Monica's Revenge: 4. Chained and Frustrated

by Richard Alexander

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© Copyright 2002 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission

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

(story continues from )

Chapter Four: Chained and Frustrated

One Monday afternoon several days later Monica called me to her study.  I entered to find Leila already there, along with our most valued client, Warren.  Warren had dark wavy hair and a faint scar on his left temple.  It wouldn’t have surprised me if somebody had taken a swing at him at some time. Probably the husband of someone he was carrying on with, I thought uncharitably.  He had a short, neatly trimmed moustache and was as always impeccably dressed.  Today he looked as though he had come straight from a business meeting, dressed as he was in what was probably a made-to-measure Armani or Gucci pinstripe suit.  A diamond ring glittered on one finger, while a gold Rolex peeped from below the white cuff.  He stood at Monica’s shoulder as she arranged some papers on her desk.  By contrast, Monica wore a black leather vest with a zipper half undone.  Sitting as she was behind the desk, I could not see below her waist, but I suspected it was something along the same lines. 

Monica waved me to a seat beside Leila.  The analogy of visiting the school principal crossed my mind.

“Firstly, you’ll recall our discussion the other day about a website, Steven?”  I nodded.  “Warren has agreed to finance that venture and to provide bridging finance until we can get up to speed again.”

“In return for…?” I could not help myself asking.  Both Monica and Warren looked annoyed by my presumptuousness, but I knew Warren would do nothing out of charity.  He was dominant by sexual persuasion and this was also painfully evident in his business dealings, where in the property market I had heard tales of his ruthlessness.  In my own previous building business I had dealt with subcontractors facing bankruptcy through dealings with his development company and this had done nothing to endear me to the man. 

My encounters with him since coming to Bilboes had also been less than convivial, particularly one time when I had wound up chained to his slave, Christina, for several hours in the bush.  We had both suffered rather painful punishments, but at the end of it had become good friends.  Intimate friends, one might even say.  To the best of my knowledge Monica and Warren were not aware of the liberties we had taken with each other in the course of that morning, although I suspect there may have been a few doubts in Monica’s mind, considering the punishment she received after we had escaped our bonds, but that’s yet another story.  The point was that in this instance Warren would drive a hard bargain, and I wondered what Monica had been forced to concede.

“None of your business,” Monica snapped.  Warren frowned at me – a warning that I was no doubt on dangerous ground.  I shrugged.  Okay, I thought – NMP – not my problem.  She continued:  “ I’m merely telling you the situation for your information.  The real reason I’ve called you both here is the issue of what you did to me that night at Southbank.”  My heart sank.  Here we go, I thought.

“You said you’d give me amnesty for that.”

“I did, and I will.  Leila, here, on the other hand, was the instigator of it all, no doubt wheedling at you until you helped her.”

“I did not ‘wheedle’!” Leila said firmly.

“Quiet!” said Warren, fixing her with a glare. Leila shut up abruptly.

“Leila will receive her punishment, which will be somewhat protracted,” Monica continued.  “However I thought I would give you the opportunity to halve that punishment, by sharing it with her.”

Oh thanks, I thought.  No emotional blackmail here.  No obligations, no morals on the table, no tests of Steven’s chivalry or integrity.  Like I could stand up and walk out on Leila – not!  And probably all three people in the room knew it.  I sighed.

“Not really a big choice, is there?”  Leila looked at me and gave a grateful smile.

“Good.”  Monica smiled for the first time since I had entered the room.  “The punishment was suggested by Warren – I thought you might like to know that.  Warren is pretty devious, and like me he likes the punishment to fit the crime.  Of course in my particular case you found great amusement in bringing me to a climax while I tried to resist it.  In this case the reverse would be appropriate – you’ll want it, but not be able to have it.  I don’t consider a continuous series of climaxes to be much of a punishment.  Denial of such is far more fitting.  Steven, I want you naked in Number One Holding cell in five minutes.  Leila – you stay here.”

*   *   *

Reluctantly I trudged downstairs and entered Number One.  It was a very small cell in plan, only two and a half metres by one and a half. The walls were windowless and of solid blockwork, the door was steel and the floor was, of course, concrete.  The only objects in the cell were a stainless steel toilet fixed to the end wall and a thin futon on the floor.  Number Two cell next door was marginally larger and had a steel-framed bed bolted to the floor.  Evidently that would be too good for me.

I took off my clothes and sat down on the grey canvas of the futon.  It was fifteen minutes before Monica appeared.  She was probably deliberately making me wait.  She carried a small duffel bag that clinked when she put it down. I could tell she was in one of her no-nonsense moods and was not in the frame of mind for conversation.  Clearly my question about what Warren was getting as payment for the loan had touched a nerve and was not something to be pursued unless I wanted to spend extra hours in punishment mode.

Monica wore a short black leather skirt, black stockings and medium heels as the remainder of her outfit, and as usual with her black hair the total impression was quite stunning.  She tossed my clothes out the door without a word as I stood up.

“Turn around and face the wall,” she told me brusquely.  There was no doubting the authority in her tone and I did as I was told.  She delved into the bag and I felt the cold touch of steel as a heavy collar encircled my neck.  There was the sound of a lock clicking shut and the feel of heavy links of chain hanging down my back. 

“Turn!” she commanded again.  “Hold out your hands.”  I did so and she locked steel manacles on my wrists with a chain maybe twenty centimetres long joining them.  The manacles were heavy steel cuffs, with little clearance around the wrists.  They were more comfortable than handcuffs, being wider, but ‘comfortable’ is only a relative term.  Monica picked the middle link of the connecting chain and slipped another padlock through it, lifting it to link it through a D-ring on the front of my collar before snapping it shut.  I seriously did not like the look of this.

“How long will we have to – “

“Be quiet!” she snapped.  “You will stay here until we see fit to let you out.”

“We?”  I queried.  Warren was behind this, for sure.

“Shut up – or you’ll have a gag locked on and you’ll be working out how you can eat your food.” 

That sounded hopeful – and depressing.  I was not to be gagged, but there was food involved, which meant it could be a long-term thing.  How long was long, I wondered?

Monica pushed me back against the wall, with a direction to stand still.  The chain and blockwork were cold against my bare skin.  She reached into the bag again and pulled out a device I did not immediately recognise.

“This, Steven, is the male equivalent of a chastity belt.”  Bollocks, I thought.  So that was where all this was going.  I looked at the device.  It was pretty evident how it worked, and my suppositions were verified in less than two minutes.  The thing was made of clear acrylic, and looked a little like the downward curved spout of an old style tap, before everyone went mad about getting the lever action types.  Monica held it up for me to inspect.

“As you can see, there is a small hole in the end – enough for you to pee through.  It curves down through ninety degrees.  While you’re wearing it, I’m afraid you can’t get an erection, and even if you got halfway there, you couldn’t do anything with it.  It will undoubtedly cause discomfort if you start thinking lewd thoughts, but otherwise will be tolerable.  It can be worn indefinitely, you understand.”  She looked me in the eye, as though challenging me to say something, and smiled at my silence, but it was a cold smile and sent a shiver down my spine.

“It’s held in place by this U-ring behind the scrotum, which locks in place here,” she said, demonstrating it in front of my eyes.  The ring was also made of acrylic but looked like it had a steel piece embedded in it.  I certainly did not fancy trying to saw it off.  “It’s a proprietary item, purpose made.  Warren brought it.”  Why was I not surprised?

She squatted in front of Mr Willy and I felt her warm fingers start to manipulate him into the plastic prison.  It was unfortunate that the touch of Monica’s fingers had the same effect that seems to happen on a regular basis and of course he began to grow, resolutely refusing to enter the containment vessel.  Monica was clearly displeased and dipped her hand into the toilet, emptying a handful of water on him then slapping him a few times until I yelped.  It had the desired effect, though, and the water provided enough lubrication for him to slide inside, the tip reaching the end of the tube as the other end nuzzled against my scrotum.  Monica worked the open ring around the top of it and poked the two ends of the ring through matching holes in the top side of the main housing.  They passed through with a clicking sound that was not unlike that made by a plastic cable tie being pulled closed. 

Monica put her finger and thumb around the top of my scrotum then closed the ring a further two notches.  It was starting to become just a little on the tight side.  Clearly I was not going to be removing it in a hurry.  I looked down and saw about two centimetres of each end of the ring protruding through the holes on top of the main housing.  Monica pulled a small key from her pocket and inserted it vertically into a keyhole on top, between where the ring ends passed through.  She turned the key twice and extracted it. 

“There,” she said, patting the strange-feeling device.  “No more erections for your friend until I say so.  It will be too bad if you get the urge.”  Then she was gone.  I sat down and wondered what else was still to come.  There were implications in Monica’s words that had not yet eventuated, a fact reinforced by the presence of the loose chain from my collar.  I also had the feeling that I would be seeing Leila very shortly.

I tried to reach the acrylic case with my hands but chained as they were close under my throat, it was impossible.  I swayed from side to side, feeling the heaviness of the case on Mr Willy and the way it bumped against the inside of my thighs.  I thought I could live with it.  Then the door opened. It was Leila – and Monica.

Predictably, Leila was naked as well – in the sense of wearing normal clothing, that is.  She, too, wore a steel collar about her neck, and had her wrists chained to the front of it in identical fashion to me.  She looked at me with soulful eyes as Monica pushed her into the cell.  Leila seemed to be wearing the more traditional version of the chastity belt, made of clear acrylic like my device.  Around her waist was a stainless steel belt about three centimetres wide, the ends of which ran through separate locks on edges of the clear curved triangle that fitted between the belt ends, and stretched from her waist down to her crotch.  The stainless steel appeared to have notches in it, and the locking mechanisms looked not unlike the closing of a hose clamp, except using keyed locks rather than a screwed mechanism.

I saw, as she half-turned, that at the end of the triangle between her legs, just visible from behind, was a ring to which two chains were attached.  These curved up under her buttocks to attach to the waist ring about two thirds of the way round from front to back. The configuration was obviously a long term one,  making allowance for the wearer having to crap if necessary.

Like me, Leila was not a happy teddy, and was made less so when Monica made her sit on the floor beside me, at which point she took my neck chain, ran it through one of the many ring bolts in the wall, at about waist height, then locked it to the back of Leila’s collar.

“You two children will have lots of time to talk and think up reasons why it is not a good idea to mess with me, and to debate the likely punishment if you ever embarrass me again.  Comprendo?”

“Yes Monica,” we replied meekly, knowing we were in no position to do otherwise.  Then the door slammed shut with a horrible finality, the steel-on-steel sound echoing against the blockwork walls.

“Sorry Steven,” Leila said disconsolately.

*   *   *

“The school mistress is not a happy camper,” I ventured.

“Puts a new meaning on ‘detention’, doesn’t it,” Leila said with a shy smile.  “Look, I really am sorry to get you into this.  I should have known better.”

“Forget it.  I knew what I was doing.  I wouldn’t have missed Monica humping that lamppost for anything.  And you should have seen her squirm during the Bolero.  I don’t think either of us will ever be able to listen to that again without very vivid memories flooding back.”  Leila laughed.

“So I’m forgiven?”

“Of course.”  She leaned over and gave me a kiss.

“Now now, you know we mustn’t get each other excited.”

“Is that likely to happen?”

“Speaking for myself, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve set my friend Mr Willy off on a quest for satisfaction.  I remember just after I’d started here, when Mary was training you and left you on that rubber strap in the post room.”

Leila smiled ruefully.  “Yes, I was so horny then.  That vibrator was just out of usable reach and the strap drove me mad.  I believe a kind gentleman came to my rescue that day, too.”

“Not doing much rescuing at the moment,” I said glumly.  “Do you know how long we’re here for?”

“No.  Overnight, no doubt.  What time is it now?”

“Dunno.  Four thirty?  Five?”

“I hear Megan is back here for an overnight stay herself.  We may have her for a neighbour.”

“I hope she doesn’t make too much noise while we’re trying to sleep,” I said.  “I wonder what Monica has in store for us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, here we are, sexually immobilised so that we can’t even have a little fun, with our hands chained out of the way as well.  But I can live with that.  No, It’s too tame for Monica.  She’ll have something else to work us up, for sure.”

“Careful.  She’s probably watching us right now.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said off-handedly, looking up at the camera. I raised my voice: “You’ve already got it figured out, haven’t you, Monica.  Might as well get on with it.  We haven’t got all day, you know.”

“But she has,” Leila whispered to me.  “No customers, remember?  She could keep us here a week without anyone being affected.”

“You’re right.  Sorry.”

Maybe half an hour passed before the door opened and Jillian appeared with a tray which she put down on the floor.  It contained two plain bread rolls and two large cups of coffee.

“Sorry guys, that’s all there is,” she said with an apologetic smile. 

“How long will we be here, Jill?”  Leila asked.

“You know I couldn’t tell you, even if I knew, Lei.  Sorry.  But I am authorised to give you each something.”  She knelt down, straddling Leila’s legs and gave her a long, lingering kiss, her hands caressing and stroking Leila’s pert breasts until the nipples popped up hard and receptive.  Leila moaned and tried to push Jill away, but with her hands chained at her throat it was impossible.  Leila and I were both astonished, and when Jill did the same to me I began to see a little of Monica’s plan. 

“Monica instructed me to do this,” Jill whispered in my ear.  “It’s one of the better jobs she’s given me.”  She then proceeded to kiss me again, a deep tongue teasing kiss that took my breath away, and I found myself unable to resist returning it.  Jillian and I had had a number of sexual encounters in the last year, circumstances having dictated that these had always occurred when one of us had been bound and helpless.  It had almost become a contest, albeit an unwritten but a most enjoyable  one, and one that we had endeavoured to keep secret.  In this particular instance, however, it was never going to progress beyond the kiss, for obvious reasons, but in the process Mr Willy woke up with a start and wondered what the hell had happened and why he couldn’t get out of bed.  It was a weird feeling, almost like going numb down south.  Mr Brain, by contrast, was wide awake and wanting to party, but his mate was not answering the phone. 

Jill’s hands toyed with my nipples, squeezing and teasing them to a hardness which my own hands were unable to prevent, and this of course was further fuel for Mr Brain, who still hadn’t worked out why he couldn’t reach his mate.  Jillian finally stood up.

“Er… could I have fries with that?” I asked.  She smiled – one of those lovely heart-warming smiles for which she was known, and which did nothing to calm down Mr Brain who was now going right off.

“No sir, but I’m sure there’ll be another waitress along to take your order soon.”  Then the door closed with a solid thump.

“I think I see the battle plan,” I said.

*   *   *

We were obliged to eat our food kneeling down as if we were praying to Mecca, for it was the only way we could pick it up.  The bread roll was at least fresh, if unadorned, and the coffee was strong enough to put hairs on your chest.  It wasn’t something I would normally indulge in at that hour, for I was not a caffeine freak and I had a low tolerance to it.  Leila confessed to the same. 

“I guess it will be a long night, then,” I said, but in the absence of anything else to drink, we don’t have much of a choice.”  Alas, I should have seen Monica’s next move coming.  Trish it was, this time, wheeling in a television monitor and video on a small trolley.  It was the one from the lounge room upstairs – the 68 centimetre screen that seemed to take up the whole of that end of the cell.  On top of the television set was a duffle bag of the sort used to carry bondage equipment within the house or outside.  Oh dear, I thought.

“Good evening Sir and Madam. I’m Trish and I’ll be your video host for the evening.  Tonight’s entertainment is a three hour feature, with, I believe, automatic replay.  It’s a nice collection of great pornographic moments, starring well known artists from overseas and also a compendium of stars from the House of Bilboes.  We hope you enjoy the program.  If you have any further requests, please feel free to call the management.”  She smiled and knelt astride my thighs, arousing Mr Brain once more with a stimulating oral performance, but the line to Mr Willy was still down.  I began to suspect that the girls were in competition here, with a very real danger that I would be asked to make a judgement call on who was the best kisser.

Trish and I had stolen the odd illicit encounter in the past, as well.  Not that I was free with my favours, but sometimes a man simply has to do what a man has to do.  All right, I admit I was a soft touch, but I challenge anyone else to resist some of the things that were put in my way – deliberately or otherwise.

Trish stood up and unlocked the linking chain which ran through the eyebolt.  “On your feet, both of you.”  We stood up, wondering what was coming next.  Trish reached up and threaded the chain through another eyebolt in the wall – and there were plenty to choose from – above our heads, re-locking the chain so that there was some slack, but not enough for us to do more than bend our knees.  Another key appeared which undid the locks holding the manacle connecting chains to our collars.

“All right hands over heads – no, right behind them – down the back, please.  Good, now stand face to face.  Leila – I want your tits against Steven’s chest.  That’s better.”  Leila did as she was told, pushing her breasts against me with a shy smile.  The nipples were flint hard.  Trish took a length of sashcord from the duffle bag and tied one end to the centre of my connecting chain where it now hung down behind my shoulder blades and passed it between my legs, between Leila’s, then up to loop through Leila’s connecting chain.  She pulled down hard on the rope, drawing Leila’s and my arms downwards in a strained position that made Leila utter a small gasp.  The rope tightened between our buttocks and pulled us together at the groin, Mr Willy’s down-turned acrylic case clunking against the acrylic shield covering Leila’s crotch. 

“You guys will make a good advertisement for underarm deodorant,” Trish said, delving again into the duffle bag and extracting two flat vibrators the diameter of tennis balls, joined by a thin cord around half a metre long.  The vibrators were powered by a small control box half the size of a cigarette packet, which sat midway on the cord and was connected by thin wires.  She looped the cord around Leila’s neck so that the vibrators covered her nipples, then produced a roll of duct tape.  I hated duct tape, because I always seemed to end up having a hair removal job when it came off.  In this instance it seemed as if it would be my back that would suffer, as Trish wound four turns of the stuff around our bodies just below armpit level, obviously ensuring that the vibrators would stay in place and that Leila and Steven would remain in intimate contact with each other.

“There we go, kiddies, enjoy the show and the rest of your evening,” said Trish, switching on the control box nestling beneath the blonde hair at the back of Leila’s neck.  She patted us both on our bottoms and switched on the VCR, then switched out the lights before closing and locking the cell door.

“So… what’s on TV tonight dear?” I asked casually. 

We found we could both watch the box when one of us had their back to the wall, but Trish had secured us in a way that gave us little room to move.  Leila was only marginally shorter than I was, and we wound up cheek to cheek watching the video, or else chin over opposite shoulder.

“Steven, I think this is going to be a bit hard for me…”

“I wish I could say the same,” I said.  “Down below it’s just numbness, like Mr Willy isn’t there, except for the extra weight.  Is it good for you?”

“Yes – rather too good.  These vibrators are setting my nips on edge.”

“Watch the TV – it’ll take your mind off things.”

“Oh sure.  Thanks for that insight.”

In the darkened cell, lit only by the flickering light from the television, we stood, nipple to nipple, watching the series of cameo performances clearly designed to get us horny and as frustrated as possible.  What Monica did not appreciate, being a mere female, was that the moment one’s member became constricted, as mine was, much of the feeling tended to go out of it.  Had Monica thought it through, she would have realised that letting Mr Willy wave free in the air without let, hindrance, interference or possibility of being taken in hand would have been a far more frustrating approach.  But I was not going to tell her that.

Our program began with a couple of professional clips, then cut to a scene in our dungeon.

“Who the hell’s that?” I asked.  “Is it Trish?”

“I think so – Mary told me about this.  It happened when we were in Hong Kong.  Mary caught Trish testing that saddle that you made.”

“Wow!  Mary sure did a good job on her.”  Trish was naked, feet held apart by a spreader bar, astride a saddle at the end of a beam held in place by strong bungee cords at the opposite end, like a seesaw.  Trish had her arms crossed and bound behind her shoulder blades in a hammerlock, with copious coils of white sashcord now tightly encircling her upper arms and breasts.  Her mouth was held open with an O-ring strapped in place with her eyes being covered by leather eye pads and her ears by industrial earmuffs.  Strategically positioned over her body were various TENS electrodes in the forms of small pads connected by wires to our TENS machine which was just out of view.  Two donut rings encircled the dark brown of Trish’s erect nipples, showing taut and extended by the rope encircling her breasts.  Two more pads were stuck to her abdomen, just above the front edge of the saddle, two were on the inside of her thighs and a further pair looked as though they were fixed to her forearms behind her.  She was standing there, sightless and deaf, obviously waiting with trepidation for something to happen.  I knew that in addition there would be two vibrators rising from the saddle into Trish’s orifices, while the front face of the saddle contained a series of nubs and bumps that would be nuzzling Trish’s clit.  They acted as one with the saddle itself, which vibrated on two heavy car springs with an out-of-balance weight underneath.

“Oh my God,” breathed Leila as the camera circled the helpless form.  “This is Mary at her best.  Look at that rope work.”

Trish’s arms were immovable behind her.  Mary had even secured her fingers with twine.  The camera panned back and was then seated on its mounting and Mary appeared in the picture.  She picked up an electrical plug and cord.

“When I push this in, the saddle, dildos and TENS units will all be activated,” she told the camera.  “I almost wish I was on the receiving end.  Almost.”  She smiled to herself and pushed the plug home. 

Trish almost jumped off the saddle and I felt Leila jump in sympathy.  Within minutes the drool was running down Trish’s chin and on to the ropes around her breasts and torso as she jerked and squirmed against the vibrations that must have been coursing through her body from all the erogenous zones, never mind those pads that were making her muscles twitch of their own accord.  She started yelling, but it was pretty incomprehensible, even though the o-ring tended to allow a measure of expression, compared to a ball gag for example.  Trish was well away by the time Mary told her to shut up and then screwed a plug into the o-ring.  The sound died abruptly, but Trish continued with her bouncing gyrations oblivious to this further restriction being placed on her.  She went through a period of trial squats, bending her knees and letting her weight take the saddle lower, but that seemed to only make it worse, for her stifled cries appeared to go up an octave.

Midway through all this I became conscious of Leila doing some squirming of her own. 

“Dammit, I don’t think I can watch this, Steven.  Monica’s winning – it’s making me as horny as hell!  And these vibes on my nips are doing nothing to help!”

“Close your eyes,” I suggested.

“Doesn’t make much difference.  I get really turned on by that sort of noise.”

“Do you think you can climax?  Want some help?”

“Like what?”

“I bent forward a little and fastened my lips on hers, feeling a response that delighted me – a meeting of tongues and teeth and warm wetness all designed to spur things into happening in the southern regions of a man and a woman. Notwithstanding whatever wasn’t happening down there in my case, the act of kissing was long and pleasurable, before Leila broke away breathlessly.  I could feel her trying to push her crotch against me, but our respective pieces of acrylic were deadening any transmission of feeling.

“That was…nice…no – too much…” she breathed raggedly in my ear.

“No joy?”

“I wish.  The shield is too smooth on the inside.  I can’t get a purchase on my sensitive bits.  Piss on Monica!”

At that stage there was a particularly loud muffled scream from the bound and gagged figure on the saddle.

“Cheer up, only another two and a half hours to go.”

*   *   *

It goes without saying that it was a particularly long and vexed two and a half hours.  Eventually the nipple vibrators slowed down, but our bodies remained slippery with sweat as perspiration rolled down the interface between us and eventually found its tickling way down our legs.  Leila was hot and frustrated.  I was hot, numb and just confused.  We had been treated to an anthology of the best of Bilboes, some of which had got Leila worked up again, some of which had made us laugh at the memories of being there.  Our arms ached from the strain of having them pulled behind us, and we had indulged in considerably more heavy and intense pashing, but none of it had got Leila over the edge.  I was beginning to think that maybe it was me, but she assured me such was not the case.

The tape in the VCR rewound itself but ejected, rather than play again.  Trish reappeared shortly after that and cut the duct tape around our bodies, ripping it off with undisguised relish that made me yelp.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she said.  “What do you think we girls go through with our legs being waxed?”

“Your choice,” I retorted unhappily.

“Didn’t get off, huh?”  Now she sounded sympathetic.

“Nope,” said Leila. “Although your efforts on the saddle were most enjoyable and much appreciated.”


“The video Mary shot of you, when we were in Macau.”

“That’s on this tape?  Shit!  I’ll do Mary one of these days!  And Monica, for including it!”

“It was very special,” I agreed, trying to sound sincere.  “We’re privileged.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Trish was grumpy now.

“I hadn’t realised what a monster we’d created with that saddle,” I said.

Trish cracked a smile.  “And you’ll never know, Steven, you’ll never know. It’s definitely Secret Girls’ Business.”  She released the rope holding our arms behind our heads and we let them down with groans of relief, only to have the connecting chains again locked to our collars.

“How much longer?” pleaded Leila.

“Not my decision, sweetcakes,” Trish told her as she unlocked the chain through the eyebolt.  “Now back on the floor.  You can go to bed and enjoy each other’s company for the night in the honeymoon suite.”  She threaded the chain through an eyebolt at floor level and locked us together again. We could sit, but not stand together, although one might manage it in a stooped position.

“Be good, children, and if you can’t be good don’t let Monica find out.  Night night.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” I called as Trish and the video trolley disappeared and the door clanged shut.  “Well, here we are Leila.  Alone in bed at last.  I thought that dreadful woman would never leave.”  Leila giggled.

“I hope you’re planning on taking advantage of a helpless female, sir.  I’m totally at your mercy, chained and unable to resist.”

“It must be my lucky night.  Thanks Monica.”

*   *   *

We squirmed about on the futon, first endeavouring to make it a bit more comfortable by rolling one end over to form a pillow.  Then Leila wanted me to investigate her chastity belt further with my fingers.  It was up close and personal time, since my fingers were only just below my chin.  We crawled over each other in the confused darkness, getting our collar chains all tangled up before ending up in a strained sort of sixty-nine position.  A close inspection of the acrylic shield over Leila’s crotch proved it to be very snug indeed.  I could of course see nothing, but my fingers told me it was perhaps a centimetre thick stretching from the belt at her waist and curving down between her legs, finishing close to her butt hole, being held there by the chains at the rear.  There was a thin slit in the base of the front, presumably as an aid in peeing, but it was not wide enough to get a finger through to push Leila’s buttons the whole way.  We tried a lot of contortions but with my limited reach I could barely get my fingers under the curved edge.  Perhaps with free hands I might have managed it, but not that night.  Leila was just going to have to suffer.

We ended up snuggling up like spoons in the darkness and eventually fell asleep, although the position was hardly comfortable.  Neither of us slept well, partly because of our bonds, the thin futon, the presence of the other, and the air conditioning that seemed to be warming us up.  There was also the minor issue of our bionic attachments and the frustration they engendered, admittedly more so with Leila. 

Many hours passed.  We dozed fitfully but had no way of knowing what the time was. It was confusing in the darkness, with no idea if the sun was up or still to make an appearance.  We began to talk – as one does in such circumstances.  I asked Leila how she had come to work at Bilboes.

“I was on drugs,” said the voice softly in the darkness.

“You’re kidding!”

“No.  I was doing tricks down on the Gold Coast.  That was two years ago.  On my own, no idea what was going on or where I was going, except that everything seemed to lead downhill, just trying to make a buck for the habit.”

“What about your folks?”

“I’d run away from them.  They tried to get me to come home, but I just ran away again, after stealing as much as I could.”

“I’m gob smacked!”


“Because you seem so… I don’t know… nice, cheerful, talented, pretty… normal… together…”

“Monica found me.  She sorted out my habit, albeit with a rather terrible cold turkey when she had me chained up in a cellar for a week.  She got me a job as a photographer’s assistant, but I’d had a sniff of this lifestyle by then, and I went to work for her.  This was before she’d bought Bilboes.  When she moved here I wanted to come too, but it was a while before the place was ready, by which time Trish and Mary were here as well.  Emma, Jill and I came along as the second influx, you might say.”

“So Monica saved you?”

There was a pause. “Monica’s a complicated person, Steven.  Just when you think you’ve got her sussed she’ll surprise you.”

“Tell me about it,” I said ruefully.

“Don’t ever take her for granted.”

“Of course not.”

“No, I don’t mean at this level.  I mean on a deeper emotional level – she and you.  You’re a good pairing.”

I was starting to get uncomfortable now.  I didn’t know where this was going and like any guy I didn’t really want to know.

“She fancies you, but she’ll never admit it.  You have as many good ideas as she does, which excites and scares her at the same time.”

“Thank you Miss Psychiatrist.”

“Seriously.  Mind you most of us think you’re… all right, you know?   It’s just that some of us are better at displaying it than others.”  I didn’t think I wanted to go here, either.

“Monica displays herself as wanting to be in charge,” I suggested.

“Yes.  She and Mary are the true Dommes here, in that they really hate not being in control.  They hate being Submissives.  Trish is a bit of a Switch – she can handle it when the time is right and it suits her.  I think she looks on it as a bit of a change.”

“Really?”  This was getting more interesting.  “What about Jillian?”

“Jill is sort of like Trish – Switch but more inclined on the Sub side, except when she comes up against a true Subbie, like Emma.  Then Jill can be quite demanding.  We’re all different, you see.  People are people – you can’t put them in isolated pigeon holes.  They usually want to have a foot through some other door, testing the water, if that isn’t some sort of mixed up cliché.” 

“And what about Leila?  Where does she fit in?”  There was a pause.

“Leila’s a real oddball.  She likes vanilla stuff – real mushy romantic stuff.  But she also gets turned on by B & D.  I like the role playing.  Trish, for example, likes a lot of the technical stuff, the devices, the ropes, the tying.  Mary likes the power and control.  I like having stuff done to me, but I like helping the others as well.  A bit of everything, that’s me.”

“And the drugs?”

“Another life.”

*   *   *

We talked about all manner of things from that point on.  I learned a lot about the girls and the establishment that I had never appreciated before then.  There is nothing like being chained to a girl in a cell to create a level playing field for information exchange. I was only sorry that it was dark, for in truth Leila was very easy on the eye and I am never one to pass an opportunity for a quiet perv.  We even did some more pashing and a bit of groping, but it was all a bit futile really, other than to get Leila hot and bothered again.

The time continued to pass, and eventually Leila complained that it was past her breakfast time.  I agreed.

“You know,” I said, “I don’t know how to say this, but something’s not right here.”

“How do you mean?”

“Whatever else we do at Bilboes, we feed our prisoners, especially our own people.  It must be after breakfast by now. Somebody should have been around.” 

Leila was silent, and at that point the idea that we could not shake free was sown in our heads.  The hours trickled by but nobody came for us.  We were beginning to get worried, for this was most unlike the girls.  Not even Monica would do this.  We floated ideas to the effect that there had been a communication glitch, and that each thought the other had fed us, but that never happened.  The system was too good for that.  Maybe there had been an emergency and someone had been taken ill and had gone to hospital? Had there been some other sort of emergency?  A fire?  An alien invasion?  What the hell had happened?

After all these ideas had been vented we began to get more and more edgy, verging on panic.  We tried shouting, but the cells were effectively soundproofed, as we knew too well.  The chain was not long enough for us to reach the door, nor was there any hope of breaking it or unscrewing the eyebolt.  Even if we did get that far the door was solid steel and locked from the outside.

“I’m worried,” I confessed.  “Seriously.”

“I’m scared,” said Leila.  “Really scared.”

We leant each other moral support as best we could, but as time ticked by, hour after hour, our depression and fear grew at the thought of somehow being left chained up to starve.

“We can last for a long time,” I told her.  We have water – if you don’t mind drinking from the toilet bowl.”

This was after we had done the experiment with the loo  – each of us having to pee through the confining holes in our respective acrylic sheaths.  It was messy, I have to say, and we cleaned up each other as best we could.  The bowl was set into the wall, with the flush button the only accessible part, but as I had suggested, we had a plentiful water supply unless somebody turned off the mains.

The replenishment of our fluid intake was of little reassurance to us, and for a long time we lay in silence, cuddled up to each other like a couple of cats.  I reckoned it was now nearly night time, which would mean we had been without food for nearly twenty four hours.  The hunger, darkness and lack of time measurement were making us disoriented, and I thought I was mistaken when I finally heard noises outside and the click of the key in the door.  It swung open and a figure was silhouetted there with the corridor light behind her.  I had somehow expected Monica, but this was not her. 

Her hair was longer than Monica’s – jet black and hanging straight to below her shoulders.  I took in the red calf length boots, the red leather skirt and tight red silk blouse.  Then the figure turned on the light in the cell and my blood turned to water at the sight of Portia Tang.

*   *   *

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