Monica's Place: 21. Escape & Capitulation

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 Twenty One: Escape & Capitulation

"I want you to put this on," said Monica, handing me a double-ended dildo.

"How can I?" I said. "I don’t have a pussy."

"Yes you do."

"Don’t be ridiculous." This seemed a bizarre conversation to be having around the breakfast table, but the others appeared to be totally disinterested.

"Go on – you’ll enjoy it."

"But Monica –"

That was when she lifted up the hem of my skirt, pulling it up to my waist. And there, for all the world to behold, was a lovely brown furry patch. I was astonished, and let Monica’s questing fingers find their way into the entry of my new acquisition. I blushed then surrendered to the feelings of pleasure.

"Now, put it on…put it on…"

"Put it on!" The voice was not Monica’s, but deeper and harsher. My strange dream dissolved and I opened my eyes to see the terrible black ski mask with the two menacing eyeholes in front of me. The ball gag on the harness was being shaken in front of my face.

"Are you deaf, girl, or just thick?"

Reluctantly I took the harness and worked the ball behind my teeth, then fastened the buckle under my hair behind my head. I did up the strap under my chin and then pulled the last one over the top of my head. I was trying to find the connecting buckle by feel, but my hair kept getting in the way. Abruptly the hooded one slapped my hands away with a gesture of impatience and fastened the strap, pulling the buckle I had done up another notch tighter. I winced, and my heart sank as I felt a small padlock being fitted and snapped closed at the back.

"All right, hands together at the front!" I did as I was ordered and my leather cuffs were removed before my hands were bound palm to palm with a length of white sashcord. After a few turns round my wrists the rope was cinched and a couple of long tails were left trailing. I didn’t like the potential that these provided for anyone with an imagination.

"On all fours girl – hurry up, we haven’t got all day!" I did so reluctantly, knowing what had to come next. Sure enough Mr Butt Plug was pushed home expertly, being worked in heedless of my muted protests, in and out until the bulge slipped past my dilated sphincter. Then it was Mr Willy’s turn to be manhandled, along with the rest of my personal bits down there, being pulled backwards so that the extension tube obviously poked through a hole in the back rubber flap, which was then secured to the front one with the small padlock I had undone and left lying on the floor.

I was hauled to my feet and made to stand while one of the figures put several layers of white sticking plaster over the tip of my left little finger, along with a dash of red stain. I had to admit it looked very effective, bound as it was against the longer little finger on my right hand. After that it was the usual routine. My short hobble chain was removed, although the cuffs were left on, and the horrid black bag was placed over my head before I was steered out of the cell.

My destination was again the dungeon, but this time it appeared I was to be the witness. Jan was already present, but the circumstances were dramatically different. She was naked, straddling the plank as I had stood the day before - or whenever it had been. She was secured the same way, pulled backward with her fingers held by plastic ties through the holes in the plank. Her ankles were held apart by a spreader bar and she wore a crotch and waist strap, with presumably one or two devices inserted in the relevant passages. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail and she wore a white ball gag on a harness the same as mine. Like mine, a large chromed eyebolt poked through the rubber ball.

Jan had been crying. She was plainly scared of what was going to happen but could do nothing. She was standing on tiptoes, trying to relieve the pressure that must have been driving the dildo or dildos deeper inside her. She was an attractive woman or around thirty, perhaps, her looks showing through despite the tearstains on her cheeks. She sported a nipple clamp on each breast, from which hung a small weight. Her breasts were not big, but seemed larger due to her body being tilted backwards. They were best described as mounds, the size of the smaller part of a rock melon sliced vertically at a third of its thickness.

I looked at her in her distress and my heart went out. Here was a woman who had entered into a role-play and who obviously now wished she hadn’t. She believed she had seen a finger amputated already and now feared she was in for the same horrific fate. It had all gone terribly wrong, but she was helpless to do anything about it. She was immovably secured to the plank, her arms held rigidly, while the rest of her body was stretched to try to ease the pressure of the dreadful plank against her crotch.

My bound hands were flourished in front of Jan’s face, her expression becoming more terrified as she saw my bandaged little finger and how it was obviously shorter than the one on my right hand. Then I was dragged unceremoniously to the pulley where Jan had been secured the last time, and the two tails trailing from my wrist bonds were knotted and looped over the hook on the end of the pulley rope. Then it was up on tiptoes for Stephanie, too.

"Where’s the friggin’ video camera?" one of the hoods demanded of the other.

"I dunno. Wasn’t it bein’ used upstairs? "

"And we need a new tape for it."

"So why’re you tellin’ me? Go find it."

"And where’re the friggin’ bolt cutters? What are we supposed to use, a saw? Would you like your finger sawn off, girlie?" Jan shook her head in abject misery and snuffled over the gag.

"Bob was usin’ ‘em down by the gate on dat fencin’. Probably left ‘em dere."

"Shit. I s’pose I’ll have to waste my time huntin’ t’rough half the garden now. I hope dey don’t get rusty. Wouldn’t want you to get blood poisoning, now, would we girlie?" Another tear rolled down Jan’s cheek.

Then they were gone, leaving us to ponder the fate about to befall us.

I cast a look of pity across to where Jan balanced, straining, astride the plank. She caught my eye, and at that moment I suppose her look of pleading made up my mind that enough was enough, and that Monica’s little game had gone too far. I concentrated my thoughts on how to get free, but my wrists were bound far to tightly and the knotted tails were beyond my reach. I caught Jan’s eye again and with her head she motioned back past me, with a "mmning" sound. I twisted myself on my toes and saw what she was looking at - a small stool nearly a metre away. It was used by the girls to hook victims’ arms over hooks on the posts. I stretched my right foot out but it came up short. In desperation I balled my hands into fists and swung myself on the pulley rope. I decided I never wanted to be fully suspended, given the weight of my body under those circumstances, but I nevertheless managed to snare the stool with the heel of my shoe. Panting with the strain I dragged it back and regained my feet, then clambered on to it. It was just high enough for me to reach the hook on the pulley rope and to lift the knotted tails off. 

I looked around for something to cut the rope around my wrists and spotted a Stanley knife on the floor near Jan. Obviously it was there to cut the plastic ties on her fingers when they released her. As a first priority I slowly removed the two weighted clips from Jan’s nipples, while she cried into the gag. I decided it would be easier to free Jan’s fingers first and let her untie my wrists, and within a minute we both had our hands free. I released her ankles from the spreader bar then helped her off the plank. She groaned with the release of the pressure on her crotch strap and we turned our attention to that and our gags. They were all locked on, and that was when I discovered I had been caught with my own cleverness. The straps through the balls and the waist and crotch straps were all threaded through with stainless steel wire, to prevent just such unauthorised cutting, just the tactic I had employed against Monica and the girls.

"MMmph!" I told Jan, motioning with the knife against the barely visible wire and shaking my head. She moaned, but there was nothing we could do. I gestured to her that we had to leave there, and fast. She nodded, but then mimed the issue of her lack of clothes. I grabbed her by the hand and we ran for the door, sneaking a look outside before easing into the corridor. I paused, listening for footsteps but the basement was silent. Quickly we moved to the storeroom door and slipped inside. We had precious little time, but I knew Jan had to have some sort of garment and something on her feet if we were to succeed in reaching the outside world. Jan halted in awe at the racks of clothes, and shelves full of all manner of gags, hoods and restraints. Without waiting for her assent, I tossed her a black dress. It was sleeveless and made from cotton lycra, and I knew it would fit her. She pulled it over her head while I rummaged in the shoe department. Here the choice was limited, and I saw no point in Jan heading off in four-inch stilettos – she would be better off barefoot. I found a pair of black boots – mid-calf ones with only a three-inch heel that laced up the front. I decided that they would at least give her some support and would be better than nothing.

She pulled them on and I showed her how to wrap the laces around her ankle and tie them quickly, rather than waste time threading them through holes. We were out of there in less than two minutes, Jan now clothed and looking quite sexy, although I couldn’t tell her, of course. It was clear she had not taken me to be anything other than a female, and I had concluded that things were better left this way at present. We moved down the corridor to the back door to the basement. This was the steel emergency exit door, and it opened smoothly as I tugged on it. 

I had no idea what I expected the day to be like outside – dark or light, fine or wet. My sense of time passing had been totally destroyed by hours in a coffin and confinement in a windowless cell with the lights kept on.

I guessed it was about four in the afternoon. I was now becoming more sure of myself in that escape was the best thing I could do for my own situation as much as Jan’s, although I had no clear plan as to what I was going to do next. My overwhelming thought was to get away from the house with its cameras and probable guards.

We emerged on to the narrow pathway that served as access, and moved into a bushy stretch of garden flanking the house. I was making for my toolshed at the end of the stretch of bushes, towing Jan behind me. I was nervous as hell, as the implications of what I was doing slowly sank in. Monica would go ape!

We turned off the path and headed through the undergrowth of broad-leaved tropical plants. It had obviously been raining during the day for the foliage was wet and soon my skirt was wet and clinging to my thighs. I did not notice the dampness of my blouse except in the sleeves, because of the rubber corset underneath. It made free movement and regular breathing difficult through the continuous constriction on my abdomen and chest up to the underside of my breasts. 

The toolshed loomed ahead of us. My first priority was to try to cut the gags and crotch strap loose, and I hoped against hope that the toolshed would be unlocked. We approached it cautiously. There was no light under the door and I assumed it was unoccupied. Alas, my fears were confirmed and the door was locked tight. I pointed at the door and shook my head to Jan. Her doe eyes betrayed her feelings, although I did not know if she realised what I had intended. 

We moved away from the building, and after a quick check, we scurried hand in hand across the lawn to a further dense patch of garden near the boundary and away from the house. Here we crouched in a thicket of ginger plants and caught our breath. Not only was my breathing constricted by the corset, but it was also impeded by the rubber ball strapped in my mouth. We were both panting through our noses and it took a couple of minutes for this to settle down. I squatted against the trunk of a bottle palm on the layer of pine mulch that permeated the well-kept gardens. I helped Jan undo her bootlaces and fit them properly, then I tried to communicate the plan to her. 

I signed that we should wait another hour or so, until dusk had fallen, then try for the cars. I assumed Jan would have a car, and while we would have a problem with keys, if we could find any of the cars unlocked, I would hotwire it. The gate would open automatically to an exiting vehicle, and we would be home free, although where home was I was not now so sure. If Monica had been true to her avowed intent to change the locks on my flat, I would be unable to get in there, either. I had been kidnapped in my birthday suit, and most of what I owned was still in my flat – clothes, ID, money, you name it. I settled down with my back against the base of the palm and gestured for Jan to join me. She snuggled up against me, sitting on my skirt now taut between my thighs, and leaning back against me. I ‘mmmned’ an interrogative ‘okay?’ and she affirmed this with a gentle sigh. 

Why was it that two women could do this touchy thing, but not two guys? After a few minutes Jan began to get restless, and I remembered she was still wearing the crotch strap. Her hands had strayed under the hem of her dress and I realised she was taking advantage of a little slack in the strap, working her insert in and out. A climax was no less than she deserved after what she had been though, I thought. Sure enough, eyes closed and working up to it, she finally stiffened and let loose a series of soft grunts leading up to a high pitched moan of pleasure, her body shuddering and squirming in gratification. I have to admit it was a turn on, but a frustrating one, given my current persona and the current position of Mr Willy. Jan must have sensed my frustration and let her hand stray down under my skirt, forcing me to gently stop her. She looked quizzically at me, and I shook my head, trying to convey regret in my eyes and indicate that for whatever reason it was just not to be.

As we sat in the gathering gloom I thought about my predicament and remembered that I had left some clothes and other things in my old room in the sleeping quarters. There would at least be something other than the now dishevelled skirt and blouse I still wore. Jeans and a loose shirt would have to be an improvement, and maybe I could find something for Jan to ward off the cold and possibly the impending rain.

I motioned for Jan to stay where she was and indicated I would be gone for ten minutes or so. She looked alarmed, shaking her head and making concerned "mmmph" noises until I calmed her and crossed my heart to indicate I would be back no matter what.

It was becoming darker. The sky was overcast and threatening more rain, with the occasional drop finding its way on to the foliage. I pushed my way through the undergrowth, heading towards the rear of the property along the boundary, before doing a quick sprint across the open ground to the small patch of trees and bush behind the sleeping quarters. From here I edged my way around the end of the building until I reached the three steps at the end of the balcony, under which I had hidden one of Monica’s padlock keys what seemed an age ago.

There were no lights on. I tiptoed up the steps and along the few metres to my door, it being the first in the row. It opened without a sound. It was just light enough inside to see that the place was tidy and ready for a new occupant, just like a motel room. There was nothing of my stuff to be seen. I checked the wardrobe. There were clothes inside all right, but not mine. A range of dresses and skirts hung up but my old jeans and shirts had gone. It looked like someone new was moving in. I did a quick reconnaissance of the bathroom and kitchenette, but could find nothing that would help my plight. As I moved back through the bedroom, I caught sight of myself for the first time in the mirror. I suppose it is human nature to examine one’s reflection and to see oneself in the best light. I was surprised at what I saw – my feelings a mixture of surprise, discomfort and yet with a strange element of gratification. I tucked my blouse in and realised the effect that the rubber corset had – there was a definite waistline that some women would quite happily have accepted from a plastic surgeon. The blouse, with its high Chinese-style collar fitted me snugly, and the rust-coloured skirt clung to my hips with more than just the wetness from outside. My legs were smooth and shiny in the nylon stockings and the heels of my shoes gave my legs a look that could have turned heads in café society. 

My hair was somewhat mussed, and I couldn’t help smoothing it down and pushing it into a more manageable look. It was perhaps slightly coarser than my own, and didn’t seem to absorb water the way one’s own hair would do in a downpour. The only aspect marring my passable appearance was the red ball gag and the black leather harness locked about my head. Reluctantly I slipped back outside and retraced my steps.

It was now almost completely dark and a light drizzle was starting to fall. I was surprised I had sighted no posse in pursuit, and that fact worried me. I suspected they were lying in wait somewhere, but at least we now had the cover of the night. I made my way back to the bottle palm, pushing my way cautiously through the dripping leaves. My blouse was now soaking wet and I was beginning to feel the chill above my corset. 

The hollow at the base of the palm was empty.

"Hhnnn?" I said softly. "Hhhnn?" Shit. Where had she gone? I was sure she wouldn’t just wander off, and a feeling of alarm began to flood through me. If something had happened to Jan, it meant they were on to us – to me – to this place… I decided it was time to do a runner. There was no point in hanging about to be caught – I was either going to make it to the cars or head for the road on foot and somehow take my chances, although that option really didn’t appeal.

I poked my head out between a couple of bushes, scanning the lawn between me and the car park area. The cars were scattered through a series of small car parking areas discretely placed amidst large trees. The area was lit by low voltage bollard lights at waist height. In the diffused light from these, under the dripping trees the place looked deserted. That was when I thought I saw a figure standing still and erect in front of two cars. I froze, but could not make out the details. Moments later I knew exactly what I was looking at when the headlights of one of the cars snapped on and Jan was fully displayed like the bait in the trap she obviously was. 

She stood, motionless, turned half in my direction with her head tilted back. Someone had tied a cord to the eyebolt in the ball gag and tossed the other end over a low branch before securing it to the bumper of the car with its headlights blazing. The lights were directed away from me and I knew I must still be in shadow. Jan was now the centre of attention. Her hands were bound or cuffed behind her and some sort of collar was about her throat. I suspected her arms were hammer-locked up behind her shoulders and attached to the collar, so rigid was her stance. I remained where I was, not knowing what to do or what my hunters might know of my whereabouts.

"Stephanie, we know you’re out dere. You wouldn’t want your new friend to get hurt, now, would yer?" The voice reached me, amplified by a small battery-powered megaphone. "Come on out before we have to get nasty."

My instinct told me they hadn’t seen me and I could still make it to the gate unseen. Using the cars was now out of the question, but I could still reach the road and flag down a passing car. And eventually get the gag out of my mouth, at which point the explanations would have to start. Where did I want to go, I would be asked? My house would be locked up and I had no key. I had no money and no access to it. What had happened? Here I was dressed as a woman, and not just on my way to some fancy dress party. Instead I had pretty real breasts and hair glued on with superglue and a corset locked in place. It all made for a pretty interesting explanation…

"You’ve got t’ree seconds…two…one… Okay. Have it your way."

A dark figure strode up to where Jan stood, almost on tiptoes, obviously trying to ease the tension in her neck. The figure pulled the shoulder straps of Jan’s dress down to her elbows and exposed her breasts. Stepping back I saw the swish of the flogger and heard the thwack as the many tails of the implement landed across her breasts. I caught the high pitched whine of pain through the gag. A second stroke was landing as I scrambled out of the undergrowth and ran over to the figure to grab the arm about to swing for a third time. 

As I did so, I was in turn grabbed myself by two more figures who materialised out of the darkness, and who twisted my arms behind my back, forcing me to my knees. There was the click of steel as handcuffs were locked on my wrists. Then I, too, was secured like Jan, with a leather collar around my neck and my wrists pulled up in a hammerlock behind my shoulder blades before being connected to the collar. It was an acutely painful position, with the steel of the handcuffs biting into my wrists. Without a doubt it was guaranteed to make one cooperative.

"You girls are in deep shit," the rough voice through the balaclava was full of menace. "I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes for anythin’…" 

Jan and I exchanged looks of misery.

That was how we came to be together in the Rack Room, kneeling face to face in the middle of the padded rack platform. It was obviously going to be a big togetherness thing – the two kidnappees sharing the same fate. To this extent they had padlocked the eyebolts in our gags together, so I was left to stare into Jan’s deep brown eyes, from a distance of four inches away. I could feel the occasional stir of air as she breathed heavily or sighed behind the gag. We could only look elsewhere through a concerted joint head movement. 

Our wrists were securely bound with coils of sashcord overhead and attached to the central beam at the top of the rack frame. The rope was in sufficient quantity not to totally stop circulation, but the fact that our arms were stretched upwards did not exactly promote the bloodflow to the fingers. The knots had been well cinched and were way out of reach at the beam.

In order to prevent us standing up we had been made to kneel ‘upright’, that is with our lower legs flat on the bench and our upper legs vertical. Our ankles had been tied in position to the bench. This was one point that I found interesting – my ankles had been tied together while Jan’s had been tied apart. Needless to say we were in full body contact from groin to fingertip.

Once they had got us in that position one of our captors had given us a painful thrashing with the flogger that they had used on Jan outside. This time our breasts were protected and instead it was our backs, butts and the backs of our legs that took the brunt. Poor Jan, I should explain, was now naked again. They had taken offence at her unauthorised wearing of the boots and black dress from the store room, and had stripped them off her without a by your leave. I was once again in a position of being in intimate contact with a naked woman and unable to respond, due to Mr Willy being otherwise confined. Notwithstanding my actual lack of opportunity, I had of course been presented as being totally in touch with my feminine side, if you get my meaning. The more I got into the role, the more impossible it seemed to get out of it. In this apparent relationship I was simply digging myself a bigger and bigger hole with an identity I could never retreat from.

The flogging had lasted nearly half an hour, I guessed. I was still wearing my blouse and skirt which were wet from the rain, and clung to my back and thighs under the onslaught of the flogger. For all the protection they gave they might just as well not have been there, although compared to what Jan must have been going through, I was thankful for small mercies. On the other hand, my rubber corset gave my lower torso some degree of protection.

They had eventually left us there, with the lights still on. Jan’s face was tear- streaked and I imagined her back and legs were probably red and raw from the cat. I had seen it used many times, and despite the apparent vigor with which it was used, the end result was frequently less horrific than would have been experienced with, say, a riding crop or a cane. Both of these could leave deep weals and bruising, whereas the flogger tended to dissipate its full force over a larger area.

At length Jan’s snuffling stopped and she seemed to accept her situation as the pain eased somewhat. After a time she squirmed slightly, and I remembered (for I could not see below her chin) that she still wore the crotch strap. Oh well, anything for a bit of relief from the tedium of being bound to a beautiful naked woman, I thought, and managed to edge my legs a fraction closer to her – close enough for my own crotch to provide a little pressure on hers. She responded to the touch. Jan raised her eyes and looked into mine. Whether she saw me as something other than my appearance suggested, whether she saw past my alter ego, I couldn’t tell, but I was sure I saw a spark of gratitude there. If I could not offer her sisterly comfort, at least I could assist with something a little more physical. Coordinating our movements carefully, we moved against each other as best we could, which wasn’t easy, given our stretched positions. It took some time, but Jan finally closed her eyes and her breath began to come in ragged pants, moving up a gear from a soundless exhalation to one overlain with a soft moan with each breath. She began to move faster, straining at the limits of movement imposed by our bound wrists and ankles, and by the coordination necessary through being almost joined at the mouth. Her breasts thrust hard against mine and when the climax finally came it was prolonged and untrammelled in a way I did not think possible. Her body stiffened as though she was being electrified (and I certainly knew all about that!) and she let loose a long drawn out wail from behind her gag. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut and I felt the rush of her breath and the splutter of saliva as she then jerked with all her being on the ropes and shuddered for nearly a minute. Her body continued to tremble and quiver for perhaps a couple of minutes after that, while her eyes remained closed and her mind was obviously in some far off place. 

At length she opened her eyes and gazed into mine as a drop of perspiration rolled down her temple. He eyes were bright and her breathing took some time to settle down, but there was no mistaking the glow in her being that came from her orgasm. God, I wished I could make love to this woman if this was what she was like with a passive vibrator inside her!

We lost track of time after that. Our bodies struggled with the exhaustion of the ordeal we had been through, both mentally and physically. Our hands gradually grew numb and our eyelids became heavy. We both nodded off at stages, I’m sure, but my mind was starting to play tricks on me, and the fact that the eyebolts of our gags were locked together made it difficult to get comfortable. Then our captors returned. One of them eyed the sweat-streaked Jan and ran a hand up her inner thigh. 

"You little slut! Clearly we can’t leave you two with any sort of movement whatsoever. Let’s see how you enjoy a hogtie for the rest of the night."

Which was why we found ourselves side by side on the floor in the holding cell, only this time they removed the futon. We had enjoyed only a brief respite as our wrists were undone and the circulation returned, only to be restricted again as our wrists were crossed and bound behind us, matching our ankles. A rope was bound around my shoulders – across my back, under my armpits and then meeting again behind my neck. This served as the fixing point for a further rope from my wrists which were pulled upwards into a position behind my shoulderblades with the connecting rope then run over the shoulder harness before being attached to my ankles. At that point pressure was applied forcing my arms upward, my shoulders together and my ankles towards them, in a horrid version of a hog tie eliciting groans from me due to the severity of the position. I realised with my knees splayed apart I would have no hope of rolling on to my side, and I knew I was stuck with lying face down. Or face up, in fact, as they then decided even being able to move my head was too good for me. I felt fingers force a further rope behind the main gag strap behind my neck. This rope was drawn tightly and attached to my ankles, pulling my head back through the main gag strap and also the one over the top of my head. I whined and tried to protest as the ball was forced deeper into my mouth and the straps cut into my cheeks. 

Then it was Jan’s turn to undergo the same punishment, and fifteen minutes later we were lying there face to face, unable to move, our bodies and heads straining against the bonds that held us taut as longbows. Not content with this, our kidnappers appeared to like the idea of his linked at the mouth, and I had been dragged unceremoniously into a position where my gag eyebolt overlapped Jan’s, and these had been bolted together. Unlike on the rack, we were now unable to move our heads at all, up, down or sideways. Our chins were nearly a foot off the floor and our backs were bent into a cruel arch. Tears again welled in Jan’s eyes and I wondered how long we would be able to withstand such punishment to our bodies. At least I still had my clothes and the corset as protection, whereas Jan lay on her stomach, her firm breasts flattened against the cold concrete.

"Lets see yer get off like that," was the throwaway comment as the hooded pair left us to our own devices in the small oppressive cell.

I was sure they turned up the heating after that. The strain of trying to withstand the pressure of the ropes and straps was something I had never experienced before to anything like the same degree. In the past I had always been secured to something, but here my body was fighting itself. We lay in silence save for the ragged sound of our breathing. Saliva drooled out of the corners of our mouths and we were unable to prevent it. The concrete was cold beneath us while the rapidly warming air, combined with the constant strain inflicted on our muscles made sweat start to break out. I watched a bead of perspiration make its way down to Jan’s eyebrow, then slowly seep into her eye. She was powerless to shake her head or otherwise redirect the salty liquid, and she blinked and screwed up her eyes as it obviously stung.

We became intimately familiar with every detail of the other’s face, every pore and line, every faint blemish and imperfection. Not that there were a lot of those in Jan’s complexion, which was untouched by time, it seemed. I wondered how my own face was standing up under scrutiny. I had once grown a beard, which was light brown in colour and I was not prone to five o’clock shadow to any major degree. Notwithstanding that I suspected my body had been the object of a major depilatory process which no doubt would have included my face. I somehow suspected I would have very little shaving to do in the immediate future.

Our silence was broken only by occasional sniffling or groans from both of us, as we struggled to fight off cramps and muscle spasms. Maybe half an hour passed, maybe longer. It certainly seemed like forever. There came the echoing sound of the key in the lock and one of the hoods returned. The figure squatted down beside us and undid the bolt joining our gags, before releasing the neck rope on Jan. The ropes on her ankles and shoulders followed. Jan made no effort to move, simply letting her wrists down behind her and turning the side of her face to rest on the concrete, her eyes closed.

"I’ve got news for you," the figure told her. "Your old man has coughed up. We’re gonna let you go." 

Jan’s eyes snapped open and she looked up with disbelief.


"Yep." The hooded figure helped the naked girl to her feet, brushing the dust and dirt off her breasts and stomach with obvious relish, the fingers lingering around the crotch strap. "All right, come on, let’s go." Jan was tugged by the arm but she stopped abruptly.

"Hhoon hnnann urr?" Jan demanded unexpectedly, inclining her head towards me, still bound immovably on the floor.

"Her? Don’t you worry about her. Another finger or two and her old man will front up with the goods. If he doesn’t we have an option on her as a slave. It’s simply a business decision of when we stop removing bits compared to the value of a more or less intact slave."

"Hhnnn!" Jan cried, as best she could, struggling in the grip of her jailer.

"Listen, girlie," said the voice, suddenly harsh and cold. "You should cut your losses while you’re ahead. Don’t worry about this tart. She’ll be happy there for the rest of the night."

Then she was gone, the door clanged shut and I was left alone. The light went off and for the second time at least I thought I would die, so tautly was I bound. Surely they couldn’t leave me here for the whole night? I was barely coping up to this point. This seemed to be the sort of bondage you’d only inflict on a devotee or a contortionist. The scariest thing was there was nothing I could do about it, absolutely nothing. The concept of whether I could withstand this punishment was irrelevant – I had to. It was as simple as that. I recalled Monica’s advice the time Trish had been impaled on the shaft in my workshop – making her think she was going to be there for hours and hours, when the contrary was the case. That was my only ray of hope and I clung to it, sweating in the darkness while my muscles stiffened and my body ached from head to toe. My jaw and neck were amongst the most painful parts, stretched as they were, but my back and arms also rebelled at the punishment inflicted upon them. The blood was struggling to reach my extremities and both my fingers and feet were in the last stages of numbness. I shut my eyes and groaned with the strain of trying to ease the worst bits. 

That period was, I think, one of the most desperate bondage regime’s I was ever to experience in terms of utter helplessness in regard to how long I could withstand the strain. I nearly cried when the light came on, perhaps fifteen minutes later and Jillian appeared. She knelt down beside me, clicking her tongue in sympathy with my plight, then undoing that dreadful rope holding my head back. I moaned with relief as I let my body straighten out and allowed my head to lie against the cold concrete of the floor. I was drenched in sweat and utterly drained. Just having that one rope released made such a difference. Jill’s nimble fingers undid the ropes around my ankles and wrists and removed the rope shoulder harness. I just lay there, unable to even to make the effort to remove the gag harness from my head, although this was still locked on, of course. 

Jill helped me to sit up and propped me against the wall. Then she squatted down in front of me and looked at me directly.

"Steven, I want you to listen closely to what I have to say." I made an effort to focus on her face while tugging futilely at the gag.

"Mmmph!" I complained weakly.

"Yes, in a minute." She waggled a couple of keys at me. "Steven, the kidnap is over. It’s decision time. I told you we wanted to have you back. Monica is happy with that, but of course it had to be on her terms. You have two options – you can finish with Bilboes and go home now, as you are. I’ll drive you home. Or –" she paused. "Or, you can continue here, but you have to stay here as Stephanie the slave for a month."

"Hnnr? Hn mmnph?"

"Yes, a month. That would mean you would have the same role as the Twins did for a while – cooking, cleaning, laundry, gardening and so on, and probably a bit of home handy woman stuff as well."


"You would remain as Stephanie, dress as Stephanie, talk and behave as Stephanie the slave and do the bidding of all who required it. Failure to do as you were told would result in punishment, of course."

I shook my head. "Uh uh."

"We thought you’d say that." She smiled for the first time. "So the girls talked it through and we made a bet with Monica. We bet Monica five thousand bucks you would make it through the month."

I was gob smacked and didn’t know how to react. "Urr?" I said.

"We each put up a grand of our monthly wages against five grand from Monica. If you fail, we all end up a grand poorer and Bilboes loses an asset, I guess. If you win, you get to keep the five grand as a bonus, courtesy of Monica."

I shook my head again, but this time in wonderment. Five grand was a lot of money and I could really use such a sum to pay off a few debts. My bank manager would be very pleased, but he could never find out how I earned it. And I was still not sure if I could do this.

"There are some conditions, however." Why was I not surprised. "We’re not allowed to help you or show any favoritism that we might not do to any other slave. We can be punished for that, and for any flagrant breaches of etiquette we can be fined a hundred bucks a time – all of us for the indiscretion of one, that is. Ten mistakes and the bet is lost totally. Do you understand?"

I nodded. She handed me two keys. One of these is for the gag and one is for your crotch lock. You can have a quiet night’s sleep and then I’ll come to see you in the morning and we’ll take it from there. Sleep tight Steven - or Stephanie."

It was some many hours later that the light came on, followed shortly thereafter by the clank of the key in the lock. I had been away in the land of the dead, exhausted by the events of the night before, but I awoke with a start as the key turned. The proposal, bet, call it what you like, made by Jillian came rushing back to me. I had tried to consider it before I fell asleep, but it had been a losing battle. I didn’t know if I could manage a month as Stephanie, always on my guard against letting my cover down. What would they be getting me to do? I did not know if I could face the girls in this guise. Doing it when I had no choice, and when my captors had been likewise role-playing was one thing, and that had only been for a very short time. Doing it every day, all day, interacting directly with the girls in their everyday life was something different – something I didn’t know if I could pull off, or face, for that matter. Yet a part of me did not want to leave this lifestyle and these people. Another part of me said the money made it worthwhile, and a further voice pointed out the faith the girls had in me in putting their own money against Monica’s. 

I think it was that aspect which decided the matter for me – it was the fact that they were prepared to justify their faith in me with their own money.

The door opened and Trish walked into the cell. I had been expecting Jill or Monica and Trish’s presence surprised me. She stopped and smiled at me as I scrambled to my knees on the mattress.

"And what is your name, my dear?"

story continues in