Chapter 9: Intransigence

As it turned out, my ingenuity failed to have the desired effect. Helena's daily routine involved periods encased in her Plastolite shell and it was certainly the case that she made an amusing addition to my accommodations. Unfortunately the effects of her imprisonment were, at best, temporary.

Certainly while Helena was encased in her Plastolite shell she became, of necessity, subdued. Unable to move or to express herself she did, as I had imagined, become turned in on her own thoughts. Released from her casing, though, she soon reverted to her original character.

Without the restraint of the Plastolite head covering, she was able to (and indeed did) give vent to her feelings using her wide-ranging and frequently inventive vocabulary. I used a variety of gags on the girl over the coming few days. None of them had markedly better effect than any of the others. And, of course, in every case as soon as the instrument of silence was removed, Helena's stream of invective immediately returned. Looking back, of course, my actions were as futile as pushing a cork in a pipe and expecting the water to go away. However, in my frustration at failing to make significant progress with Helena's adjustment, I must confess that I became rather blinkered.

The next events should have come as no surprise to me.

She attempted to make her escape from Highgate. After a long day's session posing I had released her from the Plastolite case and placed her back in her cage. I sent the resident maid to take Helena some food while I returned to my study to work on Helena's case notes.

After some thirty minutes the maid had not – as I would have expected – returned. I had requested that she should provide me with a glass of claret once she had finished ministering to Miss Voutrakis. I went in search of her, determined that if the girl had forgotten she would soon be provided with something to remind her.

As I approached the cellar, I could clearly hear Helena's voice saying, "You fucking love it, don't you?"

A quiet moan was followed by Helena's urging, "Go on, push it into your cunt, get it right in. I'll squeeze your tits a treat if you do. Fucking love it, don't you?"

I pushed open the door to the cellar. Helena had evidently used her seductive influences to good effect. My maid, Lucy, stripped to her underwear, was sprawled on her back on the whipping bench, writhing in a frenzy of sexual excitement. Helena, now dressed in the maid's uniform, was standing beside her encouraging her to plunge one of the dildoes from the rack on the wall into her sex. On the bench beside her a pair of handcuffs and a gag taken from the cellar's store cupboard lay in wait, I imagined, for the moment when Helena would pounce and leave her victim helpless.