Monica's Place
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - THE TWINS
During the time Shannen had been with us I had done more work, this time in
a small room next to the Sluice Room. Monica was in one of her experimental
moods again, buoyed by the success of the submarine. I needed all sorts of
stuff for what was to be called the Lift Shaft. Neither of us knew how well it
would work, or even if it would end up serving a purpose other than another
holding cell, but Monica was in an expansive mood, so who was I to argue.
It took me the best part of a week to complete the lift shaft. The first
day was the day I encountered Shannen - crouched at the foot of the stairs one
evening as I started a late shift. She was quite a stunner, but looked somewhat
out of place in a short maroon skirt and white satin blouse, squatting on her
haunches in high heels, scribbling in a notebook. Monica had told me about her,
but I was curious anyway. She wore a bright red ball gag on a head harness,
locked at the back of her raven hair, and was restrained in her position by a
waist chain and two vertical lengths secured to her ankles. I realised from her
position on the steel plate with the upright pipe stub that she must be impaled
on a butt plug. From the sound of her character I suspected it would be one of
the larger-sized, ribbed or knobbed ones, given Monica's gift for the
appropriate.
Shannen stopped writing and glared at me over the top of the ball gag and
mmphed something incomprehensible as I paused to study her. I shrugged and
headed for the Lift Shaft.
The Lift Shaft was something Monica had once experienced in an art gallery.
A completely enclosed box about two metres square, it was finished on floor and
ceiling with plain mirrors. Running vertically down the walls were black and
silver stripes painted about 3 centimetres wide. The effect was unnerving in
that on entering and closing the door (painted to match the walls) you had the
impression of hanging in some sort of shaft which stretched out to infinity
above and below. It was a variation on the hairdressers mirrors placed in front
and behind, where you could look at an infinite number of your own heads
disappearing into the distance. In the case of the shaft, while there were an
infinite number of "you's" standing with your back(s) to the wall looking very
vertigo-prone, there was also enough shaft still to fall down such as to take
away the sense of reality.
My own idea for the shaft was to have low wattage neon lights running
vertically up the walls- enough to create the same sense of perspective as the
stripes, but also to allow some special effects. Over the face of the lights,
which were mounted on a matt black background, I fitted clear perspex sheets to
prevent any damage. The floor and ceiling were mirror glass, with the former
also covered by perspex. In the corner I fixed a solid timber post with the
usual eyebolts mounted in a variety of positions. At the base of this was a
triangular 'ledge', extending about a foothold out from the post - a ledge just
big enough to stand on. To a victim secured upright and unable to look down to
their feet, they would seem to be teetering on a ledge of a lift shaft and would
not be distracted by being able to see several dozen other versions of their own
faces peering up or down at them. The 'door' opened just beside the post, like a
window opening in a building, where you could push someone on to the ledge and
shut the window behind them.
There were a number of role playing variations on this. The noise of the
traffic from the speakers behind the post, the feel of fresh breezes from the
aircon, the insidious whispering of the voice saying "don't fall... don't
fall..." Or should it be "don't jump?" Maybe we would make penalties for people
who did fall... Maybe we would make the ledge get smaller and smaller. This was
one little experiment that Monica and I had kept very secret. The basics were
straightforward enough but the finer nuances - the recordings, the sound
effects, the lighting patterns, cctv and so on - had taken a lot longer than I
expected.
"Isn't this getting into the realm of the esoteric?" I had asked Monica one
evening as we sat on the floor in the room tinkering with various patterns in
the wall lights. "I mean, it's not exactly inflicting pain on anyone. Isn't
that what you're into?"
Monica had smiled in the dim light of the vertical tubes. "Yes and no,
Steve. We may use it for a little psychological warfare with some of our
victims. If we want them to divulge the name of their contact or the number of
their bank account we may decide to use this as a different approach. An hour
locked in here with the strobe light going could produce interesting results.
Different people react differently, of course. As I said before, if all else
fails it can be a holding cell."
"So who are you going to use for testing?"
"I think everyone."
"Including you and me?"
"No, there's no point. We know too much about how it works and we will have
done our own experimentation anyway."
"Sounds a bit like sex," I said.
Monica smiled again. "Is that a come on?"
"Do you want it to be?"
"All in good time, Steve. Work to do first."
Emma was the one we had selected to be our first guinea pig. She was
perhaps the most impressionable, along with Leila. Emma was called to Monica's
office where I was waiting with her. Emma was off duty and wore a simple white
blouse and a denim skirt.
"Emma, we have a little test for you."
"Another one?" Emma looked somewhat apprehensive. Understandable when it
was Monica doing the offering.
"Yes. I think you will find this interesting, though."
"When?"
"Now. Come over to the desk and put your hands behind you." She did, and I
ratcheted a pair of handcuffs on her slim wrists, then slipped an airline
blindfold over her head. On its own it was a pretty tame blindfold and could
probably come off with little effort, which was the whole point of it in this
instance. I reached round with a black ball gag on a strap and held it against
her lips. Obediently she opened her mouth as I worked the ball behind her teeth
and fastened the strap snugly behind her head, locking it in place with a small
padlock. I realised it was the first time I had legitimately secured any of the
girls and Mr Willy found it quite arousing.
"Now bend over," commanded Monica, "and spread your legs." Here Monica took
over and pulled down Emma's satin panties sufficiently to work a well-lubed
multi-purpose butt plug into Emma's rear. Emma groaned as the invader filled
her although I noticed at that stage that Monica hadn't turned it on as yet,
instead holding on to the thin wire now trailing from Emma's orifice. Monica
pulled up the panties and the three of us then trooped downstairs, with Monica
and I holding on to Emma's arms, past Shannen still squatting at the foot of the
stairs, impaled on the butt plug.
"How goes it, Shannen?" Monica asked cheerfully. "Life can be such a pain
in the arse sometimes, can't it?"
Shannen glared at us over the red ballgag and spluttered something
incomprehensible.
"Ignore her, Steven," Monica ordered in an utterly stuck up toffeed voice.
"She has no manners and no upbringing. "
"Yes Ma'am," I said obediently.
Once at dungeon level we spun Emma around and led her around in varying
directions, hoping to confuse her senses just a bit, before leading her to the
open door that doubled as the 'window' in the Lift Shaft.
"You're going to have to stand still for half an hour, Emma," whispered
Monica in her ear. "If you make it, we'll let you out. To make it easier you
may remove your blindfold once you're in the shaft. You will be standing on a
ledge. Do not step off the ledge under any circumstances unless you want a long
drop."
I left Monica to guide Emma into the shaft and went to the Observation Room
where I switched the CCTV to the channel containing the view of the Lift Shaft.
The camera was positioned discretely in the upper corner opposite the ledge.
The shaft was dark until light flooded in from the opening 'window' and Monica
guided the blindfolded and gagged figure of Emma on to the small corner ledge.
I saw Monica tie a piece of string to the blindfold elastic and jam it in the
door as she closed it behind Emma. Switching the camera to infrared I could
make out Emma standing still for a few moments, then, becoming aware of the
tension on her blindfold she twisted her head and felt the covering to her eyes
come loose. With more twisting the blindfold slid free. At that moment it
meant little to Emma, still standing in the darkness. That was when I switched
on the lights.
The first light setting we had was only a dim glow, but it was enough to
obviously scare Emma. It was sufficient to illuminate the seemingly endless
shaft extending above and below her, as she stood, frozen in the corner on a
tiny ledge.
"Nnnmmph!" she exclaimed behind the rubber ball in her mouth. The sound of
her breathing could be heard as it quickened and merged with the distant noise
of traffic. I turned the air conditioning up a notch. I knew it would be
playing over Emma's body like a cold night breeze thirty stories up. Perhaps
not what you might expect in a lift shaft but enough to disorient. The lights
were the vertical neons we had arranged, giving the perception of walls dropping
endlessly into the distance. Beneath the white material of her blouse the
nipples on Emma's full breasts stiffened like the rest of her body. Logic had
not taken over yet - Emma was running on her sensory input only, not thinking
about the fact that what she was seeing wasn't possible in the house where she
had been moments earlier.
Monica joined me in the Observation Room a moment later, as Emma tried to
press herself further into the corner, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as
she strove for self control. The ledge was small enough such that she couldn't
look directly down, since she barely had enough room to stand straight. Try it
some time, with your heels against the wall. Especially if you have a wonderful
figure like Emma's you have no chance of seeing past your toes. She could look
upwards, but again I had put a false triangular ledge against the ceiling that
blocked her view of a hundred Emma's extending off into infinity, all with looks
of terror on their faces, their eyes wide over the ballgags strapped tightly
between their jaws.
Emma tried shutting her eyes, but that didn't work. For some reason that
seemed to make it worse. Monica reached over the desk and flicked a switch,
which I knew was connected to a low voltage supply that most rooms had. I had a
fair idea what it was powering in this instance. Emma's eyes, shut at that
moment, flew open wide.
"The vibrator is starting to make itself felt," said Monica smugly. "Let's
see how distracting it is. I happen to know Emma has a rather sensitive little
butt-hole."
Emma was indeed distracted. She was clearly scared to step off the ledge,
but it was so small that she could not bend her knees even without the danger of
toppling forward. We gave her five minutes of the butt vibrator before Monica
turned the lights off in the shaft and we watched Emma twist and sweat in the
blackness, under infrared. Then Monica turned the UV strobe on.
That was probably what freaked Emma. Strobe lights are disconcerting enough
at the best of time, when everything seems to go in slow motion. I guess when
you're standing on a ledge halfway up a seemingly bottomless shaft and not sure
of your balance, strobe lights are the last thing you need. Under the lights,
thin vertical white lines on the wall streaked off into the vanishing points of
the shaft, while Emma's white blouse showed up like a lighthouse. Her eyes were
wide and staring over the gag and we could hear her breath coming in pants, in
between muffled cries through the gag. I watched her breasts heaving as she
fought to control herself. Monica, always one to go the last yards, touched
another button. I knew this sent a burst to the TENS electrodes embedded in the
vibrator. In other words Emma got a nice little shock up her arse. That was
enough to push her over the edge, physically, if not emotionally, as she
twitched forward enough to upset her balance and send her stepping forward into
space.
The fact that she was only a step above the floor avoided any injury.
Monica turned all the lights on at that point and Emma was left standing in the
middle of the brightly lit shaft with lots of other Emmas disappearing into the
distance above and below her. Tears were streaming down her face and she looked
totally bewildered as she suddenly saw through the entire illusion.
"I think you had better go and give comfort to your employee," I said wryly.
Later that evening Monica called me to her study.
"Are you available?" she asked.
"Are you asking me on a date?"
She laughed. "Not the sort you're thinking of. At least not tonight,
anyway," she added enigmatically, arching an eyebrow at me. "No, we have an
assignment. We need to pick up a couple of packages from the Gold Coast."
"Packages?" Why was I wary?
"Yes, the two-legged kind. All the girls are busy, so I need an extra pair
of hands. This is something a bit special."
And that was how we came to be driving the Transit van down the Pacific
Motorway that night. It was about an hour's drive from Bilboes to Surfers
Paradise on the Gold Coast south of Brisbane. They had been doing up the
motorway for a couple of years now and traffic had obliged to slow as it snaked
between kilometres of concrete barriers. Now the four lanes each way were
finally complete. It was plenty of time for Monica to give me the lowdown on
our assignment for the night as I drove, following her directions as navigator.
"Pytr is a Russian who came to Australia in the sixties," Monica told me.
"He did okay for himself, investing a lot in property in Surfers and the Gold
Coast and making a killing in the boom times as a result. His wife was killed
in a car accident about ten years ago. He has two daughters - Natasha and
Tanya. They are the packages."
"How old, and why?"
"Just turned eighteen - no longer minors, if that's what you're thinking.
They've finished school but still live at home and make life absolute hell for
the old boy who has no idea how to handle them. They've had a succession of
offences as minors but Mr has managed to keep them out of detention until now,
not least through paying hefty fines and pulling lots of strings. I have to say
that in that regard he is thought highly of and has lots of influence in the
local community. But now the girls are evidently into drugs and walking the
streets, or at least that's what they threaten if Pytr doesn't hand over cash
for their habits. There's no doubt he loves them dearly, but he's at his wit's
end as to what to do with them. They have no jobs nor any real inclination to
get them, although they're very smart. The sort who do well without really
trying. They've got grades that would make most uni's grab them at the first
chance, but there's no motivation."
"And we're going to give them some?"
"Absolutely. A little lesson in the realities of life, so to speak."
Or unrealities of life, I thought.
The area around Surfers Paradise was not my cup of tea. Miles of tower
blocks along the beachfront, lots of arcades, malls and swanky shopping, filled
with tourists and more than a few strip joints. Surfers was where all the
"schoolies" came at the break up of school at the end of the year - the place to
be seen, the place to be cool. Also a place to do drugs, get drunk, get laid
and get thrown in the nick.
Around Surfers were the suburbs built along the man-made canals - a kind of
little Miami. Huge houses backing on to private jetties with cabin cruisers
moored. As we started turning through the suburban streets, Monica got on her
mobile phone.
"Mr Karagin? Monica Armstrong. We're about two minutes away from your
house. We'll see you shortly."
We pulled up outside a high-walled property, the street frontage of which
must've been at least fifty metres. Tall palm trees rose behind the wall,
obscuring any glimpse of the house. I leaned out of the window and pushed the
buzzer of the intercom box. There was no answer. Instead the massive iron
grilled gate rolled open, revealing a concrete drive sweeping in a broad curve
around to a triple garage at the left of a two-storied very modern-looking
house.
We followed the driveway round and parked under the big porte cochere
outside the front door. The night was balmy and cool - Queensland at it's best.
As we drew up, the door opened and a short but well-built man emerged to greet
Monica. She introduced me to Mr Kuragin and we shook hands then went inside.
Immediately inside the front door was a large reception area with a gorgeous
indoor pool in a granite surround and a tinkling of water where it flowed gently
over rocks into the lily-filled pool. I had barely time to take in the opulence
of the surroundings before we followed our host through the house to the rear
where we found our two "packages" in what I took to be the television room.
Both girls appeared to be asleep - one on the leather sofa and one in a big
leather armchair.
"Roofies," Monica explained. I must've looked blank. "The drug. Rohypnol.
Sometimes known as Roofies. Guaranteed to put you out of action for a few hours
and waking up wondering what the hell went on and why are you here. Very
helpful in our business for transporting unwilling clients - until they started
putting various colourizers in it to make your drinks turn blue or whatever.
I've still got a supply of the good stuff - odourless and tasteless.
Sleepy-byes time. I sent down a couple of doses for Mr Kuragin to drop in their
drinks at the appropriate time. Hence the short notice."
I looked down at the two girls and realised for the first time that they
were twins. They were blondes, with similar haircuts - shortish, but enough to
cover their ears or to be tucked behind them. Facially they were remarkably
similar - a fact made moreso by the fact that they had obviously been to the
local body piercer. One girl had a stud in her left nostril and a ring in her
left eyebrow while the other was the mirror image. I could see one exposed ear
with three silver rings in.
"This one is Natasha," said Mr Kuragin, his voice heavy with sadness.
Natasha wore a yellow tee shirt emblazoned with the word "FUCK" across the
front, not hiding a remarkably voluptuous figure. Charming child, I thought.
She also wore cut off jeans and was slouched on the sofa. Monica walked across
to her and wrote a large 'N' on the unconscious girl's forehead with a biro.
"Gotta tell them apart somehow," Monica said to me.
Tanya wore a green lycra skirt that clung to her hips and thighs and was
topped with a cut-down singlet that was at least a size too small, for Tanya,
too, was exceedingly well endowed. Monica did the honours again with the pen,
leaving a large 'T' on Tanya's forehead.
"They will be all right?" Mr Kuragin was clearly worried.
"Absolutely sir. I understand we've been recommended to you by a good
friend, Mr Fischer. I hope the result with his daughter is of interest to you."
"Ah, yes, such a transformation." Mr Kuragin's weathered face with its
bristling black moustache cleared momentarily, the worry lines disappearing as
he smiled at the thought. "If you can do something like that it will be a
miracle. I...I just don't know what to do with these two - they used to be such
lovely children. But since their mother died..."
"How long have they been unconscious Mr Kuragin?" asked Monica, obviously
heading him off at the pass before things got too maudlin.
"An hour, maybe."
"Good. Let's get them settled in the van. Steven, can you manage one or
should we do it together?"
Tentatively I hauled Tanya to her feet and got her over my shoulder in a
fireman's lift. She was no lightweight, but I'd carried heavier things around a
building site before now. Monica led the way outside and opened the back doors
to the van. I had not seen inside it before now. My only other experience had
of course been when Christina and I had been transported into the woods, bound
kneeling nipple to nipple. Mr Willy stirred at the momentary recollection
before I turned my attention to the task at hand.
Inside the van there were two narrow padded benches - one along each side.
Vertical in the centre was a steel pole from floor to ceiling with a horizontal
rail half a metre off the floor fixed to the pole, with the other end screwed to
the back wall of the cab. Two horizontal rails like towel rails were fixed to
the ceiling, one above each bench while the wall above each bench was a made of
timber slats much the same as the interior of a moving van, i.e. with lots of
points for restraining 'packages'.
We laid Tanya on her back on the bench and I noticed the multitude of
quick-release straps that could be easily secured over a prostrate body. We put
these to good use, explaining the obvious to Mr Kuragin - that we didn't want
any harm to come to the girls during the road journey.
Ten minutes later Natasha was laid out on the other bench, wide straps
across her body at ankles, thighs, waist and above her breasts.
"I will report to you in one week, Mr Kuragin," Monica told him. "I expect
it will take at least two for the conversion back to normality, though. Part of
that time, as we discussed, would be simply to keep them away from drugs. To
any of their friends they've simply gone to visit relatives in Sydney, yes?"
"Yes," said the man sadly. "Here is some of their music that you asked
for." He handed Monica a plastic bag that rattled with the sound of plastic CD
cases. "They play them night and day - it drives me crazy. But please be gentle
with them. They are all I have in the world." (Apart from a couple of
Mercedes, a twenty-metre luxury launch and several hideaway retreats in the Gold
Coast Hinterland, I thought unkindly.)
We shook hands and were soon on our way through the dark suburbs. We had
only been driving a couple of minutes when Monica directed me to turn down what
looked like an industrial cul-de-sac. It was only a hundred metres long, with a
few large trees and lined with warehouses and small factories.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Our two packages will be if we don't do a proper job of the packing,"
Monica said. We climbed out and re-entered the back of the van, closing the
doors behind us. Monica switched on secondary overhead lights that gave us
plenty of light to see our charges still unconscious on the benches.
"I must admit I thought you were letting them off lightly," I remarked.
"Not good PR for someone to see his daughters strapped down they way they
will be now," Monica said. "It would smack of some sort of sadistic conspiracy
involving gratuitous bondage. Whereas you know full well that everything I do
has a purpose." I could not tell if she was joking or not. "But you're
absolutely right. I was very gentle with them. It's the last bit of gentleness
these two will have for a while. Their lives will become a living hell for the
next week, at which point - assuming the message has sunk in - it will gradually
ease off towards some form of normality. Or as normal as it ever gets at
Bilboes," she grinned at me.
I helped her make the twins more secure. Their wrists were strapped
separately to the frame of the bench while further straps were secured across
their bodies and pulled tight. Monica opened a small trunk the size of an army
surplus ammunition box and pulled out a roll of duct tape. I noticed as she did
so that the inside of the box was lined with foam rubber and that the box held a
collection of ropes, handcuffs, chains and padlocks. Monica expertly applied
three pieces of tape criss-crossed over Tanya's mouth, then a strip over each
closed eye. Yellow foam earplugs were stuffed into Tanya's ears before the
final touch of a long piece of tape across the forehead and down under the
bench. As far as I could see Tanya was totally immovable. Monica passed me the
tape and two more plugs and I did the same to Natasha, giving her a bit of a
push to make sure she was well and truly snug. Then we returned to the cab.
"All that would have seemed a bit of overkill to Mr Kuragin," Monica said,
stating the obvious.
"So what is he expecting?" I asked.
"Probably something like a cross between a strict boarding school, a detox
ward and a health farm. Suffice to say he will see the end product, not the
means of achieving it."
We had passed through the city area and were heading into the western
suburbs when the cops stopped us. It was a routine random breath testing check
but I have to confess I was nervous as I blew into the machine. Monica reckoned
the twins had another hour's kip left in them but I was waiting for the squeaks
and grunts that might come from the two gagged females strapped tightly to the
benches in the back. I doubted they would be heard in any case, just as I
doubted they could shift their weight sufficiently to rock the van enough to be
noticed.
Notwithstanding all that, I was happy to be on my way again. It didn't pay
to drink and drive in Brisbane, but I was sure it paid even less to transport
bound and gagged women about the city. I don't think even Monica would come up
with a suitable excuse for such a situation.
We arrived at back Bilboes at around midnight. I parked around the back by
the emergency door and opened this while Monica undid the rear doors of the van.
When I returned she showed me how the benches unclipped from the frame and two
handles slid out from under each end of the bench, enabling it to be picked up
like a stretcher without disturbing the occupant. This was very neat, I
thought, and said so to Monica.
"Trish's idea. She's nearly as handy as you in that area."
"I know," I agreed. "I'm more impressed each day."
"So is she," Monica said, "but you didn't hear that from me."
We carried our two unconscious burdens inside and deposited them on a pair
of sawhorses in the Sluice Room.
"Thanks Steve - that's really great. I'll get Jillian on to these two now.
I'll take over from wherever she's got up to with their current clients.
Tomorrow it will be Mary and Trish."
"Mary and Trish are going to work on them? You must have big plans."
"We're getting paid an awful lot of money for the taming of these two
shrews. Mary and Trish are the best at what I have in mind."
I had not had time to eat that evening so I spent some time heating up some
leftovers in the kitchen and watching a late night movie. The mission to the
Gold Coast had got my adrenaline going and I didn't feel like sleeping. At the
end of the movie I went downstairs to see how things were progressing. Monica
was in the Observation Room with Jill who looked stunning in a black PVC corset
with a leather miniskirt barely concealing the tops of the seamed black
stockings she wore. Around her throat was a stylish black leather choker.
"Wow," I said admiringly. "And I thought you were only into sporty stuff."
Jill smiled with just a hint of colour coming to her cheeks.
"We're all very versatile," Monica offered. "As you can see. I'm just
checking up on Shannen at the moment." I followed her gaze to the CCTV screen.
It showed the scene in one of the holding cells. Shannen was chained to the
bed, spread-eagled, cuffed to the frame at wrists and ankles. At least I
presumed it was Shannen, since her entire head was swathed in silver duct tape
with only a dark opening for her nose. She still wore her black high heels and
maroon skirt, which had now ridden high up her thighs, displaying her black
nylon-clad legs in spectacular fashion. The white satin blouse was undone to
reveal her firm breasts which each sported a plastic clothes peg.
"She's asleep, I think," said Jill.
"How can you sleep like that with clothes pegs on your tits?" I asked
wonderingly of nobody in particular.
"You can take a lot of things if you're tired enough," Monica said. "She's
also got that big butt plug still up her bum. It's locked there and will stay
there until morning. I really do hope she comes to her senses. I think she
could be quite a nice person if only she gets a grip on herself." Monica
switched off the monitor and switched on the light in the Post Room, which up
until then had been in darkness. Looking through the one-way glass I saw the
two helpless figures bound to the posts facing each other, the little I could
see of their faces being wide-eyed and tear-streaked.
Natasha and Tanya were secured in identical fashion - mirror images almost.
They were both naked and hung semi-suspended against the two posts in the room,
facing each other. They each wore a rubber hood but with the face open, clearly
to enable each to watch the other. Over the top of the hood was an elaborate
harness securing a ball gag deep in their mouths - one red ball and one white.
I had drilled a number of 12 millimetre holes in the posts to enable big
bolts to be inserted wherever necessary. These bolts could serve two purposes -
either for securing something to the post, or to simply stop rope sliding up or
down. In this case it was the latter. There were two bolts protruding from the
rear of the posts - one at about two metres high and the other at waist height.
The former served as a hook over which the wrists of the prisoner were hung,
above the head and behind the post. Around each waist was a wide belt with a
crotch strap drawn tightly between the legs. On each side of the waist belt was
a large D-ring, and through these were drawn a number of turns of white sashcord
that welded the prisoner to the post, looping behind it above the second bolt
protruding from the timber. The same bolt also served to secure the victims'
feet. Their ankles were locked in leather cuffs which had been drawn back such
that the legs were bent double via the knees and hips, as the ankle chains were
hooked over the same waist bolt at the rear of the post. It was a very strained
position I realised. The twins were suspended by their wrists, waists and
ankles, but the presence of the post pushed the waist forward while pulling the
arms and legs back.
The most obvious effect it had was the prominent thrusting out of the girls'
breasts which were truly a wonderful sight to behold. Clearly they were a
visible asset at the best of times, but the arching of the body left them
thrusting forward in a 'take me' attitude that I suspected the twins would
surely regret and wish they had mammary attributes of lesser proportions. Most
noticeable of all, however, was the fact that each nipple was pierced with a
gold ring. I guess that might have been expected, looking at the ears and
noses, and again I reckoned the nipple piercing might be an idea that they would
wish they had not gone through with.
I noticed also, as I took in the finer points of the strict bondage, that
over each nipple the girls now sported TENS patches - with a cutout for the tip
and the ring - a donut-shaped stick-on patch the diameter of a golfball. These
were the sort used by physiotherapists and others of the medical profession, and
I had done some work with a mate recently in adapting these for the new purpose
they were to serve.
Thin wires hung from the patches and were joined by wires trailing from the
crotch strap. The wires ran across the floor to a point below our window that
was out of sight.
"We've hooked up the wires like you told us Steve," said Jillian," but we're
not sure about the new gear you have here."
The 'new gear' was some stuff I had had adapted by a mate called Douglas who
was a bit of an electrical nerd. He ran an electronics shop and I had used him
from time to time on some of my building projects when something a little out of
the ordinary was required. Doug loved nothing better than to be asked to come
up with a particular device that might be an adaptation of existing technology.
This particular adaptation began with a common or garden CD player - in this
case a five-stacker.
"It's really simple," I explained. "Monica told me about the twins'
situation a while ago, although no specifics were mentioned. One of the
problems was that these two girls were driving their father and the
neighbourhood mad with their music, so we thought there might be a good case for
some aversion therapy. Basically, you start the CD player and away it goes.
The sound remains turned off in here, but the girls can hear it through the
headphones under their hoods."
I started the CD player and looked up in time to see the expressions of
surprise on the faces of Natasha and Tanya.
"The volume level is shown on this meter here, and all you have to do is
decide the baseline trigger level, which you input here." I looked at the level
the music was playing at and punched in a figure about three quarters of the
peak volume. "Every time the volume peaks above this level, it sends a signal
to this little black box next to it." I indicated a device the size of a modem
on the desk next to the CD player. "This in turn sends a small charge out to
the ladies."
"Ingenious," Jillian said admiringly. "Is this one of your ideas or
Monica's?"
"Just how perverted do you think I am?" I asked with a touch of fake
umbrage.
"It was my idea, but this man made it work," Monica clarified. "I think
it's brilliant."
"But there's more," I continued. "You see, I reckon the whole thing about
such a situation is the 'unknown'. These girls will know their music backward
sideways and - suspended. So they will expect their punishment, after a short
learning curve. What this little box does is create a random cycle so that
every peak is sent to a different receptor - wherever you devious women have
hooked up the wires to. There is also a 'blank' in there as well, that is
occasionally when the peak is reached, no signal is sent at all. Just to
confuse the issue, you see, so there is no pattern and they never know what's
coming next. And to make matters more interesting, the CD playing sequence is
set to 'random', so it will switch from one track on one CD to a randomly chosen
track on another."
"Never be predictable," said Monica, "unless you really want them to fear
what is still to come. We'll get on to that tomorrow."
"And finally," I finished, "the level of voltage is set by this knob here.
It's limited in the jolt it can deliver, since we're obviously not out to harm
the girls, and they'll be getting quite a few of these over a long period. At
the moment it's set at fifty percent, which gives a one-second buzz. Who wants
to try?"
"Allow me," said Monica. "Where do I switch on?"
"Here," I showed her, first turning the volume within the Observation Room
up so that we could identify when things were happening. Monica flicked the
switch and we watched the volume meter intently as the thud of punk rock burst
into the room. I tweaked the volume down a bit, and decided that maybe we would
be doing society a bit of good in this particular therapy case.
As the volume meter crept over the baseline a small red light on the black
box flashed and one of the bound figures stiffened, her eyes widening. Her
breasts heaved and then subsided, but I could sense fear in her eyes and her
breathing quickened as she suddenly realised what was happening. The red light
winked again and the same figure stiffened again. I began to wonder if
something had gone wrong, when moments later the opposite twin jerked in her
chains, her legs widening then squeezing the post between them. I did not know
how long they had been conscious after the drug had worn off, but they were
certainly very awake now.
"Dare I ask where you have inserted these wires?" I inquired of Jillian.
"Obviously there's one on each tit, and one to those new butt plugs you
adapted, and one connected to a stainless steel dildo in each pussy."
I did a mental calculation. Four tits, two twats and two butts plus a blank
made a one in nine chance of any orifice or protuberance getting zapped when the
volume peaked. It gave just under a fifty percent chance of either twin getting
zapped.
"Jill, Steve, could you go see that everything is functioning properly
please? And don't forget your masks. I want to add to the fear at this stage by
not letting them know what a bunch of pussies they're dealing with."
"Aren't we the ones dealing with a bunch of pussies?" I suggested. Monica
laughed and handed me a black ski mask with holes for the eyes and mouth. Jill
pulled on a black leather mask which seemed like three quarters of a discipline
hood, covering her head down to her ears and her face down to her mouth. It was
pretty menacing, I thought.
We left the OR and entered the Post Room. It was quiet except for the very
faint tinny sound of the earphones under the rubber hoods. I put my head up to
each hood to check the ear pieces were all working and that the girls could hear
properly. All seemed okay - I could just make out the sound above what was now
rapid breathing by Natasha and Tanya. I held my hand on each of four breasts in
turn - some people have all the tough jobs. The flesh quivered and wobbled as
the girls strained in their bonds. I noticed the twins had tattoos on each
breast - one had a small red rose on one boob and a red tulip on the other. The
second twin had a white rose and a white tulip. As my hand lingered, every so
often I would get a painful little buzz through the pad around the nipple and
the breasts would heave in a most stirring manner. Of course this was always
accompanied by a lot of frantic wide-eyed 'mmphing' and head shaking and
pleading looks from the big blue eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks past the
head harness and the jaw-stretching ball. A string of drool trickled down from
each corner of the gag and slid slowly down the firm, upraised breasts. These
eighteen-year-olds certainly had wonderful bodies. Jillian was checking out the
girls' more sensitive areas and likewise confirmed that everything was in
working order.
Jillian spoke into the ear of the red flowered girl. "You should be
comfortable here for the night, Natasha - nothing to do but listen to your
favourite music, nice and loud." The twin shook her head in despair, making
plaintive mewing sounds from behind the red ball gag. Now I saw the
significance of the red and white gags - either Jill or Monica had an eye for
detail. "Enjoy the party," Jill said, as we closed the door behind us.
Back in the OR, Monica asked me: "I know it's late Steve, but remember you
said the system could also be used with live sound?"
"Sure. You just need a mike and you plug it in here instead of the CD
player."
"Good. I want to try that tomorrow. In the meantime we should get some
sleep. Jill will do the night shift. I have plans for these two tomorrow."
"I'll bet you do," I thought, but asked: "Do they know that yet?"
"No. As yet they have no idea where they are, why they're here or how long
they will be kept. I want to scare them shitless for the first 24 hours -
really give them something they won't forget, with the promise of more to come
if they don't behave. Likewise I want them to think about the possibility that
far worse punishments might await them for an indefinite period of time - just
let their own minds do all the work for a bit and create the worst possible
scenario. For what Mr Kuragin told me, they're not without imagination.
Anyway, think about what I want and see how many microphones we might have. I
want to use feedback from the twins to create more zaps. See you in the morning
Jill."
Monica and I went upstairs leaving Jill in the gloomy quiet of the basement
overseeing her suffering charges. Monica briefly outlined what she wanted
before we parted. It was gone 2 a.m. and I was suddenly overcome by tiredness.
I awoke at seven - an hour later than usual - and breakfasted alone on the
verandah. Monica was in her study already, looking impossibly fresh and rested.
She filled me in on events.
"Mary and Trish have just come on duty," she said. Mary is dealing with
Shannen at present. Watch." She switched channels on the monitor and I
realised we were looking at the Sluice Room. Poor Shannen was bent over a
portable frame I had made out of 40 mm steel pipe, welded together in the form
of a sawhorse and mounted on a small trolley that enabled it to be moved from
room to room. The horizontal bar of the horse was padded with foam covered with
vinyl designed to cushion the body to some extent. Shannen was naked except for
her high heels, stockings and garterbelt. Her wrists and ankles were spread
wide and chained to the legs of the horse while her head was still cocooned in
duct tape as I had seen it the previous night. Mary was giving her a very heavy
talking to, interspersed with accurate slashes with a multi-tailed flogger about
the backs of her thighs. Shannen would definitely not be a happy teddy.
"Meanwhile, back at the ranch..." said Monica. "Why don't we go and visit
the twins in person?"
We went downstairs to the OR in time to see Trish dealing with the one of
the twins - the one with the red flowers on her tits.
"That's Natasha," said Monica, by way of explanation. Trish was wearing a
form-fitting black latex catsuit, complete with gloves and high-heeled
calf-length boots, all of which glistened under the lights. She had piled her
shoulder-length hair on top of her head and now wore a soft leather mask
somewhat bigger and more evil than the Lone Ranger's, and definitely looked all
business.
Natasha's ankles had been let down but her feet were now hobbled with a
short length of rope, while her waist bonds had also been released. At some
stage during the night Jill had secured both head harnesses to the posts as
well. Maybe it was to prevent strain on the neck, maybe it was to add a further
restriction on movement. Natasha's harness was now undone totally and the gag
was popped out. The girl tried to say something, which I guess would have begun
with 'who', 'why' 'where' or 'what', but she never got the chance. Trish's
expertise was such that with a finger under the jaw she was soon winding duct
tape around Natasha's head over the top of the rubber hood.
"Change of gag?" I queried.
"Eases the jaw," Monica explained. "They've had a long stint with the balls
- their jaws will be aching painfully at the moment. The other reason is
they're going to be upside down in a minute. Duct tape is much kinder in that
position. You've no doubt noticed we also generally use it if the client has to
sleep. Less obstruction of the airways and longer duration."
"Oh," I said, suitably enlightened.
Trish moved behind the post where Natasha's arms were still held high with
the chain looped over the protruding bolt, and with deft movements freed both
wrists, pulling them down then pushing Natasha away from the post and letting go
of one wrist. Natasha instinctively tried to run, but the short hobble almost
saw her lose balance. Then she tried to claw at her tape gag with her free hand
before Trish was on her like a cat and immediately grabbed the free wrist,
clipping the cuffs together with well-practised expertise.
"Impressive," I murmured.
"She's good," Monica agreed. "A pleasure to watch, don't you think so?"
"Absolutely," I said. Mr Willy thought so to, but I didn't let Monica know
his opinion.
Natasha was at once under control again as Trish pulled her away from the
post with mincing little steps, then had her turn to face the post. She secured
a strap tightly around Natasha's elbows until they almost touched, making the
girl's already prominent breasts thrust forward even further. I wondered what
was coming next until Trish looped a rope over another protruding bolt at the
two-metre level on the post - a rope which was then attached to the short chain
between Natasha's wrist cuffs. Trish then began hauling and Natasha's arms went
up in the air behind her. She began making more grunting and mmphing noises as
he head went down at an equal rate. Trish pulled on the rope with one hand and
guided her prisoner with the other - pushing her head down further and further
and making her take tiny steps towards the post, until eventually Natasha was
bent double and her arms were pointing vertically, hard up against the post.
Trish left a little slack in the rope before tying it off to a cleat.
"Eighteen year-olds are wonderfully supple," Monica murmured, half to
herself. "Don't you think so, Steve?"
"I can't really remember," I said.
She smiled. "I'll bet you can."
It took only a moment for Trish to replace the hobble rope with a spreader
bar, with the widening of her ankles lowering her body and taking up the slack
in the overhead rope. With Natasha's head, shoulders and arms against the post
Trish removed the elbow restraint, replacing it with a couple of turns around
Natasha's body, between her breasts and waist, and looping around the post.
"She really is an artist, our Trish," said Monica admiringly. "There's no
excess with her. Everything is minimalist but absolutely functional. Natasha
won't be able to move anything except her fingers and head. And talk about
exposed!"
It took another ten minutes before Trish had Tanya similarly bound to the
post, head down, staring between her legs at her twin sister on the opposite
post. Then Trish picked out a wicked looking cane that made the hairs stand up
on my neck as she swished it through the air. I had terrifying visions of my
time at high school where caning was the normal method of discipline. "Go and
fetch the cane!" was the dreaded expression for anyone caught doing wrong.
Looking back I supposed it didn't do me any harm and one had to say that
discipline was pretty tight. Maybe if everything hadn't become so politically
correct today's youth might be a little more considerate of the rest of society.
So much for the soapbox, I thought. The twins were now about to find out the
hard way.
Monica spoke into the microphone.
"Natasha and Tanya. You have been brought here because of your attitude.
You probably have a dozen questions as to where you are, who we are, how long
you're here and why you're here. The first two points are irrelevant. How long
you're here depends entirely on you. It could be six days, six weeks or six
months. Nobody knows where you are, or what you are experiencing. Your father
thinks you are at a kind of health retreat. He is probably enjoying his first
worry-free peace and quiet for a long time. As to why you're here..." Monica
managed to get a terrible steely menace into her voice. "I think you both know
the answer to that question. You have an attitude problem. You have a drug
problem. You are devoid of pride in yourselves and your capacity to achieve.
You are unacquainted with the notions of responsibility and accountability for
your own actions. This is the first of your lessons here.
"You are here because of what you have done and the trouble you have caused.
You will remain here until you realise this and can offer a suitable reform plan
that will allow you to contribute to society. Until such time you will be
punished for your misdeeds and your attitude. If you cause trouble, or try to
escape, it goes without saying that the punishment will become more severe and
more prolonged. If you were to disappear entirely, perhaps even that would not
be a bad thing..." She left her voice hanging in mid-air, heavy with inference.
By God she certainly scared me. "Proceed with the punishment," she ordered.
The cane fizzed through the air and caught Natasha squarely across both
cheeks of her backside. The girl screamed behind the tape sealing her mouth,
the sound coming out in a long "Nnnnnnmmff!" followed by moaning and mewing
through her nose. Her hands twitched and she tried to hop from foot to foot to
no doubt ease the burning pain that was probably searing into her flesh. Her
breath came fast and ragged, a series of pantings mixed with drawn out groans.
"That was a small example of what is to come. Now it is Tanya's turn."
Trish moved over to the helpless bent-over form secured to the post. Tanya's
eyes widened with fear. Seeing what had just happened to her sister no doubt
was going to heighten the experience. She shook her head in desperation,
struggling hopelessly against her bonds, making "Nnnn! Nnnn!" noises from behind
the silver duct tape covering the lower half of her face. Her body was
trembling and her hands clenching open and shut when the next stroke hit in the
same place as on Natasha. Again the screaming moan through the nose, the eyes
screwed shut in pain and the frantic gasping for breath.
There was a period of perhaps a minute where Trish stood out of sight of the
girls and Monica said nothing. The silence was broken only by the sobbing of
the girls in their helpless positions of vulnerability.
"That was merely a small sampling of what you can expect. Can you imagine
fifty strokes like that? You would be brought back to consciousness each time
you passed out from the pain, so that you could receive more. It could go on
for days." Monica paused to let her words sink in. "I haven't yet decided how
many you will receive. But I want you to consider your plight. I want you to
remember the ache in your arms and back, the bite of the rope about your body
and wrists, the strain in your legs, but most of all the helplessness and
vulnerability you feel and the futility of escape. I want you to ponder on why
you're in this position and decide if it was all worth it. And I will tell you
one more thing. There is more where this is coming from. Don't ever think that
it will be over once you leave here. We will seek you out and find you, should
you err further. You can't hide from us. We have resources that will track you
down and you will feel the lash across your flesh whenever we decide you may
deserve it." Monica paused then commanded: "Continue."
Trish walked into the field of view of both girls as they stared between
their legs, terrified. Trish slashed the air several times - a fearsome sound
designed to reach the very depths of their psyche. She stopped then, as though
trying to decide which tempting uplifted bottom would feel the pain first. Then
she walked out of sight, circling the helpless pair, the heels of her boots
clicking menacingly on the concrete in the darkness beyond the small circles of
light that lit up the prisoners.
"She would have made a wonderful actress," I whispered, awed by the
performance. Then things went totally silent and I lost Trish in the darkness.
Until, sneaking forward on tiptoes she let fly with the cane across Tanya's
rump, leaving a vivid red weal about two fingers width above the first.
Tanya's muffled scream and the sobbing that followed echoed off the cold
concrete block walls. Trish vanished into the darkness again. Impressed as I
was with the performance the pain being inflicted on the helpless girls made me
uncomfortable, regardless of their misdemeanors. I obviously did not have the
internal fortitude for the hard side of this business, I decided.
"You won't forget what I need for this afternoon," said Monica, as I turned
to go.
"It's all just about ready now. Just give me a call when you're ready."
I turned and closed the door behind me as a fourth crack sounded followed by
a muted wailing and sobbing.
