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Monica's Place
by Richard Alexander
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© 2002 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission.
storycodes: MF/mf; bondage; bdsm; cons/nc; XXX
Monica's Place Book 1 of the Monica Chronicles by Richard Alexander
Monica's Place: 12. Shannen's Story - Day Four by Richard Alexander MF/mf; bondage; bdsm; cons/nc; XXX

back to Chapter Eleven: Shannen's Story – Day Three
 
Chapter Twelve: Shannen's Story - Day Four
8
Day 4. At least I think it is. Today I was woken from darkness by Trish, wearing a short-sleeved black lycra leotard and a maroon skirt of the same material, which clung to her thighs and butt. She was dressed to kill in black tights and boots. Unfortunately the look she gave me suggested that I was to be the victim. My wrists were crossed and bound behind me and my ankles were freed only long enough to perform my ablutions. Then it was on with a hobble rope while a rope connecting my crossed wrists was pulled tightly through my crotch before being secured around my waist. I was still half-asleep, with no idea what time it was. It seemed like the middle of the night. The tape was pulled from my mouth most unceremoniously and a sort of padded ring was forced upright between my teeth, secured by a wide strap around the back of my neck. It had the effect of holding my jaw open while not trapping my tongue. I found I could almost talk, even if I couldn't form some consonants very well.

"Ot are oo ooing? Ot's aaening?" I asked. Trish was obviously grumpy and her response was to screw a kind of tight-fitting cork into the mouth ring. That shut me up pretty effectively. My muscles were protesting as I was pushed out of the cell ahead of a riding crop that Trish did not hold back from using. She pushed me down the corridor outside, which was lit only by red nightlights near floor level. At the end of the corridor she opened a door and I was shoved inside. I looked around. It was some sort of observation or monitoring room, I reckoned, with windows on 3 sides, but there was only darkness beyond. Trish pushed me on to a chair and turned to glare at me.

"You still haven't learned, have you?"

"Unnh?" I said. She pulled some pages of writing out of the waistband of her skirt and flung them at me. I recognised them as my scribbles from last night. I had no idea what she was on about.

"You haven't learned that things you write get other people hurt – other people who have tried to be kind to you, to make your life a bit easier." My blank look must have still shown through. "You don't think about what you do, Shannen. You don't think things through or consider the consequences. Your description of your time with Steven yesterday. He took pity on you first by leaving your nipple clamps off for much of the time and then by letting you have a brief bit of pleasure with the vibrator and then having the gag out. And of course you have to blab about the whole episode! Who do you think reads this? Monica, of course! You ought to know by now that what Monica says, goes. Her word is law in this house. Steven is a lovely guy – we all have a soft spot for him. Unfortunately he's now suffering for your stupidity."

With a dramatic flourish she switched off the light in our room and flicked another switch. The room next door came into focus. A single light bulb illuminated a solitary figure in the centre of the room. 

My heart sank. Central to the room were two solid timber posts about the thickness of a man's thigh. Standing between them was Steven, motionless. His arms appeared to be bound behind him, and he was held in position by the same diabolical method that I had suffered in my forays up and down the drive. A thin rope was tied to a stainless steel clamp on each nipple, which ran through a brass ring at each end of a bit gag before being tied off high up on each post. Steven could not turn his head or move in any direction without an opposite reaction being transmitted through those cruel clamps. He was blindfolded with a harness sporting two eyepads, and his ankles, placed about a metre apart, were chained to the posts.

"He's been there for nearly two hours," Trish told me. "It isn't difficult to overpower someone at three in the morning when he's asleep. And it's all because of you, Shannen." I swallowed. "Now you're going to make it up to him. It will be up to you to figure out how – that's your problem. But just so you remember why he's there, it's only fair that you should experience what you missed out on yesterday while you were doing your pony show." She reached into a drawers and pulled out a pair of those horrid adjustable clamps that look like miniature nut crackers. I tried to back away but she grabbed me fiercely by the hair and placed the evil implements on my nips. I was whining away into my gag as the pain began, but I upped an octave when she hung a lead ball the size of a walnut on each.

She pushed me to the door and thence to the adjacent room. There she pulled the plug out of my ring gag and left me to my own devices. Freed of much of my speech restriction I begged her:

"Ease ake ees oh! Ey ur o uch! O ease ish!" By that time I was weeping with the pain and talking to the back of the closed door. Sniffling and sobbing I turned to Steven, who was now standing more alertly, trying to work out what was going on. I moved towards him, whimpering as the weights swung from my tortured nipples. As I got closer I realised that he wore the exact gag I had worn the previous day. Somebody obviously had a penchant for irony. I then noticed something behind him, and saw to my dismay that he was impaled on a rod bolted to the floor. About a metre behind him the rod was fixed to a floor plate, and extended at 45 degrees before terminating in – I suspected – a nasty butt plug. Secured by the ankles and nipples he was unable to move. I also noticed, aghast, that a wire was taped to the rod and disappeared into the butt plug. I could now see that his hands had been crossed and bound high between his shoulder blades, the supporting ropes looping over his shoulders, under his armpits to return and be tied to the wrists again. Steven was stretched taut and immobile. He was breathing hard, but I couldn't hear that above my own racket. 

"O e-en! I o orri! Eerri I anh! I e-er ort…" It probably made no sense at all to a listener. God, what could I do? I was standing, trying to think when there was a faint humming and Steven jerked suddenly, making a high-pitched cry through his nose. He was brought up short by the nipple clamps and I knew at that point that the butt plug inside him was somehow being zapped with electricity. There was another hum, another strangled cry and more jerking. 

In desperation I moved across to the rod and looked at the wire. At the lower end it disappeared into a hole in the floor. In the hope of pulling it free, I squatted, trying to get hold of it, but my hands were pulled too tightly into my bum and I couldn't reach down far enough. Reluctantly I sat down with a thud, screaming as the heavy weights tugged hard on my nipples. But at least I was down. I grasped the wire and pulled, crying out again as the weights swayed and bounced, but the wretched thing would not come loose. My only other hope was to pull it out from the butt plug, hoping that it was the usual cheap Chinese equipment made for speed not for comfort or durability. I struggled to my feet again, tears still streaming down my face while I made incomprehensible noises through the ring. I straddled the rod and backed up its length until I reached the upper end of the wire. I bumped Steven gently, eliciting a muffled grunt. His skin was dripping with sweat. God I felt awful. I had never thought I could cause this sort of thing to happen to another human being, much less be forced to witness it. I grasped the wires and pulled with my whole body. It came free, as the same time as the lead weights tried to go into orbit. 

I screamed again and hunkered down on my haunches, trying to support the balls on my thighs – anything to relieve the agony of my nipples. I sobbed and cried from the pain, fully aware of what he must have gone through against the terrible spasms of the electricity. How could these people do this to one of their own? How could I possibly make this up to him? What had Trish been suggesting? Think, Shannen, think!

I wondered if somehow I could free him. I stood up again, very slowly this time, groaning as the weights took hold. I moved around to the front of him. His ankle cuffs appeared to be locked on and the chains padlocked to the posts. Not much future there. Maybe I could get the nipple clamps off somehow... I moved up against him, feeling the warmth of his body and finding myself unable to help admiring the slender but muscular body. We were about the same height and I backed against him to see if I could reach the clamps with my hands. Alas, bound as they were, my hands could get no higher than waist height, while at the same time giving me a charge on the rope between my legs. As I dropped my hands from straining, I could not help brushing his dick. It seemed to react momentarily, leading me to caress it gently. Perhaps my hands were at least in the right place for something. In no time, it seemed, Steven was aroused and I was surprised, to say the least, at what he had to show, but it was still very awkward with my hands crossed and tied as they were. 

The solution was obvious, I suppose, but the thought of more pain was something that I recoiled from. Gingerly I turned around and moved my tongue over his nipples where they were trapped in the jaws of the clamps. I wished I had use of my own jaws and teeth so that I could perhaps remove those terrible devices. I licked some more, eliciting a groan from him and feeling his hardness between my own legs. But this groan was something different, and suddenly I became as randy as all hell. If only this damned rope wasn't embedded in my crotch. I thrust against him, trying to ignore the pain in my breasts. I knew it wasn't going to work this way, but his dick was like a flagpole that I couldn't ignore. I squatted again, finally getting on my knees with much distress, but finding the object of my desire rigid in front of me. Carefully I put my mouth over it, finding it just fitted inside the ring with nothing to spare. Steven groaned again and the whole game was on. 

It goes without saying that this was the most careful but painful act of its kind that I have ever carried out. Now, I consider myself pretty good at most things I attempt, and this is one of them. Steven was incredibly aroused, however, straining in every muscle yet barely able to move. As he approached a climax his hips began to move, and I knew at the same time that he must be getting screwed in the arse in a major way. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing, of course, but each to their own. He came with a ferocity I couldn't believe, as I half gagged on the ejaculation into my mouth. It seemed to be Shannen's week for mouthing off. I felt the heat rising from the ropes in my pussy and reckoned I was not so far off it myself. As he shuddered and jerked I think we both felt the terrible hurt in our nipples, which in this one instance seemed to heighten every sensation such that we both groaned desperately through our respective mouth fillings, before everything gradually subsided. I had not succeeded in my quest, and in fact knew that Steven would now be feeling a heightened pain in his nipples as the blood retreated from his spent loins to return to the points of agony. His moans told me I was right.

I stood up slowly, only now wondering if I could use his hands to any advantage. I moved behind him and nuzzled up to his back, realising as I did so that he could reach the tormentors hanging from my tits. It was difficult for him with his hands pointing upward but eventually I managed to manoeuvre one of the clamps between his fingers. He squeezed the grips and the hated object slipped to the floor while I gasped and cried as the pain knifed through my breast. Gritting my teeth into the ring I repeated the process and screamed as the other one fell away. I was crying again, big sook that I was. So much for Shannen the hard girl. But I was on a roll now. I turned around and nuzzled the back of my head against his hands. After several goes he managed to undo the buckle of the gag, but so solidly was it wedged behind my teeth that I had it turn around again for him to tug it out. I don't think I have ever been so relieved in my life – relieved that I could close my jaw, relieved that I my breasts were no longer being tortured, and relieved that I could say I was sorry to Steven. 

The most immediate thing I could do was to now use my teeth to rid Steven of the nipple vices, which, after several (no doubt painful) attempts, I managed. He was now able to move much more freely, and more importantly, was able to bend over, albeit unable to ease himself off the terrible butt plug. But bent over as he was, I could then reach his gag and blindfold harness, along with the ropes binding his wrists and arms. It took a few minutes to undo these, after which he returned the favour to me, undoing my wrists and allowing me to remove the teasing rope through my pussy. 

About this stage, as we now talked in whispers, comforting each other and apologising, I noticed he was growing hard again. We were oblivious to Trish or anyone else who might be watching as I hugged Steven and wrapped my legs around his body, supporting myself on the dreadful rod behind him. I must have climaxed a couple of times in as many minutes, ignoring the ache in my tits as they pressed into his chest and his arms encircled me. In my selfishness I blotted out the fact that he was still impaled himself, just as I impaled myself on him. It was one of those fierce, intensely physical, rampaging moments when the world disappears and you both loose yourselves in hoarse cries and a mixture of pain and pleasure so great you think you're going to die.

I was crying again – but I couldn't help myself and it had nothing to do with the pain. Then Trish appeared, smiling this time and unlocking Steven's chains. She whispered something to him and after he gingerly disengaged himself from the plug he picked me up and carried me to one of the upstairs bedrooms. It was stunning in decoration but I was too exhausted to notice. 

I have no idea what the time is now. It's perhaps late afternoon. I slept most of the day in the gorgeously soft bed, then luxuriated in the old fashioned bath in the ensuite, amidst a host of oils and fragrances. This was obviously the lighter side of the business in the house. Food had appeared on the bedside table sometime during the day, which I scoffed – I was so-oo hungry. What a joy it was to be freed of fetters and gags and intruding devices. That said, I found a wide variety of the latter in the bedside drawer, and with the memory of the episode with Steven an exhausted blur in some far-off dungeon, I confess I tried out several of the toys. And of course there was the obligatory story line to run, so here I am, writing for the first time without being contorted into some uncomfortable position.

I sense the end of the ordeal. And of course at such a denouement there always has to be a moral. I'm not one for clichéd endings. In this case it's pretty simple.

Dear All,

Thanks. Point taken.

Shannen.
 
 

Postscript by Steven:

We waved goodbye to Shannen that evening. She was wearing the same black high heels she had arrived in, which were now somewhat the worse for wear. The rest of her clothes had long since died. She looked stunning in simple emerald green sheath dress that Monica donated. Monica told me with a grin that Shannen was also wearing a crotch strap with a vibrator fitted. More specifically, the buckles were locked on with two small combination locks, the vibrator was operating and could not be turned off, and the belts were threaded through with a stainless steel trace from a fishing tackle shop. In short, it was not something you would be able to cut off without the right hardware, which it was doubtful Shannen would have in her no doubt trendy apartment. The combinations to the locks were being delivered by express post, I was told.

Shannen was looking just a little flushed as she gave me a lingering kiss before descending the front steps to her car. 

"You really are a pack of bitches," she said with a smile. "Maybe I'll come back for a visit sometime."

 

Monica's Place continues in Chapter Thirteen: The Twins

 

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©–2002 | updated 22.04.17

 

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

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