|Gromet's Plaza - Richard Alexander Stories|
© 2003 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission
|storycodes: FFM/mf; bondage; n/c; X|
|grometsplaza - www.grometsplaza.cjb.net
Monica’s Games – Part I
Chapter Eight: View from the Top
by Richard Alexander
Monica’s Games – Part I Chapter Eight: View from the Top
Things happened so fast after that session that I barely had time to think through what I was doing. At least that is the story I tried to tell myself at various times later on when the whole thing got out of hand and came back to haunt me. Regrettably, my fertile mind will not switch off when it should do, despite the obvious flashing neon warning lights jumping around between synapses.
The first big news was the invitation from Oman – for Monica, Megan and myself to visit. To say the least, this caused considerable speculation in the ranks. Monica was secretive of the reason behind the invitation, but was adamant that it was our big break, despite the Hong Kong and Macau debacle less than a year previously, where Leila and Jill had been abducted. Monica was no fool, of course. We trusted her judgement and went along with the plan – at least Megan and I did, since we were the ones accompanying her. Perhaps the fact that I was going lent some legitimacy to the whole thing - or so we convinced ourselves.
What Monica didn’t know about was the bunch of emails that I had received. We had included on the website individual email contacts for each of the team. It was just a trial, to test the waters, and we expected we would probably discontinue it if the mail got too overwhelming. Call it a market survey if you will, spreading the load between us. I never expected to receive the emails that followed our first broadcast, nor where they would lead, but more of that later.
Time seemed to fly past, for suddenly we had first class tickets booked for us, and the departure date was set. We were to leave on a Saturday morning, heading for Singapore and then by British Airways to Muscat on the overnight flight. And of course because she would be absent, Monica had to have everything just so-so before she left. Jill was formally appointed as second in command, and was left with a list of instructions as long as your arm. This was further complicated by Megan coming with us, so Debbie had to be officially delegated to look after the Citadel. I swear Monica must have been a government servant in a past life, save for the fact that she was obviously very capable of making decisions.
The work I had started in the Citadel now had to be finished before we left. I never found out why, exactly, save simply that Monica said so, and I didn’t normally argue with that sort of logic. As a consequence, I spent much of my time at the Citadel laying concrete blocks and enclosing further room-sized areas, and getting the bunch of steel cages installed. In actual fact it would take me a further six months to fit out these rooms, but Monica wanted the basics done first, and I let her have her way, at least to the extent that I knew it was achievable.
But then Mary and Trish came into the picture again, with their hare-brained scheme to get their own back on Warren. This was where the shit did not exactly hit the fan, but the fan certainly got switched on.
* * *
“We’re going to do it this Friday night,” Trish told me after dinner. “You, Mary and I are going to the movies, just for a change.”
“That’s a bit out of character, isn’t it?” I teased. “I thought you got your kicks in more unorthodox ways. Won’t Monica get suspicious?”
“Stop being so negative,” she pouted, then said earnestly: “Look, Steven, I need your help with this. We both do.”
“Okay, what are we going to see?”
“Oh. I don’t know.”
“Well you’d better decide, because Monica will be sure to ask. Better make sure it’s not something that she’d fancy, like ‘Rich Amazon Women Rule the World’.”
Trish laughed. “Okay. But be ready around seven, okay? I’ll borrow the van. And bring that cattle prod that Portia showed up with. It’s time to give it a proper work out.”
“It’s not functioning at the moment. Monica tried it out on a customer the other day and was most peeved at the absence of reaction.”
“Then you’d better get it fixed, hadn’t you. I don’t want a scene in the hallway of the most expensive apartment block in town.”
“This is crazy,” I told her. “Do you realise what you’re doing? Monica will go absolutely ballistic.”
“Monica won’t find out the details,” Trish said determinedly. “All she will know at the end of the day is that Warren has relented and transferred the mortgage back into her name and has refunded the exorbitant interest he screwed out of her.”
“Won’t she be surprised at this sudden change of heart in someone well known for his total lack of scruples?”
“Perhaps, but Warren won’t be telling. He’ll be far too embarrassed and will live in fear of further humiliation if we reveal exactly what happened to him.”
“I still think it’s a dopey plan,” I grumbled. Trish put her hand on my shoulder.
“Steven, trust us. We know what we’re doing.”
“That’ll make a great epitaph,” I said.
* * *
We made a low key exit that evening. Trish had obviously fiddled the bookings so that she and Mary had the time off, and we slipped away from the house without any pleadings from the others to join us at the movies.
Mary had done her homework in looking through Warren’s stuff while he and Monica had been occupied in the basement on that eventful evening, and was knowledgeable on where he lived and what he did. I suspected that by the end of the evening we would be rather more au fait with Warren’s secret life.
Warren lived in a newly completed downtown apartment block overlooking the Brisbane River. The place had been billed as the ultimate lifestyle luxury apartment block, or some other such crap trendy description, but the marble foyer was pretty impressive. Trish pushed the button to Warren’s intercom, mindful of the cctv camera above it, while Mary and I stayed out of vision range.
“Uh… Warren – hi, its Trish, from Bilboes.”
“Trish? This is a surprise. What can I do for you?” Warren’s voice sounded surprised, and possibly pleased.
“I need to see you, urgently.”
“Of course. Come on up. Level 48.”
There was a buzz as the foyer door opened and we all snuck into the lift lobby, with Mary and I again remaining out of range, in case Warren was still studying the TV screen. We were quiet as the lift hummed upwards. I could sense the nervousness in the girls, and was not beyond a few butterflies in my own stomach. The cattle prod was heavy in my hand, and on my back I carried a small daypack loaded with stuff that Mary had put there, the details of which I did not really want to know.
Level 48 turned out to be the penthouse – surprise. It was the only apartment on that level and Trish rang the doorbell which was opened by Warren moments later. Even in his unpreparedness, he looked typical Warren – Ladies’ Man, with his dark trimmed moustache and the gold medallion on a chain standing out against a hairy chest. He was wearing a short black kimono-type robe, and looked as though if he wasn’t in the middle of something, he was certainly about to start. Predictably he looked surprised as Mary and I materialised beside Trish and the three of us stepped into the apartment, up close to its occupant.
Warren was momentarily taken aback and was caught in that position where one is not sure whether to be polite or to object. As it was, he didn’t really get a chance to sort out the quandary of etiquette, for I jabbed him with the prod on the side of the leg, just above the knee, and pressed the button. Warren gave a cry of pain and collapsed as his leg gave way under him. So complete was the ambush that in seconds the girls had him face down and were sitting on top of him while I hauled out a pair of handcuffs from the pack. Warren was swearing and making all sorts of threats and demands as Mary ratcheted the cuffs closed around his wrists. I passed her the pack and she extracted a red ball gag.
“You make too much noise, Mister,” Mary said, grabbing a handful of Warren’s thick black hair and yanking it back.
“Arrgh! You bitch! Don’t you dare- urf! Snrk! Mmph!”
Mary let go of his hair and grasped the two ends of the gag strap like reins, tugging hard and then buckling the strap tightly at the back of his head. I could hardly believe it had been so easy.
“Not a happy camper,” observed Trish, standing up.
“No,” Mary agreed, ignoring the venomous looks from the prone figure. “Why don’t you two look around the apartment and find an appropriate place for him, while I keep an eye on him.”
“I’ll take upstairs,” I offered, eying the wide marble stairs with the iron balustrade leading up to what were presumably the bedrooms. Trish headed off to scout the acreage that formed the entertaining area.
Upstairs the carpet was deep and the air cool and conditioned. The bedroom layout upstairs was in the shape of an ‘I’, the centre being the stairs, leading on each side to a courtyard and balcony. On one side the balcony gave on to views over the Brisbane River, while the other, which centred around a small pool and spa surrounded by ferns and small palm trees, looked out on to the CBD. The riverside patio was bordered on the right and left by sliding glass doors, which presumably were bedrooms. Opposite the entry door the patio had breathtaking views over the river and some of the other nearby apartment blocks. Above part of the patio was stretched a shade sail to keep the place cool, and in one corner a small fountain gurgled amidst some water plants.
The two rooms fronting the patio had their own glass-fronted balconies, and as I stood on the patio admiring the lights of the other apartments, I thought I heard a noise from the balcony to my left. Leaning out to peer around the vertical screen, I was able to make out a figure on the balcony, looking as though it was kneeling in supplication. As I watched in the semi-gloom the figure moved slightly and made a noise that was half-sigh, half moan. I caught a glimpse of blonde hair and realised it must be Christina, Warren’s live-in slave, with whom I had once had a rather painful but ultimately very pleasurable encounter.
“Mmmph?” The kneeling figure stirred.
I hurried back inside and into the next room. Turning on the light I saw it was obviously Christina’s bedroom. There was a king-sized bed with a wrought iron frame, and a long chain coiled up at the foot of it and locked to one of the bars. The room was large and painted in neutral colours with no paintings and just a television on a stand in the corner. There were two doors on the left wall, while the end wall was comprised of sliding glass doors, one of which was open, leading on to the balcony. By the light from the room I could make out the buttocks of the kneeling figure outside.
As I stepped on to the balcony the figure began making more animated mmphing noises, and I saw more clearly the difficulty Christina was in. Warren – or at least I assumed it was his handiwork – had bound not just her wrists to her ankles, but the whole forearm to lower leg, with multiple windings of rope. Christina was thus on her knees with her arms pulled down alongside her legs and her head forced down, cheek against the tiled floor. She was naked save for a black corset and stockings and balanced across her legs just behind her knees was a nasty-looking cane. Already I could see three thin bruises across the creamy flesh of her backside where the cane had been used. I suspected she was required to balance the cane there or face further strokes if she failed. In between her cheeks was the base of a large butt plug protruding from her arse. I squatted down beside her. The big blue eyes looked up at me from the mass of blonde hair as she pressed her face sideways against the tiles.
“Good evening, Christina.”
“Hnnn?” she said, obviously only now recognising me. She mumbled something incomprehensible around the white rubber ball strapped in her mouth, which probably went along the lines of what the hell was I doing there and where was Warren and could I undo some of the ropes.
I picked up the cane and ran it between her legs, letting the end of it linger against her crotch. She moaned and trembled, and I bent to rub my finger against her clit. It was wet, and she squirmed to my touch, but the nature of the binding meant she could barely move.
I confess I was sorely tempted to have my way with her there and then, high above the city looking out over the ferries plying the river, but the hardness of the tiles and the rigidity of the position made me take pity on her. Instead, I rolled her on to her back and picked her up, carrying her inside and dumping her on her back on the bed. With her arms bound to her legs, both now pointed skyward, it was easy to spread them and kneel above her on my hands and knees.
I could now see her attire a little better, and I noted she wore a stainless steel collar riveted in place, which looked suspiciously like it had come from the Bilboes storeroom. I also saw she had some nipple adornment. Nothing severe, just two plastic clips like small bulldog clips with weights shaped like strawberries attached to them. They appeared to be those devices used to weight down picnic tablecloths, and looked quite divine on her well proportioned breasts.
Christina looked up at me as I smoothed her hair away from her face.
“Pleased to see me?”
“Uh-hnn.” There was no mistaking the nod and the sparkle in her eyes. Then she appeared to grow concerned, for her brow furrowed. “Whn hownn Hernn-en?”
“Oh don’t you worry about him,” I said. “Mary and Trish are dealing to him downstairs.” Her eyes widened in disbelief.
“Nothing you can do about it, my dear.” I looked down at the wetness glistening in her pussy. “Like a little help finishing things?” Again the nod, more enthusiastic this time. I buried my face in the shaven crotch to the accompaniment of a moan of ecstasy from behind the ball gag.
It took less than a minute before Christina climaxed, and I recalled the time we had made love in my room when I had been forced to gag her, such was the vocal performance she was attempting, at a time when it had been vital we were not discovered. Silence now was not important, though I figured it was at least desirable.
Mr Willy was well at attention by this time, and it was a simple matter to let him carry on the attack. Christina had mmphed her way to another two orgasms by the time I was done, and I could have continued happily, had there not been a knock on the door. I was just doing up my fly when Trish opened the door discretely. Christina fell over on her side, staring at Trish, her eyes now slightly glazed and her hair damp and plastered to her forehead.
“You’re supposed to be checking the place out,” said Trish mildly.
“I am,” I retorted.
“Yes, so I see. In depth, no less. Hello Christina.” Trish flashed one of her smiles normally reserved for a slave whose behaviour has been just tolerable. “When you’ve finished screwing the local populace, Steven, you can join us for drinks downstairs. This one should remain here. We don’t want her interfering, or being a part of our plans, for that matter. There’s no need for her to suffer further.” Then she was gone.
I checked out the two doors leading off the room. One was to a large ensuite with a spa bath and a shower with multiple showerheads, while the other was a large walk-in wardrobe. Here several racks of clothes were hung neatly from a rail, above a set of drawers. The clothes were not your usual streetwear, instead being more like the interior of a fetish shop, with a selection of corsets and latexwear dangling from the hangers. I checked out the drawers. I guess I wasn’t surprised to find in these an assortment of more intimate devices and accessories – plugs, dildos, cuffs, clips, locks and chains.
“Quite a collection,” I murmured to her after I had selected a padlock and returned to where Christina lay helpless, watching me as best she could. Only when I had locked the coiled up chain to her collar and checked that she was then securely connected to the bed frame, did I finally undo the ropes, leaving her to ease the clips off her nipples and pull the rubber ball from between her teeth.
She sat up and I was again treated to the lovely figure, albeit accentuated in the black corset that thrust her breasts outwards in a more spectacular fashion than nature had intended.
“What are you doing here?” she finally asked, after swallowing several times.
“The girls are here to teach your boss a lesson,” I told her.
“Well thanks a lot,” she said tartly. “Who do you think he’ll take it out on?”
“I thought you were here for exactly that?” I shot back. Her attitude changed abruptly.
“Well… I suppose I am. He makes it worthwhile… And I don’t mean just the money.”
“You seem to be doing okay.”
She smiled tentatively. “I suppose I am. It’ll be worth the bruises in the long run. And the sex is good, I must admit. Hell, you know my weakness for this.”
“Yes. Just as long as it doesn’t go too far. Has it?” Her faced clouded but she turned away and said nothing. “Look, Mary and Trish have some mad plan hatched. If you want to leave, now is your chance. Otherwise you’ll have to remain chained up here so you can’t interfere and you can’t be seen to be a part of it all. What’s it going to be?”
The girl went quiet and unconsciously seemed to be tugging on the chain locked to the steel collar about her neck.
“I suppose I’ve got kind of used to this,” she said slowly, fingering the steel at her throat. “I guess I’ll have to stay here, then.” She smiled wanly at me. “You’ll see that they don’t do anything too severe to him?”
“I won’t say he doesn’t deserve it, but I’ll make sure all his bits are intact,” I confirmed, wondering if I would in fact be able to do that.
“Thank you,” she whispered, giving me a hug and kissing me on the lips. “You’re a good friend.”
* * *
I guess I’ll never understand women. Christina was a classic example. She would prefer to suffer her punishment in chains, albeit with a supremely comfortable bed to lie in and a nice apartment in which to probably enjoy most days - when she was able to. Each to their own, and I guess everyone had their price. I wondered what hers was…
A quick look over the remainder of the upstairs section found three more bedrooms, each with their own spectacular views and facilities. Clearly Warren was worth an absolute mint – as if we didn’t know that already, and as if that wasn’t why we were there.
Warren’s own room was tastefully done in minimalist style, while the third bedroom was in fact devoid of beds, instead being fitted with a large vertical timber frame about three metres on a side, made from four by four posts and beams. It stood alone in the centre of the deep pile carpet, and from the various anchor bolts and pulleys attached to it, it was pretty evident that Christina had spent many tortuous hours attached within the frame in various ways. A large built-in wardrobe stood open, revealing a fine selection of accessories, including a collection of floggers, whips and canes that made me shiver at being the thought of being on the receiving end of them. No, I figured I would never understand women.
The last bedroom gave me the shivers, particularly when I thought back to the scene between Warren and Monica. It was painted totally black, including a black deep piled carpet and black curtains on the walls facing the spa patio and the view of the CBD. There was no bed, but one wall featured a full height bookcase, packed with books. The only other furniture was a large desk and leather chair, plus a luxurious black leather couch and armchair. It was only when I looked closely at the bookcase and saw the number of books on witchcraft and Satanism, that I felt the hairs stand up on my neck. If I had felt nervous with the whole plan before, I liked it even less now.
* * *
Downstairs Warren was still not a happy camper. It was evident Trish had helped herself to the devices from the bondage room wardrobe upstairs, adding to what we had brought in the back pack. Warren was now naked, sitting on a kitchen chair, his feet pulled backwards off the floor with his ankles tied to the back supports. A double rope was looped around his waist and down through his crotch to be tied to his handcuffed wrists behind him, and two small crocodile clips on pieces of string were dangling from his nipples. He appeared to be fluctuating between the rather specific pain, and fury at the perpetrators of it.
Mary was sitting on the kitchen table, her long leather-clad legs swinging, while her hand casually held the other ends of the string attached to the crocodile clips. Trish had opened a bottle of champagne from Warren’s collection and passed a glass to me and to Mary, before reversing a chair and settling herself comfortably.
“Now, Warren…” she began, like a teacher about to begin an awkward interview with a difficult student. “We’ve been meaning to have a little chat with you about a number of issues. Perhaps we should start with your attitude. Do you understand what I mean?” Warren glared at her but made no other sign. Mary tugged on the strings and his nipples momentarily elongated in the steel jaws. It prompted considerable objection from behind the rubber ball.
“Very well,” Trish continued condescendingly. “You’re obviously a bit slow, so let me explain, although I really shouldn’t have to, to a man of your experience. But I’m prepared to be patient, after all you’re only a mere male. Let’s start at the beginning. You’re a Dom, of course, just as Mary and I are Dommes. You know there are codes of behaviour amongst us. We rule over subs, and we respect each other’s abilities. Twice you’ve had your way with us. The first time, I would remind you, in case you’ve forgotten, was during Monica’s absence in Hong Kong. And while it had its painful moments, I’ll accept that it was done as part of the Bilboes service, albeit without Monica’s knowledge. I seem to remember on that occasion that I was obliged to grovel from bedroom to bedroom to get free, and only then with help from Mary, whom you’d left tied most uncomfortably in the wardrobe. Do you remember that, Warren?”
If Warren had forgotten, he staged a sudden recollection as Mary tugged on the strings, eliciting a muffled cry, eyes screwed up with pain and a vigorous nodding of the head.
“Good. The second time, however, was not part of the business. You’re such an opportunist, Warren. You piggy-backed yourself into the place on the back of Madam Wong and Portia’s takeover. There was no payment made that time, no fee for service. You picked Mary and me to humiliate us, since we were the strongest Dommes in the house. It added spice to the act - wasn’t that so, Warren?” Tug! More vigorous nodding in agreement.
“You and your repulsive friend Roger had a lot of fun with Mary and I, chained up in the dungeon. Let me tell you that getting a suspended screwing from you in the front and Roger from behind is not one of the memories I shall cherish.” Trish’s voice had become cold and penetrating. “Am I right, Mary?”
“Yes, you toe-rag,” Mary said, her tone equally chilling. “And let’s not forget your treatment of Jill, flicking post-it notes off her body with the bull whip while she was tied up on the verandah. Jill may be a switch sometimes, but she is predominantly Domme, as you well know, don’t you!” Mary yanked the strings again and Warren protested feebly, tears starting to trickle down his cheeks as Mary held the tension.
“And then there’s Monica,” Trish began again. “You seem not content to practise on subbies. No, you have to have your way with all the Dommes in Bilboes. You have no concept of ethical behaviour, you slimeball. We saw what you did to Monica in the basement a couple of weeks ago. All that supernatural stuff. Nearly scared poor Mon half to death.”
“You really are a bastard,” Mary added matter-of-factly, alternating on the strings. “I really can’t see a lot of redeeming features. Do you think anyone would miss you, if you accidentally fell over the balcony rail outside?”
Mary’s words made my blood run cold, so casually did she say them, but there was something in her voice that made it utterly believable. Certainly Warren did, for his eyes widened and he gabbled unintelligibly into the gag, his voice rising a notch as fear crept into it. He turned to appeal to me, but I shrugged my shoulders, catching a wink from Trish out of Warren’s vision.
“Don’t look at me,” I said. “You have to be accountable for your actions, mate. You can’t just go through life doing whatever you like to helpless females who cross your path.” Right now Mary and Trish looked all business, and anything but helpless. “You’ve made your bed, now you have to lie in it.”
“The good news is that before anything final happens to you, we get to play a little,” Trish continued. “In short, we get to have a little fun at your expense. A little painful fun.”
She stood up, took a sip of champagne and undid the ankle ropes. “On your feet, arsehole,” she ordered. Mary tugged unnecessarily on the strings and Warren stood up uncertainly. Trish propelled him roughly to the kitchen table and bet him over it face down, while Mary held the strings tight on the clips. Warren whined and moaned but there was nothing he could do as Trish tied his spread ankles to the table legs, then undid the rope tied to the handcuffs and removed it from around his waist. Looping it then through the cuff link chain she moved to the opposite side of the table and hauled the rope tight, dragging the cuffs awkwardly up Warren’s back close to his shoulder blades, before tying the rope to the opposite table legs.
“Now, let’s have a play with some of these toys you have,” Trish said conversationally, dropping a bunch of whips, floggers and canes on the table where he could see them. Warren was mouthing something and making pleading-sounding nnn-ing noises through his nose, while the girls inspected the arsenal.
“This one’s mine,” said Mary, seizing a small stockwhip. Warren went white and tried to shake his head, but from where it was pressed sideways on the table this was not successful. Mary cracked the whip with an expertise that made Warren shudder, while Trish selected a heavy rattan cane the thickness of my finger that reminded me of my school days and several unpleasant punishments which – while painful - were undoubtedly deserved, and had the intended effect. The girls walked around to where Warren could not see them.
Mary pulled out a coin. “Heads or tails?” she asked, flipping it and catching it.
“Tails it is. You get first go.”
Trish moved up to Warren’s buttocks and gave them a thorough grope, tugging on his penis and goolies for good measure.
“We should do a danglectomy, for good measure,” she said, ferreting in the backpack to produce a couple of thin cords. The first of these she wound around Warren’s dick and tied it off expertly, then repeated the process with the second cord around his scrotum. All the while Warren was moaning and squirming, the latter stopping very quickly when Trish took his balls in her hand and gave a squeeze.
“I’d remain still if I were you,” she commanded. Warren froze, allowing her to attach a couple of walnut-sized lead weights which pulled his equipment downwards in what looked to be a very uncomfortable manner. Warren whined pleadingly.
“Oh shut up,” said Trish.
Trish used the cane to toy with the weights dangling between Warren’s legs, then rested the cane against his bare buttocks. He flinched, as much as he could manage, with his ankles bound tautly apart to the table legs.
“We should really warm him up properly with a light flogging, don’t you think?” Trish asked primly.
“No,” said Mary.
“Mmm, me neither,” Trish agreed, and let fly with a sideswipe that caught Warren squarely across the cheeks. Warren howled into the rubber ball, struggling against the restraints locking his arms up his back. “I seem to remember being on the receiving end of just such treatment,” Trish mused, pacing slowly back and forth, her heels clicking on the polished floor tiles. Thwack! “Not so nice on the receiving end, is it, Warren?”
Warren’s whole body was stiff and shaking, dreading the next impact the way one would anticipate the next touch of a dentist’s drill on an exposed nerve. Trish took a breath and stepped back, eying the two livid red marks now standing out against the white flesh.
The sound of the third stroke was loud in the kitchen, and Warren yelled again then chewed on the ball stretching his jaw and curbing his tongue. The cry died into a series of snorted moans, interspersed with what sounded like sniffles.
“What’s that, Warren dear? You’ll have to speak more clearly,” Trish said, poking him between the cheeks with the end of the cane, then letting loose another blow. Warren was now making “Nnnn! Nnnn! Nnnn!” noises through his nose and squirming desperately against his bonds, making the weights between his legs swing gently.
“How many’s that, Mary? I’ve lost count… Damn, I’ll have to start again…”
“Nnnnnn!” Warren wailed into the gag. The cane cracked a fifth time, eliciting a blubbering scream from the helpless figure.
“He’s still a tad noisy,” Mary suggested. “Steven, see if you can find some music to drown out the creep.”
I was happy to escape the punishment session and made my way into the living room. There was a top of the range B & O music system in here, and when I turned it on, I found the music could be directed into any room in the apartment. I thought something like Wagner was appropriately apocalyptic for the moment, but as usual I got teased when I returned.
“You really are hopeless,” Trish said, straightening up from leaving another livid line on Warren’s backside.
“Yes, really, Steven,” Mary chimed in. “Now he’ll never be able to listen to this music again without it bringing on nightmares.”
“Hey, it’s your suggestion, your show,” I told her.
“Yes, my turn, too,” Mary said. “Take a break, Trish.” Trish stepped aside while Warren moaned and dribbled on the table. Mary had a steely look in her eye as she cracked the whip expertly, snapping the tip between Warren’s legs such that he jerked and screamed into the gag just from the air movement alone. Trish took me aside and laid her hand on my arm.
“Why don’t you go down to the van and bring up the Shaft, Steven?” I had a feeling she could sense my discomfort. I wasn’t sure if this was in fact from the beating they were dishing out, or from the fact that they were on dangerous ground and I had no idea where this was going to lead.
I took the lead she offered me, and it took me several minutes to return to the van to pick up the Shaft. The Shaft was a half metre-square steel plate with an adjustable steel shaft mounted on it, commonly fitted with a dildo or some other such penetrating object. The thing weighed about fifteen kilos, and by the time I had lugged it back into the lobby, waited for the door to be opened for me, then drawn a curious look from a middle-aged lady in the lift, I had raised a slight sweat. The front door had been left unlocked and I entered the apartment to the sound of Gotterdammerung, the Twilight of the Gods. If Warren was indeed a lover of classical music, this would put him off Wagner for life. I suspected the Shaft was about to give a whole new meaning to the Ring Cycle.
The kitchen was empty and after a quick look around I hauled the Shaft up the stairs, to find Warren and his two female tormentors getting set up in Christina’s bondage room. Warren was standing in the centre of the wooden frame, his wrists now released from the handcuffs and instead encircled in leather cuffs and locked in two suspended chains so that he stood in the attitude of one surrendering. That was probably pretty appropriate, for from the mish-mash of welts and stripes on Warren’s buttocks and the backs of thighs, he well and truly beaten in both literal and metaphorical senses. Any fight that he had previously shown seemed to have gone out of him, for his body language was dejected and that of one who knows things are about to get worse.
The frame comprised two posts bolted to the wall, with an overhead beam atop them, spanning the room just below the ceiling. The bottom member of the frame was made from two eight-by-twos laid side by side on the floor, forming a wide timber strip on which the victim would stand, and into which various eyebolts and screws could be attached.
“Good, put it down here,” said Mary, indicating a spot immediately adjacent to Warren’s rear. “Got anything to screw it to the timber?” she asked.
“I didn’t think I was coming here to build stuff,” I complained.
“There are some tools in the downstairs store room,” Trish intervened quickly, sensing Mary was getting into one of her moods that would brook no argument on anything.
It took me a few minutes to find a power drill and some appropriate screws so that the steel base plate could be screwed to the timber floor planks. By the time I returned to the bondage room, Warren’s predicament had gotten worse. His ankles were now spread just wide enough to clear the base plate, and the ankle cuffs had been chained to handy anchor bolts in the floor planks. He now wore a discipline helmet that left him blind, as well as presumably gagged underneath in some form or other. Knowing these two, he would have his ears plugged as well, thus being deprived of sight, sound and speech, but still be wide open to the sense of touch. The chains on his wrist cuffs had been slightly shortened, but his arms were still bent. If need be, he could relax somewhat and let his body sag lower, thus putting more weight on his arms. That was when I realised what he had in store for him.
It took me only a minute to drill a couple of holes in the timber to firmly fix the steel plate down. While this was happening, Mary had selected a large dildo and, surgical glove on one hand, was coating the device with a clear ointment. I raised my eyebrows questioningly and she showed me the tube. It was Finalgon, known to be the fieriest muscle ointment in existence. I watched as Mary stopped the coating a short distance from the tip, then knelt down to attach the prong to the top of the shaft. It fitted into a socket and was screwed up with a butterfly nut.
This done, she undid a second butterfly nut lower down which held the adjustable shaft secure, and slid the shaft upwards, letting the tip penetrate Warren’s arse just far enough so that he could not slide off it. She screwed the butterfly nut closed and tightened it with a pair of pliers I had brought with the drill and screws.
Warren’s position was further reinforced with a rope looped around his waist that knotted in the small of his back, then ran down to be attached to the base of the shaft just above the plate. Warren could not lift himself off the dildo, even by standing on tiptoes. I did, however, register the slack in his arms and the fact that he could still drop his body downwards, impaling himself further, on to the section coated with the fiery ointment..
“I wonder how he’ll pass the night?” Mary mused casually. “Pass me the cock clamp, Trish.”
Trish handed Mary a clear acrylic device that was moulded in the shape of a limp dick and scrotum. It split into two halves and could be locked in place as a chastity measure. I myself had once been obliged to wear this by Monica, while in the very erotic and close up presence of Leila, who had also been wearing a chastity belt. It had been an extremely frustrating time for both of us, but which would have been ultimately satisfactory had Portia and the gang not turned up unexpectedly. Now Warren was going to be obliged to wear the thing, but I suddenly realised what Mary was doing. A smear of Finalgon was being placed all over the inside of the acrylic sheath.
“You can’t do that!” I hissed to Mary. ”Jesus! That’ll… it’ll…”
“Keep him awake? Focus his mind? Make him recall what he did to us?” Mary was in no mood to quibble at this moment, as she cut the cords holding the scrotum weights and removed the remnants of the strings. There was a faint sigh from under the leather helmet. Moments later she had placed the halves of the sheath either side of Warren’s member and they were clicked together, before being finally locked into place with the special key. As a final piece de resistance, Mary knotted together the two pieces of string attached to the nipple clamps, and hung the ball weights on the string. Warren moaned and shook his head.
Mary took the time to do a final Finalgon smear over Warren’s buttocks and the inside of his thighs before pulling off the surgical glove. “I reckon the champagne will be getting warm,” she said. “Shall we adjourn downstairs?”
* * *
The evening started to get a bit out of control from that point. Mary and Trish discovered the Karaoke machine hooked up to the big screen television, and fuelled by the champagne, they were soon in full swing. Unfortunately, I was in the position of being designated driver, responsible for getting the van home. It was not an agreed thing – it just happened – leaving me the only sober person amongst the three of us, with the girls seeming to lose all inhibitions by the time they were well into the second bottle. It’s awful being the only sober one. Everything they did seemed uproariously funny to the girls, while to me it seemed just plain silly, but that’s the way things are.
I had never seen them get really drunk, although I’d heard stories. You know how people are when they get drunk – there is usually a different side. There are maudlin drunks and angry drunks and happy drunks. I found out in very short time that Trish was a sleepy drunk and Mary was a horny drunk.
I had gone up to check on Warren, having decided I had better get things settled in for the night, since we would soon have to leave. Warren was, to put it mildly, quite distressed. He was whimpering under the discipline helmet, his body trembling. His arse and inner thighs stood out stood out bright red where the Finalgon was burning his way into his skin, and he had obviously found out the hard way that to relax and let his weight hang on his arms was not a good idea, for it would drive the shaft further up his arse and give him a true understanding of the expression ‘burning ring of fire’. I decided to remove the crocodile clips gripping his nipples, reasoning that nobody should have to bear that pain all night. The fire in the ointment would eventually subside, and he would simply have a very uncomfortable night. That would be enough, I thought. I was turning to go when Mary came into the room. I was surprised that she was naked from the waist up, the nipples on her pert breasts erect.
“I wanna hava ’nother go with the whip,” she slurred, picking up the bullwhip and flicking it badly.
“I don’t think so Mair,” I told her.
“Oohh yess!” she said determinedly, cracking it again and nearly taking my head off. I grabbed for the whip and pulled it from her hand, and then she was all over me. “Okay, then I wanna have you!” and she kissed me hard on the lips.
I knew she was not in a fit state to go anywhere near Warren. She had neither coordination nor judgement – something I recognised from that kiss. But she was determined, and began to struggle, alternatively wrestling with my jeans or trying to grab the whip again. In desperation I picked up a pair of handcuffs from the pile of stuff that had spilled out of the bag on the floor, and snapped them on her left wrist, then joined the right behind her.
“Wha’ the f’ck ‘re you doing?” she demanded, stumbling against me. “Lemme go!”
I ignored her protests and dragged her back out of the room, grabbing a piece of rope in the process. It was a simple matter to thread the rope around the link between the cuffs and then through the wrought iron balustrade at the top of the stairs, tying it at the base of a post where she couldn’t reach it.
By now she was getting really mad – or horny. It seemed she couldn’t quite make up her mind which offered the best chance of release. One minute it was threats and insults, then it was promises of earthly delights. I have to say I was tempted, but taking advantage of her under those circumstances was not something I thought held long term advantages. Rather the opposite, in fact.
I was trying to sort out people for the night, and Mary wasn’t helping, nor was the noise she was making, such that I was obliged to return to the bondage room and retrieve a large red ball gag that I eventually forced in to Mary’s protesting mouth as she struggled and tugged at the handcuffs. Only then could I put into place my salvage plan, which looked like it was becoming dodgier by the minute.
I returned to Warren and found a padlock to lock the discipline helmet strap in place around his neck. Only by unlocking this or physically cutting off the helmet could his head be released. This done, I went to unlock Christina’s chain and brought her into the room to join her master.
“You are going to stay in here, tonight,” I told her as I attached her long neck chain to the door handle.
“Here’s the key for that helmet,” I told her. “It’s the only thing you can unlock. I’m going to put some wax on the lock like a seal. You will keep watch on him, and only if there is any problem will you release that helmet. If I find the lock has been undone without valid reason you will be in major trouble, and of course once you have pulled the tape off, you’ll have to listen to him carry on for the rest of the night. I know which option I would prefer. Understand?”
Christina lowered her eyes. “Yes sir.”
“You needn’t worry. His ears are plugged and he doesn’t even know you’re here. Come morning we’ll lock you away again.” I lit one of several well-used candles which had been stashed in a corner, presumably for a rather more painful waxing treatment on Christina.
“Are you going to be here, tonight?” She gave me a real doe-eyed look and again I was tempted, but I was already running against time.
“Sorry sweetcheeks. Got things to do.” She looked ever so cute wearing nothing but the corset, collar and chain, but I had other priorities. I dripped some red wax on to the lock at the back of Warren’s neck, pouring the remainder down his chest, which elicited a muffled yell and more futile tugging against the chain.
“That’s from the girls,” I murmured.
Mary was furious by the time I got back to her and, having untied the rope, I dragged her in to Christina’s room, securing her in much the same fashion as before, to the bed, but this time I paused before leaving her. The fact that she had elected to go topless gave me a good clue as to where Mary was going under the influence of alcohol. I moved up to her and looked her in the eye.
“Got a bit of an urge, have we,” I whispered. Mary’s gagged protestations abruptly stopped and she almost seemed to blush.
“Mmmm,” she moaned softly. The fire in her eyes had been replaced by an almost pleading look. I undid her jeans and slid them off, meeting no resistance. I followed with her G-string, my fingers lingering long enough to prompt a further sigh from behind the ball. I ran my hands up her legs and felt her shudder as I reached the top of her thighs.
“You like?” I asked. She nodded.
“Good. Perhaps you can persuade Trish to help you out.”
“Huhrrrnnn?” Mary was clearly displeased.
“Stay here and I’ll go for help,” I told her, grinning, then picked up her clothes and went looking for Trish, while Mary tugged futilely against her bonds.
Trish was asleep on the sofa, heedless of the Karaoke going on in the background. I realised I had no choice at this point. I did not fancy trying to get Trish and Mary home tonight, one being half drunk and half asleep, the other being drunk, vocal and troublesome. Getting them quietly to the van, then home and into their beds would mean I’d be on to a hiding to nothing. I decided at that point that they could stay and keep Warren company, as long as they couldn’t get to him until they’d sobered up. I would still have to take the van home, and I still had to finish packing, for Monica, Megan and I had an early flight to Singapore the following morning.
Trish was barely with it as I removed her skirt and G-string.
“Come on, dear, time for bed,” I said, hauling her to her feet.
“Doan wanna…” she mumbled, hardly bothering to open her eyes. I pulled off her shirt and bra with as much difficulty as you would have undressing a sleepy child ready for bed.
Naked, she leaned on me as I helped her up the stairs and into Christina’s room, where Mary’s glare shot daggers at me. Trish was almost unresisting as I handcuffed her wrists behind her, then the coldness of the steel and the unfamiliar restrictions on her arm movements appeared to wake her into a more coherent state.
“Wha…? Whaddaya doing? “ Her inebriation made the Canadian accent seem stronger than normal.
“You girls are going to have a sleepover together,” I told them.
“Whaddya mean? Steven, lemme go.” Her voice was plaintive, like a little girl not wanting to come in from playing.
“No. I know you’ll only embarrass me and give me grief if I try to take you home like this.” I was fossicking in the drawers in Christina’s walk-in wardrobe as I said this, and returned with a 2-metre length of chain and a couple of padlocks, to find Trish sitting on the edge of the bed pouting.
“Come here,” I ordered. She did so, and allowed me to lock the chain to her cuffs, then to haul it through her crotch, between Mary’s legs, then lock it to Mary’s cuffs. Mary and Trish stood face to face.
“Kneel,” I told Trish. She did so, and the chain proved just long enough for her to kneel comfortably, her face level with Mary’s crotch. “Excellent. Mary has a request, but unfortunately she can’t enunciate very well, so I’ll leave you to figure it out. I’m going home now – I still have to finish packing. Enjoy the rest of your evening, as they say.”
“But…but how will we get free?” Trish suddenly seemed to have sobered up. You have to go straight to the airport tomorrow morning.”
“I know that. Don’t worry. You’ll find a way. I went
to the walk-in wardrobe and selected a couple of outfits I thought the
girls would look good in, when they went to hail a taxi, then left, locking
a series of doors behind me before exiting the apartment. Why was
life always so complicated?
* * *
bondagestories : alexanderstories