Monica and the Black Fortress

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Monica and the Black Fortress)

Chapter Four – On the Move

I awoke with Leila curled up foetally beside me, one arm thrown over my chest.  Her silky blonde hair was mussed about her face and she almost looked as though she was smiling in her sleep.  I cast a glance towards the beside clock and saw that it was gone six a.m. Easing myself out from under her arm I slipped out of bed, dressed, and made my way back to my own room.  There was plenty of time for a shower and a slow wake-up before joining Monica and the others for breakfast.

“How did you sleep?” Monica asked when I entered her room an hour later.  Leila was already there and avoided my eye.  I wondered if she had blabbed and whether Monica was testing me, or just being disingenuous.

“Extremely well,” I said, quite truthfully, opting to put on a positive air.  “I was knackered after that flight and everything else you turned on yesterday.”

“I’ll bet,” said Monica, non-committally, but with a quizzical look that suggested she knew I had been up to something.  She was like that.  Sometimes she could give the impression she knew everything, even when she was just on a hopeful fishing trip.

Monica, Leila and Rani were sitting at the table, which had been moved on to the balcony, from where we could look out over the golf course and pick up the distant sounds of morning rush hour in Delhi.  The air was heavy and sultry, with grey cloud obscuring the sun.

The girls looked ready for a day of sightseeing, which I understood was the intention.  We had a few days to fill in before we would be able to meet Mandrekar.  Monica wore a sleeveless black-and-white striped top and a matching white skirt, while Leila sported a white blouse and a burgundy skirt that showed her legs to best advantage.  They both looked cool and comfortable, despite the closeness of the morning air.  Rani was wearing a pale blue sleeveless dress that stopped mid-thigh. It had a plunging neckline that showed a very attractive cleavage, and I could see that she was wearing nothing underneath, with faint nipple bumps thrusting at the taut material.   Her black hair was loose and fell in a cascade past her shoulders.  Unlike Leila and Monica, she looked uneasy, which I took in part to be due to her new clothes and part to the newfound role that she now had to assume.

“So, Miss Tour Guide,” said Monica briskly.  “What have you arranged for us today?”  I gathered from this that Rani must already have been doing some arranging before I arrived.

“We will do a city tour,” she said, quietly and formally.  There was a subtle difference in her tone, and I noticed the way she averted her eyes from Monica.  “There will be a car picking us up at nine o’clock.”

We enjoyed our breakfast, with easy conversation between Leila, Monica and myself, and almost nothing said by Rani except when asked directly.  I suspected that she and Monica had had a very intimate night, in one way or the other, probably establishing a few more ground rules.

When we had drunk our coffee, Monica told Rani to get up and walk the length of the room and back.  Rani appeared very self-conscious as she did so.  Her dress was tailored to her slender body with just enough swish at the hem to add a touch of sexiness.  She also wore white knee-length boots with quite high heels, which Monica had obviously bought in her shopping expedition the previous evening.  Rani smoothed the hem of her dress down and while she appeared a little uneasy with her new footwear, she managed the walk in reasonably competent fashion, with a gentle sway of her buttocks which I personally thought most attractive.

“I think we’re almost ready to go,” said Monica.

“But…” Rani started to say.

“Yes Rani?” Monica asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Please… may I have my underwear?”

“No, Rani, you may not.  Part of your training is to overcome your very obvious self-consciousness.  Being naked under your dress is something most people will not notice, except for those nice tits of yours.  You must get used to appraising looks.  I’m sure you’ll turn a few heads, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.  You’re an attractive girl – you should flaunt it.  God knows, the men run enough things in this world – we have to use our power over them whenever possible.  Isn’t that right, Leila?”

“Yes, Mon.”  Leila smiled.

“Isn’t that right, Steven?”

“Yes, Mon.”

“You see Rani?  Enough exposure to the right thing and they’ll eventually come around to our way of thinking.”  Rani returned to the table.  I noticed she stood there, waiting for instructions.  Monica created a space clear of plates and breakfast debris.  “Bend over the table, Rani.  Face on the tablecloth.”

Rani did as she was told, her expression unhappy as her dark eyes stared up at me.  I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging smile while Monica stood up and went to the wardrobe.  She returned with a thin leather belt and the crotch strap I had made the previous day, together with a medium-sized vibrating dildo, which she put down in front of Rani’s face.  Rani’s big eyes widened, for even though she had not seen what else Monica had in her hands, she knew something was about to happen to her.

Without formality Monica hiked up Rani’s dress and - having threaded belt through the two halves of the crotch strap – buckled the belt around Rani’s slender waist, leaving the crotch strap dangling front and back.  She took the dildo and reached between Rani’s legs to slowly work it in place.  Rani’s eyes widened even more and her mouth opened as she stared off into the distance.  

“No…no…ohhhh…”  Rani whispered, then subsided into small gasping noises as Monica slowly slid the device in to the hilt.  Rani’s eyes were closed by the time Monica tugged at the crotch strap and buckled it tightly into place.  I could discern faint moans from the girl half-prone on the table beyond my empty plates.  Monica smoothed Rani’s dress back in to place and ordered her to stand up.  

Her cheeks flushed, Rani stood up very slowly, her breathing irregular as she struggled to make allowance for the intruder now secured inside her.  

“You’re now ready to take on the outside world,” Monica said.

Rani appeared to flush even more.  “But I can’t… I mean…  What if people…?”

“You will do as I say, Rani, unless you want to spend the rest of the day naked in a hogtie in the wardrobe, where you’ll be found by either the cleaner, or your boss when he comes here after I tell him you’ve refused to cooperate.”  Rani hung her head.  The fight of the pervious day was going out of her.  Monica sighed in exasperation.  “My dear girl, you still have no idea of what you may be expected to do, what may be done to you, and what you will have to be prepared for.  I hadn’t counted on you being such a slow learner.  I really don’t think a week is long enough for you.  I think we’ll have to delay the meeting with Mr Mandrekar.”

“But… the meeting is already arranged… It’s been terribly difficult to fit in with his schedule…”

“Then you’ll just have to try a little harder, won’t you!” Monica’s voice was icy.  Rani stared at the floor.  “Won’t you!” Monica demanded.

“Yes Mistress.”  Rani’s voice was barely audible, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at Monica, who winked at me.

“Good.  Right, let’s get ready.  Down in the foyer in ten minutes, you two.”

*   *   *

 A dark green Range Rover was waiting for us at the entrance to the hotel, complete with driver in white shirt and tie.  Despite the absence of sun, the heat was already oppressive.

Monica indicated that I should get in the front, while the three girls climbed into the back, with Rani in the middle.

“Now, Rani,” said Monica, in a tone that reminded me of a teacher I once had, “tell us where we’re going today and what we’re going to see.”

I twisted in my seat so I could look at Rani.  She did her best to put on a professional air, as would be appropriate to a local guide.  She tucked her dress around her thighs and kept her legs primly together, though this wasn’t easy, sitting as she was in the middle, with her feet astride the drive shaft hump.   She said something to the driver, who turned up the air con, then she addressed the three of us as though we had only just met.

“It’s nearing the monsoon time,” Rani explained, her voice oddly formal.  “This is the time when the British used to go to the hill stations to the north, to escape the heat of the plains.  It is not a good time to be visiting here, but at least the crowds will be less.  Today I will show you some of the history that is behind New Delhi.  We will begin with a visit to Qutb Minar, but we will go via the centre of the city, to give you some idea of the Delhi of the 19th and 20th centuries.”

I sat back and let the traffic swirl around us, my mind only half on what Rani was saying.  I was glad I wasn’t driving, as we worked our way through a mass of ancient taxis, modern limousines and a motley collection of motorbikes and pedestrians.  Our driver was good, and patient – he needed to be.  We reached the heart of New Delhi – wide avenues, impressive memorials and colonnaded buildings designed by Edwin Lutyens and built in the early 1900’s.  It was meant to represent the epitome of British power in a new capital for this huge and fantastically complicated country.  

But the British rule was only the most recent stage in a complex history that went back thousands of years.  We worked our way south to Old Delhi, and to Qutb Minar - built 800 years previously to proclaim the victory of Islam over the infidels.  The main architectural feature was the Minar, or tower, over 70 metres high, but due to the state of the structure we could not go inside.  

I followed the girls across the big open courtyard, enjoying the sight of three pairs of female legs and swaying skirts, as did many of the local inhabitants.  Rani’s white boots and her slender legs looked somewhat incongruous amidst these ancient buildings.  The steamy atmosphere, even without direct sun, had left dark patches of perspiration in the smalls of the girls’ backs, and I wondered how Rani was coping with the crotch strap and the dildo trapped in her pussy.  

We reached a black column, perhaps 25 metres high, standing alone in the middle of an open area.

“This is the Gupta Pillar,” said Rani.  “It is made from iron, and is over 1600 years old.  It is of such purity that it has never rusted, and even today scientists are amazed at how a column of this size and composition was created.  People believe it has magical qualities, and that anybody who stands with their back to the column and can touch their fingertips together around the column behind them will have good fortune.”  She let the words hang there, as if daring us to accept the challenge.

“Go on, Leila,” said Monica.  Leila stepped forward with her usual enthusiasm, standing with her back to the pillar and stretching her arms backwards around the column as though bound in place.  Try as she might, however, her fingertips could not bridge the final couple of centimetres.  Looking just a little crestfallen, Leila stepped down from the stone platform on which the column stood, and Monica took her place, straining her arms back, her breasts standing out in the striped top.  She worked her hands up behind the column, her fingertips slowly drawing together.  I watched as a tiny runnel of perspiration slipped down her temple and dripped off her jaw.  But Monica, too, was unable to make her fingers touch, also falling short by the width of a fingernail, despite Leila’s urging.

“Rani, you’re next,” said Monica.  Rani shook her head.

“I have never been able to encircle the column,” she said, her voice sounding strangely sad.

Monica looked at me and said: “I don’t like the way this is going at all.”  I knew Monica was not especially superstitious, but sometimes she could surprise us with her sensitivity and intuition, and now she appeared to be uneasy at what might be seen as a bad omen at the start of what we now thought of as our mission.  “Steven – how lucky do you feel?”

I shrugged.  I didn’t see it as a matter of luck, simply how long your arms were, but I wasn’t about to voice my humble opinion until I’d had a go myself.

“C’mon, Steven,” Leila urged as I slowly pushed my arms backwards and upwards behind me.  “Another couple of centimetres – almost there – move your left hand up…”  Then I felt the touch of one fingertip against the other, and Leila clapped delightedly.  Monica smiled with relief and I wondered why we all seemed to be pinning our hopes of success on my long arms.

I stepped down, and we were about to proceed when Rani’s mobile phone rang.  She stopped and held a brief discussion, then put the phone back in her bag.

“That was my contact with Mandrekar’s office.  There’s been a change in plan.  Mr Mandrekar is in Agra tomorrow, and is travelling back from there by train to Chandrai, where he has a fortress.”

“A fortress?” Leila echoed.  “What do you mean ‘he has a fortress’?”

“He owns one.  It’s a big old fort built in the hills at the northern end of the mountains there.  Hundreds of years old, and at some stage he supposedly obtained ownership of it, much to the opposition of the local tourist bureau, who consider it a tourist attraction, but it is not now open to the public.  He claims to have ancestors who owned it.”

Monica directed the conversation back to the main point of Rani’s statement.  “So what does all that mean in terms of when we can get to see him?”

“His PA says we should join him in Agra tomorrow night and travel back to Chandrai on the train with him.  Apparently he has somewhat of a phobia about aeroplanes, and travels everywhere in his own train.”

“So we have an invitation on to his train for a journey that will take how long?” I asked.

Rani shrugged her shoulders.  “Maybe a day?  I’m not really sure.”

“So how do we get to Agra?”

“I think we have to leave very soon.  It takes five hours by road, which means if we leave early this afternoon we should be there by this evening.  It will be easier than trying to get on a plane.”  

“What’s at Agra?” Leila asked.  Rani looked at her in disbelief.

“Only the Taj Mahal,” said Monica, similarly taken aback at Leila’s ignorance.  

Leila frowned.  “Well I didn’t know.  I never studied Indian geography.”

“That much is evident,” Monica said laconically.  “Right, team, we’ll go to pick up Rani’s collar, then back to the hotel, pack, and drive to Agra.”

*   *   *

Probably the less said about the drive to Agra the better.  It was all right for the girls sitting in the back of the Range Rover – they had less of a view of the ox carts and overladen trucks that seemed to miss us by the barest margin.  From my point of view in the front it was five hours of pure terror.

At one stage Monica decided to enliven proceedings by switching on the vibrator between Rani’s legs.  It was one of the remotely operated ones, and evidently it started up without warning, for Rani gave a muffled squeal and her hands flew to press her skirt down between her thighs.  Our driver appeared unfazed, presumably putting the noise down to normal passenger terror as yet another big truck bore down on us.  I knew what was happening, though, and under the guise of talking to the girls, half-turning to avoid looking at the oncoming traffic, I watched the crimson flush appear in her cheeks as the insidious vibrations began to take their toll.

Rani gamely resisted the remote humming inside her, squirming and shifting her weight in the middle seat.  Leila was watching with a delighted grin, no doubt thinking of the times such a thing had happened to her, while Monica professed interest in the countryside.  Rani looked plaintively at Monica and I thought she made a whispered plea for the device to be switched off, but Monica was oblivious.  Before long Rani closed her eyes and her breathing began to become rapid.  Her mouth opened and her breasts strained at the fabric of her dress as they rose and fell in a ragged staccato.  Then her body seemed to freeze, her hands jammed hard between her legs, and she uttered a shuddering series of tiny squeaks, doing her best to stifle them.  I was sure they had not carried to the driver over the road noise, and he appeared unaware of the sexual climax that had just taken place in the back seat.

Monica made no move towards the remote that obviously was sitting in her handbag, and despite Rani’s whispered begging, she was made to climax again, slumping exhaustedly against the dark green leather of the seat.  At this point Monica switched off the device and pulled Rani’s lap seat belt as tight as she could, trapping Rani’s hands in her crotch.  Rani appeared not to care, and sat for the next hour with her eyes closed, as we continued our way southwards.

Rani had organised our reservations for the Oberoi in Agra.  It was late afternoon when we arrived, and we caught our first glimpse of the Taj Mahal, gleaming white in the late afternoon sun.  The uniformed hotel staff were all courtesy as we were booked in and shown to the elevator.  Somewhere along the line Rani and Monica must have done some organising, however, for when the doors opened at the fifth floor and we stepped into the Kohinoor Presidential Suite, Leila and I were left gasping at the opulence of it while Monica – and for the first time, Rani – were both smiling with that smug look that comes when you’ve pulled off a coup.

When the bellhop had disappeared, we explored the place in wonderment. Named after the legendary Indian diamond, the Kohinoor had an entrance foyer, a huge living room, a dining room, a study and a stunning bedroom with attached bathroom, all of which had breathtaking views of the Taj Mahal
There were three private open-air terraces, accessed by French windows and all showcasing the Taj Mahal barely half a kilometre distant in the late afternoon sun. One terrace led out from the living room, overlooking the splendid landscaped gardens & swimming pool. The second terrace was attached to the bedroom where a gigantic emperor bed was aligned to provide a vista of the Taj Mahal even as you read the morning paper.  The third wrap-around terrace stretched around two sides of the bathroom, and had deck chairs ideal for reclining in while sipping ice-cold champagne.
We found the bedroom had a walk-in closet and dressing room with an electronic safe, a separate powder room, a delicately engraved armoire with satellite television and a DVD/ CD player, and of course a fully stocked bar.

“Woohoo!” said Leila.  “This is just so totally cool!”  Then: “How can we afford this?”

“Thank Arthur Baines,” said Monica quietly, and a shadow passed over Leila’s face.  I knew she had been particularly fond of Arthur, and now his legacy was giving her an experience that few of us had ever dreamed of.  She was a little more subdued after that, but still could not contain her natural exuberance.

“Where are we all sleeping?” I asked Monica.

“It seemed a shame not to use the place fully,” she said with a sly smile.  “How often do you wake up in a place like this?  There’s an adjoining double room which Leila can have.  I thought you might like to join me here?” She raised an interrogatory eyebrow, and in the diffused light through the French doors I thought she had never looked more beautiful.

“I’d be honoured,” I said.  “What about Rani?” 

“Oh, we’ll find somewhere for her.  Now, why don’t we settle in and then go for a walk to the Taj?”

*   *   *

Even in such surroundings, Monica did not lose sight of her objectives. Leila – in contrast to her previous elation – was quite peeved when told she would have to stay behind and look after Rani, while Monica and I went for a stroll in the evening to visit a wonder of the world.  Leila did one of her rare pouting sulks and I could hardly blame her.

“Leila, you can come along tomorrow, when we’ll all visit together.  Now, either you look after Rani like I ask you, or you end up tied up alongside her, while Steven and I go out night clubbing.”

That alternative didn’t appeal to Leila at all, and she soon came to terms with having to rough it on the balcony watching the Taj Mahal at sunset from a comfortable chair with a gin and tonic in her hand.  Life wasn’t so depressing that she would forsake that to be bound and gagged in a cupboard or stuffed under the big bed.

While Leila weighed up her options, Monica, it seemed, was doing the hard work -now forced to compress Rani’s training into 24 short hours before we met the industry mogul the following evening.  Before we had even unpacked, Monica had Rani kneeling naked on a luxurious silk rug, and swiftly divided Rani’s hair into two pigtails.  I emptied the bag of ropes and accessories on to the floor beside her, and Monica selected several pieces of sashcord, then bound Rani’s arms wrist-to-elbow across the small of her back, wrapping further turns around her waist over the top of the narrow belt that still held the crotch strap and vibrator in place.  

With more ropes Monica expertly began to bind Rani’s breasts, encircling them with multiple turns so that they became round globes jutting to finger-tip points as the nipples swelled and hardened.  Rani watched with what I took to be a mixture of resignation, apprehension, but also a touch of curiosity, as her breasts bulged under the restrictions of the ropes.  

The next point of interest came in the form of two pairs of cable ties, each pair made from two interlinked circles.  Leila and I were wondering what Monica had in mind, and we were soon to find out.  Monica took one loop and zipped it closed around Rani’s big toe on her right foot, then did the same with one tie from the other pair on her left big toe so that each big toe now sported an empty loop of cable tie.  

Monica pushed Rani on to her back, positioning her on her bound arms and making her lift her left leg vertically.  Taking a 2m length of twine, the mistress tied it uncomfortably around Rani’s left nipple, ran it down through the loop on her left big toe, then back to Rani’s left pig tail, skilfully weaving it into her hair and securing it there.  Rani now saw the deviousness of it all, as her leg was bent and her toe pulled back towards her body.  Any attempt to straighten her leg immediately pulled on her nipple and her hair.

“Ow!  Ow! That hurts! Ow – please undo it!”

“Don’t be a sook, Rani,” said Monica, brusquely, ignoring the dark-haired girl’s pleas and repeating the tie from right nipple, via right foot to right pig tail.  Rani lay on her back, knees bent, feet in the air, trying not to put any pressure on the twine at once pulling her hair and tugging on her nipples.  It was an evil position, and one that would soon leave Rani’s legs quivering as she tried to keep her legs in position.  Monica stood over her and for a brief moment allowed the helpless girl to rest her bare feet against Monica’s legs.  Monica massaged the sole’s of Rani’s feet, prompting little sighs and shudders of pleasure from her captive, before abruptly stepping back and causing Rani to bit back a scream as her legs unexpectedly yanked on the twine.

Monica produced the ball gag and expertly worked it into Rani’s mouth amidst her spluttered protests, buckling it behind the mass of hair, before letting her head rest back on the floor.  Rani’s position left her not only helpless, but very vulnerable, and with the small flogger Monica gave her a series of hard slaps on her upturned feet and on her exposed backside, while Rani yelped and squealed around the ball strapped in her mouth, unable to work out what to do that wouldn’t bring more pain to her tortured nipples.  Monica clinically finished the process with several stinging smacks with her hand on Rani’s bright red buttocks, bringing forth further cries.  Tears welled and ran from the corners of the Indian girl’s eyes as Monica stood up and turned towards the door.

“Be good, Leila.  There are more vibrator batteries in my small suitcase.”  Rani moaned disconsolately, lying like an insect on the floor.

“Okay,” Leila replied brightly, giving the impression that she might rather enjoy further teasing the new recruit.  “Have a nice time.”

*   *   *

We made our way out into the street, ignoring the offers from taxi drivers and the hordes of vendors hanging about outside the gates, who evidently thought that rich tourists would venture outside just to sample their wares.  The heat was stifling, and we decided after a short distance that probably a taxi would have been a better option, but Monica pressed on determinedly.  It was nearly dusk, and somewhere behind the clouds the sun was setting, while the smells and sounds of India assaulted our senses.

When we finally made it through the gates to the vast walled compound that encircled the Taj, we left some of this hubbub behind.  It was the hot season, the wrong time to visit, and while there were quite a few people here, it was no doubt considerably worse during peak season. Monica took my hand in a peculiarly tender gesture and drew me to one side, so that we looked down the long entry avenue leading to the Taj, which now glowed a rosy colour in the diffused light coming through the clouds.

“Do you know,” she said softly, “that ever since I was a little girl, I’d always been fascinated by the Taj Mahal?  One of my school friends came here and made me insanely jealous.  I’d always wanted to see it at sunset.  It’s such an incredibly romantic place – you know it’s a tomb built by the Emperor for his wife? Shah Jahan built it for his princess after she died in childbirth.  They say it was designed by giants and finished by jewellers.” We sat on a marble inlaid seat and remained there for what seemed a long time.  Monica still held my hand.

“Don’t you want to go inside?” I asked.

“Not right now.  I just want to take it all in.” She turned to me, part of her face in shadow.  “I’m so glad you’re here, Steven.  I’m really pleased I could share this moment with you.  It’s important to me.”  I was taken aback at this admission, for it was not the Monica I knew – the efficient, organised, sometimes harsh Monica who always seemed too focussed on her projects to have time for apparent irrelevancies like childhood dreams.  Some girls dreamed of their wedding from the time they were ten.  Monica, it seemed, had dreamed of the Taj Mahal, the tomb of a princess and one of the great wonders of the world, in exotic India.  

Unexpectedly she smiled and kissed me, just a light brush of the lips, then she turned back to watch the slowly fading light slip from the minarets and the giant white dome.  I put my arm around her waist and she snuggled closer.  A silence seemed to descend on the place, and the noises of the lingering tourists vanished with the light.  Electric lights came on along the walkways and water features in front of the mausoleum as guides slowly shooed the last of the visitors out and back towards the main gate.

We were the last to leave.  With the darkness, the heat had become slightly less oppressive as we made our way slowly back to the hotel.  We were less conspicuous now, and I was surprised to find Monica still holding my hand.  For some reason I sensed she wanted to talk, but seemed unable to begin.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Huh?” She seemed to come out of a dream.  “I’m sorry – yes, I’m okay.  There was a flash of teeth in the semi-darkness.  “I was thinking.  I’m glad Leila didn’t come with us.  I wanted that to be special, and it was.  We can go back there tomorrow with the others.  I just wanted to be there…alone… no, with you, I guess.” There was an embarrassed edge to her voice, as though she suddenly felt she’d said too much.  We turned through the hotel gates and caught the tropical smell of frangipani flowers in the thick night air.

“Can we sit some more?” Monica asked.  “I don’t feel like dinner just yet.”  I could almost feel a tension in her, as though she was trying to make up her mind whether to talk about something or not.

We made our way to a bench in the spacious terraced gardens.  From a part of the hotel nearby came the sounds of people laughing and the odd clink of glasses.  After a minute’s silence I asked:

“Are you going to tell me what’s the matter?”

“It’s… we’re heading into something again, aren’t we, Steven?  Heading into a situation we may not be able to control.  Do you remember when we sailed to Macau, and how we had no idea what to expect?  There was this land mass on the horizon called China that looked incredibly forbidding and scary.  I’m getting the same feeling now.  We’re in the middle of India.  It’s so vast - so alien.  We’re going up against this guy on his own turf, relying on Rani to keep in contact with the outside world – however competent that is.  For a while it all seemed a long way off.  Now, suddenly we’re going to meet this guy tomorrow.  I thought we had a lot more time to prepare.  Now it’s all gone, just like that.  Rani’s not ready. She’ll blow it, I’m sure.  I should never have agreed to this stupid idea.  And I’m dragging you and Leila in to it as well.”  The tension in her voice was now plainly evident.

“You’re doing it because somebody has to,” I reassured her, “- and we’re going to help you. You’re doing it because there are some girls that need our help.”

She laid a hand on my leg.  “I feel so vulnerable.”

“That’s because you’re human, Mon.  You can’t go through life in armour-plated mode, trying to take on the world and keep us safe from harm.  We have to be able to make our own decisions.”

“Are you saying I’m a control freak?”  There was no rancour or accusation in her voice.  Rather, it was almost as though she wanted me to tell her the truth, to take comfort from that.  The fact that Monica could be controlling and manipulative was not an issue.  We all knew and recognised that in her.  We also knew her motives were genuine, not selfish. 

“Of course not.  You want what’s best for your team.” I put my arm around her shoulder and abruptly felt her shuddering as she wept silent tears.  It came to me what she had been going through in the planning and thinking ahead, and how stressed she was, faced with the prospect of bluffing our way past this powerful man who could quite possibly make us vanish if the whim took him – vanish along with the two English girls whom we were seeking.  All this had been bottled up inside, and now, perhaps something to do with the awe-inspiring majesty of the Taj, things had conspired to overwhelm her.

I said nothing but held her tightly as she let the tears run their silent course.  I was as awkward as all hell in these situations.  Women in tears have a way of making me feel helpless too.  Builders are not skilled in human dynamics.  Unlike structures, human beings behave unpredictably, and logic doesn’t figure highly in such circumstances.

Monica eventually sniffled and wiped her eyes.

“I’m really sorry.  I don’t know what came over me.  Can we pretend this never happened?”

“No.  It happened, and I’m here, and we’ll get through this together.  You wait, in a couple of days the Indian police will be locking this guy up in handcuffs.”

“I just wish those couple of days were over already.  But thank you.  You’re a good friend, Steven.   I owe you a lot.”  I felt the blood rising in my cheeks.  Then she kissed me again – not the light, fleeting touch of that at the Taj, but a long, deep tongue thrusting kiss that seemed to unleash passions in both of us.  I returned her overture with equal zeal, and moments later we were making out like young lovers in a display that I had never experienced with her, and which neither of us appeared able to control.  I felt the heat of her body, the swelling of her breasts against me, the strength in her hands and fingers as she dug into my back. Then, equally suddenly, we broke apart, almost embarrassed, neither of us quite understanding what had happened.  

Several seconds passed, before she finally mumbled something about getting back to Leila and Rani.  We didn’t say another word between the garden and the room, but I noticed Monica kept hold of my hand all the way, though she would not meet my eye.  I was aroused and self-conscious, not clear what had happened, and wondered whether something had changed irreversibly between us.

*   *   *

When we entered the Kohinoor Suite there was no sign of Leila, while Rani lay on her side on the deep Persian rug, in a semi foetal position.  Evidently it was less stressful for her with her knees bent up this way, rather than on her back.  She was whimpering softly, but her eyes flew open as she realised she was not alone, and then she moaned as she saw who her visitors were.  Monica bent down and examined her.

“Hmm, batteries still going strong.  Have you climaxed?”  Rani nodded her head emphatically, closing her eyes and groaning again, as if to emphasise that such had indeed happened, more than once.  As she did so, Leila entered through the French doors, a glass of champagne in her hand. 

“Did you have a nice time?” she asked.

“It was lovely,” Monica said, a slight hesitation in her voice, which Leila appeared not to notice.  “You?”

“Oh yes.  So did Rani. She now understands all about pleasure and pain, don’t you, Rani.  She knows how difficult it is to kick and scream and struggle during an orgasm when it means unbearable pain in your nips.  The poor dear had several near misses where the pain made the urge go away, only to return, and then go away again as she pulled on her nips.  You really are awful, Monica.”

Monica smiled.  “Maybe we should give her a rest.” She fetched a pair of scissors and cut the two pieces of twine.  Rani let out a deep sigh of relief as she was finally able to straighten her legs, closing her eyes with the sheer pleasure of it.  Monica took the empty loops still attached to each toe and looped them over the opposite big toe, zipping them tight so that Rani’s feet were secured at the toes.  Rani protested through the gag, not that it did the slightest bit of good, as Monica dragged her on her stomach to lie along the edge of the rug.  At her gesture, Leila and I helped roll up Rani very snugly in the rug.  The rug was very large, probably a metre longer than Rani’s prone body, and encircled her three times.  We dragged her into the gigantic walk-in wardrobe and left her there, turning out the lights and closing the door, leaving her immovably struggling with the vibrator still buzzing between her legs. 

We dined superbly at the big table which could have seated eight.  Instead it was a small, intimate gathering of three friends who, I felt, were just a little tense about what lay before us the next day.  Conversation was light, revolving around the strangeness of this land and the people, and the sights we had seen in our short time here. Finally Leila excused herself and retired to the twin room.  As she left, Monica stood and crossed to the light switch, turning off the remaining lights and leaving the huge room lit only by a triple candlestick in the middle of the table, the flame flickering in the discrete hiss of the air conditioning.

I had assumed I would be sharing Leila’s room with her, or perhaps having the separate maid’s room which came with the suite, but Monica told me: “I want you with me tonight, Steven.  Is that all right?”  It was a strange request from her, mainly in the way it was phrased.  Normally Monica gave orders and was used to having them obeyed.  This time, though, it was almost an apology, as though aware that she was imposing on me.

“Of course.  What is it?” I asked, for there was something going on that wasn’t normal.  I looked into her blue eyes, glittering in the candlelight.  There was an expression that might have been worry, or something else.  Whatever it was, she was extraordinarily beautiful at that moment.  She put her hand on mine.

“I just wanted…you here.  I wanted this suite.  I wanted the Taj Mahal.  I wanted to share it all with someone, to be perfect like a fairy tale…” She closed her eyes and murmured: “I think I’ve had far too much champagne.”

“You’re not going soft on me, are you?” I teased, trying to break the uncomfortable intensity of the moment.

She half-smiled.  “I’ll bet I make you go soft on me first…”

*   *   *

Monica was different that night.  After checking that Rani was okay we climbed into the luxurious emperor-sized bed and almost lost ourselves in an acre of satin sheet.  Monica was at first seductive, then passionate then fiery, and our love-making was unlike any previous encounter I had had with her.  As I lay back in the darkness, listening to her soft breathing next to me, my mind was a torrent of confused thoughts, wondering where all this was leading.  Was it simply Monica wanting her night at the Taj Mahal to be something special?  Was she simply using me as a distraction for her own doubts, or had something changed irrevocably?  It was unlike Monica to even admit to such uncertainties, and that fact alone unsettled me, never mind what those uncertainties might be in themselves, and what we had to do in the next couple of days.

I must have fallen asleep at some stage soon after, adrift in that wonderful bed.  When I came to it was still dark, and I was momentarily conscious of Monica’s smooth flesh against mine.  I was lying on my stomach and felt the weight of Monica’s body straddled over my thighs.  In my half-asleep state I didn’t register what she was doing until I felt the leather strap buckled tightly around my wrists as they lay parallel across the small of my back.

“Monica?  What are you… erff! No-don’t – ow! – urgh! Gurgh!”  That was as far as I got as she pulled my hair back with one hand and worked a ball gag between my teeth.  It was the second one I had made, the larger one, and it filled my mouth totally.  So much for not expecting to try it out myself.  Monica buckled it tightly behind my head, and I smelt her perfume as she lay down briefly on top of me, her breasts pressing into my back.

“I have another little job for you, but I don’t want a lot of noise or argument.”  She eased herself up and a blindfold – one of Monica’s silk scarves – was bound over my eyes.  

The sheets were thrown back and Monica pulled my feet out of bed so that I sat on the edge, then was obliged to stand up as she grasped me by the nipples and pulled.  My nips have always been sensitive, and now her very presence, naked as she pressed herself against me, was enough to arouse me again.  A second later there was a biting pain and I tried to recoil as two clothes pins were released on my nipples.  I spluttered into the gag.  The pain was not as intense as some nipple tortures I had experienced at Monica’s hands, and if anything, it probably aroused me further.  Sometimes I just can’t explain my body.  I stood there in my dark little world, wondering what was going on, then felt Monica’s hands on my shoulders as she pulled me several steps away from the bed, then turned me around, disorienting me entirely.  I wondered if the lights were now on or off.

Moments later her fingers were caressing Mr Willy, who was wide awake and expectant of something, though he was not quite sure what.  Monica’s long nails played up and down his length in a light stimulation that further set my blood on fire, making me emit an unconscious moan from behind the ball filling my mouth.  The fingers gently stroked my flesh and I shuddered, before she moved behind me, reaching around to grip Mr Willy firmly as she nudged me forward, her nipples pressed into my back.  

The first thing I registered was the tip of Mr Willy nudging soft flesh – the kind of soft flesh that is usually associated with female buttocks bent over.  I heard a muffled grunt and realised the flesh belonged to Rani.  She was obviously restrained in a position that brooked no resistance to whatever Monica had in mind.  I found out exactly what this was moments later when Monica directed the tip of Mr Willy into the cleft between the aforementioned buttocks, slowly working him into a tight lubricated entry hole.  

Rani squealed and bucked, but she was clearly bound sufficiently tightly so her movement was limited.  Monica shoved me from behind, her own abdomen thrusting against my backside driving me hard into Rani’s back passage.  A warm thrill surged through Mr Willy and with Monica’s hands on my buttocks we began a slow reaming of Rani, who struggled briefly, trying to clamp her gluteal muscles to prevent my movement.  In fact all it did was excite me further, and with Monica behind me and being now jammed up to the hilt inside Rani, we continued our rhythmical dance.  Monica pushed down on the back of my neck and I moaned as my chest with the two clothes pins was forced on to Rani’s naked back.

Rani’s gagged noises had subtly changed from protesting to excited, and with Monica pushing me against her body I sensed her position as being bound over the back of an armchair, with her hands pulled forward and her legs tied wide apart.  Her movements were now in rhythm with Monica and me, and I could hear Monica’s breathing rising in pitch beside my right ear.

Our concerted efforts increased in speed and intensity.  Rani was grunting into her gag, her breathing ragged and disjointed as she struggled to give vent to her oncoming climax.  It hit like a cyclone, as Rani abruptly screamed into her gag, which managed to muffle most of the noise, and she squirmed and jerked like a demented being.  The response was too much for Mr Willy, and I shot my own load, barely conscious of a groan from Monica, her own crotch grinding in my buttocks.  I was grunting into the gag, biting down and tugging hard at the strap on my wrists, but any attempt at escape was incidental.  Then we were all panting together, bent over each other, me still impaled in Rani who was heaving beneath me as she tried to catch her breath, each exhalation coming out as a low moan.
Monica dragged me back and threw me on to the bed without so much as a by-your-leave and towelled me down, though not letting me loose.  She flipped the clothespins off, then another scarf bound my ankles, and I lay there for a while as I heard her fussing about with Rani.  Finally things were silent, and the mattress moved as Monica returned and undid my gag.  She kissed my lips and followed it with a lingering tonsil-teasing number.

“What was that all about?” I finally gasped when I’d caught my breath.

“Hush,” she whispered, curling up beside me and nuzzling my chest.  “Go to sleep.  It was just something that Rani had to experience, and I didn’t want any long-winded explanations to destroy the moment.

“Oh,” I said.  “Are you going to untie me?”

“Maybe,” she said, “but not just yet.  Now sleep.”

*   *   *

07.01.05

story continues in Monica and the Black Fortress 5

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