Gromet's Plaza Richard Alexander Stories
Monica's Quest
by Richard Alexander
© 2002 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission.
storycodes: MF/mf; bondage; bdsm; cons/nc; XXX
Monica’s Quest Book 2 of the Monica Chronicles by Richard Alexander
Monica's Quest: 3. Leila's Story - Part Three by Richard Alexander MF/mf; bondage; bdsm; cons/nc; XXX
Chapter Three: Leila's Story
Part Three
I had never felt so alone and forsaken in my life as at that moment when I stood in that warehouse, my hands bound, watching my dear friend Jill being wheeled away in that horrid trunk.  Where on earth was Macau?  I had heard of it but had no idea where it was.  What were they going to do to her there?  What were they going to do to me here, for that matter? And where was ‘here’?  How I wished I had the emotional strength that Jill had shown.

Tiger returned and spoke softly to me.

“You must listen and understand what I am telling you.  Your friend will be taken to Macau, where she will be a concubine to a very senior official who has a taste for western women.”

A concubine, I thought incredulously?  That went out with the last Emperor!  Sex slave, more like it.  Poor Jill! 

“You will be kept to star in many videos.  You will be the subject of much bondage and you will receive discipline as part of that.  For the most part I will give your beatings.  It is not something I enjoy, but it is my job.  I will do it as humanely as I can, unless circumstances are otherwise.  Such other circumstances are bad behaviour by you, or if my superiors are present.  Do you understand?”  I nodded dumbly, tears clouding my vision of this big man standing in front of me.  My red dress still hung open where he had unzipped it, but he made no move to do it up.

“We will start today, while we’re here and Serina has her cameras.”

*   *   *

The day was long and hard.  I followed the so-called plot of the film – it wasn’t difficult.  It started with shots of me lying bound and gagged on the mattress, back in the ‘bedroom’ area.  At some stage my ankle bindings had been changed for a hobble rope, and I was then filmed trying to untie it, but I couldn’t manage the knots since my wrists were again in the crossed position as they had been on my arrival.  I ended up getting to my feet and peering around the door, which was somehow unlocked.  The warehouse was deserted.  I scurried from post to post as fast as my hobbles would permit, heading for the exterior door. 

I actually hoped to get that far, if only to see what was outside, and convert my filmed escape to a real one, hoping Serina might be so wrapped up in the filming that she would overlook any departure from the script.  Tiger was in hiding amongst the piles of equipment until the moment I was spotted nearing the door.  That’s when I made a run for it and nearly beat him to the outside.  I actually made it as far as the door, only to find it was locked, as I desperately tried the handle.  He caught me at that point and tossed me over his shoulder as I attempted to kick and cry my frustration, both actions of course being totally futile under the circumstances.

Tiger carried me back to the framework in the far corner and tied me standing with my legs spread and my ankles attached to the corner posts.  It was a hard position, for there was no rope between my ankles to stop them spreading further.  I still wore my knee-length red boots which slowly slipped on the concrete floor, meaning every minute or so I had to try to pull my legs back, but only as much as the ropes would let me, setting up a continuous strain on my thigh muscles. 

I soon decided that nothing Tiger did was without purpose. With me in this position he next slipped a noose around my neck.  The rope passed over a pulley on the frame and was sufficiently tight such that I could not create enough slack to pull it over my head, even when my hands were then freed.  The need to keep my feet from slipping outwards now became even more imperative.

It was under these circumstances that Tiger could easily untie my wrists and remove my dress without fear of my causing any trouble.  I now stood naked except for my boots.  I had been in the business long enough for my nakedness not to bother me, but the helplessness and vulnerability I now felt was terribly real, not some role-play in the basement of Bilboes that would end in two hours time when the client was satisfied.

Tiger proceeded to tie me with the harsh brown hemp rope that lay in the corner.  He took a long length of it and looped it about my neck, so that the two tails hung between my breasts.  A series of knots about ten centimetres apart were tied in these tails before the rope was tightened by pulling it between my legs and up my back, to be tied to the loop at the back of my neck.  My wrists were then bound as Jill’s had been, horizontally in the small of my back, and the tails taken from the back around to the front to loop through the knotted sections and return to the back several times down the length of my body. 

The effect of this was quite startling.  It created a diamond pattern of ropes down my front, while lacing my arms to my body and making my breasts stand out.  It also tightened the vertical ropes through my crotch and pulled those knots tighter between my legs.  I was to discover that every movement of my arms or torso had the effect of transmitting vibrations to my crotch - vibrations which became disconcertingly pleasurable after a little while.

But before I got to that stage, Tiger had other plans.  Having been caught trying to escape I was obviously to be taught a lesson, which was to be suspended upside down by the ankles, well tied with numerous loops of the scratchy brown rope.  I moaned as he cranked a hand winch that lifted me up from where he had laid me on my back on the dirty concrete.  I had never liked suspension, for it always hurt my wrists or ankles.  In this case I found myself twisting slowly on the end of the rope, as the warehouse rotated through my field of vision.

Tiger appeared with a flogger and set about my bottom with an enthusiasm I did not like, despite what he had told me about not enjoying it.  After the first few strokes the flogger was wetted.  This hurt more, but tended not to do so much damage.  I noted he dipped it in some dyed water after that, such that the redness was highlighted for the camera.

I guess my description sounds clinical, and with hindsight I can be that way, but at the time I was crying and whining into my gag.  I hated being upside down and the sting and smack of the cat made me yowl into the gag, to try to plead for mercy and to beg for relief from the pain.  Then he turned me and laid a few smart cracks across my thighs and breasts.  If I wasn’t screaming before, I was then, my muffled cries echoing off the steel-clad walls of this terrible place of torture.

Serina was loving it, swapping from video to still and adjusting the lighting constantly.  She would keep, I told myself, gritting my teeth and closing my eyes from the searing pain.

When I was finally let down, my ankles remained tied and I was left lying on an old blanket.  Off camera now, my gag was removed and I was given water to drink from a bottle and two slices of bread before the two went away, presumably for a smoke and a cup of tea, or whatever it was that these people did.  They did not replace my gag, for which I was so thankful. 

I wanted to search the warehouse for another way out, but I was so physically and emotionally drained by the events of the morning – Jill being taken away and my subsequent beating – that I could do nothing other than lie there.  In any case I would have found it nearly impossible to get to my feet, and the thought of crawling about on my tender bottom was more than I could bear.  I also found that with my wrists tied as they were, I could not push against the floor as one could with hands bound palm to palm, nor could I get two hands to any knot or object, since my fingers were pointing in opposite directions and were half a body width apart.  And to top it all off, as I found out, any movement of my arms telegraphed itself to the maddening ropes through my crotch, with three knots at strategic points between my legs.

I knew from some of the lessons I had received at the hands of Monica and Mary that I had a susceptibility to climaxing more easily after a bit of a ‘touch up’ with a paddle. Although I had not often experienced anything as painful as this, I could not help but sense the start of a warm glow of arousal creeping through my loins under the knots. Bastard, I thought, rolling on my back and raising and lowering my legs several times, my thighs squeezed against the ropes.  I rolled on my side and was looking round for something to press my crotch against when the pair returned.

Serina had her video camera going in no time while Tiger shouted at me in Cantonese.  I had no idea what he was saying but it sounded awful, filled with abuse and all manner of imagined invective.  I closed my eyes and tried not to cry. 

Tiger fetched a piece of bamboo that was as long as my body and as thick as my wrist.  He rolled me on my stomach and laid the bamboo along my back then began tying loops between the ropes already wrapping my body and the pole.  More ropes went around my waist and formed a sling from the pole. I did not at all like where this was going.  The knotted rope through my crotch had further cords pulled underneath it and secured to the pole, tightening the pressure on my pussy and clit.  I wriggled uneasily.

At this point Tiger undid my ankles and bent each leg in turn, securing my ankles to my thighs.  He tied a second bamboo pole about a metre and a half long at right angles across the first, then used the ends of this as anchoring points to keep my bent legs apart.

I started pleading with him as he tested the bamboo with a heavy pulley attached to the steel frame, eventually finding the right centre of gravity so that I hung level.  I did not like hovering about above the hard concrete floor, but my complaints made not the slightest bit of difference.  I began to go up in the world at this point, to the accompaniment of the rattle of the pulley and chain block, until I was at about head height. The fact that my gag had not been replaced until then was obviously part of the plan, as was the expected noise I would make.  I did not disappoint them, for I was scared as hell.  I could not move arms or legs and I begged them to let me go.  Tiger walked slowly around my body, carrying in his hand a thin switch of bamboo which he flicked ominously and slapped against his leg.  My begging changed abruptly to a scream as the switch slashed between my widespread legs, leaving a searing stripe across the inside of my thigh.  Serina had been concentrating on my face at that point, smiling, knowing what was to come – what I could not see.  More slashes on the thighs came and I continued my screams.  Finally there was a pause and Serina zeroed in on me again.  I trembled at what was to come, for I could not see what Tiger was preparing.

My scream went up an octave and the tears coursed down my cheeks as he caught me squarely between the legs, the pain transmitted through those knots that had once threatened unexpected pleasure and now offered only a terrible agony.  Tiger appeared in front of me with the ball gag which I accepted in the knowledge that at least I would have something to bite on.  Three times more he struck me in my most private of parts.  Each time I hmmned desperately into the rubber ball, making a nasal mewing that still echoed around the building. 

The beating stopped at that point, and Tiger left, saying something to Serina as he did so. Serina appeared to leave the camera rolling while now fiddling with the ropes between my legs.  Surprised, I felt a slim vibrator slide into my pussy, followed by another one into my arse.  Both were held there securely by the knotted rope.  I reckoned there was in fact a knot right at the base of both devices, so good was Tiger at his job.  Serina’s face appeared directly in front of mine.  The cool black eyes looked into mine as she gave my nose a tweak.

“You’re very cute,” she said, the first time I had heard her speak English.  I guessed she was about thirty, and she looked like someone who did not lose their composure easily.  I suspected she was doing work she enjoyed. “Have a nice climax.”

I hung there, feeling the vibrations start to work and to take over from the pain.  I began to squirm, ignoring the red light on the camera.  Almost without warning the arousal that had lingered in the background suddenly exploded and I gasped and bucked in the harness as the orgasm caught me unexpectedly.  Of course my squirmings and struggles only served to intensify the experience and I found myself snorting and grunting uncontrollably behind the rubber ball, with absolutely no shame.  In spite of all my protests I carried on like a cat in heat.  I really could not believe myself.  And of course the wretched vibrators did not stop just because Leila had got herself off, oh no.  They continued humming away as if nothing had happened, for the next hour, or however long it was before the tape ran out in the video and Serina and Tiger returned. 

By that time I was slumped, sweating and exhausted in my ropes, lost in some netherworld, with drool running from the edge of my mouth.  I could do nothing but lie like a sack of potatoes as Tiger lowered me to the ground and undid the ropes, removing the devices before eventually helping me to my feet and leading me back to my cell.  He lowered me on to the mattress and again locked the chain about my neck.  Dropping my dress on top of me he left, locking the flimsy door behind him.

Night came, and with it a bowl of noodles, some rice and a small basin of water to wash myself with as best I could.  Then the lights were out and I fell into an exhausted sleep, despite all my fears as to what still lay ahead.

*   *   *

I awoke far from refreshed, sweating in the stifling humidity of dawn.  After the obligatory bowl of rice gruel, Tiger appeared.  My body was stiff, sore and marked from the beating he had given me the previous day, but I was not about to remonstrate with him as he made me lie on my stomach to have my wrists crossed and bound tightly behind me.  Then it was on my feet and the hated ball gag tied unnecessarily tight at the back of my neck, followed by a dark silk scarf as a blindfold.  I did not like this, for it meant things were going on that I could not observe, and I was not a fan of the surprises that usually came from them.

Tiger led me outside and across the warehouse, the heels of my boots clacking on the concrete, in contrast to the silent steps of his sneakers.  We reached the personnel door next to the roller door and passed through it.  I lifted my head to try to see out from under the blindfold, but it had been fastened too well and I could make out nothing.

The van was waiting outside and Tiger helped me into the back, before making me lie on my stomach while he crossed my ankles and tied them to my wrist ropes.  I was starting to get a nasty case of déjà vu.  Where were they taking me this time, I wondered fearfully?

The ride was perhaps half an hour, maybe less, before the van slowed and stopped with a crunching of gravel.  There came the sound of voices talking in Cantonese, but neither Tiger, who shared the back with me, nor whoever was driving, made any effort to get out.  At length the voices went away and Tiger removed my blindfold before opening the rear doors and undoing my ankles.  He helped me exit from the vehicle, wrapping a blue hooded jacket around my shoulders and pulling the hood over my head.  I presumed this would disguise me from a casual observer who might otherwise wonder what a bound and gagged blonde girl was doing in this part of town. 

But there was nobody else within a hundred metres of where we now were, parked at a small concrete jetty on what seemed to be a long inlet.  The road stopped here, but across the water I could see more land, topped by a steep mountain.  I looked at the sun.  It was very early and I worked out which direction was east. The inlet seemed to run roughly east/west. 

Moored at the jetty was a large launch, evidently there for our benefit.  The hull was polished timber with an ornate black dragon about two metres long painted near the bow.  I was busy looking around me when the van started up its engine and drove off, leaving Serina and a load of camera gear, plus Tiger and me to board the launch.  It was at least ten or twelve metres long with a full cabin and covered deck area at the rear.  This was no ordinary boat but someone’s personal launch, I reckoned.  There was money here – probably the same money that had paid for two nights at the Furama for Jill and me, I decided, wondering as I did so what had become of our luggage – and ourselves, for that matter, as far as the hotel staff were concerned.  No doubt the powers that had paid our bill had also put together a very plausible story as to our suddenness in vacating the place.

A thought struck me.  Emma!  What had happened to her?  What was she doing now?  She must be panic-stricken!  She must have phoned Monica.  I could imagine all hell breaking loose at Bilboes.  I felt guilty now, so preoccupied had I been with my own plight that I had never considered how devastated Emma must be at losing Jill and myself.  But thank God she was at least there to start some sort of search.  Imagine if we had come here by ourselves…  And in fact that had been the original plan, I recalled.  It was at Emma’s suggestion – admittedly with a personal motive for such – that Monica had agreed to send her along, for in fact our benefactor’s funding had only covered the air fares and accommodation for Jill and I.  Emma had paid for her own economy fare, which Monica had generously bumped up to business class.  So where was Em now? 

The thought gave me hope as Tiger helped me step on to the polished timber of the launch, with Serina doing her video record of events. Tiger led me downstairs into the main cabin, past a surly looking man dressed in singlet and grubby trousers who was presumably the captain.  Serina followed with the camera. 

Down in the cabin Tiger lifted the hinged lid of one of the built-in seats that ran along each side of the room.  It revealed a narrow storage space with a few life jackets dumped inside.  It took but a moment to remove a few of these, at which point I was dragged to the seat and made to climb inside, protesting and shaking my head.  Tiger made me kneel on a lifejacket then laid me down on my face, quickly knotting a rope around my ankles before dropping the seat and leaving me in darkness. 

The smell of salt and stale bilge water was unpleasant.  I could hear the sea slapping against the hull right next to my head, and the occasional bumping of fenders against the jetty.  There came the sound of what I took to be luggage coming aboard, then we were underway, the engine throbbing into life and sounding loud in this enclosed sight. 

In my dark confinement I became further depressed and fearful of where I might be going.  Was this the normal route to the mainland, to avoid formalities at whatever passed for a border these days, between China proper and the Hong Kong Special Autonomous Region?  I had no idea. 

We had hardly travelled for a couple of minutes before the lid lifted again and light flooded my tight compartment.  Tiger hauled me bodily from the compartment, lowered the lid and sat me on it, before removing the ball from my mouth.

“Stay there and be quiet,” he warned.  “Any noise, any problem from you and I’ll throw you back under the seat for the trip.  Understand?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. 

After a couple of minutes I managed to worm my way into a kneeling position on the seat and looked out the window.  We were travelling only a couple of hundred metres off the shore, which was bush-covered and rocky.  I toyed with the idea of diving overboard and swimming to shore.  Moments later I toyed with the idea of drowning with my hands and feet tied, and decided that anything would offer more hope than that.

We travelled for perhaps half an hour, eventually rounding a steep headland and sailing north past a series of small inlets.  Then came the sound of the engine revs being reduced and we slowed to a crawl, turning into a narrow cove, at the end of which was a white sandy beach.  The boat came to a halt just short of the beach, dropping anchor and swinging round to face the open sea again.  Tiger appeared and untied my ankles, and gestured to follow him up on deck. 

Serina, today wearing a short black sleeveless dress was getting her camera gear together at the stern.  Tiger sat me on a bench and watched as Serina climbed down a ladder into water that I guessed was probably waist deep.  It proved slightly deeper and the girl yelped as the water lapped at her breasts.  Tiger clambered on to the rear platform and handed her a camera case, which she carried to shore.  She made this trip several times with the rest of the gear, then, pausing only to give herself a brief towelling, she set up the video camera on its tripod and shouted to Tiger. 

He motioned to me.  “Time for your swim,” he said with a grin.  It was the first time I had seen him smile.

I stood up and he helped me over the rail on to the platform at the back.  I stood for a moment.

“Well?” he asked.

“”Aren’t you going to untie my hands?” 

He chuckled.  “Stupid girl,” he said, and pushed me over the side.

I had barely time to draw breath before the cold water hit me.  At any other time it would have been refreshing in the tropical humidity, but I was unprepared for it.  Panicking because of my bound hands I struggled to surface, before my feet found the bottom and I could lift my head above the surface, spluttering and choking on seawater.

“You bastard!” I yelled at him, but that only provoked more amusement. 

“Get moving,” he ordered.  “We don’t have all day.”

I coughed some more and started wading towards the shore, trying to ignore Serina and the camera following my passage.  My nice boots would now be ruined, I thought illogically. 

Never mind that you’re still a kidnap victim, Leila, that you’re faced with some unknown and potentially very uncomfortable future ahead of you, here you are worrying about your boots.  Idiot!

As I was stumbling out of the water I could not resist poking my tongue out at the camera before I sat down on a large piece of driftwood and raised one leg at a time to get as much water out of my boots as possible. 

Tiger now followed, lowering himself over the stern platform and receiving a large bundle wrapped in black polythene from the captain.  He brought it to shore and returned for a second bundle.

As he deposited this on the sand, Serina spoke to him and pointed to me.

“You still haven’t got it, have you?” he told me.

I stared at him blankly.

“You stupid girl.”  He squatted down in front of me.  “First, you are here to make videos.  We all are.  You have no choice in the matter.  We do.  You will do it one way or the other – easy or hard – for you, that is.  Serina says you poked your tongue at her.  That means we have to edit that bit out.  It costs time and money.  It also means you must be punished.”

I started to protest, and the dreaded ball gag came out of his pocket again.  Serina was filming in close attendance as he forced it behind my teeth and tied it in place, then pulled a two-metre length of light cord from his capacious pocket and loosely knotted it about my neck.  Half-dragging me back to the water’s edge by this cord, he walked in ahead, obviously looking for something.  The water was just over my knees when he stopped and pulled me forward then made me bend over.  I saw under the water a large block of concrete perhaps a half a metre square barely protruding from the sandy bed.  Embedded in this was a heavy iron ring, obviously used for mooring small boats. 

With a simple movement he slipped the free end of the cord through the ring and began to pull, forcing me on to my knees and down into the water, which now lapped just below my face.  At that point he tied the end in another loop around my neck.

“You can stay here and think about your behaviour in future,” he told me.  “I think the tide is going out…  Or am I wrong?”  He appeared to consider the tide levels on nearby rocks.  “No matter.”  Then he waded ashore. 

I struggled to turn around to watch him and squirmed around to find Serina’s camera in my face.  I whined and pleaded until she lowered it and smiled gloatingly at me, before turning and joining Tiger on the beach.  As she did so there was the sound of the launch’s engine starting up and the anchor rattling in.  Serina took a parting shot of me with the boat disappearing out of the cove behind me.  Arty bitch, I thought angrily, just before a small wave from the boat’s wash slapped into my face, causing me to snort and splutter through my nose.

By the time I was breathing normally again the boat was gone and Serina and Tiger were disappearing up a trail between trees leading away from the beach, leaving me alone in the deserted cove.

*   *   *

The water was almost lukewarm as I knelt there, wondering how long I was going to have to endure this punishment.  I had heard many things about the ingenuity and subtlety of Asian bondage and associated punishments.  I thought of the famous Chinese water torture as the epitome of such a torment, remembering that Monica and Steven had once tried it out on Emma with devastating effect.  I wondered whether my present predicament was a spontaneous thing on Tiger’s part or whether other unfortunates had been here before me…

It was hard to tell what the tide was doing on a minute-by-minute basis, but after several gentle slops against the rubber ball in my mouth I had the nasty feeling that it was on the rise.  I tested my bonds, discovering – surprise – that it did not take much to unpleasantly tighten the thin cord about my neck.  I squatted, then finally sat down, pulling the cord between my legs and against my stomach, making the hem of my dress rise above my crotch.  It could almost have been a turn on had the water not been up to my chin at that point. 

I watched the beach, waiting for Tiger to come back.  There was one bundle and one case still to be carried up.  When he did return, however, he barely glanced in my direction before picking up the remaining baggage and disappearing up the track.  I began to panic again, mmphing as hard as I could but to no effect.

The water continued to rise.  With another twenty minutes it was nearing the level of my nose and I was starting to make keening sounds to myself.  Desperately I considered the level of my nose relative to the water, concluding that I had only one option left, and that was to work the knots on the cord around to the back of my neck.  That way I would gain a precious few centimetres and have my nose able to stick out above the water by lying on my back.

It was an awkward process, and several times I got a nose full of water.  It was the reason why we rarely practiced such things in the pool at Bilboes, except under the most rigorous supervision.  Finally I managed it, grateful that Tiger had not used slipknots on the neck cords.  In this position I could lean back on my hands, tilting my head to keep my nose clear.  It was hard on my neck, but I had no choice.  The water continued to rise and I abruptly found the lower half of my body floating.  Now I was getting really scared, taking shallow breaths in order not to inhale too much water if by any chance I got caught.  But even floating on my back I knew I could only survive until the rope grew fully taut and finally held me under for one wave too many.

When I finally felt the fingers undo the cord I was nearly hysterical with relief, sobbing and panting on the verge of hyperventilating.  Tiger pulled the gag from my mouth and let the sobs rack my body as I cried and told him how sorry I was.  I vowed to be good and do as I was told in a plea verging on hysteria.  Tiger ignored me – I guess he had made his point.  He pushed me ahead of him, beaten and humiliated. 

I began the walk up the pathway away from the beach, my feet squelching in my boots and water dripping from my sodden dress.  With my wrists bound I could not even push some of my hair out of my eyes.  I was starting to tremble from the shock of what I had been through and it was all I could do to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.  Tiger’s soft footfalls followed closely behind me.

Despite the heat of the morning sun it was cool and would have been pleasant under the low canopy of trees in other circumstances. The path continued to rise, changing from sand to a leaf-strewn beaten earth track.  We walked for perhaps ten minutes before we came to a clearing where a small cluster of houses lined one side of the path with an open grassy area on the opposite side.  Here the land dropped away so that the sea was visible.  In the distance I could see a rugged mountainous skyline some miles away across the sparkling waters.  In the middle of the grassy space were three single poles of varying heights, about the thickness of my thigh.  Off to one side were two poles with a beam on top, looking like some poor copy of Stonehenge, or a bizarre sculpture. 

Serina was there, with her video camera set up, getting a shot of the prisoner being marched into the clearing.  Tiger told me to stop.  I did so, careful to ignore Serina and her equipment.  My acting skills were now appropriately enhanced such that I did not need any further motivation.   I did not need another near drowning to facilitate my learning skills.

I looked at the houses.  There were six of them, all with common walls like the old terraced houses of inner city Australia.  These houses were made of black brick and had that elegant hint of a curve in the roof slope that was distinctly Chinese.  They also looked about a hundred years old and were falling into disrepair in a fairly major way, save for two, which looked as though a reasonable attempt had been made at renovation.  There were overgrown gardens in front of each one except for the repaired couple, one of which had a clean and tidy open space with a plastic table and chairs, while the one next to it contained a neat vegetable garden.

“This is your new home,” said Tiger.

Leila's Story Part Four
I was locked in the third house – the one next to the two renovated ones.  It was small – a single room with a beaten earth floor and boarded up windows front and back.  In the centre of the room was a post supporting a beam which formed the ridgeline above.  Tiger locked a black leather collar around my throat and attached a chain that had its other end locked to the post.  Here I stayed for an hour after my arrival, grateful that at last my wrists had been untied, listening to the singsong chatter of voices outside.  I recognised Tiger’s and Serina’s but there was a third voice I had not heard before – another female.  My curiosity was answered with the arrival of lunch, brought by a girl who I guessed at being aged about nineteen or twenty.

She entered shyly, wearing a shapeless tunic and a long skirt of bright patterns.  She put down a bowl of noodles and a bottle of water in front of me and handed me a pair of chopsticks with a faint inclination of her head.

“Do you speak English?” I asked quietly.

She cast a glance over her shoulder.  “A little,” she said.

“Where is this place?  Where am I?  Is this still Hong Kong?”

She looked at me strangely, like I was mad.  “Of course.  This is Ko Shing.  Fishing village.”

“Evidently not any more,” I said.  “How many people live here?”

“Just me. I keep for Mr Wong.”

“Who is Mr Wong?”

“You come on his boat.” 

At that moment there was a shout from Tiger somewhere outside.  The girl stood up in a hurry and made for the door.

“Wait!” I called.  “What’s your name?”

“Kuan,” she said, then was gone, the door now closed behind her and me left in the semi-darkness lit only by a few thin beams of sunlight through the boarded windows and the loose tiles.

*   *   *

It was early afternoon when they came for me again.  Tiger made me take off my dress and lie face down on the faded foam mattress that came with the room.  I was positioned facing the door so that as Tiger straddled my thighs Serina was able to get the best light for her photos. 

Tiger held my hands behind my back, but rather than palm to palm, they were placed back to back.  I wondered what was coming and was dismayed as he tied first my thumbs together and then my little fingers, using thin sashcord probably only a little thicker than a matchstick.

“There,” he said, tugging the last knot and indicating for me to get to my feet.  The pull on my arms was unfamiliar and somehow unnatural.

“It hurts!” I complained as my thumbs and little fingers took the strain.  “Ow!” I cried as he gripped me by the arm and pushed me outside.  I was astonished at the tension that was placed on each arm through having to twist them round until the backs of the hands touched and my tied thumbs stuck out behind me.

Tiger towed me across the path to the grassy space overlooking the sea, where the three posts stood ominously in a triangle about three metres on a side.  There was a tall post, perhaps three metres high, one about half that and one perhaps waist height.  I was protesting volubly against those nasty bindings on my thumbs in particular and pointedly ignoring Serina and her video camera, when Tiger halted by the middle post and slapped me hard on the cheek, saying something that might have been swearing or some form of abuse in Cantonese.  I was shocked and shut up abruptly, staring at him in disbelief.  Up until now he had behaved tolerably well.  Was this acting for the benefit of the cameras?

He pushed me face first against the post, the top of which stopped slightly below my chin. 

“You are about to learn about minimal tying,” he said casually, his tone suddenly different.  “You don’t always need a lot of rope.  Serina!”  Serina appeared close within my field of vision and focussed on my head as Tiger moved behind me.  A moment later a short piece of bamboo appeared in front of me, with heavy white sashcord wrapped around it for most of its length with a short tail hanging off each end. 

“Open up,” ordered Tiger.  I did so, and the rope-covered section of the bamboo was wedged behind my teeth like a bridle, with the ends of the rope then tied behind my neck.  I rolled my eyes and gurgled plaintively at Tiger when he reappeared in my field of vision.  He smiled, then fondled my right breast as it nuzzled the side of the post.  He said something to Serina who stopped filming and handed her camera to Tiger, before coming and standing on the opposite side of the post to me.

She looked me in the eye and it was not a look I found comforting.  A sudden pain in my nipples made me yelp into the bamboo gag as her slim fingers caught hold of each tender nub and squeezed them hard.  I tried to draw away but she held on.

“Don’t fight it, Leila,” she whispered to me.  “It will only be worse.  Just relax.”  Reluctantly I did so, and the pressure of her fingers eased.  They began to stroke and caress, and she lowered her head to each to lick and suck them into erectness. I closed my eyes, momentarily savouring the tingling warmth that she induced.  Then her lips were gone and she was back on the camera, in close as Tiger took her place.  I watched a strange fascination as he wrapped several turns of the thin cord about my erect right nipple and tied it off tightly.  I winced from the sudden sharp pain, but this eased moments later.  Tiger tied off the cord leaving perhaps half a metre as a tail.  Then the left breast received the same treatment.  I had a nasty suspicion where this was going – a suspicion that was confirmed when he then tugged hard on each tail and tied the two together on the opposite side of the post.

I thought he was finished at this point until I felt a rope being tied around my right ankle and taken around the post to be tied to the left one.  As he did so, Tiger pulled my feet imperceptibly forward on either side of the post, until I was on the point of almost falling backwards.  He tied off the left ankle at that point and stepped back to view his handiwork.  Evidently satisfied, he turned away and walked back to the houses.

Serina grinned at me and picked up her Canon to begin shooting some stills.  After only five minutes I was starting to feel very uncomfortable, held as I was against the post by the taut string on my nipples.  The slightest leaning backward put a painful tension on the string, and with my feet unable to move backward the only way I could counter it was to resist by stiffening my back.  But I could not keep this up for long, and ended up gripping the post with my thighs and knees.

My hands and arms were useless.  The twist imparted in the latter by the contorted finger bondage was transferred up to my shoulders which began to ache.  The slightest movement imparted more loading into the bonds on my thumbs in particular.  It was easy to see how a few pieces of string were sufficient to totally immobilise a person.

The three posts were in the shade of a large banyan tree with cascading roots.  Despite not being in the direct sun, I had broken out into a sweat, runnels of which ran down my back and breasts.  In desperation I lowered my body a few centimetres by bending my knees, so that my chin rested on the top of the post.  This afforded me some more purchase with my chin and allowed my legs to better grip the post, but the downside was a stiff neck and quivering thighs with the strain on my bent legs.

Serina was intent on her craft and shot off a roll of film in quick time, with close ups and presumably more arty photos picking up the surroundings for a bit of atmosphere.  As the Bilboes’ photographer, I could appreciate what she was attempting to achieve from an artistic point of view, but that made the pain of being the subject no less intense.

Serina could not resist plucking the nipple strings as she circled me like a cat eying a helpless mouse.  I felt her fingernails on my back and buttocks as she tried to distract me into a lapse of concentration.  I closed my eyes and moaned but it made no difference.  When I opened them again she had walked off to the house. 

I tried to steel myself by counting in small periods of thirty seconds, determined just to make it to the end of that time, then setting out on the next one.  But I could not sustain it, not with the unknown total punishment time stretching out ahead of me.  From the corner of my eye I could see my captors talking, then Serina wandered over again clearly enjoying herself to the full. 

Right about then I knew my neck and thighs could not take any more and I had to straighten up.  I did so very slowly and carefully, but I could not help myself slowly tilt backwards as the upper part of my body gently tilted away from the post, like a tree falling.  I only moved a few centimetres but it as enough for my centre of gravity to go beyond the envelope able to be wholly supported by my feet.

I screamed into my gag as the load came on to my nipples.  I guess my eyes widened and I know my breath came in hoarse pants, interspersed with agonised moans.  Serina was clicking for all she was worth, then came behind me to push me up against the post again.  I was so grateful as the tension eased on my nipples.  I was sobbing and clutching at the post with my trembling thighs, for I had found that once I had fallen back I could not tilt myself upright again without external help.  It was a shocking discovery and a possible indication of what lay ahead for me.

Serina set the video camera on its tripod and started it on automatic before deciding to get a piece of the action as well.  Breaking off a green twig from a nearby bush she trimmed it of its leaves and flicked it at my buttocks.

“Urrgh!” I gasped, around the piece of bamboo in my jaws.  Another flick.  Her intent was quite obvious – she was out to break my concentration again and have me lean backwards again for the benefit of the video.  There was no way I could resist this, and with the sixth or seventh flick I made the mistake of trying to protect my painfully exposed cheeks with my hands.  The pain in my fingers and thumbs was abruptly overtaken by that in my poor nipples again as the load came on them and stretched them agonisingly.  I wailed as much as I could until Serina finally decided her artistic instincts were satisfied and she pushed me upright again.  Tears were streaming down my face and I was wondering how much of this torture I would have to endure. 

That’s when she stooped to undo the rope about my left ankle, allowing me to move my feet back and lean against the post, gasping and moaning in relief.

“That was very good, Leila,” she crooned in my ear.  “Now I want you to make love to the post for me.”


“It’s very simple,” she said.  “I put this inside you, and you make love to the post.” I cast a wild glance at her. She held a slim chrome dildo in her hand.  “If it falls out, you have another hour here.  If I get good footage we will see about some relief for you.  Understand?”  I groaned but conceded I had no choice in the matter.  As long as she didn’t tie my ankles again.

I felt the smooth form of the dildo slide inside me and her fingers caress my labia.  There was no lack of lubrication – all sweat, I told myself unconvincingly.  The presence of the intruder was highlighted by the need to keep my legs closed, but at the same time by the need rub up against the post, like a dog in heat on a human leg.  God, this was so degrading.  It was another point on the list of retributions I was saving for Miss Serina Ng.

The presence of the dildo made it at least easier to create some form of arousal, I thought, but only after I had started to gently grind against the post did I realise what the nipple treatment must have done to me.  They were painfully sore but the speed at which my loins began to go squishy was unexpected.  It was another example of what Monica had told me – that I was an unconscious pain slut.  I felt myself blush and knew I could never admit this to anyone. 

The damned intruder began to work its magic, fuelled by more than just sweat now.  I felt my breath becoming faster, and stole a look towards the houses where I saw Kuan watching me from the doorway.  That was almost more embarrassing that anything to date, for Kuan’s simplicity seemed to me to be out of place amongst what were evidently not the first goings on of this type here.  The poles looked too new and too planned, as did the refurb of the two end houses.  But in the brief few words I had shared with her, I got the impression that Kuan was smart.  I did not know where she came from, but the fact that she spoke passable English was to her credit in such an isolated spot.  I wondered if I had an ally here…

My brief reverie was interrupted by a wave of exquisite sensations that washed up from my crotch.  I groaned into my gag, closing my eyes and trying not to tug unnecessarily on the nipple string.  I was aware of Serina and the video camera, now circling again, but I closed my eyes rather than look at her.  Yes I was being a complete slut, but I couldn’t help myself now – things were getting too intense down below.  Almost without warning the climax surged over me and I ground my pussy into the post, grunting furiously and panting through my nose as the fuzzies rushed through my body.  I’m sure Serina loved the footage but I was beyond caring at that stage.

I finally came down to earth and rested my chin on the post, still panting noisily and grinding my teeth into the rope around the bamboo bridle.  Serina clapped her hands delightedly and I treated her to a baleful glare.  She slipped her fingers between my pussy lips and removed the dildo, catching my eye and smiling as she ran her finger along the metal surface now shiny and slick with my juices.  Tiger had meanwhile roused himself from where he sat at the table reading a newspaper and ambled across to consult with the photographer.  There was some animated conversation and gesturing then Tiger came over to undo the two strings securing my breasts to the post.

Without a word he made me follow him.  Words were not really necessary as he still held the strings in his hand, and I was very motivated under such circumstances.  He led me to the shortest of the posts and motioned me to kneel against it.  I whined my unhappiness which he ignored while he pulled my boots off and tossed them aside.  More of the terrible narrow cord appeared from his pocket as he made me snuggle up against the post.  One piece of cord was tied to the big toe of my right foot, wound up and around my left side and tied to the cord from my right nipple.  A second piece of cord secured the left toe to the left nipple via the opposite route.  I was now in a position that I could not move up or back.  Simple, and very, very effective.

The post, like the previous one, came just up to my chin in this position.  It was also in the direct sun and I knew I would be roasted if I had to stay there for long.  I motioned my head in the direction of the sun and whined again.  Tiger appeared to ignore me and disappeared into the house while Serina said how lovely I looked and proceeded to run off another roll, exhorting me to look distressed, which I thought was somewhat uncalled for.

Tiger reappeared five minutes later with a large sheet of black plastic which he draped over me like a tent, pinning the corners to the ground with weights or nails or spikes – I couldn’t tell which.  So much for getting fried in the sun.  Instead I was going to get steamed.

*   *   *

I spent the rest of the afternoon like that.  The sweat rang off me and I became very thirsty.  I chewed on the rope around the bamboo gag in frustration, and after several hours my jaw was aching terribly.  It did not stretch my mouth as wide as some gags I had experienced, but I had rarely experienced one for so long.  After a while my legs began to cramp as I tried to shift my weight from one to the other, and each time my drowsiness was banished by the pain in my nipples and toes as the cord tugged at them.  And all the while my thumbs and little fingers throbbed from the wicked strictures binding them.

I became conscious of the cooler temperatures as the sun must have dipped behind the banyan tree and the stifling heat under my black tent lessened.  Eventually there came the long-awaited footfalls and a rustling as the plastic sheet was unpegged and I was exposed to the world again.  I must have looked a total wreck.  It was Serina – time for more photos. Yes, this is what a well-done captive looks like after a few hours of steaming.  Just place on platter with some garnish and serve.  Here’s one I prepared earlier…

Tiger reappeared shortly after with my neck chain which he locked on my collar before cutting the string from my nipples and toes and fingers.  Fortunately he left the gag until last, for I made major complaints as the bindings were removed from my swollen extremities.  In fact he left the gag in until he had taken me back to my cell, although this time chaining me to the door frame, where there was a gap between it and the ancient brick wall.  He left me then, allowing me to undo the bamboo with its saliva-soaked rope and to slowly work my jaw back and forth. My mouth was dry and tasted horrible, with the corners of it rough and raw where the rope had been tight against the skin.  My thumbs, little fingers and toes were all swollen and tender, but seemed to function still.  It was such a relief to be able to move again.  And as for my nipples, despite everything and even though they were so tender and sore I could barely touch them, no serious damage appeared to have been done.

I sat on the doorstep, naked except for the collar, my arms clasped around my knees, watching the shadows creep over the little village.  Kuan appeared with some food and water, which I drank rapidly and asked for some more.  I also asked her to bring me my dress, which was inside the room, beyond the reach of my chain.  She did so, and gratefully I put it on.  Not that I was cold, for the air was still stifling and muggy, but it made me feel human again.

When she returned with more water she also brought my red boots, picked up from where Tiger had left them beside the smallest post.  While there was no need to, I put them on, simply because they represented a contact with reality, and in the hope that they might discourage Tiger and Serina from tying my toes again.  The pair had disappeared inside the end house, and I thought I could hear cries coming from there.  I listened, and there was no doubt what was going on as the sound carried on the still evening air.  So Serina and Tiger were lovers… I wondered how that fitted in with the big scheme of things within whatever organisation they worked for…

I motioned Kuan to sit on the step beside me.  She looked apprehensive, but the sounds coming from the end house suggested that there was obviously no danger of interruption by Serina and Tiger.

“How long have you lived here?”  I asked Kuan.

“About a year,” she answered nervously.  She was pretty, I thought – she had got the better side of the Chinese genes, and obviously hadn’t been exposed to the McDonalds and the bright lights of Kowloon.  Her hair, shiny and unadorned, hung down below the small mounds of her breasts.  There was nothing pretentious about Kuan, I decided.

“You like it here?”  She shrugged.  “You are always by yourself?”

“Most of the time.  Sometimes Tiger and Serina and others come.”


“Like you – but Chinese.”

“Prisoners?  Chained up?”


“How long do they stay here?”

“Sometimes a week, sometimes two.”

“Then where do they go?”

“Guangzhou, I think.  Maybe Shenzhen.  Be prostitutes.”

My heart sank at the awful thought.

“Have any other western girls come through here?”

“No.  You are the first.”

Surely they could not do such a thing to me?  Was there much value in a western female?  Would it be worth the trouble? Maybe I was destined for something different… Like what?  I didn’t even dare to think about the possibilities. 

Had I not been in such uncertain and precarious circumstances I could almost have savoured the exoticism of a sunset looking out over the South China Sea – for I presumed that what I saw was a part of that.  It was idyllic and romantic, yet all I could do was sit there and let the tears course silently down my cheeks as I thought of Jill and Steven and Monica and the girls, none of whom I was likely to see ever again…

*   *   *Gromet's Selfbondage & Mummification Plaza
The following morning, after a broken, exhausted sleep interspersed by waking moments of fear, Tiger took me out under the banyan tree again and locked my neck chain to a large exposed root, while he walked with a machete in his hand, in the direction of a nearby clump of bamboo. I watched as he singled out several pieces of varying size and hacked them free. I did not like this bamboo thing at all.  Bamboo was terrifically strong, very flexible and made excellent switches and canes.  In short, it was a Dom’s dream and a Sub’s nightmare.  I had an uncomfortable feeling I was about to see more of Tiger’s ingenuity.

I watched as he rolled two big dead logs to a spot underneath a large bough of the banyan and positioned them about two metres apart, parallel with each other, scraping little hollows in the ground so that they were bedded properly and would not roll about.  With this done he trimmed the largest piece of bamboo and placed it spanning between the logs, so it was about half a metre above the ground.  The bamboo was about as thick as my wrist and quite rigid.  Tiger chopped a small hole in the top surface in the middle, before nailing one end to the log supporting it.  The final piece in the jigsaw appeared to be the driving of two bamboo stakes into the ground, one each side of the centre of the span and about two metres from it. 

By then Serina had appeared with her camera gear and a brown holdall which looked suspiciously like the one I remembered from our capture in the van. This time I was to be gagged with a piece of bamboo again, but differently from the previous day.  Tiger made me open my mouth then stuck his fingers in it to get a measurement. He hacked away at a piece of bamboo with his machete, before finishing off the work with a wicked-looking knife.  He showed me the end product.  It was a short pipe, open at both ends, about the length of my finger.  Halfway down the top and bottom he had carved notches which I knew were for my teeth, and between these was a hole through the centre for a rope.

When he worked it into my mouth I was not at all a happy teddy, as my teeth clicked into the notches and the bamboo was tied into placed.

“How’s that, dear?” asked Serina with a smug grin. “Can you talk?”

“Hwark hrff!” I said unhappily.  I found I could breathe through the pipe and make weird woo-ing noises but nothing that made any sense.  The lower portion of the bit inside my mouth was longer than the top part, and kept my tongue partly depressed.  A bit like the rest of me, I thought. 

I found I could swallow, but only with difficulty.  The worst thing was the hardness of it.  It was not like a rubber ball that you could bite into, for it was unyielding. Even the rope-bound bridle I had experienced the previous day had had some ‘give’ in it.

Tiger and Serina chattered away in Cantonese.  They seemed quite cheerful.  It had obviously been a pleasant night for them.  I supposed it couldn’t be all bad, sent here with your lover to idle away a few days taking photos and doing devious things to a poor helpless female – if you were that way inclined.

“Stand up and take off your dress – and your boots,” Tiger ordered.  I did so, not liking where this was going.  I liked it even less when he delved into the holdall and pulled out a large chrome vibrator, which he jammed into the hole he had made into the top of the bamboo beam.  Now I saw it all.  This was going to be like riding the plank as we had done in Monica’s dungeon.  Except that what puzzled me was why it was so low, and not adjustable.

Serina spat on the vibrator, caressing it with her saliva in a way that was at once sensual and ominous.  Tiger unlocked the chain from my collar.

 “Get on!” said Tiger to me, pointing to the silver prong.  It was not as big as some I had experienced, nor as knobbly, but it was sizeable, nevertheless.  I tried to ignore Serina’s in-your-face camera technique as I stood over the beast and slowly eased myself down on to it.  I was unable to help myself groaning as it entered me and seemed to keep filling me, until abruptly, to my relief, my knees were on the ground.

It took a moment or two to get accustomed to the thing, and I could not help making groaning noises through the bamboo tube.  Serina loved the sound effects but I was not doing them for her benefit.  Tiger made me hold out my hands one at a time and this time it was string around my thumb and forefinger, binding the two together like the Buddhist meditation pose.  More noises of pleading through the pipe – I just couldn’t help myself, for my thumbs and little fingers were still sore and stiff from the previous day. 

Of course it made not the slightest difference, and I should have seen the ties to the two stakes coming, so that my arms were pulled outwards and downwards and I could neither have climbed off nor fallen off that bamboo pole.  If I was miserable at that point, it was nothing to the pain and wretchedness I was about to feel, as Tiger sat astride the pole in front of me and lifted my legs upwards, first straightening them out, then bending them so that the soles were flat against each other, resting on top of the pole.  Unwisely I struggled at this point, for I saw, with my legs spread like that I was left extraordinarily vulnerable.  Having had my kneeling support removed, my full weight was on my crotch and I had been forced another couple of centimetres on to the invader in my pussy.

But it was to get worse, much worse.  As the video zoomed in for a close-up, Tiger tied each toe on my right foot to the corresponding one on the left, interlacing the fine cords between them before knotting it all securely.  I whooped and protested and shook my head, all of which Serina captured in great detail, I’m sure.  Tiger stood up at that point and I realised the awful position I was in.  My legs were almost horizontal, with the feet sole to sole.  I could not raise them from this position, which strained my hips and the bonds on my toes.  Nor could I bring them closer to my body of stretch them further out.  My legs were spread wide leaving my sex exposed and impaled on the vibrator.  Tiger finished by tightening the cords securing my fingers to the stakes, since they had become a touch looser as my weight had gone fully on the pole.  This pulled my thumb and forefinger into the same line as my arm, putting further tension into my forearms in particular.  I was sure in Serina’s photos it would all be very Zen.

When Serina had finished with the still shots, she consulted with Tiger.  I was starting to get a picture of who was really running this show.  Tiger’s response was to stand behind me and put his foot on the pole, then start to make it flex. Up and down.  Oh God, I groaned, and my protests went up an octave as I began to slide on the prong, at the same time as the tension came on all the thin cord ties.  He kept it up for perhaps ten minutes, but evidently my noisiness was not to his liking, for he pulled a scrap of rag from the holdall and stuffed it tightly into my bamboo gag, stifling my wailings.

The friction in my loins was beginning to mount and there was nothing I could do about it.  I knew I was going to climax and could not fight off the rising arousal from my crotch, despite the fact that my whole weight was seated on the bamboo pole.  The motion of my body was irresistible and before I knew it I was gritting my teeth and screwing my eyes shut as the climax washed over me.  I swore and abused my captors for this was not what I wanted, not how I wished to come, but my verbal assault came out as a series of moans and muffled pantings.

They left me to come down at that point, but the theme for the day had been set.  I endured further torments that brought me to a climax with the vibrator buzzing harshly in my loins.  Tiger produced a pair of chopsticks with rubber bands wrapped tightly around each end.  He pulled apart the sticks to let them spring back on a nipple while I wailed and pleaded for the biting pain to be removed.  This he did, some ten minutes later, shifting the chopsticks on to the other nipple.  In this way the makeshift jaws were alternated from one breast to the other, fastening on to the bruised flesh with renewed energy each time, causing fresh biting pain.  After an hour of this, with tears streaming down my face, the sticks were removed and my captors induced another orgasm out of me.

At length my fingers were untied and the pair lifted me off that terrible pole, depositing me, toes still bound, on the grass.  Perhaps to match the toe binding, my hands were placed palm to palm in front of me and my fingers bound in similar manner to my toes.  That’s when my gag was finally removed and I was left sobbing quietly under the banyan tree.  Kuan appeared with a bowl of noodles and a bottle of water, but with my fingers tied I found it almost impossible to manipulate the bowl and the bottle.  With my legs bound wide apart I could not even use my knees or thighs to grip the bottle to undo the top.  I cried some more, in rage, frustration and hunger at being unable to get at this food.

My captors thought it a huge joke, and Serina returned, demanding that I repeat my efforts for the camera.  Humiliated, I did so, with the same results.  Satisfied, Serina returned to the house with her cameras, and it was only half an hour later that Kuan appeared and fed me herself, obviously with the permission of Tiger and Serina.  While I was being fed, my captors came out of the house and disappeared down the path toward the beach where I had arrived. 

“Kuan, can you untie my fingers?”  I had to take a chance on this.  “Will you?”

Kuan looked distressed. “No, I’m sorry… I must not…”

“Please!  Help me!” I pleaded.  “Help me escape!  Come with me!”

“No – you do not understand.”

“What?”  I asked desperately.  “Why can’t you help me?”

“My twin sister… She works for Mr Wong in another place like this… If we do anything wrong, the other will be punished.  You know what Triads are?  Tiger is part of the Black Dragon Triad.  They will chop me if I cause trouble.  My sister, Weiwei - I do not know where she is, but sometimes I am allowed to talk to her by phone…  I am sorry…” She hung her head.

I was silent.  Mr Wong seemed to have every avenue covered.  Kuan could not be expected to risk possibly her life and that of her sister for a westerner whom she hardly knew.  My only hope had fluttered and died with barely a chance at fruition.  My torment now seemed to stretch out hopelessly into the distance…

*   *   *
Only Tiger returned from the beach later that afternoon.  I suspected Serina had gone to the city, maybe to develop her photos or for some even more devious purpose that I did not want to think about.

That evening, chained by the neck to the doorpost, I saw no sunset.  Instead the dark clouds that presaged a severe storm were rolling across the sky in a metaphor of my life.

“Typhoon coming!” whispered Kuan from next door. 

I wondered if things could get any worse.


Monica's Quest continues in Chapter Four
All comments welcome at
© 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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