The old workshop is deathly quiet.

Silence occasionally punctuated by the pigeons cooing as they nest in the roof, or wind rustling around the decrepit building. It isn’t perfect, and it was true to say that most of the tools no longer work properly. It is a remote location, surrounded by a labyrinth of hostile, overgrown trees and vegetation.

Over the years, lathes, presses, saws and other heavy machinery have slowly been replaced by less agricultural equipment. Leather restraints and harnesses hang from the wall. A row of metal cuffs, clamps and other grim instruments are laid out.

But I forgot to mention the new sound echoing through the dank construction. A low, rhythmic snore. The rumble of someone slumbering soundly in their chair…….

CEO Ariel is sleeping off the effects of the chloroform rag used in her kidnap. The lean and haughty bitch never quite understood the value of being a considerate employer. I feel that once she awakens, the stark reality of her plight may force a change of attitude. Naked, apart from the heavy straitjacket, ankle cuffs and the new slave collar, her gleaming high heels and glasses remain on for the moment.

The cleave gag holding her panties in her mouth will soon be changed for one of the many gags housed in the old workshop. The straps of the straitjacket are pulled spitefully up through her crotch…..but it won’t be the first object stuffed in her from now on.

The road to academic success often skirts the tumultuous route of torture and doubt.