|Gromet's Plaza||Richard Alexander Stories|
|by Richard Alexander|
|© 2002 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission.|
|storycodes: MF/mf; bondage; bdsm; cons/nc; XXX|
|Monicaís Place Book 1 of the Monica Chronicles by Richard Alexander|
|Monica's Place: 5. Trish gets the Shaft by Richard Alexander MF/mf; bondage; bdsm; cons/nc; XXX|
Chapter Five: Trish
gets the shaft
I stayed in that night. There was a good movie on TV, but it seemed like all the exertions of the day had caught up with me and I crashed out early. I had decided to stay away from the house, to give Monica time to get everything out of her system. I was still not sure how she was going to react to the whole incident. I guess in part that would depend on the clientís reaction, and in that regard I would have thought that Warren had got more than his moneyís worth...
Sunday morning dawned dull and overcast again, with the threat of rain still hanging about but with the bush smelling damp and luxuriant. It was Sunday paper time, and I was the first to the news, collecting it from the driveway where it was tossed over the fence every day with unerring accuracy. I hoped Sunday was not going to be a repeat of the day before - I had definitely learned two lessons the hard way: firstly, donít help a slave, unless you want to end up one yourself; secondly, whoever has a slave escape must take his or her place. Talk about the law of the jungle. It definitely added a touch of realism, and an incentive not to rely to wimpy knots.
It was Trish who joined me first at breakfast. She was looking very
relaxed in a red satin gown with obviously nothing underneath. Her hair
was tousled but she looked as though the night had not been all work and
no play. We chatted as she prepared breakfast, and she sympathised with
the treatment I had received.
It was Christina again. She had changed clothes since I had seen her
last, and now wore a stunning black PVC leotard and black calf-length boots
to match. Around her neck was locked a wide black collar with a wide strap
attached to it that ran down her back. Her arms were folded across her
back and her wrists were locked into loops on the belt, one above the other.
All up it did not look such an uncomfortable form of restraint, which was
probably a good thing, because I suspect Christina had just spent the night
in it. She was blindfolded with a leather mask over her eyes, and a large
black muzzle-like gag covered her mouth with the strap buckled at the back
of her neck over her blonde hair. Through the middle of this muzzle protruded
a short rubber tube, about ten centimetres long and a centimetre in diameter.
"Howís everyone else going?" I asked.
I decided Iíd better keep a low profile as well, and I left soon after, as Christina was finishing the last of her breakfast. In the kitchen was a whiteboard about half a metre high by a metre wide, which was the focus of events happening in the house. It detailed who was booked into which room, who was on monitor duty, when meetings were scheduled and any other information that people wanted to communicate to all and sundry. It served as a much simplified and vastly cheaper version of e-mail. Before I left I scribbled a note that I could use a volunteer at some stage during the day, and that I would be working in the garage. I was beginning to wonder who would be silly enough to volunteer for anything to do with my work, given the experimental nature of it all and the likely discomfort that could await any such volunteer.
Monica had asked me to look at some form of head security that would allow a victim to be gagged and blindfolded by various means, but which would prevent the person from removing them while their hands were free. She had shown me various helmets that were available overseas - custom-made stainless steel things that would probably require a master craftsman to build and an armoured van to deliver the payment for them.
My thoughts had turned to a different sort of helmet however - the type worn on a motorbike - and I had picked up two full-face secondhand versions of different sizes. The intention was to fix a lockable grill on the front and some form of lockable plate underneath that would prevent removal. The two helmets were different sizes, both slightly too small for me. I knew from past adventures on motorbikes that I took a larger size helmet, and reasoned that as the females in the household were the most likely wearers, something smaller would be appropriate. What I needed was a victim - I mean, a helper. I wondered who it would be.
It looked like Jillian had got the short straw. She turned up around
ten thirty, with just a hint of trepidation in her expression.
Like the Goldilocks story this one was just right, which was fortunate, since it was the one I had started working on. I had done the easy part - a grill made out of 5-millimetre fence wire with welded cross wires. The grill was in the same form and acted the same way as the clear perspex visor. Unlike the visor, however, it was riveted to the helmet and could not be moved. Stopping the helmet being removed, while still ensuring some comfort for the wearer was not so easy. The aim was long-term wear. There were no obvious limits to how long this could be worn, other than the restrictions of whatever was underneath.
We talked about it and tried a few things, before eventually using pieces of cardboard cut to templates that formed a pair of shutters closing under the chin. These I created out of two-millimetre steel plate, cutting it to shape then heating and bending the edges so that no sharp protrusion could hurt the wearer. Two hinges welded to the plates then riveted to the helmet, plus a hasp and staple in the centre completed the work ready for a padlock. I finished the job with a couple of foam pads glued to the inside of the plates.
It took a couple of hours, but which time Jillian and I had done quite a lot of talking. She was a smart cookie - a fact I had realised right from the first time I had met her. While she was still technically a "junior" in that she did not have the on-the-job experience of Monica, Mary or Trish, she had savvy and an interest in the business that the others did not have. She had a degree in physical education and had run a gym for several years before falling into the more lucrative call girl racket. With her height and striking facial features she had a sophisticated look that I could see would have made her very sought after. Her taste for bondage had begun then and as her school friendship with Emma had developed into something more physical, so had her interest and passion for the subject. It was only when she had come to work for Monica that she had found an outlet for her hobby. I could see that Jillian was ambitious, and somewhat frustrated at having to take a lower seniority than some of the others, but she was obviously looking to better herself.
I finished fitting the last rivet and asked her to try it one more time.
She slipped it over her head and I closed the two flaps underneath before
locking a small padlock through the hasp.
Monica was talking to me again, and was well pleased with the device - so much so that she made Jillian sit with us while we had lunch. We experimented with pushing bits of food through the mesh of the grille, and managed to get one of those bendy straws into Jillianís mouth. It put a whole new meaning into the expression "liquid lunch". I decided to put a better-placed hole for just such a use when I finished the job that afternoon. In the meantime Monica and I enjoyed a pleasant lunch while Jillian fumed opposite us.
"Itís the last time I volunteer to help," she muttered.
I spent the rest of the afternoon working on the second helmet. Monica finally relented and unlocked Jillianís headgear so I could finish painting the metalwork. I suspect if I had not requested it, Jillian would have been wearing the thing to bed. Both helmets were modified with a straw-sized hole that would allow an intake of fluids if the wearer was not gagged. I also added a screw eye on the top and one on each side, such that the wearer could be easily secured to a wall, post or whatever.
It was mid afternoon when Trish appeared. I was well away in a world of my own at that stage, doing what I loved and with the stereo I had installed going full blast. In this regard I have to confess to being a bit of a classical freak. Not to the exclusion of all other music types, but it was certainly at the top of my preferences. It was obvious that Trish had been there for some minutes before I noticed her. I was in one of my Ďepicí moods, as I called them Ė a fixation with things Viking and heroic, usually Germanic and Wagnerian. I had run through Wagerís Gotterdammerung overture (the one with the solo whistling part by yours truly, together with a bit of conducting at key moments) when I became aware of Trishís presence. She was lounging against the wall with her arms crossed and a faint smile on her face as she watched me.
"Pretty way out music for a builder," she said, as I turned the volume
down, somewhat embarrassed. I said nothing, not quite knowing how to respond.
"Youíre a surprising guy, Steve. I thought I had you sussed, but you still
have a few things buried that you donít make obvious. That last track was
Trish was silent, then stood up and idly flipped through the collection
of CDís I kept in a sealed cabinet, away from the dust of my work. I felt
we had shared a special moment, which both of us realised, but we were
not sure how to proceed. At length she said: "Monica wants to know if youíre
any closer to the shaft, yet." I fiddled with some stuff on my bench. I
knew what she meant.
I set aside the helmet I had just finished painting. Monica had discussed
Ďthe shaftí with me before, and I had bought some materials that I thought
would do the job.
ĎThe shaftí was literally that - an adjustable vertical shaft, usually
made out of tube, with one end welded to a steel plate on the floor. On
the top of the tube was fixed a dildo or vibrator. A female would be made
to stand astride the shaft while it was slid inside her pussy. As she was
made to stand straight with her legs together, the shaft was raised a little
further until she might even be on tiptoes. The extension was then locked
with a screw located halfway down the pole. She would then be unable to
raise herself off the toy Ė in fact would be unable to move anywhere due
to the impalement. Standing on the steel base meant the structure itself
would likewise go nowhere. On one hand it was fiendishly simple and no
doubt could be very painful; on the other, if too much slack was given,
a lady could get herself off, without being able to actually get off, if
you understand my drift. And Trish had other ideas as well.
We sketched a few ideas on a pad. The basic premise was easy. I had some sheet steel and some galvanised pipes of the sort that sprinkler systems are made from. These come with various couplers, bends and so on, many sizes of pipes fitting snugly inside each other. With my welding gear and oxyacetylene set it did not take too long to fashion the basic platform - a plate of 5-millimetre steel about a metre square. In the centre of this I welded a ten centimetre long cylinder, inside which the main shaft fitted snugly. There was no need to screw this in, since the victim would be unable to lift herself sufficiently to pull it out anyway. The main shaft was around sixty centimetres high, and over this slid a further length of pipe. This was the topmost piece, and was kept in place by a series of holes drilled through the two tubes, such that a locating pin could be pushed through horizontally to secure it.
The hardest part was working out an attachment for the various toys that would be mounted on top of the device. All of these of course had different diameters and lengths, with some being vibrating and others not. We solved this problem with various diameters of PVC plumbing pipe, from two to five centimetres in diameter. I cut half a dozen lengths, put a cut down the length of each and then used them as sleeves to go over the lower ends of the dildos. I secured these with hose clamps, comfortable with the fact that they would remain rigid. I guess the wearer would do likewise, and might not be as comfortable as I was!
Trish, I have to say, was fascinated by the tools and the construction
of it all. She offered suggestions and asked questions which I found most
refreshing in a woman, and I took time to explain things.
Eventually, after we had tried a few toys on the top, and had greased
the sliding bits, she said: "I suppose you want me to try it out now?"
Trish was wearing an olive green skirt a little above the knee, which
she unzipped and dropped in one fluid movement. She wore a cream shirt
and black high-cut panties. These also fell to the floor, as she stood
there naked from the waist down save a pair of slingback sandals.
I slipped the sleeved vibrator over the top of the shaft and watched
as Trish gently lubricated it with some jelly and gave herself a dash for
"Okay," she said. "You can put the pin in." I twisted the shaft slightly
and lined up the two sets of holes before pushing home the pin.
"Oh shit! Thatís not all youíre pushing! Oh!" Trishís voice went up an octave and she began to squirm on the shaft. She at once found that she could stand on her tiptoes and gain some small vertical movement, which she began to utilise in earnest. "Wow... Oh godohgodohgod!" For all Trishís experience I rapidly discovered she was not above letting herself go.
"Sorry, Trish. But as realistic as possible - that was the message."
Before she realised it, I had grabbed her wrists and handcuffed them behind
her back, pulling them away from where they were stimulating her pussy
at the entry of the shaft. I then pulled a bright blue ball gag from a
bag on the bench and moved behind her. She saw what was going to happen.
She closed her eyes again. "Maybe youíre right." She opened her mouth and I worked the ball in behind her teeth before buckling the strap over her hair at the back. The final act was to undo her shirt. I knew she was wearing no bra, and my curiosity got the better of me. Her breasts were not big, but not sagging, either - just nice swelling mounds topped with flinty hard nipples that I rolled between my fingertips. Trish moaned with her eyes still closed. She opened them just in time to see me retrieve a pair of nipple clamps from the bag, and approach my helpless captive. She shook her head and grunted through the gag. I think the act of shaking her head only started more fires, for a shudder ran through her body and she closed her eyes again, grinding her teeth into the mouth-filling rubber as the clamps settled on her nipples.
"Iíll go get Monica for the stamp of approval," I said. "I wonít be
long. Or at least no later than eight oíclock..."
As I hastened to do her bidding Trish spluttered and whined into the
rubber ball. As the vibrator stopped while I changed batteries, she sagged
and panted hard through her nose. Monica looped a piece of cord around
the links on the handcuffs and pulled Trishís hands higher up her back.
The two ends of the cord went over Trishís shoulders then under her armpits
before being tied between her shoulder blades, but not before her handcuffed
wrists had been pulled up level with the knot.
Monica was now rummaging through the debris on my bench and hunting on the shelves in amongst my jars of fasteners. "Ah." she said. "Just the job. " She unscrewed the top on a jar and pulled out a couple of ten millimetre bolts, about as long as my finger. Deftly she secured these to the ends of the rubber bands and let them bounce gently at the end of their restraints, tugging rhythmically on Trishís nipples. "Letís see what that does to her vertical motion capabilities," Monica mused. Then, as a final piece de resistance, she pulled the thin silk scarf from her neck and folded it into a narrow strip. I had accepted the fact that Monica was very much a scarf person. She wore them frequently - an innocent dress accompaniment that had obviously a thousand household uses. This one went over Trishís eyes to complete her ensemble. "I think youíll be okay until about ten, Trish. Yes?" Trish shook her head furiously and spluttered into the gag.
"Iíd like those helmets finished tonight if you can, Steve. I have something
planned for tomorrow."
I finished the last painting of the helmets to the accompaniment of
several orgasms from Trish, all of which were highly demonstrative affairs.
I had to say it was a difficult time for me, too. Mr Willy was decidedly
unhappy at all the action going on behind him, without his participation.
He was definitely suggesting that I give him a hand, so to speak, when
I was unexpectedly visited by Mary, just as Trish climaxed, rocking and
jerking on the shaft.
"Pretty nifty," she said, with what I took to be genuine appreciation, although I got the feeling with Mary you could never be sure. "Something for our long stayers to look forward to. Ideal for those who canít stick to a diet." She smiled at her own joke and I had to admit she could be bewitching when she put her mind to it. For a moment she looked almost irresistible, as though the hard shell had suddenly dropped away, leaving a vulnerable woman who did not like to be revealed in front of others. She appeared lost in thought as she contemplated one helmet. The paint was dry on it and she slipped it over her head, feeling how the steel flaps did up. Then she pulled it off, smoothing back her short black hair behind her ears.
"Youíre smart, Steven. Clever with your hands. You know what youíre
good at and donít try to impress people with irrelevancies." I shrugged,
not knowing where she was leading. She smiled at me - an extraordinary
smile that seemed to open me right up. Then she turned on her heel and
walked out, planting a smart slap on Trishís backside in passing.
As I finished the last work on the helmet I turned to Trish who had
just reached a climactic height and was panting and snorting through her
nose. Feeling sorry for her I reached down and turned off the vibrator.
She seemed to slump forward - well as much as the shiny prong inside her
After a minute I got her to stand again while I dried her sweat-soaked
body with a cloth. I dressed her in panties and skirt while she mmmphed
into her gag, clearly demanding to know why I wasnít freeing her bonds,
in between a few obvious whinings about the bolts bobbing on her boobs.
I helped blind Trish up the steps and on to the balcony where the girls
sat doing justice to a couple of bottles of chilled white wine. We were
greeted by a few raunchy remarks - it was obvious that there was little
sympathy for Trish. It was nothing unkind, just an accepted fate that befell
them all from time to time. They were just glad in this instance it was
happening to someone else. There were also a few cracks about my wanting
to be a ĎMasterí, and how they had all better watch their steps. I was
surprised at a word of praise from Mary.
"Had a quiet afternoon?" Monica asked innocently. "Certainly seemed
|Monica's Place continues in Chapter Six|
|All comments welcome at email@example.com.
© R.Alexander 2006
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