|Gromet's Plaza||Richard Alexander Stories|
|by Richard Alexander|
|© 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: 8. The Tardis & the Submarine by Richard Alexander MF/mf; bondage; bdsm; cons/nc; XXX|
Chapter Eight: The Tardis & the Submarine
Gym workouts began in earnest that weekend. Because of the nature of the "sessions", the facilities were of necessity used in short bursts. One of Monica’s axioms was the need for privacy for clients. They did not expect to be embarrassed through being humiliated in front of total strangers. (It did not seem to matter that our team could strip them, tie them up, beat them and shove things up their orifices – they would only be embarrassed if someone else saw them, it seemed.)
Monica and Jillian worked this angle well with judicious booking time. Sometimes clients came in pairs – master (or mistress) and slave, or two women looking for something different and providing moral support for each other. Such an arrangement obviously got a discount, since two were more productive for us than one. In the cases of singles, and depending on bookings, we sometimes had to use either the holding cells or one of the other rooms such as the Post Room, to store these people between exercise sessions, while others took a turn in the gym. Monica hoped to encourage a regular clientele that would come once or even twice a week for their workouts, in the same way that the rest of the human race might use a normal gym membership. Chances are they would come’ once or twice during their workouts, in fact.
With all this activity going on I could not help but encounter clients in various stages of discomfort in the course of my own work, as I moved about the dungeon complex with my materials and equipment. My next task was to utilize the area under the stairs, as a short term holding area. This was relatively easily done by simply constructing vertical partitions in concrete blockwork underneath the stairs. I built in four this way, the interesting feature being their dimensions.
I had discussed the concept with Monica and we had done some testing. The smallest cell was obviously under the lowest part of the stairs, the sloping roof of which went from about 70 centimetres above the floor down to nothing. The cell was only half a metre deep and was just big enough for a person to kneel or sit side on to the door with their knees pulled up to their chest. Within the cell there were a few strategically placed eye bolts for securing necks and limbs and anything else that needed to be immobilized. The cells had cage-like doors with vertical bars at 5 centimetre spacings. All occupants were in full view except when a black curtain was stretched over the grille and held in place by a continuous Velcro strip around the edge. Since the cells’ occupants were intended to be bound, or at very least restrained, there was little chance of them pulling the curtain down, especially since the grille was set back 10 centimetres from the outside edge of the stairs, which was the line of the curtains. And woe betide anyone who dared try such a stunt in any case!
The second smallest cell, named "Little Ease" after a similar medieval version from the Tower of London, was slightly more roomy, but it was of dimensions such that it was not possible to stretch out any limb. There was space for the occupant to turn around but not stand up nor sit down with their legs extended. It was seen as longer-term restraint, for up to 24 hours, by which time the cramped confinement would take its toll. The last two cells were the same, and I dubbed these Tardis 1 and 2 in light of their apparent (and actual) confined space. However, contrary to the famous Doctor Who time travelling phone booth, whose interior was dramatically bigger than its exterior, these two cells looked slightly smaller than a phone booth and in fact were.
They were of adequate size in which to stand up - as wide as a human body, but only just deep enough for one. The captive was generally backed in and the grill was closed. We had trialed the exact depth such that with most women their breasts were just a little compressed against the bars. Due to the lack of space, even in an unrestrained condition the captive was unable to raise their arms from their sides. Which gave plenty of scope for torment through the bars and playing with nipple clamps and other tools of the trade. The victim was neither able to bend their knees nor to turn their heads if a couple of bars were inserted into strategic holes in the blockwork behind them, such as one bar just below each ear. ‘Simple but effective’ was my motto.
Again, in this instance, the occupant could be wearing a simple blindfold and a tape gag but be unable to reach them even with unbound hands. Monica and I were really proud of the elegance of it, to tell the truth. It was a bit like a modern day version of the famous Iron Maiden, and we resolved to modify the barred door to take various devices which would be pressed into the various human orifices or against strategic or tender parts.
I made further modifications which included blockwork holes at various points in line with the insides of the legs, where bars could be placed at right angles to the grille to restrict the legs further and maintain better access to vital places. In the head area I glued a 1-centimetre sheet of dense foam to the blockwork. I knew from experience that the head was a hard structure itself and tended to bruise easily if forced against something unyielding. With the foam in place I then constructed some large U-shaped bars from steel the thickness of my small finger. I threaded each end and drilled further holes right through the blockwork. In one Tardis cavity I extended the foam to cover the whole block wall at the back and drilled a series of holes in the rough shape of a human body.
I had spent the weekend completing the blockwork and foam lining and on the Monday I installed the steel grilles which I had had made at my friendly local engineering shop. It was to this shop that I was to come on a fairly regular basis for anything that I thought would not conjure up too many questions.
At our regular Monday morning meeting, Monica detailed Jillian and Trish to help me. In fact this really meant Jillian and Trish had the dubious job of being test pilots. I was ready for Trish even before I had collected the grilles. What I had planned for her did not even need a grille. Trish was taken to Tardis 2, which was slightly wider than Tardis 1 – wide enough for the occupant to have feet maybe half a metre apart and arms perhaps a handspan away from the hips. I rocked up with an armload of silver-painted U-bolts, which Trish looked at with some trepidation. I explained to them that they were all numbered and all Jillian had to do was go behind the rear wall and fit the washers and nuts after I had pushed the U-bar into place. It was simplicity in itself. A prisoner could be held by one U-bar or ten. They could not get away or reach the nuts. The only escape was to rip the bar out with a bit of wall or to bribe the jailer. Neither was going to happen in Trish’s case since the first one that went in was fitted with a bit gag that was jammed in her mouth. I waited while Jillian screwed up the nuts, watching Trish’s wide-eyed expression for the first sign of unnecessary strain on her jaw.
There was no need for the bars to be excessively tight. That would only produce bruising which was the last thing anyone wanted. In this case Trish was secured at the mouth, which totally immobilized her head, then at wrists, ankles and around the waist. It was exceedingly effective and very elegant. Trish was wearing only a bikini, as instructed by Monica, and after being pinioned to the wall looked a divine picture, being unable to create more movement than a bit of toe and finger wiggling and eye-rolling. There was a bit of plaintive spluttering around the bit gag, which really wasn’t designed for total noise suppression the way some of the mouth-filling gags were. Monica was very impressed, as was Leila when she turned up to do her photographer’s act.
Monica, of course, could not walk past a couple of tits without taunting them, and after bringing Trish’s nipples to attention with a bit of delicate fondling in the southern regions, installed two rather wicked plastic clothes pegs on the protruding nips through the thin lycra of the bikini top. Leila had explained to me early on the various features of different types of clothes pegs, including their spring force, whether they were plastic or wooden, and the shape and area of the contact points. These particular pegs had concave rather than flat gripping surfaces and could pinch painfully like a thumb and forefinger meeting nail to nail. They were the least likely to be pulled off, and if they did they provided excruciating pain in the process, I was told. Installed through Lycra gave them more chance of coming off, but the pain would be none the less. Trish was clearly not a happy camper and glared at Monica while trying to say some probably very uncomplimentary things about her. Naturally the solid rubber bit distorted her complaints unintelligibly and merely resulted in two little strings of drool sliding slowly down on to the nicely filled material of her bikini top.
"Relax and enjoy, Trish. You have a free day. You’ll be released in time for dinner. Unless we decide to feed you here. You can probably do without lunch – you look as though you could lose a kilo or two," Monica said cheerfully, pinching Trish’s tummy. I knew she was joking – about the weight, anyway – but Trish just shot a withering look at the boss. There was nothing like a cheap shot about weight to get the girls wound up, and Monica was the world’s wind-up expert.
Jillian was dressed in cut-off jeans that left nothing to the imagination, plus a tank top and sneakers. She came with me when we went to collect the grilles from the engineering yard, and her attire predictably almost caused half a dozen industrial accidents in a very short space of time. Jillian of course flashed her wonderful smile and nearly added to the mishaps.
We loaded the three grilles into the back of my Ute and returned to the place I now regarded as home. Jill helped me unload the cargo through the steel emergency door directly into the basement area. This was how I accessed the place for the most part, particularly with any form of construction materials, and my comings and goings were routine to the girls, just as I routinely encountered bound or restrained clients in the course of my exits and entrances.
It took us the rest of the day to fit the three barred doors. They were heavy and their hinges had to be bolted through the full thickness of the blockwork. Both Jill and I worked up a sweat but had the good feeling at the end of the day that comes with having achieved something productive which we could display. Monica of course had to do the final inspection, and pronounced herself pleased with the result. Jillian was then reluctantly backed into Tardis 2. It was a snug fit width wise, with her arms nestling against the sides with not a lot of room to spare. I swung the door closed. It did not leave much room here, however. Jill had a couple of finger widths in front of her nose, but her breasts were cushioning the bars, preventing the door from catching on the latch. Monica solved that one with a determined shove and the steel catch slid home with a solid finality that had an ominous sound. Jill gasped as the bars pressed into her boobs and managed to wiggle as best she could to try to make herself comfortable. She had nice breasts but they were bizarrely distorted by the bars running down them and forcing the flesh to protrude between them. Monica grasped each nipple through the cotton of the tee-shirt and waggled them until they were central between the bars.
"Ow! Ow! Monica!"
"Can you reach the latch?" Monica asked, ignoring the plea.
Jill wriggled some more, but there was a horizontal bar running across the grille at waist height, and even though she could get her hands through the bars, she could not raise them above this level, nor could she rotate her wrists since the gap was not wide enough.
Monica poked and prodded and pronounced herself satisfied with the limitations on Jill’s movements. She produced a piece of rope from her pocket and bound Jill’s wrists together outside the bars. There was a gap of a body width between her wrists which were in turn secured to the bars themselves.
"See you after dinner, Jill. We’ll save you some."
"How long do I have to stay here?" Jillian asked ingratiatingly, probably guessing the result.
"Maybe an hour, maybe the night."
"Be good." As Monica turned to go there was a spluttering from Tardis 1. Poor Trish was still pinioned to the block wall by the u-bars.
"Of course. Sorry Trish. It must’ve been very boring for you. Your nips must be really sore by now." Monica deftly removed the clothes pegs with two quick flourishes – an action that elicited high-pitched wails and snorting from behind the bit gag. Trish’s breasts heaved under the Lycra and she was panting hard through her nose as Monica pulled down the bottom of the bikini and worked a large vibrator into Trish’s pussy. She pulled the bikini bottom back into place and I guessed the material was tight enough that the inserted device would not be dislodged in a hurry. I also guessed Trish was in for a late dinner as well. The buzzing of the vibrator sounded and Trish closed her eyes and groaned, but this time it was the sound of pleasure.
"Any chance of some distraction here?" asked Jillian demurely.
"You’re a slut Jill," said Monica agreeably, before disappearing to the storeroom and returning with a flat vibrator that she slipped down the front of Jillian’s cut-off jeans. Jill’s eyes lit up.
"But remember what goes around comes around," Monica continued, seizing each protruding nipple and releasing the clothes pegs on to them that had been kept warm by Trish until a few moments before.
"Ow! Shit-shit-shit! Those really hurt! Ow- Monica – I didn’t ask for them!"
"And I didn’t ask to have the house shouted down, so open wide!" Jillian knew better than to argue in her position and reluctantly let Monica push an inflatable gag between the captive lips. A few squeezes of the pump and Jillian’s angular jaw began to open further. She started ‘mming’ as her cheeks bulged. Monica gave a couple more squeezes that left Jill’s eyes wide and pleading while incoherent noises escaped her nose. It would be a fight for her attention between the warmth in her loins, the pain in her nipples and the restrictions to her speech and breathing.
"Come on Steve. Dinner."
An hour later I returned, this time with permission to free the girls from the imprisoning steel restraints. I went behind Trish’s block wall and undid most of the bolts. More specifically I undid all of them except those on her wrists, then returned to the front to slide them out of their holes. Trish looked most relieved when the bit was removed from her mouth and worked her jaw while I freed her ankle and waist.
"God, that’s better," she said at last. "You gonna undo my wrists?"
"In due course," I told her. "How’re you surviving?"
"It was hard work," she said, flexing her neck and legs experimentally. "Really hard work. It’s not a strained position, but yet it is. Does that make sense? Anyway, come on, get my hands free."
"Why, what’s the hurry?"
"You know damn well what the hurry is."
"Because, oh blind one, this vibrator is driving me crazy and secondly because I have to pee." She shifted from one foot to the other, obviously trying to get some purchase on the big vibrator still wedged in her pussy and held there by her bikini pants.
I moved up against her and stared her in the eyes, my right hand undoing the front clasp of her bikini top. The two sides remained in place, held momentarily by the swell of her breasts until with a little encouragement they slid to the sides.
"Steven, what are you doing? Don’t be a bastard."
"I’m being a helpful bastard – don’t knock it."
"Steven – I –I – oh shit!" By that time my left hand had found the base of the vibrator and given it a firm lift, while my right hand confirmed the rock hard arousal of Trish’s nipples. I sucked them and nibbled them with my teeth while Trish shuddered and closed her eyes, making short gasps. Mr Willy was fully aroused as well by this time, naturally, but he was just going to have to wait. Poor Trish had been stuck here all day so it was only fair that she get something out of it, which wasn’t long in coming as with a series of struggles she thrust her body against me and climaxed with a series of short cries, biting down on my shoulder while her hands flexed and grasped at thin air within their steel pinions. After a minute she began to relax and slumped back against the wall. I returned behind the wall, undid the remaining two U-bars and then pulled them free of her wrists, which appeared surprisingly clear of bruising. The bar I had used was ten-millimetre, and I had considered sleeving it with foam if necessary, but it did not seem to be required at that time. Trish pushed herself off the wall and sheepishly did up her bikini top, smiling at me as she did so.
"You sure know how to take advantage of a girl, don’t you mister."
"Is that a complaint?"
"Hell, no. It was just a long time coming… God, I really do have to pee… See you later. ‘Bye Jill."
Trish moved off walking with a peculiar waddle that was due, I realised to the vibrator still being in place. She was probably afraid to remove it until she got to the bathroom, I reasoned. In the meantime, flushed with excitement of events, I had totally forgotten about Jillian, still trapped behind the barred gate, her nipples clamped and the inflatable gag stifling any cries. To make matters worse, she had had to listen to the sounds of Trish’s orgasm from the adjacent Tardis, which probably hadn’t done anything for her own self control, I thought, being of the understanding that our Jill was a bit passionate herself.
"Hi," I said, poking my head around the intervening block wall. She moaned and rolled her blue eyes at me pleadingly. God, she looked so desirable, trapped as she was, but still clothed. In some cases I have to say that a sexily clad girl can often be more arousing than a naked one, without a doubt. Jillian managed to make the cut-off jeans and tank top look seem like high fashion, at least in the bondage world, anyway.
I took pity on her and gently eased the pressure on the clothes pegs on her nipples, gradually freeing her of the pressure of the jaws. She closed her eyes and moaned again, her breath coming faster through her nose. After this I released some air from the gag – enough to ease the discomfort but still not permit speech. Jill’s hands fluttered where they protruded through the bars and were restrained by the rope Monica had tied them with. There was a faint dampness around Jill’s crotch and I put my hand down there where Monica had lodged the flat vibrator. It was warm and moist, and I immediately felt the pressure as Jill pushed forward, trapping my fingers against the bars. With some dexterous movement I let my fingers do the walking, and it wasn’t long before Jill was thrusting herself unrestrainedly against the bars, her breath coming faster and faster. I could not resist myself.
"You’re a slut, Jillian. Look at you, humping a steel gate. What are you?"
"Uh ghut!" she moaned through the gag, her eyes closed, but not pausing in her frenzied movement. She climaxed a moment later, uttering a long high-pitched whine ending in soft gruntings as she turned her head sideways against the steel bars and shook uncontrollably.
I eased my fingers free while Jill remained, trembling and shaking, her eyes closed and her breath coming in rapid pants and snorts. It took but a moment to undo the rope around her wrists and undo the latch to the gate. It swung open easily, the bulb on Jill’s gag slipping through and banging against her chest. With tremulous fingers she undid the valve to the gag and worked it out of her mouth, bending over and gasping for air for a long time.
"Jesus," she whispered to nobody in particular, slipping her hand down her jeans to presumably quell the vibrator.
"Very impressive," came Monica’s voice from behind me. "I’m glad to see we’ve all enjoyed ourselves." Her tone was mischievous but I still felt guilty, like someone caught smoking after they said they’d given up. "Some people get all the good jobs, eh Jill?"
Jillian smiled, flushing, but said nothing. In all the excitement neither of us had heard Monica come down the stairs, nor had we realised she was not alone. Behind her was Emma, her wrists handcuffed in front of her, naked. At least I presumed it was Emma. She wore a leather discipline helmet which was presumably locked on, via a wide strap around her neck. The helmet had no openings save for a small triangle where the nostrils were. From the bottom of the leather strap could be seen a fringe of black hair, and I had little doubt that those gorgeous breasts, now viewed for the first time in all their glory, could belong to anybody else but Emma. She also wore a leather belt about her waist with a wide crotch strap. Both were locked in place with small padlocks. He ankles were nominally restrained by a hobble chain about a foot long.
"Emma has volunteered to test ‘Little Ease’," Monica told us. I suspected it was a kind of involuntary volunteering – the kind that comes from being in the wrong place at the wrong time. "Come, Emma dear." Emma did not respond until Monica took her by the arm and guided her towards the second smallest cell. I suspected Emma had her ears plugged and probably had her mouth taped up as well, as was Monica’s usual style.
I watched as Monica guided Emma backwards into the small cell, making her bend over into the metre-cube. She helped Emma sit down then pushed her legs into a bent position before closing the grille and locking it with a padlock. Emma lay on her side in a semi-foetal position. I had put some spare rubber flooring into all of these cells, left over from the gym flooring. It was easier to stand on for long periods and kept the cold of the concrete at bay in just such a predicament as Emma now faced.
"She can stay there for the night," Monica told us. "Let’s see what she has to tell us in the morning about ‘Little Ease’. Good job, Steven. And you, Jill." Jillian blushed again. "Your dinner’s waiting for you upstairs."
The following morning we sat on the veranda and over breakfast discussed the experience of the cells the previous day. Trish said it had been very hard – harder in many ways than stricter bondage where one was more tightly restrained and could push or pull against ropes or straps. The steel bars were unyielding and were difficult to relax against. She said the hardest part was not being able to move her head or bend her legs.
"It’s not like being suspended or something where you can just hang in there. Any relaxation means some part of you gets weighted down on a steel bar – mainly your head. In fact you could restrain someone entirely with that bit gag. It really was pretty awful."
"Except the end?" I queried.
"Yeah," she admitted. "The end was okay."
"Okay? Your little hands were clenching and unclenching like mad!"
"All right! It was a happy ending. A good ending. Everyone went away satisfied. Is that what you want me to say?"
I grinned. "I guess."
"I suppose I have to make some sort of endorsement as well?" Jillian asked.
"Absolutely no pressure," I said off handedly, "but any contribution is always welcome." Jillian’s blue eyes sparkled briefly.
"Let’s just say I slept well."
"Any discomfort being behind bars?" Monica asked.
"How long could you have stood it?"
"I don’t know – as long as you can stand still in one place. At least I could shuffle my feet a bit and shift my weight and turn my head. I guess a day wouldn’t be out of the question. Better than poor Trish’s plight."
Just then Mary turned up with Emma on a leash. Emma was as I had last seen her, only now her wrists were secured in the steel cuffs behind her back, instead of in front of her. I guessed that this aspect was a Mary refinement. Mary tethered her charge to a table leg. Emma immediately knelt then laid down on her side, stretching her body out straight with a faint moan of what I took to be relief or pleasure. Mary appeared to be in the middle of some form of client servicing or supervision. She was dressed in a black PVC catsuit that left nothing to the imagination. The outfit included wicked-looking stilettos and several light chains that clinked when she moved. From her hip hung a small ring of keys. She squatted briefly beside the prone form of Emma and fiddled with the crotch belt. A faint buzzing began and Emma stiffened before trying to curl up in a ball again, as muffled noises came from deep within the discipline helmet. She tried to reach the base of her pussy but with the steel cuffs securing her wrists was unable to do so.
"It’s a bit early for that, isn’t it Mary?" Monica commented.
"I’ve never known you object to it, whatever the hour," Mary shot back acidly. Touché, I thought. Monica smiled faintly and shrugged. "Anyway, I don’t have time for nurse-maiding at the moment. I have a client doing Dracula impressions from a beam." She stood up and went back through the kitchen, her heels clicking on the timber floor.
"Looks like Mary got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning," Jill murmured. Then she bent over Emma with a fond expression on her face. "Poor Emma. I’ll bet she’s dying for a pee, but being the little tramp that she is she won’t want to miss out on anything. Can I play, Mon?"
"Sure. I just want to find out how she managed last night. But only when she’s ready, of course," she added quickly.
Jillian bent down and tweaked Emma’s nipples. They were hard and pointing. Emma groaned and rolled on to her stomach, trying to grind herself into the floor. Jillian slipped a sneakered shoe between Emma’s legs. It was immediately seized upon as Emma’s manacled hands grasped Jill’s ankle, using the foot as a solid point to press against. Jill sat there, smiling tolerantly at us, the way one would with a child or pet acting up or doing something faintly embarrassing.
"She has no shame," Jill said conversationally as the prostrate body twitched and jerked, the leather-covered head twisting from side to side as the climax finally came. Jill nudged the now-prone form in the butt. "You can let go of my ankle now, you tart!" The hands slowly released what looked to be a seriously tight grip on the ankle. Little whimpering noises were coming through the hood as Emma rolled on her side and displayed her heaving breasts. There were worse sights to start your day with over an orange juice, I decided.
Jill unlocked the prisoner’s collar using a small ring of standard keys all the girls carried. She unlaced the back of the hood and pulled it free. Emma blinked in the morning sun, her face flushed and sweating, her hair plastered down. She had three pieces of duct tape across her mouth which Jill now peeled off before unlocking the handcuffs.
"Good morning Emma," she said. "Did we sleep well?"
Emma looked embarrassed as she saw the audience that had witnessed her performance.
"No, thank you. It was very uncomfortable."
"How uncomfortable, Emma?" Monica quizzed.
"It was okay to start with, and I even fell asleep, but after a while when I tried to shift position it began to get difficult. You can’t straighten your legs and it’s very hard to straighten your waist. The only way I could do this was to lie on my stomach, and even then I had my head twisted in a corner. The rubber stuff on the floor is okay – I just couldn’t straighten. That was the problem."
"That was the point," said Monica.
"I guess I slept in snatches, but I kept waking up with cramps in my legs."
"Did you play with yourself to ease the pain," Jill asked slyly.
"Yes," Emma admitted. Then she added: "I also heard a lot of banging and heavy breathing just as we got to the bottom of the stairs last night. You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?"
Jill said nothing, pretending to be interested in a half-finished mango on her plate.
"How long could you have stayed there, Emma?" asked Monica.
"Maybe the rest of the morning? I don’t know. Maybe longer. It was weird being able to move but not being able to stretch. It’s a different form of restraint – much more frustrating in many ways than being tied tightly. Look, I have to pee. Save me some breakfast."
She picked up Jillian’s key ring and went inside, while we returned to our breakfast discussion. I could see Monica’s mind working and wondered what the result of all this would be. I was sure I would find out in due course.
The completion of the under-stair cells meant a big increase in our holding capacity, and it was about this time that activity really did seem to increase downstairs. We now had the two holding cells, the under-stair cells, the Post Room and the Chair Room, plus the gym, to cater for our inventive minds and the needs of our clients. The cells under the stairs meant that the two main holding cells could be used for longer periods, such as for ‘kidnap’ victims who might need to be incarcerated for a week while various forms of persuasion were applied to get them to tell us where the money was, or alternatively for them to wait while it was ‘paid’. During the following week or so I could not help but check out the understair cells from time to time when I had to go upstairs for any reason. Quite often they were occupied with a woman in some form of restraint. In this regard I have to say that the majority of Monica’s clients were female, probably on a four to one basis. I started to see a pattern of usage of these cells, and saw the smallest cell occupied for the first time. It would have been a tight fit in most cases, even with an unrestrained prisoner.
I saw a brunette whose wrists had been bound in front of her to her ankles, with her knees drawn up to her chest. She was jammed in sideways with little room to move and little ability other than to turn her head. The trend with the use of these areas seemed to be to keep the prisoners blindfolded, rather than use the curtains. Likewise, prisoners being transported were usually hooded or blindfolded to avoid unfortunate confrontations with somebody they just might not wish to see. This particular girl was gagged and blindfolded with a complex leather harness sporting a red ball for the mouth and pads over the eyes. She was moaning softly and squirming as much as she was able, which really wasn’t a lot. I guessed she was having to cope with something rather large up her rectum. That was at nine in the morning. She was gone shortly after lunch, though I didn’t know where. I had other things on my mind which I tried not to get distracted from.
My focus during this next period was on a room designated the "Sluice Room". After descending the stairs, the Sluice Room could be found in the right hand far corner of the basement. It was designed as a "cleansing centre", as Monica put it – somewhere to facilitate the total cleaning of clients in whatever form of restraint they might be at the time. I was now starting to understand the strategy behind Monica’s approach, in that what she was creating was an establishment that could offer a fully coordinated processing of clients, through holding, cleaning, exercising and ‘treatment’. Alternatively each of these options could be a specialist treatment in itself. There was obviously scope for ‘package tours’, I decided.
Monica and I had discussed and agreed on the layout of the Sluice Room. It was to be subdivided into a sauna area about three metres square, as well as having toilet, shower, bidet and enema facilities. It would be fully tiled on the walls and floor and would have several overhead rails for moving immobilized clients around. These I had got made by a local sliding door manufacturer, who also supplied the hangers and wheeled assemblies that would slide along the rails. The rails and wheels were top of the range in that they were designed for heavy industrial folding/sliding doors and could easily take anything we could load on to them.
As one walked into the Sluice Room, at the far end of the left hand side were a toilet, bidet and basin in a line. The left-hand far corner of the room formed the sauna/shower room, while immediately opposite the door would be a built-in bath about two and a half metres long and a metre wide, stretching from the right hand wall to the wall of the sauna room. Entry to the sauna would be via a full height door. This was needed to accommodate the ceiling rails which swept in a gentle S-curve away from the main door, then left through the sauna door before turning right into the centre of the sauna/shower area itself. There was also a rail spur which ran from the first bend to the centre of the long bath.
The sauna and bath had been built in blockwork which had been filled with concrete. Floor and waste drainage had already been installed and there had been waterpipes installed previously for the basin, toilet, bidet, bath and sauna. All these were plugged outlets on the walls, chased into the blockwork and rendered over. There were several other outlets for hose taps. God knows what story Monica spun to the plumber who did it all. Knowing Monica it would have been something creative and highly plausible.
I reckoned I had about ten days work in front of me – maybe two weeks. The first tasks were the usual ones – ceiling joists and supports for the rails, plus wiring and other concealed services. Then came the tiling. It took four days and I was heartily sick of white tiles by the end of it. Most of the girls helped me when they were off duty, but again it was Trish who perhaps contributed the most. Aside from helping me with the work of lugging in the boxes of tiles, I taught her how to cut them and fix them. Work became much less of a chore shared between us. She turned out to have the female knack of fitting pieces neatly around protrusions and other obstacles, as well as finishing off the grouting neatly.
With the walls tiled we fitted the ceiling sheeting. This was waterproof shower panelling, complimenting the waterproof light fittings and power switches. The whole facility was designed to be hosed down from top to bottom if necessary – much the same treatment as would be meted out to the occupants.
A weekend came and went. Down in the dungeon I lost track of time, being reminded only by the changing of my partners as the shifts changed. I tended to work until I got tired and to eat when I was hungry. Sometimes I forgot that too, and one of the girls ended up bringing me something. It was times like this when I really enjoyed my work – the challenges that arose and then were overcome. I fitted the industrial basin, bog and bidet – the three ‘B’s. Then came the focus on the sauna. On one side I built a slatted wall made of horizontal three by twos with a wide finger space between them. In the cavity behind this was the heating element which could be sprayed with water at the touch of a button outside. Predictably there were a number of anchor points on the slatted frame, as well as elsewhere within the sauna and outside it.
The other difficult piece of the sauna was the door, which had to have two drop-sections across the top 15 centimetres, so that the door could open and close either side of the rail. To open the door, both hinged sections had to be lowered with a hooked pole, then the door could swing open beneath the rail. It was a heavy door and took three of us to manoeuvre it into place. Various rubber seals were then needed to keep steam leakage to a minimum. Extractor fans were sited discretely in the external walls to cater for excess moisture, and somehow I had a feeling there would be plenty of that.
The main feature of the whole area was a frame I was to build above the bath. It was designed on the lines of a waterwheel, with the axle at right angles to the long dimension of the bath, supported at one end by a bracket on the wall, and at the other by an A-frame that stood alongside the outer face of the bath. The horizontal axle was slightly above waist height and the whole thing was of welded, painted pipe. The bit that rotated was a frame large enough to take a human body and was made of angle iron which would take a 20-millimetre plywood infill. Logically enough there were cleats and holes aplenty to allow the secure attachment of a body, which I intended to do using ratchet straps of the sort used for tying down truck loads. It took a fair bit of trial and error, this contraption, not least because the human body tends to have an odd centre of gravity and which also varies from person to person.
On the wall side of the frame a bicycle wheel sprocket was fixed on the axle. Attached to this was a long bicycle chain driven by a small electric motor. I had hoped to use the waterwheel principle, using buckets attached to a wheel which would fill and empty on one side, driving the wheel round. Unfortunately this idea is fine when the wheel is symmetrically loaded, which is definitely not the case for a human body, which would rotate rapidly for a short arc, then struggle to move from the vertical position. Hopefully the motor would solve this and prevent any backspin at the same time.
As a variation on the theme the tap would be running in the bath. Initially the victim would be rotating in fresh air, with the ends of the frame passing about a handspan from the bottom of the bath. Eventually, however, the bath would start to fill, and the frame would begin to break the surface of the water. When full the bath would be about knee deep, which equated to about chest deep in the inverted position. There were going to be some interesting breathing aspects which worried me, although Monica said she had it all planned.
"Who’s going to test it?" I asked tentatively.
"Who have you had down here helping you?"
"Well, Trish mostly, but also Leila, Jill – and Emma."
"Er – no."
"It’s a pretty fiendish device, isn’t it," Monica mused to nobody in particular. Now I knew who was going to be the first submarine test pilot. I also found out about the depth charges Monica had planned.
It was another day before I had all the details worked out. Monica and I had spent much of the afternoon in my workshop as ideas developed and we tried them out with prototypes. I was amazed at Monica’s fertile imagination in such matters and the frankness with which she talked about the sensations of objects invading her sex or doing other apparently painful things to parts of her anatomy. It was all very clinical, and she said it without a blush. It was also, needless to say, somewhat of a revelation to me. I offered my contributions wherever I could and together we conjured up a device that we initially decided should be called the ‘pile driver’, although on reflection we thought that the ‘torpedo’ was more appropriate to a ‘submarine’.
Mary was ambushed in mid-session in the morning. She was dressed in a thin, figure hugging black latex suit with high heels. I noticed the shiny suit had zips in strategic places, not least down the back, through the crotch and a vertical one over each breast. Mary was walked into the room spitting like a cat. Her hands were cuffed and she had been blindfolded, which had to have helped in calming her a bit. Trish was on one arm and Jillian on the other.
"Leila’s taken over with Mr Butterworth," Trish announced to Monica.
"What’s the problem, Mary? Afraid you’ll miss out on your bonus? We have something much more important that we think you should try out." Mary suddenly went quiet. Perhaps it was the relish in Monica’s voice that did it.
I had removed the plywood panel from the submarine’s steel frame and the panel was now laid on a couple of sawhorses. I figured the securing of a victim would be much more easily done with full access on all sides. The plywood panel had been fitted with a series of quick release straps in roughly the shape of a human body. It had also been fitted with a layer of high-density foam – the kind that is used for sleeping mats by hikers and campers. In parts this had been padded further to suit the human profile, not least behind the neck and in the small of the back.
We laid Mary on the panel and immediately set about securing her. Mary was decidedly unhappy as the straps went around her ankles, above and below her knees, around her thighs, arms, waist, above and below her breasts, and around her forehead. All this was not before Monica had got in and unzipped the access to Mary’s crotch. Once immobile, Mary became the object of further attentions. She swore and complained, such that Monica was obliged to gag her with a couple of strips of duct tape. She then undid the zips over Mary’s breasts and fondled and persuaded them to come out to play. They needed some coaxing, restrained as they were, and I guess Monica was not particularly gentle in pulling the nipples to their maximum protrusion.
We had secured Mary with her legs as far apart as the panel would permit, to give access to obvious vital areas. I now produced the piece de resistance that Monica and I had worked on the previous day. It was a thick vibrating dildo about six centimetres in diameter attached to a section of pipe such that it could slide back and forth on a smaller diameter pipe that fitted inside the larger one. The smaller one was nearly a metre long and was attached to two brackets at right angles, which were screwed to the board between Mary’s legs. The net result looked like a towel rail extending from the level of Mary’s ankles to the entrance to her pussy, where the dildo, in fully retracted position, nuzzled a couple of centimetres past the pussy lips. Extended, the vibrator had a stroke of about twenty centimetres. More importantly, it had a lead weight fixed to the lowest moving portion, and the surface of the dildo itself had multiple ribs and knobs. But there was much more.
Monica temporarily undid the strap at Mary’s forehead and removed the blindfold. She cradled Mary’s head, allowing her to take in the torpedo primed and loaded between Mary’s legs.
"Mary dear, this is what’s going to happen to you. This plank goes on the frame you can see over there, over the bath. Mary turned her head to follow Monica’s pointing finger. When we secure it, the plank and frame – and you, of course – will rotate very nicely, a bit like a chicken on a spit except end over end." Mary’s eyes widened and she tried to shake her head, mmphing behind the duct tape. "Yes, I know it’s exciting, but there’s much more to experience. You see that little device between your legs? Yes, I know you’ve had fun with larger ones before, but I’m sure you haven’t had them inserted in quite the same way. You see, as you rotate, and your head tilts downward, your little toy will start to slide into your pussy. Sure, you can try to keep it out with your muscle clenching, and I’m sure it will be good exercise for you. However there is a big lead weight on the far end of it, so you might have your work cut out as gravity takes hold."
Mary moaned behind the tape. "But there’s more, my sweet. You will also be wearing these." Monica held up two heavy duty nipple clamps linked by a long section of light chain. A handspan below each clamp was a lead ball the diameter of a bottle top. "This chain will also be linked to the far end of your toy, with the weights initially being carried by the vibrator, before it starts entering you. As it progresses downward the weight of the balls will be transferred to your nipples while the clamps do a flip through 180 degrees and give you a little twist at the same time. Pretty neat, eh? But there’s more!" It was all getting too much for Mary as she shut her eyes in realisation. "No, look, Mary. Your little vibrating friend has a contact device at its base, and will only operate while the switch is held down. Now, you see at the far end of the rail between your legs there is another little weight which also slides down the rail. Just in case you get some ideas about keeping your friend at bay by sheer force of muscle, once you tilt past a certain point this little weight will slide down and whack the dildo home. It will also make contact with the switch, which will start the vibrator and keep it going until you’re on the way back upwards again. Eventually, as your head rises towards the top, the weight will slide back down, the vibrator will stop, then slide out as well, and the weights on your nips will flip back to their original positions."
Monica looked immensely pleased with herself, and I glanced at Jill and Trish in time to see looks on their faces that were a mixture of admiration and obvious relief that they weren’t the ones lying on the slab.
"Oh, one other thing," Monica said offhandedly as she secured Mary’s struggling head back to a position of immobility. "There’s a tap that will start running shortly, to fill up the bath. How long can you hold your breath sweetie? You’d better start practising, I think." Mary probably would have gone ballistic at this point, but the best she could manage was a bit of squirming, hand clenching and feet waving. Much of this subsided as Monica gave further hard tugs on the quick release catches, which pulled the five centimetre wide straps tighter into Mary’s flesh.
There was further muffled protesting and much agitated snorting from the victim, which I had to admit was most unladylike, as Monica fixed the nipple clamps and chain in place. That’s when the I lowered a pulley from the ceiling rail, connected it’s four chains to the corners of the panel, then eased Mary into the air. I have to say the pulley and the rail worked an absolute treat, and the girls saw how easy it would be to move a restrained figure around the room, into the sauna, or merely to leave them on tenterhooks, so to speak.
I positioned the plank on the frame with no difficulty, then bolted it securely in place, rechecking the whole apparatus and disconnecting the chains. Mary was in a horizontal position, ready to start rotating head downwards in an anticlockwise motion as one looked at the set-up. She was still mmmning when Monica looked at me and I nodded. She flipped the switch to the small electric motor which hummed into life. There was a groan from Mary as her head tilted and the drive chain took up the load.
I had adjusted the motor speed to about one revolution per minute, suspecting that I might have to speed it up somewhat as the water rose and if breathing difficulties became evident. The four of us watched intently as Mary’s head dropped and her body tilted to the 45-degree point. I had lubricated the slide rail well and I could see the dildo starting to nudge at her pussy as its weight came to bear. Slightly after that the top weight overcame the friction of the rail and slid down to thump into the base of the dildo, which slid home inside Mary with a rush. Mary gasped as much as possible through her nose and uttered a strained cry behind the duct tape, what little of her body she could move becoming rigid as the big vibrator started up and was driven to full depth.
Moments after that happened, the weights connected to Mary’s nipple clamp started to slip sideways and downwards, giving those hard little points a nasty screw before finally flipping to a vertical mode again, this time pointing towards Mary’s head but cruelly twisting and pulling on the pink rosebuds. Mary was breathing hard and whining plaintively as she neared the upside down position. The blood was now rushing to her head and nipples and she was flushed from both. Then her head began to rise again, and she started to find herself in the face down position. As this happened the weights on her nipples swung free from where they had rested against the top of her breasts, and swung free in the air.
There was more muted crying over which the vibrator could be heard patiently humming away. Mary was now hanging wholly against her straps, but was still unable to move, of course.
The wheel turned inexorably onwards, and as she neared the ten past seven position the outer weight slipped backwards and broke contact with the vibrator. I wondered what Mary’s approach would be to the threatened withdrawal of the dildo. Would she try to hang on to it, and how hard would it be for her?
Monica must’ve been thinking the same thing, for she took a step closer to the victim then stepped back, satisfied.
"She’s trying to keep it," she said smugly. I could imagine the start of some muscle twitching in Mary’s loins, strained as they were by the straps and the rubber suit. Monica knew her stuff, though, for the vibrator had been well lubed, and it also carried a reasonable piece of lead strapped to the base. Monica grinned at me as the invader slipped slowly out and dropped back against the stop as Mary passed through the ‘six o’clock’ position before starting revolution number two.
"I think we should have a rev counter fitted, in big letters so they
can see it on the way down," said Monica thoughtfully, as the vibrator
slid back into Mary again, being rammed home moments later by the second
"This really is better than I thought possible," Monica exulted, moving across to the head of the bath and turning on the cold tap. Mary’s muffled wail was drowned by the splash of water.
"This is where it really gets interesting, ladies," said Monica. "But it also gets serious. As soon as Mary’s head touches the water we’ll stop and prepare her for the next stage. That means ear plugs, swimming goggles, nose plugs and breather tube. Jill, fetch those for me please, and find Emma, too. She should be in on this."
Jillian and Emma returned five minutes later by which time Mary had received five more inserts and withdrawals. She was sweating hard, a fact obviously more to do with her latex clothing and the blood circulation constraints than the temperature of the room. The bath was filling up rapidly, so that by the next inversion Mary’s dark hair to her forehead emerged wet. She was clearly getting panicky. More so, perhaps when we stopped the motor as she was on her way down again, but only to fit the swimming goggles, earplugs and noseplugs before pulling off the tape. Simultaneously a modified snorkel was pushed into her mouth with the tube pointing towards her waist, where it was secured with duct tape. Then the motor was started again.
Mary was now able to make more noise – sort of trumpeting woo-woo sounds – which she did to her maximum ability. The water had risen while we fixed her up, and this time she went under up to her nose. I could just hear the rush of her gasping above the noise of the water and the low hum of the vibrator. She emerged and began to rise.
"Rule number one when using this," said Monica. "Never leave the client alone – not for a second. Sit at right angles to them if needs be, and far enough away so that they can’t see you out of the corner of their eye. But never take your eyes off them. Got it?" She looked at each girl in turn.
"Yes Mon," came the chorused response. "Jill, go take over from Leila – I want her to understand this too. But of course remember that the motor can be slowed down, and the water can be slowed as well. We’ve given Mary the accelerated version, complete with extras. You want to know your clients pretty well before you subject them to this. I happen to know Mary is a complete pain slut and can take this happily. Well, perhaps not happily. There’s only one-way she’ll take it happily, and that’s when I lock the outside weight in place, so the vibrator stays on. Watch closely."
Without stopping the submarine, Monica reached across and twisted a small locking butterfly nut on the outer weight as Monica’s head went under again. Perhaps taking pity on her victim she removed the nipple clamps, although she did this fast enough to make it really hurt, as Mary’s wail through the tube went up an octave. Finally, after Mary had been round the clock and her head disappeared into water that now reached past her breasts, Monica turned off the motor and water simultaneously. Suspended underwater, Mary’s gasping increased but there was no sign of panic. Under all the pain and pleasurable sensations Mary knew enough to trust Monica and knew she would come to no harm. Once she had reached that conclusion she surrendered herself to the vibrations coming from her crotch as the deeply embedded vibrator did its business.
Again, the distant voice emanating from the rubber tube went up an octave, merging from a gasp into a whine then a howl that was warm with pleasure. Her hands were opening and shutting while her feet twitched madly in a bizarre inverted dance. Monica let the water out and pulled the mouthpiece from Mary’s mouth as the level dropped below her head.
"Behold, ladies, the submarine is christened," Monica announced. "May God bless her and all who come in her."
"Bitch," said Mary.
|Monica's Place continues in Chapter Nine|
|All comments welcome at email@example.com.
© R.Alexander 2006
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