|Gromet's Plaza - Richard Alexander Stories|
© 2004 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission
|storycodes: F/f; bondage; cons; X|
|grometsplaza - www.grometsplaza.cjb.net
Chapter Three – Shawnee Sleeps Over – Shawnee’s Story
by Richard Alexander
Monica’s Travels Chapter Three – Shawnee Sleeps Over – Shawnee’s Story
Well, how cool was this! Sitting in the first class cabin on the way to Hong Kong! Woohoo! I was airborne before we’d even left the terminal! And when the really cute steward came round with the champagne, how could I refuse?
“Stop flirting, Shawnee,” said Leila, sitting next to me in the window seat.
“What? I wasn’t flirting!”
“You were undressing him with your eyes.”
“I was not. I was way past that – I was trying to remember where I’d parked the car…”
Leila laughed as we sipped the champagne high above Queensland. Life really didn’t get more exciting than this, though I noticed Leila was surprisingly quiet, despite the circumstances. She was normally vivacious and bubbly, but now seemed somewhat subdued. Mind you, this sometimes happens around me. Monica says it’s because I chatter so much that nobody else can get a word in, and this is her excuse for keeping me gagged much of the time. There may – just conceivably – be a faint element of truth in this, but I was sure this wasn’t the case now. I put my hand on Leila’s arm as she stared out the window.
“What’s the matter?” I asked quietly.
“I don’t know…” said Leila, uncertainly. “I guess… It’s just that Hong Kong holds a lot of bad memories for me, Shawnee. Probably for Jillian and maybe Emma, too. When Jill and I were abducted there… I can’t really explain the feeling of utter desolation, especially when they took Jill away to Macau. I’ve never been so alone and terrified in my life. Now there’s the possibility of all those memories coming back again. And the big silence from Portia and Madam Wong after we sent them packing from Sydney… That unnerves me, too. I guess I just want this part to be over.”
I held her hand, but for once in my life I said nothing.
* * *
Despite any misgivings Leila might have had, I was rapt when we landed. I had drunk far too much champagne and had slept like a baby because of it, and I was still light headed as we disembarked at Chek Lap Kok Airport. I never did learn how to pronounce that without coming up with something that sounded rude or at best improbable.
We made our way through immigration and customs, and were about to head for the airport railway, with Emma leading the way, when she was approached by a smart young man wearing a suit and bow tie with a small placard with Monica’s name on it, under the logo of the Peninsula Hotel.
“Mohammed has arranged a little surprise for us,” said Emma, as we clustered round her. “The hotel has sent two cars to pick us up.”
We followed the young man and were astonished as he led us to two olive green Rolls Royces.
“The Peninsula has a fleet of these,” Emma explained. “It’s their trademark, if you like. Four people in each.”
“Woohoo! Ridin’ in a Rolls! Way to go!” I exclaimed, ignoring the looks from those around me. After some confusion about who was going in which and where the luggage was going, Monica, Jill, Leila and Emma went in the first, while the rest of us followed in the second. The boots of the cars were capacious, and swallowed our luggage without too much difficulty. The inside of the Rolls smelt of leather and had a three-seater bench facing forward and two seats facing the back. In between these was a fold-down walnut tray with an ice bucket, in which a bottle of champagne was already opened. I whooped again, pulling the glasses out of their holders.
“Shawnee, you’ve only just had breakfast!” Trish scolded, though it was the not-really-serious Trish scolding, so I ignored it and filled the glasses.
I could hardly contain myself as we drove over the huge bridge along the motorway towards Kowloon.
“Have you been to the Peninsula before, Steven?” I asked, for I knew he’d spent time in Hong Kong prior to the Jill and Leila abduction.
“I had lunch there once,” he said ruefully. “After I had saved up for it.”
“Is it expensive?”
“Do bears shit in the woods, Shawnee?” Mary said scornfully. “What do you think we’re driving in? How many hotels do you know with a fleet of these?”
Suitably chastened, I didn’t admit that my experience with international hotels was nil, never mind the level of opulence that this one promised.
“It’s about as swanky as you can get,” Steven said with a smile, ignoring Mary’s intolerance of my inexperience. “The Peninsula is the Raffles of Hong Kong,” he said, though this didn’t mean much to me. “It’s right on the waterfront at the tip of the Kowloon Peninisula – hence it’s name, I guess. It’s just near the Star Ferry and has the most stunning views of Hong Kong Island. It’ll take your breath away.”
And it did. The other girls had told me to buy a samsonite suitcase – one of those with the wheels and extendable handle – for the trip. I had objected, saying that there was nothing wrong with my backpack. Ultimately they had ended up buying one for me, in fact, and now I saw why. We pulled into the forecourt and climbed out into a world that I thought existed only in films. Feeling like I’d landed on another planet, I dumbly followed the others into the marbled reception, goggling at the amazing décor.
We wound up on the eighteenth floor, with my room between Steven’s and Monica’s. I have to confess that before I’d even unpacked, I was gawping at the amazing view, with the double-decker buses in the foreground and the myriad of ferries and boats in the harbour and the huge high rises on the foreshore of Hong Kong Island, behind which the green mountainside rose as a backdrop. Then I was banging on Steven’s door, badgering him to join us – me that is – in a walk through some or all of this exotic world.
Steven, being the nice guy that he is, agreed, and somehow we picked up Trish on the way, as we headed out into the streets of Kowloon. I was transported. The crowds jostled and surged, and there was Chinese writing everywhere and petite Chinese girls. They must have been used to westerners, for they never gave us a second glance.
The day rushed past. Steven wanted to eat in the Kangaroo Pub – evidently an old haunt of his – but Trish and I were determined to eat like the locals did, so he took us to a cheap and cheerful restaurant with tiled walls and plastic table clothes with yummy food. Then it was into the parks again, and the shops. Trish had not been here before either, but managed to show perhaps a little more restraint than I did. I wound up buying a sexy pair of white knee-length boots that were too good a bargain to resist. They had three-inch heels, but after having to wear much higher ones at Bilboes, three inches is easy-peasy. They were really comfortable, in fact, and I wore them back to the hotel. In succumbing to this first temptation I even had to borrow Steven’s credit card, since I’ve never had one of my own. Suffice to say, I was like Alice in Wonderland and was finally hauled back to the hotel late in the afternoon, as Trish’s and Steven’s stamina began to flag.
There was a message for us at reception to join the others at the poolside. We returned to our rooms to change and found the pool with more stunning views over the city. It was starting to get dark now, and the high rise buildings were being lit up one by one as their lights took over in the gloom.
Monica and the others were sitting in their costumes at two tables pushed together, with one empty wine bottle and one nearly in that state. The pool was gorgeous – a deep blue, lit by underwater lights and surrounded by Roman-style columns. The only thing that detracted from the idyllic setting was the expression on Monica’s face. I looked at the others – Leila, Emma, Jill and Mary. They looked super in their swimsuits, like models from a magazine, but there was a sombre mood hanging over the party.
I sat down at the table and said nothing, not meeting Monica’s eye. I knew something was up, and wasn’t going to open my big mouth until Steven and Trish arrived.
They arrived a few minutes later, by which time we all had a glass of wine and some delicious little steamed snacks that Monica had ordered from the bar. We waited for her expectantly. Something was up.
“Some of us went out together this afternoon,” Monica said, talking mainly to Trish, Mary, Steven and me. “More specifically, during their outing, Jillian and Leila thought they were being watched.”
“What?” This from Steven. “Did you see anyone?”
Leila shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe. It’s hard to describe. It’s like a feeling…”
“It’s not just because you were the only two blondes in Nathan Road?” I blurted, trying to lighten the mood. It went down like a lead balloon. Monica glared at me. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Jill and Leila and Emma have asked if they can go to London earlier, and spend some more time there. I’ll probably go with them. We’ve made reservations for tomorrow’s midday flight.”
Monica spoke solemnly but matter-of–factly. I was stunned, and started to stutter something that made no sense. Trish laid a hand on my arm and I shut up. For a moment nobody spoke. It seemed like our dream holiday was already coming apart at the seams.
“It’s difficult to explain…” Jillian said. “This place is wonderful and exciting, but it’s also scary for Leila and me in particular. There are a lot of memories we’ve been trying to suppress, but with this feeling of being followed they seem to all be coming back. I’m really sorry…” She hung her head and the curtain of blonde hair fell forward. Mary put her arm around Jill’s shoulders, and she looked up to manage a wan smile.
“We feel really bad,” Leila said, obviously near tears, “but we don’t want to be wandering around here for five days looking over our shoulders every minute…”
“We understand,” Trish said.
“So what about you guys?” Monica asked. “You’re obviously free to do whatever you like.”
I looked desperately at Steven. I didn’t want to leave this amazing place! Dammit -we’d only just got here! If Steven would stay, I damn well would! He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
“We’d have to tear you away, wouldn’t we,” he said. I nodded. “I’ll stay.”
“Me too,” said Trish.
“And me,” Mary agreed.
Monica looked relieved. “I’m glad. I really am. Steven, you know the place. I didn’t want to screw up everybody’s holiday here.” Leila, Jill and Emma also looked relieved and perked up markedly.
“Good!” said Monica with a smile. “Tonight we’re going to have a slap up dinner at Restaurant Felix.”
* * *
We dined in the splendour of art deco at the top of the hotel and with the decision now made, everyone was in much better spirits, accepting that we were not going to spoil the holiday with lurking apprehensions – founded or unfounded. We all drank too much wine, and as the party began to wind down, Monica pulled me aside.
“Shawnee – my room. Five minutes.”
“Yes Mistress,” I said, for I knew the tone of voice, and it was going to be business as usual for me. What I still can’t tell with Monica is when I’ve done something bad. Sometimes her voice has a neutral quality that keeps me guessing as to what will be in store. It can be quite unnerving. But I know enough to work out when she becomes my Mistress and when I am allowed to call her Monica in public. I’ve made that mistake before and paid dearly for it.
The others were still talking and drinking when I slipped away after Monica had made her excuses. I knocked on her door and she let me in. Monica was wearing a full-length white satin bathrobe with red dragons embroidered on it. She was barefoot and her black hair cascaded around her head as though she had tousled her hands through it. She motioned me in and closed the door.
I stood, a trifle nervously, waiting for some signal as to what sort of mood Monica was in. Sometimes she could be totally poker-faced and give no hint as to whether she was in a good mood or wanted to take out her frustrations on me.
“Strip, Shawnee,” she ordered without ceremony, and as she moved to the walk-in wardrobe I did as I was commanded. I was wearing only a short skirt and blouse, and by the time Monica reappeared I was kneeling submissively with my clothes neatly folded on the writing table. I waited expectantly, my heart beating rapidly, for whether this was to be a good or painful experience, my reaction was always the same – the expectation and excitement of the unknown. I was facing the big picture window that gave such a majestic view of the skyscrapers on the island across the harbour, and I wondered whether Monica was going to leave the curtains open.
Sometimes Monica was in a talkative mood, sometimes not. It appeared that tonight was one of the latter.
She moved a solid wooden coffee table into a position so that one end of it was near the window, and commanded me to lie down along it. My lower legs hung over the end closest to the window while my head stopped just short of the other.
“I did a little shopping at a local hardware store,” she said in a businesslike tone. “It was a most interesting experience. It’s such a pain when you can’t carry your own toys with you when you’re travelling. Don’t you think so Shawnee?”
“Yes Mistress,” I agreed – as I always did.
With economical and practised movements Monica began taping my ankles and shins to the legs of the coffee table, until I could no longer move them at all. More tape went around my right fingers then my arm was bent and the wrist taped to my upper arm, so that it felt more like a wing than an arm. Then it was the left arm and by the time a few turns had gone around the table and my body above and below my breasts, I was pretty much totally immobile.
“Today has been rather stressful, Shawnee,” Monica told me. “First with Jill and Leila and Emma seeing spooks on every corner, then having to rebook the flights. Not that I blame them,” she added, half to herself. “It was a very scary time when we were all last here. The outcome is that I need a little stress relief, and of course that means that delightful tongue of yours will get some exercise of a different kind.” This time she smiled, and I knew I was okay, and that I hadn’t unknowingly dropped some clanger that I was going to be punished for.
“Are you tired, Shawnee?”
“Good, neither am I – yet. Something to do with jet lag, I suppose. I’m sure you can change that for both of us, if you try hard enough.”
Monica slipped a small cushion under my head, and before I knew it the warm dampness of her pussy was being lowered to my mouth. She leaned forward, her hands supporting her somewhere on the table near my waist as I began my work, teasing her with exploratory caresses around her labia, interspersed with darting forays into her warm, deep recess. Then I’d change my tack and carry out a sudden nibble and sucking on the rosebud protruding just above.
It did not take Monica long to reach her first climax as she ground her pussy harder on to my face and I struggled to breathe. Monica was gasping and moaning softly, and I was getting excited myself as she finally stiffened and shuddered with a long exhaling sigh of pleasure, then moved her position just enough to allow me to gasp for breath myself.
“Jesus,” Monica said softly. “Now I know why you live with us, Shawnee.”
“Did Mistress enjoy that?” I asked coyly.
We were both panting and my heart was beating hard with the effort when there was a knock at the door.
“Damn. Who’s that at this hour?”
Monica slowly raised herself and closed her robe as she crossed to the door.
“Room service,” said a voice, but I recognised it as Steven’s.
Monica opened the door and Steven entered.
“Oh – I see you’ve already engaged room service. Must have been a double order.”
“Maybe you anticipated before I made the call,” Monica said, but I could tell from her tone where this was going. “Don’t tell me you’re wide awake as well?”
“Sort of. You?”
“Uh-huh. Though I’m starting to feel just a tad more relaxed, thanks to this little imp.” I grinned happily up at the pair of them, who both seemed upside down after I was obliged to tilt my head back.
“Don’t fancy a game of something before you retire?” Monica suggested.
“What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know – maybe a few hands of poker, then… perhaps something to follow?”
“That sounds most agreeable, particularly over a night cap.”
And that was how I came to be the centre of attention – after a fashion – when the most convenient table turned out to be the one I was taped to. The pair decided to use the triangular space between my legs to lay the cards down, and placed their cognac glasses on my stomach with the order that I was not to dare to spill any. It was all right for them to say that. The tape helped my muscles, but just lying there staring at the ceiling and concentrating on keeping my stomach muscles rigid was really hard.
And of course things are never straightforward with Monica. They decided to play strip poker, and as if that wasn’t enough, I noticed that whenever Monica picked up or laid down cards, her hand would gently caress my exposed pussy, and after a short time Steven began idly toying with it. Well, ‘idly’ is probably the wrong word, for it implies a lack of intent or direction, and I was getting horny as hell. I wanted to lift my hips against the delicate touches and probes, but the fear of upsetting the cognac glasses made this impossible. I knew I was in a very vulnerable position and that Monica would extract a painful retribution if I screwed up.
I soon learned that Monica was by far the better poker player, and pretty soon Steven was down to his underwear, while Monica still had on her robe. I had initially thought it might have been an unfair contest, given that Monica only had one article of clothing, but now I saw why she ran Bilboes and the rest were merely employed by her. Steven was out of his depth and she wiped the floor with him, all the while wiping my pussy with her long nails with each pickup.
By the time Steven was naked, I was getting all hot and bothered. With the card game over, the pair turned their attention fully to me, and of course with my breasts on full display it was inevitable that they were going to receive some attention. Monica took some more of the duct tape and as Steven grasped a nipple and lifted it, Monica wound the stuff tightly around the base of each breast, such that they bulged like two large, ripe melons. I’m proud of my breasts – they’re one of my better features, if I say so myself. By contrast I know I tend to run off at the mouth, and the indignities Monica and Steven were inflicting on me left me unable to help just a little complaining, and we all knew what was likely to happen. In the meantime, of course, Steven had got himself quite worked up - not that I could blame him - and I was looking longingly at the erection he now sported. As a consequence of all this going on, Monica produced a silicon rubber bathing cap and pulled it over my head. I knew what was coming next – or thought I did – until a second cap appeared in front of my face. This one had a small hole cut in the centre of it, and while Steven held my head, Monica pulled the thing over my face, so that the cap stretched from my chin to the top of my head, with only my nose poking through the hole. It was like wearing a full latex hood, with the rubber clinging tightly to my face and making it difficult for me to open my jaw. I was not terribly happy, but the subsequent winding of more damned duct tape all round my head made me glad of the rubber layer underneath.
The sounds of the pair slowly became more indistinct, though still audible. The last of the tape was smoothed down and my head flopped back on the table. I had a feeling that Monica and Steven were going to be spending the night together and evidently they didn’t want an audience – well, not one that would take in every last detail, anyway. Whatever their plans, I found out they were still another nightcap away from commencement however, and in my now blind, silent and helpless state I was a perfect target for their ministrations. Sure enough, my wide-open pussy and bound breasts with my nipples standing up like thimbles became the target for more attention, and soon somebody’s tongue was insinuating itself between my legs and making wonderful sensations arise, about which I could do nothing other than moan helplessly and struggle against the tape holding me. Then came the fingers giving my nipples and clit a thorough working over, and I knew that the big ‘O’ was on the way.
I could feel the rise starting deep in my loins, the familiar beginning that heralded the relief I was longing for, then, abruptly, the stimulation stopped, and I was dealt a thwack across my stomach with something that might have been a belt. I squealed and jerked at the sudden and unexpected pain. There followed two more strokes across my breasts that made me struggle more against the tape binding me to the table, but I could do nothing other than flap my arms a bit and roll my head from side to side.
The urgent, rising desire had abated to almost zero, sent packing by further blows to my exposed stomach and thighs, and then several smacks on my pussy itself. I was trying to jerk and pull my legs together, but the tape held me tight and I moaned in pain and frustration.
Then the mouth and fingers were back. I knew Monica and Steven would be laughing at me, teasing and tantalising their slave and pulling my strings to make me go to jelly. That was what was happening now, as the gorgeous feelings returned like a deep volcanic surge, and this time there was nothing going to stop me climaxing, I decided. Evidently my tormentors had decided the same thing, for they let me have my way, as the wet orgasmic rush saw me jerking and writhing and moaning in my bonds – as much as the tight tape allowed me, that was.
There is something about an orgasm in bondage that is like nothing else on earth. You strain against your bonds and momentarily fight against everything – including the rushing geyser inside – but you know full well that this is a pointless exercise. Your muscles tense and you struggle to close your legs, but it’s impossible, and you finally give in, crying out to the world, only to have your exclamation stifled – in this case, by the tape melding my mouth closed.
The aftermath probably looked most unladylike. I saw stars behind my eyelids, and I was snorting and groaning and panting in an effort to get myself together, only to find a renewed assault on my clit which was suddenly super sensitive. I shook my head, and made mumbled noises that were meant to indicate that I had had enough and that fair was fair. This was the bit that Monica loved, and I had managed it a few times on her myself. I loved seeing my Mistress reduced to a panting wreck, begging me to cease at the risk of a whipping. More than once I had received just such punishment because I couldn’t help myself. Now Monica would be demanding another orgasm out of me, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.
Twice more I climaxed, and I was becoming seriously exhausted when a blanket was placed over me and I realised with a shock that I was going to have to spend the night like this. I mmphed feebly, to no avail, and the activity on my body ceased. In what seemed like the distance, I heard Monica and Steven, and I thought that maybe I heard a cry of ecstasy, before exhaustion overtook me and I slept.
* * *
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