Monica's Place: 14. Shannen Rides Again

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 Fourteen: Shannen Rides Again

I spent the rest of the morning sorting out various bits and pieces that had been demanding my attention. 

Monica requested my presence shortly after lunch, again in the Observation Room.

"Stage two," said Monica, inclining her head towards the Post Room. "They’ve been fed and watered – after a fashion, and they’re raring to go again," she grinned. I followed her gaze and saw that Emma had taken over the discipline session. I had not seen her in this role and she looked stunning, wearing black leather boots that came halfway up her thighs and a black pvc corset that lifted and displayed her cleavage most provocatively. She wore a novelty rubber Halloween mask that transformed her face into that of an old crone. It certainly wouldn’t do much for the Twins’ dreams when they returned home. 

Emma was putting some finishing touches to Tanya – she of the white ballgag. Tanya was being secured to match her sister, who was loosely but ingeniously fastened to one of the posts. Both girls were still naked but for the wide black waist and crotch belts, the latter no doubt hiding a dildo and butt plug, if the two wires hanging down between their legs were anything to go by. Each girl sported black leather wrist and ankle cuffs, with chains joining them behind the post. Their ankles were chained in such a way that their feet were secured almost alongside the post, leaving them on the point of falling forward but not quite there. The wrist chains were not particularly tight, leaving a little room for hands to fly about but not so much that they could reach or interfere with any knots or attachments. I wondered if they could crouch down, if they tried. Their rubber hoods had been removed and standard ball gags installed. Their hair was damp and matted and their cheeks were tear-stained. I could see angry red weals on the backs of their legs and buttocks. Clearly it had been a painful learning experience thus far. 

It was difficult to see if the looseness of the restraints was a relief for the twins. They looked subdued and miserable. Emma finished chaining Tanya’s ankle cuffs and checked the round TENS pads that still encircled the girls’ nipples with their gold rings.

Monica had explained what she wanted, and then asked that I give Emma a hand. I donned my ski mask and entered the room with a two buckets, one half-filled with water. This one was the same one we had used on Emma for the water torture, and temporarily had a piece of tape over the hole in the bottom.

Emma was busy with a long piece of string when I entered. She tied one end to Natasha’s right nipple ring and then threaded the other end through Tanya’s left ring then Natasha’s left ring then tied the string off to Tanya’s right nipple ring, putting just a light tension on the string.

"Okay?" she asked Tanya softly. Tanya’s eyes widened above the gag, not knowing what was to come.

"Nnnmp!" she said, shaking her head in fear.

"Don’t worry, sweetcakes," said Emma, cupping Tanya’s chin and giving her a light kiss on the nose. 

As Emma was doing this, I reconnected the twins TENS wires to the main outlet feeds from the black box in the control room. This provoked a lot of hmmming and pleading noises from the pair, which I pointedly ignored. I then fixed each twin with a small headset with a microphone, like those worn by receptionists or Telstra operators. I settled these snugly on their heads and held them in place with a sports headband. The mikes were positioned just in front of the balls wedged behind their teeth.

I set up a second mike on a small tripod stand midway between the girls, as Emma hoisted the plastic bucket of water on a pulley fixed to the roof midway between the two. The tape had been removed from the hole and water was slowly dripping out. 

The final touch was the second plastic bucket which was hung at mid point over the three spans of string linking the girls’ nipple rings. It was at that point that they saw the plan, and both began to moan and plead, twisting their arms and shuffling their feet as much as their chains would let them. I returned to the Observation Room with Emma.

"Young ladies, if I could have your attention please," Monica commanded sharply into the microphone. "Let me explain your situation. Firstly, as you have no doubt worked out, the water from the top bucket will be dripping into the bottom one over the next few hours, making the load on your lovely nipple rings heavier and heavier. You should consider the purpose and usefulness of these rings both for now and in the future. They hold endless possibilities – at least for what we have in mind! But you will also notice the other little extras we have added. 

"You will be pleased to know you need not endure any more of your favourite music. There will be no more shocks from that music. Instead they will originate from two other sources – dripping water supplemented by your own music. In short, the sound of the drop of water landing in the lower bucket will be picked up by the microphone on the stand. It may or may not trigger a little zap to a randomly selected part of you. On the other hand, any noise made by either of you – grunts, squeaks, moans, whatever, will definitely trigger a zap. It may be to the one who made the noise, or it may be to the other. That’s all. Enjoy your afternoon."

Monica turned the lights down to leave the captives in two pools of light in a darkened room. Then she flipped the switch to set the system in motion. 

For a while nothing happened, although the incoming sound meter from the bucket was registering each drip as a flick of the needle. 

"Is it working?" Emma asked.

"Wait," I said, having the utmost confidence in my mate Douglas the electrical geek. At the fifth drop a red light winked on the black box and Natasha stiffened and jerked, letting out a plaintive cry from behind her red ball. The green light winked immediately followed by the red light and Tanya went rigid and moaned. The sequence happened several times in quick succession until the girls slowly realised that if they were to save themselves pain they must control their voices. At length the grunting and cries were held back, and the two stared at each other in miserable silence, their bodies occasionally spasming and trembling as a little zap struck. Their eyes screwed up in such an instance then opened to let another tear slide down the cheek. All we could hear was the heavy breathing which I had expected and allowed for in the setting of the sound levels. The girls still struggled with their bonds, trying to get their hands around to reach the nipple rings.

We watched for perhaps ten minutes before Monica said to Emma: "Time for the finishing touch, I think, Em."

Emma disappeared next door, and was visible moments later fixing a small bell to each wrist and ankle cuff.

"Good luck." She whispered into Natasha’s microphone. Natasha rolled her eyes as a shock caught her in an intimate location. She twitched and grunted before she could help herself, and suddenly the bells tinkled at her wrist cuffs. Moments later Tanya’s wrist cuffs were also tinkling, as both girls were unable to control their spasming bodies.

"How long can they go on like this?" Emma asked as she returned, a look of concern on her face as she took the mask off.

"Under an all out spasm they will receive two minutes worth, given that it‘s spread between the two girls and their different receptors," I told her.

"Then what?"

"It cuts out for five minutes whenever a certain dosage is reached, regardless of how long that takes to be achieved."

Poor Natasha and Tanya were well on their way to that two minutes when I left, their bodies twitching and stiffening, their cries unable to be suppressed by the rubber balls. Rather them than me, I thought thankfully.

After tea that night, before retiring to my room, I checked with Emma how things had gone with the Twins. Emma was getting ready to finish in the Observation Room.

"They’re very tired and sorry for themselves," she told me. "They’re very sore but will probably sleep all right, despite their current predicament."

"I reckon they’ve had a current predicament all afternoon," I said wryly. 

Emma laughed. "They’re now in the cell next to Shannen. Look." She switched channels on the monitor. I saw two forms lying on the floor. There was no bed in this cell, just a large vinyl covered mat on the floor – the sort they have in gyms for gymnastics. 

"What have you done to them this time?" I asked.

"Not a lot at all," Emma said matter-of-factly. "They’re wearing full inflatable rubber hoods with no eye holes or mouth opening, although they’re not actually gagged. The hoods are tight enough so that it’s impossible to make any sense with one on. Believe me, I’ve tried it. And they’re in mummy bags – made out of heavy latex with a heap of straps around the outside. They’re not actually tied up inside, but they can barely move – I know that from experience too," she added ruefully. "I’ve spent the night in one and you can bet these two girls are going to be very hot and sweaty in the morning. It’s all part of lowering their resistance and tiring them. We’ll wake them up a few times during the night as well. Then tomorrow they’ll get the full steam treatment in your new sauna in the morning, and I understand Monica has scheduled them for a ‘double torpedo in the afternoon’."

"What lucky girls."

"Aren’t they just." We watched for a few minutes as the shiny black forms periodically twitched and rolled on the floor, bumping into each other and looking like they were trying to communicate, head to head.

"They’ll have no chance of that," Emma told me, anticipating my thought. "Once they’re pumped up, the hood restricts your hearing. All you can hear is blood pounding in your ears, especially since we stuck earplugs in, first. And to talk is impossible. The pressure holds your jaw and lips closed very effectively."

"And how’s our intrepid journalist?"

"She’s resting peacefully." Again the change of channels to the cell next door. Shannen was also lying on a PVC mat on the floor, naked. Her wrists ported leather cuffs and were chained together behind her back, while her ankles were likewise secured. She was gagged with several strips of black duct tape across her mouth and her eyes were closed although the light remained on. She lay on her side, her body showing red marks on her legs and buttocks. As we watched she rolled on to her stomach and a low moan of pain was heard through the microphone in the cell.

"Bad girls should get used to wearing nipple clamps during the day, don’t you think?" smirked Emma.

"Absolutely," I agreed. "I hope everybody has a pleasant evening. See you tomorrow."

The next morning I was sitting down to a late breakfast with Leila and Emma when Monica and Jillian appeared, urging a prisoner ahead of them. I assumed it was Shannen, although I could not really see her face and the other times I had seen her she has been gagged in different ways. This time the situation was no different but she was still an extraordinary sight. She wore black thigh-high leather boots that had been laced up tightly along the full length. Above these she was dressed in black shiny latex – a short skirt reaching to the top of her boots that clung sensuously to her thighs and buttocks. Above this was a long-sleeved latex top with a high neck that merged with a rubber hood. Shannen’s harms were folded and secured behind her back, and her hands were covered in rubber mittens that would have made any form of finger usage impossible. Over her head she wore a bridle harness of sorts that secured a rubber-sheathed bar in her mouth, which I suspected concealed a mouth-filling gag as well. On top of this were blinkers which clearly limited her field of view. The whole get-up was topped off with a feathered plume attached to the top of the head harness. I wondered if she had been able to look at herself in a mirror.

She was controlled by Monica via a thin leather rein attached to a brass ring at each end of the bridle bar, enabling her head to be twisted and directed in either direction. The front of Shannen’s rubber top was split by two vertical zippers – one over each breast, and these had been exposed as Monica obviously deemed appropriate. Attached to each pink nipple atop the swelling orbs protruding through the rubber was a chrome nipple clamp, the two joined by a thin chain. Attached to this was a third rein which disappeared between Shannen’s legs to be held by Monica. 

Monica introduced us to Shannen and made her take a bow. Shannen obviously did not know what was going on yet or how she was expected to perform, for a performance was clearly what was expected of her. As Monica pulled on the third rein Shannen realised the only way she could reduce the sharp pain in her nipples was to bend in the downward direction. This she did, holding the bow until she felt the tension release. 

Leila, our official photographer, had brought her camera to the table, and it was for this purpose that Monica then removed the blinkers. It showed of considerably more of Shannen’s face, and despite the black bar hiding her mouth, I thought she was very attractive. I had never read any of the articles she had written, but she did not look the sort of person to be vindictive – not now, anyway. She looked exceedingly sorry for herself in this instance, her face flushed red with humiliation. 

While we finished our breakfast Shannen was secured in a variety of positions for Leila to take some suitably incriminating and outrageous photos. First it was bent over and secured by the reins to the railing, then stretched by the nipple chain with the rein slung over a beam. Here Shannen was on tiptoe, trying to take the strain off her nipples, her eyes screwed up and whimpering while Leila shot all the angles. When released the ponygirl surprised us – well me, at least – by deciding to rub her crotch against a railing corner post. The rest of the girls laughed. 

"Toothpaste on the vibrator," Jillian murmured to me. "Itches like crazy once the stinging stops."

Then it was off to the garden with Shannen - once again wearing her blinkers - where she was secured to the garden tap by her nipple chain for a few final photos.

"You know that cart you made recently?" Monica asked me.

"The one I use behind the ride-on mower?"

Yes. Remember I asked you to adapt the handles so it could be pulled by a person?"


"Well this is the person who is going to pull it. This is your pony. She’s the one who’s going to help you shift those concrete blocks from the end of the driveway." 

It was evident that before any shifting of blocks was done the pony would have to be properly trained. After I had finished my breakfast I walked over to where Shannen knelt and undid the nipple rein securing her to the tap. I helped her to her feet and led the way to my workshop where the cart I had built stood inside the main door, beside the ride-on lawn mower. I had originally built the cart to be towed behind the mower, making it useful for carting garden rubbish to the compost heap – a task I sometimes did as well as my construction activities. Then Monica had wanted it adapted and I had modified it according to her specifications.

I backed Shannen between the shafts and secured them via the waist belt and hip supports, then fastened further straps about her upper body. And I have to say it was a very attractive upper body. She had big green eyes which looked at me woefully from the blinkers. Her breasts were not big but were prominent through the confining rubber slits in the latex top. I stood behind and to one side, before urging her out of the garage and around the side of the building. At that point I climbed on the cart, and watched with interest as Shannen was forced to lean forward, taking the strain on her legs and waist as well as with the harness connected to her upper body. She had got the hang of it by the time we turned the corner within sight of the back verandah, when a chorus of rather unkind comments and applause emerged.

At this point Monica wanted to have a turn – like a kid with a new toy, I thought. But of course Monica wasn’t satisfied with the rein arrangement as it was currently. The third rein was dispensed with entirely, while the two reins connected to the brass rings on the bit were rearranged so the reins ran through the rings, before being secured to the nipple clamps. This was going to be a very painful morning for Shannen, I thought. Unfortunately it looked like I was going to be the one doing a lot of the inflicting of it.

Monica and Jillian took Shannen for a spin around the garden. There was no doubt it was hard work for Shannen, made moreso by the impossible demands for speed and manoeuvring that Monica demanded, reinforcing her directions with flicks of a short but lethal-looking whip to Shannen’s black and shiny rear end. 

They returned to the steps in time for Leila to take further photos of the sweat pouring off Shannen as she stood still, panting, her breasts heaving through the slits in the rubber. She was indeed a stirring sight. Then it was time to work. 

It took much of the morning to shift the three pallet loads of blocks from where they had been delivered inside the front gate to the rear of the house. I intended to use them for the construction of a small outdoor cell with an open roof. It would be something that would absorb the full heat of the sun during summer, or the full fury of a deluge, which in Brisbane’s climate could be any time of the year. It would be less than a metre square but at least two and a half high. It would also be very claustrophobic.

The work of transporting the blocks was hard for Shannen. The morning was warm and humid so I made sure she drank plenty of water, as I stopped on a regular basis to let her sip some mineral water through a small valve in the gag. After about the third trip the back verandah was empty, so I decided Shannen could be relieved of the nipple clamps which were obviously causing so much distress to her. The job she had to do and the manner in which it was to be done seemed to me to be punishment enough.

Late in the morning we were almost ready for the last run, but I decided a rest was in order. I was sweating nearly as much as Shannen, since I had been doing all the loading and unloading of the concrete blocks. I sat down in a shady patch around the bend in the driveway and let Shannen wait quietly under the trees. It occurred to me then that any good pony should receive a reward for a job well done, and I told Shannen so. I suspected she was implanted with a vibrator that could be activated with a twist of the base, if Monica had followed her usual modus operandi. Steadying Shannen with one hand on her waist belt I felt under the thin rubber skirt and found the base of the vibrator protruding through the fixing in the crotch strap. I turned it on and wound it up fully. Shannen’s eyes widened and she started to shift her weight from one foot to the other. I did not need to be 

Einstein to work out that the groundwork had already been done, as the invader had insinuated itself deeply in her pussy through the straining she had done in pulling the cart all morning. Now it seemed she only lacked something solid to rub her pussy against to complete the reward I was giving her. 

She was panting hard and making little mmph sounds through the gag, the sweat rolling down her face and the look of frustration becoming more and more apparent. Finally I beckoned her over to where I was sitting on a fallen tree trunk, just as she looked as though she was about to take off into orbit. I placed my left hand on my knee and straightened my arm, providing a sloping surface for her. She trotted up to me and I slipped my left foot over her hobble rope and pulled her against my arm. The thin black latex of her skirt felt good against my skin, as did the heat from her pussy as she jammed herself up against my shoulder, her eyes now closed, humping herself blissfully oblivious to everything else. Her breath became more ragged and her grunting more strenuous. I could feel the damp sweatiness as the rubber material slid over my arm and against the skin of her thighs. There was a musky scent in the air which was nothing to do with our outdoor location.

Shannen finally climaxed – an orgasm that seemed to go on and on as she bounced against my body, rattling the shafts of the cart and snorting furiously, her grunts having changed to a high-pitched mewing as she fought her bonds and shuddered to a standstill, her leather-clad legs locked against mine. I could feel the trembling of her body and heard the desperate sucking of air through her nose. Concerned, I stood up and undid the bit gag, prising it out of her mouth with a slurping sound followed by a huge intake of air. She leaned against me, her breasts quivering in the most gorgeous way, her eyes closed, and her black-clad body doing all the right things for Mr Willy. He would have been more than happy to do battle at that point, but I knew I had probably already deviated from Monica’s strategic plan. Shannen had barely time for a series of swearings as she struggled to gain control of her breathing, before I thrust the soaked leather packing back into her mouth and buckled the bridle in place again. She looked at me with her huge green eyes with an expression at once grateful, sorrowful and promising of more. 

She was definitely not impressed when I turned off the vibrator and told her the nipple clamps would have to go on again for appearances on the final run back to the house. She screwed up her eyes as the chrome-plated clamps bit into her blood-engorged rosebuds, and a small tear slipped out of the corner of her eye. I wiped it away gently and suggested that it really was time to get going.

The next time I saw Shannen, she was taking a swim. I had completed unloading and had returned the cart to the shed by that time and was about to head downstairs to stand in on a double torpedo on the Twins. Watched by Leila, who sat in a white bathing suit on the edge of the pool, Shannen was floating immovably in the water, her legs splinted by a board between them, secured by a mile of duct tape. Across the middle of her back was another board, roped around her waist, which enabled easy transport of her by a person lifting each end of the timber. Shannen still wore the black latex top, hood, skirt and mittens, although the thigh-length leather boots had now been removed, leaving only the thin black latex stockings. She looked like some form of strange black fish lurking on the surface, with only the snorkel pipe detracting from that likeness.

"Watch her carefully," I said to Leila.

She smiled. I hoped she didn’t think I was trying to give her orders – I was just concerned about the potential for mishap in Shannen’s position. But Leila wasn’t the type who could take offence at anything. An eternal optimist she was one of those rare individuals who seemed to make the best of any situation they found themselves in. And of course even in my short time at Bilboes, Leila had definitely found herself in some "situations".

"You’re not going soft on us are you Steven?" she teased.

"I bet you ask that of all the guys," I shot back. She laughed, and I left her to her lifeguard duties.

Meanwhile, down in the dungeons… Our heroines Natasha and Tanya had been lashed to identical submarine boards sitting on saw horses. Monica and I had discussed how to do this and had decided that securing the victims away from the submarine frame was the easy way, and separate boards that could be bolted in place one at a time, back to back, was the way to go. It looked like Emma and Trish were doing the honours this time, with Emma in her spunky corset continuing from where she had left off in the morning, only now the old crone face had been replaced by that of Minnie Mouse. Trish complemented the situation with a Daisy Duck mask while I had selected a Goofy mask from our store. They looked incongruous, and probably the Twins would never be able to watch a Disney cartoon again, after today. Yet there was also something frighteningly sinister about the three faces fixed in frozen smiles as they subjected these helpless females to such painful torment. 

Trish looked all business in a rubber skirt clinging tightly across her thighs and a matching bra which I considered most appealing. She wore black stockings and snug rubber boots that reached midway up her calves and strangely had been fitted with three-inch heels. A victory for both elegance and pragmatism, I decided. Once again she had pinned her auburn hair high on her head and a pair of elbow-length black latex gloves rounded off the no-nonsense impression. In contrast to these two I looked totally out of place, not to mention under-dressed. 

"We’ll have to see about getting you some leather pants," Trish whispered in my ear. "I could quite fancy you in them." I could not tell if she blushed, and I hoped she could not see my reaction either. I walked over to where the pair of hapless girls lay on the boards. They had been strapped down tightly again, much as Mary had been in the trial. The only changes from Mary’s ordeal were twofold. Firstly, they would get penetrated in the arse as well as the pussy, and secondly there would be no getting their rocks off at the end of the ordeal. That was the theory, anyway. A further difference I noticed was that the breasts of the victims had also been bound – with sashcord as distinct from the quick release straps that held their limbs and bodies immobile.

"Do you like it?" asked Emma, obviously noting my admiring gaze. "My friend here is responsible for that," she said, inclining her head towards Trish. It was a further sign of Trish’s expertise with rope. The girls’ breasts had been bound identically and were now standing vertically and bulging, each boob wrapped with several turns of the white cord that made the flesh swell and distend, the blood rising to the nipple. Atop the nipples the little gold rings stood like tiny ferris wheels upright on giant onions. The white and red flower tattoos just above the nipples appeared to have enlarged as a result of the constrictions of the rope. Above and below the breasts were further turns of cord around the torso. These had then been cinched together either side of the breasts and in between them. The girls’ breathing now seemed more pronounced with the tight strictures around their chests which moved their nipples through more exaggerated arcs.

Both girls were – predictably – naked, and both wore their usual white and red ball gags strapped tightly behind their necks. These gags had clear plastic air tubes the diameter of a finger penetrating the centre of the balls. The tubes ran to waist level, being taped in place at various points. The Twins’ heads had not yet been secured in place, and they appeared to be taking a great interest in their surroundings and what was about to happen to them, if their wide eyes were anything to go by.

"Time for the insertion, Doctor?" smirked Trish.

"Certainly Nurse," I responded, picking up a torpedo slide that I had recently modified in my workshop. It worked on exactly the same premise as the one Mary had so willingly tried out, except that this one carried an anal dildo as well. It was slightly smaller and driven by a separate weight, but otherwise was intended to work in exactly the same fashion as its larger front entry counterpart.

Trish worked the two vibrators so that the heads of them were just inside Tanya’s target orifices, at which point Emma and I fitted the bolts and tightened the nuts which secured the torpedo brackets to the board. I noted that the torpedoes were well greased and watched as Trish slid each one home to the full extent of its stroke as dictated by the body of the victim. Tanya’s eyes appeared to widen even further and she gave off a series of gasping throaty moans through the tube. Her breath started coming in rapid pants when Trish tested the on-off switches and left the intruders on while setting the slide-limit screws. This would prevent harm from coming to the girls by over-penetration. Mary had reckoned that after the initial setting things had loosened up even further as the body reacted to the stimulation. Trish slid the two dildoes back and forth a couple of times, adding a further squirt of lubricant. This elicited more protest from Tanya, who jerked her body the few millimetres that the strapping allowed and tossed her head wildly. 

We quickly removed the ‘looseness’ from her bonds and Emma produced two nipple weights. These were lead balls the size of a walnut and Emma tied one each on Tanya’s nipple rings. Tanya watched with increasing horror, but I’m sure she still had not realised the extent of her trial. Emma left about ten centimetres of slack in the string, giving plenty of scope for the weight to swing through an arc as the girls did the same. Finally we strapped Tanya’s head securely against the padding on the board after first plugging her ears and nose with rubber plugs and taping her eyes shut with duct tape. Five minutes later Tanya and her board were lying horizontally, bolted to the frame of the ‘submarine’. She was making little "urgh-rgh!" noises through the tube as we turned our attention to Natasha, who had of course seen the whole process of securing her sister. 

Natasha struggled as best she could as we repeated the securing ritual, but with each struggle or jerk, the straps were notched tighter and her movements gradually subsided to immobility. At length Natasha was ready for fixing on the submarine. Emma turned the electric motor on. There were more glugging throaty noises from Tanya as her head began to tip down and she slowly rotated such that after a few seconds the weights slid down the shaft and drove the dildoes into her crevices. This did not happen simultaneously – something to do with the size of the weights and the friction of the rails, I guess. As it turned out the pussy invader acted first, its smooth lubricated length sliding inside Tanya in a motion that brought forth a groan as the vibrator was activated. About two seconds later the anal plug was driven home to the accompaniment of a high-pitched cry through the tube.

At the same time the nipple weights slid around the tautly bound breasts under the influence of gravity as Tanya neared the vertical inclination with her head down. Then she was past that and was held entirely by the taut fastenings of the straps. At this point of course the nipple weights swung entirely free and there was more groaning into the air tube as the little lead balls oscillated freely beneath Tanya’s boobs, tugging on the gold rings. At length she was horizontal under the rotating frame, and Emma turned off the power while we manoeuvred Natasha on to the upper side of the frame. It took several minutes, while of course during the whole time Tanya was getting a clearly unfair advantage of getting a total buzz in her arse and pussy. Unwilling to give one twin the advantage over the other, much less the opportunity to actually start enjoying her plight, I slid the weights back just enough to break the contacts.

Then they were off again, slowly rotating end over end, secured in place head-to-toe, every thirty seconds or so the weights sliding down with successive muffled thumps which drove the dildoes deeper into their orifices, while on the opposite side of the board they would be sliding out under their own weight. At the same time the nipple rings would come under strain, as the weights would drop twenty centimetres to the opposite side of the breasts. The throaty cries would come in quick succession from both sides of the board, redoubled as the water 

was turned on.

"You’re not bad – do you realise that?" said Trish.

"What do you mean?"

She crossed her arms and looked at me appraisingly – or as appraisingly as Daisy Duck was capable of under the circumstances. "You get away with these things with a certain panache. What you’ve done here has a sort of elegant simplicity about it. Like gravity itself. You obviously haven’t got round to the perpetual motion concept yet, but I wouldn’t put it past you." 

"I’ll remember that next time I have you skewered and helpless on the shaft. That’ll be the time to try the new long life batteries I will have invented."

"Gee thanks," she said. "I can’t wait."

" I have other things to do. Be good."

"You’re kidding."

It took me a couple of hours to make up Monica’s latest device – a floor-mounted butt plug for the post room. This was a bit like the adjustable shaft I had tried out on Trish, except it was mounted a metre behind the poor soul who was to receive it and had a pivot at each end. The lower pivot allowed the shaft to be tilted up or down, then could be secured with a butterfly nut. There was a sliding extension just like the original shaft, and at the top end a butt plug could be mounted, angled and secured, again via a pivot and butterfly nut. The whole assembly was screwed to the floor and a wired installed to connect to the butt plug for the dreaded bum zaps. Monica obviously had it in for somebody.

The day was warm and languid, and I emerged from the dungeon on to the back verandah in time to see poor Shannen – still clad in her black rubber outfit – being dragged from the pool by Leila and Jillian. They rested their burden on a couple of saw horses, the cross-timber spanning between the two so that Shannen – in her splinted and semi-rigid bondage looked like a strange black seesaw. I noted that she wore nipple clamps connected to what looked like small bags of sand. Her balance with the board across her waist was such that her upper body weighed slightly more than her lower half, with the result that she tilted head-downwards until the weights touched the ground. She hung there for perhaps fifteen minutes, making gurgling noises through the snorkel pipe she still wore taped in place within her mouth.

In the course of making several trips to and from the workshop, I saw Shannen divested of her leg splint and the bar across the back of her waist. By the time I was returning to the house for the fourth time, Jillian had finished securing Shannen on another of my variations on the shaft. Shannen was on the points of her knees, her upper and lower legs and her torso all melded to the main shaft – which extended to just below her neck – by about a mile of duct tape. Jill asked me to help her with the tabletop – another device Monica had dreamed up and I had made to her specifications. It comprised two lightweight pieces of semi-circular plywood with a neck hole in the middle. The pieces fitted like a yoke and were steadied by steel supports that sat on each shoulder of the person providing the main support for the top. Shannen’s snorkel had been replaced with a few temporary pieces of duct tape over her mouth and she looked at me pleadingly as Jill and I screwed the wing nuts closed to secure the top in place. I smiled as comfortingly at her as I could, mouthing the word "sorry". She seemed to accept this. She obviously had no idea what was coming next.

A few of the others – Monica and Leila and Emma – appeared, Monica with a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc to which I have an admitted partiality. From that point what was left of the afternoon dissolved into a relaxed discussion of all manner of things, interspersed with some tasty nibbles, the sight of which obviously had an effect on the rubber and tape-clad head of Shannen, sited only a whiff away from the food. Monica pushed some right under her nose, but with the tape on her mouth she could do little but close her eyes in frustration. Then the pizza arrived and we tucked in with gusto, again, to the obvious distress of Shannen. At length Monica suggested Shannen should at least get to dispose of the leftovers. Jill pulled the tape off the victim’s mouth and began to feed it with the pizza crusts, cheese rinds and other bits that had either fallen on the ground or that nobody wanted. Nobody asked Shannen whether she liked anchovies or olives or whether she was a vegetarian. Nor did she have a chance to protest when it was suggested that she would probably be thirsty after all that, and she should be rewarded accordingly. 

That’s when the giant penis gag was produced – a huge replica in flesh-coloured plastic about six centimetres across and perhaps twenty long. It came complete with balls and a hand squeeze pump, the idea being that it could be filled with a particular liquid to suit one’s particular fantasies. If your idea was sucking off a huge dick but you hated the taste, then fill it with chardonnay or cappuccino, or whatever your heart (or taste buds) desired.

In this case we had made a slightly thick vanilla milkshake – thick enough to have a creamy slightly stiff texture, if you’ll pardon the pun. There was a reservoir of half a pint as well as what was contained in the member itself. Poor Shannen, who had no idea what was going on or what new indignity was about to be inflicted on her, quailed at the sight of the member. It was clamped to a sliding steel base plate such that when the latter was bolted to the table top, the dick slid forward into the victim’s mouth as far as one desired, at which point it could be locked in position with another wing nut. It was obviously important for the victim not to choke on something this big, and I knew there was no way very much of the member would go inside Shannen’s mouth, particularly with her head level as it was.

Shannen fought the entry of the thing, gasping and protesting and trying to keep her mouth shut, which was very difficult and ultimately futile as Monica gripped Shannen’s nose and pulled her head back. Once halfway in there was no more resistance to the giant dick. Shannen’s jaws were obviously stretched to the limit and her eyes were also appropriately wide at the acknowledgement of the huge thing filling her mouth. It was made of soft plastic, but when Monica started pumping its contents the member seemed to harden with the pressure of the pumping. Poor Shannen’s swallow reflex began as she tried to keep pace with the giant ejaculation that was occurring in her mouth. The difference was that the volume of this one was about fifty time that of a normal spurt session. It must have been incredibly humiliating as the liquid filled her mouth and oozed around the edges of the gag.

Finally Monica eased off the pumping and Shannen caught up with the swallowing, her face red from the effort. Notwithstanding the end of the swallowing, Monica was not going to remove the gag from Shannen’s straining jaws, that much was clear. Shannen was destined to stay as she was, taped immovably to the steel shaft and supporting the table top – now rigidly fixed via the giant pink member wedged in her mouth – until Monica decided otherwise.

It was one of those gorgeously balmy Brisbane evenings that slowly merged into night, punctuated by the incessant chirp of crickets and frogs in the surrounding bush. We sat around the table talking and getting through another bottle of Sauv Blanc. Shannen was inevitably the butt of many jokes and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. I thought her humiliation was complete and her ordeal over when Monica directed that the tabletop be removed and the prisoner untaped. This took several minutes and there was no denying Shannen’s relief as the gag was extracted from her mouth. There were deep teeth marks in the plastic – I thought it was a good job it was not a real one. She did not seem fazed when several strips of tape were applied to her mouth. I think the mere fact that her jaws were closed made it a delicious treat.

She was obviously not happy about what came next, however. Her arms were still folded and bound behind her, as they had been all day. She was laid on the verandah floor, her legs spread and then hauled upside down by ropes attached to ankle cuffs. She protested as much as she could behind the tape as Leila and Jill bent their backs to the ropes running over the two pulleys fixed to the roof beam, before tying them securely to cleats. Shannen swayed in a figure ‘Y’ in the gentle evening breeze, her face becoming redder as the blood found its way to her head.

Monica rolled the rubber skirt up (or was it down?) to Shannen’s waist, exposing the crotch belt that lurked beneath and extracted the two inserts with loud sucking sounds accompanied by moaning from Shannen. One could almost believe she had gotten fond of them. Then came a period of trial and error as Leila, at Monica's direction, fashioned two long and very thick candles into works of art ultimately protruding from Shannen's front and back passages, providing a leg-bisecting light that was indeed most artistic. Monica finished off the living sculpture with a nipple chain clipped to Shannen’s bulging rosebuds with a pair of wicked alligator clips. Shannen moaned and cried as Monica swung her victim lazily back and forth by tugging on the chain. Tears rolled down Shannen’s temples. I was sure crying upside down was a most awkward exercise – something our bodies had not really been designed for. (Like, they had been designed to hang upside down with candles jammed in their orifices?)

We eventually finished grazing on leftovers well into the evening. Shannen was lowered to the deck before the candles burned down far enough to burn her tender parts or melt the rubber of her stockings, and was taken away for her nightly incarceration. God knows what Monica’s next devious torture would be for her – there was no predicting the wiles of that woman.

I had some final tools to take down to the dungeon, so I called in on Emma in the Observation Room, just to see how the twins were doing. 

"Where are they now?" I asked her.

"Oh, their preliminary punishment is over," Emma explained. "They’ve survived the hard part – and believe me, an hour going round and round on the submarine was hard. After that they got another whipping from Mary, but they’re now safely tucked in bed upstairs."

"Really? Unrestrained?"

"No, of course not. Be sensible. They have separate bedrooms and each was chained in the bath for an hour – enough time for them to thoroughly clean themselves. Each is now chained to a four-poster by the neck. Their hands and feet are cuffed and their mouths are taped, but aside from that they can luxuriate in a soft bed for the first time for a few days. Tomorrow the training begins."

"The training?"

"Yes – they have to at least learn a bit of civilized behaviour and to do useful things about the house. They’ve tasted the worst that could befall them, now they’re experiencing a little of the upside, as a taste of what exists, although they will be back in the cells tomorrow night. Tomorrow they will be sweeping and cooking and cleaning and that oven must get a good scrubbing. Do you want any clothes washed and ironed?"

"I’ll let you know."

I said good night to Emma and returned upstairs. Monica and Trish were sitting at the table, talking and studying at some pieces of paper. They looked at me strangely as I bade them good night. I shrugged, mentally. A strange race, female humans…

I came awake in the middle of the night with a great weight crushing me face down into the bed. Invariably I sleep on my stomach, and my awakening at this point left me in complete confusion as to what was happening – at least for a few seconds. My immediate realisation was that someone was sitting on top of me, at which point I recognised the voices of Monica and Trish. A moment later, as I tried to move, I realised further that both my wrists had been bent up between my shoulder blades and one of the girls was busily strapping them together, crossed at right angles. There was a pillow lying loosely over my head, which had blocked out most of the light from my bedside lamp they had used. I tried to struggle, but with someone sitting in the small of my back on a soft bed and my wrists now secured it was damn near impossible.

"What the hell’s going on?" I demanded, trying to keep calm.

"You’ve been a bad boy," came Monica’s icy reply.

""What are you talking about?"

Monica did not answer immediately and my thought processes were distracted as the pillow was removed and my head was pulled back by the hair. I had barely time for a gurgling exclamation while trying to adjust my eyes to the light when something black and bulbous was thrust into my opened mouth and worked inside so that it thoroughly packed down my tongue. I realised it was the bridle gag that Shannen had worn the previous day. The mouth packing was a large leather plug filled with some sort of stiff but resilient material. As the straps were tightened behind my neck the rubber-sheathed bar was pulled between my teeth which further expanded the packing. I grunted plaintively, still trying to focus my eyes and my thoughts and to work out what time it was. I caught a quick glimpse of the radio alarm clock on the bedside table: three thirty in the morning. What sort of inhuman hour was this for the girls to be getting up to their tricks, and what had I done? That was the last I saw of anything before a padded leather blindfold on a harness was strapped in place about my head.

The pressure on my back eased as whichever female it had been got off. I struggled to sit up and was helped by two pairs of hands. Sitting on the edge of the bed I felt more ropes on my body. They looped under my crossed and bound wrists then rose – one over each shoulder – before ducking under my armpits and returning horizontally to be secured at my wrists again. This was repeated several times and culminated with a few turns around my upper arms and body. At the end of it all my arms were totally immobile.

I should also point out that I normally sleep naked, as I was tonight. In this sort of weather it is the most comfortable. I should also state that at 3.30 in the morning Mr Willy is not averse to a little nocturnal arousal whether I am awake or not. In this I know I am not unusual. Sometimes there is little I can do about such things, and unfortunately this was one of such time. I sat there, my arms bound, gagged and blindfolded, and Mr Willy shot up like an extension ladder. This of course caused enormous amusement to Monica and Trish, and Monica’s formerly cold tone softened in direct proportion to Mr Willy’s hardening. Soft hands began caressing me and I found it difficult to keep a focus on my thoughts. When a warm mouth engulfed Mr Willy I thought I was going to take off, but the ministrations stopped just as I was getting on to the launch pad, to the accompaniment of whispers and stifled sniggers. I groaned in frustration.

"We shall have to curb this lust of yours, Steven. As I said before, you have been disobedient. We’ve read Shannen’s report of her ordeal yesterday. Unfortunately it was not as much of an ordeal as it should have been, mainly because somebody left off her nipple clips for half the morning and let her jerk off for a lunchtime treat. She even got to have her gag taken out. Unfortunately somebody will now have to make up for that lapse in punishment. That’s why you’re wearing the gag she should have had on without respite. That’s also why you’re going to be wearing the same nipple clips." Moments after she said this, I felt the brief touch of cold steel on my nipples then the biting pain as the jaws of the clips gripped my tender flesh. I gasped and whined plaintively into the mouth packing, but little sound came out except for the pitiful mewing through my nose.

I felt the chains on the clips threaded through the brass rings at each end of the bar running through my mouth and at once I was totally controllable through trying to avoid the awful pain from the tugging at my nipples. There was no doubt it was an incentive to behave and I now fully understood poor Shannen’s plight the previous day.

I needed no persuasion to stand up and move forward to the door. I obviously knew the layout of my room and the building itself, but that doesn’t really give you confidence if you’re not used to being blind. I had faith that my captors would not let me deliberately walk into anything, and they seemed to direct me with precise tugs to ensure this would not happen. There were occasional directions like "step down" or "step up" and I felt the sensation under my bare feet as the surface changed from wood to grass to wood again as we made our way over to the main house. Despite my cooperation I was nevertheless the subject of repeated flicks of what I thought was a riding crop, and I also concluded that the treatment was coming from Monica. The avoidance of such pain had left behind the bizarreness of walking about naked with two women just as it had also made Mr Willy forget his earlier experiences and ambitions.

I mentally tracked our progress as we crossed the back verandah, passed through the kitchen, down the hall, then descended the stairs to the basement. We turned left at the bottom of the stairs then right a few paces further onwards. I knew we were in the Post Room. Female hands locked leather cuffs about my ankles and pulled my legs apart before obviously chaining the cuffs to the posts. I realised at that point whom the butt plug on the shaft was destined for, and why Monica had wanted it installed in such a rush. 

I was made to bend forward as the huge invader was worked painfully into my butthole, filling me uncomfortably. I was then stood up and I could feel the rigidity introduced as the various sliding and pivoting points were screwed tight with wing nuts. I was now rigidly impaled on a device of my own installation, secured in a tripod formed by my legs and the steel rod fixed to the floor. I protested futilely with a series of grunts, but of course it made not the slightest difference. I could feel myself starting to sweat and my breathing rate rising. I could still move above the waist, but not for long – not once the two reins on the nipple clips were attached high up to the posts. The slightest twist of my head or movement of my upper torso brought instant retaliation to my nipples. It was simple, effective and, I guess, somewhat ironic. Monica obviously thought so, anyway.

I could detect movement around me as I stood there, unable to move. There was the soft but menacing click of high heels on the concrete – a single pair only. I had a nasty feeling Monica was about to get close up and personal with me. There was the sound of a snap and the tingle of air near my naked buttocks. I trembled as much as my bonds let me. Then came the wicked pain as the six-tailed flogger bit into the left cheek of my backside. I jerked involuntarily and regretted it immediately as my nipples fired up and the giant butt plug made its rigid presence felt. More clicking of heels, a silence then another snap and another burning pain, this time on my right cheek. I grunted into the gag. Crack again, this time the leather thongs stitching firey lines of pain across both cheeks. I steeled myself, trying not to move at all costs, since my impalement and nipple tension only made things worse. I lost count of the strokes I received, suffice to say that I was thinking nasty things about Monica Armstrong at that point and resolving that I would definitely get my own back, in good time. In the meantime I had to content myself with effusive but very muffled protests into the packing in my mouth.

Then the footsteps trailed away and the door slammed. No explanation, no apology. Monica was gone. Steven was left on his tod, bound, gagged, blindfolded and chained to a couple of posts by his nipples in a dark basement room. Stuff of nightmares, I thought. Things had really bottomed out. Or so I thought. That was when a jolt of electricity zapped me through the buttplug. This time I really yelled, biting vainly on the leather filling my mouth. I jerked head and body, both of which were a bad idea and were brought up short in a split second. Shit, I thought, how much of this was I going to have to endure? 

I had no conception of the passing of time. I was conscious only of the deathly silence save my own breathing and the pain in my nipples and arse. The strain of standing with my legs stretched apart made the insides of my thighs begin to quiver but there was no chance of my falling – not hung by the nipples or with a great plastic dick up my bum. I was tired and not a bit disoriented, but any possibility I might have had of dozing was negated by a random zap up the bum. I tried timing the jolts but lost track. Perhaps it was every five minutes, or maybe every ten. My neck and back began to ache with the necessity of standing so still. I tried to focus my mind on other things, like plotting the downfall of Monica Armstrong. Such a downfall was bound to be slow and painful. Unfortunately such a train of thought inevitably brought me back to my own predicament and the particular pain I was undergoing at that point in time.

Maybe two hours passed, interspersed with zaps that made my body spasm and jerk in a manner I could not control, such that the pain from my nips was aggravated each time. Was she going to make me stand her all morning, or all day? Who was doing the zapping, I wondered? How many people were in the Observation Room watching me suffer? Were they laughing, or did I perhaps have some sympathetic, if silent, supporters, who dared not question Monica’s authority. Maybe Monica was also getting at me for the time I had left her at warren’s mercy when she had been chained to the garden tap then later impaled on a double dildo with Christina. Who could tell how the minds of these women worked? Never under estimate their power for revenge, I told myself balefully.

After an eternity or two I heard the door open again. There was a scuffle of steps then the door slammed again. 

There was another person in the room.

"O e-en! I o orri! Eerri I anh! I e-er ort…"

The words sounded garbled. It was Shannen, and I guessed she wore some sort of gag, for her speech seemed devoid of consonants. She was quite plainly distressed at seeing me, mind you I was not exactly chuffed at my circumstances myself. Distress seemed to be pretty normal for this place. I did not know quite what was to happen next, for I could not see Shannen nor understand whatever restrictive plight she might be in. The next thing I knew was I got another jolt up my arse, eliciting a high pitched moan through my nose. I heard the sound of hoarse breathing moving around behind me – it was as if Shannen was inspecting me. I hoped she enjoyed what she saw. There was another burst inside me that made me jerk on the nipple clamps and brought forth more nasal protests. Shannen was doing something behind me. There was a noise and a cry of pain from her, but I did not know what had happened. The rod attached to the butt plug began to shake and the invader in my bum wriggled painfully. I moaned as it was jerked about, like someone was climbing up the rod. Then there was a sudden pain and the feeling of a wire sliding out of my back passage. Had she somehow disconnected the supply? Surely we were under observation, and surely there should’ve been another jolt by now? I began to hope against hope. There was another cry of pain, and although I was sure nobody else was in the room with Shannen, I wondered what torture she was undergoing. Had they wired her with the remote zappers I had been working on for the twins? I had not shown those to anyone yet – probably just as well. Maybe Shannen wore Monica’s trademark nipple weights, or some other terrible infliction. Shannen was sobbing with obvious pain now, her breath coming in throaty gasps.

I followed her sounds as she moved around in front of me. I felt the warmth of her body as she gently pressed back against me. She was naked, and I felt her hands – crossed and bound behind her, low down at her waist – explore my body in an effort to reach my own nipple tormentors. Try as she might, however, even bent over, she could not lift her hands high enough to reach them. Meanwhile, the relief of having the electrical shocks stop together with the caress of her hands had woken up Mr Willy. I did not think this was appropriate, given my circumstances, but at this hour of the morning Mr Willy often does not consider such niceties as appropriateness or etiquette. The hands caressed him again and he responded further, the little bugger.

Then they were gone. She turned and pushed her body gingerly against mine. I felt the cold steel of metal balls and her nipple clamps clinging to her tits as she moved closer to me. I heard the gasp of pain this exercise caused then felt her lips on my own nipples, her tongue working around my own imprisoning devices. She appeared to have a ring gag on – the kind that makes it impossible for the wearer to close his or her mouth, while still allowing the tongue to do certain things and to permit a limited amount of semi-comprehensible 


She licked my nipples some more, eliciting a further groan from me, and prompting Mr Willy to really get interested. This time the groan was almost one of pleasure, however. She thrust against me, straddling Mr Willy and clutching him between her thighs. All manner of sensations flooded through me – pain, pleasure, confusion, you name it. There was a rough sensation of rope through her crotch and I realised any sort of consummation of this exercise was futile in our present state. That was when – after some pretty heavy thigh-oriented foreplay, she withdrew and obviously knelt in front of me. That was when Mr Willy found his way through the ring gag into Shannen’s mouth.

What was going on? Shannen was bound and gagged, as I was, yet here was she giving me a blowjob in the most bizarre circumstances. Whose idea was all this, I wondered? Was it rehearsed, or an ad-lib performance? Was it Shannen somehow trying to apologise or make it up to me, or was it masterminded by Monica? These thoughts flashed before me briefly before the rationalization faded and the physical demands of Mr Willy took over. The pain in my nipples somehow merged with the rising force in my loins, spurred on as it was by Shannen’s ministrations, and I have to say that she was very, very good, despite the handicaps we both laboured under. I climaxed with remarkable speed and force, and for a moment the insistent pain in my nipples and that of the plug in my arse receded into the background with the persuasions of Shannen’s tongue. Then, of course, reality flooded back with redoubled pain as the blood returned in the weird way it does after a climax. I groaned with the sharpness of it. 

As we both caught our breath, me panting through my nose and Shannen gasping through her ring gag, she moved around behind me and began to nuzzle my back, standing astride the bar holding the buttplug. I realised she was seeking to access my hands. They had been tied, crossed, between my shoulder blades and were somewhat numb, but I felt a clamped nipple thrust against my open palm. With some difficulty I managed to grip the clamp and squeeze the ends free of its prey. Shannen moaned and sobbed with the pain but nevertheless thrust her other breast against my fingers and allowed me to release the second clamp. Again, it was with much sobbing and crying and was quite understandable in my biased opinion. 

After a minute to recover she turned around and worked the back of her head against my hands, allowing me with some difficulty to undo the straps of the buckle holding her gag in place. The ring did not pop out at that point but required considerable persuasion by pulling on the strap, to come loose.

Shannen was at once all apologies, once she had worked her jaw a bit and found her voice. She returned to my front and managed to work her teeth such that after a couple of tries she got one nipple clamp off me. The attempts hurt like hell, as did the blood flow returning, and it was a good thing I was still gagged. Shannen was devastated and profuse in her apologies for my pain, but reluctantly continued her attempts which culminated in the terrible pain of the removal of the second clamp. This time I was able to writhe and twist in an effort to deal with the agony of my nips which had been clamped for at least a couple of hours and had had all manner of tugging imposed on them.

The release of these clamps did make life more bearable, not least since I could now bend over. Shannen could now reach my head harness straps and buckles, which she managed to get undone at length as I bent almost double to allow her access. Then she went to work on the ropes around my chest and arms and, eventually, my wrists, which came free after about ten minutes. This done, I could return the favour and undo Shannen’s ropes around her wrists and through her crotch.

We finally hugged each other – two human beings who had undergone some very personal and very painful shared experiences. Her body was hard and warm, and I suppose it was natural what came next. Shannen tried to undo the butterfly clamps on the rod holding the buttplug, but they were done up too tightly. Notwithstanding this, events progressed pretty much uncontrollably at that point, as Shannen wrapped her body around mine, impaled on Mr Willy as I was impaled on Mr Buttplug. But again, such minor inconveniences faded into insignificance compared to the presence of the supple form entwined with mine. The surroundings of the Post Room disappeared, along with the ache in my legs, nipples and other parts of my anatomy as we gave vent to our passions as much as we could under the circumstances. 

After it was over, Shannen was crying softly and still trying to apologise. That’s when Trish appeared out of the darkness and began unlocking the chains on my ankles and undoing the wingnuts on the buttplug rod.

Shannen was finally ensconced in one of the upstairs bedrooms – the one with the big four poster and the very feminine decoration. Not my personal idea of interior décor, but then, I didn’t use it. I wound up sharing an early breakfast with Trish and swapping home truths on the back verandah. We were both amazed at the transformation that had come over Shannen. Trish tried to tell me that I had played a part in it.

"Are you suggesting that I’ve been conned by Monica again?"

"Not totally. Monica saw what was there between you, fostered it and finally ignited the flame. It was not her idea, but being the opportunist she is she grabbed it with both hands."

"So did Shannen," I said with deliberate double entendre. Trish laughed.

"You’re so refreshing," she said.

"I don’t feel very refreshed," I retorted.

"I’m not surprised." She smiled. "No hard feelings?"

"How could I harbour a grudge against you, Trish?"

"And Monica?"

"Monica’s a different story which hasn’t yet reached its climax," I said thoughtfully. "The author is still working on the plot."

story continues in