Monica's Place: 2. Testing Times

by Richard Alexander

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2002 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission

Storycodes: MF/mf; bondage; bdsm; cons/nc; XXX

(story continues from )

Chapter Two:  Testing Times

When I awoke, the light was on, and my clothes were folded in a neat pile beside me. I was terribly thirsty, and after dressing quickly, I pushed at the door and felt it swing gently open. 

There was nobody about in the bare corridor. I moved to the stairs and climbed slowly up to the main level. My body ached all over, although I was not covered in the welts I expected. My jaw was stiff, and I had to massage it to ease the pain. I had no idea whether it was day or night, nor what day of the week it was. The last thing I remembered was that it had been Thursday afternoon, and I had been trying to get the Interrogation Centre ready for the weekend, when the dungeon’s first clients were expected. 

It turned out to be morning - early. The sun was streaming in to the kitchen, and I suspected the girls would not be making an appearance for awhile. They usually slept in, depending on whether they had had upstairs clients the night before.

I helped myself to cereal and savoured the freedom of limbs, while my body slowly came to grips with the beating it had been through. A pint of juice later and I was starting to feel just a little better.

"How was it?" Monica’s soft voice came from behind me. I turned. She looked just a little tired, but could manage a smile. She wore a simple short blue dress to mid-thigh, and the sun left her in silhouette as she stood in the doorway.

"I thought I was going to die," I said.

She laughed. "You were in very experienced hands." Memory came back to me of some of those hands doing terrible things to Mr Willy, and halting just short of satisfaction. More than just the hands, too. 

"Were you involved with this?" I accused her, not too seriously.

"I was aware what was going on," she answered ambiguously, a faint smile on her lips. "I was on watch this morning."

"On watch?"

"Our clients are never alone. Didn’t Leila tell you that? One of the cardinal rules is never, ever, let the client go unobserved, whether it be through closed circuit or peep holes, or personally sitting in. We can’t afford to have a cardiac arrest or a choking on our hands. I was watching you this morning, from the IC room. You did very well. Welcome to the Bilboes Establishment." She gave me a warm hug, with a sparkle in her eye. "I’m sure this will be a successful partnership..."

We talked for quite a time that morning until the girls arrived. Monica told me she wanted me to make some sort of discipline helmet - something that could be worn for a long period, but that would be lockable, and would not obstruct breathing. It should be able to be worn hands-free with either a gag or blindfold or both. I promised I would do some thinking, not knowing exactly what she had it in mind for. But then who did, with the enigmatic Monica.

The girls were all smiles and sympathy over breakfast. I felt awkward as hell, but it all seemed to be pretty run of the mill for this lot. 

"How did you like your initiation," asked Trish with a husky laugh. 

"You’re all a pack of bitches," I told her, trying to sound serious.

"Is it a pack, or a flock?" Leila asked ingenuously.

"It’s a pack of hounds so it’s a pack of bitches," I told her. "And don’t be cheeky to your elders and betters."

"For an elder and better you sure looked well out of it, strung up and having your butt whipped," Trish said smugly. I pretended not to hear and concentrated on buttering my toast. "It’s not a bad butt, though," she conceded.

At the end of breakfast, Monica reappeared. It was evidently time for the weekly meeting.

"As you all know, we have our first real downstairs guests tomorrow. Lisa has been making do, as you know, with whatever we can manage. The new clients will be for you, Mary, together with Leila. The rest of you see the schedule for upstairs appointments. Steve will be working today on a little device I have thought up - it will go in Room 3 - that’s that tiny cupboard at the end of the corridor between the Interrogation Centre and what will be the gym. It’s a set of headstocks that will immobilise the head, leaving the client sitting or standing, or whatever we want. Someone will need to help Steve with this - I suggest Emma in this instance - it’s something she may well like to use.

Other business: This morning we will have a practice session. It’s Mary’s turn today to demonstrate an interesting position, and to tell us what to look for and what to avoid in the way of badly placed ropes or how long the client may be left. As usual, I want a volunteer. Emma, Jillian and Leila - get the cards out and cut." This was obviously a regular thing, for the cards appeared in an instant. 

"This is a weekly feature," Monica explained for my benefit. "It’s good for the girls in that it keeps them supple and they learn from the more experienced ones. Most importantly they get to experience the receiving end of the ropes, and to understand first hand what it’s all about. Strangely enough they even enjoy it - depending on who is doing the tying and what toys they decide to use, of course" 

Trish shuffled the cards and slapped them down in front of Emma. She cut: queen of diamonds. Was that a shrug of relief or of disappointment, I wondered? Jillian’s turn: 4 of spades. She smiled - again I could not quite work out the emotion. Leila rubbed her hands and looked around the table, teasing the watchers.

"No sweat," she said confidently, selecting a cut, then changing her mind and picking again. She slid the cards across, keeping them face down. 

"Come on, come on!" said Jillian. "Stop playing to the crowd!"

Leila turned them over. Two of clubs. The girls laughed as one - with relief but expectancy. Leila looked resigned, but was smiling as well. "You will be gentle with me, won’t you, Mary?"

"Of course my sweet," said Mary. Somehow I had my doubts, and I think Leila did as well.

"Very good, team," said Monica. "Eleven o’clock as usual. Where, Mary?"

"Room 6, please." I saw a faint shadow cross Leila’s young face. Room 6 was the Post Room where I had been star-tied between the two posts, and where I had installed the pulleys.

"Anything else?"

"I have one thing, Monica." All eyes turned to me. "Since I’m going to be making all manner of further devices and instruments of restraint and torture, it would make sense if we formed a database of both your own measurements and also those of your clients. By this I mean height, neck size, waist, head, and so on."

"Inside leg?" smirked Leila.

"Especially inside leg," I said firmly. "This way you can have various appliances already set up for your clients before they arrive. More to the point, I will then have a range of measurements for which I will have to cater in making these things. I think we should have a formal measuring session."

"Sounds eminently sensible," Monica endorsed. "Spoken like a true anal retentive. Tuesday morning - eleven o'clock. The dungeon should do nicely for this, yes?"


"See you all at eleven, then. Don’t be late, Leila!"

"No Mistress," was the demure reply. 

Emma was a willing helper, even though, as with most women in my experience, she didn’t quite empathise with tools and construction techniques. While we were working, I asked her what her background was.

"I was born in Hong Kong," she told me, but my family emigrated to Australia before the handover back to China, because we feared what the Communists would do to it."

"Are you sorry you left?" 

"No, not now, although at first I was unhappy, losing all my friends. That’s when I met Jillian - we were at school together. I went on to do nursing, and ran into Jill again later when she became involved in rehabilitation work at the hospital where I worked. We kept in touch, and eventually she introduced me to all of this."

"So how did you come to be part of this?"

"I..." she looked at the floor. I knew I had asked an embarrassing question. "Steve, you understand that we’re all here because we want to be, but our motives are different from each other. Monica is our brain, and also our little money chest. She’s the one who organises us and comes up with the ideas that best suit our talents. 

"Mary is an actress. She loves to humiliate people. She is basically nice, but she has this mean streak, you know? It doesn’t matter who she gets to work on. Leila will know all about it this morning.

"Trish is sort of like a mother to us - well, not to Mary, but to the rest of us. She seems to have seen it all and done it all, but it hasn’t made her cynical yet. She still has faith in human nature and doesn’t take life too seriously. She’s always someone I can talk to and know it will go no further.

"Jillian, as I said, is my friend from school. She‘s been doing this for two or three years, but only since being with Monica has she got into the kinky stuff. She’s like Mary in that she enjoys dominating people, male or female, in the dungeon. She gets right into it. She’s always learning, always experimenting, looking for something different. She’s very ambitious. She wants to take over from Monica, one day. I don’t think Mon wants to do this sort of thing forever.

"And Leila is the youngest of us. She’s so bubbly, but I worry about her getting into this kind of life. You have to be so careful, you know? If it isn’t things like Aids, its weird people getting strange ideas - stalking you or fantasising about you. There’re so many funny people out there - and not just men, either."

"And how does Emma fit in to all this?" I asked cautiously.

Emma paused before answering. "You seem like a good person, Steve. I don’t mind telling you this. Jillian and I became lovers two years ago. But it went further than that. Jill introduced me to bondage, and I discovered I’m a submissive. I like being bound and chained. I love the feeling of helplessness and the uncertainty of things that might be done to me. After she’s tied me up, Jill can drive me crazy and I can’t help myself. I just go to pieces." She stopped, blushing.

I finished screwing down a section of steel angle on to the floor. As I did so, there was the sound of voices behind me.

"Time for our lesson," said Emma, smiling at me. "Poor Leila." 

"Really? Don’t you wish it was your turn?"

"Mostly. But sometimes Mary scares me."

"I think that’s the intention. She certainly scared me!"

We entered the Observation Room, along with Monica and Jillian. Leila and Mary were already in the Post Room. Trish was nowhere around. Presumably she had been there, done that.

Both women had prepared for the part, I saw. Mary wore a variation on her last incarnation as the Gestapo Queen. This time it was the same boots, sheer black stockings and a short black leather skirt, topped with a black lycra body shirt. She looked all business.

Leila, on the other hand, looked nothing if not apprehensive. She wore nothing more than a white tee shirt and satin maroon running shorts. She glanced furtively about, looking at us, although I knew she could not see through the one-way mirror. All she could see was a young girl about to become the victim of something unknown and beyond her control.

Mary’s voice came through as clear as if she was in the room with us.

"All right, you slut - get those clothes off!" Her words were sharp and commanding.

"What?" Leila had clearly not expected the full treatment of role-playing.

"This is part of setting the scene," Monica explained to us. "Establishing dominance over the victim and humiliating them through forcing them to do what they don’t want to."

"But I thought - " Leila started to say.

"Silence!" snapped Mary. "You’re not able to think! If a thought so much as entered your brain it would get lonely! Now get those clothes off!"

"But I - " She looked pleadingly at the mirror, but saw only her own reflection. "Monica?"

There was a slap as Mary whacked Leila with a flat paddle. With sudden alacrity Leila dropped her shorts and slipped out of her tee shirt. Underneath she wore a black halter-neck bikini, obviously intending to catch some time around the pool. Somehow I had my doubts as to how quickly that might be going to happen.

"Turn and face the wall!" Mary commanded. Leila did as she was told. Mary seized her by the hair and pushed firmly her against the wall. "Spread your legs! " she ordered. "Hands behind your back!"

Reluctantly Leila clasped her hands behind her, her face still against the rough blockwork. Expertly Mary buckled a wide leather cuff on to each wrist and locked each in place with a small padlock. Then she locked the cuffs together with a larger lock. The keys were clipped on to a chain around her neck. She drew Leila backwards by the hair again, turning to face the mirror.

"We’re now ready to proceed, Monica."

"Go ahead, Mary, " said Monica into the microphone, "but I want no rope burns and I don’t want Leila too exhausted to work tonight."

"Trust me," Mary said with a wink that Leila could not see. "The first thing I’ll be showing Leila, is how tender her nipples are. She thinks she already knows this, but there are ways and means to demonstrate it. First we have to lose the top."

"No, Mary, please..." 

"Don’t be stupid, girl. We’ve all seen you naked. You’ve seen Steve naked - it’s only fair that he gets a return show." With that she wasted no time in pulling a couple of strings that let the halter-top fall away from Leila’s breasts. They were very nice - not large, but perky - the type that never have to fear the pencil test. Leila tried to turn away, but Mary held her shoulder. "You face the mirror until I tell you not to, girl!" Leila complied meekly, her head downcast. "Now, you understand what these are for?"

"Oh no, Mary, not the clamps, please!"

"Would you like to be gagged, Leila?"

"No, but please don’t put those on me - I have very sensitive nipples!"

"And we’re about to find out how sensitive, aren’t we." Mary held up the clamps to the mirror. They were about five centimetres long and not as heavy as some I had seen in the storeroom. "The proper thing to do with nipple clamps, Leila dear, is to put them on when the body is relaxed, like now. Stay still."

"I -ow! Ow! It hurts!"

"Now the other one - there."

"Ow-ow-ow! Please take them off! They hurt awfully!"

Mary’s reply was to pull out a wide leather belt, and to loop it around Leila’s upper arms, trapping them with a single movement. "You will note that the belt goes above the elbows, people - less likelihood of stopping the blood flow there, and much better for tender skin with a broad strap."

"What about my tender nips!" wailed Leila.

"Tell me what you feel now," said Mary, slowly pulling harder on the belt, tightening it until Leila’s elbows touched.

"Ahhhgh! It hurts more! You’re stretching my tits! Oh please take them off!"

"You’re absolutely right, sweetie. Pulling your arms behind your back makes your chest muscles stretch, which puts more tension on the clamps. But there’s more! Come back here, between the posts - that’s right."

"No, please - what are you going to - oh no, not this, pleeese!" Mary knotted a rope to the lock on the cuffs - a rope that went overhead through a pulley, then down to another pulley at floor level, then up again. The arrangement made it very easy for Mary to place the tension on Leila’s arms, as the mistress began to lift her pupil’s arms. Leila was whining now, pleading desperately.

"It’s hurting even more - please stop, Mary! My tits are on fire! Please take the clamps off! I’ll do anything you want! Really! Ow-ow-ow!" She was now staring at the floor, bent at right angles, her wrists and arms pulled at 45 degrees above her body. That was as noisy as she was destined to get. In the midst of an ‘ow’, Mary slipped a ball gag into Leila’s open mouth with the slickness of a true professional. Leila tried to shake her head, but knew she was well and truly beaten. Mary finished off the job with a blindfold of a silk scarf. Then she turned to the mirror, taking centre stage and ignoring the muffled whimperings from the bent figure. Several more pulls on the rope and it was tied off to a convenient cleat on the post. Leila was now bent nearly double, standing on tiptoes to try and take the strain off her arms. 

"Leila can do nothing now," Mary told the audience, obviously pleased with herself. "She has no idea how long she’ll be left to suffer like this. She doesn’t know if I will stick a vibrator up her bum, or maybe up the front way. And does she realise what a target she is for a sound thrashing? She’s in darkness, with only her sense of hearing and the feeling of pain to keep her company. She doesn’t know what will come next. Will it be the strap?" Mary caressed the tautness of Leila’s butt, then abruptly tightened one of the nipple clamps. Leila spluttered and moaned, hopping from foot to foot. "Or will it be more nipple pain? Leila is now at her most extreme position for nipple pain - her arms pulling her chest muscles as tightly as possible. Is it time to hang weights from them, perhaps? What do you think, Leila?" There was a shake of the head and a moan. Mary meanwhile had picked up a riding crop and with a deft flick snapped it against Leila’s buttocks. The girl almost leapt off the ground, tugging frenziedly against her arms.

"I said no marks, Mary!" Monica’s voice was harsh and commanding over the intercom. "Unless you want to end up like that too - for the afternoon!"

Mary seemed to collect herself. "Sorry." She left the room and joined us in the Observation Room. 

"This place is a business," Monica told her sternly. "It’s a business based on people. If those people are hurt, then we all lose money, and the business won’t sustain itself. Think about that. My orders were clear." Monica and Mary locked eyes, but it was never going to be a contest. "Have you anything else to add?" Monica added, more quietly.

"Sorry Mon." Mary turned to Emma and Jillian. "That strappado is a very severe position. Leila is young and supple, as you two are. But be careful with your clients. Most of them will never sustain that. Leila wouldn’t last more than fifteen minutes, perhaps twenty, but she doesn’t know that, because I’m in here telling only you guys. It’s all about the unknown, the uncertainty. I think Steve can vouch for that. Am I right?" I nodded. "Her nips are on fire and her arms are nearly out of their sockets, but not quite. Just to show I’m not a total bitch, it’s perhaps time to give darling Leila a little pleasure. Is that all right with you, Mon?" Mary smiled archly. I wondered whether the ‘pleasure’ would be much of an alternative...

Mary returned to the victim, and untied the pulley rope, slowly lowering Leila’s arms. I watched as she slowly straightened up, her blind head trying to interpret the sounds she was hearing. Mary gave nothing away.

"You think that was bad, Leila. It was just a taste of what is still to come." Leila shook her head and whimpered trying to plead through the rubber ball in her mouth. Drool was now running down her chin and on to her breasts. Obviously just to prove her point, with two quick movements Mary slipped the nipple clamps off. Leila gave a squeal of pain that even beat the gag, shaking her head again and moaning through her nose. "Spread your legs!" Mary rasped in her ear. "Go on - wider!" Mary rapidly fixed a spreader bar of aluminium between Leila’s ankles. It was telescopic, with a butterfly nut in the middle to secure the bar at the desired length. At each end there was a wide leather cuff that kept the bar snugly at right angles to the ankles. 

Leila was moaning almost continuously now, her breath coming in pants through her nose. I could see her breasts heaving, and I had to say I was not a little aroused. There was something terribly stirring about such a sight, something primitive and hormonal. As far as Leila was concerned, she still had more torture in store for her. Since being taken down her nipples had been stung and her legs were now under strain. There came some relief only when Mary released the awful strap locking her elbows together. But then the rope-pulling started again. This time it was different, though. Leila’s wrists started to go up her back, bending at the elbows. With a few deftly guided nudges from Mary, Leila’s wrist cuffs abruptly slipped inside out, and she found them nearly up at her shoulder blades. She whined pitifully, and the raising stopped. At least she could still stand upright. Or maybe that was Mary’s point, as she fastened a wide collar around Leila’s slender neck, buckling it around the rope tied to her wrist cuffs, so that there was now no way that the prisoner could bend her head forward. Leila was now unable to move other than perhaps in a circle centred on her rope, taking waddling steps with great difficulty. But she clearly wanted to move as little as possible anyway.

"I thought this was going to be a little reward?" I asked Monica.

"Just be patient, Steve. Mary may be a bit psycho sometimes, but she knows what she wants."

I’m sure Monica said this having seen the wide rubber strap that was Mary’s next rabbit from the hat. Clearly this was not an exercise where you simply tied somebody up. Every rope had a purpose - was part of a larger whole. There was a master plan - an end goal, and Mary knew exactly what she was doing. She hooked the strap to an eyebolt in one post at about shoulder height, then ran the strap down between Leila’s spread legs, and up to be fixed identically on the second post. Suddenly the bondage had taken a whole different turn. Leila now had a subtle and continuous pressure on her crotch - a pressure then made tantalisingly more stimulating when Mary hung a flat vibrator around Leila’s neck. It dangled down as far as Leila’s pussy, bumping against the taut black lycra of her bikini bottom. The vibrator was about the diameter of a tennis ball, and its unexpected presence made Leila suddenly tense, wondering what was going on.

"It’s playtime, sweetie," Mary murmured to her captive. "What a pity you’ll have nobody here to help you play... But there’s lots of time. You’ll have the whole afternoon. See you later, babe."

Mary left the room, slamming the door behind her, and joined us in the observation room. Mary, Monica and Jillian were grinning hugely. Emma was not quite sure, and I could see she perhaps wished she was in Leila’s place.

"She’ll be happy there for a while," Mary told me confidently. The position is not as stressed as it looks. Her legs are not so far apart that she’s straining, and that position with the arms is quite okay, as long as you don’t pull the wrists too high. What you don’t appreciate, Steve, is what Leila will soon be going through. The vibrator will be just enough to get her horny. She’ll soon forget about who might be watching. Then she’ll start squirming around trying to get some more pressure on her pussy from the rubber strap, but the problem she’ll have is that she can’t bend forward or move away from where the vertical rope holds her. Then she’ll try to trap the vibrator between her pussy and the strap, but try as she might she won’t be able to. She can’t get her hands to the vibrator or the rope, nor can she raise or lower the vibrator any other way. It’s just too low to sit nicely on the strap – it’ll keep sliding off. After half an hour, or perhaps less, she will be as randy and frustrated as all hell. That’s when we maybe have to give her a little helping hand. Or perhaps tell her that she has only another fifty minutes to go. Monica makes the call."

It was difficult working in the corridor outside for the next hour. The girls had gone away, with the exception of Emma, who was helping me fit the headstocks. Visions of lovely Leila, blindfolded and gagged, squirming on the rubber strap while trying to achieve an orgasm kept filling my head. I focussed on the job only with difficulty, finally getting to the stage where I could get Emma to try it out. 

It was a very simple concept, but the actual construction was quite complicated. Essentially the main part of the device was a pair of horizontal stocks made from matching six by two’s with a hole cut for the neck. The rear plank was set at the back of the small alcove. At each plank end there was a hole through it, through which passed a screwed rod, which extended from half a metre above the floor to two metres higher. These rods I had scrounged from a demolition store - they were from a building with high-level windows that were opened and closed by a winding mechanism. The handles came with the rods, and were located at the base of them. Simply put, by winding the handles the planks could be made to go up and down to suit the neck level of a person sitting, kneeling, standing, however tall or short they were. But there was much more to it than just this. I positioned Emma standing with her neck in the rear half. The front plank slotted against the rear one, and locked with two hasp and staple locks. Emma looked decidedly apprehensive, still not understanding exactly what the end result would be. At the back of the rear plank was a vertical block of wood, about 25 centimetres square, faced with a couple of centimetres of polystyrene. Two other blocks sat at right angles to this, and slid against both sides of Emma’s head. They, too, were faced with polystyrene, but with recesses for the ears. I snuggled them close against Emma’s head, and tightened them with butterfly nuts. Emma’s head was now nearly immobile, but she could still move it forward just a tad. The final nail in the coffin, so to speak, was a square frame that rotated through a vertical arc around a rod fixed behind the rear block. I lifted this over Emma’s head, and she looked uncomfortably at the bar across the front of it. At right angles from this was a short rod to which was fixed a white ball gag, looking like the big knob on one of the old-style floor shift gear levers.

"Open wide, Emma dear," I told her. 

"Do I have to? How long are you going to leav-" That was as far as she got. The gag sat at the front of her mouth until I started screwing the front bar down the threaded side rods, thus forcing the gag into her mouth. It was something I had to be very careful with. It was a mechanical method of tightening, and, unlike a buckle round the back of the neck, was something that could perhaps put much greater force into the mouth. I watched until the ball nestled just behind her teeth.

"Comfy?" I asked. Emma whined. "Can you move your head? Try for me." She tried, and managed a small twist within the confines of the three sides of the restraint. I tweaked the side wing nuts again, thus making her head absolutely rigid. "Now try. Any movement? "

"Uh uh," was the muffled reply.

"Now, you can’t reach the winding handles can you?" Emma flapped her hands in the general direction of the handles, but with her head held rigid, she couldn’t even come close. "Now, can you reach the gag frame?" Emma lifted her hands and managed to reach the frame around the front of the front plank. Clearly hands would have to be secured out of range. That was what bondage was all about. "I need to get something to keep your hands under control. I don’t think I can trust you not to get loose. I have a problem with people doing that to me. Stay here for a minute."

Emma looked at me with big brown almond eyes, making my heart melt. If she hadn’t told me she enjoyed this sort of thing, I might have relented. This was the first time I had ever tied up a woman, and I had to admit, it was a bit of a turn on. But I did not want Emma getting loose for Monica to see. She might well be watching on the CCTV even as I turned my back on my captive. 

I was going to go to the store to get some rope, but in so doing I had to pass the Post Room. I could not help myself, rationalising that there would be some spare restraints in here.

I opened the door, just in time to see poor Leila going through a little jumping motion off both feet. The room was warm and sweat was streaming off her body. The silk handkerchief around her eyes was soaked, and her blonde hair was wet and matted against her neck. At the sound of the door, she froze.

"Mmph?" she asked, her voice a high whimper. "Mmmph mpf?" There was desperation in her question, even if I couldn’t translate it verbatim. I was sure it was something like "Who’s there?"

"Shh, it’s only me, " I said softly, not knowing quite why I was trying to be quiet. Leila suddenly became animated at the sound of my voice, making lots of moaning noises and trying to express her frustration through the ball filling her mouth. I could hear the vibrator humming vigorously still, hanging beside the rubber strap just near her pussy. There was no mistaking Leila’s desperate pleading now. While the circumstances were strange, the intent was familiar to me. I took pity on her. I moved across the room and stood beside her, picking up the round vibrator.

"Is this what you want, Leila?" The girl almost sobbed, nodding her head imperceptibly. I pulled at the waistband of her bikini, and let the device slide down out of sight. Leila raised her head and gave a high pitched moan of pleasure. She began squirming with pleasure while I looked for some rope to take back to secure Emma. I found a length and was heading for the door when another whine from Leila stopped me. She grunted some more - pleading again. I got the impression that things were going to be even worse unless I intervened again.

"What’s the matter?" I whispered. "Nothing to push against?" She nodded again. "Need a hand?" I asked, sympathetically. Her voice at once moaned repeatedly in the affirmative. I slid my hand down to her crotch. She was streaming wet, and I could feel the vibrator through the lycra. I cupped my hand against the device and pressed it firmly against her pussy. Leila squealed and moaned, her breath starting to come in ragged pants. I could not resist licking and sucking on her nipples as they jiggled in front of me. It took perhaps only ten seconds until Leila climaxed with a ferocity that left her wailing into the gag, her body convulsing and jerking uncontrollably in her bonds. So fierce was her orgasm that she would have collapsed, I’m sure, had I not been there. Reluctantly I undid the rope at her wrist cuffs, but I did not have the keys for the locks on them to finish the job. But at least she could now move forward, back or down.

"I have to go now, Leila. I’ll probably get into trouble, but I couldn’t watch you like this." Leila gave a couple of muffled squeaks that might have been thank you, and managed to nuzzle my chest with her head, before I left her, sagging somewhat on the rubber strap. Now, however, with the vibrator still lodged in her pants she was able to move towards one of the posts to get as much crotch pressure as she needed. How much freer she would get I didn’t know. I picked up a few more things from Mary’s bag of tricks lying nearby, and stuffed them in my pocket, then closed the door quietly, shutting out the panting sound.

Emma was still there, wrestling with the nuts on the gag frame, which fortunately I had tightened with a spanner. I suppose I could have put lock nuts on them, but tying Emma’s hands was going to be a bit more fun. I got her to put them out in front of her, palm to palm, while I bound her wrists with a number of turns of the white sashcord. The trailing ends I pushed between her legs, picking up the pieces at the back. Emma was wearing khaki shorts and a teeshirt; I pulled the rope tightly through her crotch, knotting the rope behind her in the small of her back, then winding the tails around her waist and knotting them in front. 

"I’m going to get Monica now. I want you to be ready for her. " I lifted Emma’s teeshirt, knowing, from the hard points showing through, that she was wearing nothing underneath. Emma had lovely tits - much fuller than Leila’s, and quite unexpected on a girl of Asian extraction. The nipples were hard and jutting, just asking for a plastic clothes peg to be pinned on each - which I did. Emma was not expecting it, and squealed into the rubber ball, tugging at the ropes to try to get her hands up higher, but she had no chance. I undid the belt to her shorts and dropped a flat vibrator - identical to the one tormenting Leila - down her knickers. Emma looked at me and her eyes shone. I rebuckled her belt and pulled the buckle out of reach of her hands. I’m sure if she could have smiled, she would have. Then I went to find the boss.

I met Monica coming down the stairs to the basement. She looked at me strangely.

"The headstocks are ready," I told her. "Emma’s trying them out at the moment." Monica followed me down the short hallway to where Emma stood, nearly on tiptoes after I had given the handles a last tweak. The clothes pegs quivered on her flinty nipples as she tried to manoeuvre the vibrator inside her shorts with her hands bound almost between her legs. Her head, predictably, remained immobile, the ball gag stretching her mouth and holding her tightly.

"So, you think you know a bit about it all now?" Monica asked, the hint of a sarcastic smile on her lips.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"Not in the sense that Emma is well secured. That’s good. And the head frame is excellent. You will see what I want to do with it all. There’s a plastic bucket in the laundry - fill it with water and bring it here, will you?" I was back inside a couple of minutes with the bucket. Monica had been busy in the meantime. She had removed the clothes pegs and the vibrator.

"There’s a fine line with some of these things, Steve. Some situations demand pure pleasure or pure pain. Some require a mixture. This is something special. It is something much more insidious than pain - something that requires a focussing of the mind. You’ve heard of the Chinese water torture? Isn’t it appropriate we have Emma to try it out for us? The falling drops of water should be her only contact with the outside world. Emma will be blindfolded when we leave. She’ll be in darkness, unable to move, see, or speak, and there won’t be anything to hear. Nothing to think about except when the next drop will fall. "

Monica had hung a rope over a hook I had fixed in the ceiling, precisely centred over Emma’s head. Monica took a small penknife out of her pocket and, rolling up her shirtsleeve, pushed it to the bottom of the bucket, where she twisted and screwed a small hole in the bottom. Moments later I was holding the bucket - now tied to the rope - up high while Monica pulled on the rope. She hauled it as high as it would go, with the handle touching the hook, before tying off the rope around a cleat I had fixed, not knowing at the time what she had had in mind. I could see her idea now, and so could Emma. The drips coming through the hole fell steadily on her head. It was only a small hole, and the drips landed around once every five seconds. Emma rolled her eyes upward and began to get agitated as the realisation dawned on her that a whole bucket of water was going to take a long time to empty through one tiny hole. She moaned incoherently behind the rubber ball.

"Now don’t forget those little drops of water, falling, falling down... Each one will get heavier..." Monica’s voice was a whisper now as she pulled two pieces of silver tape from a roll and taped Emma’s eyes closed. "It’s like listening to a person snore - the intake of breath, then waiting to exhale... One drop lands... how long until the next? Count the seconds... Is the bucket empty yet? Each drop pounds on your skull, knocking it’s way into your brain... How long will you remain sane, Emma Cheng? Come, Steve. We have work to do." She took me by the arm and we turned away from where Emma struggled with the incessant drip, drip drip from above.

"You’ve been a naughty boy too, Steve"

"What do you mean?" I asked, not sounding very convincing. 

"Don’t try to lie, Steve. I saw what you did to Leila. I’m an avid TV watcher, you know. There’s always something good on one channel or the other."

"She was going crazy. I had to do something."

"And you did. But let me make this very clear." She looked at me steely-eyed. "I run this outfit. I decide who does what to whom, and for how long. There are reasons behind all of my decisions. You will not take matters into your own hands again, understood?" I nodded. "I think you’re getting turned on by the whole scene here. Good, but only when you’re ready for it will you be let loose on other people. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Mistress." I meant it to sound sarcastic, but somehow it didn’t come out at all that way. It sounded kind of…right.

"Good," she said. "We will consider your punishment for this disobedience in due course. I’ll think about it over the weekend. Now let’s see how darling Leila is getting on."

She pushed open the door to the Post Room. Leila had worked her way along the rubber strap so that she was hard up against the post, which neatly divided her breasts. She was still blindfolded and gagged, of course, her legs still spread by the bar, but the maddening desperation that had been in her movements the last time I saw her had been replaced by a kind of contended warm fuzzy, as she slowly rubbed her crotch against the tightness of the strap stretching between her legs. So engrossed was she, so lost in her own sensual world, that our presence took her by surprise. Monica made her start by suddenly seizing her hair and jerking her head back. 

"You little slut! People pay good money here to get special treatment from you, and you’re going to be too tired to offer anything! Fat lot of use you’ll be tonight." Monica put her hand down the girl’s bikini and pulled out the vibrator. "Look at this - it’s soaking wet. You’re disgusting." Leila seemed to be past caring. I was sure she would be smiling once the gag was removed. Monica unhooked the strap from one post, then gave Leila several hard thwacks with a paddle on her rump, to bring her back to the world of reality. Then she undid the spreader bar and removed the sodden silk blindfold from the captive. Leila blinked in the light, the look of relief almost palpable as she brought her legs together.

"Go and find Mary - she has the keys. Tell her I said you can be undone."

"Mmmph! Mmmph!" Leila spluttered.

"Well perhaps it’s about time you learned to communicate better, since your mouth is stuffed full so often. Now go, before I get the riding crop!" Leila needed no second bidding, and scampered out the door, her cuffed hands rattling behind her.

"That’s the entertainment for the afternoon, Steve." 

"What about Emma?"

"Oh she’s okay for a little while yet. She doesn’t have a booking for tonight anyway. So - let’s do lunch!"


story continues in