Monica and the Black Fortress

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Monica and the Black Fortress)

Chapter Three – Difficult Lessons

From her position with wrists and legs bound, lying on the floor, the exhausted Rani looked up at Monica and then at the key in front of her.   With a final effort she took the key and rolled on to her side, struggling to get her wrists over her head to reach the lock on the gag strap at the back of her neck.  After much fiddling, while we continued eating, she managed to get the small padlock undone and remove the gag.  She coughed and worked her jaw, which must have been very stiff and aching for one unused to having a ball stuffed in her mouth for hours at a time.  She muttered something under her breath in Hindi which I could not catch.

“What was that, Rani?” Monica asked.

“How can I eat like this?” Rani asked, her voice resentful, but stopping just short of a demand.

“With your mouth,” Monica retorted, stretching across the table for another piece of nan bread. 

Rani hesitated.  “Why are you making me do this?” She was verging on tears.  “Why are you humiliating me like this?”

“Shut up and eat,” Monica snapped.  “I told you I’ll take your food away, then you can spend the night hungry as well.”

Rani pushed her damp matted hair behind her ears and buried her face in the plate of lamb rogan josh that was on the carpet in front of her.  She managed to eat only with difficulty, and we had to wait some minutes after we had completed our meal for her to finish her food.  Only then, when she had removed the potential to be starved did she complain again.

“How long are you going to keep me tied up?” she asked in a petulant tone.  Her face was smeared with sauce and pieces of rice.

“Until I feel like releasing you,” Monica retorted.  “Which will be governed by how quickly you learn manners, obedience, and your place at the bottom of the pecking order.  I repeat that this operation will not go ahead unless I’m satisfied that you’re not going to blow the thing apart by some inappropriate behaviour.  You look a real mess, I might add.  You can go and take a shower before bed.”

“How?”

Monica rolled her eyes and sighed, as one would with an intractable child.  “You can undo your leg ropes now.”

“What about my wrists?”

“They stay tied.”

“Then how can I wash properly?”

Monica said nothing, but I could sense her patience slipping rapidly.  Rani struggled into a kneeling position and began working on the knots to the ropes binding her ankles to her thighs.  She could only reach them with difficulty, and it took her several minutes before she was able to unwind the multiple turns around her legs, which left behind deep red imprints in her flesh.

She got to her feet slowly and unsteadily as the blood flow returned.  Monica shooed her into the bathroom, picking up the larger whip I had made from where it lay on the bed, and snapping it at Rani’s backside, before following her.  A minute later Monica signalled Leila and I to join her in the doorway to the bathroom.  Rani was standing in the large glass-enclosed shower, her still-bound wrists now attached to the pipe work in front of her, just above her head.

“How can I wash like this?” she whined.

“You’re going to have help,” Monica told her.  “You’re a properly brought up young lady, with obvious heterosexual tendencies.  Would you prefer a nice young blonde submissive with very dubious sexual proclivities, or perhaps a nice young man whom you’ve barely spoken to since you met him only a few hours ago?  Either of these two will be happy to help wash the parts you can’t reach.”

I had to admire Monica’s psychology.  Rani had the appearance of having being brought up in a middle class Indian family with all the conservative morals and attitudes that came with such territory, which could include arranged marriages and strict sexual propriety.  Issues such as bisexuality, lesbianism and bondage were most likely never discussed, and Rani’s reaction would be governed by this upbringing.  She was now faced with a choice between Leila and me.  Leila was on one hand female, and thus not representing a moral or physical threat, though I could not guess at exactly what thoughts might run through Rani’s mind at being touched by another naked female.

Then there was me.  I was male, and therefore there could be no suggestion as to anything as outrageous as lesbian opportunities.  On the other hand, that very maleness meant the potential for a bound female to be taken advantage of.  And what would the parents think?  What would the family consider worse?  Jumping naked in the shower with a strange man - or a strange woman?

“No…” said Rani, now on the defensive. “I don’t want either…”

“But – to use your words – how will you wash?” Monica could hardly conceal the amusement in her voice.

Rani had no answer, but tugged on the rope holding her wrists secured to the showerhead pipe work.

“If you can’t decide, then I shall let Leila wash you,” Monica said.

“No!  No!  I cannot be naked with another woman! It would be shameful for me!”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Monica exclaimed.  “Very well – Steven will wash you, and that will be the end of it.  He’s seen you naked already, as he has done with countless other women.  Trust me, he’s very experienced,” she ended slyly.

“No - you can’t… It will dishonour me!”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous!  He’s not going to have sex with you – not unless you ask him too, anyway.  He’s a very honourable person.  I’m not having you in bed until you’re thoroughly clean.  Steven, get your clothes off and give Rani a proper wash.  And no funny business.”

“No Ma’am,” I concurred.

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed how disrespectful you’ve been in the last hour, Rani.  Ever since I made the mistake of removing your gag.  I will think twice before doing that again, believe me.”

With that closing remark, Monica and Leila left the room, Leila smiling and winking at me mischievously.

Monica never ceases to surprise me with her ability to manipulate people, and particularly her little games with people’s psyches.  I’m a pretty simple sort of guy, and I’ve often found myself having to deal with naked women at Bilboes.  I do my job – its pretty rough sometimes, but somebody has to do it.  This was one of those rough moments.  I could see Monica’s thinking at work here as well.  Not only was she playing her mind games with Rani, she was having her own private joke with me, for I was the one getting to do the washing, but it would likely go no further, and I would end up very frustrated while Monica would end up chuckling to herself.

The door to the shower enclosure was open, and Rani looked at me apprehensively.

“I do not want this,” she said, her voice sounding slightly stilted and very unhappy. 

I shrugged.  “What Monica wants, she usually gets,” I told her.

“What are you – her toy boy?” Rani jeered.

I grinned at her as I took off my shirt.  “It’s no good trying to wind me up,” I said.  “I’m the most relaxed guy you’ll ever meet.  Remember, I’m not the one tied up here.  And besides, I’m older than Monica – she could be my toy girl.”  I removed the rest of my clothes and stood naked in front of her.  I had long ago ceased to be embarrassed about my body.  It was a pretty ordinary one, as bodies went – all the bits were in the right places and seemed to work okay.  My only embarrassment in this instance came from Mr Willy, who seemed to regard the presence of a bound female as sufficient excuse to raise himself like a flagpole sticking out from a building.  I wondered whether Rani was a virgin.  She was still living at home, and in Indian society could quite conceivably be one.  I wondered whether she had encountered a naked man before.  Surely she couldn’t be that innocent.  I was too polite to ask, of course, and I was sure she wouldn’t be volunteering such information, but I was positive her eyes widened at the sight of my friend.

“Relax,” I said.  “We’re really all quite nice people, once you get to know us.”  I stepped into the cubicle and slipped my hands under her hair to undo the leather collar.  She shuddered at my touch and tried to edge away, but the rope anchoring her to the pipe wouldn’t let her.  She kept her face to the wall to maintain as much modesty as she could.  “I could tell you Monica’s bark is worse than her bite, “ I went on casually, “but that would be a lie.  Monica can have a seriously painful bite – in the general sense – and I really do urge you to treat her with respect and deference.  Trust me, I’ve seen her at work.”  I turned the water on and adjusted the temperature after Rani yelped in the initial tepid stream that arrived from the cold tap.

“Get away from me,” she said, though her demand was about as unconvincing as it could get.

“Don’t be silly,” I chided her.  “If you want I can wash you with your ankles tied and your gag back in place.  I was directed to wash you, and wash you I will – nothing more, nothing less.  And believe me, I am very thorough and particular in all my work.  Just enjoy it,” I said, lathering up a flannel and beginning on her back.

I worked slowly, turning the process into something that was part wash, part body scrub, part massage.  Rani was very tense, but as I confined my initial activity to her back, neck and shoulders, I felt her tension slowly ease.  I tried to keep my distance, but more than once Mr Willy brushed across her taut buttocks, slippery with soap.  The first time she jumped.

“Sorry,” I said.  “He can’t help it sometimes.”

“He?”

“Willy.”

“You have a name for it?”

“Of course.  And he’s a ‘he’, not an ‘it’.”

“Oh.”

There was a short silence as I massaged her shoulders and neck some more, then began rubbing shampoo into her hair.  I have to admit I’m not really up to speed with the finer points of what women do in the shower, or just how they deal with long hair.  Rani’s came down past her shoulders and contrasted strikingly with her skin.  I massaged her scalp and she began to make faint murmurs of what I took to be pleasure.  I moved on to her arms, then squatted to run the soap and my fingers slowly and methodically down each leg, kneading the muscles and fully enjoying the slenderness of them, getting her to lift one foot at a time in the manner of a horse being shoed, while I massaged each sole.  By this time she was shuddering with pleasure, and though she wouldn’t voice it aloud I could hear it in her breathing.

Eventually I had gone as far as I could go without causing offence, and I decided I might as well get a little pleasure of my own.  I nuzzled in close behind her and let my soapy hands slide around her ribs and up over her breasts.  Mr Willy was lying nestled in the curved hollow just above Rani’s buttocks that he seemed to find both attractive and comfortable despite Rani’s initial objections.  When my hands glided over her breasts, I found the nipples were rock hard.

“No…no…you mustn’t…” she gasped, but softly and without conviction.  Then she shuddered again and I sensed her breathing quicken, feeling the slippery globes rising and falling beneath my fingers.  With her wrists tethered at eye level, lifting her arms, and her breasts were likewise raised and made more prominent – something I had noted with pleasure when I first stepped into the shower.  They were firm and heavy, as I found when I cupped each and teased her with gentle caresses, turning into a more powerful kneading. 

Rani groaned, as with my left hand wrapped around her, teasing her right nipple, I let my right hand glide down her flat stomach and insinuate itself in her pubic hair.

“No…oh…please…” Her protests remained half-hearted and I could not fail to detect the conflict between body and mind.  The former said ‘yes’, the latter, ‘no’.  She had stopped struggling as my fingers found her clit and abruptly she stiffened and let out a series of short gasps.  It was easy to work deeper into her cleft, and in less than a minute she was panting and pushing herself against the tiled wall, trapping my fingers harder in her most intimate spot. 

“Ah…ah…ah…” She couldn’t help herself now.  Her crotch and breasts were obviously tender and sensitive from the previous treatment she had received, and it was not taking much to arouse her to new heights.  I could have taken advantage of her right there and then, and I would have loved to have kissed her, but this was a purely sexual thing about Rani, not about us.  I knew Monica’s ways, and I understood what she was trying to do.  She wanted Rani to associate bondage with pleasure and pain, not with an experience relating to a particular individual.  It was about awakening Rani to her body’s sensitivities and desires, both of which we suspected would be largely suppressed in a conservative Indian household where the opportunity to experience and express passion would be minimal.

Rani’s climax came quickly.  I felt her stiffen abruptly and grind herself against both the wall and my fingers.  She went up on the balls of her feet, her arms pulling frantically against the restricting rope.

“No…no…oh god…oh…aaarhhh!” Her voice rose in quick panting breaths into a high-pitched cry before she slumped as much as he bonds would let her.  She was gasping for breath, and much as I wanted to let Mr Willy have his turn, I considered that Rani was not yet ready for the real thing, and besides, I’m not the kind of guy to go all the way on a first date.  But there was also something a little different about Rani.  Regardless of Monica’s manipulating plans, I sensed that for all Rani’s pretence of strength and indignation, there was a very vulnerable side to her, and we would have to treat her carefully.  Call me a sensitive new age guy if you like, I saw the need to go slowly with our prisoner – a little at a time.

I have to say that Mr Willy was decidedly disappointed, and only reluctantly lowered his stance when I had given her a final rinse and stepped out to dry myself and wrap a white fluffy towel around my waist.  Being very adjacent to a woman having a quite vocal orgasm is an uplifting experience in itself, even if your role in it is less than total.  Certainly it got me going, and it was only with reluctance that I refrained from further explorations.

I dried Rani roughly with a towel, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin and the delicate curves of her slender body.  Finally I untied Rani’s rope from the water pipe and helped her out of the shower cubicle.  She was unsteady on her legs and wouldn’t look me in the eye.  I sat on the edge of the bath and signed that she should kneel on the bathmat.  She did so without a murmur and I took the blow drier and began to dry her hair.  Don’t think I’m going soft here, but realistically a woman with her wrists tightly bound isn’t going to make much of a job of it, and I was sure Monica didn’t want a heap of wet hair everywhere, given whatever she had planned next for her prisoner.  Rani laid her head on my knee and let me get on with it, but I could still sense intermittent trembling within her body, as she slowly gained control over herself again and her breathing gradually began to return to normal.

When her hair was mostly dry, I picked up the collar and lifted her chin to gain access for it.  Only then did she meet my eye, and for a moment there was what might have been the flicker of a smile – shy, embarrassed, grateful, uncertain, or perhaps all of the above.  Then it was gone and she lowered her gaze and allowed me to again buckle the collar in place before helping her to her feet and leading her back to the bedroom.

Leila was nowhere to be seen, and in our absence Monica had changed again.  While bemoaning not being able to travel with all her implements of restraint and pain infliction, Monica was obviously not leaving behind the more basic elements of her trade.  Again, I thought, it was a girl/clothes thing.  The dressing up was as much part of the game as was the domination.  This time it was a short black leather skirt and a matching pair of stiletto-heeled boots that stopped just below her knees.  The skirt had just enough flair to allow freedom of movement, and was ornamented with several thin silver chains hanging across the front.  Monica’s flat toned midriff was on display, beneath a matching black leather bra, again sporting minimalist chains between her breasts.  She had leather guards strapped on forearms and upper arms, and she now stood imperiously, with folded arms, awaiting our return.

“Have you had a good shower, Rani?” she asked, her voice flat and giving no hint as to whether she had heard Rani’s vocal outburst, and whether she was being facetious as a result.  Rani flushed.

“Y-yes… Mistress.”

Monica pointed to the floor in front of her.  “Kneel,” she ordered.  Rani sank to her knees on the spot.  “Spread your legs!” Monica said, nudging the inside of Rani’s thigh with the shiny point of her boot. 

“Ordinarily I would expect your hands on your thighs, palm up.  In this instance you will hold your hands tightly against your stomach, so as not to obscure that cute pussy of yours.”  Rani did as she was told, but it was still hard to disregard the reluctance that was still present.  “Head bowed,” Monica directed.  Rani complied.

“You are now in an acceptable submissive position,” Monica said, “offering your master or mistress everything you have – which in your case is precious little,” she added dismissively.  “This is the position you will assume by default – as and when the opportunity presents itself.  It will be partly by this attitude that we will be able to demonstrate to our friend Mandrekar that he and I are of similar inclination.

Monica sat down on a well-upholstered chair like the queen overseeing her subjects.  “Your behaviour, however, has disappointed me, Rani.  I’m sure you come from a very conservative family, and I shudder to think how limited your experience has been to date, but I remind you that you are here firstly at your own behest, and secondly with both the blessing and major expectation of your superiors.  Those little flashes of resentment and reluctance do you no credit, and you will be punished accordingly.  Don’t think your little ‘lapses’ have gone unnoticed – not least your failure to address me properly.  There was also my instruction that you were not to use your hands in removing those pegs from your nipples.

“I’m sure you had a little fun with Steven in the shower, and I shudder to think what your mother might make of it all.  And while these little moments of fun sometimes happen, failure to heed instructions will always result in punishment.”  She tossed the ball gag Rani had previously worn on to the floor in front of the Indian girl.  “Put it on.  I don’t want you shouting the place down.”

For a moment Rani looked as though she was going to protest, then picked up the gag and worked it behind her teeth.  That was the easy part – both Monica and I knew.  Threading the strap through the buckle behind your head while your wrists were tied was a very difficult exercise, as Rani now found out.  She was forced to tilt her head back and wriggle her bound hands behind her head, struggling to work one end through the buckle.  Twice she managed it, only for it to slip out, while she grunted in frustration.  Her hair shimmered down her back as she twisted and groped to join the ends.  Monica sat glaring at her and tapping her boot impatiently, adding to the pressure.

With a snort of triumph, Rani finally managed it, dropping her hands to her lap and panting over the top of the ball.  Monica stood up and pulled the strap two notches tighter, to a moan of protest from Rani.  Monica then spoke.

“Get on the bed and lie face down, arms out in front of you to the bed head.”

Rani slowly rose to her feet in a graceful manner that indicates someone familiar with kneeling, for one reason or another.  For a moment I could picture her in a sari, kneeling at the family shrine.  Then the image was gone, as she prostrated herself on the bed, her bound wrists pushed out beyond her, just touching the carved bed frame.

Monica wasted no time in taking the cinch rope tails and securing them to one of the carved rails, before wrapping a number of turns of a second length around Rani’s left ankle and knotting it there.  She ran the rope around the corner post, across the foot of the bed and around the other corner, before tying it to Rani’s right ankle.

Monica sat on the edge of the bed and patted Rani’s buttock cheek, then picked up the small flogger I had made and began to methodically slap Rani’s cheeks and back, bringing a rosy flush to her skin.  Rani began to moan softly as Monica slowly upped the tempo, stimulating the blood flow.  After a couple of minutes the frequency of blows slowed, but they were harder and Rani was struggling and tugging at her ropes.

At length Monica paused, and sat down again, crossing one slender leg over the other, to unzip and remove one polished leather boot, then the other.  Without the spiky heels she was able to stand on the bed with the second whip I had made.  Being longer, it required more space between her and her target, and standing above poor Rani was exactly the position for the next beating.

The whipping was delivered with precision and accuracy, starting with a steady flick-flick-flick, as the tip of the whip struck the taut exposed flesh in a regular pattern from the top of the thigh to the shoulder blades.  Rani was starting to whine and moan behind the gag, squirming and tensing her body against the ropes holding her spread out and vulnerable.  Monica knew the pain level was changing up – and about to do so again, and paused.

“It hurts, doesn’t it Rani.”  There was a groan of affirmation from the head buried between the bound arms.  “This is what comes with disobedience.  Do you understand that?”

“Uh-huh!” came the gagged voice.

“So we understand now that when I tell you to do some thing a particular way, that is exactly what you do?”

“Uh-huh!”  This time there was a perceptible nodding.

“And you understand the correct form of address?”

“Uh-huh!”

“I don’t think you do, Rani,” came Monica’s icy reply. “I haven’t heard it used once in your last three replies.”

“Eph It-rith!” Rani gurgled hurriedly, but it was too late.  Monica struck again, this time with the full force of her arm, the thong of the whip snaking out and catching Rani right across the cheeks of her backside.  She gave a muffled scream, and I wondered how soundproof everything was here.  Monica placed one of the big pillows on top of Rani’s head, and draped a blanket over it, then let fly again – and again.  The lash snaked back and forth leaving bright red weals on Rani’s hitherto unblemished skin.  She jerked and screamed and fought her bonds, but her head-down position under the pillow, combined with the presence of the gag muted her cries and it was evident that Monica had no concerns about attracting attention.  The Oberoi was an old building, built with thick brick walls that would provide far more noise proofing than many modern hotels.

Rani was crying now, her sobs mixed with further screams as the thong landed.  Monica stopped when there were nine or ten livid stripes at different locations, then stood astride the bound girl, to let loose a final blow with deadly accuracy between her legs, right in the cleft of her buttocks.  There was another jerk and scream from Rani, then Monica climbed off the bed as her prisoner lay trembling and sobbing.

I was glad the beating had ceased.  It was one area that I sometimes found hard to stomach – softy that I am.  Seeing an attractive woman being punished like that always makes me uncomfortable.  Maybe the edge is taken off by the fact that it is another woman doing the beating, for it has always been something that I have found difficult to do myself.  I would far rather be caressing a woman’s skin than lashing it – as Monica had found from time to time when she had suggested I play a larger part in her services.  It was one thing to carry out a light flogging that could bring a bound submissive to orgasm, and I had no qualms about that.  It was something else to administer a major punishment.  I blame it on corporal punishment at school – something I had always done my best to avoid.

With the punishment meted out, I helped Monica untie Rani’s ankles and roll her over on to her back.  That must have hurt, too, but Monica cradled her head and wiped the tears away, like a loving sister, and whispered soft words of admonishment and comfort, while Rani’s sobs and sniffles slowly died down.

“Steven, be a dear and go and fetch Leila for me?  I think Rani’s learned her lesson.  We should show her that there can be rewards as well as punishments.”

I went next door to Leila’s room and knocked on the door.  It was nearly nine pm at this stage, though I think we’d all lost track of the time.  Events seemed to have gone so fast since we had arrived in India.  For all I knew, Leila could have been fast asleep in bed.

She wasn’t, though she looked as though she was seriously thinking about it.  Wearing a red satin teddy that reached just below her crotch, she peered around the door with a cute smile.

“Is this my lucky night?” she asked coyly.

“Depends what you consider lucky,” I said.  “I think Monica has something in mind for you, and doubtless you’ll enjoy it.”

“So this is a summons, not a visit?”

“I’m afraid so.  I’m sure there’s no need to dress formally.”  She grinned and grabbed her key, closing the door behind her and linking her arm through mind as we walked the short distance down the thickly carpeted and gracious corridor to Monica’s room.

Monica was still sitting on the bed stroking Rani’s body.  Rani’s ankles were again tied to the corners of the bed, her legs spread apart.  She was now blindfolded with a scarf.  Monica stood up and put her finger to her lips to signify silence, beckoning us over to the bed.  We crossed to the tautly bound figure and Monica indicated to Leila that she was to proceed with the next stage of the plan.  I couldn’t tell whether they had worked something out beforehand, but Leila set to with her usual youthful enthusiasm.  Her blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail with a scrunchy red scarf, and this now bobbed rhythmically as she knelt between Rani’s legs and began to tease and torment the Indian girl with her tongue.

Rani jumped at the first touch, and fought the ropes holding her, trying to squeeze her legs together and prevent this other woman doing such shameful things to her.  Whether it was the fact that she was being serviced by another female, or whether it was her own body’s reaction to something she had likely been taught to consider abhorrent, I couldn’t decide, but to begin with, Rani was evidently determined that the act was depraved, sinful, degrading, or all of the above.  She bucked and squirmed, tugging on the ropes holding her arms and legs, while Leila’s head remained buried in her crotch, her forearms pressing on Rani’s thighs.  Rani was shaking her blindfolded and gagged head, making vigorous grunts of protest.

Despite Rani’s resistance and the moans of protest, in the space of only a couple of minutes, her tone changed.  Monica and I joined in, one on each side of the helpless girl, stroking her breasts and teasing the flinty nipples as Leila licked and sucked with vigour. A minute later a switch must have been thrown in Rani’s brain, for she finally accepted that old bondage truism “resistance is futile”, and her struggles changed subtly in character.  Not that they stopped, but she was now surrendering to the forces that were growing inside, and the juices that could not be controlled.  Abruptly she stiffened and jerked, her lean muscled body straining against the ropes while she uttered a drawn-out cry muted behind the ball.  Then she went limp for a brief period, while her breathing struggled to catch up with the orgasm, leaving her snorting and doing her best to suck in air as her breasts rose and fell in double time.

Leila looked up with an impish smile and Monica waved for her to continue.

“Don’t you hate it when somebody plays with your clit just after you’ve climaxed?” murmured Monica into Rani’s ear.  Rani groaned and bucked again as Leila’s head dipped between her legs.  Rani’s arms and legs were now shuddering and trembling from the effort she had put into tensing her muscles.  She was also becoming more vocal, letting loose a series of what might have been pleas or protests from beneath her gag, which quickly turned into a series of gasps, rising in pitch.  A minute later she climaxed again, the gasps ending in a protracted, high-pitched scream, as she shook her head and again threw herself against the ropes.

Monica brought the helpless girl to a third climax five minutes later, at which point the bound girl was clearly exhausted.  Monica showed Leila and me to the door. 

“Back here, eight o’clock tomorrow.  I’ll order breakfast for us all. Sleep well.”

We slipped out into the corridor and I escorted Leila to her own door, mine being on the other side.

“Want to come in for some…coffee?” she asked with deliberate implication. 

Probably most other times I might have refused, and she wouldn’t have asked.  Leila and I have almost a brother/sister relationship, I suppose, partly because she is the youngest in Bilboes aside from Shawnee, and I guess I could be the brother she never had.  That said, we have been known to engage in which could be considered incest, in other circumstances. 

Living in a house with six gorgeous women – again excluding Shawnee, who spends limited time there, usually tied up in a dungeon somewhere in her spare time – has its up and down sides, but mostly ups.  There is always a bit of competition, whether it be for Monica’s attention, a client, or sometimes even for me.  Being the only guy inevitably has its pressures, and there are times when I walk a fine line trying to avoid treading on toes.  All the girls have their idiosyncrasies as well as some very attractive attributes, and yes, I will have to admit I have accepted favours from all of them at one time or another – in one form or another.  And of course I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t have my own secret favourite(s).  But until now there had been no need to resort to the ‘C’ word, and our relationships seemed to work just fine without creating petty jealousies, as long as they were kept discrete and didn’t affect the running of the household.  In that alone, they were an extraordinary group of girls, and I was very lucky. 

Sometimes, of course, things just ‘happened’, often through no fault of the participants.  Sometimes we could find someone to blame, and in this instance there was no doubt in our minds that Monica was at fault.  Anybody who would force an employee into the shower to make a soapy girl climax several times without being equally satisfied, then again oblige another employee to eat pussy while being similarly unsatisfied, was always going to end up with two very frustrated employees.

“It’s all right for Monica,” said Leila, a flush in her cheeks., as she closed her door behind us. “She’s got her new toy in there to tease and play with all night. What do you and I have?”

“Um… each other?” I ventured.

“Damn right.  God, I am so-o-o horny right now…”  She undid the buttons on my shirt as though she couldn’t find my flesh fast enough, then pulled the offending garment clear.  While I was struggling to get my arms out of the sleeves and getting all tangled up, she grabbed my torso and began kissing and biting my nipples which sent waves of pleasure through my body.  Finally I managed to get my arms free and grabbed her, turning her around and nestling in from behind her, my hands groping her breasts through the smooth satin of her teddy.  She laughed and squealed as I tossed her on to the bed, then fell on top of her.

We rolled around in slowly increasing states of undress, quite unlike the way they do in the movies.  It was wonderful, innocent fun, and probably more so since neither of us was bound or restrained in any way.  Much as we had both come to enjoy the bondage aspects, just for once being able to have all one’s limbs free made it a special occasion.  We knew each other well enough to recognise that there were no complications in our fling, and that sexual relief was what it was all about.  When we finally fell asleep we had lost all sense of place and the imperial splendour that surrounded us.  We were just tired and shagged out after a long squawk.

*   *   *

20.12.04

story continues in Monica and the Black Fortress 4

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