Monica's Place
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - SHANNEN RIDES AGAIN
I spent the rest of the morning sorting out various bits and pieces that had
been demanding my attention. Monica requested my presence shortly after lunch,
again in the Observation Room.
"Stage two," said Monica, inclining her head towards the Post Room.
"They've been fed and watered - after a fashion, and they're raring to go
again," she grinned. I followed her gaze and saw that Emma had taken over the
discipline session. I had not seen her in this role and she looked stunning,
wearing black leather boots that came halfway up her thighs and a black pvc
corset that lifted and displayed her cleavage most provocatively. She wore a
novelty rubber Halloween mask that transformed her face into that of an old
crone. It certainly wouldn't do much for the Twins' dreams when they returned
home.
Emma was putting some finishing touches to Tanya - she of the white ballgag.
Tanya was being secured to match her sister, who was loosely but ingeniously
fastened to one of the posts. Both girls were still naked but for the wide
black waist and crotch belts, the latter no doubt hiding a dildo and butt plug,
if the two wires hanging down between their legs were anything to go by. Each
girl sported black leather wrist and ankle cuffs, with chains joining them
behind the post. Their ankles were chained in such a way that their feet were
secured almost alongside the post, leaving them on the point of falling forward
but not quite there. The wrist chains were not particularly tight, leaving a
little room for hands to fly about but not so much that they could reach or
interfere with any knots or attachments. I wondered if they could crouch down,
if they tried. Their rubber hoods had been removed and standard ball gags
installed. Their hair was damp and matted and their cheeks were tear-stained.
I could see angry red weals on the backs of their legs and buttocks. Clearly it
had been a painful learning experience thus far.
It was difficult to see if the looseness of the restraints was a relief for
the twins. They looked subdued and miserable. Emma finished chaining Tanya's
ankle cuffs and checked the round TENS pads that still encircled the girls'
nipples with their gold rings.
Monica had explained what she wanted, and then asked that I give Emma a
hand. I donned my ski mask and entered the room with a two buckets, one
half-filled with water. This one was the same one we had used on Emma for the
water torture, and temporarily had a piece of tape over the hole in the bottom.
Emma was busy with a long piece of string when I entered. She tied one end
to Natasha's right nipple ring and then threaded the other end through Tanya's
left ring then Natasha's left ring then tied the string off to Tanya's right
nipple ring, putting just a light tension on the string.
"Okay?" she asked Tanya softly. Tanya's eyes widened above the gag, not
knowing what was to come.
"Nnnmp!" she said, shaking her head in fear.
"Don't worry, sweetcakes," said Emma, cupping Tanya's chin and giving her a
light kiss on the nose.
As Emma was doing this, I reconnected the twins TENS wires to the main
outlet feeds from the black box in the control room. This provoked a lot of
hmmming and pleading noises from the pair, which I pointedly ignored. I then
fixed each twin with a small headset with a microphone, like those worn by
receptionists or Telstra operators. I settled these snugly on their heads and
held them in place with a sports headband. The mikes were positioned just in
front of the balls wedged behind their teeth.
I set up a second mike on a small tripod stand midway between the girls, as
Emma hoisted the plastic bucket of water on a pulley fixed to the roof midway
between the two. The tape had been removed from the hole and water was slowly
dripping out.
The final touch was the second plastic bucket which was hung at mid point
over the three spans of string linking the girls' nipple rings. It was at that
point that they saw the plan, and both began to moan and plead, twisting their
arms and shuffling their feet as much as their chains would let them. I returned
to the Observation Room with Emma.
"Young ladies, if I could have your attention please," Monica commanded
sharply into the microphone. "Let me explain your situation. Firstly, as you
have no doubt worked out, the water from the top bucket will be dripping into
the bottom one over the next few hours, making the load on your lovely nipple
rings heavier and heavier. You should consider the purpose and usefulness of
these rings both for now and in the future. They hold endless possibilities -
at least for what we have in mind! But you will also notice the other little
extras we have added.
"You will be pleased to know you need not endure any more of your favourite
music. There will be no more shocks from that music. Instead they will
originate from two other sources - dripping water supplemented by your own
music. In short, the sound of the drop of water landing in the lower bucket
will be picked up by the microphone on the stand. It may or may not trigger a
little zap to a randomly selected part of you. On the other hand, any noise
made by either of you - grunts, squeaks, moans, whatever, will definitely
trigger a zap. It may be to the one who made the noise, or it may be to the
other. That's all. Enjoy your afternoon."
Monica turned the lights down to leave the captives in two pools of light in
a darkened room. Then she flipped the switch to set the system in motion.
For a while nothing happened, although the incoming sound meter from the
bucket was registering each drip as a flick of the needle.
"Is it working?" Emma asked.
"Wait," I said, having the utmost confidence in my mate Douglas the
electrical geek. At the fifth drop a red light winked on the black box and
Natasha stiffened and jerked, letting out a plaintive cry from behind her red
ball. The green light winked immediately followed by the red light and Tanya
went rigid and moaned. The sequence happened several times in quick succession
until the girls slowly realised that if they were to save themselves pain they
must control their voices. At length the grunting and cries were held back, and
the two stared at each other in miserable silence, their bodies occasionally
spasming and trembling as a little zap struck. Their eyes screwed up in such an
instance then opened to let another tear slide down the cheek. All we could
hear was the heavy breathing which I had expected and allowed for in the setting
of the sound levels. The girls still struggled with their bonds, trying to get
their hands around to reach the nipple rings.
We watched for perhaps ten minutes before Monica said to Emma: "Time for
the finishing touch, I think, Em."
Emma disappeared next door, and was visible moments later fixing a small
bell to each wrist and ankle cuff.
"Good luck." She whispered into Natasha's microphone. Natasha rolled her
eyes as a shock caught her in an intimate location. She twitched and grunted
before she could help herself, and suddenly the bells tinkled at her wrist
cuffs. Moments later Tanya's wrist cuffs were also tinkling, as both girls were
unable to control their spasming bodies.
"How long can they go on like this?" Emma asked as she returned, a look of
concern on her face as she took the mask off.
"Under an all out spasm they will receive two minutes worth, given that it's
spread between the two girls and their different receptors," I told her.
"Then what?"
"It cuts out for five minutes whenever a certain dosage is reached,
regardless of how long that takes to be achieved."
Poor Natasha and Tanya were well on their way to that two minutes when I
left, their bodies twitching and stiffening, their cries unable to be suppressed
by the rubber balls. Rather them than me, I thought thankfully.
After tea that night, before retiring to my room, I checked with Emma how
things had gone with the Twins. Emma was getting ready to finish in the
Observation Room.
"They're very tired and sorry for themselves," she told me. "They're very
sore but will probably sleep all right, despite their current predicament."
"I reckon they've had a current predicament all afternoon," I said wryly.
Emma laughed. "They're now in the cell next to Shannen. Look." She
switched channels on the monitor. I saw two forms lying on the floor. There
was no bed in this cell, just a large vinyl covered mat on the floor - the sort
they have in gyms for gymnastics.
"What have you done to them this time?" I asked.
"Not a lot at all," Emma said matter-of-factly. "They're wearing full
inflatable rubber hoods with no eye holes or mouth opening, although they're not
actually gagged. The hoods are tight enough so that it's impossible to make any
sense with one on. Believe me, I've tried it. And they're in mummy bags - made
out of heavy latex with a heap of straps around the outside. They're not
actually tied up inside, but they can barely move - I know that from experience
too," she added ruefully. "I've spent the night in one and you can bet these
two girls are going to be very hot and sweaty in the morning. It's all part of
lowering their resistance and tiring them. We'll wake them up a few times
during the night as well. Then tomorrow they'll get the full steam treatment in
your new sauna in the morning, and I understand Monica has scheduled them for a
'double torpedo in the afternoon'."
"What lucky girls."
"Aren't they just." We watched for a few minutes as the shiny black forms
periodically twitched and rolled on the floor, bumping into each other and
looking like they were trying to communicate, head to head.
"They'll have no chance of that," Emma told me, anticipating my thought.
"Once they're pumped up, the hood restricts your hearing. All you can hear is
blood pounding in your ears, especially since we stuck earplugs in, first. And
to talk is impossible. The pressure holds your jaw and lips closed very
effectively."
"And how's our intrepid journalist?"
"She's resting peacefully." Again the change of channels to the cell next
door. Shannen was also lying on a PVC mat on the floor, naked. Her wrists
ported leather cuffs and were chained together behind her back, while her ankles
were likewise secured. She was gagged with several strips of black duct tape
across her mouth and her eyes were closed although the light remained on. She
lay on her side, her body showing red marks on her legs and buttocks. As we
watched she rolled on to her stomach and a low moan of pain was heard through
the microphone in the cell.
"Bad girls should get used to wearing nipple clamps during the day, don't
you think?" smirked Emma.
"Absolutely," I agreed. "I hope everybody has a pleasant evening. See you
tomorrow."
The next morning I was sitting down to a late breakfast with Leila and Emma
when Monica and Jillian appeared, urging a prisoner ahead of them. I assumed it
was Shannen, although I could not really see her face and the other times I had
seen her she has been gagged in different ways. This time the situation was no
different but she was still an extraordinary sight. She wore black thigh-high
leather boots that had been laced up tightly along the full length. Above these
she was dressed in black shiny latex - a short skirt reaching to the top of her
boots that clung sensuously to her thighs and buttocks. Above this was a
long-sleeved latex top with a high neck that merged with a rubber hood.
Shannen's harms were folded and secured behind her back, and her hands were
covered in rubber mittens that would have made any form of finger usage
impossible. Over her head she wore a bridle harness of sorts that secured a
rubber-sheathed bar in her mouth, which I suspected concealed a mouth-filling
gag as well. On top of this were blinkers which clearly limited her field of
view. The whole get-up was topped off with a feathered plume attached to the
top of the head harness. I wondered if she had been able to look at herself in
a mirror.
She was controlled by Monica via a thin leather rein attached to a brass
ring at each end of the bridle bar, enabling her head to be twisted and directed
in either direction. The front of Shannen's rubber top was split by two
vertical zippers - one over each breast, and these had been exposed as Monica
obviously deemed appropriate. Attached to each pink nipple atop the swelling
orbs protruding through the rubber was a chrome nipple clamp, the two joined by
a thin chain. Attached to this was a third rein which disappeared between
Shannen's legs to be held by Monica.
Monica introduced us to Shannen and made her take a bow. Shannen obviously
did not know what was going on yet or how she was expected to perform, for a
performance was clearly what was expected of her. As Monica pulled on the third
rein Shannen realised the only way she could reduce the sharp pain in her
nipples was to bend in the downward direction. This she did, holding the bow
until she felt the tension release.
Leila, our official photographer, had brought her camera to the table, and
it was for this purpose that Monica then removed the blinkers. It showed of
considerably more of Shannen's face, and despite the black bar hiding her mouth,
I thought she was very attractive. I had never read any of the articles she had
written, but she did not look the sort of person to be vindictive - not now,
anyway. She looked exceedingly sorry for herself in this instance, her face
flushed red with humiliation.
While we finished our breakfast Shannen was secured in a variety of
positions for Leila to take some suitably incriminating and outrageous photos.
First it was bent over and secured by the reins to the railing, then stretched
by the nipple chain with the rein slung over a beam. Here Shannen was on
tiptoe, trying to take the strain off her nipples, her eyes screwed up and
whimpering while Leila shot all the angles. When released the ponygirl
surprised us - well me, at least - by deciding to rub her crotch against a
railing corner post. The rest of the girls laughed.
"Toothpaste on the vibrator," Jillian murmured to me. "Itches like crazy
once the stinging stops."
Then it was off to the garden with Shannen - once again wearing her blinkers
- where she was secured to the garden tap by her nipple chain for a few final
photos.
"You know that cart you made recently?" Monica asked me.
"The one I use behind the ride-on mower?"
Yes. Remember I asked you to adapt the handles so it could be pulled by a
person?"
"Yes."
"Well this is the person who is going to pull it. This is your pony. She's
the one who's going to help you shift those concrete blocks from the end of the
driveway."
It was evident that before any shifting of blocks was done the pony would
have to be properly trained. After I had finished my breakfast I walked over to
where Shannen knelt and undid the nipple rein securing her to the tap. I helped
her to her feet and led the way to my workshop where the cart I had built stood
inside the main door, beside the ride-on lawn mower. I had originally built the
cart to be towed behind the mower, making it useful for carting garden rubbish
to the compost heap - a task I sometimes did as well as my construction
activities. Then Monica had wanted it adapted and I had modified it according
to her specifications.
I backed Shannen between the shafts and secured them via the waist belt and
hip supports, then fastened further straps about her upper body. And I have to
say it was a very attractive upper body. She had big green eyes which looked at
me woefully from the blinkers. Her breasts were not big but were prominent
through the confining rubber slits in the latex top. I stood behind and to one
side, before urging her out of the garage and around the side of the building.
At that point I climbed on the cart, and watched with interest as Shannen was
forced to lean forward, taking the strain on her legs and waist as well as with
the harness connected to her upper body. She had got the hang of it by the time
we turned the corner within sight of the back verandah, when a chorus of rather
unkind comments and applause emerged.
At this point Monica wanted to have a turn - like a kid with a new toy, I
thought. But of course Monica wasn't satisfied with the rein arrangement as it
was currently. The third rein was dispensed with entirely, while the two reins
connected to the brass rings on the bit were rearranged so the reins ran through
the rings, before being secured to the nipple clamps. This was going to be a
very painful morning for Shannen, I thought. Unfortunately it looked like I was
going to be the one doing a lot of the inflicting of it.
Monica and Jillian took Shannen for a spin around the garden. There was no
doubt it was hard work for Shannen, made moreso by the impossible demands for
speed and manoeuvring that Monica demanded, reinforcing her directions with
flicks of a short but lethal-looking whip to Shannen's black and shiny rear end.
They returned to the steps in time for Leila to take further photos of the
sweat pouring off Shannen as she stood still, panting, her breasts heaving
through the slits in the rubber. She was indeed a stirring sight. Then it was
time to work.
It took much of the morning to shift the three pallet loads of blocks from
where they had been delivered inside the front gate to the rear of the house. I
intended to use them for the construction of a small outdoor cell with an open
roof. It would be something that would absorb the full heat of the sun during
summer, or the full fury of a deluge, which in Brisbane's climate could be any
time of the year. It would be less than a metre square but at least two and a
half high. It would also be very claustrophobic.
The work of transporting the blocks was hard for Shannen. The morning was
warm and humid so I made sure she drank plenty of water, as I stopped on a
regular basis to let her sip some mineral water through a small valve in the
gag. After about the third trip the back verandah was empty, so I decided
Shannen could be relieved of the nipple clamps which were obviously causing so
much distress to her. The job she had to do and the manner in which it was to
be done seemed to me to be punishment enough.
Late in the morning we were almost ready for the last run, but I decided a
rest was in order. I was sweating nearly as much as Shannen, since I had been
doing all the loading and unloading of the concrete blocks. I sat down in a
shady patch around the bend in the driveway and let Shannen wait quietly under
the trees. It occurred to me then that any good pony should receive a reward
for a job well done, and I told Shannen so. I suspected she was implanted with
a vibrator that could be activated with a twist of the base, if Monica had
followed her usual modus operandi. Steadying Shannen with one hand on her waist
belt I felt under the thin rubber skirt and found the base of the vibrator
protruding through the fixing in the crotch strap. I turned it on and wound it
up fully. Shannen's eyes widened and she started to shift her weight from one
foot to the other. I did not need to be Einstein to work out that the
groundwork had already been done, as the invader had insinuated itself deeply in
her pussy through the straining she had done in pulling the cart all morning.
Now it seemed she only lacked something solid to rub her pussy against to
complete the reward I was giving her.
She was panting hard and making little mmph sounds through the gag, the
sweat rolling down her face and the look of frustration becoming more and more
apparent. Finally I beckoned her over to where I was sitting on a fallen tree
trunk, just as she looked as though she was about to take off into orbit. I
placed my left hand on my knee and straightened my arm, providing a sloping
surface for her. She trotted up to me and I slipped my left foot over her
hobble rope and pulled her against my arm. The thin black latex of her skirt
felt good against my skin, as did the heat from her pussy as she jammed herself
up against my shoulder, her eyes now closed, humping herself blissfully
oblivious to everything else. Her breath became more ragged and her grunting
more strenuous. I could feel the damp sweatiness as the rubber material slid
over my arm and against the skin of her thighs. There was a musky scent in the
air which was nothing to do with our outdoor location.
Shannen finally climaxed - an orgasm that seemed to go on and on as she
bounced against my body, rattling the shafts of the cart and snorting furiously,
her grunts having changed to a high-pitched mewing as she fought her bonds and
shuddered to a standstill, her leather-clad legs locked against mine. I could
feel the trembling of her body and heard the desperate sucking of air through
her nose. Concerned, I stood up and undid the bit gag, prising it out of her
mouth with a slurping sound followed by a huge intake of air. She leaned
against me, her breasts quivering in the most gorgeous way, her eyes closed, and
her black-clad body doing all the right things for Mr Willy. He would have been
more than happy to do battle at that point, but I knew I had probably already
deviated from Monica's strategic plan. Shannen had barely time for a series of
swearings as she struggled to gain control of her breathing, before I thrust the
soaked leather packing back into her mouth and buckled the bridle in place
again. She looked at me with her huge green eyes with an expression at once
grateful, sorrowful and promising of more.
She was definitely not impressed when I turned off the vibrator and told her
the nipple clamps would have to go on again for appearances on the final run
back to the house. She screwed up her eyes as the chrome-plated clamps bit into
her blood-engorged rosebuds, and a small tear slipped out of the corner of her
eye. I wiped it away gently and suggested that it really was time to get going.
The next time I saw Shannen, she was taking a swim. I had completed
unloading and had returned the cart to the shed by that time and was about to
head downstairs to stand in on a double torpedo on the Twins. Watched by Leila,
who sat in a white bathing suit on the edge of the pool, Shannen was floating
immovably in the water, her legs splinted by a board between them, secured by a
mile of duct tape. Across the middle of her back was another board, roped around
her waist, which enabled easy transport of her by a person lifting each end of
the timber. Shannen still wore the black latex top, hood, skirt and mittens,
although the thigh-length leather boots had now been removed, leaving only the
thin black latex stockings. She looked like some form of strange black fish
lurking on the surface, with only the snorkel pipe detracting from that
likeness.
"Watch her carefully," I said to Leila.
She smiled. I hoped she didn't think I was trying to give her orders - I
was just concerned about the potential for mishap in Shannen's position. But
Leila wasn't the type who could take offence at anything. An eternal optimist
she was one of those rare individuals who seemed to make the best of any
situation they found themselves in. And of course even in my short time at
Bilboes, Leila had definitely found herself in some "situations".
"You're not going soft on us are you Steven?" she teased.
"I bet you ask that of all the guys," I shot back. She laughed, and I left
her to her lifeguard duties.
Meanwhile, down in the dungeons... Our heroines Natasha and Tanya had been
lashed to identical submarine boards sitting on saw horses. Monica and I had
discussed how to do this and had decided that securing the victims away from the
submarine frame was the easy way, and separate boards that could be bolted in
place one at a time, back to back, was the way to go. It looked like Emma and
Trish were doing the honours this time, with Emma in her spunky corset
continuing from where she had left off in the morning, only now the old crone
face had been replaced by that of Minnie Mouse. Trish complemented the
situation with a Daisy Duck mask while I had selected a Goofy mask from our
store. They looked incongruous, and probably the Twins would never be able to
watch a Disney cartoon again, after today. Yet there was also something
frighteningly sinister about the three faces fixed in frozen smiles as they
subjected these helpless females to such painful torment.
Trish looked all business in a rubber skirt clinging tightly across her
thighs and a matching bra which I considered most appealing. She wore black
stockings and snug rubber boots that reached midway up her calves and strangely
had been fitted with three-inch heels. A victory for both elegance and
pragmatism, I decided. Once again she had pinned her auburn hair high on her
head and a pair of elbow-length black latex gloves rounded off the no-nonsense
impression. In contrast to these two I looked totally out of place, not to
mention under-dressed.
"We'll have to see about getting you some leather pants," Trish whispered in
my ear. "I could quite fancy you in them." I could not tell if she blushed,
and I hoped she could not see my reaction either. I walked over to where the
pair of hapless girls lay on the boards. They had been strapped down tightly
again, much as Mary had been in the trial. The only changes from Mary's ordeal
were twofold. Firstly, they would get penetrated in the arse as well as the
pussy, and secondly there would be no getting their rocks off at the end of the
ordeal. That was the theory, anyway. A further difference I noticed was that
the breasts of the victims had also been bound - with sashcord as distinct from
the quick release straps that held their limbs and bodies immobile.
"Do you like it?" asked Emma, obviously noting my admiring gaze. "My friend
here is responsible for that," she said, inclining her head towards Trish. It
was a further sign of Trish's expertise with rope. The girls' breasts had been
bound identically and were now standing vertically and bulging, each boob
wrapped with several turns of the white cord that made the flesh swell and
distend, the blood rising to the nipple. Atop the nipples the little gold rings
stood like tiny ferris wheels upright on giant onions. The white and red flower
tattoos just above the nipples appeared to have enlarged as a result of the
constrictions of the rope. Above and below the breasts were further turns of
cord around the torso. These had then been cinched together either side of the
breasts and in between them. The girls' breathing now seemed more pronounced
with the tight strictures around their chests which moved their nipples through
more exaggerated arcs.
Both girls were - predictably - naked, and both wore their usual white and
red ball gags strapped tightly behind their necks. These gags had clear plastic
air tubes the diameter of a finger penetrating the centre of the balls. The
tubes ran to waist level, being taped in place at various points. The Twins'
heads had not yet been secured in place, and they appeared to be taking a great
interest in their surroundings and what was about to happen to them, if their
wide eyes were anything to go by.
"Time for the insertion, Doctor?" smirked Trish.
"Certainly Nurse," I responded, picking up a torpedo slide that I had
recently modified in my workshop. It worked on exactly the same premise as the
one Mary had so willingly tried out, except that this one carried an anal dildo
as well. It was slightly smaller and driven by a separate weight, but otherwise
was intended to work in exactly the same fashion as its larger front entry
counterpart.
Trish worked the two vibrators so that the heads of them were just inside
Tanya's target orifices, at which point Emma and I fitted the bolts and
tightened the nuts which secured the torpedo brackets to the board. I noted
that the torpedoes were well greased and watched as Trish slid each one home to
the full extent of its stroke as dictated by the body of the victim. Tanya's
eyes appeared to widen even further and she gave off a series of gasping throaty
moans through the tube. Her breath started coming in rapid pants when Trish
tested the on-off switches and left the intruders on while setting the
slide-limit screws. This would prevent harm from coming to the girls by
over-penetration. Mary had reckoned that after the initial setting things had
loosened up even further as the body reacted to the stimulation. Trish slid the
two dildoes back and forth a couple of times, adding a further squirt of
lubricant. This elicited more protest from Tanya, who jerked her body the few
millimetres that the strapping allowed and tossed her head wildly. We quickly
removed the 'looseness' from her bonds and Emma produced two nipple weights.
These were lead balls the size of a walnut and Emma tied one each on Tanya's
nipple rings. Tanya watched with increasing horror, but I'm sure she still had
not realised the extent of her trial. Emma left about ten centimetres of slack
in the string, giving plenty of scope for the weight to swing through an arc as
the girls did the same. Finally we strapped Tanya's head securely against the
padding on the board after first plugging her ears and nose with rubber plugs
and taping her eyes shut with duct tape. Five minutes later Tanya and her board
were lying horizontally, bolted to the frame of the 'submarine'. She was making
little "urgh-rgh!" noises through the tube as we turned our attention to
Natasha, who had of course seen the whole process of securing her sister.
Natasha struggled as best she could as we repeated the securing ritual, but
with each struggle or jerk, the straps were notched tighter and her movements
gradually subsided to immobility. At length Natasha was ready for fixing on the
submarine. Emma turned the electric motor on. There were more glugging throaty
noises from Tanya as her head began to tip down and she slowly rotated such that
after a few seconds the weights slid down the shaft and drove the dildoes into
her crevices. This did not happen simultaneously - something to do with the
size of the weights and the friction of the rails, I guess. As it turned out
the pussy invader acted first, its smooth lubricated length sliding inside Tanya
in a motion that brought forth a groan as the vibrator was activated. About two
seconds later the anal plug was driven home to the accompaniment of a
high-pitched cry through the tube.
At the same time the nipple weights slid around the tautly bound breasts
under the influence of gravity as Tanya neared the vertical inclination with her
head down. Then she was past that and was held entirely by the taut fastenings
of the straps. At this point of course the nipple weights swung entirely free
and there was more groaning into the air tube as the little lead balls
oscillated freely beneath Tanya's boobs, tugging on the gold rings. At length
she was horizontal under the rotating frame, and Emma turned off the power while
we manoeuvred Natasha on to the upper side of the frame. It took several
minutes, while of course during the whole time Tanya was getting a clearly
unfair advantage of getting a total buzz in her arse and pussy. Unwilling to
give one twin the advantage over the other, much less the opportunity to
actually start enjoying her plight, I slid the weights back just enough to break
the contacts.
Then they were off again, slowly rotating end over end, secured in place
head-to-toe, every thirty seconds or so the weights sliding down with successive
muffled thumps which drove the dildoes deeper into their orifices, while on the
opposite side of the board they would be sliding out under their own weight. At
the same time the nipple rings would come under strain, as the weights would
drop twenty centimetres to the opposite side of the breasts. The throaty cries
would come in quick succession from both sides of the board, redoubled as the
water was turned on.
"You're not bad - do you realise that?" said Trish.
"What do you mean?"
She crossed her arms and looked at me appraisingly - or as appraisingly as
Daisy Duck was capable of under the circumstances. "You get away with these
things with a certain panache. What you've done here has a sort of elegant
simplicity about it. Like gravity itself. You obviously haven't got round to
the perpetual motion concept yet, but I wouldn't put it past you."
"I'll remember that next time I have you skewered and helpless on the shaft.
That'll be the time to try the new long life batteries I will have invented."
"Gee thanks," she said. "I can't wait."
" I have other things to do. Be good."
"You're kidding."
It took me a couple of hours to make up Monica's latest device - a
floor-mounted butt plug for the post room. This was a bit like the adjustable
shaft I had tried out on Trish, except it was mounted a metre behind the poor
soul who was to receive it and had a pivot at each end. The lower pivot allowed
the shaft to be tilted up or down, then could be secured with a butterfly nut.
There was a sliding extension just like the original shaft, and at the top end a
butt plug could be mounted, angled and secured, again via a pivot and butterfly
nut. The whole assembly was screwed to the floor and a wired installed to
connect to the butt plug for the dreaded bum zaps. Monica obviously had it in
for somebody.
The day was warm and languid, and I emerged from the dungeon on to the back
verandah in time to see poor Shannen - still clad in her black rubber outfit -
being dragged from the pool by Leila and Jillian. They rested their burden on a
couple of saw horses, the cross-timber spanning between the two so that Shannen
- in her splinted and semi-rigid bondage looked like a strange black seesaw. I
noted that she wore nipple clamps connected to what looked like small bags of
sand. Her balance with the board across her waist was such that her upper body
weighed slightly more than her lower half, with the result that she tilted
head-downwards until the weights touched the ground. She hung there for perhaps
fifteen minutes, making gurgling noises through the snorkel pipe she still wore
taped in place within her mouth.
In the course of making several trips to and from the workshop, I saw
Shannen divested of her leg splint and the bar across the back of her waist. By
the time I was returning to the house for the fourth time, Jillian had finished
securing Shannen on another of my variations on the shaft. Shannen was on the
points of her knees, her upper and lower legs and her torso all melded to the
main shaft - which extended to just below her neck - by about a mile of duct
tape. Jill asked me to help her with the tabletop - another device Monica had
dreamed up and I had made to her specifications. It comprised two lightweight
pieces of semi-circular plywood with a neck hole in the middle. The pieces
fitted like a yoke and were steadied by steel supports that sat on each shoulder
of the person providing the main support for the top. Shannen's snorkel had
been replaced with a few temporary pieces of duct tape over her mouth and she
looked at me pleadingly as Jill and I screwed the wing nuts closed to secure the
top in place. I smiled as comfortingly at her as I could, mouthing the word
"sorry". She seemed to accept this. She obviously had no idea what was coming
next.
A few of the others - Monica and Leila and Emma - appeared, Monica with a
bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc to which I have an admitted partiality.
From that point what was left of the afternoon dissolved into a relaxed
discussion of all manner of things, interspersed with some tasty nibbles, the
sight of which obviously had an effect on the rubber and tape-clad head of
Shannen, sited only a whiff away from the food. Monica pushed some right under
her nose, but with the tape on her mouth she could do little but close her eyes
in frustration. Then the pizza arrived and we tucked in with gusto, again, to
the obvious distress of Shannen. At length Monica suggested Shannen should at
least get to dispose of the leftovers. Jill pulled the tape off the victim's
mouth and began to feed it with the pizza crusts, cheese rinds and other bits
that had either fallen on the ground or that nobody wanted. Nobody asked
Shannen whether she liked anchovies or olives or whether she was a vegetarian.
Nor did she have a chance to protest when it was suggested that she would
probably be thirsty after all that, and she should be rewarded accordingly.
That's when the giant penis gag was produced - a huge replica in
flesh-coloured plastic about six centimetres across and perhaps twenty long. It
came complete with balls and a hand squeeze pump, the idea being that it could
be filled with a particular liquid to suit one's particular fantasies. If your
idea was sucking off a huge dick but you hated the taste, then fill it with
chardonnay or cappuccino, or whatever your heart (or taste buds) desired.
In this case we had made a slightly thick vanilla milkshake - thick enough
to have a creamy slightly stiff texture, if you'll pardon the pun. There was a
reservoir of half a pint as well as what was contained in the member itself.
Poor Shannen, who had no idea what was going on or what new indignity was about
to be inflicted on her, quailed at the sight of the member. It was clamped to a
sliding steel base plate such that when the latter was bolted to the table top,
the dick slid forward into the victim's mouth as far as one desired, at which
point it could be locked in position with another wing nut. It was obviously
important for the victim not to choke on something this big, and I knew there
was no way very much of the member would go inside Shannen's mouth, particularly
with her head level as it was.
Shannen fought the entry of the thing, gasping and protesting and trying to
keep her mouth shut, which was very difficult and ultimately futile as Monica
gripped Shannen's nose and pulled her head back. Once halfway in there was no
more resistance to the giant dick. Shannen's jaws were obviously stretched to
the limit and her eyes were also appropriately wide at the acknowledgement of
the huge thing filling her mouth. It was made of soft plastic, but when Monica
started pumping its contents the member seemed to harden with the pressure of
the pumping. Poor Shannen's swallow reflex began as she tried to keep pace with
the giant ejaculation that was occurring in her mouth. The difference was that
the volume of this one was about fifty time that of a normal spurt session. It
must have been incredibly humiliating as the liquid filled her mouth and oozed
around the edges of the gag.
Finally Monica eased off the pumping and Shannen caught up with the
swallowing, her face red from the effort. Notwithstanding the end of the
swallowing, Monica was not going to remove the gag from Shannen's straining
jaws, that much was clear. Shannen was destined to stay as she was, taped
immovably to the steel shaft and supporting the table top - now rigidly fixed
via the giant pink member wedged in her mouth - until Monica decided otherwise.
It was one of those gorgeously balmy Brisbane evenings that slowly merged
into night, punctuated by the incessant chirp of crickets and frogs in the
surrounding bush. We sat around the table talking and getting through another
bottle of Sauv Blanc. Shannen was inevitably the butt of many jokes and I
couldn't help but feel sorry for her. I thought her humiliation was complete
and her ordeal over when Monica directed that the tabletop be removed and the
prisoner untaped. This took several minutes and there was no denying Shannen's
relief as the gag was extracted from her mouth. There were deep teeth marks in
the plastic - I thought it was a good job it was not a real one. She did not
seem fazed when several strips of tape were applied to her mouth. I think the
mere fact that her jaws were closed made it a delicious treat.
She was obviously not happy about what came next, however. Her arms were
still folded and bound behind her, as they had been all day. She was laid on
the verandah floor, her legs spread and then hauled upside down by ropes
attached to ankle cuffs. She protested as much as she could behind the tape as
Leila and Jill bent their backs to the ropes running over the two pulleys fixed
to the roof beam, before tying them securely to cleats. Shannen swayed in a
figure 'Y' in the gentle evening breeze, her face becoming redder as the blood
found its way to her head.
Monica rolled the rubber skirt up (or was it down?) to Shannen's waist,
exposing the crotch belt that lurked beneath and extracted the two inserts with
loud sucking sounds accompanied by moaning from Shannen. One could almost
believe she had gotten fond of them. Then came a period of trial and error as
Leila, at Monica's direction, fashioned two long and very thick candles into
works of art ultimately protruding from Shannen's front and back passages,
providing a leg-bisecting light that was indeed most artistic. Monica finished
off the living sculpture with a nipple chain clipped to Shannen's bulging
rosebuds with a pair of wicked alligator clips. Shannen moaned and cried as
Monica swung her victim lazily back and forth by tugging on the chain. Tears
rolled down Shannen's temples. I was sure crying upside down was a most awkward
exercise - something our bodies had not really been designed for. (Like, they
had been designed to hang upside down with candles jammed in their orifices?)
We eventually finished grazing on leftovers well into the evening. Shannen
was lowered to the deck before the candles burned down far enough to burn her
tender parts or melt the rubber of her stockings, and was taken away for her
nightly incarceration. God knows what Monica's next devious torture would be
for her - there was no predicting the wiles of that woman.
I had some final tools to take down to the dungeon, so I called in on Emma
in the Observation Room, just to see how the twins were doing.
"Where are they now?" I asked her.
"Oh, their preliminary punishment is over," Emma explained. "They've
survived the hard part - and believe me, an hour going round and round on the
submarine was hard. After that they got another whipping from Mary, but they're
now safely tucked in bed upstairs."
"Really? Unrestrained?"
"No, of course not. Be sensible. They have separate bedrooms and each was
chained in the bath for an hour - enough time for them to thoroughly clean
themselves. Each is now chained to a four-poster by the neck. Their hands and
feet are cuffed and their mouths are taped, but aside from that they can
luxuriate in a soft bed for the first time for a few days. Tomorrow the
training begins."
"The training?"
"Yes - they have to at least learn a bit of civilized behaviour and to do
useful things about the house. They've tasted the worst that could befall them,
now they're experiencing a little of the upside, as a taste of what exists,
although they will be back in the cells tomorrow night. Tomorrow they will be
sweeping and cooking and cleaning and that oven must get a good scrubbing. Do
you want any clothes washed and ironed?"
"I'll let you know."
I said good night to Emma and returned upstairs. Monica and Trish were
sitting at the table, talking and studying at some pieces of paper. They looked
at me strangely as I bade them good night. I shrugged, mentally. A strange
race, female humans...
I came awake in the middle of the night with a great weight crushing me face
down into the bed. Invariably I sleep on my stomach, and my awakening at this
point left me in complete confusion as to what was happening - at least for a
few seconds. My immediate realisation was that someone was sitting on top of
me, at which point I recognised the voices of Monica and Trish. A moment later,
as I tried to move, I realised further that both my wrists had been bent up
between my shoulder blades and one of the girls was busily strapping them
together, crossed at right angles. There was a pillow lying loosely over my
head, which had blocked out most of the light from my bedside lamp they had
used. I tried to struggle, but with someone sitting in the small of my back on
a soft bed and my wrists now secured it was damn near impossible.
"What the hell's going on?" I demanded, trying to keep calm.
"You've been a bad boy," came Monica's icy reply.
""What are you talking about?"
Monica did not answer immediately and my thought processes were distracted
as the pillow was removed and my head was pulled back by the hair. I had barely
time for a gurgling exclamation while trying to adjust my eyes to the light when
something black and bulbous was thrust into my opened mouth and worked inside so
that it thoroughly packed down my tongue. I realised it was the bridle gag that
Shannen had worn the previous day. The mouth packing was a large leather plug
filled with some sort of stiff but resilient material. As the straps were
tightened behind my neck the rubber-sheathed bar was pulled between my teeth
which further expanded the packing. I grunted plaintively, still trying to
focus my eyes and my thoughts and to work out what time it was. I caught a
quick glimpse of the radio alarm clock on the bedside table: three thirty in the
morning. What sort of inhuman hour was this for the girls to be getting up to
their tricks, and what had I done? That was the last I saw of anything before a
padded leather blindfold on a harness was strapped in place about my head.
The pressure on my back eased as whichever female it had been got off. I
struggled to sit up and was helped by two pairs of hands. Sitting on the edge
of the bed I felt more ropes on my body. They looped under my crossed and bound
wrists then rose - one over each shoulder - before ducking under my armpits and
returning horizontally to be secured at my wrists again. This was repeated
several times and culminated with a few turns around my upper arms and body. At
the end of it all my arms were totally immobile.
I should also point out that I normally sleep naked, as I was tonight. In
this sort of weather it is the most comfortable. I should also state that at
3.30 in the morning Mr Willy is not averse to a little nocturnal arousal whether
I am awake or not. In this I know I am not unusual. Sometimes there is little
I can do about such things, and unfortunately this was one of such time. I sat
there, my arms bound, gagged and blindfolded, and Mr Willy shot up like an
extension ladder. This of course caused enormous amusement to Monica and Trish,
and Monica's formerly cold tone softened in direct proportion to Mr Willy's
hardening. Soft hands began caressing me and I found it difficult to keep a
focus on my thoughts. When a warm mouth engulfed Mr Willy I thought I was going
to take off, but the ministrations stopped just as I was getting on to the
launch pad, to the accompaniment of whispers and stifled sniggers. I groaned in
frustration.
"We shall have to curb this lust of yours, Steven. As I said before, you
have been disobedient. We've read Shannen's report of her ordeal yesterday.
Unfortunately it was not as much of an ordeal as it should have been, mainly
because somebody left off her nipple clips for half the morning and let her jerk
off for a lunchtime treat. She even got to have her gag taken out.
Unfortunately somebody will now have to make up for that lapse in punishment.
That's why you're wearing the gag she should have had on without respite.
That's also why you're going to be wearing the same nipple clips." Moments
after she said this, I felt the brief touch of cold steel on my nipples then the
biting pain as the jaws of the clips gripped my tender flesh. I gasped and
whined plaintively into the mouth packing, but little sound came out except for
the pitiful mewing through my nose.
I felt the chains on the clips threaded through the brass rings at each end
of the bar running through my mouth and at once I was totally controllable
through trying to avoid the awful pain from the tugging at my nipples. There
was no doubt it was an incentive to behave and I now fully understood poor
Shannen's plight the previous day.
I needed no persuasion to stand up and move forward to the door. I
obviously knew the layout of my room and the building itself, but that doesn't
really give you confidence if you're not used to being blind. I had faith that
my captors would not let me deliberately walk into anything, and they seemed to
direct me with precise tugs to ensure this would not happen. There were
occasional directions like "step down" or "step up" and I felt the sensation
under my bare feet as the surface changed from wood to grass to wood again as we
made our way over to the main house. Despite my cooperation I was nevertheless
the subject of repeated flicks of what I thought was a riding crop, and I also
concluded that the treatment was coming from Monica. The avoidance of such pain
had left behind the bizarreness of walking about naked with two women just as it
had also made Mr Willy forget his earlier experiences and ambitions.
I mentally tracked our progress as we crossed the back verandah, passed
through the kitchen, down the hall, then descended the stairs to the basement.
We turned left at the bottom of the stairs then right a few paces further
onwards. I knew we were in the Post Room. Female hands locked leather cuffs
about my ankles and pulled my legs apart before obviously chaining the cuffs to
the posts. I realised at that point whom the butt plug on the shaft was
destined for, and why Monica had wanted it installed in such a rush.
I was made to bend forward as the huge invader was worked painfully into my
butthole, filling me uncomfortably. I was then stood up and I could feel the
rigidity introduced as the various sliding and pivoting points were screwed
tight with wing nuts. I was now rigidly impaled on a device of my own
installation, secured in a tripod formed by my legs and the steel rod fixed to
the floor. I protested futilely with a series of grunts, but of course it made
not the slightest difference. I could feel myself starting to sweat and my
breathing rate rising. I could still move above the waist, but not for long -
not once the two reins on the nipple clips were attached high up to the posts.
The slightest twist of my head or movement of my upper torso brought instant
retaliation to my nipples. It was simple, effective and, I guess, somewhat
ironic. Monica obviously thought so, anyway.
I could detect movement around me as I stood there, unable to move. There
was the soft but menacing click of high heels on the concrete - a single pair
only. I had a nasty feeling Monica was about to get close up and personal with
me. There was the sound of a snap and the tingle of air near my naked buttocks.
I trembled as much as my bonds let me. Then came the wicked pain as the
six-tailed flogger bit into the left cheek of my backside. I jerked
involuntarily and regretted it immediately as my nipples fired up and the giant
butt plug made its rigid presence felt. More clicking of heels, a silence then
another snap and another burning pain, this time on my right cheek. I grunted
into the gag. Crack again, this time the leather thongs stitching firey lines
of pain across both cheeks. I steeled myself, trying not to move at all costs,
since my impalement and nipple tension only made things worse. I lost count of
the strokes I received, suffice to say that I was thinking nasty things about
Monica Armstrong at that point and resolving that I would definitely get my own
back, in good time. In the meantime I had to content myself with effusive but
very muffled protests into the packing in my mouth.
Then the footsteps trailed away and the door slammed. No explanation, no
apology. Monica was gone. Steven was left on his tod, bound, gagged,
blindfolded and chained to a couple of posts by his nipples in a dark basement
room. Stuff of nightmares, I thought. Things had really bottomed out. Or so I
thought. That was when a jolt of electricity zapped me through the buttplug.
This time I really yelled, biting vainly on the leather filling my mouth. I
jerked head and body, both of which were a bad idea and were brought up short in
a split second. Shit, I thought, how much of this was I going to have to
endure?
I had no conception of the passing of time. I was conscious only of the
deathly silence save my own breathing and the pain in my nipples and arse. The
strain of standing with my legs stretched apart made the insides of my thighs
begin to quiver but there was no chance of my falling - not hung by the nipples
or with a great plastic dick up my bum. I was tired and not a bit disoriented,
but any possibility I might have had of dozing was negated by a random zap up
the bum. I tried timing the jolts but lost track. Perhaps it was every five
minutes, or maybe every ten. My neck and back began to ache with the necessity
of standing so still. I tried to focus my mind on other things, like plotting
the downfall of Monica Armstrong. Such a downfall was bound to be slow and
painful. Unfortunately such a train of thought inevitably brought me back to my
own predicament and the particular pain I was undergoing at that point in time.
Maybe two hours passed, interspersed with zaps that made my body spasm and
jerk in a manner I could not control, such that the pain from my nips was
aggravated each time. Was she going to make me stand her all morning, or all
day? Who was doing the zapping, I wondered? How many people were in the
Observation Room watching me suffer? Were they laughing, or did I perhaps have
some sympathetic, if silent, supporters, who dared not question Monica's
authority. Maybe Monica was also getting at me for the time I had left her at
warren's mercy when she had been chained to the garden tap then later impaled on
a double dildo with Christina. Who could tell how the minds of these women
worked? Never under estimate their power for revenge, I told myself balefully.
After an eternity or two I heard the door open again. There was a scuffle
of steps then the door slammed again. There was another person in the room.
"O e-en! I o orri! Eerri I anh! I e-er ort..."
The words sounded garbled. It was Shannen, and I guessed she wore some sort
of gag, for her speech seemed devoid of consonants. She was quite plainly
distressed at seeing me, mind you I was not exactly chuffed at my circumstances
myself. Distress seemed to be pretty normal for this place. I did not know
quite what was to happen next, for I could not see Shannen nor understand
whatever restrictive plight she might be in. The next thing I knew was I got
another jolt up my arse, eliciting a high pitched moan through my nose. I
heard the sound of hoarse breathing moving around behind me - it was as if
Shannen was inspecting me. I hoped she enjoyed what she saw. There was another
burst inside me that made me jerk on the nipple clamps and brought forth more
nasal protests. Shannen was doing something behind me. There was a noise and a
cry of pain from her, but I did not know what had happened. The rod attached to
the butt plug began to shake and the invader in my bum wriggled painfully. I
moaned as it was jerked about, like someone was climbing up the rod. Then there
was a sudden pain and the feeling of a wire sliding out of my back passage. Had
she somehow disconnected the supply? Surely we were under observation, and
surely there should've been another jolt by now? I began to hope against hope.
There was another cry of pain, and although I was sure nobody else was in the
room with Shannen, I wondered what torture she was undergoing. Had they wired
her with the remote zappers I had been working on for the twins? I had not
shown those to anyone yet - probably just as well. Maybe Shannen wore Monica's
trademark nipple weights, or some other terrible infliction. Shannen was
sobbing with obvious pain now, her breath coming in throaty gasps.
I followed her sounds as she moved around in front of me. I felt the warmth
of her body as she gently pressed back against me. She was naked, and I felt
her hands - crossed and bound behind her, low down at her waist - explore my
body in an effort to reach my own nipple tormentors. Try as she might, however,
even bent over, she could not lift her hands high enough to reach them.
Meanwhile, the relief of having the electrical shocks stop together with the
caress of her hands had woken up Mr Willy. I did not think this was
appropriate, given my circumstances, but at this hour of the morning Mr Willy
often does not consider such niceties as appropriateness or etiquette. The
hands caressed him again and he responded further, the little bugger.
Then they were gone. She turned and pushed her body gingerly against mine.
I felt the cold steel of metal balls and her nipple clamps clinging to her tits
as she moved closer to me. I heard the gasp of pain this exercise caused then
felt her lips on my own nipples, her tongue working around my own imprisoning
devices. She appeared to have a ring gag on - the kind that makes it impossible
for the wearer to close his or her mouth, while still allowing the tongue to do
certain things and to permit a limited amount of semi-comprehensible speech.
She licked my nipples some more, eliciting a further groan from me, and
prompting Mr Willy to really get interested. This time the groan was almost one
of pleasure, however. She thrust against me, straddling Mr Willy and clutching
him between her thighs. All manner of sensations flooded through me - pain,
pleasure, confusion, you name it. There was a rough sensation of rope through
her crotch and I realised any sort of consummation of this exercise was futile
in our present state. That was when - after some pretty heavy thigh-oriented
foreplay, she withdrew and obviously knelt in front of me. That was when Mr
Willy found his way through the ring gag into Shannen's mouth.
What was going on? Shannen was bound and gagged, as I was, yet here was she
giving me a blowjob in the most bizarre circumstances. Whose idea was all this,
I wondered? Was it rehearsed, or an ad-lib performance? Was it Shannen somehow
trying to apologise or make it up to me, or was it masterminded by Monica?
These thoughts flashed before me briefly before the rationalization faded and
the physical demands of Mr Willy took over. The pain in my nipples somehow
merged with the rising force in my loins, spurred on as it was by Shannen's
ministrations, and I have to say that she was very, very good, despite the
handicaps we both laboured under. I climaxed with remarkable speed and force,
and for a moment the insistent pain in my nipples and that of the plug in my
arse receded into the background with the persuasions of Shannen's tongue.
Then, of course, reality flooded back with redoubled pain as the blood returned
in the weird way it does after a climax. I groaned with the sharpness of it.
As we both caught our breath, me panting through my nose and Shannen gasping
through her ring gag, she moved around behind me and began to nuzzle my back,
standing astride the bar holding the buttplug. I realised she was seeking to
access my hands. They had been tied, crossed, between my shoulder blades and
were somewhat numb, but I felt a clamped nipple thrust against my open palm.
With some difficulty I managed to grip the clamp and squeeze the ends free of
its prey. Shannen moaned and sobbed with the pain but nevertheless thrust her
other breast against my fingers and allowed me to release the second clamp.
Again, it was with much sobbing and crying and was quite understandable in my
biased opinion.
After a minute to recover she turned around and worked the back of her head
against my hands, allowing me with some difficulty to undo the straps of the
buckle holding her gag in place. The ring did not pop out at that point but
required considerable persuasion by pulling on the strap, to come loose.
Shannen was at once all apologies, once she had worked her jaw a bit and
found her voice. She returned to my front and managed to work her teeth such
that after a couple of tries she got one nipple clamp off me. The attempts hurt
like hell, as did the blood flow returning, and it was a good thing I was still
gagged. Shannen was devastated and profuse in her apologies for my pain, but
reluctantly continued her attempts which culminated in the terrible pain of the
removal of the second clamp. This time I was able to writhe and twist in an
effort to deal with the agony of my nips which had been clamped for at least a
couple of hours and had had all manner of tugging imposed on them.
The release of these clamps did make life more bearable, not least since I
could now bend over. Shannen could now reach my head harness straps and
buckles, which she managed to get undone at length as I bent almost double to
allow her access. Then she went to work on the ropes around my chest and arms
and, eventually, my wrists, which came free after about ten minutes. This done,
I could return the favour and undo Shannen's ropes around her wrists and through
her crotch.
We finally hugged each other - two human beings who had undergone some very
personal and very painful shared experiences. Her body was hard and warm, and I
suppose it was natural what came next. Shannen tried to undo the butterfly
clamps on the rod holding the buttplug, but they were done up too tightly.
Notwithstanding this, events progressed pretty much uncontrollably at that
point, as Shannen wrapped her body around mine, impaled on Mr Willy as I was
impaled on Mr Buttplug. But again, such minor inconveniences faded into
insignificance compared to the presence of the supple form entwined with mine.
The surroundings of the Post Room disappeared, along with the ache in my legs,
nipples and other parts of my anatomy as we gave vent to our passions as much as
we could under the circumstances.
After it was over, Shannen was crying softly and still trying to apologise.
That's when Trish appeared out of the darkness and began unlocking the chains on
my ankles and undoing the wingnuts on the buttplug rod.
Shannen was finally ensconced in one of the upstairs bedrooms - the one with
the big four poster and the very feminine decoration. Not my personal idea of
interior decor, but then, I didn't use it. I wound up sharing an early
breakfast with Trish and swapping home truths on the back verandah. We were
both amazed at the transformation that had come over Shannen. Trish tried to
tell me that I had played a part in it.
"Are you suggesting that I've been conned by Monica again?"
"Not totally. Monica saw what was there between you, fostered it and finally
ignited the flame. It was not her idea, but being the opportunist she is she
grabbed it with both hands."
"So did Shannen," I said with deliberate double entendre. Trish laughed.
"You're so refreshing," she said.
"I don't feel very refreshed," I retorted.
"I'm not surprised." She smiled. "No hard feelings?"
"How could I harbour a grudge against you, Trish?"
"And Monica?"
"Monica's a different story which hasn't yet reached its climax," I said
thoughtfully. "The author is still working on the plot."
