy stood up, arrangingher waist chain that appeared from under mid-thigh miniskirt.

"Let me dry your face and your back, Amina," Dot said kindly. She pattedAmina's harness dry and dried her back for her, asking: "Who has the keys tothese locks, sweetie?"

"Fa flave owners in Foo-dan, 500 mileff norfweft of here."

Well, so much for freeing her today.

"Would you like to wear some of my clothes today, honey?" Dorothy asked helpfully.I am sure we can find something to fit you; some of them are pretty snug onme, especially the tops, and we're about the same size." Amina had long wishedto look like a North American woman, in skirts, dresses and blouses, and sheleaped at the chance.

"Ohhh, yeff, pleaffe, Doffy. I haf neffer worn a firt befoe. Or a nive fop!" Dotwas getting tired of the gag talk and asked her friend to be quiet for a moment.

She carefully went through the pile of tops, skirts and dresses and selecteda bright-red halter and blue-jean miniskirt for her friend's trim figure. Shehanded them to Amina and Dot's newfound slavegirl/pal easily stepped into theskirt but puzzled over the halter top.

She finally figured it out and had the straps in back done up and securein a way that Dorothy could never easily do anymore.

"Fare, how oo like iff?" Amina said proudly around her gag. "I fee ike aweal woman now; fank-ooo, Doffy."

Amina was snuffling as she stepped over to her benefactor and hugged her,feeling Dorothy's big, warm bosom against her lighter frame.

They hugged and clutched for five minutes, Dot's handcuffs around Amina'sback and Amina's arms around Dorothy's tanned neck. Amina whispered into Dorothy'sears and the news nearly caused Dot to faint:

"Ah-m gay, Doffy. Can oo affept 'at?"

"Yes, of course, sweetheart. I suppose, now that you are my slavegirl," shelaughed, "you will have to do my bidding. Would you like to make love to me?To undress me and take me as your lover?"

"Yeff, mifreff, an' iff ooo want to shain me up, at's fine wif me."

"Later, dear."

Amina, unbound, took the initiative. She led her chained benefactor Dorothyover to the bed, turned the coverlet down for her and slipped Dot's haltertop over her head, gazing covetously at her owner's big, nipple-ringed breastsfor the first time. Amina then slid Dorothy's mid-thigh skirt down to her anklesand pulled it out from under her feet.

Amina was clothed and Dot, her owner, was naked. The big, silver protrusionsticking out of Dot's vagina stopped Amina in her tracks.

"Whaffat, Doffy?" she said.

"That, my darling, is Mr. Steele. It has been inside me for months and hasserved as my lover, up until now."

"Wa-ah, iff lookff biiiik," the young slavegirl said, gazing at the three-inchsilver base that spread Dorothy's pussylips wide.

"Yes, it's about 10 inches long," her owner said lightly.

Amina had never seen a cock like that before and Dorothy showed her how itwas fastened inside herself. Amina quickly undressed herself, her shapely breastsswaying nicely, and slid into bed beside Dorothy. The 42-year-old secretaryand her 22-year-old lover held each other tightly, feeling each other's bodiesand Dot's chains.

"May I tak it out iff oo?" Amina asked softly around her gag, looking intoher mistress's eyes. Dot kissed her on the lips and gag.

"The keys are just over there, on the dresser, sweetheart," Dot replied.Two minutes later, Amina had withdrawn the big steel dildo from her mistress'spussy, cleaned, polished and re-lubed it and slipped it carefully and deeplyinto herself under her mistress's watchful eye. Amina gasped as finished slidingit home, snugging down each belt with the two locks and hasps.

"Awwfff, fo biiik," Amina said, wincing as her tight vaginal canal was forciblydilated.

"I've had three boys, Amina; I am a little roomier down there than you are."

"Mmmm, I fee."

Amina, impaled on Dot's dildo, silently slid down to Dot's ankles and placedher ankle chain behind her neck. She then wriggled up, underneath Dot's chains,pushing the longer one out of the way so her harnessed face was buried in Dot'spussy.

Dorothy caressed Amina's muscular back with her chained hands and tightenedher ankle chain's grasp at the back of her slavegirl's thighs, lifting andspreading her knees as wide as she could.

Amina, in turn, pushed the wood ball out with her tongue to the full extentthe harness would allow and, moving her head up and down, back and forth, strokedthe ball over Dot's exposed, swelling clitoris. Back and forth, up and down,Amina's head moved skilfully, first slowly, then more quickly as she felt Dot'smoist pussy overflow with natural lubricants.

Dot, horny beyond words, felt her first big orgasm looming in just threeminutes. Her breath coming in gasps and sobs, she cried:

"Aaa-gggg-hhhh, Amina, Iiiiii'mmmm coooommmminggggg! Gaa-aa-hhhh. Oh, fuckme, fuck me, fuck me." Amina continued stroking her lover's pussy with herprotruding ballgag and Dot reached another 'pop', and a third.

Dorothy Cochrane gasped as Amina reached up and tugged on Dot's new nipplerings, playing with them and massaging her soft, tanned breasts. "MMMmmmhhh," Dorothygroaned. "NNNmmmhhh. Oh, I can't take it any more, Amina, please stop.

"Agghhh, no, don't stop!" she cried, as another hip-bucking orgasm convulsedher loins. She pulled on her handcuffs, bucking as she ejaculated a full, forcefulload of her hot juices onto her young lover's face. "NNNoooohhhhh,"

Dot moaned through clenched teeth as a sixth series of three powerful orgasmicwaves made her ears ring and took her breath away again. Dorothy pulled hardon her handcuff chain on Amina's back and sighed ecstatically.

The parade of orgasms that swelled through Dot's brain and body had lefther exhausted. But her slavegirl/lover was not through.

Amina gave one last poke at Dot's pussy with her ballgag, eliciting an mmmrrrppphhhfrom her Scottish owner, wriggled out from under the chains and stretched out,wiping Dot's love juices off her face and harness with an index finger. Dorothyfelt the far-off tingle of another looming surge of orgasmic activity and quietlywished for more. But she was too tired just now.

"We will have to get that harness off you today, darling, if we are goingto be a couple," Dot said, panting, bathed in sweat. Dorothy Cochrane's orgasmswere the most powerful experiences she had since she delivered her first boyback in an old Glasgow hospital in 1969.

"Yeffm," Amina replied.

Suddenly the phone rang again; it was Godfrey Smith at work summoning Dotto a last-minute heads-of-department meeting. Her presence was required urgently,the CEO had told her. Could she be there in 15 minutes?

She would. Dorothy explained the situation to Amina and told her to be patient;she would be back within the hour. Sadly, it would be the last time Amina wouldsee her in more than a year.

And their experiences in the interim would change each woman's lives forever,as time will tell.

For Amina, it would be the last time she would be able to speak; For Dorothy,a series of incredible, unplanned events, and quirky turns of fate, would testher Scottish strengths, determination and resourcefulness to the full. Yetshe would emerge a still-chained, yet proud, indomitable woman, capable ofnearly anything despite the pounds of steel that clutched her wrists, abdomen,legs and ankles.

Here is what happens:

Later that day, while Dot was being flown, chained, dildoed and gagged, intothe Western Pacific by her employer, George, Amina's tribal medicine man turnedup unannounced at Dot's suite. Amina, thinking it was Dorothy, unwisely openedthe door and the menacing, big, black medicine man, barged in, grabbed herby the head harness and threw her onto the clammy bedsheets.

Amina was out cold 30 seconds later, a powerful sedative coursing throughher veins. The madman unlocked Amina's head harness and, after rubbing powerfulbetadine into her oral cavity, skilfully cut out her tongue with a professionalscalpel, stitching up the wound with fine sutures and packing her mouth withrolls of gauze. Her tongue would be cast into the sacred fire in his hovelin fulfilment of another ancient Benizian tribal custom.

He then wrapped a 50-foot elastic bandage around Amina's lower face and kissedher goodbye. Amina would never speak clearly again and would wear a harnessgag for the rest of her life so as to discourage conversation.

Before Dorothy left for the office, however, she had quickly unlocked herdildo from Amina's loins and shoved it, still slick with Amina's cunt juices,swiftly inside herself with a small groan.

Comfortably impaled once again, she showered quickly, dressed in her longerskirt and halter, draping a light shawl over her shoulders to meet the otherbosses. Chained as she was, it was the least she could do to maintain officedecorum.

She gave Amina a goodbye kiss on the gag and clinked her way out of the room,down into the lobby into the bright noonhour sunlight, her chained ankles avirtual silvery blur as she walked as fast as she could the four blocks tothe oil company office. Amina lay in bed and considered her future with thislovely woman who had just purchased her out of slavery,

Twelve minutes later, Dot, breathless and clattering, breasts swaying hardunder her skimpy top, clinked quickly into the boardroom at BenizeOil Corporation.

The six (or more) crashing, ear-burning, eye-watering orgasms she had hadin the last hour, followed by a fast, 12-minute walk in chains, had left herglowing, panting and forgetful -- Dorothy had forgotten her purse with thedildo-harness keys and ID!!

Taking her seat at the end of the big oval table, she gave her best, "just-laid" smileto Arthur Currie, the CEO; Smith, the admin guy who had chained her up so efficientlyjust a few days ago in the same chair she was now in, and a gaggle of othermen she did not recognize.

"Mrs. Cochrane, gentlemen," Godfrey Smith began, "our chief wishes to addressus."

"Thank you, Mr. Smith, for getting everyone here so quickly," the big, imposingCEO began. "I am calling this O-group to organize a critical response to troubleaboard two of our oil-drilling platforms off Samoa." Dot scribbled madly onthe yellow legal pad, her silver chains rattling intrusively on the gleamingoak tabletop.

"We need to organize and go today, for violence has broken out in anotherplatform. Police have been dispatched to the scene and we have been asked tosend our own team of investigators and systems specialists after this latestincident which you see detailed in the SitReps in front of you.

"Mrs. Cochrane, this is your first opportunity to prove your mettle," Curriesaid, looking at her nipple-erect breasts severely. "You will fly out firstthis afternoon – it's a 12-hour flight – and once at site makeall arrangements for accommodation, office setup, communications, police liaisonand logistics support.

"You will be given a high-powered SatPhone and you are expected to call thisoffice every four hours for the first few days and every eight hours thereafter,or until the situation stabilizes.

"The police will be there before you; they have been informed you are enroute and you are to contact the chief of detectives as soon as you land inSamoa. They are expecting you and you must go today," he said.

"Cochrane, are you prepared to fly out this afternoon as soon as our corporatejet crew get here?"

"Yessir," Dorothy replied quickly, adjusting her steel collar for comfortas she felt a lump form in her throat. "Just get me to the airport and I'mon my way." The rapid chain of events had made her completely forget abouther steel dildo and the keys to the two locks that held it so firmly and irretrievablyinside her.

"Fine, then," Currie boomed. "Smith, you will drive Mrs. Cochrane to theairport forthwith, put her on our jet and communicate with her en route. Doyou understand?" "Yes, chief." With those words, Godfrey, the company pranksterwith "pull," signalled for Dot to follow him downstairs to the company limo.Dot left the room in clashing chains, swaying hips and lurching boobs. Steppinginto the elevator lobby, she looked at her refection in the same mirrored wallthat looked back at her after her chains had been attached just seven daysago.

She looked more youthful, exhilarated and sexy than ever before and she pantedin excitement at her first, big overseas mission, sexily attired by necessitythan choice. Her clothes made her look like a woman ready for the beach insouthern California, she thought, instead of one who was about to join an important,CEO-directed initiative.

The 36-year-old man and 42-year-old woman descended and walked out, Smithslowing his pace to Dot's furious, clattering, stumbling walk.

The driver was waiting in the big, black corporate limo with the flashy,red door logos, engine running, as Smith and the CEO's chained secretary slippedinto the backseat. Godfrey had a beige package under his arm, Dot noted, butthought nothing of it.

"Dorothy," Godfrey began, as they sped to the small airport outside town, "thisis probably just another 'flash in the pan', you know. What happens on therigs usually is that some hands get into an argument about women, cards orpay and benefits, throw a few punches and curses then storm away. The roughnecksthen smoke a little weed, do a pill and chill out on the helo deck.

"The police get there, find nothing really amiss, only a few cuts, bruisesand hurt feelings, and they do a cursory investigation and report. We sendour guys out there and all they do is sit around all day and 'fuck the dog',making like they're busy. The file is closed and the matter forgotten in afew days.

Dot smiled at the naval expression her ex- had used so often. "So, why don'tyou and me have a little fun for profit en route?" the admin guy asked.

"OK. What?"

"In here, I have a harness gag, specially for you." Dot frowned. But insteadof a ball, there is a five-inch-long, three-inch-wide India rubber cock . .. which I am sure you can relate to."

"No!! You're nuts," Dot replied. "But go on." Dot, a longtime penny-pincher,wanted to know about the profit part.

"From my 'slush fund,' I will personally pay you12,000 British pounds sterling – 1,000pounds an hour – if you can make the 12-hour trip with the gag in place.For every half-hour you are ungagged, the sum of 500 pounds will be deductedfrom the money that will be deposited for you." Neither noticed the gatheringstorm clouds on the western horizon.

"I will lock it on you right now, if you agree," Smith said, "and give thekeys to the pilot to unlock you in case of emergency. There are three locksthat attach it to you: behind your neck, atop your head and under your chin.It will be like giving head for 12 hours!!" he laughed in a Machiavellian manner.

"Wha-a-at!" Dot cried. "You're mad."

"Dot, 12,000 pounds for a 12-hour trip gagged; that's a lark and you knowit. Who is going to know? You, me and the crew, who are up on this, are theonly ones on the plane. Do you accept?"

Her first response was to smack this dude as hard as she could. But thatmight get her fired, she thought. Dorothy saw air terminal building and thecorporate jet looming at the end of the road and thought quickly: 12,000 quidfor this silly, little 12-hour game in the privacy of the company's jet. Jeepers,I don't know. How will I speak? He knows I have to talk to him only on theSatPhone and he's asking if I want to be gagged. But 12,000 pounds!!

"OK, put it in," the chained woman said warily. "But if I don't like it,it's coming off pronto, regardless what you tell the pilot."

Smith agreed and informed her 12,000 pounds would be deposited in her bankaccount at the start of business tomorrow, Monday, December 29, 2003, the sameday she would arrive at Samoa, and that she would soon become a very wealthysecretary. After just a week of employment and leave, her bank balance at homewould soon stand at more than 22,000 Scottish pounds – two years of wagesat her dull shipyard job – she thought.

Back in Dot's hotel room, meanwhile, Amina was just coming to, not understandingthe strange, chemical taste in her mouth and the different, vacant feelingbetween her teeth. She knew she was still gagged but she felt for the harness,saw it had been removed then – gasp!! – what was all this otherbandage on her face? She looked in the mirror and screamed quietly as she triedto move her tongue to dislodge her surgical packing.

It was gone. Amina wailed in frustration and fear.

"Open, please," Smith said to Dot in the backseat. Dorothy complied, stretchingher mouth as wide as she could, and Smith gently pushed the five-inch-long,three-inch-diameter lifelike India-rubber cock deep into Dot's hesitant, quakingmouth, arranged the straps, buckles and hasps over her cheekbones, under herchin and behind her neck and deftly snapped the three sturdy, heavy locks inplace.

Dorothy had given her ex- oral sex only once many years ago and this wasentirely new. She looked at her head in the rearview mirror and said "Mooowwfff.Iff-ooo-iiiiik!!"

"Yes, I know it is a large device," Smith said solicitously. "It's the sameone my wife wore on our wedding night."

"Mowswowwfff!!" Dot said, trying to work her tongue and jaws around the big,hard dark-brown cock.

"Just click your SatPhone once for yes, twice for no, when I call you enroute, OK? Safe trip now."

Those prophetic words were never so wrong; as events in six hours would show.

The limo quickly pulled up beside the little Buccaneer twin-engine jet andDot stepped out in a clatter of links, easing herself up the 11 steps intothe cool, well-appointed interior. She took cold comfort in realizing she wasthe sole passenger -- she did not want anyone she knew to see her like this-- as she took her seat at the right and buckled herself in over her lap chain.

Dorothy closed her eyes and prayed this was all a big joke. It wasn't. Momentslater, the tired, hungover pilot, copilot and flight engineer straggled onboard, ignored Dot, fortunately, and took their seats in the cockpit, flickingbuttons, radioing the tower and organizing the charts. Fifteen minutes later,they were airborne, droning southeast over the Indian Ocean into the SouthwesternPacific and Samoa.

The darkling sky over the east African coast forewarned a weather disturbancebut the flight deck crew were too tired – and too sick -- to listen carefullyto the radioed weather warnings from transpacific air traffic services.

A typhoon, with windspeeds of 160 - 200 m.p.h., had to be avoided at allcosts south of the Gilbert Islands, north of Samoa. The little jet cruisedon over the blue-grey Indian Ocean, en route to a destination Dorothy Cochranehad never thought possible.

Seven-thousand miles to the northeast, the125-foot, rusty island steamer Patna wasweighing anchor from a remote bay on a desolate island in the Ryukyu Archipelago,southwest of Japan.

Patna 's cargo -- Jamie Michener, 24, of San Francisco,and Jasmine St. Clair, 25, of San Diego, tightly tied shibari-style with yardsof hemp rope in the dingy, little hold, were bound for slavery in Australiawhere their purchaser had informed the slavers the women were to become fieldbeasts of burden.

Captured by white slavers during a holiday in Tokyo in mid-November, theywere drugged, bound and carried on board the clapped-out, black-and-white steamer,captained by one muscular, stocky Ovid Bisescu, 28, of Constanta, Romania,a shrewd but unscrupulous mariner who couriered for the white slave trade tohelp support his failing steamship trading company, Patna and Co., of Constanta,Romania.

His eyes had gleamed in appreciation as he watched the two white-ballgaggedyoung women being brought aboard late one night in handcuffs while his shiplay at anchor at the island anchorage south of Japan.

The two co-eds, ordered to be bound to jungle trees on a small island northof Samoa, were purchased for $500,000 (US) by a kinky, but wealthy, Australiansheep rancher. The delivery and pickup had to be offshore and Capt. Bisescuhad agreed to transport them to an uncharted jungle atoll, 1½ mileswest of Dot's Island, in the vast expanses of the Western Pacific Ocean. Therancher's Catalina flying boat was on standby, waiting for word from the Patna ,and the rancher would pick them up in 15 days. The bound women were assuredthey would have a sufficient supply of food and water to sustain them on theisland until they were picked up.

Dorothy Cochrane, meanwhile, stretched her chained arms and unsnapped herseatbelt to clink about the cabin. The little plane, flying due east, soaredon through a menacing sky. With a wonky radar set, the pilots had set coursestraight for the big, westbound low-pressure system 700 miles away.

The copilot and flight engineer dozed as the captain scanned the sky warilyat the worsening sky.

Suddenly, a huge bolt of lightning flashed silently in front of the cockpit,blinding the pilot and knocking out all radio communication. They were deafand dumb and the crew knew they were in real trouble.

Dorothy had seen the flash, too, and heard a strange thump from the forwardupper fuselage after the radio antenna has been electrocuted by the several-million-voltlightning bolt.

Dot resumed her seat, mmm'ing nervously to herself, and she turned on theSatPhone. Only static greeted her ear; she could not talk anyway so she shutit off and put it on the seat beside her.

Zaa-aapp!! Another bolt of lightning struck the little Buccaneer, extinguishingall the lights and instrument panel. POW!" The little plane began to buck andvibrate furiously with the deadly blows.

"Pan, pan, pan," the copilot called into his dead microphone. "Transpacificair traffic services, this is BenizeOil Corporation Flight No 126; estimate5,000 miles west of Samoa; struck by lightning, nav instruments now defective.Awaiting your new course and instruction. Over. "

He pressed the button and heard only the drone of the jet's twin engines.

He repeated the message over and over. Only silence returned.

Hearing this, Dorothy got up anxiously and held onto the seatbacks as sheclattered her way up to the open cockpit door.

"Mmmmmwwewwffffnnnn?" she called.

"Whaaatt?" the flight engineer said as the little jet leaped and droppedin the roiling, thunderous storm. Dot rolled her eyes at him and stood, bracingherself in the cockpit doorway as she saw enormous, roiling clouds slashedby lightning and heard distant, huge claps of thunder.

"MMMMMMWWWWWFFFFFNNNNNN!!!!" she shouted. (What's happening?)

"We've lost radio communication and have been struck by lightning, twice," theunshaven engineer said. "Go back to your seat, buckle up and sit tight. Go!"

Dorothy knew things were getting serious and she tapped the engineer on hisshoulder, her stomach in knots, pointing to her triple-locked, head harnessthat held the dense rubber penis deep inside her. The steel dildo below andher chains now were merely afterthoughts.

"Kifffff!" she yelled. "Gifffeeekiiiiffff!!

"I don't have your goddam keys," the engineer said. "Fuckstick Smith nevergave them to me! Go back to your seat while we try and get around this mess."

Dorothy's eyes opened wide behind the harness straps and she tried franticallyto dislodge the dense, rubber cock. It didn't budge. She bit down on the shaftand was amazed at its hardness, far harder than any other cock she had known,except for her steel pal locked into womb.

Her chained hands tore at the network of flat, leather-covered wire strapson her cheeks, atop her head, under her chin and behind her neck but couldnot pry anything loose. Forgetting her chains and steel dildo, she shook herhead violently in exasperation.

"NNNNNNN!!!"

Clickclickclick, the sturdy locks clacked in their hasps, laughing at herangry attempts to ungag herself. She shook her head again, harder, and thelocks clacked even louder under her chin, on her head and behind her neck.

"Sit down, Mrs. Cochrane," the copilot said. "We have work to do and youwill be safer back there with your seatbelt on." Please go."

"NNNnnnfff," Dot cried, tears coursing down her harnessed face, as the planebucked and rocked violently in a powerful downdraft. Things were getting reallydangerous now, the crew realized, and they had long forgotten their hangovers.

Suddenly, the pilot threw up, violently sick from the jarring motion andlast night's 40-ouncer, jamming the stick violently forward as he spewed hisguts onto the deck and instruments.

The plane took a 30-degree descent instantly and Dorothy was thrown forwardonto her front, bruising her big, ringed tits painfully under her flimsy topand knocking the air out of her. Her nostrils flared and she drooled saliva,snot and tears down her face as she crawled back to her seat, the big steeldildo waggling inside her not giving her any joy whatsoever.

The copilot pulled up on his stick and the little jet started slowly to recoverfrom the sudden, 5,000-foot plunge into darkness. Seated once again, shocked,anxious and gasping through her nose, she thought she saw glimpses of the darkPacific Ocean far below her. But how could she unlock this cursed harness?!

We're way too low, she thought, thinking suddenly of the movie, CastAway , she had seen several months earlier with Gail at theCapitol Theatre in downtown Glasgow.

That life seemed an eternity away tonight and she tried again, futilely,to pull the gag off her sweating face. Nothing budged, everything was as snugas that bastard, Smith, had planned.

"Get your lifejacket out, Dorothy, we may have to ditch," came the shoutfrom the cockpit.

Heaven help us all, Dot said into her gag, we're going down. She got outthe bright-red Mae West from under the seat and knew it was useless for her;she could not get her arms through the jacket!

The plane lurched, swayed and jarred, the emergency cabin lights flickeringoff, then on, then off forever, plunging Dot and the crew into darkness, fearand noise. Dorothy leaned out of her seat to look into the cockpit and sawthe instrument panel was black!

The two pilots and the engineer behind them stared into black nothingnessas they plunged, blind, deaf and dumb, through the tortured blackness of theWestern Pacific night sky.

The little plane rocked, leaped and fell, caught up in one of the worst typhoonsin that area since December 1944. If it had not been for the violence of thesky and sea, Dorothy thought she was on a demented amusement park ride.

The plane cavorted insanely across the sky, lost in the barren, black reachesof the dark Pacific somewhere off eastern Australia. Dot looked out her windowand turned away, panic-stricken; there was the ocean, 1,000 feet below, gettingcloser.

Suddenly, the pitch of the droning engines changed, coughed, stopped andrestarted as she heard cries and shouts from the cockpit.

"Hang on back there, we're going down. Prepare to ditch!" came the high-pitched,panicked shout from the cockpit. "Fuu-cckk me , it's . . . . "

Dorothy bent over, putting herself into the emergency position, and waited.Her big steel dildo pushed hard into her but she didn't care.

Far to the north of Dot's flight into danger, California co-eds Jamie Michener,23, and Jasmine St. Clair, 25, struggled in their hemp bonds as the littlesteamer Patna lurches through gale-lashed seas to a SouthSeas island destination neither had ever dreamed of, the night of December29, 2003. "Can you free anything, Jas.?" Jamie asks her college pal, aftershe was thrown to the end of the tether by the bucking little ship. "No, everything'sjust as tight as before," Jamie replied.

The two slim, young California women listened helplessly December 28, 2003,as their slave ship weighed anchor in a rugged, desolate small island covesouth of Japan. Next day, the rusty, little tramp steamer was being thrownabout by towering seas and 100-knot winds, slamming the bound, young womenback and forth on their hemp tethers.

Jim Lord, Patna 's third mate, had bound them securelyto tie-down fittings two days previously and Jamie and Jasmine feared theywere going to drown. Little Patna lurched and poundedon, temporarily deaf, dumb and blind, as heavy seas knocked out the ship'swireless antenna, radar and GPS.

Captain Bisescu stood in the darkened wheelhouse and hung on as huge, blackseas crashed over his little ship's small bows.

"Are those women all right down there, third?" he yelled to his third mate,who had just opened a hatch to check on them.

"Yeah, cap'., wet, scared, but they're still there, tied just as before whenwe hauled 'em on board. They can never undo that hemp and my knots. Never.Hah!"

Capt. Bisescu nodded and turned to the helmsman who was white-knuckling theold oaken wheel. Following seas were pushing them 20 - 30 degrees off courseand all they had was steering by magnetic.

"Check on 'em when the watch changes, third. "They're worth a lot of moneyto me and may just keep this little rustbucket afloat another day." ---

Far to the south, the little jet was dying; the crew had given up tryingto regain altitude and they were skimming the seas at 50 feet, hoping for amiracle that would never come. The pilot cut the engines, deployed the flapsand . . . .

Crash, Splash, Thud, Whooomp . The Buccaneer, not livingup to its name, had bellyflopped on the crest of the wave and was breakingup. The windscreen smashed, black seawater careened in and the deck took analarming angle downward. "MMMMNNNNNMMMMMHHHHH!!!!" Dorothy Cochrane screamedinto her huge, hard black cockgag. She thought she was going to die. "Get out!" theflight engineer screamed, seconds before the front third of the plane buckled,sending him and the pilots into the cold, black depths of the 20,000-feet-deepocean.

Dot unbuckled her seatbelt with scrabbling fingers as cold, green seawaterreached her knees in an instant, sprawled out of her seat and sloshed to thehuge, angled gash torn in the port side, ripping her skimpy halter top fromher body and slashing her skirt as she thrust her way onto the wing. Nearlynaked, she looked in horror at the growling, sputtering port engine, stillspinning three yards away.

The seascape, lit here and there by burning avgas, looked hellish; mountainouswaves heaved up seemingly out of nowhere and the gale-force winds splatteredher sodden hair into her harnessed face.

Dorothy Sarah Cochrane, a 42-year-old secretary from Glasgow, Scotland, collared,chained at wrists, waist and ankles, nipple-pierced, penis-harness-gagged andwith a big steel dildo locked in place, knew she had to take her life in herhands.

"MMMFFF-oooohhh!" she cried, closing her eyes against the lashing seasprayas she stepped off the sinking wing into the 5-degree C. ocean.

Dot hoped she would not suffer long; she had never drowned before but shehad heard it took less than a minute.

She awkwardly treaded water, barely keeping her gagged head above water when,suddenly,a five-person liferaft came rocketing to the surface from the wrenched remainsof the little jet plunging in an erratic spirals to the bottom, four milesaway.

"MMM-RRR-FFF-GGG-HHH," Dorothy cried as she struggled to climb aboard thefour-ft. bright-orange bundle beside her in the pitch darkness. Suddenly ,Piffff, whifff, whump-fooomp boomp , and the little bundle transformeditself into a liferaft by its delayed-action CO2 bottles. Dot grabbed ontoone of the synthetic ratlines around the oblong raft and held on for dear life,kicking her chained ankles desperately to get away from the sinking debrisand dying flames.

Her hair plastered over her eyes, she could not see a thing and dared notlet go the rope as she heard the wing, engine and tail slide with great goutsof steam and hissing air bubbles under the heaving, black seas.

EeeeOOOORRRROWWWWSSSShhhhh , the starboard turbinescreamed, as it hit the water, extinguishing its devilish howl forever. Crrrrooooommmmp .Both engines exploded just 100 feet below her. More avgas rose to the surfaceand Dot could smell but not see it. Dorothy Cochrane, naked and chained, hungonto the little liferaft that bobbed on the hilly seas.

She had to get aboard somehow. Fifteen minutes later, Dorothy, her musclesscreaming in an adrenalin-fuelled superhuman effort, hauled her naked bodyup over the side of the raft and she slid into the bottom of the lurching,sliding raft.

She fainted and the raft lurched on aimlessly in the storm-tossed, malevolentocean.

Hours later, far overhead, the majestic Southern Cross constellation glintedinto view as the storm clouds blew their terrible course to the northeast towardsthe little, southbound steamer , Patna , with Jamie andJasmine bound below in the dark hold..

Towards dawn, two hours after, the sea rolled gently as a brilliant whitelight shone directly over Dorothy Cochrane and her little raft. Barely conscious,and frightened to death, Dorothy heard the soft Gaelic voice of her mother,dead five years.

"Dorothy, it's me, your mum. Your time is not up yet. Sleep, my child, sleep.The sun will rise again and you will be delivered from this vale of tears.Rest well, my darling Dorothy; I will see you in a few hours. Good night, sweetheart."

Dorothy slept on.

DOT'S ISLAND Dorothy Cochrane thought she was emergingfrom a bad dream when she heard the gentle sound of water lapping the liferaft.No. Wait. I'm not moving and I'm hearing the seashore.

She dared not open her bloodshot, burning eyes for what she might see andlay still for a long time. She continued to hear the lapping, gentle soundof water and the odd, lurching movement of her liferaft through her closedeyes.

Strange, she thought. Is this heaven? Or hell. Where am I, anyway? She feltthe warmth of the morning sun on her breasts and face as she tried to moveher legs. The rustle of chain told her she was still shackled as before. MaybeI'm not dead after all, she thought. She lay still, hoping someone would wakeher up, give her a pair of wings, turn her into heaven's only angel in chainsand tell her to fly off and rescue some soul somewhere.

Her jaw ached and her wet, brunette hair, plastered over her face and headharness, blinded her. Eyes still closed, she lifted her chained hands to herface and pulled locks of sodden hair out of the straps and from her eyes. Hereyes were still closed when she heard a distant thump. Was it Graham cominghome late again? She felt at her crotch with her handcuffed hands and touchedthe warm metal of her stainless-steel dildo still locked firmly inside her,brushing her ringed, erect nipples en route.

Funny, I should have a nightgown on or something.

Thump. What is that? Dorothy opened one bleary, salt-caked eye and saw thebrilliant blue sky of the South Pacific.

'Yeah, right; I've died. I'm in heaven. Where's mum now? I heard her talkto me last night. She's got to be around here somewhere, up there in thoseclouds. Mum?' she called quietly, her question emerging as a soft mmm fromher India rubber-filled mouth.

Dorothy lay still for another hour as the sun traced its path across thesky; it was 4 p.m. before she was able to move her arms and legs slightly asshe felt the air temperature cool slightly.

Thump.

Mum? Mmmm.

Silence.

Well, if this is heaven, there's no one around; I may as well get up andwalk around to find St. Peter and explain myself, she thought, her eyes stillclosed.

The lapping sound of the seashore rested her but she was not ready for anap. She had to get up, she thought, or "I'll be late for work!!"

Thump.

Dorothy opened her sand-and-salt-caked eyelids just a little and saw whatappeared to be afternoon sky between her gag straps taut against her cheekbones.

"MMMMFFF," she said as strongly as she could. She lay back down again butknew she had to get back up. Was this a Saturday or Monday morning? I've gotto get dressed for work or Gail will kill me.

She opened her eyes wider and looked around at the interior of the littleliferaft that had saved her life. She eased her arms over to one side and pushedherself up into a semi-sitting position as she looked blearily around her.

Her little liferaft had been blown 55 miles to the northeast and had beenswept up onto a deserted island with a white, sandy beach bordering a densejungle. A coral atoll rumbled a half-mile offshore.

Dorothy sat up with a gasp and looked hard at her new surroundings. Awkwardly,bruising her breasts even more, she rolled herself out of the raft into theankle-deep water and crawled up into the sand, the warm, fine grit coatingher thighs, abdomen, breasts and face. Dorothy remembered an infantryman'scrawl from her days in the militia many years ago and, holding an imaginaryrifle in her chained arms, began the well-known slither known by soldiers worldwide.

Ten minutes later, with an abraded torso, she was off the foreshore and atthe border of a coconut grove.

Thunk. One fell beside her and Dot's heart leaped into her mouth.

"MMFFF!!" she said, glaring at the uncaring coconut. I'll eat you first,she thought, then you'll be sorry for scaring the heck out of me.

Dot laid eyes on the first gracefully-curving coconut tree and crawled onher hands and knees to the base, catching her waist-to-ankle chain continuously,to find shelter from the cool onshore breeze. Curling up naked, her clothinglong gone, she clutched her knees, pulling her chains around her and dozed.

Thump. Dot slept.

It was Thursday, January 1, 2004, and Dot was not celebrating with champersand party favors. Sand-covered, dishevelled, naked, chained, gagged, piercedand dildo-penetrated, the 42-year-old woman shivered in the failing sunlight.Crooooommmmm!!! she heard the distant seas ending their journeys on the coralatoll and she was frightened.

Darkness began to fall over the Western Pacific; Dorothy shivered again andpushed more hair out of her eyes.

'G-g-g-oo-ll-ee, it's cold here in Paradise', she thought. Darkness felland that was a blessing; she did not have to open her eyes.

Thump. Another coconut startled her.

The cool night air kept her awake; she had 42 years of experience being warmand safe at night and she could not get used to this, sleeping outside undera tree somewhere in Paradise, naked, chained and gagged. She hoped her lockedsteel dildo would provide some relief. Not tonight; she was too afraid.

Dot opened her eyes fully and staggered to her feet woozily, her chains pullingat waist, ankles and wrists. She shook her head to get the sand out of herhair and her harness's three locks clacked at her again. She did not bothertouching her face again that night.

Dorothy stumbled back down the beach and found the liferaft in the starlight,still where she had left it. She found a halyard at the front end and pulledwith both hands, fully expecting to pull herself off her feet, chained as shewas.

Surprised at the lightness, she found it slid fairly easily on the sand andshe hauled it up the beach in about 15 minutes, tripping and stumbling thewhole, 30-yard trip on her ankle and waist chains that kept snagging aroundher knees.

"UUUMMMPPPHHH!" she grunted through her locked and harnessed cockgag, asshe pushed it over to her coconut tree. "NNNGGGHHH!" And she had it on itsside, a liferaft lean-to against the towering coconut tree.

My tent, she thought. She dropped to her knees, pulled the liferaft downon top of her, smelling the salty, wet neoprene, made herself as comfortableas she could in her dark, little bright-yellow shelter and fell asleep again,awoken moments later by another coconut falling heavily on the inverted liferaft.Thunk.

My gosh, this must be coconut heaven, too, she thought.

Day 2 dawned just as brightly and Dot's stomach growled for sustenance. Hercomposure and lucidity slowly returning, she realized she needed a pee reallybad. Crawling out of her liferaft/lean-to, she stood up, erect for the firsttime in hours, clinked over to a nearby bush, squatted and relieved herself,her dark-yellow urine spraying every which way around the steel dildo and strapsthat held it there.

Her bladder emptied, she felt a little better but now, she needed somethingto eat.

A nice burrito would be good right about now, she thought; nah, maybe not.Too early in the morning. Kippers and stewed tomatoes, mmm, that's what I want.

Hunger and the mechanics of eating would be big issues in Dot's survivalon her island in the coming months but the chained, yet resourceful secretarywas to find the island abounded with food. And adventure.

Surrounded by ocean, she realized there had to be fish, maybe even kippers,in there. She remembered the movie she saw on an Imax screen in Glasgow aboutsharks in the Pacific and shivered, remembering the ugly, big Hammerheads thatcruised silently across the huge screen, frightening Gail and herself withtheir fearsome appearance.

Her steel dildo ached inside her pussy and she wondered why.

She hoped it was not another bout of cystitis. Oh, no; not that misery outhere!!

Dot squatted down inside her liferaft, feeling her dildo squeeze heavilyinto her womb again, and looked around in the half-light. She bounced up anddown a couple of times to put the dildo back in its proper place and felt hornyfor the first time in her desperate situation.

Looking around, she saw a few stencils on the inside of the hull – flares,signal lights, emergency packs, CO2 bottles, lights and paddles – andrifled through them in order. At the end of her frantic, silent search, shehad two flares and lanterns, a 30-day supply of C-rations (bottled water, vitamins,dehydrated, protein-rich cans of stuff she had never heard of along with asmall carton of Mars bars and sunscreen); two big CO2 cylinders, and two aluminumpaddles -- but no matches.

Darn it, she said to herself. Now, how do I eat, gagged like this? Oh, well;I'll try. She opened a can of stuff that looked like the Spam she bought ather corner store once a week, pulled the zip-top off, found a spoon in oneof the waterproof kits and tried to force it between her cheek and gag.

No way.

Throwing the spoon away, she managed squeeze her last, unbroken fingernailbetween her gag and cheek and pulled her flesh away from the hard rubber asgently as she could with her right hand. With her left index finger, she pusheda little of the Spam-looking concoction into her mouth, on the underside ofthe gag, and licked it off with her tongue. She tilted her head back and swallowedwith difficulty.

Two hours later, she had consumed the entire six-ounce can and the efforthad tired her out.

Now, she needed water: she tried to open one of the plastic canteens, theirfactory seals defying her finger strength until she bashed the neck with hertitanium handcuff. It opened easily. Dot tilted her head far back, opened hermouth as wide as she could around the three-inch-diameter India-rubber intruderand carefully poured a couple of ounces into her mouth. She choked and sneezedbut managed to get three ounces into her stomach before she gave that up.

She thought: three hours to eat that little bit and drink this little bitof water; I'm going to starve, or run out of patience, before too long. Thechained woman shifted her weight onto her left hip and 'Mr. Steele', the bigsteel dildo still deep inside her, caused a ripple and flash of pain.

Oh no, Dot thought. It can't be that UTI!! Please, no. The little spasm subsidedslowly and Dorothy hoped her pain was from the sand that had gotten into herwhen she made her long beach crawl. She went on arranging her stash of liferaftsupplies.

Tomorrow, she would scan the beach for anything, or anyone, that might washup.

Oddly enough, she felt kinda sexy, lying out underneath the southern skyconstellations. It was still New Year's Day, January 1, 2004, she knew, andDot wanted to get laid. She thought of Amina, now a drug-addled, harness-gaggedstreetwalker in Bally, as she pushed Mr. Steele around inside her pussy . Itwas in too snugly and all she did was slide it around the neck of her womb.Feeling in her G-spot was, temporarily, gone, too, as she lay her chained handsacross her chained waist, moaning in gloom.

Some clothes would certainly be nice, she thought in the dark silence, recallingher beautiful, ruined Versace suit of two weeks ago. She wondered what shecould use to cover her nudity and protect her skin from the sun.

Coconut tree leaves? Nah.

A grass skirt? No grass here.

The night passed and Dot dozed again. Next day, naked Dorothy, somewhat rejuvenated,got up had a few fingerfuls of meat paste and a few ounces of water and venturedout to patrol the beach. Moments later, she stopped as the permanency of hercaptivity – and her steel -- sank home.

Looking around with gagstrap-obscured vision, all she saw was open, endlessocean, a reef, jungle, white sand and an emptier blue sky. Another, smallerisland loomed about a mile west but she did not care.

She could never paddle a raft way out there and get it over the reef, likeTom Hanks finally did in Cast Away , but she might haveto try. She found a few seashells and picked a few up, thinking she could atleast make herself a necklace. She already had a collar so what's the use?Fire. Yes!

Robinson Crusoe had a fire. Tom Hanks was able to start a fire! Yeaaah! Whynot start a gosh-darn fire?

Dot looked around for the driest wood she could find and hauled a littlehandful back to her liferaft. Stick and board; that's what I need now. Fivehours later, with red, blistered hands and handcuff-chafed wrists, Dorothyhad her first friction-ignited fire going. It was a little one: just a footor so in diameter but a fire, nevertheless.

'Fffrr!!" she said happily. 'Brrrm, b-b, brrm!!' as she warmed her body againstthe falling dusk.

She turned on her two emergency lights to keep her getting scared this nightbut shut them off 20 minutes later, fearing she should conserve the batteries.

Dot stared into the fire and thought about Glasgow: Yuck. Her apartment:Yuuuck!! The shipyard. Bleah! Her lucrative office job at BenizeOil: Aaahh,I wish I was back there now.

January 2, 2004, dawned grey, misty and rainy and Dot shivered, knowing shewould have to find something to cloak her chained nudity from the elements.She hid under her liferaft and considered suicide. I could hang myself butthe darn collar would probably get in the way, she mused. I could walk intothe ocean and drown, she thought again, but the Hammerheads might get me. Naaah,all those things would hurt.

I'm gonna stay alive, she said to herself, and get off here, somehow; backto Amina and BenizeOil. I'll give them a piece of my mind when I get back!!Meanwhile, far to the north, Patna with Ms. Michener and Ms. St. Clair boundin the hold, had pulled into Taiwan for fuel, storm repairs an new electronics.The women were kept bound and gagged inside the hold, fed only bread and watertwice a day, while shipyard workers clumped over the steel decks just overtheir heads.

They, too, thought they were going to die.

The burly, 200-pound Romanian captain, fearing the two would cry out, hadordered them strictly gagged: Lord, the third mate, climbed back down intothe hold with a bag and Jamie and Jasmine looked at him, hate darkening theireyes.

The scruffy, muscular sailor went to Jamie first, bound to a bulkhead, herback to Jasmine.

"You first!" he roared. "Nooooo!" she cried.

"Open." Jamie sealed her lips. Lord drew his knife and pointed it at herbound right breast.

"Open."

Jamie opened her mouth a quarter-inch.

"Good. Thank you. Now, I'll just wad this cloth in here like this," he said,as he began stuffing a one-foot-square rag of towelling into her small mouth.Her cheeks bulged as he poked the last corner in seconds later. Jamie, helplessin rope, closed her eyes as he put a plastic zip tie around her head and betweenher lips, snugging it down to hold her cheek-bulging cloth gag firmly in place.

He then took out a roll of black electrical tape and wound 10 passes aroundher lower face, smoothing each layer flat. A 25-foot elastic bandage followedand he quickly wrapped that around her tape, taping it down. Total time: 90seconds. Jamie would be silent until she was untied again in three days.

"Mmm Mmm," a faint, distant hum was all she could manage.

Lord turned his attention to the bound beauty behind Jamie and Jasmine St.Clair, a third-year English major at UCLA, was gagged into silence momentslater.

Work on the ship's electronics and the damaged hatch covers took two moredays as Jamie and Jasmine languished in the dark, fetid hold, gagged, boundand weeping.

Exhausted, tired and sore, they dangled against their ropes, expecting theworst.

Next day, slumping against their tethers and breast bondage, they jerkedsuddenly awake as Patna 's starting engine coughed intolife in the mechanical room astern. It ground and ground away and finally themain engine began chugging, vibrating the clammy, dark hold as the big, bronzepropeller churned the dirty, brown waters of the shipyard.

They were under way again.

Dorothy, meanwhile, had taken to more island exploration and decided to walkaround the island's circumference to see how big it was and learn what wason the other side.

A nice luxury hotel would be really nice to see, she thought wistfully, anda lovely beefsteak-and-kidney pie for supper. Mmm, she thought, yummy. Dotfound a stick and drew in the sand to figure out the distance: 5,280 feet toa mile X 12 inches to the foot = 63,360 inches. Her ankle chains were 16 incheslong so that meant 3,960 steps to walk a mile.

Walk a mile in my shoes, er, chains, Dot thought as she stepped out for herfirst long walk ever -- , naked, chained, gagged and dildo-ed. Dot had to stoptwo hours later, after counting 3,960 paces, her ankles chafed and hurt, herwrists throbbed and her jaw ached, her shoulders and face burning from thebroiling sun. She had forgotten sunscreen.

Offshore, she thought she saw something -- something was bobbing out there!! – about100 feet away. Some object, half-submerged, had rivetted her attention. Shehoped it was not a shark fin; she feared sharks the most, the ugly yet magnificentcreatures from prehistoric times.

Timidly, the chained woman entered the tepid seawater and waded out to herhips; the object was 60 feet away. A few more steps brought the ocean up toher breasts which began to take a life of their own in the water.

She would have to swim to reach it.

Dorothy, never a good swimmer, was even worse in chains; nevertheless, shemanaged an awkward dogpaddle that kept her half-submerged and she got to herobject in about two minutes.

It was a covered, rusty, blue-and-red, 30-gallon oildrum with BenizeOil Corp.and some technical specifications stencilled on the side. She reached out forit with her chained hands and it tipped and rolled away in the water that waswell over her head.

"MMMMppp," Dot said in frustration, sinking toward the bottom. She flutter-kickedmadly and rose to the surface again. She wanted this barrel! Dot kicked andtwisted her body around to the open-ocean side of the barrel and gave it ahard shove, sending it 10 feet toward shore. Twenty-five more shoves laterand an exhausted, chained Dorothy was ashore with her prize. An oil barrelought to have oil in it and oil will smoke, she thought, panting on her kneeson the shoreline, feeling her steel dildo sluice around her wet pussy. AllI need now is to get another fire going; the other one is back at the lean-toand almost out. Gosh.

Dorothy, her breathing restored and her muscles aching a little less, stoodup and carefully hunted around for more kindling above the water's edge. Amassinga little pile, she then found a piece of flat, dry driftwood and began rapidlystroking the driftwood with a stick, stopping every minute or so to put somedried beachgrass on the black, sightly smoky crease she created. Two hourslater, her handcuffed wrists aching from the repetitive movements, she hadher little fire going and she was proud.

"Ffrr!' she said gleefully, satisfied with her accomplishment. Mmm-mm-m.She fed the little blaze and soon had a small bonfire going.

Dot looked at the barrel lid and found it was secured with only three rustingscrews. She banged at the screwheads with her titanium wrist cuffs and brokeone in five minutes; 15 minutes later, the second screw disintegrated and sheslid the lid off.

"Blll," Dot cried. "Yeffff." Nn-ffrr," she wheezed to herself as she satbeside her little fire and reached for the unlit end of a burning piece ofwood.

She was about to throw it in to ignite to ignite the greasy sludge at thebottom but spotted something metal sticking out of the black ooze. She tippedthe barrel over with her chained hands and knelt and reached in, smearing herhead harness, face, neck and collar with smelly oil. She withdrew a rusty,all-metal, T-handled boat auger with an eight-inch-long, 3/8ths-inch bit.

She set it aside and heaved the barrel up on end again with a grunt fromher gagged mouth. Soon, she had a smoky blaze going in the slim oildrum andthe resourceful, chained woman decided to move camp. She would have to walkall the way back to her liferaft, drag it and her supplies out here becauseshe did not want to risk putting out her smoke beacon and roll the barrel allthe way back to camp.

It was 2 p.m., January 3, 2004, when she had fed and stoked the smoky blazeinto a satisfactory plume of greasy smoke and ventured out. Four-thousand stepslater, feet, ankles, pussy, wrists, neck and jaws aching for her to stop, shereached her liferaft. Now she had to drag it, in her chains, back the sameway she came.

At midnight, utterly exhausted, the chained woman flopped into her liferaftand passed out with exhaustion. The barrel smoked on but no one saw it in thepitch-black sky.

Two-thousand miles to the north , Patna altered coursedirectly for Dot's Island.

Dorothy awoke next morning and set up her liferaft/lean-to nearer to theadjoining island, leaned the raft against another coconut tree and organizedher supplies.

She fed herself as before, fingering her protein paste between gag and lip,licking it off and swallowing. She followed by seven sips of tepid water andlay down, remembering the ice-cold water she had drunk so effortlessly backat her hotel dining room just a few days previously.

An hour later, she looked at the rusty auger a few feet away where she hadthrown it yesterday afternoon.

She crawled over to it and placed it near her eyes, looking for identificationand to see how sharp it was. She put her finger on the cutting edge and foundit as sharp as one of her paring knives at home. Knowing the little bit wouldnot touch the hardened steel-wire core she felt in her head harness, she woulddrill out her penis gag!!

Dot placed the drill bit at the front of her hard India rubber gag and startedto twist the handle awkwardly in her chains. Kneeling, she wished she had amirror as she continued turning the T.

After half an hour of awkward attempts she felt the bit take hold and pressedharder. Dozens of more turns and she had bored a 3/8ths-inch hole two inchesthrough the heavy, five-inch-long rubber cock jammed deeply into her mouth.

She gently pulled the bit out and shook her head to get the rubber bits outof the hole. Shaking her head again, to the annoying clacks of the harness'sthree locks, she pushed the bit back in. Dozens of more turns again had givendeepened her 3/8ths-inch hole two more inches. One inch of India rubber leftto go but the little drill bit was getting bent.

How long is this thing anyway? she wondered, gauging the dark-brown denserubber shaft with her tongue.

The shadows were starting to lengthen when she felt the bit push throughthe end of the rubber cock, deep inside her mouth, and she pulled it out quickly.She swallowed the little bits of rubber that had accumulated at the rear ofher throat and blew hard.

"FFFFFFFF" came out of her little hole. At last, she could breathe, justbarely, through her mouth. And drink! The success and hard work had buoyedher flagging spirits; she thought she was not doomed after all.

She would drill some more tomorrow; for now, it was sleeptime. Dorothy smiledto herself, thinking of rescue and eventual reunion with Amina would not betoo far away. Dot told herself she should go back to Bally and start over.Glasgow was out of the question.

Dorothy would remain as she was on the island for another nine months, toSeptember 2004, when she and two strangers would make their courageous escapeunder Dorothy's taut leadership.

Next day, she started drilling again in the same hole and the slim portionof the drill bit, between the handle and augur turns, bent more. Oh, oh, Dotsaid, pulling it out of the gag quickly and tried to straighten it againsta nearby beach stone with blows from her handcuffs.

"Ping," and the augur fell away from the handle.

Dorothy stood up in a rage and cried silently. She knelt again, feeling thesteel dildo, picked up the drill bit and was about to throw it as far as shecould into the ocean.

Wait, this is still a tool! She lowered her arms and tossed it into the liferaft.

More exploration would be done that day, she thought, and she would takethis rusty little implement along as a weapon. She slathered her body withthe heavy-duty sunscreen and, smelling like honeysuckle, clinked and clatteredinto the jungle border to come face to face with a volcanic rock wall. Endof the road, Dot, she thought. She could go no further. She looked left andright, sat down and wailed. The island was truly a prison with no escape.

"Hiiiiifffff," she cried. "MMMMMMmmmmnnnnn." No one could hear.

Wait! she thought suddenly. Someone will come eventually, find my skeletonand will not know who I am. They will think I was some kind of prisoner, orescaped slave; I gotta leave a message!!! She stood up, feeling the dildo moveagain, and began scratching on the rock face with the little augur bit Freewoman, Dorothy S. Cochrane, 42, Scot., arrived c. 31/12/03, d., Days here -IIIII III I love you, Amina

Dorothy would scratch the number of days she would be on the island untilher escape, near the end of 2004, more than 350 days away. Unknown to her atexactly that time, Patna had sighted the smaller, jungled island just 1½ milesoff Dot's Island, and Jamie Michener and Jasmine St. Clair were being hauledroughly out of the hold, naked and hemp-bound but ungagged and relatively unharmed.

They were about to meet Dot and her island . . . .

Jamie had never been so angry in all her life. Her crotch ropes digging deeplyinto her tender pussy, her arms lashed tightly behind her and to a tree, sheswore at her best friend as they watched their slave ship steam away.

"You can go fuck yourself right now, Jasmine St. Clair!" she yelled. "It'syour fault we're in this god-awful spot and tied up for the last weeeek! "Itwas you who started talking to that wank in Tokyo and now, here were boundlike this. Gosh, I don't know what's gonna happen."

Jasmine muttered to herself as she stood nearby watching the tramp steamersail away from the island. She paced the length of her 10-foot tether and calledback, changing the subject: "That's as far as I can walk, Jamie; you try," shecalled over her shoulder.

"I don't wanna!" she wailed. "I wanna get free. Look at how I am tied!! Youjust come over and look!!"

A little more softly, she added: "Can you please come over here and try tountie me? Pretty please??"

Jasmine walked over to her friend, squatting among their 15-day supply ofrations, turned her back to her and tried to fumble with the knots tying herfriend's arms into the small of her back, exactly as hers were.

Jasmine stopped and looked closely at Jamie's arm bindings. The knots weresecured with tight wire lashings!!

"I've got some bad news and some good news, Jamie," she said, her friendturning around to look at her. "There're wires on all these knots, you cancheck on mine, but look, over there; I think there's another island out there.Look!!"

"There's got to be a way out of here," Jamie said exasperatedly, not interestedin looking at her friend's dumb island. "Can't we cut these ropes with something?A rock, maybe?"

"Can you yell, Jamie?" Jasmine asked, still looking at Dot's Island, andits sole, chained inhabitant, about two miles away. "Your tits are not tiedas tight as mine. 'G'wan, try.

Jamie Michener stood up, took the deepest breath she could and let out:

"HHHHAAALLLOOOOOOOOO!! IS ANYONE OUT THERE????" she bellowed, against themoderate wind that blew her hair into her face.

"Ouch," coughing for breath against her breast bindings, she sighed and yelledagain:"HHHEEEELLLLPPPP!!! . . . ouch, my boobs. That's all I can shout, Jasmine,you try. And I hope you hurt your boobs, too. Go ahead, try!! Dare ya!!!"

"Ssshhhh," her bound friend said, too chicken to try. "I think I hear something."

A rising, unnerving cacophony of birds, jungle animals and "fearsome dragons," theythought, greeted their ears.

"Ohmigod, I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared," Jamie said. "We'll light afire, we hafta. C'mon, Jasmine, help me. "

The bound girls awkwardly unpacked the boxes of supplies that had accompaniedthem, each showing the other what she pulled out of the three boxes.

Jamie found the matches – one little book of 25 strikes – andshowed them to Jasmine.

"Here, we've got 25 tries and that's all. Is there anything around here thatwill burn?"

"Dunno," Jas replied. She pulled on her tether and uncovered a little clumpof dried grass with her foot.

Six hours later, at midnight, the two bound girls, exhausted by their effortshad a little, smoky blaze going.

"Brrrrr, it's cold still, Jamie," Jasmine said, kneeling by the crackling,hissing wood. "Maybe we oughta lie together to conserve our body warmth."

"Yeah, right, Jasmine." If you think I'm gonna hug you all night you're sadlymistaken. I'll lie out here and freeze to death before I will be feeling yourboobies all night. No way."

Jamie glared at her bound friend, her facial features ghostly in the flickeringlight, and they were silent, their anger diminishing to self-pity and hopelessness.

A few minutes later, Jamie overcame the awkward silence. She had changedher mind.

"All right, girlfriend, squeeze over here and lie beside me to keep us warm."

The two girls tugged on their tethers and lay as closely as they could totheir little fire, their tightly-bound breasts snuggled flat against each other's.

They shivered in the damp sea air and sleep eluded them for hours. Meanwhile,back on Dot's Island, a still-energetic Dorothy was trying to coax more flameout of her burn barrel. She found some green leaves but that only succeededin reducing the guttering fire.

Darnit, Dot thought, clanging the side of the barrel with her handcuffs;I need more dry wood.

An hour later, with Jasmine and Jamie in a fitful, bound sleep 1½ milesaway, Dot had succeeded in stoking her little fire and lay back against herliferaft, content to watch the little flames lick up only a foot.

Rescue is at hand, Dorothy thought optimistically. "Someone will see thissome time, somewhere."

Exhausted from her day's activities, her harnessed head drooped and she saggedinto a deep, dreamless sleep inside her liferaft.

The next day, January 4, 2004, dawned sunny and hot again as Dot's firstweek on her island ended and Jamie and Jasmine's first day began. Neither knewof each other's existence and would not until Dorothy thought she heard something.

On their small, jungled and rocky island, Jasmine and Jamie got over theirinitial anger and frustration; realizing they could not free themselves, theymay as well clear the air and try and be friends again. Jamie awkwardly tendedthe fire again, her crotch ropes digging into her as usual, while Jasmine scannedthe horizon.

Nothing.

Dot, meanwhile, had awoken early, clinked down to the seashore to bathe lightly,returned to her liferaft encampment and slathered her face and body with thegooey sunscreen.

I should start developing a pretty good tan down here to show the friendsat home, Dorothy thought, forgetting temporarily about the effect the sun wouldhave on her harnessed face and shackled body.

Dorothy was, by now, fully used to walking and working in her chains, gaggedand dildoed, and the her bondage became less and less a problem. She beganregarding her chains more as decoration than functional restraints, thinkingsuch a mindset would help stop her from going crazy.

Jasmine and Jamie, however, regarded their light-by-comparison rope bondagewith less aplomb; they wanted to get free and off that damned island as soonas they could.

Patience, resourcefulness and determination were not among their virtues.But they were hallmarks of Dorothy's sturdy, resilient character and her leadershipcapabilities.

Jasmine looked up at the tree where her tether had been tightly and intricatelyknotted by Jim Lord, the third mate who had brought them to the island yesterday,and looked away, discouraged. The tightly-knotted cords could never be reachedand her arms were as tightly bound today as they were yesterday.

"My tits hurt," Jamie said. "We've got to get this stuff off us today, Jasmine."

"Yeah, right; you try," she replied. "I tried all night and never got anywhereand there was you snuggling at my breast, sound asleep."

Was not."

"Were too."

"Wasn't"

"Too."

The girls pouted at each other and turned their backs. Little did they realizethey would have to cooperate to survive and that included feeding themselvesand tending the fire.

One and a half miles away, Dot was busy at work, stoking her barrel fireas best she could with her chained hands, relishing the feel once again ofthe big steel dildo moving inside her as it had for the past several months,while she planned her next steps to get off the island and back to Africa..

She looked out at the grey-blue sea and thought she should try fishing. Aftergetting her fire going she scouted around, clattering about aimlessly in herchains – who's gonna hear? – to look for a suitable stick. Walkinginto the jungle, she saw a long, fairly straight stick of something or otherand hauled it out with her two chained hands.

Squatting down in the sand by her liferaft, she reached in for her little,broken drill bit and, using it as a knife, fashioned a dull point at the endof her scrawny, eight-foot pole.

"FFFiffff," he said proudly through the 3/8ths-inch hole that she had piercedthrough her dense cock two days previously. Spear, she thought; fishing pole,weapon and status symbol, all rolled into one.

Dot, her comical side dormant for years, had to laugh at herself as she stoodproudly erect, chained, gagged and dildo-ed permanently, holding her rickety,little pole as a fierce Zulu warrior.

Dorothy S. Cochrane, normally a pale Scottish office worker, was changingby the day, her light tan becoming darker and darker, giving her complexiona healthy glow.

With her labors and activity and a steady diet of C-rations, her muscle toneand endurance had improved significantly. These would soon be tested to theextreme.

One day, more energized and optimistic of an imminent release, she embarkedon a one-woman PT program. She began with pushups and by the third day wasdoing 20 reps non-stop; situps were another matter, her flexing abs causedher to pelvic-floor muscle group to clench and release the dildo but she enjoyedevery minute. Touching her toes 20 times a day, Dot began to sense the feelingof freedom in her restraints. She knew the limits the chains imposed on her,physically and psychologically, but she was able to adapt. A lifetime in steelbondage, at this point, was not an appalling thought for her. It was a reality.

"Fiiifff, " she thought, this day. I need fish.

She had never spear-fished before in her life and had no idea how it wasdone. But she was willing to give it a try. She clinked and clattered to arocky shoal and looked through the clear-blue waters to see if she could findanything edible.

A couple of black shapes darted around her chained ankles and she stabbedat them in her chains, nearly tripping.

"IIIIIFFFFF!" she whistled through her gag, spinning around to try and lanceanother little shape.

Dorothy, persistent despite her heavy bondage, spent an hour slashing andspearing the water and came up with nothing.

Darn, she thought. I'll have to learn.

She strode back to her liferaft, sat down and forcefully pushed her steeldildo up inside her crammed vagina to relieve her frustration. Ahhh, that'sbetter, she thought; at least I can do that. She ran her chained hands overher breasts once again to check on the viscous sunscreen she had put on hoursbefore and decided she should coat herself again. Fifteen minutes later shewas turning herself on in a big way, smoothing the white cream gently intoher soft breasts thinking it was

Amina doing it for her. She massaged the protective compound into her shoulders,neck above the steel collar, her face, abdomen, legs and ankles. Sitting downon the raft, she put heavy coats on the badly-sunburnt tops of her feet andeased her ankle shackles around her trim legs.

She wriggled her left ankle cuff up a half-inch, organized her chain andsaw her lily-white skin underneath.

Migosh, she said to herself, even if I ever get these off, I'll still looklike I'm chained.

Thunderstruck, she paused to consider what she would look like after releasewith the white shadows of her head harness gag contrasting sharply with herdeeply-tanned face.

She would not know until she was able to look in a mirror aboard the slaveship Patna in a few more weeks.

I gotta stay out of the sun more, she decided, as she stood up to walk furtherdown the beach to the end of the island.

Suddenly, "hhhheeeeeepppppp," came floating across the open water betweenher island and the little, green hump 1½ miles away. Dot stopped inher tracks, chains swaying, and put cupped her ears awkwardly, straining tohear the sound. Again: "hhheeppp." Dot's eyes widened in amazement. Is someoneout there? Dorothy thought.

"FFFFFIIIIFFFFFF," she called through her cock gag.

Distantly: "is anyone out there? Can you hear me?"

Migod, it's a woman's voice.

"FFFFFIIIIFFFFF!!!!"

"Please help us."

The wind changed and Dorothy heard her clearly. "Heeeeellllpppp!"

She turned and stepped frantically, taking fast, 16-inch strides the 200yards back to her campsite, 200 yards away.

Arriving breathless, she put more green leaves into her barrel and fannedthe flames.

"Mmmmm," Dorothy cried. Come on, smoke, you barrel from Hades. Smoke!

Dorothy fanned the flames harder with her chained hands and the foul-smellingsmoke blew into her face, causing her to cough and sneeze, making her earspop.

"Giiiiffff!" she wheezed, eyes stinging in the grey smoke. "Ah-feeef! Kiff,kiff, kiff."

Dot had to stop and sit down to catch her breath, her dildo making her standup smartly again.

'Ow,' she said to herself. Every now and then . . . .

Dorothy wished she could be free of at least her gag to yell back at thisunseen caller.

But she clattered quickly over to the barrel again, fanned the flames somemore and, satisfied it would not blow in her face again, set out for the farend of the island, a 45-minute walk away for her.

It was 12 noon when Dorothy Cochrane waded into the water at the end of herisland nearest the smaller adjacent islet that held Jasmine and Jamie.

She waded into the warm, shallow water, to her knees; stopped to listen;a little further, to her hips; stopped to listen – nothing – andcontinued up to her neck.

This isn't too smart, she thought, feeling her face burning against the water-reflectedsun. All they can see is my darn head.

Suddenly: "We see you!! We see you!! We see you!!!"

"Fiiif?" Dorothy called out exasperatedly, spluttering and gasping againstthe seawater.

"Can you hear us? Give us a sign!! Please help us."

That was the ticket for Dorothy; she clinked awkwardly back out of the waterand shuffle- walked the long distance back to her liferaft. She would paddleover to that island and be rescued!! Or rescue them!!

It was 3 p.m. on that deadly-hot January afternoon by the time Dorothy haddragged her liferaft the long distance to the end of her island. Foot-soreagain, with chafed ankles and wrists, her pussy afire from the dildo and seawater,she fell into the liferaft, exhausted.

Jamie and Jasmine saw the little scene playing out offshore in miniaturefrom their trees but could not figure out why that figure -- man or woman,they couldn't tell -- was taking so long.

"I wonder who it is?" Jamie asked.

"Dunno," Jasmine replied, tugging at her tether. "I think we're soon gonnafind out soon, though, and I hope it's a guy." Dorothy, her strength barelyrestored, pushed the liferaft into the ocean as far as she could and hauledherself in, scraping her deeply-tanned breasts on the rock-hard side of theliferaft and began paddling awkwardly, her chains causing her to hold the paddlealmost parallel to the surface. Dusk had fallen as Dorothy made it to the farisland -- her first big venture in days -- and she pulled the raft up out ofthe water with difficulty.

Jasmine and Jamie, tree-bound a quarter-mile away, could not believe whatthey saw though the shoreline foliage.

"It's a woman!!" Jamie called. "A friggin' woman!!! And look, I think she'schained,. Migod.

"And what's that thing on her face? And look! Between her legs. . . . " "We'reover here!" Jasmine yelled. "Over here, to your right. Heeeyyyy!" The girlswondered how this heavily-chained, deeply-tanned stranger out of nowhere wasgoing to rescue them.

Forty minutes later, Dorothy staggered, clashing and clinking, into the boundwomen's little fire site, exhausted beyond words.

"Mmm," was all she could manage as she slumped down, nearly unconscious,in front of the fire.

Jamie and Jasmine were incredulous. 'Who is she? And why is she chained?Is she an escaped prisoner, or what? And what's that shiny thingy down therebetween her legs?'

These and more questions ranged through the coeds' minds as they squirmedto the ends of their tethers to look closely at Dot, flaked out in front ofthe fire, barely awake.

"Let her rest, Jamie," Jasmine said softly. "I think she had a rough timegetting over here. Look at the way she is chained up. She can't harm us anyway."

The two tied girls sat by their respective trees and eyed the still formof Dorothy's shapely, deeply-suntanned, bound body. "Do you think she can unlockthose chains of hers?" Jamie asked unthinkingly.

"Whaddayamean, dummy?" Jasmine replied. "You think she lives out here likethat all the time chained up?"

"Mmmm," Dorothy replied through her India-rubber-cock-filled mouth. "Fiiifff."

"She's trying to talk to us; look, think she's opening her eyes," Jamie said,her crotch ropes pulling deeper and deeper into her as she strained to getclose to the chained beauty. "I saw a head harness like that once in one ofmy ex-boyfriend's bondage flicks. Wow, and she's got one the same."

"Ooooh, dammit, those hurt," she said, easing her crotch ropes and shruggingher shoulder to shift the prickly hemp ropes around her breasts.

Dorothy eased her body a little closer to the fire and got up awkwardly toher knees, to tired to attempt conversation, if she could. The shifting steeldildo caused her hips to sway and her breasts, pendulous under her kneelingtorso, gave Jasmine and Jamie their first real look at the nature and extentof Dorothy's bondage on her womanly figure.

Dorothy slumped back down and fell asleep.

Jasmine and Jamie, realizing the state of their rescuer, shrugged their shouldersat each other as moved closer together to snuggle once again, bound-breastto bound-breast, to ward off the cool, Western Pacific night air.

Next day dawned cool, grey and dismal and Jasmine and Jamie were the firstto awake in their tight ropes. They had been bound on the island for about48 hours and their hands and arms were getting numb; Jamie's crotch was a flameof heat.

Dorothy stirred on the jungle floor as she lay there on her side.

"I think she's coming 'round," Jas said.

"Can you reach her?" Jamie asked, tied furthest away.

"I'll try. Erf, erf, erf," Jasmine huffed, her breast ropes drawing tightaround her as she strained to the full length of her tether. She was able toget about three feet away from Dorothy when her tether snubbed her back, nearlypulling her backwards.

"Oooops," Jasmine called.

Dorothy, hearing the cry, thought she was dreaming again. She opened hertired eyes, framed by the black head harness gag, and saw Jasmine St. Clairand Jamie Michener studying her closely.

She sat up with a great effort and kneeled as they were. Dot was silent,wondering how to communicate her story to this strangely-tied pair of youngwomen on this island.

"Can you talk?" Jasmine asked her thoughtlessly.

Dot shook her head slowly.

"What a du-umb question, Jasmine," Jamie said, shaking her head in amazement. "Ofcourse she can't talk; she's got that big thing jammed into her mouth.

"Is she some kinda prisoner? Or deranged psychopath like that dude in Silenceof the Lambs ?"

"No, I don't think so," Jamie said. "He had eyes like a shark; this gal haseyes, well, let's see if she can write something, at least."

"Fiiiiffff," Dorothy wheezed faintly.

"Get her a stick, Jasmine," see if she can write her name or tell us somethingabout her."

Jasmine pushed a stick with her leg toward Dorothy and asked: "Can you writesomething in the ground, lady?"

Dot eased her tired, sun-bronzed frame over to the stick and wrote in thebrown earth.

Dorothy S. Cochrane, freewoman, Scotland

"If you are a free woman, why are you in chains?" Jamie asked suspiciously,fearing they had a kinky, deranged escaped convict on her hands. Dorothy shruggedand drew a line under the word freewoman.

"I think she means it," Jasmine said.

Dorothy nodded, wishing she could speak for the first time.

"Can you eat? Or drink?" Jamie asked.

Dot nodded her head. "Would you like something to eat? We've got some cannedmeat and stuff."

Jamie kicked a can of bully beef over to Dot who took it in her chained hands,opened it carefully and began feeding herself with her fingers, easing hercheek away from the gag and fingering in the glutinous, pink beef beside thecockgag.

She then licked it off with her tongue, tilted her head back and swallowedwith difficulty.

Jamie and Jasmine sat and watched in amazement.

"How does she do that?" Jamie asked.

"Wiffer," Dot called out. "Wiiifffer."

"I think she wants water."

"Give her that canteen over there, Jasmine," Jamie said.

Jasmine rolled the canteen toward Dorothy and Dorothy unscrewed the metalcap, pouring a little rivulet down through the small hole in the centre ofher gag.

Spitting up violently, she paused and started again.

After an hour, Dot had consumed a can of Spam and a pint of water.

Partially restored, she stood up, with a clink and clash of her chain, andshuffled over to examine Jasmine's, then Jamie's bondages.

"Hhmmmm," Dot said aloud, her strength restoring gradually; this might bedifficult. She saw the wires on the knots and began picking at the wire endswith the edge of her handcuffs, managing to free one big knot, then another,and another.

Fifteen minutes later, Jamie was free of her crotch rope and breast bondageand was at Jasmine's side, trying to undo her ropes. "Dot, come over here withyour handcuffs and undo these wires, wilya?" Jamie asked hurriedly.

Dorothy complied and 10 minutes later the other Californian girl was free;Dorothy was as before: chained, gagged and dildo-ed, but determined, intelligentand resourceful enough to deal with her bondage as well as these two newcomersand to organize an escape.

But how will they talk? Can Dot explain her situation? Do the women believeone another? And can they cooperate to escape? The answers follow. Jamie andJasmine, unbound for the first time in weeks, stretched their arms and legs,flexed their bodies, rubbed the ropemarks deeply indented in their breasts,upper arms and wrists while Dorothy stood by, envious and silent in her chains,seeing full freedom of movement for the first time in a long while.

"Fiiifff," Dot exhaled through her gag. "Mmmmmmfffff!" Jamie and Jasminestopped what they were doing and looked at Dorothy questioningly.

Dot picked up her little writing stick with her chained hands and began writing:

Dorothy, liferaft, my island, escape

The young university students looked at each other in amazement but agreedto follow Dorothy's initiative.

"OK, Dorothy, we'll paddle back to your island an organize an escape," Jamiesaid cautiously. "But wait: there's supposed to be a flying boat come by sometimein the next 10 days or two weeks to pick us up and take us to Australia. Ifwe're seen at sea, we're doomed and heaven knows what those slaves would dowith you, Dot.

"Gosh knows you would have a hard time defending yourself."

Dorothy nodded her head silently, frowning.

Dorothy then pointed to the girls' three boxes of supplies and hanks of ropethat had bound them, then turned and nodded her head toward the raft. She thenpointed with her arms to her island, 1½ miles away, and Jas. and Jamiegot the message. Much more sign language, nods and written messages would followin coming days and weeks.

Soon, the three boxes and Jasmine's and Jamie's long hemp ropes were backon board the little liferaft and Jas helped Dorothy descend the hill she hadclimbed the afternoon before.

Two trips and two hours later, the girls and woman were in Dorothy's liferaft,Jamie and Jasmine paddling for all their worth, the sun burning their shoulders,faces and chests.

Darkness fell and they were still a half-mile off the island; Dorothy couldsee the faint glows of her burn barrel and pointed the direction to the twopaddlers from the bow.

"FFFFIIIFFFeee!" she whistled.

"What?" Jasmine asked.

Dorothy inclined her head forward to their island and they continued paddling.It was about midnight when they finally felt the liferaft bump against therocky shoreline.

The girls hopped out quickly and Dot rolled out into the shallow water, crawlingup after them, tripping on her ankle chains as they slid over rocky ledgesunder her feet.

The three women – two free and one heavily chained – worked asa team, under Dot's quiet guidance, to haul the bulky 10 x 6 raft with itsthree-box cargo out of the water and back to Dot's fire camp. Daybreak wasjust looming on the grey, distant horizon as the plucky trio arrived, exhausted,by the smouldering barrel.

"Whe-eww," Jamie gasped. "That was a long haul. I need some rest."

With those words, the three collapsed into the liferaft and were quicklyasleep, snuggling against one another for warmth against the early-morningcoolness.

Five hours later, not fully rested, but with the sun fully overhead, burningdown on the them, the three got up, helped Dorothy to her feet and hauled theraft to Dot's coconut tree, lifting it up as a lean-to and crawling underneath,out of the burning sun.

It was dusk when Dorothy arose, hungry, tired, thirsty and worried. She hadto check the beacon fire and clinked around the dozing girls' bodies. She thoughtshe heard the far-off drone of a propeller-driven plane, looked up into theevening sky with her chained hands against her eyes to scan the greying eveningsky but could not see anything.

She had a small supper of canned tuna and water that night as Jamie and Jasmineslept on, exhausted from their ordeal. Dot, too, was overtired and she staggeredback to the lean-to, ducked down and fell into a deep sleep.

Next day, the women conversed and made hand and body gestures to Dorothyas the Scottish secretary tried to get them to agree to her plan for an escapeattempt: their long discussion, with hmmpffs, sighs and whistles from Dot,and open questions and vague answers from the young girls resulted in a fewpreliminary objectives:

they would wait until they saw the slaveowner's Catalina flying boat arriveand, hopefully, take off again, discovering the two captives had escaped. Maybe.They would count and ration all supplies and wait for the calmest day to paddleout to the coral reef and cast their fates to the wind and sea. Palm frondswould be hauled to the raft before launch to protect them from the burningsubequatorial sunrays and they would tie themselves to the raft in case anyonefell overboard or if the raft tipped by either a shark or wave.

Either possibility frightened the women to death but they agreed they hadto work together to get away safely and without being spotted.

Hours later, Dot and Jasmine sorted through their supplies and counted andorganized cans of tinned meat, C-rations, water, sweets, vitamins and lanterns.Dot double-checked them all and estimated they had enough for six weeks. Dorothy,noting the relative immaturity and skittishness of her companions, decidedto take charge of all preparations. Rounding up Jamie and Jasmine for the thirdtime that day, Dot, using her developing sign-language skills and body language,wrote cryptic notes in the sand as the three knelt in a semi-circle on thebeach.

The surf rumbled in the background as they asked: What could they do to ensurethey got over the coral reef intact? If they did, could they spent six weeksin the raft at sea without going crazy, drowning or being devoured by sharks?What would they do, and how would they signal, in the open ocean? How wouldthey know where they were going? Were there really sea monsters out there thatwould swallow them up and disappear without a trace? Would they be rescuedor die slow deaths at sea?.

Jasmine, the young English major, thought of Coleridge's Rime ofthe Ancient Mariner ("Water, water everywhere but no drop to drink.") All three agreed these were difficult questionsbut were unanimous in sticking together, under Dot's direction, to continuethe escape.

Dot wrote her questions and answers laboriously with a stick on the sandand used her developing sign-language skills to get her point across. She listenedas the girls added their points of view and made quiet note of all the importantdetails.

During the long fireside discussions, that lasted frequently to dawn, Dot'schains became more of a hindrance than true bondage, yet her energy, commitment,drive and enthusiasm enthralled Jasmine and Jamie who listened and watchedthis determined woman intently.

Jasmine and Jamie had never before seen such a woman before: here was thisattractive chained, gagged and dildo-ed woman, in her 40s, taking charge ofthem as one of their professors might.

They were free and naked; their older companion was naked but much more heavilybound than they, yet she had the energy and drive to organize and direct them.

Days passed and Jas. and Jamie got to know Dorothy much better, feeling confidentin her leadership qualities, resourcefulness and determination, despite herimplacable bondage.

Dot would write them cryptic, little messages in the sand, initiate discussionand guide the young women around the island to see what they had to work withto escape.

One afternoon, they came across the inscription Dorothy had scratched withher little augur bit into the massive, nearby volcanic deposit. She had scrapedin more day-counting marks and this day it provoked thought and insight.

Free woman, Dorothy S. Cochrane, 42, Scot., arrived c. 31/12/03,d., Days here - IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII Ilove you, Amina After scratching theirinitials below the last line, Jamie and Jasmine asked Dorothy who Aminawas: Dorothy drew an arrow-pierced valentine's heart on an open patch ofjungle floor.

The girls looked and nodded knowingly.

Days passed slowly, nights were interminable and the women kept watch overheadand at sea for passing ships or overflying aircraft, especially that AustralianPBY that was supposed to fly Jas and Jamie into slavery. Dot continued to scratchthe passing days on the rock face and by Day 30, the plane still had not arrived.

Jamie and Jasmine were getting worried: would the plane come and land, seethey were not there and decide to explore this island? What would the slaversdo if they caught Dorothy? And what would happen to them? If they got out tosea and were spotted by the plane, what would happen then?

These and many other questions went unanswered and they agreed they wouldhave to go into hiding in the jungle if they heard the plane. One day, theyoung girls tried their hand at spearfishing and Jamie, more athletic thanJasmine, managed to stab a three-pound flatfish. The women put it on a stickand cooked it on Dorothy's little bonfire that night.

The girls watched in amazement at Dot's dexterity, slipping pieces of succulentwhite fish into the left-lower side of her mouth, licking it off the gag, tiltingher head back and chasing it with a squirt of water through the hole in herhard-rubber gag.

"Amazing, Dorothy," Jamie said. "How'd you ever learn to do that?" Dot shruggedher shoulders and left them to answer the question themselves. Scrounging thoughthe young girls' rations cartons, Dot discovered a one-inch-long pencil stuband was overjoyed.

At last, she could communicate!!

She clinked over to the girls by the bonfire and took each by the hand overto the pile of cartons. Checking the lead on the little stub, Dorothy beganto write in her neat hand:

I am from Glasgow, Scotland, and am afree woman; I am a secretary, not a slave, prisoner or pervert. I was hiredby an African oil exploration

company and agreed to wear these chainsas an employment pre-requisite (old tribal custom, don't ask). The gagwas put in as a practical joke before I was flown out here last month tosolve a personnel issue.

The dildo is my own. Thegirls, satisfied with this explanation, nodded quietly and Jasmine asked tohave a closer look at Dorothy's chains in the flickering firelight.

Dot nodded and Jamie and Jasmine knelt beside the crouching Dorothy, runningtheir hands lightly over her head harness, collar, nipple rings, waist chainand ankle shackles, carefully avoiding her ringed nipples and the stainless-steelknob jutting out of her dildo harness between her legs.

"Does that hurt?" Jasmine asked Dorothy. "How did you come to be wearingthat inside you? Don't you have the keys?"

Dot closed her eyes and shook her head no to the first and third questions.

The second question was none of her business, she told herself.

"Those nipple rings of yours are huge, Dorothy," Jamie said. "Where did youget them? I would like to get a set like those for mine but you're better-endowedthan both of us."

Dot wrote on the cardboard: "Africa and tnx for the compliment." Next day,after foraging around for coconuts, firewood and beach grass, the girls wantedto play tag on the beach and Dorothy agreed to referee.

No sooner had Jasmine and Jamie started running round under Dot's watchfuleye than they froze: Dot heard it first, over the girls' shrieks and laughter.

"FFFFIIIIFFFF!" she shouted and the girls stopped. Dorothy pointed at thesound and they all heard the unmistakable drone of a propeller-driven flyingboat, descending directly for Jamie's and Jasmine's island. The grey planeloomed into view behind the island, dipped and skimmed to a long, noisy landingnear the shore they had left days previously.

"Ohmigod, it's them!" Jamie cried. "We gotta hide."

Dot followed as the two young women scampered into the jungle, grabbing acouple of cans of meat and some bottled water en route.

Three days later, they heard the plane take off again and were happy to emergefrom their jungle hideaway. All thee had been scared to death by the snakes,spiders and other slimy things that came to visit them night and day and Dorothynearly fainted when a huge, colorful spider landed on her shoulder as she satunder a towering tree.

But they were unhurt and looked carefully around to see that the plane had,indeed, left.

Only silence greeted them from the far-off island and Dot was confident theyhad been saved – for the moment. Dot signalled with a clash of chainfor the girls to come round: Looking at them closely, she wrote,

Not sure plane and searchers have leftarea -- will wait another few days to ensure – must leave this islandbefore food runs out or before something else happens. Agree? Jasmineand Jamie looked at each other and at Dot.

"Yes, we agree, Dorothy; you just tell us what we have to do and we'll doit."

Dorothy nodded assertively and directed them to muster all their supplies,check the liferaft, try and spear some more fish and get palm fronds to protectthem from the broiling sun if they ever got over the coral reef. Jasmine andJamie worked closely but too slowly for Dorothy's satisfaction and Dot hadto keep continual watch on the two naked women. One afternoon, Dorothy, standingwith her thumbs slung through her waist chain, thought she saw a distant smudgeon the horizon. Turning her harness-limited gaze away from her two young colleagues,she looked out to sea and saw the small, grey shape of a ship.

"FFFFIIIIFFFFF" she whistled at the girls. They immediately stopped and ranto Dorothy's side.

"Fhip," Dorothy said, pointing with both arms to the little speck on thehorizon. All three fell to work to stoke the signal fire but it was too late.The ship had sailed under the horizon, gone forever.

Capt. Bisescu and his crew were en route to Samoa to scrape up some workwith the BenizeOil Corp. oil platforms and did not even see the island on theirradar.

"Escape. Today," Dot wrote on the wet sandy foreshore.

The escape was on.

Dorothy indicated with sign language and little messages they should eatand drink their fill before heading out to sea.

They had a big lunch of canned meat, water and Mars bars, swallowed a coupleof vitamins, and dragged the liferaft and all their supplies to the water edge.Dorothy hauled big piles of palm fronds down after them, checked the sceneand the equipment and believed they were in all respects ready for sea.

Dot went over and shook Jasmine's, then Jamie's hands in her chains, theyhugged, snuffled and climbed into the raft, ready to say adieu to their islandprison.

Dorothy took position in the front while Jamie and Jasmine piled in the rearwith the paddles. At Dot's instruction, they each tied Jamie's and Jasmine'slong hemp ropes around their waists and secured them to the ratlines in casethey were washed overboard.

The three women, now all bound but for safety reasons, quaked in fear asthey saw huge rollers coming in to rumble and die on the coral reefs. It waswindy and not the best day to breach the reef and Dot clutched at her wristchain in despair.

Jasmine and Jamie paddled on and Dot hung on to the ratlines that had savedher life weeks earlier. The little, bright yellow craft was like a cork onthe huge, low sea swells and Dot knew they had to time it right. Using signlanguage, she directed the girls to head for the smallest waves that were rollingin over the deepest coral. Jas. and Jamie paddled for all they were worth andfound a pause in the endless parade of waves.

Dot pointed with her arms in the direction they should go and the girls leanedto their task. Suddenly, they were paddling uphill as a big wave rolled towardthem and, in a heart-stopping instant, they were at the rumbling, rolling,white-flecked crest then coasting rapidly downhill as their wave continuedits unerring course to the beach.

Another, larger wave loomed suddenly in front, swamped the raft and spilledthem all into the cool sea, the carton of supplies barely floating on the surface.

Dot was thrown headfirst into the water instantly and, struggling with closedeyes, a finger over her gag-hole to prevent her from drowning she slowly regainedthe surface with frantic kicks of her chained feet; Jamie and Jasmine, stillholding their lightweight aluminum paddles, were still at the surface and,fortunately, all three were still tied to the liferaft.

Dot clung on for dear life again, remembering too vividly the crash at seathat had nearly taken her life, while Jasmine and Jamie tried to rescue theslowly sinking cardboard boxes that held their supplies. The palm fronds floatedin a heap nearby an after an hour of splashing, cries and superhuman efforts,all three were back inside the raft, paddling again for the open sea, wet,dishevelled and scared..

Dusk fell and they all shivered in the cold in the bottom of the liferaft.Lying closely together they knew they had to do something to generate bodyheat.

Sex, Dorothy thought, as she twisted herself into a more comfortable position.She spread her legs wide and began fucking herself furiously with her locked-indildo which would only budge an inch, so tightly was it strapped inside her.

Jasmine and Jamie, watching Dorothy hard at work, got the message and they,too, started masturbating more vigorously than they ever had in their lives.After a few minutes, the three women each reached shattering orgasms, theirsighs and cries reaching out into the blackness of the open ocean. They werewarm, sexually satiated but still scared. Day broke in a few hours and sawthree shivering women, still nestling under the clammy palm fronds, dreamingof the day when they would be back in a warm bed under much more comfortablecircumstances. The days began to pass slowly, compared to the busy times theyhad on the island.

Early each morning, Dorothy organized the day's rations – two ouncesof bully beef, four ounces of water, a small piece of Mars bar and a vitaminpill – which she handed to each girl twice a day, morning and evening.The sun shone brightly overhead and the girls and woman took refuge from theblaze under the palm fronds.

More days passed and not a sign -- they saw neither fish, bird, ship norplane -- as their little raft bobbed on, caught up in the massive South EquatorialCurrent that was taking them inexorably toward the Solomon Islands, hundredsof miles to the east.

Dot had marked IIIII III II in pencil on the insideof the liferaft the day they heard the whistle.

There, about two miles stern of them was a little black shape steaming forthem. It was the Patna coming straight at them at speed.Jasmine and Jamie nearly vomited in fear as they saw their nemesis again forthe second time. "It's that goddam ship that brought us here, Dorothy!" Jamiecried. "What do we do?"

"Difff!!" Dot tried to shout. "FFFFFFF!"

The girls looked at one another and stopped shouting.

An hour later, the rusty, black hull of the little island steamer was nestlingup against the little liferaft and crewmen were throwing over a scramblingnet to help the women on board.

"We're all dead!' Jasmine cried. "We're doomed."

"FFFFF!!!" Dorothy remonstrated, gasping through her penis gag still wedgedfirmly as before into her mouth.

She forgot completely about her steel bondage and dildo as strong, hairyarms helped her up the rope ladder. Putting her feet on the cool steel deckfor the first time, she shook as Capt. Bisescu strode by to look at this strange,sexy sight. Jasmine and Jamie were next and, in minutes, stood holding ontoDorothy's arms as the six-man, one-woman crew gathered in the little cargodeck to look at these deeply-suntanned, naked women, one of whom had been heavilychained.

The captain, shocked and deeply saddened by the sight of the three women,showed them quickly to his cramped, little stateroom and offered them foodand water.

He ordered a crewman to find some tools to free Dot's gag and, moments later,Dorothy was able to pull the big India-rubber cock out of her mouth after ashipwright had hacksawed through the straps holding it in place these pastmonths.

"Ohhh, thank you," Dorothy sighed, working her jaw with her chained lefthand. Jasmine and Jamie looked up hearing their leader's Scottish accent forthe first time. "I've worn that so long I began to think it would never comeoff."

She looked at the cock that had invaded her for so long and turned her headaway, disgusted.

Turning to the stocky, unshaven sea captain, she said, "My name is DorothyCochrane; I am from Glasgow, Scotland, and I work for BenizeOil Corporationout of Bally, Benize, East Africa. My chains are part of my employment requirementsas stated in ancient tribal law. I am not a slave or an escaped convict andyou can radio BenizeOil to confirm my identity if you choose. "I understandyou are acquainted with Jasmine and Jamie already," she continued. "They havedone you no harm and we beg of you to return us to safety and freedom. We thankyou most sincerely for rescuing us – I am sure we would have perishedif we were another week out there – and we thank you for stopping.

"Please take us home?"

The young captain, moved by this heartfelt plea from this haggard, yet beautiful,chained woman, the white traces of her head harness tracing half-inch pathsacross her face, said:

"Madam, I am required by international law to save lives at sea. It is alaw of the sea that has bound mariners to one another for centuries, in warand peace, and I am grateful for the opportunity to rescue you.

"Indeed, we are both fortunate; I was so saddened after I had ordered thatMs. Michener and Ms. St. Clair be cast way on that desert island. I did itfor money only, to save my poor company from insolvency; I thought I wouldbe arrested for attempted murder but the police never came.

"I will only hope and pray the laws of your country will be merciful to meand my crew and take into consideration the nominal fact that we have rescuedyou. "Please forgive me."

Jasmine and Jamie looked at each other and chorused: "Not today, you bugger."

The captain looked pleadingly at Dorothy, then quickly ordered the crewman,standing quietly nearby, to cut off Dorothy's chains.

Dorothy sat, a blanket wrapped over her sunburnt nudity, while the youngRomanian crewman began sawing at her ankle cuffs. Fifteen minutes later thedull blade had not made a scratch in the titanium.

"Won't cut, captain," the young Filipino crewman said. "Blade's dull andI only have one more left."

"Ga-ah, dismissed," Capt. Bisescu said brusquely.

"Mrs. Cochrane, I have no idea what metal your bonds are made of but we haveattempted today to remove them. I am sorry we cannot do more for you. Pleaseaccept my further apologies."

Dorothy nodded her head quietly and accepted her chains again as part ofwho she is and would be.

That night, Dorothy, Jamie and Jasmine slept in bunks for the first timein months; the little tramp steamer had one vacant, three-passenger stateroomand the women slept soundly, feeling the ship's thrumming engine deeply belowthem.

The next morning, at breakfast, Dorothy, clad in another snug-fitting sundressgiven her by the slender Filipino cook, Jasmine and Jamie in jeans and snugT-shirts lent them by the crew, sat with the captain to discuss their future.

Speaking for the first time over a huge plate of kippers and canned tomatoes(her favorite, the captain discovered), Dorothy agreed to speak for her twocompanions and asked the captain to listen carefully:

If he would agree to return them to East Africa and help ensure safe passagefor herself back to Benize and the girls to California, she would ask the girlsnot to press charges.

Jamie and Jasmine said nothing as the captain excused himself, went directlyto the bridge and ordered a course alteration to the African east coast, 10days away.

"Are you kidding, Dorothy? And let him get away scot-free to do it all again?!" Jamieasked.

"Shhhh, I have a plan," Dorothy replied a finger to her lips.

Minutes later, the captain returned and listened again as Dorothy said shewanted him to accompany her to the nearest police station and give evidenceagainst the white slave traders who had contracted him. In return, she said,she would provide sworn statements to the effect that she and her companionsowed him their lives and that he should be given clemency.

The captain, scratching his 10-day growth of beard, considered these optionsfrom this bright, shrewd chained woman.

Hmmm, if he kept them aboard, they could possibly engineer an escape; theyhad already escaped from an island and were fit and clever enough to do soagain. If he dropped them off at their requested destination and left suddenly,he would be followed and traced by Interpol. If he agreed to go to the authoritieswith Dorothy, explain his situation and hope that Dorothy would speak up forhim, he had a chance to get off. His California captives said they would dowhatever Dorothy told them to do.

After two hours of discussion, the man and three women had agreed: the captainwould take them to a Benizian port, give Jasmine and Jamie enough money tobuy clothes, new identification and air transportation back to California andwould accompany Dorothy to the police. He hoped for the best. They all agreedand Dorothy and the girls added they would chip in and assist with chores aboardthe little ship until they arrived port 10 days away.

Dorothy, in her sundress, dildo and chains, helped the young Filipino girlin the galley while Jasmine and Jamie stood engine-room watches night and day.

Captain Bisescu, quietly pleased at the cooperation he was receiving fromhis unusual passengers, asked Dorothy one night to join him for supper – alone.

Dorothy agreed and he put on his cleanest T-shirt while Dorothy undressedand showered in the crew's small washplace. Emerging refreshed but still tiredfrom her ordeal, she clinked and clashed her way down the steel deck to jointhe captain in his maindeck cabin.

A sumptuous roast-chicken dinner awaited Dorothy and she devoured her secondsubstantial meal in months with gusto.

The sea captain, a bachelor, took note of her great dexterity with chainedhands and said:

"Mrs. Cochrane, I barely know you but it appears to me you have great useof your hands and legs despite these unusual chains that are attached to you.How do you explain that?"

"Captain," she replied between forkfuls. "Women are capable of most anything.I agreed to have myself chained to work for BenizeOil. In so doing, I toldmyself I had better get used to wearing them because the money was simply toogood to turn down. I am Scottish, after all, and I mind my pence.

"But if you really want to know, I did not put my personal principles beforecreature comforts and I am steadfast in that resolution. In fact, I ratherenjoy wearing them today," she said. She realized her deeply-implanted, locked-insteel dildo would prevent them from having sexual intercourse if she let theconversation drift that way.

"I am a paradox, you see," she said. "I am a free woman, yet chained. I appearto be a straggler from the sea yet my bank account is full. You may think thata woman in chains is to be feared, admonished or looked own upon; well, clearly,the opposite is true in my case.

"I organized and helped carry out an escape from our island and earned thegratitude of Jasmine and Jamie.

"I am in a position now to help you and, despite these pounds of chain andmetal that I carry, I will do so in the expectation that Benizian laws, andthose of your country, will exercise leniency toward you."

The captain, taken aback by this woman's clarity, was at a loss for words. "Madam,I do not know what to say," he stammered. "Let me just add that you look mostattractive tonight in that dress and your ah, er, metal accoutrements. "

Dorothy felt the steel dildo move inside her but this garrulous sea captain,14 years her junior, was not turning her on. She wanted to see Amina again. "Ihope that we can be friends during the remainder of our trip," he said pleasantly.

"Please, let's eat," Dorothy said, giving him an icy stare that would freezethe bolts of the engine mountings, and they finished their supper in silence.

Ten days later, the greenish-grey coast of East Africa hove into view andDorothy was beside herself with excitement. Freedom, or relative freedom, atlong last. And a lovely reunion with Amina.

That afternoon, after the ship was directed by the harbormaster to a spotat a deserted wharf, Dorothy and Captain Bisescu found a small police stationand made their respective statements. The tramp island steamer captain wasnot charged and was instructed to sail away from the country in 24 hours. Hisinformation, in exchange for the discharge, would be used to hunt down thetraffickers, he was told.

Dorothy, after hearing this and explaining the reasons for her chains, contactedBenizeOil's head office, got through directly to Godfrey Smith and within hoursa company car pulled up to return her to Bally, still chained as she was monthsbefore. Jasmine and Jamie, given bags of "hush money" from Capt. Bisescu, weregiven clean clothes at the police station and driven to Bally airport separatelywhere transportation had been arranged for them.

They were never heard from again but Dorothy overheard years later they hadsecured employment with BenizeOil in Samoa, and were wearing chains similarto hers year-round to satisfy their employment contracts.

Dorothy was exhausted on her return to dusty, little Bally on that fateful,hot weekday afternoon and she needed a shower, a rest and a good meal. Shetold the driver to take her to the hotel she had stayed in months ago and wasamazed to find her room still waiting for her.

After a long, languorous shower and small snack that night, Dot looked outher front mirror and saw Amina, dressed in skimpy black dress, heels, steelcollar and head harness, trolling for johns on the little main street.

Dorothy tore out of the hotel as fast as her chains would allow, ran up toAmina and both women hugged and sobbed, thinking each other had died or fallenoff the face of the earth.

Amina had become a drug-addled, HIV-free streetwalker and Dorothy rushedthe still-gagged, mute ex-slavegirl back to her room to catch up on her news.Hours later, the women were lying together in bed, Amina's head harness stillin place and Dorothy between her slave's legs, bring each of them to violentorgasms.

In return, Dorothy, still dildoed, allowed Amina to play with her deeply-tannedbreasts and the two kissed and hugged like long-lost lovers. Next day, withAmina still sound asleep, Dorothy dressed in halter and miniskirt and clinkedpurposefully back to the corporate boardroom where here extraordinary adventurehad begun months previously. "Mr. Smith, I want these chains removed forthwith," Dorothysaid in her hardest voice, clacking her metal-enclosed right wrist on the polishedoak boardroom table for emphasis. "I have been through pure hell and back inthe last months after our plane crashed, and you know it. You and this corporationhave no right, legal or otherwise, to keep me chained up.

"Get your tools out and unbind me this instant!"

"Mrs. Cochrane, I understand your frustration. But please let me explain.Your contract stated your chains would be struck off only if you ceased tobe employed by the company. You are still with the company and, I might add,now a fairly wealthy woman.

"You did not communicate to us while you were en route to Samoa back in Januaryand if you had done so, efforts could have been taken to help you; as it was,the SatPhone went down with the wreckage and you could not call us at all.I have no idea what happened on the plane that night but the crash is underinvestigation.

"You are lucky to be alive today and I am personally glad to see you backhere again.," he said. Dorothy humphed and looked away, disgusted at this inanenon sequitur.

"You have not breached your contract but it does activate a certain codicil,or addendum. I do not want to go into detail; suffice that I will be able legallyto remove your collar and handcuffs but your ankle shackles will have to stayin order to satisfy the legalities of the contract.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes; in other words, my ankles are to remain chained for as long as I workfor this company or until I l leave.

"Very well, then," she huffed, "you may remove these handcuffs and my collarand I will accept the requirement to be shackled in order to continue as aBenizeOil employee."

Two hours later, Dorothy strode back to her hotel, freer than she had beenin months, but still ankle-chained and deeply-dildoed, to break the news toAmina.

Smith had also arranged for additional funds from the company's operationalexpenses account be deposited in her account. Dot's bank account totalled 850,000pounds and she was glad. Back in the hotel room, she found a long note writtento her by Amina to explain what happened to her the day Dorothy left for theSouth Seas. It was news to Dorothy and both women wept, distraught. Amina removedher head harness, withdrew a 2½-inch white ballgag and showed her loverthe butchery inside her mouth.

Dorothy peeked inside, winced and wept anew.

Amina, living up to a centuries old slave tradition found in ancient Greece,consoled her mistress as only a slavegirl could.

Dorothy was determined now to quit BenizeOil – her bank balance boostedto 950,000 pounds with "hush money' from Capt. B. and Godfrey Smith, and toldAmina she wanted to take her out of the country and start over.

The next day, Dorothy had tendered her resignation, still in chains, andleft the building immediately, not waiting for Smith to strike her shacklesfrom her. She would have that done at a later date, far away from this shabby,little country whose laws were based in the Dark Ages.

She drove Amina to a rehab centre north of Bally and got her admitted toa 28-day program while she went back to her hotel room to try and work outplans for their future.

Her first call was to Gail, her long-lost pal back at McDonald's shipyardin Glasgow and the two talked for hours while Dorothy explained in lurid detailwhat had happened to her since the last time they spoke.

Gail was enthralled, aghast and proud, all at the same time. She thoughtDorothy deserved a medal for her courage and fortitude in engineering and executingan escape from a fate worse than death, chained hand and foot and dildo-edconstantly.

Dorothy, on the other hand, went on with finding a new country to live inwhile Amina got better.

In September that year, they moved to Nova Scotia, Canada, to start over.

-30- (to be continued)