Gromet's Plaza Richard Alexander Stories
Monica's Revenge
by Richard Alexander
bilboes1@hotmail.com
© 2002 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission.
storycodes: MF/mf; bondage; bdsm; cons/nc; XXX
Monica’s Revenge Book 3 of the Monica Chronicles by Richard Alexander
Monica's Revenge: 11. Full Circle by Richard Alexander MF/mf; bondage; bdsm; cons/nc; XXX
Chapter Eleven: Full Circle

As I rested my head on Monica’s back I noticed for the first time that my wheelbarrow had been placed, upturned, on the ground nearby.  Not only that, it had been raised on two courses of stacked concrete blocks and had had the wheel removed.  Somebody was planning something.

Perhaps an hour later when it was almost dark, I was untied and extracted from Monica by Megan.  This time she took pity on my tortured nipples, which by now were screaming in protest from the enforced loads on them. My cramping arms were let down behind me and bound together palm to palm.  In contrast to the position up high this was luxury indeed.  I was taken up on to the verandah and made to kneel at the foot of Madam Wong’s chair, where she decided to use me as a convenient footstool as she settled back to watch the floorshow.  The long heels of her boots dug into my spine and the back of my ribs as she made herself comfortable in a director’s chair.  How appropriate.  Any ideas I might get about sitting up to watch the goings-on were negated by two walnut-sized weights on short wires which hooked through the padlocks on my nipples.  Kneeling down fully, the weights rested on my thighs.  Sitting up was definitely not encouraged,

I was half-facing the back lawn, giving me a good view of what was going on.  No doubt this was part of her plan, for there is nothing like lowering a slave’s spirit by making him watch the fate befalling those nearest and dearest to him.

Monica was evidently to be the object of the next torture.  She had sounded really wrung out before.  There are some things you can tell even by the grunting through a gag, and Monica was being seriously worn down.  Her wrists were removed from the pillory holes and I saw the deep indentations where the edges had cut into her, even with my rounding of the holes and covering the timber in padding.  I was angry at this for the device was not intended for the position and duration Monica had just experienced.  She straightened up shakily, steadied by Portia and Megan, who then eased her one step backwards.  The big strap-on dildo slipped out of Jill’s rear.  Megan unstrapped it from Monica’s waist and let it fall to the ground. 

She was then strung up like before in a star position between two of the posts, arms stretched outwards and upwards, with ankles pulled wider than the previous time, and attached by ropes to the same posts.  This was putting a far greater strain on her than before, particularly the inside of the thighs.  I looked at her body language.  Her head was down, her face shielded by the fall of black hair now almost touching her breasts with their shiny padlocks, still trailing the cords that had held her in position on top of Jill.  I suspected neither had been given much to eat and drink during the day.

My professional interest piqued, in a sort of morbid way, as Portia and Megan did some fine turning of the upside down wheelbarrow position.  It was about two metres in front of Monica, the handles pointing towards her.  Megan disappeared, only to return with a five-metre length of four by two with a hole through it at roughly the halfway point.  Through the hole went the axle of the wheel, from which the wheel itself had been removed.  I realised Monica was going to be on the end of a big seesaw, with one end positioned to rise between her widely stretched legs. 

It was apparent that somebody had been working on this device during the day, for Portia now attached two dildos on the upper side of the end between Monica’s legs.  They were enormous – larger than anything in our arsenal, I was sure, given the experiences I had had in constructing various items of moderate torture as directed.  Portia lifted the end of the beam a couple of times and checked the position of the impaling items against Monica’s front and back passages.  Monica tried to wriggle but could move very little.

Satisfied that the dildos were in position, Portia picked up two ten-gallon plastic jerry cans which were tied together at the handle with a short length of rope, allowing the containers to hang from the end closest to us.  My God, they were going to fill them with water!  I did a quick calculation.  Twenty gallons was 160 pints, which was…about 100 litres, which was 100 kilos!  It was like a heavy guy sitting on the end of the beam forcing the two prongs up inside her!  I couldn’t believe how this whole thing was going.  Monica was in real danger of getting seriously injured, and I could do nothing about it, with my hands bound and a prong up my own arse that could be activated at the touch of a button.  Shitshitshit!

There was a tap just below the verandah and Portia took the end of the hose attached to this and put it inside one of the containers before turning on the water.  She steadied the beam as the weight slowly came on sufficiently for the big dildos to nuzzle firmly into Monica’s holes.  Satisfied, Portia turned off the water and smiled up at Madam Wong.  It was the smile of a dog about to bite. Madam Wong made some presumed derogatory comment in Cantonese which I could not fathom.

Megan and Portia turned to Jillian, still trapped head down in the pillory.  How her muscles must have been crying out during the long day of enforced stillness with Monica leaning on her and impaling her from behind.  I noticed she still wore the weights clipped to her still-bound breasts.  These people were inhuman!  Nobody on the Bilboes staff would inflict that for more than an hour on someone!  Well, maybe Mary if she was in a bad mood, but not all day! But then we came back to the motivation, and repeat custom was not on the agenda for today, while sweet revenge was.

As the upper bar was lifted, Jill freed her hands and stood up with a muffled groan of pain, her hands cupping the dangling weights, at last able to take the dreadful load off her nipples.  Her back and neck were a red colour in the rough outline of Monica’s silhouette, and would be very sore in the morning.  She was crying and barely aware of what was being done to her.  Megan pulled the clips from the nipples in a smooth motion that brought a stifled shriek of agony from Jill’s gagged lips.  Megan held Jill’s wrists while Portia bound them palm to palm behind Jill’s back.  This done,  Portia lowered the planks in the pillory so that the top was slightly above knee height, before fetching a round pole about a metre long and the thickness of one’s wrist.  This latter point was important, for I saw that the pole just fitted through one of the outer wrist holes between the planks when they were locked together.  I also saw that on each end of the pole were eyebolts.  Jill was made to straddle the plank facing the horizontal pole.  Megan grabbed Jill’s right ankle and jerked it up and out, lashing it to the eyebolt at the right hand end of the pole. 

Jill was crying and pleading now.  She knew she was going to be “riding the horse” in the old traditional sense of medieval torture.  Again, the pillory had not been intended for this and I had not smoothed off the top edges of the plank.  I did not think I could watch this.  Jill’s other ankle was secured by Portia to the pole and she was sitting on the plank edge, her bound hands supporting her to some small extent behind her.  Megan whispered into her ear and took hold of the tail attached to the wrist ropes.  Jill shook her head desperately.  I could hear the pleading mmmphs from behind the gag as the tears streamed down her face.   I couldn’t bear to see her treated in such a way and looked at the floor as there came a muffled wail as I knew her wrists were pulled up behind her and attached to the pillory post, leaving her weight fairly on her pussy on the narrow plank.

The garden lights had been switched on by now, since it was nearly dark.  Portia and Megan were now also sitting down and enjoying the whimpering coming from Jill in the foreground.  I heard the clink of cutlery and glasses and glimpsed Leila’s black-stockinged legs and stilettos as dinner was begun.  I wondered how much of Jill’s torture Emma had seen, and I hoped she wouldn’t do anything silly.  She had to hold her nerve and go through with things as we had sort of planned.  It might be the only chance we would ever get.

How long would the stuff take to work?  Portia got up twice to fill the jerry cans some more.  The first one was now full and she had made a start on the second one, adding water every five minutes.  Monica was groaning with the effort, firstly to resist the ingress of the two huge phalluses, then, realising the inevitable, succumbing and trying to minimise their effect.  It had been no use, of course.  Slowly but surely the pressure had forced the invaders inside and now they had almost been swallowed up.  Monica was shaking her head from the pain and effort in trying to fight the constant pressure that was stretching her front and back.  I reckoned filling the second container had barely started.  Monica let forth a long sob.

I had not even sighted Emma since I had come out of the basement.  The dreadful possibility occurred to me that she might have been caught.  Even now the picture of her suffering some hideous torture in the basement flashed through my mind.  Could things get any worse?

Leila had brought the food to the table when I heard Madam Wong say casually to Portia:

“I think it’s time to fill up the second container now.”  I saw Portia’s slim legs move away from the table and slowly down the steps.  She paused at the bottom, then moved across to the tap under the edge of the verandah.  The hose was already inserted in the top of the jerry can when she turned the tap on. 

“Not too quickly,” Madam Wong called.  “I want her to feel the pressure coming on, screwing her like she screwed me.”  She laughed to herself, triumphant.

I glimpsed Portia again as she started to walk back to the steps.  She stopped and appeared to hold her head.  Madam Wong asked something in Cantonese and Portia seemed to have difficulty in replying.  She took two steps further then faltered and collapsed on to her knees.

“Aiyeeah!” Madam Wong screeched.  “The food’s been drugged – or poisoned!”  She stood up just as Emma and Leila appeared in the door.  Megan rose to her feet at the same time and pandemonium broke over the verandah.  Things happened so fast at that moment I only put it back together later on, with the help of Leila and Emma.

“Chain them up!” Madam Wong shouted to Megan.  “Quickly!”  At that moment one of the pair pressed the remote buttons which saw Emma and Leila drop like stones to the deck as their inserts got the full three second treatment.  I started to rise then got the same dose that left me gasping from the pain inside.  I was still not used to it and hated it with a passion.  The pain also went piercing through my nipples as the weights abruptly took hold and swung back and forth.  I didn’t realise it at the time but the sudden zap inside me and the total distraction caused by rapid events was enough to make Mr Willy finally retreat, despite the presence of the cable ties and their restrictions on blood supply.

Madam Wong clearly had the presence of mind to work out that if we were chained up we would remain helpless as long as we could not reach a key.  Even if she, Portia and Megan were all immobilised, as long as they were out of our reach we would be helpless until they came round again. 

As I flopped about like a fish, my hands bound behind me and snorting desperately for air, Madam Wong grabbed Emma by the hair and dragged her to the chain that was looped round a corner balcony post, to which I had been secured several times, while Megan did the same to Leila.  There was a chorus of curses and muffled screams from all concerned as the two slaves struggled as best they could.  But I became aware that their captors’ movements were slowed.  The abruptness with which she had got to her feet had made Megan pause as though momentarily overcome by dizziness, before she moved to help Madam Wong, who also showed signs of difficulty with her coordination. 

I knew this was to be my only chance.  The drug was working, but I had to remain free long enough for it to work properly.  With the sudden blood rush they were experiencing the drug might act faster, and now they were scrabbling about trying to lock the chain to the collars of the struggling Emma and Leila.

I bolted for the steps but stumbled over somebody’s leg and took a flyer downwards, landing on my shoulder on the grass with a force that nearly winded me and sent excruciating pains through my nipples as the weights swung every which way on the padlocks.  Madam Wong was screaming in Cantonese while Megan staggered back to a chair and collapsed.  The two girls were now locked to the chain and Megan was out of reach.  Madam Wong grabbed for the remote on the table as I staggered to my feet and ran for the rear of the sleeping quarters and the sanctuary of darkness.

There was a momentary pain inside me as my pursuer pressed the button again but the distance was too great to properly set the thing off.  The area was well lit from the glare of the spot lights that had been set up for the post performance the previous evening, and it was not until I was behind the sleeping quarters that I knew I might find some cover in the darkness. 

The one thing I had forgotten was the presence of that damned cable in the ground.  While I had sort of been aware of it, I had overlooked how close it came to the end of the building.  By ‘close’ I mean it was still five metres distant, but I became aware of the sharp tingling starting at my throat even as I hugged the face of the wall.  The pain got worse as I reached the back corner of the building and finally rounded it, able to get some distance between me and the cable. 

Here it was dark and quiet, hidden from the lights on the lawn.  The lawn itself merged into bush and undergrowth, and I sought shelter in this as best I could.  I paused for a moment, trying to catch my breath and still my racing heart.  All I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears and the soft snorting as I tried to get sufficient air intake through my nose. 

I became aware of a movement near the corner of the building and saw a silhouette outlined against the diffused light beyond.  I did not know whether to run or hide at that moment, but it became academic as the pain shot through me again and I could not suppress a grunt of agony, nor prevent myself falling backwards from my squatting position onto my bound hands.

Madam Wong was on to me with a cry of triumph, stumbling through the long grass to seize me by the hair.  Whining with pain I staggered to my feet, but the pain from her grip was almost as bad as that lingering from the butt plug and I found little will to resist as she dragged me back the way I had come.  More pain came at the corner of the building as we came the closest to the buried cable and my neck tingled and burned.  Madam Wong must have realised this as she continued to drag me towards the house, but also close to the cable, while I moaned and whined in pain which seemed to be coming at me from every part of my body.

We emerged on to the lawn.  The scene looked like something out of a bizarre murder movie.  Megan had fallen off her chair on the verandah and lay motionless but beyond the reach of Leila and Emma who were helplessly chained by their steel collars to the balcony post.  A couple of metres away the two figures of Trish and Mary stood, bent double in a severe strappado.  Portia lay on the grass near where Monica was stretched in a star position between two posts, the dildos being forced ever harder into her as the water slowly filled up the jerry can.  The last unmoving figure was Jillian, sitting astride the pillory plank, arms pulled up behind her, bent forward with her ankles stretched and secured to the horizontal pole.  Her distended breasts were discoloured from the tightness of the cords still encircling them.

Madam Wong had been dragging me forward by my hair.  She paused momentarily to take in the aftermath of the escape attempt – at least I thought that was what she was doing.  She stumbled slightly, and I realised that the drug was still taking effect.  Like most Chinese she was not a habitual wine drinker, and had obviously drunk less than the others, but it was nevertheless having an effect.  She appeared to collect herself and began to haul me forward again, presumably looking to chain me to the nearest point – the ground chain that ran the length of the semi-circle of posts.  There were numerous open padlocks along this where our ankles had been locked, and I knew all hope was gone once I succumbed to this possibility.

My body was in turmoil from the pain seemingly coming from everywhere at once – hair, nipples, neck, butt, you name it.  I braced myself and tried to resist her, in the manner of a mule resisting its master.  I tried to lower my centre of gravity, fighting her manoeuvrability with my heavier body weight, but she was still making progress.  The nipple weights swung and tugged as I struggled, and I could hear Madam Wong’s curses in my ears as she dug the heels of her boots into the grass in an effort to get better purchase.

We had almost reached the chain on the ground.  Momentarily Jill looked up, her face streaked with tears and her big brown eyes wide and entreating as she moaned softly from the agony being inflicted on her.  That was the moment that Madam Wong abruptly stopped and looked at me strangely.  Her eyes seemed to lose focus and she released her grip on my hair.  I stumbled back a couple of steps and saw her reach out to steady herself on one of the posts.  Then the steadying motion turned into a clutching before her knees gradually gave way and she slid down the post into a heap. 

I hadn’t given any thought as to what to do next.  I was in pain – we all were. Without any real plan I rushed to the wheelbarrow and lifted the hose out of the jerry can, then managed – with some difficulty, with my wrists still bound behind me – to lift the half-filled container over the beam so that they both dropped off.  The beam jerked with my effort and Monica made a heart-rending noise that was half-grunt, half groan.  She raised her head and I saw hope for the first time in her pale visage. 

Trying to ignore the pain in my nips, I unwound her two arm ropes from the cleats on the posts and left her to undo the remainder of her bonds and extract the huge phalluses from her pussy and arse.  It would be something she would need to do in her own time.  I was now concerned about Jill, and it was again a simple matter to first unwind the rope from the cleat which would allow her arms to drop.  She lowered them with a long moan, while I struggled with the more difficult knots holding her ankles to the horizontal pole.  Untying these while not being able to see what I was doing was not easy and took time.  Eventually Jill was able to stand up and this she did, slowly and obviously painfully, making little whimperings of agony behind the rubber ball.

I was not above making some plaintive noises of my own as I climbed the steps to where Emma and Leila were tugging at their chains like dogs welcoming their master home.  They still wore their ankle and wrist cuffs with the connecting chains, and their gags remained locked in place, but at least they could undo my wrists and remove the terrible weights on my nipples. 

I sat on the top step as Emma unhooked the weights then unbuckled my gag, while Leila removed the many turns of cord around my wrists.  I worked my jaw for a moment, and touched the tender flesh around the padlocks.  Freedom was something we just took too much for granted, I thought.

*   *   *

There was much bustling about at that point.  I hugged Leila and Emma then found a set of keys in Megan’s skirt.  With these I could unlock their gags, and the chains from their wrists, necks and ankles.  There was more kissing and the tears started, but frustrated mmmphing from Mary and Trish, still head down and joined at the butt put an end to any sentimental nonsense. 

Emma was already down the streps, over the prostrate form of Portia and giving Jill a brief hug before getting to work on the ropes binding her wrists and breasts.  I unlocked the last padlock from Leila’s collar and pointed to where Monica, exhausted, was struggling to untie the ropes stretching her legs apart.  Leila scurried down the steps to help.

Joining in the release activities I unwrapped the duct tape from around Mary and Trish’s thighs.  Their bodies were wet with sweat and the double-ended dildo slipped easily out from one butt hole, then the other, with a groan of release from each prisoner.  Only then could I untie the pulley cords and allow them to stand up.  I left the gags in place until I had finished removing the cords at their wrists and elbows.  The cord was thin and tight and left deep red indentations in the girl’s skin when I removed it.  I suspected they would have lost all feeling in their hands, with their wrists pulled high behind them, and the returning blood would be painful for them.  They both made whining noises as this happened, and only then did I remove the balls from their mouths.

They both did the hug thing with me.  There were more tears and all manner of exclamations imbued with a disbelief that the nightmare was over.  Then Trish and Mary were down the steps as well, helping Monica and Jill make their way painfully up to the verandah.  Neither could sit down, and we retired to the kitchen where the higher breakfast bar made a more comfortable position for Monica and Jill to lean on.  Everybody was talking and crying and laughing at once and the liquor cabinet was opened very quickly. 

I slipped out while this was going on.  Despite the terrible trio having succumbed to the drugged wine, the fact that they lay unrestrained made me nervous.  I kept expecting them to appear in the doorway, bigger, meaner and more dangerous, like it happens in the movies, just when everyone has relaxed.

It was not to be in this case.  Megan still lay beside the table.  I picked her up and carried her down to the lawn, laying her face down with her neck across the ground chain by the posts.  There was plenty of slack in the chain – more than sufficient to lock a loop around her neck.  I collected the other two prone forms and did likewise with them, leaving them lying side by side.  Now, at least, I could relax, knowing that even if they came to, they could go nowhere, but just to be sure, I handcuffed their wrists behind their backs and ducked briefly into my room in the sleeping quarters  to unlock the wires holding the hated plug in my arse and removing it with a wonderful sense of relief.  I pulled on a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt then returned to the kitchen.

There could almost have been a case for a party, had we not all been so wrung out.  There was a bacardi and coke waiting for me.

“Well done, Steven,” said Monica, her voice tired but her eyes now sparking.  The guest robes had been broken out and the girls – with the exception of Leila and Emma – could now cover their nakedness.  These two still wore their corsets and stockings but looked grateful to have been able to ditch their high heels and their zapper belts.  All of us till wore the stainless steel collars with their terrible power sources bolted on the front.

Em and Leila, who had suffered least, were pulling out a couple of plates of food from the oven.  We dug in ravenously, making up for lost meals, and telling of the awful tortures we had been forced to endure.  There was a clamour for evil things now to be done to our former captors – a clamour which Monica silenced quickly.  Despite the punishment she had received and the pain she must still have been feeling, there was never any doubt who was running the place.  This was the Monica we knew and respected – and obeyed, on pain of something nasty happening, and we had all had enough of that.  We fell silent as she looked at us in turn.

“Steven – I saw what you did just now – that was good thinking to secure our prisoners.  Let me tell you all that what will happen to those three will be well deserved, it will be painful, it will be appropriate, and it will in all likelihood be quite protracted.  It will not be a knee-jerk reaction but will be what is known as a considered response. 

“Right now, this is what is going to happen.  Jill – you are going straight to bed.  Emma, go with her and make sure she’s not hurt seriously.  Trish and Mary, you can go to bed too.  Steven and Leila… I hate giving you more work, but everyone can have the day off tomorrow and nobody will see our captives at all. 

“I want you to take a lantern and go into the bush at the back and dig three graves.”  There was a collective gasp, and several jaws dropped at this bombshell.  Monica held up her hand to silence the protests that were on everyone’s lips.  “Listen to me, people!”  There was a determination in her voice.  “The graves will be as far away from each other as you can manage.  They will each be close to a reasonable sized tree that could not be pulled out or dug up.  They will each have a wooden cross with the victim’s name on it, and a note which will say the following: ‘This is where you will die.  Your death will be from hunger and thirst, and it will be long and painful.  Look into your grave and reflect on the horrors you have committed.’

At once she brightened and continued.  “I hope that doesn’t sound too pretentious.  It is now Saturday night.  It will be Monday morning before we have contact with our prisoners again, and hopefully they may be a little more cooperative.  When you take them there, Steven and Leila, you will leave them chained by the neck to the nearest tree adjacent to the grave, which, by the way, need only be a couple of feet deep.  No need to overdo it.  They will remain with their wrists handcuffed behind them, and you will gag them with tape – make a good job of it and don’t worry about the hair style.  They can pee in the bush if they have to, and they’ll be pretty hungry by Monday morning.  Any questions?”

We looked at her in admiration.  Monica was already setting her mind to work, gaining time with what was an initial shock tactic to put them on edge, if not panic them totally.  There were murmurs of agreement merging into enthusiasm.

“In the meantime, I am open to suggestions as to what you would like to be done in response to what we have all suffered.  You may discuss this with me tomorrow when we are all less tired and able to think more clearly.  Emma, you dear thing – that was a brilliant move with the Roofies.  We owe our escape to you – yes, and Steven, of course.  Now tell me, how long will they be out?”

“Maybe two hours, maybe longer,”  Emma said tentatively.  “I went for more, rather than less.  We didn’t have much of a choice – it was this or nothing.”

“Of course.  Steven and Leila – you have two hours, maybe longer.”

“One small point,” I said.

“Yes?”

“Until we can get these power sources off our collars, we’re trapped here.  And the only way we can switch off the power is in the workshop, which, incidentally, is where the main fuseboard is.”

“You’re kidding me!  You mean the only way to turn the thing off is to actually cross the cable to get to the shed?”

“Yep.  And take it from me and Jill, that’s not an option.”

“Can’t we just unbolt these boxes?”  She fingered the attachment at her throat.

“Sure.  Except they’re bolted on really tightly, and without a spanner you won’t undo it.  And guess where all the tools are.”

“Oh shit,” said Monica.

“Hang on, we’re over-looking something,”  Trish chimed in.  “Who is our favourite resident slave?”

“Oh bollocks!” Monica exclaimed.  “Here we are, so wrapped up in our own problems we’ve forgotten Shawnee completely! “  She slapped her forehead.  “How could I?  And…”

“…Shawnee doesn’t have an electronic collar,” Trish finished triumphantly.

Monica and I hurried down to the basement, looking in each of the rooms until we found Shawnee.  She was in the interrogation room, strapped into the heavy wooden chair with a vibrator jammed inside her.  It was one of those with the little clit finger that was doing all sorts of wonderful things to her, except that with her body secured immovably to the chair with wide Velcro strips, she was able to move little in response to the vibrations.  I knew from experience what it was like, for the chair had been constructed by my own hands and I had been the first to sample its restraining qualities, courtesy of the skilled hands of Mary.  It had been my first sampling of the Bilboes Experience and would not be one I would forget in a hurry.

Shawnee was naked and sweating.  She was blind and silent under a complicated head harness that featured a ball gag and integral eye patches.  I say ‘silent’ but her head – about the only part of her that could move – nodded and twisted as she struggled futilely against another orgasm that was obviously building up.  I wondered how many she had experienced since she had been strapped down.  After seeing her earlier today on the saddle I worried that this was really taking things too far.  Just as we entered her voice rose in a juddering grunting as she succumbed to the mechanical device.

Monica undid the straps with the quickness of long practice and undid the head harness.  Shawnee’s hands had flown straight to her pussy and extracted the big chromed dildo with a nasal moan.  As the complicated straps fell from her head and the rubber ball was pulled free, she stood and hugged Monica, tears adding to the sweat that left her hair damp and matted.  She looked all in.

“Sssshh, sweetie,”  said Monica, consoling her and holding her close.  “It’s all over now.  Just one more little thing we want you to do for us, and you don’t need an orgasm to do it…”

*   *   *

Leila and I went down the back steps together.  Monica had been persuaded to finally go to bed, and had taken Shawnee upstairs with her, which I thought was a nice gesture to the young slave who had endured so much alongside us.

“Let me throw on something over this,” Leila said, looking down at the black satin corset, then giving me a very ingenuous look.  “Maybe you can help me take it off afterwards…”  She hurried across the lawn, up the four steps to the balcony and disappeared into her room.  As the most junior member of the team her room was the last to be occupied – save my own – which meant that hers was next to mine.  She reappeared two minutes later, wearing a shift dress with sandals on her feet.

“Is this the grave digging party?” she asked innocently.

“Sure.  Grab the tools and the light.”

Madam Wong was the first to be dealt to.  We wrapped the tape horizontally around her head, covering her mouth and then winding further turns over the top  and under her chin.  All the while she breathed easily and did not stir even when I picked her up in my arms.

Although we still wore the hated boxes on our collars, Shawnee had switched off the power, although I confess I approached the location with some trepidation.  There was no tingling and no pain, however, and we walked on into the darkness of the bush.  I relied on my instinct for direction and the presence of the trails I knew to decide on our first location close to the west boundary.  We locked a three metre length of chain around a small gum tree and the other end around Madam Wong’s slim neck.

 It took about fifteen minutes to dig a shallow grave and hammer the wooden cross into the ground at the head of it.  The cross was out of the prisoner’s reach, so she could take comfort from looking at it for the next day and a bit, along with Monica’s note pinned to the cross.  We finally left her snoring gently, lying in the hole I had dug.

In the next half hour we gave the same treatment to Portia and Megan, leaving them in locations well out of earshot of each other, before returning to the sleeping quarters by torchlight.  The house was in darkness now, as we mounted the steps to our quarters.

“I really am going to need help with this corset,” said Leila.  I followed her into her room.  Like the others in the block, it had a queen sized bed, armchair, microwave and television.  Leila had decorated it in her own taste with lots of enlarged framed photos she had taken, which, I have to say, were very good.

She pulled the dress over her head and turned to face me, her blonde, shoulder length hair contrasting stunningly with the black of the corset and the shiny silver of the collar.  The garment lifted her breasts and gave her a voluptuous appearance.  I smiled at her.

“I rather like you like that.  Can’t it wait?  You ought to dress like that more often.  It’s very sexy.” 

“Are you turned on?”  she asked coyly.

“Maybe.”  She moved up close to me, and her hand found the bulge that signified that Mr Willy had woken up. 

“Oh my.”  She paused.  “Steven, you know when we were both chained up in the cellar… Was it hard for you?”  I ignored the unintended pun.  The problem was exactly the opposite.

“Lei – you really have no idea.  Just for once it’s a male saying this.  Truthfully, it was a great pleasure to share your cell, but Monica knew just what she was doing with the two of us.  We both know that if we hadn’t been restrained the way we were, a certain activity would have taken place.”

“Monica thinks she’s so smart, sometimes,” Leila said, with just a trace of schoolgirlishness.  “I’d like to get just a little of my own back.”

“What did you have in mind?”

What Leila had in mind was a kiss that saw us both gasping for more.  The feel of the satin corset and the stockings she still wore were more than Mr Willy could tolerate and  in no time Leila had freed him and was wrestling the clothes off me.
We fell on to the bed in a passion I would not have expected after what we had both been through in the last week.  Mr Willy had been first encased in an acrylic tube, then had been constricted with cable ties, and had been denied first Leila, then  Megan, Monica, Madam Wong and Portia, before having to screw Monica in the arse.  It had taken a jolt in the bum to bring him down to earth.  I figured he had some pleasure owing to him, and Leila was obviously of the same mind.  Making love to a tightly corseted woman was another erotic experience I could now attribute to Bilboes.

She wrestled playfully with me, grabbing at the padlocks still hanging from my nipples.

“Ow!  Careful!”

“Those are really – and I mean reeelly sexy – you know that?”

“Thanks.  I had them made specially, you realise.  Had to fly in the expert all the way from Hong Kong.”  She frowned, a look of concern crossing her face as she straddled me and fingered the heavy objects on my chest.

“I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said that, given that they were forced on you.  But seriously, they are very erotic.  How do they feel?”

“A little heavy, but you’re right – they do lend a new dimension to things…”

“What about when I do this…”  Her head was down and furiously licking my nips, which was an infinitely more pleasurable sensation than most things that had happened to them in the last week.

“That’s….aaahhhhh…”

*   *   *

We finally fell into a deep sleep with Leila still corseted.  Only the next morning, following another fierce tumble between the sheets did I finally help her remove the thing.  While she was in the shower I slipped out to return to my own room, almost bumping into Mary outside.

Shirtless and decidedly sleep-tousled I could provide no answer to her raised eyebrow and interrogative stare that asked a dozen equally unanswerable questions.  She smiled enigmatically as only Mary could, suggesting that the incident was noted and had gone into her book for future reference.

I sighed as I entered my room, revelling in the familiar surroundings.  Thank you Leila, thank you Mary.  Let’s worry about this sometime in the future.  Today we had more significant things to deal with.  What would Monica dream up this time?

*   *   *

 

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

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

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