Her hips shuddered and she held him tightly as waves of orgasm swept over her again and again. At 7, well before their usual 10 p.m. bedtime, Peter snapped off the coffee table light beside them and motioned Isabel into the bedroom. She got off him stiffly and shuffled into the bathroom to clean up once again from her unusually wet orgasm. She slid out of her short dressing gown and undid the cord around her hips as she bathed herself in preparation for another sexy session in bed.

The sun was casting longer shadows across their neat backyard as Isabel clinked back into the bedroom toward her walk-in closet to get her favourite, ankle-length, blue-satin nightgown with the spaghetti straps Peter loved. She saw her usual ankle chains hanging from a hook on the inside wall of the closet and wondered whether she would ever wear them again.

But Peter had another bondage surprise already rigged for her in bed - he had secretly locked a 35-ft. length of light chain, with 1/8th-in. oblong stainless-steel links he had been saving for such an occasion, to the boxspring near the head of the bed. Another sturdy little lock was hung from the business end of the chain which he planned to snap around her neck, tethering her to the bed but allowing her to reach into the bathroom, the hallway and nearly into the kitchen, if she had reason to go there.

Isabel slid soundlessly into bed and noticed the little metallic stash between their pillows. She sat up, as if to read, as Peter climbed in beside her half-expecting her man to secure her for the night. He reached down between the feather pillows, pulling up the chain and quickly draped a loop of chain snugly around her neck, snapping the lock closed through two links. The chain fell between her breasts and disappeared under the pillows to its anchor on the boxspring.

"Now I'm really hooked up," Isabel said lightly. "Chains at my neck and feet. Are you sure you don't want to lock my ankles to the bed, too, Peter?" Peter kissed her gently and tugged on her neck chain to pull her down and towards him. He was instantly erect again and easily penetrated her pussy as they lay facing each other, the chain nestled between them.

They rocked back and forth rhythmically and both reached their climax at the same time, Peter shooting another large wad deep into her womb. He was still hard when Isabel climbed on top of him and began a gentle to and fro and up and down motion that caused her breasts to sway. Her neck chain depended gracefully down the front of her nightgown, past her delicious cleavage to disappear into the bedsheets. Peter took all this in and gently massaged her breasts as he felt yet another orgasm starting to build distantly. Moments later Peter and Isabel clutched at each other in yet another well-timed orgasm.

"Wow, six in one day," Isabel said as she flopped to her right side, with a clink of chain, exhausted. Peter put his arm around her and both were suddenly asleep, as if by a spell.

Life Goes On - Day 2

Wednesday, June 13, dawned grey and overcast as Peter and Isabel awoke in the same position in which they fell asleep: Peter on his right side with his left arm across Isabel's waist and Isabel half-turned toward him, chained ankles spread lightly, her knees bent and her neck chain tangled between them.

As always, Peter kissed Isabel on the shoulder and got up to start his day in the bathroom. Isabel awoke with the kiss and heard her lover in the shower as she cast around the bed for the key to her neck chain. She had to wait until Peter stepped out of the bath to ask him where the key was - she found it inside his night table - and she unlocked the small brass padlock that secured her neck chain to the headboard.

Relatively free once again, she donned her long dressing gown and shuffled into the kitchen with the clinks to which she was growing accustomed and started a brew of coffee.

"I hereby resign from the Darner and Skein Woollen Products Ltd. mill effective Friday, June 15, 1975," Isabel said to herself as she mentally composed the letter of resignation she would put to paper later that day.

She was thinking about how she would get her letter to the mill business office - Ah! Moira can take it for me - when Peter strode into the kitchen in his work clothes.

"I'm going to go to the construction office of that new subdivision and see if they need any carpenters," he told her. "I've brought my journeyman's papers from Nova Scotia but I'll see if they're hiring." Isabel poured them their coffees and Peter sat with her and asked of her plans for the day. "Well, I'm going to resign formally today," Isabel said. "I'll get Moira to take my letter in tomorrow when she comes by later for tea."

"Decided what you're going to wear yet?" Peter asked. "I've got to get going. Let me know." And he gave her a goodbye kiss on the cheek as he stepped out of the kitchen, across the living room and out the front door to the car. Isabel found herself completely alone in the house at 7:45 a.m. Moira would not be here until about 3, she thought. Well, I guess I can tidy up a bit. Get dressed - hm-m-m, what to wear? - and sit out in the sun.

She finished her coffee and clinked into the bathroom to undress, shower and brush her hair. Moments later, she emerged, feeling rejuvenated and sexually satiated, and shuffled into her walk-in closet to pick out something to wear. Her breasts were still too tender for a bra, she thought, so she picked out a white cotton blouse, the straight black skirt Peter liked and some comfortable shoes. Her legs were slightly sunburned so she did not have to worry about stockings - tights were impossible - and the difficulty of getting her conventional underwear on past her shackles required some thought. "Oh, well, I'll try that little loincloth Peter put on me yesterday," she said to no one. "It will have to do for now." She found the piece of chiffon and the gold cord where Peter had left it - on the bedroom chair - and she put it on easily.

Partially dressed, she went back into the bedroom to finish. She looked in the mirror and decided she didn't look too bad - white blouse, no bra (you can still see my nipples, dammit, she thought) - and straight skirt. All pretty conventional, Isabel thought, until she noticed her ankle shackles for the first time that morning.

"Well, I look like a secretary who's going to prison," Isabel said. She brushed her hair and swayed her hips knowingly as she sashayed into the kitchen to finish her coffee and write her resignation letter.

The hours passed with Isabel doing household chores, watching daytime BBC television (boring) and sitting out in the backyard to brown her legs a bit more before Moira arrived.

The letter was in its envelope on the kitchen table when Isabel heard the doorbell ring at 3 p.m. She had spent most of the day in the backyard reading, flexing her legs and walking about a little, trying for the nth time to get used to an 18-in. stride, and enjoying the lingering afterglow of the potent sex she and Peter had enjoyed since yesterday afternoon.

Isabel thought nothing about walking to the front door with her chained steps - she had almost completely forgotten about them - and it wasn't until her friend Moira's gasp and hand to her mouth that Isabel remembered her chained condition.

Moira, dressed in slacks and sweater, stood slack-jawed on the front porch as she looked at her best friend, Isabel, in blouse and skirt, with ankles in sturdy silver chains.

"Isabel! What on earth are those things on your legs?" she asked. Mrs. Moira McPeak felt her nipples go erect under her sweater as she looked at her well-dressed best friend's chained ankles.

"Come in, Moira, and I'll tell you all about it," Isabel said, pulling her friend in by the hand. Moira, two years younger than Isabel, was a slender brunette who had married her grammar-school sweetheart, had known Is. for almost 20 years, worked the same shifts and each had no secrets from the other.

"Did Peter put those on you, Is.?" Moira asked.

"No, some stranger," Isabel said. "Sit in the living room, I'll get the tea and I'll tell you the whole story, including what happened in Edinburgh yesterday. There was this bright light on the road home two nights ago, then a university professor in Edinburgh, then this creepy guy in a pub, then the drive home and last night and . . . . "

Moira listened agog as Isabel recounted the fantastic events of the past 11/2 days and finally blurted out: "My God, Isabel. Do they hurt? How do you walk in those things? What does Pete say?"

"Well, they don't hurt, they just snub my stride to about 18 inches or so. Sort of like wearing a straight skirt all the time, you know, and yes, it's hard to walk with such short strides. But Peter just loves them. Honestly, Moira, I think I'm getting used to them, too. God knows they make me wet in bed."

Isabel's monologue gave Moira some ideas how to rekindle her sex life with her husband, Dennis, but she would wait another day to ask more questions.

The girl talk continued for another hour and Moira was sad to her friend was resigning but said she would keep her abreast of all the news of the mill every day by visit or by phone, no matter what. She also said she would hand-deliver Isabel's letter of resignation next day. It was after 4 p.m. when they heard Peter drive up the road.

"Well, I must really get going and get Dennis's supper ready," Moira said, envelope in hand. She gave her good friend a kiss on the cheek, waved at Peter and drove off.

Supper in Isabel's kitchen was almost a repeat of the night before and by 6 p.m., they were in front of the TV again, this time with Isabel more fully dressed than the night before wearing skirt and blouse and her loincloth underneath. Little did she know that sexy little underthing would be here only garment for the next few days and that heavier chains on her neck, wrists and ankles would be her constant companions in a far-distant land.

Isabel was about to be kidnapped and sold into slavery as an indentured woman to a group of mad scientists in Eastern Africa.