Monica's Quest: 5. Jillian's Story - Part Two

by Richard Alexander

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2002 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission

Storycodes: MF/mf; bondage; kidnap; bdsm; cons/nc; XXX

(story continues from )

Chapter Five: Jillian's Story

Part Two

By the time Portia reappeared I was lost in a dream world and couldn’t decide if it was paradise or purgatory.  My breathing was a ragged mess of panting and grunting, my eyes were closed and sweat was mingling freely with the rainwater running down my body.  My struggles had succeeded in creating further teasing of all points south, while the nipple weights still bounced as I hopped about like an amputee in an effort to maintain some sort of balance.  The pain in my nips had dulled but with each movement it continued to make an impact, countering the surging orchestra below with a discordant opus all its own.  Two lines of drool ran from the corners of my mouth as my brain tried to take in the multiple scherzos playing on the different parts of my body.

Portia announced her presence with two hard cracks of the riding crop across my thighs.  I jerked and opened my eyes in confusion.  She was smirking at me and I felt myself flush further, if that was possible, since my blood seemed to be racing about at a hundred miles an hour.

“You little slut,” she said softly in my ear as she unwound the ropes around my left leg.  “I was right about you.  Had you pegged from the start, Miss Jillian.”  I was barely aware of her words, never mind the amused, gloating tone.  She untied the rope binding my left leg, then the one holding my wrist overhead, and had to all but support me as my knees threatened to buckle.  She bent down and I felt her fingers probing my pussy until the interminable vibrations at ground zero stopped.  But it was still like stepping off a ship after some time at sea and finding that the land  seemed to have a motion all its own.  As she steadied me, the slick wetness of her red latex was barely noticeable against my skin, so overwhelmed was I with my self-inflicted sensations.  My panting continued as she quickly looped my right wrist rope about my body and pulled the wrist into place to match the other behind my back.

“Come on, you,” she said, half dragging me back up the steps.  “Wave bye bye to the audience.”

“Urrgh?” I queried, my brain working more slowly than usual.

Portia gestured upwards and I inclined my head in time to see several heads disappear and windows closing on the two floors above. I thought I had been embarrassed enough up until that point, only then realising I had been the object of entertainment for half the household.  With that discovery I felt I had just about reached the nadir of humiliation, short of doing an action replay in the street outside.

“Hey, your cheeks match my outfit,” said Portia with a grin that showed her perfect teeth.  Bitch, I thought.  Your time will come… 

We retraced our steps and continued our original route along the main passageway before entering another small room only marginally bigger than my cell.  This room had been lined with white tiles on walls, floor and ceiling.  In the centre stood an old claw-foot bath while a toilet occupied a corner to one side and a washbasin the opposite corner.  Several towels hung on rails and a small footstool stood beside the bath.

Portia pushed me against one wall.  The nipple weights clinked against the tiles as I Iaid my forehead against the cool ceramic surface.

I felt rather than saw the mop handle bound to my left then right ankle as a makeshift spreader bar.  I just stood there with my eyes closed, too exhausted to take notice of the running water and her squeaking about the tiled floor in her red rubber boots.  I was hardly aware of Portia squatting behind me and  fiddling with my butt plug until she flourished a large enema bag.  I had no doubt where the tube was now leading, and I groaned audibly.

“Yes, my dear, I want you cleaned up inside and out ready for Madam Joan.  That nice butt plug you are experiencing has a dinky attachment for the enema tube.  Neat, huh?  Let’s just let nature do its work for a while before we clean you up properly.”

I knew any protests were pointless so I just stood there and watched her climb on the bath stool to hang the bag on a hook near the ceiling.  She opened a valve somewhere out of my sight and I felt a gush of warm water flood into my bowels ahead of the big plug wedged in my rear passage.  There was no danger of any leakage here, I knew – not the way the knotted crotch rope held the plug in place like a permanent wedgie.

I felt the sweat break out again as the water continued to flow and my abdomen expanded.  Within a minute I thought I would burst, with pressure growing around the two inserts still buried deeply inside me, not to mention around my bladder.  I wasn’t sure the exact point at which the influx stopped, but I knew it was just in time.  I just leaned against the wall, hardly daring to breathe, as Portia left on some errand.  I prayed that it would be a quick one.

When she returned her visit was brief, sufficient only to undo my right wrist where she had temporarily secured it in the light well.

“Jillian, I am going away for an hour,” she told me seriously.  “In that time you will bathe properly and clean yourself thoroughly inside and out.  You may remove your bonds, your gag and those toys inside you.  And you will clean them, as well.”  She paused at the doorway.  “When I return I will bring you something to wear and we will go upstairs to prepare a surprise for Madam Joan.  It’s her birthday tomorrow, so we’re giving her an early birthday present – you.”  The door closed and locked behind her.

I found myself on the receiving end of another of what I was to come to recognise as Portia’s trademark torment situations.  At least this time she had not turned the vibrator on.  I removed the two nipple clamps before touching my gag, for I knew from experience the returning blood would make me scream.  I was not wrong on this occasion and I screwed my eyes shut and chewed on the rubber ball as the piercing pain coursed through the little nubs tenderised by those terrible jaws.  As things settled down, I struggled to get the torso ropes undone, all the while standing with my legs held open and my bowels straining.  It must have taken me nearly five minutes before I finally got my left arm free sufficiently to undo the gag strap and then to bend down – very carefully – to untie my ankles from the mop handle. 

Only at this stage could I turn my attention to that awful rope that grooved through my crotch, rubbing my clit and all points along the way, pulling the vibrator and plug into my most intimate places.  But first I had to climb on to the stool and unhook the enema bag…

The next hour was a series of experiences both discomforting and relieving – in the truest sense of the word.  Relief at the removal of the inserts that penetrated me, discomfort in the process, and then the big clean up.  As I ran the bath I discovered some bath oils and soaps and made the best of them.  Eventually the steamy atmosphere and the smell of soaps and oils prevailed in the small room, and I sank blissfully  into the water.  I was so drained that I had almost dozed off when Portia returned.  She had shed her red latex outfit and now wore a figure hugging long-sleeved dress that revealed enough cleavage and leg to make heads turn in any company.  The riding crop was still in evidence in her hand.

“Get out!” she snapped.  “I don’t have all day to wait for you.”  I did so and dried myself as quickly as I could.  “Come on,” she berated me.  “Leave the towel here.  Pick up your toys and ropes and get going.” 

I had cleaned and coiled the rope neatly and placed the gag and the inserts on the pile before getting into the bath.  I gathered them all up and headed out the door, which Portia held open for me.  For my efforts I received a smack with the crop as I passed.

We returned down the main passageway to the door next to my cell, two doors from the dungeon itself.  Portia pushed it open ahead of me and I stepped in to the equivalent of the Bilboes storeroom.  Here were the sexy outfits, the wigs, the boots, the corsets, the high heels and the bondage implements. 

“We’re going to make you presentable for Madam Joan,” said Portia, half to herself, selecting a white leather waist cincher from a rack of clothes.  “Put this on.”  I did so – to the extent that I was able.  The outfit stretched from just above my crotch to the underside of my breasts.  Portia made me grip one of the racks while she placed a knee in the small of my back and began lacing up the cincher down my spine.  I gasped and panted as my body was compressed by the garment.  I knew my waistline was decreasing, but I really wasn’t so into fashion that I felt it necessary.  After much fussing about she tied off the laces and tossed a pair of shear white stockings at me. 

Obediently I put them on, pausing several times to catch my breath in the act of having to bend down.  They were of the stay-up kind, with white elastic tops.

“Veerry nice,” Portia crooned, kicking a pair of white heels in my direction.  “I think these will fit.  You Gweipos have such big feet…” In fact they were a trifle loose, but had obviously been worn before.  “Now the collar.”  Portia pointed to a white leather collar hanging on the end of the rack.  I buckled it about my throat, locking on the padlock Portia handed to me.  “Now this,” she said, handing me the same white ball gag I had worn earlier.  I could swear my teeth marks were still in the rubber.  She gestured for me to put it on, obviously enjoying the humiliation of having me gag myself, working the ball behind my teeth than doing up the buckle behind my head.  “Tighter,” she said brusquely.  “One more notch.”  I whined in protest but did as I was told, tightening the strap further.  “Hands in front!”

Portia buckled a leather cuff on each wrist and locked them there, leaving my wrists still free.  That lasted until she fed a short length of rope under each cuff and fed it through a loop at the other end, like a slipknot.  A pull on the rope brought my wrists together where they were knotted before she towed me out of the room behind her, grabbing a small briefcase on the way.

We went upstairs, not by the way we had come but by the other set of stairs at the end of the passageway.  The door at the top gave on to another hallway and I followed Portia as our high heels clacked sharply along the polished wood, save for the muffled sections as we tracked over antique rugs.  We entered a dining room.  The round table was set for two places, opposite each other.  I guessed it could seat perhaps a dozen people with ease.  In the place of a chair between the two settings, was a platform like a coffee table on castors, it’s height only slightly lower than the tabletop.  On top of this was what looked like a large wooden box which had been opened out on a series of hinges. 

“Sit up there,” Portia instructed.  She let go of my rope and I eased myself on to what was the bottom of the box lying flat on the platform.  Portia opened the briefcase and I glimpsed coils of rope neatly made up and packed.  She selected a coil and very soon I found my ankles bound with multiple turns and cinched tightly.  She untied the knot on the rope through my wrist cuffs and pushed my hands apart.  “Knees up and hands in front of your ankles.”

As I did this I realised the ease with which she could then immobilise me with a single pull of the rope, which drew my wrists together again and dragged my ankles back against my thighs.  This done, wrist rope was wound around my ankles and I was helpless, almost totally unable to move.  The ‘almost’ aspect disappeared as she threaded the tail of the rope from my ankles between my thighs and through the D-ring on my collar, before pulling it back to be tied at the ankles.  My chin was forced down against my knees, and I was now totally immobile.   I whimpered, scared of falling off the little platform, but my protest was ignored as she at once lifted up the two hinged sides and the back, connecting them with some sort of clasps on the outside that I couldn’t see.  The three panels were snug against my arms and back, and were as high as the top of my head.  The front panel was then raised and secured similarly, forcing my feet and toes off to a slight angle. 

Portia looked down at me over the top of the box.  “You are Madam Joan’s birthday present, as I said.  I will now do the box up with some nice wrapping paper and some ribbon.  You may make as much noise as you like, Jill dear.  It will whet Madam’s curiosity.  Regrettably Mr Wong had to return to Hong Kong by helicopter this afternoon, and hence will not be here for the presentation of his gift, but he was keen not to delay the event.  I hope you will not disappoint me tonight, Jill.”  As a final gesture she removed a pink bauhinia flower from the arrangement on the table and tucked it into my hair.  With that she blew me a kiss before lowering the lid and snapping closed the clasps on three sides.  There were sounds of rustling paper then silence, as I was left bound and gagged in the darkness. 

Maybe half an hour passed before I heard voices – two women laughing and talking in Cantonese.  Chairs scraped and there followed clinking of crockery.  The smell of food drifted in to my box and I began to salivate, for it had been a long and exhausting time since my last food, the bowl of noodles Portia had fed to me.

I knew the Chinese had a tradition of leisurely banquets, and from the comings and goings of what I presumed to be servants with more courses of food, this dinner seemed to be just such an occasion.  Madam Wong and Portia chattered continuously, except while they ate.  I understood not a word, and drifted off in a sort of culinary dream as the variety of delicious smells stirred my palate and made my much-compressed stomach rumble unhappily.

My reverie was interrupted by a sudden change of language. 

“We have a present for you, Madam Wong.”


“Your husband, that is.  He selected it specially.”  There was a nudge of the box and I snorted involuntarily.

“What was that?  What is under the cloth?  Something made a noise…”  I mmphed long and loud, just for the hell of it.  “There is – something is inside…” At that point the cloth must have been lifted.  “Oh, what lovely paper!  Can I open it?”  The switch to English had obviously been made for my benefit, and Madam Wong seemed to take it in her stride.

“Of course.”  There was the sound of tearing paper and a surprised exclamation.  Then the lid lifted and I raised my eyes as best I could to the face peering down at me.

“Oh! How wonderful!  A blonde!  A Gweipo!  David ordered her for me?  He is so sweet.”

“She’s been imported from Australia,” said Portia.  “Mr Wong hand picked her himself.”  Liar, I thought.  He got one of his minions to do it because he was so busy he couldn’t even be bothered turning up for dinner tonight!  “Her name is Jillian and she has a lot of experience in the areas you are so fond of.”

Madam Wong clapped her hands delightedly and ran her fingers through my hair.  “Look at this gorgeous hair, and those wonderful big brown eyes… So expressive.”  Yours would be expressive too, if it was the only part of you that could move, I thought uncharitably.

Portia undid the front of the box and I got my first real look at Madam Wong.  She was perhaps in her late thirties, but looked younger.  Her hair was cut pageboy-style and stopped just at the underside of her jaw line.  She was startlingly attractive, with green eyes and a flawless complexion that spoke of familiarity with the little luxuries of life and a few big ones as well.  She wore a stunning black satin cheongsam slit to the hip and with a high collar that accentuated her slender neck.  The dress was embroidered with a series of stylised gold dragons down one side and showed off her slim hips and small breasts.

“She is exquisite,” said Madam Wong, letting her lacquered fingernails caress my cheek above the gag strap.  Thanks, I thought.  You’re not so bad yourself.  Pleased to meet you.  “Can I see more?”  She was excited like a kid with a birthday present.  Yes, well, that was apt.  “And you’ve presented her so well, Portia.”  Madam Wong’s English had quite a strong British accent to it.  I wondered if she had met her husband in England.

Portia lowered the front panel and undid the rope tethering my collar to my ankles, then pulled the long tail free.  Gratefully I raised my head as she untied the ropes around my ankles, while leaving the one through my wrist cuffs still knotted. 

“Down you get,” she instructed, and I obeyed stiffly, as my legs received their normal blood flow again.  “Stand up straight.”  I did so, as Madam Wong circled me with the soft rustle of satin. 

 “Excellent, Portia,” she said, as if I was some sort of lamp stand.  “Such an elegant figure.  Yummy breasts.”  The fingernails travelled over the skin around my nipples.  I shuddered involuntarily and felt my nipples become erect.  Madam Wong smiled at me, but it was not a smile that convinced me this lady would be a lifelong friend.  “She really is lovely.  And you have trained her?”

“Not yet,” said Portia, “although she has a rudimentary understanding of some things.”  I glared at her but she ignored the look and pointed to the floor with a subtle inclination of her head and a brief point of the finger.  I dropped to my knees and lowered my head submissively.  Madam Wong was delighted.

“I can’t wait to try her out tonight.  I’d like to let my dinner go down first, however.  Let’s take tea and discuss her training.  She can wait here while we do so.”  Madam Wong rang a small hand bell on the table and a young maid appeared.  She had long hair in a ponytail down to her waist and wore a white cheongsam with holes cut so her small but pert breasts were exposed.  I noticed her ankles were connected by a fine steel chain and two steel cuffs.  She seemed not to notice the half-naked western woman kneeling on the floor, her wrists bound and with a gag strapped in her mouth.

“Ah, Weiwei.  Tea for two, please.”  The girl left the room, catching my eye only very briefly.  Was it a look of sympathy I detected?  Was there a kindred spirit here?

The mistress of the house had retired to a sofa at the end of the room and arranged her slim body in a languid pose along it. 

Portia meanwhile pushed me flat on to my stomach and pulled my still-joined wrists back over my head, pulling the rope tight and bending my legs back before tying the rope around my ankles with the second nature of one who has done it many times.  I lay there with my cheek against the plush piled rug, pulled into the strange hogtie while Portia settled herself in an armchair and the pair rabbited on in Cantonese so that I had no idea what they were plotting.  Weiwei returned with a teapot and two small bowls into which Portia poured the tea.  The two women sipped it in a leisurely fashion, every so often looking at me and making gestures or movements I could not understand.

After sufficient time had elapsed for my arms to become uncomfortable from the strain, Portia finally got up and released my ankles, motioning me to get up.  Madam Wong left the room and Portia explained things.

“You are very lucky, Jillian.  Madam Wong has taken a liking to you, and you may spend the night with her.  I say ‘may’ since it will depend on you.  I am taking a chance on you, for I have not had time to properly try you out myself.  Suffice to say, if you fail me, you will be very, very sorry.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Uh-huh,” I intoned, nodding. 

“If I hear anything bad, you will regret you behaviour over many painful hours.  Your lovely skin will be badly marked and the coverage will be thorough.  Do you understand?”

“Esspft,” I said nodding even more decisively.

“Good.  Now come.”

I followed her out of the dining room and back to the main entrance hallway where the great staircase ascended.  We made our way up the white marble stairs to the first floor, then walked along a corridor to stand before a set of ornate double doors.  Portia knocked softly.

“Come,” said a voice from inside.

The room was dominated by a massive bed of rosewood, with carved headboard and base.  The place was lit only by two bedside lights.  Madam Wong, now wearing only a silver satin wrap, sat on the bed. 

“You may prepare her, as we discussed,” said Madam Wong.  You’ll find what you need in the top drawer of the dresser,” she added, gesturing to a large chest of drawers with a full width mirror mounted on the wall above it. 

Portia towed me across the room and opened the drawer.  I groaned inwardly as a selection of all manner of B & D devices slid out.  I was looking at a slightly lesser version of the storeroom downstairs.  Portia unlocked the cuff from my right wrist and formed my fingers into a fist.  She picked up a roll of duct tape and began to wrap my fist so that my fingers quickly became impotent and useless.  This done, she bent my arm so that the back of my fist was against the top of my upper arm.  Portia wrapped a number of turns of tape around upper and lower arm together, effectively joining them so that I looked like an amputee.  Five minutes later the other arm was equally well immobilised.  I looked at myself in the mirror.  As a double amputee I had to say the rest of me was one of the better looking bodies I had seen.  The waist cincher gave me a lovely hourglass figure, but I’d really like to have been without it.  The bauhinia was still in my hair, a dim spot of pink against the blonde hair trapped by the white of the gag strap. 

Portia directed me to the bed where Madam Wong motioned me to kneel and lie with my upper body face down on the bed.  I did so, and was rewarded with a violent slap on my bare rump.  I jumped, just in time for Portia to sit on the other side of me and to force my head into the quilt and deliver a stinging slap of her hand on the other cheek.  That was the way it was for the next five minutes.  I was mmphing and yowling into my gag with the force of the spanking.  My bottom burned from the fierce slaps that it received.  I tried to struggle but Portia expertly kept hold of my neck and made it impossible for me to do anything but squirm feebly.

At length the torrent of blows stopped.  I was panting and sobbing with the burning that now occupied my body, so much so that I was barely conscious of Madam Wong peeling back the covers to reveal the apricot-coloured satin sheets.  She also peeled back the wrap she wore, tossing it aside to sit naked on the edge of the bed, her legs slightly parted.

“I think I should leave now, Madam Wong,” said Portia deferentially. 

Madam Wong looked at her artfully and shook her head.  “No Portia.  I think you should stay tonight.  You’ve done so well, you should share my present.  It will be so much more fun.  You may select anything you wish from the drawer.  Come and join us.” 

Madam Wong positioned herself so that as I now knelt on the floor I was staring straight at her shaved pussy.  Her fingers undid the strap at the back of my neck and worked the rubber ball out from behind my teeth.  I gasped and swallowed, easing my jaw from its long confinement while catching my breath more easily from the thrashing I had just received.  Her elegant finger wiped the tracks of the tears away from where they had dampened my cheeks during the onslaught.

I barely had time to catch my breath before my head was drawn into the warm wetness of Madam Wong’s pussy.  I knew what I had to do, and had no reservations about my ability to satisfy in this department.  Emma and I had long shared the delights of each other’s bodies, experimenting and learning at each encounter.  I did not consider myself a lesbian, for I could still go weak over men.  Steven, for example.  I confess I had secretly lusted after him, and the time I had finally had him at my mercy, securely attached to a plank and unable to defend his manhood, had only served to whet my appetite for more.  Regrettably that opportunity had been pre-empted by Monica.  But all that seemed another world away, in another life.

I decided Madam Wong was at very least highly sexed, for it did not take long for her slender fingers to grip my hair harder as she started to bounce on the edge of the bed and then abruptly arch her back as the orgasm took her.  I had been dimly aware of Portia next to me at some point, but I had not been clear on what she was doing.  Madam Wong obviously decided she needed a moment to recover herself, and eased herself back on the bed.

At that point I elected to go on the attack, albeit in my own way, and decided that if I was getting little respite from my life as a slave, then she would get little respite from my talents.  As she went backwards, I followed her.  My taped arms were a hindrance, but I coped, working my way forward on my elbows.  Madam Wong had almost reached the other side of the enormous bed when she came to an abrupt halt and jabbered at Portia in Cantonese.  Portia just laughed and I realised she had tied Madam Wong’s ankles to the bed legs on the side from which we had started.  The ropes were long enough such that she could go no further, and also her legs had spread wider apart. 

I seized my opportunity and went for the pink and swollen pussy with my tongue.  My victim reluctantly accepted my ministrations as I set about her clit with a furious oral assault.  Madam Wong lay back and then tried to push my head away, initially calling to Portia that enough was enough, but clearly for Portia such was not the case.  I did not know what her relationship was with her employer, but I suspected Portia had the measure of the older woman.

Madam Wong’s cries took on a new level as I hit the key spots in her loins, her legs starting to tremble and jerk with the strain of being pulled apart by the ropes and of having my head burrow between them.  She climaxed moments later, gasping and then hitting a wailing high note that finally left her flopped back in a sweat on the satin sheets, her small breasts heaving as she weakly tried to fend me off.

Portia entered the fray again at this point, appearing on the far side of the bed to slip a pair of handcuffs on to Madam Wong’s slim wrists and draw them over her head, to be secured to the frame beneath the mattress.  Madam Wong protested and said some things which were probably not very complimentary, but Portia ignored this outburst, instead whacking me on the backside and exerting me to continue. I did so, head down and bum up, heedless of the hoarse cries now coming from the struggling Madam Wong.

I was totally unprepared for the events after then next gasping climax.  My jaw was aching and both Madam Wong and I needed a break, although I reckoned she was weakening faster than I was.  She lying, my crouching on the bed, we both panted as we tried to recover. 

That was when I felt the cold intrusion in my arse of Portia’s finger.  It was well lubricated and was followed by a second, and then a third.  I groaned out loud, although Madam Wong was still making so much noise one more groan was barely noticeable.  I half-turned and saw Portia kneeling on the bed behind me, wearing nothing but a red strap-on dildo.  It was reasonable to suppose that the other end was embedded in her pussy, but the important point was that the exposed section was shortly to wind up in my own back passage.

I had little time to object as it slid smoothly into my hole.  I gasped as it filled me.  It was not as painful as the butt plug I had experienced earlier that day, but it was not small.  Portia gestured to me to get back to work, and I had scarcely buried my head in my target when the first thrusts started to come from Portia.  I felt the thing drive into me with successive movements, deeper each time until there came the sensation of Portia’s hips against my cheeks as the member was fully embedded. I tried to cry out but the thrusting only pushed my mouth deeper into Madam Wong’s pussy, driving me hard against her clit.  I tried to concentrate on what I was doing but the thrusting inside of me was too distracting.  I attempted to push back but without the use of my hands and arms I was on a loser to nothing.

Madam Wong was by now off on another astral plain, crying and making an extraordinary noise, while from behind me I heard Portia’s rapid breathing as the dildo jerked back and forth inside both of us.  I had been screwed in the arse before, and it had not been entirely satisfying, but this time it was somehow different.  The moaning and panting from the two women, coupled with the smell and juices from Madam Wong had an effect I did not expect, and I surprised myself with a rushing surge of warmth from my own loins that forced me to break contact with the prostrate form in front of me and concentrate on my own climax that suddenly overwhelmed me as Portia gripped me at the waist and puled me hard back against her, shuddering and jerking as she did so.  We both cried out together – a long drawn out “Arrrrghh!”

Things became a bit blurred after that.  Madam Wong was untied and managed to scramble to her knees and kiss me, deep and hard.  Her eyes were shining and she repeated the treatment on Portia.

“You may both stay here tonight,” she told us.  “The bed is more fun with three…” With that she lay back exhausted on the rumpled satin.  Portia, evidently always in control, insisted in taping my legs, ankle to thigh, so that I flopped about like a fish, unable to use my hands or feet.  Her last act was to cover my head with a soft leather discipline helmet, laced down the back.  It was not as bad as some I had experienced, having a reasonable opening for my nostrils and a zipped opening for the mouth.  But I was so drained I did not care at that stage.  Portia finally positioned me near the edge of the bed, with herself in the middle and Madam Wong on the other side.  Curled up like a set of spoons, albeit one being somewhat deformed, we fell asleep.

Jillian's Story Part Three

I had no idea what time it was when I awoke.  I was still half asleep and confused as all hell by the fact that I could not see or move my arms and legs properly, and my body was tightly constricted from my breasts to my navel.  It was dark but I was warm and sort of cosy, still coming to grips with where I was and what had happened to me.  I was only part way through this attempt at grappling with reality as I became aware of a body snuggled in behind me and long fingers gently caressing and probing my pussy.  It was this that had woken me.

“Mmmmmm…” I murmured, aware now of the soft leather covering my face, but without anything filling my mouth this time.  I did not know who was doing this to me, nor did I care.  I was emerging from a thick soup of strange dreams and exhausting acts that seemed to be in another life.  The hands rolled me on to my back so that my bent knees stuck up in the air.  Fingernails played with my breasts, exquisitely tantalising my nipples and teasing them erect while the southern hands stroked the inside of my thighs and something soft and wet invaded my pussy.

I started to breathe heavily, conscious now of the tape still securing my arms and the uselessness of my taped fingers in their clenched fists.  The fingers continued their work and I could hear muffled whispers in a language I could not understand.  A buzzing started somewhere, the vibrations from which were abruptly transferred to my pussy. I tried to struggle but the two sets of hands were far too strong for my restrained limbs and all I could do was squirm about as the exquisite feelings began to radiate from my crotch.  I moaned under the leather hood and my feeble flailings of my taped arms and legs became involuntary rather than coordinated as the subterranean lava began to spread outward.

I lost the plot at that stage.  These women were good, I’ll say that for them.  I lost it totally, mouthing off incoherently and going to pieces as they pushed all the right buttons between them.  I was their plaything, helpless to resist as they eased off the accelerator than changed up a gear and hit the gas. 

Several times they stepped down a couple of notches, toying with me as I writhed on the brink of a climax.  I could feel the sweat dripping off me and I knew Madam Wong was going to get her revenge.  She was after me for reducing her to the quivering pile of jelly where she could take no more and begged me to desist.  Except this time it was the subtle change, where Jillian was begging for a finish, desperate to slip over the edge and crash off the cliffs into the roaring surf below.

In as much as I was capable of logical thought, I reckoned I had the cliff top in sight when they pulled the plug on me, leaving me to roll about helplessly and impotently on the sheets, searching for something of substance that would allow me to go the last few metres, but in vain.

I slowly drifted down to earth, frustrated and unfulfilled, landing to the sound of girlish cries and laughter and the sound of splashing water from what I presumed was an adjacent ensuite.  One of them returned to me, warm and smelling of soap and cleanliness and exotic fragrance.  The tape was cut from my legs and I was made to stand up beside the bed.  I did so stiffly, for it had been many hours that my legs had been bound in such a fashion.  Had they been ropes I knew I would have got cramps a long time ago, but the tape seemed more forgiving, stretching slightly and spreading the tension over a greater area.

I stood there for a minute or so until I felt a strap fastened to the back of the corset and pulled between my legs.  As this took place a large dildo was inserted in my pussy, to be held in place as the strap was fastened and cinched up tight, attached to the front of the corset. 

“We are all going to have breakfast,” said Portia’s voice in my ear.  “I know you are frustrated and hungry, and you want to go for a pee and have a wash.  Just be glad I am a considerate mistress who is aware of these things.  Of course my being aware of them does not mean you will be accommodated.  You need to be patient.  You also need to show restraint.  By that I mean that if I suspect you are getting off with that little toy inside you, you will be punished for coming without permission.  Understand?”

“Ys Msdrss,” I mumbled ineffectually under the hood.

We walked down to the main dining room again – or so I assumed, since I could not see where I was going.  Portia’s hands guided me down the stairs.  She obviously knew perfectly well that with each step the dildo was working it’s subtle magic and I was getting hot and bothered once more.  The time since the initial warm and fuzzy build-up had not been long, and it did not take much to start me up again.  Portia helped seat me in one of the big leather dining chairs and I caught my breath as the action of sitting forced the device in further.

Portia unzipped the mouth of the hood and fed me intermittently while she and her boss talked in Cantonese.  I squirmed as much as I thought I could get away with, trying to satisfy the desire that now lurked in my body.  The distraction of bits of toast and some sort of milkshake or diet supplement that I sucked through a straw did little to deter me from my immediate fixation.

The breakfast seemed to go on forever until finally the women stood up and I heard footsteps walking across to the window, followed by the sound of drapes being drawn back and french doors being opened.  The voices continued outside, as near as I could guess.  I wriggled on my seat, working it  against the corner table leg until I could slide my crotch against the carved table leg.  Ahhh… Pressure just where I wanted it… God that felt good!  After a few twists and fidgets I got the rhythm going, listening to the voices outside.  Then they faded as I did a rapid gear change into top, thrusting myself furiously against the table.  It was finally happening!

“Jillian!  Don’t you dare!  Stop that at once!”  Portia’s command came too late as I threw myself headlong off the cliff, flying downward into the surging maelstrom below, mewing with delight and crying out as the flood washed over me.  I was snorting and panting and seeing stars when the hands grabbed me and pulled me back on to the chair, slapping me through the hood, but to no avail.  I was hot, flushed and satisfied, my moanings slowly subsiding to a contented gasps under the hood.  I knew I was in trouble but I didn’t care.  Whatever happened to me now would still have been worth it…

*   *   *

“You might think of this as your punishment, Jill, but it’s not.  This is merely a little part of the motivation that we will use to encourage and develop your learning skills.  I want you to remember three important things.” Portia’s voice was calm and reasonable, like a mother patiently explaining something to her child.

I was standing in the dungeon, my arms stretched up and outward at forty five degrees, with the wrist cuffs attached by chains to iron rings hanging from the ceiling.  My ankles were strapped into cuffs rigidly attached to a telescopic spreader bar that was bolted through the middle at a point where the stretch left the insides of my thighs taut and on the verge of extreme discomfort.  My feet touched the floor, but only just.  Abluted and divested of the inserted device that had got me into trouble, I had been standing this way for half an hour now, coming to grips with the task ahead of me in becoming bi-lingual in Cantonese. The discipline helmet was now gone and I could at least communicate with Portia – inasmuch as a slave is permitted to, that is.  Gone too was the waist-cinching corset, but exposed was my body in its naked and vulnerable entirety. 

Portia was in her characteristic red – this time a clinging long-sleeved lycra dress with a plunging neckline and a high hem, set off by a silk scarf knotted about her throat and pvc boots that stopped halfway up her thighs.  Clearly Portia was out to make a statement about who was in charge here.

“Firstly, whatever pleasure you experienced in the bed with Madam Wong and me, plus what you managed at the dining table, can be easily taken away.  The former was a special event in any case.  If I have my way you will not see Madam Wong for a week at least – or until I have instilled some sense into you.  Of course her ladyship may have other designs on you.  I think she is quite smitten with you. She may want to play with you some more, and of course there will be ultimately nothing I can do to prevent that if she sets her mind to it.  However I can suggest a few things that will be just as much fun for her, and infinitely less satisfying for you if she does decide to exercise her rights.

“Secondly, you disobeyed me in the dining room.  You also embarrassed me.  Do you understand that?”

“Yes Mistress,” I said.  “I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you are, Jill, but that’s not the point, and it’s too late in any case.  Let me explain something to you.  We Chinese have a cultural thing called ‘face’.  To lose face is a thing no Chinese wants to do.  Losing face in front of family, superiors, juniors – it all carries great importance and such loss of face is like a multiple humiliation and embarrassment combined.  You made me lose face in front of my boss.  You showed me up as not having disciplined you properly, of failing in my job.  I thought our relationship would be a good one, but you have destroyed my trust.  Would you like more time in the light well?”

“No Mistress.”

Portia paused, as if thinking.  “No, you’re right.  I don’t think the light well would be appropriate.  Rather too easy, in fact.  I will devise something more suitable.”  My heart sank.  “That will be something for you to look forward to and to contemplate.  Yes?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Only then – if I have my way – will you be allowed in Madam Wong’s presence again.  But having understood those two points, you must now understand that what happens to you today has nothing to do with your disgraceful performance this morning.  On Saturday week Madam Wong is having a party for her birthday.  As you will have gathered, she is a little on the kinky side, as are many of her friends.  Don’t believe everything you hear about Chinese prudery.  Your western culture has had a remarkable impact in some quarters of our society.  Madam Wong intends you to be her piece de resistance – a rare and beautiful Gweipo slave who can also speak our language. That is the plan.  So today is about learning, about understanding a language and culture different from your own.  You will concentrate and perform well, or else you will be punished.”

And that was how I came to be in the position that I was.  Not that the position was a punishment – at least not according to Portia.  Rather, it left me wide open for the lash if and when I answered incorrectly.

Portia thought it would be fun for me to learn the numbers one to ten to start with.  She ran me through them several times before I was able to repeat them. 

“Next time you fail to concentrate and get things wrong, you will be able to count the strokes properly as I deal them out to you,” said Portia with a villainous smile.

The day went downhill from there.  To be fair to Portia, she was not a bad teacher.  She interspersed the learning of the words and phrases with little snippets of Chinese history.  She told me that Cantonese was the oldest and purest form of the Chinese language, and how the southern Cantonese-speakers despised the northern mandarin-speakers.  And yet even though they could often not understand each other, they still used the same written language.  Despite myself, I was impressed.

I was not impressed with Portia’s motivational technique, however.  I spent much of the morning stretched in the chains and spreader bar.  My slips in memory and pronunciation were rewarded with whacks with the flogger on my legs or buttocks.  When I made a mistake twice one of my boobs got it.  Three times and a weight was hung on a nipple with my transgression written on a piece of paper taped to the chain.  I had studied French at school but nothing in Mr Warne’s class had ever been like this.  Fortunately I had some language aptitude, but nothing in the French language could have prepared me for the Cantonese Experience, for it is a language comprised of tones, where a single word can have three meanings (all totally unrelated) depending on whether the inflexion is up, down, or neutral.  It drove me crazy trying to distinguish the subtle differences in Portia’s pronunciation.  I shed lots of tears as she beat me unmercifully at times.  For one period I wound up with two weights on each nipple and lost my concentration completely.  After fifteen minutes going over and over my mistakes which hung from my poor boobs while I tried desperately to say the right thing and disregard the pain, Portia finally took pity on me and let me down.

For the next two hours until lunchtime I sat on my sore bottom on the wooden chair.  My hands were strapped to the arms, palms upward, while my feet were pulled back and tied to the rear legs, exposing the soles.  You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out where the next line of encouragement was going to be directed.

At lunchtime Weiwei appeared with a tray of many small sweetmeats and individually wrapped items, some in woven baskets still steaming hot.  Portia introduced me to Yum Cha, the Cantonese answer to a sushi bar.  It was almost pleasant as she fed me with her chopsticks as I sat bound to the chair.  She first told me the name of the dish, then described what it was, made me pronounce it, then I tasted it – if I was game.  Portia said that pretty much the only things on four legs the Cantonese wouldn’t eat were tables and chairs.  Anything with a pulse was fair game.  I didn’t really want to know that.  But the smells emanating from the dishes were mouth watering and I could not help myself eating everything that I was offered.

The afternoon was more of the same.  This time I ended up on the whipping bench for a while, face down, with time face up on the rack tilted against the wall.  Each time Portia would position the whiteboard where I could see it and write phonetic versions of the words while I tried to memorise them.  But by mid-afternoon, stretched out on the rack with two weights again hanging on my nipples, I was in tears and pleading for her to stop.  At this point Portia knew I had had enough for the day and removed the weights.  She had probably had enough as well, for it had been nearly as intense for her.  She turned out all but a single dim overhead bulb as she departed, leaving me stretched on the rack in the gloom.  My only consolation was that it had been a day almost free of gags and blindfolds.  I guess they were somewhat counterproductive in the learning process.

Weiwei appeared after maybe two hours.  I was very tired and had dozed off a couple of times.  On this rack my feet were bound to a wide bar with a little of my weight taken by the angle of the bench itself.  In that sense it was better than my morning standing stretched and virtually unsupported, but not as good as a horizontal rack would have been.  I could really have slept on one of those. 

Weiwei had a bowl of a noodles and vegetables.

“Doh-je sai,” I thanked her tiredly.  Her face lit up in surprise.

“Not many westerners speak out language,” she said.

“Not many westerners have it beaten into them.”  She smiled shyly.  “Have you ever been beaten, Weiwei?”

“Oh yes, many times.  For a while Mistress Joan liked to beat me all the time, then she got tired of it.”

“Mistress Joan?”

“Mrs Wong.  She get very angry if you make any trouble.  Must keep her happy.”

“Is Portia her lover?”

“Sometimes.  She like all things.  Sometimes she like to be tied up, sometimes she tie others.  Sometimes men, sometimes women.  Sometimes she beat them when she is in bad mood.  But only Portia allowed to tie her.”

“And why are you here, Weiwei?  Do you like it here?”

“My sister Kuan also works for Wongs, somewhere else – I don’t know where.  If I runaway something will happen to her.  Wongs run triad – you know triad?” I nodded.  “Very bad people.  They will chop me if I do anything wrong.”  She spoke earnestly, the dim light reflecting in the black pools that were her eyes.   She fed me a mouthful of noodles, using her chopsticks expertly to snare the slithery mixture.  There was silence while I ate.  I wondered whether I could get help from her.  I doubted it, but I would get information.  Little by little I would pick her brains and learn about the house, the layout and the routine.  I decided I would do whatever I could to escape while not endangering her.

*   *   *

I spent an uncomfortable night in my cell.  It was cold and clammy – so different from the warm luxury I had enjoyed in Joan Wong’s bed the night before.  Once again I was bound sufficiently to make life uncomfortable, but not so much that I cramped or was unable to move.  I had to admire Portia’s judgement in this aspect – and to fear it, for she had already showed that she was a good appraiser of my weaknesses and capacity for endurance.  I lay face down, my cuffed wrists locked to the back of my collar with my arms pulled back behind my head.  My legs were strapped at knees and ankles.  She had pulled a blanket over me and I dared not move too much for fear it would slip off and leave me naked and shivering for the rest of the night. 

I was drained and sore.  My breasts hurt but I was pretty much forced to lie face down.  Everywhere else hurt as well, for that matter.  Portia had been generous when handing out the punishment – thighs, calves, buttocks, stomach and back.  Everywhere had received some attention, and of course my poor nipples had been a focus for quite a while.  On top of the beatings, I had been stretched and bound, and my brain had been put under more pressure than I could remember.  So much had happened in the last forty-eight hours that I could hardly believe it had been only two days since Leila and I had been abducted in that Kowloon backstreet.  I was wondering where dear Leila was, what she was enduring, and what punishment Portia had still in store for me, when exhaustion crept up and overwhelmed me, and I slept the sleep of the dead.

*   *   *

I awoke cold and shivering, naked on the mattress.  I had no idea what time it was for my cell was pitch black.  My blanket was on the floor and it was only after an inordinate amount of grovelling about while lying flat on the stone floor that I could get hold of the blanket and eventually work myself back on to the bed holding the blanket like a shawl, with my wrists still tethered behind my neck.  I sat and shivered some more for maybe an hour before the heavy door was unlocked and Weiwei appeared with breakfast.

“Are you my jailor, now?” I asked in between mouthfuls.

“I feed you,” she said simply.  “Not allowed to touch your ropes without special permission.”

“How long have you worked here, Weiwei?”

“Maybe…three years?”

“How many other people work here?” I queried innocently.

She thought for a moment and fed me another spoonful of the gruel-like concoction.  “Two gardeners, a driver, two bodyguards, two other maids, a cook, a butler… I think that is all.”

“Do you live here? “


“Do the others?”


“In this house?”

“No – we have separate rooms at the back.  We walk through the garden to get there.”

That was my start of knowledge gathering for my escape plan.  I did not want to appear too intrusive into Weiwei’s job or the routine of the house.  Softly softly catchee monkey, I decided.

The appearance of Portia, dressed in a tight, high-cut red leather jacket and a leather skirt down to her calves put an end to any intimacies I might have managed with Weiwei.  Portia also wore high-heeled red leather boots that reminded me again of poor Leila, who had been wearing them the last time I had seen her. 

“Jo sun,” said Portia.  Good morning.

“Jo sun,”  Weiwei and I chorused.

“Did we sleep well?” Portia inquired with a honeyed smile as Weiwei ladled the last of the gruel into my mouth and stood up to leave.

“No Mistress,” I said truthfully.

“Gooood,” said Portia, as if I had just stated the opposite.  “So you’ll be wide awake for today’s lesson.  And be glad you only have a morning’s study to deal with today. That’s the good news.  The bad news is that this afternoon has been set aside for your punishment”.  She grinned at me, her teeth white between the red of her lips.  Today she had pulled her hair back to be held behind her ears with scarlet clips.  I gulped, but said nothing.  It was going to be another long and painful day – of that I was sure…

*   *   *

The first part of the morning passed with me bent over in the stocks, my feet held apart by the terrible spreader bar that left me so exposed.  It was a revisit of the previous day’s lessons, and by and large I survived quite well, except for one section where I got totally confused and lost the plot.  I was given ten blows with the flogger, being made to count them in Cantonese. 

Thwack!  “Yat…M’goi lo si…”

Thwack!  “Yi…thank you teacher…”

Thwack!  “Three…thank you teacher…” 

I knew I was going to end up with a phobia about Chinese numbers.

For the second half of the morning my backside was spared as I was bound to one of the timber posts, reciting by rote various phrases and words that Portia wrote on the whiteboard.  Only once did I end up with the weights on my nipples for a blunder that apparently would have resulted in a major faux pas had I said what I did in the presence of guests, as was intended.  By getting my tones wrong I would have evidently seriously embarrassed all concerned. Under other circumstances I would have thought it hilarious, but Portia’s patience with this stupid Gweipo was wearing thin at that point, and I wound up staring at the piece of paper stuck this time to my right breast above the horrid clamp gripping my nipple.  I did not make that mistake again.

*   *   *

After lunch I found myself chained by the neck to a ring in the storeroom, with instructions to get dressed.  Portia handed me a black latex garment and a pair of high-heeled boots and directed me to be ready in ten minutes.  I laid it out and discovered it to be a thin rubber catsuit with opening slits in various strategic places.  I wondered why I would be wearing anything at all, since punishment usually involved nakedness for the better impact of a whip or crop.  Portia was up to something underhand and likely to be very unpleasant, I knew, and I was unable to guess her intentions. 

I struggled into the garment with the help of some talcum powder I found.  The suit was very tight – obviously cut for a Chinese figure, not a big bulky Gweipo.  Just my luck.  So much for off-the-rack shopping in Macau.  The shiny black rubber covered me from neck to ankles, leaving my wrists and feet exposed.  The tightness of it over my breasts opened up the slits just enough for my nipples to be visible – something that I was not at all happy about, but there was little I could do.  I wondered just how much of this was chance and how much had been meticulously planned by Portia.  I consoled myself that at least it was warm, for the coolness of the stone cells seemed to give me a permanent case of goosebumps, and I had no idea what the weather was outside.  Wrapped up inside the suit was a pair of matching gloves, which completed the ensemble.

The boots were tight black leather, maybe a size too small.  They zipped up the inside, stopping just below my knee.  It felt strange having something on my feet after the last two days being barefoot on the stone floors.  The heels were high but with rubber caps on the ends, possibly to protect the polished timber floors I had seen upstairs.

When Portia reappeared she had a red nylon backpack slung over her shoulder.  She handcuffed my wrists behind my back and unlocked the chain from my neck.

“You look very nice,” she said.  “Verrry sexy…” Her tongue licked her lips and she let a red-nailed finger investigate where my left nipple tried to hide within the revealing slit.  I gasped as she squeezed and rolled it against her thumb.  It hardened and the touch of her nails sent a shiver down my spine.  “Blonde hair and black latex,” she murmured.  “Mmmmm…”

Without a further word she slipped a rope around my neck and towed me after her.

We went upstairs to the ground floor, then up the main staircase to the bedroom level.  Here we bypassed innumerable doors set around the balcony overlooking the stairs and climbed a further, smaller set of steps to what turned out to be a door on to a large flat roof enclosed by a chest-high stone parapet. There were a couple of clotheslines and a television aerial here but very little else, save for what looked like a soccer goal made from galvanised steel pipe about ten centimetres in diameter.  It was about three metres square in elevation and stood like a strange sculpture bolted on to the roof surface.  As I got closer I saw that there was a pulley fixed to the centre of the span, over which ran a stainless steel cable leading to a winch bolted to one of the uprights.  My heart sank for I knew I had arrived at the scene of my punishment. 

“Let me show you the view, Jill, while you can still appreciate it,” said Portia genially, taking me by the arm and leading me to the parapet. The house stood on the top of a low hill, and I could see other, similar but smaller houses scattered about amidst more large trees and greenery.  This was obviously the rich part of town.  “See?  From here you can see right up to the central city area.  There’s the Lisboa Casino.”  She pointed to a strange wedding cake-like structure in the distance.  “Beyond that is the bridge to Coloane.”  I saw a slender white arch stretching off into the distance towards a low island in the haze.

“Pretty, huh?  Unfortunately you won’t exactly get to see a lot of it.”

She walked me back to the steel frame and fetched a piece of bamboo about five centimetres in diameter and perhaps a metre and a half long from where a number of such poles were lying in the gutter beside the parapet.  They looked like possible leftovers from some of the ubiquitous bamboo scaffolding that seemed to be everywhere on building sites in the region.  On the other hand they could well have been deliberately placed there for some far more sinister purpose.

“It’s time to prepare you,” she said brusquely.  She slid the bamboo under my arms so it was trapped across my back at elbow level.  Out of her backpack came a half dozen coils of thick sashcord, the first of which she used to wrap about my upper body, over and under my breasts and around the bamboo.  The tails of this rope came over my shoulders to cinch the ropes above and below my breasts into the traditional shinju pattern.  This done, she unlocked my handcuffs and I stood meekly as she bound my folded forearms parallel to and hard against the bamboo.  More ropes followed, around my waist and the bamboo, by which time my upper body had become almost rigid.

All of this must have taken half an hour, for Portia was nothing if not thorough.  She had stripped off her jacket to reveal a red tee shirt underneath and soon the sweat stains were showing in her armpits.  As she finished pulling the last tail through a cinch knot behind me Portia said: “You can see why you’re wearing that nice suit now?”

“Why, Mistress?” 

“Because, oh stupid Gweipo slave, hanging about in the sun will give your fair skin a nasty case of sunburn otherwise.”  I was going to ask what about my head, but decided I had better not.  Portia did not miss the details – that much I had learned in two hard days.

“Take a last look around, Jill dear,” said Portia, reaching into her backpack.  She pulled out what looked like a rubber hood.  “Close your eyes and hold your breath,” she ordered.  I did so as she forced the hood over the top of my head and worked it downwards.  It was of thick rubber and brutally tight.  Only when it was finally in place could I appreciate how it moulded to my face with only two holes for my nostrils.  I had not experienced a hood of this type before.  I felt Portia’s fingers aligning the nostril holes properly then arranging the bottom of the hood around my neck and tucking it in under the latex top.  I flexed my jaw and found I could open it very little.  I shuddered to think what this horrid device would be like over a gag of some description.

“Squat Jill,” came the command out of the darkness, somewhat muffled by the rubber hood.  I eased myself down on my haunches.  The high heels of the boots made it easier to rest my weight on my heels in this position.  I felt rope being wrapped a number of times around my right thigh, just above the knee and knotted there. The same treatment was meted out to my left thigh.  I was puzzled, for there did not seem to be any further attachment, pulling my legs together or apart.

Then came Portia’s fingers again, probing into the slit in the rubber between my legs.  Something nudged my pussy – something pointed and slippery that insinuated its way inside me through dextrous manipulation by Portia.  It was tolerable, I decided, in my slightly spread squatting position.  But there was more… (and it wasn’t the free set of steak knives). 

It was the butt plug that was worked into place next.  I always get skittish with these, I don’t know why.  They have a strange effect on me and I found myself groaning and snorting as Portia slid it in a little more with each push before it slipped in with a momentary pain.  It did not seem as large as the previous monster I had had to wear in the light well.  Regardless, Portia tied a double crotch rope from the cinch between my breasts down, through my crotch, then back up to the knots securing my forearms to the bamboo.  She placed a knee in my back to haul it tight.  I gasped and whined in complaint as the ropes were secured.  Those inserts weren’t going to be coming out, I knew then.

I heard the faint steps of my tormentor moving away, then the sound that might have been the cable being lowered from the pulley above me.  Portia’s voice came through the rubber.

“I will only tell you this once, Jill.  You are a little slut.  A very sexy little slut I will admit, but a slut nevertheless.  You seem incapable of properly controlling your own body.  Additionally, you did not seem to care about embarrassing either yourself or your mistress in that disgraceful display at the dining table. I need to teach you two lessons.  Firstly, you must obey me and not cause embarrassment.  Secondly, you must be able to control your body’s needs.  Do you understand?”  Miserably I nodded my head.  “Good.  We will undertake the first lesson in obedience now.”

I squatted there in the darkness.  It was a warm day and already I could feel myself starting to sweat under the rubber.  It was partly the humidity and partly the fear of what was about to fall upon me.  I could see nothing and hear nothing in my black world.  I had visions of some terrible object about to attack me and my legs started to tremble uncontrollably.  There was a sudden clacking sound and I felt a tension on my upper body as Portia obviously began to wind the handle on the winch, tightening the cable that was now clearly attached to the mass of ropes around my arms and torso.

It felt like everything tightened at once – the ropes holding my wrists, upper arms, torso and most of all the crotch ropes.  But as I felt my breathing become more laboured with the rope tightening, I was lifted from the squat and suddenly my full weight came on to the cable before I had become halfway upright.  I realised Portia had tied each thigh to the outer end of the bamboo pole.  As I left the ground the weight of my legs, unsupported save for the thigh ropes, pulled them wide apart, tethered as they were to the extremities of the bamboo. 

I panicked at that moment as my body leaned forward and as I went on to my tiptoes I thought – irrationally – that I was going to tip over on my face.  I struggled, but found I could barely move.  I could sort of raise my legs a little, but only with great difficulty.  I could waggle and kick them from the knees down, but they were spread apart and such efforts were unproductive other than to register my distress.  I discovered that waving my legs simply added more stress to the ropes and caused the crotch rope to dig deeper.

I moaned and whined under the rubber hood as I felt myself continue to rise then stop and slowly rotate on the end of the cable.  I hung there for perhaps five minutes.  I knew this would be Portia’s way of scaring me - or letting me scare myself, by imagining all sorts of tortures and punishments that could possibly be inflicted on me in such a position. I took comfort from the fact that every square inch of me was covered with rubber or leather, which would protect me to some extent from floggers and paddles.

When the blow struck me I was not prepared for it, despite where my mind had taken me. 

“Arrrggnnnnnnn!” I screamed, in shock.  The rush of air from my mouth momentarily made the rubber helmet bulge.  The fiery pain sank into my tautly positioned buttocks and I knew it was from a cane.  I also knew the rubber skin would do little to protect me against this sort of abuse.

“Yat,” came a dispassionate voice close to my ear. 

Crack!  I screamed again, my breath at once ragged and panting, pleading through the rubber for Portia to stop.

“Yi,” said Portia. 

Crack!  My bottom was on fire.  I jerked and squirmed and kicked, but nothing made the slightest difference.  I was making incomprehensible mumblings.

“Saam,” came the implacable voice. 

Crack!  Scream!  Promise her anything!  Portia I’ll be good I’ll be good!


Crack!  Screaming and crying now. Please stop, please stop!


Crack!  Wailing under the hood.  Sobbing incomprehensible words.  Then a voice through my agony.

“You soft Gweipos make too much noise.  No discipline.  Need more control.  More focus.  I can help you.”

What?  What was she saying?  What did she mean?  There was a pause in the assault and I thought I felt fingers on the top of the rubber hood.  There came a sort of faint whooshing sound and abruptly the pressure seemed to grow on my head.  Woosh!  Woosh! God, it was an inflatable hood!  No! 

The pressure grew further as I realised now why the hood had been so tight in the first place.  Two layers of rubber – an inner and an outer skin.  Portia was now pumping up the space in between.  My jaw was now firmly clamped shut and any sounds from outside were slowly disappearing as the blood pounded in my ears and the rubber sealed all orifices save my nostrils. 

Crack!  Nnnnnnnnnp!  Mm! Mm! Mm!

“Luk!” Portia’s voice was a distant whisper.

Crack!  My backside was exploding with pain.

“Chat.” Seven.  Look – I can remember my numbers, Mistress!

Crack!  Agony, fire, writhing, screaming, but only nasal pantings coming out…

“Baat.” No more emotion than if counting small change.

Crack!  Kicking, grunting, wailing but no use…

“Gau.” Nine…

Crack!  No more strength…going to die…

“Sap.”  A pause. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Urghn!  Urghn!  Urghn!”

“Good.  You may review your behaviour and consider the error of your ways for the next half hour,” came the whisper next to my ear. “Perhaps you need to harmonise yourself more with the forces of nature around yourself.  Maybe we could start with the wind…” There came a sharp pain as Portia’s fingers tugged at my right nipple through the slit in the rubber.  I felt a brief touch of tongue, then more teasing as the little nub swelled and hardened.  She gave the same expert treatment to my left nip then both were gripped hard by the unyielding jaws of some sort of clips.

“You have a nice silver chain between them,” said Portia.  “It looks really lovely.”  I moaned.  “I am going to hang a pretty set of wind chimes on them.  You can listen to the breeze and think about how much you upset me and embarrassed me.”

A sudden pain in my nipples was followed by a series of faint tinkling chimes heralding the arrival of the wind chimes, dangling from the chain.  I groaned in abject misery, sobbing under the rubber hood, but I knew my Mistress had already gone and there was no hope for any clemency.

*   *   *

The wind was getting a little stronger and I could feel myself slowly twisting and swaying on the end of the steel chain.  Beneath me, hanging from my inflamed nipples the chimes clinked and tinkled, exerting a constant tug on my tortured buds.  The ten strokes of the cane I had suffered had left my bottom burning with pain which did not seem to lessen with the passing of time.  I had sweated a lot in my futile attempts to fight the punishment and I was drained of energy.  I tried to focus my mind elsewhere, to find some mental refuge from the torments of the flesh, which experienced submissives can do, but I could not manage it, so real was the pain in my cheeks and nipples.  I became aware that I was keening softly to myself, a constant whine of pain that somehow eased the torment.  Any physical movement I found would only aggravate the pain, particularly in my breasts, so I dared not swing my legs unnecessarily.  Under the hot sun I grew woozy and my mind finally started to drift away, despite the pain and discomfort. I was nearly into subspace, I reckoned later, when Portia returned and removed the nipple clamps with both hands at the same time.

The pain was like a needle through my poor nips and I screamed again into the rubber, coming back to reality with an agonising jerk.  I was gasping raggedly through my nose as the spasm of pain subsided only slowly.  I continued moaning piteously as Portia took one nipple between her lips and sucked and kissed it gently, then did the same with the other, in the manner of a mother kissing a child’s scratch better. 

I sniffled and sobbed while she whispered cajoling and comforting words in my ear, stroking my bound body through the rubber skin.  The change in her was startling.  It was like a different person, and I was so grateful I just wanted to put my head on her shoulder and cry out all my hurt. I knew she would hold me and comfort me, and all things would soon be healed.  Her voice came to me distant and faint through the rubber of the hood.

“Jill, darling, your punishment is over.  I think you have learned your lesson.  Yes?”  I nodded my head, suffering an attack of incoherent sobs as a small child sometimes does.  “But you still have to deal with the second part of your lesson, that of learning to properly control your body’s urges.  I think you still have trouble with this and we need to make you a better, more in-control person.   Cannot allow a slave to simply indulge her primal urges whenever she feels in the mood.  Is that unreasonable?”  Miserably I shook my head.  I could not argue with the logic, and I had used it a few times on clients myself, not to mention my lovely Emma.

“Good.  I’m glad you understand.  I have a couple of adjustments to make then I’ll leave you to think about your transgressions.”


I quickly found out what the adjustments were.  Firstly I discovered that the butt plug was inflatable when my anal cavity suddenly began to fill.  I pleaded and protested with desperate whines, begging her to stop as I felt I was going to crap myself, but at the same time knowing that the plug was well secured in my hole and would never come loose, especially not inflated as it now was.  The ‘Urr! Urr!’ noises I was making at that moment went up a notch as she then started the vibrator inside the balloon up my arse.  I knew I would disgrace myself at that moment, such were the awful feelings it stirred within my rectum.

Portia’s reaction to that was simply to turn on the other vibrator deeply embedded in my pussy.  She gave me a light shove and I was left swaying in the breeze.

I can barely describe the conflict of sensations I experienced in the next hours.  The cheeks of my backside were still excruciatingly sore from the caning and my nipples were tender and throbbing.  The ropes that cut into my thighs created a constant tension which pulled my legs apart into an uncomfortable equilibrium that strained the muscles of my thighs and hips.  The ropes themselves, wrapped in multiple strands around my arms and body pulled hard on all those points, and were cinched about my breasts as well.  My weight was supported on all of these, plus, of course, those terrible strands through my crotch.  I was blind and deaf and silent, the pressure of the inflatable rubber hood obliterating all three senses while leaving only my ability to smell.  I could not move my lips or jaw, so all-pervasive was the pressure of the rubber hood.  And the final item from my litany of pain was the heat, as I sweated within the clinging latex catsuit. 

Having listed my immediate tortures, I now add the awful inflated butt plug up my rear.  It made me feel like I had to piss and crap at the same time, yet I knew I could do neither.  The fact that the thing had then started vibrating intensified that desperate urge to evacuate, but at the same time created a strange transition path into sensual realms I had not experienced before.  My pussy, as though in a sexual conspiracy, was sending out exquisite spasms of pleasure like ripples on a pond.  The vibrator jammed inside me not only vibrated but somehow seemed to come alive, twisting and turning within, sending me crazy first with frustration as the pain receptors continued to dominate those of the pleasure house.

My brain, in receiving all this varied input was going bananas as well.  One minute I would have a rush of ecstatic vibes from way down south, then the pain of my buttocks would dominate, only to succumb to a powerful urge to go to the toilet again. 

I can’t tell you how long this went on for.  After some while the pleasure vibes began to dominate and I reached my first orgasm, squirming and jerking in my harness and kicking my legs futilely in fresh air, mmphing into the rubber hood.  The pain in my cheeks kicked in there with the extra movement but the Devine Miss O reappeared with a vengeance soon after.  The vibrator up my arse seemed to go in a wild duet with the one in front as number two crashed down on me. 

Things went hazy after that.  I sweated and writhed in my bonds as climax followed climax.  I moaned pathetically, crying into the rubber stifling my mouth, tugging on the ropes and trying vainly to clamp my legs together to stifle the remorseless devices humming steadily in my orifices.

I swung in the wind, turning slowly like a black shiny chicken being grilled over an open fire.  Except in this instance the fires were primarily within.  I did not know if I was visible to any outside viewer, maybe some maid on a nearby house roof hanging out the washing.  Would they do anything, or would they simply know to stay clear of the big house on the hill that was owned by the Wong Dynasty…  Dynasty… Die nasty… my brain wandered down long and convoluted paths towards the gates of delirium.  Somewhere around then I finally gave up the fight.  I began slipping in and out of consciousness, the sound of blood rushing in my ears as I struggled weakly against another climax worming its way into every pore of my body then exploding like a volcano.  It was one eruption too many, and I finally fainted.

story continues in