Chapter Sixteen: Photo Opportunities
When I arrived at the dungeon at eight o’clock that morning I found the photoshoot was in full swing. Dominating the scene – in both the literal and metaphorical senses – was Monica. It was the first time I had really seen her in full regalia, so to speak, dressed as she was in a black leather bra, short leather skirt and thigh-high leather boots which laced up the front. A part of my mind considered that she must have started dressing a long time before she arrived here, if the boot laces were anything to go by. Dangling from the bra were several light chains, while heavier ones encircled her waist and supported a ring of keys. Her raven hair had lately been cut to a severe pageboy style just touching her shoulders and her smouldering eyes and eyebrows had been heavily accented. She wore leather gloves and was carrying the two-metre bullwhip when I entered.
The room was well lit, this time. Leila was doing her photography thing, shooting off like a pro with her fancy looking 35mm Canon. Leila herself looked pretty hot, too, wearing a red latex minidress with matching red calf-length boots. The dress had lacing over the cleavage but had cutouts for her nipples, and clung to her body like the proverbial second skin, stretching tautly across her thighs and rump. There was no hiding anything beneath that material, I decided.
As I entered, I took in the two other figures in the room. They were considerably less mobile than Leila and Monica. The first was Jillian, bound tightly to the dragon bench, her torso rigidly upright, her legs spread wide and her wrists pulled back over her shoulders and bound to the post. Jillian was dressed as a nurse – or rather, undressed as a nurse. She wore a short white nurse’s uniform that buttoned down the front. In this instance only the button at the waist was done up while the top half was pulled open to expose her breasts and held there by the torso ropes securing her to the post. These wound around her body above and below her boobs and were cinched between the breasts and on each side. Below the waist the dress was again spread apart, draped over her horizontal thighs which were bound to the supporting frame. Under the dress she was naked except for white stockings and white high heels. Her ankles were similarly bound to the frame. She was topped off with a small nurse’s cap and had her mouth well taped with a splash of red duct tape.
My immediate reaction was that the one time I had been in hospital I had never seen any staff as stunningly sexy as Jill now appeared. Maybe it was just the high heels that did it for me. Who knew the way a man’s mind worked? With her arms pulled back over her shoulder, Jill could not help but thrust out her breasts making them vulnerable for any passing tormentor. Currently they sported a pair of red clothes pegs, sitting at a jaunty angle. But it was at her crotch that the whole focus of the scenario lay. Here a small car jack had been positioned – one of those bottle-type ones the size of a wine bottle with a short lever that would be pumped to provide the extension. Attached to the extension was a large dildo – one of the biggest I had seen in the storeroom. Perhaps seven centimetres in diameter and still displaying perhaps thirty centimetres of shaft, it was an engorged pink colour and the top part was embedded in Jillian’s pussy. I made eye contact with her and she looked pleadingly at me.
"Good morning Steven," said Monica pleasantly. "Do you like our first photo shoot? We’re nearly done with Jill – she’s been really good. Very much the consummate actress. Leila – a couple more shots as I give the pump another tweak."
Leila came across with the big Canon while Monica picked up a metre-long section of pipe lying nearby. I wondered what she intended to do with this until she slipped one end over the handle of the jack, then I realised. Under normal circumstances this would have given her a lot more leverage – if she was jacking up a tonne of car, that is. As it was, with a bit of overacting from the participants it made for a visually shocking but intensely striking photograph. I did not, however, know how much of the monster was embedded in poor Jillian. Monica posed for photos leaning with exaggerated strength on the pipe, before finally advancing the giant dildo perhaps a couple of centimetres. Jill’s eyes widened and she groaned behind the tape. I had the feeling that this was realism rather than any acting ability. Jill shook her head in a vain effort to persuade her tormentor to provide some relief. Monica was immune to the entreaties, however, and flicked the clothes pegs as the camera flashed again and Jill screwed up her eyes as the painful jaws bit into her nipples.
"Let’s leave Jill to review her situation for a bit," suggested Monica. As we walked away I heard the rapid intakes of breath as Jill struggled to adjust to her worsened situation.
The fourth figure in the room was Emma, bound tightly but artistically to the parallel bars. I had been so transfixed by the stage setting involving Jillian that I had overlooked the figure hanging suspended like a puppet on the far wall. It was evident that Monica had instructed exactly what was to be worn and what ‘look’ she wanted for the photo shoot. Clearly she was covering as broad a range of fantasies as possible.
Emma wore her hair in two pigtails and looked much younger – real Asian schoolgirl stuff. By contrast she wore a white corset which cinched her waist between navel and the underside of her breasts, plus white stockings and shoes, and long white satin gloves. Her outfit was completed by a large white ball gag that stretched her jaws wide, and which was impaled by a steel screw eyebolt. She was bound with her arms in the position of surrender, and her legs wide apart – thighs horizontal and lower legs vertical. She looked like a marionette that had been hung on a wall after a performance. Except that I suspected Emma’s performance was just about to begin. She looked at me with big eyes – an expression at once perhaps fearful, anticipatory and hopeful.
Emma’s legs were stretched almost 180 degrees apart – a position I was amazed at and I was sure must place her under some stress. She was secured with multiple loops of white sashcord at her wrists, elbows, shoulders, above and below her breasts, her waist, the top of her thighs, her knees and her ankles. It had obviously not been a quick exercise to position her like that and it seemed to not yet be complete. Monica turned her attention from Jillian and proceeded to cinch the ropes either side of Emma’s breasts, making them bulge magnificently. I had never ceased to be fascinated by Emma’s breasts – so incongruous did they seem on the slim Chinese girl. Her breath came faster as Monica tugged on the ropes and Leila went in for the close-ups. I saw Monica’s finger slip down and run through Emma’s shaven pussy, coming away slick.
"You’re incorrigible, Emma," Monica murmured. "I guess we’ll have to do something to keep you happy." She produced a long chrome dildo with an eyehole in the base, through which Monica threaded a thin crotch rope that was hanging down from behind Emma like a tail. She pulled the rope up to the screw eye protruding from Emma’s white rubber ballgag and tied it off, but not before making certain adjustments. With Emma’s chin right down on her chest, the dildo intruded a small way into Emma’s pussy. With her head lifted as high as it could go the dildo was almost entirely inside the girl, held there by the tautness of the rope. I figured the smoothness of the dildo and Emma’s widely stretched position would mean her vaginal muscles would have difficulty holding the invader in place. Repeated head nodding and straining against the rope would no doubt do the job, however - for as long as she could keep it up. The fact that the dildo was narrow might make it more difficult to obtain a satisfactory orgasm. I wondered what Emma’s stamina was like and how she felt at that task that lay before her. She mumbled something incomprehensible from behind the rubber ball.
"No Emma, I’m not going to turn it on yet – not until I’m good and ready," said Monica blithely. Emma tried to mouth something – whether in a pleading or uncomplimentary tone was far from clear. Monica pinched the girl’s right nipple and held it while Emma whined with pain. "Are we going to be good?" Emma nodded and the dildo slid up and down. "Happy now?" Emma nodded again and her eyes closed as the nodding continued for a totally different reason. Monica released the nipple but Emma seemed not to notice.
"I see Emma’s hanging around again." It was Trish, who had entered the dungeon unnoticed. She looked at Jillian who squirmed on the giant phallus impaling her. "Mmm, nice job Mon. Very artistic. Stunning, in fact." Jillian moaned and glared at Trish. "You look lovely hon," she said, stroking Jillian’s cheek and running a fingernail around the tape sealing the victim's mouth. "You definitely picked the wrong career -– nursing could have really done something for you."
"Or to you," I suggested.
Trish was dressed for the office, or so it seemed. She almost looked out of place amongst the exotic attire – or unattire – gracing the dungeon. She had pulled her hair back into a bun and now wore rimless glasses. I did not know whether they were real or merely borrowed, but it made her look every inch a school marm. Mind you, it was a school marm with some pretty decent legs, I had to admit. She wore a white satin blouse with a maroon tie and a dark blue jacket and skirt. The skirt was really short, exposing long black stockings and a hint of garters at the top of them, with high black stilettos at the other end. She caught my admiring glance and smiled – a secret kind of smile reflecting our encounter the previous night.
"Trish is another of our fantasies this morning," said Monica, unnecessarily. "She’s also going to be doing the testing of your seesaw, Steven." I was looking at Trish when she said this, and saw a faint look of uncertainty cross her face. Something in Monica’s voice was enough to make us both uneasy. "You can strap her in place, Steven. Hands over shoulders to the frame, please, legs out straight."
"Yes Mistress," I said with a hint of sarcasm. She looked at me keenly. Maybe it wasn’t such a bright thing to say, I thought – about a second after I’d said it.
Trish moved across to the seesaw plank. It had a padded seat 20 centimetres wide with a steel upright frame at one end with a padded backrest. Trish seated herself and lifted those magnificent nylon-clad legs on to the plank.
"You have to be positioned over the hole," I told her.
"And how do we do that?" she asked archly.
"I take this little pointy thing here…" I picked up a small dildo and slid it through the hole in the plank "…and you make sure it has somewhere to go." Trish smiled and wriggled herself slightly until I felt the resistance ease. She hiked up her skirt to reveal split panties over her garter belt, with the head of the dildo poking into her pussy.
"Very sweet," she said. "Very comfortable. Do go on."
I strapped her ankles and knees to the padded plank then tightly secured a wide strap around her waist, locking her to the backrest. Watched by Monica I strapped Trish’s wrists together and with a cinch rope pulled them back over her head and down behind her shoulders until I could wrap the rope around a cleat at waist height on the backrest.
At this stage I should state that the seesaw was not yet properly located in regard to its height and vertical movement. It was not connected to the driving motor and was sitting roughly level. I then carted several sandbags and positioned them as a counterweight opposite Trish, occasionally releasing the lock to see how the whole thing balanced.
"Surely I can’t weigh that much?" Trish chided with mock horror. She seemed to be enjoying the whole exercise. At length I was satisfied that the seesaw would operate with very little effort. Monica had watched the whole thing with interest.
"How much does it go up and down?" she asked me.
"About twenty centimetres," I said, indicating with my hands. Monica looked thoughtful.
"Excellent. Leila – first shots." Leila of the red latex minidress and boots squeaked into position and took several shots of Trish as she sat, testing her bonds. I was confident that she wouldn’t be going anywhere. When Leila was done, Monica moved in to start rearranging things. First there was a black ball gag to be jammed into Trish’s mouth, then a bit of hair mussing and some more photos.
Monica pulled Trish’s jacket wide and undid the satin blouse, leaving the tie in place but opening the blouse to expose Trish’s breasts. I imagined I could hear Trish’s breathing quickening under Monica’s deft handiwork. She hiked Trish’s skirt up further – Trish was definitely looking somewhat the worse for wear by now. Then the bun came undone and the cascade of hair fell about her face. She looked questioningly at Monica as the dominant woman stared down at her prisoner. Monica squatted beside the seesaw and retrieved the small chrome dildo I had used to position Trish.
"What the hell’s this?" she said quietly to Trish.
"Hhnnh?" said Trish.
"This piddly little thing…" Monica stared hard at Trish then gripped both nipples, pulling herself to a position close up and personal in front of Trish’s face. "You coped with something much more fulfilling last night, didn’t you," she hissed softly. "You like it from behind, don’t you. And never mind about the clientele. Can’t you get enough? Maybe this will cure you a bit of your problem. She picked up another dildo, again chromed, but much larger than the first and with ribs. Trish’s eyes widened and she shook her head, making spluttering noises behind the gag.
"Oh yes, Trish dear. Let’s see how you enjoy this. You have no clients booked for the next couple of days, so you can really enjoy yourself!"
Monica slipped the big silver phallus into the socket and pushed home a locking pin that kept the device in place. She then removed the restraining hook that kept the seesaw from moving and pulled Trish’s end down until the dildo passed through the hole. At this point she undid Trish’s knee straps and slipped her hand between the helpless woman’s legs, obviously locating the big phallus in Trish’s warm wet passage. Trish moaned and closed her eyes, a thin film of sweat suddenly visible on her forehead. Leila was there again with the camera as the knee straps were done up tightly again and Trish began to look less confident and more vulnerable.
"Steven! Get this contraption going."
I was not entirely happy about this. I looked across at Trish but she met my eyes and nodded imperceptibly. Reluctantly I hooked up the vertical rod to the counter-weighted end. It was at the lowest point of its movement, while Trish’s end was at its highest. The up-down motion took about five seconds top to bottom and began as smoothly as my trials had indicated. I had included a small speed control next to the motor, but I did not explain this to Monica. Something made me nervous about her behaviour. Trish groaned as she sank down on the big silver dildo. Then it was up again…and down… Her eyes closed, she squirmed and pulled on her bonds, but futilely. I was mesmerised by the sight, so much so that I totally failed to react when Monica and Leila grasped me by the arms and handcuffed my wrists behind me. It was a setup. Trish and I had been well and truly sprung.
"You surely didn’t think I wanted you here just to ogle at the girls and tighten the odd strap or two, did you?" Monica asked rhetorically. She smiled at me with an expression that made my spine tingle. "No sir, you get to be part of the whole experiment and the photo session. Won’t this be fun? You and Trish – obviously so keen on each other you can’t pass up an opportunity for a bit of cut and thrust – will get to have your own starring roles." I glanced over to where Trish was being slowly impaled again as the seesaw beam descended on to the phallus rising through the hole. Her eyes were wide and she made a faint whining noise behind the ball gag.
Then I was pulled away and positioned behind the pillory. I too, went through the ritual of being gagged. The model for today was a black head harness with matching ballgag, worn here by Steven, looking very sorry for himself and wishing he hadn’t succumbed to a moment of loin lust and given Trish that rogering last night.
After the main strap had been buckled tightly around the back of my neck by Monica, there were more straps being tightened under my chin then pulled back across the top of my head and connected to the first strap. The creation was finished off by one around my forehead which linked with the one over the top. And that about summed it up – over the top, that is. Monica located my neck in the semi-circular lower half of the headstocks and tied it there – obviously a temporary measure. I was standing reasonably straight at this stage while the two of them held my wrists and the handcuffs were undone. Then my wrists were in their little niches and the top half of the pillory closed over them with a snug ‘thunk’ followed by the finality of two heavy padlocks snicking shut through the hasp and staple on each face of the blocks. Monica released the now-unnecessary rope about my neck.
"Are we comfortable?" she asked in her best saccharin voice.
"Nnnphf!" I said, glaring at her.
"Don’t be impolite, Steven," she chided. "You’re not in a position to be smart."
Monica’s comment was reinforced by hands that removed my lower articles of clothing, beginning with my sneakers and ending with me butt naked from the waist down. Regrettably, Mr Willy was at full attention – a fact that was not surprising considering the amount of naked woman flesh in tight confines he had been forced to watch in the course of the morning so far. Notwithstanding that, I did not like the direction in which my own confinement was progressing.
As if in support of this theory, Monica and Leila removed the pin at each end of the frame supporting the headstocks and began to lower them. Not unnaturally, I found myself obliged to go down with them. Before long my head was at waist height and I was in the position of having to make some serious decisions about life. I could try to kneel, but my neck really was too high for that. Or I could just bend my knees – yeah, like how long would I last in that strained position? My only real alternative, I decided, was to spread my legs wide and try to hold out as long as I could. This I did, allowing my back to remain horizontal while my legs formed a triangle with my feet a metre apart.
Clearly this was just what Monica had in mind. Ever the helpful person she was, she fixed a spreader bar to stop my feet sliding even wider apart. And to doubly ensure immobility, my ankles were tied to two handy eyebolts in the floor. Steven was very well secured and very vulnerable now – a position made moreso as Leila undid my shirt and pulled the open ends around my back before buttoning them behind me. My nipples were already getting the jitters, even before she ran her fingernails lightly across them.
I looked around the room. From my position I could see Trish immediately in front of, and facing me, slowly being raised and lowered on the seesaw. Her eyes were closed and her breasts were heaving rhythmically, but much more than normal. Every now and then she would shudder and squirm as the dildo slid into her then slowly withdrew. Beyond her Jillian was still impaled on the giant phallus, bound tightly to the dragon bench with her elbows high and her breasts jutting pointedly, surmounted by clothes pegs on the nipples. Off to the left poor Emma hung, bound to the parallel bars, moving her nodding her head as her vibrator also slid in and out. This was the scene that greeted Mary as she entered the room.
"Oh shit," I thought. Mary was dressed in a shiny black latex catsuit that looked as though it had been sprayed on her tall willowy frame. I was not exactly sure how she got it on – there appeared to be no obvious openings other than at wrists, ankles, neck and tits. The latter holes were big enough to permit a portion of Mary’s mounds to be on display, and I thought I also detected a slit in the crotch region. I watched, fascinated as she first walked around Jill, Emma and Trish, caressing a thigh, tweaking a nipple or flipping a clothespeg. Then she bore down on me. Like a possum caught in the glare of headlights I was helpless to do anything. She transfixed me with her stare while I watched the sinuous display of muscle under the black skin-tight outfit moulded to her body.
"Steven…" Her tone sent a chill of fear through me. "Have we been a naughty boy? I hear you’ve been poking about where you shouldn’t have," she smirked. "It’s really not nice to be poking about – perhaps being poked yourself might teach you a lesson…? Can I, Mon?"
"Sure, why not? What did you have in mind?"
Mary strolled elegantly over to Monica and whispered something in some detail in her ear. Monica looked at where I stood, bent over and helpless, and smiled at me, like a cat. After that all was quite except for the stiletto heels of Mary’s black polished shoes click-clacking on the concrete floor as she moved behind me. Then my arse was invaded by something long and thin that began to enlarge as Mary started pumping up the inflatable buttplug. It seemed to grow and grow inside me, filling me and making my butthole appear to be splitting in two. I wiggled my bum and squirmed from side to side, whining into the rubber ball wedged in my mouth and making pained "mmpf!" sounds until at last I heard the pumping stop and I felt fingers unscrew the bladder and tube from a valve obviously sticking out from my rear. I kept my head down now, staring at the floor and not wanting the other girls to see my pitiful state. That, of course was not what Mary and Monica had in mind. Mary was beside my head and after a moment fiddling with my harness she hauled on a strap which brought my head up with a snap. I found my head was held rigid, the top strapped back to the top board of the headstocks, and I was staring straight at Trish as she went up and down. Her eyes were open and I thought I saw a tear slide slowly down her cheek, although whether this was because of her own predicament or out of regret for mine, I did not know. Mary was far from done, of course.
She walked into my field of view and held up two nipple clamps. They were metal, with little teeth, and joined by a shiny chain. I tried to shake my head and to plead with her, but it only came out as a pathetic whining through my nose. She locked eyes with me and smiled that chilling smile I had come to fear. Then she was gone and I felt the searing pain first in one nipple and then in the other. I whined again and tried to struggle some more, but what was the point?
"Not a good idea to waggle about, Stevie babe," came Mary’s sibilant whisper next to my ear. She had the knack of sending shivers right along the length of my spine. Then she was in front of me again, this time with a small lead ball on a short chain. Oh shit, I thought, not those. She was gone again and there followed the aggravation of the pulling on my nipples as the lead ball was slung on the chain joining the two clips.
My breathing was coming in rapid pants at this stage as I struggled to get to grips with the ferocious burning in each nipple. Then, in the midst of the fire I felt Mary’s deft fingers fluttering around Mr Willy. There followed the touch of her hair against my belly as Mr Willy was engulfed by Mary’s mouth. I have to say at this point that Mary’s mouth was exceptionally skilled – as I found out in the next few minutes. I was at once overwhelmed with the most exquisite sensations, which she evilly interspersed with fierce tugs on the lead ball. Then, for a few minutes she ceased the latter action, in time for me to start to get up a head of steam, although this was difficult, secured nearly immobile as I was. I could just about feel the sap start to rise, so to speak, when the wonderful tongue and lips were abruptly gone, leaving me panting with frustration. Mr Willy was then lassoed by a thong of some sort, which was then tied to the lead ball with sufficient tension to give pain to both ends.
Then Mary hove into view again, this time wielding a thin bamboo cane about a metre long but with the flexibility of a fishing rod. This was Mistress Whippy, I told myself in an unwarranted excursion into the realm of black humour.
"Ready to accept your punishment, Stevie babe?"
"Nnnph!" I whined, for all the good I knew it would do me.
The first crack was a shock as the bamboo curled right around my buttocks. I jerked wildly, as much as I could. This was in fact only a sort of sideways swivel, which merely tugged harder on the two nipple clips.
I yelped into the rubber ball. Then came the second thwack – a horrible air-cutting swish followed by a line of fire just below the first. Mary was obviously good at this. The third caught the end of the buttplug, as did the fourth. By this time my breath was coming in ragged gasps in between muffled pleading and other undignified noises from behind the gag.
I received six of the best, as they used to say at school before the whole issue of corporal punishment became politically incorrect. There was nothing politically incorrect about cat-suited Mistress Mary dealing out her own punishment and I wondered how much more of this I could take. Not that I had a choice. My bum was on fire and my other parts were not far behind in the ignition stakes. Mary gave me a parting tug on whatever was hanging out of my butt. It went barely noticed in the heat of my rear end as a whole.
That’s when the three females appeared in front of me to survey my misery – Leila, Monica, and Mary in between them. Mary looked particularly smug, smiling at me mockingly. That was also when I saw a nod from Monica and as one she and Leila grabbed Mary by the wrists and had them handcuffed behind her back before she could even struggle. Mary glared at them, but did not protest. I guess it was par for the course in the dungeon – swings and roundabouts, so to speak.
"On your knees, Mary" commanded Monica imperiously. Mary stared her in the eye, daring her to do something about it. Monica did nothing, other then to signal slightly to Leila who, grabbing a handful of Mary’s hair, quickly had her on the floor, held rigid, trying to ease the pain. As Mary opened her mouth in a wide ‘O’ with the pulling on her hair, Monica stuffed an object into her mouth and began pulling something over her head. It was difficult to see everything from my rigid position. There was a flurry of bodies and limbs before Leila stood back and Mary was exposed, wearing a black latex hood that matched her catsuit. It had holes for her eyes and nose, but where a mouth-hole might have been a rubber tube emerged which was connected to a squeeze-bag. I guessed Mary was about to experience one of those inflatable gags. It couldn’t have happened to a more suitable candidate, I decided almost cheerfully.
She was hauled to her feet. Monica stood in front of her. I had the feeling Mary was about to get a severe bollocking.
"Mary," said Monica deliberately, "over the last few days you’ve over-stepped the mark a number of times. I don’t know what I have to do to get this through to you. I do not want the girls pushed beyond their limits. Maybe you have a higher pain threshold than they do. Maybe you’re more experienced. But you should also be a better judge because of that experience. In any case we’re now going to review your own tolerance and see how well you hold up. The most important feature of this review is that it will give you time to consider the error of your ways and to come to terms with the fact that if you break the rules again something even worse will befall you. You should spend some time trying to think of exactly what could be even worse…" Monica let her words hang in the air. Then: "You’re going for a ride on Number One Plank."
Mary’s eyes widened and she shook her head vehemently, which wasn’t a good idea, for the squeeze-bag flailed about and caught Monica across the cheek. Monica reddened and seized Mary by the nipples, at which point the prisoner froze abruptly. She was again forced to her knees while Leila bound her elbows tightly together with a dozen turns of thick white sashcord. Her elbows pinioned and touching, Mary was helpless while the handcuffs were removed and her wrists were bound in similar fashion with more sashcord. These bonds were cinched, with a tail of cord left hanging. Then Mary was marched over to where the Number One Plank was secured about half a metre off the ground, resting on a locating pin in the channel at each end. I could watch the scene relatively easily as it was to the right of my field of vision, but not to the extent that I had to turn my head to watch Mary get her desserts.
Trish had also perked up a little as Mary was made to straddle the plank. For an instant when Monica and Leila were not blocking my view, I saw the two prongs jutting ominously from the top of the plank, jammed into the recesses I had made for them. The one closest to me was a large scarlet-coloured dildo with all manner of ribs and knobs. It was thick and long and was obviously going to be very filling. Behind it was a thinner, matching one, and I saw wires leading from both. Mary was going to get the full Works Burger. Sticking horizontally through the middle of one of several holes in the beam, half a metre in front of the dildos was an adjustable aluminium spreader bar with a leather cuff at each end.
Leila attached the loose end of the wrist cinch rope to a rope hanging over a ceiling pulley and pulled on it enough to abruptly lift Mary’s arms horizontally behind her. Then Monica and Leila started on raising the beam, controlling a pulley at each end. As the first prong nudged Mary in the pussy she shrank back, as much as she was able with her hands pulled up behind her, uttering little muffled noises. Her captors tied off the pulley ropes temporarily and Monica moved lazily up to the captive. She bent and fiddled at Mary’s crotch, while Leila pulled her forward by the nipples. I saw Mary suddenly go up on her toes – as if she could really get any higher off the ground than her stilettos allowed. There was a little cry followed by rapid panting from Mary. Monica stepped back and I saw a handspan of the scarlet dildo still protruding from Mary’s crotch, where it disappeared through a slit in the rubber. Mary was starting to get just a little excited and noisy, so it was not surprising that Monica decided it was a good time to quieten things down a bit. Monica gave several pumps on the squeeze bag and
Mary’s muffled pleadings subsided into gurgles. Several more pumps and Mary’s eyes widened, pleading. Her cheeks were bulging and she was making whimpering noises through her nose. Monica gave the gag a further squish then disconnected the squeeze bag, leaving the tube hanging loose, before turning her attention back to the beam pulleys. Up it went again, slowly, while Mary squirmed and jiggled as the big dildo gradually impaled her. Then it was prong number two, which Leila lined up through the rear of the crotch slit. Then more raising of the beam. Mary’s eyes widened even further, if that was possible, as the two invaders filled her totally, then the beam began to press against her crotch until she was standing on tiptoes, making mewing sounds through her nose.
Leila got a nod from Monica and hauled further on Mary’s wrist rope. Mary’s head went down as her wrists went up to about 45 degrees to the horizontal. The piece de resistance came as the two girls lifted an ankle each and fastened it to the spreader bar. Mary complained pitifully, as much as the mouth-filling gag let her. Her whole weight was now borne on the plank, her legs horizontal and stretched wide. But Monica was still not satisfied and adjusted the spreader bar so that it extended even further. Mary was now as taut as a bow, barely able to move except perhaps her head.
Negating that was Monica’s final triumph. She squeezed and kneaded Mary’s breasts where they poked through the holes in the rubber suit. The holes were somewhat smaller than Mary’s breasts, and were not designed for the whole mammarian protrusion to be exposed. The rubber thus acted like a clamp or stricture around the base of each breast. Mary moaned as Monica then flourished a pair of shiny nipple clips of the crocodile variety and installed them to the accompaniment of muted squeals from behind the rubber mask. The clamps were connected by a short silver chain, to which Monica now tied the rubber tube from Mary’s mouth, but only after pulling her head down and stretching the tube. Mary could not now raise or turn her head, and even the act of keeping it still imposed tension on the clips biting into her nipples.
"Behold the mighty are fallen," declared Monica, stepping back from the black clad figure stretched and bound rigidly on to the plank. Mary moaned pitifully. "How do you fancy a morning there, thinking about a worse fate, Mary?"
Mary tried to shake her head but decided it was not a good idea, as no doubt piercing pain would have shot through her nips. I would have smiled had my mouth not been equally filled.
"Leila – I think a few more pictures would be in order," Monica ordered, "- for the album, Mary, you understand."
She smiled mockingly in the direction of Mary’s suffering immobile form.
The scene was starting to take on a more and more surreal atmosphere, with four bound females plus myself, all in some form of punishment or ordeal. Leila busied herself with the camera and the dungeon blinked intermittently with the flash, while the whine of the battery charger competed with the sniffles and whines of us, the victims of the whole photo shoot. Leila’s approach was merciless – in your face kind of stuff, literally. Close-ups of vibrators entering and emerging, of wide eyes and saliva dribbling from around mouths stuffed with rubber. Her shots, of course, could not convey the sounds of the victims, the suppressed moans, the attempted movements to try and ease the pain, or indeed the pain itself.
Leila completed the assignment and looked questioningly at Monica.
"Your turn, sweetie," the mistress said. "You get to try out the cross." Leila looked worried. "Relax – it will only be for a little while – just long enough for the last of the roll. Come on, I haven’t got all day."
Leila crossed to the frame which I knew to be locked in place with a bolt to prevent it turning unexpectedly. She wore a decided look of trepidation as she mounted the two foot-blocks and stood, legs splayed and her hands at her sides, waiting for Monica.
"Aren’t we forgetting something?" Monica asked. Leila looked at her and saw Monica dangling a bright red ball gag in one hand. "Well?" Leila reluctantly stepped down and walked slowly over to Monica. "Here you are dear. Put it on, please." Leila worked the rubber ball into her mouth and buckled the red strap behind her head. You had to admire Monica’s colour coordination – Leila looked absolutely stunning in her red latex dress and boots, and the red gag and strap against her blonde hair really finished her presentation. "Very good," cooed the mistress of the manor. "You look very nice. Now turn around…" Monica stopped her mid-turn and tightened the gag strap by a further notch. Leila made gurgling noises before she was pushed towards the cross frame again and once more mounted the two blocks fastened to the base of the legs. This time Monica quickly buckled the heavy straps around each ankle then above each knee and around Leila’s slender waist before pulling the holding bolt free.
The cross was powered by the same type of small electric motor that had driven the "submarine". Unengaged, the motor put up minimum resistance and the whole cross could be turned by hand.
"Hold tight Leila dear," ordered Monica. Leila gripped the D-shaped handles screwed to the top of each ‘arm’ of the X, just before she started to rotate. There was a series of squeals from behind the red rubber ball as the girl felt her weight come on the various straps until she was upside down and her face began to match the colour of her clothing. Monica stopped the rotation there long enough to secure another strap tightly above Leila’s breasts and further ones around her wrists and upper arms. Then it was back to an upright position for dear Leila, now looking even more unhappy.
But of course if anyone had thought that Monica would stop at that point they were not living in the World According To Monica. That’s when she brought a spreader bar out and tied it securely underneath the two foot-blocks that Leila was nominally standing on. This puzzled me until Monica ducked out of the room to reappear moments later with a wooden pole bearing a large vibrator fixed to one end. Predictably it was bright red, as was Leila when she saw what was to befall her. She shook her head and made predictable pleading noises, while Monica predictably ignored them as she hiked up the hem of the red dress and worked the device into Leila’s pussy. Leila rolled her eyes and uttered a series of nasal grunts as the big phallus was lodged inside her. Monica then lashed the lower end of the pole to the spreader bar where the two crossed, before smoothing down the tautly-stretched hem of Leila’s dress.
"And so that you and the viewing public here know exactly what’s going on," Monica continued cheerfully, "I should point out that the vibrator you are now encompassing so effortlessly is controlled by this pull switch here," she said, lifting a short length of string hanging down from beneath the shiny hem of Leila’s dress. "It’s just like the old bathroom light pull cord, but rather more sensitive. It will operate through this small lead weight that slides up and down the pole here. With each revolution you make the weight will at some stage slide back down the pole with sufficient force to turn your little helper on. Or off, as the case may be. You will have one revolution to enjoy the sweet pleasures before it will be switched off again long enough for you to become desperate for its resurrection. What fun it will be for all within earshot…
"And talking of which, we must not forget your lovely nipples, my dear – why should the others have all the interesting experiences? Here are two nice plastic clothes pegs – in red you will note. You will also note the long length of string attached to each, of course…" Leila whimpered as the jaws were fastened on each nipple where they protruded through the cutouts in the red latex. Monica stepped away, trailing the two lengths of string which she wrapped around each side of a column a couple of metres in front of her prisoner, at about waist height, leaving some slack in the string. "A few turns on the cross and the string will start twisting together. Tighter, and tighter. You will think your nipples are going to be pulled off and the pain will be exquisite before the clips finally slip off." Poor Leila must’ve wondered what she had done to prompt Monica into such a devilish mood.
Since she had been strapped to the seesaw, Trish had seen me, Mary and Leila all bound immovably in position. She must have been sliding up and down for at least half an hour, and it was at this point that Monica stopped the movement of her prisoner.
I heard the sigh from behind Trish’s gag. Monica said nothing as she undid the straps around Trish’s legs and waist together with the cinch rope holding her wrists behind her shoulders. Trish lifted her wrists back over her head with an awkward movement and slid her feet to the floor. Monica motioned her to stand and she did so carefully, sliding herself gingerly off the big chromed phallus with a faint groan. She stood up, trying to brush the mussed hair away from her face with her still bound hands. Monica took hold of the cinch rope and dragged Trish out of my field of view. There was movement and noises behind me and I felt the inflatable dildo collapse inside me and then be extricated none too gently. Just as I thought I was about to be released from the ordeal, a new weapon invaded me. This was clearly your hard, regular buttplug, now available in gigantic Steven size, which he did not like at all.
It seemed to be huge, although my poor hole had at least been primed for receipt. It nevertheless felt strange and was abruptly waggled inside me. I had a suspicion there was somehow a good part of it still sticking out, even though it had been pushed home past the widest part. I suspected this was one of those double-ended jobs… My thoughts were confirmed as I felt the warm moist backside of Trish thrust against mine. The buttplug took a bit of punishment at that point as Monica made Trish wriggle and bounce as the other end of the implement worked its way inside her. I heard Trish panting and whining and I was not above a bit of that myself. Trish’s buttocks seemed to tighten at that point and I guessed she was being made to bend over, probably having her hands tied to something. There was more jiggling and I found out afterwards that Trish’s ankles had been spred with a bar and her wrists secured to the bar. Then there was the sensation of more rope, as Monica bound my right thigh to Trish’s left and her right to my left, in the process pulling a few strands through our respective crotch areas. There was a squeal from Trish which I found out was the nipple clamps going on. These were then tied off to poor Mt Willy with a couple of strings between our legs. Mr Willy, of course, was already attached to my nips, and we were a very uncomfortable pair indeed.
"You make a lovely couple," Monica mocked. "Such a close relationship." She picked up the camera and proceeded to shoot off more shots of the ignominy of Trish and me. Then she grabbed her whip and cracked it with a ferocity that scared me.
"Listen up now people! The photo session is done. Almost. It was okay, but I really want a bit more animation. I will have to make a few adjustments – bear with me." With that ominous statement Monica moved over to where Emma hung, roped to the parallel bars. "A little encouragement for you, Emma," she said softly. Emma looked up at her with big hopeful eyes – an expression that was rewarded as Monica switched on the vibrator that was poised half in and half out of Emma’s pussy. Emma groaned with pleasure and lifted her head, the rope attached to the eyebolt in her ball gag pulling the vibrator deeper inside of her. She shuddered and closed her eyes.
Then it was Jillian’s turn. God knows what sort of batteries powered the monster that she was impaled on, straddling the car jack. I heard Jill’s quickening of breath above the faint buzzing of the device and her muffled squeal from behind the tape as Monica gave the giant phallus another nudge deeper into Jillian.
Leila’s fate was already known. A simple flick of a switch and the big cross slowly began to turn. After about five seconds, when Leila was nearly upside down, there was a movement as the weight slid down the pole between her legs and activated the vibrator under her dress. By that point the slack in the stings on the nipple clips was starting to be taken up and I could hear her breath starting to come in rapid pants.
Mary, predictably, was also to be on the receiving end, and I saw Monica fiddle with the little box I had devised for use on the Twins to administer shocks to them. Clearly Mary wasn’t going to be getting much in the pleasure department. I watched as the black-clad figure suddenly stiffened and jerked – well, as much as she could do. Her leg muscles went rigid and her hands clenched, and she made the mistake of lifting and trying to shake her head. This, of course made the tube from the inflatable gag pull hard on her nipple clamps and a muted cry of pain came from the rubber-filled mouth behind the mask. There was more ragged breathing and a high-pitched nasal whining as she fought the obvious waves of pain from her crotch and nipples, not to mention the terrible tension that must have been building up in her arms and legs. It appeared to mean nothing to Monica, who strolled across to where Trish and I were joined at the arse like bizarre Siamese twins.
"And now you two. What should I do here? A problem shared is a problem halved – is that what they say? I think you and Mary should all share the same problem." And with that she returned to the box in front of Mary, trailing a further small electrical wire, which she plugged in to a second socket in the box.
For a moment there was nothing, then a jolt shot up my bum that made me jerk and splutter into the ball packing my mouth. The fact that Trish experienced exactly the same reaction at the same moment made us sway in unison like two people in a pantomime animal suit. It was probably only the fact that my neck and wrists were clamped in the immovable headstocks that stopped us from falling in a heap. I felt Trish’s thighs and butt move against mine and heard a muffled wail from behind me as the electricity zapped us once more. There was a flash of light and I realised Monica was taking pictures again. This time there was no doubt she was getting the animation she desired.
Monica took her time with the photographic session – perhaps the emphasis should be on the "graphic" part. By the time she was finished with all the players I was starting to think that perhaps Monica Armstrong should also become a participant in the Great Game, as they used to call Central Asian political manoeuvring at the turn of the century. I was not above a little political manoeuvring myself, although right at that moment the physical manoeuvres of Trish and myself were perhaps uppermost in my mind, as the device implanted in us went mercifully quiet for a couple of minutes. That of course, was all part of the suspense and fear of the unknown that Monica was so good at. The Mistress of the house – of all she surveyed at that particular moment – stood at the door and gazed about her with a look of satisfaction at the six helpless people suffering variously the throes of extreme pleasure and pain. That’s when she opened the door, switched off the light and plunged us into darkness, slamming the door behind her.
Probably none of us knew how long we remained in the pitch-blackness. With the loss of our sight our hearing became more attuned to the sounds of suffering. Muffled cries were set against a background humming of Jillian’s and Emma’s vibrators, interspersed with that of Leila for one revolution at a time. This latter sound was preceded by a soft clunk as the weight swung down and activated the switch. Leila’s high-pitched panting would being moments after that as the vibrations kicked in. She was caught up in the limited time she had to fully absorb the pleasures on offer, while at the same time the plastic clothes pegs on her nipples were no doubt drawing inexorably tighter as the pair of strings twisted round each other. In a seemingly random fashion I heard Jillian and Emma climax, their muted grunts and nasal panting also going up an octave or three as sparks were obviously exploding within.
There were certainly sparks of a different kind exploding within Trish, Mary and Steven. Not nice. We squirmed and bucked reactively and unavoidably, which only made it worse, tugging on our poor nipples and making us utter garbled squeals and meaningless splutterings. Poor Mary no doubt could barely squirm, tied so stringently was she. I could make out a nearly constant keening sound which came from the black void in her direction.
By the time Monica finally returned and bathed the room in light I was slippery with sweat, as was my twin behind me. I could feel the sweat running down our legs while the double-headed dildo made slurping noises as we still insisted in trying to escape from its ministrations.
Monica was only with us briefly. She smiled and made some very complimentary comments concerning whether we were all enjoying ourselves and how she hoped we were having a good time. She particularly suggested that Mary, Trish and I take note of our predicament and remember the sensations for future use. I took her at her word and vowed she would one day also experience something equally devilish.
Then she undid Jillian’s wrists. Jill was red in the face with her heaving breasts slick with perspiration. Monica left us at that point, leaving Jill to work the rest of her ropes free and slowly prise herself off the enormous phallus that continued to vibrate.
Finally she stood up, wobbly on her red high heels, and slowly pulled the tape from her mouth, taking the first deep breath she had been able to for quite some time. In a strange reflection of modesty and embarrassment, Jill buttoned the nurse uniform, now sporting dark patches of perspiration, and smoothed her hair behind her ears. She looked around as she did so as though to see who most urgently needed help in their release, for clearly that was what Monica had intended.
I thought initially that given Jillian’s relationship with Emma, the latter would be the next recipient of freedom. It did not take a rocket scientist to work out that Emma was quite happy for the moment, however, her eyes closed and head nodding slowly, transported away on some other planet.
Jill’s decision appeared to be made for her by a slowly mounting whining from Leila that abruptly rose an octave. She was heading into another head-down rotation and the two plastic clothes pegs on her nipples were starting to really bite and distend the flesh as the strings twisted further with each turn of the cross. Leila’s panic rose a notch as did her – albeit muffled – volume. The pegs were obviously slipping, now biting near the tip of the nipple itself. She began to wail – a nasal keening pleading desperately for someone to take the terrible pain away. Jill moved in a rush to the helpless figure strapped to the cross. Leila’s eyes were wide and streaming tears as she panted and moaned through her nose while her nipples were pulled further and further at right angles to her body. Jillian dodged the strings and lunged for the offending pegs, seizing them quite dexterously and removing them in a quick movement, just as they were about to pull off of their own accord. The agony that would have come from such an event was averted, but Leila screamed into her gag at the pain of the blood rushing back into the tortured nips.
It took Jillian a few moments to find the switch for the motor, and then to wait while Leila came upright again. By the time she did she was crying and sniffling. Jill undid the straps on Leila’s limbs and body, leaving Leila to work the red rubber ball from her mouth and to free herself from the vibrator – currently in operational mode - under her red latex dress. Leila did all of this slowly and awkwardly. Her complexion matched her outfit, not least through the inversions she had suffered, and she climbed down from the cross awkwardly, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
It was Leila who came to free Trish and myself, while Jillian waited for Emma to moan and squirm her way through a final tumultuous orgasm, before finally hanging limp in her bonds.
Leila understood priorities and the first things that came off were the dreaded nipple clamps. She removed these slowly and gently, thank goodness. Nevertheless Trish and I both moaned into our gags as the circulation returned to the tender parts and my desire for revenge on Monica clicked over a further stop on the revenge-ometer. Then Leila undid my head harness, which had held my head rigid against the top headstock. The headstock itself was then unlocked and my wrists and upper body were gloriously free. While I worked the rubber ball out of my mouth and pulled off the straps about my head, Trish’s wrists were released from the tie to the spreader bar and she, too, was able to stand upright. As we did so the double plug objected and we were obliged to bend forward somewhat to work it free with much squelching. My end came free first, leaving Trish with what looked like a banana sticking out of her bum, trailing the wires back to the black box. I smiled at her, still gagged and legs spread, while Leila undid her wrists. I could not fully read Trish’s expression, distorted as it was by the ball still strapped in her mouth, but I could not mistake the relief component.
I eased my aching limbs and watched as Jillian helped a wonky Emma down from her position as a wall hanging on the parallel bars. Emma was pretty out of it, but wasn’t complaining, it seemed. Trish was now free and Leila was about to start on the latex clad figure on the plank, when Jillian stopped her.
"No, not yet," Jill said. "Monica’s instructions. "She has to stay there for the rest of the afternoon."
"What!" exclaimed Leila. "She won’t manage that!"
"Yes she will," said Jill firmly, who now had her back to the taut figure moaning on the plank. Mary was thus unable to see Jillian’s broad wink, but the rest of us were.
"Oh," said Leila. "I guess if that’s what Monica wants…"
We started to leave, all of us walking stiffly. There was a muted howl from deep behind the rubber mask and the inflatable gag filling Mary’s mouth. She tried to squirm, but that obviously hurt all over and she moaned in despair as we trooped out the door and Jillian switched off the light, leaving Mary in darkness to ponder her fate.
story continues in Monica's Place: 17. House Calls