The Abduction of Monica 20: Inferno - Trish's Story
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from The Abduction of Monica 19: Home Away From Home)
I felt guilty as hell going to the Brimstone Club in the wake of the awful – and unexpected – email that showed Steven and Sofiya having been captured by Warren. We had unanimously decided it was Warren, though we had yet to see any real evidence of that, or to see him in person on the video.
However, the identity of whoever was perpetrating these outrages was really immaterial. We simply wanted to get our team back. Seeing Monica, Mary and Steven was bad enough, but my heart went out to poor Sofiya. Whatever she may have come across in the Russian police force, I was sure she had never been bound naked to a wall with all manner of things done to her that most other people would consider just a tad abnormal.
We had stayed up late but by the time Paul had left to follow up with the New Zealand police, I was too hyped up to have any hope of sleeping. It was the first Saturday night of the month – a night that normally Mary and I reserve for a visit to the Brimstone Club. I thought in this instance it might have taken my mind off things, and so it did for a short while. The place was buzzing and I met a few Dommes with whom it was good to catch up. The usual depravity was in evidence in the back rooms, with one gentleman having an exquisitely painful time as needles were placed in his nipples and scrotum, and this without even being tied down. Each to their own, of course.
I had a couple of drinks and consented to providing a flogging to a young man at the request of his Mistress. I was dressed in a black leather skirt and matching waistcoat atop patent leather boots, so I figured I might as well act the part as well as just being window dressing. The man was tied to a St Andrews cross and perhaps rather wished that it was anyone else but me in this particular instance. For a minute I almost forgot myself as I lashed his bare back with a multi-tailed flogger, venting my suppressed anger at what Warren O’Rorke had done. Regardless of my rage, the young man’s cock remained hard and strained through the performance, so perhaps it was a fortuitous outlet for both of us.
Ultimately, though, the stress caught up with me and around 2.30am I decided to call it a night. I had borrowed the Monica Van, in the absence of Monica’s written-off Beemer, which she was normally happy to loan to us. The van was transport, but not exactly comfortable. Nevertheless it got me home to the gate at Bilboes where I tapped in the code.
Only then did I suddenly become aware of the glow from behind the trees at the far end of the drive. With my heart racing I accelerated along the hundred metre winding driveway, the horror of what I saw leaving me in shocked disbelief. The top story of Bilboes was ablaze, flames visible behind the guest bedroom windows. I halted the van long enough to dial triple zero and get the fire brigade going, before planting my foot and racing around the side of the house to the sleeping quarters.
I leapt out of the van and ran up the steps to the verandah, past Steven’s door to Leila’s. It was open, and nobody was there. I rushed to Emma’s, then Jill’s and in each case the room was empty. Confused, I turned towards the house, the crackle of flames now louder and the smell of smoke now thick in the air. If they were not in their rooms, and the fire brigade was not in evidence, did that mean they were inside? Oh Jesus, I thought, panic welling up inside of me.
I retraced my steps along the verandah and crossed the lawn. I couldn’t believe this was happening! I flew up the six steps up to the rear verandah of the house, punching in the code on the back door. Inside it was dark and the roar of the fire was louder as I closed the door behind me to limit the air flow. The smoke made me choke and cough, forcing me to bend low as I moved through the kitchen and into the hallway. Now I could feel the heat and see the glare of flames on the stairs. I screamed for my friends but could hear nothing above the noise above me. \
There was a crash as a bit of the top banister fell down the stairs, blazing. I dashed for the front door, yelling into the study and the living room, but with no response. There was no reason they should be upstairs, but in any case, when I looked at the furious flames now blocking that way, I knew I could never make it up there.
Which only left the basement. I ducked back down the hallway and forced open the door under the stairs that led to the dungeons, cells and playrooms. I was shocked further when I saw the flames coming from the store room just metres beyond the foot of the stairs.
“Jill! Emma! Leila!” I screamed again, turning on the lights and starting down the stairs. In the back of my mind I was wondering how two separate fires could have started, not wanting to believe the answer. Then I heard the answering screams.
“Here! Trish! In Little Ease!”
Oh my God, I thought, racing down the stairs. I was almost at the bottom when a ghastly figure emerged from the flames of the store room, hair and clothes alight. It was a man, his mouth open in a blood-chilling scream as he staggered towards the exit door around the corner to the left. I had no idea who he was or what he was doing. I was only concerned with my friends.
The flames were fierce here, starting to lick up the outside of the storeroom door and across the ceiling, hungrily consuming the old wooden joists. I knew that any moment there could be an explosion of fire as it reached a critical mass, for I’d seen films of the way a fire can spread.
By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs the flames were terrifying and I had to leap over the edge of the railing to avoid getting burned. I landed awkwardly, though grateful my boots didn’t have the really high heels. Just along from the foot of the stairs was the grille for Little Ease. The soot and tear-stained faces of Jill, Leila and Emma could be seen though the bars in the dim illumination through the smoke. They lay naked in a heap, their wrists and ankles bound by heavy black plastic cable ties.
The grille was not locked but merely secured by a tower bolt. I slid it back and swung the grille open. There was much crying as the three rolled out in a heap. I moved further down the passageway to one of the small wall cabinets where we keep master keys and scissors for ease of access and release. There was a fire hose reel here as well, and I turned it on, the cooling spray like a godsend as I crawled back to the three bodies, where I cut their bonds.
“Up the stairs!” I yelled, turning the water on the fire now leaping out of the storeroom door. “Emma – you first – stay in the hose spray!” Conscious of their nakedness, I turned the hose on Emma long enough for her to reach the foot of the stairs, get around the smouldering banister and start climbing. Then it was Leila’s turn, then Jill, who made it just as the dreaded explosion came. Flames shot across the ceiling, climbing up the stairwell towards the open door at the top, licking at Jill as she disappeared from sight into the hallway.
I could feel my hair and skin singe as I dowsed myself with water and brought the nozzle with me through the flames up the stairs. I have never in my life been so terrified. Almost at the top the hose reached its limit and I tripped on the second to last stair, sprawling into the hallway in time to see Jill standing in the front door, heedless of her nakedness, screaming frantically at me to come that way.
We stumbled down the front steps as the first fire engine crashed through the driveway gates and roared up the drive, surely surprised at the three naked females and the one in black leather who staggered out to meet them.
* * *
They found the badly burnt body on the back lawn, where the man had fallen after just making it through the emergency door. It seemed he might survive when the ambulance took him away, but – as it turned out – he didn’t. We weren’t to know this at the time, nor that the man was Dimitri Bukin, nor that he was there on the orders of Warren O’Rorke. All of these things were to come out in the weeks following the fire, as we tried to put our lives back together.
At that moment, however, the four of us could only sit numbly in shock on the low knoll above Bilboes, as the fire fighters brought the fire under control and stopped it spreading to the sleeping quarters and surrounding bush. We watched as the roof collapsed and the stately verandah with its wrought iron filigree work sagged and folded in the heat of the flames. The old house that was Bilboes - that Monica had bought and paid for with her hard-earned money and that had seen so many adventures – slowly crumpled in a last eruption of flames lighting the night sky. It had been nearly ten years since Steven had first arrived and had begun building the cells and dungeons and wondrous pieces of bondage gear in the basement. The house had seen the invasion of Jade Wong and Portia, and their eviction in humiliation. We had held wonderful bondage parties, laughed, cried, suffered and indulged ourselves in all ways imaginable.
The bedrooms and dungeons of Bilboes had seen sights that were extraordinary and which we were – for the most part – proud to have been a part of. Now, with our arms around each other we wept for all things past, wept for ourselves, for Monica and the others, for the loss of all we held dear. But in the black of night we knew that what we were seeing was not the end, that the fate of Monica and the others still lay in the balance. Warren O’Rorke had shown his hand and would stop at nothing until the Bilboes establishment and the Bilboes team were no more. Clearly it was intended that there were to be no survivors.
* * *
16.09.09
story continues in The Abduction of Monica 21: Escape
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