|Gromet's Plaza||Richard Alexander Stories|
|by Richard Alexander|
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|© 2002 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission.|
|storycodes: MF/mf; bondage; bdsm; cons/nc; XXX|
|Monica's Place Book 1 of the Monica Chronicles by Richard Alexander|
|Monica's Place: 4. Christina by Richard Alexander MF/mf; bondage; bdsm; cons/nc; XXX|
|back to Chapter Three: The Customer is Always Right
Chapter Four: Christina
Even though it was a Saturday I found it hard to sleep in. It was pissing rain, but still had that nice sort of feeling that comes when you know you don't really have to go out anywhere. The walk to the gate to collect the paper was pleasant under the umbrella, the smell of wet foliage almost overpowering but invigorating. I was the only one in the kitchen for a short while, as I pottered about getting my uncomplicated breakfast of cereal and toast. That's when Leila appeared. With Christina. Of course I didn't know it was Christina at this moment - not, at least, until Leila introduced us.
"Steve - this is Christina. She's going to have breakfast with us."
"Good morning, Christina," I said. "Did you sleep well?"
Christina, I should point out, was at this point relatively unfettered.
Her ankles sported a short hobble chain about a foot long, between the
locked cuffs on her boots, while her wrists were handcuffed behind her.
The duct tape was now gone, and her stunning blue eyes were turned fully
I noticed the strap from the corset was still between her legs, and I had to say I felt just a little uncomfortable, although Christina seemed perfectly at ease, even in her half-naked and highly provocative state. I was sort of at ease being around Monica's team, but having total strangers parading their breasts and wearing handcuffs while I was trying to read the Saturday paper was something I had not quite got to grips with.
"Christina's just come up for some breakfast, " Leila explained, fixing a bowl of cereal. She poured milk on it and set it down on the floor. With a practised ease Christina sank to her knees and put her head down into the bowl. Leila told me: "I have to get back to the monitors. I'll be back to take her downstairs soon."
I watched Christina as her hair began to get tangled around her mouth
as she tried to lap up the cereal with her hands still cuffed behind her
back. At length I could stand it no longer, picking up the bowl from under
her head and setting it on the table. I helped her to her feet.
Moments later I was pushing bite-sized pieces of toast past her lips.
That was when Monica and Warren appeared. He looked remarkably put out,
and I could see the look of dismay on Monica's face.
And that was how I ended up in an extremely uncomfortable position, purposely ignored by the remainder of the girls who appeared for breakfast. Normally guests had their breakfast in their rooms or in the dining room, with the girl responsible for the guest having to prepare these meals. Thus all the team came through the kitchen, where uncommitted staff had their breakfast at the kitchen table or the breakfast bar, seated on one of the barstools. There were four of these and six seats at the kitchen table - plenty of room for the full roster to assemble when necessary. But in this instance, two of the barstools were occupied by Christina and myself, each of us bent into a hogtie, lying precariously on our stomachs atop a stool. Monica had been quick with the rope on me in response to Warren's demands. I could see she was angry, being shown up in front of her client.
"Don't these people know slaves are on a strict diet, and only eat in
a suitable position?" Warren had ranted as Monica bound my hands palm-to-palm
securely behind my back. My attempts to explain came to nothing as a bright
red ball gag appeared in my line of vision and found its way into my mouth.
I spluttered but could do nothing as she buckled the strap really tightly
behind my neck. Then it was face down over the barstool while my knees,
ankles and elbows were roped and cinched, and the ankle cinch rope pulled
tightly to be tied to my wrists. I whined plaintively.
"Now her!" said Warren, and stayed long enough to see poor Christina
wind up in a similar position, her chains and handcuffs replaced with duct
tape, more of which ended up over her mouth. Evidently the 'emergency bag'
only held limited quantities of ropes and other goodies. Everything else
got the tape treatment.
It was very uncomfortable lying over the barstool, even though it was padded. My back ached, and my thighs hurt where they drooped off one edge. I looked at Christina, lying across the stool beside me. She turned her big eyes on me and perhaps expressed what I took for an apology. Or was it an "I told you so?"
The other four girls appeared at various times during what I took to be the next hour or so, all the while my body ached, and I felt acutely humiliated. There was sympathy expressed by all except Mary, who looked at us with particular interest, as though working out some devious punishment for us. My muscles were starting to twitch. I glanced at Christina. Her head was down and her eyes were closed. I suspected she was more used to this sort of treatment than I was, but that sure that didn't make it any better. Then Monica and Warren returned. They were dressed this time, and Monica was smiling. It was not a particularly warm smile, at least when she looked at me.
The bonds securing our wrists to our ankles and those binding our legs
were removed, allowing Christina and me to totter to our feet; our nerve
ends tingling as the blood slowly returned to our cramped limbs. I had
barely regained my composure when a black silk scarf was wrapped tightly
over my eyes and everything went dark. I heard Monica's voice whispering
next to my ear:
Why did I not have confidence in this line? Why did I feel she would
next be saying she'd still respect me in the morning?
Mr Willy was definitely in the discomfort zone now, but it was nothing
to what I was about to receive in the other end.
The butt plug, when it came, felt huge. I was not into that sort of thing at all, I have to say. A man's arse is his castle, so to speak, and having a bloody great battering ram penetrate the castle door is not much fun under any circumstances, especially when you're not used to it. There was the lubrication, sure, cold and slimy, but the invader seemed so much bigger than me! How the on earth did people manage anal sex? If this was anything to go by, the girls must hurt like hell. My sphincter muscle cried out - as I tried to do, but the gag limited me only to a few pained splutterings and struggles on the laminated tabletop.
"Just relax, Steve," Monica cooed. "Don't fight it. Accept the inevitable." The smooth plastic probed a centimetre further and I moaned in pain. It felt like I was being split in two. Then there was a small withdrawal and a further push, and again back and forth. Suddenly there was a sharp pain and a rush as the plug slid inside fully, and my bum closed around the narrowed shaft. The pain was gone, replaced by a fullness that did strange things to Mr Willy - or would have done had he been able to respond. The ropes holding me down were released and female hands tightened a waist harness around me which had a portion that went from the back down between my cheeks and up the front either side of Mr Willy, before fastening on the belt. There was obviously no way my plug was going to come out in a hurry, although after the pain I had just gone through, I don't think I really wanted it to just at that moment. But in the frontal area, Mr Willy was now well and truly restrained at attention, unable to shrink or expand, or even move from side to side, strapped as he was firmly upright against my abdomen. I really could not believe what Monica was doing to me. My ankles were released and pair of scissors cut my tee-shirt away. Any more liberties you want to take with my personal possessions, Monica, I wondered? Good job it was an old tee. Then there was a collar, perhaps 5 centimetres wide, buckled around my neck, with the click of a chain or a lead attached to it.
"Chain him to that post," Monica directed, "while we deal with the slave.
" There followed the sounds of people disappearing from earshot, while
I was pulled none too gently a few steps forward.
Suffice to say Monica wasn't entirely happy when she returned from wherever
she had been. I'm sure Mary's handmarks were still standing out like beacons.
"Now we're at the steps Steven...one...two...three...now on to the path
- this way. Now we're at the van. Stop here."
"All right Steven - lift your right foot and put it on the step." I wanted to tell her it would be much better if I could see what I was doing, but that would also have been a lot easier if I hadn't had a big rubber ball firmly strapped in my mouth. Dutifully I hoisted myself into the back, straightening up cautiously. It was in fact quite roomy. I am barely 170 centimetres high, but I could stand upright. It could have been worse, especially when Monica pushed me forward. I edged along, sort of sideways, her hands on my arm, until I was halted, facing - by my reckoning, the left-hand side of the van. I was nudged from behind into a kneeling position, and abruptly found myself at once in contact with warm flesh and a cold metal bar. I did not need to be a rocket scientist to work out that the flesh was Christina's, that I was being pushed front on to her.
She provided nice resistance, being about the same height as me, with her breasts squishing into my chest. My head was pulled to one side and in the space of a second I felt our two collars being joined with a clip or padlock. Her head and face were thus above my right shoulder, while mine were above hers. Between us, running horizontally at waist level, was the bar. I did not know how this was fixed within the van - I guessed one end would be bolted to the wall in back of the driver's compartment, with the rearmost end being attached to a floor-to-roof pole.
We knelt there, two prisoners separated only by this bar, our wrists still bound behind us, and both of us - I assumed, in Christina's case - gagged and blindfolded. I could hear Christina's heavy breathing in my ear - but not in the circumstances I would have preferred, unfortunately. Monica, of course, was not finished, as I felt a rope looped about my wrist bonds again, and drawn between my legs. I guessed it continued between Christina's, no doubt being tied off around her wrists. Suffice to say before it was fastened it was pulled awfully tight, and I heard a small whimper next to me. I was almost ready to whimper myself, as the butt plug was pulled that much tighter. Not only that, my abdomen - and Mr Willy, in all his protective armour - was pulled firmly against Christina. Coupled with the touch of her hardened nipples, her faint scent in my nostrils, and the plug doing unmentionable things inside me, Mr Willy - not to mention Mr Brain - was sending desperately painful signals to anybody interested.
I heard Monica climb out, close the door and get into the front, after which there was a murmur of voices and the engine started. Where on earth were they taking us, I wondered? What did they have planned? God, I hoped Mary hadn't been part of the think tank.
It is hard to keep track of time when you are deprived of sight, never mind when you have a beautiful woman bound hard against you and all manner of indignities are being inflicted on your body. We drove slowly initially - I got the impression we were on a dirt road - but our speed gradually picked up. Perhaps we travelled for half an hour - it seemed an eternity to me, mostly because of the apparently incessant bumps that rubbed Mr Willy against Christina's crotch. After a while it seemed that the rubbing was happening of its own accord, and Christina's breathing began to get faster and hoarser in my ear. I found myself moving with her, at times fighting the movement of the van, at times using it to our advantage.
Occasionally, when we stopped, I'm sure we kept the van rocking. Christina's breathing began to rasp, as she panted and suddenly began hmmming through her nose. Her movements became abruptly frantic as she pushed herself against me and stiffened, uttering a high-pitched moan from behind her gag. She shuddered and jerked, grunting and snuffling into my shoulder, before going limp - or as limp as she could. It was all right for her. Mr Willy was going frantic, but he had no lubrication and could not grow in any direction. The pain was - in an odd way - exquisite, but what I wouldn't have given for some sort of relief. I moaned in frustration.
We finally stopped, and the rear doors opened. Our collars were separated
and the rope removed joining our wrists. Hands pulled us to the doors and
helped us down.
Surrounded by gum trees, we were standing in a clearing through which ran a narrow dirt track. Warren was smirking like an idiot, while I glared at Monica. But at the end of it all, a walk home wasn't that bad, though I had no idea how far it was. I moved towards Christina, seeing her plight for the first time. She wore a leather blindfold held in place by a harness of straps that ran over the top of her head and under her chin. In addition to this her mouth was covered by a large cross of duct tape which effectively silenced her.
"Not so fast, Mister," ordered Warren. "There are certain formalities
to be undergone first," he said, grinning wider. Christina and I then had
chains clipped to our collars and were obliged to follow our captors. I
noticed Monica wore a small insulated daypack on her back, and I had a
nasty feeling I was going to be on the receipt of something inside it.
"Straddle it!" Monica snapped. I obeyed, while Christina, still in her world of darkness had to be helped on to the trunk, seated in front, her back to me. I had no idea what was coming, nor was there anything I could do about it when it did. Monica and Warren busied themselves locking leather cuffs about our ankles and linking them together - my right to her right, my left to her left. Next there was another rope about my wrists - I was starting to get a bit tired of these stretch-out routines - this time pulling my wrists backward. I turned my head to watch what Monica was doing, mystified.
She had a large block of ice - about the size of a beer can, into which was frozen a short length of chain. The block of ice was wedged behind a fork in an upward-pointing branch and the rope tied to it. Then I saw the logic in Monica's thinking. I was to be stuck here until the ice melted - it was an automatic release system. Christina was treated similarly but differently. She got the same treatment with another block of ice from Monica's backpack, but this was attached to Christina's collar, from a forked branch in front of her. Her bound wrists were then secured to her waist with a number of turns of duct tape around her body that all but enveloped her hands and fingers. She was thus pulled forward, while I was pulled back - a situation that obviously wasn't quite to Monica's liking. More delving into the bag produced two lengths of fine chain about half a metre long, with a piece of stretchy rubber at one end. At the end of each was a nipple clamp. Oh shit, I thought.
I was first on the receiving end. The clips gripped my nipples with a dull pain, and I could not help moaning and hmmming in as much of a protest as I could manage. Christina probably felt the clips and chains slipped through her collar before fastening on to her nipples. She whined and pleaded behind the tape and I guess I added my voice to the duet as the rubber stretched and pulled us closer. Somehow we had to balance the pain in our nipples against the pain in our respective arms, necks and backs.
Warren and Monica stood back and surveyed their handiwork.
"Mmmph?" I said, not knowing what she meant. Monica moved over to me and fiddled about in the pouch confining Mr Willy. There was an abrupt buzzing in my arse. Jesus - the plug was a bloody vibrator! I tried to protest, but my spluttering around the rubber ball in my mouth was useless. Maybe my eyes widened - I'm sure they did. I tried to plead with her as I sat there. Our feet could not touch the ground beneath the trunk, which meant my full weight rested on the plug in my arse. But of course I wasn't the only one riding the trunk. Warren took great delight in turning on the toys obviously embedded within Christina, and a high-pitched moan came through her nose.
"You'll be all right there for a couple of hours - maybe more," Monica said, flashing her most provocative smile. "After the ice melts you can find your way back to the house. Dinner will probably be ready - maybe we'll save you some. Oh, and you've obviously realised you'll be having a bit of difficulty communicating, so I'll make it a bit easier for you. She walked over to Christina and gently peeled off the tape from her mouth. I heard the sharp intake of breath from Christina. "And you can have the pleasure of listening to her carry on, while you must remain silent. But you, of course, can see where you're going, even if you can't tell her about it." Monica was clearly enjoying herself. "And I'm sure you can get your communications sorted out," she said lightly, turning on her heel and skipping after Warren, who was almost out of sight beyond a bend in the track.
I just couldn't believe this. Here I was, on a Saturday in Brisbane - a day I'd ordinarily be doing my accounts or maybe strolling through a shopping mall or browsing in a bookshop or enjoying a bit of sport. Instead I was stark naked, chained to a gum tree with a stunning woman in the middle of the woods somewhere. She couldn't see, I couldn't speak, and we both had nipples on fire and vibrators buzzing like mad up our orifices. It was just too bizarre to be believed. But it was real.
I came back to reality.
"Shitshitshitshit! Oh godogodogod! This is going to drive me mad!" Christina
was squirming and twisting, tugging at the clamps on both our nipples.
"Ow! Owowowow!" she wailed.
Predictably this was going to go on for a long time, and it did. Christina could make no sense for a while as the vibrators drove her to the heights of a couple of serious orgasms. She jerked and cried and screamed in a most undignified manner, no doubt sending animal life into flight for miles around, while I could do little more than hmmm and grunt and moan with even less dignity as she tugged on the nipple chains. The nipple clamps, I have to explain, were perhaps not as bitingly fierce as some I had seen in Monica's storeroom. They were like a cross between a bulldog clip and a clothes peg, with the pressure spread over a big enough area not to crush the flesh. They did have, however, a kind of corrugated face on the pressure surfaces that convinced me they were not going to be pulled off in a hurry, and certainly not without an awful lot of pain. Which was not to be confused with what they were currently delivering, of course! And naturally, although they were not the most severe around, the longer they were left on, and the more they were tugged and pulled, the more the ache in my nipples grew into a full-blown pain. Christina's antics helped not at all, as she squirmed and jiggled and kicked against her bonds, at times trying to bounce herself on the log as if she was riding a horse. Her nipples must have hurt like hell too, but she was either more used to it than I was, or she had greater distractions. My distractions were most unsatisfying, for despite all the stimuli Mr Willy was not going to climax, only to beg.
Eventually the humming inside me began to subside, as, I guess, it must have done for Christina. I didn't know if these were the longest lasting super-duper alkaline batteries on the market or whether they were cheap-and-nasties, but I was intensely glad to feel the final splutter and then stillness. We sat still for a short while, with only the sound of our heavy breathing and occasional birdcalls breaking the silence of the forest. At length my companion seemed to gather her thoughts.
"I'm really sorry, Steven... I...I never meant to get you involved like
this. I feel terrible - in more ways than one..." At least there was a
spark of humour still there.
We passed the time thus pleasantly enough, with her chattering and me grunting occasionally. Typical male-female conversation. I got the impression that for all her apparent flightiness, Christina was a smart cookie and knew exactly what she was doing with her life. It was during a lull in the life story that I gave another sharp tug to the wrist rope, to be finally rewarded with the sudden release of tension as the ice shattered and the chain pulled free of the tree fork.
"Hhmmm!" I told her in triumph, at once being able to edge close to
her back, taking the strain off the nipple ties and giving her latitude
to do likewise with the rope securing her neck.
We explored our restraints briefly at that point, but I knew we were up against experts. Our ankles were chained, and offered no scope for release. The nipple chain was so short that I could reach neither my clips nor Christina's, leaving only the undoing of her hands as a possibility. Alas, I could barely get this far, twisting against the nipple chain only to find the duct tape about her wrists, hands and waist was too tight and too complicated to undo. We were definitely in for the long haul with this one...
It was like learning to dance. Or practising for a three-legged race. It also involved a certain amount of falling down, all of which did nothing for our confidence, but eventually we started to get a rhythm going. I would grunt with my 'epph' and 'aiyph', usually with a varied volume depending on how much I wanted Christina to vary her direction. Occasionally I would have to get her to 'opph' when something unusual cropped up - like the gate. We had reached what I assumed was the boundary to Monica's property. It was a wide steel farm gate, a bit over waist high and hinged at one side. On either side the wire fence disappeared off into the scrub.
The vehicle track turned into two specific ruts at this point, disappearing into a wide muddy puddle about four metres across. There was no way around it. On the other side of the puddle the land sloped up sharply in the form of a steep bank possibly three metres high. The track remained muddy and climbed up through a cutting in the bank. That would be a problem in itself, I thought, because it looked pretty slippery. But first we had to negotiate the gate itself. We had to back through this, with me opening it with my hands. That's when we fell down in the mud. The gateway had turned to a quagmire - or at least ankle-deep mud. I landed on my butt, with the predictable pain where it hurt most. Christina landed on top of me and in moments we were covered in the brown stuff. At once there was a horrendous stabbing pain in my left nipple, and I realised the clamp had pulled free. I moaned with the pain as the blood flowed back into my punished nipple.
Christina had detected my cry of pain. "Are you all right? What happened?
Shit that hurt my boob!"
"Owowowow! Jesus shitabrick that hurts!" She carried on a bit more, but we realised we were a lot freer for that one little bond disappearing. We conferred again, in our current one-sided fashion, and managed to end up back to back, with our ankle chains crossed. This was a major step, for although we were thus pulled closer and more precariously together, I could now properly reach the tape around her wrists.
It was not a quick exercise, but I eventually managed to free her fingers and hands enough for her to attempt to undo my wrist ropes. Again, it was not quick, and Christina muttered and cursed under her breath. Then, abruptly, my wrists were free! I turned around carefully, then undid the gag strap buckle at the back of my neck and prised the rubber ball out of my aching mouth.
"I'll make Monica wear this, " I said, tossing it on to the grass. "One
good turn deserves another." It took only moments to remove Christina's
blindfold and the remainder of the tape around her waist and wrists.
"Maybe I should do the same," murmured Christina, and began to fiddle with the straps in front of her. She sighed and then held up a large dildo before tossing it on the ground next to her blindfold. Without a word, we then bent in unison and evacuated the vibrating plugs we had carried for the last few hours. It was a strange feeling I had experienced. I guessed it was doubly strange for her. At least the damned thing came out easier than it went in, I thought. The last things to join the pile of devices were our waist belts, collars and the two nipple chains. At this point her tossing of the collar was sufficient to make her foot slip, and we were both dumped in the mud again. We began to laugh. Suddenly life didn't seem quite so unfair, even if our ankles were still chained together. Suddenly, also, Christina seemed intensely desirable, with those sparkling blue eyes and Venus-like body glistening with brown mud. I could not help myself and I kissed her gently on the lips. She smiled and returned the favour. Mr Willy was at last able to have free reign.
"Oooh - look at him," said Christina happily. Not half as happy as he
was at that moment. From that point it was all on. I guess we figured after
what we'd been through we deserved a bit of pleasure to go with the pain,
and the mud made a wonderful lubricant - not that we needed it. Our coupling
- crossed and chained ankles and all - was brief but satisfying. We ended
up grinning like idiots but feeling like we had formed a bond of shared
suffering and shared triumph.
After a few minutes to gather up our equipment as well as our breath, we started up the steep track. Predictably it was slithery and we slipped back several times before making it to the top. Here the grass took over the track to a greater extent. We were still out of sight of all but the roof of the house, and I was in full view of Christina's butt when she slipped again and I fell on top of her. It was again too much for Mr Willy, who was trying to make up for lost time. Admittedly he had help from Mr Brain, to whom Christina was a very appealing sight. She giggled as she scrambled to her knees, and I slipped up against her. There was no resistance, other than to push back. This time it was just a little less frantic than the mud pool a few minutes before. I draped myself over her and grasped her gorgeous breasts, which, although out of my sight line were definitely not out of touching range. She trembled as my hands gently caressed her flesh, still slick with mud. Mr Willy needed no encouragement as he slipped between her legs and she pushed up against me with a long drawn-out sigh. This was clearly no time for delicate foreplay.
I still amaze myself at having done this. I did not regard myself as sex-mad, yet here I was in broad daylight, stark naked, in the middle of a grassy meadow screwing a lady I had only met that morning. And while chained to her by the ankles, no less. Life was bizarre.
As we moved together Christina began to moan loudly. I slowed, but she
thrust harder against me. "Faster! Faster!" she gasped, and ever ready
to oblige a lady, I did so. She moaned again, then began crying out loudly.
Her noise almost spoilt my concentration, but fortunately Mr Willy was
on autopilot by this time as I reached a climax and we came together, me
(admittedly) not exactly silently, but Christina with a gasping scream.
At length we gathered up the equipment and headed off in unison again,
hoping the sound of our climax had not carried to the house. With luck
anyone would put it down to crows or any other of the myriad of birds that
lived in these bushy parts. The area was now starting to look familiar,
and then the house appeared through a grove of trees.
We detoured along the side boundary through more bush. This sort of terrain made me nervous, for all sorts of spiders, ticks and the odd snake no doubt lived here, and my nakedness made it even more uncomfortable. Christina did not seem phased, however, as we emerged near the garage located across a short stretch of lawn. Feeling like a couple of spies or burglars, we watched the house briefly then decided the coast was clear before doing our jerky hobbled canter across the lawn to the side door of the garage. I took the key from a ledge atop the door and unlocked it. Inside it was cool and dark. There were no windows, and we shut the door behind us and turned on the light.
"This is my workshop," I explained. Looking about at the stacked timber
and makeshift shelves of tools, a few sawhorses, bench clamps, and welding
gear, it was pretty obvious the explanation was unnecessary. It took me
only moments to unlock the chains from our ankles. "We have a lot of locks
being used," I told Christina, "but only five different types. All the
keys are master-keyed for each type, so there should never be a problem
with losing keys. I have a set of keys and locks in here because I use
them for trialing things I make."
We had to make quite a long detour back the way we had come and then
towards the back of the property to get behind the building that served
as the sleeping quarters for all except Monica. My room was at one end,
closest to the steps, such that all occupants had to pass along the timber
planked verandah past my door. I guess in this regard it was the last choice
of rooms, but in this case it suited me perfectly, not having to sneak
past anybody else's bedroom. I guessed it must be nearly midday. After
all that had happened to me that morning I had totally lost track of time
and I had no idea what the girls might be doing on this our first full
weekend in business. I had a shrewd suspicion Mary would be up to no good
with poor Isobel in the Gestapo dungeons, and no doubt Monica was occupied
with Warren. Jillian, I thought, was on monitoring duty that morning, probably
looking in on Mr and Mrs Sewell from time to time, while as for Emma, Leila
and Trish, I guessed they were concentrating perhaps on more orthodox pleasures
of the flesh. Would they be looking for us yet, I wondered? When would
Monica start to worry? At that point in time it did not bother me particularly,
for I was intending to lie low for at least a couple of hours and this
instance lying low might be in the most literal sense of the word.
The quarters were not unlike a hotel room - self contained bedroom/lounge with a large queen-sized bed, ensuite, a couple of armchairs, a small bar-cum-kitchen with microwave and fridge, and good cupboard space. I was more than comfortable. And with a bit of luck was going to get comfortabler...
I was not wrong. Christina was now feeling bright and perky - a feature
made more obvious by the time we had washed the last of the mud down the
plug hole and had achieved the golden glow that comes with a long shower.
Wrapped in my bathrobe, and divested of her white corset and boots for
the first time, she looked even more delectable. We had obviously formed
a bond during the morning - if you'll pardon the pun - which went further
than the brief physical encounters that had occurred in the bush. I have
to say that the next couple of hours were very pleasurable, except for
a scare she gave me. I should have seen it coming, when, mid-screw, Christina
decided to scream the place down.
"Ssshhhh!" I placed my hand over her mouth. It halted her briefly but
then she was away again, before I stopped totally. "Christina, we're supposed
to be hiding from the forces of order and discipline, not signalling our
presence and activity to the whole world!"
The bizarreness obviously wasn't lessening. I complied, helping her wedge the rubber ball - the one that I had worn for much of the morning - between her lips and behind her teeth, before buckling it not too tightly behind her head. This of course meant that kissing was not a major attraction, but by that time we were a bit past that stage. It nevertheless did the trick. It got a thorough working out but nevertheless proved remarkably effective. Christina bumped and ground her way to her climax, mmphing and panting behind the rubber ball, snorting and moaning through her nose before finally stiffening and hhmmming with a long nasal wail. When we could both find the strength, the ball was removed, and we fell into an exhausted sleep.
I reckon maybe two hours had passed when I was awoken by voices. They were not immediately outside, rather between the sleeping quarters and the house. I recognised them as Monica and Warren. Christina was still asleep. I arose and padded over to the window, peeping out between the curtains. Monica and Warren were arguing. I could not hear the words clearly, but I suspect we were the cause of it all.
Warren was gesticulating towards the direction we were obviously expected to have appeared from, while Monica simply watched him with her hands behind her back. Then I saw why - they were handcuffed. She looked like she had been getting ready to go out, wearing a short maroon skirt and a black silk blouse, with black tights and shoes. But Monica wasn't going anywhere, I realised, at least only where Warren decided she should go. And this, it seemed was across the lawn to the edge of the rockery where there was a garden tap on a solid post about a metre high. From our position we were looking side on to the couple as Monica was made to kneel facing the post. Warren pulled a piece of cord from his pocket and proceeded to tie and cinch Monica's ankles, knotting the cord then looping it and knotting it around the handcuff chain, before pulling the two ends between her legs to tie to the tap in front of her. He then undid Monica's blouse and opened it to expose her breasts.
It was the first time I had seen Monica's figure, and I had to say it
was a lovely sight. She was wearing no bra and was obviously pleading with
him not to do what he was going to do. Her breasts were not overly large
but were firm and - at that moment - the nipples stood erect like dark
It looked at that point as if she said some rude words, but Warren obviously
was satisfied and disappeared from sight round the front of the house.
Minutes later the Transit van hove into view and drove past the helpless
figure of Monica in the direction of the mudpool at the gate. I wondered
how Warren would manage the job of opening it. I was sure that job must
have fallen to Monica previously.
"Hi, Monica. Whatcha doing?" Not one of my greatest opening lines, but
it had the desired effect.
That was as far as she got as I grasped her pretty nose and pulled it
gently but firmly backwards, slipping the hard rubber ball between her
lips and working it behind her teeth. Her mouth stretched wider and her
eyes did likewise as she spluttered and then could only hhmmm through her
nose. I pulled her raven black hair away from her face and pulled the strap
over the top of it, buckling it tightly behind her head.
It was now starting to rain very gently. Monica's silk blouse was beginning
to cling to her body. I could not resist a final parting shot, but one
I meant most sincerely.
I walked down to the back verandah of the house and went into the kitchen.
Nobody was about, but I knew business would still be going on. Monica had
told me weekends were a busy time, and in this particular specialist line
various rooms could be occupied at any time. This being the case, I knew
that somebody would be monitoring activities, and so I headed to Monica's
study. Jillian was there, sitting behind Monica's desk doing a crossword
puzzle with one eye on the CCTV screens. She looked up with a surprised
smile at me.
I headed out the back again, across the lawn past Monica, blindfolded
and gagged, still kneeling against the garden tap. I wondered how long
it would be before our friend Warren returned. I suspected he would grow
tired of the search fairly soon and would come back to heap the blame on
Monica. No doubt he would wonder why her bondage had been enhanced, and
he would also wonder about the sign she was shortly to have around her
neck. I returned to my room, where Christina was waiting.
Christina and I left the room, making sure there was nobody about. We
stopped briefly at Monica, where I motioned to Christina to be quiet. I
hung the sign around Monica's neck. Her hair was now wet, as were her skirt
and blouse, which clung damply to her body. It was not particularly cold,
though, being only late February.
Monica shook her head violently and struggled as best she could against the ropes securing her to the post. She also pulled briefly on the nipple chain, and her initial splutterings and wild hmmming behind the ball gag gave way to a plaintive whining as I left. In actual fact the sign said "Please take me to the Post Room". Once again, I was sure Warren would oblige, and I certainly would not inflict a night of torment tied to the tap on poor Monica. I wondered what would be the reaction of Monica and Warren when they found Christina...
The slave and I went inside the house and tiptoed down the stairs. I peeked in the Observation Room but it was empty. Looking through the spyhole in the cell door, I saw Isobel still stretched and spread against the wall, motionless in her world of darkness behind the blindfold. Mary was nowhere to be seen.
I led Christina into the Post Room, where I left her briefly while I raided the storeroom for some 'goodies'. I had not quite worked out what I intended, expecting to get some ideas from the assorted devices on the walls and shelves of the store. I was not wrong - or rather I was perhaps spoilt for choice. I was now starting to get an idea of what one could and couldn't do within the establishment, both in terms of standards, and also the physical bounds of one's imagination and the ingenuity of the 'device makers'.
"Hands behind your back," I commanded Christina. She complied, and remained
silent as I wrapped half a dozen turns of thick sashcord about her wrists,
securing them palm to palm with several cinches to the wrist ropes. Next
the room went dark for her as I buckled a heavy-duty padded blindfold over
her eyes. I did not want her to see what was coming out next from my bag
I buckled leather cuffs on Christina's arms above the elbows and secured these together with a short piece of rope. Her arms were going nowhere now, but the blood would still circulate beneath the wide cuffs. I put two more cuffs on her ankles and joined them with a short hobble chain, before ordering her to squat. She did so cautiously, probably guessing what was to come.
This really was getting into the realms of new experiences for me, I
had to admit. I had had fun with girlfriends and vibrators before, but
would not have seen myself inserting one into a gorgeous woman whom I had
only spoken to the first time that morning, and who was now bound, gagged,
and blindfolded in front of me. If my mates could only see me...
I figured this would be enough to give Warren the idea when he hopefully
entered with Monica in tow. I gripped the erect dildo and waggled it.
"Okay," I said, gripping her by the shoulders and turning her slightly. "You are now facing one of the posts. I want you to move forward until your little friend touches the post." She took several small steps, her arms starting to lift up further, forcing her head lower as she moved forward. I had judged it perfectly. Almost at the end of her progress the top of her head bumped the post. "Very good," I said. "Now see if you can touch the post further down." Christina did several pelvic thrusts and managed to touch the post with the very tip of the dildo a couple of time. At that point she was really stretched, however, and it was unlikely she could keep it up. I guessed it might also be a function of how desperate she became or how long it was before Monica arrived. "See? Pretty easy, eh." Christina spluttered and mmphed something that sounded very frustrated.
"I'm out of here, sweetie. Enjoy yourself. I'm sure you'll have company before too long. Save something for a friend." Christina made unintelligible noises into the rubber ball, which I'm sure were not intended to be complimentary to either my ancestors or me. I decided to quit while I was ahead.
Warren had returned by the time I reached the back verandah. He was
standing over Monica, a big grin on his face. I retreated inside and hurried
upstairs to an empty bedroom at the back. I was in time to see Monica freed
- well, her ankles and her nipples, that is. Warren, true gentleman that
he was, helped her to her feet, then proceeded to put the nipple chain
back and to lead his slave towards the house.
I lasted about an hour before curiosity got the better of me and I returned
to the house. Jillian was still on watch in Monica's study.
I perched myself on the edge of the desk as she clicked on to the view of the Post Room. There were three people present. Two of them, Monica and Christina, were locked together, face to face, going through a kind of slow motion waltz. It was just as I had anticipated. Monica still wore the blindfold I had put on her, but her gag had been replaced by one the same as Christina's - in this instance a blue rubber ball with a stainless steel screwhook protruding from the front of it. This had been padlocked to the screwhook on the front of Christina's gag. It was literally, 'in your face' stuff. Her hair was still wet from the rain, and the silk blouse still clung to her body, but she was now naked from the waist down. Like Christina she now wore a broad waist belt buckled at the front, with a vertical strap from the back down between her legs and rejoining the belt at the front. This strap held the other half of the double-headed dildo securely inside her.
Monica's wrists were still handcuffed behind her, and were pulled up above her waist by a rope that looped over her shoulders and under her armpits. This effectively kept her prying hands away from the belt and strap. There was just enough movement for the two women to do what they obviously wanted to do, and they were trying to do this, thrusting against each other with as much rhythm as they could. This was not helped by Christina, whose arms were still secured to the pulley above her. Her hobble chain had been removed, giving both of them more freedom of movement and balance, but whenever they strayed too far from the centrepoint between the posts, Christina's arms would get pulled up. They were thus restricted in their area, and were unable to sit or kneel. I watched them beginning to work up a rhythm again, grinding their hips into each other, becoming faster.
The third figure then moved into the picture. It was Mary. She was wearing
a short leather skirt, a leather bra and thigh-high boots. I have to confess
my loins stirred at the sight of her. She looked magnificent. She also
carried a riding crop which she smacked smartly on Monica's rump to the
detriment of the rhythm which fell apart. Christina then received two whacks
and tried to get away, but could not, nor did she know where Mary was as
she circled the hapless pair.
Monica's Place continues in Chapter Five: Trish gets the Shaft
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© R.Alexander 2006
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