Monica's Games 2.17

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Monica's Games 2.16)

Chapter Seventeen: Leila Goes Swimming 

Day One

Morning Event: Swimming
White Team: Leila
Black Team: Kris
Points at Stake: 5
Start Score: White Team:  0 Black Team: 0

Being the first contestant for Bilboes was not something I was looking forward to. I was so nervous I could hardly sleep the night before.  I love swimming, but suddenly when there’s two thousand dollars at stake on a single event … Wow.  No pressure, Leila, honestly.

I did not trust Mistress Lynx, nor did I trust our sponsors, especially when Monica and Megan were putting ideas into their heads.  Now I had the feeling I was going to be on the receiving end.  But how hard could it be to swim thirty lengths?  The pool was only twelve and a half metres long – a quarter Olympic size.  It took no time to do a length.

I had seen my opposition and she was fast.  Her name was Kris and she turned out to be nice.  She said she came from Texas and was visiting Australia on a working holiday with her friend Marilyn.  I gathered the two were only doing this part time, and were not ‘professionals’ in the true sense of the word, back in the States. She didn’t speak like I had always imagined Texans to speak.  Her voice was quite soft and not at all twangy.  She was blonde, like me, with gorgeous hair almost to her waist.  This morning she was clad in a high cut one piece black swimsuit that was in fact quite conservative in that it narrowed to a high halter neck, concealing her breasts.  I was wearing the semi-two piece I had worn for the paint ball competition, as part of the Jill’s victorious White Team.  I caught Kris’s eye as we stood at the deep end of the pool and waited for Mistress Lynx to turn up.  She smiled with the expression of a shared experience about to be undertaken with some misgivings.

The others were sitting on two benches, one each side of the pool, ready to cheer us on, which made me nervous.  Mohammed was sitting next to Monica, while Rashid and Zara were with the Citadel Team on the opposite side of the pool.  The pool itself had been divided into three lanes by ropes running the length of it.  There were two ropes, spaced about half a metre apart, presumably to create a little space between the respective side lanes that Kris and I would swim in.  I was on the left side, the side further from the house, where our team sat.  I wished Mistress Lynx would show up, so we could get the thing over with.  The longer I waited, the more nervous I got. 

At the deep end of the pool, behind where Kris and I stood, and aligned with each lane, were two blackboards.  Across the top of each was written “Laps Completed”.  Beside my board stood Shawnee, and beside the other, Dianne.  Both girls wore shiny lycra uniforms in the team colours, had their wrists crossed and bound in front, and wore ankle cuffs and hobble chains above their bare feet.  Shawnee’s white crop top was barely big enough to cover her ample breasts, and exposed a large expanse of navel above the skirt, which flared slightly to halfway down her thighs.  This was our team uniform, and the white was strikingly enhanced by a crimson rope design that formed a figure eight around Shawnee’s breasts, and a further one which undulated like a snake on the skirt.  On the left breast was the letter ‘B’, about seven centimetres high, in red with a black outline.  Shawnee seemed very proud of her uniform and the role she was playing, and could hardly stop grinning.  Dianne looked equally pleased with her role and her outfit, which had a similar skirt but a tight sleeveless top that hugged the curves of her body.  Emblazoned on the front was a large black ‘C’ over a white stylised castle, while around the hem of the skirt ran a white crenellation pattern.  Obviously Dianne would have preferred something in latex, but slaves couldn’t be choosers.

I saw that in Shawnee’s left hand was an eraser, while in her right was a piece of chalk. Each had been taped in place with a few turns of duct tape.  So much for the sophisticated lap counters – or so I thought.

Also at the deep end, at the edge of the pool beside each lane, were four two-litre plastic milk bottles.  Each had a short length of cord tied to the handle with a dog-clip at the other end of the cord.  I wondered what on earth these were for. 

There was a clatter of heels on the back deck and Mistress Lynx appeared, wearing what I would come to consider her trademark brown leather outfit, this time with high heeled knee boots.  She carried a small matching brown suitcase and strode purposefully down the steps and into the fenced off pool area, stopping in front of Kris and me.

“You can get those swimsuits off, for a start,” she said, barely glancing at us and turning her attention to her suitcase which she laid down on a folding table that had been set up nearby.  Kris and I looked at each other, taken aback.  Mistress Lynx opened the suitcase and looked over her shoulder.  “Well?  What part of that didn’t you understand?  Are you both deaf, or just stupid?” she snapped.  Her tone suggested compliance would be a good policy, and I slipped undid the straps at my back and neck, then stepped out of the swimsuit.  I felt almost embarrassed doing it in front of everybody, though normally I wouldn’t have give it a second thought.  Suddenly it was as though I was on stage, beyond the familiar Bilboes comfort zone.

Kris, too, had discarded her swimsuit, and I could now see the lean suppleness of her body that looked streamlined as a fish.  Her breasts were not large, and she exuded the look of one who has spent hours in the gym and on the tanning bed.  My doubts as to whether I could beat her seemed to abruptly magnify.

“Come over here, you two,” our umpire ordered, and we stood before her like two schoolgirls in front of the Principal.  “I will now explain the contest, and I will explain it only once.  Any departure from the rules will result in disqualification and an appropriate punishment.”  My stomach turned to lead at this point, as I realised that the goal posts were moving and there was going to be a whole lot of stuff I had not expected, that I would have to remember, over and above the physical side.

“There are two swimming lanes, as you see.  Leila will be in the left one and Kris in the right.  You will swim thirty lengths, with one length being to the other end and back, for the purposes of this race.”  There and back? Suddenly this woman had doubled the length of the race!  “Furthermore, you will swim it breast stroke.  I’ve seen you both in the pool and know you’re both proficient at this.” 

Yes, but a sixty lengths of breaststroke!

“Now stand still while I fix your restraints.”

Restraints?  What was I – Houdini?  I stood still, but was panicking inwardly as she locked a piece of light chain around my waist.  The lock was at my navel, but the tail dangled down to my knees.  Here there was a steel ring a couple of inches in diameter wired to the last link.  Mistress Lynx repeated the procedure with Kris.

“Let me explain a little more,” she said.  “You see those plastic bottles with the dog clips on the cord?”

“Yes Mistress,” we said.

“Each of those bottles is half full with water.  Plenty of buoyancy, but also enough weight to create a bit of drag, too.  At the end of ten laps you will take one of those bottles and clip it to the ring at the end of your chain.  That will make things just a little harder.” She smiled.  “After a further ten laps you will clip the second bottle there, so for the last ten you will be swimming along towing the two bottles.  Now, bend over, both of you, hold on to your ankles.”

We did as we were told, like schoolkids getting ready to be caned.  With my head between my legs I saw Mistress Lynx dip a bright red butt plug in a jar of lubricant and come up behind me.  She stood beside me on my left, facing the same direction as my butt pointed, and with her left arm gripped me firmly round the waist, before the slimy plug in her right hand began its entry into my little hole.  This was embarrassing in front of everybody, never mind the inevitable pain that came with it as the widest part forced its way inside me.  Mistress Lynx was murmuring soothingly to me as I tried to relax, then suddenly it was in, and I gasped and groaned as it slid home.  She patted me on my backside.

“Good girl,” she said, as if to a dog which has just performed a trick.  “You may stand up now.”  She released me and moved to Kris, who had remained bent over while I was getting my plug.  I stood up slowly, letting my body accustom itself to the full feeling I now had.  Was I expected to swim like this?

Two minutes later Kris was also plugged, and Mistress Lynx was handing out further toys.  We held out our hands as instructed, and she gave us each four clips, to each of which was attached a short chain, on the end of being a sponge ball the size of a billiard ball.  It was light and did not really seem like it could do too much damage.

“This time I will let you position these.  One on each nipple, one on each pussy lip, making a total of four in all.  All designed to give you exquisite thrills as you plough through the water.  They stay there until I tell you. Got that?”  We must have looked aghast.  “Don’t be such sooks.  At least I’m letting you put them on yourselves.  Would you like me to do it for you?”

That was all the incentive we needed, for the whole deal was looking bad enough already, and any pain mitigation measures we could take had to be worth it.  Not that the clips were painless – far from it.  They were of chrome-plated steel with teeth which brought tears to my eyes as I bent over and gingerly clipped them to my labia.  The sponge balls hung a hand span below my crotch.  Now I knew the real meaning of ‘well hung’.  Now I was experiencing the opposite of what we had put Steven through once, when he was kept en femme for a month.

Then came the two on my nips.  I released them gingerly, biting my lip as the pain began.  We stood there while Mistress Lynx inspected us.  With the two balls bobbing below my breasts I felt like some sort of pompom cheerleader at a nudist camp.

“Very nice, girls,” said Mistress Lynx.  “Let me explain that if you finish without your plug, without any clips, or without your full compliment of bottles, you will be disqualified.  Is that clear?”  We nodded.  “So, if something slips off, you’d better grab it and put it back on again.  Okay?”  More nodding.  “Good.”  She sounded well pleased with her handiwork.  “We’re almost ready to begin then.”  She turned and delved into the suitcase.  I was now at the stage of dreading what might come next.  This time, her hands held two latex hoods, one white and one black.  She had to be kidding!

“Leila, come here.”  Unthinkingly, I obeyed, wincing as the balls banged between my thighs and the clips on my nipples bobbed.  Then the tight, stretchy rubber was being yanked over my head, dragging at my hair and clinging to my face.  Her strong hands pinched and tugged the latex until there was an opening over my mouth and a smaller one over my nose.

“How will I see, Mistress?” I ventured.

“You don’t need to see, my dear.  All you have to do is swim up and down in a straight line.  On one side you’ll have the edge of the pool, on the other will be a rope.  At the end you’ll have a wall.  How simple is that?  Of course you’ll have to count the laps.  You can count to ten, can’t you, Leila?” she asked condescendingly. “Dear me.  Girls today are so ill prepared for life.” She paused.  “Just to make it even easier for you, these are the rest of the rules.  The hood remains until you complete lap 20.  Your slaves can tell you or touch you to indicate each ten laps, when you must add a bottle, and when you can take off the hood.  Twenty laps blindfolded and ten without.  Sounds reasonable to me.  When you take off your hood you’ll find out if you’re winning or losing.  Won’t that be a surprise!”

I hadn’t even thought that far ahead, so concerned was I with the hood in the first place.  For two thirds of the race I would not know if I was ahead or behind, never mind by how much.  I had been so focussed on how I was going to swim in the dark, I hadn’t even thought about this other aspect.  This simple event was turning into a nightmare.

“Are you done asking questions, Leila?”  Her tone told me that I was. 

“Yes Mistress.”

“Good, then shut up for a minute while I put a hood on Kris.”  There followed a silence before she said: “Very good.  I think we’re ready to rock and roll.  I will position each of you at the edge of the pool.  All you have to do is fall forward on my command.  You may wish to protect your clips to make sure they don’t fall off with the impact.  You may also want to keep the cheeks of your pretty arses together, to avoid an accident at this early stage.”

The big hands steered me until I felt the tiles at the edge of the pool, then my toes found the edge of the tiles themselves.  Instinctively I crouched, one arm over my breasts, crushing the clips into the flesh, while the other cupped my crotch.  Being unable to see at once lent a new and scary dimension to everything.  I could not see my friends on the bench, nor could I see the water in front of me.  I could have been crouching on the ledge on top of a fifty-storey building, ready to free fall to a messy splat on the footpath far below.  Steady, Leila, don’t let your imagination run away.

I suppose I was expecting some sort of “On your marks, get set, go”, but it didn’t come.  I was crouching there for what seemed an age, waiting for the words.  I thought I heard a titter run through the watchers, then there was an almighty pain across my backside, as the cane – so I later found out – struck and I fell gracelessly into the pool.  Evidently Mistress Lynx was ambidextrous, and able to wield a cane in each hand, as Kris and I discovered simultaneously.

The morning was warm, but the water had a chill on it that – together with the unexpected stroke of the cane – momentarily took my breath away.  The surprise and impact of the cane had momentarily made me forget about protecting the clips.  I surfaced in a welter of sensations – cold from the water, pain from the cane, and pain in my nipples and labia from the tugging of the clips.  I couldn’t see, of course, and somewhere down below the trailing chain was getting tangled up in my legs.  For a moment I thought I had suffered what would have been the ultimate embarrassment, and expelled the butt plug, but no, there it was, grooving about inside me with its full, slightly uncomfortable feeling.

It took me several moments to get my act together.  I felt the lane rope to my right and decided that this was to be my lifeline and guide, and began to kick forward.  The chain came free, and from the sources of pain now I established that all four clips were still attached, and tugging at their intended points.  I now realised the cunning intention with the sponge balls, for after their initial buoyancy, they absorbed the water and became ten times as heavy, or so it seemed.  They dragged and tugged at my poor nips and lips, and I knew that this was going to be an ordeal.

Almost before I knew it, however, I had bumped into the end wall, and I turned, slowly establishing my rhythm, beginning to count my strokes and to see if I could establish how many it took to do a length.  The pool was a reasonable size for a residential one, and I found it took around thirty seconds to breaststroke a length.  Soon I was moving better, after a bit of uncoordinated steering.  It was so easy to lose your sense of direction, and more than once I banged into the side wall or the rope. 

I also now saw the cleverness of Mistress Lynx in getting us to breast stroke, for it involved doing a kind of frog-kick, which meant spreading my legs and bending the knees to then kick backwards.  With each kick there was a muscle movement that threatened to lose the plug, and it slowed me to the point where I really had to concentrate on what I was doing.  At the same time I was trying to count the laps.

Lap one… lap one, clench those buttocks…where’s the rope gone?  Ah, there it is… the wall must be coming up…thump… lap two, lap two, lap two…damn my nipples hurt…

I panicked at one stage when I lost count, distracted in my dark world by the tugging at my sensitive points.  I thought I was finishing lap nine and was about to turn when something banged me on the head and I figured it must have been Shawnee with the plastic bottle.  I trod water, grateful for the break from breast stroking, and groped blindly for the cord and the dog clip, which Shawnee managed to put into my hand, which couldn’t have been easy kneeling with her wrists crossed and tied. 

I quickly discovered that I could not pull the bottle deep enough under the water and that I had to get the chain and bring it to the surface.  I only managed to do this in front of me, and attached the dog clip to the ring at the end of the chain, before struggling to get my leg over the chain.  At once this pulled the chain up tight through my crotch, trapping one of the clips on my pussy lip, making me gasp and squeal as I struggled to get the chain between my labia into a more ‘comfortable’ position.  I was beginning to panic at how long this was taking, and finally kicked out again, following the rope, now dragging the bottle behind me.

In a horizontal position the pressure on my pussy was not so bad as when I had been treading water, and I felt I was making progress, but I had no way of knowing where Kris was, relative to me.

The pace was rapidly tiring me.  It seemed to go on forever.  In my head I did some mental arithmetic:  thirty seconds to swim a length, a minute for there and back. Thirty there-and-backs meant thirty minutes, plus whatever time we spent fiddling about clipping on bottles to really tire ourselves out.  I realised that to have any chance of winning I had to pace myself, but how can you do that when you can’t see what the opposition is doing? 

My arms were hurting and the pain from the clips was starting to get nasty as the deadweight of the waterlogged sponges dragged on my nipples and labia.  By the time I got back to the deep end and was bumped on the head by Shawnee with the second bottle, I was starting to struggle.  But I had done twenty laps and could now take off the hood.  I struggled with it and ended up with a mouth full of water, then pulled the rubber clear and blinked in the bright sunlight. 

Without the clinging rubber over my ears, everything was much louder, and I now seemed to hear the noise being made by the two teams of supporters.  I glanced around, noting with amazement that Kris was still wearing her mask and was coming down the pool towards me.  Dianne was squatting at the water’s edge with the second bottle, so I realised I was barely half a length ahead.  I grabbed the second bottle from Shawnee and clipped it to the ring, with the brief rest and the sight of Kris behind me giving me renewed motivation.

Any further encouragement I needed was conveyed from the shouting coming from the Bilboes team.  I shot off down the pool, but realised that the drag of the second bottle was significant, the cord now tugging between my legs and grooving through my clit.  I tried to ignore it, even concentrating on the shooting pains coming from the steel jaws biting into my flesh.  There seemed to be so many sensations at once, what with the smooth flow of water over my naked body and the steady pulsing of the butt plug with my kicking. 

I sensed that Kris had got her second wind as well, and was putting in an effort, but we seemed well matched.  I could now see the lap count blackboards, both saying twenty eight as I touched and turned for the thirtieth.  Shawnee scribbled 29 against my name and began screaming encouragement as she bounced up and down at the edge of the pool.  As I turned, I saw Kris only a body length behind me, and then we were both on the final lap.  She was gaining still.  I felt my strength waning and wished I had spent more hours in the gym, but it was too late for that now.  My nipples and labia were on fire as the sponges tugged with each stroke.  I was gasping and grunting with the effort, and I could hear Kris doing the same alongside me.  We turned at the shallow end almost simultaneously, and I was dredging up my last reserves, when halfway to the finish Kris appeared to lose momentum.  I hardly dared believe the cheer from the White supporters as I touched, my body totally drained. 

I turned to see Kris floating in mid lane, a crestfallen look on her face as she clutched the bright red butt plug that had obviously been expelled with the effort the poor girl had been putting in.  There was silence from the Citadel supporters.

I hung on to the edge of the pool, exhausted as Kris pulled herself along the rope beside me. 

“You may both get out now,” Mistress Lynx directed.  “You will not touch the clips until I tell you.”

Kris and I moved to the ladders in our respective lanes, and I realised the point of the final order we had been given. We needed both hands to pull ourselves out, and were suddenly loading up our nipples and labia with the full weight of the water-logged sponges.  I was so tired I barely realised what I was doing until I tried to stand up out of the water.  I screamed involuntarily with the pain, and heard a similar cry from Kris. At this point I crouched half in the water and half out, tears now flooding down my face as I found myself unable to protect my wounded nips.   Saw a movement out of the corner of my eye as someone from my team made a move to help me, but they were stayed by a sweep of Mistress Lynx’s muscular arm.

“She will overcome this herself,” was the direction, and I slowly eased myself up, wrapping an elbow around the ladder rung and squeezing the sponges dry with the other hand, one by one.  The pain eased but was still acute as I finally emerged from the water to applause from the team.  Mistress Lynx was there in front of me, holding a ball gag in front of my mouth.

She smiled conspiratorially at me as said:  “Trust me, you’ll need this.”

She did not do it up but merely wedged it behind my teeth as I looked on wide-eyed. In two quick movements she removed the clips from my breasts.  I screamed at the piercing pain, biting down on the ball and screwing my face at the intensity of the agony.  Then, before I had recovered from this, there were two more fires from my pussy as those two clips came clear.  I was mmphing and sniffling uncontrollably as Monica wrapped a big towel around me and eased the gag from my mouth.  I was sobbing like a five year-old by that stage and just wanted to be cuddled.  Monica did all the right things and slowly the realisation that all my hurt had been worthwhile, began to dawn on me.  It had also been worth two thousand bucks.  I had to admit I had experienced more pain for less reward.

*   *   *

20.09.03

story continues in Monica's Games 2.18

o0o