|The Abduction of Monica|
|by Richard Alexander|
|firstname.lastname@example.org - All comments welcome|
|© Copyright 2009 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission|
|Storycodes: M/f; M/ff; bond; gag; nipple; electro; torture; toys; cons/nc; XX|
|The Abduction of Monica 12: Pain & Pleasure by Richard Alexander M/f; M/ff; bond; gag; nipple; electro; torture; toys; cons/nc; XX|
Chapter 12: Pain & Pleasure
|continued from Chapter 11
It was about midnight when I turned the light out, but it took me a long time to go to sleep. I should at least have taken a cold spoon just to settle down, but once I had got over the distraction of the naked female tied to the chair, my head became filled with thoughts of Monica and Mary and what they were going through. Predictably, the unknown nature of this only made matters worse. My mind became over-imaginative, with a worst case scenario always hovering in the dark recesses.
At some stage I dropped off – I have no idea what time it was. The stress and exhaustion caught up with me, I guess. My sleep seemed to be filled with weird dreams that I couldn’t quite grasp. Monica was there with Sofiya, I knew, but I couldn’t quite see them. It was one of those nights where sometimes you’re not quite sure if you’re awake or asleep. There were strange noises that might have come from Sofiya, or might have been in my dreams.
It was light when I awoke. The bedside clock said six thirty three. For a moment I was confused, wondering where I was and why. When I had got my head around that I wondered what had awoken me, realizing that it was sounds coming from the chair by the kitchen door. I climbed out of bed and wrapped a towel round my waist. The early morning light through the curtains was not quite sufficient to make out details of the form tied to the chair. I could see Sofiya moving, struggling in her bonds.
She did not cry out, not in the way I might have expected. When I turned on the light I saw that her eyes were closed and her mouth was open. She was panting hard making deep rhythmic grunting sounds. As I moved closer to her a chill ran through my body as I saw a mass of thin red stripes on the flesh of her stomach and further red marks encircling her breasts.
My God, what were we getting into here?
I grabbed her by the shoulder but she continued to struggle. It was as though she was in a trance as she strained and twisted in her bonds. Tears welled through closed eyelids and ran down her cheeks but it seemed she could not utter anything more than the same suppressed cries. I had heard this before and the idea filled me with dread. Had I not seen Sofiya myself I would have sworn the sounds were those of a gagged woman undergoing a painful flogging.
“Sofya! Sofie!” I shouted, shaking her again. It seemed to make no difference. I grabbed the scissors from where I had left them on the table the night before and slit the tape on one of her wrists. At once she pulled her hands around to the front and covered the mass of red marks. I cut the ropes at her shoulders and waist and the one holding her head up – it was no time to be undoing knots – and she bent forward with a gasp.
Moments later I had her ankles free and she had curled into a ball on the chair, her body shaking with sobs. I draped her robe over her and put my arm around her shoulders, not knowing whether she was mentally back from wherever she had been until she whispered my name. She looked up, the tears still flowing but she was now focused. Finally she managed to get to her feet and I held her tightly, her head buried in my shoulder, her breasts pressed hard against me. Ordinarily this would have been far too much for Mr Willy, but in this case Sofiya’s distress – and my own – were uppermost.
We stood there for a long time before the trembling in her body slowly subsided. She wrapped the satin robe tightly around her and I helped her to the sofa, where she curled her legs up beneath her while I made two cups of coffee. She leaned against me and I undid the remains of the rope from her hair, letting it tumble about her shoulders. We sat sipping the hot liquid in silence while I waited for her to gather her thoughts.
“I…I’m sorry…” she said at length. “I’ve never known anything so intense… I can’t explain properly. It was like dream, but much more real. Was like Monica and I were same person. More real than dream. More real because you were here, too. Like amplifier. You and Monica have special relationship, you know? Did you have dreams, Steven?”
“Uh…yes, sort of. I know I had them but I can’t remember them. I know you and Monica were both in them.”
Sofiya gripped my hand. Her robe fell open and I saw further red marks across her breasts. She followed my gaze.
“Oh,” she gasped, seemingly surprised. She put her hand to the silver collar at her throat and slid her fingers beneath it, as though feeling her skin under it. “Are there marks here, Steven?”
I looked and saw a red mark on each side of her neck, but higher up from the collar.
“Yes, but not right underneath.” I touched the points.
“It was like fire… Terrible pain at my neck… It was as though my whole body wanted to fall down. I couldn’t do anything. My arms and legs wouldn’t work properly…”
I brushed away the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks again. Sofiya took a deep breath to compose herself.
“I’m sorry. You have not good impression of Russian police officer. Monica… I have so many thoughts, impressions, sensations… Because I couldn’t move, could not escape – things were so much more intense. But I could not see! Everything was black. I couldn’t speak, no matter how I tried! It was so… powerful. There was pleasure – deep…” She put her hand between her legs, thrusting down the shiny satin between her thighs, then flushing with embarrassment. “Then it turned to pain. Pain here, then everywhere – my neck, my breasts, my stomach, my legs…” She seemed to retreat into her dream, as though replaying her experience to try to gain more understanding.
“I remember only the pain and the fact that I could not escape,” she said, half to herself. “I think… I was being whipped. I couldn’t move,” she repeated. “For a moment the pleasure had been wonderful, like nothing I have done – then it all went bad…”
She eased the robe open further and I saw the livid stripes on the inside of her thighs and across her belly and breasts. She touched the red rings encircling her breasts, as though wondering what they meant and how they had got there. I was mortified at what I had made her go through, and how I had slept through it.
“Do they hurt?” I asked.
“A little,” she admitted. I wasn’t sure if she was just being brave. She gently moved her fingers over the smooth creamy flesh of a breast, touching the redness that now seemed slightly less distinct than it had before. She did not flinch as she did so.
“Like sunburn,” she said. “Not so bad.” She seemed to overcome any self-consciousness as she caressed the darker aureole around her nipple. “Is a bit sore, too,” she added matter-of-factly.
“You mustn’t do this again,” I told her. “It’s bad enough that Monica suffers this without both of you experiencing it.”
“But how will we find Monica?” Sofiya countered with irrefutable logic that left me with nowhere to go. “It is through pain that we make contact. The pain and pleasure make connection like I never have before.” She turned her gaze on me. “Seriously, Steven. This is something special. Like I said. It was like we were one – like twin sisters. Have never experienced this before. Maybe it’s being tied. I’m sure it is. Maybe we are much nearer to Monica, maybe it’s the intensity of the pain and pleasure… I don’t know. But I know she is alive and we are getting closer. That makes this thing too important to stop.”
I couldn’t argue with this, but seeing her suffer like this wrenched at my gut. It was one thing for a subbie to undergo such treatment – which they would willingly pay for. Seeing Sofiya – a vanilla - on the receiving end was a different matter entirely.
“Are we getting closer?” I asked.
“Much closer than yesterday,” she said with a little smile.
“Even I figured that one out.”
“Much closer but still some way to go.”
“North, I think. Yes.”
“Where is that?”
“Maybe a couple of hours away. A big city,” I added, suddenly conscious that someone from Siberia might not be that well up on New Zealand demographics and geography. “One and a half million people.”
“Oh. Much bigger than Vladivostok. But I think Monica is not in city. I could not see anything in this session, but I have memory of forest outside window. Green trees. Not city. No city noise. I think we drive to Auckland – maybe past it. We try again. Do this again. I know if we get closer.”
And so we began our bizarre quest. I had images of motel bondage sessions stretching out ahead of us as we tried to find Monica and Mary. Nothing about my life ever seemed to be normal.
* * *
While Sofiya showered and recovered, I set up my laptop, not looking forward to what I might be going to see. Sure enough, there was an email forwarded from Jill at Bilboes, only fifteen minutes previously. They were still rising early in Brisbane.
“Dear Steven – another email from Warren. There’s nothing I can say about it that we haven’t said already. No real news at this end, though Paul’s people have been analysing some of the images through the windows of the last video clip. They were looking at the vegetation – we can see tree ferns and some sort of tree they say is a kauri. The advice is that there are forests of these still standing in the country north of Auckland. Other than that, not much help, I’m afraid. How are you and Sofiya? Please take care of yourselves – don’t do anything reckless. We are all thinking of you. Will let you know immediately we hear anything. Paul has the New Zealand police on the case and wants you to call a DI Loughlan in Auckland the moment you discover anything – if you do, that is. He seems a bit sceptical.
Anyway – be careful, be safe.
All our love
It was with great trepidation that I double-clicked on the email simply titled “Day 3”. There was no message, only the movie clip attachment. I was glad Sofiya was in the bathroom, for I didn’t think it was something that she should see. Part of my reasoning was that it might colour her own impressions and insights, although if pushed I might have admitted that I wanted to protect her from such a sight for other reasons perhaps more altruistic.
The scene opened with a view of Mary, kneeling on a small but stout wooden table. Her ankles were locked in shackles fixed to the edge of the table that left her feet separated and hanging over the edge. At the other end an upright steel frame made of pipework contained a yoke of sorts that trapped Mary’s neck and wrists about twenty centimetres above the table top. It was a very awkward position, for the distance between the frame and the ankle shackles was such that Mary could not sit back on her haunches. Rather, her weight tilted forward to rest on the yoke, while her buttocks provided an upraised target for anyone who wished to take advantage.
Around her waist and between her legs was a chastity belt of the severest kind – the kind that not merely prevents entry to the two most private holes but is designed to accommodate plugs in those very places. A close-up showed the torture that had been and apparently was still being applied to Mary. Her buttocks were striped with marks from a cane or whip, as were the exposed soles of her feet. Leading up to the steel band passing between her legs were wires which terminated in small red and black raised plugs – a pair in the rear, and one near the front of the crotch.
The camera moved back slightly, revealing the other ends of the wires attached to a small control panel mounted on a raised trolley. Every few seconds a light would blink on, hold steady, then go out. There were two controls - obviously backside and pussy – and each time the respective light came on a related series of diode lights came on, like a rising temperature, probably denoting the intensity and changing through green to orange to red as they rose. It wasn’t hard to correlate the effect as the lights turned red and Mary’s body quivered and jerked, rattling her restraints.
The camera moved around the front and we saw Mary’s hands clenched tight as the pain or pleasure – there was little doubt it was the former – zapped her. Her head was trapped in a full leather harness with black pads covering her eyes and the tube and squeeze bulb from an inflatable gag dangled below her chin. Small square steel clamps hung from her nipples where they had been screwed tightly in place. Mary was trapped in a dark world of pain and possibly an occasional burst of pleasure to accentuate that same pain. Her struggles within the unyielding steel frame would be fruitless and only generate more hurt. She would have no concept of the passing of time, only that what lay ahead of her and for how long she must endure it were unknown.
Her body jerked again and a low moan came from around the gag filling her mouth. Her hands clenched again and she strained against the steel frame but to no avail.
Then the camera shifted, swinging around and briefly taking in the interior of the room. There was no doubt it was still part of the same building where the previous clips had been filmed. Gloomy brick walls and a high roof with massive exposed wooden trusses told me that it was some sort of old factory complex, although glimpses of greenery and blue sky through the windows suggested it was likely in the country. I paused the movie and tracked back just to get a glimpse through the window again. There were certainly trees, but I could also see a hill in the distance – unforested, grassy, with white dots that might be sheep. I clicked the video on to ‘play’ again.
The camera continued to pan and I could barely suppress a gasp as I saw Monica. Again, it wasn’t the severity of the position so much as the familiarity of it – the similarity to the way in which Sofiya had spent the night.
Monica was bound to what we called a dragon bench – a kind of chair with a high back and a spit seat that held the victim’s legs apart and allowed unimpeded access to those sensitive erogenous zones and – in the case of males – the dangly bits. Heavy straps were pulled taut across Monica’s limbs at ankles, below the knee, across her thighs and around her waist. Two more straps held her above and below her breasts while her arms had been pulled behind her and obviously secured there.
Monica’s head was entirely covered in a black leather hood and it was a fair assumption that she was gagged beneath it. A rope tied to a metal D-ring on the top pulled her head back immovably against the high back of the dragon bench. Still around her neck was the enormous steel e-collar, with a little green blinking light underneath the square protrusion at the front. Like Mary, Monica was blind and silenced, trapped in a black world of sudden pain and with unknown tortures before her.
But Monica’s tormentor had not stopped at simply binding Monica tightly to the bench. He had used big plastic cable ties to encircle each breast, forcing it into a taut globe the size of a softball. Not content with this, he had attached similar vice clamps to Mary’s on each erect nipple. Cruel red marks criss-crossed her smooth skin at breast, belly and thigh, while beneath her, on a metal pipe braced against the floorboards, a large dildo disappeared into her pussy.
As I watched, the light on Monica’s collar came on and she seemed to go rigid for several seconds. I could see the muscles in her arms and legs stiffen and those in her abdomen contract. Her fingers clenched and feet stiffened, the dangling nipple clamps shivering with tension. There was a stifled scream and the collar light went out and Monica seemed to slump to the extent that she could within her bonds. The camera zoomed in on a bead of sweat that slid from under the shiny steel collar and slid down past her breast. I could see the muscles under her skin starting to spasm with the strain her body was being put under.
The light came on again and this time Monica trembled and quivered like one possessed. The final movement of the camera was to zoom in to a small note taped to the pipe just below Monica’s pussy. It simply read “Day 3 – 97 to go”.
As the video ended Sofiya emerged from the bathroom, a towel round her hair, wearing a short denim skirt and a pale blue silk blouse. She looked at me expectantly as I shut down the laptop.
“What was it?” she asked. “Are you going to show me?”
“No. It wasn’t very nice.”
“Monica and Mary?”
“Why won’t you let me look?”
“As you have said previously, it will spoil your own insights,” I said, though in reality I simply thought Sofiya was too nice a person to see this depravity. No doubt I was totally naïve, for you don’t get to be part of the Russian police without seeing the worst side of human nature, yet somehow Sofiya seemed to have shrugged this off. If she had encountered such, it did not seem to have affected her basic goodness. She was obviously where she was because of her special gift, not because she was a crime-fighting superwoman.
“Will you tell me anything?” Her manner was not demanding, but trusting of my judgment.
“Of course. What I can tell you will probably be no surprise. Monica was bound almost as you were last night – or more likely it was the other way around. The circular marks around your breasts were made by plastic cable ties – like the one I used to connect your wrists. Your nipples were sore because she had clamps on them, and… well… there was a large dildo involved.”
She nodded gravely.
“Why couldn’t I see anything?”
“Monica was wearing a leather hood and was probably gagged underneath it. You were replicating her inability to cry out.”
“And my neck?”
“She wore an electronic collar – it shocks the wearer and induces weakness and may cause them to fall over, depending on the severity.”
“It really hurt,” Sofiya said in a small voice.
“Are you okay now?” I asked, putting my arm around her, for she suddenly seemed to desperately need reassurance. “Do the marks still hurt?”
“They’re much better. They’re fading. They do not last for long, I think. Did you hear from your friends?”
“Yes. They’ve been analysing the videos and they think - like you - that Monica is north of Auckland somewhere, though they weren’t specific. But the latest video suggests the country, based on a snatched view through one of the windows.”
“So, I’m hungry. Can we get some breakfast? I think we should set out soon.”
We packed our belongings in the car and set off, stopping for a short while at a café for cappuccinos and pancakes. For someone as slightly built as Sofiya, she could put away food when she set her mind to it.
Then we were out in the rich green pastures of Waikato, following the broad Waikato River northwards towards Auckland and whatever lay in wait beyond.
* * *
continued in chapter thirteen
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