Monica's Place: 10. Shannen's Story - Day Two

by Richard Alexander

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© Copyright 2002 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission

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

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Chapter Ten: Shannen's Story - Day Two

I can’t believe what is happening to me here. If yesterday was bad, today has been awful. Monica came down last night and took my writing away. I guess that was what started it all. They let me pee before locking me in a cell for the night - thankfully releasing my cramping legs but leaving the butt plug in place and locking it there by sliding the waist chain through ninety degrees and locking the two loose pieces between my legs under my skirt. They told me I would be fed, but that feeding would stop the moment I made any noise whatsoever. 

In the cell my wrists were secured with leather cuffs behind my back again and I was made to kneel on the cold floor. A bowl of some sort of pasta was put on the floor in front of me, along with a bottle of water with a straw in it. I was told I had five minutes to finish my dinner and the ball gag was unlocked and pulled out with a sucking sound. My jaws ached and it was difficult to eat with my arse in the air and my arms pulled behind me. I was only part the way through, interspersing my chewing with quick slurps of water when they came back and took it all away. I started to protest which was probably not very smart. Trish and Mary sat me on the bed and pulled a black rubber swimcap over my head, covering most of my hair. Then they wound about three miles of silver duct tape around my head, over foam eyepads, mouth and chin, leaving me silent and blinded. My wrists were unlocked and fastened to the corners of the bedhead, then my ankles were roped likewise. That was Shannen secured for the night, I thought, until a muffled voice came distantly through the bindings around my head.

"You’ve been very unkind with your writing, Shannen. Not at all nice or complimentary. You realise you’ll have to be punished for that." 

I began to tremble, lying in the darkness, not knowing what was going to happen. The pain came instantaneously on each nipple as some form of clip was released on each one. I squirmed and moaned, writhing around on the plastic-covered thin foam mattress, tugging at my bonds, but it was hopeless. I could not get my hands anywhere near my tits to try to rid myself of those awful pincers. I admit I cried, under the foam eyepads, the tears stinging my eyes. I was pleading and begging beneath the layers of tape over my mouth but to no avail. At length I guess my thrashings subsided as the pain in my nipples grew to a dull ache. I had no idea what time it was - well after midnight I suppose - but I finally fell asleep, exhausted. 

I was awoken after what seemed like no time at all. Hands were shaking me and I had no idea where I was or what was happening, other than that when I tried to move my arms and legs they wouldn’t, because of course they were still tied to the bedframe. There was suddenly a piercing pain in my nipples and I moaned and cried into the tape covering my mouth, my breath coming in rapid pants through my nose. Those horrid nipple clips had obviously been removed and the blood was returning to my poor nipples.

"Shannen! Can you hear me?" It was the voice of the Mary chick - the Audrey Hepburn lookalike with the mean streak. I moaned in the affirmative. Mary’s voice was low and even. "We’ve been reading what you wrote, and also some of the testimonials we’ve received about you. 

"You know what, Shannen?" said the voice next to my taped head. "You’re full of shit. And do you know what that means? Well?" I shook my head in my dark world. "It means, bitch, that you need to have the shit cleaned out of you. You need to be purified, if you like. You need to have that big mouth of yours filled with other things that will have a cleansing influence. And the same can be said for that tight little arse of yours. You must also remember that the things that have come from your mouth have hurt people. You may be a shit-hot journalist but you have no respect for people’s feelings, and you need to understand how it feels to be hurt. Do you understand?"

I didn’t know how to answer. What did she mean? Suddenly – perhaps for the first time – I was really afraid. There was something chilling about this woman in whose power I now lay totally. I moaned, hoping it came through somehow as the appropriate response.

My wrists were undone, but before I could savour the relief at being able to bend my elbows again, my silk blouse was stripped off and the wrist cuffs were joined on a short length of chain behind my back. My ankles were likewise released and then joined by a short hobble chain. I was then pulled to my feet, my skirt was removed and the chain around my waist and between my legs was undone. Then that hated butt plug was removed none too gently. It had been in all night – or however long I had been there, that is. 

"I said you were full of shit," said the voice. "Better get rid of some of it now." I was pushed on to the toilet bowl and managed to perform my ablutions in a kind of contorted way. I hated the fact that Mary was watching me sitting there. Perhaps the fact that I was blindfolded with the tape and could not actually see her made it bearable. At least she couldn’t see my face redden, as I’m sure it did. 

"Would you like some food?" she then asked. I nodded. "I’m sure you would," said Mary. "Unfortunately we can’t always have what we want in life, can we."

"Mmnnn?" Were these people going to starve me?

"You’ve always got what you wanted, haven’t you, Shannen – one way or the other. Maybe it’s a new experience for you to be at the mercy of someone you have no control over – who has total control over you, in fact. Puts a new light on things, doesn’t it?" I said nothing. I couldn’t.

During the night I had managed to rid myself of my high-heeled shoes, since they were starting to pinch my feet. Invisible hands now put them back on and tape was wrapped around them to stop any repetition of such obvious rebellion. I was naked except for my stockings, garter belt and shoes, my wrists and ankles chained, and my head swathed in tape. Shannen was not a happy teddy, and I suspected things were going to get worse very shortly.

I was right. I was walked across the small cell to some sort of frame and made to bend over it. It felt like a kind of sawhorse made of pipe, on a small platform, with a padded bar over which I was bent. My wrists were unhitched and a pair of hands grabbed each. I realised now that there were two jailers in the room. The wrist cuffs were secured down near my ankles, but on the opposite side of the frame, my arms spread at 45 degrees and stretched tight. Then my ankles received the same treatment. The world seemed to go quieter, bent double like this, save for the increased pounding of the blood in my ears. At that point the whole platform, which must have been some sort of wheeled trolley, began to move as I was transported to where my fate lay. It did not take long. There were dimly perceived sounds of heavy doors opening and closing before I came to a halt. Then I heard Mary’s voice hissing menacingly beside my head.

"Shannen, it’s time for your payback. For all the hurt you’ve inflicted on others, and for what you are about to receive, may the Lord make you truly thankful." Things went quiet for a bit. I felt myself trembling, and tugging on the cuffs I quickly discovered was futile. Then the voice was back. "You’re also a slut, Shannen. Has anybody ever told you that? You show yourself off like a hooker. You have very nice legs – very shapely. Nice arse and tits, too. But you need to bring a little more decorum into your life – don’t you think? Maybe you need more encouragement to cover up."

I was totally unprepared for the searing pain across my left butt cheek when it came. I jerked involuntarily on my bonds, a scream stifled by the tape. Another slash to my right cheek! I jumped, or tried to. My restraints held me tightly bent over the frame. It felt like a riding crop that was being used – a burning pain that saw me frantically ‘mmming’ and making keening sounds behind the tape. The strokes continued at random intervals, my butt receiving the full treatment. I was by now wailing and jerking like mad in my bonds, having lost all semblance of dignity or self-control. I did not count the strokes – the pain made even that concentration impossible for me. I thought I would die. I thought things could never get worse. I did not realise the process was to be carefully extended over several hours in varying forms. 

In rare moments of lucidity Mary’s words about my tits, arse and legs came back to me, usually when those parts were receiving some horrible punishment. After the crop on my backside came the flogger on my legs, particularly the tender insides of my thighs. Mary also seemed unable to resist the odd flick at my pussy, which almost made me pass out with the pain.

During the pauses in my whipping my own words were thrown back at me – the words I had written while squatting uncomfortably at the foot of the stairs and – I admit – abusing those I had encountered in this house. 

"It’s not nice to call people bitches, Shannen. You shouldn’t make threats in your writing or say bad things about people. What you wrote last night was really just like your magazine column, wasn’t it – all invective and malice. You really should control yourself a bit more. Perhaps we should do it for you, yes?" Thwack!

"Hmmnn! Hmmnn!" I shook my head despairingly.

And of course it seemed that these people could not leave my tits alone. Despite the pain of my legs and backside, the bite into my nipples brought a new depth of agony as some form of clip was attached to each. The beating continued, this time with some sort of flogger, like a flexible ping-pong bat. Then it was weights on to the nipple clips which sent me screaming and crying and burbling behind the tape. I thought the horror would never end, but of course it did. They finally left me alone, the whipping having stopped and the weights off my nipples, but the clips still on. I was shaking and trembling, bent over the frame. My skin felt as if it must have been flayed away, but at least I still had my stockings on, for the little protection they must have afforded me. I was crying as much as I could, my eyes stinging from the salt and sweat also running from every pore in the warm cloying atmosphere of my prison.

At length my tormentors returned. I was freed from the frame and my wrists were cuffed behind me. I was pushed against a solid timber post and a broad belt was buckled around the pole and my body, just below my tits, holding me hard against the timber. My backside and the backs of my legs were excruciatingly tender, like the worst case of sunburn I had ever had. Any contact with the post sent new waves of pain through me, but at least I was now the right way up, and at least momentarily more comfortable. I felt the cold steel of some scissors between the tape and my cheek as my head wrappings were snipped away. A stream of perspiration ran out as the tape came away and the American chick pulled off the rubber swim cap and its accessories. I blinked in the bright light, my hair soaking wet and plastered down. God I must’ve looked a mess, not that I cared. Just to be able to breathe freely and move my jaw was a wonderful relief. 

"Now do you know what it’s like to be hurt?" Mary asked. I nodded. I think my throat was so hoarse I barely trusted myself to speak. I was still crying, the tears running steadily down my cheeks. 

"You’ve lost fluid," Trish said. "We’ll have to rehydrate you." I did not know what she meant. Then I saw the harness device that she held in her hand. My eyes could not help but be drawn to the red rubber ball on the strap in the midst of the jumble of leather straps. I knew now what this meant. Trish smiled at me.

"No…no, please…" I whimpered, not believing how pathetic I sounded. "I’ll be good…"

"You certainly will, sweetie," said Mary, pulling my head back with a handful of hair while Trish dexterously worked the ball between my teeth. I tried to struggle but it was useless. One strap went round the back of my neck, one under my chin, one up past my nose and down the top of my head, and another encircled my head at forehead level. Somehow it all buckled tightly and rigidly at the back.

"Seeing as how your mouth contains such evil words – if your columns are anything to go by – it’s only appropriate that you mouth is washed thoroughly. Put another way, your column sucks, and so will you, now." She smiled, but it stopped short of her eyes. It was like a cat toying with a mouse. She held up a clear plastic tube, about half a centimetre across. I realised it was attached to the ball currently wedging my jaw open. She followed my gaze. "It goes right through the middle of that ball," she said, "which – incidentally – suits you. Red is definitely your colour. This tube will transport your mouthwash, which you will have no choice but to swallow. Consider it to be your ‘pride’ – it’s about time you swallowed that. And lots of it. Right?" She flicked my nipple clips and I winced.

Mary draped the tube over the top of my head, so that it ran down between my eyes before arcing out in a gentle loop to return through the red rubber ball in my mouth. She disappeared behind me and I knew she was setting up my next torture. Abruptly a green liquid shot down the tube in front of my eyes and into my mouth. It was cold and tasted slightly sweet and faintly metallic. Thank god it wasn’t the mouthwash I was used to. I swallowed reflexively, but it wasn’t easy, since the ball trapped much of my tongue. I figured I could handle it, though. It could not be worse than the flogging I had just endured - or so I thought. 

The liquid kept coming, and I kept swallowing. After a couple of minutes I decided I was definitely not thirsty any more, not that my wishes had anything to do with events. I started to moan, which isn’t easy when you’re swallowing and trying to breathe at the same time. I shook my head futilely as more time passed but the liquid kept coming. Again, not a good idea, as I nearly choked. The liquid stopped, then started again after a minute. It continued in stop-start fashion for some time and I felt my stomach distending in a most uncomfortable fashion. Trish appeared in my field of view and I tried to look as distressed as I could, which really wasn’t difficult since I felt I was becoming awash with the green stuff. I kept swallowing but the stuff was trickling out of the corners of my mouth and running down my breasts. Another humiliation to add to Shannen’s growing list. And of course no amount of panting or "hmmming" made any difference. Mary and Trish only finally stopped when they had decided I could not take any more without exploding.

"That should see you sustained for a while," Trish said sweetly. "There are plenty of nutrients in the solution. Solid food is not something you need to worry about. More importantly, it is also a diuretic. You won’t have to worry about fluid retention for a while, medically speaking. Physically, the opposite is the case. You will not pee a drop until we tell you, unless you want the last whipping to seem like a gentle tickle."

They went away for what I judged to be ten minutes, while the full impact of the liquid began to seep through my system. Poor Shannen was going to get a real cleansing. Little did I realise what was to come next.

It was back on to the mobile platform. I whimpered as I was unstrapped from the post and led to the pipe framework. I could now see the structure and the memories of the whipping were still fresh. The platform was about a metre square and had two handles like a wheelbarrow on one end and two small wheels on the other. The wheels were off the floor until the handles were lifted, at which point they made contact and the whole shebang could be trundled off to the torture chamber. Life was becoming so convenient.

I got the treatment again – ankles spread and secured to the frame. This time, however, my hands had been cuffed behind me. They didn’t bother freeing them, instead slipping a rope around the link and pulling it over my shoulders so that my head went down and my wrists went up behind my shoulder blades. I whined into the ballgag as I was bent over the frame, my full stomach making it more difficult than before. The rope was tied to the frame where my wrists had been secured previously, and I knew how vulnerable such a position was. The girls picked up a handle each and I watched the floor slide past underneath me. Mary could not resist slapping my still raw backside and smirking as I jerked painfully against the rope.

They wheeled me into a kind of large bathroom. It was finished totally in white tiles on the floor and walls. On one side was a built-in bath about waist high with a set of steps up to the lip and some sort of frame like a see-saw above it. Opposite it was a toilet, basin and a bidet. Around the walls were various eyebolts and obvious securing points which made me shudder. From my position I could not see much of what was happening overhead. I gathered there was some sort of pulley mechanism as my cuffs were attached to a hook and my arms were then held half-raised behind me. My ankles were undone and the frame was moved out of the way. Mary briefly let my arms drop, but only sufficiently to secure a wide leather strap around my elbows, pulling them until they almost touched, while at the same time cuffing my ankles to an aluminium spreader bar about a metre long. 

This was obviously the prelude to the pulley treatment again, but this time, because my elbows were rigid, I was forced to bend over as my wrists went higher. I was gasping and panting through my nose and – I admit freely – making pathetic pleading noises by the time she stopped, and just before I thought my shoulders would pop from their sockets. Then on went the nipple weights again, swinging merrily from the nip clips in front of my eyes. God they hurt! Then came several smacks on my rump, making me jerk really painfully again. That was the preparation for whatever else went inside me. Mary worked her finger inside my arse and then pushed some sort of plug in, none too gently and without the benefit of lubricant. It was not as big as the butt plug I had suffered – or so I thought until I felt it begin to expand as it was somehow pumped up. I was whining still, but I shut up as a paddle whacked my cheeks a couple of times. 

I thought the pair were merely continuing their butt plug approach from the night before until Trish asked sweetly:

"Do you like it hot or cold, honey?"

"Hnn?" I articulated.

"Your enema. Hot or cold?" Enema! The import of my situation dawned on me. "Never mind. We’ll start with a cold one and get you warmed up later, eh?" From the tone in her voice she might as well have been asking what story I would like for bedtime reading. I could not see behind me very well, other than a thick black tube looping down and then up to my bum, beyond which two shapely pairs of legs busied themselves with the details of my suffering.

I became aware of a sudden chill as a spurt of icy water invaded my rectum and began filling my insides. That, plus the copious quantity of green liquid I had been forced to drink started to give me cramps almost at once. I tried shifting my weight from foot to foot, still in my high heels. I began to squirm and moan as the cold fluid continued to invade me. Clenching my buttock muscles did nothing to stop the inflow as my abdomen enlarged painfully. Being bent double meant double the discomfort, too, and even the ache in my arms and the pains in my nipples could not detract from the icy grip of the enema.

"I think she’s full now," I head Trish say.

"Full of shit," Mary said off-handedly. "Aren’t you Shannen?" There was a sharp slap on my butt but I was afraid to move. "But if you produce it you have to be able to handle it dear. You have to stay like that for the next half hour. Not spill a drop. And no help from the plug which will now come out. And don’t you dare let any go while I remove it or you’ll stay like that for the rest of the day!"

I clenched my gluteus muscles as the plug was eased out. I had a dreadful feeling that I would never hold everything for half an hour. I wanted to pee and crap and let everything go, but I was mortally afraid of Mary and Trish and what they would do to me, never mind the humiliation of it all. The pair disappeared from the room, slamming the heavy door behind them. The air was warm and humid. I hung there, feeling the sweat break out and run down my body. I shifted from foot to foot – anything to gain some relief from the cramps and the ache in my tense muscles. I had once done a bus trip in Spain in the grip of an attack of diarrhoea, but the memories of that – vivid as I thought them at the time – paled compared to the concentration and isometrics that I now had to put into place. After what seemed like an eternity I knew I was never going to make thirty minutes. Coincidentally, that was when the dynamic duo reappeared, this time wearing black latex body suits. I have to say they looked stunning, although at that precise moment I really didn’t care.

"Hold it, Shannen," warned Mary, as she released my ankles, crouching deliberately in front, I noticed. Then my arms were lowered and I was pointed to the toilet to which I tottered, barely making it in time.

Probably the less said about the next couple of hours the better. I am now sitting cross-legged on the floor of my cell. My ankles are strapped and locked so that I can't stand up, and these horrid metal clamps are still on my nipples. Attached to them are wires that disappear out under the door. I know from experience that if I fall asleep before I’ve finished writing my nipples will get jolted, which is very unpleasant. I also know that if I touch the clamps or try to mess with them something even worse will happen to me.

I am so tired. The beatings, stretchings and enemas have wrung me out. I had maybe four enemas and I must’ve drunk gallons of the green stuff. I sat for hours on the bog and the room stank. I was so humiliated. I found out why Trish and Mary wore the rubber catsuits. It was so they could hose me down and not be bothered about the mess themselves. In between the enemas I was hung up and hosed down, with the nozzle inserted in all my private orifices. They could not resist flogging me while I was wet, either. I hurt all over, now. My shoes are still taped to my feet, albeit sodden and better shaped to them as a result. My stockings are torn and laddered. I ache everywhere – my jaw, my shoulders, arms, wrists, ankles… My back, bum and legs feel like they’ve been under the tropical sun for a day, and my arsehole is too tender to talk about. I feel like I’ve been reamed. I guess I have been very thoroughly shafted. Makes a change, I suppose from doing it to other people. And before you ask, no, it is not nice. 

I don’t know what else to say, except please take these clips off my nipples!

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