Monica and the Black Fortress

by Richard Alexander

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© Copyright 2005 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission

Storycodes: FM/mfff; D/s; bondage; nc; XX

(story continues from )

Chapter Six  –  The Chandrai Express

I was bound on my back, arms stretched beyond my head and legs spread.  I had no idea what time it was when Sanjay and Seeta appeared with Prakash in tow.  Prakash looked like a cat that had just brought home a mouse, and wanted at least a pat from his masters.  Seeta dismissed him with a curt command and closed the door behind him. 

The pair stood over me, arms folded and looking down with expressions the implication of which I really did not want to contemplate.  They talked for a couple of minutes in Hindi as if I wasn’t even there, though I might as well not have been, for all that I could either contribute around the ball gag or even understand.  Seeta seemed to be doing a lot of the talking, with Sanjay nodding and occasionally adding something.  Then there seemed to be some sort of accord. 

“My sister has proposed a plan for you,” said Sanjay.  “You have made a particular nuisance of yourself, Mr Reynolds – you and your little band.  I should tell you that while you were having dinner, we did a discrete search of all of your luggage, and found Rani Das’s police identity card.  My goodness, such amateurism.  It’s all very unfortunate for you, since you will all now have to disappear.  This is somewhat of an inconvenience for me, but then again you won’t be the first, and we will have some fun in the process.  Just to show you how committed I am to ensuring that we do have some fun, I am rescheduling my commitments for the next week, as is Seeta here.”  Seeta smiled at me maliciously, and thrust the toe of her shoe into my groin.  I winced and her smile widened.

“My sister has suggested that it would be great fun to have you join the Hijiras.  A true Hijira is a person born a biological male who discovers his impotence. In order to rectify this problem in the next life, he gives his life to serving the Mother Goddess Bahuchara Mata. The Hijiras undergo castration, and live and dress as women, but are considered neither women nor men.  You may perhaps know a little of our caste system.  You will know that the Harijans, or Untouchables, are at the bottom of the pecking order.  That’s what most people think.  In fact, the Hijiras are below the untouchables.”

“You won’t be the first male we have sent to join them,” Seeta told me with a twisted smile.  “We have the services of a doctor who can be jolly good, or jolly ordinary, depending on what we request of him.  And our previous patients were not able to testify to the authorities, either – not after their tongues were surgically removed, along with their male parts.”

My mind recoiled in horror from what they were suggesting.  Dear God, what had we stumbled across here?  Where were Monica and the others?  Were they captive yet, or simply asleep in their compartments?

“Don’t think this can’t happen,” Sanjay continued casually, as though discussing a balance sheet.  “In India, money talks louder than in most places.  Five million Rupees goes a long way here.  It is as much money as a doctor may make in ten years.  Double it, or triple it, and you’re still talking petty cash for me.  Anybody can be bought here, Mr Reynolds.  Every person has his price.  People can be persuaded to look the other way, to provide alibis, to dispose of or lose evidence.  All these things can be arranged.  It’s not difficult.  Several men have joined the ranks of the Hijiras, transported to a city at the other end of the country, silenced and humiliated, reduced to eking out their lives begging.  I should tell you that Hijiras are often paid to attend and bless weddings, and to act as spiritual and social advisors, but are also shunned as less than worthy eunuchs.  None of that will be of relevance to you when we dump you in the middle of a backwater slum where you are unable to communicate with anyone.  You will face a slow and very painful death, I suspect, from disease or starvation.”

I could not believe what I was hearing.  My world had just turned upside down, depositing me into some sort of nightmare.  Seeta interrupted my horrified thoughts.

“Tell us, did Monica know you were coming down to this carriage, like some sort of Harrison Ford along the roof?”

I said nothing, but the pointed toe in my groin reappeared and I shook my head.

“Uh-uh,” I grunted around the ball.

“Are you sure?”  The pressure suddenly increased and a terrible pain shot through my guts as she put pressure on my balls.  I struggled futilely against the ropes holding me, shaking my head emphatically then crying out into the gag.  I screwed up my eyes against the light and saw momentary stars with a pain that no woman can ever understand.  Then the pressure eased, but the pain lingered.  I was snorting and groaning while Seeta looked down on me with pitiless eyes.  I wanted to cry and curl up into a foetal position, and I noticed that even Sanjay had looked slightly distracted, as though empathising with the nature of my suffering.

I was in no condition to fight when Prakash came back and undid the spreader bar and the rope securing my bound wrists to the floor anchor.  He and Sanjay hauled me to my feet and dragged me out of the room, down the corridor past the two compartments of cages where I presumed Claire Parker was still imprisoned in one, and probably the Indian girl in the other.  The pain in my groin didn’t go away with the movement, though it had eased slightly by the time we entered what turned out to be a bathroom at the forward end of the carriage.  It was totally the opposite of what I had expected, being about two metres by three, lined in stainless steel with very obvious anchor points built in to the walls, floor and ceiling.

I was still groaning and expressing my pain with stifled grunts as they attached my bound wrists to a rope that rose over a pulley in the middle of the ceiling.  My hands stopped a few inches short of the pulley, and then my ankles were pulled apart and secured to eyebolts in the floor.  I noticed there was a pronounced fall on the stainless steel non-slip floor, which sloped to a central drain immediately beneath me.

As the pain eased further, I managed to look around, noting a bank of cupboards on one side of the compartment, and a full-length mirror on the wall immediately in front of me.  The outside wall of the carriage held a fancy array of sprays and nozzles and hoses, and I concluded that this was quite a state of the art shower, if indeed that was what it was.  I was also puzzled by the absence of a toilet, until I realised that this was exactly the hole I was standing over, defined by a footprint-shaped step on each side of the hole.

Seeta said something in Hindi to the two men, and they left, but not before I had managed to look at Sanjay’s expensive wristwatch.  It was a quarter to one in the morning.  I had left the dinner at around 11.30, and allowing a short time to get to the rear carriage, I worked out that I had been unconscious for over half an hour.  I was now alone with Seeta, who wore a predatory expression that unnerved me totally. 

What happened next was not what I expected, though in fact I had not allowed my thoughts to dwell on what I now faced. 

“I think it only fair that I have a little fun with you before we do the final deed,” she told me airily.  “Sanjay will have fun with the others, so there’s no reason I should be left out.”  She walked slowly around me, her heels making clinking sounds on the steel floor.  I was stretched rigid, unable to move anything save my head.  I watched her as she moved in front of me, then watched the mirror as she stood behind me.  She leaned her head on my shoulder and watched my expression in the mirror as she wrapped her hands around my torso and grasped my dick.  Mr Willy was in somewhat of a state of shock himself, partly because what had been threatened, and partly through the physical attack that had come from Seeta’s foot in the dungeon.  The last thing he felt like doing was rising to the occasion.

“Oh dear,” she pouted.  “Perhaps he needs a little help?”  Her fingers began to stroke my member, and gradually the internal hurt seemed to go away.  Seeta came in front of me and knelt to give me an oral caress that I found myself unable to refrain from responding to, as the blood rushed south to see what the attraction was.  I was surprised when she first removed her top and then her trousers, and finally her underwear.  Her body was lean and lithe, her breasts pert brown-tipped mounds that pressed hard into my back as she again clutched me from behind.  I moaned again, but this time there was no pain in my gagged sound, only a rising pleasure that I couldn’t stop, as Mr Willy became erect and rock hard despite himself. 

“Mmmm… That’s better,” she said, running her fingers lightly over my member.  I shuddered but could do nothing to change the inevitability of what was happening, as she again went on her knees and took me into her mouth, her tongue running electrically over the tip and then her teeth making me tremble with anticipation.  All thought of the horror that had been discussed seemed to have fallen beside the way, as flesh triumphed over mind. 

Then she was in front of me, her arms around my neck, climbing nimbly to impale herself on me, locking her legs around my back.  I groaned with a pleasure that I could not repress as her tightness enveloped me and her breasts pressed into my chest.  She began to move with a nubile ease that surprised me.  She was slight and athletic and it seemed that the foreplay she had expended on me had worked her into the mood as well.  I concluded that I was not the first bound and gagged male she had taken advantage of, but reflections such as that soon took a back place with the rising tide that was advancing on my loins.  I was dimly aware of her nails raking my back and her teeth sinking into the flesh of my neck as she approached climax, and I found myself with just enough movement to add a few thrusts of my own.    There was nothing subtle about this as a form of love-making.  It was the savage rutting of two animals without a thought for any higher level of emotion.  We climaxed in a series of violent jerks that saw me straining on my ropes and chewing on the rubber ball as she gripped me with a wild intensity and a strength I would not have guessed she had.

She remained where she was for another minute, her breath rasping in my ears, but barely audible above my own gagged gasps and grunts as I strained to get air into my lungs.  Finally she slipped off me and wrapped a towel around herself.

“It seems a shame to send you to this fate, but that’s the way of the world,” she said finally, when her breathing had returned to normal.  “It could almost be considered a waste.”  I took this to be a complement, for all the good it did me.  “Unfortunately we have to get down to business now.  As we said before, you’re not the first person to go through this process.  The first part is quite easy.  The surgery will be carried out when we get to the fort.  In the meantime, we have the pleasure of turning you into a woman – something I’ve always found to be so much fun.  The first thing we do is to remove your body hair.  In your case, I think we can do it overnight.  And while you’re in this position I think an enema would be appropriate, not because it makes any difference, but because I would like to see you squirm.  Men have caused so much trouble in the world, sometimes it’s just nice to indulge in a little payback. “

She opened one of the cupboards and took out a black inflatable butt plug which she attached to one of the hoses on the wall, then began to insert the thing up my arse.  She used no lubricant on it and I could not help more groans of pain escaping into the gag.  The thing kept going deeper and deeper and hurt like the blazes as she pushed it remorselessly home.  All my efforts to relax did little to make the fierce pain any less.  Then suddenly it slid into place with a final searing pain that became a deep uncomfortable fullness.  I moaned and fought to control my breathing as I slowly strained to accommodate the intruder.  Several squeezes of the pump made the fullness even worse and I was shaking my head and making garbled pleas for her to stop.

Then came the water, slowly seeping into places it was not meant to go, without a hope of escape around the plug wedged tightly in my butt hole.  My abdomen swelled and I felt the start of cramps as I began to bloat with the ingress of fluid.  I felt I could take no more, and my muffled cries for mercy were finally heeded as she turned the water off.  The pelvic movements I had managed when this woman was impaled naked on my body were forgotten as I dared not move.  Everything about me hurt and I was petrified of how long I might be left like this.

I had no idea what was going to happen next, and had ceased to try to anticipate further torture.  What I was undergoing was bad enough, or so I thought.  I watched in the mirror as Seeta removed the towel and put on a plastic apron that covered her breasts and fell to her thighs.  She pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and took out a large can of what could have been shaving foam.  She shook it vigorously then turned to me with an evil smile. 

“Time for the hair removal,” she said.

Oh God, I thought, not this again.  I had once undergone this at the hands of Monica, as retribution for a trick I had played on her, being forced into a very uncomfortable female role for a month as payback.  Now, it seemed, I would go through the whole humiliating process again. 

The foam came out on my legs as Seeta worked her way upward.  Not an inch was left uncovered as she reached my neck and halted.

“I hope you’re not allergic to this,” she smirked.  “That would be just too bad.  How’s your little soldier?”

Already I was experiencing a stinging sensation at the tip of Mr Willy as some of the foam found its way into my hole.  I grunted plaintively.

“I’ll have to change your gag, now, since I need to get at your head without that nasty strap in the way.”  She went to the cupboard again and came out with an inflatable pear gag.  Things were going from worse to worsest!  I hated inflatable gags.

I barely had a chance to take a breath as the ball popped out and the inflatable bladder was shoved home in its place, and the pumping began.  I swallowed and tried to get my tongue comfortable before the heavy-duty rubber filled every last space in my mouth, forcing my jaw apart and making my cheeks bulge.  Seeta pumped without mercy, disregarding my frantic grunts of discomfort.  When she stopped my jaw was stretched wide and was already aching.  Seeta produced two strips of adhesive plaster and taped my eyes closed, before there came the hiss of the spray can again and I felt the stuff begin to cover my head.  When the hissing stopped her fingers were there, massaging the stuff into my scalp.  I had figured it was a depilatory foam, and she was making one hundred percent sure that I would be as naked and hairless as the day I was born.  Her fingers moved from my head to my pubes and even the crack of my buttocks, while I moaned in misery.  When I heard the sound of gloves being stripped off, I hoped my torture was nearly at an end, until there was a sudden fierce pain in my nipples as the sadistic woman released some sort of clips on them.  Not content with this, there came the familiar drag of weights being hung from the clips.  I nearly choked on the gag as I tried to express my agony, while trying to breathe at the same time

Finally her voice said:  “That’s all for now.  I’m going to prepare for bed.  By the time I come back you should be almost done.  I just hope I don’t fall asleep in the meantime.  It would be a very long night for you…”

*   *   *

I stood there in my darkened world, unable to move, my arms and legs stretched high and wide, my abdomen cramping with the liquid held there by the plug jammed in my butt hole.  The brief pleasure of climax had been replaced by a pain that felt like a pin was being pushed up my dick, while my jaw felt close to breaking.  My nipples felt like someone was holding a branding iron against them, while all over my body my skin was prickling as the foam did its work, and I was forced to confront what was ahead of me, being mutilated into some form of hairless transsexual.  I could not believe how suddenly life had upended me.  My only hope was that Monica would come to the rescue, for there was no way I could escape from my bondage at that point.

But nobody came.  I began to dwell on the thought that Seeta had in fact gone to sleep and I was trapped like this for the rest of the night, forced to endure the worsening cramps that now gripped me, while feeling was slowly disappearing from my hands above me.

When I heard the door open, I uttered a low groan of misery through the gag, hoping against hope that one of the girls had found me.  Seeta’s soft but menacing voice reached my ears instead.

“How is everything?”

“Urrrgh,” I moaned.

“Good. Time to clean you up, I think.” 

With my eyes taped I could not see what was happening, only hear and feel things.  I sensed her moving around me.  God, I thought, please make her take out the plug – I couldn’t stand much more, so bad were the cramping pains becoming.  At once there was a hiss of cold water, and I was enveloped in a series of hard water jets that seemed to blast all of my body at once from close quarters, washing away the foam and no doubt my hair with it.  A moment later there came a sudden deflating as the inflatable plug shrank and was removed, together with a rush of the stored contents.

It seemed that I had lost control of my body as I evacuated front and back, in the midst of the violent shower.  I could hear Seeta laughing, her voice partly amused, partly disgusted. I was trying not to breathe in the water which cascaded over my nose and only managed this by violent head shaking which again caused me to nearly choke on the bladder distending my mouth.

The shower lasted a few minutes, then shut off.  Then, mercy of mercies, my gag deflated and was removed, while I could do nothing but move my jaw and gasp in fresh air.  Then I was conscious of Seeta behind me again.  Something touched my lips – the rubber ball again.

“No – no not that – I – urmmph!”  I was no match as she seized my nose and forced the ball between my teeth.  It was not as bad as the inflatable, and I knew I could survive it.  It did not keep a constant aching pressure on my jaw like the pump gag, and even as ball gags went I had had bigger ones, but that still did not make things pleasant.

“I’m going to leave you now.  As for how long, I have no idea.  I guess we’ll see how strong you are.  Let me tell you that the shower has a cycling timer.  I can program it to turn on and off for the rest of the night.  That should keep you awake, at least.  I think we can take those tapes off now.  There followed two momentary painful pulls of tape being removed from my eyelids. 

I blinked at the bright light and at the naked, hairless figure in the mirror, bound hands above head, feet stretched apart, only the blackness of a rubber ball and strap between my teeth, and two lead weights on my nipples breaking the look of denuded flesh.  It was a shock to see myself like that, with even my eyebrows gone, and Mr Willy now surrounded by unsullied bare skin.  I groaned again, then screamed into the ball as Seeta removed the nipple clamps with two quick movements and the blood flow returned in agonisingly painful fashion.

I was snorting and making the most pitiful noises as Seeta left, closing and locking the door behind her.  Only then did I take in the chrome framework that had extended out from the wall to provide the shower.  It came from my left side, bifurcating into two arms, one in the front and one behind.  There was a vertical pipe on each, with nozzles at various heights – one front and back at the height of my wrists, a pair just above head height, then at chest level, buttock level, and two directed over my legs. 

I was still getting over the enema, and the contents continued to dribble out in fits and spurts.  The smell was awful, and I was glad when the water sprays started up again and washed the whole lot down the drain.  The water was very cold this time, and I shivered when it stopped.  Again it had been a struggle to breathe properly with the water coursing down my face, but somehow it was easier than with the awful inflatable gag. 

Shortly afterwards came the whirr of a fan and I sensed the room begin to heat up, as with one of those heater-type lights.  But this was more than just a mere warming.  Within five minutes the room had turned into a sauna and sweat was joining the rest of my bodily effluent draining down the hole below me.  Then came the icy jets again, then the hot air…

*   *   *

The night seemed to go on endlessly.  I was exhausted in every way I could imagine.  My muscles cried out for relief, for the torture now was far subtler than nipple clamps or enemas.  I was forced to stare at my debilitated image, alternatively sweat-soaked and frozen, the sweat now running into my eyes and making them sting, for I now had no eyebrows.  Elsewhere, anywhere there had been a thickness of hair, my flesh itched like crazy, but there was nothing I could do for relief.  It was an insidious torment, one that gave every indication of having been carried out before in one form or another.  The gear was there, the foam, the showers, the timers… I was in no doubt that others had suffered just as I did in this carriage from hell, rocking slowly through the night.

I would have slept, and desperately tried, for I was so tired, but the cold cycles jerked me awake with a vengeance each time.  A couple of times during the night we stopped, presumably for water and maybe coal.  I heard voices on the platform, sing-song Indian voices only a few metres from where I stood, tautly stretched and silenced.  I tried to shout around the rubber ball but there was no way I could be heard outside the carriage.  My arms and legs ached, as did the rest of my body, but there was no relief.  My vision became blurry and my thoughts disoriented.  It was an insidious torture, worthy of a government agency, I thought in one of my increasingly rare moments of lucidity.  Somewhere in the haze of pain I wondered whether I would truly be able to survive this…

*   *   *

Some time in the morning Seeta and Prakash appeared and released me.  I collapsed on the floor like a rag doll, my arms and legs useless.  I was dragged down the corridor back to the dungeon at the rear of the carriage, and here a heavy chain was locked around my neck and the ball was removed from my mouth.  The chain was only a metre long and the other end was locked to an eyebolt on the floor.  I lay like the dead, not caring about anything going on around me.  When they put some nan bread with some sort of topping on a plate in front of me it was all I could do to raise myself up to eat it.  I was left alone for perhaps half an hour, during which time I tried to rehydrate by drinking the whole of a bottle of water, but I was still thirsty at the end of it.  I felt like I had been through some sort of bizarre detoxification as practised by the rich and famous, though I was damned sure none would fancy the version I had experienced.

When Prakash and Seeta returned, my chain was unlocked from the floor and refixed to one of the rails on the wall, just above head height, leaving me no choice but to stand in a docile fashion and accept whatever was done to me.  My wrists were handcuffed behind me and once again I was gagged with the ball.  It seemed that Seeta – for it was she on her own now – did not like interruptions to her work.

I had been down this road before – the application of glue to the scalp and the fixing of the wig in place.  The hair was fine and long, falling down past my shoulders.  The very fact that Seeta could produce such a thing at a moment’s notice convinced me all the more that this was not the first time they had done this sort of thing.  I could handle being turned into a female at this stage – it was the surgery part that still scared me witless.

Seeta proved to be experienced in the business, and the makeup took a more pronounced turn as she glued two breast gel forms to my chest, taping them in place while the adhesive set.  I watched as my downward view was now blocked by the two mounds jutting out provocatively. 

“They’re bigger than mine,” she said.  “But I think we shall perhaps give you more surgery.  Indian men like big breasts.  If you cannot survive by begging, you may have to sell what’s left of your body.  Some men like the Hijiras and what they can provide.  They’re cheaper than regular prostitutes, so I’m told.  Perhaps proper breast implants or augmentation will be needed.  Maybe a course of oestrogen as well.  Suddenly I feel like Doctor Frankenstein.”  She laughed to herself and glanced at me from where she had produced a corset from one of the cupboards lining the wall.  “I think this one will do.  It may be a little small, but you’ll soon starve into it.”

The garment was a heavy-boned cream-coloured corset with full cups and a crotch piece that joined between the legs.  The rear part of the crotch piece sported a rubber dildo and the ensemble absolutely oozed the prospect of serious discomfort.  I was made to face the wall while Seeta removed the duct tape from my breasts and they were snuggled into the cups.

“Just like bought ones,” she smirked, though I found it not the slightest bit amusing.  She produced another pair of handcuffs and with one on each wrist had me spread with my arms wide, locked to the bars running along the wall.  She unhooked the corset straps to overcome the problem of my secured arms, and soon was tugging the laces tight up and down my back, working out any slack heedless of my grunts and exhalations as she heaved with all her strength on the laces.  My breathing became laboured as the constriction enclosed my breasts, then my waist, right down to my hips.  At that point I felt the slippery rubber tip of the dildo nuzzling my arse, and a second later it slid in with considerably less pain than the butt plug the previous evening.  Not so the front part of the crotch piece, which compressed my balls and pulled Mr Willy backwards underneath.  I squirmed and gasped as she secured front and back together by a small padlock, which she had gleefully waved in front of me before doing so.  She stepped back and looked at me critically.

“Mmmm.  Not bad.  You could be quite attractive when we’ve finished with you.  Enough to supplement your earnings with a bit on the side – from the men who aren’t too fussy, that is.” 

The next step was a kind of bodice, or choli, as Seeta called it.  It was again cream coloured and came just to my waist, with short sleeves and a snug fit.  She unlocked one handcuff at a time to put it on, relocking them to the bars after threading my arm through the sleeve.  Seeta was a pro when it came to bondage, I decided. 

I was now obliged to put on high heeled shoes, made of white leather with a locking ankle strap.  The heels were narrow and the shoes were immediately uncomfortable.  I reckoned they were specifically designed to deter any attempt at escape I might make.  Leather cuffs were then locked to my ankles and joined with a short hobble chain – as if the shoes hadn’t been sufficient in themselves. 

The last garment was the sari itself.  It wrapped several times around my waist over the top of a silk petticoat secured with a drawstring at the waist.  The sari, a pale mauve fabric with a silver trim, tucked into this, then made several pleats in the course of encircling me, before finishing up over my left shoulder.  Seeta re-cuffed my wrists together behind me and turned me around.  I tottered on the heels, fearful of falling in the rocking carriage with only the neck-chain holding me. 

Seeta’s final act was the makeup, and she spent some time doing this, after first undoing my gag strap, but not taking it out of my mouth.  Instead she dextrously painted my lips and applied kohl to my eyes, then painted new eyebrows on my hairless brow, before finishing with the Hindu spot in the centre of the forehead.  Again, a critical look, before she took some rope and bound me firmly to the bars so that I could not possibly fall over, the ropes looping around my upper arms and below my breasts, making my laboured breathing even more so.  I thought I was done, until she produced a piercing gun.  This was usually used for ear lobes, but was something I had experienced when having my nipples pierced in a non-consenting situation by my dear friends Portia and Jade, in an adventure that seemed in another lifetime.  Seeta smiled malevolently at me as she fastened the jaws of the instrument on my left nostril.  I tried to pull my head back, but the bars prevented it.  I froze, then there was a stabbing pain and the next thing I knew Seeta was holding a mirror in front of me.  A gold ring now went through my nostril, which throbbed mightily, and a trickle of blood ran on to my top lip.  She dabbed it away and tilted her head slightly, as though admiring her work.

“Excellent,” she exclaimed.  “One down, three to go.”

*   *   *

I had figured by now that it was obviously breakfast time, and I wondered what would happen, particularly when I didn’t show up.  Seeta had gone away and I was left there, bound to the rails, wondering what the hell was going to happen when there came the sound of voices outside.  I heard Leila and Seeta, but nothing seemed amiss.  Seeta opened the door into the dungeon, just as Leila was saying:

“…but wouldn’t his compartment be better if he’s sick?”

Then she appeared in the doorway and her jaw dropped.  Prakash was behind her and grabbed her by the wrist, twisting it behind her and pushing her forward into the room.  Leila was wearing a white blouse and a short pleated grey skirt – loose enough to leave her plenty of freedom of movement.  As she was pushed, she bumped into Seeta and that was sufficient to momentarily throw them all a little off-balance, which with the rocking of the train gave her a momentary chance to break free.

But Prakash was too strong and clung on to Leila’s wrist as she tried to get away from him.  She fought fiercely, struggling for all she was worth.  Seeta was not without skills either, however, and grabbed a whip from the wall to send the thong encircling Leila’s ankles and toppling her to the floor as she lost her balance.   She fell awkwardly with a cry of pain, and Prakash was on top of her, pinning her arms long enough for Seeta to get a pair of handcuffs ratcheted tightly on Leila’s wrists behind her back.

“Damn you! Bastards! Bastards! Let me go! Ow! Shit!”  Leila was like a wildcat, and even with her wrists manacled, she was still not giving up until her captors had bound her ankles with several turns of rope, then looped it through the wrist chain, pulling her into a painful hogtie.  “Ow! Ow!” Leila cried out as the strain came on her fettered wrists and she wriggled them desperately to position them in the least discomforting way.  The hogtie had overcome her struggles, but she still continued to verbally abuse her captors.

“Where’s Steven?  What have you done with him, you bastards?  And who’s she?”  Leila was lying on the floor on her stomach, facing me, her blouse torn in the struggle and now revealing a mauve satin bra.  She looked up at me, not seeing past the sari and the dark hair and makeup.  “Is she another of your slaves to use and discard?  Don’t think we – aarhh – mmpph! “

That was when Seeta straddled her from behind and pulled grasped a handful of blonde hair, pulling back her head and forcing a red ball gag into Leila’s mouth.  The ball was on a harness which Leila fought to the death, her training forgotten in the adrenalin surge that she had felt in resisting capture.  She should have known when resistance only made things more painful.  Straps cut in tighter, lips became trapped uncomfortably, ropes were knotted in makeshift rather than preferred fashion.  The straps curved around Leila’s cheeks as she grunted into the ball, with a further split strap pulled up either side of her nose and over the top of her head to meet at the back with the horizontal one, trapping the blonde hair beneath it. 

A final strap was tightened by Seeta under Leila’s chin and then all straps were checked and pulled a notch tighter.  Leila groaned and mmphed pathetically, shaking her head like a horse trying to rid itself of a bridle.  The effort was futile, but prompted Seeta to make a harsh position a lot worse as she attached a thin rope to a D-ring on top of the harness and ran it down Leila’s back to her bound feet.  Leila had been wearing slip-on sandals when she entered the dungeon, but these had fallen off during the struggle.  Now Seeta tied the rope from the D-ring to Leila’s big toes, anchoring them together and forcing her head and feet to arch towards each other in a stringent tie.  Leila grunted with pain as she found herself now bound immovably, her body stretched tautly and painfully.  With her head pulled back Leila’s wide brown eyes stared imploringly at me, but I was helpless to do other than sympathise wordlessly with the distress of the girl on the floor before me. 

Seeta stood up, breathing heavily but obviously well satisfied.  Prakash had let his mistress do much of the bondage once Leila had been initially restrained.  He obviously knew Seeta’s talents and preferences.  Seeta put a foot on the bowstring linking Leila’s head harness and her toes, pushing down and forcing the helpless girl to arch even further.  Leila gasped and moaned as her harness tightened and the rubber ball dug deeper into her mouth.  Then Seeta laughed and moved towards the door. 

“Who would you like to join you now?  I’m sure we can think up an excuse for one of them to come and help you.  I’m sure Sanjay can entertain Monica a bit more at the breakfast table, while we deal to that stupid police girl.”

Then she was gone, with Prakash trailing her out and closing the door. Leila looked at me, her expression one of misery, pain, and a strange puzzlement.

*   *   *

Rani’s expression when she was thrust into the room was much like Leila’s had been – astonishment and confusion.  Leila had reacted faster and fought harder, while Rani seemed to lose the plot at the sight of an Indian girl bound to the wall and Leila in a terrible hogtie on the floor.  Rani was straightaway pushed against the railings on the wall opposite me with a force that made the air rush out of her lungs.  In that moment there was sufficient time for Seeta to slip a loop of rope around her wrists and bind them tightly palm to palm behind her.  Rani was not as vocal as Leila had been, partly because she was still recovering from the shock of being thrust into the fully equipped dungeon, and partly because of her lack of breath.  She wore a short green skirt and a black lycra sleeveless top with a high collar and low cleavage.  It was obviously another Monica purchase and clung to Rani’s curves like a second skin, rising and falling with her breasts when she was pulled away from the wall long enough for a black rubber ball to be strapped in her mouth to silence her protests.  Her superiors would not have been pleased with the ease with which she had been overpowered.

With Rani now powerless, Seeta positioned her in the middle of the room under an eyebolt, through which she threaded a length of cord which ended in an evil-looking noose complete with hangman’s knot.  Seeta placed it over Rani’s head and pulled the cord snugly beneath Rani’s jaw and around her neck.  Rani’s eyes widened in alarm as Seeta then took the other end and tied it to one of the rails along the wall, forcing Rani on to her tiptoes.  Seeta opened a cupboard and took out two wooden blocks about ten centimetres on a side.  She placed them on the floor, and ordered Rani to stand on them, one foot on each.  Fearfully, Rani did as she was told, and the rope about her neck was pulled tighter to compensate. If Rani lost her footing, chances were that she wouldn’t be able to touch the floor, or if she could, it would be just on her tiptoes and would most likely result in slow strangulation.  Leila and I watched this development with horror.  There was now no doubt in my mind that Seeta was malicious, and took great enjoyment in her power over people. The possibility of Rani being strangled did not appear to concern her at all.

Once again we were left to stare at each other’s predicament as Seeta and Prakash left the compartment.  I was petrified that Rani would lose her balance on the blocks what with the movement of the train.  She was standing on the balls of her feet with the heels raised off the block, but very slowly she allowed her heels to lower, twisting her neck to ease the cutting of the rope as she did so.  There was just enough slack as the noose tightened and it inched more snugly under her jaw, for her to stand flat-footed on the block.  Her breathing was laboured around the gag, however, as was Leila’s in her stringent position, and me in the vice-like corset and ropes holding me against the rails.  The three of us gazed at each other silently, trying to stay focussed.

*   *   *

We knew Monica would come eventually.  It was one of those inevitable events that follows on logically.  Sanjay and Seeta would want to demonstrate their power over Monica, too, to show off her assistants all bound and helpless.  We knew, too, that Monica would end up equally helpless.  Even Monica’s resourcefulness couldn’t overcome at least three people who would be intent on subjugating her.

When the door finally opened again, Monica did appear, her wrists bound behind her and flanked by Sanjay and Seeta.  Monica was wearing a short black skirt and matching high-necked Chinese-style blouse.  She took in the dungeon and the three bound prisoners at a glance, but unlike Rani and Leila she did not lose her calm.  Being already secured by whatever devious means they had used to catch her with her guard down, Monica no doubt had a fair idea what she was about to walk into, but the sight of Leila in a stringent hogtie, Rani near to choking and an Indian girl bound to the wall did not seem to faze Monica.  There were times when she could show an inner strength in the face of adversity that left me in awe of her self-control.  The only thing that seemed to put her off in this situation was me.  I noticed her brow furrow slightly, wondering first who I was, and then where Steven was.  Her first words were an exact representation of my thoughts.

“Where’s Steven?” she asked Seeta.

“He’s gone,” Seeta said, grinning at her.  “You won’t see him again.”

Monica’s expression changed to barely controlled anger.  “What have you done with him, you bitch,” she demanded in a low voice.

Seeta shrugged and smiled malevolently.  I could see Monica’s expression change and the façade of strength and sureness began to crack.  She said nothing, perhaps not trusting herself, but there was a sudden sense of shock that seemed to come from all three girls.  Leila made a small interrogative squeak from her strained position and a tear trickled from her eye.  Monica was blinking back the tears as well.  I suppose it was all very flattering to know that I would be missed, but I knew I couldn’t let them go on like that.  I grunted into my gag as best I could, but what with the incessant clatter of the wheels on the track, I could not be heard properly.  My plaintive mmphs for attention seemed to go unnoticed by the girls, so disturbed were they by the news of my disappearance.  I wanted to tell them that it was all premature, but evidently a mumbling Indian girl bound to the rails didn’t figure very highly in their thought processes just then.

“I like your style with this one,” Sanjay said to his sister, pointing to Rani.  “I think we should do something like that for Monica, while we prepare ourselves for a morning’s fun.  This is so jolly good.”  He clapped his hands with barely concealed excitement, momentarily lapsing into a slightly accented vernacular. 

It took no time at all for Sanjay to tie a rope to those already binding Monica’s wrists and feed it through another of the many pulleys dangling from the roof of the carriage.  He made her kick off her shoes, then hauled on the cord, pulling Monica’s arms up behind her in a strappado.  Monica’s head started to go down, but Seeta put her hand under Monica’s chin and held her head steady.  It was obvious the pair had done this before with some poor unfortunate.  In just a few seconds, Sanjay wrapped a couple of turns of the rope around Monica’s neck and knotted it behind her head, before releasing his hold on the rope and letting her arms take up the strain.  Seeta, too, let go and at once Monica’s head and arms both tried to lower themselves in opposite directions.  The rope tightened around Monica’s neck and we watched with horror as she struggled to breathe, while trying not to pull down with her arms.

Sanjay and Seeta watched her struggles for half a minute, before Sanjay squatted and undid Monica’s blouse, exposing her unfettered breasts.  Her bent over position appeared to be irresistible to him and he could not help himself.  A quick visit to the cupboard saw him return with two nipple clamps with weighted lead balls attached to them, and a rubber bit gag.  He released the jaws of the clamps on to Monica’s nipples, and even above the dull rattling of the carriage I heard her gasp in pain and saw her clench her teeth as the pain seared her tender flesh. 

“I don’t want a monologue going on in here while we’re gone,” Sanjay said, forcing the heavy rubber bar between her teeth and buckling the straps over her hair.  With a brief final study of the four helpless captives, Sanjay followed Seeta out of the room and we were left to contemplate the greater depths to which our misfortune had now descended.

We had no idea how long our captors would be gone, and my concern was for Rani and Monica, especially the latter.  I knew in a very short time the muscles in Monica’s arms would be screaming with pain from trying to keep the pressure off the rope around her neck.  After only a few minutes she was struggling with the pressure, shifting her weight from foot to foot, searching for any weakness in her position that might keep at bay the inevitable tightening of the rope.  All the while the rocking of the carriage made the two lead balls tug and sway rhythmically on her nipples.  Her eyes were closed and her breathing was rasping in and out around the rubber bar trapped between her teeth.  A pool of saliva formed on the floor from her open mouth.  Monica was struggling for her life and there was nothing any of us could do to help her.

Leila lay on the floor in her hogtie, squirming to somehow get nearer to Monica.  She had almost no facility for movement other than to wriggle her body, but she was somehow determined to do something.  I watched with grim fascination as inch by inch, her mouth straining around the gag and her brow furrowed with concentration, she worked herself closer to Monica, whose lips were starting to turn blue, and who I thought was in danger of passing out at any moment.

Leila finally reached Monica, her thighs nuzzling the front of Monica’s bare feet.  Monica’s eyes flickered open as Leila, exhausted from her bound struggles, gave a final groan and squirmed hard against Monica’s feet.  Leila grunted something unintelligible, but I realised what she was doing, as did Monica.  In desperation Monica seized upon the sacrifice that Leila had made, and stepped on to Leila’s thighs, turning herself to have a foot on each, then working into a position where she was standing close to Leila’s buttocks, and not making the poor girl take any more load in her already stressed position. 

The extra elevation Leila had provided Monica through using her body as a step was enough to give Monica some small relief and allow her to twist her arms slightly to the side, which in turn allowed her to straighten up enough to take the load off her neck.

It was still a further ten minutes later when Sanjay appeared, clad in a leather vest and trousers.  He was clearly impressed at how Monica had adapted.

“The last person we did that to was unconscious when we came back.  She survived, though – at least for a few days, anyway, before having an unfortunate – ah – accident.”  He paused, then said thoughtfully, “It takes a surprisingly long time to die from strangulation – if done the right way, of course.”

His words made me shudder, expressed as casually as they were.  He untied the rope from Monica’s neck and let her subside into a coughing fit as best she could with the bit gag still in place.

“I can see you might offer us a little something extra to play with, Monica - a resourcefulness somewhat lacking in others who have passed this way.  What a jolly change this will be.  I’m quite looking forward to this now.”

Seeta entered the room, clad in tight leather pants and a sleeveless vest matching her brother’s, which hugged her slender form, while her black hair was piled on her head and held there with several clips.  She wore little other adornment – no chains, just a heavy leather band on each wrist and boots with medium heels.  All up she looked ready for business, and I knew we were now about to experience just what that business was.

While Monica was still getting her breath back, Sanjay forced her to lie on the floor on her stomach, still with the nipple clamps attached.  She groaned, her body trembling from the close call she had had, and she offered no resistance as her wrists were undone and rebound in front, before the tail of the cinch rope was fed through a ring fixed to the ceiling.   Then Monica was hauled to her feet and her bound wrists were dragged upwards, her blouse hanging open to expose the two weights swinging from her breasts.

Meanwhile, Seeta gave Leila a shove with her booted toe, and Leila grunted as she fell over sideways.  Her position on her side was slightly easier than on her stomach, but there was no way she could go anywhere now – as if she really could before.  Seeta went to the cupboard again and took out a nasty-looking dagger.  She stood in front of Monica and my heart nearly stopped as she traced the tip of the dagger, flat side against Monica’s cheek.

“Take a good look at this, Monica Armstrong.  You may still get to beg for a quick release.  Whether we will be prepared to oblige is another matter.”  Her voice sent shivers down my spine and Monica’s eyes widened in fear that even she could not disguise.  Seeta rattled the knife between the two clips dangling from Monica’s nipples.  Then, with a practised movement, the knife slipped up the side of Monica’s black Chinese blouse from hem to sleeve – first one side, then the other.  The knife was scalpel-sharp and the blouse split like magic.  Seeta pulled the garment away.  Moments later Monica’s skirt suffered the same fate and she was left standing there in a black satin G-string.  The knife made short work of that, and Monica stood naked, her gagged head hanging as she struggled to focus on what was happening to her.

As it was, she was left like that for the time being, and Leila was the next to suffer the same treatment.  When Sanjay undid the terrible stricture linking her head harness with her toes, Leila let out a long groan of relief and laid her cheek on the wooden floor.  When he untied the hogtie itself, Leila’s body seemed to collapse, and like Monica, latent trembling could be seen as her muscles slowly recovered from the awful strain they had been under.

Two minutes later, Leila – very unsteady on her feet – was standing beside Monica, with her bound wrists similarly secured above her via a rope through the ring in the ceiling.  The knife again did its work and shortly afterwards Leila was standing naked, breast to breast with Monica.  She, too, now had a pair of weighted clips painfully gripping her nipples, eliciting little whimpers from behind the harness.

Rani was the last to be dealt to, her semi-strangling noose being released before she too, had her clothes cut away and her nipples clamped and weighted.  She made a lot of noise at this last affliction, and was dealt several hard slaps by Sanjay on the backside that left red handprints on the pale flesh, before her wrists were retied in front and hauled up above her head. 

Under any other circumstances I might have found the sight of the three barefoot and naked girls bound together an inspiring and stimulating sight.  With their arms raised, their breasts were at once uplifted while the weights dragged their nipples downward, but our situation was dire, with the prospect of it not only becoming worse, but terminally so.  There was no doubt that Seeta and Sanjay were going to have their fun with us before we were disposed of, and both likelihoods scared the crap out of me.  I wondered what had ever possessed us to consent to this crazy rescue scheme.

It seemed that the ‘fun’ was now about to begin, as Seeta tied the girls ankles together loosely - Monica’s left to Rani’s right, Rani’s left to Leila’s right, and Leila’s left to Monica’s right.  The tails of the ropes connecting each pair of ankles were then pulled outwards, forcing the girls to lean forwards, stretching their bodies fully and placing more strain on their wrists bound to the ring above them.  I was reminded of pictures of the whipping triangles used in colonial times, except that in this instance there were three victims forming a three-sided pyramid.

Sanjay pulled harder on a rope, dragging Monica and Rani’s ankles back a couple of inches further, to make the human structure symmetrical.  As she became stretched more tautly I could hear Rani’s breath quickening, accentuated with little grunts of distress.  Seeta sat on the floor and edged backwards between Leila’s legs, running her fingernails across the blonde’s exposed crotch so as to make her jump.  But Seeta’s primary purpose was to slip a length of rope through the three chains linking nipple clamps, and draw the ends of the rope together in the middle of the group before tying them together.  On to this she hung several sizeable lead weights, the load being spread between the six captive nipples.  There was a concerted gagged groan from the three heads staring down at her.  The groans turned to a muffled scream as Seeta tugged maliciously on the weights before easing her way out of the triangle.

While Seeta had been setting the weights, Sanjay had been selecting various implements of pain infliction from the cupboards.  He flourished a thin cane which bent easily into a half circle, plus a riding crop and a couple of floggers with thongs half a metre long.  He put down the first two and gave Seeta one of the floggers.  She snapped it in a way that made my stomach turn, then the beating began.

Seeta and Sanjay had obviously done this before – many times.  Not only were they both skilled in their timing and placement of the strokes, but they worked as a team, slowly circling the stretched, arched young bodies, dealing out strokes to the taut buttocks and straining backs.  Gradually they worked their way down backs, bottoms and spread legs, etching the pale flesh with glowing red stripes that gradually became a uniform scarlet hue.  When they were satisfied with this, they let loose even more wicked shots, lapping around the sides of rib cages on to exposed breasts and clamped nipples, then loosing a series of blows upwards between the helplessly spread legs.  The girls writhed and screamed into their gags, but there was nobody to hear them as we continued our rattling across the countryside.  Monica had her back to me, but I could see the tears streaming down the faces of Rani and Leila as the blows continued to fall.  Then the floggers were discarded and Sanjay took up the riding crop, continuing with deft snaps at the exposed pussies that prompted more gagged shrieks of agony.

I felt utterly impotent, bound to the rails as I was and being forced to watch this torture.  I struggled against my bonds in a futile attempt to get free, making my own gagged noises of protest and pleas for mercy.

When Sanjay laid aside the riding crop, a thin film of sweat on his forehead and a broad smile on his face, it was only to let Seeta continue with the thin cane.  The carriage was now warm with the heat of human bodies and thick with the smell of fear and pain.  Leila’s tear-stained face lifted just long enough to look over her shoulder at the next affliction that was about to befall her, and uttered a desperate plea at the sight of the cane, just before it caught her across the buttocks.  Her body jerked and she uttered a long nasal cry into the gag, which tailed off into a series of groans and sniffles.  Then it was Rani’s turn.  Rani was weeping steadily, struggling to breathe and cry and groan simultaneously.  The cane curled around her buttocks with a sharp slap, leaving a thin welt overlaying the red patterns already covering her skin. 

Seeta now had her back to me as she lined up the shapely cheeks of Monica, their muscles tense and quivering as she prepared as best she could for the coming pain.  There was a hiss of the cane through the air and a sharp impact of rattan on flesh.  Monica stiffened and did her best to stifle the cry that escaped from around the rubber bar strapped between her teeth.  While I could close my eyes, I could not shut out the fearsome swish of the cane and cutting smack of the impact, nor the screams of the victims and the sobbing between blows.  I have rarely felt so totally helpless and could not prevent tears of frustration slipping down my own cheeks.

When Seeta had finally worked up a sweat, she sat on the whipping bench beside Sanjay, and together they relaxed and enjoyed the sight of the three sobbing girls spread and bound.  Sanjay produced a small flask of possibly whisky, and the two of them took alternate swigs, while talking to each other in Hindi and occasionally pointing at where their victims’ muscles were trembling and twitching in their restraints.

After several minutes Seeta stood up and left the dungeon.  I thought this might herald some relief, but it appeared that what had happened was simply their idea – or at least Sanjay’s – of foreplay.  From the bulge in his leather trousers he was clearly aroused, and when he unzipped his fly, his dick popped out fully erect.  He was well endowed, and took pride in moving up behind Rani and rubbing his member between her bruised and tender buttocks.  Rani moaned in fear then cried out as his hands came around and groped her breasts, tugging at the nipple clamps.

But Sanjay didn’t appear intent on Rani.  I suspected to him she was just another Indian girl, the sort he could always find available for a handful of rupees.  What he craved was western flesh, and Leila’s blondeness obviously held an attraction for him.  He moved from Rani to stand behind Leila, pressing against her, pulling her harnessed head back by a handful of the blonde hair.  Leila gasped in pain and misery as his free hand caressed her breasts and roved over her beaten skin.  Sanjay slipped a couple of fingers inside her and Leila stiffened, her breathing suddenly becoming a series of little grunts. I knew Leila could get turned on by a little flogging, but I was sure one as extensive and painful as that would have the opposite effect. 

I can’t say I am a student of physiology or whatever it is that determines our reaction to various sexual stimuli, and the reason I am not such a student is that I wouldn’t have expected the sigh of what had to be pleasure that escaped from the gagged lips.  Leila was as much a prisoner to her own frustrations as she was to the ropes and straps holding her, and she could evidently no more stifle her body’s urges than she could previously suppress her cries of pain.  Despite what must still have been a terrible hurt lingering on her skin, the stimulation in her loins obviously became uppermost, as Sanjay, in less than a minute brought her to a climax that saw her straining on the rope and jerking her hips as much as she was able to.  She finally lifted her head and let loose a gagged howl, shaking her head as she did so and tugging on her bonds in a frantic release of the sexual forces within her.

Sanjay stepped back with a most amused look on his face, his own arousal still very evident.  I knew then that the strong Monica was the true object of his intentions, and that he would make a point of demonstrating his superiority and dominance over her.

From my position with Monica facing away from me, I was spared the pain of having to watch her face as Sanjay drove into her from behind, his roving hands gripping first her raw buttocks and then – as he impaled her to his full depth – her restrained and pincered breasts.  But while I did not have to suffer the torture of seeing Monica’s face, I could nevertheless hear her barely-suppressed cries with each thrust of Sanjay’s leather-clad pelvis.

Sanjay was not in a hurry, it seemed, as Seeta returned a short time later, dressed as before, but now sporting a big strap-on phallus made of black rubber.  It was of sizeable diameter and I had a feeling it would be going in the smaller openings of the two girls, rather than their love passages.  Sanjay was still dealing to Monica with slow in-out thrusts in time to her strained grunts, when Seeta gripped Rani’s hips and began the insertion where I suspected it would go.  Over the shoulders of Sanjay and Monica I could see Rani’s eyes widen with shock and pain, then she tried to splutter her protest around the black rubber ball strapped between her jaws.

“Urggh! Nnnnmf!”  Rani shook her head and screwed up her face in pain as Seeta pushed harder.  Rani’s gagged exclamations shot up an octave as Seeta thrust hard and the big dildo forced its way past Rani’s sphincter.  Her eyes opened again and she was snorting hard, trying to catch her breath and to cope with the invader inside her.  Seeta began to move back and forth in unison with Sanjay, who was now starting to build up for a climax, I figured, judging from the sound effects he was starting to make.  Our captors were obviously feeding off each other’s rising excitement, as well as the increasing noises of pain Monica and Rani were making.  Seeta’s strap-on must have had an insert at the opposite end, for she was clearly getting off herself, tuning in to the rocking rhythm of the carriage, driving in with alternate motions.  The increase in their movements began to tell, however, as first Seeta, then Sanjay finished their effort with a series of forceful thrusts and groans of pleasure, in contrast to their victims who could only emit a series of gagged cries rising in pitch, before they hung limply in their bonds, clutched in the arms of their attackers.

Sanjay and Seeta extracted themselves with a minimum of ceremony and left us.  The three girls sagged in their restraints, with now only the sound of muted sobs audible above the clacketing railway line.  Bound and gagged as I was, as well, I could do nothing to comfort them, other than to swear that neither Sanjay nor Seeta would escape punishment.  I had no idea how or when this might happen, but I was determined that one day there would be a reckoning.  Outside the sun beat down on the carriage and we slowly began to wilt as we were carried across a countryside unaware of the helpless foreigners in its midst.

*   *   *

There was air-conditioning in the dungeon, but it had been turned off when our captors departed.  The heat began to build up and soon little runnels of perspiration began to run down the girls’ bodies, sliding slowly over bare striated skin.  As they swayed with the movement of the train, every now and again a small helpless grunt or stifled sob would escape from one or other of them.  I could not always tell who made the noise. 

At one point we stopped at a station – or so we assumed it was.  There was the sound of gabbling voices in the distance that might have signified a group of people, and for a brief moment we gained some hope.  At a grunted “um, oof, ree” from Monica we all made as much noise as our gags permitted, but it was futile.  The girls’ weary heads lifted briefly, then dropped under the despair of captivity without hope of release.  Rani cried softly.

Then we were on the move again.  Perhaps another hour passed – an hour of sweating in oven-like temperatures, which saw my clothes plastered to my body and the girls’ skin glistening with perspiration.  I wondered how much more they could take before someone fainted.

We had an inkling that something was about to happen when there came the faint sound of the air-con again and the air began to get perceptibly cooler.  Ten minutes later Seeta appeared with Sanjay, carrying what looked like a number of bolts of brightly coloured cloth.  She put them on the whipping bench and undid the ropes anchoring Rani’s ankles away from her body.  Rani groaned as she was able to move her bare feet under her centre of gravity and take the weight off her arms, though they still hung above her.  With the release of Rani’s ankles, Leila and Monica could also move one foot each closer to the centre of their little triangle, and they too made muffled noises of relief.

After Seeta had towelled Rani down and removed the nipple clamps in a far from gentle manner, she locked ankle cuffs in place with a short connecting chain, then began to dress Rani in much the same manner as I was.  There were subtle differences, like the choli which had buttons along the shoulders as well as down the front, which enabled Seeta to button it up without undoing Rani’s wrists from the overhead anchor point.  With the bodice in place, Seeta made Rani step into the petticoat before winding and pleating the sari itself into place.  It was a deep blue one with a silver threads through it, and was finished off by Seeta draping and pinning a section as a shawl over Rani’s head, covering up her nose and mouth with a veil like my own, which effectively covered the black rubber ball gag as well.  When she had finished, Seeta undid the rope securing Rani’s bound wrists through the overhead ring.  Rani slowly collapsed on to the floor, completely exhausted.  With the help of Sanjay, Seeta dragged Rani back against the rails on the back wall of the carriage, feeding the two tails of the ropes through the rails and pulling them tight so that Rani’s hands were pulled into her stomach.  The tails were brought up behind the rails and tied together around Rani’s throat.  As long as she didn’t struggle and sat upright, she would be okay.  Struggle, and she could end up choking.

Ten minutes later Leila was also sitting down, bound to the rails in identical fashion.  Her head harness had been removed and replaced with a simple ball gag, locked behind her head and now hidden beneath the veil.  Her head was lolling and the poor girl looked just about all in.  Only Monica remained, and while she had had her tortured nipples freed from the terrible clamps, and had been similarly attired as the rest of us, she had not been released from the overhead ring.  There was no doubt that Sanjay and Seeta reckoned Monica was the strongest of the group, and were making a special effort to weaken her resistance and to exert their own domination over her. 

After the pair had again left, Monica was made to hang there for another hour, before the train slowed and finally came to a halt.  This time I had the feeling that something unusual was going to happen.  There was somehow a feeling that this was our destination.  This was confirmed when a section of the carriage wall just along from me was swung open from the outside by Prakash and a wave of overwhelming heat washed into the carriage.  Sanjay and Seeta came in through the door from the passage and undid the ropes holding me to the rails.  Like the others, I had a veil fastened over my mouth and nose.  With my wrists still handcuffed behind me, I was led, tottering on my heels, to the outside door. 

Any chance I might have had to attract attention or cause some sort of ruckus vanished when I realised a vehicle with open rear doors had backed right up to the carriage.  I could see almost nothing of the surroundings as I stepped awkwardly on to the platform then up into the rear of the van.  Movement in the tight corset had not become any easier since it was first laced up, nor did the hobble between my ankles make climbing into the vehicle via the back step any less difficult. 

It was a four-wheel drive of some sort, with four seats facing inwards at the rear.  I was thrust into one of these and a seat belt was pulled into place.  It was of the harness sort that air crew sometimes use – over both shoulders and connecting at the waist.  This one, I discovered, also had a lock on the buckle.  This vehicle was tailor-made for prisoner transport, I concluded unhappily.  The windows were tinted, but we could still see out, and to some extent people might be able to see in.  But so what?  Four veiled, sari-clad women meant nothing.  This was a country where arranged marriages were still common and many women remained chaste until the day of their marriage.  Social mores varied throughout the country, and in the rural areas conservatism and the veil was doubtless not uncommon.

Shortly Rani was bound to the seat beside me, with Leila opposite me.  Monica had to be almost carried to her seat, so exhausted was she.  The last person in was Claire Parker, veiled and no doubt gagged, with her wrists handcuffed behind her.  There was no seat available for her, so she was made to lie on the floor between us and a chain was locked between her handcuffs and her hobble chain, pulling her into a loose hogtie.

The rear doors closed with a thump and for the first time I was able to look beyond my fellow prisoners to the world outside.  We appeared to be on the platform of a relatively busy railway station, yet away from the milling throngs that seemed to inhabit more distant parts.  I could only conclude that Sanjay had his own private parking spot for his train.

Sanjay and Seeta climbed in and grinned at us from the back seat.

“Are we sitting comfortably?” Seeta asked, looking around.  I, for one, was decidedly more uncomfortable than I had been when standing.  The dildo forced its way up my back passage with my weight on it, and my parts trapped between my legs by the corset exacerbated the problem.  The girls, I was sure, were glad to be sitting, just to rest their arms and legs, though their backs and bottoms must have been seriously sore from the flogging and the cane.

Prakash climbed in behind the wheel and we drove off, threading our way through the milling crowds who peered curiously in as we exited out on to the street from the station precinct.   I stared at Monica, but she was almost out of it.  I caught Leila’s eye and she looked at me curiously, but I was still not sure if she had realised who I was and what had happened to me, or whether she thought I was still some unfortunate –albeit pale – Indian girl who had strayed into the clutches of Seeta and Sanjay.

After half an hour we were clear of the streets of what I took to be Chandrai, judging from various signs I saw.  It was a provincial town, as big, dusty and tumultuous as any other town in rural India.  The streets were in poor repair and street sellers and market stalls overflowed on to the roads, competing with cars, bicycles, oxen and humans for available space.  Leaving this behind we headed up into the hills, for about an hour.  We passed terraced rice fields for a while, then the terrain became steeper and covered with denser jungle.  The road gradually deteriorated from tarseal to dirt, becoming narrower.  It was hours after we had started riving when we turned off on to a narrow track beside a small sign that said “Kota Kaia”.

Sanjay and Seeta had ignored our presence for most of the way, but at this point Sanjay turned and said:

“This is the way to my fort.  Kota Kaia means ‘Black Fortress’ in Hindi.  It was built by my ancestors in 1627, and they defended successfully it against the British and various other tribes over the following centuries.  I come here to get away from everything, though I can still be in touch with the outside world by satellite TV and phone.  Aside from these modern conveniences and some refurbishment I’ve done, it’s pretty much unchanged.  Wonderful dungeons – as you’ll find out.”  He turned away.  It was noticeably cooler here above the plains, and it was starting to rain lightly.  “Maybe the monsoon has finally arrived,” he said to Seeta in English.  We may have to make an offering of gratitude.”  There was an unnecessary emphasis on his words that made me think they were directed towards us.

We drove for a kilometre or so along the narrow track cut into the mountainside, the route at times almost closed in by overhanging dripping trees.  Finally we emerged into an open area on what appeared to be a saddle between two green peaks.  Here there was a small village of tin-roofed huts made from mud-brick, set around an open square that normally would have been dusty, but was now slowly turning a deep red-brown colour under the light rain.  There appeared to be nobody about, but I suspected eyes were following the progress of our vehicle.

We drove across the square and round a slight curve to a small open space just beyond the cluster of houses, where we drove up a ramp on to a broad shelf carved out of the clay.  To my astonishment a large elephant was standing beside the shelf, its saddle almost level with it. 

“We thought we’d give you a special ride to the fort,” Seeta explained with a smile that was guaranteed to instil nothing but further anxiety to those of us in the rear seats.  She climbed out and with Sanjay opened the rear doors.  Claire’s hogtie was removed and she was dragged to her feet to stand beside the vehicle, where - one by one - we had our hobbles removed and were released from our seats to stand beside Claire.  It was drizzling steadily now, and the surrounding mountains were wreathed in low cloud and mist.  All was still and silent.

The elephant carried a platform mounted on its back, essentially comprising a 3-seater bench down each side.  The bench looked of ancient origin, ornately carved like three saddles side by side facing outwards, where backsides were to be located, while in the centre of each saddle was an elaborately crafted handle, like a saddle pommel, that a person could hold on to.  On looking more closely at the pommels I saw that some of the wooden saddles also had ornately carved vertical intrusions, as well, right in the locations where a female might be obliged to sit.

“Who wants to ride the love elephant?” asked Sanjay with a short laugh.  “You can go first,” he said, pointing at me.  “It’s a pity you’re not ready for the real thing, yet.  Get on the front – this side.”

Prakash had already climbed nimbly on to the beast and grasped me by the shoulder as I swayed about trying desperately not to fall off.  The long sari and high heels were the worst thing possible for this, and Seeta had to also climb on to arrange the folds of my dress so that I could ease my way over the pommel.  My seat was the only one that did not have a carved wooden dildo fitted, and I slid on to the saddle as best I could in my corset. 

With my wrists cuffed behind me, I was at a disadvantage compared to the others, who, with the exception of Claire, all had their wrists bound in front.  Claire’s wrists were re-cuffed in front at that point, and she was directed to climb on to the front seat of the saddle on the other side.

She had evidently done this before, and was able to do so without assistance, given her bare feet and un-hobbled ankles.  She positioned herself astride the saddle, lifting her sari skirt and gradually eased herself down on the upward-pointing intruder, letting out a slow moan as she finally came in contact with the saddle.  I looked at the vertical intruders on the saddles next to me.  They were slightly longer than my middle finger, and maybe five centimetres in diameter – wide at the base tapering to a stubby point, and carved in complicated spirals and whorls. I wondered what the squatness and undulating surface would do to a female impaled on it.  No doubt I would soon be enlightened.

Seeta climbed over the middle of the platform and bound Claire’s wrists to the pommel, then draped the end of the sari shawl over the ropes.  I could now see that to a casual observer the elephant might be carrying a small group of demurely-veiled women between villages or to the fort for a ceremony.  I had no doubt that the latter description would be a considerable understatement in reality.

Leila was the next to board, also climbing over to the opposite bench.  She shrugged off Seeta’s attempt to help arranging her sari, and defiantly sank down on the wooden dildo, but was unable to stay silent as she did so, uttering a series of muted grunts as the object entered her.  After Leila’s hands had been secured to the pommel, it was Monica’s turn.   Wearing a white sari that contrasted exquisitely with her tanned skin, Monica now looked a little like her old self, having been able to rest in the back of the 4WD on the drive up here.  Now, the cool dampness of the mountain air appeared to revive her, and like Leila, she spurned any assistance to step on to the platform on the elephant, glaring at Seeta who shrugged.  Monica, too, showed her disdain for the test they had set for us, by hitching her sari and settling over the phallus next to me, with barely a murmur escaping from behind the veil. 

“Let’s see if you’re so cocky after a half hour ride,” snapped Seeta, clearly peeved by this display of unconcernedness, as she lashed Monica’s wrists to her pommel. 

Rani was the last to mount – in all senses of the word – and found some difficulty accepting the saddle.  In the middle of her squirming and a series of gagged grunts Seeta lost patience and forced her down hard.  Rani cried out as best she was able, and began to sob, struggling to breathe properly around the gag while her wrists were tied in place.  That was the point at which Sanjay and Prakash, on the ground beside the elephant, unhooked the board running along under Claire and Leila’s  saddles, that they had been able to stand on until then, using it to support some of their weight.  Next, with a tug of a couple of ropes, the board beneath Monica, Rani and me fell away, obviously being hinged on the inner edge, and I found myself supported solely by the saddle.  The abrupt increase in load on the saddle forced the dildo hard up my backside, at the same time eliciting small gagged cries from Monica and Rani beside me.  There was much snorting and muted whinings as we all struggled to adapt to this unforeseen and devious twist.

An old man appeared from under a large banyan tree where he had been sheltering from the rain.  He wore a grubby turban and a pair of baggy shorts which seemed to be too big for his skinny frame.  He moved to the head of the elephant and began to talk to it, while our captors returned to the vehicle and climbed in.  A minute later the 4WD had all but vanished down the track into the misty jungle, and the old man – whom we now understood was our mahout, or elephant driver - was leading us in its wake. 

Riding an elephant was uncomfortable enough for me, astride the saddle with much of my weight born firmly on my crotch, with my sensitive parts trapped in the corset and the dildo driving up my bum with each sway of the giant beast.  And sway it did, its movements magnified alarmingly by the height of the platform.  It was going to be a very uncomfortable trip for me.  I figured it might be different for the girls – well, a different form of discomfort, anyway.  They at least had their hands tied in front of them, to allow them to steady themselves, but it surely looked like they would be unable to lever themselves off the fat intruders upon which they were impaled.

Before we had gone a hundred lurching metres, I could hear the ragged breathing around me in the silence of the enclosing jungle.  I looked at Monica beside me.  She was staring fixedly straight ahead, her hands clenched rigidly around the pommel.  The rhythm of the animal’s movements along the relatively flat path were clearly stimulating to the girls, whereas to me they just brought pain and vexation. 

The trees had closed in and every so often we would brush closely under overhanging branches that showered water over us, prompting stifled cries from some of my fellow passengers.  Between these showers and the drizzle, we were soon soaked, but were not so cold as to be freezing.  It was almost as though the dousings were a distraction from the incessant thrusts that had to be occurring in the girls’ loins.  However it was soon evident that no amount of wetness was going to prevent nature taking its course, as Leila began to make muffled grunts in a rising pitch, her breathing increasing to a rapid pant.  I looked over my shoulder to see her lean forward and clutch at the pommel, half bent over, her thighs raised up beneath the long sari.  The pants turned into a long squeaky sigh as her body stiffened and she let loose a final gagged howl that might have come from a jungle animal.

As though serving as a catalyst for the others, within five minutes Rani, Claire and finally Monica had succumbed to the remorseless thrusting inside them – a thrusting that was going to continue, irrespective of whether there was one orgasm or fifty.  Such was obviously the intention of our captors to wear us down slowly.  I was concerned for Monica, who had already received extra attention from Sanjay and Seeta, but whom I also knew to be the strongest-willed of the group.

When Monica had finally climaxed, her long legs had scrabbled for purchase against the elephant’s flanks, and she had squirmed on the saddle, mmphing with frustration at being unable to stop the rush from her loins, unable to resist the inevitable fate that had been planned for her by the siblings in whose clutches we were held.

I felt a mixture of frustration and vulnerability as the climaxes were taking place around me.  I was the one most uncomfortable, and at the same time missing out on a rather more pleasurable experience than having a dick thrust repeatedly up one’s arse.  Additionally, however, not only was the ride weakening the girls’ resistance, it was also distracting them.  I felt I must make an effort to observe where we were going and look for any possibility of escape.

We were up high on the elephant’s back, and while in open countryside this would normally have given us a good view over flat fields, in the jungle it simply meant we were getting our heads and bodies lashed by low branches.  Every so often I had to grunt as loudly as I could to draw the girls’ attention to impending attacks by the aforementioned branches.  Sometimes my warnings were heeded, sometimes my fellow passengers were off on Planet Orgasm.  Of course, when one is in the throes of a violent climax, a swift thrash around the head or shoulders doesn’t mean a lot.

We passed through another small village.  I was astonished when several of the villagers – mainly old men and women – bowed to us as we went by.  Then I realised that it was in fact the elephant – a revered animal – that they were bowing to.  The fact that the elephant carried a group of veiled women on ornate saddles no doubt indicated a ceremony of some sort was taking place, possibly organised by the lord of the fortress, which made it all doubly special and something to be viewed with great respect.

Whatever the understanding of the village folk, there was little prospect of relief for us.  We travelled in a gentle curve, finally reaching a clearer spot in the trees, which led on to a steep saddle.  Off to each side we overlooked a misty vista of dark hilltops poking through the cloud, while ahead of us rose a sinister mass on a single green clad promontory.  The track was now visible as a series of zig-zags leading up the side of the mountain, and at the end of the track was a huge stone gate that was the entrance to this sinister, oppressive destination.  Rearing above the gate was the bulk of the fortress, a massive, impregnable redoubt built of some sort of dark stone.  This was our destination – the Black Fortress.

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