Chapter Nine: Shannen's Story - Day One
They told me to start this under the heading of "Day One". I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t like it. They say I have to describe everything that goes on - what I see, what I hear and what I feel, who I am, what I’m like...
It’s all like some kind of psychology shit. They say that because I’m a writer for Australian Cosmo I should know all about writing - which I do. They say I’m not leaving until they see a change in my behaviour. We’ll see about that. Anyway, if they want to know the full story, they can have it. Like it will do any good.
My name is Shannen. I’m 22, 170 cm tall, with dark hair just covering my ears. I reckon I’m not too bad looking - enough men have told me so. I’ve got a Masters in journalism, so I guess I must have some brains as well. Or so I thought. I guess if I was that smart I wouldn’t be where I am now, writing this crap.
Where am I? God this is embarrassing. But they said if I didn’t tell it like it is they’d start the shocks again, especially that Mary girl - she is some bitch! So here I am, squatting at the foot of the stairs into the basement, in black stockings, black high heels, a dark maroon skirt that shows off my legs pretty well, and a white satin blouse. And no bra of course. (If I say so myself, my tits are my best attribute - not huge, but bouncy enough that men can’t resist them, and no problem with the pencil test. Unfortunately the bitches in this place seem to like them too - to the extent of placing those bloody nipple clamps on them - Jesus they hurt!) So here I am, squatting at the foot of the stairs, writing this stuff in a bound exercise book resting on my thighs. Sound pretty straightforward? It is.
It’s also pretty limiting, too, since there is this chain locked around my waist, with a short side chain locked from each hip to each ankle, which makes it pretty difficult to stand up. But that’s not the real problem. The real problem is that I’m squatting on a piece of galvanised steel plate around half a metre square. Sprouting up from it is a fucking great butt plug which is embedded in my arse. The fact that I can’t rise off my heels means I can’t exactly extract this device, even though my hands are free. I tried it. Oh yes, I can squirm around a bit, and rotate myself in a circle on the plate, but other than getting screwed in the arse in a big way, Shannen really isn’t going anywhere. And just to make sure, the locked collar around my neck with its chain locked to the banister rail would make doubly sure.
And it hurts, too - the butt plug, that is. It’s wide and long, and even though they had the decency (!) to lubricate it, it still fucking hurts, especially when I lean back a little. It hurts to the point where I yelled at them and cried and carried on. Well, up to a point.
There’s this huge rubber ball in my mouth that also hurts - it makes my jaw ache. The Mary bitch locked it in place with a padlock at the back of the wide strap behind my head. I’ve pulled at it and tried to force the ball out, but it’s impossible. My mouth may be big, but it’s not that big. Big enough to get me into trouble, I guess. It’s hard to get any answers in this state. I don’t know how long I’ll be kept like this - I’m told it’s until I write what they want to read. I’m also told it will be when they know it’s the truth. What a pack of stuck up sluts! Talk about arrogant and full of themselves!
So how did I get here? It’s clear to me now that my father is behind it all. He was the one who told me about the party here - about the private nature of it and the big names who would be here. I suppose I should have suspected something. What was in it for him - since when did he owe me any favours? All we have ever done in life is argue, but in this instance I guess I was too keen for the scoop. Too keen to get one up on my boss and the office competition.
So there I was, knocking on the door of this place, tarted up in short skirt and high heels, but looking like a million bucks in all honesty. It was an American chick who opened it - thirty something, I guess, but with a husky voice and a nice smile - or so I thought.
"Hi! You must be Shannen. Come on in. You’re the first. Why don’t you come and meet Monica - she’s organising the do."
"Sure," I said - ever the gullible one, or was it just sniffing for the dirt? I sensed the American chick moving behind me, and didn’t quite take in her words when she said:
"There’s just one formality we have to take care of first. House rules, I’m afraid."
It was all so unexpected when she grabbed one wrist and clicked a handcuff on it in a fraction of a second, before pulling my other wrist behind me and snapping the other link on it. Well, I went right off at that point, so unexpected was the attack. I had dropped my handbag on the floor of the entry hall and found myself propelled into this other room - a study lined with bookshelves - where there was this broad sitting behind a desk, smiling at me and looking ever so up herself.
"Ah, Shannen. Thank you for joining us this evening. Please have a seat."
I probably said something a little inappropriate at that point, namely like what the fuck she thought she was doing. The American was still there, however, and I was pushed most unceremoniously on to one of those stackable type of tubular framed chairs - the sort you get at seminars and which are always uncomfortable after fifteen minutes. The point about this one was that it had a gap at the rear of the seat that my handcuffed wrists slipped through very easily. So easily that Husky Voice had a wide leather belt around my arms and below my tits before I knew it. She buckled it really tightly and I found myself pretty much welded to the chair. I was perhaps even more vocal, which may again have been a mistake. I have a habit of speaking without thinking and I certainly wasn’t thinking too well at this point. I never saw Husky Voice coming with the gag until my head was jerked back by a handful of hair. I opened my mouth instinctively and this big red ball on a strap was wedged between my teeth as easy as pie. Talk about professional. Then there were straps going under my chin, around my head and over the top - everything seemed to be pulled tight at once, making me moan with pain behind the ball. Then something clicked behind my head - something I later discovered to be a padlock.
"That’s better. Thank you Trish," said the chick behind the desk. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Monica. You are our guest for the moment - our guest for as long as it takes."
"Wofff?" I spluttered, shaking my head with incredulity - like I was going to get the gag out of my mouth - not!
"As long as what takes? I hear you ask." She smiled like oozing golden syrup. "You’ll have to figure that one out yourself. I can tell you a few basic rules, though. Firstly, you will remain confined while you’re here. If you misbehave you will be punished, and you will be very sorry. You are a journalist, and, I believe, quite a good one, albeit full of yourself. Your task, before you leave here, is to document your transition into something more approaching a human being. You will record how you came to be here, what you feel, what you see, what you think, who you meet, what happens to you - basically everything. I want to read what you’ve written at the end of the day. It had better be the real thing - any crap and you’ll regret it."
I heard the door open behind me, "This is Mary," smiled Monica. I looked over my shoulder. The woman was tall and willowy, with dark hair tucked behind her ears - an Audrey Hepburn type but with attitude. She was probably the oldest of the three and when she smiled at me I felt a shiver run down my spine. She wore a black lycra top and a leather skirt to mid-thigh. "Mary will be your hostess for today. Let me tell you Mary is not one to suffer fools gladly. More specifically she is glad to let fools suffer - long and hard. All right ladies, I think Shannen can be prepared."
I have to say these bitches were pretty damn good. A rope was tied to the links on my handcuffs and passed to Monica. That’s when they undid the belt around my body and pushed me forward to the desk. I glared at Monica and tried to abuse her, but fat chance with all that rubber stuffed in my mouth. "Mmmpfh!" sounds pretty non-specific as a threat. One of the thugs lifted the rope so it ran over my shoulder and Monica obliged by pulling hard. I felt my wrists pulled up near my shoulders and I would have howled with the pain if I could. With a bit of squirming I worked my wrists to a less hurtful angle, but not before I found myself face down on the desk with Monica standing over me tugging my wrists close to my shoulder blades.
The dynamic duo were on the ball behind me, however, as my legs were pulled apart and my ankles tied to the desk legs. Vulnerable wasn’t the word for it! Next thing I felt was the cold steel of some scissors as they deftly snipped away my satin panties - the ones that cost me fifty-five bucks at the most exclusive shop in town. Somebody was going to pay for those! Unfortunately around that point I had the distinct impression it was going to be me. My skirt was lifted and I felt the air around my arse and pussy. I was wearing black seamed stockings and a garter belt. The tops of the stockings were just above the hem of my skirt - before the A-Team (Arse Team!) hiked it up further. I had a suddenly unpleasant feeling I was not going to like what was to happen next. This was confirmed as a nozzle of some sort penetrated my butthole and a cold squeeze of what I assumed to be lubricant shot into my back passage. I could not help squirming and whining, which - I freely confess - turned up several notches when I felt the tip of the butt plug start to enter my orifice. I whimpered, I admit. I have had dicks up my arse before, and I guess it can be a turn on, but this thing was bigger than I remembered anything before. Whoever was doing the job - I think it was the American chick - did it with expert thrusts, each time penetrating further. The thing felt so huge I thought my sphincter was going to split!
By now I was panting as though I had run a hundred metres, my body tense and resisting, and the piercing pain still coming. I was trying to scream into the rubber gag, biting down on the ball and screwing my eyes closed. My cheek was on the polished desktop, and although it was cool I felt sweat pouring off my forehead. The plug felt like it was five centimetres across and still growing! Desperately I willed my muscles to relax, for by now I must have been keening into the gag in a continuous wail. Suddenly there was a blinding pain followed by a lessening, and I knew it was inside me, deep and filling, as my anal muscles closed around the narrow neck of the beast. I was making pathetic grunting sounds by now, and I realised I was crying. God, this was so humiliating, being bent and spread across a desk and having your arse stuffed with a huge butt plug! I am surely going to get someone for this!
"You’ll have plenty of time to think about your situation," said Monica as I raised my head while my ankles were untied. "You now know what it’s like to really get shafted - just as you’ve done to a dozen people close to you. And to before you start screaming (and I use the word metaphorically, given your present state) assault or deprivation of liberty, think it through. There will be lots of nice photos available of Shannen O’Donnell - to your very own newspaper - if this ever got to court. Think about what has just taken place and how people will react to the famous Shannen O’Donnell getting it in the arse. You can bet there’ll be more photos where that one came from - something to remember before you start blowing the whistle on this place. Comprendez?"
I must’ve looked at her blankly until a hand slipped between my legs and gave the butt plug an almighty lift! I moaned into the gag and reluctantly nodded. I was trembling and hated myself for it. Bitch. She’ll get what’s coming to her.
That’s when they put those bloody nipple clamps on me and towed me downstairs into what seems to be some sort of dungeon area. Those clamps really hurt! I carried on and pleaded but all the noise seemed to come out the same - a sort of mmphing and grunting and hmming through my nose. The pulling on my nips certainly encouraged me to go with the Mary bitch. Talk about the carrot and the big stick - without the carrot. The big stick was up my arse and made me walk uncomfortably. I went down the stairs very carefully. At the bottom was this steel plate with some sort of short pipe sticking up about fifteen centimetres in the middle. That was where they locked the chain around my waist and made me squat over this pipe stub. Mary fiddled about on her knees then I felt something slide home. Suddenly the butt plug became rigid and fixed securely to the pipe stub. Mary then locked a chain around each ankle and secured them to my waist chain. I was stuck in a permanent squat! I mmphed in a mixture of fear and frustration.
"See ya later," said Mary, ignoring my pleas and disappearing up the stairs.
I was left in this state for maybe an hour - I lost all track of time. Then the American chick reappeared with this exercise book and undid my handcuffs. My hands instinctively flew to the ball gag, to try to remove it. By this time I had been drooling steadily and had managed to saturate the front of my blouse. But the strap was padlocked behind my neck and no matter how I pulled at any part, Shannen was not going to get that rubber ball out of her mouth. I tried the butt plug and found another padlock down there, my disappointment and frustration watched by Trish who wore an amused smile at my struggles.
"Better start writing, hon. You can go to bed when you’ve finished."
So here I am.
story continues in Monica's Place: 10. Shannen's Story - Day Two