Monica's Revenge: 7. The Price of Submission (Trish’s Story)

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 Seven: The Price of Submission (Trish’s Story)

When Megan had visited again with the intention of spending a night with us, the first shift had fallen to me.  Monica had stressed the need to cultivate Megan’s favour and to ensure she was pushed to her limits but no further.  Monica wanted her to leave exhausted, exhilarated and thirsting for more.  Of course, that was the intended outcome for most of our clients, but never before had we been so close to the breadline and dependent on every willing victim we could lure through the doors.

It was nearly midnight when I returned to the dungeon from a spell of keeping watch on Megan through the closed circuit tv.  I was wearing one of my favourite working outfits – the white leather skirt, halter top with the nipple cut outs, and knee-length boots.  It was all very comfortable in the air-conditioned basement of Bilboes.  Not so sticky that one got too much of a sweat when wielding a whip. 

By contrast, the victim had been left naked, impaled on two dildos on the plank.  I wanted her worked up and well awake.  The small hours during the night are the times when it is sometimes hard to keep a prisoner awake, much less focussed.  They get tired and tetchy and have been known to fall asleep in the darnedest of positions.  I’ve done it myself, for that matter.  But cold water, ice cubes, stimulation and a good old-fashioned thrashing can be remarkably effective at sustaining a prisoner’s interest.

Megan’s position on the plank was a variation on a theme.  Her ankles were held apart by a spreader bar that allowed the balls of her feet to just touch the floor.  Standing upright, Megan had just enough clearance between her crotch and the top edge of the plank for one to slide a finger in, as I had personally ascertained.  The front and rear dildos were fastened in small recesses in the plank and were embedded sufficiently that there was no way Megan could climb off them with her legs spread the way they were.  In that position alone she was comfortable and secure. 

But being on the plank was not about being comfortable.  Being on the plank was all about discomfort, about praying for one’s Mistress to release one.  That said, and contrary to popular fiction, the concept of riding a severe plank for a day at a time was not a realistic possibility without serious damage to the victim.  Depending on the plank dimensions (and Bilboes had three different ones, graded three to one in order of severity and discomfort) and the position of the victim, a couple of hours was normally the maximum we would consider appropriate.  On the Number One plank, in a severe position, half an hour would have most girls in a good degree of agony and walking bow legged for an hour afterwards.  Believe me, I’ve been there, done that.  It was days before I could have sex and survive it with a smile on my face.

But in Megan’s case, I had made alternative arrangements, leaving her with room to move and a choice as to which part of her anatomy she wished to bear the brunt of her punishment.  In this instance, while standing upright she was in no particular discomfort.  The problem was that she couldn’t stand upright, since her wrists were separated by a spreader bar which passed underneath the plank itself, which was of course supported at each end by a solid timber column.  The depth of the plank beneath which the wrist spreader ran meant that with the bar horizontal, Megan was obliged to bend forward with her outstretched arms, such that her breasts were nearly level with the top of the plank.  This was a hard position to maintain, because it set up a strain on the back.  Her alternative was to lean forward and lie along the plank, or to drop one arm and raise the other, so that the spreader bar was vertical.  This enabled her to stand up relatively straight.

Both these positions were uncomfortable, the first because it placed a lot of weight on the pussy, and the second because it placed an uneven strain on the arms and body.  However given ordinary circumstances, the former was probably preferable, and so I thought I would make a few additions to the plank and its occupant. 

The first addition was a half-meter long board rigidly fixed at right angles to the top of the plank, so that any girl lying along it would find her boobs resting on this board.  To make sure of this, I drilled two holes in it, one near each end, through which I ran two weighted strings, each of which was tied to a Megan nipple.  Lying down on the job allowed the two lead weights to just rest on the floor. The disadvantage of this position was that I had driven a couple of dozen nails upwards through the plank in the area surrounding each hole.  They protruded about a centimetre, and were reasonably close together, but would still become very uncomfortable in a short time.  It was a variation on the old bed of nails trick, but with a rather more tender part of the female anatomy.  Having the small lead weights hanging from one’s nips would have been bad enough, but the only relief from the weights was to rest one’s tits on these pointy pieces of steel. 

In short, it was Hobson’s choice, and Megan appeared most unhappy about the whole thing. It seemed she just couldn’t get comfortable, didn’t know where to put her arms, couldn’t get her boobs comfy, and the invaders in her arse and pussy were driving her to distraction, especially when I upped the vibrations.  Of course she couldn’t exactly express any of this since I had installed the inflatable gag in her mouth, held there by a complex web of straps about her head, with the squeeze bag removed and the tube tied in a knot away from loose hands.  She had been there an hour when I returned to check her out in person.

I slipped into the room quietly, unseen because Megan was facing away from the door.  She was just peaking as I entered, having given in to the need to rest her weight on the nail support, and was now rocking back and forth on the two phalluses embedded inside her.  With the movement, her weight bore down on her pussy and her breasts, and she was making soft moaning noises, though whether from pain or pleasure was hard to say. That was the point – the mixture of each that left one oscillating from one extreme to the other.

But I recognised the signs of the first warm rush coming up from her nether regions as the rocking began to speed up and her hands began to flutter, the arms in the spreader bar jerking about as though seeking something solid to grab for support.  Her arms began to reflexively bang and rattle the bar against the underside of the plank.  Any pain in her boobs was clearly being forgotten as Megan’s breathing began to get faster and more ragged while she strove to keep up her air intake around the rubber gag filling her mouth.  As she moved backward and forward in a more pronounced fashion I caught glimpses of the buzzing rubber shaft sliding in and out of her butt hole.  Then the climax caught her and she abruptly stiffened then tried to buck herself off the plank, driving the devices in and out with a frantic burst of energy, heedless of the way her breasts were pressed into the nails of the cross-plank.  Her breathing became part of the grunting noise that was coming from her nose, finally upping pitch into a muffled scream, before dying away into a long groan of pleasure that in turn merged into ragged panting moans.

I allowed her to stay there for several minutes, listening to her breathing subside in intensity, and imagining how the pain would now be returning as her blood supply slowed and returned to other parts of the body not immediately concerned with sexual fulfilment.  She grunted a couple of times to herself, obviously coming back to the realities of her predicament.  That was when I let fly across her backside with the thin, whippy cane I had brought with me. 

It was just one stroke, but well-aimed and taking Megan totally by surprise. She screamed into the rubber gag and jerked upright, pulling her breasts clear of the supports, and obviously taking the load of the weights on to her nipples again, not to mention sitting up squarely on the two devices inside her.  All in all it was about as good an effect as I could possibly have hoped for and I was well pleased.

Megan looked at me over her shoulder, tears now running down her face, her cheeks and jaw distended by the inflated bladder in her mouth. 

“Urrrmph! Urrmphh! Mpphrph!” she moaned.  Her breasts were covered in deep pointed indentations from the nails, but there was no blood.  I was about to let go another flick at her when I heard the unmistakeable humming of “Jingle Bells”, our safeword.

The safeword is not something any of our clients use lightly.  They know the consequences if it is just a rope that is a bit tight.  It had better be serious or else.  Megan began to make weird choking noises and I dropped the cane to undo the relief valve in the gag tube.  The air rushed out with a faint woosh while I quickly unbuckled the straps behind her head and under her chin.  I pulled the harness and bladder free and as she gasped for breath I unclipped her wrist and ankle cuffs from the spreader bars.  It only took less than perhaps twenty seconds, and I had a momentary heart flutter as Megan gripped the plank and gasped for air, unable to say anything as I lowered one end of the plank sufficiently for her to ease herself off the twin prongs impaling her, then undid the slip knots of twine from her distended nipples.

She climbed off the plank with a groan and seemed to stagger a little toward the wall, leaning against the big steel cupboard in which we kept the dungeon arsenal of restraint gear.  I caught up with her, holding her by the shoulders as she lowered her head.  There was more gasping and a kind of retching.  I have to say that I was very concerned, and the thought that I had somehow upset our only customer made me almost sick myself.  How was I going to tell Monica?  I would have to do some damage control, and fast.

“Megan?  Megan, can you talk?  What can I do?”

I never saw the elbow coming.  It never even occurred to me.  All our vague reservations about Megan had long been forgotten in the excitement of getting on the job again. Now Megan clasped her hands together and swung an elbow into my stomach that dropped me to the floor, winded.  It was totally unexpected and I lay there just trying to get my breath back, gasping desperately, as one does.  I was barely aware of the cupboard door opening beside me and my wrists being pulled behind me.  There followed the sharp clicking of plastic cable ties as a couple were zipped tight around my crossed wrists.  I was still on my stomach panting when my ankles received the same treatment.

By contrast, Megan was now in full control of herself, not to mention me.  I had barely got my breathing halfway normal when she squatted over me and pulled my head back by the hair.

“Gg-aaarh!” I said, just before the ball gag was worked in behind my teeth.  Then the grip on my hair ceased and the strap was pulled tight and buckled behind my head, trapping my hair. 

“I hope you noticed I chose a white ball,” Megan said cheerfully.  “Have to coordinate with that nice outfit of yours.  Anyway, be good – I have to go meet a friend. “

What the hell was going on here?

“Uurmmph! Frrkfphsp!” I demanded, totally unreasonably. 

“It doesn’t concern you,” said Megan, squatting down and lifting my head briefly with a hand cupped under my chin.  “Get used to a new way of life now.  From here on we’re giving the orders.” 

We?  What was she on about?  She stood up.

“I must go and get dressed – get into the mood.  This is so exciting!”  Megan turned to go, then bent down and whispered to me:  “And thanks for the session on the plank.  You’re very good.  That was the most demanding and exciting thing I’ve had for quite a while.  Remind me to do the same thing for you some time – I’m sure there’ll be lots of opportunities.”

Then she was gone, and I was left lying on my stomach bound painfully with those horrid plastic ties.  My mind was whirling.  I could not work out what was happening.  Something was afoot - something which had an ominous feel about it.  I rested my cheek against the cold concrete and chewed on the rubber ball as I tried to get comfortable.  I had no illusions that I could get free.  The only way to escape from the thick ties we used was to cut them, and I knew there was nothing in the vicinity with which to do this.  Megan was smart, too.  In crossing my wrists and securing them with two criss-crossing ties she had left me very little movement, and what I little I did have was painful because of the ties cutting into my flesh.  To all intents and purposes my arms were useless, and the fact that she had bound my ankles crossed in the same manner meant I was forced to keep my knees bent back towards my backside in order to keep my ankles at right angles.  If she had then tied my ankles to a belt, or even to my wrists, it might have even been more comfortable, but as it was my legs continually tried to straighten, with the inevitable pain from the ankle ties.  At least my boots took up some of the tension, I thought, latching on to the only optimistic aspect I could find.

I must have dozed.  I said before that I could manage it in bizarre situations.  Add another one to your list, Trish.  I was woken by a nudge in the ribs from a booted foot.  It was Megan again, now wearing a black leather catsuit with the zip open to the waist and her hair pulled back into a ponytail. It was now obvious to me – as we had suspected – that Megan was no stranger to the world of B & D, nor was she simply a curious subbie.  No, she was all Domme, and although she looked all business, the woman next to her looked twice as scary, I thought, as I turned my head and gazed up at the figure in a similar catsuit, but this one made of clinging red latex.  I had a nasty feeling I already knew this person with the long black hair and the flawless Asian complexion.

“Trish, I’d like you to meet Portia.  Portia, this rather helpless individual is Trish.”

“Pleased to meet you, Trish,” the woman purred, squatting on high heels alongside me and lifting my gagged face so that I could meet her black eyes.  She flicked her hair back over her shoulder and studied me with an expression I could only put down to disdain.  “This is one of the dominant ones?” she asked Megan.

“Yes. The other is Mary, whom we’ll meet shortly.  I think we’ll have a lot of fun with both.  I’m sure they’ll make excellent subs.  It will take time, and they’ll hate it, but we’ll win in the end.”

Subs!  I squirmed and made muffled noises of protest, which drew sniggers from my captors.

“Better get used to it, dear,” said Portia, her voice like honey, but chilling at the same time.  “No more whip wielding for you. Welcome to the toy box, where you simply get played with.”  There was a snip and my ankles came free as the plastic tie was cut.  I straightened my legs with relief, then was hauled to my feet with one woman dragging me up by each arm.  They hustled me into the hallway and down the corridor to the niches under the stairs.  A minute later I was jammed against the back wall of Number Three, my boobs pressing against the grille as it was locked closed.  My wrists had been freed from the plastic tie, but only because my captors couldn’t quite get the gate shut with my hands behind my back. That’s how much room there was for me.  Instead, more plastic ties appeared, this time securing my wrists to the bars down near my thighs, and doing the same for my ankles, after they had been parted as much as the niche permitted.  Portia’s final act was to tease my nipples erect where they protruded through the cut-outs in my halter top, between the vertical bars, and release a plastic clothes peg on to each nub.  It was not the worst torture they had experienced, but I had no doubt that after an hour or two they would make their presence felt.

*  *   * 

Over the next hour I saw my friends appear one by one as Portia and Megan methodically captured the occupants of Bilboes.  Of course their task was made so much easier by the fact that Leila and Steven were already chained up in the holding cell, coincidental victims of Monica’s reprisal for the Southbank exhibition.

Monica had been first – or so I worked out.  There had been the sounds of people descending the stairs over my head, but I could not see what was happening.  From the subsequent imprisonment alongside me of Jill, Mary and Emma, the first noises had to be Monica being subdued and taken down the corridor to a fate I dared not think about.  Portia seemed every bit as devious and ruthless as the perception I had drawn from the girls’ descriptions of the events in Macau.  I was now seeing the planned retribution being worked on us one by one.

Jillian was the first, dragged in semi-conscious to be brought round on the cold concrete floor, at which point she was bound, wrists around bent legs, and thrust into the smallest niche, where Portia took great delight in screwing some wicked-looking nipple vices in place.  Jill’s muffled cries echoed against the walls but I knew there would be no mercy coming from Mistress Portia, not after what the Bilboes team had done to her.  Portia was clearly in her element and loving every minute of what was obviously a carefully planned operation of revenge.

Mary followed Jillian, fighting like a cat as whatever means they had used to overcome her had not fully taken effect.  They had to use a large stocky man to help control her as she was bolted to the wall in the niche next to me.  There would be no escape for Mary, not with at least half a dozen steel U-bolts anchoring her rigidly and uncomfortably against the blockwork. 

Emma was the last captive, cuffed wrists to ankles and bound at the knees, stuffed into the smaller niche on my left.  The place now fell quiet, save for the stifled moans of Jillian who was obviously suffering badly from the vices imprisoning her nipples. Then the lights went out.

*   *   * 

It was probably the longest night of my life.  Notwithstanding that I was tired and uncomfortable, there was the glaring fact that I could not escape – the takeover of Bilboes by the Red Devil Portia and here offsider Megan, and the uncertain fate that now lay before us.  Those were the thoughts that ran through my mind as I stood in the darkness, in my cramped niche.  Trapped as I was by the bars of the grille I was supported to some extent, and as my head lolled against the bars I must have dozed again.  At intermittent stages I awoke, my knees and ankles aching from the continued strain of being unable to move, yet still having to support most of my weight.  I slipped downwards a little until my knees were jammed against the grille. 

That position was more painful but eventually I drifted off again, only to be woken yet again by the insistent ache in my nipples where the clothes pegs still held fast.  I tried moving from side to side to try to get the pegs to flip off, and eventually succeeded, but not without a bit of pain.  It was evidently nothing compared to what poor Jill was undergoing, however, if the muted moans of pain were anything to go by, interspersed with sniffles and sobs that she could not stifle.

Sometime later, after a series of half-remembered dreams that somehow seemed to merge with reality, the lights came on and our captors reappeared.  I reckoned in hindsight it must have been around midday.  But it was only another sneering inspection,  a checking of bonds, locks and chains, then we were left to our own imaginations again, envisaging the worst that could happen to us.  Of course, Portia found the clothes pegs on the floor and picked them up, eyeing me calculatingly but saying nothing. She didn’t have to, in this instance.  Instead she disappeared in the direction of our storeroom and returned with what we called the ‘tubes’.  I groaned inwardly.  Short of the type of vice Jillian was experiencing, which had the capacity to crush a nipple if over-tightened, these were the next worst item in our nipple arsenal.

A tube was just that – a clear plastic tube that was relatively soft at one end , which was open, thickening and becoming stiffer at the opposite end, inside which was a plunger which could be withdrawn up the tube by turning a knob on top.  The tube was about the length and thickness of a person’s finger, and Portia knew exactly what to do with it as she first kneaded my right nipple into erectness, then twisted the tube so that the open end enveloped the fleshy nub totally, making a snug fit, with the tip of the nipple just touching the plunger inside.  It was then a simple matter to simply begin screwing the knob on the end.  As the plunger withdrew, a vacuum was created, drawing a little more of the nipple into the tube, then, when this limit had been reached, the flexible open end began to contract around the flesh like a mouth, as though to bite it off.

It was a long time since I had experienced the tubes, but I had not forgotten the pain they caused.  At first it was a soft sucking sensation, not overly unpleasant.  Then there was a pressure which slowly turned to pain. Portia held my gaze as she steadily turned the knob.  My breathing began to come faster, then, with the first real stab of pain I was unable to hold back a faint groan.  Portia smiled and kept on twisting the knob.  The pain abruptly became excruciating and I was whimpering into my gag as the plastic opening contracted, as though to sever the sensitive piece of flesh from my breast.  My hands were clenching by now as I tried to squirm away, but of course I could barely move.  I shook my head the little I was able and finally could not hold back a scream.  Portia gave me a final turn for luck then a quick tug, which saw the tears well out down my cheeks as the agony increased beyond what I thought I could bear.

But I knew I was going to have to endure twice as much, as the other nipple received the same deliberate treatment, with the same merciless and amused expression on the face of my tormentor.  By the time she had finished with that my eyes were screwed shut and I was trembling with the pain and my inability to express my despair or even to move.  I shook against the bars and screamed into the rubber ball, biting down and sniffling, heedless of the tears and drool that ran down the front of my white leather halter top, and wondering in a fleeting moment of clarity why I had ever had those cut-outs made.

The agony eventually subsided slightly to merely a fierce piercing pain, and then to a simple throbbing ache.  All of these were quite enough to stop me falling asleep again.  I had learned the hard way that Portia was not one to be trifled with, and seemed not to have a merciful bone in her body.

Several more hours  passed, and by this time – aside from the pain in my nips -  I was busting for a pee and mightily hungry into the bargain.  No doubt the others were, also, and they were probably in more stringent positions than I was, but it was many more hours before the next visit.  Only then was the door to Steven and Leila’s cell opened, and I heard the shocked reactions from inside.  Minutes later Steven was dragged off down the corridor, possibly into the Post Room, I guessed, trying to judge from the sounds.  Some time later Megan returned for Leila, to lead her off to another form of incarceration.  Again there was a long period of quiet, during which I strained to hear any noises from further down the corridor.  I knew Megan and Portia were still downstairs, for nobody had gone back up.  It could only mean they were giving Steven and Monica a working over.

My suppositions were proved correct when Monica and Steven were returned to the holding cell.  They looked much the worse for wear, with both sporting plasters over their nipples.  What had these people done to them?  Portia made the prisoners stop in front of us and turn around for our benefit.  Mon and Steven were both silenced with inflatable gags, held in place with our most complicated and restrictive head harnesses.  Their wrists were locked to waist chains and their bodies were covered by a pattern of whip or cane marks.  A chorus of gagged shock and protest came from the four of us in our niches at the awful sight, before the pair were locked in the holding cell.

After that we were dealt with in quick succession, with first Emma and then Jillian being removed from their niches and hustled down the corridor to what sounded like the sluice room.  Poor Jill could hardly walk, so tightly had she been tied, and I glimpsed the awful vices dangling from her nipples as Portia beat her with a flogger, heedless of her muffled cries of distress as she tried to ease the weight of the swinging clamps.

Then it was Mary’s turn.  It was easy to resecure a prisoner when they have U-bolts fastening their body to the wall at ankles, wrists, waist and neck.  Only one bolt is needed, and the victim has no choice but to cooperate for they have no way to escape.  I could not see exactly what was happening, because of the intervening wall, but it did not take long to remove Mary - now blindfolded with a scarf and with wrists handcuffed behind her back - and guide her a few paces down the corridor to the second holding cell, beside the one now occupied by Monica and Steven.  Mary looked unsteady on her feet, and clearly the enforced rigidity of her restraint had taken its toll.

When their attention turned to me, I saw no pointing resisting.  These two were too canny to let me get away with anything in any case, making me shuffle out as the grille was opened, then similarly blindfolding me and handcuffing my wrists behind my back before freeing my ankles.  I, too, was led down the corridor, into the same cell as Mary, where my ankles were chained together and I was left sitting on the iron-framed bed alongside Mary.  The door closed and we were left alone to free ourselves as best we could of our restraints. 

With some difficulty we prised off each other’s blindfolds and I unbuckled her gag, the ball making a soft plop as it was puled out from behind Mary’s teeth.  We had been gagged for many hours and my jaw ached from the strain.  I proffered my neck for her to return the favour, but she shook her head.

“In a minute,” she said, working her jaw and hopping the two steps to the toilet – the only other item of furniture in the room.  I sympathised with her need and was right behind her, grunting and whining in complaint as my own hops made my breasts bounce and the tubes reactivate the painfully gripped nipples.  Only when I had finished and hopped back to the bed did Mary consent to help.

“I’m going to leave the gag in until I’ve removed those tubes,” she explained ever so logically and considerately.  “It’s for your own good and my ears.”

She was right, of course.  The tubes had a fine thread which required a lot of turning, and with Mary having to do this while leaning forward with her hands cuffed behind her back, it took a while, and was not a smooth operation.  As the blood returned so too did the piercing pain and I whimpered and snuffled into my gag, screwing up my eyes and chewing on the ball at the agony of release.  At last one tube dropped to the floor, then the other.  Tears were streaming down my cheeks when Mary finally pulled the ball from where it had been wedged solidly.  I laid my head on Mary’s shoulder and cried some more, hating myself for being so pathetic.  Mary made consoling noises and pointed out something which I had missed – a tray of food under the bed. 

She sat on the floor and dragged it out and we feasted awkwardly on salad rolls and some fruit, holding each item behind our backs for the other to eat.  It was not graceful, but we didn’t care.

We talked desultorily, well aware that we might be listened to and watched.  We described how we were each captured, and speculated on where it was all going, but of course it led us nowhere.

“Damned if they’re going to make a subbie out of me,” Mary declared under her breath.

“Ssshhh,” I whispered.  “That will only make them more determined.”

“Bollocks to them,”  Mary said.

*   *   *

Part 2

We ended up sharing the narrow bed with its cheap foam mattress, lying like spoons nestled together.  In this position we whispered to each other in the hope that we might not be heard, although we knew from experience that the microphones in the cctv cameras were pretty good, particularly in a sound-proofed cell.  This was the cell in which we kept the longer term prisoners – those whom might have been kidnapped by a political organisation and held for ransom, for example.  Sometimes there was little ‘persuasion’ involved in the role play, sometimes a considerable amount.  Either way, the prisoners would get to spend several disorienting days in this cell.

That was how the evil twins found us when they returned shortly after we had eaten.

“Getting comfortable or is it something more than that?” Portia asked archly.  “I hope those hands weren’t going anywhere they shouldn’t,” she said to Mary, who had had her back nestled against my front.

“Sod off,” said Mary, who, despite her ex-newsreader profile could be surprisingly earthy when she put her mind to it.  Portia shook her head slowly.

“Tsk, tsk.  Not at all polite and obviously with the intention of being uncooperative.  Wouldn’t you say, Megan?”

“Absolutely,” came the reply.  “Can’t have that.  I think they should be made a little less comfortable for the night.”

Gee, thanks Mary,  I thought.  I was getting quite used to the bed after twelve hours standing in the niche.  I rolled my eyes and sighed, which went down just about as well as Mary’s comment.  At a nod from Portia, Megan undid the remaining buttons on Mary’s satin nightgown and let it drop to the floor.  I figured naked was to be the dress of the day from here on, and I was not wrong.  Megan unlocked our ankle chains and my white boots were next to go, followed by my leather skirt and the halter top.  Megan managed to give my tits a good feel in the process, pinching my still tender nipples which brought a gasp of pain from my lips.

“On the floor, on your knees – both of you!” snapped Portia. 

It was like being back in school, with my worst school teacher Mrs Compton.  Except that to disobey now meant a lot worst punishment than detention. We did as we were told, wondering what was in store for us.  We weren’t slow in finding out as we were made to bend forward and got a shot of cold lubricant up out bums.  I was liking this less and less, with my appreciation reaching rock bottom – if you’ll pardon the pun – when Megan removed a device from the small carry bag she had brought with her.  It was not from the Bilboes store, and I could only surmise it must have come from Megan’s other life, whatever that was.  The object was a short piece of metal tube, about a foot long, with a butt plug mounted at right angles at each end, so that the thing formed the letter U.  Trailing out from a hole in the middle of the pipe was a rubber tube and a squeeze bag.  Damn – an inflatable – how I hated them!

Mary was made to stay kneeling while one plug was worked into her arse, at which point she was forced to sit on the floor cross legged, where her ankles were taped securely together with silver duct tape.  I was next, of course, and my penetration wasn’t nearly so easy.  Mary had not uttered a sound as the device was pushed home.  I, on the other hand, was obliged to lower myself on to this prong of my own volition, with my hands still cuffed behind me.

It was… what? Awkward?  Painful?  Humiliating?  More like (d): all of the above.  I grunted with the pain as I was forced to let my weight drive the thing inside me in a hurry, sitting down hard on it. 

“Aaarggh!” I exclaimed, unable to help myself, sitting there gasping as my sphincter muscles adjusted to the big invader.  It was not as big as some I had experienced, but I knew that was all going to change.  It was cramped and awkward sitting there with our hands behind our backs while Megan taped my crossed ankles so that I could barely move my legs. 

The conflict with our hands was soon solved, as the connections between our wrists were unlocked and my left wrist was locked to Mary’s right while the other two came in for the tape treatment.  I was made to put my right arm down with my palm against that of Mary’s left hand.  The two were taped together with multiple turns of tape that extended nearly up to our elbows.  Then the same was repeated for the other arms.  Unable to move our fingers or thumbs, the only movement we had was the ability to raise our arms to shoulder height, straight out.  We could not move them forward or back. All in all it looked like being a pretty helpless position.

But of course our captors were not yet finished.  Evidently they bought tape in bulk at the local hardware store, for a second roll appeared when the first ran out.  Our heads were positioned back to back and the tape began to wrap around them, sealing our mouths and then covering our eyes.  The envelopment was finished with a few turns under the chin.  It was going to be awful getting the stuff off.  At least we at Bilboes always had the decency to use a rubber swim cap.  That was when I recalled the story of how Madam Wong had been left with multiple layers of tape over her carefully cut hair.  Oh dear, I thought, now in my own world of darkness under the layers of tape.  What goes around, comes around.  In this case around my head.

The obvious effect of the tape was that we could barely move our heads, other than from side to side.  So this was what being a Siamese twin was like.  I sensed Portia squat down beside us with a faint squeak of latex. 

“I hope you two will be comfortable for the night,” she whispered close to my ear.  “Better get used to people doing things to you – it’s part of your new job description.”  That ominous statement was followed by a sudden expansion of the plug in my rectum as Portia began to squeeze the pump.  Mary and I began to complain about the same time, making helpless mmphs behind the gag.  Then we tried to squirm, but found we could barely move other than to flap our arms, and this was hard to coordinate.  I tried to push myself upwards, off the plug growing larger inside me, but that was a wasted effort.

“Nnnn!  Nnnn!” I moaned, fearing I was going to sustain a serious injury, before the pumping finally stopped.  I groaned again.

“Nonsense!” said Portia.  “You’d be surprised how the human body can accommodate intrusions.  You could manage more than that if necessary.”  I whined in fear that she might inflate the things some more.  “You’ll be there for a long time.  You’ll get used to it enough to sleep.  Tomorrow your friend Warren is coming to play with you –and his friend Roger.  That’s something to look forward to, isn’t it.” 

Warren!  Shit!  The last time I had had anything to do with him was when Monica had been in Hong Kong.  I had been on the end of a right royal screwing, which wasn’t so bad in itself, except that he had left me bound and almost helpless, having to go through all manner of contortions to get free.  He had also left Mary in a very painful position suspended in a wardrobe, until I had finally managed to free her as well.  Oh yes, Warren knew his stuff, and if we were to be the new subs of the establishment, we would be in for a very inventive and no doubt painful time. I also had the feeling that Mary had a score to settle with him for the wardrobe business.  Maybe she had at least expected sex at the time, as some form of compensation.  At least I had got that much, and it had been good as far as it went, except that it had then gone a lot further.  As for Roger, I had met him briefly, had taken a dislike to him at once, and I wondered what predilections he had in the kink department.

My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden buzzing in my arse.  Oh ye gods, the damned thing was now vibrating.  Not content with making me feel like I had to go for a crap, it was now going to vibrate the hell out of me.

“Sleep tight,” said Megan to the sound of the cell door slamming and locking.

*   *   *

Maybe the night was marginally less bad than that previously spent standing up jammed in the niche.  I don’t know for sure.  Degrees of discomfort become academic after a certain point when you can’t sleep and every attempted move meets with frustration.  In this instance, not only was I meeting resistance to my movements, but every time Mary tried to move I was jolted from a doze into wakefulness. 

It took me a long time to get into that state of being barely awake in the first place.  The dreadful vibrator kept up for maybe three hours, nearly driving me crazy.  The vibrations I can stand or even the discomforting fullness of the expanded plug, but the two combined just make me want to squirm and react in ways I can’t describe properly.  The inability to do anything in response leads to an awful frustration and helplessness.  The fact that Mary and I were anchored at bum and head and arms just made this frustration all the more… frustrating, I guess.  I wanted to scream, and indeed did just that – several times, for all the good it did beneath the turns of tape stuck over my mouth.  All it did was make Mary grumpier and prompt a struggle between us that only made the vibrating bladder in my backside even more uncomfortable.  It was a vicious circle.

Eventually the vibrations subsided as the batteries died.  I know I slept at that point, heedless of the expanded plug buried in my rectum.  I was dog tired from the pain and stress my body had endured during the day and half the previous night, not to mention the lack of sleep I had had previously.  I recognised the plan, of course. It was standard procedure to wear us down.  At least we were not hanging suspended by our thumbs or wrists.  There was a limit to what you could get away with under those circumstances, and stringing somebody up all night was a guaranteed way to have a serious injury on your hands.  I took some small comfort in hoping that our captors recognised this.

The night passed in a succession of half-remembered dreams, of sudden awakenings and momentary panics at not being able to move, to speak or see.  Mary jerked about a lot, although whether she was asleep or awake was hard to tell.  The wearing down treatment was exacerbated all the more by our inability to measure the passing of time, but eventually we were dragged up from our half-conscious depths by the opening of the cell door and a nudge in the ribs from a pointed shoe.

“Did we have a good night?” asked Portia with a sneer that she obviously couldn’t keep out of her voice.

“Phrrf urf!”  Mary snorted through her nose, but it was without any real heart.

“I will ignore that,” Portia said.  “Put the tray down, Megan.  You can undo the arms and relock the cuffs now, then leave them to it.”  There was the sound of high heels clicking away down the corridor and I felt the tape being slit along our arms then between our heads.  With our eyes, mouths and ankles still taped up it was impossible to do anything other than allow our wrists to be handcuffed behind our backs again.  Then Megan, too, was gone, and we were left still with the tape on our hands and fingers and faces to remove slowly and with great difficulty.  The first thing we did was to undo the valve to deflate the awful plugs inside us, then ease ourselves off the prongs.  It was far from easy, and I ended up on my side, mmphing into the tape.  Then we got to work removing the tape from each other’s hands, then each other’s ankles.  Only when we could sit on the bed could we really carefully remove the stuff from our eyes and mouth.  It was a long process, but we were so glad to be able to move our limbs again, not to mention being able to use the loo.  Having expanded things stuck up one’s rectum does not very nice things to one’s  bowel movements, take it from me.

Breakfast was scrambled eggs and weetbix (on separate plates).  Because of the mushy nature of the food (no doubt deliberately chosen for this reason), this time we could not feed each other. We were obliged to put the plates on the bed and kneel alongside it to eat like a couple of dogs, lapping the stuff into our mouths as best we could, and getting a fair proportion all over our faces.  We ended up licking each other’s face, which made us laugh, despite our predicament. 

Mary was back to her feisty best and was determined not to give in to them, despite looking weary from the enforced immobility for the best part of two nights and a day.  We sat and talked quietly for a bit, wondering what was happening to the others, of which we had heard no sound, not that one really could, given the solidity of the cell construction.

I reckoned it was late on Wednesday morning when the dynamic duo reappeared again.  We were again lying down, snuggled up to one another, seeking moral support and trying to catch some relatively unfettered sleep as the door opened.  Megan this time was in casual mode, in a tee shirt with cut-off jeans, while Portia wore a red lycra dress and her pointy-toed boots with the stiletto heels. 

“On your feet!” commanded Portia.  We obeyed, though hardly with alacrity.  We knew the rules of the game, and just how far we could go – mostly. 

This time it was a simple noose around each of our necks then we were towed down the corridor to the Post Room.  There was no explanation, no nothing.  Not, perhaps, that I really expected such, but Mary could not help herself.

“Where are the others?” 

Portia spun on one sharp heel.

“What did you say?”  she demanded.

“I asked what you had done to the others.  Simple question.”  Oh shit, Mary, I thought.  Please don’t go down this road.  This is not the time or place.

Portia snorted with a mixture of amazement and possibly disgust, then continued to drag us to the far wall of the Post Room, where we were forced on to our knees, facing each other.  They had the stuff all ready for us.  It was pretty simple this time.  Kneel down, a strap around both ankles, another around the thighs and ankles, and suddenly we weren’t going anywhere. 

I say it was simple, but there seemed to always be another dimension to Portia’s style, or so I was starting to discover.  This time it was the ropes from the ceiling again – the single pulley with the two ropes which were then tied to our handcuffs.  I just knew we were about to go up in the world.  Except that first we had to be silenced, evidently, and Mary and I were about to get to know each other again, with the double ball gag routine.  It looks very cute on a couple of innocent subs.  I was feeling decidedly uncute as Mary and I had ball gags with eyebolts in them strapped into our mouths before the two eyebolts were then padlocked together.  I was staring into Mary’s lovely grey eyes from a distance of two inches.  That was when our arms began to ascend, forcing our heads down.

The steel of the handcuffs cut into our wrists, and we both moaned in complaint.  Megan was doing the pulling, and she stopped just before I thought my wrist would break.  We knelt there, heads down and arses exposed, not looking forward to what was coming next.

“You – short hair – you spoke before,” said Portia.  “You asked a question without permission.  You obviously do not understand your role here yet.”  There was disdain dripping from her voice.  “Slaves do not ask questions without permission.  They do not speak without permission.  They will be punished for these transgressions, and that will begin now.”

There was a resounding crack and Mary squealed and jumped, jerking my head with her own, as the cane caught her tautened buttocks.  I could not see where the next lot of blows landed, but I could hear the fearsome swish of the cane and catch glimpses of it as it whizzed through the air.  Mary screwed up her face around the gag in her  mouth and squeezed her eyes closed as the strokes landed.  The rubber ball did not entirely silence the grunts and nasal pleadings as she jerked at the connection with my own gag.

Somewhere around ten strokes, Portia stopped.  Mary was trembling, her eyes closed and tears welling up from beneath the long lashes.  I sneaked a glance up at Portia.  Her breasts were rising and falling under the lycra, the nipples standing out.  Clearly she was turned on, a faint smile flickering on her lips as she caught my eye.  For a moment I feared I was to be the next victim, but she seemed to collect herself at that stage.

“Despite your total failure to understand your new place in the world, I am nevertheless prepared to answer your question.  Maybe it will help you understand the futility of your position.  Firstly, Monica… “  She paused, as though debating how to tell us.  Then the saccharin smile was back. “Monica is currently flapping about the backyard like a duck, no doubt getting all heated and frustrated in certain parts.  You really have to see it to believe it.  Steven is doing some manual labouring with a degree of internal persuasion being applied from time to time, while Emma and Leila are doing the housework under the same circumstances.  Shawnee – well, she is just getting underfoot for the moment, so she has been secured where she can do no harm.  And of course the lovely Jillian is now suffering for her past sins in Macau, and trust me, it is suffering that will continue for some time until penance is finally completed.  Madam Wong will be here next week, and she is looking forward to offering her thoughts as to how Jill should be made to atone for her crimes. 

“Which only leaves you two, and you two are going to be our star performers.  I should add that Megan will take over the day to day running of this establishment, as an extension of her own.  We are looking forward to increasing the number of male Doms who visit, especially with the offer of two reluctant subs who are in serious need of some strict training.  You will be quite a selling point, believe me.  So, that’s it.  Any questions?”

“Urrvt urch!” said Mary.  I had no idea what she meant to say, but the tone was unmistakeable, and brought another smack on the buttocks with the cane.  I looked into Mary’s eyes and pleaded wordlessly for her not to antagonise Portia further. 

“You will wait here until we sent our first customers down.  Shouldn’t be too long.  I’m sure they will enjoy you.  Oh, and you will be fed and watered tonight.  None of this three-meals-a-day nonsense.  You could lose a few pounds anyway – both of you.”

Well that did it.  I snorted, and we both glared at her, but the pair of them were already heading for the door, leaving us immobile and fuming in the room echoing to the slamming of the door.

*  *   *

Over probably the next hour we became very familiar with each other’s facial features. I studied Mary’s steel grey eyes and her black hair with the white streak in it.  She was holding up well for thirty six.  She had the willowy looks of a film star – a kind of Audrey Hepburn with attitude, I thought.  We tried to communicate with grunts and raised eyebrows and shrugs, but none of it made sense, so we simply knelt there, trying to ignore the straps across our thighs and around our ankles, and most of all the cutting of the handcuffs into our wrists.  Normally we would never leave a client like this.  If we did we would use rope or leather cuffs.  We would both have bruised wrists after this, and Mary would have a very sore backside.  I wondered whether the lesson had been truly beaten into her yet, or whether she would require some more ‘education’…

When Warren and Roger walked into the room I felt mixed emotions.  I was pleased that at least we would be freed from the discomfort of the handcuffed position (or so I hoped), but not knowing what was ahead was a worry.  I knew Warren to be experienced as a Dom.  He was genuine, but he was also devious and not above a bit of pain applied expertly to one’s most private places.  If he was down here on a mission, namely to initiate us into the world of submissives, he might well go a bit further, especially as he knew our backgrounds.  He had already had his way with me previously – an experience I will admit was not without its satisfying moments.  As for his mate Roger, I knew of him only by reputation, and it was not a good one.

“Good morning, slaves,” said Warren pleasantly, as though he was a teacher greeting a class for a lesson in English history.  “Come on, speak up!”

“Ummp mmngg ur!” we mumbled through our noses.

Warren stood and gazed around the room, eyeing up the various hooks and pulleys that had been installed in the walls and roof beams.  I followed his gaze, taking in the step ladder in the corner, a couple of metal chairs, and the large cabinet  fixed to the wall next to the mirror, which in fact was a one-way window from the Observation Room on the other side.  Roger opened the cabinet and became quite excited at the range of devices of restraint and pain infliction hanging up inside.  If ever our thoroughness and inventiveness had come back to haunt us, this was the moment, I reckoned.

“I think we’ll do it as we discussed, eh, Roger?”

“Sure.  Can’t wait.”

Oh goody, neither can I, I thought, rolling my eyes at Mary who nodded imperceptibly.

“You’re first, Trish,” said Warren with a grin, which was anything but comforting.  He bent down and unlocked the padlock linking the gag eyebolts, then untied the rope from the handcuffs, finally allowing my aching wrists to drop down against my back.  I heaved a nasal sigh of relief, then he picked me up in his arms and carried me across to a spot between the two solid timber columns that were the centrepieces of the room.  He smelt sort of nice, but I had no illusions that I was going to be put to the test in some likely unpleasant way.  He put me down, still kneeling, and unlocked the steel cuffs, replacing them with a heavy leather pair which he locked together in front of me.  I knelt there looking up at him and wondering about my fate.

He smiled and moved to a cleat fixed to a wall, around which was wrapped a cord which lead to a pulley directly overhead.  These damned pulleys had seemed a good idea at the time, and admittedly we had got our money’s worth out of them, and had produced a lot of “satisfied” customers, but now I was rather inclined to think we had overdone the facility.  As he lowered the pulley I saw that a bungy cord in the form of a multiple loop about a handspan long hung from the end of it.  Uh-oh, I thought.

When the  loop was a little above my head, he motioned for me to raise my cuffed hands.  Reluctantly, I obeyed, knowing I had little choice in the matter and with the aid of a solid padlock he locked the cuff connection to the multiple strands of the bungy loop, before making a loop in the loose end of the rope and hooking this to the hook and cable of a wall-mounted winch.  The winch was a 12 volt model, of the kind used for hauling biggish boats on to trailers.  It could lift a human body with ease.  I began to go up in the world, my arms stretching above me and the bungy loops with it.  Moments later I found myself starting to bounce slightly as my feet left the floor, my ankles being still strapped to my thighs.  This situation wasn’t quite to Warren’s liking, evidently, for he let me down and released both straps, only to rearrange them, such that my ankles were strapped to my thighs separately, rather than as a pair.  Which meant that my legs could be spread apart.  Oh dear.

Up I went again, this time off the ground with a gentle bounce like a hot air balloon taking off, but still with that terrible strain on my arms, wrists and shoulders.  I rose higher, now aware that Roger had come across to stand behind me.  His arms encircled me and he played with my breasts, roughly tweaking my nipples, before signalling to Warren to stop with the winch.  The two men then secured ropes around my legs just above the knee and drew them apart,  opening my crotch wide, before securing each rope to another bungy cord wrapped around each post.  I was awfully vulnerable now, but there was not a thing I could do about it.

I was surprised when Warren undid the strap to the ball gag.

“How does it feel now?” he asked.  I was looking him almost in the eye, although he was just a trifle taller than me.  He seemed almost concerned.

“I…my arms hurt…sir…” I said quietly, trying not to show my pain too much.

“Of course they do,” he agreed, like a doctor examining a patient he has just performed surgery on.  “We’re going to try a little experiment on you that we’ve often talked about but never managed to work out.  You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, sir..” Time to be subservient, Trish.  Not a good time to protest.  Just let them do it. 

“It may be a bit uncomfortable.  You may not appreciate it – or you may actually enjoy it, for that matter.  I do hope it is the latter.  More significant, though, is what I want from you friend Mary.  Mary – are you listening?”  Mary raised her head from where she was kneeling with her wrists still in a handcuffed strappado behind her.  “Roger is going to release you now – mostly. I want you to crawl on you knees across to me and beg to be collared.  This will be your first lesson for this morning.  I suspect you may have a problem with this.  I suspect you may require some persuasion, and to this end your friend Trish may offer this persuasion.  Whenever you decide to see reason and accept your destiny, then the persuasion may stop.  It’s up to you.  Roger?”  Roger released the rope holding Mary’s wrists up, then undid her gag.  Mary glared at Warren but mercifully said nothing. Roger undid the straps around her ankles and thighs but left her wrists handcuffed.

“You will remain kneeling in our presence unless we tell you otherwise.  When you’re ready, you may crawl over here and beg for the collar.”  Mary seemed not to have heard and stared at the floor. 

Warren gave an exaggerated sigh. “I suspected this would be the case.  In fact I had rather hoped it would.”  He took one of the straps which had secured Mary’s legs and wrapped it twice around my upper arms, trapping my head between them and running the strap through my open mouth in what was a pretty inefficient sort of gag, then buckling it tight.  “I know this won’t keep you quiet, but Roger likes to hear a woman’s moans – it really gets him going.  I, on the other hand, don’t like too much screaming, so we have developed this as a compromise.  Well, Rog, shall we begin?”

I got a pretty good idea what was in store for me very quickly, as Warren removed his clothes in a most casual way, as though he was merely taking off his coat.  I was not surprised to see his erection appear.  It was not the first time I had been acquainted with it, and clearly I was about to renew the relationship.  He moved close to me and his fingers gently probed my pussy. 

“Hmmm.  Damp.  Wet, in fact.  Why am I not surprised, Trish?  And look at those lovely tits.  I always think suspension does so much for a girl’s figure.  Your nipples are quite hard – don’t tell me you’re enjoying this already?”  The fingers probed again, sending little flashes of pleasure up to counter the pain from my arms.  He twisted my nipples as a counteraction then rubbed my clit as a further response.  Things were starting to buzz inside me when he moved in real close, bent slightly at the knees and slid inside me.

“Urrrmmh!” I groaned through the strap in my mouth.  It felt good, despite my position. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.  That was when he straightened up and grabbed each nipple and began to bounce me up and down on the bungy cords. The whole plan became clear - searing pains in the nips, aching stretches of the arms and a rising pleasure in the groin. 

We went on for some minutes before I began to feel a succession of warm surges rising inside me.  I knew an orgasm was coming and I closed my eyes, only to open them as he stopped abruptly.

“Wha?” I said, feeling something else behind me.  I could not turn my head but I realised Roger was pressing against my back and something cold shot into my rectum.

“No…no pleeah!” I pleaded, to no avail, as a further something – this one big and hard – forced its way slowly inside of my back passage.  There was a momentary flash of pain, and I pleaded and groaned some more, but Roger was right inside now.  My bound feet were held apart and I felt his groin pushing against my buttocks.  Then I was on the move again.  My god! 

In all my time in the business I had never experienced something like this!  I was getting screwed from the front and the rear simultaneously, and if that wasn’t confusing enough for my senses, I was helpless into the bargain, bouncing up and down on the twin prongs  while suspended in mid air.  Jesus!

I had never been one for anal sex, truth be known.  It had just never really done it for me.  But what with Warren’s frontal assault I was a confused mess of sensations and while my initial flight path to the Big O had died somewhat with the arrival of Roger at the back door, I could not deny it was being resurrected soon after.  After a few minutes I was biting down on the strap and moaning louder and longer.  The movement of the two members inside was at once filling, driving, uncomfortable, stimulating and wildly arousing.  I lost most of my coherence after that, and the noises I made were sure to have satisfied Roger’s quirk. 

He came with a rush inside me as I went over the edge myself, gasping and crying out as best I could.  I don’t know what Mary made of the performance – trying to work out if I was in pain or ecstasy.  For that matter I wasn’t sure myself.  Warren was still driving away in front, and while the pain of where he gripped my nipples still got through in flashes, I felt myself getting set for a second takeoff and was well airborne in time for Warren to finally unload himself.  I was struggling against the straps and the cuffs holding me, squirming to free myself from the member spurting inside me, crying out in a wild frenzy of passion that I didn’t understand as my own climax broke over me and I bucked against the restraints for all I was worth. 

I was barely aware of Warren withdrawing.  I was too busy trying to catch my breath and making “Urgh… Urgh…” grunting noises.  Mary, I noticed, hadn’t moved.  I felt a bead of sweat roll down my cheek… Or was it a tear?  I wasn’t sure.  I was swept away by a mass of feelings I couldn’t quite cope with.  I had been tied up for a day and a half, starved, beaten and deprived of sleep.  I think I was entitled to have a little cry.  It just got momentarily too much for me, and I ended up sniffling and sobbing into the leather strap in my mouth.

Warren had put on his pants and was buttoning up his shirt.  He walked back to me and pulled my head back by my now dank and sweat-soaked hair.

“Was it good for you?” he asked, almost in a kindly way.

“Uh-huh,” I said, trying to nod and speak through the strap and the sniffles.  For some reason I felt absurdly grateful for the experience.  My mind knew I was kidding myself, that there was barely a semblance of even concern here, but I was still happy for what they had done.  I felt like a kid having been given a sweet, and I could not believe how bizarre such a thought was.

“Say ‘thank you’.”

“’Han yew, hir..” I mumbled sincerely between sniffles.

“I think we will make a good subbie out of you yet, Trish,” he said, planting a kiss on my forehead.

I hung there in a state of confusion, feeling a mixture of juices slowly running down the inside of my thighs.

“I note that Mary hasn’t deigned to join us yet,” said Warren, his voice now carrying a slight touch of menace.  “That’s a great pity.  Because you’ve just received the up side of the persuasion, Trish – the carrot, if you like.  Unfortunately the downside is the stick.”

“Ngoh…ngoh hir – pleah… “  I changed tack, struggling to enunciate through the leather holding my mouth open.  “Airee!  Pleah cohm ere!  Pleah!” 

Mary didn’t move, remaining kneeling, staring at the ground.  Roger, now also dressed, appeared in my field of vision, carrying a kind of large aluminium camera case.  My heart plummeted as he put it on the floor in front of me and began to take out various implements of torture that I knew I was now going to experience.

“You really should think about what is going to happen to your friend, Mary,” said Warren casually over his shoulder.  “It could happen to you, but somehow I don’t think that would be nearly as effective.”  As he uttered these words he was kneeling in front of me, and I felt a sudden pain in first one, then the other of my pussy lips, and I knew he had fastened some sort of clamp on them.

“Owh!  Owh!  Hir! Hat hurs! “

“Of course it does, my dear.  And guess what – it’s going to hurt a lot more before the day is out.  You see this?”  He held up a nasty-looking chrome-plated clip in front of my eyes.  Attached to it was a short length of chain ending in a thin steel shaft the length of my finger, at the lower end of which was a circular piece of metal the size of a twenty cent piece.  “You already have two of these hanging from those lovely lower lips of yours.  Now we’re going to position two more… here… and here…” 

I screwed my eyes shut as the jaws bit into my nipples and I could not suppress a whine of pain.

“Arrrh! Ih hurs, hir.” 

“We’ve been down that track, Trish,” Warren said, starting to sound just a little impatient with my complaints.  “Much as Roger here loves to hear your protests, methinks if the lady doth protest too much she doth get gagged most properly.” 

To be honest, I would almost have welcomed such a thing, for already the jaws were making themselves felt in a most painful way.

“The point of the weights is that they will become progressively heavier as I add more of these to them.”  Warren held up another coin-shaped weight, but this one had a slit cut to the middle of it, obviously to allow it to be stacked up around the vertical shaft hanging from the chain.  He dropped it on the weight hanging from my right nipple.  There was a slight tug and the weight increased perceptively. 

“Ow!” I said.

Warren’s answer to that was to pick up a big cloth bag from  the suitcase and jangle it in front of my eyes, which I’m sure widened in fear, for I guessed there was perhaps a kilo of these ‘coins’ in the bag.  I tried to shake my head but the strap pinioning my arms and mouth was too tight.  I grimaced as another coin clinked on  to one of the lower weights.

Clink.  Clink.  Clink.

That’s how it went for the next twenty minutes, I guess.  Warren was in no hurry.  He let things settle, let the discomfort slowly build into pain and then into an agony which seemed to grow still worse.  At length my protests grew more voluble and I began to squirm and cry.  The squirming only made things worse.  I could barely move in any case, my ankles being bound to my thighs and my bent legs pulled apart and tethered to the posts.  At most I could wiggle my fingers and toes, and twist my torso slightly.  All this did was set the weights swinging and of course this set me crying more.

Warren finally decided he had had enough of my sniffling and tears, but rather than remove the weights he removed the strap and took an inflatable gag from the cabinet.

“No sir, pleeeese!” I pleaded.  “Pleeese stop – they hurt so much!  I’ll do anything you want, truly!  I’ll – urrrgh!”  This was as he pulled my head back by the hair and inserted the rubber bladder in my mouth, pumping it quickly until it silenced my protests.  He did not bother strapping it in place, for there was no way I could expel it.  In some ways the absence of straps was worse because the gag forced my jaw as wide as possible and any attempt to counter this placed an unbearable strain on my jaw muscles.

“You see, Trish, this is not about you.  This is about Mary.  You have demonstrated that you are prepared to make the transition to being a submissive, but Mary has not had that flash of insight yet.  You have seen that you can submit to my will and let life happen to you, let yourself be cared for and looked after.  Pain and pleasure will come, the trials and decisions of life will go away, and providing you behave yourself, life will become comfortable and ordered and stress-free.  Mary has not yet seen this logic, but will submit soon in order to spare you more pain.”

God, I hoped so.  I was past caring about the rationale of it all.  I simply wanted the pain to end, by whatever means necessary, and I would swear eternal allegiance to whomever brought about this release.  Please, Mary, just do as he asked!

Warren had finally reached the end of the sack of coins.  The weights hanging from my nipples were pulling them and my breasts downward from the perky position they had occupied with my arms above my head stretching everything in the opposite direction.  My pussy was on fire from the bite of the steel jaws into each lip, but Mary had still not moved.  By now I was uttering a continuous keening sound through my nose, as the final clink had sounded and I hung there helpless.  I screwed my eyes shut in an effort to take myself away into sub space where I had never been before. Emma had once told me of her ability to go into Subspace, but I had put that down as a kind of Asian thing, like going into a trance.  But then both Jillian and Leila had described similar experiences in Macau and Hong Kong when they had been abducted and had lost all hope of seeing home again.   It appeared that despair and hopelessness were integral parts of the process, and right then my life seemed to be rapidly filling with both.  I shook my head in anguish and blotted out from my mind where this was going, what might lie ahead and how long I could stand it.  The reality was that the last point was not up for negotiation or change.  I would endure it as long as I had to, for at this moment in my life I had no control over events and what was done to me.  Thinking of such possibilities was a road I chose not to tread, and instead tried to take myself off to a happy place, where pain did not exist…

I was brought back from my mind travels by another fierce pain, this time from a totally new quarter, as my upturned and almost immobile feet became targets for a riding crop.

“Nnnnnnn!” I screamed into the gag with all my might.  First my left foot and them my right… I was screaming continuously, even when Warren paused between strokes.  The task of breathing and crying out left me struggling to catch my breath in between bursts of nasal protest.  Tears were streaming down my face as the blows rained on my helpless feet. 

Until that point my feet had started to go numb from the time I had spent suspended, with the leather straps around my ankles and thighs.  The pressure from my lower legs pulling at the straps around my thighs was most uncomfortable, but now that paled and any numbness in my feet would have been considered a blessing.

I did not count the blows – I was past that much rationality.  I was still uttering a high pitched cry when Warren stopped.  He had retreated to the cabinet again and produced a thin whippy bamboo cane.  Standing in front of me he ran it between my parted legs, between the weights hanging from my labia, grooving it through my crotch with an ominousness that sent me into another frenzy of pleading for mercy. 

Only then did I sense a movement out of the corner of my tear-filled eye.  Mary was shuffling across the floor on her knees, her handcuffed wrists still secure behind her back.  She stopped at Warren’s feet.  My heart leapt at the sight.  That was when Warren let go with a flick of the cane.

I thought I would die, so terrible was the pain as he caught me squarely on my pussy.  My jerk made all the weights swing and bounce.  I shrieked but could manage only a long drawn out wail through my nose, as I bit down on the rubber filling my mouth.  For a moment I saw stars as I screwed my eyes tightly shut and writhed impotently within my bonds.  I only just caught Mary’s words through a red haze of agony.

“Master…” Her voice was barely a whisper.  “This slave humbly submits to you and  begs to receive your collar…”
Warren turned to me and smiled.

“Anything is possible,” he said, his smile one of indulgence and satisfaction.  Through my tears I looked at Mary in gratitude and saw that she was crying too.

*   *   *

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