Gromet's Plaza Richard Alexander Stories
Monica's Place
by Richard Alexander
bilboes1@hotmail.com
© 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: 11. Shannen's Story - Day Three by Richard Alexander MF/mf; bondage; bdsm; cons/nc; XXX
Chapter Eleven: Shannen's Story - Day Three
8
A day has passed since my last entry. I spent last night bound hand and foot on a thin mattress on the floor. They took the metal clips off my nipples finally but they were so sore I couldn’t lie on my front. By the same token my rear end and the backs of my legs were terribly tender, and besides, when your hands are chained behind you it is hard to lie on them. I ended up getting very little sleep, despite being so exhausted. They left the light on and while it made sleeping difficult, at least I could see to go to the loo. I thought I would be ‘empty’ by this stage, but my bowels were in a state of revolt and kept having spasms at random intervals for the early part of my so-called rest period. Hauling myself on to the toilet with hands and ankles cuffed and chained was not easy, and despite my exhaustion, every such effort seemed to wake me up a bit and make it harder to fall asleep. Meanwhile – and probably not surprisingly - I was feeling really empty and hungry. Lack of solid food, the strenuous nature of my punishment, and a lack of sleep were all taking their toll.

On top of the physical aspects there was a clicking sound coming from somewhere that was annoying me. I wondered if there was a speaker somewhere in the ceiling and whether they did this just to drive me to distraction. There were other cracklings and hissings that suggested this, like an old LP record when it reached the end of the music. I began to wonder how skilled these people were in matters psychological, over and above the physical. 

The cell became hot and stifling – obviously the heating had been turned up – and as I lay on my side sweating on the plastic-covered mattress I wondered where all this was leading. I was feeling very sorry for myself and confess to shedding more tears. It would evidently have been out of character for me not to have been gagged, but this time it was merely with several strips of duct tape criss-crossed over my mouth. It was bearable, but I still sniffed and snuffled through my nose as the tears rolled down. 

I suppose I must have dozed at some stage. I know that when the pointy boot nudged me in the ribs that I was none too rested. It was the Monica – the one who obviously ran the place.

"Good morning Shannen. I’ve brought you some breakfast." She put down a tray of some sort of cereal mush on the floor beside me. "You have five minutes to eat it." She turned to go and was almost at the door when my frantic "hmmming" made her turn with a smile. "Of course. You want your gag off. How silly of me." None too gently she peeled the duct tape away and left me to my own devices, kneeling awkwardly trying to lap up the stuff. I knew it wouldn’t do much towards filling my stomach. It had milk in it but it nevertheless tasted odd. I wasn’t going to get caught out, however, so I gulped the mess down as fast as I could. A couple of minutes passed after I’d finished, and while I savoured the ability to lick my lips and work my jaw without having something stuffed in it, I was feeling decidedly strange. That’s about when I must’ve passed out.

I awoke with a predictable feeling of confinement, but with strange new aspects that it took me a moment to work out. I figured out that I had been drugged. They must’ve been using that date-rape drug that was gaining such popularity amongst the more perverted parts of society. 

I found myself lying on my back on the bed in my cell. (How strange it was that I now thought of it as my cell!) My ankles were secured to the lower corners while my arms were bent at the elbows and secured behind me. I tugged at my bonds and concluded that my right wrist was strapped to my left elbow and vice versa, with a few straps around the forearms to make things snug. It was almost comfortable with my arms folded in the small of my back, but I was sure this would not last long, if my captors had anything to do with it.

The second thing I found was that I was clothed – after a fashion, although just what that fashion was I couldn’t quite determine. The first problem was that I now wore some sort of heavy padded collar which kept my chin up and prevented me turning my head. In my current position I could stare upwards, which wasn’t too exciting. My limitations were further enhanced by some sort of blinkers which – unlike a horse’s blinkers – encircled my eyes in the form of two tubes. The device was a bit like wearing truncated binoculars without the lenses, the result being that I could see little apart from what lay directly ahead. Trying to work out my costume was thus almost impossible in my present state other than by feel. 

I realised my shoes and stockings had gone. In place of them were thin – possibly latex – stockings and what seemed like thigh boots. The top of my body also wore latex, I surmised – a kind of long-sleeved leotard ending in rubber mittens over my hands. The garment was tight and clinging. I suspect it would be warm very soon, too. What felt like a short rubber skirt appeared to complete the outfit, coming halfway down my thighs to meet the top of the boots. And of course there was my head. 

Shannen’s head appeared to be a favourite creative site these days, and it was evident that my blinkers and collar were insufficient. Under these I wore a kind of rubber hood, but with the face open. And of course I was gagged – we wouldn’t want poor Shannen running off at the mouth, would we? But this time it was a sort of bit-gag, made from a rubber-encased bar about 2 centimetres in diameter but with a ball-shaped rubber attachment sticking out at right angles that was embedded in my mouth. Lying on my back, unable to turn my head, I felt some drool trickling down from the edge of my mouth around the bit. Maybe I was running off at the mouth after all… I did not yet fully understand what was happening and I didn’t like it, but at least I wasn’t in pain. Yet.

I heard the door open. Monica appeared, this time with a tall girl with shortish blonde hair pushed back behind her ears. 

"This is Jillian," said Monica told me cheerfully. "Jillian – meet Shannen."

"Hi Shannen," said the blonde, centring herself in my extremely limited field of view. "How are you?" 

Oh dear, I thought – another comedienne. But maybe I shouldn’t be thinking like that… Bad Shannen.

"Mmmphrrt!" I said.

"She doesn’t say much," Monica explained to the other. "She used to, but she’s learning that talking out of turn can get one into trouble in quite a big way. Isn’t that right, Shannen?" I tried to nod, but not very successfully. "You need to be abluted first dear, since you may not have the chance for a while." 

They untied my legs and helped me to the toilet, freeing the crotch area of the leotard in the process. I found out at that point that my boots had ten centimetre heels on them and I tottered momentarily at the unexpected rise in my position in the world. All in all, however, they were not a bad fit, and it wasn’t as if I hadn’t worn that sort of heel before.

I sat awkwardly and shamefaced on the toilet while Jillian attached a drink tube to what I presumed was a small valve in the gag, and allowed me to suck on a drink. I don’t know what it was but I drank it greedily, feeling very dehydrated after yesterday. It tasted like those sports drinks – a mixture of vitamins and minerals.

"We’re going to take you on a little outing, Shannen," Monica continued after I had finished. I was put back on the bed and my ankles secured again. "Your lesson yesterday was all about speaking bad things and the hurt that can result. Today’s lesson is all about using people. Today it will be your turn to be used and manipulated by others for their own ends, with total disregard for your feelings. 

"Yesterday was also about humiliation. This theme will continue today. You will be required to wear certain devices today, too." She flourished a double-headed dildo in front of my face. I groaned. My rectum was still sore and tender from yesterday. Now they wanted to mess with my pussy as well. "But first we need to lubricate them," she added, smearing them with a white paste. I was in no position to resist, lying there with my legs apart. I felt the rubber skirt rolled up again then fresh air on my fanny. Then the dildo was expertly positioned and the leotard closed over it with some sort of snap fastener and the skirt was rolled down again.

My two jailers undid my ankles from the bedframe and fastened a short hobble chain between them before helping me stand up. 

"Come along dear," said Monica, and they each grasped me by an upper arm. Movement was something to be thought about carefully, I quickly discovered, as the hobble chain limited me to short steps and the blinkers and neck collar made it difficult to look down. We went out of the cell and slowly ascended the stairs. As I reached the top I began to notice a strange sensation in my arse and pussy - sort of stinging feeling. We turned into the study where I had first met Monica.

"I thought I’d bring you in here so you can see how stunning you look. Does the term ‘show pony’ mean anything to you?" The door closed behind us and I was turned around to face a full-length mirror on the back of the door, where I beheld myself in all my glory. I felt myself redden at the sight. I had identified most of my outfit, but had not been able to see the red feather plume sprouting from the top of my hood, nor did I see the big brass ring on each end of the gag bit, with the leather thong that trailed over each shoulder. Monica’s reference to a show pony suddenly struck home.

"Wmmft?" I asked incredulously. God, if my friends could see me now!

"Yes, you do look stunning," Monica agreed. "And we really should show off those lovely tits of yours a bit more. " I groaned and shook my head, making the brass rings rattle and my plume dance about. Monica reached out and pulled down a zip I had not noticed in the front of the black rubber, over my left nipple, then repeated the process over the right one. She parted the rubber and my little red buds popped into view. Something had already set them off, and it didn’t take much tweaking by Monica for them to harden further. I had a suspicion I knew what was coming next, and I winced with pain as the familiar metal clips bit greedily into the flinty nipples. This time, however, I saw that there was a short silver chain linking the clips. Attached to the middle of this was a thin leather strap that dangled to the floor. 

By this time I was getting flustered even further, and that strange feelings in my loins and arse had become very noticeable. It was now a burning, fiery pain which I urgently wanted to stop, or at least to tell someone about. I stamped my feet and keened into the bit gag, snorting as much as I could of my discomfort. 

"What’s the matter, little pony?" asked Jillian solicitously, stroking my cheek.

"Mmft hnn ffnrr!" I told her in frustration. Jillian looked blankly at Monica.

"What’s she on about, Mon?"

"I don’t know. I don’t understand horsy talk – all this stamping and snorting. She acts like she’s in pain."

"Mmmn!" I nodded, or tried to, against the restraining collar that held my head up rigidly. I bounced about, keeping my legs together and rubbing my bum against a heavy chair. Surely these women could see what my problem was?

"This is animal behaviour, Mon. It’s all about territory and rubbing her scent on things."

"No. I think it’s something more fundamental than that. Could it be that toothpaste we put on the dildo?"

"Yeah, probably." The pair burst out laughing. "It’ll wear off, Shannen – in half an hour or so. We thought you’d better have a little reminder of the hurt lesson from yesterday, just to reinforce things. Sometimes little acts can really hurt deep inside. Is that a sufficiently clichéd description for you to remember? Stamp once for yes, two for no." I just looked at them. 

"Well?" asked Monica impatiently, twisting my nipple. Reluctantly I stamped my foot once. "Good pony," she said. Was this the lowest point in my existence, I wondered? Was it worse than yesterday, in a different way? I thought I’d just gone off the scale.

We walked through the kitchen to a verandah area at the back, where two other girls and a guy were eating breakfast. Thank god there was no sign of Trish and Mary, I thought. But the guy was something else I hadn’t bargained on. My embarrassment began to reach new heights. I was following Jillian, not really knowing where I was going, and aware Monica was behind me. I glimpsed the other three briefly and we were almost past them when my head and body was jerked to a halt by a tugging on the bit gag. I realised I was being reined in by the leads attached to the brass rings.

"Whoa horsy!" came Monica’s voice. Then there was a tug on one side of the bit and I was forced to turn to face the three at the table. "Ladies and gentleman, allow me to introduce the newest addition to the circus. Leila, Emma and Steve, this is Shannen O’Donnell, the well-known gossip columnist and muckraker about town. Shannen, take a bow, please."

I stood there, not really understanding, until there was a sharp tug on my nipples as the third rein - now disappearing back between my legs to the hand of Monica – pulled remorselessly on my tits, forcing me to bend at the waist. I bowed low and held the position until I felt the pressure relax from my tortured nipples. 

"Good girl," said Monica warmly, as one would to a puppy that had managed to roll over on command for the first time. She announced brightly to the diners: "Today Shannen is going to learn all about being used by people, which will be quite a novelty for her, since she is far more accustomed to doing the using. Part of the exercise is also to introduce a little humility into her life, which we will start off doing with a photo opportunity. The light is lovely at this time in the morning, and by chance Leila has brought her camera, haven’t you, Lei."

The youthful blonde sitting at the table reached across to the chair beside her and produced a fancy looking 35mm Canon camera. At the same time I felt hands at the back of my head undoing something and moments later the blinkers fell away. In some ways it was a relief but I immediately felt more naked in that my face was much more recognisable, not to mention ignominiously coping with a gag stuffed in my mouth. I felt myself redden even further.

"Let’s start with a few shots on the verandah," suggested Leila cheerfully. "Mon, can you tether her to the rail please?"

Monica flipped the reins over my head and looped them around the edge rail after pulling me into a 45-degree bend. Leila then proceeded to snap off several shots at various angles in what I have to say seemed to be a very professional manner. My controller then loosed those reins but pulled the nipple control strap to the front and looped it over a beam before pulling it to tie on to the railing. I was forced on to my tiptoes to ease the terrible pain in my nipples. Leila seemed to like this pose.

"That’s great! I can just see the headlines now: ‘Shannen is going up in the world’. ‘O’Donnell gets her come-uppance’. ‘Up yours, O’Donnell’. ‘Party girl hits new heights’."

I winced in a mixture of pain and humiliation at the thought. This was definitely the low point of my life, I decided. By now the pain in my loins was becoming a terrible mixture of heat and itching and – as my bonds were momentarily released, I found myself rubbing my crotch against the corner post at the top of the steps leading to the lawn. I got some relief from the exercise, but of course Leila recorded the whole thing. 

"’Horny Shannen appointed to new post’," she announced delightedly. There were smirks from the others.

"Ffrmph," I said, totally frustrated and shamed. I really wanted to die.

"After breakfast Steven will show you your duties as garden pony," Monica announced. "In the meantime we should put you out to graze, I guess." She refixed the blinkers on my head and led me down the steps and across to a garden tap at the edge of a patch of shrubbery. Here I was tethered by the nipple lead. I sat down awkwardly in the high heels and disconsolately watched the rest of them eat breakfast. That of course made me hungry. I had eaten nothing yesterday and the mush and tonic drink I had had that morning did nothing to fill me up. There was a lot of laughing and talking at the breakfast table, and I’m sure most of it was about me, if the looks in my direction were anything to go on. Again, I felt chastened and subdued, wondering how I had got into this mess and how long it was going to last. I live alone and if this had been instituted by people in the office it was quite likely that someone was making excuses for my absence.

Of more immediate concern, the dildo continued to itch and sting for perhaps another half-hour that I sat there. For all that, the morning was pleasant and sunny, although I suspected it would become hotter very soon. Even now, with my arms secured behind me and wearing the thin, tight fitting black latex outfit, I could feel the heat starting to build up.

At length the guy, Steven, left the table and walked across the lawn. He was not much taller than I am, that is around 165 centimetres, and was slim without being puny. He was quite attractive in a way. I am not normally attracted to the hunky type, and I could not say Steven fell into this category anyway. He was about thirty, I guessed, clean-shaven and with thick brown hair cut quite short. He wore tan work boots, baggy khaki shorts and a tee shirt advertising the Hong Kong handover in 1997. I flushed as he turned his grey eyes on me. I had never had a man see me in such an embarrassing state. A bunch of women were one thing; a man stirred different feelings that I could not accurately put my finger on.

"Okay Princess, you’re going to be working for your keep today. Come with me." He undid the nipple leash and helped me to my feet. At least he had a spark of chivalry in him, I thought. He made me walk in front of him, guiding me by the three reins. We walked around the side of the house to a garage which I found had been converted to a workshop. Inside was a cart, and I saw immediately where all this was leading. Was there no end to this?

The cart was about two metres long and a bit over a metre wide – perhaps two-thirds the size of a small trailer you can rent at a service station. It was made of small diameter pipe welded together with a plywood floor, and sides about half a metre high. It ran on two bicycle wheels and had a pair of shafts about a metre long sticking out from the front. Steve backed me between these and fastened a wide leather belt around my waist. A loop hung down each side through which the shafts fitted and were secured. A further strap ran between the shafts around the front of my skirt at crotch level, while another ran behind at bum level. I guessed these would stop too much free play with the shafts in the hip loops. He buckled a further strap above my breasts and encircling my upper arms, from which two further straps led back to the cart. This would help me getting up hills, he explained matter-of-factly. Where was I going to be going, I wondered, alarmed? 

We tried a few steps. I was not liking this, but at least it was better than being arse-whipped and enema-ed as I had been yesterday. Steve looked a decent sort of guy – I was sure he did not have the vicious streak that Mary had. We emerged from the garage, Steve walking behind and to one side. It was easy until that point, which was when he climbed on the front of the cart. I felt the weight pulling at my waist and the front of my thighs at once. He tugged on one side of the bit gag and I turned obediently and began to pull up the slight rise en route to the rear of the house again. I had to lean forward for this, pulling with my back and shoulders as well as with my thighs. It was not easy, but was still manageable and the bike wheels were relatively free running. We rounded the corner and hove into view to shouts of encouragement and applause from the verandah. I felt myself flushing again, and would have hung my head if I had been able.

Monica and Jillian came out to inspect me and were very complimentary to Steven. Then Monica wanted to have a ride. Why did I get the feeling that things were about to get worse? Maybe it was women’s intuition, but Monica immediately decided that controlling Shannen by the reins attached to the bit would not be half as much fun as controlling Shannen by her nipples. The pair of them thus undid the reins from the brass rings and threaded the straps through the rings instead, before attaching them to the nipple clamps. I realised what was happening and began whining piteously. I did not know how much my poor nips could take of this. Monica also had a whip, I noticed. It was not long – maybe a couple of metres, with a stiff sort of handle for half the length and a thong on the end. It looked the sort that would really sting if used to its full potential. 

And then we were off. I was not wrong on any account. Both Jillian and Monica climbed aboard, and in moments Monica had me twisting and turning about the garden, like an animal trying to allay the terrible pulling at my nipples. Any slacking and I was immediately flicked across the butt which stung like mad. My flesh was very tender from the floggings I had received the previous day and the rubber skirt was thin enough to give little protection to my arse. I was sure in fact that it made a shiny and very tempting target. 

We tried out some gradual slopes but with two people it was quite a struggle. The high-heeled boots with the hobble chain meant I had to take short little steps and could not get a good purchase, nor could I really see where I was going because of the limitations of the blinkers. After ten minutes we arrived back at the house where Leila insisted on taking some more photos of Shannen in yet another humiliating position harnessed to a cart. I was sweating freely in the rubber suit now, but I didn’t think I would get a rest for some time. Then it was Steven’s turn again.

"Now that everyone’s had their fun, we can get down to the real work. Monica said the nipple chains had to stay, so I’ll be as gentle as I can. Who knows, maybe they’ll come off by accident without my realising it." He smiled briefly and I warmed to him immediately. We headed off past the garage again and down the sloping drive to the gate. I began to panic at the thought of going out on to public roads, but just before the gate, which was hidden by a bend in the drive, we halted beside 3 pallets of concrete building blocks. This was to be our work for the morning, I gathered.

It was. It took several trips to get the loading right, but I eventually wound up hauling 40 blocks per trip times about 8 trips from near the gate to the where Steven stacked them at the rear of the house. There was no hurry about the operation, and Steven let me suck regularly on the drink bottle. After the third trip, when the people had gone from the verandah he removed the nipple clips entirely and clipped them to the brass rings. I squealed in pain as the blood flowed back but for the next hour or two I was grateful that the constant tugging had finished. 

We returned to the pallets to load the last half dozen blocks and stopped under the trees. It was peaceful and shady here and again I was allowed to suck on the drink bottle. I was sweating freely now. The rubber suit was very hot and I was aching all over. 

"You look exceptionally sexy in that outfit," Steven said. "I’ll bet they’ve fitted you inside and out, too. Am I right?" He was standing behind me, so I couldn’t see the expression on his face, but I jumped as I felt his hand between my legs. I had been concentrating so much on hauling the blocks that I had barely realised the fire and itch from the toothpaste had subsided and that the double-headed dildo had been sweatily insinuating its way inside my private regions. I felt his fingers further explore my double invader through the thin rubber, and I gasped as the device suddenly began to vibrate. Oh no, I really didn’t need this.

I moaned and tried to shake my head again, in vain. Steven just sat down and watched my frustration as I tried to squat or to gain access to the maddening vibrator. I tried to rub my crotch against a tree but it was too difficult with the cart trailing behind me.

"Ffmmphg hggmnt!" I pleaded, stumbling in a little circle so I could look at him resting against a tree trunk.

"What?"

"Nnf edd noff iff! Ayff iff owff!"

"Sorry Princess. Don’t understand." The need to climax suddenly became very urgent. Maybe it was a reaction to all the pain I had endured that I now urgently needed some pleasure, but I just couldn’t quite manage it. I was getting so close and I was afraid I couldn’t quite make it. The thought of hanging on the edge was almost worse than what I had suffered up to now.

Steven watched my frustrated antics with an amused grin. I was just about ready to kick him when he got to his feet then settled on a large fallen tree trunk. He motioned me over to him and put his bent leg between mine, beyond the hobble chain. Then he put his hand on his knee and pulled me gently up against his arm. It was exactly what I had been craving, and I thrust myself against his arm with no shame whatsoever. I barely knew this guy, had not spoken one intelligible word to him, and yet I was humping myself silly on his arm, panting and grunting madly through my nose. Shannen was really surpassing herself as a slut now.

I climaxed, wailing into the gag and shaking uncontrollably, ending up half-draped over Steven’s shoulder. I could barely catch my breath – so much so that he must’ve felt sorry for me and loosened the strap holding the bit in place sufficiently to pull the rubber piece out of my mouth. I couldn’t believe my luck. I panted and gasped and shuddered a few last times while the vibrator continued to whirr inside me.

"Oh shitshitshit!" I gasped. "Turn it off before I pass out!" Steven groped in my crotch until I felt the vibrating subside and finally stop. I stood there for several minutes, too exhausted to speak, just trying to catch my breath. That had actually been sooo good! At length I settled down enough to ask if there was a chance of something to eat. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but I really was starving.

"I’ll ask the boss when we get back – which is what we should be doing now. And for that I’ll have to put your gag back in and the clips on."

"Oh no - you don’t have to - glurg!" I started to say, before the black drool-covered ball was back between my teeth with the strap done up tightly behind my head. Then came the nipple clamps again and I still couldn’t help moaning. My nips weren’t getting any more accustomed to them over time. And then I was tottering up the driveway with the last of the blocks and Steven sitting in the cart. 

By the time Steven had unloaded the blocks I was sweating like a pig. Part of it was the labour of hauling the cart, part was standing in the sun, and no small proportion was due to the orgasm sustained at the bottom of the drive. The double penetration still in my crotch and arse did nothing to settle me down, and I wondered what horrors lay ahead of me when Monica reappeared. She looked at me strangely.

"I think Shannen needs cooling down, Steven. A horse should get properly cared for and should not be allowed to be overheated." And that was how I wound up face down in the swimming pool. 

First Jillian and Steven had removed my boots after unhitching the cart. 

"We don’t want to ruin these," Jillian had said. Their removal was some relief, but the latex stockings still held all the heat and sweat within them, and clearly they were staying on. Steven produced a board about a metre and a half long by ten centimetres wide. This went between my legs like a splint, and about a mile of duct tape was wound round my legs, making them pretty well immovable. The blinkers came off and so did the whole head harness and bit gag. It was a blessed relief, but only a momentary one, for the next thing I knew a dive mask was fitted to my face and a snorkel breathing tube popped into my mouth. I realised then what was going to happen. Just to make sure, a couple of turns of tape went round my head and the mouthpiece. 

"You’ve had a small taste of people using you this morning," Jillian said. What did she mean by ‘small’, I wondered with trepidation? "Something you also need to understand is about dependency. People depend on you, and when you let them down the consequences can be disastrous, or merely just upsetting. You are now dependent on us. You are about to be more dependent on us, maybe to the point of your very life. Remember that. Think about it before you act rashly."

Another piece of timber appeared, about the same size, and this was tied across my back, on top of my strapped forearms. I did not understand what this was for until Jillian and Steven each picked up an end and carried me easily to the pool. I tried to struggle but I could barely move. My legs and arms were held rigidly still; I could only move at the hips and in my upper body, since the collar was still in place. I could "woohoo" a bit through the snorkel but it sounded pretty silly, not to mention unintelligible.

Then we were in the water. I was lowered gently, feeling my legs rising up as my body pivoted around the timber crosspiece. Then my face was in the water and I tried not to panic. I had been snorkelling before and I remembered to breathe deeply and calmly. The supporting hands gradually let me drift and I realised I was not going to sink or drown. I was pretty buoyant what with the bits of timber. The cold of the pool made itself felt on my face and the tops of my thighs above the stockings and up to my crotch. The rest of me, swathed in the latex rubber, remained untouched directly by the water, although the pleasant coolness felt nice after what I had been through.

I floated there, with the sounds of the lapping water murmuring in my ears. I tested the extent of my movements, and found I could make a small porpoise movement by bending at the waist, but my lower half was too buoyant with the board between my legs and I dared not put my head any deeper than necessary. The crosspiece acted as a kind of outrigger that prevented me from turning over, and I had to say I was impressed that this whole thing seemed to have been thought through. That said, I did not know how long I was to be left like this. The sun was hot on my upper body and I thanked god I was wearing the rubber suit or I would have been fried like a lobster. My breathing through the tube kept accumulating spit in the bottom, which every so often I had to suck back up. Only my breathing and the occasional water noise disturbed my floating and studying the bottom of the pool. 

The thought that I could be left all night was not comforting. Had they forgotten about me? Did they really mean to teach Shannen a lesson? I could not escape and if anything went wrong I could even drown. I tried not to think about that and to focus my thoughts on the sensory outlets available, which were really not many. I got a helluva shock when Leila dived into the pool and appeared grinning underneath me. She was wearing a white one-piece which showed off her taut young body very nicely. Unfortunately she was carrying two small bags, which, with a bit of dexterous manoeuvring, she proceeded to hang on the clips still attached to my nipples, before disappearing. I did not know what was in them. They were about the size of tennis balls and I suspected they held sand or lead shot, for they pulled my tits down and painfully distorted them, totally destroying any pleasurable sensation I might have got from my immersion. I made more plaintive noises through the tube and was rewarded with distant laughing. I suspected I would not have been able to stand the pain in my nips had those weights been hung out of the water. At least they were pulling straight down, rather than twisting the clips as happened when you were standing up and the weights hung down your chest.

Time passed. I don’t know how long it was. The pain in my tits subsided to a dull ache and I might even have dozed off. These guys were not so shit hot, I decided.

A couple of splashes aroused me from my reverie. Leila and Jillian were back, dragging me through the water by the crosspiece. The dragging provoked further pain in my nipples as the drag increased, but not as much as when they lifted me clear of the water when they climbed on to the shallow ‘beach’ at one end. Gone was the buoyancy contribution of the water to the little bags hanging from my tits and the loads seemed to double in weight. Two saw horses were set up on the grass and I was lifted so that the crosspiece spanned between the two, leaving me hanging like a seesaw. The top of me was heavier than the bottom, fortunately, and I tilted head-down until those horrid bags touched the ground. By this time I was howling into the mouthpiece and panting and moaning for relief from the agony on my poor tits. 

It was all to no avail as they left me suffering there for perhaps a quarter of an hour, at which point they returned and did as I had requested, this time removing the whole clip off each, which sent me wailing in further agony as the blood returned and they expanded to their normal non-compressed shape. I was crying inside the mask by now and the faceplate clouded up with my tears. I was sobbing uncontrollably by the time they took off the mask and snorkel – so much so that they had to let me quieten down before a white ball gag could be installed in place of the snorkel. I was still sniffling and dribbling as they undid my legs and allowed me to stand up, albeit shakily. Then the crosspiece was removed and I was escorted to the verandah.

On the verandah was the hated square of steel plate on which I had squatted while impaled on the butt plug at the bottom of the stairs. This time it had a longer shaft attached to it, nearly a metre high made of 3-centimetre pipe, with a short bar sprouting out horizontally about halfway up. I was made to kneel astride the horizontal bar with the vertical pipe behind me. Then it was out with the duct tape again and after about thirty turns of the stuff around my body from above my breasts to the bottom of my thighs I was effectively locked to the structure like a mummy. Monica appeared again. Why did here presence always seem to presage something bad? She squatted in front of me.

"I told you today was about using people, Shannen. Sometimes you can use them in ways they may understand, and sometimes it may be in ways totally unexpected by them." I made no comment (how could I?), but the thought did cross my mind about a few people I had manipulated from time to time. Unfortunately this time I was the one being manipulated – physically, at least, as they then decided to pull my ankles up as tightly as possible behind my butt and tape my feet in place with more turns around my thighs and midriff. This left me half on the points of my knees and half on the horizontal rod through my crotch. To say it was painful was an understatement - and I suspected it would be getting a lot worse.

"Using people can mean different things, Shannen. Today you’re going to be the focus of attention. You like that, don’t you. You will be the head of the table. Literally. In fact you will be the table itself, period." As she spoke, Steven and Jillian appeared carrying two semi-circles of painted plywood, with smaller semi-circles cut out in the centre. You didn’t have to be Einstein to work out that my neck was going through the middle of this thing. 

I was installed as the centre of attention with the joint between the two halves running front to back of the helpless centrepiece. Immediately in front of me, two small bolts protruded upward through the wood, the use of which I did not understand. Under each half of the table there was a kind of padded support which sat on my shoulder, but there was still some degree of "tiltability" of the table top, which was a bit over a metre in diameter. 

Monica, Steven, Jillian and Leila sat down around me and proceeded to ignore me while they talked of all manner of things, not the least being the running of the place, which I was starting to become just a little intrigued about. Journalistic instinct, I guess. Drinks came out and a selection of cheeses and meats and crackers were put on the table. Suddenly I had to start balancing the thing, which was not easy as plates were passed around and people insisted in cutting cheese with more force than needed. Monica had warned me – unnecessarily – what might happen if I managed to spill anything. When a bare foot began playing with my pussy I guessed it was her, judging from the smirk she wore and the way she deliberately avoided my eyes.

The presence of all the food was driving me mad. I had barely eaten for two days, and when pizza appeared I thought I would go crazy. At length pity was taken on me and the gag was removed. 

"Hungry?" asked Jillian.

"Yes." She pushed a piece of pizza across the top of the table. It sat in front of my mouth where, because of the collar, I could not quite tilt my head far enough to reach it. I felt the tears welling in my eyes. This was so unfair.

"Don’t waste good pizza on a table ornament, Jill. Get rid of those scraps you don’t want." I was accordingly fed with the bits of crusts, olives and other stuff that people didn’t want. "She makes a good waste disposal device, doesn’t she," said Monica. "Mind you, she’s used to muck-raking and delving amongst the dregs. It’s quite appropriate."

"And she must be thirsty as well," said Jillian with a knowing smile that I did not like the look of at all. That’s when I found out what the bolts were for. Jillian disappeared and returned with a huge plastic penis-shaped thing, complete with balls. It was about five centimetres in diameter and perhaps twenty centimetres long in the shaft, with goolies the size of tennis balls. At the base of the shaft was a circular steel clamp fixed to a metal stand, in which there were two slotted holes, allowing it to be secured at any point to the two protruding bolts. Jillian fitted the object so it sat just in front of my mouth, while she screwed the bolts finger tight. "Now, open wide," she said cheerfully.

"No – no it’s too big – I can’t – urglurgg!" That was as far as my protestations went. Somebody grabbed my nose and pulled my head back, obliging me to open long enough for the pink head to slip between my teeth. The hand let go and I was unable to resist as Jillian gleefully worked the huge member into my mouth. I was glugging some more and I’m sure my eyes were bulging. The audience found it all hugely amusing. She stopped just before my gag reflex cut in. I was now unable to move my head at all, impaled as it was by this device that was now bolted in place. I bit down on it – something I had occasionally wanted to do on a real one but had never dared. It gave somewhat. It was made of stiff but yielding plastic, in all aspects just like a real donger but without the hair on the balls. Instead this had another feature. A hand came into my field of view holding a squeeze pump – a round orange rubber bulb with a hose that ran into it from below the table and then ran out to the back of my new mouth decoration. Oh no, I groaned inwardly.

"What would you like to drink?" Jillian asked innocently. "Some 96 Chardonnay? Or are you a good girl and stay off the plonk? Maybe some juice? Or maybe some special brew?" I tried to say that I didn’t want anything, thank you, but it came out as a series of mppfhs and grunts. I saw the pumping start but nothing happened for about twenty seconds. Then the member hardened, just before a spurt of something thick erupted in the back of my mouth. I swallowed as best I could, which is very difficult when your tongue is partly trapped under a huge dick. The stuff kept coming and I tried not to let my imagination run away over what it was I was swallowing. It tasted sort of like vanilla, and was thick and creamy. Monica appeared. I gazed at her with pleading eyes.

"Shannen," she said, "you really suck!" There was laughter from the others. Very funny, haha. 

"I’m sure this won’t be the first time you’ve milked something for all you can get!" added Jillian.

"And I bet it won’t be the last," Leila finished. I closed my eyes, wishing the ground would swallow me – an unfortunate comparison, under the circumstances. Was there no end to this ignominy? Evidently not. That was when Monica disappeared under the table, and moments later I felt those cursed vibrators start humming in my arse and pussy. 

"Mmgh! Gurk! Fffrk!" I tried to splutter. I felt the sweat roll down my forehead and face. 

"Just like a sixty nine, right Shannen?" grinned Monica.

"Maybe," suggested Jillian. "But then, sex is okay, but it’s not as good as the real thing." I didn’t get the joke. I thought I couldn’t cope with the explosion in my mouth as well as that in my loins. How much of this stuff did they have – a bucket of it? It started coming faster than I could swallow, filling my mouth to bursting, spurting out each side of the plastic invader and running down my chin. I started to gag and choke and the pumping stopped, leaving me swallowing frantically and breathing just as frantically through my nose. I caught up with the backlog and managed to control my choke reflex, snorting loudly as I did so. But the vibrations kept on coming. I realised all four of my tormentors were now sitting right in front of me and someone was playing with my tits as well. I flushed even further under their scrutiny and their broad smiles only an arm’s length away. The cessation of activity in my mouth left me no alternative than to be aware of and focus on the sensations rising like fire from my loins. I knew I couldn’t fight it and at that stage – after what I had just been through - I really didn’t want to. 

The trembling rose through my body and I yielded to it, suddenly jerking and grunting as loudly as the penis gag would permit, arfing like a seal and probably spraying my audience. My eyes were closed and the comments from the four in front of me fell on deaf ears under a red haze that swamped my brain. With my arms pinioned across my back and my lower torso and legs secured to the pole there was little I could move, other than to wobble the table somewhat. I was snorting and no doubt making all manner of undignified noises as the explosion went off, until finally I began to come in to land, not caring whether my undercarriage was down or any of the passengers strapped in. 

The word "smile" penetrated my brain, and I opened my eyes to face Leila and that damned camera. It was the end to a perfect day.

Things really didn’t get any better from here for the rest of the evening. I was so glad to get off my aching knees as it got dark and I was untied. The horrible penis gag was removed and the table top was taken away. I was allowed to stand again – oh bliss, oh joy. Alas, with it getting dark someone decided that dinner by candlelight would be nice. That was how I came to be hanging upside down from a couple of pulleys attached to the verandah beams next to the table. They used wide foam-lined cuffs on my ankles, but that made it no more pleasant. My ankles were nearly a metre apart, while my head was almost at floor level. They had taped my mouth very securely, as usual, and my arms were in the same position they had been that morning. 

What was the most humiliating of all was the fact that Mistress Monica wished to use poor Shannen’s arse and pussy as candlestick holders. Evidently God had not quite intended them for such usage, since they were not quite at the right angles for the candles to be vertical. This accordingly required much adjustment by Leila – evidently considered the artistic one in the group - to soften the candles to get just the right curve on them so that they finished in an upright state. And of course in order for this to happen, Shannen had to be firstly exposed in her most private places, and secondly have the current residents removed. 

The plug came out with much groaning from me and a noisy slurping sound, which drew appropriate comments from those nearby. Then there were a series of trials with the candles sliding into – and out of – my exposed orifices. These candles, I hasten to say, were not small. Some would say they were appropriately sized to their locations, but whatever the view, they made my eyes water. Fortunately Leila used lubricant, and made sure the end product was well and truly inserted to an adequate depth. I probably could have pushed them out, but I didn’t dare. 

Night had fallen and the candles were lit both in Shannen and on the table. A few moths flittered around me to time, and of course the inevitable comment came about the fact that now I really had a fire between my legs. As dinner proceeded the wax dripped remorselessly on to my bare skin, provoking little yelps of pain from behind my taped up mouth. I was extremely uncomfortable and my ankles and hips ached from the load on them. Dinner passed with agonising slowness and I was starting to feel the heat on my inner thighs as the candles burnt lower. 

Every so often a hot rivulet would run down my butt crack or wind up doing a wax job in my pussy hair. At one point Monica produced a couple of nipple clamps with small silver chains attached, just to add to my misery. She discovered that with a "gentle" pulling on the nipples, Shannen could be made to swing backwards and forwards. That was all I needed. I was crying now and the flames seemed to be getting closer to my bare skin. Crying upside down is pretty bizarre and I’m sure I made a pathetic sight. 

That’s when they encouraged me to eject my two intruders, which I managed to do finally with some difficulty. Fighting gravity didn’t help. I was let down at that point, and here I am back in my cell, writing again. Thank God my arms are finally free – they are stiff and sore, and so is the rest of me, especially my poor nips. Probably because of this they’re making me sleep on my stomach tonight. My rubber suit is off at last and I was given a cursory (but at least hot) shower, albeit with my hands manacled above me. My ankles are now tied to the lower corners of the bed and my wrists are loosely manacled to the top. I am able to write with difficulty but I can’t stretch my hands close enough to my head to do anything about the tape over my mouth. But at least my poor tortured pussy and butt are free from intrusions. I’m so tired I can barely scribble – my body is just totally wrung out. I don’t know why they want this stuff. I guess that ‘s all for now. I have to sleep…

 

Monica's Place continues in Chapter Twelve
All comments welcome at bilboes1@hotmail.com.
© R.Alexander 2006

Also by the same author:
§ Monica’s Place
§ Monica’s Quest
§ Monica’s Revenge
§ Monica’s Games
§ Monica’s Travels
§ Monica and the Black Fortress

If you've enjoyed this story, please write to the author and let them know - they may write more!
back to
bondage stories  :  alexander stories
Gromet's plaza