Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island

by Richard Alexander

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© Copyright 2002 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission

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

(story continues from )

Chapter Four: Christina

Part One

Even though it was a Saturday I found it hard to sleep in. It was pissing rain, but still had that nice sort of feeling that comes when you know you don’t really have to go out anywhere. The walk to the gate to collect the paper was pleasant under the umbrella, the smell of wet foliage almost overpowering but invigorating. I was the only one in the kitchen for a short while, as I pottered about getting my uncomplicated breakfast of cereal and toast. That’s when Leila appeared. With Christina. Of course I didn’t know it was Christina at this moment - not, at least, until Leila introduced us.

“Steve - this is Christina. She’s going to have breakfast with us.”

“Good morning, Christina, “ I said. “Did you sleep well?”

Christina, I should point out, was at this point relatively unfettered. Her ankles sported a short hobble chain about a foot long, between the locked cuffs on her boots, while her wrists were handcuffed behind her. The duct tape was now gone, and her stunning blue eyes were turned fully on me.

“I did once the batteries ran down,” she said with a rueful smile.

I noticed the strap from the corset was still between her legs, and I had to say I felt just a little uncomfortable, although Christina seemed perfectly at ease, even in her half-naked and highly provocative state. I was sort of at ease being around Monica’s team, but having total strangers parading their breasts and wearing handcuffs while I was trying to read the Saturday paper was something I had not quite got to grips with.

“Christina’s just come up for some breakfast, “ Leila explained, fixing a bowl of cereal. She poured milk on it and set it down on the floor. With a practised ease Christina sank to her knees and put her head down into the bowl. Leila told me: “I have to get back to the monitors. I’ll be back to take her downstairs soon.”

I watched Christina as her hair began to get tangled around her mouth as she tried to lap up the cereal with her hands still cuffed behind her back. At length I could stand it no longer, picking up the bowl from under her head and setting it on the table. I helped her to her feet.

“It’s okay - really,” she said earnestly. “I can do it - it just takes time. The deep bowls are the worst...”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I told her. I took a spoon from the drawer and began to feed her the cereal.

“No - please - I’ll get into trouble... I’m only a slave - I have to eat this way, as befits a person of my lowly rank.”

“Nonsense. Want some toast and jam?” Her eyes lit up, giving lie to her claim that cereal was all she was allowed. 

Moments later I was pushing bite-sized pieces of toast past her lips. That was when Monica and Warren appeared. He looked remarkably put out, and I could see the look of dismay on Monica’s face.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Warren demanded. “Monica?” He turned to her for an explanation. Both wore bathrobes - he a white towelling one with the word “Hyatt” embroidered on one breast, while Monica’s was black satin with Chinese dragons on it. Leila appeared in the doorway behind them at that moment.

Monica grimaced. “I - I’m sorry, Warren - there’s obviously been a communication hiccough between some of my staff.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“Well, obviously they will have to be punished.” She moved closer to me and whispered under her breath: “Steve, run with me on this one, please? This guy is an important client.”

“But I didn’t...” I started to say, but I was cut off by Monica with a glare. 

“Leila, fetch the emergency bag, at once!” This was Monica the boss speaking. Leila disappeared, only to return moments later with a smart looking briefcase, which, when opened, revealed all manner of bondage gear neatly packed away. I knew I was in trouble right then.

And that was how I ended up in an extremely uncomfortable position, purposely ignored by the remainder of the girls who appeared for breakfast. Normally guests had their breakfast in their rooms or in the dining room, with the girl responsible for the guest having to prepare these meals. Thus all the team came through the kitchen, where uncommitted staff had their breakfast at the kitchen table or the breakfast bar, seated on one of the barstools. There were four of these and six seats at the kitchen table - plenty of room for the full roster to assemble when necessary. But in this instance, two of the barstools were occupied by Christina and myself, each of us bent into a hogtie, lying precariously on our stomachs atop a stool. Monica had been quick with the rope on me in response to Warren’s demands. I could see she was angry, being shown up in front of her client.

“Don’t these people know slaves are on a strict diet, and only eat in a suitable position?” Warren had ranted as Monica bound my hands palm-to-palm securely behind my back. My attempts to explain came to nothing as a bright red ball gag appeared in my line of vision and found its way into my mouth. I spluttered but could do nothing as she buckled the strap really tightly behind my neck. Then it was face down over the barstool while my knees, ankles and elbows were roped and cinched, and the ankle cinch rope pulled tightly to be tied to my wrists. I whined plaintively.

“Oh shut up!” said Monica petulantly. “How many times have I told you these things, and still you get them wrong! You’re a waste of space!”

“Now her!” said Warren, and stayed long enough to see poor Christina wind up in a similar position, her chains and handcuffs replaced with duct tape, more of which ended up over her mouth. Evidently the ‘emergency bag’ only held limited quantities of ropes and other goodies. Everything else got the tape treatment.

“Come, Monica. Breakfast first, and we can decide what to do with them.” The pair left, and I could feel the embarrassment of Leila who had watched it all.

“I’m really sorry, Steven,” she said. “There’s nothing I can do.”

It was very uncomfortable lying over the barstool, even though it was padded. My back ached, and my thighs hurt where they drooped off one edge. I looked at Christina, lying across the stool beside me. She turned her big eyes on me and perhaps expressed what I took for an apology. Or was it an “I told you so?”

The other four girls appeared at various times during what I took to be the next hour or so, all the while my body ached, and I felt acutely humiliated. There was sympathy expressed by all except Mary, who looked at us with particular interest, as though working out some devious punishment for us. My muscles were starting to twitch. I glanced at Christina. Her head was down and her eyes were closed. I suspected she was more used to this sort of treatment than I was, but that sure that didn’t make it any better. Then Monica and Warren returned. They were dressed this time, and Monica was smiling. It was not a particularly warm smile, at least when she looked at me.

The bonds securing our wrists to our ankles and those binding our legs were removed, allowing Christina and me to totter to our feet; our nerve ends tingling as the blood slowly returned to our cramped limbs. I had barely regained my composure when a black silk scarf was wrapped tightly over my eyes and everything went dark. I heard Monica’s voice whispering next to my ear:

“Stay with me on this, Steve. It’ll sort itself out soon.”

Why did I not have confidence in this line? Why did I feel she would next be saying she’d still respect me in the morning? 

When we had regained our feet, only Leila had been there with Monica and Warren. After that point I could not tell who was watching, especially what Monica put me through next. I felt my belt buckle undone, and the next thing I knew was my arse was in the breeze and Mr Willy was wondering what he should be doing. It was as much the uncertainty of the situation; of not knowing what was coming next that began to get me aroused. I couldn’t help it. Then there was Monica’s or Leila’s hands on Mr Willy, strapping him into some sort of sheath, like a short piece of PVC pipe, perhaps, but one that had a variable diameter, like when you stick you fingers into a roll of paper and twist it into a tighter cylinder. That’s what somebody did to my buddy, and he was not happy. Nor was I. I suspect the sheath was secured at that point, with some sort of tie around my balls, so not only was the cylinder not going to get larger, it was not going to slip off, either. 

Mr Willy was definitely in the discomfort zone now, but it was nothing to what I was about to receive in the other end. 

I felt my shorts disappear away from my feet, and each ankle was secured with a cord, which easily pulled my feet apart. I realised I was standing against the kitchen table, and this was what my ankles were tied to. There was another rope, which was looped through my wrist bonds, and was then pulled up over my shoulders, either side of my neck, and obviously passed to somebody on the other side of the table. 

“Bend forward nicely, Steven. That’s a good boy.” Monica’s hand was on the back of my neck, and as the rope took up the strain against my shoulders I had no choice but to go with the flow. I tried to protest, but not a lot came out around the ball in my mouth other than a bit of whining. I wondered whether Christina had been blindfolded as well, or if she was watching my full humiliation.

The butt plug, when it came, felt huge. I was not into that sort of thing at all, I have to say. A man’s arse is his castle, so to speak, and having a bloody great battering ram penetrate the castle door is not much fun under any circumstances, especially when you’re not used to it. There was the lubrication, sure, cold and slimy, but the invader seemed so much bigger than me! How the on earth did people manage anal sex? If this was anything to go by, the girls must hurt like hell. My sphincter muscle cried out - as I tried to do, but the gag limited me only to a few pained splutterings and struggles on the laminated tabletop.

“Just relax, Steve,” Monica cooed. “Don’t fight it. Accept the inevitable.” The smooth plastic probed a centimetre further and I moaned in pain. It felt like I was being split in two. Then there was a small withdrawal and a further push, and again back and forth. Suddenly there was a sharp pain and a rush as the plug slid inside fully, and my bum closed around the narrowed shaft. The pain was gone, replaced by a fullness that did strange things to Mr Willy - or would have done had he been able to respond. The ropes holding me down were released and female hands tightened a waist harness around me which had a portion that went from the back down between my cheeks and up the front either side of Mr Willy, before fastening on the belt. There was obviously no way my plug was going to come out in a hurry, although after the pain I had just gone through, I don’t think I really wanted it to just at that moment. But in the frontal area, Mr Willy was now well and truly restrained at attention, unable to shrink or expand, or even move from side to side, strapped as he was firmly upright against my abdomen. I really could not believe what Monica was doing to me. My ankles were released and pair of scissors cut my tee-shirt away. Any more liberties you want to take with my personal possessions, Monica, I wondered? Good job it was an old tee. Then there was a collar, perhaps 5 centimetres wide, buckled around my neck, with the click of a chain or a lead attached to it. 

“Chain him to that post,” Monica directed, “while we deal with the slave. “ There followed the sounds of people disappearing from earshot, while I was pulled none too gently a few steps forward.

“Have we been a naughty boy?” purred the voice. My heart sank. It was Mary, probably fresh from giving poor Isobel a good caning, screwing or clamping. “I think you’re in for a rather intense morning.” I could almost hear the smile in her voice. Once again my head was pulled down and I felt the lead tied to the handrail of the balcony so I was again bent over. I started to kneel down, just so I could ease my back a bit, but Mary stopped that. “Did I tell you to kneel? You stay where I put you, Buster!” And I did - but only, of course, after she had tied my legs apart again. Bitch. This was just so humiliating. As was the sharp slap she delivered on each cheek.

Suffice to say Monica wasn’t entirely happy when she returned from wherever she had been. I’m sure Mary’s handmarks were still standing out like beacons.

“Mary, I said chain him to the post. Did I say spread his legs, bend him over and beat him? No! I’m getting tired of this passive aggressive behaviour, Mary.” There was no response, but I’m sure there was either a sly smile on Mary’s lips. Monica untied my neck and ankles, and I was led gently along the veranda.

“Now we’re at the steps on to the path - this way. Now we’re at the van. Stop here.”

I was conscious of my nakedness in the open air. It had stopped raining, for which I was at least thankful – but there seemed to be precious little else I had to be grateful for at that moment. I did as I was told and felt the bottom edge of the double door opening against my shins. I had never been inside the van, nor had I really known of it’s existence other than when I had seen Isobel incarcerated the previous night. I could still not take in the interior, except by my tactile senses. Monica climbed past me into the back of the van.

“All right Steven - lift your right foot and put it on the step.” I wanted to tell her it would be much better if I could see what I was doing, but that would also have been a lot easier if I hadn’t had a big rubber ball firmly strapped in my mouth. Dutifully I hoisted myself into the back, straightening up cautiously. It was in fact quite roomy. I am barely 170 centimetres high, but I could stand upright. It could have been worse, especially when Monica pushed me forward. I edged along, sort of sideways, her hands on my arm, until I was halted, facing - by my reckoning, the left-hand side of the van. I was nudged from behind into a kneeling position, and abruptly found myself at once in contact with warm flesh and a cold metal bar. I did not need to be a rocket scientist to work out that the flesh was Christina’s, that I was being pushed front on to her. 

She provided nice resistance, being about the same height as me, with her breasts squishing into my chest. My head was pulled to one side and in the space of a second I felt our two collars being joined with a clip or padlock. Her head and face were thus above my right shoulder, while mine were above hers. Between us, running horizontally at waist level, was the bar. I did not know how this was fixed within the van - I guessed one end would be bolted to the wall in back of the driver’s compartment, with the rearmost end being attached to a floor-to-roof pole. 

We knelt there, two prisoners separated only by this bar, our wrists still bound behind us, and both of us - I assumed, in Christina’s case - gagged and blindfolded. I could hear Christina’s heavy breathing in my ear - but not in the circumstances I would have preferred, unfortunately. Monica, of course, was not finished, as I felt a rope looped about my wrist bonds again, and drawn between my legs. I guessed it continued between Christina’s, no doubt being tied off around her wrists. Suffice to say before it was fastened it was pulled awfully tight, and I heard a small whimper next to me. I was almost ready to whimper myself, as the butt plug was pulled that much tighter. Not only that, my abdomen - and Mr Willy, in all his protective armour - was pulled firmly against Christina. Coupled with the touch of her hardened nipples, her faint scent in my nostrils, and the plug doing unmentionable things inside me, Mr Willy - not to mention Mr Brain - was sending desperately painful signals to anybody interested. 

I heard Monica climb out, close the door and get into the front, after which there was a murmur of voices and the engine started. Where on earth were they taking us, I wondered? What did they have planned? God, I hoped Mary hadn’t been part of the think tank.

It is hard to keep track of time when you are deprived of sight, never mind when you have a beautiful woman bound hard against you and all manner of indignities are being inflicted on your body. We drove slowly initially - I got the impression we were on a dirt road - but our speed gradually picked up. Perhaps we travelled for half an hour - it seemed an eternity to me, mostly because of the apparently incessant bumps that rubbed Mr Willy against Christina’s crotch. After a while it seemed that the rubbing was happening of its own accord, and Christina’s breathing began to get faster and hoarser in my ear. I found myself moving with her, at times fighting the movement of the van, at times using it to our advantage. 

Occasionally, when we stopped, I’m sure we kept the van rocking. Christina’s breathing began to rasp, as she panted and suddenly began hmmming through her nose. Her movements became abruptly frantic as she pushed herself against me and stiffened, uttering a high-pitched moan from behind her gag. She shuddered and jerked, grunting and snuffling into my shoulder, before going limp - or as limp as she could. It was all right for her. Mr Willy was going frantic, but he had no lubrication and could not grow in any direction. The pain was - in an odd way - exquisite, but what I wouldn’t have given for some sort of relief. I moaned in frustration.

We finally stopped, and the rear doors opened. Our collars were separated and the rope removed joining our wrists. Hands pulled us to the doors and helped us down. 

“I’m going to remove your blindfold, Steven. You’re going to have the gift of sight, and you will be responsible for ensuring Christina gets back safely. All you have to do is follow this road in the direction the van is going.” True to her word, she pulled the black scarf clear and I blinked in the grey overcast.

Surrounded by gum trees, we were standing in a clearing through which ran a narrow dirt track. Warren was smirking like an idiot, while I glared at Monica. But at the end of it all, a walk home wasn’t that bad, though I had no idea how far it was. I moved towards Christina, seeing her plight for the first time. She wore a leather blindfold held in place by a harness of straps that ran over the top of her head and under her chin. In addition to this her mouth was covered by a large cross of duct tape which effectively silenced her.

“Not so fast, Mister,” ordered Warren. “There are certain formalities to be undergone first,” he said, grinning wider. Christina and I then had chains clipped to our collars and were obliged to follow our captors. I noticed Monica wore a small insulated daypack on her back, and I had a nasty feeling I was going to be on the receipt of something inside it. 

We had not far to go in this instance, walking along a leafy path for only a couple of minutes before we reached another small clearing. In the midst of this lay a large fallen tree, and it was to this that we were led. The trunk was that of an old ghost gum, nearly a metre in diameter at its largest point. 

“Straddle it!” Monica snapped. I obeyed, while Christina, still in her world of darkness had to be helped on to the trunk, seated in front, her back to me. I had no idea what was coming, nor was there anything I could do about it when it did. Monica and Warren busied themselves locking leather cuffs about our ankles and linking them together - my right to her right, my left to her left. Next there was another rope about my wrists - I was starting to get a bit tired of these stretch-out routines - this time pulling my wrists backward. I turned my head to watch what Monica was doing, mystified. 

She had a large block of ice - about the size of a beer can, into which was frozen a short length of chain. The block of ice was wedged behind a fork in an upward-pointing branch and the rope tied to it. Then I saw the logic in Monica’s thinking. I was to be stuck here until the ice melted - it was an automatic release system. Christina was treated similarly but differently. She got the same treatment with another block of ice from Monica’s backpack, but this was attached to Christina’s collar, from a forked branch in front of her. Her bound wrists were then secured to her waist with a number of turns of duct tape around her body that all but enveloped her hands and fingers. She was thus pulled forward, while I was pulled back - a situation that obviously wasn’t quite to Monica’s liking. More delving into the bag produced two lengths of fine chain about half a metre long, with a piece of stretchy rubber at one end. At the end of each was a nipple clamp. Oh shit, I thought.

I was first on the receiving end. The clips gripped my nipples with a dull pain, and I could not help moaning and hmmming in as much of a protest as I could manage. Christina probably felt the clips and chains slipped through her collar before fastening on to her nipples. She whined and pleaded behind the tape and I guess I added my voice to the duet as the rubber stretched and pulled us closer. Somehow we had to balance the pain in our nipples against the pain in our respective arms, necks and backs.

Warren and Monica stood back and surveyed their handiwork.

“This little slut got herself off in the van,” said Warren.

“How do you know?” Monica asked.

“Oh I know all right. I know the exhausted look, and I can smell her. And what do you think all that rocking was all about? They sure as hell weren’t escaping.”

“And what do you suggest?

“I’m not a mean person, Monica. If that’s what they want, let them have it, I say. “

“Sounds fair to me. You okay with that, Steven?”

“Mmmph?” I said, not knowing what she meant. Monica moved over to me and fiddled about in the pouch confining Mr Willy. There was an abrupt buzzing in my arse. Jesus - the plug was a bloody vibrator! I tried to protest, but my spluttering around the rubber ball in my mouth was useless. Maybe my eyes widened - I’m sure they did. I tried to plead with her as I sat there. Our feet could not touch the ground beneath the trunk, which meant my full weight rested on the plug in my arse. But of course I wasn’t the only one riding the trunk. Warren took great delight in turning on the toys obviously embedded within Christina, and a high-pitched moan came through her nose.

“You’ll be all right there for a couple of hours - maybe more,” Monica said, flashing her most provocative smile. “After the ice melts you can find your way back to the house. Dinner will probably be ready - maybe we’ll save you some. Oh, and you’ve obviously realised you’ll be having a bit of difficulty communicating, so I’ll make it a bit easier for you. She walked over to Christina and gently peeled off the tape from her mouth. I heard the sharp intake of breath from Christina. “And you can have the pleasure of listening to her carry on, while you must remain silent. But you, of course, can see where you’re going, even if you can’t tell her about it.” Monica was clearly enjoying herself. “And I’m sure you can get your communications sorted out,” she said lightly, turning on her heel and skipping after Warren, who was almost out of sight beyond a bend in the track.

I just couldn’t believe this. Here I was, on a Saturday in Brisbane - a day I’d ordinarily be doing my accounts or maybe strolling through a shopping mall or browsing in a bookshop or enjoying a bit of sport. Instead I was stark naked, chained to a gum tree with a stunning woman in the middle of the woods somewhere. She couldn’t see, I couldn’t speak, and we both had nipples on fire and vibrators buzzing like mad up our orifices. It was just too bizarre to be believed. But it was real.

I came back to reality.

“Shitshitshitshit! Oh godogodogod! This is going to drive me mad!” Christina was squirming and twisting, tugging at the clamps on both our nipples. “Ow! Owowowow!” she wailed.

“Mmph! Owmph” I responded.

Predictably this was going to go on for a long time, and it did. Christina could make no sense for a while as the vibrators drove her to the heights of a couple of serious orgasms. She jerked and cried and screamed in a most undignified manner, no doubt sending animal life into flight for miles around, while I could do little more than hmmm and grunt and moan with even less dignity as she tugged on the nipple chains. The nipple clamps, I have to explain, were perhaps not as bitingly fierce as some I had seen in Monica’s storeroom. They were like a cross between a bulldog clip and a clothes peg, with the pressure spread over a big enough area not to crush the flesh. They did have, however, a kind of corrugated face on the pressure surfaces that convinced me they were not going to be pulled off in a hurry, and certainly not without an awful lot of pain. Which was not to be confused with what they were currently delivering, of course! And naturally, although they were not the most severe around, the longer they were left on, and the more they were tugged and pulled, the more the ache in my nipples grew into a full-blown pain. Christina’s antics helped not at all, as she squirmed and jiggled and kicked against her bonds, at times trying to bounce herself on the log as if she was riding a horse. Her nipples must have hurt like hell too, but she was either more used to it than I was, or she had greater distractions. My distractions were most unsatisfying, for despite all the stimuli Mr Willy was not going to climax, only to beg.

Part Two

I lost track of time. Christina continued to swear and scream and moan but gradually I sensed her exhaustion begin to take hold, as her breath became hoarser and her panting more ragged. I continued to jerk and tug on the rope restraining my wrists, occasionally casting a glance behind me at the ice block wedged in the tree fork. Even this action was not easy, given the strung out state I was in. The ice appeared to be melting, but the chain refused to break free despite my efforts. 

Eventually the humming inside me began to subside, as, I guess, it must have done for Christina. I didn’t know if these were the longest lasting super-duper alkaline batteries on the market or whether they were cheap-and-nasties, but I was intensely glad to feel the final splutter and then stillness.  We sat still for a short while, with only the sound of our heavy breathing and occasional birdcalls breaking the silence of the forest. At length my companion seemed to gather her thoughts.

“I’m really sorry, Steven... I...I never meant to get you involved like this. I feel terrible - in more ways than one...” At least there was a spark of humour still there.

“Hmph!” I said.

Christina then appeared to come to grips with the situation better than I expected.

“One grunt for yes, two for no, okay?”


“You can see, right?”


“Somehow we’re gonna get loose, yes?”


“How long? More than an hour?”

I did a quick guess. How would we know how long an hour was, anyway?


“Okay. I can live with this. At least those god-awful vibrators have stopped. I couldn’t have taken much more. He’s such a bastard, that Warren. And your Monica doesn’t help matters.” I was unable to explain that she was not my Monica, and that I would take great pleasure in doing things to her when I got back. Christina chattered on heedless of my difficulty of expression, however. “I don’t know why I stay with him, sometimes. Well, I do. I mean he’s not short of a buck or two, and he’s a damn good lay. I’m saving up to be independent, you know. I work in a bar, sort of part time, and live with Warren. The other part of the time I’m usually tied up in his dungeon or having him do rude things to me. Which, I have to admit, I adore. Mostly. Then he goes off with other women from time to time, like Monica. And sometimes I piss him off by telling him what I think of him on these occasions.” She sighed. “I have this problem about not being able to keep my mouth shut at the right time. I usually end up having it stuffed with something and locked in place until it pleases him for me to be released.”

We passed the time thus pleasantly enough, with her chattering and me grunting occasionally. Typical male-female conversation. I got the impression that for all her apparent flightiness, Christina was a smart cookie and knew exactly what she was doing with her life. It was during a lull in the life story that I gave another sharp tug to the wrist rope, to be finally rewarded with the sudden release of tension as the ice shattered and the chain pulled free of the tree fork.

“Hhmmm!” I told her in triumph, at once being able to edge close to her back, taking the strain off the nipple ties and giving her latitude to do likewise with the rope securing her neck.

“You’re free!” she exclaimed unnecessarily. “We have to work this out now - where we go from here, I mean. I suppose I will have to guess for you. Should I move further forward?”

“Mph.” It was really hard, squirming our way half a metre further along the trunk, with the dildos driving and squidging inside us. I grunted “stomph”.

“Can we get off?”

“Mph,” I said, for I judged the slack on her collar rope was sufficient to allow this.

“Which side?”

“Epph,” I said.

“Oh good, you can sort of talk. Can you say ‘right”?”

“Aiyph,” I said into the rubber ball.

“Good enough. What do you want me to do? How far is it to the ground from my left foot? More than three inches?”

It was a slow process, but we gradually eased ourselves off the giant log, getting our left feet on the ground and finding ourselves sort of stuck there. Eventually I nudged her forward and we cautiously bent forward until Christina was leaning on the log and I was leaning on her back. Our nipples did not like this, but it was the only way we could slide our right legs backwards and then down to the ground, before hauling ourselves upright, as though in some bizarre slow motion ballet. Christina was enthusiastic about our progress. With further gentle nudging, I moved her away from the log sufficiently for me to get her neck rope free from the other tree fork.

We explored our restraints briefly at that point, but I knew we were up against experts. Our ankles were chained, and offered no scope for release. The nipple chain was so short that I could reach neither my clips nor Christina’s, leaving only the undoing of her hands as a possibility. Alas, I could barely get this far, twisting against the nipple chain only to find the duct tape about her wrists, hands and waist was too tight and too complicated to undo. We were definitely in for the long haul with this one...

It was like learning to dance. Or practising for a three-legged race. It also involved a certain amount of falling down, all of which did nothing for our confidence, but eventually we started to get a rhythm going. I would grunt with my “epph” and “aiyph”, usually with a varied volume depending on how much I wanted Christina to vary her direction. Occasionally I would have to get her to “opph” when something unusual cropped up - like the gate. We had reached what I assumed was the boundary to Monica’s property. It was a wide steel farm gate, a bit over waist high and hinged at one side. On either side the wire fence disappeared off into the scrub. 

The vehicle track turned into two specific ruts at this point, disappearing into a wide muddy puddle about four metres across. There was no way around it. On the other side of the puddle the land sloped up sharply in the form of a steep bank possibly three metres high. The track remained muddy and climbed up through a cutting in the bank. That would be a problem in itself, I thought, because it looked pretty slippery. But first we had to negotiate the gate itself. We had to back through this, with me opening it with my hands. That’s when we fell down in the mud. The gateway had turned to a quagmire - or at least ankle-deep mud. I landed on my butt, with the predictable pain where it hurt most. Christina landed on top of me and in moments we were covered in the brown stuff. At once there was a horrendous stabbing pain in my left nipple, and I realised the clamp had pulled free. I moaned with the pain as the blood flowed back into my punished nipple.

Christina had detected my cry of pain. “Are you all right? What happened? Shit that hurt my boob!”

“Uh camff cuf reah!” I said.


I repeated my joyful news, enunciating every word as best I could.

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. Is it something to do with the tit chain?”


“Really? Does that help us?”

You bet it does, I thought - or hoped. We floundered about for a bit, realising that without the chains symmetrically on our nipples we could turn around and maybe undo something. We decided the only way to really do this was to stand up, and we eventually managed this with much difficulty. I could now manage to twist my body sufficiently to reach the other clip on Christina’s lovely red nipple and release it from its restraint, while the first chain dangled loose.

“Owowowow! Jesus shitabrick that hurts!” She carried on a bit more, but we realised we were a lot freer for that one little bond disappearing. We conferred again, in our current one-sided fashion, and managed to end up back to back, with our ankle chains crossed. This was a major step, for although we were thus pulled closer and more precariously together, I could now properly reach the tape around her wrists.

It was not a quick exercise, but I eventually managed to free her fingers and hands enough for her to attempt to undo my wrist ropes. Again, it was not quick, and Christina muttered and cursed under her breath. Then, abruptly, my wrists were free! I turned around carefully, then undid the gag strap buckle at the back of my neck and prised the rubber ball out of my aching mouth.

“I’ll make Monica wear this, “ I said, tossing it on to the grass. “One good turn deserves another.” It took only moments to remove Christina’s blindfold and the remainder of the tape around her waist and wrists.

“God that’s better!” she exclaimed, blinking her gorgeous eyes in the light, half-turned towards me. 

“It’ll be better still in a minute,” I said. “Excuse me, but I have been suffering in silence here - and I mean suffering - while you have been getting off every five minutes. And getting off rather loudly I might add.” I turned my attention to the harness between my legs, and was now able to undo the buckles and ease the restraint holding Mr Willy in place. I dropped the vertical straps and was finally able to remove the plastic sheath that so wickedly constricted him. It felt so good, and he was not about to relax after all that stress. 

“Maybe I should do the same,” murmured Christina, and began to fiddle with the straps in front of her. She sighed and then held up a large dildo before tossing it on the ground next to her blindfold. Without a word, we then bent in unison and evacuated the vibrating plugs we had carried for the last few hours. It was a strange feeling I had experienced. I guessed it was doubly strange for her. At least the damned thing came out easier than it went in, I thought. The last things to join the pile of devices were our waist belts, collars and the two nipple chains. At this point her tossing of the collar was sufficient to make her foot slip, and we were both dumped in the mud again. We began to laugh. Suddenly life didn’t seem quite so unfair, even if our ankles were still chained together. Suddenly, also, Christina seemed intensely desirable, with those sparkling blue eyes and Venus-like body glistening with brown mud. I could not help myself and I kissed her gently on the lips. She smiled and returned the favour. Mr Willy was at last able to have free reign.

“Oooh - look at him,” said Christina happily. Not half as happy as he was at that moment. From that point it was all on. I guess we figured after what we’d been through we deserved a bit of pleasure to go with the pain, and the mud made a wonderful lubricant - not that we needed it. Our coupling - crossed and chained ankles and all - was brief but satisfying. We ended up grinning like idiots but feeling like we had formed a bond of shared suffering and shared triumph.

“I suppose we should be getting back,” I said eventually.

“Yeah. I guess we should. And Steven?”


“Thanks. Not everyone would have done what you’ve done - and I don’t mean this last little lapse.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “I really couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather spend a Saturday morning chained to by the nipples with a vibrator up my arse. I suppose it’s pretty routine to you?”

“Not quite...” she said wryly, but I suspected there was a story she wasn’t telling me.

After a few minutes to gather up our equipment as well as our breath, we started up the steep track. Predictably it was slithery and we slipped back several times before making it to the top. Here the grass took over the track to a greater extent. We were still out of sight of all but the roof of the house, and I was in full view of Christina’s butt when she slipped again and I fell on top of her. It was again too much for Mr Willy, who was trying to make up for lost time. Admittedly he had help from Mr Brain, to whom Christina was a very appealing sight. She giggled as she scrambled to her knees, and I slipped up against her. There was no resistance, other than to push back. This time it was just a little less frantic than the mud pool a few minutes before. I draped myself over her and grasped her gorgeous breasts, which, although out of my sight line were definitely not out of touching range. She trembled as my hands gently caressed her flesh, still slick with mud. Mr Willy needed no encouragement as he slipped between her legs and she pushed up against me with a long drawn-out sigh. This was clearly no time for delicate foreplay.

I still amaze myself at having done this. I did not regard myself as sex-mad, yet here I was in broad daylight, stark naked, in the middle of a grassy meadow screwing a lady I had only met that morning. And while chained to her by the ankles, no less. Life was bizarre.

As we moved together Christina began to moan loudly. I slowed, but she thrust harder against me. “Faster! Faster!” she gasped, and ever ready to oblige a lady, I did so. She moaned again, then began crying out loudly. Her noise almost spoilt my concentration, but fortunately Mr Willy was on autopilot by this time as I reached a climax and we came together, me (admittedly) not exactly silently, but Christina with a gasping scream.

“Are you trying to bring the whole sheriff’s posse down on us?” I panted, not telling her that her sound effects were in fact quite a turn on.

“My master often has to gag me,” she admitted with a smile. Sometimes when I’m not even tied up. I need something to quieten me down occasionally.”

“I’ll say.”

At length we gathered up the equipment and headed off in unison again, hoping the sound of our climax had not carried to the house. With luck anyone would put it down to crows or any other of the myriad of birds that lived in these bushy parts. The area was now starting to look familiar, and then the house appeared through a grove of trees.


“Yes?” She stopped and I bumped gently into her. She looked over her shoulder.

“What say we get our own back on Warren and Monica?” I suggested. I could see her eyes light up as I explained my idea.

“I’ll get into trouble again,” she suggested, not very convincingly.

“So will I. But possibly not before Monica does as well,” I said. “In any case, you can say I kidnapped you. We’ll cover your tracks. Don’t worry. Trust me.”

“Strangely enough, I do,” she said with a smile that melted my heart.

We detoured along the side boundary through more bush. This sort of terrain made me nervous, for all sorts of spiders, ticks and the odd snake no doubt lived here, and my nakedness made it even more uncomfortable. Christina did not seem phased, however, as we emerged near the garage located across a short stretch of lawn. Feeling like a couple of spies or burglars, we watched the house briefly then decided the coast was clear before doing our jerky hobbled canter across the lawn to the side door of the garage. I took the key from a ledge atop the door and unlocked it. Inside it was cool and dark. There were no windows, and we shut the door behind us and turned on the light. 

“This is my workshop,” I explained. Looking about at the stacked timber and makeshift shelves of tools, a few sawhorses, bench clamps, and welding gear, it was pretty obvious the explanation was unnecessary. It took me only moments to unlock the chains from our ankles. “We have a lot of locks being used,” I told Christina, “but only five different types. All the keys are master-keyed for each type, so there should never be a problem with losing keys. I have a set of keys and locks in here because I use them for trialing things I make.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“It’s probably better you don’t know,” I said wryly. “You may end up on the receiving end one day. They’re usually not my ideas - I just have to make them work. The girls are a devious bunch, you know.” I pulled on an old pair of work overalls that were hanging up, and poked my head out the door. “No one around. Let’s make a break for my room.”

We had to make quite a long detour back the way we had come and then towards the back of the property to get behind the building that served as the sleeping quarters for all except Monica. My room was at one end, closest to the steps, such that all occupants had to pass along the timber planked verandah past my door. I guess in this regard it was the last choice of rooms, but in this case it suited me perfectly, not having to sneak past anybody else’s bedroom. I guessed it must be nearly midday. After all that had happened to me that morning I had totally lost track of time and I had no idea what the girls might be doing on this our first full weekend in business. I had a shrewd suspicion Mary would be up to no good with poor Isobel in the Gestapo dungeons, and no doubt Monica was occupied with Warren. Jillian, I thought, was on monitoring duty that morning, probably looking in on Mr and Mrs Sewell from time to time, while as for Emma, Leila and Trish, I guessed they were concentrating perhaps on more orthodox pleasures of the flesh. Would they be looking for us yet, I wondered? When would Monica start to worry? At that point in time it did not bother me particularly, for I was intending to lie low for at least a couple of hours and this instance lying low might be in the most literal sense of the word.

We slipped in to my room unseen. The curtains were drawn and remained so. 

“Hey, cool rooms,” commented Christina. “You’re doing okay here.”

The quarters were not unlike a hotel room - self contained bedroom/lounge with a large queen-sized bed, ensuite, a couple of armchairs, a small bar-cum-kitchen with microwave and fridge, and good cupboard space. I was more than comfortable. And with a bit of luck was going to get comfortabler...

I was not wrong. Christina was now feeling bright and perky - a feature made more obvious by the time we had washed the last of the mud down the plug hole and had achieved the golden glow that comes with a long shower. Wrapped in my bathrobe, and divested of her white corset and boots for the first time, she looked even more delectable. We had obviously formed a bond during the morning - if you’ll pardon the pun - which went further than the brief physical encounters that had occurred in the bush. I have to say that the next couple of hours were very pleasurable, except for a scare she gave me. I should have seen it coming, when, mid-screw, Christina decided to scream the place down. 

I had visions of a film I had once seen where the schoolmistress’s nickname was “Lassie”, due to an unfortunate tendency to howl at critical moments.

“Ssshhhh!” I placed my hand over her mouth. It halted her briefly but then she was away again, before I stopped totally. “Christina, we’re supposed to be hiding from the forces of order and discipline, not signalling our presence and activity to the whole world!”

Christina looked like she had just returned to Planet earth, or as though she had just dropped the collection plate in church. 

“I - I’m sorry...” she whispered. “Sometimes I just can’t help myself. I lose my reason. I’m just very sensitive at the moment - but please don’t stop. Look, you can gag me - I don’t mind. It’s better if I have something to scream into and bite on. Honestly.” 

The bizarreness obviously wasn’t lessening. I complied, helping her wedge the rubber ball - the one that I had worn for much of the morning - between her lips and behind her teeth, before buckling it not too tightly behind her head. This of course meant that kissing was not a major attraction, but by that time we were a bit past that stage. It nevertheless did the trick. It got a thorough working out but nevertheless proved remarkably effective. Christina bumped and ground her way to her climax, mmphing and panting behind the rubber ball, snorting and moaning through her nose before finally stiffening and hhmmming with a long nasal wail. When we could both find the strength, the ball was removed, and we fell into an exhausted sleep.

I reckon maybe two hours had passed when I was awoken by voices. They were not immediately outside, rather between the sleeping quarters and the house. I recognised them as Monica and Warren. Christina was still asleep. I arose and padded over to the window, peeping out between the curtains. Monica and Warren were arguing. I could not hear the words clearly, but I suspect we were the cause of it all. 

Warren was gesticulating towards the direction we were obviously expected to have appeared from, while Monica simply watched him with her hands behind her back. Then I saw why - they were handcuffed. She looked like she had been getting ready to go out, wearing a short maroon skirt and a black silk blouse, with black tights and shoes. But Monica wasn’t going anywhere, I realised, at least only where Warren decided she should go. And this, it seemed was across the lawn to the edge of the rockery where there was a garden tap on a solid post about a metre high. From our position we were looking side on to the couple as Monica was made to kneel facing the post. Warren pulled a piece of cord from his pocket and proceeded to tie and cinch Monica’s ankles, knotting the cord then looping it and knotting it around the handcuff chain, before pulling the two ends between her legs to tie to the tap in front of her. He then undid Monica’s blouse and opened it to expose her breasts. 

It was the first time I had seen Monica’s figure, and I had to say it was a lovely sight. She was wearing no bra and was obviously pleading with him not to do what he was going to do. Her breasts were not overly large but were firm and - at that moment - the nipples stood erect like dark little beacons.

“One of the local rules of bondage,” smirked Christina who had snuck up beside me. “If your prisoner gets away, you have to take their place. Especially if it’s your client who has paid for the service, haha.”

“I expect poor Monica is trying to convince Warren that we have merely been delayed, and that we will stagger blindly into view within the next minute or so,” I said, grinning. After all we had been through, this was turning out better than I had ever hoped for. Then it was the worst for Monica, as the nipple chain came out from Warren’s pocket and a clip was attached to her left nipple. I saw her wince, then watch in mortification as her captor wrapped the chain around the post and over the tap before releasing the second clamp on to her right nipple. The shortening of the chain meant that now she would have to remain upright on her knees, unable to settle back with her thighs on her calves in a more relaxed position. 

It looked at that point as if she said some rude words, but Warren obviously was satisfied and disappeared from sight round the front of the house. Minutes later the Transit van hove into view and drove past the helpless figure of Monica in the direction of the mudpool at the gate. I wondered how Warren would manage the job of opening it. I was sure that job must have fallen to Monica previously.

“Good luck, pal,” I muttered smugly under my breath.

I let a few minutes pass then walked across the lawn to see Monica. I approached her quietly from behind.

“Hi, Monica. Whatcha doing?” Not one of my greatest opening lines, but it had the desired effect.

“What - How did you get here?” Then her surprise turned to anger at the recollection that I was the reason why she was there. “Where’s Christina? Where the hell have you been? Do you realise the trouble you’ve caused? You should have been back hours ago! Now Warren’s in a filthy mood and I’m stuck here tied to a bloody garden tap!”

“I think he’s definitely getting value for money, though,” I suggested. “You’re his third victim today.”

“Oh ha ha. Very funny. Just get me free, will you!”

“What? Oh no you don’t. Not twice in one day.”

“What are you talking about?” Monica demanded.

“I’ve already had one hell of a Saturday morning, all because I gave a nice girl some breakfast cereal. Look what happened to me then. Now you want me to let you loose with the Marquis de Sade due back here any minute. I’ll probably end up hanging from a tree somewhere!”

“No Steven, you won’t - honest.” There was an abrupt change in her tone.

“Sure. So you say now. Until Mr Moneybags returns in a foul mood because he can’t find his little slave.”

“And where is she? What have you done with her?”

“I’m not going to tell you,” I said smugly, smiling down at Monica nudging the post and tap.

“Steven you bastard! Tell me!”

“After what you and your pal did to us this morning? You must be joking.”


“Well, I must be off. Oh yes, I made myself a little personal promise this morning, in the midst of all the pain I had to endure very quietly.”

“And what was that?” Monica put on her haughty tone, which I really thought was not a good idea, in her position.

“I promised myself, Monica, that you would end up wearing the same gag that I had to put up with.” I fished in my pockets and pulled out the bright red ball on the strap. I saw a look of trepidation replace the professed disdain on her face.

“No, Steven, please - not that. It will be too embarra-arrh...!”

That was as far as she got as I grasped her pretty nose and pulled it gently but firmly backwards, slipping the hard rubber ball between her lips and working it behind her teeth. Her mouth stretched wider and her eyes did likewise as she spluttered and then could only hhmmm through her nose. I pulled her raven black hair away from her face and pulled the strap over the top of it, buckling it tightly behind her head.

“Master Warren will be surprised to see his new slave. Unfortunately his new slave will not see him.”


I said nothing but pulled out her black silk scarf that I had worn as a blindfold that morning, tying it securely over her eyes.

It was now starting to rain very gently. Monica’s silk blouse was beginning to cling to her body. I could not resist a final parting shot, but one I meant most sincerely.

“I have to go now Mon, but I just wanted to tell you - you have gorgeous breasts. “ I ran the tips of my fingers over the smooth skin, just above where the clamps gripped the nipples. She shuddered and moaned in despair, then jerked as I flicked the two clamps in quick succession. I tugged gently on the rope between her legs, then slid my hand gently down her stomach, then down the outside of her skirt, lingering in her crotch then dallying over her thighs. She groaned and hmmed in a way that was almost pleading. “See ya, sweetie,” I said. “Say hi to Warren - if he let’s you.”

I walked down to the back verandah of the house and went into the kitchen. Nobody was about, but I knew business would still be going on. Monica had told me weekends were a busy time, and in this particular specialist line various rooms could be occupied at any time. This being the case, I knew that somebody would be monitoring activities, and so I headed to Monica’s study. Jillian was there, sitting behind Monica’s desk doing a crossword puzzle with one eye on the CCTV screens. She looked up with a surprised smile at me.

“Steven! You’re back! Did you escape? What happened? Monica was going ape!”

“She’s not going anywhere now,” I told her with a smile. “I will tell all in due course. For now I need to know if you have any vacancies?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Rooms, dear. Any rooms to let?”

“Oh. Well sir, at the moment our very popular interrogation room is registered to a Mr Sewell.” I followed her gaze to one monitor and saw a hooded and rubber-suited figure strapped to the interrogation chair which was bolted to the floor. Every so often the figure would jerk and struggle futilely. 

“Any cells available?”

“We have one available, sir. Unfortunately it’s unfurnished, but we can offer discount rates. Our other cell is being used by a Miss Isobel. I watched as Jillian switched over channels. Isobel was manacled to the wall, her hands above her head and her legs apart. She too wore a black bandanna over her eyes - bandannas were obviously all the rage. She was naked from the waist up, her black skirt in tatters. Sweat ran down her face and breasts, which heaved as though with some recent exertion.

“What’s she been up to?” I asked.

“You really don’t want to know,” Jillian told my slyly. “I’m not sure who expended more energy, her or Mary!”

“Has she divulged all her secrets yet?”

“No, but she’s done a lot of screaming and pleading.” Jill grinned.

“I’d like to book the Post Room. Is that okay?”

“Certainly sir. Will that be cash or charge?” I loved this kid.

“Put it on the tab, I think. It will be one of many things I’ll end up paying for later, I think! And where’s the wicked witch of the west at the moment?”

Jillian laughed. “Ze Oberleutnant iss unavailable at ze moment,” she said.

“How come?”

“She’s having a fag out the front.”

“Good. Don’t tell her I’m here. I’ll take my chances. Keep the channel turned off the Post room - that way you can plead ignorance to anything that goes on there.”

“Thanks Steven.”

“No. Thank you. I owe you one.”

I headed out the back again, across the lawn past Monica, blindfolded and gagged, still kneeling against the garden tap. I wondered how long it would be before our friend Warren returned. I suspected he would grow tired of the search fairly soon and would come back to heap the blame on Monica. No doubt he would wonder why her bondage had been enhanced, and he would also wonder about the sign she was shortly to have around her neck. I returned to my room, where Christina was waiting. 

“Get dressed, lady. It’s back into the dungeon with you.”

“Do I have to?” she pouted. “That corset is all muddy.”

“I would strongly suggest you do as you’re told,” I replied sternly, and she went to carry out the command. While she was struggling with her boots and corset, I cut a piece of cardboard and wrote a small sign, then attached a loop of string such that it would hang neatly around a victim’s neck. That done, I helped Christina lace up the corset, tugging the laces tight until the hooks could be done up. It must be torture to wear one of these, I thought. How times had changed. Nowadays only genuine pain-seekers wore them, rather than the entire female population.

Christina and I left the room, making sure there was nobody about. We stopped briefly at Monica, where I motioned to Christina to be quiet. I hung the sign around Monica’s neck. Her hair was now wet, as were her skirt and blouse, which clung damply to her body. It was not particularly cold, though, being only late February.

“You really have been very naughty, Monica, not taking good care of your guests and their slaves. This sign says ‘Please leave me here all night, so I will learn from my mistakes.’ I’m sure Wicked Warren will be happy to oblige. He ought to be back soon.”

Monica shook her head violently and struggled as best she could against the ropes securing her to the post. She also pulled briefly on the nipple chain, and her initial splutterings and wild hmmming behind the ball gag gave way to a plaintive whining as I left. In actual fact the sign said ‘Please take me to the Post Room’. Once again, I was sure Warren would oblige, and I certainly would not inflict a night of torment tied to the tap on poor Monica. I wondered what would be the reaction of Monica and Warren when they found Christina...

The slave and I went inside the house and tiptoed down the stairs. I peeked in the Observation Room but it was empty. Looking through the spyhole in the cell door, I saw Isobel still stretched and spread against the wall, motionless in her world of darkness behind the blindfold. Mary was nowhere to be seen.

I led Christina into the Post Room, where I left her briefly while I raided the storeroom for some ‘goodies’. I had not quite worked out what I intended, expecting to get some ideas from the assorted devices on the walls and shelves of the store. I was not wrong - or rather I was perhaps spoilt for choice. I was now starting to get an idea of what one could and couldn’t do within the establishment, both in terms of standards, and also the physical bounds of one’s imagination and the ingenuity of the “device makers”.

“Hands behind your back,” I commanded Christina. She complied, and remained silent as I wrapped half a dozen turns of thick sashcord about her wrists, securing them palm to palm with several cinches to the wrist ropes. Next the room went dark for her as I buckled a heavy-duty padded blindfold over her eyes. I did not want her to see what was coming out next from my bag of toys.

“What are you going to do to me?” Christina asked. Was there a faint hint of trepidation in her voice? She had experienced a lot with me during the course of the day, but I’m sure she did not know what to expect from me in a dominant situation such as this.

“Does a slave normally question her master?” I demanded.

“No sir.”

“You know better than that, Christina. You also know what fun it is to wait in the world of uncertainty, not knowing what delightful torment is going to come next. And you also know what happens to girls who talk out of turn?”

“They get gagged,” she said unhappily.

“Exactly. Open wide.” To Christina’s mouth I expect it felt like an ordinary ball gag - a hard rubber ball that extended her jaw sufficient to silence her as I buckled the strap behind her neck. I had noticed there were several slightly different sizes of ball in the storeroom, and I guess because I was a softy at heart I selected one of the smaller ones. A feature of this one, however, was the large screw eye that protruded from the front of the ball. This screw eye was ideal for padlocking to a chain or for securing the gag to a fixed point with rope or any other method. In this instance I had taken two identical gags from the store. I hoped Warren would see my train of thought.

I buckled leather cuffs on Christina’s arms above the elbows and secured these together with a short piece of rope. Her arms were going nowhere now, but the blood would still circulate beneath the wide cuffs. I put two more cuffs on her ankles and joined them with a short hobble chain, before ordering her to squat. She did so cautiously, probably guessing what was to come.

This really was getting into the realms of new experiences for me, I had to admit. I had had fun with girlfriends and vibrators before, but would not have seen myself inserting one into a gorgeous woman whom I had only spoken to the first time that morning, and who was now bound, gagged, and blindfolded in front of me. If my mates could only see me...

I had selected a double dildo - the kind intended for two women face to face. Again I was not sure if Christina could recognise the nature of it from the sensation as I lubricated it and worked it inside her. Whatever she perceived, she started making little moans of pleasure as I slid it gently in and out a few times, just to get her in the mood. Much as I would have liked to keep going, I was conscious of time passing and the likelihood of Warren suddenly turning up. I buckled a belt about her waist and secured the dildo in place with a vertical strap that ran from the front down between her legs and joined the waist belt at the back. This I pulled tight so that there was no chance of the thing coming out. Christina now looked like she had in fact grown a very nice erect penis, which was ready and waiting for a partner. With this in mind I pulled a marker pen out of my pocket and wrote neatly on her chest, just above her breasts:


I figured this would be enough to give Warren the idea when he hopefully entered with Monica in tow. I gripped the erect dildo and waggled it. 

“Do you know what this is, Christina?”

“Urrr... epph.”

“Good. You know that you may be able to push it against something to help you come?” She said nothing, perhaps fearing that I might rob her of a hoped-for pleasure. “There are two posts here, as you know. You will be secured between them, and you may be able to climax by just rubbing your new extension against one. Wouldn’t that be good?”

“Epph,” she said after a pause. I suspect she was debating as to whether it was a trick question. At this point I undid a rope wrapped around a cleat on the rear wall, and let the other end of the rope descend from a pulley in the ceiling midway between the two posts. This rope I secured to Christina’s wrists before pulling it and tying it off at the cleat again. Christina uttered a plaintive whine as her arms were lifted up behind her. It was nothing extreme - a very gentle strappado, but enough to have her in stooped position, such that when she tried to reach the post with her new willy, it was going to be not the easy task she had hoped for.

“Okay,” I said, gripping her by the shoulders and turning her slightly. “You are now facing one of the posts. I want you to move forward until your little friend touches the post.” She took several small steps, her arms starting to lift up further, forcing her head lower as she moved forward. I had judged it perfectly. Almost at the end of her progress the top of her head bumped the post. “Very good,” I said. “Now see if you can touch the post further down.” Christina did several pelvic thrusts and managed to touch the post with the very tip of the dildo a couple of time. At that point she was really stretched, however, and it was unlikely she could keep it up. I guessed it might also be a function of how desperate she became or how long it was before Monica arrived. “See? Pretty easy, eh.” Christina spluttered and mmphed something that sounded very frustrated.

“I’m out of here, sweetie. Enjoy yourself. I’m sure you’ll have company before too long. Save something for a friend.” Christina made unintelligible noises into the rubber ball, which I’m sure were not intended to be complimentary to either my ancestors or me. I decided to quit while I was ahead.

Warren had returned by the time I reached the back verandah. He was standing over Monica, a big grin on his face. I retreated inside and hurried upstairs to an empty bedroom at the back. I was in time to see Monica freed - well, her ankles and her nipples, that is. Warren, true gentleman that he was, helped her to her feet, then proceeded to put the nipple chain back and to lead his slave towards the house.

I gave them time to get down to the basement before I ambled back to my room. Time for a good book, I decided, after all the excitement of the day.

I lasted about an hour before curiosity got the better of me and I returned to the house. Jillian was still on watch in Monica’s study.

“Any developments?” I asked innocently. 

“Did you expect any?”


“So take a look at this,” she said smugly.

I perched myself on the edge of the desk as she clicked on to the view of the Post Room. There were three people present. Two of them, Monica and Christina, were locked together, face to face, going through a kind of slow motion waltz. It was just as I had anticipated. Monica still wore the blindfold I had put on her, but her gag had been replaced by one the same as Christina’s - in this instance a blue rubber ball with a stainless steel screwhook protruding from the front of it. This had been padlocked to the screwhook on the front of Christina’s gag. It was literally, ‘in your face’ stuff. Her hair was still wet from the rain, and the silk blouse still clung to her body, but she was now naked from the waist down. Like Christina she now wore a broad waist belt buckled at the front, with a vertical strap from the back down between her legs and rejoining the belt at the front. This strap held the other half of the double-headed dildo securely inside her. 

Monica’s wrists were still handcuffed behind her, and were pulled up above her waist by a rope that looped over her shoulders and under her armpits. This effectively kept her prying hands away from the belt and strap. There was just enough movement for the two women to do what they obviously wanted to do, and they were trying to do this, thrusting against each other with as much rhythm as they could. This was not helped by Christina, whose arms were still secured to the pulley above her. Her hobble chain had been removed, giving both of them more freedom of movement and balance, but whenever they strayed too far from the centrepoint between the posts, Christina’s arms would get pulled up. They were thus restricted in their area, and were unable to sit or kneel. I watched them beginning to work up a rhythm again, grinding their hips into each other, becoming faster. 

The third figure then moved into the picture. It was Mary. She was wearing a short leather skirt, a leather bra and thigh-high boots. I have to confess my loins stirred at the sight of her. She looked magnificent. She also carried a riding crop which she smacked smartly on Monica’s rump to the detriment of the rhythm which fell apart. Christina then received two whacks and tried to get away, but could not, nor did she know where Mary was as she circled the hapless pair.

“Where’s Warren?” I asked.

“He said he had to go to meet someone in town. I suspect he’s probably drinking coffee at a trendy cafe somewhere. His instructions to Mary were not to let the two climax until her returned.”

“Hoooweee!” I laughed. “Life’s a bitch and then you die.”

story continues in