Monica's Games 1.3: To The Victor, The Spoils

by Richard Alexander

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© Copyright 2003 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/mf; bondage; cons; X

(story continues from )

Chapter Three: To The Victor, The Spoils

Blind Jill ran her hands over Shawnee’s bound figure, cupping the full, generous breasts that stood out proudly on Shawnee’s petite figure, and then slipping down Shawnee’s hair to where it ended just below her shoulders.  Careful Jill was establishing that the bound figure was in fact the right target, and that she was at the correct end of the field.  Only then, at a range of a metre, did she line up Shawnee and fire a paintball point blank into her belly. Shawnee was crying for mercy before the shot and squealing like a stuck little pig after it.  She would probably have a nice bruise there, but that was something she had endured plenty of times during her indenture at Bilboes, and would no doubt be receiving a lot more of in the very near future, when Monica got free.

Satisfied in her own mind that she had done the job, Jill was in the process of untying the key from Shawnee’s neck when a red paintball caught her in the small of the back.  Monica was now firing without the benefit of the Shawnee Aiming Aid - whatever that had been worth.  Debbie and I stepped out of the field of fire and watched as the firing continued, as Monica - her hopes shattered and no doubt furious at the way in which she had been betrayed - gave vent to her frustration in the only way available. 

It took Jill only a moment to unlock and remove her helmet once she had untied the key.  She looked at me, her eyes shining out from a head swathed in silver duct tape.  As we had done with all the girls, we had covered her hair with a silicone rubber bathing cap before winding the tape over their mouths and under their chins.  Such was the extent of the tape that it was futile to try to remove it other than with scissors.  Hopefully, Jill mimed scissors to us, with an interrogative grunt, but Deb and I shook our heads.  In fact this was not true, since we did carry an emergency pair, but as far as we were concerned, the game was still going on.  There were one or two twists that we had not told the others about, not least that all the locks used during the game were combination ones, and we had scrambled the combinations before using them.  Thus the immobilisation process of being wounded and then healed would be duplicated by the time it took them to undo the locks.  That was my idea and we both thought it was rather clever.  Similarly, we had hidden all sets of keys we could find which might open the locks at the girls’ collars and cuffs.  The only way they would get to see the hidden keys again would be to swap the released combination locks for the keys through Debra and myself – undo one combo lock, get a set of keys free.  It sounded like a bizarre McDonalds ad. 

I continued with my filming as Jill moved out of the fort and around behind where Monica leaned on the log wall, then calmly emptied her remaining paint balls all over Monica.

“Jill’s living dangerously,” I murmured to Debbie.  She just laughed.  We had now removed our own headsets, effectively leaving all the girls expectantly awaiting developments, none knowing quite what was to come next, since to the victor went the spoils, to do with as she would.

Jill returned to the fort and undid Shawnee’s wrists, letting her slide off the pipe between her legs.  Shawnee was about to ease the two plugs out but Jill restrained her, waggling her finger in the negative.  She looped the rope around Shawnee’s waist and threaded the ends through the two sleeves formerly occupied by the pipe, then pulled the rope tight between the girl’s buttocks before tying it to the waist rope.  Shawnee whined and gasped, but got a stern glare and a slap on the backside from Jill.  Jill now mimed for Shawnee to walk back to the house and return with a pair of scissors.  This done, the White Team leader began walking to the opposite end of the field.

She passed Monica first, who was now sitting disconsolately on the ground, leaning against the fort wall, covered in white paint.  Debbie and I followed Jill like an expectant news crew, to see what the victor’s actions would be.  Jill stopped briefly beside Emma, whose ankles were locked together, and who was sitting comfortably leaning back on her hands.  Jill patted Emma tenderly on the shoulder and moved over to where Leila sat cross-legged, her right wrist locked to her right ankle.  Again, the pat and comforting grunts from Jill.  Both Leila and Emma had got off quite mildly, compared to Mary and Trish, who lay nearby in total or semi-hogties.  Jill ignored them and made her way to where Lisa still bounced contentedly on her frame.

I use the word ‘contentedly’ loosely, since Lisa looked quite exhausted.  That Jill ‘s team had won was more through Jill’s initiative than Lisa’s direction, once she had got into orgasm mode, but I was sure Jill would be generous with her team.  Jill untied Lisa and helped her off the frame and allowed her to extract the two inserts.

“Ohhhh…” she breathed.  “That was sooo good…  Did we win?”

Jill focussed her attention by tweaking Lisa’s left nipple hard.


Jill mimed for Lisa to walk back to the house and fetch a wheelbarrow, which happened to be near the back steps where Shawnee had been doing some gardening.  Lisa went off with a kind of bow-legged walk, as though she had been bareback riding, which after a fashion, she had, I guess.

While her two minions were running their errands, Jill took the rope that had bound Lisa and again walked the length of the field.  This time Monica was the subject of her attention.  Jill mimed to Debra the act of a lock closing, and was given another combination lock.  Moments later Monica’s right arm was secured beside her left to the chain running between her shoulder blades, and she was being backed on to the frame recently vacated by Shawnee.  This time there were no inserts, as Jill bound Monica’s torso to the vertical pipe. 

After further miming to Debra, Jill was given a length of chain and two more combination locks.  The chain was locked to Monica’s left ankle cuff and run over the horizontal pipe behind Monica’s butt, then down to the right ankle.  The chain was too short for Monica to stand upright.  She found herself having to either squat halfway to the ground to get both feet flat on the grass (but with obvious extra load on her crotch) or else have one leg straight down with the other pulled up near her buttocks.  Debbie and I thought it was an elegant and thoughtful position, and I filmed Deb beside the blind Monica, raising her hands in mimicry of Olympic judges, scoring eight out of ten.

By the time Jill had finished securing Monica, Shawnee had returned with the scissors and helped Jill cut through the layers of duct tape without ruining her hair.  Once the initial cut was made from throat to cheek, Jill peeled away the tape in one piece.  It came away cleanly from around her head over the swim cap, and Jill prised the piece of heavy-duty blue foam from behind her lips.  The use of this foam, normally the material from which camping bedrolls were made, was standard practice at Bilboes where tape gags were concerned.  Putting it behind the lips and in front of the teeth protected the lips from being crushed against the teeth by over-tight binding of the tape, and this process had proven very effective over time.

“Gaarh!” said Jill, pulling off the rubber cap and spitting on the ground.  “God, that’s better!”  She ruffled her damp matted blonde hair and worked her jaw a couple of times.  “I hope you two individuals are satisfied with your movie,” she declared, but she was smiling as she said it, and she was clearly pleased with her triumph.  She adjusted the chain which ran from her throat through her crotch to the back of her neck.  “This damn thing has been making me horny,” she grinned.

“That was part of the intention,” Debbie said. 

“Well let me tell you, Deb, it worked.”

“I suspect it will be working on Mary and Trish as well,” Debbie suggested, particularly with their legs and hands putting a strain on it.  Oh, just so you know, poor Trish barely got to fire a shot before Emma took her out of the play, so I left her with a little toy implanted to keep her happy.”

“I thought the losers were supposed to suffer pain and indignity and hurt, not be sent off into orgasm land,” Jill said.

“That’s true,” I agreed, “but all of that can still happen.  You’re the mistress of all you survey.  It’s yours to do what you will with, for the rest of the afternoon.  That was the deal.  No come-backs.”  I noticed Debbie looking at her watch.

“Talking of afternoon, I must fly,” she said. “Let me know when you’re showing the video and I’ll be over for dinner.”

“You’re on.”  She handed me the bag of locks and I watched the sway of her skirt as she moved back past the northern fort and down the hill out of sight towards the house.

“What’s the combination for the locks?”  Jill asked.

“Ah. We haven’t mentioned that, have we.  Actually, they’ve been scrambled. The only way you’ll open them is by trying out the combinations one by one.”

“What?  But that could take hours!”

“Yep.  Badly shot up people might have four locks to undo.  A thousand combinations on a three-wheel lock, say an hour on average to reach the right one, and they’ll be a long time recovering.  And there will be no keys to the cuff and collar locks until all combination ones have been undone, although you may – as victorious captain – remove the helmet of anybody you wish, since you already have your team’s key and you have access to the Red Team’s key around Lisa’s neck.” 

“You’re a bastard,” she said, her expression conveying at once wonderment that anyone could think of such a thing, and a hint of admiration for my cleverness.  At least that’s what I construed her slow smile to mean.  She began to think out loud.

“Sooo…  Emma has one lock to undo, Leila has two, Mary three and Trish four,” she mused.  “No wonder Debbie gave Trish the toy.  That’s a long time in a hogtie.”

“And of course an hour per lock assumes that you can hold the lock in one hand and move the wheels with the other, tugging at it after each change.  Somehow I think it will take Trish and Mary a lot longer in their positions.”

“Mmmm.  I really hadn’t thought past this stage.  This is getting interesting.  You really are a devious sod, you know that?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said.  “Maybe that’s why Monica employs me.”

“It’s one of the reasons,” she agreed with a sly smile.  Then she appeared to bring herself back to the problem at hand.  “I think we need to relocate these poor injured girls back to the house.  Do you agree?”

“You’re in charge,” I told her. “It’s your victory party, Boadicea.” 

Jill laughed, flashing her white teeth in a gorgeous smile that lit up her face.  “Good.  Here comes Lisa with the wheelbarrow.”

I watched while Lisa and Shawnee helped Emma into the barrow. 

“Aren’t you going to take off her helmet?” I asked Jill, as Emma made tugging motions and rattled the lock under her chin.  Jill smiled smugly.

“All in due course,” she said.  “I haven’t quite decided about these two.”

“But they’re on your side.  Aren’t you going to help them?” 

“Sure.  When I’m ready.  In the meantime they can play with the combination locks.  They won’t get them undone any faster by being able to see them.  It will help focus their minds.”

“You’ve been hanging around Monica too long.”

“Looks like she’s doing the hanging around now.”

The four girls began to head off as a group down to the house.  They were just passing the fort, with Lisa pushing the barrow and Shawnee going on ahead, when there was a sudden commotion.  Emma began struggling and I saw Jill undo the top of her own bikini to disconnect the wires that were taped adjacent to her nipples. Everyone had forgotten about the inductor wire on the ground, and Emma had evidently got quite a shock as Lisa had ploughed heedlessly on.

Jill was laughing when I caught up with her.

“I bet that woke up Em!  It sure as hell gave me a thrill.”  She had not bothered to do up her top.  Her breasts were like two large pear halves, with faint red outlines either side of the erect nipples where the wires had been taped.  I admired them until Jill turned away coyly, pretending to be embarrassed.  “Sir!  Do you mind?”

“Not at all, ma’am,” I assured her, toting the camera and lock bag as I trailed them girls down the grassy slope past the sleeping quarters to the back verandah.

By the time we reached the house Jill had replaced her bikini top, the white lycra again stretched tautly over the still-erect nipples. 

I dumped the bag of chains and locks on the deck and watched as Lisa and Shawnee awkwardly helped Emma up the steps on to the verandah.

“Lay her down there,” Jill directed.  “Now go and fetch Leila, then Mary and Trish, and bring them all back here.  Monica can stay where she is and commune with nature for a while.”  I glanced at Jill as the pair disappeared up the rise again, Shawnee pushing the wheelbarrow behind Lisa.  Jill appeared lost in thought, then bent down and extracted another combination lock from the bag and slipped it through Emma’s two ankle rings already locked together, so that both locks had to be undone before Emma was free.

Jill noticed my questioning gaze and smiled.  “I need a little more time,” she said enigmatically.

“For what?”

“Never you mind, Mister film-maker.”

“You’re up to something,” I challenged her.  “You didn’t expect things to end up like this, did you.  You’re going to do a little wind-up job on Monica.”

“And…?” She teased me to go on.

“And… all the girls?” I asked, not believing my own idea.

“Maybe,” she said slyly.

I had always admired Jill for her professionalism.  She was perhaps the most self-controlled of all the girls, without Monica’s obsessiveness, Mary’s cattiness, Leila’s youthful ebullience, Trish’s worldliness and Emma’s subservience.  Jill knew what she wanted in life, but did not make an issue of it.  She would know when the time was right, and was content to watch and learn in the meantime.  She was – after Monica – perhaps the smartest of the team, but generally she did not have Monica’s deviousness or mean streak.  Only once had I seen Jill lose control – when she finally extracted her revenge for the terrible tortures inflicted on her by Madam Wong and Portia, and nobody could have blamed her for that.  Now I could see her brow was furrowed in concentration, so I left her reflecting on the unexpectedness of the situation and went inside to brew some coffee.

When I returned with two mugs of coffee, Leila had been deposited beside Emma.  Both still wore their helmets and both were fiddling with the combination locks at their ankles, starting the tedious process of methodically going through all the combinations to free themselves.  Little noises of frustration occasionally escaped from under the tape and the helmets.

I sat at the table with Jill and together we supervised Lisa and Shawnee as first Mary and then Trish were carried up the steps and laid unceremoniously on their stomachs.  Jill got up and checked on their bonds, noting that Trish’s vibrator was still in place, and still seemed to be having an effect.  I suspected that Trish had realised the hopelessness of trying to undo her bonds, and had simply succumbed to the sensations emanating from her pussy.  Mary, on the other hand, was not going down quietly.  With one arm free she was doing her best to get at the locks, holding an ankle lock with her chained hand and tweaking the lock wheels with her free hand.  It was a tedious process, however, and if she did get free, it wouldn’t be in a hurry, I reckoned.

Their loads delivered, Lisa and Shawnee stood expectantly at the top of the steps, naked except for their collars and the boots laced up to their thighs.  Shawnee still had the inserts tied in place between her legs. 

“Is there rope in that bag?” Jill asked.  I nodded.  Jill finished her coffee and stood up.  She walked across to the chain bag and extracted several short lengths, then returned to Lisa and towed her by the collar to the verandah railings.  Here she tied the girl’s ankles to the bottom rail, leaving her standing somewhat unsteadily on the high heels, her back to the railings, feet wide apart.  A further rope went around Lisa’s waist, anchoring her to the top rail, before the final cord was used to bind her wrists in front of her.  Lisa watched Jill’s expert tying with interest, obviously wondering what was going to happen next.

“You’ve been a good girl, Lisa.  You directed well.  It’s only fair that you should have a reward.”

“Thank you, Mistress!” said Lisa delightedly.

“Shawnee!  Get your sorry arse over her!”  Jill snapped, switching on her hard side that we rarely saw.  Shawnee clattered over in her boots, waddling slightly as the two sleeves attached to the dildos waggled in her crotch.  “Get on your knees, you dreadful child!”

Shawnee struggled on to her knees in front of Lisa.  Jill retrieved some more ropes from the bag and bound Shawnee’s left wrist to Lisa’s right ankle and her right wrist to Lisa’s left ankle.  With Shawnee’s head getting closer to her crotch, Lisa was beginning to like the set up more and more.  Jill’s final touch was to use the cinch rope on Lisa’s wrists to attach them to the steel collar at the back of Shawnee’s neck, pulling her face close in to Lisa’s shaven pussy.

“Shawnee, you’re a waste of space.  Do something useful and learn from your mistakes.  You will satisfy Lisa until she tires of you.  You can also consider what Monica will do to you when I decide to set her free.  I think you’re in for a heap of trouble.”

“But it’s not my fault-“ Shawnee started to whine plaintively before Lisa tugged at her bonds and Shawnee’s complaint was abruptly cut off as she buried her head in Lisa’s crotch.  Lisa exhaled a contented sigh.

“Looking after the help is such a pain,” Jill said as she returned to the table.  “You’d think it would be the other way round.  They’re supposedly here to look after us.  And there’s something I want to show you, too,” she said to me.  “Come with me.”

Puzzled, I followed her through the kitchen to the foot of the main staircase. The chain which dropped from the back of Jill’s steel collar and disappeared between her legs hugged the white lycra tightly between her buttocks.  I found myself unable to stop myself admiring the delicious curve of the small of her back and her legs tapering down into the white leather boots.  Mr Willy, already aroused by the goings on of the verandah hardened further with the view.  She stopped at the stairs and with her back towards me, asked in a husky voice: 

“Do you have the key to the locks on this chain – or will you make me do something unspeakable?”

“Of course not,” I said, fishing in my pocket for the key.  “You’re the winner of the contest.  You’ve earned release.”  I undid the lock at the back of her neck and placed it and the key in her proffered hand, as the end of the chain clattered on the polished timber floor.

“Oh, God, that’s better.  That was doing all sorts of things to me – not entirely unpleasant, I might add,” she said with a flash of white teeth. “And now that we’re alone…”

I was totally unprepared for what happened next.  Firstly Jill embraced me and planted a long lingering deep throat kiss on me which left me gasping for breath and looking for more.  But instead of more, I felt the cold steel of the chain around my neck, the click of the padlock at my throat and found myself locked to Jill, a metre and a half of chain hanging between our necks.

“What the hell…?”  I asked.  Jill stepped back and bent down and I saw her slip the key in the top of her right boot.  “What’s going on?” 

Jill mounted the first step and looked down at me, a sly smile on her face. She had a particular glint in her eyes that was quite different to the normally compliant and easy-going Jill I knew.  I wondered if this was how she behaved with Emma, who was a self-confessed subbie.

“You’re part of the prize, mister.  Didn’t Monica tell you?”


I didn’t know whether to believe her or not.  I would not have put it past the pair of them to pull a stunt like this, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if Jill was winging this on the run, either.  Jill and I had a history of bizarre sexual encounters.  At last count she had taken advantage of me three times when I was bound and helpless, and I had managed the return favour only once.  Now it looked like she was about to succeed again, as she began ascending the stairs towing me behind her.  Not that I was unwilling, you understand, just unprepared.  I have to confess to lusting after her secretly, but her long-running relationship with Emma had left my desires unrequited, for the friendship of the two was more important to me.

“In here,” said Jill as we reached the top of the stairs and she pushed open the door to Room 2.  The feature of this room was the king sized bed with the wrought iron frame.  None of the upstairs rooms had cameras, for the goings on here were generally of a different nature to those in the basement dungeons.  Notwithstanding that, there were still provisions for restraint within the bedrooms, which I knew were kept in the bottom drawer beside the bed. 

That wasn’t all that was in the drawer, as I found out when Jill quickly opened it and extracted a leather-plaited riding crop with a small flap at the end.  She slapped it smartly against her right boot, her expression hardening. 

“What’s going on?” I demanded, not very forcibly, I admit.

“Silence!” she snapped, and suddenly there was that intimidating glimpse of another Jillian, the one I had witnessed when she took the cane to Madam Wong and Portia. 

“Remove your clothes!” she ordered. I did as I was told.  I suppose I could have overpowered her, but I would have been afraid of hurting her, for Jill was fit and athletic, and would have put up a good fight.  In any case, the direction this was leading did not seem all that bad.

I stripped under her watchful gaze.  Mr Willy popped out in his larger-than-life mode and was standing at attention when I straightened up. 

“Now you may remove mine,” she said, this time more softly and with a faint catch to her voice.  Her eyes glinted with a look that might have been desire but overlain with some hidden agenda.  I moved closer to her and reached around her neck to undo the halter.  It dropped, revealing erect nipples like thimbles almost touching my chest.  Her breasts were rising and falling as she breathed more heavily than normal. 

She was standing with her back to the bed, and I was obliged to reach around her to undo the other strap behind her back.  In so doing the chain clinked between us as I had to press against her to reach the hook.  Mr Willy leaned against the soft flesh of her stomach and I felt a shudder of anticipation pass through me. Jill was almost the same height as I was, and she was smiling knowingly in my face as I unhooked the remainder of her top and it dropped between us, covering my best mate.  Jill said nothing and made no move to assist.

I slid my fingers into the waistband of the bikini bottom and slowly pushed downward, dropping to my knees to remove the garment totally.

“You may leave the boots,” she told me at that point.  “I think you’re a bit of a boot man anyway.  Find them rather sexy, do you?”  I nodded, staring at the delicate blonde fuzz that was in front of my face.  It was hard to concentrate on what she was saying.  I felt her hands on the back of my head and compliantly buried my face in the bush before me.

As my tongue began to explore I detected the moist lubrication that was already there as a consequence of the chain that had been grooving between her lips for the past hour or more. My hands roved up the long smoothness of her thighs and buttocks and Jill uttered a long, drawn-out sigh of pleasure.  I hoped at that moment this was going to be a mutually satisfying exploration, although I had never doubted Jill’s unselfishness.  She had yet to reach Monica’s heights of deviousness.  Monica I would always hesitate to second guess; not so with Jill.  She was a giving person, always happy to see the other person pleased.

Jill’s sighs turned to a series of short gasping cries as she climaxed suddenly.  Then she was sitting on the bed, steadying her legs, through which I could feel trembling in her thigh muscles.  She squirmed about but I continued my explorations and arousing, conscious that Mr Willy was clamouring for attention himself.

I came up for a break as Jill climaxed a second time, and flopped back on the bed, breathing heavily, her breasts heaving in a most attractive manner.  She was flushed and making ragged panting noises.  That was when I noticed that instead of being joined by the chain to her collar, I was now locked to the bedhead.  Somewhere in her squirmings she had had the presence of mind to put in place the next stage of whatever it was she had in mind.

She stood up and helped me to my feet.  From that point it was all on, and Mr Willy finally got free range, notwithstanding the fact that I was now secured to the bed.  There was more than enough room to enable me to give vent to the carnal desires I had harboured for Jill over the past year or more, unsatisfied by the brief, restrained encounters we had managed to date. 

Jill was athletic and her body firm. Mr Willy was grasped tightly inside her as we bounced entwined like two serpents.  When Jill finally arched her neck and uttered a barely audible squeak, her body stiffening and her fingers clutching at my shoulder blades, I finished off what I started, adding to the strange selection of sounds emanating from the room.  We collapsed on the bed and embraced each other in a sweaty mess, stupid grins on our faces.

“I’ve waited a long time for that, Mister,” she finally said, her voice husky with exertion.

“I hope it was worth the wait,” I said.  She merely smiled and stretched her arms languidly above her head with an expression that might have belonged to the cat who stole the cream.

“It’s ridiculous the lengths you have to go to for privacy,” I observed.  “In how many other work places would you have to chain up the whole establishment just to get a bit of nooky with the handyman.”  Jill laughed.

“Well, for the record, sweetie, it was worth the wait, and you are a very handy man.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Miss,” I offered gallantly.  I rattled the chain locked to the bed head.  “This really wasn’t necessary, you know.  I would have come willingly – if you’ll pardon the pun.  You can unlock it now.” 

She propped herself up on one elbow.  “But you haven’t finished yet, sir.  The afternoon is young.  I’m the winner.  I can do what I like.”  She said it like a five year-old who has been told she is the top of the class.  Her fingernail traced a figure eight around my nipples with their thick steel bar-bell piercings.

Abruptly she got up and disappeared into the ensuite, tossing a towel at me through the door, then re-appearing with a white bathrobe wrapped around her, still wearing her white boots.

“I’ll send up some refreshments,” she told me, and before I could answer back she was gone.

*   *   *

It Was Shawnee who appeared with a tray with a sandwich and a glass of soft drink.  I realised then how hungry I was.  Shawnee, standing naked but for her collar and thigh length red boots, waited while I consumed the delivery.

“You’re looking very sexy today,” I said in between mouthfuls.  She blushed.

“Do you like these boots?”  They were of shiny patent leather and had black inserts at the foot and silver clasps all the way to the top through which ran the very long laces.  She gave a twirl on the ridiculously high heels and nearly fell over.

“Very nice,” I said, ”but obviously you’ve still only got your learner permit for them.”  She looked hurt so I relented and changed the subject, made easy by the weird tasting drink.

“God, Shawnee, what did you put in this?” 

“Mistress Jillian gave me a blue pill all ground up which I can’t tell you about until you’ve drunk it all.  Which you have,” she added, by way of unnecessary comment.

“A blue pill?  What sort of blue pill?”

“It might have been Viagra,” she ventured hesitantly.

“Viagra!” I exploded.  “What the hell is she feeding me Viagra for?  Has she got a complaint?”

Shawnee took the tray from the bed and backed away, and I realised what I had said, and wondered how secret Jill wanted to keep our little encounter.   Shawnee fled at that point, tottering out on her heels and nearly colliding with Jill.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I demanded, striving to put on an angry face when she smiled so beatifically at me.

“That’s not a very nice attitude for somebody chained to a bed who has just partaken in a very, very nice experience.  At least, I found it so.”  I said nothing, folding my arms and not looking her in the eye because I knew I would weaken.  Jill was now dressed in a short white sleeveless dress but still wore the boots.  The steel collar had gone from her throat.  She moved across to the bed and held something in her closed hand. 

“All things are done for a purpose,” she said gently, touching my arm.  “Do you trust me?”  Again I said nothing.  “Oh you poor thing,” she teased.  “You’re offended.  It was nothing to do with your performance, dear Steven.  Just run with me on this one.  Now move your arm – I have to prepare you a little more.”

Jill’s idea of further preparation was to remove the barbells from my nipples and replace them with the small stainless steel padlocks that Monica had had made as a special present for me.  They were actually quite cute, about the size of a small postage stamp, and I had found their weight and dangling nature made my nipples very sensitive during sexual activities, and tended to fire up other areas as well.

“Have you been poking about in Monica’s private things?” I asked, not resisting as she pushed the hasp through the hole in my left nipple and locked the device closed with a small click.

“Don’t be silly,” she laughed.  “I know where she keeps them and I know what they do to you.”


“Silly boy! There’s not much that doesn’t get talked about in this house.  Haven’t you worked that out yet?  I know what Monica can do to turn you on.”

I hated it when the girls ganged up on me behind my back.  Nothing was private and sacred in a house full of gossips – or so Jill would have me believe.  I suspected she was in fact telling a porky pie.  Maybe Monica had dropped a few hints, and maybe Jill had put two and two together, but I reckoned she was bluffing.  I also reckoned Jill had one or two secrets of her own that she might not want to be open knowledge. 

“All right, so what’s the plan, oh victorious one,” I grumbled as she clicked the second lock closed and tugged them gently.  Under the towel I had wrapped around me Mr Willy was awake again and Jill grabbed the bulge.

“He has another customer,” she said sweetly.

“Customer?  What am I now, a gigolo?”

“Now, now!” She waggled an admonishing finger at me.  I think you’ll like this little present I’ve brought for you.”  She walked to the door and disappeared, moments later returning with a female figure that was naked except for a leather discipline helmet.  From the bottom of the helmet a curtain of glossy black hair hung down to the top of the magnificent breasts with their large brown aureolae.  Below this the figure was slim and the skin pale, contrasting with the jet black bush at the top of the thighs.  The girl held her arms out tentatively in front of her feeling her way forward while Jill guided her shoulders from behind.

“Emma?” I whispered incredulously to Jill.  “Are you crazy?  What are you thinking of?”

Jill and Emma had been in a relationship for over two years.  Jill was happily bisexual, as she had proven to me on the sly a number of times.  I had never known Emma in the biblical sense, and although I knew where her preferences lay.  She was the only really true submissive in the household, barring Shawnee, and this had been another factor in her relationship with Jill.

“Relax,” Jill said.  “Her ears are plugged and she’s still gagged with the tape under the helmet.  I told her I had a special surprise for her.”


“Oh, she doesn’t mind men – it’s just not her preference.  You, on the other hand, represent more to her than just another man.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Maybe you’re someone she can be comfortable with.”

“So why is she blindfolded and gagged?”

“So she won’t be embarrassed.  So she will experience things even more.  So she can release her inhibitions.  Take your pick.”

“So how will she know it’s me?”

Jill said nothing but guided Emma to where I sat on the edge of the bed and placed her hands on the two padlocks hanging from my nipples.  Emma started, then let Jill guide her hands down my torso.  Jill pulled the towel away and let Emma’s hands discover my nakedness.  Emma’s black, leather-clad head turned blindly upwards to Jill and made a small interrogatory sound.  Jill patted her head and knelt briefly and kissed her on the shoulder.

“Over to you, Mister,” she said.  “I expect nothing but the best for my team.”  There was another flashing smile as she left the room.

“Well, this is a nice surprise,” I murmured to nobody in particular.

*   *   *

It was indeed, for Emma had a totally different character about her compared to Jill.  There was not the fierce athleticism, rather, there was a warm, almost innocent gentleness with Emma. She had a beautiful body, her breasts full and voluptuous which I loved.  I had admired them ever since I had arrived at Bilboes, whether bouncing unfettered under a tight blouse or bound stringently so that they bulged tautly while Emma was subjected to devious tortures.  Now I had them to myself, albeit for a limited time only, as advertisements are fond of stating, and I could indulge myself accordingly.  I loved the way they lifted and swelled as Emma gasped for breath under the locked leather hood, making little mewing noises as Mr Willy did his thing. I went slowly and cautiously with her, trusting to Jill’s instincts that the whole set-up was okay with Emma. I got the impression that Emma was comfortable with me from the way she finally climbed on top and played with the little padlocks before slowly working herself up to a long muted orgasm that left her stretched out sensuously on my chest, her knees drawn up and still impaled on my friend.  The smell of the leather hood was strong as she rested her head against mine and I played with the silky hair hanging below the collar of the hood.

Eventually she collected herself and realised something firm and filling was still inside her.  I confess I was somewhat surprised myself, for I have never been particularly possessed of great stamina during such activities.  Emma commenced to work things into quite a state, although for a while I was content simply to watch her breasts bounce with the rhythm of her body.  Finally she made me sit on the edge of the bed and produced some extraordinary contractions which caused me to come with an unexpectedness that saw the two of us clinging to each other for support.  I could feel the movement of those gorgeous tits against my chest as I slowly subsided and caught my breath.

*   *   *

Emma was lying beside me, still imprisoned by the hood, when Jill appeared.  I was allowed to freshen myself in the bathroom but on my return Emma had gone. 

This time my chain was not locked on. Instead, Jill simply motioned me to the bed and left the room, closing the door behind her.  The encounters with Emma and Jill made me want an afternoon nap, and I was on the verge of doing this, not really caring about what the others were up to, or what Jill’s further intentions might be, when the door opened and Leila walked into the room. 

I should not have been surprised.  Jill talked about rewarding her team, and Leila was the last of the three.  What I was surprised at, was her outfit, clad as she was in a black satin corset and stockings.  A black leather head harness stood out starkly over her blonde hair, locking two foam eye-pads in place under a complicated series of straps.

More specifically, I recalled this outfit as being the one in which she had suffered under Madam Wong and Portia, when the pair had kept us all in bondage during their brief reign at Bilboes some six months previously.  After escaping and overpowering our captors, Leila and I had left them secured in the woods, to return to our quarters and succumb to the aftermath of a week of sexual deprivation.  It was at this point that Leila had been wearing the same outfit she now sported, less the blindfold, and she had kept it on as we indulged ourselves in her bed.  Only now did I recall being accosted by Mary the following morning, and there was precious little that she let go unnoticed.  I reckoned the story had slipped out and Jill had dressed Leila in a manner that she decided would appeal to my acknowledged fetishistic tastes. 

The corset was laced tightly, for Leila had an even more curvaceous hour-glass figure than usual.  The shiny garment ran from the underside of her breasts, which were pushed upward to a wonderful prominence, down to just above the golden triangle between her legs.  Long suspenders held the sheer black stockings in place as she felt her way across the room.

“Steven? Are you here?”  She was about to bump into the bed when I caught her in my arms.  She hugged me with an enthusiasm that I had forgotten was a hallmark of Leila’s personality.  “Oh!  There you are…mmmm!” 

Then she was all over me with the vivacity of uncorrupted youth.  I was starting to see why Jill had slipped me the Viagra.  I make no pretence of having powers of stamina beyond those of any ordinary man, but that said, I have generally found them adequate.  But with Jill, then Emma and now Leila, I was glad of a back up and I could feel it at work.  Mr Willy was fully at attention still, but slightly more reluctant to come forth with the goods.

Not that this bothered Leila, obviously fresh from a very frustrating encounter with a crotch chain.  She pinned me to the bed and impaled herself on me with total abandonment, reaching her first, noisy climax within a couple of minutes, bouncing up and down like a sprinter readying for takeoff.

“Ohhhhh!  Godogodogodogod! Mmmmmmm!” she panted, after the first orgasm, her breasts heaving over the top of the corset.  She lay on my chest for a short while, making soft noises of endearment.  The satin felt smooth and cool against my skin and the stockings did nothing to diminish Mr Willy’s state of arousal. 

Then she appeared to perk up again, with her immediate needs satiated, and I found myself draped over her from behind, my hands gripping her breasts while she uttered little yelps of pleasure and thrust back against me.  Our bodies slapped wetly together with all those sounds that romance writers conveniently gloss over as being too embarrassing, but which in this case turned Leila into a mass of giggles as I proceeded to manufacture a series of gross farting noises.

“Stop it!” she laughed.  “You’re awful, Steven! You have no class!”

“I know,” I agreed. “Which is why you’re here getting a very unclassy seeing to.”

“Oh you’re seeing to me, are you?” she challenged.

“You were the one testing the noise ordinances a couple of minutes ago,” I reminded her.  That was clearly reason enough for Leila to take Mr Willy in hand and then in mouth to raise him to new heights that took me by surprise.  I finally pinned her down and exploded inside her, this time resulting in a stifled duet that left us groaning with pleasure as we declined to disengage, instead savouring our wet, messy passion.

*   *  *

We had been snuggled up contentedly for perhaps fifteen minutes before Jill appeared.  Leila did not seem to object to the harness and blindfold, not that she had much option, since it was locked on and there was nothing I could do about it.  I thought it looked very sexy against her blonde hair and I told her so, but she only poked her tongue out at me and settled herself more comfortably.

“I suppose you think you’re done for the day,” said Jillian as she came into the room.  She was wearing tight black leather trousers and a matching top with the zip half undone.   Two chains across the front swung as she moved, and she carried a cabin bag in her hand.

“What do you mean?” I asked, pulling myself from the warm, fuzzy semi-doze in which I had insinuated myself.

“Come on!  Get up!” she ordered, looking as stern as she could manage and picking up the riding crop from where she had dropped it when she had first brought me into the room.  She pulled the bedclothes back.

“No, leave him,” said Leila almost petulantly, like a child about to have her favourite toy taken away.  She flung an arm across my chest and yelped as the riding crop caught her squarely on the buttocks.  I was sure she’d not have made the move had she seen the persona that Jill was demonstrating.

“Ow!  Yeeow! Stoppit! Ow!”  Leila was trying to escape from a flurry of not-too-hard smacks from the crop, but could not see where they were coming from and in the end curled up and pulled the bedclothes over her head, while I dodged a further rush of blows by climbing out of bed and trying to keep Jill at arm’s length. 

She pointed to the cabin bag where she had dropped it. 

“Open it and get dressed.”  When I looked blankly at her, she flourished the crop again.

“Hurry up!  I don’t have all day.”  I decided that further questioning was not on the agenda, and that it was better to go with the flow.  Opening the bag I pulled out another pair of leather trousers, a waistcoat, a pair of boots and a leather hood.  All of these were from my own wardrobe, and I knew then that nothing was really sacrosanct in Bilboes. 

I dressed hurriedly and followed Jill out of the room, holding on to the hood for the time being.  It was a full-face leather affair with a zipped mouth like the evil axe murderers commonly wear about town.  It was more for scare purposes than for serious bondage or restraint. 

“What about me?” came the muffled whine from under the blankets as we started down the stairs.

“Shut up and go to sleep,” said Jill over her shoulder.  Then she shook her head, making ‘tsk tsk’ noises to herself.  “I don’t know.  The people you have to deal with these days.  They’re never satisfied, never grateful for all you do for them…”

I said nothing – not while she was carrying the crop.  Instead I trailed her down the stairs to the vestibule, then through the concealed door under the stairs down into the basement.  Jill’s pants were tight and I liked the way her buttocks moved under the smooth shiny leather.  Between us, our garments made faint squeaking noises as we walked along the corridor to the dungeon.  Jill stopped before the closed heavy timber door.

“You realise you’ve actually only done half your duty,” she said, turning to me.  Her brown eyes now took on a mischievous look.  “You’ve pleasured the good girls.  Now comes the rape and pillage of the losers.”  She paused, as if in thought. “Well, actually, there really wasn’t much to pillage, so you might have to ad lib in that department. Put your hood on and keep quiet as we see how dear Trish is getting on.”

In the dungeon ‘Dear Trish’ was in some discomfort at that moment.  Previously chained into a hogtie out in the bush, she had not been released, and the fact that she had not managed to free even one of the locks was perhaps not surprising.  Her wrist cuffs had been locked high between her shoulder blades to the vertical chain running down her back and disappearing through her crotch, and her ankles had likewise been locked to this.

Trish now lay face down on what we called “The Reamer” – a hinged platform that jutted out from the wall opposite the door.  It brought memories flooding back of the first time I had tried it out after building it, and again Trish had been the victim.  That time she had been rather more willing than she currently looked. In the present case her helmet had been removed and she lay with her tape-wrapped cheek resting on the varnished timber, gazing balefully at Jill as she squatted down beside her prisoner.

The crotch chain had been removed, but the upper part still held Trish’s wrists high on her back.  Trish had been secured with three webbing ties which had been tightened with ratchets of the sort used to secure a load on a trailer or roof rack.  One of the ties went over her back at armpit level, one across the small of her back, and one over her buttocks, which had been divested of their lycra bikini portion.  This was now entwined around Trish’s chained ankles like a red distress flag.  Two more, smaller ties held Trish’s thighs to the divergent timbers that kept her bent legs wide apart and gave her tormentors access to her most private places.

“Are we lying comfortably, Sweetie?” cooed Jillian.  There was an exasperated grunt from the bound figure and a rattle of chains from fluttering hands.  “Oh dear,” said Jill in mock dismay.  “We can’t have wandering hands.  I’m afraid another tie is required.”  There was a whine from Trish as Jill looped a double sashcord inside one elbow, then ran it underneath the platform and up inside the other elbow before returning it underneath.  Jill put her foot on the side of the platform and pulled hard on the ropes, watching with satisfaction as Trish’s elbows were pulled outwards and downwards, immobilising her arms.  Jill tied the knot securely then checked the webbing ties.

“I like to make sure things are snug,” she told me, lifting one lever handle and ratcheting the tie across Trish’s buttocks a couple of clicks tighter.  The webbing pressed hard into the soft flesh of Trish’s backside, and I saw that there were several marks in the flesh that might have come from a thin cane. So our Jill was getting her money’s worth, eh. I hoped this wasn’t going to backfire on her.  Trish made grunting noises of complaint as the webbing tightened.

“I’ve brought a friend along,” said Jill.  I was not sure that Trish had really noticed me, since I had been standing on the edge of her vision.

“Urrh?” she said, not understanding.

“You are the spoils of war, my dear Trish.  Males traditionally make a better job with spoiling things that we do, so I’ve brought one along to spoil you. You always said how you like men to spoil you, hehehe!”  Trish grunted something unintelligible and struggled feebly.  The best she could do was to wave her feet slightly.

Jill returned to the rear of the prisoner, inspecting the wide exposure of Trish’s pussy.  She poked and prodded for a minutes, eliciting further grunts of outrage from Trish, who tried to turn her head to see what was happening to her vulnerable entrance, but was unsuccessful in the attempt.

“Step right this way, sir,” said Jill.  “Your ride awaits you.” 

Oh very funny, I thought. My, Jill, you’re so droll tonight!  I reckon you’ve been at the chardonnay again. 

I hadn’t anticipated what would be expected of me, and under normal circumstances I would have said ‘no way’, but the blood was still circulating to my buddy and the sight of Trish’s bound and open crotch with its puckered red lips had aroused things once again.  Jill completed the exercise, unzipping my fly and easing out Mr Willy.  Evidently she wanted to make it as quick and impersonal as possible, as she mimed with her clenched fist. A wham bam thank you ma’am special.

To be honest I didn’t know if I could oblige.  Climaxing with Leila had proved harder than I expected, although the erection remained.  But Trish was trussed like a chook and – as I drove into her with no preamble – she was tight and wet into the bargain.  Jill adjusted the elevation of the free end of the platform, giving half a crank on the hand winch that controlled the two steel cables supporting the outer corners of the timber, outside of Trish’s bent knees.  That took things to just the right height and I gave Jill the thumbs up sign.  At that point she had the decency to leave me and my captured warrior princess alone.

Ordinarily I would have made things stretch out a little in terms of time – I like to think I have some awareness of the other person’s needs.  In this instance, however, I was under instructions to do otherwise.  I gave it to Trish hard and fast, holding her by her bound thighs as I thrust back and forth.  Trish squirmed and struggled as best she could.  I didn’t know whether this was her objecting to the treatment or her playing up to it, but suffice to say she hit an orgasm with a succession of violent nasal grunts behind the tape in very short time, shaking her head in a futile attempt to give expression to her emotions.

In this instance that was finally enough to send me over the top.  It was quick and intense as I pushed all the way in before withdrawing abruptly to the accompaniment of what I took to be an indignant expression from the bound victim.  There were more muffled complaints as I zipped myself up and departed, turning off the lights as I closed the door.

*   *   *

I found Jillian in the Observation Room, where one-way glass enabled a watcher to view the goings on in the three adjacent rooms, one of which was the dungeon. 

“That was excellent,” Jill enthused.  “It made me horny just watching you.”

“It just about finished me,” I said.

“As long as it was ‘just about’, I don’t mind. You’ve got one to go.”

I took her hands in mine.  God, she looked good – blonde hair and black leather. 

“Jill, really, I don’t think I can do this.  A man only has so much… you know.”

Jill was unphased. 

“It doesn’t matter.  No rush.  Take your time.  Mary is the last.  Look what you’ve got to look forward to.”  She flicked off the light in the Observation Room and instead illuminated the adjacent room we knew as the Post Room, primarily because of the two timber columns that supported part of the upstairs structure and which gave the room its purpose.

The last victim was Mary.  Like Trish, she remained largely chained as she had been in the field, except that at that time one arm had been free.  That had since been secured behind her, and her bikini had been removed, although the red knee high leather boots remained.  Clearly Jillian had been very busy during the time I had been making service calls, and some of her exposure to Asian ropework was showing through.

Poor Mary had had her chained hogtie supplemented with a lot of brown rope, amongst other things.  The first thing Jill had obviously done was to slide a piece of four by two timber, about two metres long, between Mary’s arms and her back as she lay on her stomach.  That timber had been bound there with multiple turns of rope wound around Mary’s torso, and had encompassed her upper arms as well, ending in a large single central knot.  More multiple loops had encircled Mary’s waist, for support, and further connections pulled her bent legs closer to the centre of gravity just above the small of her back. 

Mary’s helmet had been removed, but a heavy black leather head harness had been buckled in place over the silver duct tape, and a cord tied to a D-ring on the top strap now pulled her head back before being tied to the central knot.  The penultimate piece of artistry took the form of two cords pulling Mary’s bent legs apart at the knees, the cords being connected to the ends of the timber under her arms.  The final touch was the heavy steel clasp clipped through the central knot.  Through this clasp was a hook attached to a steel cable operated by a twelve-volt boat winch.  Mary now hung suspended a handspan above the floor, obviously barely able to move. 

I took in the scene with a mixture of wonder and dismay.  The wonder was that Jill was game enough to do this to Mary, who would inevitably extract her revenge somehow, under whatever pretence.  The dismay was that I was now to be a part of the winners’ punishment of the losers, and of Mary in particular, and I seriously doubted my ability to undertake five activities of this kind in the space of an afternoon. 

As though reading my thoughts, Jill said: ”We’re all in this together, you know.”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” I retorted.

“Oh don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud.  You’ve enjoyed yourself, haven’t you?”  I nodded.  “Almost as much as we’ve enjoyed you,” Jill continued with a chuckle.  “And after Trish was given the old Steven treatment, surely it’s only fair that Mary shares as well?”

“I’m not sure she’ll see it like that,” I ventured.  “Truth be known, I’m not even sure I can oblige.” 

Jill sidled up to me and pressed her hand into my crotch.  There was a response from my buddy which was as much due to Jill’s closeness as anything else.

“Look at Mary,” she said.  “Doesn’t she look stunning?  She has a wonderful body for someone who won’t see thirty-five again.”  I followed her gaze, taking in the taut muscles of Mary’s thighs and buttocks as they curved in an arch under the stringent binding she was now having to endure.  Her breasts, while not comparable to the voluptuousness of Emma or Shawnee were still firm and prominent at the other end of the arch.  From our position in the Observation Room we could not see Mary’s face, and I did not particularly want to subject myself to the likely glare of those cool grey eyes.  Nevertheless just watching her stirred Mr Willy further.

“Come on, put your hood on and do your thing.”

I did as I was told, following Jill into the Post Room.

“Mary, I’m glad you’re still here,” Jill said.  “This is Mister Layton, who wants the pleasure of your company.  He is a new client and is looking for a pliable subbie.”  Talk about rubbing salt into the wounds.  Mary was unable to get a good look at me, in fact she could look nowhere except straight ahead.  There was a muted grunting of outrage from her, however, as she struggled futilely to make any movement worth mentioning.  She was definitely not happy, and under the tape and the leather harness she tried gamely to give vent to her absolute frustration.

Jill moved to the side of the room and pressed the start button of the winch.  With a soft clicking that echoed off the block walls, Mary’s bound figure began to rise.  I caught her legs as she began to twist slowly.  My touch prompted a further muffled tirade which was pointedly ignored as her wide open crotch gradually reached the height of my own.  Again I gave Jill the thumbs up and Mary’s ascent stopped.  Jill joined me and made a very tactile inspection of Mary’s private parts, provoking a series of shudders from her helpless prisoner.

“All yours, sir,” Jill said.  “Bon appetit.”

Jill’s leaving provoked a further series of limited and vain struggles from the woman suspended before me – struggles which continued as I gripped her spread thighs and squatted between them, to let my tongue wander over the pink exposed flesh.  It wasn’t quite the normal preamble to a quick bout of pillage and plunder but it got Mary going.

I had never had the pleasure of Mary, again in the biblical sense.  Once, during my formative time at Bilboes, I had been made her temporary slave and had been in the process of orally servicing her, before a recurring bout of malaria had laid me out for the count.  That was as close as Mary and I had ever come to properly consummating a relationship.  Notwithstanding that episode, I recalled a number of run-ins we had had in various contexts.  Mary did not suffer fools gladly, and could hold a grudge as much as the next woman.  She could come over as hard as nails but I had seen her exposed and vulnerable, and she was aware of this.  Purposely I had said nothing, and we had come to an understanding of sorts, but that had never stopped either of us from taking advantage of the other if the circumstances warranted.

I figured that now was such a situation and with the memories of certain humiliations I had suffered at her hands I rammed Mr Willy home into the tightly clenched sheath that was Mary’s pussy.  I intended to do this under the name of Mr Layton, whoever he was – hopefully just a figment of Jill’s over-active imagination.  As long as she didn’t blab I might just get away with it.

I slapped Mary’s buttocks hard with the flat of my hand several times as best I could, given the limited access from the suspension ropes.  Mary’s body was trembling and as taut as a longbow in firing position.  I was starting to feel a little that way myself, as I began to pump in and out of the wet passage that was on display.  I stopped for a moment then experimented with remaining still and letting Mary swing back and forth, impaling herself on me.  It was not as fast, but rather fun nevertheless, and it provoked more stifled cries of indignation, although I detected a certain element of something that appeared to verge on pleasure.  With Mary’s bent legs pulled wide apart we fitted together easily, and yet again I was impressed by the wonder of nature in designing the human body – almost as much as with the inventiveness of the human mind in utilising it. 

With every impact of our crotches Mary made a small explosive grunt.  Contrary to my expectations as to my ability to perform, the sight, sound and feel of the bound and struggling Mary, combined with my own memories of certain things she had done to me, were enough to get me past the finishing post.  I came inside her with a suddenness that found me gritting my teeth as I pumped hard in a last determined spurt that saw her gagged cries rise a pitch.  Despite the strict bondage, I sensed her body stiffen further and the tenor of her breathing disintegrate amongst her grunts and muted squeals.

I withdrew and gave her a final gentle swing. She was now making soft moaning noises that sounded quite exhausted.  I was not at all surprised, for climaxing in that sort of bondage was an intense experience and I was feeling much the same myself.  Jill met me outside as I turned off the lights and closed the door.

“You won’t leave her like that for too long?” I asked, concerned at its severity.

“Of course not,” Jill said amiably.  “You were very good.  Got your second wind, did you?” she teased.

“Let’s just say Mary and I had some unfinished business going back some time.”  Jill raised a delicate eyebrow, but said nothing.  “And I’d appreciate if Mr Layton now disappears off the client list, perhaps finding the service or the subbie unsatisfactory?”

“Oh, that’s cruel!” Jill laughed.  “That is really adding insult to injury, although I think the only thing injured will be Mary’s pride.  I’ve heard those noises before and there was definitely an element of satisfaction in there.”  She gave me a hug.  “Thanks for doing all this,” she continued warmly.  “It’s been great fun.  A prize the winners definitely deserved.  Don’t you think so, team?”  Only then did I realise Leila and Emma had appeared from the Observation Room.  They each gave me a kiss and we went upstairs where the smell of cooking was wafting down the hall.

*   *   *

It was early evening on the back verandah at Bilboes as Jill, Emma, Leila and I tucked into a delicious meal of roast lamb and vegetables cooked by Shawnee. She, too, had been invited to the table – a rare privilege for her and one that she was very wary of.  In this instance she was actually dressed in normal clothes – a fact which seemed to make her even more uncomfortable. 

The plan had made itself plain however, when Jill had directed Shawnee to sit at the head of the table and Monica had appeared from the kitchen bringing the food.  The sight of Monica serving Shawnee made all of us struggle to conceal our smiles.  Shawnee looked as embarrassed as anything, not least since Monica was topless and wearing a tight rubber hobble skirt that reached down to her ankles.  Her head was covered by a rubber hood, save for the eyes and nose, and it was evident from the heavy breathing and muffled grunts that her mouth was packed with something filling under the rubber.  The steel collar was still bolted in place around her neck.

Shawnee didn’t know which way to look as the first course of soup was brought out.  Monica shuffled backwards and forwards, her bare feet scuffing on the decking. The tight skirt kept the length of her steps to a minimum, and it was clear she had to exert some strength to manage the constrictive force of the rubber.

“If it wasn’t for the skirt she would be walking bow-legged, after being on the hanging frame all afternoon,” Jill said when Monica was out of earshot.  When the waitress reappeared, Jill asked “How’s the crotch, Monica?”  Monica glared at her and snorted, before plonking a bowl of soup down in front of Shawnee and shooting a withering gaze at the young slave.  Shawnee did not dare return the look.

“Why are you making me do this?” she whispered to Jill.  “I should be with the others…” 

The others were the rest of Red Team, namely Trish and Mary, who now rested at the end of the balcony in restraint.  The restraint took two forms – a box and a cage.  The cage was perhaps the more confining, the box the more humiliating, constructed as it was in the form of a dog kennel.  It was made from heavy plywood in the traditional kennel format.  The roof was hinged at the eaves and could open up down the ridgeline where it was currently locked with two hasp-and-staple locks.  Inside it was just large enough for a crouching human, the occupant this time being Mary, whose head protruded through the doorway sufficiently to reach the bowl with “doggy dins” written on the side.

Mary’s head was now free of the tape and the harness, and to the best of my knowledge the remainder of her limbs were also free inside the kennel.  She was now under voluntary silence, enforceable by the threat of a gag and no dinner.  She managed to adhere to her instructions, limiting her vindictive to searing looks in our direction.

Beside her, Trish crouched naked in a heavy cage that was barely big enough for her body.  Like Mary, she had a food bowl on the floor immediately in front of her, which she could reach with a hand squeezed through the bars.  It meant a long drawn-out meal and it would likely be cold before she had finished.

“The reason you are not similarly confined, my dear Shawnee is that you played such an excellent part in our victory,” said Jill.

“But I didn’t!” insisted Shawnee vehemently as Monica appeared again.  Jill laid a had on Shawnee’s.

“No need to be modest, Shawnee.  You did really well.  We won’t discuss it any more.  Just sit back and enjoy your meal.”  Miserably Shawnee did as she was told while the rest of us smiled at each other.

It was a pleasant evening, and I enjoyed my time with the triumphant White Team, who mercilessly toasted their victory and ridiculed the efforts of the opposition.  After Monica had cleared the dishes away, Jill led Shawnee upstairs and returned some minutes later. 

“Shawnee is now comfortably settled in Monica’s bed,’ she announced.  There was a gasp from Leila and Emma’s jaw dropped in an ‘O’.  “Well, perhaps ‘comfortably’ is the wrong word,” Jill admitted,  She is there, nevertheless, albeit with a chain locked around her pretty little neck which is secured to the bedhead.  She can sleep there until midnight, which is when the deal ends.  I think that before then it might be appropriate that Monica services the occupant of her bed.”

“Jill… you wouldn’t dare!”  This from Emma.

“Why not?  Poor Shawnee gets a rough time – it’s fair that she gets treated nicely from time to time.”

“No – I mean Monica!  She’ll go ape if she is forced to kneel down and pleasure her slave.”

“Em, life can’t always be about ourselves. We have to consider others sometimes…” she said, her voice oozing with reasonability.

“Have you considered yourself in this case?” I offered. “Like tomorrow?”

“No.  Sometimes I am just totally selfless and giving,” she retorted blithely.  “Now why don’t you girls get the two red animals doing the cleaning up and I’ll see about the upstairs arrangements.  Monica!” she called.  “Get your sorry red arse out here!”

Monica shuffled out, her breasts swaying with her odd gait, her dark eyes glaring from under the rubber hood. 

“Murph?” she grunted.

“Time for bed.”  Jill clipped a short lead to Monica’s collar and the pair disappeared into the house, Monica’s rubber–covered rump shining under the lights as she struggled to keep pace with the blonde.

We all looked at each other.  Leila shook her head and let out a low sigh. 

“Some people just like to live dangerously, I guess,” I observed.

“Just as long as she doesn’t drag us down with her,” Leila retorted.

“Then White Team had better keep on winning, hadn’t they.”

*   *  *


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