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- The Keyhole
Copyright Abrank 2005, 2008
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- Warning! This story might contain
activities that might not be suitable in selfbondage. Please
play safe.
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- The Keyhole
Abrank
- Copyright Abrank 2005, 2008
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- “It’s awfully heavy isn’t
it?” Priscilla said cradling the metal collar in her hands.
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- Sir Howard sighed. “Yes, the intention
was to make the wearer continuously aware of its presence.”
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- “It looks awfully old.”
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- “Not really,” Sir Howard replied.
“Only about 200 years.”
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- He was thinking of the difference between
the English and American concepts of age when Priscilla spoke
again.
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- “It’s very pretty.”
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- “Yes those old craftsmen decorated
all their objects. They abhorred a plain surface. Besides, this
was intended to be worn by a woman. But the silver and gold decoration
you see was done in an earlier style.”
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- Priscilla examined the fine tracery more
closely and ran her fingers over it. “Is this real gold?”
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- “Yes, but only a thin layer.”
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- ”It must be very valuable.”
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- “It is, extremely valuable. It’s
unique, I don’t know of another like it.”
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- “Where did it come from?”
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- “One of my ancestors brought it back
from Italy. Family tradition says it originally came from the
Borgias.”
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- She didn’t say anything. Sir Howard
felt she had passed her first test.
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- They were sitting in one of the private
rooms of the castle, one not open to the general public. Sir
Howard had intercepted her while she was on the self-guided tour.
He had selected her, as he had previous candidates, because she
had shown particular interest in the torture chamber and the
dungeon. She had lingered there for a considerable time before
moving on to the upper floor.
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- He was annoyed at the presence of tourists
in his castle. The Government’s financial policy, particularly
the crippling death duties, had reduced his once proud family
to a state of poverty. The only way he could continue to live
in his ancestral home was to open it to the public. He resented
their intrusion, and considered them fair game.
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- Not that he caught many, very few in fact,
perhaps one a year. He only caught the very stupid ones, and
considered his practice a benefit to society as well as a personal
means of gratification. Nearly all his potential victims escaped,
and were unaware they had ever been in danger. The average person
had nothing to fear from him.
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- He regarded Priscilla closely. She was
a young and brash American with perfect teeth and large breasts.
But her waist was not slender. He looked distastefully at her
casual clothes and wondered why women had given up the practice
of wearing corsets; they looked so very much more attractive
with a narrow waist. He thought that if she were ever in his
power, he would make her wear a tightly-laced boned corset. His
reverie was interrupted by Priscilla.
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- “How do you open it?”
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- “It unlocks with a key. I’ll
get it for you if you like.”
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- “Oh that would be very kind, your
Lordship.”
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- He smiled. She was only trying to please,
so he did not correct her.
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- He awkwardly stood up, his elegantly cut
but slightly shabby clothes hanging loosely from his tall angular
frame, and walked into the adjoining room. He regretted that
he had forgotten to return the key to the display case where
he kept the collar. He wondered if he should have offered to
get the key, it was a leading invitation, and he normally did
not incite his victims by making suggestions, their downfall
had to be entirely of their own doing. But he reasoned that the
key was normally displayed alongside the collar, so he was now
merely leveling the playing field, as the Americans would say.
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- He found the key where he had left it
in the drawer of his Louis Quatorze desk and returned to the
morning room. “Here it is,” he said placing it on the
table. He did not want to cheat by handing it directly to her;
she had to pick it up.
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- “What an interesting key!”
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- “Yes, the Italians were consummate
craftsmen.”
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- “Do you mind if I try it?”
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- “No, go ahead.”
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- She picked up the key and inserted it
into the lock. He noted that she did not ask the obvious question;
perhaps she would be the one. But he was not optimistic; he had
learned that very few fell into the trap.
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- “How does it work?”
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- “Just keep turning the key to the
right keeping it pointing straight in. First the screw threads
engage, then the lock will open.”
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- She turned the key, and after a few revolutions
the collar fell open.
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- “Oh wow!”
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- “Yes. Beautiful isn’t it?”
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- “How do you close it?”
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- “First you unscrew the key and remove
it, then you can press the collar closed. The teeth are spring
mounted.”
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- “Why are they such a funny shape?”
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- “That’s to prevent the wearer
sliding a knife into the opening and forcing the teeth back to
open the collar. The tooth guards also make the collar stronger;
it can’t be twisted or bent.”
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- “I see.” She unscrewed the key
and laid it back on the table. “These projections on the
inside, they’re blunt. If I were making an instrument of
torture I think I’d make them sharp. You know, to stick
into the person.”
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- ‘How unsubtle you Americans are,’
thought Sir Howard. Out loud he said, “That would certainly
appear to make it a more fearsome instrument of torture. But,
surprisingly, the blunt spikes are crueler. Sharp spikes would,
as you must realize, penetrate the skin. They would cause immediate
bleeding, and infection would soon set in. The unfortunate wearer
might well be dead within a fortnight. But the blunt spikes don’t
immediately do any damage. It may take weeks before they abrade
the skin sufficiently to cause infection, so the wearer might
live for months in agony before dying.”
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- “Oh, wow!”
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- “Initially the blunt spikes are not
painful,” Sir Howard continued, “so if the wearer were
a lady of the court she could still attend court functions. She
could perform all of her normal duties for several weeks. Unless
of course, she foolishly moved the collar around.”
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- “Why would she do that?”
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- “Well some victims don’t like
the weight resting on their shoulders or the spikes pressing
into one particular spot, so they lift it or move it around,
and that abrades the skin. They would live longer if they simply
left it alone.”
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- “How horrible!”
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- “Yes it is.”
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- Priscilla sat with the open collar resting
on her jean-covered thighs. She ran her hand over the spikes
on the inside. “It doesn’t feel too bad.”
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- “No. Initially it’s quite comfortable
I’m told. The rounded edges at the top and bottom prevent
it digging into the skin. The only thing you notice is the weight,
as you pointed out, but the bottom is curved to distribute the
weight more evenly around the neck.”
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- “The top is shaped too.”
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- “Yes. It’s designed to hold
the head in one position, but of course that depends to some
extent on how long a person’s neck is.”
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- Priscilla closed the collar until the
teeth engaged, but did not press hard enough to lock it. She
moved her right hand around the inside of the collar feeling
the smooth metal and the short blunt spikes.
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- Sir Harold held his breath. He did not
want to influence her decision one way or the other, but it had
been a long time, and he felt very tempted to say something.
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- “Do you mind if I try it on?”
Priscilla asked.
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- “No I don’t mind, but you’ll
have to put in on yourself.”
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- “Which way does it go on?”
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- “The hinge goes in the back. That
way, viewed from the front, the collar looks entirely decorative
with an uninterrupted design.”
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- Priscilla opened the collar and placed
it around her neck. She pressed the two halves together, but
it did not close fully.
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- Sir Howard wondered if he were doing the
right thing. To be trapped you had to be both stupid and strong.
He felt he should be doing his bit to eliminate the stupid and
the weak as well.
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- “I can’t seem to get it closed.”
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- “You have to push very hard.”
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- Priscilla placed her palms flat on each
side of the collar and grunted as she jerked her arms together.
The collar closed with a loud click. “Wow! What a neat feeling.
You were right, it’s not uncomfortable, but it does feel
heavy.”
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- “It’ll feel heavier with time.”
This was one of Sir Howard’s favorite parts, the delay before
the full realization of the problem.
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- “Wow, I’ve discovered another
problem. When I turn my head it moves the collar and I can feel
the spikes moving on my neck.”
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- “Yes. You’ll have to learn to
keep your head still.”
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- “What does it look like on? Can I
see myself in a mirror?”
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- “Certainly. Come this way.”
Sir Howard led the way into the day room.
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- Priscilla examined herself in the large
ornate mirror. “Oh it’s beautiful. Can I take a picture?”
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- “Yes, of course.”
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- “Do you mind taking one of me?”
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- “Not at all.”
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- Priscilla rummaged through her pocket
book, lifting it since she could no longer bend her head to look
down. She located her disposable camera and handed it to Sir
Howard. He turned it over in his hands unsure how to operate
it.
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- “You look through here,” Priscilla
explained, “and then you press this button here.”
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- Sir Howard raised the camera to his eyes.
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- “No you’re too close. Can you
step back a little?”
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- Sir Howard obliged, took the photo and
handed the camera back to her.
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- “Thanks awfully. My friends will
be so jealous when they see this picture.”
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- Sir Howard smiled but said nothing and
they returned to the morning room. They sat down and Sir Howard
waited for the penny to drop.
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- But Priscilla started on another tack.
“Your torture chamber is so interesting.”
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- “Thank you. But it’s not a real
torture chamber.”
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- “It isn’t?”
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- “No, it’s just something we
made as a tourist attraction. Practically all the instruments
on display are reproductions.”
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- “They are?”
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- “Yes, and the room wasn’t even
a dungeon. I think it was only ever used as a storage cellar.”
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- “Really? How disappointing!”
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- “The real dungeon is in this part
of the castle. But it’s a trifle damp, so it’s not
suitable for crowds of tourists. You can see if you like.”
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- “I’d love to. But perhaps I
could take this collar off first.”
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- “Certainly, if you can figure out
how.”
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- “What do you mean?”
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- “Well the keyhole is on the inside
so I don’t see how you can get the key in to unlock it.”
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- “Oh my god! How do you get it off?”
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- “Well it’s far too valuable
to cut off, so I usually cut off the wearer’s head. After
they’re dead of course.”
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- o-o-O-o-o
The author welcomes comments
and may be contacted at: abraXXnk@gmail.com
- (Delete the two Xs before sending,
they are included as an antispam device)
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