ASSIGNMENT FOR ALISON by Jennifer Jane Pope

Alison Katt, Alley Cat to her friends, has agreed, albeit reluctantly, to take on an undercover assignment for her editor, Mike Hallett, in an attempt to expose a dangerous blackmail ring. As the extortion set-up centres around an exclusive fetish club, Mike arranges for Alison to visit an old university friend of his, Marcia Davenport, who runs an exclusive service for a certain kind of discerning client. The idea is that Marcia will give Alison a crash induction course in what she can expect to find waiting for her ...

The bottom floor of the house was a demi-basement. From the street, it had looked innocuous enough, but viewed from the inside, the rooms were a different prospect altogether. The windows were all blacked out with heavy velvet curtains, beyond which, Marcia assured Alison, the window panes were triple glazed.

`Some of my guests get a bit noisy,' she explained. `All five rooms down here are fully soundproofed. It cost me a fortune, but it's been well worth it.' The whole setup must have cost a fortune, Alison thought, for no expense had been spared in creating an atmosphere which would have been worthy of a medieval dungeon. The colour scheme was predominantly black, including the corridor off which the individual rooms ran and the lighting was provided by a series of naked red lightbulbs, which lent an eerie glow to everything. Marcia opened the second door and ushered Alison inside.

As her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, Alison saw that one wall of the chamber was lined with doors and drawers and that the only furnishings were two high, padded stools, both of which appeared to have been bolted to the floor and a plain, rustic-looking, timber table, about five feet by two.

`Put your things on the table,' Marcia said, walking across to open one of the cupboards. Alison stared at her, bemused.

`What things?' she asked. Marcia looked back over her shoulder.

`Your clothes, silly,' she said. `You have to strip off - everything.'

`But why?' Alison protested. `I never agreed to - '

`Listen,' Marcia said, turning around, `I promised Michael I would give you a proper induction course that would ensure you know enough to carry this thing off. Now, that means getting used to the sort of costumes and accessories you're likely to have to wear. They'll be mostly latex, but there's bound to be some leather, as well as the usual satins and laces and so on.'

In the back of her mind, Alison had realised this already, but until now it had been something to worry about in the future. Now, face-to-face with the actuality, it suddenly seemed even less of a good idea than it had originally, when she had argued with Mike in his office. Marcia sensed her reluctance.

`Listen to me,' she said, walking back to Alison and laying a hand on her shoulder, `it'll be a lot easier for you if I prepare you properly and if you lose your nerve once you're there, I wouldn't like to be in your shoes. These people are not very nice, believe me. Now, I know you're nervous, but no one's going to hurt you under this roof, okay? And if you decide you don't want to go through with it after all, that's okay, too.

`It's your decision, little Alley Katt and it's a big one, but I can't help you with it, other than to suggest that you try it first and then make up your mind.' As she spoke, Alison's nose detected the first faint aroma of rubber and she stared past Marcia to the open cupboard door. Inside, everything seemed one black shadow, but she had little doubt that this was where the smell was coming from. It was heavy, sweet and cloying, but not unpleasant. She took a deep breath.

`Okay,' she said, trying to keep her voice steady. `I'll give it a go.'

She kept her back to Marcia as she slowly began removing her street clothes, folding them into a neat pile, her white patent shoes next to them. As she peeled away her brassiere, she stared down at her breasts, evenly tanned as was the rest of her body, thanks to the privacy of the roof garden above her flat. Even the removal of her white cotton panties betrayed no trace of white. She turned slowly back to face Marcia at last, her hands clasped to cover her sex and the little triangle of almost white pubic hair. Marcia, who was holding something black in her hands, looked her up and down, appraisingly.

`Place your hands by your sides, please,' she instructed. Reluctantly, Alison let her arms drop, revealing her most intimate secrets. Marcia nodded.

`You are a natural blonde, then,' she commented, nodding again. `Excellent. A good body, nice firm breasts and very good legs. Turn to one side.' Despite her annoyance at being summed up like a prize mare, Alison did as she was told. Again, Marcia nodded. `Very prominent buttocks,' she said, almost to herself. `Yes, very sweet. Now, turn back to face me and place your hands on the top of your head.' There was something about her tone of voice that brooked no argument and, to her surprise, Alison found herself obeying the older woman without a second thought. Marcia stepped closer, holding out the black garment.

`What's that?' Alison demanded, feeling more and more uneasy with each passing second. Marcia regarded her, her face expressionless.

`Slaves are not permitted to ask questions,' she said. Alison bridled at that.

`I'm not your slave,' she retorted. `This is just a dress rehearsal, remember?'

`Maybe so, but in a dress rehearsal, the cast do everything exactly as they would on the first night,' Marcia snapped. `If you're supposed to be experienced, you'd know exactly how to behave at all times, so we go through this as though it were for real, okay?'

Somewhat chastened, Alison nodded. `I guess so,' she mumbled.

`Good,' Marcia said. `And, for your information, this is a corset, or, to be more accurate, a waist-cincher, as there are no cups for the breasts. As you can see, it is made from rubber - very thick, strong rubber.' She wrapped the garment about Alison's waist and began securing the front fastenings, pulling in her stomach dramatically.

`God, that's tight,' Alison gasped, when she had finished. `I can hardly breathe.'

`You'll get used to it,' Marcia assured her, moving around behind her. `And, as for tight, you haven't seen anything yet.' Alison very soon did, however, for at the back of the corset were laces to tighten it even further, reducing her waist by still another two inches. The top of the corset was cut so that it sat beneath each breast, rising to an inverted vee shape where the two halves joined in her cleavage. At the botton, another tapering point stopped just short of her pubic hair, but at the back the leather was cut higher, leaving her buttocks exposed and looking more prominent than ever in comparison to her newly reduced waist. As Marcia knotted off the cords, Alison began to feel light headed.

`I can't breathe properly,' she said. Marcia patted her buttocks.

`Don't try to breathe so deeply,' she said. `Just take it easy and don't fight against the pressure. Here, come over and sit on this stool.' She took Alison's arm and guided her towards the nearer seat, helping her to perch up on the cool leather padding. Alison, for her part, tried to breathe as per instruction and, to her relief, found that it worked. Marcia left her there and went to another cupboard, drawing out an outrageously long pair of black boots, with even more outrageously long, tapering heels.

`Feeling better?' she asked. Alison nodded. `Good. Usually, I introduce my slaves to corsets by degrees, working down an inch or so at each session, but unfortunately, in your case, we don't have the luxury of sufficient time.' She stooped down and began fitting Alison's left foot into the first boot, which was something of a struggle, even though the laces which ran up the back were still slack. Alison felt her instep being arched incredibly and her toes bent upwards to their absolute limit, but she fought back a laugh when she remembered the record that had been playing on the radio of her Morris Mini as she had parked it in the street above. Nancy Sinatra's boots may have been made for walking, but these almost certainly weren't!

It took Marcia a good ten minutes to get both boots on and laced, drawing them so tightly about Alison's legs that it became difficult for her to bend her knees. At Marcia's instruction, she swayed unsteadily to her feet, convinced that she would overbalance if she tried walking. The dominatrix held out a steadying hand and made her take a few experimental paces. To Alison's surprise, the tight rubber braced her legs and ankles in such a rigid fashion that walking was much easier than she had dared anticipate, though she was forced to take much smaller steps than normal.

`That's very good,' Marcia complimented her. `Now, turn around and go back to the stool on your own.` Carefully, Alison turned, using her arms to balance her poise. `Put your arms down and try again,' Marcia ordered. `You won't always have the use of them.' She made Alison parade back and forth for several minutes in this fashion, but at last seemed satisfied that her protege was beginning to master the heels and allowed her to sit again.

From the cupboard, again, Marcia took out two long tube-like lengths of rubber. Alison saw that there was lacing along the length of each, to allow for the tubes to be made tighter, but initially, she had no idea as to their purpose. She soon understood, though, as Marcia guided her right arm into the first one, drawing it up to her shoulder and working the laces tight from wrist to shoulder. As she turned her attention to the other arm, Alison saw that they were a type of glove, though they terminated, not in fingers, but in a kind of elongated mitten, at the end of which was attached a thick steel ring. Once in place, the wearer's hands were rendered all but useless, for the mitten was tight and compressed the fingers hard together and the thumb firmly against the palm of the hand.

`May I ask something?' Alison ventured, as Marcia finished tying off the second glove. The older woman smiled, encouragingly.

`You should say: "May I ask something, Mistress?' she said, gently, but firmly. `It is essential to address your masters and mistresses correctly.' Alison sighed and repeated the question as directed.

`Better,' Marcia said. `Yes, you may.'

`Do people actually pay to be dressed and trussed up like this?' Alison asked. `I mean, what do they get out of it?'

`Very good questions,' Marcia replied, crossing the room and opening one of the drawers. `Yes, they do and, well, who can say? Sexual satisfaction, certainly, stimulation, certainly. It varies with the individual.'

`And these "slaves", what do they actually do?'

`Exactly what they're told,' Marcia said, firmly. She had returned, carrying two short, broad, leather straps, which she proceeded to buckle around Alison's wrists. Looking down, Alison saw that there was a heavy steel springclip on the inside of each and, as soon as Marcia had secured the second strap, she seized the ring on the end of each mitten in turn, forced Alison's fingers over into a fist and snapped the clip to the ring, preventing her from straightening her hand. Then, from the pocket of her jacket, she drew out a businesslike padlock.

Stepping behind Alison, she drew her arms behind her back and slipped the padlock through the two rings. It was done before Alison realised what was happening and only the dull click of the lock being closed alerted her to the fact that she was now completely helpless. She tugged at her bondage, but the gloves and the metalwork had been designed to withstand far greater force than she would ever be able to exert. As Marcia stepped back in front of her, Alison looked up at her, dubiously.

`I'm not sure I like this,' she said, plaintively. Marcia patted her cheek.

`Give it time, kitten,' she said. `I haven't finished with you yet, not by a long way.'

Another trip to the cupboards produced a length of chain with more thick straps at each end. Working with assured fingers, Marcia fastened one strap about Alison's arm, just above the elbow and then, using one arm to pull her elbows together until they were nearly touching, secured the other end similarly to the other arm. The effect was to force Alison's shoulders back and thrust out her bare breasts in a manner that was totally brazen.

`This isn't very comfortable,' she complained.

`It isn't supposed to be,' Marcia said. `Remember, you're a slave now and slaves have to suffer.' There was something about the change of tone in her voice that made Alison shudder

`I don't think I want to go through with this,' she said, quietly. `I think, if you'll just undo all this, I'll get dressed and get out of here.' Marcia stared at her, a mocking expression on her face.

`I'm most dreadfully sorry,' she said, `but you don't seem to understand the situation. You don't have any say in matters now. You will do exactly as I tell you, until I decide it is time to release you. You were sent here to learn what it means to be a slave and, by george, that's exactly what you're going to do. Michael would never forgive me if I failed you both.'

`Leave Michael to me,' Alison snarled. `Just get these things off me. This has gone far enough. Yeoww!' The slap across her face was so swift and unexpected that Alison nearly toppled from the stool. Tears filled her eyes and her head rang from the blow, her cheek burning fiercely.

`This has not gone anywhere near far enough yet,' Marcia said, calmly, though her voice was cold as ice. `Anymore insubordination from you and I will whip that delightful bottom of yours until you won't be able to sit on it for a week.' Alison stared up at her, blinking furiously to clear her vision.

`You wouldn't!' she gasped, but she knew that Marcia would. She cursed Mike under her breath and herself, too, for being stupid enough to get herself into this mess. Marcia was opening another drawer and Alison heard the clink-chink of metal as she searched through it. A few moments later, she was back at Alison's side, buckling a wide collar, from which hung a chain leash, about her neck, forcing her chin up in an even more uncomfortable position. She stepped back, taking the loose end of the chain, to which was fixed a leather loop, in her hand and slipping it over her wrist.

`Much better,' she said and tugged the chain, hauling Alison up onto her feet. Marcia drew her closer, her free hand moving to Alison's right breast, thumb and forefinger seizing her unprotected nipple and squeezing it. Alison let out a little squeal and tried to back away, but Marcia kept the leash taut, preventing any chance of a retreat.

`You have big nipples,' Marcia told her, rolling the teat between the two digits. `They will look even better when I have Melanie ring them. Melanie, in case you were wondering, was my maid, the girl who let you in earlier.'

`What do you mean, ring them?' Alison wailed, really scared now. Marcia pulled a wry smile.

`You'll find out, soon enough,' she said. `Now, time for a little walkies.'

She led the way out into the corridor, with Alison stumbling and tottering behind her, but, fortunately, their journey was not a lengthy one. Marcia stopped two doors further along and produced a key, which she inserted in the sturdy and ancient-looking lock.

`I like to keep the punishment cells locked,' she said, casually. `Even when they are empty.'

`Punishment cells?' Alison echoed, her whole body trembling violently. `You can't be serious?'

`Oh yes,' Marcia said, nodding. `It's all part of the ritual, you see. A good slave learns to accept that punishment is not only their due, it is also part of their need.' The door swung open to reveal another black walled room, slightly larger than the first, but with a lot more furniture, if furniture was the correct term to describe its contents. Alison looked about her in disbelief and desperation, her gaze taking in the heavy wooden pillory, the plain steel framed bed with its lattice of bedspring fully exposed, the timber seat that looked like it had come straight out of the execution chamber in an American film and a final structure that resembled a vaulting horse, but from which dangled several leather restraints to indicate it was intended to serve a totally different purpose.

One corner of the room was separated from the main area by a barred cage, the narrow door of which hung open. Inside, there was no seat, but a thick round pole jutted out about two feet from the wall. Above it, set into the masonry, a wide strap hung open and below it, near to ground level, two shorter straps hung about three feet apart.

`No!' Alison whispered, as Marcia dragged her towards the cage. `I won't! You can't!' But the relentless pull on her leash offered her no option. On the floor beneath the pole stood a low dais, about eighteen inches square and, propelled by Marcia, Alison was forced to step up onto it and turn with her back to the wall. The powerful Marcia, still slightly taller than Alison, despite the extra inches of the platform, pushed her back, forcing her legs apart so that she straddled the projecting pole, her naked quim only an inch or so above it.

The upper belt was drawn about her, just below her breasts and buckled tightly, before Marcia turned her attention to Alison's legs. Seizing one foot, she drew it out wide, until the ankle was level with the lower strap on that side and deftly fastened the leather restraint around it. When the remaining leg was treated similarly, Alison slumped down, some of her weight initially supported by the strap about her upper body, but most of it and eventually all of it, settling onto the stubby pole beneath her crotch. To her relief, although the position was far from comfortable, she realised that the pole was actually padded on the outside and not, as she had assumed at first, solid timber.

Marcia straightened up and stepped back, admiring the effect of her work. `Yes, that's suitable to begin with,' she said. `A couple of hours in here should warm you up nicely. And I'll send Melanie down to see to your nipple rings.'

`You're not going to leave me here, are you?' Alison wailed, panicking. She tried to struggle against the straps, but it was an impossible battle. All she succeeded in doing was setting up a friction against the gaping lips of her unprotected sex and against her clitoris, which was also just in contact with the padded surface. Marcia smiled.

`That's the spirit,' she said. `I like to see a girl stimulate herself like that. Keep it up and you'll probably make yourself come before too long.' Alison froze, staring wildly at her.

`You bitch!' she hissed. `You perverted bitch! You think everyone's the same, don't you? And yes, go on, hit me again if you want. I can't even defend myself, let alone fight back. People like you make me sick. You're a bully, a cow - umpphhh!' Her tirade was cut short as Marcia stuffed the rubber ball between her lips and quickly secured the strap behind her neck, preventing her from expelling it. Where the woman had got the gag from, Alison did not know, but the operation was performed so skilfully and so swiftly, that she had no chance to resist. Silent now and breathing heavily through her nose, Alison hung in her bonds and let the tears flow down her cheeks, from where they dripped onto her naked breasts, running over the silky flesh like twin rivers.

Marcia patted her cheek. `I'm not going to hit you, sweetie,' she said, softly, `but neither can a slave be permitted to abuse her mistress. A few hours gagged is usually a salutory enough lesson and there is something about a slave wearing a ball gag which is so appealing. It lends the face - and especially the eyes - a delightfully surprised expression. I shall instruct Melanie to take some polaroids of you to take away as souvenirs when you finally leave.'

She stepped outside the cage and swung the door shut. It closed with a hollow clang and the key, which she turned in the lock, clicked with a dull sound of total finality. Never had Alison felt so helpless, or so scared. She made a soft, whimpering noise through the gag, but Marcia was unmoved. She pocketed the key and turned towards the outer door.

`Melanie will be down later,' she called back, cheerfully. `Don't you go away now, will you?' The sound of her mocking laughter seemed to echo around the cell for a long time after she had left it.

Assignment for Alison is published by Chimera Press in the UK, priced £4.99 and available in most bookshops. Alternatively, you can visit Chimera's own website at www.chimerabooks.co.uk where you can order a copy using your credit/debit card.

Alternatively, you can go to www.amazon.co.uk and type in my full name, or the title. Most of my books are now available via Amazon.

PRESS THE BUTTON TO RETURN TO THE BOOKS INDEX